artwork

below are pictures of my attempt in art...

Dizzy

watermelons in watercolor

fruit basket

sideview

indian landscape -- view from my room

silya ni Van Gogh

science experiment

Aftershocks – after the tremor

I am most afraid of earthquakes. It reminds me of how people like us are the mercy of the forces of nature. No amount of wealth, power, beauty and love can save one from the wrath of earthquakes. It is a very powerful and malevolent equalizer.

These tremors, no matter how low in intensity, always leave me in a state of utter panic. Once the ground starts shaking, and furnitures move around, I want to scream my head off and run… run to anywhere safe, stable and quiet. But at the back of my mind, I know that no place is safe at that moment, I will feel the tremors no matter where I am. I envision scenarios where buildings collapse, trees get uprooted, the ground opens up, and swallows cars and people. These morbid thoughts I always associate with earthquakes.

Then there are those we call aftershocks. These are the tremors we feel a little after the major earthquake. Aftershocks happen because the newly-moved rock has to be settled. These are most often lower in intensity and less disastrous, but can still do damage to lives and properties. I know that I should be more calm and composed since aftershocks are just that… minor tremors after the major shock. But somehow, I feel the same sense of panic and fright during these aftershocks. The dangerous thing about aftershocks is that these are unpredictable and can catch people off guard.

Aftershocks scare me – whether from the earthquake or from a major emotional disaster. After a really hurtful heartbreak, I relieve the experience of the actual heart-wrenching situation each and every time these “aftershocks” come. The sad thing is, these emotional aftershocks do not come minutes after the big tremor. It comes weeks and even months after – at times when you feel that one is finally at peace and can move on, when one is alone, when one is amidst a busy crowd, when one is at the height of the toxicity at work – it does not have a fixed timeframe, situation, trigger, nor a reason. It just comes – mocking you and bringing that same deep-in-the abyss feeling that you thought you have gotten over with, that you have forgotten. It makes you feel unsafe and vulnerable.

The sad part is, I feel the same intense panic, shock and confusion each and every time these emotional aftershocks happen. The evil ghosts of the past continue to show their ugly selves and desperately try to make me remember how painful and hurting the experience is.

But now I know better, aftershocks are just there to make you remember that once in your life, there were these tremors. But they cannot hurt you anymore, they are just there as persistent reminders that in life, tremors will come. We just have to be ready and strong when it does come. And that aftershocks are necessary, for all the debris and memories to finally settle down.


27 May 2006
Saturday
07:51pm
QC

On my birthday…

Every year, during my birthday, I am used to waiting for greetings and messages from friends, deriving joy and strength from their words of encouragement, appreciation and love. This year, I want to be able to express how I feel for friends like you.

I am very blessed to have known people like you. I am glad that you have been part of this journey that I call life. No matter how bumpy and winding the road may be, I am cushioned by your constant love and dedication. No matter how many times I’ve wanted to give up because I’ve made another wrong turn, your words have navigated me and guided me to the right direction.

If I have offended you in some way, my apologies.

If I have done something for you, I promise to do it better next time.

Thank you for being a friend, and thank you for allowing me to be one of yours.

Thank you very much. I am eternally grateful.




9:35pm
Sunday
21 May 2006
my bed, QC

My checklist – The ideal guy

This will really sound stupid. But I have made a checklist of what my ideal guy/jowa should have. The list was just 5 items short 10 years ago, but now, it is longer than my weekly grocery list.

Here’s the list, well, the partial list:
1. Should be funny and witty
2. Should be honest and faithful
3. Should be smart
4. Should be from UP, Ateneo, La Salle, or UST.
5. Should know how to drive
6. Can drink more than I do
7. Knows how to play a musical instrument
8. Must be taller than me
9. Must know how to play billiards
10. Must know how to swim

That’s the first 10 items in my list. The rest, I can do without. Ika nga, hindi ko ipapagpatayan.

Now, to tell you frankly, most of the guys I’ve dated, they only have an average of 6 traits. I have yet to find someone who will fit all the items in the list. If and when I can find him, and if he does exists, then he would be my toad, my prince, my god.

Anyone know this guy?



10:13pm
Monday
08 May 2006
QC

Bagay sa iyo, foreigner…

Bakit ganon? Ako lang ba ito? Bakit lagi akong nasasabihan ng, “Feeling ko, mapapangasawa mo foreigner”, o kaya naman, “Bagay sa iyo foreigner”. Bakeeet? Meron bang nakapaskil sa noo ko na “For export”? Gusto ko for local consumption ako!

Kung ang iba, napipikon sa mga hirit na, “Hayaan mo, dadating din yan”. Ako hindi, sanay na ako dyan. Natutunan ko nang deadmahin. Pasok sa isang tenga, labas sa kabila. Pero ang magandang trick dyan, sabihin mo, “Oo naman, dadating talaga sya.” Sabayan mo pa ng sweetest smile mo, tignan mo, winner talaga! Hindi ka na nila gagambalain, promise!

