withdrawal

11 pm. numinunoo.

i should be working on some homework, if i know what's good for me, but here i am. indulging narcissus on his mirror again. and that's real strange, for the "blogging" urge to come at this unholy hour, when there's nothing much to tell really. except for the stuff i've mentioned in recent rantings. and the mundane activities of a normal day. my life is boring. so boring even i am getting bored by it.

what do i tell, anyway. the action has yet to happen where work is concerned, and everything is still at paperwork level. do i talk about this book i just finished, the once-hyped-about Da Vinci Code (which i couldn't put down, by the way)? do i talk about, hmm, last night's halloween party, or my tendency for bingeing on carbos and sweets these days, or my Galera Getaway Dream before i go back to the shooting set again? yea mehn, i can rant on and on about these inanities, these little trivias about the day-to-day pseudoexistence. but i won't.

maybe what i really want to say is this. life is bland when you're in that...i dunno...state of emotional balance. you're not too happy, not too sad. not too tired, not too lethargic. and yes, not infatuated with anyone.

haha. pathetic. love--and its lesser equivalents--may not be the meat of life, but it's that froth, that flavor, that icing on the cake that makes everything just so dang colorful. and so dang colorful to write about.

for the past few weeks I’ve been in some kind of self-administered therapy. Tryin to recover from something that I would much rather consider a sickness. Call it a less drastic process than that which Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet had gone through in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. and i must say, I’ve been, well, making fair progress. Considering.

everything would all have been well for me except for one thing. back when I would let myself openly, freely feel something for someone, life was just so…exciting. There was pain, yes, but it was a hazard worth tolerating for the joys i'd get.

those were the days, and those days are over. for good reason. and while i'm still hell-bent on keeping up with the program, moments come when somehow i feel like all color from this life has just seeped out.

and while your normal conclusion might be that i am missing the person, i think i've figured myself out. it's not the person i miss. it's the feelings. the froth and the flavor, the icing on the cake. and that’s the truth about this whole frog princess fairy tale. what can I say. maybe we all make our own emotional drugs.

as is the usual question of a rehabilitating addict going through withdrawal: if it was so bad for me, then why did it make me feel so good?

i'm not about to go into that now. i've had it with playing shrink to myself, at least for tonight.

a lifetime's work starts with day one

got a job offer from big brother this morning. for a couple of reasons, i had to turn it down. if the offer had come three weeks ago i would have hopped in--who wouldn’t want to be part of the hottest boobtube craze in town. but we gotta do what we gotta do.

whenever i remember to do so I’d ask god to help me find my so-called “purpose”—The Vocation, if you will. I’d been sidetracked for half a year I’ve kinda lost sight of the original plan I’d laid out for myself. But my, ain’t god brilliant. not to mention subtle. giving out signs is way too simplistic for him. there was no concrete symbol around for me to spot and draw my conclusion from, nothin of the sort. god played with time, circumstance, and probability to give me an answer.

Well, I’d like to believe that he did. Today, after that phone call. i’d like to believe that He gave me "F@llowing Rosa" at the precise moment that it came to me—two weeks ago--because I was born into this world to make films. Haha. Pure assumption, I know. But somehow it inspired me. Maybe I am meant for The Dream after all.

This morning i had to make a (quick, quick) choice, but it wasn't hard to do so. somehow pbb just doesn't fit in the scheme of my current life.

like how some people don't, as well. :-)

met new people today. My new family, for the next month-and-a-half. caucasians, amerasians, fellow pinoys. I travelled all the way from marikina to project 6 (commuting is stressing now, for someone who's been used to cab rides for the past eight months, hehe) for a prod meeting with staffers of "F@ll@wing Rosa". today i was back to the getting-to-know-you part of the job. feeling your way around and into each person's personality. for the newbie production trainee that was me about a year ago it would've been another intimidating setup, but thank god i've somehow eased up. qpids had a lot to do with it. and nasaan ka man, to a certain extent.

back then i thought freelancers like me never really get to nurture a home, but it really is just a matter of perspective. every new workplace can be a new home. new workmates, a new family. a new project, a new life. for as long as it lasts. keber na kung mahirapan kang mag-move on when the project's done and you've emotionally attached yourself to 'em all. you'll need all the passion and affection you can ever summon inside of you to survive and succeed with the least pain possible.

the producers, the director, and the director of photography were trained the western--and sad but true, the more professional--way of filmmaking. can't wait to absorb as much stuff as i could.

life's a party

These days, i'm into...
...preprod for an indie 35mm movie. director's a fil-am graduate from nyu, and he seems nice. hope that this will be another happy learnin adventure for me. shoot starts november.
...script analysis (ok, unrequired and uncalled for, but i learn a lot just by tryin to figure out what went wrong, plot-wise. heheh. i reckon that it'd be wiser to not give out unsolicited opinion though)
...cinemanila movies

a run-through of the Cinemanila films I’d seen so far:

Lilya Forever (Russia) - powerful subject matter, letdown ending. story of the triumph of the human spirit, this ain't. white slavery victims should better stay away from this film cause it offers a really discouraging option (read: suicide)out of the rut they're in.

