tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85920738572035185162024-02-07T07:45:53.219-08:00BlissfulSavageryMusings about the bittersweetness of life.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-74459341586667331642013-10-18T00:21:00.001-07:002013-10-18T00:23:31.309-07:00The Price Of Happiness (Part I: Why You Can’t Argue With A Cheapskate)<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">If money CAN buy happiness, will you be willing to pay the
price? Or will you conscientiously ask for a good bargain?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This discussion about whether or not money can really buy
happiness has been nagging me for days on end. It all started when I got a
dreadful comment from someone at work. We were having lunch at this posh
Japanese restaurant in one of the classiest high-end malls in the metro (it was
an invitation, I wouldn’t spend so much on food on a regular basis). I’ve
always been a good participant in their conversations, which consist mostly of
high-end brands of clothing, overpriced food and coffee, a hundred-thousand-peso
collection of shoes, etc., albeit not knowing a thing about it. I don’t share
the same appreciation for the branded, upscale lifestyle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So there we were, talking about which brands they
patronize for shoes, or the peso value of the food they just had in some
God-knows-where resto, how much they spend for knick-knacks this and that. Then
the question landed on my plate: What things do I<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>spend<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>mostly on? And then I stared
straight at the wall trying to think of something to say. Well, I do drain my wallet
for books. But in retrospect, the most I really spent on books in one stop was
less than P5,000. That’s really not much of a “spending” if you ask me. And I
do buy really good guitars but it still won’t amount to much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So will I just spurt out some random thing or will I tell
the truth—that I DON’T spend on anything at all? So I came to the safest
choice, to tell everyone that, to be honest, I really don’t SPEND on anything
in particular. Then came the comment: “You’re such a CHEAPSKATE.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was offensive, alright. But come to think of it, hell,
I really am a cheapskate. It never occurred to me that I am probably so
conscious about my finances that I am forgetting to enjoy my hard-earned money.
I rarely shop for clothes, the most expensive piece of clothing I bought was a
pair of jeans close to only P2,000. Not much on shoes either, the most I spent
was around P3,500 for an Italian-made flats. Not on bags, too, the most
expensive of which was about P4,500 a friend of mine got from the U.S. As for
accessories, I got my hand-me-downs from my mom and my grandma. Make-up, the
average U.S. drugstore variety. And for food, nah, I always go for the exotic,
spicy Southeast Asian dishes that barely cost much. No, I’ve never been in a
club. No, I’ve never eaten a thousand-peso steak. No, I’ve never bought myself
a decent watch. No, not a single bling-bling. And no, never designer shoes. But
should that be such a big thing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Not that I can’t afford it, I can tweak my finances so
well it can even accommodate an Antarctica cruise if I wanted to. But the weird
thing about it all is that whenever I buy those kinds of things, I would always
get the after-purchase regret. And then I would swear I would never do anything
like that again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To echo the famous maxim “Money can’t buy happiness”, I
think that perhaps it needs a little adjustment: Money CAN buy you happiness if
you spend it on something that makes you <i>happy</i>.
And something that would make that <i>happiness</i>
last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">People would think I'm a weirdo or that I’m a righteous
bitch. But that’s how it’s been with me. The most dreadful feeling one could
ever possibly get is regret after a mindless purchase. It almost always
destroys my happiness bubble. Because I couldn’t risk feeling remorseful after
buying something, I would think twice, maybe thrice, on whether or not I should
buy this. Most of the time I would end up buying a cheaper variety, and
sometimes end up not buying at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Studies show that people respond differently to money. Some
are happy to buy jewelry, others prefer to spend it on expensive food. Some are
happy to buy fancy clothes and bags, others have bigger priorities like a kid
to send to school. As for my case, I happily scrape all my savings for books. I
would gingerly stash away extra cash for an out-of-the-country trip. I would
spend lavishly on musical equipment. I hand my younger sister her weekly
allowance for school. And I am also happily paying up for insurance and stock
investments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And for me, this is the price I pay for happiness. This
is, for me, money WELL-SPENT. I’d rather keep to it than dine in a fancy
restaurant or splurge on the latest gadget. I’m not saying that spending on
these things is not good. Like I said, it all depends on what makes you <i>happy</i> and what will make that happiness
last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I do believe, however, that one shouldn’t judge a person
by the way he/she chooses to spend money. That’s just reckless and insensitive
and downright stupid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And, yes, I’m a cheapskate, a scrooge, a miserable dork,
however you want to call it. But I’m good that way, thankyouverymuch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white;">
<br /></div>
jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-77441326400845224582013-01-05T07:24:00.002-08:002013-01-05T07:24:31.671-08:00This 2013, i shall/shan't...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
…update my blog more often.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nah, let’s face it. New Year’s resolutions are all but taken
for granted. Was there ever a time in our lives that we actually <i>did</i> what we’d pledged to do? Well, lucky
for us if we do manage to stick to one or two, or if we could at least <i>remember </i>that, oh, I’ve accomplished a
New Year’s resolution!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps it’s also because we tend to always make the most
absurd of declarations on the vaguest of things. Take this for instance. New
Year’s resolution: I promise not to be late for work. I mean, come on. How can
you ever pledge not to be late for work?? It’s not like you can actually
control the flow of the early morning EDSA traffic. Or how fast your building
elevator can go. And even if you do get to manage the traffic or the elevator,
you would always switch off your alarm clock when it goes off at an earlier
time anyway. That’s because your will is mightier than your words. So what’s
the point of going the trouble of making resolutions for the New Year?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course you will, well, if you do make your list a little
less ambiguous and a bit more doable. And if you stick to them religiously.
Mine wouldn’t be a New Year’s resolution, more like a list of stuff that I’d
try to avoid doing this year. So it goes like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Putting off replying to text messages at a
(much) later time. </b>OK, I’m guilty of this. I use a Blackberry and my
closest friends are all in my BBM contacts list. So if it’s a text message, it
would definitely be someone outside the circle, which will be attended to later
on. And which is cruel and unforgiving. I know. So now, I promise to reply to
text messages as soon as I get them.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Buying overpriced hard bounds. </b>I'm a
booklover, ‘nuff said. So buying outrageously pricey books is perfectly
understandable. Or so I thought. Because to be honest, the hideous salary I get
from my job wouldn’t be enough to sustain this kind of lifestyle. Plus, there
are cheap paperbacks and ebooks available everywhere. So now, I promise not to
spend too much on expensive hard bounds if I can help it.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Being too lenient with my diet. </b>Modesty
aside, I am one of those fortunate girls who don’t gain too much weight
regardless of how many rice meals I stuff myself with for days on end. But
well, obviously, that wouldn’t be for long; sooner or later I would have to
bear with a thick frame. And I am actually looking at a thickening flab of skin
on my tummy. So now, I promise to exercise regularly and be serious with it.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Being comfortable with old tunes.</b> I
belong to that group of weirdoes who never seemed to grow up when it comes to
their tastes in music. Well, you can’t blame me for remaining faithful to the
musical geniuses of yore. They’re just irreplaceable! But the world goes on
spinning and you can’t always stay glued to your corner when music and the
whole world start moving. So now, I promise to listen to new songs from now on.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Being too reluctant to leave home. </b>I
grew up a certified homebody and there are still a lot of times when I prefer
to stay at home even when the whole world outside is turning into one big party
place. I knew I was missing a lot staying inside my hole and all that. So now,
I promise to go out and experience the world as much as I can.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Not exerting too much effort on my looks. </b>I’m
not actually a party person as evidenced by Resolution No. 5, which means I
don’t usually go as far as dressing up and prepping my face. My make-up is
stashed away unnoticed and my clothes aren’t actually that fashionable. And
this has reduced me to a mere speck of dust in a sea of beautiful women. So
now, I promise to dress up, put on make-up and simply look good. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Traveling once a year.</b> Last year, I’ve
been to five different places in the country and two international destinations
and the feeling was exhilarating! It’s like the most perfect thing in the universe,
experiencing life away from the city you grew up in and discovering, learning
things. Once is not enough and will never be. So now, I promise to travel,
travel and travel until my feet can endure!</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Mind is elsewhere during work time. </b>Guilty
as charged. I wouldn’t be writing this down if I hadn’t noticed how less
productive I’ve been the past year because of too many things going on in my
head. It’s difficult being a marketing person; it’s a job where your brain is
at work 24/7. There were moments I caught myself staring at an imaginary
landscape or Alt+Tab-ing to Facebook while doing some overdue paperwork. So
now, I promise to F-O-C-U-S on work and to be more productive.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><!--[endif]--><b>Always having a hard time saying NO. </b>This
has been a very big problem for me, getting caught up in a lot of things when I’d
rather not be part of any of it. I know I always try hard to please everybody,
well not really <i>try hard</i> but <i>trying too hard</i>. That’s because I don’t want
to start an argument and be the object of extreme dislike. But the result?—hating
myself more and more for not doing what I really wanted in the first place. So now,
Imma say NO whenever I want to.</div>
jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-83890557036561540492012-06-23T10:52:00.001-07:002012-06-23T10:52:07.701-07:00Lipat BahayThe looooooong intervals between my blog posts are starting to annoy me. So I'm blogging now for the sake of blogging (which is totally non-sense). I know I've spilled too much emotions into this blog, not to mention filled every tiny space of this digital paper with ridiculous rantings about my mediocre life (like people would care). My boyfriend offered to create a website for me so I can finally say that the web space is MINE (ha-ha!), so I'm beginning to tidy up bit by bit and start sorting out what goes to "Blissful Savagery" and what should not.<br />
<br />
So stoked! :)<br />
<br />
PS: Wow, is that the first SMILEY to ever be typed in this blog?!?jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-86246831243845042252012-05-12T09:45:00.002-07:002012-05-12T10:01:39.699-07:00Chasing Liberty<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">I know, it’s a corny title. It happened to be the first
words that came to mind when I was thinking about blogging today. It has a
pretty deep meaning, though. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">I’m going to start off by stating a very well-known, very
widely-accepted fact of life: We ALL have dreams. If you don’t agree with me
then I’m guessing you are from another planet (but who knows, maybe aliens have
dreams too). Yep, we have dreams and we want to make them happen. It’s that
simple. That freakin’ simple. So I just don’t get it why some people are trying
to dampen your spirits. When you want something and you want to put all your
efforts to make these things work, someone comes along to throw a bucketful of
water at you and crush your ambitions to bits. Ouch.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">I know it’s painful. But what makes it all the more
excruciating is when these people happen to be the <i>closest </i>to you. People who are supposed to stand by you during
tough times. People who vowed to put your best interests above everything else.