Back to foreigners. Hindi naman ako racist, of course not! Hindi din naman sa kinamumuhian ko ang ibang lahi. Pero sadya lang talaga na love ko ang mga Pinoy. Masyado ko yatang na-internalize ang lesson ko nung elementary – Love your own, Pinoy First. Kaya heto ako ngayon, nagpupumilit na gusto ko ang pinoy!

Hindi ko mawari kung maiinis ako, mapipikon, o maaaliw sa mga ganitong hirit, na foreigner ang bagay sa akin. Ilang tao na ang naringgan ko ng ganyang hirit – kaibigan, kamag-anak, kaaway, kaopisina, dating boyfriend. Bakit ba? Wala ba akong karapatang lumigaya sa isang Pinoy? Bakit kailangang foreigner? Ayoko nga! Ang kulit ng lahi nyo!

Hindi nyo ba napapansin, kapag ang isang babae ay umabot na sa past 30s, na wala pa ding asawa, o hindi pa engaged to be married, sinasabi ng karamihan, “Foreigner ang magiging boyfriend nya.” Arghhh! Parang ang ibig sabihin, dahil huli na sa byahe, wala nang magkakagustong Pinoy, at mga foreigners na lang ang kayang mag-handle ng relasyon sa isang mature (and mind you, phenomenal) woman like me. Napakababa naman ng tingin natin sa mga Pinoy kung ganon, tsk tsk. At napaka-swerte naman ng mga foreigners. Ang mga Pinay na naglaan ng oras para magtrabaho, i-develop and sarili at maging mature at independent, ay hindi makakasama ng mga Pinoy, kundi ng mga foreign-germs! Ang mga banyaga na walang alam sa ating kultura, pagkatao at pag-iisip. Tsk tsk, kaawa-awang mga Pinoy.

Pero syempre, meron naman na by choice ang pagkakaroon nila ng jowang foreign-germ. Napakadaming rason ang narinig ko – para maputi ang anak, para matangos ang ilong ng baby, para makapunta sa States, para magka-green card, I’m in love. At nire-respeto ko ang lahat ng iyan. Pero yun nga, choice talaga kasi ang pagpasok sa kahit ano mang relasyon. And my choice is… Pinoy or Bust!

Bakit nga ba ayoko sa foreigner? Hmmm… let me count the reasons. Una, napaka-komportable ko sa tagalog. Isipin nyo na lang, pag galit na galit ako, mas masarap pa ding magmura sa tagalog! Mas masarap mag kwento at humirit. Napaka-importante sa akin ng conversations. How can I have a really deep, intense and meaningful conversation when I can’t fully express myself? At saka baka kasi maubusan ako ng ingles, eh magkapikunan lang kami, at later on, baka mag sign language na lang kami hahaha!

Pangalawa, sa Pilipinas ko gustong tumanda. Pag foreigner ang magiging partner ko, may possibility na hindi dito manirahan. Mami-miss ko ang traffic, bagoong, chippy at lucky me instant pancit canton. Ayoko! Pangatlo… ahhhh… hmmm… wala na akong maisip. Pero I think the 2 reasons would suffice.

Sige, challenge me. Tanungin mo sa akin, pano pag wala talagang Pinoy na bagay sa akin? Basta eto lang, first choice ko Pinoy. Second choice ko, Pinoy pa din. Third, fourth and fifth, Pinoy! In short, pag sobrang tagtuyot na dito sa Pilipinas, I will accede that it’s time to explore other islands. Pero sana lang, kung hindi Pinoy, Brazilian ang gusto ko. Bakit? Basta! I have my reasons hehehe.

Pero yun nga, ang sabi ng mga matanda, kung sino ang ayaw mo, yun ang mapupunta sa iyo. Kaya ngayon pa lang, gusto kong sabihin na “I hate Pinoys!”.


7:45 pm
29 April 2006
Saturday
Sorsogon City, Sorsogon

Toad Prince

Do you remember the fairy tale of the frog prince, where the only thing that could make him change back to being a prince is the kiss of a true love? Let’s just say that I have internalized that story too much. So much that I jumped into a river full of frogs, and even toads, in my attempt to find genuine, head-over-heels, giddy love.

There is actually a difference between a frog and a toad. Toads are like frogs, have relatively shorter legs, stout bodies and thicker skinned. They are also characterized by warty skin. In short, they are not cute like Kermit.

I feel that I have the duty, as the princess (or more aptly, the dyosa), to have mercy on these creatures, and set them free from the curse of the evil witch. So there I was, bathing in the moonlight, my lower body immersed in murky water, dipping my hands in the cold water, and one by one, fishing out all the toads that I can see. When I have it finally in my hand, I kiss it. Then I pause for a brief moment, waiting for the transformation. But nothing happens, so I kiss it again, hoping that the magic will work the second time. Still, the toad looks like a toad. And I kiss it for the third time, this time, more lingering, hoping that a miracle would happen, that the slimy toad would transform into my handsome prince. But alas, nothing happens, the toad just looks me in the eye, and croaks so loud that I have to let it go. And I do this again to another toad… and to another… and another… until I got so tired and cold from the chilly night wind. Unfortunately, it’s either the story of the frog prince is not true or the prince is really a pig, and not a toad. Goodness gracious! I would not want to spend a lot of time in dirty pigpens, kissing porky pigs. Yuck!!! I’m sure a lot of dyosas can relate to this experience. Although I’m not sure if you’ve kissed a frog or a toad, or how many times you’ve tried to kiss the toad, or how many toads you have kissed.

