Listening to Cynthia Alexander with Nix and Pat.

I will blog about today in the coming posts, when I've gathered my thoughts, and when I've decided which ones are the ones I want to share. Thanks for the greetings, the calls, the texts, and the emails.

Someone make him explode already.

Happy Birthday To Me.

Girly Randomness

I just finished eating a big dinner. Complete with two cones of ice cream for dessert.

That's it. I'm hitting the gym this weekend.

Today (yesterday actually) marked the beginning of the new semester at NYU , which they obstinately call the Spring Term. It's a bit hard to think of spring when the ground is still covered in snow, and the Hudson has ice on the surface.

So many things to take care of before the month ends. DMV day tomorrow for my license, then a trip to the SSA for my S/S number. On thursday I head off to the UN building for recruitment month, then on saturday it's the NYU campus in mid-Manhattan for all my government paper work. I also need to file my change of address with the INS as soon as I know what my new address is going to be. And I also need to open checking and savings accounts as soon as possible, and maybe get a credit card that's based here while I'm at it, so I can do away with the hassle of mailing my payments to various bills.

On the lighter side, I'm going to see Anika, Pat and King on Thursday. I might also meet up with some of the MFA people, if they decide to stay near the Sheridan area. I'm not about to plunge into the bowels of downtown Manhattan without a competent guide. At least, not just yet.

Oh, and let me just say that I've been indulging my inner kikay since I got here. This thursday I'm going to indulge it even more. Pat and I are going to Sephora in Soho, because Philosophy is sponsoring makeovers, an event selflessly shared to me by the beautiful people of NYU.

Kyra

This post will be a half-baked indulgence in sentiment.

This morning I was jolted from sleep by what seemed to be the voice of my little sister. For a split-second, I had forgotten where I was, and it seemed like I had never even left Manila, that I was swimming in the thin white sheets that covered my over-used bed, slowly waking up to another hot and lazy day.

I instinctively pulled the comforter to my chin, as I stared out the window. The snow was falling, and it was beautiful. I was so struck by the image of all that whiteness falling down upon my graying world, that I felt a sudden rush of excitement. I was just about to call my little sister to tell her to look outside.

And then I remembered exactly where I was and where she was not.

It's funny how things can crawl into your consciousness when they're no longer around. Like NU 107 on the radio, or the easy drive to a convenience store for Sanmig light. It's funny how absence can make you so much more aware of what's not there. Like the phone that refuses to ring, or the inbox devoid of emails.

I can see the emptiness of the couch in front of the TV, where she should be sitting with her eyes too close to the screen. I can feel the nakedness of my hand, where her fingers should be clutching it tight. I can hear the absence of her voice, especially where my mind has left spaces for where she should have whispered a silly little word, or dropped one of her cartoon network expressions.

I remember the day before Christmas, when I told her I would be leaving in three days, and that I wouldn’t be back for at least a year. She looked at me, a very serious expression on her face, and then she suddenly got up and said, “okay let’s call them”.

“Call who?”, I asked.
“The States, to tell them you’re not coming.”

When I think about my little sister, I can’t help but wonder why I’m here, away from everything that I have ever known.

I can't help but think about whether my selfishness is really a good thing. If all of this is worth it. If I wouldn't be content with a lesser dream.

I know my answers, but my sister always makes me want to ask the questions anyway.

Heading Update

Apparently, blogger is not reading the background color of my heading. I don't want to change it because I spent a considerable chunk of my time trying to find the exact shade of light purple. So, boys and girls, we will all just have to live with the no header look until blogger finds a way to read the color again.

Or until I get really pissed and decide to change it anyway.

BTW, Hi MOM.

Blogger is acting up again.

My heading just disappeared.

I've decided not to go out today. I'm tired and it's cold. Plus my brain is on strike, which means I'm not allowed to do anything remotely productive.

So instead of accoplishing all those things I could have otherwise accomplished, my whole morning was wasted on looking for a place to go to on Thursday. I asked around and gave them an idea of what I wanted -- nice comfortable atmosphere, cheap beer, no bouncers, no attitude problems, plays good music, something with a neigborhood feel in the downtown area.

Information overload. How they can manage to cram over a hundred bars in the Lower Manhattan district is something probably beyond science. Names like Red Lion, The Room (not to be confused with The Other Room and Another Room), 288, Bar 89, Naked Lunch, Fat Black Pussy, Fetal Metal, The Village Underground, etc, are still reverberating in my head. And those are just suggestions for a "meeting spot", they said. Preamble to the gimmick proper.

Oh boy, welcome to the nightlife.

Thanks Rij.

Showers… at least once a day
Reads… Pretty much anything
Writes... short fiction (attempts at poetry)
Talks about… myself, mostly
Drinks… San Mig Light, stupid vodka tonic
Smokes… If at all, Winston Lights – from Manila
Fallen in Love… tried it, didn't like it.
Boyfriends… I might be gay
Sleeps in... Bungaroo's shirt that has "Caffeine" written on it.

Coffee or Tea? Neither.
Passion or Security? Passion
Moon or stars? Stars
Cats or dogs? One cat.
Vanilla or Chocolate? Chocolate.

