starbucks ++

(I know. Patronizing the capitalist but whatever)

Friday night. A perfect day to waste time and relax after all the exams, chasing after professors for interview and sleepless nights, despite the fact that Weng and I still have an interview at 9am tomorrow. But who cares. We both know we need all the relaxation we could get.

This isn't actually the first time we've ventured the chairs of Starbucks to free us from all our worries. In fact, Weng was able to collect enough stamps for the planner, which technically speaking is a communal property since we all gave our efforts for her to earn that.

Anyway, to properly equip you in understanding better the contents of the starbucks conversations, formula for conversation would be Philippine politics, US elections and Obama, activism, sex politics, environment, and relationships.

And for some reason, no other capitalist organization could ever provide the perfect ambiance for such topics.

I'd like to share a few quotable quotes:

(context: sometimes, it's tempting to tell someone you like him)
"It's a personal satisfaction."
"Why didn't you tell ______ you liked him?"
"I don't need personal satisfaction."

sicker than I used to be

I had the most unusual visit to the a person I don't usually go to, the doctor. Apparently, a sort of lump was found somewhere near my throat that I looked like a transvestite for having Adam's apple. I didn't think it was anything to be concerned at all, since lymph nodes appear almost anywhere and they eventually disappear. However, prior to this lump, bruises have also started to appear in different parts of my body for reasons I am never sure.

(disclaimer: medical conditions ahead. not advised for the imaginative and sensitive, or at even people who worries too much)

Anyway, my mom brought me to an ENT doctor and well, the doctor said she needed to do a biopsy of the lump. It doesn't look like a lymph node, being twice as big as a normal lymph node. At the same time, the biopsy will determine if the lump is benign or malignant. (crap, no more scientific terms. hate this...)

I must admit, I really like the doctor but I definitely do not like whatever she did to me. Although again, I have to admit I never really liked going to the doctor or studying biology that is. I guess I really don't like to know if there is something wrong with me, much more if we talk of needles and injections. It's a sort of psychological torture for me.

Anyway, she struck a syringe right through that lump and sucked all of its content. But since it's quite big, she had pushed the needle further that I somehow felt it even came through the walls of my throat. I felt like air was being taken away from me, and for almost half a minute, I knew I was being tortured.

By the looks of the contents of that lump, the doctor was almost sure it was a cyst. It wasn't a lymph node because it was definitely attached to the thyroid gland, although not dangerous enough to be cancerous. She thinks it must have been a sort of hormonal imbalance and quite related to the iodine production of the gland. She took a few blood sample to back up her hypothesis.

Now, I feel sicker than before, physically and psychologically. Taking in any form of medicine makes me think I'm really sick. At the same time, the needle thrusted into my throat must have been wounded that it hurts every time I eat, drink or even by simply breathing.

But I have to stress here, the results of the biopsy has not yet been out so I'm not yet officially sick but damn it, I hate this.

bloggers

I opened my thesis adviser’s blog in the attempts to unearth her old j199 files for her students. Being a student who doesn’t really know what is and what will happen to our thesis, I guess a few help from the once other class wouldn’t hurt.

I always knew she was good at web design, her forte being the New Media. I wouldn’t wonder if there were marquees or whatever that would make her blog so different and so grand.

Apparently, it was anything but simple and yet quite complicated. I know I’m not good at making clear images through words here so might as well browse it yourself but bear me the pain at least. Her page was in white, a few texts in pink and black. The sophistication of her blog lies on the very words posted and I felt like mine is nothing but a crap.

Maybe I need to say something more relevant but as she says, blogging is a sort of preventive medicine for someone in for a mental breakdown. Maybe this is just my therapy, anger management, stress reliever, mere diversion in doing thesis, whatever. I guess my battle is not always political but a sort of internal struggle to find myself. Maybe that’s why I have all these personalities and wonders whoever is talking.

emails

Ever since we started consulting our thesis adviser through email, I’ve started having problems opening my mail. For some reason, I start to dread the idea that I had to know what she wants us to do and things of that sort.

For one thing, I believe Weng and I had been honest enough to show her that we’re having problems as to where our thesis would lead us. At the same time, we have no experience of whatsoever in doing surveys, much more analyzing them. Moreover, she knew we started out our data gathering quite late that if she demands a copy of the first draft by this month, we’d probably be dead by now or we won’t be graduating this April at all.