People who are supposed to care for you and keep you motivated [?] Like, your <i>parents</i> maybe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">Yes, this blog is about them. And I’m putting this on
digital paper because there’s no freaking’ way I’m going to be able to stand up
and tell them how I feel. Everytime I try to voice out my thoughts, they would
come up with a counterattack that is so inappropriate you just want to force it
out of your brain. I try not to let their words eat me. But at some point, the
words just gnaw at you and you find yourself defenseless. I remember I used to
cry in my room whenever my dad would throw some really nasty remark at me. It’s
been his habit. He sometimes talks to us like we’re filth in his shoes. I
started to hate all the curse words I hear from him when I, unaware, spat them
all out myself by accident. I regretted it a lot because I never wanted to be
like him in any way. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">It’s been 10 years and pretty much nothing has changed at
home. I am 25 years-old now and my friends would make fun of me because I still
can’t make decisions for myself. It sucks bigtime. It’s not that I CAN’T make
decisions, they just wouldn’t let me. At least without a huge fight. Like
today, we had a row about work and me having a vacation. I’ve been working part
time as an insurance agent for almost 2 years now, and as much as I want to
take this job fulltime, they wouldn’t let me. Because they need me to have a
steady flow of income so I can provide for them. Thing is, I WANT TO GIVE THIS
JOB A TRY, and I know I’m going to be good at it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">And then there’s this vacation at Puerto Galera. I badly
need this vacation! I’ve been so stressed out with work and I freakin’ deserve
a break! And the place is just a few hours away, for goodness sake! A very
inconsequential matter that spawned a nasty argument. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">I hate these nonsensical arguments. I hate having to justify
my actions all the time. I hate having to put up with their selfishness. I just
want to be HAPPY—happy to do the things that I want. To travel to many places,
to have a fulfilling job together with people who REALLY care about my growth,
to experience so much in life no matter how bitter or sweet they’d be, to go
out and have fun with friends, to love and be loved, to be free to do all these
things without a heavy heart.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-small;">I wish they’d understand. I wish someday, they’d feel for
me.</span></div>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-17825299646852794452012-02-25T20:44:00.004-08:002012-02-25T21:11:02.520-08:00When being Happy is as easy as “1-to-10”<span>I know, and a lot of people would definitely agree, that I’m just not the happiest person in the world. I remember telling a friend that exact same line once over bottles of beer. But truth be told, as what I said back then, though I admit I’m not exactly too optimistic about things, I’m always trying to be. Yep, I’m not happy but I’m damn trying to be.<br /><br />And I can say I’m pretty much doing a great job! I know that you, my friends, would probably be thinking now how utterly pretentious of me to be writing this stuff. But hey, I’m doing you fucktards a favor!!! And I’m not pretending, I really am shifting views.<br /><br />So how to substantiate my claim of “trying to be happy”? Here are some of the ways. If you’re feeling depressed about almost everything in your life now, try one of these. I guarantee, it could help you.<br /><br />1. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Change of scenery</span>. If you are the type who, when gripped by a strong wave of loneliness, wanders off along dark alleys picking fights with random strangers, then you seriously need to consider this. Surround yourself with friends who care about how you feel and wouldn’t put up with your silly habits. Be someplace where there’s a lot of sun and greens and happy people singing songs and bunny-hopping (no, that's not a scene from “The Sound of Music”).<br /><br />2. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Listen to happy music</span>. Depressing music will only make you feel all the more depressed, and wallowing to self-pity will not do you any good. Soak up on some feel-good tunes, like those old records your dad listens to when you’re driving out-of-town. House music wouldn’t hurt either (not that I enjoy it but these sounds could help take your mind off serious stuff—because they rarely are SERIOUS).<br /><br />3. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Look fab</span>. And not in a mirrorwhoring way. Try this: After shower, take time sprucing up yourself. Put on real make-up (but don’t overdo it of course) and don’t feel bad if it’s taking up too much time. Go over each step ceremoniously and go all the way down to every detail of your face. It also wouldn’t hurt to smarten up your locks a little bit. Then afterwards, smile in the mirror and feel genuinely good about yourself. And don’t forget to tell yourself that you are beautiful (no matter how ridiculous it sounds).<br /><br />4. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Eat like there’s no tomorrow</span>. Really, would you ever have the strength to say no to a lip-smacking cup of gelato? Or a serving of red velvet cake? Or a mouthwatering slice of pizza? I doubt it, not a chance. So forget about your diet or your slimming regimen. Gorge to your heart’s delight! Food can work wonders for your mood in ways no amount of psychology or nutrition could ever comprehend.<br /><br />5. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Swallow pride</span>. I know this could be extremely difficult for some. But we know pretty well that pride can be as destructive as a nuclear weapon. There are lot of things that could bring you down, so try not to be swept away by too much pride and anger. If you have an unresolved argument with a friend or a family member, be the first one to reach out and apologize. You could already be carrying a load of emotions so it’s just as right to release yourself from the burden.<br /><br />6. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Give and receive little</span>. This could be translated to “STOP BEING A SELFISH BASTARD”. It sucks when you keep tabs on every single favor you do for people in hopes of getting as much in return. Give, and if you can help it, try not to ask anything back. And be sincere about it. Just take good look at the people who benefitted from your kindness. The smiles on their faces should be enough for you.<br /><br />7. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Close the distance</span>. Learn to reach out to people. They may have disparate views about the world but that doesn’t mean they don’t have anything nice to say. Be a little more sociable and don’t be afraid to open yourself up during conversations. Believe me, you’ll be surprised about how little stuff about the world you knew and how much you’d probably be gaining out of these talks.<br /><br />8. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Talk a lot</span>. Yes, don’t be afraid of being overly chatty. Don’t worry about monopolizing the conversation. Just go on and release whatever emotion that’s being kept inside you. Talk about anything you feel like talking about—your dog, the music you listen to, the ginormous serving of pudding you had for dessert—and try not to be concerned about whether or not the person you’re talking to is interested.<br /><br />9. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Show some love</span>. Be an advocate of L-O-V-E (not in a lecherous way, of course). Consider this as an act of charity. Volunteer to drive your little brother to school, and give him a peck on the cheek despite him being a total tard. Pour buckets of compliments and praises to people whom you feel are having a really tough day. Treat your bestfriend to lunch or dinner and be the first to say “thank you”. I don’t want to sound overly cheesy now but, hey, what’s there to lose?<br /><br />10. <span style="font-weight: bold; ">Pray</span>. Yep, nothing beats having a good, long talk with the one source of extreme, over-the-edge happiness—God. Everything that keeps you from achieving a life full of happiness should be dealt with accordingly. And he definitely gets all the work done faster than a speeding bullet. No questions asked.</span>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-37679536124490313932011-09-12T00:17:00.000-07:002011-09-12T00:17:04.794-07:00P34 launches Refer-a-Friend program<a href="http://p3ople4u.com/p34-launches-refer-a-friend-program">P34 launches Refer-a-Friend program</a>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-83788910564128061442011-06-25T09:27:00.000-07:002011-06-25T09:40:19.001-07:00A Lifelong Farewell<i>I never thought getting over the loss of a loved one would be this hard. It’s been four days since a very close friend of mine died of heart attack in his sleep but I still haven’t recovered the slightest. And since then, all I ever did was to try, without luck, to keep myself from plunging into depression. So it would take every ounce of my strength to spill on this digital paper all the feelings I’ve kept hidden inside. Wherever you are, I know that you could read this. So here goes.<br /></i><br />I regret not spending time with you when I could. You know, being busy with work and school and all that. The last time you asked me to tag along, I bailed out for the stupidest of reasons: a headache and the clothes I was wearing (but hey, you’ve seen my office uniform and though you were insistent, I know you were secretly relieved I wasn’t there, hehe).