Monthly Archives: July 2009

Broken Strings

blake in blackI admit it: I slept through the State of the Nation Address (SONA) yesterday. Worse, I didn’t even have the effort to switch on the television to behold Gloria’s face. More to admit, I’m supposed to be a journalism student— let me rephrase that, I Am A Journalism Student Who Ought To Watch The SONA. From the five Ws and one H of the news writing course, Gloria is the most relevant newsmaker there is (at least until her term’s over). And the media, as watchdogs, had to endure capturing all her accounts from her evidences of corruption to disgusting boob jobs down to her JC Buendia gowns.

Ahh… Gloria. It’s been eight years, my moronic countrymen, and I survived. I might as well be featured in Survivor for the Philippine government is such a grotesque place to live in. ( Read more… )

Gratitude Problem

dirty little secretIf you know me very well, I am someone who cannot freely (and willingly) express his own emotions. I may bitch out and cry, “Ow!” when I am thumped on the nose by a Frisbee disc, or may jump over finding lost items, but on occasions where I am expected to shed a tear or just look down and pout, I am out of the picture. Much more on occasions where people do favorable things for me, and I should be nothing but thankful; eventually, I could only say, “Uy, thanks!” and that’s it. Back to the indifferent universe.

I hold back my emotions and feelings naturally as if there’s something wrong with them. In a sort of retreat in Tagaytay two years ago, we in our class were asked individually what we would want to achieve or to be and then we’d wind this ethnic tool upside down. This process was significant of our “transformation.” I remember myself saying, “Sana after this, I’d be more expressive.” I wound the thingy upside down and years after, I am still a dispassionate sponge. ( Read more… )

Man in the Bleedin Mirror

What the?!

What the?!

I find Friday consciousness from the raindrops pounding the neighbor’s roof. Groggy on my bed, I am deafened by the rowdy winds— no, hurricanes—dancing outside. Perpetual downpour, what the fuck, is there a typhoon? “THE WRATH OF THE TYPHOON ISANG HITS THE NATIONAL! CAPITAL! REGION!” the broadcaster yells— even more deafening than the hurricanes— over the battery-operated radio. Oh, there is a typhoon, duh. ( Read more… )

Mouse Potatoes

facebook profileHow many hours of your daily life do you spend on Facebook? Of course, by this, you’d definitely answer less than two or vehemently say, “Nah, I’m so cool I do not even open my FBook.” I’d perhaps give you the benefit of the doubt for the former, but I’d piss on you for the latter. Admit it: You’re not cool, you open your Facebook account at least one nanosecond every single day. You itch to wrestle anyone who challenges you to every damn virtual war and quiz around. You want to be poked and to poke people back with just a click of your mouse. You are engrossed to Facebook. Facebook is who you are.

You yourself are semi-addicted to Facebook. And why should you NOT be? It’s everyone’s plug; one who has a social network site will never overlook Fbook (quit calling it FB, it sound racy). ( Read more… )