HA, ANO RAW?

Ex-Boyfriends by Kim Addonizio

2012-01-31T05:23:00.000-08:00

They hang around, hitting on your friends
or else you never hear from them again.
They call when they’re drunk, or finally get sober,

they’re passing through town and want dinner,
they take your hand across the table, kiss you
when you come back from the bathroom.

They were your loves, your victims,
your good dogs or bad boys, and they’re over
you now. One writes a book in which a woman

who sounds suspiciously like you
is the first to be sadistically dismembered
by a serial killer. They’re getting married

and want you to be the first to know,
or they’ve been fired and need a loan,
their new girlfriend hates you,

they say they don’t miss you but show up
in your dreams, calling to you from the shoeboxes
where they’re buried in rows in your basement.

Some nights you find one floating into bed with you,
propped on an elbow, giving you a look
of fascination, a look that says I can’t believe

I’ve found you. It’s the same way
your current boyfriend gazed at you last night,
before he pulled the plug on the tiny white lights

above the bed, and moved against you in the dark
broken occasionally by the faint restless arcs
of headlights from the freeway’s passing trucks,

the big rigs that travel and travel,
hauling their loads between cities, warehouses,
following the familiar routes of their loneliness.

Any Major Dude Will Tell You

2012-01-17T06:32:00.000-08:00

It's been awhile since I last took a peek in here.

I stayed away mostly because I was wrestling with some fierce inner demons that prevented me from expressing my thoughts in a way that I used to be very comfortable with. Let me put it this way: Being consumed by self-doubt and negativity is a BITCH.

Even at the lowest of lows, I can still turn out a great photo.

I stopped writing fiction a long time ago. I almost stopped blogging completely. Now I realize how stupid that would have been, if I stopped being honest with myself.

It took me over 20 years of my life to truly appreciate this band. At first I was casually listening to this song, waiting for a particularly beautiful guitar riff to come on (0:50-1:00), then I listened more closely to the words of the song and fell in love because it was as if Donald Fagen was singing to me.

See, I went through some tough shit towards the end of last year. I literally went crazy. It's only beginning to get better now, and to whoever is reading this, I'm sorry that I never kept in touch. I think it's because you knew that my silence meant that I was trying to fix myself; that I was trying to be okay.

At some point in time, I stopped even listening to music.

I can tell you now that that's going to change, and that I will not let self-doubt and negativity consume me as much as it did at the end of last year. And maybe I'll even learn to forgive my ex-best friend.

2012, I am going to fucking own you.

List of Goals, new and improved version

2011-08-28T07:24:00.000-07:00

To be seen as the smart girl that takes a gorgeous photo now and again (not including that one)
To have an adult-sized amount of money in my bank account (interpret as you will)
In relation to number 2, acquire responsible adult spending habits.
To de-clutter my room, slowly but surely, to get rid of what is holding me back
To continue on with this fitness regimen. The goal is to have arms like Michelle Obama, and the rest will surely follow. Who knew, exercise really DOES make you feel good!
To read more books
To let go of negativity in the past, present and future
To love myself 100%
To realize that not everyone is gonna like me, so I shouldn't bend over backwards to make them
To see rejection as a positive stepping stone for growth and development
To not be so hard on myself and realize that there is no deadline for any of this stuff.

Breathe. Relax. Everything is going to turn out perfectly. We can do it.

The Frenemy Chronicles.

2011-08-22T18:54:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to improve on my sense of self-awareness by hacking away at all the mistakes I've made in the past, in hopes that I will arise a better person as a result.

One such mistake was that I tend to hang on to toxic relationships more than I should. There's a term for these kinds of relationships, and they're called frenemies.

I've whittled my Frenemy List down to two things:

When the person views everything as one big competition - to the point where I have to compete with her, too. No matter how nice a person is to me, if she triggers that sense of competition, there's no way in hell we can be bosom buddies. Whether it's career opportunities, looks, boys, or otherwise, I repeat: no way in hell we can be bosom buddies. I've gone through a bunch of those relationships already, a redux would be the Universe telling me I haven't learned my lesson yet.

My closest girlfriends are the ones who encourage me to be a better version of myself without feeling the need to compete. You know who you are.

When the men have hidden [v]agendas. The term 'vagenda' was born out of a conversation about a common girl friend who saw fit to try and get every one of the men in the group to fall in love with her. It's actually an interchangeable term for both sexes, but so we are clear, I am talking about the kind of men who think like Thom Yorke does in this particular song. I'm currently in the process of weeding out a lot of people from my life as we speak, especially the men who move too fast in trying to get close.

It could be that I have trust issues but I know well enough at this point who are important to me in my growth as a person. I'm done with reckless, toxic relationships and I'm ready to move on.

Romancing the muse.

2011-07-21T18:02:00.000-07:00

If you are thinking of romancing her, start not with her body but her mind. Listen to her talk about the music she likes, what books she reads. Watch the way her eyes sparkle when she finds that you and she have similar taste. If not, that's okay. She's willing to let you in, if you can teach her new things, too. Even if she doesn't reach out to you with her fingers, that's okay. She likes you.

Kiss her passionately, when you're both drunk on rhum and Coke in her garden one hot, summer evening. Take lots of drugs together and talk about every trip. Do you remember the time she felt like she was falling down the rabbit hole to Wonderland? She does. Try not to rip her clothes off even if you know you want her so fucking bad, because she fucking wants you, too.

Music was always important. The first time you made out with her in your den, a song that featured Chris Cornell's plaintive screams, lamenting Andrew Wood's passing droned in the background and you just both felt that everything was right. It was perfect. Fucking to Miles Davis with the shade up, without a care that anyone might see you. Fucking on mushrooms to Ustad Vilayat Khan, or some other Indian orchestra whose name she can't remember. Sex was always sacred.

If you want to romance the muse, do not put others before her. She must always come (and cum) first. When you do, you will lose her forever.

