1. france (place, destination dream)
vive le france! le sang français dans moi se manifeste par mes leçons françaises, leçons de ballet, films français et mon hantise avec le petit prince. if you looked up the meaning of that sentence in the online translation, please do not pretend as a french wannabe. or, if you don't have anything else to brag aside from singing the chorus of moulin rouge. (you know who you are; how can you belong to france when your favorite movie is notting hill??! that's like saying claude monet paints fingernails, not paintings! they will kill you there. and by the way, the french are known for their arrogance.)
2. pizza and potatoes (food)
dieting is a banned word inside yellow cab (where baked potatoes are now also available.) expect these types of food in my wedding reception; pizza and potatoes are the modern days' ambrosia.
3. apple, inc. (innovator)
i intend to write a separate article solely devoted to steve jobs and apple, but for now let me say this -- windows users, please don't hate us because we're beautiful. to my dear critic who once said apple is all form but no function, please do not embarass yourself twice. i see how much you love my ipod touch. such an eyecandy, isn't it? the wifi capability makes the zune look like an abacus. and don't even get me started with the operating system. i don't have enough time to list down, much more discuss the 114,000 viruses (that many?!?!?!) that plague the pc. in mac -- none, zero, nada.
now where did i read that article about apple users being smarter than windows users?
4. shoes (indulgence)
i can confidently say i don't own a bad pair of shoes -- flats, pumps, boots, wedges, stilettos -- i'm a proud owner of them all. i spend a great deal of time and money in shoe shopping that you wouldn't want to come with me; but just in case you do, i'll treat you to obsession #2.
5. books (collection)
my book collection started when i was eight years old; i wanted to fill up my bookshelf with agatha christie's crime novels. now i want a library, from austen to zola.
(very close in second place for this criteria is films. it was a tough choice, but when it comes down to it, i prefer written over visual. films are born from scripts; books can stand on their own.)
6. mercedes benz (status symbol)
of all the prestige cars manufactured in all parts of the world, i heart the benz the most. cars aren't really my cup of tea (blame my mantra -- cars don't fascinate me; brains do) but the benz has the most elegant look i don't doubt for one second i would choose it over the bmw. or the ferrari.
7. bathtubs (bliss)
literally the easiest way to my heart. hair tied up, my body - from chest down - soaked in heaps and sweeps of bubbles, making the neck and the shoulders prominent, eyes closed, lips parted. you get the idea. throw in obsession #2 and you can make me say yes to anything -- no kidding.
8. boys (people)
who wouldn't like them? they're so much better than puppets. peace. smile.
i've always enjoyed the company of men; they take care of me. i seem to create and induce in them a savior, knight-in-shining-armor effect. so abandon the idea that my raging hormones are calling out to you; i am naturally sweet and clingy to people, even to strangers sometimes. if i like you, i'd tell you.
9. my father (hero)
(no explanation given as i can never give justice to my father's next-to-god wisdom and merit and there's a lack of words to fully describe his greatness, honor and respectability. he's the most highly-principled man i know. if i tell you i worship my father, i haven't even half-begun.)
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
9 characters that i am now but weren't one year ago (or years ago)
1. my own make-up artist.
i am a member of the mineral make-up mania. i starve for MAC, philosophy, smashbox, christian dior and shu uemura. this is a far cry from the pond's and maybelline that i carry a year ago.
2. a british believer.
at least in terms of music. i've joined the cult of the libertines, the smiths, robbie williams, radiohead, the police and the babyshambles. the beatles, of course, goes without saying.
3. an every-once-in-a-while smoker.
only when i write. and when i'm in the company of jeff and aga (colleagues), and oliver, and mikael. and uhm... that activity which isn't blog-appropriate. wink. :)
4. a subscriber to russian readings.
my russian romance began with vladimir nabokov's lolita in 2004. now i'm hooked to dostoevsky. in the queue are tolstoy, turgenev, chekhov and pushkin.
5. a financial investor.
my friends and i realized that we better make further benefit with our job knowledge (we deal with the US stock market) by selecting investments, equities and mutual funds alike, trading in the philippine stock exchange. the financial and corporate industry is the greatest strategy game ever invented by man, and the stakes couldn't get any more real.
