Independence.
You wake up in the morning and you find yourself alone in the bed, in the room, in the stillness of the air at the break of dawn, surrounded by four tall corners that are commonly known as walls, concrete or wooden or fabric they’re all the same, under a ramshackle roof and beside dirt-laden, almost opaque windows that inconscientiously protect you from the harshness of the outside world.
And the Philippines? Busy setting records like the most number of couples kissing on Valentine’s Day. ~ Francis J. Kong
Big Brother: Lee Kuan Yew, who else
I have been here in Singapore for three days now, a majestic feat for a person who has expectedly failed to bid adieu to his hometown vacation frenzy. The no-study mode is still omnipresent within me, and it is quite likely to be a dangerous threat to my studies. The inevitable war at the juvenile battlefield known as SJI International will commence a few days from now, and here I am totally unequipped and unprepared. I see my fellow IB students intensely preparing for the said war, taking French lessons way ahead of the school curriculum, preparing and reasearching stuff related to the International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme, and I see myself without my ammunitions and arsenals and whatever you call them bombs and grenades of knowledge and readiness and emotional preparedness. Indeed, slackness has monumentalized within me, and demolishing it off will be a great challenge in the near future.
Plaza Singapura. Not for those with Altophobia.
After filling our empty stomachs with twenty-seven dollars and forty cents, off we went to Carrefour to buy some stuff that I need: Vaseline Lotion, Lady Jayne (WTF?) Comb, A container for my Gillette razor and Oral-B toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste, Listerine Mouthwash.
And, unexpectedly, we found some five-dollar books stocked like Payatas rubbish inside the store. I bought three. An unprecedented fifteen-dollar loss.
Waiting for bus no. 14 in front of the Cathedral of the Good Shepherd.
And I would not let myself pretend that I am alighting opposite St. Patrick’s School ever again. I don’t live there. I live near Holy Family Church. Curse you Bus no. 14.
*******
Mabuhay.
I’m back in Singapore. Duh.
Sigh.
But the journey on the way to Singapore was terrific.
My batchmates and I were supposed to be seated in the economy class of PAL, but we were transferred to the Mabuhay class because they had no more available seats.
Rowland and Candice inside the plane.
Of course, it was a fantastic ride.
Ah, the luxury…
If only I am rich.
The odyssey.
In Greek and Roman mythology, Apollo is the ideal of the kuoros (a beardless youth), the god of medicine and healing, light, truth, archery, and also a bringer of deadly plagues. Apollo is the son of Zeus and Leto, and also has a twin sister, the chaste hunter Artemis, who took the place of Selene in some myths as the goddess of the moon.
Greek statues of Apollo portray him as the embodiment of ideal male form. He is also known as Phoebus Apollo and is called the Far Shooter and the Pythian. He has no separate Roman name. His attributes in iconography are the cithara, the lyre, the bow, the fawn, and the tripod.
In art Apollo is at most times depicted as a handsome young man, clean shaven and carrying either a lyre, or his bow and arrows. There are many sculptures of Apollo and one of the most famous is the central figure from the west pediment of the Temple of Zeus, at Olympia, showing Apollo declaring victory in favor of the Lapiths in their struggle against the centaurs.
me and finella.
from left: sarah, debbie, me
Well, I may not really look like Apollo in these photos.
And in most photos and statues of Apollo, he’s always naked.
I can’t go that far.
^^
Well, in the end, I found myself inside the dressing room, stripping off my shirt and shorts and putting on my costume, which was made out of my mum’s bedsheet.
Talk about my fashion sense.
Worse, they smeared my hair and my body with gold-coloured dust mixed with gel. A gel? Teacher Marivi said they were on a tight budget and purchasing gallons of body paint would imperil the school funds. Hahaha.
Anyway, it’s not WHAT you wear.
It’s HOW you wear it.
I had fun. 
Thanks to Teacher Marivi for asking me to join the runway.
Hilarious and insightful.
Inday jokes. My, my, i can’t stop laughing.
Here’s an example of an Inday joke that I’ve found on the web:
Ano ang sinabi ni Dr. Jose P. Rizal kay Inday?
Rizal: Inday, ang hindi marunong magmahal sa sariling wika ay mas masahol pa sa halimaw at malansang isda.
