How Far Can You Go?


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How far can you go to satisfy your craving for a good fuck?

A friend of mine just told me that he had sex with his second cousin. And then went on to defend himself without me asking for it.

At first I was really appalled. I mean…second cousin. “[the relation is] far enough” won’t cut it, the mere fact that you guys know each other because your families were in the same get-together is proof enough that anything sexual between the two of you is twisted.

I am disgusted. If you got to fuck your second cousin, you’re not a player, you’re just a sicko.

Defending it by saying, “she seduced me,” “it’s far enough,” and shit like that won’t really take away the fact that if you guys get the dreaded baby bump…boy will your child be confused with family labels.

I’ve just proven how hormones can get the best of guys. If you’re horny, at least find someone who isn’t at the next family get-together. Have the decency to pick up a random chick.

How far are you willing to go to have your dick inside someone’s vagina?

Thanks for proving your douchebag-iness, you sicko.:)

What Defines You?

I just finished watching all the Harry Potter movies again. I know, instead of doing something I really needed to do, like, gasp, studying for tax later, I stayed up late watching Deathly Hallows.

Harry Potter is what defines me. It’s what made me realize that I’m a dork. I’m into books; I like being alone; and I love the fact that when I pulled the two armchairs in the living room together to make myself a nest where I can read Harry Potter in peace, my mother and yayas didn’t bother me. When I first bought the set, I didn’t realize how much it would affect me. I bought it because I wanted to be able to relate in school. I just wanted to look cool with all those books on my book shelf. Because duh, my collection was nothing short of unspectacular–a big book of facts, a couple of dictionaries, Thumbelina, and some boring books ninangs thought would be amusing to give as a gift.

But then when I started reading Harry Potter, everything changed. Yes I am taking this to the next level in drama, so sue me. I couldn’t stop reading. I walked down the hallway in school thinking I was inside Hogwarts. It made grade school all the more interesting. It made my room feel different. I never thought reading could feel like that. Magical. Pun intended.

It got to the point where my mother would reserve the book to make sure I had the copy right when it was released. I brought it everywhere with me, even in school. I traded patintero and the joys of the school fair to read a couple more chapters. Before then I used to think reading was boring, but I got so immersed in those pages, I thought I’d die if I couldn’t finish the chapter.

But I didn’t get into the whole merchandise shebang. I don’t own any shirt that says Gryffindor or anything like that. I just have the books. I remember getting so mad at my brother for losing Prisoner of Azkaban, and getting so desperately obsessive compulsive trying to look for a copy that fit the box. I just settled for a copy I found in a Scholastic book fair in school. But writing about it makes me want to hunt down a book exactly like it again.

I remember getting so mad at my mom for not allowing me to see the movie when it was released. I think it was Order of the Phoenix that I watched alone at Eastwood. I felt like I had a duty to the characters.

I guess that’s why I make law books fun. I find the most mundane parts to laugh at; I find myself smirking at silly stuff I read. I can get lost in any book because of Harry Potter. Because of well, Hermione. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be like that, smart, powerful, and uh duh, pretty?

So to JK Rowling, thank you. Thank you also for being a kickass model for a budding feminist.

I should probably get some sleep.

You Get What You Give


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So okay, three years into law school and a lot of repressed personalities, not to mention a pending one last midterm exam coming up in a few hours…and I’m here pouring out my thoughts.

In college I thought I had everything. I was living the independent life in my dream school (well, I didn’t really know about Ateneo until I actually took the exam, but that’s not the point here), I felt like a celebrity being a cheerleader of our school, and well, I was at the peak of my fitness goals. I decided to enter law school on a whim, thinking it was the most obvious next step after graduating with a degree that somewhat paved the way for a career in diplomacy. I mean, if I didn’t go to law school, I’d be stuck in the corporate world resenting my life. Except that I’d probably be living alone right now and getting paid for my hard work. I thought Ateneo Law was in the bag already, as I am a graduate of ADMU.

