My Kind of Twisted Sunshine

I found the ideal guy. Took me long enough, for sure. But I now know who he is. Thing is, he doesn't know I exist. Even worse, he probably never will.

I mean, what can you expect from someone like Marat Safin? And I'd be doggoned to let this fixation rule over my waking life like some loser stalker type. Or, for that matter, a giggly schoolgirl with a crush on some blond boybander (a lapse in judgment I can only attribute to the inevitable onslaught of raging teenage hormones).

But still, I know that if I adored tennis for the sake of the game, then I would come to know true love in the person of Marat Safin. After all, only a true lover of the sport would be able to fathom the depth of that pure, undulating genius. The perfectionism that drives him to such incoherent ebbs in an otherwise perfect career. No other player has been called the "purest physical talent in the history of the game," and this comes from a sports journalist-cum-raving-Marat-lover-slash-hater.

It's not only this, of course. I'm a newbie tennis fan, having been introduced to the sport by Jub, my uber tennis junkie of a housemate, last year. And when I first saw Marat play, it was understandably the physical presence that got stamped in my mind. He was so beautiful; he was just oozing with pure magnetic appeal, you know? But at the time I never ascribed something more fundamental to the impact that he channeled across that tired media known as the idiot box.

Simply put, he is poetry in motion, and then some. For a guy his size (he's 6'4"), it's almost unbelievable how his powerful form moves with such grace, making it look easy to sometimes "mess with the laws of physics." But even more than this, after reading countless interviews of his, I find the things that go on upstairs infinitely more fascinating than his brilliance as a player. Maybe it's because it all starts there. After all, genius stems from the brain, even if the field of intimate knowledge is in athletics. What I find exceedingly intriguing is his capacity for imperfection in his perfectionism, and the ensuing suffering he endures warring with his inner demons over things that an ordinary player would shrug off in trifling consideration. His pursuit of playing "perfect tennis" has led him to falter in the face of imminent victory. His one true enemy is his own self, and on court he berates himself for the tiniest, seemingly inconsequential errors he made, sometimes launching into dazzling displays of unbridled fury. For such a lyrical player in that his physicality is as precise as it is overpowering, he's not very consistent, and his losses could be debilitating in their protractedness. But the tennis world is not at a loss, coz when he's got his A-game on, then you would see something special happening to the game itself.

It's a given, Marat is a godsend to the world of tennis. But for me, he's more than that. He's my construct, the standard by which I think I'll measure future prospects against. No, seriously. If I can't have Marat ("Oh please, Lord, let him be my destiny".. *crossing fingers*) then I might as well have someone who approximates his fine attributes. ("Hah! Not so tall an order--no pun intended") Okay, so maybe I'm asking for too much here.. Okay, okay, so maybe I'm asking for the impossible: drop-dead gorgeous plus athletic skills plus brains/razor wit. Damn, and I haven't even gotten to character traits.

But racket-mangling and chronic model-dating aside, my kind of guy can be someone with quirks like the next guy. I say quirks, not fundamental infirmities such as being an asshole or a chauvinist pig. Hell no, not even if you had a face and body like Brad Pitt's. Now, if you were actually Brad Pitt, that's a whole different story and I should be getting your number... (Ahahaha...)

But Marat, he's the real deal. Because he actually gives new meaning to the word "inspiration." He raises the bar for being someone who doesn't compromise his own standards for himself, who actually acknowledges his human frailty and is even humbled by it, even at the height of his superstardom. He's got his own philosophy about things, and he can be very unequivocal about life and human nature and one's place in the cosmos. He says a lot of things, but he's not full of himself. He's a spiritual person, and he's Muslim, too! (could I love him even more than I do now?) He's as philosophically poetic--and dry-witted--as they come. And he reads Lenin. How sexy is that? Heck, what 26-year-old do you know reads Lenin when they could be partying out all night and blowing moolah on big, fast, expensive things and generally living life in the fast lane? Okay, so he may in fact be multi-tasking even as we speak. So damn what? He's beautiful, he's young, he's successful. He's also a tormented soul. Passionate, tempestuous, never in the middle. Never wanting to be mediocre. Just like how anyone should be, when you think about it.

Admittedly, given his issues and intermittent madness, one can see he isn't the perfect specimen of male human existence. But for me, he's the standard, and I wouldn't want him any other way.

Here's to a baggage-free 2006!

In three weeks' time, it’ll be a year since I first met Blackie. Over the holidays, I’ve been trying to rid my system of nano-traces of him. Been ragging on about him to my friends here at home. Even griped to the parental units about his permanent defection (not that there was anything remotely official and hence legitimate about the whole thing to begin with). I’m not taking any chances, hence all this. To me, it’s no issue that he went and got himself saddled with some brand new heavies. I see that it’s no longer his call. And if he might enjoy the ride, that’s his prerogative. God, for his sake, I hope he does. Bummer, don’t you just hate it when the withering of possibility happens? It’s just my luck that the person I once thought might just be the one to provide me with a glimpse of all things bright and beautiful goes and puts a damper on things. Checkmate. I can’t move. I can’t even feign nonchalance and carry on like the last time we spoke, lest I get sucked back into the black hole of blind want. Backtracking a bit, I unearthed this piece of prose I wrote a few months back. Think it’s a tad too graphic for my daytime taste, but it’s certainly indicative of the state of things in which I found myself wallowing then: “Shit happens. Just when you think you’ve finally licked the habit of endless reminiscence and the resulting self-annihilation, you find that you’ve become too complacent in your newfound sense of accomplishment that you overlook the puddle of dung you just stepped into. And though you might have cleaned off a bit, you find that the stench—permeating and overpowering—still clings to your clothes, rendering you immobile as you are brought back to thoughts of reminiscence and emotional harakiri… I have to admit, the analogy’s a bit off. Coz I wouldn’t consider anything about the quasi-affair with Blackie odorous in any way. But yeah, shit happens. It’s a universal fact.” Hah. So there. It’s an infinitely exhausting process. If you’re in a similar boat and you’ve managed to detoxify and clear up your system, consider yourself lucky. Some people never get out of it. Some people just can't take a clue and keep thinking night and day about their certain someone. The one that got away. And to think I once thought I was the one that scampered away baggage-free from it all. F*d up, I know. But I’m clean now. Shoulda been eons ago, sure, but being free of him now is all that matters. Adios, my friend. ***** It's gonna be a rockin' new year, I can just feel it. Bonne année 2006, everyone!

