Happy Birthday Mona!

Mona Marie BernardoIt’s been so long since we last saw each other. I hope you’re doing good and enjoying life. It’s true what you said the last time; we will meet many people and friends but nothing ever tops the friendship we keep from when we were younger. I am thankful that I’ve met you and thankful that even with the distance we’ve managed to stay in contact.

dsc026271For your birthday, I wish you continue to be blessed with the right amount of success and happiness. I wish you overcome all obstacles life will throw at you and I wish you get more love and real friends.

Me and Ayene miss you dearly. Mwah!


I’m sharing with you a piece of my cake last 14th


Looking Forward To Twilight, Again. And Things You Forget Because Of The Altitude

Ayie and I and I are out to see Twilight. I will not tell you how many times I’ve seen it (I have different group of friends – who are not friends or don’t know each other – sharing the same penchant for the book) but I’ll tell you I haven’t gotten tired of the entertainment … by the movie patrons who continually sigh, squeal and worship Edward Cullen. Although I did not enjoy it at my first viewing, I am having a laugh now. I conclude that any actor can play Edward, Stephanie Meyer was just unbelievably astute in drawing girls to fall for him. I conclude that:

Edward Cullen>.A boyfriend had to be a protector, a father figure and kinky when the situation calls for it. He also has to treat you like you’re smarter than him by excusing your stubbornness.

>.He is proud to be standing beside you and wants everyone to know you two are going out.

>.He say’s “sorry” when it’s clearly not his fault.

>.He only has eyes for you. Even if it means sneaking to your room just to stare at you all night and even if other girls are crazy for him.

>.He has to have a good family, with sets of parents still enamored with each other. You can also throw in a nice sister you’ll be best friends with.

>.He needs to know good music and Biology.

>.He’s smart but doesn’t walk around like you’re stupid.

>.He pays for everything and lets you eat just about anything without fearing that he might date an elephant soon.

>.Old-fashioned but street-smart.

>.Smells like he just got off the shower.

>.Keeps you warm when you’re cold.

>.He also needs to want you – and I mean want but won’t because he respects you.

>. He’ll write you letters and compose your own lullaby.

>. Instead of saying “see you later” he’ll instead be poetic and say “hurry back to me”

I have more but I don’t intend to enummerate them all – just the obvious ones. But I’m sure me and the general estrogen driven population would agree that guys can take a page or two from Edward Cullen’s book


dsc02808This time last week I resolved to going out on a mountain trip with a friend and his friends (we were eventually introduced). By nightfall the following day, it took all our strength to not roll down the mountain and break our neck in the process.

Two days ago dancing hues of blue and purple became more prominent in my skin and the wound at the sole if my feet started to dry.

I wrote a lengthy discourse of my Saturday and Sunday but at the end I only achieved to summarize things. I forgot so many things, perhaps because I was pressed for time and I was hurting from bow to stern. Now that I’ve rested well and slept enough, things are flooding back.

     Harris and Eugene were in charge. They’ve been very dutiful in preparing our meals and tents but all of us have seem to forgotten the good deed out of sheer fatigue. I even committed the mistake of excluding them from the initial article. Eugene prepared a delectible breakfast of tuna pasta. Harris on the other hand pitched my tent and walked with me the last few painful hours of the trek.

     Running blind. The night trek was the sum of not having a pre-game. If you think we’re a bunch of adrenalin junky out to push ourselves to the limit, I’m sorry but no. We simply failed to sit down and have a meeting. So when the day arrived we sort of just kept moving without much ado, thus the night trek.

     I bitched a lot but enjoyed it after. This is what they usually call masochist with a penchant to brag. But I call it “your opinion is relative and … bite me”. I was filthy from my feet to my hair. I kept falling every 20 feet and I landed hard on my backside once. The biting cold water bath that I had to endure around 3 in the morning was painful on my already sore muscles and I had to sleep on an uneven ground that rendered my earth pad useless. These are a few of what I recalled from the pain that I so willingly allowed and so far I like the story that entailed it.

