A challenge unwittingly posed by The Sims is throwing the perfect party. We used to fuss so much about it, and thanks to cheat codes, we were able to do much to keep the people staying - say, a glittery dance floor, lots of stock at the bar, and perhaps whoever's inside that cake. If you're lucky, the likeness of Drew Carey would drop by in his limousine. Otherwise, you'd get a mime, although thanks to those cheat codes, we could trap him with walls or delete it altogether.
Obviously, that doesn't always happen. Not everybody has space for a dance floor, and not everybody has the stomach for dancing in cages. Most importantly, not everybody can delete unwanted people from existence, so it all lies on inviting the right people, and knowing what they want.
Around a week before graduation, I got invited to Monica's after-graduation party. It isn't really a new thing, if you count high school, but she later insisted that it will be a first of sorts for me. "Your first real college party," she said last Monday; apparently us having graduated a week before doesn't really matter.
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6/29/2008
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6/25/2008
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I never usually find myself at Starbucks. I've been there a few times, perhaps by invitation or by obligation, but I never really imagined myself as one of those people who go here for a cup of coffee and a laptop. Perhaps they're doing work, or just surfing casually, while sipping on those green straws with chocolate bits left behind.
Today, I'm stuck in one of those establishments, waiting for a little under two hours before I could start my first driving lessons. (That, in a future entry.) I'm stuck with a laptop, to top it all off, blogging because inspiration has supposedly struck me, while I'm sipping my tall Java chip off those green straws. Sure, this scene might become a regular one when the time comes, but there's ultimately this question: will it even happen?
Perhaps it's the association I have with magazine writers, and how they always seem to live a fairly glamorous lifestyle, despite word that writing doesn't really get you anywhere. Sure, writing for one is hard work - the fact that you're already doing just that means you're experienced and hardened by years of running around for fresh articles - but eventually it boils down to that image of a bespectacled writer, typing away on a laptop while getting a caffeine high.
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Today, I'm stuck in one of those establishments, waiting for a little under two hours before I could start my first driving lessons. (That, in a future entry.) I'm stuck with a laptop, to top it all off, blogging because inspiration has supposedly struck me, while I'm sipping my tall Java chip off those green straws. Sure, this scene might become a regular one when the time comes, but there's ultimately this question: will it even happen?
Perhaps it's the association I have with magazine writers, and how they always seem to live a fairly glamorous lifestyle, despite word that writing doesn't really get you anywhere. Sure, writing for one is hard work - the fact that you're already doing just that means you're experienced and hardened by years of running around for fresh articles - but eventually it boils down to that image of a bespectacled writer, typing away on a laptop while getting a caffeine high.
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6/23/2008
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I texted Sam what I called a life lesson. "Lumamon bago magpa-NBI clearance."
Sure, I know that getting one of these things is a struggle. I've been to the Las Piñas city hall and have seen a long line snaking out of one part of the complex - perhaps a disorganized one - and it's consistently stayed that way, even as lunch break beckoned. Today, I got mine, although getting it wasn't really part of the plan; I decided that since I haven't got much to do anyway, I'll just get it and strike one more thing off the list.
Thus, my breakfast didn't really hold. My most important meal of the day was composed of three toasted pieces of pan de sal and my multivitamins, and off I went to check if I can still get my SSS ID. Oversleeping doesn't do wonders.
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Sure, I know that getting one of these things is a struggle. I've been to the Las Piñas city hall and have seen a long line snaking out of one part of the complex - perhaps a disorganized one - and it's consistently stayed that way, even as lunch break beckoned. Today, I got mine, although getting it wasn't really part of the plan; I decided that since I haven't got much to do anyway, I'll just get it and strike one more thing off the list.
Thus, my breakfast didn't really hold. My most important meal of the day was composed of three toasted pieces of pan de sal and my multivitamins, and off I went to check if I can still get my SSS ID. Oversleeping doesn't do wonders.
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6/22/2008
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"Anak ng... graduate na pala kayo?"
"Opo," I responded, chuckling as required. "Sadly, we had to leave you."
