A Mental Vivary

NC's Birthday Wish: Replicate Bjorn Bedayo and Vern Enciso's "An Upper East Side Affair"

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 14:01:00 +0000

I'll be brief. At the amazingly fun Smart Nokia N9 Launch last night at Privé (thank you thank you to Mr. Ed Lorenzo for the invite), while waiting for the party to get started--indicated by the number of elbows you have to bump into to make your way to the restroom--I was chatting with semi-new friend and fellow blogger Jonver David, when he ordered a scotch from the open bar.

Of course, those who know me know who I associate a good scotch with: Gossip Girl's king of swag himself, Chuck Bass. Played by the absolutely delicious Ed Westwick (my love for whom borders on complete irrationality), Chuck is an institution in his own right, and his over-the-top wardrobe has inspired many a male sartorial choice since the premiere of the hit CW show. Triggered by the sight of the amber drink in Jonver's glass, I made quick small-talk about my love for Gossip Girl and my cosplaying days: my little sister Keren and I portrayed the UES power couple for UA&P's "Hatchweek," and I did a solo shoot as Queen B. After laughing at my dubiously accurate portrayal of the man himself--blame my rather angular chin, which gives me a vaguely androgynous flavor--Jonver mentioned that star bloggers Bjorn Bedayo and Vern Enciso had also gone the way of the UES, and done a shoot at University of The Philippines Diliman as the couple to end all couples: Chair.

As I adore cosplay in the name of fashion--when it comes to Gossip Girl, any other sort is inexcusable--I quickly Googled the photo-shoot as soon as I could go online, et voila! See the pictures for yourselves: one of the most gorgeous renderings of my favorite GG couple that I have ever seen (And incredibly accurate: check out the adorable, bright-pink headband Vern Enciso is sporting. Queen B would be proud.) My first reaction was to squeal over the photos with such an ardor as only a Gossip Girl fan and fashion lover can manage. My second reaction--borne of that evocative forehead-to-forehead shot near the end of the photo series--was the urge to copycat.

Me testing the trend of colored tights while cosplaying as the UES' resident Style Icon and Queen of the Social Scene, Blair Waldorf. (Top: Kamiseta, Shorts: Ralph Lauren Polo, Tights: Mom's closet, Booties: Via Venetto)

Me failing as UES' dark knight, the debonair Chuck Bass. (Blazer: Inno Sotto Couture, Shirt: Blue Republic, Pants: Zara Women, Bowtie: Converted necktie from Mom's closet)

Sister Gossip Girls Keren Pascual and Frankie Torres (a.k.a. NC Nolasco, a.k.a. moi) as the Upper East Side's power couple, Blair Waldorf and Chuck Bass.

Incorporating Blair Waldorf trademarks of the glittery headband (in my signature black) and bold red lip into my eveningwear. (Taken at FCC-Le Club's Soirée Beaujolais 2011, Paris La Nuit, at the Sofitel Philippine Plaza. Cardigan: Anne Klein, Tank top: Shopwise, Headband: Carolina's, Necklace: Dam Good Stuff)

As is obvious from the photos above, my previous efforts at capturing the spirit of my favorite "ship" have been rather makeshift at best; nothing like Bjorn and Vern's enviably gorgeous photo-shoot. To be fair, my "shoots" are done on the fly, with very little pre-planning and, for the actual cosplay shoots, with a sub-par camera. But things have changed since then: I have "Ed," my Canon Powershot G12, which in the right hands can (supposedly) can take DSLR-worthy photographs, and I also have access to more UES-worthy clothes, or will have access to them anyway, as soon as I can have a few properly made or bought...

So here you have it: my UES dreams, all shiny and newly minted. I have a date--March 7 or 10, 2012--a location--my favorite city of Makati, which is the perfect Pinoy double for the UES--and a camera. All I'm missing is a photographer and, well, a Chuck.

Anyone willing to indulge a girl's nineteenth birthday dreams? No one? Oh well, I have three months. Let's hope that this birthday wish comes true!

~ NC

ON THE WEB: Architecture Firm Geeks Out with "Zombie Safe House Competition"

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 08:11:00 +0000

With the Armageddon slated for 2012, everyone is buzzing with theories about how life as we know it is going to end. From Ragnarök to the Biblical Great Tribulation, old standbys have been bandied about as possibilities, but the fan favorite of the "Race to End The Human Race" has to be zombie apocalypse.

Ever since the George Romero classic "Night of the Living Dead," the theory that zombies shall overrun the earth has become a horror staple. Originally, they were literally revenants: corpses come back from the dead to wreak havoc on the living. Nowadays, zombies have been updated from the literal "walking dead" to ex-human beings infected with some kind of pathogen that transforms them into mindless cannibalistic monsters with the same predilection for "Brains...braiiiins..." that their Romero-era ancestors craved -- an evolutionary step that has made them more plausible...and more dangerous.

With movies such as Zombieland and 28 Days Later, books such as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and World War Z, and videogames such as Zombie Farm and Plants vs. Zombies, there is no denying that "Zs" have entered the modern psyche. Still, though we know about them, are we prepared for a world that requires us to co-exist with the brain-hungry undead?

A Louisiana-based architecture firm, apparently, believes that we are. Architects Southwest has been hosting an annual "Zombie Safe House Competition" since 2010, inviting seasoned architects, architecture enthusiasts, and hardcore zombie-ners alike to compete for the top prize in designing the ultimate zombie-proof human habitat. From luxury hotels to military strongholds, the entries have been varied in aesthetic and design, but all of them promise to protect humanity from becoming mindless flesh-eaters during the end of days.

2010 Zombie Safe House Competition winner Shea Michael Trahan's "SS Huckleberry."

Last year's winner, Shea Michael Trahan, designed the SS Huckleberry, a Mississippi cruise line of houseboats (or house-ships?). This year, one of the favorites is the "Zombie Ranch," a vertical farm powered by live zombies running a hamster wheel-like contraption at the bottom of a huge spiral habitat.