     Su plato mi plato. I shared plates because we were just too darn tired to look or get our own. I think there were two other people on my plate that night. They ate pork and I placed a tiny border just so it won’t mix with my tuna. It dawned on me that this is not the place to be picky and selfish. It was fun. I also drank in their water jugs and vice versa.

     Tortured porter. I tortured my porter on the long way down. I kept whining and swatting the mosquitoes with contempt and it did not help the mood that continually soured as everyone was just in a hurry to get away from the mountain. He kept reminding me that it’ll take ages if I kept to my snail pace, I only had to say two words to shut him up (“I know!). I tipped him well and thanked him for not letting me die in my own putrid protest.

     Suddenly brown. When I went up my backpack was black, my pants was black, my t-shirt white and my water jug was blue. When I went down everything was just about as brown as the mud we traveled on.

Abs and Dan said, they’d love to hike again in better weather condition. I say I’d like to have coffee with you one of these days. I’d love to see you clean longer and smiling. But yeah, let’s.

Twilight (Movie)

twilight_movie-71711Twilight has steadily become a phenom that no decent person can guess a Mormon inked it. With a dash of Catherine Hardwicke (Lords Of Dogtown fame), the stage is set for a blockbuster flick even moms can appreciate. If you’ve been living under a rock the size of Forks Washington and don’t know what I’m talking about, I suggest you read it first before moving forward. But if you don’t have time, you can always read a shortcut.

I wanted to see the movie ahead of everybody else because I felt the need to know long before it gets blemished by lopsided opinions caused by the Edward Cullen Mania. We know that fans have gone gaga over the books because for some twisted reason it reminds us how it felt to be foolish and free again. And for most readers, it allows them to foster their ideology that life is a fairy tale. And as any normal human with a living beating throbbing heart, the need to live vicariously through other people’s lives have been a prevalent drive. So throw in a tortured soul with a James Dean-ish good looks (plus a James Franco swager) and an unlikely girl – that girl being you in your imaginations – attention is obtained. Seeing it in the big screen stokes the fire further.

So what about the movie? Well, there was a collective scream inside the theatre when the title went up and the decibel reached fever pitch when the audience saw a glimpse of the protagonist. Every now and then, a girl or two would let out a squeal declaring her affection. It would have been laughable if it weren’t so annoying (my seatmate kept muttering “Oh Edward” it was creepy). But I tried my best to focus on what I was watching and not give the legions of Edward Club a finger (he is not real! and be quiet, I’m watching here).

I took a mental note of the few things that I noticed and I hope it’s not just me – I have this nasty feeling no one is really watching the movie, they’re just watching Edward, I mean Robert Pattinson.

2933919966_6833244faf_o1>. Charlie is suddenly interesting. Billy Burke, the actor who played Charlie Swan, did a good job in being the good father that Charlie is. In the adaptation, he is more involved and conversant. There was more emotion in his character and although he had few lines, it was delivered well, matched with expressions that seemed to finish his sentence. And oh, I like that they added the pepper spray in there.

>. Fork’s Kids. Correct me if I’m wrong, didn’t Angela Webber end up with Ben Cheney and not that Asian guy Eric Yorkie? And the surfing, that was very Hardwicke. In the book, they seem to be a bunch of boring kids easily satisfied by long walks on the beach. Also, they seem more human … meaning more rowdy just like any high school kid.

>. Bella’s clumsiness. She wasn’t clumsy enough. She’ll trip a bit and slip once but it does not deduce that this girl is a magnet for accidents. She’s just a magnet for voyeur vampires with disco ball tendencies when the sun is out.

>.Jasper and his I’m constipated look, oh wait Edward does that too. Jackson Rathbone (the actor) is in need of another facial expression, anything but that look. I can’t help but laugh looking at him. He either looks like he needs to go to the bathroom or he needs to hurl. I understand that he is the new “vegetarian” in the family and he is channelling every possible strength not to kill, but can he not find another look a little less comical? He doesn’t look like he has a tortured soul, he looks like he just drank a dram of bad milk.

