101 reasons, or some other sappy shit.

You put the spark in sparkle
And the sun in the shine
The storm clouds go
the flowers they bloom
Here's to you and the things you do!
-Sophie Ellis Bextor

So, before anything, blogger must be rather schizo today, because it shut me out. That's right, even though I have the whole "remember me on this site" feature of Firefox turned on, blogger simply refused to let me in. Oh well, at least I'm in now.

Moving on, however, there is this one sappy saying that I hate to my bones- the one that assures you of 101 reasons to be happy when you have 100 reasons to be sad. It's just so... sappy. However, since it's cold, and my frozen heart likes the cold, I decided to indulge this saying. Following, therefore, are my x-number of reasons to be sad, and my x+1 number of reasons to be happy.

Sadness and whininess:

1. I'm not coming home for christmas. huhuhu
2. I live an hour from L.A., but I don't have any celebrity friends yet
3. It's not snowing. There's only fog, and fog ain't snow.
4. My American friends are so totally not camerawhores...
   
5. I still can't be bothered to live healthily and exercise to help my slightly above normal chol. level
6. I live in california (southern california, even!) and I still don't have a lover (did i just say that?)
7. The numbers I chose tonight didn't with the 201m$ megamillions prize
8. My nose has been bleeding like crazy
9. I miss singing Christmas Carols
10. Finals week is next week -_-

Happy fields and unicorns:

1. My family is coming over here for Christmas! yay!
2. I can feel it in my bones that I'll be a celebrity in the near future <3
3. I LOVE THE FOG.
4. I'd like to think my self esteem is strong enough to make me not be vain
5. I'm still a pure ho! (see bottom)
6. I have the essential things money can't buy (I'm really grasping for straws here, aren't I)
7. My american friends find me to be a unique snowflake (wtf)
8. KOSTE 104.3fm playing nothing but christmas carols 24/7!
9. I need to get a 36/100 in my econ finals to get an A
10. Winter break in 1 week!
11. MY FRIEND GOT ACCEPTED AT UPENN w00tw00t! I am sooo happy for him I don't care if the past 10 numbers were delusions!

Anyway, I have to explain number 5. I told you I'm still a pure ho, in other words, that's kind of a "semi-happy", hopefully less awkward way of saying that I'm happy, if not proud, to be a non-sexually active person right now. You see, by now, I imagine i've painted a pictre of my friends here to be fun loving people- almost kinda like the archetypal american barkada. Well, the other day, we gathered round to supposedly study for a chem test (which I later bombed) at a friend's house, and, surprisingly, the topic turned to sex.

Long story, short, everyone in the group started sharing stories of their sexual escapades, and mishaps; with one of my classmates even sharing the story of how both of his only oral-sex-encounters were epicfails. Did that read awkward to you? Imagine being in the situation itself. Of course, being the nerdgeekdork that I am, I shared only a most objective side to the stories. That is, when A said that he always dreamed of eating a honey covered muffin (euch) I told him that it's a bad idea to use anything sugar based on muffins (yeast infections, yuch). Or, when victoria (for the sake of a pseudonym) said that abortions are wrong in all contexts, I pointed out that abortions for ectopic pregnancies are ok, and, biblewise, abortion before the third week (i think) can't really be discredited with the bible. Such were normal ones, but, eventually, the topics of conversation dwindled and the more awkward things had to come up. To summarize, the things I had to explain were:

• how 'fisting' is an anatomical possibility
• how 'edging' is bad for you
• why it's socially awkward to lose your virginity before the age of 15
• why erections are, basically, blood functions
• how orgasms work
• why it's possible for men to be raped
  
• i had to explain to z and to i (yes, he's a new character in this show called my life) how a could have sex in an elevator, and why it didn't mean that he lasts only 20 seconds from start to finish

Maybe I should be a urologist/proctologist? I dunno. Of course, they shared (they'd like to think they've taught) some things with me too. Namely, how many fingers to use (I still crack up thinking about this part of the conversation); why it's socially acceptable to lose your virginity before 18 (as all but 1 of them did); and how to "do things right" for when I "do decide to do things"

HOWEVER, I am proud to say that I was able to shut z up when he became way too eager in his sharing of stories. He was telling us how he wouldn't want to engage in fellatio anymore due to his two bad experiences. the script is as follows:

Z: I've had it, and they really just weren't that good
A: you shouldn't give it up, man. It seriously feels good
Z: *insert story about how the two girls he's had it from weren't good*
A: you just need to find the right girl!
Z: I dunno man, I think i've given up on it. I don't think there is a right girl, I mean, how could they just *elaborate description of fellatio*
me: You have a point, Z. You do know what they say, though. No one quite knows or does a man quite like another man.

*silence, tumbleweeds and awkwardness... folloewd by LOUD laughter by everyone*

that shut him up :))


oh dear lord. there goes my mind, conscience and morality. There goes my classcultureandbriding, too. I still giggle, though, despite its awkwardness and inappropriateness. Oh god, my friends are fun. They (apparently) have the lasciviousness that characterizes my friends at home, but with the burden of proof.

Maybe that's why we all pretty much bombed the chem test that happened later on. Because we weren't exactly asked to elaborate on how to "make people feel good". However, I would still like to think that such is valuable information I should not forget.


see, there are 101 reasons to be happy. and when you find that the reasons to be happy are equal to those warranting sadness, at least now, I more or less have added knowledge on how to acquire that one last reason to smile. =))

Love song of love songs.

