different.

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I had my hair cut. I had my hair cut short.

Oh, why do women always think that cleansing themselves from breakups mean changing their physical appearance? And why did I suddenly join in? Ugh.

I don't know what came over me. I did Toy Story 3 the other night with Ninoy (aww, awesome awesome movie). I wanted to write about that, but then I crossed wires with Den, and then we realized we both did the same thing, only with fugly results. (me being more fugly) so I just didn't feel like it anymore.

Then he was there, and suddenly, it's like a jump cut, only backwards, with no soft lighting and the the focus all wrong, too right, too bright, too clear. Suddenly, our entire "relationship" history got the shift, and we both didn't know what to do about it.

After that memorable conversation, I found that Toy Story wouldn't be given justice, and I just sat there, wondering who would leave first, if it would be you or me. I wanted to. But I couldn't. It was like getting my friend back.

It was also exactly like breaking up again.

So the next day, I asked for a trim, and maybe bangs, and most of all, a change. The hair person got philosophical and said change is better on the inside.

Ha.

Because you described me so well, and I couldn't take it.

How could you still know me, so well, after years of silence?

And you. How could I still read you, after all of this?

I said you broke my heart; you told me you hoped you did. And when I asked if I broke yours, you asked me not to be stupid.

Ha.

So I went and took the stupidity away from you and into my appearance.

It's short. Possibly the shortest I've ever worn. At least as an adult. I haven't decided if I like it yet. It's just different.

And I like different.

Different, the same...whatever.

i'd like to

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run away.

Today, getting out of bed was a trial of immense proportions.

And not that it usually isn't, because, well, Tuesdays are coding days (yep, just like the song) and this means we have to get to Makati before 7am.

Still, I am usually a morning person, so I'm fine. I also like working in NCP, and I like the hours.

It's just..I was dreaming yesterday, while waiting for my dad to get me. (Usually, I wait in front of The Link, and just stare at people while I wait for Daddy) And it just depresses me to realize, how far I still am from my goals.

In the meantime, I have to contend with the heartbreak involved in all this. There's my personal feelings, then my professional heart.
It hurts knowing the possibilities this choice has given me. It sucks to realize that no matter how many people you help, there will always be some you can't.

Distance, that's everyone's cautious warning.

But distance, objectivity, how can those safeguards incite people to action?

I don't know how to balance it all.

I sincerely hope this learning curve of mine levels in time.

NAMEly...

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It's like one of my greatest dreams coming true.

I never knew it would feel like this.

I mean, okay, sometimes, when I'm being called, I still have to take a few seconds before I snap to attention. And the funny thing is, in my folder. I still wrote down Amae.

But that didn't stop reality.

Finally, after countless attempts to reclaim, remake, recover, it's here.

People now call me Anna.

I want to clarify that I don't hate my name...much. I just have a bit of a complex with it, is all. It's just...it's exceedingly girly, man.

Anna Mae.

I know that people are named in a way that enjoins them to live up to their names: isn't that the reason why people change names when they enter showbiz? The reason why none of our presidents have been named, like, (ack, noooo. I simply cannot go on with that. I can't name a name and have people think I'm prejudiced against anyone's name.) Okay. Let's just say that
none of our presidents have bad sounding names.

I was named after Mama Mary's mother, St. Anne, and my favorite aunt, Maebel. (that's a prophecy in itself: perhaps she became my favorite aunt because...gasp! she named me!)

When you have a name like mine, it conjures up...dalagang Filipina level mannerisms. A girly girl. At the very least, someone with dainty laughter and conversation, someone who actually learned all that shiz they taught us in HE. In short, someone not me.

I am like, a disgrace to the name. I laugh really loudly; I can't dance. I only started caring about my hair last year. I got my hair rebonded because I thought it meant I would never have to comb it again.

I've always wanted to try and be a little bit more of an Anna.

However, all my attempts get foiled by well meaning people. (Last time I tried to be Anna in a class, my blocmates were all, Noooooo. Amae po, Ma'am!)

But now, I have a chance for a do-over.

I am now being called Anna!

Well, people in NCP--and anyone connected to what I do here--call me Anna. Elsewhere, I am still Amae.

Why this sudden wish to revert to my name, you ask?

There is, the obviously TW potential of the name Anna. (Hello, timeless! There is a princess named Anna!)
Well, it's just a way to compartmentalize further, really. Office friends and associates will know me as Anna, people I love as Amae. And, aside from the wanting to live a little bit of the Anna name up, I just think it's time I mature a bit.

