Quite fitting that on the first day of class, I am writing about my summer vacation. Although technically, since UP adjusted its academic calendar, "summer" now meant late July, and the kids nowadays call it "midyear break." But whatever. The sun was out and I was on a beach two weekends ago - sounds like summer to me!

True to last year's word, our high school barkada once again surprised ourselves by actually pushing through with a great escapade - and this time, by plane! I think it needs emphasizing that we are such losers when it comes to planning any get-togethers. For the longest time, we've failed miserably at the idea of "going out" and "getting away. Almost always we just ended up at someone else's house to hang out, watch movies, talk about people, and fall asleep. But thanks to the success of last year's spontaneous Borawan trip, we've gained enough momentum to finally push through with this one. After all, we've gone outside Metro Manila, finally - why not leave Luzon altogether?

And so, Boracay it was.

Yep, the cliched, uninspired, obvious choice for a summer getaway. But everybody flocks there for a reason. And when the opportunity to go there presents itself, you do not say no. And how can you? With its pristine white shores and deep teal waters, it would be a travesty to refuse.

Oh, Boracay. How do I even begin to explain Boracay?




Just like last year, we brought our plus-ones along. And again, like last year, it was nice to welcome new faces into the fold. There's a special kind of gladness that comes with hanging out with the girls I love, and the people who love them. And it's really great to see everyone getting along quite perfectly. It's comforting to know that the most important relationships in our lives - closest girl friends and significant others - are not mutually exclusive, and can, in fact, co-exist happily and hilariously.




Yep, just in case you are wondering, the Re once again made me a happy, giddy, completely satisfied customer. Not convinced? In lieu of a complete, detailed re-telling of our trip, let these pictures paint you the story of that awesome weekend:



We stayed at Agos Boracay Rooms + Beds, which was somewhere in the middle of Station 2. Look at how pleasant and presko-looking the place is! We rented out two family rooms for 6 people each, which was just enough for the 12 of us. The family rooms on the 4th floor have lofts, and were big enough to accommodate all of us. I was actually pleasantly surprised with the place! I wasn't expecting anything fancy, but the hotel looked cozy and homey. And very, very clean too. It's well worth mentioning their customer service - the staff were very accommodating and considerate of us (our flights were delayed upon arrival, and we left way beyond check-out time, but they were incredibly understanding.)















Since we were pressed for time (because of the flight delays the previous evening), we just opted for the activities that everyone really wanted to do. Almost everyone was a first-timer (I think only 4 of us had been there before), so we wanted the best slice of the typical Boracay turista pie in the shortest amount of time. It was actually quite easy to haggle since there were 12 of us! So we ended up parasailing, getting thrown off of the flyfish, and riding ATVs.









































Some other pictures that day are in my regular camera or in other people's phones, like the flyfish and ATV photos. (Will probably put them in later!)

The following morning, we went to Puka Beach, which was a P25 tricycle ride away from the main strip. And wow, I thought the main Boracay shoreline was beautiful, but I was definitely floored! It was the most exquisite beach I have ever seen. The water was so clear, the sand was so white, and everything just looked like it came straight out of a postcard.





















Since Puka Beach was a "virgin" or untouched beach, there wasn't a lot to be done on that side of the island. But they did have paddleboards and kayaks for rent. Of course, Louie and I gamely tried it (after much haggling by Joa and Louie)! We tried the clear kayak, which was for two people. It was so cool! I felt like we were in the Amazing Race; I kept pretending we were rushing to the next pitstop the entire time :)) The waters were soooo blue, I had goosebumps at seeing how clear and deep the sea was just right below us.

I actually took a video of our kayak ride. I placed the Re on my chest, tucked inside my vest! How handy! But when I checked the video, apparently I had some strands of hair covering the lens :))) I'll probably just crop that part out so that I can upload and share the video. The view was fantastic!
















The weekend may have been extremely short, but it turned out to be just the kind of last-minute summer escapade I needed right before school started. There really is nothing quite like a trip with my high school barkada. The jokes, the games, the harmless kulitans - it's all part of our histories that have not changed at all, and I am always grateful for that. When we're all back together, we're just our usual 16-year-old selves again, laughing at the littlest things and making fun of each other's quirks. It's the kind of familiarity that makes you feel that all is right in the world - for everything else that has changed, these guys are my constant.




It's doubly great that we now have our plus-ones into the fold. It's always such a riot! Now we can't imagine going out without bringing them along, because they've felt like an extension of our barkada already. And that goes even for the new faces. Just shows how well we all gel and hit off. The chemistry's just off the charts! :))




The "joke" now is, since last year we went to Borawan, and this year we went to Boracay, next year's stop should be Palawan. Everyone's psyched to go to Coron, and even though I just went last January, I'm already super excited to return! Crossing our fingers that that one pushes through! And I think it will, considering how much fun we had last year and this year. There's already momentum keeping the ball rolling and really pushing us to plan in advance for the next one. Here's to hoping all our schedules match and everything falls into their places by then.

