The Ends of Being and Ideal Grace

So yeah, I'm thinking of getting a new jersey! (I still have to pretend that I know how to play ultimate frisbee to get it. XD) Despite being a self-loving bitch, I think that the most important thing in a jersey, aside from the names at the front and back, is the number. The jersey number says a lot about the player so as a rule, that number should mean something for the player. It is also essential that you have a jersey number that is permanent for all your jerseys because that would make your jersey collection a little bit more awesome. You should also think of an equally awesome replacement number in case someone else beats you to your first number. So here I am, wasting time that should be for sleeping, making this list of numbers that I can put on my next jerseys :)

1 - "Number 1, every one should know, check this out!"~ Haha The Boys! :P
2 - Le Birthday, Birth Month and the last digit of le Birth Year :P
3 - Favorite single digit number. And I've never worn it before :)
4 - Just cause I have a number 4 jersey and it looks okay naman :)
7 - CR7! Cristiano Ronaldo FTW!
8 - My luckiest number. :P
11 - 2 number ones! 3 in binary! lolol
15 - Wesley Gonzales' jersey number. Chris Tiu's birthday.
17 - CHRIS TIU! KaRegInna anniv :P
21 - Kwon Yuri! <3
22 - Just cause I was born on Feb. 2 = 02/02
23 - My favorite number! :)
24 - Choi SooYoung! <3
26 - Birthday ni MG  ERASE ERASE ERASE
27 - Wesley Gonzales' birthday :P
36 - Used to like this number alot :P
45 - XB #2's IEC jersey number. "OMG, we have the same number! We're so meant to be!" hihihi~
53 - ohohoh. As in EEE 53, the "Revenge Of The Sith" subject. =))

Beyond math, sometimes numbers say more than letters. Letters can fully articulate what an event means to you but when you associate an event with a number, like monthsaries, anniversaries and birthdays, it just takes a random occurrence of that number to bring that event flooding back into your memory. Maybe it's just me and my frustrated mathematician weirdness, but when I come across numbers in exams or in car license plates, I remember the various people, things and events that I associate with those numbers.

Beyond math and Rayton's "1 + 1 = 0" theory, we can also assign values or rather, variable feelings to numbers. I like 22 because that's my birthday but I remember that it was also the 22nd of January that I realized that I have feelings for the comebacking l'amour d'hier (pwedeng CLADH for short? HAHAHA). 22 is a bit bittersweet because of that. Same goes with 26. My beloved bombastarr friend Karla was born on a 26th and so is CLADH. Ondoy happened on September 26. I guess this is what makes a number "good" or "bad" for me. Depending on what feeling surfaces when I come across that number.

Letters and numbers. I guess that's how you can describe my world. :P

They ask us to give love on Christmas day. I am sure to have received love not just today, but also everyday, for the past 359 days; enough reason to continuously believe in humanity. I don't think I can ever give back love equal to or even half of the love that the people in my life have given me. I also love people in ways that I know they can never return but I guess that's just Christmas Spirit right there. The more you give, the more you have.

To the people who continuously show me that I am entitled to love, kindness and presents (in cash or in kind) even if it's not December, namely:

My Family: Dad, Mom, Abbey and Renz. Aunts, Uncles and Cousins. Grandmother.
-May we spend more Christmases together; complete, happy and a little less sober. <3 Haha.

My College Friends: Gosh you are so many but I love all of you dearly!
-May our Christmases be warm with or without someone to cuddle with. I know that my Christmas is warmer because I know that you guys are always beside and behind me all the way. I love you all. Words cannot express how thankful I am for all of you. For all the love, support, loyalty and laughter, my heart fills with gratitude and my eyes, with tears. :')

My High School Friends: Justine, Danielle, Mars, Marny, Jemie, Angela and Pam.
-Girls! I may never seem to miss you, but in my heart there is always a space aching for you. I wish you are all well. I love you too! =))

My Organization, UP ERG: All 155++ of you!
-I've always been so much grateful for being part of the institution that is UP ERG. After our best Engg Week ever, I am ever so proud of being part of this family. I want to thank you guys for the laughter, the help and the support that you guys showed me, Rae, Jas and Jeff. Thank you, Kuya JP for the trust and support. Thank you, Ate Angel, Kuya Ice, Ate Ayrie and Ate Lia, for all their guidance and help. Thank you for giving me a chance to experience this awesome once-in-a-lifetime event. Thank you daughter Jeff for giving it your all. I heart UP ERG. I wish all of you DEP an awesomely Merry Christmas!


...THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU, MERRY CHRISTMAS! :D

Yehesss. Christmas message.

Halatang tinatamad ako mag GM =))

Merry Christmas, one and all! =)

• ...my first and hopefully, my last 5.0 
• I've never thought I'd get a 5.0 ever. Maybe that's why I got it. I began the sem with an arrogant notion of invincibility. I've survived six crazy sems of EEE and perhaps the last four would just breeze by me. Well, wrong, the fuck I was. It was the hardest sem I had to go through. Although it wasn't because the subjects were hard. I think I did well in understanding them. It's just that I was fucking up the execution parts (ie exams, DP's etc) badly. I was cramming horribly. I screwed my body clock up and consequently my immune system. I was just so arrogant about it. I had this little voice telling me, "Eh magcucurve naman yan." But I never asked the voice, "Kung nagcurve nga, aabot ba ko?" which is exactly what happened.
• Regrets: Well, to start with that last EEE53 homework that I didn't submit. Surely enough, if I had passed it, I would have moved on ECE113. I regret forming the horrible habit of sleeping at 6pm and then cramming everything in the wee hours of the morning. I regret the sleepless nights and the zombie days. But most of all, I regret the overconfidence. I was sent hurtling down from the clouds and into the ground where I belong. Indeed, he who makes himself first will become last. But also, the fuck. If there was anything that I learned from Papa D (Sir Allan Dioko, my 3rd year HS adviser) it's that there is no use dwelling in regrets. We have to keep moving onward and upward. Whether you have to run, walk, climb, swim, crawl or slither, you have to keep moving forward. 
• My last words: Vengeance, mine will thine be.

I close my eyes and I see your beautiful brown eyes staring at my black ones. Every moment of you and me exchanging looks of surprise, question, anxiety, hope and whatnot flashes before me. Every vacant waking moment, I spend pondering your brown eyes. They are a most surreal experience. I fancy looking into those wonderful orbs and seeing someone who wants me for who I am. I wish that at those times you stare into me, searching the answers to your questions, you find someone you would want, someone you can love. I hope you know that when you look me in the eye, you're looking in the eyes of someone who can love you for who you are, someone who would always be there for you, someone who doesn’t mind spending an eternity with you.



I imagine that distinct scent of yours, the one that sends me into fits of arousal, wafting around the proximity. The smell of your skin lingers in my memories. I breathe you, I take in the scent of you with all sorts of relish. No one smells quite like you. Actually, no one smells sexy quite like you. It's a smell I'd gladly wake up to every morning of my life.



Your deep quiet voice resounds in my head. It echoes through my thoughts. Your voice soothes me like waves crashing against a rocky beach. It agitates yet quells the uprising seawater and whittles it down to white bubbly foam. It has a cool calming quality like a purr of the kitten but perhaps more gruff. And then there's your charming smile. You smile with your eyes and the combination takes my breath away. You know, you smile at me a lot. Perhaps I like that too much about you. Do you find me funny? Do you find me witty? I hope you do, because I'd be anything, I'd say anything, just to see you smile. More than that, there is an extreme level of satisfaction that I gain when I make you laugh. It makes me shiver with desire when I see your shoulders shudder as you laugh your soundless laugh. It's more of a snicker than a laugh but to me it's like striking the gold mine of your heart.



There was this one time I watched you while you were sleeping, your head on your skinny arms, tilted to the right. Light falls on your smooth hair like raindrops rolling on black velvet. Your eyelashes were fluttering with your relaxed breathing. I looked down at your peaceful figure and fervently wished that I could snuggle in with you, hold you in my arms and let the moment last us 'til eternity.



