amidst the poor internet connection…

First day was great. Fantastic. Although I was not looking forward to the start of a new term, as usual, SJII people have once again successfully smacked right into my face the ultimate fact that school is fun fun fun, and to be NOT in school is like missing half of my life.

After lessons, Gabriel, Danusha, Joey, Wei Jin, Roth, Yinto, Nalaka, Wei Jie, Savy, and I went to Mrs. Hammond’s class to watch the film version of All My Sons. The movie was tremendously boring, it seemed like a sleeping pill gradually diffusing into my eyes, causing my occasional lackadaisical head bangs to and fro and sideways, which were accompanied by semioccasional yawns and stretches.

But the best thing about going to the English class was getting back my Term one project results. I was elated and asphyxiated with Mrs. Hammond’s wonderful comments about my work, and after reading her litany of praises and suggestions for improvement, I felt very pleased and very encouraged to do even better next time.

***************

I’m doing my Mathematics HL project now, which I was supposed to do during the holidays. But you see, no one would want to carry a poster all the way from the Philippines to Singapore. So I decided to give up some of my free time in this hot and humid Monday evening to finish my maths poster.

Okay, back to work now. Ciao.

avec mes amis.

I am starting this blog entry without any intentions of making it excruciatingly long and painfully boring.

I came back to Singapore with a rucksack, with a computer bag, with a paper bag, and with a notion that I am going to save my money and I am not going to go out of my sanctuary for unnecessary purposes. But when you are with your friends, those idealistic intentions never come to life. I withdrew $50 from my international bank account using UOB, so I was not able to check the remaining balance on the receipt, and the next morning it disappeared from my wallet forever, like a bubble that burst in midair. Then I withdrew another $100, this time POSB, and finally I got to see how much little money I have left, and I promised myself that I am to budget it for the whole month of April. Another idealistic intention awaiting its sell-out.

Today was one of the best days in Singapore, mainly because after a draggy holiday my
dear friends saved me from “stoning” myself to death because there was not much anything to do back home. Yinto, Joey, Danusha, Niko, Nalaka and I watched Shutter a la Hollywood version early in the morning, and guess what, we were the only ones inside the cinema. Six brave souls came inside the cinema bringing popcorn and coke, about to watch a horror movie inside a theatre as empty as my wallet. I was scared. But, not as scared as I was a few years back when I watched Shutter a la Thai version with the whole Imperial clan in my ancestral house.

After the movie, Celine joined the gang, and we went to Subway for a quick meal. Only Danusha, Nalaka and I bought those six inches of tasty meat and veggie.

On diet: Celine, Yinto, Nalaka’s hair.

Nalaka and Danusha.

****************

We waited for the rain to subside outside Cineleisure. Apart from that, we endured smelling the smell emanating from nearby carcinogen transmitters, the smell that I hate the most in this world: cigarette smoke.

Yinto left us, and the rest of us went to East Coast Park to have more fun. Our eventful and wonderful journey started outside St. Patrick’s School, where we alighted. We walked towards the Siglap connector and it was where our cam-whoring sessions began. I am proud to say that it was I who started the cam-whoring thing.

After walking, we went to McDonald’s to wait for Savy and John, who were still in the condo doing who knows what. Finally, they arrived, and for a while we had an argument about where we should go next, and in the end we found ourselves at the beach.

Nalaka’s pee.

Nalaka drinking his pee.

*********

And then the best part of the day: sun, sea, salt, and shit. Like what Nalaka said, shit water.
But amazing.
I love you guys.
I really do.

Niko showing his prowess in frisbee. Photo shoot courtesy of yours truly.

Yes, Joey. To strip or not to strip. In the end they did.

Beach posers.

John with a piece of glass. Ensuring the safety of his friends!

Savy reaching to greater heights.

I hate white shirts.

Smile!

Introducing the imported sand of Singapore.

Familiar photo? No, this isn’t the Krabi jump. It’s the ECP jump.