Matthew, Mark, Luke, John (local) - hackneyed to the ummpth power. no offense to a friend of mine who was one of the writers of this gil portes-directed melodrama. i do believe though that, given much more freedom, my friend can do much much better than this.

Dear Wendy (USA) – a period film about innocents who nurture a peaceful-but-intense relationship with guns. may test your patience in the first hour but the disturbing outcome at the last thirty minutes should be well worth it...and drives the point home, too. lars von trier (the film's writer, and who directed one of my fave movies of all time, "dogville") delves into the same thematic territory he's tackled in dogville: a fatalistic view on the nature of all things, living or non-living.

Moolade (Africa)- interesting subject matter (women in an african village protesting against female circumcision and all that feminist angst), trite storytelling. sayang. it could've been an important film that people (regardless of gender or race) would take seriously. instead i heard a handful of scattered laughs from the audience (in scenes that probably weren't meant to be funny, mind you). loved the local color, though. twas the first time i actually saw african tribal mudhuts on the big screen.

The President’s Last Bang (South Korea)- winner of the coveted Lino Brocka award in the recently-concluded Cinemanila. darkly funny, but i wonder if it's politically correct...in the literal sense. the makers portrayed the government as a bunch of fumbling morons. no wonder it was banned in korea! a roll in the hay was all that it was, and i couldn't help admiring the film's technical polish. pinagkagastusan talaga. and they didn't pull any stops when it comes to showing blood and gore. astig. the humanist in me was cringing, though. hahaha.

...AXN's "Lost". Compelling stuff.
...AXN's "CSI" and "CSI Miami". I've always loved mysteries, and i guess i've always loved CSI, even when i didn't have time to watch TV.
...videoke

Current Videoke Repertoire:
1. Complicated by Avril Lavigne
2. You Oughtta Know by Alanis Morrissette
3. Run by Kitchie Nadal
4. Bulong by Kitchie Nadal
5. You Learn by Alanis Morrissette
6. Total Eclipse of the Heart
7. The Yes Yes Show by Parokya ni Edgar
8. Alone by Heart
9. Broken Vow (duet of Sarah Geronimo and Mark Bautista...hehe kitschy)
10. Bakit? by Gloc 9 and Cookie Chua
11. I Will Remember You by Sarah Mclachlan

Probably missed out on a few titles, but these are the songs that come to mind when i'm out on a videoke spree. Haha. I so love videoke, it's embarassing.

...gimik nights

Life's a party. And for the moment that I can afford it, i'm Party Girl reincarnated. Haha. So let's dig in. After eight straight months of gruelling work I like to rationalize to myself that I do deserve to have some fun right now. And not think of stuff that will be bad for me. wink, wink.

Postscript
By the way, the Frog Princess has broken up with his Prince Charming. Guess it wasn't such a fairy tale, after all. Doesn't change things, though. With or without the Prince Charming, the Frog Princess will always be a Princess to me. What's done cannot be undone. haha.

one adventure last weekend should merit a separate entry. for the meantime, got a party to attend to...and the tab's on someone else. haha. bring it on.

subtext

3 am. you're still up.

you get a text message in the middle of the night. ey! still up?

how predictable, you think. same person's been sending basically the same messages at the same exact time of the night for the past two weeks.

whatchadoin?
had dinner na?
go easy on the yosi, k.

you find yourself answering tersely, without so much as a punctuation (let alone a smiley) at the end of your msg. you're bored to tears by this quasi-ritual it's killing you. then you feel guilty for your rude reaction. someone has spent who-knows-how-many P2.50s to let you know you're remembered. couldn't you be more appreciative?

but what about my P2.50 replies? the beeyatch in you implores. when someone texts in a question, a reply would most likely be expected of you. and you--out of politeness, out of ethics-dictated obligation--just have to send out the same old answers to the same old questions, and it tires you out, really, when in truth you would rather post a blog entry, cut your nails, or smoke a menthol than make small-talk messages with such personages in the middle of the night.