What have you done to me? What enchantment has fallen upon me? You left me spinning in my heels, not knowing what hit me. Every moment spent with you feels like watching the sunset. You make me feel wanted. You make me feel needed. Every time our eyes connect, I feel something almost tangible between us. It's like we depend on each other so much. We can really make a good team you know, once the opportunity arises. Of the boys and the men that I deal with everyday, you were the one who stood out because you care. I know I chose you. I swayed myself to fall for you. It's something I regret at times but how do you sincerely regret something that makes you feel good?



In this moment of pure fancy, you were my prince, my hero and my love. The next moment, reality dawns on me once again. I have to face the truth. I have to dance my lonely waltz one more time. Pretending you don't matter, pretending I don't really care. You are my friend, perhaps nothing more. No one knows for sure how you feel about me and for sure no one knows how I feel about you. They know I wrote something about how I fancy someone but it is for certain that they don't know it's you. That's my secret.



'Til the next moment of fancy takes over me and my lonely soul.

September 26, 2011.

I left you a generic greeting on your Facebook wall and expecting nothing more, you replied with the generic thank you. I didn't need Facebook to remind what today is. Your birthday means a lot to me because you mean a lot to me. I may have given up hopes of finally breaking through your tough guy shell and winning your heart but the fact that I never wanted anyone quite like the way I wanted you, remains unchanged.

I find myself hung up, trying to finish this little piece for you 40 minutes before your birthday ends. I admit how hard it was for me to begin this. Needless to say, there is an overwhelming multitude of unspoken words between us, a thousand roller coaster loops of emotions, stowed to the deepest corners of my heart. But there is really nothing right now. You're my heart's current blind spot.  I don't feel for you as much as I felt before. I found this piece hard to begin not because I was bitter about you, not because I was afraid that writing about you again would stir up my desire for you but because I have no idea what to say, what emotions to convey. I guess you're not the antecedent to my emotional (and poetic) wildfire that you used to be.

Anyway, I wish you had a happy birthday despite the rains. I wish you succeed in your whatever goals you have. You'll always have me to support you as a friend and as a subordinate. You may not be as golden as the golden boy I thought you were but you're still you. Everything that I felt for you was true as true can be to me. You would still and forever be the only man that could evoke those feelings from me. I always think about you and you remain a little but steady voice in the back of my head. I wish you well. May God bless you. :)

Tropical. From root word trope, (1) any literary or rhetorical device that consists of the use of words other than their literal sense. -Paraphrased from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/trope.

The skies have been gray for about a week now. The rain stops from time to time but the skies still appear to be cold sheets of steel. No rainbows, no blessed ray of yellow sunlight. Winds blow around, going about its usual windy ways. I zip my jacket up, pull the cuffs down over my chilled hands. I hold my broken umbrella against the wind. It stirs up my hair and my thoughts as well. It feels like December morning. I smile at the thought of December and its mess of activities. But today was the first day of August and the cold seems rather foreboding compared to the chills brought about by a December midnight spent sitting atop the steps. If it had a face, it would be frowning and pouting. I remind myself that today is August, not December and it's not like any December will be the same again.

Drops of rain fall with increasing frequency and intensity. I hang on to my umbrella and trudge along, the hems of my jeans brushing the rivulets of water on the sidewalk. I walk up the road, imagining myself shaking my fist up to the charcoal drawing heavens. Rain makes everything so hard, so heavy... so sad. Not to mention wet, of course. The damp bleakness of it all makes me long for the dusty, humid summer. Did I just dream summer up? Did summer even happen? Was it not a distant unreality? There's no sun, there's no warmth.  The wind blows again, intensifying my clear want of warmth. The jacket has not been doing a good job. I fight the wind as I walk up the road and I realize that I haven't seen anyone walking along the road since I started walking. Maybe that's what intensifies the cold; the feeling that all people are inside their homes, cuddled under their blankets while you are braving the elements. But maybe it's just the horror movie chill of walking alone on a damp shrubby road at dusk on an unforgiving rainy day.

