love, in itself, is a powerful thing.

but love AND peanut butter could be deadly.

ain't it sad?

call me "spud".

last sunday, meredith* told alex that she opted to skip izzie's thanksgiving dinner because she didn't want to ruin the holiday for everybody else, that she felt like a virus, a bacteria, a disease that could infect every person she gets in contact with, and contaminate their happiness with her misery and hurt.

that's precisely the same reason why i've been semi-reclusive lately.

that, and the fact that i've made rereading harry potter IV and V, and finally reading the VI (which has been gathering dust in my bookshelf for months now) as this weekend's goals. i just wonder how i'm going to pull it off since i have been stuck in page 39 of "HP and the goblet of fire" all day. i blame it on "the suite life of zack and cody", "foster's home for imaginary friends", the Bratz cartoon, my sister's iPod, and the food network (the US national pie-making competition was on this afternoon; the amount of egg yolks and cream and cream cheese i saw today was mind-boggling, i think my waistline expanded by a couple of inches just by watching. oh, those poor cows and chickens).

...

saw "harry potter..." last sunday.

loved it, loved the accents, loved the weasleys, loved all the skinny boys with floppy hair and the lovely accents at that.

i also spent two plus hours thinking, "harry potter looks like my cousin."

'di tuloy ako na-excite sa shirtless scene.

...

this girl from work asks me, "how come you seem okay one moment, and then so sad and withdrawn the next?"

good question.

you know how they say some people have guardian angels because they always seem to be so happy and blessed with good luck? and even though they may go through some rough patches once in a while, they still get what they want afterwards?

well, i'm convinced i have a guardian Dementor.

OR i could just be bipolar.


*meredith, alex, and izzie are but three of the people whose lives i shamelessly stalk every sunday, 10 pm EST. i know "grey's anatomy" is being lambasted for its preposterous and misleading potrayal of doctors and medical what-not, but who cares? if i were after medical accuracy, i would've opened a textbook. only, textbooks don't show patrick dempsey in scrubs.

there are times when we enjoy keeping secrets. like when we're planning a surprise party or when we have christmas presents tucked away in the most imaginative of places. but part of the joy in that is knowing that we're not obliged to keep those secrets for long, and that when the time comes for us to reveal them, they will be welcomed with love, glee, and maybe even tears of happiness.

most of the time, though, secrets are a burden.

we choose to keep them for a myriad of reasons. but mostly we do it to protect somebody, be it someone we know or ourselves.

the thing is, secrets have a way of revealing themselves. it's as if they have their own built-in pandora just waiting for that precise moment to fulfill her destiny and unlock that box full of sad and sinister things that we, with the hope that they'll never get to see the light of day, had painstakingly tried to imprison. they're wily things, these secrets of ours. they're volatile, exhibitionist creatures who will find all sorts of ways to expose themselves. sometimes they even use us - our words, our expressions, our reactions, even the mundane acts we do each and every day. no, we can't even trust ourselves not to reveal the very things we want to hide.

someday, we'll all realize that choosing not to say anything doesn't really save any one of us.

hiding secrets, keeping quiet, telling lies...

they're all the same to me.

eighty-nine

growing up, i've always imagined myself to be with somebody who:

1. could dance like a dream. like how fred astaire used to whirl ginger rogers around, except that my boy would be able to dance hiphop, too. not breakdancing, though (as much as i enjoy watching people spin on their heads, i think this should be left for people under 18).

2. could sing and/or play an instrument. drums would be sexiest, but i'll take anything. even violins and harps.

3. would drop and leave everything behind when i tell him that i want us to do what they did: live in a far-away place, explore its beauty, acquaint ourselves with its people and how they live, immerse ourselves in its culture and art and food, and then write all about it afterwards. except that we know we can't write for shit and we wouldn't even entertain the notion of publishing anything we 've written, but still, our children and grandchildren will be richer, in the intellectual and spiritual (i truly believe that learning and understanding how everybody on this planet lives could inspire more tolerance, kindness, and respect for life than all the religious education classes in the whole world) sense of the word, for it.

4. would not grimace or wrinkle his nose everytime i try out something that may look like it came from outer space or really just plain gross or weird (when it comes to food, i'm all for the "don't knock it unless you've tried it" philosophy).

5. loves animals but will understand when i tell him that as much as i like them, i really wouldn't like to have one living inside my house. unless it's a fish, i guess.

6. would not ask me to rub my lipstick off the rare times i wear it.

7. would instinctively know the perfect something to do or give me, not to mention what NOT to say or do, when i'm feeling down or PMS-ing.

8. would not give me excuses and lies so ridiculous, they insult my intelligence.

9. would have chris evans' butt.

