Summer heat

IT’S officially summer when a Popsicle begins to melt the minute it leaves the freezer, and when one Popsicle is not enough to lower down one’s body temperature.

Ladies and Gentlemen, its summer and boy is it hot!

I’m sure right now, a good chunk of the Philippine population are swarming beaches everywhere and parading around in Speedos and skimpy bikinis. The beaches of Boracay and Bantayan are without a doubt filled with underdressed people soaking up the sun.

So while most people are out by the beach, enjoying a stress-free summer, sipping pina coladas and making good use of the ultraviolet rays of the sun, the rest of us are stuck at home or at work, or even in school, sweating our hearts out.

Honestly, it’s too hot to do anything. Once you step out into the sun, you know you’ll get baked in a matter of minutes. Five minutes in the sun, and you’ll be sweating like a pig and suffer a heat stroke.

Summer and I have a love-hate relationship. I love summer because it usually means no classes, a long break and no school work (though that recently changed with thesis assignments and our internship). At the same time, I hate summer because it’s extremely hot.

Yes, I know, hating summer is considered high crime. Go on, sue me. I don’t care. All I know is that it is hot and all of us are literally cooking to the point of resembling a well-done roast beef.

I guess we now have a reason to use Paris Hilton’s catch phrase: “That’s hot!”

It is summertime like this that makes you wish that you could lug around a huge air conditioner or better yet, turn off the sun for just a few minutes. Come to think of it, it would just be better to stick one’s self into the refrigerator and stay there for a couple of hours.

I remember lying in bed one afternoon and staring at the ceiling, doing nothing but watch a spider diligently working on its web.

Since my room in the city faces directly the sun in the afternoon, it comes to no surprise that the room is sweltering (even the air that the electric fan provided was warm). The sight of a spider web reminded me that it was time to clean the room–yet again. But because of the extreme heat, normal body functions were temporarily turned off.

After watching the spider complete its web for what seemed like centuries, the spider slowly climbed out the window, off to God knows where.

I fell unconscious soon thereafter, tired of watching a spider work.

I woke up hours later, when it was relatively dark and conditions already have cooled down. I checked the web, to see if the spider came back.

It never did.

That poor thing must’ve burned to death under the heat of the sun.

Easter bunny and eggs

AS A KID, I adored rabbits. I worshipped Bugs Bunny, ate raw carrots, owned a mountain of rabbit stuffed toys, bought countless rabbit stickers and talked my parents into buying me my own living, breathing Bugs Bunny.

Easter, therefore, was one of my favorite holidays.

I loved the mystery of the Easter Bunny. At that time, it was rather confusing-was it the rabbit who would lay the brightly colored eggs? But then again, that was scientifically impossible. Or did the bunny pair up with a giant chicken who would lay the Easter eggs?

Either way, it never really mattered who produced the eggs, but what was really important was finding these colorful treats.

I remember waking up on Easter Sundays without much refusal and the customary “five more minutes.” Dressed in mismatched sleepwear, I’d run around our old apartment trying to find the hidden treats that the “Easter Bunny” lovingly placed in tiny baskets filled with synthetic grass.

Treats like colorful hard-boiled eggs, egg-shaped candies, chocolate Easter Bunnies and stuffed toys are what I would usually find (not the healthiest breakfast, I know).

As I think about it (and as you remember your own Easter experiences), it is childhood memories like this that make me want to become a child again. To wake up on Easter Sunday and wonder what the Easter Bunny has left me-would I find another stuffed toy or would there be more chocolate and candies this year?

Ah, the wonders of a child’s mind.

The Easter Bunny never really did last long, though. I soon discovered that the Easter Bunny was my mother, who would wake up in the wee hours of the morning and diligently hide the treats all over our apartment.

Nevertheless, believing in the Easter Bunny (or in Santa Clause for that matter) was fun while it lasted, although it was rather disheartening to find out that a life-sized “bunny-wabbit” did not exist.

When we moved to the Philippines, I tried to bring the tradition of Easter egg hunting with us. It lasted for a few years, until that fateful year when we forgot how many eggs we hid in our house.

All of you should know that once an egg rots, it stinks big time. Apparently, we failed to find one egg, which was hidden behind a desk.

After a few days, finding it wasn’t really that difficult.

We stopped the whole egg hunting tradition after that smelly fiasco, and have since preferred a subtler and less stinky Easter celebration.

