EPAL: Eight Points at Lusog: Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona
(1) Lusog? Yes, lusog as in healthy. That's how Scarlett Johanssen's breasts are - healthy, beautiful, well-placed, and allegedly all-natural. Oprah, God bless her soul, can rally all she wants behind Kate Winslet's "real" breasts that starred in The Reader. But I am with Scarlett, all the way.
(2) So, I shall refer to Ms. Johanssen's breasts as THE Breasts of Scarlett (aka THEBoS, as inspired by Gualby/Almer's THE Sarah Gerone quip). THEBoS were brought to my attention by friend who wanted to donate the 2 hours she wasted on THE KChard film to KC for her acting lessons, when she texted that THoS deserve separate billing in the movie He's Just Not That Into You. I haven't watched that movie yet and I forgot where I placed that Vanity Fair cover with Scarlett, THEBoS, Tom Ford, and Keira Knightley, so I didn't really have a mental picture. When I first watched VCB last January, I really didn't mind THEBoS, as I was more into checking if Javier Bardem was flabby (he's not) and if Penelope was deserving of the awards buzz she had been getting (this was before the Oscars and GGs, when she usually lost to Ms. Winslet in the previous derbies).
(3) So, to get a picture of THEBoS, I watched Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona again.
WOW.
THEBoS did not disappoint. IN VCB, THEBoS made two prominent appearances: first when Cristina (Johanssen) and Juan antonio (Bardem) were doing it on the floor and they (THEBoS) were strategically covered by Juan antonio's arms and second when Cristina was awakened by Juan Antonio as he had to go to the hospital to fetch Maria Elena and THEBoS were delicately covered in white sheets- this was the more prominent appearance.
Glorious! BRAVO!!! Sure beats Castaway's Wilson as best performance in a non-speaking part. To think they were covered on both scenes. BUT DAMN!!! Such health, richness and beauty! Hell, yes THoS deserves separate billing. Can we have THoS included in the opening AND closing credits of whatever Ms. Johanssen's next movie is, please. These are hard-working, beautiful breasts. I wouldn't go as far as giving them Oscar statuettes, but they deserve their own Academy and Actors' Guild membership, I guess. Coupled with that raspy, I-can-still-sound-damn-sexy-even-if-I-just-read-the-phonebook voice, the sensual combo of THEBoS and the voice are a sure way to get industrial-strength boners in no time.
(4) So, now that I think I've given enough tribute to THEBoS, I just thought, Scarlett + THEBoS + his hotness Ryan Reynolds. Damn, no wonder why they got married faster than anyone can say "pre-nup". Oh, I'm supposed to write about VCB. I digress.
(5) Rebecca Hall did excellently as Vicky. I don't think she has gotten enough props for the way she portrayed the idealistic, seemingly stuck-up character. Hall found the right attack to her character, giving it the right amount of prim and proper without coming off as a Miss Minchin, anal, party pooper stereotype.
(6) Penelope Cruz, whose cleavage also deserved proper billing in her Oscar-nominated performance in Volver 2 years ago, does well as Maria Elena, the unstable ex-husband of amorous painter Juan Antonio. I think the kind of crazy she put into the character was the typical bungangera uberpassionate stereotypical Latina crazy which I didn't think she had difficulty getting into character with. The somber drab look certainly helped her establish how loony Maria Elena was. One of my favorite performances of the year, but then again the other supporting actress performances his year were really strong as well.
(7) I am not particularly a die-hard fan of Woody Allen, as I've only seen very few Woody Allen films (Annie Hall, Manhattan, Everybody Says I Love You, and Match Point), I have to say that this would top my list as my favorite Woody Allen film. It maintains a unique brand of wit Mr. Allen's films are famous for, yet stays very contemporary. I've always had this notion of Woody Allen's films as dated, but this one is very fresh.
(8) There is still somewhat a strong Woody Allen mark in the movie - the hanging ending, characters who take their melancholia in stride, the 3rd person narration is Woody Allen, only in a different voice. The somber core of the movie's theme gets a fresh, breezy treatment, thanks to Johansson's free-spirited character and the setting's beauty - Barcelona's vibrance, color, and life. The result is a beautiful balance, and I liked my dose of Woody Allen no-so-lite (but not heavy at all), thank you.