Only when everything is over do you realize what you have left behind. The euphoria of that rainy Saturday morning has settled, and after all the cars have left the parking lots, all you have is everything else you never really thought about.
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"Opo," I responded, chuckling as required. "Sadly, we had to leave you."
Only when everything is over do you realize what you have left behind. The euphoria of that rainy Saturday morning has settled, and after all the cars have left the parking lots, all you have is everything else you never really thought about.
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6/21/2008
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Get ready, so-called real world.
6/20/2008
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"I wonder if I'll cry this year. Kasi elementary and high school, I didn't when they all did."
"It's not as major as this. It's really... a period in itself."
"Right, right. But I wonder lang."
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"It's not as major as this. It's really... a period in itself."
"Right, right. But I wonder lang."
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6/19/2008
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"Good luck," Daes typed in. "And I really mean it, kahit nakakainis ka."
An hour after I read that message, I can't help but feel sorry for myself. Heck, I was in tears at the mall, telling my mother my concerns about life! It isn't the disillusionment, it isn't the six month probation period - it's a clause in the contract that neither me or my dad could understand, because it's just plain confusing.
The morning before, I finally decided to accept the job offer. My father, in his business mindset, could only say it succinctly: it's better, at least in the headhunter's perspective, to see an applicant has already snapped up a job almost immediately after graduation, else they start to wonder about the bum gap. My mother was talking about the experience; at least I'm still getting a job that's related to writing. I won't be coy about it - this is just the take-off point, hopefully to a publication, despite my lack of traditional credentials for it. The weird thing is, that's what I don't really understand.
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An hour after I read that message, I can't help but feel sorry for myself. Heck, I was in tears at the mall, telling my mother my concerns about life! It isn't the disillusionment, it isn't the six month probation period - it's a clause in the contract that neither me or my dad could understand, because it's just plain confusing.
The morning before, I finally decided to accept the job offer. My father, in his business mindset, could only say it succinctly: it's better, at least in the headhunter's perspective, to see an applicant has already snapped up a job almost immediately after graduation, else they start to wonder about the bum gap. My mother was talking about the experience; at least I'm still getting a job that's related to writing. I won't be coy about it - this is just the take-off point, hopefully to a publication, despite my lack of traditional credentials for it. The weird thing is, that's what I don't really understand.
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6/18/2008
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It was drizzling that afternoon, as I stood outside SBCA's sixth gate, where the high school students went out. I stood outside because, well, my brother would come out any minute. It's already fifteen past five, and the other students were starting to come out, in what was slowly becoming a very familiar scene. And then it occurred to me.
"This feels slightly poignant," I whispered to myself. "And totally weird."
A story is in order, of course. And, although I have supposedly repressed the reasons why I lasted only three months rather than four years in an environment that supposedly opens your eyes to reality, I can't forget my school dismissals. This time of the year is always rainy, and I went out of my last class - heavy backpack in tow - pretty excited to come home. Actually, it was more of a relief; I felt so tired after eight hours or so in school, enduring those sympathetic to the bullies and the bullies themselves. I went down four floors with a heavy feeling, literally or otherwise, and walked the fairly long distance to the parking area near the grade school buildings, where the school buses are parked - and where the rest of the day continues, pretty much the same way as it began eight hours ago.
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"This feels slightly poignant," I whispered to myself. "And totally weird."
A story is in order, of course. And, although I have supposedly repressed the reasons why I lasted only three months rather than four years in an environment that supposedly opens your eyes to reality, I can't forget my school dismissals. This time of the year is always rainy, and I went out of my last class - heavy backpack in tow - pretty excited to come home. Actually, it was more of a relief; I felt so tired after eight hours or so in school, enduring those sympathetic to the bullies and the bullies themselves. I went down four floors with a heavy feeling, literally or otherwise, and walked the fairly long distance to the parking area near the grade school buildings, where the school buses are parked - and where the rest of the day continues, pretty much the same way as it began eight hours ago.
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6/17/2008
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Since I realized it, my visits to the record stores have been increasingly frustrating. The Music One branch at the Alabang Town Center, for one, just lost another row of shelves, after losing a chunk of its space to a steakhouse and Gift Gate. Along with it went the CDs - what was once an overwhelming representation of everything pop culture, and everything in its fringes, is now just a store with posters on the wall.
