Afternoon Delight

Would you care for Tea? Earl Grey? Certainly.

Do you take milk or sugar with that?

How about a snack? Pussy cupcake, perhaps?

Yes, Pussy.

Music Therapy

Funerals are Fun!

The Chinese believe that a funeral is the benchmark of a family's status symbol. They blow off most of their savings just to have a glamorous funeral for all the nosy neighbors to see.

Guest count is also as important as having a pimped- out funeral. The number of mourners is directly proportionate to the family of the dead dude's popularity, status symbol and importance to the community.

So how do they draw the crowd to the boring, depressing tribute for the dead?

STRIPPERS!!!

This new-age funeral practice is getting more and more common in the provincial regions of China. What ever happened to karaoke or contortionists for entertainment? Who am I kidding, pretty young thangs sexy dancing to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is a sure hit for any crowd, especially that of a male- dominated population! Who says you can't mourn and have a boner at the same time?

And see, the dead dude is smiling in the picture as we speak. Plus side of this, his wife hand- picked the sultriest stripper just for him. There is, indeed, heaven in the afterlife.

Unfocused Sensate

Why can't I get just one kiss?

Why can't I get just one kiss?

Believe me there's some things that I wouldn't miss

But I look at your pants and I need a kiss!

Why can't I get just one screw?

Why can't I get just one screw?

Believe me I know what to do!

But something won't let me make love to you.

Why can't I get just one fuck?

Why can't I get just one fuck?

I guess it's got something to do with luck!

But I waited my whole life for just one...

 

Sex is fucking overrated. Pfffftttt.  

Getting Over a Broken Heart

Dear Tough Love Tin,

Everything about the man still resounds in my beaten heart and nagging head. The love affair that ended with a few words but started with none. If forgetting is impossible, I just wish that my senses would leave my beat up mind and heavy heart in peace.

The sound of his voice, and of the beautiful laughter we had when we were together keeps playing at the back of my head. The smell of his perfume and the taste of his mouth randomly haunts me even at the deepest of my sleep. The shadows of his face and how his eyes glowed with every change of emotion, and how soft his touch felt is making me want him more rather than move on. But I never knew him, the totality of him. I just know that I loved every second of the time he was looking my way, even if I never knew what I really mean to him. Our love affair ended even before they began our sweet surrenders.

What should I do? Everything about him won’t escape me! HELP!”

- HOPELESS CASE

Dear Hopeless Case,

Like death and birth, every second in every part of the world, somebody out there is getting their heart broken. By now, people being creatures of habit must know already how to dodge the senses and just move on. But why does a broken heart get the best of us? Why do we never learn? Because emotions are not like anything else in this world. It is not tangible, therefore, we don’t know what we are faced with.

Hopeless Case, you are not so hopeless. Now, this all depends on how strong you are as a person and how you cope with things. The intensity of the relationship and the length of it also has a lot to do with the time and effort you‘ll be needing to cure your disease. Don't worry, you’ll get over it. Suck it up!

The best advice I can give you is do what I do, it works for a stubborn love fool such as myself.

Step 1: TORTURE

Do what you do now, only more. SULK. Relish the pain, torture yourself with the thoughts of him until you get so tired that you just cry yourself to sleep. Turn the lights down low and play the saddest songs on your play list, crank it up! After setting the mood, look at pictures of him and you, of him every single moment. Whine, cry and vent to your friends and obsess about every single detail of your relationship until they are sick and tired of you. Stalk him on Facebook, if you want. Ask about him, but don’t make it sound that you’re angry or indifferent. There’s nothing more pathetic than a woman pretending to be strong but the whole world can see that she’s just a hopeless mess.

If your common friends ask you on how you are doing, politely say that you are having a hard time, but you know life has to go on. An honest enough answer that would not trigger suspicion of your undergoing self- destruction, but realistic enough that you can fool people into thinking that you are moving on.

Don’t let him know or give any hint that you are suffering. Do not post any sappy status message or write on your blog what you’re going through because of his loss. And by any means, DO NOT drunk dial or communicate with him at all! You never, ever wanna lose face to your ex. Try not to lose focus on your job, or school (although this is going to happen anyway). If another part of your life suffers, it would be harder for you to move on. People close to you are probably so sick and pissed off of your neurosis after all this time of whining, but they’ll get over it. As of this point, you shouldn’t care too much about them. Self pity is the key, you are all alone in this battle. Do Step 1 for a month or two, maximum 3.

Step 2: LIMITS

You should be tired at this point already. Physically, you should’ve gained or lost a lot of weight and you look like trash. After all that thinking, you should’ve also thought about the bad things about him and the relationship, too. The guy couldn’t be all that great! Think about these things now. Think about his most annoying qualities and how you lived with it. Think about how he flirted around with other girls and the times that he lied to you. Think of all the negative!

This is the time that you should talk to your friends. Ask them what they really think about him. Most probably, they’ve told you time and again how they hated his guts or how they didn’t like bits and pieces of him. Refresh your memory and listen to them. It would sound different this time because now, you want to get over him already. I learned in life that half of the time, your close friends and family are right about their view of your partner.

Change your focus to these things but have the same intensity of sulking as much as you did when you were craving for him. But don’t lose sight of the truth. Don’t exaggerate or fabricate negative things about him in your head. It’s a common mistake of the scorned, but you can never lie to yourself. Ever.

Now stop asking about him. Do everything ONLY 3 times a day: Look at his profile only 3 times a day instead of setting it as a homepage to your browser. Look at photos only 3 times a day, and only allow yourself to feel pathetic 3 times a day. Most importantly, think about your memories with him only 3 times a day. The latter is more difficult, but you’ll learn to control your mind when you are doing this. Just believe that you can! Duration of this is 2 weeks to a month, max. Step 2 is more of a transition than an actual step.

Step 3: LIGHTEN UP

Think about the time you wasted obsessing about him. Think about the parties you’ve missed out and the dates that you’ve canceled because you were still attached to the idea of him and him coming back. Stop checking your phone every five seconds because he might’ve texted. Stop deleting his name on the phonebook because you know his number by heart anyway. Tell yourself not to care if he does anything to be noticed, like message you or call you all of a sudden. He does not exist.

