How is it possible to really, REALLY like someone who absolutely annoys and irritates you?

UP is just plain majestic. No place else in Metro Manila can beat a Sunday morning in its Diliman campus, when the admin closes the Academic Oval from vehicles officially transforming the place into the most relaxing public park in town. Me and Zsa was there to jog two Sundays ago, after doing three rounds in the Ateneo campus. Of course, it too was beautiful, but it seemed more lonely, more "artificial" so to speak. The trees were bigger in UP and the air was way cooler. There were families having picnics, fathers teaching their sons how to ride a bike, a group doing tai-chi or kung-fu, small girls playing tag under the shade of the magnificent acacia trees, hunks jogging in threes, college friends who I recognize but pretend not to, a guy in his 40's playing golf in the small patch of green beside the phallic Carillion (I didn't know there were holes there), and a weird guy taking videos of me and Zsa and God knows who else.

Two days ago I caught up with a friend from college on my way to the office from an "official" business in UP. It's been two years since we last saw each other, and neither of us appeared surprised of the changes in ourselves. He still looked the way he was in college, though with longer hair, while I, still in my tattered pants and five-year-old shirts. Neither of us looked corporate-y, we looked as if we just bumped into each other on our way to our Sociological Theory class. In short, pretty much nothing changed. Appearance-wise, at least.

We decided to grab some snack to catch up, not so much with each other, but more to trade chismis on how our other blockmates are doing. Apparently, there's not much to hear; almost everyone's been complaining about work, about the corporate environment (where they mostly work), and how our major failed to prepare us for the outside world. I come to think of it and I realize, how the world is right now is precisely what we Sociology majors are trained to change, to analyze from a critical point of view, so I guess the sentiments are expected. We are not supposed to go with the flow and blend into the money-making crowd. We were raised to look like messiahs but we aren't, of course . Not yet.

My friend still bums around, and still relies on his parents' sustenance to make the day. He says he's quite happy with it, he gets all the time to do things he'll otherwise not be able to do. He gets to read books that interests him, blog his thoughts whenever he feels like it, go to some place he's never been whenever he wants to. He refuses to be slaved around by any "need-to-be" which, he argues, is the real reason for my blockmates' whining. I tell him I now live separately from my parents, and has to live entirely by my bi-monthly wage. I am starting to get bored at work, which does not really pay well to liven me up even during paydays. But I'm sticking with it, I tell him, because I believe will learn from it. At first I thought I sounded more mature than him but now, two days later, I'm having second thoughts.
***
Photo shows the common kitchen in our boarding house. Dainty.

I'm loving Elliot Smith. I asked my colleague to give me some really depressing songs, because the ones I have are already losing their sad value. I mean, Damien Rice and Rufus Wainwright are heroes, but after listening to them non-stop during the Holy Week break, you're going to look for someone else to kill you. Mel gave me her iPod while Say Yes was playing in it. Now I think I can choke myself to death.

I like Waltz #2 and Say Yes. I'm never gonna know you now, but I'm gonna love you anyhow.

Cheers for Anya

Wherever she is now, I bet Anya's having the time of her life. The occassion suggests she'll be surrounded by images and models of her favorite creatures, if not the real deal themselves.

***

I am amazed that a government-owned and controlled network about to go kaput would invest on a reality show that caters to... no one, really. At least in our context. I was watching Heroes in RPN 9 (Sundays, 8PM) when cheat-princess and gold-digger extraordinaire Ruffa Gutierrez flashed in the tube, apparently as the host of the Philippines' own Top Model search. I could understand the US having an annual search, seeing how the place is essentially the capital of the fashion world and where, if I need to state the obvious, models usually work. There's also an Australian search but, well, we all know how they would like to be America not-quite.

Oh yes, I remember. We still have that obsession, don't we? Still the little brown brothers although this time, we're gonna be whiter. With Silka- and Biolink-induced vengeance. Labor officials keep blaming the lack of sufficient infrastructure (read: industries) that will absorb the multitudes of employees-to-be schools churn out each year. I think aspiring "models" should really look where they're headed before going all out in public humiliation camp that is reality TV. If ever there's a need, I think it should be a search for the Philippines' Modeling and Fashion industry. I mean a real industry, not the Tim Yap club; and one that has real workers in it, not just a bunch of pretty but ultimatey untalented rich kids.

***

Happy Easter everyone!

Amends

The lent is upon us, and everyone seems to be in pensive mood. The other day, our office had a recollection of some sort led by a Jesuit scholastic who does not seem to know where his commas and pauses should be. We were made to say sorry to the three people we strongly feel we should say sorry to, and thank those we should. But we didn't exactly say them: suffice to say it involved band-aids and cake candles. Wisecracks and okrayan sessions are especially brutal in our office, but it seems everyone is making an effort not be horrible this week. I better enjoy it while it lasts.

I need this break. Need to sort myself and think out some things. While I've already gotten over its supposed mystical significance, I welcome the quiet solace of the days ahead.

I'm done for the semester! Just came from UP to submit my final paper for my Lit class. Yey! Its supposed to be a postcolonial reading of NVM Gonzales' The Bread of Salt. Yey!I beat the deadline by around 35 minutes! Yey! I think I irked Prof. J. Neil Garcia when, upon telling me that he'll mark my paper late when he announced it very clearly in class that the deadline is April 2 at 5pm, I shot back, "Eh kelan bang deadline n'yan?" Yey! Sorry, sir! Despite your attempts to mimic valley girl accent and the kaartehan that you pass of as criticism, I did learn a lot from your class. Sorry for the absences! Yey!

I'm listening to Melissa Etheridge's "I Run For Life" to celebrate. It's cheesy! Yey!