I can only feel frustrated for everybody. I mean, if people are dead serious about stopping me from downloading The Last Shadow Puppets, they should start selling them in ways that is convenient to me. Well, they aren't.
I'm sort of proud of the fact that I "bought" In Rainbows for nothing, thanks to Radiohead's pay-what-you-choose policy, which somehow backfired, because people still downloaded it through peer-to-peer systems. That got them some money, and a lot of publicity, but in the end, they released the somewhat clubby album on CD. And, as usual, that isn't on our record stores.
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I can only feel frustrated for everybody. I mean, if people are dead serious about stopping me from downloading The Last Shadow Puppets, they should start selling them in ways that is convenient to me. Well, they aren't.
I'm sort of proud of the fact that I "bought" In Rainbows for nothing, thanks to Radiohead's pay-what-you-choose policy, which somehow backfired, because people still downloaded it through peer-to-peer systems. That got them some money, and a lot of publicity, but in the end, they released the somewhat clubby album on CD. And, as usual, that isn't on our record stores.
Read more »
6/16/2008
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"You got accepted for something?" I asked Ariane.
"Well," she somehow hesitated. "Yeah. Pero kanina, I found out na now I'm accepted for two somethings. Togoink!"
So she starts talking about her dilemma. I wanted to congratulate her because she already has a job; the only question is, which one she will take. But she definitely is going to have one by the end of the week. On the other hand, I start acting like the life coach, spewing out the usual advice about one considering based on what priorities have been set. And, perhaps, the insecure bystander who's not really sure about what to prefer.
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"Well," she somehow hesitated. "Yeah. Pero kanina, I found out na now I'm accepted for two somethings. Togoink!"
So she starts talking about her dilemma. I wanted to congratulate her because she already has a job; the only question is, which one she will take. But she definitely is going to have one by the end of the week. On the other hand, I start acting like the life coach, spewing out the usual advice about one considering based on what priorities have been set. And, perhaps, the insecure bystander who's not really sure about what to prefer.
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6/15/2008
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They say I'm always prepared with a very cynical comment. I'd always see something they'd rather not see in anything and everything, and probably I'd always argue with them about it, so passionately that I become this annoying person who keeps biting other people's heads off for his own sake. They always say that they shouldn't talk to me, because I am angry at the world.
And so what if I am?
If you're unlucky, you'd probably see my very cynical side. I might be going through something pretty terrible, or I'm just grumbling about what someone said, but there'll always be a point in our timeline when you'll see me squawking about the end of the world. And yes, in the end I'll be getting the grunt of everything else, because with my apparently efforts at honesty - or at least, what I think is honesty - would only turn people away. Perhaps, was he ever happy would be ringing in their heads for a split-second, before they finally decide to not give a damn, maybe forever.
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And so what if I am?
If you're unlucky, you'd probably see my very cynical side. I might be going through something pretty terrible, or I'm just grumbling about what someone said, but there'll always be a point in our timeline when you'll see me squawking about the end of the world. And yes, in the end I'll be getting the grunt of everything else, because with my apparently efforts at honesty - or at least, what I think is honesty - would only turn people away. Perhaps, was he ever happy would be ringing in their heads for a split-second, before they finally decide to not give a damn, maybe forever.
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6/14/2008
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Slightly swoony from answering Raisa's questions, I realized how much of a potential loser I am.
"What's your favorite hangout?" she asked. I couldn't really think of an answer, but as I have always tried to be truthful with every answer, I typed mine in without hesitation. I somewhat rambled about how I spent almost every break at an Internet café, chatting with the rest of the world, while wondering why so many spend their breaks blowing their allowances for online games.
That was a hard question to answer, really, since I'm not really the type to spend my time elsewhere aside from where I am supposed to be. Back then, though, I thought I had something to console myself. Every time I go to the mall - not usually by myself - I end up at the same places: the bookstore, the record bar, the food court. "Makes me look like a usual kid, eh?"