Try to avoid places that you think you’ll see him. Block him on your messenger list. Step 3 is when you start taking care of yourself. Always be at your best. Look good. Meet other people, but don’t jump into another relationship. Look at being single as a privilege. Flirt and feel beautiful. At this point, you might feel a little bit of resentment towards the guy… allow yourself to feel angry. But don’t let your anger towards him get the best of you like it did the time you were hopelessly in love. You’ll miss him and his memory would still haunt you. Try to distract yourself if this does happen.

Lightening up is sparing yourself from the mind games and puzzles that you put yourself into. Stop torturing yourself with the what- if’s. There is no what- if’s in your equation anymore. Lightening up is healing the scars, and accepting certain realities. This is the longest process. Take your time with this one because Step 4 is not for the faint of heart.

Step 4: REALITY BITES

Slowly, you’ll realize that he is not your world anymore. The mere mention of his name will still pinch a nerve in your heart, but at least you’re not crumbling into pieces anymore. Now, you have to accept the fact that he has moved on. Guys cope better with a broken heart compared to girls because of their logical brainwave, or at least handle it better. You have to really believe in the fact that it didn’t work out and you have to move on. You have no choice.

Now, you can go to the places that he frequents at. Don’t be scared if you bump in to him. If you’re alone and he is with someone else, the more that you have to approach him and say hi. He was a part of your life but he is not your life anymore. Think about him fondly, but never forget the pain that he put you through.

I never believe that ex’s can be friends, but some people say it works. Give it a couple of years. You might feel guilty or compelled to still be part of his life for “force of habit” reasons, but this is not a good idea. Ending a relationship, especially on a bitter note, has no room for pleasantries even if you started off as friends. Why? Because if you still have the need to be a part of his life or him as a part of yours, there is still a part of you that’s holding on to him, but not the idea of you and him. And remember why you liked him at the first place? Because he is the person that he is. Ergo, the perfect time to be friends with an ex is only when you don’t really have the need for him to be a part of your life. Your source of happiness is gonna come only from you, and you alone.

Hopeless Case, People forget that they are individuals. They link their happiness and their whole being to the world. What if your world crumbles? Nobody dies of emotional pain, let’s just put it that way. Empower yourself! What’s hard about life is everything is linked. Just when you thought that things are not gonna get any worse, it does. You might have neglected other parts of your life or they also screwed up in the process of your heart mending. Fix yourself. And if you do decide to start again with another relationship, well, just make sure that the next guy does not pay for the sins of the others that broke your heart. Give it all your best, but leave your senses intact.

Good luck Hopeless Case, and may the force of Tough Love be with you!

Tin

Getting Over a Broken Beauty

I just spent around a hundred dollars yesterday on makeup. Although this is so unlikely for me to do, I just couldn’t resist the cute packaging and affordability of vanity products in South Korea. Local brands like Skin Food, Face Shop and Missha are sold only a quarter of the price compared to anywhere else in the world, so yeah, I just went gaga!

I spend a lot of my money on clothes, too. From hoodies to dresses and rugged to girly tops that most of  it still has a price tag on, I always think I have nothing to wear. Bags and shoes are up there on my “things I cannot resist” list. A wide variety of kicks and funky flats are home to my feet, and the bags that I fondly call as my “babies” always see the light of day and they are used and overused just because they are beautiful.

Yes, I do have a shopping addiction. I like pretty things, but not in a cheesy- girly kind of way (nothing pink!). I like looking good, even if I just sport a plain black tee with comfy cargo’s and flip- flops. I buy things that can make me look different, or bluntly speaking, make me stand up from the rest of the crowd.

Despite the cockiness, self- centered and overconfident image that I project, I am very insecure. Growing up as an overweight child, I never wished for anything else but to look pretty and be slim. I would envy girls who didn’t feel grossed out with their bodies and had boys admiring them. I somehow looked the part, but because I was on the heavy side until after college, I didn’t think much of myself which clearly reflected on how I dealt with certain situations and people.

Even if I projected an image of self- absorption, I was dying inside and I sold myself short with dicks and assholes, just because I thought that they were the best I could get for being fat and unattractive. And of course, boys never liked girls smarter than them, much less physically unattractive ones. So I had to bend, play dumb most of the time until I just snap and move on to an equally dumb jerk that would give me a fresh start.

I don’t know how my battle with weight loss began. I just started losing weight, running everyday and eating healthy. Before I knew it, I was losing 5, 10 then 15 pounds in a matter of a few months. From an overweight girl to weighing almost a hundred pounds, I still didn’t feel good about myself even after losing all that weight. I always struggled for physical perfection. A skinny girl trapped in a chubby girl’s body, that’s who I was. That’s still the way I am.

Every time I look at myself in the mirror, I just see certain parts of my body that I think is just wrong and ugly. My fat cottage-cheese thighs, my never EVER flat tummy, my small flat almost- Filipino nose, and my chest that’s flat as a board. My weight fluctuates every now and again, and because of this, I’m starting to obsess about my need to shed a few more pounds until I can almost run in the streets naked and sacred.

Who am I kidding?

I know myself so well that even if I do reach my ideal body weight, I still have the stretch marks and those little fat bumps that’ll remind me that I was once an overweight blob. And I can’t deal with this part of me. I knew things were starting to get out of hand when I started to consider getting a boob job, liposuction and tummy tuck altogether. But for someone like me who weighs a 110lbs., I think no surgeon would say yes if I want fat sucked out from my body. And I would never be satisfied. Ever. 