6. a pseudo-bulimic.
i like to gag after eating; it gives me a natural high. long live the hourglass figure is my watchword.
7. a jollibee habitue.
sounds silly but since grade 4 i swore never to eat in jollibee; otherwise i'll be doomed for that day. i really don't remember anymore how the spell was broken (or how i came to my senses) but i'm glad i did or i'll miss the aperitive taste of a jolly hotdog.
8. a retired betrayer.
my past relationship highlights cheating, physical and emotional hurt and guilt and torment on both parties. mercifully (and miraculously) i survived.
this present day, i've nothing else to complain except that i'm too much loved.
9. an active blogger [(???)what do you call a person who writes blogs?]
my old blog consisted only of six entries. the years that followed were the most frightful mental drought. i kept on procrastinating to next week, but "next week" was one year long.
writing is my greatest love, my oasis, my asylum. if my soul doesn't look like me, then it looks like parchment paper. if you will kill me, kill me with a papercut of chaucer's page, and let the ink of epic words merge into me.
i am a member of the mineral make-up mania. i starve for MAC, philosophy, smashbox, christian dior and shu uemura. this is a far cry from the pond's and maybelline that i carry a year ago.
2. a british believer.
at least in terms of music. i've joined the cult of the libertines, the smiths, robbie williams, radiohead, the police and the babyshambles. the beatles, of course, goes without saying.
3. an every-once-in-a-while smoker.
only when i write. and when i'm in the company of jeff and aga (colleagues), and oliver, and mikael. and uhm... that activity which isn't blog-appropriate. wink. :)
4. a subscriber to russian readings.
my russian romance began with vladimir nabokov's lolita in 2004. now i'm hooked to dostoevsky. in the queue are tolstoy, turgenev, chekhov and pushkin.
5. a financial investor.
my friends and i realized that we better make further benefit with our job knowledge (we deal with the US stock market) by selecting investments, equities and mutual funds alike, trading in the philippine stock exchange. the financial and corporate industry is the greatest strategy game ever invented by man, and the stakes couldn't get any more real.
6. a pseudo-bulimic.
i like to gag after eating; it gives me a natural high. long live the hourglass figure is my watchword.
7. a jollibee habitue.
sounds silly but since grade 4 i swore never to eat in jollibee; otherwise i'll be doomed for that day. i really don't remember anymore how the spell was broken (or how i came to my senses) but i'm glad i did or i'll miss the aperitive taste of a jolly hotdog.
8. a retired betrayer.
my past relationship highlights cheating, physical and emotional hurt and guilt and torment on both parties. mercifully (and miraculously) i survived.
this present day, i've nothing else to complain except that i'm too much loved.
9. an active blogger [(???)what do you call a person who writes blogs?]
my old blog consisted only of six entries. the years that followed were the most frightful mental drought. i kept on procrastinating to next week, but "next week" was one year long.
writing is my greatest love, my oasis, my asylum. if my soul doesn't look like me, then it looks like parchment paper. if you will kill me, kill me with a papercut of chaucer's page, and let the ink of epic words merge into me.
Friday, October 12, 2007
fiction: a true story
today, inspired by a cate blanchett scene in notes on a scandal i put the heaviest make-up on me and i realized this has got to be the saddest day ever.
when does one earn the right to jealousy? does it begin with a casual stare or does one wait for a philandering business to commence? is betrayal of thoughts enough? or does one need to gather a collective evidence of sneaky phone calls, unnamed friends, empty 'sent items' folder and cancelled weekends?
the more-baffling-than-bermuda-triangle-mystery-why. why? because she knows what an espresso is? because she obligingly uses your favorite literary characters as her metaphors? because she tolerates your bloodshot eyes glued to your video games? because she doesn't phone you crying? she sleeps locked in your arms? she bravely makes the first move? she's a wildcat?
out with cate blanchett. julie delpy onscreen. her voice is crisp and she's saying, "but what does it mean, 'the love of your life?' the idea is absurd! the idea that you'll be complete with only just one man..."
