Dot Dot Dot

I.

Did it ever happen to you when you just know you smell something in the air? It's something like the earthy smell in the air when it's just about to rain.

I smell change.

II.

The usually barren tree outside my bedroom window sprouted with leaves after the sudden downpour today. I didn't know leaves could grow that quickly.

It felt nice seeing that.

III.

I went to the Alabang Hills clubhouse a few days ago to buy cigarettes, and decided to head to a nearby park to smoke the first stick (and well, reminisce).

After a few puffs, a dog (it wasn't a stray; it had a collar on) went up to me and looked up at me asking to be given a rubdown. It was a beautiful brown dog, probably at least 3/4 greyhound or some other sighthound, and it didn't show any signs of aggression at all. Probably the friendliest dog I've ever met.

After a few minutes of sitting with the dog, two kids - a boy and a girl, unrelated, probably age six or seven - went up to me while I was looking at the dog. The boy asked me if the dog was mine, and what its name was. I said it wasn't mine, and he didn't seem to be satisfied with my answer. The dog took this chance to take a shit in some high grass, so I told the kid that his name was Poo. Okay, that was stupid.

Smoking in front of young kids made me feel really guilty about myself, so I excused myself and went to another part of the park. I could still overhear the boy and the girl talking:

Boy: Are you Chinese?
Girl: No I'm not.
Boy: You look Chinese.
Girl: No, I don't. You look like a dog.
Boy: No I don't.

I deduced that these kids were neighbours or something. They'd make a pretty cute couple when they grow up. Haha. The boy suddenly ran off because he saw his driver coming along with a chowchow puppy on a leash. The boy grabbed the leash and played with the dog for the rest of the afternoon. I love kids. I love dogs.

IV.

Katharine McPhee was in the Bottom Two today. That had me and my sister screaming, biting throw pillows, and pumping our fists in the air for at least five minutes.

And here's the requisite Katharine McPhee picture for this post.
Isn't she lovely, yes?

V.

I'm off to Palawan tomorrow. Farewell, farewell.

First of Summer

... and with that title I officially join the probably dozens of Filipino bloggers who have begun their summer vacations.

Now, the problem is, I don't feel anything. I'm not in a celebratory mood, I'm not elated, I'm not happy, heck, I'm not even relieved that things are over.

Yes, the worst ten months of my entire life just ended, and I still don't feel like I'm on my way out of the shit hole.

My scholarship for next year's hit-or-miss now.

I shall edit tomorrow.

Thanks.

In Which He Writes About Her

To make up for an utterly depressing week (in which I lost my iPod and saw how dismally low my grades were), I was all set to get rip-roaring-drunk at the Urbandub/Up Dharma Down gig last night. I was planning for the whole night to just be about me, my few remaining true friends, my beers, and the heavenly noise of Urbandub’s music.

And so my friends and I got ourselves the best seats in the house - the bar stools in front of the stage, right in front of the drums. I was happily on my way to drunken un-feelingness by the middle of Paramita’s set, when a mutual friend of ours told me: Dude, your ex is here.

And I saw you a couple of minutes later.

That, honestly, totally ruined my alcohol/music trip.

You see, I’ve been trying (in vain, obviously) since the start of the year to pretend that you didn’t exist. I’ve been doing everything to not think about you, to just try to forget about you, to even try to hate you, but I just can’t bring myself to. I simply can’t. You still occupy most of my waking thoughts, and after eight months I still dream of you once or twice a week (and yes, I know I shouldn’t have said that because it makes me look like an obsessed dork, but what the hell).

And then I saw you last night, for the first time in two months, and for only the tenth or twelfth time since we broke up. That officially ruined the rest of my week. Don’t get me wrong – my heart leapt when I saw you – but it’s just that I become really depressed when I see you, and I don’t quite exactly know why.