Until then, Boracay, you'll be on our minds!

Labels: friends, summer

My mom and I attended a wedding last Sunday at one of the prettiest locations south of the Metro: Caleruega in Nasugbu, Batangas. It was the wedding of the daughter of one of mom's officemates, and turned out to be a very simple but touching affair. I know it was not my first time at the venue (I vaguely remember having visited it for a retreat way back in high school), but it certainly felt like so. It was like seeing the place with a new pair of glasses - one that allowed for the sight and appreciation of love, happiness, and all the other things couples promise each other.

I guess at 23, these are things you start thinking about. I'm going to be honest: when I feel stressed, frustrated, and anxious because of school (which is like 90% of the time), one of my guilty pleasures is looking at wedding videos. My blockmate Chrissa and I secretly love getting our fill of Jason Magbanua, Bob Nicolas, Mayad Studios, and all other Bride and Breakfast approved snippets when we're wide awake at 2:00 am finishing cases for class. It's funny, because we've never been the type to ever nag our boyfriends about it. We don't bring it up with them; we don't secretly affix our boyfriends' surnames after ours in the backs of our notebooks. (Although we've tried. Haha!)  It's not even something we can foresee ourselves doing in the near future. But, it's just fun. There's something uniquely satisfying about looking at pretty dresses, with nice color schemes, held in beautiful locations, featuring lovely, happy people. It's so pleasant. It's certainly not as daunting and terrifying as law school. It's kind of like an escape. We like what we see, we appreciate the aesthetic. We feel assured that there is still love and genuine joy to be found in some pockets of the world. And then we close our laptops shut and go back to reading about dissolutions of corporations (and marriages).




So yes, I was pretty excited about it. After three years in law school, you kind of look forward to practically anything that does not completely deplete the joy from out of you. You feel enthused about throwing out all can'ts and shouldn'ts out the window. Weddings are the enemies of the cynical. It's fun to be invited to an event that makes disbelievers unwelcome.

Anyway, I didn't take that many photos because I was too caught up in the flurry of everything (I had my jaw on the floor because of how quick all the wedding shenanigans were happening; I was on a pew a few steps away from the laptop and I swear I don't remember a word from the homily because I was busy being impressed at the same-day-edit guys), but the few ones I did get turned out to be pretty decent.

This is where my post turns into another satisfactory review of my HTC Re. I'm sorry, okay, but I'm still really impressed! Granted, I have zero-photography knowledge and a skill of absolutely nil when it comes to cameras, so you shouldn't probably take this as gospel truth. But I speak no lies: Once again, I was convinced. The Re is indeed the "action camera" for the everyman (aka noob) like me.

The ceremony was held at the Transfiguration Chapel on top of the hill. What a sight.

That's a panorama of the Harbour Bay sunset, a view of the Hong Kong Island skyline from Kowloon. A lovely picturesque sight, for this city-loving (and thriving) girl. It's easily one of my favorite photos from the hundreds I took on this trip.

“The pleasure we derive from journeys is perhaps dependent more on the mindset with which we travel than on the destination we travel to.” 

I was helping out my grandma sort through my tita's boxes of shoes last night, and I couldn't help thinking, "Man, I'd love to tell her about this later," only to be reminded that the very reason we're sifting through them was because she's no longer around, and as heir apparent (Size 7 is the magic number), I'm the one who has the say on what stays and what should go.

The last time I was here in Batangas, she was still alive. I was reviewing for my Corpo midterms, and she was lying on the bed in the room beside the dining table, where I was making my notes. She was no longer talking that much at that point, which was unusual given her talkative nature (it's in our genes), but her quiet presence comforted me. She didn't need to say anything for me to know she was there, silently cheering me on, even though it should be the other way around. She was in pain, and yet she was the one giving me moral support.

It has always been that way between Tita Gina and I. There's this line in the Beatitudes, "Blessed are those who comfort, for they shall be comforted." She's the first person that comes to mind when I remember this passage. When I went through a break-up in 2012, she would call me every single night on Skype, and we would leave our screens on even as we go to sleep, just so she can make sure that I sleep soundly, notwithstanding the buckets of tears I cried on my pillow. We would spend hours dissecting what went wrong in the relationship; we would go round in circles looking into my ex's faults and my faults, and come to the same conclusion every night, but still, she insisted that we look at each other on the screen every night, tell each other "I love you," and sleep with the presence of the other one comforting us, even though miles actually separated us.

Not once during those times did I ask her about her own pains, her own struggles in her own personal life. But this isn't to say that I didn't know of these heartaches. I knew, I knew, I always knew, and yet it was like a silent pact between us that as far as pains are concerned, mine came first. And whatever comforting words she would end up saying to me, are words she knew she needed to hear for herself as well. "He made a mistake," she would say. "You deserve better. You are worth more than all these tears you are crying." In hindsight, I knew she was telling these to herself too. And maybe hearing them out loud, from her, comforted her in ways I never could have imagined giving myself.