Being a bit Fortune 500-minded, however, my votes are with "Zombiefell," a "boutique hotel" situated on a cliff face that promises the a luxurious vantage point from which I can watch the world end. The Zombiefell Hotel promises fine French dining, a ZYM Health Club, and (my favorite) a "Rope-A-Dope" Center where residents can rage at the vile inhuman scum making it impossible to carry on a normal life. Zombiefell's "luxury accommodations" aesthetic is also present in "Serenity," a water-borne habitat advertised like a sort of artists colony/yoga retreat/spa/safe-house, although this doesn't have quite as many of my votes because it has this annoying "no weapons" clause which makes it highly impractical in the possible event of a zombie contamination.

Most of the designs are decidedly wacky and way off-base when it comes to sound architectural/renewable energy design, but that is really most of the fun. These impossible structures (one rather inspiring entry proposes converting the Statue of Liberty into a military stronghold) showcase unbelievable creativity and geeky cool. With over 100 entries up for the "Golden Shovel" prize, it's anyone's game at the moment, and online voting is ongoing until October 31st.

Want to see where we could be living in next year's apocalypse? Check things out and cast your vote at the Zombie Safe House Competition homepage!

~ NC

NC At Large: Covering "Generation Next," MEGA Publishing Group's Exclusive Event at Prive, for 'When In Manila'

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 11:56:00 +0000

It seems that all the blogging I'm doing lately is anywhere but in my little mental vivary. Promise promise promise I'll get to some original content as soon as I can find something interesting to write about (I have a couple of ideas cooking already.) and time to write about it. For now, you'll just have to settle for me playing Carrie Bradshaw and doling out teasers to my lifestyle articles elsewhere.

First, an update on my favorite contemporary dance group, the Polecats. As I mentioned in my last post, they happen to be the number one pole dancing group in the Philippines, but instead of spinning and stripping to sleazy favorites such as "Careless Whisper," they perform their amazing choreography to, well, orchestral music, provided last Sunday at Polarity by the Manila Symphony Orchestra. They're definitely taking pole dancing from crass to class, but unfortunately a lot of people haven't gotten the message and still look at this unique art form as something confined to seedy bars where women get bills shoved down the back of their, err, underthings.

Polecats Manila, however, is campaigning to clear pole dance of its bad name, as featured in a recent Reuters article shared with me by Polecat Kayleen Ortiz. All I can say to this one is AMEN! Pole dancing's bad rep has made it very hard for pole fitness enthusiasts such as myself to pursue our chosen sport (trust me: it is a sport) with pride. I had to refer to it by numerous euphemisms--"core training," "aerobics," "pilates-gymnastics," and "vertical ballet"--for the fear of tongues wagging. Frankly, those who diss it probably have never really seen it in its "pure" form, as a dance art. Taken out of the "hostess bars" and strip joints it is stereotypically associated with, pole dance reveals itself to be a Cirque du Soleil-worthy workout, comparable to ballet with its beauty and form. And, unlike ballet which requires you to start young and follow a rigid regimen to pursue it, pole fitness is a lot more egalitarian: anyone can learn to invert their world, as long as they go through proper training.

(Plus, it makes it a lot easier to survive without a seat on the brutal Philippine MRTs.)

Now, for the main event. Last Tuesday, I was sent as When In Manila's official correspondent to MEGA Publishing Group's exclusive Generation Next event, held at Prive, Bonifacio Global City's new "luxury clubbing" offering--for those who want to check it out, it's right next to what used to be Encore/Embassy--to celebrate the launch of their two new web portals: MegaStyle.ph and InsidePinoyShowbiz.ph. Also, it was the live finalé of MEGA's own reality TV show, MEGA Fashion Crew. Being a big fan of the MEGA Publishing Group--one day, I want to work for them--and having never seen a live reality TV show finalé before, I was really game to go and check the event out.

Given that it was an exclusive event by the premiere fashion magazine in the country, I wasn't surprised that many luminaries turned up to make it a star-studded event. Designers, models, actors, socialites...you name it, Prive had it. The club was literally crammed full of big names in the fashion and entertainment industry. And while I didn't really get a chance to mingle in the VIP floor, above the main club, I did still manage to bump into enough VIPs that by the end of the night, I'd been rendered completely starstruck.

To tease your appetite, here's an outtakes reel:

My "cocktail chic" outfit, courtesy of Amelia et Nicole, my label. I agonized over this outfit, and was really happy that it got positive attention at the party. :)

GMA News TV's Nelson Canlas was at the event. Apologies for the extremely dark photo: my camera was rather cantankerous as, well, it wasn't really my camera. I had to borrow one due to my IXUS finally dying on me.

Metro Society's Best Dressed awardee Richard Tiu with friend Maria Handa. Because it was so packed in the club, I could't get a full body shot, but he was wearing these amazing shoes by -- I hope I heard this right -- Lamborghini? The car maker? Apparently they also do shoes?

Ana Aba Santos in John Herrera. It was nice to see a familiar face at the party: "Miss Ana," as Class A6 of 2010 calls her, directed Paris 1832, which was the workshop production I was part of when I took Repertory's Summer Acting Workshop in 2010.

Actor Enzo Pineda played host along with media personality Divine Lee. He, like many of the men at the party, was wearing a bowtie. I wonder if that's because of Gossip Girl...or Dr. Who?

MEGA Publishing Group's Deputy Editor Meryll Yan, in Avel Bacudio, explaining the ins and outs of MegaStyle.ph.

MEGA Publishing Group's Publisher for InsidePinoyShowbiz.ph, Sophie Menor, in Francis Libiran. Sorry for the really far shot -- I had to do this over the heads of people in the crowd, and at five-foot-three (five-foot-six in my heels), that was quite the exercise in stretching!