at long last, a new entry!

I've been meaning to write about Intelligent Design for some months now. Guess my propensity for laziness has reached new heights. I mean, it's not like this is a paper I'm writing for class. I'm writing about the thing coz it's something of a revelation for me, a newfound passion, if you will. (Nuh-uh, you guys, I kid you not.) Problem is, I wanted it to be as comprehensive as a blog entry could be. But as evidenced time and again, dilly-dallying won't get you anywhere. And it doesn't assure perfection either. What is perfection anyway? A 50,000-word essay that was researched over the course of how long it takes the arithmetically challenged to graduate from Math 54?

Of course, I digress yet again. I'm not making any sense, I know.

Just a little tidbit. I remember telling my friend Abs one time about the pre-eminent atheist philosopher/academic Antony Flew, who's written tons about atheism over a period of, like, half a century or so. ("Girl, get yer facts right, why doncha?") So this Flew guy's like one of the cornerstones of atheist philosophy in the 20th century. In fact, if I remember correctly, he was THE man. Nuff said, you get the idea.

Anyway, late last year Flew did a 180 and conceded that indeed there exists a supreme being from which all things in the universe originated. You can imagine the ruckus this created within the atheist community. I can only wonder since the last time I visited RavingAtheist.com, I failed to check the thread on Flew. And thanks to the extreme slothfulness of yours truly (en este momento, anyway), I haven't taken it upon myself to do a thorough review of related lit. Not yet, anyway. I have my moments, mind you. And I'm not afraid to use them.

Seriously now. So I told Abs about Flew's radical conversion to thesim. Okay, I admit I may have had my reasons for sharing this, but it was mostly out of genuine awe. I mean, here's this 80-year old heavyweight in atheist philosophy, and he went over to the other side. At this point you ask, why? What gives?

Well, there's this theory-cum-movement that espouses the existence of God through the notion of Intelligent Design (ID). So what is it really? To quote from IntelligentDesignNetwork.org, ID maintains "that certain features of the universe and of living things are best explained by an intelligent cause rather than an undirected process such as natural selection. (It) is thus a scientific disagreement with the core claim of evolutionary theory that the apparent design of living systems is an illusion."

The name of the theory itself would lead one to think that this might be a reincarnation of William Paley's 19th century design arguments (i.e., "the existence of a watch is tantamount to the existence of a watchmaker"), which were refuted by David Hume and Charles Darwin. But the current movement is different in that the arguments supporting it are on the whole more sound, philosophically or otherwise. Paley's arguments for design were fairly unrigorous as many of his ideas were rebutted through philosophy and theology, not science. William Dembski, the pioneer of ID, maintains that ID is a scientific theory devoid of the philosophical and theological commitments inherent in Paley's arguments. It should also be noted that there is data supporting it, the relative newness of which is indicated in the growing number of people—both from religious and non-religious inclinations—who have begun to take it seriously only in the past decade.

Anyway, so this stand-off has been going on for quite some time now. In the words of Karen R., it was a gray battlefield, and supporters from either side weren't letting up. Philosophers and scientists have provided the means with which contemporary critics endeavored to blast the theory out of the water. Abs first thought the topic a bit tired; there was nothing glaringly new about it that warranted a spirited discussion. (Or so he thought.)

In recent years, though, ID gained tremendous credence with the discovery of DNA…

Okay, time out, I hafta go. The Valero posse is leaving in a jiffy to go somewhere I'm not allowed to disclose at the moment. It's Friday night, after all. Woohoo for the weekend!

Sorry to be cutting it like this. I'll continue this next time (when the mood strikes, more like). Is there no end to this laziness.

Right. Jubert is threatening me already. GTG. Like now na.

Bon weekend, everyone!

Regression Analysis III

How can you regret something that made sense? How can you regret something that’s keeping you sane, even if you feel otherwise? How can your salvation lie in both the safe and the self-destructive?

Maybe that shouldn’t be the question. Maybe it oughta be, if either way your salvation can only end as a mistake, which mistake can you not live with?

Oops, I forgot. That can’t be it. Not anymore, anyway. The fcuk with questions on salvation. The 50 Million-Dollar Question should now be: When are you gonna stop?

***

Thing is, maybe I don’t want to. It’s crazy, but I’m scared that someday I’ll forget. I’ll forget how I used to feel about things. I’m afraid of the day when my memories of all things "malabo" will lose all depth and color. It’s scary that such memories can recede into nothingness. And all I’ll have are nebulous scribblings to serve as a reminder of the times.. and then, nada.