the guilt flies. you decide that maybe you should give him a piece of your mind. tactfully, of course. just enough subtlety to let the person know that you're not finding this whole small-talk thingymajiggy cute at all.

yup still awake. favorite mo talagang tanong yan no? :-)

message sent. somehow he gets the subtext. the next evening he texts you a lengthy (tagalized) version of basically the same old message: maari po bang malaman kung anong pinagkakaabalahan nyo ngayon? grrrrr! you roll your eyes in exasperation. what is wrong with the world? why do people have this tendency to repeat themselves?!

not cute, buster. not cute at all.

same difference, different sameness. thought i've said that line enough times in the past. talk about people repeating themselves. in so many different ways, from txt msgs to catch phrases to whatnot.

it gets exhausting sometimes.

let the sunshine in

A lovely morning to wake up to.

Because it's the second time in a row that I actually woke up in the morning... insomniac night owl that I am. And man, does it feel good to wake up with the rest of the world.

Other than that, I am glad about some things in my life. Two nights ago I prayed for something, the next day it was granted. Talk about speedy reply!

Nothing could be more encouraging than an answered prayer. Thank you, Lord. Sana matuloy.

Sunshine does come in every once in a while.

the truth about cats and dogs

Now this is the kind of dog I'd like to own.
A golden labrador. Long round ears, round eyes, fumbling, fleshy, huggable.

This kind of dog wouldn't be too bad, either:



A beagle. I was a Snoopy fan long before I came to love Garfield. But Garfield still holds a special place in my heart til now.

I haven't had a pet cat for more than a year now. For such a cat kind of person, that's long. Well, we have a house cat ("Frenchie" was what they called him) but he hasn't earned the "Pet" label in my book, and he may never will. He's too clingy. And for a cat, that's something. One thing I've always loved about cats (except for their God-given physical beauty--wide prismatic eyes, lithe physique, furry little paws, cute little pink nose) is that aloof, cooler-than-thou nature of theirs. It makes me want to earn their affection. And when I do, I feel like one of those truly special ones. Because they don't give it to just anybody else.

Haha. Now you go make a psychoanalytical chorva on that.

and on the third day, god said... (Part 3)

Day Three. Thursday.

I dreamed that night.

The world was a huge olympic-sized pool inside a covered gymnasium, and I was about to join it again. I swam with gliding effortless strokes. And I could leap so high on the diveboard I was almost flying.

It was a beautiful dream. The symbolics were so positive.

The Frog Princess was in it. We were both in red. I kept myself at a safe, comfortable distance.

I woke up, remembering every detail from the dream. Then I dismissed it and went on with the day.

It was the Cinemalaya Semi-Finalists Orientation that day. Went with writers Monj and Dennis. A somewhat inspiring event. There were 34 semi-finalists selected. Half of them were familiar faces. Even Khavn dela Cruz--my Clermont-Ferrand Festival buddy--was there. College schoolmates (Deans Habal, my classmate at UP Film, and Pao Pangan, as cinematographer to a certain Paolo Dy), acquaintances from past jobs (Paul Morales, my fellow Cinemalaya monitoring officer last year; Byron Bryant and Jhune Caina, whom I met at St@r Cinema; and of course, Adolf Alix, my kilig-show co-writer).

Among the panel of judges were familiar faces as well. Industry professionals I've worked with (and worked for) in the past few years: award-winning screenwriter Armando "Bing" Lao (my Scriptwriting 1&2 professor, the best writer I've ever encountered in flesh-and-blood), the esteemed award-winning director Jeffrey Jeturian (my idol!), and Seiko Films producer Robbie Tan, my former boss and head of the Cinemalaya Monitoring Committee 2004. I was glad to see these people again. They knew me and somehow that was a comfort, knowing that I wasn't just some anonymous face who had "tagged along" with the Concept Creators.

Not having been a Concept Creator this year, I had had a dint of regret over havin to "adopt" someone else's "baby" again. But Direk Jeffrey is an inspiration. He doesn't write his films but he makes 'em well. I have yet to tackle a few internal hurdles to be able to arrive at a completed (and satisfactory) written work, but directing for me is a joy. Visualizing is almost like breathing for me. I enjoy it every step of the way.

But who's to say. I wouldn't want me to pigeonhole my own self. Maybe I just need time. Here's hoping.

