RESPECT ISN'T A FUCKING 4-LETTER WORD THAT IS OTHERWISE KNOWN AS "FEAR".

Fuck You and Your Pride

I suggest you read these three posts first before proceeding to read THIS: click here, here and here.

All three of 'em are directed to someone I called: "Miss Emo". And I bet 90% of my readers out there know who she is if I would say her name here out loud - she's a Shekian.

The three posts were written in (obvious) anger months and months and months ago (seems like years to me, actually) but things haven't changed. It's not that I don't do a single kilogram of effort ever, it's just that Miss Emo and I just don't "click".

So now, we're in an impasse.

In the meantime, Miss Emo the 2nd is sprouting. And I won't call her "Miss Emo". She's a lot older, kasi eh. I dub "Miss Emo the 2nd" to be: "Queen of All Emos". Iyan. She deserves it.

What she doesn't deserve at all is what she has right now: credit, "honor", "nobility".

Why doesn't she deserve that?

She's a fucking hater.

Ode to the Queen:

Is that what people call "responsibility" nowadays? Presiding by means of power and executing the tyranny of false virtues? Responsible na ba ngayon ang pag-iiwan ng tasks and duty lying on the fucking floor, waiting for the dustbunnies to fucking eat 'em to death?

"Thoughtful" na ba ang paggawa ng isang bagay na MUKHANG bukal sa puso...but deep inside kumukulo ang dugo mo sa paggawa non?

Is doing THAT to your grandmother "respect"? You told me once that you had a menacingly strong aversion towards your grandmother. You told me once that this grandmother did wrong things. You told me once that this grandmother has made a lot of mistakes. Ask yourself this before I put your brain into the oven: To whom did she do the wrong things to? To whom were the mistakes attributed to? Sa iyo ba? Ganyan na ba ang respect ngayon? Binabastos mo siya eh. Sure, she has made a lot of mistakes. Sure, she's done a lot of wrong things. But she did those "things" as a PERSON not as a GRANDMOTHER. Right now, you're treating her as a PERSON, not as YOUR GRANDMOTHER. Your grandmother needs to be respected - like it or not.

People make mistakes. And just because those mistakes don't make the path to YOUR journey CLEARER doesn't mean you should curse them to hell.

I see you're jealous of me. Lantad na. Hindi na kailangang itago. It's forever etched in my memory - but that doesn't mean I won't forgive you. Even though I saw the intense emotions you channeled that day - the day when material possessions grabbed a GOOD hold of you. Sabi mo pa nga (this I will never forget): "IKAW! HA! Kahit nagrerebelde ka nakukuha mo lahat ng gusto mo!"

That was so random. That was so sudden. Hindi mo machachannel ang isang bagay na ganoon ka-intense kung wala kang pinagkuhanan niyan. Hindi ka makagagawa ng intense emotion like that within just a blink of your fugly eyes. Kaya. You know what that means? That means despite ALL the trust I'd given you, you'd been boiling wrath, irate bubbles inside your arterial chambers.

Ang trust kapag nawala, mahirap nang ibalik.

Bakit ayaw mo akong pabayaan? Bakit laging pinakekelaman mo yaong downfall ko? You're like one of those media-mongers. Like a paparazzo. Waiting for people to fall flat on their faces to get a good snapshot which in turn will wind up all around the globe. But no, yours isn't the globe. Yours is your heart. In short, bawat pagkakamali ng tao, sinu-scrutinize mo sa puso mo. Masama yan. Hindi yan healthy. Sino ka? Si Poodle? Papatayin ka ng insecurities mo sooner or later.

You can't find well-being from a person's mistakes. That, my friends, is why the world is at par with hell.

Nahulog mo gamit ko. I said: "FUCK!" Obvious namang pinaghirapan ko yung ginagawa kong cut-outs di ba?

Wala ka man lang sorry?

Ah, "sorry". I remember, you've never said a sincere "sorry" to anyone else in this universe.

Remember your best friend? Didn't he say sorry? What did you say in return?

Wala.

Pride.

Pride mo.

Fuck you and your pride.

Why are you so fucking mad at the world anyway? You're JUST like Miss Emo but on a slighlty different angle. When I told you about Miss Emo, you were all: "Ang irrational nya." So are you.

When your mom said (in a reprimanding, serious, mad voice): "May topak ka ata ah!"

Queen: "May topak talaga ako!"

So why aren't you changing it?

You see your fault right THERE. Do you change it? No. You sit on your arse and wait for the world to turn its axis. You're hoping... for the world to COVER and BURY your mistakes, flaws and faults.

That's not gonna happen. Never. Ever.

You are the most irrational person I've ever met. You think you're otherwise. You think you're perfect.


Masyadong mataas yang pride mo. Hindi ko ma-reach.

Why do you hate the world so much? If you give me a GREAT answer to that, I will never bug you again.

Definitely, it's not because you grew up in a dysfunctional family. I grew up in a dysfunctional family my own but I don't hate the world.

Hindi rin ako KJ.

Hindi ko rin binabastos ang sister ko. I don't treat her like shit the way you do.

I never talk crap about her behind my back. I'm no nark. But you?

Puro na lang side comments!

Is that the rational way to behave?

I hate the ones like you. Yaong mga pakealamera. Before you go bitching on someone else's life, world, physical looks, intellectual capactiy, emotional status, soul, spirit, personality, attitude,characteristics and VALUES, look at yourself in the mirror.

You might even see a reflection that isn't as wretched as the Devil's face... You might see something a tad bit more revolting. Your pride.

Fashion

Gone are the days when I'd be sitting in the library - the good ole bookish girl/Math geek/typical nerd. I've changed. Maybe I should say that I've evolved. Into a lady. No, scratch that. I am not a lady. I've evolved into... a... (not a woman) ....but a ... a what?

A mature teenager. Let's just put it that way.

On the prospect of evolution - I feel like I'm some kind of a Pokemon (yes, yes, mature teenagers don't talk about Pokemon - BUT STILL). I feel like I'm Eevee. When I reached 15 years of age, someone or something rubbed the Fire Stone on my skin. Or maybe 15 years of age IS the Fire Stone of my life.

Now I breathe fire into my own existence.

One major thing that has evolved in me is my love for things girly. When I was 7, I was too busy doing Math for geekiness' sake while other girls were daydreaming about unicorns and ponies and all those rainbow things I don't know how to react to. When I was 12, I was too busy writing my own death wish while other girls were swooning about skirts, skincare and sexiness.

I was thinking (when I was 12): "Hey, I'm young. I'll think about fashion and physical looks when I'm 20 and a career woman."

See all that's changed.

Now, I'm obsessed with fashion, skincare, hair and all that girly jazz - but NOT in a swooning, squealing girly girl way. I'm obsessed with the haute couture in Gossip Girl. And I'm not 20. Not a career woman, either.

I'm so obsessed with fashion.

With just one trip to the mall, I can splurge my bank account until it goes gaga with dustbunnies.

With just one glance at a beautiful coat, I could die.

And just these past 2 weeks, I'd lavished boutiques with 10K (clothes, clothes, clothes).

How could those material things be so tempting?

How could I have let objects (worse, FABRICS) ruin my concentration?

How could I have let money run away from my fingers...and my bank account?

HOW?

(For starters, Gossip Girl has a humongous influence on this.)

Now all I can ever think about is:

Terra Nova, Calliope, Juicy Couture (MY GOODNESS. 'Tis amazingly expensive), Keds, Zara (SHOOT ME I LOVE ZARA), Gwen Stefani's Harajuku Lovers, Maldita, David and Goliath, Mango, Bayo, Kamiseta, Levi's, United Colors of Benetton, Giordano, VNC, Converse, Aerosoles, Gap, XOXO, Marks and Spencer...

Whew...

*pants*


Retail therapy...

Retail therapy...

Retail therapy...

I've turned into some kind of fashion freak!

I need to go to fashion rehab.

Oh, the Pain!

I'm suffering from a freaking migraine.

It started in Math period. Ma'am Del Valle came in, I had to take a seatwork (special seatwork to make up for my days absent). Sine Law. Ambiguous Case. Piece of cake. Especially now that I'm going good at Math again. Started recalling formulas.

Something punched me in the head (specifically, left temple). After that, started feeling as if someone's drilling my noggins. Finished seatwork. Tech Lab. Practical Test. Finished it last week but Ma'am said it had errors. Rechecked. Four times. Realized my only mistake was this: i wrote "lb3.caption". Freaking typo. Sheeesh. "lbl3.caption" dapat. Crap.

Head pounding pounding pounding pounding

4:05PM - Still had errands to do. Head is exploding.

5:15 PM - Went home. Ate. Head-pounding appeased.

6:00 PM - Watched TV. Turned it off immediately. Freaking head is getting drilled by mini-elves.

7:00 PM - Slept (with iPod on) in hopes of ridding the headache.

8:00 PM- Woke up. Head-pounding stronger than ever.

Now, I'm here. I'm supposed to pull a no-sleeper tonight - to finish things that need to be finished. This is going to result to mental stress so I think I'm going to die tonight. Wish me luck!

I wanna get rid of my head right now.

I mean it.

*BOOM*

The Shadow of the Wind

Despite the mounting To-Do lists on my desk here at home, I procrastinate.

Procrastination, thy name is me!

Part of the whole procrastination process was reading "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Yes, just judging from his name, he's Spanish. I've been trying to avoid Spanish authors since forever for this purpose: Fear. You ask: "Fear of what? Fear FOR what?"

