Ars Longa, Vita Brevis

i hate rainy days.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Tue, 18 Feb 2014 09:11:00 +0000

I hate rainy days.

It was quarter past nine, yet the night boasted a promising feeling as I traversed the drenched streets, with my umbrella on my right hand and my left hand in my pocket. The night seemed calm and reassuring with the soft croaking of frogs as its background. The streets were adorned with sepia tones and the leaves dripping with the kiss of rain. It seemed a perfect orchestra. Wearing a jersey and pants folded at the seam, I stepped on the flowing waters at the roadside, perplexed as to whether I should appreciate or hate this scenario. The chilly winds whispered on my nape as I clung tightly to my umbrella. I walked slowly tiptoeing on the street lest I might wet my toes. It was a night covered with rain and my umbrella was helpless.

Cars whirred at the mercy of the water which were oblivious to the passersby. Though the rain sang noises on the streets as they dropped from the dark heavens, I was oblivious to it. All I heard was the faint noise of my own footsteps and the drowning notes of the piano as my earphones hugged my eardrums. The Muses were singing in my ears while the world was surrounded by the spattering noise and the silent humming of the waters cascading their ways to the cemented road and the dark watercourse.

I had to stop for dinner and I ended in one of those lonely resto placated by dim lights and music of the 80’s. I hated rainy days like this when you were forced to sit and submit to your hunger. Hunger that often lead you to a dingy place or a fast food chain. Yet there I was, still hoping for a promising night. I just hated days like this.

The soup arrived after a short notice and I drenched my throat with its warmth. It overwhelmed my frustrations and I began to compose myself as I removed my earphones. The soothing piano disappeared and was replaced by the music from a kvetchy stereo. It was this time that I scanned the place where in three tables were occupied- one table occupied by a grouchy old man. Perhaps we shared the same sentiments- the rain conniving with the gods to spoil our evening. The gods must be bored. I gratified myself with a bowl of soup while I occasionally glanced at my phone. So much for a promising night, I quipped to myself. The gods must be taunting me. I resigned to my fate.

It was then that you entered that door. Your wet clothing clung to your body while I visibly saw the water cascading its way from your hair to the tips of your fingers. Your hair and face glistened as the moisture trickled on your face. It was like the dew of a cold morning when the sun glimpsed on the east mountains and the clouds sang to herald the new day. I was caught by your beauty. It was then that I heard the smirking silence that I realized once more that we were not alone. You sat on the table adjacent to me and you threw an innocent glance at me. I caught it bashfully. I smiled at you and nodded. You nodded in return. It was like watching a classic painting brought into life when you smiled back at me. It was beautiful and hurting at the same time. There we were – strangers at a strange place in this strange time.

You started your dinner while I began to finish mine. Sometimes I caught your eyes swaying their hues on me coyly. We were like that – smiling and warming ourselves without the pressure of talking. I could feel you reaching for me, or was it only my presumptuous self? Sometimes when you looked at your food, I stole observing glances at you and I found out that you still wore your wet clothes. I couldn’t help but admire and be sorry for you at the same time – I could feel you shivering but you remained unfazed.

Time and silence kept on taunting us but neither of us submitted to this opportunity made by the heavens. Perhaps the rain brought us here to have our lives intertwined. Yet Destiny played with us coyly. I finished my dinner and you sat there anxious – or was it me painting this silly thought? It was like waiting for the last drop of rain to fall. I called for the bill and paid it silently. I was hoping for the rain to continue pouring heavily – for you to come to me and to share the shelter offered by the umbrella hooked on my chair. Our eyes met for the last time as I reached for the doorknob and heard the clinging sound of the chimes. I stopped on the doorsteps hoping you’d call me. Seconds seemed like eternity and I opened my umbrella. I reached for my pocket and kept my phone to the deepest part of it. The rain trickled in soft drizzles and it was then a thought dawned to me – it was a wonderful, a promising night after all. I closed my umbrella and felt the rain hugged me. I hoped that the same rain that hugged your body would embrace me tonight.

I hate rainy days. Yes, I hate them. But not tonight.

natuhog nga nila.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 13:28:00 +0000

Piliin, pillin ang naiiba.

Tuhog. The title reminds me of the flicks like Itlog, Talong, etc. You'll be disappointed though since the story revolves around three characters whose lives are intertwined and served before the audience in a barbecue style, not the doggie style. The characters were brought together by a bus accident. The three: Tonio, Fiesta and Caloy have their fates laid when the doctors call the shots: whose lives have to be spared and have to be sacrificed. One has to die, the other two have to live. Although this kind of predicament is common to some movie, Tuhog, however, keeps the audience at gun point as it tackles common Filipino, if not universal , concern. The senile Tonio presents us the problems of a senior citizen deciding to finally follow his passion; Fiesta displays the tragedy of a dark past masked by a seemingly strong character; and Caloy portrays the shallow mire that the recent youth gets entangled into nowadays. Throughout the movie, we have a glimpse of their respective lives dabbed by the joys and sorrows of their own comedies and tragedies.

Eugene Domingo greatly portrayed her role plus the fact that she had been constantly paired with young and attractive men, it made the audience cry, "Na naman." Well, kayo na lang ang mag-Uge. Kahit nakatali ang buhok niya, I can see it grew few centimeters long nang halikan siya ni Jake. The movie showed Eugene's versatility; may it be drama or comedy, she could really pull the movie through. I couldn't help but laugh at her scenes even how tear-jerking the scene was. Kimmy and Dora's faces tickled the seriousness away from me and I ended up smirking.

The scene that pinched me most was when Tonio, facing his newly-cleaned bakery, was gifted by his wife with a toque and a manual for baking. His wife had been there for him even the situation defined buffoonery. Truly, love knows no boundary, even if the boundary plays along foolishness.

The movie successfully impaled what the mainstream cinema fails to showcase. Kung baga nga, natuhog talaga niya.

pacific rimmed.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 17 Jul 2013 15:25:00 +0000

Pacific Rim opens with a scene of less explanation and ends with less explanation.

Slow-mo....mo...mo...

There's nothing more rewarding than a silly movie highlighted with great sounds, colorful display of effects and plenty, yes plenty, of actions. The movie starts with dutiful actions and takes its end to a final explosion. Your puny minds won't even bother an ounce of effort in thinking about anything since the plot is as flat as the robots are big. Pacific Rim is heavy like the robots and ridiculously entertaining as the monsters are annoying. I was twisting my neck back and forth watching the actions and the robots. Though heavy, it will lift your butts from your seats as you "drift" together with the gargantuan characters; robots, monsters and humans alike. Although the robots are as not agile as the Transformers', it will somewhat leave your mouth agape since you can literally see the jaegers' designs detail by detail not to mention the actions that entail. A lot of actions without a pressure to one's eyes. A total visual feast without the slightest mind exercise.