<br /><br />And I’m always going to be thankful for your being sympathetic with all my crazy, stupid problems. Remember the last time we rode the bus together? It was me and motion sickness again, and I was having a terrible time keeping up with the conversation. But you talked and paused at the right moment, because though I was feeling shitty, you knew I wanted something to fill the air. And I appreciate your concern over my health. I was rereading our conversation in your mobile and you were so worried about me. And that instant, my heart swelled and I cried.<br /><br />Didn’t you know I thought you were one of the smartest, most insightful people I’ve met? Yeah, I do respect your opinions and I look up to you. A lot. I love discussing books with you, and other things no matter how trivial they are. I mean, how else would a conversation between two people who share the same fondness for Haruki Murakami go? I feel bad that I wasn’t given the chance to tell you how much I value every single conversation we’ve had, talks about life, love, and even the green jokes . I was always so glad you were there to lift my spirits up whenever I feel down. And you were always ready to listen no matter how crazy my thoughts were. Thanks for showing great interest even in the most inconsequential things in my life, as evidenced by our endless Facebook comments and chats.<br /><br />I might not tell you often, but I thought it was pretty obvious that I enjoy your company a lot. We would hang out all day long and there would never be the smallest air of uneasiness. Except for that time you told me you missed kissing a girl—honestly, how am I supposed to respond to that ? Yeah, awkward. And that time we watched “Norwegian Wood” in a room and locked the door when the scene got a little too—er—cheesy?<br /><br />And thank you for trusting me with all your secrets and your girl problems. I thought it was funny when you got really conscious about your looks, because honestly, I don’t think there’s anything to fuss about (uh-huh, made you smile at that ). But you know what, I’ve always felt bad when the girls you liked didn’t fall for the tactics we’d worked on. I mean, what the hell, they sure are missing a lot! But still, it was fun talking to you about them. Of course, what else should your <i>Wingwoman</i> do?<br /><br /><div>I might not always tell you this, but thank you for just being with me, especially during your family gatherings. You know how hard it is for me to socialize so it felt ultimately good to have someone to talk to in a roomful of strangers. And thank you for taking care of me even if you weren’t asked to.<br /><br />You’ve been such a great friend, and yet there’s just so much I should apologize on. Sorry for screwing up my birthday bashes. Sorry for the late replies to your text messages. Sorry for missing out on your lunch invitations. Sorry for being so moody. Sorry for getting you caught in stupid arguments (you know what they are).<br /><br />And here I am, disappointing you again because no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’m still far from getting over. I hope you understand, and I’m sorry because it’s not going to be easy. That emptiness is eating at me, and I’m fighting really hard against it. And all those places we’ve been in, all those movies we’ve seen together, all the bottles of Tanduay Ice we’ve shared, I want you to know that every single memory of you will be stored forever in my heart. But there’s still the gaping hole that I know will never EVER be filled. And I won’t be able to look at life the same way again.<br /><br />I’m terribly missing you. And though I know you’re in good hands now, nursing this wound would be a lifelong pursuit. All I want now is for you to remember me always, all the memories we’ve shared, good or bad. Take care of me like you always did from the time we became friends. Talk to me in my heart. Help me cope with the loss. I couldn’t promise you anything, except to journey through life as usual. And hoping to see you again, soon.<br /><br />- <i>For my dear friend Pernell, I'm gonna miss you a lot.</i><div><i><br /></i></div></div>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-89666585729083664552011-01-01T08:44:00.000-08:002011-01-01T08:47:09.160-08:00New Year NoisesIt's not at all that weird to be spending the New Year inside my bedroom, a book in hand, and all curtains drawn. I’ve always been comfortable with silence. Until that day, though.<br /><br />While everyone was busy making silly noises outside, lighting firecrackers, screaming and pointing at the distant fireworks display, wondering how the ones who were lighting them could afford such a luxury, I was staying indoors, reading the Murakami I received last Christmas, and pondering over the laws of attraction.<br />In between paragraphs, I looked up from my book, stared at the four walls of my grandma’s bedroom and thought about how nice my world would be if it was inside this room, devoid of all the senseless clatter, peaceful, quiet, full of mystery. I thought about the sounds of firecrackers, the torotot’s blown, kids screaming, stereos turned up to full volume. Everything out there is real. And no matter how hard I try, I know I couldn’t keep away from those noises that easily. No matter how much I shield my little world from those things, I know that in one way or another all defenses would come undone. <br /><br />I closed the book and stared, without seeing a thing. I’ve always loved the sound of silence, but on that day—the start of a new year—I felt something altogether different. I was surprised—amazed even—because never in my whole life had I felt this uncomfortable with silence. I was afraid—afraid of what 2011 would bring. I was terrified of all the uncertainties that come with the new year. I thought about the plans I’ve laid for myself: my first term in graduate school, the business venture I’m about to take, the career changes I’m about to make, the relationship I’m about to rebuild… All these and the roadblocks that are certain to come with it: financial problems, compromises, physical and emotional stress. I realized that I could never look at New Year celebrations the same way again given this new perspective. So this is how it’s like, looking at the world from inside the bedroom, a book in hand, and all the curtains drawn.<br /><br />So before I got consumed by fear, I put on some warmers and rushed outside, picked up a torotot and blew to my heart’s content. I watched my dad and my brother as they lit the firecrackers. I hate the stench but what the heck, this is a family tradition. I took pictures of my mom, my sister, my grandparents. I watched the dog. He seemed to like the trompillo very much and he’s barking mad. I patted him and thought, oh well, this is life after all. Go ahead and live it. He raced towards the trompillo and gave out a thrilled woof.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-88337932872210620772010-11-16T06:13:00.000-08:002010-11-16T07:17:04.266-08:00Top 12 Girls I Would Love To Trade Faces With<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XxXHb2wksWetuGgCjYflMV9qQd0YqikVFrLk7EdLnpMz2niV5_KEwF5Ooxj0gOOBjJwAeI9izeeeUlhkyWLyaEzzGSxU3ALlWGcA8JNzNFNPfKRwA7UTPxUXvtoh0t_PIQeiW2DbOkg/s1600/julia+stiles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 147px; height: 118px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XxXHb2wksWetuGgCjYflMV9qQd0YqikVFrLk7EdLnpMz2niV5_KEwF5Ooxj0gOOBjJwAeI9izeeeUlhkyWLyaEzzGSxU3ALlWGcA8JNzNFNPfKRwA7UTPxUXvtoh0t_PIQeiW2DbOkg/s320/julia+stiles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540151224215144914" border="0" /></a>
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">12. Julia Stiles</span>. She takes your breath away in the I-don’t-care-what-I'm-wearing-I’m-pretty-anyhow kind of way. Known for her roles in rom-coms “10 Things I Hate About You” and “The Prince and Me”.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11. Zi</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">yi Zh</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ang</span>. I love her messy just-got-out-of-bed look. Also when she does all those stunts in her films looking all fierce and merciless.<img src="file:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/Jamie%20Rose%20Santos/My%20Documents/JAMIE/blog%20stuff/ziyi%20zhang.jpg" alt="" />
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. Moni</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ca </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bellucci</span>. She’s hot and Italian. The way she walks down the street and all heads turn her way in “Malena” would make any girl give everything just to have her face and her body (and I don’t give a shit about perverts).
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. Kristen Stewar</span>t. Who cares if she’s totally snatched every girl’s dream away when she starred as Bella Swan alongside Robert Pattinson in “Twilight”? I think she’s still pretty, though. Her skin has that weird luminous quality in it.
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<br />8. Alexandra Daddario</span>. I could do with a pair of mysterious, stormy gray eyes that would stare you down until you’d want to shrink the size of an ant.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. Camilla Belle. </span>Hers is a charm that's classic and timeless. A modern-day Jackie O. And why the hell does she look so ridiculously young in all her photos?
