tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79163681132449262902024-03-13T09:30:40.082+08:00ORCHESTROSCOPYWhere notes and needles collide.Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.comBlogger290125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-88326243724186216832013-11-03T21:57:00.001+08:002015-12-16T09:09:36.868+08:00Orchestroscopy, M.D.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I have a confession to make. </b>And it is the reason why I haven't even visited the admin page of this blog for the past five months, not to mention <b>write and post anything online past two coherent sentences</b>. This endeavor has <b>pointed a <i>sanity-draining rifle</i> at my head </b>and robbed me of all my remaining extra time and energy.</div>
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For reasons I will try later to expound on, long story short (and because you've probably read the title of this post already), I have<b> insanely decided to enter the grueling and chaotic world of medicine</b>. From being a part of <i>healthcare </i>in general, I am now striving rock hard to climb the oh so steep ladder of this generation's<strike> deadly</strike> Medical Hierarchy. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">I am now a "Medical Student".</span></b></div>
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And yes, as you all may have deduced by now, <b>I am a Nurse studying to be a Doctor. </b></div>
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<b>I am a cliche.</b></div>
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Not that I have anything against nurses entering medical school (obviously, because I am one), it's just that recently, it has been the trend and it pains me to be considered as a part of an ongoing fad when it is a decision I have carefully and meticulously considered for months, <b>with intensive neuron and body timeline consultations</b>, not to mention<b> implorations to the heavens to <i>"Please, give me a sign!". </i></b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VF8dyAwZarg/UnZLIpe0AKI/AAAAAAAAB3A/2Lq6AUgIvgk/s1600/stethoscope+scrubs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VF8dyAwZarg/UnZLIpe0AKI/AAAAAAAAB3A/2Lq6AUgIvgk/s320/stethoscope+scrubs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, the question is, what convinced an almost <b>mid-20-something R.N.</b> who is <b>four years away from the last time she wore a toga, a funny-looking hat and accepted a blank piece of rolled paper onstage</b> plunge back to 5-inches thick books, uniforms and head aching exams? </div>
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Most reasons are too personal to be understood without background information so let's just put it this way. </div>
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I have experienced the hospital. I have lived in it (mostly behind a surgical mask quietly taking it all in). I have observed countless successes and inevitable failures of various physicians. I have heard stories, <b>the miraculous and the disastrous and everything in between</b>. I have talked with patients and witnessed their apprehension, relief, frustrations and gratitude. </div>
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I have been yelled upon, praised, blamed for something, and blatantly disregarded (sometimes all on the same day). And even with the chaos, the drama, <b>the uncertainty</b>, the culture of seniority, the <b>never ending studying and looking stupid for things you did not study for</b>, the <b>inhumane workload</b> and all the others that I have yet to discover,<b><span style="color: #0b5394;"> it is still the world I dream to be a part of.</span></b></div>
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And when you know that it is<b> something you will regret in the <i>future</i></b> if you <b>fail to take the chance<i> today</i></b>, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i>you</i></span></b><i><b><span style="color: #0b5394;"> ******' take it.</span></b></i></div>
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%&$#@*&!!</div>
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But make no mistake,<b> being a med student does not make me any less of an R.N.</b> I'll be honest, I feel slightly guilty because most of the readers of this blog have commended me for being relatable as a struggling nurse here in the country and now all my posts (as rare as they will be) would be about studying and exams and more studying. Nevertheless, I hope my past posts would still be of help to R.N. colleagues and, well, <b>for the future entries, who knows what they hold.</b> :)</div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-39861275333662445552013-05-02T01:28:00.001+08:002013-05-08T22:59:02.575+08:00Inside the OR: On Amputations, Colossal Pimples and Bullet Trajectory<br />
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<b>There will always be stories that will follow us.</b> From something we've read, watched on the news, gossiped from that overly chatty friend or witnessed with our own eyes. The thing about being an operating room nurse is that the events we witness everyday, and is considered as norm (even downright boring as I stare into my 6th Caesarian Section in an 8-hour graveyard shift) are the ones most people cringe and gasp upon. </div>
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But then, at times, stories will come swinging through the semi-sterile double doors that even the most experienced of us will remember.<br />
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<b style="color: #0b5394;">A 20-something year old just lost his leg</b> the day I was complaining about how I had no time to get a <b>pedicure</b>. A victim of a construction freak accident, his post-adolescent leg was permanently detached from his body. Now, we've seen countless of below-the-knee amputations and once we've gotten over the crude bone sawing, it was not a big deal. But the devastating and instantaneous effect of a single tragic event followed me the whole day from the moment I transferred out the patient to the ward and had to explain to the receiving nurse why a handful of relatives were crying over a BKA. The patient, himself, was in silent tears as he stared at the ceiling, waiting for his stretcher to be wheeled beside the ward bed, probably wondering the future that lays before him.</div>
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We've all been there. Thinking that something (or someone) will be with us until the end of our selfish existence, always available and conveniently at an arm's length away. <b>Until they're not.</b> And then the world feels like it has stopped turning as we stand, shell-shocked. I've pictured this in countless scenarios, but never one starring a body part. I guess we are all under the wrong impression that anything we are born with will stay with us to the grave.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Burn patients.</span></b> I would always cringe internally whenever I see and care for one. Not because I was repulsed by their appearance, with their scorched flaky skin that needs to be scrubbed off like a wood furniture in need of sandpaper, or the smell of burnt flesh, cloying in the air even after the procedure is done. I recoil on the inside because I could not fathom the pain, the prolonged discomfort and the life changing effects of deformity brought upon by seconds of misfortune.<br />
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Then I remember the time I looked in the mirror and saw a <b>colossal pimple</b> right at the center of my nose, red and angry at the world. Everyone at work noticed and made me feel like the most <b>dermatologically ill-fated </b>person in the country with stubborn pores rallying against me. Curse those blemish free goddesses with clear radiant skin and perfect bodies. Why can't I look like them? It turns out, luck was still on my side. Very much so.<br />
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<b>Running.</b> When people inside the operating room are running, you know there are urgent matters need to be attended to. When people inside the operating room are running <b>with a patient on a stretcher</b> on tow, you know it's a matter of life and death.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">We didn't even have time</span></b> to properly set up a complete explore laparotomy / thoracotomy set when the patient came rushing in from the hospital corridor one minute after a hurried phone call from the emergency room. Middle adult male, gunshot wound through the chest. Someone continued CPR, another ran for the e-cart and ampules of Epinephrine. He was fluidly transferred to the OR table and surgery started immediately amidst the systematic chaos.<br />
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It only took less than half an hour before the surgeon proclaimed the inevitable and death certificates were arranged.</div>
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A father of children, a husband to a wife, a son to a mother. He was <b>watching TV</b> in their apartment's living room when hit by a stray bullet from a domestic fight near their home. Intraoperative findings revealed that the bullet tore through two of the chambers of his heart, obliterating any chances of survival.<br />
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I could hear his wife's agonized cry from outside of the operating room complex as I concentrated on the novel that was my nurse's notes. Too many thoughts poured through my mind. What a shock it must have been to find a loved one dying in the sanctuary of your own home. And what, in this world of unexplained phenomena, willed a stray bullet <b>straight through a man's heart</b>?<br />
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It's a common quote: <i>"I cried because I have no shoes, until I saw a man with no feet."</i> We understand what it means, hell, we've read it on Facebook with matching <b>depressing black and white photo of a pitiful looking man </b>looking sullen. Some even clicked "Like".<br />
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And yet, do we really remember, as we whine about unreliable WiFi signal and complain about the bipolar weather? They say <i>"Time is gold" </i>and no one has ever really contested that fact, and yet, why are we throwing away valuable stones by the kilo by spending hours on Facebook and obsessing about how everyone's life is better than ours? Or sticking to mindless, purposeless routines because society tells us to do so, all the while forgetting to live our life, the life we truly want to live?</div>
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Because, whatever we are doing at this very moment, what makes us so sure that a bullet is not on its way?</span></div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-58393922658213668482013-04-22T21:55:00.002+08:002013-04-22T21:55:45.258+08:00Inside the Kikay Kit: Etude House's Dear My Blooming Lips BE101 Lipstick<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7WgiRG45cI/UXU1qrkiKBI/AAAAAAAABxE/Ff0WmdCpbVo/s1600/etude+house+lipstick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p7WgiRG45cI/UXU1qrkiKBI/AAAAAAAABxE/Ff0WmdCpbVo/s320/etude+house+lipstick.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>I am not a beauty blogger. </b>The only thing I know about beauty is that it is believed to be in the eye of the beholder. What I know about make-up? Less so. Daily regimen consist of face powder, little blush and lip tint/balm. Sometimes with a <b>special cameo of mascara.</b> It was just recently that I got interested (okay, a bit obsessed, maybe) about lipsticks. More specifically <b>nude lipsticks</b> that doesn't make me look like a trying-hard, single mid-50 who goes ballroom dancing at night.</div>
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Because of my fair skin, bright, vivid hues makes me look <b>over-painted and weird.</b> I've been searching everywhere for that perfect nude lipstick that will complement my skin tone and will look natural on my lips. Gratefully, with the help of various PH beauty blogs, I've found the<b> perfect nude lipstick</b> late last year:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-guIc7gt9ZiI/UXU66WhmzXI/AAAAAAAABxU/Hw6P8qvVzag/s1600/etude+house+so+chic+beige.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-guIc7gt9ZiI/UXU66WhmzXI/AAAAAAAABxU/Hw6P8qvVzag/s320/etude+house+so+chic+beige.JPG" width="186" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Etude House: Wanna Be #3 So Chic Beige</span></b></div>
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To be honest, I didn't like the Korean beauty bar before because I find their items <b>childishly designed / packaged, ridiculously named</b> and <b>waaay too expensive </b>for the product you get. But this sole item made me change my mind. </div>
