tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2398598806925478592024-02-20T14:44:34.591+08:00 pickledverseTisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-20538212942267766652014-05-02T07:58:00.001+08:002014-05-02T07:58:38.578+08:00Today you turn 26<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUf4xgUjnGehjWQ1GmVrStVHGBzAxQrHzhquse__Ay8x4GQkRASpOxV2KiZiGxf_SkFhT7IaCuWt7WxjuX8V-yVpyJCT0-d2TTiwcqltVpHFlAVbxJi_LGdcv-YTljcsFMzYdcxDraAA/s1600/untitled.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUf4xgUjnGehjWQ1GmVrStVHGBzAxQrHzhquse__Ay8x4GQkRASpOxV2KiZiGxf_SkFhT7IaCuWt7WxjuX8V-yVpyJCT0-d2TTiwcqltVpHFlAVbxJi_LGdcv-YTljcsFMzYdcxDraAA/s1600/untitled.JPG" height="243" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today you turn 26.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it reminds me, oddly, of me turning 22, when we spent
the entire night whiling away in the city. Walking in its abandoned midnight
streets, having conversations in jilted parking lots before finally settling
down in a dim-lit Starbucks in some derelict gas station, talking about nothing
and everything at the same time. In the morning, we charged into a supermarket
screaming through rows of canned goods, instant noodles and whatnot, our bodies
running on energy drinks. And you drove me home with your windows down, in the
heat of afternoon traffic. We listened to the soundtrack of our youth – the emo
lot, while I slapped and pinched you to keep you from sleeping, and killing us
both.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You are my city. The side of me that’s wild and bright. And no
matter how many times I’ve gone exploring your streets, I seem to always get
lost in you. For you are vast, and winding, and busy, and infinite. Never mind
that I watched you shrink into a dot the last time I saw you, when I jumped
into a plane and left. You have always been and will always be too big for me,
I could never keep you within our apartment, nor tucked safely in my pocket.
You are too big, and you are meant for things that are greater, you just don’t
know it yet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today you turn 26.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8000 miles away, its feels just as good (or bad) as turning
thirty. For I am not there – the side of you that’s calm and resigned. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The brick that keeps you grounded, when
you seem too light, you float away. (The Debbie Downer to your Pollyana, I’m
afraid to say). So different, you and I. But it never really mattered. No matter how poles apart our days go, I remember that at an ungodly
hour by the hallway across the apartment that brought us together, we would always
come home to each other. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(You know exactly how bad I am with ending these stupid things, so let me just say Happy birthday you free spirit, you. I love you so much. Hopefully, next time you turn a year older, I'll be home to stay through your inevitable hangover, or you through mine.)</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-25157917830246699042014-03-01T23:37:00.000+08:002014-04-06T09:05:23.198+08:00Chapter 24<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U_2XxFCMX5c/U0CoKnERhrI/AAAAAAAADqI/HRq600miCTM/s1600/24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U_2XxFCMX5c/U0CoKnERhrI/AAAAAAAADqI/HRq600miCTM/s1600/24.jpg" height="368" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">More accurately, I was going to be someone at 16. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, I feel a full-body-shiver looking back at how
optimistic I was at 15.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But again, I am done weeping over the fact that at 24, I am
at a low-paying office job, in a field I swear I never once imagined myself in.
IN-SU-RANCE. Or, that my peak seems to have started and ended during my last
year in university. A good three years since, and I haven’t published anything.
Or that my love life will forever be followed by the pun, lack thereof; therefore
causing both great concern and happiness to my brothers and parents
(respectively). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes</i>, I am okay with
all of these. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And yes</i>, not a tear was
shed while delivering this long list of what makes me a failure. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I wonder whether this declaration of acceptance makes me
mature, or a loser. But for the sake of uplifting my ego on this day that I
turn a year older, let’s just call it maturity. Please.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, there is a long list of things I should’ve already done
but haven’t, and I’m not an inch closer to being the person I wanted to be at
24, BUT there are other things that I’ve accomplished that I never thought I
could. I feel like I have matured so much in the last year, that I caught up
with all those years that I’ve turned a year older and none the wiser. I
haven’t traveled, haven’t written anything, haven’t gone out and seen the world
just yet. Instead, I have had my heart broken, worked at an assembly line for a
car factory (first day of which I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and I
went home everyday smelling like burnt metal and exhausted to the core), moved
jobs, met new friends, learned to drive, worked as a stock person getting cuts
from handling boxes and muscles from lifting, bought a car, took care of my
parents. This big big world that life put me into when it decided to take me
away from the Philippines, no matter how many times I reject it, actually provided
me all the space I needed to grow. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Today, I saw a real Chagall. My parents took me to AGO to
see the The Great Upheaval collection, and I saw things that are far greater
than me. I felt small, and overwhelmed and awed and inexplicably happy. I never
ever thought that I would see a real Picasso, or Matisse, or Modigliani. And
there they were, making me feel things I would never be able to explain. So I
wouldn’t even bother. Except maybe to say: here’s one that wasn’t on the list.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And there will be many more to come. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-65545146978208209962013-12-29T23:37:00.000+08:002014-03-13T06:49:15.695+08:00hashtag yolo<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I have not written anything in a
while, with the exception of last week’s obligatory year-end entry and a lot of
work-related e-mails which although are very straightforward still puts me so
ill at ease. I always vow to write some more, but I never do (mentally adding
that to the absurdly long list of my self-disappointments) (and then reminding
myself that I very recently declared that I am without regrets). I have stayed
true to this mantra (no regrets) thus far, and would make all sorts of silly
attempts to maintain it this coming year. I ascertained that making a new years
resolution and sticking to it will help carry said mantra on to 2014. Except
I’m bad with resolutions. I’m bad with goals, and plans, and commitments or
anything that slightly ensures success, for that matter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
However, a long list is typing
urgently in my head in the form of a migraine. Pounding, tick tock tick tock, reminding me that
today, of all days, is a good day to make a promise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To be better.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To be brave/r.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To live louder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To write more.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To get published.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To start playing the piano again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To journey in the direction of
my fear.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
To do the things I have been itching to do for so long, but couldn't find the courage, or the time to do so. But I reminded myself that I have not written anything in a while, but that I just wrote an entry again today (although in haste and while thinking: just get this over with), taking baby steps into wherever it is that I have to go. So this year, I aim for something small. Something within the realms of possibility.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
I simply vow to read more poetry.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-51903014113513594562013-12-20T05:01:00.000+08:002014-03-13T06:52:39.542+08:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here we are, almost at year’s
end, generally accepted as an occasion for a timely introspection, and words
evade me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This year without a doubt, as
all my previous years, is laden with countless woes. I am sure even before the year actually ends, that this year, mistakes pile up with
things I should’ve done but never did. But surprisingly, I am sort of okay with it. </span>Perhaps I now have
gone beyond regretting my mistakes, regretting the chances I let slip because I
was too lazy to get up from bed, or because my eyes were rendered too woozy by weeping that I could not see. I am done regretting not having lived
