Blink. Baby. Blink.

Lately, it seems to me that people are popping babies out like.. I don't know. Something that does a lot of popping. Corn kernels, maybe?

Everytime I blink, there are new babies left and right. Baby photos have become a hot commodity among profile pictures in Facebook. Am I jealous? No! But to be honest, I am a little bothered.

For one, seeing old friends and classmates grinning ear to ear with their newborns in hand can't help but make me feel old. I mean, if they are of the age of settling down and having babies, that means I am too. And we all know that being "of age" to settle down and start a family means this: you're getting old.

Another reason is the economy. Okay, I know it is completely none of my business, and if people want to have dozens of babies they have every right to. But with the growing rate of unemployment and the worldwide recession going on, do you really think it's wise to bring in another mouth to feed at this time? Unless, of course, you can afford to feed a small country by yourself. In that case, go baby go!

Let me get one thing straight. I am a fan of babies. I'm not the kind of person who panics in the presence of babies and can't appreciate their extreme cuteness. I am, in a fact, a really devoted Aunt and I adore my baby niece tremendously. But despite my love for babies and the joy they represent, we have to remember that babies are little people. Okay, that sounded wrong. I don't mean vertically challenged people, but I'm sure you knew that. Soon, that cute round pudgy little thing is going to be a messy, obnoxious kid. Then, an angsty, smelly teenager. And finally, they will step into the stage in life we all fear... adulthood.

Babies are gifts from God. But maybe we shouldn't ask for certain gifts unless we're ready for it. You wouldn't give an 8 year old boy his own car, would you?

Baduy-ification

Are we Pinoys really baduy? As much I hate to admit it, I think we are. Watching the most popular noontime variety shows and listening to popular radio stations, made me realize this. Just listen to this: "Kelangan bang i-memorize yan?" I rest my case.

Now, the question I've been asking myself is, can we un-baduy ourselves? When people say there is hope for this nation, whether financially or politically, I think of it in a cultural sense. Filipino pop culture is just not what it used to be.

Despite my easily admitted hatred for Lito Camo and his "songs", he's not the only one to blame in our current situation. After all, the reason why he gets to roll down the streets in his Hummer is because the mass media tolerates and unfortunately, even enjoys the "music" he produces.

Have we stopped caring? Have we just accepted who we are and what we have become? Whatever happened to art?

It's safe to assume that Filipinos in general are inclined towards the arts. After all, it's difficult to find an area in this country that ignores music and the media, no matter how impoverished the place may seem. The irony is that despite what God given talents we may have, to fully utilize these skills could be tantamount to going hungry. It's a tragedy in its own right. People won't pay for something they don't want, so why not just give in?

Although there still are certain artists who continue to create and promote out-of-the-masses'-norm Filipino art and music, it's sad to see that a lot of them just seem to sell out. It's not hard to understand why, after all, artists need to eat too. But it breaks my heart to see how much our national standards have declined.

I truly hope that someday, we can reinstate the original Pinoy culture that we deserve and stop this baduy-ification once and for all.

A "Fine" Country

Despite it being one of our country's neighbors in Southeast Asia, I had only set foot in the land of the famous Merlion a couple of months ago. I admit that I had been wanting to go; and finally, when the opportunity presented itself, I went.

Ever heard the saying, "to each his own?" Well, I was disappointed to learn that Singapore, one of the most popular and most visited countries in the region, was not an "each" to my "own".

I deeply wish that I was a more traveled person, so that I would have notes to compare this trip with and make myself a more credible source. But unfortunately, I am not (not yet anyway, *fingers crossed*). Hopefully, my innate passion for culture makes up for my naivete. Not that I expect anyone to take me seriously anyway.

I found Singapore to be a "fine" country; mainly because you get fined for pretty much everything. As a city girl born and bred in a corrupt third world country, I found it to be a little.. disturbing. But in a good way. The streets there are impeccably clean and the rules really ARE rules, not guidelines that you can somehow manage to get around with a little extra cash and occasional name dropping. It was a disorienting experience. So much so, that it was hard for me to remember that we were still in Asia, and in the same time zone no less!

