The least we could do, especially when there's nothing left to do, is to observe, and observe extra carefully. Oddly it happens even if we have something to do. Or maybe it's because things have become a bit more predictable lately.
Predictable, meaning it falls on a certain template. Last week I did the same set of things (but only because nothing's really happening to my set of shows) and, most of the time, did things at exactly the same time for five straight days. The differences melt into obscurity, pretty much. The weather, half-irritatingly, has become evidently more schizophrenic. It'd be bright and sunny - too bright and sunny - when I head out for lunch an hour past noon. I'd return and the skies would start to get darker, and for my remaining hours inside the office - spent doing almost nothing, of course - the skies would grow darker, and darker, until it'd start to rain, and rain really hard.
Road visibility would be close to zero until halfway through the trip home. In the end, my umbrella is useless as I take that one last walk to our gate, the surroundings pretty dry.
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"I think I'm right behind you. I think."
I could've approached her, poked her shoulder and saw her surprised face. "Uy,
Henrik!" she would've said - or maybe Niko, I'm oddly not sure. And I knew I saw her come out of the car and enter the mall right before I did. I swore the figure was familiar, and the fashion sense, too. And it was funny because we were just talking on Facebook
a few hours ago.
I think that's why I didn't just approach her and poke her shoulder and anticipated her surprised face. For some reason, I thought that was predictable, and so I instead sent her that text message, half-hoping that she'd turn, but half-anxious that it wasn't her that I saw enter the mall, partly because I didn't think I'd find her in that particular mall, on that particular day. Or I didn't really know. But my gut feel was right anyway, and thirty seconds later she picked up the phone, saw my text message, and turned around.Read more »
There are folds, but there aren't.
In fact, it fits quite nicely. I do it loosely. I look sloppy. The rest looks streamlined.
There's a new silver detail on the side.Read more »
It's only been two days into week sixty-one. You know what comes next.
I guess it's just another one of those days. Or periods. Time periods. People say you've improved and then you start sinking immediately after. Maybe people should stop noticing that I'm better. Better, not happier. Happy never happens to me anyway. Probably never will. More so when I notice that something's always off. Three empty seats rather than two, perhaps. Coughs that sound more like orgasms.
I think I forgot how it feels to be elated. The feeling that you're doing something you really like with someone you know really likes it, too. Those little impulsive adventures that get you nowhere, or get you against the way of things, but you don't really care for it, or even think about it, because you're elated. Trips to the sea without life vests. Impromptu dates at the park. Sudden trips to the cinema. Planning things out.
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"You mean," I told myself, "Taylor Swift
is five eleven?"
It is a bit surprising to find out that she actually stands an inch shy of six feet. Not that I'm being dismissive of women in general, but we've all seen her photos, and we've all heard her songs, and you get the idea that she's this cute little thing who can hit the guitar and write mean songs at a really young age. Or perhaps there's that, the fact that she is really young. A year younger than me, I think, and yet she's waaay out there, and the thought of that makes someone desk-bound like me cringe. I'm twenty, and I can't be bothered to learn the guitar.
I was flicking through the back issue of Q
- a hundred bucks for something half a year old ain't bad, really - and there I was, surrounded again by all of those ideas, or at least all of those artists I peg for listening but forget to. There weren't that many references to things that you could be (and they always find their way in anything I buy), but it being a glossy British music magazine, it'll strike you soon, not the least the Lily Allen
cover. You think her songs are accessible, and yet there she was, almost
being photographed with tigers, because obviously they wouldn't let the animals near anyone
. Classy cover, but still, up there. You know what I mean.Read more »
Stage phoning, apparently, is the act of pretending that you're calling someone, done especially when you're in public, sometimes to highlight the lack of privacy in the world nowadays.
Nice concept, he thought, when he pulled out his phone and started reading text message. Maybe, he thought, there's such a thing as stage texting. Pretending to text, pretty much.
All he did was unlock the phone, check his inbox, and scroll down the hundred or so messages that are in it.
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Item one: Last night we had this random conversation on the dinner table about dreams. Only then did I realize that my dreams fell in any one of three loose categories. The first involves situations in school, which hasn't happened lately because I'm obviously not in school anymore. The second involves this constant image of the bottom of a swimming pool in the middle of the night. The third involves me and a girl, running around some complicated maze of a building, looking for something, but often than not being chased by unidentified men, again in the middle of the night. It can be a mall, it can be a house directly connected to a train station, and it can be any girl, but there are the constants. I wonder what that means?
Item two: I have two observations whenever I watch any show that's hosted by Giada de Laurentiis. One, she always eats, and eat a lot she does, but she still remains really slim. Two, she always wears low-cut tops, if that is the right term, which means she cooks while giving everyone some view of her cleavage. When I made that observation, my mother reprimanded me, thinking all I did while watching Everyday Italian
was stare at her boobs, forgetting that I always watched cooking shows when I was a kid.