May your Easter be a happy one, and please do count your eggs before hiding them.

The March Hype

MARCH usually means three things to every young adult: the dreaded finals– which entails cramming sessions, accomplishing final requirements, clearances and projects; the onset summer vacation–which creates a huge hype among the youth, spending way too much on beach stuff (i.e. Speedos!) and daydreaming of the beach while in class; and every senior’s favorite–graduation, which on one hand means liberation from the clutches of academics and on the other hand, means stepping into the corporate world and earning your own money.

March certainly is a busy month.

To many, March means the end of one stressful school year. It symbolizes the end of the piles of homework, projects and clearances. It certainly means the end of teachers following you everywhere, professors breathing down your neck and classmates harassing you about the group project. To others, it means the beginning of the so called “real world”, where they swap their school uniforms and school bags for carry-on cases and corporate attires. The ceremonial receiving of the diploma also means picking up the classified ads and looking for a job.

This year, another batch of fresh graduates joins the list of the employed and unemployed. Lucky are those who graduate with jobs already waiting outside the school gates. The pressure is now on for those grads who have yet to find a job.

Finding the right kind of job these days can be tough. It’s even more difficult trying to find a job that’s in the line of one’s degree. One has to get lucky to actually land a job that’s somewhat related the degree he or she has earned.

Graduating is a rather big step for anybody, I think. Even more so when one graduates from college. It’s certainly more than just finishing school and becoming a degree holder.

It’s about getting a job and earning a living. It’s about independence and responsibilities.

Ultimately, it’s about growing up, and (gasp!) becoming an adult.

Help me; I think I just had an aneurism.

March certainly brings us a lot of things. And when you thought that December was a heavy holiday, think again! Behind all the fun and games, sunscreen, tanned boys and girls and diplomas, there’s a deeper side to March!

As seniors all over the nation graduate and free themselves from the bony clutches of academics and fire-breathing professors, they deserve a round of applause for having survived all those years in the educational system.

Congratulations to all the graduates and happy job hunting!

Clean-up

MY ROOM is a fire hazard. It would not be a surprise if everything in my room would just spontaneously combust one summer’s day and everything will go up in flames.

I sound like a pyromaniac.

On top of my clothes cabinet, a stack of boxes and newspapers can be found (and gathering dust). Underneath my rickety study table, I have yet another pile of newspapers steadily growing. In another corner, I have a steadily growing pile of handouts and photocopies (mostly journalism, literature and advertising photocopies.) And I own a cramped bookshelf.

Now, throw in a match and everything will go up in flames.

As chaotic as my room may seem, I promise you that it isn’t that bad. It’s more of an “organized chaos” than chaotic in general.

I’m sure a lot of teenagers will agree with me here.

I’ve been trying to clean up my room for some time now. But with school keeping me busy, the only time I come home is for sleep, a bath and to change my clothes (in that order).

Before things got extremely busy with school, my room was fairly organized. Everything was where it was supposed to be. But once school started keeping me on my feet 20 hours a day, there was hardly time to organize and keep the room clean.

Now I live in a fire hazard zone and I have dust bunnies under my bed.

I’ve been trying to find time to clean my room. It’s astonishing that I simply cannot find time to pick up a broom and start cleaning. But then again, I don’t own a broom, so, perhaps that was just it. Just to let you know, the broom in our boarding house mysteriously disappears once in a while.

It’s rather funny. I used to think I’m well equipped with cleaning materials. I got cockroach repellant for roach invasions, fly paper, rags, detergent and the whatnots. Yet I do not own a broom. How embarrassing.

One night, I was contemplating over my room’s doomed future while waiting for my interviewee to arrive. I sat by a roadside café and all of the sudden a peddler walked by carrying a bundle of brooms on his back.

Ladies and gentlemen, I knew that that was a sign. God has spoken, I just knew it.

But God sure knew how to keep His conversations short.

My source arrived and as we exchanged greetings, my room’s salvation walked down the street, brooms still on his back.

It’s ok, I consoled myself. I had to think of it this way, had I bought the broom, I would have looked like a total idiot carrying a broom around while conducting the interview.

Bottom line boys and girls, clean your room. Don’t wait for dust bunnies to grow and your room to catch fire. And don’t wait for the roadside broom man to sell you his brooms–he walks fast.

