^_^renka^_^

2005-09-16T19:31:00.000+08:00

(Can you guess who am I in this picture? Hehehe)

CARLA

I have a soft spot for red Honda Civics. Every time I see a slick red Honda Civic whooshing past, I get this strange feeling like I want to run after it. It gets worse when I see one parked. I just want to go there and hug the car, feel the smooth paintjob under my fingertips, and blow air on the window and draw smileys. I haven’t actually materialized these fantasies of mine since I refuse to make myself look like an obvious suspect for grand theft auto. But I just can’t help but admire them. Red Honda Civics just remind me so much of Carla.
Carla was our old car. I was probably five or six years old back then, when my dad came home all smiles, and asked all of us to go to the street and look at something. When we stepped out of the gate, parked on the street was a red Honda Civic DX. I asked him where he borrowed the car, and he told us he had just bought it. He didn’t even tell my mom before that, and so we were all surprised, to say the least. We quickly hopped in, and the factory smell of plastic and something else was overwhelming. We drove around the neighborhood, my mom asking all sorts of questions that were mostly centered on how much the car cost while the two sisters at the back were tickling and laughing at each other.
I remember going to Zambalez several weeks after, and we went to this church where my dad said we had to have the car baptized. My mom said we should give our car a name. I immediately said Carla because I thought it was a nice name. Then my parents laughed and said, “Carla because it’s a car. So if we have a van, what would you name it? Ivan or Vanessa?” They joked. It took a lot of explaining from them for me to understand just what they meant, but when I did get it, I was laughing along with them.
We had a lot of fond memories with Carla. Since it was only just us two sisters in the back, we busied ourselves playing all sorts of games in Carla. We would play P.A.N.T.S., and the loser gets to be tickled endlessly by the winner. We would also play a game wherein we predict whether the car was going to turn right or left. Unfortunately, I was rather poor with directions, and always ended up saying ‘left’ when I’m pointing at right.
We also made several trips to Baguio where we would go “Whee!” every time we were going through the zigzag roads. There was even one occasion when we parked the car for the night outside of our ancestral home in Baguio, and someone had drilled holes on the side of the door and tried to steal Carla. We were thankful that, by some miracle, they had failed to steal the car. Then there was this time when we were playing with plastic balloons and we had left a popped plastic balloon on the hood, and destroyed the paintjob. My dad was so angry, he forbade us to buy plastic balloons ever again.
Then there was this time when we were returning from summer vacation from La Union wherein we got into an accident and the whole front of Carla was crumpled. I cried instantly from the sheer fright of getting into an accident, and the fact that our beloved car was wrecked. We got her fixed and almost good as new a short time later, but that spelled the beginning of the end.
When we went through a rough and financially difficult time a few months after the accident, my dad decided to sell Carla so that we could have some extra cash. I distinctly remember crying the instant I heard the news. Carla was practically like a sister to me. I celebrate her birthdays on September 10, I help my dad vacuum her, bathe her, and wax her. I even show her my little doodles by drawing them on her windows, or on her doors when she hasn’t had a bath in days. And now, my dad is selling her? I couldn’t understand why, and I asked my dad not to sell the car. “I love Carla,” I told him. “We’ll buy a new one someday. Besides, Carla’s not in as good a condition as she was before the accident,” he reasoned out.
That was when my penchant for red Honda Civics began. I promised myself that someday I would hunt down whoever owns Carla and buy the car from them. Even if she isn’t functional anymore, I wanted to restore her and just nestle her in a clean garage, and visit her everyday, talk to her and sit with her like she was my long lost sister. Maybe I want to find her again because she reminds me so much of the joys I had during my childhood. She reminds me of the years our family spent wherein we rarely worried about money, countless bills to pay, and our health, and we spent our days going in little trips out of town, in Baguio and in Zambalez. Maybe I just want to get back that one icon in my childhood that I lost when life suddenly became too complicated.
I know I may never find Carla again. But I won’t give up trying. Until then, I will continue to ogle at red Honda Civics as they pass by me on the street, or as they sit silently in parking lots, and hope that maybe someday, I will be ogling at our Carla again, and not just some anonymous look-alike.

