Look what I unearthed! Under the muck of discarded webpages and long-forgotten virtual storage spaces were these Boracay pictures from lifetimes ago. I've been trying to hunt down pictures from the last couple of years, and these have been my only finds so far. The quality's really bad -- they're really grainy -- but then again, these were taken before the advent of digital cameras and were just scanned on a now-obsolete flatbed so you can't really expect much.


RT d.j., Marco l., me and Aisa p. in moondogs. Is it true that Marco's face is now plastered all over billboards in Manila?


The vanity pose, taken somewhere in talipapa market. And we thought we were so cute... Trix p., Marco l., RT d.j. and moi.

Pictures, anyone? Send them my way please.

BTW, NICK JOAQUIN IS GONE. Read the Tribute here. Sad day for Phlippine Literature.

Inkblot test from Tickle.

Wanda, your subconscious mind is driven most by Curiosity

This means you are full of questions about life, people, and the potential of your future. You spend more time than others envisioning the possibilities of your life — things that others are too afraid to consider.

Your curiosity burns with an almost physical need to know and do more. It's only through new experiences that you feel a greater understanding of yourself or the world — which ultimately is the greatest way for you to feel satisfied.

It is possible that the underlying reason for your drive towards curiosity is a deeply rooted fear of boredom. That means that you are probably more susceptible than others to feel like you're falling into a rut when life slows down into a comfortable routine.

You need to make sure you have stimulation in your life — that makes you feel like you're innovating or being exposed to the ideas and experiences that truly inspire you.

With such a strong orientation towards curiosity, you're also prone to a rebellious quality that shows up when you feel you are just going through the motions, and are unable to really influence the world around you. But interestingly enough, your drive towards novel experiences also indicates an openness others don't have, but wish they did.

Unconsciously, your curiosity presses you to learn more, experience more, and get the most out of life.

I will get slammed for this, I’m sure. So, just a couple of things. If you are a potential slammer, please don’t even bother flaming me if all you can say is “You suck” or “You’re so dumb” or “It’s people like you who prevent the women’s movement from going anywhere” and then not follow that up with anything remotely sensible. If all that your feminism is about is brainlessly burning bras then I want no part of it. I happen to like the new spring line from Victoria’s Secret.

Unmasking the Feminist (Written by a Woman).

I’ve gone through a fair amount of abuse at the hands of so-called feminists, having served many myself. It’s not a pretty environment. There’s the brainwashing and the ball-bashing, the putting down of everything phallic, the sheer torment of having to live up to every one of these "feminists'" screwed up notion of what a female should be: a corporate banner waving super-hermaphrodite with nice kids and an invisible male reproductive system (hence their use of the phrase “I’ve got the balls”).

Throughout my many interactions with them, I’ve come to identify two distinct malevolent species. (There are other species, of course, ones who are quite friendly and will even allow you to get near them without breathing fire, but they're a bit harder to identify.)

Species 1: The Man-Beater. It seems these females find the need to be vindicated through being just like a man. They want to be just as strong, if not stronger; just as fast, if not faster; just like them, if not better. A better version of a man. Is this all that a woman is to them, then? A better version of a man?

The fact is, we leak blood every couple of weeks. We pee sitting down. Someday, a human being might even pass through the hole between our legs. And yes, maybe we’ll even lactate. They don’t. Even if they order a million sex-change operations, they never will. They also tend to be brawnier, taller, and they grow more facial hair. This happens to be a biological fact. Wake up and smell the espresso. We are not supermen, and if we keep this up, we won’t even be superwomen. We will just be alphamale-wannabes. Or even just male-wannabes, completely justifying all the ridiculously passé Freudian concepts we learned in Psych 101.

It seems safe to say that these feminists have only one goal in this world: to come up with a genderless society. These are the power suit wearers, the childless career women, the unmade up, ugly, wrinkly bats who like to think that their invisible balls are bigger than any man’s. And if they insist on proving the existence of invisible balls, then I must conclude that they are mentally deranged as well. I, for one, don’t want to be androgynous, and neither do I want to be genderless. I don’t want to ignore the fact that I have breasts. I like wearing dresses and skirts and I want to see my men in pants.