But if I were to use a metaphor to describe this city, this would be it: Singapore is a Bimbo. It's a very pretty city. It's very high maintenance. It's great fun. But unfortunately, for me; just like a Bimbo, it lacked depth. There was no grit, no grime, no.. excitement. Everything is so controlled, so contained and so.. stifled. The people who live there seem to do only 3 things day in and day out; work like crazy, shop til they drop and eat delicious food (Hainanese Chicken, score!). And occasionally, one can visit one of the big, one-of-a-kind tourist attractions. I'll be the first to admit that I am a fan of all these things. But once that's over and done with, what is there left to do? The quality of their food, government, merchandise, business, and economy are definitely of the first world standard. But in my humble opinion, their quality of life leaves much to be desired.

I'm sure a lot of people will disagree with me but remember, to each his own. It saddens me to say, I don't heart Singapore. Or maybe, it doesn't heart me. I don't really know for sure but I do know that we've finally met, and didn't really dig each other.

Nightmare on Volta Street

I had the craziest dream. On second thought, the scariest dream. I dreamt that I was something (in my opinion) all women are absolutely terrified of at the back of their minds. I dreamt I was pregnant.

I'm one of those people who have dreams every night. Some are incredibly dull and boring; so boring in fact, that if it wasn't going on in MY head, I would totally make an excuse to leave.

Some, on the other hand, are wild. Once, I dreamt that vampires were attacking us, and in their frustration at our bolted doors and windows, lifted the house up ala "Flying House". I once smashed a ceramic beeper in a dream because it wouldn't stop beeping. Turned out, it was my alarm clock. Once, I was diffusing a bomb, and when woken up for school, told our helper to come back later because I was busy, and went back to sleep. I often dream of adventures, misadventures, and sometimes, even interesting twists for movie plots. (I tried to keep a dream journal once but always fell asleep again even before I got the pen out)

I've always had an active imagination. Take note, I omitted the "over". I don't really imagine things conjured out of thin air, I just tend to make things more than what they really are. And despite having had dreams of vampires, serial killers on the loose and terrorist situations, this one dream really, really freaked me out, for lack of a better term.

It wasn't specified how this supposed baby was conceived. I didn't receive any information as to who the father was, and if I was dating, engaged to or married to anyone. I just knew I was carrying it. And I vividly remember feeling so frustrated. I remember thinking, "how dare this whoever guy knock me up?", and not even "how the hell did this happen anyway?"

There was a scene in the grocery that sticks in my mind the most. I was browsing the aisles with my friend Rosie, and though I was supposedly only 2 weeks pregnant I felt a series of kicks in my stomach. It was then that I started to burst out in tears. I kept thinking over and over how unfair the whole thing was, and how none of this was part of my plan. It felt like my life was over before I even officially started it. I was weighing options (like I was a teenager), and was even worrying about how to tell my parents about it. And the whole time I was wailing and sobbing like a crazy lady, it just kept kicking. And kicking.

When I finally woke up, I felt relieved. Relieved that it was all just a dream. And in some twisted way, relieved that my subconsciousness agrees with my consciousness in this: there is no way I am anywhere near ready to settle down and start a family.

Now, the only thing I need to to figure out is how to send a link to this note everytime someone asks me why I'm still single.

The Mask

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. What happens if you're blind?

Just kidding. That's not what this is about. I just couldn't resist.

Let me start again.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Do you believe this? I suppose it's a matter of perception. That, and an exceptional ability to read people. I can't say I've experienced gazing into a person's eyes to see their complete identity unraveled in front of me. But there is one thing I can say; add a couple of letters and the word face turns into facade.

In life, certain moments call for certain moods, or states of mind. When you meet someone new, the standard protocol is: you smile, extend a handshake and a few sentences of small talk. How you felt or what kind of day you were having is irrelevant. It's something we just have to do. 

