Photo Blog: Souvenirs Heureux
Friday, October 28, 2011 @ 4:53 PM | 0 comment(s)

Souvenirs Heureux – French: Happy Memories


CHANCES
(with Javy Gil @ the Candy Fair 2011, September 24, 2011 | ©)

So this is Javy Gil. I don’t know much about him, except that he’s Enrique Gil’s brother – and that he’s so timid and adorable. This photo (look at my overexcited, wrecked face) was taken at the recent Candy Fair 2011 (right, this is such a late post). It’s quite funny how I had this photo with him. I first saw him in a booth surrounded by girls, and I was like, “Javy! It’s Javy!” He’s the only Candy Cutie around that I actually know by name and by face. My friends wanted to have a photo with him, but he was so busy (girls, girls), so we had decided to just look around for him next time. Then I saw him again near the restroom (of all places). I wasn’t sure if he was to use the john or was to go backstage. I almost bumped into him, and heck, he blew me away. HE FREAKIN’ BLEW ME AWAY. Face to face with Javy Gil was really... something. Trust me, he’s so much cuter in person. And his eyes, oh his eyes. And he’s so timid and shy-looking. He looked so harmless. Then I was just stuck in that spot for a moment while he went to wherever. And, again, I was like, “Was that Javy? Whoa.”

After some time, after visiting booths, checking the Cuties out and doing it all over again and again, we grew tired and bored. One of my friends wanted to meet him badly. We started looking for him, but poof, he wasn’t around. And my friend was sad because she was thinking that he had already left. I was half comforting [her that he was still around, maybe resting or something] and half teasing her [that he had already gone back home for he didn’t want to see her. lol]. We didn’t see him at the booths. Meh. We even sang while looking for him, “Where is Javy, where is Javy? Where are you?” It was annoying that we’ve seen him walk past us a couple of times, but never got to meet him, like the photo opportunity was there, hanging before us but we didn’t grab it. Pfft.

We only saw him again during the program [where the Cuties where to give prizes to the contestants or give hugs and kisses, and kill us all with jealousy in the process]. Then I didn’t care about him anymore because, well, Sam Concepcion was performing. Ya know, Sam Concepcion. Fangirl. My heart. My world. Just Sam Concepcion.

And back to Javy Gil and that photo. I actually got that before he left. The friend I told you who was dying to have a photo with him was actually the one who spotted him. I turned to her direction and saw him – surrounded by girls again. He came from the backstage and was heading for his ride maybe. Finally, Javy. Finally. And that was it. Flashes. Smiles. His eyes. His height (I love how tall he is). His timidity. Oh, Javy. I didn’t get to talk to him or say something relevant because I was so tired and sweaty and ugly, and he was also tired but not sweaty and ugly. And okay, because my Sam Concepcion euphoria was still lurking inside me. But really, Javy is awesome.

Note: He was the only Candy Cutie (from Batch 2011) that I wanted to have a photo with. Only him.



UNFALTERING AFFECTION
(with Kathleen and Zandro @ Kath’s Debut, October 1, 2011 | ©)

From left: Christine Ordas, Kathleen Valle and Zandro Geral

If I could win a VIP invite to a party with two of my friends, I would contact these two and check their schedules and hook ‘em up in a heartbeat (but unfortunately, random miracles aren’t for me). Kathleen and Zandro are just few of the people who can understand my mood swings, bad attitude, inconsequential insecurities, teenage drama and ever-changing preferences and still hang out with me in the end. I don’t know how they do it, but they just do in a snap of a finger. I can’t ever be as open minded and flexible (physically and emotionally) as these two. And have I mentioned that I love them?

I always remember that April 1st that I shared with these two – an April 1st of crazy emotions and stories and not a Fool’s Day. It was that day that I realized that the UP Diliman Oblation Statue wasn’t as glorious as I thought it would be, that random Cello’s doughnuts had weird taste, and that maybe we can’t always have what we want and do things in our way, but with sets of helping hands and bunches of caring love (geez, the words I use), what we want doesn’t matter that much anymore. What we need does. And what we need is this kind of friends (plus a good education, a warm home and some killer shoes). I have always known in my heart that they will be with me through thick and thin, that they would understand my obsession for fictions and Sam Concepcion, that they would read anything that I have written (be it shitty or significant), and that – good day or bad – their love is forever unchanging.

