conqueror, not
Thanks to Paul, I got wind of this website that will allow you to keep track of the places in the Philippines that you’ve visited.
My grade? D for Disgusting.
My Lakbayan grade is D!
How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan! Created by Eugene Villar.
Man, I need to travel more. I’ve never been to any place in Visayas and Mindanao. Ugh.
I only got to go outside Luzon in grade school and high school, when my family and I spent about three summers in Malaysia where my dad used to work, and a few days in Singapore.
What I got out of those travels except for hundreds of pictures that show me as a fat and grumpy teenager:
- I learned a little Bahasa (Malaysian languange) from hotels and airports. Like, “pintu” is “door,” and “gula” is “sugar.” “Selamat” means “welcome.” I think.
- I fell in love with F.R.I.E.N.D.S., the TV show. To this day, I watch at least five episodes every weekend on DVD.
- I wrote (childish) fiction. But I have no idea where the notebooks I wrote them in are now.
Looking back, I wish I had been more open-minded and adventurous. I mean, I didn’t even go into the snake house at one of the zoos we visited, I preferred to stay inside malls and hotels, and I hardly looked out the window while riding the cable car to Sentosa in Singapore because I was too busy eating pizza. No wonder I got so fat.
who’s your daddy?
Damn I wish I was two years old.
According to reports, Brad and Angelina may adopt a new baby–from the Philippines!
The duo, who both personify hotness, reportedly flew here last week to look around for the latest addition to their multi-racial family. A spokesperson for the couple, however, reportedly refused to comment.
One very, very lucky Filipino kid might join the next family portrait.
(Click here or the picture for Chuvaness’ post showing more Jolie-Pitt family pictures)
offbeat
I would like to be Zooey Deschanel kthnxbye.
No, seriously. I’ve always loved She & Him, particularly their playful “Why Do You Let Me Stay Here,” but I only saw the video today.
I love how badly-made it is. Zooey didn’t even attempt to lip-synch well; it’s like the producers just dressed her up in different outfits and told her to do her thing, which is basically to look effortlessly cute. M. Ward, meanwhile, appeared like he was given specific instructions to look like he doesn’t give a damn about what’s happening around him. I love his deadpan expression!
Unfortunately, unlike Zooey, I can’t play any musical instrument. Not for lack of trying, though. To expound:
- When I was about six, a friend of my uncle volunteered to teach me how to play the piano. I managed to learn “Oh Holy Night” and a few other Christmas songs, and I was made to believe that I was musically gifted. Then one day he just disappeared. Whenever I think of him, Jose Mari Chan’s face comes to mind.
- When I was seven or eight my parents got me professional piano lessons. But my teacher didn’t have the soothing voice of my uncle’s friend, so I refused to cooperate. The relationship ended on a bad note, with her saying that I have very stiff hands. I hated her all the more for it.
- Elementary was all about imitating the Spice Girls with my four other friends. High school was about winning in singing competitions, so I never considered trying to learn to play any instrument during these periods, which we shall collectively call as my “pop phase.”
- When I reached college I begged my dad to buy me a guitar. He bought an acoustic guitar for P4,000, but I gave up on it after a few months. The only songs I learned to play–and I use the phrase “learned to play” very, very loosely–were Nirvana’s “About a Girl” and “Come as You Are,” and Pearl Jam’s “Last Kiss.”
5. Last year I used to fool around with the drums and guitars of a friend who’s in two bands, the key word here being “fool.” I would freeze whenever he or his equally musically-inclined brother entered the room.
not the best
How do I describe this night? Let’s just say there was a lot of glaring, a little crying, and–in fairness–zero shouting. It was mostly my fault, so I offered ice cream and chocolates and they did not fail me. I thank you, sugar deities.
Like I said in my previous blog entry, there’s a lot of things I need to sort out within myself, so probably for the first time in my life I’m actually going to use the Holy Week to reflect. See, Holy Weeks for me usually mean bumming in general and DVD marathons in particular, but this time I’m determined to camp out on the front porch (translation: sit on the rocking chair there), stare out into space, and think. I’m not sure what good that will do me since I’m impulsive and spontaneous, but hey, at least I tried.
I would’ve wanted to go to the beach–to spread a blanket over the sand at night and gaze at the stars, but such things are next to impossible when you’re in the media. Hence, my dreams of week-long beach-going have been reduced to plans of after-work rocking-chair-sitting. I constantly try not to pity myself.
clouded
I’ve been feeling somewhat melancholic lately, partly due to self-created dilemmas (“It’s you against you,” as one very good friend pointed out) and partly due to health problems besetting some people important to me.
Someone whom I love very, very dearly might be dying. I don’t want to put in specifics because the situation has not been made known to some people who might stumble upon this blog, but suffice it to say that there’s not much we can do anymore except hope for a miracle.
And then a few hours ago I learned that one of my best friends is confined in a hospital, where the friend is set to undergo a series of examinations. I’m itching to go there and visit, but I can’t as of the moment, so right now I’m just hoping my friend wouldn’t have to stay there all throughout Holy Week.
Right now my mind is wrapped around the same thought that kept on repeating itself in my head during my grandfather’s wake nearly two months ago–that some people, unfortunately, get what they don’t deserve.
I’m aware of how cynical this sounds, but sometimes it just doesn’t pay to be good. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I’ll go around screwing everyone’s lives– I’m just more aware now that nobody’s spared from misfortune, no matter how much you tried to avoid being a bitch or an asshole.
