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Pablo Picasso, Girl Before a Mirror, Oil on Canvas, 1932
"A picture can paint a thousand words," and here's a couple from me.

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The girl glaring back remains to be a mystery.
There's sadness in her eyes, and the spark has lost its twinkle.
The black mascara leave its dirty traces on her pale, almost translucent cheeks that reveal the veins hidden underneath.
She had just cried.
Cried her billionth tear, in secret.
The sunlight glistens on her shoulders but never seems to seep through her.
Tiny droplets of sweat appear on her pores but she doesn't move.
She glares. She pities. But she cannot stop this insatiable feeling of extending her stay underwater before coming up for a breath.
Hands are directed at her direction but she just stares.
The hands disappear one by one and merges with the background.
She floats to no bearing and entrusts her life to the waves.
The waves deceive and estrange but this is all she has.
She catches a gulp of air and as her diaphragm contracts, she shuts her eyes.
But all she sees is that mysterious girl glaring back.

A fabulous theatre bar experience @ Club Mwah

I spent saturday night at a theatre bar with my family, watching with delight as men magically transform into beautiful women, dancing and performing with passion.One of the very slender transvestites, with long legs that could reach the tip of their noses and their ears were absolutely stunning and gorgeous. I could barely tell who really had a vaj! It was absolutely amazing! Set designs changed after every song, glamourous costumes in every hue and every design were worn, every movement in sync with each other, and it was enthralling. These are some of the awards (both local and international) they've won in the short past of two and a half years.My favorite performer.The star performer of the night who bedazzled the audience, with my sisters who had a blast.
Truly a show worth recommending to everyone. A show worth every peso, and a show I would love to watch again.

Two ears and One mouth

Why the magazine industry? Why write? I don't effing know and I have been thinking about it for the past few days now, while sitting by my lonesome self at work. Heck, I never even read magazines. I was one of those people who only picked up the glossy pamphlet on my regular visits to the parlor -- which was like once in two months for a hair trim. And it's not like I actually read them, I just admired the gorgeous girls on the front covers and then quickly scanned the pages for my horoscope and 'cheap buys', cause those interested me more than anything.
I grew up to the love triangle of Archie, Betty and Veronica; to the oh-so complicated lives of the Sweet Valley High teens; to the out-of-this-world plots of Roald Dahl; to the thrilling and nightmare-giving tales of R.L. Stine, who I am proud to say I've met when I was in elementary and was kind enough to sign and write a small dedication on my bookmark, which of course I eventually fucking lost when we transferred houses. Then as I got older, my shelf grew with all sorts of hardbound and paperbacks of classics, novels, art books, self-help books, philosophy books, but none take in the form of a magazine.
So what the fuck am I fucking doing.
Maybe I should just write a fucking book about the fucking underside of the Philippine culture which ticks the fuck out of me...but that's to come.
For now, I guess the fuel that continues to burn my passion for writing would be some of the people I get to meet. The people who have a story to tell, worth writing about to spark hope and inspire people who read it. Often times we get too hooked on the rich and or the famous and forget our next door neighbor or that person across the street. They have a real story to tell. And I'm glad that I have met a small handful of those kinds of people who make some the rich and the famous look like shit.
So why am I here.
I am here, in the brutal arena of journalism not to do something revolutionary and completely world-changing. I'm here to practice the basic means of communication: listening. In the noisy and busy world we now live in, we have paid little attention to listening and hearing the other person because we're too busy thinking about our own thoughts. There are some journalists, writers, and reporters, who can turn shit to a golden written piece and I am and most likely will never be one of those brilliant writers. I'm just here to listen to you. Your story. And hope that your story will inspire someone from across the globe to do something life-changing for them.
Take a look at Cho, the murderer, the psycho, the fucker, the deranged lunatic, the hero, whatever angle you want to see him. While everyone was busy talking about Anna Nicole Smith, Brit and Lohan, they could not hear and could not see that Cho had a story to tell only if someone had listened. Now, after innocent lives have gone, do people start to appear on TV describing the little 'signs' of Cho's mental incapacities. Now it's too fucking late for that.
Point is, we need to listen to our surroundings and to the people and learn to listen hard. One can never be good enough at listening.