Note: This photo was taken at Kathleen’s birthday. We were lucky that we got to share this photo booth moment with her because she was so in demand that time – and dead on gorgeous, not to mention.


THE CONCEITED BAND
(with the Vanity Band @ Kath’s Debut, October 1, 2011 | ©)

These are the rarest photo of the Vanity Band together – although technically, those little jerks in these photos weren’t really complete. These were taken at Kathleen’s birthday celebration. And blah, blah.

Second photo, from left: Carla Montes, Kim Mateo, Albert Landayan, Eric Inoy, Jerome Factor, Christine Ordas (not in photo – probably at NLEX: Mark Tulop)

I freakin’ don’t know what to say about these photos – or about the band itself (‘cause, trust me, I don’t have the faintest idea or a string of memory why I’m in this emo-rock-punk-whatever band). I don’t know how I found myself hanging out with these talented slobs (I’m kidding about the ‘slobs’) with their instruments and a malicious sense of humor (no hates, guys) – and a couple of teenage angst included.

For quite some time, I always find myself in a practice room (or a studio – whatever) with them, sitting and listening and staring and just listening. I find myself wandering to places and trying to figure things out (with their music in the background – adds the melodramatic touch), and still ask myself why I’m in this band. Why should I – I who doesn’t know how to play, I who can’t even sing audible enough for another person to hear, I who doesn’t even like the music they play, I who can’t freakin’ relate to their inside jokes, I who is a nerd and not a cool-rocker-Hayley-Williams-type, I who is rarely (or not at all) present – be in this band.

Then I realize one thing: I’m in this band (although I’m a present-this-day-gone-the-next member) because I love these slobs (Carla, you’re not in the ‘slobs category’), because they are the kind of slobs that could make fun of you but you can still outsmart them in the end, the kind of slobs that you can sit next to and just talk about relevant and irrelevant things and thrown in some of your excess baggage in between (and you can harmlessly hit them when you suddenly just want to have a human size punching bag) – AND THEY WOULD STILL CARE FOR YOU IN THE END (assuming they aren’t pissed off at the moment).



PARABATAIS
(with Diane @ the Candy Fair 2011, September 24, 2011 | ©)

So this is Diana Agulto and I, the former still fresh and light, the latter sweating and sticky like glue, having fun, shuffling, dougie-ing and screaming our lungs out at the recent Candy Fair 2011.

Diana is my first closest college friend. I met her in Treston Int’l College. We didn’t click right away the first time we met. I think because we were the type who was too shy to make the first move to befriend somebody. But eventually, we got along – and hell how we got along! We were inseparable, Diane and I. We were too close that people had a hard time distinguishing who was who. They even said that we looked related! We were always together: we waited for each other each morning and took the same ride to school; we hated the same professors and laughed at the same reason which we two only knew; we both walked from school drained and tired like shit and took the same ride back home. We loved to talk about what we thought of this person and felt guilty for bashing them in the end. We both loved Candy Fair (I went with her last year too) and checking Cuties out. We didn’t share the same preference for songs and artists, but heck, we both loved music.

I have no idea how we became friends: the exact date when, the exact reasons why, the exact way how. I love this girl, seriously. I can’t imagine how I pulled through my first year in college [with too much stress plus girl problems about insecurities and First College Crush] without her. I have other close friends in college, but she is my favorite among all of them (not that I’m saying I have a lot of friends). We truly are partners in every girl-related crime I know of. I’m lucky I met someone like her.

