tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61127182062818610092024-03-05T16:55:58.682-08:00PollenpiggyOne day pigs will fly.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-65993675354427247542015-04-24T19:34:00.000-07:002015-04-26T04:29:24.778-07:00BLP Day 1: When Tadhana Began<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>(edited: 04/26/15 07:12 PM - because I remembered a few stuff I left out)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Disclaimer: I don't think I wrote everything down. Unfortunately.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I remember pacing back
and forth, debating whether I should open my hotel door or not. I was hearing
voices outside, introducing themselves after getting their snacks from room 910
(the room beside mine) and I suddenly felt the pressure to socialize. You see,
I already got my snacks and going out was entirely up to me. And since I wasn’t
really feeling up to it at the time, the sight of my bed and the thought of
being alone was really tempting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Then, I got a buzz from
Karla. She was inviting me to her room where the others were staying. With that
came another dilemma. I suddenly forgot how to deal with people and I felt like
I might mess it up. (The struggle is real.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">From the morning I woke
up to my arrival at the hotel, I had been feeling the tension building up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Before I got to the
hotel, I was at school first. I met up with my friends as they enrolled for
summer classes, and then, I fixed all the last minute to-do’s for school and
for the publication before rushing to my mom and sister who had to doll me up
in less than ten minutes before the school van picked me up. Because I barely
had enough time to get my things in order, I got to the van later than scheduled.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Basically, I was
rushing around and I was running out of time all the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">During the ride to
ACCM, my mind wandered. I thought about the ninjas, the academic workload that
would have to make up for when I return, him, LMagazine and the fear of not
knowing enough business stuff. I slept to shush my thoughts but once I reached
Makati, my nerves wouldn’t let me rest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We got to AIM after driving
through McDo for lunch. Apparently, ACCM was on the other side of the road so
we had to go around once again. I was actually thankful for being lost because
it ate the time I was supposed to use to talk to people. But after another
round of going around, we got to the hotel and I checked in about 30 minutes
early. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Ms. Jen helped me
settle in but after a few minutes of small talk, she left to go back to school.
After seeing her off, I went back to my room, where I cherished my time alone. I
bumped into Mo on the way though, and being able to hold a conversation with
him to me was an achievement already.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyway, I was enjoying
my time alone, lying on the bed, watching videos until I sensed people already
arriving. People arriving meant having to introduce myself to them. Introducing
myself to them meant no more me time. (I know I am beginning to sound really
anti-social by now but yeah…)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">That leads me back to the
dilemma of going to Karla’s room. I knew I couldn’t just barge in on my own. I
resorted to PM-ing Rhoni, a friend I knew from the final interview, to ask her
if she got her snacks and if she would be heading to 913 (Karla’s room) to
bond. I was instantly drawn to PM her since she and I were friends on FB even before BLP week and we've chatted for quite a while. She told me she would be going up in a while so I waited for her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The noise outside my
room grew louder. More people were getting their snacks. For a while, I debated
on whether or not I should meet Rhoni in my room or in 910. I was literally
pacing back and forth, in front of my door, touching the door knob from time to
time but not opening it. It was so funny that I even vblogged about the moment,
whispering to the camera about what was happening to me, whispering since I
didn’t want the people outside to hear me talking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Eventually, I decided
to open the door and thank heavens, Rhoni was outside. I joined her to 910. There, we saw Ms. Chet and a guy sitting on the bed, talking in the phone. I don't know about Rhoni but I swear, I thought the guy was an organizer. Turns out, he was actually a fellow delegate! And that my friends, is how I met Marc. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, having a handful of snacks on her hands, I offered to help Rhoni bring her food down to her room. (I think we had an almost
awkward miscommunication moment here. Or that might just be on my part.
Hahaha.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">In the end, I waited
for her in my room again as she kept the snacks before heading to 913 with the
rest of the delegates.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">When we got to 913, I
was temporarily overwhelmed by the number of people I had to meet. I recognized
a few familiar faces, Jude, Monica, Mo and Jade since I met them already during
the final interview. I’m not sure if LJ was already there. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Hmm. Actually, I’m not
totally sure of who was present since all that’s registering to me at the time
was that I had to be friendly and there were so many people. Hahaha!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyway, I stuck around
to the side, by the table. By then, I was beside Jade who initiated small talk.
We talked about a common friend from DLSL and that helped me release the
tension. <i>Maybe I wasn’t so bad at
talking.</i><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">(A/N: Just one quick
clarification. I’m not really extremely shy. I just panic sometimes. Usually, after
getting over my fears, I actually to quite well with people, as proven later in
my BLP experience.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">After hanging around
for a few minutes, the group decided to watch a movie. The movie that was
picked was “That Thing Called Tadhana.” I already watched the film but I didn’t
mind watching again since it was a cute-sy movie anyway. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">All-throughout the
film, I was standing… for the following reasons: 1) Initially, I just really
wanted to stand, 2) When I got to the point that I wanted to sit down, I didn’t
want to force myself into a spot, 3) It would be a hassle to squeeze myself in,
4) The spots available were near guys and being in a female-dominated course
for more than three years where guys are rare species, I wasn’t comfortable
with being too close to guys, and 5) It boiled down to being on the matter of
pride that since I started standing, I should finish standing too.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Standing wasn’t really
that big of a deal though since it allowed me to observe the group well, to see
how they reacted to the film, which was nice since that was one way of getting
to know them. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">At the time, these were
my impressions of people: 1) Since Karla and Sarah were on the bed, sitting
comfortably, I deduced that they owned the room and that kind of made me think
that they have really strong personalities and are confident enough to open
doors to people that are practically strangers until of course, BLP began; 2)
Mo is really friendly since he keeps talking to people and even if I don’t
remember his course at the time, he seemed really techy since he and Justin
were the ones setting up the “movie theater”; 3) When Marc arrived, if I’m not
mistaken, he sat on Karla’s bed, beside Karla, and that made me think that he
might be a touchy feely person; 4) When I first met Jade during the interview,
he was really silent so it was actually refreshing to hear him say side
comments while watching the movie; 5) Jude and Monica sat beside each other so
they looked like chummies and 6) When more people came, I really didn’t dwell
on my thoughts that much anymore.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyway, standing also
allowed me to be the one to open the door for those who came after us, and
having something consistent to do actually made me feel like I already belonged
in the group. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">When the movie was
nearing the end, I started feeling for my key card. I placed my hands in my pocket
and I realized that I lost it. Thinking I was sure that I brought it, I looked
down on the floor to see if I dropped it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it so
I just tried to keep it cool in my head, pretending that I wasn’t going to
begin searching again once the lights go back on. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">The movie ended and the
make-shift theater we made reverted back into a hotel room. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">There were still people
who came after the movie. They were the delegates from Mindanao. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I was secretly
searching for my key card when I overheard one of them asking about a roommate
from 909. With that, I joined the conversation and asked if one of them was
Eileen Velasco (that was the name of my roommate that I read off the list when
I checked in). One girl from the group said yes and told me about how she
forgot her key card inside the room. Thinking that that’s what might have
happened to me too, I told her how I think I did the same thing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We decided to go back
to the receptionist at the lobby to get another key card. Then, we went back to
909 where, ta-dah, I found my key card on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">After settling the
forgotten key cards, my roomie and I talked. She told me how she prefers to be
called Florence and how she came from Cagayan and I sort of introduced myself
too. Then we hit it off, talking about our shyness, our struggle as introverts,
our love for books, how we value quality art, our schools, our courses, our
hopes for the future and a whole ton of stuff. For hours, I think we were just
talking. But there were also moments of silence. Perhaps they were resting
periods or something. But to me, the silence was okay and I didn’t really feel
the need to fill it up. We just talked and kept quiet when we wanted to and the
friendship didn’t feel forced. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">It actually blew my
mind how it was so easy to click with her. We were similar in a lot of ways and
I was really happy to be roomed with her. In my head, I wondered if AmCham had
a psychologist or something check the compatibility of the delegates before
they roomed them together. I swear, it boggled my mind that I would find a
person like her existing. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Anyway, after a while,
we decided to go down since we heard noises outside the door. It wasn’t 7 PM
yet, the supposed call time for dinner, but Flo had a gut-feel that people were
already going to the lobby. Turns out she was right. We just didn’t get the
message or something.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Down at the lobby, it
was the first time that all 31 of us gathered together. For a moment, I was
temporarily star struck. I mean, with me are 30 amazing people and I would be
meeting them all, officially that night.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We walked to AmCham and
that was the first night I walked down the streets of Makati. In my head, I
relished the sights as if it would be the only time I’d pass by them. I didn’t
even bother memorizing the path we went by (not knowing that I would be going there over and over again for the week.)<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">We got to the AmCham
office and we sat around the tables joined together. I sat beside Rhoni and Flo
originally but we accommodated those who came in late to sit beside us. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Before dinner, people
from AmCham oriented us and gave us guidelines. We met Sir David and Ms.
