A Letter Unsent [03]: To the girl with many stories

To the girl with many stories,

Over chicken nuggets, half-assed burgers, fries and sundaes inside the fastfood joint near our workplace, I listened to your many tales as I racked my mind for some to tell you in response. It had become a weekly ritual for us. We grab a bite after our shift and catch-up on the week that was. After this midnight meal, I would sit beside you on the sidewalk and wait for you to finish smoking a stick or two. We would then head back to the quarters, and talk for a couple more hours.

I think it's pretty amazing that we have become this comfortable with one another. You seemed so aloof when I first met you, not to mention stunning and confident. In fact, I think we're kind of at the opposite ends of the personality spectrum. I am old-fashioned and conscientious as hell while you seemed to be unmindfully living in your own world and all I wanted then was to talk to you about a mutual interest.

Was it the bus ride to the first event we attended together that made us click? Or was it the Christmas drinking party held in one of our teammate's place? You know I am not the type to take the first step when it comes to talking and befriending new people, and I am so glad you were a natural story-teller.

One time you asked me to accompany you somewhere inside the university where I'm studying. We ate lunch together and I was secretly proud then that my college-mates saw me hanging around with a pretty girl with flowing auburn hair. Over pasta, you told me stories--stories I never knew I'd get to hear first-hand, stories I never knew could happen to people I actually know of.

You might not have realized it but I was and still am overwhelmed with the trust you had for me as you told me about your anime recommendations, your opinion on the vocalist of a band we both love, the tales of your troubled years, your search for independence, your deep-rooted motives to prove yourself to your relatives and to the people around you, your frustrations on the people you are constantly with, your unrequited efforts for the person of your affection, your earnest desire and plans to be the daughter your parents would be proud of...

Time and again, you have proved to me that this society's prejudices are wrong more often than not. You embody this nonconforming individuality I had a hard time getting used to. But I eventually did (I hope) and I guess it's thanks to you that I have become more open-minded about how extremely different people can be from those I normally see and interact with.

You are indeed different from anybody else I know of. You almost always have a different way of seeing things, and most of the time you catch me by surprise with your opinions and manner of handling situations. Always, I look forward to listening to your stories and even if it's just the two of us together, we never run out of things to talk about. I remember trying to understand and respond to what you were telling me even in my half-asleep state at past three in the morning. Yes, you were that loquacious. Haha.

Deeply engrossed in conversations in the office after work, in your apartment with a few other friends, over a few drinks and the smoke from your cigarettes, inside movie theaters, on the streets to a convenience store to buy ice cream and coffee or on the way home late at night, or anywhere else we find ourselves together, we barely notice time passing us by. I even get to share with you thoughts I would not normally tell my other friends, and your way of thinking prompts me to reconsider my views on people, relationships, and life in general.

You have been always eager to share bits and pieces about the day you had or your thoughts on various things. I know you're smart but you sometimes make me worry that you could let your emotions get the better of you. Sometimes, you're like the wise old hermit I listen to and learn from. On other times, I wish I could just hit you on the head and make you realize things. Either way, we never fail to share stories whenever we can and it amazes me how much we have become a part of each others' lives.

I actually did not expect to be so engrossed in a stranger's life until I knew you. It's just a little over a year since we've been introduced and only months since we really became friends in the word's deeper sense. The thought of you leaving scares me even if I know you are bound to. (Well, we both are, actually.) You know I hate mushy stuff, and I just couldn't put it straight to the point that I don't want you to go as you plan. That's why I keep suggesting things you could possibly do here even if they're harder to accomplish instead of going back to where you're from which is more feasible and ultimately practical. I fervently hope it's not yet anytime soon and that your refusal to tell us exactly when is a sign that you're also having second thoughts.

We still do meet inside and outside work but a change of schedule and rules had disabled us to have our weekly ritual. Your shift now ends a couple of hours earlier so you usually go straight back to your apartment, while I go out and eat with a handful of our other teammates whose shifts end at the same time as mine.

However, no matter how fun and comfortable the others are to be with, I always prefer the relatively sedate midnight conversations we used to have as we traversed the utterly familiar street, leading us to our weekly dose of chicken nuggets, half-assed burgers, fries and hot fudge sundaes.

A Potterhead reflects, laments, rejoices

Last week, I decided to start re-watching all of the seven Harry Potter movies. In a month, the second part of the final installment will be released, and it would mean the ultimate end of the phenomenal series. There would be no more books nor films to look forward to anymore.

I don't think I am the only one in this kind of pinch--wanting to relieve and cling onto the past decade of magic, bravery and kindness, and at the same time dying to see the glorious end of the fantastic story we have followed since we were kids.

 I can not call myself the biggest Potter fan, but J.K Rowling's masterpiece had affected me in more ways than one. The series had rekindled my love for books, made me stay up until the wee hours of the early morning, created a venue for conversation with my friends. I clung on to each and every word, to every peculiar British expression, to every archaic- (and Latin-) sounding magical spell, to the excitingly different renditions of different familiar fictional creatures, to the fascinating characters as they made me care about their losses, triumphs, their (sometimes feeble attempts at) jokes, their peculiarities.