Inday: Thank you for that wonderful words of wisdom, but don’t you know that I already read all your writings? Unfortunately, I was really disappointed as majority of your novels were written in Spanish and Latin. So, therefore you are the ultimate violator of your own aphorism.
Another one:
Inday: The status restricts me to love you but you have the provocations. The way you smile is the proximate cause why I love you. We have some reasons to think of. We have no vested rights to love each other because the upper household dismissed my petition…
Dodong: Perhaps you are mistaken, what you seem contrive as any affections for you are somewhat half-hearted. I was merely attempting to expand my network of interest by involving you in my daily recreation. Heretofor, you can expect an end to any verbal articulation from me…
- naging paguusap ni inday at dodong ng
magbreak sila…
“Be careful in letting go of the things you thought are just nothing because maybe someday you’ll realize that the one you gave away is the very thing you’ve been wishing for to stay”…
- payo kay inday ng napadaang basurero
na nakikinig sa usapan nla ni dodong…
And another one:
Amo: Inday bumili ka nga ng mga isda, ay oo nga pala, inglesera ka na ngayon, would you please buy many fishes for this week’s meals?
Inday: Judging by your statement, I believe you meant a variety of fish. The term fishes though rarely used, connotes a plethora of different kinds of the said gilled aquatic creatures. But the most pressing question before I go to the wet market would be: what type of fish? Fillet or not? Frozen or fresh? (pauses) Ahh…given the meager budget afforded by this household’s quasi-peasant class taste, I assume I shall source the staple “galewng-gong”. Yes?
Amo: Eh kung mag-empake ka na kaya?!
***
Whew.
For me, these kinds of jokes are the best ones around. It’s like taking snippets of information we frequently find inside textbooks, and adding a little bit of humour to it to make it more attractive and entertaining to read. Furthermore, they’re neither obscene, indecorous, lewd, nor mundane. And in a way, they provide insightful and useful information that we can actually use and apply in our daily conversations with people. We get to encounter new vocabulary that helps us to expand our linguistic horizons, develop our intellect, and spark curiousity and creativity among us.
Headache.
The electrifying pain in my head is driving me nuts.
It’s stinging. It’s painful. And I’m still staring in front of the computer.
I’m so stubborn.
She’s like a marijuana for the eyes.
A mouthwatering spoonful of amphetamine for the depressed optic nerves and despondent rectus muscles.
Anyway, tomorrow marks the beginning of the simbang gabi.
And I’m planning to finish nine masses. Nine straights days of having to wake up early.
Four in the morning.
Hope my headache does not get worse.
Tata. Good night.
Making a diff.
As I type this sentence, the wall clock is ticking and the digital watch is scintillating, telling me that it’s already 1:41 in the morning. Wooo, it rhymed. Cool. Anyway, a few minutes ago I was conscientiously snoring, yawning, feeling drowsy, and feeling like indulging myself to sleep, when all of a sudden something came to my mind. Like an annoying pop-up window. Annoying indeed.
I really feel like making a difference in the world.
Like doing a historic transaction (España selling Filipinas to Estados Unidos for $20000000)
or performing a fantastic feat (balancing bowling balls two stories high)
or winning in a major activity (winning a gold medal in the Olympics without taking steroids)
or leading a significant call (Al Gore with his Inconvenient Truths and LiveEarth concerts)
or doing a wild sex scandal, maybe? (Paris Hilton with her sex video)
I just feel like putting myself onstage and leading this world into something which I want to achieve.
The thought drives me crazy.
Becoming Hitler, Jr.
Dammit.
What on earth am I thinking.
Becoming Dr. Evil’s way cooler.
See the distinct pose? Sweet.
Tic-tac-toes and Po-ta-toes.
TIC-TAC-TOES.
- 131,184 games are won by X;
- 77,904 games are won by O;
- 46,080 games are a draw.
After eliminating symmetries, there are only 138 unique games. Assuming once again that X makes the first move every time:
- 91 games are won by X;
- 44 games are won by O;
- 3 games are a draw.
POTATOES.