Guess I should be happy at the prospect of impermanence; it's the only thing one can ever count on. But.. I dunno. I just don’t wanna ever forget.

Of Pastimes and Fast Times

Man, I am positively itching right now. Yes, itching, I tell you, to hold a guitar. The first bars of the song “Suntok sa Buwan” by Session Road are torturing me. (To refresh thy memory, check out my muzak at the sidebar southaway.) The song isn’t in vogue at the mo, and the lyrics don’t exactly bring to mind a vivid remembrance of all things bright and beautiful (or even otherwise). So I’m quite clueless as to how the song managed to hijack my inner gramophone and put itself on insta-replay. I've already downloaded the tabs and chords to the song a week ago. Need to brush up on my tablature reading and plucking first, though. Been out of practice for so long, I imagine brassy creaking to be the accompaniment my digits will be producing the moment I get hold of a guitar. I'll need to hang out at Lejan's place, of course, to slake this sudden urge of mine. Good thing she still has that guitar that her most infamous suitor gave her for her birthday back in freshman year. All we'll be needing then is booze (not that Lejan drinks; I don't, either) and some smokes (not that Lejan still lights up; I don't, never have). And how can I forget the other singular most important add-on to the setup: Gil. (Not that he sings or plays the guitar.. the last time I checked, anyway.)

Gil, Gil, Gil. What can I say about my best guy friend in the world? Well, for starters, we don't hear from each other anymore. Not like we used to before, anyway. The last time we spoke was in post-Abs July when we burned the telephone lines, talking about what went on in our lives during the yawning gap in communication prior to then. Sadly, our correspondence is now limited to sporadic forwarded messages and missed-calls. I miss the guy terribly. We lost track of each other for a coupla years and reconnected just a coupla months ago. It's sad that we lost touch, and even more so because I probably won't be seeing him for a long time. He's so far away now, studying and making a heck of a living in his hometown in Sorsogon. Among all the people I know in our batch, he's the busiest person I know who's handling the highest level of responsibility. For a 23-year-old, he’s pretty much up there already.

Of course, to be perfectly honest, some things you never see coming. Back in college, Gil was the most party-hardy person I knew. He was the ultimate BI ("bad influence" for the less informed), and Lejan and I used to relish stories of his and his posse's bad-ass ways. (Yep, we were such dorks then.) Gil was everyone's favorite blockmate, and you could always count on him for a good laugh. But what makes him a supah dupah friend is that he sticks it out with you through thick and thin, literally.

Gil was the wakeup call I needed to get me through some of my more icky moments. He was never tactless, and he dished out the painful truth without making you feel like you were the biggest retard on the face of the planet for not having realized it in the first place.

He's wise, too, in the ways of the wily. The breadth of his knowledge and his open-mindedness still take a lot of getting used to, but it all was a refreshing departure from the linearity in thinking of some of my closest friends. And I benefited from that, internally at the very least.. Indeed I like to think that some of it has rubbed off on me.

Gil's my best guy pal, but most of the time we spent together was when it was the three of us with Lejan hanging out. My absolute favorite memory of him was when, together with Lej, we were lounging around the Quezon Hall steps, shooting the crap as per usual. Spurred on by someone's stroke of genius, we decided to have our own little ice cream party that same night. So we dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Philcoa to buy a tub of ice cream and some Ferrero Rochers (his treat, of course; he's always nice like that). Then we headed for the Sunken Garden where, under a hazy canopy of stars (yes, Stef, I'm plagiarizing myself), we ruminated on a great many things about the past, the present, and the future that lay ahead in the vast milkiness of the night sky.

Looking back, I guess it was with a sense of foreboding that each of us realized that things as beautiful as the seemingly eternal present have a way of disappointing you. You get lulled into a sense of complacency in which you think that although changes happen, you can still count on certain things being fundamentally the same. And to a certain extent, this was what happened. But sometimes, the trade-off doesn't seem so fair. In our case, growing up had to necessitate the outgrowing of such spur-of-the-moment indulgences. But we could never outgrow each other, despite evidence to the contrary. I like to think that there's a time and place for everything and that someday an encore of the times we spent together is possible.

Lejan once asked me if it was possible that I would fall for Gil. While I love him to pieces and everything, I replied in no uncertain terms to the negative. See here, some things cannot hope to evolve. And sometimes they shouldn't…

I miss Gil like a bad love song from the mid-90s. You know the type that comes on the radio after long periods of hibernation? Then you find that you just can’t get the tune out of yout head coz of the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes flooding within.. I've been wheedling him forever to take a trip to Manila for business or whatever, but his uber busy sked is just too airtight. Hopefully by next year, Lejan and I can find time to swing by Sorsogon together and trespass upon his hospitality. Then maybe we can finally have our jamming session under the stars. In the meantime, I think I'll get cracking and brush up on my latent inner rockista.

Friday Madness

It's Friday once again. Yay. So what's on the agenda for the weekend? Nada. Well, maybe the usual play-all-you-can badminton gig on Sunday. But Saturday was supposed to be reserved for watching the UAAP Cheerdance Competition. It's high time the UP Pep Squad licked the UST Salinggawi Dance Troupe and regained their former glory as the cream of the crop in collegiate cheering.