Best physical feature… eyebrows?
Best friend… ah, dear asawa, sino daw ulit?
Best subject in seventh grade… ermm… SRA?
Best subject in Senior High… Ms.Chinie’s philosophy
Best subject in college… anything under Danton

Favorite ice cream flavor… chocolate chip cookie dough
Favorite fast food item… Chicken Sandwich at BK, Hotshots at KFC
Favorite non-alcoholic drink… Cocoa (like in Kathy’s house)
Favorite color… violet, black, olive green
Favorite book… right now, Hitchhiker’s Guide
Favorite CD… the one in my player
Favorite physical feature of the opposite sex… upper back

Dream job… lazy “lonely planet” bum, living on the proceeds of my last brilliant novel
Dream city… New York, New York.
Dream Vacation… any Aman resort, any exotic, slightly dangerous place
Dream Pet… Zeus
Dream car… I want Javie back!

Ideal date… a mind-blowing connection (everything else is secondary)
Ideal life… see dream job
Ideal man… tall, dark-haired person, who knows EXACTLY what to give me on my birthday … uhmm … or Ira C.with Calassanz’s brain
Ideal child… tall male, looks like his father (see ideal man), thinks like me, smarter than both his parents combined, and infinitely more patient
Ideal family… amicably separated couple with a well-adjusted son

Good way to spend Saturday night… Boracay, beer, tipan – bamboo, ira, etc great plus.
Good way to spend eternity… total state of bliss
Good way to die…painless freak accident while diving in the Great Barrier Reef, AFTER a spell of depression.

Three wishes from a genie… world peace, perfect global environment, universal domination
Three things on a desert island… ideal man, ideal child, and the genie
Three things to do before death... skydive, get married, get pregnant (not necessarily in that order).

I managed to arrange things so that Anika and Pat can sleep over on Thursday.

Hah. Visions of past parties just flashed before my eyes. The cases of beer, the platters of food, the flow of conversation, the oggle-worthy people...

I think this is going to be the first time in around six years that I won't be having a big bang celebration on my birthday. To think that most years I even had two.

Right now though, I'm just glad I'm going to be able to spend the 30th in the company of good friends. Up until five minutes ago, I would have been content to spend it in the company of any kind of friend, good or otherwise.

Special mention to the Powers That Be for pulling this one off for it's spoiled little brat. I love you too.

BTW, I changed my tracker. Extreme has been acting up lately. Found this one in Ramon's blog.

A quick one before I jump into bed.

Friend of a friend (see previous post) and I met at Starbucks on West 14, corner 7th Ave, and then took the subway to Sheridan Square. He took me to Cafe Dante at MacDougal St. A nice place to be in on a weekend night. Actually, the whole downtown area is a pretty nice place to be in on a weekend night. Lots of different kinds of people, lots of different kinds of hangouts, lots of different kinds of alcohol, and lots of different kinds of food.

Anyway, I had a beer (a measly Corona for $5) and he had a cappucino. Some of his friends dropped in on us, and I think I met a total of a dozen people today. Very good. After talking for a bit, we moved to a resto-pub a few doors down, and had falafels (someone spell this for me please). And then we moved a few doors up, where I had another beer and he had another cappucino. And then we crossed the street and had krispy kremes.

We then walked around the village, looked at some of the used bookstores and the thriftshops, and he gave me a unique little lesson on New Yorkan geography. Apparently, the streets off Sheridan are cafe streets. 23rd is where the clubs are. 17th and 10th (I think) are the bar areas, although there are a few pubs on Macdougal which he said were pretty good too.

About fifteen minutes into his lecture on the New York nightlife, I told him I had to go because I had to catch my bus.

He saw me off at Port Authority on 42nd St., where I got on the 167. He's nice and passably smart. And best of all, he paid for everything. He even bought me a Metrocard, so I have a week's worth of subway rides for free. (I know, I'm so user-friendly.)

When I got home, my aunt was just on her way to the mall. Having nothing to do, I went with her -- a very good move on my part (hehe) because she bought me, among other things, two pairs of long sought after corduroy pants - one grayish purple, and the other one old rose.

We had Mexican food after that, scrumptiously washed down by huge glasses of margaritas.

All in all, a very good day.

We have just finished eating dinner. Yes, at 12:45 am. At this time, if I were in Manila, Trixie and I would probably be in the middle of a full-blown beerfest, thinking of what to do next, in the middle of a gig, talking in her room, or a combination of all of the above.

Nothing of that tonight. While the New York party scene wildly rages on, or so an acquaintance from school enthusiastically tells me, I am quietly pouring all the creativity currently stored in my brain into the beginnings of a story that will hopefully emerge as the story I actually want it to be (and not yet another vague estimation of it).

"Nerd", my subconsious screams from an internal distance.

"Shut up", my ego smugly replies.

And in this particular instance, boys and girls, my ego has a legitimate reason to be smug. For although tonight will be spent in bed, it knows that tomorrow holds delicious possibilities. It has already sensed the dawning of a new alcoholic era.

At 4 pm today, I shall meet with a friend of a friend at Washington Square.

This friend of a friend has been tasked by my friend to take me around. This friend of a friend has been in New York for quite a bit, and more importantly, this friend of a friend has other friends, as proven by the noise level in the room he was in when he called me to arrange our little meeting.

Boys and girls, let us pray that this friend of a friend will be all that the signs have foretold.

Ahh... finally, the gentle budding of an actual life.

God's Alleged Final Message to All of Creation: "Sorry for the inconvenience."

The Dolphins' Alleged Final Message to Mankind: "So long, and thanks for all the fish."