Eight Points at Lait (EPAL): When I Met U
(1) Yes, the title was not erroneously typed. It's really U as in U that's short for university, U that's the 21st letter of the alphabet, U as in one of 'e, letters the Germans like to put an umlaut on the top of, which texters have then used to make messages cuter and friendlier.
(2) As part of the movie's title, the "U" just showed the producer's (or whichever genius thought of using the effing letter) desperation to make the cursed movie cuter than it already is supposed to be. Of course, the end result looks plain stupid. So stupid I started thinking of ways to complete the title. Here are some attempts:
When I met U, I realized that I only have 5 letters to go before memorizing the entire alphabet.
When I met U, I wondered if you were Burmese, as U is used as an honorific address in Burma/Myanmar (e.g. former UN secretary general U Thant).
When I met U, I found out that I really didn't care much, so much so that I couldn't bring myself to spell an effing 3-letter pronoun that refers to U.
When I met U, I found out that you're one sloppy speller and I got turned off.
When I met U, I got amazed by the amount of ink that you saved by disregarding the letters y and o.
When I met U, I was regaled by UR stories of avoiding carpal tunnel syndrome by just typing U in UR txt msgs.
(3) The U in When I met U sounds corny, cheesy, and feels like it was thought of by someone who was just downright lazy and spelled poorly. Please, no excuses of "it has been done before." The prior use of U in a movie title was in "My Only U" with Toni Gonzaga and Vhong Navarro, use of which is forgivable because: (a) The latter movie was a comedy, a genre that gives enough leeway for silly titles, (b) A movie with its main star named V-H-O-N-G can get away with bloody murder.
(4) The movie has Richard Gutierrez in stages of undress. True, true, they're stuck in an island, Richard has a great torso, Richard undressed is a gay audience crowd-drawer. What bothered me was how too perfect he is. Seeing him shirtless reminds me of those food items displayed in front of fast food restaurants and food courts. They look so shiny, perfect, and mouth-watering but upon closer inspection, of course, they're not real and they're made out of resin, lacquered or varnished to perfection. So not unlike Mazjh's perfect wedding bouquet, simple yet exquisite. Conclusion: Richard Gutierrez looks varnished. I was worried that he would do a Steven Segal while they were stuck in the island. Good thing he roughed up a teeny-weeny bit. By Steven Segal, I mean someone who doesn't get bruised, get hurt, or dislocate a strand of hair even while hell and high water have risen. Go ahead, watch any of Mr. Segal's films, quick. That pony tail ain't moving nowhere.
(5) KC was cruelly casted as a promo girl. To achieve promo girl persona, KC adapts this parlorista/palengkera demeanor, complete with accent. Please, parlorista demeanor complete with accent + alabaster skin DOES NOT A promo girl make. Never in a million years have I seen a promo girl as flawless as her. Someone as beautiful as KC can do promos for cigarettes or cocktail drinks in bars or nightspots, but grocery store promo girl? Naglolokohan ba tayo?
(6) First film with KC and Richard was filmed in Greece. The story was cheesy as a bottle of Cheeze Whiz, with musical number to seal the deal. Wonderful Greek vistas saved the film. In this film, Palawan was beautifully shot, and that and only that saved the film from being unwatchable. Thus, when the two too-beautiful-for-their-own-sakes marooned people finally got rescued out of the island, excrement began/resumed. Iya Villania was not as bad as Alfred Vargas, who played KC's needy boyfriend, complete with forlorn choirboy eyes. Ugh. Wasn't this guy good in the Tanghalang Ateneo plays he starred in?
(7) For a movie that promised to be better than the first movie of the KC-Richard tandem, it wasn’t that big of a leap. I found myself lost in the sea of unnecessary subplots and melodrama. Uck. I needed some rescuing as badly as, if not more than, the movie’s two leads.
(8) Rica's movie review expresses her desire to have the two hours she spent in watching the movie back and give it to KC for the latter's acting lessons. I, on the other hand, would like my two hours back by tearing the movie to pieces for the said time. Once I've consumed two hours in degrading the movie, I shall call it even, and the cosmos shall return to its proper order. A day after watching the movie, aforementioned blogger and I exchanged text messages about the movie's demerits for about 20 minutes. Now, I am spending an hour blogging this entry. 40 more minutes and justice shall be mine. After all, as someone who we shall call Cedie once said, "Ang sarap kayang manlait!"