-------------

If you want to romance the muse, come clean before her. Write her songs on that guitar you play so well and paint her pictures declaring your love, despite the fact that she questions your intentions. Slowly win her trust, because as you know, you must start not with her body, but her mind, because the first kiss will be dynamite. Reassure her that even if she has been destroyed before, you will always be there to build her up and hold her hand when she needs you.

Travel with her. In her mind, out of town, anywhere. Just take her places she's never been before. Tell her she is amazing, because she thinks the same of you. She believes in you so much. Be patient. Do not fight her when she's angry, just be quiet and hold her.

If you want to romance the muse, promise her forever.

My feelings are valid

2011-07-04T01:26:00.001-07:00

So I will attempt to illustrate them in bullet points.

I miss Dean.
I miss my girlfriends.
I am really, really, REALLY going to strengthen my resolve to quit smoking cigarettes.
My moods are all over the place today. Must be because of my period.
Well, that was quick. Thanks for the reality check, guy-o.

Last week, I went through a period of what I can now say was a very, very intense case of PMS. Now that the effects are wearing off, I can feel it both emotionally and physically. Without going into much detail, let me just say that my emotions were out of whack and I was just in need of a lot of love and attention. I escaped with a bit of a bruised ego, but other than that, I am fine. Things are going back to normal.

In the meantime, I am trying to stay classy.

You will be missed

2011-06-28T17:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Spirit of Moonflower,

Let me begin by saying that The Body Shop hit the nail on the head with you. You smelled airy and fresh, unlike other floral perfumes on the market. Kind of like jasmines bathed in ice water. As a matter of fact, you and I had a long, drawn-out love affair since the latter part of high school and throughout a chunk of college. And boy, did you smell terrific.

It was a dark day when The Body Shop decided to phase you out in all stores. In a frenzy, I picked up one last bottle of your precious scent some years ago, saving you only for special occasions. This morning was one such occasion.

As I sprayed you on my wrists, you no longer smelled like jasmines in ice water. You smelled, for lack of a better word, rotten. I knew in my heart it was time to quit you.

I should have taken my sister's advice and kept you in the refrigerator to preserve your scent, but I didn't.

I will miss you, Moonflower. I was your biggest fan.

Love,
Girl Henyo

PS:
The Body Shop are fucking stupid to have discontinued you. And now I am left to pick up the pieces of what could have been my signature scent.

An Introduction To The Custodian of Girl Henyo

2011-06-13T21:17:00.000-07:00

Doing what I do best

Since I never really say a lot about myself and it's a slow day at work, I decided to answer a survey I copped off the authors' section of xoJane. I figured you should know a bit about who runs this blog. So here goes!

Fatima does not like to write about herself at length because memories of doing so back in the days of Live Journal continue to haunt her to this day. When she's not editing articles for a company that she will not name, she is a freelance food writer and jerk-of-all-trades. She also needs to get around to printing the second issue of Girl Henyo, damn it!

Twitter: Not on Twitter, micro-blogging kills attention spans (and mine is minuscule to begin with)

What I Do, Job-wise: editor and freelance writer

What I Do, Fun-wise: I like to eat a lot. I also like to read a lot, shop for things I don't need, spend unhealthy amounts of time on Tumblr and pamper myself. I'm big on the pleasure thing. I also tend to quote Nacho Libre and Anchorman way too much.

My Motto: Fuck what people think.

My Anti-Motto: Everything they taught me at my all-girl Catholic exclusive school.

The First Movie Star I Ever Had A Crush On: Paul McCartney is not a movie star.

My “celebs to make out with” list: Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna. Pre-steroids era Chris Hemsworth. Paul Walker. Paul Newman in his prime.

The Most Played Song On My iTunes: Blossom by James Taylor and Carole King

Last Book I Read Without Skimming Any Parts: Reading a book about elephants, pretty interesting. Haven't skimmed it.

My Most Worn Item of Clothing: denim shorts, espadrilles, gray or navy blue cardigans, white t-shirts, random knockoff Wayfarers, about ten or more bangles and bracelets from anywhere, and pearl earrings.

Beauty Products That I Hoard: PH Care's Cool Wind, black eyeliner, fruity lip balm and all manner of perfumes and body sprays.

I smell like: Spanish baby cologne/fruits, roses, baby powder and tea.

Shine the fuck on, you timid diamond.

2011-06-08T04:45:00.000-07:00

You tell 'em, Clem

I came across personal essays written by applicants for writer jobs (the sheer redundancy of that sentence is astounding), and being an editor at heart and by profession, I filtered through the list of hopefuls.

With the really good ones, it is as if you can almost hear them speaking from the mouths of their hearts.

One of the best writers in that pool waxed poetic about the way she lived her life - being content with the simple things, not seeing the need to take big chances and an apparent fondness for peanut butter sandwiches.

You know who else loved him some peanut butter sammies? That guy.

Something in that piece struck a chord in me.

While I champion lazy days spent in bed with books, I am completely against the idea that life should not be lived to the fullest, hardest extent you are capable of.

When I read that, I felt that maybe she was scared. Of what, I don't know. Losing grip of control and flowing in whatever direction life's proverbial wind would blow her? Scared of living? I can only guess.

I'm a fan of living hard. The times I don't are when I'm at my worst. Living hard doesn't necessarily mean going out until the morning stoned to the gills on schwag weed or whatever cheap liquor you can get your hands on. Living hard is about experiencing life as it comes.

To me, it doesn't matter if the spare change in your pocket won't get you past the sari-sari store. You can still walk and make your own way. Even if you don't want to cannonball into the water, you can still make waves by dipping your feet in.

To the girl who wrote that, if she should ever find this blog, I say:

Life should not be about living timidly. Nobody ever got anywhere without acting brash. If you want to spend your weekends in your room reading books, that's perfectly alright. Do it without shame. Do it without fear. Do it without limiting yourself to thinking that this is how it's gonna be. Do it without worrying that you've stood idly by as everything else in the world moved forward. Do it so you won't regret it in the morning. Just don't be afraid to live.