21twil600>. Edward and his “don’t push it, I can kill you” turmoil. Girl wants boy and boy wants girl. He creeps into her room to try something cool and she gives in. When things get hot and heavy, the poor boy cuts the act and keeps himself in check. Bummer! But that was one hell of a no tongue kiss; deeply sincere with a funny flying and hitting the wall ending.

>. Do vampires fly? They seem to be. The stunt elicited nothing but half-baked action that proved to be a menace instead of a draw. It suggests too much that it eventually appeared hokey. For a moment, I was waiting for a broom to appear under them.

>. It took Laureant a baseball game to realize he’s hanging out with the bad guys. Duh.

2933060117_972831a86d_oTwilight is challenged by the fact that it’s impossible to encapsulate a 500-paged book to two hours. So I allowed the very many missed events slip. Yet it summarized all the awkward lines that the book suffered. It also gave Edward the right amount of “I’m brooding” and “I’m happy” look. It didn’t linger in his melancholic wretchedness that Meyer thought to be sexy. Instead, it was cut to size to allow the little exposition of the story to travel smoother. Hardwicke also provided a better transition for the three nomad vampires (instead of just appearing suddenly towards the end). In the book, Bella loses consciousness and later finds out what happened in the ballet room. In the movie, it was realized by allowing the audience to watch two vampires slug it around.

The cinematography was also decent. It was able to afford the weather called for each scene. The green and cold surroundings transposed well in the shots that it numbs the desolate feeling of the fall season.

There are loose ends in Twilight but I tried to sink my teeth into it, yet I can only say I’m entertained. The book is much better, it almost always is.

Ratings: starstarstarstar_2star_2

Weekends at Mt. Romelo

(Note: Just hover over the links and it should show you a preview of the picture. If you like it, click to open and save.)

I Know. You don’t have to tell me to come up with a better title when my supposed weekend brought hysterics of emotions. But allow me to explain.

I broke a promise today and having that as a baggage – more like a purse – I had little energy to be creative. Monday was supposed to be for my film review. An item so darn late, my friend whom I went out with last Friday for a movie is now giving me ample dagger stares. I couldn’t break the news that a handful of officemates are hating me for watching ahead of everybody else, so I made a concious decision to wait. Another promise was to load all pictures from our mountain climb by three in the afternoon. As of press time (it’s 9:59 in the evening), I haven’t gotten around it yet.

We started our climb to Mt. Romelo (part of Sierra Madre Mountain Range more famously known as Famy) around six in the evening. This was my first night trek and four (of eight) was their first jab to climbing. It was a slow quasi-dangerous ascend given that it had been raining. Mud was our chief pain. We’d find ourselves knee deep in it or simply slipping back to where we started – meaning, the foot of the mountain. I didn’t mind the darkness and creepy sounds that come in the night; I can psych myself to be brave. What heightened my sense of fear are sudden drops (ravine) masked by the darkness. No one brought a first aid kit and none carried ropes. I for one had my share of escape. I remember being saved a handful of times by someone I was just introduced to. What was a little off is he kept saving me by catching me from behind – which entailed a pinch of suspicions that I’m being groped at. Eventually that idiotic misgiving evaporated when he indeed caught my leg from slipping through a ravine heaven knows how deep. Thanks Dan.

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It would also be polite to mention another individual whom I was just formally introduced to – whose initial experience in climbing fetched praises. Earl was quite the efficient novice who knew how to balance himself and knew where to step. He had to suffer the inefficiencies of a busted flashlight but he seemed equipped navigating through the dark. The other newbies Toni, Randy, and Abs also proved themselves well; all three reached stop # 3 long before the other’s did.

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If Toni, Randy, and Abs got there first, who got there last?  … Me. The 70-degree slope that was our final obstacle was so unforgiving, I was close to kicking myself all the way back home. No rope, plus mud, plus darkness, plus a gash under my right foot was enough to induce me to panic. Our porters had to haul me out there; which was humiliating.

We arrived at our final stop (camp) by one in the morning and had our dinner soon after. All the girls wasn’t going to sleep without washing, so we picked up our soap and towels and walked a few meters to wash at the river. In pitch darkness, we tried to wash. It was very cold but we made a conscious choice over pneumonia rather than being dirty. By five in the morning, everyone was in their tents to take a little rest.

