Springtime

Let me start by saying that this is all Julie’s fault! Hahaha!

Yesterday, she posted a Facebook note about her latest poem, “Finally”. Now this is something very new for the very much angelic Julie. This marks her first dabble into Anais Nin-esque, sensual poetry. She was rather nervous at composing it, but says it was worth it trying something new, a very integral part of literature.

Then, I realised something: I too have not tried it.And yes, I’d like to. So, inspired by Ms. Julie, I decided to make, well, this!

Just like Julie, I’ve never had experience in the things described here. But, I suppose, I just have friends who do.

Well, yes, I was blushing as I was writing this (and, for that matter, I still am right now that I’m posting it).

So yeah, here we go:



Springtime

It is the frigid, pale winter

And I’m a white rosebud, shivering in the snow

Suddenly, the sunlight caresses my cheek

Like your warm, loving hands

I feel the fall of dew

Wet and refreshing

Like the dawn air

Like those first kisses

To my cheeks

To my lips

Then, this rosebud opens

Slowly, gently, lovingly

In full bloom to

You, the lone butterfly

A primrose inviting you

Only you

To partake of me

Sweet nectar

Flowing, like a rush of blood

Drink of me all that you want

To reveal a tiny blush

Inside all my pristine exterior

Under the dawn sky

I give to you

And only you

Every dream, every hope

Every petal in my blossom

This is the first day

Of our eternal spring

Allie's 22 Things She's Leant Before 22: New Year Edition!

Happy New Year!

Allie's 22 Things She's Leant Before 22: Christmas Edition!

Happy Holidays, guys!

The Mustard Seed Effect

It never fails to amaze me how something so simple can turn profound simply like that. Think of going to the wash room and bumping into Hillary Clinton, or discovering that the candidate you voted for won by a single, nail-biting ballot. Call it the “Mustard Seed” effect --- how something so small and seemingly insignificant can actually turn out to be huge.

Who knew I was going to experience that today?

I went to the beauty salon this morning to get my regular manicure and pedicure. Funnily enough, I was actually due for one since Sunday but just never bothered to go there until four days later. It started out typically --- bringing along Glamour to refer to that shade of pale peach I’ve been itching to try (which they didn’t have anything close to, by the way), waiting for a manicurist to be available, pestering Ate Lynn (from Dipolog) with how to say things in Bisaya. I was in “deep” (more like, annoying!) conversation with her when it happened.

A slim, short, soft-spoken old woman sat in the chair next to me. She told Ate Lynn that the newly-applied onyx dye slightly irritated her. My manicurist simply smiled and whispered something to her fellow Bisaya colourist, Mel, to take care of the itch after she gets her nails done. Then, the woman next to me asked Ate Lynn about her sons back in Dipolog, to which she replied that they’re fine, but that she misses them to bits. She then turned to me and asked me where my mother was. I told her that she was at home, recuperating from a slight fever. That was when, with a slight quiver in her voice, she told us her story.

Her daughter, Marie, has always been quite an independent girl. So, upon graduation, she decided to move to New York to pursue her career and her Master’s degree. It had been quite difficult for her, but she knew this is what Marie wanted. So, with a heavy heart, she watched her daughter leave her. Many Christmases were spent with at least an hour on the webcam to see if her little girl was all right. These few hours meant so much to Carmencita (the mother) for in those hours, it’s as if Marie never left Manila, and she was with her, celebrating Christmas as a family. Despite the distance, she was still there.

Then, one morning --- one simple, unassuming morning --- her entire world was rocked. Marie told her mother that she was going to see a plastic surgeon to have a birthmark removed. Carmencita warned her daughter about the dangers of the operation, but Marie told her mother to trust her on this decision, anyway it was a simple procedure. Little did Carmencita know that this was the last time she’d hear her daughter’s voice. The plastic surgeon Marie entrusted to remove her birthmark turned out to be a fraud and to cover up the botched surgery, the “doctor” dumped her body in a lake. It took a lot of courage, and money to send her body back to the Philippines to give Marie a proper burial. That was seven Christmases ago.

Her story was so riveting, so gripping that I knew I just had to do something, give something to this woman anguished from retelling the story of her daughter’s death. But what? My parents gave me just enough to cover the manicure plus a tip. I couldn’t even give her a hug at the time because my right hand was getting painted. So, I gave her the only thing I could at the time --- my ears. I intently listened to her stories about her daughter, how she (Carmencita) got married at 21 and how I should not follow her example (Don’t worry, Tita. I plan to marry at 30!), and how I should love everyone around me. I also told her about my family when I was asked. It wasn’t much, but for some reason, it was enough to make her smile, and making her smile, made me do so too.

Even the simplest gestures can produce immense amounts of happiness. It’s just up to us to utilise those small things for others. As they say, great things come from small packages. All you need to do is to write some other name than yours for the recipient.

Five (Yes, Now It's Five!)- Inch Heels

Just when you thought my collection of stilts disguised as shoes couldn't get more, well, stilt-like, I now introduce you to this spectacular footwear marvel. Ladies and gentlemen, the newest addition to my shoe closet:


Oh, I can hear the screams and yelps of utter terror from here!

That, my beloved readers, is a pair of black sandals from Parisian, an in house brand of SM. If you've been following my blogs for quite some time now, you'll probably remember that that's the same brand of the 3 1/2 inch gold pumps I dedicated two entries to. Anyway, my parents bought them for me to wear on Christmas along with a lovely new dress from the same department store. Oh, yes, the heel? Well, it's not that tall. It's just a mere 5 1/2 inches.

Uhm, okay, I understand that right now you're gasping for air.

But yes, seriously, I can wear heels like that. In fact, most of my shoes are heels ranging in height from 2.5 inches to that newly-purchased 5.5 inch one. So yes, I practically live in heels. I've ran to the technical booth in them, jumped during praise and worship with them, and commuted from Magallanes to Alabang (including walking from the office to the MRT and trying to maneuver my way out of a crowded 6:00 pm Ayala station) wearing them. In fact, my heel obsession has gotten so bad, it now hurts my feet to wear flats and feel the abrasive floor than the usual other way around. Mutant feet? Perhaps!

So how can my feet endure incredible, self-imposed, tensile, blistery agony? Well, first of all, it isn't torture for me anymore. Why? This leads me to my second point. I can live and breathe in heels because I've been doing so already for fourteen years.

Upon my request, my parents bought me pairs of those "Cinderella glass slippers" with little heels on them as pasalubong for their then 7 year-old wannabe princess daughter. My eyes would light up after receiving them, and I'd wear them around the house until they broke. Not only that, but I kept insisting year after year that my "Christmas shoes" always have at least a little bit of a raised heel. As years passed, I trained my feet to handle higher and higher heels until it got to this point --- comfortable enough to wear black patent leather stilts.

Of course, that fourteen years of "intensive training" was wrought with a lot of falls, bruises (from falling. Sometimes, down stairs.), blisters, and feet pleading for me to make the ordeal cease. I can safely say that, yes, my feet are battered. But for some reason, I never thought of giving this addiction up. I love the feel of the height and the spring in my step that heels bring. I love that "clack-clack" sound they make whenever the hollow heel hits the floor (something that 14 years have taught me to eliminate whenever needed, FYI). But most of all, I simply love them. Period.

And you know what? That is the same attitude we should see life and all the little tasks we undertake in it with. Yes, we may fall due to wrong decisions and get bruised. Yes, we may get blistered by people who choose to be tough on you. And yes, we may hear voices in our head to want to give up whatever it is we choose to do -- whether homework, solutions to stop climate change or life itself. But we should look past that and see just how glorious the rewards are after.

Also, we should learn that excellence at something usually requires a lot of practice. Like I've said, one of the biggest reasons for my being able to handle 5.5 inches of heel is the 14 year training I've had before. So, if you want to be the best, say, teacher for your students in the future, you better start acting like it now. If you want to be able to make a difference to an entire nation, start reaching out to that seat mate. And yes, if you want to be able to wear 7-inch heels, I better see you wearing your 2-inch ones to school later.

Yeah, I know. I understand that you're still scared of my shoes! Haha!

Paths

Ooh! Burn!

Many people have this mindset of what life is supposed to be.

You know. Get into so-and-so university. Graduate. Work all day and night to increase that already huge bank account. Marry rich. Wallow in money…and misery for a life without, well, life —-joy.

They feel like if they don’t conform to the obvious path, they will never really succeed in life.

But, perhaps, the less beaten path offers something a whole lot more like, well, life. Perhaps, the reason why it seems a lot more dangerous or risky is because the rewards after are a lot more fulfilling. Anyway, it’s usually the things that are worth it that you have to fight for more.

Go ahead. Turn left!

P.S: Whoever came up with this quote, thanks for the laughs!

Your Choice, Your Attitude

This is the second part of my "22 Things I've Learnt Before 22" Series. This time, it's all about good, evil and how we are choosers as humans.

Yeah, sorry for the mental block and slight incoherence! Haha!

Shower Time, Philosophy Time

No, it's not going to be one of my usual "mundane thing turned magnanimous due to my overactive imagination fed by philosophy" posts. I must admit that this one is (comparatively) short. This is just a bunch of reflections I had running in my mind as the cool waters of my shower were washing away the Pantene. I just had to put it on paper (Well, cyberspace), for some reason, so there.

Anyway, please tell me your thoughts.

1. This is exactly the reason why I think teachers are undoubtedly heroes. I truly think it’s noble the way they inspire kids to dream big and to do what they can to achieve that said dream. They give hope to those deamed hopeless. This man sort of embodies what a real teacher should be, a “kuya/ate” —- a cheerleader, guide, and role model in one.