Leslie. They gave us an overview on BLP and what they expect from us. We also
had the chance to introduce ourselves. Then, we were given copies of the Malaya
newspaper and our BLP bags with freebies and shirts. Afterwards, we had dinner
and then we went back to the hotel. I remember being warned to sleep early for
the days ahead and I think I didn’t follow that and regretted it the morning
after. Hahaha.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">(Actually, now that I think about it, I remember watching the movie "Perfume" in 913. It was a gore-y kind of film, the kind I would not pick deliberately. But since I wanted to bond with the others, even if I didn't really like small talks and all that, I sat through the film. To prevent me from getting too shocked, I already googled the plot and the book that it was adapted from. Of course, the book was waaaay better and a ton more gross. Anywaaaay, we finished the movie by 1 AM. I think. And that time, I already sat on the floor. And that time, more people were there and most of us was on the floor and I tried not to mind that I was around guys.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I think I didn’t really try to take in
much of the night partially because I was overwhelmed that I was actually in
BLP. That night was the night that it began to feel real and I didn’t even
understand what I was doing there. I was the only communication student. I didn’t
think business. And I didn’t exactly know how to fit in.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">All those worries swam
in my head. I didn’t know how to survive for ten days dealing with all of those
thoughts. But maybe it was destiny that brought me there. After all, the
me-getting-to-BLP process was a miracle in itself. (That’s another story). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I held on tightly to
the idea that God must’ve wanted me in BLP. I just didn’t understand why yet.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-77694758858599789602015-04-22T06:45:00.002-07:002015-04-22T07:25:16.421-07:00Batch Tadhana BLP: Goodbyes have to start somewhere.I can't believe I'm even attempting to write this. Right now. After just three days.<br />
<h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></span><i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">How do you tell people that they've changed you? How do you thank them with all you are until your gratefulness resonates in their head, so much that their ears are ringing? How do you make them believe that you will never forget them? How do you send your love from miles away just so they would remember that at one point in your lives you all felt strongly attached to each other?</span></i></span></div>
</h4>
<br />
I have given myself some time to let everything sink in. It's over.<br />
<br />
I would no longer wake up, knocking on their doors, calling their phones to ask them to hurry to SGV or to the lobby. I would no longer wander through the corridors of ACCM at three in the morning, business plan in mind. I would no longer be sitting in the bus, singing "Weak" beside Rhoni as we gushed about things I am not allowed to write about here.<br />
<br />
It has been an amazing ten days of my life and it still is hard to let everything be in the past, especially since that people I've been with are amazing and I feel like accepting that everything is over also means, in some way, saying goodbye to them. I don't want to say goodbye to them. (Clingy, I know.)<br />
<br />
For the past few days, I admit that a cloud has settled over me. It's as if I don't want to accept the reality that I am back in Lipa, doing school works. Instead, I have been daydreaming of working, going all over the Philippines, meeting them whenever I wanted to because I could. And with that, I felt how taxing the distance was, because when I got a glimpse of all the 30 diverse personalities in BLP, I wanted to get to know each one more than time permitted.<br />
<br />
Now, the cloud is slowly dissolving. I am beginning to fall back into the routine I was used to before the program. I have to be present in my present or else I would lose the grip on things I have worked hard for. I know that.<br />
<br />
But, my fondness for batch Tadhana will never go away. They have been with me as I blossomed and they have taught me things they never know they did.<br />
<br />
Like I said during the last night we were all together, I never expected to be attached to them. I have had my fair share of conferences and events and each time, I would walk away as if nothing really happened. I would have memories and lessons to keep, yes, but then, I could easily move on and revert back to the Pollen that had never ending to-do lists for school. With them, that doesn't even seem possible.<br />
<br />
These people, from different corners of the Philippines, were there when I started believing in myself.<br />
<br />
They didn't know it but I was actually never accepted leadership easily. I have always felt like I needed to lead so rarely did I feel like serving came from my own will. I wasn't confident that I could lead, that I could make a difference because I know that I never really did anything of great caliber. I always just did what I could.<br />
<br />
Batch Tadhana challenged me. And being in that kind of environment, speaking up became an achievement in itself. With that, I realized that perhaps even in unlikely situations, I have a purpose. Perhaps I could be worthy to serve.<br />
<br />
Also, since we came from different parts of the country, they gave me a bigger perspective on what it means to be a Filipino. The places I've been reading about in books are homes of some. The cultures I used to just study are manifested in real life. They opened my eyes to different realities and just by interacting with them, I am able to fill my heart with stories I could tell in the future.<br />
<br />
They also made me realize that it was so easy to make friends. I mean, I could go with anyone and be able to strike a conversation with them. I could ask them questions. They could tell jokes or play mind games. We could go from talking about societal issues to poetry to crushes to our deepest personal insecurities. It was the string of conversations and sometimes, even the comfortable silence that follows it that made me realize that I would be really happy to be friends with them for the longest time. And I would be so honored if I would be in a class with them because the exchange of ideas we'd have would be mind blowing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
They taught me that in ten days, the people I dreaded to socialize with would be the same people I would make a Skype account for. Heart.<br />
<br />
I'm just really thankful to have met them. They have become an inspiration to me and to several other people they have touched.<br />
<br />
I am yet to recount our ten days. I still have to prepare myself to write them in the past tense. For now, I keep them a secret in my heart.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrMoDw-chnfXV54N3VPSY0Cx-oCqW1fGSvpKaHqTVfnTqwMeJ_0RCc5DAqeyRvd_KlqusYDuAbwE1DFMO76BhuhsyT4yiHvw1Pyn5n0LzBUmYLCf_2h24z_lBQlv2L34U8c6dECqQyXI5/s1600/11150209_10152831379855735_4609147921945474556_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFrMoDw-chnfXV54N3VPSY0Cx-oCqW1fGSvpKaHqTVfnTqwMeJ_0RCc5DAqeyRvd_KlqusYDuAbwE1DFMO76BhuhsyT4yiHvw1Pyn5n0LzBUmYLCf_2h24z_lBQlv2L34U8c6dECqQyXI5/s1600/11150209_10152831379855735_4609147921945474556_n.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Batch Tadhana | BLP 2015 | Andrew photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>To Flo, my ever awesome roommate,</b> you have been my only roommate ever and you have raised the bar so high up. I don't think anyone will ever measure up to you. Thank you for the comedic moments especially the almost non-stop conversation we had immediately after we met. Also, I really appreciated that you and I both appreciated being silent. It's like we get how we don't always have to talk. And I feel like in the ten days we were together, our routines are actually in sync and that amazes me. I'm just really happy to have met you. And P.S. we have to meet again because of your necklace.<br />
<br />
<b>To Rhoni</b>, nope. Still not giving you a message here. (I still can't say iiiiiiiit. Might get all emotional.)<br />
<br />
<b>To Team Kubolusyon, </b>you guys are amazing. You are really talented individuals and it has been so easy to be working with you. And even outside work, it was fun to just bond with you guys and ask you all those cute-sy questions and tell you all those <i>hugot </i>lines. And you have been the people I am closest to in BLP. And I'm really thankful that you are all a part of my life. And I love you all.<br />
<br />
<b>To everyone that keeps sending a GM</b>, please don't stop. Getting texts from you guys makes me smile during random times of the day. It warms my heart. I'm so glad I'm not the only one overwhelmed by this separation anxiety.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>To all the Batch Tadhana people reading this,</b> thank you for being a part of my life. I don't even think this post is enough to show you that.<br />
Some of you have been waiting for the things I will write from day to day and if you would allow me to write at my own time, I promise that I will try to give justice to how you have made an impact to me. I love you all! <i>Bakit pa kasi tayo naghiwalay</i>?<!--3--><!--3-->pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-37062568722137463412014-09-16T04:29:00.001-07:002014-09-16T04:31:23.412-07:0010 Signs I Like YouRecently, I've been spending a lot of time on my Tumblr dashboard, reading and reblogging posts. Majority of them include posts of links like "21 Signs You Have a Chance With Him" and "10 Signs of Love." I read those for fun, mentally counting the number of items that apply to me but not really believing them. <span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>And then, as I was walking home today, I thought of making my own list.</i></b></span> This time, instead of writing vague general descriptions, I'll try to write realistic and specific ones.<br />
<br />
So here it is, my friends, the 10 signs that I like you:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><b>I'd be nice to you</b>,<i> a little too nice</i>, but you probably won't notice because I'm making sure that I'm not <i>too too</i> nice to you. In my head, I'm calculating the amount of niceness I'd offer you because a) I don't want to be obvious, b) I don't want to be unfair to other people and c) refer to item a. But don't expect me to do your homework or anything (and if I like you, you're probably not that kind of guy anyway). I'll be the kind of nice person that cheers you on when you have something big to surmount or would offer you a solution when you don't see any. I'd be the person who would smile at you and tell you how much I believe in you (but not in a cheesy way). And yes, I'm like that to most of my friends and it'll be hard for you to distinguish any differences but you'll still know. You'll know because to them, I'm letting all my niceness go loose but I'm limiting it for you.</li>
<li><b>Looking at your eyes is a conscious effort.</b> Whether I like your eyes or not, it's hard for me to look. I guess, when it comes to liking someone, my initial reflex is to stay away and watch from the sidelines. That's why having you so near and having to look at you straight on is difficult. But I know, I know. So as to not be obvious to you, I have to pretend that I could look at your eyes effortlessly just like I automatically look at the eyes of my other friends. But you'd know still. You just have to be really good at analyzing non-verbal communication to get this one. You should just notice how my body slightly relaxes when I look away.</li>
<li><b>I act different around you</b> (but you won't know that because you don't know how I act when you're not around.) First, my voice changes. This is an obvious biological giveaway. Second, I'm always happy when you're there. Even when I'm stressed, you would not see me totally spacing out because I want to cherish the moments I have with you. Third, I am extra extra <i>extra</i> clingy to my friends. I'm a touchy person and most of those who know me or just see me can notice that. But when you're there, I would hold a friend's hand or hug them or just stick to them because heaven knows, I could not totally pretend that I'm not overwhelmed by your presence. Lastly, when we're walking in the same group, I'm careful to not always walk beside you but not too far from you. Again, I am happy to soak in your sunshine but I don't want to be too obvious. Plus, I believe that walking near you is blessing enough and that I don't need to walk with you side-by-side to complete my day. Oh please.</li>
<li><b>My friends tease me about you</b> and despite my subtle-ness, this clue is a dead giveaway. Let's just say my friends can get too excited sometimes and not all of them are great actors. I promise you, even if I deny the obvious and claim that my friends are lying, don't believe me. I probably just really like you. </li>
<li><b>I'd remember random details about you</b> because I pay attention to you and I'm genuinely interested in your life but I'd never tell you about it nor would I ever bring those details up unless you've already mentioned them. I probably know when your birthday is but I pretend that it's no big deal (which is super hard for a birthday surprise planner like me). I also probably know the types of movies you'd like and the other trivial things about you. But never mistake me for a stalker. I'm just really good at remembering stuff about you. And when the time comes that I have to pull these details out, I'd state them as nonchalantly as possible.</li>
<li><b>When I'm talking to you, I'd conveniently drop tidbits about me that I'm hoping you'd remember.</b> This is embarrassing, I know, but I only do this to test if you are a bit interested in me too. Because I like you, I'd randomly insert a FB status I posted, a fun fact about me, the fictional character I love the most, my favorite food or a book I really want in our conversation just to see if you'd, I don't know, note it or be interested or whatever. </li>
