|
|
| |
|
|
| |
This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
i feel the NEED to go on a diet and I stumbled upon this helluvan article. i'm tamad now but i will comment on each of these tomorrow, i promise.
50 Deadliest Dieting Mistakes
1. Having a negative defeatist attitude.
2. Going on any diet that is NOT a manner of eating that you can adhere to for the rest of your life.
3. Believing that you can eat cabbage soup -- or any other low-cal, but monotonous fare -- every day for the rest of your life.
4. Obesessing over counting calories.
5. Weighing in too frequently.
6. Not drinking enough water.
7. Drinking sugar-laden drinks.
8. Eating more bread, pasta and potatoes than proteins, lean meats, fruits and vegetables.
9. Consuming processed foods more often than fresh foods.
10. Taking the benefits away from vegetables by overcooking them.
11. Not having a plan.
12. Blaming others for your shortcomings.
13. Being quick to judge.
14. Not being aware of the nutritional benefits or detriments of what you consume.
15. Finishing every last bite of a meal, even after you are full.
16. Going back for seconds at meals.
17. Eating at "all-you-can-eat buffets" and consuming large amounts "to get your money's worth."
18. Skipping breakfast.
19. Starving all day.
21. Thinking you are genetically destined to be fat.
22. Not believing that you have the courage to change.
23. Confusing "fat" as a personality trait.
24. Thinking you are unattractive.
25. Not living each day to the fullest... thinking that will come when you are thinner.
26. Wasting time.
27. Not finishing tasks you begin.
28. Postponing tasks that need attention.
29. Rationalizing.
30. Thinking pills, powders or potions are more powerful than they really are in achieving weight loss.
31. Thinking of exercise as a chore, instead of a way to improve your health and your life.
32. Not scheduling exercise as a vital part of your day and week.
33. Indulging excessively in alcohol.
34. Watching sports rather than participating in sports.
35. Watching too much television.
36. Not giving enough time to personal hygiene and appearance.
37. Refusing to read self-improvement materials on a regular basis.
38. Giving up and resigning yourself to being "fat."
39. Finishing the food off of your family's plates while you are doing the dishes.
40. Tasting and nibbling on food while you are cooking it.
41. Baking cookies, pies and cakes more often than for holidays or very special occasions.
42. Always having candy in dishes, supposedly for guests, but eating more of it yourself.
43. Buying unhealthy snack items "for the kids," but eating some yourself.
44. Not having vegetables and/or fruit with each meal.
45. Serving more carbohydrates than any other food group for meals.
46. Thinking that "dieting" sprees -- and not total lifestyle change -- will garner lasting weight loss results.
47. Not visualizing yourself actually living and enjoying a healthy lifestyle.
48. Not taking vitamins and proper supplements.
49. Consuming fast foods on a regular basis.
50. Waiting for tomorrow to "get started" rather than RIGHT NOW!
10:30 PM
Friday, April 25, 2003
i can't believe i keep posting lyrics on this blog.
1:33 AM
Couldn't get myself to write nowadays. Here's a song that spells all that I am feeling right now. And why I find trouble writing about how I feel. Because I think it would be a great injustice to myself to speak of the confusion inside me. He's right. Life is what happens just when you're starting live it with a smile on your face.
you say i only hear what i want to.
you say i talk so all the time so.
and i thought what i felt was simple,
and i thought that i don't belong,
and now that i am leaving,
now i know that i did something wrong 'cause i missed you.
yeah, i missed you.
and you say i only hear what i want to:
i don't listen hard,
i don't pay attention to the distance that you're running
or to anyone, anywhere,
i don't understand if you really care,
i'm only hearing negative: no, no, no.
so i turned the radio on, i turned the radio up,
and this woman was singing my song:
the lover's in love, and the other's run away,
the lover is crying 'cause the other won't stay.
some of us hover when we weep for the other who was
dying since the day they were born.
well, this is not that:
i think that i'm throwing, but i'm thrown.
and i thought I'd live forever, but now i'm not so sure.
you try to tell me that i'm clever,
but that won't take me anyhow, or anywhere with you.
you said that i was naive,
and i thought that i was strong.
i thought, "hey, i can leave, i can leave."
but now i know that i was wrong, 'cause i missed you.
you said, "i caught you 'cause i want you and one day i'll let you go."
