Many might want to think that 2008 is a very lucky year. The numbers, in some way, speak for itself - there is an eight, which is a symbol for luck, thanks to its infinite looks. There are also two zeros which, well, look like a fallen eight, which is still an eight whichever way you look at it.
Filipinos, being strong believers in fate, are also strong believers in luck - or, at least, things that would make them lucky. I think we've tried everything from charms to feng shui to absurd paranoia, and constant features at the end of each year on either psychic predictions or lucky tools have become part of what we call the new year.
Obviously I am also bitten by the bug - of course, I'm just your average mainstream fellow, unlike most of my friends who specialize in something. There's something in the way I argue about me being born in the year of the dragon even if everybody else insist I am a snake (because I was born on the fringes of 1989, which technically falls under the former). The newspapers have always said that the coming year is a lucky one for people like me, because of this and because of that, but so far, well...
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12/31/2007
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12/26/2007
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It's been twenty minutes after I clicked on "new post" and I haven't written anything. In fact, the preparations for tomorrow's Hong Kong trip have already gotten in the way, and I have failed inspiration. Nothing's coming out.
I remember complaining about idleness frequently during past term breaks. I guess it comes with coming of age - not to say I have, but maturity is something nobody can measure, or understand for that matter - but idle time used to mean badly-triggered daydreams, and now it rarely happens. I came here knowing I'm supposed to write something about this, and I still couldn't. My mind can't get around to triggering a single image.
Has anyone wondered about what the word fantasy actually means? If you've been living under a rock, you wouldn't know that the fantasy films have appeared on the cinemas again, in yet another contest for who gets the most tickets sold. It might mean something else for other people, though - Joyce Jimenez wasn't called "pantasya ng bayan" for nothing. Suddenly, for the conservative among us, fantasy has taken on a negative meaning.
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I remember complaining about idleness frequently during past term breaks. I guess it comes with coming of age - not to say I have, but maturity is something nobody can measure, or understand for that matter - but idle time used to mean badly-triggered daydreams, and now it rarely happens. I came here knowing I'm supposed to write something about this, and I still couldn't. My mind can't get around to triggering a single image.
Has anyone wondered about what the word fantasy actually means? If you've been living under a rock, you wouldn't know that the fantasy films have appeared on the cinemas again, in yet another contest for who gets the most tickets sold. It might mean something else for other people, though - Joyce Jimenez wasn't called "pantasya ng bayan" for nothing. Suddenly, for the conservative among us, fantasy has taken on a negative meaning.
Read more »
12/25/2007
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"Hi Niko!" she started off. "It's two-and-a-half hours before twelve at hindi pa [rin] ako nakakakain ng puto bumbong. Anyway, merry christmas!"
That's when I remembered. That's how Piyar's little struggle for this season went about. It was one ordinary night, with me cramming something in front of the PC, and eventually taking notice of her status message on YM. That's how most of my conversations start anyway - me taking notice of everyone's status messages, unless the person in question is someone I don't usually talk to, or would rather not because of the stories that could stem from it.
Apparently she hasn't had any puto bumbong her entire life. And to think that, at the back of my head, she could've possibly had some already.
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That's when I remembered. That's how Piyar's little struggle for this season went about. It was one ordinary night, with me cramming something in front of the PC, and eventually taking notice of her status message on YM. That's how most of my conversations start anyway - me taking notice of everyone's status messages, unless the person in question is someone I don't usually talk to, or would rather not because of the stories that could stem from it.
Apparently she hasn't had any puto bumbong her entire life. And to think that, at the back of my head, she could've possibly had some already.
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12/24/2007
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It's the annual who-knows-me-and-who-doesn't entry!
I did this last year - I sent seventy-something people the same Christmas greeting and waited for their replies. As I mentioned yesterday, I was supposed to do this the day before, thanks to mobile phone operators wanting more money, but only got around to do it today, because Ella - the one in Cyprus - sent me a holiday greeting. Too bad I couldn't reply back to an international number.
From Zay Abjelina: Merry Christmas! Who's this please? This early I had a casualty. First text message, and she does not know my number?
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I did this last year - I sent seventy-something people the same Christmas greeting and waited for their replies. As I mentioned yesterday, I was supposed to do this the day before, thanks to mobile phone operators wanting more money, but only got around to do it today, because Ella - the one in Cyprus - sent me a holiday greeting. Too bad I couldn't reply back to an international number.
From Zay Abjelina: Merry Christmas! Who's this please? This early I had a casualty. First text message, and she does not know my number?
Read more »
12/23/2007
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"Call me a scrooge," I told Jan, "but Christmas is pointless. All but the holiday."