So all's well that will end well. And with a praying heart, I'm confident that the finals will see Totong Hilot getting made. Beautifully. Nothing less!

Haha. Think positive, keep the flame burning. And pray, pray, pray.

I was much better that day. But numbed, still. I saw someone again whom I had always come to associate with Someone Else. A whiff of sadness and nostalgia again. I can't describe how I felt that moment.

I was going to end the day on a low again. I felt it. The exhaustion (of having to travel all the way to Manila in such sticky sweltering weather) and depression over other baggages from the past two days. So I took it out on one of those Dinosauric Leering Maniacal Males who thought they could get away with sexist behavior.

Haha. Maybe they were right. Maybe I do hate men. Or the nature of males, for that matter.

But I lightened up somewhat. Getting home, realizing that retiring to my room wasn't as dreary as it had felt one, two days before.

And then I started writing a blog entry. The Man of My Dreams has fallen in love. And with a younger guy, no less.

I stared at the words. Like comprehending them for the first time. And then I laughed. A ha-ha laugh. It all seemed funny, the whole idea. If the girl weren't me, I would've found it hilarious.

Now why didn't I notice that before.

I asked for light, God gave me light. If only for a moment. To be able to see things from a sober-sane, detached perspective, and laugh at how serious I was.

Moment of madness has gone on for too long. I'm not goin back there. Ever.

and on the third day, god said... (part 2)

Day Two. Wednesday.

I woke up with a hangover. A first time in a long time.

Went to another party that night; wasn't in party mode. Wasn't in any mode at all, but the last thing I wanted to do was to sulk in a corner of my room while the rest of the world went on with their lives.

After the final Reinforcement of the God-Awful Truth the day before, I decided that I'd had enough. Of everything concerning that person. I pushed all thoughts away. When on an ordinary day he'd be passing through my consciousness more often than anyone else. I decided that I would have none of that today.

And I did not.

But it left a hollow inside. Like taking that Bright Spot out of the equation tore a black hole through my very essence. It sounds pathetic and I refuse to admit that's true. I don't think so. It wasn't about the person. It was about the role he played in this life.

Same old story. Paiba-iba lang ng pangalan.

Life's a lot sadder if you feel nothing. For anyone, or anything. A pseudoexistence. A bubble in the timeline, waiting for itself to pop to extinction.

I left my thoughts at that and joined the party. And what do you know. Met the Artshy Farthsy Guy. The last Prince Charming (who, as the story went, soon turned into a Frog as well) the last one who had my heart, just before I had met The One who Made Them All Look Like Toads. Haha. De ja vu. Almost but not quite. Dead loves can only be resuscitated if there's enough to nourish it on.

But nada. Nothing. He was flirting, as he had the habit of doing. But that was all that he could do, and I found that I didn't really care.

I was indifferent. And that's totally different from being numb.

I couldn't say i wasn't affected by his presence, though. You carry the old habit with you, especially with non-closures.

Let's go back to the party. We were in such cheery warm company. Indies, former co-workers, current co-workers, friends, friends of friends, one-time acquaintances. Everyone was havin fun, it seemed. Except me. Tried to forget it, tried to push the thoughts away, but it's amazing how something could still bug you even if you're not even thinking about it. Later in the night I couldn't handle my own sadness. Couldn't stay smiling anymore.

Too bad. I'd been robbed of a good time. By my own idiosyncrasies.

The Indie Film spirit was alive and kickin in that crowd. And I was glad that soon, if God wills it, I'd be part of it. Two of my writer-friends got their concepts into the Cinemalaya 2005 semi-finals. They've asked me to join their projects as director. Sadly for one of them, Monj, "Bakaw Boy" is not going to push through with the competition (for understandable but unfortunate reasons...sigh). But Dennis' script "Totong Hilot" is pushin through and we're not pulling any stops to come up with an impressive entry for the finals tilt. Impressive enough for the movie to be given the go signal.

Life's a lot happier when you have something to look forward to. Like fulfilling a dream.

We went home at 4 am. As my friends Monj and Emman saw me off at the cab station in Philcoa, Emman said, "Ingat, may ididirek ka pa." I can only pray that he'd be prescient this time.

I went home with the same numbness, though. Lay in bed as the roosters crowed sunrise. Made one last effort to get to that unreachable pain again and started crying. Sobbing. On my pillow. Sobbing over what, I didn't even care to analyze. No it couldn't be about just one person. It's gotta be about so many other un-ideal, un-beautiful lonely little things about this life.

