Never Let Me Go

I have this exceptional talent in ignoring my responsibilities that I got to watch a movie yesterday while being caught between responsibilities. I believe it wasn't a waste because the (first) movie I watched was exceptional.

See the trailer!



Keira Knightely!

The movie was gripping. The dialogue was wonderful. So yeah. GO WATCH!

ON the other hand, don't think about watching Gulliver's Travels (the one with Jack Black) except if living starts becoming a chore.

Ang Babae Sa Septic Tank

I'm still a little bitter about having to miss Jerrold Taruc's "Senior Year" screening two Fridays ago (if only missing that Chem midterm meant any less to my sorrowful tentative school marks) so I was hell bent on watching "Ang Babae Sa Septic Tank" today.

And I did watch it. Made me happy!

The film bagged the Best Actress, Best Screenplay, Best Director, Best Film,  and Audience Choice Awards of the 7th Cinemalaya Film Festival.

The actors were fine. Eugene Domingo was amazing. Kean Cipriano was shockingly good. He played the part of the director with rockstar tendencies. I'm not sure if his acting giving me the impulse to explode in the chorus of "Stars" is a good thing but still, he did really well for a band lead singer!


The film is definitely a must watch. Its kind of funny watching a film about Filipino indie filmmakers in a broken theater. As much as possible, don't go for Cinema 8 of SM North EDSA. Looks too much like the venue of EDSA II.

The film was good comedy. The laughs didn't sacrifice substance - which is a miracle in a Filipino mainstream flick. Go get tickets, watch it. WATCH IT!

Lock the door, close the windows, turn on the lamp and get lost!

As of now, I don't think I would be able to fish out a reason good enough to drag me out of the dorm for the rest of the weekend.. I knew this was going to happen so I prepared by borrowing a few books of interest from the Rizal Library.

I told you already I liked Patterson. 

Gabriel García Márquez is torture for someone with ADHD. She turns every minor detail into a short story. I borrowed two books by her, Love in the Time of Cholera (which, for the nth time, I'll be repeating from the beginning) and In Evil Hour. I find her hard to read and you can call this forcing down the throat but I really want to finish a book! Aside from it being a testament of patience, she made me trust her that she is not wasting my time. 

Jessica Zafra. She's the writer I run to when I fall into space where everything is too bland. She's definitely one of those rare people who always have something different to say. Yehey!

So there. 

Past few days had been hellish. Well, high school was technically more hellish but here in the Ateneo, I am always reminded to do good. The UST Med School tour reminded me so much on how I want to be a doctor. Being a doctor will be hard as hell but if it is what make me happy, I have to go through what I have to.

How Life Has Been So Far

Friday Night = Party.

So obviously Saturday is used to detoxify. Detoxifying is comprised mostly of rolling on my bed until I sleep then wake up, then sleep and wake up again.

Saturday Night= Party

Party again. Then Sunday is used for recovery but it won't be enough so the whole coming week would be spent half-assed and in one of the milder states of being a zombie. To balance the partying and schooling, I study way more than I did in high school and so far, all my exam grades are above passing score (primarily because of luck).

So there, I have to say sorry to myself again because this online record of my life has been left unattended for a few days already. Yeah.

And I forgot to tell you about me going to the studio to watch a local noontime show. It was for our English paper and its sad to say I saw and heard a lot of things I shouldn't have.  Fortunately, this wasn't one of them:

The video above was taken during a commercial break, right before "Pera O Bayong".

I remember watching "Pera O Bayong" and how almost all the questions revolved around the scientific names of organisms. I remember seeing my guardian clutching the volume about botany from our encyclopedia and memorizing Ipomoea aquatica, the scientific name of kangkong because it was asked on TV. Oh, the influence!

My mother knew I was watching the show live and of course, she was thrilled! Hahahaha. After the show, she reported how often we were caught on camera. 

There, there. More posts later.

PE (where the 'E' now stands for 'exhaustion')

For a very long time already I had this belief that all PE teachers are supposed to hate me. At first, my theory stood upon interpersonal human relations of how humanity A reacts with humanity B. Its just PE teachers are matchsticks and I’m a gallon of kerosene.

But this understanding was shattered with the realization that the PE teachers I have been through were as diverse (but maybe not as colorful) as rainbows. I can’t be reactive to all of them, all the time - so I was left with this: The existence of an international organization exclusive only to PE teachers.

I find it easy to imagine them having an online forum and someone from my childhood posting my picture headlining “Hate this guy. His body configuration is disrespect to the PE community”. Seriously though, I don’t really care how they manage the consistency, but all PE teachers hate me.