What I really enjoy in the movie were the scenes where the geeks tried to outdo each other and laboriously ended up gathering the glory. At least as I see it. Imagine "drifting" with an outside force like the kaijus; that was amazing and all the while simply geeky. Earth's emancipation came from the geeks although the controls were held by the jaegermeisters. Irony seems to be playing coy with reality here. Geeks beat the ripped bodies. Asia seems to be the seat of the world's emancipation (Maybe due to the fact that monsters rose from the Pacific). And seeing the portal opened a lot of times (the scene when the Gipsy Danger was teleported to the other side) still gives me the creeps. Like being sucked by morbid appendages. What was that? A flower opening or a ghastly tunnel going inside a chicken intestine? *shiver*

The movie rocks. It is a Guillermo del Toro, so to say. Although not as brilliant as his Pan's Labyrinth, who gives a care? It was not intended for a red carpet anyway.

TTFN!

judging the books by the covers.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 13 Jul 2013 12:47:00 +0000

Don't judge the book by its cover. Cliche. I judge, however, a person by what he reads. Not in a condescending way though. But somehow, I have a glimpse of what kind of a person someone is by the book he is reading. I was in a bookshop a while ago and I saw strata of readers pulling books of their interest from one shelf to another. I saw also a file of girls giggling while reading romance novels. I saw bibliophiles huggling books. I was always amazed by the busyness of people choosing books, skimming pages, and browsing pictures. There were people as old as 60 and young as 6, each buried intently in his book of choice; some leaning on the shelves while others sitting on the floor. And there was I killing my time scavenging for books I desperately want to collect for future read.

One girl picked a romance novel and was constantly giggling, perhaps amused by what she read or imagined, while her companion busied herself on an English novel. The girl with the English book barked, "Why don't you read an English novel?" The girl with a Pinoy romance novel retaliated, "Duh, as if you understand English naman." I nearly dropped my jaw and my books when I heard their verbal antics. I sighed a smile.

I always admire people who have intelligent choices when it comes to reading materials, may it be a magazine, newspaper or a book. When a person picks classics, I can't help but be curious about what and how he thinks. I am blessed to be surrounded by intelligent people who have exquisite taste on reading materials. I want to peek at their brains and see what's going in there. When a person picks a book of art or architecture, I tense thinking what's brewing inside that mind. An inspiration or a concept is forming? When I see someone reading a book, I can't help but have a sense of respect for that person. I love reading. It is my own brand of heroine. The addiction I can't help but succumb to. It is my own brand of airline that takes me to the beauty of Paris, the grandeur of Rome, the depths of Atlantis, the mysteries of here and there. Emily Dickinson once blurted, "There is no frigate like a book, to take us lands away, nor any coursers like a page, of prancing poetry." Who wouldn't agree with that?

This year, at school, we have this campaign of raising readers among children. The school is trying its best to eliminate the hazards that modern technology brings by instilling a love for reading among children. Well, technology has its pros and cons and the school is beset by the problems that the technology impose on the younger minds. Talks about the benefits of books outweigh the harms brought by the amusement that gadget offers. I say balance. But children of this generation seem to be ignorant of this word.

I have a student who reads like a stenographer writes. He reads a page like it was a one-liner comic strip. I let him read a three-page short story and after a minute he gave the book to me and summarized what he had read. If the world could offer children like this, then we could have an intelligent planet. But again, balance is the word. We speak of intelligence in all facets. Just imagine a world preoccupied with reading rather than fiddling with gadgets. What would you rather choose?

I don't care about your choice, though. It's all up to you. TTFN!

Books to be read:

Almost No Memory - Lydia Davis


Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

The Intellectual Devotional

how to surivive a zombie apocalypse, at least.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 29 Jun 2013 06:41:00 +0000

I and a friend watched World War Z at a nearest cinema oblivious to what the movie was all about. We knew it was all about zombies. I was making a mental note that I was watching a zombie movie and a movie like this requires a zombie mind. Flaccid. Passive. All the facets of boredom.

All the facets of boredom sans Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt stars it, so, might as well gamble some of my time. It was a friend's birthday and she was planning to watch a movie all by herself. Mind you, watching alone is excruciatingly boring and lonely with the fact that you laugh all by yourself, be sad by yourself and worst, cry by yourself without any one to turn to for those gripping scenes. It is a total embodiment of boredom. You are boredom personified. So, I presented myself as an escort.

After few minutes of trying to convince myself to doze off, the movie started to kick my interest. Like a meal skipping the appetizer and the main entree, I was served with the dessert immediately. Explosions. Commotion. A destroyed side mirror. A distressed (yet still cool) Brad Pitt. A worried mother. And the panic continued. It was like watching a movie mid-part. Suddenly the zombies presented themselves. The zombies here were like scavengers lustful for fresh flesh. Imagine a zombie bred with a ninja and that was how the movie was like. You never knew when the zombie jumped off to chomp a neck or an arm. The infection run like the Flash. And in a span of day, it was a pandemic. Humanity smelled near-extinction. The world gripped for life. The movie depicted a zombie outbreak with brilliance. It was not the usual zombie-eat-brain movie, rather it would let you think. "what if". It ate my brain with a question, "What if today is the Zombie Apocalypse? Will I survive?"

Watching the movie, I realized that if Zombie Apocalypse has to arrive, then you have to be ready at all cost. Physically, mentally and emotionally. Here's my survival tips (based on the movie):

1. Wear your most lightweight shoes. The zombies don't give a crap whatever the brand is, as long as you can sprint head to head with them, or shall we say, foot to foot. Train your lungs, also.

2. Stock, at least, a duct tape. They are indispensable instrument to create zombie-mutilating instruments. I was amazed how Brad Pitt used it to attach an arm-shield to his arm using a ~~porn~~ magazine and to make a bayonet. If the world were to end, duct tapes will be your messiah.

3. If zombies were to be maniacally sensitive to sound, then don't bring your phone with you. Or any sound-producing materials. Cue Celine Dion music. Aaaarrgghh.

4. Be mentally ready that you could be the next target of any zombie. Be mentally ready to accept that your loved one could be the next. Be mentally ready to fire that gun just in case he berserks in front of you. Be mentally ready to die, too, just in case you berserk first in front of them.

5. Stay in group. There's less probability that you could be the next host/meal/victim.

6. In an event that a zombie bit you or infected you, cut that body part immediately. Being handicapped is way better than being undead. What if the zombie bites you in the ear or head? Hmmm...God bless your soul.