because I was busy looking behind. Because if there is one thing about turning
the page and entering into the new year, it’s that the past year, has passed
(more accurately: is yet to pass). <i>I have no regrets</i>, as I say this I find a
voice inside me that is not mine. And to this voice I say, hello.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Hello 2014,
nice to meet you.</span><!--EndFragment-->
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-26133896674778524232013-08-17T10:03:00.003+08:002013-10-16T09:05:17.356+08:00Fall is Coming<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
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<div style="position: relative;">
<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/fall_2013_must_haves/set?.embedder=1693506&.svc=blogger&id=94112831" target="_blank"><img alt="Fall 2013 Must Haves" border="0" force="1" height="415" src="http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/j2TesHSGzs73IoRSG4s5g/cid/94112831/id/Lf3NveHGS0yeAYiEcx1u7Q/size/c600x415.jpg" title="Fall 2013 Must Haves" width="600" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/fall_2013_must_haves/set?.embedder=1693506&.svc=blogger&id=94112831" target="_blank">Fall 2013 Must Haves</a> by <a href="http://tisuh.polyvore.com/?.embedder=1693506&.svc=blogger" target="_blank">tisuh</a> featuring a <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/leather_jacket/shop?query=leather+jacket" target="_blank">leather jacket</a></small><br />
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It's almost my one-year anniversary here in la-la land (a month away, to be exact). Which means, <i>among other things</i>, that it's almost fall. So many things have changed since. But not among them, is my tendency to succumb to frivolous spending. It doesn't help that I finally have a full time job. <i>Cue applause</i>. It is now almost impossible for a week to end without a new purchase. Now, to keep me from doing some unnecessary shopping, I listed down the things I want/need for Fall 2013. Here goes:</div>
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<ol>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-decoration: line-through underline;">Eleanor and Park</b><u style="text-decoration: line-through underline;"> - I know I swore off YAs after this year's first few months, but I want to get Eleanor and Park anyway. Because (1) a good friend of mine whose literary taste I absolutely trust can't stop raving about it (ahem, KJ), and because (2) John Green absolutely sold me Eleanor and Park </u><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/03/10/books/review/eleanor-park-by-rainbow-rowell.html?_r=0" style="text-decoration: line-through underline;" target="_blank">here</a><u style="text-decoration: line-through underline;">. </u> <i>Update:</i> Bought and read. Deserves an entire post.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Urban Decay Naked 2</b></u> - If you know me, then you very well know that I wouldn't get off my big ass to do something about my face. And if there's anything I suck at big time, it's putting eye shadows. But I'm <i>reeaaally</i> trying this time. And I've read a lot of good Naked 2 reviews.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-decoration: line-through underline;">Michael Kors Bedford</b><u style="text-decoration: line-through underline;"> - The bad thing about working for Michael Kors is that you most likely will spend your entire paycheck on Michael Kors. But I promised myself that I wouldn't go savage on MK merchandise, and practice a vital human trait: some self control. So far, I've only gotten myself a watch. And in a week or two - this pretty Bedford in black. Yay.</u> <i>Update:</i> Bought, and used daily. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Leather Jacket</b></u> - I have a serious BLJ problem, I know. But I need a decent black leather/moto jacket as my others seem to be a little too worn out.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Sweaters</b></u> - One of the things I love most about Fall is that I get to cozy up in a nice sweater, preferably cashmere. I have a few oversized sweaters in my closet but I could <i>definitely</i> use some more. One does not simply have a few sweaters. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Ankle booties</b></u> - I just can't have enough booties. Looking for the perfect camel ones. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Nude Scarf</b></u> - I'm pretty bad at wearing my scarves nicely. This from someone who used to wear scarves in sunny Philippines. But I think the perfect nude scarf would go well with just about anything. </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b style="text-decoration: line-through underline;">Anorak</b><u style="text-decoration: line-through underline;"> - Just because. One of my workmates has one from Zara, with leather sleeves! It's a beaut. But she got it from Belgium, 1 or 2 autumns ago, so the possibility of finding one here is well, just about zilch. I want one anyway.</u><i> Update: </i>Got a Talulah anorak which I love, and wear everywhere no matter the weather.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Marc Jacobs watch</b></u> - I am reserving my gold watch for a Marc by Marc Jacobs watch, that's why I got a rose gold one from Michael Kors. This in particular, with the pretty pink face. But MK will release Blake this fall too, if they haven't already released it. This one has the same simple style, but has a blue face instead. I'm a little torn between the two.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Graphic tees</b></u> - I know, I know. It's weird to be wanting tees and muscle tanks for fall, especially when I don't look good on them. But they would totally look nice with an anorak. Hee </li>
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Now, if I can only remember to stick to this list, not to stray into stores I'm not supposed to be in, and not to burn my credit cards from friction. </div>
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Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-64055616403120001032013-07-05T11:23:00.000+08:002013-08-17T10:58:29.023+08:00On KunderaI remember, quite vividly, a freshman version of myself scanning the aisles of National Bookstore in search of <i>Ignorance</i>. It was a required reading for one of my favorite (albeit most dreaded) class in university, Humanities 1. I remember it was around P600 that time, an amount that was outrageously expensive for my 16yo self. Also, I haven't gotten over my judging-a-book-by-its-cover phase then and the bizarre potato on the cover was kind of a turn off. Needless to say, my first Kundera was a 100-paged photocopy. But read and re-read, filled with both nonsensical and profound comments, underlines, double underlines, and highlights in neon yellow, pink and blue. Truth be told, I don't think I completely understood it, but nonetheless, my love affair with Kundera began that first semester of my freshman year.<br />
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I chanced upon a copy of his <i>Unbearable Lightness of Being</i> on sale soon after that semester. It became not only one of my most read novels, but also the most discussed. Gel and I would discuss it over coffee at Faustina's for hours, at least once a week during our last year in university. It is the only book I have which I wrote on, telling myself I'd buy another one for reading, that this one is strictly for discussions. I lent it to Laurence a few months before the end of college, and on our graduation, he returned it to me with his graduation picture tucked inside like a bookmark. My mom, not wanting to put it in her bag fearing she would ruin it, ironically lost it that day. Kuya Rammil and I spent a good hour looking for it all over the graduation grounds and the parking lot. I have never in my life been so devastated to lose a book. Given that I could easily get a new one. It's because that old, tattered copy had so much history.<br />
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One of the saddest things about leaving home is leaving the books I've collected through the years. All of which has their own story and history. And I plan to give my new books here the same value. My first book here in Canada is the graphic novel, <i>Asterios Polyp</i>. Straight from the UK, but given to me as a birthday gift by my friends from the Philippines, KJ and Denise. I was also given a copy of Craig Thompson's <i>Blankets</i> for my birthday. A week ago, I decided to use a gift card for Indigo (a gift card I also received for the said birthday) and buy myself a book. I am quite the sentimental. So much so in fact that it took me three visits to Indigo before finally purchasing <i>Ignorance - </i>that beauty of a novel that introduced me to Kundera, and what I was once too young to get myself. Just because I wanted to make sure that my first ever book purchased here has a meaning.<br />