<li><b>I may act cool when you text me or send me a private chat message but I actually over-think my every move</b>. I don't just reply. I think about how long should I wait before replying. Sometimes, I do it immediately but sometimes, I purposely make you wait. It depends on how I could justify my action. I also think about what to say. I don't want to seem too into you but I don't want to sound like I don't really care. And I also think about over-thinking because I don't want to seem like I'm over-thinking about replying to you (even if I probably am).</li>
<li><b>I would never ever ever tease the two of us as a thing. Never. </b>Pfft. I can tease you about a lot of things just not about this one because then, I couldn't stop my KV from coming out. </li>
<li><b>I write about you.</b> This one, you won't ever find out about except if a) you discover the location of the thing that must not be discovered, b) my friends tell you, and c) I tell you. Writing is my thing. When I am filled with intense emotions, I write so naturally, if I really really like you, you'd be the protagonist of most of my stories and the "he" in most of my poems (written in my lecture notes and my ****). If I really like you, as in so so so much, you probably have a folio dedicated to all the things I've written about you. And hey, you might even be the <i>you </i>that I'm thinking of as I write this post.</li>
<li><b>I won't tell you.</b> Like I said, I tend to watch from the sidelines and that means, I won't confess my feelings. I could probably try to show them but if I really really really like you, I won't say it straight up. For a lot of reasons.</li>
</ol>
<div>
And that's it. Bow.</div>
pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-44415912409453113092014-09-14T04:56:00.001-07:002014-09-14T04:56:35.658-07:00The Miracle of not having electricity in the morning<h3>
Sad to say, it's been my natural reflex to check my phone in the morning instead of <i>-- I don't know--</i> being thankful that I'm alive or just staring at the ceiling. </h3>
<br />
After looking at the time, I would open my Facebook app and mindlessly scan the news feed or read my notifications. Then, after my social-net cravings have been satisfied, I would finally get out of bed. <i>Just by that you can tell how technology has dominated my life (though my inner hipster struggles to resist).</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
This morning was different. When I woke up and checked my phone, I saw that the Wi-fi has been disabled. At first, I thought that my brother meddled with the connection once again so I felt a bit annoyed. But when I got out of bed for breakfast, I realized that it wasn't the Wi-fi that was off. We just didn't have electricity.<br />
<br />
<b>Initial reaction: Aww. I was planning to finish my projects today. Guess, I'd have to cram tomorrow. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Second reaction: Who am I kidding? I really just wanted to blog today.</b><br />
<br />
Anyway, when I got to our dinning table, I noticed that everyone was present. It was a rare sight because our schedules often conflicted (especially since I had been busy with filming) and we didn't eat as a family anymore. *sigh of contentment* It felt great!<br />
<br />
Breakfast together mean sharing stories (and yes, even dad's corny jokes). I really really missed this part. We just went on, catching up about each others lives. It was then that I realized that despite living under the same roof, we missed each other.<br />
<br />
I was so so so happy that I even shared a KV story to my parents. Other kids would be embarassed to do this but... yeah. It was worth it because I got to see my parents squealing like teenagers.<br />
<br />
Without electricity, my morning slowed down and our family needed that. I guess, when the Lord serves breakfast, you can't not eat together.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-23050016446650184952014-06-20T04:21:00.003-07:002014-06-20T04:41:44.358-07:00Summer Book List #7: Champion by Marie Lu<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130505013943/legendmarielu/images/thumb/e/e9/14290364-1-.jpg/224px-14290364-1-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130505013943/legendmarielu/images/thumb/e/e9/14290364-1-.jpg/224px-14290364-1-.jpg" height="320" style="cursor: move;" width="212" /></a><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>“Sometimes, the sun sets earlier. Days don’t last forever, you know. But I’ll fight as hard as I can. I can promise you that.” </i><i><br /></i><i>“I’ve been searching a long time for something I think I lost.</i><i>I felt like I found something when I saw you back there.” </i><i><br /></i><i>“You drive me insane June. You're the scariest, most clever, bravest person I know, and sometimes I can't catch my breath because I'm trying so hard to keep up. There will never be another like you. You realize that, don't you? Billions of people will come and go in this world, but there will never be another like you.” </i><i><br /></i><i>“It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.”</i><i><br /></i><i>“Please don't take him away from this world. Please don't let him die here in my arms, not after everything we've been through together, not after You've taken so many others. Please, I beg You, let him live. I am willing to sacrifice anything to make this happen- I'm willing to do anything You ask. Maybe you'll laugh at me for such a naive promise, but I mean it in earnest, and I don't care if it makes no sense or seems impossible. Let him live. Please. I can't bear this a second time. Tell me there is still good in this world. Tell me there is still hope for all of us.” </i></span></h4>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<b>Description:</b> June and Day have sacrificed so much for the people of the Republic—and each other—and now their country is on the brink of a new existence. June is back in the good graces of the Republic, working within the government’s elite circles as Princeps-Elect, while Day has been assigned a high-level military position. But neither could have predicted the circumstances that will reunite them: just when a peace treaty is imminent, a plague outbreak causes panic in the Colonies, and war threatens the Republic’s border cities. This new strain of plague is deadlier than ever, and June is the only one who knows the key to her country’s defense. But saving the lives of thousands will mean asking the one she loves to give up everything. With heart-pounding action and suspense, Marie Lu’s bestselling trilogy draws to a stunning conclusion.<br />
<br />
<b>Best part of the story: Them falling in love. More in love.</b><br />
<br />
<b>On the plot:</b> It went well, even the fast forwarded part. It felt right that June gave Anden a chance. Everything made sense. But unfortunately, I was able to predict the ending from the moment Day forgot their companion's name. And let me tell you this, amnesia's were the plot twists that I detest the most. I know it was just right given Day's condition. It was a consolation prize for him not dying. But amnesia makes everything seem like nothing. It's like you've slept through the storm and when you woke up, everything was calm again. But clearly, a lot has changed and you can pinpoint what. Making Day forget things killed a part of who he was. (And still, despite my protests, I think it ended just right.) *sigh* And they did meet on the street as just a girl and just a boy. And I hope things go uphill from there.<br />
<br />
<b>On the characters: </b>One reason why this isn't my favorite book in the series is because they crushed the strength I saw in June and Day. It humanized them and showed the beauty of their vulnerability, yes but I missed the "hero" in them. They did shine in the end because of their character but... I don't know. Maybe it hurt me every time they were hurt. Now that I think of it, in this book, their minds were as messed up as Katniss' and Peeta's in Mockingjay.<br />
<br />
What else can I say? Ahhhh. I'm reliving my Champion feels at the moment. I think I may need to retract to myself.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-34435641684894061552014-06-20T03:50:00.002-07:002014-06-20T03:50:40.426-07:00Summer Book List #6: Prodigy by Marie Lu<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5VRaJOVFU1-TAk9Ubxn4xJUn1OAnH3fM2zidV11brKug5DFp2MstkRJjq7KVZ897XAQeuLtDISK-khCgCrWlvFrHgGxiTUDuPclCQ0FNwgF8h8605XD-utHb-eWRyFaWje5ynmxi2-2u/s1600/220px-Prodigy_Marie_Lu_Book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit5VRaJOVFU1-TAk9Ubxn4xJUn1OAnH3fM2zidV11brKug5DFp2MstkRJjq7KVZ897XAQeuLtDISK-khCgCrWlvFrHgGxiTUDuPclCQ0FNwgF8h8605XD-utHb-eWRyFaWje5ynmxi2-2u/s1600/220px-Prodigy_Marie_Lu_Book.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book cover</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<i style="font-weight: normal;">“The first time I saw you, when you stepped into that Skiz ring against Kaede, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. I could've watched you forever. The first time I kiss you..." That memory overpowers me now, taking me by surprise. I remember every last detail of it, almost enough to push away the lingering images of the Elector pulling June to him. "Well, that might as well have been my first kiss ever.” </i></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>“My heart is ripped open, shredded, leaking blood. I can't let him leave like this. We've been through to much to turn into strangers.” </i></span></h4>
<b>Description: </b>Injured and on the run, it has been seven days since June and Day barely escaped Los Angeles and the Republic with their lives. Day is believed dead having lost his own brother to an execution squad who thought they were assassinating him. June is now the Republic's most wanted traitor. Desperate for help, they turn to the Patriots - a vigilante rebel group sworn to bring down the Republic. But can they trust them or have they unwittingly become pawns in the most terrifying of political games?<br />
<br />
<b>Best part of the book: when it shook everything I believed in.</b> I love books who can shock me like that. And of course, I loved how the story started - them pretending to be drunk in Vegas and having a simple sign (touching of the forehead) which later became important for the progress of the story. Also, I love how they fell in love and held on to each other even if they were far away. It was beautiful how they were so sure that they couldn't bear losing each other when everything else was a blur. And yes, I love how Lu ended this book even if it broke me in pieces.<br />
<br />
<b>On the characters:</b> This is where I appreciated Kaede and Tess more and where June and Day were humanized. I was still cautious about Anden (and for some reason, I can see Ansel Elgort playing him).<br />
On the plot: It did not feel like a transitional book at all. Middle books tend to be like that but Lu did a great job. The book was a full story.<br />
<br />
I read this book in public (during the LVX orientation) but it managed to pull me into its own world. And when it ended, I couldn't stop myself from reading and yearning for more.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-40229728780577963532014-06-13T19:38:00.003-07:002014-06-20T03:56:36.483-07:00Summer Book List #5: Legend by Marie LuThis is a book recommended by one of my besties and she had so much feels reading it that I was intrigued.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1397663963l/9275658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1397663963l/9275658.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book cover</td></tr>
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<h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="font-weight: normal;">“Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything's possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time. -Day” </i></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i>“I don't know if anyone's ever told you this", he begins. He doesn't blush, and his eyes don't dart away. Instead I find myself staring into a pair of oceans - one perfect, the other blemished by that tiny ripple. "You're very attractive." I've been complimented on my appearance before. But never in his tone of voice. Of all the things he's said, I don't know why this catches me off guard. But it startles me so much that without thinking I blurt out, "I could say the same about you." I pause. "In case you didn't know." A slow grin spreads across his face. "Oh, trust me. I know.”</i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“The memory fades, and I’m left hanging on to the ghosts of his</span></i></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="background-color: transparent;">words.” </i></div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="background-color: transparent;">“The boy who walks in the light” </i></div>
</span></i></span></h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Description:</b> What was once the western United States is now home to the Republic, a nation perpetually at war with its neighbors. Born into an elite family in one of the Republic's wealthiest districts, fifteen-year-old June is a prodigy being groomed for success in the Republic's highest military circles. Born into the slums, fifteen-year-old Day is the country's most wanted criminal. But his motives may not be as malicious as they seem. From very different worlds, June and Day have no reason to cross paths - until the day June's brother, Metias, is murdered and Day becomes the prime suspect. Caught in the ultimate game of cat and mouse, Day is in a race for his family's survival, while June seeks to avenge Metias's death. But in a shocking turn of events, the two uncover the truth of what has really brought them together, and the sinister lengths their country will go to keep its secrets. Full of nonstop action, suspense, and romance, this novel is sure to move readers as much as it thrills. </div>
<br />
<b>Favorite part: </b>I won't forget when Day first saw June and he was so bold in admitting that she's the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. And of course, I loved their first kiss and the moments that led to that. Day is firm in what he feels for June but his being straight-forward about it didn't seem cocky to me. It was like he knew what he wanted and he was willing to fight for it.<br />
