by Al Young


She talks too loud, her face
a blur of wrinkles & sunshine
where her hard hair shivers
from laughter like a pine tree
stiff with oil & hotcombing

O & her anger realer than gasoline
slung into fire or lighted mohair
She’s a clothes lover from way back
but her body’s too big to be chic
or on cue so she wear what she want
People just gotta stand back &
take it like they do Easter Sunday when
the rainbow she travels is dry-cleaned

She laughs more than ever in spring
stomping the downtowns, Saturday past
work, looking into JC Penney’s checking
out Sears & bragging about how when she
feel like it she gon lose weight &
give up smoking one of these sorry days

Her eyes are diamonds of pure dark space
& the air flying out of them as you look
close is only the essence of living
to tell, a full-length woman, an aunt
brown & red with stalking the years



— from The Blues Don’t Change.

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[EDIT: April 23, 2015]

This morning I lost my aunt, my mom's sister, Gina Vistan - Naniong to cancer. She was diagnosed with advanced cancer in the bile-duct/pancreas area, after a tumor was found just about a month ago. She was not just my tita, but in many ways, my older sister, and my best friend. While for a fraction of my life, she had been based in Singapore, she still played the role of second-mother and partner-in-crime to me (along with my mom's other sister, Tita Karen).

I spent my Holy Week in Batangas where she was confined in a cancer institute there, and everyday since then I've offered my prayers for her. Everything happened so quickly and quite frankly, I'm still wrapping my head around it. I couldn't even write about her being diagnosed without tears welling up - more so this. It's surreal. I'm sad, perplexed, angry, frustrated - I'm all over the place. But I comfort myself right now at the thought that she is finally free from all pain. Please offer a prayer for her soul if you can. She was a great person and a truly amazing human being. I can't imagine where to go from here.

I'll miss you everyday, Tita Gina.

Labels: poetry

Went to CAL after class today because one of my thesis advisers wanted to lend me a fountain pen. He's an avid pen collector; meanwhile I'm a calligraphy newbie. He said he wanted me to try one -- and it was such an honor because knowing how much he values his pens (among other cool and awesome things he owns), he trusted me to try one of his! It's a Noodler's Ink Flexa Pen which was a completely unknown animal to me, because I've only used nibs and nib-holders thus far. But the tip of this pen is very much similar to a calligraphy nib, so I was so excited to go home and try it. (Also because calligraphy's the only kind of "creative writing" I do nowadays, ha ha hahaha.)

But before I did, of course, I took a moment to loiter, linger a bit more, and soak up all the college feelings I could get from being in the CAL area. It was bittersweet being back in the Faculty Center again, walking the same corridors I used to hang out in. Has it really been seven years since I first pre-enlisted in the DECL window, and three years since I submitted a bound copy of my thesis there? To say that I miss being a student of CAL would be a great understatement. I had great fulfillment in knowing that there was so much to learn about literature and the craft of writing, but that there was a place for me to grow and improve. It was an environment that always welcomed, and never pushed people away. There was no competition; no premium on grades, but rather on growth. It was nurturing, it was comforting. In legal jargon: it's my domicile. There is animus revertendi for certain.

At 1:05, in the sweltering heat, I felt myself incredibly nostalgic -- for the place, for friends, for the good times. I'm extremely grateful for the company I keep now; and I've grown to love the things that happened to me since I entered Malcolm. But undergrad was an incredible time. It was as a student of the College that I understood for myself what it means to be brave: in feeling and in writing. I can certainly say I wouldn't have been this brave and resilient if it wasn't for all kinds of love I got from CAL. I will always be thankful. And it will always, always be home.


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Labels: CW

Hi, hello, yes I'm still alive.

A lot of things have been going on, all of which have to do with stuff I'd rather not write about for now. There are just some things I'm not strong enough to put down on paper yet, so I'm giving myself time. I guess I'm at that point where I'm literally at a loss for words -- as to why, I guess I'll tell you in another post.

Today, instead, I choose to share with you an article I've come across that is more or less representative of a time in life people my age, I assume, can most definitely relate with. I'm talking about that band which served as the mouthpiece for all the sad, angsty, emo feelings of our youth: none other than Dashboard Confessional.

I'm sure, no matter how hard you try to deny it, you have your DC moments. Lots of them. And while the now cooler, "wiser," FKA Twigs-listening, 23-year-old self will scoff at the thought of you crying in the shower to Chris Carraba, you can't run away from that past. At least not completely. Because every tear you've shed since then had been colored some way or another by a feeling that only a Dashboard song can truly, properly convey.

"There is a brief window of life where it seems earnest emotion can be cool, and it happened to coincide with when I discovered Dashboard: high school.

— Dashboard Confessional, or When It Was Cool To Have Feelings by Julie Beck

Reading this article got me transported back to a time when my Y!M status updates were always quoting "Brilliant Dance" and "Swiss-Army Romance." It's true: at some point, you will realize how funny and even embarrassing it was that you were once so brave about putting your feelings out there. Sadness was worn like a badge. Misery was a one-way ticket to coolness. Being honest was okay; being hyper-sensitive was more than welcome.

And then we grew up and started worrying about careers and bills and failures. We had real, actual problems come our way. Suddenly, Chris Carraba became the encapsulation of the paltriness of teenage hormonal angst. How silly of him, how whiny to sing of such things, we say. Suddenly, feeling confused about love because your crush hung out with someone else seemed so inconsequential and petty. But the gift of retrospect, is that all it has to give? The feeling of shame about feelings once felt? Aren't we doing our teenage-selves a little disservice when we belittle the feelings we had to go through, the very same ones that brought us to who we are?

About a month ago, when I went out with my boyfriend's friends for karaoke, I was surprised that one of his friends chose a song that I once called my favorite: "The Curse of Curves" by Cute Is What We Aim For. It's another one of those emo-punk bands of that long gone era; the type of song that had words 15-year-old me thinking they were brilliant, but were actually nothing but a bunch of convoluted phrases masquerading as raw emotions. I had no idea what the song literally meant back in 3rd year high school, but so what, it seemed angry and I felt angry. When I started singing the song with Louie's friend again after about eight years, man, I couldn't help but laugh a little. What was I singing about?! What the hell did I know at fifteen? But realizing that I still knew every word and every riff by heart, I also felt a bit wistful. 2007 me was so full of naivete, but also full of earnestness. I was "confused" about life; but I felt no shame about singing about it then.

I guess the really sad thing about being an adult is having to close the door on emotions — or at least being transparent about them. We force ourselves to be more proper, to be more cautious. Not without good reason, yes. But it's also kind of fettering how we have to build walls around ourselves in order to be considered mature. It's as if, you're not an adult until you can keep your feelings locked up in some drawer with the key flushed down the toilet. Only small increments of such are allowed, none of the Chris Carraba-wailing variety.

"Dashboard Confessional’s music is a relic of an earlier, more earnest self, who would sometimes overshoot, whose emotions sometimes reached the level of unreasonable, unseemly, uncool. But so what? There’s a bravery in just saying how you feel, especially in a culture where norms are put in place to discourage it."