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I re-read it yesterday, and do not think I could have made a better choice. I couldn't have chosen a better first novel here, so faraway from home, than that that speaks of nostalgia and great returns.Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-11852037532018187362013-06-01T04:07:00.000+08:002013-06-09T04:07:26.237+08:00Notorious for never learning from my mistakes (or for being far too forgiving, often to a fault), I went ahead and made a reading goal/challenge again this year. If you follow me on Goodreads, you'll find that I've once again overestimated myself. As if it isn't enough that I plan on reading *secret* number of books this year, I also want to make sure half of which are notable ones - with awards and all those pretentious shits. Cause if not, my YAs pile up and as of late, I've already been having YA dreams - egging houses and falling head over heels in love. Crap. Also, I promised I'd read God of Small Things once every year. Because it's amazing, that's why. And that I'd re-read Catcher in The Rye again, because I quite frankly did not enjoy it the first time. Being that I was a suburban girl then, with silly if not shallow plights in life, and teen angst was a foreign distant idea. I figured I might get it better now. Or I could at least try. I hate it when I don't like something everyone else likes, it's like I'm not in on an inside joke. I'm poseur that way. <div>
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Update: I've read 10 books so far. Jhumpa Lahiri's Interpreter of Maladies is by far my favorite. Followed by Eugenides' Marriage Plot and McCarthy's The Road. And, I'm currently reading: The Catcher in The Rye hooooray.</div>
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In other news, I'm so bad at blogging I'm considering shutting this one off ( as well as the rest of my other blogs), but for now, I'm going to try and blog more often on my tumblr account. <a href="http://teacuts.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Click me, <i>dali</i></a>.</div>
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-91886308169580037752012-12-31T18:50:00.000+08:002013-01-04T09:49:23.465+08:00obligatory year-end shizOkay, so a few hours before I welcome 2013, here's a quick review of the year 2012: <i>it. was. awful</i>.<br />
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And like all things awful, it started quite well. I was doing flea hops in January, smitten more with the idea than the actual fact of a literary lover from across the universe (who I am now convinced is nothing but a figment of my imagination). I went to HongKong with my friends on February. Best out of the country to date. Danced to Pains of Being Pure at Heart live in Manila on the last day of February, entering into March 1st, the day I turned 22. Went to see two of my favorite bands of all time <i>live</i> - Dashboard Confessional and Death Cab for Cutie. Both March and on the same week! My brother and his family went home from Canada, April. Went to Boracay with my best friends, May.<br />
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And then everything went downhill from that first half of the year. Sulked my way into moving continents and left my second name, friends and family in the only place I will ever call home. Was uprooted to cold Milton, thankfully with my parents, my eldest brother and his family but still felt strangely alone. Transformed my already bitter disposition to a darker shade of glum.<br />
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Now despite tearing up on New Year messages from friends back home, I'm looking forward to 2013, to taking control of my life and emotions and to looking at things from a slightly better angle. One which isn't as distorted as the angle in which I've seen the past year.<br />
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HOLY SHIT I WAS IN A FREAKING BELL JAR.Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0Milton, ON, Canada43.5182991 -79.877404243.1498681 -80.5228512 43.8867301 -79.2319572tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-73860982247505856892012-12-30T23:54:00.000+08:002013-01-04T09:53:15.013+08:00my year in books<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This isn't an obligatory year-end post, I suck at those (as with most things) and would probably never do them ever. Or you know, would probably just do it later. If I feel like it, which I probably won't. <i>Anyway</i>, this is my 2012 in books. Voila. How exciting.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Ever year, I overestimate my reading capacity. And why wouldn't I think I can do impossible goals when I always start the year right? In 2011, for example, I read 5 books in January alone, but finished my 11th book on December. What the hell, I know. This didn't stop me from aiming for 30 books this year. I knooow, I kinda suck at this learning-from-your-mistake shit. Anyway, here's a quick rundown of this year's list:</span><br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Novels<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Swift
As Desire (Laura Esquivel)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A
Long Way Down (Nick Hornby)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mockingjay (Suzanne Collins)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Extremely
Loud And Incredibly Close (Jonathan Safran Foer)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Life
Of Pi (Yann Martel)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The
Great Gatsby (F. Scott Fitzgerald)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Perks
Of Being A Wallflower (Stephen Chbosky)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Chronicle
Of A Death Foretold (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Looking
for Alaska (John Green)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">A
Visit from The Goon Squad (Jennifer Egan)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Her
Fearful Symmetry (Audrey Niffeneger)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Book
of Tomorrow (Cecelia Ahern)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Tender
is the Night (F. Scott Fitzgerald)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Papertowns
(John Green)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Fight
Club (Chuck Palahniuk) </span></li>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Graphic Novels<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Wolverine:
Old Man Logan (Mark Millar)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Paul
Moves Out (Michel Rabagliati)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list 36.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Y:
The Last Man Deluxe Book One (Brian Vaughan & Pia Guerra)</span></li>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Short Stories<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">[<i>not including the many bedtime stories I've read (and re-read) to my niece and nephews]</i></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">A
Perfect Day for Bananafish (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Uncle
Wiggily in Connecticut (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Just
Before the War with the Eskimos (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">The
Laughing Man (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Down
at the Dinghy (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">For
Esmé – with Love and Squalor (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">Pretty
Mouth and Green My Eyes (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Daumier-Smith's Blue Period (JD Salinger)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Sound of Thunder (Ray Bradbury)</span></div>
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Very Old Man With Enormous Wings (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)</span></div>
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Looking Glass (Anton Chekhov)</span></div>
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Nightingale and the Rose (Oscar Wilde)</span></div>
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from the South (Roald Dahl)</span></div>
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Good Man is Hard to Find (Flannery O’Connor)</span></div>
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Second Bakery Attack (Haruki Murakami)</span></div>
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Use of Force (William Carlos Williams)</span></div>
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Rockinghorse Winner (D.H. Lawrence)</span></div>
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Yellow Wallpaper (Charlotte Perkins Gilman)</span></div>
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Nose (Nikolai Gogol)</span></div>
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(Anton Chekhov)</span></div>
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Love (Anton Chekhov)</span></div>
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Lady’s Story (Anton Chekhov)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sooo, yeah. I didn't quite hit the target. But I did try to finish the 20 best short stories of all time, and I read through the yellowed pages of Ehm's copy of <i>Nine Stories</i> (retitled: <span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>For Esmé – with Love and Squalor). And believe it or not, I did try to read meaningful texts, such as Kafka's The Castle, Euginides' Middlesex, even some dissertations but alas, I ended up having Cecelia Ahern's <i>Book of Tomorrow</i> in the list instead of those. DO NOT JUDGE. I was in a very dark place. Hah. I've no excuse, I've completely lost appetite for long, complex reads since the move. I've made up for it in the surprising turnout of short stories in my list, but I'm kind of disappointed. Next year, I'll try to cutdown on the YA (which began with reading Perks, really), and try to go back to reading substantial texts, maybe a few classics, maybe a nonfiction, definitely a Murakami. But seeing as I won't be going to the library any time soon, I might delve into Nathan's shelf and finish his Roald Dahl collection. Just until I get myself a new book. 'til then, I'll be thinking whether I should actually set a goal this year. </span></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-67232846856099753072012-12-21T12:53:00.000+08:002012-12-21T12:53:25.900+08:00Did I Die?I don't know who started it. They called it Tissafied, and even got my name wrong. For the nth time, single s, single s. The devil is in the details, but I don't think it was a most devilish detail, enough to make this gesture anything less than what it was: the sweetest farewell present.<br />