This is the beauty of our relationship. My tita and I, we never needed pretensions, and we never needed prologues. We knew the weave of the stories even before we told them. And this is what I miss the most about her, more than anything. More than the shopping trips, more than the make-up talk, more than the many inside jokes — it was the stories we shared, of love and of UP (sometimes they were the same thing), and the many parts of us they've left behind, and they've left healing.

She didn't succeed in love, that's the white elephant in the room every time people talk of her success. She had a great career, no doubt, when she became project manager of Universal Studios Singapore. Her final project was the Facebook headquarters in Singapore. She had nothing else to prove. But her family at 5 remained to be her family at 55: her mom, dad, sisters. (And me, eventually.) She didn't have kids of her own, she wasn't lucky to end up with a happy ending after marriage left her in shambles. And perhaps, this is the great cautionary tale she has always wanted me to learn from. In the many times we've lay down beside each other in bed and talked about the mysteries of life (and love), she would always tell me to be careful with matters that pertained to my heart. She would tell me of boys she loved, of boys who loved her, of boys who didn't know better, of boys who didn't deserve in the first place. But I could tell, despite her attempt to tinge each of these tales with regret, I knew she loved them the only way she knew how - honestly and fully and with no regrets.

When an ex and I attempted a reconciliation, she was the third person (next to my parents) who vehemently opposed it. I remember this car ride - I was in the passenger seat but it felt more like being in the hot seat. I wasn't talking much because I knew the mistake I was making. She wasn't talking much as well, but I could sense the disappointment even in her breath. Perhaps it was because she thought she failed, even after all her attempts of leading me to a better path in love. But I knew it was because she saw herself in me. That at the end of the day, we are the kind of people who are more willing to be kind than right. That at the end of the day, we would rather forgive and offer our other cheek, than to walk away and turn around to throw rocks again, just for good measure.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a lawyer," I remember crying to her, in one of the many nights I despaired over my choice of career. "I'm too forgiving." And it's true. I don't, for the life of me, enjoy conflict. I'd much rather give way, than to assert. This is my default setting. This was my downfall as a law student. And as a person, I guess, in general. I'd so easily give in to the path of least resistance. I hated conflict; I hated it. I'm passive aggressive. I'll let Karma do the talking than Karla herself.

But it was my tita who told me that not all lawyers are meant for conflict. The good lawyers arbitrate; the good lawyers actually avoid conflict. A sensible lawyer will aim for conciliation and settlement, rather than resorting to court. And it's true. Harvey Specter said so. Atty. Katrina Legarda said so. It wasn't until my tita told me that that I actually considered it.

Up until she died, I couldn't imagine how she could've forgiven her former loves for their transgressions. She lost money, time, and a valuable part of her dignity, I suppose. Here she was, a woman who knew only how to give and to love, and didn't receive anything tantamount to what she deserved. But she kept loving in the end. Even when she told me, she couldn't care less about the other woman, the illegitimate child, that to hell with them - that she has learned to stop loving — I never believed it. She knew love, and love knew her. I don't think she stopped loving just because she started hurting.

When a former boyfriend of mine sent me his condolences, it was then that I realized for myself what my tita meant when she said we don't forgive because we still love them; we forgive because we start loving something else. And in her case, maybe it was herself. When she started giving herself the love no other man had given her, life opened up for her and gave her these opportunities. It was when she left her home for Singapore that she was given the opportunities to cap her career. And it was when I acknowledged the love that the universe was giving me, by way of my boyfriend, did I realize how much I was missing out on, by closing myself off on love just because of past scars. I replied to my ex and gave him my thanks. I appreciated the gesture. Our lives have been heading in different trajectories, but it took me a while to realize why it was so. It was only when I realized there was no more use hating him, when I could use that energy to love myself instead, that I understood what it meant to actually forgive. That doesn't equate to forgetting, but it's a start.

I remember when I first called up my aunt about my current boyfriend. I started telling her about this cute guy I just started seeing, and almost instantly, she recalled he was the guy I had a crush on in my first semester in UP. It's funny, how this aunt of mine, actually encouraged the flirtation, instead of dissuading me from it, after she picked up the pieces of my broken heart after my breakup. It's funny, how she was the first person to actually approve of this relationship, only because she knew that only love can heal a broken heart. She relished in my stories; she enjoyed reliving the kilig with me. It's funny, because usually adults will tell you, "Mag-aral ka na lang." But she told me, "Ang sarap mag-aral ng may minamahal."

What am I driving at? It's been an hour of typing this mindlessly, with no structure in mind, hoping to get to a solid, concrete point somehow. And I guess, after all this random recollections, what I really take away from my tita is this - love heals. Love gives. Love believes. It's so cliched, so hackneyed. But it's wisdom that only the broken can impart, and it's wisdom that only the broken will understand too. I was once disillusioned too; perhaps not as badly as she was (breaking up with your college boyfriend isn't quite the same as being left behind by a husband) but jaded just the same. And yet, it was her love for love that kept her going. She loved our family more than anything; she relished in our love and embraced all kinds of love we received from the people that made us happy. She enjoyed stories about my boyfriend, about her sister's boyfriend, about my mom and dad. She watched romantic comedies, she read love stories. She believed — in love and its power to save. Until the end. Even when out love couldn't save her. Her love, and our love for her overflowed, and she took it with her until the light at the end of the tunnel finally reached her fingers and took her to a better place.