Maybe we shouldn't be too hard on ourselves. Let's give Dashboard Confessional — and all the other emo bands of that very emo era — some credit. Perhaps it was in feeling all the feelings that we eventually found the kind of people we were to become. We had to reach a turning point somehow: heartbreak, defeat, a failed test — something that could've been scored by a DC song. And then after all the tears have been cried (and all the sad song lyrics have been transcribed at the back of your trigonometry notebook), you learn to move on. After you whine and wail and cry, you put it all behind you. You manage. You carry on. And you're never the same person again.

And wow, do I owe those guys some thanks.

Lucky for me, I still have my iPod from high school. It's been with me since 2006, so yes, it still has all my Dashboard Confessional, Cute Is What We Aim For, Taking Back Sunday, and All-American Rejects tracks — along with a host of others. Guess it's about time to give all those songs (and feelings!) a spin again.

Sabi nga ni Pareng Chris, "Don't wait, to lay your armor down."


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Labels: required reading

'As Joan Didion writes in The Year of Magical Thinking, “The power of grief to derange the mind has been exhaustively noted.” Yet this derangement is something whose “cure” can only be lessened with time. It’s not considered a pathology. I was so deranged during my time in Tucson that I couldn’t even write in my journal. I felt that whatever I wrote about my father would come true, and I did not want to jinx anything. I also couldn’t have a single conversation that wasn’t punctuated by uncontrollable fits of sobbing. Even the most benign questions, Are you hungry? Do you want to go for a walk? caused my grief to flare anew.'

— Suppose I Kept On Singing Love Songs Just To Break My Own Fall by Anna Pulley

'We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.'

— The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

'We’re not probably, put on earth to prepare, there are certain things that, only by living through them, do you, learn to live through them. And what about understanding them? Through writing about them, that’s how you start to understand them.'

— Blue Nights by Joan Didion

No one knows sadness better than Joan.

love is a bloodsport from bombastarr on 8tracks Radio.

i     Bloodsport Raleigh Ritchie
ii    Nitesky Robot Koch feat. John La Monica
iii   Astronaut Joel Compass
iv    Simple Things Miguel
v     Lurk The Neighbourhood
vi    Sex On The Beach Partynextdoor
vii   Attica '71 Olivver
viii  Her Majid Jordan
ix    Technicolour Beat Oh Wonder
x     No Other Way Sinead Harnett feat. Snakeships
xi    When I Say I Love U Shy Girls
xii   Open Season Josef Salvat
xiii  Expectations Brika
xiv  The Rain Oh Wonder

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woke up for some reason; so this mix happened.

guess sometimes the body clock works in mysterious ways,
just as much a slave of the brain as it is of the heart.



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Labels: mixtape

I don't do OOTDs but the place we went to for Papa's birthday lunch, Romulo's, had the right amount of classic-but-eccentric prints, I just had to go near the walls and not blend in!

I mean how could you not, really

"You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they are related to you, can be your family."

— from "The Mysterious Benedict Society," Trenton Lee Stewart

I don't think I've stressed enough lately how grateful and lucky I am to have my family around. I've been in law school for three years now, and I can, with all honesty, say that if it weren't for them, I would've gone out the big, wooden doors of Malcolm, by chance or by choice.

I distinctly remember Chief Justice Sereno's speech in a law graduation I attended a few years back, wherein she mentioned that law school is something the entire family goes through. When one member of the family is a law student, everyone suffers along with him/her — lunches and dinners on weekends are cut short, vacations are postponed, schedules are adjusted. Every member has to work around the law student's study hours. Everyone adapts to the mood swings. Each one must be a willing ear and a shoulder to cry on. When the law student fails, the family weeps with him/her. And when he/she wins her battles, it is the the family's victory as well.

I'm lucky I have a set-up like this to call my own. My parents are my best friends — I can call them up anytime, message them on FB or Viber, and they can immediately assuage my fears and calm my nerves. It's happened quite a few times over the last year, where I cried to my mom or papa about some subject in the middle of the night, and they readily came to sleep over and stay with me for a few days. It's a huge adjustment on their part, to have to drive or commute all the way to QC, and then worry about going to work to Makati the next day. But then, this happens also even in times of non-despair, i.e. I am happy when they come over during the week and just come visit me to check on how I am. When my mom feels like having her hair done in a parlor near my place, or when my dad has a meeting somewhere in the area, I really appreciate the fact that they come over and spend time with me because it somehow recharges me and puts things back in perspective.

Aside from my parents, I have my grandparents and my aunts, whom I consider my pillars of strength too. I have a very small but extremely close family, and it's no surprise that we like making daldal to each other over the phone or through Viber every once in a while. I love that I can talk to my Wowa and Dodo about anything, and I always look forward to their visits in Manila when any one of them has a reunion with old friends based in the city. And I enjoy my calls with my titas from both sides (my parents' siblings), because in many ways, they've become the sisters I never had. From boys to books to beachwear, we can talk about everything, and it always reminds me that there is a life outside law school; that there is a fuller life that awaits beyond the walls of Malcolm Hall.

It's no secret that I'm such a homegirl. I can ditch my friends at the drop of a hat, if there's a chance to go home to Paranaque. During school breaks, I'm almost always MIA from the rest of the world. I love spending time with my family; I actually, genuinely enjoy their company. I guess the biggest thing I "regret" about law school is that all the time I have I only spend on studying instead of being with them physically. I wish I had the luxury of spending all my weekends back home in Paranaque (or in Batangas, or Singapore, or Bali, where my grandparents and titas are); of moving around my schedule for them instead of the other way around. But alas, that's not how things go. It's probably not the set-up that will work formeveryone (and I'm sure there are people who can manage their time better than me), but this is the one that works for us, and I'm lucky they're there to understand.

Guess I'm writing this in the middle of the night because I'm reminded that all this — the ups and downs of law school — isn't a fight I'm doing on my own. It's been three years, and still there are days of great uncertainty. But at least I know that I have people who have my back, for better or for worse. They've been keeping me together since day one. The least I can do is be at my best. Hopefully, in the end, they'll still see me through. When I get to wear my Sablay again, when I graduate, when I pass the bar, it's not just for myself, but for every single member of the small family I call my own. And it will be our triumph — theirs, just as much as mine.

Karla: "...but for tax returns that were filed fraudulently, the prescription period is 10 years, sir."

Professor: "And 10 years is like forever, right?"

I actually answered, "Not long enough, sir." Cue laughter.

Because you know, when you hear and see 10-year marriages crumble, or couples on their 24th year getting on each other's nerves all the time, it only reminds you that, actually, forever is an illusion. It's a social construct. It's an idea man created, on which we can cling on to so that we can find it in ourselves to wade through the uncertainties and difficulties of life.

This, coming from a person in a very happy relationship, raised in a normal household with complete sets of parents and a strong sense of extended family.