However, in fairness to our adviser, she never told us of any deadlines yet, which is good because a deadline to her is really a DEADline. The bad side of that of course is that we felt the pressure only this month.

Anyway, I had been sending her emails since last week and god, she responds immediately and I mean IMMEDIATELY, as if always online. We came to a point that she asked me if Weng and I would be able to pass our first draft by the end of January.

Ohmygod. Pressure…

And so, I told her honestly we couldn’t. We’re targeting for the third week of January (Crap. Almost a month from now. Interview with professors. Interview with deans and department heads. Surveys. 9 Metro Manila schools, 1 from Dagupan, Pangasinan, 1 from Bayombong, Nueva Vizcaya, and 1 from Legaspi, Albay. Map, anyone?) However, we’re revising our proposal and that we hand to her by next week.

And now, I still dread the idea that I have to know what she has to say.

what i hate most about couples

My mom and dad were in a argument when I left the house a few minutes ago. Apparently, despite public misconception, pastors do argue with his wife. It's not a perfect family, you know. (I'm not trying to put my religion in a bad light or anything of the like. I think the beauty of whatever quarrels happening is that they still end up together.)

What I was happy about when they were arguing was that my youngest brother and sister were no at home and that meant I don't need to worry of what effects it may have on them. And so the moment I realized this was going to be a long fight, I took my violin with intention to start bowing and make very loud sounds of the A scale.

But of course I didn't. That would send so many messages that I don't want to get myself involved in. However, realizing that my brother had been playing the guitar, I took the violin and played outside. For the first time, I was able to perfect the sounds of every patterns done in A scale. I was still hearing them argue.

Actually, both of them were right and wrong at the same time. It's just an issue of ego.

Ego.

Come to think of it, I do have my own level of ego and most probably it's more than what they both have combined. So I know, at some point, if ever I was faced in the same situation, I would have ended up mad. At the same time, being in training for the college elections, I was taught how to argue and to defend my stand. Having the two ideas combined, I am almost sure my husband (whoever that will be) will be having a hard time controling me. And now that I think of it, I hate being controled, believing that I have my own mind and I can decide for myself what I will be doing with my life. (Talk about ego and growing up being very individualistic)

Maybe that's why I haven't thought of looking for a boyfriend at my age (when my aunts are pushing me to look for one, my friends trying to get me in a blind date, my mom bugging me that I need to get one soon. sigh...) I guess with my ego and all that, God needs to work on my other personalities.

123 assignment

Last December, my photojournalism professor asked us to take pictures over the break and pick our favorite which we will be sharing in front of the class.

Of all the pictures I've taken from the annual street children's Christmas party, youth's Christmas celebration, Christmas Eve at our house, Caliraya adventures and New Year's Eve, I had two favorites.

This one was taken from the annual street children's Christmas party. Instead of the usual program we used to do, we organized a sort of mini-fair inside the basketball court to allow the kids to play and acquire prizes instead of simply sitting down. The child seemed too young to be participating in the games that her older sister tried all the games she could so that they would share the prizes. The bubbles was one of what she got for the child.

I fell in love with how the picture expresses the sound of the younger child's laughter as she sees the bubbles pop in front of her.

This one was taken from our Caliraya adventures. Kuya Jonell was showing off his famous "flip" when I took my chance to take a picture. An extraordinary picture, I would say.

scales and alligators

No, this is not a post on amphibians and reptiles. (nosebleed for the sciences again). Most likely I haven't posted anything about my violin lessons.

Yes, I've been taking up violin lessons this semester. Yes, on my last sem, at the same time with my thesis. I'm trying to look for diversion and stress relievers, you know.

Growing up watching Sailormoon and having the violinist a favorite character, I must say, I've always dreamed of learning to play the violin. I actually did start praying for that when I was in grade 5 and quite amazing, when I was in Grade 6, a missionary whom I met for the first and last time, handed my mother a Skylark violin instructing her to give it to me.

I felt it the first part of my long time prayer and I did continue to pray for it until I started having more friends and getting out of that loner zone (2nd year highschool, I think). Seeing Jake and Tetel enrolled in the Extension Program of the College of Music, I was reminded of that childhood dream I had.

