As I was looking around in my room, thinking I’ll write about how everyone’s room tells something about each of us, I took an isolated concern about an old arm chair in the corner of my room.
Year: early 2000’s. I was riding my yellow bike, my Rocky Road, down a street one day, when a comfy arm chair took my attention briefly off the road. I slowed down, rubber on rubber. A complete stop and the grandfather chair overcame me. I rode over to it and looked around. There was no one else out on the road – just me, my bike and old stuffy here, on the curb. The arm chair smelled like pure furniture, vacuumed up and ready for takers. I was becoming one of them.
I rode home, excited with the chair in my mind. Where would I put it? In the sala or the area right before the den? It would feel as comfy as itself, in our house. Why were they parting with you? . . .
Later that day, my Dad got home and I told him about the arm chair – aggrandizing recognition without even knowing it! It never knew it’s life was about to change. We got home and you sat in the space between kitchen and den. You are home now
You sat there only for a transient space in time. Who knew that’d happen? Who knew that I’d call you the brother of Jack? Jack. He’s the other arm chair we saved off the curb. We like our arm chairs! But now you sit still, in the corner of my room. Once used for sitting pleasures (and still used that way in parties), you are now used for a different purpose – that of being the heart of my sportswear drying system. I overlook you everyday, without realizing what it would be like if you never entered my eyesight the first time I saw you. You are ol’ reliable in my eyes and you sit there like a routine walk through old pages.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Life keeps Slapping Me in the Face with Chances
Okay, so I didn’t win anything in the short story competition – but at least now I have a short story up my sleeve that I can pull out for any magic trick conversation or resume beautification. Now I can say that I wrote a short story and that I will be writing another one and another one and another one, until I win something from this seemingly destined competition (in my eyes). And each rejection solidifies a practice round. I guess it’s a win-win situation with two different shaped trophies, but with the same name etched in it over and over again with each trial.
Switching gears a bit; these past couple of days I feel my life has been spared. Thank you God and thank you for those who helped to spare it. The first exempt from death or serious injury occurred beyond the guarding walls of safety enclosing my house. I was in the city with Steph – the place of awarefulness, or is it? We were about to cross the street just as the walk sign lit up. But I didn’t see the biker making a turn on the curb I just got off of to cross the street. Steph stopped me on time so that the biker just barely had a chance to graze any part of me. He must have been going more than 20 miles per hour. I heard him. He was about to say or yell out something, but when he briefly saw that I wasn’t harmed, he suppressed it squeezing out a high pitch grunt. I didn’t really realize what had happened until I was on the other side of the street. Steph had saved my life.
The second time I was excused from death was when I had my little adventurous accident while practicing muay thai with Kuya. I was switching into the left roudnhouse kick, but I inadvertently lifted off the ground and flipped so that I landed on my front, horizontally – similar to a belly flop on a wooden floor, covered by a rug. I was lucky enough not to have my head hit the floor in an odd and potentially deadly position. I was lucky enough not to have my any of my legs or arms land in a way that they’d get broken or severely injured. By the end of that day, I just felt really lucky – that I was alive and able to laugh about it. But I’m sort of the kind of person who thinks everything is destined to happen thanks to the man upstairs. So I knew that he got my back on this one and allowed me to shrugged it off and laugh. Thanks.
Switching gears a bit; these past couple of days I feel my life has been spared. Thank you God and thank you for those who helped to spare it. The first exempt from death or serious injury occurred beyond the guarding walls of safety enclosing my house. I was in the city with Steph – the place of awarefulness, or is it? We were about to cross the street just as the walk sign lit up. But I didn’t see the biker making a turn on the curb I just got off of to cross the street. Steph stopped me on time so that the biker just barely had a chance to graze any part of me. He must have been going more than 20 miles per hour. I heard him. He was about to say or yell out something, but when he briefly saw that I wasn’t harmed, he suppressed it squeezing out a high pitch grunt. I didn’t really realize what had happened until I was on the other side of the street. Steph had saved my life.
The second time I was excused from death was when I had my little adventurous accident while practicing muay thai with Kuya. I was switching into the left roudnhouse kick, but I inadvertently lifted off the ground and flipped so that I landed on my front, horizontally – similar to a belly flop on a wooden floor, covered by a rug. I was lucky enough not to have my head hit the floor in an odd and potentially deadly position. I was lucky enough not to have my any of my legs or arms land in a way that they’d get broken or severely injured. By the end of that day, I just felt really lucky – that I was alive and able to laugh about it. But I’m sort of the kind of person who thinks everything is destined to happen thanks to the man upstairs. So I knew that he got my back on this one and allowed me to shrugged it off and laugh. Thanks.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
My first writing challenge - the finish line awaits but who wins?
I have big news to share!
