Sundays and Pictures

This blog is on an identity crisis. Much like the weather. Humid and dry in one minute, thunders and blackout the next. One day, I’ll just pull out my daily itinerary from my planner and squeeze it all in here.

As much as I want this blog to sound personal minus the diary-rant vibe, I don’t know. Today is Sunday. The usual: brunch, extended sleep, laundry assignments, Sunday racket, and plans that are not bold enough to get a life.

I guess we’re torn apart like that in one way or another.

On an unrelated note, here are some pictures of the great Apartment. 🙂

“where do we go from here?”

Krispy Kreme artwork, org teaser, goodbye notes, pictures, DVD poster, magazine cut-out.




At Midnight, When I Preferred to Write this To Doing Laundry

I think we all need that one person whom we can be brutally honest with. Someone we can disclose everything to. A conversation that can go from mundane to taboo. Over bottles of beer. Tipsy but still sober. Enough amount of sanity to comprehend what is said. And what isn’t. Someone you can share silence with. Understanding before judgement. No holds barred. Introspection and issues. Non-issues. Disclosures. Strangers who will hold your secret forever. Over bottles of beer. Over beers of bottle. I want to meet that person. This is the best time. I feel like exploding any minute now.


This is your life; and it is ending one minute at a time. – Chuck Palahniuk

It takes

eight minutes and half to the next train station

two thousand steps and a slip to your home

ten hours and an entire playlist to your real home

four minutes and a dose of charm to be the next in line

two tall glasses of water to quench thirst

three open tabs to get distracted

half a minute and a good joke to the 28th floor

one long explanation and a fist bump to steal the punchline

eight consecutive days of silence to give up

four dial attempts to get someone pick up

one 2-word text message to ruin the day

one 4-minute Rico Blanco’s song to climb down stairs

nine hours of sleep to forget

and a split second to remember


the clock on my desktop says it’s 1:07am. in 8 hours, i’ll be squeezing myself into the MRT amidst hundreds of people fighting the rush hour. in 11 hours, i’ll be in my dark blue blazer sandwiched in between my boss and a prospected client who sounds like some comedian from the 90s. in 12 hours, i’ll be torn apart between staying slim and keeping my fat wallet or grabbing a cholesterol-filled fried chicken in Ministop and feeding my whim. in 48 hours, i’ll be thousands of kilometers away from where i am today, soaking myself under the sun, not minding anything i left in this crowded city i live.

i like my old self. not that i hate myself today. it’s just that i miss my old self. not that i like my old self better than my new self (i have no idea whether or not i have a “new” self to start with). what i’m certain is that some things were adapted and scratched and re-adapted and re-scratched and somehow, something got lost in the process. thus, this self-absorbing, trying-to-be-nostalgic post.

i miss my fucking old self.

i miss how i didn’t mind what people think. i miss how i believed i can write. i miss  my 25-inch waistline. i miss how i managed to finish a book in a week. i miss how i was never distracted. i miss how i believed in people. i miss how i believed in Santa Claus and wishing stars. i miss collapsing in bed and going to sleep way before 9pm. i miss how my heart leaped for joy when i hear our gate opens. i miss not knowing the difference between this and that. i miss my naive but happy self. this morning, as i was passing by a red tinted car, i took a glance and checked the configurations of my face (as i always do every time i passed by any tinted car). it was okay. same nose. same eyelashes. same pimple. same wrinkle. same side-swept hair.  it was just an awkward feeling to look at someone whom i have known for 22 years. it was like i’ve known her so well that i think we’re strangers to each other.


21 Things I Stopped Doing at 21

1)      Making birthday greetings on Facebook

2)      Sleeping without checking the e-mail

3)      Going offline when he appears on the chat box

4)      Drinking iced coffee at the sight of deadlines

5)      Re-tweeting horoscopes

6)      Watching the water run from the faucet

7)      Dozing off before 2am

8)      Doing the laundries on weekends

9)      Adding too much soy sauce on fried rice

10)  Texting friends about suicidal thoughts in the middle of the night

11)  Calling people by surnames

12)  Posting a status on Facebook

13)  Twisting my hair to calm self

14)  Stroking zits on my face

15)  Eating pizza crust

16)  Avoiding eye contact amidst deep conversations

17)  Dipping bread in hot chocolate

18)  Sending gifts despite special occasions

19)  Being narrow-minded about open relationships

20)  Ending each text with a smiley

21)  Believing that Sandra Bullocks’ movies do happen

Where do we go from here?

Banchetto – Megatent

Another plan pushed through! It was my first Banchetto experience and it was worthy! My diet was fucked up as expected. But it felt good. I liked Banchetto’s ambiance, very cozy and laidback. The place was also very accessible from where I live so I see myself visiting again next time. The foods were ALL good. But it was made even better with the presence of my good old friends. Ashuu.

Here is my pseudo review on Banchetto–my first ever since I started blogging. Hold. Understand that I’m the kind of person who still gets lost in malls and only identifies things (especially food) by way of colors and associations. So, please bare with me. I’ve yet to take mental notes of food names next time.

Food: Wide and varied as all the other night markets are.

The usual street food goodies were present (isaw, betamax, tenga ng baboy). There was also a long strip of booths selling diabetes sinful delights i.e. velvety cakes, silvanas, brownies, and so much more. Pinoy ulams were never to be missed as well. I got to try sisig and chicken cordon all for P90 (with rice). Sisig was good and hot while chicken cordon was too creamy for my taste. All good, nonetheless. There were also booths for your cholesterol other cravings. I should try crispy pata and kare-kare next time. And yes, no signs of beer there. The night’s ONLY downer.