It was a blast.
I had fun fun fun!
I LOVE YOU GUYS.
THANKS.

With you, with you, with you, with you, with yooooooouuu..

Chris Brown’s song “With You” has been embedded in my ears like the distinct Sony Walkman earphone for two weeks running and it has continued reverberating inside my head for two weeks running too. I just simply love the song I can’t stand it, sometimes I feel like banging my head on the wall because it keeps on playing in my mind, and at one point I was so desperate I needed to play my ultimate favourite song, Umbrella (NO HARSH REACTIONS PLEASE, I KNOW YOU WANT TO KILL ME) over and over again just to forget With You.

Now because of my desired abnormality that is the fetish for being obssessed with a song, I decided to search youtube for other versions of With You

Like Umbrella with it’s
—> original version
—> Cinderella remix
—> L’il Mama remix
—> Mandy Moore acoustic version, gosh
—> and mine and ex-roommate Truc’s version

and luckily I found this very interesting video of the song. With You, à l’acoustique.

Forgotten.

i wanted to blog about something I came across a few minutes ago before I started typing this very sentence. But it seems that I won’t be able to extract that ’something’ from my mind and figure out the sudden loss of memory.

************

R:You left me already, far far away.
D:Hahahaha! I think I have too. I mean, sometimes it comes but it goes away equally fast. That’s why I can help you out of the well. Because right now I’m out of the well.
R: I need a rope.
D: Hahaha. I’m out so I can help pull you out. If I were still drowning, I wouldn’t offer help.
R: Hahaha. So I have been drowning all this time? No wonder I can’t breathe properly.
D: Yeah. That’s why I’m throwing a bucket down for you to catch.
R: I can’t find any.
D: No, you can see it. You’re just considering taking it.
R: I guess I won’t take it for now. I can still swim.
D: Hopefully you’ll take it when you need it.

*************

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way, For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.

I’m falling in love with this song.

Take time to realize
That your warmth is
Crashing down on in
Take time to realize
That I am on your side
didn’t I, didn’t I tell you
But I can’t spell it out for you
No it’s never gonna be that simple
No I can’t spell it out for you

If you just realize
What I just realized
That we’d be perfect for each other
And we’ll never find another
Just realize
What I just realized
We’d never have to wonder
If we missed out on each other, now

Take time to realize
Oh oh, I’m on your side
Didn’t I, didn’t I tell you
Take time to realize
This could all pass you by
Didn’t I tell you
But I can’t spell it out for you
No it’s never gonna be that simple
No I can’t spell it out for you

If you just realize
What I just realized
That we’d be perfect for each other
And we’ll never find another
Just realize
What I just realized

Notepad.

I may not have encountered someone who’s bitchtalked about me over the web, thank goodness, but I personally don’t think Facebook is the best place to bitch about someone. It’s supposed to be the most wholesome social networking site for people to forge superficial friendships with strangers across the internet, and the best site for communicating and keeping in touch with your old pals, exes, and loved ones. And Facebook is indeed the best of its kind because it gives you the best privacy options and it does not let anyone customize his or her profile page to the point that it becomes so vile and disgusting with all those obnoxious glitter words moving up, down and sideways, emo profile backgrounds, and congregations of photos scattered from the headers to the footers.

I personally think that any grudge towards someone should not be blatantly published online because number one, it’s bad for the image of the sitting duck, and number two, it’s bad for the image of the perceived duck hunter. We never know who reads our posts. There’s a lot of people out there secretly following our profound online activities in our blogs and social networking accounts. I am scared of this as well, though I have no options but to use my blog because I detest writing by hand.

And I personally think that if anyone would like to make a point to slander and defame someone because he or she was hurt or attacked or because he or she finds it inexplicably amusing or arousing, do it inside the mind, down there within the deepest and smallest nerve cells we never knew that existed. And pray to God for forgiveness for the residing hatred inside the heart. But if typing on the keyboards is really inevitable, do it offline. The notepad would be the best option. Just save it in your computer or in a flash disk for a personal keepsake.

