tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63911659825239698672024-03-05T22:07:22.579+08:00Writing For FreeI like writing. You like reading, or else you wouldn't be here. Let's do both for free.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-3788197771866798912011-05-15T06:56:00.001+08:002011-05-15T06:56:21.153+08:00Filipino Thoughts<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me just say this straightaway: I love my country, and I love my countrymen. I believe that we're a people of endurance and of wit, and though we sometimes tend to misplace our faith, I believe we are a nation that is good, intelligent, and full of potential. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there are moments that shake my trust in the Filipino people, that make me--unfortunately--feel ashamed of the way we can sometimes act. One such moment occurred at the San Francisco International Airport on the day I was to leave the US for home sweet home. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's standard protocol that when boarding a plane, the seats are filled in from back to front. This is to avoid passengers bumping into each other too much on the narrow aisles of the coach section of an average 747. It is a rule meant to promote order and control. So when those in charge of getting passengers aboard announced that those seated on rows 81 to 97 may now embark, it should have been an easy task of looking at one's boarding pass and falling in line. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that day was proof that what should be usually isn't. Instead of travelers quietly filing toward the gate, chaos reigned. People whose seat numbers were not from 81 to 97 milled in front of the doorways, chatting loudly and getting in the way of those trying to get in. Parents, children, old men--everyone jostled and pushed and tried to get in front of the person ahead of them. Those who were supposed to be there waved their passes and passports in the air, calling out loudly, "<i>Ako! 81 to 97!</i>" As I myself was shoved around (my brother and I were on row 94), I saw the attendant desperately attempting to restore--or I should say establish, since there was none to begin with--some sense of order. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Please</i> line up, everyone," she all but begged in as loud a voice as possible, a voice unfailingly drowned out in that <i>palengke</i> atmosphere. "Let's show them that we can do this!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nobody listened. I tried to stand still and force a line behind me (and I'm not saying I'm some kind of model citizen for this; it was really just the shame in my belly that made me swallow my anger at being cut three times by three different families, and becoming one with that wailing crowd) to no avail. It was... EDSA at rush hour. It was SM during a weekend sale. It was, as my Taft-educated brother put it, the MRT's on a weekday morning. It was something Filipinos do all the time, and it was embarrassing as hell.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We made it through eventually, though as I walked toward the plane I looked back and saw no semblance of any line at all. And it made me sad, really. I remembered my twelve years of Philippine education and saw myself lining up for every single day of it. I had been taught to line up beside my classroom, at the cafeteria, at the covered courts during assemblies; we were made to stand in line from enrollment in kindergarten to graduation in senior year. It is a standard of discipline, and we enact it in our schools here much more strictly than they do in many countries abroad, including America.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet we, the adults, can't seem to make it happen when it truly counts. It's a sad thing to learn. If we don't have the patience and the discipline to form a line at the airport to make it easier for everyone; if we have to put ourselves first and shove our way to the front every single time, what hope do we have of gaining the fortitude and self-restraint that will make our country better? </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-50932078310890152872011-04-13T19:05:00.000+08:002011-04-13T19:05:40.284+08:00A Little Follow-Through<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For almost a year now, I've been contributing articles to local teen magazines. I never really thought I'd be doing it, but I find myself enjoying coming up with possible problems that young girls might face in their daily lives and giving out helpful tips to solve them: <i>What do I do when I find myself face-to-face with my crush</i>? <i>How do I ask a guy out without seeming too forward? Why won't my parents cut me some slack? How do I balance my time between school and friends? </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's surprisingly fun to think up these things and to point the way. It's fulfilling to know that in my own little way I'm helping kids and teenagers deal with the things that stress them out. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But here's my problem: how do I take my own advice? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Practice what you preach," isn't that the old maxim? Well it turns out another one is, "Easier said than done." While I've outgrown some of the issues that these magazines deal with--stuff like acne and grades and unfair teachers and all that--there are some things that few people ever really outgrow.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Like body image issues. I don't know about you guys, but I sure haven't outgrown those. I've been putting in some fair hours at the gym recently, and it's not just for my overall health: I'm definitely being vain about it. I don't always feel good when I look at the mirror. There is a long list of things I'd like to change about myself, and I think a lot of people feel the same way.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I've written and published my advice about this. Heck, I've listed down, several times, what you're supposed to think and do to feel better about yourself and your body: We're all shaped differently. We're all beautiful in our own way. We have to focus on what's positive about who we are, not what's negative. We need to eat right, pamper ourselves once in a while, exercise. And on and on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I realize, though, that while it can be hard to follow someone else's advice, it's twice as hard to follow your own. And neither is it just with body image--I've written articles about money management (which I'm not particularly awesome at), job interviews, and awkward situations, and I find myself laughing at the ideas I come up with, because I realize that <i>dude, I know what to do </i>to make myself better. Hell, my advice is <i>good</i>. I just have to grit my teeth and do it, too.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't want to be a hypocrite, you know? There are too many of those out there in the world already. Now if only someone knew the secret to avoiding <i>that...</i></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-36576023526666311002011-04-08T21:57:00.000+08:002011-04-08T21:57:16.488+08:00And What A Week It's Been<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You know how sometimes you have weeks that go by where you feel like you didn't do anything new or exciting or productive?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well for me, this wasn't one of them.</span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From intense workouts at the gym (naks!) to press conferences to radio shows to meetings to renewed friendships to revived nights out to magazine articles to my first time in a Porsche to my first accident in a Porsche (minor! Don't sweat it. And disclaimer: I was totally not driving hehe) to the longest ever CGE TV taping we've had in a season and a half of airing... it's been quite a week, to say the least. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I'm happy. I'm tired and I need a drink like right <i>now</i>, but I'm happy. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never, ever want to say I didn't live my life to the fullest. It feels great to know that this week, I lived it well and full. Plus, the craziness of the last five days or so reminded me just how <i>awesome</i> the people around me are (you know who you be!). So here's a huh-yooge thanks to the Big Guy upstairs for all the good stuff that's happened and all that's yet to come. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow, I've got a radio show to do and a basketball game to cover, and on Sunday I've got 10 kilometers to run. And I've got all the rest of my life to live (am I sounding like a self-help book yet? Stop me if I am), and I intend to make it absolutely awesome. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I shall start with that drink. :)</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-74932351600918657812011-04-04T09:34:00.005+08:002011-04-05T09:09:40.924+08:00One Year Later<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never thought it would come to this. I never even really thought about it. I just sort of assumed--a little pridefully, I admit, but without really giving it all that much thought--that when I finished school I'd go off and begin my life as a successful Woman of the World.