room for squares

Velocity

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Fri, 13 Feb 2015 18:23:00 +0000

Two thousand nine hundred ninety five kilometers is a long way away. Definitely not the farthest corner of the world, but not such an easily reached one, either. Six weeks past (and another six weeks coming) is a lot of time to be apart for two thousand nine hundred ninety five kilometers.

In physics, distance over time makes for speed, but that's just a magnitude, and I'd hate to think of us as going nowhere fast (or slowly). When it comes to me and you, it's really more of a matter of velocity.

See, I never thought I could deal well with displacement. I am the first half of Newton's First Law of Motion personified:

A body at rest will remain at rest unless acted on by an external force.

And you, my darling, are an unstoppable force. You're never afraid to shake things up, to nudge us into new directions. You are the mover and shaker of my world. Inert as I am, I tried to resist by preferring that we both just stay here, two pairs of feet planted firmly on familiar soil. But this time apart has made me realize that those prideful statements about breaking things off are essentially balderdash (thank God for trial runs).

To be honest, I'm still not enthusiastic over the time and distance thing, and I'm hoping to finally have you with an average velocity of zero, back home with me. But if you need to be displaced, then I will be, too. Between the two of us, the math shouldn't be as hard as it sometimes looks. If it came down to a choice between being in motion and losing my guiding force, then I would be off at the speed of light in whatever direction you needed me to be.

(Full disclosure: You know I'm horrible at Physics, so every science-y thing here should be taken with a grain of salt and a ton of artistic license.)

Certificate of Pre-Mortem

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Fri, 28 Nov 2014 19:00:00 +0000

Dear Future Self,

In the light of [life catastrophe (e.g., failure to realize dreams, loss of love, debilitating health concerns)], I would like to assure you that this incident has been duly grieved for in advance since [pre-mortem start date].

Over the course of the last [number of] years, any and all contributing factors, appropriate emotions, and feasible courses of action have been accounted for and analyzed to ensure your convenience at this difficult time. The full report is on file in your head, for your perusal during the subsequent sleepless nights.

Your feedback would be much appreciated. Let me know if I missed any pertinent details

...and we'll figure it out, I guess.

You can't say I didn't try. Or that I didn't tell you so.

Sincerely,
An Apprehensive But Slightly More Hopeful Version of You

The Things That Keep You Up

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Wed, 29 Oct 2014 18:49:00 +0000

Pictures of Success
Rilo Kiley

Two years and three months is a lot of time to get lost. I took my time. It was great at first--learning new things; meeting new people; settling in to a new stage of my life. But slowly, I was making a habit of shedding the "silly" things in favor of filling my life past the brim with the "serious adult stuff" (you know, the stuff that they say really matters).

Blogs that serve as online journals? Quit that--my writing's too sappy anyway. Better just stick to fine-tuning my emails for that perfect tone. That photo blog? Put a stopper on that, too--I wasn't improving much; more of a hit or miss, really. The only jpegs I should scrutinize are those banners that need to launch tonight.

In a life where 85% of my hours are spent at home or at work, where do I find the time to look at something through a lens and give more than half a second's thought to it? In countless months where I end the day so drained that meeting up with friends feels Herculean, from where do I draw the energy to synthesize my thoughts or feelings beyond Facebook's simplistic, emoji-laden descriptions? Feeling angry. Feeling exhausted. Feeling burnt out. Feeling existentially insignificant.

Today I left 2 hours earlier than (my daily) average to go on a dinner double date, which we extended by waxing nostalgic about our teenage days over coffee. A friend tagged me for a photo challenge, which led to a revisit of my dusty photo blog, which then reminded me of this corner of the internet where I used to spend sleepless hours trying to squeeze substance out of the best and the worst of my moods and musings.

All this time I prided myself on rarely staying up at night to finish work. On some occasions I'd clock in for 10- to 12-hour workdays, but later, at home, the work mostly stops, and I mostly spend my precious remaining hours talking to my family and my girlfriend. Then I sleep. Then I wake up the next day. Rinse, repeat.

But now, I'm thinking part of this aimlessness comes from giving up on the things that keep me up, and the things that used to make me take a moment to observe and admire my environment. They stopped being a part of my life--either through work, or through hobbies. I always thought that I was square enough to be able to lead the generic drone life, but what do you know? Guess I have a much bigger need to be actively creating, rather than just consuming through books, shows, movies, and music. Maybe it doesn't even have to be creative work--just something I feel very strongly for.

As with anyone who's ever been lost, I've been trying to move forward, but maybe part of why I couldn't was because I'd forgotten my compass: the feeling of being so immersed in something that it keeps you up without you even trying*.

*Might not apply to insomniacs

Dissociation

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 29 Jul 2013 15:14:00 +0000

The last seven months have been wildly busy, but that's not my only excuse for being absent from this blog in a while. Truly, I have so little energy left to write anything coherent on most days, but whatever could be mustered is now being split.

I've been cheating on this blog with another one. Not much, really. It's just happened three times so far. My main reason for keeping two separate writing blogs, is that the other one focuses more on...uhh, spiritual stuff, I guess. Not that this blog, in all its angst-filled glory, hasn't revealed too much about me already--I just find that I'm a lot cheesier in that aspect.

