Time out

Explored the Katipunan street yesterday discovering Mag:Net Cafe where they sell books and other publications, as well as exhibit works on the first floor and sell coffee during the day time, and host live bands at night on the second floor. Awesome idea incorporating a gallery and bookstore in a chill environment.
Been making all these calls to companies willing to accept internships for this summer and it's been tough especially when you don't really know where you wanna go or what to really make out of yourself. An eventful morning of self-introductions, queries, and of course the waiting. That's a given, and it's the worse part of it. Knowing you may be talked about, knowing that you are being discussed and your work is being scrutinized this very moment. Every word and every letter printed on the paper counts.
So anxious. I'm counting down the days I have left to step up and venture the world of journalism.

Until then,

Rock on.

How to play it

The country is talking about:
Kris Aquino, daughter of hero Ninoy Aquino and former president Cory Aquino always manages to enter foul relationships, further heightened by her public tantrums and irrationalities. Recently married to and impregnated by a young basketball player, rumors spread that he has long been cheating on Kris with a receptionist of a glamorizing clinic. Poor girl never seems to know when to shut both her traps -- whether it be about her STDs, or homewrecking escapades, her life becomes a public spectacle and public laughing stock, directly increasing television rates. Sigh. If it ain't about a 4-foot president cheating her way to the presidential seat, it's about pathetic rallies or scandals like these. Shit like this make you cringe, make you want to take the next flight to Singapore or New York.

While the streets, jeepneys, and building walls are vandalized with campaign stickers; while the radio is polluted with campaign jingles; while air-time on television is bought to showcase government officials prancing about in comfortable wear, singing with extras dressed down to look like farmers, fishermen or agriculturists; I'm pondering on what form of governing would best suit the Philippines.

We have long been fighting for our freedom and independence -- from our colonizers, from a dictator, from a corrupt president, and now from a cheating president -- but when freedom and independence is laid out to us like cold fish on a platter, we don't know what the hell to do with it. We plot, rebel, kill, for democracy but utilize it to vote our favorite uneducated actors and actresses, we abuse it the way a dumbass would yell BOMB in a supermarket when there is none, reasoning that he has a right to free speech.

Thing is, democracy in itself, as a system is not flawed. Maybe it's how we use it that's flawed, or maybe it's a system not fit for us. China seems to do well with communism, Japan's imperialism, Russia's federalism and so on and so forth.

The vagueness of our historicity and identity contributes to this political madness that seems to basically be repetitive with just a few minor changes because of time and context. We love to play the role of the victim, the abused, the one-shot underdog. My history professor is right: We never want to play the world game and be globally competitive.

As a young individual, I realized it's important to keep my eyes and my mind open to absolutely everything that is going on around me if I want to make that difference. It's important to be at par with the rest of the world so I can anticipate the next big thing. I gotta be on top of my game.

Can't afford to stop now.

A weekend in Macau is anything but ordinary. Friday morning I'm in the humid outskirts of Manila sitting in my huge black van trudging in the traffic; Friday afternoon I'm wearing three tops in attempt to protect me from the cold winds while enjoying my bakalaw salad and lamb with mint jelly in a famous Portuguese restaurant uncharted to foreigners.
Saturday morning we sail to Hong Kong via hydrofoil to catch the year-end sale (as marked in the Chinese Lunar calendar) and come night, we take the train to Mongkok to haggle with locals on cheap goods.
Sunday morning we tour around Macau, which was approximately just the size of Makati and visit the Ruins in Senado Square where we were tricked into paying double for Macanese delights. Fuckers. Although there is discipline amongst the Macanese, most of them are utterly and inexplainable rude people I must say.
Sunday was the same day I wanted to do something different. So I decided I'd skyjump 233 meters down from Macau Tower. Lifechanging? Hell yeah.
After feeling almost in tune with death for a brief 3 seconds, we had Chinese New Years eve dinner at the 59th floor revolving restaurant in Macau Tower dinner where we stuffed our faces with duck and crab-filled dumplings, topped with Green Tea pudding and creme brulee to name a few.
Monday we walk around the empty streets of Macau where Chinese New Years is surprisingly spent in solitude. I seriously felt as though I was walking through the scene from the horrible film The War of the Worlds, the chilly weather did not make it any better.
Tuesday we fly back to my hometown. Back to reality and this.
Wednesday I spent cramming for my theology exam. Thursday I spent catching up with my girl Vi on everything from what I missed the past few days to the future. CHEERS to that. Friday I yet again procrastinated a paper for my European Film class, while promoting for Crash Course event. Come 8PM, was already feeling the z's so I had to hype up with caffeine before hitting the club.

I always just came as a guest in the club. Gotten used to getting out of my car, walking straight up to the bouncer, getting my VIP stamp, and heading straight up. No problemo. But Friday, man, did everyone just pop outta no where wanting to be let in, wanting to talk, wanting to step outside, wanting to get in right away, wanting this and wanting that. Stressful shit but it was worth is seeing the event blossom into a hit.

Hit the sack at 4:30 AM only to be woken up at 10AM for a shoot which ended at 10PM. Never have I played such an intense character in my life, it made me sick. I had to be so emo I wanted to stab myself already.
I thought I could use Sunday to catch up on sleep and readings, but I had to attend this Couples Seminar in SCHOOL at 7:45 AM. Holy mother of God. No one really wanted to know about the love lives, what more the sex lives of these strangers at 7:45 AM. Seriously. 7:45 AM. I just really have to stress the time. 7:45 AM.
After this, i have to catch up on some movies, then if my readings are lucky enough to be read, it will be read. As for now, snaps for procrastination, lack of sleep, and unfinished business. Can't afford to stop now.

THIS IS TONIGHT!

Message me if you want to be on the guestlist to party with the vanwilders of the college scene

Prologue

On most mornings I open my eyes to the irksome combination of household movement and the seemingly endless tweeting of the sixteenth and seventeenth African lovebirds ever to survive in our house. Motionless, I lay in the same fetal position I woke up in and attempt to have ten more minutes of sleep. Next thing I know my alarm goes off and I’ve apparently already lost around twenty minutes of my life twisting in place. I stumble to the bathroom and stand staring at the constant stream of water flowing out of the showerhead for a good minute before allowing myself to submit to the very notion of being awake. Once the water molecules trickle down my scalp to my toes, time stops moving in slow motion and ticks away like a dog in heat. I scamper around for warm clothes, breeze through the stacks of papers on my desk or on the foot of my bed, while sipping the hot coffee (which really tastes like coffee-flavored water) brought up for me. Fuck. Half an hour before class. The drive to school almost becomes a scene spliced from Amazing Race but I manage to nonchalantly prance to class with the paper I had crammed in one hand and a real cup of coffee from the vending machine in the other. Four and a half hours of class leaves my hair poofy making me crave for another stick costing me seven days of my life. Nonetheless, I sit in the same place and smoke my smokes while reading whatever it is I’ve carelessly dumped in my bag the night before. Every now and then I glance at the people around and me and conjure up a scenario and picture their lives as clips on film. Different everyday people cross my way like a bunch of tangent lines on a wide, open field. So many lives, so many stories, so many depths and contexts to even realize. I write everything down on fragmented pieces of papers in disarrayed thought striving to conserve the tiniest of feelings. I take the last puff of the shortened cigarette. I fling it as far out into the grass and let the light spread itself to the last millimeter before it finally reaches the end where it has no other choice but to surrender to darkness.