10. would spoil me rotten. so much so that only my absurdly healthy sense of guilt would save me from being a complete horror to live with.

given that the boy doesn't do or have any of the above, why am i still with him?

maybe it's because i'm really in love.

or maybe it's because he is and does a whole lot of other things that aren't in the list but have grown to be as (or even more) important to me. he's smarter than i am, for one. in his words, he's "not a hipon". he could also be cute and charming especially when he's not consciously trying to be. he sends me the perfect cards and sometimes write letters that make me want to smile and tear up at the same time. even though we fight and fight like cats and, well, cats, i only remember him raising his voice at me only once (i'm still having trouble forgetting that one time, though). he watches TV shows that i make him watch, reads the books i make him read, wears clothes i pick out for him. and he knows about and appreciates music more than i do (even though i've always wanted a boyfriend who'd sing for me, i honestly know zilch about music).

or maybe because he loves me in his own unxeplainable, frustrating, and maddening way. and that if he were to make a list like this one, i wouldn't be anything he's always wanted in a girl either.

or maybe it's because i hear of people like them and think that maybe, just maybe, things aren't really as bad as they seem.

techie-girl, i am not.

when i got my phone, i didn't even bother reading the manual because i knew i was only going to use it for calls and text messages and as an alarm clock. i don't like computers, typing, and reading documents online. i only got myself an email address when i moved here, and that's only because i seemed to be the only person on earth who was valiantly holding on to the disappearing artform that is snail mail (incidentally, if you haven't received any from me, it's because i do not have your address, have not found the perfect card or postcard for you yet, or do not think you're the type to appreciate getting mail that you could actually hold in your hands.). i don't even like Googling for things (as with boys, i prefer information to come looking for me rather than the other way around).

i also went to a university which, albeit rich with brilliant minds, was sadly poor and lacking in funds and everything else. my college didn't even have a building of its own, we were squatters in a room which belonged to the college of dentistry.

so, no, it's really not surprising that i don't know how to make a powerpoint presentation. the few times we were made to do any sort of reporting, we made use of acetates, ourselves, various parts of the human anatomy (and cats, sharks, frogs, etc.), and the staples of any filipino student: cartolinas and illustration boards, as props. we did make a powerpoint presentation as part of our thesis, but i was too busy sleeping, spacing out, and chatting with anna to remember just how ganda did it.

but dorothy is not in kansas anymore.

so last monday saw me teaching myself the wonders of powerpoint and hastily coming up with a presentation due the next day. and i did it all - research of journals, slide-making and all- in three hours.

nobody does photofinish assignments like i do. nobody.

...

scary movies might not affect me that much, but speaking in front of an audience makes my blood run cold.

i spent twenty minutes shaking, stuttering, wishing the floor would swallow me whole, and mispronouncing "spasticity". spasticity. the word should be part of my vocabulary as much as "cherry garcia".

my teacher and classmates were kind, though. during feedback time, they told me i was very informative, engaging, and i have a pleasant and tranquil manner of speaking.

i still don't know what made my classmates say all those complimentary things (how can you sound tranquil when you're shaking with fear?), but i think i know why my professor did. five minutes before i was to give my report, she saw me hyperventilating in the washroom.

now let's see if being caught heaving and almost keeling over could earn an A.

sometimes, i could be such a loser.

...

i don't usually eat doughnuts. unless i get one of my weird cravings, then i eat one. or when i'm craving AND suicidal, then i hie over to where they sell krispy kremes and stuff myself with four of those lard rings masquerading as doughnuts.

but today i saw this pile of gorgeous cinnamon-sugar doughnuts, and promptly forgot that i started the day craving for curry and that i had this really gummy boston creme the other day.

with a cup of caramel biscotti coffee to wash down each glorious bite, i tucked into a huge, pillowy, sugary treat so unlike those airy, styrofoam ones (which are still better than the cake-y, mr. donut-y ones, yes, but only by THIS much) chain stores churn out. this one had a bite to it, fluffy but meaty. the old italian grandmother who made it from scratch did herself proud.

it was like buying a little piece of heaven for a dollar twenty-five.

only thing, all that caffeine and sugar and fat left me feeling sluggish and dizzy the whole day. and i think they slaughtered more than a few of my brain cells, too, because it seems like my IQ dropped by ten thousand points today.

no wonder real policemen don't seem as impressively sharp as their TV counterparts.

tomorrow, i'm getting the one dipped in chocolate.

someone's in a baby-making mood.

seriously, my maternal urges have been in overdrive lately.

normally, the thought of being a parent frightens me. i feel that i don't even have the right to consider parenthood. i mean, i can't even get MY life in order, so the chances of me screwing up as a mommy are pretty high.