Maybe it’s because I just don’t how to act around you anymore. I mean, if I were the old me, I’d run up to you and flirt with you like a complete ass until it was time for you to leave; then I’d call you up at home and flirt with you even more. But yes, I know, this was years ago, back before we had gotten together, before we had the time of our lives (or at least that’s what I’d like to think; but then again that only probably applies to me), and before we then had a break-up worthy of making into a movie; things are different now, I’m aware of that much too clearly. As much as I wanted to talk to you last night – hell, even just to say hi – I can’t, because I’m scared. I’m scared of once again appearing like a complete jerk in front of you; I’m scared of actually becoming the crazy, maniacal guy you perceive me to be. I’m afraid of saying and doing the wrong things, of appearing like a complete asshole once again and lowering your perception of me more, and of making you hate me even more. All in all, I guess I’m scared that I can’t be myself around you anymore.

But honestly, all I want to be is the guy you fell in love with again. I want you to see me for the real me, the guy who I’m struggling to be again - I want to be the one who you’d miss; I want to be the one who you’d tell all your crazy, weird stories to on the phone; I want to be there for you, to listen to you, to protect you, and to kiss you good night. But you told me, so many months ago, that you’re happier without me, and well – I can’t beat that. And as much as I want to be friends with you because maybe that way I can make you fall for me again, or at the very least be able to make you smile – we can’t, because as you said, we were never just friends anyway.

And yes, I know, you tell me all the time that I should just accept things as they are and move on. But the fact is, I've already accepted what has happened months ago. It's the dealing-with-it part that I have problems with.

And so I just sat there, ordered another beer, lit another cigarette, and I remembered you. And yes, I was the one who kept bugging Urbandub to play Quiet Poetic, and I was the one who screamed the loudest when they finally played it.

That one was for you. I hope you were still there to hear it. And I hope, that even for just a few moments, you found yourself thinking of me - ten or so meters away - thinking of you. And well, if you didn’t, because you seem to have forgotten all of two years, I’ll do your share of remembering for you.

And lastly, because I promised myself when I put my blog back up that I’d do my best not to write about you again – screw that, just this once – I’ll make the most of this entry.

Here’s something you’ve read before; as you know, it’s an entry I left unpublished in my old blog:

IN WHICH HE MISSES HER

i miss her.

i miss the long walks we used to take in her village, and how we'd just talk and laugh and talk and laugh.

i miss blowing and making fart sounds on her tummy.

i miss the way she held my hand - like it belonged nowhere else but there - and the way she scratched the underneath of my palm.

i miss her, and the way she found silly things to be fascinating, like bugs she found in her dad's salad, or the how she'd chase stupid kittens around when we came across them while walking.

i miss the way she scratched the hair on my tummy.

i miss just staring at her - i could've done that for days at a time, if she had let me. that's how beautiful she was. hers was a beauty that was unlike anything i'd ever seen or experienced. it was far beyond being just pretty, lightyears beyond, even. it was the type of beauty that made you feel lonely - the type that created that deep gnawing feeling just where your ribs met your tummy, the type that made you think of sunsets, and of the sea, and of the happy moments of your childhood. it made you lonely, because you know you had to stop looking at her at some point.

i miss staring into her eyes, and the naughty twinkle they had in them, like she knew something that you didn't.

i miss her nose, and how soft it was when she let me play with it, and i miss giving her eskimo kisses.

i miss her smile, and how the mere sight of it made my heart skip a beat (it always did, up to the last time that i saw her, and everytime i'm lucky enough to glimpse it,) and the way it never failed to make feel better after a sucky day.

i miss her lips, and the way they're always so soft and yummy when she puts on her lip balm.

but mostly i just miss her, and the long talks we used to have about our dreams, our futures, and ourselves. i miss our meaningful silences, and the times she’d let me lie on her lap, there on our bench in the park, staring at the stars. i miss going home to her, and the thought of going home to her.

it's all over now, and it will never happen again, but the simple fact remains:

i miss her. god, i miss her.

On a Lost iPod and a New Pair of Glasses

i. Lost

Yes, I lost my iPod.