He said to her "I'd like a cheeseburger
And I might like a milkshake as well"
She said to him "I can't give you either"
And he said "isn't this Burger Bell?"
She said "Yes it is, but we're closed now
But we open tomorrow at 10."
He said "I am extre-ma-ly hungry
But I guess I can wait until then"

Because you're his cheeseburger
his yummy cheeseburger
he'll wait for you-ooh yeah!
he'll wait for you

You're his cheeseburger
his tasty cheeseburger
He'll wait for you
yeah, he'll wait for you

He stayed at the drive-through 'till sunrise
He may have dozed off once or twice
When he spotted a billboard for Denny's
Bacon and eggs for half price
How could he resist such an offer?
He really needed something to munch
Cheeseburger, please do not be angry
He'll eat and be back here for lunch

'cuz you're his cheeseburger
his precious cheeseburger
he'll be back for you, he'll be back for you
Please hold on cheeseburger
he'll be back for you!

'Cuz he loves you cheeseburger with all his heart
and there ain't nothing gonna tear you two apart
and if the world suddenly ran out of cheese
he would get down on his hand and knees
*unintelligible lyrics*

you are his cheeseburgeeeeeeer....

Making your bed, and lying in it too.

I wrote this the day after the elections, and I just felt like posting it here before it became an ultimately obsolete topic. Forgive the intro paragraph, then; as I said, this was posted when it was current and "new" news. :)

_________________________

For those who don't know yet, the ballots are in and Proposition 8 has passed, and Proposition 4 did not. For even more added information, Proposition 8 was a proposition to re-instate the ban on gay marriage, declaring that only man-woman marriages will be recognized in the state of California (therefore, voting yes on prop8 is against gay marriage); whereas Proposition 4 was about putting limits on abortion; a.k.a., minors (those under 18) will need parental consent at least 48 hours prior to getting an operation to terminate pregnancy.

The voters have spoken, and while they do not resonate with gay marriage (cue the simpson's character shouting "What about the chilruuun?!", for a summary of their argument), they, by the same margin of victory, condone abortion for all ages.


Of course, you could say that I oversimplify the issues at hand, and the consequences of the victory or loss of the two propositions. However, I cannot help but feel that this was a standstill-decision, especially when people everywhere are celebrating the groundbreaking and groundshaking victory of Sen. Obama in becoming the 44th president of the United States. Then again, you cannot really fault the people for cheering for change, but not being ready to swallow its jagged little pill just yet, right?


I feel strongly about proposition 4. I wanted this proposition to be passed. The opposers argued mostly about the poor girls who got pregnant either through incest or rape, or those who are in an abusive family, wherein the declaration of "mom, dad, I'm pregnant. please sign these papers so i can get an abortion" would spell trouble.

Firstly, it surprises me that underage pregnancies are so rampant now that laws are being passed wherein numbers, by the hundreds of thousands, claim direct repurcussions to the decisions passed. Secondly, I am still loathe to believe that victims of rape or incest are at a staggering, or maybe even just statistically significant number to warrant an argument such as the one proposed. The third demographic the nay-sayer's are trying to protect, in my opinion, should not even count. To be succinct, it's so easy to tell these children to not have sex in the first place; and, in the even that they do get pregnant, face the consequences of their actions.

It strikes me as surprising that, in a totally sensitive irony, the voters are allowing this proposition to not go through because children who were stupid enough to get pregnant before the age of 18 shouldn't get hurt; but are, at the same time, allowing and condoning, even preferring the death of an unborn child to 'save face' for the teenager.

when put into simple terms such as that, it puzzles me how any rational adult can consider such a law being passed. And, to address those affected by incest and rape; there are so many more alternatives for them than are now being presented to all those thrown-out fetuses. yes. thrown out, mangled, dismembered fetuses. But now i'm resorting to appealing to gross emotion.


Proposition 8, I feel even more strongly about. Being at the front-seat of this campaign trail (I paid attention to the Prop 8 campagins. ha ha), I was able to see the commercials put out by both pro and anti gay marriage supporters. I won't go into detail about the Church stand on this, aside from my saying that 1.) there should definitely be a distinct separation between church and state, although this in itself is blurry because of the Church's right to an opinion and to counsel its members, but more importantly, 2.) marriage in the church sense should be totally autonomous of marriage in the civil sense; and the sanctity of the second should be independent of moral pressures as dictated by a single (although admittedly nearly omnipresent) religion.

Rather, I want to address the main argument that seems to be pulled by the naysayers. It revolves around the notion of 'ill-teaching' our children, making them have to go to school learning about marriage being a contract between two parties, rather than it being a contract between a man and a woman. This supposedly would have severe negative effects on the children.

hogwash, if you ask me.

I might be a little avant garde for saying this, but I can't help but hear their "but they'll to learn marriage as between two people!!!" argument sounding rather like the past arguments of "but they'll have to learn that voting is for people!!!" this sounds, silly, yes, but that's what it sounds like. And really, do they believe that marriage as a teaching is that major on children that it will scar them for life or otherwise stunt them in their psychological, emotional or mental growth? If anything, this large hulaballoo on voting yes or no for prop.8 has probably instilled whatever "evil" notion of gay marriage there is on these children than if they had learned it from an unbiased, morally objective discussion in the classroom.

remember, before this prop.8 issue arose, gay marriage was recognized in California! And were children flinging themselves off of buildings in horror? no. Were children under the age of 18 getting into more crime, fighting more, or recreating the atmosphere of hate crimes more to oppose homosexuality? no. And even more than that, by recognizing gay marriage, were same sex couples dressed in leather bondage gear running up and down the streets publicly performing acts of sodomy as they tossed mardis gras beads at aghast and bweildered onlookers? no.

Instead, what happened? Personalities such as Ellen deGeneres, George Takei and Neil Patrick Harris were able to publicly profess their love. Numerous (by the thousands) same-sex couples were able to do the same in varying degrees of privacy or public announcements of love and commitment. If that isn't an excercise and simultaneous lesson in equality, which I'm sure we'd all like to teach our children, then I would like to go back to my elementary days to contest why I had to share an apple with jimmy, or why it was wrong to hate on Shaniqua because she was black, or why I wasn't right in punching Jimmy because he preffered gummy bears to sour-worms.

