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Taking back Wednesday.

You are everything I want,
'coz you are everything I'm not.

And we lay, we lay together
just not too close, too close
How close is close enough?

I just want to break you down so badly
I trip over everything you say.

I'm gonna make damn sure
You won't ever get too far from me.

This is the anthem of a confused admirer (?)
And an addicted Rockband player (!!!)

I know, I know. We suck. Rockband kahapon at kanina. We just couldn't resist it. :)) But hey, at least there are musical and emotional nourishments. I did drums AND vocals at the same time for Dashboard's Hands Down, and I was the top performer! \m/ Fulfillment! Haha. It's just sooo addictive. Darn, we have such a high-maintenance hobby. CrEngg, I think we should be serious about the "RB fund." Somebody bring a can and collect. Haha, LOL.

I can't wait for the semester to end. I am feeling absolutely stressed, I can almost feel premature wrinkles forming and pores clogging on my forehead. Ahhh stress. Stress motivates me to work harder but also makes me want to procrastinate. Oh, it's a vicious, never-ending cycle. I just hope I come out of this sem alive.

Thank goodness for Rockband. Keeps me sane.
Or not.

In PanPil17 class this morning, I think I was seeing the colored notes scrolling along the tiles while I was staring at the floor. My foot suddenly started tapping and my hands suddenly did air-drumming. Oh no.



"Risin' up, straight to the top
Have the guts, got the glory
Went the distance, now I'm not gonna stop
Just a man and his will to surviiiiive.."

CrEngg and I are having some serious Rockband withdrawal issues.

For the last few weeks, my college barkada and I have been having at least one Rockband session along Katipunan every few weeks or so. I know, I know, it's expensive and irrational but someone almost always comes up with a good enough excuse for us to while away the hours rocking out to 30 Seconds to Mars and other epic rock anthems.

We are good students. Really, we are. We work hard.
But apparently, we rock harder! HAHA.

It's a good thing we're almost 20 in our group which is why splitting the bill is quite easy. However, it still is pretty expensive. Php300/hr -- that's how many lunches we have to give up to finance our newfound vice?

But of course, priorities come a-knockin' and reality eventually sinks in: the sem is about to end and we are students with requirements we have to finish. So, yeah, no more Rockbands for us. At least for now.

Our lunches and afternoon tambays are spent in collective silence/trance -- everyone has their earphones on, and is silently playing air guitars or air drums along with their favorite Rockband song. I even have a Rockband playlist in my iPod now. I SWEAR. We seriously got it bad.

But until the sem officially comes to a close, no Rockband.
And (maybe) no blogging for me.

In true rockstar fashion, I shall end this post with a big, epic finish:

*enter epic guitars and drums*

Dun! Dun dun dun! Dun dun dun! Dun dun duuuuun!

*start blog hiatus*


Blowing and bursting, coming and going.

It's surprising how things turn out the way they do in the shortest span of time.

Like how a bubble bursts. It's this beautiful, mysterious entity of color and vibrance. They always make you want to look at them, hold them, and figure them out. The swirls and the shades are an invitation; they lure you in.

And just when your finger reaches out, finally gives in and touches it -- it's gone.

There wasn't anything close to the joy of blowing bubbles as a kid. Seeing them magically appear from the wand, chasing after hundreds of them, jumping up and down to pop them, and suddenly finding them all gone -- it was priceless. You never get tired of all the bubbles. You just keep blowing, chasing, popping again and again. It was always such a freeing experience.

But the first time I came really up close with a bubble was one time in first grade while washing my hands. I just discovered this trick of rubbing your hands together hard, then forming a circle with your index finger and thumb. (Yes, it was a new trick for me.) At first, it didn't occur to me that it was a bubble. Bubbles are supposed to be round after all, I thought. But then, suddenly I saw all these colors swooshing around like paint that spilled all over the floor in kindergarten art class. In it was a plethora of different shades all in motion. It was so fascinating. How did this enigma come to be?

And before I knew it, it burst.

The first few seconds were quite a shock. Where was it? Why did it go so suddenly? How did it happen? I was only seven then, with no background on physics and how the water molecules interacted with the soap to create this film and suddenly make it disappear.

Many times in my life I've come across beautiful mysterious bubbles. Sometimes a situation, other times a fact, and sometimes people. They always draw you in but just when you're about to start appreciating their florid intensity, you lose them. Not always physically, but yeah, at some point we just can't really bring them back.

I was washing my hands today after coming home (to the dorm) from school when this thought occured to me. Isn't it sad? I mean, why bother then if everything will be taken away from us anyway? Why touch it when it will eventually pop? Why reach out when it will inevitably disappear?

But then, the thing about bubbles is that it doesn't really matter if it pops. That's how bubbles are -- they come and go. But you can always rub your fingers again; you can always put the wand back in the bottle again and blow. There are always a thousand more bubbles to be made for every one that goes.

