Log in

No account? Create an account
18 January 2015 @ 01:56 pm

And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere.
When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happen to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.

- sputnik sweetheart, murakami

18 February 2011 @ 02:18 pm


It’s amazing how random acts of kindness from strangers lead to unforgettable moments like what happened last night. A member of the Deftones road crew let us in the VIP Section though we only had tickets for the Silver section. He probably saw us looking crazy, jumping up and down in the farthest section of the venue (we were near the entrance for the Silver section) and thought “Look at these two girls going insane even if they could only see the top of Chino Moreno’s head. Wonder what they would be like if they would be close enough to touch Chino’s balls?” Hahahaha. I couldn’t thank the guy enough. I gave him the tightest hug I’ve ever given (if you know me in real life, you would know that I hate being touchy) and to a stranger nonetheless, the kindest stranger I’ve ever met. Too bad he had to leave us instantly after he got us in the VIP section. We didn’t even had the chance to ask his name. After the concert, we even circled the venue to look for him and thank him for giving us the best time of our lives but we didn’t see him anymore. 

To the kindest stranger ever, I hope that life pays you back big time for what you’ve done to us last night. You have no idea how much that act of kindness has changed my life.


What can I say except that this book reads like a movie. And when I did search for more information about this book, I found out that there is indeed a movie in the makings and Zach Galifinakis and Amy Adams will be playing the main characters. The funny thing was, when I was reading this book on a lazy Sunday morning in the comfort of my bed, I imagined Zach as Jack Madigan, son of the famous, turtle-eating rockstar Baz Madigan. (Or maybe it’s because I just finished watching It’s Kind of a Funny Story the night before). Jack is an agoraphobic. He can’t even step out of his porch to fetch his newspaper. So how does he live? Well, there’s his dead father’s royalties and his son with an eccentric fashion sense, Harlan.

But then, life forces Jack to finally step out of his house and his shell. The bank is foreclosing and his house is on the verge of being taken away from him. Also, his ex-wife does not only gets married again but also threatens to lure away his son with promises of a laid-back life in California. Not to mention that he has two frequent, albeit unwelcome guests on his house: Dorrie Alsop, the real estate agent and Lucinda, next-door neighbor kid who is neglected by her parents.

The characters are lovable although they are flawed in their own ways. You can’t help but cheer Jack on (“Get out of the house goddamnit! Get the newspaper!”) and admire Harlan’s no-bullshit approach on fashion and life itself. Sure, this book is not heavy on aspects that make a great book when it comes to depth and structure and tone and language. But sometimes, it’s the simplest of the storyline that gets to you. How human the characters are and how they are able to rise above the problems life has thrown into them. I really wish I could read more of these kinds of books in the future.

31 January 2011 @ 03:02 pm

I had my first LiveJournal blog when I was 15. I didn’t know any shit about writing for other people reading my blog. Heck, I didn’t even think that other people would read my stuff. I was just angsty and I needed a place where I can put all my word vomit. During that time, everyone I know who had a blog had it over Blogspot or Tabulas and I didn’t want to be clumped into that group. So I decided to veer away from it and came across LiveJournal.

Now, almost 10 years after, I am once again writing a proper post after neglecting this for quite some time. Other things made me forget: Friendster, Multiply, Facebook, Deviantart, Tumblr, Wordpress. I forgot about my spot here. I guess this is kind of appropriate in this time of my life where I am in that phase of searching for what I want to do and where I want to be. It is just nice to know that older me is back in the arms of LiveJournal. I can always backtrack and read my older posts and marvel at how far I’ve come and marvel at look forward to how far I still have to go.

21 May 2010 @ 02:56 pm
All roads now lead to HERE.

I guess it is time to leave Livejournal after six years of being my word bank.
14 May 2010 @ 02:13 pm
Asking for Directions
Linda Gregg

We could have been mistaken for a married couple
riding on the train from Manhattan to Chicago
that last time we were together. I remember
looking out the window and praising the beauty
of the ordinary: the in-between places , the world
with its back turned to us, the small neglected
stations of our history. I slept across your 
chest and stomach without asking permission
because they were the last hours. There was
a smell to the sheepskin lining of your new
Chinese vest that I didn't recognize. I felt
it deliberately. I woke early and asked you
to come with me for coffee. You said, sleep more,
and I said we only had one hour and you came.
We didn't say much after that. In the station, 
you took your things and handed me the vest,
then left as we planned. So you would have
ten minutes to meet your family and leave.
I stood by the seat dazed by exhaustion
and the absoluteness of the end, so I still I
was aware of myself breathing. I put on the vest
and my coat, got my bag and, turning, saw you
through the dirty window standing outside looking
up at me. We looked at each other without any
expression at all. Invisible, unnoticed, still. 
That moment is what I will tell of as proof 
that you loved me permanently. After that I was
a woman alone carrying her bag, asking a worker
which direction to find a taxi.