Just when I thought I would finally forget about you.

I was down to the last few minutes of my dream, and suddenly you appear again.

choir kills.

So far, I’ve been doing my holiday tasks bit by bit, 30minutes a day, and it seems that I’m doing quite well.
Now, the only thing I’m really worried about is this:

I have to learn these beautiful, old-fashioned songs for the upcoming SJI International choir “concert”, and frankly, to tell you the truth, i don’t know any shit about them. I can’t read notes, which is really disadvantageous, embarrassing and uncomplimentary, and although I can follow the melodies easily, I can’t possibly follow THE BASS without hearing it. Yes, I’m on bass. But seriously I think I can do the operatic soprano voice better. Female and Male. Hahaha. There’s a rustic Yamaha piano here at home, shipped all the way from Los Angeles, CA to Manila and then to General Santos, which has been collecting dust for almost a year because no one here has gotten interest to play it. It may sound as if we have wasted money and effort bringing that mammoth piano, but it doesn’t. It’s free, that’s why.
Now, I have to rely on my dysfunctional brain to try to remember all those pitches for all those lyrics of all those songs.

***********

And, as you may have noticed, I have a new blog skin!! I HEART YOU JOOOOOEY.
Thanks for the wonderful skin

Tree.

A tree, when planted on the ground, remains firmly rooted to the soil, unwilling to let go from its abode. From its humble beginnings as a little seed, it dealt with the acerbity of life, fought, and proudly grew and proved its preeminence overland. No matter how strong the winds, no matter how harsh the searing rays of sunlight, no matter how cold and bitter the darkness of the night, it has stood through all of them. All of them. A tree, after all, like anyone or anything else that has life, struggles to keep on holding onto it.

There are some things, that we, humans, have difficulty to holding on to. There are also some things that we cannot afford to hold on to. We become trees of our own, beings reluctant to let go of our personal feelings, solicitudes, and sentimentalities. Of our personal grudges. Of our personal pasts. Of our happy memories. And undying memories. We are afraid to let go, because, like the living tree, it is tormented when it is pulled out from the soil.

And we cultivate our own trees as well, within our hearts. Things that do not want to let go from us. No matter how much we want to forget about them, we simply could not do anything about it. They have been deeply rooted within the confines of our thoughts, actions, and emotions, that once we consciously – no, impetuously – uproot them, it becomes too painful for us. And that rips our lives into pieces, into nothingness.

ENFP.

I recently took this personality test, and look at its assessment.

And look what this “tester” told me:

Rowland: Musical, Naturalist, ENFP, Advocate, Visionary.

Hmm.. I am still… quite unsure about this.

It says that ENFPs are introspective, values-oriented, inspiring, social and extremely expressive. They actively send their thoughts and ideas out into the world as a way to bring attention to what they feel to be important, which often has to do with ethics and current events. ENFPs are natural advocates, attracting people to themselves and their cause with excellent people skills, warmth, energy and positivity. ENFPs are described as creative, resourceful, assertive, spontaneous, life-loving, charismatic, passionate and experimental.

Oh, ENFP means Extroverted, iNtuition, Feeling, Perception.

Open 24 hours.

Savy and the illuminated open-24-hours sign.

I miss the late night McD sessions in ECP.
Yes, Savy, you look gorgeous in that pose.

Pacquiao, the saviour.

Palace favors 1-day ‘political truce’ for Pacquiao fight

Malacañang said it favors the observance of a “one-day political ceasefire” with administration critics as the country watches Filipino ring icon Manny Pacquiao slug it out in a rematch with Mexican champ Juan Manuel Marquez Saturday in Las Vegas, Nevada.

-from http://beta.abs-cbn.com

WHAT THE HELL.

Seems to me the Pinoys have found a new religion with a new god.

