Bum the Great =))

Immaculate Conception Cathedral

Cotabato City, Philippines

Is in Cotabato City. Chasing pavements (aka enjoying the bum life).

No internet until jobless status expires.

SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE: on hiatus

You get it.

PS. please do not steal my pictures.

Love (full/fool)

I’ve been lying in my bed for about sixty minutes now – and I still can’t sleep. The playlist of classical music playing in the background has been replayed for the umpteenth time but I’m still awake. These are the crucial moments, when the sharp ticking of the clock and the lullabies blend together, that thoughts conjure themselves up in my quasi-subconscious mind. I’ve been thinking a lot tonight. I’ve been thinking about that one thing that is obviously lacking in my life, which surprisingly I don’t miss a lot: lovelife.

I’m writing this to let it all out. It’s problematic how I do not see myself as a fan of that thing. Well the romantic love thing, that is. See, I am a very loving person. I love living and non-living things. I love animals and I even love spiders! And to say that I love my family and friends is an understatement. It’s weird because I can give all the love in the world but I cannot see myself on the context of being in love.

People say it’s a wonderful feeling. It’s happy and painful, but generally wonderful. And I feel jealous of all these people who’ve enjoyed such experience. If being in love is being unusually happy, then I have a problem with that as I am, generally, an unusually happy girl. If it’s feeling pain, then I’ve had enough of that, too. But seriously, we get hurt a million times in our lives and it’s impossible that we credit it all to a broken heart.

Maybe I’ve felt having both feelings before. I’m not really sure. I do remember the story and the characters but I can’t remember the emotions anymore. I think back of the pain and the happiness that is the usual requirement but all in vain. They say first love never dies, but I can’t feel any living metaphysical creature in my hypothalamus (WHY IS THAT SO? DID MY FIRST LOVE JUST DIE WITHOUT ME KNOWING IT? IF SO, WHO THE HELL IS S/HE? HOW COME I DO NOT KNOW?) Maybe I’ve already perfected the skill of burying all painful memories or maybe my hereditary forgetfulness has taken in charge because no matter how I force myself, I can’t summon thoughts of at least one of my painful love-related memories. As in zero, zilch, nada. (AND SHOULD I BE HAPPY BECAUSE THIS MEANS I’VE MOVED ON? LOL)

And it scares me how, when I think of myself fifty years from now, I see me alone in the beach looking at the setting sun. The scary part is not seeing myself alone, but seeing myself alone AND HAPPY. It’s terrifying! I keep on inserting pictures of people who have been subjects of my affection attention before but they just won’t fit in.

I CAN see myself old and happy with my friends and family. But certainly, no lover in the picture. And I feel sad. It’s weird to feel sad to see yourself happy. I don’t know. I’m a bit befuddled now. See, I’m not thinking anything while I type this. Just plain spur-of-the-moment random ramblings.

Some people write about love and how they want it to be part of their life so that they can feel complete, but I write about love because it’s not part of my life and I do not feel incomplete without. And it freaks me that I do not have any idea how this can happen!

How can it be that almost all the people in the world look for it so that they can be happy, whereas I look for it so that I can be happier? Well, I’m not even sure if love can make me happier. I feel like a freak. I’m happy without it. And that’s the part that scares me. HOW CAN YOU BE HAPPY WITHOUT LOVE? I’m talking nonsense now. But seriously, is it possible to be happy even if you’re not "complete"? Why do some people always equate love in a romantic sense? Can you not say that you’re in love without the romanticism attached to it?

But could it also be that I am just feeling apathetic right now so I’m feeling this way? Maybe it’s just a phase. Or that I love my independence too much to think about being with a person all the time. My, just thinking of having one person tied to you all your life is SCAAAAAAAAAAARY! (IT’S VERY EASY TO GRAB MY ATTENTION BUT IT SURE IS HARD KEEPING IT THAT WAY)

Where do you take love lessons anyway? Is enrollment still going on? Can I sit in?

Tsk. I officially freak myself out. Stop reading this. I have to force myself to sleep now. Sorry guys, random weird thoughts again. HAHA

Eyelids Ranting

"Dear 3AM,we have got to stop meeting this way. I’d much rather sleep with you."
I’m giving myself 15 minutes before I shut my eye and catch up with the bus to Dreamland. I am seriously hoping that I’ll get bored typing what I want to write here so that Morpheus’ invisible slumber-army would eventually creep on my problematic, S-shaped, scoliosis-friendly spine and would then lull my hyperactive eyelids to sleep.