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The box is gorgeous, the black tube is a darling inside my pouch (but gets scratched easily for some reason), but most importantly, the shade is just spot on perfect for me. I'm not good with colors, but it's a mix of peach and pink which makes lips look naturally plump and healthy. Also, the consistency is amazingly creamy and non-drying, add to that a mild yummy scent that makes you think you're eating something when applying it.</div>
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Major CON? It was a <b>limited edition</b> product, part of 2011 Winter Collection, with stocks being phased out of Etude House branches weekly.</div>
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So what's a girl to do? I bought a second tube (last stock of Cubao branch) even before my first was just halfway done. As expected, as lipstick tubes do not last forever especially if they are being used daily, I was about to ran out earlier this year and was frantically Googling for the <b>exact shade replica</b> of this <b>seemingly irreplaceable shade.</b> 'Lo and behold, I found it, thanks again to the beauty blogger community here in the country:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lFAb9VkkO8Q/UXU-XN4picI/AAAAAAAABxc/7PIu3bQN2HU/s1600/etude+house+dear+blooming+lips.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lFAb9VkkO8Q/UXU-XN4picI/AAAAAAAABxc/7PIu3bQN2HU/s320/etude+house+dear+blooming+lips.JPG" width="234" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>Etude House: Dear My Blooming Lips BE101</b></span></div>
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Yes, the name is <b>cringe-worthy</b>, it doesn't even make sense at all. But what's important is the product, and surprisingly enough, it's the<b> exact same lipstick just packaged differently</b>. </div>
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Okay, maybe not exactly the same, since the<b> pigmentation was toned down a few notches</b> and the <b>finish became more glossy</b> than the matte finish I was used to from So Chic Beige, but nonetheless, it was the same thing more or less. After weeks of Googling and beauty bar searching, imagine how happy I was.</div>
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<b>Staying power</b> is still a downside as it <b>sticks to every straw and spoon it has come in contact</b> <b>with </b>and reapplication is definitely needed after eating and/or drinking. Still, it remains to be the best shade for me, so I'm no doubt keeping it.</div>
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If Etude House keep this line for all eternity, I shall be forever happy. Lipstick-wise at least. </div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-12438115846476813212013-04-22T20:53:00.000+08:002013-04-22T20:53:15.041+08:00Top 12 Signs You Are An Operating Room (OR) Nurse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYb2y-gTI-8/UXUxcjqldvI/AAAAAAAABw8/VBqFMC_5tZo/s1600/surgery+instruments+green.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PYb2y-gTI-8/UXUxcjqldvI/AAAAAAAABw8/VBqFMC_5tZo/s320/surgery+instruments+green.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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12. You have <b>dry hands</b> and you fear<b> imminent varicose veins eruption </b>in the very near future.</div>
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11. You can<b> sleep while standing up</b> then snap awake at a sound of an instrument's name being called.</div>
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10. You already have <b>glove</b> and <b>suture brand preferences.</b> (Mine's Gammex 6 1/2 Powder Free for toxic cases. Catgut, most reliabe Chromic we've used!)</div>
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9. <b><i>"Mayo" </i></b>is not a condiment, as<i><b> "Army Navy"</b></i> is not a burger joint nor a specialized government unit.</div>
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8. The sequence<i><b>"OS, OS, Knife, Kelly, Kelly, Army Navy, Mayo.."</b></i> means something to you.</div>
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7. You like suctioning blood clots. It's<b> fun</b>. Seriously<b>.</b></div>
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6. You have touched / poked with a gloved finger a patient's intestine at one time or another (with the surgeon's permission) <b>just for the experience of it.</b></div>
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5. You have witnessed how the<b><span style="color: #0b5394;"> weirdest things</span></b> get stuck in people's orifices. </div>
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4. You know and have experienced the <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">TRUE</span></b> meaning of <b><i>"an itch that can't be scratched".</i></b></div>
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3. You're <b>used to seeing people naked</b> and has seen private parts of all shapes, colors and sizes.</div>
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2. The phrases<i> <b>"tusok o patong?"</b></i><b>, <i>"lunok laway"</i></b> and<i> <b>"labas dila"</b></i> don't sound awkward at all.</div>
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...and the top sign you are an operating room nurse:</div>
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1. You have seen both the pinnacle of <b style="color: #0b5394;">human stupidity </b>(with some of the weirdest clients you've catered to) and<b style="color: #0b5394;"> mortal ingenuity</b> (from the health care providers you have worked with) with each case that has come your way. And, personally, that is one of the reasons that make this profession <b>a cut above the rest.</b></div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-54212459480951160892013-02-12T21:01:00.000+08:002013-02-17T21:17:39.656+08:00The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think it's safe to say that I've never read a novel or any book like this before in the hundreds (if not thousands) of books I managed to get my paws on in the almost two decades that I've been reading. </div>
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A nameless character tells the story of a relationship entirely in dictionary entries. There is no chronological order of events, no cohesive plot, no palpable characterization, only flawless narration of events, dialogues and feelings that delivers a story that is vague and nondescript but featuring settings and feelings that are all too familiar to most people who is and has been, at least once in their lives, in love.</div>
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Since the novel defies the usual paths of plot line developments, what makes this literary gem sparkle is its ability to lure the reader in solely by just the brilliance of its writing and the ideas and insights that comes with such situations universally common in almost all relationships.</div>
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The Lover's Dictionary by David Levithan, an author who was introduced to me by John Green via their collaboration in <i><b>Will Grayson, Will Grayson</b></i>, is an easy, wonderful read. It will make you smile, laugh and tear up in different occasions in the less than 3 hours you will spend finishing it. It's a quick read, without overwhelming the senses, without pretending to be what its not. </div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"> </span><span style="text-align: justify;">It will make you think about your own life, its past and the future that lies ahead. It will make you<b> love the concept of love</b>, including the struggles and the bliss that comes with the territory. Because, what else is life for?</span>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-34763927792204876252013-02-03T23:08:00.000+08:002013-02-03T23:08:52.014+08:00The Things One Learns From Regularly Seeing Bodies Sliced Open<br />
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I was supposed to write this <b>deep and profound </b>(redundancy intentional) blog series about my 1 1/2 year experience working inside the Operating Room. I planned it to be <b>hard-hitting stuff</b>, life-changing even, the kind of articles that would make you think about one's purpose in this world, how people tend to put much value on the <i>wrongest</i> of things and complain about the most insignificant details, but for some reason, I couldn't find my <b>Paulo-Coelho-meets-Mitch-Albom voice</b> and, after several sessions of trying, is still incapable to write my own version of <b>Tuesdays with The Alchemist. </b></div>
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Instead, what keeps popping out of my head is this <b>sarcastic Gossip Girl style voice</b> which likes <b>name-dropping popular authors</b> and makes fun of everything. So be it. I'll make use of you.</div>
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So, what did I manage to soak up after months inside a place where only few have gone inside of, half of them on the table, anesthetized, and the other half literally running around the place just to properly run the place?<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Crocs are best friends.</span></b> They may look<i> fugly</i> outside the sterile section of the OR but inside, they are your feet's closest buddy. From standing in one place for hours at a time to jogging around the facility for the whole 8 hour shift to doing the <b><i>T</i></b><i><b>inikling </b></i>just to get out of the way of spilling blood during bloody operations, you'd be glad to have a comfy rubber barrier protecting your feet from bodily fluids that are not yours nor from a person you're in an intimate relationship with.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Babies are not as fragile as you think.</span></b> They are actually very nimble and resilient. After witnessing and assisting in hundreds of Caesarian Sections, I'm pretty much convinced I could <b>throw one out the window</b> and it will survive the fall. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Just a figure of speech, please don't report me to Bantay Bata.)</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">It's never as horrifying as macabre movies present it to be.</span></b> Replace the gloomy, oil-stained walls with clean tiles and a set sterile instruments instead of <b>chainsaws and pliers</b> and it's pretty much the same thing, intestines and blood everywhere. The difference only lies in the anesthesia, and the fact that no one ever screams and loses their appetite after a major operation. In fact, it's all you can do to <b>not forget to wash your hands</b> before attacking that waiting meal in the pantry.<br />
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<b style="color: #0b5394;">Nudity loses... whatever effect it has when you're surrounded by it everyday. </b>Now I can understand how people can go <b>people-watching in nudist beaches</b> and find nothing out of the ordinary. Now, seeing a pregnant mother's<b> labia majora </b>is just like staring at an<b> elbow. </b>Well, the inner part of a flexed elbow, maybe.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Surgeons are also humans.</span></b> They have different personalities and techniques, they <b>make mistakes</b> and <b>perform miracles</b>, they sleep on meticulously scrubbed floors and wear crinkled scrub suits to work. They are <b>not self-proclaimed Gods</b> some people assume them to be nor <b>crazy overachievers</b> like the ones in <b>Grey's Anatomy</b> who have <b>sex in the janitor's closet.</b> Okay, I'm not sure about the latter because we do not have janitor's closets to begin with but you get the point.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">You never know what you got until it's gone.</span></b> Sometimes, the<b> simplest things </b>are the <b>most important ones. </b>And ironically, these are the things we most often <b>take for granted.</b> Like, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">feet</span></b>, for example. I mean, I like my feet, I take them to <b>spas and pedicures</b> every month. But I, you, and most people, don't go around saying <i>"God, I feel so blessed to have these feet."</i> because <b>they've always been there, attached to your legs. </b>And then the next thing you know, you're <b>witnessing someone get theirs sawed off </b>because of a disease or a freak accident and the unthinkable possibilities that have never entered your mind seemed all too real and plausible. And trust me, it will make you<b> stop ingesting sugar by the kilo. </b></div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-80654482960015589642013-01-22T21:24:00.001+08:002013-01-22T21:25:41.007+08:00Nurse's Notes: 1 1/2 Years Shift<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">OPERATING ROOM NOTES</span></b></div>