One of the winners of the THREE PAIRS OF SHOES that InsidePinoyShowbiz.ph was offering as a prize for their trivia game! I tried to get my hand up, but being five-foot-three once again worked against me, and anyway I wasn't in the front row. Drat!

Winners of the "Stars of the Night" award Tim Yap and Bianca Gonzales. According to Tim Yap, "Here at MEGA, you are all Stars of the Night!"

The judges of MEGA Fashion Crew Season 2: Raya Mananquil, Sari Yap, and Avel Bacudio.

Me and Pato taking a vanity shot at the party! With my eye makeup and the tutu, it was a wonder no one called me "The Black Swan." :))

Want to see more (and better) pictures of the glitterati I got to see? Check out my article on When In Manila.com for the complete story! And, if you want more information from someone who knows the fashion (and boldface names) world better than I do, check out blogger KristovBlue's take on Generation Next!

~ NC

My New Baby: CANON Powershot G12

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 11:05:00 +0000

After three years of loyal service, my CANON Powershot/IXUS (bought abroad, it carries the label "Powershot," but locally it is labelled an IXUS) has finally decided to die. The cause of death is a combination of LCD pixel death and optical zoom focus malfunction. To remedy these problems would have cost me over Php. 7,000, which is more or less the same price as one of the lowest-level Powershots of an even higher megapixel range.

Despite the sentimental value of my camera--it was my dad's, and he passed it on to me as a graduation gift--I figured it would be more practical to trade it in for a new camera, and avail of a 15% discount. So I did, upgrading my 8.0 megapixel IXUS to...

A 10.0 megapixel Canon Powershot G12. I'd been eyeing this prosumer-grade digital camera for a couple of months now, having gotten recommendations from a few friends who were photography enthusiasts. As an aspiring photographer myself, the G12 is a perfect fit, offering an "idiot proof" DSLR experience. As the staff of Canon Philippines were apt to tell me, the G12 has all the functionality of their EOS series, minus the ability to change lenses.

Of course, I can't be completely sure of this until I've played with the camera a little, but from the looks of the initial shots I've taken (of myself, who else), the claim seems pretty sound. I can already a see a marked difference in shots taken with my old camera and with the Powershot G12.

Taken with my old IXUS.

Taken with my new Powershot G12.

(Forgive the messy hair: I've been having a rather stressful day.)

Currently, I've been taking test shots in its "Auto" mode, which adjusts settings for you using the camera's many sensors, but I also managed to toy with the completely Manual setting and while I don't understand half the terms yet, tinkering with the settings has proved quite interesting. My favorite feature has to be the ability to adjust how much light I let into the camera (Isn't that called aperture? I'm not sure yet.), and the adjustable flash brightness. I've only had it a few hours and already I'm doubting I'll every really need the Canon EOS 550D I've been eyeing...even if the catalogue is offering a really good deal with the kit lens I want.

The Canon Powershot G12 has a price tag of Php. 31,950, but if you get it straight from Canon Philippines' service centers, you can get a 15% discount if you trade in an old camera for it, or for any Canon digital camera. (This goes for all digital cameras, but not EOS cameras--by my understanding you'll have to trade in another EOS to get a discount on a new EOS camera, though the discount may be bigger than 15%, I'm not sure.) In fact, my mom plans to trade in our ancient Canon IXUS 500 for one of the newer models, probably the Powershot D10, which boasts 12.1 megapixels, is shockproof up to 4ft, and is waterproof up to 33ft. Perfect for another one of my snorkeling vacations!

Technically the G12 is a Christmas present, but as I do not have a functioning digital camera I'm on reprieve to use it already (anyway, the Philippine Christmas began in September). I can't wait to take it for a spin on my When In Manila assignments!

~ NC

P.S.

If you're wondering why I'm so loyal to the Canon brand, it's because I am a huge fan of their color fidelity, which I haven't been able to find in my test runs of Sony, Pentax, and Nikon cameras. Still, to each his/her own: I know many prosumers who express a preference for other brands.

P.P.S. (Update as of 10/29)
My baby has a name! Due to the demands of my friends, my Canon Powershot G12 has been christened "Ed." For those who know me very well, its namesake is a no-brainer, but just to state the obvious, the new love of my techie life is named after my number one celebrity crush, Gossip Girl's Chuck Bass, the darkly debonair Ed Westwick. <3 <3

NC At Large: When In Manila - "Polarity"

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 04:45:00 +0000

I really should be guilty. I haven't updated this blog in ages, and I'm updating with a REALLY short post this time, but I've been really busy, so in the meantime, check out articles from my new gig with When In Manila, one of the best online blog-zines on Philippine culture, lifestyle, events, and a whole more.

For my first assignment, I covered Polecats Manila's second year anniversary show, Polarity, which was this amazing spectacle of contemporary dance and sport. The Polecats are the Philippines' premiere pole-dancing group, and are the only company that has internationally accredited pole-dancing instructors. Elevating pole-dance beyond the sleazy nightclubs and strip joints with which it has become associated, Polecats Manila aims to use dance to encourage people to push the limits of their own capacity, promising to help them defy gravity and turn their worlds (and workouts) upside-down.

While I haven't gotten my world turned on its head yet -- the last time I tried, Polecats teachers Myla Tan and Christina "CD" Dy told me not to rush myself or else risk injury -- I have actually experienced "defying gravity" with spins and a few beginners poses. I lost about five pounds in three weeks, and my muscle tone improved so that my waistline shrank a full three inches. Of course, that was last summer, before first semester and bad eating habits took their toll and made me bulge again, which is why I am eager to save up and get back in form!