7. What if you accidentally meet a zombie? Summon a pea shooter? This is not a game. Run. Let your lungs summon all the air it could get.

8. Bring supplies that could last until this mayhem ends. Water, food, and ammos. And courage.

Well, we had a blast watching the movie. It was a zombie movie after all, but with a dash of brilliance. No dull moments. TTFN!

PS. Happy Birthday Ms Juna...late post.

dad's day

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 05:36:00 +0000

I have never been so open in terms of showing affection to my Dad. Culture or the upbringing play great roles perhaps, but entirely I don't give a crap about this. In Philippine setting, boys showing affection to their dad seems somewhat a taboo. Just a thought though. I love my Papa, as I call him. He has been the pillar of my principles and everything that I learned about manliness or the like, I solely attribute it from him. My Dad is my hero. When all the boys in the world look at cartoon characters or superheroes as the epitome of strength and manly power, I look up at my Dad as my Superman.

I barely talk to my Dad about my life, my problems and my triumphs. I barely talk to him about school. I barely talk to him about girls. Pardon me, but I don't talk about girls to my Dad at all. My Dad scores high in this area and I, although I have a girlfriend right now, has not made much a scene in this area. However, my Dad has been a good role model to me. Our relationship is based on a mute trust, literally and figuratively.

I remember when I was still a young kid, perhaps 8 years old, when I verbally abused my Papa. I don't know if it was due to stress (Kids do get stressed out sometimes) or the early kick of hormones or I was plainly stupid and rebellious. Like a modern day drama, I told my Dad, "you're a worthless ~~piece of~~ Dad...blah, blah, blah", along with a sickening, threatening eyes that could summon hell and heaven at the same time and a voice mustering all courage. But unlike fairy tales, I didn't have my happily ever after after that, I was dumbfoundedly sick hearing myself utter those words. I was like slapped by an invisible hand and my conscience hurt. Right there and then, I apologized to my Papa with tear-drenched eyes. As fast as my short-lived courage welled-up from me was how fast my humility soared back to earth. From that time on, I never ever try to be stupidly brave again.

Papa loves me and I can feel it even across seas and Philippine regions. And today, I honor him by being a grateful son. Love you, Pa. I know you won't be able to read my post, but who knows?

eating italy.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 18 Aug 2012 16:20:00 +0000

my pesto

Everyone is destined to be someone and I am not to be a chef. But I love food. I love to eat. Food unites everyone, literally. There’s this time of the month, two to three days before the 15^th or 30^th, that I and my housemates usually gather to share what is left of our supplies. A period of scarcity bordering poverty. A time when your budget has reached its tolerable limit. A time for sharing. And we always laugh about it. Abundance is always preceded by scarcity. It’s inevitable. And we still laugh about it.

While supplies last, or shall we say while money lasts, I try to taste “good food”. Good food means it is prepared exhaustively and not commercially in some known or unknown restaurant. But when you’re tired and lazy, you can’t be choosy. I sometimes satiate my hunger with the instant satisfaction from the oily fries and a pretentious meal which nutritional value is mediocre when compared to your food supplement. I suggest you go home and swallow the pill of your choice. Your vitamins. Or your sleeping pills, it won’t matter though. My point is that fast food chains become our refuge when hunger and laziness collide. To cook requires a lot of patience, and good taste. Experimenting is good but taste buds can also experience trauma. We don’t want our friends to eat our food for friendship’s sake. That can be fatal. Kidding.

Today, I choose to eat good food. Of course, prepared by me. Cooking, for an amateur like me, is like experiencing writing for the first time. Your inexperience becomes a great factor. First time experience means “food in danger”. Everyone can be a cook, at least, after you pour that Dead Sea-like broth you made after a multitude of practice. Cooks are made. And I am making one out of me. Hahaha.

I choose to cook pasta. I love pasta. Every time I eat pasta, I feel like I’m a step away from Italy. Italy means gastronomical delights waiting to be relished. Though I have not been there, eating pasta always transports me to this lovely place. My Italy is food and imagination combined. I cook pesto with tuna. It was like six years ago when I first tasted pesto and I realized I love Italy. The feeling was like “unusually and exceedingly peculiar and altogether quite impossible to describe.” There’s a sense of wonder how the mixture of oil, leaves, nuts and pasta could make such a miracle. It makes me utter “bon appétit” a couple of times. And I am uttering one now.

Ms. Ching, a colleague, shared her secret in cooking: to cook an exquisite meal, just mix everything. Well, after tossing everything in the bowl, I toss also all my hopes to be a good cook with it. The first batch is a little bit salty but somehow considerable for someone who's really hungry. The second one is an utter perfection, enough to let me say all the Italian words I know while eating. Hehehe...

Good food comes with a price. And I pay it all while I eat my pesto with gusto.

subtle dementia.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 02:44:00 +0000

picture from here

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to write. With the music drowning me from the noise around, I felt compelled to produce something since I am within the arena of my own world again. This is what is beautiful when my head is empty: there’s an ample space for the thoughts that I can think about. Though my mind can hold tanks of ideas but my memory seems to take ounces only. It is like a funnel. There’s the big mouth ready to absorb good and vile thoughts but only some of these can pass through the other end. Maybe I have a good kind of Alzheimer’s. Good, since most of the time, I think humanitarian. Occasionally, my mind brings out ignominious thoughts that I don’t even know they exist. I think in volumes but I produce ounces. They just slip away from my mind. What remains are egregious thoughts. What I deliver are domesticated ones.

I think caprice. I am volatile. I always submit to the subtle whims of my id. I am a brat of my inner urges. I always play with the inner me to see the consequences or the outcome. I like walking in tightropes with my inner self. I don’t know if there’s such that exists but I feel secure when I am attuned with myself than when I am with the outside world. I feign absence to feel my presence. I become one piece when I am scattered. There’s a part of me that wants to get hold of my lunacy. There’s a part of me that controls it. I am a coin. I am where the side is up but I am always both.

I am always intrigued by the lunatics or the “crazy” people. They own the pedestrians and the world is their playground. They are tax-free and no one seems to bother their misbehavior. It is always charged to their derangement. Are their worlds as colorful as we claim our surroundings to be? Or are their worlds as complicated as the labyrinth of our ignorance? We find them funny, repulsive and unacceptable. But when they talk to an unseen comrade, I am always at awe. Have they had destroyed the portion of their brain for sanity or have they finally tapped on their inner psyches? I want to reach that inner psyche. I want to converse with my inner self. Without appearing crazy, at least.