Alas, we ran out of tickets. So friggin' labo. Well, whatev. Haven't been to any of the UAAP cheering tourneys at all during my time in college, and so I guess it's safe to say I won't know what I'll be missing. So that's that. Guess I'll have to wing it then tomorrow, see whatever catches my fancy. Stef invited me to see The Motorcycle Diaries (starring the wickedly beautiful Gael García Bernal of Y Tu Mamá También fame) with her at Instituto Cervantes. I'd like to go, but Valero beckons, and with more pressing--and hence, less enticing--matters that need to be addressed. But since I operate on a mood basis, who knows? Especially if the damn rain continues to literally put a damper on things.

***

Blech. I can't stomach this stuff. Fibermate, it's called. I was browsing through one of the magazines my housemate regularly brings home and saw this ad for a new health product. Fibermate is a food supplement that contains psyllium, which is "universally recognized as a premier source of dietary fiber." The quite informative ad looked good and so last night, I dropped by Mercury Drugstore at Glorietta with Nor, my old Persian 10 collaborator, and bought a small packet, just for a preliminary taste test. Good thing I didn't buy another packet; it doesn't go down the pipes easily, I tell you. The thing costs 16.50 bucks, too! Quite overpriced for something that makes me wanna hurl.. It's not usually my style, but I'm gonna pull an Asiong Aksaya and drain my cup in the pantry sink right about now.

***

We still don't have TV at home. A little over a week ago, cable companies put their collective foot down and went on a metro-wide crackdown on illegal cable connections (dunno if those in the provinces were also affected, as I haven't been watching the news lately). As a result, not only were we unable to watch the US Open finals in which Kim Clijsters bested Mary Pierce in the singles championship match, but my housemates also missed their weekly dose of showbiz cheezmax, courtesy of Krissy and Boy. I can just imagine Jub gnashing his teeth and stamping his foot in incredulity when, instead of regular airplay, the now-all-too-familiar gray screen greeted him upon coming home. Now that would have been a true Kodak moment. If the name of the game was Facial Contortionism, he could well give Serena Williams (who, according to him, is "mukhang kalabaw") a run for her money. Of course, Jub himself could never hope to look like a kalabaw, not when he's the unofficial "wallpaper boy" (as opposed to being a calendar boy) of our colleagues over at the China office. But I digress.

As for me, I don't feel as strongly about our disenfranchisement. When I moved to our place, our cable TV had already been illegally connected, and so I was spared from having to consider the ethics of the whole thing. (Not that I would have been expected to, either.) Granted, it was nice to be watching my favorite shows and forever not having to worry about monthly payments, so it is a little bit sad, in a way. But on the whole, I could do a lot worse. If it weren't for Sex and the City reruns every Sunday night on Wowow and the occasional blockbuster premiere on HBO, I really couldn't have cared less.

I got used to not watching TV for extended periods of time in college since I lived in a dorm all throughout my stay in UP. There were TVs, of course, and sometimes I would sit with my dormmates and watch TV Patrol or some primetime show on Studio 23. But it wasn't a weird thing for me to not watch TV at all for a whole semester, or a significant portion of it, straight. But don't get me wrong, I haven't been channeling all the time that could have been used for boob tube viewing towards more intellectually enriching pursuits; there were a lot of other things that I found myself preoccupied with after school, like malling until SM North EDSA closed up for the day, going to org meetings and gimiks, making chika with my roommates and other dormmates till the wee hours, having movie marathons and late-night therapy sessions in Ayesa's room, stuff like that. Except for Meteor Garden in my final year in school (yes, yes, I admit to being a sorta quasi-fan of the hit show from Taiwan, so sue me.. I mean, come on, practically EVERYONE was into it then), there wasn't anything I found really worthwhile to follow.

This incidental deprivation, however, would only be relieved whenever I went home down south for my much-needed vacay. (That would be about three times a year then.) Of course, at home the idiot box would be on the whole day. My brothers managed to refine the art of hogging the TV all day long while attempting to blast away at alien creatures on the PC. In my parents' bedroom, the TV would be tuned in to the noontime shows and telenovelas. (And from time to time, tennis and boxing matches, but only when Mom would let Dad have his way.) On weeknights, I would find myself by my lonesome in the living room, watching MTV/Studio 23/the Lifestyle Network or some movie rerun on cable while the rest of the fam congregated upstairs for their daily fix of Korean rom-coms and--lemme not forget--those lovestruck Kristine Hermosa starrers. Seriously, I never understood their fascination for any of it. The endless whinings of Kristine-and-posse about not being able to be with the guys they know they're destined to be when clearly, if they weren't dead set on making their own lives miserable, they would have bagged the guys already and moved on to their happy-ever-afters. And vice-versa for the guys. Sheesh, I think I'm getting a headache here, just thinking about the roundaboutness of it all. And don't get me started on them Bea Alonzo-John Lloyd Cruz primetime tickets, puh-leez! I don't want my weekend to kick off with an untimely reminiscence of all things cringe-worthy about boob tubeage.

So much for all this. Well, gotta run.. Before I get thoroughly worked up here and pop a vein in the process. Happy weekend, everyone!

UP Fight!

In The Mood For...

Gaaad. It's gonna rain every day till Thursday in Makati. According to the four-day weather forecast courtesy of inq7.net, I won't be able to play Ultimate at San Lo yet again this week. Games are automatically cancelled in the event of rain coz although horsing around in the muck sounds very Dawson's Creek-y and evocative of the unbridled spirit of youth (which is very tempting, as lately I'm feeling very bridled and reined in--like a nag), it's also the time for catching all sorts of viruses and nasty what-have-yous. (In fact, I have a budding case of the sniffles coming on, which I really hate coz I tend to sneeze all over the place--with or without a cover-up.) Add to that the fact that it's hard to score glamour puss or pogi points while throwing and catching discs in such a compromising state. But of course, this is not why people take to the game like New Age converts. Aside from the "spirit of the game," that code of conduct which places the responsibility for fair play on the players themselves, playing Ultimate does what one sets out to do when trying out a new sport: it gives you a fun workout.