Situation: Let us say that the Earth will be obliterated in the time that it will take you to read this post. You and some others (I'm leaving the choice of the identities of these "others" to you) are in a starship which can only go to one of two planets. You are given the choice of planet to go to. In the first one, you will find the answer to "life, the universe, and everything". In the second one, you will find the actual question. The answer and the question are mutually exclusive, so one cannot know both at the same time or they will cancel each other out, cancel the universe out, and the universe will then be replaced with something infinitely stranger, which is not a problem in itself, but it would make things easier for the sadly limited workings of human logic if the Universe stayed as it is (at least for the time that it will take you to read this entry).

So now, boys and girls, my question to you is this: Where will you go? To the planet with the Ultimate Answer to the Ultimate Question, or to the planet with the Ultimate Question to the Ultimate Answer? Bear in mind that knowledge of one precludes knowledge of the other. Leave me a note in my comments box or email me.

I'm truly curious.

PS. Five points to you if you know where all of this originated from. The first two statements are dead giveaways.

P.P.S. I cannot believe that stores are already on Valentine's mode. Who will I go out on an Anti-Valentine's date with now?!

For some reason, it seems God has stuck New York in a freezer. Someone in Heaven please take it out now. Let's not wait for the city that never sleeps to metamorphose into a big icycle. Please.

NYU classmate: So how long are you going to live here?
Me: Actually, I'm not sure.
NYU c: Are you planning on staying after getting your degree?
Me: I'm not sure.
NYU c: What do plan to do anyway?
Me: I'm not sure.

Hello, Queen of Stupid. It's official. Subzero temperature can damage your brain.

Today, some people read what they called "Experimental Literature". Experimental? But definitely. Literature? I can't tell. Quite interesting though. It seems post-modernism is a hit with the twenty-somethings of America. Post-post-modernism, I should say.

Personally, I still think some attempt at a plot is integral to a story. I don't need Arisototlean Poetics, but I do need some form of shape. Call me crude, but I'm having a hard time reading through blobs of literary regurgitation.

Another thing eating the twenty-somethings of America, it seems, is the desire to get noticd right off the bat. Everyone seems to have a little ploy to be controversial. Everyone has some literary gimmick up their sleeve.

In my opinion, good fiction shouldn't rest on scams or tricks to call attention to it. One can be unique without being tacky. One can be loud without being vulgar.

Like this guy with weird hair who sits two chairs to my left. I thought his little sketch outweighed all the quasi-novels there.

Now there's a genius in hiding.

Pity that people are too busy getting distracted by the fireworks from the sideshows.

But that's just primitive little me. What do I know?

Another potentially blood-freezing day.

And I'm off to see the wizard. But before I hurry off on my non-yellow, non-brick road, let me just say that I actually cooked my own breakfast. All of it. From scratch.

There is hope yet.

Oh yeah, temp for the day is a high of 18 deg F, low of 5 below Zero. With winds at 18 kts. Happy happy joy joy.

Blech.

I should be reviewing for the written test to get a NJ driver's license, but I'm too lazy. Besides, my test isn't until Monday. I should be (at least) trying to finish my papers for my first creative packet, but I feel uninspired. That packet isn't due until Friday next week anyway. I should probably start cooking dinner, but I'm thinking I can do without food tonight. Call it a new diet.

I can't wait for it to be after 9 pm, which is the time I can make long distance calls on my cellphone without getting charged. I can't wait for it to be 4:30 tomorrow afternoon, so I can socialize with my classmates, especially the cute bohemian who always wears this really cool mustard shearling coat with the faux fur collar.

Don't worry folks, this isn't misery. This is just your basic case of classic boredom.

Oh yeah, my tita and my tito took their oaths as new citizens today. They are now officially Americans.

Let me elaborate.

I didn't do anything because of a dozen reasons, but mainly because I didn't want the responsibility. I didn't want you to wake up one morning and wonder why you had such a screwed up life, and then think that I'm probably the cause.

I also wanted you to choose for yourself.

It was probably weak, stupid and cowardly, and not at all the "carpe diem" path to take. But god, can you really blame me? I take youth as my excuse. Yes, given what I know now, the exact same circumstances, and the exact same choices, I would probably take a different route. But that will never happen, and so I've learned to deal.

I've learned to deal with my consequences. I've learned to accept my mistakes for what they are. I'm learning to let my yesterdays go. I'm learning to live with the constant hollowness, and the regret. I'm learning to smile in the face of misery. Honey, I'm dealing.

So please, let me continue learning how to deal, without you constantly wreaking havoc on my newly-found equilibrium.

I deserve something whole, something real, something tangible. Something we both know you can't give.

I don't want you in bits and pieces anymore.

Untitled

With a deftly executed turn
You swallowed me whole
and pulled me in the vortex
of your chaotic universe

Where you are devil, and lover,
and God all at once
omnipotent in this confined space
you call our love

And everyday I hide another tear
Until they cascade into your bed
while you sleep.
And you are forced awake by
a hundred sobs making their way
into your soul.

I hear you gasping in the darkness.

But you have no commands
for me
So I do nothing
But watch you.

It's so cold.

My face is numb. Frozen stiff, probably. No, wait, I can actually feel it thawing out now. Ouch.

I saw my reflection in the glass door while waiting for the 167 today, and I just got a little surprised at how I looked. In my dark jeans, black turtleneck, fuzzy scarf in various shades of purple, a long, dark gray overcoat, and my gray hat, I can really blend in with my artsy fartsy classmates at NYU.