It's also a kind of experiment. On one ~~hand~~ blog, there's this angsty kid who fuels the frequently emo and definitely-less-than-holy posts. On the other is the more hopeful, kinder person who drops by my consciousness from time to time. I might've also failed to mention that my other blog is mainly about trying to reconcile my faith with the fact that I'm a rainbow-loving homo. Now, how to manage all that without developing a dissociative identity disorder?

Yeah, this is one of those trying-to-find-myself, what-am-I-doing-with-my-life projects. This could probably count as a symptom of early onset quarter life crisis, but these things happen far too often to alarm me at this point.

Life is a continuous cycle of self-improvement. I just wish I didn't have to be so emo about it.

If you want, you can check on me at The Closet Christian. Don't tell me you haven't been warned, though.

The Future Is Not Meant To Be Feared

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 10:44:00 +0000

Now that I think of it, I spent a great deal of 2012 being afraid. I started the year with anxiety over the possibility of not graduating on time. Then I graduated and spent the next three months worried about what kind of job I would have--and if I would have any, for that matter. But divine providence led me to a good job, which opened a whole new box of worries--mainly about whether I could do well and face up to each responsibility. This past week, I've been thinking about the future again, in terms of some personal matters. That didn't turn out so well, either.

As much as I hate to admit, I'm apparently more cowardly than I supposed. The habitual worrying, anxiety, and cynicism acquired over the years have all eventually concretized into a fearful, negative view of the future, which I often adopt under the guise of being a realist.

In hindsight, though, all those situations I spent so much time worrying about turned out to be the best experiences of the year. I gained so much knowledge and insight, met the most inspiring people, and even got to know myself a lot better. For those, I am immensely grateful; and this gratitude has helped me gain a new perspective.

Part of that perspective also serves as my mantra for the coming year: the future is not meant to be feared.

I know that the coming days and years will bring new challenges, surprises, and changes, and I'll probably still get nervous and excited about it. But I resolve to let faith and optimism reign in the place of anxious, cynical fear.

Hope is a wonderful thing, and aside from having more of it myself, I also wish I could inspire the same in other people. (Hey, I think I've just found my resolution.)

Cheers to the new year and the great things it will bring!

Photosynthesis

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 18:41:00 +0000

When you were younger and (impossibly) more self-centered, you whined like the world owed it to you to listen. Eventually you learned that happiness should be shared, and negativity, in all its nasty forms, should be shelved. Nobody loves a loser.

Dark Reaction

So you keep the bitter, the sad, and the angry in specimen jars and examine each of them in your spare time, always having to be careful so as not to end up trapped in those jars yourself.

While you wish you could share them with someone, you almost never do, because you almost never can. Some miseries are simply inexplicable and are thus easier borne by one than by two.

Light Reaction

So you keep on, and remind yourself to smile and laugh about the good things, of which there are quite a lot. In those small moments, the universe is wonderful and everything glows in the light of an idyllic summer sun.

And that light is enough to fuel you, for today at least--and for tomorrow, and the day after that--until one morning you wake up and there's more light than dark.

And that's how you know you've made it through, and can make it through again.

Bibliophilia

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 18:23:00 +0000

I should really write more. It seems like I'm always holding it off, waiting for that next drift of inspiration. On days like this one though, I remind myself that this blog isn't in the running for a Pulitzer, nor a Palanca--it's my personal blog, so maybe sharing more of my (not overly) personal thoughts wouldn't hurt.

In line with that, I have a realization to share!

That's basically it, sorry for wasting your time. If you found that boring, you can move along now.

See, I like girls who like books. Almost--if not all--l of the crushes I've had like to read. My girlfriend goes through audiobooks and actual books like they're popcorn. Even my very minor crushes are/were apparently bookworms.

At first I thought it was just because reading is kind of an "in" thing now (my inner hipster slightly resents this), but my crushes are legit bookdorks. They're Lit majors, Booksale hunters, or polygamous readers; the type who'd spend an entire week's budget on books with (almost) no hesitation nor regret.

Maybe this is also due to the fact that I could never imagine myself with someone who doesn't read. That's like half a relationship's worth of conversation we'd be missing out on. And apparently, even for minor crushes, I'm attracted to something other than looks.

On a related note, J and I were at National in Glorietta 5 last Friday night (because bookstore dates are the best). We were talking about the Harry Potter chest set, which I said I wanted for my future kids. She asked "what if you have a kid who doesn't like to read?" to which I objected, since their hypothetical fetus will probably be listening to stories at the first sign of a heartbeat.

Okay, enough about my hypothetical future bookworm offspring. My point is, literature really plays a big part--not just in my general life, but in my love life too. After all, I was in love with reading long before I was thinking about things like crushes. Also, words are sexy, and girls who read are hot.

I haven't written such a light post in a while. It feels good to give this blog a break from all the angst!

Ex Post Facto

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Wed, 19 Sep 2012 16:37:00 +0000

Somewhere, someone is reading your words and thinking about you. Words are tricky little things--like pieces of skin you can shed and leave lying around. Weeks, months, or years later, you come back to find the molted words and marvel at how something can still be you and yet be so detached from your current self.

