who reads them anyway? before i started writing messages for souvenir programs, i didn't even care to read them. i didn't listen much to speeches when they turned out to be boring. but the good speeches i did listen to and commented well when i needed to just to show appreciation. only the messages that caught my attention were the ones i scanned over only to turn the page.
there's my dilemma. how do you get the average non-message reader to read what Mr. Big Boss' greeting? how do you get the short-attention-spanned audience to listen to what Mr. Big Boss has to say. more importantly how can a writer write messages and speeches that would supposedly inspire, when she is not exactly inspired herself?
no, its not the lack of a love life, nor is it that my total self-confidence and esteem has been dampened yet again by .... no not that... ok maybe the latter, though it has nothing to do with my job. but when it comes to writing as my job it shouldn't matter. like ate monette said once, when writing becomes a responsibility... creative responsibility.
here i am. not exactly a writer, but someone who can write a good piece given the drive, a good hook and inspiration to get it through, plus of course enough information. most of the time i'm able to get the information, sometimes the drive to go look for it myself, but when it comes to putting it down on paper, it will take me a while before i search the air for a good hook. then it would take inspiration to take the hook well onto paper composed into something inspirationally worth reading or listening to.
see, i don't exactly love my job, nor do i hate it either. but writing these inspirational pieces in a span of at minimum a week is getting to me, and its not doing well for my performance at work. my rate is about one message a day, and really good one in one week. something that makes me thank the university that my salary is per day based instead of output based. (but then i think of the five days i wont be getting for vacationing this Christmas)
i guess i've pretty much invited the language and vocabulary taking phrases like "distinctive excellence" and "godspeed" - which i don't know what it means at all - and sprinkling them over a message or two. and i'm getting the hang of writing things at point blank, handing the prettily glazed words over but not inspiring anyone much not even myself. there's where it begins to sound monotonous, and boring. who reads them anyway? who cares to listen?
which brings me to my first dilemma... there you have it. inspiration from the uninspired... nothing inspiring at all.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Mom's "Ewan Ko" Meals
i've always loved my mom's cooking.
its like mom's cooking is the foundation of my food preferences, what i've grown up liking and disliking outside of the house, always has its roots in what i had eaten (or not eaten) from mom's kitchen.
but don't get me wrong. i'm adventurous when it comes to food. i like tasting a sample of anything that's new - if not to the place i'm in then, something new to my taste bud's entirely. then again, that's also something i got from my parents, who are both adventurous people - not only limited to food.
back to the kitchen. i had always said that when i grew up enough to cook myself, i wanted to be just like mom. i wanted to be like the good cook she is and be able to whip up some of my favorite meals from her menu of my childhood favorites to classic meals: fried chicken, spaghetti, christmas ham, pizza, pork or shrimp sinigang sa sampaloc, bulalo, macaroni soup, even fried fish, to of course our family's traditional recipe of pork and/or chicken adobo sa atsuete just to name a few.
now that i do know how to cook, and have a few specialties on a list of my own, i guess i'm pretty much on the way to be the cook that i had dreamed to be as the little girl who admired her mom's cooking and hopefully a little more. there's much much more (redundancy intended) i have to learn though, aside from baked tahong, spaghetti ala putanesca, pork katsudon, fruit cocktail graham ref-cake, and ref-cake blueberry cheesecake.
my basic idea of cooking is simply that once you have all your ingredients together, all it takes is a stock of knowledge on the basics, a good gauge for taste, and of course a little presentation. oh, and let me add a bit of inspiration from the Food Network, and a dose of health consciousness from time to time.
exactly the reason why you don't always need a recipe. but then again... not everything that comes out of mom's kitchen has a name either.
i'd like to call them collectively Mom's "Ewan Ko" Meals. they are basically the dishes that my mom serves us that have no name. its either she doesn't know the dish's name, or the name anyone else has given for it, or she hasn't given it a name herself yet. why the collective name? here's the all too familiar scenario:
dish is served on platter during dinner time.
me: ma, ano yan?
mom: ulam
me: ano nga?
mom: chicken, hindi mo ba nakikita?
me: ano nga' tawag?
mom: ewan ko...
and the meal happens to be one of my favorites. its basically simmered chicken and vegetables in recipe tomato sauce microwave baked with cream and cheese on top. she sometimes puts in green peas and ham. yummy, especially when the cream mixes with the sauce. it has no name though.
then there's this sliced beef in some sauce which i'm sure is not oyster, with some vegetables on the side.
add to that her recipe of citrus-marinated fish slices fried in butter.
just to describe a few. i'll probably be adding more, the more i encounter them. its just plain amusing that these meals have no name. and the thing is, i'm not going to try at all to name them. i guess part of the excitement comes from the mystery - even in the name. "Ewan Ko"
and i guess this just doesn't go for my mom. i know that mom's everywhere make magic in their kitchens even without putting a name to the dish that comes out for supper.
but then again, how do they name dishes?
from what i've observed, naming dishes is based pretty much on:
1. the ingredients, or how the meal was cooked, or simply what the dish is, such as fish n' chips which is exactly what it is fish and chips,
2. the naming person/restaurant/body, such as something like the 19th hole special, or Crazy Bonito's Spicy Wings which is a combination of a name and our element in number one.
3. a cultural name or a recipe that's associated with a particular culture or country, such as siomai from the Chinese, or maki from the Japanese, afritada, caldereta, menudo from the Spanish - i think - which also includes adobo, sinigang, and nilaga from our own Pinoy culture, es cargo from the French, and hmm... where do French fries come from again?
yes, simply put the name isn't all as important as the meal itself :) a rose is still a rose by any other name. but then again in making a menu takes that creativity and spice to attract consumers to buying meals. the thing that i'm amazed at are the brand names that have seeped into the the colloquial naming of a food, much like brand names for verbs like Kodak or Xerox. try Spam for canned meatloaf and you'll pretty much get the same reaction from most people.
like i said, i'll keep calling them Mom's "Ewan Ko" Meals. i just find it amusing to call them that. siya nga naman, ewan ko naman kung ano ba talaga yan. Its still magic when it comes out of mom's kitchen.
its like mom's cooking is the foundation of my food preferences, what i've grown up liking and disliking outside of the house, always has its roots in what i had eaten (or not eaten) from mom's kitchen.
but don't get me wrong. i'm adventurous when it comes to food. i like tasting a sample of anything that's new - if not to the place i'm in then, something new to my taste bud's entirely. then again, that's also something i got from my parents, who are both adventurous people - not only limited to food.
back to the kitchen. i had always said that when i grew up enough to cook myself, i wanted to be just like mom. i wanted to be like the good cook she is and be able to whip up some of my favorite meals from her menu of my childhood favorites to classic meals: fried chicken, spaghetti, christmas ham, pizza, pork or shrimp sinigang sa sampaloc, bulalo, macaroni soup, even fried fish, to of course our family's traditional recipe of pork and/or chicken adobo sa atsuete just to name a few.
now that i do know how to cook, and have a few specialties on a list of my own, i guess i'm pretty much on the way to be the cook that i had dreamed to be as the little girl who admired her mom's cooking and hopefully a little more. there's much much more (redundancy intended) i have to learn though, aside from baked tahong, spaghetti ala putanesca, pork katsudon, fruit cocktail graham ref-cake, and ref-cake blueberry cheesecake.
my basic idea of cooking is simply that once you have all your ingredients together, all it takes is a stock of knowledge on the basics, a good gauge for taste, and of course a little presentation. oh, and let me add a bit of inspiration from the Food Network, and a dose of health consciousness from time to time.
exactly the reason why you don't always need a recipe. but then again... not everything that comes out of mom's kitchen has a name either.
i'd like to call them collectively Mom's "Ewan Ko" Meals. they are basically the dishes that my mom serves us that have no name. its either she doesn't know the dish's name, or the name anyone else has given for it, or she hasn't given it a name herself yet. why the collective name? here's the all too familiar scenario:
dish is served on platter during dinner time.
me: ma, ano yan?
mom: ulam
me: ano nga?
mom: chicken, hindi mo ba nakikita?
me: ano nga' tawag?
mom: ewan ko...
and the meal happens to be one of my favorites. its basically simmered chicken and vegetables in recipe tomato sauce microwave baked with cream and cheese on top. she sometimes puts in green peas and ham. yummy, especially when the cream mixes with the sauce. it has no name though.
then there's this sliced beef in some sauce which i'm sure is not oyster, with some vegetables on the side.
add to that her recipe of citrus-marinated fish slices fried in butter.
just to describe a few. i'll probably be adding more, the more i encounter them. its just plain amusing that these meals have no name. and the thing is, i'm not going to try at all to name them. i guess part of the excitement comes from the mystery - even in the name. "Ewan Ko"
and i guess this just doesn't go for my mom. i know that mom's everywhere make magic in their kitchens even without putting a name to the dish that comes out for supper.
but then again, how do they name dishes?
from what i've observed, naming dishes is based pretty much on:
1. the ingredients, or how the meal was cooked, or simply what the dish is, such as fish n' chips which is exactly what it is fish and chips,
2. the naming person/restaurant/body, such as something like the 19th hole special, or Crazy Bonito's Spicy Wings which is a combination of a name and our element in number one.