And yes, I want to be part of that world.

2. The greatest award I could receive is not a Grammy or Oscar or even a Nobel Peace Prize. To me, the greatest awards are another person’s huge smile and pair of eyes that brightened up because of me —- to know that I inspired and touched that person, to be able to say I helped this person to become what he or she is, to make them happy and make their lives a little better.

Yes, this award doesn’t have monetary value. Hey, it’s not even tangible. But, this is the core of why we should do things excellently —- because, ulimately, you need them and vice versa; because our skills are not meant for us alone; because it is human to help.

This is an award I choose to receive again and again.

****

I never knew that showering can induce deep thought! Haha!

Alone (Not really!) But Not Lonely

This is one of 22 things I know before I'm 22, a series of vlogs I plan to complete by my birthday (1 February).

Yes, it's my first vlog, so please besar with it, I suppose! Haha!

Semi-Aquiline

As per usual before heading off to Sonoraland, I face my bathroom mirror. I look at that image on that piece of glass, that same visage I stare at every night, whilst washing away the Clean and Clear. But for some reason, a brief sentence uttered that afternoon pops into my head. Its weight washes over me, and I just had to heed it. That's when I focused, and I noticed it. I tilted my head this way and that to prove those words right. This was when I realised, "OMG! Dad was absolutely correct. My nose now has a semblance of aquiline-ness!".

That's right. I'm dedicating this entry to my nose.

Now, before you go off and think of me unusually and exceedingly peculiar, let me explain.

As I've mentioned in previous entries, I'm actually multi-racial. I'm an international pastiche of Filipino, Caucasian American, French, Indian, Hungarian, Spanish, and who knows what. It's something quite apparent in my looks. I've always carried proudly my big, deeply-set Indian eyes and my French-ish cheek bones. And of course, I love them. There is, however, one part of my face that I admit to loathing.

When I was young, my nose squatted. Yes, literally. It was one of those big, flat noses without a prominent nose bridge. Yes, I do realise now that it's nothing but a normal, Southeast Asian nose, but for someone who grew up with siblings whose Indian and Caucasian roots were very much apparent, this was a malady. I kept asking myself why my nose isn't the "matangos" (Tagalog for "aquiline", for my international readers) standard my brothers and sisters had. I kept wondering why the Australia-purchased sunglasses my aunts gave me never stayed on (since they were made for Aussie nose bridges). Yes, I grew to hate my nose.

So, I did everything to make my nose bridge a little more accommodating of foreign eye wear. I massaged and pinched my nose bridge, sometimes, to the point of getting long scratches on it due to fingernail abrasion. Those big cuts on it, I reasoned, were the price to pay if I wanted one of those Caucasian aquiline probosces. One time, I even incurred a little scar on the side of my nose from pinching it too much before going to bed. Thank God for anti-scar cream applied to that little area.

It got to a point that I considered buying Cleopatra (that home TV shopping spring device you put in your nose to make it sharper). Of course, now I realise that it was ludicrous, but to a little girl with image issues, it made perfect sense.

Last week, whilst having coffee with my parents, my Dad suddenly asked me to tilt my head up. I promptly did so, and that's when he uttered those words that resounded in me in front of that bathroom mirror:

"Allie, ang tangos na rin pala ng ilong mo!" ("Allie, your nose is aquiline now.")

Wow! I've waited 21 years to hear those words uttered by my Mediterranean-nosed father. Finally, it has happened!

Yeah? What was that? Who cares? Well, good! That was my point.

Who cares? No matter how your nose looks like --- flat or aquiline, small as a button or very much apparent --- it looks lovely simply because it's your nose. Like I've been hammering in many a blog entry, every person (and so, every person's nose) is beautiful. Sure, it may not be standard, model-carried features. But, who says that is the only definition of beauty?

Now that I finally have a nose that reflects my multi-culti roots, I have to say, that I love it. But at the same time, I also realise that even back in my Southeast Asian proboscis days, it has always been beautiful.

I just failed to see it because of those Cleopatra ads! Ew!

Murag Alibangbang

"Alexis Araneta is murag alibangbang."

That was exactly what my Facebook status said a week ago. Murag alibangbang. "Like a butterfly" in some of my beloved friends' native Bisaya. Yes, indeed, I actually had a status message in yet another language that's not my own.

I suppose it was inevitable for me to eventually write a status in Cebuano from the moment I first met Charlie (who's from Cebu, as I've been mentioning here). In a way, I knew that I'd end up trying to learn Bisaya simply because I had a friend (and a very good one at that. He's my soul brother!) who spoke it. My wannabe linguist self just had to ask every single word of Cebuano I couldn't comprehend. Then, Alexa, Karen, Monea, and Jessah came into the picture, and there was even more posts and comments I just had to decipher like an anthropologist trying to crack some ancient code (Too much Discovery Channel, Allie!) . Gradually, more and more lovely people from that beautiful, historical Visayan city began to befriend me. Of course, the desire to learn more of their language was even more fueled.

The enormous leap in linguistic learning came about when a dear friend of mine were talking to each other on Plurk. Lucille instantly noticed my "Prof. Pangga" display name and my greetings of "Maayong buntag", about one of the few sentences I could churn out in the language. When she asked me why I was using her native Bisaya (She's from Dumaguete) for my Plurks, I told her of my current, rather insatiable desire to learn it. And that's when she showed me something I now check out every now and then.

Seriously, thanks, Lucille, for that online Bisaya phrasebook! Okay, so of course, it doesn't contain all the words I'd love to know in this lovely language. So, yes, I still need my wonderful Cebuano friends to tell me what certain words mean (if you guys are all right with it, that is.). But hey, now, at least I could simply replace a few words and construct sentences. Let me repeat that --- construct sentences, something I was never able to do in Cebuano.

So what's a girl who has just cracked the "secret code" of her friends' native tongue to do with her new-found knowledge? Why use it as a Facebook status message, of course! It got a few smiles and comments from some of the aforementioned buddies, and that's always brilliant.

I suppose trying to decipher each other's language --- figuratively or literally --- really is a part of any relationship. We're all different; we have our own tastes, opinions and ways to view the world around us. This is why it's imperative to understand each other to avoid miscommunication.

And yes, it takes effort. After all, these mindsets are sort of conditioned in us, ingrained in us. But, as Newton's 1st Law of Motion says, "Something at rest shall stay at rest unless a force is acted upon it for motion". You can not understand people without taking that first step of trying to. Yes, whether that takes listening to why your best friend likes cricket, a sport you're sure only he understands. Yes, whether that takes being that shoulder to cry on when your lovesick gal pal breaks up with her boyfriend. And yes, whether it takes brushing up on your Bisaya every now and then.


P.S.: By the way, why am I murag alibangbang?

1. Like a butterfly, I'm not afraid of change.
2. Like a butterfly, I choose to fly and spread my colours.
3. What? I like butterflies. They're cute! Enough said!

Pieces of Paper = Priceless

It was horrendous, utterly, shockingly horrendous. The way the Typhoon Ondoy devastated San Mateo was just absolutely terrible. For one little boy there I saw on the news (I forgot the name), this was certain. I mean how could he not cry given the fact that his entire house is still filled with flood waters? How could he not be saddened by the fact that most of the family's earthly possessions are gones, swept away by the current. The worst thing, however, the final blow to make him bawl his eyes out was this: all his books are now soggy mush.

That's right. That little boy was wailing was caused by his textbooks turning into pulp. It was the fact that his books plunged into oblivion that saddened him most.

Now, I know. It's books --- pieces of paper bound together meant to be read. You could procure one very easily. Hey, I even recall my second-hand copy of the classic French play "Cyrano de Bergerac" by Edmond Rostand being bought for P10. Yes, you can get a book for the same price of a McDonald's ice cream cone. So why the fuss?

But you see, those words imprinted on that paper happen to do something very valuable --- feed our minds. Through those sentences, our minds are taught to imagine. Those pieces of information and the values that come along with it will get embedded in our brains for future use. And just what future use might that be? Well, after all, the constitution mentions that education is integral to national development.

I really admire that boy for valuing his education like that. After all, like I've said, to value education is to value the future of this nation. The gratitude he had when he received those donations of school supplies to replace his submerged ones shows his appreciation to be given a chance to fulfill his dreams through an education.

I suppose it shows that they're not just mere pieces of paper, after all.

From Brapan With Love

No, that picture is not just to grab your attention nor to just simply have you drool all over your computer keyboard!

The very much dashing guy in the photograph is none other than Akihiro Sato, a fast-rising actor and model gaining fame all over Asia. Oh, and he happens to be Brapanese.

Yes, he is indeed one of them. He is part of one of the biggest trends in Asian modeling. I see a few heads being scratched out there, so let me explain.

The term "Brapanese" pertains to those individuals who happen to be a combination of Brazilian and Japanese (So no, it has nothing to do with a newly-birthed country or a bad medicine name). Apparently, there's a lot of them out there. The recent influx of these individuals in our television screens and magazine covers most certainly displays that fact.

I suppose you could blame the fact that Brazil actually has the highest Japanese population outside Japan. That's right. 1.4 million people of Japanese descent call Brazil sua casa . The huge square in Sao Paulo for Japanese festivals is evidence of the immigration to the South American country.

