STORIES, STORIES

Not today, please. Not today. PMS has always been the easiest excuse to give. People blindly accept it. It's natural. The last thing I want is for them to suspect there was anything wrong. I am a class A bitch to some of my closest friends. It's bad because at the end of the day, these people are the ones I consider family. I always go running back to them to help me out. And they always come through. There's really no point in apologizing now, because I know I will continue to be horrid towards them. I will continue to diss them, and pull back from them, and be my nasty nasty self. So why apologize for something I will always be? How does it evolve from being civil to this horrible attitude? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

It's not about me, either. I'm not a fan of Angelina Jolie. But I like that she's doing charity. I read in a magazine that a lady once asked her how she does it, how does she not get so affected by all the poverty and the horrid situations of the people she helps, how she doesn't get depressed by it. "When you go to those places, it's not about you," she said. "You do whatever it takes to help them - your  emotions don't count." *** The Maranao word for "oldest" is "kakakaka".  I was telling my brother A, "So kakakaka" (The oldest), and it sounded hilarious to a friend who didn't speak the language.

Hit it like you mean it! There are many things I've done that I will never do again. (No, this doesn't include skinny dipping. Haha.) One of them is making a pinata. For one thing, I have forgotten how to type the tilde (enye). For another, it's just too much work. I'd just as soon pay someone else to make one for me.  However, I did have fun today helping S make the pinata for her class. It wasn't the work I enjoyed so much as the company. Her hubby S came out with their new camcorder to record the phenomenon of me working and helping out, complete with a little commentary. These things should be recorded, as they might never happen again in this lifetime. It's funny how much I've gotten used to over-analyzing that I couldn't figure out very simple things, such as cutting out pieces of colored crepe paper to cover pinata with. I sat there for a couple moments contemplating the best way to maximize the crepe paper whereas S took a second to look at it an...

Spread the Love. Being unselfish entails a little bit of self-neglect, or, in most cases, a lot.  However we react, whatever we do, our actions are powered by a basic selfishness. I might go so far as to call it survival.  Innate selfishness. Whatever happened to Looking Out For Number One? Is it no longer "trendy"? *** I'm very inarticulate. It's another one of those days. When I woke up this morning, I tried out my Intentions. I intended to make the most of my day. I taught my students with a new attitude: I pretended I was meeting them for the first time, no bias, no pre-judgements. I breezed through the day in such a high, I could have been a Jason Mraz song. But on the way home, I remembered what happens after my "high". The plunge into dark, unspeakable depression destroys me a little bit each time.  An on/off switch would be great just about now.

Today, I'm gonna make it mine. It's been a while since I last went to one of those gatherings. A group of educated, strong-willed women would get together once a week, sometimes once every two weeks to discuss several things. It's always the same people in the same circle, with one or two newbies every now and then, but always the same people, as everyone in Jeddah is practically connected at the hip, how small of a world it is. I've attended book clubs, creative writing workshops and political discussions. Tonight was the first time I attended a religious one. I was very hesitant about it, knowing full well the amount of faith and/or knowledge I have in my religion (or lack thereof). I've always been offended by self-righteousness, especially when it came to religion, thanks in large part to the smirking culture of " Inti Muslimah?? " judgement in this place, as S put it. This accusing question always made me want to say "NO" even though I AM Mu...

Because of our extremely conservative culture, the only way a Maranao girl could ever be in a "proper" relationship is if the family bullied her into one. By relationship, they mean marriage that very same month. It's tough.  When I went to Lanao for the first time to live the Maranao way for a couple months, it was not unusual to get a random phone call from any one of my gazillion girl cousins, crying because she was being forced to meet and like a Maranao guy from a family of her relatives' choosing. It was not unusual to respond in the default spiel: "It's alright, he's from a good family, it will be good for politics, and you will have a good life with him."  How very 16th century. True, now that the Maranao has evolved, now that they are more educated, more exposed to other cultures, more "open-minded", things have changed. But only very slightly. It's funniest when relatives are being sly about it. " Wata  (child), come with...

