29 August 2014

The Inevitable Change

Change is inevitable. Growing up is inevitable. As much as I try to cement myself into place, I can no longer do it because my mind rebels against it. Perhaps I'm in the stage which Anaïs Nin succinctly put into: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

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Top: Mango | Culottes: Zara | Faux pearl bracelets: from Bangkok, Thailand | Necklace: Forever 21 | Shoes: Topshop | Bag: Coach

21 August had been declared a holiday which coincided with my uncle's second death anniversary. Just like what we did in his first year, we had the lunch catered in one of the function rooms of the columbarium. Instead of expecting 100 guests, we only prepared for 40 this time. 

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Changes happen in either two ways - instantaneously or gradually. Between the two, I'm more wary of the latter. A series of events mean a series of doubting. I hate second-guessing myself because of all the emotions, it's self-pity that I detest the most. I'd rather face a catalyst that will blow a punch so hard it'll knock me off my balance than receive multiple jabs which would fracture not just a part but almost the entirety. I'm all for the one-time big-time kind.

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There are certain things that I used to give so much importance to only to feel suffocated by them towards the end. Maybe everyone is right after all. There's no such thing as permanence. Trivial things that used to excite me no longer triggers even the slightest amused smile from me. Friends who I used to talk, plot silly plans, and hang out with no longer hold the same ideals as I do. Small talks which, as my homeroom teacher in High School and Income Taxation professor in college say, I'm good at keeping up with suddenly become energy-draining. Perhaps what's changed in me is the tolerance I have for everyone and everything. If before I have a wide reserve of it, now I categorize based on who's/what's taxing or not. I lack the energy to continue dealing with the former. Call me selfish or a selective picker, or someone who's stopped accepting others' BS, but I'm firmly standing on my recently found ground. Note that I'm particularly talking about circumstances or people whom I've already met. I haven't completely stopped wearing my rose-colored glasses in hopes of meeting others who'll inspire me and setting sights on adventures that will thrill me.

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I'm so thrilled; my page statistics indicates that there are people in France who chance upon my blog! I implore your good souls to correct me should you see errors in my attempt at using your language every once in a while. (Oh see, may additional 2 readers na ako hahahaha) Je suis content de savior que il y a trop gens qui parle francais lu mon blog.

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Obviously, I enjoyed myself too much in this set that there's been an excess of photos. Haha!

21 August 2014

Two Lines Ended Into Flat Line

The smallest coffins are the heaviest.

Months ago, I slept over a friend's house. As soon as the lights were turned off, the silly jokes and equally silly gestures were replaced by an existential discussion. One of the topics we've covered was language, which at that time was very fitting as she was about to take Mandarin lessons in Shanghai for the next 6 months while I was contemplating on learning how to speak French (I didn't go to France to study unlike her though hahaha). We were wondering if language is an effective indicator of a person's intellect. We even went so far as recalling an internet article which described two tribes who both needed to accomplish a certain task. One was taught the word 'Left' while the other was left to its own devices. The latter remained as chaotic as it's always been while the former worked harmoniously until it's reached the finish line. We take them for granted but words contribute greatly to civilization. 

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Tank top: Zara | Pants: Old Navy | Shoes: Aldo | Jacket: Gap | Bag: Kipling | Ring: Aldo | Necklace: from Bangkok, Thailand

Paramedics finished her text, "... love you."

If a single word like 'left' already rouses comprehension, then it must mean that a few words can tell an entire story. When Ernest Hemingway, as legends say, made a bet that he can tell a six-word story that could make anyone who's read it cry, and actually won such bet, I was challenged to come up with something as concise and vivid as his. But of course I'm only deluding myself. He's Hemingway and I'm just a pretend writer. Besides I'm too superfluous in speech that a question which is answerable with only a phrase begets a paragraph response. Case in point is the job interview that I've went to yesterday. I've been asked to return for a second time so the company's VP for Human Resources can interview me himself. (I intentionally dropped this information as up to now, I am still so fond of the VP. He made me wish I have a grandfather who'll spoil me rotten. He had been so accommodating and pleasant that he laughed at all the silly anecdotes he asked me to discuss. I can't recall any skeleton in our family's closet but I know for a fact that the only grandfather figure I can remember is my late great grandfather Amama. He's among the very few who thought I was beautiful - and would always tell me so every time my brothers would make me cry - even in my early adolescent years where the pictures prove I looked my worst. Hahaha!). 

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He bottle-feeds his wife's killer.

The title I used for this post is my attempt at conveying a story in six words. Didja like it, didja like it? I've a predilection for any story that ends with death upon an important character, remember? The two lines shown on a pregnancy test resulted into death of the mother, that is what I was trying to paint. I initially wanted 'Two Lines Caused Two Flat Lines' which implies that both the mother and child die, which then would somehow imply that abortion took place. At the moment, I'm not prepared to tackle my stand on so delicate a matter.

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My cousin Rayne (who will turn 6 next month) and I in our matching Kipling bags.