Some people refer to their exes as ghosts, pigs, bitches, witches, assholes. But I prefer to call them toads. Who knows, they might also be looking for their own princesses/dyosas. It’s just that I am not THE one. They will someday transform into the handsome, dashing, loving prince that they are, but only if they are kissed by the right princess/dyosa. So you dyosas out there, make sure you kiss the right toad, for your own happiness, as well as for the toad’s happiness.

I’ve been racking my brains trying to find a better way of finding my toad. And I suddenly had this brilliant idea. When I am ready again to immerse myself in the river full of toads, I would bravely do so, and fish out a toad. But this time, I would not kiss him right away, I would ask if he wants me to kiss him. I know it may sound stupid, talking to a toad. But I assure you, if he’s MY toad, and if I am HIS dyosa, we would know. No more kissing each and every toad in the river, that’s too tiring. This time, I am smarter. I will talk to him, ask him if he is mine, and if I am his. Then if it’s the right toad, and the right moment, I would not hesitate to lovingly kiss the toad. And with just one magical kiss, everything will change. The murky river will be clearer, the moon will be bigger, the stars would be brighter, and my toad will turn into my prince.

Now, if you’re going to ask if we’re going to live happily ever after… well, that’s another story.


Note:
If you want interesting trivia on the story of the Frog Prince, check out:
http://www.answers.com/topic/the-frog-prince-story?method=6

16 April 2006
Saturday
4:14 pm
QC

Fag hag

(My apologies to all my gay friends. I know that using the word fag may be derogatory. It’s not to insult anyone. I love my gay friends, and they know it.)

Phenomenal woman… Dazzling diva… Kagandahan… and my favorite… Dyosa. These are what my gay friends call me. Either they really think of me as the ultimate phenomenal friend, or they are just really savvy smooth talkers.

I’ve told people time and again that I have a very strong, yet peculiar affinity with gay men. Maybe because in my past life, I swear that I have been a gay man… a phenomenal gay!

I can prove that I know how it feels to be a man. I’ve told a few close friends about this story. While driving in traffic-jammed EDSA, I chanced upon this man doing his thing near the railings in the sidewalk. I swear to all the atoms that I know how he felt after doing his thing! I know it! I’ve felt it! I swear!!!

Ergo, I know that I was a man in my past life.

You want another proof? All gay men I meet immediately love me, or at least like me. One of my dearest friends even went to the extent of telling me, “Kung bading ka lang sana, naging tayo na!”. I was flattered, really flattered. And I felt the same way about him, and all my gay friends. I love them to bits! I love them because they are like me most of the times. Because of this affinity to my beautiful gay friends, some people have called me a fag hag.

What is a fag hag? Let’s dissect the words. Fag, according to the dictionary is the disparaging term for a homosexual man, short for faggot. Hag, is what you call an old single woman, considered ugly or frightful. Now… a fag hag is supposed to be a single woman, presently unattached, unattractive and destined to a life of loneliness.

If that is what it means, I refuse to be called a fag hag! I am certainly not one! The term fag hag has to be striken out of the English vocabulary! It is insulting not only to my wonderful gay friends, but also to us phenomenal dyosas.

Me and my single dyosa friends have this weekly Gathering of the Goddesses – either over bottles of beer, cups of coffee, pots of tea or plates of crackling liempo. It’s to affirm our strength and power over our lives and our destinies. It is also when we talk about our plans for world control and domination. Bwahaha! Seriously, it’s really fun, these gathering of the goddesses. It makes me realize that life is really about myself giving and reaching out to the world, and not about waiting for the world to reach out to me.

I love my life, because of friends like them – my sweet gay lolas, and my phenomenal dyosas. They make life special, colorful, worth living.

This is for Ram, Hamsy, Maitaqs, Imee-har, and to all the phenomenal dyosas who have shared their wisdom, their strength, their power.

This is for Ganesh, Noelle, Win, Onat, and to all my lolas who have yet to make their announcement, and make the world realize that they too are phenomenal.



9:36 pm
06 April 2006, Thursday
QC

Night Rain -- a repost

I was halfway through my last stick,
while sipping sweet hot tea with milk,
when I suddenly
heard a rumble coming from the west.
I stopped for a brief moment to listen,
trying to decipher what the noise was,
where it was coming from.
Could it be an old-beat up car?
A jeepney on its way home from a day of work,
plying through Manila’s busy thoroughfares?
Somehow,
I could not make sense of what the rumble was.
Slowly,
the noise grew louder.
Could it be rain?
I looked at the evening sky.
No stars were in sight,
even the moon seems to be out for the night.
As the noise seems to approach me,
I felt a gush of strong wind,
not the usual cold night breeze.
Still, the noise seems to have a mind of its own,
slowly drawing nearer.
Then,
like soft pebbles,
drops of rain poured,
onto the streets,
onto the plants,
into my roof.
It was an extraordinary experience,
waiting for the rain,
waiting for the drops to come pouring from the sky,
for this gift from the dark firmament
to soak the hot sweltering evening.