And it's funny, because for someone who's supposed to be idyllic, sweet, and optimistic, I'm hardly the typical "romantic" girl. Sure, I catch myself imagining what my future wedding dress will look like when I'm bored. But I'm hardly the kind of person who thinks that love is easy, that love is given to you on a silver platter, and it stays that way, just because. I couldn't care less about chocolates or flowers or grand gestures every month, every year. I don't believe that there's only one person in the universe for you. I hardly agree with people who think that true love means finding the person who fits all the requirements in your list. This isn't some Disney-princess movie where prince charming comes waltzing in while you're singing about a guy you dream about.

Love is, to be quite honest about it, work. To borrow from a great Maroon 5 song (that I always sing in the shower and will never ever stop playing on any of my devices ever), it's not always rainbows and butterflies. Love is compromise. It's about finding someone you like, and working at a lifetime of tolerating them, so that you don't end up hating them.

Yes, this, coming from someone who proclaimed her love on a newspaper of general circulation.

But I think even he will be on agreement with me on this one. (And so will all the parents out there, I'm sure.) I guess when you're 23, at your nth shot at dating, and exposed to failed relationships (and not necessarily terminated marriages, mind you), you get a clearer grasp of what love really is. Or rather, the promise of "forever" that a "true love" in marriage entails.
A few weeks ago, I came across a really beautiful talk from Dan Savage, "The Price of Admission." He answered a reader’s question about romance deal-breakers and, in the process, offered some really insightful and honest advice on relationships and love in the process, which I completely identified and agreed with:

"There is no settling down without some settling for. There is no long-term relationship not just putting up with your partner’s flaws, but accepting them and then pretending they aren’t there. We like to call it in my house “paying the price of admission.”

[…]

You can’t have a long-term relationship with someone unless you’re willing to identify the prices of admission you’re willing to pay — and the ones you’re not. But the ones you’re not — the list of things you’re not willing to put up with — you really have to be able to count [them] on one hand…

People, when they’re young, have this idea… “There’s someone out there who’s perfect for me”… “The one.”

“The one” does not fucking exist.

“The one” is a lie. But the beautiful part of the lie is that it’s a lie you can tell yourself.

Any long-term relationship that’s successful is really a myth that two people create together … and myths are built of lies, and there’s usually some kernel of truth…

When you think about it, you meet somebody for the first time, and they’re not presenting their warts-and-all self to you — they’re presenting their idealized self to you, they’re leading with their best. And then, eventually, you’re farting in front of each other. Eventually, you get to see the person who is behind that facade of their best, and they get to see the person your facade, your lie-self — this lie that you presented to them about who you really are. And what’s beautiful about a long-term relationship, and what can be transformative about it, is that I pretend every day that my boyfriend is the lie that I met when I first met him. And he does that same favor to me — he pretends that I’m that better person than I actually am. Even though he knows I’m not. Even though I know he’s not. And we then are obligated to live up to the lies we told each other about who we are — we are then forced to be better people than we actually are, because it’s expected of us by each other.

And you can, in a long-term relationship, really make your lie-self come true — if you’re smart, and you demand it of them, and you’re willing to give it to them… That’s the only way you become “the one” — it’s because somebody is willing to pretend you are. “The one” that they were waiting for, “the one” they wanted, their “one.” Because you’re not — nobody is. No two people are perfect for each other, ever, period — No two people are 100% sexually compatible, no two people are 100% emotionally compatible, no two people want the same things. And if you can’t reconcile yourself to that, you will have no relationships that last longer than two months.

And you know what? It’s not going to be their fault — it’s going to be your fault."

10 years isn't forever, sir. Maybe for tax purposes it may seem like so. But maybe we shouldn't be looking at love in terms of large, "unquantifiable but definite" units of measurement like forever. Maybe, just like the idea of The One, we're better off leaving forever as a myth; maybe we're better off treating every single day of choosing to be with a person as what's real and tangible and symbolic of what love is.

One day at a time sounds more comforting than "always and forever." One day at a time is hearing him on the phone at the end of the day, telling you about a feng shui expert arriving at their meeting to discuss good and bad luck before the construction of a building. One day at a time is being reminded of your Gaviscon (and other acid-related medicines) every time you switch bags. One day at a time is coming home to an empty bed, with so many things to read, but receiving a text excitedly telling you that it's 24 hours less until Saturday.

I guess we have our own ideas about love that we cling to. You all can have forever; I'll have one day at a time please.

February was quite eventful, to say the least. It was a month of catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, and celebrating small triumphs. Not what I expected, definitely, but that was a welcome surprise. I guess that's the universe's way of telling me that, doubts and uncertainties notwithstanding, things are going to be alright.

Tonight, I found out that a piece I wrote got published in Inquirer.net's "Love.Life." column. I came home from a long day of class (9:00 am to 8:00 pm on Wednesdays), tired, hungry, and all kinds of sleepy. Imagine my surprise and complete excitement when I opened my e-mail and saw a message from the Inquirer saying that my essay went online a few hours ago! I went completely nuts! I was jumping around and dancing like a crazed maniac! My mom, who dropped by to visit since it's a holiday tomorrow, couldn't hold back her laughter because I went from exhausted to ecstatic in less than five seconds :D

Back story: Last Sunday, I couldn't bring myself to sleep for some reason. Usually, what I'd do is try to finish off my remaining digests for the week, but since I've already submitted my assignments a few days before Valentine's, I had a bit of free time on my hands. (Which is a luxury nowadays!) I've always enjoyed reading long-form / non-fiction columns like New York Times' "Modern Love" and The Rumpus' "True Romantic," and after months (months!) of not having written anything, I decided to just give it a go.

I only had one thing in mind at the time — it's post-Valentine's and almost Ludwin's birthday, and I haven't thought of a gift for him at all. So, I wrote him a letter - the form of which has always been special to me since I wrote my thesis about it - and thought it would make for a wonderful surprise. A few hours later, as luck would have it, I came across an article in the Inquirer, calling for submissions for their new column.

And now, here we are. After the last few (very trying) weeks, it feels great to be affirmed like this, in a medium that has always made me feel welcome: writing. Call it serendipity, fate, kismet - whatever else - but I guess like in most things, timing plays its cue when you most need it, but least expect it.

What a feeling :)

"He has this habit of walking by the wrong side of the road. Gentleman as he is, he insists on placing me on the side of the pavement where plants grow and cars won’t hit me, or at least not right away. He unconsciously touches my elbows every time he moves towards the more dangerous edge of the sidewalk, as if to say, “You belong where the road can’t hurt you.”

This is how we met; this is how I first got to know him.

At 16, I didn’t think I was going to meet a great love. Not on the first week of class. Not in PE. Not at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I finally pulled my hair up in a messy ponytail because my bangs just would not cooperate.

The professor wanted us to pair up with someone from the opposite sex, and he paired us up alphabetically. For a convent school-raised girl, this seemed interesting. Our surnames happened to start with the same letter—B. As in, boy this is going to be fun. I looked at him and forced myself to hide a smile. B, as in, Backstreet Boy haircut, parted down the middle a la Nick Carter. B, as in, better find a way to fix my hair on Fridays because there’s going to be a cute boy walking beside me for an entire semester.

He said hi. Cue pleasantries."


— an excerpt from Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self, Love.Life., Inquirer.net

(You can read the entire article here.)