"you try to give away a keeper, or keep me 'cause you know you're just scared to lose.
and you say, "stay."
you say i only hear what i want to.
1:31 AM
Wednesday, April 09, 2003
For the one who made me believe I could love....
Lucky One by Amy Grant
You're the kind
When you love you love with all your might and
You're the kind
would dream about at night
Now I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one
You're the kind
That I want to be with in the dark and
You're the kind who is capturing my heart
And I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you
Baby I'm the lucky one
You're the kind
With poetry and valentines and
You're the kind
Who will never ever leave
And I'm the lucky one
The luckiest girl
Baby I'm the lucky one
And I have never been the one to fall in love so soon
But I could never face another night or day without you
I'm the lucky one
Baby I'm the lucky one...
5:40 PM
His absence weakens me. I am compelled to listen to my mp3s in full volume just to drown whatever questions I have in my mind. I have allowed myself to vulnerable. For him, because I see that he loves me. For me, because I love him.
5:34 PM
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
C seems happy with the original "Unmasking". She told me to send it to YoungBlood. This time, I will use a pseudonym. The name Arguella comes to mind. I wonder why.
9:47 PM
April 8, 2003 Creative Ink workshop
Unmasking (original)
My family lost me to Manila 4 years ago. Since I started college, I developed a new form of idealism I did not have when I was hiding, sheltered under my parents' wings. With the introduction to the quasi-"real world" taht is the State Universtiy, I replaced "Oh my gosh" with "punyeta". The refined Catholic school girl was tranplanted by a foul-mouthed, aggressive, rebel chick. Yes, chick. The kind who'd send shivers and spasms through my mom's veins. And she would blame herself for allowing me to leave sweet, provincial, calm Davao City.
The distance forced me to cope with life by myself. During times of severe depression, when my boyfriend dumped me, when my professor screamed at me to get out of the room, when I chose to hang around at the Sunken Garden to bask in the silence, because I felt so unwanted by my peers, I could not call my parents. My grief escalated and went on top of the other each day I tried to survive. I did not tell for fear of judgment. Like, "She's not so strong, after all." or "You're not being very responsible." I did not want them to think that. I desired so much to pretend that I was doing fine and dandy. That I still was the perfect child they once had.
I have changed a lot through the years. My transformation did not just spring out of mere rebellion, however. It came with the blood I shed when I nearly slashed my wrists. It came with the ostracism from people who thought I was weird. It came with the countless men who used me till I fell on the ground and died. My family never knew of my struggles. I have perfected the skill of hiding my pain. I walk through life with a smile on my face. A smile I practiced too often, it looked real. For my family, I am happy.
Then, I realized, 4 years have passed and they know nothing. All they know of me at present is I'm an Editor at some Korean firm and that I earn this much. Only 3 weeks ago did they learn I lost my virginity at 17, I took drugs at 18, and that I still haven't graduated college.
In a week, I'll be home. It's been a year since I stepped in that house. I am a stranger to it now. I am a stranger to my family. When I get off the plane, they will seek an explanation for everything they just discovered. And I will tell them what happened. I will tell them more.
=========
(Revision 1)
My family lost me to Manila four years ago. Since I left for college, I found a new form of idealism. One I did not have when I was still hiding and sheltered under my parents' wings. With the introduction to the "real world" that is the State University, I replaced "My Gosh" with "punyeta". The refined, Catholic school girl was transplanted by a foul-mouthed, aggressive rebel chick. The kind that would no doubt send spasms through my mom's veins if she knew. And she would blame herself for allowing me to leave, sweet, calm, provincial Davao City.