So are we trying to imply here that a boxing match is the only way to achieve a ‘political truce’?

What nonsense is this?

Oh, I remember too, one of Manny Pacquiao’s fights: almost ZERO crime rate in the whole of Metro Manila. Talk about saving the whole of humanity by punching some other guy to death and to shame somewhere far away from his grassroots.

Might as well ask Manny Pacquiao to fight in the boxing ring every single day to save our country from all of her problems.

This is getting absurd.

*******

Oh, and Manny’s got a new co-inspirator for those who feel that bad grammar is not a factor in winning something:

Quite true.

Tama na ‘migo. Proud gyud ko ng bisdak ko – PROBINSIYANO GENERAL! Ang maayo pa gyud sa atu, walay pollution. Mao nga hapsay pa ang atong panghuna-huna. Dili pa lobog ug lasaw ang atong utok.

I saw this in a forum page – and I found it intriguing.

Quite true actually, if you would ask me.

Metro Manila’s pollution has seemed to drive the people nuts.
Guess they should transfer the Senate, The House Of Representatives and Malacañang somewhere far from pollution, like Batanes or Palawan or Siargao, so their minds can be at least cleared of dust, smog and dirt.
Pollution contributes to discreditable and shameful political problems.

Actually this forum entry was talking about the Manileños preference for GMA-7 over ABS-CBN.

Well, quite true, if you would ask me, but I just thought it suited politics more than TV ratings.

*****************

Here are some more interesting and funny comments I saw in the forum page:

natawa nman ako sa announcement ni ogie alcasid sa audition ng Pinoy Idol..

sabi pupunta daw sila sa “lalawigan” ng Dagupan… hellloww

at kelan pa naging lalawigan ang Dagupan??!!

it’s a CITY, NOT A PROVINCE

*****************

ang baho mo maryan feeling sikat OA nmn acting mo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hindi ka mananalo ng award

*****************

GMA7 STOP MANIPULATION
GMA STOP CORRUPTION

New sins.

No one told me the Vatican has just revamped its list of deadly sins to include

genetic modification

pollution

obscene wealth

human experimentation

and taking drugs.

Revisitation, Reminiscences, Repartee, Return.

Revisitation

I went back to my Alma Mater, SPED, this morning to attend my youngest brother’s Smart Day. Of course, I met some of my old teachers
(in chronological order)
Teacher Em
Teacher Joy
Teacher Fides
Sir Badong
Ma’am Rizza
Ma’am Emerenciana
Teacher Anitalinda
Teacher Elena
and Teacher Marivi.

It was so good to see them again.

Reminiscences

He reminded me so much when I was young. That little kid.
He was the first one to enter during the processional march.
That distinct, arrogant manner of walking.
I saw him sitting there, that little kid, second column, on the front row, to the extreme left.
He was always looking down, unmindful of everything that has been happening around, until he finally got on to his foot as soon as the teacher called him on stage.
“Good morning,” he shouts.
And then he continues on with his fluent emceeing.
He smiled as if smiling was a luxury good that only very few people can afford to have.
And his hair, yes, that shiny jet black hair. The one that looks like a mop top, only with the sideburns shaved quite high.
He gave a song number during a short intermission.
And, indubitably, that high pitch. That very high pitch.
The teacher called him first to receive his certificate and report card.
At the end of the ceremony, went to his mom sitting at the far end, and was congratulated by all of the neighbouring mums and dads.

Now, I don’t even get to on stage more than once or twice.

Repartee

Where do you want to go now?
Home.
You want to go to Jollibee for lunch?
No.
So where do you want to go?
Home.

Return

I hate it when tricycle drivers have no change for the bills you pay them, because the burden of scavenging for coins to pay them lies totally on you. You may have to search the whole 100-meter radius of rock, cement, road, and dirty canals just to find someone else whom you can exchange your bills with coins.