Live the best way you can. And for God's sake, carry on making those peanut butter sandwiches.

New Layout

2011-06-07T01:44:00.000-07:00

I would also like to thank AntoniaNot (AKA little sister in real life) for fixing my layout and making it a better extension of my online persona. Thanks, sis.

Holy Crap on a Cracker!

2011-06-06T18:12:00.001-07:00

Has it really been six months since I last posted something here?

Apparently. Let me give you a recap of the important stuff:

Hi, that is me at the Deftones concert this February. I am holding a pick with Chino Moreno's name on it, courtesy of the wonderful Sergio Vega. Please excuse the swollen eyes, I was crying like a maniac throughout the entire concert.

Seriously - best day of my entire life. I'm sure all my friends and I will agree that for one brief, shining moment we were in high school again (minus the excess body weight, of course). Chino Moreno is a fucking ANIMAL. A MOTHERFUCKING SEXUAL ANIMAL.

(If I said anything else about the concert, I'd take away the magic from it, so I won't anymore. The people who were there know what I'm talking about anyway.)

I also got to travel a lot in the first half of this year - Boracay, Sagada and Dumaguete, to be exact. Considering the last two were dream destinations, I'd say I didn't do so bad in terms of the bucket list thang.

Anyway, the first six months of 2011 were pretty successful for me. I hope yours were too.

Wow

2011-01-27T23:06:00.001-08:00

Now, more than ever, I've been watching the news and keeping up-to-date with what's going on around me. Watching the news puts perspective into things, and reminds me that the world doesn't revolve around me and my shit.

These past few days, so many horrible things have been happening in and around the city where I work. A few days ago, a bus exploded because of a bomb planted on board, which killed 5 people and injured 14 others. Yesterday, 10 construction workers were killed because of a faulty elevator mishap at a new condo development not far from my office.

All of this (the folly of human error, greed, inherent corruption, scapegoating) disgusts me. I just want to hide in my room forever because people really DO suck. My heart goes out to the victims of these senseless tragedies.

I don't know what else to say, aside from the fact that we're going through some shitty times right now.

Wala lang

2010-12-22T07:14:00.000-08:00

Gusto ko ng Purikura machine para sa Pasko.

Medyo pangit ka pa noon, ngunit ngayo-hoooown

2010-12-15T08:08:00.000-08:00

Sobrang dami nang nagbago mula 2009. Halos isang taon nang nakalipas pero ang dami talagang nagbago sa buhay ko. Tropa, trip, trabaho, lahat na. Grabe, nakakagulat. Minsan kasi, kapag nasa moment ka, hindi mo iniisip ang kinabukasan. Mabibigla ka nalang. Sadyang ganyan talaga.

Gayunpaman ang nangyari, malaki ang pasasalamat ko sa Diyos kasi buhay pa rin ako, pati na rin ang mga minamahal ko sa buhay at higit sa lahat, kuntento naman ako sa takbo ng buhay ko.

Ayun lang.

2010-12-05T07:08:00.000-08:00

If I could have any job in the world, it would be to make scores for Looney Tunes episodes. There's just something infinitely better about those cartoons than the ones on TV now (with the exception of the Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack, of course. Can't beat that shit!).

My nieces are relevant to my interests

2010-11-02T09:04:00.000-07:00

Ale: "Wat da HELL is dis shit?!"

Mattea: Truly a contented cow.

Those two are currently the loves of my life, and they give me a reason to wake up every morning and believe that life is beautiful. Sometimes I still have difficulty grasping the Universe and its continually unfolding schemes, but whatever. I know that all the hardships pass and there are always opportunities to become awesome.

I turned my back on many things and many people in favor of living the quiet life. I've taken this time to fix and forgive myself and you know what? It feels good. Really FUCKING good. I've always wanted to lead a quietly awesome life, and this is exactly what's happening.

Thank you, Universe. I am grateful for so many things.

Notes from a Homebody

2010-09-15T03:56:00.000-07:00

So for the past few months (well, technically since August), I've been working from home. I just had an interview with an office job and I honestly can't say if it went well or not - for the most part I was jittery, but I managed to answer everything that was required of me. Going back, I can't tell if it went well or not because... hmm. I suppose I'm not really used to interacting with too many people anymore. I'm no good with small talk, to tell you the truth. Don't know if I ever was.

Working from home is actually very good for me, I find. I get up at around 8:00am, turn on my computer and check my mail and get to work. It helps that my desk is right by my window - the sunlight hits my curtains and my whole room turns bright yellow. I guess yellow is a really conducive color for work (or maybe it's the sunlight, as opposed to working at a cubicle), because I feel more productive than I ever have.

So far my only problem with working from home is the hassle of waiting for Paypal and my banks to let me touch my money. I get paid, sure. But that money is all theoretical until the payment stops pending after three or four working days. Then, I have to withdraw the money to my bank account - another three or four working days.

I've been living off my savings for awhile and I'm just really itching to replenish my bank accounts, damn it.

Going back, I prefer working from home because I really like working by myself. I have very specific working conditions and I'd prefer having indirect contact with my bosses rather than talking to them. Also, my work, although time-consuming, is challenging in a good way. When I worked in an office setting, our clients were complete assholes (so it wasn't very easy for me to fall in love with my work), and they demanded way too much.

I like working where I can deliver above and beyond expectation, and the work that I'm doing allows me to do just that. The times I DO make mistakes, my bosses walk me through it. I never really got that kind of treatment back then at my office job, because more often than not, everything was passed through a middleman. That made life EXTREMELY difficult.

I'm beginning to think that home-based work is right for me. I'm not sure I want to go back to working at an office. As long as home-based full time gigs exist, this is what I'm going to do.

Posts only come when I am sad

2010-08-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

Suddenly I find myself beset by loneliness. Possibly because my only companions for today were The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and the househelp, who helped me cook enough jap chae to choke a horse.

Everyone must read this book. And I mean EVERYONE.