A few thoughts

Just a few, simple wise words that caught my laconic attention span---

Cause sometimes, we need that new perspective...Cause we're probably much more interesting than we think...Cause sometimes, we worry a little too much...And try to be like someone else...When all we really need is a little more faith...Cause sometimes, she's actually right no matter how much we hate it.
Simple words armed with so much soul.

Reason vs. Faith...

...Practical vs. Theoretical, Rational vs. Illogical...and I don't know where I fall in the spectrum. Born and raised as a Christian from the Church of Christ, my faith in God has sort of become an influx of different beliefs I have learned from various religion classes, and now just a shade of grey. With the many Gods people have worshiped at different eras, with each time period varying entirely in context, why feel compelled to choose just one ultimate God in strictly one practice? Okay, obviously, the belief in incarnation for instance, does not concur with the idea of heaven, so I guess to some extent you do have to make a sound decision on which side of the spectrum you're on; but like many schools of thoughts and ideologies, there is always that shady area open for questioning and in some brutal cases, open for attack.
Through the years, factual history has proven that religion has been both progressive and retrogressive for man -- pastors have been the prime movers of civil rights and women's right to vote but at the same time, religious wars and beliefs have caused more fatalities than war itself. Just a thought, if religion were inherently 'good', then all religions should be one force on the battlefield promoting the 'good', instead of battling each other out to be 'the one'.
I guess I just don't like the idea of religion as dictative of our actions for the sketchy hope of 'salvation', whatever that may mean to you; or the hidden missionary aspect of spreading God's word via charity work to expand in numbers. I would much rather enjoy serving a God without being forced to, and I would appreciate the help of someone who truly wants to help and not want to secretly convert me later on.
Maybe I'm a non-practicing atheist, or a semi-insincere practicing Christian. However, I do strongly believe in spirituality, because for me, spirituality does not automatically relate to religion or religious beliefs/practices. Given the right frame of mind and intention, I could travel to Sri Lanka to sit under the Bodhi tree, or sit atop any mountain, and meditate until I no longer feel the physicality of my body but only my soul at one with the universe. I could cleanse my soul, so to speak, through the simple ways of making someone laugh, meaningfully lend out a helping hand, or doing objectively good things both for the betterment of society and to simply make me feel good. Those, I feel, carry so much more weight than one hour of spacing out in a humid church.
Maybe the truth lies not in the outdated scriptures, but in the tangibility of everyday with respect to the possibility of a greater force you attract through meaningful and self-less actions. You shouldn't need a religious icon to stop you from enslaving another human being; likewise you shouldn't need to choose a life promoting the attack of religious zealots.
This could clearly go on forever and I am in no position to back up either side; so I guess it all comes down to you and what you want to do with your life.
Oh and, Happy Easter :)

You meet a shit load of people...

But only the true ones stay. To my girls, you know who you are.

I have to think and string my life and my self back together before I allow myself to be trampled on and swallowed by the world. I believe people should do what they love, and should keep doing what they love to do (for so long as it ain't collecting dead bodies in your mother's attic or some weird inhumane shit like that), no matter what anyone says. People should love you for who you are. Don't allow yourself to be molded into someone else's mannequin.
And don't give up your passion because it's like killing that flame that lights you up.

Spotlights are down and the seats are empty

After only 2 years of no dance, my life has truly become discordant. While all my friends rave about their colleges and universities, and travel that road called, 'finding my Self,' I find myself stuck in the rut I call home, finding...whatever it is that comes my way.

As a Dance Company (contemporary and modern jazz group composed of elite dancers from the International School Manila) alumni, I was taken aback when I was invited to guest at a show this late April. "Dance," I thought, "I haven't done that in a long time." I sunk into my seat and blankly stared at the piles of furniture catalogs I still had to get through for the home issue of Lifestyle. My heart raced and tears collected at the back of my eyes, ready to burst with just a blink. Memories flooded in and all of a sudden, I felt so drawn back to high school.