Potato is the term which applies either to the starchy tuberous crop from the perennial plant Solanum tuberosum of the Solanaceae, or nightshade, family, or to the plant itself. Potato is the world’s most widely grown tuber crop, and the fourth largest food crop in terms of fresh produce — after rice, wheat, and maize (‘corn’).
hope you’ve learned something from this.
Well, I did.
Imaginations.
IMPORTANT
Do not accept if open, torn or tampered with. Please carefully follow the instructions inside.
These were the words I first saw when the kind woman handed me the BPI Express Teller envelope.
“There is a website written in this envelope. Go to this website to check your account balance for free,” the woman gleefully instructed.
I smiled. Thanks, I replied. At first I was barely looking at the envelope, for I was busy scrutinizing her crimson-coloured belt which hung loosely under her chest. “Why do women nowadays wear their belts so high,” I wondered. Don’t tell me they’re afraid of ‘being hit below the belt’, as what boxing referees kindly remind to beefcake-looking boxers before a fight.
***
“No hitting below the belt,” a stout, double-chinned Caucasian man with a black bowtie advices the woman in front of me.
“Why?” I asked. My dad looked at me with astonishment.
“Because when you inquire your account balance at the ATM Machine, your balance will be deducted,” she answered.
“Checking it online is much better,” my dad responded.
“Huh? What?” I was getting confused.
“Because the International Boxing Federation prohibits boxers from punching their opponent’s family jewels, mate. You don’t wanna go being unable to produce ya babies right after a match, do you?” the fat man snorted.
“Yes, you heard him right,” the woman said.
“Excuse me?? Of course I wouldn’t want to!” I exclaimed.
“Mind your manners!” my dad shouted.
“It’s okay, Mr. Imperial,” the woman told my dad, with a forlorn look on her face, and a sense of disgust for the imbecile child he had brought into this bank office.
“It’s okay, kid. Chill! You wanna be a boxer?” the fat man asked.
“I don’t want,” I answered.
“But it’s a good job! You earn millions!“
“Rowland!“
“I don’t want.“
“Hey, I thought Filipinos love boxing? C’mon! I’ll help you!“
“Um, excuse me-“
“Rowlaaaaaaaaaand!!!!!!!!!!!“
“I said I don’t want!!!!!!!!!!!!!“
My dad slapped me hard. Very hard. I fell on the floor, like a rundown Garuda Indonesia plane crashing into the ground, helpless, powerless. I quickly glanced at a teardrop flying in midair, in a downward motion slower than mine, for I fell into the fuschia-coloured tile floor first. I heard a loud thud, like the sound of thunder directly beside my ears.
I saw blood. I felt pain. My eyes closed.
I heard screams, especially a very distinct scream, which actually sounded more like a squeak, which came from the fat man. I saw fast-moving feet, in a shuffling manner. There was a commotion, I was very pretty sure about it. People were murmuring and talking to themselves, as if they were gossiping about me. Well, they were. They sure were.
I could not find the voice of my dad… until…
“Anju! Uy! Anju! What is happening to you?“
“Ha??”
“You have been staring at the ceiling for quite some time now. Any problem?“
“Oh.. um… uh… no.. not at all. I’m fine…“
“Hahaha. It’s okay. Okay, anyway, as I was saying earlier, you can go to this website to check your account balance for free. You have an internet access at home, I suppose?“
“Yes, yes, we have. Well then, thank you miss.“
“Sure, no thing. Okay, thank you for opening an account with us. You can just call our branch for any other queries you might want to ask.“
“Thanks.“
***
Stop imagining, rowland.
Hit counters.
You had 2385907309857205987359386049682305871350876206729805 HITS for the year 2007.
Congratulations. Your blog won the annual blog popularity contest award. We look forward for your next year’s performance in the worldwide blogosphere. You are insane, by the way. Again, congratulations.
***
I finally decided to add a hit counter in my blog.
For those unfortunate ones who know not a single bit about this technological advancement, I shall give you something analogical to make a sense out of this senseless crap.
Security guards use a device, held by hand, and activated by the gentle press of the thumb, in the entrance gates of malls and other buildings, to determine the number of people who enter the establishment at specific times of the day. Too bad they can’t count other life forms who enter the gates regardless of whether they are seen or not.
So, a hit counter in a blog or in any other website works in the same manner, only that it can’t be held by hand, and it can only be activated by a programme from www.easycounter.com.