And in fact, to again be in the kidergarten, if not the Church, angle, same-sex marriage possess so little harm and malevolence in them as, say, the still ever-present, and ever-condoned realities of divorce, separation, and other things which plague heterosexual marriages. I dont mean to say that same-sex marriages will not be plagued with the same problems, but my point is that it is not correct, nor fair, to assume that same-sex marriages are the epitome of immoral union, whereas heterosexual unions which may be sanctioned by either, or both the state and the Church, is the opposite epitome of pure love, romanticism and everlasting union.

There is a common misconception, and wrong idea that was propagated through the campaign to say yes on 8. Same-sex marriages are not an act condoning or actively encouraging sodomy, promiscuity or HIV/AIDS. There is simply a wish to grant equal rights of union to heterosexual and homosexual couples who, i'm sure we agree, are able to possess, partake and provide the same kind and quality of love as everyone else.


This isn't nearly the end of the battle, nor is this the end of the impassioned reactions of people who think that proposition 4 being ignored and proposition 8 being passed were silly decisions. I am loathe to equate, but if Barack Obama really stands for change, and this desire for change is echoed by the majority of the people who showed up to vote for him, then it should only a matter of time before we are one step closer to the ever-elusive goal of equality.


For now, however, the people will have to make our beds and lie in it. Children may choose to have sex in it and to kill their babies afterwards, just as same-sex couples will still (defiantly?) choose to express their love for each other in ways not even the government can stop. And the rest of us, just like those directly affected, will have to lie in this bed and reap the consequences of the votes, and of our collective voice.

Dreaming of a White Christmas

I was fortunate enough to have been able to go to Disneyland during the start of their Holiday celebrations. The start of the season was met with a new Holiday themed parade, Holiday overlays in certain rides like IASW and Haunted Mansion, a spirit of togetherness with the huge and suffocating crowds, and the new holiday themed fireworks spectacle.

How can a bunch of exploding metals be holiday themed? Well, for one thing, the explosions were choreographed to popular Christmas Carols, and, for another, the grand finale was a showering all over mainstreet with fake snow. Yup, fake snow. Small globs of foam made to look like floating and descending snowflakes which, upon landing on your hair and clothes, look more like dandruff than actual snow.

An interesting thing about it was, as the snow descended and the lights more or less dimmed to suit the mood, and "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" played in the background, American families all around me became senti all of a sudden and started to hush and gush. Meanwhile, I was thinking that this was a little odd, Southern California, given a regular year, does not experience any snowfall at all. In fact, our Christmases are more characterized by heavy fog and rainfall... not snow. Technically speaking, snow should be as foreign to them as it is to me (disclaimer: it's not that foreign to me, I've been to places with snow, hence my statement).

Bah.

[Trying to make a smooth segue]: I am, however, dreaming of a white Christmas, if anything, because I don't really have a choice. Yes, I am staying here for the holidays. But enough of this tomfoolery, and unto more.... frivolous matters (yes, that was a contradictory contradiction). I am dreaming of a white Christmas because I know now what I want to ask Santa for the Holiday season for being that special brand of a "naughty boy" that is actually quite nice ::wink, wink; nudge, nudge:: I want a pet HSLP. Yeahp, you heard me, I want a miniaturized, pocket-sized, on a leash version of highschool lab partner.

eww, how dare you think of lascivious thoughts.

I want a pet HSLP because he's just so innocent and entertaining. His mannerisms are very endearing, and, as I found out today, he loves his dog so much he makes appointments for it to get acupuncture treatments. Yes, acupuncture.... for dogs... because he has a bad back (scoliosis?).... how cute is that, right? Besides, he said already that he wants to enroll in the same Chem1B and Math3A classes as me, and so, having a pet verison of him will be fun- if I have any questions about how to take care of it, I can just ask him. And, if he grows too mature and jaded and american-teenager like, I can just put him to sleep. That's way more humane than killing the original HSLP.

eta: oh, and did I mention that he's a friggin technology genius? At age 16, he friggin repairs DVD optical shindigs, and is on his way to making a synthesizer. whuts.

See, I am dreaming of a white christmas. a 2 foot tall, 16 year old caucasian pet. HAHA. OH MY GOD, that sound's so wrong.

whatever, you're just jealous.

______

My rants for "holiday" vs "christmas" will have to wait. Santa Claus doesn't like giving gifts to complainers...

Pepito

Being small has probably helped define more than any of my external traits. When I was young, and didn't need anyone, and making love was, well, just for fun (alas, those days are gone); I was perenially the shortest, thinnest and most anemic looking kid in my class. My polo-shirt from Grade 1 could literally fit those big-sized dolls that are popular now with the kids these days. Granted, teh dolls have probably grown bigger over the last 15 or so years, but I'm sure that by any standard, I was a small, small kid.

From that early onset, my height prevented me from enjoying sports such as basketball. Whereas the bigger, bulkier kids got dibs on pushing everyone around the courts and tossing the balls waywardly toward the hoop, I was relegated to playing more horizontally-oriented games. You know: tag, hide and seek, charge+block+boom. Thus was born my unnaturally low affinity for organized physical exertion; a.k.a. sports.

Of course, we know that in the Philippines, Basketball is seen as a major avenue for the expression of camaraderie, brotherhood, and socialization. After all, nothing says "Pare, kaibigan kita" like passing a leather-skin ball over the hands and heads of other kids. So, deprived of this expression of fraternal affection, I had to learn other ways to communicate. Second to basketball, I found out, was acquiring a skill of articulation and eloquence, and boy did I capitalize on this ability! I attempted to hone not only my speech method, but also the very diction and thought-processes through which communication via the verbal word is propagated. If I couldn't talk moves on the court, I found out by Grade 4 or so, at least I could talk smack.