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the back of my head (you know that part of the mind where imagination and reality become difficult to separate? It's that place you don't show other people, that idealistic little spot where you truly believe all your dreams can and will come true against all odds, given time and opportunity), I saw myself with my own place, my own car, and an awesome, well-paying job. I was toned, Solenn Heussaff-style. I had a walk-in closet. I was going on a book tour for my internationally-acclaimed novel. I read Kant, Nietzsche, Marx, and other intellectual stuff. I could quote from the best literary works. I was traveling the world.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Call me a dreamer, but come on. Didn't you have those illusions, too?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hell, don't you </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>still</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And yet here I am, a full year after graduation, and I find that not much has changed at all. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm still living in my parents' house. I still read fantasy books, and can barely get past a page or two of philosophy. I haven't written that novel, though I promise myself over and over that I'll get on with it tomorrow (until something else comes up). I sort of have my own car, and I love my job--but those two I already had even before I finished college.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No, I haven't got that walk-in closet. According to Coach Chappy Callanta at 360 Fitness Club where I'm getting regular exercise for the first time in my twenty-two years, I have to get rid of 8% of my body fat to even get a shadow of the abs I want...and as I am incapable of keeping my hands (and my mouth) off sweets, I don't know how that's going to work.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At this point it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. Let me get this through, okay? NO, I'M NOT. In fact, I'm happier with my life as it is right now than I ever was in school.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">See, in the year since I graduated, I've accepted the fact that life doesn't work out exactly as planned. We dream and we work and we hope and we pray, but things will happen the way they do anyway, despite what we think we want.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I don't have all that stuff I thought I would. So what? It's only been a year. I won't even hold it against myself after five years. Because life has presented me with other things--things I didn't know I wanted--for which I'm so completely thankful for.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How about parents who are willing to support whatever I want to do? How about friends who listen, and who give me the best times even when we're doing the stupidest things? How about getting to be one of three faces of a whole new channel? How about making the cover of a magazine? How about getting the chance to write for publications that allow me to be an influence, no matter how small, on young girls?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My point is this: I'm going to work hard to make those things I want happen. I'm going to keep myself motivated. But I'm not going to sweat it if they don't come true right away. Life's too short to mope about what I don't have.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One year later, and I'm still learning, still rising and falling, still happy to be alive. I think those are enough for now, don't you?</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-87467603882981623852011-01-25T12:44:00.005+08:002011-01-25T12:50:25.763+08:00From A Fan<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Margaret Atwood,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'll admit it: I've only read a few of your works. They probably weren't even your best, just your most commercial ones. Die-hard fans of yours would call me a poser. But even from what little I've read from you and the utterly insufficient experience I have in literature, I can tell that you are a master. Actually, I suppose you'd prefer the term </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>mistress</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, but you get what I'm saying.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> You wield words like a sharp weapon, striking against submission, convention, and prejudice, and defending the woman and the human person from those who seek to bring them down. Your work is art in all its practicality. You are absolutely brilliant, and you inspire me as I'm sure you inspire thousands all over the world. If the impact I make on literature someday is a tiny fraction of what you've made today, then I can say I've succeeded as a writer ten times over.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> You do Canada proud, Ma'am. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From, A Fan</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">---</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Stephen King,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I read </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The Shining</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> when I was about fourteen, and haven't stopped reading your work since. The only reason I can't say I've read everything you've ever written is because you've written a whole damn lot, but it's a goal of mine. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I think you're amazing. Your manage to take the elusive, dark, shadowy stuff just beneath the surface of our commonplace realities and give them shape, form, body, voice. You make us question intrinsic goodness and doubt the sureness and solidity of our worlds. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now there are people who think that because you've written so much, you can't possibly be any good. They place you in the ranks of authors who churn out novel after novel without regard for the story, the plot, the characters. They think that quality and quantity cannot exist hand-in-hand, or worse, they think that quantity </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>is </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">quality.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> What these people don't realize is that you </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>are</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> that good. Your characters are dynamic, your settings convincing, your plots crazy enough to be real. In other words, you make some grade A quality shit, Sir, and you do it consistently. You're my favorite author in the world, and I hope to one day write one novel that I can say you'd enjoy reading. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From, A Fan</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">---</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear George R.R. Martin,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm a relatively new fan of yours, having only recently read the first four books of your series </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>A Song of Ice and Fire.</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It was in the top five of nearly every list titled "Best Fantasy Books" I found online. I had my doubts at first, but they were right: you're brilliant.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Your plots are winding, your characters far from cliche, and the entire world of Westeros utterly gritty and down-to-earth. You make magic and dragons seem implausible and completely real at the same time. But what really made me a fan is your attention to detail. Every character, plot twist, and sentence is accounted for. It's weird how my favorite line of yours is in the acknowledgements section, when you wrote, "The devil is in the details, they say. A book this size has a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>lot</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> of devils, any one of which will bite you if you don't watch out."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> That is absolutely on the money, Sir, and now I'm one of your legions of fans awaiting the next installment of details you're going to give us. I seriously can't wait, because I know it's going to be freakin' fantastic.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> No pressure, though. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From, A Fan</span></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-89391078069385996272010-10-29T10:34:00.004+08:002010-10-29T10:37:18.674+08:00A Little Bit Of Pixie Dust<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Saw the tail-end of the movie <i>Hook</i> yesterday--I think they've been running it on HBO for the last few days. I'm ashamed to admit I've never seen the film in full, but I like to think the main point of the story can be found in those critical final scenes: Hook killing Rufio, a grown-up Peter Pan (played, of course, by the ever-lovable Robin Williams) facing Hook for the last time and utterly humiliating him, and of course Peter and his kids making their way back home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's a timeless tale of the triumph of courage over fear and good over evil, and an affirmation of the old adage, "Home is where the heart is."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But for me, the most touching and beautiful scene in that whole final reel is that moment that Peter has with Tinkerbell, right before he wakes up in the "real world," having left Neverland for the very last time. In it, Tink says: </span><br />
