why they shine

i'm giddy. one of the perks that makes me enjoy my european adventure is that i'm in the right time zone to catch most of the coolest summer sporting events of the first world! when the US open comes, i'll just be a mere 6 hours puyat, unlike 12-15 hours if i had been in the philippines. but then i haven't been this hooked into sports since i was a little girl. there's nothing like idleness/boredom/slothfulness/pregnancy blues to use as an excuse for my sudden voracious appetite for any kind of news: you name it, current events in the middle east? the recent EU row? the bolton nomination? rice in egypt? cruise getting squirted? my beloved batman at the top of box office lists in north america? a kiwi winning his first US open in his mid 30s? michelin getting the most heat for their chicane inane request? sharapova's cashier pinging like crazy from all the million dollar endorsements (duncan will never know what this means)? the amazing horry in game 5?

oh i love it. i've been reading more, watching news more, watching films more. in between my hormone hell (i cannot find the perfect food for my picky palate and i'm supposed to be entering my second trimester) moments, there are these worthwhile pursuits that beat blogging any day. oops, foot in mouth? what the hey, it's true!

i've watched red carpet stuff with scary joan rivers many times, scoured archives of this and that awards night from the philippines to LA, and i can tell you, when it comes to ogling superstars, nothing beats sports stars. any day.

let me count the reasons.

1. absolutely no make-up. i love it when people are interviewed au naturel. maybe not right after they've won (esp basketball and football victors), with all the sweat glistening on their bodies (i just remembered brendan fraser's spoof of a dodo basketball player being interviewed right after a game he's won as the team's hotshot center). i like them after they've showered, the way the wimbledon round one winners looked for their press cons with cnn and bbc. nice!
2. sporting the coolest sportswear. beauties like myskina and sharapova throw in eye candy with psychedelic colour coordinated pieces and not just your typical functional sportswear but awesome halter designs. i particularly liked myskina's number today when she salvaged her game to advance to the 2nd round. i think federer looks great in his nike's (but he looks better in the fitted red number he had at roland garros; this loose white ensemble makes him look pale) as does hewitt and... i can't wait, my dream boyfriend, rafa nadal. grabe, i dreamed of him a week after the french open and he was my lover in there!!! talk about latent desires.
3. when they're conceited, it's a celebration of true talent anyway. when federer or davenport analyse the things they did right, it can rankle those who are secretly wishing their number one ranking slips (like i do with federer, but only because i like nadal but objectively speaking, he is one fine player who is a joy to watch). they look happy as they describe the forehand winners they sent down the line, the serve and volleys they wish they could do more in future games... watching tony parker, tim duncan, and even rival pistons coach larry brown analyse the frighteningly predictable game-end heroics of the great robert horry was fun, never mind that basketball players usually have a very limited range of vocabulary to express superlatives. they may not be the most articulate people on earth but they sure are among the highest paid.
4. when they make a comeback, it's a celebration of the human spirit's triumphs. down from injuries that can practically ruin a person whose bread and butter it is to use the body, players like clijsters, henin-hardenne, and hewitt come scraping back into the spotlight of the major events by sheer will and focus. it's the kind of determination i cannot see in the sorry pool of young showbiz talents in beloved philippines, where the tagline really is "beauty is skin deep". call me biased but i love art in motion as seen by rippling muscles in well toned bodies displaying the best of the sport.
5. when everybody who's somebody is aiming for the top, you get top level play from everyone!!! the recent f1 fiasco in indianapolis is testimony to the opposite. you had the bronze medallist ascending the podium for the first time in his racing career because 14 of the cars pulled out of the race! it is pure joy to see the level of play increasing as the game progresses. i love it when i see players with the intent of not letting the other player win easily. nothing beats hustle and passion on any playing field in any sport! awesome.