The First Time
Monday, October 17, 2011 @ 2:49 PM | 2 comment(s)


19 years old. 10 years in the business. 6 years with the Samsters. 4 albums released. 240,000 Twitter followers and counting. Innumerable number of films, shows, theater projects, awards, nominations, endorsements and advocacies. Numbers that merely depict what this man had already accomplished. Numbers that, when put all together, would only run short on the countless reasons why we, the ever-supporting and unfalteringly loyal Samsters, love this man: this man who shows us to reach for our passion and to take risks. This man who drinks too much coffee and hits that dougie whenever and wherever he desires. This man who wants to be a blessing to others. This man who believes in fairies and flies because of happy thoughts. This man who serves God through what he can do and does everything for His glory. This man who grew up from a skinny, overexcited tween to a charming young man before our very eyes. This man who doesn’t let bad air infiltrate his head and who still has his feet planted deep on the ground. This man who remains humble, faithful and God-oriented and doesn’t take anything for granted. And to this only man, I dedicate this really, really, really sincere appreciation post.


I first saw Sam Concepcion in a talent search cum reality show when he was twelve. Maybe you can say that there was this “Oh my God, I’m going to marry him someday” drama that had happened on that day, or maybe you can just simply say that I was instantly smitten by this little, skinny guy with a fedora who can sing and dance. And since then, I’ve always shrieked with delight every time I see him performing. I even cried (because of sadness) when he didn’t win in his first week because I thought that he wouldn’t come back anymore, and cried (because of happiness) when he won the title in the end. He was the first artist that I had a super, deep, real crush on. He was the first artist whom I had Googled and stalked online. I was a twelve-year-old fan of this little, skinny, twelve-year-old guy. For sure.


I first met him in an event where I went just because he would perform there when he was fifteen. My feet nervous, my knees shaking, my hands sweating buckets, my anticipation unimaginable, and my heart beating frantically. I almost cried in front of him when he said “thank you” and smiled at me. Imagine that – it was just a thank you and I almost bawled my eyes out! Now I can’t believe how I survived without humiliating myself before his eyes when he said that I looked familiar and when he put his right hand on my shoulder. Or kissed the computer screen when he tweeted me back for the first time. Or ran around the neighborhood screaming “Destiny! Freakin’ destiny!” when I learned that he would be portraying in a musical the lead role in Peter Pan – the book that I apparently gave him for his 18th birthday.


Of course, out of all the encounters that I have with him, the first time is always the most awkward and has the what-the-hell-just-happened-scene. And of course, the first time is also the most memorable. Hands down. And since then, I’ve always tried my best to go to his mall shows or whatever to meet him again. It’s either I get to be near him or watch from afar; either I get to have a photo with him or not; either I get to talk to him without choking my words out or stutter all throughout the small talk and mortify myself in the process – at least I was there; at least I know in my heart that I have seen him in person again. And every time it happens, it always feels like the first time.

The undeniable euphoria before, during and after the encounter, the peculiar super power to remember every little detail that I instantaneously have, the agitated nights, the inerasable smile on my face, the aching desire to tell it to everyone, the giddy and soaring feeling in between. And the utmost yearning to experience it again and again and again.


He will always be that guy. He will always be my ultimate knight in shining Supras and a hot plaid button-down. He will always be my dream duet partner (my singing ability sucks – so it’s just an impossible fantasy). He will always be that one person whose tweets I will check every time. He will always be that guy whom his jokes I would laugh to even if they’re actually such failures and still think they’re epic in the end. He will always be the one performer whom I will be thrilled to meet again and again – and constantly feel the same way. And it will always be very awkward and memorable. Just like when he was fifteen. Just like that moment. Just like before. Just like the first time.



Photos © x | x

In Between the Wars
Thursday, October 06, 2011 @ 3:29 PM | 2 comment(s)

It’s silly and stupid.


It’s silly and stupid that I’m feeling this way right now – right at this moment when I only have less than a month to go back to school and to start gradually building my hazy future using my currently unexploited brain and whatever I find inside it. It’s silly and stupid that I’m back to feeling guilty and selfish and useless all over again. I’m guilty of not attending school while my friends are apparently working their asses off to pass prelims, midterms and finals. I feel selfish of not going to school because some kids my age and adults in their mid-life are trying their hardest and would give everything up just to attain better education and graduate with a degree. I feel that I’m such a brat and taking everything for granted and letting time slip away every second of everyday. I feel so useless because I’m just plain, damn useless.