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name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1107304683 0 0 159 0;} @font-face {font-family:Calibri; panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin-top:0in; margin-right:0in; margin-bottom:10.0pt; margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:10.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --<span style="font-weight: bold;">77<span style="font-weight: bold;">7'cksahj</span></span></style>
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdIyiovhCiXHqjGuSkRoeuEoozrRYry29cIxhU5dYnwAX8-WP9ZtBIAH_GZd6la-bSwkS_7FVSnpwz8W5AveQcPK-TNS9ehugTzjy9PyLdnsW6GZeYcOawDGj_FDZJnWoHwYvaR_k2WM/s1600/hayley+williams.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdIyiovhCiXHqjGuSkRoeuEoozrRYry29cIxhU5dYnwAX8-WP9ZtBIAH_GZd6la-bSwkS_7FVSnpwz8W5AveQcPK-TNS9ehugTzjy9PyLdnsW6GZeYcOawDGj_FDZJnWoHwYvaR_k2WM/s320/hayley+williams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540154126005589282" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. Hayley Williams</span>. The Paramore frontwoman is a badass chic in her stunningly fiery red locks and her big booming voice. If anything, her trademark crooked teeth only added to her appeal. And the way she bangs her head like that? Heart-stopping.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Amanda Seyfried</span>. She looks so heavenly in “Letters to Juliet” and I like the way she talks. I love her long blonde locks. I love the way she stares in those piercing green eyes. I love the way she seems to care less about locking lips with girls in the movies.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9JxTnGhcOVLFOSePlUGFVgfuKtQ3IWSX_sr7KGk9brGKBK84a3QyShgeShTsMMu9SnvliHlMMFwWLzaWRYIcKZxrqTM0ipn41fTzDbuvt2sz1ZOuKQOlqik-hbcMD6bpQDC1h4lMkSQ/s1600/natalie+portman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH9JxTnGhcOVLFOSePlUGFVgfuKtQ3IWSX_sr7KGk9brGKBK84a3QyShgeShTsMMu9SnvliHlMMFwWLzaWRYIcKZxrqTM0ipn41fTzDbuvt2sz1ZOuKQOlqik-hbcMD6bpQDC1h4lMkSQ/s320/natalie+portman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540154527248089874" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Natalie Portman</span>. If personality is something you could wear, I’d gladly have a Natalie Portman ensemble. The best thing about looking all smart and classy is when you’re actually smart and classy. And in my opinion, no one could pull that stunt off better than Natalie Portman.
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<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Shin Hy</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">e P</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ark</span>. This multi-talented Korean actress could melt your heart with those innocent, blameless eyes. She would dress like a man for all she cares and the world would still fall on her feet and beg for her mercy.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCFg3t4MLKijI7LW1RlY-MeeSYkrFr30XSx3eI1CisiyFPUtxkjMHl4gIfX41G-z5SZSDfalXg2y5JaZiFacpLhkk7eFO6g4PaHGAa60-6ZmUnv0qi9g6bQl2kA-PKGXd8CYj2c7YscI/s1600/dianna+agron.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 147px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjCFg3t4MLKijI7LW1RlY-MeeSYkrFr30XSx3eI1CisiyFPUtxkjMHl4gIfX41G-z5SZSDfalXg2y5JaZiFacpLhkk7eFO6g4PaHGAa60-6ZmUnv0qi9g6bQl2kA-PKGXd8CYj2c7YscI/s320/dianna+agron.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540155764082218130" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Dianna Agron</span>. Blonde hair, hazel eyes, beautiful toned arms, and a voice that kicks ass. She bitches everyone around in the hit TV series “Glee” but everybody would still love her. I wouldn’t mind being bitched around by a Dianna Agron, means I’m bitch-worthy alright.
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<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjU20-prDlvr1YrKOnJaQi_VypmcpKmcnHwSnC5m46OCyOMo5XwIzfVSbWZGMQbm9Zy4oSBo5iTvPwH55kcHMEExMtinp6eDwgohUkbmHMeFFGXWYAq4XFYoLLz9G4mFlTkJN6dJ_RjO0/s1600/zooey-dreamy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 152px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjU20-prDlvr1YrKOnJaQi_VypmcpKmcnHwSnC5m46OCyOMo5XwIzfVSbWZGMQbm9Zy4oSBo5iTvPwH55kcHMEExMtinp6eDwgohUkbmHMeFFGXWYAq4XFYoLLz9G4mFlTkJN6dJ_RjO0/s320/zooey-dreamy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540156195263623826" border="0" /></a>
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Zooey Deschanel</span>. I would trade everything I have for those stunning blue eyes, classic hair-do and vintage dresses. I swear this The Smiths-singing enchantress would deprive you of sleep once you decide to watch “500 Days Of Summer”. There’s absolutely nothing to dislike about Zooey. The way she speaks, her mischievous smile, that dreamy look etched on her face…Oh what I wouldn’t give to be Zooey Deschanel for a day.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-67928749642088852522010-11-15T20:34:00.000-08:002010-11-16T07:35:50.188-08:00Attract and RepelProof that some girls could be just as self-absorbed and egocentric as most guys: When someone comes up to one of them and asks her “What’s your ideal guy like?” she’ll most probably go “My ideal man would have to dig the same music as I do.” The other might say something like “He’d definitely have to love Italian food.” Or “He should love Orlando Bloom as much as I do!” Crazy. By “ideal man” we simply mean the type of guy whom you think would make a great partner. Or the kind of guy you’d want to end up in bed with. Or the perfect guy who’d fill in the empty spaces in your life. We’re not asking about what you see in the mirror.<br /><br />Of course, girls want to be understood. She’d want a guy who can get along well with her folks, who could appreciate the way she dresses, who could put up with all her crazy habits. And there’s no way he could endure if he isn’t anything like her at all. Yep, it might work for some, but in my case, it just did NOT. I learned the hard way that I can never be my ideal partner. Admittedly, I used to be one of those girls who, when asked about what my ideal guy is, would immediately think about myself first—that this guy, whoever he might be, should be totally like me in all aspects: character, tastes in music, fashion, food, books (that is if he actually reads), films, etc. I might even be lucky to find a guy who shares the same opinions as I do. It’s like finding your “mirror twin”.<br /><br />I did found them once, three guys who were my mirror twins. It was crazy at first. I got all consumed by the thrill of having f*ckloads of things to do and talk about. My days passed by in a flurry of late-night phone conversations, supposed intellectual discussions over beer and pizza, heavy foot traffic in book fairs, jamming sessions, walkathons, and a lot of talking and talking. For a while, it was all I had going. But in the end, all they ever proved to be were flash-in-the-pan romances. None of them actually lasted. Why? Because at some point, we just got tired of the sameness, the monotony, the lack of variety. It just got a little too boring. When all we could talk about are the books we like, the food we like, the TV shows we like, you’d start to ask yourself, when can I ever step out of my world and explore the others? When will I discover new things and eventually grow up?<br /><br />Now I say this whole thing about compatibility is crap. After meeting him, of course. He was nothing like me. We did come from the same school, took up the same course in college, we’re both the eldest in the family, and pretty much share the same disposition. But none of my interests matched his. He’s outgoing and fun-loving, I’m introverted and repulsively anti-social. He likes to play basketball, I prefer to bum around all day in front of my computer. He digs fatty American dishes, I glorify Italian and Chinese cuisine. He enjoys reading news magazines and non-fiction titles, I like reading dystopian lit and magic realism. He listens to good melodies, I dissect the lyrics. He wants to earn big sums, I prefer doing work I’m comfortable with. So obviously, we are just two different people.<br /><br />But here we are, two people in love, and we really don’t care much about our differences. In fact, these differences are the things that make our relationship even more exciting. If not for him, I wouldn’t realize that going out would be fun. I wouldn’t know that burgers and steaks aren’t really that bad at all. I wouldn’t know that non-fiction reads are just as great as the novels I stock on my shelf. I wouldn’t know that it’s okay to relax to the sounds without fussing over the complexities of the lyrics. It’s like living in an altogether different universe and finding happiness in it. We have this endless stream of topics of conversation flowing between us. We do run out of things to talk about, mind you, but we could share the silence without feeling awkward. With him, differences are beautiful and not something we should argue about.<br /><br />As my first-grade science teacher had said, “like poles repel and unlike poles attract”. Well, I didn’t know I’d come to appreciate science this much.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-22497163609697463322010-11-07T08:00:00.000-08:002010-11-08T06:02:32.055-08:0010 Things I Wish I Had The Guts (And The Time) To Do1. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Wear red lipstick.</span> I’ve always felt awkward whenever I walk out of the house with even the slightest make-up on, so you could imagine me putting on red lipstick. I thought it would only make me look like a flesh-eating Bratz f*cktard. But still, I’ve seen photos of women wearing luscious red lips and I somehow thought that it MIGHT look good on me had I only been brave enough to wear one.<p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">2.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="">Ride a roller coaster. </b>Okay now, no laughing. At this point I would have to admit that I’ve never experienced a roller coaster ride. I blame it on my unmanageable motion sickness attacks, even riding a Merry-Go-Round is a catastrophe.