To see what all the fuss is about, check out my full recap of Polarity, here. As a teaser, here are a few snippets from the event:

Polecats Manila poster. You don't turn your workouts upside-down until you're at least Beginner 2 level, but until then you learn a lot of cool spins and tricks. My personal favorite is the one-leg extended Fireman spin, and the "Glide" pose...although I'm not too good at the pose.

Polarity tickets!

I was seriously considering buying one of these shirts, but I decided to save up and add to my class fund. :))

Polecats doing a synchronized pole move. In the center is Job Bautista, better known as "Angel" in 9 Works Theatrical's production of RENT.

Part of Polecats Manila's performance to Mr. Bones and the Boneyard Circus' song "Lady Grimm," performed by the Manila Symphony Orchestra. This photo does not do the stunt I was trying to photograph justice. All I can say is: pole-dancing does not always involve poles.

This is my teacher, Kayleen Ortiz, doing a stunt to Pedicab's "Dito Tayo Sa Dilim." When I tried to do the first step to this move, the "Gemini" that starts all the inverts, teachers Myla Tan and CD (Christina Dy) came really close to scolding me. Safety first before stunts for the aspiring Mimi!

Shot of the finalé number, done to Pupil's "Disconnection Notice." Look at those boots!

Intrigued? Check out the best photos in my When In Manila article!

~ NC

Why NC Should Stop Swearing

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 18:07:00 +0000

I got a very interesting (read: pretty offensive) comment on one of my photo blogs, which I just noticed recently. An Anonymous poster said:

"tang ina mo! kids church ka diyan. plastic! do u teach them 2 say shit?"

Of course, the first reaction is to shrug it off. After all, I was a fanfiction writer a while back, and as such am used to getting "flamed" -- receiving nasty anonymous reviews with no constructive value. But after thinking it over, I realize that there is an anachronism between my claims of being a Sunday School teacher and the fact that, well, I do swear a lot.

Thankfully, I haven't "slipped" in Kids Church. My brain seems to have a language on/off switch that cuts the expletives when I'm on air and when I'm doing my volunteer work. But as soon as the work is done, the switch goes back into the "on" position and every other word out of my mouth needs a bleep. Well, okay, not every other word per se, but a good number.

For the longest time, I thought that was "okay." As long as I didn't say bad words on the job, I was fine. This comment, however, has been a rude awakening (both literally and figuratively). Having examined my behavior with an ice cold eye, I conclude that what this irate anonymous reader is saying is...well...true. I am being "plastic" (being fake) by keeping my church life (or at least, my church language) in a box and the rest of my life in another, when I should be the same me all throughout.

Swearing is a bad habit, much like smoking, that I've been having a hard time quitting. I've tried to find reasons to motivate myself to do so -- one of the rather vain ones has been that my "pretty face" doesn't go well with a potty mouth -- but none have worked. I think I've taken the for granted the fact that, unlike while I was in high school, in the real world there are no disciplinary sanctions for cussing, no visible consequences. But now I have to think: I may not swear in Kids Church, but what if my students (and the recognize me, definitely) add me on Facebook? Read my blogs? Pass me on the street whilst I'm having a conversation with my friends? What kind of example, then, would they see?

So, anonymous person, while I cannot thank you for your message because it did hurt -- Could you kindly not cuss out my mother? She's been trying to get me to wash out my mouth for years. -- I have to admit it also helped, in a really strange sado-masochistic way. I hope I do remember this violent little comment the next time I'm tempted to let loose with a good four-letter-word. Perhaps then I'd think twice, and ask myself if my statement isn't all right on its own, without the expletives.

After all, "When men speak ill of thee, live so as nobody may believe them." (Plato, courtesy of following @PhiloQuotes on Twitter.)

I guess the first thing to do (and the last thing I'll say to end this post) is to pray: God, help me wash out my mouth?

~ NC

Young and In Love: Reflections on Rilke's Advice to the "Young Poet."

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 12:24:00 +0000

A note to my readers:

There is a reason why I don't like writing reflective essays, though sometimes I feel compelled to because of what I read. The reason is that I am always seem to come off sounding sanctimonious and irritatingly preachy when I reflect on things. However, I cannot stop: writing about what makes me think helps me process, and I like having people read it so I can learn more from what they say. I'm always worried I'll come off as a braggart, when I blog, so if I do please tell me why and what I can do to fix the problem. I swear, I don't mean to sound like a big-headed ego-tripper.

---000---

It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation. That is why young people, who are beginners at everything, are not yetcapable of love: it is something they must learn. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered around their solitary, anxious, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning-time is always a long, secluded time, and therefore loving, for a long time ahead and far on into life, is--: solitude, a heightened and deepened kind of aloneness for the person who lives. Loving does not first mean merging, surrendering, and uniting with another person (for what would a union be of two people who are unclarified [sic], unfinished, and still incoherent--?), it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen, to become something in himself, to become world, to become world in himself for the sake of another person; it is a great, demanding claim on him, something that chooses him and calls him to vast distances. Only in this sense, as the task of working on themselves ("to hearken and to hammer day and night") may young people use the love that is given to them. Merging and surrendering and every kind of communion is not for them (who must still, for a long, long time, save and gather themselves); it is the ultimate, is perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough. But this is what young people are so often and so disastrously wrong in doing: they (who by their very nature are impatient) fling themselves at each other when love takes hold of them, they scatter themselves, just as they are, in all their messiness, disorder, bewilderment...: And what can happen then? What can life do with this heap of half-broken things that they call their communion and that they would like to call their happiness, if that were possible, and their future?

A couple of weeks ago, I had a long discussion with a friend on young love, a conversation that ended with a spectacular, drama-queen-level emotional blow-up on my part, because I am nothing if not a reactionary. To calm me, another friend suggested I seek the consolations of philosophy by recommending I re-read one of my favorite books: Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, specifically letter number seven. Because I love Rilke, and because I very much trust the wisdom of said friend, I did as I was told.