(2) As part of the movie's title, the "U" just showed the producer's (or whichever genius thought of using the effing letter) desperation to make the cursed movie cuter than it already is supposed to be. Of course, the end result looks plain stupid. So stupid I started thinking of ways to complete the title. Here are some attempts:
When I met U, I realized that I only have 5 letters to go before memorizing the entire alphabet.
When I met U, I wondered if you were Burmese, as U is used as an honorific address in Burma/Myanmar (e.g. former UN secretary general U Thant).
When I met U, I found out that I really didn't care much, so much so that I couldn't bring myself to spell an effing 3-letter pronoun that refers to U.
When I met U, I found out that you're one sloppy speller and I got turned off.
When I met U, I got amazed by the amount of ink that you saved by disregarding the letters y and o.
When I met U, I was regaled by UR stories of avoiding carpal tunnel syndrome by just typing U in UR txt msgs.
(3) The U in When I met U sounds corny, cheesy, and feels like it was thought of by someone who was just downright lazy and spelled poorly. Please, no excuses of "it has been done before." The prior use of U in a movie title was in "My Only U" with Toni Gonzaga and Vhong Navarro, use of which is forgivable because: (a) The latter movie was a comedy, a genre that gives enough leeway for silly titles, (b) A movie with its main star named V-H-O-N-G can get away with bloody murder.
(4) The movie has Richard Gutierrez in stages of undress. True, true, they're stuck in an island, Richard has a great torso, Richard undressed is a gay audience crowd-drawer. What bothered me was how too perfect he is. Seeing him shirtless reminds me of those food items displayed in front of fast food restaurants and food courts. They look so shiny, perfect, and mouth-watering but upon closer inspection, of course, they're not real and they're made out of resin, lacquered or varnished to perfection. So not unlike Mazjh's perfect wedding bouquet, simple yet exquisite. Conclusion: Richard Gutierrez looks varnished. I was worried that he would do a Steven Segal while they were stuck in the island. Good thing he roughed up a teeny-weeny bit. By Steven Segal, I mean someone who doesn't get bruised, get hurt, or dislocate a strand of hair even while hell and high water have risen. Go ahead, watch any of Mr. Segal's films, quick. That pony tail ain't moving nowhere.
(5) KC was cruelly casted as a promo girl. To achieve promo girl persona, KC adapts this parlorista/palengkera demeanor, complete with accent. Please, parlorista demeanor complete with accent + alabaster skin DOES NOT A promo girl make. Never in a million years have I seen a promo girl as flawless as her. Someone as beautiful as KC can do promos for cigarettes or cocktail drinks in bars or nightspots, but grocery store promo girl? Naglolokohan ba tayo?
(6) First film with KC and Richard was filmed in Greece. The story was cheesy as a bottle of Cheeze Whiz, with musical number to seal the deal. Wonderful Greek vistas saved the film. In this film, Palawan was beautifully shot, and that and only that saved the film from being unwatchable. Thus, when the two too-beautiful-for-their-own-sakes marooned people finally got rescued out of the island, excrement began/resumed. Iya Villania was not as bad as Alfred Vargas, who played KC's needy boyfriend, complete with forlorn choirboy eyes. Ugh. Wasn't this guy good in the Tanghalang Ateneo plays he starred in?
(7) For a movie that promised to be better than the first movie of the KC-Richard tandem, it wasn’t that big of a leap. I found myself lost in the sea of unnecessary subplots and melodrama. Uck. I needed some rescuing as badly as, if not more than, the movie’s two leads.
(8) Rica's movie review expresses her desire to have the two hours she spent in watching the movie back and give it to KC for the latter's acting lessons. I, on the other hand, would like my two hours back by tearing the movie to pieces for the said time. Once I've consumed two hours in degrading the movie, I shall call it even, and the cosmos shall return to its proper order. A day after watching the movie, aforementioned blogger and I exchanged text messages about the movie's demerits for about 20 minutes. Now, I am spending an hour blogging this entry. 40 more minutes and justice shall be mine. After all, as someone who we shall call Cedie once said, "Ang sarap kayang manlait!"
