The Search For Creepy Chan

Effie Trinket would not be surprising to be seen in the event. The Philippine Fashion Week Holiday surely was a spectacle of wardrobe art that ranged from the simplest to the extraordinary–and I mean it literally. SMX was reeking with fashionistas who all looked as if Lookbook has come to life. “Know what,” I told my law student friend as we faced a line of the usual men in coats and the common women in heels, “there are only two types of people in here: those who are well dressed and those who are photographers.” With her well-printed caramel colored jacket, jeans, and snickers and my cheap gray short-sleeved hoodie, purple FnH pants, and Forever 21 gray boots, still we didn’t feel like we belong to the crowd with their branded, extravagant, stylish (even avant garde) looks.

We weren’t there for the fashion shows, though; my friend, Kath, was there to catch a glimpse of the model she admires the most: Allison Harvard. Since this was the last day that the girl known also as Creepy Chan would be facing the Philippine public, Kath dragged me along as company. Right before the event, she has tried her best to grab tickets but failed since she was late for promos and nobody else could provide her one. So, it was a hopeful trip to the event while wishfully thinking that Creepy Chan would be walking down the crowd on her way out.

Whether she did walk down the crowd or not, we had not the slightest idea. We were there right before her own fashion show starts and saw no sign of the girl with gigantic eyes. Thinking that Allison might still go through the crowd after the show, we decided to wait for the show to finish and as we do so, we grabbed some plates at Bonchon. What was surprising was to find some of my online friends whom I haven’t seen in person were on the other table and I didn’t have any confidence to greet them and say, “Hey, it’s me!” Later that night, they were texting me to confirm if they did see me there. I was actually expecting to see them there given the fact that it was Fashion Week and they were full time fashionistas, but I didn’t expect to sit next to their table at Bonchon while I was a bit haggard out of the walks we’ve done.

Returning to SMX filled my friend with hope. We decided to ask security guards if the models have left, and one kind heart told us that the models stayed until all of the shows were done. Thinking that we have the chance, we asked the guard where the dressing rooms could possibly be. The guard didn’t actually give us exact directions, but he hooked his arm around in the air, telling us that we should go around if we wanted to go there. Following his invisible arm map, we went down to a loooooong corridor and found a room filled with skinny tall women with bandages all over their head and neck but still exposing their faces that screamed “cheekbones!” We didn’t think that the room in front of us was where Allison would be, though. There was no sign of blonde hair nor Powerpuff Girl eyes. But the door close to it said “Fire Exit” and there were some models coming out of it.

We decided that there could be something inside, a path to the dressing room maybe, so we went in, not minding what rule we could be disobeying at that point. A long white hallway stretched down in front of us. Walking around and coming in and out of doors were men in black shirts who were fixing some wires, carrying some loads, and carrying some trays of glasses of wine. They seemed to wonder why my friend and I were there, but I managed to get my feet in confident strides so as to give them the impression that I am certain of where I am taking my friend and that we belong to what authority any door there holds. We were seeing doors with signs; “Function 1,” “Function 2,”… These were backstage doors! We were close to accomplishment. Function 4 was where Allison Harvard would be.

As we reached the door for Function 4, we stood there and contemplated a strategy as to how to get through security once we set foot inside that door. We were warned from the recent guards that the backstage was protected by bouncers, and not a muscle in my body would be strong enough to hold a struggle once I let my friend in. So, we decided to admit to anyone that we were there for a certain purpose and that we were actually breaking the rules (if there are, really).

“We have to find a person of authority who seems to have a good heart,” said my friend. We saw a man busy with his phone. He had a decent polo shirt on and glasses and an identification card that claimed that he was “Security.” Maybe the head of security. He seemed nice, so mutually, my friend and I decided to give it a shot on him and asked him if Allison was there and if we could have the delightful opportunity of meeting her in person. The man asked us how we got there, and we dared not explain–and he wouldn’t even listen if we did because he was busy talking to his phone and to a man who just handed him food. When a nicer looking security guard materialized beside him, he turned his back on us and directed the guard to ask us how we got there. Our judgment skills have failed us. This was the nicer one. He managed to give us a friendly approach as to ask us about our purpose for being in that place where unauthorized personnel were prohibited. My friend explained in all honesty about her passion for Allison, about how much she wanted to see her. The guard finally told us that Creepy Chan has already left the building right after her show was done.