- 7:55pm, 09 September 2004, Thursday

43 Things

My friend Tanya mentioned about this website where anyone can post their “43 Things”. It’s like a wish list… 43 things you’d like to do in your life. It can be as trivial as “smile everyday” or earth shattering like… hmmm… let’s say “get “married soon”.

Don’t ask me why 43, and not 34 or 50… I still have to look that up. (Send me a note if you want to get the website, or just google it.)

I would like to share with you my very own “43 Things”. I actually did some modifications. Instead of 43, I reduced my list to 31 – each item representing one glorious year of my life. Yes folks! I’m already 31!

You can’t see all 31 items in the list. I just had to edit out some things, hehehe.

1. Learn how to swim
2. Travel to Egypt
3. See the ruins of Pompeii
4. Visit the US
5. Go back to Europe
6. Sing in a lounge bar
7. Buy a camera
8. Learn photography
9. Put up my own art exhibit or photo gallery
10. Go bunjee-jumping
11. Get a dog
12. Read more
13. Finish my thesis
14. Learn to do cartwheels
15. Ride a bike again
16. Learn a foreign language
17. Lose 10 pounds
18. Learn how to dive
19. Put up a business – spa or salon
20. Buy a new car
21. Buy a house in tagaytay or somewhere near the beach
22. Meet ________
23. Have a couple of beers with ________
24. Put up a consultancy firm on HR and OD
25. Meet Carly Simon
26. Watch more movies

So the remaining 5 things, you just have to guess.



9:36 pm
23 March 2006, Thursday
Kuala Lumpur

Sing-kah-poh!

Let’s go to Sing-kah-poh! I love going to Sing-kah-poh!

Sing-kah-poh is a hawker’s place near our place. They serve, of course, mostly Chinese food and some stalls serve Indian food. But everytime I eat there, I order the fried rice with salted fish. I keep forgetting what’s it called in Bahasa. See? It’s that good, I always have temporary amnesia everytime my tongue goes near it. Really yummy! It’s Malaysia’s version of fried rice and tuyo, only better, faaar better. And the serving, man, it’s fit for 2 people. Or, if you’re like me, who sometimes goes on the ‘kain-karpentero’ diet, then this meal is for you!

Now, what does Sing-kah-po mean? It’s actually the name of a country here in Asia. Take a guess… a wild guess. Sirit na? It’s named from one of the hottest country here in Southeast Asia… Singapore!!! Still don’t get it?

Here’s the trick. Pretend you’re Chinese, I mean pure Malaysian-Chinese. Now, try to pronounce Singapore… slowly. Sing... kah…poh! Galing no?

Anyone wants to go to Sing-kah-poh?


18 March 2006
12:49am
Penang

Going oriental – belly dancing

As a result of being a bum for almost 3 months, I decided to realize the first social need of all human beings – self actualization. Yes, my goal is to self-actualize, to be the best of what I can be. So aside from realizing my dream of being the next Van Gogh, I decided to enroll in something I am very interested in.

I love dancing – evident in the a) many Friday nights spent dancing and partying in Xaymaca (a local reggae bar), and b) the many excruciating hours I spent during my childhood dance lessons (ballet, jazz, and hawaiian). In fact, I also enrolled in a jazz dance class a few years back. The thing is, my dance teacher had this habit of always shouting at his students with 2 left feet, i.e. ME! So I said goodbye to him, and his sour temper.

I’ve tried a lot of dance classes – ballet, jazz, Hawaiian, ballroom dance – and somehow, I felt that it was not what I am really good at. In ballet, the ballerina needs to have small boobs and small head. I have a pretty ok-sized head, but I am what you will considered as “well-endowed”. So I decided to say goodbye to my ballerina dreams. Jazz dancing requires the dancer to be flexible and pliable (hehehe, wait, that word is only used for metals, right?). I am not flexible at all! Ballroom dancing requires you to have a dancing partner. Well, too toxic to find an excellent male dancer. Soooo…I decided to enroll in a different kind of dance class – Belly Dancing! Yahoo!

Why not! I think I am pretty much qualified to become a belly dancer – I love dancing, and I have a belly, kinda big actually! Hahaha! Seriously, my dance teacher told us that belly dancing would look good on women with curves in their mid-section. She didn’t say that belly dancers need to have love-handles, but that’s my interpretation. And she allowed me to enroll in her class, didn’t she – me, with all my lovehandles.