I first read Letters when I was in elementary school. The rounded, awkward handwriting spelling my name on the frontispiece of my copy, as well as the email address it lists as my contact details (the now-defunct account yaminekotenshi@yahoo.com), makes it safe to assume that I was probably around ten or eleven when I first purchased it. I'd bought it because of the Whoopi Goldberg movie "Sister Act 2," where Goldberg, as the nun 'Sister Mary Clarence,' refers the book to one of her students, Rita Watson. Being young and easily swayed by a movie I rather liked (I would not stop singing "Joyful Joyful" in pseudo-"Black choir" style for weeks after I had watched it.), I bought it, tried to read it, and did not understand it, though I thought I did, in the simple way that little girls think they can wrap their head around big ideas.

Now that I am older, though still a child in many ways, I am more aware that I do not understand much of Rilke's sage advice -- at least, not on first reading. Letters to a Young Poet, I have discovered, is a book you'll have to read over and over and over in order to understand it. For all of the book's thinness, it is a heavyweight when it comes to the ideas contained within, relevant not just to poets, but to all writers and all young people. Letter number seven is a very good example. I admit that I have only just understood the letter, because it ties in so well with what I have been learning in my PhiloFamily and PhiloAnthro classes (By all accounts, I am falling in love with Philosophy.), but by itself, with a little reflection, what Rilke has to say to his young correspondent can be made clear, particularly on the subject of love (romantic love, to be specific) and youth.

The section of Letters I am reflecting on is quoted above. This is what I learned from it:

[Disclaimer: Although presented in an authoritative manner, this is purely my opinion -- it's just easier, stylistically, to use this particular voice. I'm still an amateur at this philosophy thing. An eager amateur, but an amateur nonetheless.]

If we love a person, we should, according to Rilke, first start loving ourselves -- to grow and cultivate ourselves -- in order that we may present ourselves to our beloveds fully-formed and worthy of sharing a soul with. This is why it is not for the 'young' to "surrender" to love: they have not yet grown, had time to build their inner worlds, to "save and gather themselves," as Rilke put it. By young, however, I mean emotional/psychological/spiritual immaturity, not necessarily physical age -- we are all young and old at our own paces, regardless of what age we actually are, which is why the quote exists that says "Growing old is inevitable; growing up is optional. Love, as our end -- the very reason we live -- is by nature a demanding thing, and it takes a lot of maturity (a cultivated intellect and will) to do so, maturity which takes time to achieve, and is usually done as an individual.

The "learning-time" that Rilke describes, then, is the process of learning to become a cultivated individual, to grow up, to develop the inner world through education and life experience. Hence the term "aloneness," because our inner world is truly ours and ours alone, and within it, we are, in a sense, "alone." It is only when this inner world is developed can it express itself appropriately to the act of loving. Otherwise, as Rilke puts it, "...what would a union be of two people who are unclarified, unfinished, and still incoherent--?"

In terms of romantic love, when we are 'young', we tend to be "unclarified, unfinished," and so we fall headlong into love, torrid and passionate and, usually, short-lived, devastating (There are few things as dramatically intense as a teenage romance, unless it is a teenage heartbreak. Hence the existence of Romeo and Juliet.) in their fervency and brevity. The results are, as a friend, Tet Rivera, observed, that during this immature state, having not fully had time to understand one's identity, one runs the risk of losing it in the maelstrom of being an "us." Often, as Rilke says, we are left "half-broken things" in the aftermath of such a passion.

Of course, there are some physically young couples who have matured early enough to be able to handle mature relationships -- the high school sweethearts who either marry or manage to part amicably, without much heartache -- which is why I had to mention earlier that "youth" is a matter of maturity, not actual age. Still, for the most part, to be able to love truly, we need time: time to grow, to organize ourselves, to get a handle of our emotions and passions. In short, we need time to grow up a bit.

In the end, it is that time spent that makes loving sweeter, because when we finally find the right one -- the one with whom we may merge and surrender -- we will be able to give them a self that has obviously been treasured: a self we took time to refine, to grow, to educate, and to expand. Choosing to take time on ourselves, to give that self value, to love ourselves, proves our love for our eventual beloveds. It's like giving someone a love note hastily scribbled on a post-it, versus a poem written in your best handwriting, with no cross-outs, on fine paper: "I love you so much that I would rather take the time to give you the gift of my best self, and give you time to find yourself as well, rather than rush into a romance as a pair when we both are still unsure of our individual identities."

These reflections have been a hard lesson to swallow for me, because like many teenage girls, I have had my "I wish I had a boyfriend" moments (usually occuring when it rains, during on-campus enlistment, and whenever I have to get a CBC). Sometimes, I can be rather impatient, because, admittedly, as an NBSB, I envy couples their happiness, their cozy comfort, their anniversaries and over-the-top declarations of love. But we all develop at our own pace: the couples I admire are usually composed of people far more mature than I.

It is their time. It is not (yet) mine.

I won't pretend that I will cease to occasionally fantasize about Valentines' Day serenades (Darn you HaranROC!) and sharing an umbrella on a rainy day. I am a teenager, hormones ablaze, and I'm a romance writer to boot, so those fantasies are the fuel of my fictioneering. However, at eighteen, having finally been able to understand Rilke's words of advice, I think I have a slightly better understanding (or at least, a more well thought-through explanation) of why God hasn't let me fall yet. For now, this is love: "cultivating" myself by basking in the intellectual glory of my super-smart friends (ESPECIALLY the Dumol Kids), reading good books, listening to great music, obsessively tweeting things I learn in my philosophy classes, going to church, having quiet time, sharing with my small group, experiencing (non-romantic) love from friends and family, and, most of all, trusting God to make me who I am meant to be.