But what really gets to me is that this particular group seems totally oblivious to the fact that they are still measuring themselves by a masculine measure, still seeing the world through patriarchal eyes. So in the end, they aren’t breaking the mold, they’re just proving that they can fit into it, however uncomfortable the fit may be.

For Species 2, read the article. Coming soon.

I've been displaying a shameful lack of coherence today.

My class lecture went something like this:

People, a pantun is an indonesian poetry form. It's really cool because it's a very structure-oriented form, and yet it's also very imaginative and free. -silence- Okay, so do you think there's a way to compare a sonnet and a pantun? -silence- Okay, who can define the sonnet? -silence- Okay, let's go back to the pantun and talk about that, I think I have some handouts here...

Err, duh? What the hell was I talking about??? I could have smacked myself in the head. Uh-oh. It's the thought of summer break eating into my brain. Well, that and other things.

Oh and one last thing: does true open-mindedness mean letting other people be as close-minded as they want to be?

Bend and Not Break, Dashboard Confessional

I pedal up these steps now
Decisive and intentioned
Precise a pattern specifically to yours
I'm talented at breathing
Especially exhaling
So that my chest will rise and fall with yours

I'm careful not to wake you
Fearing conversation
It's better just to hold you
And keep you pacified
I'm talented with reason
I cover all the angles
I can fail before I ever try

Try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
Wont you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)
Wont you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)

I am feeling agile
I can bend and not break
Or I can break and take it with a smile
And I am so resilient
I recover quickly
I'll convince you soon that I am fine

Try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
Won't you hold me now (I will not bend I will not break)
Won't you hold me now

Just hold me close to you, just hold me close to you
Just hold me close to you, just hold me close to you, to you

And try to understand there's and old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
So wont you hold me now?
Wont you hold me now?
Now, now, now, now, now

I'm really just bored and tired, so I'm going to ramble.

John and I had a pretty nice dinner last night, good thing, what with all the end of semeter brouhaha going on. We went to Cendrillon in Soho. I had the Chicken Inasal and John had Pancit Luglug with a bottle of Pinot Noir - St. Aubins 2000, I think. The wine was good enough for us to finish the bottle, but I don't think either of us will be ordering it again. I'm still looking for the South African Pinotage I had in Meskerem.

Cendrillon, for the uninitiated, is a Filipino-inspired fusion restaurant owned by a Filipino couple. Go check it out if you're in the area -- 45 Mercer st, between Grand and Broome. You can probably take any train that goes to Canal St and walk from there.

Word to the wise: It's not strictly Filipino, so if authentic, just-like-lola-used-to-make pinoy goodness is what you're after, you're better off going to Elvie's at 1st ave (somewhere between 11th and 13th). The ambience is nice though, and if you get a booth towards the back, it's also a bit romantic. I especially liked the dessert we had -- banana crepe with rum sauce topped with praline chocolate chip banana ice cream. Yumm. Anyway, appetizers are around $6-8, entrees are $17-20, desserts are $7-8, and their extensive wine list ranges from $20-250 per bottle. They have half bottles too, if you prefer. The menu is a bit limited (only about five entrees plus 2-3 off-the-menu specials that your server will recite for you). Call ahead if you're dining on a weekend, or else you might be stuck in a table beside the door. They can get pretty crowded.

Our server was very nice and very cheerful (John said she was almost annoryingly so). Most of the staff, with the exception of the chef, are white, by the way. The clientele is a pretty good mix of asians and caucasians -- quite a lot mestizos and bi-racial couples.

After dinner, we headed to Sunshine Theater on Houston for a movie. We saw a Japanese film called "The Twilight Samurai". It was nice, although it wasn't what I expected. I was thinking more samurai than twilight, I guess. My evening plans called for either movie or a play, but the rambunctious Karaoke Show just seemed a little too tiring, so movie it was.

All in all, a nice, relaxing evening. We were pretty done in when we got home.

Surfing the net today, I had a sudden craving for the sort of revolutionary, anti-establishment, alternative art movements anchored in the underground of Manila. It's all a little too streamlined here in New York, all a little too instant and easy to access. Here, it's all bubbling on the surface, overflowing... the city is saturated with intensity and passion - so much so that sometimes it feels a little too claustrophobic. A little too crowded, a little to hard to breathe.