I've had 5 sessions out of the 14. Aside from the position and bowing (crap. it may seem easy but it really isn't), my teacher already taught me a scale (two strings, 3 finger positions each) and it's actually quite rewarding to hear yourself playing some notes when I am not really musically-inclined.

Aside from the scales, my teacher also taught me three patterns of bowing which she calls the alligator-apple, alligator-alligator and fried chicken. Sounds weird, I know. Actually, every syllable of the words are to be translated to a pull of the bow.

Say, alligator-apple is actually pulling the bow short down, up, down, down, up, down, pause, shorter pull up. Alligator-alligator is just short down, up pull four times and friend chicken is a long pull down, short up, short down.

Interesting. I actually felt weird bowing while saying words. Makes me feel funny. I wonder what the next set of words would be...

after much procrastination: interviews

At long last. After so much procrastination Weng and I had been doing last year, we both started out our year by reminding ourselves to start doing something (or else we don't graduate on april, or else I will be having problems with my scholarship).

We started calling and faxing letters to the different schools last week asking for an interview with the professors teaching journalism ethics, as well as a copy of the course syllabus.

By Monday, we were able to schedule two interviews for today, one of the two ethics professors from University of Santo Tomas and from Manila Times School of Journalism.

What I noticed with the two interviews is that the professors are quite defensive every time we ask them of the details discussed in their syllabus, as if we were the panel, as if we were going to downgrade their teaching as we compare it with the UP method of teachign ethics.

Come to think of it, what we really wanted was just to explore how ethics is being taught and how each school incorporates the philosophies adhered by the university in the subject.

Maybe we should note that, to explain precisely what this thesis aims to do.

Anyway, based on the two interviews, ethics is not differentiated with morals and being legal. And maybe, noticing this, we should also be asking directly how the professors define ethics.

To add another personal note here, I found it difficult to be objective when I quite disagree with the statements giving by the professors. Whereas in UP we were allowed to question what people tells us, it is quite awkward to assert the same aggressiveness to people who are not used to such behavior.

For example, I asked the UST professor if she was allowed to make her own syllabus because it was her, a very credible and experienced journalist in matters of ethics, and such a privilege is not given to most professors. She looked at me wide-eyed and jumped into another topic. It was then I realized that I have been quite tactless.

However, having to interview a professor that is obviously defensive and rather vague in most of her answers, we were very tempted to ask the questions in a direct way. Seeing that Weng was sort of making transitions to a topic, I would instantly ask tactlessly.

Come to think of it, Weng had always been the more agressive one. If I would allow myself to be filled with bitterness again, I would know who are to blame for the change in me, especially if some people actually comends the way I ask questions.

Then again, there's no use blaming anyone. The question is, how do I safeguard myself of not offending the professors when I ask very direct question.

magulo lang talaga ako

haay. andami nang nangyari. andaming realizations, kamalian at kung anu-ano pa mang ka-kyemehan. andrama nga talaga ng buhay ko.

una. andami kong reklamo sa buhay, mga nakikita kong mali sa ibang tao na hindi ko na napapansin kung ano bang problema ko. puro sa iba ko na lag sinisisi ang kalungkutang nararamdaman ko, matagal bago ko natantuhan na may responsibilidad din ako sa mga alanganing pakiramdam ko.

kung tutuusin, bakit nga ba ako nagpapaka-depress gayong masaya ang paligid ko? kung hindi pa mawawala ang recorder ko, hindi ko makikita ng malinaw na matagal na pala akong nagkikimkim ng galit sa kanila.

at sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, napuno ko ng kasuklaman. sinubukan kong itago, maging kaswal na lang sa mga tao at patuloy na itanggi na masama na pala ang loob ko, pero lalo lang itong naghihintay ng pagkakataong sumabog.

kung iisipin, bakit nga ba ako magtatanim ng ganito katinding galit? sa totoo lang, napakaliit na bagay lang. nagsimula ito mula ng sabihan nila akong pyudal ang relasyon namin ng tatay ko. pakiramdam ko, bigla akong kinain ng sarili kong mga ideyolohiya. nakakasakal ang mga batayan. higit sa lahat, naramdaman kong ginamit lang ako.