So anyway, this short, and hopefully precise, post is for those asking why am I suddenly very active in blogspot...

Granting that you are a friend, you probably know by now that I’m a thousand nautical miles away from the archipelago of the Philippines. And, being in the quasi-fourth-world nation that cradled the Saffron Revolution, the generous government decided that it would be for the greater good (of their kind) that they ban blogspot. Not to mention Flickr, YouTube, Friendster Messages, YahooMail, and a thousand other sites. (YAY! FAIL!) Thus, I can’t access my beloved site and was then coerced to create another avenue for my raging thoughts.

But by some glorious turn of events, I discovered the wonderful world of vtunnel. Ta-da! Proxies to save the day!

After weeks of blogspot-deprivation, I realized a lot of things. In as much as I will miss using the url of my wordpress account which I, being the pathetic show off that I am, believes to be a clear indicator of my ever-brilliant wit, my heart will always go back to blogspot. For one, I've missed the blogspot blogpad. There really is something with this ugly pad that purges my half-frozen braincells to write. As you can see, my writing has been pegged down to zero as micro-blogging sites basically sucked out all that is left of the writer in me. I am now reduced to writing one-liners that would bore the hell out of any ADHD-positive child. Two, I have too FEW a-post for the year 2009! Wow, talk about virtual cobwebs. And lastly, I realized how much effort I gave in designing the lay-out of this blog. I, Bam the Great, goddess of laziness and procrastination who actually managed to pull a decent-looking layout only to be NEGLECTED AND IGNORED by my own putrid self is something my alter-ego could not allow. Excuse me for a second while I strangle myself.

My blogspot experience isn't as perfect as before though. I can't access blogpages supported by the old lay-out, I can't edit my bloglinks, JAVA software is not working, and pop-ups are still banned. Nevertheless, this is better than nothing.

Anyway, it’s 3:15 already. I still have a desktop-ful of documents to finish tomorrow. I will now force myself to sleep. Good morning!

Be Ma Leh?

“Where are you?!”

That’s the nth time I’ve been asked that question from the nth person who wondered why the streets of Davao is suddenly less than a hundred decibels noisy and then to find out that I’m actually missing in the picture. Yes, I’m probably somewhere scattering chaos and plotting world domination, but really, WHERE AM I NOW?

Well, the last time I checked, I woke up this morning to a place about ten thousand miles away from home, beneath yellow clouds and murders of crow perched up on electric wires, before a country torn by turmoil, tribal diversity, and religious disparity.

Sure, four months has been a long time and I do terribly miss the blue-tinted glass walls of Ateneo. I even feel like waking up late only to hang around the school grounds. But sadly, I don’t have the luxury to lag around and goof all day. That’s because I have something to do – wake up early, go to work, and at least try to create a difference in the lives of the people I meet here in Myanmar.

It’s funny, really, how I ended up here. See, I was never this straight-A student back in college. In fact, I don’t remember being a responsible student at all. I always find ways to make the most of the allowable absences quota in every subject. I never lifted a finger to study and the midnight oil still remains full to the brim. Nevertheless, if there is one thing I made up for my laxity in academics, it’s my involvement in school. I was part of club this and club that. Though my membership purpose is not for grade matters and extra-curricular what-have-yous, I joined these clubs because I don’t want a lone SAMAHAN stamped under my affiliations list on the school yearbook. Shallow as it may seem, I joined clubs for the purpose of having a club. But karma strikes faster than you thought it could be. Before I knew it, the clubs that were supposed to be “under my mercy” got hold of the steering wheel and had the upper hand. I soon found myself loving the clubs and defending it to all its detractors. I’ve spent money, time, and tons and tons of effort for them – things I never considered doing for my academics. I’ve traveled hundreds of miles from Davao to attend a debate tournament, I’ve stayed up late in school to finish a backdrop for Division Day, I’ve been rooted to one booth during fiesta to do Henna Tattoos, I’ve been an official “yaya” for the hosts of Awitenista, I’ve interviewed one of the university’s big-shot men for the school publication, and I’ve sacrificed one day off my weekends to watch over sophomore kids as they venture out in their NSTP adventures.