Fear that I might get disappointed.

... of the Spanish culture, the Spanish people, and Spain. I expect a lot from European countries, after all. And if you know my middle name, you'd know that I really AM Spanish... that part (a quarter, actually) of my identity is the lingering European blood.

My maternal grandfather, the wisest person I've ever met/seen/heard about, was actually what we've studied in Philippine history books. He was brought up to society by Americans and he learned a lot of languages thanks to what remained to be the Thomasites. He even had pictures of those Americans with him!

My maternal grandfather's grandfather was once a Gov-General. Yes, yes, that kind.

So now. Back to the present. When I was in elem, in my previous school, I thought my family was the weirdest family in the universe. My mother talked differently. My mother acted differently. And obviously, my mother thought differently. I was a kid then. I guess my resolute thought for this was because my family, unlike my classmates' families, is intelligent. Heck, I was top in my class. I took this for granted. I accepted that we were different. But I didn't want to be different. I wanted to BE smart and at the same time BE normal. (Now, aged 15, I realize that being smart and being normal are two points that'd never be on the same plain.)

When I transferred to CKSC (where I met y'all: Kevs, Daniel, Fleur, etc etc), I got to know a few people. Elaine. Mollie. Cha. And when I say "I got to know", I really mean: I dived into their family lives. When I resurfaced, I realized: Hey, I'm in a new school, I'm surrounded by smart people and yet I am STILL different. What the heck?

I learned that their families never fought and reprimanded kids the way my family did. I learned that they didn't speak certain words. I learned that their parents didn't come from families that were as broken as the families my parents came from.

Come my junior year, still the same thing. As of now, I've had made bonds with Eunice, Paul, Jake, Kenny, Beni, Aldric, Elaine, Mollie, Cha, Fleur, Arianne, Nuevo, Camille, Jasmine, Aibee, Roy, Bea... the list goes on, seriously... and so far, none of their families are as different as mine. It's like my family's the weirdest or something!

Then... I read the book by the Spanish author (btw, it's translated to English by Lucia Graves, daughter of poet Robert Graves). It was set in post-war Barcelona.

(I'm not gonna expound on the plot. In fact, I'm not gonna mention the plot!)

I got hooked.

The details...the wordings...the events...the dialogue... they reflected my family.

It was so different from the American novels I had read before... the American novels whose characters' lives I thought were "normal". Yes, I am in blood, Spanish. No Filipino novel, no American novel could ever reflect that!

I AM SPANISH! It's a part of me I've never come to suffice with my everyday doings! It's a part of me that I've never uncovered.

No wonder I'm so inclined to Spanish songs (see profile).

No wonder I'm so inclined to learning Spanish.

No wonder I speak the word "tonta" while the rest of the world would say "tanga!"

No wonder I'd hear my mother talk FRANKLY about things.

I guess, if you really know me and my family troubles which I've mentioned in previous posts, you'd realize that my dysfunctional-family-conflict lies in a cultural barrier. My father is Chinese-Filipino. My mother is Spanish-Filipino. Chinese peeps are conservative. Spanish peeps are more liberal. Chinese peeps are discreet. Spanish peeps are open. Chinese peeps censore a few things. Spanish peeps lay them out in the wild.

And so the inner conflicts of Catherine Tan will forever rage...

It's a bittersweet thing.

I'm not proud to be a Filipino. I'm not proud to be a Chinese. I'm not proud of being Spanish. I'm proud of being all three, all at the same time.

"The Shadow of the Wind" didn't disappoint. It did the opposite. It opened my eyes.

Hello, Blog

Aside from the fact that I'm being eaten by these stupid bugs, everything's going pretty fine.

So right now...

It's basically 1 in the morning. (Don't believe what the "posted on" thingy at the bottom of this post says).

Mouth sore.

Throat hurts.

Bug-bitten.

Not panic-stricken anymore! I'm on to my 1045 words (word count's 1500)! So far, I like what I have. I'm on my third point, and nearing the conclusion. When this whole agony ends, I'd be the happiest person in the universe (...not...)

Shit. A bug just swooped down.

*inspects bug*

I don't even know what kind of bug it is! It's small and WHITE and it FLIES. Eewww. I am so spraying Baygon in this room (the Computer Room) the moment I finish my essay.

Darn. Bugs. Hate 'em all so much.

GAH. Now I'm itching.

My mouth is sore. My throat hurts. My skin is bug-bitten. What else? Death? The Bubonic Plague? Worse, an allergy?!?!?!

NO. Seriously. I've had one too much already. I'm ITCHING!

Great. Now my beloved dogs are chewing my purple Havaianas to death. Well, it's okay actually. I don't like Havaianas anyway. They're the most overrated creatures in this universe. That's exactly why I don't use them outside the house. Yes, peeps. They're JUST SLIPPERS. I don't care how much they cost. They're STILL slippers. Call it flip-flops or not. They're JUST SLIPPERS. (The world officially hates me now).

Seriously, get real shoes.

They're JUST SLIPPERS!

Why I'm Busier than Half of the World (A Quasi-Irrational List)

I dedicate this to Fleur, although I don't know why.

1. Because I only get at most 4 hours of sleep at night.
2. Because while the world sleeps/plays/rests, I toil.
3. Because I am a neurotic, overachieving perfectionist.
4. Because I bitch a lot.
5. Because I nourish my social life on a regular basis.
6. Because for the past 6 months, I've developed an obsession with fashion (Sunday is the sanctified Mall Day - spent nearly P10,000 on coats, hats, tops and pants - yep, we're getting ready for Winter Korea - believe it or not, shopping is tiring)
7. Because I love my job as the editor-in-chief of a nonprofit magazine.
8. Because I love myself as an overachiever (see num 3)
9. Because I can't balance love life, social life, academic life, personal life and career life VERY WELL. In the end, all that I sacrifice is my sleep.
10. Because, accdg to Fleur, I'm a Class A woman, strong and outspoken (and I love her for this)
11. Because I stress too much on worthless stuff.
12. Because I obsess too much on worthless stuff (last week's obsession was ballpoint pens, this week's obsession is multi-colored typewriting paper rims)
13. Because I am blessed with competitions (which makes me very happy to the point of ... ecstasy)
14. Because I spend too much time with my (not short, not fat) iPod Nano (Baby, I love you!)
15. Because I organize too much activities in school.
16. Because I am too preoccupied thinking about boys.
17. Because I hate Twilight.
18. Because I care for my dogs
19. Because I love food a lot
20. Because I buy a lot of gummy stuff (Favorite? Trolli Lips and Teeth)

-end of list-

Screw the World

Sudden fit of rage.

Why do people automatically "recognize ""Math and Science Geniuses"?

No, no. Don't answer that. That's a rhetorical question, stupid. Sheesh. Does the world not know how to differentiate rhetoric from non-rhetoric?

Why is it that when you're a math and science person, you get to be automatically deemed as "smart", good in analyzing, logic and critical thinking? Is the world's current basis for "intellect" NUMBERS? STATISTICS? DATA?

No. No. No. A BIG FAT NO.

People don't recognize those that excel in the field of English and Filipino. You see, even when there are awarding ceremonies, people award those that win in Math competitions. Science competitions. Math. Science. Math. What about ... us? The writers? The speakers? The English erudites? The lit lovers? The linguistic quiz bee champions?

See there's this BIG FAT discrimination here in Chiang Kai Shek. Not just CKSC. Even the world. I have proof for this but I'm too enraged to actually type DATA right now. Sure, you need DATA to prove things. But are mathematical and scientific data the only KINDS o' proofs you can garner?

Don't people get it?

When we the linguistic people write our essays, we THINK. We DON'T just put our opinions down. (Well, opinions do root from a brain, you know.) We extract "facts". We digest "facts". We analyze "facts". We avoid logical fallacies that can be extracted from "facts". We apply these "facts". We use our style to encompass these "facts".

So yes. We think critically, logically and analytically.

The moment those Math and Science people write a Pulitzer prize-winning editorial, and get up the stage to speak an award-winning speech, will be the only time that I could consider them "geniuses."

Disturbia (A Story Not for the Faintest of Hearts) - the Continuation

A text message lights up the odd screen of my mobile phone. Odd, I say. For a modern man, I don’t ever seem to get used with the technology. I am thankful that my experiment needs not the aid of too much that beast – technology.

It’s Rebecca. She asks where I am. Should I answer? What’s the term they use again? Reply – is that it?

For the sake of chivalry, her query: “Why aren’t you at work today?”, I reply with a white lie: “I feel sick, my friend.”

There. Now, time to get back to work.

I carefully examine the ingredients. Surely, this will take a lot of time, effort and brains. I grab the scalpel I stole from my father’s house – he’s a surgeon. It took me exactly an hour to get the theft done. With more careful observation, I realize that I need three kinds of knives: a big one – the one the butler uses to chop big meat, a medium-sized one – perhaps the one chefs use to cut vegetables, and a small one – the one thieves use to cut open some loot – the Swiss knife. Oh, and I need scissors too.

Maybe it’s time for a quick lesson from what’s that TV show… Grey’s Anatomy is it?

Bah. Who cares?

Suddenly obsessed with my new ideas, I paw over the pots and the pans, looking for the three knives. I already have the big one and the medium one. Now, for the Swiss knife.

The doorbell rings and echoes through my house here in the suburbs. Do my neighbors hear the doorbell ring?