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"What's your favorite hangout?" she asked. I couldn't really think of an answer, but as I have always tried to be truthful with every answer, I typed mine in without hesitation. I somewhat rambled about how I spent almost every break at an Internet café, chatting with the rest of the world, while wondering why so many spend their breaks blowing their allowances for online games.
That was a hard question to answer, really, since I'm not really the type to spend my time elsewhere aside from where I am supposed to be. Back then, though, I thought I had something to console myself. Every time I go to the mall - not usually by myself - I end up at the same places: the bookstore, the record bar, the food court. "Makes me look like a usual kid, eh?"
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6/13/2008
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"Hindi naman ako nagmamadaling makakuha ng trabaho," I told my mother. "Pero ayoko rin namang walang ginawa. Ganyan ang mindset ko ngayon."
I thought that sums up what this week has been all about. Disregarding everything else - the sore toe, the ridiculous clothes, the bus window, the walking, the possible karma - it's still been quite an emotional wreck for me. I don't know what exactly it's all about, and when I try to think over it, I decide against the idea, scared that things will just go wrong.
I'd usually write about something pretty obscure, trying my best to pull things from my life together while keeping it shrouded in a degree of secrecy. Today, though, nothing really describes it. I worry about the phone ringing. I worry about the number of unread messages on my email. I worry about the stories I have to tell, about what happened last Tuesday, and why I'm backing out all of a sudden. I worry about the questions they ask. Heck, the end is inevitable, but who knew the beginning would have to feel like this?
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I thought that sums up what this week has been all about. Disregarding everything else - the sore toe, the ridiculous clothes, the bus window, the walking, the possible karma - it's still been quite an emotional wreck for me. I don't know what exactly it's all about, and when I try to think over it, I decide against the idea, scared that things will just go wrong.
I'd usually write about something pretty obscure, trying my best to pull things from my life together while keeping it shrouded in a degree of secrecy. Today, though, nothing really describes it. I worry about the phone ringing. I worry about the number of unread messages on my email. I worry about the stories I have to tell, about what happened last Tuesday, and why I'm backing out all of a sudden. I worry about the questions they ask. Heck, the end is inevitable, but who knew the beginning would have to feel like this?
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6/12/2008
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A flick through the evening news and you'll sense the state of the world we live in. Our economies are failing because prices are rising. Prices are rising because of a war not everybody gives a damn about. To counter the rising prices, we start to work when everybody else is asleep, and our lives are at the mercy of economies halfway across the world. Is that what we call independence?
Another flick, this time through the entertainment channels, and you'll sense the state of the people you live with. Everybody poses with two fingers flashed beside their heads, grinning as widely as possible. Everybody wears the stuff they wear, more so if somebody from the newspaper said that it looks good on you, even if something inside you says it doesn't. Everybody goes to the clinic to have stuff frozen, or stuff blown to enormous proportions, or stuff removed to make things slicker, and when everything goes bad, you sue. Is that what we call independence?
They say there's so much that goes around in this world, and so much that we should be proud of. There are the famous people, and then there are the honest people, doing stuff against their will, perhaps expecting something big in return. There are the institutions - people still give a damn about institutions? - that supposedly give us the power to do things within reason, and yet people study hard just to find the loopholes. There's so much going on, and most of it we barely know, and when we walk around thinking we're finally able to do what our parents didn't want us to do, we find ourselves in a little conundrum. They might think this way, or they might think that way, and we end up clamming up instead. So why bother calling it like that?
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Another flick, this time through the entertainment channels, and you'll sense the state of the people you live with. Everybody poses with two fingers flashed beside their heads, grinning as widely as possible. Everybody wears the stuff they wear, more so if somebody from the newspaper said that it looks good on you, even if something inside you says it doesn't. Everybody goes to the clinic to have stuff frozen, or stuff blown to enormous proportions, or stuff removed to make things slicker, and when everything goes bad, you sue. Is that what we call independence?