And I really hate it when you have to wait outside the gate for someone to open it for you because it’s locked. As if the people inside the house are afraid of someone ambuscading them when they all know that it’s like in the middle of the day and everyone is awake and it’s so hot outside no one would even dare wait on someone else’s gate for hours under the searing sun just to prepare for that perfect ambush moment. I’m not a murderer okay. Why does everyone have to hide all the way at the back of the house.

And it’s really annoying when you find him sleeping like a pig on the couch, with the TV remote tightly gripped on his right hand, the television broadcasting a show to an audience of thin air, when the rest of the dads in the universe are out there watching their children receive their certificates on their very special day of recognition for their efforts in school.

*************

how many times do i have to tell you?

Lazy pig.

I feel like a lazy pig.

Today, I woke up at ten in the morning to the sound of the two maids screaming at each other outside the kitchen area. The intense sound waves painfully penetrated my ears, rung up my eardrums, shook my brain, knocked over the contours of my skull, juggled my eyes resting on their respective sockets, and sent numerous tingling sensations all over my body, all these crazy impulses telling me to wake up and eat my breakfast meal.

I woke up, washed up, ate my breakfast, scratched my butt, stretched some sleeping ligaments and tendons, turned on the computer for a few minutes, stoned in front of the screen, and finally made my way back to my bed.

The next thing I knew, it was already five in the afternoon. Tangerine rays of sunlight seeped between open windows, the curtains swaying with the gentle blows of the wind. Shit. Left the windows open. So a horde of mosquitoes took turns biting my skin, sucking blood. I didn’t mind, they would die anyway, my blood’s so poor in nutrients, to me they seemed like they were drinking poison.

I really feel like a lazy pig. But at this point of my life, sleep needs to be in overdose amounts. ‘Tis the perfect time to regain all sleeping times that have been lost for the last two-month litany of homeworks and projects.

****************

I was completely naked and the cold water was gushing out of the shower head, each drop giving me a cooling sensation. The soap on my skin gave a nice, fruity smell. Then I dreamt of you, but I couldn’t see your face. You opened the door. You were naked too. I couldn’t seem to recognize you, you with the slinted eyes and long, jet black hair, rubbing my back inside the shower room. I didn’t know what I was feeling. All I knew was just you were there behind me, helping me wash my back, and then beside me, eventually taking a bath as well, and until the end of my dream, we were still bathing, bathing, bathing.

Dilemma.

“Why should you let your heart beat
for someone who wouldnt reciprocate?

That’s why i dont want to like anyone.
No one would feel the same way for me anyway.
It’s pointless.”

I saw this on my friend’s blog, and I suddenly the same predicament came to my mind. I always thought that love, whether it’s one-sided, two-sided, three-sided or polygamous or self-indulgent, is still love at its best.

It was only yesternight when I kept on blabbering to my friends that I am truly happy for my feelings towards someone, and that it does not matter to me whether or not she likes/loves me back, because this one-sided love I’m feeling has been more than enough to make me feel happy.

Now, I’m thinking twice.

Filipino food.

It’s been more than two-months of ‘horrendous’ Malay, Indian, and Chinese catered foods in De Casalle, and in school. Every time I masticate a few chicken wings drowned in curry sauce, or suck chinese noodles + atmospheric air = uncomfortable tummy, or smell the agonizing stench of chilli paste made by the Indonesian maid inside the condo, or vitiate my appetite with chicken rice immersed in ultra-hot-and-spicy chilli sauce, my stomach just turns upside down. Twirls and curls and deflates, a gastronomic disaster, in extreme wretchedness.

Of course everything aforementioned is ninety percent exaggeration, but really, the catered food has been very unappetizing. They are edible, and in a way they provide energy and nutrition enough to suffice for a hard day’s work in school. However, as a foreigner, my taste buds were designed in such a way that they are unable to withstand Malay, Chinese, and Indian food astringencies.

*******

Mechado, pork adobo, brown rice, fried lumpia, fruit salad, pop cola, fish ball ala Pinoy style, valenciana, and coca-cola in a 1.50-litre glass bottle.