It's the end of the world as we know it (or at least, as Wall Street would like us to believe)
Friend after looking at a newspaper headline: Ano naman ang kinalaman ng Unchained Meloday sa ekonomiya ng mundo?
Me stares at her blankly.
Friend: Lehman brothers? Kumanta ng Unchained Melody? HELLO????
Me wonders why I'm having this conversation.
Friend, because she has to have the last word: Lehman Brothers lang, di mo pa alam? Daaaah. (rolls eyes)
Me starts praying for more pressing matters, like world peace and lunch.
Me stares at her blankly.
Friend: Lehman brothers? Kumanta ng Unchained Melody? HELLO????
Me wonders why I'm having this conversation.
Friend, because she has to have the last word: Lehman Brothers lang, di mo pa alam? Daaaah. (rolls eyes)
Me starts praying for more pressing matters, like world peace and lunch.
Random musings on this day of our Lord, the 19th of September in the year 2008, a.k.a more than a a week after my 29th birthday (pt. 3)
As a kid, I was never scared of the usual stuff kids were scared of. I like the darkness, it may give me the creeps sometimes but not to a point when I get pee-in-the-pants scared. Nor was I scared if monsters in the closet or under the bed, insects, reptiles, or any mythological, make-believe, or unidentified creature of folklore. Blood, death, or anything related to the macabre were, at a time, more fascinating and intriguing than frightening. School bullies bored me, and I think I also bored them eventually.
But that didn't stop me from being scared of Mr. Clean.
I couldn't remember, for the life of me, how I started getting frightened of him. Yes, I WAS scared of Mr. Clean, as in the hunk of a bald guy wearing an immaculately white muscle tee, with white eyebrows, an earring, and a sinister smile. I do remember, though, a life-size likeness of him, made out of cardboard and whatnot, guarding the entrance/package counter of this grocery store my mom and I frequented, because it was next to the jeepney loading station for City Heights (aka geriatric neighborhood I blogged about earlier), making it most convenient for us to buy last-minute groceries. Mothers have it in their genetic code to sense their children's fears, so my mom tells me to wait outside if she has to buy something in the store. This was 1980s Bacolod - kidnapping was not in in anyone's vocabulary, just starvation and the threat of looking like a Batang Negros (refer to earlier thread). If I wanted to come inside the store to drive my mom crazy and beg her to buy me chocolate or some nutrient-deficient snack with a free toy, I would drag her as hard as I can and run like it's nobody's business while avoiding Mr. Clean's steady gaze.
I remember feeling overwhelmingly relieved when, sometime in 1985 ( I was about to turn 6), we passed by the store and Mr. Clean was missing. I finally got to see what the package counter attendant looks like, with my mom assuring me that he has been in charge since 1983. I remember getting a puzzled look from him, as he may have probably thought that I was scared of him. For the first time in the history of my family shopping on that store, I was free of anxiety, far from getting a juvenile heart attack.
(to be continued)
But that didn't stop me from being scared of Mr. Clean.
I couldn't remember, for the life of me, how I started getting frightened of him. Yes, I WAS scared of Mr. Clean, as in the hunk of a bald guy wearing an immaculately white muscle tee, with white eyebrows, an earring, and a sinister smile. I do remember, though, a life-size likeness of him, made out of cardboard and whatnot, guarding the entrance/package counter of this grocery store my mom and I frequented, because it was next to the jeepney loading station for City Heights (aka geriatric neighborhood I blogged about earlier), making it most convenient for us to buy last-minute groceries. Mothers have it in their genetic code to sense their children's fears, so my mom tells me to wait outside if she has to buy something in the store. This was 1980s Bacolod - kidnapping was not in in anyone's vocabulary, just starvation and the threat of looking like a Batang Negros (refer to earlier thread). If I wanted to come inside the store to drive my mom crazy and beg her to buy me chocolate or some nutrient-deficient snack with a free toy, I would drag her as hard as I can and run like it's nobody's business while avoiding Mr. Clean's steady gaze.