Whoever she is. I have become That Woman. I pitied her for so long, I felt so sorry for her, how helpless and mindless, and I looked at her with such disgust that I didn't realize I have become her. *** I forgot to blog yesterday. Damn it. I hope I didn't break the pattern.

Doctor, this hurts. Most everyone I know be needing doctor this week. Mother went for her routine check-up this morning. I have a special relationship with her. By that, I mean I don't ask her about her health, and she doesn't tell me about it. It's pointless. The constant complaining, when she won't budge and change her lifestyle because she is way traditional and, much as she won't admit, very superstitious. I'm one to talk. Anyhoo, she finds out that she is, in fact diabetic. Luckily for her, my father, himself diabetic, has a headstart. They are over-hauling their diet. It's almost exclusive, the re-organization. I eavesdropped as they discussed it. "No more of your 3-times-a-day rice meals. We must go grocery shopping for healthier food." "Yes, but I still have to cook normal food for the kids. Or else they won't eat. More work for me. I must be the most unfortunate housewife that ever lived." So for the past hour, I have been bo...

My neighbors are always bickering. I can hear them through my bedroom wall. Man is always yelling at Wife about something she didn't prepare properly, lots of screaming, things thrown around. All of this at 3 or 4 a.m. Pretty nuts, huh. *** I am hurt. Very, very badly hurt. *whimper*

My back, it hurts. I strained it, from all that not-doing-anything. And now, because my back hurts, I am immobilized, and not-doing-anything some more. It fucking sucks. I can't even breathe because it puts pressure on my back and it hurts more. Every letter I type here contributes to more back pain. But because I am an artist, I Suffer For My Art. Hah. *** Of course this was my punishment for having too much fun at the beach with the girls today. First, we bought some lunch from McDonalds to smuggle into the resort, then we tried looking for the resort itself, as this was maybe the first time we were going to the beach without our male posse. Then we swam for a bit, gossiped for a bit, made wedding plans for our mass simultaneous weddings ten years from now (who knows), swam a bit more, hung out at the bar, gossiped a bit more, and then headed home. It was nice. I am darker now. My mother will once again, tear at her hair and ask rhetorical questions about why I choose to uglify m...

Dear H. Who'd've thought we'd talk after almost 6 years? Yes, I last spoke to you 6 years ago, a chance meeting at the hospital where I was visiting my cousin, and you were having your regular maternity check up. I don't even remember what we said to each other. Chatting with you now reminded me of university, that time we used to hang out a lot - where did we ever get time to hang out? Shouldn't we have been busy with schoolwork? - and that one crucial conversation we had. I had really forgotten. But remembering it was so easy, with all the details very clear as if it were happening again right now. You had your blue scarf on, we were smoking at the cafeteria on the ground floor of Vinzon's Hall. Afterwards, I think we walked all the way to the Fine Arts college to talk to your photography professor, and we looked at some of the artwork behind the building. That's why I occasionally remember you when I'm looking through some of the pictures I take with ...

Got off work early. Went over to S's. Watched that movie as promised. I didn't like it much.

City of God remains at the top for me, but Slumdog Millionaire is a very close second. I like films that are made with such attention to detail. It's nice when, for a change, a movie pushes you to feel emotions that are a level or degree more intense than normal, be it anger, desperation, frustration, misery, happiness, relief, or hope. Hope has different meanings to different people, and the thing about hope is that, once you latch on to it, it might really be all you need to get to the next round. The whole time I watched it, I thought of Manila and how similar it is. No, even the children, they look like the Manilenyo kids running around the streets, begging. Everything was Manila. No, not the swanky Metro Manila, the real one. I feel so condescending, saying that the storytelling and the scenes, especially with the poverty-stricken children, broke my heart. Movies like this make me want to do more for other people, instead of the very common reaction of "there's so muc...

