Ugly Me

There is something about studying content analyses, ANOVAS, and t-tests that spurs me to write. So here I am, blogging, again. 


I read something from one of my favorite blogs, www.nyminutenow.com, that reminded me of my childhood. See, the writer posted an old pic of hers when she was a kid. She looks great, really cute--  a far cry from what I looked like when I was a kid.


I wasn't the most good-looking girl back in then. Growing up in a country where people think fair skin and straight hair rule, people labelled me as ugly. I was fat, dark, and had curly hair. It didn't help that I had a bad case of zits which lasted for years.


What made it worse though was that I was surrounded by girls--whom I consider my friends by the way-- who would constantly pick on what I looked like and what I wore, almost every damn day. I got comments about my hair, my boobs, the fact that I wore heels to school, and even the blackheads on my nose. And mom, since I know you keep tabs on my whereabouts and thoughts, I want you to know that there were also boys who made fun of me, constantly. Remember that there was a time when I wanted to transfer to another school? That was my reason.


And for several years, I tried to conform to the standard of beauty that everybody has: I tried to straighten my hair (never mind if I damaged it in the process), and bought bottles of whitening products and pills. I wasted my money on things that weren't so worth it.


If I were an American, I would have been going to a shrink now. But I'm glad I'm not. And I'm glad that one night, I talked to Ianne Evangelista.


Ianne used to be an editor of Cosmo Philippines. We're not really friends, but one night, when I was feeling a little uncomfortable with my new pixie hairdo and on my way to a party (I hated my curls so much I cut them all off!) , I passed by her cubicle. Out of the blue, she called out to me, "I love your hair."


A little dumbfounded, I said, "Really? People don't like it."


"I used to have that sort of hair. I even had it shorter. Look." She then showed me her ID, and there it was, she in a super sort hair do. "I like your hair. And besides, in the middle of summer. It's hot, no!"


That night, she gave me a couple of tips on how to rock that hairdo. And if my memory serves me right, she told me that I have such a nice complexion, and the kind of makeup that should go with it. 


There is something about a beautiful girl complimenting you that makes you feel better. After that short chat, I felt more comfortable, and a little more prouder of the color of my skin. Sure, I still have a few insecurities, but I have stopped wanting to change the color of my skin. Hello, I have a boxful of whitening products--giveaways from a party--in my bedroom in the Philippines, untouched until this day. I think they expired a year ago. :)


In my years in Summit, I noticed that it's the pretty girls who are generous in their praise in how you look, and  if they don't like the way you dress up, they just keep quiet, unless you ask for their opinion. The average looking girls have a tendency to pick on everything. Strange. 


I now understand that what made me look ugly back then was that, judging by the pictures, I felt really pissed-- of being surrounded by girls (and boys) who would pick on me. It wasn't because of my color, or my hair. I was ugly because I was pissed. Big time!


By the way, I kept that short hairdo for two years, to the irritation of my parents, who wanted me to have long hair. When I got tired of it, I grew out my hair. The Shirley Temple curls are now in full display. But I kinda miss it now. Maybe I should cut my hair again. :)
  

Writing

Recently, I got an e-mail from a professor about a project. It was terribly long. You can tell that the man, a handsome brilliant fellow whom I respect and admire, has no life and has too much time on his hands. Hidden within the clutter was this: "You're a good writer. Promise you are not going to waste your talent."

If there is one thing I have committed myself to, it's writing. I've had several phases in my life, times when I was completely obsessed over something, only for my interest to pass suddenly and without warning. Writing though has become the one single passion I have had for the past 10 years.

Make no mistake though: it is a love-hate affair. I love it when I think I'm doing good (like when I got that comment) and I hate it when the words refuse to make it on the blank page. But difficult as my relationship with her is, I think writing and I, were bound for life. Friends come and go, I jump from one job to another, but my relationship with the written word will continue for years.

A lot of writers would understand that when things become confusing, writing can be your best friend. Writing has always been my salvation-- I need it when I feel tired, when I need to put things into perspective. Some people cope by drinking, partying all night, or just eating. For me, I write. Okay, I eat as well.

Whatever happens, I will always write. For myself. There is no need to make promises.I cannot imagine life without it.

Sir Pete

So here I am, blogging again. There is something about reviewing for the finals that makes me want to write. I guess it's the tediousness of reading all those slides and handouts. Whew!

I promised myself that I'd write about better things, so for this one, I'd like to write about Pete Lacaba, my mentor, former copy editor, and, I'd like to believe, a friend. I first met Sir Pete as a student in UP. Back then, I wanted to be a screenwriter, which was why I signed up for his class. I'm sorry to say that while Sir is one of the best poets in the country (and that's according to another brilliant poet, Jose Wendell Capili), he's not exactly the best "classroom teacher." I love you, Sir! Peace!