Exhausted and hopeless, we went out of the backstage hall and looked back at how quite daring it was that we managed to go into a place where we weren’t supposed to be let in. It was quite daring that we even thought of breaking into Allison’s hotel room (not in a criminal way, but in a hopeful fanatic’s method). But we brushed off the thought since we had no idea where she was currently staying in the country.

Despite not being able to see Allison and her huge eyes, we enjoyed each other’s company and shared our usual deep thoughts while sitting in front of the biggest eye in the place: The Mall Of Asia Eye.

You’re Grammars Is Wrong

Your beautiful. Its true. Their is no one like you.
If you’ve spotted three grammar errors above, congratulations. People in the Philippines are one of the best when it comes to the use of English as the second language. And as an English teacher, this makes me proud. But to what extent do these people really choose to learn from us?
Facebook is a daily witness of Pinoys posting statuses, photos, videos, and whatnots with the use of either Filipino or English. But are these people conscious of their grammar? Being unaware of the extent of my skill in Filipino grammar, I am willing to be corrected since I am not fully developed in this language. But being an English teacher, I find it my duty to correct people’s English grammar when necessary (NOTE: WHEN necessary).
Alright, yes, even Americans use their language wrong. I got American friends and believe me, some of them do commit grammar errors. But the thing here is, if we’re just going to use a language, we may as well use it properly. You can’t just know words and phrases and use them. That’s like having an iPhone and just displaying it. There is a freaking manual for how it is used, bozo. Or might as well explore it to know how it works. Either way, it won’t let you TOTALLY USE it the way you want it; there are certain commands you have to follow before you do.
A meme claims that when one can’t win an argument, one corrects the grammar of the opponent. I’d say it isn’t a good move. If some people do so, then it’s stupid. But I don’t do that. I focus on the argument, but I may or may not correct grammar depending on the situation, but it’s not of a big deal unless it affected communication. Because grammar exists to improve communication. Without proper grammar, certain messages can ambiguously or incorrectly register to others’ minds. There are certain rules we ought to follow to assure that we get our message across.
The problem is people hate being corrected. Why would you use the language if you’re not open for correction? Displaying your iPhone, eh?

I correct grammar with my students’ post even if I’m not their teacher anymore. They don’t mind, and I’m glad since they’re learning beyond the classroom and they have an open mind. When I was teaching them I told them that it would be a shame for me to see grammar errors on their posts. It would only mean I wasn’t good enough. But then there are those grown ups. They hate being corrected. I even saw this one blog stating that he doesn’t want Grammar Nazis checking his grammar–I mean, why use it in the first place? Don’t you prefer to know what’s right? I mean, are you going to wait for people to be laughing behind your back before you become conscious of what you’ve done wrong?
There’s once a post of a friend I commented on because there’s a grammar lapse that made it misunderstandable. He reposted it with the correct grammar, but expressed scorn towards me indirectly, and I felt like a bad ass Grammar Nazi. At first, it didn’t feel good, having made him feel offended. But then again, for the love of Chomsky, say it well! People may misunderstand your statement, dude!
I’m not perfect. Even I make grammar errors. And I’d be more than glad to have people inform me about it whenever I do so (And do it in a good way). Sometimes, I see my former English major classmates make grammar errors, and I cringe on the fact that their co-teachers and students may see those errors. But when I correct some of them, they’ll ask if I demand perfection. No. It’s not perfection. You’re a teacher. There is a demand for correction. How can you teach something you don’t know? Or if not know, how can you prove yourself right when you obliviously do it wrong?
And as for Grammar Nazis, get a life. We can always correct the grammar of people in a subtle way or perhaps, talk to them about it in private. It’s called TACT, for those who are educated only in street fights. And chill! Sometimes, grammar doesn’t exist when obviously one is using language informally, most especially when you’re dealing with Professor Happycat and his cats, and 9gag memes. There are times that even if the grammar is wrong, it is comprehensible and is done that way to add humor, character, and whatever. But there are those grammar errors that, really, for people who know grammar well enough, just summon their inner Nazis.