All of us will not be perfect when we finally love. Perhaps Rilke's words make it seem like we should be super-mature, ideal "adults," who aren't messy and never make mistakes, before we are allowed to find love. If that were the case, we'd all die old maids/bachelors, and the species would go extinct. But at least, having matured a little bit, we are more capable of loving someone else, because we have loved ourselves by giving ourselves time to grow and develop, by not rushing ourselves into something that takes time and an arsenal of stock life-knowledge to plough through. Most of all, waiting to mature gives us time to learn about other loves -- friendly love, parental love, brotherly/sisterly love, unconditional love -- that will contribute to the love we will eventually give to the person we choose and who chooses us. After all, you cannot give what you do not have, and the more you have of something, the more you can give.

So for now, I think I wll be content with waiting. The love I am experiencing right now, the "learning-time" love I described, should suffice. And even if I (*wince* *knock on wood*) never find romance, I will still have God, and His love, "the Love which moves the sun and other stars," (Dante reference courtesy of my Dumol Kid friends), that goes beyond age and youth, transcending time into eternity. That kind of Love should be more than enough.

~ NC

To the friends who inspired this piece, and the friends who helped critique it.

KC Closet!

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 03:55:00 +0000

The perks of being a Kids Church teacher. :)) I found this skirt and belt in the KC costume closet, and decided to give the look a whirl. Definitely going to have something like this skirt made.

Sent from my iPhone

...and my day just got better.

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 03:54:00 +0000

Sadly, it's 250php, and I'm not sure I can't get the full transcript online along with the photos.

Sent from my iPhone

POTTERHEAD THURSDAY!: DIY Gryffindor Tie

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 02:56:00 +0000

Sweater & white shirt - Promod
Skirt - Mom's closet
Stockings - iCity Lady Black Tights
Shoes - Circa by Joan and David
Tie -

Here's where I get really proud. The tie is a gift from my sahia (third elder brother), Benj de Leon. It was pure red, and I stuck yellow 3M Color Marking Tape (Php. 19.75, Ace Hardware) to it to create the signature Gryffindor yellow bands. Best of all? When I'm done, I can simply remove the bands of tape and I have a perfectly good red necktie for my stylistic purposes. :))

10 Points to Gryffindor for ingenuity!

~ NC Thirteen

You bare your rock and roll

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 18:44:00 +0000

He wakes at 2PM alone,

but at 6AM when with someone

he loved.

“Good morning.”

She opens her eyes.

Easily, it would have been metal

and rock--

jarring guy jaws, gaping maws.

But she warps him completely

with her voice

acoustic, his musical horizons.

He's doing lines of raw

emotion

under a photo, under glass.

She's a crater,

marking impact on his earth.

He says he has moved on and

forgotten

every thing, down to her eyelids,

and the shell of her ear carrying that whisper of

"Good morning."

He still wakes up at 6AM.

Awkwardcrushing

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 04 Jul 2011 18:40:00 +0000

She wonders.

Cokebottle eyes hungrily eat

his similes. Her heart is whirring.

Stomach butterflying, flutters causing

hurricanes--

on his side of the world he is

sleeping.

Leaping, rather, falling, she

constricts, praying

he will lay her

open on some sonnet.

The metaphors are scandalized.

Intellectual more potent than asexual

attraction

is the onomatopoeia

of his laugh

is "eureka." He shudders.

She quotes lines she hopes

are about her

hair, the tempting outline of her

hooded jacket.

Sometimes, she comes to nothing:

dies when good lines turn into

Bernini's angel

thrusting spear into Avila

("Bean." she says. The wrong joke.

He laughs, awkward

a-ha

a-ha-ha

a-ha-ha-ha-ha anyway.

She watches his wet lips wriggle

like a woman's

flirting hips.)

She isn't much of a siren.

She knows that

nothing about her can

spread him

like he says she does. She'd blow

him

over with her verses, but

she has none...

...except that he makes her fevers dream.

She wonders.

A Burden Uneven: Of Horcruxes, Friendships With Boys, and Façades

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 15:11:00 +0000

I learned in Philosophy of The Family class that every person we encounter in our lives carries off with them a small part of us, just as we carry in ours a small part of them. We become, in effect, like horcruxes for the people we encounter, only instead of just one soul, we hold many. This is, apparently, how we "grow" as people -- by collecting these shards of being and experience from interacting with other people, and making them parts of us.

(To those who didn't get what a "horcrux" is, it's a Harry Potter reference.)

For the most part, this isn't much of a problem. So many people walk in and out of our lives: it's all part of being human. Most of these passing strangers don't have time to share enough of themselves to impart to us a significant piece of themselves. But then there are a few -- in the face of the horde we will come into contact with in the course of our time on earth, they are “few” -- who share with us things: Secrets, Wishes, Dreams, Hopes, Time. They make a gift of themselves, pouring their lives into ours to the point that they do live on, and live in, us. We bear the "burden" of their lives.

If this is true, then maybe it is their mini-life in us that motivates us to care about certain people more than others, to be concerned and actually be capable of feeling for someone. We understand them because somewhere, a part of us is them. And so we care, and that care can evolve into many other things: friendship, brotherhood, love. All this as a result of sharing and investing in each other.

But what if one party shares more than the other? Does that mean that it’s possible someone lives in me, but I don’t live in them? That someone has claimed a territory all their own in my being, but that I cannot exercise the same claim?

These are the questions that have haunted me recently. To explain why, however, I have to give you a context. A scenario, if you will:

I have someone I consider a friend. We talk almost daily, to the point that our conversations have become a routine to me. He’s said a lot. On my urging, he’s revealed a few rather personal things -- hopes, dreams, frustrations, and the like. All of which, obviously, have entailed we share lots of time, so I have gotten to know him -- not deeply, but a good amount.