I always hope that I could go back to the time when I was much younger and stuffing myself with sinful food. I would tell myself to stop, not because I don’t want to be fat but I hate what fat did to me. Because I am still haunted by the insecurities that my chubby body cost me, I am struggling to look at the totality of myself, not just the parts of me that make me look ugly. Until the acceptance of my true “beauty“ doesn‘t sink in, I’ll shop until I drop and try my best, to be at my best all the time. Fact is, even if I don’t believe any compliment that comes my way, it’s still nice to hear that people take notice of how nice you look. Maybe one day, I’ll learn to believe them and I won’t have to fake looking confident, I will just be content… and way prettier inside.

fyi: BOYS, the  next time you tease or criticize a stranger, family member or partner about their weight, THINK FIRST. How would you feel if somebody tells you that you have a small dick, and worse, don’t know how to use it? That’s how it feels. And GIRLS, you don’t have a license to criticize other women just because you think it‘s more harmless. Insults are still insults no matter which mouth it comes from. In fact, you should be more shameful because you should know how it feels to feel ugly. Sometimes we forget these certain things in life. 

Riverdale's New Man... or so they think!

Veronica finally meets the man she could never have. He's hot, but he thinks girls are... well, not. Archie fans, meet the first gay character of  the beloved comic series, Kevin Keller!

"The introduction of Kevin is just about keeping the world of Archie Comics current and inclusive. Archie's hometown of Riverdale has always been a safe world for everyone. It just makes sense to have an openly gay character in Archie comic books," Archie Comics honcho Jon Goldwater said in announcing the news.

This is gonna be verrryyyy interesting. I have my hesitations if the writers can pull off the character of a gay guy in a conservative town without sounding discriminating, or too queer-loving that it might seem too out of character for the comics. But then again, A+ for effort, right? And honestly, aren't people sick and tired of the never- ending Betty- Veronica- Archie love triangle? Bring on some sweet pink lovin' and show these Riverdale folks what romance is all about!

Embracing Craziness

Nothing makes my skin crawl more than reading poser-emo/indie-ish blogs. Written by self-proclaimed writers and artists aged 13-30, their regular entries consist of pathetic what-not’s any other human being bitches about. If endless musings of nostalgia, romantic confusion, societal bitterness and poetic desperation and know-it-all-isms aren’t bad enough, the sad attempt of overdosing every single sentence with highfaluting words is just hilarious. The Chronicles of Literati Faux Pas, or as I like to call it…a bag of shit. Another Scum of the Earth in the category of pathetic. 

I know how I sounded like back there-- mean, bitchy and just wrong to criticize a so-called artistic style. Fine, I am sorry for feeling this way because I love individuality. But it has become a trend for a lot of people to just waste human emotion and words for the satisfaction of being able to label oneself as an angst- driven creative genius. This is unforgivable. That is why I am the way that I am: I’m very careful with how I write and what I write about.

I am bipolar. Ten years ago when blogging and My Chemical Romance was not yet conceived, I was drowning myself with endless drama and raw emotions. Microsoft Word was my best friend. I wrote, wrote and wrote every single angst and hatred I had towards anything and everything until I felt relief. I did this as often as I can, even if I struggled with words and structure whenever I’m at the peak of my emotions. I needed to write so I could make sense of my feelings, my thoughts and my world. And as I mentioned before, I was always an outsider because I was always going against the grain of teenage- Filipino normality. Writing was my only option to save my koo-koo mind. And even though I knew I was half- crazy, I knew half of the time I was also right. This is how I stuck to my guns and made words my bullet.

(FYI: Bipolar disorders a.k.a manic (happy) depression (sad), is far different from schizophrenia or having split personalities. Bipolars are still in tuned with the rest of the world, it’s their unstable emotions that need a- fixing. A child with ADD, if not helped, evolves into an adult with bipolar episodes and may suffer from low self esteem, anxiety, uncontrollable anger or rage, fluctuating social behavior and over-the-top or no sex drive at all. Of course, there are different levels of Manic Depression just like any other mental disorder. The sad part about this is that in the Philippines, seeking help for mild to almost- suicidal levels of depression is almost taboo. Only downright crazy people need psychiatric help. As long as you’re not a hobo that lives under the bridge, you don’t talk to yourself in public, run naked because it’s the end of the world or go into a wild amok, nobody would think you’re on the edge. You’re just a bitch that’s always in a bad mood if you are bipolar.)

Mrs. Reyno. She was my English teacher back in senior year. She was the first person who saw me beyond my craziness. She embraced my unconventional view of life together with my passion for words. She knew that my youthful ignorance and how I challenged my world’s norm fueled my bipolar condition, and my drive to write. Never did she criticize, and never did I have the need to apologize. She made me love literature in a whole different level, thus making me strive for something close to a perfect piece each and every single time I write. This was the first saga of when I was obsessed with writing. But suddenly, I stopped writing even if I never ran out of things to say. I don’t exactly know the reason why I lost my fire, but I’m sure it had a lot to do with my unstable nature. Besides the required essays for school and tidbits of thoughts, I didn‘t write anything else that‘s worth the read.

Flash forward to now. Starting all over again is such a bittersweet experience for me. I am not as messed-up and as young as I used to be, and that's what makes me write with clarity, humility and conviction. Publishing my work for everyone to see also sets a higher emotion compared to just saving my work to My Documents. My hunger for learning and my Life Detox drove me to a different level of obsession. I would shut off the world for me to be alone with my thoughts. I would search for anything that makes me “wow”, and make people “wow“ with me at the same time. I would go on and on, without sleep and food if possible so I won‘t waste time, just to finish my entry that I won’t criticize. Nothing satisfies me, of course. And this escalates my obsession for my own perfection--- thus making me frustrated, angry, physically weak and socially awkward. And unlike any other poser-bipolar out there who needs to listen to angry rock music to fire up their writing mojo, all I want is silence. I hate it when I hear anything else besides the voices in my head.

Do I think I’m crazy? Hell yeah! Do I think I’m overdoing it? I don‘t think so. For years, I have denied myself of word play. Now that the monsters of thoughts have been unleashed once again, I am going to embrace every moment of my insanity. I don’t need the big words or coat my emotions to sound more dramatic and interesting. I’ll just write. Somebody reads. We agree, we disagree. And then we move on.

Do I call myself a writer? Nope. I wouldn’t lie, I would love to, eventually. I don't think I deserve that label yet. Don't call me a blogger though. Thanks, but no thanks. It's an all- or- nothing deal for me. Writer, or not a writer. I'll get there. 