I remember feeling overwhelmingly relieved when, sometime in 1985 ( I was about to turn 6), we passed by the store and Mr. Clean was missing. I finally got to see what the package counter attendant looks like, with my mom assuring me that he has been in charge since 1983. I remember getting a puzzled look from him, as he may have probably thought that I was scared of him. For the first time in the history of my family shopping on that store, I was free of anxiety, far from getting a juvenile heart attack.
(to be continued)
Random musings on this day of our Lord, the 16th of September in the year 2008, a.k.a a week after my 29th birthday (pt. 2)
feeling: long weekend hangover (I celebrated Cheusok, suckers)!!! But I'm good, I'm feeling light and not overwhelmed by the delayed start of my work week song: Abriendo caminos, Diego Torres y Juan Luis Guerra (to supplement my easy, breezy mood)
Come to think of it, when I was in kindergarten, I was more proficient in Chinese, both in Mandarin and Fookien than in Tagalog. I learned Chinese the whole afternoon, complete with Bible verses to memorize (I was studying in a Chinese Baptist school, o ha???), the family tree (paternal uncles and maternal uncles are called differently), and the multiplication table come the 2nd year of kindergarten (up until table of 3). My Tagalog was honed by ear, thanks to Pong Pagong, Kiko Matsing, Ate Sienna, Kuya Bodgie in Batitbot, and later by Kuya Germs and his battalion of That's Entertainment starlets. Of course, I had to learn Filipino (at the time when the school subject was stilled spelled with a P; I've forgotten when DECS [so '80s, aren't they called DepEd now?] ) in grade school, which coincided with my transfer to a school that didn't really stress on Chinese education (think Xavier). Thus, my Chinese took a nosedive. To think I was the 1st student with zero Chinese ancestry to finish on top of the class in Chinese. So, now, in a 100% scale, I can only understand 30% max, with contextual clues, and read, write, and speak... 5%. Oh, what a waste!
Looking back, I'm grateful though that I was exposed to different cultures at an early age as it cultivated my interest in foreign languages and the like. Maybe I should give that Ateneo Professional Schools brochure a second look.*
* APS (Salcedo Village campus), in partnership with the Confucian Institute, is offering Mandarin lessons in different levels.
Come to think of it, when I was in kindergarten, I was more proficient in Chinese, both in Mandarin and Fookien than in Tagalog. I learned Chinese the whole afternoon, complete with Bible verses to memorize (I was studying in a Chinese Baptist school, o ha???), the family tree (paternal uncles and maternal uncles are called differently), and the multiplication table come the 2nd year of kindergarten (up until table of 3). My Tagalog was honed by ear, thanks to Pong Pagong, Kiko Matsing, Ate Sienna, Kuya Bodgie in Batitbot, and later by Kuya Germs and his battalion of That's Entertainment starlets. Of course, I had to learn Filipino (at the time when the school subject was stilled spelled with a P; I've forgotten when DECS [so '80s, aren't they called DepEd now?] ) in grade school, which coincided with my transfer to a school that didn't really stress on Chinese education (think Xavier). Thus, my Chinese took a nosedive. To think I was the 1st student with zero Chinese ancestry to finish on top of the class in Chinese. So, now, in a 100% scale, I can only understand 30% max, with contextual clues, and read, write, and speak... 5%. Oh, what a waste!
Looking back, I'm grateful though that I was exposed to different cultures at an early age as it cultivated my interest in foreign languages and the like. Maybe I should give that Ateneo Professional Schools brochure a second look.*
* APS (Salcedo Village campus), in partnership with the Confucian Institute, is offering Mandarin lessons in different levels.
Random musings on this day of our Lord, the 8th of September in the year 2008, a.k.a my 29th birthday (part 1 of 29)
I am currently feasting on a slice of melon, a cheese spread sandwich, and a pitcher of orange juice. This brings me back to my kindergarten days, back to when life was still mundanely easy and I could still count the years id my existence with the fingers of one hand. also, I remembered the woe I would cause my mom when I would come home from school with my lunch box still containing an uneaten peanut butter sandwich and a tumbler full of orange juice, untouched. See, I manifested early signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior (read: homosexuality) by refusing to consume anything that is not color-coordinated. Thus, a peanut butter sandwich should go with chocolate milk, a cheese sandwich must be paired with orange juice, and milk, preferably Anchor (Nido and Birch Tree made me wanna puke), was to be drunk at lunch with white rice and whatever viand.