I am a very talkative person who, just like everyone else, uses silence as the beginning of an offensive attack. What follows is a series of short sentences that I will load with psychobabble bullshits. I've to muster a laconic approach while ensuring that my wit, however minimal, is on point. When in a word war, brevity is a much loaded weapon. And then I'll finish with a maniacal laugh for a more powerful impact. Mwahahahaha

Did I get my point across or only my train of thought's tendency to wander?

A son abused. Another son abused.

All six-word stories from HERE

15 August 2014

The Life That Matters

The problem with my generation is that, we are so good at pretending we are someone we're not that we end up deluding ourselves into thinking that we're better than who we actually are.

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Sheer top used as dress: from my Lala | Belt: from Bangkok | Bead bracelets: from night market in Baguio | Bag: Juicy Couture | Inner top and cycling shorts: Yvonne's | Shoes: Zara

My grandmom's sister and her son who both live in Italy are in the country for a two-week vacation. Trying to communicate with my uncle whom I've seen in person for the first time is very difficult as he speaks only a little English. J'aimerais qu'il parle un peu française que l'anglaise. Parce que je veux pratiquer mon française. Mon petit peu 'knowledge' de francais. (If my sentences are grammatically incorrect, at least I hope the thought is there. Hahahaha) How do I translate my thoughts into comprehensible Italian phrases when my vocabulary is only composed of 'Ciao', 'Buon Giorno', 'gelato', 'grazie', 'cappuccino', and 'vino'? At least it's fun to teach them a few Filipino words during dinner as we enjoy a nice glass of white wine. If there's anything cool about the arrival of my Italian citizen relatives, it's that they bring the best tasting white wine to the table in every meal!

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I have accumulated enough wrong decisions these past years that somehow I know I can't take making decisions lightly any longer. It's true what they say, after all. Decisions that we've come up with today will later on catch up on us. I've recently met up with my best friend whom I haven't seen in the last two months. (Thanks for the pasalubong from London, S!) We were talking about decisions as we are in the stage where weighty decisions have to be made. Chalk it up on our nature but we've agreed that although it's tempting to accept all the offers that come our way, we have to be discerning on which offer to ultimately accept. We were referring to job offers, by the way. I'm currently working for my father but I'm already seeking for employment in other companies where I can use the degree I've specialized in in college. I know I am not supposed to be finicky as I am practically inexperienced but I can't afford to jump on all the snail mails and e-mails that come my way as I don't want to waste the next years of my life in an environment where I would not fully thrive in.

I want to work for companies where excellence is the culture and mediocrity the disease. And then someday, once I've learned how to walk, perhaps I can fly.

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11 August 2014

The Philosophy of Eternal Recurrence

I wanted to translate my title into French but I couldn't as I don't know the equivalent of recurrence. Maybe I have to enrol for another two months of French lessons in Alliance again to improve my speaking skills and maybe ultimately learn how to speak recurrence in that language. (What do you think, Mom? Hahahahaha)

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Blazer: The Ramp | Shirt: Giordano | Shorts: Topshop | Shoes: Zara | Sunnies: Ray-ban

Three posts ago, I briefly tackled Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being. I could've let the novel remain a close book but I decided not to because something of weight, deserves to be taken a little bit seriously. Thus assigning its weight, positive. (Aha, that was a pun only those who've read this incredibly written novel would understand)

The book proposed the premise that anything that happens will one day happen again, and in another time, happen once more. If something happens continually, then doesn't it lose its significance? But if it only happens once and would never again occur, what is its importance then? And so the philosophy of 'eternal return' continues to perplex me. Does it mean that in a distant future (time that is unthought of), we get to have a second shot at certain things in our lives? Do we get to change our lives notably as a result of this or only the trivial aspects can be altered? I've never bought the idea of not regretting anything that we've done in the past for it contributed to whoever we are today, because I firmly believe that everyone of us has something that we'll change drastically should chance present itself. Perhaps what 'eternal return' offers is the consolation that some day, we'd get to relive the defining moment that shifted our paths to where we eventually went to and finally have a retrospective eye that will greatly aid us in picking the right choice. Or perhaps eternal return is just that - a life on-loop. If that happens, we will assume the role of spectators where we'll no longer live our lives but rather, become watchers who look on from afar the same things over and over again. 

To me, life will become weightless if all that have happened now will have repeat performances. There are things that should be relived only in memories. But life would continue to have meaning, to be heavy, if we have something unforeseeable to look forward to. 

In terms of style, Kundera is faultless. I am in awe in how he marries the novelistic part with his personal musings, but still successful in leaving his readers guessing up to which extent did he reveal his own personal thoughts, not the thoughts of the characters whose personalities he assumed. His novel wasn't an emotional one like Picoult's (who, by the way, is among my favorite authors). Although there was death upon major characters, which I highly approve of happening when I'm reading an emotional novel as I think that it is only in having an irreparable loss do we completely appreciate a person, an event, or a thing, it did not happen in a dramatical set-up. Instead, death was stated plainly, without shock value, and definitely without sentimental value. Kundera wasn't after my tears; he was after my curiosity.