Though this move is all about that as well, I want to become a lady, too. And well, it's a palindrome. That is the only cool part about my name, seriously. I have always wanted to mine that quality.

And it'll remind me that I can be both fun and mature.

pinky squares: a repost

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I was browsing my multiply when I saw this. I think my brother and I are closer now than when I first made this entry, but still. I kind of liked what I wrote. So, repost!

**First posted through Multiply, Jun 29, '08 2:24 AM**

When I was four and my brother was two, I taught him an ancient art.

This ancient art was a well-kept secret: through it, two people were bound to each other for life. It was a ritual to protect each other, against the world.

This ritual was the pinky swear.

Now, don't laugh.

But the pinky swear is the most basic promise, the most essential one you can make to someone you love.

Plus, we were young. (really young)

You might think it's weird to teach my brother -- who is a boy-- something as innately girly as the pinky swear but, well, he was able to make it manly.

When we we were young, our parents were pretty much workaholics. So, it was usually only me, my brother and our yayas at home with us.

And my brother was a real crybaby when he was well, uh...a baby.

But it was fine cause we were together.

But then I had to go to school.

Because he was younger, he had to stay home all day with his yaya, while I went to school with mine.

This led to a lot of tantrums and tears, because my brother couldn't understand why we couldn't go to school together.

That was when I told him about the pinky swear.

Being a child, my brother kept mispronouncing swear, by saying square. (He even made up a little dance to accompany the whole ritual--in square formation.)

And every morning, before I left, I had to pinky square that I would come back, preferably with some ube buns from the bakery.

Now that's changed.

My brother and I go to the same school, but we're worlds apart.

I can't even get him to grunt a word at me, or glance at me.

Something seems to have gotten between us, something even the years of squaring can't fix.

I wish we had one more pinky square left.

The First Mega Dinner: A night out with the Trophy Friends

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Sigh. I choose to be happy.

This is what I am trying to tell myself. And because I am trying to tell myself things like that, I wish to focus on my goals, and think happy thoughts. One of my goals is to write more, as per Ins' wishes. (And my own as well: I rather miss scribbling away.) Granted, my bestfriend probably had a different type of writing in mind when she asked me to refocus, but still. My blog is my favorite exercise.

Thus, this post will be on one of my favorite memories of this year: the Mega dinner. Well, I call it the Mega dinner. It was when my friends Dheng, Mykee, Coeli and I met up in Megamall to eat dinner and watch Sex and the City 2.

I had been in a happy, happy, joy, joy mood all day. I simply adore these girls; over five years of college, and countless variations on the dessert, they have been with me. Our last meet up (sans Myk) was in March, when I got my job. (Dheng had this rule where we couldn't go out together till we were all wage-earners. Hmm.)

Anyway, we had decided to meet up in Mega at around 6-ish. We spent the day checking up and teasing each other online. Threats were exchanged, many friendship overs going around if someone were to back out.

Finally, it was meet up time.

I got there first, naturally. (I have a complex, honestly. I don't think I'd be able to survive if I were late. To anything.)

And so, in honor of that; first shot, courtesy of Star:




Guess who, ehem, ehem. This was stolen when they were rearranging stuff and harassing Coeli to leave work.

So we told Coeli to meet us up in CBTL, as she was still wrestling with her workload. It was hilarious, because we're all Swirlers (Well, we're trying to convert Mykee; she doesn't seem to have a preference.) but we didn't order anything, we just foraged for net. I managed to make them jealous cause Star is Wifimazing.



Then, Coeli finally arrives, which results in a dizzying circling of some places for dinner. Dheng wanted Orchard Road, I wanted Racks, Myk wanted Cajun. So we let Coeli decide, and she chose Holy Cow. Boy, was that a good call!

We ordered their All-Meat Platter, and it was super yummy, and filling, and it looked cute, too!



We were supposed to watch SATC2, just because. But in the end, we vetoed that and stayed in Holy Cow, trading stories (as far as we could) of the MR world. To my and Coeli's intense bitterness, Dheng and Mykee had no OT haggard stress, pile-up of work or anything like what we had: they went home pretty much regularly at 6pm. Plus, loads of downtime. We surmised it was because of the sizes of the companies we were in, which is why Coeli is the most stressed. Teehee.