I miss my boyfriend incredibly. I also realize how awkward I am around other people, including my family.

This realization makes me feel even lonelier.

2010-06-28T09:03:00.000-07:00

Today, you woke up feeling inadequate, overlooked, underpaid and generally burned out from work and life in general.

On the way out of the office during lunch break, you heard a janitor from the other side of the corridor singing a garbled version of "There She Goes." All you could think about was that he could've tried harder to memorize the lyrics. You find yourself exiting the building, getting the brunt of the noonday sun on your face.

You cross the street and walk towards the nearest shopping mall to withdraw some money; being around monuments of consumerism does wonders for your head. Thoughts of learning accountability and patience swirl around in your head as you thread your way past droves of people as you go.

For some reason, you do not pause for breath. You just continue walking.

You walk across the street to the place that sells cheap shoes and hand-made jewelry, and the first song you hear blasting from the loudspeakers is "There She Goes." Huh. What a coincidence.

Fast forward to an early escape from work and you're on the way home, talking to your grandmother's driver about the driver who is now an indentured slave in Davao. You're trying to remember the name of his sister, it's on the tip of your tongue. Goddammit, what was her name again?

Your eyes shift to the opposite lane: a truck named "Sally" zooms past.

Now, you are in bed, trying to make sense of life and having been spoken to by your optimist of a boyfriend who's just left for his home (bless him). You check your favorite social networking website, and read this link on the radar. Your eyes mist over with tears as your head hits the pillow.

You get it now.
You get it.
Okay.

Thank you, Universe.

As you scratch the area between your left breast and ribcage, you think about getting some sleep and how you really shouldn't think too much. Really.

Food for thought.

2010-05-17T23:01:00.000-07:00

I hate how people who knew me then still assume they know me now.

4/20/10

2010-04-21T01:56:00.000-07:00

Was spent smoking a fat joint at IC's house and hauling ass over to the new branch of Cafe Leona for an exhibit and the company of good friends, alcohol and other things. Many insane conversations with many insane people took place, and I felt a little less alone in the world.

Got a little shocked seeing a painting of my naked body displayed right outside and another one of my bare shoulders inside the restaurant.

The end of the night was capped off with more insane conversation, and a quick trip to McDonald's for sundaes and munchies.

I couldn't have asked for more, seriously.

20 Feet Tall

2010-04-04T23:38:00.000-07:00

Toxic is a word used to describe oil spills, gas, chemicals
and until recently, me.

This morning, I woke up, skin black and glistening, leaving a trail wherever I went.
Apparently, I am an oil spill today.
Maybe tomorrow, I can be the bubonic plague.

You'd think I was the midday sun,
the way people looked away from me.

When they do look at me, their eyes
become so heavy they leak
all the seven deadly sins they've tried so hard to keep.

Me, I wear mine on the sleeve of my best shirt,
interwoven with threads of hostility, the easiest defense
against everything I was ever afraid of.

My knees are rupturing with the genuflections
I've made in front of shrines for old idols and bad habits.
Right now, I'm taking a break. I'm calling a time-out.

The monkeys on my back have become too heavy.
Give me a moment, maybe they'll slide off my years of bad posture
as I slow the rhythm of my thoughts from staccato to steady.

If I straighten my back and get on my feet,
the roof (among other things) would shatter
at the revelation that I am actually 20 feet tall.

So I raise myself up and now, I'm the tallest woman in the world.

Now, I see that a different view was all I needed:
Somewhere in between stability and solitude
is the quietest place I know,
where not even monkeys can follow.

When was the last time you felt 20 feet tall?

Proof that goodness still exists

2010-03-25T18:39:00.001-07:00

Our office messenger brought fresh lato (seaweed) to the office today, with tomatoes, kalamansi and Bagoong Pangasinan. He thought to bring some because he overheard me raving about it after I came from Baguio. It's one of my favorite Filipino dishes, goes best with grilled seafood and reminds me of the beach every time I eat it.

God bless him, if it weren't for self-control I'd run over to where he is now (as of this writing, he is washing the seaweed for later), and give him a great big hug.

Despite all the nasty events that have been happening, it's nice to know that there are still some wonderful people alive on this planet at this very moment.

Notes from an escapist.

2010-03-24T19:21:00.000-07:00

Where else can you run to when all the safe places and safe people no longer provide the relief they once did?

I'm still trying to find the answers to that as we speak.

Perhaps I could change my name, take all my money out of my bank account and spend it on travel, drugs and learning how to play piano, because jazz songs with piano backgrounds sound like heaven to my ears.

Sometimes I want to lash out at everyone, lose my cool and revert back to the three year-old self, who fell down on the floor kicking and screaming when things didn't go her way. Unfortunately, it's 21 years too late for that.

I understand that the universe works in cycles and maybe this is just one o' them low points. Oh well, patience is a virtue... albeit an overrated one. Let's just see how this plays out.

Hope finds its way back.

2010-03-03T00:33:00.000-08:00

This song makes me feel like an immense weight has been lifted off my shoulders. It's been awhile since a song has made me feel this way.

And at the gates, does Thomas ask to see my hands?

2010-03-01T07:34:00.000-08:00

According to the manghuhula, March would be a time of chaos and confusion for me.

HUWAG NAMAN SANA.

So today didn't start off so well. I'm hoping that the rest of the month will be much, much better. But hey, at least I got a free trip to the spa.

PS:
I have to start being more responsible.

PPS:
I have to be firmer in my resolve to quit cigarettes. Oh, nicotine. Quitting you is a slippery slope to climb, but goddammit, I'll do it again. Tomorrow is a new day, tomorrow is day one.

We've got a long way to go

2010-02-23T03:40:00.000-08:00

But we're getting there.
Baguio, February 2010.