Who could this be? Perhaps Daimler? Nah. He’s probably too scrunched up in work. Work… what time is it? Time… 12 noon. Has it been 6 hours of ruminating already? What is the malfunction in me? Have I been sitting and ruminating for the past 6 hours? As my mind recollects the events that have happened for the past 6 hours, I dash back to the dining table to see what the progress is.

Progress, indeed! It seems that I have carefully put together the ingredients in such a manner that…

The doorbell rings again.

Oh no.

Good thing I’ve hidden the plastic body bags!

I grab without hesitation the sheets of my bed and drape it over the dining table. It will be less conspicuous that way. Besides, who’s to suspect?

“Hey, I’ve been worried. I brought you lunch,” says a charming Rebecca – the one whom I opened the door for. “You have a fever?”

I can’t help but nod.

“Your house smells a little… different,” she observes.

“Must be me. I haven’t had a shower all day. I’m so sorry to disappoint you like this,” I say in my most charming way.

“You don’t have to say sorry. Tsk tsk tsk. Such a handsome man with such a malodorous house. This is what you get when you concentrate too much on work,” she teases me.

And I like it.

“It’s my lack of social life. And love life. And family life. I’m a solitary man confined in this solitary prison, waiting for someone to set me free,” I do this using my drama skills. And I know it entices her.

“I know who that someone is,” says she.

“Daimler!”

She eyes me seductively. Or so I think. Her green eyes, inherited from her Irish mother, are forever seductive, anyway.

“Christine. You know, the girl who basically worships you. You should go out with her. She’d die of happiness.”

I chuckle.

“I don’t like Christine at all.” She won’t set me free. But I know you will. But I can’t have Rebecca. I’ve repeated in my mind that I cannot be with her as a boyfriend, a lover or a husband. I just can’t.

Changing topics, she asks me if I want to eat my lunch. I want to say yes, but then again I remember my dining table draped with my sheets. She simply cannot see the mess under that. All the liquid and the scraps of…

She lets down her long brown hair, inherited from her father’s Chinese-Czech descent. I cannot help but feel a sensation… a manly sensation. I want to touch her skin that is hued with olive from her grandmother’s Greek descent, and ivory from her grandfather’s …

I want to. Caress her. Feel her. Free her.

But I can’t. Her skin is forbidden. Her hair is torture. Her face is unchartered territory.

I simply can’t.

“Hey! Do you want to eat lunch or not?”

“I will but not now. My … throat hurts. My mouth is sore,” again, another white lie.

“Do you want some meds? Because I’m not leaving this place until you’re fine.”

“So that means you’re staying for 24 hours?” I tease.

“I’m serious.”

“Fine,” I give up.

After a few more of those teasing and provoking, Rebecca waves goodbye.

It’s then that I realize that I have a Swiss knife on the pocket of my pants.

Oh, opportunity.

~0~

It is now 1 in the morning – 108 hours after I collected my ingredients that night. There is news going on that a crazed man goes to the hospital at night, steals body parts and puts them in a plastic body bag. So far, they have no suspect yet. But this man, so far has stolen eyes, a tongue, a heart, a woman’s genitals and… a brain.

What they fail to know is that this man doesn’t just go to the hospital to steal body parts. He goes to the cemetery too – that’s where this lunatic went to 108 hours ago, anyway. That’s where he got the bones, the nose, skin and some rotten flesh and the complete set of body parts. He has the abdomen, the liver and the kidneys too.

Oh yes, and it’s also been 108 hours that I’ve skipped my work. I told them I’d be on vacation in my parents’ house.

So here I am, sitting at the dining table, haven’t eaten food in days. Haven’t slept in days, too. But it doesn’t matter. I’m a dedicated man. I will finish this experiment as soon as I can.

I grab the piece of rotten flesh – this comes from a corpse that’s only been dead for a day. It’s rotten but not quite. It still is soft, and has that subtle effect on my fingers. I piece it together with the carpal bones. For 3 days, I have found out a special technique that will piece them together in a perfect fit. This is it. This is the last flesh I have to piece with the bones. I have completed piecing up the past three days! It’s been a puzzle. How to fit the brain perfectly with the skull – this is hard to do with bare hands. I fear I might damage the cortex of such. And the eyes! The smell of it! So…invigorating. The green eyes I stole smell.

Even though I have carefully pieced the flesh, the brain and the bones, there is still much to do. Hey, but give me credit. I am no doctor but I know how this works. This is the true work of a genius! I am a genius!

Now is time for the skin.

This skin comes from a recently deceased supermodel. Her skin is lovely. When I feel it with my fingers…I feel a sense of relief. It’s the same familiar feeling. She must have been beautiful. Her skin, a color with the combination of olive and ivory, I piece with the flesh.

It doesn’t seem right.

Perhaps this skin is intended for other places?

Oh, I know where.

And I’ll be there soon.

No.

Again, it doesn’t seem right. Before I know it, I grab a sewing kit – the one I bought just 3 days ago. I planned on using the needle to merge the scalp and the hair but I guess the needles needs to merge skin and skin now.

It is a wonder. The skin, what they call the protective shield, tears easily. I have to be careful. This is perhaps the hardest job in life.

It still doesn’t seem right.

After what seems to be 2 hours, I take a shower. And as I take my shower, I can feel my skin tearing itself apart. And then, because of some weird thing, I feel like piecing it back together. Again and again, the shower leaves me that impression. And then I think about Rebecca. I am a man, after all. I can take advantage of this shower time to succumb to my lust for her.

But no. I am a patient man. I will wait for my plans to take shape.

As the soap touches my skin, I feel a masochistic urge. And then it happens.

I scream in pain as my instincts command me to tear off my own skin. I pinch it, peel as if doing so on a banana. I see my flesh, steaming with the water, throbbing as if it’s a heart. It pains. Oh, but I love it! The skin, I now hold in my hand, is just a small portion of my left palm. I quickly go out of the shower, and assess my nude self. I have the abs, the toned muscles and the well-endowed member. Everything is perfect. I look perfect. But the skin of my palm is missing. I try to outline the flesh with the fingers on my right hand. Perhaps because of something, the pain is gone. The flesh, so soft and so subtle, can be used in my experiment.

Either that or…

I should practice using my body! That is it! I will piece my own skin with my own flesh. Perhaps with the use of the needle?

Out of curiosity, I lick my flesh. It tastes normal. Like red meat, actually. Now I’m beginning to wonder why human beings normally don’t resort to cannibalism. Must I take a bite?

I chortle to myself and then the neighbors hear a blood-curdling scream.

~0~


(to be continued)

Not So Fruitful Day

Mouth sore.

Throat hurts.

Panic-stricken.


Shit. I have to revise the whole "Towards a Low Carbon Economy" essay TONIGHT. Thing is, I'm aiming for major revision because, heck, I wanna win. Because winning will levitate my dwindling self-esteem (as of now, my self-esteem is only 45% of my "ideal" esteem - this is uber low when compared to two months ago's 85%). And because winning will prove that I'm no two-hit wonder. Okay, okay, so maybe I am NOT a two-hit wonder. But seriously? Perfectionists like me are obsessed with winning. And also because winning will not dissappoint the English Department that I have grown to love with passion as intense as Disurbia's lead character's passion. (Disturbia disclaimers, references and allusions end here.)

The crappiest part is, well, sigh, I don't know the topic that much.

Unlike moral degeneration.

Unlike teachers.

Unlike racism.

Unlike philosophy.

Unlike humanity.

Unlike English Literature.

Unlike history.

Unlike academical intellect.

Those above are my fortes. But if you ask me about Chem, Physics, and whatever the hell, I stall. That's because I don't have THAT kind of mind - the kind that memorizes what Ternary Compounds are. The kind that memorizes the list of ions with their corresponding charges.

I'm the kind who reads the news, analyzes the news, digests the news and applies what I read, analyzed and digested into daily life. Yes, I'm a Rennaissance woman. I write, think, speak and sometimes, I even act.

I promote Democratic regulation, not hybrid cars.

I promote the $700 Billion bailout plan, not ethanol whatsoever

Okay, so maybe I promote hybrid cars ethanol. But still. Still. Still. Still. You get the point.

Worse, I can't bring myself to write something that I don't know much of. So do you know what that means? That means I have to thoroughly research about these carbon compounds whatsoever before I could totally revise the essay. And knowing myself to be addicted and obsessed with details, the research will definitely cost me a lot of time. 24 hours, even!

Another bad thing...

I have to do it all tonight.

Why?

Because tomorrow is MALL day. Srsly, I can't sacrifice mall day. It's too sacred.

Besides,


MY THROAT HURTS LIKE HELL!

Disturbia (A Story Not for the Faintest of Hearts)

If you'd look at my Shelfari profile, you'd automatically grasp the idea that I'm semi-anti-Chick-Lit now. Semi, my friends, semi (thanks to Twilight, of course). And if you want me to expound on that semi-anti-ism, well I wrote the whole deal on this vignette-esque thing entitled: "The Override of Chick-Lit" (may be published on the 2nd Issue of The Quest which is to be released on Feb '08).

That is not the point, though.

The point is, since I'm all semi-anti-chick-lit, I don't limit myself to Chick-Lit anymore. Yes, that's liberation! So now I'm back to my old self - the one who writes all kinds of stuff.

Here's a semi-gothic work (I use the word "semi" a lot these days, don't I?):

WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINTEST OF HEARTS. PLOT MAY DISTURB YOU. (well, if you're a chick-lit girl, then the plot will definitely disturb you. I THINK.)