I was early for my scheduled rendezvous with Pat at Yoshinoya on 42nd Street, so I ordered a chicken salad to eat while waiting for her. That's one of the things I learned and enjoy doing in New York -- eating alone. We then went uptown to Columbia, and then walked a few blocks to the Teacher's College.

After settling that, we got on the subway to go downtown. Coming up the stairs of the station, we were faced with vaporized ice. It was like drowning in the middle of a huge gust from Antartica. So, we did the most logical thing we could think of: enter the nearest bar.

It was a Mexican bar. A mexican bar with luridly pink walls and striped Baguio Igorot curtains. There were also TV sets, both of which were tuned to some telenovela, the dialogue of which we couldn't hear, because the Spanish language quasi-operatta they had playing was just too loud.

Apparently, the bar owner thought we were Mexicanas. He tried to get our orders in Spanish. Ofcourse the only thing we understood in the flurry of sounds that emanated from his mouth were the words "uno" and "dos" (said as if in quesion) which, we eventually found out, was actually him trying to ask us if we wanted one or two plates brought out with the dish we had ordered.

A couple of beers, a couple of cigarettes, an arroz con pollo, and a possible actor-sighting (we weren't sure) later, we headed out again. It was still cold, but the rough winds were gone. Now we could at least stand on the sidewalk and not feel like we were going to get blown into the other side of the street.

We walked a bit, and went into Urban Outfitters. Girls, this is a new store to love. When I get a place here, I want it to be filled with house stuff from there. And when I finally get the money to go clothes shopping, I want my closets to be bursting with clothes from there as well.

We walked some more. We got to Washington Square, got to a row of tiangges, got to where the young college crowd was, and then we realized that we had also gotten lost.

Forty five minutes of walking in the fucking, freezing subzero cold (this is not counting the walking we were doing when he hadn't realized we were lost yet) transpired before we found someone who pointed us to the right way. And then it was about five minutes more before we finally ended up in the ACE uptown subway stop. (Note: During this time, we were also asked for directions... so I guess we didn't look all that lost.)

The New York City planners already had a good thing going when they decided to lay Manhattan out like a grid. That made everything so simple -- and it gave people with hopelessly irrational senses of direction hope to navigate. Case in point being me. I really don't know what made them screw it up by giving the streets in the Greenwich-downtown area actual names.

But enough of that.

A thirty minute bus ride, a 7-minute walk, a pair of windburned cheeks, and some chapped lips later, I'm back in my little attic, typing away.

I miss my sister.

Attic to Basement and Back Again

I've been washing clothes, and then taking them up to my little space in this house and folding them up and putting them where I think they should go. I actually like doing the laundry. It's so therapeutic.

This is going to be my last long entry for the week -- supposedly. I need to concentrate on spewing out papers and creative work, because I have a deadline coming up very soon. And as far as that kind of writing goes, I've done close to nil. I've read a lot though, and reading always puts me in a more introspective, inspired state of mind.

I'm going to New York with Pat tomorrow, and we're going space-hunting. I can't exactly call it house or apartment or whatever hunting, because I'm only really looking for space to sleep in, eat in, write in, be hygienic in, and that's about it. Something to tide me over until I get enough money to look for something a little more permanent.

I have decided that the commute to South Jersey (and eventually, Pennsylvania) is just too much for my body, my brain, my capacity to write, and my stamina to handle.

Wish me luck.

It's going to be my birthday in a couple of days, boys and girls, and I'm looking forward to hearing from you. *hint hint*.

Oh yeah, to the most beloved and dearly missed people in these pics... fuck you all!

Martin Luther King Day.

It's a federal holiday, so all schools and libraries are closed. Banks too.

I'm not in the mood to do my various papers. I want to do something brainless (like something that involves alcohol). Maybe I'll just do the laundry.

We don't even get the newspaper here or anything. So it's either I read the books I need to read for class, or I don't read at all (with the possible exception of Fitness Magazines and Macy's catalogues).

Loneliness

... checking email four times a day, in an almost empty house, hoping someone remembered you're alive.
... wanting to talk to someone and realizing you can't.
... wanting to talk to anyone and knowing you can't.
... feeling like you're caving in on yourself.
... a meal eaten alone.
... the same meal, eaten alone, over and over.

This is not just loneliness. This is a dozen lonelinesses piled on top of each other.

I left my life. It wasn't a perfect life, granted, and maybe it wasn't even a very good one, but it was a life nonetheless. Which is more than I can say for the pathetic sort of existence I'm making do with here. And I left that life to plunge head first in an alternate reality -- one which hardly cares if you live or die, or drown, or sleep and never wake up.

It's not easy. It's not easy to miss not just one person, but a plethora of people. And not just a plethora of people, but a plethora of places, and cars, and jokes, and the language, and all the tiny atomic particles that make up the life you just left. It's not easy to wake up day to day, alone, with no one to talk to, live through the day with no one to talk to, and then sleep, still without talking to anyone.

It's not easy to know you made friends that are the kind of friends other people would die for, but that they're on the other side of the planet. It's not easy to miss that kind of bond. And when you've had your taste of that, a lower form of friendship seems like a joke.

It's not easy to miss precocious little sisters. It's not easy to miss being accepted. It's not easy to miss living in the space where your whole life had always unravelled.

Boys and girls, what I'm trying to say is, it's not easy to be alone.