Earlier on last semester, I was informed by the head of the English department in Stony Brook about a short story contest – the Lorian Hemingway short story competition, to be exact. The rules were that we had to write a short story, shorter than 3,000 words. We were not limited to any themes and we could write about anything, so long as it turned into a story. The story was due on May 1, with a 12 dollar fee or 17 dollar fee if you handed it in late (post marked from May 2 to May 15). This means that I had to create a short story by the end of the semester. Needless to say, I took advantage of my rainy spring break and nightly interims between sleep and wakefulness. Just as Hobbes said in his Leviathan, everything first comes from the imagination. There have been many times during the semester where I thought about what my story should be about. I was influenced by my surroundings. The numerous overcasts and songs that I felt were fitting for overcast days helped me produce one of the central aspects of my short story (the setting in fact, and ineluctably everything that falls under that). The prospect of a looming summer helped to set the setting in my story as well. Overall, during the whole semester leading up to my spring break, I had a short story in my mind. When my spring break came, I was on a mission – that of consolidating all my thoughts into words. I came into the spring break like a bundle of corn kernels and came out as an exploding bag of hot, freshly popped popcorn. Right before May 1, I mailed it in with the 12 dollar fee in the hopes of making a profit equivalent to the difference of 1000 and 12 or 500 and 12.
I’m warming up to the big news!
The guidelines in the Lorian Hemingway short story competition website, stated that the first prize winner will get $1000. Second and third prized winners will receive $500 each. There will also be a whole bunch of honors. I’m guessing that means plaques. Plaques are good. I’m hoping to win the first prize, but then again, this competition is international. She and other “judges” have read over a thousand short stories in the past couple of months. If not first place, then I want second or third. I would be happy with an honor plaque, but I really want first, second or third.
Now comes the big news!
Tonight at 3:00 am, Lorian Hemingway will choose the winners! I really hope I win at least something. The awards ceremony is going to take place all the way down in Key West, Florida. I don’t know if I’ll go over there to get any possible awards because that would mean spending my whole prize money going there and getting back or lose money if I get a plaque. Still, it’d be nice if I win something.
Earlier on last semester, I was informed by the head of the English department in Stony Brook about a short story contest – the Lorian Hemingway short story competition, to be exact. The rules were that we had to write a short story, shorter than 3,000 words. We were not limited to any themes and we could write about anything, so long as it turned into a story. The story was due on May 1, with a 12 dollar fee or 17 dollar fee if you handed it in late (post marked from May 2 to May 15). This means that I had to create a short story by the end of the semester. Needless to say, I took advantage of my rainy spring break and nightly interims between sleep and wakefulness. Just as Hobbes said in his Leviathan, everything first comes from the imagination. There have been many times during the semester where I thought about what my story should be about. I was influenced by my surroundings. The numerous overcasts and songs that I felt were fitting for overcast days helped me produce one of the central aspects of my short story (the setting in fact, and ineluctably everything that falls under that). The prospect of a looming summer helped to set the setting in my story as well. Overall, during the whole semester leading up to my spring break, I had a short story in my mind. When my spring break came, I was on a mission – that of consolidating all my thoughts into words. I came into the spring break like a bundle of corn kernels and came out as an exploding bag of hot, freshly popped popcorn. Right before May 1, I mailed it in with the 12 dollar fee in the hopes of making a profit equivalent to the difference of 1000 and 12 or 500 and 12.
I’m warming up to the big news!
The guidelines in the Lorian Hemingway short story competition website, stated that the first prize winner will get $1000. Second and third prized winners will receive $500 each. There will also be a whole bunch of honors. I’m guessing that means plaques. Plaques are good. I’m hoping to win the first prize, but then again, this competition is international. She and other “judges” have read over a thousand short stories in the past couple of months. If not first place, then I want second or third. I would be happy with an honor plaque, but I really want first, second or third.
Now comes the big news!