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<blockquote style="color: #ffe599;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>"You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you, Peter Pan. That's where I'll be waiting."</b></span></blockquote><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">That pretty much killed it for me. I always believed that Tinkerbell was the most pivotal character in the tale of Peter Pan (and not just because I played her in a summer stage workshop when I was six). In a story about magic and the power of faith, Tinkerbell <i>is</i> magic, and she personifies the idea that losing faith in something (or someone) is losing that thing (or person) entirely. It's a lesson everyone should remember no matter how young or old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As a kid, I loved the thought of fairies flitting around in glittering pixie dust just at the corners of our eyes; as an almost-grown adult, I love the idea that magic exists in real life if only we look hard enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We're probably never going to be visited by an unaging boy in tights and his fairy companion in the middle of the night, no matter how long we wait. But that doesn't mean we can't go on any adventures of our own. We're all given a little store of pixie dust to work with. The question is, do we deny it's there and end up losing it for real... or do we sprinkle it over our happy thoughts and take flight? </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-59732885179045805532010-10-14T17:11:00.000+08:002010-10-14T17:11:00.743+08:00Just a link<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Call it shameless plugging if you want--it kind of is, anyway--but check this out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleId=619240&publicationSubCategoryId=448">Notes from the dugout: Boys on the side</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Very close to my heart, and all. :) </span><span class="twurl"></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-10347277087987577522010-09-30T10:20:00.003+08:002010-09-30T10:21:19.282+08:00(Possibly) The End Of An Era<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">September 30, 2010. I know that whatever the results of today's events are, this is going to be a day I will remember for a very long time, if not for the rest of my life. My mind is a swirling mess of color and feeling: blue and white and the faux wood color of the court floor, along with whirling masses of green and yellow, orange and black, fear and excitement, and tension that ripples through a crowd, tension as alive as the people bringing it forth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">There are sounds, too: bellows of anger mingling with roars of joy, shrill whistling that rips through pressure like a knife slashing through flesh, a chatter of voices in my ear and all around me and in my own head. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I'm not out there yet. No, I'm still here, in my quiet bedroom, colorful in its own way but nothing at all like the glaring brightness of the Araneta Coliseum at the height of a finals match. All I hear are birds tittering their innocent nonsense and cars passing by on the street outside my window. Everything around me is calm; it's my mind that's beginning to shift gears and and gain speed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Whatever the results of today's events, I'm going to remember this day. Remember it as one of the last, if not <i>the</i> last day, of a heart-pounding, pressure-building, nerve-wracking time of my life. Remember it as the end of an era for me. So in the next couple of hours, I'm going to outwardly calm myself, gather together all my thoughts and feelings and rearrange them in an exquisitely bound, perfectly tight package at the center of my being. I will finish writing, run a little to loosen the nerves, and take a shower. I will go to Araneta, attend mass, write my pre-game and first quarter reports. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And then, when I step out onto the court behind the team, when I take my place courtside for my school potentially for very the last time, I'm going to undo that secure knot in my stomach and let all hell break loose. I'm giving it all I got out there today, like I know the boys will, like I know everyone will. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here we go, ladies and gentlemen. See you at the games. </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-86586127387289578622010-09-10T10:06:00.001+08:002010-09-10T10:06:44.358+08:00Happy Holiday(s)<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And the holidays are back. Ironic that I'm saying it <i>on</i> a holiday, but it's true. September has rolled right on in, and people--well, <i>my</i> friends and family at least, I don't know about yours--are gearing up for a whole 'nother season of joy and merrymaking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If you were trying to lose weight in time for all the food and drink of this time of year, then your deadline is coming up and it's time to double the effort. More importantly, if you've allowed yourself to grow weak in the drinking game and find yourself ready to give up after a couple of shots (like meee! I've become an old lady in the past few months), it's time to get back on that horse and train that tummy of yours to <i>take it</i>--how else do you intend to survive the high (and strong) spirits of the season?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's time to focus, people! Whether it's because you wanna celebrate the crap out of life or because you just want this damn year to end, </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm getting the feeling we're all gonna be blowing 2009 right out of the water when it comes to ending 2010 with a bang. I mean Jay Sean's been singing about it for a month now: <i>We're gonna party like it's the end of the world. </i>Do we prove him right or what? :)) </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-84613375312313628492010-09-08T00:16:00.001+08:002010-09-08T00:17:20.245+08:00The Bad Side of the Peter Pan Syndrome<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Some people just don't know when they're crossing a line. And when you try to tell them that they are, they miraculously turn deaf--even though normally, they can practically hear a whisper from across the street. I'm probably not the most mature person in the world, but I think after all these years I've earned the right to say to these people: Grow the F up.</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-50001063125982550542010-09-02T22:59:00.005+08:002010-09-02T23:53:55.523+08:00Fate and Photographs<i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The world </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>operates as a series of circles that are invisible, for they extend to the upper air. Fate is where these circles cut into the earth. Since we cannot see them, do not know their content, and have no sense of their width, it is impossible to predict when these cuts will slice into our reality. When this happens, we call it fate.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>Fate is not a chance event but one that is inevitable; we are simply blind to its nature and time. We are also blind as to how fate connects one occurrence to another.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">- Batuk, from James A. Levine's <i>The Blue Notebook</i></span><br />
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We live life in moments. I think that's why photographs mean so much to us: they have the power to wordlessly capture single moments that would otherwise be impossible to isolate. Because while we live life in moments, each moment glides seamlessly into another, the way each word I write connects immediately to the next. Individually, there is some meaning; it all comes alive only when read in full. A missing word, like a missing moment, will render the whole incomplete. At the same time, it is impossible for us, the vessels of these moments, to know what each has in store for us, and to what other event it will connect.</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fate is what finds these moments and brings them together. As the writer, I am Fate to the words on this page--only I know where they lead, and what each word's role is in the final story. Without me they mean nothing, just a series of scratches and blurs clumped together in paragraph form. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fate, or God, or Karma, or the Force, or whatever it is one might believe it to be: it pulls us together, makes us whole. It may take a day or a year or ten or twenty before we realize what is really going on, but I think every action we do translates into something greater further down the line. And that's why it's important for every moment to stand out for us. We ought to treat every instant, every event in which we find ourselves entangled, the way we would a photograph--we should put our best foot forward in it, because it will be recorded, and it will come back to haunt us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Welcome to the wonderful world of Inside My Head--where nothing is as it seems and all the words are pretty.</span><br />