While talking, we managed to steer clear of all the hints that Holy Cow management may want us gone, especially the biggest hint, our table after the meal (but before the clean up):




Finally, we decided to get the bill and head on to DQ for dessert. Before that, we had to go to Mann Hann for Myk's fish. (Something about her dad's favorite food?) We went into Home World to look at beds and next door to look at cameras just because we could.


At DQ, we all got different flavors: mine was ChocTruffle, Dheng's Mud Shake, Mykee's Cookies…no hang on, I don't remember Mykee and Coeli's orders. (Peace, guys! I don't know why I don't remember yours, but remember Dheng's. Haha.) When you look at them, they're pretty much the same thing, though:




We stayed while the rest of Megamall was closing in around us, partly because it was Coeli's wish to stay out late for something that was pure pleasure. And also partly because we weren't done talking.

Mykee had to go first, because her dad was there. The rest of us were commuting. (I had fun with their reactions to this, especially Mykee's. I happen to know how to commute. Meanie.)

We lingered while walking out of SM, and some part of me wished the whole thing would just keep happening. For a moment, I was back in college, my biggest worry being the paper that is still just half-done. (The done part being in my head.)




Thank you for this night, former employees and partner of mine. You are a big chunk of the reason why I am able to do what I am doing right now, because the three of you remind me to be better, all the time.


Until the next Mega dinner! (Which is this month, hala. haha)

reserving judgement

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am in a lonesome mood, so not really sane. ergo, no punctuation, no grammar checks.

well, a bit.

i guess, on one hand, it's amazing to be on the way to what i truly want.

and the people are nice, if a bit quiet. ofcourse, my opinion isn't solid: as my Wife has pointed out; "You've known them, what? 8 hours?" so, okay. i know that it's difficult to be happy asap, especially when i've had hangovers of niceness from my last week.

but i miss it.

i miss psrc.

i miss walking to omm, climbing stairs to 10th. i miss saying good morning, and saying weird things that no one finds weird.

i miss mona and her singing, kc and her food trips, racine and her links, ayah and her OT questions, yanie and her english translations, cho and her performances, matt and bryan and popversations.

my boss and manga obsessions, office loveteams and craziness.

but.

and this is a big but.

i know i did what i did because i know this is my shot.

my parents have given me leave to try my shot for one year, so i can't waste it moping around.

and the people are nice here as well.

it's just different, although not in a bad way.

my thoughts are scattered.
and i'm so scared, i don't get it anymore.

ack.

stop the world, i want to go to sleep.

upgrades, in a way.

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I miss it.

My family and I had our Father's Day out in Makati. Usually, we just go to SM Sta. Rosa (I guess it can be a con of having a mall near you; my parents feel too lazy to go far) or if they feel like it, Festi, and occasionally, school.

I love the malls in Makati. I grew up chasing my brother in the Glorietta jungle gym, and posing for photos with the Landmark carabaos, My brother and I nurtured a crazy passion for Glico's.

When we were walking around, I finally saw it.

Glorietta 1. Or, to be more specific, the spot where my favorite part of G1 used to be.

My favorite spot in G1 starts in National Bookstore, then goes down to PCX, Chelsea, my Timezone, and all the kooky little stores there. Also, Papemelroti is there.

I've got memories in, to me, every inch of those areas. I lost my second phone in NBS, gave my brother his Timezone addiction in this Timezone mini, fought with people over shoes here and there.

And now, it's nothing.

It's a pile of rubble. (And, I am ashamed to admit, it is not even a very high pile of rubble now. I seem to have missed the essential part of their demolishing my mall, what with all the changes from student to work and stuff.)

I did manage to take some photos of their progress, before. But I don't want to post them, because those photos depress me emotionally, and hurt my eyes, because, they're rather ugly. (I always thought I was decent with a camera, but ever since I got a phone that could help me with that, I seem to have taken strides in photography…the ugly kind.)

I was a bit shocked over it, honestly. I always thought the rumors of G1 being gone would stay rumors. Because, well, they did just restore the side that got ruined, right?

But they did, and now, if people want to visit NBS, they have to walk all the way around to visit Glorietta 5, which is smack in the middle of nowhere near. Or, they can give that gig up and buy supplies in SM, and books in Powerbooks.

This makes it three strikes for Ayala Land! (Or whoever is doing this whole developing (NOT) mall thing)

1. First, they took away our bus stops so that every person from the South now has backtrack to Lotton, or go to Pacita to get home. (Those examples, ofcourse, apply to people from the South like me, who live in Binan.)
2. Then, they took away National Bookstore.
3. And replaced it with Glorietta 5, which is incredibly faaaarrrrrr.