i see how my list above resonates within my own person. cathy would flunk me in her make-up 101 course and how to dress fashionably even with muta in your eye. my favorite clothes are nike trousers and cross trainers, sports bras and tanggas, and my beloved speedo swimsuit, goggles, and swim cap. badminton rackets and an entire canister of feather shuttle cocks are still waiting to be worn out. i even brought my bokken all the way from the philippines, made of lightweight japanese white oak that eases training strokes by a mile. my gis are all with me and the hakama is gathering moss in my closet. i've forgotten how to fold one!!! grabe, back to zero ako nito sa aikido. so goes my dream to train this year... my being pregnant says that i should avoid high contact sports for the time being. so it's just biking and swimming for me now. i hope my brother bought that gap sports bikini he told me about the other day. it would make my burgeoning belly look way too cool. ha so i'm vain. :)

nba series will be decided this week in san antonio. if the fantastic warm weather persists, my nadal stands a better chance of making it into the 2nd week of the all england club. there's so much to look forward to this summer. thank god for little pockets of joy!

falling into place

finally, i've seen all 6 episodes of the star wars saga, all on the big screen. walang mintis!

i was 6 when i watched star wars. at the time, it wasn't called episode 4 or the new hope yet. i must have watched this film more than thrice in my lifetime. i was 9 when i saw episode 5, the empire strikes back. subsequent viewings revealed dynamic scenes, something that would be reprised in episode 6, which i watched still another 3 years later, when i was 12. when the prequels started coming out in the 90s, i realised why episodes 5 and 6 remain the best of all the 6 episodes. george lucas had not directed those films. no wonder.

i don't remember when i watched the phantom menace but it was in one of the high tech makati theaters. same with the clone wars. both left me cold and bored. liam neeson was a drag (good thing darth maul got rid of him in a hurry, sorry qui gon) and it was hard for me to picture any chemistry happening between the kiddie-anakin and queen amidala (who, strangely, looked demoted in rank by the time this film got rolling). it was pretty much the same in episode 3, the revenge of the sith. the love between padme and anakin left me cold. i can't imagine how they even got themselves pregnant. there was more heat between portman and owen in 'closer'. that's one of the things i didn't like about episode 3. the love angle. completely sappy and corny. walang libog. the kisses were perfunctory. the second thing i didn't like about episode 3 was anakin himself. hayden was lacking in intensity all throughout the film. his costumed counterpart in the classic trilogy (eps. 4, 5, and 6) did a much better job! the supposed conversion scene --- the decisive turning from light to dark, from good to evil --- was over in a flash of an instant that had me and my moviemates wondering, "ha? yon na yonnnnn? ambilis!" my best friend and i thought that he had been dark from the start; the inner battle was not played out well in his character. perhaps lucas didn't even notice. i might have told hayden, had i been there, "take your time, dear, these things are life-changing moments!" but the scenes were only to happy to shift to another with the baduyic wiper effects reminiscent of the classic trilogy.

i couldn't hate the stilted dialogue. that is part and parcel of all star wars films. you don't enter the theater expecting pulitzer prize exchanges or woody allen wit. but i did expect more characterisation from anakin. after all, he IS the heart of the prequels! and he IS redeemed in episode 6 --- i had to see the battle raging in his heart as the force tore him apart. but i didn't.

there was more to love about this film. the avid star wars fan in me felt utterly geeky, making connections to all my unanswered questions from the previous episodes, more like the last 3, which i had seen more than 20 years ago. (well, a little lie there. i had seen the digitised versions in the last few years, also on the big screen hehehe) S lost the battle to shut my mouth from all my explosive, "aaaah, so that's how his lungs gave out on him..." or "aaahhh so that's why obi wan came back to life in star wars..." or "so that's why leia is a princess and luke is some impoverished dude" or "aaaaah so that's how leia got her mickey mouse hair" and this and that.