Tonight at 3:00 am, Lorian Hemingway will choose the winners! I really hope I win at least something. The awards ceremony is going to take place all the way down in Key West, Florida. I don’t know if I’ll go over there to get any possible awards because that would mean spending my whole prize money going there and getting back or lose money if I get a plaque. Still, it’d be nice if I win something.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
My musical profile
Fortunately I was exposed to music at the callow age of 10. I played the flute for one year in the 4th grade and didn’t really like it as much as I thought I would. I wanted out and so I got out. Instead, at the time, I was influenced by the harmonic voices of Nsync and the Backstreet Boys. I joined chorus at the pressings of an old friend, Nina. I was nervous at first because that would obviously mean I would have to sing. But fickle I was and I stayed on that road ever since – or at least until I was a senior in high school. Overall, I was in chorus from 5th grade to 12th grade. I can say that my singing has gotten significantly better – but then that would have to be my last lie for today. I guess I can spend it on this. No, I was an average singer, if not, less than average. I didn’t mind this at all, throughout the years. I just liked the atmosphere and the people in my chorus class. It was very friendly and encouraging. After a while, if someone made a mistake, others don’t make fun of him or her, they just acknowledge that mistake and move on because we all know each other already. Kind of like a big family working a boat using singing harmonies for communication. The teachers were the captains. And everyone loved the captains. Anyway, from the plethora of chorus classes and singing in harmony with the tenor, bass, soprano (and sometimes soprano 2s) and alto, I learned the basics of chords (triads) in solfege (using do re mi). I transferred and translated what I learned in chorus class, on the piano using my Dad’s fun machine – an organ piano that also plays a rather representative selection of different music styles (like ballroom dance music) with the middle c key not working (forever it will stubbornly remain silent!). I remember trying to play songs from my chorus class by ear because when I was in 8th grade, I still didn’t really know how to sight read. I would spend hours in the basement trying to learn some songs, struggling controlling my left hand and my right hand as separate parts of a whole – that is the song. My dad noticed this minor obsession I’ve been having in the basement and decided, when I was in 9th or 10th grade, to buy me a keyboard for $200 from Guitar Center. What was cool about it was that one of the main features of it was that it sounded like a real grand piano and had a sustain foot pedal. It was during my high school years that I produced some of my best works (in my opinion) using simple chords and rhythm patterns. I also recorded them, but they are now gone and I can’t remember them. I won’t point the finger because then I would just get heated again like the first time I found out I had lost them.
So the piano was the first instrument that I truly got into. Alongside with the piano, in high school was my interest in the drums. I first fell in love with the drums when I heard Keane’s album, Hope and Fears. I used my bed and turned it into a drum kit. The bass drum would be my bed, I would use a leather address book as the snare drum and a plastic bag tucked under a heavy book was a cymbal. The simplicity of this whole ordeal was and is evident but the ambitious passion was driving it all. And so it sounded good enough. Just as I struggled controlling my left hand separately from my right hand, I had the same issue with the drums. I listened to the same song over and over again – the first one being “Somewhere Only We Know”- concentrating on the drums part. I tried to listen to different parts of the drum and noticed that some parts were consistent while others followed a pattern. By the time I had been practicing this on my humble makeshift drum set for a year, I got used to it and started to play different drum sequences that I heard most frequently in different songs of Keane. I actually got excited to do homework in my room on my desk, because I knew that if I got bored, I could just turn to my drumming for a song or two. The piano would have been in the basement where it was often too cold for my liking.
The guitar was one of the more recent instruments that I decided to pick up. And I picked it up chiefly because of Jason Mraz. The youtube video of him in Dachkhammer and Rotterdam were the powder kegs that started my goal of learning the guitar. Of course, I’m still in the learning process of it, having been playing it for only 6 months now. I’d like to thank my dad for teaching me the basic chords and Kuya for giving me tips and answering my questions. One of the most helpful pieces of advice would have to be the one where Kuya told me to try to learn a lot of songs.
The most recent instrument that I chose is the djembe drum – also picked up because of Jason Mraz. From him, I found out about Toca Rivera, his back up singer and loyal friend who has an exceptional skill of harmonizing and djembe drumming. I started getting into the djembe drum, in my first year of college, I think. Just as I made a drum set out of my bed and other household items, I made a small djembe drum out of an empty can of peanuts. The first song I attempted was Jason’s “Tonight, not again.” Since the song on the CD doesn’t really have a djembe drum section (at least I don’t think; not until the end), I made up my own pattern that I applied. I would come home from school at around 1:30 because I chose to have all morning classes. Steph would be in school and Ate Sherry would still be in school in Stony Brook. Kuya lived in the city and my Dad still had work in the city and my Mom would go to work at around 2:30. Faced with a whole day to accomplish homework, I first turned my attention to Jason’s CD, Waiting for my Rocket to Come. I would play the drums for some of his songs like “Too Much Food” and then I would play the djembe drum for “Tonight, not again.” Then one night, I found out about the song, “Zero Percent.” That’s my favorite song of all time. It took me a year and a half to finally understand the djembe drum pattern for that song. I still didn’t get the middle part though. Eventually and ineluctably word got out about my playing on a peanut can. Rather, my parents heard me playing on it late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. Then came my 20th birthday. I asked for a djembe drum and Kuya bought one for me. I did my research about different kinds and kept emailing my Dad and Kuya different ones that I would prefer, form ebay.com during my free time in school. In fact, after my WRI101 class from 8:20 to 9:40 in the morning, I would go to the library and look up information about djembe drums and how to play it. Thank you Kuya, for my first djembe drum. Just as I transferred and translated what I learned from chorus class to the piano, I translated and transferred what I’ve been practicing on the peanut can onto that djembe drum. It was a 6’’ djembe. I had to play it with my pointer fingers instead of my thumbs (which I used with my peanut can). Up until now, I’ve been trying to master “Zero Percent.” I was itching for a bigger djembe drum so that I can play “Zero Percent” at a lower pitch like the real song. Therefore, with hindsight, I see that practicing on the smaller djembe drum helped me learn valuable skills for the 10’’ djembe drum that I just bought a couple of weeks ago. This one was an advanced birthday present from my parents because it’s on sale right now and probably won’t be come next November. At first when I bought it, I was honest to goodness scared because I didn’t know how to really hit it or if the way I was hitting it was correct or not. I even had regrets. But I told myself that I was tired of having regrets – some more personal than others – and I wanted to master this one. I stuck with it and every time I practiced it, a new revelation opened up right before my eyes. I learned by instinct which sound sounded right and which ones didn't. Oh yeah, did I mention how I learned how to tune a djembe drum from my first one. Well one of the first things I did with the new, bigger one was tuning it. That helped a lot. The sounds were more concrete and focused. As of right now, I’m practicing a difficult feat with the djembe: a muffled slap. I would have to deftly place one of my hands on the center quietly while I slap the side of it.