And, fine, the new G5 is cool, I suppose.

I miss my old route with G1, because, well, it was part of my routine! I could fake being interested in a new pen, and get a book as well. I can just browse around silly shops. Now, when I get to G5, all my favorites are crammed into tiny spaces, like a fourth of their original floor spaces in G1. One ate I talked to said it was eating up their income.

It just doesn't seem right.

I've heard rumors of the old G1 becoming a hotel, and I say go to that idea.

Because we really need another place for people to stay, in the middle of a shopping district.

Ack.

I hate upgrades when they downgrade the good stuff.

last, i suppose.

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It's taking me a bit more of my usual self control to be cheerful today, but I will be.

I thought I'd get to the office early, for more namnamin ang huli moments.

Unfortunately, the combination of a sundae trip last night (thanks, Racine and Matt!) and my last assignment made me wake up late. I also ended up annoying my father, because I stopped somewhere to get puto Binan and puto pao for everyone.

When I arrived at the office, Cho and Ms. Nadj were already there. I turn my PC on for the last time, and access my Outlook, for the last time. (Funny thing, I got a new mouse and monitor filter yesterday; Ate Sue says it's a preview of all the benefits I am going to miss. Har.

Sigh.


Come Friday, OMM Citra will be just another building.


I won't be able to bother Philip about data questions, or field client calls, or make weird Stat and DP queries/requests.

It's saddening to know that I won't be privy to any more new EJ-composed songs, that I won't be able to fight over food with the Mega A people, and, worst of all, no more popversations.

I could drone on and on, but I know there's no need for that. I don't want to cry, and I owe it to my boss to finish this topline.

I know I'll miss all of it: PSRC is my first real job, and I realize how blessed I am to have found one that has awesome people and interesting work.

I want to thank them, every single awesome PSRC person, for showing me how to combine work and play, and for giving me an awesome introduction to the world of the Working Class.

And now, my assignment awaits.

i'm so shallow, it makes me deep

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Friday night out was not the plan.

The plan, as it is plainly written (well, not plainly--I wrote it in purple) in my organizer, was to stay as long as it took to finish my current advertisers segment topline.

Unfortunately, I am about as strong-willed as...well, okay I'm not strong-willed.
I am a wuss, generally. Which is why I suddenly agreed to a movie night with officemates Yanie, KC, Ayah and Racine.

Being a wuss found me packing up my stuff by seven, while playing an interesting game of truth or dare with The Officemates. (It sounds like a band. A really geeky, no life one. hahahah)

Then there was a short sprint to SM, where we had dinner at EAt & Go, this place that seems to be trying to be World Chicken. You know, two side dishes, one main dish...except it's not self service, and...you should stay away from their alfredo. (Fine, people like me should stay away from their alfredo.)
But other than the alfredo, they have excellent food, and music. Cute photos on the wall, they didn't drive me insane. (Usually, it annoys me when it's the decor is photos and I don't understand why they're there, but these photos remind of me of the ones in certain Mc do places.)

Anyway, I had fish sticks, which is dory nuggets. Not sticks. But whatever, it was yummy. I also got a free side dish, because they made a mistake with mine. (The Officemates plan on using it as a ploy the next time they come there, which is something I'd love to see.)

Now, we move on to the movie. We got tickets before eating: we've had several discussions over movie choice: French filmfest (except we were probably out of tickets), SATC 2 (except some of us hadn't seen the first one, and why on earth is a movie about a city set in a desert, anyway? and what did they do for more or less three hours?) or Noy (because, well, Coco Martin.)
But because of everyone's bonus high, and the trailer featuring a shirtless Ashton Kutcher, we went to watch The Killers.

I am quite tolerant when it comes to movies. Growing up, movies were one of our favorite family activities. And in high school, movies were the sitch to a lot of things. (Yes, there was also that pain. But I feel 70% over that now.)

In college, I got exposed to more beautiful, and in my opinion, much better movies than the ones I saw in malls. Suddenly, film became more awesome.

I became, for approximately two months, a film buff, annoying everything and everyone around me whenever I said mise-en-scene. (Say it the French way! Say it!!!)
I insulted everything commercial, and saw everything in elements. I guess my turning back was when my roommates stopped sharing Korean DVDs with me.Finally, my parents told me I was acting like a snob, and I decided that some films were worth the film critique off switch.