***

Speaking of workouts, I am in desperate need of boot camp therapy. My gym membership expired just last month, and now I'm in fitness limbo, so to speak. (I'm no gym addict, and I certainly don't look like one.) The Valero people and I have been planning to enrol in the new gym being set up in our office building, but after a little while, the idea got a little boring. Indeed, I think I'd rather enrol in a muay thai class over at Red Corner than rack up hours working the machines. It's partly coz I'm not a social gym-goer, if there ever was a term. But more than this, I guess it's really a case of the gym where I was a member rather than my actual workout predisposition. I think having a membership at Fitness First would be really cool but, aside from other considerations, the location is a bit of a stinker for me. All things considered, I would love to have a membership at Gold's Gym. So very accessible. And the classes are pretty wide-ranging. And lemme not forget to mention the nice "view" (yes, scoping out the scenery while working the treadmill is a sport unto its own), which is more than I can say for my former gym.

I remember in my last sem in college, my roommate Andy and I would compare notes on the exercises that we were taught in gym class every Tuesday and Friday. She used to love doing tube rows, for which her gym teacher commended her publicly one time. ("She does it well," said Caces, the infamous terror gym prof.) As for me, my favorite exercise was the back extension because it felt so relaxing. I don't get to do this now, though. Instead, the thing that I look forward to doing the most are the ab exercises. I hope I don't come off sounding like a gym nerd but really, once you get past the initial pain and shock (for some) that come with the first few times of doing it (of course, using proper form and technique), you'll eventually learn to appreciate doing crunches (no sit-ups!), leg raises, the whole bit.

Of course, this doesn't make me a total masochist. (The most obvious evidence of which is my lack of discipline in the dietary department--when I feel like gorging, well, there go n hours of my life, hello calories.) There are things that I hate in a workout, aside from spotters who just stand around and act oblivious to your call for needed assistance. Foremost among these is the tricep kickback.

Dang. Man, this exercise just cramps my style. I lose form whenever I do this coz I can't seem to hack the technique. (I firmly believe form should never be sacrificed in strength training.) Usually I do it standing and bent over, like what Sir Isidro taught us in gym class, coz I prefer not to have my arse jutting out like so. Fortunately, there are lots of other flab-busters that are equally effective. Unfortunately, these are all in theory as of the mo, as I have yet to seriously get my act together.

Anyway, I think I'll stick to team sports for now since these are more fun. Badminton is fun fun fun, and I really oughta make it a more regular thing in my weekly schedule. But more needs to be done. I'm trying to mobilize the Valero posse to come with me to San Lo for a game of disc with other people. So far, I was able to convince Zel to come WATCH. Okay, so maybe some things are best taken one step at a time. Vida was initially psyched coz of the cuties she hoped to find there. (Sorry to disappoint but cuteness is relative, so she really has to come see for herself.) Oh yeah, Omar might be interested in playing, too. So that's the lineup so far. Outside of Valero, there's Stef, Jonnalee, Lejan, and... well, lemme get back to you when the rains stop. Hopefully by then, everyone starts to come out of the woodwork and play.

Badminton Ain't For The Faint-Hearted

I heart Taufik Hidayat. Okay, okay, so considering that a coupla weeks ago, I had nary an idea of who he was, I can safely say that at the very least I really, really like him. Of course, not in the way that I really, really like David Beckham. And of course, a comparison to what I have for Marat Safin is out of the question. But Hidayat’s fancy wristwork and lightning agility, which have recently earned him the distinction of being the first shuttler to hold the Olympic and World Championship titles at the same time, have inspired in me delusions of athletic grandeur. Man, I wish I had an ounce of that guy’s talent. Following the plausible premise that we want that which we cannot have, which has that which we do not have (feeling lost? this would help explain why some of us tend to keep dreaming the Eternal Dream even when there's someone perfectly okay--then again, okay is perfectly relative--waiting for us when we wake up to sordid reality), I hereby conclude that I heart Taufik Hidayat.

Seriously now. I would love to improve my game and bring it to a level wherein the plays are characterized by dazzling legwork, sharp returns, and smashes that whizz past at breakneck speeds. I don't even care if I'd be the bumbling underdog; I just wanna play a mean game like that. (The term playing would presuppose being able to return the service and keep the ball in play long enough to not make you seem a total ditz opposite your opponent.)

I shared this with Jubert (my ESPN/Star Sports/Sports Plus buddy) and Zel (the closest thing I have to a badminton mentor). The last time we talked, I picked up a few pointers from Zel and came away wanting to immerse myself in formal lessons and grueling practice. On the court, everyone tries to steer clear of Zel coz when you're not careful enough, she can hurt you real bad. (I'm not just talking about bruised egos here.) Zel says she she's crap when she’s playing with her badminton club friends. I hate the implications of this. If she's crap, then that would make me pond scum. I can’t stand the thought of being pond scum.

Jubert, on the other hand, rarely subjects you to pain during play, although he's caught me by surprise once (I mean, the palpitation-inducing kind of surprise that could traumatize). When we're partners, we like to think we can get away with many things. But when the laissez-faire syndrome starts creeping in and we've messed up one shot too many, that's when the real fun begins, when the competition is neck-on-neck.