Shopping Bug

I never really understand why a large chunk of the female population loves shoes and shoe shopping (and well, shopping in general). Don’t get me wrong, I love a good pair of shoes and shopping can be fun sometimes but when I hear somebody talk about their extensive shoe collection (and by that I mean, owning 40 pairs of shoes which are organized alphabetically), I can only gape.

Why so many pairs?

“You need one for every occasion, for every bag, for every shirt, blah, blah,” my friend goes on and on. As she lectures me on fashion 101 (I’d like to think, however, that I am not a fashion disaster), my ears become numb.

I have never been much of a “shoe girl”. I’m more of an accessories, bags and funky tops type of girl–if that’s how you define them anyway. Shoe shopping for me is perhaps the most tiring. I don’t have the “perfect” feet that would fit in practically every type of shoes. But then again, I might just be really unlucky and the pair that I’m looking for is always unavailable.

Mind you, I do love a good pair of heels, or as others call them: stilettos (if they fit!). But they are an obvious health risk, since I’m no expert in walking in these death contraptions (expect me to trip all over the place in them), not to mention the back pains they cause. Ah, the pains of being a woman.

I go crazy over accessories. My friends say that I might as well stop eating, and just spend my savings on necklaces and bracelets I find in the streets of Colon. I admit that I’m a rather compulsive buyer when it comes to accessories. But of course, they have to be reasonably priced. If I were not just a little bit rational when shopping, I might as well start getting used to the idea of eating air.

The way I spend on books has not been much of a secret. I spend way too much on them. My bookshelf is already piled with books to the point that it is already difficult to pull one out without triggering a book avalanche (a classmate pulled a book out, she got hit square in the face by Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart).

I believe it is naturally a part of any woman’s genetics to have the itching need to shop, whether for beauty purposes, fun and entertainment or perhaps for nerdy reasons.

Ah yes, women are programmed to shop.

Speaking of celebrations and womanhood, the month of March is officially Women’s Month. So ladies, this is our month and let’s be proud of being a woman! See you at the malls!

Radio

I've learned to love the old AM/FM radio again.

In the age where technology has taken over practically everything, we have teens sporting IPods, MP3 players and MP4 players of all sorts, shapes, colors and sizes. And our good, old (and extremely bulky) radio is left in the corner.

What a sad ending for something we grew up with.

The player that I have with me still comes from my elementary days. Grade five specifically. I remember when cassette tapes were still the hottest thing, and everyone had to own a cassette player or a walkman.

Back in grade school, we did a lot of dancing, doing intermission numbers and joining contests (losing in most of them). Since we were all young and obviously had no idea how badly we danced, the demand for owning a cassette player was high. After all, we had to practice.

So, a few dancing comrades and I bought players (at the expense of our parents of course). The players, by the way, all looked the same.

Needless to say, our dancing still did not improve.

My black cassette player will soon turn 10 years old. And within the span of 10 years, it has been used and abused (and maltreated), although I share a lot of happy memories with it.

I remember my Backstreet Boys days. Like every fan girl, I danced to the beat of "Get down" and squealed at the sight of Nick and AJ. I still own boy band tapes, as embarrassing as it sounds. And sometimes, I still find myself humming a boy band tune.

I have never been one to follow trends. So when people started buying CDs instead of cassette tapes and began using the CD player, I stuck with my trusty old cassette player. To this day, I still don't own a CD player.

My cassette player no longer plays tapes. I only use it for its radio functions, listening to AM news stations and radio dramas (yes, I've started to like them-thanks to my college major) and FM music stations, even if my music is limited to oldies songs. I love music from the '60s and '70s.

I have never been tech crazy. MP3 players don't amaze me and Discmans are not of my interest. I listen to music on my laptop, or on the radio. Besides, I can't afford an MP3 player. It's too impractical anyway.

It's a good thing I still own my cassette player. The music I get may not be crisp and clear, and I get talky DJs and annoying advertisements (and not to mention, nauseating campaign jingles) but nothing really beats listening to the radio and remembering the yesteryears.

Now, how about you start tuning your own radio and start appreciating something from the "past?"

Voiceless

I USED to think that being hoarse is totally cool. There’s nothing better than having a really gruff voice especially when your normal voice is similar to a mouse’s squeak. Imagine how much you’ll surprise others with your husky, not-you voice.

“What’s with the voice?” people would ask.