The djembe drum and The Killers (who I started listening to since last winter) turned me back to drumming. I had learned how to do the bass drum with the same hand that does the snare drum, but I know that that is incorrect and limiting (and easy!). I should use a foot pedal, which is really hard because I’d have to be well coordinated. Only now am I practicing using a foot pedal. For this reason, I respect any drummer who is average or above. I’ll give more respect for those who are not quite there but have the passion for smahin’.
If there’s one thing that I’m grateful for, it’s for the gift of music. Both my music and (more importantly) the music I listen to and am influenced by. I’m grateful for my Dad and Kuya and Steph as well as other family members for encouraging me to continue in my musical pursuits and putting up with my sounds late at night. I’d like to thank Mrs. Rahmani and Mrs. Frankonis for inspiring me to learn music – not just the notes on the page, but also the literary aspect of it. I don’t think anyone will know how surprised I am at how far I’ve come in my musical world, by my humble standards. And I’m thankful for it. I’ll take what I have so far and hopefully improve and enhance it so that I may share it somehow. My next goals are to have piano lessons and a drum set. We'll see what happens.
So the piano was the first instrument that I truly got into. Alongside with the piano, in high school was my interest in the drums. I first fell in love with the drums when I heard Keane’s album, Hope and Fears. I used my bed and turned it into a drum kit. The bass drum would be my bed, I would use a leather address book as the snare drum and a plastic bag tucked under a heavy book was a cymbal. The simplicity of this whole ordeal was and is evident but the ambitious passion was driving it all. And so it sounded good enough. Just as I struggled controlling my left hand separately from my right hand, I had the same issue with the drums. I listened to the same song over and over again – the first one being “Somewhere Only We Know”- concentrating on the drums part. I tried to listen to different parts of the drum and noticed that some parts were consistent while others followed a pattern. By the time I had been practicing this on my humble makeshift drum set for a year, I got used to it and started to play different drum sequences that I heard most frequently in different songs of Keane. I actually got excited to do homework in my room on my desk, because I knew that if I got bored, I could just turn to my drumming for a song or two. The piano would have been in the basement where it was often too cold for my liking.
The guitar was one of the more recent instruments that I decided to pick up. And I picked it up chiefly because of Jason Mraz. The youtube video of him in Dachkhammer and Rotterdam were the powder kegs that started my goal of learning the guitar. Of course, I’m still in the learning process of it, having been playing it for only 6 months now. I’d like to thank my dad for teaching me the basic chords and Kuya for giving me tips and answering my questions. One of the most helpful pieces of advice would have to be the one where Kuya told me to try to learn a lot of songs.