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<i>(August 2011 - December 2012 Shift)</i></div>
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> In from bum life / office work via ward with fat pads stubbornly intact on hips, belly and on subcutaneous layers covering self</div>
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> With mental, physical and parental consent to work for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, in the most random General Reliever shiftings possible</div>
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> Transferred into Post Anesthesia Care Unit, transferred out patients</div>
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> Scrubbed and gowned aseptically</div>
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> Hooked to ongoing operations with OS and instrument count repeatedly done with complete remarks</div>
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> Operations ended, post-op care to patients rendered instruments repeatedly washed and packed.</div>
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> Ingested 386 units of 3-in-1 coffee 350 ml type Kopiko Brown Sugar, sipping well</div>
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> Above coffees consumed followed by 1,257 cases of Caesarian Section</div>
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> Kept alive and usefull to society</div>
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> Encouraged foot and leg exercises by circulating ongoing operations</div>
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> Referred to Dimsum with orders made, paid and eaten</div>
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> Referred back to self for further evaluation and management of further plans in life</div>
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> Emotional needs perfectly attended</div>
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> Endorsed to bum life/office work with stable happiness, with memories attached at heart :)</div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-5644345592223732572013-01-16T19:29:00.000+08:002013-01-16T19:35:50.864+08:002012 in a Paragraph<br />
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<b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">Because endings are beginnings</span></i></b> and beginnings are both thrilling and exciting, like when you start the year with an optimistic view of the weeks and months to come because you are now employed, well okay, not technically because the <i>"salary"</i> is called an<i> "allowance"</i>, nonetheless<b> there is money to receive from someone other than your parents,</b> but better than financial stability in a definite time frame from a one-year contract to work in a sterile area where you are unbelievably grateful to be in, there's the <b>Whole New World of Romantic Possibilities</b> and ending a long term relationship may very well be the best decision you did that past year and everything seems bright and fluffy and <b>brimming with saccharine sweet potential</b>, but it just so happen that things do not turn out the way you expect them to and the weeks and months thereafter are spent in a <b>blur of monotonous routines</b> where there is this inexplicable feeling of uneasiness and forced detachment from the world from <b>not having to load your phone for a month because nobody cares </b>and you know you sound like those whiny schoolgirls who can't go to the bathroom by themselves but that's just the way it is, but then, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">even though the clouds refuse to part</span></b> for months, <b style="color: #0b5394;">you get used to the shadows and the gloomy weather </b>and see that<b style="color: #0b5394;"> playing in the rain is actually kind of fun </b>if you're with the right people and then the days are great again and the emptiness is filled with chaotic schedules, operating room antics, hilarious friends and just life in general where you say to the world, with conviction, that <i>goddamit </i>you were born alone from your mother's womb and you can surely exist in peace and ecstasy all by yourself <b>and then it feels like nothing was ever missing </b>because this is just the way it should be, but then <b>just when you least expect it</b>, like a cold gust of wind, with <b>rising orchestral background music</b>, something happens, and your world is plunged into a whirlwind of <b>coded phone book entries, late night rendezvous, tachycardia and butterflies </b>hovering inside and around your digestive tract<b> </b>that you start to wonder if this is all real because it certainly feels like a scene from some movie or novel you've seen or read before or it may very well be <b>just from your own imagination</b> because you've thought about this numerous times but never actually believed it could actually happen in real non-fairy tale existence but then it <b>IS</b> real and here you go again back to the start and the possibilities are <b>both exhilarating and downright terrifying</b> and nothing is yet certain so you tiptoe around the facts and the paranoia and the daydream skits but then after a while, it's still there, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">more tangible than ever</span></b>, and you think, we may have something here and you start to realize <b>the reason and the purpose </b>of all the things that have happened before, and you look up to the sky and say, <i>"Hey, nice writing there," </i>and then you're ready for the next chapter...</div>
<br />Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-58181040400858934582013-01-09T20:31:00.000+08:002013-01-09T20:31:49.093+08:002013 Opening Remarks and the 19 Books of 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So. The world refused to end last December 2012. I'd like to congratulate everyone for <b>surviving yet another Armageddon</b>. We are getting good at this, people!</div>
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First, I'd like to take this opportunity to beg for forgiveness to the <b>6 1/3</b> people who read this blog. I am sorry for being so busy these past few <s>weeks</s> months. Yes, this is me importantly bragging the existence of my hectic non-cyber life, please pretend to be in awe. Ha! </div>
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But seriously, hospital work contracts come and go but this piece in the world wide web has been with me for years now and no matter how toxic my schedule becomes, mark my words: <b>Orchestroscopy. Will. Live. On.</b></div>
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That said, let us welcome this new year with a <b>scandalous and titillating post </b>about the list of books I've read the past year. Year end reviews / lessons learned / <b>new year resolutions that never survive past January</b> will have to wait. This list is easier to write.</div>
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From the <a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2010/12/34-books-ive-read-in-2010.html">34 books I've read in 2010</a> to the <a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2011/12/18-books-ive-read-this-2011.html">18 books finished last 2011</a>, here is my brand new spanking list for the year that was. It's not any better from the previous year and I have to admit, without some of the easily-read local titles, this is a worse year for literary achievements. </div>
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(In chronological order of completion)</div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/04/before-ever-after-by-samantha-sotto.html">Before Ever After</a> by Samantha Sotto</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/02/when-she-woke-by-hillary-jordan.html">When She Woke</a> by Hillary Jordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/04/fifty-shades-of-grey-smut-and-fluff.html">Fifty Shades of Grey</a> by E.L. James</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/04/fifty-shades-of-grey-smut-and-fluff.html">Fifty Shades Darker</a> by E.L. James</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Percy Jackson #1: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Percy Jackson #2: The Sea of Monsters by Rick Riordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Percy Jackson #3: The Titan's Curse by Rick Riordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Percy Jackson #4: The Battle of the Labyrinth by Rick Riordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Percy Jackson #5: The Last Olympian by Rick Riordan</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The Fault in Our Stars by John Green</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">Looking for Alaska by John Green</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">An Abundance of Katherines by John Green</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;">City of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare</li>
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<b>Local titles:</b></div>
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15. Ligo na U, Lapit na Me by Eros S. Atalia</div>
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16. Naermyth by Karen Francisco</div>
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17. <a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/10/100-hundreds-project-by-up-writers-club.html">100: The Hundreds Project </a>by UP Writer's Club</div>
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18. Bakit Hindi Ka Crush Ng Crush Mo by Ramon Bautista</div>
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19. <a href="http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/10/starbucks-inspired-shorts-table-for-two.html">Table for Two</a> by Marla Miniano</div>
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I regret not being able to write reviews for most of these titles. I'm pretty sure I have more than enough thoughts to accomplish an easy write-up if only time (and laziness) permitted me. Now, however, I feel sort of challenged to devour as much novels (and write as much articles) as possible before June, where there is a 99% of me not being able to crack open a book that is not technically written and<b> full of important sounding jargon. </b>(More of that in the posts to come.)</div>
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You see, there is a difference of reading any other book and reading a novel. With novels, you see the <b>beauty and brilliance of artistically written language</b>. There is <b>passion</b> in those pages where written facts, diagrams and figures could never hope to achieve nor even come close to. I think this is what I'll miss the most with the path I am determined to take. But whatever the future may hold, at least I'll know, I'll always have words.</div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-17796202647089506122012-12-16T01:39:00.000+08:002012-12-16T01:39:34.469+08:00Inside the Operating Room: The Sterile R.N.<br />
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They stand at the end of the line, near the foot of the bed, <b>away from the action</b>. While everyone is looking one way, <b>a lone entity looks at another</b>, fussing over a table littered with blood streaked instruments. They are the quiet ones <b>often pushed at the end of the field</b> while a handful of assists grapple with retractors and bang each other's heads for a good view of the action. </div>
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They are the <b>silent ones with roving eyes and reeling minds</b>, mentally counting sponges and having that <b>mini heart attack</b> whenever one is nowhere to be found. They are <b>consistently the first on the scene</b> to set up the suite and<b> the last one to go </b>after the patient has been transferred to the recovery room. Then even after that, there are the myriad of instruments to be washed, dried and packed for sterilization. </div>
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While surgeons battle their inflamed appendices, myomas, gallbladders, cysts and a variety of infected tissues, scrub nurses are in combat with a different kind of villains. Each and every one has his/her own share of <i><b>"Kelly. KELLY!!!"</b></i> scenario, unavailable sutures, <b>deaf moments</b>, missing sponges and <b>unfamiliar instrument names of unknown origin and appearance. </b></div>
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Truth is, <b>no patient nor relative is going to thank a scrub nurse for a successful operation</b>. In fact, they are <b>rarely seen by those they serve</b>. Hidden behind masks, the drowsiness of anesthetized patients, and commonly in the shadows of the operating theater lights and the egos of more important people, one could easily underestimate the <b>utmost significance</b> of that unassuming person scrubbed in at the end of the table, waiting to serve.</div>
