Labels: UP

I bought five bluebooks today as an early attempt to prepare myself for battle. I kind of get paranoid when it comes to things like this because, being the forgetful person that I am, I'm afraid that I might enter the room with no ballpen, no eyeglasses, or no bluebook. It's a recurring nightmare, trust me. (Second only to failing a class - but still.) So I bought five, even though I think I will only be needing three, just so I can be sure that that scenario stays in my head and never plays out in real life.


It's funny how we are made to feel like law school is such a different world, detached from the rest of the university. Even our bluebooks are special. (If you notice, they are much thicker than the regular bluebooks, and cost P10 each, as opposed to P2.50.) On most days, it's comforting, because everything inside Malcolm becomes familiar: when you see the same faces and walk the same halls, things start feeling like home. Everyone knows almost everyone - by face, by name, by affiliation. There's somehow an unspoken acknowledgement that you know each other - it's like you are all in this exclusive little world speaking a language no one understands.

But on some days, it can also feel alienating and suffocating for the exact same reason. Because our blocks don't get shuffled, we see the same faces all day, everyday. We rarely have time to go out of the building, so it's just the same food, the same library, the same environment. You can feel easily smothered just because you hardly feel like there is a life outside the marbled walls of Malcolm Hall.

A lot of days, I can't tell if I feel welcomed or stifled.

Today, however, we held our last Oblicon class - an integration/review class with another block - inside the Ambion Room, where I took my LAE more than a year ago. I remember thinking to myself that day that even if I never get to call this building my home, at least for just one Sunday, I was able to experience what it was like to take a seat on these wooden chairs and marvel at the wonderful sight of the Sunken Garden by the window.

This afternoon, while listening to our prof review the ways of extinguishing an obligation, I looked out those same windows. I miss being out there, I really do. But today, I'm glad to be inside this bubble. I just hope it's glad to have me too.


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Finals are next week, so I'm spending my entire Holy Week here at my condo unit, alone and buried in cases. This is actually the first time ever that I won't be spending this week over at my grandparents' house in Batangas because (1) they are in Singapore visiting my mom's sister, and (2) I have exams. Both my parents will also be going on their yearly pilgrimage, so I really have no one else to keep me company this week other than my books - and my fear of failing. Ha. Ha. Hahaha.

Labels: law school, UP

My Saturdays are almost always spent in the Malcolm Hall library, holed up in my little corner at the third floor, away from most of the world with only my readings and notebooks as company. Sometimes, I anticipate the occasional snack or dinner invitation to get me motivated for the rest of the afternoon, but on most days, I start and end it alone. Yet there is something about Saturdays in UP that doesn't make it lonely or sad - just lovely in its quietness.


This is my favorite spot in the entire campus. It also has, for me, the most beautiful, breathtaking view. The way the lush green trees arch above the Oval, framing it perfectly, is just stunning. As an undergrad, when I used to get to this spot - to this exact point right across Law, with the view of Engineering a little up ahead - and I see this before me, I felt this overwhelming wave of both terror and thrill. It's because of many things, yes - the people, the places, the physics, the prose, the provisions, the possibilities. This exact location held so much promise and meaning, I could not remember a time in the last four years that I did not stop for a few seconds to marvel at this sight, and the many feelings it gave me.

And even now, as a law student, I still feel that every time I pass by this spot. This view still gets to me. It grabs me. It takes me by the hand and stops me. How can it not? I see this and somehow I forget being sad, or defeated, or tired. Just... glad. Glad that I'm here, glad that this is mine. Everyday, and especially on Saturdays, I have this to keep me company. I have this to reassure me that things will be alright. I have this to call home.


I can only hope many others still get to call it theirs too.



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(My deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the UP Manila freshman who committed suicide last Friday. UP loves you; it was unfortunate that the system made you feel like it didn't.)

Labels: UP

i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren't exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at our still unlit cellphone screens; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.


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Labels: An attempt at poetry, finger exercises

He started finishing Madeleine’s sentences. As if her mind was too slow. As if he couldn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He riffed on the things she said, going off on strange tangents, making puns. Whenever she told him he needed to get some sleep, he got angry and didn’t call her for days. And it was during this period that Madeleine fully understood how the lover’s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn’t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme because it was in your head, that most solitary of places.

The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away. She told herself to act cool. She went to the library to work on her marriage-plot thesis, but the sex-fantasy atmosphere—the reading-room eye contact, the beckoning stacks—made her desperate to see Leonard. And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? She was almost happy as she came up behind the lab table and tapped Leonard on the shoulder, and her happiness lasted until he turned around with a look not of love but of annoyance.

An excerpt from The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.

Sigh. Just when I thought I could not love this book even more. Oh, fiction.



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Labels: books

you take your skirt off because it somehow felt heavy. the mint was a lovely backdrop to the pink belt, but only your mirror paid you a compliment, and it wasn't even convincing. they didn't understand what they were looking at when they see the gray bruise on your inner arm, the one that said blood had been taken away; a part of you had been taken away. your phone rings and you somehow know where this is going. your shirt is immaculate in white lace, but somehow it feels dirty, unclean, like a sorry that has been said but not meant, like an okay that hovers in the mouth but only faintly honest.


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Labels: finger exercises

I was rushed to the hospital by my friends last night after a really, really bad case of abdominal pain. My monthly case of cramps is actually pretty regular, almost like an unwelcome visitor I've grown accustomed to. But for some reason, last night, it reached new heights, leaving me with no choice but to call for help.

After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:

There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."

I still can't believe it.

Right now, I don't think I have the words to recall everything in detail because I am still in a state of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming excitement. All I can say though, is that this goes down as probably the most awesome night of my life. I was in tears for almost every song, because they were just fucking perfect.

It was beautiful and amazing. I have so much love for you, Stars. Thank you so much - for the nights you kept me company, for the nights to come, for this night. You are wonderful.


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Labels: stars

The first time, through a very good friend's blog. She wrote a story about You Ex-Lover Is Dead, at a time when I was finally coming to terms with the conclusion of an era. It was already several months into the new culture, but it had to take a good listen to this song before I said goodbye with finality. I knew, the moment I first heard it, that it would be the anthem that will get me through anything. Anything. Live through this, and you won't look back.

The second time, in Geog camp. A female classmate of mine, in between jokes and sips of what she thought was Sprite (but was actually vodka), shared One More Night with me, when she found out I was the only one in the room who has heard of the band. I nonchalantly said yes when she asked me if I wanted her to send the song to me that night, not knowing that it would be the soundtrack of many more nights after that. One more night, that was a good one.

The third time, in my first dorm room. I was alone, it was a humid Tuesday afternoon, and my internet had surprisingly not expired yet. So, I downloaded Heart (the album), and two hours later, I found myself incredibly overwhelmed by Heart (the song). Time can take its toll on the best of us; look at you, you're growing old so young.

The fourth time, after being introduced to a group of guy friends at a computer shop in a nearby condo. It was the fifth day of the year, I remember - in fact, I remember a lot of other things: from the high school PE shirt I wore to the flush on the cheeks with which I said good night, and to Look Up, playing on loop in my iPod, before I went to sleep. Your girl, she's a renegade; a hurricane that keeps you there, safe.

The fifth time, one rainy night in July. My Favourite Book. Shattered, but not lonely.


"...and everyday, it's changed since then." *

You've truly changed my life, in many ways. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Stars.


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* taken from "The First Five Times," from their album, Set Yourself On Fire.

Today, in Karla vs. Oblicon (aka while reviewing for tomorrow's class), I got a little distracted when I remembered that the new Robin Sparkles episode of How I Met Your Mother just aired last night in the US. With a highlighter shade like this (thank you, Sharpie. You have forever turned me away from the shocking neon yellow of Stabilo. Oh, how wonderful you are, #FFCC00!) - who can resist drawing that umbrella?

Not this girl, who is certainly experiencing a rather extreme case of HIMYM dependency as of late. To say that I love this show is an understatement. In the last eight years, I have seen these characters grow up, fall down, and be torn apart - but they have never failed to make me believe that despite all that, nothing is too big or too trivial to become a good story - and consequently, a good life lesson.

I get tired when I hear people complain about the Mother and how long it's taking the writers to bring us there because it saddens me that to them, the only purpose of the show is Ted meeting the Mother. Whereas, if we take away that narrative, this is essentially just a story about a group of young individuals living in New York and enjoying the company of each other as they grow old and grow up. I think people focus too much on the end, rather than enjoying the ride that's taking us there. Sure, the title says How I Met Your Mother, and sure, it's rather unrealistic for a dad to be telling a story that long, with that much detail (even about his romantic and sexual conquests) - but at the end of the day, it's just a framing device to set it apart from every other show out there. The truth is, it's not about the Mother, no matter how central her role may be. It was never just about the Mother. It is about Ted, and Lily, and Marshall, and Robin, and Barney. It's about these people, and the fact that so-called fans don't care about their stories anymore and just want to rush to the ending - well, it kind of misses the whole point of being a fan of a show, doesn't it?

I'm going to be first to admit that the show is no longer what it used to be, and that in the latter seasons, some episodes could have been written better, and some character arcs could have been executed more flawlessly. The latter seasons are not as funny or crisp as the first ones - in fact, I think nowadays it's less a sitcom and more a romantic comedy. But this is not to say that the show is no longer worth watching at all. In fact, I think it is precisely this turn to the rom-com genre that makes it all the more rewarding.

The fact that the show never just strives for laughs, but also for the tears, is quite commendable - and comforting. Because while it's true that we watch sitcoms to make us temporarily forget about our own sad, complicated lives, it's nice to also see a hint of reality in them, if only to make us feel less alone. HIMYM has never been afraid to deal with heartbreak, financial debt, abandonment, accidents, infertility, and even death - things that we don't usually expect in comedies, but things that we always experience in real life. The stories they tell, no matter how crazy or stupid or outrageous, are still essentially realistic. Over the years, the has truly become like a friend, whose exploits you still want to hear about, no matter how silly or irrelevant it may be to your life, just because it's a good story and you're a good friend.

Maybe this is what I like best about this show: the fact that every episode is just a part of a greater narrative, a bigger story. No matter how trivial or important an event may be, it's all just an element to the much grander picture. It's exciting, in the sense that, it gives me something to look forward to - that perhaps, the universe is still in the middle of constructing my ending, so even my inconsequential days may lead me to something huge. But, at the same time, it's comforting, knowing that every single day doesn't always have to be grand. It can be quiet, and simple, and trivial, and yet it will still make for a good story, regardless of whether or not I tell it in pieces or in whole.