i say this to your girl: if she wants to recycle you, she can have you.
for she may be all those things above, but those are the ones i never cared about anyway. and i have shotgun-ready answers to your next defense: i don't care if she's your apprentice and she's so far adopted your writing style. the fact that i write so much better than you means there's no contest between me and her. i don't care if you teach her about movies. the fact that i taught you to watch art films means i would not expect her at all to remember one line from malena.
lost in drugs, angels in america sighs, "i usually say fuck the truth. but mostly, the truth fucks you."
rewind to notes on a scandal. judi dench, in deep thought, murmurs, "it takes courage to distinguish what is real from what is convenient." i am neither. i am the empty eyes that are no match to your bewitchingly thoughtful, thin-lipped and 23-inch waist damsel in distress.
i walked on the broken glass and i feel no pain.
i downed four sleeping tablets and the effect on me is just a constant blank stare.
i move to the riverbank of my bed and i know you will not be there.
it speaks of the absence of fight.
the absence of care.
the absence of curses and cold shrugs.
and the absence of surrender.
because today, i crestfallen, unwanted, and terribly alone, celebrate the saddest day ever.
p.s. carly simon sings, "you're so vain, you probably think this song is about you..." don't even make the mistake.
p.p.s. this is a test and simply a play of words, an experiment if i can (half) feign cynicism and sadness. any similarity to actual events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
when does one earn the right to jealousy? does it begin with a casual stare or does one wait for a philandering business to commence? is betrayal of thoughts enough? or does one need to gather a collective evidence of sneaky phone calls, unnamed friends, empty 'sent items' folder and cancelled weekends?
the more-baffling-than-bermuda-triangle-mystery-why. why? because she knows what an espresso is? because she obligingly uses your favorite literary characters as her metaphors? because she tolerates your bloodshot eyes glued to your video games? because she doesn't phone you crying? she sleeps locked in your arms? she bravely makes the first move? she's a wildcat?
out with cate blanchett. julie delpy onscreen. her voice is crisp and she's saying, "but what does it mean, 'the love of your life?' the idea is absurd! the idea that you'll be complete with only just one man..."
i say this to your girl: if she wants to recycle you, she can have you.
for she may be all those things above, but those are the ones i never cared about anyway. and i have shotgun-ready answers to your next defense: i don't care if she's your apprentice and she's so far adopted your writing style. the fact that i write so much better than you means there's no contest between me and her. i don't care if you teach her about movies. the fact that i taught you to watch art films means i would not expect her at all to remember one line from malena.
lost in drugs, angels in america sighs, "i usually say fuck the truth. but mostly, the truth fucks you."
rewind to notes on a scandal. judi dench, in deep thought, murmurs, "it takes courage to distinguish what is real from what is convenient." i am neither. i am the empty eyes that are no match to your bewitchingly thoughtful, thin-lipped and 23-inch waist damsel in distress.
i walked on the broken glass and i feel no pain.
i downed four sleeping tablets and the effect on me is just a constant blank stare.
i move to the riverbank of my bed and i know you will not be there.
it speaks of the absence of fight.
the absence of care.
the absence of curses and cold shrugs.
and the absence of surrender.
because today, i crestfallen, unwanted, and terribly alone, celebrate the saddest day ever.
p.s. carly simon sings, "you're so vain, you probably think this song is about you..." don't even make the mistake.
p.p.s. this is a test and simply a play of words, an experiment if i can (half) feign cynicism and sadness. any similarity to actual events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
while the world sleeps...
• i love you (but you’re green). i dig pete doherty and the babyshambles.
• i am not a special body; i am a special person. thank you, sabina, i can’t wait to find out who will see you next in your bowler’s hat.
• hello, temple bar? yes, two strawberry margaritas every saturday starting november 3rd please. jacinda’s arriving. the girls are gonna be back on the dance floor. (and in cpk and greenhills too)
• the same familiar beyond-belief experience with lars von trier, thanks to mikael’s dancer in the dark.