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">3.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="">Kiss a stranger full on the lips. </b>Yes I know, it may sound sick but I’ve always wished I had the guts to steal a kiss from some random guy out there. Like when you’re walking down the street and this guy, looking all hot and enigmatic, eyef*cks the hell out of you. Swoon! Oh well, it’s me and my perversities again.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">4.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="">Spit at someone else’s face. </b>HAHA! Yeah, this has been my ultimate fantasy. I would work up some juices inside my mouth, take good aim, and spit it all at the face that disgusts me the most. Oh, the satisfaction and the sense of fulfillment it gives is beyond measure. Works best if you have colds (wink).</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">5.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="">Shoplift</b>. Prices of goods are ridiculously high these days. So you wouldn’t blame me if I suddenly have this urge to pocket a few merchandise and relieve myself the burden of having to pay for them. If only supermarkets aren’t too strict on implementing security procedures. And IF ONLY I was a little less chicken-hearted.</p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style=""><span style="">6.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="">Get inked. </b><span style=""> </span>If Amy Winehouse’s health isn’t deteriorating at the moment, I would’ve been serious about my attempts at getting inked. I know her tattoos have nothing to do with her health problems but I just thought it would make me look sickly in a tried-my-best-to-look-tough-but-I-screwed-up kind of way. Still, I think that the skin would make a great canvas of sorts. </p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style=""><span style=""><span style="">7.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="">Make a fake reservation. </b>This is an act I have rehearsed and run through over and over in the old days (but have never gotten around to doing it, obviously). This is what I’d do: I would call up and ask for a reservation in a swanky restaurant, give a fake name (probably from a residential directory), and have it cancelled seconds before the said time, or worse, make a terrific no-show. <b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style=""><span style=""><span style="">8.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="">Bypass the public toilet queue. </b>One of the worst places on earth for a girl (aside from an SRO concert event) is the ladies’ public restroom. Believe me, a trip to the ladies’ room could instantly turn a blissful shopping spree into a nightmare. Long queues make me sick, so I dream of being able to pull this stunt off someday. You may think that ladies are harmless, but this I tell you: never EVER underestimate the deadly manicured claws and the monstrous spine-tingling leather handbag of a lady.<b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style=""><span style=""><span style="">9.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="">Crossdress for a day.</b> One time I asked a boy bud of mine what they talk about inside the men’s room, or if they actually talk about anything at all. Well, he just looked at me as if I’d thrown cow poop at his face. So that got me wondering, what do boys talk about when they’re all by themselves (aside from sex, of course)? What do they have in their bags (porn CDs maybe)? I know guys wouldn’t confide that much in us girls so I came up with this brilliant idea! <cue evil="" laughter=""><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></cue></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in;"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 22.5pt; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><b style=""><span style=""><span style="">10.<span style=";font-family:";font-size:7;" > </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="">Start a war in YouTube.</b> With just a few racist videos or some really nasty jokes, I could definitely start an online bloodbath in YouTube! Yee-hah! Isn’t it fun seeing all those people hurl profanities at each other over such petty things? I know, right. This could be the start of my most dreamed-of online superstardom! Again, only if I wasn’t the gutless little miss that I am.<b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-75339132880822025462010-11-01T08:16:00.000-07:002010-11-01T08:49:51.790-07:00Life on PaperIt’s not everyday you get to really appreciate the things you have. But <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWr8GuKxFBdyheXZb_lLTGtKhhSE33XAIktn2GAnXCjCPg5L961ofsJEqBD6shH8_gDqUY72mBsJ0QOOg8626ifd7jjZBbeF31ZpRy_UCpo2gquLMGlARoihwrLHFY0C4YkvnyikMUOk/s1600/amanda+seyfried.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWr8GuKxFBdyheXZb_lLTGtKhhSE33XAIktn2GAnXCjCPg5L961ofsJEqBD6shH8_gDqUY72mBsJ0QOOg8626ifd7jjZBbeF31ZpRy_UCpo2gquLMGlARoihwrLHFY0C4YkvnyikMUOk/s320/amanda+seyfried.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534606932502603282" border="0" /></a>I suppose it just feels good to do so, especially when you are in an unpleasant mood. It’s comforting, I tell you. In my case though, it all started with a disheartening exam and the uber-depressing movie “Buried”.<br /><br />When I got home after a looong day, I got so dramatically consumed with grief and anguish that I frantically scoured my unwatched DVD collection for some feel-good films. I desperately needed something that would lift my spirits. So there I was randomly selecting movies and I finally got down to watching “Beauty and the Briefcase” and “Letters to Juliet”. The protagonists in the two films are both writers so I got to reflect on myself more—myself as a writer, that is.<br /><br />I remember only too well that day when I decided I wanted to hone my writing skills and take a course in Mass Communications. That was after I got convinced by my grandmother that taking a Fine Arts course wouldn’t do me any good. I was in high school back then, a sophomore. I didn’t know much about writing then—about grammar, structure, figurative expressions, all those stuff. All I knew was that I loved reading. But I knew that just because I was an avid reader it doesn’t mean that I could make a good writer someday. What I know is, as an avid reader, I have this secret wish of wanting to be read, to be on the reverse side of it all. So with the help of a few of my literary idols—Dickens, Rowling, Stevenson, Keene, Coelho and King—I tidied up a bit and took little steps into becoming a literary writer. I remember converting my old notebooks into storybooks. I would write down stories and draw images across the page and have someone read it aloud. Yeah, sounds crazy. But it was pretty much how I spent my childhood then (after the era of Barbie and Polly Pocket, of course). I took up Journalism and found out that there’s a lot more to writing than what I thought to be only entirely about scratching a pen on paper: that the world is big and there are a lot of great stories out there waiting to be heard.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NpP-tMY_oRnfW-S-QpN2aMoASptrgQzp5O_YfK7jy1G4_T6QEaDOh8JhrND6F3DrSeS3SQQ54ihA2MxO9EQx_ngKWdGGMDQ5nX4NexO8bKwtlPAgepwvOCD9JbGSyF13mRAZilcZqcM/s1600/hilary+duff.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NpP-tMY_oRnfW-S-QpN2aMoASptrgQzp5O_YfK7jy1G4_T6QEaDOh8JhrND6F3DrSeS3SQQ54ihA2MxO9EQx_ngKWdGGMDQ5nX4NexO8bKwtlPAgepwvOCD9JbGSyF13mRAZilcZqcM/s320/hilary+duff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534608406330563954" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I’ve always loved listening to people talk about their lives, what and where, this and that. Somehow, they make excellent stories, more interesting and more colorful than those of movie stars, celebrities, politicians, and all those despicable hypocrites out there who actually don’t have anything substantial to share to the world. These stories are worthy of being printed across glossy paper or etched all over the sweet-smelling pages of a hard-bound book. And this—as I’ve discovered while journeying through the valuable lessons of life as a writer—is what I’m here for: to look for great stories and make them known. To listen to what these people have to say and help them reach out and share their stories to everyone else in the world. To give them what is due as stars of their own stories, celebrities in their own right. And this is why I’m proud of being a writer: because I’ve always done my fair share of searching far and wide for these stories and retelling them in a way that would capture the interest of my readers, to make them feel that these stories matter to them as their own. This is my way of making people understand the value of life, and what it is to others as well.<br /><br />Just like Sophie in “Letters to Juliet”, whose knack for spotting interesting stories led her to find love in the most unexpected way, or Laine in “Beauty and the Briefcase”, who has always been driven by her dream of writing for Cosmopolitan magazine, writing—for me—has been more than just a part of my life. Rather, it is LIFE for me. Yes, I do write for a living. But I’ve always preferred it the other way around: I LIVE to WRITE. So if you’re a writer and you’re feeling bad about making do with a measly salary, don’t be. Look outside your window. Eventually, you’ll realize that the world needs you more than you know.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-48880304946606727702010-10-25T05:47:00.000-07:002011-06-25T21:47:10.439-07:00A Half-Hearted Decision<span class="Apple-style-span" >Have you ever been coerced to do something so bad it made you cry just thinking about it? OK, wouldn’t want to give you the wrong idea but I wasn’t molested or abused or anything. It’s just me and my obsessing over stressful things like work, more work, and more more more work. People close to me come up and tell me, “You stress too much about things that aren’t worth stressing about”. But what can I do? This is me driven by the absolute inevitability of taking more than what I could handle. Because I’m not very fortunate enough to have extra dough to spend for all the vanities life could offer. Because I can’t buy that swell outfit from Dorothy Perkins. Because I don’t have the means to bum around and stuff myself with Porterhouse steak or a Yellow Cab pizza or even Twister Fries!