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Papa

Papa

Papa

Papa

Papa

My father is in town which means that all works are suspended until further notice.

It also means that I will eat everything to my heart’s guilt and desire, because my father is a happy man who believes not in depriving the self of sugar and carb and starch and calories to be happier in the future. Now, he says, is as good a time to be merry as it is tomorrow. So, imagine: there are leftovers for breakfast, buffets for lunch, junk foods for dinner, and if I am luckier, desserts for midnight meal.

He was not always like this. He used to make mental notes of the food that I cannot be fed, duly approved by my mother: candies, gums, street/processed foods, and more. But when I started becoming more like them in terms of maintaining my diet, I noticed a shift in their attitude. Pizza and pasta became staple food groups, too.

There will also be discussions, lots and lots of them, about school, gym, personal hygiene, my hair and the new house (almost) by the sea. Similarly, love is a recurring topic—to me it means all the summer fruits served cold and fresh at home, to my father it means mama and me. We talk about these things the way old people do—honest, rational and sometimes, argumentative.

I was not always like this. I was more of a diligent student and an unwilling daughter. My fear of failing school has made me a woman selfish of time, strict with schedule. Either wholly or partly, I know I am still that woman. But there are exemptions to these rules. For example: that my father is in town.

Hence, all works are suspended until further notice.

February

February

February

February

February

February

February

In conclusion:



1. We were on the road for days and no one complained about it, except for those moments when Raymart deliberately/accidentally accelerates up to 80/kph. This is why I stopped driving and asking my father to “please, please lend me the car,” all at once. The road, as I have come to understand it, is not a place for imposing. To control is to be controlled.

2. There was a song that we kept on repeating. Just this one song that had us singing on top of our lungs. We were moved and we were moving. Thank you Up Dharma Down for telling the truth for us.

3. This is how these photos emerged: someone came with the idea of chasing the sunset for the last time. To witness the golden goodbye of the sun and welcome temporary darkness before we resume our fast-paced lives in the metro. In the midst of our silence, something rippled through my thoughts. This is less frightening than running after love.

4. This is an attempt to end this series. A failure, an inadequacy so far but which I cannot postpone any longer. The rarer the endings, the lesser the number of goodbyes now than there were in the past, the harder for me to knot my thoughts close with words.

A lot of times in the previous years, I might have only been pretending to know where I was going. I wanted to be like most of my batchmates—young, bright-eyed, brilliant and determined. So days went by sharing and actually enjoying this dream of making it in the field of mass communication someday.
But deep inside I feared (and sometimes even felt) that I was a misfit. And for every medium that I tried to claim, I meet someone more passionate and capable of owning it than I could ever do. Even if I tried hard.
The constant tug-of-war with uncertainty made me cling harder to pride. In return, pride taught me how to save face and tell things that others would like to hear. "Oh, I want to be part of this television network someday while I write for this lifestyle publication and contribute for this photo agency." 
Lately, however, graduate school has been helping me look at things in a different light. Now, even if I have yet to learn a lot, I am more settled with the issues I have had with me since the prospect of a bright future became a really, really big deal to me, or practically since I went to college. I am not going to pretend to know where I am headed, but would it be too much to ask from you to relax and not worry because, for once, I think I am home?

A lot of times in the previous years, I might have only been pretending to know where I was going. I wanted to be like most of my batchmates—young, bright-eyed, brilliant and determined. So days went by sharing and actually enjoying this dream of making it in the field of mass communication someday.

But deep inside I feared (and sometimes even felt) that I was a misfit. And for every medium that I tried to claim, I meet someone more passionate and capable of owning it than I could ever do. Even if I tried hard.

The constant tug-of-war with uncertainty made me cling harder to pride. In return, pride taught me how to save face and tell things that others would like to hear. "Oh, I want to be part of this television network someday while I write for this lifestyle publication and contribute for this photo agency." 

Lately, however, graduate school has been helping me look at things in a different light. Now, even if I have yet to learn a lot, I am more settled with the issues I have had with me since the prospect of a bright future became a really, really big deal to me, or practically since I went to college. I am not going to pretend to know where I am headed, but would it be too much to ask from you to relax and not worry because, for once, I think I am home?

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My younger self would probably nod dissent with the way I spent my Valentine’s Day this year, and I won’t blame her for expecting nothing less.

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First, there were no reservations made. We ended up walking in at Uncle Cheffy’s when, in fact, we could have gone somewhere else that’s not part of a regular day’s dining list.

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Second, I ordered one of the darnest dishes from the menu. In my defense, I didn’t know that it was an aphrodisiac. It may be common knowledge to people but I just happened to not know it that time. I might have been told about it earlier but I just didn’t give it a damn. And to be fair, I ordered it only because it was one of the few meals that suited my no red meat diet.

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Lastly, I didn’t get flowers. Again. How many years in a row? I wouldn’t know, I stopped counting at three. (And I’m just twenty for crying out loud, haha!)

The thing about my younger self is that, I saw myself getting whisked off by my feet by the man I love at the age of eighteen. Nineteen, would be the latest extension. I set my standards too Hannah Montana, inflicting myself with so much pain every *empty* Valentine’s Day that passes by.

It was only until recent events (re: heartbreaks, series of unrequited love, short lived what-have-you) that I’ve gotten my standards and priorities set to a more realistic mode. By that I mean, knowing and accepting that love comes in different faces, and in different phases, too. Since then, I’ve been better in handling things including, but not limited to, my emotions, thoughts and reactions.

I might have appeared too bitter for my life earlier in this post but it isn’t the pity party I’m going for. I just wanted to make a point on how things started looking more promising when I stopped problematizing.

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Now, a photo of my date..

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and of course, my other date.

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I make this face every day in my life, and it has come to me more often because of Norman. (Quick question, dear reader: Will you still love me even with this face?)

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My photojournalism buddy. Or, he who saw the earlier stage of my possible life career, haha. He has remained loyal to the craft, while I found myself drifting to different kinds of work. But hey, we’ve managed to keep each other’s company.

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How many more photos of me can you take? Haha.

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Anyway, a preview of the gift I got for the said (Hallmark) holiday. It’s another story I have yet to tell you.

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"The love you take is equal to the love you make."

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