According to the internet, belly dancing is also known as Oriental Dance. And is very popular in the middle eastern countries. Well, what do you know, I dream of going to Egypt one day. This may be the first step towards the realization of another dream – embracing the Egyptian culture and traditions! And who knows, I might be able to use my belly dancing skills should I travel to Egypt one day. I can moonlight as a belly dancer outside train stations, giving passers-by the best belly dance performance, in exchange for a few dollars. Hehehe. So oriental! So Gypsy-ish! I am so excited!

I’ve finished the whole belly dancing course – all 6 grueling sessions of swaying, undulating*, and swishing my hips to the beat of oriental music. I loved it! It felt so sexy, so feminine, so empowering!

So the next time you have a lot of free time, extra cash, and a sudden urge to do something different, try belly dancing, and undulate your blues away.


Note:
* Undulate is the rolling, rippling and heaving movement used in belly dancing. The movement is usually concentrated in the mid-section, and causes the belly to rise and fall, resulting in a snakelike movement.


11 March 2006
Sunday
3:45
Penang

Van Gogh wanna-be

I love sunflowers.

I love Van Gogh’s Sunflower.

Looking back, I don’t know if I liked sunflowers because of Van Gogh’s painting, or if I liked Van Gogh’s painting because I liked sunflowers.

In any case, I got hooked on Van Gogh’s paintings. Especially after I visited his museum and got to see his paintings with my own eyes. I started downloading pictures of his paintings in the internet, trying to imitate his artwork through sketches. And mind you, my sketches were not a pretty sight. My version of the chair in one of his paintings (of his room, I think), didn’t look like a chair at all! (see photo).

But since I had this delusion that someday I would be like him, with millions of people admiring my artwork, in my own museum, I decided to take up art classes in January. I actually took art classes 8 years ago. But since my previous boss was a workaholic and wanted his staff to work overtime, and even over the weekend, I was not able to graduate. Damn! My classmates even had medals and certificates!

That class was actually frustrating. Since it was done in the summer, we had a lot of young classmates – as young as 9 years old. And my ego was at its lowest since I could not even draw a vase! It’s like rubbing salt to injury when I took a peek at my 9 year old classmate’s drawing. It was damn good! Far better than mine! Well, I just convinced myself that the kid would be the next Malang of the Philippines.

But as they say, never say never. I would not let a 9-year old art freak step on my dreams of becoming the next Van Gogh. So, I enrolled…again. This time, I chose the weekday classes, Wednesday mornings. For sure there would be no kids attending the class. And if there are, I would convince their parents that primary education is far more important that art classes. I could not afford to let another kid ruin my dream! Bwahaha!

Art class is really fun! Especially with a teacher like ours. (Send me a message if you want to enroll in his class). He always has a good and encouraging word for everyone. One time, while looking at my sketches, during our nude sketching sessions (no, we didn’t sketch in the nude, we had a nude model, hahaha!), he looked at my artwork, and commented, “Ang galing ng sketch mo ah!”. I looked at him incredulously, and thought, this man must be crazy! My sketch didn’t look like a woman at all! It looked like a large log with a large fruit hanging at the end! But hey, he’s a master in art, he really must see something in my work, right? Nonetheless, I was very disappointed with what I did. I wanted to pay my respect to the girl posing as our nude model. It’s not easy literally stripping off all your clothes in front of 20 amateur wanna-be artists. I wanted to make art out of what she is doing, because it is what supposed to be done… art. Unfortunately, no matter how I tried to find the best angle, best lighting and shadow effect, the best pencil, and the best sketchpad, my sketch simply did not look like her. Maybe my forte is in abstract art. Can’t wait for our lesson in abstract!

I can’t let the small things bother me. I believe that I am an artist! I would not let comments of my teacher’s assistant like, “Anong nangyari sa vase mo, binagyo?” get to me. They don’t realize my potentials! They don’t know art! They don’t know that I’m the next Van Gogh! (Come to think of it, Van Gogh didn’t become famous until he became crazy, cut his ears and died. Morbid, morbid thoughts! I love my ears!!!)

In the basic art class, we were able to do pencil sketching, shading, pentel pen sketches, craypas drawings, and watercolor. I liked craypas best. You’re supposed to color the paper with full force, in order to completely cover the paper. It’s a good therapy, I tell you. Just think of all the things that pisses you off, and you will never notice that you actually have covered your whole sketch page with color! – red for blood, green for bile, black for misery.

After several Wednesdays of pure concentration and sheer determination, I was able to graduate! Yahoo! Finally, the first step to my dream of becoming the next Van Gogh! I am victorious!

My fearless forecast? I would be busy the next few years doing artwork for my exhibit, for my art patrons, for my future museum. So if I were you, you should immediately commission me for an artwork. I will be the next hot thing in art! I will be famous! I will be the next Van Gogh! Bwahaha!!!

Disclaimer:
The author is not morally and socially responsible for any statements written in this blog entry. It was not her who wrote the article, it was her delusional, evil, self-consumed twin sister, psychologically traumatized because of the still-unfulfilled dream of becoming a visual artist. Rest assured that the evil twin sister is being psychologically counseled and treated for her delusions.


05 March 2006
8:05pm
Penang

Sino ang bampira?