Price: Reasonable to pricey

Well, whatever that means. Of course, it  wasn’t a carinderia-priced food market (I think the P300ML mineral water was too pricey for P30). But there were some good catches as well. The Mango Shake was a must at P55 for Medium Size and P70 for Large.  If you’re planning of dropping by, prepare at least P250 and you will be one satisfied customer with one happy tummy!

Ambiance: LAIDBACK

I was expecting crowded booths and loud music and frenzy and conyos lining up for isaw. But no. The place was quiet enough to have decent conversations over pizza and tacos. It was not as crowded and there was no need to queue up to buy your Mango shake. There were enough tables for everyone, too. There was a decent comfort room for your loaded tummies. One tip: try to be there in flip-tops or sneakers. Never ever wear heels as you do not want to walk on its limestone-filled grounds.

Banchetto - Megatent

We were there on a Friday night, from 9-ish to 2-ish. The crowd was not overwhelming (as I’d expected it to be on a Friday night). So, it was perfect for some easy kwentuhan with old friends.

Mr. Crabs Claws

Tickle your taste buds and experience a wide array of food choices. Jump from Italian to Japanese to Pure Pinoy goodies and you will definitely go “NOM NOM!”


Silvanas Sprinkled with Diabetes

Yummy Tacos

Pizza Overload (P130 per one super big slice)

The Epic "Hawaiian Pizza"

More Pizza!

Satisfy your cravings for pizza as they are all over the place! One slice is at P130–enough for 2-3 moderate eaters. They look really tempting but try to have someone to share it with.

The Kikay Cake

beer na lang kulang

The "Pizza Overload"

heart attack waiting to happen

and more pizza

hello diabetes

polka-dotted pizza for Chinese New Year

Caramel Cake (3 for P100)

Brownies (3 for P100)

the other halves

P130 per slice - w/c is good for 3 moderate-eating peeps - not bad

chicken shit (P20 per stick)

tenga ng baboy (P20 per stick)

ulam combo (chicken cordon plus sisig plus rice for P90)

Yummey in Yellow!

...aaand more pizza!

I asked kuya vendor for ther best-seller and he gave me this (above picture): scattered choco mousse (or something along that line, haha). I ate it at home and it was just perfect for my weekly dose of sugar-rush.

Mango Shake = Heaven (P70 Large)

This mango shake is way beyond words to describe. The gulamans did the trick, I guess. It was the perfect drink to combat our pagkaumay over too much pizza. I’m a fan of milk tea (usually at P90), but this one now tops my favorite drinks list. Except for beer and iced tea, of course.

"wala pa nung cd o dvd merona lang...BETAMAX!"

Mich, Trisha, Carmina, Abby

happy girls

full and satisfied

Abby, the night’s tour guide and a self-proclaimed Banchetto-goer, said the place kind of lie-lowed. There were not as many booths as before and the usual glee and frenzy died down a bit. Plus, the typical swarm of people—which can add to the adrenaline rush of calorie-hunting—was none in sight. Whatever’s the case, I like it that way. Quiet and intimate setting with the starry sky above you and loads of cholesterol and fats foodgasms all lined up! Needless to say, I’m one happy customer waiting to drop by again next time. 🙂

PS: Photos courtesy of Trisha


The girl was in loose shirt and faded shorts; her fingertips smelled of dye; her hair storm-tossed. She woke up thrice that day: when her phone rang, when her Mother went to her room to say goodbye, and when, finally, she felt too weak to sleep.

The girl wanted to make a coffee. Or hot tea. Or anything any 21-year old is supposed to have in the morning. Instead, she grabbed a pack of instant noodles and made one for herself. She was cold. A different type of ‘coldness’ this time, she thought to herself.

The girl moved by the window and watched the sky throw huge drops of rain, as if unloading tears. Then a bit later, the sun appeared from behind the clouds. It was a crystal-clear morning once again.

The weather, like her, was undecided.

Recurring memories still haunt her. Sometimes in sleep. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes when she thought she had forgotten.

She had not, she assured herself.

She was in loose shirt and faded shorts; her eyes smelled of pretense; her whole body, a heartbreak. Amidst her cold noodles and an indecisive weather, the girl decided to postpone her life.

No, not yet, the girl sang.

On Being Writerly

So many things are going on with my life right now (e.g. death of Papa and lola, post-grad insecurities, blackheads and dirty pores) that whenever I feel the urge to write, it just does not happen. One of my favourite Filipino writers has an advice for it: “pukpok ka lang nang pukpok.”If you are the type who can come up with haikus about pimples or love on bus in just a minute or two, lucky you. I can’t. I haven’t had creative outputs in bazillion years. It was one sky-lit evening (amidst our neighbours’ videoke reverberations) when I decided I cannot be a writer (or a singer for that matter). The reasons being:

1) I never finish anything. Like a lass to her lover, I always leave things HANGING.

2) I (think) am very sensitive to criticism. Proof: Sleep becomes elusive when I post a stat and no one “likes” it.

3) I am stupid. You know those 100-things-to-read-before-you-die kind of thing? I don’t think I’ll even get halfway through it even in my next life (Refer to Reason 1).

4) I cannot commit. Not to a relationship, not to a tattoo, not to a lover. Much more to a finished book.

And so I cannot be a writer. My career options, then, take me to being a 1) pole dancer, 2) a starved volunteer to an NGO, 3) (in the words of Cristine Reyes in No Other Woman) a boring housewife, 4) a slave to the corporate world, or 5) an owner of a small thrift shop with candy canes and lanterns and Christmas lights even when it’s not Christmas. So, while I dream of my Pulitzer (or Palanca) that never will be), let me write something just for the hella sake of it.