I guess life will always be unfair. It will give some and take some. It doesn't always end up the way you want it to. But then again, I never really stopped enjoying blowing bubbles as a kid even if they all pop and burst anyway. All I ever wanted in bubbles were the splash of color and the momentary fascination. That even just for a moment, they enthralled me. And I guess that's all that matters, right?

I put my index finger and my thumb together again. It's been too long. Time to make more bubbles.


A random simile.

It was like hearing the epic opening riff of 23 by Jimmy Eat World for the first time after three months of not playing it on your iPod.


09 09 09.

You know what's frustrating?

It's when in class, you learn about poetry and fiction and all the elements that come along with it: character profiles, tone, setting, space, location, and your professor tells you, "As the writer, you always have the power to manipulate them."

And yet you look out the window and you realize, you are powerless. Because all you can ever get to control are the events on a piece of paper.


Oh hello, Friday.

Inspiration always strikes me in the most ungodly of hours.
Wow, I can feel countless all-nighters ahead of me.

Well, as long as the creative juices keep flowing, I don't care what freakin' time it is, as long as it does. After all, that's what coffee is for.

Good night~


Poetry imitating life imitating poetry.

In Poetry class (2nd part of CW100), our main project is to create a villanelle out of anything that interests us. I'm honestly not much of a poet and I must admit that this type of literature is most probably my waterloo. But of course it's not something I can escape at this point, so somehow I'm getting myself to really appreciate it. We're all natural poets after all, we just need a little more discipline and practice. So I've been thinking about a good topic since the assignment was given. I want to take the assignment seriously, so I want to write about something that interests me.

Since most of us in class are still "beginners" (although high school angsty love poems are considered poetry, haha, but of course we all deny having done that!) we've been discussing the basics: rhythm, sound, tone, form, use of words. And for the past few weeks the thing I've learned essentially is that it's important to keep a strong mental image inside your head and try to capture it. You have to seize everything about it -- the sound, the feel, the look, the taste, the smell -- to be able to make your reader live through it.

There's so much more that goes into a poem that what many of us may think. And as hackneyed as this may sound, it all comes down to detail. It's always the small, little things that count. Because what else is there for the reader to experience other than the words you write?

Is it about a breakup? When did it happen? At what moment, exactly? When she let go of her hand? Where did it happen? Over lunch at McDonald's? Why not KFC? What song was playing? Was it her favorite band? When did he start sipping nervously from his drink? Was the airconditioner turned on? How did the french fries taste after that?

In poetry, everything means something. Because it's all just about that one moment, that one instant that you want to freeze and immortalize. You are the orchestrator of that event; you arrange everything in perfect detail. Everything should match with everything else. And I guess that goes beyond poetry as well -- in movies and TV shows, in songs and novels, in paintings and photographs, everything should all come together in the end.

In life, does everything mean something too?

I was contemplating on what topic to write about on my way back to the dorm. Maybe I should write about the crescendos and decrescendos of everyday life, I thought, since I just came from the College of Music for my weekly piano classes. Or what about nostalgia? Then I can relate it to putting your iPod to repeat mode. Hmm, maybe something related to music.

Then suddenly, the couple across me in the jeepney started kissing and making out with matching tongue and hair-messing action. It was so awkward because there was nowhere else to look -- they were right in front of me! I tried texting my friends to distract myself. I can practically hear everybody shouting, "Get a room!" inside their heads. It was funny because for CW100 class today we were discussing about capturing an "orgasmic" moment. We were talking about the details of the scene -- the position, where it took place (the backseat of a Beetle!!), how it was happening.. basically imagining a sexual scene. And just a few hours later, something close to it unfolded before my eyes. (Though it wasn't sexy at all. It was gross actually.) It was such an unfortunate coincidence to be riding that jeep with them.

But if everything means something..

Does this mean I'm bound to write an erotic villanelle?
Hahaha :))

(from stereowrists)


Taking a break from PanPil17.

I have an exam tomorrow for PanPil17 (Kulturang Popular), and I have been doing a whole of reading since 6pm. It's one of my pretty interesting subjects this semester, especially because 1) We don't really have lectures, more of exchanging of opinions, 2) Our topics are very relevant to our everyday life. We've talked about malls, movies, TV shows, street food -- typical and ordinary stuff we often take for granted but ultimately shape our lives.

Anyway, I was in the middle of reading Rolando Tolentino's "Sa Loob at Labas ng Mall Kong Sawi" and was trying very, very hard to not fall asleep when I came across this:

"Ganito ang paradox ng nostalgia: sa pag-igting ng pagnanasang makabalik, lalo lamang nabubura ang alaala ng pinagmulan."

It took me ten minutes to read and digest anything else after that. It got to me, really. Funny how small, random but timely and relevant things like this find their way into your consciousness when you least expect them.

Okay, back to reading. That definitely woke me up.