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Thank you, Inquirer! It's a great honor to be recognized by you again :) You have made one boy very, very happy with this pleasant little surprise!

Labels: creative nonfiction, featured

For Valentine's this year, we were invited by my good friend Kye to her birthday celebration - but it's no ordinary party. She decided to celebrate her 24th year with the kids of the Sta. Rita Orphanage in Sucat, Paranaque, and she wanted all of her family and friends to be there with her. It was a simple, heartwarming get-together. It was particularly moving, especially because it was truly a joy to see the smiles on all the kids' faces. The entire afternoon was a testament of how kind and generous our friend is, and I'm so, so proud of the woman she's turned out to be.

Not known to a lot of people, Kye was struck with ovarian cancer sometime in 2011. It was a very difficult time for everyone in her life, especially her family, whom we saw struggling to be courageous for her and with her. She is the eldest, the ate, but somehow she also seemed to be the most gentle. Our entire barkada felt completely helpless at that time, because while we wanted to do our part by reaching out to her family in case they needed our assistance, there really was not much that we could do. We wanted to see her, but she couldn't receive a lot of visitors. We wanted to make her laugh, but we had a hard time holding back our tears every time we're told of how physically weak she was. But in those devastating times, it was actually Kye who showed the greatest strength and optimism. She was determined to graduate; she was decided on beating the sickness. And defeat the Big C, she did.




Among the nine of us in our group, Kye has survived the most and (I believe) has turned out to be the most beautiful person, inside and out. I've seen her hurt so much in the last few years - physically, emotionally, mentally. She's gone from chemotherapy to heartbreak. She's conquered some of our worst fears. And yet, she's come out unscathed - and still the nicest, gentlest, most sincere person I know.

It's no surprise then, that a celebration like this would come from Kye. We really couldn't say no. So what if it was Valentine's day? Ludwin and I, and everyone else in my barkada, were more than glad to share the love to these children who need it the most. I was so happy to have spent the day with my high school friends, too. All of us are going through our own respective rough patches, but coming together and making an effort for these children was more than enough to put the salve on our own wounds and realize that the world is bigger than our bubble. There are more people in pain; there are more people who deserve to experience joy and love, even if only for a day.





The party was sponsored by Jollibee, which meant great food and great fun! It brought out the kid in all of us - although in my case, I think it brought out the frustrated-ate-that-wants-to-tease-little-kids :)) I'm the baby in both sides of my family - an only child, no first cousins in the Vistan side, and Lolas' and Titas' favorite playmate in the Bernardo side. I've always been the girl in the spotlight, the "pinched" and the "bitten." (Yeah I was a very chubby kid.) So imagine my delight upon seeing these little kids that I could gigil and harot! Hahaha :))

Not that I pinched and bit any one of them for real ha! I was just extra excited and managed to tickle every single baby I played with :)) [Yeah, I have the makings of a truly, pang-asar ate. No wonder I didn't have siblings! Siguro kawawa sakin! HAHAHA!]



I love you, Jollibee! You're still my number one (secret) study place in Katip!

There were actually two rooms / sections in the orphanage: the nursery where the babies are, and the playroom for the toddlers. We had to be extra quiet and careful inside the nursery because some babies were asleep, while some others were in sensitive conditions. But it was nice to spend a few moments with them, even though they hardly responded. The way they touched us back, you knew these are little children who are craving for real, genuine hugs. Meanwhile, the bigger kids in the playroom were the ones we got to "party" with. Some were active and cheerful, a few others were more quiet and reserved. I played and bonded with several kids; I think Ludwin had a grand time seeing me try to be a nice ate / tita. Pasado ba? Parang mas kid pa ako eh. :))










Since it was a kiddie party, we had all the games, singing, and dancing. Yep, including the time-honored traditions of Musical Chairs and Hep-Hep-Hooray :)) No surprise that we were all such eager beavers! I think the grown-ups enjoyed more than the kids did, because they were just too caught up with the food and prizes to even care about what was going on :))









It was certainly an afternoon worth remembering. Truth be told, I've always been a recipient of something special for Valentine's, ever since high school. (#habanghair!) This was the first time Valentine's meant something different, but conveyed love all the same. It was refreshing to do something not-romantic, yet nonetheless meaningful. It's so humbling to be reminded that yours is a blessed life; but it all the more compels you to serve and give back to those who have less.

Happy, happy birthday, Kye! Thank you for inviting us; you're always a blessing and an inspiration. Couldn't have celebrated February 14 any other way :)


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We didn't plan on anything special for just the two of us, but when Ludwin and I got back to QC after Kye's party, we decided to eat dinner together somewhere (1) not crowded, (2) not expensive, and (3) not too far away.

So we ended up at Brickfire. Which isn't too special... except that it is, because some time during the meal, we suddenly remembered that it was the place where we first held hands! About a year and a half ago, we went on our second official date at that steak place. That was the night I almost gave up on eating steak because I couldn't cut up the meat (I'm an idiot with knives, haha), and the night he promised he'd be the one to slice all my steaks from then on. Hahaha! :)) #cheese



We're not big on flowers and all the grand gestures, but I'm the luckiest girl in the world for having a man who cares for all the little things instead. Sometimes I still shake my head in disbelief when I realize how far we've come since we first met, and since we first started going out. Who knew I'd end up with my crush? And that he'd turn out to be such a great boyfriend/best friend/lover/person, inside and out? Well, naka-jackpot rin naman siya sa'kin. Hahaha!

Happy Valentine's day, love!

Labels: friends

We were reluctant at first, but it was the birthday boy's request, so of course we couldn't refuse!



Obviously, I got carried away. A little too much, actually :))


New goal for 2015: do that final lift ever so effortlessly! We have the rest of the year to practice! WATCH OUT, YOU GUYS. Nobody puts these babies in the corner. :))))

Some time in the middle of last semester, me and my girl friends in the block suddenly decided to buy tickets to Coron because of Cebu Pacific's seat sale. Thanks to our professor being late, one of my blockmates surfing on the web chanced upon the ad. It only took us about fifteen minutes or so to decide that we should go on a trip on January, considering the month-long Christmas/semester break that awaited us.

The weeks in between that fateful day (which I now forgot, haha) and the much-awaited trip proved to be long and difficult, considering the hurdles we had to go through before we earned our vacation. But alas, it finally arrived, and turned out to be every bit as we imagined.

Coron was lovely in its simplicity, beautiful in the calm. It was a quiet, idyllic town, with nothing but the sea to offer as its charm. But it was definitely more than enough.

We were astounded numerous times in the trip, especially after every lake, after every glimpse of each corner of the waters. And perhaps it was only fitting. Sometimes, it's in the quietest of places that we find the loudest affirmations - of the wonders of nature, and of the joy of sharing it with people you care about. So loud in your head does the awe strike you, in fact, that it renders you absolutely speechless.