I get on a jeep and I spend the 15 minute ride silently watching the drops of rain drip off the tips of my hair. Despite the umbrella, half the length of my hair is wet. The wind was everywhere, the rain with it. I got off the jeep and back to the now raging torrential rainfall. I start for the homestretch that seemed like forever. The rain was beating onto my umbrella, splashing on my jeans and soaking my jacket sleeves. I feel like a battered ragdoll hosed down by some sadistic playmate. Memories of warmth, sunshine and light have completely deserted me. I hold up my umbrella, push my body forward and try to put conviction in my steps. A little more. Almost there. Just ten steps more. I staggered through the gates of my boarding house with a slight sense of contentment. I crash on the sofa of our living room, soaked but at least out of the rain.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. I'm wrapped up in a flowery blanket, dry and physically warm. The rain pours and lighting flashes across my window. I sit calmly on my bed. The wind rush through the screen windows and the curtains flutter like certain long eyelashes on familiar brown eyes. A sensation like cold welts of rain tear through. No umbrella, no jacket. An eternal tempest roaring with the bitter cold.


Yay metaphors.

There's a bloodstain on my shirt
     I had a rare nosebleed. I thought it was just a watery nose.
There's an open wound in my heart
     I bid Fr. Andy goodbye today. I thought I was steeled enough as not to cry

There's a wet towel on my head
     It doesn't feel cold anymore. It just feels wet. It's for my nosebleed.
There are dried tears on my cheek
     It feels empty that Fr. Andy's not here anymore. I just feel sad. It's not usually like this

There's a black baller band on my arm
     I bought it from Alexei. I wore it right side down today
There's a black hole in my heart
     I bought my own excuses. It was the right love at the wrong time.

There's an annoyingly distorted reporter's voice on my TV
     I'm imagining how her voice signal would look like on an oscilloscope
There's a constantly recurring scene in my head
     I'm imagining how the affection in your voice sounded like

There are two browser windows open on my laptop
     I should be working on finding our marketing team some contacts.
There are some things playing in my thoughts
     I should really be concentrating on something really important in real life.

Scratch paper, do you know
How much I like him so?
No, of course you don't
And perhaps he won't
He wouldn't really know how
I want him so bad right now.

Scratch paper, do you know
He sits in the same row
So near yet so far
A mess of feelings at war
I'm all his but he's not quite mine
I wouldn't dare cross the line

Scratch paper, do you know
How I can ever let him go?
So wrong but so right
In his brown eyes, I found light
Scratch paper, how do I not give a damn
About this man who sees me for who I am.

- I know I write poetry like a grade schooler, it's one thing I never really focused on. But hey, not bad for less than 15 minutes of work. It's not everyday I crap out poems while in class. XD

I am home alone, lying down on my belly, racked by menstrual cramps. I would really like to go out and enjoy my meager 2 week break and swim like I've never seen the beach when we go to Batangas this weekend. But no can do. I'm a victim of my own body. I'm a girl, has been for 19 years, so I guess I just have to tough this one out too. DX

If it never ends then when do we start? crooned Adam Levine when we watched Maroon 5 Live in Manila last Monday, May 23. I've not had that much fun until recently due to, quoting my friend Cholo, "Dear UP, can I please have my life back before it's too late?" You get the point. I felt ALIVE. But really, I HAD A BLAST. Wonderful setlist, awesome screaming fangirl friends, sexiness in the form of Adam Levine. Really, there is nothing I could have wished for. Except to have REALLY seen Adam Levine in the flesh with my own two eyes. Awesome. Thank you Universe, thank you overly strict parents for letting this one slide.

If it never ends then when do we start? The Maroon 5 concert was an escape of sorts. An escape from responsibility, an escape from academics, an escape from feelings festering inside. Waking up on the morning of the 24th, everything came rushing back. If this cycle of pseudo-hatred and crazed adoration never ends, when does an attempt at genuine friendship start? If this unwarranted desire never ends, when does salvation and respect begin? If this procrastination never ends, when will our database updating begin? Why do I even have to wake up?

Craaaamps. Might as well strap me onto my bed. I cannot get up anyway.

Right, there's a Maroon 5 song for that... I'm never gonna leave this bed.


As I am being held hostage by my own body, I wonder how my feelings hold me and my emotional stability hostage sometimes. How I always put what I feel in front of me every time. How has that helped me? Can I ever get over myself?

Magpapakabait na ko. Eto kasi yun eh. Eto yung ayokong masira. Eto yung hindi ko kayang i-risk. Never in a thousand years ko to iririsk just because of a reason so self-serving. /*May picture dapat kasama to eh. */
-Excerpt from my facebook account (May 13, 2011)


Still looking for that picture. I think no one posted it. That's sad coz that would be something I'd hold on to. 


