One Time Big Time
Monday, June 01, 2009

Wonderwall: It's a song every emo lovesick teenager believes they can relate to. (UrbanDictionary.com)

This is rare, `kay. This type of post. You won't see it again. You see, ever since I downloaded the Goo Goo Dolls discography and heard Iris, I've had this secret fantasy of hearing boy sing it while playing the guitar. Boy unknowingly fulfilled that fantasy by singing it out of the blue. :"> I'm still deciding whether or not that's more heart-warming than hearing Wonderwall back in September, with the from the bottom of my heart and you'll always have a special place dedication-slash-intro. Maybe they're on the same level.

Coz coz, Giyay & boy were conversing, and Giyay filled me in. Apparently, boy keeps on repeating, "Mahal na mahal talaga ko ni Bianca." I was like... O____o WOAH. Screw you. Lol. Then Giyay tells me, he was sincere, and said, "Alam mo soon, you''ll really find someone so precious na hinding hindi mo magagago, as in you just want to take care of her." And I think all my entire stomach disappeared and my knees wobbled and toppled me over.

Yeh, I love you too.
Thank you, my own personal asshole.
To time.
;)

You're not allowed to laugh =)) Give the lovesick ONE opportunity to be lovesick. Doesn't happen quite often. Won't happen ever again.

Now, I'm back to Kobe Bryant. My true BoySexy. (When he was still with O'neal. They're replaying the Finals from way way back) Ariza's not here YET but izokayyy.

11:25

Useless Calls
Sunday, May 31, 2009

My lucky purple and yellow underwear brought the Lakers to the Finals. Well, along with their superb skills, anyway. But I ... don't have blue/red/gold anything to bring the Cavs up the ladder.

I hate the referees.
Their profession is a profession of hate. Whatever they do, someone is bound to hate them.
And I hate Smith more than I hate Howard. Which is a lot, too. :( Except Howard seems really nice... EH. Still. They stopped LeBron. Not the Cavs, LeBron. It was LbJ vs the Magic. One on five, all the time. All along. All done.

:(( :(( :((

11:10

Fantasize
Wednesday, May 27, 2009

It's disturbing how I dream so vividly. At times, even the physical aspect of dreams, like texture and taste, is as real as one can get. At times, they're blessings. Only until you realize they're dreams, and you sigh and wish it was real. At times, they bring very realistic suffering.

At around 3 or 4 in the morning, I escaped my deep slumber because it depicted scenes too hurtful for my weak self. I got the news that my father passed away, and I couldn't accept it. When I did try to process it, I burst out crying and wailed. I could see my entire family utterly idle. Their faces were blank. Then I saw my Dad walking with newspapers, saw me, and dashed off. Apparently, everyone was kidding me. They were all watching me suffer. I had to wake up, probably out of relief that the source of my potential Y chromosomes isn't going to be A) buried 6 feet under mud, or B) burned and reduced to a jar of dirt.

At 5:30 AM, I woke up again. I can't remember the exact details, but that the boy I'm with without the officiality of labels started telling me about these girls that he liked, who had no idea he liked them. They're named Marietta and Ronda. It was just like the times before we liked each other, and my dream-version of self realized it's him telling me he didn't like me anymore. So I woke up.

Around 3PM, I fell asleep. The dream was long, and vivid. My Mom locked me up in a room, without any form of communication. The place was this big university and I asked a friend to set up large videocameras so that I could see my Mom from places. Or was it her who set up the videocameras to see me? Anyway, my Mom was in leiu with my cousin Eliza who was partly on my side. Mom was asking Eliza to find the husband she wanted for me. He was a short, thin, really smart 14-year old. It was awful. And then Tep and Nela came to my room to wake me up, to tell my my grandmother was shot at the chest while praying at Quiapo, that she was in a critical condition and no one in the house bothered to wake me up and tell me. When I found out that my grandmother was safe, that was when my real self deviated from my dream self and I woke up.

A series of bad dreams could only foreshadow bad things. Today, it meant that the Cavs will lose.
I want a series of GOOD DREAMS tonight, so that the Lakers will win tomorrow.

My dreams are too vivid for my own good.