Retracing from that anachronism though, after grade 1, I discovered a need to expand beyond my thirst for linguistic prowess. I started to seek other forms of knowledge in the sciences, the maths, a little bit of history, et al. I realized that information from these parts were good in two ways. Firstly, it made for an exceptional conversationalist with numerous anecdotal references, and secondly, if played right, it gave for better grades- yet another display of individualism and "communication" throroughyl sought after and well appreciated.


My thirst for knowledge, however, wasn't just brought about by a desire to talk glib better. It was also in reaction to yet another parameter set about by my height. With the exception of those with a fetish for the small, I would hardly be considered the achetype of beauty and attractiveness. Hence, I had to resort to either being a funny man, or being a smart man. Trust me, I tried the former, and it just didn't work.


to be continued... :)

Early leavers and 'steadfast' students

I discovered today two types of students I hold no sympathy for, and who annoy me to no end. The first is the early leaver. The student who not only looks back at the clock to check the time every two minutes, but leaves the exact moment the minute of the "end of class" strikes. Now, this may be because I was brainwashed in my 12 or so years of uptight schooling, but I've always assumed that as a sign of respect, and as a sign of being able to catch the last drops of a lecture (which for some reason, are always dealbreakers, anyhow), one should never leave class until a teacher dismisses it.

However, I do realize the fact that I am in a different system now, and as such, there are no more bells nor "good bye ms/mr/mrs _____"'s to usher a formal exodus from the room. And I don't particularly mind. What bothers me about these early leavers is that they make such a commotion of going out of the classroom, and just cause such a ruckus that it prevents me from being able to pack up well, and from being able to catch the last dregs of a lecturer's instruction; seeing as how s/he is given to the futility of his/her excercise.


That's not as annoying as the second type of student, though. Those steadfast students who would go to unnecessary and detrimental lengths to not miss school, or to not be late. These can be divided to two categories. The first are those who come to school in pambahay clothes, because (I assume) they woke up late and can't bear the though of being late. The other, and the ones I dislike the most, are those who come to school when sick. Sure, we (nerds) have all done it, but as a general rule, WE DON'T COUGH ON OTHER PEOPLE.

self-explanatory, yes?

*koff, koff*

ugh, stupid classmate probably got me infected, as well. But God knows I'll still be going to class tomorrow though. The difference between us will be that I'll cover my mouth and be discrete when I cough. No need to suffer gale-force winds with your pathogen riddled expulsions.

kntxbai.

SFU marathon.

Best Study Philosophy ever*

Last thursday was a taxing day for me. I had two classes, and for both those classes, I had to take midterms. I think I'm being modest when I say that Chem and Pre-calc math are not necessarily my waterloos, but it just so happened that we were taking midterms focusing on topics I particularly dreaded for both: Molecular models (Lewis structures) and Trigonometry. I'm not sure how I did, exactly (I do feel, however, that I did miles better in math than in Chem. stupid carelessness), but I do know that I discovered one of the best study philosophies ever:

DON'T STUDY.


This was, you don't invest any time on the test. If you get a relatively high score, then you can attribute your grade to your innate knowledge, lecture retention or whatever. And, in the event that you get an epicfail 17% or other, you can chalk it up to your not having studied. This way, you neither get the 'reassurance' of your stupidity, nor the possibly wasted time you spent on studying when it wouldn't have helped, anyway.


Of course, there is one disclaimer to this philosophy, why is the reason why I put an asterisk on the title of this blog entry. This philosophy only works if your care more about your adolescent, pubescent, volatile ego more than your actual permanent college transcript.

cheers!

Obamarama

I am amused by James' status message on Yahoo! Messenger; and I'm actually seeing it in a whole mess of places. It reads:

"Both candidates ran a good race, but as with all races, it was won by a Kenyan"

I will admit that I am not in the least bit adequately informed of the candidacies and platforms of either party to publish a complete political review of this presidential race, which ended with Barack Obama winning the coveted title of president-elect; to succeed George Bush as the 44th president of the USA (i love how i just made that sound like a beauty pagaent win). I also was not one of the vast multitudes who voted for either McCain or Obama, since I am not a U.S. Citizen. I was, however, fortunate enough to be in the center of the campaign race during its last few legs, exposed directly to the atmosphere of trailblazing patriotism that consumed this superpower.

It was 'moving', to say the least, to see the live broadcast of hundreds of thousands of Americans gathered in the cold and wintry night in the middle of parks, major thoroughfares and campaign party 'parties' rejoice and cheer (and some even cried) upon the announcement of Barack Obama's victory. The subsequent interviews with plebeians (hahaha) about the political, emotional and cultural impact of electing such a young, and African American president were frought with cheers, tears, battle cries and... what I can only describe at content sighs (although the large black woman sighing on national television, international, even, since it was CNN, seemed out of place. It looked like she merely ran out of breath after a taebo routine, rather than being super-elated at having obama elected)


Newspapers today are splashed with a deluge of 'first African American president's and 'historic's and other terms to decorate Obama. Blog entries, Facebook statuses etc. etc. are all full of triumphant messages of victory and pride and patriotism. Americans, the general sentiment seems to be, have finally recognized the African Americans! Americans are now truly free, truly 'mature', yay yay yay!


But is this really the triumphant end to a race well run? I don't think so.

Pardon my acerbic-ness, but I think that this is actually just the beginning. While it is indeed newsworthy and praiseworthy that the American people have finally had an epiphany of the possibility of having a 'black president', I refuse to believe that Barack's victory was won merely by the combined forces of his race, and the American's changed outlook on the issue. I'm sure the whole 'change' campaign, his polotical platform, and the empowering combined forces of the youth and media also played a large hand in things. This is why, instead, I offer the following thought: This is merely the beginning of the race.