I mean, you want a poetry group, you put up an add online. Or you go to one of the thousands that are already up and that's the end of that. You want to study and be part of art, you enroll yourself in one of the many art programs all around the city. You want to be awed, you buy a ticket to a museum and you have inspiration dripping on the walls.

I miss Manila a little, because back then, art was an "in pursuit of". You had to search for it under all the pretension, wading through the haze of discarded glo-sticks. You had to travel to places teetering on the end of the world, and it always felt like a violation when one of the secret places suddenly had a tight-shirted cono kid posing in the foregound. It was like a clandestine society with it's own special handshake. It was an adrenalin rush, it was so idealistic that even the cynicism seemed fresh. And the elders were the first-time jaded.

So I googled Big Sky Mind, and was pleasantly surprised to see that it has actually been prospering. They now have artists' residencies and exhibits, and even an impressive webpage that's a little hard to reconcile with my memories of the place itself. I remember it as a tiny, tiny space, filled to the brim with trip-happy people... sort of like a micro-mini Matrix party scene. I never really though of it as a platform for eloquence, but apparently things change. Apparently, they change very much.

Lots of things have been happening outside of me... sometimes it feels like the world is metamorphosizing all around me... or maybe that there are two different speeds in time - one for me and one for everyone else, and now everyone's in fast forward... sometimes it feels like my universal center has jumped outside of my skin. I don't need an empty shell and I don't need the calm, not right now.

I need to feel excited again... that rush that always seems to be pushing you to the edge of the world... I need to feel the kind of inspiration that drenches every atom of the mind... the chaos...

Maybe it's the end of semester blues. Maybe it's all the stupid papers I have to check. Maybe it's jut the weather. But I feel so dry. I feel much too sane.

Much, much too sane.

I am feeling quite quite nostalgic.

Does anyone have pictures of college days... with Franco and Carlo and even Jaime and Lucky and all them people? Or of beaches? Or of just hanging out in the apartment? Or of Baguio and Tagaytay? Or even of the houses in San Juan and Balete Drive back in the day? Someone must have pictures of those numerous house parties and trips to wherever.

How about high school? Not of proms and grad balls, because I don't have particularly nice memories of those, but of gimmicks like Ibarra's roofdeck, and all the useless soirees and Villa Escudero and isang damakmak na Tagaytay/Kelly Heights sunrises...

Or actually, just any pictures.... I'm memory starved.

Saw this on Naya's blog. Couldn't resist reprinting it here.

Movement
Denise Levertov

Towards not being
anyone else's center
of gravity.
A wanting
to love: not
to lean over towards
an other, and fall,
but feel within one
a flexible steel
upright, parallel
to the spine but
longer, from which to stretch;
one's own
grave springboard; the outflying spirit's
vertical trampoline.

Because, after all, to love is not to fall but to fly.

CONGRATULATIONS TO MY DAD for his performance yesterday at the Dr. Villareal Invitational Golf Tournament at the Ayala Alabang Country Club. He won free accomodations to Boracay for 3 days and 2 nights... he grossed a score of 97, just 2 strokes behind the class C trophy. Yay for my dad! To think he hasn't even been playing golf that long!

BTW, book recommendations please?

Got this personality test from Joey. It's a really long description, but it looks accurate.

I'm an INTP. You can read what that means here.

Oh and check out Google's Gmail if you can. I can't link to it here, because as of now their kind of doing it by invite only - it's still in the beta testing phase. You get 1 gig of storage for mail. Cool.

So to all of you, you can now reach me through gmail. (It's like my yahoo address, except you type in gmail instead of yahoo.)

The indignant, righteous bitch post.

You know, it only takes $25 a month. What is that? Your coffee allowance? A cheap tank top? A movie date? For someone a world away, it's food, shelter, safety. It's the assurance that she won't get sexually molested by an irate uncle. It's learning her ABC's. It's a shirt that actually fits and food on the table three times a day. I'm sorry I'm sounding so incredibly preachy, but it is a little bit irksome when I hear giggling girls complain about how unfair it is that they can't buy that Marc Jacobs top and they have to settle for something vintage.