The most recent instrument that I chose is the djembe drum – also picked up because of Jason Mraz. From him, I found out about Toca Rivera, his back up singer and loyal friend who has an exceptional skill of harmonizing and djembe drumming. I started getting into the djembe drum, in my first year of college, I think. Just as I made a drum set out of my bed and other household items, I made a small djembe drum out of an empty can of peanuts. The first song I attempted was Jason’s “Tonight, not again.” Since the song on the CD doesn’t really have a djembe drum section (at least I don’t think; not until the end), I made up my own pattern that I applied. I would come home from school at around 1:30 because I chose to have all morning classes. Steph would be in school and Ate Sherry would still be in school in Stony Brook. Kuya lived in the city and my Dad still had work in the city and my Mom would go to work at around 2:30. Faced with a whole day to accomplish homework, I first turned my attention to Jason’s CD, Waiting for my Rocket to Come. I would play the drums for some of his songs like “Too Much Food” and then I would play the djembe drum for “Tonight, not again.” Then one night, I found out about the song, “Zero Percent.” That’s my favorite song of all time. It took me a year and a half to finally understand the djembe drum pattern for that song. I still didn’t get the middle part though. Eventually and ineluctably word got out about my playing on a peanut can. Rather, my parents heard me playing on it late at night when I was supposed to be sleeping. Then came my 20th birthday. I asked for a djembe drum and Kuya bought one for me. I did my research about different kinds and kept emailing my Dad and Kuya different ones that I would prefer, form ebay.com during my free time in school. In fact, after my WRI101 class from 8:20 to 9:40 in the morning, I would go to the library and look up information about djembe drums and how to play it. Thank you Kuya, for my first djembe drum. Just as I transferred and translated what I learned from chorus class to the piano, I translated and transferred what I’ve been practicing on the peanut can onto that djembe drum. It was a 6’’ djembe. I had to play it with my pointer fingers instead of my thumbs (which I used with my peanut can). Up until now, I’ve been trying to master “Zero Percent.” I was itching for a bigger djembe drum so that I can play “Zero Percent” at a lower pitch like the real song. Therefore, with hindsight, I see that practicing on the smaller djembe drum helped me learn valuable skills for the 10’’ djembe drum that I just bought a couple of weeks ago. This one was an advanced birthday present from my parents because it’s on sale right now and probably won’t be come next November. At first when I bought it, I was honest to goodness scared because I didn’t know how to really hit it or if the way I was hitting it was correct or not. I even had regrets. But I told myself that I was tired of having regrets – some more personal than others – and I wanted to master this one. I stuck with it and every time I practiced it, a new revelation opened up right before my eyes. I learned by instinct which sound sounded right and which ones didn't. Oh yeah, did I mention how I learned how to tune a djembe drum from my first one. Well one of the first things I did with the new, bigger one was tuning it. That helped a lot. The sounds were more concrete and focused. As of right now, I’m practicing a difficult feat with the djembe: a muffled slap. I would have to deftly place one of my hands on the center quietly while I slap the side of it.
The djembe drum and The Killers (who I started listening to since last winter) turned me back to drumming. I had learned how to do the bass drum with the same hand that does the snare drum, but I know that that is incorrect and limiting (and easy!). I should use a foot pedal, which is really hard because I’d have to be well coordinated. Only now am I practicing using a foot pedal. For this reason, I respect any drummer who is average or above. I’ll give more respect for those who are not quite there but have the passion for smahin’.
If there’s one thing that I’m grateful for, it’s for the gift of music. Both my music and (more importantly) the music I listen to and am influenced by. I’m grateful for my Dad and Kuya and Steph as well as other family members for encouraging me to continue in my musical pursuits and putting up with my sounds late at night. I’d like to thank Mrs. Rahmani and Mrs. Frankonis for inspiring me to learn music – not just the notes on the page, but also the literary aspect of it. I don’t think anyone will know how surprised I am at how far I’ve come in my musical world, by my humble standards. And I’m thankful for it. I’ll take what I have so far and hopefully improve and enhance it so that I may share it somehow. My next goals are to have piano lessons and a drum set. We'll see what happens.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
text messages
As a literate person, I read words everyday. Different kinds of words in different contexts buffet me right as I start my day with breakfast. Needless to say words are a source of media for communication. They help provide information, amuse the bored or teach the wonderers. And these words come in a variety of forms. They can be books, magazines, newspapers, advertisements, essays or letters; more recently they can be organized in an assortment of internet websites, like this blog, or texts on a cell phone.
And to think the first “words” were cavemen drawings on the walls of primordial caves! Today’s world has advanced quite remarkably over the past hundreds of centuries (which would be when human beings starting walking on Earth); since the Earth was born, really, void at first of the human species. But born we were, as social beings, with a penchant for family unity, and eventually politics. We’ve instinctively realized the importance of communication with each other and today we see this in the form of technology such as text messages.
My cell phone had been reminding me, constantly, that my text messages memory was getting full and I needed to delete some messages. Of course I didn’t want to sterilize my whole inbox because there were some messages worth keeping – chiefly to provide me with entertainment, if and when I am bored. Looking back at them now, I see how funny they seem! Some of them take me back to conversations I had and some of them are so random, I don’t even remember what the topic was. It’s just funny to see them again. Some of you may remember the inside joke they’re related to. Here are a few:
From or relating to The Office:
Steph: I’m gonna kill myself and it’s ur fault!
Steph: Oh my god dwight . . . I mean bern
Steph: I’m watching the Office and its so funny
Relating to tennis:
Steph: Its ok shell pull though [I’m guessing she’s talking about Serena or Venus]
Kenneth: Omg roddick [Wimbledon finals]
Kenneth: Omg keep me updated I have to go to work FML [Wimbledon finals]
Kenneth: All William’s final!