And isn't that what everyone wants one day? That we get to tell these little episodes, these stories of us, and be able to laugh about it?


(Okay, my download just finished. Squeeee I can't wait!)


[EDIT]

OMG, ROBIN DAGGERS. OMG!!! I love this show!

<b>My Favourite Book</b>&nbsp;- Stars <i>And to this day, when everything breaks</i> <i>You are the anchor that holds me</i> <i> </i> <i>And that is why we'll always make it</i> <i> </i> <i>How I know your face,all the ways you move</i> <i>You come in, I can read you</i> <i>You're my favourite book</i> __ Because this is my favorite Stars song, and well, just because.

Sometimes I find myself randomly surprised at the many things our bodies and minds can do under pressure, or strong will.

For instance, memorizing more or less a hundred and fifty provisions for a single test that requires specificity and particularity - an ironically difficult task for someone like me who appreciates the stories in the details, but who has the memory of a slightly-more-retentive goldfish - and writing them over and over again, until your hands no longer seeem to move within your control;

holing up in the library for an entire Saturday, just going through cases and reciting provisions alternately, endlessly, without the privilege (and peril) of a high-speed internet connection or other such good enough distraction (i.e. an actual person);

running, without pause, twice around the Oval, even when your legs hurt and your mind is tired, because you realize now that there is a certain kind of comfort, a physical kind of relief that washes over you and makes your cheeks flush, after catching your breath and realizing you have done what no one expects of you;

waking up earlier than usual to read more: to catch up on things forgotten, or to get a step ahead;

starting to like the place that has, since the beginning, only pushed you away, and seeing the beauty in the little things that make it whole: the wooden tables, the marbled tiles, the view of the Sunken Garden, the chatter of people both eager and afraid to get through the day;

looking away when the sound of a private message pops up from the laptop beside yours;

growing deaf to the sound of feelings you're afraid to admit you're slowly turning indifferent to;

choosing to see past mistakes and imperfections; or understanding what it means to mess up and realize what one wants;

forgiving;

welcoming the quiet and the chaos inside your heart that can only be traced to one;

putting yourself back together again, with the pieces that feel right, and the questions that know the answers even without being asked.


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Labels: bullets, finger exercises

...stay alive.



Asdkfhalsdkfjhaklsdjfhs ♥


[EDIT]

Stars is absolutely, without a doubt, my most favorite band in the world, and it's been days since I bought the ticket, but, man, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm going to see them live. I have so much love for this band. Every time I see the tickets on my bedside drawer I go "Ahhhhh!" inside my head. I AM SO EXCITED.

Because we're smack in the middle of midterms week and I have nothing else to talk about anyway other than school, here instead is a picture of the steak I ate - nay, devoured - after our gruesome Constitutional Law II exam. Ain't it beautiful?

The peril of implied actions in obligations is that you can never be too sure.

Labels: bullets

Last Tuesday, my friends and I went to the Supreme Court to listen to the oral arguments regarding the Anti-Cybercrime Law. It wasn't supposed to push through because we weren't able to get passes to secure us seats inside the session hall, but we ended up going anyway because we've never been to the SC before. The huge LCD screen in the lobby showing the real-time developments were good enough for us. We were in the halls of justice! And, for once, we actually understood what they were talking about - right to unreasonable searches and seizures, right to privacy, levels of scrutiny, etc. - proof that we are indeed learning somehow. (Thanks, Consti!)

I won't deny that it woke up something in me, something I thought had long been missing, something that needed to be reawakened.It's difficult, and it's not something I will love as much as creative writing, but damn it, I want to be a lawyer. 

The thing about looking at things one day at a time is that while it may seem too flighty and noncommittal, when you wake up suddenly to a beautiful feeling - a beautiful, tangled up knot inside your chest that can't wait to burst out - even though it's six and your class isn't until ten, even though you'd still rather sleep because you still have cramps, it makes your morning. And your morning makes your day. And one day can mean everything.



--

Labels: bullets

Latch - Disclosure ft. Sam Smith


School starts again tomorrow, and I'm supposed to be welcoming it with dread (since midterms are coming, and well, it's law school - when is it not dreadful?). But instead, I'm starting the year with this good-vibes song. Doesn't it make you want to just grab someone and dance?

2013, make me dance.



Got you shackled in my embrace 
I won't let go of you

like I used to. I had the urge to grab an old notebook and write on the last page - a lyric, or a refrain - like I always do. I wrote the line to a song, a soundtrack to a rainy January afternoon of some years ago. But then the words veered away from the chorus, and suddenly they were singing on their own, without much effort or consternation. I couldn't stop it; I was no longer scribbling the lyrics to a song, I was writing my own prose of the same kind of wanting and searching and finding - as if merely re-writing someone's sentiments wasn't enough, as if it was a betrayal to my own feelings not having my say. It's been a while since I last wrote like I didn't have to chew the phrases, only feel them. And before I even lifted the pen from the paper, I knew. If they ask me why, I will tell them this. They will never understand, they won't have to. I am writing again. Finally, I hear the words singing from the page, we can form the sentences they've never allowed yourself to say.

I will write about you, one day, when enough time has passed, when I have detached myself enough from the wake of your tumult - because if I try to force it now, it will only end up with words desperately trying to make sense of feelings that are yet to settle. You have been happy and sad in many ways, in varying degrees, some moments heftier than others, but mostly just really difficult. And while there are many things to be thankful for (like all the fantastic, beautiful friends I've met, gained, and found again), I cannot lie through my teeth and tell everyone that you have been a welcome change to my life. Because the truth of the matter is, I'm not yet there - I don't think I'm at that point where I can be completely objective about you and say, without hesitation, that you have actually been wonderful in your entirety, a blessing in disguise. Maybe six months, a year, ten years from now, you will be. But right now, I don't believe that yet. Not even on the brink of the first day of the new year, I don't.

Hello from the pristine white-sand shores of Boracay!

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - Coldplay


Everyone has crosses to bear, fights to battle out, and secrets to carry; but for one day every year, we are called to forget, to suspend, to put on hold - and sometimes, the calm, albeit temporary, may surprise us, bringing more good rather than harm, more permanence rather than delusion. And perhaps, even for just a day, that's good enough.

Have a happy Christmas, friends! Spread the love, the joy, and the holiday cheer. :)
♥

It's the night before the night before Christmas, and you are trying desperately to remember the last time your bedside table was this clumsy, this full of books still unread.

But nostalgia isn't a direct flight, and it isn't even a taxi ride. Before it gets you to where you want to go it stops at different locations: bizarre ones, heavily-populated ones, ones you used to go to, ones you never thought you'd buckle yourself into again. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes it surprises you how quickly you're brought back to a place, a person, a point. Once you're there, you're confused and ecstatic and all kinds of lost, because you know this isn't where you're going but it feels almost sublime - not quite, but almost, and God knows how enough that almost feels like. You stay, you linger, you latch on to it, until you realize it's been a while and you're not supposed to be there on those steps (or at least not anymore). You start walking, in an effort to get to your stop - or maybe just back to your point of origin, you're not sure, you're kind of disconcerted now, the landing was kind of bumpy and you forgot to take your aspirin - but do your feet bring you there? Do your hands?

You look at you bedside table, and you are only halfway through you stack of unfinished books. Then you see No One Belongs Here More Than You, bottom of the pile on the other shelf, yellow cover still pristine - and of course you reach out for it, of course you do, but not before mouthing the words to the first few lines like the chorus to a favorite song.


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Labels: finger exercises

Robin: What do you want me to do, Ted? Run up to that roof, knock the ring out of Barney's hand and say, "Sorry to interrupt, but you should be with me,"?

Ted: Is that what you want?

-- How I Met Your Mother 8.12 (The Final Page, Part 2)

"Yes, it's a mistake. I know it's a mistake, but there are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it's a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say 'Yep, that was a mistake.' So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake, because then you'd go your whole life not knowing if something is a mistake or not. And dammit, I've made no mistakes! I've done all of this; my life, my relationship, my career -- mistake-free."

-- Lily; How I Met Your Mother 1.21 (Milk)

I had a way then losing it all on my own
I had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown
And I'm not sleeping now the dark is too hard to beat
And I'm not keeping up the strength I need to push me

You show the lights that stop me turn to stone
You shine it when I'm alone
And so I tell myself that I'll be strong
And dreaming when they're gone

'Cause they're calling, calling, calling me home

A Song for You - Michael Buble

But we're alone now
and I'm singing this song for you

1.
I found this outside my window the other day. It would have been nice to share the view, to have another set of eyes seeing the spectacle of a pink sunset, but what was there to say? Any word would have trivialized the instant into a mere Wow, which is never sufficient; when was it ever?

2.
I was in the company of books, nine books to be specific, but books that I actually liked. It was a big haul and just having it stacked on my table by the window was comforting enough, even though they have yet to be read. There is a quiet kind of affirmation one feels when surrounded by possibilities - the possibilities of new books, new stories, new people. Possibilities of cozying up in a corner with just one train of thought, possibilities of conversations about a line that jumped at him because it made a wrestling reference, which you never realized yourself.

3.
It was like getting drunk in the beauty of being alone, of finally seeing a picture of what it's like to have only yourself, of realizing that you are beautiful and exquisite despite people getting tired of you or not believing in you, of looking at a pink sunset and finding yourself in it.

4.
I found this outside my window the other day, and it's like the sun telling me: it's going to be okay, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

I think my feelings for law school can be summed up in this one line from People vs. Genosa, which is ironically, from a subject that is not exactly on my list of favorites right now (thanks to a former prof who hates my guts-- but that's for another post altogether):

More graphically, the battered woman syndrome is characterized by the so-called “cycle of violence,” which has three phases: (1) the tension-building phase; (2) the acute battering incident; and (3) the tranquil, loving (or, at least, nonviolent) phase.

Oh god, I am in an abusive relationship with law school. And yes, despite this kind of treatment, I am deluding myself into staying, because jesuschrist I just want to be loved back.


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Labels: law school

I'm sure those numbers won't stay that way for long, but one thing I learned in law school is that even the little victories matter. A good recit is a good recit. Oh, small joys. Woohoo.

:)


ETA:

Geraldez vs Kenstar Travel. aka EuroTrip from Hell. Lesson learned: always double check your travel agencies. It was so funny that it was actually kind of sad. I will forever owe my decent recit in Oblicon to their ridiculous defense.