The distance gave me no choice but to cope with life by myself. In times of depression, when I was dumped by my boyfriend, when I hung around at the Sunken Garden to seek refuge from the silence, because I felt so unwanted by my peers, I could not call my parents. My problems went on top of the other each day I tried to survive. I had no one but myself.
I never spoke of my troubles for fear of being judged. Like, "You're not so strong, after all. Di mo naman pala kaya.", or "You're not being responsible." I wanted so much to pretend I was doing fine. That I still was the perfect child they once had.
I had transformed into a person I feared becoming. It came with the blood I shed when I slashed my wrists. It came with the ostracism from people who thought I was too weird. It came from the countless men who used my till I fell on the ground and died. For all those times, I sought help from myself. Because I was the only one I had. My family never knew of my struggles. I had perfected the skill of hiding pain. It walked through life with a smile on my face. One I practiced too often it looked sincere.
For them, I was happy. All they know of my, at present, is that I'm an Editor at some Korean firm and I earn this much. Only 3 weeks ago did they discover I lost my virginity at 17, 2 weeks ago, that I took drugs at 18, and just this morning, that I still haven't graduated college.
In a week, I'll be home. It's been a year. I am a stranger to it now. The place I called home is now just a house. I am stranger to my family. When I get off the plane, they will seek an explanation for everything they just discovered. My father will have a shocked expression on his face. My mother will cry rivers. I will be ready. I will them what happened. And I will tell them more.
========
Comments: I tend to over-edit. I should really be less harsh to and critical of my work. But what can I do? I can't help it, really. I'm an editor. This is what I do everyday. Well, yeah, Creative Ink people are right. I write best when I don't stop to think, which is rare, by the way. Baliktad nga eh. Some people produce something good after revising a couple of times. When I revise, I tend to kill my piece. I guess, it's best if I left it as it was. "Don't kill the flowers while you're planting them."
Make time for revision 2. Combine the good elements of the original and revision one. I think keeping it raw works best for me. C agrees.
9:46 PM
Monday, April 07, 2003
April 7, 2003
WARM-UP (10 minutes)
Today, I attempted to cook paksiw na isda. I had only heard about the procedure and ingredients from my friend's maid. This morning, to impress my bf, I tried. It was close to being a disaster. I think it lacked salt or vinegar. I really don't know what. Seriously. I tasted water with a hint of vinegar and pepper, but that was it. The sauce was basically water, also with a bit of bitterness to it. I think while we were cleaning the fish the "apdo" burst. My bf said, when cleaning fish, you're supposed to be careful not to puncture that small sack of bitterness, but neither of us cleaned fish in our entire lives, so we both were asses at it. Anyway, the dish smelled good. As if it's any consolation. We ate it anyway. At least, he ate it. I had the guts to ask him how he found it.
"It's good," he said.
"Tingnan mo ako sa mata while you're saying that," I ordered him.
He couldn't look me in the eye.
EXERCISE: NONFICTION: HOW TO
*How to cook hotdog*
Take out the packet of Tender Juicy or whatever hotdog brand is available. If you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, tear the packet to reveal the red schlongs. If you're in a good mood, get a pair of scissors and cut the sides. One by one, unsheath the dogs. Hotdogs usually are wrapped in some plastic covering. Yes, like condoms. You should get them off the dog. They're not edible. Turn the stove on and place the frying pan on top of it. Put a little bit of cooking oil and let it sit till it heats up. Do not test the heat with your hands. You will see a thin cloud of smoke/steam rising. That's the cue to put the naked dogs on the pan. Turn them continuously till about 2 minutes. If you start smelling something that resembles the ocean in the morning, turn the stove off. With a fork or the ladle, transfer the cooked hotdogs onto a plate. Enjoy.
EXERCISE: CONFUSED MAN
Text message from mothergoose: "Pag-uwi mo sa 15, bring your transcript and diploma okay?"
