So, what the heck does Sweet Soul Revue mean?
It's the twenty-ninth day of the second month of the year, which, as everybody knows, comes by only when the Olympics are going to be held in a particular year. Up until this afternoon, however, today was just a Friday - with me not having classes, usually spending seven hours in front of the computer while tending to house chores - until Friday finally dawned on the UNLV campus.
"Oh yeah, happy leap year!" Raisa went.
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2/29/2008
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2/27/2008
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"Well, not really," I told Denise. "But you know the feeling when you should've?"
"Well," she answered. "If it's meant to happen, it will. You'll just feel it. You'll know when the time is right."
Yesterday somehow felt that way. As I managed to dodge doubts about my most sincere intentions, in the middle of trying to keep up with expectations and appearances, it suddenly struck me. Well, I thought, now that I'm in the middle of it, I might as well go to the end. But, as Denise and I somehow agreed on, you'll just feel when the right time comes. I could've actually forced myself to believe that it is the right time.
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"Well," she answered. "If it's meant to happen, it will. You'll just feel it. You'll know when the time is right."
Yesterday somehow felt that way. As I managed to dodge doubts about my most sincere intentions, in the middle of trying to keep up with expectations and appearances, it suddenly struck me. Well, I thought, now that I'm in the middle of it, I might as well go to the end. But, as Denise and I somehow agreed on, you'll just feel when the right time comes. I could've actually forced myself to believe that it is the right time.
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2/22/2008
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"Relax," Kelly said, as Jaiin and I started walking around the lobby. Our impulsiveness led to us becoming guests on the show, and as most of the Kellybiters know, the station won't let any visitors in by the time her show starts. It'd be complicated if I explain it here, but back then we never really knew why they did that, or why we were there in the first place.
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2/17/2008
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You are in an elegantly-decorated church. Despite the wedding going on, you walk closer and closer to the altar, not mindful of the guests, of the priest, of the to-be-married couple, and of proper decorum.
You look around you, and you see the white walls are adorned with white cloth. It looks like a tent, but well, if that's what the couple wants, that's what the couple gets. It's possibly their biggest, and most important, night yet.
You turn your attention to the priest, as he speaks. What he says escapes you, but you know what's coming next.
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You look around you, and you see the white walls are adorned with white cloth. It looks like a tent, but well, if that's what the couple wants, that's what the couple gets. It's possibly their biggest, and most important, night yet.
You turn your attention to the priest, as he speaks. What he says escapes you, but you know what's coming next.
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2/15/2008
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For the past week, I thought I was safe from everything that makes the last day of the second week of the second month of the year annoying as crap. The closest I probably got was seeing Edsel rehearse that ubiquitous Dashboard Confessional song, for one of those who paid them earlier to serenade someone.
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2/13/2008
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She first comes in the room, and you barely notice her. You're probably too busy doing something else, remembering a requirement too late for comfort, and you're probably cramming it. In the middle of chattering students and idle patience, you smell a different whiff of perfume. You try to find where that comes from. You turn to your left, and realize that the seat is no longer empty. Another new face has taken its place.
She approaches you. Oh yes, she approaches you! You've been entranced for quite a while, but as with everything, you never really gave it much thought. You probably thought it will only last one term, maybe less, and it will go poof like genies in bottles. Yet, this is the moment you've always waited for. As she asks you the usual school stuff, you find yourself inspecting every bit of her, even if it's against your very beliefs. But you couldn't help it, and as things progress, you're taking quick, slight peeks at her. As if you weren't supposed to do so, because you need eye contact to make good conversations. Her eyes - yes, her eyes. They caught you by surprise.
She talks to your friends, and for some reason, she seems closer to then, You wonder why. You basically have the same interests, and yet she never really talks to you - at least the sustained ones that make someone seem like your average guy next door. You start thinking about yourself. There must be something that you can do about it, right? You must snag the conversation next time. You must sound intelligent, and make sure that your speech doesn't come off as flawed, because hers is just perfect. Then you concede to reality: you probably shouldn't be thinking about it.
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She approaches you. Oh yes, she approaches you! You've been entranced for quite a while, but as with everything, you never really gave it much thought. You probably thought it will only last one term, maybe less, and it will go poof like genies in bottles. Yet, this is the moment you've always waited for. As she asks you the usual school stuff, you find yourself inspecting every bit of her, even if it's against your very beliefs. But you couldn't help it, and as things progress, you're taking quick, slight peeks at her. As if you weren't supposed to do so, because you need eye contact to make good conversations. Her eyes - yes, her eyes. They caught you by surprise.
She talks to your friends, and for some reason, she seems closer to then, You wonder why. You basically have the same interests, and yet she never really talks to you - at least the sustained ones that make someone seem like your average guy next door. You start thinking about yourself. There must be something that you can do about it, right? You must snag the conversation next time. You must sound intelligent, and make sure that your speech doesn't come off as flawed, because hers is just perfect. Then you concede to reality: you probably shouldn't be thinking about it.
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2/10/2008
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Murphy's law famously states that anything that could go wrong would go wrong. That seems to have gone full swing in the past three days, really, conveniently called the Cavite shoot for our thesis film.
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2/07/2008
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(I don't really have to say this, but this entry is entirely fictional. I just thought of the title, that's all!)