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</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-25985685976107770002010-08-26T10:33:00.004+08:002010-08-26T10:39:24.908+08:00No Matter How Much I Rack My Brains<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Before I get started, a disclaimer for anyone asking why I don't write about Real Issues or The Important Things or The Current State of Affairs: I like keeping my opinions to those things to myself. I don't wanna start an argument, or a "healthy debate," or any kind of controversy--not here, anyway. I've seen people whose blogs were attacked just because they decided to write about something <i>else</i> at a time when Important Things were happening. I say, I do care. I just don't wanna talk about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now, let's move on to today's shallow gripe...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Passwords. Oh, bane of my online existence! These days, everyone has an account for just about everything, and every account needs to be password protected. I--and I'm hardly the most Internet-savvy of folk--already have at least seven (7) different online accounts that have varied usernames and passwords: 2 individual email addresses, one that I share with my radio partner, 1 blog, 1 Twitter account, 1 Facebook account, and an onlilne bank account. I also have my computer's password and the password to the Internet here at home (sometimes it disconnects and I have to type it in to reconnect).</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://cdn.rezdwanhamid.com/web/wp-content/uploads/twitter-sign-in-page.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://cdn.rezdwanhamid.com/web/wp-content/uploads/twitter-sign-in-page.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I mean, I get whey they're necessary. I also know that we shouldn't really use the same passwords for different accounts, because that makes it easy for hackers to get into all of them. But my memory... how it fails me when faced with a blinking cursor on that blank space labeled "password"! And it's strange because I never had problems memorizing things in school. It's like passwords are my Kryptonite: my brain rejects them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I once created an account--and this was way back in high school--for SAT mock testing. I wanted to try and take the SAT's and the site allowed me to find out if I was ready to do so. Of course, the day after I signed up, I forgot what my password was. Protocol is to hit the "Forgot username/password" button, which I did. It sent a link to my email, yadda-yadda-yadda... and then it asked me the security question. Get this: <i><b>I didn't know the answer</b></i>. I knew the <i>real</i> answer to the question, but apparently that wasn't the answer I had put in when I was making the account. I assume I wanted to make it difficult to answer. Good job, self! To this day, I don't know what the answer to that security question is. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I have at least three other similar stories, one of them having to do with me forgetting my password immediately upon activation of a recent online account I opened for my bank records, but maybe I'll tell that another time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the meantime, I'll have to satisfy myself with noting down my passwords in a secret place where no one (I hope) can find them... and checking this secret list whenever I have to access any of my accounts. How sad. </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-9929448943589117372010-08-10T13:12:00.001+08:002010-08-10T13:12:59.761+08:00The Ting Tings Had It Right<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Everyone's a hypocrite--true or false? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've had the opportunity to think about this statement the past few days. The more I mull over it, the more I believe that everyone does things they say they hate in other people. Sometimes it's a harmless trait, but other times it can truly hurt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Think about it: what is it that you despise about a person? Rudeness, maybe? A tendency to beat around the bush? Untidiness? Do you hate it when someone is gossipy, perhaps, or noisy or secretive or snobbish? Now take a look at yourself--and make it a good, <i>long</i> look. Can you honestly say you've never fallen into the same category yourself?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If your answer is yes, then I don't believe you're being honest. I've known myself to raise arms against people who cut in front of me on the road, and yet I've also caught myself doing the exact same thing when I'm running late. I say I don't like gossip, but I listen with a fascinated ear when the office <i>tsismis</i> comes my way. If you're calling me a hypocrite right now, ask yourself if you've ever thought you don't like judgmental people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So if we're all hypocrites, what can we do to stop ourselves from hurting others? Because we can all be harmless hypocrites. It's when we go out of our way to call someone out on something we don't like about them that things start to get nasty. Especially if we don't know that person; especially if them knowing what we think does nothing for them; and <i>most</i> especially if our unpleasant opinion applies to ourselves.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've learned that the best thing to do when I have an opinion is to keep it to myself. I can rant and rage against anyone I want--that's my right. But saying it out loud and causing harm--and worse, needless harm--to that person when s/he is doing nothing to hurt me is overstepping my boundaries. And in the end, no one's happy. Not me, because I'd be a negative bitch. And not that person, because they'd have received hurtful criticism from someone who has zero right to give it. So, <i>hayaan na sila</i>. Let people do what they do and be who they are. As the song goes, "Shut up and let me go." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And personally (and as an end note), I hope I don't ever become that kind of hypocrite. </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-7885991167018457242010-07-28T00:04:00.004+08:002010-07-28T00:13:59.155+08:00Mindless Entertainment Consumption<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lately I've been wondering what it is I look for in a television show. I've loyally followed so many over the years--from <i>Power Rangers</i> to <i>Alias</i> to <i>The OC</i> to <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> to <i>Glee</i>--and I figured I should take a step back and think a little about <i>why</i> I commit myself to hours of mindless entertainment consumption. I came up with three things:<br />
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<a href="http://nickbaines.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/friends.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://nickbaines.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/friends.jpg" width="132" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A good TV show, first of all, has <b>wit</b>. Wit gives TV its character, and what would be the point of watching a show that's got no character? Of course the best manifestation of wit is in the script, in the conversation among the characters. Sitcoms like <i>FRIENDS </i>and <i>How I Met Your Mother</i> are by definition witty, but even more serious shows like <i>House</i> (which is a medical drama, for goodness' sakes) or <i>NCIS</i> (which is a crime drama series) or <i>Heroes</i> manage/d to do it. It's all about good writers who can create character chemistry with the clack of a keyboard.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.showsmissed.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/d135c3d3d0atural.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://www.showsmissed.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/d135c3d3d0atural.jpg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Great TV shows also have <b>themes</b>, and by this I mean a feature that distinguishes a program from the hundreds of others already in existence. And the newer the show, the more interesting this feature has to be, just because everything else has already been done. For instance, <i>Gossip Girl</i> spiced up the traditional teenage drama (a-la <i>Dawson's Creek </i>and <i>One Tree Hill</i>) by moving the setting from small-town America to Upper East Side Manhattan, and throwing in a mystery online gossip correspondent for good measure. <i>How I Met</i> took the <i>FRIENDS </i>genre and made its plot revolve around the concept of meeting the love of one's life. <i>Glee</i> basically brought Broadway to the small screen. <i>Supernatural</i> put together mythology and monsters and dysfunctional families and crime investigation all in one go. <i>Big Bang Theory </i>elevated geekdom.</span></span><br />