I nearly dropped my cellphone. I suddenly passed my life's blackhole and it sucks me into it. I feel my chest heaving. I couldn't breathe. My jaw suddenly hurts and the back of my neck starts to have shooting bouts of pain. My world turns black. Silent. The blackhole is a vaccuum. But it wasn't able to suck my fear out. Should I tell them? Should I go home on April 15? What excuse would I give if I don't? If I do go home, how will I tell them I'm handling my dilemma the best way I could? How can I tell my parents not to be worried about my not having graduated still, without having to see their worlds fall on them? How can I tell them everything's gonna be all right in the most believable way?
Am I really going to be okay? How I face my parents? Should I tell the truth? Should I lie? My head is spinning. My conscience is screaming. I feel my back splitting in two. I fear going home. But it's something I have to do. I don't know when. Today, I'm not ready. Tomorrow, I still won't be. Will I be ready on the 15th? Will they understand? Will I still be their daughter? Will I be able to justify my present state?
Questions. More questions. I'm tired of asking. Yeah, maybe I should finally go home. Or maybe not. I see nothing but darkness around me. Not even a sound. Perhaps my parents voice will lift me. Then, again, maybe not.
ELEMENTS OF A SHORT STORY
1. original idea
2. theme
3. plot
4. characters (believable); dialogue
5. background/ senses
6. opening - catch attention right away. introduce main character, state the problem, establish intriguing situation, conflict (2 dogs and one bone), suspense, shape (beginning/middle/end)
7. event should be relevant to the theme
8. satisfying ending: unexpected but inevitable
11:49 PM
Friday, April 04, 2003
April 1, 2003
MEMORY EXERCISE AGAIN
Comments received: Add dialogue. Try starting with the inciting event at the beginning, see if it works (meaning, start with the knife agad).
Draft One:
She stands beside the refrigerator, all smug-faced and haughty. I lunge at her, trying not to trip lest I actually stab her. I hold the knife to hear throat and challenged her to fight back. I could feel the blood rush to my face, my hands. My teeth were tightly clenched as I tried with all my might to control the distance of the blade from her skin. She stares back at me. Expressionless. Like she didn't care. Nobody moves. Silence falls upon the room. All we could hear is heavy breathing. Mine. She, on the other hand, is cool and calm. I hiss at her, ordering her to say something. She sneers and her slit eyes narrow. I wait, knife still in hand, blade still on her throat. Her hand suddenly shoots up. She waves it toward the blade. Holds it firmly, pushes it away, and let's out a victorious "Hah!" I drop the knife, unable to speak. Such courage from somebody so young, I think. I turn away, walk over to a corner, and sit facing the wall.
Another memory:
There wasn't any sound but the gentle whir of the airconditioner. The bed the 3 of us shared kept jiggling, because Melissa kept turning, apparently tying to find the perfect sleeping position. Tenten kept nudging her with her elbow.
"Lissa, keep still! And stop nudging my arm with your butt!"
After a few minutes, the room was quiet again. They're probably asleep, I thought. Suddenly, I felt something scratching my back. I turned. It was Lissa.
"Ate takot ako. Hug mo ako."
Evil sister I was, I answered in a low, raspy voice, "Hindi ako ang ate mo."
Her eyes grew wide and she climbed on top of Tenten, who was way thinner than her. "Ate Ten, anong nangyari kay Ate Ness???"
And bad sister she also was, she said in a singsong, cold, whispery tone, "HIndi ako ang ate mo..."
Lissa let out a squeal of terror. "MOMMYYYYY!!!!" She was flailing on the bed, kicking us as we tried to scare her even more by reaching out to touch her.
We were having such a ball when the lights turned on, and there was my mom at the doorway, red faced, hair in shocking disarray. Tenten and I shut up. Lissa ran to my mom, hugging her legs, sobbing to death. MY mom was frozen. What a sight! Tenten and I looked at each other. Then we laughed.
We got a good whipping after that.