I was on my way to school yesterday to attend the Mkt 101 competition. My dad told me to burn him a DVD of episodes 204, 205, and 206 of Lost, so I transferred them to my Nano (the computer at home has broadband, while the one in Quezon City has the DVD-writer; yeah, it's pretty inconvenient, I know). Now, I placed my school bag, my Philo 102 book, my Nano, and the earphones in the back seat of the Pajero. An electrician was fixing something at home and asked if he could hitch a ride to Sucat, so there, he got into the back seat. He placed my school bag on the floor, and moved the Philo book and the iPod to the left side of the car/truck/SUV. And so we drop him off at Sucat.

When I got to my condo, I got down from the front seat and opened the back door to get my stuff. To my surprise, only the Philo book and the earphones were there. I asked the driver if he saw my iPod and he said he didn't, that maybe I left it at home. I ransacked the whole house when I got home later that afternoon and couldn't find it.

So there, it's gone, and I'm honestly heartbroken. I don't want to blame the electrician, since he's been working for us for over ten years now, but I don't see any other feasible explanation for my Nano being missing. I've ransacked both the whole house and the Pajero a couple of times, to no avail.

I can say that it's sort of a consolation that I got the iPod for free - my dad's a doctor, you see, and he helped my mom's boss recover from a heart attack last year; said boss gave my dad an iPod for Christmas out of gratitude, but my dad already has an iPod so he gave the Nano to me. But then again, the fact that it's free doesn't really make me feel any better.

As Arun told me just ten minutes ago: if you lost something you bought with your own money, you feel regret; if you lost something that was given to you, you feel as if something or someone close to you died. My sentiments exactly.

And as immature as it may sound, I feel incomplete without the fragile little black thing. It's been an irreplacable part of my daily early morning walks to school, my recent emo trips, and my all-night study sessions.

Is there still hope?

ii. Emo

On a rather happier note, I finally bought myself that pair of black thick-framed glassed (a.k.a. emo glasses) I've been wanting to buy since I started college.

All I need now are black Chucks (check), a ton of black shirts (check), a couple of baston pants (check), a stick-thin build (soon), and an iPod chock-full of depressing songs (lost).

Ha! I'm half-kidding, actually. Me? Emo? Yeah right. I think I'm actually too old to go through that. But then again, I think I have all the right reasons to be depressed.

And there you have it.

Sunrise Entry # 1

I didn't get any sleep.

Seven shots of espresso did the trick. My pulse rate at around midnight was off the charts. It didn't go down until around three in the morning, just after I finished typing the previous entry, and at which point I decided that I should try getting some sleep.

But I didn't get any sleep at all. I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in bed, thinking of everything that happened during the school year.

And then I realized - this is what it feels like to not have any direction in life at all. I don't know where I'm headed; I don't know what I want to become; I don't know what or who I am. I don't even feel alive anymore. Yes, my depression's acting up again.

All I do is sleep, eat, study, think, and take tests.

I'm off to beg my seven-thirty class's professor to give me extra consideration since I really just might lose my scholarship this year. Wish me luck.

[UPDATE: My Development Economics standing is much worse than I was expecting. I'm at a low C (2.00). I need a fucking B+ (3.50). God, I've never been this frightened about my grades before. FUCK IT I'M PANICKING. PUTANGINA PUTANGINA. The professor doesn't seem to want to give any consideration, and he doesn't want to give bonus work. I'm seriously fucked.]

And I have a long test at six in the evening, which I'm going to fail miserably. Let's hope that I won't.

[UPDATE: The long test was a give-away. It was supposed to be about queueing theory (how to optimize a queueing model given mean arrival/interarrival times and mean service times, and how many channels are given, if you need to know) but ended up being an exercise in basic probability (Poisson and exponential distributions). And it surely helps that I took the test in an annoyingly perky mood despite thirty hours of non-sleep. Yehey.]

A Realization

I've been doing a lot of reflecting and reminiscing recently - you know, reading my high school write-ups and palanca letters, browsing through my grade school and high school photo albums and paraphernalia, and going through my Friendster testimonials a couple of times, that kind of stuff - and I realize how different I really am from my perceived and outdated image of myself.

Arun, apparently, seems to be going through a similar phase.