Somewhere, someone is steadily growing enamored with ~~you~~ your words, without realizing the pointlessness of pining for something that someone has long left behind. What kind of fool falls in love with snakeskin? And yet that someone reads on, treading carefully so as not to disturb, trying intently to piece the hazy fragments together into something closely resembling you--or at least a shell of who you were.

Somewhere, someone is going through the cycle of your thoughts and emotions, and wishing they'd been able to do something about it. Like anyone could ever keep snakes from shedding, or keep autumn leaves on trees. What's done is done, and someone who has changed is harder to bring back than someone who has simply gone. They fail to see that displacement is most often replacement, too. Snakeskin, autumn leaves--lizard tails, even. It's less rocket science and more 2nd-grade biology.

To be more precise about things, then: somewhere, someone is thinking about who you were, holding on to your snakeskin words--not wanting to bring you back, but simply hoping to be led to where you are now.

Atelophobia

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 15:07:00 +0000

Thank you for your compliment. My brain is currently experiencing a self-esteem error, and kind words cannot be processed at this time. Your kindness has been archived for future consideration.

Hang Time

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sat, 16 Jun 2012 18:42:00 +0000

Because for some reason I like finding themes in things, the current theme of my life is this: hang time.

My previous inspiration post worked; I've finally made it out of college. I spent some weeks recuperating from my final, dazed days as a university student. (The first weeks after I had passed my thesis, I woke up almost every morning with a start, preparing to rush to school and submit my revisions. They say it takes 28 days to make or break a habit; I was working on that research for 10 months.) Then I spent some days in Bicol with my family. When we got back to Manila, I started the hunt.

Basically it's just been 3 weeks since I seriously started looking for a job, but oh, what impatience. There are people to whom things come easy; I am not one of them. I guess it's good training in a way--building character, teaching me to work hard for the things I really want. And work hard, I will. Maybe I'm built for stress, or work stress for that matter. I always like it when I'm working on something, especially when I'm able to understand and be good at what I'm working on--when I'm moving forward and making progress. I've never been the type who was good at sitting around and waiting.

I thought I could at least use this spare time to write, but often, I can't. There are some new subjects and styles I'd love to experiment with, but the right words, right tone, and all that aren't coming to me yet. So I'm biding my time in that department, too.

All those years in school, even when I had to wait for things, I always knew what would come next. For the first time since I've been aware of it, I have absolutely no idea what the universe has in store for me. I have plans, of course. But with these kinds of things, you can only bake your half of the plan so well. The rest is in someone else's hands (or maybe someone else's oven, if you're stubborn about sticking to that metaphor--but it sounds so wrong).

Here's a story: I almost flunked Physics in high school. I usually think of myself as a fast learner, but I was dumb as a rock in that course. Come to think of it, maybe rocks understand the laws of Physics better than I did. The worst lessons for me were the ones on projectile motion. It was a struggle to get half of those computations right. Among other things, I was awful at calculating hang time. I always thought it was little more or a little less than what it actually was.

Maybe this is just me being awful at the concept of time again. Maybe I'm right in convincing myself that there's nothing wrong or shameful about just biding time and having to wait for things. (Maybe the only real shame were my Physics grades.) In any case, I'm just going to have to hang in here, I guess.

Inspiration/Motivation

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sun, 19 Feb 2012 16:56:00 +0000

Inspiration #1: The Things I Miss

This blog, my social life, my computer games, reading books, and all the simple little pleasures in life I've been putting on hold.

And you. Quality, thesis-worry-free alone time with you.

Inspiration #2: The Things I Look Forward To

My family's collective sigh of relief and beam of pride. A graduation ceremony (or two), after five long years. Having a sablay of my own. My dream job, or any good job for that matter. Money I don't have to mooch from my parents. A puppy, come December.

And you. More freedom, more resources, more time to spend with you.

I'm writing these down because hope is elusive, time is going too fast, and things are looking scary. If I can't do this improbable task for the heck of self-pride and a sense of achievement, the next best thing would be doing it for my dreams. (Thesis speak: when intrinsic motivation fails, extrinsic motivation acts as a pretty decent backup).

I promise to finish this thesis by next month and live happily soon after.

Anyone who'll try to tell me how college is so easy compared to "real life" can kick themselves on my behalf. You've probably never met my thesis adviser.

2011 Wishlist Part 1: (Or A Lez Guide to Boring Fashion)

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 18:48:00 +0000

It's been three years (I think) since I last made one of these, but today I figured I needed something to look forward to--hence, a very materialistic wishlist.

This isn't necessarily a Christmas wishlist, and certainly not a list of things I expect/hope other people would give me. (Unless you, dear reader, happen to be a very generous soul--then by all means, make me happy!) Nope, this is more of a list of the things I want to save up for, mostly to remind myself that I need money--thus I need a job; thus I need to graduate already; thus I seriously need to stop slacking off. I took yet another unmotivated schoolwork-day off for this, so I hope it works.

This post's OST: Nickelback - Rockstar

Clothes; Accessories; Unspeakable Vanity

Halfway into making this list, I realized that 80% of the things I wanted were for my wardrobe. When (and how) did I go from hopelessly drab to cluelessly vain?