“Had a concert,” you’d respond–the most common (and overused) answer. Of course when I answer that, people just laugh at me. They know I can’t keep a tune, let alone actually sing anything without butchering the lyrics.

After intramurals, you’d meet a lot of people whose voices have turned into faint and husky whispers. These are the people who are usually filled with team spirit, scream their hearts out and drink a lot of cold water.

I never got hoarse after intramurals. Maybe because I’m not usually the one who’s into screaming at the sidelines, jumping up and down with my pom-poms. But then again, my sport of choice for the past three years has been Scrabble, and screaming is not allowed in the Scrabble area (I hate to imagine screaming scrabble players, throwing around scrabble tiles in rage and screaming angrily at the referees).

The idea of having close to no voice at all seemed appealing to me (having no voice would be a plus). With my usual voice strangely high, yet sometimes soft (and still raging) pitch, I’d love to have something lower and huskier, even just for one day. Call me strange, but a day of "huskiness" is all I ever asked.

I got what I wanted a week ago. I sounded like a squished rat, or somewhat like a teenage boy undergoing puberty. Some said that I sounded like a cow being flattened by a bulldozer (I have no idea where that analogy came from). Perhaps, at one point, I had no voice at all.

The whole hoarseness ordeal all came naturally. No screaming and singing were involved–just the flu and asthma (again, I’m an extremely sickly person, I might as well live in a bubble).

And let me tell you, there was nothing cool about sounding like a teenage boy.

They snicker. I admit, I sounded funny. I’d laugh at myself for sounding strange. But after getting made fun of for the nth time of the day, it just gets old.

They don’t understand you. It gets frustrating when people don’t understand you. In the end, you act like a total idiot and pantomime everything.

Nobody can hear you. This sucks. I spoke in a pitch that only dogs could hear. Nothing becomes more frustrating than not being heard or getting your point across. There’s always so much to talk about, yet there you are, with no voice.

Like I said, I used to like the idea of being hoarse.

Well, screw that.

I want to be heard. And so should you.

The Calling

PEOPLE have been asking me why I have this huge purple bruise on my right leg. They take their time staring, trying to figure out what I did the past week in Manila.

Just to clear things, I did not get beaten up nor did I undergo any hazing ritual. Paddles and bats were not used to “swear me in.”

I got sworn in differently, that’s for sure.

I’m fresh from the Ayala Young Leaders Congress, held at the San Miguel Corporation-Management Training Center in Alfonso, Cavite (or as everybody else likes to call the area-Tagaytay), and I had the best time of my life.

Days have passed since the congress, but I still feel euphoric over the entire experience. This is one happy bubble that nobody can burst.

Being with 73 other student leaders, wonderful facilitators and the friendliest secretariat around, everybody just rubs off on you and everything you learn, see and hear you absorb like a sponge (the same goes for the overflowing food and beverages, you absorb those too, although they go to an entirely different part of your body).

I must confess, I dreamt of attending the congress since I was a tiny freshman in college. For me, it was a congress I would never qualify for but it was still worth a try to apply.

In the end, it pays to hold on to your dream.

Call me a crybaby and emotional basket case, but I still get teary-eyed when I remember the congress.

Imagine yourself, being with other student leaders with one vision. A vision to serve their fellowmen, the country and those in need. A vision of leading others even through challenging times by leading through example, by being an agent of change.

Just imagine, putting your life literally into the hands of others. Being lifted and carried around, falling into their open arms and balancing yourself on a wire with nothing to hold on to but your partner.

There we were, sharing our dreams and vision, mulling over community and school problems and trying to figure out solutions.

I can never put to words how I feel about the congress. I missed my classes and thesis sessions, my tear glands are rendered temporarily dried up and useless, and my body is bruised and sore all over. But it was all worth it.

This may sound so cliché, but I feel inspired-by the people, the insights and by the activities. If this were a movie, the sky would have conveniently opened up and a divine light would have shone upon me.

I have found my calling. It’s time you find yours.

Cupid

Cupid should be ashamed of himself. After years of shooting people with his arrows of love, he has yet to get a decent set of clothes. And that goes also for his posse of scantily clad cherubs.

You’d think that after years of being in the love business, he’d get something better to wear than that piece of cloth loosely hung around his chubby waist.

But then again we are talking about Cupid, he’s practically an institution; he has established for himself a name in the whole ‘love’ business. So whatever he wears is acceptable.