And Killers is definitely a switch off movie.

We start with someone having dumped Katherine Heigl again. (Now, this woman has a really freaky personality at times, so I can sort of see why she may get dumped, but this is something that has happened in all of the movies of her I've seen. She gets dumped, and then the movie starts. Hmm.)

Then we go to Ashton Kutcher and his body, and boom. He's sort of like a spy, only we never get to figure out for which side, and he doesn't even really say he is. He's more of like a for hire killer.

Then they meet in an elevator, date around Nice, France, and get married.

Then more scenes of Ashton Kutcher, and even Heigl, shirtless.

And a lot of action scenes, including an excellent car chase using actual automobiles that people like me can drive. Plus several excellent deaths. My favorite was the blond co-worker. Nice.

And we end with a baby being surrounded by laser beams.

Awesome.

It's Ashton Kutcher. Shirtless. (He got hot. Dating Demi Moore clearly rubs off on you.) He is also more self-assured and less douchebaggy here, than in anything else I've ever seen.

Heigl is generally who she always is: neurotic, loveless, crazy. But in this one, it actually does something for the film. Plus, she is excellent at screaming in a long, drawn-out manner.

They actually have great chemistry.

The mom is amazing, too. I love all the scenes of her drinking herself out. She stole this one. (hahah)

All in all, it was, like the best 45 minutes ever.

But really.

I'd have stopped at Ashton Kutcher.

An explanation for the TWthoughts tag

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I have been remiss in my writing, because I keep referring to my career fallback, and not explaining it. It happened at the last get together as a bloc.

We were in Chokiss and my forever groupmates and I had a most enlightening conversation:

Me: Hey! Oh, I missed you!
*hugs.hug backs.a chorus and medley of miss,how are you, where are you now*

Coe:Work is difficult, but it's okay.
Dhe: Ayun lang, trabaho. Maalaga naman sila, eh.
Me: Ako ewan ko pa. Kakastart pa lang.

*after a few moments with the entire bloc, some of who had shared work stories.*

Coe:Okay, fine. It's more than difficult. It's given me a different dream.
Dhe & Me: A different dream?
Coe: I don't want to work anymore. I want to get married and become...a housewife.

*echoes of agreement*

I was a bit shocked, so when the question was put to me, I answered in the only way I envisioned marriage. (At least, in respect to certain people I love, for now.)


If I'm going to be married, I intend to become a trophy wife.



My friend, Niki, has asked me to give a list of qualifiers why I feel I can be a trophy wife.

Rising to the occasion, (ofcourse, in a fashionably late manner--that challenge having been issued ages ago--as is characteristic of a good TW in training) I have done a little research.

It appears I have a different notion of trophy wife than most people. (Atleast, most people/groups of people who I stumbled upon in my Google search.)

Trophy wife. Such interesting reading material, that.

There is ofcourse, the traditional derogatory definition, the matter-of-fact POV of men, and the scholarly (somewhat; this is the one article I enjoyed) view.

Now, having read up on the subject all I could, (All that I will, as a TW in training is wont to do. I am never going to tire of saying that.) I have decided that trophy wife, for me, is defined a little differently.

Let's be revolutionary here...

For me,
The trophy wife is a wife of a successful and wealthy man, who is intelligent, accomplished, attractive, interesting and serves as a perfect complement to her husband.

I'd make the perfect trophy wife according to my definition because:

1. I'm pretty sure I'm intelligent: I went to a good school, got okay grades.

2. I'm totally accomplished, as per above. In addition, I can greet three different nationalities in their native language, and I know three Filipino dialects. I can also carry a tune, and dance, if dancing was defined as bobbing my head and clapping in appreciation of music.

3. I am reasonably attractive. I'm not drop-dead gorgeous, or anything, and that is a good thing. Because a good wife is not supposed to outshine her husband, anyway.

4. I am interesting. I have this weird blog no one reads, I fully believe apples are a food group, and I like high-fiving mascots, among many other embarrassing activities. I have quirks beyond quirks, and I make people laugh. Let's face it, you never forget people you laugh at.

5. As for the last, hello. I fully intend to become extremely successful and awesome all on my own. Hence, I will be perfectly poised to take my place as a trophy wife, beside someone I'd consider a trophy husband.