Shoes

As of late I have exactly three shoes: my much-loved, extremely fragile Oxfords (for corporate and pumoporma lang affairs), my slightly oversized 40th anniversary reissue Gola Harriers (which I don't wear often because of their bulk), and my classic white leather Keds Champions (which has finally succumbed to my abuse and now has a hole along the side). I guess it's not too much to want another pair or two?

I'm obviously a Keds die-hard fan. This pair of Oiled Keds Champions comes in gray or brown.
Both are awesome but I prefer the former. I haven't seen one in stores, but I'm crossing my fingers.

Vans Era Two-Tone, in either blue and gray, or black and gray.
I think I'm done with white sneakers in the meantime.

Can't have too many Oxfords, I guess? My old pair will retire
in about half a year, so I better get ready with new ones.
Also, I need other leather shoes to match my work clothes. Boots will work too.

A pair of Sanuk June Bugs would come in handy during my lazier days.

Less bulk than sneakers, and not slippers. (I'm not a great fan of slippers since my

feet had an unfortunate run-in with a crude, disgusting jeepney driver and his spitball.)

Clothes

I need to upgrade my clothes from too-lazy-to-get-dressed college mode to a more corporate look. My mom's had the foresight to stock up on some shirts and pants, but they're still limited. Plus, all this stress eating has been putting pressure on the seams of my unfortunate slacks--months ago during my internship, I split a seam right as I had just arrived at the office (that was at around 8 a..m., and I usually left at 7 p.m.).

Which is why I need new, better-fitting trousers. I've already donated the smaller ones to my sister;
plus I don't like flared pants. I may be long-legged but I'm certainly not tall.

I might have this slightly unhealthy obsession with vests.
It's just that they look good on me, most of the time. Also, cardigans!
And awesome blazers like that Topshop Kate Moss one (Tegan-style).

More plain white button-downs! Mother dearest buys mostly pastel-colored,

patterned ones--which I love, but it makes color-coordination a chore.

I need enough plain whites for those days when I'm too

sleepy/tired/migrained to give a damn about colors.

Accessories

Gone are the days when scrunchies passed for accessories to me. I never figured why people would spend for accessories--until now.

I'm starting a tie collection--with the first being a solid black tie
I bought for my yearbook creative shot.

Now I'm constantly on the hunt for skinny ties, preferably with geometric designs.
Also, check out these ties of the ~~future~~ present from Knot Theory.

For the love of all things preppy and gay, I might as well try bow ties while I'm at it, right?

I've been out of the loop with belts (horrible pun intended), because my trusty military-style

webbed belt has been the only one holding my jeans up for years. It might be time to reacquaint myself with leather belts.

Speaking of leather...I have this thing for leather cuffs too--

slim, simple ones for my hopelessly skinny wrists. Sure beats bangles, for me at least.

Skinny wrists means skinny watch straps as well. That's partly why I've been wearing a Timex Kids velcro-strapped one for two years. While it's glow-in-the-dark display is adorable,

I miss the classic Swatch timepieces I used to sport as a kid.

Pictured:

Blue Rebel (for everyday awesomeness);

Black Ceramic (to stare at during boring formal dinners).

Bags and Wallet(s)

Bags are tricky business for definitely-not-femme lesbians like me. Handbags are seriously awkward, and purses are just silly-looking on me. So while all my clothes are from the women's section (because I'm thin, I have absolutely no budget for a tailor at the moment, and my mother shops for me anyway), I don't think buying men's bags should be much of a problem.

Of course, where would we lezzies be without our trusty sling bags?

I have all sorts--my favorites are a small rainbow-on-white one, and a

slightly girly brown and purple one from Sherpani.*

I'm looking for leather or another durable canvass messenger bag (for all my messenger needs?)

Hold-alls would be great for those overnight/ vacation/

I-just-have-too-much-stuff-today occasions.This is currently so trendy among

the metro gay guys I see during my daily commute. Ha ha!

The other two bags are actually search results for women's bags.

But when I searched for totes...the results were so girly I couldn't stand it.

So here's a simple, no-nonsense men's tote bag for you (or me, one of these days).

I need a new wallet, and I need it to be cool. So it's got to be this

awesome environment-friendly Dynomighty wallet! It feels like paper but it's quite tough, actually.

You can get it from Punchdrunk Panda's online store (you can get me one too, please?).

That concludes the first part of my wishlist. It's turned out to be a guide to boring, play-it-safe sb lesbian (lol labels) fashion. Sorry, but that's just how I roll. Some days I just feel like a gay man in a woman's body (who's somehow attracted to girls). Genderfuck is the new black. Ha ha.

Stick around for part two (it won't be about my obsession with gray, black, and brown-colored clothes, I swear).

*Which someone I know mistook for Cose. I'm all for inexpensive, quality stuff (I have Hawk Bag backpacks that have lasted for years, y'know), but excuse me? I was just so annoyed because he's even more of a fashion victim than I am, but acts like it's his God-given gay ability to be fashionable. Sometimes we have to learn it, bro.

Wistful

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 16:37:00 +0000

Where did they go, those sunrises two years ago, when everything was easy to write and my emotions weren't so complex and unreachable at the same time? Here I go again at a frightening crossroad, with so much uncertainty and pressure, and nearly not enough sleep (often because of the workload; at times of my own volition).