Shooting Star

It was 6 in the morning on a Saturday, and I have just laid myself to rest after a long time spent in the office. My phone rang for a second or two and stopped. Heavy with drowsiness, my body didn’t bother checking it as it lies close to me on my bed. Three hours later, I was awoken by some messages from friends and discovered that the number of the one called earlier was not registered in my phone’s contact list. A few minutes later, it rang and I answered to find a handsome voice on the other line saying, “Hello, baby…”
Thinking that the voice sounds familiar and that the word of endearment cannot be mistaken for someone else, I decided that it’s my friend in London whom I joke around with such act, so I say, “Hello… Baby…”
“Have you had your breakfast?” he asked in his most soothing and sweet way of talking, not the kind that makes you puke for being too saccharine.
“No,” I groaned. “I’m still in slumber.”

“Alright. You go on have a good rest, then.” I opened my mouth to ask if it was really my friend, but the kind voice on the other line went on, “I love you.”
“I love you,… Too…” I trailed off as the line went dead, thinking that the sudden exchange of lies seemed to be sincere from him. I checked the number; it’s no international call. Who the…?
I tried to get some sleep but failed. A text message from that number came telling me to rest well. Then, after a while, when I decided that sleep was implausible due to the summer heat filling the bedroom like boiling water, I got off and we started our exchange of SMS asking each other about breakfast and all and even calling each other “baby.” I know it’s weird and too sudden, but it’s one thing that kept me thrilled for the rest of the day by guessing who this lover is. Is he supposed to contact someone else and mistake me for that person?
I played the “game,” finding the excitement in guessing who this admirer is. We kept in touch with each other, and he even told me to update him with whatever I do. I didn’t feel obliged; I’m used to doing it in my recent relationships since I have nothing to hide and they deserved to know what’s up most of the time.He worked on some office stuff as I went to a spa with some colleagues. After my relaxing four hours, I checked my phone to find an impatient message from him. He’s probably unaware that the spa takes hours. My friends and I had dinner, then went to a coffee shop to chill for a while. I told Mystery Lover to go to sleep if he must, but he insisted that he waits until I get home. So, I told him I’d call when I do. It took hours until I was home.
As promised, I phoned him, my “baby.” My ears were once again captured by that charming voice–well articulated words come out that indicate he’s quite knowledgeable, and a fresh, educated, sexy, and sweet accent gives a hint of someone coming from an elite university. We talked for hours past midnight. This is when I found out he knows about my sister and I going out a week ago and my current posts on Facebook, giving away the fact that he’s a Facebook friend. Yes, he knows my name. But, who??

We talked about movies, ghost stories, pop stars, and jokes. There was a time he even cooked some Pancit Canton because he got hungry. Some puppies wailed, and he talked to them in a cute way that makes you want to shut your eyes as you melt. He even mentioned that he has cat named Pikachu. For a moment, this bunch of info seemed almost useful. But I knew no one with pets of the same name, though I have suspects. All the information–including him having a sister–didn’t help me realize who it was. Then came a point when he mentions, “I’m so glad we talk now.”
“Why have we not been talking?” I asked, secretly playing the Lover with Amnesia/Mystery Lover Contestan.
“Don’t you remember?” He asked. “You were so mad at me for replacing you so quickly.”
“Why? What happened to us?”
“You told me you can’t move on with your ex.”
This got me wondering. I never use such excuse to anyone. But, I just played along. “How did you get my number?”

“Before you changed your number, you sent a group message of your new number,” he said, providing the idea that he was a friend when I was using another phone network. Well, that’d be hard; I can’t recall my contact list back then anymore. The pieces of puzzle was recognizable, but I can’t figure out where the pieces go. We said our goodbyes after a long talk even if we didn’t feel like it. Apparently, we enjoyed our little convo with each other.
When the searing heat of midday awoke me, he was still asleep. We had a little bit of exchange of sweet messages when both us were up. Then came afternoon, when he slowly slipped away from romantic mode. It was confirmed to be over when he didn’t respond to my text nor answer my call. I shrugged; Maybe that’s it.
I didn’t do this because I wanted to get an instant lover. I found it daring to guess who it was, given the fact that calling me baby all of a sudden is already a playful approach. At some point, I like him. Knowing him just that way, without a name and a face, makes it easy to like him.

What is a name and a face anyway? Feelings go beyond that. But it should be beyond voice, too. I can’t go further (not that I intend to nor not intend to) with our sort of “relationship” if I keep playing this game and not totally knowing this person. Though I have to admit, it’s not easy to find someone to talk about anything like that. A seemingly smart conversationalist, even. Whatever lies exist between our phone lines didn’t register in the signal. Only I don’t know who he is.

