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.