(And behold, the photo dump.)

by Al Young


She talks too loud, her face
a blur of wrinkles & sunshine
where her hard hair shivers
from laughter like a pine tree
stiff with oil & hotcombing

O & her anger realer than gasoline
slung into fire or lighted mohair
She’s a clothes lover from way back
but her body’s too big to be chic
or on cue so she wear what she want
People just gotta stand back &
take it like they do Easter Sunday when
the rainbow she travels is dry-cleaned

She laughs more than ever in spring
stomping the downtowns, Saturday past
work, looking into JC Penney’s checking
out Sears & bragging about how when she
feel like it she gon lose weight &
give up smoking one of these sorry days

Her eyes are diamonds of pure dark space
& the air flying out of them as you look
close is only the essence of living
to tell, a full-length woman, an aunt
brown & red with stalking the years



— from The Blues Don’t Change.

__

[EDIT: April 23, 2015]

This morning I lost my aunt, my mom's sister, Gina Vistan - Naniong to cancer. She was diagnosed with advanced cancer in the bile-duct/pancreas area, after a tumor was found just about a month ago. She was not just my tita, but in many ways, my older sister, and my best friend. While for a fraction of my life, she had been based in Singapore, she still played the role of second-mother and partner-in-crime to me (along with my mom's other sister, Tita Karen).

I spent my Holy Week in Batangas where she was confined in a cancer institute there, and everyday since then I've offered my prayers for her. Everything happened so quickly and quite frankly, I'm still wrapping my head around it. I couldn't even write about her being diagnosed without tears welling up - more so this. It's surreal. I'm sad, perplexed, angry, frustrated - I'm all over the place. But I comfort myself right now at the thought that she is finally free from all pain. Please offer a prayer for her soul if you can. She was a great person and a truly amazing human being. I can't imagine where to go from here.

I'll miss you everyday, Tita Gina.

Labels: poetry

Went to CAL after class today because one of my thesis advisers wanted to lend me a fountain pen. He's an avid pen collector; meanwhile I'm a calligraphy newbie. He said he wanted me to try one -- and it was such an honor because knowing how much he values his pens (among other cool and awesome things he owns), he trusted me to try one of his! It's a Noodler's Ink Flexa Pen which was a completely unknown animal to me, because I've only used nibs and nib-holders thus far. But the tip of this pen is very much similar to a calligraphy nib, so I was so excited to go home and try it. (Also because calligraphy's the only kind of "creative writing" I do nowadays, ha ha hahaha.)

But before I did, of course, I took a moment to loiter, linger a bit more, and soak up all the college feelings I could get from being in the CAL area. It was bittersweet being back in the Faculty Center again, walking the same corridors I used to hang out in. Has it really been seven years since I first pre-enlisted in the DECL window, and three years since I submitted a bound copy of my thesis there? To say that I miss being a student of CAL would be a great understatement. I had great fulfillment in knowing that there was so much to learn about literature and the craft of writing, but that there was a place for me to grow and improve. It was an environment that always welcomed, and never pushed people away. There was no competition; no premium on grades, but rather on growth. It was nurturing, it was comforting. In legal jargon: it's my domicile. There is animus revertendi for certain.

At 1:05, in the sweltering heat, I felt myself incredibly nostalgic -- for the place, for friends, for the good times. I'm extremely grateful for the company I keep now; and I've grown to love the things that happened to me since I entered Malcolm. But undergrad was an incredible time. It was as a student of the College that I understood for myself what it means to be brave: in feeling and in writing. I can certainly say I wouldn't have been this brave and resilient if it wasn't for all kinds of love I got from CAL. I will always be thankful. And it will always, always be home.


_

Labels: CW

Hi, hello, yes I'm still alive.

A lot of things have been going on, all of which have to do with stuff I'd rather not write about for now. There are just some things I'm not strong enough to put down on paper yet, so I'm giving myself time. I guess I'm at that point where I'm literally at a loss for words -- as to why, I guess I'll tell you in another post.

Today, instead, I choose to share with you an article I've come across that is more or less representative of a time in life people my age, I assume, can most definitely relate with. I'm talking about that band which served as the mouthpiece for all the sad, angsty, emo feelings of our youth: none other than Dashboard Confessional.

I'm sure, no matter how hard you try to deny it, you have your DC moments. Lots of them. And while the now cooler, "wiser," FKA Twigs-listening, 23-year-old self will scoff at the thought of you crying in the shower to Chris Carraba, you can't run away from that past. At least not completely. Because every tear you've shed since then had been colored some way or another by a feeling that only a Dashboard song can truly, properly convey.

"There is a brief window of life where it seems earnest emotion can be cool, and it happened to coincide with when I discovered Dashboard: high school.

— Dashboard Confessional, or When It Was Cool To Have Feelings by Julie Beck

Reading this article got me transported back to a time when my Y!M status updates were always quoting "Brilliant Dance" and "Swiss-Army Romance." It's true: at some point, you will realize how funny and even embarrassing it was that you were once so brave about putting your feelings out there. Sadness was worn like a badge. Misery was a one-way ticket to coolness. Being honest was okay; being hyper-sensitive was more than welcome.

And then we grew up and started worrying about careers and bills and failures. We had real, actual problems come our way. Suddenly, Chris Carraba became the encapsulation of the paltriness of teenage hormonal angst. How silly of him, how whiny to sing of such things, we say. Suddenly, feeling confused about love because your crush hung out with someone else seemed so inconsequential and petty. But the gift of retrospect, is that all it has to give? The feeling of shame about feelings once felt? Aren't we doing our teenage-selves a little disservice when we belittle the feelings we had to go through, the very same ones that brought us to who we are?

About a month ago, when I went out with my boyfriend's friends for karaoke, I was surprised that one of his friends chose a song that I once called my favorite: "The Curse of Curves" by Cute Is What We Aim For. It's another one of those emo-punk bands of that long gone era; the type of song that had words 15-year-old me thinking they were brilliant, but were actually nothing but a bunch of convoluted phrases masquerading as raw emotions. I had no idea what the song literally meant back in 3rd year high school, but so what, it seemed angry and I felt angry. When I started singing the song with Louie's friend again after about eight years, man, I couldn't help but laugh a little. What was I singing about?! What the hell did I know at fifteen? But realizing that I still knew every word and every riff by heart, I also felt a bit wistful. 2007 me was so full of naivete, but also full of earnestness. I was "confused" about life; but I felt no shame about singing about it then.

I guess the really sad thing about being an adult is having to close the door on emotions — or at least being transparent about them. We force ourselves to be more proper, to be more cautious. Not without good reason, yes. But it's also kind of fettering how we have to build walls around ourselves in order to be considered mature. It's as if, you're not an adult until you can keep your feelings locked up in some drawer with the key flushed down the toilet. Only small increments of such are allowed, none of the Chris Carraba-wailing variety.

"Dashboard Confessional’s music is a relic of an earlier, more earnest self, who would sometimes overshoot, whose emotions sometimes reached the level of unreasonable, unseemly, uncool. But so what? There’s a bravery in just saying how you feel, especially in a culture where norms are put in place to discourage it."