Kenneth: the score was 6-1, 6-0 venus
Kenneth: Omg I beat my first opponent in tennis
Of or relating to Scrubs:
Steph: Hey number one
Steph: I found a way to make u number 1 cuz that is what u are
Of or relating to movies: (Let’s see if you can guess the movie)
Ate Sherry: One missed call. [but it was a text!]
Holidays:
Kuya: Happy 4th of july to you bernie!
Steph: I can have 2 valentines!
Kuya: Happy v day.
Steph: Ok. Thanks valentine! And did u tell them?
Steph: happy St. Patty’s day!
Andrew: Happy Easter.
Random:
Daddy: Hi Bern [he was standing two feet away from me]
Steph: It was ate maco
Daddy: Hi
Kuya: What happened?!?!?!?!?
Kuya: Kuya . . . . oyyyyyyy u didn’t save my number from last time?!
Kuya: Bern!!!!!!!
Kuya: Bern!!!! Hello?!
Steph: Made my day possible! Bye home girl
Ate Sherry: Hello darling
Steph: HAHAHA that’s so random
Ate Sherry: If only.
Steph: for sure
Kuya: U mean lolo Arthur. Hahaha. Not Tito.
Steph: I like lucida bright
Steph: I’m watching nate robinson on youtube . . .
Ate Sherry: Coming I went to buy fancy pants
Steph: C!
Steph: Hah u were hilarious last night!
Steph: Ur welcome a kajillion!
Steph: I was just roasted. Bye
Steph: Okie
Ate Sherry: Rude!
Kuya: Tanks Bern!!!
Steph: THANKS BERN!
Steph: Amanda
Ate Sherry: Meet me at the housie in south p lot at 5 45 if I’m bringing u home!
Kiersten: someone got caught cheating during my quiz today! Haha!
Kiersten: ehhhh? Wow. U def deserved that $25 [when I ate a teaspoon of wasabe for 25 bucks]
Kiersten: yeah. I would too! Kudos for having the guts to even try!
Steph: Tanks ben! [mommy calls me ben instead of Bern because of her accent] I’m gonna buy u candy what do u want its free!
Steph: Ty. I have candy 4 u
Kuya: I’m sorry . . . But who is this?
Steph: You too bernbunny
Ate Sherry: Earth stock day . . . live a little!
Kuya: LOL. Bern. That’s gross. You need to shower.
Steph: k ty bernchilada
Steph: What does vicarious mean?
Kenneth: Hey u!
Steph: Lol hey dirty birdy!
Steph: Lol! Yeah we did!
Steph: Ok haha tito al
Steph: what’s madre doing?
Kuya: Deposit slip?!
Steph: I wuv you!
Kuya: I miss all of you too. I’m at the gym with Kevin and GREG! [he’s finally back!]
Reaction to Michael Jackson’s death:
Ate Sherry: How? Also can u dvr so u thnk u can dance 4 me?
Kuya: What?!?! How?!?!
Steph: I know! I heard! How is mommy? Lol
Kuya: I see. Are you sad. I am.
On Ate Sherry’s graduation:
Steph: Do u want anythin? Its boring ark sean ie he wants to leave!
Reacting to when Mommy lost her job in these economic hard times:
Kuya: Oh so daddy knows?
Kuya: Are u home? Is mommyok?
Kuya: Bern . . . no time for your comedic shenanigans!!! Is mother ok?
Kuya: I see. I will call her later. When I get home from work.
Daddy: I love U n Ur optimism. Hope is the key word and that is what we have. Dad
Kuya: You sure mommy has no regrets?
I’m just saying that there are so many ways you can express yourself and commuinciate with others and in a way, those conversations, no matter how little they may be, show what’s going on in the world and in your world.
And to think the first “words” were cavemen drawings on the walls of primordial caves! Today’s world has advanced quite remarkably over the past hundreds of centuries (which would be when human beings starting walking on Earth); since the Earth was born, really, void at first of the human species. But born we were, as social beings, with a penchant for family unity, and eventually politics. We’ve instinctively realized the importance of communication with each other and today we see this in the form of technology such as text messages.
My cell phone had been reminding me, constantly, that my text messages memory was getting full and I needed to delete some messages. Of course I didn’t want to sterilize my whole inbox because there were some messages worth keeping – chiefly to provide me with entertainment, if and when I am bored. Looking back at them now, I see how funny they seem! Some of them take me back to conversations I had and some of them are so random, I don’t even remember what the topic was. It’s just funny to see them again. Some of you may remember the inside joke they’re related to. Here are a few:
From or relating to The Office:
Steph: I’m gonna kill myself and it’s ur fault!
Steph: Oh my god dwight . . . I mean bern
Steph: I’m watching the Office and its so funny
Relating to tennis:
Steph: Its ok shell pull though [I’m guessing she’s talking about Serena or Venus]
Kenneth: Omg roddick [Wimbledon finals]
Kenneth: Omg keep me updated I have to go to work FML [Wimbledon finals]
Kenneth: All William’s final!