I'm typing this in on the off chance that you would actually read this. I mean, I think you always delete my emails, without even bothering to read them, and that makes me feel uncomfortable. I shouldn't probably bother typing this in, then.
But, oh well, I already have.
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I'm typing this in on the off chance that you would actually read this. I mean, I think you always delete my emails, without even bothering to read them, and that makes me feel uncomfortable. I shouldn't probably bother typing this in, then.
But, oh well, I already have.
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2/06/2008
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"Fans ka nga," Lau retorted.
"Hindi. Walang kausap sa YM eh!" I answered back.
I'm in the middle of another so-called conference on Kelly's Multiply site. I guess I should say this now - if you hear my name on the radio, it would most definitely be because of this, and nothing else, except probably if I called someone else, or work for a station myself. While both remain far-flung possibilities, I find myself feeling a bit weird, because I'm actually starting to sound like a fan of Kelly's, which, to be very honest, I never was. I remember Ella asking me on the phone why this particular liking, so to speak, even managed to exist. My answer, of course, would be as ambiguous as my idea of an answer.
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"Hindi. Walang kausap sa YM eh!" I answered back.
I'm in the middle of another so-called conference on Kelly's Multiply site. I guess I should say this now - if you hear my name on the radio, it would most definitely be because of this, and nothing else, except probably if I called someone else, or work for a station myself. While both remain far-flung possibilities, I find myself feeling a bit weird, because I'm actually starting to sound like a fan of Kelly's, which, to be very honest, I never was. I remember Ella asking me on the phone why this particular liking, so to speak, even managed to exist. My answer, of course, would be as ambiguous as my idea of an answer.
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2/05/2008
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"I guess unfortunate circumstances inevitably cross our paths," Jem began. At the back of my head, I was slightly spooked. Oh no, I thought. Who died?
"Just got held up minutes ago in a Sta. Cruz jeepney I took on my way home," she continued. I sighed in relief. She was becoming her writer's self again, putting to use the very things that got me in a less prominent position in the traditional school hierarchy. She then asked for our phone numbers, which probably made the situation a bit mind-numbing: just hours ago, I saw her texting. Little would I know it would be gone.
But she wasn't finished. "Am awfully devastated," she wrote in between parentheses. "Am thinkin' I should've gotten off when I felt like somethin' unpleasant's bound to happen but I didn't. Listen to your instincts, ayt?"
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"Just got held up minutes ago in a Sta. Cruz jeepney I took on my way home," she continued. I sighed in relief. She was becoming her writer's self again, putting to use the very things that got me in a less prominent position in the traditional school hierarchy. She then asked for our phone numbers, which probably made the situation a bit mind-numbing: just hours ago, I saw her texting. Little would I know it would be gone.
But she wasn't finished. "Am awfully devastated," she wrote in between parentheses. "Am thinkin' I should've gotten off when I felt like somethin' unpleasant's bound to happen but I didn't. Listen to your instincts, ayt?"
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2/04/2008
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"Life is like a box of chocolates," Forrest Gump said. "You'll never know which one you'll get." He failed to mention that you'll also never know who's got what.
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2/03/2008
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Yesterday, I watched the play Skin Deep with Jaja and Kizia. It is a school requirement, above all, but nevertheless I thought I'd be in a most uncomfortable situation if I watched it alone, or at least in a lone seat somewhere in the theater. I actually texted Jaja the night before, asking about how they would go to the venue, and I was referred to Kizia. I did send her a text message, and I didn't receive a reply.
It was a long commute to Cubao from Alabang, one made more painstaking by my being unfamiliar with public transport along EDSA. Thanks to that, the traffic along SLEX, and the wait for more passengers, I arrived at the theater at half past three, pretty wary that the worst case scenario would happen. I was running down the road, after getting down an empty jeepney, with my Rockports on. I bought my tickets and signed the attendance sheet, and after seeing the long line snaking across the lobby, I saw a pair of hands waving at me. Jaja and Kizia, thankfully, haven't gone inside yet.
During the intermission break, Kizia had to leave. She's headed for, of all places, Embassy - thankfully it was a hosting gig - and Jaja and I, left behind to finish a play about the perils of cosmetic surgery, discussed the night before. Kizia didn't reply, I said, and apparently she has two phone numbers. The one I had was her prepaid line, and most probably didn't have any credit when I asked about their plans. Then it struck me: once I had Kizia's phone number memorized.
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It was a long commute to Cubao from Alabang, one made more painstaking by my being unfamiliar with public transport along EDSA. Thanks to that, the traffic along SLEX, and the wait for more passengers, I arrived at the theater at half past three, pretty wary that the worst case scenario would happen. I was running down the road, after getting down an empty jeepney, with my Rockports on. I bought my tickets and signed the attendance sheet, and after seeing the long line snaking across the lobby, I saw a pair of hands waving at me. Jaja and Kizia, thankfully, haven't gone inside yet.
During the intermission break, Kizia had to leave. She's headed for, of all places, Embassy - thankfully it was a hosting gig - and Jaja and I, left behind to finish a play about the perils of cosmetic surgery, discussed the night before. Kizia didn't reply, I said, and apparently she has two phone numbers. The one I had was her prepaid line, and most probably didn't have any credit when I asked about their plans. Then it struck me: once I had Kizia's phone number memorized.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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