Maybe it was too much when I said it, because I don't really have an exasperation for the season. Probably it's the fact that Christmas only comes once a year, and whatever happens on the last one is almost forgotten when the countdown for the next one rolls in. There's the things that we already know - the cold weather, the shopping rush, the karaoke at the parties, the complaints with lovers noodling during the morning masses. And then there's the things that we don't know - the gifts we will get, the stories we'll end up telling, the food we'll eat, the teasing from extremely eager relatives.
We're long finished with our shopping. I think we've done it by November. When we went to ATC to chill out a few weeks ago, though, we encountered a traffic jam from the point where Daang Hari expands from two lanes to four until the very end. I was anticipating getting to the parking lot in around ten minutes; in reality, we spent almost half an hour. In jest, I blurted out: "bakit pa kasi nauso ang Pasko?" I quickly realized the world is cruel to me - everybody else in the car was, to say the least, offended.
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Maybe it was too much when I said it, because I don't really have an exasperation for the season. Probably it's the fact that Christmas only comes once a year, and whatever happens on the last one is almost forgotten when the countdown for the next one rolls in. There's the things that we already know - the cold weather, the shopping rush, the karaoke at the parties, the complaints with lovers noodling during the morning masses. And then there's the things that we don't know - the gifts we will get, the stories we'll end up telling, the food we'll eat, the teasing from extremely eager relatives.
We're long finished with our shopping. I think we've done it by November. When we went to ATC to chill out a few weeks ago, though, we encountered a traffic jam from the point where Daang Hari expands from two lanes to four until the very end. I was anticipating getting to the parking lot in around ten minutes; in reality, we spent almost half an hour. In jest, I blurted out: "bakit pa kasi nauso ang Pasko?" I quickly realized the world is cruel to me - everybody else in the car was, to say the least, offended.
Read more »
12/22/2007
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If there's one thing that became clearer to me when I last visited the Hit FM studios, it's the fact that, if you're lucky enough, or in the right position to be so, you will know someone who lives in Merville. Kelly put it differently, actually - "everybody lives in Merville," she said. For one, she lives there, much to my surprise - I thought only my uncle lives there. In the past two years I found out that Mon does, and Toni does, and probably Y2K does, and probably Veia does, and probably Sir Mariano does, too!
The world shrinks when you find something in common with the people you encounter with. Suddenly the distance you initially encounter shrinks to nothing once you know where to go and what to do with it. Groups are formed, cliques are formed, stereotypes are formed - all because of that one thing in common. Wonder no more as to why I'm stereotyped as, well, such.
You can call Merville a small community, even if it really takes long to get yourself around. I once walked from the second gate to my uncle's residence - from one side of the subdivision to the other. Despite that, though, you'd never know who knows who - my uncle knows my thesis adviser, and my cousins know my closest friend who's into psychology. Much like most communities, hopefully, people find something that would eventually, ideally, foster cooperation and closeness among them. I think it's because of that something in common - in the case of a village, as the cool folks put it, it's either the address, the gross income, or something else.
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The world shrinks when you find something in common with the people you encounter with. Suddenly the distance you initially encounter shrinks to nothing once you know where to go and what to do with it. Groups are formed, cliques are formed, stereotypes are formed - all because of that one thing in common. Wonder no more as to why I'm stereotyped as, well, such.
You can call Merville a small community, even if it really takes long to get yourself around. I once walked from the second gate to my uncle's residence - from one side of the subdivision to the other. Despite that, though, you'd never know who knows who - my uncle knows my thesis adviser, and my cousins know my closest friend who's into psychology. Much like most communities, hopefully, people find something that would eventually, ideally, foster cooperation and closeness among them. I think it's because of that something in common - in the case of a village, as the cool folks put it, it's either the address, the gross income, or something else.
Read more »
12/21/2007
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Suddenly I have to leave the computer in twenty minutes. Oh, circumstance can lead to murder, can't it? I am actually forcing myself to write something now.
During the time when we were cramming our journalism class final paper, some were actually confident that I would breeze through it, not because I did my research properly (because I swear to the heavens I didn't) but because I write well. In my three years of blogging or so, I have learned that how you write will not matter in the end - it's in what you write about. Thus, there are those times when I write something and feel so good about it, and other times when I write something that's got perfect grammar but no sense.
Two days ago I was chatting with Piyar when I told her, in all honesty, that I can't think of anything to write about. Better yet, I spend my time doing errands - buying bread for breakfast, for example - thinking of what to write about and, eventually, what to write about it. The term ended with me having three ideas, and now I haven't written anything about those three. The one I've long wanted to write about - triggered by the fact that everybody lives in Merville - is lost in space.