kahit ano pa man ang ginawa nila sa akin, may mali pa rin ako. maling ipikikita kong ayos lang ako ngunit hindi pala. wala na rin akong pinagkaiba sa isang plastik. maling ipinilit ko sa sarili kong napakalinis kong tao pero ni hindi ko masabing nagagalit na ako. higit sa lahat, maling ibinuhos ko sa iba ang galit ko. kahit marami na rin siyang kasalanan sa akin, hindi pa rin siya ang puno't dulo ng galit ko kaya hindi patas para sa kanya ang mga nangyayari.

dalawang buwan. dalawang buwan para magising ako sa katotohanan.

hindi ko pa rin nasasabi sa taong dahilan ng galit na ito kung ano ang tunay kong nararamdaman. hindi pa ako nakakahingi ng paumanhin sa taong binuhusan ko ng galit. alam ko kailangan kong gawin iyon pero ito na ba ang tamang oras para muli kong guluhin ang mga buhay nila?

hindi ko rin alam. pero sa akin ngayon, mula ng tanggapin ko sa sarili kong galit ako, unti-unti ko na ring nabibitiwan ang pakiramdam na ito.

fireworks

(stories of the firecrackers, days before New Year’s Eve and a few notes on my Chinese heritage)

One thing I would always look forward to every Christmas season is sitting under a fireworks display with ashes falling on my head, as if the lights are showering over me, as if blessings are pouring from heaven and there I was, catching a few of its drops.

It has been five years now when I started making efforts to sit under the grand display and it has always brought me joy. But somehow things have started to change in ways I could not explain.

Maybe this was a mere product of routine, but when the fireworks started after the Lantern Parade, I dragged Karla in attempt to at least go under the display. Karla was screaming in awe. This may have been her first time to actually be that close.

I was looking at the lights and asked myself, why couldn’t I feel the same excitement and joy as I have felt for the past five years? I could hear Karla’s excitement and fear both at the same time, a similar expression I could see on my seven year old brother as he appreciated the lights but feared that exploding sound. I asked myself, has the child in me grew up that I no longer enjoy the same things I used to have?

Whatever the answer was, I no longer cared. Karla had enjoyed the fireworks, and so should I.

On the 30th of December, my parents brought the youth to Riverbanks, Marikina to enjoy the fireworks. We were to be in groups and decide for ourselves where to sit during the display. For two years now, Mayen, a fourteen year old girl, would accompany me, buy balot and look for a place under the fireworks display. Only the two of us would get satisfied with this form of enjoyment.

This time, Tintin accompanied us. Although we couldn’t find any balot vendor that night, we bought chips instead and sat only a few meters away from where the fireworks were to be launched.

Tintin was shouting in excitement, her hands as if reaching for its lights. Mayen, with a big smile, was standing in awe of everything. There I was again looking up at everything. The lights were launched a bit low such that the ones faulty were actually coming towards us. Ashes were still in fires when it reached our heads. My eyes were starting to get irritated but I knew in my mind this was exactly what I liked most of being under the display.

I knew I had no expression of joy or excitement on my face. How can I be so unhappy? What was happening to me?

Whatever that feeling was, I wouldn’t want these two girls beside me feeling the same misery because of me. I stopped myself from asking and tried pretending to enjoy what I was watching.

Thoughts ran through my head for the next few hours. If there was one thing I learned this year, I realized that I can be as hard as my mind would want me to be. But why do I have to be so cold?

Come to think of it, I met so many people with different personalities this year, which is good. But as my mind moves forward to the more recent memories, most of the people I’ve met and had been close to this year were the ones who looked down on me and on the things I hold dear. These are the people who had forced me to be the being that I am now, incapable of feeling pity, compassion and guilt towards others.

I really don’t like to blame people for my misfortunes or anything of that sort. I can focus on the solution more than the problem itself but what should be the solution to patch up the feeling of affliction, disappointment, and distrust?

My dad woke me up early the evening of the 31st. I thought it was time for us to go to my grandfather’s house for New Year’s Eve. Realizing that it was too early, my dad really wanted us to spend some time at the church and do some “fireworks”. Although I knew the fireworks he was referring to were just those crappy little rockets he bought at Divisoria, I felt I forced enough to accompany my family.