It is these same girls who will give all their spare change to animal charities, buy their puppies sweaters from Fifi and Romeo, and will sleep peacefully in their rooms, thinking of the latest good deed they have done.

It must be the fucking height of privelege when someone begins to think that one of the biggest problems of this world is that "a cat can't be free" and that "animals are the new slaves" (PETA) or that dogs can't find loving homes (People for Pets).

Bullshit. Look around you. People are still dying. Babies are still abandoned and might never find loving homes. Whole nations remain enslaved.

Before you give out money to the next animal charity promising to liberate the common mouse, take a look at all these children who still need liberating. Before you go in a frenzy trying to raise enough money for your labrador's heart surgery, take a look at the children dying of leukemia, of starvation, of the fucking flu.

What was that? $170 for your second pair of paper denim and cloths? That's food to feed a family of five for a month.

It's come to that. On the one hand you have half a pair of Jimmy Choos. On the other, the life of child. That's what she's worth. The heel of a strappy sandal. The shirt on your chihuahua. The regurgitated designer dog food your mini pin doesn't even want to eat. And somehow, for most people, it seems that even that is way too much.

Because they're rather spend it on their fifth bag of the season. On a tube of lip gloss. On their dog.

Now that's what I call fucked up.

1. Favorite breakfast is:
Tapsilog

2. The movie I've watched the most?
Probably "Dazed and Confused"

3. Least favorite subject in school: Anything mathematical

4. I spend my leisure time by: reading, writing, blogging

5. Worst smell: Toxic fumes.

6. If I could have any car in the world, what would it be? Diablo, Rolls Royce Phantom?

7. Favorite household chore: Cooking

8. When I was a kid, I dreamed of becoming: Empress of the Universe. And I never stopped.

9. Favorite colors: green and purple (this is the ate nicky influence)

10.Favorite perfumes: beach smells. Stella.

11. When I die, I'd rather be cremated or buried: doesn't matter

12. If I could repeat college, I'd take up: Creative Writing or Philosophy

13. Five things I can't leave home without: debit/credit/Atm card. That's all I ever need.

14. First thing I will buy with my first salary: I bought shoes.

15. I'd like to be remembered as: never given it that much thought.

16. If a book was made into a movie, would you still bother buying the book? Probably wouldn't bother with the movie.

17. Specialty in cooking?: Dunno, ask John.

18. First crush?: don't remember.

19.Favorite hangout/s: Manila: Sanctum, anywhere with beer and good company; NYC: Ben's for the pizza and anywhere in Macdougal because it's near school; Boracay: Bombom Bar.

20. Best place to shop?: Beacon's Closet and Filthmart for Vintage, tiangge and Ruins.

21. Do you like to watch plays? Yep.

22. Favorite place in the world? Beach, home (wherever that may be).

23. Are your parents still together? YES.

24. Who do you love? Everyone I want to.

25. Have you ever been in love? YES. To quote Camoi: "The point is to always burn from it."

26. What's your favorite food? SUSHI (esp salmon), steak (medium), tapa, salpicao, lechon baka, porkchop in Laifood, bangus belly and laing at Tapika, lots more...

27. What's your favorite movie? Dazed and Confused. I dunno. My brain is a whirl of movies.

28. Do you have a pet/s? Not here in New York.

I found a new best friend.

I think I found the drug I can't live without.

To the makers of Excedrin Migraine, you deserve a place in heaven.

Last night was a really bad migraine attack. It started with my vision getting blurred, and a sudden sensitivity to light. The advance brigade. The real attack can't be far behind. I should have known it was coming, the signs were all around: lethargy, bloating, mild dizziness on and off. Plus I was getting my period, which always seems to screw up my biological processes. It never used to be like this. When I was a teen-ager, periods were painless. Nowadays, it seems like leaking blood means that a demonic sledgehammer will be running riot inside my cranium.

Then the termite exterminators came.

They had supernaturally loud drills which they used non-stop, so-called anti-termite chemicals that must have been gathered from a river of nuclear waste, and a pig-headed stubborness that made them think it was their divine right to drag their poison-soaked shoes into our once-clean apartment. They poured/splattered/drenched the bathroom and the building perimeter with all forms of noxious, toxic, evil fluids that emitted even more malevolent fumes. We had to sleep elsewhere for fear of death by breathing. (John asked them if the stench was bad for us, they replied in the negative. Their noses must have already mutated.)