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Labels: law school

The four of them wanted to see light. Atop the observatory, they were looking up at the stars, half-asleep and half-drunk, but fully expectant of every bit of dust and light that might shoot its way across the sky. They were lying down on the floor and talking, the kind of talk that was aware of how this wasn't the kind of talk they normally do, the kind of talk that was meant only to make sounds to keep each other awake and to keep each other warm. But it wasn't at all gibberish. It was the kind of talk that sang, it was the kind of talk that led to song. They were singing of Stars (or at least two of them were) while waiting for stars, while waiting for something significant, while waiting for a cosmic event that will set things in motion. Wasn't this how it always began? With a bright light and a wish? They were doing nothing else really, other than just look up, but somehow lying there, with friends, in a campus that wasn't theirs, in a night that wasn't even supposed to happen, meant something. The anticipation weighed just as much, if not more, and they knew it. They knew it in the way they clinked their shot glasses, in the way they nibbled on the chips, the way they traversed foreign territory just shy of midnight.

The meteor came - in fact, it wasn't even just a meteor - it was a fireball. It ripped through the black sky quickly, gracefully, almost as if it was ashamed of having ruined the perfect stillness of the sky. It was enough to keep them in awe, in a momentary state of shock. But it was only for a while, only in that instant that it was traversing the blackness across them. After it was gone, they went back to talking, about pasts, about futures, about song. About each other. About things that didn't matter, things that did. They found the light, yes. But it wasn't in the meteor.


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Labels: bullets

So it begins again.

It's back to the battlefield that is law school once more for me.

The beginnings of new semesters usually elicit feelings of excitement, but the whole debacle of last semester kind of ruined it all for me. While I'm still thrilled about the idea of buying new pens and filling up new notebooks, there;s this undeniable feeling of dread that this semester is just going to be as tiring and demanding as the previous one, if not more. There is still also this fear, that perhaps there is something in me that I have lost permanently after having experienced such emotional and mental exhaustion. Sure, I don't doubt that I am going to be okay again eventually, and the idea of recovery is becoming clearer in my head now. But at the back of my mind, I think a part of me has embraced the pessimism that found its way into my system some time back. I was never like this. I was never the kind of girl that gave up on anything before I even got the chance to start it. I was never the type to push people away, just because I'm terrified. Yet, I also don't think it's something I can turn off just like that after everything that's happened - it's the natural consequence of it all, I guess.

I feel like for the first time though, I really am welcoming this new semester as a different person. I am seeing things with new eyes this time - perhaps no longer with colored glasses, but not with completely shattered ones either. It is overwhelming, for many reasons, but mostly just because there is this expectation that I know better now, that I can make better choices now, given all that has happened. In theory, I suppose that's right. But I'm still scared. I have to admit that.

At this point I'm already tired of saying it. And I'm sure people are tired of hearing it too. But it's there, the fear. I can't make it go away just yet. But I'm trying. Every day I wake up, every single time I get myself off the bed, that's me trying.

I won't promise myself anything big this semester. I don't need bold declarations of "I'm going to rock this sem!" or "This is going to be my semester, watch out!" Nothing about that false kind of confidence comforts me now - in fact, it only makes me feel the gaping hole between appearances and actual feelings. So when people ask me what's the game plan, I just shrug and say, "Let's see." Because other than the fact that that's all there is to it, I also don't know what's there for me. I am not looking forward to anything. I have no idea if I can survive ObliCon, I'm not even sure if I deserve to be in Crim 2 (our Crim 1 grades aren't out still), I can't tell if I'm ready to let people in again... I really do not know.

All I know is that I have this semester. And all that I want it to be is a blank page - not a continuation of the past, not an entirely different chapter either. Just a blank page.

As far as new beginnings go, I think I'm okay with that.

we keep ending it with a comma, as if we were merely catching breath, as if we have been speaking too much in the last two and a half years and we just needed a break, we did, i now understand, we really did; you did, you thought you did; but what i never realized was i did too, because i kept talking and talking and talking, as if merely rambling out words were enough to justify a conversation; but we both knew what it was, wasn't it? it was no longer just about my day because you asked, it was about your day because i didn't ask and we had nothing else to talk about, so you put a period on it finally, just to end the conversation, and i didn't like the silence, because it drove me crazy, it brought me to the point where i couldn't wash my own dishes, and i refused to sleep on my own bed, and i stopped wearing the pink jacket you gave me, i stopped being me for a while, and it wasn't beautiful at all; but there is an exquisite kind of pain, the kind that makes your eyes sparkle over the joy one finds in little things, the kind that makes one grateful for oreos and donuts and people saying one has nice legs - things that no longer come from you because you put a period on us, and we stopped talking - and i found comfort in that silence, but i refused to accept it, i pushed it all away, because you made a sound again, the sound of a phone ringing in the middle of a night, unanswered with a hello at first, but eventually welcomed with much relief, like a lost pen being found, and we tried to hold on to the sound of our cries and laughs and moving hands, as if trying to make up for the silence of the last four months, as if trying to deny feelings of loss or betrayal or pain, as if pretending knowing about the pill didn't hurt, things that kept looking us back in the eye when we tried brushing them off - so we put a comma, we put a comma because we never want it to end, because it sounds right, but there are other sentences to be written, other stories to be told, and commas only clutter things, like this, because can anything ever make sense in run-ons?

Labels: bullets

I don't think I have mentioned in this blog how in love I am with Junot Diaz. I was supposed to write a blog entry about his novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao after I read it, because it was that rich and compelling, but precisely for those reasons, I never got around to doing so. I never knew how to begin explaining Junot Diaz, and quite frankly, up to now, I don't think I can do him justice.

Drown is Diaz's collection of short stories, and a precursor to Oscar Wao, in more ways than one. The strength of Diaz's prose lies in his cultural background and how well he incorporates his being Dominicano into every bit of his fiction, from the characters to the language. But the characters he creates are almost never alien, and somehow even in their "otherness" they are actually quite "universal." They speak so naturally, they react so casually, that you can almost hear them right there outside your window, fighting over a lover or anticipating a fiesta. It's even more fascinating when you realize how similar their culture is to ours - you can say it's because of our shared Spanish-colonized histories - that you almost forget you're reading fiction of the Dominican Republic, not the Philippines. Almost.




Disclaimer: I picked up this book because (1) I've been seeing this for the longest time but never got around to buying it because I keep seeing other books on top of my "priority" list, and (2) it was hardbound and had illustrations for every chapter, making it really thick because it used glossy paper, which makes the entire thing really pretty to look at, but (3) it was only Php 480! Four-hundred eighty pesos for a hardbound, illustrated book.  How can you not pick up this book for that reason alone? [Well, of course, that wasn't my only reason, but that's for another blog post altogether.]

What you see is what you get in Why We Broke Up: a long love letter about why two young people broke up. Minerva is returning a box to her ex-boyfriend Ed - a box full of things that reminded her of him, of them. It's unconventional in its conventionality, because while you somehow get an idea of what's coming (i.e. their break-up), it always manages to surprise you. For a YA novel, it certainly is one of those that strike a quiet balance between innocence and maturity. While it does explore the thrills and inconveniences of a first love, what resonates more is the fruition of falling in love with a person who is your complete opposite - which speaks to everyone, I believe, regardless of age.

(A little trivia: Daniel Handler is a writer more popularly known for his pen name, Lemony Snicket. Yep.)




Fine, it is another one of those books that just jumped out at me simply for its title. (Hey, I'm guilty of judging a book by its title sometimes. Sue me.) This book could not have come to me at a more opportune time. I guess if this list were a mix tape, Essays In Love would be my anthem.

Alain de Botton weaves together philosophy and fiction in this story about two strangers falling in love and eventually falling apart. But of course, it's more than just that - it's always more than that. This is one of those books where the story itself is only secondary to the author's prose, which relies heavily on his philosophical dissection of love and all its intricacies: from the initial meeting, the reluctance, the appearances we keep, the politics in bed, etc. I particularly liked how each paragraph is "numbered," as if each of them are bullets popping out of the narrator's head in succession, stream-of-consciousness-style. If our over-analyzing (especially when it comes to our beloved) were to be written down on paper, this is how it would look like.

More than anything, it's the questions that he asks, and not the story he tells, that lets this book leave its mark on you. If there is one thing that I can bravely and undoubtedly pin the word love on right now, it's this book. It's that beautiful.



Ah, yes. The book that came a semester too late. I promised myself I'll lay off on the law books this break, but I saw this book and it just had me at "Landmark Cases in the Supreme Court" -- I had to get it.

It is only one of the many nonfiction books by known journalist Marites Vitug about the legal system in the Philippines. Her other book, Hour Before Dawn, was bonus reading for our Consti law class (which has been undeniably one of my most challenging subjects), as such, I was already aware of how well Vitug renders legal jargon to smooth, effortless exposition. Upon reading this book, however, I immediately felt a sense of regret of the Why only now? variety. Alas, here was a book that presented some of the landmark cases we discussed in class - in well-crafted prose! "Why didn't I find this book sooner!?" was all I could hear myself say.

It was a thrill to see the cases we read in class presented in a different context other than as explained in the ponentias. Whereas the cases themselves only deal with the actual controversies pertaining to legal disputes, this book presents the entire situation - what really went on before, during, and after the trials, who the people labelled as "petitioner" and "respondents" were, when it all occurred, and why it all had to happen. One of the things that can make reading a case difficult (especially for those outside the study of law) is that they are so technical, the story gets lost in the process. While, of course, the narrative is not of primary importance here, for someone like me, I find it important in my understanding of the case - which is why having all these characters and details fleshed out by Vitug in a manner that the ponentes failed to do so helped enrich my understanding of these landmark cases.

I can only hope all the other cases we read in class are written like this. #CWmajorproblems

Labels: books

anagrams, for distraction. as if arranging them differently would change what they mean. i, in rare. in air-raid deviant.
bacon, and bringing it home. bravery, a box of it. birthday candles to welcome a new year, not fireworks.
collusion, by the cosmos and a car. a city it is.
dark, and that which comes after it. #
endings, entrances. enlightenment entwined in exhaustion.
fears. of a five, a failure, forevers unrealized.
gravy fix.
how he met their mother, and other such jitters left untouched.
i.
justiciable questions, or lack thereof.
kurls, an anticipation for new beginnings. krispy kreme, and the company of new friends.
learning. labels. love. law. loss, of all kinds.
montages of moments and memories, for when songs play in the background. mind games.
nomads, we all are. "we can't make homes out of human beings."
opening sequences to new episodes. oreos, as omens.
pancakes, of the blueberry variety. present tenses to past, future to present.
quietness, the kind carried around in hushed sighs and empty stares.
rage against the machine that took him away. resistance. reconciliation, or an attempt for one. red.
shooting stars, and the affirmation of quiet tuesday nights by the pool.
turning twenty-one. todays and tomorrows, tangential.
unfinished we are, uncertain i am, unfolding, it all is.
vagueness, vacancies, visions.
why. why me, why not me, why this, why now.
exits exist.
yesterdays
zoom out.