They say there's so much that goes around in this world, and so much that we should be proud of. There are the famous people, and then there are the honest people, doing stuff against their will, perhaps expecting something big in return. There are the institutions - people still give a damn about institutions? - that supposedly give us the power to do things within reason, and yet people study hard just to find the loopholes. There's so much going on, and most of it we barely know, and when we walk around thinking we're finally able to do what our parents didn't want us to do, we find ourselves in a little conundrum. They might think this way, or they might think that way, and we end up clamming up instead. So why bother calling it like that?
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6/11/2008
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Now, nobody can deny cookies. What they might be called may be a confusingly different thing - I'm (weirdly) no expert on what turns a cookie into a biscuit, a cake or a scone - but it's still something that you'd love to munch on, unless you've got guilt issues. You'd probably grab some while watching a DVD, or when you're in front of the computer, or when you're on the verge of saying "suicide is happiness," which I hope you're not taking literally.
And, surely, you have a favorite cookie. Perhaps you're into Chips Ahoy! and all its crumbly goodness. Perhaps you're into Oreo, perfectly following the twist-lick-dunk adage that has been the hallmark of their marketing for a long time. Perhaps you're into Mrs. Fields - and perhaps you can afford it. Perhaps you like something more homemade, and think of the process of whipping a batch up as more effective in beating stress than the consumption itself. Definitely, however, you've probably gone to the kitchen and, after seeing a dauntingly huge amount of packaging, you'll choose the one you love, over and over again.
One of my mother's friends whips up large batches of cookies and sells them. Of course, this means that we get to consume them when the supplies come. The batch that we just bought is a different one, since we haven't tried those oatmeal raisin cookies. The cookies have also become a sort-of venue for my reputation as a food critic. At one point I complained about the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies being less chewier, and my mother's friend knew instantly who said it.
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And, surely, you have a favorite cookie. Perhaps you're into Chips Ahoy! and all its crumbly goodness. Perhaps you're into Oreo, perfectly following the twist-lick-dunk adage that has been the hallmark of their marketing for a long time. Perhaps you're into Mrs. Fields - and perhaps you can afford it. Perhaps you like something more homemade, and think of the process of whipping a batch up as more effective in beating stress than the consumption itself. Definitely, however, you've probably gone to the kitchen and, after seeing a dauntingly huge amount of packaging, you'll choose the one you love, over and over again.
One of my mother's friends whips up large batches of cookies and sells them. Of course, this means that we get to consume them when the supplies come. The batch that we just bought is a different one, since we haven't tried those oatmeal raisin cookies. The cookies have also become a sort-of venue for my reputation as a food critic. At one point I complained about the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies being less chewier, and my mother's friend knew instantly who said it.
Read more »
6/10/2008
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I left Greenbelt with Daren and Rose, since we had to do something the next day. We actually overstayed, since four other biters somehow made it in the nick of time, just when we were all preparing to go. He was acting as some sort of tour guide through the roads and forbidden areas of the Ayala Center - although I didn't really need one, because I know my maps, although walking along wasn't a good idea - but he was lamenting that I was the only one who answered his appeal for such. Well, it worked anyway.
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6/07/2008
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They call Nigella Lawson the "domestic diva," and perhaps deservingly so. If you've seen her cooking shows, you'd probably agree that she cooks in a certain, oddly sexy way - in the way she throws in the pasta or tosses the greens. Or perhaps it's because of her British accent, and since all British accents are sexy, well, maybe that somehow makes sense. Oh, and did I tell you she's already forty-eight? That, and she's still pretty.
I'll admit, I watched Nigella Bites when it was still being shown on the Lifestyle Network, and primarily because it's a British cooking show, and I haven't seen one until then. (Some way to learn the British accent, I say.) I've been watching cooking shows since I was a kid, starting off with Nora Daza's on ABS-CBN, to the point that I cam hum the program's theme from out of nowhere. I also watched the then-ubiquitous (and perhaps until now) Chinese cooking show that I never understood because, well, the host spoke exclusively Chinese, aside from the fact that the set is merely a wall with a big frame displaying the show's title.
When cable television came, I was watching cooking shows whenever I got interested, which meant prosciutto and aioli would eventually populate my vocabulary. I watched as the steam rose from the pan, and the sugar got dusted on the top. Now, I still watch them whenever I feel like it - Iron Chef America, Throwdown with Bobby Flay, even Rachael Ray, for some reason. And yet I never really became a whiz in the kitchen.