I've come to accept that right now, this happy happy friendship  is all that I've got, all that I hope for. I haven't stop dreaming that maybe we could be something more but I've stopped acting on my delusions. We'd laugh, we'd study, we'd work together. We'd still walk beside each other, laze around hoping for the prof to never enter the door. And that's all that we'd so happily be. I simply cannot allow myself to be so besotted by his  kind ways. You always want what you cant have. But you can always choose to stop wanting it. 


"Sana ako ako nalang. Sana ako parin. Sana ako nalang ulit"
-Basha, One More Chance


Oh here we go again. ikaw nalang. ikaw parin naman. At ikaw nalang talaga ulit. Yeah, I think if my friends have a choice, they'd hit me in the head, run me over by a truck and fill me with enough Tanduay Ice to induce partial amnesia. Oh great hahaha. It's May 22 today. It's my self-proclaimed "monthsary". 28 months of sheer martyrdom. After 8 more months, maybe you can ask me for a miracle then I can be beatified. :D

I'm so tired. Exhausted. Spent. Slumped.

All I really need is sleep but like lemon to a gaping wound, my issues keep me awake.
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"You always want what you can't have." "Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it."


Edi ako na nga ang sinapian ni Bitter Ocampo. 


Is the universe truly unfair or are we just spoiled brats who are never contented with its ways?
Are you truly undesirable or is it just not yet your time to shine?
Are you destined to remain single for the rest of your life or are you just not emotionally ready for commitment?
Are the people around you lazy bums or does this mean that they trust you completely?
What does it mean to be a leader? What does it mean to be in the inner circle of power?
If your feelings and thoughts transcend the boundaries of space and time, is it really true love?
Is there anything more foolish (or selfish) than falling for someone happy with another?
Does he not have cough medicine at home? Does his girlfriend even care? Why do I have to ask?

It's hard to think and write about universally encompassing truths. There's always something wrong. There is always something you don't believe in. There is something that does not apply. Cases exist. Sometimes all you need is common sense. And sometimes your intuition is no use.

Just imagine like a hundred or so questions like that running through my head lately. Plus Quantum Mechanics.

I am consciously losing consciousness. Bit by bit, I submit to my weary bones. My questions never cease. Tomorrow is a new day.

I recently took a liking to Train's Hey Soul Sister ergo, the title. 


Excuse me while I indulge this moment of pure fancy to take over me. No regrets. Just plain hormonal fancy.


Things that make me just WANT you. With or without the girlfriend moral argument. The shudder of your slender shoulders when you laugh. The way you gaze straight into my face with one of your incredulous "what-in-hell?!" expressions. Your soft brown eyes. The way you run your fingers through your hair. The way your hair perfectly falls back into place. The way you look when you're walking beside me. Those walks beside each other. How you always chuckle at my silly wit. The sound of the said chuckle. Your deep quiet voice. The look on your face when you're playing cards. That lunch to remember.

It used to be a hot, steamy and promising love affair.

At twelve, I was seduced by the premise, the promise and the art of being masterfully conquered and triumphantly conquering.

At fifteen, it felt like I was on top of this game. I had everything to play for. I looked forward to it, I flaunted it and it became me, like it was where I will always belong. But reality beckoned; it seemed like not all flames can burn a house, or even just a little bonfire. I was so given to this ideality that I may or may not have ignored the greater good.

At sixteen, decisions had to be made. I have to choose between two loves. This affair of passionate but sporadic nature and another one of a challenging yet encompassing make. Ideally, as dictated to us by generations of stereotyping bias, one cannot live while the other survives. I decided to be sensible and practical and I kissed my lover goodbye, along with the rest of the activities I do in my spare time.

Writing, ladies and gentlemen, is my first love.