Item three: I was looking through the novelization of Princess Protection Program
and, as always, I looked at the obligatory full-color insert with screen grabs and behind-the-scenes photos from the television special. Only then did I notice that Demi Lovato
does have a cleft chin, which suddenly makes her look odd. Or, I guess that's why I have the slightest musings over her co-star, Selena Gomez
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Apparently you were asking about me, so hello there. How are you? How's the vice presidency treating you? Obviously the treasury wasn't exactly built for you. Oh, yeah, you're asking me how I am, not the other way around, right. Sorry about that.
Right. I'm currently working, like perhaps everybody else who's already graduated. I actually got hired before graduation, although sometimes I wish I got Trix's job, which is impossible because I only heard of the opening when she already got it, or so I deduce. I'm typing this thing at work now, actually. Victim of the so-called global economy. I write about television for work. I've openly crushed on Allison Iraheta
and Deborah Ann Woll, and I've wondered about what makes Robert Pattinson supposedly attractive.
On a good day I finish everything before lunch. That happens often, but not too often, depending on the stuff I help cover, or cover entirely. During free time, I catch up on my viewing. I just came off watching a couple of episodes of The Mentalist
because I'm doing it and I've been intrigued by the show and they only started airing it here this month. If there's absolutely nothing to do, and if all the website I've read have been exhausted, I keep myself busy by drinking water or having some mints, play them around in my mouth.
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I'm not the happiest person in the world. That's a given, really, because otherwise I wouldn't be writing this thing, right? It's so predictable of me, sure. Now that's settled.
It must be Sunday. I get here and I feel very, very rattled. No, it's not because of tomorrow, because I seriously couldn't care less about the bitches; if you're impressing Seattle, then by all means, do so. Then again, it could be a factor. There's always something with the end of the weekend, the start of another five days of wondering why you even bother trying when nobody will give you another chance.
It's what it's been, really. Nobody gives you another chance, or at least that's how it feels most of the time. After so many years of being there for anyone, nobody is being there for you. Same old complaints, followed by the same old realizations, that someone is there for you, then you spin it around.
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One unit is, say, one inch. So one unit down is one inch down, and one unit to the left is one inch to the left.
Now that's cleared, you have two points, side by side, separated by, say, seven units. The one to the left will move downwards, three units down and half a unit to the right, in an arc. The one to the right will do the exact mirror image of what the left will do. That should make it easy.
Now both points are separated by six units. Both will continue moving downward, still in an arc, and still symmetrical, but now, and we're talking about the left here, it will go down two and a half units down and one and a half units to the left. The right will do the mirror image, as it always does.Read more »
Leslie's only got roughly twenty days of waiting to do, but as it comes closer I'm still expecting that we'd end up reminiscing about how life was before we graduated. All that waiting for the weekend, for one. She once quipped that companies should follow DLSU
's example, and implement a four-day work week, which isn't exactly a good economic indicator. Nonetheless, I get her point.
Sure, we're somehow trying to relive our more carefree college years, perhaps by meeting up with old friends or, as I did before, actually visit for a very arbitrary reason. Lately, however, it seems I've been taking a different approach: seriously watching the UAAP
I'm not really a fan of the Green Archers, although I understand that everybody else around me are. (Of course, if you know people who claim to have entered the university solely for the basketball team, well, how extreme can it get?) I haven't seen a game live, I haven't fallen in line at the Yuchengco lobby for tickets, I haven't gone crazy for the players - although that's more of Kat
's specialty - and I haven't closely followed the actual games. But you end up supporting your team by default; thus, I was rooting for them anyway, hoping that they'd win, especially in the crucial moments
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I think my brother thinks lowly of me. He once commented, at the end of a summer day - back when I still had summer vacation - that my phone hasn't sounded, and implied that I didn't have any friends. (Which is probably true; there's a reason for those air quotes lately.) Today, I noticed I have 23 notifications on Facebook
, and he answered, "23 lang?
" I must be such a loser.
Oddly enough, I haven't given up on reconnecting with my so-called friends, and only because the term "acquaintances" sound so harsh considering the past. Today, for instance, someone dropped a message on YM
, announcing a new phone number, and I quickly took my phone to list it down, only I never really had her phone number in the first place.
Gaille and I aren't really close, which is expected, because it's a rarity for a regular LIA student to be close with a LIA-COM student. Those guys stick together a lot. Well, sure, we've bumped into each other in many classes, especially research class, where I was a sore thumb, and journalism class, which remains debatable. However, we were classmates in gender studies class, proven by the many candid photos of her
that I took, which definitely sounds freaky, although it was really an effort to document every day of my last term.
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