For a start, I don't seem to be the happy-go-lucky, funny, tactless Jonat of yore anymore. I mean, I don't even remember the last time I actually told an honest-to-goodness joke (Chuck Norris facts don't count, okay?). If you knew me back in high school, that statement alone would surprise you; back then, I could make your ears bleed from all the corny jokes I used to tell. And apparently, my Friendster testimonials reveal that I seem to have told a lot of jokes back in first year. I don't know - maybe that aspect of my personality didn't really fit in college life; hence, I was forced to change my persona to something more acceptable.

And I think (confirm this please, dear reader) that I've actually turned into a quiet, reflective person (gasp!). I used to be the type of person who'd have his foot in his mouth fifty percent of the time; now, I actually think before I speak. Not that this is bad in itself - mind you - but I think it has effectively made me a boring, dull boy with no personality whatsoever.

I'm certainly more pessimistic now (which I wouldn't have thought possible a couple of years ago). But then again, aren't we all? Going through a lot of shit did take its toll on my morale. It's not that I actually want to be like this, you know - it just feels like I've lost my ability to believe in myself again.

Ah, yes, I'm rambling again. I seem to be doing a lot of that recently.

The main point of this entry is that I don't seem to know who I am anymore.

[EDIT: Another realization - maybe I just don't have enough opportunities to show my true self anymore. What do you think?]

I'm serious. I'd really appreciate it if you could enlighten me. What kind of persona do I project when I write? If you know me personally, does this persona jive with your understanding of me? Do you even understand me? Have I really changed that much? How much, exactly?

Yes, I am aware that this sounds like an essay question for a literary appreciation class. But I'm dead serious; I'd really appreciate your honest opinion (in other words, HELP).

Thank you.

Disappointment

I just came from my marketing class (a.k.a. Jaryd's spaghetti and donuts party). The professor gave out the pre-final standings of each student.

The lower limit for a B+ (3.50) is 3.31.

I got a 3.24. I'm just 0.07 away from a B+, fuck it.

The average of all my passed requirements is roughly 3.40. However, my class participation grade is a fucking 2.50. I recite a lot when I'm in class, but apparently I have a lot of cuts and lates.

Fuck morning classes. I absolutely hate them.

I need a fucking 3.50 QPI this sem. I really do. I absolutely am fucking depressed. I hate this. I FEEL SO MEDIOCRE.

I'm going to get myself abso-fucking-lutely drunk this Saturday. I'm apologizing in advance.

Yes, I write like this when I'm depressed.

Full Moon

i. Tonight

The moon is unbelievably beautiful tonight.

Full moons never fail to make me feel, I don't know, weird. I can't describe how it feels - like you just need to party, go out on a date, go walking... I don't know, just do something. In my case, I'm blogging. Yes, I'm a loser. Kiss me. Haha.

I've been blogging prolifically over the past week, I know. I guess it just shows how much I just need somebody to talk to. If you personally know me, you know how talkative I can become when I'm in the mood to talk - telling weird stories, bashing other people, or ranting about my life. Oh well.

But tonight I'm not really in the mood to talk. I just want to look at the moon with someone. But I can't, so I'm just going to say...

The moon is unbelievably beautiful tonight.

ii. Katharine McPhee

I slept at nine this morning and woke up at six in the evening - just in time for American Idol!

Katharine makes me melt. LITERALLY. I turned to jelly and fell from the sofa while watching her. And I couldn't keep my jaw up.

Okay, when she goes to the Philippines, I'm going to bring a big "Kiss Me Katharine" poster to her performances. Hehehe.

Man, I want a girl like that.

iii. McDonald's

I started craving for Twister Fries right after American Idol, so I walked on over to McDo Katipunan (which, if you give it some thought, is so much like Mount McDo in Alabang; I really miss home...) and got myself a full dinner.

I was kind of low on cash, and I saw that they accepted MasterCard; I figured, what the heck, might as well charge my meal, right? Apparently, they weren't used to people charging their meals, so the cashier got the manager to assist her, and even he wasn't that familiar with the whole system. He ended up not giving me the charge slip, and asked me to sign an official receipt instead. I asked him politely where my copy of the charge slip was, and he became quite exasperated. I said that it was all okay, that he shouldn't bother about it.