3. a cultural name or a recipe that's associated with a particular culture or country, such as siomai from the Chinese, or maki from the Japanese, afritada, caldereta, menudo from the Spanish - i think - which also includes adobo, sinigang, and nilaga from our own Pinoy culture, es cargo from the French, and hmm... where do French fries come from again?
yes, simply put the name isn't all as important as the meal itself :) a rose is still a rose by any other name. but then again in making a menu takes that creativity and spice to attract consumers to buying meals. the thing that i'm amazed at are the brand names that have seeped into the the colloquial naming of a food, much like brand names for verbs like Kodak or Xerox. try Spam for canned meatloaf and you'll pretty much get the same reaction from most people.
like i said, i'll keep calling them Mom's "Ewan Ko" Meals. i just find it amusing to call them that. siya nga naman, ewan ko naman kung ano ba talaga yan. Its still magic when it comes out of mom's kitchen.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
on confirmation and cynicism
i've lived under the assumptions of the roman catholic religion since i was baptized into it some 20 years ago, or so it should be. but here i am 21, have not yet been confirmed, and pretty much boarderlining between non-practicing and heretic by the terms.
children should be confirmed usually when they're about 11 or twelve. but during my grade school days, unlike when we recieved holy communion, it was pulled out and cancelled for our batch onwards - i think it was because the kids should be confirmed at thier own parishes or something. during highschool, they gave a one time big time ceremony for all those who weren't confirmed yet. and i dont exactly remember why i wasn't able to sign up. so here i am, seemingly shy to get slaped in the face by some bishop at over 20 years old.
what's about confirmation anyway? its a confirmation of your beliefs in jesus christ, the lord and his catholic church. remember the apostles creed? i hardly do, and don't exactly pledge to all of the last part either. simply put, i'm not exactly ready to confirm my faith in the catholic church. and if it were up to me, i'd leave it there.
but from what i know, i need to be "confirmed" to get married, and i guess pretty much some other ceremonies of the church. but then again, i have no intentions of getting married, especially under the catholic church.
i dont even want to get married in the philippines because the law doesn't provide for divorce - only a long and die hard process for an annulment. i do get the "whatever the has been joined together in the lord's name shall and should not be separated", but the thing is *snap snap* it doesn't happen most of the time, and a way out is the answer instead of the kind of suffering that leads you to numbness, crasy-ness, a shriveled body, or even death.
how many women have been cheated on or battered by the shit of husbands they have? why the hell is our society so screwed up in favor of the male species and their pleasures, usually (acknowedgenig the fact that there are also some bitches who cheat, but then again that's more of a taboo where men are the more accepted cheats), or accomodating the fact that women (and yes, men) prostitute themselves if not cheaply, expensively, because of love or poverty? damn't! why do so many people have to get hurt? then, why would it be a sin to end a marriage if all the other sins are working there anyway?
you see? i'm really not up for confirmaiton.
children should be confirmed usually when they're about 11 or twelve. but during my grade school days, unlike when we recieved holy communion, it was pulled out and cancelled for our batch onwards - i think it was because the kids should be confirmed at thier own parishes or something. during highschool, they gave a one time big time ceremony for all those who weren't confirmed yet. and i dont exactly remember why i wasn't able to sign up. so here i am, seemingly shy to get slaped in the face by some bishop at over 20 years old.
what's about confirmation anyway? its a confirmation of your beliefs in jesus christ, the lord and his catholic church. remember the apostles creed? i hardly do, and don't exactly pledge to all of the last part either. simply put, i'm not exactly ready to confirm my faith in the catholic church. and if it were up to me, i'd leave it there.
but from what i know, i need to be "confirmed" to get married, and i guess pretty much some other ceremonies of the church. but then again, i have no intentions of getting married, especially under the catholic church.
i dont even want to get married in the philippines because the law doesn't provide for divorce - only a long and die hard process for an annulment. i do get the "whatever the has been joined together in the lord's name shall and should not be separated", but the thing is *snap snap* it doesn't happen most of the time, and a way out is the answer instead of the kind of suffering that leads you to numbness, crasy-ness, a shriveled body, or even death.
how many women have been cheated on or battered by the shit of husbands they have? why the hell is our society so screwed up in favor of the male species and their pleasures, usually (acknowedgenig the fact that there are also some bitches who cheat, but then again that's more of a taboo where men are the more accepted cheats), or accomodating the fact that women (and yes, men) prostitute themselves if not cheaply, expensively, because of love or poverty? damn't! why do so many people have to get hurt? then, why would it be a sin to end a marriage if all the other sins are working there anyway?
you see? i'm really not up for confirmaiton.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
on confirmation and cynicism
i've lived under the assumptions of the roman catholic religion since i was baptized into it some 20 years ago, or so it should be. but here i am 21, have not yet been confirmed, and pretty much boarderlining between non-practicing and heretic by the terms.
children should be confirmed usually when they're about 11 or twelve. but during my grade school days, unlike when we recieved holy communion, it was pulled out and cancelled for our batch onwards - i think it was because the kids should be confirmed at thier own parishes or something. during highschool, they gave a one time big time ceremony for all those who weren't confirmed yet. and i dont exactly remember why i wasn't able to sign up. so here i am, seemingly shy to get slaped in the face by some bishop at over 20 years old.
what's about confirmation anyway? its a confirmation of your beliefs in jesus christ, the lord and his catholic church. remember the apostles creed? i hardly do, and don't exactly pledge to all of the last part either. simply put, i'm not exactly ready to confirm my faith in the catholic church. and if it were up to me, i'd leave it there.
but from what i know, i need to be "confirmed" to get married, and i guess pretty much some other ceremonies of the church. but then again, i have no intentions of getting married, especially under the catholic church.
i dont even want to get married in the philippines because the law doesn't provide for divorce - only a long and die hard process for an annulment. i do get the "whatever the has been joined together in the lord's name shall and should not be separated", but the thing is *snap snap* it doesn't happen most of the time, and a way out is the answer instead of the kind of suffering that leads you to numbness, crasy-ness, a shriveled body, or even death.
how many women have been cheated on or battered by the shit of husbands they have? why the hell is our society so screwed up in favor of the male species and their pleasures, usually (acknowedgenig the fact that there are also some bitches who cheat, but then again that's more of a taboo where men are the more accepted cheats), or accomodating the fact that women (and yes, men) prostitute themselves if not cheaply, expensively, because of love or poverty? damn't! why do so many people have to get hurt? then, why would it be a sin to end a marriage if all the other sins are working there anyway?
you see? i'm really not up for confirmaiton.
children should be confirmed usually when they're about 11 or twelve. but during my grade school days, unlike when we recieved holy communion, it was pulled out and cancelled for our batch onwards - i think it was because the kids should be confirmed at thier own parishes or something. during highschool, they gave a one time big time ceremony for all those who weren't confirmed yet. and i dont exactly remember why i wasn't able to sign up. so here i am, seemingly shy to get slaped in the face by some bishop at over 20 years old.
what's about confirmation anyway? its a confirmation of your beliefs in jesus christ, the lord and his catholic church. remember the apostles creed? i hardly do, and don't exactly pledge to all of the last part either. simply put, i'm not exactly ready to confirm my faith in the catholic church. and if it were up to me, i'd leave it there.
but from what i know, i need to be "confirmed" to get married, and i guess pretty much some other ceremonies of the church. but then again, i have no intentions of getting married, especially under the catholic church.
i dont even want to get married in the philippines because the law doesn't provide for divorce - only a long and die hard process for an annulment. i do get the "whatever the has been joined together in the lord's name shall and should not be separated", but the thing is *snap snap* it doesn't happen most of the time, and a way out is the answer instead of the kind of suffering that leads you to numbness, crasy-ness, a shriveled body, or even death.
how many women have been cheated on or battered by the shit of husbands they have? why the hell is our society so screwed up in favor of the male species and their pleasures, usually (acknowedgenig the fact that there are also some bitches who cheat, but then again that's more of a taboo where men are the more accepted cheats), or accomodating the fact that women (and yes, men) prostitute themselves if not cheaply, expensively, because of love or poverty? damn't! why do so many people have to get hurt? then, why would it be a sin to end a marriage if all the other sins are working there anyway?
you see? i'm really not up for confirmaiton.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
i dont give out testimonials because i'm lazy to write them
very simply put and very much my final statement on friendster testimonials aka comments, as updated.
what is it about a testimonal that so many people want one? testimonials are simply someone's oppinion on something, in this context that would be you (and me). the credibility part is something that's relative, but for advertizing it would be the most important thing aside from saying that the product is all well.
but soliciting for testimonials about yourself from the people that add you up as friends, is much like a bad politician soliciting good publicity from the media. i'm not saying you're all bad eggs, just simply why crave for the recognition?
having someone else say good things about you to someone else is a good gesture done spontaneously and unselfishly (most of the time). and it feels good to know that people, or at least someone, thinks good of you. but these are things you dont solicit, ask recognition for, to spread all over friendster. and i'd personally tell that person face to face.
yes, i am pretty much ticked off by people who ask me for a "testi". first point: can't you read?! my profile explicitly says i don't give out testimonials. and since i sarted on friendster, i haven't let one pass me. i dont even know what the screen looks like when you write someone a testimonial. and second: i am lazy to write them...