i enjoyed the CGI characters, definitely more than the humanoid jar jar binks or chewbacca! when they featured chewie in episode 3, i was snickering like a schoolgirl does over some pathetic loser. i can still remember han solo delivering his wry lines and chewie going, "arrrggghhhh" mundanely. mwahahahaha it makes me chuckle just to think about it. i still enjoyed watching yoda jump all over the place and royally kick ass with his light saber, even if sidious outdid him in the senate showdown. i thought mace windu (samuel jackson) looked terribly out of place in his jedi costume and flying through the air after a bolt of force lightning; i guess i just can't shake the image of him stealing a stradivarius violin in another film i love, "the red violin". and well, he was the voice of frozone in "the incredibles", so this should have hooved closer to his mace windu prowess in the movie. but it didn't quite cut it for me. i thought ewan mcgregor had more pizazz acting against a blue screen than hayden --- and this will prompt my best friend to say, "naman. ikumpara pa ba si ewan kay hayden???" hey, let me, even if it's totally non sequitur. after all, hayden got top billing for this film. heck, in the count dooku scene, christopher lee's 5 minute-moment on screen eclipsed hayden's prequel exposure! you could see so much more happening in lee's eyes when palpatine ordered anakin to kill him than you could see in hayden's eyes just before he decapacitated the unfortunate sithy lord.

and my last word goes to ian mcdarmid. he was fantastically evil as the ultimate sith lord. his face contortions, his malefic laugh, hooowow, he would give ian mckellen's magneto and christopher lee's (yes, the overturned apprentice in this film) saruman quite the comparison... well, no, of course magneto and saruman were the more compelling villains, but in a film as two-dimensional (my euphemism for 'flat') as this one, the archetypal approach to the cackling evil man outshone anakin's flatline presence. (grabe, even the young padawans in the jedi temple had more intensity!) still, i'm glad he played the role of sidious aka palpatine. it helped to give the film the feeling of evil and darkness it needed to lay down the final bricks for episode 4. when i saw the bare skeleton of the death star in the starry universey sky, i swear, my cheesy heart quickened its pace. i could actually see harrison ford doing hyperspace with his millenium falcon in the succeeding episodes!

enough of lucas ltd! i wanted to write about another film that had me crying with joy last night, except that this decidedly more sentimental one beat out the other one. but i will most definitely think longer and harder about johnny depp in "finding neverland". if anything, johnny depp is one of the actors i truly appreciate and lust over --- yes, even from his eddie snipping hands days.

my tummy's rolling gases around --- again --- and i must try to get some earlier shut-eye. i am going to attempt to rehearse on a real piano tomorrow morning. if i wake up early enough and if i can fish out my bach books. and that czech guy with the weird melodies. believe it or not, i'm off to catch the sexy christian bale and tom cruise's latest floozy in "batman begins" by the afternoon. this has got to be one of the craziest movie weeks i've had in a long time! nighty.

what she wrote

within the white pages of a well-loved notebook she had chronicled their love story. as a preface to her One True Love she had penned, "read this story to me... and i'll always come back." in her twilight years, living in a stately plantation home for the aged while fighting dementia, her sweetheart, best friend, husband, and lover stayed by her side, reading the story to her every day, patiently willing her to remember, even if just for 5 minutes, who she was, who she had loved, from where she had come. he had left the home he had built for the two of them to cater to her needs and devoted the rest of his life to be by her side. when his children begged him to "come home, we miss you", he said, "my home is where your mother is."

at the end of the movie, hands grasped tightly, neither S or i could breathe from the emotions swelling through our eyes. i told him that the love of noah for allie reminded me of his mommy's love for daddy. both had passed away within a year of each other. daddy went away in june, mommy the following may. S couldn't speak.

it's a love story only nicholas sparks can spin. it's the kind of crap young people sigh over then try to emulate and the kind of bullshit that someone like me hates to love. allie's predicament reminds me of my own predicament before i got married, and exactly how torn i was during the moment of truth: who do i choose? she was not choosing between someone she loved and someone she didn't love. noah put it succinctly: imagine your life 30 years down the road. who do you see? if it's me, then stay. if not, then go. the other man, lon, had something of his own to say: i want you to want to be with me. you have to want to be with me. i can't share you with anyone else. allie chose the man she wanted to be with and that made all the loving difference in her life.

