Screw Resolutions.

I have decided not to make resolutions.

This year, getting thinner, seeing the world and sleeping earlier are going to have to take a trip to the wastebasket. 

 

Screw resolutions. You never do half of it anyway. 

Make forecasts. 

2014 will be an unforgettable year, and it will be one of best ones. It might not be the year I magically turn smoking hot and beautiful, but it will be the year I would gain my confidence. I may or may not lose some weight, but 2014 will surely be the year for morning runs and less rice. I would do this for myself, so I can finally know the true meaning of self-fulfillment. It would be the year wherein I won't let society shape my self-perception. Slowly, I'm letting my insecurities go. I'm allowing myself to make room for improvement. Due to my friends' inspiring persistence,  it will also be my first year as a fashion blogger and Instagram user. As a blogger, it would be the first time I would reveal my face in my entries, and I'm proud of it. After all, I promised I would start acknowledging myself as  beautiful, didn't I? 

2014 will be the year I may or may not avoid caffeine, but it will be the year I would have to cut off my daily trips to Katipunan so I can save up for the many things I want. It would be a year of concerts, theater plays, shopping and book hunting. This year will also bring about opportunities. I will venture into designing fandom shirts and hopefully, my creativity pays off. I can see a lot of doors opening for me. I just have to be wise in choosing which ones to enter. 

2014 will welcome more sleep before the second year of my college life begins. There will be more academics, but the weekends would be dedicated for rest. Although I have decided to devote more time to my bed, I know 2014 would also be a year for more parties, late night hang-outs and sleepovers. Like its preceding year, 2014 will be spent living the moment and seeking for that Great Perhaps. It will be 365 days of infinite memories, out-of-this-world antics, completing bucket lists and never-ending surprises. 

2014 will be my year. 

I don't need to make sure of it because right now, I already am. 

Cheers! 

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU… Well, not really. I want a lot of other things.

I can feel Christmas starting to settle in my veins as I pull out my stash of sweaters and enjoy the breezy December nights with my cup of coffee (or hot cocoa since I am trying to cut on my caffeine consumption) in hand. Lights are everywhere, and Christmas carols are dominating establishments with glad tidings and sounds of merriment. The Misa de Gallo has officially begun, and an onslaught of bonus-armed Christmas shoppers taking pleasures in the Christmas rush has been infesting malls, bazaars and shopping centers. 

It is that time of the year again.

Or as the song goes, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year…”

Truly, it is wonderful and magical, but aside from the idealistic, near-impossible Love Actually- inspired Christmas romance and the incredibly impossible desire for God to send down snow in the Philippines, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I really want this Christmas.

Unfortunately, it’s not my two front teeth.

And sadly, it’s not you.

And because I have an unabashed love for making lists, I decided to make one. (Yay!)

WHAT I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS:

1.     Books!

I know I have a pile of them that I left to accumulate dust in my bookshelf, but a bookworm can’t have too many titles in his or her collection, can’t s/he?

What I would prefer (but any novel would be just fine!):

A Collection of Poems by John Donne*

A Collection of Short Stories by Ernest Hemingway*

A Collection of Poems and Short Stories by Margaret Atwood*

The Fire Chronicle by John Stephens (hardcover)

Slammed by Coleen Hoover (hardcover)

Hokey Pokey by Jerry Spinelli (hardcover)

Keeping the Moon by Sarah Dessen (paperback)

Pivot Point by Kasey West (hardcover)

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (hardcover)

Blue Sky Days by Marie Landry (hardcover)

*hardcover, pocket-book sized editions please?

2. Fabric Paints/Textile Paints

I’m about to open a small-time business that sells personalized hand painted fandom shirts. These fabric paints, preferably the ones that are bought in a store called Deovir, will really help a lot in this spur-of-the-moment experiment.

If you guys are interested in the shirts, I will soon release the first batch of designs so stay tuned!

3. VIP Tickets to the Phoenix Concert, PLEASE?

Alternative rock band, Phoenix, will be performing for the first in Manila at the World Trade Center on the 21^st of January. Their famous hits include “Liztomania”, “Girlfriend”, “Rome” and “1901”.