However, I hate to imagine that there are actually Cupid costumes floating around in the market. After all, there’s a Santa costume and a Easter bunny costume, so perhaps there might be a Cupid costume too. But that would be frightening, seeing a man in a diaper with bow and arrows strapped to his back.

This therefore calls a need to have Cupid change his image. It would be great to see something else on the toddler than a piece of white cloth around his behind.

We need a more modern, more hip Cupid. He has to keep up with style and what’s in. The loin cloth was so last century.

He and his army of flying babies need to think beyond the white cloth. Think of jeans, shirts or suits even!

Imagine a Cupid wearing a power suit! And inside the briefcase he carries around would be his bow and arrow. The more professional Cupid keeps a secretary at his side, who’ll keep track of the people he will ‘shot’ and his appointments for the day. Let’s not forget the PDA and his mobile phone; no professional matchmaker should leave the ‘office’ (or is it called ‘Love Central’?) without these gadgets.

Though not the most perfect imagine of Cupid, he might also opt going hip-hop. This might be hilarious with the oversized jeans and shirt and ‘bling-bling’. However, it would be fun to see the pimped bow and arrows. Instead of the usual pink/red heart tipped arrows, Cupid goes around showing off his diamond encrusted arrows of love.

A hippy Cupid (though out-of-date) might actually be interesting. With extremely long hair, oversized colorful clothes and humongous colored shades, he’d not only be spreading love but peace as well. You know what they say, “Love and peace, dude!”

Cupid as a Goth or as an ‘Emo’ kid would not be the brightest idea. Though rather fascinating and a bit odd, I highly doubt that our young little Cupid would go with the whole wearing black and being depressed thing. And I don’t think that he’s keen about wearing black eyeliner.

Business, Hip-hop, Hippy or Emo, whatever the image Cupid will always remain Cupid. Change him as we want, he’ll always be the ageless, scantly clad baby on Hallmark cards.

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, may you be struck by Cupid’s arrows (diamond encrusted or not).

Flushed

My biggest fear, besides clowns, is a dirty bathroom. When I encounter a bathroom that smells and is filthy beyond belief, I am on the verge of tears. Not because of the horrid state of the bathroom, because of the fact I have to ‘go’ and there is no where else to ‘go’ to.

I remember a parent who complained to me about the comfort rooms of a school down north. The comfort rooms did not only reek but they were dirty with grime, mud and, well, the unmentionables – if you get my drift.

It’s enough to make anybody hold it in for another hour or so.

He complained that his son and the other students would not go to the bathroom because of the stench and the dirt. He blames the school for not keeping the bathroom clean.

As I think about it, both are to be blamed – the students and the school.

Sure, it’s the school that is obliged to provide clean facilities, especially an immaculately clean bathroom. After all, it’s all about hygiene. If I were a parent, the last thing I would do was to enroll my child in a school which had a bathroom that equals to a sewer.

But then again, aren’t kids these days taught of hygiene? If so, kids should know how to flush after, well, doing it. How physically demanding is it to push the silver button or pick up the pail and flush whatever is floating around in the toilet?

This reminds me of an instance when I was still in grade school. I refused to go to the bathroom because I did not like the bathrooms at school. Not to say that they were dirty, but because they were new to me. I grew up with toilets that would flush – you push the button and everything goes down the toilet. The concept of dumping water into the toilet bowl was new to me.

In the end, I nearly got kidney stones because of my stubbornness.

I’m the most picky when it comes to bathrooms. If the bathroom is dirty, the last thing I want to do is use it – no matter how badly I need to go. Most of the bathrooms I have encountered smell to high heavens and are dirty beyond belief. This does not only go for schools, but also for malls, restaurants, and doctors’ clinics and hospitals.

Why most of us don’t bother taking better care of our bathrooms is beyond me. For crying out loud, you take a bath there, brush your teeth, do your ‘business’ there and freshen up there.

Why on earth people tolerate bathrooms that are smelly and dirty does not seem logical to me. Perhaps their sense of smell must have burned out. The toxic smell of the toilets must have busted their senses.

If people these days are really that lazy of flushing and cleaning the bathroom, there is only one simple solution. Get a toilet that flushes on its own – and for sure, your problems will go down the drain, so to speak.