i'd like to think that i chose the man i wanted to be with, who excited me, who made me want to always be a better me. this is the man i cannot bear to live without, whose presence (and consequently, absence) spells the difference between life and death. all i had to do in the crucial month i made my choice (6 months before i got married) was to close my eyes and contemplate what life would be like without S and such a fear gripped me that my reverie was broken. to this day, the sound of his key turning in the lock as he comes home has me happily anticipating the sight of his round face coming through the door while this inexplicable feeling of peace and security descends over myself and mikka.

it was father's day yesterday. on the eve i held mikka's warm body close to mine, singing, "beautiful, beautiful, papa is beautiful and papa makes beautiful things of my life... carefully, touching me, causing my eyes to see... and papa makes beautiful things of my life." mikka was pliant in my arms, letting my soft voice caress the side of his head crowned with his fine black hair. then i told him how papa is the most beautiful man in the world for both of us and that he and i are the happy, secure people we are because of papa's love. then mikka planted his hands on my chest, scrutinising my face. "mama, papa went to get food for us, right?" somehow, in his little baby heart, he knew that papa was out doing something 'beautiful' for us because just before i sang to him, i was telling mikka how hungry i was and that papa was coming home with food. and somehow, he connected that act with the song i had just sung to him.

i've run out of words.

eternally spotless

someone dear once told me that what makes life worth living are the highs and lows, the valleys and the peaks. it's a classic viewpoint: to appreciate light, you must embrace shadow. to savour the victory, you must relish loss. i vaguely recall seeing something similar in literary theory, something to do with oppositions: light versus dark, good versus evil, male versus female. then the classic oriental resolution of yin and yang in an organic harmony that does away with the tension of forces straining in opposite directions to achieve balance. sometimes, the concept of submission, as in aikido and judo, punctures a hole in the classic dialectics of western thought.

in a world of niches (and nietzsche, as it turns out), or compartmentalisation, comes a story written by charlie kaufman, he of "being john malkovich" fame. what if, he contends, we can take away our pain, that memory which causes unhappiness and angst? then we can start over, move on, live happy lives. what is beyond our control, however, is how things come full circle. even as we attempt to erase the memory of a beloved from our lives, kaufman contends that no matter how you try to escape destiny, you are inevitably drawn to the person you are striving to forget.

what attracted me to the movie "eternal sunshine of the spotless mind", aside from its starring kate winslet, an actress i truly respect and jim carrey, a comedian i admire for the breadth of his talent, was the script itself. the writer was able to capture the pathos of a heart that has known what it is like to love and lose. to experience the dizzying highs of love's first kiss and the crushing despair of love's demise.

"why did you go?" she asked him wistfully.
"because you said 'so go!' with such disdain," he whispered brokenly.
"oh... i'm so... sorry." she was crestfallen.
the silence between them yawned. the evening sky swallowed a star.
"won't you stay this time? to say goodbye at least?" she asked softly.
he hesitated on the footbridge, looking at the distant bonfire where his friends had set up camp along the shoreline. he turned slowly towards her beseeching face, peeping from the stairway. then he walked back towards the house.
she ran out to meet him, her voice tinkling like chimes. "goodbye, joel."
the sea breeze dropped, creating a space for him to speak.
"i love you..."

and as the movie fades into the credits, we see clementine and joel running happily through a beach covered with powdery snow, their heavily-coated figures receding into the distance.

from clay to grass

my favorite grand slam is over. next year, the french open begins on a sunday to boost television audiences. it doesn't matter to me; of the 14 days in the previous grand slam tournament, i was tuned in to 10. i started watching in round 3. i was let down some, like by gauston gaudio (last year's champion) and to a much lesser degree, by the 12th seed russian who lost to puerta in the semi-finals. i had hoped that pierce would be eliminated by either schnyder (seeded 10th) or the last russian girl in the final 4, who was seeded 19th. but she was at the top of her game and marched through her matches. she deserved to win up to the semi-finals.

but faced with the determined and talented wallonian justine henin-hardenne, i knew she would not hold ground. and she didn't. lopsided final that was over in little over an hour. ho-hum.