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So.. hello, 21.

These last few months have definitely been the most difficult I've had so far. That's probably the biggest understatement of the year. I expected law school to be nothing like my undergrad, sure, but I did not realize how tough it would be on me, mentally, physically, and emotionally.

I started law school in a bad place. I just came from a break up literally a few days before school began, and I was feeling so insecure about myself (Am I not pretty enough? Not smart enough? etc etc). I realize now that that is the worst state to be in upon entering law school, because law school will do nothing but make you feel insecure about yourself. I had all these classmates who were cum laudes and magna cum laudes, who got into exchange student programs abroad, and who were active in their orgs and student politics. They all had something going for themselves, something that prepared them better for the study of law. Somehow, my background in literature just did not seem enough.

And on most days, it really wasn't. Just because I had a higher tolerance for lots of readings did not make things any easier for me. In fact, sometimes it just made things worse. When I read short stories or poetry for class, I took the time to take them all in: the characters, the plot, the setting. I tried to do the same for the cases - I tried conjuring up the stories in my head to make them interesting. It worked for the first few weeks. But the amount of cases just kept on piling up that I had no time to completely absorb everything. I had to resort to just skimming through them, or just reading the digests, or worse, skipping them altogether. It seemed like a bad idea, but on some days, I had no other choice.

The recitations took the most time to get used to. Aside from the initial oddness of having to stand up while you recite (something we never did in undergrad), what's worse about the recits is that you are always on the spot. And it almost usually is a one-shot deal. It's either you know the answer to the question or you don't. It's either you get it or you don't. It's either you read it or you didn't. Professors do not always give you a second chance, and even if they do, it does not take away the failure of your first one. The pressure is always there - in class, you never know when you're getting called and how long you're going to be reciting. Some profs ask just one case, while others let you recite for the entire period. It's tough, because professors usually give the highest percentage in the course grade for recits - and of course, no one wants to give a bad impression. But of course, that's bound to happen, sooner or later. It's just a matter of how well you can recover.

The exams, however, are a different creature altogether. I won't go into any more detail, because quite frankly, they really are just one-part MCQs and one-part essay. Nothing new there. But just to give you an idea of what we had to suffer for an entire week (and actually more, if you count the preparations): We only had one exam per day, but each exam lasted from 1:00 to 8:00 pm. Yep. Seven hours.

More than the recitations and exams though, it's the everyday grind that proved most difficult and exhausting. Every single night, we had to read cases and understand them down to the last detail. We had to give up meeting up with friends to prepare for class. At some point, we even had to give up social networking (yep, I deactivated my Facebook for a time), if only to be able to say that all our focus is on acads and acads alone. It was tough. There were days where I would just wake up in the wee hours of the morning, panicking because I spent precious time sleeping when I could have been reading. All my money went to readings. I had no time nor energy to deal with stuff other than law school. I couldn't afford to.

But at the same time, all I wanted to do was escape. For the most part of the semester, I found myself asking if I really wanted this. If this place was only making me miserable, beating up my ego every day and making me feel like the most stupid person I know, then is it worth it? Is it worth the trouble if I don't really enjoy it that much? I thought I wanted to be a lawyer for the longest time - but now that I got in, I started questioning if this was really something I saw myself doing for the rest of my life. I wanted so badly to just go back to the way things were - back when I was in CAL and literary criticism took up most of my time, back when I read and wrote about stories that interested me and that I actually liked. I wanted to feel affirmed and validated again, because every day, law school just found ways to make me question my faith in myself. Every single day.

My blockmates are the probably the biggest factors to the equation. I will never tire of saying how grateful I am to have been in Block D. I always thought that law school would be a highly competitive place, to the point that it will get unhealthy. And considering the number of intelligent people in our class, one would think there can be no room for friends. But the thing about our block is we never feel the need to compete with each other. At least I don't. In fact, it only encourages me to do better. More than that however, I'm glad that we can say we really are good friends. We just click. We get each other. It's the kind of comfort that one truly needs in law school. The amount of ego-bruising we have to go through everyday can only be healed by a certain degree of familiarity and togetherness - and I'm glad our block has that. I can say the same for my group of friends too. There are times where we spent almost all our waking hours together, to the point of clinginess, I guess. But it's comforting on so many levels to just have people who understand you completely, and who believe in what you are capable of. I could not imagine surviving law school without a solid, steady, support group.




Now we're here, at the end of the semester, and I still can't say if I'm over all those insecurities. I probably never will be, not any time soon. (Waiting for the release of our grades isn't helping at all.) But, I guess, for all the difficulties that I've experienced in the last four months or so, I can truly, honestly say, that I did surprise myself quite a lot too. The fact that I've been so down and so depressed only made me realize how there's no other way to go but up. I challenged myself more than I ever did. I pushed myself to work harder. I convinced myself that I was still good enough and smart enough (and yeah, pretty enough, despite all the eyebags) - because I am still here, am I not? Despite all the anxiety and tension, I've managed to pull myself out of bed every single day. And maybe for now, that should be enough. I don't need to be good at it - I just need to feel that it's something that I can take on myself.

My mom was right. Law school may have knocked out the confidence in me, but it also gave me something to fight for. And perhaps this is just what I needed: a struggle not against anyone, but against myself. The first sem is only the beginning of four years of failure and stress. But I have to learn to believe again: that I can do it, that I can rise above this, that I am going to make it through. Even if it's only one day at a time.


First semester, I cannot be more glad that you are over. But I also cannot be more thankful. Here's to looking forward to the next one. (P.S. Please be kinder.)


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Labels: block D, law school

I've said this before, but I don't mind saying it again and again: One of the things I'm most thankful for in the last few months is that I've met some of the smartest and most awesome people I know in Block D. I can't stress how much I love being in this block. One would think that law school breeds only contempt and competition but, no, for some odd reason, we all just click.

We're Tagaytay-bound in a while. I can't wait! We definitely all deserve this so, so much. :)

Sembreak, let's get it on!
(corollary: Birthday week, let's get it oooon!)


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Labels: block D, law school

Koi No Yokan is a truly beautiful concept. It can be defined as the sense one can have upon first meeting another person that the two of them are going to fall in love. In other words, it is the knowledge one has that he/she is going to fall in love with another person. This differs from the idea “love at first sight” in that it does not imply that the feeling of love exists, rather it refers to the knowledge that a future love is inevitable.

(Untranslateable Words; High Tower Flashes)

I decided to be kind to myself this morning and listened to the new singles from Deftones' upcoming album, Koi No Yokan. I've been wondering for a while now what that title meant, but I've never really gotten around to searching for it. Until today.

Koi no yokan. Isn't it such an overwhelmingly beautiful concept? The idea of just... knowing?



(And now back to Persons.)

that doubts what I can do and what I am capable of - well, it's gotten louder and louder the last few weeks. I feel like I've lost the ability to believe in the lucidity of my decisions lately. And while there's this other voice that tells me, No, you're doing the right thing, the other one just keeps going, What's the point? 

And that scares me. Because I want it to have a point. I know everything has a point. So why can't I see it yet?


(This is my Karla vs. Consti: The Final Showdown fears speaking at 4:40 am.)

But loving him was red.

...against feelings?

One More Night - Stars

You'll never touch him again so get what you can 
Leaving him empty just because he's a man 
So good when it ends, they'll never be friends 
One more night, that's all they can spend

he did the arm lock to attack all her weak points, which he still knew: feet, waist, armpits, wrists, and everything in between. and laughing didn't even feel wrong, just confusing in a comforting kind of way, because it was 2010 again that night.


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Labels: bullets

She looks at him, on the floor, and he is not looking back, for he is sleeping, he is away, he is somewhere else she couldn't hurt him. Maybe that's where he should stay, and maybe that's where she should want him to be. But she looks at the empty seat beside her and all she can think of is, What's taking so long?

Labels: bullets

Would you look at that, an actual weekend for once! I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom, papa, and tita (who took this picture) tonight. I've been waiting so long to have a break, and what better way to spend it than with an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical?

We last saw Phantom in 2009 at The Venetian in Las Vegas. But the performance tonight at the CCP was just as good, if not better. The actors were a delight to watch, and the overall effect of the sound and the set was a sensory feast. The only thing that puts the Las Vegas production a bit above this one was that the theater itself was built for Phantom, hence a bigger set and a much more realistic chandelier. Other than that, however, I found this production with much more pathos and bravado. I thought the performers were much better singers too, and every song was a delight to hear and see live.

(By the way, can I just say that in that scene where Phantom was forcing Christine into the wedding dress, all I could think of was, "But that marriage couldn't possibly be valid! For one, there's lack of consent on Christine's part! And where's the solemnizing officer?" Yes, yes, because that's how much I love Persons.)

I'm not regretting spending my weekend on this. Not at all.


No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.

Finally. There's reason to hang on to this. I really needed that affirmation, especially right now.

And because of that, this: some of my closest friends in the block. I owe these guys a lot - for the productive study sessions, for the Maroon 5 LSS, for the bacon, for the extremely clingy kind of friendship. I am really not complaining.





Also, Nutella soup. NUTELLA SOUP. Nutella freakin' soup.





Off to have our class' breakfast consultation with our Consti prof at Via Mare. Yep, Via Mare for breakfast. Silver linings, silver linings.

It drives one crazy. It takes one on the edge. It dangles in front of one the possibility of redemption, yet it also threatens one with the very realistic notion of defeat. It's sweet mental torture.

Labels: UP

I bought five bluebooks today as an early attempt to prepare myself for battle. I kind of get paranoid when it comes to things like this because, being the forgetful person that I am, I'm afraid that I might enter the room with no ballpen, no eyeglasses, or no bluebook. It's a recurring nightmare, trust me. (Second only to failing a class - but still.) So I bought five, even though I think I will only be needing three, just so I can be sure that that scenario stays in my head and never plays out in real life.


It's funny how we are made to feel like law school is such a different world, detached from the rest of the university. Even our bluebooks are special. (If you notice, they are much thicker than the regular bluebooks, and cost P10 each, as opposed to P2.50.) On most days, it's comforting, because everything inside Malcolm becomes familiar: when you see the same faces and walk the same halls, things start feeling like home. Everyone knows almost everyone - by face, by name, by affiliation. There's somehow an unspoken acknowledgement that you know each other - it's like you are all in this exclusive little world speaking a language no one understands.