12:20 AM
March 31, 2003
ELEMENTS OF CREATIVE WRITING
I. theme
II. show, don't tell. Avoid putting tears in the eyes of your character, instead, bring tears to the eyes of your reader
III. Style. Enemies of good style include: incorrect grammar/punctuation, cliches (words/situations), sentimentality, clumsy phrases/deadwood, be wary of adjectives, writing is action
IV. focus. write in depth. precision.
V. Nail down the camera. Viewpoint.
VI. Sound reasoning. SFX.
VII. Characters
EXERCISE: Focus on one object and write a page on it WITHOUT USING ADJECTIVES. After writing it, you are allowed to insert one luxury adjective only. (time: 10 mins)
The stone sits firmly as water trickles, drowning it. It probably seeks release but the grip of the pot on its base prevents it from doing so. It is paralyzed. It looks out the window and calls out voicelessly to the passers-by.
"Look at me," it says, "I need you to free me from my price tag and shelf. Show me what it's like to be outside. I'd like to hear sound apart from flowing water, and I'd like to sit on things besides planks and stones."
But the stone remains where it is despite its desire. And the water endlessly flows over it, around it. If this goes on, water will run through it, but by then the stone will be gone. It's a sad fact of nature.
The stone can wait till it's noticed, but for now it cries out helplessly, and yes, still voicelessly. It will drown, no doubt. Or disappear. But who knows? Perhaps the water is its tears.
EXERCISE TWO: Close your eyes. Think of a memory. As soon as you are told you open your eyes, write. (10 mins)
I could still hear her squeaky voice in my ear. We were in the family van. Farthest seat back to be exact. Camcorder in hand, I tried to convince my 6-year-old sister to sing the Christmas Alphabet. At first, she shook her head incessantly, groaning and rolling on the gray seat while munching on Cheese Curls. Her teeth had turned orange and she had yellow crumbs all over her face.
I tried to poke her sides, between the ribs and the hip bone (that's where she's ticklish), to make her laugh and give in. Her laughter was like bells ringing in my ear, only hers was more pigglety - like you were trying to catch a squealing pig in a mud race. After a while, Cheese curls all over both of us, some on the camera, some on my hair, she agreed to sing.
I positioned the camcorder to focus on her face. Just her face. She could fill it, I tell you. And sang with eyes closed, and bits of orange still on her.
She let out an "ahem" and began. "C is for the candy trim around the Christmas tree..." It was a simple moment, but it was heaven for me. The voices of our parents in the front slowly faded. The only voice that filled my ears, my thoughts, my heart, was hers.
12:06 AM
Thursday, April 03, 2003
APRIL 3, 2003
CREATIVE INK WORKSHOP
HOMEWORK
Think of a person. Then think of a word to describe that person. Write something that would reinforce/prove he/she is such.
DRAFT ONE:
Wednesday. April 2, 2003 homework
374 words
Conceited. That's what I would call my now 17-year-old sister, Tenten. She and her long, black, ultra-straight hair to the middle of her back, aggravated by the concept-turned-lifestyle Lucy Liu attitude. People always said she looked like the Asian actress. I couldn't help but agree. They have the same basic features: slit eyes (that are slightly crossed-eyed, hehehe...), olive skin, jet-black straight hair. But I don't tell her that over and over. It would be like creating my own hell. She would be spending hours in front of the mirror, poking at her face with her hands, squeezing her face in between her palms or sucking in her cheeks, to make her look thinner, and, yes, more like Lucy Liu. And I can only watch. She's the "it' girl, and she knows it. Whenever we go to the mall, she would bathe herself in cologne, spraying about 5 times, before we even leave the house. And when we finally get there, she squirts a couple more before we get off the car. She is a walking perfume factory. I could smell the sweet fruity scent of her body spray meters away, which is, by the way, not so sweet to me anymore, but deadly. Her long legs stride gracefully on the white tile floor, eyes looking from side to side to find out if there's anybody who's looking at her. And there are a LOT. I have to hand it to my sister for this skill of walking in paranoia without appearing obsessed. She glides slowly, painstakingly, but her head just faces front, and, though her eyes are frantically searching for would-be spectators of her gloriousness, her head never moves. Nope, not one bit. She adores the attention. Though it can get really annoying, I let her be. She lives for it. The family is content with the idea that one among us is drowning in vanity. We find it a novelty. When I go back to Davao, I'll have to bring her more of those girlie magazines she likes burying her face into, including flower printed headbands that Candymag says is so "in" for the summer (you know, just to reinforce her happening status), and a new bottle of body spray.