The NSTP Volunteer Pool – as I contemplate about it now, my NSTP experience is one of the major push factors that brought me to where I currently am. Like all my other clubs, I joined the volunteer group program for NSTP so that I could have a long list of organizations in my yearbook profile. It also helped that NSTP gives away free shirts. I never expected that we’re given allowances so imagine my shock (and sublime happiness) when I learned about it. As volunteer in the program, I’ve learned a lot of things, been to many places, established friendships with great people, and unknowingly embraced the values the Ateneo has long been teaching its protégés. Had I known that being a volunteer includes virtuous side-effects, I would’ve never joined. Haha, I kid.

Seriously, joining the NSTP volunteer group is easy; doing the job effectively is another matter. For one, there’s a huge difference between an NSTP volunteer and a real NSTP volunteer.

It’s easy to be a mere volunteer; all you need is a boring Saturday schedule, an application form, and an interview. On the other hand, the real NSTP volunteer gives a new meaning to the word “assisting”. She does not just go around loitering in the area and hovering above second year students. She knows that her job is not limited to listing the attendance and claiming allowance. She is not defined by her colored NSTP shirt with a VOLUNTEER print stenciled in the bottom left part, nor is she marked such just because she’s older and has “graduated” from the program. The real NSTP volunteer is not just another jaded student who has got nothing to do with her free time; she is a friend, a sister, a mentor, and a learner.

Here, she enters a stage of metamorphosis where she is coerced to understand and accept that there’s a bigger, and often more cruel, world than bad hair days, broken friendships, taken crushes, and lost cellular phones. She is forced to look into the less colorful segments of a kaleidoscopic world with both eyes open. She has in her shoulders the responsibility not only of taking care forty-five young people and making sure they would not get hurt or would not hurt anyone or anything on the way. She has to make sure that they would, if not learn; acknowledge the idea of looking at the ugly face of reality without turning their back or turning a blind eye. Here, she is compelled to grow up.

Too much drama, eh? Hehe. But honestly, it is difficult to be a real NSTP volunteer. SICO didn’t orient us about all these values for it is already assumed that in joining the NSTP volunteer pool, you are already aware of such. But you do know that assumptions usually turn up contrary to what we expect, right?

Take me for example; my sole purpose for joining the pool is the yearbook. I know nothing about such values. But having all those Saturdays with my great NSTP partner, brilliant students, and wonderful townsfolk, I’d be the biggest liar if I say that this noble-doing didn’t grow on me. I haven’t been a mere volunteer; but I’m not a real NSTP volunteer either. I never got there. I cannot say that I’ve instigated strong values of compassion to all my students to last them a lifetime. But that’s the beauty of learning things through experience: knowing that even with the length and amount of efforts you’ve sacrificed, your job is not yet done. :D

So, where am I again?
I’m on the road to changing the world.

For those who sorta missed my noise, cheer up! I’ll bring you a betel leaf when I return. =))

---
Yesh my dears, I'm back in blogspot. A heartfelt thanks to the great wonder that is vtunnel. >:]

I am the biggest loser I know

If I can't read half of the books in this list within a year, I'd kill myself. And I'll be bringing you with me. So help me find a copy, NOW.

To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
Animal Farm - George Owell
Ulysses - James Joyce
The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
East of Eden - John Steinbeck
Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kessey
The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Moby Dick - Herman Melville
A Farewell to Arms - Ernest Hemingway
Rebecca - Daphne du Maurier
Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Unbearable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
I, Claudius - Robert Graves
The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf
1984 - George Orwell
Death Comes for the Archbishop - Willa Cather
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit - Jeanette Winterson
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou
The Color Purple - Alice Walker
Neuromancer - William Gibson
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
The God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
Perfume - Patrick Suskind
Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
The World According to Garp - John Irving
Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison
Mrs Dalloway - Virginia Woolf

Yes, old-school fiction, yo. Because I can't believe that I've lasted two decades without reading ANY OF THOSE CLASSICS.

PS. to the person who "borrowed" my Midnight's Children and Andersen's Fairy Tales, I will look for you and gas you (and your family) to death unless you return that to me. I'm going home this December and I expect my books to welcome me before you do. Okay? OKAY.

Proven and Tested Street Food *bow*

Proven. Pruben. Proben. Provent.

Matagal nang palaisipan sa akin kung ano ang tamang spelling at kung saang parte ba talaga ng ng manok makikita ang proven/pruben/proben. Basta ang alam ko, hindi ito balat tulad ng pagaakala ng nakararami.

At malamang, hindi lang ako ang nagtataka. Minsan ay natanong yan sa akin ni Tere.
Tere: Ate Bam, ano tawag dito?
Ako: Proven. Chicken Proven.
Tere: Ha? Bakit?
Ako: Kasi Proven and Tested Dirty.