what's with the reciprocity? you write for me and i write one for you? whats the point? if you want to say something good about me, fine, be my guest. i only have less than 30, and i've been on firendster since 2003. and the first few ones must have probably expected one from me as well. but to ask for one in return is no good deed anymore when returned. why can't people say good things about you and expect nothing in return?
what is it about a testimonal that so many people want one? testimonials are simply someone's oppinion on something, in this context that would be you (and me). the credibility part is something that's relative, but for advertizing it would be the most important thing aside from saying that the product is all well.
but soliciting for testimonials about yourself from the people that add you up as friends, is much like a bad politician soliciting good publicity from the media. i'm not saying you're all bad eggs, just simply why crave for the recognition?
having someone else say good things about you to someone else is a good gesture done spontaneously and unselfishly (most of the time). and it feels good to know that people, or at least someone, thinks good of you. but these are things you dont solicit, ask recognition for, to spread all over friendster. and i'd personally tell that person face to face.
yes, i am pretty much ticked off by people who ask me for a "testi". first point: can't you read?! my profile explicitly says i don't give out testimonials. and since i sarted on friendster, i haven't let one pass me. i dont even know what the screen looks like when you write someone a testimonial. and second: i am lazy to write them...
what's with the reciprocity? you write for me and i write one for you? whats the point? if you want to say something good about me, fine, be my guest. i only have less than 30, and i've been on firendster since 2003. and the first few ones must have probably expected one from me as well. but to ask for one in return is no good deed anymore when returned. why can't people say good things about you and expect nothing in return?
Friday, September 14, 2007
i dont give out testimonials because i'm lazy to write them
very simply put and very much my final statement on friendster testimonials aka comments, as updated.
what is it about a testimonal that so many people want one? testimonials are simply someone's oppinion on something, in this context that would be you (and me). the credibility part is something that's relative, but for advertizing it would be the most important thing aside from saying that the product is all well.
but soliciting for testimonials about yourself from the people that add you up as friends, is much like a bad politician soliciting good publicity from the media. i'm not saying you're all bad eggs, just simply why crave for the recognition?
having someone else say good things about you to someone else is a good gesture done spontaneously and unselfishly (most of the time). and it feels good to know that people, or at least someone, thinks good of you. but these are things you dont solicit, ask recognition for, to spread all over friendster. and i'd personally tell that person face to face.
yes, i am pretty much ticked off by people who ask me for a "testi". first point: can't you read?! my profile explicitly says i don't give out testimonials. and since i sarted on friendster, i haven't let one pass me. i dont even know what the screen looks like when you write someone a testimonial. and second: i am lazy to write them...
what's with the reciprocity? you write for me and i write one for you? whats the point? if you want to say something good about me, fine, be my guest. i only have less than 30, and i've been on firendster since 2003. and the first few ones must have probably expected one from me as well. but to ask for one in return is no good deed anymore when returned. why can't people say good things about you and expect nothing in return?
what is it about a testimonal that so many people want one? testimonials are simply someone's oppinion on something, in this context that would be you (and me). the credibility part is something that's relative, but for advertizing it would be the most important thing aside from saying that the product is all well.
but soliciting for testimonials about yourself from the people that add you up as friends, is much like a bad politician soliciting good publicity from the media. i'm not saying you're all bad eggs, just simply why crave for the recognition?
having someone else say good things about you to someone else is a good gesture done spontaneously and unselfishly (most of the time). and it feels good to know that people, or at least someone, thinks good of you. but these are things you dont solicit, ask recognition for, to spread all over friendster. and i'd personally tell that person face to face.
yes, i am pretty much ticked off by people who ask me for a "testi". first point: can't you read?! my profile explicitly says i don't give out testimonials. and since i sarted on friendster, i haven't let one pass me. i dont even know what the screen looks like when you write someone a testimonial. and second: i am lazy to write them...
what's with the reciprocity? you write for me and i write one for you? whats the point? if you want to say something good about me, fine, be my guest. i only have less than 30, and i've been on firendster since 2003. and the first few ones must have probably expected one from me as well. but to ask for one in return is no good deed anymore when returned. why can't people say good things about you and expect nothing in return?
Monday, September 03, 2007
things to think about...
...or at least some things that have crossed my mind enough for me to write them down. leftovers maybe, trivial, but thought provoking.
why do cowboys ride on horses? and why call them cow-boys (and gals) anyway? i'd pay a buck to see them actually ride a cow and get somewhere, but thing is, they don't. why not call them "horseboys"? i guess its probably because they tend to cows... logical yes. next topic.
i like the Chippy TV ads. they're just so hillarious! *laughs* those are the kind of commercials that are not bothering to see every other commercial break.
speaking about Chippy, why is it that this particular Jack and Jill variant is what the older people - my mom - equate with junk food. given that barbeque flavored corn chips shaped into pinky-thin flat rectangles is in fact junk food, Chippy has become the other name for everything else. on my way to the grocery, "o, bili ka din ng mga chippy ha." Jack and Jill must be so proud.
okay, ok, oki, awki, K, okeish, gosh! in how many ways can you spell or tell someone that you're alright? this is no permutation question. i have noticed that depending on who i'm talking to, i get a different version of alright everytime, if not most of the time. anything else i'm missing?
damn't, what is with faded jeans?! eversince they became a fad all of a sudden about a few years ago, they've been all over the place.
gone are the days when i could easily walk into a store and buy a pair of jeans for myself at presto. but then again i fail to mention a large hip and waist size, with a little needed height. nonetheless, jeans shopping for me has never been the same. when i shop for a pair of jeans, its pretty simple: preferably not stretch, long pants, boot leg to flared (its a big feet thing), usually not to low cut ('coz low cut jeans are sized for the waist, but don't exctly reach it), and not faded. ok, not so simple after all.
but then again, why in the world would people find worn out, stone-, pebble-, or whatever magic stone-washed jeans better than jeans that you'll wear out anyway? is it simply an excuse so new jeans and old jeans look the same and everyone spends less?
i get the fad thing, but after six or so years and i still walk into stores with all the maong pants merchandise sprouting marks of clorox and dye on the thighs, knees, and behind. tsk!
now, embroidered jeans is something else entirely as much as beaded ones...
free samples! don't be caught dead sampling freebies at the grocery! *laughs out loud* *points to slef* yes! i am guilty of indulging in these small wonders found in small plastic cups if not on the end of a toothpick. what's a boring day at the grocery without some new variant of some seasoning, frozen meat, or flavor of a drink, new added ingredients to a chocolate bar... the list goes on.
but i was warned that its pretty much "un-cool" to be caught "free-sampling". why i ask? i really have no idea, but maybe it has something to do with the you-look-like-a-beggar thing some bitch posh people have their minds set to.
to that, i say neigh. now that's alot of crap. free sampling happens to be a very effective strategy for marketing and sales as much as it simple brings people over to the exhibit. i like taking in free samples, there's no harm in that. after all, the best things in life are free, or so they say.
a life without math. the last time i had a math class was in first year college, that's 2003 minus my computer science and statistics classes. since then, math has pretty much been out of my life. which i'm finding isnt pretty good at all.
math and i aren't exactly friends, i did get through it though - meaning i passed math in school well enough - but still math and i dont exacly have a future going. i did like geometry though, algebra was fine when sir itoralba came into the picture, and trigonomery... well... i hardly remember what a cosine is. now calculus was something i was never able to touch.
since the last time i needed to think about numbers, i've put math aside and left all the computing to everyone else if not a calculator. thing is, i've noticed i've become an obsolete counting machine myself, and find myself needing more fingers than toes. now really, that is not good.
resolution: compute more... and spend less... *laughs*
math and i aren't exactly friends, i did get through it though - meaning i passed math in school well enough - but still math and i dont exacly have a future going. i did like geometry though, algebra was fine when sir itoralba came into the picture, and trigonomery... well... i hardly remember what a cosine is. now calculus was something i was never able to touch.
since the last time i needed to think about numbers, i've put math aside and left all the computing to everyone else if not a calculator. thing is, i've noticed i've become an obsolete counting machine myself, and find myself needing more fingers than toes. now really, that is not good.
resolution: compute more... and spend less... *laughs*
groupwork. i hate groupwork. i guess i mostly and always have. its something i've been ranting about since god knows when gradeshool until i graduated. i guess its probably because i get pissed of when i usually end up doing the tail or foot of the work: summing up crappy researches without sources and reports without much said. whoever said groupwork brings out skills like teamwork didn't hit it exactly right. however, it does bring out the need to tolerate and pass of what shit other people give you. tsk.. or maybe its because i'm too damn perfectionist. we all know that shouldn't be the case, but its not my fault i always want things done right.
tsk. then there's the obstacle that the group can't get together somewhere they can meet well... (see next)
conducive meeting places. these are surely places with enough light, a table to write, and enough seating for everyone to see, and not so loud so you could hear what's going on. certainly not at those restaurants with low lighting, or those rooms without tables. logistics people, or at least people who call meetings should rememeber this. so far, the conducive meeting place i've been around campus is Mcdo 2nd floor. any other suggestions?