but lately, i've found myself forgetting that at times.

and it's all because of this little bundle of joy who calls me tita-ninang (well, his dad will make him, once he learns how to talk).

everytime his parents bring him over, my heart just about swells with love for him. and no, it's not just because he always forgets his box of cerelac so his tita-ninang could enjoy a bowl while watching CSI reruns at 2 a.m. (don't judge, i know of people who eat odder things).

i love how he's so tiny, how he brings up his little feet to his mouth, how he likes being squeezed and cuddled, how he smiles when you call his name (although i still haven't forgiven my kuya for choosing to bastardize the spelling. tell me, what is wrong with "derek"? THAT'S how it's supposed to be spelled.). best of all, i love how he's outgrown the habit of crying everytime i go near him. yes, i am fully aware that this turnabout happened so conveniently near christmas, but that only proves that the baby inherited my smarts (play nice and go along with me on this one) along with the big, round eyes (although his are much nicer. ever notice that boys seem to have longer and curlier lashes than girls?).

and the other day, my best friend/cousin-in-law gave birth to a, oh, i feel my cervix squirming uncomfortably as i'm typing this, 9.something lb. baby girl. i'm a tita-ninang all over again.

too much cuteness, i can barely stand it.

...

semi-related, but not really:

my favorite comic book character is catwoman.

my favorite egyptian goddess is bastet.

and if i were to choose an animal whose nature would resemble mine the best, i'd have to go with cats. unlike dogs, who become man's best friends and who are able to do heroic deeds like saving lives and being trained as seeing-eye dogs and all, cats are just, well, cats. they're these little creatures who expect you to feed and take care of them, but who retreat to their own world of preening and prowling once you've done so. they're antisocial, self-absorbed, inclined to spend hours just lazing around, but capable of fierce hissing and scratching whenever they feel like it.

so i guess it makes sense that while i like cats and everything else associated with them, i really am not too keen about sharing a house with one of them. i've enough cattiness to go around, after all.

but the boy adores them. and i, in a moment of weakness, told him that i MIGHT consider us getting a cat in the future.

my reward for that?

"let me have a cat, and i'll let you have more than one kid."

i know i probably shouldn't find it funny that he equates pet kittens with babies, but god help me, that was such a classic kit statement that it just cracked me up.

11 reasons why i love her so:

1. she's the only person i know who actually has BLACK eyes. not dark brown, but i-can't-even see-your-pupils black.

2. when i used to borrow nancy drew books from the grade school library, her name was always way above mine in those borrowers' slips.

3. she was a junior librarian (you were, right?). and i'll have you know that i love libraries so much that when i was filling out my UP application form, i wrote down library science as my fourth choice.

4. during those times when my dad was still an advocate of the hitler school of parenting, she was my "get out of jail, free" ticket whenever i wanted to go out of the house.

"saan ka pupunta?"

"kila ate celeste."

"ah, ok."

5. and since i was a good kid, i would actually just run over to her house where we'll spend hours ransacking her aunt's formidable pocketbook collection, gossiping, and making up codenames for our crushes. the ones she came up with for hers were always better than mine, though.

6. she knows ALL of my crushes - from "helen" (it was supposed to be "troy" as in troy from beverly hills teens, but i thought it was too obvious so i changed it to helen. you know, helen of troy.) to the "love of jake's life" (hahaha, remember this?), to my thankfully short-lived but superdupersecret crush, whose identity i will carry with me to the grave. she knows so much that she could divest me of all my belongings and dignity if she chooses to blackmail me. lucky for me, she's nice and, unlike the rest of us mere mortals, could actually keep a secret.

7. when i gush about this certain boy who ties his long dark blond hair in a ponytail and who injured his leg because he was in a mission with his best friend, this huge, dark man, who got married when he was 14, but didn't really see his wife until he had to kidnap her a good how many years later, and who was also the brother of this girl with green eyes, red hair, and talent for picking locks, who eventually married the older brother of that guy with long hair - well, she would know what i'm talking about.

8. high school sophomore year wouldn't have been the same without her (sure, i paid the price when she and the rest of the gang graduated and left me in the hands of those juniors-turned-seniors, but you know what? the fun times were worth that stupid CAT power-tripping i had to endure)

9. because we know that being able to distinguish self-centeredness from mollusks is sehr gut, posing beside the refreshment table is schlecht, and making an obvious fool of yourself is graunvoll. amusing, but graunvoll.

10. she's the original steel magnolia. a lesser being would've buckled under all that pressure (and would've been excused for doing so), but that was never an option for her.