Barack Obama is about to set foot in an office which affects the rest of the world's affairs. Barack is about to jump headfirst into leading the country, a superpower in the world, in the middle of an economic crisis. Barack Obama, after promising change and better days for all (then again, all campaigners do), is about to face a sea of demanding and exacting people expecting more than ever to see the tangible realities of his abstract goals and promises. Despite the disclaimer included in his 'acceptance speech', in which he said that the changes we want might take longer than a presidential term to materialize, Americans and the rest of the world's populace will still eagerly await some proof of his abilities.

Each and every one of his actions and decisions will be scrutinized under the public microscope, and dissected and studied in every way. Every achievement, and also every mistake he makes will be magnified and supersized to proportions even McDonalds would not want for their fries and Coke. And, inevitably, these achievements and mistakes will be associated with and to his race, his youth, his radical mindset for change, his very own Obamarama.


Forgive my sour and bitter frankness, then, when I say that now is not a time for all people (and maybe especially the African Americans) to drop all worries and celebrate. Now, more than ever, is a time to pray, to hope, or to turn to whatever greater-than-thyself deity there is for guidance and excellence during the coming term of President Barack Obama. We are about to enter a time when fodder for the empassioned haters will run ripe, and fuel for the fire of the very narrowness we think we've defeated just might be in abundance. Stigmas and stereotypes are just as likely to experience a rapid growth spurt as change, equality, and new-age-pro-the-people-thinking. Remember that, in as much as this is a stereotype for the 'ugly American', it is a distinct possibility that if Barack Obama 'screws up', the image of the black man as president just may be tarnished forever; in the same way that his success would finally free African Americans of their downtrod image in the American Political Arena. I hope, with an empathic passion, that we encounter nothing but the latter. I hope, with a hope shared hopefully by the whole people in search of equality, that this really will be a time to celebrate.

The end, is but the beginning.

The Power of "Christ" Compels You!

With Haloween fast approaching, there seems to be an increased interest in the occult, and in the bastardization (tee hee hee) of the Roman Catholic Faith. Now don't get me wrong, I find it quite comedic at times; watching the exorcism of Emily Rose (fine, argue that it's based on a real story), The Omen, etcetera, etcetera. Now, on one hand, it is quite fun to argue that that these may be based on the actual beliefs and demon-angles of our Christian faith; but it still amuses me how there is such a wide array of horror films depicitng such from the Judeo-Christian paradigm.

When was the last time you saw a devil or ghost or other malevolent being being chased away by a Q'ran, or by a Torah? I recently saw this B-vampire movie where the vampires were killed with pine-stakes (you know.. as in from christmas trees); I wish to see one where they are killed with either a dreidle or a Menorah. You see what I mean?

Now, before you call me some kind of religious racist (The proper term escapes me), I don't wish to bash the other religions in light of the Christian Faith. In fact, my line-of-thought lies more in what the Christian or Catholic faith still holds for us. Is it now as integrated into mythology (yes, I dared to use the term mythology) as the Ancient Egyptian religions which brought us The Mummy? Or Old Norse Mythology that brought us the drug-laced Max Payne (ugh. I know, that was such a stretch). But bottom line is, is it such a novelty now that we can flop it around and treat is so much part of a joke as anything else?


I'm not entirely sure. But what I will admit is that I get more of a kick from "religious" horror movies than from zombie flicks, or demonic alien flicks. In a way, it seems more real.

As to the morals of my describing my faith with the combined words of "seem" and "real", I am not too confident in testifying. But I'm sure you all get my point.

For what it's worth, however, my first big flick in the movie biz (should I ever get in there) is about a vampire slayer who kills the undead with a menorah-stake (7 vampires at once!), or with his super-duper-dreidle-bazooka-launcher.

Wanderlust, or whatever its opposite is.

A common guilt-tripping thing I hate hearing whenver I come home form a night out is this:

"bakit ang hilig mo lumabas? nung panahon namin, blah blah blah" [Why are you so keen on going out? don't you know that during our time, when I was your age, blah blah blah"]


My usual response to this is a "But you were my age some 30 years ago!", or when being compared to my brother, "that was 10 years ago!" Really, 30 years or 10 years, the level of wanderlust in the youth of today is in far excess of what it used to be. I will concede to the fact that, yes, ten years ago, I don't think it was acceptable for my brother to come home as late as 12mn. And, thirty years ago, I don't even think establishments were open that late! ha ha!

I don't think that the wanderlust of today's youth is indication of anything other than our increased desire to be with our friends. True, this is an anomale, especially considering other advancements in connectivity such as cellular technology, the internet, blah blah blah; but I think that we, more than ever, want to be with each other in person, face to face. I think of it this way: given a choice between phone communication and in-person communication, we are bound to choose the latter, right?


More than that, however, I don't buy this whole interpretation of our desire to go out as a turning-away from our notion of home. So many people today say they miss the days when friday or saturday nights were spent in the living room, watching television or eating a home-cooked dinner on a common dining table. Again, I don't think we've turned our backs on our homes. (of course, i speak from my perspective). In fact, I even question if our wanderlust really is wanderlust. You see, wanderlust means a desire to go away, a desire to travel. I don't think, however, that we want to go away. I just think that in today's age of connectivity and world-at-your-hands-ness, we've expanded our definition of home so much as to include public areas with friends. Gone are the ideas of family simply meaning the nuclear unit of father-mother-children. Family now, whether in a good way or not, includes friends, lovers, colleagues, etc. In going away, we are not really forgetting home and wandering; we are simply going home to a larger community.

Euch. I know, this is a VERY poorly written entry. However, allow me this opportunity to speak out anyway.

Comparative Advatages

I'm not exactly sure if it was him, but I'm tempted to say that I quote Einstein when I say:

"Everything is relative."


Today, we got back our midterms, and let me say, it was a particularly difficult test. Among the 30 of us in class, only 7 (or 8) passed, and of those, only 3 of us were in the line-of-9's. Now, I know that this may come across as being pompous or arrogant, but with a 92 (the highest was a 99), I wasn't exactly the happiest bunny in the bunch. This, however, was contrasted by the other 4 (or 5) of my classmates who were more than happy with their 85's.