2005-09-07T23:41:00.000+08:00

The 5th F4 Member
(or is it F5 now?)
Ever since I got my hair straightened a bit, everyone has been saying I look like Vanness Wu. You know, the guy with straight, shoulder-length hair in the boy band F4. Yep. They say I look like him. My dad’s first words when he came home from Sri Lanka were, “You look like the guy in Meteor Garden!” I have to admit it was funny the first couple of times. But it just got downright irritating after that. Imagine hearing that you look like an F4 member. Every. Single. Time.
I don’t know whether I should be flattered that I look like him because he is rather good looking, or if I should be insulted that they say I look like a man. Either way, it’s not funny anymore. And, couldn’t people just compare me to a decent looking girl for a change?

MiG Ayesa

2005-08-21T21:13:00.000+08:00

MiG Ayesa

I am a huge fan of Rockstar INXS. I think all of the contestants are really, really talented, and would surely blow away any of the American Idol wannabes. But, I can’t deny that I have my own favorite to win the competition. I want MiG Ayesa to win. MiG, in case you are not familiar with the show, is a Filipino/ Australian. He was born in Manila and grew up in Australia. It’s pretty obvious that I like him because he’s one of us. Unlike Jasmine Trias who I heard has a diva attitude, and whom I only tolerated because she was Filipino, I absolutely adore MiG’s voice, the way he performs, and his kind and caring manner.

     He might not be the best vocalist in the group, but he makes up for it by putting up a really good show. He always manages to make me go ‘wow’ every time he performs. But, on his latest performance where he sung Baby I Love Your Way (or something like that), I was totally blown away. He sang while he played the piano, and he sang with such emotion and passion that you could feel the music and the words reverberating in your heart.

     Careful not to look like a crazy groupie in front of my family, I clapped calmly after he performed, but sadly, I lost it when they showed the members of INXS giving him a standing ovation, and the women contestants Deana and Suzie were crying. Guest host Dave Navarro even said in his comment that all he could think about during MiG’s performance was how much he loves his wife (yep, Dave’s married to none other than Carmen Electra, in case you didn’t know).

     This riveting performance earned MiG a spot at the top three of the contest, as well as an encore performance, which he graciously shared with Jordis and Marty, the other two in the top three. He truly deserves of the honor. The only thing left for me to say is good luck to him. Hope he wins. (

2005-08-18T19:43:00.000+08:00

Somebody Else's Secret

It was about six years ago, September, my father's birthday. I got home late from school and I still didn't have something for him. At around 7 pm, I decided to rush to the nearest mall to get him a zippo lighter since he kept on losing his. The car was heavily tinted, backed up from the garage, and then BANG! (insert gruesome death scene music here) ~.~

2005-08-09T19:28:00.000+08:00

Cheated By Time

Why is it that when you are enjoying something, the cogwheels of time seem to turn faster? Knowing the fact that time slips by a lot quicker when you’re having fun actually spoils the fun for you. Time seems to cheat you constantly. And it’s not fair.

My dad works in Sri Lanka and comes home to us every two or three months. Sometimes he stays for a few days, and other times he stays for a week or two. This time, he’s staying for a little over two weeks.

Everyday life seems to be more fun when my dad is around and my family is together. Even watching TV, eating, and sleeping seem more enjoyable. Life just feels complete. However, like everything else, it must come to an end at some point. And this time, the end for us is on the 11th, when my dad will return to Sri Lanka.

The moment he came home on the 26th, I have programmed myself to accept the fact that he’ll be leaving soon. I always program myself, and convince myself to accept it so that when he leaves again, I won’t be too depressed. But, sad to say, the programmer made a fatal error.

I misunderstood when my dad said he was leaving. I thought he was supposed to leave on the 17th, and so all this time, I thought we had more time to spend together. I only found out yesterday that he was going to leave on the 11th and not on the 17th, and it totally got me by surprise. I felt like time was cruelly snatched away from me. Time, it seemed, has just increased its speed ten times, and I wasn’t ready for it.

Even now, as I type away these last few words, I feel so betrayed. I still don’t want my dad to go, but I can’t do anything to stop it. Time has cheated me yet again. And it’s just not fair at all.