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Eight in the morning: We moved up stream to see the falls. We were all in the water just hanging onto rocks wading our way up. It wasn’t difficult but we had to be careful of the current. Areas that narrowed had strong pulls so we had to be very careful angling ourselves against it. Going back, I enjoyed a nice dip just allowing the river to carry me. None of them took the swim (they chose to scale the rocks on the side for fear of drowning) but I just had to give it a shot.

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We started our descend by one in the afternoon and arrived at the foot of the mountain around six in the evening. Everyone was back in the city safe and sound around twelve midnight.

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By morning the next day I couldn’t move a limb, everything was aching. I can’t even go to my computer to write or check my emails. Instead, I lied down all day catching up on my t.v. shows. It wasn’t until after I had to dress the wound on my feet that I finally decided to summon the energy to write.

99 Posts Later

This, I think,  is the longest time I’ve ever been away. Consider this as a sort of revving my engines for better articles to come. It’s also my 100th post.

I was able to commit myself to something that takes a great amount of responsibility and – to an extent – chutzpah. Last I checked I’ve been viewed by guests around 4500 times in seven months.

This project started as a writing exercise, nothing more nothing less. It generated around 300 sumat reads per month and was quite steady around that number for a satisfactory three months. I told myself that I’ll write just for the heck of it and for me not to forget the little craft I formed growing up. The objective was to write whenever something comes up; when suddenly my entries became habitual with frequencies I never knew I could sustain. While its intention stemmed from personal growth and narcissism, a different avenue branched from it. Consciously unbeknownst, I transitioned writing for readers. One day, a co-writer commented on what he thinks of my writing, then a friend forwarded how he appreciates what I created and more words were posted. I started with a “no comment allowed” format, but one day forgot to deactivate it when the remarks started coming in. It was then that I openned my doors.

I might have said it before but allow me to say it again, I love to write. And a huge part of me continues to hope that it loves me too. In ink, things have become more bearable, more funny, more sweet, more bitter, more angry and then some. There is a heightened sensation in documenting ones thoughts. It brings the truthful beauty in life and in times one needs an escape, embellishes the lie. I’ve found comfort here and it is unconditional.

In a world of Friendster, My Space and Multiply generation, blogging has become a deviant shot to normalcy. When instant gratitude and entertainment steer internet savvy people to select the straightforward way of socializing, reading educated blogs are the least of their interest. It would be smart to conclude that writers are sorted to the minority. Yet it thrives. A few chooses to keep it alive, not for someone else’s sake or to confront an ailing social retardation but to find self satisfaction brought by the simple yet complex freedom to sound off. It is true that asinine blogs have abound, writing incoherent and pointless thoughts that’s gibberish to the rest of the world – I know I have some of them stashed somehwere. But that’s what makes the freedom multifaceted. Each have a story to tell, some may not be as astute or relevant like the other’s but it’s a portion of a life nonetheless. A fascinating fractal, shall I say.

I’m just a regular girl living a regular life but I trust that each of us have a story to tell. To many, 4500 hits is very few but I’ve considered the fact that I’m a nobody who’s voice is usually drowned in the hubbub of a big crowd. Each with opinions of their own and each trying to level with everyone. Half the time we talk more than we listen and it achieves a failure to commit on a true communication. But no one gets offended, life and its idiosyncrasy have taught us to adapt. And yet, in the sea of voices and thoughts equaling to disparity, 4500 took time to be silent and listen to me. They took the time either to confront my lopsided opinions or bolster my remarks. With or without an audience, I probably would still be writting. Nonetheless, tapping into the cognisant of friends and strangers has become the icing on my cake. In my formation years, I was discouraged to speak up, maybe because I was just so blunt. But I realized later on that if I write it down, people conclude that I’m a brooding tortured soul worth listening to. Rude or polite, sensible or senseless they tend to stop and listen … in this genereation, read.

Thanks to all of you who tried to pick my brain.