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It's been three months since, and I've already forgotten who else did it, or if anybody else did. What I do remember was feeling extra loved, and finding it harder to say goodbye.Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-51637558986772763212012-12-21T12:20:00.000+08:002012-12-21T12:54:26.939+08:00UPDATEI've got a couple more entries about things I've done before I left home, and a couple more about things I've done when I got here. Bear with my sporadic posting, I seem to have developed a penchant for doing nothing and the things that has been left unsaid, efforts left unappreciated seem to pile up before me. Even though I'm three months late, I'd still try to make an entry for each despedida I went to as I'd feel extremely guilty if I leave any despedida out.<br />
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All right, that's it.Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-14963141022379299212012-11-15T11:47:00.000+08:002012-12-21T12:54:10.326+08:00hey hey weekendersI'm a heavy-traveller. Partly because I never could plan what to wear the night before and stick to it on the day itself, so I always bring tons of extra clothes. On a related note, but on a different tone: we're going to Blue Mountain this weekend! We're going to fit 10 people in two vehicles (a car and an suv), plus pots, pans, kettles, condiments, chickens, drinks, pillows and whatnot. So the possibility of bringing in my entire closet is as slim as I used to be at sixteen. Not as difficult as it used to be as the move I did from Phils. to Canada demanded a wardrobe diet. Anyway, for the first time, I'm forced to pack light and was so proud of myself, you'd have to humor me as I make you part of my packing...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-YSXrDb4HY7E6YSMTvqVMuEieZrQY-ct6Z4LkX-SWWhbSplA22jRa7pVEEvcsXhH5r8rUpDvY5a0ICwjU-v55wrAI0R4Th-FHjxk4Bvs2JusnqLtt2E1YGCpc1hN6Qqwz87k1EdvyPw/s1600/pack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-YSXrDb4HY7E6YSMTvqVMuEieZrQY-ct6Z4LkX-SWWhbSplA22jRa7pVEEvcsXhH5r8rUpDvY5a0ICwjU-v55wrAI0R4Th-FHjxk4Bvs2JusnqLtt2E1YGCpc1hN6Qqwz87k1EdvyPw/s640/pack.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trying to stick it out with a gray pallete, with the exception of my pajamas (which were kind of christmas-sy). I would probably regret not bringing jeans with me on this trip, but I'd have to brave the cold and see how long I'd last. The test of a true Canadian - which I am most definitely not.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJ8u6zVrBRo6_uQMr0gwF1CZuCVpMIml2Os4loi8cuq-vv-aZRV0yQoga7FOVYP-JsstAIEHNVMAomn9miMpl_yNN0NZHPg9LnKDxxwg3DDPk14l0Pg_XVvxgLkLXxIZybYSVirzkbkM/s1600/bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJJ8u6zVrBRo6_uQMr0gwF1CZuCVpMIml2Os4loi8cuq-vv-aZRV0yQoga7FOVYP-JsstAIEHNVMAomn9miMpl_yNN0NZHPg9LnKDxxwg3DDPk14l0Pg_XVvxgLkLXxIZybYSVirzkbkM/s640/bag.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's in my bag? <i>Glasses</i>, which I always forget to wear, despite not being able to see anything 5 feet away. <i>Shades</i>, for the daily migraine attack; aka vampire mode; must. not. see. light. <i>Make up bag</i>. <i>Phone </i>which by the way, still doesn't have a sim in it and is practically useless if not for imessage and facetime. C<i>amera. Headband. Wallet. Notebook. Pen. </i>Not in picture: my <i>macbook pro </i>back from hibernation. <i> </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J5zM4Ck49Mw/UKW9464kToI/AAAAAAAABgg/1p0sOyjK1Ko/s1600/makeup1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J5zM4Ck49Mw/UKW9464kToI/AAAAAAAABgg/1p0sOyjK1Ko/s640/makeup1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For someone who doesn't know a thing about make-up, I sure bring a lot. It makes me feel a little less like a noob and more like an adult, so let me. But seriously, I only know how to use powder foundation, concealer and powder blush. The rest I just play with in silly hopes of accidentally finding out how to use them on my face.</td></tr>
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Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-43840242717066311052012-11-01T00:26:00.000+08:002012-11-19T11:33:53.420+08:00October highlights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<ul>
<li>Spending all days with Noah - playing, watching cartoons, fighting, laughing (mostly at him).</li>
<li>Looking for a job around the area, since I'm a big noob when it comes to commuting.</li>
<li>Went for an hour walk to Downtown Milton - a real life EK town.</li>
<li>Borrowed three books from the library. Started both The Member of The Wedding and A Visit From The Goon Squad. <i>update: Finished only A Visit from The Goon Squad, and Her Fearful Symmetry.</i></li>
<li>Found an Italian bakery along Bronte street. They sell the cutest sweets and some UK products Steph and Nicole would go crazy for (miniature phone booths and double decker buses).</li>
<li>Went to Windsor and heard my brother and papa give talk for the first time.</li>
<li>Walked around main street, and found a nice secondhand bookstore (with a special space just for Margaret Atwood - talk about supporting the locals).</li>
<li>Thanksgiving! </li>
<li>Lots of trips to Conservation Parks. One of which was Crawford Lake.</li>
<li>Started an LOTR marathon. Something I haven't done since the films came out. </li>
<li>Went to a retreat house by the lake with my brother, his wife and their friends from the community. </li>
</ul>
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-11370734157685794892012-10-26T23:12:00.001+08:002012-10-27T00:12:06.036+08:00a view from far awayLast year, my 10-year multiple-entry US visa expired, without having been used. I was in the US once, but only for a stop-over at the Minneapolis airport. When I was a little girl, I thought that you only get to ride planes when you're going to the states. I didn't know of other wonderful places then; most of my cousins were in California and New Jersey. When I got a little bit older, I started having plans of moving to New York with my best friends (later found out that almost everyone has). Since I moved to Milton, I've had several chances of seeing the states from afar. The latest was last weekend, when my brother, parents and I took a 3-hour drive to Windsor (my brother and dad gave a talk). From the deck, we got a good view of what my brother refers to as Robocop City - Detroit. While my <i>kuya </i>Ouel doesn't like Detroit that much, from afar, it provided a wonderful backdrop for a photo-op.<br />
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<br />Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-76705843434595125462012-10-25T23:28:00.000+08:002012-10-27T00:02:31.074+08:00It's fall!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And while I have one too many reasons to miss home, the wonderful view of the Niagara escarpment during drives, and the colors of falling leaves make me wish I lived here all my life. Autumn is truly the loveliest season. But lately, it's been getting cold, and the usual pumpkin color atop trees and on the ground are turning yellow, if not muddy brown. Some days, it rains morning to night. And the fog fills the street. The cold makes me shiver and cling to the covers tightly while I sleep. </div>
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Winter is coming, so while I can, I enjoy the rare moments when I can wear my camping boots and look one with the leaves.</div>
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Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-23922862490263051572012-10-08T11:31:00.000+08:002012-10-28T02:32:05.871+08:00interlude<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I talked about <a href="http://tisagardon.blogspot.ca/2012/10/new-lives-old-friends.html" target="_blank">here</a>. And why of all dates did I decide to come early,
completely overlooking the fact that I’m meeting with Gel and Nikko, who back
in college were always, always late for class (well, until Gel and I lived
together and I nagged her and dragged her all the way to NCAS).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I was there at 11, because clearly they
said we were meeting for lunch. But I had to wait 2 hours at Starbucks before
Gel arrived, and Nikko showed up at 4pm, just in time for an early dinner. While
I was waiting for them, a curious thing happened.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was reading Anton Chekov’s A Lady’s Story, minding my own
business, when a tall guy with a limp sat across me. I was somewhat aware of
his presence, and often watched him walk away from his table then back again.