It's yet another rollercoaster year of fun, excitement, fear, self-doubt, sadness, and utter, inexplicable happiness and contentment. In other words, it's life, or a particularly heightened phase of it. But among the many emotions, in this moment--and in many others, when I happen to catch myself--I am wistful.

Contradictory as it is, I've found myself most wistful at the happiest, calmest times. I yearn for things as they happen to me, because every time I can't help but remind myself: in a minute, or an hour, or the blink of an eye--this moment, this experience, and this unexpected swell of emotions will pass and I will never be able to have it again.

Around seven years ago, I was fascinated with cherry blossoms, blooming and falling in a matter of days. Until now this fearful fascination with change and ephemerality has stayed with me. Everything ends; everything passes.

So, often I shy away from any form of trying to capture the moment. Unwritten posts, pictures not taken, words left unsaid. Best left that way, for fear of not being able to do it justice. Instead I opt to keep them in my head, much like series episodes to be replayed when I feel the need.

Other times though, I think I ought to tell those stories--even just to myself--because the time will surely come when I will forget. Perhaps I'll start. While words and pictures may not suffice, they'll help, at least.

Perhaps, things aren't so easily lost after all.

Damien Rice - Cannonball

Vicarious

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 16:42:00 +0000

I'm tired of a life lived through your stories. I'm weary of the details of a good time or an annoying day where I'm always a spectator and never a character; the only reason they matter is because you matter.

You know I love you, but telling me all about a life spent with others shouldn't be all there is to spending your life with me.

Seeker

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Fri, 10 Jun 2011 18:19:00 +0000

Somewhere between a summer of new passions and old frustrations; between the thrill of an internship and the lazy first days which will mark my final year in college; between rainy days and John Mayer songs; between rare moments of clarity and my usual pseudo-profound stream of thought—somewhere, the stories I would have told got lost.

I was parked for three hours at a dentist's waiting room while my sister got her braces readjusted. During the wait I reread (for the nth time) Luis Katigbak's insightful first book, Happy Endings (which you guys should totally read). Afterwards, I wondered where my stories went.

And for the first time, I wondered if I would ever find them.

Yes, we (who claim to be) writers can be such bitches about writer's block and our never-ending insecurities about not being good enough, or about not having anything to write about, or not being able to do justice to what would have been the perfect subject. Or maybe that's just me.

That's the difficulty of treating literature like a romantic relationship, I guess. There's too much of an emotional involvement. Sometimes I think I can just call it off, and work on my other (unfortunately nonexistent) talents. But no matter how crappy my work gets, I can't not write.

At the other end of the spectrum, I think about writing for a living. I almost tried—I got accepted for a writing internship at an awesome company, but I didn't confirm my slot. Mostly that was because I was waiting for my dream company (which did not turn out well), and partly it was because I was afraid. To be fair, the company knew what they had coming. I was asked to bring some writing samples (and one or two, I picked out from this blog). I guess they kind of liked it, or found it free of glaring errors at the very least. But I chickened out, because—as with everything else in my life—I'm afraid of not living up to some self-imposed, insecurity-born standard.

(I did end up in an equally awesome company where I had a productive and fulfilling internship experience, but that's a completely different blog post.)

So I guess in reality, this is partly about me and writing, and partly about me and the fears that I have yet to conquer. Well I'd better conquer them fast because I have no room to be afraid. There's quite some responsibility resting on my shoulders this year: an org to dedicate my time to, and a long list of people—with me at the top—who are expecting me to finish that gosh-darned thesis, no matter what it fcking takes, man. Then we'll graduate happily ever after—or at least I'll be happy for no longer than a month. I'm giving myself that much time to take a break, and then I'll find a job.

But that's all future talk. I'll tell you all about those bridges when I get there. Because I sure as hell will keep writing. After all, if literature is a romantic relationship with words, then maybe if I stop trying so hard, the stories themselves will find me.

[That cute little girl in the photo is Yana, my two year-old cousin.]

Woosh

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 30 May 2011 15:54:00 +0000

I was looking through my old multiply blog, and look what I found:

The moon is a fascinating object.
The romantic, the mysterious, the unreachable.
But why does everybody adore it so much,
when it's just a 'chipped rock living on borrowed light'?(Gonzales, Sunset Hair)
Why do poets and fools gaze in wonder at the light of dead stars
and still make their wishes,
when they know well enough that there's nothing to grant it?

Maybe that's why we love the unreachable--we set our hopes impossibly high,
so that when they don't come true we can always say "I knew it was impossible."

No harm done.

But inside we know, for that tiniest moment in between the skepticism...

we closed our eyes and wished
the way a kid does--
right before he blows out
his birthday candle.

Wooosh.

Sentimental shit from my 18 year-old self. I have to admit, though--that it's still accurate for me. Three years, and maybe things haven't changed so much. (Maybe they should.)

Intermission: Make-Over

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 15:58:00 +0000

So after a year or two (or more, I don't really remember), my beloved blog has got a new layout! I was very hesitant to let go of the old one, because of all the meticulous work I've done to tweak it, but I feel like it's time to try something new. Plus, it might make me want to blog more. Ha ha.