It feels like I’m being mocked when they count “1, 2, 3 …”, in time for those awful bouts of push-ups or curl-ups and when they go around the class, spotting everyone if they’re doing the physical contortions correctly, it would be a miracle if an error isn’t spotted in my form.

It’s really not an issue of being fair, it is just that it seems no matter how much pain I endure, I still can’t do it and PE teachers are not supposed to tolerate that.

I have come to the realization that I can never be as physically capable as most of the populace. Excelling in PE with my set of muscles and bones is just insanity. Why can’t PE teachers accept my fate with me? Treat me with more kindness, maybe? Its always about pushing forward. The problem is: what if you’re pushing against a solid wall, something greater than you are – like genetics? Wouldn’t be that unfair to me? What if this is a minor disability?

I’m taking up taekwondo this semester.

I’m a white-belter and our midterms is to pass a standard promotion to yellow. The midterms don’t scare me. My problem is the class. We start the class with warm-up exercises that I swear burns off the whole of my past two meals. If you could see my face during those crunches and stretches, it’s obvious it’s not only calories the exercise is eating off. I could feel my soul trying to escape me. Sigh.

What a lengthy blog post trying to rationalize waking up and getting to PE class tomorrow.

My PE teachers have all been the best at least in their regions. My taekwondo instructor now is the coach of the Philippine Team. If I could see him through an aspiring and capable athlete’s eye, I probably would have a man-crush on him.

Some things I learned from this weekend.

1. James Patterson is easy to like. 

I’ve heard of him a lot (frequent bestseller) but never tried reading his work. Fixed that this weekend and did not regret it. He made me realize how I enjoy legal drama (and that being a lawyer is not that far out in my list of possible careers. Joking.)

2. Woody Allen could be the father of my reasoning and that I’ll enjoy anything he has made. 

We first met each other in a book sale. I read “Without Feathers” in a spur-of-a-moment flight out of Iloilo, to Manila then Zamboanga alone. When I first stepped into the libraries of the Ateneo, I looked for his name on the catalog then read his book. This is the second time I read this because the first time I did not devour it wholly.  

3. The Ateneo Library is a hero.

They carry a lot of cool books. Cash is no more a part of looking for good reading materials.

4. I can read well, almost with zero conscience, under heavy piles of schoolwork.

I had a lot to do this weekend but still, I preferred rolling among photocopied handouts to obsessively consume Allen and Patterson’s works.

Rain, the owl and Tagalog poems

There is something about the rain that turns me into a pile of sloth that 'sloth-fuly' makes its way through thick peculiarity. That is how I feel and that is really hard to explain so I'm not going to explain it, all because I am a pile of sloth.

I refuse to believe this weirdness is residue alcohol from last Friday's epic party at the Ronac Center in Ortigas (lol). To give you a clearer idea on how cray cray this weekend had been, here is my account of a dream from last night's 15-minute nap (a small fraction of my weekend):

I'm in an arena. Everything seems fine except there is a huge-ass black owl with red eyes and a swollen head trying to drive its beak into my heart. I pick-up a broom and start waving it to shield myself, ignoring the fact that I'm at a disadvantage (I can't fly!). Then a teenage girl with red-eyes and an evil expression emerges from a door. She starts watching my duel with the deranged fowl with another girl who has been there all along. (This other girl was likely a ghost because she had phosphorescence.) When the owl was too close to killing me, I woke myself up by trying to force my eyelids apart. I look into the mirror just to affirm myself that I am already conscious, BAM! I have RED EYES because I slept with my contacts on. I immediately removed my contacts and prayed really hard in an effort to exorcise myself.

Who dreams of zombie owls?

I hate weekends like this. Its so sloppy and all I do is go to the internet, look at things and chanting "I want to try that" without actually doing anything. Baaah. When I'm away from the internet, I want to be an amazing doctor, saving lives and providing healthcare to those who need it the most but when I'm browsing the web, I start wanting to try skiing, being a musician, planking, and skydiving. My head falls in love with information a little bit too much. Focusing skills-nada!

I'm studying Filipino and although I swear I love Filipino literature, reading Tagalog poems is like reading with a scalpel, carving every single word on my meninges. It hurts. Tagalog is a very romantic language but some words are just too alien-sounding I can feel my tongue and most of my neurons threatening to resign.

Today is a Monday but we don't have class because the Ateneo is celebrating the holiness of St. Ignatius of Loyola. No offense to St. Ignatius but I'm not sure if I'm really enjoying this day-off. Out of character, but am I actually preferring a school day over a special holiday? Whaaaat?

Rain, the owl and Tagalog poems, please do not render me bonkers!