My head, needless to say, was made even worse. I felt like it was being twisted into knots, squeezed and clawed by cougars, and bitten by fire ants all at the same time. We had to take a walk just to clear up the smoke from our slowly frying brains. It was then that we made the decision to not sleep in the apartment that night.

And while in bed in John's mom's house (which is where we ended up), the pain got even worse. John said he thought I was possesed, because I kept on saying, please go away, please stop, etc.

I think it wasn't until I literally started punching the right side of my skull that he genuinely got scared though.

I had to take sleeping pills just to quiet down. And when I woke up today I felt so incredibly hungover.

Enter Excedrin Migraine. Just take two tablets, wait awhile, and migraine slowly fades away. If only I had known about this sooner! Would have spared me whole lot of grief!

Hay.

Just came back from the movie theater. Kill Bill Volume 2 came out today.

I saw it before you did. Hehe.

Just got back from Florida.

I am suffering from a sore throat and some coughing fits. And a heavy head that has a tendency to blur up my thought processes. So forgive me if this post turns out less than coherent. Had another post ready, but it might be a little too academic for me to finish in this state. My brain cells are in a coma.

So, Florida. Was fun. There are lots more pictures, but they have to be retouched before I can post them, because I'm a moron and the lighting in those shots is practically non-existent.

I'll go slurp some soup now.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY NIECE AND GODCHILD: ALESSANDRA!

On hiatus until Tuesday.

I hate you if you're in Boracay right now.

So, I've been inspired. I want to cook "healthier", by grilling more of our meals the "cut-the-fat" George Foreman way. So I scoured the internet for deals, and the search returned a bunch of those small grills that are good for two burgers and have various colored bun warmer covers. They looked cute, were reasonably-priced, seemed easy to use, and perfect for me and John. BUT then, I saw this:

It's 14 inches in diameter, which is much bigger than what I really wanted to get, but it was also on clearance sale.

With this baby, I can not only grill the burgers, but also corn and vegetables to go with. It has a see-through glass dome lid, which is tempered, for moist and tender cooking. Needless to say, I was sold and have already purchased one.

The next thing I want to buy is a combination food processor and blender. As I've been spending more time in the kitchen, I really want to explore my culinary side. I've asked some friends, and they said that food processors are a must to make soups and sauces, pie crusts (especially graham), and even a nice, fast, easy pizza dough. The blender would be good for smoothies, shakes, and the occasional margarita.

It's weird that I'm buying all these kitchen gadgets/appliances when I don't even have a coffeemaker or a toaster yet! But there you go. Can't wait to make chicken inasal indoors!

By the way, I finally made tempura that looked like tempura. My other attempts had the batter falling off the shrimp which resulted in a very unique meal of fried shrimp with a side of crispy flour instead of a nice Japanese dinner. But last night was different. Yay! The secret, apparently, is to keep the batter ice cold (I put the mixing bowl in the freezer for a couple of minutes, and used ice water for the mix), and the pan (and the oil) extremely hot. The shrimp should be cold too. Then fry, and voila! Tempura!

Name Four Things You Are Thinking About :
My petition for a green card, trip to Florida, school and writing, job-hunting

Name the Last Four Things You Have Bought :
George Foreman Grill (the 14-inch round one!), Ink catridges for my printer, shipping label, Universal tickets

Name Four Drinks You Regularly Drink :
water, hot chocolate, rum and pepsi, pepsi

Last Time You Said 'I Love You' And Meant It
45 minutes ago

Last Time You Cried ?
Maybe 2 nights ago

What's In Your CD Player ?
Ani Difranco homemade compilation

What Color Socks Are You Wearing ?
no socks right now

What Time Did You Wake Up Today ?
around 10

Current hair ?
Incredibly long, the longest it's ever been

Current Clothes ?
jeans and gray mensa shirt

Current Longing ?
beach, of course, but I'll settle for warm weather in the meantime

Current Desktop Picture ?
Me and John (i am turning into a lovey-dovey freak)

Current Worry ?
Oh god, Green Card Petition. Request for Advance Parole (travel documents so I can travel). School. Job. Money. Arggghhh!