When you think about it, these two cultures couldn't be more worlds apart. First of all, well, take that in a literal sense. The two nations happen to be on the opposite sides of that world map. Secondly, there's the mood sort of given off by the countries. Japanese culture is deeply rooted in a very structured, black-and-white tradition. Brazil? Well, you are talking about the birthplace of the bossa nova (a song style characterised by not following the traditional beat) and Carnival. Then, there's the matriarchal vs. patriarchal societies. Brazil was, after all, Amazon territory. This is a far cry from Japan's "The-daughter-is-no-longer-our-family-once-she-marries" rules.

That's why it's utterly lovely how these two nations can easily harmonise like that. The fact that these two countries with their contrasting ideas can come together and form one lovely community is just remarkable. Yes, they may have their disagreements, but in the end they see that they are, in a way, one human family. It's just that they have different skin tones.

In the same way, we are called to harmonise with everyone --- including those whose beliefs and principles are quite different from ours. We should respect one another's opinions. Hey, it's the least we could do to our fellow humans.

Unity in diversity is lovely. Yes, even lovelier than Akihiro Sato's face.

Another Long-Winded Thank You Note

Okay, so this is the second half of my epic-long thank you to some of my favourite teachers.

This time, I’d like to focus on those from my college level, plus a few inspiring souls who may not have taught me in the classroom, but most certainly taught me in life.


Mr. Mark Cayanan (1st year college literature in English --- both semesters)

It’s hard to forget a professor who keeps harping in his class that he wants to be Michelle Pfiefer as Catwoman.

With his magenta Chuck Taylors, cute little pose sitting on the teacher’s table and faux-hawk, he made poems and short stories written in who-knows-when very fresh and current to his iPod toting class. At the same time, he also exposed us to post-modernist works that would make purists roll in their graves. He basically showed us something essential that literature espouses --- freedom. In literature, you are free to choose who influences you or which style to follow, even whether to write a poem about a glass of mucus (It’s been done. Sharon Olds, you are slightly sick!). And it is with that belief of freedom that he respected his students’ critical analyses of works, no matter how messed-up/ultra-feminist/cheesy/insert adjective here they sounded.

Need I mention the fact the modernist and post-modernist poems we discussed in his class are my influences in writing style?

Mr. Ariel Diccion (1st year college Filipino literature --- 1st semester)

Let’s just say I wrote a piece about him for an essay writing competition in the newspaper. Oh yes, that’s how much I admire this guy.

I do not know where to begin to describe this man. I suppose I could start by saying how much he cared for each one of his students personally --- enough to take time to memorise us by our nick names rather than just call us Mr. /Ms. (Insert surname here), like many professors opt to. Or, perhaps, I could start by telling you of how he loves sharing his passions to his students. We truly enjoyed our class viewings of plays (as theatre was certainly a passion of his). Perhaps, I could start by saying that he was the most understanding, respectful professor I’ve had. He never tires of answering his students’ questions, not matter how mundane it is.

Perhaps, it’s this (and the fact that he’s admittedly cute) that made many of his female students have a crush on him (myself not included!).

Ms. Myrna Escoto (Literature)

We at the writers’ guild fondly call her Mama (pronounced the French way) for a reason. She is, after all, the number one encourager and (when needed) nagger for us to expand our creative wings. She’s always up to date with upcoming literary competitions or symposia, so we, her “children” could join them.
Just like a Mum, she also knows every single secret our guild members hide in the deepest chambers of her heart. She knows, for example, the man who’s the cause of the sudden de-sarcasm of my poetry. Haha! We trust her like that.

But please, Mama, why not just a gentle nudge than a nag? Haha!

Sir Winston de la Cruz (Copywriting)



In the past semester we’ve known him, he’s mentioned stepping out of the box probably hundreds of times already. That’s exactly who he is – unconventionally wonderful. I mean which other advertising teacher would assign his students to write love sonnets to unreachable objects of admiration?

Kudos to him for making writing fun.

Ms. Julie Manzon, Mr. Charlie Codizar, Ms. Alexa Aguipo, Ms. Jessah Princesa, Ms. Karen Pedroso, Ms. Fatima Rico, Ms. Michelle Jakosalem, and Ms. Gretchen Flores (BSEd – English)

They’re also known as my future teacher friends (as they’re secondary education majors)

I utterly enjoy every single minute of intelligent conversation with them –whether talking about the complexities of Shakespearean verse or discussing a poem one of them has written or simply talking about the day’s events. That’s the thing with hanging out or conversing with teachers, I suppose. You most certainly learn oh so much every time you’re simply with them --- whether in class or barraging their Multiply with comments.

Their big hearts full of passion also show whenever they talk of a certain inspiring student or a new idea on how to teach a topic. It’s very much encouraging, really. To see hearts so on fire about impacting their students makes you want to ignite that flame of purpose in what you do.

Oh, need I mention that they have the most rapier wits ever, so every “banatan portion” is extra hilarious?

God

I don’t think I need to expound on how amazing a teacher He is. He is, after all, Lord of All, including teaching. Enough said.

To all of you noble souls who use your lives, talents, and intelligence to impart wisdom, yes, you guys who mould us to be history makers, I greet you a very happy belated Teacher’s day!

A Long Winded Thank-You Note

You want to pass out from all those exams they give. They suddenly call on you to answer some question about Marshall McLuhan’s ideology on communications. They make you do piles and piles of paperwork. But, they also inspire you with their passion to impart, not just knowledge, but wisdom. They guide you through the tumultuous world awaiting for you after school. Sometimes, they even lend their listening ear as you pour out your soul to them.

And today, we celebrate these noble individuals we call teachers. Yes, it’s Teachers’ Day, a chance to appreciate these souls who have moulded us to be who we are today.
Like any individual on this planet, I’ve had my fair share of mentors who have left an indelible mark in my persona. Who I am can be partially attributed to they who’ve spent some time in the classroom, imparting wisdom to their students (myself, included).

So in honour of Teachers’ Day, here are a bunch of educators who hold special places in my heart. Oh, and if you detect an English/Literature/Writing teacher bias, well, you’re not the only one. Haha! Blame my interest for these subjects, I suppose.

Ms. Josie Flora (5th grade English)
We can call her the woman who started it all. By “it”, I mean this insatiable, arduous, fervid love for literature and language that I still carry in me now. This fine educator made grammar rules (Shock!) fun with her with her quirky way of delivery full of games and other tricks. The spark to ignite my literary flame, she is.


Ms. Aurora Rufo (1st year high English)

A foundation needs reinforcements, and Ms. Rufo was just that to my developing love for words. How could you forget a woman who, for example, came to class in full Spanish-era costume to explain a short story? Or how could you forget someone who presented the debate between Jose Garcia Villa’s “Art for Art’s Sake” movement and Salvador Lopez’ “Art for Society” mantra as a sort of literary catfight? She made the world of words oh so tantalizing to a high school freshman like me.

Oh, and the fact that she never spoke a single negative word to her students? That must indeed be commended.

Mr. Kiko Vega (2nd year high English)

If the first two mentors started creating a love for words in my heart, this man cemented it there and put it in some impenetrable, bullet-proof titanium box so nobody can conquer or destroy the passion. I can not find where to start on how he pretty much encouraged me to further dive into my passion.

He always believed that there is great potential lying inside his students, so he always pushed us to try our best – whether in public speaking, writing short stories or in the cheering competition (as team manager for the sophomores). Oh, and that encouragement for someone like me who was, well, way outside the box, greatly impacted me. How great? Part of the reason I completely changed sides from La Salle to Ateneo (where he graduated) was because of this guy’s teaching! I thought if the university can produce a teacher of this caliber, it must be a wonderful place to study in. Haha!

Mr. Roel Elardo (3rd and 4th year high history)
…Not to mention, one of the most kick-bum class advisers on the face of the earth! He won’t take c**p from his students, but he was always there to listen to everyone who just needs someone to be there. Yes, he was a father figure to us. He was sort of embodiment of the saying “A teacher is your second parent”.

As a history teacher, I loved how he always asked “why”. Every event in history indeed has a reason --- rational or not. And I suppose it showed the humanity in these historical figures….and how we, ourselves, can be history makers.

I think this entry is getting a little too verbose. I suppose I’ll just have to continue on another entry.

Typhoon Mastercard

This is a story of a might-as-well Mastercard commercial set in one day due to the Typhoon Odong.

Texting your friends where to meet up to help in the relief effort ---- P5.00, probably.

My friend Kim always has this heart to help people. Her generous, caring heart is indeed one remarkable thing about her. Whenever you need volunteers --- whether it’s to organise the PE 12 dance or to help collect money for Xeroxing handouts --- expect her to be there, ready to lend a helping hand. And so, it came as no surprise that she’d be involved in the school’s effort to bring goods to the victims of this ravaging typhoon.

But, of course, an operation as massive as this needs as much people willing to volunteer their time and effort. So when Kim asked me if I could help out in sorting and packing goods for the mission, I readily accepted. It was five pesos of load for a cause.

Time spent carrying goods to the gym, sorting them out, and distributing them evenly ---- 5 exhausting hours.

When I arrived at the college building I saw just how much work I was to perform. Boxes and boxes of noodles, toiletries, clothes, canned goods and other relief materials littered part of the first floor of the college building. I was then called to the covered courts to sort out the donations.
The amount of materials in there was even more massive than that of in the college building, and what? I’m partly in charge of sorting them out? Okay then, let’s go. I separated medicines from a previous medical mission according to whether they were expired already or still usable. After that, I was called to separate the boxes of goods according to categories --- apparel, canned goods, noodles, powdered drinks, and liquid drinks. We had to carry the boxes and place them in particular areas of the gymnasium set up as zones for each type of good. My goodness, my rather muscular arms have purpose after all! Then, the clothes sorters called me on to further separate the apparel according to age and gender classifications. As I rolled each piece of clothing, I was growing tired, and it seemed to me that work would never stop. For some reason though, I kept smiling as work loomed and loomed. Perhaps, it’s the realisation that yes, I am making a person out there smile with my toil.