I fell asleep at dawn. The worst part was over.

I suppose.

and on the third day, god said... (Part 1)

Day One. Tuesday.

The Man of my Dreams has fallen in love. And with a younger man, no less.

My God. He is gay. Now why didn't i notice that before.

Haha. I did. I knew, from the very beginning. But somehow I learned to overlook (ignore, more likely) that little detail. The truth has clobbered me on the head so many times before it’s made me numb.

And dumb, yes.

~o~

“May jowa na sya.” A friend told me. As he launched on a detailed moment-by-moment account of how my beloved Frog Prince(ss)and his Prince Charming "got together" for the first time, I started crying. I knew it was bound to happen, but still. Every word was a nail through the heart.

Owellll. That's the story of my life.

~o~

Between pain and numbness, I'd choose pain. It goes away much, much faster. Almost like a hangover.

~o~

I was numb for the rest of the day. I wanted to avoid the usual pain and self-loathing I'd go through whenever some god-awful Reinforcement of the Truth would clobber me on the head. A few of my friends and I did some late-night videoke and I wanted to surrender myself to total numbness. So I drank.

But San Mig Light and Smirnoff won’t make you forget that God-Awful Truth...not even when you’re at the height of stuporific intoxication. It’s a myth that drinking will make you forget. Truth is, it will even make you remember (and ramble on about) things that should best be forgotten. Haha. Cheers to Heartbreak.

I must've been the saddest smiling drunk in the whole dang world that night.

Went home at 4 am. Stuporific. I remember the music in the cab. It was that MYMP song. I groaned to myself. The timing couldn't be worse, dear God. I didn't want to stage another movie-esque scene in this so-called life, but I found myself crying again on the way home, with "Especially for You" playing in the background. No, silly girl, this ain't the movies. Stop.

But even the tears couldn't dredge it out of me. Like the sadness was buried in some deep, remote part inside me that even I couldn't get through to it. And so I felt numbed. Helpless. I needed my catharsis. I needed to get to that pain, so that I could dredge it out and get over it.

It was still Day One, after all. Time would be my ally this time.

tipsy-turvy (oh, how so very...)

i'm sick of babbling.
sick of being up in the dead hours of the night.
sick of the stench of cigarette smoke.
sick of bein sick of things.
dang, i'm babbling again.

hey! what's wrong with me.

partied under the stars last saturday, with some of the dearest people i've ever met in this lifetime. My Ultimate Version of the TwentySomething Shindig. Small group we were, nearly everyone knew each other, but the intimate-gathering feel was somethin i'd take over any other grand (impersonal) celebration. There WAS a little naughtiness on the side, but all in all, good clean fun. parties are fun because of friends. and that night, I realized--really, truly realized--how much I'd missed in the past several months. how much love I'd gained and given in the past three years.

transients. i'm always reminded of what we are to one another's lives, each time something ends, each time something begins. not the destination but the journey, so they say. and that the best thing about the journey is the people you meet along the way.

haha. cliches don't become cliches for nothin'.

not being an alcohol type of person (used to hate the bile-bitter taste), i surprise myself sometimes. got tipsy last saturday, big time (wasted would be, well, somewhat closer to truth), and i liked it. i was happy. unwaveringly, untaintedly happy, for the first time since who knows when. alcoholics anonymous, you listenin? hahaha!

being in your own mind, but not quite. like you're seeing the world from the perspective of a person who's you and not you at the same time. and from that feeling of being detached-yet-undetached all the emotional knots inside you untangle by themselves, all the woes of the limbo-esque present that you mull over on a sober day disappear, down down the bowels of uncherished memory. for the moment, life's one big party. and you're in it with the best dang people in the whole wide world.

and you forget. that someone was not there that night. and that, four hours and five san mig bottles ago, you were wishing that he were. you're consumed by the Here and Now. and you're havin the time of your life. memories are nothing but distant mirages of the past.

man, was that a party.

by 4 am someone called for a last dance marathon. five boys and two of us girls dancing the rest of the night away. someone dared the boys to go topless (hahaha! was it me?) and they gamely stripped off (weehee! if i were cold sober i would've felt embarrassed for the more "awkward" strippers in the lot!). tessa, the only other lady in the group, stripped down to her tank top but i kept my mini-tee on--and, tipsy or not tipsy, no amount of prodding could ever make me take it off. haha! there is a limit to all "dis-inhibition", after all. thank god we were all friends, and everyone else was drunk. well, except ted, the only (party-pooping!) sober soul in that group. the next time there's beer around i'm going to undertake the mission of Getting Ted Drunk--and make sure it's documented! hehe, peace Ted!