<br />
<b>On the characters:</b> Day and June are prodigies from different worlds. Day is a criminal while June is a top-notch soldier. What's great about them is the way they think. They pay attention to details and they understand what these details could mean. Their brains are problem-solving mechanisms. I actually fell in love with the way they think!<br />
Their bodies also respond to extreme limits so they could continue their missions.<br />
But despite all these, they're not perfect. And that's more amazing! Behind their reputations and the things they have to do, they're really just a boy and a girl. They have weaknesses and emotions.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>On the plot:</b> I didn't expect the first pages to reel me in. Tiffany and I had different tastes in books so I was expecting the story to be set in a darker world.<br />
The world was dark and post-apocalyptic, yes, but it was the kind that I wanted. It gave me a THG feel though it was different. There was the strict Republic government and a rebel that the people support but June's and the Colonies' presence made it unique.<br />
<br />
Personally, this is my favorite book in the trilogy. I was fascinated with how Lu created the concept of the Republic. I was intrigued by Day and how he became who he was and how he achieved impossible feats. I loved the simple actions in this book and the mysteries it held. I loved the conflicts it built which had bigger consequences that appeared in the other two books.<br />
<br />
(Idk how to put GIFS here so that's it for now)pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-20167735913796172962014-06-11T11:52:00.001-07:002014-06-11T11:54:19.852-07:00Summer Book List #4: Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJzyza3EknaHlHxVBeE8IwxJKuHEZjpsEbfLKmZYr-Drz3jLqr_k2PUonSjVRdIVBDfJVjpetk1BlGDhGr9V3qQxVDvEOB2aTjXnAW4T2XMSplVCpy7r5AcWceJVKLrdWEW8OfvLQsH0y/s1600/7696596_orig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJzyza3EknaHlHxVBeE8IwxJKuHEZjpsEbfLKmZYr-Drz3jLqr_k2PUonSjVRdIVBDfJVjpetk1BlGDhGr9V3qQxVDvEOB2aTjXnAW4T2XMSplVCpy7r5AcWceJVKLrdWEW8OfvLQsH0y/s1600/7696596_orig.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
“You don’t know what goes on in anyone’s life but your own. And when you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re not messing with just that part. Unfortunately, you can’t be that precise and selective. When you mess with one part of a person’s life, you’re messing with their entire life. Everything. . . affects everything.”<br />
“If my love were an ocean,<br />
there would be no more land.<br />
If my love were a desert,<br />
you would see only sand.<br />
If my love were a star-<br />
late at night, only light.<br />
And if my love could grow wings,<br />
I'd be soaring in flight.”<br />
“ If you hear a song that makes you cry and you don't want to cry anymore, you don't listen to that song anymore. But you can't get away from yourself. You can't decide not to see yourself anymore. You can't decide to turn off the noise in your head.”<br />
“His door is closed behind me. It's staying closed.<br />
He's letting me go.<br />
I think I've made myself very clear, but no ones stepping forward to stop me.<br />
A lot of you cared, just not enough. And that...that is what i needed to find out.<br />
And I did find out.<br />
And I'm sorry.” </blockquote>
<br />
It wasn't epic for me but it did give me an insight different to suicide.<br />
<br />
The novel showed me how being suicidal really is, before, during and after. It wasn't as dark as I expected. It just featured how a beautiful, smart and critical person was broken by the people who weren't responsible. More than anything, it was sad. It also showed me that killing yourself, in the end, is your choice. Hannah, the main character, gave up her fight (because she didn't have anything to fight for and no one was fighting for her) and I couldn't exactly blame her. It's easy to tell someone to just relay on himself/herself but one can only do that for so long. But I wish she just asked help from Clay because he could and would fight for her. Haaaaay.<br />
<br />
Main lesson: we are dominos. Our actions affect other people so we should be responsible for them.<br />
<br />pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-91577714267047881942014-06-11T11:30:00.002-07:002014-06-11T11:54:02.478-07:00Summer Book List #3: The Best of Youngblood (PDI)I didn’t read all the essays. I picked just six.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>"The Myth of Generation X" by Frank Cimatu - The writing style was more academic and factual (which was helpful in justifying the author’s opinions). I enjoyed the piece because it was trying to define the generation that I am in.</li>
<li>"Going Stokwa" by scout - I didn’t know what stokwa meant but as I read, I learned that it was the Filipino slang for a stowaway or a person who has fled his/her house. The story was of a college student who wanted freedom and studied and worked away from home and stayed at a dorm. The story called out to me because at my age, I want independence too but I realized that I could be myself and I could blossom wherever I stay anyway. <span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">(QUOTABLE: “Personally, I thought I had full control of my life, but I hadn’t. I was just going along with the rest and the rest didn’t where they were headed either.”)</span></li>
<li>"Depression Generation" by RC Nalus - This piece explains why we’re so dramatic and emotional. <span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">(QUOTABLE: “Our generation is still trying desperately to make sense of its own struggles and scream at the top of our lungs about something. Indeed, in trying to make sense of our troubles we are already telling the world something. But for now, we still don’t know what it is.”)</span></li>
<li>"Name Game" by Lilledeshan A. Bose - This is a light piece on names and the beauty of the mixing of cultures.</li>
<li>"I Was Raised on Sesame Street" by Michael Anthony Dizon - This is a very sarcastic and ironic piece. AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT! He was able to use the metaphor of a child show to point out various social cancers. I can’t even pick just a single quote because you have to read it as a whole to understand how I feel.</li>
<li>"Torpe’s Troubles" by arem - Being a romantic, I loved this piece. Why? The essay features how a shy person shows affection and it’s just adorable (and relatable). <span style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">(QUOTABLE: “In the end, his crush distances herself from him, evades him. She is afraid that our torpe will think that she likes him too. But he’ll never think this way. He knows that she won’t fall for him, for who could like someone who’s too afraid to talk, too scared to speak to the most important person in his life, too frightened to say the wrong thing to the lady whom he loves above all else. I should know — I’m a torpe too.”)</span></li>
</ol>
pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-3938030953031626802014-06-03T05:47:00.001-07:002014-06-03T05:47:17.860-07:00The Miracle of EatingOnce upon a time, I wasn’t conscious of how much I ate and what I weight.<br />
<br />
I remember finishing six rounds of my rice+pata meal and even being proud of it! I was just a little girl then, fascinated with my mom’s cooking like it was the only five-star dish that could exist. I didn’t care whether my tummy looked a little bit bigger (and maybe even more) as long as I enjoyed my meal and I was full.<br />
<br />
But that carefree phase ended when I had to grow up (and was consequently forced to be whatever society imagined as the perfect lady). I learned to see myself as a fat ugly awkward girl. And I tried to eliminate that girl by eating less, trying weird exercises in my room and trying different derma-recommended products.<br />
<br />
The saddest part was going on diets, really. Eating was more than just the in-take of food but I had to convince myself that it was just that… that it was just a matter of the calories coming in my body.<br />
<br />
I struggled with that for years. I wanted to accept myself (and eat whatever I want) but then “being careless” and “indulging” made me feel guilty (and awfully fat). It was just now that I was learning to break free from the norms (and loving myself in the process).<br />
<br />
Now that I’m a somewhat “free woman,” I appreciate eating more. I realized that in our culture, eating means coming together and getting to know the people around. (Why the heck would I want to eliminate that in my life?)<br />
<br />
I love having lunch with my college friends. We were able to explore the different food spots around La Salle (that I didn’t know existed before). But more that the various dishes I discovered, it was the experiences and the stories that mattered. We couldn’t get enough of each other. More than the projects we did together, these lunches built our friendship.<br />
<br />
I love eating with my fellow Lavoxans. Other than our love for writing, the love for food was also common among us. We’d eat lunch together during press work. We’d bring food to the pub every after a contest. We’d bring food to the pub whenever we felt like it. Usually, during those moments, I yearn to also bring food and feed them. I want to feed the people that I love.<br />
<br />
I love eating dinner with my family. Due to busy schedules, we’re only able to come together at night. But those moments are the most precious because then we could talk together, share stories, tell jokes and ask for advice from one another. Then, we could argue and bicker too. Yes, it’s then that we remember what being a family really means.<br />
<br />
You see, those who don’t eat or go on crazy diets on their own are missing out on a lot. I know because I’ve been there. I’m still not fully healed from the brain-wash I imposed on myself but I know that I won’t ever forget the miracle of eating. I don’t think I’d want to.<br />
<br />pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-76136659522077236182014-05-29T07:09:00.001-07:002014-05-29T07:09:11.503-07:00My Sister and Her Not Exactly Twerking Habit<h4>
<i>Dedicated to the one and only Kiwi that I can tolerate in my life...</i></h4>
<br />
Despite knowing my sister for fifteen years, I never fully understood why she wiggles her butt before sleeping. She would always lie face flat on the bed and shake her behind left to right and I would always tell her to stop because it's disturbing. She'd always reason out that that simple movement calmed her and would continue. Of course, I'd always concede to her point without further questioning (either because I didn't want to start a fight or because I'm too lazy to do any major reprimanding.) We're already very close and a little butt-wiggling couldn't and wouldn't change that.<br />
<br />
My current relationship with my sister, Patricia was totally different from when we were kids. Unlike now that I was actually bother by her little quirks, I used to be never bothered by her existence at all. Then, she was just a figure in the house that I knew so little about.<br />
<br />
Back in the day, she just struck me as a really energetic child that could never be tied to one place. She often stayed in the streets or at our neighbor's house to play with anyone or anything she could find.<br />
<br />
<i>Particia = energy + outside. End of story.</i><br />
<br />
But as we grew up, I learned to understand the different facets of her energy. We became friends instead of just 'filially'-affiliated people and that allowed me to take a deeper look.<br />
<br />
I saw that she spent most of her time making other people laugh. My sister would crack nonsense jokes and showcase weird facial expressions during any time of the day.She can be a book of sassy retorts in herself. For her, being funny isn't just something she does during her spare time. Being funny is being her person.<br />
<br />
Also, she dedicates her qui to expressing emotions. Patricia wouldn't let her feelings stay contained. She doesn't realize it but she values exposing her vulnerability because, in a way, that allows her to share her true identity. She usually does that by writing, hugging or going to a corner to bawl her eyes out. For really intense situations, she would go from dancing to reciting a dramatic monologue.<br />
<br />
Finally, as our relationship deepened, I saw a side of my sister that most people overlooked. Sure, she's very bubbly but that's all they could deduce from her aura. They don't realize that the warmth they feel around her is anchored in something greater.<br />
<br />
My sister is very passionate. And I don't mean passionate as in <i>OMG-I-love-One-Direction</i> kind of passionate (though she is a fan of that band). She's passionate because she sincerely takes an extra mile to help other people.<br />
<br />
There were several instances that she had to shoulder my responsibilities (embarrassing as it is to admit) and whenever I would tell her that I'd pay her back, she would decline. She'd tell me that she loves me and that she believes that loving someone isn't a business transaction. You don't have to pay for anything because in the first place, what you do and what they do for you isn't accounted for. I would still try to return the favor though because she taught me how to love selflessly.<br />
<br />
It took me a while to decipher my sister's "hyper activeness" and it might take a while for me to understand her weird butt-shaking habit. Still, I won't get tired of trying. For now, I'll leave it as the last facet of her energy: the excess that she has to release before slipping away to a part of her that only she could know.<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<i>I wrote this as an assignment for one of my summer classes. We were tasked to write a feature article. Originally, I was going to go with PJ series but I didn't have any sleep before this and I needed a quick write. My sister was beside me so... yeah.</i>pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-47323423980652971482014-05-27T07:01:00.001-07:002014-05-27T07:01:44.723-07:00Fictional news story: "Frost: Man of the Decade"Jack Frost won the Best Male Animated Character of the Decade award by the Fictional Academy at Yoodel Hotel, Arendelle, Sept 28.<br />