I didn't even notice it was the 13th. A Friday.  When I was 7 years old, my brother W would scare us on Friday the 13th by saying that the television comes to life in the middle of the night, and eats anyone who was awake. It was true, he said, he lost several of his classmates to a television. I believed him. And if I think about it now, Friday the 13th occured at least 15 times the year I was 7. *** For the past 10 years, my cousin TN took me shopping every once in a while. By shopping, I mean no-holds-barred, take-whatever-you-want-however-much-it-costs-I'll-pay-for-it shopping. The last time she did this was about a year and a half ago, when she gave me a mobile phone. I took her out for dinner tonight. I wish I could take her out for shopping like she used to do for me, but I can't. 

The Olsen Twins for Vanity Fair The best thing about having photographer friends is the free photo ops, the better to upload glam profile pics on Facebook with. Today's Girls' Day Out was, for once, without the usual restaurant-hopping. We instead packed clothes, hats, make-up and accessories, and hied ourselves off to S's house, where we let her assault us with a camera. It's fortunate when the models have a good relationship with the photographer. They are much more comfortable, and the direction doesn't come off too much as criticism, which is why most models are stiff and very difficult to photograph.  I can't wait to see the pictures, how S did with the lighting. I wish I was more a photographer in this one than a model, but I discovered I can't be both at the same time. I was too busy trying to "project" that I couldn't sit still for 2 seconds to adjust and re-adjust my settings. Maybe next time it will be better.

Some days I'm all about it. This is not one of them.

I bought a pair and I'm not very happy with them.

It's about time we spoke about love. It's February, isn't it? Love in the beginning is pretty, flirty, exciting. It teases and charms, and beckons with an index finger. It shows a leg. It smells of heaven. It smiles in the most secret of moments, and it remembers every little thing, every little word, every little inside joke. A little later, Love becomes stronger, more assertive. It is defiant, and demanding. It asks as much as it gives. It's a little more work. Sometimes, it goes back to flirting, but then it quickly comes to, and remembers who it is. It is now more serious. In the next level, Love begins to develop other feelings that are just as strong. It needs them to balance it; for it to be felt in all it's glory, it must be compared to it's opposites. For Love to stand out, for it to be the first choice of emotion, for it to be a concrete option and the best answer, it has to stand with all those other feelings. Love is nothing to me but a home-base. It...

Contestants must respond generally in the form of a question. (Who is.., What is..., etc.) 10. Open fields 9. Cigarette smoke 8. University 7. Facebook 6. Music 5. Silence 4. Force 3. Cold 2. Money 1. Self-entitlement They all have one thing in common. And you? What is your Jeopardy! List ? *** I am generally diplomatic. I manage my classes well; I always know five minutes into the first day which students are gonna be trouble, who to pair them with (under-monitors and the passive aggressive), and what not to talk about so as to avoid self-pwnage. But every so often, I get a shithead so beyond diplomacy. These are the moments I want to quit the most.

I must write everyday. However short my entry.

It rained today. When I was in Manila, my blog entries started with: "It didn't rain today."

Today, I lost my sunglasses. I'm more than a little upset about it, because a) they haven't been around for a year and already I've lost them, b) they were a really good pair, I threw them around whatever, and they didn't break, and c) who the fuck would steal a pair of sunglasses at a restaurant? It's sad, hey. I blogged about the day I got them.   BURBERRY music : Hey There Delilah - Plain White Ts I bought my most expensive pair of sunglasses to date. And I LOVE them. I feel like a thousand bucks with them. I really loved my old ones, the ones Sheri liked and I gave her. It was difficult to replace a pair like that. But my new ones are good good good. Sniff. I shouldn't be so attached, should never be.