party officially ended at 7 am. the stars were gone, the sun was waking up, and i was just too dang close to bein totally pooped. we trooped to the nearby McDo for breakfast. one simmering cup of coffee and i was back to my senses...badly in need of sleep. but, hwell, chatting with friends til the late morning was much more interesting to do. i decided that sleep could wait.

i was smiling for nearly ten hours straight. now that's a party for me.

beats out the eviction crowd brouhaha outside the PBB house any old time.

on the verge of tears

1.The view outside my window: another blue-gray day. on the verge of tears again, aren't we, sky? what's to cry about? yesterday i concocted some myth/lie to my 9-year-old brother. he was asking why it rains so often these days. told him that when the heavens cry, at least one little boy on earth must have done something bad. haha. he didn't believe me.
2. Well, the heavens are about to cry again. who's the little boy who did something bad this time?
3. Oh yes, there IS a revolution out there, right this very moment, a world that's pulsing with life and blood, and now i have the time to earn myself the right to be part of it, and what am i doing? writing a blog entry. :-P Righto. Haha.
4. But let's not be negative here, bluey. we're just making "bwelo", right? Now, what to do next? look up at the crying heavens and wait for one of god's brilliant ideas to fall on your lap? or maybe scour around in your Random Idea archives to see what's workable? i've had those things goin in the past several years, but life has somehow distracted me. oh well. time to get back in line. to get the blood rushin.
5. I have this bad habit. and i'm not talking about my smoking those marlboro menthols (positively despicable, but the compulsion keeps surfacing). i procrastinate because i don't like subjecting myself to mental torture. just the thought makes me want to set aside the mentalwork for later. BAD HABIT. shouldn't storytelling be something enjoyable, if you were born for it? well, it used to be. back in high school. and i still believe that it was during those times when i came up with the best stuff that i probably could ever have. less mature, but imaginatively raw (at least i think so, hehe). and making that stuff was pure enjoyment, some kind of solace from Chemistry and Trigonometry and all those school-related thingies that were forced down our throats in high school. Hey, Ma'ams, I don't want to learn molecular mass, I'm not gonna take up some BS Science course in college. I'd rather write my stories here. And so I did.
6. That was long ago, when I wasn't afraid to face that blank paper. Now there're just too many things to consider. And I don't even have a friggin idea what they really are. That scares the hell out of me, and that's not good, facing a blank paper with an unhealthy dose of fear in you. It's so nice when you're just starting, you're a blank paper yourself, no baggage, no inhibitions, nothing but your ideas, and the desire to get away from the world you're in. maybe that's what's missing. Maybe my world has become too much of a comfort zone.
7. Anyway. I'm going to do somethin about it. If I was able to bring it on at 16, maybe I can bring it on at 25. Haha. To think that I'd spent the past eight months living on deadlines I should've learned to develop the discipline to produce when the need arises. But that's different. That's work. This is something that i want to commit my life to.
8. Aw shut up, overhypin its role in your life won't make things easier for you. Just get it done.
9. Just saw the Kill Bill saga, back-to-back. Only two days ago. I don't really care for the Auteur Theory but if there ever is such an "auteur", it's gotta be Quentin Tarantino. Haven't seen any of his work (except for From Dusk Til Dawn, did he direct that?) but Kill Bill blew the shirt outta me. Amazing. I'd run out superlatives. He could just as well have created a new genre with his work on Kill Bill. I can't think of any film that was made before it that's anything like it.
10. Haha. Raving, raving! Watching good movies teaches me things, but I'm not gonna bore the passing reader by enumerating them. I just love watching good movies. Today I'm going to see Tim Burton's "The Corpse Bride". The last Burton film I'd seen was "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and I enjoyed it. Burton's another "auteur" to me--someone who can make his own stamp on any film he makes. His brilliance would shine through, even if the movie were bad. didn't think that could be possible.
11. Two of my friends who work in the ship cruise business are in town. One used to be special, the other..feelin special. Haha. "Feeling"! Am so bad. How coincidental that they're both in town right now. And how unsurprising that I feel like I don't really find my heart jumpin all over the place.
12. Saturday's the birthday of my Qpids co-writer. Happy birthday to ya, dearie! A party's been set, but I'm not nurturing expectations that a surprise will make my night. Won't happen, so better just look forward to that Magic Mic, bluey. Croon out "Especially for You" and "Tell Me Where it Hurts" til the PBB Eviction audience outside the B1gBr@ haus disperse and go home.
13. Incidentally, Saturday will also be the PBB Eviction Night. Rootin for Cass. The show will benefit more with her around. And Raquel's real nature just couldn't help peepin out from behind her After-Three-Nominations facade. You can't help what you are, really. I feel sorry for her.
14. I love PBB. For so many reasons.
15. I especially like Sam. Not for his looks (well, not entirely, hehe), but more for my impression of what kind of person he is. The first time I saw him in person was at Starbucks at ABS--the typical hunk, and I couldn't care much for those types. But seeing how seemingly down-to-earth and lovable he is inside the PBB house, and him displaying some semblance of talent (elementary gymnastics, but wow, kewl!) firmly placed him on my Top 3 roster of Celeb Crushes (haha! meron ba ko nun?), along with Keanu Reeves and Leslie Cheung. Recent evictee JB is as good as gone. Mwahaha.
16. "You're so pretty," Sam offhandedly told Cass in last night's episode. Awww. "Thank you, Sam," was Cass's detached, casual reply. Hey girl, didn't you hear what he just said? What's wrong with you?! They would have made a great loveteam--two beautiful, down-to-earth people. Fantasy fare. On the other hand, it might turn off more than a few Sam fans--like, say, me. Hehe. Actually found myself somekinda pouting whenever JB and Say would do their oncam PDAs before. Fantasy breaker.
17. Hah. Sky on the verge of tears, still. When are you going to finally rain? Don't hold it back too much. I love rainy days now. Makes me want to ruminate on the truly important things.