Current Hate ?
USCIS aka BCIS aka INS

Last CD You Bought ?
I haven't bought a CD in a long time.

Favorite Place To Be ?
home (both here and Manila), Boracay, any beach

Least Favorite Place ?
Any government agency office (both here and Manila)

If You Could Play An Instrument ?
guitar because it's portable and somewhat versatile

Favorite Color(s)?
purple, black, forest green

Do You Believe In An Afterlife ?
I guess

How Tall Are You ?
5"3 on a good day

Current Favorite Word/Saying ?
I'm not really into favorite sayings, but my favorite word right now is apocryphal.

Favorite Season ?
summer, but late spring is nice too.

One Person From Your Past You Wish You Could talk to?
Hmmm... dunno. I still keep in touch with most people, and the ones I don't talk to I don't talk to for a reason...

Favorite Day ?
My birthday

Where Would You Like To Go ?
In the next few days, Florida. In the next few months, the Philippines. In the next few years, Madagascar.

How Many Kids Do You Want ?
one or two.

Favorite food ?
Ooohhh... I'm a sushi girl. I can eat sushi all day, everyday. But I love well-cooked steaks too (medium rare). And chocolate chip cookies. And cheesecake. And tapa. And bangus belly and Laing at Tapika (buhay pa ba yon?). And the porkchop at Laifood in Flushing. And perfect Gilligan's sisig. Oh and super spicy chili chicken.

Vanity, thy name is...

Bloggers are often people who like hearing themselves talk. It's a bit of an excercise in narcissism, isn't it? A show of self-love?

Which is, in a sense, what art and any form of self-expression really is, I guess. To express one's self is to assume that there is a self worth expressing. And to assume self-worth is, in some measure, to assume at least a semblance of self-love.

That's why a lot of artists can be so insecure. It is the self that they are handing out, it's the interpretation of self that their putting out there, to be shot down, rejected, applauded as their audiences see fit. Think about that for a second, and really try to understand what that means.

When someone says don't take a criticism personally, understand the difficulty that entails when one has not yet developed the thick hide most old-timers wear as a badge of honor. Most artists are sensitive by nature. It is this sensitivity that allows them to feel what they do, to bring out what they do, to create what they do. Understand the antagonism of being sensitive to the universe in order to create, and then being hard and tough in order to stay in the craft of creation.

I know a lot of people (especially the aforementioned old-timers and those with the superiority complexes, ahem) who will categorically state that they don't care what the world thinks, that they are creating for themselves, and that the critics can go to hell. But they will still work on getting books published, on getting shows done, on getting their work on exhibits... because they feel the need for an audience, the need to connect through their art, some kind of validation that their vision resonates in this world, however small a fraction of the world that may be.

Art does not exist in a vacuum. Nor is it created in one.

The thoughts that this post is riding on are still a little hazy in my mind, so bear with me. Preparing for Wednesday's lecture. Any violent reactions?

Oh yeah, changed my banner pic, obviously. Decided to be truer to the narcissistic me.

This Easter weekend, John and I will be indulging our inner child with a trip to the theme park capital of the world, Orlando, Florida. We'll be there from Saturday to Tuesday.

We've decided to skip Disneyworld and just concentrate on Universal Studios, especially Islands of Adventure, because that's where the fun rides are. I have nothing against Disney, but fairies and pixie dust are just not on our agenda. It's going to be a Rollercoaster Weekend, and as I'm a sucker for thrill rides, I'm really excited. Plus, Universal has a special "5 days for the price of 2" deal at their website, which is really cool. It lets you hop parks and the price is considerably lower than any ticket deals Disney has to offer.

American Airlines has a $99 one-way special to Florida, by the way. And there's a bunch of hotel and car rental specials on the net as well.

We're going to be staying at this place called Sierra Suites, which is an all-suite (err, duh) hotel just 5 minutes away from the Universal Studios Resort. We also rented a car for the duration of the stay, so we won't have to contend with waiting for shuttles and crowded buses.

Oh, the drops, the turns, the squeals of little kids who are terrorized out of their wits. Can't wait.