Now I’m eating real food. Filipino food.

Today was my second cousin’s baptism, and of course, as usual, after the baptism rites in church, family members stretching as far as the third and fourth extensions of the family tree gather together to celebrate and welcome another child to God’s family. And as usual, everything culminates with a food feast. Best part of the whole tradition is the food. I have always been proud of my stomach’s amazing ability to stretch itself like a rubber band and accommodate tons and tons of food without getting fat. And so today I grabbed the chance to eat as much as I can.

Nothing’s more satiating than a home-cooked, home-style, Filipino buffet.

Hope to get a few bloated cheeks this holiday. Facial cheeks. Not the other cheeks you’re thinking about.

Stars.

I gazed at the stars tonight, and I began to wonder if you were also looking up the sky at that moment.

I miss you so badly.

Take care, wherever you are.

It’s so good to be back home.

Rowland is going back home in a few hours.

I’ll miss SJII!

I’ll miss you everyone!

Love you all!!!

Black Comedy and Light Tragedies.

What an intelligent play.
It was worth the money and the time.

Mr. Bennett was terrific!

Many many many thanks to those who subsidized me! I love you all!

Well, I hope DBS Arts Centre makes an effort to distinguish itself from DBS TOWER.
We almost got late.

Decisions.

Sometimes, decisions turn out to be wrong at the end, when you decide not to bother knowing about the kind of business that you are going to enter.

We clown around, play hokey-pokey with emotions, like some Holloween shenanigan activity in the middle of the night, a trick-or-treat house-to-house bazaar where we simply come and go, collect our candies, and leave ourselves with tooth decay for the rest of our lives. Yes, as simple and as fast, and the ill-effects as permanent as that. Or maybe one would think that it’s merely a sudden burst of hormones inside the body, leaving us frantically crazy and retarded for a while.

However we may feel different, and the feeling lingers for a while, sometimes even for a long time, a very very long time. We hoped yesterday, we hope today, and we are expected to hope tomorrow… and on the next day.. and on the next one… and on the day after that. And after that, like any other normal human being, we begin to get sick of it, and eventually, without even realizing, we’ve already forgotten about it and have moved on with our lives. As if nothing stupendous has happened in the past which made us awfully stupid.

We may have sensed that it’s wrong at certain turning points of our lives. And sometimes, we just can’t get away with it and keep on going back to it no matter how much painful or weird or terrible it is. We are stuck in a labyrinth, walking in circles, not literally, and we keep on going back to the same starting point. We can’t seem to have any vantage point at all, because we can’t see through walls. We can only look at the sky above, and we can only shout in despair, and swear, and even utter prayers, and they would be merely carried along by the wind to some other place we never know. We get infuriated and irritated by them, which, if only we could break through, would lead us directly to another place where we want us to be.

We may have forgotten about it, but sometimes it just comes back to you by itself, like a ghost for the weak in faith, or it can also be described as a boomerang, for those who are afraid of ghost stories. It ’s crazy. It seems like it doesn’t want to go away from you forever. Like, it wants to make a mark on your life: that you, you stupid human being, was disillusioned by some besotted adolescent emotion and incarcerated deep within the abyss of unnecessary self-pity and low self-esteem at this point in life.

I hate it when I start to feel like this. I lose all my concentration in school.

*************

I like so many colours so I can’t really choose which one to use.
stupid ME.

I’m going to miss you.

To know the fact that I’ll be unable to see you for twenty days.
It’s kinda weird. But it wrenches my heart.
It’s the first time that I’ve felt sad, going back home.
I’m leaving on Friday night.
How I wish I can hug you tight before I leave.
To pat you at the back, or to hug you.
To smile at you, and to let me wave my “super wave” at you.
To see your eyes for the last time before I board the plane.
To hear you say, “See you in school!”, an assurance that I’ll still see you again.