Disturbia

If you know me, you'd call me passionate, driven and determined - even to the extent of obsession-compulsion. But in spite of those three virtues, I had never known what my true calling in life is. That is, until tonight.

It's raining and I've just gotten home from my friend Rebecca's house. There's nothing between us really. Just friends. . . if you're thinking we're something more than that. Although I must admit. Sometimes I succumb my manliness to her beauty. Fine features. Fine, pure and striking. She is a mixture of all races, colors and nationalities. Though I know there are instances when I yearn for the pleasures of the flesh, I know I'd never get to have her as a girlfriend, a lover or a wife.

I'm a tired, sleepy and paranoid man. I say to the bearded face on my mirror. I'm growing old, too. Going 30 but still loveless. I inspect my face. No wrinkles, no lines, no traces of old age. So why do I think I'm growing old? Is it because even though I am a handsome man, no girl comes into my life? What is the basis of handsomeness, anyway?

Something tuggs at my insides. Yes, yes, yes. It's one of those things. Those unpredictable, unexpected things that happen in stories and movies. That tug-tug thing. Suddenly, I remember my fetish for books - Gothic books, to be exact.

And as the clock ticks 11 PM, I rummage through my small, library. Pretty rare to have a library at home in the 21st Century, now, right?

As the clock ticks half past 11, I read.

And as the clock ticks 12, something in my head disturbs me.

Oh, this is going to be a long night.


~0~


It's 1 in the morning and I have gathered nearly all of the ingredients and materials for my experiment. I see a silhouette in the dark. A man approaches. It's my friend Daimler.

"What brings you here at the the dead of the night?"

"The tug of the soul, my friend."

"What are you talking about?" He asks, painstakingly scrutinizing the plastic body bags on my hand.

I wave at him with the hand free of the mysterious body bags. "I'm doing an experiment that requires me to be passionate, driven and determined."

"Do you want a smoke?" He asks and brings out a pack of cigarettes.

"Tempting offer. But I've quit smoking already. Remember?" I regain composure and stand straight, like a poised male model, if I may say so. "How about you? What brings you here - such a daunting place at night?"

"Ha ha see, I'm just passing by. The workers at the firm... we, uhhh... decided to have a great night out. You know. Have it with the ladies."

Yes, typically you. Typically modern. You all just hit women like that. Chivalry is dead. You don't know how to treat them right.

"I bet you should be off now, my friend!" I say in such a manner that made the small hairs on his arms, nape and back ... tingle.

And with a nod and a smile, he's off!

Time to get back to my lovely business.

As my pocket clock ticks 6 AM, my ingredients are all complete.

~0~

Like pieces on a puzzle, my ingredients for the experiment, I lay on the table. I begin to question why I started doing this experiment. But then again, this will only prove my three virtues. And as soon as I complete this, oh, I'm sure my life will change.

One tiny bit of problem.

The body bags. Where must I hide them?

A place that will not ignite sparks of curiosity...

The loft? The chimney? The garage? No. No. No. Too simple. Too easily noticeable. Too... boring.

So... for the thrill of it all...

I'm hiding the bags under my bed.

-to be continued-

Those Ain't for Sale Anymore?

Never in a million years would I call myself a pessimist. I ain't one. And I don't wanna be one. And I guess, if you permit me to say, I will never be one.


...but I can't help but think this pessimistic thought: are friends - my friends, in particular - worth it? Are they actually worth fighting for? Are they real friends? When I said "my friends", I specifically meant the ones in my class - the new set of friends. The ones I see and talk to everyday. The ones I help and laugh with.

So yeah, they're there for the good times - the laughs, the smiles, the like.


But they're not there for the bad times. This is how they are when I talk to them: Friend A, he plays his online game, ignoring what I say in YM. Friend B, he laughs a lot (to every word I say, actually) so this isn't actually something that's healthy. Friend C, she judges my character. Friend D, she misinterprets what I say. Friend E, he doesn't know how to use his tongue to utter a word. Friend F isn't there at all. And the list goes on and on and on...

I don't have a great set of friends.

Now I can only rely on the remaining ones (the ones from Tsong San Chia Tsu, some seniors, some sophomores, 3-1 and the Writers' Guild). Particularly Camille. She's been such a nice friend. Listens every time you talk, gives great comments too.

I'm wondering. Good friends aren't for sale anymore? What does "for sale" even mean?

Sheesh.


Friends.


"If you don't have an enemy, make one."
- Some self-help book

Slowly, Gently...

...it's killing me softly.


Four things, my friends, four things. (this doesn't even include schoolwork and all those nasty tests)


1. Oratorical Piece


So I finished it last night.

It sucked, obviously. You can't conjure up a mastermind piece in just one sitting. So I submitted it, it really did suck. Now, I'mma revise it. The problem is, when I try to lift my hand to type up its file name "Mabuhay Ka, Pusong Pinoy", my hands fail me. It's those bodily functions again!

Writers' Block.

Writers' Block.

One word: Heart.

HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO WRITE A FREAKING ORATORICAL PIECE ABOUT A BIOLOGICAL ANATOMY? Can't they just ask me to write anything about.. I don't know,.. corruption? The bull market? The flea market? Euthanasia? Cryptozoology? Psychoanalysis? The Rorscarch Test? ANYTHING BUT BIOLOGICAL, CHEMICAL and... PHYSICAL?

Please! I've been trying to escape the sciences since high school - Biology, Chemistry and soon, Physics. So why do those things keep chasing me even when I'm at cloud nine?

It's 10 PM and the fact that my piece ain't ready yet scares me to death.

This piece needs to be as great as my Infantado piece (or else I'll label my own self a one-hit wonder).

*pwned*

The remaining three will be discussed while I'm stressing about 'em.

Dead This Week. Again.

When is this stress going to end?

You know, I feel blessed and all with being given the opportunities to join various writing competitions. But the pressure from winning the previous ones have been mounting on my back as if I'm a camel.

Things Whose Deadline's Supposed to be Tomorrow
1. Op-Ed - (darn, the topic I chose is too hard for me to handle. for the shekians who are acutally reading, i hope you devour it)

2. Editorial - (I don't write the Editorial without writing my op-ed first)

3. Oratorical Piece for PHA Competition - the theme is all about heart disease (factual oratorical pieces aren't my forte.)

4. Essay for DepEd - the darned "letter" (aka the paper where the peeps supposedly need to put the contest theme and mechanics) DOES not even contain the theme. So how am I supposed to guess what's tumpak and what's not?

5. Endless The Quest Articles - I can't start writing 'em since I have to focus on the 4 above.


Yes, truly, I am blessed. Blessed. Blessed. Blessed. And I truly thank the Lord above. Thank you, God. I appreciate all these blessings.


But ... Can't TIME just stop for me? I barely get my forty winks at night now what with all the tests, the Chinese, the articles and the competitions.


I guess, when you have a current-perfect life, there are major consequences (like eye bags and farewells to beauty sleeps).


I am so tired. I am so sleepy.


Remind me: Need to finish dummy layout this week.


Oh, and I'd like to make a PUBLIC apology to Fleur/Fleuretta for not handing back Ms. Europe for about TWO MONTHS now. Fleur, kill me the moment you see me. I deserve it. For being such an irresponsible friend. I suck, don't I?

Of Crap, BS and Other Dung-related Substances

This school year is full of shit, crap, drama, and other dung-related substances.

It's also full of changed friends who don't know how to act the right way.

Full of grades that are high but still suck for high standards

Full of unwanted, unfortunate circumstances that are too shitty to mention here.

Full of decisions that yield negative effects.

Full of wrong decisions that haunt you in the end.

Full of expectations left unattained.

Full of ....


Oh God. C'mon now, I'll say it without the sugarcoatings.


In a community where you are required to be perfect - act good, look good, be good, do good IN SCHOOL. One can't help but overestimate and underestimate his or her true skills. You know it's really hard to namedrop since ... well, this is a community that is harsh. One wrong move and you're out. This is harder than Gossip Girl.

Most especially when you belong to the Cream Section. You have no idea how ... rigorous the competition is. Even teachers make us eat each other's brains off.

Want an example? Well, if, for example, I get a higher grade in AP and English (say a 98). Some of my classmates leech onto me - plagiarize my works, even (hey, this really happened) to get what they want - which is information.If I get a lower grade, they judge me. But that's just an example - I mean, I just used myself as an example.

But why should you believe me? After all, this is "fictional" autobiography.

Well, I'm not tryna cast a cloud shadow on III-5. I'm merely pointing out the underpinnings of a nearly dystopic society.

>.<

Friggish mother of all fishcakes.

I've been sitting here since the dawn of the new millennium (by that, I mean, I've been sitting here since 10 in the morning *with breakfast, lunch and bath intervals of course*) and I still haven't finished my term paper.

All I have with me is a fat 3,102 words.


I AM PANICKING. I STILL HAVE, LIKE, THE AP REPORT TO DO.


Shoot me!






In case you're wondering, it's 5:45 PM right now.

I Love My Job

Crunch time once and again in the press room! Papers everywhere - files everywhere. Copy room's occupied. Editors busy. Editor-in-chief having coffee, preparing to pull an all-nighter.

In my dreams!

Gah. I wish I could live that life. If I could be a pro editor-in-chief of a magazine, I'd be the happiest girl in the universe. It's my dream. I wouldn't care if I'd pull a thousand all-nighters. I just wanna live the life.

But who's to say that my current life isn't like that? *brag mode. lol* That I, as the editor-in-chief of one of the most competent publications in Chinatown, doesn't gulp coffee in preparing to pull all-nighters?