19:13

I'm Rambling About The NBA, So FckOff
Monday, May 25, 2009

I shall write from the bottom of my heart. I couldn't sleep at night. Even if I do, I wake up at random ungodly hours. 3AM, 4AM, 5:30AM, 6AM, 8AM. I drift back to sleep and go back to my dreams. They're all very alike nowadays. They feel real. Very real. In the dreams, I even say how the previous dream was unreal and this one was. And then I wake up and realize that I was, in fact, still dreaming. And nothing was real. I lost all forms of social life.

Because of the sexy NBA.

8:30 AM everyday, BTV will allow me to enter the magical world of flat screen basketball. It crushes me, it lifts me up. I have 2 heroes: Kobe and LeBron. I'm completely in love with Kobe. While I'm astonished by LeBron. The Lakers is the best team, not because Kobe is the best (he is), but because they have the most number of exemplary players. I want to see the Cavs battle the Lakers in the finals because I want the Cavs to see that to win basketball, the need is not for one man to excel, but for the entire team. My semi-heroes are Mo Williams, Sasha Vujacic, Sasha Varejao and my sexy lover, Trevor Ariza. :"> Black guys are rarely hot, and Ariza is part of the rare.

Game 2 of the East Finals was amazing. Turkoglu almost saved his team, acquired a grave advantage. But he made one mistake. He left one second on the clock. He left LeBron life.

LeBron is the new 23. He's no doubt the more well-rounded player, Nash said.
Kobe is 24. twenty-three plus one is 24. He's the guy who should have the ball for the final shot.

I talk. Nonsense. (: I apologize.
But...the Cavs just lost!

On a more positive note, hello, we lasted half a year. It all began ~~three-quarters of a year ago~~ two and a half years ago. Hi, ho. Beat expectations.

This man is my hero. He keeps me jumping up and down and gushing like a fifth-grader. He makes the entire Lakers look good.

This is a king. He's probably the best player out there, and he has a team on his shoulders. He outscores his entire team for crying out loud. Which means the team will lose. They are too dependent.

This fascnated me, the entire Cavaliers wore these shoes to the Game 3 Eastern Conference Finals. It's so cute when the entire team's wearing identical shoes. :">

11:45

Surprise, surprise
Sunday, May 17, 2009

Who would ever, ever, ever foresee that I, the great god of non-music, will eventually find a soft spot for that spawn of the devil? In the course of five months, I managed to have my iPod overflow with things like Disney's Greatest Hits (3 CDs!), Fueled by Ramen staples, Old Rock (LedZep, Black Sabbath, Queen), Progressive (Circus Maximus, Europe), Things adolescent girls go gaga for (Jo Bros, HSM OSTs, Demi F`in Lovato), Things I need while reading (Suzuki violin school), Green Day (who--finally--released their 2009 album, currently downloading), 90s Pop (Backstreet Boys, N`sync, The Moffats), and yes, even F4. I mean, come on, who would've thought. The sad part was that I didn't listen to 90% of the music and played Topple, or Touch4, or Mancala, or Done Drinking, or, gulp, Solitaire instead. A few weeks ago, I realized I should start listening to my iPod, and now, I am! I can actually recognize the songs. While playing Solitaire. I can even find new groups now (albeit the fact that source of said new group was E!News): Tinted Windows! Hansom vocalist, Smashin` Pumpkins guitarist, Fountain of Wayne bassist, and Cheap Trick drummer, mix `em all together and you have this supergroup, Tinted Windows:

Now, all I need is more GIGABYTES. I think my iPod is a PC. @-) My own storage of tunes, instead of a mega playlist.

I can't believe I lived seventeen years without knowing anything about music.
I will surely live the next seventy not creating music. I simply have no gift. :)) I can marry a musician, you know.

16:13

For You, For Me
Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Death has been foreign to me for years. I experienced it very rarely: My grandfather, my paternal great-uncle, a second-degree uncle, and a very dear cousin. Seventeen years, four deaths. It hasn't been a rough ride, I must admit. For a while, it will suck the strength out of me. After crying it out, I've always managed to bounce back.