His sudden silence is easy to grasp for me; they all do that to me. The same. Come and go. I’ve grown accustomed to the abandonment of such people. And, it’s easier for this one considering the time spent was surprisingly very abrupt.
I guess I wouldn’t really know who he is. It somehow feels bad. Of course, I want him back, to know more about him and to stop this game. If he doesn’t choose to, it’s fine. After all, the experience provided a little bit of a twist in my life—or within a weekend. Maybe the funny, odd, romantic, and mysterious experience is enough. We all live in a world filled with mysteries; we can’t know everything.

Booable Boobtube Booger

 

Every Sunday, I loathe the time when there is no good show on Cable TV during midday or the fact that I can hear some neighbor’s television giving me a hint of some noontime show’s music cover. It has been a part of my hobbies to browse over TV channels to find something worthwhile, but it is some sort of a petty fear to accidentally face some local channels that show these noontime concert TV shows. I’m supposed to like it—being a music lover and a buff for live performances especially when there’s dancing and extreme production design involved. But through experience after so many years of being exposed to such shows, I began to see concert TV programs in a way that I see bloody news reports about crimes.

 

1. “Talents.” Okay, most of the hosts in such shows would be singers or performers. But TV concert shows have also become a way for talents of TV networks to showcase their just-another-pretty-face celebrities (note: not “artists”) by having them sing or dance even if those celebs cannot really sing and dance. You can spot how they just perform in a way to muster all the cuteness they could have instead of giving the talent a good shot.

2. Promotion. When there is an upcoming show, movie, or product endorsement, might as well put the celebrities involved in a dance number to be able to promote what they want people to be aware of. Don’t get me wrong; I have no problem with this. But just like in the first bullet, some talentless creatures do what they really can’t do. There’s no harm in trying, really, but if you’re there onstage to show what you got, you better give it all—and when we say all, we’re not just talking about your face and your body. If that’s all you can give, be a model PERIOD.

3. Monsterous singers. Okay, we get it, you can belt out a high note! Divas and the likes nowadays probably have that belief that they have to show off their powerful voices everytime they perform to garner roars from the crowd to praise her for how well she could throw her lungs out and into the microphone. I may have said that performers here should give their best shot—for singers, the best shot is not power belting; it’s in how you deliver songs well. Songs must be heartfelt. So many singers nowadays tend to forget that. They go for the show-off talent that they tend to lose the real feel of their songs when they only focus on boasting the octaves they could reach. Please, you’re not supposed to yell all the time. Things get worse when these singers are put in a group to sing in chorus—it is very apparent that they’re trying to outdo one another.

4. Fucking fanatics. And I mean it—the word FUCKING. They make me roll my eyes, kick the TV off, grab a knife, and kill the first person I see. If you watch these shows, there is that frequent line that fanatics usually yell out to their favorite stars. “WE LOVE YOU, (_put star’s name here)_!!!” They do that A LOT—as the performance is starting, during the performance, and while the performance is ending. Isn’t it just rude? I only find that kind of behavior here in our country, I don’t know about the others. When an artist is performing, a fan should be keeping a close watch and being all ears for that wonderful number. It’s a sign of respect to both the artist, who is trying to concentrate on the delivery of the performance, and the fan himself, who is trying to savor every amazing moment as that artist exudes TALENT. Instead, these fans scream that just damages the whole feel of the moment, most especially when a singer sings a ballad. Look, hyperactive fans from the kikay world of shallowness, ignorance, and absurdity, you can show your love to your faves by supporting them with what they do—and when I say “support them with what they do,” I mean shut up during the performance and rip your hearts and lungs out when the work is done.

5. Hosts. I would suggest that they cut the crappy scripted-sounding convos that go on among the hosts. They could do better than that. Be spontaneous. I could prolly blame the writers also for doing a lame job for the celebs’ “kulitan.” But if anything, the hosts would be least of a problem.

I guess this is just how the Philippines Party As Soon As Possible. This is how the masses prefer to see their favorite celebrities and artists. To be fair, some performances can really leave people in awe. Some are even creative. And may I say, one show has amazing stage designs and lighting. But if I were to handle those shows, my show would either be filled with talent or more amazing production numbers (stunts) or both. I’m not saying the current shows don’t have these. I just think they got holes gaping in their projects.