I'd like to believe she now knows of a love everlasting. I don't know what that is. Maybe it's God, maybe it's the quiet in the afterlife, maybe both. And she deserved this love more than anyone. But this is where she left me — broken, but believing. Love heals when we let it heal us. And while it cannot take the physical pain away, it will make it worth bearing. I hope my love story turns out better than hers ever did. If there's anything I don't want to emulate about her (and I'm sure she wants this for me too), it's that I hope my taste in men is better than hers. I'd like to think I've chosen a partner worthy of withstanding the travails of time. But if I'm proven wrong, I can only hope and pray that any kind of devastation will never lead me too far from the light. I've seen how love saves. I'd like to think love not too selfish to save me one more time. Or many more times if it needs to.

(But dear God, please let this be the last.)

Quite fitting that on the first day of class, I am writing about my summer vacation. Although technically, since UP adjusted its academic calendar, "summer" now meant late July, and the kids nowadays call it "midyear break." But whatever. The sun was out and I was on a beach two weekends ago - sounds like summer to me!

True to last year's word, our high school barkada once again surprised ourselves by actually pushing through with a great escapade - and this time, by plane! I think it needs emphasizing that we are such losers when it comes to planning any get-togethers. For the longest time, we've failed miserably at the idea of "going out" and "getting away. Almost always we just ended up at someone else's house to hang out, watch movies, talk about people, and fall asleep. But thanks to the success of last year's spontaneous Borawan trip, we've gained enough momentum to finally push through with this one. After all, we've gone outside Metro Manila, finally - why not leave Luzon altogether?

And so, Boracay it was.

Yep, the cliched, uninspired, obvious choice for a summer getaway. But everybody flocks there for a reason. And when the opportunity to go there presents itself, you do not say no. And how can you? With its pristine white shores and deep teal waters, it would be a travesty to refuse.

Oh, Boracay. How do I even begin to explain Boracay?




Just like last year, we brought our plus-ones along. And again, like last year, it was nice to welcome new faces into the fold. There's a special kind of gladness that comes with hanging out with the girls I love, and the people who love them. And it's really great to see everyone getting along quite perfectly. It's comforting to know that the most important relationships in our lives - closest girl friends and significant others - are not mutually exclusive, and can, in fact, co-exist happily and hilariously.




Yep, just in case you are wondering, the Re once again made me a happy, giddy, completely satisfied customer. Not convinced? In lieu of a complete, detailed re-telling of our trip, let these pictures paint you the story of that awesome weekend:



We stayed at Agos Boracay Rooms + Beds, which was somewhere in the middle of Station 2. Look at how pleasant and presko-looking the place is! We rented out two family rooms for 6 people each, which was just enough for the 12 of us. The family rooms on the 4th floor have lofts, and were big enough to accommodate all of us. I was actually pleasantly surprised with the place! I wasn't expecting anything fancy, but the hotel looked cozy and homey. And very, very clean too. It's well worth mentioning their customer service - the staff were very accommodating and considerate of us (our flights were delayed upon arrival, and we left way beyond check-out time, but they were incredibly understanding.)















Since we were pressed for time (because of the flight delays the previous evening), we just opted for the activities that everyone really wanted to do. Almost everyone was a first-timer (I think only 4 of us had been there before), so we wanted the best slice of the typical Boracay turista pie in the shortest amount of time. It was actually quite easy to haggle since there were 12 of us! So we ended up parasailing, getting thrown off of the flyfish, and riding ATVs.









































Some other pictures that day are in my regular camera or in other people's phones, like the flyfish and ATV photos. (Will probably put them in later!)

The following morning, we went to Puka Beach, which was a P25 tricycle ride away from the main strip. And wow, I thought the main Boracay shoreline was beautiful, but I was definitely floored! It was the most exquisite beach I have ever seen. The water was so clear, the sand was so white, and everything just looked like it came straight out of a postcard.





















Since Puka Beach was a "virgin" or untouched beach, there wasn't a lot to be done on that side of the island. But they did have paddleboards and kayaks for rent. Of course, Louie and I gamely tried it (after much haggling by Joa and Louie)! We tried the clear kayak, which was for two people. It was so cool! I felt like we were in the Amazing Race; I kept pretending we were rushing to the next pitstop the entire time :)) The waters were soooo blue, I had goosebumps at seeing how clear and deep the sea was just right below us.

I actually took a video of our kayak ride. I placed the Re on my chest, tucked inside my vest! How handy! But when I checked the video, apparently I had some strands of hair covering the lens :))) I'll probably just crop that part out so that I can upload and share the video. The view was fantastic!
