It doesn't mean that the weeks following each death hurts a lot less. Because it does. It's true when they say words can never express the immense feelings of grief, and love. It's also true that these feelings are overwhelming.

I am overwhelmed. After the day of day full of pure joy that I experience yesterday, I would never have expected to be sucked out of the world today.

Tita Tuyang has always been a lovely, caring, friend. She hides her coke in neutral containers because she's forbidden to ever drink soft drinks again. At an age over seventy, she'd readily give up her seat to offer to young children. She spends a lot of her days inside the church, participating in various ways. She has loved me and gave me all the love she can possibly afford. She endured what people may never endure in the course of their lifetime. She took in two second-degree grandchildren whole-heartedly. Words can't even describe the immensity of the goodness reigning in her heart. I loved her, I adored her, she has been very dear to me. She was my Mom's rock.

Ten minutes ago, I found out she passed away.

I felt all the energy vaccumed from my entirety. All the memories of her came rushing back. Moving on without her laid itself before my eyes. I couldn't breathe.

It didn't sink in. It hasn't sink in. It wouldn't sink in.

I laughed with her a lot when we saw this picture, two years ago.
Death will not end your love for us.
Death will not end our love for you.
Rest peacefully.
I love you.

14:02

Jitter Bug
Sunday, May 10, 2009

It's funny how near and far can mean exactly the same things, when it's a pair of antonyms we first learned about in first grade. What our teachers failed to inform us of is the fact that the nearer a person can be to another, geographically speaking, the farther they seem if there is no chance to interact with said subject. The sad concept of so near yet so far is biting me in the ass and laughing at my face for quite a number of days now. It applies to both geography and chronic placement. School refuses to teach us the things that will matter most, they give us instruments in learning these mundane goo of ideas, or ideals, whichever.

The strangest part of it all is that I'm not bothered. I got used to so near so far that even the very thought of possibilities appeases the little wars inside my head. It makes me think if I really am into it as much as I say I am. Does not caring mean you're less passionate, or does it simply mean you got over the shallow parts and matured, in a sense? Then again, who's to tell?

There's no reason for anyone to exist. Somewhere in the stars, there are little green creatures who can take over us anytime. But then we remain flesh and blood because we refuse to give up our backyards and little articles and trifles. We, therefore, have more time to figure out the necessary, and the unnecessary.

It has come to my attention that I have no skill whatsoever in linking my paragraphs, so pardon me for talking about the infamous day of mothers. Today, my siblings and I gave our Mom four things. First, a ceramic display that says: We Believe In Miracles! Second, a wooden cross with her favorite prayer written all over it: The Prayer of Jabez. Third, the gift bag for the first. Fourth, the gift bag for the second. (Haha.) We gave our grandmother a square ceramic with a quote engraved on it, and a box of God's promises. Tonight, she told me she already had the box of God's promises, her nephew gave it to her. Oh, crap. But it's the thought that counts, always.

Eating lunch was quite an experience, as it usually is with my family. There's the eleven-year-old pouting and hating the world. There's the eight-year-old hogging all the food. There's the fourteen-year-old surveying the situation and secretly coming up with nasty (albeit smart) comments. There's my father joking with the staff. There's my Mom thinking of what to order. And then there's me, anticipating the trip to the restrooms immediately after the meal. My bowel movement, I must say, is in good shape. We went to Serendra afterward, we're a family completely absorbed by books. I bought two new books today: Lolita and Shakespeare's Scribe. The first one's about a pedophile, which Vinci suggested I get without telling me about the disturbing pedophile part, only telling me it was one of the best novels of the century. Which, naturally, will make me want to buy it. The latter is a sequel for a novel Ms. Arcilla, now Mrs. Mendoza, lent me back in Grade 7, Shakespeare Stealer.

I've talked too much, it's time to say Sayonara. I'm excited for Enchanted Kingdom, tomorrow, friends! :-* I've been bitten by the jitter bug.

He eats too much. :-h Migo

Don't mind my cheeks & round head, `kay.

I look sabog, with Mom & Arianne

Migo&his face. Dad & Trish.

Aw. Happy mother's day! (Spot Arianne. She wasn't making a face, she was mad :P)

20:19