I wanted to say these things to a friend of mine who apparently had gone through the same situation, but I decided to just write about it because I think it’s better that I use the medium that I’m much more comfortable with (and okay, because I haven’t been blogging much these days). Maybe I should cease watching current affairs shows about unfortunate families who can’t send their children to school so my level of guilt would stop increasing and this feeling of trepidation and misery would just go away like a smelly fart in the wind. But maybe, just like a smelly fart (oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m seriously comparing this boggling situation to a – of all things – fart!), it would just come back again and again, and I would go back to zero and think that way again. Guilt and egotism would always eerily pop in my face from the dark corner just as how much a normal human being releases bad gas every day. And that’s like several times each day (worse if that normal human being has diarrhea) – several times of disturbing feeling followed by driving one’s fist on the wall or writing a dramatic entry down to the trusted, battered, tear-soken diary. Maybe I could bear it until October ends and eventually start going to school. Maybe this will just pass and become tolerable enough for me to keep my sanity and not try to physically hurt or blame or repeatedly poke myself. Maybe this is just a phase that will soon end. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.


And then there’s the problem with time – how to spend time wisely, how to not stupidly waste it, how to stupendously start the day, how to end it, how to work with it harmoniously. Every passing day for the past five months (excluding the summer holidays) have been just about trying to live through it until it ends and waking up the next day and doing it all over again. Every day, I lie awake on my bed, oblivious to the busy world and busy people outside the comfort of my little room, thinking what I will do this day, what book to start, what book to end, what good show there is on TV, how to make these drastic five months less drastic, how to convince myself that these drastic five months aren’t at all drastic. Sometimes, my everyday life gets tedious and more tedious and more, tada, tedious. My everyday drill is so short it could be scribbled in a candy wrapper and crumpled like a pebble and thrown in the air and poof, gone, gone like a little weak flame blown by the strong, menacing wind – or, said less dramatically, stuck into someone’s nasal passage and that someone will never even notice.

But I’m quite glad that I get this long break from school and stress and acnes and more stress. I’m quite glad that I don’t come home from school really tired and drained out. I’m happy that I get the chance to try simple home activities that I like and read the remaining books in our blue Fine Living plastic trunk (which to say are a lot). I’m ecstatic that I get to catch up with the current headlines and events that are life- and world-changing, and that I’m not left out and could talk about smart things. I’m even more ecstatic that I don’t miss the sensible TV shows that I’m gluing my eyes on. Every week I excitedly wait for The Vampire Diaries to be aired and not miss any second of it, and more excitedly wait for the next week to see the next action-, vampire- and six-packed episode, and try to figure out if: 1) Stefan Salvatore will have the balls to betray the Original Klaus and run back to Mystic Falls and kiss Elena Gilbert like he could eat her alive (maybe he could); 2) Damon Salvatore will have a happy ending with someone who’s worth his undying love, fascinating eye-sex and ripped body; 3) the Forwood (Caroline Forbes and Tyler Lockwood) tandem will really last (not unless Tyler the werewolf will accidentally or purposely bite Caroline the vampire); 4) Jeremy Gilbert will have a colorful career as a ghost whisperer or a creepy psychic; or 5) Klaus is really homosexual and just keeps Stefan around not because the latter is a damn good wingman-slash-ripper but because he’s secretly in love with him. But heck, we’ll never know.


On the more serious side, I’m not sure if everyone who is in the same situation as mine is going through what I’m going through. I’m not sure if they feel the same guilt and the same gratitude that I’m feeling right now, and try to decide which side to consider – the guilt side or the gratitude side. Or maybe they choose the little, peaceful and wonderful space in between both wars. I’m not sure if, like me, they blog about it and let others know how they feel and what they think about their every living day. I’m not sure if, unlike me, they have better everyday plans inside their bags. I’m not sure if they’re ready to go back to the chaotic and diverse world of education, teachers, rowdy schoolmates and devoted studying. I’m not sure if they have already figured things out. I’m not sure if they think that all of these months are worth it. Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. And maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t.

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