We hold these truths to be self-evident

2010-01-27T19:48:00.000-08:00

The last time we saw each other, we lay side by side on a bed whose metal creaked like bones in the morning, creaked from the weight of our bodies moving in unison, in love. Our legs entwined around one another, a fleshly mobius wound to the quick. Even our toes sought each other out, clumsy in their attempts to unify two human beings by the smallest of bones. My nose, embedded in the nook of Your neck, inhaled deeply the scent of You as you spoke. "It's just four days, love," You said in between kisses that fell between my hair and forehead. You told me that You would be back, that I shouldn't be so sad; You hate seeing me like this.

Easy for You to say. In this relationship,

You: a clear sky, I: overcast, with impending thunderstorms,

You: calm seas, I: bad weather for sailing,

You: logic, I: abstract,

You: tidiness, I: a mess,

on the other hand,

You: reality, I: imagination,

You: common sense, I: intuition,

You: silence, I: song,

You: shyness, I: exuberance.

These are some of the fundamental truths we have always known and accepted about each other.

Still, despite our duality, I love the bones of You;

this is a truth that holds over all else, encompassing

the gravity of You and I

like the sky after a sunset:

deep,

heady,

full.

Sin cigarrillos, sin pesar

2010-01-25T21:56:00.000-08:00

According to this website, the mental and emotional symptoms of quitting cigarettes are as follows:

Feelings of being an infant: temper tantrums, intense needs, feelings of dependency, a state of near paralysis.
Insomnia
Mental confusion
Vagueness
Irritability
Anxiety
Depression is common in the short and long term. In the short term it may mimic the feelings of grief felt when a loved one is lost. As foolish as it sounds, a smoker should plan on a period of actual mourning in order to get through the early withdrawal depression.

At least I have a valid explanation as to why I've been so bitchy to everyone these past few days. It's day ten of no smoking for me, and I've successfully snapped at everyone within close range. I feel sorry for my boyfriend sometimes. Poor thing.

It's also annoying to note that the pesky smoker's cough still remains even after the brouhaha of quitting. Jesus Christ.

And now for something completely different

2010-01-10T01:23:00.000-08:00

My good friend Mister Porno has brought to my attention the fact that my level of cynicism has risen (again) and he reminded me to tone it down a notch. He's right - I can diss all the ex-girlfriends, hipsters and other scum all I want but it won't really help me sleep well at night (for the record, my subconscious has been fairly tortured again lately - must learn to confront my demons!). Plus, if anything, it's people like them that make me realize how awesome I am. Yep, I'm unabashedly reclaiming my self-esteem.

Back to the topic of being thankful, here's another list of things I am thankful for.

THINGS TO BE THANKFUL FOR (1/10/10)

1. My new curtains. Just had yellow drapes put in my room with a nice leaf pattern on them. After almost a year without curtains, I honestly sleep better at night. Perk: My room looks like a bright yellow shell when the sun shines through.

2. A pair of wooden bangles I bought on sale in Accessorize (possibly the best accessory store next to Sundari), a floral top from H&M given to me by my ninang, a camel-colored leather bag given to me by a friend of my mother's.

3. My new haircut. DIY bangs for the win.

4. Seeing my best friends after a marked absence from the night life. Labia girls and goys!

5. Love.
(This pic was taken that night at Good Earth before Bidong COW-TIPPED me. Yeah, I was that drunk, apparently.)

6. Employment in a field that I enjoy where I am learning a lot.

7. Emotional stability.

8. Being 5'5, which I think is a decent enough height. Not too runty and not too tall.

9. The ability to articulate my feelings. Others don't have this luxury.

So I still get paid beginners' wages and I'm full of scars on my body and my hair's turning. Honestly, things could be worse and I'm lucky enough to be alive.

This is all for now. I have to go outside and socialize with my family members before I'm accused of being anti.

Dian Fossey of the Scenes.

2010-01-04T06:15:00.000-08:00

First things first: Some brand new vitriol for the brand new year - because what's the new year like without a little bit of venom from a cynic to start it off?

You know the feeling when something you like suddenly gets accepted by the mainstream and is no longer considered 'indie'? Of course you do. It's when you go to a corner cradling what's left of your balls in defeat because you're stripped of coolness points for not being ahead of the pack. OR you could go the other way and feel sick in your mouth because you discover the exact point when admiration turns to disgust. I'm not speaking for myself, I'm speaking to the entire multitude of jaded twenty-somethings who have been around long enough to realize that they're no longer the fresh produce or the pretty young things of Michael Jackson lore. /shuffles feet

Whenever I meet people, I'm like an anthropologist taking notes, observing habits and patterns so that I may immerse myself in the culture when the people finally feel comfortable enough to allow me into the fold. I could totally be the Dian Fossey of homo sapiens instead of gorillas. Depending on the crowd, the people under study could very well be gorillas, the way they carry on snuffling about and beating their chests in a dominant fashion to prove who's boss.

Not literally, but um, you know what I mean.

Sometimes when I observe a new crowd, one of the constant behavioral traits can be summed up in a wise old adage: Familiarity breeds contempt. In all circles, sometimes what passes for art soon becomes nothing more than lifestyle maintenance. By lifestyle maintenance, I mean that what was once new becomes routine and ordinary, and a cause for keeping up appearances. Everything becomes a great big beauty contest.

This is when I sense a decline in the culture; This is the point when blowing the proverbial popsicle stand in favor of greener pastures seems right. When people turn what they love into pissing contests is the right time to leave. When everything seems bereft of integrity, it is the right time to leave.

If I didn't have a core set of friends (AKA a tribe I can return to after eons of absence and things would still be the same), I would still be hopping from group to group taking notes of their habits and getting intoxicated to overlook their flaws when leaving wasn't an option at the time.

My point is I'm sick of people milking something as precious as art for all its worth and using it to further their coolness points for the sake of being recognized as a scenester, is all. I'm not posing a solution to this problem. Uprooting and moving on to the next social group that piques one's fancy has always worked for me, but it might not work for everyone else.

Maybe the reason I feel this way is because I've been continually disappointed by superficial people, or maybe because I feel like I need change once again. Doing what you love doesn't NEED to be a beauty contest or a pissing contest. Just do what you love for the fun of it.