After a pizza break (Thank you, Sir Harvey for treating us volunteers.), it was another plunge into work. This time it was removing the individual packages of noodles from their wholesale bag. Again, my athletic built worked in my favour as it was easy for me to open each bag without relying on scissors. Then, it was on to separating the streams of Milo and Nescafe sachets into individuals.

Perhaps, the hardest and most grueling part was when we had to distribute each type of good to form one relief package. There was calculation involved (Is one Aro chocolate milk cup equivalent to two sachets of Milo?). There was some kneeling and back bending involved trying to place the goods on spots on the floor. There was even me almost tripping on a can of corned beef.

It was indeed one grueling time, but it was time very well-spent. By the time my parents had to pick me up at 3:00 pm, I was ready to sink into the car seat and collapse.

Six packs of biscuits (courtesy of me) + one frozen yoghurt to rejuvenate from a day of work (courtesy of dad) = P245. 00

When we got to Alabang Town Centre, there was one place I wanted to go to --- Makati Supermarket to get some biscuits to add more food to those to be distributed. As my Mum scoured the aisles to get food for the house, I decided to compare prices and grab the most sensible deal to add to the cart. I promised I’d pay for those, wanting to give out of my own resources.

Then, my Dad announced that he has a little surprise for me. You see, I’ve always wanted to try White Hat’s frozen yoghurt, and he thought that I deserved it after the exhausting time I spent sorting and carrying stuff. I must admit that it was delicious, but what was more scrumptious was the pride in my parents’ eyes as I regaled them with stories of a day well-spent

Knowing you’re part of alleviating flood victims’ situation --- priceless.

*** Okay, so my story-telling skills aren’t as splendid as usual. But hey, give me a break. I’m writing this when what I really want to do is crash.

SM

*** This is my valiant attempt at Tagalog poetry. Yes, indeed, it's my very first time to write a poem in my vernacular. It's just my first draft; I'll most probably edit this out.

This is a little post-modernist, so go ahead, give it your own interpretation. And yes, I do hope you like it!

Comments are very much duly appreciated.

SM

Ang ibig sabihin
Ng SM ay
Shoe Mart
Ang ibig sabihin
Ng shoe ay
Sapatos
Ang ibig sabihin
Ng mart ay
Tindahan


Eh, bakit ang dami-daming taong
Nagpupunta ng SM

Tumatambay at
Nagsasayang
Ng oras,
Nanonood ng sine upang
Makawala
Sa mundo,
Inuubos ang pera
Kakalaro
Sa Timezone,
Nagbabayad ng mahal para sa
Pangalang
Naka-imprenta sa baso ng kape

Ngunit di naman
Bumibili ng sapatos?

Foot Raising

This is basically the third part of my “I Love Heels” saga. Oh yes, I still am very much enamoured with footwear some of my friends compare to Medieval torture devices. Much to the dismay of the people I tower over even in flats, I could practically say that I live in heels (After all, even my slippers at home have a wedge heel.).

But, I never realised it would actually reach this point. I never thought my penchant for foot raising devices would actually affect me when it came to orthopaedics. I suppose it’s inevitable. After all, I hadn’t worn flats for more than two months, so when I did, I felt a strange sensation in my feet. Could it be? Have my feet gotten so used to heels that wearing flats now makes it hurt (unlike the usual in reverse)?

I couldn’t deny the sharp, shooting pain on my feet’s arches. I’m not quite sure what caused it, but my guess is the constant use of the pointed foot position required for heels. To have to suddenly release my feet from that raised pose must have shocked the arch, ergo, the throb. Neither could I deny the abrasive feeling of the floor being so close to my feet. Yes, I sort of felt that my foot was being grated by wood parquet or concrete or whatever I stepped on. Blame the fact that I always kept my heel at least two-and-a-half inches (my lowest heel length) away.

And yes, I do admit it. It’s not natural to feel this way about flats. As my dear friend put it so aptly, “You know what? You are quite the opposite of most girls. I know of a lot who complain about having to wear heels, but you?” To have my feet complain for their being in the natural position they were made to form is quite hilarious, ludicrous even. My goodness! I’ve made the pointed, unnatural foot the normal.

And that’s exactly how you start a habit. I know that in today’s society, it’s not really normal anymore to not cheat, or follow traffic rules, or smile at people, but if you actually start to put these things you want to develop into practice, the abnormal becomes normal even if just for you. All these habits become intrinsic to you if you actually make it a, well, habit --- something you do every day. So if you want to start making a change for the better, you better start.

And yes, that means I’m still going to wear three inch heels to school!

Monsieur Disney

Est-ce qu'une vie meilleure
Nous attend, dès demain?
Ne doute pas puisqu'il est l'heure !
Je sais que pourtant
Il faut faire souvent des choix
qui font vraiment peur !
Oh, comme le monde me semble grand,
Quand je voyage -- dans le temps.

Au bout du chemin
On me tendra la main.
Il me semble que ma vie change.
Je serai choyée
Protégée, désirée !
Comme ce rêve me semble étrange.
Oui, et pourtant je l'entreprends,
Ce beau voyage -- dans le temps.

Song, rêve d'une vie
Où j'aurais enfin
Une famille à mon tour
Songe, rêve ! Quell' vie !
J'aurai, moi aussi, droit
A mon rêve d'amour.

Douc'ment, pas à pas,
Marchons vers l'avenir
Sur la route du bonheur.
Est-ce qu'on m'aimera ?
Ai-je raison de partir ?
Tant de questions dans mon coeur
Oui, c'était bien un signe !
Un monde se termine !
Que le chemin du printemps
Soit ma victoire
Sur le temps !

No, I don’t have any intention of making anyone’s noses bleed, nor do I intend to promote some random French singer about a song no one in this country will probably hear of. In fact, this song might get some recall points from us, children on the 1990’s. Of course, we probably know it by its English original --- “Journey to the Past” from the animated feature “Anastasia”.

Why yes, indeed, I have been looking for and listening to Disney songs dans le francais (in French).

Before anything, I must tell you these pieces of background information. First of all, j’aime, non, j’adore le langue francais (I love, no, adore the French language). From the moment I first heard Madeline say “gateau de chocolat” in that cartoon, I fell in love with the language. My stacks of French books and movies, as well as my insistence to insert a French word here and there in conversation, are testaments to how addicted I am to le langue d’amour. It is lovely, after all. Secondly, I grew up with Disney, and much like most people, have a special place in their hearts for those animated gems

That’s why I suppose it wasn’t really a surprise when I started finding random Disney (or animated feature. “Anastasia” isn’t a Disney film) songs in this Romance language I’m obsessed with, a habit I’ve picked up from my friend and fellow Francophile Julie. When she showed me the video of “La Belle et Le Bete” (Beauty and the Beast), I, for some reason, never thought I’d be culling for random Disney songs in French like she did. But well, let’s just say here I am.

The video for “Voyage dans le Temps” (as in the clip from the actual French translation of the film. Not just a still photo with the song. Look for "Voyage dans le Temps"; it's the one timed at 3:05.) happens to be on YouTube. Nonetheless, for some reason, I think it really worked with the animation. Anastasia’s wide-eyed, bubbly personality was punctuated by that sweet French voice singing one of her pieces. Come to think of it, that character has a little ingénue thing about her. I don’t know. Maybe, it’s just I who thinks that way. Nonetheless, I think Anastasia and French are suited for each other.

What was that? You’re questioning my claim that Anastasia in French is very much brilliant? You think if there’s any translated version of the film I should be raving about, it should be the Russian adaptation (since the character is a Romanov princess)? You don’t really like the idea of Anastasia saying “bonjour”?

Well, yes, I believe your claim is valid. After all, Anastasia is a story bound in the context of Russian culture, even Russian history. There is a sphere this story moves in that can not be discounted. At the same time, though, isn’t literature universal? Aren’t the greatest stories in the world translatable and relatable to people of all cultures? Shouldn’t the French have as much right as the Russians to go belt “Journey to the Past” in a language that they can relate to? Yeah, I thought so too.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog, literature and the human story are limitless. One of those boundaries it happens to transcend is culture. So yes, I have every right to enjoy a Romanov princess sing how she’ll take un voyage dans le temps.

Plus, hearing Lea Salonga singing in French? That’s always champion.

The Death of Indian Rapunzel

Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes to a fairy tale and cultural character that, unfortunately, passed away 10:00 am Monday. She was brutally assaulted with a pair of scissors, a brush, and a hair dryer for P40. With every snip of those wretched shears, she was being dismembered. Goodbye, Indian Rapunzel. You shall sorely be missed.


…Or not!

Haha! I got my hair cut. Yes, my tresses are no longer waist-length. Instead, I now have this sort of sultry, layered bob that frames my face and shows off my cheek bones. And you know what? I love it to bits.




(My camera's been acting weird lately. Don't mind the line!)

I love how classy and sophisticated it looks. I don’t know about you, but to me, it has this very gamine-like/European art film star quality to it. It looks like the sort of coiffure Audrey Tautou would sport in her latest Jean-Pierre Jeunet film. Or, if you want to go a little Hollywood, I could see Faye Dunnaway or Elizabeth Taylor with the same romantic hairdo in one of their classic flicks. It’s, I suppose, very fitting to my taste for classic and independent cinema.

I also love how easy to manage it is. All I need to do is brush my mane inwards, and voila. There’s no need for special irons or gadgetry. Just a brush would be perfectly fine to maintain this rather sensual do.