But on some days, it can also feel alienating and suffocating for the exact same reason. Because our blocks don't get shuffled, we see the same faces all day, everyday. We rarely have time to go out of the building, so it's just the same food, the same library, the same environment. You can feel easily smothered just because you hardly feel like there is a life outside the marbled walls of Malcolm Hall.

A lot of days, I can't tell if I feel welcomed or stifled.

Today, however, we held our last Oblicon class - an integration/review class with another block - inside the Ambion Room, where I took my LAE more than a year ago. I remember thinking to myself that day that even if I never get to call this building my home, at least for just one Sunday, I was able to experience what it was like to take a seat on these wooden chairs and marvel at the wonderful sight of the Sunken Garden by the window.

This afternoon, while listening to our prof review the ways of extinguishing an obligation, I looked out those same windows. I miss being out there, I really do. But today, I'm glad to be inside this bubble. I just hope it's glad to have me too.


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Finals are next week, so I'm spending my entire Holy Week here at my condo unit, alone and buried in cases. This is actually the first time ever that I won't be spending this week over at my grandparents' house in Batangas because (1) they are in Singapore visiting my mom's sister, and (2) I have exams. Both my parents will also be going on their yearly pilgrimage, so I really have no one else to keep me company this week other than my books - and my fear of failing. Ha. Ha. Hahaha.

Labels: law school, UP

My Saturdays are almost always spent in the Malcolm Hall library, holed up in my little corner at the third floor, away from most of the world with only my readings and notebooks as company. Sometimes, I anticipate the occasional snack or dinner invitation to get me motivated for the rest of the afternoon, but on most days, I start and end it alone. Yet there is something about Saturdays in UP that doesn't make it lonely or sad - just lovely in its quietness.


This is my favorite spot in the entire campus. It also has, for me, the most beautiful, breathtaking view. The way the lush green trees arch above the Oval, framing it perfectly, is just stunning. As an undergrad, when I used to get to this spot - to this exact point right across Law, with the view of Engineering a little up ahead - and I see this before me, I felt this overwhelming wave of both terror and thrill. It's because of many things, yes - the people, the places, the physics, the prose, the provisions, the possibilities. This exact location held so much promise and meaning, I could not remember a time in the last four years that I did not stop for a few seconds to marvel at this sight, and the many feelings it gave me.

And even now, as a law student, I still feel that every time I pass by this spot. This view still gets to me. It grabs me. It takes me by the hand and stops me. How can it not? I see this and somehow I forget being sad, or defeated, or tired. Just... glad. Glad that I'm here, glad that this is mine. Everyday, and especially on Saturdays, I have this to keep me company. I have this to reassure me that things will be alright. I have this to call home.


I can only hope many others still get to call it theirs too.



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(My deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the UP Manila freshman who committed suicide last Friday. UP loves you; it was unfortunate that the system made you feel like it didn't.)

Labels: UP

i have often wondered if there was a place where small kinds of sadness come to die, where faint shades of grey dissolve back to white, where tiny sighs can be heard. i often think that days aren't exactly seamless, that they are held together by little silences that speak louder than our words. those tender moments, those glances at the clock realizing we are late, or the quiet panic as we remember we forgot something, the uneasy glimpses at our still unlit cellphone screens; they are not heavy like paperweights dangling on your chest. they are blisters on your feet when you try to walk with new shoes. they are small tears you never try to wipe, those you leave on your cheek to dry.


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Labels: An attempt at poetry, finger exercises

He started finishing Madeleine’s sentences. As if her mind was too slow. As if he couldn’t wait for her to gather her thoughts. He riffed on the things she said, going off on strange tangents, making puns. Whenever she told him he needed to get some sleep, he got angry and didn’t call her for days. And it was during this period that Madeleine fully understood how the lover’s discourse was of an extreme solitude. The solitude was extreme because it wasn’t physical. It was extreme because you felt it while in the company of the person you loved. It was extreme because it was in your head, that most solitary of places.

The more Leonard pulled away, the more anxious Madeleine became. The more desperate she became, the more Leonard pulled away. She told herself to act cool. She went to the library to work on her marriage-plot thesis, but the sex-fantasy atmosphere—the reading-room eye contact, the beckoning stacks—made her desperate to see Leonard. And so against her will her feet began leading her back across campus through the darkness to the biology department. Up to the last moment, Madeleine had the crazy hope that this expression of weakness might in fact be strength. It was a brilliant strategy because it lacked all strategy. It involved no games, only sincerity. Seeing such sincerity, how could Leonard fail to respond? She was almost happy as she came up behind the lab table and tapped Leonard on the shoulder, and her happiness lasted until he turned around with a look not of love but of annoyance.

An excerpt from The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides.

Sigh. Just when I thought I could not love this book even more. Oh, fiction.



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Labels: books

you take your skirt off because it somehow felt heavy. the mint was a lovely backdrop to the pink belt, but only your mirror paid you a compliment, and it wasn't even convincing. they didn't understand what they were looking at when they see the gray bruise on your inner arm, the one that said blood had been taken away; a part of you had been taken away. your phone rings and you somehow know where this is going. your shirt is immaculate in white lace, but somehow it feels dirty, unclean, like a sorry that has been said but not meant, like an okay that hovers in the mouth but only faintly honest.


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Labels: finger exercises

I was rushed to the hospital by my friends last night after a really, really bad case of abdominal pain. My monthly case of cramps is actually pretty regular, almost like an unwelcome visitor I've grown accustomed to. But for some reason, last night, it reached new heights, leaving me with no choice but to call for help.

After several blood tests and urine tests, I was discharged after six hours. It was dysmenorrhea, alright, but worsened by stress and fatigue, which led to that anxiety attack. Anxiety attack. At first, I couldn't fathom why or how. But then I recalled the lowest point of the night:

There I was on the floor, all curled up in pain, unable to move my numbing hands and feet, because my abdomen was hurting like it's being ripped apart. It was the worst episode of this I've had by far, and the most terrifying, because I was alone, and I only had my books and my readings with me, and the people I was trying to call weren't answering right away. I had every reason to be scared and to panic, and even though I knew I wasn't going to die, it was still frightening, especially when I was literally gasping for air. Yet in between sobs and dialing numbers, I remembered very clearly, all I could think to myself was, "Shit. I haven't finished my digests."

I still can't believe it.

Right now, I don't think I have the words to recall everything in detail because I am still in a state of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming excitement. All I can say though, is that this goes down as probably the most awesome night of my life. I was in tears for almost every song, because they were just fucking perfect.

It was beautiful and amazing. I have so much love for you, Stars. Thank you so much - for the nights you kept me company, for the nights to come, for this night. You are wonderful.


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Labels: stars

The first time, through a very good friend's blog. She wrote a story about You Ex-Lover Is Dead, at a time when I was finally coming to terms with the conclusion of an era. It was already several months into the new culture, but it had to take a good listen to this song before I said goodbye with finality. I knew, the moment I first heard it, that it would be the anthem that will get me through anything. Anything. Live through this, and you won't look back.

The second time, in Geog camp. A female classmate of mine, in between jokes and sips of what she thought was Sprite (but was actually vodka), shared One More Night with me, when she found out I was the only one in the room who has heard of the band. I nonchalantly said yes when she asked me if I wanted her to send the song to me that night, not knowing that it would be the soundtrack of many more nights after that. One more night, that was a good one.

The third time, in my first dorm room. I was alone, it was a humid Tuesday afternoon, and my internet had surprisingly not expired yet. So, I downloaded Heart (the album), and two hours later, I found myself incredibly overwhelmed by Heart (the song). Time can take its toll on the best of us; look at you, you're growing old so young.

The fourth time, after being introduced to a group of guy friends at a computer shop in a nearby condo. It was the fifth day of the year, I remember - in fact, I remember a lot of other things: from the high school PE shirt I wore to the flush on the cheeks with which I said good night, and to Look Up, playing on loop in my iPod, before I went to sleep. Your girl, she's a renegade; a hurricane that keeps you there, safe.

The fifth time, one rainy night in July. My Favourite Book. Shattered, but not lonely.


"...and everyday, it's changed since then." *

You've truly changed my life, in many ways. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Stars.


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* taken from "The First Five Times," from their album, Set Yourself On Fire.

Today, in Karla vs. Oblicon (aka while reviewing for tomorrow's class), I got a little distracted when I remembered that the new Robin Sparkles episode of How I Met Your Mother just aired last night in the US. With a highlighter shade like this (thank you, Sharpie. You have forever turned me away from the shocking neon yellow of Stabilo. Oh, how wonderful you are, #FFCC00!) - who can resist drawing that umbrella?

Not this girl, who is certainly experiencing a rather extreme case of HIMYM dependency as of late. To say that I love this show is an understatement. In the last eight years, I have seen these characters grow up, fall down, and be torn apart - but they have never failed to make me believe that despite all that, nothing is too big or too trivial to become a good story - and consequently, a good life lesson.

I get tired when I hear people complain about the Mother and how long it's taking the writers to bring us there because it saddens me that to them, the only purpose of the show is Ted meeting the Mother. Whereas, if we take away that narrative, this is essentially just a story about a group of young individuals living in New York and enjoying the company of each other as they grow old and grow up. I think people focus too much on the end, rather than enjoying the ride that's taking us there. Sure, the title says How I Met Your Mother, and sure, it's rather unrealistic for a dad to be telling a story that long, with that much detail (even about his romantic and sexual conquests) - but at the end of the day, it's just a framing device to set it apart from every other show out there. The truth is, it's not about the Mother, no matter how central her role may be. It was never just about the Mother. It is about Ted, and Lily, and Marshall, and Robin, and Barney. It's about these people, and the fact that so-called fans don't care about their stories anymore and just want to rush to the ending - well, it kind of misses the whole point of being a fan of a show, doesn't it?

I'm going to be first to admit that the show is no longer what it used to be, and that in the latter seasons, some episodes could have been written better, and some character arcs could have been executed more flawlessly. The latter seasons are not as funny or crisp as the first ones - in fact, I think nowadays it's less a sitcom and more a romantic comedy. But this is not to say that the show is no longer worth watching at all. In fact, I think it is precisely this turn to the rom-com genre that makes it all the more rewarding.

The fact that the show never just strives for laughs, but also for the tears, is quite commendable - and comforting. Because while it's true that we watch sitcoms to make us temporarily forget about our own sad, complicated lives, it's nice to also see a hint of reality in them, if only to make us feel less alone. HIMYM has never been afraid to deal with heartbreak, financial debt, abandonment, accidents, infertility, and even death - things that we don't usually expect in comedies, but things that we always experience in real life. The stories they tell, no matter how crazy or stupid or outrageous, are still essentially realistic. Over the years, the has truly become like a friend, whose exploits you still want to hear about, no matter how silly or irrelevant it may be to your life, just because it's a good story and you're a good friend.