Oh my, I'm too bored. Someone give me an internship please, I have 200 hours to complete before classes start in June (sigh).

The Limit Does Not Exist

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 17:44:00 +0000

We've traveled nearly everywhere, it seems--failing at hunting down PUVs and taking cabs instead. We've walked so many steps in the baking heat--I, in shoes too stylish for comfort (failing at vanity, as I often do)--always in danger of slipping on a foot bridge step. I've come so far to find myself parked on a mall bench for three hours, rereading a book which makes my head spin. I've come to be with you, yet I find myself alone (again, naturally--or so the song goes).

I've come so far, waited so long, and felt so alone--to look into your eyes as we talk; to have my hand held on a bus ride, and my face stroked affectionately as we walked along mall stores. All this to feel a happiness so small, yet so full. One that I haven't felt in months, and certainly not from anyone else.

Sometimes I'm afraid to discover just how much I can do for you.

Love is such a boundless thing.

Comforts

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 19:02:00 +0000

Sometimes you just have to step back, and step away from the details that are eating you up, to look at the big picture. That's when you see things clearly, and you get to think as the closest to being rational you could ever get (still not close enough though).

The thing is, often the big picture--and the decisions that need to made after seeing it--can be pretty painful to realize.

Still, it's your life, and it's your call. You choose your own happiness, and likewise choose the personal misery pit you will wallow in.

The only comfort is knowing that there's no rush to this decision.

And that you can always choose to curl up in the comfort of things you've gotten so used to, instead of facing the proverbially harsh winds of change.

(Often, being brazen is not being brave. Sometimes it takes a lot more courage to be what others see as a coward--if it means that at least one person is spared the damage.)

No one will ever need to know that you almost changed your mind.

Questionable Intentions

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 20:58:00 +0000

I never meant to write today, but there’s always something about you that compels me—to write, and do various other things I’d never thought I even wanted to.

I never meant to read, but there’s something about a sappy movie at five in the morning that compelled me to.

I never meant to know, but I now that I do, well I guess I don’t mean to know how I feel about it.

Because really, I never meant to feel anything about it. (It’s the movie, I suppose. I unfortunately am a hopeless romantic.)

And if there’s one intention that I at least got to keep, it’s that

I never meant to tell, and I never did.

A Valentine Post-mortem

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 18:54:00 +0000

VALENTINE'S DAY 2011--It's Monday, a fact which slides my mood from indifferent to ever so slightly dejected. Couples are walking past us hand in hand, the girls cradling bouquets of roses, and--in some cases--stuffed animals. I scoff at the latter--twenty-something couples who still regularly give each other stuffed animals are just odd. We're walking in the midday heat to the nearby Robinson's, where in a few minutes we will try, and subsequently fail, at trying to interview random students for a documentary on good government. That's as romantic as this day will get for me, apparently.

* * *

I sit through a class which I don't really want to be in, all the time willing my eyes to stay open (and even when I succeed, I think I still fall asleep while staring blankly at my socks). At the end of the class, a classmate gets the university actors' guild to surprise serenade his girlfriend. I troop out of class and end up singing Aegis songs and Zsa Zsa Padilla's Hiram with my friend Grace at the Oblation garden. We both crave for a karaoke night out, which unfortunately doesn't materialize at the moment.

* * *

I'm squeezed in on a jeepney that looks like a tetanus trap, between the sweaty, mean-looking kind of men who would make you pretty apprehensive of being held up. Thankfully, my judgmental sense is mistaken, and they turn out to be harmless. Five minutes in, I bring out my new and cherished copy of Miguel Syjuco's Ilustrado. My sister--a high school senior--bought it for me yesterday. I had accompanied her to Greenbelt to take pictures for her visual arts elective, and we dropped by the nearby Powerbooks. I was browsing the General Fiction aisle, when the stacked copies caught my eye. I'd been wanting to buy it for weeks, but lacked the money to do so. She insisted on buying me one. Today I gave her a pack of giant marshmallows (her favorite). It might seem unfair, but that's how we work--I give her time which I actually shouldn't have the leisure of spending; she gives me money for books which we both doubt she'll ever want to read. Sweetest thing anyone has done for me this week.

* * *

Second ride on the way home. I'm squinting in the corner of a red-lit jeep, still stubbornly reading my book. It takes a while to read this one--I'm not a huge fan of vocabulary words learned past the sixth grade--but I like it a lot. Across me, a woman carefully holds two long-stemmed roses slightly wedged in her shoulder bag. The perpetual traffic jam drags the evening on.

Ilustrado makes me think of how much I actually love Manila, despite the traffic, the trash, and the trash talking we Pinoys often describe it with. Earlier during the afternoon heat wave, I commented: "If I would ever leave the Philippines, it probably wouldn't be because of the political situation, or the economy--it would be because of the weather." While reading though, I think I still I wouldn't leave. Or if I would have to, I'd miss it terribly.

From time to time, I get completely lost in my book, only to look up and remember where I actually am; it's hard not to be reminded with the rumble of a dozen jeepney and tricycle engines, and the pungent smell of fish wafting from the Pasay City Market. I look down again, my eyes straining to make out the relatively tiny text; my mind straining to be distracted from the thirty minutes that still remain on my ride (should've been just ten minutes, but that's Metro Manila for you). Distraction has always been my cure for disappointment.