He actually ended up wanting to assist me by carrying my tray to my table, but I declined. So he personally replaced one piece of the chicken on my tray with a much bigger one instead.

NOTE TO SELF: Look like a little rich prick when eating at fast food joints.

iv. Nostalgia

I'm currently downloading a whole CD's worth of house anthems from the early 2000s.

I haven't gone out in years. This sucks.

v. Good Night

I don't like this entry. But oh well.

The next one's going to be much better. I'm too incoherent tonight.

Dismay

I really prepared to study for my Dev Eco long test this morning.

I got thirteen hours of sleep the previous night, ordered my cramming drink - a quad hazelnut white chocolate mocha, non-fat no whipped (and my piss ended up smelling like coffee; okay I shouldn't have said that) - and prepared a kick-ass playlist on iTunes so I could study the whole night. I think you'd agree that I was all-set for a night of cramming, right?

The test was at seven-thirty, so I decided to sacrifice my night's sleep to study for the test. I finished studying around ten minutes before five (after browsing through the study material four times, I should add) and was stuck with a dilemma: I could study for another hour, or I could take an hour-long nap and wake up at six to fix up for the test. I ended up doing the latter, figuring that it would do me good to take the test kind of recharged.

I set my alarm and snuggled up into my usual fetal sleeping position, and ended up falling asleep in twenty-or-so minutes.

I WOKE UP AT SEVEN-FUCKING-FIFTEEN. As usual, I ended up unconsciously putting off my primitive alarm clock (which didn't have a snooze function, obviously) and going back to sleep. I brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, jumped into the first outfit I could get my hands on (which, it turns out, was the one I wore to my only class yesterday), and ran the half-kilometer to school. I got there just before the bell rang.

So there, I sat down, panting but pretty ready, or so I assumed. The test was an objective essay type, if I could call it that, with four questions at twenty-five points each. I breezed through the first three questions, but got stuck at the last one with barely five minutes to go before the bell rang. I just wrote a load of incoherent bullshit to at least write something.

Argh. I needed to ace this test to get a B+ for my final grade, since I fucked up the first one. And to think this is one of the easiest subjects I'm ever going to take. Why can't I excel in school anymore? I hate it. I really do.

Okay, I'm ranting. Sorry.

That's it.

A Rather Morbid Post

i. I'm Dying

Yes, I am; aren't we all? I've been having these splitting headaches (yeah, hence the title of the blog) for almost a week now, and my stomach's getting annoyingly acidic by the day. I've been taking two to four Tylenol Extra Strength tablets every day for the headaches, and another two or three Kremil-S tablets daily for the dyspepsia. They aren't fucking working. I hate it.

Argh, the joys of stress. At least there's just one week of school left.

I got thirteen hours of sleep last night; that seems to have alleviated my symptoms temporarily at least - until I got around to actually studying that is - and my head started throbbing and now, shit I'm here writing, hoping that by writing it down I'd get rid of it.

And this is weird considering that I'm actually my lifestyle's relatively quite healthier now. I'm drinking significantly less - I've only gotten drunk once in the past month, I think, and even that wasn't roaring drunk. That's a big achievement considering that I spent most of the school year getting drunk at least twice a week. And I'm smoking quite less too; now I'm down to approximately a pack a day, compared to two packs a day for most of the school year. And yeah - I've been clean (if you get what I mean) for exactly a month now. This calls for a celebration! Hehe. So there, I don't quite understand why I'm feeling like this.

Ah yes, I'm rambling. I can't concentrate because of my damn headache, damn it. And on to the next section we go.

ii. On Death

And since I think I'm dying, I figured that I want to leave a will of sorts before I die. Haha.

Friends, when I die, I want you to dedicate a beer, or a shot, or a pitcher - whatever your poison is - to me every week. And prior to drinking it (bottoms-up, I should say), I want you to say something witty and clever and tearjerking (Or should I say tearjerky? Hehe) about me. For example,

To Jonat, who never really quit despite whining like a horse on coke (and was hung like one too), who loved like there was no tomorrow, and drank like he loved. Amen. Cheers!