People kept asking me, “Bakit ‘bampira-ako’ ang blogspot mo?”. On hindsight, I should have written this article as my debut blog entry.

I’ve been using bampira since I became hooked on mIRC back in 1997. The chat rooms during that time were pretty much matino, with sense. Maybe because not everyone has internet access during that time. Now, even manong guard has access to the internet, and may be your cyber-boyfriend/pal/soulmate. Who knows?

Anyways, back to bampira. I used bampira as my nick. I wanted a name with a character. A strong character, able to transform not just oneself, but is able to transform other people as well (well, after the third bite, that is). I also wanted a character which has power, mystery and a certain darkness to its persona. Thus, the nickname, Bampira.

I hope you continue to read my blog entries so you can be one of my victims, transforming you into someone you have never imagined. And as a true vampire would say, “Drink from me and you will live forever.”

MY PRECIOUS STONES – The gallstone experience

So there they were, inside a small translucent plastic container, staring at me, perhaps with a feeling of anxiety due to our sudden separation. I’ve nursed them for more than 4 years now, carefully choosing what I eat, how much I drink. Then suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of both sadness and ecstasy. Finally, they were liberated, now out in the world for everyone to see. Most people just can’t appreciate things unless they see it, you see. Now, everyone can see them, and they will be the testament of my personal struggle for the past years.

I’m not talking about babies or whatever, I’m talking about my gallstones, my precious stones. I was diagnosed by my Internist some years ago. Due to the prodding of a doctor friend, who I incidentally lost contact with already, I visited my internist. The doctor-friend told me, the symptoms I was experiencing (colic-like pains, feeling of nausea, stabbing pains in my upper abdomen) were signs of gallstones. What the heck, just to prove him that he was wrong, and that internal medicine was not his forte (we were already falling apart during those times), I went to an internist, underwent ultrasound, and viola!... there they were! 2 small stones in my gallbladder. My twins!

Come to think of it, I never got to thank the doctor-friend. Well, life was not a bed of roses with him, so I guess I just deserved this bit of information about my gallstones, free consultation if you may say. They say that people come into your life for a reason, maybe this is his – to tell me that I have gallstones. That suits me well, he has at least saved me from future medical incidents, like this condition where the gallstones get stuck in the opening of your gallbladder, and gets really really swollen and infected, making you puke like hell, and makes your eyes and skin turn yellow. I cant remember the medical term, I’m not very good at that.

Anyways, back to my babies. So for more than 4 years, I have convinced myself that my precious stones need not be extracted out, after all, I am a mature and responsible individual, I can control what I eat and drink, cant I? Well, it turned out I was partly successful – I tried to stay away from oily food (bye bye sisig, liempo, chicharon and bulalo). But what I cant give up is the fermented malt, which is found in San Miguel’s primary product, sigh.

So years after years, I tried going to different Internists (doctors specializing on Internal Medicine), hoping to find a single doctor who will give me a quick fix. Something like an elixir I could drink, and the precious stones would miraculously disappear, or at least passed through some bodily excretions. But to no avail! They were all involved in this conspiracy, telling me that I should have it removed surgically, especially that my attacks were getting more frequent – average of 2 attacks per month. And I cant tell you how it feels to have an attack. Its like giving birth (I think), only much worse (this theory I have to prove yet. I’ll get back to you after I experience giving birth hehehe). Because in giving birth, you know that you will be bringing to life someone. During a gallstone attack, all I can see are my precious stones dancing away and doing body slam with each other, soaking in the green bile they love so much. Yuck!

But surgery? No way! I have not been confined in a hospital, not once in my life. And this one experience, I can easily pass up, no thanks!

But then, I think the natural course of things is that when things have to go, they really have to go. I have this project outside the Philippines, which will necessitate me to be away for 6 long months. And this country that I’m going to, man, they have REALLY good food, and they love to see their food swimming either in oil, chili or curry. So, instead of experiencing my gallstones freak out in a really wild party, I decided to go for the surgery.

I went to FEU, it was the nearest to my house. Found a decent-looking doctor. Found that he was a PGH graduate. I heaved a sigh of relief after seeing that. Not that I’m too loyal and impressed with UP grads, its just that I know how UP grads think of themselves – they think of themselves as the best in their field (this might be purely perception, may I remind you). This surgeon might be someone who will never allow failure in whatever he does.

But I was not satisfied with the diploma I saw hanging in his clinic, I surfed information about him. I did not get much except that he really is a PGH graduate, a member of this medical fraternity in UP Manila, and had his braces late in life (hahaha! I saw this info in one of his batchmates’ blogspot. Tsk tsk, the information you can surf in the web).

Being the hypochondriac that I am, I also surfed about the procedure that I will be undergoing – Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy or lap chole. As opposed to the open chole, where they will slice you up, this procedure is less invasive. The surgeons will just make 4 small slits, which is fine with me. Since I am a keloid former, I do not want to have 4 blackened thick scars on my stomach! Accuse me of vanity, but I’m sure you’ll make the same choice given my situation. And so I discussed this with my surgeon, asking him about keloids and injury to the common bile duct. I felt powerful with the new information that I have.