But what do I love most about my new hairstyle? Well, it’s actually something that would make me reminisce all the way back to high school.

You see, my natural hair texture is antithesis to everything the hair care industry stood for and promoted ---- big, fluffy and wavy versus the industry standard of stick-straight, thin and silky. And well, high school was, well, high school --- full of girls that wanted to copy the latest trend and ostracized every single deviant of the rules of fashion. I can’t remember just how many times I’ve been told to get my hair rebonded and chemically-altered for the sake of conformity. I got so fed up with the very explicit suggestions that I actually gave in last year, and got my hair permanently straightened (In all fairness, I liked the results.).

To add insult to injury, every single hair cut I had was fit for straight hair. Whether it was layered, Pobbed (Posh bobbed, since the hair style was popularised by Victoria “Posh Spice” Beckham), or whatever it is they’ve concocted, all of them seemed to suit only those with stick-straight locks. It was as if to say, “Yeah, it looks good….if your hair were thin and silky (Nudge! Nudge! Get a rebond.)” I’m sure the hairstylists meant no harm. The styles were probably industry standard. After all, their profession had to keep up with trends. They just styled my mane the way it was probably taught to them by Media Beauty School, but it still made my hair look awry.

The best thing about this hair style is that it embraces my natural voluminous, wavy hair. I love how the hair stylist took a look at my wavy hair (and my wishes not to rebond it again, for now) and saw beauty in it. He considered my rather unusual tresses and made something of it, as if to say that you don’t have to fit into the shampoo model mould to have fabulous hair (By the way, Sunsilk, I love you for using a curly-haired model for an advertisement. I’m still not going to use you, though. You make my hair fall!).

And, it’s usually like that. Whether it’s lips, or art, or ideas on how to further the cause of education --- it doesn’t have to fit into the mould to be considered worthy of attention (With the last two, it especially rings true). Something very peculiar and unusual, if only listened to, can be the idea to change the world.

All it takes is the removal of prejudice and a listening ear….oh, and in my case, brushing inwardly.

Araneta For President

For the record, no, I have nary an intention to run for the student council, let alone a government position. Well, that’s at least for now.

This whole hoohah is a product of something we admittedly take when bored out of our wits --- Facebook quizzes. Upon seeing a certain test result on my former Ateneo blockmate Yumi’s site, I thought, “Hey! This seems like buckets of fun. After all, this is all for laughs.” That quiz, “What’s next for you after the Ateneo?” is no different --- created just so that Ateneans and former students of the university can snicker at their “future careers”. So yes, I did decide to take it. But after all the giggling, what was left was astonishment at the result.

“Alexis, you are meant to be in the political arena.”

Me? Politics? Are you kidding me?

I must explain myself. No, I do not have a hatred for governance and all things related to it. I’m actually one of those rather rare individuals that believe that politics isn’t a dirty word (with consideration to those who believe it as such, of course. I don’t go around talking about political blah to people who’d rather keep their mouth shut about it.). In fact, I have quite a number of Political Science majors and wannabe lawyers for close friends. I’m pretty used to discussing about laws and ethics at lunch. But seriously, I just never thought of my name having the title “Her Excellency” or anything of the sort appended to it.

Yes, I can see myself as “Prof. Araneta” or “M.A” at the end of my name. I’ve never hidden from people interested my desire to take a Master’s degree in Literature (and perhaps another in Linguistics) and teach that subject oh so close to my heart. Yes, I can see my name being equated with some newspaper column I’d write. Hey, I’m even thinking up of my column name, making sure it fits me. Yes, I can see my name in some film credit roll. I can see myself thinking up of plot twists and character development methods for my latest screenplay. But the word “President” preceding my name? Nah!

I mean can you imagine me as the Commander-in-Chief of the nation? Just how would I order the Armed Forces? Can you imagine me trying to properly apportion our national budget for different areas of pressing concern for our citizens? Yes, I know I’ll be giving education a bigger slice of the pie (something I suppose I’ve mentioned in a previous entry), but what else? Can you imagine me delivering a State of the Nation address before the Filipino people? Yes, the actual public speaking isn’t really a problem (thanks to my oratorical and debate training), but what am I ever going to say? No, I don’t really think I’m cut out for the presidency.

Then, I realized that is exactly the problem. Nobody wants to be president. Nobody is willing to leave their comfort zones to serve their fellowmen. Nobody wants to assume the responsibility to care and do something. This isn’t limited to the national level, by the way. We can see this in every class election starting around 5th grade wherein some nominees shake their heads and blatantly refuse being written down on the blackboard to be included in the possible class auditor list.

But, you see, there are around six billion people in this world, and sometimes all we care about is just one --- ourselves. Just how many stupid times a day have we used the word “I”? If we care about the rest of that six billion, isn’t that a much better use of your time and effort? And who knows? Maybe, all that is needed to alleviate the condition of that six billion is one --- you. (Thank you to the film “The Princess Diaries” for coming up with that! I just modified it.)

And no, you don’t need to be president to serve. As I’ve said, you can serve the nation as a government official, director, teacher, student, accountant or jeepney driver. All you need to do is to always act out in love for your countryman and do something.

But hey, the legal age for me to run for president is still decades away.

From Cebu With Love (And Apologies?)

To those who’ve seen me jumping up and down with an immense smile plastered on my face as I went home from school last Wednesday, I believe it’s time for me to explain.

It’s so hard to just be poker-faced after what happened that afternoon. It’s really difficult to keep myself from squealing in glee because of just what transpired a few moments before that. It’s rather impossible to just contain myself at that point. How could I just shut up and act normally (if that’s applicable to me!) when two of your friends from rather far-off Cebu decide to surprise you with a phone call? And as if that isn’t squeal-worthy enough, I realize that no, I’ve never talked to Charlie and Jessah on the phone, nor heard their voices (save for that video of an NSTP presentation on Charlie's Multiply), ever. Ever. Wow!

Despite the scratchy voice I acquired from screaming on the phone --- a requirement brought about by weak signal transference from Manila to Cebu and vice versa (Gosh! You should have heard it. “HI! JESSAH! HOW! ARE! YOU?!”), I totally enjoyed those few minutes Jessah and I were at long last connected through the magic of cellular phones. Finally hearing her delightful, American-accented voice full of exuberance and excitement at talking to me (I’m only presuming, okay.) was also a treat. I totally relished every second of that phone call, and yes, it most certainly made my day --- made it enough to send me squealing and jumping around in the bathroom when nobody was there. Yes, it was most certainly welcome.

This is why I was perplexed when Charlie was apologising profusely for that phone call. He says that Jessah saw my number on his phone, copied it to hers, and decided to call me up. Also, he asked forgiveness if I was offended in any way by their call. My only question was “What offense?” If anything, I was ecstatic to finally hear their (I heard Charlie in the background briefly. So yes, I heard you speak, my soul brother!) wonderful, albeit screaming voices. I told him how that call was such a pleasant surprise and how it made me smile the entire day. Plus, yes, that I’d love another one. Haha!

But you know what? In some way, I understand Charlie’s apologising. You see, we live in a world with a “Don’t bother me” attitude. People are so preoccupied with their own tasks, clique of friends and, well, world that reaching out and wanting to get to know someone on a deeper level has become not normal, uncomfortable, and even offensive to the person you want to befriend. Because we’re so comfortable with the boxes we’ve set up for ourselves, we forget to see that there are others ---- others who laugh, sing, dance, cry, eat ice cream, love literature, make nonsense stories like us, as well as others who don’t --- beyond those cardboard borders. Reaching out is considered weird now.

But, if we do, goodness is it lovely. To know that someone in the distance --- whether it’s another country, another island, another house, or another mobile phone number --- would like to have you as part of their life, look at your real self, and accept you, that is sheer beauty. And of course, who knows the impact and joy that person would bring you if you don’t make the effort to actually walk across that imaginary hall and connecting with someone?

So Charlie, no, please don’t apologise for something I incredibly appreciate. And next time? I better hear you speak too. Just kidding! Haha!

I Want To Be A Popstar

Actually, not really. I don’t really want to be a pop star.

If there’s anyone to blame here for the rather intriguing title, it’d be my friend Azaza and her obsession for anything that comes from the Land of the Rising Sun. Because this song and its singer Ken Hirai are Japanese (and cute. But that’s not the primary reason), she just had to share it to me. And now, that song is on loop in my head. Lovely. Just lovely.

What’s particularly memorable about this song, aside from the fact that the singer looks like a Japanese Debenhams model, is the music video. It’s basically kitsch with a capital K. And that’s saying a lot for a Japanese music video (Watch Japanese music videos to find out what I mean!)

In the video, three guys compose a sort of boy band --- the leader in red, the preppy boy in blue, and Mr. Retro in yellow. They’re accompanied by a couple of dancing bear mascots. All five are directed by this artsy man in a scarf. But wait a second. How come they all look alike? Oh right! They’re all played by the same guy --- Ken Hirai.

In a way, Ken in the video is different things to different people. He takes on all the roles with much vigour and enthusiasm. Do you need a preppy boy? Okay, Ken can be that. Do you need someone to dance around in a bear costume? Sure, Ken would gladly do so. How about needing someone to direct this whole hurrah? Ken volunteers. It’s injecting life into all he does.

In a way, we’re all called to be pop stars. No, we don’t really have to wear a bear costume or do kitschy dance moves (and even if we do), but we are all called to be excellent students, children, siblings, friends and whatever role you see fit to insert here. It’s devoting time and effort into all you are called to do. It’s going the extra mile to make your work extra splendid. And yes, it means putting on a bear costume when you really have to.