NOW THIS IS THE FIRST OF THE MANY CONCERTS THAT I AM SO BADLY SAVING UP FOR, AND VIP TICKETS WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CHOOSE BETWEEN ARTISTS YOU ADORE AND ASDDFGHJKL YOU ALWAYS END UP BROKE ANYWAY.

For my contact details, please send me a direct message via twitter. Donations are highly encouraged.

4. TICKETS FOR “WICKED” IN MANILA

 “Wicked”, the untold story of the witches of Oz, is a prequel to the famous journey of Dorothy in the land of Oz. It centers on the Elphaba and Galinda, two girls who are very different from each other, yet as differences are set aside, Elphaba and Galinda form a magical friendship.

I grew up listening to Broadway songs, and as a child, I participated in various theatre productions and made a silent vow to myself that someday I would be a successful theatre actress. Though the latter did not come close to reality, I still adore Broadway music and theatre performances. I have done “Wicked” once in my former school, and up until now, I am in love with its songs and its story. I still wish to be the green-skinned Elphaba riding her broom while belching out Defying Gravity’s highest notes, and up until now, I can still relate with her feelings when she sings the lines “He could be that boy but I’m not that girl.”

“Wicked” is one of my favorite musicals, and I would be so glad and privileged if I had the chance to watch it live in CCP. I’m praying I can save up within the 4,500-3,500 range, and I’m also praying that business does well and that the odds are in my favour. This time, I also pray I won’t be too much of a big spender in the next few weeks.

5. A new set of Hexaplus

My Hexaplus set, which have stuck with me since Senior year, has just begun to say goodbye. As the individual colors shade their last breaths, they keep whispering to me that they ought to be replaced by people who look exactly like them.

 And so, you guys know exactly what to do.

6. Guitar Strings

It’s been a while since I last played the guitar using my own guitar. I miss playing and performing. Also, I’ve been itching to make a lot of covers lately, and I’ve got quite a few requests I haven’t responded to yet. A new set of guitar strings (and probably a guitar strap too!) would be very much welcome.

7. White sneakers

Plain white sneakers would be the perfect canvass for this new doodle project I’m planning. I’m guessing you already have an idea of it, so I won’t expound further. I’m doing plenty of DIY projects lately, and they have served as a good breather from the stressful academic life.

8. Combat Boots

My last pair of combat boots circa Junior year have already been wrecked and discarded. Since I’ve lately been into dresses and skirts, I assume these boots would give off a rugged and messy look to whatever girly getup I’m donning. Also, they look good on jeans and shorts!

9. CLOTHES!

Anything new in my wardrobe would be great as long as I dig them. If you still don’t have any ideas on how I dress, here are a few sets to help you:

10. Earphones

I lost my earphones in UP’s Lantern Parade, and knowing me as a music-lover, I can’t live without them. Though I have these massive headphones, sometimes, I can’t really bring them because of their size and because they have a chance of ruining my hair when it’s neatly put up. Any earphones would do as long as they are of good quality. Nothing of the branded Beats kind, please? It would be too much. I’m good with cheap and lasting ones.

11. Starbucks/CBTL Gift Certificates

Being the coffee addict that I am, I am in need of a supplier for my regular caffeine fix. Gift certificates of any amount would be accepted with open arms and an empty cup.

12. Clockwork Angel Necklace

I’ve already pre-ordered one, but I still don’t have the money to pay for it. Since it’s Christmas break, it mean no allowance and no papers to write. I have to figure out a way to pay my due on Sunday or else, the order’s cancelled. Yikes!

13. To raise money to help Typhoon Yolanda victims

YES! I’m finding out how, but my best bet is the under construction shirt business. If it turns out well, part of the proceeds would be donated for our less fortunate countrymen. If not, I could hold a garage sale or sell some books from my shelf. If I can’t touch lives as far as Tacloban, my friends and I could always volunteer in our alma mater’s Christmas outreach or we could go for that trip to a nearby orphanage or charitable institution. There’s always a way. 

So, there. That’s what I REALLY REALLY want.

So, where do YOU come in?

Either you help me with this list by buying almost everything I want or  you watch the play and the concert with me because as of now I STILL HAVE NO COMPANION AND I DO NOT WANT TO WATCH BOTH SHOWS ALONE.

Hah. Easy as pie.

Merry Christmas, folks!