Hey, I'm feeding my head balloon tanks of my own ego here. LOL. Forgive me for that.

Well, anyway, even though the stress is overwhelming like crazy, I can cope. Because I am motivated. Because I love what I do. Because I am driven only by those to things: motivation and passion. I'm drawn to the job so much - its positivities and negativities. Socialization. Friends. Drama. Photoshoots. Pictorials. Spreads. Fashion. Seminars. Politics. Philosophy. Psychology. Writing. Interviews. Life. Experiences. Photos. Stress. Editing. Field Trips. Documents. Layouting. Dummy prints. Mastheads. Articles.


And everything else.

"Articles? They will never stop coming," said Mr. Delos Reyes - my Guild adviser and Journalism Guru. When he said that, I realized it. He was right. He was so right. Those things will never stop coming!


I'll be seeing myself soon...in five years or so... in a magazine. A hotshot magazine.

Urge-Stifling

I may be academically degenerating but my life smarts are increasing each day (do I have the right to say that? *Laughs out loud*).

Well, see, I was researching about my topic for our English paper and realized I should base my facts from my previous Editorial "Stupid is the New Smart". But wait, before I go on, do you have any idea what my topic is? Come on! Guess! It's easy. It's obvious!

Moral Degeneration.

*Dies laughing*


If you refer to a LOT of my previous posts, you'd realize how obsessed I am with those two words. Hey, Mrs. Ong was the one who chose that! I gave her a list of topics (said list includes Sarah Palin and McCain, of course), but I have no idea why she chose that one.

So. Stupid is the New Smart. I started reading the first line.

"When a juvenile is approached..."

Eek. I died even before I finished reading the whole paragraph. HOW TRITE COULD I HAVE BEEN? WHY HAD I WRITTEN CRAP? Was that really JUST a year ago? HAS MY WRITING EVOLVED THIS MUCH? I CAN'T BELIEVE I PUBLISHED CRAP LAST YEAR - ON MY EDITORIAL, EVEN!

I can't believe how improved my writing now is. Now, I'm more... rational. Thankfully. Goodbye, Miss Trite. Hello, Hopeful.

I guess my writing's improved because I am improved.

Ya know what they say, writing isn't about vocab, grammar and putting those two both. It's about the writer's mind.

Guess Who's Problematic

It is now an official fact that Drama is too in love with me. The feeling, though, is NOT mutual.

Unrequited love, my friends, is what causes Drama to take revenge on me, thus, bringing MORE Drama to aid in Catherine-oppression.

So now, I dedicate this post to Drama.

A Percentage Analysis of This Certain Thing Called Catherine's Personal Life

1. Grades/Academic Life - 50%

My grades are spiraling downwards. If you think I'm exaggerating... If you think "oh, come on, you're Catherine Tan, you'll see high grades on your report card. You're just a worrywart.." Well, I wish you're right, but you are WRONG. Eeeps. I don't know how to defend my answer. It's true, I may be "smart" or "intellectual" but I'm also "uber lazy" AND "uber paranoid". What else? I set really high standards. I'm a PERFECTIONIST. No, I'm not calling myself perfect. I'm calling myself a perfectionist! And you should know that perfectionists pay attention to every single detail. Yes, yes, yes! If something goes wrong, well, I go at wits end. Not only that, I also kill myself thinking too much.

GAAAAH. My Accounting grade isobviously down (since, Kevs, Fleur, you guys know the answer right? The whole Mam Almazan class record thing? Rememba?).

My Social Studies grade - I might maintain my old grade but it's also highly unlikely since I don't even know what my Long Test score was! (Actually, I don't know it ON PURPOSE. The testpapers-giving day took place during my competition day...so... wasn't able to see it. Someone, though, took note of the scores but I told him not to tell me).

My Math grade - I got an 89 last quarter (which is pretty high for a Math Class person) and I was really, really satisfied. I only got an 83 last year. BUT NOW? This quarter? Flunked tests and seatworks! DAMMIT. I have absolutely NO IDEA WHAT MY MATH GRADE WILL BE NOW.

My Chem grade - 85, y'all. 85!!! That's too low. TOO LOW.

My Filipino grade - from 90 to ...what? Perhaps, an 88? CRAP. DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?

From 3rd Honor Rank 7, I will probably slip to Rank ..... 12! DAMMIT. DAMMIT. DAMMIT.

I'm supposed to get at least to the 2nd Honors. WHY? Because there's a prize. There's also a series of consequences if I don't get this prize. And it's not a tangible thing, my love.

See, I'm studying hard for a certain person. The details, I'm not supposed to tell you. But I'm doing this not just for myself, but for this PERSON who means so much to me... No, this person ain't part of my biological family. This person also ain't my crush. This person is....

Well, I just need to skyrocket my grades up this quarter. I really need to. I DO NOT want to devolve.

ONE MORE THING, COLLEGE. But we should talk about it during the "semestral break."

2. Physical Insecurities - 25%

My height is killing me. I'm so short I need to wear 3-inch heels to LOOK TALL. Uhh, other physical insecurities include...uhhh...I dunno. HEIGHT. HEIGHT. HEIGHT!


3. Family Drama - 10%

I've written posts about my clan, right?

4. Health - 10%

EARS

5. Sleep-deprivation - 1%

Number 1, number 2, number 3 and number 4 combined KILL ME.

I Heart Sarah Palin

I'm not supposed to be doing this - I'm supposed to be studying.. but NO... I just skirmish around Lindsay Lohan's MySpace page (she comments on Sarah Palin)... and then scroll down... and then POOF! I see haters all around bashing her, saying that she has no RIGHT to judge Sarah Palin.

Before I dismantle my inner nuclear bomb, I need to now organize my thoughts.

Well, first off, Sarah Palin is a damn politician. People, in nature, have the RIGHT to comment on their potential-future-leader.

Second, those people who commented on her blog, I know for a fact, DISLIKE Sarah Palin (seriously, who doesn't? LOL I'm kidding!) but bash Lindsay just for the kinks of it.

The worst comment a hater said was that Lindsay was judging Sarah Palin and that Linds MUST grow up now.

Listen, hater: Polish your grammar first before you go on ranting, okay?

Back to that topic. JUDGMENT.

THAT'S THE PROBLEM, PEEPS! PEOPLE do not know the fine lines among OPINION, JUDGMENT AND VERBAL ATTACK! I bet these people don't even know that there is such a thing as a "fine line".

These people are the scourges of moral degeneraion.

Moral degeneration, people. Moral degeneration.

It's not that I'm biased because I basically LOVE Lindsay Lohan. I'm being morally intact here. And rational.

Freedom of Speech. Harassment.

Verbal Attack. Judgement. Opinion.

This is an example of a verbal attack: They don't teach those things in school, my fair dimwits (*refers to the haters*). They don't teach those in school... is that why you don't know 'em?

(It's a verbal attack since I used the word "dimwit")

Well, damn with the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

Freedom of Speech. Harassment.

Vebal Attack. Judgement. Opinion.

Do you know how to differentiate them?

Hmpf.

I'll differentiate them for you when I'm not busy building my morals and intellect.

I'll differentiate them and I bet you a million bucks...

So now what.. You're gonna say that I'm judging all of you? Now you're gonna be saying that I'm verbally attacking you?

What close-minded angles!

What One Mouth Sayeth, the Other Sayeth Nay

Maybe I'm depressed? In a no-drama, no-biased way. I don't want to fully acknowledge that notion just yet. That's the last thing I wanna BE these days - depressed. After all, I can't trust my own judgment on this because I'm neurotic therefore I'm hypochondriac (hypochondriac means that I'm paranoid when it comes to sicknesses - but don't worry, it's not a personality disorder).

What made me think of depression? Well, here:

This is an article from a website - WebMD (here's the full link):

You may already know some of the emotional and psychological effects of depression. They include:

• Feeling sad, empty, hopeless, or numb. These feelings are with you most of the day, every day.
• Loss of interest in things you used to enjoy. You might no longer bother with hobbies that you used to love. You might not like being around friends. You might lose interest in sex.
• Irritability or anxiety. You might be short-tempered and find it hard to relax.
• Trouble making decisions. Depression can make it hard to think clearly or concentrate. Making a simple choice can seem overwhelming.
• Feeling guilty or worthless. These feelings are often exaggerated or inappropriate to the situation. You might feel guilty for things that aren't your fault or that you have no control over. Or you may feel intense guilt for minor mistakes.
• Thoughts of death and suicide. The types of thoughts vary. Some people wish that they were dead, feeling that the world would be better off without them. Others make very explicit plans to hurt themselves.

Whew.

Let's assess.

1. Feeling sad, empty and hopeless - Check. (No need to expound. The cause of this is obvious: inner self struggles)

2. Loss of interest in things you used to enjoy - Check. One word: Friends. I'm getting so tired of their drama and the cause of their drama. Their drama becomes my drama too because of course, I'm concerned about them. Although I love them, I'm kind of getting tired and weary of them. Makes sense?

3. Irritability or anxiety - Check. Due to a LOT of reasons. See number 1 and number 2.

4. Trouble making decisions - Check. My head isn't clear at all. It's filled with thoughts painstakingly dispersed in my brain.

5. Feeling guilty or worthless - Semi-Check. I don't feel worthless at all. But I do feel guilty because of personal things.

6. Thoughts of death and suicide - Semi-Check. I don't think about suicide, but I think of death. In fact, I'm currently writing a story about death.