2005-08-03T20:55:00.000+08:00

Zo, how waz Zoobic?
(Cheezy, I know. I just can’t help it. :p)

My family went to Subic last weekend. My dad arrived last week from Sri Lanka and wanted to spend some time away from Metro Manila so we packed our bags and drove all the way to Subic. Besides staying in a hotel for a day, and eating all the seafoods I could get my hands on, I got to sit on a couch with a real tiger cub, saw a tiger eat a live chicken, and I even got bitten by one!
Yep. Tigers run amok in Subic. Not on the streets, though. They roam around freely in a place called Zoobic Zafari. In case you haven’t heard of the place yet, Zoobic Zafari is this wonderful place where animals roam around the property and where humans are free to interact with them (with the exception of those potentially dangerous animals like the reptiles, bears, and the full-grown tigers).
I got to pet ducks and baby ostriches, run after guinea foul, scratch the tummy of adorable little Boris the pot-bellied pig, and sit in a hut with a couple of huge goats. I also got to sit in our car as it drove around in the ostrich enclosure. The guide said normally they let people out of their vehicles to stand around with the giant birds, but it was mating season and well, you get the picture.
I also got to ride a jeep in the tiger enclosure with no less than five full-grown tigers. It was an amazing experience. One family on another jeep purchased a live chicken and fed it to a tiger. I saw the tiger grab at the chicken with its paws and watched as he started eating the chicken while its head and feet were still moving.
The highlight of my trip to Zoobic was when I got to pose for several pictures with a tiger cub. The first pictures were with a tiger cub near the entrance. My sister sat beside me on the couch and the trainer placed the cub on our laps, his front paws on my thigh, and his face dangerously close to mine.
The second set of pictures was with another equally adorable cub. I’m not sure what part of the zoo it was. I think it was their vet clinic. Anyway, this cute little cub was lounging on the hallway. I sat by his side and petted him. His fur was so soft. Ang likot pa nya. He couldn’t sit still and he even bit me on the knee. At first I was shocked that the tiger actually bit me, but then I realized it didn’t even sting. It only felt like a light scratch. The trainer said he was only playing, and when I found out it was alright, I continued playing with the tiger. He was so adorable I wanted to take him home and raise him like what Jasmine did with her Rajah. Sadly, I’m no Arabian princess and I don’t have the dough to get a tiger of my own (if it even is legal here in the Philippines to own a tiger as a pet).
I’ve been to Singapore Zoo’s Night Safari, and no offense to Singaporeans, but the Night Safari paled in comparison to Zoobic Zafari. For me, Zoobic Zafari captured the feeling and the essence of a real safari more than the Night Safari did. Sure, there were more animals in the Night Safari, but that is only because Zoobic Zafari has only been operational for more than a year, and only 40 percent of the whole zoo has been completed so far. The guide said that hopefully within the year, they could complete the rodent area, the savannah (where the animals from the African planes will stay), the crocodile area, and the elephant and camel rides. I’m sure when the Zoobic Zafari would be fully operational, it would attract a lot of people to the area, and finally give the Philippines a tourist spot that people from all over the world would be just thrilled to go to.

2005-07-27T21:49:00.000+08:00

This picture is from:
http://homepage3.nifty.com/kakitsuka/sketch/pictures/rose.jpg

A Single Rose

“Why did you choose Dad?” I can remember asking my mom that question. We were seated around the table after dinner, sharing all sorts of jokes and stories like we always do every mealtime. Often times, my mom would share stories of her childhood, and tales of the time when she was still dating my dad. Of course it was easy for us to just talk about my dad like that since he’s a seven-hour plane ride away from us.

“I don’t know,” my mom said. “He wasn’t the best looking. He wasn’t rich either,” my mom said with a laugh. “He was still in the military then, and I was a nurse at the base,” she paused. “But, your dad was certainly very kind, and very thoughtful.”