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But while witty conversation and a good solid theme already automatically make great television for me (and by "great" I mean I'd spend hours marathon-ing the shit out of it) there does remain a third and equally important factor: <b>hotness.</b> </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lovewithoutrules.net/images/about/LC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.lovewithoutrules.net/images/about/LC.jpg" width="120" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let's face it: would we all really be <i>that</i> interested in <i>GG </i>if it weren't for Chace Crawford? Would <i>Desperate Housewives</i>, despite all its scandalous story lines, be as successful without Eva Longoria?<i> </i>And <i>Prison Break</i> without Wentworth Miller, <i>The OC </i>without Mischa Barton, <i>FRIENDS </i>without Jennifer Aniston, <i>Smallville</i> without Tom Welling/Kristin Kreuk, <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> without Patrick Dempsey and that McSteamy guy, <i>24</i> without Elisha Cuthbert, <i>Supernatural </i>without Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles, <i>Big Bang Theory</i> without Kaley Cuoco, <i>True Blood</i> with a different cast... I could go on forever. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Point is, it's all about being interesting, unique, and beautiful on TV shows, whether it's comedy, drama, crime, and everything above, below, and in between. It's why we love TV--because it imitates and exaggerates and condenses real life, all in the name of mindless entertainment consumption. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">*BOW* </span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-66662126679383823442010-07-06T00:26:00.003+08:002010-07-28T00:11:23.913+08:00Fear<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Fear. Is anything more utterly pervasive in human life than fear?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I myself am afraid of so many things: cockroaches, snakes, rats, loneliness, darkness, failure, old age, pain, broken promises, insignificance, death. I'm afraid of drowning, of fire, of flash floods, of clowns, of being laughed at. I'm afraid of poverty and sickness, of graveyards and ghosts. I'm afraid of sorrow and torture and crime and loss. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">How do we go on with so much fear in our lives? How do we manage to get up every day, look the possibility of dying gruesome deaths in the eye, and still walk out our front doors to go to school or work? How is it that we don't all spend our days hiding under our blankets or cowering in corners? For the most part, it's survival. We are able to get up every morning unafraid because we have to, for instance, feed our families. We have to keep a roof over their heads and put clothes on their backs. Human survival necessitates control of fear. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But there are times in life when we are unable to merely ignore fear. There are times when its presence is a choking cloud of smoke that makes it impossible to breathe, much less move forward. When we find ourselves opening our eyes to a pitch black room with a garbled sense of time and space, when we are lost, when our security is threatened, when we see ourselves age, when we lose a job or a pet or a loved one... these are the times when survival instinct gives way to a choice of either insanity or courage. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What will you choose? When you're down in the dumps, when you're back to square one, when you're alone, or penniless, or... wherever you're at, whatever face of fear you're looking at at this very moment... will you decide to give up the fight and essentially lose a part of what makes you <i>you</i> and <i>human</i>? Or will you square your shoulders and fight back? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Courage, a man in a chick flick once said, is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We march on.</span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-57849177739672096222010-06-10T22:02:00.004+08:002010-09-08T00:26:32.077+08:00Why Worry?<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Worry is a creature that worms its way into the gut; it creeps up the chest, making it difficult to breathe; and then it gnaws at the nerves, fraying them, wearing them out. I had the unfortunate opportunity of reacquainting myself with worry early last Friday morning, when I roused myself slowly from heavy sleep to find 5 missed calls from an unknown number on my phone. A text from the same number revealed that its owner was the mother of a very good friend, and that this friend had just been in a violent car accident.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It was as bad as I imagined in my foggy 5-am mind. We had been drinking a little the night before and I had just arrived home and drifted off to sleep a couple hours earlier. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They found him along Katipunan extension, the car a total wreck, and him bleeding internally. He had been on his way back home to Pasig from a side trip to Fairview. The media and the police arrived before anyone else, and they took time to question him--on TV!--before calling for help. They took him first to Quirino Memorial Hospital, then transferred him to St. Lukes along E. Rodriguez. By then 1.5 liters of blood had escaped into his stomach and other organs. His iPhone and sunglasses were also conspicuously missing. The doctors told his frightened mother that his BP was down to 70/50 and that he had a fifty percent chance of survival. They proceeded to operate.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">From the minute his mom called me until I finally saw him again almost two days later, there was a terrible knot in my stomach that would not unclench. I had forgotten, or perhaps didn't even know, that there was such a feeling. It is exhausting, it is hateful, and it was utterly relieving when I realized--after I saw that he was going to get better--that my friend had just miraculously survived. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">His car had hit the island in the middle of the road, flipped over, skidded across the street, hit one of the posts of an unfortunate establishment, and flipped right side up again. The vehicle's roof was almost kissing the dashboard: it was amazing that he had survived at all, much less have gotten through without any concussions or damage to his neck.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I think now that maybe worry is a creature that God or the Powers That Be send to remind us all not to take what we have for granted. It nibbles at and wears away our jaded dispositions until we find ourselves worried raw, thinking and feeling and living at the very edges of our skins. It makes us thankful when things return to normal, and it provides us--after the worst has passed--with a reminder of the danger of life and the shadow of death that lurks at every corner. I'm glad I worried, because now I can be relieved, and thankful. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He's walking again, barely a week later. He even makes jokes and laughs at ridiculous "thriller" movies on TV. Let's hope for his sake the Lakers play another good game, shall we? </span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-46081306435625709132010-05-25T12:14:00.003+08:002010-05-25T12:17:47.596+08:00A precarious balance<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Everyone has dreams, don't they? And in one way or another, everyone is trying to make his or her own dreams come true. That kid practicing his three-pointer in a street court, for instance: he's probably dreaming of growing up to make a game-winning shot in the NBA. Or that college student slaving away at a lit critique paper, she's probably hoping to see her name next to her debut novel in a bestseller list someday. Whatever it is, everyone has a dream. And everyone somehow works to make it come to life. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And yet... <i>how</i> to make that happen? Where do people go to make their dreams come true? </span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I mean, a success story usually consists of overcoming the odds, seizing the opportunity, taking the risks. But what most people don't see right away--and what I, in my post-graduate bum life of the past couple months, am beginning to realize--is that a success story is just that: a <i>story</i>. Which means it skips over the parts that aren't particularly juicy; it condenses into a brief line or two the seemingly endless period of not-worth-telling that comes before an opportunity arises and is seized. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I remember part of a quote by Alicia Keys, where she said something about people not realizing that her "overnight success was seven years in the making." Girl waited a long-ass time before winning any Grammys. And even when those seven years are recognized in the Alicia Keys Success Story, the storyteller--<i>E! </i>or <i>People</i> Magazine or whatever--always reduces the hard work and the interminable waiting into picturesque little facts of life. "She started playing the piano at age seven. She then went to the Professional Performing Arts High School..." But what happened in between? What about the moments when Ms. Keys felt confused or bored or lost?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My point is, life is only a story after the fact. While it's happening, life is...well, life. And it doesn't skip over the bad or boring or uncertain parts. Let's face it: life isn't exciting every minute of every day. And a person can't always, incessantly be <i>doing</i> something to make what they want happen. There are periods of dullness, of waiting. I'm coming to see that it's just as important to keep cool and to enjoy the moment as it is to make it happen. Patience is as much a means of dream-making as is action.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Right now, two months after I walked off that stage with my (symbolic) diploma in hand, I'm still learning to be patient. A big part of me is itching to get a job, anything at all, so I can begin proving myself to the real world and showing everyone that I can make it big, too. Especially since I see my contemporaries doing just that. But another part says that blindly running into employment would be equally damaging as not lifting a finger to find work. Older and wiser people than I have told me that success is, on the whole, a precarious balance of action and inaction, hard work and patience...and just a touch of luck and faith.