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To assist selflessly as the heroes work their magic in <b>battling the forces of internal anomalies</b> is a trademark of all <b>dedicated</b> scrub nurses. Never mind the grumbling stomach, clogged nose, full bladders, aching feet and, by god, the <b>varicose veins</b>. Never mind the burn out of assisting in a 6-hour operation, doing post-op care to the patient and <b>yet still have 2 trolleys full of used instruments to wash, dry and pack.</b><br />
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Because then, where would surgeons be without their scrub nurses? Where would Aladin be without his Genie? Bruce Wayne without his ever loyal Alfred? Frodo without Sam? Harry Potter without Ron and Hermione? Nemo without Dory?<b> </b><s>Edward Cullen without his hypoallergenic foundation and body glitter?</s><br />
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A successful major operation is achieved <b>not by</b> <b>individual brilliance</b> nor state of the art equipment. It is by teamwork that lives are saved and souls are once again tethered to this mortal coil. Heroes may swing and punch and flex their bulging muscles, but it is the <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">keepers of the weapons</span>, </b>among others, who help them succeed in their sacred endeavor.<br />
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The clanging of swords in a mid-century war clashing for freedom or territory rings the same bell as the resounding clink of scattered steel instruments in a mayo table in battling stubborn bleeders and messed up anatomy. <b>We are all fighting the same war, saving the same lives. </b>And the scrub nurse plays a crucial role in the struggle, even without the spotlight. </div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-39884033430632104142012-11-11T19:00:00.002+08:002012-12-09T00:02:28.876+08:00Inside the Operating Room: An Introduction<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Blood.</b> There is blood everywhere. On the floor,<b> pooling in basins, dripping from sponges </b>and coating once glimmering stainless steel instruments. Smoke lazily floats up the room as the <b>smell of burning flesh lingers in the air</b>, <i>cloying</i>, at times suffocating. A monitor is beeping incessantly at one corner of the room, wires and cables extending from its body like a robotic creature<b> happily entangling its prey.</b> </div>
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<b>The room is filled with aliens.</b> Or maybe not, but they sure look like extraterrestrial beings. Or maybe those specialists who cater to ones. All suited up, capped and masked, with <b>rubberized hands. </b>They talk with <b>invisible mouths</b>, their eyes being the only windows to their souls. <b>Assuming each of them has one.</b></div>
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And in the middle, a <b>body</b>. Lying down, immobile and strapped up. A tube protruding from its mouth, and<b> its intestine poking out from its torso.</b> A plastic suction tube held by one of those rubber hands slurps out excess fluid as<b> a variety of metal clamps stick out from the abdominal hole</b> like some grotesque part of a Saw torture chamber.</div>
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Buzz. Smoke. Clamp. Tie. Suture.</div>
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Stitch, stitch, stitch.</div>
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The scene may seem like an empty mechanical show of technical procedures, but <b>behind every needle bite is a disease</b> and <b>behind every disease is a person</b>, and<b> behind every person is a <span style="color: #0b5394;">story</span></b>. </div>
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These are the stories that I would never have witnessed anywhere else. </div>
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This familiar shiny hallway and these tiled rooms have <b>witnessed much of people's weaknesses</b>, but also <b>humanity's unwavering strength</b>, more than any other places in the world. To be a spectator a midst all the action, suspense, drama and comedy have undoubtedly shaped me more than I can explain and have made me view things in a different lense. Things may not appear brighter nor more colorful, but they do <b>extract sense</b> and importance in this world <b>governed by <span style="color: #0b5394;">misplaced priorities</span> </b>and the <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">pursuit of temporary bliss.</span></b></div>
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Future related posts in this series will tell stories not my own, but of life's complexities that only presents itself in the most trying of times. No paper-pushing routine job, <b>even the highest paid ones</b>, could mirror this <b>front-seat view </b>on the <b>unadulterated, barefaced truths of our existence</b>. And this is why I wouldn't exchange this experience for the glitz of a more glamorous job.</div>
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So, who am I?</div>
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I am an <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">OR Nurse</span></b>. And I have stories to tell.</div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-35968907130353283512012-10-10T17:09:00.001+08:002012-10-10T17:09:16.700+08:00100: The Hundreds Project by UP Writers Club<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z7WCYXgn4ac/UG2Z9SuXNdI/AAAAAAAABoU/Zjbt9IzVRjY/s1600/the+hundreds+project+table+of+contents.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-z7WCYXgn4ac/UG2Z9SuXNdI/AAAAAAAABoU/Zjbt9IzVRjY/s400/the+hundreds+project+table+of+contents.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Myriad Pro', Myriad, 'Trebuchet MS', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"><i>It takes 43 muscles to frown. 17 muscles to smile. 14, 17, or 35 muscles to kiss. It takes much more muscles to make love. It takes a wink to be noticed. A note to make the moment memorable. Or, a drink and a bed to make the night less lonesome. It takes six words to a story. 14 lines and a meter to a sonnet, but you know that’s hard to find. It takes 3 words to express what you feel. 3 words and a slap to know you expected too much. It takes 100 words to express why we all need love and should bother reading this book.</i></span></blockquote>
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And it takes a trip to the 33rd Manila International Book Fair to take home this one of a kind collection of stunning literary works <i>"expressing kilig to kirot and all points in between."</i></div>
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In elementary or even in high school, writing a 100-word essay may feel like a painful chore of<b> physically extracting words from your brain </b>but when writing becomes a hobby, a hundred words may feel like jotting down a measly phrase. That is why I admire the format and the works from this literary goldmine I almost didn't purchase because the few remaining copies were hiding behind boring looking books.</div>
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And what better theme to give such a format than the <b>still undefinable four-letter-word </b>everyone could relate to. Add to that a sprinkle of unrequited yearnings, passion and<b> the gory details of a broken heart</b> combined with a candid dash of sex, lust, and<b> all the things the CBCP warned teenagers not to do</b>, this compilation is a perfect mix of sweet and complicated which addictingly delivers what makes up young love today.</div>
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Here are (hopefully) non-copyright infringement, <b>cyber-crime-law-fearful</b> copies of my favorite pieces:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mdwJmS3ZuKk/UG2fQ6SsJ5I/AAAAAAAABow/QpsLRPZPnIo/s1600/100+the+hundreds+project+26.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mdwJmS3ZuKk/UG2fQ6SsJ5I/AAAAAAAABow/QpsLRPZPnIo/s400/100+the+hundreds+project+26.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ELqGAzUYTLM/UG2faksqUBI/AAAAAAAABo4/0UNpFlwSpwI/s1600/100+the+hundreds+project+67.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ELqGAzUYTLM/UG2faksqUBI/AAAAAAAABo4/0UNpFlwSpwI/s400/100+the+hundreds+project+67.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I6Nb2mzcTb8/UG2fixE3QfI/AAAAAAAABpA/TVO-BC0NliU/s1600/100+the+hundreds+project+87.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I6Nb2mzcTb8/UG2fixE3QfI/AAAAAAAABpA/TVO-BC0NliU/s400/100+the+hundreds+project+87.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Full of poetic quotes and relatable lines readers would be dying to post on Facebook, Twitter and upload a <b>lomofied snapshot of in Instagram</b> (I am guilty of this)<b>,</b> it's a shame that the book is not available in most of the leading bookstores nationwide. However die hard fans may check out this site for more information on how to get a copy:<br />
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<a href="http://www.panitikan.com.ph/event/writers-club-publishes-100-hundreds-project-now-available">http://www.panitikan.com.ph/event/writers-club-publishes-100-hundreds-project-now-available</a><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LhHqXeBfQCI/UG2frp3ObZI/AAAAAAAABpI/Mx5CKa6E_fw/s1600/100+the+hundreds+project+cover.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LhHqXeBfQCI/UG2frp3ObZI/AAAAAAAABpI/Mx5CKa6E_fw/s400/100+the+hundreds+project+cover.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
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<i>"Be a period, a stop. Be the end of my every sentence. Cut me into sentences, paragraphs: the better for me to understand myself. Because unlike a comma, you will not let me run on. You will be my brake; you will make me make sense. Give me meaning and open me up to the world. You will ground me, and I will love you for it."</i><i><br /><div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span style="color: #0b5394;">- No. 87 by Isobel Yap</span></b></i></div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-61196268919684038732012-10-04T22:11:00.000+08:002012-10-04T22:11:11.536+08:00Where We Stand<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QKzqPyXrma4/UG2WLMXkxgI/AAAAAAAABnw/MRF3E0KqsTc/s1600/NoToCyberCrimeLaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QKzqPyXrma4/UG2WLMXkxgI/AAAAAAAABnw/MRF3E0KqsTc/s400/NoToCyberCrimeLaw.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The beauty of the Internet lies in the freedom to air opinions and expose <i>truth </i>without the fear of persecution. <a href="https://twitter.com/i/#!/search/?q=%23notocybercrimelaw&src=hash">#notocybercrimelaw</a></blockquote>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-62986351410628254572012-10-04T21:20:00.000+08:002012-10-04T21:20:26.550+08:00Starbucks Inspired Shorts: Table for Two by Marla Miniano Book Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWy2VXEv2BI/UG2KI7-_BsI/AAAAAAAABnU/FxtysIQVzTI/s1600/table+for+two.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWy2VXEv2BI/UG2KI7-_BsI/AAAAAAAABnU/FxtysIQVzTI/s320/table+for+two.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
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Every once in a while, everyone (at least everyone who reads for pleasure) needs a good novel to curl up to during rainy evenings under the cozy warmth of a comforter surrounded by <b>familiar it's-so-fluffy-I'm-gonna-die pillows</b>. </div>
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The kind of book that reminds one of the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the yellow lights of somewhere classy but also laid back where people can sit all day and talk or just mind their own <b>emo sentimentalities</b>. The class of literature that makes one think of the<b> pleasure of people watching</b> and conjuring stories based on the looks and body gestures of two connecting individuals or a lone entity sitting by the windowsill <s>watching rain droplets slide through the glass like a physical weather-related manifestation for all the uncried tears humanity has been keeping inside</s>.</div>
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This is exactly what Marla Miniano's novel, <i>Table For Two</i>, felt like. Uncannily similar to listening to a good friend tell her story in detail over a cup of overly expensive creamy latte with pretty boy baristas blending frappe just a few feet away.</div>