“Really, how so?” My Ate asked.
“Well, he didn’t give me any gifts. No chocolates for Valentine’s Day. No flowers whenever he visited me at our quarters. He didn’t even take me out on any fancy dinners.”
“So, how does that count as thoughtful? He was kuripot!” I said.
“There was this one gift, though,” she said. “It was a single rose.”
“Ah! So he did give you a gift,” I said.
“Yes, but you could tell he just picked that rose out of the garden since it didn’t have a long stem. It was just the flower and maybe an inch long stem. Besides, there were rose bushes growing just outside the soldiers’ quarters. So you could say he was kuripot.”
“And?” my younger sister urged my mom to continue her tale.
“You see, in the base, there are many more men than there are women. Your dad lived with several other men in the same quarters and he told me that most of the other guys were also eying this one rose. They were all waiting for it to bloom so that they can pick it and give it to whomever they want. They were even betting on who would get it first. Your dad, however, beat the other guys to it. He checked on it everyday, made sure it was still there and still in perfect shape, and the moment he saw that the rose was already in full bloom, he picked it and gave it to me,” she said. “Of course, after that, all the other guys in the quarters were pretty bummed they didn’t get the rose,” she told us with a small smile on her face. Even if she didn’t say anything, I could tell she missed my dad even more.

And that was when I understood. That single rose that my dad gave to my mom all those years ago was more than just a flower. It was a precious prize he had won for all his diligence and effort. It was, most of all, a testament of his love. I realized then that although my dad didn’t express his love through expensive gifts, lavish dinner dates, or bouquets and bouquets of flowers, he was able to show my mom just how much he loved her through his thoughtfulness. He was able to express his love even with just a single rose.

Happy 21st anniversary mommy and daddy, and happy 52nd birthday daddy. I love you both so much.

2005-07-23T23:41:00.000+08:00

Green Bird

I was watching Cowboy Bebop on Animax last Thursday and one scene towards the end of the episode took my breath away and sent shivers down my spine. It was when Spike Spiegel, the main protagonist, was pushed out of a window of a cathedral, breaking the stained glass into millions of pieces. As he was falling, he looks up at the different colored glass falling just above him, and a song suddenly plays. It was the song, Green Bird, and it was in Latin and English.

What was amazing about the whole scene was how dramatic everything looked. The song itself seemed to have no connection whatsoever with the scene. It was a sort of round song, and the voice that was singing it was very soft, and there was a chorus of soft, almost angelic voices and a single piano accompanying it. It was the kind of song you would imagine playing with puppies and little children dancing to it in a picturesque meadow. Instead, it was played as a severely wounded and bloody Spike was falling towards the ground in super slow motion. It was pretty ironic, and yet what made it work were the combination of beautiful animation and the circumstance of the whole scene.

Spike was fighting with his past comrade, Vicious (very creative names, don’t you think?), on a platform inside the cathedral. He shot Vicious, and Vicious slashed him with his sword. He was pushed off the platform and out of the round stained-glass window. The music plays, and as he was falling, he had a serene, almost dazed look on his face. Scenes of his past flashed before his eyes. He remembered past fights when Vicious were still friends and he remembered Julia, who is supposedly the love of his life (I don’t know. I haven’t seen the whole anime yet.) Then, an extreme close up of his eye was shown, wherein shards of glass were reflected as they slowly fell. Everything was happening so slowly, and yet the song that was playing was quick and playful. It totally set the mood of the scene and made the viewer feel the same dazed feeling that Spike had as he was falling.

The song, Green Bird, made the scene’s impact very powerful. I’m so amazed by it, I want to watch it again and again. I’ve already watched it twice, but it was just not enough. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one mesmerized by the beauty of that scene. There’s even a shrine dedicated to just that one scene in Cowboy Bebop. If you don’t believe me, check it out for yourself. That’s where I got all the amazing pictures. It’s at http://www.fukushuu.org/greenbird/ If you want to hear Green Bird, I’d be willing to send you my mp3 of it. It’s really an amazing scene. If you haven’t watched it, I suggest you find a way! It’s the fifth episode of Cowboy Bebop entitled The Ballad of Fallen Angels.