The adventures at and beyond Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry showed me just how boundless true friendships really are, how kindness comes in different sizes and appearances, how love can conquer the most difficult of odds, even death, how to accept tragic losses and keep level-headed in times of triumph, how to stand up against the powers that be, how to ward off nargles, among so many others.

 I am a part of the Potter generation and there's no use denying it. I was 11 when the first movie came out, and I could say that I have stuck with Harry until the very end, just as Ron and Hermione were constantly there for him even in the face of death. We are the generation that grew up looking up to the wisdom of Professor Dumbledore and cracking jokes along the lines of Fred and George Weasley. We have seen Luna not as a crazy teenage girl but as a dependable friend with a firm set of beliefs. Like the rest of the Wizarding World, we were scared of and awed with the power Voldemort held in his hands. We are taught to be in constance vigilance by Mad-Eye Moody, always on guard for surreptitious malevolence, and always prepared to do what's right.

 The books are a wonder to read. Rowling made it possible to turn everything we in the Muggle world deem as ordinary to magical. I have had my dose of laughter from her witty remarks and snides. My eyes welled up as she painted touching and heartbreaking scenes. I adore how she alluded to the real-world issues by way of characterizations and plot archs--Oh, Rita Skeeter! Oh, Dolores Umbridge! Oh, Ministry of Magic! And as an aspirant writer, I believe one of Rowling's greatest achievements from the series is her creation of fantastic settings--a world so different from our own, a world we want to be a part of, yet so familiar, so easy to understand.

This wondrous alternative world we got to see in the films, as the words and pages become cinematic elements combined to produce complete audio-visual experiences. As separate works of art, the film adaptations and the novels are different and comparing them is pointless. For me personally, the movies and the books are co-existent. It is hard for me to read the books and not imagine the Gryffindor common room as seen in the movies, or dissociate Rupert Grint from the character of Ron Weasley.

 Come July, Potter fans all over the world will prolly think so, too. We might have read about the end of the series already, for the first time almost four years ago. But within those four years, there were still the movies we go to the theaters for. It would would be a lot different this time. This will be the last time the cast, which we have come to associate with the characters we felt strongly about, would come together in the amazing world of wizards and Muggles alike.

I therefore think the screening of the second part Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is an event of a generation. We will hop on to platform nine and three quarters for the last time (and in my case, with a heavy heart). Along with the billowing smoke and the scarlet blur of the Hogwarts Express train speeding away, we shall send off the magical experiences of our childhood, waiting to be rediscovered.

And in between bouts of nostalgia, we live the lives outside the safe and guarded walls of the castle we know we could always go home to.

Finally, a book and the sound of the rain

School will start next week and I finally realized that I have to make the most of the remaining days of my (non-existent) vacation. After all the trouble and work from my internship stint, I finally get to sleep late and bond with my pillows and bed as much as I want to.

I seriously miss the me who would rather choose to read a book until the wee hours of the night rather than go online and spend countless hours doing pointless things. I think the last book I read and was able to finish was "The Phantom of the Opera" which I re-read last January. Looking at the classic titles I bought last December, I finally grabbed "Little Women" and began reading the tale of Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy.

I read the book without any notion of Louisa May Alcott's writing style, or what the story is all about. I just knew it's a beloved classic so I didn't expect it to be such an easy read. Half of me was wary of how stereotypical the writer's portrayal of women was--domestic and fragile at times. Half of me, on the other hand, was elated at how good-natured the characters were. I think the charm of "Little Women" lies in its notion of everything being dainty and pastoral, the girls being cultured and independent... and a good dose of Teddy Laurence along the way. Haha.

It's been so long since I huddled up in bed and read a book until 4 in the morning listening to the gently pattering rain. It was genuine bliss.

I hope that with the coming (final and probably stressful) academic year, I would still get to read more books than I was able to in 2010.

Good riddance?

Yesterday I was able to download my Friendster profile before the site closed today. Friendster is the first social network site I ever signed up for, and my stay there was probably the longest to date. I reckon that having an FS account is considered to be low-class during the last few years, and I myself had decided that it’s time to go when I couldn’t take how low-brow everything in the site seemed to be.

I signed up in 2005 when I was in high school, and the first message I received was from a former classmate in grade school. If that was not a good reason for joining, I don’t know what was. Friendster enabled me to get in touch with people I hadn’t seen in ages. It’s such a cliché, but I think we all have to start somewhere.

Some time after, Friendster’s system allowed the users to create and modify the designs of their respective profiles. The way every profile looked, which used to be uniform, therefore became as varied (and as crazy) as the personality of their owners. Some had their layout in all-black, some had huge glittery images as design, some had their font colors changed into neon shades. Most of these profiles then, if not all, became eyesore to me. People can be as wonky as their Friendster profiles and I cringed.