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">June's coming. Guess I'll have to wait and see what it has to offer in the way of my dreams.</span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-26667088747516814712010-05-11T10:22:00.002+08:002010-05-11T11:07:35.894+08:00Elections!<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And thus Election Day in the Philippines came and went. An increasingly frenzied media marathon of the events of May 10th, 2010 included a discussion of a berth of related issues, both positive and negative, as well as real-time reports of the process from precincts all over the country. Ultimately, the media revealed what is a genuine step forward in the Philippine electoral process.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEiRuIx7whuGoraEYBPx3d0Gp9qZvfqrZuwOy1nPX24blNX3JdZ-2Q4WrTGfymzVeMsIXhcbvooXYGRumR2cxK1ML4N7ZoBnVn-FmeenzmHG4qOEyVb_9X5YkwKhkIFWSVNqzvuQoypY/s1600/election+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVEiRuIx7whuGoraEYBPx3d0Gp9qZvfqrZuwOy1nPX24blNX3JdZ-2Q4WrTGfymzVeMsIXhcbvooXYGRumR2cxK1ML4N7ZoBnVn-FmeenzmHG4qOEyVb_9X5YkwKhkIFWSVNqzvuQoypY/s200/election+2010.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sure, there are a million things that could've been and can be improved: the clustering of precincts in many areas could have been more spread out and thus more organized; faulty machinery could have been responded to more quickly in some places with a manual back-up plan, to avoid delays; perhaps people could've been better informed about how to go about voting using the new PCOS machines; and so many other things. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But at the heart of it all is progress. What did we honestly expect with these automated elections anyway? Certainly not a faster voting process; the increase in speed was promised more in the way of counting the votes, not in making them. A faster voting process can only be achieved through well-organized operations, in any case. At this point, what the Philippines and its people have achieved is already amazing. There was good voter turnout, for one thing. More people than ever wanted to part of the democratic process. Also, volunteers for the Comelec and correspondents for the media were overflowing with enthusiasm; hats off to all those people who stayed awake for over 24 hours to man the PCOS machines, to guide voters as they exercised their right, to tally those votes through the night, and to provide the public with a play-by-play of the important events of the day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">More than anything, there was peace. Of course we send our condolences and prayers to the victims of the 37 violent incidents that broke out while the elections were ongoing. But the military admitted that this was the most peaceful elections the country has ever had; in the past, violent election-related incidents numbered in the hundreds (gmanews.tv). And even investors recognize the relatively smooth flow of the electoral process: investments have already increased since last week, when people were expecting the worst (ANC). We have to give our country and our fellowmen a hand. Congratulations, everyone. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now... well, now we wait for the official announcement of results. :)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*image from </span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><cite style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-style: normal;">lankamuslim.org</cite></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-20117767178643172822010-04-28T21:02:00.003+08:002010-04-28T21:03:57.263+08:00On facial fitness and missing controls<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is a tribute to the insanity of old age and the absent-mindedness of youth. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For a few years now, my parents have availed of dozens of youth-enhancing and age-defying, slimming and smoothing products and procedures. From Botox to Thermage, from laser eyelid surgery to the latest Home Shopping Network weight-loss invention, my parents have done it all. And in fact, they aren't in bad shape for their age. My dad's been looking better from running daily for the first time in his life. My mom's blessed with good health. But sometimes their attempts at regaining youth get a teeny bit ridiculous. Like today. I found out a little while ago that my dad bought my mom a DVD set to help lessen the lines on her face. It's called (wait for it) Carolyn's Facial Fitness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I <i>know</i>. And check this out: it consists of this dubiously-aged (she claims to be 60 but she could be in her early 50s; who's to know?) woman named Carolyn guiding viewers to daily facial exercises. Open your mouth out wide and count to ten to straighten out wrinkles around your mouth. Pull your nose up and your lips down to stretch out the surrounding skin. That kind of thing. Between fits of laughter, my mother described to me how she told my dad to go ahead and practice the damn exercises himself; he can teach them to her later. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">God help the aging. I love my parents, and I understand and respect their attempts to look and feel young, but oh how my funny bone gets tickled at the thought of walking into my parents looking like they're practicing how to scare kids on Halloween.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my 17-year-old brother spent a good part of his day looking for his remote control. Now because there aren't any control buttons on his sleek and sexy HD TV's body, without the remote, he could only turn the damn thing off and on. He couldn't adjust the volume, change the channel, or play with his precious PlayStation. After hours (and literally <i>hours</i>) of searching, he--and our maid--found it wedged in an obscure area in his bed, between two large pieces of wood. Oh, how enslaved we are to the onslaught of technology. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Between my parents and my brother, I'm not sure what's worse: getting old, or staying young. At the same, I can't decide who I find more endearing. God I love my family. Buncha weirdos. :p</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-71911416316647086932010-04-22T01:35:00.006+08:002010-04-22T22:21:40.267+08:00Who IS that masked man?<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Superheroes. A concept that has been tackled in so many ways over so many years that I figured no original work can ever come of it again. Until tonight.</span></span><br />
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<a href="http://scrapetv.com/News/News%20Pages/usa/images-2/superman-overlooking-metropolis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://scrapetv.com/News/News%20Pages/usa/images-2/superman-overlooking-metropolis.jpg" width="129" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Okay, that might be a <i>bit</i> dramatic since all I'm gonna talk about is <i>Kick-Ass</i>. Yeah, the movie. I'm fresh from the theater right now. But think about it--the superhero genre has gone almost every direction imaginable since its conception in the early twentieth century. Let's start with the classics: we got an orphaned alien humanoid who works as a journalist, some geeky kid bit by a radioactive spider, a billionaire fighting crime on the side with a glorified tool belt, a blind dude seeking justice for his father's murder, a science-experiment victim who goes nuts and turns green when his pulse rate goes too high, a group of scientists who got too close to some mysterious space dust... I could go on. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then some people tried to philosophize the genre and <i>voila</i>! We have the Watchmen. A commentary-type tale of two generations of men and women who devoted the prime of their lives to becoming "real-life superheroes." The graphic novel tackles the idea of regular people putting on masks and fighting crime in the streets, minus any super-powers. Just the next-door neighbor trying to fight for the good and right, albeit in a costume. Is it possible? Can it be tolerated? What does such a choice do to a person? Deep shit, I know.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So we got all these different views of the superhero...then Hollywood took it to another level (as it so often does). Movies, sequels, prequels, trilogies, remakes, revivals, spin-offs. There came TV series, films based on the novels and further novels based on the films. Out came websites and fan sites and forums. Merchandising. Enough of all of this and, lo and behold, the superhero--or rather, The Superhero--has now become cliche. The modern superhero is anything and everything: a vampire, a werewolf, a kid with a wand and a knack for getting in and out of trouble. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://c0181321.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/PHlKMnmohYt9ou_1_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://c0181321.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/PHlKMnmohYt9ou_1_m.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So what I loved about <i>Kick-Ass</i> (and at long last I get to my point) is that it didn't pretentiously jump into the fray. Most other depictions of the superhero take themselves so seriously: <i>I</i> am the legitimate superhero, the best, the original; <i>this</i> is what a superhero is supposed to be, they all seem to say. <i>Kick-Ass</i> was a combination of a good action plot and the real, sort of ridiculous kind of lives we all live. It makes fun of other, serious superhero portrayals and at the same time really looks at what keeps The Superhero alive today...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">...which really isn't much more than that desire we all have to do what's right and good, to fight the good fight, and to do it all while looking really awesome and kicking some major ass. It's just that it's all a lot harder than it looks, and goes against our usually overwhelming sense of wanting to blend in, of being <i>normal.</i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so while I could go on endlessly about the superhero genre, do some research on the myths and archetypes involved, the different histories behind each surviving character, I think I'll just stop here. I <i>will</i> leave you with a thought for the day, though, and here I quote Kick-Ass himself: "With no power comes no responsibility."</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Wala lang. :)<br />