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During the time when we were cramming our journalism class final paper, some were actually confident that I would breeze through it, not because I did my research properly (because I swear to the heavens I didn't) but because I write well. In my three years of blogging or so, I have learned that how you write will not matter in the end - it's in what you write about. Thus, there are those times when I write something and feel so good about it, and other times when I write something that's got perfect grammar but no sense.
Two days ago I was chatting with Piyar when I told her, in all honesty, that I can't think of anything to write about. Better yet, I spend my time doing errands - buying bread for breakfast, for example - thinking of what to write about and, eventually, what to write about it. The term ended with me having three ideas, and now I haven't written anything about those three. The one I've long wanted to write about - triggered by the fact that everybody lives in Merville - is lost in space.
Read more »
12/20/2007
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Let it be said, that the very point of this entry is to say something I have most probably said so many times already: we're a very confused bunch. Yesterday we want things to stop, as it's becoming too much for us to handle. Today we want things to roll, as the boredom that follows is becoming too much for us to handle. So what, really?
It's been two days since we got our course cards and, yes, I shall admit, I am becoming very bored. At least it isn't as much as the term breaks previous to this one - I spend my mornings mopping the floor of the entire house, and taking a bath afterwards. My mom's friend (surprisingly) gave me a copy of the book Misunderstimated, an account on George W. Bush's adventures, so to speak, in dealing with Iraq and John Kerry. Four days later, I'm already two-thirds into the entire book, trying to read as less as possible for fear that I'd finish it early and be bored all over again.
At least that book got my mind active. I just finished journalism class with a 4.0 - a surprise for me, because I was expecting a 2.5, but not for everyone, who's always seen me recite. (If it helps, the only other person who recites as often as me, Misha, got a 3.5 in her card.) My mind still reels of political issues, and now that I've already detected a conservative bias on the book - a funny thing since I place myself on the center-left - I've been hooked. Laughing, even, at the way it is written. It feels like continuity for next term, since I am going to spend another term with Miss Bacalla, probably to the relief of the rest, doing investigative journalism.
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It's been two days since we got our course cards and, yes, I shall admit, I am becoming very bored. At least it isn't as much as the term breaks previous to this one - I spend my mornings mopping the floor of the entire house, and taking a bath afterwards. My mom's friend (surprisingly) gave me a copy of the book Misunderstimated, an account on George W. Bush's adventures, so to speak, in dealing with Iraq and John Kerry. Four days later, I'm already two-thirds into the entire book, trying to read as less as possible for fear that I'd finish it early and be bored all over again.
At least that book got my mind active. I just finished journalism class with a 4.0 - a surprise for me, because I was expecting a 2.5, but not for everyone, who's always seen me recite. (If it helps, the only other person who recites as often as me, Misha, got a 3.5 in her card.) My mind still reels of political issues, and now that I've already detected a conservative bias on the book - a funny thing since I place myself on the center-left - I've been hooked. Laughing, even, at the way it is written. It feels like continuity for next term, since I am going to spend another term with Miss Bacalla, probably to the relief of the rest, doing investigative journalism.
Read more »
12/18/2007
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After my group found out that twelve days of sort-of cramming our thesis proposal - which isn't technically true, since that's all the time we had - we were so ecstatic we couldn't contain ourselves. Well, actually we did - machismo pride, maybe, a concept we've been playing with for our proposed feature. And besides, we didn't really do it like Naomi, who got approved earlier but did it after we did.
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12/14/2007
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He's tired of going after the rich girls. He doesn't even know why he goes after them. Why would they spend so much on a dog collar, or maybe a single fingernail, he doesn't have an idea. But he knows he will have to rely on them at one point. I, on the other hand, don't know why he turned to me.
They call him the boy who never got anything. He's well-provided, though - he's just naïve with the ways of the world. He was asking me about all those people he saw, and why they always seem to shun him, for some particular reason. I didn't really have an answer, but entertained him nonetheless. I figured he needed it more than anyone else.
One day he went to me. He says there's another one he's seen.
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They call him the boy who never got anything. He's well-provided, though - he's just naïve with the ways of the world. He was asking me about all those people he saw, and why they always seem to shun him, for some particular reason. I didn't really have an answer, but entertained him nonetheless. I figured he needed it more than anyone else.
One day he went to me. He says there's another one he's seen.
Read more »
12/13/2007
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Has anyone noticed that all analog clocks and watches in television advertisements are set to somewhere near ten minutes past ten? They say that the position of the arms make the clock look like a smiling face, with the numbers eleven and one acting as the eyes. It's some subtle way of conveying happiness - not in-your-face, not subtle even. Maybe subliminal.
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12/12/2007
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Can I finally say finally?
I have been oversleeping lately. For one part it's a surprise, since it happens despite my alarm clock constantly playing Positivity, a throaty growl on the verge of coercing me to wake up. On another it isn't, since I have been losing sleep more frequently the past few weeks than the rest of my life combined.