One thing I’m proud of, though: the most mentally- unstable people in history are the ones who made an impact in their chosen passion. So even if I never make a tiny impact in the field of basket- case writing, it’s still nice to know that I have one thing in common with Woody Allen and Kurt Cobain: Prozac, please.

 With insanity comes beauty. "Starry Night" by Van Gogh. My favorite work of art.

Spy Kids on Crack

There is nothing about Kick-Ass that your momma would like. Every single review I read compared this comic-book inspired movie to a Tarantino film due to its graphic violence, foul yet witty language and sick humor.

Just watch the trailer and you'll know what I'm talking about...




I TOLDJA!!!!

Kickin' it with Tarantino!

The two things that make my "guy side"  happy: Violent and graphic new- age movies & funky kicks.
The Black Mamba.

Kill Bill 1&2. I am in love.
Beatrix Kiddo. The Bride. Mommy. Bang! Bang! 

The Perfect Jeans

Sexy is BACK!!!

And it's not from the GAP.

The THONGKINI!

Testimonials:

"Men like it. Especially what's underneath."- Dionne, transvestite hooker at a dark alley 

 " It's not slutty! It's fashion revolution!" - Chelsea, high School student

 

 "Uncomfortable as hell but it screams "I WANT TO GET LAID!!!". That's good enough for me."- Debbie, 43-year old virgin

Product Made in Japan.

Why am I not surprised?

Religion and the Resistance

 If you are Catholic, Filipino and easily offended, I suggest you don't read this.
 
Anywhere you look, the Philippines is surrounded by marks of Catholicism that rule the hypocritical lives of my countrymen. Latest statistic show that there are more than 600,000 churches in the Philippines plus 20 million chapels. More than 90% of the population are registered as Roman Catholics. The rest have their own faith but is still bounded by the rules that were set for the convenience of the majority.

Needless to say, our schools follow a Catholic curriculum. Public schools and international schools are an exception, but for most parents of my time, academic excellence paired with the Word of the Lord is the foundation to becoming an ideal member of the society.

For 15 years I studied in an all-girls Roman Catholic school. A very conservative one. Actually, conservative is an understatement. It was more like attending military school and the Drill Sergeants are teachers who train you for religious combat. The mastery of the Bible and the tenets of anything and everything that Catholicism has to offer was ingrained to us at a very young age. Every activity started and ended with a prayer.  School rules are formed based on the premise: "What is Jesus going to do if he was running this ship?".

Learning religion started out as a fun experience. The basic principles of goodness and "God-ness" were explained in a very simple fashion that made sense to me. But as time passed, I started to question alot of things that didn't make sense to me. I didn't see the point of overwhelming students with religious facts that was comparable to a Theologian's curriculum. More importantly, we never discussed the real world.

The discrepancies of the Bible and history. Were the miracles and apparitions true, or were the suppose- to- be witnesses just delusional? Did they really hear the voice of God, or were the "chosen ones" high in opium? The conflict of science and faith. They say salvation is for the good, but the "good" that is specifically defined in all scriptures is practically unlivable in today's society-- does this mean nobody's soul is going to be saved? If God wants us to live by his image and likeness, why did he give us free will? Does he have a point system or levels on goodness and sin, much like Dante's vision? Some are more sinful than most, do they all experience hell at the same level? And if you are a genuinely good person but not overly religious, do you think you're worthy enough to party with the saints and martyrs in heaven? Or is salvation an all or nothing game?    

These questions I asked time and again. The lines, "because I said so, because God said so and because the church and the Bible said so", were the only answers to every sensitive yet logical question I asked. My parents were even questioned about my resistance to believe in anything that was taught to me. Academically, I wasn't good at anything to begin with. This reason was conveniently used to charge my curiosity to plain and simple rebellion and ignorance, so I was told to stop asking. For years, I resented my school. It didn't help also that there were alot of people who hated just because I am the way that I am. Funny enough, I know where they are coming from*.

(*Another tidbit about the Filipino culture: Being different is not acceptable, conformity is cool. But don't be too prudish because that's not cool either. Filipinos think they are liberated. Even if creativity and thinking out- of- the box is highly encouraged, you can only limit yourself to what is acceptable by the majority. You can never say anything bad about our culture. Anything you say would be taken against you. Most importantly, you can never, EVER point out that we are living a hypocritical life and our country is a walking contradiction, not even as a joke.)

From Allah to Buddha to Jesus: hypocrisy is not only limited to one religion. If you look at your own world and the bigger part of it, you would witness and experience sin everywhere. Because religion was hammered to the human psyche at such an early age- traditions, rituals and prayers is almost like an instant reflex that people actually forget that you should practice what you preach. It's a Ctrl+Z habit. You sin, you confess, you pray then you sin all over again. Fyi, that will not give you a spot to your so- called heaven.  

I am a non- practicing Catholic. Clearly, I do not go to church and practice any religious ritual. Vanity is my number one sin like most women. I can be greedy of what's mine and I would take whatever I can get. I'm pretty damn proud of everything ME, but I am jealous at the same time. I say "Jesus Christ!" when I get angry. My words can cut really deep, and I can be really, really mean and heartless if you cross me. I often think about violent and sexual thoughts, not at the same time and definitely nothing too weird or freaky. And yeah, I did covet my neighbor's husband: 5 years and running.

But I respect my parents and no words can express how much they mean to me. My brother, I consider to be half of who I am because I will love him no matter what happens. I am compassionate. I respect all living creatures. I appreciate kindness, and I try my best to be kind. I'm sensitive. I value my work. I am helpful. I am forgiving, if sincerity is shown. I always believe in second chances. I am arrogant, but humble when wrong--- I say sorry. I am always thankful and know how to show appreciation. I have manners and etiquette, which makes me act with sensitivity in front of people. I try not to hurt people. I am loving in my tough-love kind of way, and I have friends that would attest to that. I do not play with my words, my honesty is the one thing that sets me apart. But most of all, I embrace individuality.