2005-07-16T15:36:00.000+08:00

Got this cute Snoopy picture at www.gasolinealleyantiques.com/

Flying Fever 2

It was only until I was eight that I got to ride on another plane. This time, it was a wide-bodied aircraft, a B747, bound for L.A. The excitement I felt then was overwhelming. I could remember it was pure torture to wait for two hours before we could board the plane. It even came to a point when I just sat down on the floor of the waiting room and stared blankly at the ceiling.
When it was finally boarding time, I was really happy. My sister and I literally bounced into the bridge-like thing (the term has escaped me at the moment) and into the huge aircraft. I could still remember the feeling of the cold air-conditioning system as it hit my face when I entered the aircraft. I remember fighting with my sister over the window seat, and ending up losing and sitting on the middle seat. But, oh was the seat so comfortable. It was totally different from the first plane I rode on. The first one was a bit cramped, but the second one was really heavenly.
Just when I was getting really comfortable, the plane started to taxi down the runway. Soon enough, the plane was preparing for take off. I dreaded the nauseous feeling I thought I was going to have. When the plane took off, I didn’t feel sick at all. Instead, an even better feeling overtook my senses. The rush of taking off was amplified. It was like gravity was desperately trying to pull the plane down but was unable to do so. It felt something like a roller coaster ride, but so much better.
When the plane reached cruising altitude, the feeling was entirely different. The atmosphere in the cabin was peaceful, and I felt almost as light as air. When I stood up just to know what it felt like, I was surprised with what I discovered. In a flying airplane, you can feel the floor of the cabin against the soles of your shoes, but you can’t feel anything below that. It’s like riding on Aladdin’s magic carpet. You’re stepping on it, but there’s nothing underneath it. It’s a totally different rush.
But in truth, I have to say the whole flight is actually uneventful, especially if you have to fly for more than half a day. The in-flight movies were useless. I was eight then and they were showing Jurassic Park on the big screen in the middle of the cabin. I was so frightened with the movie that I refused to wear the headset while I watched it.
And the food! Oh the food tasted like Styrofoam (not that I ever ate Styrofoam before) with a little salt. It was awful! The only thing I liked in the menu was the glass of Coke. I guess that’s what you get when you travel economy class (and when choose PAL as your carrier :p).
It only got exciting again when we were about to land. I felt that same rush again, but this time, it was coupled with the thrill of finally stepping onto foreign soil. I felt the weariness and the ache of sitting on my butt all those long hours vanish when we made our landing in L.A. It was also actually fun to watch the big bags and suitcases go round and round the carousel, and even pretty exciting to spot your own bags and chase after them. After that, we had a really fun vacation. We also went to San Diego and to San Francisco and to every child’s heaven, Disneyland. Obviously, the trip back to the Philippines paled in comparison to the trip to the US. Nevertheless, the thrill of flying was still there.

2005-07-06T00:30:00.001+08:00

Rub-a-dub-dub, My Schoolbag in a Tub

(It wasn’t actually a tub, but you get the picture)

I was in my senior year in high school and I just came home from another exhausting day at school. I was carrying my enormous bag on my back full of several heavy, super-sized books when I suddenly felt the urge to go to the comfort room and release some unwanted bodily fluids.

I literally ran towards the comfort room, bag still on my back, like a desperate old sea turtle making its way towards the seashore. I dumped my bag on a lidded drum of water beside the door, rushed inside, and locked the door. I was just starting to do my business when I was rudely interrupted by a splash outside the door. I stopped abruptly, pulled my undies up, and yanked the door open.

There are only two words to describe my reaction that afternoon: pure shock.

I watched my schoolbag, my heavy turtle shell, slowly sinking inside the drum of water. I could even remember that distinct sound of water displacing air inside my bag.
Blob.
Blob.
Blob.

I think it took me two more seconds to actually process that the drum’s lid was already on the floor, and my bag was making a nosedive towards the watery depths of the drum. I lunged forward and dove my hands inside to retrieve my bag. I was able to successfully pull it out, and I immediately opened it to rescue my stuff.

As shocked as I was, I could remember I felt oddly amused at the fact that there was a pool of water inside my bag and my books and other things were bathing in it. I just took comfort in the thought that the books would eventually dry, but my hopeful thoughts were soon yanked away from me when I realized that my precious scientific calculator was happily swimming inside the bag as well.

As I watched my calculator scuba dive in my bag, I could hear the distinct sound of a huge chunk of my allowance slowly sinking.