I haven’t had a close encounter yet with someone crazy of the literal sense. However, I have met several people suffering from metaphorical insanity. They deny the fact that they live in two faces. But their actions are reeking with the smell of their sanity in trouble. Man is an ugly creature if one wills him to be so. He can also be ruthlessly beautiful. Man is always a two-way conduit. And I admire it. I don’t admire though, the thought that most people adhere to the idea of simplicity or singularity, albeit the idea that living in complication is their twin.

I am a complication masked by my being a simpleton. My ignorance is my scapegoat. I am still unable to tap on my deepest psyche. I want to touch that realm. I know everyone has his own insanity, though properly in placed. I have a safe for my own dementia.

How does it feel to be crazy? How will you know if you’re already one? How is the world in a crazy man’s mind? Are you already one?

cups of insanity.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 13:20:00 +0000

It was one of those afternoons where in a kick of coffee was not enough without a dose of conversation. I was with my Mom who I think was as drunk with boredom as me. She was on the bed while I was on a chair toying the idea of either sleeping or reading. My Mom and I conversed a lot about anything, from the most banal things in life to her most complicated problems like past pregnancies, business and old age. She never ran out of stories. I never ran out of ears. I love listening, don’t I?

It was one of those afternoons as I told you: a mug of coffee and a book covering my face. I finally decided to kill a book. She was on the bed feigning sleep and I was there waiting for the moment she ignites the start of a conversation that knows no ending. Unless she ends it, or someone shouts “It’s cooked!” I am a light conversationalist. A lot of it will make me drool or utter inaudible expletives. “Mike?!”, she said. “Hey, Hitler!”, I nearly shouted out of surprise. I never expected she could be that enthusiastic.

“What book are you reading?”, she asked me nonchalantly as if we were not in the room for an hour already. Peeking on the edge of the book, I looked at her, “A book of a crazy author.” I thought I heard a cricket peed. My Mom was silent for a century.

Earlier this morning, I was watching Sybil, a film about a woman having multiple personality disorder. My Mom was there walking to and fro throwing questions about the movie. Answering them while watching the movie (let alone understanding it), for me, was like sleeping in a Kafkaesque dream. But God gifted me with patience even He, could envy for. I still listened. And compelled myself to answer her questions.

I sipped my coffee. “You’re reading that?! Why do you like crazy stuff? You watched something crazy this morning and now, you’re reading “crazy”!”, she bashed like she’s a member of the JBC (Judicial and Bar Council). I sipped my coffee again. “Nakakaaliw kasi eh at nakakagaan ng isip.” (It is amusing and it lightens my mind.), was all I could muster.

“Birds of the same feather talaga kayo (You’re really birds of the same feather). You flock together. Nababaliw ka na rin (You’re going crazy also).” And she left her bed.

I sipped my coffee and smiled. Mother knows best.

hang in there: eiga sai 2012.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 25 Jul 2012 11:46:00 +0000

What would you do when the misfortunes of life seem to connive with fate to twist your destiny into a distasteful one? Eiga Sai 2012 echoed the answer ,"Hang in there." From the first movie that I watched until the last one, there's a message that was clear in each character, the need to persist, to survive, to "hang in there".As I watched the stories of mountaineers, pilots, doctors, flight attendants, boxers, samurais, ninjas and even criminals, I realized one thing: Life is real. Everyone suffers. And everyone fights to survive. Eiga Sai 2012 reverberated the need to survive amidst the tragedies of life.

Peak: The Rescuers

The Eiga Sai opened with laughter and tears in the Peak: The Rescuers. It showcased the beauty of Japan's cold mountains that highlighted the blue skies. I always see mountains and snow. I said to myself, "Japan, even on ice, is still breathtakingly wonderful."

The story revolved around the characters of Shiina and Shinpo, both mountaineers of different perspectives. Shiina was a neophyte while Shinpo was a mountain compass, an enthusiast. The story circled around Shiina's struggles in the art of mountaineering under the tutelage of her own fear, doubt and courage. Without struggle, she would not discover the will to survive. Shinpo, on the other hand, became her scarf against the coldness of life. He became her redemption.

I love the film. I spent more than two hours trying to subdue the seemingly unappeasable cyclone of emotions inside me. The audience could attest to that. I tried to hold a tear.

Happy Flight

I always admire pilots whenever I see one. I remembered the first time I rode a plane. I spent most of the time listening to my own prayers while the clouds played peek-a-boo with me. But the Captain's voice soothed those worries away. Since then, I was always fascinated by pilots. Was it really that hard to fly and to land a plane safely? Questions. Questions. Questions.

Happy Flight laid the answers on a silver platter. It was never easy. Trying to fly a thing that big and that heavy was not a layman's work. That's why, soon-to-be-Captain Suzuki was both a hero and a survivor in this movie. I was deeply moved by his words, "I want to land a plane wherein the passengers could barely feel that it landed already." Security and comfort.

The struggle started when a small part of the plane got destroyed and, thus, cascaded into a series of plane exhibitionism, airport drama and unwanted humor. I always like how the Japanese made their movies: there's always humor.A problematic plane is serious. But Japanese humor is more serious. I always pocket out a laugh from time to time.

The movie ended just like its title: Everyone got a happy flight. And so was the audience.

Ninja Kids

Two words for this movie: Eeww and Funny.

Based on a manga, the movie captured the audience through its colorful costumes, handsome casts (the girls' screams were still fresh in my ear canal) and slapstick humor. Stepping on a dog's poo, nose with gooey mucus, weird faces like Madame Auring's and a big head. Just plainly weird.

Rantaro, a ninja kid, was sent to a school to learn the ways of a ninja. Together with his bunch of sleazy, cunning and faithful friends, he managed to overcome obstacles and conquered his own life's tragedies.

My humor is somewhat shallow, so I always find myself laughing at the film.

Colorful

Colorful was the animation of this year's Eiga Sai. It was a film about a soul that was given a chance to live again but in another person's body. He would forfeit this chance unless he found the reason why he was sent back.

He lived in the life of Makoto Kobayashi whose family issues he deeply resented. He discovered the complicated life that was left behind by Makoto.The first half of the film was a shade of gray: dark, gloomy and dragging. I nearly strangled the person next to me. Kidding. Hehe.

The other half of the movie went into shades of pastel as "Makoto" discovered the joy behind meeting friends, or shall we say a friend. His life became colorful when he discovered what he lost due to his indifference to the world. I was a bit curious about the reason behind his suicide. Through the guidance of another soul, he was prompted to realize what was his mistake.

The whole film dragged me for almost two hours to find out what his mistake was. His mistake was that he killed someone. He killed Makoto. The soul that returned to Makoto was his own soul afterall. Complicated? Watch the movie 'coz I don't want to spend the whole day here reiterating the film.