Promise me this, okay?

iii. On Aging

I was in SBC just a few hours ago to study for my DevEco finals tomorrow at seven-thirty in the morning. I ordered my usual drink - a quad white chocolate mocha with a shot of raspberry, non-fat and no whipped, if you're curious - and was quite surprised to see the barista stifling a laugh. Apparently SBC's baristas aren't that used to customizing drinks as compared to Starbucks', so I forgave her for finding it funny.

And it certainly helped that the new barista was kind of cute in a weird weird way. On my way back to my table, I found myself feeling sort of weird for getting a crush on a barista. I mean, she was old, right?

Then it hit me - she was, at most, probably only two years older than me.

I'd better get used to being twenty. Watch out for my overdue "Turning Twenty" post.

iv. A Life Project

Oh, and since I'm dying, I'd just like to announce (Ahem.) that I'm starting to write a novel. I kid you not, friends. It's not like I'm going to publish it or anything; I just feel like writing one.

It's going to be about a slightly overweight, very insecure young man who grew up in the 90s, and who lives in the suburbs south of Manila. I hope to finish it just in time for graduation next year.

Yes, I am crazy. I know.

Fifty

My dad turned fifty a month and a half ago. And it's official - he's undergoing his second childhood.

He went bungee-jumping in New Zealand last month.

And then he went parasailing in Boracay last weekend. I wonder what he's going to do when my family goes to Palawan on the 31st?

What's next? If he goes skydiving anytime soon, I'm going to jump with him. Hehe. And the scary thing is, I hope I black out during free-fall and forget to release the chute. Begone, ye malevolent depressing spirits. Sorry about that.

Sayang

Floating in the one-more-bottle limbo between sobriety and tipsiness, I saw my friend Chino walk into the sala and tell his friend Eric slowly, nonchalantly:

Eric, Eric, tara labas tayo. Gusto mo makita si Manny Pacquiao?

Eric, in a matter-of-fact tone, says:

Sige ba. Teka dalhin ko beer ko.

And they walk lazily out of the room.

Jake and I, who were lounging on the nearby sofas, looked at each other and said:

Pucha anlakas na ng amats ng mga 'to ah.

May kamukha siguro si Manny sa labas. Kawawa naman.

Five minutes later, Eric and Chino entered the sala showing off an image on their camera. It turns out that it really was Manny Pacquiao. SAYANG TANGINA. I would've run out of Karen's house like a complete asshole and rushed Manny like the fanboy I am. And I would've gone:

Manny, Manny [raising my sleeve] pasuntok naman! Isa lang please!

or

Manny, Manny [pointing to my cheek] Isa lang, sa mukha! Banatan mo ko!

I left shortly afterwards. The picture that should've-been should be on my YM status pic right now, and on my Friendster account, and on my Multiply profile page. ARGH.

Slow-Mo

My brother's miniature pinscher chewed up the DSL cable this afternoon.

I have two viable solutions to get out of this rut:

A. Buy a 10 m LAN cable. Climb up unto the third-floor rooftop. Connect said cable to the DSL antenna.

B. Get hold of an RJ45 jack-end and an RJ45 crimping tool. Cut off the damaged part of the existing LAN cable. Try to remember how to connect the jack-end to the cable.

Until then, I'll be stuck using a prepaid dial-up account.

[EDIT: 031206] Okay, I forgot Option C: Open up the cable to reveal the wires inside. Twine together the wires to fix the uplink/downlink. Solved.

Midnight Entry # 2

Here I am - bored, tired, and somewhat dizzy - staring at the computer screen because I don't have anything productive to do. I should actually be working on my group's marketing study tonight, but I guess I'm just not in the mood to work yet. No one of particular importance is online either, so I can't waste time talking to anyone on YM 'til I begin to feel drowsy. Ach! Boring night, huh? And well, on boring nights like this one - when I'm feeling alone and insomniac and tiny and helpless and unproductive - I can't help but start thinking about stuff - you know, ideas for stories I want to write, films I want to make, places I want to go to, people I want to meet. Yeah right, who am I kidding, huh? Fine, I usually think about things that were, about things that could be but are not, of could-have-beens and should-haves, of missed opportunities and big fucking mistakes. [Yeah, I do know I'm particularly fond of italicizing words - that's how I speak, you see.]