Blob.
Blob.
Blob.

2005-07-05T23:22:00.000+08:00

Bloody Writing

Writing doesn’t always come easy for me. In fact, writing can sometimes be a bloody, gut-spilling, heart-piercing, and throat-slicing experience. Starting any piece of writing alone can be one heck of a torture. Most of the time, it is very hard for me to think of things to write. I could spend hours, even days, just thinking of a perfect story, or a suitable subject for an essay. Thankfully, I have a lot of sources that I can exploit whenever I encounter such a problem.

For instance, TV shows, books, experiences, family and friends, and dreams all give me great ideas for writing. I look at TV shows and books I like and I try to find out just why I like them. I try to incorporate those elements in my writing. I also take a lot of ideas from my life experiences such as family problems, school trouble, and occasionally, love life (or lack thereof). Jokes and stories from my family and my friends are also full of good stuff for me to write about. I find that my dreams are also sources of some fascinating ideas. Since I love to sleep, I often have very vivid and interesting dreams. I’ve typed several of my dreams already but sadly, I haven’t finished any of them yet since I have a tendency to transform short stories into novels.

After coming up with an idea for writing, there are still some things that I just have to do in order for me to write effectively. For instance, if I absolutely have to write things like essays and reaction papers for school, I turn the TV on first, and then I look for a good show or movie to watch. I watch for about an hour before I attempt to write. If nothing is good on TV, I turn to our VCD and DVD collection. I just have to watch something interesting before I write. Watching gets my mind relaxed, and at the same time, it gives me a lot of inspiration (especially when I’m watching an anime with lots of gorgeous guys).

When it comes to the writing stage already, I need to either have the TV on, or have mp3s blaring from the computer speakers, or any member of my family present in the house. I cannot write when it is completely silent since I tend to doze off faster that way.

I also have to have something to drink or munch on before or during the writing process. I can’t write with an empty stomach.

I find that I write very effectively if I use a computer rather than pen and paper. I detest my handwriting and I find it a hassle to cross out, or use liquid paper every time I make a mistake. If it is absolutely necessary that whatever I’m writing should be handwritten, I type all my drafts first, and then handwrite the final paper afterwards.

When all my rituals are done, and when all my special writing conditions have been met, writing still doesn’t come easy for me. I still have a lot of hurdles to leap over or crawl under. This time, my greatest enemy is myself. I have to constantly fight against all my evil, anti-writing habits.

One of these habits is, as I’ve mentioned earlier, my tendency to start lots of stories and never finish them. I have a whole folder in my computer containing at least thirty, no, make that fifty, stories that are all incomplete. I never delete them. I just keep them stored in my hard drive in the hopes that I could someday continue them.
My other bad habits are, as I’ve also mentioned earlier, being unable to write that well handwritten, and having the tendency to take a long time to get motivated or inspired to write. Sometimes, it would take me until the very last minute before I finally start writing.
For me, my worst habit would have to be the fact that I have little confidence in my own work. I rarely like people reading whatever I write. From those fifty stories in my computer, only two have been read by people other than me, and my ate even read one of those behind my back. I guess the reason is I’m afraid of what other people would think. I’m afraid that they wouldn’t like what I write, and they would say awfully nasty things about it. Someday, I do hope to get over this fear. Until then, writing workshops would still be a nightmare for me.
Finally, when all the writing is done, and when the slit on my throat has dried up, I could honestly say that I feel a sense of pride in myself. Even if I encountered lots of trouble along the way, I was able to get through them and finish my work. Just the fact that I was able to accomplish something as complex as writing makes all those lost pints of blood well worth the effort.

2005-06-30T22:33:00.000+08:00

I got this from www.utahrockhounds.com/. ../flat_tire.gif. Although not directly related to my post, I just thought it would make things a little more interesting.

The Flat Tire Government

“The Philippines could be compared to a car. If one of the tires of the car is flat, we need to replace it with our spare tire. But what if our spare tire is also flat? We can’t use the car if there are only three good tires so we have to go to a shop to buy a new tire.”