writing and talking at the same time? why is it so difficult to write and talk at the same time? it's either you write, or talk, but to put them together is getting the less of one.
ah. tapos na ang usapan. why is it that when you're in a conversation with someone through SMS, and either of you reply with "ah" or "oh" it seems the conversation ends there. unless of course something else follows.
why is siomai cheap? at LB you can get 3 pieces of siomai at Papu's for P12, if you want rice with it, that'll be P16. at Lowata Loka at LB Square that meal would be P16 as well. at Tita's along Raymundo you'd get the 3 pieces of siomai with rice for P11, only the siomai is fried.
so, what makes siomai so cheap? maybe ground beef, egg, some extender, and seasonings wrapped in molo wrapper is pretty less costing after all. but then again, it takes more than money to come up with a great recipie that sells like hotcakes.
a drop by the dorm on a bad day, takes the pain away. that's exactly how i used to feel back then when we were all still students and most of the dormates whom i had lived with for a year were still here...
god, i miss those days, those opportunites. even if it wasn't such a bad day, being there always made me feel happy, and at home, never an awkward moment with friends you know that care, and no place has made me feel like that.
cheating gives you no sense of accomplishment. 'nuf said.
i miss you on vacation. when you're on vacation, the kind of vacation that spells "getaway" or "fun in the sun", or "field trip" for just a few days, do you honestly miss the people you leave behind? i don't think so.
i remember some... last year as i was packing for a school field trip, and before i left i told my mom that i would miss her. she hugged me, smiled and said in taglish, "no you won't, you'll be busy having fun." that pretty much summed it up. she was absolutely right.
although i would think of her sometimes, but yes, i was pretty much preoccupied. the thing is, she didn't blame me. and it felt good to know that she wanted me to have a good time.
so, when you're on vacation, its the people you leave that miss you...
translation: dami damihan mo na yang pasalubong pasalubong!! *laughs*
exercises in futility. when you say something is futile, it's simply a waste of your time. the classic example for me is getting emotional over something so trivial or important but eventually solution-able.
yes, i know i should do away with that. but there are times when i just can't help it, and i feel myself fume up and the high pressure shoots up rocket fast. the bad thing is that sometimes it feels good. it feels good to let it out, to argue that you're right, especially when you've felt the feelings for quite a time. but when the tide has passed, i realize that i've only caused myself pain and anger and cost myself tears and my steady and strong reputation.
i was told once to never let anyone see me sweat, my dad obviously, which is right sometimes, and very effective in cutting the costs over exercises in futility. although in a bottle pop way, its also bad to keep it all in to let it burst sometime out of the blue giving no one a clue (hey, that rhymes).
but i'm the sucker who usually gives in and shoots up if not bursts into tears. i hate that.
super cellphone. i'm not refering to the latest technology in mobile phones, or the 3G that has only recently been enabled by the brats of telcos un der an unaccessable price for a critical mass. i'm talking about when your mobile phone becomes your savior in the most important moments.
mostly times when you're bored, look pathetic enough waiting, or especially at times when you want to avoid someone. all you need to do is bring out your mobile phone, and presto! you look like you're answering a message or busy with a game, and for all people care, you're busy enough to mind the stares. pretty neat, huh? but this is no TV ad.
the cellular phone has allowed us to connect to people, but ironically it also provides us with the defensive mechanisms much like a wall to avoid communicaiton as well.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
things to think about...
...or at least some things that have crossed my mind enough for me to write them down. leftovers maybe, trivial, but thought provoking.
why do cowboys ride on horses? and why call them cow-boys (and gals) anyway? i'd pay a buck to see them actually ride a cow and get somewhere, but thing is, they don't. why not call them "horseboys"? i guess its probably because they tend to cows... logical yes. next topic.
i like the Chippy TV ads. they're just so hillarious! *laughs* those are the kind of commercials that are not bothering to see every other commercial break.
speaking about Chippy, why is it that this particular Jack and Jill variant is what the older people - my mom - equate with junk food. given that barbeque flavored corn chips shaped into pinky-thin flat rectangles is in fact junk food, Chippy has become the other name for everything else. on my way to the grocery, "o, bili ka din ng mga chippy ha." Jack and Jill must be so proud.
okay, ok, oki, awki, K, okeish, gosh! in how many ways can you spell or tell someone that you're alright? this is no permutation question. i have noticed that depending on who i'm talking to, i get a different version of alright everytime, if not most of the time. anything else i'm missing?
damn't, what is with faded jeans?! eversince they became a fad all of a sudden about a few years ago, they've been all over the place.
gone are the days when i could easily walk into a store and buy a pair of jeans for myself at presto. but then again i fail to mention a large hip and waist size, with a little needed height. nonetheless, jeans shopping for me has never been the same. when i shop for a pair of jeans, its pretty simple: preferably not stretch, long pants, boot leg to flared (its a big feet thing), usually not to low cut ('coz low cut jeans are sized for the waist, but don't exctly reach it), and not faded. ok, not so simple after all.
but then again, why in the world would people find worn out, stone-, pebble-, or whatever magic stone-washed jeans better than jeans that you'll wear out anyway? is it simply an excuse so new jeans and old jeans look the same and everyone spends less?
i get the fad thing, but after six or so years and i still walk into stores with all the maong pants merchandise sprouting marks of clorox and dye on the thighs, knees, and behind. tsk!
now, embroidered jeans is something else entirely as much as beaded ones...
free samples! don't be caught dead sampling freebies at the grocery! *laughs out loud* *points to slef* yes! i am guilty of indulging in these small wonders found in small plastic cups if not on the end of a toothpick. what's a boring day at the grocery without some new variant of some seasoning, frozen meat, or flavor of a drink, new added ingredients to a chocolate bar... the list goes on.
but i was warned that its pretty much "un-cool" to be caught "free-sampling". why i ask? i really have no idea, but maybe it has something to do with the you-look-like-a-beggar thing some bitch posh people have their minds set to.
to that, i say neigh. now that's alot of crap. free sampling happens to be a very effective strategy for marketing and sales as much as it simple brings people over to the exhibit. i like taking in free samples, there's no harm in that. after all, the best things in life are free, or so they say.
a life without math. the last time i had a math class was in first year college, that's 2003 minus my computer science and statistics classes. since then, math has pretty much been out of my life. which i'm finding isnt pretty good at all.
math and i aren't exactly friends, i did get through it though - meaning i passed math in school well enough - but still math and i dont exacly have a future going. i did like geometry though, algebra was fine when sir itoralba came into the picture, and trigonomery... well... i hardly remember what a cosine is. now calculus was something i was never able to touch.
since the last time i needed to think about numbers, i've put math aside and left all the computing to everyone else if not a calculator. thing is, i've noticed i've become an obsolete counting machine myself, and find myself needing more fingers than toes. now really, that is not good.
resolution: compute more... and spend less... *laughs*
math and i aren't exactly friends, i did get through it though - meaning i passed math in school well enough - but still math and i dont exacly have a future going. i did like geometry though, algebra was fine when sir itoralba came into the picture, and trigonomery... well... i hardly remember what a cosine is. now calculus was something i was never able to touch.
since the last time i needed to think about numbers, i've put math aside and left all the computing to everyone else if not a calculator. thing is, i've noticed i've become an obsolete counting machine myself, and find myself needing more fingers than toes. now really, that is not good.
resolution: compute more... and spend less... *laughs*
groupwork. i hate groupwork. i guess i mostly and always have. its something i've been ranting about since god knows when gradeshool until i graduated. i guess its probably because i get pissed of when i usually end up doing the tail or foot of the work: summing up crappy researches without sources and reports without much said. whoever said groupwork brings out skills like teamwork didn't hit it exactly right. however, it does bring out the need to tolerate and pass of what shit other people give you. tsk.. or maybe its because i'm too damn perfectionist. we all know that shouldn't be the case, but its not my fault i always want things done right.
tsk. then there's the obstacle that the group can't get together somewhere they can meet well... (see next)
conducive meeting places. these are surely places with enough light, a table to write, and enough seating for everyone to see, and not so loud so you could hear what's going on. certainly not at those restaurants with low lighting, or those rooms without tables. logistics people, or at least people who call meetings should rememeber this. so far, the conducive meeting place i've been around campus is Mcdo 2nd floor. any other suggestions?
writing and talking at the same time? why is it so difficult to write and talk at the same time? it's either you write, or talk, but to put them together is getting the less of one.
ah. tapos na ang usapan. why is it that when you're in a conversation with someone through SMS, and either of you reply with "ah" or "oh" it seems the conversation ends there. unless of course something else follows.
why is siomai cheap? at LB you can get 3 pieces of siomai at Papu's for P12, if you want rice with it, that'll be P16. at Lowata Loka at LB Square that meal would be P16 as well. at Tita's along Raymundo you'd get the 3 pieces of siomai with rice for P11, only the siomai is fried.
so, what makes siomai so cheap? maybe ground beef, egg, some extender, and seasonings wrapped in molo wrapper is pretty less costing after all. but then again, it takes more than money to come up with a great recipie that sells like hotcakes.
a drop by the dorm on a bad day, takes the pain away. that's exactly how i used to feel back then when we were all still students and most of the dormates whom i had lived with for a year were still here...