The weekend may have been extremely short, but it turned out to be just the kind of last-minute summer escapade I needed right before school started. There really is nothing quite like a trip with my high school barkada. The jokes, the games, the harmless kulitans - it's all part of our histories that have not changed at all, and I am always grateful for that. When we're all back together, we're just our usual 16-year-old selves again, laughing at the littlest things and making fun of each other's quirks. It's the kind of familiarity that makes you feel that all is right in the world - for everything else that has changed, these guys are my constant.




It's doubly great that we now have our plus-ones into the fold. It's always such a riot! Now we can't imagine going out without bringing them along, because they've felt like an extension of our barkada already. And that goes even for the new faces. Just shows how well we all gel and hit off. The chemistry's just off the charts! :))




The "joke" now is, since last year we went to Borawan, and this year we went to Boracay, next year's stop should be Palawan. Everyone's psyched to go to Coron, and even though I just went last January, I'm already super excited to return! Crossing our fingers that that one pushes through! And I think it will, considering how much fun we had last year and this year. There's already momentum keeping the ball rolling and really pushing us to plan in advance for the next one. Here's to hoping all our schedules match and everything falls into their places by then.

Until then, Boracay, you'll be on our minds!

Labels: friends, summer

My mom and I attended a wedding last Sunday at one of the prettiest locations south of the Metro: Caleruega in Nasugbu, Batangas. It was the wedding of the daughter of one of mom's officemates, and turned out to be a very simple but touching affair. I know it was not my first time at the venue (I vaguely remember having visited it for a retreat way back in high school), but it certainly felt like so. It was like seeing the place with a new pair of glasses - one that allowed for the sight and appreciation of love, happiness, and all the other things couples promise each other.

I guess at 23, these are things you start thinking about. I'm going to be honest: when I feel stressed, frustrated, and anxious because of school (which is like 90% of the time), one of my guilty pleasures is looking at wedding videos. My blockmate Chrissa and I secretly love getting our fill of Jason Magbanua, Bob Nicolas, Mayad Studios, and all other Bride and Breakfast approved snippets when we're wide awake at 2:00 am finishing cases for class. It's funny, because we've never been the type to ever nag our boyfriends about it. We don't bring it up with them; we don't secretly affix our boyfriends' surnames after ours in the backs of our notebooks. (Although we've tried. Haha!)  It's not even something we can foresee ourselves doing in the near future. But, it's just fun. There's something uniquely satisfying about looking at pretty dresses, with nice color schemes, held in beautiful locations, featuring lovely, happy people. It's so pleasant. It's certainly not as daunting and terrifying as law school. It's kind of like an escape. We like what we see, we appreciate the aesthetic. We feel assured that there is still love and genuine joy to be found in some pockets of the world. And then we close our laptops shut and go back to reading about dissolutions of corporations (and marriages).




So yes, I was pretty excited about it. After three years in law school, you kind of look forward to practically anything that does not completely deplete the joy from out of you. You feel enthused about throwing out all can'ts and shouldn'ts out the window. Weddings are the enemies of the cynical. It's fun to be invited to an event that makes disbelievers unwelcome.

Anyway, I didn't take that many photos because I was too caught up in the flurry of everything (I had my jaw on the floor because of how quick all the wedding shenanigans were happening; I was on a pew a few steps away from the laptop and I swear I don't remember a word from the homily because I was busy being impressed at the same-day-edit guys), but the few ones I did get turned out to be pretty decent.

This is where my post turns into another satisfactory review of my HTC Re. I'm sorry, okay, but I'm still really impressed! Granted, I have zero-photography knowledge and a skill of absolutely nil when it comes to cameras, so you shouldn't probably take this as gospel truth. But I speak no lies: Once again, I was convinced. The Re is indeed the "action camera" for the everyman (aka noob) like me.

The ceremony was held at the Transfiguration Chapel on top of the hill. What a sight.

That's a panorama of the Harbour Bay sunset, a view of the Hong Kong Island skyline from Kowloon. A lovely picturesque sight, for this city-loving (and thriving) girl. It's easily one of my favorite photos from the hundreds I took on this trip.

“The pleasure we derive from journeys is perhaps dependent more on the mindset with which we travel than on the destination we travel to.” 

I was helping out my grandma sort through my tita's boxes of shoes last night, and I couldn't help thinking, "Man, I'd love to tell her about this later," only to be reminded that the very reason we're sifting through them was because she's no longer around, and as heir apparent (Size 7 is the magic number), I'm the one who has the say on what stays and what should go.

The last time I was here in Batangas, she was still alive. I was reviewing for my Corpo midterms, and she was lying on the bed in the room beside the dining table, where I was making my notes. She was no longer talking that much at that point, which was unusual given her talkative nature (it's in our genes), but her quiet presence comforted me. She didn't need to say anything for me to know she was there, silently cheering me on, even though it should be the other way around. She was in pain, and yet she was the one giving me moral support.

