welcome fans!

This is why.

-from a friend’s email. funny, really.

Q: Doctor,  I’ve heard that  cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Your  heart is only good for so many  beats, and that’s it…  don’t waste them on exercise. Everything wears out  eventually.  Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that’s like saying you can extend  the life of your car by driving it faster.  Want to live longer?  Take a  nap.

Q: Should  I cut  down on meat and  eat more fruits and  vegetables?
A: You  must grasp  logistical efficiencies.  What does a cow eat?   Hay and corn.   And what are these?  Vegetables.  So a steak  is nothing more  than an efficient mechanism of  delivering vegetables to your  system.   Need grain?   Eat  chicken.   Beef is also a good source  of field grass  (green leafy vegetable).   And a pork chop can  give you  100% of your recommended daily allowance of  vegetable  products.

Q: Should  I reduce my  alcohol intake?
A:  No,  not at all.  Wine is made from  fruit.  Brandy is  distilled wine,  that means they take the water out of  the fruity bit so you  get even more of the goodness that  way.   Beer is also made out  of grain.  Bottoms   up!

Q: How  can I calculate my body/fat   ratio?
A: Well,  if you have a body and you have  fat, your ratio is one  to one.  If you have two bodies, your  ratio is two to  one, etc.

Q: What  are some of  the advantages of participating in a regular  exercise  program?
A: Can’t  think of a single one, sorry.  My  philosophy is: No  Pain…Good!

Q:  Aren’t  fried  foods bad for you?
A:  YOU’RE  NOT  LISTENING!!! …..  Foods are fried these days in  vegetable oil.  In fact,  they’re permeated in it.  How could  getting more  vegetables be bad for  you?

Q:  Will  sit-ups  help prevent me from getting a little soft  around  the middle?
A: Definitely  not! When  you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You  should only be  doing sit-ups if you want a bigger   stomach.

Q:  Is   chocolate bad for me?
A:  Are   you crazy? HELLO   Cocoa  beans ! Another vegetable!!! It’s the best feel-good   food around!

Q:  Is   swimming good for your figure?
A:  If   swimming is good for  your figure,   explain whales to  me.

Q:  Is getting   in-shape important for my   lifestyle?
A:  Hey!  ’Round’ is  a shape!

Well,   I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may   have had about  food   and diets.

And  remember:
‘Life should  NOT  be a journey to the grave with the intention of  arriving  safely in an attractive and well preserved  body, but rather  to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one  hand - chocolate in  the other - body thoroughly used up,  totally worn out and   screaming ‘WOO  HOO, What a  Ride’       AND…..

For  those of you who watch what you eat, here’s the final  word on nutrition and health. It’s a relief to know the  truth after all those conflicting nutritional  studies.

1. The Japanese eat  very little fat
and suffer  fewer heart attacks than  Americans.

2. The Mexicans  eat a lot of  fat
and suffer fewer heart attacks than  Americans.

3. The Chinese  drink very little  red wine
and  suffer fewer heart attacks than  Americans.

4. The  Italians drink a lot of red  wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than  Americans.

5. The Germans  drink a lot of beers and eat lots of  sausages and fats  and suffer fewer heart attacks than   Americans.

CONCLUSION

Eat  and drink what you like.
Speaking  English is apparently what kills  you.

I have never written you a love letter, not that you deserve one, but I have been wanting to put you into words for a long, long time. Now that you’re gone, I find this unwavering need to document you lest all be gone in pain and bitterness and your existence will just be a far distant memory I never want to recall anymore.

And nobody will ever know that once, you have been so beautiful for me.

I never quite admitted that long before we became close, really close, I actually had a little crush on you. I think you are the coolest person in class (next to me, hah!). You drink a lot, smoke a lot, joke a lot. You had your immoral and dirty stories and twisted and overcompensating lovelife. I like the music in your Ipod. You make me belong in a bunch of young, diligent, overeager, and innocent kids who got lost with me in law school.

And boy, you look good, not so much of my type but appreciable nonetheless. Sometimes, you seem a little gay because of the way you talk, the way you wear your hair to a certain color, and the way your fair complexion aggravates the way you talk and your hair color to the point of reasonably doubting your masculinity.

Undeniably though, you are sexy. I love how naturally and unfairly your body looks like a Greek god’s—broad shoulders, Superman chest, and buttocks that would make even prudent girls stare. Later, when you gained a little weight and I always make fun of how “fat” you’ve become, your flabs have never really offset your assets. You’re still hot, I just don’t tell you.

Your physical beauty is just a fraction of the whole package though. You sing like a rockstar. You play basketball like a pro, and billiards too. Your cooking put my decent culinary skills to shame (and I love your adobo next to my mother’s, but your sinigang is still a hotly debated issue).

You charm people, all of them and all kinds of them, and anti-social me always envies how easily you do it. You talk to karinderya crews, MMDA officers, vendors, child beggars, security guards, etc. that after a while, you are on a smiling basis with them and they almost always give you favors.