I only got to learn a lot from Sir when I worked in YES! He's not the preachy, this-is-how-you-should-do-it type. He teaches by example, by asking really tough questions, and also by patiently answering the most inane questions. He never once made us feel small, he who is practically a giant in the Philippine literary scene.

In spite of his achievements, he's one of the most-to-earth fellows I've ever met. Once, I received a call from a journalist from GMA-7, asking me for Sir's complete name. I was simply flabbergasted. Here was this girl, a journalist from a respected organization, not knowing who Jose Lacaba is. Pissed, I slammed the phone right after I testily answered her question, and went up to Pete.

"Sir," I told him. "This girl, she's a journalist, but she doesn't even know your name!"

Pete saved whatever crap he was editing (we're mediocre writers, sorry), looked at me, and said, "Why? Does she have to?"

For a couple of seconds my mouth was just wide open. When I recovered, I said, "But she's a journalist. She should know. And you're effing Pete Lacaba, for crying out loud!"

Pete just looked at me for several seconds. Without a word, he just went back to work.

And that, is why I adore Pete. He taught me how to write. He also taught me that a man can be so good at his art and his profession and yet remain still so regular. It's no wonder that whenever he'd arrive in the office, all of us girls would give him the best hello's we can muster, in spite the exhaustion we sometimes feel. Because honestly, we worship the ground this man walks on.

Christmas Wish List

It's still November but I can't help but think about the things I want for Christmas. Here's my list, as of today:

1. To graduate. The exams have left me really exhausted, and I have this nagging feeling that all the hard work I did at the start has all come to naught. I used to want to graduate with really excellent grades, but at this point, I just want them to be good enough for me not to lose my scholarship.

2. To make it big in this town. I wanted to go back to Summit. Badly. Summit is home, and the people I met there continue to be my friends, and in a lot of ways, they're also my family. We've laughed, feuded, and sexually-harassed each other that we formed a really great bond that I can't imagine having with other people. But after being here for just a couple of months, I now want to give the magazine industry here a shot. I like how people are extremely nice here, how I don't have to worry when I walk on the streets at night, and that I don't feel sorry for myself whenever I'd commute. Also, I want my professors here to be proud of me.

3. To improve my writing. My ang moh prof praises my writing to high heavens, but the thing is, I still am not satisfied with how I write. There's still a lot of room for improvement. Now if I can only write constantly, and read constantly, my writing will be better.

4. To blog about happier things. I noticed that I only write when I'm homesick or if something horrendous happens in the Philippines. But then, there's really nothing exciting or remotely interesting about school. The prof I'm crushing on? Nah, not that. The countless projects and readings? Nah. School is school. Nothing exciting to talk about.

5. To move to an apartment with a clean kitchen. I don't want to elaborate. But if you see our kitchen, you'll be speechless.

6. A better Philippines and a better life for Filipinos. Nobody deserves all what we've been through this year. I'd like to believe that in spite of what happened in Maguindanao, the high crime rate, and the hostility I experience inside our cramped MRT, most Pinoys are good people and we ought to have a life of dignity.

7. I don't know if I want a relationship. I don't want to say I do, because you know what they say about being careful about what you wish for. But it would be nice to have something to look forward to.

:)

Oh, boy.

What the hell is happening in our country?

Reading the accounts of the recent massacre in Maguindanao makes me cringe. Sitting here in my safe and unbearably quiet apartment, I cannot fathom how such a thing has happened in my country. I imagine that these things are possible in place like Rwanda, but the Philippines? Yes, Mindanao has had a long tumultuous history. But this? Oh, God.

Or maybe I'm just being naive about all of this. Growing up in my hometown, the worst we had to deal with was when we can't connect to the internet. And while my UP education has taught me that poverty is widespread in the country, it has never really truly taught me that the Philippines--supposedly the home of gentle, smiling people-- is the home of men who would do slaughter the innocent, like mere animals, all in the name of power and politics.

I read from history books that Manuel L. Quezon said, "I would rather have a country run like hell by Filipinos than a country run like heaven by the Americans."

The man got his wish.

Tired

The past couple of days has been one heck of a ride. There was the exam that almost killed us, then something happened which I couldn't forget. December 3 is the last day of exams, but it still seems like a long way from now.

It's becoming a little colder these days. Christmas is just around the corner. Unlike home though, Christmas is not a big thing here. It's just a one-day affair. I can just imagine the lights on Manila's streets, and the happiness-- however fleeting-- everybody feels.

I can imagine old co-workers rehearsing for the annual Christmas party; my mom playing Christmas carols every morning, to the irritation of my father; the relentless shopping for gifts in the crowded malls; the traffic that brings out the worst in all of us; and for the commuters among us, who cry highway robbery every time we pay the city's a-hole cab drivers.

Christmas. So near and yet so far.