How wrong I was. The next steps that followed after going down from the hill was nothing short of difficult. I learned the hard way that if I wanted law school, I had to plan it. I had to have a villain-ish plan to get to the dream-dream school, I had to have connections, and stuff like that. But I didn’t. I let one guy influence my decisions after college. I randomnly chose people to fill out my recommendation forms, took LSAT reviewers half-heartedly, and got drunk every night once I passed that one final paper. I screwed up.

While I was taking the Ateneo Law school entrance exams, the rest of my family was in LA where my dad had a major operation. I utilized the snack breaks in between the exams to call my family to check if my dad was doing well. I didn’t put my heart and mind into it.  No, I was busy reassuring myself that my plans can’t go wrong. Hey, I had the same feeling going into ADMU, so what business do I have thinking that I won’t pass this one? Being an Atenean basically assures me a spot here, anyway.


Wrong wrong wrong.

I should’ve put more effort into it. But I didn’t. I got my heart broken countless of times just to get here. I had to settle with the LLB degree that San Beda Alabang can offer. It was too late, I didn’t try my luck in UP Law. But I was a mess. I was way up the hill to think about fall back plans.

I thought I already had it in the bag after passing San Beda Law. Law school proved to be a bitch. It wasn’t easy at all. I failed more subjects than I ever thought I would, had to re-adapt in the environment that is my parents’ home, and learn how to manage my time without the added pressure of cheerleading practice. I guess you can say I lost part of myself trying to find focus, passion, and willpower in law school. But then I can only get so much for what I gave.

Sia. Fucking Sia.


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Okay, so for a while now, I’ve been hooked on Sia’s career before she went mainstream. By the way, I’m sorry if my words get slurred. I’m trying to catch up with my thoughts. Yes, this is what alcohol and reflection does to me. Like all the pent up thoughts are trying to escape. Well, after a year of repressed free thinking in law school, what do I expect?

Okay, so I learned from my brother that Sia sang for Zero 7, an early 2000s (?) band that is among the bands he used to play as lullaby. My ever reliable brother and his vast knowledge of music.

Anyway, so, focus, Sia sang “Destiny” for Zero 7. It is fucking amazing. The lyrics are down below. And I thought, oh god, what profound lyrics, who the fuck can sing about post-orgasm over porn and still sound classy?

Sure, everyone has watched porn in some embarrassingly raw state, but nobody ever thought about writing a song for that. Did I mention Sia writes songs too?

I haven’t done my research about the song Destiny and who actually wrote it. But holy shit, that chorus, “When I’m weak I draw strength from you and when I’m lost I know how to change your mood and when I’m down…” DOWN. and then some instrument plays going UP in that perfect timing and harmony making my heart skip a beat. Holy. Fucking Cow. It’s a fucking revelation.

Then I did my research. When I let my bestfriend listen to it, who by the way is really hard to please when it comes to music, she liked it. Sia hasn’t even started singing but she fucking loves the song already. If that isn’t a sign that this song is good, I don’t know what is.

I’m really sorry about the profanity, but I just can’t contain myself.

So I finally did my research. It turns out that Sia is not just someone who can record, but she can actually write songs. She had a hand in writing Rihanna’s 2012 hit Diamond, and Beyonce’s Pretty Hurts, and other songs. I named only two because (a) I thought Rihanna’s performance of Diamonds beat Arianna Grande’s and Taylor Swift’s at the VS Fashion Show and (b) Well, Beyonce. Her art is everywhere.

Okay, so those are all pop songs. So what? Although Sia has since gone mainstream after Zero 7, her lyrics are what really hit me.

I recently had a fit over her new song, Chandelier. Okay, so there’s a young girl doing excellent contemporary dance for the music video, and Sia is nowhere to be found. Just another artistic music video for a pop song right?


Fucking Sia does it again.