So in February 10, I went to the hospital, had several tests, and was finally ready for operation the following day. I can still vividly picture it in my mind… at 1:30pm, the nurse and the orderly went to my room and asked me to lie down in the bed with wheels. The nurse injected (very painfully) a sedative, hoping to calm my nerves. Oh, I became calm alright, the fuzzy feeling was soooo perfect, like how you will feel after downing 4 or 5 bottles of beer.

I got into the OR, where Phil Collins was blazing from the speakers. Fine with me, I even sang a few lines. Then I noticed this really cute doctor, was not sure if he was already a surgeon, he looked too young to be one. Maybe a Resident Doctor of Surgery, I decided. Maybe he noticed that I was not getting sleepy at all. He asked me a few friendly questions, and finally asked me if I’m not sleepy, and that it’s all right if I rest and sleep. I did not bother to inform him that I’m used to keeping my eyes wide open even after several bottles of beer. I looked at the wall clock, I saw that it was already 3pm! It has been 1 ½ hours after I had the sedative, and I’m still awake!

Finally, after a few minutes, they might have decided to give up on the hopes that the sedatives would wear me down (hah! I succeeded in staying awake, thanks to San Mig Light!), they injected through my IV this liquid, which I guessed was the anesthesia. They also covered my mouth with the oxygen mask. The chemical odor from the mask was not pleasant. Cant remember how it smells like, but I know I’ve handled it in my Chem 16 class. Or maybe it was Ether from Bio 11? No, that was for frogs.

After more than 2 hours of operation, and 3 hours in the recovery room, I was wheeled into my room around 9pm. I distinctly remember the nurse telling my mom that I can eat anything, no more fasting. I am allowed to have full meals! HAHAHA! Liberation! Freedom! Kalayaan! I will finally be reunited with the evils of the food kingdom – fats and oil.

I woke up midnight, with a very uncomfortable feeling – a strange pressure in my stomach, hurting wounds, and bruised internal organs (I think). But when I looked over my side table, I found the plastic container with my precious stones. There were not 2 stones, there were around 20 stones! I have cared for them too much, that they multiplied tenfolds! And maybe like what mothers feel after giving birth, I knew the pain that I feel was well worth it. My precious stones’ liberation is freedom for me as well. Goodbye low fat meals, hello porky pig!

6:43pm
14 February 2006

boylet

this i wrote years ago (3rd quarter, 2003) ... just had this urge to write it... i was actually surprised when i saw the article circulated through email, although some parts were edited.


BOYLET

(para kay unkid)


Vocabulary:
boy - n. a male child from birth to puberty
-let - n suffix small one


"Ano ba ibig sabihin ng boylet?"

Tanong yan sa akin ng isang boylet. Pero ano nga ba ang ibig sabihin ng 'boylet'? Ewan ko ba, pero napulot ko yan sa mga baklakekok kong kaibigan. "Ate, yummy ang boylet mo." "Bakla, saan ba may boylet dito?" Pero kung talagang pag-iisipan, mahirap ma-define ang boylet. Ito ba'y dahil sa age? Sa maturity? Sa height? Sa looks?

Ang boylet, kailangang bata, or at least, ka-age mo. Kasi pag mas matanda ng ilang taon, hindi na boylet yon, tander-cat na. As in tanders. Tanders from matanda -- matanders -- tanders -- tander-cat (origin – thundercat). Grabe ang evolution ng mga salita, di ba?

Dapat din daw, ang boylet, hindi mo boyfriend, pero hindi lang din friend. So, ibig sabihin, napakalalim ng kahulugan ng "-let" sa suffix sa boylet. Biro mo, ang "-let" ang nag-define ng isang relasyon na mas malalim, at malamang mas intimate sa friendship, pero less committed at non-exclusive kung ikukumpara sa boyfriend. Tsk, tatlong letra lang yan, pero it makes a world of difference. Kaya ang isang boy, para maging boylet, kailangang maging isang tao, na kayang tumawid sa pagitan ng pagiging isang boyfriend o lover, at isang kaibigan.

So pwede din ba gamitin ang "-let" sa mga tander-cats? Hmmm… parang masagwa -- tander-lets? Tander-cat-lets? Kasi naman pag tander-cats, mas malamang na naghahanap ng isang relasyon na hindi passing fancy lang. Pero hindi yan generalization, okay? Madami pa din namang mga tander-cats na isip-boylet. So, anong tawag natin sa kanila? Closet-boylets? Ay, ambot!