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Made up of five interconnecting short stories which happen to collide in a serendipitous yet unassuming coffee shop beside a Korean grocery store, the novel is a treasure box for romance, angst and everything in between, told in a witty yet thought-provoking manner. There may not be stand out one-liners that readers could post on Twitter and on Facebook <b>in an attempt to sound well-read and deep</b>, but then the narration flows effortlessly and engages readers right from the very first page.</div>
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It is worth mentioning the 4th short story of the book entitled <i>"This Closure"</i>. It is a gripping piece no doubt everyone can relate to and will be in awe of the raw yet unedited, hauntingly delivered emotions beautifully put together by <b>melancholy memory montages</b> and candid thought monologues.</div>
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All in all, even though the stories' connections to each other can be wrapped up a bit more neatly, the book is a delicious mix of familiar stories to keep one occupied in an otherwise another cold and dreary rainy evening. All you will need is the book, a good light source to keep the migraines away (side effect of being an habitual ebook reader), a cup of your favorite caffeinated hot beverage and you will feel like you're in the company of good friends and greater stories,<b> perfect to keep the loneliness at bay.</b></div>
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<i>Orchestr-o-meter:</i> <b><span style="font-size: large;">B</span></b></div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-18269500341257215972012-09-20T01:07:00.003+08:002012-09-20T01:09:55.580+08:00Why I Could Never Be "The Mistress": A Review of Olivia M. Lamasan's 2012 Hit (sort of)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hUi-6hLmaxY/UFneedF0GUI/AAAAAAAABlg/cAojJYsQDds/s1600/The+Mistress+John+Lloyd+Bea+Movie+Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hUi-6hLmaxY/UFneedF0GUI/AAAAAAAABlg/cAojJYsQDds/s400/The+Mistress+John+Lloyd+Bea+Movie+Poster.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Consider me naive, or inexperienced, or too full of myself, too proud, maybe, or too feminist, possibly, but I could never understand the reasons and the thought process (if that even exists in situations like these) that goes on when people decide that, <i>"This is it, I agree to be <b>The Mistress.</b>"</i></div>
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<b>The Kabit. The Number Two. The Third Party. The Home Wrecker.</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Glorified Whore.</span></b></div>
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I may be insulting a lot of people (even persons that I do know personally) but I honestly, <i>sincerely</i>, do not understand. I cannot grasp why men and women enter into these kinds of relationships when they know they are <b>hurting and stepping on another human being's feelings </b>and destroying a peaceful relationship, if not a family.</div>
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See, romance-wise, I live with this principle: <i>"If he cheats <b>WITH</b> you, he will cheat <b>ON </b>you."</i> Smack me with <b>all the reasons in your artillery of excuses</b> but this line really makes sense to me. It goes like this.</div>
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The fact that he is willing to be unfaithful to the woman he has said <i>"I love you" </i>to just that morning while he is preparing to meet up with you that night to make <b>passionate coitus</b> just goes to show what kind of person he is. A cheating liar. An untrustworthy lover. Do you really want to attach yourself with that kind of person? Really, now. Do you hate yourself that much?</div>
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And I'm not vilifying the men, it goes for both sexes. Just reverse the pronouns.</div>
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Maybe I'm being immature. Or possibly even too mature for today's <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Id,_ego_and_super-ego">Id-satisfying society</a>. </b>I just do not understand. If any of you can explain it to me, please feel free to do so.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DLSj41DteOU" width="420"></iframe></center>
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Olivia M. Lamasan's masterpiece tackles this kind of conundrum our society knows too well. <b>Unnervingly well,</b> that this is bound to be a blockbuster (if it isn't already) and will no doubt <b>pinch a nerve</b> in a large percentage of movie-goers. Whether the benefactor, the legal wife, the lover or the mistress, everybody who has been in this kind of situation will be able to relate to the sharp piercing dialogue that says what people in those relationships desperately <b>need to hear. </b></div>
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What I liked the best about this film, aside from the flawless performances of all the lead actors and the stellar script, is the complexity of its characters. There is no black nor white, no evil antagonist nor holy protagonist. </div>
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It shows Bea Alonzo's <i>"Sari" </i>as a <b>lola-bathing-perfect-ate </b>with a dark secret and John Lloyd's <i>"JD" </i>as a charismatic playboy with <b>I'm-not-Dad's-favorite issue</b>. Meanwhile, Ronaldo Valdez's <i>"Rico Torres" </i>is the <b>slightly perverted </b><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(eww the bed scenes, wth)</span></i> CEO of a multi-million family who apparently loves his family but cannot stop from taking in various mistresses. And lastly, Hilda Koronel's <i>"Regina Torres"</i> is the <b>alcohol-friendly legal wife </b>who just takes it all in.</div>
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The script is superb if not for the climax that I p<b>redicted 15 minutes into the movie.</b> But then I can't remember the last time a local film's ending managed to completely surprise me so it's not a big deal. There was a couple of confrontation scenes that just stole the whole show and I was grateful that they didn't skirt around the things that <b>needed to be said </b>and images needed to be seen.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2J-AkUrc-40/UFnzOKETTnI/AAAAAAAABmY/uyFiU-oJIx4/s1600/the+mistress+bea+alonzo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2J-AkUrc-40/UFnzOKETTnI/AAAAAAAABmY/uyFiU-oJIx4/s400/the+mistress+bea+alonzo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Try as hard as I might, however, I cannot feel sorry for The Mistress's character even in her <b>most trying and humiliating times. </b>I just feel like, a woman like that is <b>not stupid</b>, she definitely knew what she was getting into. Given, she got attached and developed real strong feelings for an old rich man who may or may not be using her just for sex and companionship but what made her enter that kind of agreement in the first place?</div>
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<i>"Walang babaeng pinangarap maging kabit!"</i> </blockquote>
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Then why are there <b>so many </b>of them stuck in the same circumstances over and over again? See, in the middle of the fire, one can simply blame <b>uncontrollable feelings</b> but I'm pretty sure in the beginning, the feelings weren't that hard to block, if only people were <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">determined to do so.</span></b></div>
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Feel free to establish how juvenile my views are if you must, that I have no credibility to say any of these things because I haven't been in these kinds of situation and felt the turmoil of such complexity. Maybe, maybe not.</div>
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I have been asked, multiple times, both jokingly and in semi-seriousness under the guise of innuendos, by very eligible in-a-relationship bachelors if I'd be willing to <i>"be Number 2-3" </i>and my answer was a resounding, without a second thought, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">no.</span></b></div>
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Personally, I think it all boils down to this. From <i>Stephen Chbosky's <b>Perks of Being A Wallflower</b></i><b>,</b> this quote said it best.</div>
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<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/-WbQCuESWDCA/UFnhjlFs9YI/AAAAAAAABl8/oJHxJmzWEK4/s1600/perks+of+being+a+wallflower+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WbQCuESWDCA/UFnhjlFs9YI/AAAAAAAABl8/oJHxJmzWEK4/s400/perks+of+being+a+wallflower+quote.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>"...we accept the love we think we deserve."</b></td></tr>
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Of half-baked promises, stolen hours in the dead of the evening, saved number and messages in <i>"the other phone"</i>, whispered phone conversations, scheduled meetings at random faraway places, the secrecy and the deceit.<br />
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If you think that is <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">all that you deserve</span></b>, then, by all means, go and be someone's mistress.</div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-4347467890853217432012-09-19T22:56:00.001+08:002012-09-19T22:56:05.539+08:0033rd Manila International Book Fair 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IyRzv2JWHI/UFlD-1fLbvI/AAAAAAAABkQ/tPh_xKw9cSo/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IyRzv2JWHI/UFlD-1fLbvI/AAAAAAAABkQ/tPh_xKw9cSo/s320/photo.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
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For someone who has consumed books like daily vitamins for the past 13 years, how ironic it is that this is the first time I've attended the MIBF when they've been doing this for 33 years. Stalls and rows after rows of shelves filled with countless books of all shapes, colors and genres. I felt like (and the cliche goes) a kid in a candy store.</div>
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I had 3 goals in coming to the book fair. Not all of them were met but I did have a great time browsing through expensive-looking glossy covers and gawking at rare local published works I wouldn't be able to find in any local friendly red and white logo-ed bookstore.</div>
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First goal was to meet and greet and have the typical fangirl book-signing-and-picture with the resident internet Pogi Guy and my current brain crush Mr. Ramon Bautista (search the hilarious <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_yyhdjvZ48">Tales From The Friend Zone</a> videos on youtube and you will be hooked!) who I knew will be there at the PSICOM booth promoting his new book <i>"Bakit Hindi Ka Crush ng Crush Mo"</i> together with Stanley Chi and Tado. Of course, me and book buddy Epi (who blogs at
<a href="http://soksay.blogspot.com/">http://soksay.blogspot.com/</a> ) arrived too late with already a bunch of other fans in line for autographs and picture taking and no more book copies available. I did get to take <b>a picture of them having pictures with other people. </b>I guess that's the closest thing I'll get to being a fangirl. Must photoshop these pics soon.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looong line to Tado, Stanley Chi and Ramon Bautista's book signing table.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DLuNaGMHKzk/UFnUeA4X-ZI/AAAAAAAABk0/t1FymXiss0s/s1600/2012-09-15+17.30.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DLuNaGMHKzk/UFnUeA4X-ZI/AAAAAAAABk0/t1FymXiss0s/s400/2012-09-15+17.30.23.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VmiQ2gVzplI/UFnUjQrTB_I/AAAAAAAABk8/aA6r-emATwQ/s1600/2012-09-15+17.20.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VmiQ2gVzplI/UFnUjQrTB_I/AAAAAAAABk8/aA6r-emATwQ/s400/2012-09-15+17.20.41.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Second goal was to find some unique designs for bookmarks. Since I'm not fond of reading physical paper and ink books because I have to <b>hold them with both hands</b> and g<b>et up and switch off the lights </b>before going to sleep as compared to just <b>turning off the iPad</b> (how lazy is that?) I was interested in getting my hands on some unique
bookmarks design like those magnetic ones I found in National Bookstore a few
years ago (yes, that’s how long I’ve been reading <i>paperless</i>). Disappointingly,
for a huge international book fair, in grand SMX of all places, we only saw <i>one </i>stall
selling them and I didn’t even like the designs available.<br />