Often, in our conversations, I’ve felt an urge to reveal just a little about my background, my self, even indirectly. Usually, however, I stifle these urges. I have, however, tried to drop hints, in the direct-indirect way of girls, hoping he will catch on and ask me something back. For example, I visited his blog and talked about his posts with him, even broached the topic of "trading" links, hoping he’d agree to take a peek. He never did, just kept on talking of something else, and I didn't push the issue. I didn't think it was too important, at the time. I let the conversation flow towards its natural conclusion.

In hindsight, I realize that I do this out of fear of saying too much, particularly because he is a 'he' and I've been taught guys can't handle opening up to as well as girls can. My guard is always up, my moves always calculated. I try to gauge his comfort level, to craft my words so that they do not get too personal and, perhaps, too much to handle. In theory, the plan is to dole myself out in increments, but I rarely get the chance to dole myself out at all.

Once, I had the opportunity. On a really bad day, I posted a one-line vent on my page. He asked what was wrong. In fact, he pestered me to tell him what was wrong. But no matter how much I wanted to tell him, I couldn’t bring myself to. I was afraid if I said something, he’d be overwhelmed and run.

It’s been like this for a while. I think of myself as a very open person, but often I’ve caught myself trying to be this easier-to-swallow version of who I am, avoiding revealing myself beyond words of advice or comfort. On the rare occasions I decide to take the plunge and show a bit of my true colors, I am sheepish and awkward, which makes the sharing just as awkward, often ending in an awkward silence before segueing awkwardly to a new topic.

I find it's much easier to bare my soul to a blog where I do not see the audience, and therefore do not have another’s reactions to predict or interaction to gauge. The point here is what may or may not be the results of my reticence and role-playing. For one thing, I end up caring, but I don’t think he cares quite so intensely about me because, well, what does he know? Despairing Facebook status updates, Plurks, or Tweets are their only window into my inner world and its preoccupations, and I usually make sure to word them so cryptically that they could safely fall under the banner of being “emo.”

But everyone's pretended at least once, right? It doesn't really hurt anyone...

Definitely, I've been hurting myself. Actually, according once again to my Philosophy classes, I've been "doing myself an injustice" by demeaning my own value -- I'm not worth enough as myself, so I have to be someone else to be accepted. I'm not loving myself, the "greatest love of all" according to the Whitney Houston song. And I deprive myself of a connection, a line of support that could have possibly kept me from drowning (but maybe that's too dramatic).

It gets worse. Not only am I not being fair to myself, but I'm not fair to others too. How? Let's return to the premise stated in the first paragraph -- that we grow by the impartation of those little bits of being others give to us by sharing. With what I do right now, I receive, but the other person gets only a lie. The connection remains merely one-way. The other person doesn't get to grow.

It's not just me I'm hurting. And when the façade finally cracks and they see the real underneath...

Perhaps the problem is I’m too clingy, afraid of losing the friends that come my way because right now, friendships seem so hard to make and so easy to lose. I hope the answer is as easy as that, but from experiences the answers to our soul-searching questions are very rarely simple and clear. In fact, they’re so complex that it takes time for us to understand them, much less articulate the conditions. I claim that as an excuse for why this is so incoherent.

Nowadays, this friend and I don’t talk as much. Our conversations aren’t as long as they used to be, and sometimes they’re more labored, like we’re both trying to draw them out longer than they should go. I catch myself trying too hard to be the same self that I first showed -- bubbly and interesting, witty and wry -- and then I feel slightly disappointed in myself for trying so hard to keep up this façade of myself, this “Sparknotes Condensed” version of me.

But even with these conditions, I do worry about him. When he mentions something’s wrong, I do care -- just like I did with some before him with whom I’ve kept this burden uneven. They’ve all become invested parts of my life, but I know that it isn’t mutual. For some reason, I’ve barely shown myself beyond what’s on the surface. I’m no more than a very strange, colorful acquaintance -- an exotic bird or butterfly, a shadow of a friend.

I wish I had the courage, or at least a good rationale to stand behind what I do, but I don’t have either. I don’t know what compels me to hide, to mistrust myself, to think that my true face might scare people away. And so I continue keeping a glass wall between me and this friend, like other friends before him, caring through the glass but unable even to figure out a way of safely expressing that care without being too personal, too smothering, too coddling, too clingy, too much of "me."

What silly fears, but how paralyzing they can be.

Of course, I do have friends I drop the wall with, friends who have more or less seen everything and borne with it -- though I have to say, many of them are either really mature, really loony, or both. And I don't keep up the wall with everyone -- when I'm in a confident (or over-confident; or bitchy) mood, I let the walls down and don't give a damn. But even though I don't play this mask-wearing game all the time, the fact that even some of the time, especially in the pursuit of cultivating meaningful friendships, I feel pressure to be a little bit of someone else worries me.

I know what the consequences are. I just don't know how to begin avoiding them.

~ NC Nolasco/NC Thirteen

(No, I haven't decided on a proper pseudonym yet.)

Well, so much for personal reflection. I don't think I'm cut out for philosophizing and psychoanalyzing myself at the same time. Take heart -- NC is not an emo beatnik. She'll be back and better as soon as she gets a semi-decent sleep, and stops being so darn insecure! :)) Cheers!

~ NC

A Plea To Be Gentle

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 13:37:00 +0000

Smell that? It is desperation:

the essence of the best of sin.

My words I twist to fit the mask I wear--

a second skin.

For should you see the face

beyond my face --

the tangled web I've tried my best to hide,

the bareness of this bone and skin and soul --

each time I slipped, the conversation died.

Do not make me form attachment

To you, whose words are works of art: your traps

designed to snare and shatter

this feeble thing,

this blind, defenseless heart.

Fin.

A prelude to my planned personal essay: "A Kind of Fluttering." Note that when I plan things, I don't usually follow through with them, so this might be all you get.

Current Book Wishlist

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 13:16:00 +0000

Theme: Love

I actually want to do some research on love because I've been inspired to write essays in the vein of those featured on Thoughtcatalog.com. One of the best, and most poignant, has to be this one. So without further ado, my list.