So there.

Am I depressed?

Should I be in shame - I'm a psychologist who happens to be DEPRESSED?

Depressed or distressed?

At least I have Phantom Planet!

A List of Things to Worry About

Tests are over but I'm definitely not happy. I will only be happy when we go to Korea this coming December - and that's because there's snow there. That and that only.

I sucked at the tests. Super disappointed in myself. Sheesh. Maybe my standards are too high for my own sake.

Anyway, I have classes later on (1:45PM)... so I'll just let this post be quick (if I can).


This'd serve as my daily reminder of my daily stress.

Stuff to Do:

1. Fulfill obligations as the Editor-in-Chief of a magazine - And that means: editing, writing an op ed and an editorial, EDITING some more, interviewing and being a leader.

2. Prepare for October 20's showdown - This means that I should start studying Literature and Grammar NOW.

3. Clean up clutter - This means I need to follow everything Reader's Digest (October Issue) says when it comes to clutter.

4. Look for Missing Things - This means that I need to look for my Library Card NOW.

5. Fix Social Life - This means that I need to start my Reflecting Month this November.

6. Clean Up iPod - This means that I need to start deleting songs I don't listen to anymore and start synchronizing those new Podcasts before my iPod's memory goes down the drain.

7. Get a Nice Rest For Goodness' Sake - This means that I need to get my First Quarter Lifestyle back. And you know what that means? That means NOT YM-ing friends at night after school. That means SLEEPING BEFORE 3PM.


That's it.

Peace, Love... Contemporary Rock (Part 2)!

I'm not doing anything right now (except this, of course) and ... in this free time, I browse my blog archives, realize that I write just like HRH Princess Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Grimaldi Renaldo (a.k.a Princess Mia the fictional character from Princess Diaries - LOL I'm laughing as I type this)... and observe that my love for Rock has grown like an Acacia Tree.

I'm a true blue music-lover if you really, really know me. Music is just so... powerful.

But, again, as you know, I really love Rock. Alternative Rock, Indie Rock, Rock and Roll, Heavy Rock, Christian Rock, Light Rock, whatever the Rock it is. (I just call it Rock. Plain and simple.)

If you're not acquainted with that FACT, well, here's a link that will show you how much I LOVE Rock. Gawd it feels like I wrote it a year ago.

There's a new list but of course that doesn't mean I don' love the old ones in the link anymore. I love my Rock equally ^_^

Here are my current faves (feel free to rave!):

Sheesh I don't know where to start...

1. Phantom Planet

They came to fame when the (once) hit show The O.C. used their song "California" as the theme song. I should tell you, "California" isn't the only noteworthy song in their history. In fact, I think ALL their songs have great quality - voice, melody, Rock essence - and more. The lead singer's (Alex Greenwald) voice is so versatile. He can evoke appropriate emotions AND his vocal variations are superb. He can make a song sound melancholy and hopeful (like in "Anthem" and "Lonely Day") and then shift to something that's loud, energetic and bold (like "Always on My Mind", "Hey Now Girl" and "Somebody's Baby"). He can go dark too ("In Our Darkest Hour").

But seriously, what makes them really unique to my ears is the weirdness of the sound itself. Take "Wishing Well", for example. If you listen to its intro (and its ending), you'd hear the weirdest sound effects in the universe. The vocal effects combined with the sound is amazing - cue "Leader" and "Do the Panic". They know how to play with their music instruments - cue "Dropped". Their uniqueness appeals to me. Other than that, they just really make me feel nostalgic, creative, bright... bittersweet - in short, they make me FEEL which is something that modern songs fail to do.

One more thing, the lyrics. Listen to "Anthem" - they make sense, don't they?

And of course, I love the lead singer's voice.

Applause to them. They're on my Top 3, really. I love them.

Favorite Songs: Well, I love all of them. Nuff said.

Latest Album: Raise the Dead


2. Rooney

Just a coincidence after having mentioned Princess Mia from the Princess Diaries, the lead singer in Rooney (Robert Carmine) played Michael Moscovitz (the male leading character) in the movie with Anne Hathaway.

Other than that, I bet you've heard the band if you used to watch The O.C.

Rooney's sound leans to the 70's era's Rock. But don't get me wrong - they're not those stuck-up hippies. They're like a cool, contemporary version of The Beach Boys (especially when they use the tremevin - a stringed instrument resembling the guitar).

They keep on making these repetitive sounds that I don't know how to describe. In short, they play with their voices.

Favorites Songs: "When Did Your Heart Go Missing", "I'm Shakin'", and "I Should've Been After You"

Latest Album: Calling the World

3. The White Tie Affair

Here's another band from Chicago (a la Panic At the Disco and Fall Out Boy)!

Their sound is rock plus dance plus alternative combined. This suits my taste perfectly. But the songs are more perfect for parties.


Their lyrics mostly contain angst/hostility towards an ex-lover (OUCH!). In a nutcase, the most significant thing about the band is their sound - vocals, rhythms, and all that.

Favorite Songs: "Allow Me to Introduce Myself... Mr. Right", "Scene Change", "Candle Sick and Tired" and "If I Fall"

Latest Album: Walk This Way


4. Plain White T's

They sprang into Hollywood/Music Industry fame when they released "Hey There Delilah", allegedly the most romantic love song ever. But I don't see what the fad with "Hey There Delilah" is. I don't really like it. In fact, out of all of the band's songs, "HTD" is my least favorite.

Well, you gotta give props to Plain White T's for the marvelous lyrics - dedicated to a girl named Delilah whom the lead singer (Tom Higgenson) claims to be the "most beautiful girl" he's ever seen. Awwwww.

Btw, the girl only went out with him after the single went popular worldwide. >>>>>> Delilah with Tom

What I like the most about the band is that they have the requisite Rock Essence. I think I've mentioned what the Rock Essence is before. Rock Essence - it is lyrics plus sound plus voice. Tom Higgenson's voice sounds so nasal - this works to their advantage 'cause their songs require that kind of voice - emotional, melancholy and super sentimental.

Their lyrics, however, delve into love and romance - every girl's favorite.

Favorite Songs: "1,2,3,4" - so romantic and sweet: "There's only 1 thing 2 say, 3 words, 4 you... I love you...", "Shine" - I think it's about a drinking/sobriety problem but the lyrics are brilliant. "So Damn Clever" - it's one of the fast songs, perfect, "Natural Disaster" - love the guitar works, the drums, everything!

Latest Album: Big Bad World


5. Jack's Mannequin

I've just recently listened to this band - but I've been hearing their name since forever so I thought why not try to listen to them? So I did.

Their sound is a combined "The White Tie Affair" and "Boys Like Girls", at the same time it's kind of John Mayer meets Jason Mraz. That's the only way to put it since I don't know much about this band yet. They have meaningful lyrics and they do possess the Rock Essence.

I heard that this band was formed by Andrew McMahon - a musical genius, if I may say so. Their sound is bold, kind of like a strong coffee early in the morning. Their sound is so vivid.

As for feelings, their music usually evokes a bright mood. It's best played during long roadtrips - loud in your iPod.

Favorite Songs: "Spinning" - love this!, "The Resolution", "Into the Airwaves"

Latest Album: The Glass Passenger



Whew, there goes my Rock IQ prowess!

Remember...


PEACE, LOVE, ROCK AND ROLL!

Lies, Lies, Lies... and the Virtue of Silence

Out of all my childhood drama (of broken families and broken selves), I gain one virtue that I can boast forever: the virtue of being headstrong.

However, there comes a disadvantage out of that positive characteristic. That is, when I am convinced (convinced meaning I have empirical, logical and rational proof), you can never undo the deed - you can never un-convince me.

Going back to the topic of family. I grew up with lies. I don't know how to explain it here directly but yes, they were lies. I grew up with lies. I'm not going through sappy drama again (like what I did in the previous posts) because that will only cause me to be angry and hateful. "Angry" and "hateful" are two things I don't want attached to me (because it's Exam Week o_O). I had empirical, logical and rational proof that my family was a lie therefore, I was convinced. Yes, "had" and "was". That means I'm not so sure now. I'm not so sure if I should start believing what they say. At the same time, I'm still 100% convinced. It's like I'm groping for something, can't find it, then I grope for it again. In the end, the outcome's the same: I was/am(?) convinced.

See how confusing it is to live my life, think my thoughts and write my feelings?

It makes it all the more confusing when you have a mother who bickers, manipulates and brags about everything she owns.

My life is nothing but normal. But heck, I'm not complaining about its abnormalities. I'm complaining about its constituents.


Gawd.


But it's kind of sickening when I hear myself say it: I grew up with lies.

Lies lies lies lies lies....

I don't know what to believe in this family anymore!

So this is what pushes me to badly want frankness, honesty, sincerity and straightforwardness. This is it. Because I hate lies. Lies are the most destructive things in life. Damn lies.


It's better to keep silent... than lie.

Ahem

My hatred for stupid people has once again given itself an acceleration of a million miles per minute.

Stupid people really annoy me.


*see definition of "stupid"




Fuck off.




*tries super hard to expunge anger out of system - I have Chinese Lit to study for tonight and the time's ticking... no need to get pissed... Catherine, no need to get pissed... no need to get pissed.... gaaaah! see in the next few hours I'm gonna waste my time hating this particular stupid person.

Dunno Why

I have this sudden strong aversion towards crappy status messages.

I hate it when they say "DND" in their status messages. I mean, if you don't want others to disturb you, what's the damned purpose of going online? If you can give me an answer that I can't counter, well, all hail you and your DND.