Tomorrow's Joe

I thought the idea of boxing as an escape route to sudden wealth was a Pinoy mindset. I was wrong. Even Japanese had this, or at least in the movie.

The film would bring us to the slums of boxing dreams where Joe was discovered by, perhaps, a former good boxer. All I could say that Joe definitely lived a hard life having violence as his staple food. He loved brawling. His life changed when he met Rikiishi, a pro boxer, in a fight inside the prison. This opened him to his purpose in life and started his "boxing career". Joe won all his match for one sole purpose: to fight Rikiishi someday on a ring. I don't know why they became smitten with each other's punches.

Among the films, I ranked this as my best. Though not a fan of boxing, I liked the whole flow of the story. It's just that I don't get it why they injected the story of the girl's poverty to the plot. Found it not interesting. So what if she came from the slums? Her issues were not resolved, even at the later part.

Villain

Being the featured film of this year's Eiga sai, I expected a lot from this film. I was a bit late so I missed the first few parts. Just like the other films, I noticed the first part before the title was shown could mean a link in the chain. It can make or break the story.

I felt empty and dumbfounded after watching the movie. Though I understood the logic behind the character of Yuichi, I was still stupefied by the depth of the story. I was drowned with my own ignorance. Each character faced their own villains in life. Either they encountered outside forces or they came face to face with their own selves.

Among the films, this belongs to my To-Watch-Again List. Though the film did not disappoint me, my perception and understanding of it puts me in the frontier of frustration.

Eiga Sai 2012 dismisses the idea of an easy-going life. The basic struggles in life punches their realities through our guts. We either throw a haphazard punch or block it with our own countercross. We either subjugate ourselves to a KO or we emerge a winner, someone who "hangs in there".

I definitely love my Eiga Sai experience this year, though I still miss the company of Elna Furio. I miss seeing her cry and laugh at the same time while watching. I watched 7 films out of 10. Hope to watch it with you next year. Hahaha.

why blog?

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Tue, 17 Jul 2012 03:49:00 +0000

Dear Reader,

Writing is not my passion, though I really try to force it in my system like forcing an amino tablet in one's mouth. Ask the bodybuilders how big it is. I don't feel the Cloud 9 experience. What I feel instead is like putting Hulk in a "bartolina" (small cell). I can almost smell the steamy sweat of pressure and the throbbing pain of the inevitable stress that follows. I just love to share my ideas, my thoughts, my fears. I just love to tell you what's in my puny mind. I just love to show you the strength of one's thought if exhaustively used. I just want to share me.

I know anyone can read this and so I know I can tap on anyone's mind. See the advantage? I can stay in your mind for quite some minutes. You are basking under my short-lived power. I am a power-tripper. That's why I like to share ideas because I know you will spend time agreeing and disagreeing with me. You become intertwined with my ideas. This experience is familiar because I become one with the characters when I read a book and I always become the alive audience when I read one's work. I am always overpowered when I do such things. It's just like conversing with someone over a cup of coffee. Warm. Candid. Casual. True. Irresistible.

This brings me to the idea of blogging. I like the idea of being anonymous to the world yet felt in presence. It's like sitting in the Congress. You know what I mean. I know that somewhere out there a pair of prying eyes or a curious mind is reading my thoughts. And I want it. To you my dear reader, I'm talking personally and I'm not convincing you to believe what I wrote. They are either products of imagination, of tantrums or of boredom. Although I don't equate them to nonsense pieces, I still don't encourage you to value their thoughts. But it will be flattering if you do so.

Why do I blog? I am always asked by my conscience. Way back 2008, I had the thought of blogging as a safe for my insane thoughts. Because of a friend (you know who you are, ~~or were~~), my blog now is a toxin-dispersing machine. But thanks for being my short-time publicist. Currently, it is either spreading epiphany of thoughts or planting insane ideas. I am not a cynic, though, I like to play with my cynical mind. And I blog to plant my insane thoughts here in cyberspace. I am the other side of the coin. I blog because I want to express. Period. Express what? Anything. Even things imagination has not reached. Life is short and I am running out of it. My blog is not a hobby, it is my memory. It is my memory safe.

To you my reader, I keep them safe here.

Yours truly,

mjomesa

would tomorrow cry for me?

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 06:05:00 +0000

O Muse, your words are music to my content,
The fortress crumbles, my soul's bent
To unravel the rust of this wretched body,
Devoid of existence, the temple of malady
For I hide beneath the mask of Apollo
And flaunt gaiety with face unbarred
The tears not seen under the veil,
For my pain is just a dust on the scale.

If I die tonight, would tomorrow cry for me?

Would the world shed its heavy plumes?

And dust my ashes to the winds?

Or would I crumble like the ruins

Or my memories fade under faint skies?

If my soul trembles, what would've become of my body?

If my fate is laid, what would my future behold?

Unrivaled woes and grievances,

Would tomorrow be uncertain if Death be its gain?

If I die tonight, would tomorrow cry for me?

Or would I be just another tombstone?

parting.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 14:47:00 +0000

I am bad with parting. I am usually caught between the idea of "not reacting at all" or "the feeling that is almost there". I usually let everything pass. I let the time pass. I let the emotional side of each situation pass. I let the feelings of guilt and grief pass. Basically, I become frigid like a senile man. This time, however, it is different.

Today is the last day of school. The excitement is so overpowering that everyone forgets the real score. Parting is supposed to be a momentous event for tear-jerking experiences and emotional goodbyes. Or is it only real during my younger years? My students are hollering around with excitement. I still don't know how to react. Will I be happy that the school year has ended and that stress has reached the safe level? Will I be sad for the fact that I'll be seeing them after two months? Or will I be delighted that I can lavish myself with stress-free days later? Blank.

Maybe it is just the effect of lack of sleep. My mind is groggy and my emotional reflexes are anesthetized by coffee-less morning. But as I have told you, this day is rather different. I receive this card from one of my students (see the photo). And I said to myself, "What a wonderful world." Kidding aside, I am deeply touched by my student's token of affection. Each word is like a golden trophy. To tell you honestly, this is the nth time that I have read the words and I am still seized by the same feeling. Three years is just as short as his message but is as meaningful as the words used. To that dear student of mine, "Timmy, spending three years again with you would be delightful."

This time, parting for me is meaningful. And I react knowingly.

and we talk about dying.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 08:12:00 +0000

My weekend has been spent mostly watching movies. I can't find any way to waste my time and doing my backlog in work is quite tedious and frustrating. Whenever I see the paper works I throw a fit and I lose my head. Weekend is ruined and the cascading effect takes its toll on Monday. I don't want also to read books though I am already quite behind my reading. I just want to be lazy. Hehehe.