• two more weeks before my birthday…. my dad’s gonna play layla all day…. my wish – that the dandelions in the lawns and meadows continue to bloom.
• i am not a special body; i am a special person. thank you, sabina, i can’t wait to find out who will see you next in your bowler’s hat.
• hello, temple bar? yes, two strawberry margaritas every saturday starting november 3rd please. jacinda’s arriving. the girls are gonna be back on the dance floor. (and in cpk and greenhills too)
• the same familiar beyond-belief experience with lars von trier, thanks to mikael’s dancer in the dark.
• two more weeks before my birthday…. my dad’s gonna play layla all day…. my wish – that the dandelions in the lawns and meadows continue to bloom.
Friday, October 5, 2007
"gusto ko magpakasal sa papel"
no, i will not write this in filipino.
i was texting my best friend oliver asking him to lend me his copy of d.h. lawrence's lady chatterley's lover (art cover illustrated by oliver) in exchange for one carton of marlboro lights. (oliver is a heavy-duty smoker) cutting out our usual pleasantries, we came to the point of his most crucial observation -- that i've retreated back to my truest self: bookworm, writer-worshipper layla. and to which i replied, and thus the explanation of the title, "magpapakasal ako sa papel." i liked the sound of that statement, and the english translation does not seem to have the same impact.
but before we carry on, i implore you to read this article, for it was the catalyst that brought this entry into form and finish:
the boy who was better than books
the nucleus of the write-up: i am sure (as i am already sure that the sheep hasn't eaten the little prince's rose) that a genuine, incontestable love (obsession if you may) for literature will always be of paramount importance in my criteria of men. and by literature i don't mean you parading your hardbound copy of harry potter while having the wild audacity to call yourself a book lover. (you better stop reading if you find that arrogant!)
in fact, the more i think about it, the more i realize i've only been truly happy when i'm with characters and not with people. i'm happy for edmond dantes's well-deserved revenge; i'm happy that scarlett o'hara finally understood rhett butler (even if it was too late of her); i'm happy that raskolnikov found redemption for his crime; i'm happy for madame bovary's and lolita's and anna karenina's meaningful odysseys (for there remains an ounce of happiness even in tragedies)
... i'm happy that victor hugo taught us never to give up on humanity,
... and that annabel lee found the kind of love i could only envy,
... and i wish for the cruelty and injustice to end in animal farm,
... as marquis de sade commands me to lie on the nailbed and embrace the world's harm.
i was texting my best friend oliver asking him to lend me his copy of d.h. lawrence's lady chatterley's lover (art cover illustrated by oliver) in exchange for one carton of marlboro lights. (oliver is a heavy-duty smoker) cutting out our usual pleasantries, we came to the point of his most crucial observation -- that i've retreated back to my truest self: bookworm, writer-worshipper layla. and to which i replied, and thus the explanation of the title, "magpapakasal ako sa papel." i liked the sound of that statement, and the english translation does not seem to have the same impact.
but before we carry on, i implore you to read this article, for it was the catalyst that brought this entry into form and finish:
the boy who was better than books
the nucleus of the write-up: i am sure (as i am already sure that the sheep hasn't eaten the little prince's rose) that a genuine, incontestable love (obsession if you may) for literature will always be of paramount importance in my criteria of men. and by literature i don't mean you parading your hardbound copy of harry potter while having the wild audacity to call yourself a book lover. (you better stop reading if you find that arrogant!)
in fact, the more i think about it, the more i realize i've only been truly happy when i'm with characters and not with people. i'm happy for edmond dantes's well-deserved revenge; i'm happy that scarlett o'hara finally understood rhett butler (even if it was too late of her); i'm happy that raskolnikov found redemption for his crime; i'm happy for madame bovary's and lolita's and anna karenina's meaningful odysseys (for there remains an ounce of happiness even in tragedies)
... i'm happy that victor hugo taught us never to give up on humanity,
... and that annabel lee found the kind of love i could only envy,
... and i wish for the cruelty and injustice to end in animal farm,
... as marquis de sade commands me to lie on the nailbed and embrace the world's harm.
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