Para bang damong kumikiliti
Sa aking hubad ng talampakan,
Ang iyong nakangiting mata’t labi’y
Magdudulot ng kilig kanino man.
Tulad ng haplos ng mga daliri
Sa brasong walang kubli,
Ang iyong mga titig
Nakakakilig, balahibo’y tumitindig.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
STATUS
Single. Married. In a relationship. It’s complicated. They should include “Confused” and “Out of Order” as well. Nevertheless, the choices go on and on and only a person’s mood or state of mind is the limit. With the dawning of social networking in the world wide web, the universe had suddenly become one big reality TV. You fall in love, people will know it. You get your heart broken, people will know it. You break your fingernail, people will know it. You have an upset tummy, people will know it. Your neighbor has a foot fetish, people will know it. We had become instant celebrities by our own making. We had knowingly and deliberately placed ourselves under a microscope and the whole world can be our audience if we choose it to be. We can now legitimately claim fame, even if it’s just among the people in our friends list or among those who follow us on Twitter, just like Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan. Bwahahahaha. Evil laugh. It seems like we offered ourselves through an initial public offering and now we are publicly held!
But what’s in a status? Is it a measure of one’s humanity, a glimpse of a passing surge of emotion or mood, or a masked reality that we want to project to the world? When you think about it, it could be as empty as a traditional politician’s promises or as heavily laden with calories and trans-fat like that of a supersized McDonald’s meal. For whatever it’s worth, we like making our status known and knowing other people’s as well. In other words, our status is a subject of our present pre-occupation which is voyeurism, where we are both at the giving and at the receiving end at the same time. Surprisingly, we have developed a certain liking to this activity. We derive a certain level of elation every time we post something and people just cannot help but make comments. We put stimuli out there with the intention to be noticed, to be talked about, to be heard, to be read. What ever happened to “it’s not about being read, it’s about being written”? The same thing goes for blogs, bulletin boards, etc. I tried to follow this principle and was successful for about two years, priding myself for keeping a strictly personal (note: should not be read as “confidential”) blog where I can release the innate angst that comes with being a doomed member of Generation-X or just simply let out the what’s left of the literary juices that my brain contains, until recently when I allowed others to partake in my cerebral masturbation and find out the sordid thoughts hiding in the deep recesses of my mind. Bwahahahaha. Yet another evil laugh!
Just like everyone else, I suppose, I cannot help but answer that perennial question inside that box when I open my FB account: what’s on your mind? It’s maddening! I have to answer somehow. And the moment I do, the ball is gonna to start rolling and before I know it, a simple line, maybe even thoughtless and candid, will cause an avalanche of comments. And most probably than not, sub-topics will crop up and all the participants and the rest of humanity will find themselves in the middle of this cornucopia of things that will more or less come to a meaningless and unceremonious end! And on to the next person with a slightly interesting status and the vicious cycle begins again!
After going through this repetitive exercise over and over again, I find myself dizzy with all the information about these people I call friends that sometime they just get all mixed up causing me to think that maybe my new status should be: OUT OF ORDER!
But what’s in a status? Is it a measure of one’s humanity, a glimpse of a passing surge of emotion or mood, or a masked reality that we want to project to the world? When you think about it, it could be as empty as a traditional politician’s promises or as heavily laden with calories and trans-fat like that of a supersized McDonald’s meal. For whatever it’s worth, we like making our status known and knowing other people’s as well. In other words, our status is a subject of our present pre-occupation which is voyeurism, where we are both at the giving and at the receiving end at the same time. Surprisingly, we have developed a certain liking to this activity. We derive a certain level of elation every time we post something and people just cannot help but make comments. We put stimuli out there with the intention to be noticed, to be talked about, to be heard, to be read. What ever happened to “it’s not about being read, it’s about being written”? The same thing goes for blogs, bulletin boards, etc. I tried to follow this principle and was successful for about two years, priding myself for keeping a strictly personal (note: should not be read as “confidential”) blog where I can release the innate angst that comes with being a doomed member of Generation-X or just simply let out the what’s left of the literary juices that my brain contains, until recently when I allowed others to partake in my cerebral masturbation and find out the sordid thoughts hiding in the deep recesses of my mind. Bwahahahaha. Yet another evil laugh!