Everything you do should burn with excellence and passion. Yes, that’s whether you’re studying or doing kitschy moves.

Seriously, Azaza, explain the kitschy moves.

Mama

Let me start with a song from a band that I, admittedly, listened to as a young child whose taste in music consisted of bubblegum pop.

Mama – Spice Girls Music Code



She used to be my only enemy and never let me free,
Catching me in places that I know I shouldn't be,
Every other day I crossed the line,
I didn't mean to be so bad,
I never thought you would
Become the friend I never had

Back then I didn't know why,
Why you were misunderstood,
So now I see through your eyes,
all that you did was love,
Mama I love you, Mama I care,
Mama I love you, Mama my friend,
My friend

I didn't want to hear it then but
I'm not ashamed to say it now,
Every little thing you said and did was right for me,
I had a lot of time to think about,
About the way I used to be,
Never had a sense of my responsibility.

Back then I didn't know why,
Why you were misunderstood,
So now I see through your eyes,
All that you did was love,
Mama I love you, Mama I care,
Mama I love you, Mama my friend, My friend

But now I'm sure I know why,
Why you were misunderstood,
So now I see through your eyes,
All I can give you is love,
Mama I love you, Mama I care,
Mama I love you, Mama my friend,
My friend

Mama I love you, Mama I care,
Mama I love you, Mama my friend,
You're my friend

(Sigh! Yes, I admit to liking the Spice Girls once upon a time! Oi! I was eight! Of course, I just accepted what pop culture and the radio DJ dished out for me to listen! And yes, I do admit to wanting to be Geri Halliwell, a.k.a. Ginger Spice! But I'm digressing.)

Do you need a reason why you should help our nation? Do you need some boost for you to get your bum moving to serve? Why should you go out of your way to do something for this nation?

Here’s why. The Philippines is our mother, Mama if you’d like.

Like any loving mother, she gives the best for her children. She provides food to eat, water to drink, shelter, and all those basic, intrinsic human needs. No matter what, all those things we need to survive are there (It's just a problem of access to them for our masses.) Aside from that, she provides breathing space ---- the freedom and democracy to let her children spread their wings and be who they want to be, believe what they want to believe.

Oh, and need I mention that she does all this despite her children, her citizens, disrespecting their mother? Despite our polluting her rivers, she still finds ways to provide clean water for her children to quench their thirst with. Despite our talking oh so negatively about her and complaining about how sorry the traffic at EdSA is, she still is proud of us whenever we do something remarkable. Despite our constant mini-bouts of corruption (After all, cheating in exams is the start of cheating money from the masses), she still shows us the best foot she could show forward.

Despite our not caring about our Mama, she still loves us. She still cares. She still thinks that the Filipino, her children are worth it. They are worth all the rubbish her same children dish out. Why? Love. Simple enough.

Today, we celebrate the death anniversary of one of her sons who chose to protect her precious democracy. Senator Benigno Aquino is one exemplary Filipino for a reason --- his love for the country that radiated in his actions towards it. This is one man who knows how to respect his mother.

How about you? When's the last time you thanked Mama?

When Bawling is Inevitable

Okay, so it’s my turn to step up to the podium and give my confession? All right, I’ll go. Hello. My name is Alexis, and yes, I admit to blubbering in front of the TV on the 5th of August.

How could I not bawl? I was, after all, watching the funeral of the mother of Philippine Democracy, former President Corazon Aquino. Tears couldn’t help falling as soon as I saw that sea of people and yellow all ready to give honour to a woman so close to every Filipinos heart, a woman who brought back freedom to the country. And yes, I did cry during Kris Aquino’s eulogy for her beloved mother.

What was that? You’re asking me what gives me the right to shed all those tears for her when I wasn’t there during the EDSA Revolution. Hey, I wasn’t even born yet when that mighty woman decided to stand her ground against Marcos dictatorship (I was born in 1988, two years after People Power.). Yet, there I was in my room, using up an entire pack of tissues for a president I could only vaguely remember leading the nation. So, why am I crying?

Perhaps, it’s because despite my being born after her brave leadership of EDSA 1, I could feel her heart for this nation. Perhaps, it’s because she’s an icon of Philippine democracy. Above all, perhaps, it’s because she was a Filipina who just wanted the best for her nation and was willing to go to the ends of the earth to achieve it --- much like a lot of us.

So, in honour of her, these are some lessons even I, someone who wasn’t even born yet during the EDSA Revolution, could take from her example.

1. No matter what achievement you have, remember that above all, you are a person.

Always, always act in humility. Remember that before you were the top student in school, or Miss Whatever or even President of the Philippines, you are a person. Never let your achievements go to your head.

Don’t forget to thank the people who put you in your position --- parents, friends, everyone. You wouldn’t be where you are without them, so yes; they deserve their due thanks from you.

And once your term or season is over, pass the title and prestige on very gracefully, as President Cory did to her successor President Fidel Ramos. No attempts to cling on to power. Just give it and wish the next person to occupy your position well. Perhaps, you could even sneak in a halo-halo serving after the hand-over ceremony (which President Aquino reportedly did. It’s yet another sign of her humility to choose to grab a snack at the nearby eatery rather than have a grand party to celebrate the end of her term.).


2. Helping the nation is not the job of just public servants. Everyone should take part.

President Aquino continued to serve the nation even as a private citizen. When she gave up her title in 1992, she did not give up contributing to our country. She still continued to fight for democracy even from her Times Street home.

She supported various organizations that helped the plight of the Filipino people. She was outspoken regarding her love for democracy and against any attempts of quelling it --- even when threatened. Most of all, she led by example, using her principles as a guide to life.

I suppose that shows that yes, everyone can help building the nation --- whether you’re a president, lawyer or magtataho. Yes, that’s even if you’re not a former president. Little things can make a big impact.

If everyone decides to obey traffic rules, the highways of this nation would be a less dangerous place. If everyone decides to pick up the trash and throw it in the correct bin, this nation would be a cleaner, less polluted (and, for that matter, less teeming with disease) place. If everyone decided not to give in to corruption this election, we would elect the proper leader and this would help in making our nation better.

So, I suppose, it’s time to move our private citizen bums to action.


3. The Filipinos are worth it.

Something you love will always be worth it, and I could ascertain that President Cory loved our nation intensely. If she didn’t she would have never decided to relinquish her beloved private life as a housewife and part-time Math teacher for the tumultuous world of politics. But she did, and so she led the nation to its fight to win back democracy.

I hope the same fervor burns in every Filipino’s heart. I’m not saying we should all become president. It’s impossible to let all 85 million of us have a seat at Malacanang. What I’m saying is that I hope every Filipino out there thinks about the nation as worth all their efforts. To simply love the Philippines, but do so unconditionally, truly.


The yellow confetti showered on her has been swept away. The flowers to decorate her funeral cart have wilted. The people who cried for her during her wake are probably back to their routine of work or school. But I do hope one thing from her remains with us forever --- her heart and her passion for this nation. Her example should not be buried along with her body. It should be ablaze in every person she’s mightily battled for --- we, Filipinos.

Thanks, President Corazon Aquino. You are one amazing Filipina and an inspiration.

So, I suppose, I could be excused for all that bawling, aye?

Unfailing

You are unfailing, God
Your love’s unending
And Your word is eternal
Firm in the heavens it stands


Have you ever been so thrilled, so excited by a promise someone gave you, only to be crushed when that person backs out or just couldn’t fulfill that word? It could be that time your parents promised to take you to the amusement park, but had to retract when they suddenly have to work overtime. It could be that time when your gal pal gave her word to get you that chocolate bar you’ve been craving for but then forgets. It could be that time when your then-sweetheart promises never to hurt you, but now…well, let’s just not talk about that tender issue. Whatever it is, we’ve all had a taste of broken promises, and it absolutely hurts indeed.

Well, guess what. God isn’t like that. He is indeed unfailing.

What was that? I see you chuckling at me with those doubtful eyes searching me for how I could say that statement of God being constant. I could see you being confused, trying to comprehend and see my reason for my faith. I could see your eyes pleading, asking me why I still believe. How could I choose to hang on to God, especially with what happened?

Mrs. Corazon Aquino was one woman very much endeared to every Filipino. How could she not be loved by all? She was, after all, the lady that was at the forefront of the nation’s fight to instill democracy again. It was her courage and boldness that inspired Filipinos to march to EDSA, join hands and fight the Marcos dictatorship.
That is why when Mrs. Aquino was diagnosed with cancer, the entire nation was stunned. Every single Filipino must have included her healing in their prayers. And when her cancer was at its worst, our countrymen must have been willing to exercise their mountain-moving faith just to get rid of that disease that plagued her body. Prayer vigils for the former president were organized. The Ako Mismo website added a prayer wall for her recovery. Even trees joined in on praying for Mrs. Aquino through those yellow ribbons tied on their branches (I saw some in Filinvest before.). It wasn’t clear just how long people were going to pray, but what was clear is that they were willing to shatter Earth just to see Mrs. Aquino healed.

She succumbed to cancer early this morning.

Yet, despite this whole issue of “everyone-prayed-yet-she-still-died”, I still choose to believe my God is able and willing to fulfill his promises. I still choose to hang on to my faith in my Father, like any child would. I choose to see how unfailing He is. Why? It’s simple really. It’s because He was unfailingly beside me every step of the way in that hospital bed six years ago, and healed me from that tumour that suffocated my ovaries. It’s because He’s unfailingly supported and even helped me do excellently (even win) whatever undertakings I’ve been pursuing. It’s because no matter how stupid my mistakes are, no matter how many times I’ve hurt Him, He still unfailingly loves me and welcomes me in His wide embrace.