The second thing I hate: when people keep on using the word "BUSY" when someone else uses the word "BUSY" and then all of your YM Friends start using the word "BUSY" just for the heck of it.

Third, quotations. If you wanna quote somebody just for the kinks of it, then make sure the quotation has an impact, a striking X-factor that can make jaws drop. If your quotation is incapable of doing so, then, MAKE IT do so.

Well, those are just my opinions - blunt, straightforward and frank. (As always.)

After all...

Catherine Tan (Status Message):
*State: Full of opinions - strong ones. Mood: Intense. Mode: Aggressive. Mantra: The world is so full of pretense.*

Rip van Winkle

People say I'm losing weight and getting trim. I don't know if it's just because I wear more fitted clothes unlike back then (which I realize now, are one size bigger than my normal size). Or if it's because I'm REALLY losing weight.

I mean, how could I lose weight when all I ever do is sleep and eat (while listening to music, of course)? I don't know. I really don't. All I know is, I need to stop not doing my homework. I've already got a LOT of things piled up on my friggin' desk you know.

STUFF:
1. The Quest articles
2. Organize clutter in house (aka Filipino test papers, art materials, and magazines)
3. Stop flunking Math
4. Start reviewing for Chinese Math
5. Start reviewing for Chinese Lit aka Tsong Wen
6. Start reviewing for Chinese History aka Tsong He
7. Prepare for Eng. Quiz Bee on Oct. 20
8. Get my life straight


Oh. Now I know why I keep losing weight: It's because I'm stressed. When I'm stressed, I seek comfort food. And my comfort food happens to be taho (not the cheap ones you'd see lurking on the streets, you know).

Lawd Gawd. Just typing this makes me wanna got to bed.

Tired.

Crabsticks

It's 12:10 AM and my anxiety, as usual, is killing me.

Shittiness.


Of course, to suppress this anxiety thingy, I decided to lull myself to wikipedia. In doing so, I've come to terms with these three fat things:

1. neurosis
2. neurotic
3. neuroticism


I only read the first one because laziness loves me so much. The last two, however, made me not care about whatever the hell Wikipedia says. I am my own free encyclopedia!

Whatever, Wikipedia.

(LOL. Hey, I'm kidding here.)

1. neurosis - this is actually the opposite of psychosis. This is a PSYCHOLOGICAL DIRE PROBLEM okay? It's a personality disorder thingy.


2. neurotic - easy one. This defines me.


3. neuroticism - this is the noun form of what defines me. In short, it's not really a REAL psychological thingy like number 1, it is, however, what I consider to be a "STATE". This "STATE" is my STATE every single day so I don't know if you can still call it a state or a "LIFE".


See, this is how screwed I get. I used the word "thingy" more than two times (cue Fleur).

The ABC's of Life

And now I shall venture into teaching.

But before that, I shall give you a list of vocabulary words... make sure you understand them thoroughly, know them by heart, and apply them appropriately.

Voc. List # 1

1. responsibility - when I say something, I make it a point that I live up to it.

Example Sentence: Her damned friends failed to fulfill their responsibility to show up for a group meeting that should have had taken place last Wednesday.

2. friend - someone I can talk to anywhere, anyhow, anytime.

Example Sentence: She has very few friends because many of her old friends weren't friends at all.

Another Example Sentence: She doesn't want a "best friend", a "close friend" or a "best friend forever" - she just wants someone she can call a friend sans the quotation marks.

3. emo - someone who hates the world and is proud during that process

Example Sentence: All of her friends are emo.

4. friendless - someone whose friends resolved to abandonment

Example Sentence: She used to feel loved by her "close friends", but now feels friendless.

5. immaturity - "I am stupid and I don't know anything about the real world"

Example Sentence: Her friends succumb to immaturity and therefore she became friendless.

6. friendship - the most overrated abstract thing in the universe

Example Sentence: Her life is ruined by friendship.

7. frankness - what the world needs to be perfect; to accept the truth and to be the truth

Example Sentence: Her friends rejected any form of frankness.

8. listen - the ability to lend one's ears wholeheartedly to someone who is in the process of self-expression

Example Sentence: One thing her friends failed to do is to listen.

9. stupidity - the inability to think like a morally and emotionally intellectual human being.

Example Sentence: Her friends may be academically inclined, but if there's one thing they're really, really good at, it's stupidity.

10. smart - someone who knows life outside the Chemistry/Biology/Physics/Geometry/Trigonometry/ Chinese History/Chinese Literature books

Example Sentence: She has only one smart friend.

11. superficiality - "Look at me, I'm hot, I'm sexy, I'm fashionable, I'm perfect. I'm just like one of those girls you see on 'Girls Gone Wild'"; "Look at me, I watch TV shows all day and that's the only thing I care about - minus, of course, my perfect looks."; "I'm a party girl, in a party world."

Example Sentence: If there's one thing she doesn't want her friends to go into, it's superficiality (but sadly, it's too late).

12. human being - a creature that, in general, sees, thinks and feels the real side of things.

Example Sentence: Are her friends human beings?

Ran Out of Killer Punch Lines

Part of what I like so much about myself is my ability to see through people without thoroughly digesting them, thinking them up. Then it hit me today, when I'm mad at the world in a non-emo way for something (that "something" - a.k.a someone imitating ME which happens so dang frequently nowadays, a.k.a someone going all emo on me/the world, a.k.a someone who just plain pisses me off), I automatically spot their flaws.

Like if you're psychologically unhinged, for example. I can notice that when your status message in YM is seemingly a.) pretentious b.) constituent of words that one can hear from an "influential" person c.) constituent of a tinge of superiority complex d.) praising you in a way I can justify.

As of now, I've seen 3 people in YM whose psyche seems to me as psychologically unhinged.

Look, if you want to be "superior", make sure other "superiors" won't be able to find your flaws.


And I admit, I dedicate this post to only ONE of those 3 people. And I bet you, he won't be able to read this.

P.S. Come out, come out wherever you are!

The Bitch on the Bus: GoG Cat Fight

Just got home from the field trip. Tiring day...etc...etc. Will not focus on field trip. Will focus on the pissed-off field trip.

You see, when we got stranded on the bus, I started expressing my opinions to my classmates in the usual Catherine Way. If you do not know the "Catherine Way", well, just think of it as: aggressive, frank and straightforward (and not to mention very very very frank BUT not in a tactless way). Opinions about what, you ask? Well, opinions about how two people bond through what they HATE, not through what they LIKE. Obviously, I mentioned examples. I was all: "So if you hate stupid people, you have a mutual bond right there."

(Prior to that incident, some of our BUS MATES (will not say WHICH section) were whining, complaining, bitching and mewling over some random, trifle stuff. - that people at the front were not moving. This obviously ignited my dang neurotic nature so I guess you know where I extracted that Catherine Way.)

I blabbed on about the whole psychological research on HATE thingy until basically we started going down the dang stairs.

But all throughout the WHOLE thing, I had glimpses of this super small girl with shoulder-length hair. This girl was staring at me. And so I blabbed more because I know that her eyes contained judgment, and her eyes were scanning me from head to toe. - another tseture that suggestsed judgment. Besides, since Sophomore Year, I've been seeing this girl stare at me as if I'm: a.) a freakshow b.) Miley Cyrus c.) all of the above. Damn her. So I didn't give a damn - why the hell she did stare, I heck had no idea.

I was about to glare at her when I lunged at myself, grabbed myself by the neck and turned away. No glaring, Catherine. No catfights. No bitchiness on the bus.

But then she started whispering to her MORE glamorous friend. Obviously, the friend looked at me the same way you'd look at a barbarian. The same way you'd look at an outsider who is thrashing and trashing your friend.

I knew why and what she whispered - I heard, heck. (Bitch on the Bus doesn't know how to tone down her voice.)

She whispered that I was bitching on their section. Perhaps because their section was the one WHINING, COMPLAINING, BITCHING and MEWLING over some trifle stuff and at that time I was proclaiming my new HATE theories and just so happened, I mentioned the word "stupid". SO basically she thinks/thought/still is thinking that I am/was/still is bashing her section by calling 'em stupid!

Dang her. Bitch on the Bus ruined MY happy field trip.

And so she passed this judgment to the world.

You know if I were judgmental, I'd probably say - this girl is stupid, fugly, social climbing, slutty, short and ... have I mentioned FUGLY?

If I were tactless and uber mean, I'd probably say - "Hey, bitch, before you pass on judgment to others, look at yourself. What do you see? Besides, I demand a debate. A debate between you and me. And let's see who wins. Equipped with that brain of yours, I don't think you even know how to comprehend what it is that I say right now. Do you even understand English? Oh. Wait. My bad. I remember now - there's no such thing as stupid vs. smart. Simply incomparable. Go fug yourself and die." When I say stupid, I don't mean academically stupid. I don't mean mentall stupid either. When I say stupid, I MEAN STUPID as in "passing judgment", "jumping to conclusions" and simply "emotionally unhinged." When I say smart, I mean THOSE WHO KEEP THEIR MOUTHS SHUT.

If I basked on pride and pride alone, I'd probably scream (to the world): "I have a new principle. If you're stupid (stupid by way of the definitions stated above), you have no right to correct smart people. You're simply a waste of our effing time."

BUT NO.

I guess I'm not THAT worse.

So, instead of all those, I sit on my arse here, typing my hatred away...

...and hopefully, those three "if I's" would not come true to life. For if they do... we'll see who the bitch is.