Suddenly I find myself living for school, where at least the monotony of my solitude is broken. In school, I can at least watch people live the kind of life I once had. And when I come home, I am once again faced with monologues and imaginary conversations, and a fresh new wave of inexhaustible nostalgia. And the contrast is made that much starker.

Yes, I know, this is only in the beginning. Yes, I know its normal, and it will pass. But hell, it's not as if I can derive some sort of comfort from that knowledge. It's not like knowing this will pass makes things easier.

I have to live through this first.

Still plummeting.

I'm beginning to hate reading these emails that describe events that cannot be a part of my life.

Hah. So my eccentric friends and my jungle munkle cousin are now on gimmick-basis. I feel left out. Boys and girls, I am aboslutely and completely sorry for doing anything that may have made anyone feel left out in the past. I now know how it feels, and it sucks.

This is going to be a stupid entry because I'm feeling stupid and low and miserable and all those things multiplied by themselves raised to the power of any number you can think of between a million and infinity.

I'm in between papers and annotations, and reading two books, and a cigarette, and a half-bottle of ginger ale. What a great metaphor for the anarchy that has invaded my never-ordered life.

And it's cold too. Depressingly cold.

To try to cheer me up, a friend of mine brought me good old-fashioned sisig. Bad timing. It seemed like the ghosts of a hundred eaten plates of sisig came back to haunt me, and they brought the ghosts of a thousand sanmig lights and a million sticks of winstons for good measure. Attack of the fighting sisig spirits. And it just brought me down.

So I ended up lower than when I started, and it's starting to feel like someone has cut the bottom from my spiral, and I will be plummeting down in perpetua.

I said "seemed" people, for although I sound stupid now, I'm not, and I know I will snap out of this.

Hopefully that will be some time before I die.

I got this one from Victor (thanks).



Which "Natural Wonder" are you?


By the way guys, don't be scared. Let's see how well you know me. Take the Do You Know Wanda quiz.

One thing proving to be a real upside here in NJ is this little pastime called lounging.

In Manila, when you have nothing to do, you bummed, you hung out, you killed time, but you never really lounged. Yes, boys and girls, there is a difference. Lounging connotes a very lazy day, and a very lazy creature, purposefully doing very lazy things, with a decidedly haughty and solitary elan. Case in point: dogs laze, cats lounge. Lounging means a superiority complex, the ability to do close to nothing, and positively basking in it.

Right now, I'm in very old pajama bottoms (it's only 5 pm), a fluffy, white, oversized bathrobe, wet hair hanging all over the place, comfortably nuzzled in a warm corner of the room (warm because that's where the heater is). Not caring about most of the world. Lounging.

Jealousy of Trixie and Co.'s exploits notwithstanding, this soon-to-be-hobby induces quite a lot of feelings of contentment. Ofcourse, these feelings are probably of the ephemeral sort, but right now, what does that matter? And more to the point, what do I care?

When I finish typing the last few words on this page, I will open a very funny, very smart, very good book (The Unabridged Compilation of the Six Novels in Douglas Adams' Series Called "The Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy"), and I will then proceed to lose all track of time, space and everything else above, beyond and between.

Lovely.

I miss gigs. Fuck.

For a little background on that declaration, read the comments thread for my post 00:42 Jan 18.

Trx, Floats, Ais, gay baliwag cousin, pakners Cam and Karl, when you're drowning in cheap beer, oily sisig, good music, hot men (AND WOMEN), stimulating conversation, uniquely Pinoy humor, and all those other miss-able, fun, scrumptious things, kindly remember those of us who are studying (actually studying -- as in for real, the fuck) and who are attempting to study.

Hay. The J-hoons and Ira Cruzes and Bamboos and Epis of this world.

According to the news, the temperature outside is 7 degrees F. That's cold. Especially when you're walking (and I mean walking a minimum of 10 blocks each way) and these great big gusts of wind want to snap you in half. That's really damn cold.

Everyday, while walking to and from school in windy, gusty New York, I have one prayer for the powers that be: Let me not have frostbite.

It's face-freezingly, body-shakingly, nerve-numbingly cold.

And the annoying thing is, the sun actually has the gall to shine outside. As if teasing you to crawl out from between your soft mattress and your warm, fuzzy comforters with the promise that it'll take care of you, and thaw you out, and not to worry because it has all the heat radiation it needs, being a gigantic ball of fire, as it were. Only to give you a shock equal to a 1000 volt surge of electricity because it feels like you stepped into a freezer out there.

And all this time I thought the sun was my friend. Guess who's not invited to my birthday anymore?

Okay, it's just about time to make sense -- and my breakfast. Err, lunch.

It snowed today, and the temperature is dipping into the teens. The attic, where I'm living, is pretty cold. I can't turn the heater too high because then it gets too stuffy and I can't breath.

My tita and tito are planning to move to South Jersey middle of next month, and then to Pensylvannia a month or so after. I really need to find a place here or in New York, I think. The commute might be too much, and I've always had a hard time with buses, esepcially when they make a lot of stops. I get really dizzy.

Well, anyway, it's no use thinking about it now, especially since I have things I have to do for tomorrow, but just in case you people know anyone who needs a roomate in the Manhattan-Queens area, send me an email. As long as their not addicts, aren't afflicted with serious diseases (including psychiatric ones), aren't unreasonably loud, are dependable when it comes to paying bills, and do not emit any kind of foul odor, we're good. Suffice it to say I' not overly picky.

The following were shamelessly filched from Kai.