All this reliving of nifty play moments has got me all giddy for this Friday's game. Which reminds me. Gotta ring up Lejan to invite her. I sure miss that girl. Well, not Lejan the person per se (we see each other from time to time, after all), but Lejan the memory. Lejan the college partner-in-crime, from them Stat days of old. But that's another story to be told another time. Right now, I'm in the mood for a roar: Vamos!

Tattoed*

The curve of the smile,
Indelible against time.
Can you imagine?

***

too bad
so sad
gone mad
you bad
stay rad.


*for the Blackster, the happy accident I never saw coming. The rush of blood to the head that almost was.

when you have nothing to say but wanna say something anyway

damn. i miss everyone, and i haven't even really talked to anyone today.

you know what salinger's holden caulfield said about not telling anybody anything lest you start missing everybody? well, it's true. but in this case, i haven't even been talking about anything for the past 24 hours, as i'm still in bangag mode after a whole week of rushing my deliverables. and my calvary is far from over.

last week, i told stef that i was suddenly missing choi. for some reason unbeknownst to myself, while on board the pasay road jeep on my way home, i felt like whipping out my so non-snatchable phone and calling her up right then and there to just tell her i missed her. we used to be thick as thieves, choi and i, as thesis partners not so long ago in a galaxy far away in diliman. she's now working her magic over in the land of ninjutsu and j-pop (she's studying, mind you) while i'm here busting my ass as corporate slave extraordinaire. we once hatched this crazy plan to try applying for a scholarship in sweden (or some other scandinavian country, i forget) and actually going if we did get in. as we started talking about it some more and in a less feverish tone (meaning, we were actually almost kinda sorta serious about it), i was thinking to myself, she's one of my closest friends ever and i love her to bits and everything, but as much as i wanted to be with her in a foreign land and do all kinds of crazy stuff and all, i wasn't really feeling it coz i so didn't want to pull the joined-at-the-hip thing with her. it's not her, of course. it's me. i can't do the 24/7 thing with anyone, i'd go crazy. or to be fair, should that happen with anyone, they'd be driven nuts. no kidding. but i digress.

moving forward.. this week, well actually i haven't had the time to miss anyone in particular, not until today. i blame it all on multiple replays of my song du jour (wake me up when september ends by green day--check out the muzak section for a quick listen). here i go again. nothing evokes the mood for reminiscin' like this song does. i had the sudden urge to repost all the pics from my puerto galera trip with the people from valero last april in friendster. this i did, and then some.

i guess missing people is good, if only to remind yourself that you actually felt alive at some point in your life when most of your days were spent with them. of course, i'm not only talking about my torrid love affairs (haha! as if). i appreciate the fact that i have good friends right here right now. but that doesn't make the yearning for all those who are so far away go away, nor does it diminish it any damn bit. of course, there's the geographic barriers excuse. but what's really a bitch is the matter of emotional disconnection. you just aren't as close as you once had been.

now i'm left to wonder what they're doing, how they're doing, even who they're doing (hahaha! there there, just playing. you can pick up your jaw from the floor now =). inevitably, i get to wonder if they even miss me at all. despite being the biggest proponent for friendster/myspace/YM messaging, i fail to make good on my promises to keep in touch on a regular basis. of course, sometimes it's not even up to me, but it just gets sad because reality gets in the way. life gets in the way. sometimes we just have to move on, make new memories and just get out there and discover life with other people. while the past is all good, nothing really lasts forever. friendship does, love does. but the intensity at which you experienced life at certain points in time cannot be replicated. forgive me if i'm being vague again. lemme rephrase. the uniqueness of the moments you had during these times is what ultimately gets me down, because you can only hope for things to get better with them. and when you realize that that was it, that you're about to plateau (prolly coz you know your time with them is running out.. or not), then it all goes downhill. then you find other avenues that would provide you with the same kind of high that you once were fortunate enough to have experienced. you go out to party or karaoke or whatever, you have wonderful talks over coffee that last into the wee hours of the morning with other good friends, you hie off to the gym and badminton courts and playing fields to engage yourself in a high-stakes game or two just to get that endorphin rush. and it doesn't have to end there. there's also french language classes next month and muay thai and surfing (yep, why the hell not?) next year. possibly even skydiving, if your finances are agreeable. even if you're the introvert type, there's still nothing to really prevent you from meeting people from all walks of life that you might have super moments with. if you get lucky, they might even turn out to be people you might want to blow your 500-peso load on on a whim and call on your way home aboard a jeepney filled with unsavory-looking characters, not minding the static that calling across 50 thousand miles will give you. just to say you miss them.

all in all, memories are good. in fact, they're the best. but the thing is, even memories don't last. at least they don't the way they should. aging gets in the way. life gets in the way. i really wonder how i'll get through knowing this.

On Love

I was planning to launch into a winding narrative on the events that transpired during the Fête de la Musique last Saturday. But I'll save that for tomorrow. Or whenever I can attend to the matter of my neglected blog.

Because I'm craving for certain things as of the mo, lemme share with you...

The Top 5 Things I'm Loving Now

5. OPM
As evidenced by the newly incorporated links in the Muzak section of this page, I chanced upon this cool site that features some of the hottest OPM (original Pinoy music) songs of today. Check out the site at TristanCafe.com.