Last Eiga Sai, I only watched "Feel the Wind" and "Villon's Wife". The featured movie was "Departures" which sadly I haven't seen until now. Hehehe. Curious about the various comments I read in the reviews about its being a tear-jerker, I downloaded the movie to prove it first-handedly. Though there were scenes that were touching, it didn't give me the moment to shed a single tear which was quite frustrating. I was expecting too much perhaps and ended up denying the movie had already ended. Perhaps the big screen would be a great help. I watched it on my laptop. Anyway, the movie dealt about "departures", mostly about dying and separation like what happened to Daigo and his wife. And of course the joy and peace that followed after restoration. "Death is harder for those who are left behind."

This brings me to the second point, "What would you do if you know you only have few seconds to live?" Honestly, I don't know what to do. I haven't made my "Bucket List" yet. So many plans to accomplish and seemingly so little time. Death is such a short notice. When I watched the "Source Code" I couldn't help but wonder, "Yeah, how will I make every second of life count?" Be worldly? Influence others? Build more relationships? Be attuned with God? I know the answer but my doubt is hanging me on balance. I feel powerless at the thought. If only I could turn back time. But what would I do? I don't have any regrets in life except having just enough money. I want to be filthy rich, being able to buy what I want. Hehehe.

What if I could travel through time and manipulate the course of history? Perhaps live in the time of the great thinkers and steal their ideas? Or maybe travel to the place where you could be mistaken as a god and be served all day and night? Or travel through time and cheat death and live like an immortal traveling from one time to another? The only underside is not being with someone but yourself. Would I risk? I watched "Cyborg She" and I had this thought. What if I could cheat death? Be with someone over and over again. Monopolize the history by jumping from time to time and annihilate the icon of the era. Evil, just plainly evil. I remembered a movie where in someone traveled through time and became a millionaire after placing a bet on the winning team. He got the idea from a sports book. I know there will always be a consequence. Cheating was never made to be perfect. But you can perfect cheating by going back again and again to the same scenario. Hehehe. Still my super-ego is working. Hehehe.

Cheating death entails a lot of consequence. But having death under your control would be a brilliant idea. No.1 in my Bucket list for that matter.

eiga sai 2011 and my personal blah-blah.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 27 Jul 2011 14:02:00 +0000

I always like how Japanese people talk. There's always this sound that makes me smile whenever the language is uttered. It was like the air is sending whispers of ticklish incantations in my mind. I always smile. This is one of the reasons why I like Japan. There's a rough edge at the sounds and then there's a mixture of innocence and candor in the way the sounds wave and mix in my ears. And I always like the mystery behind it. Japan, for me, is synonymous with mystery. It is like being entangled in a web of beauty, mystery and a hint of roughness. Cherry blossoms, samurai and kimonos are the tangible proofs, to name a few. Of course, there are the movies. The Eiga Sai 2011.

This year's Eiga Sai had been a frustration for me since I wasn't able to watch most of the movies. I managed to watch only the last two movies charged to lack of information. Last year's film festival was a remarkable one since Ms. Elna had been there. She was the culprit behind this. She had introduced me to Eiga Sai which schedule I was totally clueless. The film viewing that I had this year was "scheduled" by accident. I and my girlfriend were passing by the entrance of the mall when the notice about the film festival hit our eyes. Love at first sight! It was late already when we cleared our schedules. The first one in our menu was the movie "Feel the Wind" by Sumio Omori. We watched also the "Villon's Wife".

"Feel the Wind" was like running with the runners for the last 2/3 parts of the 133-minute movie. It was the "Chariots of Fire" of Japan only this time it tackles with athletes who need to battle their own issues and strugles in life. Haiji, wanting his own dreams fulfilled, organized a team of seemingly incapable individuals under the coach who I think was better be relieved as a coach. Sleeping in the middle of a competition?

Let me cut it short, the team did not win but had shown what real winning means. The Hakone Ekiden (marathon) had seen more than just marathon that day. As a viewer, I had seen the unfolding of patience and determination. The movie ended with the question, "What is running?" with which the answer was not given.

I remember one of the Nescafe commercial lines that goes, "Ikaw para kanino ka ba bumabangon?" It has the same appeal to me. It asks the most banal questions which answers can take us off-guard. Your depth of answer will tell the level of maturity that anchors in your being. The depth of answer will also tell our motives and concerns, particularly our circles of concerns. "What is running?" I can't basically answer this seriously. All I can say is that, "It is an infinitive." Why so serious? Seriously, that's how deep I am. Hehehe.

Anyway, the movies were really nice.

scheiße! scheiße! she was born that way.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Thu, 19 May 2011 06:07:00 +0000

People are unique but it doesn't mean all are original. We are pieces of what we have in our lives; the people around us, the stacks of literature we read, the experiences that taught us. We are pieces of the portions put together like threads woven into a tapestry. Therefore, my point is, no song or literature is original since it may be an inspiration drawn from pieces preceding it. It may be unique in its own way but again, repeat, repeat, repeat, nothing in this world is original.

Let me get to the bottom of this. Lady Gaga's new album has created a hype since the time she has proclaimed that this is the album of the decade. Well, I got hold of the leaked songs (whether it is true or not, I don't care) and after ripping it and listening to it, the songs are scheiße good! Mostly electronic beats that drag you to the dance floor and a reminiscence of early 90's, the album presents also messages where everyone finds a place to fit in. Hair/Born This Way deals with freedom of expression, Government Hooker with freedom from censorship, Bloody Mary with religion, Judas with love, sin and contempt, etc. All the songs ride in the same motorcycle bearing the theme about embracing one's self, self-acceptance and freedom.

Personally, I like the Marry the Night, Judas, Hair, Scheiße (for the gibberish lyrics and bloody beats), Bloody Mary, Heavy Metal Lover, Electric Chapel and The Edge of Glory. Talking about BTW being an Album of the Year, well, it's Gaga's problem. I won't go up the stage with her when she gets the award, so practically, I don't care and she either. Lol.

Amidst the kinkiness and playfulness of the song lyrics ("I want your whiskey mouth/ All over my blonde south"), Lady Gaga again invests in filthy and sexy moans, theatrical vocals doused with electronic guitars, saxophones and whatevers. And I like it. For the past twelve songs, opening with Marry the Night, you'll find yourself drowned in an amniotic fluid of electric beats but will later end with a breather You and I and finally be born with The Edge of Glory sticking in your ears. That's how the album Born This Way was born. It was just born that way.

Comparing her with Madonna, for me, is already a cliche. As I've said, no one is original. Lady Gaga is unique in her own way. Staying on the uterus of her hyped album phenomenon and until its birth, she deserved somehow, just like any newborn, a pat on the back and a welcome on a comfy crib.