The song is actually about

Party girls don’t get hurt
Can’t feel anything, when will I learn
I push it down, push it down

I’m the one “for a good time call”
Phone’s blowin’ up, they’re ringin’ my doorbell
I feel the love, feel the love

1,2,3 1,2,3 drink
1,2,3 1,2,3 drink
1,2,3 1,2,3 drink

Throw ’em back, ’til I lose count

And then I started observing that the little girl isn’t just dancing, she’s actually portraying the party girl that Sia is talking about. Yeah sure anyone can do contemporary, but this girl is only 11. Her moves are so mature, it’s a wonder how she was able to get the message across. When she walks and rubs her tummy to the lines, “Sun is up, I’m a mess gotta get up now gotta run from this here comes the shame here comes the shame” I know Miss Party Girl got pregnant. I’m thinking, is Maddie Zeigler the “shame” Miss Party Girl is running away from?

Look at the surroundings. The place is a crumbly apartment with barely anything fun for a little girl.

Mind seriously blown.

I am never going to listen to Sia’s pop songs the same way ever again.

It strikes me because I’ve never been hit this bad by a pop song since Lady Gaga.

Okay, off to bed now.

I lie awake
I’ve gone to ground
I’m watching porn
In my hotel dressing gown
Now I dream of you
But I still believe
There’s only enough for one in this
Lonely hotel suite

The journey’s long
And it feels so bad
I’m thinking back to the last day we had.
Old moon fades into the new
Soon I know I’ll be back with you
I’m nearly with you
I’m nearly with you

When I’m weak I draw strength from you
And when you’re lost I know how to change your mood
And when I’m down you breathe life over me
Even though we’re miles apart we are each other’s destiny

On a clear day
I’ll fly home to you
I’m bending time getting back to you
Old moon fades into the new
Soon I know I’ll be back with you
I’m nearly with you
I’m nearly with you

When I’m weak I draw strength from you
And when you’re lost I know how to change your mood
And when I’m down you breathe life over me
Even though we’re miles apart we are each other’s destiny

When I’m weak I draw strength from you
And when you’re lost I know how to change your mood
And when I’m down you breathe life over me
Even though we’re miles apart we are each other’s destiny

I’ll fly, I’ll fly home
I’ll fly home and I’ll fly home

Missing The Legally Incapacitated Days


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I miss the days when life was so simple, hunger could be solved by digging through my storage box. It was one of those regular plastic crates you could easily stash under your bed. If my week’s selection of cookies, bread, and instant oatmeal sachets proved unappetizing for those all-nighters, McDo was simply a call away.

Now living pseudo-independently as a law student who’s extending her welcome in her parents’ pockets, life is way more difficult. Not only do I have to account for every penny I spend, but I also have my health to think about. And this isn’t over analyzing anything. Law school means corporate attire. And corporate attire means figure-hugging pencil skirts that are, more often than not, unwelcoming to pear shaped, bottom-rich girls like me. If I eat beyond my allowable calorie intake of the day, the next day’s wardrobe choice significantly decreases. And squeezing into my favorite pencil skirt isn’t any good, because then I’d have to tummy-tuck my way through the day until 09:30 pm. And my day starts at around lunch time, sitting for hours at end inside a coffee shop, head down, flipping through pages and pages of readings. I have to endure all that. Unlike my legally-incapacitated days aka when I was around 17, overeating and a decrease in wardrobe choices were easily solved by calling up mom (who by the way is really awesome in picking clothes for me), asking her to drop by the dormitory for bags of new clothes. Or doing another round of jogging during cheerleading practice. Poof.

Now, corporate attires are expensive. In college I had two choices. If my parents gave me Php10k to throw away on clothes, I could choose between high end short shorts, daisy dukes, and flirty dresses that would only last as long as any Hollywood wedding; or Greenhills shopping spree for the same fabric-deprived clothing, with money to spare for drinks and movie. Now, shopping for law school attires means bringing a ruler to see if that love-at-first-sight skirt or dress would make it to the 2-inch above the knee rule and looking for the stretchiest fabric for those unforgiving pencil skirts. And it’s not like I have Greenhills to shop for those either.