On that note, I wonder what goes through the head of an alpha male gorilla the moment a younger, more virile primate dethrones him.

Kowloon graffiti/HNY, binches

2010-01-01T06:13:00.000-08:00

HONG MFKN KONG, December 2009.

Just a taste of the street art I saw on my recent travels. I even spotted a few of SORAD's throw-ups. Last I heard, he's floating around somewhere in Los Angeles. Way to go.

-------------------

I haven't been in much of a writing mood lately. Too much has been happening (mostly involving family and copious amounts of food) for me to really focus. I may as well write about some of it just so I don't forget.

Christmas eve up to the 29th of December was spent in Hong Kong with family and old family friends.

If there was a singular monument to consumerism in Asia, it would probably be Hong Kong. It's as if peoples' lives revolve around the constant acquisition of luxury material goods. While I normally eschew extravagance, I couldn't help but feel like I was being sucked into the hole of consumerism the people of that country have gotten themselves into because I wanted to have nice things, too. There is nothing wrong with having designer items and working hard for them, there really isn't. My goal for 2010 is to be able to afford a Marc Jacobs bag on my own merit.

Big ups are in order for the people who made my trip completely awesome: To Joe Reyes for being an awesome partner-in-crime/sugar daddy. Without you squiring me about town, my broke ass would've remained sober throughout the entire trip, and definite fodder for Indian men hawking imitation designer goods. Anton Pelayo the stoner/surfer/bartender, for being awesome by keeping me entertained and getting me pissed on those asshole drinks otherwise known as Long Island Iced Teas and free Fuzzy Navel shots, and for Lucy Arthur, who constantly challenges my way of thinking, and whom I finally got to see after six months. Despite the distance, she will always be one of my best girls. Always.

Hong Kong, wait for me. We're not finished yet.

-------------------

December 29-30: Thai food, free shirts and expensive shoes.

The last few days of 2009 were mostly spent with Dean, walking around shopping malls, enjoying each others' company and sampling delicious Thai food.

Attended a sneaker launch of some sort in Makati with my homies on the 30th and realized that scenester events are something I grew out of long ago. The only consolations I can think of were my friends, this delicious Thai place hidden in ghetto Makati (been eating Thai food a lot, obviously) and a free t-shirt from the hipster extravaganza.

I don't know. I'm not the type of person who lets my possessions govern me. And having to attend an event that glorifies a pair of shoes worth five digits? Come on. I should've trusted my instincts and bailed after dinner.

December 31: Why I hate fireworks

New Year's Eve was spent having wine, cheese and ham at home with my parents and sisters and bemoaning the fireworks. I hate them. I really do. They are unnecessary. Pretty to look at, yes, but they are loud, fill the air with noxious gas and leave a pile of debris in their wake. More trouble than they're worth, in my opinion. Anyway.

So basically the 29th to the 31st of December can be summarized by alcohol, food, friends and family.

If you asked me how I started last year, I'd say, "FUCKING 2009." It's up to you whether you'd believe me or not. While this year didn't start exactly the same way, I am confident that it's going to be much, much better than 2009. Happy New Year, binches.

Greenhills on the last Sunday before Christmas.

2009-12-20T05:31:00.000-08:00

The commercialism of Jesus's birthday smells like:

stale cigarette smoke
unwashed textile
shampoo residue
exhaust fumes
roasting meat
different kinds of cooking oil
Chinese food
slight traces of perfume

----------

The amount of people at the mall awhile ago was completely staggering.

Alay kay Napoleon AKA The author tries her hand in the vernacular

2009-12-19T07:45:00.000-08:00

Nung huling napadaan ako sa campus ng boyfriend ko (bago pa mag-lantern parade, sabihin natin mga dalawang linggo ay nakalipas mula akong nagpunta) para bisitahin siya, may nakita akong nakakagagong eksena nung palabas kami ng classroom upang maghanap ng inumin. Galing kaming parking lot, sinamahan niya akong kumain ng siomai at magyosi. Dahil gipit na ako sa pera/nauuhaw ako, inisip namin pumunta sa dulo ng Viscomm kasi nandoon yung water fountain.

May isang tropang batang tiga-kabilang dako ng kolehiyo ng malikhaing sining, nakatambay sa labas ng classroom nila. Dahil grad na ako, lahat ng estudyanteng nakapaligid ay mukhang menor de edad (pwera na yung mga mayayaman na housewives na kumukuha ng second degree). Dito ko nalaman na may pagkakamali pala ako sa paniniwala na lahat ng estudyanteng FA ay magaling manamit. Sa totoo lang, karamihan sa kanila ay naka-jeans, t-shirt, backpack at tsinelas/rubber shoes (wala namang kinalaman sa uso yung sinabi ko. Malaki lang talaga ang hipster population sa FA, mehn).

Paglabas namin ni Dean, iniirapan nila pala kami. Nagtinginan kami bago bumalik ang aking paningin sa taong nakaharap sa 'min sa parking lot. May halong poot, asar at kung ano pa man ang kanilang paningin. Hindi ko naman sila pwedeng sisihin, 'di ko trip yung isa nilang ka-tropa e at inirapan ko din siya. Mukha kasing may nanggulo ng balanse ng kanilang imahe ng Utopian Artistic Bohemian Universe. May disturbance sa Force, kumbaga.

Nagbubulungan sila, at hinahatak nila ang isang pandak na babae palabas ng classroom. Parang gusto ng mga kaklase niya ipakita ako sa kanya.

Wala namang reaksyon na ganyan ang mga tao maliban kung may chismis na matinde na lumukso mula sa isang pares ng makakating labing may kinalaman sa buhay ng may buhay.

Parang bumalik lang ako sa high school, a.

"Chismis machine dito minsan sa FA e," 'ka nga ni Dean.

Tumawa nalang kami. Nagkunwari akong nagsusuka (oo gago, alam ko hipokrita na 'ko dahil sa sinabi ko tungkol sa hayskul ngayon lang) at pumasok muli kami sa classroom ni Dean para bumalik ang pagka-steady namin.

