Liv in a Life Well-Lived

Were you one of them? Oh, don't be coy. You know that growing up you got your way most of the time. What did it take for you to bend your parents' iron will again? I've heard there are countless of ways. The pretty-please dopey eyed look, the i'll-pray-every-night-promise, the you-know-you-love-me mini dominatrix/dominator, or the you-don't-give-me-enough-time-anyway-so-buy-me-what-I-want mojo? Let me tell you mine. I was the "straight-laced, straight-As in exchange for anything I want" kind of kid. C'mon, I know it sounds devious, but it makes perfect honest sense. Who can deny you anything when you've given everything to be the best in the one thing your parents value? For my family, school rules. Hey, I was born to a couple of pedagogues, so get off my geeky case. Good grades equate to pocketbooks and Teen Beat magazines cum Sunday. Housework? Well, how can I study if I'm worrying about washing the dishes, right? Besides Ate "Fill-in-

Oh dear God almighty. This movie only works because it makes you believe in hell and you are deep in it. . I deeply love Paul Bettany and his inked, muscled self, but loyalty could only get to a certain point and beyond it lies a dark region where no one ever returns. I think I have toed the demarcation line, but decided to remain on this side of sanity. . Legion. WTF? . I admit, the trailers already gave me the foreboding that this movie will be difficult to like. Desert + midwestern accents + zombies = Go do the math. But Mr. Bettany can reanimate a 100-year-old Egyptian Mummy by just raising a sexy eyebrow, (in my opinion) and thus, I truly believed he will "save" this movie from it's B-movie sad existence. . Well, let me present the points and you decide if I was gravely mistaken or just almost right. . Exhibit A - The modern Joseph and Mary are named Jip and Charlie, respectively. He a slow, nice kid, and she a waitress / ho. I get the "regular kind of people&q

My goal for my 30th birthday is to save Php 200,000++ for a trip to London and maybe part of Europe. I already did the hard math and figured out that I would need to save Php 6,000 per month to reach my goal. Shouldn’t be a problem, right? Rrrrright. Let me just put that aside right after I buy the Rolls Royce and the vacation house in Cebu. God, what happened? I’m hitting 28 in a few more days and I’m disillusioned to say the least. Ten years ago, I thought 28 was ancient and I would have my own car by now, living a fast-paced jetsetter lifestyle as an international development consultant, and engaged. Age does skew things a bit, doesn’t it? Now, barely a week before the calendar awards me another year, all I have is an ailing laptop, a days-old half-eaten croissant, and lots of bills to pay. I’m tired of being “on a limited budget”. I have to unlearn creating an adverse correlation between poverty and happiness. Because not doing something I hate does make me relatively happier than

I have a huge confession to make. I have always been a fat kid. No, of course that’s not the confession. Everybody with half a functioning eye can see that. My confession is, for someone who has always been fat, in my head I’m just the right size. Not the right size for clothes, definitely. Topshop, Mango and Zara are alien boutiques to me, with their current styles and cuts catering to the toddler-sized up to swallowed-half-a-peach-pit kinda fat (which isn’t fat at all). I’m not the right size for health either, it now turns out. Whenever I go to the doctor, I just nod my head on auto-pilot. They scare me, true, but death doesn’t, so here we have a critical impasse. But to me, I’m just the right size for me. You wouldn’t agree of course. But you haven’t lived your life comforted by the knowledge that no hearty gale of wind will bring you down. I like the feeling of being firmly on the ground, practically screwed unto it. This works for me because my idea of spreading my wings and flyi

Last night, I woke up screaming my guts out. In my dreams which felt too real, I saw a burglar trying to infiltrate the house. I was shouting for help, but my mouth couldn’t fully form the words. I was trying to scream at the burglar, but all I was capable of making were muffled sounds of protest. When I woke up, of course, I was in bed, drenched in cold sweat, and the night quiet as the dead. Geez. Welcome to my slow descent towards paranoia. I wish I could say this is the first time this has happened. But no, every night brings new terrors to me. Ever since our yard was broken into, and our water pump and some electronics we foolishly left outside were taken, I never fully trusted the security of our place. True, the house itself is practically impregnable, and with what our 3 dogs who would bark at a moving leaf may be enough to provide alarm. But I think the night terrors are due to other deeper sources; and when I talk of security, I’m just skimming the surface when I say it’s jus

I did not deserve my 2009. Looking back, I had been such a passive, spoiled brat who just huddled under a blanket telling herself and to anyone who would listen that I hurt, I hide, I cry. But if the people around me are tired of that, imagine how I would feel --- I who have to live with myself everyday. So, even if I cannot promise not to wax melancholic this year, I do want to start the year with good prospect: I will not take this year for granted. Something's telling me, my 28th year on the planet will be an interesting one. I'm just going to give it a hand by believing in the best. Happy New Year to everyone. :D