Hungry For More: Movie Review

Katniss in action. Jennifer Lawrence, I don't find anyone else better to play the role. Good break.

Following the footsteps of Harry Potter, Lord of The Rings, and Twilight for Books-turned-Successful-Movies, The Hunger Games came trending online like a spreading wildfire. Being a bandwagon basher that I am, I swore to myself not to read the book until its popularity fades out, but planned to see the movie as soon as possible due to curiosity. But, I ended up reading it when I just thought of downloading it without really a firm thought of getting my eyes over the text after I get to see the movie. Even before this, I spoiled myself and anyone I tend to spoil by reading the last few sentences of the book—just to troll when people tend to get all bouncy talking about it. The only thing I forbid myself from doing from riding the wagon is to keep myself from repeatedly posting about nor even mentioning that I’ve seen it in my Facebook status–an exception goes to my daily photo of the day since I find it necessary to take note of it for the highlight of the day. Still, I didn’t give much emphasis on it so as to avoid waving a Hey-I-Watched-It-Now-I’m-In flag. Pardon me; it’s some sort of attitude I just can’t take away from me, just like that characteristic that those people can’t take away from themselves. We coexist, brothas.
My friends said the movie was slow phased while I find it the opposite. The emotions were not much emphasized since the scenes had to go on and on to be able to compress almost every necessary part in the book, making it a little too speedy but in a fair way. But if it’s the lack of emotion emphasis we’re talking about, we can exclude Prim’s scenes where she’s showcased as a HUGE outbursting crybaby. Even if that characteristic were in the book (which in reality, isn’t), the crying fits were out of place, exaggerated even. Even the characteristics of people in District 12 seems robotic. I just find it odd that even just as extras, they don’t seem to be talking to one another or being anything at all. They were just almost straight faced. When Prim started panicking at the gate of the Reaping, I thought the Peacekeepers would be alarmed by her reaction—as if she and Katniss, who was calming her, were the only real people there who stood out at that moment.
Important elements were also scrapped; why Gale had a lot of entries for the Reaping (which is actually because of the tessarae), the necessity of Katniss’ attachment to Peeta just to gain sponsors (I bet they’ll focus on this in the sequel), and the need for food was not emphasized in the Games–it’s not called The Hunger Games for nothing.
What makes this movie successful is the way it almost completely reflects the book—almost all scenes obey the texts we’ve read, proper execution of scenes and compression to be able to somehow show most of what’s in the book into the silver screen, and the choice of Jennifer Lawrence for Katniss is excellent. My favorite part of the movie is how it filled in with the flaw of the book during Rue’s death–the book lacked of emotions on this scene when I as a reader actually expected a tear-jerking stunt by Collins for this one. But the movie, with the use of District 11′s reaction, succeeded on that part. It is also a good point that the movie did not focus much on the violence and gore just like the way the book goes.
Being able to read the book, the movie is a bit–I repeat, A BIT– disappointing. But if I were to see it without being exposed with the book, I’d like it. Still, if we usually dislike movie adaptations of certain books, this one has flaws but is much better than other books—kind of how I felt with the first movie adaptation of the Harry Potter series. The sequels are to look forward to!

News Fed Up

“Sometimes, I think the cyberworld is an arena – a space where warriors battle for attention, for “Likes”, for “share”, for “re-tweet”, for “re-blog”. I know it’s a great way to share knowlegde, to share ideas, to share helpful tips, information and thoughts. Unfortunately, it’s also a world packed with netglows -oh, them, pitiful netglows. Always hungry for attention, since in the real world, they’re merely a tiny speck of dust – hardly noticeable.” – G. Felio

These words were products of the meat inside the head of my friend. She rarely writes something, and with a note like this on Facebook, she surely deserves some views from people—and when I say people here, I mean everyone who has access with the social networking site. Enough said, she made a pretty good observation with what’s becoming of netizens.

Social networking sites have become a tool for many people to muster all the charms they could offer to their friends who are stuck on their news feeds. Since people have access to show off what they got, they take advantage of the sites to let everyone know that they do deserve respect, popularity, and attention because they were able to learn the latest video of Katy Perry, taste the latest ice cream craze, and attend the premiere of the most famous movie at the moment. Don’t get me wrong; I am not against such posts. What has become wrong is the fact that there are people who, upon being exposed of all these on their news feeds, tend to be influenced and end up harnessing their amazing skills of mimicry and social climbing just so they could show everyone that they BELONG.