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Third was to find and purchase unique contemporary Filipino works because, honestly, I can't find them anywhere online. ;) But, seriously, I've developed this interest in literature written in English but based on Philippine society etc. and, no doubt, the UP Publishing booth won this category, hands down.<br />
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It's not much and I know people who have bought a lot more but in my defense, there wasn't a lot to choose from based on my detailed specifications and with the amount of religion/gospel books taking up half of the space inside the convention center, well, let's just say those stalls were automatically out of my to-browse list. Anyway, here are the 3 books I managed to buy from my first ever book fair attendance.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">MIBF Book Haul 2012:</span></b></div>
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<b>100 by UP Writer's Club</b> - 100 literary works by UP college students (I'm guessing), all within 100 words <i>"expressing kilig to kirot and all points in between"</i>. What a word goldmine. Glad we went back to the UP stall or else I wouldn't be able to buy this precious thing.</div>
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<b>Beautiful Accidents by Ian Rosales Casocot </b>- Short stories about Filipino modern life written in free-flowing English. Exactly what I was looking for. And isn't that cover just plain gorgeous?</div>
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<b>A Hundred and One Reasons by Bianca Salindog</b> - A 20-something Registered Nurse who has managed to published her own novel. Sounds exactly my dream. :)</div>
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All in all, it was a thrilling and refreshing afternoon to be surrounded by printed words, glossy covers, star-striking authors but, most of all, by fellow book lovers roving the store like drug addicts in need of their latest pharmacological fix. Why this is the very first time I went to an event like this is still a mystery to me.</div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-84227094796870970742012-09-12T20:11:00.001+08:002012-09-12T20:12:42.263+08:00Top 7 Ways To NOT Get The Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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7. <b>Don't have a sense of humor. </b>Or have a sense of humor of a 5-year-old, unless of course the girl you're courting share the same level of comedy appreciation. Girls generally gravitate towards people who can make them laugh because who wouldn't want to be with a person who have the capacity to make one laugh-out-loud happy?</div>
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Second, the quality of a man's humor is a reflection of how his brain works. And, personally, nothing is sexier than wit and a complex mind. But then, if a girl really likes you from the beginning, she will probably laugh at your most pathetic attempts on trying to be the next stand up comedian. :)</div>
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6. <b>Dump all your life problems on the girl 5 minutes after knowing her name.</b> It's basically the same with No.7 Be Fun To Be With rule. If the girl you like is not your best friend / only confidante (I'm talking about real BFFs and not the <i>I-just-met-you-but-I-don't-know-how-to-court-you-so-I'll-just-pretend-to-be-your-"best-friend"-that-way-I-get-to-be-close-to-you-until-I-figure-out-how-to-grow-some-balls-and-officially-ask-you-out</i>) there is no need to tell her every detail of your sad, heart-breaking, <b>MMK-story-of-the-year </b>existence. </div>
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In movies, this technique works infallibly inside gloomy bars with advice-giving bartenders but I don't think it works that well with normal happy people who just want to live life without having a near stranger's problem weighing them down.</div>
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5. <b>Equate every material thing you own as a primary component to your worth as a person.</b> Yes, you have a car and it's <b>very shiny.</b> Your smartphone is the latest model there is and is worth a full year's tuition fee of an elementary student. You can buy branded everything but what you cannot buy with your money is a woman's love. Yes, it's an enormous plus to have the bucks to spend for a woman, but in the end, it's not the number of <b>three-headed bills in your wallet</b> that we look at. Also, in a guy's perspective, you wouldn't want to reel in a hot gold-digger who only cares about your money and the expensive gifts you can give her, would you?</div>
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4. <b>Complain about the simplest of things on Facebook, Twitter and other networking sites. </b>Same goes with posting direct attacks or <i>parinig</i> to people who may be rubbing you the wrong way. Not only does it says <i><b>"I'm a war freak, hear me roar!"</b></i>, it also implies that you will also be announcing to the world every misunderstanding and argument you <s>may</s> will potentially have in the future if you and her get into a relationship. </div>
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3. <b>Have God-Awful Hygiene. </b>Does this really have to be explained?</div>
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2. <b>Feign confidence. </b>I don't know about other girls but I can smell fake confidence the moment a guy opens his mouth. Every how-to in dating will say that one should have self-esteem, however, the problem with trying to imitate confidence when one doesn't really have much of it is that the person end up sounding arrogant instead of self-assured. Another quality no girl in the entire archipelago (and the world for that matter) is attracted to. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVCpPjlY9Hc/UFB1gCMcLjI/AAAAAAAABj0/S1xQ-4owcrs/s1600/There_is_a_love____by_fogke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UVCpPjlY9Hc/UFB1gCMcLjI/AAAAAAAABj0/S1xQ-4owcrs/s320/There_is_a_love____by_fogke.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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1. <b>Text or private message comments such as <i>"Mwah mwah" </i>or <i>"Tabi tayo matulog" </i>when it's <span style="color: #0b5394;">NOT</span> being reciprocated. </b>Same thing with touchy-feely <i>akbays </i>and hand-holding on first dates when the girl is obviously squirming away from you. </div>
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I will tell you the truth. That <i>diskarte</i> exclusively works to the fortunate few men who can carry the brazenly direct, slightly perverted kind of flirting. And honestly speaking, if you don't look or act the part in real life, do <b>NOT </b>attempt this style of courtship. Ever. It's tacky, it's icky, and... just don't do it. </div>
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But of course, if the girl looks interested, then <i>landi</i> away. :)</div>
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I don't really know why I did this post in the first place because, in the end, if a girl likes you, then every corny, perverted and/or disgusting atom in your body will probably be overlooked and could be even found attractive. Some guys just have it good, I guess. I know some who just exudes charm and appeal <i><b>effortlessly</b></i>, even those who aren't as physically and aesthetically gifted as you would expect them to be. </div>
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For those who are not as lucky... there are always girls who may be attracted to you, ironically however, these are the ones you are not attracted to.</div>
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And here, ladies and gents, revolves the <b>cruel cycle of <span style="color: #0b5394;">singledom.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><i>Photo Credits: </i></b>There is a love by fogke (from Devianart.com)</span></div>
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Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-54254877601443543012012-09-05T23:39:00.000+08:002012-09-05T23:39:21.809+08:00Scrub Suits and Sogo: How I Survived the "Habagat" Great Flood<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJNyJrmP4rI/UEdPydEEZ9I/AAAAAAAABgk/AAzLR4VtP9I/s1600/2012-08-08+08.36.00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZJNyJrmP4rI/UEdPydEEZ9I/AAAAAAAABgk/AAzLR4VtP9I/s320/2012-08-08+08.36.00.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marikina River 2 days post Habagat</td></tr>
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Okay, so let's pretend it's still August and I haven't completely abandoned this blog for more than a month now. As you get your bearings on what month this is supposed to be, I will also pretend that I'm working on my beloved 14" Lenovo Ideapad laptop with his wonderful clicky keyboard and not on my sister's 11" netbook with horrible Asus cramped keys. See, my ever so loyal laptop have been struck down with a nasty bug that has rendered him useless especially for type-heavy functions like writing this post. No virus scan / anti-malware program have detected anything so I now have to wipe these sentimental tears off my face and reformat the entire thing and start from scratch. So help me God.</div>
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Anyway, back to the Great Flood that has yet again brought Metro Manila to a standstill. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">MONDAY</span></b></div>
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I was having my graveyard duty (10PM-6AM) at the hospital the night of August 6, 2012. There was already gutter deep flood on my way out of our subdivision but never did I expect the rain to continue like it was the <b>biblical times</b> all over again. Throughout the shift we could hear the relentless heavy downpour from outside and I already got the feeling that I won't be able to go home the next day since we admittedly live in the <b>freaking flood capital of the East.</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">TUESDAY</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KAyvwk0iJFs/UEdSZslPeeI/AAAAAAAABg8/sQPIzotHOf0/s1600/2012-08-07+08.44.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KAyvwk0iJFs/UEdSZslPeeI/AAAAAAAABg8/sQPIzotHOf0/s320/2012-08-07+08.44.22.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Come endorsement time, our main concern was that will there be nurses to endorse to. Amazingly almost all of them made it to the hospital, wet trousers and all. C'mon, <b>a round of applause, people.</b> These were the ones who have braved the floods just to see to it that patients are taken care of. Not all wards were that fortunate though. I know of some nurses who had to extend their shift to 16 straight hours. All in the name of health care, of course. </div>
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All of the elective cases in the OR have been deferred because of the rains and flooding so it was a happy day for the morning shift. Us, night shift nurses, were a different story. Numerous calls later from home and a glance at local morning news (<b>Marikina River drowning everything in sight!</b>), it was obvious that there was no way any of us will be able to get home without being stranded somewhere. We then decided to just stay in the hospital until our next graveyard shift and try to get home the next day.</div>
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After spending some time in a local carinderia in front of the hospital for breakfast and some news-watching and shopping for toiletries and other essentials at the local market we went back to the hospital to get some much needed rest. Believe me when I say that the extra scrub suits in the hospital were life savers and having 2 uniforms (white and our own scrubs) were an unbelievable advantage that time. Without these extra clothes, we would be stuck with a single uniform all throughout our stranded period. Little did I know that for me, it would mean most of <b>the rest of the week.</b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">WEDNESDAY</span></b></div>
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Another 10-6 shift has ended. Floods have subsided in most areas and rains have stopped in the metro. All my <b>shift-mates / stranded-mates </b>have decided that they will take the <b>risk of acquiring Leptospirosis </b>just to get home. I was no exception. I disregarded the warnings from home that the main roads and more importantly, subdivision entrances were still impassable. <b>Lagpas Tao / Hanggang Dibdib type of impassable. </b>But I persisted.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-crenQLAPYIQ/UEdUhK6b2QI/AAAAAAAABhE/wO7qvqDDuo8/s1600/2012-08-08+08.58.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-crenQLAPYIQ/UEdUhK6b2QI/AAAAAAAABhE/wO7qvqDDuo8/s400/2012-08-08+08.58.23.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Needless to say, I got as far as the junction in the Sta. Lucia Mall / Tropical Hut intersection. All the roads from there on were flooded. The picture above was the entrance road to Marikina. And even those going to Antipolo/Cogeo area were knee deep in water. And do I even need to mention the <b>Waterworld that is Cainta?</b></div>