On Love - Alain de Botton

The Romantic Movement - Alain de Botton

Kiss and Tell - Alain de Botton

On Love - Stendhal

In Search of Lost Time - Proust (The parts dealing with Albertine in particular, since I might not be able to digest the whole thing.)

The Other Side of Desire - Daniel Bergner

Only Revolutions - Mark Z. Danielewski

The Dream of The Red Chamber - Cao Xueqin

Love Stories (Everyman's Pocket Classics)

Monologue from scrapped playwriting attempt

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 16:35:00 +0000

BOY

I met her at a travel writing workshop. That was ten

months ago. She sashayed into my life on blue and gray

platform sandals, the colors of an ominous storm-cloud.

Her smile was perfect contrast -- a bit too wide, too

sunny for her proud-looking face. But her smile made

her look human. And her weird dress and fast-talk made

her interesting.

(pause)

And so I fell for her, because she was interesting.

Because she liked taking candid pictures and shooting

from the hip. Because she wanted to go to Paris and

live in a garret and write for a living. Because she

was wild, and different -- moody and inconsistent and

demanding and immature and interesting.

(pause)

After four months of doing what had started that day at

the workshop -- just talking, feeling each other out --

I'd managed to mistake finding her interesting for being

interested in her. So I dove, when I scribbled those three

little words on the sheet of paper in the coffeeshop. And she

took that swan-dive with me.

(pause)

Six months of a rollercoaster ride later, and it's too

late, I'm undone. I went in too deep.

Redolence: A poem for two lovers-in-the-making

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 17:18:00 +0000

For "C&B," or rather, my friend and his Princess.

Vision fades, and we hear wrongly.

Words are spoken and misconstrued.

But the scent of your skin is indelible, memory,

Promising more than mere pledges can do.

With it, within it, I repose in your arms.

Morpheus' kiss was never so sweet.

It's a whisper, a wish, a sybaritic smile,

a pulse elemental, a shared body heat.

Beneath my closed lids are your open eyes.

They allure with a power no siren can claim.

But it's your perfume that spells inebriation;

your fragrance that has me breathing your name.

Fin

(I rushed this one, and will probably edit it later. Rhyme schemes confound me, damnation. At any rate, I'm planning a second, called Houri, because the definition of the term struck me -- -- (splendid) companions of equal age (well-matched)", "lovely eyed", of "modest gaze", "pure beings" or "companions pure" of paradise.)

~ NC

Happiness is...

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Sun, 19 Jun 2011 06:25:00 +0000

...seeing the new Penshoppe billboard. This is the lovely big one along EDSA. I can't wait to see the photos chosen for the one at the Pasig bridge and the one at the Nichols Intersection!

Aside from the fact that it's my favorite actor on the billboard (Ed Westwick, squee!), I also love the way the photo was shot, and the styling. So sue me, I like guys clothes! Penshoppe's supposedly "mens" outerwear actually looks good on me, which I learned when The Style Closet came to UA&P.

At any rate, definite cheer-up to a muggy, morose Sunday. :D

Aviators I Like!

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 12:02:00 +0000

It's been a never-ending sadness of mine that I can't seem to find aviators that fit my weird face shape. Voila! My meimei, Keren, was gifted this lovely pair by her uncle and gamely allowed me to try them on. Now I'm on the hunt for a similar pair.

Anyone know where to get them? Leave a comment/reply! Preferrably they should be like this pair: brown-tinted with gold or semi-patterned rims.

~ NC

Sent from my iPhone

Tattoo of The Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 11:50:00 +0000

Temporary tattoo drawn with a black Pilot Techpoint pen. I'm thinking of having this done for real in henna because it looks SO COOL.

Sent from my iPhone

Vanessa Hudgens in the Philippines!!

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 03:04:00 +0000

Sent from my iPhone

SoJ: Meant To Be

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Sat, 28 May 2011 09:46:00 +0000

Showing some love at the Mellow Booth: Noel and Dean!

Sent from my iPhone

Thoughts of a girl on her first season out

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Tue, 24 May 2011 13:41:00 +0000

I do not recognize this painted stranger.

She is made of powders, creams, and daring.

Her dark, dark lashes flutter like twin fans, and

from her tart's red mouth spill strange allusions:

things that I could not know, or should not know;

things I pretend not to understand.

Her arching eyebrows crease in concentration,

betraying that her moves are calculated.

She plays all coy; her words are smoke and satin.

Her lies are truths sewn into second skin.

It all seems so effortless, this vast illusion

of nonchalance, when in fact each pause is anxious.

Who is this scarlet woman, daring to dance

so delicately for these men and wolves?

Before my mirror, undressed layer by layer,

beneath the stains and pigments, the glossy armour--

her face, accusing, begs that question: "Why,

need I play this role of child-coquette?"

"Why, really, need I dare pretend at all?"

A Game of You

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Tue, 24 May 2011 12:49:00 +0000

Wear your best face; I'll wear my freshest--

we'll lie to each other in sweetest of ways.

Pretense of perfection: we practice entrapment,

hoping against hope that the other will stay.

Under blanket of fog, with the wind and the rain

we'll move: two shadows that kiss and depart.

And when it's all over and the magic has faded,

we'll remind ourselves why love's the deadliest art.

(It's been a long time since I've written verse with a classic rhyme-scheme. Feels sort of fun. :)) )

The air's an enchantment; it's pulling us in.

noreply@blogger.com (Frankie "NC" Torres) — Tue, 24 May 2011 01:37:00 +0000

The air's an enchantment; it's pulling us in.
I could drown in this dream, emerge
in new skin--
reborn. My cocoon's shed with my inhibitions.
The links in my chains nothing more now than ribbons you've
cut to pieces. I dwell in your dark.
I'm as sick as one rose; you feed into my heart.

Sent from my iPhone