Maybe we shouldn't be too hard on ourselves. Let's give Dashboard Confessional — and all the other emo bands of that very emo era — some credit. Perhaps it was in feeling all the feelings that we eventually found the kind of people we were to become. We had to reach a turning point somehow: heartbreak, defeat, a failed test — something that could've been scored by a DC song. And then after all the tears have been cried (and all the sad song lyrics have been transcribed at the back of your trigonometry notebook), you learn to move on. After you whine and wail and cry, you put it all behind you. You manage. You carry on. And you're never the same person again.

And wow, do I owe those guys some thanks.

Lucky for me, I still have my iPod from high school. It's been with me since 2006, so yes, it still has all my Dashboard Confessional, Cute Is What We Aim For, Taking Back Sunday, and All-American Rejects tracks — along with a host of others. Guess it's about time to give all those songs (and feelings!) a spin again.

Sabi nga ni Pareng Chris, "Don't wait, to lay your armor down."


__

Labels: required reading

'As Joan Didion writes in The Year of Magical Thinking, “The power of grief to derange the mind has been exhaustively noted.” Yet this derangement is something whose “cure” can only be lessened with time. It’s not considered a pathology. I was so deranged during my time in Tucson that I couldn’t even write in my journal. I felt that whatever I wrote about my father would come true, and I did not want to jinx anything. I also couldn’t have a single conversation that wasn’t punctuated by uncontrollable fits of sobbing. Even the most benign questions, Are you hungry? Do you want to go for a walk? caused my grief to flare anew.'

— Suppose I Kept On Singing Love Songs Just To Break My Own Fall by Anna Pulley

'We are imperfect mortal beings, aware of that mortality even as we push it away, failed by our very complication, so wired that when we mourn our losses we also mourn, for better or for worse, ourselves. As we were. As we are no longer. As we will one day not be at all.'

— The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion

'We’re not probably, put on earth to prepare, there are certain things that, only by living through them, do you, learn to live through them. And what about understanding them? Through writing about them, that’s how you start to understand them.'

— Blue Nights by Joan Didion

No one knows sadness better than Joan.

love is a bloodsport from bombastarr on 8tracks Radio.

i     Bloodsport Raleigh Ritchie
ii    Nitesky Robot Koch feat. John La Monica
iii   Astronaut Joel Compass
iv    Simple Things Miguel
v     Lurk The Neighbourhood
vi    Sex On The Beach Partynextdoor
vii   Attica '71 Olivver
viii  Her Majid Jordan
ix    Technicolour Beat Oh Wonder
x     No Other Way Sinead Harnett feat. Snakeships
xi    When I Say I Love U Shy Girls
xii   Open Season Josef Salvat
xiii  Expectations Brika
xiv  The Rain Oh Wonder

*

woke up for some reason; so this mix happened.

guess sometimes the body clock works in mysterious ways,
just as much a slave of the brain as it is of the heart.



_

Labels: mixtape

I don't do OOTDs but the place we went to for Papa's birthday lunch, Romulo's, had the right amount of classic-but-eccentric prints, I just had to go near the walls and not blend in!

I mean how could you not, really

"You must remember, family is often born of blood, but it doesn't depend on blood. Nor is it exclusive of friendship. Family members can be your best friends, you know. And best friends, whether or not they are related to you, can be your family."

— from "The Mysterious Benedict Society," Trenton Lee Stewart

I don't think I've stressed enough lately how grateful and lucky I am to have my family around. I've been in law school for three years now, and I can, with all honesty, say that if it weren't for them, I would've gone out the big, wooden doors of Malcolm, by chance or by choice.

I distinctly remember Chief Justice Sereno's speech in a law graduation I attended a few years back, wherein she mentioned that law school is something the entire family goes through. When one member of the family is a law student, everyone suffers along with him/her — lunches and dinners on weekends are cut short, vacations are postponed, schedules are adjusted. Every member has to work around the law student's study hours. Everyone adapts to the mood swings. Each one must be a willing ear and a shoulder to cry on. When the law student fails, the family weeps with him/her. And when he/she wins her battles, it is the the family's victory as well.

I'm lucky I have a set-up like this to call my own. My parents are my best friends — I can call them up anytime, message them on FB or Viber, and they can immediately assuage my fears and calm my nerves. It's happened quite a few times over the last year, where I cried to my mom or papa about some subject in the middle of the night, and they readily came to sleep over and stay with me for a few days. It's a huge adjustment on their part, to have to drive or commute all the way to QC, and then worry about going to work to Makati the next day. But then, this happens also even in times of non-despair, i.e. I am happy when they come over during the week and just come visit me to check on how I am. When my mom feels like having her hair done in a parlor near my place, or when my dad has a meeting somewhere in the area, I really appreciate the fact that they come over and spend time with me because it somehow recharges me and puts things back in perspective.

Aside from my parents, I have my grandparents and my aunts, whom I consider my pillars of strength too. I have a very small but extremely close family, and it's no surprise that we like making daldal to each other over the phone or through Viber every once in a while. I love that I can talk to my Wowa and Dodo about anything, and I always look forward to their visits in Manila when any one of them has a reunion with old friends based in the city. And I enjoy my calls with my titas from both sides (my parents' siblings), because in many ways, they've become the sisters I never had. From boys to books to beachwear, we can talk about everything, and it always reminds me that there is a life outside law school; that there is a fuller life that awaits beyond the walls of Malcolm Hall.

It's no secret that I'm such a homegirl. I can ditch my friends at the drop of a hat, if there's a chance to go home to Paranaque. During school breaks, I'm almost always MIA from the rest of the world. I love spending time with my family; I actually, genuinely enjoy their company. I guess the biggest thing I "regret" about law school is that all the time I have I only spend on studying instead of being with them physically. I wish I had the luxury of spending all my weekends back home in Paranaque (or in Batangas, or Singapore, or Bali, where my grandparents and titas are); of moving around my schedule for them instead of the other way around. But alas, that's not how things go. It's probably not the set-up that will work formeveryone (and I'm sure there are people who can manage their time better than me), but this is the one that works for us, and I'm lucky they're there to understand.

Guess I'm writing this in the middle of the night because I'm reminded that all this — the ups and downs of law school — isn't a fight I'm doing on my own. It's been three years, and still there are days of great uncertainty. But at least I know that I have people who have my back, for better or for worse. They've been keeping me together since day one. The least I can do is be at my best. Hopefully, in the end, they'll still see me through. When I get to wear my Sablay again, when I graduate, when I pass the bar, it's not just for myself, but for every single member of the small family I call my own. And it will be our triumph — theirs, just as much as mine.

Karla: "...but for tax returns that were filed fraudulently, the prescription period is 10 years, sir."

Professor: "And 10 years is like forever, right?"

I actually answered, "Not long enough, sir." Cue laughter.

Because you know, when you hear and see 10-year marriages crumble, or couples on their 24th year getting on each other's nerves all the time, it only reminds you that, actually, forever is an illusion. It's a social construct. It's an idea man created, on which we can cling on to so that we can find it in ourselves to wade through the uncertainties and difficulties of life.

This, coming from a person in a very happy relationship, raised in a normal household with complete sets of parents and a strong sense of extended family.