but the men's final... oh that was fantastic!!! i was rooting for the 19-year old teen sensation from mallorca but the unseeded argentinian played some fine tennis last sunday. by the 4th set, i felt myself wavering in my support for nadal and found myself applauding more appreciatively after each puerta point. but nadal has this going for him: a never-say-die attitude. even with the momentum swinging against him, he lunged after every impossible corner shot, ran down smashes, chased after drop shots... turning the game around when he was down 5-4 in the 4th set.

i've been enjoying the last 2 days browsing rafa's web site, reading articles written about his rising star and his chances in the next few years. i know he won't win the wimbledon just yet but i'm hoping that he will someday. i haven't felt this way towards a tennis player since steffi graf, and she's been retired since 2001 (i think). so i've been out of the circuit for a while (ha, i laugh at myself, i sound as if i'm part of the atp tour!) but rafa's worth getting back into the game for... and there's the beautiful 18-year old sharapova to pump up the cause for women's tennis. at least she wins grand slams, unlike the vain kournikova who endorses omega watches. what the---??? hehehe

if you wish to share in my glee, you can click here to go to rafa's web page. now i just have to think of ways i love being pinoy. lapit na toka ko sa blogkada. see you there in a few days' time.

tumpak!

one of my favorite columnists is at it again. he talks about the "work of learning" and i find that this article can apply to arenas outside of the academe. you see samples of critical thought --- or lack thereof, as is often the case --- in television talk shows, in radio shows, in blogs, in chat sessions, in drinking sessions. just about everywhere. the thing is, chat and drinking sessions are loose communication exchanges; no one expects you to come up with a washington post or new york times editorial every minute. you're having fun and if you launch into mind-wracking discussions, these are usually aided by alcohol and lots and lots of mirth.

tv/radio shows and blogs are different, though. people present opinions appealing to credibility --- theirs --- in their most persuasive fashion. between packaging (wooing) and actual content (critical thought), there is a great divide. listen to korina sanchez on her morning radio show and how she lambasts anyone she dislikes. how does she formulate her arguments? only she knows because a lambasting session is not a credible way to build and argument. sensationalism, i say. by simpy using the strength of her name, she is able to sway opinion, which is usually comprised of people who idolise personalities and not convictions. there are bloggers who present themselves as credible analysts by citing their credentials left and right, but a close examination of the issues they examine and the ideas they criticise are often a reflection of their own bull-headed biases. they employ all the tricks they picked up at university (and usually it's poor UP diliman that has all these hacks claiming their greatness because of it) and expectedly, their throng of unquestioning "friends" applaud their efforts and slather on the sticky praise.

it takes a lot of character to sift through the pervasive and intrusive opinions of "friends" and tell them, "you're not getting it quite right." i've had the pleasure of doing this to a strong-headed blogger and found my comments moderated (read: never posted). i did say "in the interest of precision and correctness, of which we are in pursuit..." and well, *benign chuckle* the comment never saw the light of day. i couldn't let this angry ex-legend-in-her-own mind issue blanket statements about catholic universities (especially MINE) when it was plainly clear that she simply did not have all the facts at hand and was relying on hodge-podge advertising techniques to make the claim "ALL universities must be thus."

enjoy this randy david classic by clicking here. in all probability, the people who should take this article's central thesis to heart will be the ones who will miss it (not because the language register is esoteric but because the subtle thought processes involved require sublime engagement --- and this, i doubt, these people can handle). if there's one thing my catholic university professors taught me, it was to separate the crap from the gold. and my dad, truest blue of the blues, told me to do it, well, ruthlessly. i only do that when the utter idiocy of matters is too overwhelming. then, as confucius said, "fuck it." yes, jesuits and their brainwashed lackeys do get the important things right.

the sheer irony of it all. *wink*

where angels fear to tread

several times during the harrowing events of the past week, my son has seen me distraught. one time, my body was heaving with sobs i tried hard to conceal from him. he put his tiny hand over mine and said, "mama, it's ok. everything's ok, mama." then he put his arms around me and commanded me, "embrace!" it's embarrassing to look back, but it felt surreal to be surrendering my pain to my 3-year old son but he was so strong and radiant at that moment... and so serene.