Let’s take one of the “coolest” issues recently: the Magnum ice cream. My news feed was bombarded with photos and statuses about people being able to get a taste of Magnum’s delightful Belgian choco ice cream. This one did not set off my “bandwagon alert” as curiosity seeped into my tastebuds. Yes, foolish: I grabbed one, photoed myself with it, posted it online, and seemed to poke everyone in my list that I was able to eat the latest most talked-about ice cream. For some point, I didn’t regret it. It was fun to share something new to people—well, in this case, new to those in my list who have not tried it. But as the number of posts about it flooded online, I suddenly thought that I have become a part of the bandwagon; One thing I usually dislike. No, I don’t blame my friends for sharing that information and hell no, I don’t have ill-feelings nor grudge on them for doing so. The thing is—continuous exposure to some posts regarding the same things annoys me in a certain way (And yes, I must admit: Magnum can be overrated—but this topic is another story).

Who are we to whine? We have the option to see whose posts we want to see on our news feeds. After all, everyone has the freedom to post about anything on their walls. I usually complain about a lot of posts, yet I know to myself that I shouldn’t do it in the first place because we all have the prerogative when it comes to these things. And yes, some topics would be repetitive on such sites for the usual mere fact that those things are worth noticing like the Invisible Children, the recent fare hike, or that cute speech when Eugene Domingo accepted an award. But believe me, if our Facebook accounts could read our news feeds out loud, the constant reminder that someone bought Magnum, someone will be watching “The Hunger Games,” is watching “The Hunger Games,” and has just watched “The Hunger Games,” and someone has just talked to SimSimi again and again would be a flea in the ear. It’s one of the reasons why I just suddenly dislike (back off, fans, the word is not “HATE”) Twilight. I mean, the saga can be good (Back off, haters, learn how to be open-minded even just a little), but the exaggeration of the fans’ reactions have just made me (Note: ME, not you) roll my eyes when I see them. For the record, I was able to catch one movie of it and could state that, yeah, okay, it’s kind of fine. Not a fan, still. Even when Harry Potter’s last movie installment hit the theaters, everyone’s talking about it. I like Harry Potter fans for being simple; but when this last movie came to theaters, the jejemons did not choose to be left out, so they spent their money just so they could claim online that they have just seen the legendary finale of the movie. Despite not being a fan, I went to see it alone because I know how huge the movie is. Proudly I say that never once did I post anything at that time about me watching it. I just left it for the bandwagon to flaunt their tiny achievements online.

Should people tell me and my friend to deactivate our accounts? I don’t think so. Kind of brave for her to post something like that—I salute! Because people will be hating for such words. And then people will be firing our words back to us. What about our posts? Aren’t we just part of everyone else? All I can say is that I don’t post for the LIKES (unless it’s for a contest), the RETWEETS, and the REBLOGS. We’re just here to share our lives to the world. Maybe, just like everyone else does. But, unlike some, we are not hungry for attention. We just choose to have something where we could look back and see how things were in our lives. See, these posts are good for reminiscing and for sharing things that we want our friends to know. We don’t care about the number of likes nor the comments. We’re just here to have a little bit of record that we can also exist in the cyberworld where almost everything can be updated, where we can talk to long gone friends, where we can let people know how we are without even contacting them directly, and where we can share ideas.

No, I am not perfect. People can also go hate my posts for other reasons. In the end, these are just my opinions—my own feelings regarding the bandwagon. Come to think of it, it does not really take its toll on me. It’s just me not liking it—a feeling I can’t explain some more. Well, liking and disliking can sometimes be irrational. I’m not a fan of irrationality.

Not Worth Smiling Back At

I can’t sleep. As I write this, I lay on my bed, listening to Jason Mraz, alone in a dark bedroom. I’m thinking about ghosts. Not that such thought keeps me up; I swear I’m not totally scared of ghosts unless I get to see one. I haven’t. Maybe close encounters, but not totally see them materialize in real life (I can’t even relate them to the word “life”). But there’s one time something “supernatural” (NOTE: QUOTE-UNQUOTE) scared the shit out of me.