4. Faith Evans
'Again' and 'Hope' are just fantabulous! And those tats--daym. Cool mama, that sistah.

3. Sex and the City reruns on Wowow
Likewise, let me add that Dawson's Creek reruns on the same channel are also keeping me up way past my bedtime.

2. PLDT
The term telebabad was given new meaning with the seemingly permanent extension of the telco's flat (and hence, muy cheapo) NDD rate. The homefront isn't missing me so much anymore now that I force myself on the fam every other weekend for hours at a time.

1. Macarons!
If I were to describe my first experience with Bizu's Macarons de Paris, the word would be HEAVEN. Oh, I know they've been around for quite some time. I should have taken Chona's word for it when she introduced them to me a coupla years ago. Lately, I find that I have to exercise tremendous will power whenever I pass by their booth in G4. Bread Talk hasn't caught on with me like this patisserie has.

Ooh La La!

It's only six days into June and already I'm feeling French. Just this afternoon when I was reminded of this month's French fest, I immediately rounded up some fellow cinema art farts at the office and established a viewing schedule with them for this Wednesday. I'll still have to drag someone to come with me to the Fete on June 18 at El Pueblo, though. If anyone out there is planning to do some serious head-bangin' to Frenchy (as well as NoyPi) beats, just holler.



Fête de la Musique

El Pueblo - Ortigas Center
and Metro Manila
June 18, 2005 - 5:00 PM onwards


Introduced in France in 1982 by then Minister for Culture Jack Lang, the Fête de la Musique is an all-day, all-night celebration of music to welcome summer. Musicians, amateurs and professionals perform freely in public places, from parks to street corners, metro stations, trains, not necessarily in concert halls or stages.

It became a very popular event, and through the network of French Embassies and French cultural centers and Alliances Françaises, it easily spread to many countries worldwide. It is now celebrated in simultaneously in more than 120 countries every 21st of June.

In Manila, the Fête has been celebrated since 1994, from Malate to Fort Bonifacio, to El Pueblo and Eastwood, gathering some 10,000 music-lovers in a street party that appropriately closes the cultural season, the French Spring in Manila, and where more than a hundred bands perform in ten stages simultaneously, offering the full spectrum of musical genre from World Music to Rock, Alternative, Reggae, Jazz, Blues, Electronica, Acousitic, Hip Hop and R&B.

In 2005, while the center stage in El Pueblo - Ortigas Center will showcase a selection of musicians of these musical categories, several poles of the city night life join us, like Greenbelt 3, Shangri-La Plaza, Eastwood, The Podium, SM Megamall. Thus, the Fête de la Musique reaches all corners of the capital.

.......................................

10th French Film Festival
Panorama of the French Contemporary Cinema
June 03 to June 26, 2005
3-15 Greenbelt 1, Ayala Center, Makati City
Entrance Fee : Php50

Please check out the link above for the movie titles.

Be seeing you, guys!

If Truth Be Told

trueness

Scary but most likely true...

scary but most likely true

What to do on a rainy Friday night

Why, answer online quizzes, what else? Got this interesting quiz from a friend's blog. Looks dark and menacing. Dank, even. Perfect for a drizzly night like tonight.

Goddamn rain. Actually, I'm just waiting for Jubert to be done with his deliverable. Then we're off to the midnight sale at Glorietta.

Actually, I can leave anytime I please. Goddamn office. I'm obsessed. All corporate zombies are.


Your word is: Brooding. You are a true thinker and
often try to figure out the meaning of life,
why we are all here etc. You may not be so
social, and often think twice before acting but
those thoughts you have in your mind never stop
flowing in. Sometimes you can be so
concentrated you forget about other things that
you have to do. Don't change, this world needs
deep people.


What dark word represents you? (anime pics and 7 outcomes)
brought to you by Quizilla



You need adventures.
Real life has been very boring for you lately and
you can't help but dream away. Nothing is exciting
or fascinating in your life and can't
understand why it all is so dull. You like
having fun, but are probably not a bouncing
person because of that. There is a probability
that you either like to read/watch fantasy or
similar genres, or have a creative side that
lets you release your fantasy world.


What Do You Need in Your Life? [dark pics]
brought to you by Quizilla

Your love is... by ChibiMarronchan
Your name is...
Your kiss is...	breath taking
Your hugs are...	friendly
Your eyes...	sparkle like the stars
Your touch is...	the only thing I desire
Your smell is...	beautiful
Your smile is...	hypnotising
Your love is...	eternal
Quiz created with MemeGen!

Regression Analysis II

It was yesterday when I the epiphany. Despite only a few hours of sleep, I awoke with a start. And with full clarity, I saw it. The sign.

It wasn't meant to be. And I'm cool with that. Finally. Sure, it would be fun to be mighty cool with him again, but I guess we're really better off as just friends. It's just one of those things that you know to be true, you know? Coz deep down, despite the acknowledgement of his finer attributes, despite his being the quasi-epitome of the guy of your dreams thus far, you recognize that something fundamental is amiss. And you know that you do deserve better...

But still, it was sort of fun to be missing someone like that. To have your head in the clouds whenever you thought about the way he used to make you laugh (whether he meant to or not). To be thinking of badminton matches and video marathons and home-made gourmet dinners that will never happen. To be looking for his face among the crowd on the sands of a tropical paradise, even when you know his presence there was unlikely.

All I know is... Passion, even in delusion, is far better than living in static reality.

.........................

The dream was fun while it lasted. But I'm wide awake now.

Regression Analysis

Man, I cannot stand not knowing.