17 March 2010 @ 05:02 pm

 Someone said that I have an onomatopoeic name and that made my day.

That someone also asked me about my favorite sounds and the following instantly came into mind: 

the sizzle of garlic when Papa cooks something delicious every Sunday morning
the ticktock of the clock when it’s already 3am in the morning and I am still wide awake
a real honest laugh (the kind that brings you tears)
the sound wind chimes make when it is too hot and then a sudden breeze comes in
the sound of waves during a sunrise
a baby’s coo
Kate Nash/Jeff Buckley’s voice
the click of a camera
a very well sung version of our national anthem
when you walk out on someone you like/love and then he suddenly calls your name to make you stop on your tracks the collective sound of my friend’s laughter whenever we get the chance to just have beer and drink the stress away
the way this guy says my name.

The best way to get over a (wo)man is to turn her(him) into literature. – Henry Miller

First of all, this is not something I would dare call literature. This is not even a movie review. Let’s just say that this is an attempt to make sense of things. Things that the author thought she killed already and buried on a very lonely field somewhere in New Zealand.

But as we all know, some things just never go away. Optimism compels us to believe that feelings, experiences and memories can be transformed into something that will drive us to be better and stronger. But this metamorphosis of the bad takes time and if we are on the verge of collapse, we then fool ourselves that we can set these things aside. And so we move on. But with moving on, I mean that we go through the prerequisites of life and accomplish it. We wake up, go to school or work, grab a beer before going home and we go to bed. But as we lie down, we stare at the ceiling and realize, “Really, who the fuck am I kidding here?” Yeah, we manage to complete a day and if we look at it from afar, it seems that everything is okay but when we look at it with macro-eyes, the smallest things that make us remember a moment (how the significant other wore a shirt just because you told him/her or how sad you were on the bus ride home because you didn’t get to see him/her the entire day but suddenly the bus stops, someone gets on and it’s him/her), are all gone. Everything’s dull and gray and the sky has worn this look of impending rain everyday. And as the gloom piles up day after day, you reach the point where you wake up to the harsh morning light and get assaulted by the question “What for?” That is the saddest part because we know that there is no more answer.

Somewhere along the line, we start to salvage our wits and whatever is left of our heart by trying to be over that someone. I’ve read somewhere that we never get over it but we get to the point where it doesn’t bother us so much. No, we don’t go numb. We still feel. And these feelings always have ways of betraying us. It is this gun inside us, waiting to be pulled at the trigger: a friend who asked you about him/her, a message on your phone you thought you already erased, a shirt he/she left and a song. God, it’s always the songs that hit the hardest. I even think sometimes that maybe the universe plays this cosmic joke on everyone by letting us hear the perfect saddest song during the perfect saddest moment.

That is what this movie did to me. 500 Days of Summer was the song the universe played on full volume for me to hear clearly and remember each line perfectly. Dear Universe, it was not funny. To be clear, whatever feelings it is that I may have at the moment is not something I was trying to get over it. I am not a strong believer of such concept. I was just learning how to deal with it and I honestly think that I was getting better at it. But then this song (movie) played and the entirety of it seemed all too familiar. But I guess that this joke is really more of a reminder. It strikes us at the most unexpected of times so we can stop and think really hard and see how far we’ve come and how close we are to the finish line. Me? I am not running my way to the end. I am taking my time and at my own pace. I see the crowd cheering for me at the horizon because feelings, like this movie, also reach its end.
18 August 2009 @ 02:36 pm


New tattoo.
Yesterday's talk with Jiro just gave me more reasons to really go to Japan before this year ends and pursue what my heart longs for.

24 July 2009 @ 04:32 am

We all dream of flying. We dream of it in different ways and settings but we must remember that we all dream in black and white.

We dream of flying as we fall head first out of a building, eyes closed, half smiling lips, as we wait for the sound of bones crushed under our weight when we finally hit the pavement.

We dream of flying our own Peter Pan flight, light and ageless and carefree.

We dream of flying like the countless balloons we cried for during birthday parties, those we held on to tightly, the strings wrapped around wrist.

We dream of flying like those damn birds so we could spend an entire day dangling on telephone and electricity wires atop the city.

We dream of flying like airplanes who confuse departures for arrivals and who are mindless of all those come and leave us.

We dream of flying like dusts in the air, those who dance in our open window at morning, scattered around the light shining through it.