We don't care what people say. We know the truth! ~Lady Gaga, Bad Kids (Born This Way

the boy with the dragon tattoo.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 14:02:00 +0000

funny :)

It is like sex without being sexual.

The cinema has put it as R18 owing to the sexually-oriented parts which actually substantiate the story of the movie. The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo deals with sex, trauma, and a lot of violence, with a touch of racism. I haven't read the book, though I'm wanting to own the trilogy, but I read some blogs talking about it. There are a lot of books that handle such theme yet the story here was uniquely crafted when Lisbeth Salander, a goth-pierced-here-and-there-with-a-dark-haunting-childhood, was suddenly put into context. Out of curiosity, she hacked deeper into the life of Mikael Blomkvist and was suddenly riding with him in his investigation. As a know-it-all hacker, she managed to uncover more than what Blomkvist managed to unearth, thus, making Blomkvist a symphatetic journalist. But Salander brought him his salvation. Murderer found. Libel case closed. Capitalist dead. Girl with a wig. Done.

It makes me want to read the book. And to have a dragon tattoo at my back. Fierce as Salander's. I had mine by the way which lasted weeks on my back. I didn't realize that my skin was as sensitive as my ego. The black "home-made" henna was replaced by red swelling. It's like the black ink was stripped off and VOILA! A red dragon!


the boy with the dragon tattoo (black version)

If you're curious about the red dragon tattoo, hmmm...Never mind. I'm on the process of healing. Hehehe. Anyhow, I hope I can have a copy of the trilogy. Weee! My birthday's coming.

doing things in a hurry.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 09:47:00 +0000

latest sketch. boredom kills.

aanhin pa ang damo kung hindi naman ako kabayo.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 20:20:00 +0000

At saka may kanin naman at ulam.

It’s Holy Week, particulary Black Thursday, again. Practicing Christians are deigned to abstain during this time from meat or any related food. The Church has ordered a restraining order for our mouths. Spell analogy. Most faithfuls today are spending much time in churches, or in their private places doing their penances and/or communing with God. Talking about hardcore practice of Christianity.

It is actually like an obligation to be out today and wear grim faces, not mentioning joining hours of processions and manifold forms of prayer. Christianity becomes an obligation. It becomes a routine. Its essence removed from the core, thereby producing timid, obedient, blind Christians. We become incongruous to the real faith and even think that because of such display we can pursue heaven with our own efforts. Heaven is earned through God, through Jesus. This is supposed to be the essence of the whole Holy Week scenario. The picture shows that man can’t attain salvation without Him. Well, aside from not eating meat, we are reminded today to practice abstinence that deals with our own meat, our flesh so to say, to sound human-friendly.

Our deprival of human comfort can be the key to destroy our human depravity. It’s a painful practice and we Christians call it sacrifice, penance, and whatever you want to coin it. The point is the flesh becomes our nemesis. But still we don’t do this as religion. “Because of love,” as what Father Martin in the Life of Pi said. Jesus’ performance in Calvary is a pure performance of love. And we, as Christians, do not just give him a standing ovation; instead, we go forth and deliver our own performances. Not as grand as what He had, but done out of love. Out of love.

Speaking of kabayo, I’m not neighing religious antics here. There is one, however, who neighs her own brand of religion. Rumor says that Lady Gaga is planning to release the video of her Judas this Easter Sunday. Hold your horses but Gaga will go spewing her music with Judas as her battle cry. I’ve heard the song. The techno-rock music was quite catchy with its ineluctable flow of lyrics, “Judas Juda-a-a, Judas Juda-a-a, Judas Juda-a-a, Judas…” Talking about having been smitten by Judas.

One question, “Do you know what’s the last name of Judas?” Hint: not Iscariot.

a leap of faith.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 16:40:00 +0000

I knew two meters of jump was an impossible one. But I did it, though I killed one cup on my way.

This was actually about a peculiar game that we had during our Teachers' Summit. The player had to cross a track filled with cups which had to remain standing until the player totally reached the other end. This was a group task designed to be done by one representative and the others as guide. The glitch here was that the player had to cross blindfolded with his group mates as his guide and the other players as obstacles, or shall we say the distractions. Easy? Come to think of more than a twenty distractions and tell me if your brain will not summon all the words synonymous to confusion. This was an understatement especially when you're there trying to dissect the voice of your group mates from the disorienting noises and the pumping and thumping sound of your heart. Talking about adrenaline rush.

"Mike, can you jump?", I heard Ms. Jeni's whisper. "Yes, of course," was my immediate reply.

"Can you jump about two meters?" I thought I just heard my nervousness playing a fool out of me. "HUH?!" "Yes, can you jump two meters, Mike?", Ms. Jeni asked and this time there was conviction on her voice and there was the Jabberwocky in my heart. Two meters?!!

I remembered the movie, Jumper, in which the characters did nothing but ran and jumped. I thought maybe I could use that kind of exhibitionism. The only difference, though, was that they had powers and I got only my legs; my short, stout and unexercised legs. Jumping two meters was like breathing with one nostril, not impossible but highly improbable. Was their faith on me as long, or rather as short, as my legs? Or was my doubt as high as I could imagine my jump would be?

I closed my eyes although the blindfold was already hugging me in darkness. "Ms. Jen, I think I can do this." My doubt was resonating far across the lofty and cold mountains of Dahilayan. They reverberated dubiously masking my faked conviction and blended together with the laughters of my co-teachers. "I could do this," I told myself.

And I jumped.

And my heart jumped. The world jumped with me. I was deaf for a while when the laughters vacuumized the sound around me. There was laughter everywhere and there was me butt-flat on the ground unsparingly sitting on the oblivious, white and broken cup. I nearly did it but the cup took my victory away. Getting even, hahaha.

Our group did not win this game but the fun was worth more celebrating than the win. Sticks and stones may break my bones but jumping two meters (almost, actually) will always paint a smile on me. This was my leap of faith. And my teammates as well.

book review 2: i love more the books than the movies, until now.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 15:53:00 +0000

There's always the bad taste of much expectation. I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore had been sitting in the shelves of National Bookstore for quite sometime. It was the sole copy but such an eyesight for prying eyes and reading enthusiasts who thirst for such genre. I kept on returning to that same shelf hoping to get hold of that copy. Until one day it's not there anymore. I checked on the computer cataloguer. It's not there. Sold. Out if stock. After few, or more months, it's back on the shelf and I did not have the second thought of getting a copy. It remained dormant inside my bag for some days until boredom tells me to read it. Actually, it was because of the movie that I finally decided to read it. Out of curiosity, and probably of frustration from the past incident , I finally finished it.