Fun

“I watch plants grow,” I said to my friends when they asked me what I did for fun. All I got were blank stares. I really couldn’t expect more.

Call me weird, but watching vegetation grow is my idea of fun. It’s much better than going to bars, listening to deafening music and getting drunk to the point where your brain stops responding.

I don’t get the point of going to a cramped bar, with too many sleazy people and risk getting stabbed, robbed, drugged or trapped in a fire. If dancing with people you don’t even know on a sticky dance floor and in a smoke filled room is your idea of fun, then so be it. Don’t let me stop you, go on and frolic in the land of bars, bouncers and drunken people.

I have never been a fan of parties. I get uncomfortable with too many people around me, especially in a cramped place with no fire exit or real exits to speak off (unless you count the whole you crawled into).

Socializing has never been my best ability. I’m not, as they put it, a “social butterfly”. Perhaps I’m a moth.

At social gatherings, I crawl into a corner and nibble on hors d’oeuvre. The most meaningful conversation I might hold would be with waiters distributing fermented grape juice and tiny cheese balls on toothpicks.

I have more fun with small groups than with groups of 50 or more. One of the reasons may be because I easily forget the names (and faces) of the 40 other people I meet at gatherings. However, wearing nametags help.

Aside from watching plants grow, counting rain clouds and the cracks on the pavement, I do enjoy going out for karaoke. Then again, who doesn’t love karaoke? Virtually every Filipino loves music, no matter what genre or who the singer is.

I’m a highly incompetent singer. I cannot sing to save my life – but that doesn’t stop me (or any other vocally inept person for that matter) from belting tunes off-key.

We all have our own ideas of fun. Give me a spot on the beach, a good view of the sea (and perhaps, a good view of a beach hunk) and a good book; and for sure I’ll have the time of my life. Where I enjoy the beach and watching plants grow, others go to bars and dance to loud music (and get totally wasted).

It varies from person to person. Don’t mind me as I crawl under the table at social gatherings and talk to the dust bunnies down there. That’s my kind of socialization.

Speaking of fun and having a good time, the ‘Zup crew met up last Wednesday for the section’s anniversary. Everybody had a great time, especially finally putting faces to the names we always see on print. It was all smiles and laughter over ‘grand slam’ pizzas, humongous chocolate chunks and pitchers of iced tea. To another great year!

Eureka

I’m beginning to think that ‘Eureka moments’ are just a scam. I have yet to hear some sane person scream ‘eureka!’ (note exclamation mark) all of the sudden without any rhyme or reason.

Did Einstein shout eureka when he came up with his theory of relativity? Did a light bulb appear conveniently light up above Thomas Alva Edison’s head when he came across electric lighting? Or did something ring up there when Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone?

Come to think of it, I have this sinking feeling that eureka moments are just another government and corporate plot to make us all think really hard (or at the very least, try to think) until something useful pops up. When eventually something does pop up (which we will assume is something really amazing and is of equal standing of Einstein’s e=mc² formula) the thinker actually screams ‘eureka!’ and the government and corporate bigwigs will fly into the room and try to buy off the idea.

But, this has yet to happen, so this thus far is another add-on to my list of assumed reasons and speculations of things unexplained (which are of farfetched-nature-yet-so-farfetched-that-they-might-strangely-be-true).

The only time I actually heard somebody shout ‘eureka!’ (with exclamation mark and matching hand gesture of pointing up at the ceiling and jumping out of his seat) was on television. It was a character from the show ‘Angel’ (a show about an extremely good-looking vampire with a soul ironically named Angel) and he was English, so perhaps that explained the ‘eureka!’ exclamation.

But, wouldn’t it great if people actually did go around shouting ‘eureka!’ whenever some idea pops into their heads? Ideas don’t have to be groundbreaking, or world-changing, for all we know, they might be the answers to last year’s tough physics question over which you have been mulling over for months.

I have yet to shout ‘eureka!’ though – not because I am short of brilliant ideas (I’m a self-proclaimed genius, though I know others beg to differ) – but because I kept forgetting the word existed (to me, it’s archaic).

I hit my head against the window of a tour bus bound for a posh hotel. It hurt pretty badly and I was sure it left a painful lump. However, somewhere while my head connected with the Plexiglas and the pain registered in my brain, I believe I had an idea forming in my already muddled mind (something to do with our thesis and my article assignment for class). In the end, I forgot the so-called brilliant ideas and shouting ‘eureka!’, all that came out of my mouth was: “Ouch”.