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With nowhere to go, I waited near the entrance of Sta. Lucia East Grand Mall hoping to be able to crash in an air-conditioned restaurant while waiting for the floods to subside. Plus, I really needed to buy a contact lense case for my lenses which I've been wearing for more than 48 hours. I wasn't able to sleep at all in the hospital because of them. I managed to soak them in sterile water for a couple of hours but since I didn't have my glasses with me, I had to put them back on because I couldn't really see anything without them.</div>
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It was already past 11 AM and the mall was still closed. They opened it a few minutes later but when I entered, there was almost no customers and half of the shops were still locked up. Thank heavens Executive Optical opened that day.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKesgh_vtkA/UEdaNZLpjcI/AAAAAAAABhc/dB9-WNgbc5c/s1600/2012-08-08+17.22.03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKesgh_vtkA/UEdaNZLpjcI/AAAAAAAABhc/dB9-WNgbc5c/s200/2012-08-08+17.22.03.jpg" width="200" /></a>Since I already have a case and solution for my contact lenses and could finally sleep without worrying of being <b>forever blind</b> upon waking up, after calling home and determining that the flood was not going down any time soon, we decided that it's better if I just checked-in in the <b>friendly neighborhood hotel standing conspicuously in front of the mall in its red and yellow glory</b>. <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Sogo Hotel.</span></b></div>
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Any concern of mine regarding the, uhm, <i><b>reputation </b></i>of the said hotel chain evaporated the second I stepped inside the lobby. There were people, and surprisingly, kids everywhere. Throngs of families milled around the place watching the news on the large screen at the lobby, looking up at the sky for signs of more rain and talking on cellphones asking if they could already make their way home. It was like an <b>Upper-Middle Class Evacuation Center.</b> With entrance fees, of course.</div>
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After a few minutes of waiting, I fortunately got the cheapest room available. To my handy dandy credit card, I'm sorry I ever doubted your usefulness. Without you I would be stuck in the streets like <b>The Script's The Man that Can't Be Moved</b>, although in a <b>sleepier and less emo version</b>. The room was not bad at all, fairly clean, although I would drop dead before I step inside the bathroom without slippers on. After 48 hours of no lasting sleep, the huge bed was <i>heaven on earth.</i></div>
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I woke up at around 5PM, officially famished for being NPO (nurse's fancy way of saying no food nor drinks) since that morning's breakfast. After calling home and discovering that I had no choice but to extend my stay in the hotel to overnight since roads were still impassable, I decided to go back and shop for food and additional clothes at the mall. Good thing I went there early because minutes later, the sky was again in a grumpy mood and stores left and right were closing early in fear of another bout of heavy rains. </div>
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I tried to look for restaurants that would accept credit card because I was already running low on cash but there was none so I had to spend my last remaining hundreds for a cheeseburger value meal and ate it back at my room. All in all, it was not a bad existence. It definitely could have been worse. I was all alone and couldn't get home but I was safely inside a hotel room with a dependable cable tv, bathroom with hot shower, a/c unit and <b>that trademark red light </b>which made me sleepy for some reason. This was being <i><b>stranded in style.</b></i></div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">THURSDAY</span></b></div>
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Woke up to the sound of my cellphone ringing bearing the news that the roads were still flooded but can now be treaded without drowning even if one does not know how to swim. There were also jeepneys already who were having trips up to the flooded areas so people didn't have to walk all the way, just from those places where only the most enduring of legs and Islander slippers would survive. It was time to go home.</div>
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It was 3 days after the climax of the torrential rains but still the flood in our area was still this prevalent. I came prepared with my rolled up pajama-ish scrub suit bottom, black shirt and scrunched up hair ready for battle. We in the East were so used to floods like these it was like a kamot-ulo moment instead of a devastating terrifying one to be honest.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3xdB4RkpgjE/UEdmz37yqtI/AAAAAAAABiw/LDNxV_7PWdU/s1600/2012-08-09+10.00.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3xdB4RkpgjE/UEdmz37yqtI/AAAAAAAABiw/LDNxV_7PWdU/s400/2012-08-09+10.00.56.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posh executive subdivision submerged in water.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mh3P__zUnC0/UEdm_wjyyMI/AAAAAAAABi4/2C_C57Kuti8/s1600/2012-08-09+10.02.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Mh3P__zUnC0/UEdm_wjyyMI/AAAAAAAABi4/2C_C57Kuti8/s400/2012-08-09+10.02.01.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Start of our exodus back home.</td></tr>
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Starting from this point, we needed to <b>embrace the Leptospirosis </b>and feel the muddy water and <b>unidentified floating debris </b>enveloping our legs. Being 5'5, the water reached just below buttocks area, still unbelievably high three days after the rain. And this was on the main roads. The subdivisions were no doubt much worse.</div>
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To make the long story short, after treading thigh deep flood, getting in a dump truck full of stranded residents looking for an easier way home, walking again a short distance to our subdivision and riding a pedicab worth 40 php per person because of the still chest deep floods, at around 12:45PM, <b>after 4 unbelievable days</b>, I was home.</div>
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I, literally, hugged our gate. </div>
Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-20670897411900742412012-07-26T23:27:00.000+08:002012-07-26T23:41:07.483+08:00Date A Girl Who Rides Jeepneys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ZjO-iZBf1k/UBFc06S3RpI/AAAAAAAABgA/RZ361rV9J4E/s1600/Jeepney_Chronicles_by_iraisavampire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ZjO-iZBf1k/UBFc06S3RpI/AAAAAAAABgA/RZ361rV9J4E/s400/Jeepney_Chronicles_by_iraisavampire.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b style="background-color: white;">Date a girl who rides the jeepney.</b><span style="background-color: white;"> Date a girl who leaves </span><b style="background-color: white;">the house armored in comfortable clothes</b><span style="background-color: white;"> that won't draw attention from innocent bystanders. Heaven knows commuting in the metro may sometimes challenge not only a person's patience but also her flexibility and agility. Date a girl who has a </span><b style="background-color: white;">dependable purse</b><span style="background-color: white;"> filled with </span><b style="background-color: white;">coins </b><span style="background-color: white;">to use at her disposal, may it be for filthy street children with </span><b style="background-color: white;">dubious white envelopes</b><span style="background-color: white;"> or for early morning </span><i style="background-color: white;">"Barya lang po sa umaga."</i><span style="background-color: white;"> fees.</span>
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Find a girl who rides the jeepney. You'll know who she is because she's always the one who <b>strategically places herself in front of other commuters</b> in order to hail a passing PUV and get on one before she loses her seat to another rushing student or employee. The one who will <i>"accidentally" </i>elbow another out of her way if the situation calls for it. You see that unassuming girl with fierceness and determination in her eyes? That's<b> a bona fide commuter</b> who will use her wits and everything in her arsenal to get to her destination on time.</div>
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She's the girl who can appear to be <b>comfortable</b> while sitting inside a <b>bursting jeepney </b>with only <b>half or quarter of her butt in contact with the seat</b>. In short, she is <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">squatting</span></b>, but she will make you believe that she is <b>pleasantly sitting</b> on a leather bench, even though her legs are slowly giving up on her.</div>
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Lean forward and let her squeeze in.</div>
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Look at her <b>earphones.</b> You can always tell an authentic jeepney rider by the way her earphones are <b>loyally stuck</b> to her ears even though there are eardrum shattering bass beats <b>loud enough to wake up Andres Bonifacio from the grave</b> emitting from the vehicle's speakers. You will wonder if she could hear what she's trying to listen to at all with the <b>acoustic pandemonium</b> drowning everyone <b>within the 5 meter radius.</b> Don't judge her. She only knows the inevitable chance and has experienced the horror of riding a jeepney and getting stuck listening to some <b>wannabe street pop star</b> <b><i>murder</i></b> her favorite song and convert it to a <b>Tagalog Rap->Melodic Popular Song Chorus->Tagalog Rap</b> ensemble. </div>
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It's easy to date a girl who is used to riding a jeepney. Hand over her <i>bayad</i> to the driver and pass back her change and she will be <b>forever grateful</b>. Get to know her by making small talk about the <i>matinding pangangailangan</i> of the driver because he seems <b>convinced</b> that his vehicle could hold <b>50 passengers</b>. When you two go out on a date, you will not be <i>pressured </i>to <b>bring a car</b> or <b>hail a cab</b>. Just get in line at the <span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>FX terminal</b> </span>and she will look upon you with<b> thankful eyes. </b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jZSBLauB_I/UBFclaFsGUI/AAAAAAAABf4/pHvvm9Xp-uk/s1600/Jeepney_in_the_Big_City_by_Gaisano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8jZSBLauB_I/UBFclaFsGUI/AAAAAAAABf4/pHvvm9Xp-uk/s320/Jeepney_in_the_Big_City_by_Gaisano.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
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Don't hesitate to ride a jeepney with her and accompany her home especially in the late hours of the evening. Defend her against <b>perverts</b> and <b>pickpockets </b>that wander around the town at this time of the day. Drape your arm protectively over her legs or torso and show the world that she is yours and yours to protect. <b>Keep her close</b> because you don't want her <b>sliding to the other end of the bench </b>when the driver <b>suddenly breaks</b>. And he will. </div>
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<b>Disappoint her.</b> Because a girl who rides jeepneys knows that <b>some things are not given back</b>. Like the <b>two pesos change for her 10 peso coin</b>. She will just look at you expectantly but will not say a thing. It will be up to you to decide to notice her and give back what is due.</div>
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<b>Treat her well. </b>Because a girl who rides jeepneys understands that someone like you will only come once in a long while. But like waiting for a ride and boarding one that she deems worthy, if at any point she decides to leave,<span style="background-color: white;"> there will always be <b>a next one to come along</b>. She may not know when the next vehicle will come or how long she may wait alone on that street curb, but she is certain that there will be someone to pick her up and take her home.</span></div>