another time i was lying on my side in bed, unable to sleep. my breath was coming in ragged installments but i was not aware of it until mikka rolled towards me and planted a kiss on my cheek. then S said, "tingnan mo, mama, alam ni mikka na kelangan mo niyan." the wetness on my face was strangely reassuring, like an indelible mark of love and support. something i have not gotten from areas i had thought were non-negotiable and a "sure thing".

every time things have gotten me down, i have tended to withdraw into my shell, sacrificing the attention i normally give my husband and son while licking my wounds. but moments of grace, of unconditional giving and beauty, have a way of puncturing the debilitating cloud of doubt and sadness that shrouds the inner sanctuary. mikka has always been my angel. that has been clear since i carried him in my belly for 38 weeks, affirming my second lease in life by making me his mother. we always pray 'angel of god' together before he sleeps... rather, when i remember to pray with him, meaning... when i'm not absorbed in my petty troubles.

it was a welcome break tonight when S went drinking in town with his fellow student buddies and i asked mikka at 930 if he wanted to go home. after asking me at least 20 times where his papa, tito A, and tito M were, i was able to get him in his jammies, brush his teeth, and to weewee in the toilet. he still has a bit of the nasty cough plaguing him all week. while i read him a story about pocahontas he looked at me in wonder, unaccustomed to see mama doing papa's normal routine. he fell asleep clutching my hand tightly --- or maybe it was the other way around --- breathing deeply and peacefully.

before he slipped into the warm comfort of slumber we prayed angel of god together. i usually trace the sign of the cross lightly on his forehead. tonight he did his own sign of the cross then said softly...

"mama, my angel is gone."
i groped for words. "oh mikka, your angel is always with you."
"where?"
"you can't see her, but she's always hugging you. she loves you very much."
"my angel?"
"yes, sweetheart. she never leaves you."

he lay thoughtfully in the gathering dusk. i could see the dark orbs of his eyes combing the shadow of my face. i felt a loud pounding in my ears and willed for it to stop. it seemed an eternity before i realised it was my heart. then he squeezed my hand before his first soft snore filled the room. for the first time in what has felt like forever, something crept quietly into my limbs --- like a sob that never reached expression, losing all impetus for doing so. clinging to the small hand, i fell into a restful sleep, the first i've had in ages.

tough but true

the internet is indeed a world wide web. there is a universe out there. from your tiny spot of table and desk your reach is soooo wide. and like a web, it can ensnare. i never thought i'd force such a view but sometimes, things happen and you can't help but think that.

here are some lessons i have learned from my one year in the world of blogging. methinks i'll number them for clarity.

1. leave the chatting as a back up plan. i wouldn't trust it as a medium for getting to know someone. there are people who are made of sterner stuff and can take words at their face value; lucky for you to come across this enlightened lot! but for the most part, there will always be MORE people who do not understand the full importance of words. sabi nga ni st thomas more, your word is who you are. if you let it slip through your fingers, then who are you? if i were to look back over the nasty chat transcripts i have witnessed --- unfortunately --- it is a tragic portrait of humanity that one sees. if you don't believe in god, such evidence should be enough to seal you into happy agnosticism or atheism for life. remember, you can chat, but only with people you ALREADY know. never rely on it as your primary means of communication. if you do, you are setting yourself up for major major disappointments.

2. eyeball is part of the farce. yes, it is also a part of your face... if you're one of those people who are gung-ho about EB's, or eyeballs, in radio parlance (meeting someone you don't know for the first time because of digital exchanges), never forget the saying that prudence is the better part of valour. i got invited to my first ever eyeball last year and being the adventuress i was (and so misguidedly proud of it too), i said yes without thinking. i've traveled to so many places before, what was this brief trip but just another drop in the sea? it turned out to be a shakespearean moment: star-crossed from the start. there was the mistrust already. i felt it then but since the person had invited me, i took it all in good faith. months later, this same person would bite me in the ass with some of the most hurtful words that can transpire between people who have met and have claimed friendship rights. i always thought that a friend was someone who could never use or twist events against you when they got upset. but this same person i am talking about was the same person in my previous entry who never told me to my face that she was upset with me, angry with me... and opted to tell everyone ELSE about her feelings, in the process influencing everybody else's opinions against me. well, those other people who allowed themselves to believe that person are part of another story but not one i will bother telling. it's too boring to discuss.