Why do I call Him unfailing? It’s because He’s always been so to me. He’s constantly the loving, amazing, marvelous, mighty Father God I love. Yes, the human in me may fail Him zillions of times. But I know He won’t.

And hey! His promises are bigger than just some trip to the amusement park. So yay!

Tito Will

I believe I should introduce you to someone very dear to me, my Tito Will. He’s certainly an inspiration to me in my writing. He’s witty, hilarious at times, clever, and most certainly intelligent. Yes, he can be a little bit of a temperamental drama king, but I believe that’s just part of his persona. I (as well as some other friends of mine0 love him. Actually, Tito Will is world-famous. It’s just that, of course, he’s known by his real name --- William Shakespeare.

That’s right. I call Shakespeare my uncle. The Bard of the Elizabethan Age (and, for that matter, one of the most well-known writers in the history of mankind) is considered part of my extended family. I love the author so much, I self-declared him a relative of mine.

This madness is actually an inside joke between my friend Charlie and I (Only, he calls Shakespeare “Ninong Willie”). He was the one who started the whole hurrah of The Bard being a relative. When I heard him refer to Shakespeare as his Ninong, I immediately thought “What an ingenious idea!” (Rather than “Okay? That’s weird”). And so, a new, creative, widely read member of my family was hereby inducted. Now, whenever we feel like sending random lines from Sonnet 18 or other Shakespeare quotes, we jokingly mention that Tito Will asked us to say that to the other. Haha!

Yes, I do hear what you’re thinking, and I suppose, you’re correct. Who am I, anyway, to call one of the most well-known and profoundly influential writers in history my uncle? What gives me the right to give myself acquaintance to the man who wrote “Romeo and Juliet”, arguably (maybe even, unarguably) the most well-known romance on the face of the planet? He is, after all, the most famous English writer ever. My goodness! Even nine year-olds know who William Shakespeare is already. He’s right up there in the Hall of Literary Geniuses. I, on the other hand, am not. So what was I doing trying to relate to him by calling him Tito?

But you see, reaching out to new heights and relating to people is what literature is all about. In literature, there are no boundaries, and the soul is allowed to fly to wherever it feels like --- Narnia, 16th century England, anywhere. So yes, calling a literary rock star like Shakespeare your uncle is most definitely allowed. To bar someone from doing so is just antithesis to literature’s free, unlimited nature.

And you know what? I believe it is that --- the mindset that renowned writers such as Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, and Pablo Neruda are as unreachable as that cookie jar on the top shelf is for a little child --- which turns some people off from literature. It’s that overwhelming feeling that they’re not good enough to read a certain author that partially contributes to a general idea of stuffiness about reading, which is false.)

Every author reveals a piece of themselves in their words. They’re actually trying to connect to you, relate to you. So if you feel that tug in your heart that the words you are reading hit the spot, go ahead. Call them uncle.

Now, I must end. My Papa needs the laptop for his trip to his Colombian hometown. I think you recognize his name --- Gabriel Garcia Marquez!

Merely Filipino

Basically, this was a conversation between a friend of mine and I (translated into English).


Him: Uhm….Ate Alexis, I have a little question for you, if you don’t mind

Me: Sure, no problem. Ask away.

Him: Well, your look’s very…different. It makes me wonder and want to ask you whether you’re pure Filipina or not.

Me: *chuckles* Actually, I’ve been asked that a lot. Well, the answer is I’m not. I’m, in fact, Filipina, Caucasian American, French, Indian, Hungarian, and Spanish. That’s in different parts.

Him: *rather astonished* Oh! Wow! Cool! Good for you! I wish I had your heritage rather than merely purely Filipino.

Yes, that’s right. That list of nationalities is indeed my bloodline. That roster that seems more like a United Nations delegate list is, in fact, a basic run-down of my heritage. I am indeed an international pastiche. And guess what. I’m not even sure if that’s all that is part of my bloodline. There may be more nations in there I’m not aware of. Mixed is an understatement for me!

According to friends, my being multi-racial is very much conspicuous in my looks. Even I have to agree with them. My Indian side, especially, is very much apparent in my appearance. You could see it from my thick, wavy, dark, jet black tresses, eyebrows and lashes. My high, prominent cheekbones also show that bit of heritage. My big, deeply-set almond eyes also show signs of India, so does my bronzed skin. In other words, no, I don’t look like a Filipina, apparently.

I suppose this is why I’m always mistaken for a foreigner. Anywhere I go, sort of without fail, I would always get questions from people who stop and look at me. Just what question would they like to ask? “So, how are you finding your holiday in the Philippines?”

And it isn’t just limited to Filipinos. Even foreigners mistake me for one of them. One rather clear example of that was that Pakistani jewelry store incident I’ve mentioned in a previous entry (Typical Filipina). It makes me chuckle remembering those “fun with heritage” moments. Oh yeah! It’s amazing to be mixed.

Wait a second. What did my friend say again? Did he just say “merely Filipino”? Merely is a word usually used to downgrade the one next to it. Did he just insinuate that being purely Filipino is not as lovely as being multi-racial?

As I’ve been rubbing in through my entries, I believe that every person in this planet is lovely. Every person has a race and nationality, so, in turn, every nationality is lovely as well. Oh sure. It’s the Caucasians that have the white skin that many desire, but who says only that’s beautiful? Oh sure. It’s the Middle Eastern and Indian people that have the big doe eyes many find captivating, but who says only that’s beautiful? Oh sure. It’s the Latinas who have that curvaceous, sexy body a lot of people work out in some gym for, but who says only that’s beautiful.

The truth is black, white, Asian, Latina or a combination of these ---- all of us are lovely. Why? Because each of us has something lovely we can offer the world. We are different from each other, and that diversity is lovely indeed. It makes the world a lot more interesting and colourful.

What? The United Nations is calling me to be their honourary ambassador? Why not!

Thick-Faced

Those are most certainly words used to describe me. The number of times those two words have been used on me is indeed immeasurable. Yes, I am indeed the type of person who doesn’t mind doing things normally inebriated people do on stage. I’m that girl everyone requests to be the “bridge” for their question to be voiced in symposia. I’m that girl who sings out loud whilst walking just for sheer fun. Yeah, I really do have a plywood face!

I suppose I’ve always been Little Miss Confidence. Whilst most little girls shied away from their parents’ and aunts’ cameras, I gamely posed for them (Literally! I was doing model poses in shots when I was seven!). It was, then, further developed because of my consistent membership in my school’s theatre club. I was also a debater and orator in high school. So yes, basically, I spent many of my scholastic and childhood memories on stage.

I brought that thick-face over into real life, as well. I’ve always been known as an advocate of free, unadulterated (sometimes, loud) self-expression. I don’t mind saying what I mean (Anyway, it’s usually compliments!). I’m also one of the few people I know daring enough to wear earrings big enough to double as key
chains. I also possess a voice that makes people think I swallowed a megaphone ) and didn't bother to have it surgically removed (honed by theatre and public speaking). So yes, basically, call me shy, and everyone would guffaw.

And it is with that same bold, thick face I did my homework for Women in Media class. We were tasked to interview any young woman in the field of media and write an article about her. When I heard that task, something in my mind immediately raced to one person, Elisabeth Baumgart. I was such a huge fan of this columnist, reporter and blogger that my heart just had to scream into my mind to get her as a subject.

You think it’s simple? Oh no! For one thing, well, she’s from Cebu. The paper she writes in doesn’t really have an avid following here in Manila. What was an Alabang girl like me doing asking someone who lives in another island to be her subject in her project? And for another, I know how jam-packed her schedule is. Between organizing socio-civic events, writing for her Sun Star-Cebu column, and doing her work for her scholarship, how would she ever find the time to answer a questionnaire from some student from Manila?

But I did it. I put all my queries down and sent it to her e-mail, albeit with butterflies in my stomach. I really didn’t expect much. I even interviewed another person as back-up. Hey, even if she didn't respond, at least I tried. Whatever will be will be.

And then, I saw it. It was a response e-mail from one e.baumgart. Whist suppressing my squeals and jumping up and down like some madwoman, I read it. This is an excerpt of what it said:

“...I’m quite surprised to find that my “Inkblots” column has reached Manila! That makes you two readers of mine --- you and my mother.


If you need any help, just text me at _______________.

I’m sorry it took a while to answer your questions, but I hope it helps.

Lis”

*cue me squealing like a fan girl*

Yes, she responded to my e-mail. And all it took was a thick face and a little help from Charlie (to get her e-mail address. Huge, huge thanks are due you, frére âme!) to have someone I quite admire as a subject for my Women in Media article. Even I couldn’t believe it was that simple (Yes, I take back what I said earlier. It was, admittedly, simple.).

Com to think of it, many things we'd like to do that we deem very tough are pretty simple if only we decide to just go for it and take that plunge. Meeting a new friend is simple if only take that bold step of walking up to that interesting person and introducing yourself. Having a chance at winning that competition is fairly simple if only we decide to actually join. And yes, you actually meeting someone you admire is pretty simple if we have the courage to come up to them (whether in person or via the web) and pour out your looking up to them. It just takes a step from thick-faced you.

What? You have this itching desire to see if my face really is made of plywood? Go on then!