Maybe this is what I like best about this show: the fact that every episode is just a part of a greater narrative, a bigger story. No matter how trivial or important an event may be, it's all just an element to the much grander picture. It's exciting, in the sense that, it gives me something to look forward to - that perhaps, the universe is still in the middle of constructing my ending, so even my inconsequential days may lead me to something huge. But, at the same time, it's comforting, knowing that every single day doesn't always have to be grand. It can be quiet, and simple, and trivial, and yet it will still make for a good story, regardless of whether or not I tell it in pieces or in whole.

And isn't that what everyone wants one day? That we get to tell these little episodes, these stories of us, and be able to laugh about it?


(Okay, my download just finished. Squeeee I can't wait!)


[EDIT]

OMG, ROBIN DAGGERS. OMG!!! I love this show!

<b>My Favourite Book</b>&nbsp;- Stars <i>And to this day, when everything breaks</i> <i>You are the anchor that holds me</i> <i> </i> <i>And that is why we'll always make it</i> <i> </i> <i>How I know your face,all the ways you move</i> <i>You come in, I can read you</i> <i>You're my favourite book</i> __ Because this is my favorite Stars song, and well, just because.

Sometimes I find myself randomly surprised at the many things our bodies and minds can do under pressure, or strong will.

For instance, memorizing more or less a hundred and fifty provisions for a single test that requires specificity and particularity - an ironically difficult task for someone like me who appreciates the stories in the details, but who has the memory of a slightly-more-retentive goldfish - and writing them over and over again, until your hands no longer seeem to move within your control;

holing up in the library for an entire Saturday, just going through cases and reciting provisions alternately, endlessly, without the privilege (and peril) of a high-speed internet connection or other such good enough distraction (i.e. an actual person);

running, without pause, twice around the Oval, even when your legs hurt and your mind is tired, because you realize now that there is a certain kind of comfort, a physical kind of relief that washes over you and makes your cheeks flush, after catching your breath and realizing you have done what no one expects of you;

waking up earlier than usual to read more: to catch up on things forgotten, or to get a step ahead;

starting to like the place that has, since the beginning, only pushed you away, and seeing the beauty in the little things that make it whole: the wooden tables, the marbled tiles, the view of the Sunken Garden, the chatter of people both eager and afraid to get through the day;

looking away when the sound of a private message pops up from the laptop beside yours;

growing deaf to the sound of feelings you're afraid to admit you're slowly turning indifferent to;

choosing to see past mistakes and imperfections; or understanding what it means to mess up and realize what one wants;

forgiving;

welcoming the quiet and the chaos inside your heart that can only be traced to one;

putting yourself back together again, with the pieces that feel right, and the questions that know the answers even without being asked.


__

Labels: bullets, finger exercises

...stay alive.



Asdkfhalsdkfjhaklsdjfhs ♥


[EDIT]

Stars is absolutely, without a doubt, my most favorite band in the world, and it's been days since I bought the ticket, but, man, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm going to see them live. I have so much love for this band. Every time I see the tickets on my bedside drawer I go "Ahhhhh!" inside my head. I AM SO EXCITED.

Because we're smack in the middle of midterms week and I have nothing else to talk about anyway other than school, here instead is a picture of the steak I ate - nay, devoured - after our gruesome Constitutional Law II exam. Ain't it beautiful?

The peril of implied actions in obligations is that you can never be too sure.

Labels: bullets

Last Tuesday, my friends and I went to the Supreme Court to listen to the oral arguments regarding the Anti-Cybercrime Law. It wasn't supposed to push through because we weren't able to get passes to secure us seats inside the session hall, but we ended up going anyway because we've never been to the SC before. The huge LCD screen in the lobby showing the real-time developments were good enough for us. We were in the halls of justice! And, for once, we actually understood what they were talking about - right to unreasonable searches and seizures, right to privacy, levels of scrutiny, etc. - proof that we are indeed learning somehow. (Thanks, Consti!)

I won't deny that it woke up something in me, something I thought had long been missing, something that needed to be reawakened.It's difficult, and it's not something I will love as much as creative writing, but damn it, I want to be a lawyer. 

The thing about looking at things one day at a time is that while it may seem too flighty and noncommittal, when you wake up suddenly to a beautiful feeling - a beautiful, tangled up knot inside your chest that can't wait to burst out - even though it's six and your class isn't until ten, even though you'd still rather sleep because you still have cramps, it makes your morning. And your morning makes your day. And one day can mean everything.



--

Labels: bullets

Latch - Disclosure ft. Sam Smith


School starts again tomorrow, and I'm supposed to be welcoming it with dread (since midterms are coming, and well, it's law school - when is it not dreadful?). But instead, I'm starting the year with this good-vibes song. Doesn't it make you want to just grab someone and dance?

2013, make me dance.



Got you shackled in my embrace 
I won't let go of you

like I used to. I had the urge to grab an old notebook and write on the last page - a lyric, or a refrain - like I always do. I wrote the line to a song, a soundtrack to a rainy January afternoon of some years ago. But then the words veered away from the chorus, and suddenly they were singing on their own, without much effort or consternation. I couldn't stop it; I was no longer scribbling the lyrics to a song, I was writing my own prose of the same kind of wanting and searching and finding - as if merely re-writing someone's sentiments wasn't enough, as if it was a betrayal to my own feelings not having my say. It's been a while since I last wrote like I didn't have to chew the phrases, only feel them. And before I even lifted the pen from the paper, I knew. If they ask me why, I will tell them this. They will never understand, they won't have to. I am writing again. Finally, I hear the words singing from the page, we can form the sentences they've never allowed yourself to say.

I will write about you, one day, when enough time has passed, when I have detached myself enough from the wake of your tumult - because if I try to force it now, it will only end up with words desperately trying to make sense of feelings that are yet to settle. You have been happy and sad in many ways, in varying degrees, some moments heftier than others, but mostly just really difficult. And while there are many things to be thankful for (like all the fantastic, beautiful friends I've met, gained, and found again), I cannot lie through my teeth and tell everyone that you have been a welcome change to my life. Because the truth of the matter is, I'm not yet there - I don't think I'm at that point where I can be completely objective about you and say, without hesitation, that you have actually been wonderful in your entirety, a blessing in disguise. Maybe six months, a year, ten years from now, you will be. But right now, I don't believe that yet. Not even on the brink of the first day of the new year, I don't.

Hello from the pristine white-sand shores of Boracay!

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas - Coldplay


Everyone has crosses to bear, fights to battle out, and secrets to carry; but for one day every year, we are called to forget, to suspend, to put on hold - and sometimes, the calm, albeit temporary, may surprise us, bringing more good rather than harm, more permanence rather than delusion. And perhaps, even for just a day, that's good enough.

Have a happy Christmas, friends! Spread the love, the joy, and the holiday cheer. :)
♥

It's the night before the night before Christmas, and you are trying desperately to remember the last time your bedside table was this clumsy, this full of books still unread.

But nostalgia isn't a direct flight, and it isn't even a taxi ride. Before it gets you to where you want to go it stops at different locations: bizarre ones, heavily-populated ones, ones you used to go to, ones you never thought you'd buckle yourself into again. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes it surprises you how quickly you're brought back to a place, a person, a point. Once you're there, you're confused and ecstatic and all kinds of lost, because you know this isn't where you're going but it feels almost sublime - not quite, but almost, and God knows how enough that almost feels like. You stay, you linger, you latch on to it, until you realize it's been a while and you're not supposed to be there on those steps (or at least not anymore). You start walking, in an effort to get to your stop - or maybe just back to your point of origin, you're not sure, you're kind of disconcerted now, the landing was kind of bumpy and you forgot to take your aspirin - but do your feet bring you there? Do your hands?

You look at you bedside table, and you are only halfway through you stack of unfinished books. Then you see No One Belongs Here More Than You, bottom of the pile on the other shelf, yellow cover still pristine - and of course you reach out for it, of course you do, but not before mouthing the words to the first few lines like the chorus to a favorite song.


--

Labels: finger exercises

Robin: What do you want me to do, Ted? Run up to that roof, knock the ring out of Barney's hand and say, "Sorry to interrupt, but you should be with me,"?

Ted: Is that what you want?

-- How I Met Your Mother 8.12 (The Final Page, Part 2)

"Yes, it's a mistake. I know it's a mistake, but there are certain things in life where you know it's a mistake but you don't really know it's a mistake because the only way to really know it's a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say 'Yep, that was a mistake.' So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake, because then you'd go your whole life not knowing if something is a mistake or not. And dammit, I've made no mistakes! I've done all of this; my life, my relationship, my career -- mistake-free."

-- Lily; How I Met Your Mother 1.21 (Milk)

I had a way then losing it all on my own
I had a heart then but the queen has been overthrown
And I'm not sleeping now the dark is too hard to beat
And I'm not keeping up the strength I need to push me

You show the lights that stop me turn to stone
You shine it when I'm alone
And so I tell myself that I'll be strong
And dreaming when they're gone

'Cause they're calling, calling, calling me home

A Song for You - Michael Buble

But we're alone now
and I'm singing this song for you

1.
I found this outside my window the other day. It would have been nice to share the view, to have another set of eyes seeing the spectacle of a pink sunset, but what was there to say? Any word would have trivialized the instant into a mere Wow, which is never sufficient; when was it ever?

2.
I was in the company of books, nine books to be specific, but books that I actually liked. It was a big haul and just having it stacked on my table by the window was comforting enough, even though they have yet to be read. There is a quiet kind of affirmation one feels when surrounded by possibilities - the possibilities of new books, new stories, new people. Possibilities of cozying up in a corner with just one train of thought, possibilities of conversations about a line that jumped at him because it made a wrestling reference, which you never realized yourself.

3.
It was like getting drunk in the beauty of being alone, of finally seeing a picture of what it's like to have only yourself, of realizing that you are beautiful and exquisite despite people getting tired of you or not believing in you, of looking at a pink sunset and finding yourself in it.

4.
I found this outside my window the other day, and it's like the sun telling me: it's going to be okay, and for the first time in a long time, I believed it.

I think my feelings for law school can be summed up in this one line from People vs. Genosa, which is ironically, from a subject that is not exactly on my list of favorites right now (thanks to a former prof who hates my guts-- but that's for another post altogether):

More graphically, the battered woman syndrome is characterized by the so-called “cycle of violence,” which has three phases: (1) the tension-building phase; (2) the acute battering incident; and (3) the tranquil, loving (or, at least, nonviolent) phase.