<br />
The actor starred in the film "Rise of the Guardians" in 2012.<br />
<br />
He also won the Crowd Favorite award under the same movie.<br />
<br />
Frost, along with Flynn Rider and Dick Grayson were nominated through an online voting database.<br />
<br />
When asked if he had preparations before acting, Frost said that he had none.<br />
<br />
"I just go with the flow and enjoy my job," the actor said.<br />
<br />
The Fictional Artist Academy is an awar-giving body dedicated to recognizing talents of all types of fictional characters (www.fca.com).pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-76848505135829798292014-05-27T06:45:00.000-07:002014-05-27T06:46:20.753-07:00When my Prof asked me to share a significant writing experience...As a young girl, I didn't speak a lot. I appreciated silence and I understood that there are things that shouldn't be said. I was also immersed in my world where I learned to handle my thoughts rather than to bother anyone else with them. Besides, I preferred listening.<br />
<br />
To someone like me, it was hard to open up to those even closest to me about how I really felt. But when things got intense, I needed to get them out though I couldn't say it. I couldn't shout and I didn't want to hurt anyone.<br />
<br />
<i>So I wrote</i>.<br />
<br />
One day, when I was about eight, I left a letter for my Dad to find. There, I begged him to stop smoking. He wasn't getting any younger and I saw how easily exhausted he was. To little Pollen, the thought of losing a father hurt so much and writing that letter made her feel that it would change everything for him.<br />
<br />
I didn't receive a reaction from him the next day but I knew that he read it since the letter disappeared from the table.<br />
<br />
That evening, my mom approached me, telling me that dad showed her the letter. She told me how proud she was of me for writing it and how she'll keep the letter in her novena booklet.<br />
<br />
Sure, my dad didn't stop then and there but I'd like to think my letter made a difference.<br />
You see, writing literally is my voice. It was, then, the only way I could give anyone a peep of what's inside. And now, though I've learned to break out of my shell, the things I write still represent deeper truths about myself.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-13899309882605088462014-05-27T06:15:00.002-07:002014-05-27T06:20:35.030-07:00Summer Classes: A Recap<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's been over for a while but I couldn't breathe a sigh of relief until I got my grades earlier today. I guess, that was the closure that I was looking for. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><em>It's finally over. Ta-ta.</em></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><em><br /></em>It's my first time to take summer classes and initially, I thought I couldn't adjust. It was going way too fast and the things we had to do (almost) never run out. The heat was also a dragging factor and so was the idea that other people were partying while we were in school.<br />But now that I think of it, I think going to miss focusing on only two subjects for hours. Also, those two subjects have changed me tremendously so of course, I'd keep on remembering some summer-related moments.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />For this semester (?), I took Writing for Print and Writing for Broadcast subjects. Both were challenging and despite my love for writing, I got confused at times. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><strong>Wriprin:</strong> I'll be honest. I felt a little too comfortable at first since I practiced most of our lessons as a campus journalist. But unexpectedly, this subject taught me so much. 1) I gave me a purpose in writing. 2) It helped me with my identity as a journalist. 3) It inspired me to write and write and write. 4) It showed me how to improve (and continue to improve) my writing. 5) It made me grow as a person. 6) It pushed me to try lay-outing. 7) It made me comfortable with working in a group and fully-trusting every member. 8) It made me fall in love with words, over and over again. 9) It taught me to trust my decisions and to continue improving so that I could earn the trust I gave myself. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love this subject so much (if it wasn't obvious already).</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><strong>Wribrod:</strong> Right from the start, I knew that I'd struggle with this subject because I had zero information about broadcasting. I wasn't fond of watching new shows too. Also, writing for print is completely different from writing for broadcasts so I had to shift from the style I knew to this foreign technique and that (sometimes) threw me off. But, despite everything, I made it! I learned 1) how to speak like a broadcaster 2) how to loosen my writing style 3) how to adapt to different situations 4) how to act confident despite all odds.<br />Overall, summer classes weren't that of a bummer. I'll always have the experiences that I had and I won't trade those for anything.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><em>P.S. I wrote a bunch of stuff for class and I'd probably share them here.</em></span></div>
pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-43179633315115681942014-05-25T06:52:00.000-07:002014-05-27T06:21:00.328-07:00Summer Book List #2: Divergent by Veronica Roth<div class="MsoNormal">
<em style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.600000381469727px;">Dauntless Facto Manifesto: “We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.”</em><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Favorite part of the story:</b> Every single time Tobias reveals his soft side and hints his attraction towards Tris (yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. DAFEELSBRO.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I read, I couldn’t stop myself from comparing it to the movie. No matter how much I adored the film, it really can’t match up with the book. It just can’t. (But I do agree with the casting though. I imagined the artists as the characters. Kudos to the casting manager!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the book, I had a fuller sense of who each character is especially Tris. I discovered how her mind worked and her motivations for everything. I even understood her fears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were a few times that she sounded and thought like Katniss to me (when she had nightmares and when she acted tough because the situation asks her to be). She also fell in love a little bit like the THG heroine: unintentionally. They were both cautious about it except Katniss didn’t want to fall in love while Tris was subconsciously afraid of intimacy but was actually open to the subject.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, I saw how Tris developed throughout the book and I believe that somehow, she already has a sense of who she is in the end.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moving onto Tobias. Veronica Roth was right when she said that he was a great character because he has an amazing off-screen life. She was able to craft a character the can live on his own. He had the right mix of “power” and “vulnerability” and either side of him was magnetizing. He was human to me, really and that made him “perfect.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also appreciated minor characters more especially Al, Christina, Will and Uriah. Tori and Caleb were portrayed better in the movie for me (because I didn’t like who they really are in the book.) Tori seemed less mysterious and sure of herself in the book (and maybe that’s who she really is). Meanwhile, the real Caleb seemed deceitful and conflicting for me. I couldn’t get a sense of who he is. He’s an actor! He acted all Abnegation-like then he picks Candor… acts cold when Tris comes… sides with his family once the attack happened… acts whimpy and pathetic instead of helping Tris and then I don’t know. (I did feel betrayed by him actually since I was expecting him to have more person in him.) <i>Sorry not sorry, Caleb.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, story-wise, it was a great concept. Roth used fear in a different style and she did it well. It was also well-written because –duh! It brought a whole new world to life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I’m looking forward to the next books (though I don’t think I can handle it right now.) </div>
pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-50545526739973819292014-05-23T03:38:00.000-07:002014-05-27T06:21:25.197-07:00Summer Book List #1: Everyday by David Levithan<br />
Here's just a short short short review. There are a bit of spoilers inside though I don't say how it ends.<br />
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<i>“Everyday I am someone else. I am myself- I know I am myself- but I am also someone else. It has always been like this.”</i></div>
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<b>Most touching part of the story: </b>when A was in a body of a girl who was planning to commit suicide and A chose to save her by asking help from the girl’s father. The father who was usually stoic and “cold” broke when he saw the girl’s journal which contained tons of ways to kill herself and a deadline for her life. As the girl went to sleep, the father stayed guard by the door, hanging onto her stirring noises just to make sure that she was alive.</div>
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I loved this story for many different factors. First, I appreciated the way it was phrased. It was easy to read, to digest and even the voice in my head it created sounded great. Second, the characters that this book featured were of the minority. In other words, they are the people you wouldn’t expect to be main characters of the typical YA stories. Most were troubled and disabled people. That was a strength of the book – it gave other people voices. Third, the story provided a different view of life. When you know that everything can change instantly, you flesh out the things that matter more. David was able to point out so many universal truths that were under our noses all along.</div>
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I’m looking for answers just like A is and a sequel might help (though it can also destroy the beauty of the first book.) I want A to meet other shifters and discover something big… not necessarily a way to stay but maybe the reason why they shift.</div>
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<b>Head cannon:</b> Shifters were souls without a body. They used to have a body… they were born with a body but something happen and they lost it. What if they could get it back?</div>
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pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-52037021400498417742014-05-07T08:44:00.002-07:002014-05-27T06:21:41.234-07:00WFS Workshop Day 1: I'm a woman after all.<h2>
I never really felt sure of my gender until I had my first "<i>meron</i>". After all, people always associated being a woman with menstruation.</h2>
It was a "big deal" for me then because I actually doubted that I was even female! My classmates were already experiencing the change while I waited and got the weird thoughts in my head (like being born an alien). It even got to the point that when my<i> first day</i> finally came, my first thought was "YES! I'M A GIRL! BOOM BABY!" instead of a normal panicked reaction.<br />
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And for the several years that followed, that was enough for me. I didn't need any other assurance. I was a woman, biologically and I didn't feel the need to dwell on that matter any further.</div>
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But to be honest, I didn't really understand what it meant to be one until the Women's Feature Service Creative Non-Fiction Workshop last May 2 to 4.</h3>
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I was given the opportunity to attend that workshop in Cavite and it was nothing like what I expected. I've only attended presscons when it came to writing-related events and I thought that it will be just like that (minus the competitions).<b> I didn't think that it would change my life in an instant.</b></div>
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I arrived in school at around 7:00 AM to meet-up with Sir Bruce and Ate Karla (LVX-an). While sitting at the lobby, I read the essays in the e-kit (because I failed to finish the last three articles that I was supposed to comment on.) As I read, Sir B and I waited for Ate Karla. When she finally arrived, we rode the van to Cavite.</div>
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For the two hour drive, I was mostly asleep and trying to move the air-con breeze away from the top of my head. When we arrived at the venue, my mind was still a mess. I wanted to sleep more.</div>
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But after a few eye blinks, I adjusted my view and saw how wonderful the wellness center we would be staying at was. Unlike a totally modern and sophisticated design that I anticipated, I was welcomed by a burst of nature... which was a relief on my part. I imagined spas, hot springs and exercise rooms full of yoga things to be a part of the workshop and I wasn't used to those elitist stuff. I'd probably wreck them or embarrass myself if I tried too hard using them. I was more at home with the trees, flowers and a breath of fresh air, really.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BUhO_QpZccqFzntFuPf99xLxjsMz1O4dfDoYD8U8veML-AH49Dl4hSf8jizx-oBHkt9P3UmD4bZe8pDgfuoeIAD4wr012UQCvs5kLiqulzyyl42p7g0ZxPrJJgWN_W21-8M8fdIBndSH/s1600/DSCF4761.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_BUhO_QpZccqFzntFuPf99xLxjsMz1O4dfDoYD8U8veML-AH49Dl4hSf8jizx-oBHkt9P3UmD4bZe8pDgfuoeIAD4wr012UQCvs5kLiqulzyyl42p7g0ZxPrJJgWN_W21-8M8fdIBndSH/s1600/DSCF4761.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the entrance of the dining area</td></tr>