If we are to be judged tonight, I'm sure that  "God" is just like you and me, only a million times cooler. He would definitely not have a score sheet of the number of times you heard Sunday mass, if you went on a pilgrimage once in your life or if you ate any of your holy cow for dinner. "God", is never complicated and I'm sure he does not want us to live with too many complications. He loves us too much for that. He would, however, keep tabs on two things: if you HAVE BEEN GOOD TO YOURSELF and BEEN GOOD TO THE WORLD. The rest are insignificant, even for non- believers like me.

Colors, Numbers and Cuts.

Discontent is written all over your face. When I honestly thought I got you all figured out after one thousand eight hundred and forty three days, I  surprised myself when I had a good look at you.

Once,  you were this cloud of radiating colors that never seized to light up the room even through the darkest and hardest of times. Your colors were overwhelmingly beautiful, so much so that I cannot stare at you for long because my eyes are only used to the blacks and greys.

One thousand eight hundred and forty three. These are the number of days that emotions filled up the room. Being with people like you and me is never easy. The one thing that made us count the days pass a thousand, is the culprit of our demise.

Passion. The passion for you and for me. The passion we have for the world and all its rights and wrongs, its brilliance and ignorance. The passion for anything that can make our hearts feel stabbed and comforted at the same time. The passion to search.

For one thousand eight hundred and forty three days, you were caught with my web of emotions and youthful ignorance. These thousands of days were mostly spent on me, and you and me. But never you. While I tried to make sense of my passion, you were just there, holding  my hand as I rise and fall every time I try to cross the bridge of what is called adulthood by society.

My reckless nature cut you so many times. So much that I had lost count  whenever I see you bleeding. You always say that your wounds are insignificant next to me. You would never lose your colors. You would never care to heal the pain my passion has brought to your life. You were just holding my hand. Patiently. Patiently waiting for me to share the colors of your world.

Yesterday marks the one thousand eight hundred and forty two days of you and me. By this time, I had already crushed your heart so many times that all that’s left of us is silence. You were sitting at the corner, just staring and hoping that your dreams for you and me would someday be real. Although I knew of your passion, I never had the  strength to keep up with it. Your colors were almost blinding to me.

I only have myself to blame. Your passion for obsession, your deep need to satisfy your carnal needs, your passion for me. Those thousand and thousands of days, I have never lived up to your passion. I knew that you wanted so much more, so much more from me, but I never radiated the same colors  that you were looking for. But even if this were the case, you always say that I still fill up your world with so much vibrancy.

Today minus a day, you are very lonely. Today minus fifty, a hundred, and a hundred more days… you have been feeling lonely. Being with me is a big discontent to you, but being without me is the last thing you ever want to happen. You tell me time and again all the things that you wish we could be, that you wish I could be once again. As the days passed,  your passion drove me to the wall. Your obsession to get something more from what I can give you kills my spirit, it kills my spirit every single moment.

My colors are not as bright as yours, and it would never be. Your hunger, I could never feed. One thousand eight hundred and forty three days ago, I may have deceived you into thinking that I am The One. Look beneath my youth and my passion, all you see is nothing. And everyday, you want that nothing to turn into something that would feed your every need. While your optimistic nature brought us to these many days of happiness, it gave you a greater amount of disappointment and loneliness… a sad truth to life's balance of pleasure and pain.

Your stubborn nature would never admit to your discontent towards me. While I do not blame you for doing so, I would still leave the door open for you. We cannot keep counting the days that you are smothered with loneliness because you want something you could never have. We cannot keep counting the days that you live in frustration, questions and self- loathing.  Satisfaction would bring you peace. Looking at my emptiness would bring you peace.

Next Stop: The Geriatric Ward!

I knew this day would come, but I wasn’t prepared for it. I know I haven’t been mobile in anyway for the past few weeks. So far, my only physical activity is taking a shower, going to the toilet… and that’s it. Most of my days are spent in front of my laptop, and I seriously could see a huge butt stamp in my bed whenever I get out of it. That‘s how bad it is.

My back has been killing me the past few months. It doesn’t help that my physical activity is limited to distances less than 12 feet at .00005km/h, which  by the way, occurs less than ten times a  day. For those who don’t know me very well, I am lazy. Seriously lazy. While most people take real pleasure on having an active lifestyle, I would rather watch The Nanny reruns all day long. This bum-like regimen never got its toll on me because I’ve been living like this as long as I can remember.

Sure, I’ve tried the “healthy lifestyle”- going to the gym everyday, knowing the calorie count of anything I put in my mouth, eating organic as much as I can--- you know, the typical Women’s Health crap. I managed to fool myself for a year. I also told people around me that I enjoyed every part of it. But the reality is, I was miserable every minute because the thought of me just having a bite of that sinful Krispy Kreme is gonna cost me 30 minutes of cardio hell.

So I’m back to doing my old thing, which is nothing. A few days ago, I experienced enormous amount of pain at my lower back. I tried cracking and kneading my back with a plastic massager, but the pain was still there. I was hoping that it’ll be gone as the days passed, but it became worse. The pain at my lower back reached until the middle of my spine all the way to the last bone of my buttocks. I could literally feel my nerves and muscles pinch and throb even when I’m not moving. The pain didn’t make sense to me. Even though I have not been active most of my life, I never experienced anything like this. And then it hit me, it hit me like the first sunshine you see when you wake up: I am getting old.

I always teased people older than me because of the changes that they go through as the years pass. And now, I am starting to live that path. Scared like shit, I spent most of the day yesterday  doing stretches and yoga just to ease the pain at my back. While doing this, every single joint in my body cracked. My neck, my whole spine, my knees, my ankle, my shoulders, my wrist… literally, everything! I felt so much better after that. And just when I was about to go back to my bed again, as soon as I sat down I heard and felt the joints at my back and the sockets of my pelvic bone pop. I was only trying to sit down!!!

I did my stretches and yoga again. The popping of my joints reduced but my shoulders, neck and back are still stiff. If I try to make a figure-8 motion using my  shoulder and arms; the popping is so constant that it sounded like a machine gun. If I put pressure on any part of my vertebrae, the joint would just pop. Literally. I tried acupressure, which is suppose to reduce the actual pain that I feel. It did help, but my bones and joints still won’t stop popping. At this point, I could not deny it anymore. My body is already older that I am.