FRESH BLOOD, OUR BLOOD

The wounds are still fresh---fresh as they have been four years ago. 

They leave no scars. Rather, a crimson tide flows from their mouths and seeps between the words of periodicals, haunting our memories with backhoes and butchered bodies rotting in the blood-soaked soil. It has been four years, and four years have been far too long for wounds to heal, yet they remain cut open, continuously rubbed with the salinity of a slow justice system and a culture of impunity.

Four years and counting. Four years of waiting for justice.

In a recent press briefing via The Philippine Star, Communications Secretary Sonny Coloma declared the Philippines a safe place for journalists, given that the Ampatuan Massacre is excluded from the index of media-related crimes. Moreover, he claimed that the Philippines as one of the countries enjoying the most press freedom while ironically promising justice to the families of the slain Maguindanao 58. 

To those in position, it is easy to forget the corpses of fellow media men and women. After all, what are 32 journalists compared to thousands of lives lost in Yolanda and billions of pesos taken away by a self-incriminating Napoles? What are dead journalists compared to an equally slow-paced relief operations and the stalling of the distribution of public funds to basic social services? It is easy to forget as year after year passes and issues pile over unsolved cases and threaten to unravel the government’s inanity. 

But to those in the field, to those who mourn for the deaths of these watchdogs under the hands of a godly political clan, it is not easy to forget. 

It is not easy to forget grief and loss, grief over wasted eyes and ears that provide the public with self-governance. It is not easy to forget injustice, the incessant impunity of a system that has not convicted a single soul for forced disappearances and journalist killings. It is not easy to forget the stench of fear, the scent of peeled flesh mingled with dried blood, the threat above your head with the words you say and put on print, the image of backhoes and butchered bodies, and the sock in your mouth as they beat you and torture you for exposing the truth.

There is a killing much worse than the Ampatuan Massacre, and it is the killing of speech and the genocide of what it means to be truly free. 

And as nameless bodies pile on top of the other, the government is doing nothing to protect our press as it has been after all this time. Under Aquino’s ‘safe’ administration, 19 media practitioners have been killed and have not been handed justice. The wounds will never heal till they are sewn, and our impunity king has decided to side upon the royals who remain in their seat of power and feed on the carcasses of the misled, the dead and those who have yet to be checked off their lists. Killing after killing will continue as no one is behind bars to stop it and defend the rights of the people behind the newspapers and cameras, the faceless beings being ruthlessly sent into an arena of bloodshed as they gladiate for the freedom of information in a seemingly fascist society. 

Four years and the press still demands justice. Four years and we still light our candles and march to Mendiola. 

Four years and despite the government’s neglect and the fear instilled in us, we never forget.

Crazy, Rich Asians

Sprawling lawns, fancy food, designer dresses, exotic islands, private planes and six-star hotels characterize Kevin Kwan’s debut, Crazy, Rich Asians. Set in contemporary Singapore where the elite enjoy the power of the purse, readers are transported from mansion after mansion with every flick of a page.

The plot centers on Nicholas (Nick) Young, a man born into an extremely rich and traditional family and Rachel Chu, an accomplished American Born Chinese and economics professor. When Nick has been invited by his best friend, Colin Khoo, in his upcoming wedding, Nick decides to bring Rachel halfway around the globe with him, and Rachel agrees. Expecting an ordinary Singaporean lifestyle up ahead of their trip, Rachel is surprised to be riding private planes, staying in expensive hotels, and going to classy dinners and parties wearing nothing but couture. She also discovers a new Nicholas Young, one who is bound to his wealthy family while being loyal to his love. In a world gilded by gold and ruled by the privileged few, Rachel finds herself stuck in the world of luxury, materialism and invisible social classes as she is given a taste of what it means to be carefree and crazily rich. 

Kevin Kwan’s Crazy Rich Asians is a first class ticket to the glitz and glamor of A-line Asia. Intricately detailed without appearing too heavy, Kwan does a magnificent job in creating the plot’s setting. He effectively paints a portrait of Asia’s finest and most expensive treetop realms, whisking away readers in a world of indulgence while managing to fill them with envy in his skilled work of fiction.