Anyway, I have a looooong way to go before I become a TW. For one, I still have no idea how to put on makeup, or concealer, or any of those crazy treatments. My mother despairs of my ever becoming an actual girl. I also can't cook, can't speak to different nationalities in full sentences. But I want to learn. So, from now on, all my personal wellness activities will be under the TWthoughts tag.

the last night out

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Last time I was in school as a student was to attend my grad practice.

Because we are a particularly diligent bunch, almost all of my blocmates was there, and we decided that it was the most we would ever get as far as get togethers, and went to Chokiss. (Oh, Chokiss. I miss your carrot cake. Someone give me Chokiss carrot cake.Please.)



It was fun, seeing everyone, more or less settled into their work lives. Weirdly enough, most of us are working for service companies. Only a few are in actual client companies.

Loads of interesting stories and good food, and the glimmers of out of town trips that, as much as it breaks my heart to admit, I know will never happen.
Atleast, not as all of us.

I hope that I am wrong about that. I am always open to surprises, but it's been ages when we've all been together, and there are only seventeen of us. Most of us work in twos or threes in the same companies!

Sometimes it is just frustrating, I guess.

I miss these people, and the way they made me laugh.

Growing up sucks.

para sa tunay na TL ko. :)

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Walang basagan ng trip.

With you, that always seems to be the key.

From the moment we met, we clicked.

I'm pretty sure if we swung that way, we'd be dating now.

Unfortunately, we find guys more compelling, so we have to settle for life long devotion to one another instead.

There are so many things I love about you, and so many moments that I was never able to thank you for, so till the next Mega dinner, this will have to do. (Kasi naman ayaw pa magpatulog sa bahay ehhhhh.)


I love you for always being there. From 115 to 200, you have never left me. You've always been there, to help me through whatever CRes crisis there is.

I want to thank you, for bugging me about eating, and for understanding and indulging my obsession with apples.

I love you for constantly believing that with a lot of hints and nudges and asides, I will eventually get the hint and start dating all the people you throw at me.

I thank you for not literally throwing anyone at me, and for understanding that I don't want that right now, perhaps not ever.

I love you for always being patient with my moods, for agreeing to the silliest things that I say or im or text. (To this day, I still feel giddy knowing someone out there thinks I can make Zachary Levi fall in love me, or that I am a budding trophy wife.)

I thank you for being my map when I commute, for coming (both digitally and literally) with me on so many of my travails with public transport.

I love you for being one of the few people who never really thought Noynoy and I were dating.

I thank you for dating someone with the good sense to shower me with Pocky, and for being the daughter of someone who takes home buckets of baked goods.

I love you for encouraging me to go after my dreams, and for believing in me enough to bully me to stop being wishy washy.

I thank you for the patience, especially with how annoying I have been, this past couple of days.

I love you for shaking me out of heartbreak, for helping me realize that he is not, was not, and probably never will be, the one. It took me a long time to finally admit to myself how much I still missed him, and when I did, you helped me get past that and get over him. I would be lying if I said I never thought of him, but now, I can promise you that I don't care about him anymore, not in that way.

I thank you for keeping me together, when my "love triangle" drama was going on.



Happy Birthday, Dheng.


I love you for the silly moments in MS1, the serious walks to Sampa, the crazy dinners and the lovely meals we've shared.

I thank you for being Dheng, the one person who seems to know exactly how to handle me, whatever I do.

I know you'll have an awesome birthday.

I'll see you at the next Mega dinner.

to the one who comes before any book or boy, anytime. :D

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Thursday, June 10, 2010
10:58 PM
*This was supposed to be a letter, then I remembered you liked my blog. I love you, I thank God everyday for granting me your awesome friendship. Consider this a temporary gift.*

We met when we were in second grade.
You're going to raise an eyebrow now, and laugh at me, while scolding: "We met in pre-school."
Then I would laugh, we'd both insist, and then we'd laugh.
Together.

And you're probably going to be right.


When I think of school, I see you. In every flashback, in every corner of that school, there's us.

Enrollment, with the books and the tuition, holding hands while hoping we were classmates.

That first day of class, where we'd sit beside each other, only to be told there was a seatplan.

Driving classmates crazy and teachers mad with note passing.

The times we lunched outside, spying on people.

Walks around the school when we were convinced it was a cemetery and that we could open our third eyes by saying they were open.

That one year, that one first day of class when the seatplan became our friend, and we were finally able to be seatmates.

New crushes. Old crushes. Crushes that come back.