* * *

Valentine's Day has always been a curious day for me. I see it as a day of expectations--as Grace said, guys are expected to spend for girls, and girls are expected to appreciate whatever their boyfriends give (and that translates to all relationships). This is the one day--even more than Christmas, or their birthdays--that people all over the world feel entitled to some form of affection.

My relationship with the universe has been pretty similar these few days. I've been a having a good yet very stressful time. I do (school)work I enjoy; I'm getting along okay with my parents; and my love life is good too. But somehow I'm not as contented as I am some days. There's a tinge of disappointment at the back of my throat. I feel entitled to something else--something more; something grand.

I don't know why, but these days I feel like the universe forgot to give me flowers on Valentine's Day, like an otherwise loving significant other who let me down this one tiny time. But I'm pretty sure we'll patch things up soon. After all, it's been so good to me.

*Photo credit

***

Also, you guys should sign this petition! Spread the love to the LGBT community by supporting the Anti-Discrimination Act of 2010 (House Bill 1483) Click and sign!

Interlude

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 18:24:00 +0000

There's so much on my mind, that I have to either sleep it off, or blog it off. And, like most times, I can't come up with anything coherent, hence this news bulletin.

First off, I just got back from a mini-vacation in Baguio. A little more on that later. I seem to have misplaced the short entry I typed in the hotel room.

Second--being the vain person I am--I've started a 365 Project for 2011. It's actually gone on for the last month, and I'm proud to have kept it going. I hope it'll last the year. For the mundane details of my life in pictures, visit my 365 Project on Tumblr.

Third, I am currently on a job hunt. I'll be doing my internship this summer, and so far none of the companies I've sent resumes to seem to notice me. Well this is frustrating. But I have to keep trying. I'm planning on doing walk-ins tomorrow, but look who's still awake. I hope I still have the energy to purposefully wander around the Makati CBD later today.

Fourth, I would like to thank firewomyn for honoring me with the first LABIA (Lesbian and A Blogger International Award)--probably the steamiest-sounding blog award I've been acquainted with. Just another proof of how surprising and fun blogging can get. I really hope this catches on, since it's, well...catchy. Keep it up!

I miss blogging. All this school and org work is sapping the creativity and coherence out of me, but hopefully I can do some serious writing after the stress tides over.

The Truth, At Last

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 08:51:00 +0000

I came out to my mom today. My head's still reeling, so I can't really say much about it. It just found its way into the conversation, I forget how. The coming out part was pretty natural, just like any old conversation over lunch. We also had a 3-hour debate concerning norms, gender equality, religion, personal opinion--really, my head's throbbing. We're always like that, but it's only now that I appreciate where I got my debating skills.

For the most part, she was okay with it--except for the God's orginal design angle. As I expected, she had an idea already, and my confirmation was all she needed. Although, I told her about the possibility of me being bi, and she thinks that sexual orientation is a choice, so she's probably holding on the 5% chance that I'll find a guy to marry one day. Knowing my mom, I told her not to expect any husband from me--kids, maybe, but then she can't wrap her head around the idea of a homosexual couple raising kids, so...

She doesn't like the idea of promoting gender equality, and she thinks that changing culture is both impossible and superfluous. That's where the debate was centered on. In the end, she just told me to be prepared for the consequences of my choices in life--since, you know, she believes while I can't choose to be straight, I can choose to marry a man if I wanted a family; thus she feels I'm just being adamant on this whole lesbianism thing.

Still, I don't know, it's nice that she finally, finally knows. There's still my dad, who'll probably have a fit when he finds out. My mom will probably tell him, and it'll take a day of explaining or something. But right now I'm just glad that I've told my mom. She's not ecstatic over it, but she accepts it, at least, and that's great news for me. It feels like a sigh of relief after holding my breath for so long.

The Janus Tributes 3: Resolutions

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 17:32:00 +0000

Christmas and New Year's were pretty quiet this year, and I wasn't in the usual mood for wishlists, presents and year-ender posts. I did have awesome fun with my friends before the break, but the holidays are a time for family--and honestly, I love my folks but they're really boring. (They read this blog, by the way. Awkward questions, plus I am generally so dead. I hope they forget the url. If you haven't, well hello there parents. Please stop reading.)

Anyway, the main reason for not having a year-ender was that 2010 lacked the usual craziness and chaos that I usually go through. While I'm very grateful for such a stable and peaceful year, those two adjectives barely make for any interesting stories. The last year was great for meeting and keeping friends, but not much for telling tales. I did gain a lot--knowledge; wisdom; friends; weight; and increased alcoholic tolerance (either that, or better control over my drinking) among other things. But I can't rid myself of the feeling that I could've done more. I could've been more.

Thus, I've decided to make resolutions this year. It's been a while since I've made any lists, but here we go.