rain child

another rainy day. i used to feel all glum and dreary when it rains but lately i find myself getting to enjoy it more. curl up, read a book, drink some mallowed coffee, smoke, watch the sky cry itself out right outside my window.

i miss someone. so damn much. but i've been through the worst bout, i suppose. right after Act Three. now i'm just looking forward to seeing him again. someday. maybe by then i'd have been missing someone else. haha. so much for can't-live-without-you, martyr-kind of love.

hmm. come to think of it, i've always been a rain-child. rainy days used to inspire me towards creation. two months ago a friend and i whimsically cavorted under a downpour. it was liberating. we were two little pinpoints in the universe, embracing these higher powers.

yesterday i took a random bath under the rain again. it was cold, so i just sat there. and started introspecting. haha. the rain does that to me, as well.

thanks to cine europa, i now find myself unusually fascinated by europe. last film i saw was "dog nail clipper"--bad title, beautiful movie. the memory of the winter landscape, that beautiful red dog, the amazingly consistent performance of the lead actor (Peter Franzen) as a brain-damaged war veteran--it brought me into an exotic world, for an hour-and-a-half. i was a sponge, taking in everything without judgment. right until the final shot.

and that was when i realized that i had stumbled upon a little gem. "Ang ganda." i enthused to my friend, who felt the same. i rarely say that at a film's closing credits. usually i wait until we've gone out of the theater. haha. maybe my lowered expectations (the cineeuropa catalogue doesn't do the film justice!)had a lot to do with it.

i'm thinking of leaving. for a while. and buying myself a cheap but dependable digicam, for the moment. travails into the relatively exotic can't go without documentation. pictures are proof that you were alive, at a particular time and place. and for a pseudoexistence like mine, it serves to remind me that hey, maybe i really am alive.

europa, europa!

Caught a few films at the 8th CineEuropa Film Festival at the Shang:


Dying to Go Home (Netherlands)
The premise is fantastic, in the literal sense: the ghost of a Portuguese man who died in the Netherlands has to find a way to have his remains buried in his native soil, or else he won't be able to "cross over". Sounded interesting, so I came to see the movie expecting to be overwhelmed.

And I was, indeed--not by the film, though, but by that Portuguese male lead, Diogo Infante. The cutest ghost in celluloid history since Casper. haha.

Anyway the film started off promisingly--and with good enough focus. It followed Manuel (Infante) from his Dutch grave to his Portugal home as he searched for ways to establish contact with his living sister Julia. But when the story finally brought Julia to the Netherlands (where she began to make somekinduva life of her own, with Manuel's friends), Manuel's character was inadvertently tucked in the periphery. Nothing could be sadder than a passive one-dimensional ghost of a protagonist. I'd take that 90's Swayze-Moore flick over this anytime.

But I'd take that Diogo guy over Swayze anytime. Hehe. Fact of life#1: beautiful people are born, not made.