god, i miss those days, those opportunites. even if it wasn't such a bad day, being there always made me feel happy, and at home, never an awkward moment with friends you know that care, and no place has made me feel like that.
cheating gives you no sense of accomplishment. 'nuf said.
i miss you on vacation. when you're on vacation, the kind of vacation that spells "getaway" or "fun in the sun", or "field trip" for just a few days, do you honestly miss the people you leave behind? i don't think so.
i remember some... last year as i was packing for a school field trip, and before i left i told my mom that i would miss her. she hugged me, smiled and said in taglish, "no you won't, you'll be busy having fun." that pretty much summed it up. she was absolutely right.
although i would think of her sometimes, but yes, i was pretty much preoccupied. the thing is, she didn't blame me. and it felt good to know that she wanted me to have a good time.
so, when you're on vacation, its the people you leave that miss you...
translation: dami damihan mo na yang pasalubong pasalubong!! *laughs*
exercises in futility. when you say something is futile, it's simply a waste of your time. the classic example for me is getting emotional over something so trivial or important but eventually solution-able.
yes, i know i should do away with that. but there are times when i just can't help it, and i feel myself fume up and the high pressure shoots up rocket fast. the bad thing is that sometimes it feels good. it feels good to let it out, to argue that you're right, especially when you've felt the feelings for quite a time. but when the tide has passed, i realize that i've only caused myself pain and anger and cost myself tears and my steady and strong reputation.
i was told once to never let anyone see me sweat, my dad obviously, which is right sometimes, and very effective in cutting the costs over exercises in futility. although in a bottle pop way, its also bad to keep it all in to let it burst sometime out of the blue giving no one a clue (hey, that rhymes).
but i'm the sucker who usually gives in and shoots up if not bursts into tears. i hate that.
super cellphone. i'm not refering to the latest technology in mobile phones, or the 3G that has only recently been enabled by the brats of telcos un der an unaccessable price for a critical mass. i'm talking about when your mobile phone becomes your savior in the most important moments.
mostly times when you're bored, look pathetic enough waiting, or especially at times when you want to avoid someone. all you need to do is bring out your mobile phone, and presto! you look like you're answering a message or busy with a game, and for all people care, you're busy enough to mind the stares. pretty neat, huh? but this is no TV ad.
the cellular phone has allowed us to connect to people, but ironically it also provides us with the defensive mechanisms much like a wall to avoid communicaiton as well.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Prelude
...almost but not exactly.
after a long hiatus from blogging, i get my browser to blogger and my fingers typing. i realize that this is indeed something i have missed. and only the timeline gives away the fact that this signals another chapter of sorts.
but i'd like to think of this entry as a prelude, an introduction, a beginning maybe, to all the things that i have put off doing for so long - and not so long - , this being one.
i've put off doing alot of things over the past years, tracking back from way back high school. i'm just glad that karen hasn't come knocking at my door asking for her copy of my Izara story yet, glad as well that my teeth aren't worse case scenario. i am regretting however that my crafts-to-do box is still full, and that i haven't touched anything crafty for about counting to more than a year. adding the drafts saved but unpublished makes no relieving feeling.
the thing about putting things off, is that you never get to do them. never say never, you say? apparently that is not the case here. you see, when you put things off, supposedly for a while, the assumption is that you'll get more free time later. wrong! the truth is, when you do get that parcel of free time, you don't get to do [thing you've put off], you either: forget, slack off, or return to square one (the part where you put it off all over again) with or without your knowing of course. then something else comes along, and you have better things to do.
i guess that comes with age as well, and over the years, this has happened to me more than my fingers and toes can all count. regret. that is what it ends up spelled out as.
but then again, regret is exactly how i feel about the things i didn't get to do. as i've recently come to realize, there is so much more that i want to do, that i want to be involved in, if only i wasn't so laid back or to comfortable with my time or disposition.
that's past regret. i once said that i wouldn't turn down the opportunities that come my way, and on my count minus a few, i've stayed true to that. here i am tied down till December in a place that's too comfortable to leave, too close for the once known comfort, and too pinned down for someone like me to grow - on my own.
because there is so much more... i want to be on radio - broadcasting with a comerical FM station, i want to sing, i want to be involved in RockEd, i want to take trips around the country for work. and there it is right in front of my face, a crumpled up twenty peso bill. i'm gonna need alot of money.
but these are also the times when i wished i had been involved with more things than myself, projects, working with people, actually getting up and running after the chances, instead of taking the chance to wait. it spells regret all over again.
but this isn't about regret. its about moving from this. moving from just a start.
and then there's the things that i should and might as well start moving my butt to. count in exercise - a sport maybe (although its something i've given up since tennis) - , and cooking more than just the special meals. after all, i've always wanted to cook ala iron chef even just for pretend.
self-inspirational and motivating, hopefully enough to give me a head start, this be a prelude to the the things that i've loved doing, the things that i haven't done, and the things that i should start doing. because there are more things to life than what i've gotten used to.
after a long hiatus from blogging, i get my browser to blogger and my fingers typing. i realize that this is indeed something i have missed. and only the timeline gives away the fact that this signals another chapter of sorts.
but i'd like to think of this entry as a prelude, an introduction, a beginning maybe, to all the things that i have put off doing for so long - and not so long - , this being one.
i've put off doing alot of things over the past years, tracking back from way back high school. i'm just glad that karen hasn't come knocking at my door asking for her copy of my Izara story yet, glad as well that my teeth aren't worse case scenario. i am regretting however that my crafts-to-do box is still full, and that i haven't touched anything crafty for about counting to more than a year. adding the drafts saved but unpublished makes no relieving feeling.
the thing about putting things off, is that you never get to do them. never say never, you say? apparently that is not the case here. you see, when you put things off, supposedly for a while, the assumption is that you'll get more free time later. wrong! the truth is, when you do get that parcel of free time, you don't get to do [thing you've put off], you either: forget, slack off, or return to square one (the part where you put it off all over again) with or without your knowing of course. then something else comes along, and you have better things to do.
i guess that comes with age as well, and over the years, this has happened to me more than my fingers and toes can all count. regret. that is what it ends up spelled out as.
but then again, regret is exactly how i feel about the things i didn't get to do. as i've recently come to realize, there is so much more that i want to do, that i want to be involved in, if only i wasn't so laid back or to comfortable with my time or disposition.
that's past regret. i once said that i wouldn't turn down the opportunities that come my way, and on my count minus a few, i've stayed true to that. here i am tied down till December in a place that's too comfortable to leave, too close for the once known comfort, and too pinned down for someone like me to grow - on my own.
because there is so much more... i want to be on radio - broadcasting with a comerical FM station, i want to sing, i want to be involved in RockEd, i want to take trips around the country for work. and there it is right in front of my face, a crumpled up twenty peso bill. i'm gonna need alot of money.
but these are also the times when i wished i had been involved with more things than myself, projects, working with people, actually getting up and running after the chances, instead of taking the chance to wait. it spells regret all over again.
but this isn't about regret. its about moving from this. moving from just a start.
and then there's the things that i should and might as well start moving my butt to. count in exercise - a sport maybe (although its something i've given up since tennis) - , and cooking more than just the special meals. after all, i've always wanted to cook ala iron chef even just for pretend.
self-inspirational and motivating, hopefully enough to give me a head start, this be a prelude to the the things that i've loved doing, the things that i haven't done, and the things that i should start doing. because there are more things to life than what i've gotten used to.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Prelude
...almost but not exactly.
after a long hiatus from blogging, i get my browser to blogger and my fingers typing. i realize that this is indeed something i have missed. and only the timeline gives away the fact that this signals another chapter of sorts.
but i'd like to think of this entry as a prelude, an introduction, a beginning maybe, to all the things that i have put off doing for so long - and not so long - , this being one.
i've put off doing alot of things over the past years, tracking back from way back high school. i'm just glad that karen hasn't come knocking at my door asking for her copy of my Izara story yet, glad as well that my teeth aren't worse case scenario. i am regretting however that my crafts-to-do box is still full, and that i haven't touched anything crafty for about counting to more than a year. adding the drafts saved but unpublished makes no relieving feeling.
the thing about putting things off, is that you never get to do them. never say never, you say? apparently that is not the case here. you see, when you put things off, supposedly for a while, the assumption is that you'll get more free time later. wrong! the truth is, when you do get that parcel of free time, you don't get to do [thing you've put off], you either: forget, slack off, or return to square one (the part where you put it off all over again) with or without your knowing of course. then something else comes along, and you have better things to do.
i guess that comes with age as well, and over the years, this has happened to me more than my fingers and toes can all count. regret. that is what it ends up spelled out as.
but then again, regret is exactly how i feel about the things i didn't get to do. as i've recently come to realize, there is so much more that i want to do, that i want to be involved in, if only i wasn't so laid back or to comfortable with my time or disposition.
that's past regret. i once said that i wouldn't turn down the opportunities that come my way, and on my count minus a few, i've stayed true to that. here i am tied down till December in a place that's too comfortable to leave, too close for the once known comfort, and too pinned down for someone like me to grow - on my own.
because there is so much more... i want to be on radio - broadcasting with a comerical FM station, i want to sing, i want to be involved in RockEd, i want to take trips around the country for work. and there it is right in front of my face, a crumpled up twenty peso bill. i'm gonna need alot of money.