Coffee shops. Now that’s another problem. I had the option to be a poser at a coffee shop for around 2 hours back in college; now, coffee shops are very much like salvation from distractions that might stop me from reaching my 200-pages-a-day quota. Coffee shops are my only hope nowadays to be antisocial. How ironic.

And it’s not like allowance pours like crazy like it did before. As I’ve said, I am overstaying my welcome in my parents’s pocket. Every little allowance outburst is coupled by a frantic reminder in my head that I should be earning and treating my parents out but no, I am depriving them of the pleasure of enjoying the last few years of hard-earned salary before they retire.

Sometimes I wonder why I go through all this to be a lawyer in the Philippines.

Before Summer Ends

I had a great summer. A lot of thinking, a lot of reflecting, and definitely a lot of realizations. A year after graduating, I think I’m finally getting a grip of what real life is. I can’t let it suck me dry. I definitely have to hold to my ideals or else I’ll just end up without a soul.

I’m falling in love again. I’m falling in love with the things I thought were bad for me. I’m falling  in love with chaos, with order, with life without a leash. I just hope law school won’t suck me dry again. And I hope it’ll allow me to have this relationship with myself.

And I wish as hell I’d still be the same person who I fell in love with this summer.

On Meeting A Real Life Gigolo


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My bucket list is full of daring things that I didn’t even think about doing when I was a sheltered little high school kid. But ever since, I’ve always wanted to meet bomba stars, as they call it. No, not meet as in make out or fondle with them, just meet them outside their workplace aka strip clubs or streets. To see who they really are and if they like what they’re doing.

I just didn’t realize I’d meet a gigolo first instead of a real-life escort. And I didn’t realize that I’d be chummy with the dude and then find his videos on x-tube after months of knowing him.

I can’t really say much about how I met him, where I met him, and what his name is. Just that, well, judging by his life now, no one would ever think that he used to do crack, got deported from his own country, and got convicted for all sorts of crimes before he even reached legal age. Imagine this–meeting a real-life Coco Martin (think: during his Masahista days) but seeing a man who takes care of a kid he considers his own. It’s pretty fucked up, actually, and I still can’t wrap my head on the idea that this man, who’s so polite and decent and passionate about his business, was a gigolo. Who has videos on x-tube.

I guess what I was expecting was a guy who’d jump on the opportunity of having sex with a girl (or a guy, for that matter). Or who’s horny 24/7. There’s no trace of his gigolo days, no trace even that he used to do crack. Now he lives a healthy life, taking care of a kid (who isn’t his own), and loves his partner. Damn, how things can change.

I’m not sure how I’d keep a straight face after what I found out about him. How I’d beso him after seeing his picture, all hollow cheeks from too much crack. But I’m sure that damn, even a gigolo can change. So there goes your excuse not to quit smoking or to straighten up your fucked up life.

Damn, I met a gigolo.

How I Escaped The Dark Hiphop Days


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I had those dark hiphop days. I guess it all started when someone grabbed my iPod, skimmed through my music, and found nothing but Imogen Heap, Broken Social Scene, Frou Frou, Empire of the Sun (even before Coffee Bean had most of their coffee shops playing Walking on a Dream), The Cure, Foals, Phoenix, and Nine Inch Nails. Not many hiphop songs were there. This person reacted with a, “Yuck. You listen to Broken Social Scene?!”

So yeah, I took it pretty hard. That person said it was uncool.

And of course I had an ex who thought Lil Wayne was a rapping god.

So I manually managed my music, went to clubs, and started mimicking their playlist. So my iPod turned ghetto. I started talking ghetto, got confined in nothing but Chris Brown, Rihanna, and whoever else was on the top charts, and started to appreciate diversity lesser and lesser. I found the music without meaning, so I eventually stopped listening to music.