I tried to deny the signs for the longest time. The grey hair in my head started come out two years ago. I’ll take  out one or two sometimes, but as the months passed, every time I stroke my hair, dozens of those damn greys would show. Now, I color my hair not because I want a different look but I am trying to cover the evidence that I will be 30, 40, and 50 soon. And don’t get me started on the fine lines in my face, that I now need exactly 6-7 hours of sleep (no more, no less) to be able to function and the fact that I could not eat all the fat on my beloved pork chops because I get really dizzy.

Nevermind all these. But it sucks that I have to go through the aging process NOW.  It sucks to know also that I could not get away with just staying in bed the whole day and doing nothing. I do not like pain, panting, going to the gym, the beach, hot sun and the sand on my feet. I enjoy being a bum. And while the whole world is doing Body Pump, I’m having my cup of coffee and cigarettes while people- watching at a coffee shop.

I've been living the bum life and I love every minute of it. I guess it’s now time for ultimate payback and hit the damn treadmill along with the fat middle- aged men and women, just like me, who never want to get any older than 25.

Wholesale at its finest?

As soon as you walk in the door, you already know what to expect when you're in COSTCO.

Fresh Food: Check!

Middle- aged Filipinos comparing prices and looking for cheaper deals:  Check! Check!

Reasonably- priced electronics: Check!

The sea of clothes labeled as Made in the US of A, but we all know those are made in Bangladesh: Check!

But there's more...
WAIT FOR IT!!!

And... There's the Chanel and Louis Vuitton Bags.

Yes, you read it right. Last November, Costco's Warehouse Shopping Club in NYC made a transition from being a wholesale giant of anything and everything an American family needs to selling your beloved designer bags at a bargain!

Chanel Classic Flap handbags are available for $1,999, with a price tag of $1,795 to $2.495 anywhere else.
The best- sellers are the LV Speedy bags, regularly priced from $665 to more than $3,000, and sold for only $589!!!

And it doesn't stop there! A fan of Burberry?: Check! Ferragamo?: Check! Coach, Tod's and many, many more brands? Check! Check! Check!

For a store that doesn't specialize on high- end fashion and accessories, I do admire Costco for bringing in brands that are timeless and aspired by many. Most people are actually amused that they can actually use Chanel and Costco in the same sentence, and it makes perfect sense. Or does it, really?

When somebody wants a  good deal, they go to Costco. There's not much thinking required. You put on your favorite tracksuit, match it up with your comfy Birks and you're good to go. If you look around the store, everybody is searching for the best deal. For this specific type of customer, they don't mind the generic or unknown brands. As long as it's cheap and looks decent enough to last or consume, they would give their purchase a go!

But for the Chanel, Louis Vuitton or a Birkin fan, it's different. They have a deep loyalty to the brands they adore. Most of them know the season's latest collection by heart, even the classics. And unlike the Costco loyal customer that scans every single flyer in search of a bargain, a bag aficionado would base their purchase depending on factors like the material used, color, size, shape and popularity, but NEVER the price. How much she spends is the least of her worries; it's how she can get her hands on those Limited or Special Edition bags straight from the store that's driving her crazy!

The thing is I'm a little bit of Costco a little bit of Coco. I like the fact that I know now where I can score cheaper bags and do my groceries the next time I'm in New York. On the other hand, I have too much respect for the name of the brand that I actually feel bad that these bags are not in their proper "home"; with proper racks, with proper dust bags, and you can talk to sales people that know and love the product as much as you do. Most importantly, I know that somebody who understands and loves fashion would never, ever place a rack beside a designer product that says "Their Price/Our Price". It's not toilet paper for crying out loud, it's a Chanel 2.55 Reissue Alligator Flap Bag!

 

OH MY GOD!

YES! YES! YESSSSS!!!

Sleep Sweet

Good night, my world. Sleep sweet, for tomorrow brings uncertainty.

Uncertain that you- a walking contradiction, bounded by freedom and conformity.

Will understand the thoughts that go through my head.

 There are just too many things that need to be said.

Sleep Sweet.

The Anti- Groupie That is Me.

Since I started my Life Detox, I have fallen into the trap of social retardation. For two weeks, I've been to two places: work (and what's part of it) and  my house. I’ve never stepped out of the room, much less have seen the light of day during my days off.  And when I‘m around people, I’m completely off, even though I am making a conscious effort to function normally.

Not that I am really looking for affirmation of any kind. But ever since I became aware with the fact that I am and can be uber manic- depressive, I was always conscious on how I react to unlikable situations that I come across with. (Somebody said  to me that secretly, deep, deep down inside me, whenever I say that “I could not be bothered”, it only means that I am truly bothered.  I hate it when people have me all figured out.)

Back to my story.

The few times that I had any social interaction, which is at work, I would go on a fun-frenzy that’s almost retarded. During my last flight, I was a social butterfly to the passengers. I went on and on with stories, witty banter and profound thoughts. I was on a roll! On a 6h30m flight, I only sat down during take off and landing. I took over the lounge at one point, talking to five different people and sharing stories with them. If my manager just saw how switched-on and awesome I was, she would’ve given me a promotion right on the spot.

After the flight, I felt the crash. Crash. Crash. Crash. Not because I didn’t stop working… it's because being around too many people just gets into my skin.

The thing about me is I don’t do barkada. Others enjoy and feel more comfortable having a lot of people around them on a regular or daily basis. The times that I do go out with a bunch of people is so rare that I actually miss it whenever I am in that moment. But when the fun ends, I do not have the need to be in a herd anymore.

The most common scenario in a group, especially the big ones, is that you really get along with two or three people max, then the rest are insignificant or fullofcrap. But you have to be equally nice to everyone because that’s just the way it is. Especially when we're basing it on the Filipino culture.  The barkada, more than friendship, is focused on solidarity, loyalty and sticking up to your own no matter what the stakes are. The stupid Value of Shame also dictates that we should always be "shameful" to others on how we think, what we say and how we act. In other words, never go against the crowd in any way. Fool yourself if you have to. The perfect crowd- pleaser. That's the Filipino. (And that's another looonnggg topic to be discussed soon).