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I'll admit, I watched Nigella Bites when it was still being shown on the Lifestyle Network, and primarily because it's a British cooking show, and I haven't seen one until then. (Some way to learn the British accent, I say.) I've been watching cooking shows since I was a kid, starting off with Nora Daza's on ABS-CBN, to the point that I cam hum the program's theme from out of nowhere. I also watched the then-ubiquitous (and perhaps until now) Chinese cooking show that I never understood because, well, the host spoke exclusively Chinese, aside from the fact that the set is merely a wall with a big frame displaying the show's title.
When cable television came, I was watching cooking shows whenever I got interested, which meant prosciutto and aioli would eventually populate my vocabulary. I watched as the steam rose from the pan, and the sugar got dusted on the top. Now, I still watch them whenever I feel like it - Iron Chef America, Throwdown with Bobby Flay, even Rachael Ray, for some reason. And yet I never really became a whiz in the kitchen.
Read more »
6/05/2008
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Sure, it has happened again. I should wake up at fifteen past eight, unless I Can Dream About You doesn't trigger memories of minutes spent writing a letter than almost didn't get sent anyway. I turn on the radio and grab whatever is on the table for breakfast. I read the newspaper and try to absorb whatever happened from the past twenty-four hours, and perhaps some analysis, too. Then, it's off to mop the floors, unless I get too comfy.
I usually turn on the television before ten, only to hear Walter Cronkite say, "this is the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric," not that I actually need to get my news from an American broadcaster since I can watch Anderson Cooper 360 at the same time, or the BBC any other time. Nevertheless that's how I get my load of American politics, which gets me hooked lately, especially if it's time to count the results of the Democratic primaries. Barack Obama's the presumptive nominee, golly.
I still watch cartoons - probably the only thing that keeps me sane - although I think Yo Gabba Gabba! is mind-numbing. (Why I watch pre-school shows sometimes, I can't explain.) I know Lizette doesn't like SpongeBob SquarePants, but I watch it whenever I feel like it, partly because I've seen almost all the episodes, and can even tell if they're showing an old one by the opening titles alone.
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I usually turn on the television before ten, only to hear Walter Cronkite say, "this is the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric," not that I actually need to get my news from an American broadcaster since I can watch Anderson Cooper 360 at the same time, or the BBC any other time. Nevertheless that's how I get my load of American politics, which gets me hooked lately, especially if it's time to count the results of the Democratic primaries. Barack Obama's the presumptive nominee, golly.
I still watch cartoons - probably the only thing that keeps me sane - although I think Yo Gabba Gabba! is mind-numbing. (Why I watch pre-school shows sometimes, I can't explain.) I know Lizette doesn't like SpongeBob SquarePants, but I watch it whenever I feel like it, partly because I've seen almost all the episodes, and can even tell if they're showing an old one by the opening titles alone.
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6/04/2008
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For the first time in my nineteen years on this planet, I got described as sensitive. Too sensitive, perhaps, is the best term.
I don't know if it's supposedly something bad or good. Different people put a premium on different, contradictory things. Some look for a person with some hint of sensitivity, sometimes disguised as "in touch with one's emotions" or "a very good listener who understands" or something along those lines. Some say being sensitive just annoys the hell out of them, because of their constant rambling about the smallest altercations. Such punch for three syllables, isn't it?
Then again, we need some sensitivity if we're to really exist in this world. It's hard seeing something without having at least a silent reaction, or else you'd be, well, stiff. Come to think of it, everything around us is a result of sensitivity - of a reaction to something we've encountered. I'll go babble about technology, and you'll wonder whether I'm writing this blog entry with a dictionary beside me, because it seems like a prolonged dictionary definition.
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I don't know if it's supposedly something bad or good. Different people put a premium on different, contradictory things. Some look for a person with some hint of sensitivity, sometimes disguised as "in touch with one's emotions" or "a very good listener who understands" or something along those lines. Some say being sensitive just annoys the hell out of them, because of their constant rambling about the smallest altercations. Such punch for three syllables, isn't it?