Moral lesson: Bahala sila sa buhay nila.
Sa wikang Ingles at sa mas madaling salita, "Whatevs."

WHATEVER, YAYA, YOU'RE SUCH A LOSER!

Hindi ko lang masasabi kung makita ko sila ulit hindi ako gaganti kasi alam naman natin lahat na malakas ako mangasar, at alam din natin lahat na may rason kung bakit hindi rin ako ginugustong asarin ng mga tao. TOWG!

Magkekwento nalang ako tungkol sa lantern parade sa ibang panahon.

Come back when your balls drop!

2009-12-16T19:26:00.000-08:00

Stereotyping People By Their Favorite Authors by Lauren Leto.

So from this we can deduce that I:

have good taste in music, am a workaholic who needs validation, am actually a lazy boy with a shitty tattoo who doesn't read because he really can't who moonlights as a librarian in his/her spare time. And furthermore, by the time I hit my 30s I won't be as cool as I am right now. Oh, dear.

WELL THE JOKE'S ON ALL OF Y'ALL, 'CAUSE I'M NOT A WORKAHOLIC.

art by Jeff Hurlow.

Behold the lactating bunny, bitch!

Responsibility, shmesponsibility

2009-12-15T23:06:00.000-08:00

It's a slow day at the office and I realize that I have been a poor little sad sack lately, so I will cheer myself up by listing down things I like.

LIST OF THINGS I LIKE (In no particular order):

1. Natalie Wood's room on theselby.com

2. Costume jewelry - lots of it

3. Uncommon Kurt Cobain photographs, like this one:

4. Native American feather headdresses

5. Matt Furie's art

6. Wednesday Addams

7. Hipster-spotting

8. Devendra Banhart, that sexy beast

9. Old houses with lots of art and sculptures

10. Blog-hopping

11. Filipino breakfasts

12. The Yellow Submarine film

13. Jellyfish photographs

14. Ernst Haeckel illustrations. Seriously. Coolest things ever

15. Pizza

Three cheers for irresponsibility and procrastination, woohoo!

Maybe you can make a blues album

2009-12-09T18:55:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there are days where I don't want to get out of bed. Days when I'd just be bundled up in my blankets, listening to Bon Iver and eating depressingly cold and greasy meat products straight from the can. Today is one of those days.

I feel like I'm on crazy pills

2009-12-04T07:29:00.000-08:00

So a couple of months ago after having a particularly explosive exchange of words with my mother, I postulated that I may have Borderline Personality Disorder. Another friend recently pointed out that yes, I actually may have it - and that I should go see a shrink.

This probably explains why I can't get enough of my boyfriend, and freak out over the thought of him leaving me for prolonged periods of time, the unstable-self image, the impulsive and self-damaging habits (a septum piercing sounds like a really awesome idea at this point) and the crazy mood swings I tend to suffer from. The mood swings I can probably blame on biology.

For the moment, seeing a shrink isn't an immediate item on the agenda.

Aside from the craziness, there isn't much to report. My life has neatly been sorted into three categories: Home, Work and Dean.

I have also recently attempted to quit smoking cigarettes, and failed at that. I really want to give them up by the time the year ends, though. Alcohol was a fairly easy monkey to get off my back; I just stayed at home more often. Avoiding scenarios where you can be tempted to get back into a bad habit is just part of a bigger picture. Maybe I'm growing old, but partying just isn't as fun as it used to be. Call it setting my priorities straight and setting a better example, I guess.

In other, lighter news:

Yesterday, I ate my weight in grilled lamb, steak and ribs smothered in chimichurri sauce with roasted asparagus spears dipped in rock salt at a low-key barbecue. The asparagus tasted great, but made my pee smell skanky the next morning.

Today, I visited Dean at school, then we went home and I made the most epic sandwiches for us: Salami, onions, cheese, tomato, lettuce and cucumber, Japanese mayo and mustard on wheat bread.

Tomorrow, I attend a TED talk at the UP College of Law. Let's see how that pans out.

2009-11-30T08:19:00.000-08:00

Mt. Makiling, November 22, 2009.

Reasons why I love my boyfriend # ape dos mil

2009-11-29T17:15:00.001-08:00

Dean: "I'm proud to be a fan of both [Star Wars and Lord of the Rings]."
Me: "Sometimes I feel like I lack passion."
Dean: "Why do you say that?"
Me: "It's like, I'll be enamoured with something, but not long enough to see it through. Like, I won't pursue it to greatness."
Dean: "The force is strong in you, Timmy. Obi Wan Zuberi says so."

Now, honestly. How can you not love a man who randomly busts out Star Wars references to cheer his girlfriend up when she's feeling needy and hormonal?

(I tend to pepper my sentences with 'like' more than is necessary because in real life, I talk like a kolehiyala/stoner. What.)

Also, yesterday, I ate what must have been my weight in roasted prawns, raw mangoes smothered in bagoong and chocolate lava cake. Fabulous.

PS: Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals' "Heart Of Matters" is an amazingly good song.

Oh God, I made eye contact

2009-11-26T02:07:00.000-08:00

Hello, online blog world. I have missed you so. However, we need time apart. For now, my chosen medium is print. No, print is not dead.

I am proud to announce that Girl Henyo will soon be available in zine form! Hooray for DIY! The first issue should be out when I fill out the last few empty pages.