It must be out of curiosity, as he seemed to me, a bit interesting. After half
an hour, he leaned towards my table and started talking to me. I had to take my
earphones off of my ears to hear him say: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do
you model? </i>I half-chuckled, taken aback with what I deem to be a cheesy
pick-up line. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No. </i>He asked if I could
model for his company, and I said I wasn’t interested as I would be leaving for
Milton the week after. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Milton, Canada?
There’s nothing there but snow. </i>Haven’t I heard these lines before? For the
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sucks. I don’t remember much of how the conversation went. At some point, he
joined me on my table. He told me about his company, which true enough was
based in California (or just true enough, real). He told me how he’d gotten a
limp, just a few weeks back due to a car accident. And that he was kicked out
of UP. That he didn’t mind a woman who carry with her sharp objects, whether it
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his, telling me to go back to my reading. Perhaps, I wasn’t such a good chatterbox. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m easily one of the most cautious persons you’ll ever
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adult. Talk to my ear in a crowded bar and I’d probably call the police on you.
And so, it struck me quite odd that I didn’t find this man creepy. In fact, on
the contrary, he felt kind of harmless. It’s a feeling so bizarre, to trust
strangers with your time. I did this once, I think. Although I don’t like to
remember it so often. </span></div>
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-78944331574438875802012-10-05T21:53:00.000+08:002012-10-28T02:38:35.073+08:00new lives; old friends<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gel and I have been trying to book Nikko for months, but
didn’t get an appointment ‘til a week before I left. Seriously, it’s like
getting in line for an iPhone 5. But really, Nikko has been the busiest of bees
that we rarely get to see him. In fact, I’ve seen him only twice since
graduation. The first one was a 30-min lunch sandwiched between a demanding day
at work. But I can’t complain, in any case, he seems to be the most successful
among us three.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When Nikko asked me where I wanna eat, I didn’t have to
think a second: Yabu. I first had Yabu with Nicole, and I remember watching
each other’s eyes spasm after our first bite. It’s seriously crazy good. My favourite
is the Rosu Katsudon. Imagine this: first class pork loin with a trimming of
fat, encrusted in fine golden breading and topped with wet omelette and sweet
sauce. <i>So good</i> I still enjoyed it
despite having Nikko harass me the entire time, telling me how Canada sucks, massively.
Haha. It’s been a while since the three of us sat together and ate. In fact I
remember the last time: Eat Sumo at Square, after Creative Writing class with
sir Caloi. It was almost 3 years ago, so I didn’t mind the teasing. Although, I
remember tearing up at one point. I found it somewhat novel, Nikko<span style="font-size: small;"> wa</span>s almost
always my pre-set picker-upper. Afterwards he gave me a gift <span style="font-size: small;">(a <span style="font-size: small;">H</span>ulk bobblehead) </span>with a note that
said: <i>Tisa! Every time you move him, his
head-shaking will represent my disappointment. Tss. Canada amp. </i>Yup, he’s
sweet all right. Needless to say, I rarely move it. <i> </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I remember basking in that moment. The comfort of old
friends, old jokes and old stories we’ve heard and told countless times. I
remember the drive home to Gel’s house after that lunch, and talking about how
much things have changed, and how much we missed our college glory days, despite
calling them juvenile. Looking back now, I don’t mind that things have changed.
That between fall outs and make ups, there’s a tear and wrinkle in the pages; things
you can no longer iron out to make it seem unspoiled.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve never been the one to repress my cheesiness, so yeah, I
love these two.<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Through fall outs, th<span style="font-size: small;">rough creases and wrinkles and wh<span style="font-size: small;">atnot. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxonf8Jxx2O2CPFCgnl78sodFpSDnBWXUwvjRf_viB04ygtHYHGW1ugaypW-fFfPhj3DrkdEfC7g2FvOROpgVI3X2QSWVb-LOdMllOwJcRNxrTx3-JmIbX45ubplry1Ls8tHiQHHTgDs4/s1600/545573_10151199504044777_1723430451_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxonf8Jxx2O2CPFCgnl78sodFpSDnBWXUwvjRf_viB04ygtHYHGW1ugaypW-fFfPhj3DrkdEfC7g2FvOROpgVI3X2QSWVb-LOdMllOwJcRNxrTx3-JmIbX45ubplry1Ls8tHiQHHTgDs4/s640/545573_10151199504044777_1723430451_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8qhDgTFJjnK5YqGF5CTgX8wmq90MCgw8ClOX59bzSKeHA94WlS2FtQMyVgvkLCNo-4z0F1IRb9T9XxREcI-RPXBraywba7QcI9Zy8G4fWY3WkTYOCCE1B6YpRZt10r4HWbChUMo9mGY/s1600/483089_10151199503914777_70896053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8qhDgTFJjnK5YqGF5CTgX8wmq90MCgw8ClOX59bzSKeHA94WlS2FtQMyVgvkLCNo-4z0F1IRb9T9XxREcI-RPXBraywba7QcI9Zy8G4fWY3WkTYOCCE1B6YpRZt10r4HWbChUMo9mGY/s640/483089_10151199503914777_70896053_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-6256642659268714762012-10-03T08:24:00.000+08:002012-10-27T00:09:47.787+08:00SaltimbancoThey say all good things must come to an end.<br />
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I say end them always with a bang. Compared to all the fun we've been having with our high school friends since Jennie's arrival, spending her last night with only us girls doesn't quite live up to the "bang" one expects. Especially since none of us loves to party. But a toned-down night of girl talks, japanese food, and a good show seems to me the perfect ending to a strenuous vacation. </div>
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What I hate most about huge malls is deciding where to eat. This specific night, I was wearing heels. Very rare; it was a special occasion, what can I say. And we were in MOA - 4th largest mall in the world. Every time somebody points to a restaurant and asks "how about here?" I wanted to shout "everyone say yes already." We all eventually said yes to Kimono Ken. By this time, I think everyone was too tired for anyone to object. Although I've had better Japanese food, I was tired and I was with some of my best friends in the whole wide universe, so it was only natural that everything felt like bits of heaven in my mouth. After dinner, we met up with Joy for a quick chat before the show starts. </div>