In theory, it's a good thing we have going. Who wouldn't want to live in a world where everyone is pleasant and cordial? But what troubles me is what lies behind the smiles, handshakes and friendly conversations. It's so easy to hide our true emotions, and sometimes, that's not such a good thing.

We use our faces as masks. Masks to hide anger, pain, disappointment, frustration.. Masks that, when used too frequently, become difficult to take off. Masks that make me feel like I'm in one big masquerade ball where nobody really knows who anyone really is. 

It would be a sad, sad day when sincerity becomes passe...

Never the Same

One of my favorite movies from my teenage years is Empire Records. Most people around my age know the film, though some never actually saw it. I can't blame them, they might have been too young at the time it was released and didn't have older brothers who were into the whole 90's cult film genre. It's quite difficult to find a copy of the dvd around these parts, whether pirated or original. Plus, it rarely airs on the movie channels we have on cable television. 

I remember when I first watched it. I was maybe around 14 or 15 years old. At that time, I was completely absorbed with the whole 90's grunge theme, which was mostly white young adults from Jersey or Boston who all had one thing in common: they didn't bathe. I was a grunge kid. I wore long dresses with vests and Doc Marten boots. I listened to Blind Melon, Alanis Morisette, and 4 Non Blondes. I loved the films Reality Bites, Mall Rats, Singles and of course, Empire Records. I was absolutely obsessed with the TV series, My So-Called Life. But there was one thing I did that was very "non-grungy". I bathed. Daily.

Because this era was a very important part of my childhood, or rather, teenhood, I committed myself to find copies of these films. As I said earlier, they are quite difficult to find. So when my brother came home with a copy of Empire Records the other day, it's not hard to imagine how thrilled I was. Predictably, I watched it that same night. 

It was about 10 years ago when I first watched it. And now, after watching it again a decade later, I asked myself only one question: What was wrong with me?

The only thing the film did for me was rise up warm, nostalgic feelings. Other than that, it was mediocre at best. Imagine a group of grungy, white young adults working in a record store who stage a concert on the store's roof to save it. What insight can you get from that? It was entertaining, yes. Even sweet, at times. But it comes nowhere near to the philosophical, witty dialogue of Reality Bites, or the haunting poetry found in Alanis Morisette's Jagged Little Pill album. All the angst and satirical humor I appreciate, and associate with that period was completely unrecognized in this film. 

It's funny how much your perspective changes as you get older. I know this is no surprise, but it never ceases to amaze me each time I realize it. You see, most of the things I felt when I was younger, I still feel now. Most of the music I listened to, I still listen to now. I haven't changed too much, because even at that young age, I was quite conscious of my preferences. Most probably, because I wouldn't want to be teased by my older brothers for liking the Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys. Although admittedly, I did. I'll probably look back at this chapter of my life when I'm 50 and feel the same way.

When I watch a film, or read a book for a second time, there's always something different about it somehow. It could be something I failed to notice, or something I found appealing then, that isn't now. But one thing I'm sure of, is that it's never really the same. I think this is also how people are. You might think you know yourself pretty well. Until you realize, you really don't.

Another One Bites the Dust

... And here we go again. Another person moves out of my life, in lieu of a better one. That's one of the saddest things about living in a third world country; after poverty, disease, corruption, and many other tragedies; the fact that since our economy is so fucked up, no one can get any decent jobs. Minimum wage here could just about rival the average American's pet food bill per month. It's twisted, it's unfair, it's downright degrading (the situation, not the pet food), but it is the common reality among third world countries.

Granted, our country's situation fares better than that of Somalia, Myanmar, or Syria, to name a few. But I for one, have never been comforted by thinking, "at least we're better off". I am not an activist, yet I am appalled by the scenario we seem to find ourselves in. The Philippines is rich in natural resources, and due to our Eastern and Western influences, have learned and adapted enough to become multi-talented in many different tasks. Many, except basketball. Haha! 

On a more serious note, it's such a shame that despite what talent we may have, and despite the resources we rightfully own, we still haven't quite learned how to tap it/them  correctly. That, in my opinion, is a tragedy in its own right.