Codenames.

Walking you to your house, and you walking me to my service.

Being Fibi and Cessie.

Bathroom conversations; the way you let Ponds stay on your face just a little bit longer so it would cool.

Our bake shop/library/barbecue place.

Shakes, and fishballs, and goto.

Our June 5.

I know I've told you time and again, when I realized you were my bestfriend. It was that day, in sixth grade, in front of school, when we sat on the steps for as long as we could. I can't tell you any other topic, but I knew there was something there when we started talking about deodorant. That was it, for me.

The first time I told you that, you got annoyed. I realized it was a little unnerving, that something so important would hit me over personal hygiene. I've never fully explained it to you, but to me, it was just a no-no. Come on, Ins, it's Holy. :)

I never knew there were people there I could talk to about such weird, random things.

I remember that time when you went to Bicol, and we tried to believe that letters would work. I never told you, but I stopped eating and my parents were so worried, they told me we'd find you and have you live with us.

And I would have, had you not come back.

Looking back, at almost a decade of friendship, it seems like I was always the one less there.

I like to believe that I was a good bestfriend, the proper Piglet to your Winnie the Pooh. But I know in my heart that was always more you than me.

You were always there, ready with every word, every smile.

I know how much I hurt you in third year. No words, no actions will ever be able to tell you how sorry I am.

All I said was I promise to be better, and all you did was smile.

And always, whenever we met, whenever I could, I would promise to be better.

Then it was college, and my promise was blown away.


Once Math 11 is over. After 115. After the CRS anniv. After the STAR awards. After thesis, after grad.

You just smiled, and encouraged. Most everyone in Fzie got mad at me at some point, but you never did. (Or if you were, you never showed me.)

I never did get to better.

Now you're somewhere so far away, I get to write this on your birthday before I give it to you for your birthday.


I want to thank you for always being there, for the encouragement, for the love, for the experiences that you share.
You are one of approximately six people on this earth who know what I want before I say it, before I think it.


I want you to know that you are the bestfriend ever. And that now, more than ever, I will do my best to gain back that status as well.

Happy Birthday, my Innapopot. I hope new yoooork is the bounciest and happiest for you today, and that you know how much I know you'll be as awesome there as you were here.
I know this is not a very good birthday gift, but we will have to make do until I learn how to send stuff to New York, that will really get to you.

I miss you, and I live for the day when we can both see Wicked together.

I'll be cheesy now, and remember my old closing line from that movie we liked to talk about, but never really saw:

Someday, I'll have contacts.
Someday, I'll be in braces.
Someday, we'll have tattoos.
Someday, someone will love me more than life itself.
Someday, everything will be completely different

Except...we'll still be friends.

glee, whiz.

by | | 2 comments
This is probably, apple deprivation. I haven't eaten an apple in three days. (My parents wouldn't let me buy when we were grocery shopping, because apparently, the apples did not look good. I have to know, where do you learn to spot good and bad apples? Is there a course I can take?)

That's probably why I need to rant about Glee, considering it is the one of the two shows that I followed this season. (The other being Chuck, which, though had some middling parts, gave me an awesome finish and setup for next season. Plus, well, Zachary Levi. Hello.)

And if you haven't seen the finale and hate spoilers, don't read this. Because it assumes you saw the finale. Cheers.

I know that Glee isn't about the story. It's about cramming as many songs into every single sub-plot there is. But that surely doesn't mean that they have to make so many impossible things happen every single episode.
It's called continuity, and it happens everywhere.

I've had hangups from before the hiatus: I didn't like how they "resolved" (if that's what the whole kiss thing was) between Tina and Artie and her fake stutter, how they made it out that Finn could believe he managed to get Quinn preggers, how they suddenly just up and ignored Coach Tanaka...ugh.

But that is okay, because you are supposed to turn your brain off when watching Glee, apparently.

Some good things about the finale: they didn't win, so better set up for season two. Quinn and Puck gave the baby up, which is realistic. (Also, her whole labor scene? Eurgh. It really did look like she was giving birth. Or in some very intense pain that she somehow shook off to sing the next day but whateverrr.)

Okay, finale songs, all cute, all what I loved about Glee in the first place. I like them best when they're being high school and not singing in tribute to someone.I like when it's about them as characters, not as Itunes hitmakers.