This was more or less what my classmate in Social Science 2 (aka the study of the Dead White Male Philosophers or DwhiMPs) answered the other day when our prof asked us if we would we allow VP Noli De Castro to take PGMA’s place if ever she would resign. Pretty philosophical answer if you ask me. But there was something bugging me about his statement so I told my seatmate and dear friend April, “Why would you bring a flat spare tire? Eh di ang tanga mo naman.”

Thanks to April (who is, by far, the more outspoken of the two of us), my concern was shared to the class, and I learned that what I said actually made a lot of sense.

If our government is filled with flat tires, then we have no one to blame but ourselves. We put those flat tires into office, didn’t we? So if De Castro is a flat tire then we don’t have a choice. By constitution, if PGMA resigns, he will take her place. We just have to accept that. We can’t always go against the constitution. If we always result to bending the laws, then they would be rendered useless, and there won’t be any real order in our society anymore.

We also can’t keep on going into revolutions. We can’t always have rallies in order to oust a leader. The problem with our country is that every time we face a crisis in our economy or every time we are dissatisfied with our leader, we always want that leader removed from his or her position. We don’t stop and think of other ways to resolve the problem anymore. If this keeps up, we might even have an EDSA 30 or 40 in the future, and that is certainly not a good thing if you ask me.

In the end all our problems with the government can all be traced to the fundamental problem of democracy, as what my prof said. The fundamental problem of democracy is that the majority gets to choose our leaders, and sadly, the majority of Filipinos are easily swayed by the popularity of artistas and the promise of a little money in exchange for their votes. We can’t change the fact that sometimes (or maybe most of the time?) the majority chooses the wrong leaders for our country. All we can do is hope and pray that someday the Filipino people would be wise enough to choose the right leaders, the best tires for our Philippine SUV. Until then, we just have to go on driving our country with flat tires. After all, we have been doing that for the past several decades. What are a few decades more?

2005-06-26T23:45:00.000+08:00

Hehehe... I made this when I was 13 when I still haven't discovered the wonders of Adobe Photoshop (not like I have already). This is supposed to be a self portrait. Just to let you know, I have smaller, dark brown eyes.

Now, for a more recent self portrait, I made this little story. This actually happened, by the way.

Alien Invasion
The other night while watching the movie, Independence Day, my nine-year-old sister Nadine, asked me what one thing I would take with me if we ever needed to evacuate the city because of an alien invasion.
I immediately answered, “Of course I’d bring Caitlin.” Cait is my youngest sister who was sick at that time.
“You can’t bring Cait. She’s heavy,” Nadine told me. “Mommy and Daddy would bring her. Choose something else.”
“She’d probably bring her PSP, her cell phone, and if she could, she’d bring the PC as well,” my mom chirped in.
“I would bring those if I could bring more than one thing,” I began, “but since I couldn’t, I would just bring the car. That way we could escape from the aliens quicker.”
“But Ate Cheska would bring the car, not you. She’s a better driver. What would you bring?” She asked again.
I was stumped. Okay, so I’m not a good driver, but I try. “Alright, how about all my savings, then? I could use the money to buy us emergency supplies and food. That way if we got stuck in some cave or rundown building, we would survive,” I explained.
“What food and supplies would you buy?” she asked.
I paused to think of all the things we might need. “A complete first-aid kit, toiletries, flashlight with batteries, canned goods, loaves of bread, peanut butter and jam, crackers, bottles of mineral water, and all the 2-liter Cokes I can carry,” I replied.
“But, what if the stores were closed, or ruined? You can’t buy anything,” she pushed on. She seemed to really want to give me a hard time thinking of something to bring and I was growing irritated.
“Then I’d just bring my body pillow, so I can sleep soundly wherever we go.”
“You’d carry the body pillow anywhere we go? But that’s too big, and it’ll get dirty.”
I frowned. I could usually tolerate her. The eight-year age gap between us allowed me enough wisdom and patience to do so. But this time, it felt like my wisdom and patience deserted me. I really couldn’t think of anything else to say, and I missed a lot of important dialog in the movie already.
With a sigh of defeat, I said, “Fine. I’d just bring you then.”
“Me? Why me?” she asked, and from the one-sided smile on her face, I could tell she was rather pleased.
I gave her a smug smile and said, “So that if the aliens find us, I’d give you to them in exchange for my freedom.”
The look of chagrin on her face was gratifying. “You’re so mean!” She accused me.
I couldn’t help but laugh at her annoyance. “Yeah, yeah,” I said, dismissing her. “Now keep quiet so we could watch the movie in peace,” I told her.
She knew it was just a joke, and soon enough she sat back down and watched the movie in silence.
I sighed in relief. Score one for the older sister. The interrogation was over and done with. The alien invasion finally came to an end.