So there, tonight I'm thinking. And aside from the stuff that I usually find myself thinking of - pretty depressing stuff, actually - I'm thinking of one particular incident last sem that makes me feel something. That's the weird thing actually; I don't know what exactly it makes me feel. That's probably why I'm thinking about it in the first place. Let me tell you about it:

So there I was, directing my first film, which was shot in my house back in Alabang. We were a small, unruly crew of five people: two actors, the producer, the cameraman/director of photography, and me. We were running late - it was getting dark, we had barely finished shooting half of the scenes we had to shoot, and the deadline for the screening version of the film was noon the next day. I was half-drunk from all the tequila I had ingested to flush out my creative/insane side, the actors were all tired and sleepless, and there was a general mood of not-being-in-the-mood-for-it-anymore about the set.

And magic happens. I was blocking the role of the actor along with the actress, and all of a sudden I feel the character. That actually wasn't that hard, considering that this film started out as an autobiographical one - and yes, it is a love story of some sort, if you really have to know. Anyway, to cut the story short, shooting the scene goes by without a hitch, and we have a short yosi break before resuming the shoot. And the actor who's playing the lead role - well, he starts crying because he's starting to feel the character too (and this is extremely weird because it's this guy's absolute first time to act in anything, and because he's this quiet, NR guy); and everyone else suddenly decides to become teary-eyed and senti and listen to Sugarfree's music. Needless to say, the rest of the shoot goes by without any further difficulties, and we end up producing a particularly nice short film for a first-time crew.

There. And I have absolutely no idea why I'm thinking of that particular incident. Is it because I'm feeling kind of sentimental tonight? I'm not actually that sentimental tonight; I'm just bored. Do I want to direct a film again? Not now, probably; I don't think I have another great story to tell. I really don't know, I guess.

This entry's quite different from the few previous ones, isn't it?

Sunset Entry # 3

First off - yes, I am running out of witty titles for my entries. Sorry na.

* * *

This afternoon in Philo102 - Mr. Pasco was discussing about how guys, in general, try their best not to cry despite really wanting to, even if their sinuses are all swollen up and painful from holding back tears:

Mr. Pasco: Oo, kasi ang lalaki diba, ayaw umiyak kasi tangina parang ang bakla diba!?

[He seems to have forgotten that practically all the guys seated in the front two rows are gay, thus resulting in an awkward five-second silence.]

Mr. Pasco: Ay shit sorry! Nalimutan ko...

[Awkward silence continues.]

Mr. Pasco: Erm. Continuing with the lesson...

* * *

After Philo, my classmate JC and I decided to head to World Topps for the usual late afternoon beers (Buy-one-take-one on all local beers for fifty pesos! Puwede na boys!). After an hour or so of drinking and good conversation, we noticed that the young woman at the newspaper stand nearby was suckling her less-than-a-year-old baby with Mountain Dew from a milk bottle.

And then I realized - softdrinks actually cost less than milk.

That was really depressing.

* * *

I found myself riding the condominium's elevator three times today in a single hour (please don't ask me why, okay thanks) and there was this really cute chinita who happened to be in the elevator with me during each trip. And the weird thing was, everyone else would get off at their floors rather early on, thus leaving the two of us alone for practically the latter half of the duration of the elevator ride.

As I was boarding the elevator the third and final time today, I saw her there - alone. Thinking it was getting pretty weird, I gave her a lopsided smile and she returned it. I took my spot and just stood there, silent. We were alone for the rest of the ride down, and I didn't even talk to her. ARGH.

First the pink lighter (just ask - I'll be happy to tell you that story), now this. Why, Jonat, why?