to reiterate my point: beware the comeliness of eyeball's. rule of thumb? if you absolutely MUST meet a fellow blogger or chatter... i suggest you do it in small groups. no more than 3 or 4, perhaps? but i am truly against such incidents for the simple reason that it has burned me in a way i do not wish to replicate. it's not worth it, i tell you. not worth it, if at the end of the road the very same people you chose to trust will be the first to hurl the stone at your perceived wrongs.

3. birds of a feather DO flock together. e-groups and e-forums have the opiate effect of convincing you that the world is a happy place and there can be utopia --- at least in that space of yea-sayers. mark my words: if in real life you choose people you want to be with, so let that principle govern your cyber life. you can only go so far with the niceties but time has a way of leveling the playing field, so to speak, and of revealing your affiliations, no matter how you try to hide it. you will eventually end up with the people who share your ideals and principles. that's just how it is. i have learned to stop asking why.

4. for every happy secure individual, there will be 10 insecure ones. what a sad statistic. i wouldn't question the veracity of the figure; my point is simply to paint proportions, skewed though they be. if you are too happy, too nice, too trusting, it will backfire. if you mean well, if you show concern for other people in the blogosphere, you cannot tell how others will take it. chances are, people will read it in a different light. they might twist the situation and make you out to be a kibitzer or malicious person. the cynic will say, why bother doing good? assume everyone's an asshole. and this should well be your guiding principle in internet relationships. assume that everybody is an asshole unless proven innocent. eerie, my dad's words haunt me through the years. see, dad? i'm learning, albeit late in life. but it makes sense to me now. it really does. nothing like getting burned for me to finally know what you had tried to tell me all those years. now i think i know what you tried to say to me... thank god your ear's still in place. ;)

5. the internet is an onion world. there are so many layers in the internet. it's useless trying to peel them all. just take it as it is and learn to like the flavour it brings. but don't expect it to change into something it can never be, like transparent salmon or the like. sheesh, i'll leave the food metaphor to the foodies, baka may masabi pa ang mga feeling foodie dyan.

6. keep that journal handy. for all my words of doom and gloom, if you're a real writer, then writing is the ultimate satisfaction in itself, regardless of the medium. i had to learn the hard way that if i write, i write only for myself. acid42 told me that in a chat session long ago and at the time, i didn't understand his cryptic message to me. in the end, we write for ourselves alone. rather, if by some unhappy circumstance you've found yourself trusting someone you shouldn't have, or putting too much premium on an eyeball, or hankering for the comments of readers, you can always go back to the premise that you write for yourself first and all the rest besides. and it doesn't hurt to have a real journal with you to capture your personal private feelings. put thoughts and ideas on the net but feelings, oh please, keep them to yourself. it is not worth it getting judged for your feelings. believe me, people can be very cruel. even the nice looking ones. usually they're the ones with tons of unresolved issues in their lives.

abangan ang susunod kong blog: the issues people have --- how we can match them with the kinds of blogs they write.

4th of june 2005 --> i did post an entry earlier about the types of bloggers i have come across but considering that i am still blogging, i don't think it is proper for me to post that for public consumption. i've decided to put my thoughts in a more circumspect space, more for my protection and prudence than anything else. i have loving people to thank for their concern. i have been hurt enough and it is time i stopped posting my feelings on the net because it's simply too public. from hereon, i shall endeavor to write only about issues. it's the safer path and also the less controversial one. there are other mediums for one to express one's deepest hurts and joys and... people are right (those who have expressed concern to me about my recent entry classifying the kinds of bloggers i have come across), the internet is not that medium. amen! :)

heto ang inyong tagapaglingkod, signing off. baboo.