I'm not saying that 85's are bad at all, or that they don't deserve to be happy. God knows that in some of my other subjects, 85's would been heaven-sent's. But nonetheless, it was one of those situations where I was stuck in an awkward stasis.

You see, I'm a very emotive person when stroked the right way, and I fear that I may have reacted a bit too exaggeratedly at my 92. Given the standards impressed on me, and the environment from which I came from, my actions (and reactions) were more than justified; but in this new environment, I guess it wasn't. I'm still not sure how to act though. I want to make up for it by cheering the others on, and offering encouraging words to those whom I tried to help, but weren't able to get particularly good grades. However, as we all might know by now, predilection by judgment of previous action (which leads to question, is it even predilection?) can taint what are possibly good motives in future words and deeds.

In layman's terms?

Well, let's talk about this specifically. I want to say and offer a sincere "good job!" to the other 4 (or 5) who passed, but I fear that my genuine concern and cheering-on might be interpreted as patronizing them or something of an extension of pompousness.

argh.

Then again, if I really am being sincere, why should I be afraid of telling them such? right? :)

American Tricycle.

Cast:
Me, Girl Classmate "Jhoy" and Boy Classmate "Juan".

Venue: Juan's snazzy car.

Set-up:
Juan driving, Jhoy at shotgun, me at the back, strapped in for safety, of course.


The story:

For the past few weeks, I had been able to clock out-of-school time with my peers. We met for two Saturdays at the Local bookstore cafe, and on one Friday at the house of one of my classmates. Granted, we were able to socialize and 'hang' at those times, but the predominant agendum for the day was "clearly" to study. Therefore, it was decided that after the test, the whole lot of us would go out and enjoy some well-deserved, good-juju food. To get to the place, however, and to save up on gas, we decided to carpool. We split up into several groups, and each of us designated a driver to take us to where-ever. In our car was me, Juan and Jhoy (ew wrong grammar). And, since Jhoy was the rose among the thorns, so to speak, she was granted dibs on the shotgun seat.

Now, let me say this first and foremost: I am willing, and have actually exerted effort into becoming more-or-less close to each of my classmates. Additionally, I came to expect that they would be doing the same. What happened next, however, was nothing short of awkward.

We started out with a conversation that was level enough. Jhoy was talking school, and Juan and I listened like the good gentlemen that we were. But then, she grew tired of talking (haha, what a pre-emptive strike of my bitterness), and asked Juan to play music. Lo and behold, Juan and Jhoy turned out to be mutual fans of genre I don't particularly like (i refuse to admit my shortcomings). Not that I minded; I have forever known my taste in music to be eccentric, if not eclectic, and it's nowhere near a surprise for me to not know what other people liked so much, and vice versa. As was expected, the two of them ended up singing Duet (or Trio?) with whoever was on the radio. Start awkwardness::

Juan complimented Jhoy on her singing. Fair enough, she had a decent voice. But then he started verbally-tickling her, handing her compliment after compliment which made her "squirm" in "supposed" discomfort. It wasn't even about the music anymore- it became her smartness, her go-get-'em attitude, her... well... her. And Jhoy reciprocated appropriately, complimenting him on his voice as well (which was quite smooth, I must admit) etc. etc.

I was, quite obviously, the third wheel. The two were getting quite comfortable, and I didn't dare upset the vibe. I just sat back at my seat quietly, pretending to bob my head along with the song, and tried my best to keep my laughs inward while I watched the two blatantly flirt.


As with any two potential-lovebirds, the two were completely unaware of the saccharine molasses that they were presently spewing, ruining the entire "cool bachelor man-whore" aura of Juan's car. The upholstry was sticky and stained, and, reportedly, cost upwards of 500$ to get changed.

I jest.

Nonetheless, it was left up to me to laugh and mock and snap them out of their prematurely conceived love-sparks.


Of course I didn't do that. Seriously, who do you think I am?

Point is, that's what I would've more than willingly done back then. I have something against instantaneously formed flirtations, especially those formed over a mutual love for [a particular genre i don't like] music (I can just hear Jewel's 'Last Dance Rodeo' playing). If anything, flirtations should be worked over for a long while, and should be swathed in awkwardness and laughably pathetic advancements. Not serendipitous dialogues while ignoring the small asian kid in the back seat.


It made me so uncomfortable, to the point of wanting to sink into the leather seats at the back of the car. I had to formulate an escape plan. And I knew just the thing. I spewed out a sentence, any sentence, just to force myself into the scene


Me:"Blah blah blah"
Juan: "Pacificism, blahblahblah"
Me:" blah blah blah"
Juan: "blah blah blah"

This catapulted me straight into the shared spotlight of the conversation. The topic was changed, and the crisis was averted.

It's not exactly my fault I'm not a fan of childhood frivolous romance.. right?


But alas, fate would kick me in the ass. Jhoy said something tangential about the topic I introduced. Juan picked up the cue, and they resumed their meiopic conversations of lip-licking-flirtations.

Karma's a bitch, and there's a reason, after all, why tricycles aren't apparent in the American Freeways. Next time, I'm riding with somebody else.

Colloquialisms and Conversations.

Culture Crash: Language Barrier, or so I thought.

Had I moved instead to, say, Japan, France or Germany, perhaps the notion of a "language barrier" would be more appropriate and expected. Surprisingly, however, there is still some sort of a language barrier here in the United States of America, land of the universal language of English and Bastardized Mexican Language. Given, it's on a much more subtle and cultural level, but one still exists, nonetheless.

Take, for example, this little trifle of a conversation from an after-school-special a while ago. For the sake of anonymity and security, I shall conveniently disguise names into A, B, C, and me, for well, myself. All that you need to know are that A, B and me are guys, and C is a pure, natural, XX-chromosome girl.