Ano pa ang distinguishing factor ng isang boylet? Sabi ng isang kaibigan na nagkaroon na ng relasyon mula sa both ends of the continuum -- from the youngest of boylets to super tander-cats, ang boylet, fling lang daw. Kapag naging seryoso ang relasyon o "arrangement" sa isang boylet, pwede nang tanggalin ang suffix na "-let" at palitan ng salitang "friend". But it is not necessarily true na promotion sa boylet ang pagiging boyfriend. Isipin mo yon, pag may boyfriend ka na, bawal na ang mga boylets. Eh kung puro boylets lang, walang hassles, walang guilt involved, kasi nga, ang "-let" ang sasalba sa iyo. Ang "-let" ang nagsasabi na hindi naman kayo exclusive sa isa't-isa. Ang galing talaga ng "-let"! Pwede din kaya itong gamitin sa ibang salita? Halimbawa, kung itatanong sa iyo ng jowa mo, "Do you love me?" Ang problema, hindi ka sigurado kung anong isasagot. Isipin mo, pag sinabi mong 'yes', sangkatutak na exclusivity na yan. Pag naman 'no', aba, eh, baka mag-isip ang jowa mo at iwan ka. So, pwede bang "yes-let" ang isagot? Ang "-let" na lang uli ang bahala to fill in the gaps. Ibig sabihin pag 'yes-let', oo, love kita ngayon, pero may possibility na bawiin ko in the future. O kaya naman, oo, love naman kita, pero pwede pa ba akong humirit ng one last boylet?

Boylet… boy na maliit o cute? Di ba’t ang ibig sabihin ng suffix na “-let” at cute o naman kaya’y maliit? Parang islet, maliit na island; booklet, maigsi o manipis na compilation ng materials. Hindi naman kasi magandang pakinggan kung tatawagin silang mini-boys. Mas maganda at endearing nga ang tunog ng boylet, parang honeylet.

Pero pano naman pala ang tawag sa girl version ng mga boylet? Girlet? Parang hindi akma. Mas maganda siguro kung girlash. Pero hindi nito ganap na mailalarawan kung ano ang essence ng pagiging quasi-gf, semi-friend. So, in short, sa mga boys lang pwedeng magkaroon ng suffix na “-let”, ganon ba yon? Baka naman kasi ibang suffix ang angkop sa mga girls.

Kung ikaw ang mamimili, ano ang mas gusto mo, isang boylet na nagpapaka-tanders, o isang tander-cat na nagpapaka-boylet? Magulong isipin, pero ang isang boylet na nagpapaka-tandercat ay yung tipong pa-mature effect. Ang dami kunwaring angst sa buhay, pinapalaki ang pinakamaliit na issue – para nga naman makasabay sya sa lahat ng angst ng nakakatandang babae. Insecurity siguro ng mga boylet, o maaari rin namang mature na talaga, pero hindi natin malalaman, unless, gusto mong makilala ng masinsinan ang boylet mo. Ang mga tandercats naman na nagpapaka-boylet ay yung mga feeling groovy at w-a-a-a-y-y C-O-O-L, na kadalasan ay hindi naman talaga, nagpupumilit lang. Maaari din naman na sila yung mga tandercats na may mental age ng isang 15-yr old. Ito ang isang proof na may mga taong walang pinagkatandaan, at ang emotional at mental age ng tao ay ibang-iba sa biological age.

Ang isa pang tanong, gaano ka-boylet ang kaya mo, kung baga sa low-waist pants, how low can you go? Basta siguraduhin na above 18 ang boylet, kundi, sa kalaboso ang bagsak mo, statutory rape yon, kung di mo alam. 3 years? 4, 5, 6? Depende naman talaga sa iyo yan. Pero isipin mo lang na kung 9 years ang gap nyo, aba ineng, nung pinanganak sya ay may monthly period ka na! Hindi ba kapangi-pangilabot yon? Pero kung kaya mo, o ‘carry’ mo, ika nga ng aking mga bading na kaibigan, eh di sige, magpakadalubhasa sa pangangarir ng mga boylet. I-career! At bakit hindi? Ilan pa lamang ang may MA at PhD degree sa Boylet Affairs Management.

Pero bakit nga ba natin kailangan ng mga boylet? Sabi ng isang kaibigan, gusto nyang ma-re-affirm na sya ay may asim pa. Suggestion ko lang, pwede naman litmus test na lang for acidity ang gamitin, di ba? Yung iba naman, pantawid-gutom daw. Ano ang akala nila sa mga boylet, mini-cup na pansit canton? Yung iba naman, just so they’ll feel alive again daw, to feel young, fresh and to get their groove back. Aside from botox treatment, napakadami pang mga services ni Dra. Vicky ang pwede para magmukha at maging feeling young.

Pasalamat tayo at nandyan sila – para magbigay ng kasiyahan, company, aliw, o kung ano pa man. Sa dami ng mga benefits na dinadala ng mga boylets na ito sa ating buhay, gusto ko lang magbigay ng pugay sa kanila. Mabuhay ang mga boylet, dakila kayo! Go forth and multiply!




little_shepherd2003@yahoo.com

tattoo

i've always wanted to get a tattoo, but somehow, something always goes wrong, and i end up not having one.

so here, out of obsession for tattoos, here's my henna version. its a chinese character which means Summer. no, its not because i got it during the summer season (although i had this character tattooed on me in galera 2 summers ago). it's my favorite pamangkin's name (as if i have a choice, i only have 1 pamangkin so far).

sya, will post other blogs soon. keep checking this site, ok?

later! :)