but these are also the times when i wished i had been involved with more things than myself, projects, working with people, actually getting up and running after the chances, instead of taking the chance to wait. it spells regret all over again.
but this isn't about regret. its about moving from this. moving from just a start.
and then there's the things that i should and might as well start moving my butt to. count in exercise - a sport maybe (although its something i've given up since tennis) - , and cooking more than just the special meals. after all, i've always wanted to cook ala iron chef even just for pretend.
self-inspirational and motivating, hopefully enough to give me a head start, this be a prelude to the the things that i've loved doing, the things that i haven't done, and the things that i should start doing. because there are more things to life than what i've gotten used to.
after a long hiatus from blogging, i get my browser to blogger and my fingers typing. i realize that this is indeed something i have missed. and only the timeline gives away the fact that this signals another chapter of sorts.
but i'd like to think of this entry as a prelude, an introduction, a beginning maybe, to all the things that i have put off doing for so long - and not so long - , this being one.
i've put off doing alot of things over the past years, tracking back from way back high school. i'm just glad that karen hasn't come knocking at my door asking for her copy of my Izara story yet, glad as well that my teeth aren't worse case scenario. i am regretting however that my crafts-to-do box is still full, and that i haven't touched anything crafty for about counting to more than a year. adding the drafts saved but unpublished makes no relieving feeling.
the thing about putting things off, is that you never get to do them. never say never, you say? apparently that is not the case here. you see, when you put things off, supposedly for a while, the assumption is that you'll get more free time later. wrong! the truth is, when you do get that parcel of free time, you don't get to do [thing you've put off], you either: forget, slack off, or return to square one (the part where you put it off all over again) with or without your knowing of course. then something else comes along, and you have better things to do.
i guess that comes with age as well, and over the years, this has happened to me more than my fingers and toes can all count. regret. that is what it ends up spelled out as.
but then again, regret is exactly how i feel about the things i didn't get to do. as i've recently come to realize, there is so much more that i want to do, that i want to be involved in, if only i wasn't so laid back or to comfortable with my time or disposition.
that's past regret. i once said that i wouldn't turn down the opportunities that come my way, and on my count minus a few, i've stayed true to that. here i am tied down till December in a place that's too comfortable to leave, too close for the once known comfort, and too pinned down for someone like me to grow - on my own.
because there is so much more... i want to be on radio - broadcasting with a comerical FM station, i want to sing, i want to be involved in RockEd, i want to take trips around the country for work. and there it is right in front of my face, a crumpled up twenty peso bill. i'm gonna need alot of money.
but these are also the times when i wished i had been involved with more things than myself, projects, working with people, actually getting up and running after the chances, instead of taking the chance to wait. it spells regret all over again.
but this isn't about regret. its about moving from this. moving from just a start.
and then there's the things that i should and might as well start moving my butt to. count in exercise - a sport maybe (although its something i've given up since tennis) - , and cooking more than just the special meals. after all, i've always wanted to cook ala iron chef even just for pretend.
self-inspirational and motivating, hopefully enough to give me a head start, this be a prelude to the the things that i've loved doing, the things that i haven't done, and the things that i should start doing. because there are more things to life than what i've gotten used to.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Random Acts of Kindness
As the jeep came to a stop, basked in the morning sunshine in front of
That made my day. :) The kind of “made” that made me feel that I was going to have a lucky day. It felt good.
I replied with a smiley thank you and made my way out of the jeep. As I crossed the grassy area towards my office building, I asked God to bless him – and meant it (knowing I’m not a religious person in any sense). That felt even better.
I may not have had exactly a lucky day today or felt good throughout it, but it made me think about something small but important: random acts of kindness. What is it about those little selfless deeds from people you come across by chance? Not exactly the kind of things that change your life, but a little help, a little cheer never hurt anyone.
He may not have known it, but that jeepney driver made me feel so much better… and… happy… and good. He’s not even someone I see on a regular basis, he may have forgotten my face, as I have the picture of his face and his jeep pretty much blurry in my head. But he telling me to take care is something that will always remain vivid and clear, and the feeling will always remain good.
How many lives has he touched in this way? I have no idea. The thing is, he’s not even counting. I guess that’s what makes random acts of kindness feel that way. They’re selfless, the kind of things people do when they don’t look for recognition or something in return. Think: good Samaritan, only less glossed over by religion; or a taxi driver returning lost bag containing millions, only not publicized in the media.
It makes me think what the world would be like if it was a norm as much as random acts of senseless violence is on the daily news. I read at Wikipedia that the phrase “random acts of kindness” was coined from those, rather, an attempt to turn it around. It’s ironic that journalists find it newsworthy to report the kind things that people do, that our world is a better place than it is muck.
Although much like Pay It Forward, we have to start somewhere. I guess this is a call that goes two ways more than a three times three pyramid-like spread effect. Simply put on my list: I should be better aware of the random acts of kindness thrown in my direction, and never forget to pitch a thank you back. Or, try to “be the miracle” for others if not myself.
Then the argument goes: are things in the world random, purely coincidental, and by chance? Or are they destined and meant to be? But that’s a different story altogether.
"A single mom who's working two jobs and still finds time to take her kid to soccer practice, that's a miracle. A teenager who says no to drugs and yes to an education, that's a miracle. People want me to do everything for them. But what they don't realize is they have the power. You wanna see a miracle, son? Be the miracle." - God played by Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty
added 08/28/07
i get to watch Evan Almighty yesterday, and find out that an ARK is simply an "Act of Random Kindness", that to change the world takes one ARK at a time. :)
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Random Acts of Kindness
As the jeep came to a stop, basked in the morning sunshine in front of
That made my day. :) The kind of “made” that made me feel that I was going to have a lucky day. It felt good.
I replied with a smiley thank you and made my way out of the jeep. As I crossed the grassy area towards my office building, I asked God to bless him – and meant it (knowing I’m not a religious person in any sense). That felt even better.
I may not have had exactly a lucky day today or felt good throughout it, but it made me think about something small but important: random acts of kindness. What is it about those little selfless deeds from people you come across by chance? Not exactly the kind of things that change your life, but a little help, a little cheer never hurt anyone.
He may not have known it, but that jeepney driver made me feel so much better… and… happy… and good. He’s not even someone I see on a regular basis, he may have forgotten my face, as I have the picture of his face and his jeep pretty much blurry in my head. But he telling me to take care is something that will always remain vivid and clear, and the feeling will always remain good.
How many lives has he touched in this way? I have no idea. The thing is, he’s not even counting. I guess that’s what makes random acts of kindness feel that way. They’re selfless, the kind of things people do when they don’t look for recognition or something in return. Think: good Samaritan, only less glossed over by religion; or a taxi driver returning lost bag containing millions, only not publicized in the media.
It makes me think what the world would be like if it was a norm as much as random acts of senseless violence is on the daily news. I read at Wikipedia that the phrase “random acts of kindness” was coined from those, rather, an attempt to turn it around. It’s ironic that journalists find it newsworthy to report the kind things that people do, that our world is a better place than it is muck.
Although much like Pay It Forward, we have to start somewhere. I guess this is a call that goes two ways more than a three times three pyramid-like spread effect. Simply put on my list: I should be better aware of the random acts of kindness thrown in my direction, and never forget to pitch a thank you back. Or, try to “be the miracle” for others if not myself.
Then the argument goes: are things in the world random, purely coincidental, and by chance? Or are they destined and meant to be? But that’s a different story altogether.
"A single mom who's working two jobs and still finds time to take her kid to soccer practice, that's a miracle. A teenager who says no to drugs and yes to an education, that's a miracle. People want me to do everything for them. But what they don't realize is they have the power. You wanna see a miracle, son? Be the miracle." - God played by Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty
added 08/28/07
i get to watch Evan Almighty yesterday, and find out that an ARK is simply an "Act of Random Kindness", that to change the world takes one ARK at a time. :)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
E-mail: Sent
written by jenavictoria
for HUM 160
March 20, 2007
--whatever poor excuse for a short story this is, it doesn't matter anymore what grade it got.
for HUM 160
March 20, 2007
--whatever poor excuse for a short story this is, it doesn't matter anymore what grade it got.
The deadline for her manuscript was a month ago, yet here she was still making her way through the third part of her Results and Discussions. The deadline she had to meet now was two days away. But she was already too far behind.
Minina sat in front of the computer. Her roommate was asleep. The light cream painted wooden bunk loomed over her to the right. She sat at the table where the PC was huddled in the space between the grey cabinet and the screened window. She felt her roommate shift position on the top bunk, the shadow changed.
The room was small, just enough to fit the furniture around it. A bookshelf doubled as a shoe rack welcomed visitors at the door. Behind it a double decker was their only sanctuary from depression. A table that could study two beside the lower deck held all things academic. It was cluttered with pens, papers, folders, open books, and such. Minina leaned her back on the side of the fairly medium sized cabinet which housed clothes and other things. She could hear the hum of the antique 4-feet tall refrigerator, but even though she was tempted to take a drink, she refused to get up for a cold glass of water. To the right of the refrigerator, the bathroom door was open. The small lavatory echoed the crickets and the cats from outside.