</span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-59687435019093284192010-03-26T11:40:00.001+08:002010-03-26T11:40:50.968+08:00Numb<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It hasn't really hit me yet in full, the fact that I'm graduating. I realized it a little bit earlier today, when I put my toga on for the first time and heard Baccalaureate Mass at school. But even then--even while surrounded by my co-graduates at the Ateneo High School covered courts, with everyone in near-full graduation attire--I still felt detached, as though I was watching someone else go through the motions of culminating their academic career.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Whether or not I wrap my brain around it in time, however, it <i>is</i> happening, and it's happening to me. After fifteen years of uniforms, textbooks, report cards, evil teachers and awesome ones, friends, relationships, enemies, cafeteria food, school-hours traffic, homework, classrooms, and the whole she-bang... it's over. Tomorrow, sometime between four-thirty in the afternoon and eight at night, I'm going to get up on that stage, shake Fr. Ben's hand, and descend the stairs once again, <i>no longer a student.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Good God. I'm relieved, of course, knowing that the burden of the academe will, in mere hours, be lifted from my shoulders at last. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But I'm also utterly shocked. I have no idea how to <i>not</i> be a student. I've always been a student, almost as far back as I can remember: I was a student-leader, a student-driver, a student-teacher, a student-DJ, a student-<i>everything</i>. There was always a school project in the works, a test coming up, homework to finish. I can't imagine a life where the years are not divided into semesters and summer breaks, where I do not, twice to four times a year, receive feedback on my performance in the form of report cards. It seems completely beyond me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And so I arrive the end of my student-journey sort of in awe of the fact that I'm actually here. I suppose that's why sentimentality and sadness take a back seat for me in this--I'm still caught up in the idea that it's all done. No more going back. Never again. I still have no clue what those words mean, what implications they bring to me and my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Maybe when I finally, actually walk (or march) up the stage tomorrow, or maybe when I finally, actually have my diploma in my hands, maybe then it will hit me. Or maybe it won't hit me til the first time I'm turned down for a job, or til I report for my first day of a new (second) job. Who knows? For now, though, all I can feel is an odd, limbo-ish feeling of happy-sad numbness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Congratulations. :p</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-29267271937888279182010-03-07T20:23:00.001+08:002010-03-07T20:25:05.493+08:00Written Some Months Ago and Never Made Public<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <b>A Dangerous Love Affair<o:p></o:p></b></span><meta content="" name="Keywords"></meta> <meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta> <meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Generator"></meta> <meta content="Microsoft Word 2008" name="Originator"></meta> <style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">The high-pitched squeak of rubber soles on a rubber floor. The echoing thud of a basketball as it’s dribbled across the court. The inarticulate yells of players as they attempt to pass, catch, fake, score. The shrill sound of a whistle as a referee calls the foul. And the deafening ring of the buzzer as it signals the end of play. Five months ago, these sounds meant nothing to me, were as unfamiliar to my ears as Jay-Z’s rapping would be to Mozart. Today, they feel almost like home. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">What happened in the time between? It’s simple: I fell in love. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><a name='more'></a><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">It all began last May, when ABS-CBN Sports declared open the auditions for courtside reporters for Season 72 of the University Athletics Association of the Philippines (UAAP). I remember being all nerves as I stood in front of a camera for the first time, microphone in hand, before a panel of ABS-CBN producers. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now there were probably 150 people from different schools who tried out that day. There are eight UAAP universities. It was a miracle that I managed to squeeze past two auditions, one workshop, and 142 other people to make the lineup. The day that Direk Abet Ramos welcomed me into the ABS-CBN Sports family is a milestone in my life: it was a step towards my dream of becoming a broadcaster, and I felt absolutely golden.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">But that didn’t last long. Two weeks later I went to my first Blue Eagles practice at Moro Lorenzo Gym. The first person I met was Andre Bucasas, one of the team physiotherapists. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re the new courtside reporter,” he said. It wasn’t a question. I nodded, and we fell to talking about me and how I came to be there. It came out that I work as a jock at a local radio station, and immediately Dre said, “Be careful. DJs have a reputation of not succeeding as courtside reporters.” Strike One. (Thanks a lot, Dre!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">After that I went to say hello to the team manager, Paolo Trillo, who then introduced me to Coach Norman Black. There has been little in my life more intimidating than going up to tall, imposing Coach Norman and shaking his hand for the first time. Worse, that happened to be the precise moment when both men noticed that I was wearing… (gasp!) green. Strike Two. Needless to say I zipped up my purple jacket immediately, and have since been an avid collector of blue shirts. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">As far as I know, I haven’t hit Strike Three yet. I hope I never do. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before practice ended that day, Coach Norman made me join the team huddle to introduce me to the boys. The boys! A great big part of the reason that I fell so hard for basketball is the boys. At the time, I could only recognize a few of them: Rabeh Al-Hussaini, Jai Reyes, Nonoy Baclao. To my horror, I was asked to lead the prayer, which, because I was so nervous, became nothing more than a few mumbled, incoherent lines. But it was then, after the prayer, that I got my first taste of what it feels to be part of the Ateneo Blue Eagles. A shiver ran down my spine as Coach Norman said, “Ateneo!” and the boys responded, “One Big Fight!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">The rest of the season was a blur of blue and white. I did my first game, then my second, then my fourteenth. Then my last. Along the way I learned that: it’s <i>de-</i>fense and not de-<i>fense</i>; large crowds can be fun, inspiring, immature, and infuriating all at once; Coach Norman smiles a <i>lot;</i> modesty is a tough trait for Ateneans to learn; and the only feeling better than winning is winning twice in a row. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">But even if we hadn’t won, the past four months have been so rich with perfect little gems of memories—from the first fake report I did in front of the coaching staff, to the cooler of ice-cold water that the boys poured over my head after that final game—that I still would have counted my last report as a winning moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so, like any true and worthwhile love affair, this one was intensely passionate, but ended at the peak of its heat. There are days, now, when I ache for the roar of the crowd at the Araneta Coliseum, for the chatter of the commentators in my ear, for the rush of being in front of a camera with a report I wrote all on my own. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;">There is absolutely no question about how fantastic this season has been for me. I am so profoundly honored at having been given the chance to report for my school at the UAAP. There are so many people I want to thank for it, but the space here would probably fill right up. All I’ll say is, if it hadn’t been for them, I would have been obliviously, miserably deprived of these brand-new loves of mine. And there are a lot of them, as I have fallen dangerously in love with the UAAP, with my team, with my school, with this job. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why dangerous? Because I’ll be hard put to let it all go. I wish I could relive the season again. There’s no guarantee I can do it again for another year, and I definitely can’t go any longer than that. Beyond that, memories are all I’ll have to hold on to. Still, I’m thankful. Thankful, and proud! Of the boys, of the coaches, of the managers, of the school, and even, let me say it, of myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a dangerous love affair, no doubt about it, but absolutely worth every second. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpLast" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0cm; text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-73994007956556190802010-03-02T23:28:00.004+08:002010-03-02T23:37:09.319+08:00Family Matters<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We love 'em, we hate 'em, we can't live with them or without them. No, I'm not talking about men (hehe). I'm talking about family.</span></span><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think if I ask anyone above 12 years of age about how many times they've flipped out or almost flipped out because of their mom/dad/brother/sister/other relative, the count would go past the fingers and toes combined. It's as if families were built to drive each other insane, to be one another's cause of ultimate frustration/disappointment/bewilderment. There are times that we feel we can never understand how Mom can be this way, how Dad can expect that of us, how Ate and Kuya can care so little or be so selfish. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It could be something as mundane as a brother's inability to put the toilet seat down or a sister's ineptitude at returning borrowed stuff, or it could go as far as being unable to control a parent's drinking habits or gambling issues. We wish they would understand us, listen to us, make us feel worthwhile more often. We want them to be proud of us, to love us, to care about what we care about. And how it frustrates and exasperates us that they just always seem to see things a different way, that we actually have to live with them and try to get along with them. We ask ourselves if we were adopted or switched at birth; could this possibly be <i>my</i> family?</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And yet. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For some reason, we cannot seem to let them go. We can't ever turn our backs on them completely. There is always something, whether it's the thinnest of threads, forever connecting us to them.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don't know why it is. All I know is, no matter how much I hate how they are sometimes, no matter how close my head is to spontaneously combusting around them, I love my family. I will fight with them, argue with them, yell right back at them when I can't take it anymore, but I would drop what I'm doing--even if I was in the middle of making a million dollars--to be there for them when they need me most. Because that's what family does. Family tells each other the truth, even when it hurts; family listens to the truth, even when it hurts. Family holds each other up, especially when it hurts.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That's family, and family matters. My mom always told me that even the closest of friends come and go, but family is there for life. We can't choose family the way we choose friends; we are stuck with them forever. And so we need to treat each other well, more so than we would other people. It is through family that we learn how to forgive and why to forgive, through them that we learn when to hang on and when to let go.</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We love 'em, we hate 'em, we can't live with them or without them. And that's just the way love goes, I guess.</span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-65542312266908333342010-02-21T17:15:00.003+08:002010-02-21T17:18:27.827+08:00Save Me, San Francisco<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is a private blog. It's for me, really--kind of like writing therapy--and having people read it just makes it have a nice bonus purpose. And so normally I don't do things like news updates or product reviews or anything like that. But I'm gonna make an exception for this one album that I think really deserves two thumbs up and five stars, because in my humble opinion, the songs in it are so incredibly beautiful. I just need to share it with you guys.</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/611wHx%2BRAnL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/611wHx%2BRAnL._SL500_AA240_.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I'm talking about Train's latest addition to their already awesome artillery of records, <i>Save Me San Francisco. </i>It's an 11-track album that features a great set of alternative ballads like we haven't heard since the late nineties and early 2000s. Right now on the Magic we have "Hey Soul Sister" on the playlist, and that's a great track, but songs like "Parachute" and "If It's Love" really pull on the heartstrings, I swear. The songs are all poetry in motion, poetry surrounded by incredible guitar riffs and strung together in catchy-but-not-sellout melody. And I'm a complete sucker for that.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So yes. Buy it, download it, click the link below to hear samples, whatever. But definitely, definitely take a listen. Especially if you like alternative rock. It'll make your ears happy and it'll make your day. :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIXIl2QgN2E">Parachute - Train</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This one's more of the alternative ballad type. Kind of "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain-ish.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iR2TIzM5PaQ">If It's Love - Train</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is a bit more upbeat and modern in its sound.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ess2qlVHl6E" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Marry Me - Train</a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">For the acoustic junkies. Really sweet song. :)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">*image from Amazon.com</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6391165982523969867.post-58776646627191989372010-02-16T22:31:00.003+08:002010-02-16T22:36:42.700+08:00Gonna Need the Force for This One<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ah, Lent. That distinctly Catholic time of the year where meat looks that much more delicious (because you can't have it :p Isn't that so much like the rest of life? LOL). Now I was never the type--and I don't say this proudly, I'm just stating a fact--to participate particularly in the rituals of Lent. Fasting, abstinence, sacrifice, penitence, all those things--my family aren't exactly strict followers. We're more the kind of people who, while heartily eating pancakes and bacon, stop in mid-swallow to say, "Oh crap. It's Friday?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's not a nice thing, I suppose. Every year, though, I try to make some kind of Lenten sacrifice; a personal abstinence of sorts. Usually it's something inane or diet-friendly, like no rice, or no soda, or no cursing. And more often than not I don't get through the forty days. I'll end up at a party and I can't really drink vodka unless it's with Sprite or Mountain Dew or something, and well, there goes the sacrifice. Some sacrifice.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs.fayobserver.com/faytoz/files/2008/08/yoda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://blogs.fayobserver.com/faytoz/files/2008/08/yoda.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Old-school Master Yoda, I wanna be more like you! From blogs.fayobserver.com.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span> </div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But this year, I want to do something different. I feel like I have been so insanely, incredibly blessed--to the point that it's really hard to ask for much more, to be anything but humbly grateful for everything I've been given. So I want to do a <i>real</i> sacrifice, something that takes real effort and brings real positivity to myself and to others. I have therefore decided to do a Yoda and give up anger for forty days and forty nights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sounds easy, you might say. Well, it isn't for me. The NO-ANGER rule shall apply to annoying family members, to people who merit some backbiting (admit it, you know at least five people who do! :p and if you don't...well, wow, you're a nice person, good job), to situations involving road rage (and oh that's gonna be tough), and to rude people. I will do my best to exhibit Jedi-like qualities such as patience, perseverance...and yeah, all that stuff. I will abide by Yoda's famous and cliched quote: "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering..."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So yeah. I'm swearing off anger starting tomorrow. Please serve as witness. Time to be nice. :) </span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10428830535381663746noreply@blogger.com6