Kenneth: the score was 6-1, 6-0 venus
Kenneth: Omg I beat my first opponent in tennis
Of or relating to Scrubs:
Steph: Hey number one
Steph: I found a way to make u number 1 cuz that is what u are
Of or relating to movies: (Let’s see if you can guess the movie)
Ate Sherry: One missed call. [but it was a text!]
Holidays:
Kuya: Happy 4th of july to you bernie!
Steph: I can have 2 valentines!
Kuya: Happy v day.
Steph: Ok. Thanks valentine! And did u tell them?
Steph: happy St. Patty’s day!
Andrew: Happy Easter.
Random:
Daddy: Hi Bern [he was standing two feet away from me]
Steph: It was ate maco
Daddy: Hi
Kuya: What happened?!?!?!?!?
Kuya: Kuya . . . . oyyyyyyy u didn’t save my number from last time?!
Kuya: Bern!!!!!!!
Kuya: Bern!!!! Hello?!
Steph: Made my day possible! Bye home girl
Ate Sherry: Hello darling
Steph: HAHAHA that’s so random
Ate Sherry: If only.
Steph: for sure
Kuya: U mean lolo Arthur. Hahaha. Not Tito.
Steph: I like lucida bright
Steph: I’m watching nate robinson on youtube . . .
Ate Sherry: Coming I went to buy fancy pants
Steph: C!
Steph: Hah u were hilarious last night!
Steph: Ur welcome a kajillion!
Steph: I was just roasted. Bye
Steph: Okie
Ate Sherry: Rude!
Kuya: Tanks Bern!!!
Steph: THANKS BERN!
Steph: Amanda
Ate Sherry: Meet me at the housie in south p lot at 5 45 if I’m bringing u home!
Kiersten: someone got caught cheating during my quiz today! Haha!
Kiersten: ehhhh? Wow. U def deserved that $25 [when I ate a teaspoon of wasabe for 25 bucks]
Kiersten: yeah. I would too! Kudos for having the guts to even try!
Steph: Tanks ben! [mommy calls me ben instead of Bern because of her accent] I’m gonna buy u candy what do u want its free!
Steph: Ty. I have candy 4 u
Kuya: I’m sorry . . . But who is this?
Steph: You too bernbunny
Ate Sherry: Earth stock day . . . live a little!
Kuya: LOL. Bern. That’s gross. You need to shower.
Steph: k ty bernchilada
Steph: What does vicarious mean?
Kenneth: Hey u!
Steph: Lol hey dirty birdy!
Steph: Lol! Yeah we did!
Steph: Ok haha tito al
Steph: what’s madre doing?
Kuya: Deposit slip?!
Steph: I wuv you!
Kuya: I miss all of you too. I’m at the gym with Kevin and GREG! [he’s finally back!]
Reaction to Michael Jackson’s death:
Ate Sherry: How? Also can u dvr so u thnk u can dance 4 me?
Kuya: What?!?! How?!?!
Steph: I know! I heard! How is mommy? Lol
Kuya: I see. Are you sad. I am.
On Ate Sherry’s graduation:
Steph: Do u want anythin? Its boring ark sean ie he wants to leave!
Reacting to when Mommy lost her job in these economic hard times:
Kuya: Oh so daddy knows?
Kuya: Are u home? Is mommyok?
Kuya: Bern . . . no time for your comedic shenanigans!!! Is mother ok?
Kuya: I see. I will call her later. When I get home from work.
Daddy: I love U n Ur optimism. Hope is the key word and that is what we have. Dad
Kuya: You sure mommy has no regrets?
I’m just saying that there are so many ways you can express yourself and commuinciate with others and in a way, those conversations, no matter how little they may be, show what’s going on in the world and in your world.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
The American Dream
This summer is the summer of the American dream. Before I move on to elucidate what I mean by this, I should stipulate what I mean by American dream. The American dream, I believe, is something explicitly and implicitly explicit. Hmph! How can something be explicitly explicit? That would mean that that something is extremely obvious. Perhaps I should say that the American dream is a prevalent feeling that is explicitly and implicitly felt in America starting in the late 20th century and into the 21st century. Having the American dream is the sense of being expected to accomplish a feat called success – which has its own ambiguities in its meaning. Success is measured differently by different people. What is success to me? I guess I could say that success is simply accomplishing your goals the way you want to, no matter how small or big or many or few. So long as you know that trying to accomplish those goals was worthwhile, even if you failed. According to Ralph Emerson’s poem, “Success” Success is
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
I agree with him on most parts particularly the part where he says success is to leave the world a bit better. Some simply say that success is to be happy in the end after all has come and gone. The great historian, Herodotus , who fused so fluently history, mythology and religion wrote a short story which was one of Solon’s meeting with Croesus. In it are the profound and revealing admonitions to Solon: “Never count a person happy, until dead,” or in other words, “the happiness of human life cannot be judged until the entire span of that life has been lived, and death is to be preferred to the vicissitudes of life.” Indeed, success, if one thinks of it to be a finale of happiness, would have to be judged at the end of one’s time.