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We saw Cirque du Soleil's Saltimbanco after. Quite a show. I spent the two hours of which gaping, resting only during the 10-minute break. I wish I have photos to show how goggle-worthy it was, but the security was strict and I had to leave my camera outside the arena. Boo.<br />
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The arena was silent with shock and awe the entire show, but Jear and I were at the back wondering how amusing it would be to watch these acrobats have sex. If you were there and you remember hearing malicious, girly giggles, uhm, that's probably us. </div>
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Although Jennie's vacation lasted 2 months long, and having flexible work schedule, I was able to spend a lot of time with her, it still felt like we didn't have enough time together. Hopefully, we can sync our vacations, so we can go home together next time. </div>
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Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-76856784351643158292012-09-29T10:14:00.004+08:002012-10-26T23:17:53.733+08:00fragments from airports and plane rides<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUeVGh7Z9yI7Dr6SO3gboPoFDKS2wyn30nUb0z0LW4-kxi-8yPglEJFwKoXZscqVq_iyh2H3cz8WIGZXrvtxti52rvHZ0tLfN2m15YqU53Zd64EsOsdDOh7iVDQ4Nnk0c_vYZN_W7cWQ/s1600/P1360022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUeVGh7Z9yI7Dr6SO3gboPoFDKS2wyn30nUb0z0LW4-kxi-8yPglEJFwKoXZscqVq_iyh2H3cz8WIGZXrvtxti52rvHZ0tLfN2m15YqU53Zd64EsOsdDOh7iVDQ4Nnk0c_vYZN_W7cWQ/s640/P1360022.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>With Gel at the airport. </b>The last time I saw Gel she was in a hurry to leave, and I let her. Before that, I was in a hurry to go, and she drove me home just to spend more time with me. Being my best friend, I know she wouldn't let me leave the country without saying goodbye. She almost missed me (as always, she was late), so glad she didn't.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X6ESzTcsyX8/UGZOuWQkUNI/AAAAAAAABZE/DBCEL6z2cWY/s1600/P1360053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X6ESzTcsyX8/UGZOuWQkUNI/AAAAAAAABZE/DBCEL6z2cWY/s640/P1360053.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Wearing the DMs Denise gave me. </b>I had to, as they were the heaviest of all my shoes/boots. But imagine all the airport security I had to go through, and how many times I had to remove them and put them back on. Not an easy task. At one point, I walked all the way from the security check to the boarding gate with only my socks on.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RWKJYFf2-cI/UGZOwCwiwQI/AAAAAAAABZM/_XPYQFA5Mrs/s1600/P1360089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RWKJYFf2-cI/UGZOwCwiwQI/AAAAAAAABZM/_XPYQFA5Mrs/s640/P1360089.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My dad. </b>Probably thinking: <i>what the f were we thinking moving continents.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: normal;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 6px; padding-right: 6px; padding-top: 6px; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6g-IeeV1zE/UGZO7mzrcuI/AAAAAAAABaI/SnT6ZRwr_4Q/s1600/mlb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o6g-IeeV1zE/UGZO7mzrcuI/AAAAAAAABaI/SnT6ZRwr_4Q/s640/mlb.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="586" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; padding-top: 4px; text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Martial Law Babies. </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A gift from Biboy. That line from the first few pages killed it. I was waiting for the plane that will take me to a new life, and I read these lines. All I could think about is how my baggages are heavy with memories of the old life I'll leave behind. </span></span></td></tr>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhXpbl_eSZObje-T52JPM96FgJDilCeakIIs8OTokogRZNRDJkLDKCFH2Q-5blpNp4TNNnhtyR3W7o93SVr9ohn2G4CE_rijGrUDWxGZvQKsYh6W2w_vw2d7vMCcIgUWl7c9sqGoExCM/s1600/P1360164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhXpbl_eSZObje-T52JPM96FgJDilCeakIIs8OTokogRZNRDJkLDKCFH2Q-5blpNp4TNNnhtyR3W7o93SVr9ohn2G4CE_rijGrUDWxGZvQKsYh6W2w_vw2d7vMCcIgUWl7c9sqGoExCM/s1600/P1360164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhXpbl_eSZObje-T52JPM96FgJDilCeakIIs8OTokogRZNRDJkLDKCFH2Q-5blpNp4TNNnhtyR3W7o93SVr9ohn2G4CE_rijGrUDWxGZvQKsYh6W2w_vw2d7vMCcIgUWl7c9sqGoExCM/s1600/P1360164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9AoTHRKEzkE/UGZOxoWSjXI/AAAAAAAABZU/g562jirGHUI/s640/P1360099.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Just PAL. </b>Reminding me of what I missed in Manila. Jerk.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJ1UT7-TqzG3MSJLXp4CqnUR0Zez93QS0OnFS_aOoV2j-y-xTA0JnLodKW3M_c6PslSmt8FE_yLIrXKW9a8RKJbeBIUOSrcYfq2-6KRDme_BT1C4T0djrMd_Ylyuz6Z-NfjJ9ZAAZBV8/s1600/P1360103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJ1UT7-TqzG3MSJLXp4CqnUR0Zez93QS0OnFS_aOoV2j-y-xTA0JnLodKW3M_c6PslSmt8FE_yLIrXKW9a8RKJbeBIUOSrcYfq2-6KRDme_BT1C4T0djrMd_Ylyuz6Z-NfjJ9ZAAZBV8/s640/P1360103.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Some well-deserved sunshine. </b>Our travel agent messed up our reservations and we ended up traveling via PAL instead of Korean Air, and sitting 4-5 rows from the back of the plane. AND WITHOUT INDIVIDUAL SCREENS. For 13 hours. Did I mention I was leaving home, the country I love, and the friends I plan to grow old with? I need me some little miss sunshine, so I watched me some little miss sunshine as soon as I settled in my seat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Gel's going away present. </b>In case my awesome photography skills aren't as awesome as I think, it's a heart-shaped locket and a crown with a gem in it. I opened the locket in the plane and inside is a note that says: <i>is it still raining everywhere you are? </i>Damn it, that made me cry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xUOWRfb3bQA/UGZO0qntxyI/AAAAAAAABZk/ixhYv58xaZo/s1600/P1360110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xUOWRfb3bQA/UGZO0qntxyI/AAAAAAAABZk/ixhYv58xaZo/s640/P1360110.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>My mama.</b> And what she did the entire plane ride. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3-4VHL-bLL8/UGZO27uukHI/AAAAAAAABZs/hFqH3JOIgBw/s1600/P1360146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3-4VHL-bLL8/UGZO27uukHI/AAAAAAAABZs/hFqH3JOIgBw/s640/P1360146.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Plane meals. </b>I don't know about you, but I love plane food. I enjoyed the breakfast most especially. Only because I have weird taste, and the hash brown was soggy, the egg bland, the sausage a little bit cold, and I absolutely loved it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDRChq-Q0p7b2sKnqRkL6L3LVs2KSkGg6n3FV2GRXLwfsr5b42K_lNGu8W-E7GrwwxYOKrM0236Nm1BCRQqO3VoQxgZZdoW6t2b1e-FWNYXHsVtWRN60x99D4CcGJ8KVuyHnz7K8uQeo/s1600/P1360149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDDRChq-Q0p7b2sKnqRkL6L3LVs2KSkGg6n3FV2GRXLwfsr5b42K_lNGu8W-E7GrwwxYOKrM0236Nm1BCRQqO3VoQxgZZdoW6t2b1e-FWNYXHsVtWRN60x99D4CcGJ8KVuyHnz7K8uQeo/s640/P1360149.