Sinulog '07

Last week’s Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) summit has been exciting and the talk of the town for several months, and now with that finally behind us, we eagerly await yet another big activity that we have come to know and love every year: Sinulog.

Sinulog is definitely in the air. One can practically hear the familiar beat of the Sinulog in the air, reverberating all around. And you bet, as the day draws nearer, the beat just gets louder beckoning you join in on the fun.

With Sinulog 2007’s official kick off last January 12, one can be assured that every day and night until the Sinulog Grand Parade on the 21^st will be fun filled and totally worth remembering.

Cultural Shows, street parties, firework displays, the grand parade these, are just of the few things one can enjoy during Sinulog. But hey, it’s not only these events that make Sinulog extra special, there are a lot of other things one can do during Sinulog which are worth remembering and sharing to your friends once classes resume.

Walk great distances. As if partying and dancing is not enough for your feet, you have to walk great distances during Sinulog. Imagine walking the entire carousel route, now that would be something worth bragging about. Nothing’s better than walking the route at night, after the grand parade because you’ll just end up anywhere where the beat of the music takes you in search for a party and good time.

Food consumption a.k.a. the Pit stops. While walking for great distances, it can’t be denied that your body would need nourishment. It’ll be easy for you to find stalls selling great tasting food that would fill your stomach and keep you going at very affordable prices.

Photo Opportunities. While walking the entire carousel lane, be sure to take lots of pictures. It’s not everyday you would find people dancing on the streets, floats gliding down the road and higantes and puppets slowly walking down the streets.

The hennas, the t-shirts and the hankies. Buy souvenirs. It’s a must to buy a souvenir every year. Get yourself a shirt and a henna tattoo, after all, Sinulog 2007 only happens once a year and what better way to remember such memorable year than by buying a remembrance and keeping it forever.

Remember that Sinulog is all about having fun and letting loose. It’s the most awaited event of the year and just keeps on getting better and better. Get your walking shoes ready, prepare your camera and pack a lot of water because you’ll need it. Sinulog 2007 is definitely here and it’s time to have some fun. I’ll see you on the streets!

New Year

With a colorful display of fireworks, we ring in the year 2007 with, hopefully, all limbs still attached to our body.

New Year’s traditions fascinate me, since there is nothing more life threatening than New Year’s Day (not because of the yearly rumors of the world ending at exactly 12 midnight) and the ceremonious lighting of manipulated explosives that could spontaneously combust right in your face.

Yes, this is what makes New Year’s extra special: putting your limbs on the line for the age-old tradition of watching pretty lights in the sky for 5 seconds.

I have never been fond of fireworks. When I was around 7-years-old, a roman candle blew up centimeters from my face, temporarily blinding me. From that moment on, I knew I had enough with pyrotechnics (in any kind or form).

It’s beyond me why people bother spending so much on something that has a lifespan of 30 seconds (more than a minute, for those really expensive and really humongous firecrackers). After a few ‘kaboom’s and a pretty light show, one’s money will be literally reduced to ashes.

With the thousands of pesos some people spend on fireworks, I’d be much better they would spend the money on something that actually lasts longer than 30 seconds.

Wouldn’t it be a more meaningful New Year if you donate to a charity or give to the poor? Come to think of it, it wouldn’t hurt one bit, unless of course you are a masochist and enjoy pain and would love to have your fingers amputated.

The thought of buying more food isn’t such a bad idea either. Instead of incinerating your money and losing your body parts, stuff yourself with mountains of food. Sure, you are worried about the holiday weight you might be gaining, but think of it this way, it’s better to gain weight than to lose an arm.

I know that this advice is pretty much useless right now, since obviously it is well past midnight. For sure, hundreds of people have bought fireworks and have lost a finger here and there.

In that case, consider this column as an advisory for next year. One cannot be too prepared for New Year’s Day (2008 would be so much better if one still had all 10 fingers in tact, right?).

With 10 fingers or without 10 fingers (or other limbs for that matter), we have a lot to be thankful for (aside of still having all body parts in tact). Apart from blowing up things, we should take time and reflect on the year that was.

Nothing is better than remembering all the mistakes, ups and downs, bloopers and funny moments you had in 2006 and wondering how your life will be this year.

Happy New Year everyone!