My fixation with colors ended one day when my mom, in a sermon which probably lasted for an hour, but for a 6 year-old kid felt like the whole afternoon, showed me a picture of the infamous batang Negros.
(not the precise picture, but you got my point, I hope)
For '80s kids, the Batang Negros, with ribs poking out and a bloated stomach, was every parent's weapon against children who have picky appetites. Alas, as much as I did not like mixing colors, I didn't want flies and other insects swarming all over me. As THE Mariah Carey once allegedly said, " Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff." Thus, my career with colors was cut short. Oh, the possibilities.
My fixation with colors ended one day when my mom, in a sermon which probably lasted for an hour, but for a 6 year-old kid felt like the whole afternoon, showed me a picture of the infamous batang Negros.
(not the precise picture, but you got my point, I hope)
It's (insert adjective here) to be back in your hometown
What's quite cool about working as a teacher online is having holidays when your students want to stay stupid. It gets better when you teach students abroad, because you celebrate holidays of their countries and you get double pay to work during Philippine holidays. I mean, who cares about that EDSA thing when you get to go to the office hassle and traffic free and you get to have an ultra-long weekend from the 6th to the 10th for Seollal, or Lunar New Year? Happiness!
So, I decided to surprise my family, whom I haven't seen as a whole for two years , by going home. Pro: lots and lots of R&R. Con: loads of food, as there is absolutely nothing to do in Bacolod other than stuffing oneself with calories way over RDA limits. With hunger killing countless victims in destitute places, I know it may be audacious to put food as a con. But try visiting Bacolod and you'll get my drift. The only other activity is trying to burn excess calories by walking the long stretches of Gaisano, Robinsons, or the relatively new SM mall, the latter my mother chose as the site for my one-and-only consented TSABS appearance.
TSABS - (pronounced as tee-sabz) to see and be seen appearance. A term coined by my first officements and I to call that almost-perfunctionary public appearance a probinsyana/o who has been away when s/he comes back to her/his province, to function as a walking trophy by his/her parents and be a walking billboard to remind everyone that they are being graced by the presence of someone fresh from wherever. It is always assumed that the TSABS-er has made it big wherever s/he has been, or else s/he wouldn't have the face/nerve/guts to display her/himself in public. Also, it is assumed that the TSABS-er will greet, kiss, smile, or acknowledge the presence of everyone, from long-lost relatives to unrecognizable kindergarten classmates, or stand the chance of getting branded as thinking too highly of her/himself to socialize with small-town nobodies. Thus, the TSABS-er must strike a prefect balance between looking spiffed and chic (or else be plagued with "Yun ba ang galing Manila, ba't parang namulubi?" looks) and being Ms./Mr. Congeniality (or else beauty parlors the next day will abound with stories along the line of "Abaw, ang bata ni ***** nag-abot, daw si sin-o na guid. Nakatapak lang sa Manila wala na guid gapamugno, daw namenusan na guid di sa aton.")
My sister survived her TSABS ordeal years ago when she came back from Manila and decided to work in Bacolod. She's not all ma-chicka and the works, she breezed through her homecoming after the first week by smiling and teenybopper-ing her then 25-year old self around town. I, on the other hand, am awkwardness personfied. I so happen to be every family's TSABS nightmare. People who know me should know that I'm NOT the best in quick friendship-building and superficial relationships unless my dear life depended on them. Heck, I'm awkward with anyone I haven't seen in 3 days, how much more with people I haven't seen since I was in my Trinity Christian School uniform? I spent every college Christmas vacation hibernating in my home; unavoidable family get-togethers are dealt with an hour's guest appearance. High school reunions? I honestly don't have time for them, especially when a rare Maggie Cheung movie is shown on Star Mandarin and I'm thinking I'd be stuck with Studio 23 in Rosby's/Dave's TV when I get back to Cervini. Yes, I have been called anti-social. You, dearest reader, are most probably not. We live in a diverse society. That's what makes the world such an interesting place, cue swelling orchestra music. To make it crystal clear, unless you are Daniel Brühl inviting me on a date, DO NOT bother trying to get me out of my house during my oh-so-rare visits.