You are a burst of sunshine and your energy is almost always contagious. You don’t mind making a fool of yourself as long as you are enjoying. You repeat jokes you heard over the radio or passed through text, and still they’re funny (or at least, I think they are). For some time, I never had a dull moment with you.

And then we became good friends, great friends, super friends, special friends. We were inseparable 24/7. The guards in your place actually think I live there

that rules for visitors don’t apply to me. My housemates have become so used to your presence that they actually miss you (even Marky, the rat). We had our “patangahan and pabingihan” jokes where we think of other words rhyming with the word actually spoken until it becomes so stupid. I always have a hard time comprehending the words you’re speaking because I assert that you’re so “bulol” and you keep insisting that I am “bingi.”

You changed me in a way, permanently.

You got me listening to FM radio and it became sort of a bonding moment, how we say in chorus, “ah, gusto ko yan…” when we hear a song we both like. And how we’ll sing with that song for weeks and how after some time, we move on to another song. I remember you staging a personal mini concert for me with you as the singer of course, with a live request and where I can sing along too (even if my singing is actually like poetry reading), as we lied down next to each other trying to sleep. I remembered how you went with me to Avril Lavigne’s concert and actually screamed like a real fan. And after that, how you downloaded Avril’s videos in your laptop just so you can show them off to me.

Funny, how you always used to ask me to pray and accompany you to Sunday mass when you knew I was an atheist. I actually utter a secret prayer for you every time you ask me to, something like “God, if you really exist, please grant this kid’s prayer because he really believes in you.” While my newfound faith was not really because of you, those funny moments when you asked me to pray actually helped me realize that I actually can.

And then the tears that we shared. How you saw me cry a river and throw my worst tantrums over a toothache and how you patiently insisted that I eat the pancit canton you cooked so the pain medicines would take effect. How I was shocked to see you shedding subtle tears in school because of some family conflict and I don’t know how to comfort you, that I made a very lame offer of buying you fruit shake and how you told me afterwards that you’d cry everyday so that you’d always get free fruit shake.

And then the real tears came. We’ve grown so close and familiar that contempt slowly crept up our solid bond. I like you just a little bit too much that everything about you and us now mattered and I suddenly had the stupid yearning to think of labels. You and the idea of you are now starting to hurt me.

Then suddenly, there are more than 10 things I hate about you.

I hate your flirting, your constant lying, your girlfriend, your textmates, your broken promises, your lame excuses, your habit of setting up things and changing them after, your walking ahead of me, your not carrying my heavy things, your twisted logic, your criticism of my assertive and argumentative attitude, your denials, your half-truths. There was a point when you represented the idea of hate to me and I know it was mutual.

And then, you were no longer beautiful for me.

But there was a time when I honestly accepted all the ugliness that I loathe in you, when I actually tried to be the best of whatever I am to you, when I said fuck to reason and logic and just followed my heart blindly. That was the time when the greatest wave of disappointment set in and I found myself hating you and pitying me.

But I held on just the same. Before everything we knew was falling, I thought that we were great friends. If only I could save that part until the worst is over. But the hating is endless that even my hardest best effort to control it is not enough.

And then you gave up. Now here I am writing my first and last love letter to you with a calm resignation that maybe, that was all we ever could be.

everything is quite obvious until you choose not to see.

only when you stop being blind will you realize…

that what you choose to see as beautiful is actually ugly,

that what you believe as strong is actually crumbling,

that what you feel as your little, true love is actually the biggest lie.

stop believing what you’re told. the truth is often seen and seldom heard.

everybody lies.

*for myself and no one in particular (everybody lies)

To date, this is the best term I have encountered to describe what seems to be a growing trend in contemporary relationships–that of being together but not really together. Friends with benefits is so ’90s. Fuck buddy is way too blunt. Special friend is so showbiz.

But kissing friend, perfect! Sublime romantic, beautiful words to mask the ugly reality behind what seems to be a perfectly cool set-up.

Relationships are cliche but they have evolved to become the basis of love in society simply because they are practical. The exclusivity clause, no matter how ideal, impractical, and stupid it sounds, is a security blanket that makes everything all right.

Yeah, your partner will cheat on you one day or is maybe cheating on you right now, just when you think everything is rosy and perfect. (Gosh, so tanga!) That’s the rule and not the exception. But with a legitimate relationship you are committed to protect, you always have something concrete and clear.Plus, it’s dignified, normal, moral, legal, respectable, proper, etc. etc.

And a kissing friend? Well, in legal terms, it would be bigamy or concubinage, a crime in all aspects. But since it doesn’t involve marriage yet, the only punishment is overwhelming public curiosity and maybe, for some lame people, condemnation.

But friend, we will kiss bliss. And we will kiss others too. We will kiss as many. And we will kiss as often. Behind your girlfriend’s back and all others.