* * *

Up Dharma Down plays really trippy music, if you get my drift. :)

Ayos? Ayos.

Vanity

I was browsing through my stash of pics from last summer and I just couldn't get over how thin I was then. Damn. Tapos swear ang angas ko pa tingnan with the tan and everything.

I need to lose weight FAST. I'm going to hit the gym every day this summer after work. ARGH. By the end of summer, dapat HELLO GIRLS na 'to! Haha.

Okay sorry, I just woke up. Pardon the narcissism. Bihira lang 'to, swear.

Sunset Entry # 2

I have this tendency to embarrass myself when I'm bagong-gising, especially right after afternoon naps I take in my apartment to take advantage of breaks between classes. In the middle of hell month last sem, for example, I woke up at two in the afternoon, hurriedly took a shower, slipped into some presentable clothes, and ran to school so I wouldn't be that late for my two-thirty class. Despite being ten minutes late for class, it was a wise decision on my part to attempt to slip discreetly into class instead of rushing in; just before actually entering the classroom I was surprised to see my Philosophy teacher Mr. Pasco in front, instead of my Economics teacher Mr. Tamangan. It took me a full five seconds to register that my Economics class was actually supposed to be at one-thirty - that is, one hour earlier. I shrugged my shoulders, walked home, and ate at Jollibee along the way.

But today I outdid myself. I ran to school after an hour's nap and was actually on time for my ten-thirty class (okay, five minutes late, then - that's good enough for me). I rushed into the classroom and while scrambling to get to my seat, I noticed that the teacher in front was Sir Darwin Yu and that the people in the classroom were all M.E. sophomores. It again took me five seconds to realize that I was supposed to be in the classroom adjacent to this one. So I said "Ah! Mali... Sawry!" sheepishly while slowly backing out of the classroom amidst their laughter. That was funny. Haha.

* * *

Seen on the rear end of a jeepney this afternoon: Don't trust a man who does'nt [sic] drink.

True, true. Kulang sa init ang dugo.

* * *

This afternoon in Theology class, I volunteered to be the representative of my group to pick a number out of the box - you know, to determine the presentation order of the groups who were set to report. Seems that I'm pretty lucky today - my group's the very last one to report.

Buti na lang. Bukas pala zipper ko the whole time. Hehe.

* * *

I'm currently addicted to Up Dharma Down, and I really don't know why. There seems to be something really honest about their music that I can't really place, like how deconstructed pants and black coffee are honest to their substance, to their being.

Deconstructed rock. I like.

My Name

I really like this one.

Jonathan -- [noun]: An immortal 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Midnight Entry # 1

One of the two most important women in my life (the other one's my mom, if you're curious) celebrated her birthday today.

To my sister, who grows in beauty each day (and yeah, my mom's right - she does resemble Joyce Jimenez): Happy fourteenth birthday Jessikoy. I love you. :)

* * *

On my way home to celebrate my sister's birthday, I took a cab to Ortigas to meet up with my dad in order to save him some driving time. I told the cabbie to drop me off at the Shell station on Vargas corner Rodriguez. Instead, he let me off at the Shell station on Sapphire corner Ortigas. Salamat ah. Your sense of direction definitely did not make up for your dreadful road etiquette as I was hoping it would. Asshole.

* * *

Tonight I realized just how memorable Alabang Town Center really is to me. Each store, each restaurant, each bench - I can tell you a dozen stories about every single one of them.

My family ate in Friday's tonight, and I couldn't help but recall a story about a 5-peso bill, one about a birthday dinner, and another about a Double Fudge Brownie.

I shared two Double Fudge Brownies with my siblings tonight. That was bliss :)

* * *

Rustom Padilla just admitted his homosexuality on national television. Afterwards, he spent a chockful of time sobbing on Kiana's breasts... err, chest. Either he just isn't a boob person, or he really is completely gay.

* * *

Will Shakespeare truly is a literary god.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou her maid art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious.
Her vestal livery is but sick and green,
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.
It is my lady; O, it is my love!
O that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold; 'tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!

Romeo and Juliet is, hands down, one of the best stories ever told.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.