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>With Anna at the YVR airport. </b>Met Anna, who I haven't seen for 4 years during our stopover in Vancouver. I didn't have a phone, and we contacted each other via twitter whilst at the airport. Vancouver was our first entry to Canada, so we had to do all the immigration sihzniz there, so by the time we saw each other, it was 20 minutes to boarding time. I cried when I saw her. Must be the comfort of seeing a familiar face in a place so new and foreign.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhXpbl_eSZObje-T52JPM96FgJDilCeakIIs8OTokogRZNRDJkLDKCFH2Q-5blpNp4TNNnhtyR3W7o93SVr9ohn2G4CE_rijGrUDWxGZvQKsYh6W2w_vw2d7vMCcIgUWl7c9sqGoExCM/s1600/P1360164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkhXpbl_eSZObje-T52JPM96FgJDilCeakIIs8OTokogRZNRDJkLDKCFH2Q-5blpNp4TNNnhtyR3W7o93SVr9ohn2G4CE_rijGrUDWxGZvQKsYh6W2w_vw2d7vMCcIgUWl7c9sqGoExCM/s640/P1360164.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>New York. </b>Straight ahead. Almost there... nope. Better luck next time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-62484001229547562382012-09-29T06:34:00.002+08:002012-10-26T23:18:20.144+08:00UpdateIt's 6:28 pm. I have been in Milton for a week and 2 days now, and between unpacking and easing into the life here, I didn't have the time to post about everything that happened before I left or the things that are happening here now. Plus, I am just recovering from the emotional distraught this move has caused me. So I am now free (as I am unhappily unemployed) to edit photos and write about all the love I got before leaving. But, you know, expect nothing as to not get disappointed.<br />
<br />
I have a knack for disappointing.Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-75505335825639679062012-08-23T15:06:00.003+08:002012-08-23T15:06:35.334+08:00fickle-minded pickled verse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjag3BZXzDGvnpAP2XZWbBjpRuP6FnvfSDnQx8c2mjSTwR4RZAZ2Qt5d1lP68q5CI2VcQeD6mgjsmjB5lD_N_EGAhyphenhyphen09VO4i9I-BZZ-hJfCb47pWhPF6FDPhqrwtQeyNoNmq7kvnsOQqdY/s1600/HEADER3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjag3BZXzDGvnpAP2XZWbBjpRuP6FnvfSDnQx8c2mjSTwR4RZAZ2Qt5d1lP68q5CI2VcQeD6mgjsmjB5lD_N_EGAhyphenhyphen09VO4i9I-BZZ-hJfCb47pWhPF6FDPhqrwtQeyNoNmq7kvnsOQqdY/s320/HEADER3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Changed my blog title for the nth time today. And would probably change it again in the future. I hate giving titles to anything. I'm not very witty, you see. Hah. But will try to stick with this one for as long as I can. Just to show that I know very well how to handle commitments. <i>Chos</i>Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-28740118356129912262012-08-20T11:09:00.000+08:002012-08-23T13:11:14.542+08:00on stiltsHad a post-weekend trip to paradise last week, despite threats of heavy rain and broken hearts. Will blog about it as soon as I blog about everything else that came before it. For now, a gratuitous peek:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4tv3t1f6BO-LE146lqZZm3NKhakCnILm1V6lmSNE3tBauPEqyD06Wb5CUFn4LGqaV3FTsnBkhqKW6zwSVkpZjjAfp2ukDacmUIB2RK6e6xfBG5n5a3XDm0BuVn7pEHE9avGpaVTP_7k/s1600/stilts.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG4tv3t1f6BO-LE146lqZZm3NKhakCnILm1V6lmSNE3tBauPEqyD06Wb5CUFn4LGqaV3FTsnBkhqKW6zwSVkpZjjAfp2ukDacmUIB2RK6e6xfBG5n5a3XDm0BuVn7pEHE9avGpaVTP_7k/s640/stilts.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-44221815771930204692012-08-11T21:49:00.000+08:002012-08-24T20:09:42.252+08:00Happy Mondays <!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Zo4kDa90k/UDdjtV3JuwI/AAAAAAAABSc/OLmOceoME_4/s1600/P1320417i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z9Zo4kDa90k/UDdjtV3JuwI/AAAAAAAABSc/OLmOceoME_4/s640/P1320417i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gel's brother, Ralph, bought this from Cubao X. Funny title and funny face to match, ftw.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArB93PLFT65grlGFPwOHq1LPFYFuuofmn_81iklsdePEmXr27WR4bhMFMtyxRP7_kVIm-k13JzYqnvgkRjoUjKFVdSWe075zH91M5JS9RLPiEYMMc7m28WYXZzaRxC7U40AkBwEbx94E/s1600/P1320418i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArB93PLFT65grlGFPwOHq1LPFYFuuofmn_81iklsdePEmXr27WR4bhMFMtyxRP7_kVIm-k13JzYqnvgkRjoUjKFVdSWe075zH91M5JS9RLPiEYMMc7m28WYXZzaRxC7U40AkBwEbx94E/s640/P1320418i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National Geographic magazine from 1958.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KV149jevb7JsSDdF6zPuLOzWBsBf0JtFqtCQX-G1wOxJBQEpdYgJ9OHpaVyjKJqzfXhrz_Wzet02I5fSsuDKKl8FaEbtf4FRK-bDU_7GfOKzUYWHTxGU38vCL4VlgqqNykIs93yU3mc/s1600/P1320423i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3KV149jevb7JsSDdF6zPuLOzWBsBf0JtFqtCQX-G1wOxJBQEpdYgJ9OHpaVyjKJqzfXhrz_Wzet02I5fSsuDKKl8FaEbtf4FRK-bDU_7GfOKzUYWHTxGU38vCL4VlgqqNykIs93yU3mc/s640/P1320423i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out Gel's worried face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5o0quT9O7JrwdjFnu8IbqZT86KEeV30-bUp7RTftS0Kwrf0fj8JuHbnXoOxb83U_UvOib_mEFTf8koq_6lX62Ufmk9YE8Yg96Fp60phwJAR_4-278LwIHmapm-HA6LoNjVr1p-HYqNjo/s1600/P1320429i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5o0quT9O7JrwdjFnu8IbqZT86KEeV30-bUp7RTftS0Kwrf0fj8JuHbnXoOxb83U_UvOib_mEFTf8koq_6lX62Ufmk9YE8Yg96Fp60phwJAR_4-278LwIHmapm-HA6LoNjVr1p-HYqNjo/s640/P1320429i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True friends. Battling the rain and thunderstorms for Gel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPb5xfLcmoFkh7fuljp82KJfSPxsO-joXXoQ3ozRZBkW7FgvbUok2TBcBUM8UwOz5gCat-pb1DT3zjI3N3l3TNxPXWpujr1_Rxb41QoOY2gQPAOtHd73oVZYiCl4FdH2yCzFsJN0CVqc/s1600/P1320441i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVPb5xfLcmoFkh7fuljp82KJfSPxsO-joXXoQ3ozRZBkW7FgvbUok2TBcBUM8UwOz5gCat-pb1DT3zjI3N3l3TNxPXWpujr1_Rxb41QoOY2gQPAOtHd73oVZYiCl4FdH2yCzFsJN0CVqc/s640/P1320441i.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jimmy Abad - my favorite amongst the readers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gel has been, for the past months, organizing the comeback
of Happy Mondays -- a poetry reading night -- with Kissa. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The said poetry night’s re-launch was last
Monday, Aug 6. Despite news of foul weather, Nicole and I decided to go out on
a limb to support Gel’s effort to, forgive the cliché, keep the fire alive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the violent winds and the terrifying amount and
rate of tears from the open skies outside the small space of Tomato Kick. I
remember the look on Gel and Kissa’s faces as they alternatingly look at the
crowd then at their phones and watches. 7 pm and there were only 3 readers. But
I also remember a packed bar, keeping tears at bay as I take in poem after
poem. I remember feeling surprisingly inspired, not frustrated <i>or</i> jealous, like always. I
remember wanting to pee so bad but not allowing myself to stand and miss a line