One- on- one conversations is the best for me. You wouldn’t go out with a person you hate, right? With a group, you cannot tell them to un-invite a prick. You would only go out of your way to be with a person and actually spend time talking with them if you truly want to, because you always have a choice. The best part of this type of friendship is that you can be yourself and no one else.

Back to the I-couldn’t-be-bothered point that was raised, yes, I do care about what other people think. But if, and only IF, you are one of those people that I would have coffee, cigarettes and conversations with from sun up to sun down... and then some. I have a few of them, but most are far away, some are busy with their own thing. 

But one of them is always present, in fact, he is my favorite. From the trivial to the integral, the conversations flow so well and our brain waves are so in sync. It’s almost like I am talking to myself, only smarter and wiser beyond my youthful years. This is probably why I don’t have the need to be out and about lately, because I have a deep connection with the world; the world as I see it. May the force be with you, old man!

Liza, the Goddess With A Thousand Hearts

Liza is a goddess to the eyes of many, but she refuses to look at her reflection. She still has scars from the day that she gave her heart away to any man that would take care of it. Her heart, they say, is as big and open as the rainforest with all its bounty. Much more than her heart, her whole being can shelter thousands of lives and it will still have room for those who wander her way.

Humans are never to be satisfied even if they had the world at their disposal. This lesson, Liza refused to learn. She always saw the good in everyone, even if  it meant not leaving anything for herself. She would pop out her starry eyes with her bare hands, so that she would not see the monster that lies beneath the shadows of pretense. She would slit her wrists, to give her own blood to the thirsty carnivores. All these things she would do, wishing and hoping that maybe someday, soon enough, somebody can take her heart once more without taking its life out of it.

Liza, is a woman to love. I saw her looking in the mirror one day, but all she saw was darkness. She never existed, she said. I was confused because I was staring at a beauty, but she could not see it. She took out her eyes, I remembered. She could not see herself anymore, not even the beauty that's left of her world.

Blind and losing life, Liza kept bleeding herself to feed the appetite of the carnivores. She is a woman that had lived a tragedy all her life. A tragedy that she subjected herself to, all because she wanted somebody to hold her heart for her. Why, I asked, do you trust anyone to hold your lifeline, the thing that makes you exist? She said she feels alive whenever somebody made her pulse rise, and she had learned to love the pain, to love the pain whenever a part of her heart was torn apart and used for immediate satisfaction.

I hated Liza, but I loved her at the same time. I love her. I had asked her loyal subjects if I should just leave, because she is hurting me, too. Hurting, is such a strong word. But I hurt because every time I look at her, her beauty makes me feel pain. Her beauty makes me sad. I’m hurting because such beauty should not have been created at the first place because no one can give it enough justice. The loyal subjects could not understand what I meant, because they never saw the true tragedy of the goddess.

The heart that was given away was sent back to the goddess after it was consumed. She gave it back, pleading the carnivores to make use of it once again. She had offered them so much more than what she had. So much so that she gave away her kingdom, her loyal subjects, her right to living.  It was not a selfless gesture, for she is not Liza anymore. Because from the time she saw nothing of her, now, she is staring back at the faces of the creatures who were eating her alive little by little, until she only had skin and bones left. She is one of them now, she said.  And she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Now it’s just me and the thoughts of Liza, then and now. I thought I saw her walking down the street several times, but I wasn’t paying attention. I know I wouldn’t recognize her when I see her, but the chills in my spine I feel whenever I’m around her pops in every now and again.

I was looking in the mirror, I saw that I had scars on my face, but the scars actually looked good on me. I remembered the goddess again. I wish that Liza just gave something that can be mended, something that’ll leave a mark from your battles but never to bother you if you don’t give it much attention. Just as I was thinking about this, the door opened and there it was, millions of hearts that were given to Liza by the people she gave a little bit of herself to.

They thought that they could save her from damnation, so they gave her their lifeline as she had done for them. They said that the presence of her is like a blanket that keeps them warm at night, a comfort that only an angel can give to them. They knew that her heart was somewhere else and never for them, but anyone who had the pleasure of being around Liza would know that a little bit of her is more than enough to mend a broken soul. 

But there was no Liza. No one to pump blood to those hearts that were sacrificed for her salvation. The hearts, with no source of life, slowly turned into ashes and was blown away by the wind. What was once called love by the hopefuls is now an unfair trade of oneself, wherein somebody takes whatever they can get and the other, making themselves as an offering only to be slaughtered by the hands of human beings that never believed in contentment. 

Nerf for the Big Boys

Hand it to the freakishly brilliant Japanese to come up with technology that can make life much, much easier for mankind.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Blow Job Machine.

I wasn't actually surprised when I stumbled upon this. Heck, I was actually glad that finally, men actually realized that women do not want to do this for you!!! Not as much as you want them too, anyway. Which is every five minutes.

The good thing about the BJM is the controller. It has the slow/fast setting and it comes with different attachments that you can stick into the nozzle depending on your width, girth or what you fancy.

I'm actually surprised that the sex market rarely makes products for the pleasure of men. With all those whips, dildo's and freak machines available for the ladies, boys don't have much toys to play with.

Think about it! Is it because boys find these toys weird and emasculating? But it still doesn't make any sense because boys have more needs compared to girls. And boys who are in heat will DEFINITELY do something about it, no matter what the price is, with or without a partner. They just have too!

Or, ooohhh... (light bulb!) is it because women rarely get what they really want out of a man and there is a need for technology to intervene to satisfy their needs? The facts are there. The ratio between men and women's sex contraptions is 2, at best, to a thousand. Look it up. But GI Joe's to Barbie's are pretty much the same based on quantity and variety. So you can't say that boys don't like to play with dolls. They do, too. 

I just answered my question. A+ for pure brilliance!

Light Up the Candle in Your Life...

Live long and prosper.