Here's what I found out.

It was a boring book. And I was sure of that. The start was a good kick off until it wore out towards the middle and finally died at the end. Although some parts were quite interesting, my reading cells were not aroused. My curiosity's paid it in dear amount, of another frustration and lack of sleep. It came upon me that the movie might be as boring as the book for, you know, some movies can be frustratingly beautiful or imaginatively crappy.

Here's what I found out.

The movie was good, visually impeccable, at least in effects. It's like watching a mash-up of contemporary superhero movies. Makes me think of Smallville, X-Men and the likes. Actually, The movie house was rather filled with "cute" sighs when the dog whimpered after its fight with the Moggy Beast. Apart from that, everyone's quiet, as quiet if I may say as my room when I was reading my book. But to tell you honestly, I like the last part when it reached the climax, the effects were at its peak. This was rather better than reading the book. A little bit disappointing but better than the frustration I got from reading the book. Sigh. The price of being a bibliophile is worse than a movie lover. Sigh. Sigh.

I love more the books than the movies, until now. But I will always be a book lover. Hehe.

read towards the end.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Mon, 21 Feb 2011 14:11:00 +0000

you touch my lips and i
feel the warmth
of your service, that
lavishness your embrace
hugs tight in your bosom
warm is what
welcomes me
satisfying,
invigorating,
my nerves pulsating
this clutch will tell you of
what is my longing all
about
my mouth grasps for your
curves
ever perfect yet ever cold
smiths of wonder may
have mold
yet this touch, this grip
you'll ever surrender
ever giving, your body
yearning
my touch, this stroke
this caress you silently
spoke
in the past,
unleash your coldness
and embrace my heart
warm in my heart
cold in my hand
we bond.
yet you never spoke
of love
must i be caught here
dreaming?
yet your surrender is
quite tempting
silent yet welcoming
cold yet enduring
goaded yet willing to be
a masochist for you
a sadist i am of your
indifference.
you're my,

spoon.

a spoon of fun.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Wed, 16 Feb 2011 13:00:00 +0000

I need a breather after days of work and a series of sleepless nights reading a book. I have finished reading the first two books of the Mortal Instruments. And although I started reading the third book, I'd rather take a break because the book is literally suffocating me. It's thick and the plot is so simple, yet it's worth a read. After scarring my wallet, I spend days trying to destroy my eyes. Reading under a poor light and actually almost everywhere where prying eyes are not present. I prefer to read in McDonald's 'coz literally the place is jam-packed of people who mistakenly think it's a library oozing with caffeine and burgers, so camouflaging with your book is effortless. Anyhow, I digested two books and I'm reserving the third book for dessert.

Lately, I can't help but be allured by books. The last purchase sent me thrilled and baffled. I just bought "I Am Number Four" by Pittacus Lore. It's lurking inside my bag waiting to be stripped of its dignity. The busy schedule and the endless excuse of eye fatigue will temporarily put me under the shadow of reading hiatus. And blogging hiatus? The latter is actually due to laziness. I don't exactly know the reason behind this, but my mind seemed to be at focus when I'm snuggling with my blanket. It's like there's a spontaneous firework of ideas and I'm too lazy to stand and get my journal to jot them. Random ideas seemed to flock incessantly inside my mind like a cafe filled with morning coffee drinkers. Restless and volatile. When I try to make a mental note, I will just wake up frustrated trying to catch the last thread of my memory. I need rest. Life is a mixture of poison and antidotes. I need the antidote side of it. I need fantasy. Life is too real that I need to dilute it with fantasy.

I need to watch a movie.

I watched Burlesque. It's a story of a small-town girl dreaming something big and suddenly had the biggest break of her life when her talent was accidentally uncovered. Well, as the line in the movie went, "every opportunity has a shelf-life", Ali (Christina Aguilera) grabbed that opportunity and went to a series of ups and downs and literally the movie ended like a fairytale. Watching the movie was like watching an anthology of Aguilera music videos with the special participation of Cher. The grooves of half-naked girls, brazen colors and the striking lines somewhat paid off, putting life between boredoms. Stanley Tucci and Cher tandem pulled it. Tucci’s acting, for me, is nostalgic to The Devil Wears Prada, minus the awkward scene between Tucci’s character and his lover.

There were scenes in the movie which were actually confusing as to where did they get the inspiration to include such parts. The seduction part, although sexy and naughty, was an example. The business part was cliché yet its importance was revealed at the end. If you opt for the intellectually challenging movie, then this movie is not for you. Burlesque was just my right type of antidote.

I want to watch it again ‘coz it’s like watching a flimsy yet colourful musical, not serious but not boring. When your life is ragingly toxic, even a spoon of fun is worth it.

worm.

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Fri, 21 Jan 2011 14:00:00 +0000

This is my first post since new year came. The start of this year has been good so far. Personal life is good. Love life is also good, in fact superb. Career ( I like to call it work) is also good, except for some stressful days which I think is really inevitable.

There has been so may things happening to be in a grateful mode and mood. Hehe. Anyway, the year that passed had been a fruitful one, in all aspect that is. Although there were periods of passiveness, it was a productive one.

Anyway, I've been busy with my journal. Hehehe..I will just post later about so and so. Hehehe..Here's a poem that I made. Care to comment.

ode to the worm

the worm,

silly, newly spawned

somewhere else

crawling on the immaculate,

floor oblivious to

its surroundings

mindful of its struggle,

struggle to self

the selfish awakening

its milky innards

beckoning the dangers

of oblivion

of Death

whose sinister smile

runs its sickle on its head,

the squirming body.

the humans,

silly, spawning everywhere

crawling on their bellies

with thoughts

of greed,

malice,

discontent,

pursuing, corrupting the

ever-changing world,

immaculate that was

humming in their universe

the sound of its end

beckoning the Armageddon

their bodies writhing

pleasures of

ungodly treasures,

malicious ventures,

atrocious behaviours,

crawling their way

to their graves,

with Death sweetly

smiling its embrace

coldness on its shoulder

staring in darkness

standing near the door

holding on its sickle

slicing through their heads.

Yet redemption.

best reads of 2010

noreply@blogger.com (mjomesa) — Thu, 30 Dec 2010 18:51:00 +0000

the books I enjoyed reading this year, though I really didn't start on January

Thanks to ms. blooey of Bookmarked! for giving me "The Monster of Florence" as a Christmas gift. Finally, something to add to my growing collection of books. Wish granted!

Thanks to my Honey for giving me "Lamb" by Christopher Moore. Biff always brightens my day. Hehehe.

My year has been an adventure as I flipped those pages. Happy New Year!