The magenta-tinted screen stared back at her. For that, she wanted to kick it. The Internet connection was slow. Forty-eight kilobytes per second felt like a horserace under water. Her email server’s page seemed to download as fast as the sky would turn indigo-orange soon. She looked out the window. It was still pitch black. She needed some sleep.
A wave of ‘if-onlys’ ran through her head. If only she had started earlier, if only she took time out in December, if only she had known that it takes more than a month to finish a BS thesis, if only she knew then what she knew now… Don’t they always say that?
Minina typed in her username and password on the tab prompt and pressed ‘enter’. The browser screen turned white again and began to download the next page. After a few minutes her inbox was flashed before her, a long list of e-mails filled the page as she scrolled down. She had maintained her account for as long as she could remember. Yes, last year even.
She clicked the link that said ‘compose’. She was going to e-mail herself again: the fool proof way for a back up. Damn that she lost her flash drive! The Rich Text Format editor slowly wiped into the screen. There were the ‘if onlys’ again… if only she didn’t waste her time, if only she could write faster, stop time or… e-mail herself where the message would be sent to a year before. If only she could e-mail the file of her manuscript to herself of last year… Wouldn’t that be exciting, she thought as she attached the manuscript file to an empty e-mail body.
“E-mail Sent.” The screen read. Minina closed the applications and shut down the computer.
The internet is a marvelous thing. Though it’s difficult to actually visualize how it gets things from one place to another. Imagine it as a highway, where gravel and asphalt is replaced by fiber optics and copper cables. The cars are ones and zeros swifting back and forth on a blue lighted street. In the sky there is a clock. But what if the clock winds back? The ones and zeros all go in the wrong direction: backward.
The deadline for her manuscript was a month ago. The deadline she had to meet now was two days away. Minina scrolled the page up and down to check if there was anything left to change for her final journal article.
Her roommate was asleep. The light cream painted wooden bunk loomed over her to the right. She sat at the table where the PC was huddled in the space between the gry cabinet and the screened window. She felt her roommate shift position on the top bunk, the shadow changed…
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Be careful what you fortune for
short story written by jenavictoria
for HUM 160
March 6, 2007
--not exactly scientific, but a short story nonetheless.
for HUM 160
March 6, 2007
--not exactly scientific, but a short story nonetheless.
Miya is a small girl, dark skinned, small built, but her size is just perfect for the one-sized surplus clothes they sell in the nearby stores. But Miya is almost 25, old for a girl who begs for money, but young for a woman who’d sell fake magic to get money. Her hair is black, but brown when it hits the sunlight, long and sometimes difficult to manage when not in a bun fastened to her head by an assortment of pins. Its all in the look: mysterious. Miya’s eyes look smoked with make up only because of the late nights that keep her up. She has the face of a young graduate working at the central business district of
It is
In Plaza Miranda flowers are sold for ten to twenty pesos more than what you could get it at DangHua for. And along the walkway, right in front of the church, is only one of the many oxymoronic sites that one can see the
A young girl sits down opposite Miya at her personal table – a round wooden table covered with cloth. She looks young, and excited, her eyes gleamed at Miya. Miya had just shuffled a deck of ordinary cards from a previous client and had set them aside. She points to the piece of corrugated card hanging from a thumbtack at the edge of the table. In black marker ink it reads: “Fortune Telling: P100”. Miya takes out the deck of cards and begins to shuffle. She lays the deck on the table.
“Cut the cards,” Miya says. The young girl looks at her, her fair skin gleaming in the last hours of the morning sun. “Oh. Ok… Uhm…how many cuts?” she asks. “It’s up to you,” Miya replies.
The client cuts the cards in half, and brings the deck back together. Miya takes the deck in her hands and lays out four cards in front of the client. She flips them over, one by one: queen of clubs, jack of diamonds, seven of clubs, and nine of spades.
“What does this mean?” her client asks.
Miya clears her throat, “Take four more cards and place them on top of the ones already set.” she says in her most mystic voice. The client does just that: eight of hearts, queen of hearts, jack of spades, and nine of clubs.
“Let’s discuss this first pair,” Miya isolates the queen of clubs and eight of hearts.
The young girl takes a deep breath and shifts positions on the wobbly wooden chair.
“This is someone in your life,” Miya points to the queen, “a woman, a rich woman…”
“Yes, what about her?” The client replies motioning for Miya to continue. “Is there someone like this in your life?” The girl nods. “The cards tell me that she isn’t very pleasant. But that she is important in your life.” The girl thinks quietly. Miya smiles, she can’t help notice the parallelism of this card-told character in her own life.
“How, ‘bout this?” Miya refers to the jack of diamonds and queen of hearts pair. The cards tell of a tragic story: A woman, pretty, affectionate, but she is with an untrustworthy person, and he eventually leaves her. As Miya narrates the story she takes out another card from the deck and places it above the pair. “They have children.” she adds with the meaning of the ace of spades. It seemed like the story of her own mother, Miya thinks. But then again, it is a story of many; even the old woman may have had this story, or even her client.
“Oh…” The client frowns, and thinks again.
Miya is trying very hard to pull off as a mystic, she modulates her voice and speaks in the present tense, this adds to the mystery. Are these things that happened, are happening, or are yet to happen to her client? Her client nods, frowns, and smiles with every change to the card-told story. Miya hardly believes anything. Cards can’t tell a future, but their memorized meanings may as well paint a dramatic picture in a client’s life.
“This person,” Miya points to the jack of spades, “he is not so old, but he will bring you some terrible news. Be wary.” Miya adds a warning.
The client looks at Miya and smiles. “Yes, it seems very much like him… You’re good,” she interrupts the reading, “How can you tell these things? They’re exactly what’s happening to me!”
Miya is amused. Not many people who come to her table actually believe with as much enthusiasm as her present client. But she is young, Miya reasons out. “It’s not me, it’s you, you and the cards,” Miya smiles.
She continues. “This,” she points to the nine of spades, “is telling me of an illness, a failure, or misfortune. Miya brings out another card from the deck, and places it on top of the nines. The Ace of Clubs reveals that this is indeed a death. “But this,” she moves the top cards and reveals the nine of clubs, “is an unexpected financial gain, maybe through an inheritance.” Miya pauses to clear her throat. “Be wary, sometimes a big stroke of luck can leave you with the greatest sadness.” She pretends to be as mystic as she can, but she is not lying.
Miya continues to read the girl’s fortune. The cards tell of a tragic story of an ill fated woman, inheritances, and sadness. Miya could only guess if anything she read from the randomly spread out cards was real. But the girl was very responsive, she mentions names, and narrates short instances in her real life to Miya. It seems as real to her as the sunlight that hit her face. As Miya’s young client leaves, she smiles and hands Miya a five-hundred peso-bill. It seems she was near tears. Miya takes the bill and stuffs it in the metal cookie container she had tucked under the table as she shuffled the notes for four one-hundred peso bills.
“Thank you, have a nice day.” Miya said as she handed her client her change.
Miya couldn’t help but smile as the crystal ball in the shade beside her gave off a distinct blue glow.
Miya had never used the ball, but since she first set it down on her table the other day, the “magic” she cheaply sold seemed so real, believable that it came out of her without even looking at her codigo under the table. At a rate she was reeling in more money than her co-workers and rivals. It’s as if she were really doing magic, just as she had always wished she could. At this point, she’d already thought once or twice about buying a lottery ticket. What’s having magic without the chance for poverty alleviation?
She cups the ball in her hand. “It’s you isn’t it?” she asks it as if it could talk back. The blue glow dies down but gives a yellow spark just before the light goes out, as if saying yes.
Miya feels a cold chill run down her spine as she recalls the events of yesterday.
“You’re late again!” scolded Aling Aurora. Miya hurriedly ran from the metal gate towards the stone house as Aling Aurora fired her rants away. She quickly set her belongings in the floor beside the main door. “I’m sorry” she apologized, “Mom had another seizure.” She quickly ran to the kitchen to begin her chores.
Aling Aurora was a small plump lady. She was old, and it showed in the wrinkles on her face, hands, and arms. The rest of her body was clad in a modestly sewn terno. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun fastened to her head. Her thick gold-framed glasses hid her graying eyes, but she was no mestiza. She was, however, rich. Although, unlike balikbayans from Saudi, Aling Aurora did not flaunt her old inherited wealth with adornments of jewelry. Hers was a simple gold chain and cross pendant. Religious is a very relative word.
Aling Aurora lived at
The old ancestral house hid behind a low stone wall topped with new metal braces and a chicken wire fence. The exterior was old cement and stone. Visitors were welcomed by the front porch, its entrance at the left side. On the stone-floored porch sat a metal garden set newly restored with white paint. Aling Aurora sat there as Miya entered the house.
It was old and a bit dusty inside the house, but Miya came regularly to clean. Spanish inherited furniture covered by white sheets grazed in the living room, near the closed capiz windows on the right of the main door. Only the row of
Later on she mopped the corridor, the small hallway lead to the rooms. Behind door number one was a bedroom. Miya didn’t know who or if ever anyone owned the room. It had been untouched for years. An adjacent bathroom led to the next room, door number three – another untouched room. Forming a corner was door number four, the master’s bedroom. The only living room inside the house is where Aling Aurora spent most of her days aside form the church.