Yes, I know. Chicken shit never win in the rat race of life. That's what I deserve for getting cold feet when things were just about to get hot. Have no idea what I'm talking about? Heck, that makes two of us.

Seriously (and I hate being serious), there are few things in life that I actually regret. Okay, so I regret not having been more of a nerd in college, I regret not being sports-inclined earlier in school, I regret not having taken height enhancers before I hit 20 (okay, so that's way too much info). But that's about it. Of course, that's not to say that I make the best decisions. But in events that require you to think and act, you do what you can and stand by what you've done. Regrets are all about losing out in the past.

Heck, I don't even regret the whole BJ episode (yes, you keep on guessing). What's to regret? I definitely learned a LOT of things from that. If life is about to deal you a roundhouse kick to the noggin, you gotta learn how to dodge it a la Neo in The Matrix, or bear the full brunt of its force and just roll with the blow. In any case, you learn.

The point I'm straying from (again) is, what if you regret the future? Or the non-future, as is in this case. (Sappy waters ahead, but don't say I didn't warn yah.)

Just so you know, the gist of this entry is written under the misguided and unlikely notion that I might be saved by this admission of guilt. I think I made an error of regret when I ran away from possibility. Just coz I didn't know better. Chalk it up to the innocence of naivete, chalk it up to the so-called wisdom of being unduly cautious. Whatever the case, that's no excuse coz everything in life is a gamble anyway. And let me tell yah, sitting in the sidelines for far too long is just gonna get you some major butt burns. And that ain't gonna be a pretty sight, nuh-uh.

And the worst thing, I never told him why I had to disappear. And to think I told him way back when that I was all about total and open communication. Pffft. What a fake.

It's been a few months since. To date, I take regret as my daily dose of reality. I don't even have to think about it, or get lost in the same engulfing waters, to know that it's there.

It's just there.

Funny.. I never would have pegged myself to be so politically inclined

Your dating personality profile: Liberal - Politics matters to you, and you aren't afraid to share your left-leaning views. You would never be caught voting for a conservative candidate. Stylish - You do not lack for fashion sense. Style matters. You wouldn't want to be seen with someone who doesn't care about his appearance. (Well, it's not really like this, but extra porma should rack up extra brownie points, doncha think?) Athletic - Physical fitness is one of your priorities. You find the time to work athletic pursuits into your schedule. You enjoy being active.

Your date match profile: Adventurous - You are looking for someone who is willing to try new things and experience life to its fullest. You need a companion who encourages you to take risks and do exciting things. Shy - You are put off by people who are open books. You are drawn to someone who is a bit more mysterious. You want to draw him out of his shell and get to know what he is all about. (Mysterious is A-OK. But shy? Don't like no torpedoes.) Athletic - You aren't looking for a couch potato. You seek someone who is active and who keeps his body in top shape.

Your Top Ten Traits 1. Liberal 2. Stylish 3. Athletic 4. Traditional 5. Adventurous 6. Religious 7. Big-Hearted 8. Intellectual 9. Sensual 10. Outgoing

Your Top Ten Match Traits 1. Adventurous 2. Shy 3. Athletic 4. Traditional 5. Practical 6. Religious 7. Intellectual 8. Stylish 9. Conservative 10. Wealthy/Ambitious

Take the Online Dating Profile Quiz at Dating Diversions

As the end of summer cometh...

poolside barbecue dreams

Lemme know if you guys have plans ;D

My Top 5 for a Tanned and Grand Summah

1) Waterwaterwater!
Pitchers upon pitchers of ICE COLD H2O. Need I say more? For obvious reasons, this is the one thing I cannot do without, especially during summer. No amount of Condura power can beat the sheer satisfaction that quenching deep-down body thirst brings. Fuels your sizzle without the drizzle.

2) Bring on the bling, baby!
Whether they be plastic baubles, ethnic/wooden neckwear, or sparkly capiz trinkets, piling on beach accessories is a surefire way to make you feel like the summer goddess that you are. Corollary: This is the time to indulge in all things pastel and nautical. If you're usually the ball-busting power dresser in corporate-landia, you now have an excuse to dress up a la Charlotte York of SATC (but still kick ass in the boardroom). Maybe instead of piling on the pearls, you can opt for some rockin' capiz charms.



3) Gyming!
Nothing like kicking butt indoors so you can kick butt outdoors, coz that's what summer is all about, baby! Remember to load up on water so you won't exercise yourself into a tizzy. For the more adventurous, this is the best time to embark on that Muay Thai class you've been meaning to get into for the longest time. Of course, there are other less disfiguring options, like that new craze called Zipping. Best taken up down Boracay way.

4) Hit the road, bustah!
You don't have to go to the beach to enjoy the summer. Even just going on a joyride about town will do wonders for your cooped-up-too-long-in-the-office self. So long as you're with a fun bunch, or even with your summer honey, you can never go wrong. You can get lost, but hey, it's summertime. Anything's bound to be fun as long as you don't totally lose your head. Just get yo' ass off that couch, like, ahora mi amiga!

5) Click away!
What's a fantabulous summer if you don't have the mementoes to show for it? Just like any other time of the year, one must lug around a trusty device that can capture instantaneous, precious moments in a flash. Even more so in the summer, coz in theory at least, it's the time you're given license to go nuts and be at your ditziest. And what's more photo-worthy than that? If you don't have a decent snapper at hand (like moi), you can always hang around people who do. Then you can hog the camera and guarantee that your summer adventures will forever be etched not only in memory.

Be seeing yah, peeps!