A friend in the office told me about Smile.jpg. It’s a photo of a Siberian Husky smiling with a dark background that has some sort of window and a faint image of a bloody hand. Legend has it that staring at the photo has caused a woman to become insane and commit suicide.
Being a non-believer of urban legends and most supernatural stuff (except aliens and ‘aswang’), I stared at the photo for a long time a lot of times. I felt a little of the chills; seeing a dog smile like an evil human or some ghastly creature would surely send goosebumps up one’s spine (recalling that right now here in the dark gives me major creeps). But I kept in mind that I don’t believe in such things, and that I can control my imagination so strong that I won’t be able to drive myself mad–unless I imagine myself mad. On a walk all the way home until I fell asleep, it was no longer in my mind that the legend of Smile.jpg claims that it would haunt one in his dreams and could even give epileptic fits. So, to my surprise, that night, I had a nightmare about being in an empty corridor. A flying book came flying from a flight of stairs down the corridor and came to a stop after heading straight to my face. I failed to see the title of the book. All I can recall is the skull in the middle of the cover smiling. When the book stopped at my face, darkness filled my sight and I was back on my bed sleeping. An eerie voice whispered, “Para ‘di na pigilan ang ‘di dapat pigilan…”(“To no longer cease what needs not to be ceased…”) Then, as I struggled to move my seemingly-paralyzed body, the voice became a childish-chant echoing and flying away coming from upclose to my left ear, singing, “Minsaaan… Ikaw ang tayaaaa…” (“Sometimes, you’re it…”)
That was when I literally jumped up from sleep like how actors do in movies. It got my heart racing, spine tingling, and mouth panting. What scared me the most was remembering the smile of the skull on the book; it looked totally similar to the dog’s smile in Smile.jpg. As a nonbeliever of chain messages and urban legends, it was the first time I got convinced that something like that can be real. Not that I want to convince people that urban legends can be true, but this one is scary as shit. It could have been a coincidence, but I can never forget the fright it has done to me.
Still, I don’t pass chain messages or repost stuff that tell you that you’ll be damned for not doing so. Those are things created by people who want to see how far their inventions can circulate on the Net. But this one thing here, that Smile.jpg… Man, I don’t know. I feel like a Stephen King character writing this. It could have been coincidence—who the hell knows? All I can say is that experience was really odd considering it happened the night after I stared at that Smile.jpg. Still, it would be a good piece of advice not to pass chain messages—I don’t. But this one? I shared it for quite a short time on my Facebook account then deleted it. And that was it.

 

Oh well, good night.
Just have faith in God! 

I Dollar You

How much are you? Do we cost a certain amount? How do people give certain values for what they do, say, for their work? Stop for a while and think: How did the people in your company put prices on how much you’ll be doing?

Does everything cost a certain amount of money?

You pay your bills to be able to use electricity. You use electricity to be able to wash your clothes. You buy clothes to be able to go out. You pay fares to travel somewhere. You buy food when you get hungry in your travels. You pay doctors to be cured when you get too much of what you eat. You get well by paying. You exercise to be healthy through buying things you need for it. You pay, pay, and pay…

It’s weird enough when people say that love makes the world go round. Yeah, right, we ALL need it. Without love, the world will be in chaos. But love can’t provide electricity, wash your clothes, take you to far places, feed you, make you healthy, etc. Maybe somehow, yes, but not completely.

Money has proven itself an indestructible being in the world of materialism. Money tends to seem bigger than love. Without money, we can’t do things. Even without love, we can stand up and dust ourselves off. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not that materialistic. This is just how things seem to appear in our world right now, and money seems to be a boss we can’t help but please because it can provide what we need. Yes, it certainly does give us what we need. But has it not become too overrated? It’s people that have made wealth a symbol of power and ability; you can walk with it! You can be happy with it! You can control people with it.

One time, a few years ago, I was wandering in a park and saw some women trying to seduce foreigners with their microscopic, erm, what do you call those, uh, dresses? Not sure. A thought surfaced in my mind; how do they quantify the cost for what they do? How does one put a price on sex? How do you calculate your performance and equate it into dollars?

Do we have some sort of criteria for that? Will looks also matter? The size? The number of rounds? How do they come up with the exact amount for sex? I suddenly texted someone I know who did that once. He told me that he just based the amount on how he could do well with it, the looks of his partner (the uglier, the more expensive), and his looks (he’s amazingly beautiful). Still, I couldn’t figure out how the hell he put prices on looks and performance.