And it's funny, because for someone who's supposed to be idyllic, sweet, and optimistic, I'm hardly the typical "romantic" girl. Sure, I catch myself imagining what my future wedding dress will look like when I'm bored. But I'm hardly the kind of person who thinks that love is easy, that love is given to you on a silver platter, and it stays that way, just because. I couldn't care less about chocolates or flowers or grand gestures every month, every year. I don't believe that there's only one person in the universe for you. I hardly agree with people who think that true love means finding the person who fits all the requirements in your list. This isn't some Disney-princess movie where prince charming comes waltzing in while you're singing about a guy you dream about.

Love is, to be quite honest about it, work. To borrow from a great Maroon 5 song (that I always sing in the shower and will never ever stop playing on any of my devices ever), it's not always rainbows and butterflies. Love is compromise. It's about finding someone you like, and working at a lifetime of tolerating them, so that you don't end up hating them.

Yes, this, coming from someone who proclaimed her love on a newspaper of general circulation.

But I think even he will be on agreement with me on this one. (And so will all the parents out there, I'm sure.) I guess when you're 23, at your nth shot at dating, and exposed to failed relationships (and not necessarily terminated marriages, mind you), you get a clearer grasp of what love really is. Or rather, the promise of "forever" that a "true love" in marriage entails.
A few weeks ago, I came across a really beautiful talk from Dan Savage, "The Price of Admission." He answered a reader’s question about romance deal-breakers and, in the process, offered some really insightful and honest advice on relationships and love in the process, which I completely identified and agreed with:

"There is no settling down without some settling for. There is no long-term relationship not just putting up with your partner’s flaws, but accepting them and then pretending they aren’t there. We like to call it in my house “paying the price of admission.”

[…]

You can’t have a long-term relationship with someone unless you’re willing to identify the prices of admission you’re willing to pay — and the ones you’re not. But the ones you’re not — the list of things you’re not willing to put up with — you really have to be able to count [them] on one hand…

People, when they’re young, have this idea… “There’s someone out there who’s perfect for me”… “The one.”

“The one” does not fucking exist.

“The one” is a lie. But the beautiful part of the lie is that it’s a lie you can tell yourself.

Any long-term relationship that’s successful is really a myth that two people create together … and myths are built of lies, and there’s usually some kernel of truth…

When you think about it, you meet somebody for the first time, and they’re not presenting their warts-and-all self to you — they’re presenting their idealized self to you, they’re leading with their best. And then, eventually, you’re farting in front of each other. Eventually, you get to see the person who is behind that facade of their best, and they get to see the person your facade, your lie-self — this lie that you presented to them about who you really are. And what’s beautiful about a long-term relationship, and what can be transformative about it, is that I pretend every day that my boyfriend is the lie that I met when I first met him. And he does that same favor to me — he pretends that I’m that better person than I actually am. Even though he knows I’m not. Even though I know he’s not. And we then are obligated to live up to the lies we told each other about who we are — we are then forced to be better people than we actually are, because it’s expected of us by each other.

And you can, in a long-term relationship, really make your lie-self come true — if you’re smart, and you demand it of them, and you’re willing to give it to them… That’s the only way you become “the one” — it’s because somebody is willing to pretend you are. “The one” that they were waiting for, “the one” they wanted, their “one.” Because you’re not — nobody is. No two people are perfect for each other, ever, period — No two people are 100% sexually compatible, no two people are 100% emotionally compatible, no two people want the same things. And if you can’t reconcile yourself to that, you will have no relationships that last longer than two months.

And you know what? It’s not going to be their fault — it’s going to be your fault."

10 years isn't forever, sir. Maybe for tax purposes it may seem like so. But maybe we shouldn't be looking at love in terms of large, "unquantifiable but definite" units of measurement like forever. Maybe, just like the idea of The One, we're better off leaving forever as a myth; maybe we're better off treating every single day of choosing to be with a person as what's real and tangible and symbolic of what love is.

One day at a time sounds more comforting than "always and forever." One day at a time is hearing him on the phone at the end of the day, telling you about a feng shui expert arriving at their meeting to discuss good and bad luck before the construction of a building. One day at a time is being reminded of your Gaviscon (and other acid-related medicines) every time you switch bags. One day at a time is coming home to an empty bed, with so many things to read, but receiving a text excitedly telling you that it's 24 hours less until Saturday.

I guess we have our own ideas about love that we cling to. You all can have forever; I'll have one day at a time please.

February was quite eventful, to say the least. It was a month of catching up with old friends, meeting new ones, and celebrating small triumphs. Not what I expected, definitely, but that was a welcome surprise. I guess that's the universe's way of telling me that, doubts and uncertainties notwithstanding, things are going to be alright.

Tonight, I found out that a piece I wrote got published in Inquirer.net's "Love.Life." column. I came home from a long day of class (9:00 am to 8:00 pm on Wednesdays), tired, hungry, and all kinds of sleepy. Imagine my surprise and complete excitement when I opened my e-mail and saw a message from the Inquirer saying that my essay went online a few hours ago! I went completely nuts! I was jumping around and dancing like a crazed maniac! My mom, who dropped by to visit since it's a holiday tomorrow, couldn't hold back her laughter because I went from exhausted to ecstatic in less than five seconds :D

Back story: Last Sunday, I couldn't bring myself to sleep for some reason. Usually, what I'd do is try to finish off my remaining digests for the week, but since I've already submitted my assignments a few days before Valentine's, I had a bit of free time on my hands. (Which is a luxury nowadays!) I've always enjoyed reading long-form / non-fiction columns like New York Times' "Modern Love" and The Rumpus' "True Romantic," and after months (months!) of not having written anything, I decided to just give it a go.

I only had one thing in mind at the time — it's post-Valentine's and almost Ludwin's birthday, and I haven't thought of a gift for him at all. So, I wrote him a letter - the form of which has always been special to me since I wrote my thesis about it - and thought it would make for a wonderful surprise. A few hours later, as luck would have it, I came across an article in the Inquirer, calling for submissions for their new column.

And now, here we are. After the last few (very trying) weeks, it feels great to be affirmed like this, in a medium that has always made me feel welcome: writing. Call it serendipity, fate, kismet - whatever else - but I guess like in most things, timing plays its cue when you most need it, but least expect it.

What a feeling :)

"He has this habit of walking by the wrong side of the road. Gentleman as he is, he insists on placing me on the side of the pavement where plants grow and cars won’t hit me, or at least not right away. He unconsciously touches my elbows every time he moves towards the more dangerous edge of the sidewalk, as if to say, “You belong where the road can’t hurt you.”

This is how we met; this is how I first got to know him.

At 16, I didn’t think I was going to meet a great love. Not on the first week of class. Not in PE. Not at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I finally pulled my hair up in a messy ponytail because my bangs just would not cooperate.

The professor wanted us to pair up with someone from the opposite sex, and he paired us up alphabetically. For a convent school-raised girl, this seemed interesting. Our surnames happened to start with the same letter—B. As in, boy this is going to be fun. I looked at him and forced myself to hide a smile. B, as in, Backstreet Boy haircut, parted down the middle a la Nick Carter. B, as in, better find a way to fix my hair on Fridays because there’s going to be a cute boy walking beside me for an entire semester.