The door was open, as if inviting her to come in, but that was forbidden ground, sacred, and untouchable. Miya went in. The room was cluttered, but it wasn’t messy. The floor had to be swept. Table tops had to be wiped. Things had to be kept in drawers…
She noticed a forgotten black leather box on top of the cabinet, it was heavy she felt as she carried the palm sized face of the box in her hand. Where could this belong? She wondered as she opened the box to find out. The red velvet interior revealed a gleaming spherical object…
…The bed had to be made. The sheets had to be folded. The items on the dresser had to be arranged…
Photographs in sepia, caged moments in wooden picture frames, were lined at the mirror: a mysterious young girl, a spirited young boy, the young girl and the young boy, the older girl and the older boy, the woman and the untrustworthy man, a woman and a man with their children, a lone mourning old woman. Miya took the photograph of the young girl in her hand. The girl held her most prized possession in her hand, the spherical object marked white on the paper. She brushed away the thin film of dust on the glass. The girl was in a familiar place, Miya could make out the façade of Quiapo church in the background.
“Miya!” she turned around. Aling Aurora standing in the doorway shocked she looked as if she had been stripped of her pride. “I told you never to come in here.” “But Ma’am the door was open…” Miya began to explain, only slightly expecting a simple thank you for tidying up the room. She set the frame back in its place. “You can go. Your work is done. If there’s one thing I don’t tolerate, its thieves and people who break rules.” …among other things, but Miya was one of either.
In the kitchen Miya returned the mop to the rack near the laundry area outside, the broom and the dustpan behind the door, and the dust cloth to the box of used rags. Miya washed her hands and dried them on her skirt. She noticed the two one-hundred peso bills neatly folded under the Paete crafted paperweight on the counter. Just as always, Aling Aurora never gave Miya her pay in person. As she left Miya locked the door from inside. In her bag she felt the smooth round object she had discovered earlier.
Miya sits impatiently at her table in Plaza Miranda, adjacent to the row of flower vendors, beside
Miya sees Aling Auring come out of Quiapo church. She is wearing a black terno; plastic gold-painted buttons fasten the suit together on her plump body. She makes the sign of the cross and walks out, clutching her leather handbag close to her. This is Quiapo, and the crowded streets always pose the danger of a snatcher.
Miya is quick to hide her face slightly with her hair, and the crystal ball with a stray cloth beside her. The old lady is highly religious, condemned heretics and shed out bible verses as if they were pieces of bread stuck to her teeth. "Sampaguita!" a child flower vendor calls out. He rushed toward Aling Aurora. "Please buy my sampaguita," he pleads to her. Miya sees her shoo the boy away. How ironic that the religious rich are all appearances.
But more, how ironic is it that Aling Aurora walks up to her table. She sits down and shells out a crumpled one-hundred peso bill from her purse. She sets the money down on the table. Miya fidgets in her chair and looks at the dirty purple bill in front of her. She casually takes her deck of cards and begins to shuffle them as she would in front of every client. At the corner of her eye, she sees the crystal ball hidden beneath the cloth flicker a dark red. “Would you hurry up, Miya?!” Aling Aurora says. There is no more point in hiding. “Yes, Ma’m.” Miya replies as if she were still at the Oroquieta house. She brushes away the strands of hair that cover her eyes. “Why are you here...” Miya inquires, “Ma’m?” she adds. “I thought you hated blasphemers?” she pries. After all this was her turf. “Because, my dear,” Aling Aurora says, “You have something that belongs to me.” Miya is surprised. How did she know? It’s not like the walls of her house could tell tail away. Miya takes four cards and places them on top of the table. Aling Aurora stops Miya from continuing, she places her hand over the cards. “Where is the ball? If it is here, then I advise you not to tell a fortune.” As if it heard its name being called, the ball beside Miya gleams a dark red and the cloth that hid it blows away. “Oh! No!” Aling Aurora screams. She takes the ball and leaves hurriedly. As she leaves, a gush of wind blows the cards and scatters them on the floor. Miya picks up one card. It is the Ace of Clubs. Something is not right, and Miya fears for her former employer.
“Are you Miya? They told me she was a young girl who would clean here every other day. ” The man wears a freshly pressed business suit, but the jacket hangs neatly folded over the porch railings. It seems that he is a man who would usually be seated at his chair in a cold high-rise
“Yes sir.” Miya meekly says. “Is Aling Aurora there? I was hoping I could ask for my job back.” she explains. “She fired me yesterday.” “Oh. But you are Miya Dimapilis? Her cleaning lady?” “Yes sir, you could say that.” The man had a gloomy look on his face, but it seemed that this was something usual for him. “Is Aling Aurora there?” Miya asks again. The man shakes his head, and then he holds out his hand for her to shake his hand. “I’m Atorney Canonizado.” He introduces himself firmly gripping Miya’s hand. “Mrs. Aurora Ballesteros passed away this morning. Apparently she had a severe illness that manifested recently, she had an attack. I was here when she died.”
Miya is dumbfounded. She doesn’t know how she would react. Ironic. The old lady had always been saying she wanted to die, leaving all her troubles and loneliness behind her. But then again she feared death so much: regular check ups at the doctor, maintained medicines, lots of prayer for good health and life. In another view Miya is devastated, not because she had grown attached to the bossy woman, but that she has permanently lost her job. How would she pay for her mother’s medicines now? “Oh.” Miya said, surprised, but not; sad but a bit.
“Miya,” Attorney Canonizado speaks to her in a more serious tone. “Mrs. Ballesteros left all her wealth to you.”
Her first response is not thanksgiving, nor grief or a spark of money-filled happiness, shock maybe yes but her first question is, “Why?” Why her? She despised the old lady for her arrogance, was she supposed to feel something for her in death, because she had been left money?
The air suddenly smells of death, of smoke, of leaves quickly being crippled, blackened and turned to dust; it smells of burnt paint thinner. It is coming from the back of the house. Miya quickly runs to the backyard, while Attorney Canonizado follows. The big pile of dried leaves quickly shrivels away, but among the black, grey, brown and green crumples is a shiny crystal ball unburnt and gleaming still among the orange and red flames, as if laughing. Miya remembers the fortune she told the other day.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Think about The Lakehouse
written by jenavictoria
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--about a concept of time. but teacher comments were that it was more of a movie review. tsk.
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--about a concept of time. but teacher comments were that it was more of a movie review. tsk.
in between they fall in love
in the end they are together
but in the beginning…?
then think about Time
if time is a circle
if time can flow back like a stream and people and objects get trapped in the past
just as Einstein may have dreamt it
as he has written, if people can travel to the past
or get caught in between past and present, present and future
whichever side you are looking on
but here they have changed the past:
by a mailbox at the glass house by the lake
here dog footprints and a box in the attic are left behind
here an orchard tree grows out of nowhere in
here he kisses her on her birthday, while they dance under the moonlight
here Persuasion is returned
here a man does not die
where does it all begin?
else there would be no love story
then again, the greatest love stories are made through Time
Sunshine Underground is nowhere near heaven
written by jenavictoria
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--trying to give a feeling of death while describing a pair of shoes is much easier when not trying to describe sunshine yellow high-cut Chuck Taylors.
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--trying to give a feeling of death while describing a pair of shoes is much easier when not trying to describe sunshine yellow high-cut Chuck Taylors.
canvas wrapped in yellow blindness
the answer is yes, if you ask, you are
orange here is like fire
but this is no where near heaven
blue and black stains
punched, battered and beaten
dyed by the rain
but where you’re going is no where near heaven
twisted cotton
laced around holes
Mummifying in six steps tighter
here you’re bound nowhere near heaven
patterns of crosses lay in dirt and muck
beneath is where lies
shattered stones here and there
down there is nowhere near heaven
walk
slip
climb the stairway which leads to nowhere near heaven
and Sunshine is her name
Lost beyond the perimeter
written by jenavictoria
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--describing nature with city concepts. did i succeed? tsk.
for HUM 160
January 18, 2007
--describing nature with city concepts. did i succeed? tsk.
there is a perimeter between here and there
which ends in concrete or asphalt and begins in rock…
buildings
made solely of the material they use for country furniture
rise high above
sky scrapers
only, they have huge umbrellas on top
fountains
in rocky cribs
would blast water
from the biggest sewerage
only, this water is clean
confetti
falls to the ground
as if every day was a political celebration
only, this confetti is wet
road
is not cement
muck clogged on the street drain
under candy wrappers and tissue
blown by fast cars passing by beating the red light
only, it is not as colorful as candy
one big lamp
no one can see
goes out on daylight savings
replaced by the Bat Lamp and scattered Christmas lights
only, without the bat
speck of glitter metal with wings dance in the air
car horns
sounds come from the sky.
fading away from airplanes flying past
only, smaller and in different tones
traffic
smoothly flowing two way
on 6 lanes of freeway,
only, 100 times smaller in black and red
green
not the green of highway signboards telling you the next exit
sometimes darker or lighter
only, there is also a clear blue and red and yellow and violet and orange
…only, isn’t gravel rock?
there is a perimeter between here and there
outside the perimeter is what they call living.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
