The reasons are more on dating itself (i.e. dining and/or hanging out) than why we can be good together forever. Myopic, I know. Haha!

5 reasons why you should not date me:

1. I am shy. (1.2) I have a certificate for Best in Observation and Non-Reaction. Really.
2. I have clammy hands.
3. I don 't know good wine. Assuming that fancy is your thing. If so.. (3.2) I assume you're paying.
4. I think chivalry is dead. No, paying ≠ chivalry.
5. I have a curfew.

But then again..

5 reasons why you should:

1. I chew with my mouth closed.
2. I have this dress reserved for a date.
3. I'm a good listener and I like talkative/opinionated people. But let me talk, too. (3.2) I can be witty.
4. I can cook. And not just fried egg or instant noodles.
5. I'm single.

harajuko_girl and thisistheplan, thank you for the fun meme. :) Tagging whoever. Or maybe you. Yes, you.

I am grateful that my parents taught me well, not to make up stories of them and myself, that we own a branch of Starbucks even if Rustan's is the exclusive franchisee in the WHOLE Philippines.

Thankful that I don't use the words "love" and "miss" to things I destroyed with my idiocy and ego. I am a Communication major, doing so would be a crime.

I am grateful that whatever happens in my life, I have self-respect and people are not laughing behind my back chattering about me stealing soap and shampoo in Unilever or whatever company I'm working in.

I am not perfect and I admit it. But I am very happy that I am not her.

this is a test :p

It has been a few days that I've taken joy from the hair on my head that has finally reached my shoulders. It has been a long, long time since. The first cut was to remind myself to do better in school this time. A substitute for a string around one's finger. And the ones that came after? I really can't remember. But, for sure, they cost me 2 years to have semi-long hair. I won't cut it ever again. No matter what happens. I'd like to keep the almost unbearable threaded into every strand of hair on my head. Centimeters of constant reminders of the bitter and sweet. Masochistic, yeah?



A photoblog of how long it's taking for me to have a lustrous crowning glory.




The vow is partly due to this article.


Katrina Halili emerged afresh with a short new bob in the aftermath of her Hayden Cam sex video scandal. Lopping off her locks in a pert one-length cut was j23 salon, according to her road manager Omar Bortijas. With her new swingy hairstyle barely grazing her chin and nape, Halili looked more chic gamine than sexpot, her previous persona.

Showbiz followers will remember Gretchen Barretto to have made a similar beauty statement right after her “Kisscandal” with John Estrada in 2007.

“Hair is the very vocabulary of self-invention, the outward manifestation of an inner metamorphosis,” says anthropologist Grant McCracken, author of Big Hair: A Journey into the Transformation of the Self. Historically, in the movies and in lore, long hair has always connoted sexuality and femininity, while short hair signified modesty, independence and restraint.

Says Alisa King in her Helium.com article “The Breakup Haircut: Mating Call or Emotional Imperative?” chopping off long hair signals “underlying emotional reasons as opposed to a fashion statement... I was taking the needed step to get on with my life. In a way I felt I was cutting off something I had held close for a long time, something that had become unbearable.”


Haircuts don't have to define the new us. And for someone forgetful like me, it's better that the tangible witnesses of time stay and remind me.

I cannot live without a security blanket. It assures me that no matter what, I will be okay. That at the end of the day, I have something to go home to and tug me safe to sleep. It was a friend that eventually left. It is his hobby, leaving me. But this time, I think I cannot wait for his return so I can feel safe again, not alone, again. For all who left and have to leave, a dunk of cheese for the day.



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Wait For You - Elliott Yamin</div>

I am lost in you, official cliche in my life. I have gone too far and too long to must forget you. How come I dangle at your fingertips once more just because you held mine? This is insanity, far greater than the one you claim. I should not have anything for you because we left it all behind. But with just one, everything is back, at least, to me, except you. Everything but you. I do not want to recognize your presence or that I long for it. I cannot say how much or how badly because you would know that you make me weak, still. You have incapacitated my mind to think straight, to check on reality that you will never be. Almost but not really.

I wish you're here but I do not even look where you are. Nevertheless, I look for you, your words, the sweet strings of words that were once mine and almost exclusively. I shed a tear for the sand that slipped my hand too long ago. I scream when I get a whiff of you but don't see you. I mourn and smile for what happened and did not. Is that possible? Yes, with you it is.

If there is one impossible thing I could wish for and God would grant, I'll scribble down your name and send it to Him ASAP.

Maybe in my next life. Maybe. Here's hoping that I won't waste this life pining for you and I'll become truly happy and contented with someone not you. I doubt, as of this moment.

I wonder how my mom reacted when she first read my writings-- my poems, my essays, attempted novels (About a boy who, on my 18th birthday, brought lilac tulips and drove us to the nearest beach.), my  diaries and such.

I read a recently returned paper for her EDFP100 class in Diliman, a reflection paper of sort. And as for me, my initial reaction was "Aww. Should I hug her or not?" I understood her and felt a pang of guilt yet again of kind of sort of wasting my time in Baguio, precious years which I also owe my little sister. (Another story.) It is weird but nice-weird, this feeling. At least it's not a "Haha! I know your secrets and weaknesses and would use them against you! Bwahaha!" kind.

I tell my friends to show love to the people around them especially their moms but I barely do as I preach. Maybe when she's ready.

I don't smother her with hugs or kisses but for the record, I love my mom. Yes, we fight and I react the way I react. But only I can do that because I am her daughter and she is my mom. No one can say bad things about her. No one. Firstly, coz they wouldn't know what they're talking about and secondly, there is no blood-thicker-than-water kind of love to dissolve it afterward.

This is a warning, that I love my mom.