He said hi. Cue pleasantries."


— an excerpt from Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self, Love.Life., Inquirer.net

(You can read the entire article here.)


*
Thank you, Inquirer! It's a great honor to be recognized by you again :) You have made one boy very, very happy with this pleasant little surprise!

Labels: creative nonfiction, featured

For Valentine's this year, we were invited by my good friend Kye to her birthday celebration - but it's no ordinary party. She decided to celebrate her 24th year with the kids of the Sta. Rita Orphanage in Sucat, Paranaque, and she wanted all of her family and friends to be there with her. It was a simple, heartwarming get-together. It was particularly moving, especially because it was truly a joy to see the smiles on all the kids' faces. The entire afternoon was a testament of how kind and generous our friend is, and I'm so, so proud of the woman she's turned out to be.

Not known to a lot of people, Kye was struck with ovarian cancer sometime in 2011. It was a very difficult time for everyone in her life, especially her family, whom we saw struggling to be courageous for her and with her. She is the eldest, the ate, but somehow she also seemed to be the most gentle. Our entire barkada felt completely helpless at that time, because while we wanted to do our part by reaching out to her family in case they needed our assistance, there really was not much that we could do. We wanted to see her, but she couldn't receive a lot of visitors. We wanted to make her laugh, but we had a hard time holding back our tears every time we're told of how physically weak she was. But in those devastating times, it was actually Kye who showed the greatest strength and optimism. She was determined to graduate; she was decided on beating the sickness. And defeat the Big C, she did.




Among the nine of us in our group, Kye has survived the most and (I believe) has turned out to be the most beautiful person, inside and out. I've seen her hurt so much in the last few years - physically, emotionally, mentally. She's gone from chemotherapy to heartbreak. She's conquered some of our worst fears. And yet, she's come out unscathed - and still the nicest, gentlest, most sincere person I know.

It's no surprise then, that a celebration like this would come from Kye. We really couldn't say no. So what if it was Valentine's day? Ludwin and I, and everyone else in my barkada, were more than glad to share the love to these children who need it the most. I was so happy to have spent the day with my high school friends, too. All of us are going through our own respective rough patches, but coming together and making an effort for these children was more than enough to put the salve on our own wounds and realize that the world is bigger than our bubble. There are more people in pain; there are more people who deserve to experience joy and love, even if only for a day.





The party was sponsored by Jollibee, which meant great food and great fun! It brought out the kid in all of us - although in my case, I think it brought out the frustrated-ate-that-wants-to-tease-little-kids :)) I'm the baby in both sides of my family - an only child, no first cousins in the Vistan side, and Lolas' and Titas' favorite playmate in the Bernardo side. I've always been the girl in the spotlight, the "pinched" and the "bitten." (Yeah I was a very chubby kid.) So imagine my delight upon seeing these little kids that I could gigil and harot! Hahaha :))

Not that I pinched and bit any one of them for real ha! I was just extra excited and managed to tickle every single baby I played with :)) [Yeah, I have the makings of a truly, pang-asar ate. No wonder I didn't have siblings! Siguro kawawa sakin! HAHAHA!]



I love you, Jollibee! You're still my number one (secret) study place in Katip!

There were actually two rooms / sections in the orphanage: the nursery where the babies are, and the playroom for the toddlers. We had to be extra quiet and careful inside the nursery because some babies were asleep, while some others were in sensitive conditions. But it was nice to spend a few moments with them, even though they hardly responded. The way they touched us back, you knew these are little children who are craving for real, genuine hugs. Meanwhile, the bigger kids in the playroom were the ones we got to "party" with. Some were active and cheerful, a few others were more quiet and reserved. I played and bonded with several kids; I think Ludwin had a grand time seeing me try to be a nice ate / tita. Pasado ba? Parang mas kid pa ako eh. :))










Since it was a kiddie party, we had all the games, singing, and dancing. Yep, including the time-honored traditions of Musical Chairs and Hep-Hep-Hooray :)) No surprise that we were all such eager beavers! I think the grown-ups enjoyed more than the kids did, because they were just too caught up with the food and prizes to even care about what was going on :))









It was certainly an afternoon worth remembering. Truth be told, I've always been a recipient of something special for Valentine's, ever since high school. (#habanghair!) This was the first time Valentine's meant something different, but conveyed love all the same. It was refreshing to do something not-romantic, yet nonetheless meaningful. It's so humbling to be reminded that yours is a blessed life; but it all the more compels you to serve and give back to those who have less.

Happy, happy birthday, Kye! Thank you for inviting us; you're always a blessing and an inspiration. Couldn't have celebrated February 14 any other way :)


*

We didn't plan on anything special for just the two of us, but when Ludwin and I got back to QC after Kye's party, we decided to eat dinner together somewhere (1) not crowded, (2) not expensive, and (3) not too far away.

So we ended up at Brickfire. Which isn't too special... except that it is, because some time during the meal, we suddenly remembered that it was the place where we first held hands! About a year and a half ago, we went on our second official date at that steak place. That was the night I almost gave up on eating steak because I couldn't cut up the meat (I'm an idiot with knives, haha), and the night he promised he'd be the one to slice all my steaks from then on. Hahaha! :)) #cheese



We're not big on flowers and all the grand gestures, but I'm the luckiest girl in the world for having a man who cares for all the little things instead. Sometimes I still shake my head in disbelief when I realize how far we've come since we first met, and since we first started going out. Who knew I'd end up with my crush? And that he'd turn out to be such a great boyfriend/best friend/lover/person, inside and out? Well, naka-jackpot rin naman siya sa'kin. Hahaha!

Happy Valentine's day, love!

Labels: friends

We were reluctant at first, but it was the birthday boy's request, so of course we couldn't refuse!



Obviously, I got carried away. A little too much, actually :))


New goal for 2015: do that final lift ever so effortlessly! We have the rest of the year to practice! WATCH OUT, YOU GUYS. Nobody puts these babies in the corner. :))))

Some time in the middle of last semester, me and my girl friends in the block suddenly decided to buy tickets to Coron because of Cebu Pacific's seat sale. Thanks to our professor being late, one of my blockmates surfing on the web chanced upon the ad. It only took us about fifteen minutes or so to decide that we should go on a trip on January, considering the month-long Christmas/semester break that awaited us.

The weeks in between that fateful day (which I now forgot, haha) and the much-awaited trip proved to be long and difficult, considering the hurdles we had to go through before we earned our vacation. But alas, it finally arrived, and turned out to be every bit as we imagined.

Coron was lovely in its simplicity, beautiful in the calm. It was a quiet, idyllic town, with nothing but the sea to offer as its charm. But it was definitely more than enough.

We were astounded numerous times in the trip, especially after every lake, after every glimpse of each corner of the waters. And perhaps it was only fitting. Sometimes, it's in the quietest of places that we find the loudest affirmations - of the wonders of nature, and of the joy of sharing it with people you care about. So loud in your head does the awe strike you, in fact, that it renders you absolutely speechless.

(And behold, the photo dump.)

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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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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