If that’s success, then why is it called “American”? Well, the “American” part adds a tinge of nationalism.
So, so far I explained success and the American dream and how they interlock. How do they have to do with the movies and novels I watched and almost read (I didn’t finish the novel, in fact, I’m still in the beginning)? The American dream or success, as I will now denote it as, is an expectation that I have observed as I watched movies and almost read novels epitomizing the so called dram that only a few really reached.
The protagonists in Revolutionary Road came so close to this dream – too close – that they ended up destroying it. They almost left for Paris to reach the American dream, which for me is ironic because they would have earned that dream, that success, in a different country. But that’s just my take on it. In the end, their dream – one of Utopian ideals – dissolved through loud and dramatic, table-turning fights.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a bit of a stretch from the American dream theme. But things will iron out as I continue to unfold meanings. Benjamin Button’s case is as the title suggests curious. But it is at the same time paradoxically revealing. It is curious because of his physiological nature, yet revealing through his case’s nature in the context of Benjamin’s relationships with people he cares about. He’s grows younger, yet ages older. That’s not natural! So we would naturally expect his relationships and views on life to be tweaked and twisted to accommodate his complementing condition. So for him to measure his success he would have to see to it through a different window than most people. His case is the case that Solon tries to teach Croesus in Herodotus’ short story mentioned earlier. He would have to judge his success or happiness only after he dies. And when he does, what’s left is the desire of his dying daughter’s mother (his true best girlfriend – I don’t know if they ever got married) and his daughter’s realization of his whole existence and his personality, that is to say, his life through his eyes. And did he achieve the success that most Americans dream of? I would say yes. He seemed to have accepted – earlier on even – his condition, as did his best friend, by the time he died as a young but old baby.
I would explain how the Great Gatsby has to do with the American dream, but I have not yet finished reading it. Sorry!
I think the American dream is an interesting theme that can be played around with in so many different lights. It stretches our ideals on the human state and the human life and what there is to do in it. And I think that is important to contemplate on every once in a while
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.
I agree with him on most parts particularly the part where he says success is to leave the world a bit better. Some simply say that success is to be happy in the end after all has come and gone. The great historian, Herodotus , who fused so fluently history, mythology and religion wrote a short story which was one of Solon’s meeting with Croesus. In it are the profound and revealing admonitions to Solon: “Never count a person happy, until dead,” or in other words, “the happiness of human life cannot be judged until the entire span of that life has been lived, and death is to be preferred to the vicissitudes of life.” Indeed, success, if one thinks of it to be a finale of happiness, would have to be judged at the end of one’s time.
If that’s success, then why is it called “American”? Well, the “American” part adds a tinge of nationalism.
So, so far I explained success and the American dream and how they interlock. How do they have to do with the movies and novels I watched and almost read (I didn’t finish the novel, in fact, I’m still in the beginning)? The American dream or success, as I will now denote it as, is an expectation that I have observed as I watched movies and almost read novels epitomizing the so called dram that only a few really reached.
The protagonists in Revolutionary Road came so close to this dream – too close – that they ended up destroying it. They almost left for Paris to reach the American dream, which for me is ironic because they would have earned that dream, that success, in a different country. But that’s just my take on it. In the end, their dream – one of Utopian ideals – dissolved through loud and dramatic, table-turning fights.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is a bit of a stretch from the American dream theme. But things will iron out as I continue to unfold meanings. Benjamin Button’s case is as the title suggests curious. But it is at the same time paradoxically revealing. It is curious because of his physiological nature, yet revealing through his case’s nature in the context of Benjamin’s relationships with people he cares about. He’s grows younger, yet ages older. That’s not natural! So we would naturally expect his relationships and views on life to be tweaked and twisted to accommodate his complementing condition. So for him to measure his success he would have to see to it through a different window than most people. His case is the case that Solon tries to teach Croesus in Herodotus’ short story mentioned earlier. He would have to judge his success or happiness only after he dies. And when he does, what’s left is the desire of his dying daughter’s mother (his true best girlfriend – I don’t know if they ever got married) and his daughter’s realization of his whole existence and his personality, that is to say, his life through his eyes. And did he achieve the success that most Americans dream of? I would say yes. He seemed to have accepted – earlier on even – his condition, as did his best friend, by the time he died as a young but old baby.
I would explain how the Great Gatsby has to do with the American dream, but I have not yet finished reading it. Sorry!
I think the American dream is an interesting theme that can be played around with in so many different lights. It stretches our ideals on the human state and the human life and what there is to do in it. And I think that is important to contemplate on every once in a while
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