Three-Inch Heels

In recent news (in particular, news that probably only I care about), well, remember those mesmeric gold pumps that were beckoning and enticing me to buy them three weeks ago? Well, they’re finally home, safe in the arms (and shoe rack) of their Mum, mingling with new-found friends from Italy to Bangkok to Divisoria. Yes, I finally have them, along with the accompanying cork. Am I ecstatic? Oh yeah! I may finally enjoy all that sophisticated, shiny, gold footwear goodness and the three and a half inch heel attached to it.

Yes, I said that right, three and a half inches of heel. Indeed, those pointy stalactites are attached to the soles of those shoes. Yes, indeed those are stilt-like. And guess what. Those are not my tallest heels yet! That honour goes to these plum sandals my sister gave me. How tall are they? Oh, they’re just a mere four and a half inches. Hello, leg strain!

Oh! I can see many a girl’s face all aghast at my choice of footwear. I can see the mouths gaping open and the eyes all shocked. Well, you are not alone. The sales ladies at SM had a lengthy discussion with me about my then-about-to-be-purchased shoes before scanning the item, telling me how scared they are for me. Some of my female friends are also known to be all shook up and wincing at my foot raising devices. In fact, my dear friend Monea (who, by the way, sings praises of ballerina flats) has once told me that she’s going to die if forced to wear any of my shoes and subject her feet to the excruciating torture of super high heels.

And yes, I completely understand. After all, it did take years of practice for me to be comfortable in wearing the stilts I am now infamous for (I wore my first pair of heels at age seven, by the way. So yes, I've been wearing foot raisers for about 14 years.) Not a lot of girls are willing to put themselves through the burning, blistery, tensile ordeal that is wearing high heels, and well, the fact that I chose to power through the pain just makes me the exception. Even I have to admit it was most certainly uncomfortable at first.

But wait. Aren’t things of worth scary, painful and uncomfortable at first? Giving to a charity, for example, stings a little because of that money diverted away from your budget. Trying to get into the dean’s list hurts because of the time you have to spend not doing things that, admittedly, are way more enjoyable than studying. Reaching out to that person who needs you is uncomfortable because you run the risk of being rejected, ignored and losing face. But we still go for it and power on. Why? It is because we know that the pain is a tiny fraction compared to the rewards after. We know that after being uncomfortable lies the realisation that we actually did it for something significant, something that makes all the fear and torture worth it.. And that’s why we choose to do it, whatever it is that your heart is set to fulfill.

What’s that? It’s still not an excuse for my choice of heels-that-may-double-as-murder-weapons? Oh fine!

Unfair

Have you ever felt that some relationships are like that? You know, one partner gives their whole heart, soul and inner being to the one they love. And what does the other person do? Nothing, that’s what. One person overflows with passion for someone dear to them whilst that person is frigid towards them.

What was that? It sounds like a very good story concept for a short story, novel, or perhaps even a film? Yes, I completely agree. It’s such an interesting premise, so interesting I wouldn’t really mind sinking around P150 to be able to view the drama that is the plot. I could definitely see myself lost in the film, perhaps even crying for the protagonist as they give their heart wholly to someone who’d shatter it. Yeah, I’ll buy that.

But what if this rather annoying situation happened not in the safety of the silver screen or the pages of a novel but in real life --- right there in front of your physical (as opposed to imaginative) eyes? What if instead of this happening to your favourite romantic protagonist, it happened to someone so dear to you? What if that very much infuriating situation really happened?

Yeah, I hear you. You’d probably scream the following words to that love struck person.

“What? Look! You spend all your energy giving to some schmuck who would even bother to give you the time of day. It’s irrational. What’s that all about?”

It just doesn’t make any sense, does it? Why would anyone in their right mind give their world for someone who’d just end up disappointing, nay, hurting them?

Well, I know Someone like that. In fact, He’s the most powerful, incredible being in existence. He made the entire universe to put a smile on the face of the people He constantly thinks about --- people He constantly thinks about whose minds are set on everything else. He pours out His flood of blessings to those that His heart beats for --- those His heart beats for who don’t bother listening to His voice. He gave His life for those He loves --- those He loves who shun Him to be just some distant figure in the backdrop.

And yet, despite it not making any sense, He still continues to care about us, flaws and all. Why? It’s simple. He loves us. Period. His love is unconditional. Nothing we can say or do will make Him love us less. That’s not to say we can do whatever the bleep we want. But it just goes to show how immeasurable, mighty, unfailing and matchless His love is.

Yes, it’s very much unfair. But hey! I’m grateful for that.

I'm Chuck Bass

“Why? Give me a reason to stay, and, no, ‘I’m Chuck Bass’ doesn’t count.”

Yeah I can see many a follower of the television show Gossip Girl snicker in laughter. Oh yeah! It is indeed that rather famous line Blair Waldorf uttered in the episode “Summer Kind of Wonderful”. Yes, that quote mentioned by her just as Chuck tried to stop her from leaving with Marcus. I have to admit that is one witty line, and that is why it’s making me, a rather hard GG fan, chuckle.

Okay, for those of you who have never gotten any news of or heard of this scandal-fest of a show (if you lot still exist, that is)i, let me brief you with some basics.

Charles Bartholomew Bass (or ,yes, Chuck) is a character in Cecily von Ziegesar’s series of novels, as well as the TV series based on it, called Gossip Girl (as if you didn’t know that!). He serves as the antihero for the programme’s plot. Chuck is basically your typical rich bad boy who does whatever the bleep he wants, whether it’s manipulating innocent Jenny Humphrey or getting off the hook in a snap from whatever alcohol-induced shenanigans he’s done at some party. Why can he? Well, it’s simply because he’s well, rich and influential, because he’s Chuck Bass. He can make the most obnoxious comments about you and get away with him not being smashed into pulp. Why? Because he’s Chuck Bass. He can sleep with as countless women per night as he wants. Why? Because he’s Chuck Bass. He can party harder than all the rockstars in history combined. Why? Because he’s Chuck Bass.

And yes, he knows that well. In fact, “I’m Chuck Bass” as a reason is one of his famous catchphrases. You hear it uttered as a reply every single time his best friend Nate Archibald or his partner-in-crime Blair Waldorf poses him that elusive rather overused word “Why?” He’s Chuck Bass. That’s who he is, and every bit of his entity states what he does as a person. Being Chuck Bass is the reason why he acts like, well, Chuck Bass.

And I suppose that’s how it is supposed to be with us (No, I don’t mean the alcohol and hormone-driven craziness!). The reason why we act the way we do should be ourselves, show our real personae. Whatever our beliefs are, whatever values we uphold, everything in us --- it should permeate its way from the inside out. We shouldn’t be afraid to be ourselves, to fully showcase our beings to others. Who we are should dictate what we do (Okay, so people are living contradictions. But you get what I mean.)

So, I’d give you a reason to stay, Blair. I’m Alexis Araneta, and, yes, it absolutely counts.

Lovely Eyebrows

“Okay? Well, I’ve never heard that one before. That was rather delightfully peculiar. Well, at least, it’s original. Uhm…thank you, I suppose.”

The preceding words were my initial reaction to a compliment one of my close friends, Charlie, told me. Those said kind words from him were so unexpected, so different that I was left rather bemused and having to digest the words for a few minutes or so. Let’s just say you probably won’t expect this quip about beauty said very often. So, just what did he tell me?

“Alexis, you have very lovely eyebrows.”

Eyebrows? Oh really now? You like my….beg your pardon? Well, that’s very unique.

But then again, those original words coming from Char's mouth is something to be rather expected, he being, well, original. One thing I've noticed about my wonderful soul brother is his innate creativity, especially when it comes to word play. He, being Mr. Literateur with the Expansive Vocabulary, always gives out such fresh ideas and quips, so fresh it makes you wonder why you never thought of them. The word "limited" is not applicable to him and his imagination. And yeah, it's one of the things I admire about mon frère âme. Probably, Charlie’s the only one daring enough to ever think of relating the words “lovely” and “eyebrow” and slap them into the same sentence.

But still, who compliments people on the strip of hair above their peepers, anyway?

Not to sound like I’m tooting my own horn, but I know that there are other physical features he could have commented on. I’ve been getting lovely words on my big, deeply-set Indian eyes since childhood. Ever since I got rid of the orthodontia, I’ve been hearing about how brilliant my smile is. Pretty recently, thanks to the salon miracle called hair rebonding, I’ve been receiving quips about how fabulous I look with straight hair. These are normal features to compliment on. So yes, it makes me wonder why his focus was on the eyebrows.

Oh well! At least, he has a private, Charlie thing that’s unique and endearing about him. And yes, it’s still a compliment.

Wait! Who says Charlie's wrong to notice my eyebrows? Who says eyebrows can’t be deemed beautiful? Who says that that strip of hair is limited to just that --- another strip of hair? Who says it can’t be a subject of compliments much like your eyes or smile? Who says eyebrows can’t be appreciated?

It’s pretty much the same with people, really. There is beauty apart from your usual Cosmopolitan cover queen or that Miss Universe winner. Who says you kitchen help should always be relegated to the background? Who says that lady guard who keeps checking you for identification couldn’t be considered beautiful? Most of all, who says you, yes you, aren’t lovely?

Everyone and everything has beauty in them. It’s just a matter of seeing and appreciating that blossom in each of us. It may not be the usual Angelina Jolie/Scarlett Johannson/ insert-it-girl-here kind of look that lands you magazine covers, but that isn’t the sole marker of beauty, is it? Beauty comes in all shades, shapes, sizes, and packages.

Now, if you excuse me, my apparently lovely, shapely brows need to be tweezed.

PS: Charlie, huge thanks for allowing me to use you as the relational subject of my post! If you find anything here you find hurtful, please feel free to tell me, okay?

And yes, continue to be creatively inspiring!