Along with the cell group leaders, we had coffee, had a few talks and went out on the street to start our “fireworks display”. The guys launched the rockets and lighted a mini- sinturon ni Hudas (Judas’ belt).

I’ve always hated that sinturon ni Hudas. It’s nothing but a dangerous, loud firecracker. And since the Chinese believe in welcoming the New Year with a loud noise, the sinturon was my grandfather’s way of fulfilling the Chinese tradition.

Yes, I have some Chinese heritage in my blood that my cousins and I never really seem to enjoy. For one thing, not one of us got that yellowish white skin. Some of my relatives believe we were able to inherit the small Chinese eyes but only on the first five years of our lives. It must have expanded in a peculiar way that they were now unequally rounded and when we smile, it becomes small and stretches sideward with a few lines to give a tinge of those small Chinese eyes. If it weren’t for my extremely edited graduation pictures, I would have forgotten the thought I ever looked Chinese in my life.

At the same time, my grandfather believed in sukob, Chinese astrology and a few notes on feng shui, fill your house with circles and a noisy welcome on New Year’s Eve. How we dreaded the noise. The only good thing our generation could think of this Chinese heritage is that we may marry a member of a Chinese clan.

I teased my dad for even buying that sinturon, asking him if he never got tired of our annual 2000+ pieces dosage of that firecracker. He simply ignored me.

And since we girls couldn’t really enjoy the sinturon, we played with the watusi (dancing firecrackers) instead. I took a few packs, crossed the street to where my mom was sitting and started scratching a piece to the sidewalk.

I recall a principle included in the Montessori Method which states that a child is to be let alone to do his “work” as he pleases. Using the hands to touch the materials, the teacher must be very careful when intervening such that the child should not lose his concentration. Through this concentration, the child is solely focused on his work until he is satisfied. If the child loses the concentration needed to achieve the work and thus fails to do what he pleases, this can cause an emotional disturbance to the child.

I felt like a child in full concentration of my play that if disturbed will definitely be killing someone. I was a bit far from everyone else and I could hear some men shouting at me, “May batang naglalaro!” but I didn’t care. As I scratch the pieces on the cemented floor and glide my foot with the watusi under me, I felt satisfaction fill me.

A few minutes before midnight of New Year’s Eve, every member of the Agoncillo family went out to the balcony to witness that deafening sinturon being lighted up and explode. As we were waiting, we could see all the fireworks being launched that night. Given that my grandfather lived in Libis, Quezon City, we could see from his balcony even as far from those in Makati. My aunts were very much satisfied with the view as my cousin, Ian, kept taking pictures.

Given that I am one of the smallest in the family, I stayed on one side of the balcony away from where my aunts were watching. With my not-so-good view, only Johnny, my 2nd cousin, stayed beside me. A few times could we only see some firecrackers and they were near enough for me to see them clearly. I realized this time, I didn’t have to force myself to be happy. Maybe I don’t need to remind myself what the year has brought upon me. Life doesn’t always have to be the best. This time, I don’t need to be near the lights to appreciate its beauty.

My grandfather signaled the maid to light the sinturon. The sound was bouncing to the walls of the pelota court which made it even more deafening. My grandfather’s sisters were covering theirs ears with satisfaction as the sounds were believed to be driving the evil omens away. My grandfather sat on a bench staring at the little red lights the crackers were making. My grandmother held onto the rails of the balcony. After her stroke around six years ago, she was partially deaf and at a time like this, my cousins envied her for not hearing the noise.

(My cousins) Donna was able to slip inside the house. Andrew had earphones covering his ears, his eyes rolled a little from where the sinturon made the noise. Ian was still taking pictures, trying to ignore what was happening until my uncle, her dad, stopped her and made her look towards the sinturon. My mom brought me halfway downstairs, away from everyone else, hearing the sound louder than before. I covered my ears and looked as if I was hiding behind my mother.

I could hear the sinturon loud enough to know it was there and I know even we will be continuing the family tradition despite our hatred of it. I will continue to live hearing it every New Year’s Eve.

Maybe I don’t have answers to all my questions now. Maybe the solution to this depression won’t be coming soon. Things will be better still. I will continue to live anticipating the day firecracker ashes fall upon me again. God will revive the meaning of life in me.

The thought gave me a momentary smile as the sinturon made and even louder sound.