</span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Alright, it all started because I couldn’t treat myself to Twister Fries. But no, this isn’t just about that. This is about virtually everything that got me all bonkers again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Someone close to me offered me a part time job in the insurance company they work in. Don’t get me wrong, I’m always going to be grateful for the offer. But the thing is, a huge chunk of my indecisiveness is all about me not wanting the job at all. Alright, I’m not “sales material”, whatever you wanna call it, and it’s an unchartered territory for me.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >I have this inkling that it’s really not meant to be. First of all, I couldn’t quite manage to fit it in my cramped schedule. Second of all, I failed the exam (and me failing an exam is a major thing, mind you). And third I just don’t see myself doing it at all. And no one seems to understand! </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Problem is, I can’t bring myself to quit, after all they’ve done for me and after all the trouble I’ve caused them…it’s never going to be that simple. Now I’m all stuck. I just thought, well, maybe I should just suck it all up.</span><span style=""> </span></p>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-59906819335369300502010-09-16T09:15:00.000-07:002010-09-16T09:23:38.336-07:00Caught in a Chase<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iyosMgtQCAxmpzYb6QL_rhBblT1SblYCZMmGOj-qePZIrxnFJyxQ1TO9HfLsJkv4WNvsZuNah752KZ1oLwWqPaE-MsELKCQFh1404p8B0Cj1rjeL8vCZ6nkDBtCI-mGFQoMt3xrM4f8/s1600/sheep.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3iyosMgtQCAxmpzYb6QL_rhBblT1SblYCZMmGOj-qePZIrxnFJyxQ1TO9HfLsJkv4WNvsZuNah752KZ1oLwWqPaE-MsELKCQFh1404p8B0Cj1rjeL8vCZ6nkDBtCI-mGFQoMt3xrM4f8/s320/sheep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517546622080237874" border="0" /></a><br />Has anyone you know ever been "sheeped"?<br /><br />I tried to look up the meaning of the word in the Internet, and this is what I got:<br /><br />1. To send email from another user's account, notifying the world that this person has broken computer security policy by walking away from their computer and left it unlocked.<br />2. Usually used in the game World Of Warcraft.<br />3. A take on the phrase "Pulling the wool over his/her eyes", meaning that you might as well have a whole sheep because you are lying or bluffing so much.<br /><br />...And a whole lot of crap. But nothing really came close to what I had in mind when I was reading Murakami's "A Wild Sheep Chase". And after reading it, these weird images start creeping inside my mind. For one, I came close to the point when I'm starting to question my own sanity. Like I've been quite unhinged for a while. And who wouldn't? It's like your whole world was plunged into chaos and no matter what you do, you can't rub the feeling off. And I never wanted to admit I'm living a mediocre life after all. But after reading this, well...maybe I am. So I'm desperate to get into the chase for this sheep.<br /><br />So, in my own words, I pluck out a meaning for the word.<br />sheeped: (adj) to be in a state of total mental mayhem, that of being sheep-like (like when you suddenly felt the urge to buy a woolen sweater)<br /><br />OK, enough of this crap.<br /><br />"A Wild Sheep Chase"is a mock-detective novel where names are of zero importance. Not a single character in the story had a name. Except for Kipper, the cat. They do have names of course, only they weren't actually identified in the book. So this guy is practically living a very normal life, or to borrow words from the book, a very "mediocre existence". He runs his own advertising company with a colleague, and then a few years later he and his wife got divorced. Then he meets a girl who's got seductive ears that, as he says, improves sex a thousand times.<br /><br />But one day, he and his girlfriend get caught up in this serious business of one called "the Boss", a powerful right-wing politico, all because of a photograph of a sheep his fr<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQw7Ss3WYwoqfpUyCYUqNIs5oj0eW6rmNLRvMtPRdsZZnBctg9Ty7WUFYIEl255tpH6K1mg5J6rKH_fuViVbCfsXbWtczYNmVA8xz8ly5axUs-ozmCEAJAPLLVqNbIaYaRPWMqTGyzuh0/s1600/51F4GDX6toL._SCLZZZZZZZ_AA250_A-Wild-Sheep-Chase-A-Novel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQw7Ss3WYwoqfpUyCYUqNIs5oj0eW6rmNLRvMtPRdsZZnBctg9Ty7WUFYIEl255tpH6K1mg5J6rKH_fuViVbCfsXbWtczYNmVA8xz8ly5axUs-ozmCEAJAPLLVqNbIaYaRPWMqTGyzuh0/s320/51F4GDX6toL._SCLZZZZZZZ_AA250_A-Wild-Sheep-Chase-A-Novel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517547303148904290" border="0" /></a>iend "the Rat" gave him. Then he meets a weirdo in a sheep outfit who talks without pausing. Apparently, the sheep is no ordinary one; it's a lot bigger than the common breed, with a white face and a star-shaped mark on its behind (see book cover). This sheep was said to be the one that entered Genghis Khan, and to be made a host for this sheep means an unparalleled honor. Or so they say. So the sheep enters your body and he finds a healthy pasture inside you. Then you suddenly possess power beyond anything else. But when the sheep leaves your body, you'll be one useless, disgusting heap of garbage.<br /><br />It's basically a tale of possession; a person becomes possessed by the sheep and he attains power beyond anyone's grasp. The sheep feeds on this "power" and you become its tool; when the sheep is inside you, you lose all hold on yourself. Simple: the sheep gives you power and then you give yourself to it in return.<br /><br />I say this is one of Murakami's best. The profound, complex plot compensates with the simplicity of the characters. And you can even read it on the train! Easy-peasy! The suspense builds up fast, too, and you'll find yourself gripped by the chilling, eerie atmosphere at the end of the story. What should I say, the ending's spectacular! I was particularly struck by the ingenuity of the "sheep chase", with twists and turns you'd never really expect. In the end, I was actually "sheeped".<br /><br />Turns out, I couldn't get over it. Maybe I should get myself some woolen sweater after all.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-57733899792813802302010-09-14T08:51:00.001-07:002010-09-14T08:53:32.753-07:00The Solution<p>How often do I have to convince myself that taking my own life won't make me feel any better? Come on, think back on those days when you've reveled so much in your life you almost forgot that shit's happening. Recall those books you've read, the life-changing stories that moved you and made you swear never to hate your life again. Remember those valuable pieces of advice that you thought meaningless but later proved to be the only salvation in your otherwise painful existence. Try to enumerate the names of the people who'd be devastated once you've crossed that line.</p><p>Or simply, just think about what you'll be leaving behind. Stuff. More and more stuff. Stuff you actually never thought you can't live without. Stuff that mean so much to you. Think, think, think.<br /></p><p>Thing is, I just think this is pointless, to force myself into believing that these things make sense. They just don't. </p>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-32585112931440389532010-09-11T09:25:00.000-07:002010-09-11T09:49:42.226-07:00Ode to the Girl on Fire (and the symbolic end of a craze)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqaQ7rq7eGC6VEKKc6g7OXq9qDy1o9Iz7qvSIKIwl87Tw23bmHUU0RCq5VknePPDk7fIuXEsvThJpj_ybZRZcmetv0Wiq23oyaJ1Bgo98K1APajUV88M8Iz_SiGFhlPJFKdBK9da1BhRU/s1600/katniss.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqaQ7rq7eGC6VEKKc6g7OXq9qDy1o9Iz7qvSIKIwl87Tw23bmHUU0RCq5VknePPDk7fIuXEsvThJpj_ybZRZcmetv0Wiq23oyaJ1Bgo98K1APajUV88M8Iz_SiGFhlPJFKdBK9da1BhRU/s320/katniss.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515698024920382898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">I no longer feel any allegiance to these monsters called human beings, despise being one myself… Because something is significantly wrong with a creature that sacrifices its children’s lives to settle its differences.</span>" - Katniss Everdeen, <i style="">Mockingjay</i><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I know, right. It’s not easy being a kid in a world like our own. Even if it doesn’t exactly mirror the condition of which Panem citizens, particularly the district people, are living in. For all we know, circumstances may lead to it, and, being the barbarians that we are, it wouldn’t be much too long before someone realizes that people need to be coerced. And the people who possess the power will only have their greed, their insatiability, their self-indulgence overcome whatever sanity and reason that’s left in their tiny, money-driven heads. Much, much too soon. And the children are the ones who will have to suffer the consequences. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" face="trebuchet ms"><span style=""> </span>This is the reality the <i style="">Hunger Games</i> trilogy wanted us to see. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style=""> </span>However, I’m not going to tell you what exactly happened in <i style="">Mockingjay</i> since a lot of the fans out there aren’t done reading the book yet, and I don’t wanna be chastised, or worse, be skinned alive for spoiling the suspense. Let me just tell you how I, for that matter, relate to the story.