Mongolian Wrestling Couture At Its Finest

The traditional wrestling costume includes an open-fronted jacket, tied around the waist with a string. This is said to have come into use after the champion of a wrestling competition many years ago was discovered to be a woman. The jacket was introduced to ensure that only men could compete. - WIKIPEDIA

The traditional wrestling costume is a baby pink bolero with a white tassel for a leaner, sexier look. The boots is handcrafted to perfection for maximum comfort without compromising style and elegance. This is said to have come into use after all the Mongolian wrestlers many years ago discovered that men can play around with other men IN A MANLY WAY and they can be so fashionable, too. THUS THE BIRTH OF METROSEXUALS. - KRISTINE NAVARRO

Mrs. White

Mrs. White had it going for her. Before the economic crisis hit Dubai, she was one of those expats who lived the dream. A penthouse apartment that had a view good enough for a postcard, a paycheck that can let her party at the most exclusive clubs with the wealthiest people in the world, and a successful career that most Ivy League graduates aim for in their lifetime.

But there was one problem with Mrs. White. Because of the color of her skin, she had people fooled that she is an integral part of her multi- national company. No one actually knew that she was as dumb as a fuck, not even the people working for her. Because she exuded authority, confidence and she always looked the part, everybody thought that she was a good team leader. She thought she was awesome, too. But I saw right through her straight away.

The time I met Mrs. White, she was still on top of her game. She was very aloof, she didn’t talk to anyone who she deems as not her equal. For a person of her stature, she didn’t have good manners either. She would make snide comments for everyone to hear. She was smoking wherever she wants to, even at the dinner table where clearly no one should smoke. She criticized and never apologized for anything. Seeing this, I wondered why people thought so highly of her and how she managed to fool everyone even though it was so obvious that she was only as good as her awful, awful manners.

I didn’t see Mrs. White after that. I just heard that months after that, her company was in huge debt and they were forced to make cuts. Mrs. White was the first one to get sacked. While her friends and colleagues claimed that they were surprised with the decision, I know deep down inside they were thinking--- IT’S ABOUT TIME!

Unfortunately, I saw a lot of Mrs. White when she was unemployed. You would think that her experience would actually humble her in any way. But no--- she became worse. The white trash in her was unleashed. Because she didn’t have any money or career that could cover up all her insecurities and shortcomings, people saw right through her quickly. She would lash out at anyone who didn’t agree with her, other people’s success were a problem and she saw everyone as a threat to her and what’s left of her miserable life. Her childish antics and immaturity was also so obvious that it was already very awkward to be around her. There is no logic to what she’s thinking anymore. Her career and life decisions were always an epic fail even before she started any.

I knew Mrs. White had a problem with me for whatever reason. In fact, she tried to pick several fights with me, but I didn’t bother saying anything. Of course for her, this was a affirmation that she’s right and I am wrong. But the thing is, there is no point arguing with these type of people. I know that she doesn’t realize that what she’s going through right now is not enough punishment for her arrogance and ill-nature. But until to this day, she hasn’t learned her lesson. She’s digging her grave deeper and deeper until she reaches her mother land which is hell. I could go on and on about her funny, pathetic and “OMG-she-did-not-just-do-that antics“, but she might figure out that I am talking about her now. And admittedly, I am seriously scared of people like her who have nothing more to lose in their lives because they can freely and truly mess up everyone else’s.

My point of sharing this story: Fake it until you make it will never work. People are not as dumb as you think they are. Thank God Mrs. White was never a part of my life, but she made me thinking about people. And this is one of the reasons why I’m undergoing my Detox-- get rid of those dirty toxins and start fresh. From haram to halal, I’m choosing my meat well. I’m starting to choose the people in my life well.

Number One.

Here’s the thing… I am rusty with my writing so bear with me if you see errors here and there. I am my worst critic so believe me when I say that it is quite hard for me to start a blog that I intend to share with an audience.

Every few years or so, the universe slaps me with hardships and mind- boggling situations that compel me to take a second look on how I live. The whole process starts out from misfortunate events-- like having no job, failing at a goal or losing somebody important in your life. At this point, you try to fight the all the changes that you didn‘t plan at all. You just want to be back in your comfort zone because you only limit yourself to what you know and what you’re used to. My stubborn nature never welcomed this process, but when I felt that I was losing the battle with change, I slowly caved and let nature take its course. This is what I call Life Detox.

I learned that each and every individual has a certain emotional and mental power that no one can actually measure. If we are pushing circumstances, people and ourselves too much, the universe somehow gives you a strong smack in the face to wake you up before you go overboard. I had this beating again a few months ago, and when I realized that I was due for another Life Detox, I started to write again.

Writing has always been my catharsis. Reading the essays I wrote ten years ago, I realized that I do know a lot about life at a very young age and I have an idea on how I want to live it. Although I was always criticized with my life choices and decisions, life was always good to me that things actually worked out in my favor.

My opinion about a lot of things will offend a lot of people. Most of them are true, and I‘m sure you‘re thinking it too, and you just don‘t want to say it because it‘s just so wrong. J I will talk about these topics a lot because it’s so much fun.

I will also talk about things I love and I am passionate about like relationships, music, traveling, taboo, places, culture, why I won’t quit smoking, being anti-nationalistic, what I truly feel about religious beliefs and living in Dubai.

I won’t be touching too much about my work because it’s pretty straightforward- I serve you food and beverage and I look after your safety from chocks on to chocks off. BUT, I will talk about personalities. I will talk about people I meet, people I love, human nature, and people I find very interesting in a weird kind of way. To avoid being accused of slander, I will try to alter some stories so that the identities of the people I poke fun off would not be divulged. But believe me, I will make sure that I get the important facts straight so you get the point.

That’s it so far. This blog is mostly for the documentation of my thoughts and emotions, not to impose or criticize. And I’m sure if I talk to you face to face, I would agree on most of the things you say even though I truly think it’s a load of crap because I don’t see the fun in debating. So if you don’t like something you read here, stop reading for your sake because I wouldn’t even bother arguing. And there’s nothing worse than wanting to argue with no one to argue with.

Let the games begin!