Just like everyone else, I suppose, I cannot help but answer that perennial question inside that box when I open my FB account: what’s on your mind? It’s maddening! I have to answer somehow. And the moment I do, the ball is gonna to start rolling and before I know it, a simple line, maybe even thoughtless and candid, will cause an avalanche of comments. And most probably than not, sub-topics will crop up and all the participants and the rest of humanity will find themselves in the middle of this cornucopia of things that will more or less come to a meaningless and unceremonious end! And on to the next person with a slightly interesting status and the vicious cycle begins again!
After going through this repetitive exercise over and over again, I find myself dizzy with all the information about these people I call friends that sometime they just get all mixed up causing me to think that maybe my new status should be: OUT OF ORDER!
Friday, July 23, 2010
Of Stilettos and CFM Shoes
It is assumed that there is a little Imelda in every woman when it comes to shoes. As much as I hate to admit it, I have repeatedly failed to remove myself from the shoe-addicted pack of she-wolves. I have no defence this time. Watching Sex and the City, definitely, is no help with Carrie Bradshaw unashamedly succumbing to the calls of the Manolos.
Which brings me to the topic of stilettos. Which I try to avoid wearing like the plague! In my thirty-something years, I have yet to come across an objectively and undoubtedly comfortable pair of stilettos. Although I must admit that I have not exerted too much effort on this endeavor, nonetheless I would say that it isn’t like looking for a needle in a haystack. Just visit any lady’s shoe store and most probably than not, it’s selling at least a pair of these dangerous-looking stilettos.
That is the reason why I have two strappy pairs myself, which I have worn not too many times. I know…I’m a lying hypocrital bitch! But my defence this time is that the little Imelda in me made such noise that I couldn’t seem to ignore her. Plus, the shoes were saying “buy me, buy me” like a mantra! I’m only a woman, you know! I can only take so much temptation and taunting.
Going back to the stilettos, I have to admit that it is sexy. No, it’s SEXY. It gives a little more allure to a woman’s ankles and legs. Especially those strappy ones which will go very well with a simple but classic cocktail dress or simply a Victoria’s Secret intimates. It just dawned on me just how true what my bedmate’s best mate once said about how in porn movies the girls would strip to nothing and leave on their 4 inch stilettos while you know what. Ha!
Which brings me to another kind of stilettos – the CFM shoes. Or the COME FUCK ME shoes if you need to spell it out. I just came to know about these not too long ago when I had the pleasure of reuniting with my ex-colleagues from my ex-firm who are all in their mid-twenties. You know, that particular age when I realized that I didn’t learn all that I needed to learn in kindergarten. Anyway, this girl was actually asking me whether she should buy SK-II beauty products or this CFM pair of shoes which costs around three hundred bucks. I thought CFM was a new high end shoe brand. When I finally found out that it was not and what it was, I almost chocked on the fried tofu that I was devouring. It was, shall I say, a turning point in my life. A time when the realization that I was going in the direction opposite cougar town had finally hit me. There I was, in the middle of Makansuntra, gobbling hawker food with twenty-something friends, pretending to be “cool” and “hip”. Do they even use these words these days I have no freaking idea! And I didn’t know anything about these damn CFM shoes!
But the CFM shoes…if the stilettos are SEXY, the CFM shoes are…WTF!!! I do not know if the merchandise itself is more appealing or whether it was more appealing because of the name it was given and of course the connotation it directly suggests. Whatever it is, it screams S-E-X! Whatever it is, it makes my stilettos look like Julie Andrews standing next to Megan Fox! It’s almost illegal and immoral all at the same time! It’s like having a bedmate and maintaining a fubu (short for fuck buddy for those who are unaware) at the same time. It’s the work of the Devil himself! And all the Eves of this kingdom are covetous of a pair of this modern poisonous apple! This blogger included!
Which brings me to the topic of stilettos. Which I try to avoid wearing like the plague! In my thirty-something years, I have yet to come across an objectively and undoubtedly comfortable pair of stilettos. Although I must admit that I have not exerted too much effort on this endeavor, nonetheless I would say that it isn’t like looking for a needle in a haystack. Just visit any lady’s shoe store and most probably than not, it’s selling at least a pair of these dangerous-looking stilettos.