Do things really have a price on Earth. As far as I know, they used to be for free. In the world today, the only thing that’s free is to pick your nose.Tell me: how much will this writing cost me if I sell it? How will I put prices on my words? Do useless words get lower prices? How much is it per brilliant, original lines, if there’s any?

One thing’s for sure: We ALL need money. Now, shut up and pay me for spending time to plant some thoughts for you. Your ideas, may they be in agreement with this writing or in contrast with it, have been spawned by my own.

But if you really can’t pay me, do me a favor: just continue giving love to others. It’s for free. And it starts an endless trail of happiness from people to people. Why not bring money down and use love as a price? Surely, the damaged planet will take a HUGE turn of events…

Photo from: http://www.flickriver.com/photos/hamidgh/popular-interesting/

Counting The Bags of Potatoes

“You should go have some anger management,” said one contact I had in my Multiply account a few years back. There came a time in my life that I almost complained every single day. I had this bitterness over so many things that I would usually end up blogging about them. Back then, blogging was a way to release stress for me. College had me crawling around that I easily got mad over small or even insignificant things.

Through the years, I have learned how to handle people. It’s not that I have fully learned how to, but somehow I do… or well, at least I do to some people. Conflicts come and I learn about reactions and behaviors. And at the end of the year in 2011, I noticed how “calm” I have become.

People say that when we are on the verge of fuming, one should count up to 10 to calm oneself down. I guess we all should learn how to count up to 10 when something stings our feelings. Not that you really have to count (take it from a math loser like me), but a good way to handle arguments and fights is to be calm at first. Before, I believed that to show anger was a good way to release it and relive oneself from stress. Yes, it feels good to let it all out. But I guess, not all the time. Or, there should be a right timing. Sometimes, we react too soon towards things that make us mad that we tend to embarrass ourselves because we, at times, overlook somethings. Take this guy my friends saw a few nights ago at a ago as an example. He was complaining about being asked to pay for their orders already even if they weren’t leaving yet. He even called the manager because of this. Then, the manager explained that when customers move from one table to another, they would have to pay their first orders (I am guessing that this is done because records of orders are based on table numbers—when they move, the bar just have to erase their notes—wherever it is—about the first table to make it clear that there should be no more payments left for that table). The guy was ashamed because in the middle of his anger, the rule just smacked him in the face as hard as how his words smacked the waiter’s pride. He suddenly changed his complaint into the waiter’s “bad behavior” towards him, which was at that time apparently untrue and an obvious change of idea to keep himself from being totally embarrassed for “losing” in the argument.

I guess that’s one thing that most people should understand; that whenever there is an argument, we don’t really aim to win. Arguments should be executed in a way that the two opposing parties are trying to meet at a certain point of understanding each other. Of course, this may not be applicable for ALL arguments. But the point is that we should just try to understand each other—-why does he react that way? What makes him mad about what I do? Why does he oppose to my idea?

Close-minded people would settle for noisy fights—committing violence, raising voices, and tackling certain issues that are irrelevant to the topic at hand (like when you two are arguing about what restaurant is the best place to go and then the other person just suddenly blurts out that you’re so gay just because he is losing the argument for the lack of right reasons to say). A righteous person would seek compromise or at least, an understanding to the argument of the other party, and this should be done in a calm way. Raising one’s voice just increases the tension and even causes the argument to become a messy warfare.

Being mad cannot be easily controlled. I admit; there are times that I tend to become a Tiger Out of A Cage. It is quite a challenging task to take a hold of oneself and approach an opponent in a well-behaved way, especially when the opponent is huffing puffing in rage. But it’s worth the try. Ranting won’t do anyone justice. Yes, it’s a way to release anger, but it’s not a good step to solve the problem. You can’t keep yourself every once in a while to do that. But make sure what you say won’t go rushing back slamming at your face like a huge bag of potatoes.

Gaping Babies

These are my Gaping Babies, Jombi and Chuchiper. I got Chuchiper on my birthday, so we got the same cake day. Jombi is a Christmas gift. I got this thing for stuff toys that are not totally cute for their odd “monstery” or “evil” appearance. I really don’t find stuff like Hello Kitty and Kerokeropi amusing–that’s in my own point of view. Anyways, these cute babies are always with me during bed time especially Chuchiper who is sooooooooo fun to hug as I sneak away to dreamland. Got babies like them, too? Have one! You don’t have to be a girl to do so. Sometimes, a little cuteness keeps one positive.