Then there’s the testimonials, statements given by “friends” posted on one’s profile describing the user. It was a good interaction activity then, in an ego-boosting sort of way. It enabled one to know how others perceive him/her, and posting testimonials was like a correspondence. Friendster then changed the purpose of the “testi,” and changed the term to “comments.” It was therefore not necessary to say something about the profile owner when one posts. Anything and everything was acceptable. It got on my nerve when people demanded testimonials/comments just so their profiles would have more posts. In the end, it became a popularity contest.

Like most of my online social networking phases (there would probably be around three), I joined because of my offline friends, and stayed because it benefitted me in more ways than one. Looking back then at the way the people typed, in sticky caps filled with unnecessary punctuations, at the fake profile accounts that sprouted, at the predominant attitude of the users trying to get noticed (through the bulletins, shoutouts, and poorly edited display pictures), the elitist in me regarded the site in disdain—much like what almost everybody did.

The reason that I stayed longer than I should have was because of the private group created for our high school class. The group served as a forum where we were able to talk and discuss under various topics—from the lamest ones such as counting to 100, 000 to asking the next poster questions about anything that tickled our fancy.

If you’ve just graduated from high school and parted ways with people you’ve been with for the past four emotional years of your life, you’d understand that virtual presence would mean so much more than just trying to “get in touch.”

Okay, what I’m really trying to say here is that Friendster probably meant more memories to me than what I care to admit. My profile was worth saving because it enables me to look back at those silly teenage years and know what were the things that made me tick during those days, or know who bothered to say hello and ask how I was.

The closest friend I had to date during college was a blockmate from my previous program. We rarely see each other now because I have moved colleges. With a certain pang of longing and nostalgia, I read her posts on my downloaded profile years after. And I then remember how fun being friends with her was, or how we agree on many things, or how we bother ourselves with the tiniest details of each other’s lives, or how we say we miss each other during sem breaks.

Does she long for those days, too? Was she able to save her profile as well? I definitely hope so.

It was such a pity I never got the chance to save the discussions in the private group for our high school class. It would have contained more memories we had let go since we all decided to leave Friendster for good, simply because it was an archive of how we communicated when we were still together and after we have parted ways. We most probably shared more stupid jokes and philosophical ponderings in it than we could ever realize. What’s more, there were photos in there, if I remember correctly. Such ridiculous and youthful acts, which I dare say are worth remembering both for fun and contemplation, were all contained inside a virtual place—a place we wouldn’t have the chance to visit anymore.

So I guess Friendster was considerate enough to allow users to obtain their profiles before shutting down. At least parts and parcels of memories were saved from the depths of oblivion.


EDIT: HAHAHAHA. Nagdrama pa ko, hanggang June 27 pa naman pala. I'd be sure to save the private group, then. :)

My summer in a nut shell (sort of)

These past weeks had been interesting but not as much as I though it would be. For our internship, my classmate and I decided to apply at a digital media company, where one of our professors is Editor-in-Chief, because we hadn't heard from the other media companies we applied for online.

It is interesting because I got to go to a new place, meet a few new people. Furthermore, I finally got to travel by the train. On a daily basis. Even. During. The. Rush. Hour.

I also got to learn how the site's frontpage works. We were taught and made to package these stories that appear on the page. We were provided with laptops to use at the office. I even got to use a corporate email address. (I don't know if it's only me, but after I sent that mail containing interview questions, I was thrilled. There some sort of a sense of responsibilty and accountability because that mail contains not only my name but the company's as well.)

On the whole, I wished there had been more challenges. Sure, I got to be behind the scenes of the site's most prominent feature, but that was about it. I was expecting more legworks because the course I took under the company's EIC was one of the most challenging I've had as a journalism major, wherein we really had to go out and interview people, research intensively, and undergo some "workshop" in class as we presented our papers. If only he was the one to handle us trainees, things would have been different.

I wanted to see my name in the byline after genuinely pursuing a story, to be blunt about it. I got the chance to do the latter, but our names were not in the byline for some unknown reason. Either way, the event about which we wrote the story was the best experience I've had from this internship. We got to cover the press launch of the Jose Rizal Heritage Trail tourism campaign of the DOT. In celebration of the hero's 150th birthday on June 19, the DOT promotes the places in the country Rizal had been to. At the launch, which began at 8 a.m., I got to see (and pseudo-interview) the Tourism secretary.

We toured around the Rizal Park, Intramuros, and Paco Park. I think the best part was the special buffet where the guests were treated to the favorite dishes of Rizal, such as tuyo, tinola, pancit miki, adobo, and the famous tsokolate e. I think it's obvious that tsokolate e was my absolute favorite. Afterwards, we had to hurry back to the office to write the story because it will be uploaded that same afternoon. I'm so glad my co-intern and I decided to go. It was a taste of what real practice of reporting is, I think.

That's what my summer was about, more or less. And a few new films I watched, here and there. I am frustrated that I haven't got to read new books at all though.

And oh, before I forget--belated happy birthday to my ultimate favorite J-actress in the whole wide world no matter what my officemate says: Juri! <33