Then again, we need some sensitivity if we're to really exist in this world. It's hard seeing something without having at least a silent reaction, or else you'd be, well, stiff. Come to think of it, everything around us is a result of sensitivity - of a reaction to something we've encountered. I'll go babble about technology, and you'll wonder whether I'm writing this blog entry with a dictionary beside me, because it seems like a prolonged dictionary definition.
Read more »
6/03/2008
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His last words, if he was to be believed, were quite freaky. Everything seemed so well - well, that is a tall order, because not everything goes as well as storybooks want us to believe - because in the past month or so, there was no significantly huge snag. In other words, it was heaven for him.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for accepting me. It meant a lot."
Perhaps he came in at a lucky time, when people had a lot of time on their hands, and were willing to talk. Then again, he was surprised that they were willing to talk: not that he thought they were snobbish, but he knew it was hard to start anew. "Lucky for him," one friend said, "he took the chance. He's got quite a few witty comments, and it helps spice things up."
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"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for accepting me. It meant a lot."
Perhaps he came in at a lucky time, when people had a lot of time on their hands, and were willing to talk. Then again, he was surprised that they were willing to talk: not that he thought they were snobbish, but he knew it was hard to start anew. "Lucky for him," one friend said, "he took the chance. He's got quite a few witty comments, and it helps spice things up."
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6/02/2008
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It's funny thinking that what you say is totally different from what they think you mean.
Sometimes you just step forward and start talking. No pretensions, no requests, no actual necessity - you just start talking. Of course, nobody will listen to you because they didn't ask you for anything. So, in that case, you're pretty safe.
The problem begins with involvement. When someone finally decides to listen to you - either because she asked for it, or because she just doesn't have a choice - you're in it for the long run. What you say will be taken as it is, and that's how it's supposed to be. It doesn't matter whether you don't really mean what you say, or whether everything you're spewing out doesn't involve much mental activity. The most important thing is, what you say already speaks for yourself.
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Sometimes you just step forward and start talking. No pretensions, no requests, no actual necessity - you just start talking. Of course, nobody will listen to you because they didn't ask you for anything. So, in that case, you're pretty safe.
The problem begins with involvement. When someone finally decides to listen to you - either because she asked for it, or because she just doesn't have a choice - you're in it for the long run. What you say will be taken as it is, and that's how it's supposed to be. It doesn't matter whether you don't really mean what you say, or whether everything you're spewing out doesn't involve much mental activity. The most important thing is, what you say already speaks for yourself.
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6/01/2008
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His location was very convenient. The seat he was in overlooked the skating rink, an advantage that he took to great lengths. It was cooler there; cooler, at least, than the rest of the shopping mall, with its flocks of shoppers making the most out of the weekend sale. It also provided him with a free source of entertainment, and perhaps it's something acceptable nowadays, with the advent of reality shows. Some excuse.
It was a busy day on the floor below, but somewhere amidst the crowds, he trained his eye on a couple comfortably striding through the corridor. He can see their expressions clearly; both were happy, perhaps giggly, and they were slowly dragging each other towards another. Then they stop, for around ten seconds or so, before they proceeded to the skating rink.
There were a lot of people at the skating rink, but the line was surprisingly short. The couple did their usual stride, breezing through the turnstiles before getting their skates. The guy dug through his pockets and pulls out his billfold. A couple of transactions later, there were out into the wild. Well, that's what the girl called it. The guy held her hand, and out they went.
Read more »
It was a busy day on the floor below, but somewhere amidst the crowds, he trained his eye on a couple comfortably striding through the corridor. He can see their expressions clearly; both were happy, perhaps giggly, and they were slowly dragging each other towards another. Then they stop, for around ten seconds or so, before they proceeded to the skating rink.
There were a lot of people at the skating rink, but the line was surprisingly short. The couple did their usual stride, breezing through the turnstiles before getting their skates. The guy dug through his pockets and pulls out his billfold. A couple of transactions later, there were out into the wild. Well, that's what the girl called it. The guy held her hand, and out they went.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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Some photographs have been edited using post-production curves from Shalla Yu.
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