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Our group arrived first so we had to lounge about at the dining area while we waited for the others. There, we had to learn about the slipper counter thing. We would pick a slipper with a number from the slipper shelf in exchange of our footwear. That would be the inside slippers that we'd use inside the facilities. It was tedious especially if one would do it repetitively but it made my memories at the center more special.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2Sz0q-6YbSIAKAYh7gphdbIuEY15TlViyMbicqeWifdy_sZpaO_SPAxd-WWwx7qinmDVcP8FqIMxScyi0Ya_m9wY-78mxjgj_9ph8NSfPZwk__Mq0XHJ7MN-Vi0i1AQPKN0OnijhjZgx/s1600/DSCF5080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2Sz0q-6YbSIAKAYh7gphdbIuEY15TlViyMbicqeWifdy_sZpaO_SPAxd-WWwx7qinmDVcP8FqIMxScyi0Ya_m9wY-78mxjgj_9ph8NSfPZwk__Mq0XHJ7MN-Vi0i1AQPKN0OnijhjZgx/s1600/DSCF5080.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My slippers!</td></tr>
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We met Nanay Nyebes (Tita Snow) who was a fellow Lipeno. By then, I was still getting a feel of the place and wanted to stay quiet. The whole place reminded me of a retreat center (that I think it really is) and it was one factor that made me keep the silence.<br />
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But instead of letting the awkward air hang and idleness sit in, Ate Karla and I opted to settle in our rooms. We were assigned to Room 12 and I took the bed on the left. Afterwards, we took a short tour around.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-Wyn0dHeYRrn9ftPLk3_4fE7c6wTVGQImt0L4zYEfYQKwEs2TBlfyfBXjMeu464d6BCbwpahKjBp6GN12wBJCJs6Qb5v-J2CyCyLRiGl0ZQtcSWO2rCmsV9n8ESMcgoIgGPzPIBVE35D/s1600/DSCF4766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-Wyn0dHeYRrn9ftPLk3_4fE7c6wTVGQImt0L4zYEfYQKwEs2TBlfyfBXjMeu464d6BCbwpahKjBp6GN12wBJCJs6Qb5v-J2CyCyLRiGl0ZQtcSWO2rCmsV9n8ESMcgoIgGPzPIBVE35D/s1600/DSCF4766.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some pictures I took</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0vODIbYf7s2HoTJLSe15GSsBqdHiLwv6gDdpK-Krfm06cPtnb973jyZ6i1DMTvv8N61CpRawt98LnS0C8xA_LHHHV2sN8aIInjjQaWp3WE8Y3b-YDC5lk-EpqD54JvwNJygR_RCuyPd_/s1600/DSCF4765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG0vODIbYf7s2HoTJLSe15GSsBqdHiLwv6gDdpK-Krfm06cPtnb973jyZ6i1DMTvv8N61CpRawt98LnS0C8xA_LHHHV2sN8aIInjjQaWp3WE8Y3b-YDC5lk-EpqD54JvwNJygR_RCuyPd_/s1600/DSCF4765.JPG" height="200" width="112" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRZvM9_v_RJaiOuhG23es2K8nVgRULdUaVibyLXPNUv7LfRCgBQ0JmJJ9dBIXah1TXcjRpE_EmYdU8B7A5SH9E0NwCW7AADwydJ73E4r0NmhOZRVAeIt9qkm5XPmOiN4Qks70PvH6Za5I/s1600/DSCF4769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRZvM9_v_RJaiOuhG23es2K8nVgRULdUaVibyLXPNUv7LfRCgBQ0JmJJ9dBIXah1TXcjRpE_EmYdU8B7A5SH9E0NwCW7AADwydJ73E4r0NmhOZRVAeIt9qkm5XPmOiN4Qks70PvH6Za5I/s1600/DSCF4769.JPG" height="200" width="112" /></a></div>
When we got back, people came pouring in the dining room door. It stunned me for a while when I noted how old they were. If not for two other fellows from St. Scho, Ate Karla and I would feel totally out of place.<br />
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Being overwhelmed, I wanted to just observe by the sidelines and not bother the facilitators until they talked to me. But Ate Karla had a different plan. She politely greeted everyone with a "good morning" and she was rewarded with smiles. I admired how she handled the situation then because she managed to reach out.<br />
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We ate morning snacks before the start of the workshop. Ate K and I sat in a table for five (?) with some of the facilitators. If I'm not mistaken, they were Ms. Dyosa, May-i and ____. I stayed silent and observed them along with the others.<br />
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Sir B went back to Lipa after eating and Ate Karla and I were left to survive.<br />
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After the snack break, we went up for the opening ceremony and lectures.<br />
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Ms. Marj, Sir B's former teacher, came up first, welcomed everyone and introduced the panelists and other guests. That was when I realized that I was graced with the presence of the best women writers in the Philippines. Published writers and journalists were there and, and... wow! I mean, come on. Ma. Ceres Doyo was just an item in our Prinmed test before and then she just pops into my life... a few meters away!<br />
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It was then that I realized how big of an opportunity I had in my hands. Sir B gave me a nudge in the right direction and if I don't mess it up, I could actually get a shot at my dreams.<br />
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Ms. Clark took the floor after her to present the objectives and mechanics of the event.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUI_a9WhZBFvMbXRI_Y2cvTZD9sp6TujoTo1iNCkhQoyqm1Og4cW20nSQdMMilx5Kzg6y4bGQeSHMb-iW2X6h1hbxSQYPalr3Y1JY9Jwl_6yk2VfdHFLujaJ0R9QWPVLkkrO36WT_nK1b/s1600/DSCF4852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUI_a9WhZBFvMbXRI_Y2cvTZD9sp6TujoTo1iNCkhQoyqm1Og4cW20nSQdMMilx5Kzg6y4bGQeSHMb-iW2X6h1hbxSQYPalr3Y1JY9Jwl_6yk2VfdHFLujaJ0R9QWPVLkkrO36WT_nK1b/s1600/DSCF4852.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Clark, one of the activity coordinators</td></tr>
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After that, Ms. Olive, the WFS chair, introduced us to their organization.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6T4gTHv9ncnMNA7yEywk9a6frrVyWoC-8qF0is_x54TdW48YdYKmbV6wnKfbstvPZI2bXKVld7ahPw28tTpyze9MVDrjufgsILryaIk9G9AIL2tyvTwV5ghi1ngBzTaE_HDjie1FiOTn/s1600/DSCF4856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6T4gTHv9ncnMNA7yEywk9a6frrVyWoC-8qF0is_x54TdW48YdYKmbV6wnKfbstvPZI2bXKVld7ahPw28tTpyze9MVDrjufgsILryaIk9G9AIL2tyvTwV5ghi1ngBzTaE_HDjie1FiOTn/s1600/DSCF4856.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right: Ms. Olive and Ms. Carrie</td></tr>
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We finished early so we had a group discussion on women's issues before the break. That's when I heard most of them speak up, <i>speak up in English</i>. That was amazing for me because the way they spoke alone could bring tears to my eyes. Plus, we were all having intellectual conversations. It was just like a little girl time only I was facing really opinionated and smart girls. And I longed for those types of discussions because it fed my soul.<br />
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During the discussion, we came across the topic of a radical feminist and just feminism in general and that was when I questioned my presence in the activity. I mean, sure, I was a woman but I wasn't sure I would qualify as a feminist.<br />
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To me, a feminist was someone who fought for women's rights, for gender equality. And though I advocate both, I wasn't outspoken about it. I never felt the need to shout it out since I didn't see that the world is unfair to women. But that was me, in my tiny self-centered world.<br />
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Yet, after hearing the opinions of the other participants about that, I was able to give my own definition of the kind of feminist that I am. I'm the story-teller. I'm the feminist that will make sure that stories on women will not be misrepresented. I'll be the feminist that will make sure that there are stories on women and that their voices will be hear. In my silent protest, other women would find their voice.<i> (A/N: Just had a deep moment.)</i><br />
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We went down for lunch after that and the staff served tons of vegetable dishes. I love vegetables so you can imagine what happened next. *wink* But after we filled our plates, we felt like high schoolers again -struggling to find our seats in the cafeteria. We decided to seat with the other two students and just wing it.<br />
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If I remember it correctly, Ms. Pinky sat with us too. She actually reminded me of someone close to me. *wink* With her, we talked more about feminism and religion. It was an engaging conversation and at the same time, a strive of de ja vu since even the topics that she talked about was similar to the interest of the person that she reminded me of.<br />
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After lunch, the lectures commenced. It started with Ms. Marj's discussion on Autobiography and Creative Non-fiction in general. That was followed by Ms. Grace's talk on Community Papers where she shared the story of the paper they started in their town. Then, Ms. Ceres gabbed about column writing and Ms. Padma about blogging.</div>
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To be honest, I didn't give the talks a 100% of my attention for the following reasons: 1) I had to document the events for my WriBrod project, 2) I was getting sleepy again and 3) I was on the mat and my numbing legs bothered me. But I did pick up some things which helped me develop as a writer.</div>
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My favorite lecture was that on blogging because I really related to that. Obviously. And it was given by Ms. Padma whom I really wanted to get to know the first time I heard her voice. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Xak4LKxcr6XqnzHjfe2z0OaKVMisScha2NIAt63iyUUcOlAZ88i_vGOz0NSvg_s4fnZrGyruFPSckaTlsFmLhyqKU6A06_wdc2OoLSwxnCCXxXeaA6VuZF-1vGMozEXb9Y5WC7tAIY1j/s1600/DSCF4884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Xak4LKxcr6XqnzHjfe2z0OaKVMisScha2NIAt63iyUUcOlAZ88i_vGOz0NSvg_s4fnZrGyruFPSckaTlsFmLhyqKU6A06_wdc2OoLSwxnCCXxXeaA6VuZF-1vGMozEXb9Y5WC7tAIY1j/s1600/DSCF4884.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ms. Padma, probably thinking about something</td></tr>
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It was also a way to give back to the speakers since that topic was an expertise of the x generation. That and I'm just really a passionate blogger.<br />
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Once the lectures were finished, we had another group discussion on the misrepresentation of women. Again, I was struck with how amazing they were. I was a bit hesitant to speak up (and make mistakes) but I could not not participate with the kind of energy they gave off.<br />
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When all the sessions were over, we ate dinner. We still sat with the St. Scho delegates but that time, Ms. Olive sat with us.<br />
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Sitting with her was an eye opener because she talked about her corporate life as a journalist and an advertising executive. And for incoming third year AB COMM students, we have to pick out an elective: JOURN or ADVERT. I'm all for journ, still but I think some of my friends would find the sharing of my experience helpful.<br />
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Ms. O started as a journalist for a newspaper company. She enjoyed her work and was passionate about it but when it came to payday, the articles that she worked for didn't cover the bills. So she quit and joined an advertising agency. Her job there was hectic and she mentioned squeezing her brain to come up with an original tagline. She stayed there until she was good to retire. But based on what I understood from her, she wouldn't want to come back to advertising again. Instead, she devotes the rest of her days in WFS to continue writing. In fact, she wants to write a book.<br />
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Hearing that there is no money in journ from people in school was different from hearing it from someone who experienced the field. I realized that I was too hopeful when it came to entering the writing world, only arming myself with passion against the reality that I need money (in many ways). I also kept saying that I'd enter the creative writing world anyway so I won't have to deal with those issues. But umm... just recently, I was considering entering newspapers too so that plan backfired.<br />
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On the other hand, there was advertising. In that career track, Ms. O proved that it's easier to earn there. But the way she described her experiences made me feel as if she wasn't completely happy with her choice. It was as if there's a bad memory related to it. I don't know. But she didn't exactly regret working with ads. She just said that she won't go back to it.<br />
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When it came to the end, she didn't pick any. At an old age, she picked writing and just writing. The truth is, you will write in both fields but you'll just use different methods of writing. Both will have perks and consequences and all you should pick is a choice that you won't regret.<br />
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I'm in love with journalism, still in love with it, despite all the "mistakes" that I might make and opportunities I might lose by choosing it. I'm in love with journalism, not just because it'll help me write better but also because it stands for honesty and the world might need just a bit of that.<br />
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Also, I can't live with myself knowing that I chose something that I'm not passionate for. I would blame myself everyday for that. For me, passion feeds the soul so I consider it more important than anything else. I'll wing it when billing dates come. As long as I strive to be better, I don't think our family would ever go hungry.<br />
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After picking an elective, I'll... (<i>A/N I'll continue revealing my career plans in part 2)</i><br />
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Anyway, after dinner, Ate Karla and I bought natural bath products. It was one other rule of the center: using biodegradable products only. In all fairness, their papaya soap was amazing and the shampoo and conditioner smelled great.<br />