The Tick and the Thinker

Some say it is a mortal sin - in the field of humanities - to admit or, proclaim - rather that you are part of the humanities. So if I say "Hey, I'm a writer", I should be condemned.

However, it is a mortal sin - in the field of academics - to admit or to proclaim that you are part of the academics. So if I say "Hey, I'm a writer therefore I'm automatically a thinker (and a feeler - but let's talk about this some other time)", I should be thrown into the limbo of what they call pit of the pride.

So how am I supposed to proclaim to the world what I truly am without sounding too abrasive, without seeming to proud? How am I supposed to tell the world that because I am a writer and a thinker, I think, act, and am different? How am I supposed to tell the world that because I am both a writer and a thinker, I have certain qualities that the half of the world deigns not to know?

How am I supposed to make known my true components - my characteristics, my insecurities, my traits, my everything?

Frankly, I do not know. I have answers ringing in my head - why? how? when? what? But I'm unsure of them.

One thing's for sure.

There are days when the Writing Syndrome completely cripples my system.

It's not writer's block but simply a neurotic-crap happy mode that writers switch into involuntarily. Yes, involuntarily.

Today and perhaps the whole span of 14 days prior, is one of those days. The Writing Syndrome days. That tick came to me by surprise. At first, I was unable to recognize it but later I realized how much I hated it and loved it at the same time - most of all, how at ease we were with each other.

It should be noted here that the Writing Syndrome makes one uneasy with the world.

Truly, it has made me feel as if I don't fit in. It made me want to switch worlds. Then, I remembered again: I'm suffering from the Writing Syndrome. This Syndrome... it makes me want to spend a whole month alone - just thinking, analyzing, writing and being me. This syndrome... symptoms include neuroticism, anxiety, ecstasy, elation, happiness, hypochondria and most of all: paranoia.

-to be continued-

YKWYA (You Know Who You Are)

My angst is more intense than the dire problems of the country. This is angst overridden. This is angst exposed - without fins, scales, skins or masks. This is MY angst. And I'll bequeath you with nothing, nothing at all except for this angst!

Did God intend his creations NOT to be made of the finest materials - not of marble, not of bronze, not of gold - BUT of the most rotten foibles? I doubt so for I highly respect God.

Do you intend to expunge superficiality - not propriety? I am questioning your choices. After all, you know what they say - it's your choices that show you who you are, far more than your abilities.

Dearest Friends,

I wanted to tell you a thousand things - a thousand things worth-knowing. Positive ones! Negative ones! But did you deign to listen? No. You said you didn't want to. It implied that you didn't want to get hurt. The problem is, I wasn't even trying to get you hurt in the first place. Even if I did, the positive after-effect would be: your strength not mine.

I've been a friend of yours for a long time now! Listening is the only gift I wanted you to present to me! It was the only gift I wanted - the gift I longed for as a kid, the gift I yearned to unwrap during Christmas or any given Sunday. But it was the one gift that you couldn't give me. I've helped you with a lot of things. I've helped you with your inner psyche. And all I wanted was for you to listen. Just please, please listen. If it wouldn't be too materialistic of me to bask under the light of this non-existent gift... But you didn't give me this gift. Perhaps it was too expensive? Perhaps...?

Our inconsistencies have left a huge gap on my outlook towards you. I don't like you anymore. It may sound like the most hypocritical thing but really - I don't like you anymore. I don't want to be with you. Even if I'd want to be with you, it's because of old times' sake. I don't really need old times' sake with someone who was "not there" since the old times, right?

The worst part is, the opposite just happened. Instead of me hurting you, you hurt me. Now I'm trying to drown any forms of life with my music.

When you come back, oh, I don't know. Will I be gone? Will I partake in this mutilated friendship? Will I sink? What will happen?

Nothing happens unless we talk. Unless you give me that gift.

But right now I don't think I want to take it anymore.

Happy

For some unknown reason, I'm actually happy today!

Screw the stuff I gotta do. I don't care. I'm gonna emblazon my happiness into this blog.

Happy happy joy joy....

Maybe it's because of my writer-friends.... Roy and the others :)

Maybe it's because of the blogosphere....






I don't know! I'm happy!

Coeur d'Coeurs (Heart of Hearts)

OMG I'm in love....

Call it puppy love, high school love... I don't care. It's love, nonetheless.

Everytime I think of this geeky (gorgeous) guy (he's a year my senior - someone who belongs to either of the star sections), my day brightens up. You know, I thought the whole "OOh, I saw my crush today, I'm happy!" was immature, stereotypical, cliched and cheesy. But it's actually true. It's like you see the guy you like and then... you just sort of daydream about him. Or admire his feats.

In my case, I adore his physical and mental feats. To be both a geek and a gorgeous guy is something that happens once in a blue moon.

I think I'm in love with him. That's because I rarely think of someone in this kind of intense manner. And knowing myself, well, I really like him.

He's just so perfect.

Now, if only he'd stop liking my big sister...

Random Rant

I miss Camille and Cha.

I used to be able to say anything I wanted to say without feeling guilty/making them feel guilty.

We used to have picnics during Chinese recess - and there was always Chuckie on the menu.

We used to shriek like crazy whenever we talked about girl stuff and Gossip Girl.

Cha was so oblivious - I had loved her for that. (I still do, actually)

Camille hated Chuckie. (She still does)

I miss Bea and Sexy.

I miss screaming with my friends. Urrgh.

I really could tell them ANYTHING I WANTED.

I could do anything I wanted.

I miss them.

I miss them.

I know they miss me too..

I love you two!

The Art of Plasticity

Perhaps if you are from the future and would care to read this, you would scorn me. You would throw me into the limbo of darkness, the limbo of hell, the limbo of an ageless, bottomless pit. That is because what you are about to read may contain the truth. The truth about plasticity - superficiality - the agonizing truth about the sins of mankind. Worse, you - future person - might be one of THEM. Well, how does this affect the future, anyhow?

You know what I say about the future - when past and present are intermingled, you yield the future. And if the past spawned superficial people all the worse, the present produced second-hand generations of the aforementioned species - the superficial and of course, when your present is nearly overflowing with superficiality and plasticity, the tendency is, you'd have a third-hand generation of modern plastics.

The sudden mass production of plastics must have been caused by major cultural, economical and industrial factors. However, if we really look at it, inner plasticity is caused by a personal urge to become something bigger than it already is.

These are the factors:

1. TV Shows - People tend to think that what they see on TV could be imitated within a snap of a finger. People also tend to think that they could pull off what they see on TV. THEY'RE ACTORS, OKAY?
2. Environmental Factors - Think clique, mindset, HOME (when you bond with your yaya...)
3. Self-perception
   

Let's use a "she". Plasticity is more prone to females in my case, anyway.

What is superficiality/plasticity in the first place?

Lemme explain. Superficiality is the art of being superficial. Let's be more elaborate. When you copy/imitate/plagiarize WTH (whatever the hell) it is on those Pinoy "kikay" (so hard for me to type the quoted word) commercials/ads, you're superficial. First off, it's okay TO be like them - BUT not to the extent of changing your whole persona into something completely negative and completely off. It just looks superficial okay? And no, I'm not being judgmental. I'm being...observant. One more thing, if you pose that "kikay" (had to swallow my tongue just to type the damned fugly quoted word) pose in pictures, which is obviously annoying *cue, widens eyes, flashes toothy grin, raises both eyebrows to make eyes elaborate, shifts angles to look unfat*, you're superficial. Or maybe I could be less harsh: that event is superficial. If you meet someone and automatically as if you've seen each other before the cambrian period of human life, you are superficial. If you are trying to be something you aren't, you're superficial.


There are other definitions - MANY definitions. Listing them one by one would take me all night. And even all morning.

What is plasticity? Oh God. I don't need to explain this. Smart people get what this means.

*Plasticity is a form of superficiality.

Oh, and plasticity is also this: the act of saying "hi"or "hello" to someone you have absolutely no amor for. It's okay to say hi and hello to someone you have a love-hate relationship with - but with someone you absolutely HATE? You're plastic - go geta life. If you remain plastic with that person despite her confrontations, you are the absolute goddess of plasticity. If you remain plastic with a certain person just because YOU fear of losing, you are still plastic. If you remain plastic with a certain person just because you "don't want any fights", then you're not only plastic, but you're also stupid. Oh WTF, you disgust me, get away from me!

What causes someone to weart that mask of plasticity? Is it all that make-up? Is it all those nasty concealers that don't really conceal anything to the cunning ones? Partly yes. Is it her clothes? Her trying hard, second-grade clothes? Partly yes. Is it her smile? YES. A BIG FAT YES. Look, if you're gonna be plastic - don't make it obvious, damn you! Unless you're really stupid, you can pull a plastic move - heck, a PLASTIC SMILE. If you're going to smile, smile naturally. Yours is just so fake!

-to be continued-

Comeback

To drive away all the negative chakra in my blog, I present to you someone else's not-so-negative blog. Guess who!


Lindsay Lohan.


It's her official blog. And dare I say this, sure she has grammatical mistakes but at least she WRITES.

I wanna quote her (this made me laugh like hell!): "Oh, and...Hint Hint Pali Pal- Don't pose for anymore tabloid covers, you're not a celebrity, you're running for office to represent our, your, my COUNTRY! And in the words of Pamela Anderson, 'She can suck it'.."

Here's the URL if you wanna read the whole thing: LL


Can't believe I'm still a fan, after all the drama.