Also, unless you're my mom telling me to get my lazy ass out of my bed and get fresh air.
I don't think my mom is aware of the TSABS phenomenon. If she is, I'm sure she is fully well-aware of her son's allergy with it. Thus, when she tells me to see the outdoors, she comes especially equipped with subtle hints of me getting new stuff. I may have adapted to life here in Manila, true, but it actually is all the more reason for me to fully appreciate the language of FREE. As far as I am concerned, the only appropriate responses to free would be "yes," "of course," and "why not". Responses to the opposite would be downright rude. Otherwise, invitations to go to malls in my dear city "just for the heck of it" have been answered by yours truly with reactions ranging from looks of autistic ignorance (Mall? *me stares into space*) to blatant statements of "In Manila, I eat, watch movies, shop, and undergo most of my existence in malls , and you want me to go to a mall here, too?"
Thus, on the 4th day of my surprise visit, with my mom equipped with the language of free, I succumbed. Not proud of it, but alas, my defenses crumbled. It was a Saturday afternoon, so the mall was filled with people. I saw some old classmates, who I thought were looking at the opposite direction. I didn't bother. I broke ruler no. 2 of TSABS. I don't care. As for rule no. 1, I did try to look presentable though. I psyched myself for a possible paparazzi attack; I wouldn't want pictures of me looking ratty splashed across the tabloids. Humor me.
I did see a lot of familiar faces, I didn't put on the Ms. Sunny Sunshine visage. I don't want to come across as too assuming. What if they aren't who I thought they were? Spare me the embarrassment! On with the TSABS! Enter Prodigal Son sans drama! Enter Serena van der Woodsen! Enter the Count of Monte Cristo! Enter me!
I saw somebody though. My first school crush. Oh dear, I actually held my breath! Oh, the tingling sensation. Aforementioned crush was in a different year, so we were never classmates. But it sure made my day to see the person. The sight of crush was a calm oasis amidst the bullying, irritating teachers, more irritating classmates, and most irritating lessons. The Chinese-ness of our school showed every time we had to enter class by forming effing lines, whether it be after morning assembly, after recess, after lunch, after every frigging time. But I didn't mind that much, as it was a chance to see crush. Enter Twilight zone/Mao Zedong propaganda music for some readers who might be creeped out at this point, but for me it was always birds chirping, squirrels coming out of their burrows, and Snow White in coloratura soprano singing "I'm Wishing."
SO. EFFING. HIGH. SCHOOL. *Sigh*
Tugging along crush was with two chubby toddlers. Twins. So cute and cuddly. Looks exactly like crush. Two steps behind was another familiar face. My mom followed where I was looking and told me about crush having a family and being an architect and all.
TAKE ME BACK TO MANILA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So, I decided to surprise my family, whom I haven't seen as a whole for two years , by going home. Pro: lots and lots of R&R. Con: loads of food, as there is absolutely nothing to do in Bacolod other than stuffing oneself with calories way over RDA limits. With hunger killing countless victims in destitute places, I know it may be audacious to put food as a con. But try visiting Bacolod and you'll get my drift. The only other activity is trying to burn excess calories by walking the long stretches of Gaisano, Robinsons, or the relatively new SM mall, the latter my mother chose as the site for my one-and-only consented TSABS appearance.
TSABS - (pronounced as tee-sabz) to see and be seen appearance. A term coined by my first officements and I to call that almost-perfunctionary public appearance a probinsyana/o who has been away when s/he comes back to her/his province, to function as a walking trophy by his/her parents and be a walking billboard to remind everyone that they are being graced by the presence of someone fresh from wherever. It is always assumed that the TSABS-er has made it big wherever s/he has been, or else s/he wouldn't have the face/nerve/guts to display her/himself in public. Also, it is assumed that the TSABS-er will greet, kiss, smile, or acknowledge the presence of everyone, from long-lost relatives to unrecognizable kindergarten classmates, or stand the chance of getting branded as thinking too highly of her/himself to socialize with small-town nobodies. Thus, the TSABS-er must strike a prefect balance between looking spiffed and chic (or else be plagued with "Yun ba ang galing Manila, ba't parang namulubi?" looks) and being Ms./Mr. Congeniality (or else beauty parlors the next day will abound with stories along the line of "Abaw, ang bata ni ***** nag-abot, daw si sin-o na guid. Nakatapak lang sa Manila wala na guid gapamugno, daw namenusan na guid di sa aton.")