2005-06-21T22:02:00.000+08:00

Hehehe... a friend e-mailed this funny little picture to me. Want low-cost flying? Consider this new offer. It's really cheap. :)

This picture also gave me an idea for a post. I started this post the other night at around 10 pm and I kept on writing until I realized it was already 2 am. I made it really, really long. So, not wanting to waste any of my writing, I've decided to just post them on monthly installments. Well, here's the first one.

Flying Fever 1

I remember when I was a child that every time I watched the animated movie Peter Pan, I became so envious of Peter, Wendy, and her brothers because they could fly. I wanted to fly too! But, as my mom so carefully explained to me, I’d need pixie dust to fly and there was certainly no way we could get any. I knew then that my dream to fly like them was never going to come true. Nevertheless, I still held on to my dream of someday being able to fly. It was because of that dream that I never forgot the feeling of riding on an airplane for the first time.

It was a small plane that my dad rented to take us to Iba, Zambalez. He pulled a few strings to get us a considerable discount on the airfare. It was summer vacation and we decided to spend it living in our ancestral home in Iba. However, some of the roads were impassable because of the lahar that time so my parents decided to just travel by air.

I was probably five or six at that time so I couldn’t exactly remember all the details. But, I could remember the feeling of sitting in that small plane, waiting anxiously for it to take off. When it did take off, I could feel my guts swirling wildly inside me. I really thought I was going to be sick. It was a miracle I didn’t puke right then and there.

After take off, we were cruising peacefully up in the air, and it was then that I finally got to appreciate the plane ride. The people and their livestock looked like different colored specks scattered on the green and brown quilt of fishponds and rice fields below. As we got closer to our destination, we caught sight of the coastline and the white sand was a beautiful contrast to the infinite expanse of blue ocean. The scenery was absolutely amazing.

From then on, I knew I had it bad. I had contracted the Flying Fever. It was then that I made the decision to someday become a pilot, just like my dad. I wanted to ride a plane again and again and again. I realized I loved the rush that flying gave me. I imagined that that feeling was probably what Peter Pan, Wendy, John, and Michael felt every time they flew. Turns out, I really didn’t need pixie dust to fly. I just needed an airplane to make my wildest dream come true.

2005-06-19T16:41:00.000+08:00

This is a funny news article I found at www.davesdaily.com. The title of the article alone is really eye-catching.

Italian Police Seeks Huge Breasted Woman

The 46-year-old woman, who has been identified only by her initials AM, slipped out of her hospital bed following the surgery and disappeared.
Doctors at the clinic in Rome say that apart from the unpaid bill they are also concerned for her health as she requires close monitoring following the surgery.
Dr Jamal Salhi said: "She told me that she needed the surgery because she worked in a hostess bar and that clients preferred big chested women.
"She went from a size four to a size eight which is the largest you can get in Italy. When she came to my surgery she said: "I want the biggest chest possible."
"'It has since emerged that she gave false information when she arrived at the clinic and apart from running off without paying, as with any surgery she needs to be monitored afterwards."
Dr Salhi then revealed it was not the first time he had been the victim of a fraudster. He said: "This has happened to me several times before, the most recent was last December.
"A man had a penis enlargement and disappeared without paying. We still have to be paid for that operation."
Police spokesman Adriano Lauro said: "We have issued a warrant for the woman's arrest and also one for her husband following the complaint from the clinic."

2005-06-18T23:47:00.000+08:00

My original sketch of Amon from Witch Hunter Robin. This is my most recent sketch (except for those little sketches I make on my notebooks when I'm really bored at school.)

2005-06-18T23:44:00.000+08:00

I turned my sketch of Amon (Witch Hunter Robin) black and white so that it'd be more "at home" in my blog.