Wanna relocate to the moon? Google is hiring people to staff their, err, Copernicus Center. Check this out. Very cute.

I've been contemplating taking the next semester off. I've already discussed the matter with my advisor, my previous advisor, and will soon be taking the whole thing up with our program director. So yes, it's a serious kind of contemplation.

The why:
As you may or may not know, I've been very busy working on my final project (thesis) which is to be a "full-length manuscript of publishable quality". It's a novel/novella, depending on how many pages it will have by the end of my writing it. It's progressing reasonably well, but for me to fit it into the academic timeline given to me, I will have to compromise my errr, artistic vision. I will necessarily have to make it go in a direction different from what I really want because if I didn't, it's just not going to be done in time. There's still a lot of soul-searching and pulling things out of the dark recesses of my mind to be done, before this thing can even begin to be on the way to completion. Sacrificing the integrity of my novel is just not something I want to do. I mean I'm here, first and foremost, to learn how to be a better writer. The degree is just an added bonus.

It's my novel, for pete's sake. I've been working on this for a year and a half! I've poured my whole mind and soul into it, and if I could liquidate/pulverize/frappe my body (the way life just seems to do to my mind and soul), I'd pour it in there as well. It's my baby and it's a whole lot of me.

On the other hand, taking a whole half-year off, especially so near the finish line, just sounds like such a stupid, illogical thing to do. I'm almost there! Who ever heard of anyone stopping to meditate when she's just a step away from where she wants to be?

Huay. But even as I write this, I know I've already made up my mind. I'm not in a race, and if I were, it would only be with myself. Besides, isn't it even more illogical to work so hard for a year and a half, to give it everything you have for a year and a half, to not compromise for a year and half, and then to just give up that kind of focus and dedication in the home stretch?

I mean, what's an "artist" without her vision? And what's that vision worth if it's compromised straight off the bat? It might still come out as a work of "publishable quality" but would I be proud of it? My baby would be tainted and spoilt. I would feel cheated, and what's worse is I'm the one who would be cheating myself.

I know some of you will be shaking their heads and saying, "You fool! Just go with it, follow the timeline, and then when everything's done and you have your degree, revise and work on the damn thing to your heart's content!".

To you I say: you obviously aren't a writer. Not of full-length fiction, anyway.

Oh and I was in a boring pseudo-brunch meeting with my boss and his clients today. (Pseudo-brunch because there was hardly any "brunch" on the table, just a couple of coffees, salads, and my bacon salmon mashed peas dish.) They want to outline a marketing scheme targeted towards people in their twenties, with publicity gimmicks like parties across the city and stuff like that. I had to take down notes and buy a newspaper from the corner in the middle of the meeting. Huay. My life as a lowly personal assistant. Seems exciting though. Too bad I'm going to be quitting soon. It's just fair, I guess. My boss needs someone who can work with him for the long haul, and I just don't want to do this kind of thing anymore (excel, data entry, and accounting are not my strong points).

So what to do, what to do... I have six glorious months of nearly empty days soon to stretch out before me. (Together with a steadily declining bank account.) Finding work (the non-stressful-and-will-let-me-write kind) seems to be the most logical thing to do, and I will try... just as soon as I get my papers and the legal brouhaha all settled.

And your thoughts on the subject are? No, seriously, I want to know.

Filched from Naya.

Which poem are you? The Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath To you, love is desperate and hateful. You're wildly passionate and wildly inventive. You're also likely to start stalking people.

Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

On a lighter note, a friend of mine has an art show on April 17 at Boston Gallery (Boston St corner Lantana St, Cubao, QC - in front of Blue Bacon and Green Eggs), and will be putting up his paintings on exhibit. The show is entitled "Non-Events: Art's dead Let's Fuck". His name is Carlo Saavedra. Go have a look if you can, he's very good.

Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

And one of mine:

The time for folding
into little squares ever
smaller is over
uncurl
your wrath unfurl
the cobwebbed sleep clinging
to your wings
you are reborn
into that which
they have to squint
against
but don't hold
your hand up against
the sun. your fear
is not wanted here

it is careless, the
shattering of selves;
the way the I's converge
and it is imperfect, the way
the seams are sewn but
it is worth every prick of
needle and the blood that
drips into the cloth

you know.