My sister survived her TSABS ordeal years ago when she came back from Manila and decided to work in Bacolod. She's not all ma-chicka and the works, she breezed through her homecoming after the first week by smiling and teenybopper-ing her then 25-year old self around town. I, on the other hand, am awkwardness personfied. I so happen to be every family's TSABS nightmare. People who know me should know that I'm NOT the best in quick friendship-building and superficial relationships unless my dear life depended on them. Heck, I'm awkward with anyone I haven't seen in 3 days, how much more with people I haven't seen since I was in my Trinity Christian School uniform? I spent every college Christmas vacation hibernating in my home; unavoidable family get-togethers are dealt with an hour's guest appearance. High school reunions? I honestly don't have time for them, especially when a rare Maggie Cheung movie is shown on Star Mandarin and I'm thinking I'd be stuck with Studio 23 in Rosby's/Dave's TV when I get back to Cervini. Yes, I have been called anti-social. You, dearest reader, are most probably not. We live in a diverse society. That's what makes the world such an interesting place, cue swelling orchestra music. To make it crystal clear, unless you are Daniel Brühl inviting me on a date, DO NOT bother trying to get me out of my house during my oh-so-rare visits.
Also, unless you're my mom telling me to get my lazy ass out of my bed and get fresh air.
I don't think my mom is aware of the TSABS phenomenon. If she is, I'm sure she is fully well-aware of her son's allergy with it. Thus, when she tells me to see the outdoors, she comes especially equipped with subtle hints of me getting new stuff. I may have adapted to life here in Manila, true, but it actually is all the more reason for me to fully appreciate the language of FREE. As far as I am concerned, the only appropriate responses to free would be "yes," "of course," and "why not". Responses to the opposite would be downright rude. Otherwise, invitations to go to malls in my dear city "just for the heck of it" have been answered by yours truly with reactions ranging from looks of autistic ignorance (Mall? *me stares into space*) to blatant statements of "In Manila, I eat, watch movies, shop, and undergo most of my existence in malls , and you want me to go to a mall here, too?"
Thus, on the 4th day of my surprise visit, with my mom equipped with the language of free, I succumbed. Not proud of it, but alas, my defenses crumbled. It was a Saturday afternoon, so the mall was filled with people. I saw some old classmates, who I thought were looking at the opposite direction. I didn't bother. I broke ruler no. 2 of TSABS. I don't care. As for rule no. 1, I did try to look presentable though. I psyched myself for a possible paparazzi attack; I wouldn't want pictures of me looking ratty splashed across the tabloids. Humor me.
I did see a lot of familiar faces, I didn't put on the Ms. Sunny Sunshine visage. I don't want to come across as too assuming. What if they aren't who I thought they were? Spare me the embarrassment! On with the TSABS! Enter Prodigal Son sans drama! Enter Serena van der Woodsen! Enter the Count of Monte Cristo! Enter me!
I saw somebody though. My first school crush. Oh dear, I actually held my breath! Oh, the tingling sensation. Aforementioned crush was in a different year, so we were never classmates. But it sure made my day to see the person. The sight of crush was a calm oasis amidst the bullying, irritating teachers, more irritating classmates, and most irritating lessons. The Chinese-ness of our school showed every time we had to enter class by forming effing lines, whether it be after morning assembly, after recess, after lunch, after every frigging time. But I didn't mind that much, as it was a chance to see crush. Enter Twilight zone/Mao Zedong propaganda music for some readers who might be creeped out at this point, but for me it was always birds chirping, squirrels coming out of their burrows, and Snow White in coloratura soprano singing "I'm Wishing."
SO. EFFING. HIGH. SCHOOL. *Sigh*
Tugging along crush was with two chubby toddlers. Twins. So cute and cuddly. Looks exactly like crush. Two steps behind was another familiar face. My mom followed where I was looking and told me about crush having a family and being an architect and all.
TAKE ME BACK TO MANILA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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