It has always been that way between Tita Gina and I. There's this line in the Beatitudes, "Blessed are those who comfort, for they shall be comforted." She's the first person that comes to mind when I remember this passage. When I went through a break-up in 2012, she would call me every single night on Skype, and we would leave our screens on even as we go to sleep, just so she can make sure that I sleep soundly, notwithstanding the buckets of tears I cried on my pillow. We would spend hours dissecting what went wrong in the relationship; we would go round in circles looking into my ex's faults and my faults, and come to the same conclusion every night, but still, she insisted that we look at each other on the screen every night, tell each other "I love you," and sleep with the presence of the other one comforting us, even though miles actually separated us.

Not once during those times did I ask her about her own pains, her own struggles in her own personal life. But this isn't to say that I didn't know of these heartaches. I knew, I knew, I always knew, and yet it was like a silent pact between us that as far as pains are concerned, mine came first. And whatever comforting words she would end up saying to me, are words she knew she needed to hear for herself as well. "He made a mistake," she would say. "You deserve better. You are worth more than all these tears you are crying." In hindsight, I knew she was telling these to herself too. And maybe hearing them out loud, from her, comforted her in ways I never could have imagined giving myself.

This is the beauty of our relationship. My tita and I, we never needed pretensions, and we never needed prologues. We knew the weave of the stories even before we told them. And this is what I miss the most about her, more than anything. More than the shopping trips, more than the make-up talk, more than the many inside jokes — it was the stories we shared, of love and of UP (sometimes they were the same thing), and the many parts of us they've left behind, and they've left healing.

She didn't succeed in love, that's the white elephant in the room every time people talk of her success. She had a great career, no doubt, when she became project manager of Universal Studios Singapore. Her final project was the Facebook headquarters in Singapore. She had nothing else to prove. But her family at 5 remained to be her family at 55: her mom, dad, sisters. (And me, eventually.) She didn't have kids of her own, she wasn't lucky to end up with a happy ending after marriage left her in shambles. And perhaps, this is the great cautionary tale she has always wanted me to learn from. In the many times we've lay down beside each other in bed and talked about the mysteries of life (and love), she would always tell me to be careful with matters that pertained to my heart. She would tell me of boys she loved, of boys who loved her, of boys who didn't know better, of boys who didn't deserve in the first place. But I could tell, despite her attempt to tinge each of these tales with regret, I knew she loved them the only way she knew how - honestly and fully and with no regrets.

When an ex and I attempted a reconciliation, she was the third person (next to my parents) who vehemently opposed it. I remember this car ride - I was in the passenger seat but it felt more like being in the hot seat. I wasn't talking much because I knew the mistake I was making. She wasn't talking much as well, but I could sense the disappointment even in her breath. Perhaps it was because she thought she failed, even after all her attempts of leading me to a better path in love. But I knew it was because she saw herself in me. That at the end of the day, we are the kind of people who are more willing to be kind than right. That at the end of the day, we would rather forgive and offer our other cheek, than to walk away and turn around to throw rocks again, just for good measure.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be a lawyer," I remember crying to her, in one of the many nights I despaired over my choice of career. "I'm too forgiving." And it's true. I don't, for the life of me, enjoy conflict. I'd much rather give way, than to assert. This is my default setting. This was my downfall as a law student. And as a person, I guess, in general. I'd so easily give in to the path of least resistance. I hated conflict; I hated it. I'm passive aggressive. I'll let Karma do the talking than Karla herself.

But it was my tita who told me that not all lawyers are meant for conflict. The good lawyers arbitrate; the good lawyers actually avoid conflict. A sensible lawyer will aim for conciliation and settlement, rather than resorting to court. And it's true. Harvey Specter said so. Atty. Katrina Legarda said so. It wasn't until my tita told me that that I actually considered it.

Up until she died, I couldn't imagine how she could've forgiven her former loves for their transgressions. She lost money, time, and a valuable part of her dignity, I suppose. Here she was, a woman who knew only how to give and to love, and didn't receive anything tantamount to what she deserved. But she kept loving in the end. Even when she told me, she couldn't care less about the other woman, the illegitimate child, that to hell with them - that she has learned to stop loving — I never believed it. She knew love, and love knew her. I don't think she stopped loving just because she started hurting.

When a former boyfriend of mine sent me his condolences, it was then that I realized for myself what my tita meant when she said we don't forgive because we still love them; we forgive because we start loving something else. And in her case, maybe it was herself. When she started giving herself the love no other man had given her, life opened up for her and gave her these opportunities. It was when she left her home for Singapore that she was given the opportunities to cap her career. And it was when I acknowledged the love that the universe was giving me, by way of my boyfriend, did I realize how much I was missing out on, by closing myself off on love just because of past scars. I replied to my ex and gave him my thanks. I appreciated the gesture. Our lives have been heading in different trajectories, but it took me a while to realize why it was so. It was only when I realized there was no more use hating him, when I could use that energy to love myself instead, that I understood what it meant to actually forgive. That doesn't equate to forgetting, but it's a start.