A bearded Diogo in 1994




Diogo at present









Fact of life#2: beauty fades. Was it drugs, Diogo? Work pressures? Personal problems? The searing, shriveling Portuguese sun? Plain old age? His case brings to mind the likes of Keanu Reeves and Leslie Cheung. Faded beauties. So sad.


Kroko (Germany)
kroko with a down syndrome dude
kroko in her bad-a$$ mode

Underage German ghetto goddess gets caught in a petty crime, sentenced to do some time in a home for Down Syndrome patients, gradually gets turned around. Realistic, subtle treatment to an aspirational theme...arthouse style. The open ending totally escaped me (Europeans love non-closures, don't they?), but that didn't take away the film's loveliness. And the uber-gorgeous German actress (whose difficult-to-pronounce name escapes me now) was just too glaring to not merit a mention here. Never thought a girl who didn't look like the average sweetheart-next-door (understatement! those eyes can split a man in two. HA-HA-HA) could be so dang beautiful. And this looker can act.






"Kroko", playing the sweetheart-next-door role in real life










The Buttoners (Czech Republic)



Of the four I’ve seen so far, this one for me is the most interesting. I don’t know why but there’s something about the Amorres Perros/Go structure that fascinates me-- makes me want to make something with that structure within this lifetime.

In this film, six seemingly independent short stories are woven together to create a quirky, engaging tapestry that's a bizaare cross between Altman and Ozon. As each story unfolds, each story's connection to the others is revealed. The revelations were so skillfully executed, couldn’t help blurting out, “AH, kaya pala…” aloud nearly everytime.

Haha! How bourgeois of moi. Watch this film. Somehow it made my trek to the Shang worth it.




The Spanish Apartment (France)



A slice-of-life about seven European exchange students in Barcelona, living together in one apartment. Centering on one character (French boy Xavier, played by Romain Duris), this movie offers up amusing vignettes but the plot just kind of plods along...which settled just fine with me. I was just in the mood for a stroll.

I liked the film for its theme: young people struggling to make it in new, unfamiliar territory. Growing up is a universal theme--transcends continents, cultures, sensibilities. And in that aspect, it hooked me.

Was hoping for an impactful/touching/insightful ending, though. But I left my seat with the same wintry discontent that I had felt after seeing Dying to Go Home. So that was the end for Xavier? Running away from his first job and locking himself up in his room to mull over pictures of his housemate-friends? I felt shortchanged.

For the film's humor and insight, though, I enjoyed the stroll-in-the-park pacing. And yeah, Romain Duris is another pretty find in the arthouse block, as well. Haha. The endearing EveryGuy type. Someone you’d be proud to bring home to Mama.



Romain Duris. Come home to Mama.





Lookin to see "Millions" by Danny Boyle (who directed "Trainspotting" and "The Beach"!) and "Faithless" by Liv Ullman (a classic name in world cinema...haven't seen a work of his, hehe) tomorrow.










Met the Monsieur at the French film’s screening. Once the apple of my eye; now, just some Man-up-There who got us cinema seats. Bad beeyatch. Til now I can't get over the fact that I fell for someone who wears an Americana coat with stonewashed denim jeans. Harsh! Am so bad.

Used to call him my "Sacre Coeur", y'know, but the magic is now dead and gone. The mind remembers well, but the heart carries no memory.

An enlightening moment. :-)

One year from now maybe I’d meet my beloved-of-the-moment again. Then I'd say to myself, I fell for a guy who uses expressions like ‘Gaga!’ and ‘Potah ka!’? WTF?!

Let’s leave those sentiments for the future, though. Cause sometimes we can only look at things with clarity and wisdom when we're no longer in the moment. And at the moment, I'm still in the dark. Still blinded.

Still smiling.

Out of sight out of mind, so they say. Gettin there. I take comfort in the fact that everything has a shelf life. And my history shows that I do learn the lesson sometimes.

Right now, though, I'm still looking forward to Christmas. Perfect excuse to get in touch. (Me of 2006: What?! How pathetic could I be?) Maybe by then you’d cease to see me as a semi-friend. Whatever (flimsy) bond that we’d established would have been gone. I'd send you an SMS greeting--the same msg I'd send to every name in my phone directory. Being the polite you, perhaps you’d text back. Maybe a generic reply, or another forwarded "Merry Christmas". And then it would end there. Til next occasion. Til next excuse.

Oh well. Hopefully, by the New Year, I would have finally seen the light.