Well, I still don’t get the gist of having the need for one. To check on my popularity level, perhaps? Duh, I can open my blog page 1000 times a day and people will be amazed how popular my blog is the moment they check on my blog thirty days later…
***
Girl 1: Thirty thousand hits a month. Girl, look at this! Cool. He must be a chick magnet. Let’s check out his personal particulars then.
… checking…
Girl 2: Oh shit. He’s as skinny as Mandark. As nerdy-looking too. He’s just self-obssessed. A lot of guys do that nowadays. Creepy.
Girl 1: Whoa. That’s a lot of self-obssessed boys out there.
Girl 2: (nods head) Duh.
Girl 1: Yeah. Pity those guys. (shakes head) They’re hopeless.
***
Though there isn’t a need for that.
As what blogger told me, us:
“A blog gives you your own voice on the web. It’s a place to collect and share things that you find interesting— whether it’s your political commentary, a personal diary, or links to web sites you want to remember.
Many people use a blog just to organize their own thoughts, while others command influential, worldwide audiences of thousands. Professional and amateur journalists use blogs to publish breaking news, while personal journalers reveal inner thoughts.
Whatever you have to say, Blogger can help you say it.“
Yes, why thank you, Blogger.
I notice a lot of blogs that I read contain the so-called hit counters somewhere in the page. Most of them are located just below the blog title to give a sense of pride to the owner, and a sense of doubt and bewilderment to the visitor.
Well, I guess I belong to the blogos-taxonomic group called the “crappolus bloggosinensis”.
You are insane, by the way. Again, congratulations.
Rain, rain, rain.
“Taas tiil! Taas tiil!” the tricycle driver warned six infuriated passengers aboard his ramshackle and carbon-monoxide-regurgitating vehicle. It took me quite a while to digest the information inside my brain, until I saw an ocean of rain water (plus drainage water from the nearby canal and some indistinctively clean water from the nearby wetland) a few metres ahead of us. It seemed like I was on a rundown ship, awaiting its glorious sinking moment in the middle of the Pacific. An exhilarating moment indeed. Huh.
This is crazy, I crazily thought. I held onto my knees, pulled them as high as I could, like a diver in midair doing a stunt, while trying to balance my bum on a miniscule wooden seat made even more uncomfortable by a rocklike foam that I shared with an old woman beside me, just to avoid being thrown out of the small threshold behind the tricycle. The entrance to the ocean of doom.
The involuntary acrobatic stunt inside the tricycle saved my Chuck Taylors.
That was the best thing that happened today.
Hurray.
***
The weather here has gone bonkers. Well, rain here may not be frequent, but whenever it rains, it really rains.
***
Well, it does not really matter if it rains, does it?
To us, here, we the fortunate citizens of this world, we who among over six billion d***s and p*****s were chosen to propagate and reside in this 7-107-island enclosure, in this huge archipelago with a teenie-weenie economy and a godforsaken standard of living, RAIN is a big issue.
It’s hard to live a normal life when you are like a fish swimming in the middle of a sea in the middle of a city.
An ubiquitous sight to behold.
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rowlandanthony
Recently turned 19, I am an International Baccalaureate slave, a Roman Catholic, now of legal age to vote, to drink alcohol, to drive, to marry, to smoke, and to f*** around. I am manufactured in the Philippines but currently utilized in Singapore. I am the thick-skinned, ingrate bastard who dumped the Government in exchange for a $100,000 two-year private scholarship. Most people in the Philippines call me Row, as a result of a passed down genetic trait that triggers laziness. Actually, my nickname is Anju, which I am really really not so fond of. But I am fortunate enough not to suffer from the ubiquitous Filipino frenzy of naming nicknames with letter 'h's sandwiched between other letters, e.g. Jhong, Jhing, Bhong, or Bhing, and from the usual repetition of the same syllables - usually created by the whole extended family giggling in delight as one utters his or her baby cry while shitting unconsciously and secretively on the lampin, inside the duyan - resulting in stuttering names like Ton-ton, Ping-Ping, Bam-bam, Ging-ging and Don-don.
I am currently having the time of my life.DO NOT FOLLOW ME
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