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">OK so right now I’m coping with <i style="">Mockingjay</i> withdrawal symptoms, and I’m really having a hard time trying to concentrate on something that would take my mind off it. The thing is, this has always been a problem, me getting so attached to a novel and finding it really hard to move on after I’ve finished reading. I’m thrown into the same scenario all the time: Three days to read the book and a week or two to mull over it. Days of deprivation and half-hearted responses to the friends and workmates who engage me in conversation. Several moments of being caught lost in thought, trying to put words to that weird feeling of abandonment consuming me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">You might think I’m overreacting. Yeah well, I wish I am. I remember as if it was just yesterday how I cried really hard after finishing the last <i style="">Harry Potter </i>book. I mean, come on, I started reading <i style="">Harry Potter </i>since I was 12 and had been truly devoted to the series ever since. I practically grew up with Harry; he was my own paper-and-pen twin brother. So when the series finally came to an end, the sadness was just so overwhelming. I felt empty and useless and miserabl<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5lAI25qSUbPMv_4B2PPY0isnEv87nUWWuRIc5UdnfLHTrK7NqJGdXYdgbQaasNLGPFwBTzhArsr7Ps48bYuJjFLh0JKTFSe-Dl1XkQDGtEOKAQ-QtZqdPwQM-MAcbEDzguo3Rk0-aSNg/s1600/MockingjayCover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 141px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5lAI25qSUbPMv_4B2PPY0isnEv87nUWWuRIc5UdnfLHTrK7NqJGdXYdgbQaasNLGPFwBTzhArsr7Ps48bYuJjFLh0JKTFSe-Dl1XkQDGtEOKAQ-QtZqdPwQM-MAcbEDzguo3Rk0-aSNg/s200/MockingjayCover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515695782287054674" border="0" /></a>e. It’s like the end of the world for me, you know, that feeling of not having anything to look forward to anymore. And how you’d feel alone during the wee hours of the morning because there is no 600-page novel to keep you company and to spend all your sleepless nights with. Yep, painful. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">It’s basically just the same with <i style="">Mockingjay</i>, though I started reading <i style="">Hunger Games</i> just over a year ago. I wasn’t a fan of dystopian literature because I used to have this general impression that dystopian novels are the easiest to write since you can put in virtually anything you want—from flying bulldozers, hybrid animals to tie-dyed human beings—and get away with it just like that. Readers would get mystified and wouldn’t care much about the story anymore. But the <i style="">Hunger Games</i> trilogy is an exception. For me it’s not just a dystopian novel but a mirror image of what the world could possibly look like in the not-so-distant future. Katniss Everdeen is likewise the very reflection of myself—a girl who was thrown mercilessly into the world and subjected to the harsh tests of life. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">I used to be a Katniss Everdeen in my own little world, battling endlessly with all the shit life was throwing at me. At a very early age, I learned that life can be cruel and I had no choice but to suck it up. So much for the drama. What I’m trying to say is that now I’m done with <i style="">Mockingjay</i>, I feel more alone than ever. I just lost a paper-and-pen twin sister who’s just survived a bloody war in her world. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: trebuchet ms;">Now I’m left to deal with my own misery. And the bigger games are just about to begin.</p>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-3993912943394994242010-08-28T00:14:00.000-07:002010-08-28T00:16:01.982-07:00Before the Beginning by Rainer Maria Rilke<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>God speaks to each of us as we are made,<br />then walks with us silently out of the night.<br />These are the words, the numinous words,<br />we hear before we begin:<br /><br />You, called forth by your senses<br />reach to the edge of your longing.<br />Become my body<br />grow like a fire behind things<br />so their shadows spread<br />and cover me completely<br /><br />Let everything into you;<br />beauty and terror.<br />Keep going, remember<br />no feeling lasts forever<br /><br />Don’t lose touch with me.<br />Nearby is the land they call life,<br />you will know it by its intensity.<br /><br />Give me your hand.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-75170387805647393222010-08-25T09:01:00.000-07:002010-08-25T09:04:32.128-07:00The Venom<span style="font-style:italic;">Anger as soon as fed is dead –<br />‘Tis starving makes it fat.</span><br />- Emily Dickinson<br /><br /><br />On some days, I could really be such a hardheaded bitch. But I realized it would be extremely difficult not to be. There are just some instances when you totally have no choice but to let the venom out. Or else it’ll turn on you. And when you finally let it all out, the feeling of relief is just so overwhelming you could almost touch it.<br /><br />Talking about anger, I would have to admit that I’ve always been manipulated by my own temper. But I do find a proper outlet, a suitable conduit so I wouldn’t end up throwing an F to random strangers on the street. Sometimes when I feel my temper slowly rising on the surface, I get my guitar and strum a happy tune. Or I’d flip open a book. Or I’d switch my laptop on and write to my heart’s content. <br /><br />But I could say I was never at ease with the anger phase. Despite the intensity of the feeling, I keep my old self anchored at the base, just to stop myself from blowing things out of proportion. So even when a “stray bullet” (a codename for the malicious words I often get from a certain someone at work) comes speeding my way, I could recover easily from the attack. Or if I’m lucky enough, maybe I could dodge it using a well-devised counter-attack (again, IF I’m lucky, which I hardly ever was).<br /><br />It’s OK to let your anger consume you. Sometimes, it’s the only way you can free yourself from all the shit that’s been burdening you. Just as long as you won’t lose yourself in the process and that you would know how to get back to your old, lovable self again.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-62927930025107274092010-08-22T09:25:00.000-07:002010-08-22T09:26:12.171-07:00Carpe DiemI rarely have the whole weekend to myself. Most of the time I spend it doing part time work for a small web copywriting business that a friend of mine owns and operates. On some days, I would volunteer to do some household chores (I would always prefer washing the dishes so I could get my fingernails cleaned). At times I would ask my boyfriend to come over and watch a basketball game on TV with me (him enthusiastically reliving every glorified basketball moment he had in his life and me feigning interest) or to just talk about things (if I’m lucky to even get him to talk). <br /><br />So now, let me just seize this chance.<br /><br />Yesterday, while I was updating my Facebook account, I had a very interesting conversation with a close friend at work. At first it was the usual humorous banter we often had, until it got a bit serious. He asked me how I was and I was all “I’m not sure but I could do with some piece of advice.” I remember telling him days ago—while I was all drunk and pooped after a drinking session with my colleagues at work—about how I couldn’t seem to have the time to do the things I used to do and actually enjoy them. Was I being too hard on myself, staying up until one in the morning doing part time work that would only get me as far as a few dollars and then waking up at 6am to prepare for my regular 9-to-5 job? Am I missing a lot in life now, having been held prison by my own noble virtues, slaving away with the responsibilities that are just too big for me to handle?<br /><br />To that he said “Life is a matter of choice”, which, in my twisted mind, would most definitely translate to, if you choose to be this way then suck it up. I know, but it makes so much sense. He said I should stop stressing myself with so many things. And maybe I should stop rushing through life like a maniac an start to take it easy. Why not seize every moment of happiness and enjoy it? Life is too short to burden yourself with too much stress from work, financial foibles, conflicts, etc. God only gave us 24 hours in a day to make the most out of it. So seize the day. Carpe diem.<br /><br />I wanted this weekend to be totally different by doing absolutely nothing. I thought it would be good to stop being productive just this once, for a change. Slept through the day, read a book, learned to play a new song in the guitar, ate a full meal, watched TV, laughed hard and prayed. This is how I seize that one-off chance of being totally unburdened and unoccupied with work. This is just how I choose to seize the day. And as the weekend draws to a close, I’m just so glad I can end the day without so much as stealing a glance at the clock.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-52959335283517570872010-08-21T00:50:00.000-07:002010-08-22T09:32:20.103-07:00The Cure For Death<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCcSABd2Z6W7vjvokaMbFYbDEn-4a9jPje9zQ446ehrP0SmR0wBAM6L19XDULAI1Wxjx6k81D6uNoVt8ASUio8cH3m8nAbv7A7DwJjhO9H-9M-Lt8uP7waS35eUhDU8MIMGbvLtx2e-Q/s1600/veronika-decides-to-die.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCcSABd2Z6W7vjvokaMbFYbDEn-4a9jPje9zQ446ehrP0SmR0wBAM6L19XDULAI1Wxjx6k81D6uNoVt8ASUio8cH3m8nAbv7A7DwJjhO9H-9M-Lt8uP7waS35eUhDU8MIMGbvLtx2e-Q/s320/veronika-decides-to-die.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5508272764865162450" border="0" /></a><br />“I’d be struggling with a lot of other long-forgotten things…But all that is just a part of life; and the price you pay for having to deal with those minor problems is far less than the price you pay for not recognizing they’re yours.” – Mari in “Veronika Decides To Die”<br /><br />When people decide to end their lives, I come to think of two possible reasons: one, they think that their lives have suddenly become meaningless and they get tired of it; two, they think they’ve finally fulfilled their purpose in life and have reached the end of the road (in which case, going on living will only prove pointless). But either way you see it, there seems to be no evident systematic approach as to how you’d know when the right time to die has come. I mean, how would you know if your life has suddenly taken a turn for the worst and there’s no other way out but to end it? How would you know if you’ve finally arrive at that certain point in your life when you can say that all your dreams have been realized and the person you are now is the person you’ve always wanted to be? The thing is, there is only way to find the answers to these questions: you have to live through the rest of your life—living while never having to worry where this life is taking you—and thus, discover up to what extent this life can be relished.