P.S. I don't really think my title should be translated to French because after all, it's based on Friedrich Nietzsche's philosophy. Say what you will about the German but no one can deny him of his brilliance and on-point questions.

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via Pinterest

08 August 2014

Ladies Who Do No Wrong: Jane Aldridge

I was in HS when I came across fashion blogs while searching for mood inspirations. Since then, I've believed more in their creative power than in celebrities'. And normally, the bloggers whom I tend to heavily obsess on have styles that are leaning on the chimerical side rather than relatable. I have fondness for others whose style I can only aspire for; actual imitation is completely asymptotic. What's the point of looking up to someone else when you can easily emulate her style? Also, I admire them because they push all fashion boundaries and seem to be non-apologetic for it.

Whether it's because of her porcelain skin, tall frame, annoyingly always gorgeous red locks, excessive accessorizing, editorial-worthy photographs, well-decorated apartment, and her 'sea of shoes' (both blog itself and words' literal meaning), there's just something about Jane Aldridge that I'll always adore.

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Photos from seaofshoes

For goodness' sake, Jane, why do you have all the beautiful shoes in the world?

06 August 2014

Tu Ressembles a Comment Tu Parles

Here is what I wore on a particular rainy day where one of my best friends in the whole wide world and I switched from one Makati mall to another and then back to where we started again just to satiate our compulsive shopping desires. While she looks clean and polished in her midi skirt and black flats, I look a little too casual. Haha!

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Long cardigan: Festival Mall bazaar area | Flowy top: Mango | Shorts: Topshop | Slippers: Havaianas | Bag: Victoria's Secret

I love rainy season more than the dry season. For some reason, rain has the power to romanticize almost anything and everything. I am either a wallflower or an overbearing contender.

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I'm trying out my all-too flashy teeth smile. I'm still feeling my way through my now braces-less teeth.

"You resemble how you talk". Talk confidently and no one will know how jittery and unsure you really are. Talk as if you believe in everything you say and you'll trick not only your audience but also and more importantly, your own self.

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I patiently waited for three straight nights the TV debut of History channel's World Wars series. It's a 3-episode documentary which was divided into 6 parts. The moment I saw its marketing tag line "World War 1: The world changed them. World War 2: They changed the world.", I knew it would be exceptionally interesting. And I was proven right. You know what the similarity is among the war leaders Mussolini, Hitler, Churchill, Stalin, and Tojo? It's that, they speak effectively. (Of course I'm discounting their personal weaknesses and faults which became their identifiers later on. I intentionally didn't include Roosevelt as I think his involvement was more of a retaliation to a provocation.) They started with an ideology that they believed in then imparted it with those who were seeking for something that can unify their nation, and finally acted upon what they thought was the truth.

See, there's an error in cultivating a thought. Because normally it's on a personal basis, there's nothing that can convince us that we have an erring  philosophy. Only when we've lived through to see the aftermath do we get to stare at our faulty reasoning.

I found the sentence I used in my title in HERE

02 August 2014

Delayed Gratification

Time is always of the essence, I realize. In retrospect, I've let myself believe that since I'm technically young and responsibility-free, I'm entitled to commit mistake after another mistake as I have the rest of my years to undo it. Oh, how gullible I have been.

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Top: H&M | Shorts: Topshop | Shoes: Zara | Bag: Juicy Couture | Sunnies: Ray-ban | Bead bracelets: from night market in Baguio

As it has always been my escape rod (it's better to reveal your innermost thoughts through fittingly concealed images rather than offer them up voluntarily), I'm going to write about a book. Weeks ago, I finished reading a novel that somehow almost played a vital part in the grand adventure I planned for myself. I bought it last October 2013 thinking I could read it during the periods where I lazed around while my thesismates were researching facts for our thesis paper (but of course, I had to contribute parts of considerable and important weight in exchange of it). But I delayed and delayed and delayed. All because plan A and plan B didn't materialize, with both plans taking into consideration the role of the novel. I digress.

Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being proved to be a most challenging read. On average, it's length is rather short but compared to other 500-page and above books, this took longer for me to finish. Stumbling upon a character who seems to be an extended version of one's self is both frightening and intoxicating. The characters in the novel all have that elusive le mot juste which I previously found in only one other novel (my favorite of all, Wilde's the Picture of Dorian Gray). Perhaps Anais Nin was right when she said

"Don't say anything, because I see that you understand me, and I am afraid of your understanding. I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe. I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world; and then I stand revealed and I have to share my kingdom with you"

Again, I digress.

This was supposedly a quick hey-I'm-still-alive post to validate the blog's existence despite my frequent intermittent breaks. (Wast that a good oxymoron or what? Hahahaha) But I got a little bit overboard. Also, if you think I look weird without really pointing out how that happens, I'll give you a clue. Something on my face, which have been on me for more than 7 years, has finally been removed. Another clue: (can I just post a photo I took seconds after they were removed instead?)

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