As a child, I've always loved dance. But unlike the stereotypical little girl in a tutu who's obsessed with pointing her toes and curving her arms, I loved the experimental-theatre-dance kind. What the fuck is that. It's like drama dance, expressing emotions through movement --it could be dancing to a poem recitation or noise rock, or simply acting and bodily expression with offbeat emphasis accompanied with disarranged music. I had immense passion for that form of dance, but after high school and a semester in uni, I quit dance. I missed my old team because there was a special bond that allowed us to feel each other with our eyes closed; there was trust. Not only was I disappointed with the new dance team I joined, but I realized that I had to quit dance to focus on my career, and so I could spend more time with my Love before he left for uni. It was a tough call, but I made that sacrifice cause I knew it would make him happy, and his happiness meant the world for me.

And now, after 2 long years of not being on stage, I remember those days when he'd watch me rehearse every day for three hours, just to spend my water breaks seated next to me as I, drenched in sweat, would just slouch on the seat and catch my breath. I remember the performances when I would look for him in the audience so I could feel more confident, since seeing him there made the butterflies in my stomach disappear. I remember bitching to him backstage about the shitty times I had with my parents and running to him for everything because it was where I felt safe. I remember holding hands in the cold hallways. I remember the stolen kisses. I remember his smell.

Dance just felt so cold today. Maybe because I'm not with my team members specifically. Maybe because no one's watching. Maybe because I don't know who I'm dancing for and why I'm still dancing.

When the Skies Fail Test Shoot 1

Documented experimental test shoots.

Tabaco Exhibit

Very clean and straightforward.

A blog outburst

Finally I am done with school, final exams and my pending articles are FINISHED! I cannot be any happier, seriously. Like, seriously. Like SUPER seriously. hahaha, I felt like sounding like a ditz for a second and now that that's over, let me go back to my 'voice', whatever voice that is.
I'm sitting here in my little corner, with my fugly PC and messy desk filled with press releases, CDs with pictures from events, and spring/summer collection catalogs from Louis Vuitton and Ferragamo, to Prada and Diesel. It's like a dream come true for stylish girls, but not for the boring writers like myself. I have to sit here for six hours and write about these lifeless things that mean nothing to me. I have to stare at photographs of events and imagine I was there to make the writing seem real. It's hard, but since I've only showed up for work twice, I'll probably get the hang of it soon.
Because I'm interning at Lifestyle Asia magazine, I can't wait until I'm sent to do profile interviews, real event coverage and even out of town trips with my bosses. That should be pretty fun! The editors are a real friendly bunch and don't make me do stupid things like make coffee or photocopy. Day 1, I had to write immediately for the June issue, and in only 3 working days, I have like 8 pieces being published in that issue already. How great is that? At least I have pieces to add to my portfolio! Yay! We're wrapping up the June issue today and I thought I'd let you guys know.
I'm actually feeling a little cheery today, perhaps it's because of the tenth caramel tart I'm munching on right now, but whatever, I like it. The weather is really really humid and hot and it feels like I'm in the fucking Sahara --that's why people are prone to heat stroke here.
I went to my best friends fashion show last friday and I was so fucking ecstatic and endorphins were just literally traversing around my vessels ready to explode. I WAS SO PROUD OF HER! I'll post up pictures later, but she looked so great! I felt like her fucking mom or her older sister, like in a way, I felt like it was my responsibility to watch her because of that strong bond we have. WOOHOO! She's someone to watch out for, seriously.
SHIT! Grey's anatomy and LOST! I spent sunday updating myself on my favourite TV shows and OMFG I could not keep my eyes off! Why the hell are they not showing the rest of the episodes till like late April?! The anxiety is kiiiillllliiiinnnnngggg meeeee.....slowwwwwlllllyyyy.....
OMG I'm so fucking hyper and I'm typing extra loud on my keyboard and I think it's irritating the chic in the other cubicle cause she keeps eyeing me and looking away, pretending to think. Oops. I can't help but type loud, no matter where I am.
Tonight, I'll be going to check out this exhibit on tobacco. Maybe it'll persuade my dad to stop smoking. HAHA YEAH RIGHT.
Ok can anyone give me a good book to read?