That is the reason why I have two strappy pairs myself, which I have worn not too many times. I know…I’m a lying hypocrital bitch! But my defence this time is that the little Imelda in me made such noise that I couldn’t seem to ignore her. Plus, the shoes were saying “buy me, buy me” like a mantra! I’m only a woman, you know! I can only take so much temptation and taunting.
Going back to the stilettos, I have to admit that it is sexy. No, it’s SEXY. It gives a little more allure to a woman’s ankles and legs. Especially those strappy ones which will go very well with a simple but classic cocktail dress or simply a Victoria’s Secret intimates. It just dawned on me just how true what my bedmate’s best mate once said about how in porn movies the girls would strip to nothing and leave on their 4 inch stilettos while you know what. Ha!
Which brings me to another kind of stilettos – the CFM shoes. Or the COME FUCK ME shoes if you need to spell it out. I just came to know about these not too long ago when I had the pleasure of reuniting with my ex-colleagues from my ex-firm who are all in their mid-twenties. You know, that particular age when I realized that I didn’t learn all that I needed to learn in kindergarten. Anyway, this girl was actually asking me whether she should buy SK-II beauty products or this CFM pair of shoes which costs around three hundred bucks. I thought CFM was a new high end shoe brand. When I finally found out that it was not and what it was, I almost chocked on the fried tofu that I was devouring. It was, shall I say, a turning point in my life. A time when the realization that I was going in the direction opposite cougar town had finally hit me. There I was, in the middle of Makansuntra, gobbling hawker food with twenty-something friends, pretending to be “cool” and “hip”. Do they even use these words these days I have no freaking idea! And I didn’t know anything about these damn CFM shoes!
But the CFM shoes…if the stilettos are SEXY, the CFM shoes are…WTF!!! I do not know if the merchandise itself is more appealing or whether it was more appealing because of the name it was given and of course the connotation it directly suggests. Whatever it is, it screams S-E-X! Whatever it is, it makes my stilettos look like Julie Andrews standing next to Megan Fox! It’s almost illegal and immoral all at the same time! It’s like having a bedmate and maintaining a fubu (short for fuck buddy for those who are unaware) at the same time. It’s the work of the Devil himself! And all the Eves of this kingdom are covetous of a pair of this modern poisonous apple! This blogger included!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Pain and Suffering
It’s an item under general damages in insurance law. Everyday I come across pain and suffering. I have come to a point when I stopped cringing at every possible kind of injury a human body can sustain. In fact, it came to a point when I read about them and not associate them with pain or suffering anymore. I had become mentally numb.
Little did I know that I would soon get a taste of pain and suffering – that kind that no amount of medical attention can remedy, that kind that the passing of time cannot seem to heal. Tragic. So much like life.
If only…
If only I can stop feeling. If only my spirit can turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to this unnamed force that is calling me to forget about reason, to forget about truth, to forget about justice. If only my spirit has enough strength to fight this consuming pain that engulfs my soul. If only for a second I can stop this madness and everything stands still so I can grieve without anyone knowing and seeing, without anyone hearing the sound of my tears dropping on my chest that house my shattered heart. If only I can hide the sound of my heart breaking so that others cannot mock me. Because you see, the world can be so cruel. Family and friends alike. This world seem to have no place for souls and hearts like mine. No solicitor to quantify the damages due me.
Tragic, isn’t it?
Little did I know that I would soon get a taste of pain and suffering – that kind that no amount of medical attention can remedy, that kind that the passing of time cannot seem to heal. Tragic. So much like life.
If only…
If only I can stop feeling. If only my spirit can turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to this unnamed force that is calling me to forget about reason, to forget about truth, to forget about justice. If only my spirit has enough strength to fight this consuming pain that engulfs my soul. If only for a second I can stop this madness and everything stands still so I can grieve without anyone knowing and seeing, without anyone hearing the sound of my tears dropping on my chest that house my shattered heart. If only I can hide the sound of my heart breaking so that others cannot mock me. Because you see, the world can be so cruel. Family and friends alike. This world seem to have no place for souls and hearts like mine. No solicitor to quantify the damages due me.
Tragic, isn’t it?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)