By Jeff Buckley

this is my song for the dislocated
who want to love but who turn to be hated
because the lies of the spirit possessed you
because the eyes of your lover resist you
listen now, you keep your aim steady
as your temple turns to kiss the pistol
fate is going to find your love
in a glass of champagne

And if you think you know me, let's see how you stack up:
Do You Know Wanda? Quiz


what's YOUR deepest secret?
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To my Ghost

You never promised me anything, not really. It's not your fault that I took the oaths upon myself, and told myself they were real.

Don't worry about "once upon a time", "a long time ago", "yesterday", "before all this"... yes, I know. And I believe you, not because you want me to, but because I want to. For myself.

It's sad isn't it, when you come face to face with endings, and they aren't happily ever afters?

I won't talk about pain or hurt or all those things that somehow distort memories. I would rather keep my remembering clean of guilt, and anger, and tears.

So thank you for the million things you made me think and feel, and for the million things you told me I could be. Thank you for everything you've ever done, for being that kind of person. Thank you for letting me see you as I did.

Thank you for being worth it.

Yes, I changed it. Matches my mood... dark and barely decipherable. I'll probably be constantly changing it in the next couple of days.

People,

Stupid me, I inadvertently deleted some URLs. This is not because I hate you or don't wish to visit your site anymore. This is only because I was seized by the moron monster and was coerced into being one of his moronic multitude. I have now escaped, so if you will leave me a comment with your web page addy, I'll be glad to link you up again.

Fortune Cookie: "Time is right to make new friend".

So ends my first day alone in New York. I didn't get lost. I didn't get mugged. I didn't even ask directions once.

You know what people say, how you either hate New York, or you love it?

WELL, I THINK I'M IN LOVE.

I love Greenwich, and all it's quaint used books stores. I love all these guys in black turtlenecks with their depressed indifference and poetic angst. I love how everyone wants to be a unique individual, so much so that oddness has become its own uniform. I love how everyone talks of bettering "their craft", reaching their "ultimate potential", anf fulfilling the "artistic need".

I love actor/model wannabes moonlighting as waiters. I love seeing Bruce Willis going up the building with the fertility clinic at Fifth Ave. I love the intimidating Public Library, with the chandeliers and the mahogany chairs. I love seeing a hundred different skintones at any given time.

I can't believe how interesting a place can be. It has so much history, and culture, and yet it's young and hip and vibrant. It's like our beloved Malate, only richer, deeper, wider, more sophisticated, more educated,and more egotistical.

It's a great place to be alone, and just be selfish, and get lost in conversations.

Yes, my feet feel like shit. Yes, everything here is expensive. Yes, the cabdivers are crazy and there are rats around the subway. And yes there seems to be a whole new civilization of squirrels in Central Park.

But I feel comfortable here... at ease.

I'm seriously falling in love.

More memories... (Thanks Karl)

No Umbrella, by Cynthia Alexander

I remember
walking in the rain
No umbrella
with your arms around me
how can I forget that was the last time

I saw you
waving down a taxi
getting on without me
and you're sorry
how can I forget that was the last time

You're sorry

I remember
somewhere in a dream
a man without a face
it was you
You were quiet
I knew what you were thinking
but you couldn't say it
letting go the feeling
things ain't what they are now
rain is falling
No umbrella
I remember you

You're sorry

Answers.

I learned how to smoke in SanLo Park in high school. Remember? That stone bench near the Tennis Court was our hiding place from the guards... and the faculty. A little girl all in a rush to be cool and grown up.

I like thinking of you like that -- a little unsure, a little less suave, awkwardly trying to look so nonchalant, at the same time casting furtive glances while buying cigarettes and attempting to blow smoke rings. So eager to prove yourself, but feeling like you shouldn't have to. Alternately jaded and naive.

It was so easy to laugh with you then. No pasts and futures, no worries, no hidden meanings, no thoughts of tears.

Now you are black coats and silk ties, and practiced ease.

And, like always, you were every inch the gentleman. You were the gallant prince charming, the cool, composed player who never missed anything.

And I'm used to that, I wouldn't expect any less.

But I didn't expect any more.

You were wearing that Boss perfume and I couldn't smell the aftershave. Your shirt was pressed all the way through, and not just at the cuffs and the collar. And you took off that little platinum ring. It never mattered to you before.

I didn't expect you to be on your best behavior, acting like this was our first date. I didn't expect you to have it planned out, so that I'd feel like this was all you thought about. I didn't expect you to make it seem like I was the most desirable woman in the world.

I didn't expect you to insult me this way.

Marielle Mills. I was 15. You asked her out, and I remember her gushing to me the next day. She said you made her feel like a princess.

I can take that from anyone else, but not from you. Because I know what it means.

Once upon a time, maybe so long ago that you barely remember, we were... close. I know you, at least I thought I did... and if you haven't forgotten, I would like to think that you know me too.

I am not one of those beads you can string into a pretty little necklace. I am not one of those books you take down and devour and then put back in the dusty shelf and forget. I never liked roses. I am not a pretty girl.

At least, I never used to be.

Memories...

Today was very interesting, as far as days go.

But I'm really tired (commuted and all that) so I will just enumerate and leave you to fill in the gaps.