Each character is given a voice in the novel, each one equally interesting and different from another. We are presented with conflicts that money can and can’t buy which proves that even the rich can’t have it all. Although quite a few dialogues were notable as being unrealistic, Kwan managed to put witty one-liners, blending in humor with the seemingly taut background. The contrasts involved between cultures were clear and striking, and the footnotes saved readers the time to google unfamiliar contexts. The novel’s point of mystery was quite predictable, and the ending was cut short with the mystery’s revelation. It would have been alright if it were not a standalone book as it presents an opportunity for an equally exciting sequel. To me, the story fell quite flat towards the end. It felt too idealistic, like a typical Cinderella story minus the rags-to-riches transition. Kwan could have written it better, but overall, the novel is enjoyable and recommended for light yet lavish reading. 

Crazy, Rich Asians is the dream novel of the elite and the wish-to-be elite. It provides readers with pages of pure ostentatiousness, taking them to their wildest million-dollar dreams without them having to pay the price. Lovers of fashion and the high-rise life will adore Kwan’s glittery masterpiece. Likewise, readers who are not of these stereotypes will find the novel entertaining and of interesting material. 

Rating: 3.5  out of 5 cupcakes

ALLEGIANT

There are a thousand different ways I could write this review, yet I find none of them sufficient to explain the glass case of emotion Veronica Roth has put me in. 

Saying goodbye to a series has its perks, but more often than not, we face the ultimate struggle of trying to grasp that its end is not quite "the end" and that the conclusion to a well-loved saga may just be a mini conclusion to the real thing. Nothing is ever certain in books, and I guess that's why people like me are a sucker for things like them. It's because books reflect parts of our lives that we want to happen or we don't want to happen. It's because we identify ourselves with characters---their demons, their triumphs, their self-discoveries. It's because books are just like real life. Nothing is ever sure or stable. 

 

So instead of writing a usual review, I find myself writing my journey with a trilogy that changed my shelf... and my life. 

 

One choice can transform you.

 

One choice can destroy you.

 

One choice will define you.   

I made that choice two years ago when I picked up a book called "Divergent". 

 

I was in a high from "The Hunger Games", and I was starting to fuss over dystopian worlds and what would happen to us if we were not too careful. I remembered my first copy being paperback, and I remembered sniffing it out of habit before even indulging in its words. 

 

I also remembered the looks I got when I had my hands on the book. I remembered the stares of curiosity, the eyes lifting and positioning themselves to get a clearer view of the prized piece I was holding. I remembered the short struck-up conversations, and I remembered recommending it even before I finished it. 

 

It was that good. 

 

I remembered fangirling over Four. I remembered wanting all guys to be like him---brave, strong, broken yet able to love. I remembered squealing over the Ferris Wheel scene and laughing my head off at Tris's fear of getting intimate with him. I remembered jotting down the quotes I loved in my planner and joining the fandom together with my bookish soul sisters. 

But that was not the end of it. 

I made another choice when the second book came. 

When I made the choice to read its sequel, the fandom was beginning to grow in my community. I remembered seeing a copy of "Divergent" in almost all of my high school's classrooms. I remembered the book virus spreading rapidly and people asking me questions about it, begging me not to spoil them. I remembered the all-out fangirl wars over Tobias and how we aligned ourselves into different factions. And I was happy. I was happy because I did not only have my soul sisters to spazz with in the event of a "Divergent" attack. I also had these people---my classmates, my school mates, even a cousin. People began to understand why I now see trains differently, why I would also like to jump from them and to them instead of standing on the platform and hopping into a seat. People began to understand that my obsession over Ferris Wheels have been taken to new heights and why four has become a lucky number for me and my kind. People began to understand why I recommended this book in the first place---for its action, for its romance and most of all, for its snippets of bravery and the importance of choice.

And so I was left with the second book; much thicker than the first. 

Although I loved it as much as "Divergent", I still preferred it when Tris was an initiate and learning to be Dauntless, learning to be brave. I preferred Capture the Flag games over the conflict with leaders and running and hiding. I hated it when Tris and Four fought and lied to each other. I hated it when they were yelling at one another and Four has become too patronizing that sometimes I think he doesn't trust Tris and treats her like a little girl. It was not what I was used to in their thankfully "non-instaluv" relationship. It was not what I loved about them both. 