Oh god, I am in an abusive relationship with law school. And yes, despite this kind of treatment, I am deluding myself into staying, because jesuschrist I just want to be loved back.


__

Labels: law school

I'm sure those numbers won't stay that way for long, but one thing I learned in law school is that even the little victories matter. A good recit is a good recit. Oh, small joys. Woohoo.

:)


ETA:

Geraldez vs Kenstar Travel. aka EuroTrip from Hell. Lesson learned: always double check your travel agencies. It was so funny that it was actually kind of sad. I will forever owe my decent recit in Oblicon to their ridiculous defense.

__

Labels: law school

The four of them wanted to see light. Atop the observatory, they were looking up at the stars, half-asleep and half-drunk, but fully expectant of every bit of dust and light that might shoot its way across the sky. They were lying down on the floor and talking, the kind of talk that was aware of how this wasn't the kind of talk they normally do, the kind of talk that was meant only to make sounds to keep each other awake and to keep each other warm. But it wasn't at all gibberish. It was the kind of talk that sang, it was the kind of talk that led to song. They were singing of Stars (or at least two of them were) while waiting for stars, while waiting for something significant, while waiting for a cosmic event that will set things in motion. Wasn't this how it always began? With a bright light and a wish? They were doing nothing else really, other than just look up, but somehow lying there, with friends, in a campus that wasn't theirs, in a night that wasn't even supposed to happen, meant something. The anticipation weighed just as much, if not more, and they knew it. They knew it in the way they clinked their shot glasses, in the way they nibbled on the chips, the way they traversed foreign territory just shy of midnight.

The meteor came - in fact, it wasn't even just a meteor - it was a fireball. It ripped through the black sky quickly, gracefully, almost as if it was ashamed of having ruined the perfect stillness of the sky. It was enough to keep them in awe, in a momentary state of shock. But it was only for a while, only in that instant that it was traversing the blackness across them. After it was gone, they went back to talking, about pasts, about futures, about song. About each other. About things that didn't matter, things that did. They found the light, yes. But it wasn't in the meteor.


__

Labels: bullets

So it begins again.

It's back to the battlefield that is law school once more for me.

The beginnings of new semesters usually elicit feelings of excitement, but the whole debacle of last semester kind of ruined it all for me. While I'm still thrilled about the idea of buying new pens and filling up new notebooks, there;s this undeniable feeling of dread that this semester is just going to be as tiring and demanding as the previous one, if not more. There is still also this fear, that perhaps there is something in me that I have lost permanently after having experienced such emotional and mental exhaustion. Sure, I don't doubt that I am going to be okay again eventually, and the idea of recovery is becoming clearer in my head now. But at the back of my mind, I think a part of me has embraced the pessimism that found its way into my system some time back. I was never like this. I was never the kind of girl that gave up on anything before I even got the chance to start it. I was never the type to push people away, just because I'm terrified. Yet, I also don't think it's something I can turn off just like that after everything that's happened - it's the natural consequence of it all, I guess.

I feel like for the first time though, I really am welcoming this new semester as a different person. I am seeing things with new eyes this time - perhaps no longer with colored glasses, but not with completely shattered ones either. It is overwhelming, for many reasons, but mostly just because there is this expectation that I know better now, that I can make better choices now, given all that has happened. In theory, I suppose that's right. But I'm still scared. I have to admit that.

At this point I'm already tired of saying it. And I'm sure people are tired of hearing it too. But it's there, the fear. I can't make it go away just yet. But I'm trying. Every day I wake up, every single time I get myself off the bed, that's me trying.

I won't promise myself anything big this semester. I don't need bold declarations of "I'm going to rock this sem!" or "This is going to be my semester, watch out!" Nothing about that false kind of confidence comforts me now - in fact, it only makes me feel the gaping hole between appearances and actual feelings. So when people ask me what's the game plan, I just shrug and say, "Let's see." Because other than the fact that that's all there is to it, I also don't know what's there for me. I am not looking forward to anything. I have no idea if I can survive ObliCon, I'm not even sure if I deserve to be in Crim 2 (our Crim 1 grades aren't out still), I can't tell if I'm ready to let people in again... I really do not know.

All I know is that I have this semester. And all that I want it to be is a blank page - not a continuation of the past, not an entirely different chapter either. Just a blank page.

As far as new beginnings go, I think I'm okay with that.

we keep ending it with a comma, as if we were merely catching breath, as if we have been speaking too much in the last two and a half years and we just needed a break, we did, i now understand, we really did; you did, you thought you did; but what i never realized was i did too, because i kept talking and talking and talking, as if merely rambling out words were enough to justify a conversation; but we both knew what it was, wasn't it? it was no longer just about my day because you asked, it was about your day because i didn't ask and we had nothing else to talk about, so you put a period on it finally, just to end the conversation, and i didn't like the silence, because it drove me crazy, it brought me to the point where i couldn't wash my own dishes, and i refused to sleep on my own bed, and i stopped wearing the pink jacket you gave me, i stopped being me for a while, and it wasn't beautiful at all; but there is an exquisite kind of pain, the kind that makes your eyes sparkle over the joy one finds in little things, the kind that makes one grateful for oreos and donuts and people saying one has nice legs - things that no longer come from you because you put a period on us, and we stopped talking - and i found comfort in that silence, but i refused to accept it, i pushed it all away, because you made a sound again, the sound of a phone ringing in the middle of a night, unanswered with a hello at first, but eventually welcomed with much relief, like a lost pen being found, and we tried to hold on to the sound of our cries and laughs and moving hands, as if trying to make up for the silence of the last four months, as if trying to deny feelings of loss or betrayal or pain, as if pretending knowing about the pill didn't hurt, things that kept looking us back in the eye when we tried brushing them off - so we put a comma, we put a comma because we never want it to end, because it sounds right, but there are other sentences to be written, other stories to be told, and commas only clutter things, like this, because can anything ever make sense in run-ons?

Labels: bullets

I don't think I have mentioned in this blog how in love I am with Junot Diaz. I was supposed to write a blog entry about his novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao after I read it, because it was that rich and compelling, but precisely for those reasons, I never got around to doing so. I never knew how to begin explaining Junot Diaz, and quite frankly, up to now, I don't think I can do him justice.

Drown is Diaz's collection of short stories, and a precursor to Oscar Wao, in more ways than one. The strength of Diaz's prose lies in his cultural background and how well he incorporates his being Dominicano into every bit of his fiction, from the characters to the language. But the characters he creates are almost never alien, and somehow even in their "otherness" they are actually quite "universal." They speak so naturally, they react so casually, that you can almost hear them right there outside your window, fighting over a lover or anticipating a fiesta. It's even more fascinating when you realize how similar their culture is to ours - you can say it's because of our shared Spanish-colonized histories - that you almost forget you're reading fiction of the Dominican Republic, not the Philippines. Almost.




Disclaimer: I picked up this book because (1) I've been seeing this for the longest time but never got around to buying it because I keep seeing other books on top of my "priority" list, and (2) it was hardbound and had illustrations for every chapter, making it really thick because it used glossy paper, which makes the entire thing really pretty to look at, but (3) it was only Php 480! Four-hundred eighty pesos for a hardbound, illustrated book.  How can you not pick up this book for that reason alone? [Well, of course, that wasn't my only reason, but that's for another blog post altogether.]

What you see is what you get in Why We Broke Up: a long love letter about why two young people broke up. Minerva is returning a box to her ex-boyfriend Ed - a box full of things that reminded her of him, of them. It's unconventional in its conventionality, because while you somehow get an idea of what's coming (i.e. their break-up), it always manages to surprise you. For a YA novel, it certainly is one of those that strike a quiet balance between innocence and maturity. While it does explore the thrills and inconveniences of a first love, what resonates more is the fruition of falling in love with a person who is your complete opposite - which speaks to everyone, I believe, regardless of age.

(A little trivia: Daniel Handler is a writer more popularly known for his pen name, Lemony Snicket. Yep.)




Fine, it is another one of those books that just jumped out at me simply for its title. (Hey, I'm guilty of judging a book by its title sometimes. Sue me.) This book could not have come to me at a more opportune time. I guess if this list were a mix tape, Essays In Love would be my anthem.

Alain de Botton weaves together philosophy and fiction in this story about two strangers falling in love and eventually falling apart. But of course, it's more than just that - it's always more than that. This is one of those books where the story itself is only secondary to the author's prose, which relies heavily on his philosophical dissection of love and all its intricacies: from the initial meeting, the reluctance, the appearances we keep, the politics in bed, etc. I particularly liked how each paragraph is "numbered," as if each of them are bullets popping out of the narrator's head in succession, stream-of-consciousness-style. If our over-analyzing (especially when it comes to our beloved) were to be written down on paper, this is how it would look like.

More than anything, it's the questions that he asks, and not the story he tells, that lets this book leave its mark on you. If there is one thing that I can bravely and undoubtedly pin the word love on right now, it's this book. It's that beautiful.



Ah, yes. The book that came a semester too late. I promised myself I'll lay off on the law books this break, but I saw this book and it just had me at "Landmark Cases in the Supreme Court" -- I had to get it.

It is only one of the many nonfiction books by known journalist Marites Vitug about the legal system in the Philippines. Her other book, Hour Before Dawn, was bonus reading for our Consti law class (which has been undeniably one of my most challenging subjects), as such, I was already aware of how well Vitug renders legal jargon to smooth, effortless exposition. Upon reading this book, however, I immediately felt a sense of regret of the Why only now? variety. Alas, here was a book that presented some of the landmark cases we discussed in class - in well-crafted prose! "Why didn't I find this book sooner!?" was all I could hear myself say.

It was a thrill to see the cases we read in class presented in a different context other than as explained in the ponentias. Whereas the cases themselves only deal with the actual controversies pertaining to legal disputes, this book presents the entire situation - what really went on before, during, and after the trials, who the people labelled as "petitioner" and "respondents" were, when it all occurred, and why it all had to happen. One of the things that can make reading a case difficult (especially for those outside the study of law) is that they are so technical, the story gets lost in the process. While, of course, the narrative is not of primary importance here, for someone like me, I find it important in my understanding of the case - which is why having all these characters and details fleshed out by Vitug in a manner that the ponentes failed to do so helped enrich my understanding of these landmark cases.