I remember when I first called up my aunt about my current boyfriend. I started telling her about this cute guy I just started seeing, and almost instantly, she recalled he was the guy I had a crush on in my first semester in UP. It's funny, how this aunt of mine, actually encouraged the flirtation, instead of dissuading me from it, after she picked up the pieces of my broken heart after my breakup. It's funny, how she was the first person to actually approve of this relationship, only because she knew that only love can heal a broken heart. She relished in my stories; she enjoyed reliving the kilig with me. It's funny, because usually adults will tell you, "Mag-aral ka na lang." But she told me, "Ang sarap mag-aral ng may minamahal."

What am I driving at? It's been an hour of typing this mindlessly, with no structure in mind, hoping to get to a solid, concrete point somehow. And I guess, after all this random recollections, what I really take away from my tita is this - love heals. Love gives. Love believes. It's so cliched, so hackneyed. But it's wisdom that only the broken can impart, and it's wisdom that only the broken will understand too. I was once disillusioned too; perhaps not as badly as she was (breaking up with your college boyfriend isn't quite the same as being left behind by a husband) but jaded just the same. And yet, it was her love for love that kept her going. She loved our family more than anything; she relished in our love and embraced all kinds of love we received from the people that made us happy. She enjoyed stories about my boyfriend, about her sister's boyfriend, about my mom and dad. She watched romantic comedies, she read love stories. She believed — in love and its power to save. Until the end. Even when out love couldn't save her. Her love, and our love for her overflowed, and she took it with her until the light at the end of the tunnel finally reached her fingers and took her to a better place.

I'd like to believe she now knows of a love everlasting. I don't know what that is. Maybe it's God, maybe it's the quiet in the afterlife, maybe both. And she deserved this love more than anyone. But this is where she left me — broken, but believing. Love heals when we let it heal us. And while it cannot take the physical pain away, it will make it worth bearing. I hope my love story turns out better than hers ever did. If there's anything I don't want to emulate about her (and I'm sure she wants this for me too), it's that I hope my taste in men is better than hers. I'd like to think I've chosen a partner worthy of withstanding the travails of time. But if I'm proven wrong, I can only hope and pray that any kind of devastation will never lead me too far from the light. I've seen how love saves. I'd like to think love not too selfish to save me one more time. Or many more times if it needs to.

(But dear God, please let this be the last.)

Hello, I'm Karla Bernardo. If you Google my name, you will find the Wikipedia entry of a Canadian serial-killer (and trust me, you do not want to read about that - but I'm sure you will because now you're curious), which is why I suggest you type Bombastarr instead so you can stalk me better.

I spent eight-and-a-half years of my life in the University of the Philippines, where I graduated with degrees in Creative Writing and Juris Doctor. It is also where I learned how to speak a bit of Italian, got a taste of the best tapsilog, and took striptease for PE.

I love telling stories, as much as I enjoy finding them.

<center><font style="color: #ffffff;">____</font>Want <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/09096636074047764491">more</a>?</center><br>

Featured Works

Stargirl (Cover story for Nadine Lustre, Scout, January-February 2017)
Surreal / So Real (at Scout)
Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self (Love.Life, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Postcard from Diliman (Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer)

Writer for Philippine Law Register
A Call to Arms (January 2017)
Expecting the Expected (March 2016)

Former Writer for Stache Magazine
The Hero's Journey (June 2013)
The 8 People You Become In Your Youth (June 2013)
The Best Bad Idea That Is Argo (April 2013)
Mike Ross Remembers Everything You Don't (August 2012)
Style Between the Riffs (August 2012)
Book Lovers Never Sleep Alone (June 2012)
A Spectrum of Change (December 2011)
Digital Art (October 2011)
Elements of Style (June 2011)
In Her White Dress (All-Art April 2011 issue)

Morning After Pill (Fervore: Literary Folio 2013, UP Portia Sorority)
How To Make a Blueberry Cheesecake (Kalas: Kalasag Literary Folio 2011, UP College of Arts and Letters)
January 14th (100: The Hundreds Project, UP Writer's Club)

An Ode to The Pillow Book (at New-Slang)
Introductions (at TeenInk)
One by One (at TeenInk)

   

Recently

27(.5)
Endgame
Standout Songs: "Overkill" on Scrubs
You'll be out of the dark, yeah you'll get your shot
Music of the Night
Marrakesh Treaty: More access to books for the vis...
How we weep and laugh at the same thing
Something
Conflict resolution
Book frustrations

This Is How It Doesn't Start

this is how it doesn't start, in eleven parts

Labels

An attempt at poetry; Books; Bullets; Creative nonfiction; CW; Featured; Feeble attempts at poetry; Fiction; Finger exercises; Law school; Mixtape; Playwriting; Poetry; Senioritis; Shuffle Wednesdays; Summer; The Pillow Book; Thesis; UP