When I was twelve, I won an intra-school essay writing contest about the relationship of the Filipino language, the vernaculars and the future. I was awarded first place and probably second and third since the judges (as I had been told) deemed my essay the only essay that truly dealt with the question posed. The others were way off the mark. So there was only one winner for that contest and it was me. At that age, I also remembered being asked about what I wanted to take up for college, I cheerfully answered that I would take up Journalism in UP Diliman, even though I had no idea about what I was saying. I just wanted to be in UP Diliman for heaven's sake! My Hekasi teacher grimaced at me and pronounced Journalism as a course without good profit and dismissed my dream as way below my perceived potential.

When I entered high school, I was determined to get into the school paper. I did and for three years, was a nominal member of the club. It was only in my senior year that I fully realized the challenges of writing for a newspaper, as I was in charge of practically everything as Editor-In-Chief. I got sent to different seminars, press conferences and competitions simply because I can pick up my pen, think of something nice to say about the topic and express it in nice words. I won some of those competitions but all in all, those were among the best moments of my high school life. It was also in high school that I learned to fully embrace mathematics as more than a subject but also as the answer to some mysterious questions. Although I never achieved the ultimate high level in mathematics, I have always been in awe of those who did achieve it.

High school turned me into a pragmatist and soon I filed my college applications for ECE, ComTech Management and Accountancy to UP, Ateneo and La Salle respectively. I passed over my childhood dream of being a journalist because I didn't feel confident that being a journalist can tide me and my family over unless I get really really lucky. The other courses, I said, were more practical and don't bank so much on looks department, in which I have no edge over others. As fate would have it, I got in the university of my dreams, UP Diliman and prepared for a life of being an ECE student and the rest, as they say, is history.

I used to have time to update my multiply blog about the beginning of my college life, how my very first serious crush in UP smiled and waved at me, how I was beginning to realize that I may be liking this guy a little bit more than usual (I like him for about 26 months now, dating from that post), how I fought hard and I had no regrets, how I was so frustrated with programming, it was sapping my life energy. I used to write back then. Until facebook became popular and suddenly, I don't even open my multiply account anymore unless I need to scavenge for old HS pics. Oh yeah, gone with the wind too was my time for writing as I waded deeper into coursework and orgwork.

But I truly never considered going into a site just for blogs. I don't even read other people's blogs, with the exception of Mister Ramon Bautista's tumblr account. I like to believe that I began blogging to, like what the Ancient Greeks believed, see the balance of the four humours of life; blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile.

 Blood is pumped by the heart so for me it represents the matters of the heart. I'm a closet romantic so I really have grandiose expectations of love. I also happen to have witnessed a few people get together and then break apart to actually be disillusioned or afraid about the premise of falling in love. I write about love a lot because I want to at least try and understand it. At least in the little scribbles in my planner, I know love and how it feels for me, even if I'm NBSB.

I relate phlegm to the word "phlegmatic." Peaceful, calm and slow. Quite suitable for introspection. I have a lot of things running around in my head. I have questions. I have answers. I really talk to myself a lot especially when I'm under stress, harassed or embarrassed. So you know, writing can exorcise the thought demon in me. I actually deal with things better when I put them in my words on paper.

Black bile represents my melancholic nature. In the course I'm taking, it is not unusual to be depressed. With this person I'm liking, it is not unusual to be sulky. In this imperfect world, it is not unusual to rail against the partiality of it all. So you know, perhaps writing can purify me of the negative energy or whatever that's floating around me. It also may feel good to let it out and share a little bit of yourself. Like what Bob Fulghum said in his book, "All I really need to know ( I learned in kindergarten)" In a game of hide and seek, he who hides too much gets left out alone when everyone gets tired of searching for him so sometimes, we need to get found.

Yellow bile is for the nonsensical things. I have lots of stories to tell, some philosophical and heart rending, others, downright mundane. Humor is a central part of me. I would fail in life if I grow up to become a dry killjoy. Besides, I am surrounded by a multitude of interesting people who give me experiences and wisdom day by day that are worth writing about.

This blog is my love letter to the world, to the people around me, to the circumstances of my existence and of course to my vain self, that I may always be reminded of who I am and not get lost in the sea of generic personalities. That I may always be able to call to mind the different aspects of me that I can pull from my hat in times when I need it. This is my online love letter to my Maker, the giver of all talent, passion, love and mercy, who have granted me everything I experience, everything I feel out of the generosity of his heart.

May this blog bless us all. Amen. :)