FFFFFFFFFFFFffffff

2009-11-16T07:54:00.000-08:00

Fuck

There are people who will tell you
that using the word fuck in a poem
indicates a serious lapse
of taste, or imagination,

or both. It's vulgar,
indecorous, an obscenity
that crashes down like an anvil
falling through a skylight

to land on a restaurant table,
on the white linen, the cut-glass vase of lilacs.
But if you were sitting
over coffee when the metal

hit your saucer like a missile,
wouldn't that be the first thing
you'd say? Wouldn't you leap back
shouting, or at least thinking it,

over and over, bell-note riotously clanging
in the church of your brain
while the solicitous waiter
led you away, wouldn't you prop

your shaking elbows on the bar
and order your first drink in months,
telling yourself you were lucky
to be alive? And if you wouldn't

say anything but Mercy or Oh my
or Land sakes, well then
I don't want to know you anyway
and I don't give a fuck what you think

of my poem. The world is divided
into those whose opinions matter
and those who will never have
a clue, and if you knew

which one you were I could talk
to you, and tell you that sometimes
there's only one word that means
what you need it to mean, the way

there's only one person
when you first fall in love,
or one infant's cry that calls forth
the burning milk, one name

that you pray to when prayer
is what's left to you. I'm saying
in the beginning was the word
and it was good, it meant one human

entering another and it's still
what I love, the word made
flesh. Fuck me, I say to the one
whose lovely body I want close,

and as we fuck I know it's holy,
a psalm, a hymn, a hammer
ringing down on an anvil,
forging a whole new world.

- Kim Addonizio

Define: acquiescence

2009-11-13T03:36:00.000-08:00

I have accepted the fact that I will never be as successful, interesting, beautiful, awesome and all the positive adjectives that one can possibly pull out of the dictionary's arsehole.

Them's for my other friends with bigger aspirations than me.

I wear my imperfections on my sleeve; I acknowledge they are there and continuously attempt not to let them control me. Bottom line is that I'd rather be humble about it than toot my own horn or puff my chest out like some pompous little bird, cawing on its perch for attention.

Beach weather blues

2009-11-10T22:32:00.000-08:00

Unlike a lot of my friends, I never really shared that "I want to drop everything and live on the beach" fantasy. If there was any sort of fantasy I nurtured, it was that I wanted to live in a nice little cabin in the mountains, with a small herb garden growing out back.

This is not to say I hate the beach. As I type this, I am currently sitting in a very cold office in full view of a gorgeous, sunny day - wondering what it would be like if I were somewhere else instead. If I knew how to drive, I would totally get out of this place and drive to a quiet beach somewhere down south and forget that the city ever felt like someone's hands tightening upon my throat.

The Jew 'Fro, Filipino style.

2009-11-09T05:07:00.000-08:00

My new hair makes me look like Cedric Bixler/Erykah Badu.

2009-11-08T20:05:00.000-08:00

Amy Ross, ano ba?

I like to live dangerously

2009-11-06T17:42:00.000-08:00

Wifi is awesome because you can go online from anywhere. Currently on my toilet, starting the morning right.

EEW SO GROSS

PS: No smoking day three

Art sluttery and children's literature

2009-11-06T01:43:00.000-08:00

Where the Mild Things Are by Matt Furie

brb artgasming

Cheeseburger in paradise

2009-11-06T00:20:00.000-08:00

On paper, my job description is copywriter. This means I have to come up with witty words to peddle products I often cannot afford to buy. In real life, I also dabble in a little bit of marketing slavery just to make me a more well-rounded employee.

This job also requires me to attend corporate meetings and dress up in heels and a-line skirts (my college self, in her standard uniform of dirty jeans, second hand t-shirts and Islander slippers would've fallen to the floor laughing in a drunken heap at her employed self, I just know it), hobnob with the movers and shakers of corpolandia to see how their wormy, money-infested brains work and find more ways to appease them.

The drawback to all of this (aside from sitting through godawfully BORING meetings with men who look like Darth Vader in barongs), is that I am beginning to UNDERSTAND why people would choose to go into this industry. The pull of money is just too hard to ignore sometimes.

Every time I pass through the doors of that building in Makati where all these high-powered executive meetings are held, I can seriously smell money seeping through the pores of everyone in the building. Okay, maybe not everyone. Mostly the people on higher floors. I have a theory that the higher up your office is in a building correlates to how high up you are on the corporate ladder. Did you know that in Victorian England, if you lived on the top floor of a building you were a peasant? Just sayin'.

I guess it's not impossible to get sucked into the corporate lifestyle. The promise of making a shitload of money seems appealing to pretty much anyone. I have plans of being one of those old yet stylin' ladies who wears nicely pressed oxford shirts, jeans that fit well... and has a pair of solitaire diamond studs in her ears and a nice bag made of rich, buttery leather. Yes. This tree-hugging bohemian actually has secret, almost pornographic fantasies of becoming a hot, well-dressed matrona one day.

On days where I feel my nesting instincts coming on (or possibly when I'm ovulating), I also dream of being a lovely little homemaker, sending my future offspring to good schools and providing them with a good lot in life and all that domestic bullshit I secretly love, blahbiddyblahblahblah.

If I could only find a way to do what I want and make a tidy sum of money out of it, then great. However, in real life, things don't work out like that. Not in this country at least. Is this what the quarter-life crisis is like? A state wherein you're willing to drop all your beliefs and morals to enter the gates of hell because of a heftier paycheck and better compensation? Does a wrong turn at the fork of quarter-life crisis road equal impending moral bankruptcy?

Perhaps.

In any event, I'll still duke it out with my entry level paycheck and get by with what I can. I have a few more years down the employment line to figure out my shit and just save money until I can buy all the bling I want.

God, I hate growing up.

One of my favorite morning songs.

2009-11-04T17:05:00.001-08:00

The woman's still got it after all these years.

I have way too many of these things

2009-11-04T04:35:00.000-08:00

So here's another one. I just felt like Blogspot would be a better place to dump my thought-garbage after my brief stint at Wordpress. More substantial entries to come when I don't feel like speaking out of my anus.

Anyway, I leave you with this:

My boyfriend's pet bird. Wallace Birdman is pleased to meet you.

PS:
Dean says if I quit smoking, he'll take me to Topshop. Of course, by contributing to this sick, consumerist society, I said yes because I am easier than Sunday morning. A new top in exchange for cleaner lungs? It's a totally worthy endeavor, damn it. This is the first day of my entire life, people. MY ENTIRE LIFE