Archives

February 2005; March 2005; April 2005; May 2005; June 2005; July 2005; August 2005; September 2005; October 2005; November 2005; December 2005; January 2006; February 2006; March 2006; April 2006; May 2006; June 2006; July 2006; August 2006; September 2006; October 2006; November 2006; December 2006; January 2007; March 2007; April 2007; May 2007; June 2007; July 2007; August 2007; October 2007; November 2007; December 2007; January 2008; February 2008; March 2008; April 2008; May 2008; June 2008; July 2008; August 2008; September 2008; October 2008; November 2008; December 2008; January 2009; February 2009; March 2009; April 2009; May 2009; June 2009; July 2009; August 2009; September 2009; October 2009; November 2009; December 2009; January 2010; February 2010; March 2010; April 2010; May 2010; June 2010; July 2010; August 2010; September 2010; October 2010; November 2010; December 2010; January 2011; February 2011; March 2011; April 2011; May 2011; June 2011; July 2011; August 2011; September 2011; October 2011; November 2011; December 2011; January 2012; February 2012; March 2012; April 2012; May 2012; June 2012; July 2012; August 2012; September 2012; October 2012; November 2012; December 2012; January 2013; February 2013; March 2013; April 2013; May 2013; June 2013; July 2013; August 2013; September 2013; October 2013; November 2013; December 2013; January 2014; February 2014; March 2014; April 2014; May 2014; June 2014; July 2014; August 2014; September 2014; October 2014; November 2014; December 2014; January 2015; February 2015; March 2015; April 2015; May 2015; June 2015; July 2015; August 2015; September 2015; October 2015; November 2015; December 2015; January 2016; February 2016; March 2016; April 2016; May 2016; June 2016; July 2016; August 2016; September 2016; October 2016; November 2016; December 2016; January 2017; March 2017; April 2017; May 2017; June 2017; July 2017; August 2017; September 2017; November 2017; December 2017; March 2018; April 2018; May 2018; June 2018; September 2018; October 2018; November 2018; December 2018; January 2019; February 2019; March 2019; April 2019;

Got a comment, question, violent reaction, love letter, or random piece of information you want to share with me? Just fire away. I don't bite.

(I changed my form and went back to Freedback because Ask.fm's being a bitch, requiring people to sign up for accounts before asking questions. Because I love you guys, I tweaked my ask box a bit, so that the questions will now go directly to my e-mail, but I'll be posting the answers still on my Ask.fm for convenience. TL;DR - I'll still be getting your questions so no worries. You're still free to harass me / send me your love.)

Answers

Most Frequently Asked Question

Are you a pornstar?
No, I am not a pornstar, stripper, or your friendly neighborhood call girl. It's just a fancy pseudonym with a long history, and two R's. Rawr.

Bombastarr is my personal blog and my little corner in the Internet since 2005. Yes, I started writing here when I was 13 years old (aka when I was very angsty, hormonal, and always gushing at the littlest things) -- ergo, you'd have to forgive me if you come across an old post that reeks of immaturity and slightly unpolished grammar. I did a lot of growing up here, and from the looks of it, there's still a lot of growing up to do, so I don't think I'll be leaving this place any time soon.

The domain, Bombastarr.com, was purchased on June 2014 and launched on July 2014, on the blog's ninth year (and fifth month, to be exact).

It's crazy to think that this blog is now thirteen years old, because (1) that seems like an eternity in internet years, and (2) that means if my blog were a kid, it's a teenager! That's insane.

Here's to more tales, explosive and otherwise.

If you've been living under a rock and think I'm a threat to world peace or an object of covetousness, sorry to disappoint you, folks: it's just a fancy pseudonym.

As in most things, it started in high school. It began as a joke between me and a couple of friends during our freshman year. We were practicing for a field demonstration dance which involved the use of shawls, and being the crazy-always-trying-to-be-funny person that I was (or I always attempted to be) I started doing poses with the garment. Someone started taking my picture using my phone, and one shot looked like I was posing for those B-list movies (or should it be R-list, as in R-rated?) of the vegetable-nomenclature variety. #IKYWIM. Hence, the word, "Bombastarr." Yes, very cheeky, I know, but for a 13-year-old, it was quirky enough to figure as a username. That was 2005, right around the time I trying to decide on a URL for a new blog. It's been a lot of years since, and what started as a joke became something I've eventually embraced as an identity.

Despite the many other chances I've gotten to permanently move (to Multiply, Livejournal, Tumblr, Wordpress; to a bigger platform where I can earn or use the blog as a venue for commerce), I've come to realize that Bombastarr is something I can never truly leave behind. It is a place I've grown to appreciate and love because it is a place I can call my own. It's a venue for my rants, my views, my writing. It is home, and it is who I am.

Bombastarr is a glimpse of my life: the thoughts, ideas, and stories that shape it into what it is, and what it will still become. This journal has been with me for all my crazy, often embarrassing adventures, but I'm sure there will be more anecdotes and feelings and people to write about. Which is something I'm really looking forward to. After all, you know what they say about the greatest stories - sometimes, there's still a lot that's left unwritten.

This blog is hosted by PhilHosting.net, and powered by Blogger. The layout is coded entirely by me.

Photo hosting: TinyPic, Photobucket
Question box: EmailMeForm, Ask.fm

Copyright © BOMBASTARR