1. Took the bus from Pat's house in Denville to New York.
2. Took the subway (supposedly) to 110th St, BUT
3. Took the 5th avenue train by mistake, SO
4. We had to walk a really long stretch to get to the right subway station.
5. But Pat had to pee in the middle of that stretch, so we walked into a coffeshop
6. where the mutilated, tattooed, bald, weirdo, white waiter tried to pick me up using aspirin as his intro
7. so we rushed out of there and walked on.
8. Finally got off near Cathedral Parkway, but it was too early, so
9. we headed to a bar and smoked and drank beer (and I wasn't carded, thank you very much, most likely due to a reason I will mention later)
10. Went to Bank Street College's Open House
11. Took the subway back to 42nd st.
12. Took the 167 bus back to the bus station
13. and then home.

I, boys and girls, was wearing makeup. Well, my idea of it, anyway, which would only be eyeliner and gloss, but I think I already looked older because people weren't gasping in surprise anymore when I told them I was a graduate student.

Pretty interesting day. We finally figured out the NY subway system... at least enough to get uptown and downtown in Manhattan.

Pat and I took the bus to New York from my house in Dumont, NJ. It took less than 45 mins, and it was very easy. We got out in the New York Port Authority Terminal (42nd St), and then walked around until we reached Central Park (in 77th street). Yup, 35 blocks. It didn't feel that far though, for some reason. It was fun.

That walk made me want to buy three things: a black woolen coat (because New Yorkers always wear black woolen coats during winter), make-up (because I'm begining to hate being mistaken for someone younger, especially in a setting where maturity is equated with competence), and bootleg trousers (because they look really nice with the black woolen coat).

NYU has a nice campus. That's going to be where I'm going to spend a lot of my time, it seems. I also checked out two libraries, got library cards, grabbed library events flyers, and, in short, grounded myself in geekiness.

Anyway, that's basically all for the day. I'm sleeping over at Pat's house tonight, and then we're going back to New York tomorrow morning.

Some pictures of me in front of the house I'm staying at in Jersey:





Stray ocean adventure pic I found in the recesses of my computer's hard drive:

The Domestication

I cooked, washed the dishes and the pots and pans, did my laundry (which took all afternoon, as I have tons of bulky clothes) ironed, organized my things into cabinets, and did a bit of grocery shopping.

Yay. I'm not hopeless after all.

The Homeless Flies Down to Jersey.

I planed in at around 5:20. Tita Jing had to finish some stuff at work, so she picked me up about three quarters of an hour late, which was good because I then had time to chat with some of the Goddard people who were on the same flight as I was.

We had dinner at a Filipino restaurant. Scrumptious. I had sinigang and daing na bangus and lumpia and Filipino-style rice and some kakanin for dessert. It’s funny how strange rice here can look sometimes.

I’m kind of getting my bearings and figuring out how my life for the next couple of months is going to play out here. The post office is really near, so that’s a relief. And my cellphone (the T-Mobile) is actually working now -- I've already been using it to death. I still have to adjust to how the cellphone system is here (you pay whenever you use the phone, regardless of whether it's incoming or outgoing) and I'm really starting to appreciate the 600 free whenever, wherever in the US minutes, the free after 9 pm minutes and the free weekend minutes. I can call anyone anywhere in the US on a Saturday, and it's free! I already racked up 100 plus minutes on my phone because of that.

I still have a couple of things to do though, before I declare myself completely settled. I need to return my AT&T phone. I need to get my things sorted and organized out of my bags. I need to get my roll of film developed. I need to read the DMV manual and get ready for my driving test. I need to continue my studies into domesticity and learn the ways of the washing machine. I need to find the way to a good public library (I’m thinking I might have to go to New York for that). I need to acquaint myself with the New York public transportation system. I need to get myself an internet account (a real one, and not this free AOL thing).

And I have to get my school work done as well. On February 7, I have 2-3 annotations (which means I should have already read 2-3 books) and around 20 pages of creative work due. That’s less than a month from now.

There’s also settling in my new living space. I moved out of the mint green bedroom and into the small attic, which is a rectangular room with a slanted ceiling, and a kind of faded, old cream color. There are a lot floral patterns here as well. The carpet is a fall-leaf pattern straight out of a 1940s country home. It’s interesting. Because of the provincial vibe, I feel like part of me is still at Goddard.

And I like this attic. Granted, the look is not something I’d pick out myself, but it’s got an Anne of Green Gables charm to it, which gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling. It deceives me into thinking I’m far, far away from the smog of New Jersey. And it’s very private. After rooming with three people in my undergrad apartment, sharing a two-storey room with my brother, and living in the Kilpatrick Dorm fishbowl, it’s nice to have a space that is completely away from everyone.

The only things I don’t like about it is that it’s much colder than the rest of the house and it only has one window.

BTW, to everyone who can relate, what's a good ISP? I'm in North Jersey, and I need somehing with unlimited usage. I'm using AOL now, but only because it's free for the first two months. Any suggestions?

Iam escaping.

I've been talking to this 24 year old guy named John for a good hour and a half, and I now know his romantic, familial, and educational history, and I have come to the conclusion that he is someone I really don't want to to spend the whole night talking to. My roomate is intoxicated, by the way. John is getting too touchy for comfort, although he doesn't seem drunk or anything. He's very nice though, and i don't want to be presumptious. He could just be touchy by nature.

Since I need to act busy here in front of the computer, let me just describe John. He's very tall... maybe 6"2 or something. he's a leather jacket, quixotic, silent but deadly type. He's got the whole long hair, mysterious guy thing going for him too, but I really, honest-to god hate his hat. He's been wearing this stupid hat for the whole residency, and it makes him look more like a John Wayne than a Johnny Depp.