Oo, nagjoke ako pero hindi dun natapos ang lahat. Hindi mapapalagay ang loob ko kung hindi ko malalaman ang tamang kasagutan. Kung kaya ako ay nagresearch kung ano ba talaga ang kasaysayan ng street food na yan.

At ayon nga sa aking pananaliksik, ang chicken proven/pruben/provent ay piniritong proventriculus. Ang proventriculus ay pre-requisite para masali sa tropa ng mga Avian (birds). In short, kung wala kang proventriculus, hindi ka papasang ibon/manok/pato/gansa blah blah blah. Maihahawig sa stomach ng mga mammals ang proventriculus. Ang proventriculus (tawagin na nating proven dahil napapagod na akong itype ang buong pangalan nito) ay ang glandular na bahagi ng digestive system ng ibon. Meron itong mga cells na siyang lumilikha ng hydrochloric acid, pepsin, mucus at iba pang digestive enzymes na siyang tutunaw sa pagkain.

Ang proventriculus ang nag-uugnay sa balunbalunan (gizzard) at esophagus ng mga ibon.

Makakatulong ang mga links na ito kung mayroon pa kayong mga nais hanapin na kasagutan ukol sa katawan ng mga ibon:

http://fsc.fernbank.edu/birding/digestion.htm
http://www.epa.qld.gov.au/nature_conservation/wildlife/caring_for_wildlife/carers_kit/birds/biology/?

Haha! Chuy noh? :p

What’s wrong with the TWILIGHT FAD and why?

I’ve read a few chapters of the book and I’ve watched the movie. So I think it’s fair that I give my opinions about this Twilight fad.

I only have to scan the whole book to know what it’s all about. It’s a friggin’ love story! It’s a love story with vampire characters. Not the other way around. I’m not into the love stories genre so you can say that I’m biased against Meyer’s book. Hehehe. But then again, taken from the opinion of people who’ve read the book, I can say that Twilight, basically, is a light read. A LIGHT READ. So it’s quite obvious how it gathered such a large fan base. Love at first sight, happily ever-afters, “I can’t live without you” lines, and damsel in perennial distress. Haha. Sounds like FAIRY TALE to me.

It’s a sad fact that a lot of people are in love with the notion of being in love. An even sadder fact is that most girls dream about princes (or in this case, vampires) who would sweep them off their feet and proclaim undying love for them amidst all the odds they have to face. It’s sad. Unbelievably and irrevocably sad. It’s as if getting hitched is a be-all-end-all situation.

The girls (and if you want, boys) drooling/wanting/yearning/dreaming/screaming for an Edward Cullen remind me of girls who still dreams about a prince that would carry them on his palace and make her happy for the rest of her life. GAWD. Though Meyer had the twist better as EC is portrayed as a "monster" who is willing to give up his "monstrosity" for the girl "he wants to be with forever". And that's popping two dream bubbles with one stick: girls dreaming of turning a BAD GUY into a HERO and of course the highly-glorified happy ever after.

And though I may be over-analyzing things a bit, this “I-should-have-my-own-prince” mentality subconsciously creates a stigma of discrimination against women who opt to be single. It's as if they're the most pitiful creatures on earth. Very Anti-Feminist, bah.

Also, I think that Twilight's expanding fangirls base has been detrimental to the credibility of the book in itself. The idea that a book meant for "light reading" has been sensationally-acclaimed and tagged by some highly-appreciative people as "better than Rice!" and "the best vampire book they've ever read!" has caused raised eyebrows within the elite circle of intellectual readers. I mean, you can (and you should) NEVER compare Meyer's books with Anne Rice's. That would be scandalous.

In a way, Twilight reminds me of the Tagalog Precious Hearts Romance "Novels" my high school classmates used to read devour. Thus, it is a sappy, mushy, corny, and cheesy story for readers like me. Me, mE, ME. [Emphasis needed to highlight the concept of OPINION.]

But then again, we shouldn't expect ALL people to enjoy reading the likes of Hemingway, Golding, Thoreau, Hawthorne, or Tolstoy. We would always, ALWAYS have our own preferences. In as much that renowned novelists deserve respect for their books, we should also give Meyer the respect that she deserves.

Now, will you fangirls stop babbling about your Cullen obsession? It's been getting on everybody's nerves in case you haven't noticed.