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Afterwards, we headed to the quarters and talked.<br />
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Ate Karla and I aren't really close inside the pub. We were friendly towards each other but we were comfortable with different sets of people. The workshop was the first time we had a one-on-one.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbURfufHO7-Yly9NKi81iXfM9Xi3vKzh5X7RMeY8DyPkytuLUN18auIdGZEeDk-FREFNWv3Vi9u4NsArp3DFDvlXqS_W8UJJzuDCPGi050qhyphenhyphenJgBqIGlpEQaYUIf9d7I-QZHLA7pRyEqJl/s1600/DSCF5022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbURfufHO7-Yly9NKi81iXfM9Xi3vKzh5X7RMeY8DyPkytuLUN18auIdGZEeDk-FREFNWv3Vi9u4NsArp3DFDvlXqS_W8UJJzuDCPGi050qhyphenhyphenJgBqIGlpEQaYUIf9d7I-QZHLA7pRyEqJl/s1600/DSCF5022.JPG" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ate Karla</td></tr>
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Truth? I loved her company. We literally talked for hours and whenever the conversation would reach a dead end, she'd think of a new one to talk about.<br />
I also admire how similar and different we were. We could talk about the same books and different sets of beliefs and still be okay about each other.<br />
I was also comfortable around her. I could open up about my personal relations without thinking twice.<br />
Moreover, she was really opinionated which made our conversations stimulating.<br />
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After so-so hours, we went down and joined the participants to hang out in a casual context. It was different from the lecture-feels so I didn't know what to do at first. But eventually, I got the hang of it. I didn't share my stories but I listened at them instead. The seniors were so lively as they caught up with each other's lives. They were a bit loud but still classy.<br />
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We retired after a few minutes but Ate Karla and I didn't immediately go to bed. We continued sharing stories. We talked about all sorts of books and series! But no matter how I enjoyed the topic, my body was too drowsy. I began zoning out until I fell asleep.<br />
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That was how my first day ended. My full realizations occurred on the second day.</h3>
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pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-10107034819406654322014-05-06T06:43:00.004-07:002014-05-27T06:21:53.317-07:00Fash Dash: Midterm Exams dayThis is the top that I bought recently. I'd like to believe that I was destined to find it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdb93oe4bZvhJE06UulIoHFnDEsRSBWqxxokZsfqCHJ7GhvLCfszH2ddqhfJ_gsNDNor4uyHnqWgRSusy3iIOQNRun7N49vsYZecWTN4gpqdw8bUX-VOWc2HJIVcP-ODgIvNX_HX9aYGl/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdb93oe4bZvhJE06UulIoHFnDEsRSBWqxxokZsfqCHJ7GhvLCfszH2ddqhfJ_gsNDNor4uyHnqWgRSusy3iIOQNRun7N49vsYZecWTN4gpqdw8bUX-VOWc2HJIVcP-ODgIvNX_HX9aYGl/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" height="400" width="331" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top: Black/printed long-sleeve fit blouse<br />
Bottom: Skinny jeans<br />
Hair: Messy loose voluminous bun by my sister</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-53497496373267383132014-04-30T08:51:00.000-07:002014-05-27T06:22:08.007-07:00Fash Dash: Week 2 Day 2I haven't been dressing up recently. :) I was planning to, yesterday, but apparently, my dress was too short.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp35e-e2CZjoooOcVWW02uwABx-oeVTtmrSZAVJvMyxC4Oo8opLWwWghF_iCMZVuj8fdoPdChVIysjN_cSzclwGO04WOvsHoudT0YAZ9phhPd01deo30LHgMBjRXiniLwx0VUhtSOqLFK/s1600/red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp35e-e2CZjoooOcVWW02uwABx-oeVTtmrSZAVJvMyxC4Oo8opLWwWghF_iCMZVuj8fdoPdChVIysjN_cSzclwGO04WOvsHoudT0YAZ9phhPd01deo30LHgMBjRXiniLwx0VUhtSOqLFK/s1600/red.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top: short red native-inspired dress<br />
Bottoms: Maong pants<br />
Footwear: Brown native-inspired step-in</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It would've look better if I wore shorts but that's not allowed in school. I would've also loved a tighter pair of pants and boots to match everything.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-77812042455005595242014-04-30T06:44:00.001-07:002014-05-01T07:47:31.369-07:00Grass-cutting and standing up for what you believe in<h2>
I know that this is unfair but I'm nicer to my brother compared to my other siblings.</h2>
<br />
I've always seen him as "the little boy that cries when I leave for school". I'm always protective of him and often kinder when I reprimand him. And despite his lapses, I still choose to see the good in him because I've always been one of his avid fans. Whatever he does, I would try to understand because I know that my brother is a good man and he has his own set of principles to guide his life.<br />
<br />
So one day, when I thought that he needed reinforcement from me, I helped him. Helping him in a way that I had to apprehend a decision from the higher-ups.<br />
<br />
Despite the obvious negative consequences of that "help," I choose to look at the situation in a positive light: a sister supporting her brother; a girl standing up for what she believes in. I still didn't fully realize my mistake until I was asked to cover for his chore (which was some sort of punishment on my part.) Since I helped him, he wouldn't go to finish grass-cutting so I had to do it. He promised that he'll come down to take over after one game so I'd only have to cover for him until then.<br />
<br />
And again, I believed him. I went out to do his chore despite my discomfort with working outside. And the pain on my arms and lower back that was heightened as I did it.<br />
<br />
As I worked and waited, I started to doubt him. <i>Was it worth it anymore? Was he worth it?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
After a few minutes, he did come down to continue it and I was relieved because at least he didn't leave me there.<br />
<br />
My brother, he has his moments. He can be really sweet then insensitive. But the things is, though I love him to bits, I can't tolerate his insensitivity anymore because it's affecting the family.<br />
<br />
For years, me, Ish and Kate have been making up for all the work he thought he had the luxury of not doing. We literally manned up for him. We were always understanding him and going a whole new direction for him. We sacrificed a little bit more from our share because he couldn't. We matured faster because he wouldn't. And now, maybe it's time for him to see that.<br />
<br />
I will support him with all my heart but I want him to prove to me that he is worth my support. He has to know that life isn't about free-loading.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-32553093049309085372014-04-27T09:42:00.001-07:002014-05-27T06:22:33.897-07:0028-day Challenge: day 5: Introducing my Family<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9WFu7wKnLOkZV8v-1guVVEBZqcdV9bLSh3Si1PTQTvSxD-5B04SPLj0lLP0RrMsTzTbpTPTjbdk8qpy1K3e6AkqkiYvWHohIkyozSg0Kw714SuLC_FWxJR3yIF9JODADvtgX9MRwsznu/s1600/HPIM0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9WFu7wKnLOkZV8v-1guVVEBZqcdV9bLSh3Si1PTQTvSxD-5B04SPLj0lLP0RrMsTzTbpTPTjbdk8qpy1K3e6AkqkiYvWHohIkyozSg0Kw714SuLC_FWxJR3yIF9JODADvtgX9MRwsznu/s1600/HPIM0055.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From left to right: Kate, JP, Mom, Dad, Ish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
To make this quick, I'll describe them according to the letters of their first names.<br />
<br />
<b>K</b>yowti, <b>A</b>nime lover, <b>T</b>alkative, <b>E</b>cstatic, <b>L</b>oving, <b>E</b>nergetic, <b>E</b>motional, <b>N</b>ever say Never (?)<br />
<b>J</b>olly (when he's downstairs), <b>P</b>layful (when he's downstairs)<br />
<b>G</b>irly, <b>I</b>ntelligent, <b>R</b>espected, <b>L</b>oving, <b>E</b>pitome of Cleanliness<br />
<b>G</b>od-fearing,<b> I</b>nnovative, <b>O</b>ptimistic, <b>V</b>ery nice (a little too much), <b>A</b>dorable, <b>N</b>ice (for emphasis), <b>N</b>ever runs out of jokes, <b>I</b>ntelligent (sige na nga. haha)<br />
<b>P</b>retty (shhh, don't tell her), <b>A</b>dorable, <b>T</b>actful, <b>R</b>eally hygienic, <b>I</b>ntelligent, Cuddly (even with no bones), <b>A</b>mazing (just the way she is)<br />
<br />pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-43223235129863530422014-04-27T09:27:00.001-07:002014-04-27T09:27:39.789-07:00Throwback poem: "You when you're not there"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XxNmjjdgnjf89r6c-bhmjt27OZYuHTO744QndVwX3UdcdoSc9O0z2szI5XFP1bzm4TNdzA1oiSxHK9PJSWwAa45jvSSjLP7bL_nrb4p_Bxvha2q-lwBvegmBH_5Ywk_c3TtSP426KAJZ/s1600/You+when+youre+not+there.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XxNmjjdgnjf89r6c-bhmjt27OZYuHTO744QndVwX3UdcdoSc9O0z2szI5XFP1bzm4TNdzA1oiSxHK9PJSWwAa45jvSSjLP7bL_nrb4p_Bxvha2q-lwBvegmBH_5Ywk_c3TtSP426KAJZ/s1600/You+when+youre+not+there.jpg" height="483" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-9915485553644758632014-04-26T06:13:00.000-07:002014-05-27T06:20:05.381-07:0028-day Challenge: Day 4: Random Ramblings<i>Truth? I'm tired of having to do things because it makes me feel restrained.</i><br />
<br />
That's my current thought for the moment as I try to un-feel the pinching sensation all over my body. I've been more productive than usual today, helping with the laundry and doing a bit of grass-cutting. I've also done my assignment in WriPrin (just fixing the handout, really) and my other regular chores like cooking lunch and washing the dishes. But I'm not really feeling happy about it. I'm not fulfilled or anything. I'm just really tired.<br />
<br />
I don't hate doing chores or anything. I just hate the feeling that I can't rest after doing them. I always have projects to do (academic, org or personal) and sleeping when I know that I should do them instead makes me feel guilty! And I'm at the stage where I worry about whether to sleep or do them and end up doing nothing... which consequently leads to procrastinating the next day.<br />
<br />
I just, I really need a break. Just a short one.<br />
<br />
I've been diligent the whole week and this day too so I deserve a bit of rest, right? (Sorry if I sound whiny) But a part of me disagrees because a part of me keeps on seeing my to-do list. Uggggggh. I'm so confusing.<br />
<br />
Well, at the moment, I'm going to sing. Then sleep. Then wake up early and do everything else.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait. I have another thought.<br />
<br />
Truth? I wish I could just tell people that I don't feel too well and I need rest. But that would disappoint them so, no.pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-66003675711342687052014-04-25T04:57:00.001-07:002014-04-28T04:24:17.728-07:00WriPrin: Reboot<h2>
For six years, I have called myself a student journalist.</h2>
<br />
<b>My "writing career" started in BAKAS, the elementary publication of De La Salle Lipa.</b><br />
I wasn't planning on joining the school paper and I haven't even developed my love for writing then. It was my English teacher that persuaded me to try the qualifying exams. I gave it a shot, not really knowing anything about news, feature and editorial writing and by some miracle, I got in. I was given the titles "news editor" and "feature editor" during my two years of stay and that was how I learned about the journalistic writing style.<br />
Back then, there was no pressure of publishing a paper on time because our advisers took care of it. They were the one that edited and gave topics too. Plus, a company was responsible for designing our pages. All I had to do was to write and enjoy the raw happiness I get by doing it.<br />
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<b>When I got to high school, I experienced some sort of an identity crisis so I took two years off, trying to figure out what I really wanted to happen with my life. It was during my third year that I joined BULIK, DLSL's secondary level publication. </b><br />
My friends wanted to try-out so I thought <i>hey, why not? You did well in your English classes anyway. </i>I got in with them as staff writers.<br />
This was the period of my life when I learned to be confident about the articles I wrote. Our advisers gave me constructive criticisms that encouraged me to improve. By this time, I also got a clearer background on what students do in a publication - interviewing, gathering news bits, editing and lay-outing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKvpfFtmzas1sNFWavNoMXlbqzoHukD1YI1UHrga8GHiI0UyidmGgaZxtWWy322MUv2_yg2slC3UJW7oYfLkD7xlg4IFqSA5FJWeQYS_kj5P2eMQnd6L_88X6EE8_O7Hpnm43TarXZCwD/s1600/BULIK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVKvpfFtmzas1sNFWavNoMXlbqzoHukD1YI1UHrga8GHiI0UyidmGgaZxtWWy322MUv2_yg2slC3UJW7oYfLkD7xlg4IFqSA5FJWeQYS_kj5P2eMQnd6L_88X6EE8_O7Hpnm43TarXZCwD/s1600/BULIK.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>BULIK staffers of SY 06-07</i></div>
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<b>I continued writing in the school paper during my senior year as the feature editor.</b> </div>
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I didn't know that being labelled as the "editor" meant being in-charge of a section so I struggled and there was no one I could turn to. I wasn't warm and cozy with my adviser then and my co-writers also didn't have a clue. But that didn't stop me. I tried to become an active member, helping whenever I can. I even ended up doing tasks that didn't cover my expertise like lay-outing my pages and editing graphic illustrations.</div>
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But I felt like my efforts didn't pay off. I was always exerting so much into tasks but once someone who could do better comes along, I would be easily pushed aside. In a way, I was "traumatized" because I actually loved to write then and I was starting to fall in love with working for the paper too. But the "family experience" of being a part of the publication was missing. Whenever I revisit my memories of 4th year BULIK days, the word "toxic" pops up in my head. It was only work, work, work.</div>