But the ending satisfied me. The big reveal was all worth the drag. And so is Tris's bravery and Four's trust in her. It satisfied me enough that I traded my paperback copy of "Divergent" for a hardcover edition and placed the two books side by side in my rapidly growing collection. 

And when the date was set for the third book's release, I knew I was about to make that choice again. 

And so here it is---the end of my choices. 

I do not regret being one of the first to read "Allegiant". In fact, I am happy about it. I do not regret staying offline in blogging sites and avoiding the hash tags because I did not spoil myself. I do not regret remaining blind until I hit chapter 50---the inevitable chapter that caused so much pain in my heart. 

But it was beautiful pain. 

This is what Veronica Roth's epic conclusion offers to those who wish to read it---beautiful pain. Beautiful pain in terms of a greatly written series coming to a close. Beautiful pain in terms of a character we've all loved and treasured meeting his/her (I won't tell!) end. Beautiful pain in terms of learning the truths about forgiveness and choice. Beautiful pain in terms of making the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good and for those you love. 

"Allegiant" is all for beautiful pain, and it is what the ending to a dystopian trilogy should be because a dystopian society is a beautiful society---marked with scars instead of smoothness, with rough tides instead of the calm. A dystopian society is beautiful in all its pain and in all its tragedy, in all the bad choices its leaders make and all the revolutions their peoples take part in. A dystopian society is beautiful just because its broken and everything that is broken can find a way to fix itself.

Like it always does. 

Like it should be.

 

Veronica Roth, I know it's a one-in-a-million chance that you might be reading this, but, I knew I made the right choice when I picked up your novel.  

And to all those who choose to finish it with me and the rest of the fandom, welcome to perdition. I knew we liked our choices.

Palakad-lakad

Kay tagal nang palakad-lakad

Wala pa rin sa pupuntahan

Tila ba'y pangakong huwad

Sinasabing tuwid na daan

Bugbog na katawan at paa

Walang pangalan, walang mukha

Gumagapang lamang papunta

Sa bibig ng mga buwaya

Kay tagal nang palakad-lakad

'Di rin naabot ang pangarap

Kahirapan ang siyang tumambad

Hustisya't di pa rin nahanap

Ang bibig kanilang tinakpan

Ang mga mata'y piniringan

Mga kamay ay ginapusan

Hinataw at pinahirapan

Kay tagal nang palakad-lakad 

Pinaasa sa pagbabago

Lamang pa rin ang awtoridad

Talo ang masang Pilipino

Nilinlang, ipinagkanulo

Kinulong, tinago, kinitil

Binenta, nilason, niloko

Kalayaa't boses siniil

Kay tagal nang palakad-lakad

Sa kanilang pagkagahaman

Tayo ang nagbabayad

Sila nama'y nagpapayaman

Kay tagal nang palakad-lakad 

Dinaya at pinagnakawan

Inabuso't iniwang hubad

Ngunit patuloy sa paglaban

MINERVA

When the clock struck 12 and I turned 17, my eyes were wide open, the taste of gin burning through my lips and throat, licking my insides with tongues of fire. I pick up the chaser and a tangy sweetness fills my mouth as the shouts of my friends  ring in my ears along with the beats of Vice Tone and Tiesto. 

Cheers to being 17. 

I sway a little, and blood pounds in my ears as I bring my hands together and holler for the first few minutes of entering another chapter of my life. I have noticed the changes—skirts instead of jeans, sensitive topics instead of safe, vodka instead of Coke—and I found myself tangled upon the brambles of growing up in an complex, entropic universe. I was one year behind being legal, but I acted as if I were, indulging in alcohol and truth or drink games. But I have always been like this—carefree, young, reckless but alive.

In the first hour of Day 6,208, I have taken my first full shot of gin and braved to ride a cab alone at 1:30 in the morning—tipsy with a headache beginning to erupt in my temples. In my first hour of being seventeen, a black car already stopped by with a stranger offering me a ride. A clerk at the convenience store flirtatiously asked my age as I picked out another bottle of gin for my best friend's sister, and I confidently assured him that I was eighteen. I have sung and shouted as I crossed empty streets with a few people looking at me as if I were crazy. Maybe I am. Text messages and birthday greetings flooded my screen before my phone died and I got home. I was given a chance to have a new name in which an intersubjective consensus existed among my friends.  I ordered my favorite cup of coffee with hopes that I would get home in one piece without the dangers of the night claiming me or my innocence. 