<br /><br />Paulo Coelho’s “Veronika Decides to Die” opens our eyes to the awful truth that sometimes, the only way to appreciate life is through experiencing how it’s like without it. Based on real events on Coelho’s own life, the novel tells the story of 24-year-old Veronika who seems to have everything: loving and supportive parents, youth, beauty, men who adored her, and a fulfilling job. But one day, she decides to die. Overdosing in sleeping pills, she prepares her own deathbed with much passion and enthusiasm for a dying person. But she wakes up and finds herself in a mental hospital (Villete) where she is told that she only has days to live. In Villete, she meets people of varying degrees of insanity, develops a lasting friendship with two women who had touched her life, falls in love with a schizophrenic, and learns to appreciate life each day as she struggles against death.<br /><br />The characterization was brilliant; Coelho painted exquisite portraits of people who are themselves victims of the nonsensical monotony and conventionality of life, manifesting their revulsion for such through different gestures of madness. There’s Zedka who suffered from depression because of a long-lost beloved she never had the strength to fight for; Mari, a brilliant lawyer who experienced severe panic attacks before she could make the career change she had wanted; Eduard, a diplomat’s son who withdrew to his own make-believe reality to search for a “paradise” that nobody believed existed; Veronika who turned her somewhat “perfect” existence upside-down when she got tired of the seemingly endless cycle of life, never having the chance to go out of her comfort zone; and Dr. Igor who devoted a lifetime in search for the elusive cure to Vitriol, a sensation characterized by bitterness and hatred, which he believed to have caused one’s sudden apathy for life.<br /><br />Also, the unexpected romance that blossomed between Veronika and Eduard moved me in ways no other love story could ever have done (given that I'm not much of a sucker for love stories). I mean, what could be crazier than two crazy-in-love people who have so much love to give to even be cautious of the risk of “overdoing” it? In a time when people keep to what’s rational and reasonable when it comes to love—conscious that they might go overboard for fear of losing a significant part of themselves—would you even go as far as to ask yourself, “Did you ever love at all?”<br /><br />The same applies with how people go about their lives today. There are too many rules to follow, too many ditches and stumbling blocks to dodge, too many tasks to accomplish, too many consequences to face that it would feel tremendously pleasant to just leave them all behind and go on living without taking notice of these things. But think of this as—like in the movie “Click”—being in “auto-pilot”. You wake up in the morning, eat, drink, take a shower, dress up, go to work, make some calls, get home and sleep without actually “living” every moment of it. So you wouldn’t really know what “living” means because you haven’t actually experienced it, not even once. And as a consequence, you’d have this terrible nagging feeling that something is amiss. Then you’ll die without having to know what it’s like to live.<br /><br />But maybe you don’t really need to actually die to appreciate life; perhaps all you’ll really need is to grab a copy of this book and read it to your heart’s content.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-38755799785263500382010-08-21T00:39:00.000-07:002010-08-21T00:54:41.048-07:00The RushIf there’s one thing I’ve picked up from this sort of one-week-away-from-it-all vacation, it’s that you’ll never really have enough time to do the things you want, regardless of how much contemplation and deliberation you’ve put into it.<br /><br /> And no matter how badly you want it.<br /><br /> A week before my much-anticipated one-week vacation leave from work, I was just so psyched! Why, I had everything planned, from start to finish. And it wasn’t easy! There was just a f*ckload of things to do, and I tried my best to keep tabs on them. And this is why it went all f*cked up in the end: I just got way too overboard!<br /><br /> Now, I’m experiencing post-vacation trauma (goodness knows if there really is such a thing). What kills me the most is knowing that I haven’t done so much as sorted out my to-do list and kept a zero accomplishment count. Not to mention that tallying your achievements for the day is sooo depressing.<br /><br /> So for the benefit of the tard who’d be reading this now, this is the list I conjured up before plunging into the nothingness that is my one-week vacation:<br /><br />1. Gather all requirements for Graduate School. And when I say gather, it means GATHER in all the effin sense of the word. Good: all the requirements were listed down. All that’s left for you to do is to, well, have it printed and check check check away. Bad: it was too much work! One day is simply not enough to complete them! There was a two-page essay, much like a personal selling thing about how you see yourself years from now, how you can contribute to society and a fuckload of crap; some 300-peso-worth documents from my old school; other documents I needed to get from my previous employer; and a lot more.<br /><br />2. Get some work done. Being the Little Miss Responsible Employee that I am, sure, I took home some paperworks. And I intended to really get them done this time, I do. Really. Sucks coz I always sound like I’m trying to convince myself.<br /><br />3. Hang out with my boyfriend. OK, this is serious. Our idea of a date had gone from the sweet, classy wastefulness of fine-dining galore to the unceremonial tuhog-tuhog savagery in the rundown eateries along the streets. Yes, these days, all we ever did was share a measly merienda and endure the excruciating one-hour bus ride home.<br /><br />4. DVD marathon. You might be wondering while something as instinctive as watching DVD should be in the list. Oh well, if you know me enough, you’d even think I needed to list down “cut fingernails” or “make coffee for breakfast”.<br /><br />5. Finish a book. Now I bought this book almost two weeks ago and I really am starting to be hysterical because I haven’t gotten around to finishing it.<br /><br />6. Get that vector art done for goodness sake!<br /><br />7. Fill up my blog. And hell yeah, I’m just about to that, thank you very much.<br /><br /><br />So I filled my to-do list to the brim and a few moments before the end of my so-called one-week vacation, I realized I still haven’t accomplished fuckloads! Now how could I cram them into an hour?<br /><br />As I was preparing for work, I told myself, heck, maybe I should take it easy next time. Maybe next time around, I should be savoring every minute of that hard-earned vacation. Yeah, maybe next time.jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-31545822784979278032010-08-20T22:34:00.000-07:002010-08-21T09:40:33.170-07:00I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had meOne of my favorite novels finally hits the big screen! Haruki Murakami’s “Norwegian Wood” is by far the best love story I’ve ever read (in recent memory), and I’m a huge Beatles freak (i mean, who isn’t?) so I’m just so psyched about this! And oh, Kenichi Matsuyama of Death Note is casted as Toru Watanabe.<br /><br />Just recently, the producers of the film secured the approval to make use of the original Beatles song of the same title, Norwegian Wood. As all ye Beatles fans know, the song Norwegian Wood was first recorded in the Beatles album “Rubber Soul” released in 1965, including hits like Michelle and Girl. The song inspired Murakami’s 1987 novel, from which the title was adopted. Set against the backdrop of student movements during the 60s, the novel tells the story of a young college student named Toru Watanabe who struggles against the overwhelming influence of death, alongside his troubled girlfriend Naoko. Sometime later, he meets the vivacious, outgoing Midori and soon finds himself choosing between the future and the past.<br /><br />Director Tran Anh Hung felt that it was only natural to use the song Norwegian Wood as the movie’s theme song, but Apple Records, which owns the rights to the Beatles catalog, refused at first. Hung persisted and soon his efforts paid off and they were given approval last December. Apple Records has a policy against using songs of the Beatles in any commercial work, but they made an exception for “Norwegian Wood” owing to the “tremendous popularity” of the novel.<br /><br />“Norwegian Wood” opens in theaters this December. :)<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HUvVit4fh7I?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HUvVit4fh7I?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8592073857203518516.post-72401554188837490062010-07-25T05:16:00.000-07:002010-07-25T05:22:48.228-07:00New NeighborJust moved in to Blogspot and I'm quite new (obviously). So, anyone care to show me around?<br /><br />Anyway, I just thought Blogspot could very well quench my thirst for blogging better than my previous blog domain. I was browsing through blogspot and I just found out I can post videos in here! Cool! <br /><br />I'm also planning to transfer all my other blogs in here, but I'm still trying to figure out how. <br /><br />So for the mean time...Welcome to Blogspot!jamienoodlefreakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11127231509980569418noreply@blogger.com0