I thought music in general was degrading in value because I didn’t know how else to go back to my old taste.

I don’t mean to be mean but I stopped hanging out with the hiphop folks, opened my brother’s ever wide music collection, and hung out with people who appreciated every little genre of music. Thanks to a slap in the face and a little exploration here and there, I found myself back to the not-so-popular majority who appreciated music–Indie, rock, electronic, alternative, and even dubstep.

It really does feel good to explore.

Human Again



“We stumble to understand our fall.”

I was right in thinking that reliving the past would do me good. That getting lost was a good way to find myself again.

I went back to Ateneo for the first time today. After an awesome Wanderland Fest, I watched new found friends play Flag Football. Never really a fan of outdoor games because I was raised to despise everything that involved getting toasted under the sun, but hey, never too late to do something new. It was actually my first time to drive inside the campus. Who would have known that after a year, I’d drive to Ateneo on a Sunday not to go back to the dorm with my groceries and freshly-laundered clothes, but to visit friends and watch them play on the field. And who would have known that all it takes for me to try out a new sport are nice, chill friends. Well I’m really thankful that Boracay happened just when I had so much baggage both in my mind and heart. Not to mention relentless self-doubting. If I was the confident hunter I was, maybe everything would have ended right then and there. Maybe I would have acted on impulse and just did whatever my body told me to do. But self-doubt and low self-esteem don’t work like that with me.

So anyway, it was all so surreal. driving to Moro instead of walking, wearing a boho skirt instead of my usual loose shirt-cycling shorts-slippers combo, and going there to watch people sweat while I look on. Same campus that I love, different shit. It’s…nice.

I feel human again after being so free. Never mind that I lost my whole bag with my sun phone again. What matters is I had fun, spent a day going through some of my favorite spots at Katipunan, and hung out with new friends. I feel happier now. Just a little more and I think I can accept things as how they are now, instead of getting stuck in the past. I have to accept that I failed Ateneo Law, and I’m at San Beda Alabang. Everything about it is different from the Ateneo ways I got so used to and loved, but it’s okay. That won’t stop me from keeping my connections alive, and meeting new friends. Law school is too small, and I can’t afford any more awkward relationships with people there. It’s time to branch out.

And I really am not ready to get attached again. I’ll have to find myself and rediscover the things I love before I go through that again. I have this automatic-TLC-switch that goes on when people need to be taken care of. I should learn to turn that off so I don’t get too attached as well.

At least I’m feeling more human, less luggage for all my baggage.



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Apparently, there’s free wifi here at SM. while I’m greedily eating my childhood favorite (which i usually ate after ice skating class), a father and his three or two year old son sits at the table in front of me.

While my food could very well be shared by two people, the father carries a plate of spaghetti and chicken. I was expecting that he’d be ordering more, but that was it. They were gonna share the meal. Behind them is a group of teenagers, maybe in their sweet sixteens. On their table sat a sodden DQ dilly bar stick and a too-small smoothie cup. Untouched. And these kids are just on their wifi-enabled cellphones, occasionally smiling to themselves. I wonder how long they’re planning to stay there. I’m wondering if they’re planning to go home before rush hour.

Oops, there they just stood up. The smoothie doesn’t taste good, that’s why.

2 o’clock. A guy, probably on lunch break, puts down a steaming bowl of lapaz batchoy. He’s probably feeling a little too cold in this air conditioning. Okay, I’m sorry for judging. But he seems to be really enjoying his bowl of lapaz batchoy. I wonder if he ordered an extra scoop of chicharon.

The two-year old is barely eating. Looks like the spaghetti’s for the father after all.

It’s fascinating how much you can see by just being alone and sitting at a neglected corner. To think that the last time I was here, I was food tripping with someone. I don’t know now which is much better. But hey, it’s easier to observe than be observed. I wonder how stupid we both looked, or how “sweet” we looked to the onlooker.

Catch you later.