And I did get home. I got home safe and happy. I got home to where my Mom was still waiting for me, enough to realize how much of a child I still was and how much I was rushing to grow up. 

But I am growing up. I can feel it. I am growing up in a sense that I am taking in more responsibilities and treating each day as if it were the last. 

Truly, I am carpe-ing the fuck out of that diem. 

I look at the mirror, eyes red and a tired grin splayed across my lips. I let my hair down, and it tumbles over my shoulders as I fall into bed and stare blankly at the ceiling. 

Goodbye, sixteen-year-old me. Hello,  new seventeen-year-old self. 

A PROPER GOODBYE

I am being constantly bombarded by goodbyes this week. And it's tiring, to be honest, to watch faces you might remember or forget come and go as you count the hours to your last exam, to the final day when you would never have to cross paths with that professor that made you go through hell and back, to that much-awaited trip to the beach or the bed where you can pump that fist in the air after that first five months of school.

Even though it's only two syllables, it's tiring to say that word that might just end it all.

One of my classes taught me how to practice proper goodbyes.

Looking back, I realized I was never good at it. Usually the word came out in distorted heaps, half-smiles, smudged makeup and teary eyes. Goodbye was not a thing I excelled in. But I guess some things do deserve a proper goodbye. Some things like the crazy people you'd do underwater stunts with, the kind-hearted madman who doesn't give a shit whether you pay attention in class, the nameless boy in the school halls you've secretly had a crush on, or even that eccentric, good-looking professor who told you about proper goodbyes.

Every beginning deserves an end, and finally, the cycle is complete.

And you just stand there, permanent as you are, as the world changes before you. In less than a month you're thrown in a new class with a new set of friends. You'll be hanging out in different places, preferring strawberry iced tea over cups of coffee, your best friend's advise to smile with your teeth over grinning without, and long walks under the starry night over staying at home and hitting the sheets. Every day will go about like a movie on a constant fast forward till everything's new again in a blink of an eye and a hitch of a breath. There will be plenty of #throwbackThursday's and #flashbackFriday's,and memory after memory will keep resurfacing in your head as your friends become friends but not quite friends and the hellos turn into a series of goodbyes that made you wish you've never said 'hello' at all.

For a girl who has heard over a thousand goodbyes and learned better not to get emotionally attached, I should be immune to the anti-permanent structure of the universe. But I guess, like some terminal diseases, there is no cure for a proper goodbye.

THE HOUSE OF HADES

Although successful in obtaining the Athena Parthenos, the Seven have yet to face another challenge as the remaining demigods onboard Argo II journey to the House of Hades to seal the Doors of Death and to rescue Percy and Annabeth from the pits of Tartarus. But time is running out for the Greek and Roman demigods as war looms over their separate camps and the Earth Mother has chosen the Feast of Hope as her time to rise and crush Olympus.

Master storyteller Rick Riordan weaves the fourth instalment of The Heroes of Olympus as brave and as thrilling as it could get. As the series draws to a close, Riordan pushes his readers on the edge with different challenges for these young demigods as the Prophecy of Seven comes to a full circle. The stakes are higher than before, and the Seven must make choices for themselves and for their fellow demigods. Rick Riordan hands over perspectives and trials to each character, giving them an equal chance to shine and take the spotlight. We are given full screens to watch each character’s growth, and as they do so, we learn to hold them dearer to our hearts. Riordan writes in different voices and adds a dash of sarcasm, fear and wit to make them come alive.

  Although far from reality, the House of Hades explores various human themes---themes such as togetherness, camaraderie, young love, and a hint of sexuality---and uses them to capture the hearts of its readers. The plot thickens as the story progresses, and there are right amounts of tension and relief in each chapter.

The House of Hades lives up to the previous books set in Riordan’s demigod collection. Though it follows the same plot pattern as the previous stories, Riordan never fails to introduce new allies and villains and return some old characters we have learned to love. Overall, this book is a perfect ten that would have readers wanting to tap Cronos on the shoulder so they could get their hands on the series’ epic conclusion.