Anyway, the topic of our conversation was about childhood scars and all that. suddenly:

A: Oh, I have a lot of scars.
B: Really dude? Show us!
A: Well, it's under my shirt and all...
B: Well, what're they like?
A: *pantomimes clawing himself*
me: What? don't tell me you...
A: *wink wink*
C: *joins the conversation* what?
A: oh, I have scars all over my back. :D
me: oh, all over your back.
A: Yeah. From my girl then *wink wink*
me: OH! I thought you self-mutilated! ha ha! 'cuz you know, you were all *pantomimes clawing at my chest*
A: no, no, no. if it were in front, it would mean "get off of me!" but since it's on the back... well, you know what that means.
C: *bites lip*


Now, I wouldn't call myself the most conservative person ever. I'm way far from that. I'm the kind of person who, despite being anatomically male, somehow gets impregnated by the mere lascivious conversations my friends and I would have. Even more exaggeratedly, I could swear we heard the nuns over at Miriam (do they have any?) and Poveda groan in unison whenever we'd so much as mention their names.

Just kidding.

We may like to make some wanton jokes now and then; and we may even be prone to using colloquialisms liberally (Trust me, Bitch was far from offensive), but still, there were things we kept on a joking realm, or at least on a fictional-if-we-lived-in-a-much-more-liberal-world level. You know, things like commiting murder... or having actual, back-scarring, what-i-assume-to-be bedspring breaking sex. Imagine then my surprise and how taken aback I was when he so openly admitted that fact. And trust me, either it were true, or his sense of fantasy was very vivid indeed, because we got a veeery prtty picture painted for us shortly after, free of charge, without even needing to ask.

It was definitely one of those moments when you could feel your jaw muscles slacken, and when you just want to drop your mouth open out of sheer surprise, and maybe let your tongue droop down a bit, even. But, for the sake of politeness, and to achieve an air of nonchalance, I tried my gosh-darned hardest to keep my mouth shut. Of course, this was not without its own set of give-away repurcussions. Firstly, I'm sure my mouth was in some sort of skewed smile. Secondly, my tongue (which I bit to keep from keeping my mouth from gaping wide open) bled a little, and, dare I say, the blood I tasted only served to keep A's narration even more realistic and vivid.


Thankfully, the topic soon changed after that, since we got to talking about what we wanted for lunch (how we segued from that to lunch is a mystery, though), and I was free to relax my muscles, and let a drop or two of drool dribble (metaphorically of course.) since it's more than acceptable to salivate when faced with the prospect of a delicious lunch.




Not to say that A's story wasn't hot as hell, however.

"So How Do You Speak English So Good [sic] Then?"

The above question is aked of me by approximately 2 of 3 classmates. This is especially true when they find out that I moved here to the US of A just a little over 3 months ago (tangent note: it's been that long? wow). I guess it's because, to be perfectly objective, some of my classmates who moved here more than a year ago from different places in the world (Iran, Germany, Russia, etc.) still have their distinct native accents in their speech; whereas apparently, I don't.

But that's a tangent point to introduce my thesis. What really affects me is what happens after I apparently "speak like an american" (see my last entry). The next question is almost immediately if the Philippines is a primarily english speaking country. This is followed by a pseudo-interview and a crash-course in Philippines101. And, as much as I want to be an ambassador to our country and speak volumes about it, I feel that 1.) I am not entitled to speak of the true picture of the Philippines, considering how little I know; and 2.) My limited knowledge about the Philippines leaves me with few positive generalities.

I really do want to be a good ambassador to our people and country. There're over-extended conversations and mantras about representing "my people"; and honestly, not being in a school with solely-ubergifted people makes me feel that I am able to communicate and immerse myself in a culture that is (more) unique and diverse. I mean, not to hate at all, but I guess that in a way, it's a refreshing breath of fresh air to find myself in a community of peers whose interests and measures of achievement are not based solely on A's and a vast knowledge of the maths. Granted, the pressure to appreciate team sports is greater now, but it's all part of the experience I guess. And, seeing as how a native-born Filipino can be quite a rarity, I am thrust into this amalgam of attractions, and am therefore driven to "represent".

So I share what I do know- The Atenean Psyche; the fact that we once upon a time held the title for "third most english literate country" in the world; our vast knowledge and constant exposure to the Americana, and its consequent effects on our own culture. But then, when it comes to talking about the rest of the Philippines, which for some reason, everyone is fully aware to be a not-so-well-to-do country, I start to fidget a bit. How do I communicate that the country is, to be frank, poor; but that we are not poor in hope? (yes, i dont care if that's cheezy). How do I communicate to them that being Private-schooled was "the only course of action", without lambasting our system of education and describing it truthfully, but knowing that they would have an inevitably misconstrued image of our value-placement on education?

I explained to one of my classmates that most of the time, poverty and homelessness and all things that come with it are not just the products of the action of the person involved- it's also the effects of the combined repurcussions of society's decisions. He argued that poverty, wherever you go, can be overcome with diligence, will power and determination. He argued that there should never be a reason for a person to be homeless, begging, or impoverished for extended periods of time. Another, female, classmate and I argued against this, of course. She argued that the system is also at fault; poverty is not merely a choice made willingly; sometimes, determination isn't enough. She then gave poignant examples of how this is so: from difficulties with employment to social biases, to even living day to day on what meager resources you can get.

But he then (callously) illustrated "far out" ways that one can survive with sheer willpower. Food? get it from the dumpsters. Showers? swim in the rivers. Jobs? do anything menial that will get you ahead in life later on. rags-to-riches stories, according to him, were no longer uncommon, and all those presented with the "rags" end of the deal should be able to get to the other end, if not with relative ease, then with relative definitiveness.


I was hurt.