Yet it feels very, very weird. There's this stigma I exude already - people are expecting me to be awake very early, and rightfully so, because I have always been awake early. Sleeping patterns change, however, and now the weekends are angry at me because I spend less time with them, preferring the bed for any occasion. It's either my phone bill rises, or my energy does. I don't know.
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I have been oversleeping lately. For one part it's a surprise, since it happens despite my alarm clock constantly playing Positivity, a throaty growl on the verge of coercing me to wake up. On another it isn't, since I have been losing sleep more frequently the past few weeks than the rest of my life combined.
Yet it feels very, very weird. There's this stigma I exude already - people are expecting me to be awake very early, and rightfully so, because I have always been awake early. Sleeping patterns change, however, and now the weekends are angry at me because I spend less time with them, preferring the bed for any occasion. It's either my phone bill rises, or my energy does. I don't know.
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12/10/2007
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You can just imagine our slight frustration - Jason, Cuyeg and I - the moment we finally finished our thesis proposal. Seriously. Frustration. All after Misha told Jason - online, since I was logged in - that Nadia's proposal was somewhere along fifty-odd pages.
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12/06/2007
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Nobody called this week hell week until last night, or early this morning.
But the inevitable has happened. I have stayed awake until 04.00 last Wednesday to finish the paperwork for advanced radio production class (which we never submitted anyway) and slept that afternoon four four extra hours. Last night I was awake until 02.00 finishing a screenplay half-inspired by my solo Quezon City trip last Tuesday.
Yes, I am supposed to be fatigued and all, but as the folks at my morning show put it, I am a mushroom, appearing just about everywhere. Luckily for me I have gotten over three final requirements and am given more time to work on our thesis proposal and my final paper for journalism class. But this means I show up in the most unusual of places - or maybe I have lost my sense of time. I got home at 21.00 today, after capturing what transpired from my IPER trip, and tomorrow I'm finally getting an interview for that darned paper - well, you can call me a free loader now, but Nadia opened her doors.
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But the inevitable has happened. I have stayed awake until 04.00 last Wednesday to finish the paperwork for advanced radio production class (which we never submitted anyway) and slept that afternoon four four extra hours. Last night I was awake until 02.00 finishing a screenplay half-inspired by my solo Quezon City trip last Tuesday.
Yes, I am supposed to be fatigued and all, but as the folks at my morning show put it, I am a mushroom, appearing just about everywhere. Luckily for me I have gotten over three final requirements and am given more time to work on our thesis proposal and my final paper for journalism class. But this means I show up in the most unusual of places - or maybe I have lost my sense of time. I got home at 21.00 today, after capturing what transpired from my IPER trip, and tomorrow I'm finally getting an interview for that darned paper - well, you can call me a free loader now, but Nadia opened her doors.
Read more »
12/01/2007
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As word of a curfew started to go around, I was at McDonald's buying fries. It is a long line, as it has always been every weekday, and in my case, weeknight. I'm also running out of money since I've spent a particular lot that day, basically on a shirt I'm not willing to buy, but am required to.
Three large fries to get us through the journey. I attended someone's debut - someone I don't even know, nor my parents. Her father is a high school friend of theirs, though, and when the family came back from the States to hold a characteristically-Filipino debut, I was volunteered to be one of the eighteen treasures. As if I had something to say about the girl they call KD. We're obviously not very close, despite the host's insistence.
Back to McDonald's, though, and my phone, which has all of a sudden refused to make a sound whenever a text message comes in, has received a phone call from my mom. I'm to cross the road, bringing three large fries to get us through the journey, from Manila to Quezon City. As I left the counter, clumsily holding six books, a portfolio and take-out, there was this girl surrounded by around three or four guys. Her face, I remember very well - sort-of Chinese features, glasses, and to be honest, as tall as me. And then it hit me.
Read more »
Three large fries to get us through the journey. I attended someone's debut - someone I don't even know, nor my parents. Her father is a high school friend of theirs, though, and when the family came back from the States to hold a characteristically-Filipino debut, I was volunteered to be one of the eighteen treasures. As if I had something to say about the girl they call KD. We're obviously not very close, despite the host's insistence.
Back to McDonald's, though, and my phone, which has all of a sudden refused to make a sound whenever a text message comes in, has received a phone call from my mom. I'm to cross the road, bringing three large fries to get us through the journey, from Manila to Quezon City. As I left the counter, clumsily holding six books, a portfolio and take-out, there was this girl surrounded by around three or four guys. Her face, I remember very well - sort-of Chinese features, glasses, and to be honest, as tall as me. And then it hit me.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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