But after the kiss is over, you are left with nothing to hold on to. And when you fall, you’ll fall hard on the floor. No one’s there to catch you. And you’ll weep. Wait for another kiss. Hoping that the aftertaste will last to cover up the next time the tears will fall.

I am counting the days of when all of these will end. Not that I want it to. But I guess I know all too well that, like all the others, this is bound to end, and soon. The closer I stick to the worst possibility, the safer I will be from future unnecessary hurt and pain. So when reality closes in on me and on us, I will feel but the teeniest, tiniest bite. And it won’t even hurt that much because I have learned to let you go even when I am still holding you close.

So this is our version of postmodern love. No I love yous. No promises of forever. No forced loyalties. No structured commitments. Just a lot of laughter. A bunch of stories. Subtle expressions of sweet nothings. Gestures of trust and care. Actuations of people who are actually, maybe, just maybe, really in love with each other but playfully refuse to declare it out in the open.

For it might ruin the blissful beauty of this shrouded romantic mystery. For it might expose us into the ugly reality of conflicted relationships of rigid conventions and failed expectations.

But slowly, we are treading into those forbidden grounds. The simple intricacies of denying each other in front of everyone and how it secretly hurts a little. The little insecurities of how you walk ahead of me or too far away. The silent revolt of my insides when you exercise your fundamental right to flirt around. The awkwardness of being too close at one point and acting casually the next. The confusion of how to orchestrate the idea of us in front of all others who are too curious for comfort.

How long can we hold on to this experiment? How long can love or what seems like it deny and yet confirm its existence? How long ‘til all of these ends?

That is why I’m counting.

i have been wanting to blog for a long time but lately, i have been between law books and sleeping over it, between work and skipping it, between pushing myself and getting disappointed after. i have been in lost in my life or what was left of it, and there was no space in between for things like blogging. so here goes…

so law school? yes, finally. there was a time when i was so lost with college and not graduating on time, with work, with my love life, that there is only one thing i was certain of: i want to go to law school. and here i am, i have reached the point where dreams become a waking reality and i am complaining. yes, i am complaining. whoever claimed that a human being is capable of genuine contentment is the biggest, most uncontented fool.

i am complaining because this choice entailed so many sacrifices. and i hate sacrifices. i have no social life. i am deprived of my weekly drinking session with friends. my salary is reduced to more than half. i can’t take any rackets. i can’t splurge. i can’t sleep for long hours (dozing off while studying doesn’t count, no?).

law school is difficult. that is an understatement. i have never studied or pushed myself to study this hard for a long, long time. nor have i taken anything seriously in the recent years. not work. not college. not my thesis. not my graduation. not the things that matter.

i have always been self-indulgent, always craving for short-term pleasures. i’d fail the marshmallow test had i been subjected to it. and i am afraid, afraid that the passion will fade and the enthusiasm won’t last. and all the sacrifices will be in vain.

If laziness can kill, I would be long dead.

Procastination is one of my best skills, whether i want it or not, without even trying. I’m just good at it. I actually want to get rid of it. Trust me, I have tried and I can die trying but it just won’t go away.

It haunts me like bitterness for long-lost loves. It’s addictive. It’s enduring. It makes you feel like shit but better at the same time.

And i found the perfect article to inspire "procastinately-gifted" people like me to embrace our conflicted existence. Here’s an excerpt:

"Understand that this will never, ever change. You will always be lazy, and you will always procrastinate."

Read on…

you
are green with envy, so green that you can apply as the official
mascot of Green Peace or the walking campaign for Earth Day.

why do you hate people who write better than you do? or those who seem smarter?

why do you stare at girls who look better than you, and I mean stare like a lesbian?

why do you secretly plot murder towards seemingly ugly girls with gorgeous boyfriends?

why
do you look at rich people with loathing, like they deserve to burn in
hell for spending the world’s resources while others go hungry? or rich
girls who only look good because they’re rich? or rich guys with their
so-gay accents, fast cars, and shallow brains?

why can’t you stop feeling bad for other people’s blessings, even if you think they are hugely undeserved?

i am questioning but unapologetic.

yes, i am one jealous bitch.

maybe envy should be the new black. save the world, save the jealous!

I felt a thousand dinosaurs running in my stomach after watching what
may be the most hilarious booboo in Bb. Pilipinas history ever.

And
it dawned on me how intelligence is often underrated in women. Being
ugly sucks but being dumb is just downright humiliating.

Ladies and gentlemen, Bb. Pilipinas Ms. World 2008…

read more… 

you will be an unconventional bride.

You’re probably the type of girl who never considered getting married - until you met *him*
   You’re not a big fan of white dresses, church weddings, or cheesy DJ’s
   That’s okay - you’ll do it your way… whether that means a Vegas wedding or guys as bridesmen
   While you may not toss the bouquet (or have anyone to toss it to), it will still be the most romantic day of your life!

read more…