11. she shares the same birthday with leonardo di caprio. and i know he's not as beautiful now, but i still love leo.

happy birthday, ate che. you know you rock.

and i'm not just saying that because i want sausages. promise.

things you might find helpful the next time you get a haircut:

1. bring a picture of the style you want. never mind that all they have to do is give you a trim (because you've been sporting basically the same cut since you were 19 and you lack the imagination and daring-do to change it), some stylists seem to lose their ability to understand spoken language when you're explaining what you'd want your hair to look like.

2. when you're telling them how much to cut off, consider using your fingers to indicate how many inches of your hair you are willing to part with.

i distinctly remember saying two. repeated it three times, even. she insists i told her to chop off four inches.

yeah. why would i want to do that??? see #1 - the part that says something about having the same hair since college.

3. if by chance you find yourself with a hot stylist, who actually gives you a haircut that you're happy with, DO NOT blabber about how cute and sexy he is. especially if the co-worker you're talking to is actually friends with the girl he's dating (incidentally, the girl is also the salon's receptionist and remembers you only too well because of your name). this might embarrass you enough to actually go to another salon, and then you might find yourself dealing with a scissor-wielding maniac who failed her kindergarten math class.

alright, i AM being a tad unfair here. the cut doesn't look that bad. it's just that it came out shorter than i wanted it.

i miss my hair.
...

this one's from faerah:

Shit is fertilizer, anger is fuel. Use them.

love it. i'm now glad that i've been shopping, and dancing, and having my hair cut. because if life is going to hand me shit that will make me all angry and sad, i might as well look hot while she's at it.

philip pullman, calvin and hobbes have to wait.

i find a lot of things extremely difficult to do, but i think my top 3 would have to be:

a) forgiving;

b) forgetting;

and

c) finding the right pair of pants/jeans.

my body (to match my character, i guess) absolutely refuses to be anything but contrary. gap just came out with all these types and cuts - one for every body type there is. i wish there was a "guaranteed fit, or you get five thousand bucks" clause, because i would then have the money to go home this christmas AND welcome the new year with celeste in germany (celeste, i hope by this time you already have a german boy touring you around. and don't forget my strudel and sausages!!!).

in a world of size 0's, i'm a -1.

and even if i get pants that fit me in the waist, i'll still have to worry about the hip and thigh area. i'm too thin for the ones designed for curvy women, but not linear enough to fit in the ones meant for the skinny girls.

a 30" inseam is perfect for me when i'm barefoot (i'm a whopping 5"2), but looks a wee bit short when i wear shoes with even a hint of a heel. a 32" leg looks great when i'm wearing heels, but drags just a tiny bit when i wear flats. i usually just get the 32" inseam, dump them in the dryer for some major heat treatment, and then cross my fingers that they'll shrink to the perfect length for me (something in between 30" and 32", so i guess that's a 31" ?).

and yes, i have taken some pairs to be altered, but even if those lovely seamstresses are able to help me with the length, they can't do jack with the fit sometimes.

out of the twenty or so pairs in my closet, only three fit me okay. they don't even fit me well, just okay. sort of like how people love me, come to think of it.

i've long given up hope of ever finding the perfect pair. but today, i think i struck gold. well, maybe gold-plated (and i'll tell you why in a second).

i saw them hanging on the rack at aritzia and i felt something tingle - my sixth sense was screaming for me to go and try them on. so i did. and they were almost perfect (wait, wait, give me a few and i'll tell you why they missed getting the perfect score.). they hugged my not-so-thin, not-so-round contours just right; they were made of this beautiful, dark gray tweed; the length was just a fraction of an inch longer than it should have been; the lining felt soooo silky smooth and soooo good on my skin.

the only thing i didn't love was that it had a price tag of $150. that's a paltry sum for people who are dead serious about what they wear, i know, but when you're THIS close to being destitute like i am, that's a lot. so i hesitated for a full ten seconds before resolutely marching to the counter, where i whipped out my trusty mastercard (the visa's been retired - it couldn't take any more abuse) and bought myself some self-love.

and after that, i just HAD to get this teeny-tiny-but-oh-so-cute jacket in khaki (they were on sale so i got my sister the pink one, too. her boyfriend thinks our jackets look weird, but i don't care. i adore them, my sister and i could pull them off, and that's that.) to wear with it.

next week, H&M is launching stella mccartney's limited collection. dear god, i hope she made her clothes small because the long-neglected girl inside of me is still demanding for a little bit more attention.

...

to pam (whose choice of a halloween costume fits her to a T. had i known that, i would've written you a complaint about not finding manolos that i can afford): thanks for the very sweet offer, but tonight's shopping jaunt renewed my hope.

today, pants. tomorrow, who knows? i just might be able to find those goshdarn TimTams.