It's kind of funny how I ended up being monopolized by John in the first place, because that would totally be my fault. I saw him and I thought he was the type who would totally not have me for his type (because he would probably go for the blonde homecoming queen girl). Since I was getting bored with the conversation Reina was having with this other John person (a short, fat, balding John), I left them with someone still in mid-sentence, under the guise of hunting for the chocolate chip cookies someone bought in honor of me and my gluttonious state, and headed straight for long-haired John, thinking I could just sit there and pretend to be hypnotized by his conversation with socialite blondie.

And what do you know. He left socialite blondie just when I was three feet away, and marched towards the snacks table where I was standing, trying to idiotically look for the goddamn cookies because I suddenly genuinely wanted something to munch on. He found them, got me a beer, and invited me to sit on the couch. Having no other social prospects, I agreed, and was treated to a recounting of his long life.

And I ended up with him for the rest of the night. He's still actually here, waiting near the door of the computer room. Ahh.. I guess i wil have to talk to him some more. or I could pretend I'm sleepy and beg off and just head straight to my room.

I am such a computer geek. There's a party downstairs at the pool room,and here I am at the computers... I'm not alone though...

I do not like these stupid American beers, nevermind these Vermont brands. The only one I sort of like is Corona, and JD didn't even buy it. Shit, spare me from bad brews. Which is why I am now drinking red wine. What a snob I'm turning out to be.

My Night As A Maid

I was recently made aware of a time honored Goddard tradition that was previously anathema to me: Meal Team. Meal Team is a requirement for each student every semester. You can take a breakfast, lunch or dinner shift. Being a newbie, I signed up for dinner, showing all my naive ignorance in the process.

I, the undomesticated, pampered by maids, totally unkitchen type person was made to peel and slice onions (good for 150 people), serve food ("we have pork burritos with sour cream and salsa, and a vegetarian alternative which is spinach and cheese with an alfredo sauce and pesto, salads are further down and soup is in the center"), and, get this, wipe down tables, wash dishes, and sweep and mop the floor of the whole damn cafeteria because we were also closing down the cafeteria.

Food service wasn't so bad. People were even telling us how fun we made it all look, although your arms can get very tired just holding plates and scooping food for 2 hours straight.

But everything else was hell.

If you have never mopped a space that huge before, you cannot know how hard it is. There were four of us, one with the wet mop to loosen the dirt, one with a scrub mop to clean it, one with a semi-dry mop (me), and one with a dry mop to kind of polish it up.

And then we took the restaurant-sized food trays down, got the huge ice thing (6 by 1.5 feet) for the salad stuff down from the table, lugged it outside and poured all the ice out (in 3 degrees below zero Farenheit weather, I might add), washed dishes, replaced the coffee and the sodas in the machines, and put everything back in their proper places.

It took us three hours of physical labor to get everything done. And the mop is really, really heavy.

I, the undomesticated one, can now operate an industrial mop (it's bigger and much heavier) with the complicated mop bucket with wheels, an industrial dishwasher (this part is really, really gross), and slice onions too (for 150 people). Absolute workout. Hay.

Oh yeah, I went to a screening of a lesbian movie the other night... well actually I only caught the tailend of it but it seemed good.

BTW, you know another thing that's really starting to bug me now? Co-ed bathrooms. All the bathrooms in this campus are co-ed, even in our dorms. I live in an all-straight, female hall, but the building itself is mixed. Since we share something like 7 bathrooms between us, sometimes you'll be in one of the stalls in the shower, and the person beside you is actually a guy. I'm so glad I brought a bathrobe. It hasn't hapenned to me a lot though, because the guys only come down our hall when everything else is full.

Ahhh... I'm flying down to Jersey tomorrow. Sounds really good. I'll sign off folks, I shall relax at the Womyn's center... my friend Dave is getting his play read tonight.

I walked back to Plainfield with Reina, Dave and Sionie, and bought some really cool books. I got a first edition of "The Heart is a Lonely Hunter" by Carsons McCullers and two anthologies with Kafka, Camus, Mann in it. That bookshop is very interesting.

I skipped all the workshops today. I'm just really tired, numb, and my body is a little sore. Probably all the jetlag, lack of sleep, freezing fucking cold, and the culture shock finally catching up with me. I really just want a bottle of sanmig light, which of course, I can't have. I tried Corona and Guiness, but SMB-L is still it for me.

I also really want a nice, long conversation with someone who's on the same page as I am. Who will get my allusions to really inane Filipino things. And who won't be afraid to laugh. I get the distinct feeling some people here are just scared of laughter and that they have to project that whole image of being an intense, serious, depressed poet-type. Shit. Enough of this post-modern, existentialist, gay-lesbian crap for a day.

And the food. Don't get me wrong. The food here is fabulous, but roast beef (or salmon or raviolli) is not exactly comforting, especially when they're given in scary, ogre-sized portions. I want sisig.

Hah. I tried explaining what sisig was to Jeremy the other day, and he just stood up and left me in mid-sentence. I laughed so hard until I realized I had no one to laugh with, and that thought sobered me up pretty quick.

I'm beginning to hate putting on a scarf, and a coat, and gloves, and a hat everytime I want to leave a building, and then taking every goddamn thing off when I get in another building. I'm beginning to hate those stupid icycles on all the roofs. I'm beginning to hate tru