I did not adore paralleling the Vocal Adrenaline cover of Bohemian Rhapsody with Quinn's labor, because it failed to give justice to both subplots. (And also, what the heck? Not even eye contact between Jesse and Rachel? And no nervous twitchy half a second peek at Idina Menzel?) And what was the parallel there? What? I maybe dense, but I totally don't get it.

I loved the judging scene, except they really have to stop making Olivia Newton John come on this show. It's disconcerting. (And really, Josh Groban? Last I checked, you had an actual career. Stop guesting on Glee if you aren't going to sing. Hold that, even if you were going to sing, don't do it here. It would be weird.)
But I like how many layers they give to Sue Sylvester. That stuff about her being the least appropriate judge was hogwash. I mean, she was the only one there with high school competition experience. If they were being remotely real, she would be the only one who would actually be a judge on this shiz.

I like their performance, but the costumes were hohummm. I really like that everybody was in this version of Don't Stop Believing, and that Naya Rivera is being given justice. She is awesome.

Them losing was good, but it would have been better if they'd placed second. Then they could have invented, like a wildcard round and spent part of Season 2 preparing for it. And then Nationals for the season 2 finale! (What? Nothing is realistic on this show, and it would be fun to have a wildcard round,and give them a new nemesis, with freakier show choir names. Like Choral Chorus. Hah.)

Also, I loved that Sue gave them their year. And she is just amazing, can she please get an Emmmy? I can really feel for her, that scene where she was watching them sing to sir with love to Will, and her realizing she'll never get that. Awwww.

But. Again, wouldn't it have been better to let them lose the choir room? And have them be renegades for season 2, sneaking around to sing songs in McKinley. It would be cute. Also, I just want to point out that even if they had lost the choir room, they already owned the auditorium. Because Glinda the Good Witch (err Kristen Chenoweth) bought it for them when she guested.

As to Quinn and Puck giving the baby to Idina, which was totally obvs, btw. It was cool. But wouldn't it have been awesome if Terri managed to convince them to give her the child, and she spent Season 2 driving Will insane with the instant family? (As an advocate of children's rights, I would not really want this to happen. But just saying...)

An aside to guest stars, I get why J.Groff needed to be made evil. Fan response to him and Rachel was too awesome. I just wish they had made Idina sing more, and they gave NPH a less annoying song.

All in all, Glee is still something that I am going to watch.

Because I really believe that if life were a musical, it would be like this.

And well, I kinda want life to be a musical. (Can you imagine, when you get a stack of reports to make, you just up and sing the Happy Working Song? :D)

Now I want apples.

who is she?

by | | 0 comments
Had a ym conversation with my second bebecouzzzz, Ico.

We were trading angst, him about his current joblessness, me about my current scared to leave, reluctant to stay drama.

What I told him doesn't just apply to him, but to everyone. Don't get all caught up with being rejected, or not being replied to as fast as you want them to. Picking a person to screen is an intense undertaking: you'd have to envision how he or she would fit in, how he or she would work...all sorts of things that you need to make sure works. If they don't call you, then they're also doing you a favor: they're telling you it won't work. Period.

So, in the meantime, and most especially if you are anything like my bebecouzz and has only been bumming it for a month, please just chilllll. Sleep away a day, jog, climb trees, hang out in bars, whateverrr.

Just do stuff that you want to do, for now, because life in the working world is loads different from school. (Especially from our school,my bebecouzzz.)

When you skive off school, no one cares. (5 lang katapat, teh). When you absent from work, you have to ask permission, you have to prepare for the doubled workload the next day, and the guilt of being work free while others are slaving away.
No real vacation, long commutes, long hours.

Then, the good stuff. New learning--surprises from Excel and Word, and special software for your line of work. New people, new ways to flex hanging out and working in a happy environment. New mentors to look up to, new goals to aspire achieve.
Best of all, the knowledge that you are earning your keep, that you have finally (somewhat) come into your own.

But this takes a special kind of workplace, a certain balance between work and play.

It's taken me quite a while before I achieved that, which is why I'm scared to give it all up.

But Ico has ofcourse, made me happy and semi-restored (and all the way confused) by telling me that I can do it, because, well, I'm Amae Restauro. Heh.
I was embarassed, so I didn't ask him to qualify that. (sayang, di pa niya tinuloy ang flattery haha)

Who is that girl? She's changed so much from who she was in HS, it's hard to see who she is.

And at times, I'm not even sure I want to.

For now, I'll just cling to the hope that, even if I can't get through this, Amae will.