How do i tell him that in the Philippines, there are people who live in Payatas and Smokey Mountain? How do i tell him that Manila bay, Pasig River and other areas are teeming with children and adults, swimming and bathing? How do I tell him that there are people who are willing to work any job, without benefits, without unions, with high-risk dangers just to make money for their families? I know that the philippines should not be my context entering this conversation in the first place, but i couldn't deny the fact that it hurt the nationalist inside of me.

for the most unexpected of reasons, too.

It wasn't so much that I felt that I could use the Philippine picture to refute his statements (She was more than able to do that in the US context, not that he was convinced, though). It was the shocking, hurtful, and utterly shameful realization that, whoah, when i was back home, how far away was I from being in his shoes?

How many times did I judge those people in the streets? How easily did I crack jokes at promdi's, at poor people, at the Cubao Crowd in Gateway, at the Trinoma lower floor crowds at the Trinoma upper floors? How easy was it for me to sub-prioritize things like our social outreach program, which, in all its simplicity, still helped children who were honestly interested in improving their lives? Really, was I that far from being a Filipino version of my male classmate?


Yeah, I won't deny that I can be a good ambassador of the Philippines when it comes to showing how "good we can be in english"; how easily we can be on top of current events; how the Ateneo has supposedly formed me into a competent individual, with a more-than-adequate knowledge in math, science, world history, Christian Knowledge, etc. I can show myself to be a Filipino a cut above the rest. I can be good, excellent even. I can be just as unique and "flavorful" as my classmate from Iran, from Russia, from Germany, from Vietnam, from Ghana, etc.

But when it comes to putting in a good word for the rest of the philppines- aside from being objective, how much of what i say isn't echoed from what my teachers and the DoT would just say? We're a land of smiles; of hospitality; of hope and optimism. We're a land of ingenuity, of culture, of adaptability.

How do I know how to speak english so well, then?

Maybe its because for the longest time, my psyche and my paradigm had been so meiopic and Americanized. I've been sheltered, pampered and exposed to so little. I needed to be "immersed" for a whole weekend to even get a taste of "reality". Social Involvement was a school requirement.

How do I know how to speak english so well?

derive your own conclusions from my exposition. It's not as nationalistic as you might expect.

Entropy is as beautiful as it is destructive.

Today, I was shocked and ashamed at the same time during one of my classes. Apparently, I have a classmate who is pure Filipino, but was born and raised here. Of course, my initial tendency, being a recent immigrant myself, was to somehow seek and establish a connection with this brother-by-ethnicity. I asked him if he still spoke the language fluently, to which he answered that he never did, since the only exposure he got to the language was through his parents' conversational usage of it at home. He could understand it, sure, but as far as speaking it was concerned, he was bound by the American-tongue-tendencies of flat R's, "aeuh" instead of the open mouthed "a" phonetic of Filipino pronounciation and an overtly present inability to spew out the filipino fricatives of "K" and "G" with all the crassness we can muster.

Of course, I admitted that I was a bit disappointed, seeing as how of the people I know who've gone abroad, I was the only one with no Filipino connections outside that of family. I also expressed my severe longing for being able to talk in Filipino, with all its nuances of language, like "lang", "diba", and, of course "nge". He said that it was cool if i talk to him in Filipino, since he was able to understand it, after all. And I felt more-or-less happy.

But then, the moment i wanted to tell him something in Filipino, I ended up with my flat "r"'s, with my aeugh's and augh's and my disnticntly fil-am accent. I was appalled at myself. I mean, I still converse very fluently in Filipino on both Y!M and in the house, so why couldn't I converse it properly with my Filipino Classmate?

Worse, the moment my other classmate, let's call him Bob, came up and talked to me to ask for help, I involuntarily spewed out a ton of "like"'s and "cuz like"'s. Fine, I had been saying these interjections even in the Philippines, but my goodness, to have let them take presidence over "aaah" in all its mouth-gaping glory?

I fear I just might be turning into a 90210-ian. or something equally as shallow and inarticulate.


Now, in some weird thought-process of mine, I felt that I could somehow remedy these mannerisms by reacquainting myself with several high-faluting words I find extremely useful in conversation. So, to somehow comfort myself, I looked up several words on notsovictor's blog entries- they're always a good source of vocab-words..

sesquipedalian: multi syllabic
altruistic: charitable (a very loose definition indeed)
clandestine: surreptitious
surreptitiously: secretly, slyly

*phew*. Of course, none of this like matters if I still can't speak straightly and fluently. Cuz like, what good is there in learning these words if like, I still keep inputting awkward interjections like "like", right?

-_-' OyFoydge.

Oh well, for now. I guess it's part of my assimilation into this strange, strange culture. It really does seem to be one thing when viewed from a distance (a.k.a. impunctual cable shows), and when it's actually being inculcated into your fiber-of-being, vocabulary and all. However, amidst the blaringly American influences that were simultaneously being taught to me, and realized in me (meaning I've had it all this time; for example, apparently I have a somewhat "american accent", who knew), my Filipino-ness, in all its beautiful 'crassness' and 'culture' came crashing back down to discover Balut, fresh and warm and ready for eating.

And no matter how much these Southern Californians may try to make me like mexican food (aren't like mexicans and like filipinos like similar like aren't like filipinos the like mexicans of like asia? uh no.), no one can ever stop me from liking under-developed duck fetuses.

And likewise, no one can replace my innate love for "minor key love songs", for pronouncing "hour as "our" instead of "ower", for finding 10 dollars expensive, for finding Southern California weather relatively comfortable, for keeping conversations with my prof at a minimum because i cannot, for the life of me, call him by his first name (and would rather call him "sir"), for never finding free-way traffic heavy traffic (have any of them ever seen EDSA during peak hours?) and for being able to mutter "gago!" when zach does something particularly inane- knowing that he doesn't know what I'm saying, and if he did, he wouldn't get the context of why it's funny and playful rather than down-to-the-bone insulting.

Some things will forever remain Filipino in me, and I am "hella-proud" about that.