or two, or an entire poem. TMI I know, but I'm trying to make a point here. The 95<sup>th</sup> installment of Happy Mondays is a big success and I couldn’t be happier to see how passionate people can be about poetry. It lasted until the wee hours of the morning. In fact, I remember coming home to Gel’s house at almost 3 am
after hearing a score of poems about activism, rain, love, captcha, and
whatnot. (I also remember Gel really drunk on vodka sprite, but that’s a
different story.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the end, the point is that there really is nothing like enjoying poetry. With a bottle of beer. And, in the company of good friends. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
P.S. Got stranded at Gel’s house until Thursday morning. Smashing
Pumpkins concert got cancelled. What do I care, I didn’t even buy a ticket. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest
of the stranded story <a href="http://www.abigredbox.com/2012/08/water-rain.html" target="_blank">here</a> on Nicole’s blog.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-42061754528582600452012-08-01T12:50:00.001+08:002012-08-25T13:12:03.956+08:00Highlights: July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFi7i82zHT-bCaAD_1uog_q3Nc76VVrrNsXD2TopO99j29KZo0wPxEdGNyLfBNnDyxI9CN_9mRoIwpfz9nzY5w-Gh0z7cOadunvEAMfFwE9SfUjfMRXsQMVWX7evzrVMFfjImhyphenhyphenz9ecZo/s1600/july.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFi7i82zHT-bCaAD_1uog_q3Nc76VVrrNsXD2TopO99j29KZo0wPxEdGNyLfBNnDyxI9CN_9mRoIwpfz9nzY5w-Gh0z7cOadunvEAMfFwE9SfUjfMRXsQMVWX7evzrVMFfjImhyphenhyphenz9ecZo/s640/july.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Random July happenings:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Agave night: unlimited margarita and nachos with highschool friends</li>
<li>Jennie and the girls rode the mechanical bull. I was too shy to try.</li>
<li>Drove all the way to Tagaytay despite the fog and rain for pizza and coffee.</li>
<li>Hung out with Jennie, Shiela, Jear, Nicole and Ayin A LOT.</li>
<li>KJ's 22nd birthday at Garage 88.</li>
<li>SB French toasts! New favorite.</li>
<li>Coolest room and coleest roomies at the company outing.</li>
<li>Watched Identikit (or Manny the drummer) live at Saguijo. </li>
<li>Sold some of my clothes. Most of them, actually. </li>
<li>Had a sleepover with Steph, Lulu, Nikka, Ayin, Jear and Nicole.</li>
<li>Jear took over the kitchen for breakfast the morning after.</li>
<li>Chili's with housemates on the last day of July.</li>
</ul>
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-239859880692547859.post-59754222981009065122012-07-26T14:32:00.000+08:002012-08-23T14:59:29.582+08:00identikit x paranoid city (july 24)<!--StartFragment-->
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hYTJDSIRciU/UDXPk4EJrGI/AAAAAAAABRA/Z4Vgcy4wOQs/s1600/P1310505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hYTJDSIRciU/UDXPk4EJrGI/AAAAAAAABRA/Z4Vgcy4wOQs/s640/P1310505.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy Buladaco and Joe de Jesus of identikit<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P5jmXo2vcgk/UDXP6po5ilI/AAAAAAAABRI/gReQIxzSvOI/s1600/P1310516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P5jmXo2vcgk/UDXP6po5ilI/AAAAAAAABRI/gReQIxzSvOI/s640/P1310516.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">identikit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AczWPzisZag/UDXQM2gO5rI/AAAAAAAABRQ/pLzEa_v575Y/s1600/P1310789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AczWPzisZag/UDXQM2gO5rI/AAAAAAAABRQ/pLzEa_v575Y/s640/P1310789.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it doesn't look like it here, but Paranoid City frontman Dax Balmeo really reminds me of Patrick Fugit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0e-kg-NmaKFXLr_ILvzMNSKFh3h4SLeKWvwDWY7MSobumLrYxby32iVFB5z-6ExniRIL1KTbHtpSWv8pLobzhb7b4mbrCPlCqI6Jq8VP7iMflGrtPlFpXJVy9hIUmNtxw8Bn3I9B61Q/s1600/P1310837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0e-kg-NmaKFXLr_ILvzMNSKFh3h4SLeKWvwDWY7MSobumLrYxby32iVFB5z-6ExniRIL1KTbHtpSWv8pLobzhb7b4mbrCPlCqI6Jq8VP7iMflGrtPlFpXJVy9hIUmNtxw8Bn3I9B61Q/s640/P1310837.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">since Alex Naidus' <i>pogi </i>shoes, I seem to have developed a penchant for men's feet/shoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuwk-VsalquRDDqMlMgNSvWUB2tUDeHDDgZsobHX_HvsPDcYBPZ08GdrTocHxN-FvbK2hZ06cBCkWY8PPN5EBskcrhbOPDM0bVz4T-6e2MwkbWo47BBxmCjze9CTdCqUdZdez9Gf3g5c/s1600/P1310917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuwk-VsalquRDDqMlMgNSvWUB2tUDeHDDgZsobHX_HvsPDcYBPZ08GdrTocHxN-FvbK2hZ06cBCkWY8PPN5EBskcrhbOPDM0bVz4T-6e2MwkbWo47BBxmCjze9CTdCqUdZdez9Gf3g5c/s640/P1310917.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manny and Ayin after Identikit's set</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjep04c9UtmqjdAddE2lpE5MGlSCnNgTGb8xzhDiEKUQ4qhF5rXOx6kZ6r66EBNy7KCCevxHtJz4AlN1KbCzSftnkLdUxc7bBQo5mjVxqeYIl4ALhCj0yE-HqbXa1NV4Mfedye2XgO7m8/s1600/P1310930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjep04c9UtmqjdAddE2lpE5MGlSCnNgTGb8xzhDiEKUQ4qhF5rXOx6kZ6r66EBNy7KCCevxHtJz4AlN1KbCzSftnkLdUxc7bBQo5mjVxqeYIl4ALhCj0yE-HqbXa1NV4Mfedye2XgO7m8/s640/P1310930.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sweaty fan girls (minus Jear and Jennie)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having promised Manny (Ayin’s boyfriend) that we’ll watch
his gig one time, we dropped by SaGuijo to catch Identikit last Tuesday.
Completely inconsiderate of his machismo tendencies, and manly fears, we went
as stereotypical groupies, or in today’s jargon – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fan girls</i>. Well not really, there were no banners, screaming while weeping or panty-throwing involved. Just us taking a gazillion photos in a span of what, 30 mins?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although their sound seems to have changed from Peach, I
thoroughly enjoyed watching them live. It was priceless, watching Manny “the
drummer” in action and Ayin “the annoying girlfriend” completely in her element
and looking prettier than ever. These two are an unlikely match, but they’re
incredibly synced, it’s kind of scary!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After Identikit, we hung around for Paranoid City, who both
Ayin and Manny couldn’t stop gushing about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>AND WHY THE HELL NOT, THEY’RE AMAZING. And this isn’t
because the frontman resembled Patrick Fugit in so many ways, but I was kind of
shaken, in a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">very </i>good way, tapping
my foot, resisting dancing, completely smitten. This is really a band to watch
out for. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before we left, Manny gave me a Paranoid City and
Dropouts CDs. Yay for my first going away presents. </div>
<!--EndFragment-->
Tisa G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08764375140644836891noreply@blogger.com0