COMMENTS GIVEN:
appearance ( nagmamadali kasi kaya walang spacing in between paragraphs)
focus on one particular memory
DRAFT TWO:
April 3, 2003 8pm
She tucks her white turtleneck in her jeans, and twirls in front of the mirror, cheeks sucked in. "Pwede na ba ito?" She asks me, hands on her hips. I try not to react. Anyone who like tucking turtleneck would look like a Japayuki, but on her, it actually looked good. She snorts at me like I was the greated fashion dumbass and faces the mirror again, twirling her hair.
She likes drawing attention to how pretty she is.
I almost suffocate as she bathes herself in the fruity, flowery body spray - on her neck, wrists, back, nape, tummy; she even sprays on the air and dances underneath the falling microdroplets of cologne. She takes another look at the mirror and fixes her hair.
"A strand is out of place," she explains.
"I didn't even ask. And I don't see any stray hair," says me, fighting the urge to gag and throw something at her. For some reason, she keep tucking and untucking her shirt. Then twirls infront of the mirror again, then sprays cologne. It is I who is nearing death out of exasperation. Not her. Somebody should put her in a straitjacket.
"You know, if you really want to have your outfit on perfectly, you should try wiping gel all over you. Maximum hold. Mura lang."
She huffs, tosses her hair, sprays one more time, and stomps out of the room.
10:22 PM
We revere Jesus Christ today for His saving power and grace. But man's belief of Him did not come to life until after He died, save for His apostles and a few people. He was scorned for saying He was the Messiah. That was centuries ago, and this was not unusual. The people were perhaps confused. At that period, a lot of men walked around claiming they held the answers to salvation and know the way to eternal life. One of these men, which I will be discussing in length, is Simon Magus, also known as Simon Faustus, meaning, "the favored one."
The Church regarded Simon the Father of All Heresy. He was a Samaritan from the village of Gitta who existed in the time of Jesus and the apostles. During those times, Samaria was known for having non-conventional, and rather seditious, views of religion. The Orthodox Church regarded the place as the center of sin. It was in this environment where Simon Magus attempted to perform miracles, claimed he can save the world, and performed magic or sorcery. He was a Gnostic – a man who claims deeper wisdom of the Christian religion. Gnosticism, however, does not guarantee truth. A gnostic only claims he knows it. Magus preached not as merely a disciple, not a representative of God, but as himself a Messiah. "I am God. And I have come... But I wish to save you."
It is said that while the apostles were performing miracles of healing the sick by invoking the Holy Spirit, Simon caught sight and was awed. Naturally, being a practitioner of the magical arts and dreaming of outdoing the powers of Christ and the Holy Spirit, he desired to also possess it. He wanted to own the power Jesus Christ and his followers had. His desire was, in fact, so great that he was willing to pay money in exchange. This, of course, repulsed the apostles. In Acts 8:5-24, Peter scoffs at him saying, "May your money perish with you, because you thought you could buy the Gift of God with money!" Today, we call this act "simony", named after the heretic, which refers to persons who buy their way into positions in Church hierarchy.
There are mixed views on the validity of Simon Magus's claims. Some revered him and built a Simonian sect in honor of him in hopeful continuation of his teachings and expansion of the number of his followers. Others treat him with vehemence, saying that he is a false messiah. A great con. Certain archaeological studies even disproved the claim of Simon's divination. Annals tell us that he died in Rome while performing one of this magic stunts. He failed to get himself out of a box where he buried himself alive, confirming that he is not all-powerful and miraculous.
However, whatever one's judgment may be, one thing is for sure. Simon Magus remains one of the more interesting figures of biblical history. If what he claims is true, then we are to feel guilty for not believing. However, if there is no truth at all to his words, then he deserves where he ended up in – under the ground, buried and dead.
9:59 PM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