We spend an average total of 4 to 5 hours a day in the car with our drivers. My friends and I share drivers, since we usually all go to the same place at any given time anyway. In the car, our drivers each are privy to our secrets and gossip-mongering, and sometimes, they even like to join in the Sex and The City discussion. We sometimes ask them to cash our checks, so they know how much we earn. They know when we've run out of cigarettes or gum (and what brands we buy); they know which restaurant we like and where we buy our clothes, shoes, bags, books, and coffee; they know when we're not in the mood to chit-chat or if we're PMS-ing (everyone has iPods on); they know which ex-boyfriends we are in good terms with, and which ones are classholes; they know to pass down the tissue when the only time we have alone to cry our pathetic tears is in the car on the way to our destinations. We're pretty lucky that our drivers are not sleazy, or generally disrespectful. Maybe our...

This is my month. In 2003, I was asked to be the February Girl in a project organized by a women's welfare organization in the Philippines. They produced a calendar/organizer/diary that featured a "strong Filipina" for each month. I "represented" the Muslim minority: a student, a state scholar, Filipino-Muslim, female, assertive, open-minded, from Southern Mindanao. The other months featured celebrities in different fields: music, film, sports, education, politics, and so on. I was the only non-celebrity. I remember the experience. I was more than a little awkward, with my college jeans and casual shirts, my non-celebrity status. We did the shoot in a day, at one of the older buildings in my university. There was a lady who did my make-up, and the photographer's assistant told me what to do, how to pose. I had to fix my own hair, because they'd wanted me to cover up with a tarha. I didn't use to cover my hair in college, so it was such a lie that I d...

Apparently, it's no secret how much of a commitment-phobe I am. In the grand tradition of Squeek, who copy-pastes MSN conversations and publishes them on Facebook blog, ( published with permission ) N says:  i dunno.  i think i have too many internal issues to deal with someone else. i don't think i'm ready for a real commitment. S says:  THATS JUST EXCUSES UR PUTTING IN UR HEAD  nah man, dont think like that  EVENTUALLY ur going to go in a committment  i say if u find the right person  forget ur internal issues  if u havent solved it on ur own this long  u aint solving it anytime soon  u need someone to help u solve them N says:  hahahaha dude that's so profound. can i quote u? S says:  u being sarcastic?  lol *** S is a good friend I've known since we were 4 or 5 years old. He occasionally listens to me whine as we try to keep a straight face and be serious every once in a while, which is never for more than 5 seconds. Okay, 10 seconds.

Dear Lamya. I realize you will never read this letter. You can't read nor understand much English, and you never go online except to check your friends' forwarded powerpoint quotes. You told me this. Because of this, I am confident in saying I am sorry. It was my mistake. For the longest time, I thought that when people said "Margarita Pizza", they were talking about what we call the "Hawaiian Pizza", the one with pineapples. In fact, you are right. Margarita Pizzas have no pineapples on them. Not in Jeddah, not in America, and not in.. where was it again? Europe? I'm sorry I wasted 20 minutes of your time arguing with you on this, abusing the fact that you couldn't defend your argument in the only language I could understand because you were just a lowly  student and I was your all-knowing teacher. I apologize for my invalid arguments, the threatening "Lamya, do you even KNOW what Margarita MEANS?". I apologize for my accusatory tone, my ...

Hi, my name is Diana, and I'm a chronic money-spender. Like every other disease/condition, I'd guess setting one's finances straight has stages, too. (I'm sure there's a Wiki article on this that I haven't read. Links, please.)  Shock. Disbelief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. And finally, Acceptance. Early this year, it finally hit me that I have a spending problem. I've been earning money for almost 4 years now, and I still manage to be broke mid-month. Yes, it took me all that time to realize I'm doing something very wrong here.  To be honest, if it weren't for that sinking feeling I'd have two weeks after I'd received (and spent the WHOLE of) my pay, when I have to crawl back to my father and ask to borrow spending money from him, I really wouldn't've thought anything was wrong. I've always been so careless with money, partly because I've always been broke but never poor, I've always been short of cash but neve...