I can only hope all the other cases we read in class are written like this. #CWmajorproblems

Labels: books

anagrams, for distraction. as if arranging them differently would change what they mean. i, in rare. in air-raid deviant.
bacon, and bringing it home. bravery, a box of it. birthday candles to welcome a new year, not fireworks.
collusion, by the cosmos and a car. a city it is.
dark, and that which comes after it. #
endings, entrances. enlightenment entwined in exhaustion.
fears. of a five, a failure, forevers unrealized.
gravy fix.
how he met their mother, and other such jitters left untouched.
i.
justiciable questions, or lack thereof.
kurls, an anticipation for new beginnings. krispy kreme, and the company of new friends.
learning. labels. love. law. loss, of all kinds.
montages of moments and memories, for when songs play in the background. mind games.
nomads, we all are. "we can't make homes out of human beings."
opening sequences to new episodes. oreos, as omens.
pancakes, of the blueberry variety. present tenses to past, future to present.
quietness, the kind carried around in hushed sighs and empty stares.
rage against the machine that took him away. resistance. reconciliation, or an attempt for one. red.
shooting stars, and the affirmation of quiet tuesday nights by the pool.
turning twenty-one. todays and tomorrows, tangential.
unfinished we are, uncertain i am, unfolding, it all is.
vagueness, vacancies, visions.
why. why me, why not me, why this, why now.
exits exist.
yesterdays
zoom out.


__


So.. hello, 21.

These last few months have definitely been the most difficult I've had so far. That's probably the biggest understatement of the year. I expected law school to be nothing like my undergrad, sure, but I did not realize how tough it would be on me, mentally, physically, and emotionally.

I started law school in a bad place. I just came from a break up literally a few days before school began, and I was feeling so insecure about myself (Am I not pretty enough? Not smart enough? etc etc). I realize now that that is the worst state to be in upon entering law school, because law school will do nothing but make you feel insecure about yourself. I had all these classmates who were cum laudes and magna cum laudes, who got into exchange student programs abroad, and who were active in their orgs and student politics. They all had something going for themselves, something that prepared them better for the study of law. Somehow, my background in literature just did not seem enough.

And on most days, it really wasn't. Just because I had a higher tolerance for lots of readings did not make things any easier for me. In fact, sometimes it just made things worse. When I read short stories or poetry for class, I took the time to take them all in: the characters, the plot, the setting. I tried to do the same for the cases - I tried conjuring up the stories in my head to make them interesting. It worked for the first few weeks. But the amount of cases just kept on piling up that I had no time to completely absorb everything. I had to resort to just skimming through them, or just reading the digests, or worse, skipping them altogether. It seemed like a bad idea, but on some days, I had no other choice.

The recitations took the most time to get used to. Aside from the initial oddness of having to stand up while you recite (something we never did in undergrad), what's worse about the recits is that you are always on the spot. And it almost usually is a one-shot deal. It's either you know the answer to the question or you don't. It's either you get it or you don't. It's either you read it or you didn't. Professors do not always give you a second chance, and even if they do, it does not take away the failure of your first one. The pressure is always there - in class, you never know when you're getting called and how long you're going to be reciting. Some profs ask just one case, while others let you recite for the entire period. It's tough, because professors usually give the highest percentage in the course grade for recits - and of course, no one wants to give a bad impression. But of course, that's bound to happen, sooner or later. It's just a matter of how well you can recover.

The exams, however, are a different creature altogether. I won't go into any more detail, because quite frankly, they really are just one-part MCQs and one-part essay. Nothing new there. But just to give you an idea of what we had to suffer for an entire week (and actually more, if you count the preparations): We only had one exam per day, but each exam lasted from 1:00 to 8:00 pm. Yep. Seven hours.

More than the recitations and exams though, it's the everyday grind that proved most difficult and exhausting. Every single night, we had to read cases and understand them down to the last detail. We had to give up meeting up with friends to prepare for class. At some point, we even had to give up social networking (yep, I deactivated my Facebook for a time), if only to be able to say that all our focus is on acads and acads alone. It was tough. There were days where I would just wake up in the wee hours of the morning, panicking because I spent precious time sleeping when I could have been reading. All my money went to readings. I had no time nor energy to deal with stuff other than law school. I couldn't afford to.

But at the same time, all I wanted to do was escape. For the most part of the semester, I found myself asking if I really wanted this. If this place was only making me miserable, beating up my ego every day and making me feel like the most stupid person I know, then is it worth it? Is it worth the trouble if I don't really enjoy it that much? I thought I wanted to be a lawyer for the longest time - but now that I got in, I started questioning if this was really something I saw myself doing for the rest of my life. I wanted so badly to just go back to the way things were - back when I was in CAL and literary criticism took up most of my time, back when I read and wrote about stories that interested me and that I actually liked. I wanted to feel affirmed and validated again, because every day, law school just found ways to make me question my faith in myself. Every single day.

My blockmates are the probably the biggest factors to the equation. I will never tire of saying how grateful I am to have been in Block D. I always thought that law school would be a highly competitive place, to the point that it will get unhealthy. And considering the number of intelligent people in our class, one would think there can be no room for friends. But the thing about our block is we never feel the need to compete with each other. At least I don't. In fact, it only encourages me to do better. More than that however, I'm glad that we can say we really are good friends. We just click. We get each other. It's the kind of comfort that one truly needs in law school. The amount of ego-bruising we have to go through everyday can only be healed by a certain degree of familiarity and togetherness - and I'm glad our block has that. I can say the same for my group of friends too. There are times where we spent almost all our waking hours together, to the point of clinginess, I guess. But it's comforting on so many levels to just have people who understand you completely, and who believe in what you are capable of. I could not imagine surviving law school without a solid, steady, support group.




Now we're here, at the end of the semester, and I still can't say if I'm over all those insecurities. I probably never will be, not any time soon. (Waiting for the release of our grades isn't helping at all.) But, I guess, for all the difficulties that I've experienced in the last four months or so, I can truly, honestly say, that I did surprise myself quite a lot too. The fact that I've been so down and so depressed only made me realize how there's no other way to go but up. I challenged myself more than I ever did. I pushed myself to work harder. I convinced myself that I was still good enough and smart enough (and yeah, pretty enough, despite all the eyebags) - because I am still here, am I not? Despite all the anxiety and tension, I've managed to pull myself out of bed every single day. And maybe for now, that should be enough. I don't need to be good at it - I just need to feel that it's something that I can take on myself.

My mom was right. Law school may have knocked out the confidence in me, but it also gave me something to fight for. And perhaps this is just what I needed: a struggle not against anyone, but against myself. The first sem is only the beginning of four years of failure and stress. But I have to learn to believe again: that I can do it, that I can rise above this, that I am going to make it through. Even if it's only one day at a time.


First semester, I cannot be more glad that you are over. But I also cannot be more thankful. Here's to looking forward to the next one. (P.S. Please be kinder.)


__

Labels: block D, law school

I've said this before, but I don't mind saying it again and again: One of the things I'm most thankful for in the last few months is that I've met some of the smartest and most awesome people I know in Block D. I can't stress how much I love being in this block. One would think that law school breeds only contempt and competition but, no, for some odd reason, we all just click.

We're Tagaytay-bound in a while. I can't wait! We definitely all deserve this so, so much. :)

Sembreak, let's get it on!
(corollary: Birthday week, let's get it oooon!)


__

Labels: block D, law school

Koi No Yokan is a truly beautiful concept. It can be defined as the sense one can have upon first meeting another person that the two of them are going to fall in love. In other words, it is the knowledge one has that he/she is going to fall in love with another person. This differs from the idea “love at first sight” in that it does not imply that the feeling of love exists, rather it refers to the knowledge that a future love is inevitable.

(Untranslateable Words; High Tower Flashes)

I decided to be kind to myself this morning and listened to the new singles from Deftones' upcoming album, Koi No Yokan. I've been wondering for a while now what that title meant, but I've never really gotten around to searching for it. Until today.

Koi no yokan. Isn't it such an overwhelmingly beautiful concept? The idea of just... knowing?



(And now back to Persons.)

that doubts what I can do and what I am capable of - well, it's gotten louder and louder the last few weeks. I feel like I've lost the ability to believe in the lucidity of my decisions lately. And while there's this other voice that tells me, No, you're doing the right thing, the other one just keeps going, What's the point? 

And that scares me. Because I want it to have a point. I know everything has a point. So why can't I see it yet?


(This is my Karla vs. Consti: The Final Showdown fears speaking at 4:40 am.)

But loving him was red.

...against feelings?

One More Night - Stars

You'll never touch him again so get what you can 
Leaving him empty just because he's a man 
So good when it ends, they'll never be friends 
One more night, that's all they can spend

he did the arm lock to attack all her weak points, which he still knew: feet, waist, armpits, wrists, and everything in between. and laughing didn't even feel wrong, just confusing in a comforting kind of way, because it was 2010 again that night.


__

Labels: bullets

She looks at him, on the floor, and he is not looking back, for he is sleeping, he is away, he is somewhere else she couldn't hurt him. Maybe that's where he should stay, and maybe that's where she should want him to be. But she looks at the empty seat beside her and all she can think of is, What's taking so long?

Labels: bullets

Would you look at that, an actual weekend for once! I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom, papa, and tita (who took this picture) tonight. I've been waiting so long to have a break, and what better way to spend it than with an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical?

We last saw Phantom in 2009 at The Venetian in Las Vegas. But the performance tonight at the CCP was just as good, if not better. The actors were a delight to watch, and the overall effect of the sound and the set was a sensory feast. The only thing that puts the Las Vegas production a bit above this one was that the theater itself was built for Phantom, hence a bigger set and a much more realistic chandelier. Other than that, however, I found this production with much more pathos and bravado. I thought the performers were much better singers too, and every song was a delight to hear and see live.

(By the way, can I just say that in that scene where Phantom was forcing Christine into the wedding dress, all I could think of was, "But that marriage couldn't possibly be valid! For one, there's lack of consent on Christine's part! And where's the solemnizing officer?" Yes, yes, because that's how much I love Persons.)

I'm not regretting spending my weekend on this. Not at all.


No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.

Finally. There's reason to hang on to this. I really needed that affirmation, especially right now.

And because of that, this: some of my closest friends in the block. I owe these guys a lot - for the productive study sessions, for the Maroon 5 LSS, for the bacon, for the extremely clingy kind of friendship. I am really not complaining.





Also, Nutella soup. NUTELLA SOUP. Nutella freakin' soup.





Off to have our class' breakfast consultation with our Consti prof at Via Mare. Yep, Via Mare for breakfast. Silver linings, silver linings.

It drives one crazy. It takes one on the edge. It dangles in front of one the possibility of redemption, yet it also threatens one with the very realistic notion of defeat. It's sweet mental torture.

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.

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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)

   

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This Is How It Doesn't Start

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

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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.

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