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<b>Despite my obvious hesitation to join the college publication, LAVOXA, a friend encouraged me to do so and I eventually applied. </b></div>
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It was difficult to adjust from being the scared and cautious writer I learned to become to a LAVOXA-n. You see, the environment there was different. Being a part of the organization meant interacting with the coolest of the weirdest people that existed in DLSL. It was great but intimidating at the same time. I was conflicted since I was given a chance to belong to another family but I was hesitant to join in because of my past experience. That's why, initially, being in LAVOXA was something I treated professionally only.</div>
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Of course, I adjusted after a while and I opened up to the people there. Not only was I spreading my wings as a campus journalist but also, I was building friendships that would last beyond forever. </div>
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As far as my two-year stay, my writing style has changed dramatically and I've also understood the whole process of making the paper until the very last minute. It was life-changing since it was only now that I got the full cycle. Come to think of it, I spent four years in school publications not even understanding what was happening when I was there!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuR0LEYxgSRGzINifUmwTUV4zbrZ5ksr_-SdRpwqlvNlUbRLA4cofYh5woW-pyXwW30cnDo5onKbs_QMf402u66E56jYQsjx-9UpILKRG2Bk6P33BtNO4-U5TgFbPmaNEAhTIHjhNv-0g/s1600/1970556_851217108227178_1897515706_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfuR0LEYxgSRGzINifUmwTUV4zbrZ5ksr_-SdRpwqlvNlUbRLA4cofYh5woW-pyXwW30cnDo5onKbs_QMf402u66E56jYQsjx-9UpILKRG2Bk6P33BtNO4-U5TgFbPmaNEAhTIHjhNv-0g/s1600/1970556_851217108227178_1897515706_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Top: Tabloid and Broadsheet editorial board SY13-14</i></div>
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<i>Bottom: </i><i>Tabloid and Broadsheet</i><i> editorial board SY14-15</i></div>
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<b>Now, why did I divide into my life as a journalist so far? Simple. Because I wanted to show you what being a "campus journalist" meant to me and how I defined being a writer then.</b></div>
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<i> I'll be honest. </i>Back in high school and elementary, I wasn't concerned with what I could do for my readers. I was focused on what I could do for myself. I wrote to see my name on the paper so I could show it to my mom. I wrote to be a part of the editorial board that would look good next to my list of awards. I wrote to experience a lot of things like going to press conferences. I wrote just to finish the paper. I wrote to improve my writing skills and for the sole pleasure of being able to write. I didn't have a clue on how much power I had, power which could have done some good if I wrote the right things. I didn't fully understand my responsibilities and the importance of my job. </div>
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<b> I wasn't much of a journalist at all.</b></div>
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In college, I improved a bit, understanding that I had a purpose and envisioning the change that I could make. But I was still fooled by a common journalist error. Sure, I did my part as the editor and I selected topics that would be helpful to the students but I became a slave of the deadline. My intentions were good especially during the content selection of topics but there would come a time that I would be so bent on finishing on time that I just used any article available without considering their value. The quality definitely suffered... and I've never finished on time so my decisions were often useless. I was also a "slave" in the opposite way. Believing that the deadline is still far away, I would relax and eventually, put my whole section to sleep. That means, I let important stories pass by that could've informed a lot of people.</div>
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<b>Its embarrassing to say this, but I only realized the real essence of journalism a few days back.</b></div>
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My professor in Writing for Print Media took us to AVR 2 to watch a film. I was expecting a boring documentary film on the life of a journalist but instead, I got "Kobe Shimbun No Nanonakakan."</div>
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It was a Japanese film based on the experiences of Kobe Shimbun photojournalist, Mitsuyama and the publication he belonged in during an earthquake attack on January 17, 1995.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKTOUBI4Mem6ig-5nNuSJ1i0LBfNlpXobYiAZXTS3melDLtYpL83BWlZnen67vKI-MPdHpqhXfq-_ScMrWOTXY3Qqp2233lvqbCOiHaajDLLLIF5hBo_lQ0Y4D31NcHsr8Gt6yjJmCHU-/s1600/meiatrandomblogspot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBKTOUBI4Mem6ig-5nNuSJ1i0LBfNlpXobYiAZXTS3melDLtYpL83BWlZnen67vKI-MPdHpqhXfq-_ScMrWOTXY3Qqp2233lvqbCOiHaajDLLLIF5hBo_lQ0Y4D31NcHsr8Gt6yjJmCHU-/s1600/meiatrandomblogspot.jpg" height="320" width="266" /></a></div>
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<i>Movie poster from meiatrandom.blogspot.com</i></div>
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It started with a quick tour of the publication office and introduction of characters plus Mitsuyama repeatedly saying that they didn't know that <i>something</i> would change their regular routines. After that, the big tragedy occurred and everybody was stricken. The rest of the film focused on the citizen's struggle to survive, the journalist's struggle between being sympathetic or doing their jobs and Kobe Shimbun's struggle to publish a paper despite the damages they've incurred.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwfWa2Knny93FbNWRQ6gqVCYzBcfYFP-kMAdvrna2BzAmFJJvnbYFkSYcoXihA1CBRUzSnFs14yQuBlkXrUaBBMvDf4Phwoxoe0VSEyBmrcwEWqg5dikVYRBqbIUQdp6mMD45WipeJZG1/s1600/crunchyroll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimwfWa2Knny93FbNWRQ6gqVCYzBcfYFP-kMAdvrna2BzAmFJJvnbYFkSYcoXihA1CBRUzSnFs14yQuBlkXrUaBBMvDf4Phwoxoe0VSEyBmrcwEWqg5dikVYRBqbIUQdp6mMD45WipeJZG1/s1600/crunchyroll.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Photo from: crunchyroll.com</i></div>
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<b>If I would rate the movie according to scholarly standards, I wouldn't give it five stars though it is a good movie.</b></div>
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The concept was a bit cliche; natural disasters were a thing of the past. I also found the acting a little exaggerated, though they were effective in stimulating emotions. On the positive side, the way it was shot, edited and colored were good and appropriate for the theme.</div>
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<b>But as I watched the film, I didn't want to review it critically. I wanted to experience it.</b></div>
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A few minutes into the film, I felt indifferent. I was just getting to know the characters and their Japanese names just blurred in my head. After a while, Mitsuyama's foreshadowing effect was growing old and (kind of) irritating. </div>
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But it changed when the earthquake occurred. I felt connected to the film. It wasn't only because I had a familiar experience but also because it brought my inner issues out especially those related to me being a "journalist".</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JOJDp8XeWbEmtpTabGDBH9LCG4xkPMJ3vQmrhrVmm9etwCb5zHV0i0S_zaPrgKEeFCZ5ZUrmUJ0aAlEINYCU7nTw_ljL05_cTrb9abEV-G2-vL7QINPOqBgJjZfHYFrpY7y89QlO4jOs/s1600/bloggang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1JOJDp8XeWbEmtpTabGDBH9LCG4xkPMJ3vQmrhrVmm9etwCb5zHV0i0S_zaPrgKEeFCZ5ZUrmUJ0aAlEINYCU7nTw_ljL05_cTrb9abEV-G2-vL7QINPOqBgJjZfHYFrpY7y89QlO4jOs/s1600/bloggang.jpg" height="596" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Screen captures from: bloggang.com</i></div>
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<b>Let me tell you this, I didn't expect to cry. But I did. </b></div>
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It started with the scenes where the EIC called another publication for help and Shito-kun burst in despite his injury. Those were powerful scenes for me because they portrayed the perfect publication spirit. They had a contagious drive that slowly consumed me as I watched. I saw how committed and passionate they were to their jobs and I wanted to feel that way. </div>
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They didn't have to work. They could've easily run away. But they came together as Kobe Shimbun because they had a duty to inform people of what happened.</div>
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I felt that way only once and it was during my first meeting as the campus news editor. Then, I wanted my section to represent all the sectors of the student body. I wanted the paper to be useful to their college lives. But the feeling didn't last because in the first place, I didn't understand why I should have that drive and why it was important. Unintentionally, I placed my passion for journalism second to just finishing the paper.</div>
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I want to feel like that again. I want to be so in love with my work that I'll be lost in it.</div>
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I got more and more emotional especially during the "beating-the-deadline" scenes. I felt so guilty watching them running for their paper and begging for just a few minutes to make it while I thought of how I slacked off as a section editor. I wasted so many days that could've been allotted for editing articles and designing my pages. It was ironic, really. I had deadlines to beat and I always worry about them but I won't start working until the last minute. <i>What kind of writer am I?</i></div>
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Exactly! What kind of writer was I? I just realized how much I've taken for granted and how many mistakes I've made. I wasn't worthy to be called a journalist.</div>
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And there I was, dumb-founded and looking for my identity as a journalist. <i>Why was I writing? Who was I writing for? <b>What does it mean to be a journalist?</b></i></div>
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I felt just like Mitsuyama when he was unable to press the camera button.</div>
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Mitsuyama and Yamane-san's conversation provided me a partial answer.</div>
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*Non-verbatim*<br />
EIC: Mitsuyama, Have you been taking human pictures?<br />
M: I can't. Do you know what's out there.<br />
EIC: *says something encouraging*<br />
M: Why do I have to take pictures?<br />
EIC: To record them.</blockquote>
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To record them. To immortalize feelings and stories. <i>How could I forget that?</i></div>
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I was so caught up in other associated businesses and myself that I didn't see how simple it was. As a journalist, I should write the history of other people. How a bomb threatened their security once but got over it. How the administration promised to improve the turnstile that constantly bothered their morning routine. How they once stood on stage and received an award they didn't expect. How they partied during the college night and saw their favorite artists.</div>
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Writing as a journalist isn't about winning at press conferences or just having printed copies to distribute. It meant writing stories, good and bad, because those stories built the community and represented it.</div>
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When you are a journalist, you have a responsibility to play in the society and that's why you do it.</div>
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(A/N: Sorry this is taking so long. I'm not sure I'm making sense anymore. It's just emotion overflow, really.)</div>
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That's why they did it. They faced a natural disaster and put aside their families and ethical standards for Kobe Shimbun. I get it now. It wasn't really about the earthquake. It was about the fight they put up no matter how confused they all were.</div>
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Ha, thinking about this now, I realized that through the movie, I experienced an earthquake of my own... one that shook my principles. I couldn't get over the feels that easily so I delayed writing this. It was hard to think of the right conclusion days ago when I wasn't sure of myself. </div>
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But now that I've had some sort of epiphany and that I'm close to ending this, I feel lighter. Plus, I'm sure that I've learned a great deal. I made mistakes in the past but now, I can make up for them. And that's what's important, write? (Pun intended.)</div>
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Six years. I've been labelled as campus journalist for six long years. But as far as I'm concerned, I rebooted the record two days ago.</div>
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And I needed that. :)</div>
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pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6112718206281861009.post-85397126677274283852014-04-25T00:46:00.000-07:002014-04-25T00:46:44.649-07:00News Bit: Under Arrest on Day 4The Philippine Crime Investigation and Detection Group (CIDG) arrested Reynaldo Villar around four in the afternoon at his home, April 24. The former chief on commission on audit was suspected of misusing PHP 366 million of the PSCO funds. He is detained along with former president Gloria Macapagal Arroyo.<br />
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<b><i>(Source: The Philippine Star, April 25)</i></b>pnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01807065685836783358noreply@blogger.com0