Dear Rz,

This 2011, never ever forget to:

MAKE A LOT OF RESOLUTIONS. And by resolutions, I mean short-term goals; concrete things to work for.
TAKE CHARGE. Of your life; of your relationships; of your work. Don't leave things to chance--or worse--to someone else. You know you can do it, so why don't you?
GO FOR IT. [Ehem, OJT, ehem] I'm tired of your easy come, easy go, laid-back attitude. You have to push yourself this year. It's time to get up and get the things you really want. It will get tiring, and you'll feel perfectly like crap, but if you keep giving a little extra, it will all be worth it. On a related note,
GET WHAT YOU WANT. If what you're getting isn't what you want, dump it and find something better. C'mon self, give yourself a treat. Don't settle for second best.
KEEP YOUR FRIENDS. You know how bad you are at this. But you have awesome people in your life and you can't afford to lose them, so lose the hermit habit instead. Reach out, let them in, and be good to them, always.
MAKE BAD DECISIONS (sometimes). I don't mean the life-ruining, relationship-wrecking type of bad. I mean the type which makes for funny stories later on. Don't be so uptight. Stable is best left to ICU patients and couples trying to start a family, and you're neither. Now is the best time to live for yourself, before you spend your whole life on responsibilities. "The things we regret most are not what we did but what we didn't do."
LIVE HEALTHIER. Okay, blogging this at one in the morning is a bad start. But please sleep earlier when you can, and learn how to wake up before 8 a.m. again. Lessen the cough-and-colds count this year. Last year was too much.
DO SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE FLABS. It's a bit rich to talk about flabs when you're such a skinny bitch, but they don't look good on you. So hit me with some sit-ups this year. I'm not talking six-pack abs overnight, but if your stomach and love handles get any fluffier, you'll be mistaken for a pregnant woman with your otherwise thin frame.

Just look at this letter from time to time; keep your word, and you'll do fine. This will be your year. Make it worth recalling when December rolls around.

Love,

Yourself

Reelizations: On Movies That Define Me

noreply@blogger.com (Rz F) — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 07:51:00 +0000

One look into my laptop's movie folder and my collection of less-than-legal DVDs will tell you that I'm nothing of a film buff. I do like watching movies; I regard them as one of my favorite leisure activities. Often though, I find that I'm not willing to part with the time and money involved in watching films. As a result, I'm more of an HBO viewer, or else I tend to watch movies on the basis of my friends' recommendations and coercions. This passively affectionate relationship I have with movies makes it difficult for me to name particular ones that define me, so I've decided to do it by categories.

Except for one, that is. I might as well start with the exception. I've recently watched Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids Are All Right, and it struck me mostly because lesbian couple movies are rare. Also, it reminded me of me and my girlfriend, with a slight twist. While I'm (quite obviously) the soft butch one with the Ellen Degerenes clothing preferences, she's the more accomplished and slightly workaholic one. And while I’m pretty self-directed (unlike Julianne Moore’s character), I’m the one who got delayed because of shifting; besides, seeing my girlfriend’s diligence can make anyone feel like a slacker. She’d cancel or turn down some dates or meet-ups for the sake of her thesis or org activities. Admittedly, it’s caused endless issues between us, but we work it out and we’re otherwise very happy—which is why we’ve lasted this long. (In fact, every time I tell people we’ve been together on and off for seven years, I’m greeted with either respectful awe or slight alarm, depending on how fearful of homosexuality and/or commitment they happen to be.) I’m too young to think about settling down and having a big old lesbian family like the one they have on the film (minus the cheating and all), but I hope that when both the time and person for it comes around, my family and other people dear to me would be accepting, or respectful at the very least.

Next up are chick flicks/love stories, which would tell you that I am a sap. Yes, there’s just no use in denying the fact. Love Actually is one of my current favorites, particularly the subplot about the best man (Mark) who is secretly in love with his best friend’s bride. He surprises her on Christmas and tells her how he feels, even when he knows there’s nothing else that can be done about it. I guess the hopeless romantic in me can relate. Among many others, I liked 500 Days of Summer, a non-love story; Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a love story where each character tries very hard, and yet fails, to not be in love with the other; and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, which I rather liked, despite unnecessary displays of Jason Segel’s…err…private parts. In hindsight, I seem to like bittersweet love stories, which I guess makes me an “emo” sap. Actually, it makes sense, seeing how I like to watch chick flicks whenever I’m depressed. Sometimes I just like to shut myself in my room, surrounded by comfort food, lamenting over the fact that—unlike most of the movie characters—I would probably die loveless and alone.

Last on my list are reality-bending movies such as The Truman Show. I only ever saw it once, as a kid, but the concept of creating an entire environment—an entire life—for a person really stuck. Then there’s Inception, the mind-bending film which also happened to be the first one I watched in a movie theater all by myself. I’m enchanted with the idea of subtly altering people’s perceptions. One of my ultimate dreams used to be to change the world—but with the jadedness that comes with growing up, I’ve settled for changing at least one person’s life, or even just a couple of people’s minds. Also, I love these types of films because they distract me completely, and take me away from the overwhelming monotony of everyday.

After all, isn’t that why we watch movies in the first place? Escapism is a tricky thing, though. At the end of the day, all the films we watch and remember are reality-benders. Truly, we choose movies to take us away. But then, I think it’s about time we choose how much of them we take in, too.

[This was an assigned essay for my Audio-Visual Communication class.]