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If you find a girl who rides these <b>patched-up automobiles</b>, never let her go. Because she will stay with you even though you yourself have <b>stitches that have yet to heal</b> and <b>mismatched parts from breakdowns from long ago</b>. She will not complain about your imperfections and will accept it wholeheartedly the way she has accepted the <b>noisy engine</b> and the<b> teeth rattling shakes </b>from the utility vehicle she's used to riding.</div>
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<b>Date a girl who rides jeepneys because you deserve it.</b> You deserve a girl who can take the <b>heat</b>, the <b>humidity</b>, the <b>specks of rain </b>and the <b>claustrophobia </b>of a relationship. She will accept these challenges if that's what it takes to get to the <b>destination</b> that you and her have agreed upon. <span style="background-color: white;">And in times when you least expect it, she will take you on a ride. And believe me when I say that it will be <b>the best ride of your life.</b> No pun intended.</span></div>
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This is supposed to be a parody of all the <b>"Date A Girl Who Reads/Writes/Talks/Walks"</b> that seems to be floating all over the internet recently, or not so recently, I am apparently behind the times with these literary fads. I guess it turned out to be more serious than I intended but you get the drift. It's not to be taken seriously as with these other works of art but, hopefully, readers will get some sort of substance from me making fun of usual scenarios while commuting, specifically riding a Jeepney here in Metro Manila. If you are looking for more serious versions of this prose, by all means, visit the lovely works by these brilliant writers. I am but an imitator.</div>
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<b>Date a Girl Who Reads</b> by<i> Rosemarie Urquico</i></div>
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<a href="http://loveyourcrookedneighbor.tumblr.com/post/15459983083">http://loveyourcrookedneighbor.tumblr.com/post/15459983083</a>
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<b>Date a Girl Who Writes</b> by <i>Aura</i></div>
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<a href="http://definitelyfilipino.com/blog/2011/12/25/date-a-girl-who-writes/">http://definitelyfilipino.com/blog/2011/12/25/date-a-girl-who-writes/</a>
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<b>You Should Date an Illiterate Girl</b> by <i>Charles Warnke</i></div>
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<a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/">http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/</a></div>
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<b>P.S.</b> Reposts are encouraged but please include a link back to this original post, preferably with the author's name. Comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><i>Photos: </i></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=jeepney#/d265fj4"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Jeepney Chronicles by iraisavampire</i></span></a>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=jeepney+in+the+big+city#/d2lwlyp"><b><i>Jeepney in the Big City by Gaisano</i></b> </a></span></div>
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<br /></div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-47417869647142318452012-07-25T23:26:00.000+08:002012-07-25T23:44:19.753+08:00The Blah Stage and the Other Stages of Life That I Completely Invented Out Of Boredom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0uGc04_dcmw/UA_12Y32ixI/AAAAAAAABe4/lPwvvfgOcHE/s1600/melancholy+inspiration+sarapey.wordpress.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0uGc04_dcmw/UA_12Y32ixI/AAAAAAAABe4/lPwvvfgOcHE/s400/melancholy+inspiration+sarapey.wordpress.com.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Recent realizations have forced me to face this undeniable fact. This constant plateaued down stage of </span><b style="background-color: white;">endless<i> <span style="color: #0b5394;">blahness</span></i></b><span style="background-color: white;"> is the worst of them all.</span></div>
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See, in the <b>roller coaster of emotions directly proportional to specific vital events</b> in our lives, we go through these stages. And since we don't want to start anything all brooding and suicidal, let's start with <i>happy.</i></div>
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Happy as in <b>blissful moment/s </b>where everything is sparkly and bright. Think <b>candies, baby's laughter </b>and<b> cuddly puppies in baskets looking for hugs</b>. You see things in rainbow colored lenses, optimism overflowing in your veins and the world feels friendly somehow. It's the <b>Start Of Something New</b> <b>phase</b> reminiscent of that High School musical scene and everything's going great.</div>
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Then there's the <b>happy plateau </b>where you feel simply satisfied. If not about everything but at least in one aspect of your multi-faceted existence. May it be a dependable job, stable long term relationship or just an established closeness with friends and/or family. This phase may last years or just months but definitely, uncontrolled events, <b>with or without the aid of human imperfection</b>, will wreck havoc to this ideal period.</div>
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Enter the <b>tears and the lamentations</b>. The <b>heartbreak and the sorrow</b>. The<b> grief and the longing</b>. <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Pain</span></b> <i>was only a four letter word before this day!</i> Okay, overkill. It might not be as bad as this, but there's definitely this heart-twisting feeling experienced in this phase that could only be categorized as such. You feel alone, lonely and oh so unfortunate, <span style="background-color: white;">like <b>everything in the world is conspiring against you</b> like a grumpy superior who just hates your guts. Disappointments, breakups, getting fired, accidents, bad diagnosis and (knock on wood) death of someone dear will definitely trigger this what could be the worst days of your life.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Getting over this depends on how well your coping mechanisms work. You will never get anything done if you're forever stuck on the second "D" of <a href="http://www.acronymfinder.com/Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance-(stages-of-grief)-(DABDA).html">DABDA</a> e.g. locked up in a dark corner with Katy Perry's<b> "The One That Got Away" on loop</b> or passed out in a bar after trying to forget your woes. This may also last for months or years and definitely, it's <b>not a time to be remembered, nor taken photographs of </b>and <b>uploaded to Facebook.</b></span></div>
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And then here we are. <span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>The Blah Stage </b></span>or what I like to call <b>Oh My God I'm So Uninspired By Everything Right Now And Will Undoubtedly Grow Old A Failure With Only Nine Cats As Life Companions</b> Stage. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2JLbSrCfu9w/UA_77sGQP3I/AAAAAAAABfE/bD4ZoNwt_Fc/s1600/uninspired.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2JLbSrCfu9w/UA_77sGQP3I/AAAAAAAABfE/bD4ZoNwt_Fc/s200/uninspired.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Everything is in <b>Shades of Gray</b> (yes, capitalization is intended) minus the <b>bondage</b> and the </span><a href="http://fiftyshadesofgrey.wikia.com/wiki/Christian_Grey" style="background-color: white;"><b>Christian Grey</b></a><span style="background-color: white;"><b> erotic lure</b>. Inspiration is nowhere to be found and the excitement that once filled the air has transformed into this thick mist of gloom and despair. Think<b> Gotham City minus Christian Bale's buff bod</b>. But why is this the worst stage when praise the heavens that the pain has now deteriorated (and somehow healed) into this dull ache that your body learned to get used to and even ignore over time?</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Because friends, <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">with pain there is poetry</span></b>. Misery gives birth to timeless lyrics and with every heart broken echoes a definitive melody. With every tear, a manuscript is watered and helped flourish into a masterpiece. Believe it or not, <b>there is inspiration within sorrow</b>, strengthened by a need to express and share. Think <b>Adele,</b> the guys from <b>The Script </b>and their<b> wrist-slashing lyrics,</b> and all the <i>"Take me out of the dark my Lord" </i>gospel Kumbayas<b>.</b> We love their songs because we can relate to them but before than that, these songs undoubtedly could relate to the ones who wrote them.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; line-height: 13.194443702697754px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“</span><span class="quote" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 13.194443702697754px; margin-top: 0px !important; outline: none 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">She finds color in the darkest places</span></div>
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<span class="quote" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; line-height: 13.194443702697754px; margin-top: 0px !important; outline: none 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span class="quote" style="background-color: white; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; line-height: 13.194443702697754px; margin-top: 0px !important; outline: none 0px;">She finds beauty in the saddest of faces</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; line-height: 13.194443702697754px;"><i>”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13.888888359069824px; line-height: 13.194443702697754px;"><i>"Walk Away" - The Script</i></span></div>
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Well then, what's the point of this rant, you ask? Nothing really. Now if lyrics were like mantras, I'd sure want to live by one that was written by The Script and find color in the darkest of places and recognize beauty in the saddest of faces, <b>especially those who smile when someone's around.</b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo:</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.sarapey.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.sarapey.wordpress.com</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://www.ytravelblog.com/how-deal-with-lack-of-inspiration-motivation-writers-block/">http://www.ytravelblog.com/how-deal-with-lack-of-inspiration-motivation-writers-block/</a></span></div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-63793668557028532772012-06-02T20:51:00.001+08:002012-06-06T12:39:09.424+08:00How to Get Robbed by the Marcos Highway Robbery / Hold-Up Gang<div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fjl-7sAzy9Q/T8n42YpdpaI/AAAAAAAABeQ/0YrxK7_07zA/s1600/knife-mugger.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Fjl-7sAzy9Q/T8n42YpdpaI/AAAAAAAABeQ/0YrxK7_07zA/s320/knife-mugger.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Everybody gets robbed at least at one point in their lives. </b>At least here in the country this figure is generally true. Whether you just found out that your cellphone is missing from your bag or you were held at gunpoint in some dark alley, I think it's safe to say that everybody has a story to tell by the time they're 80. Apparently,<b> I was not an exception. </b></div>
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For everybody's information and security (so that if you travel by the same route you'll know the <b>strategy</b> of these <b>vile lowlife criminals</b>), here's a detailed description of what happened to me yesterday as I was commuting from work.</div>
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So I was on my way back home, about <b>10:30PM to 11PM</b>, traversing the<b> Marcos Highway stretch</b> from somewhere near <b>Anonas to Sta. Lucia East Grand Mall.</b> It was raining and there were more than a handful of commuters waiting for a ride. My<b> iPod Touch</b> was in my <b>right pocket</b> and <b>Maroon 5 was crooning about being at a Payphone<i><span style="color: #0b5394;"> (Mistake #1)</span></i></b>. It's a fatal flaw, I know. I cannot be in a moving vehicle without music in my ears or else I'll go insane from boredom.</div>
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That said, I managed to hail a jeepney close to bursting with passengers and squeezed myself in the only space available, somewhere <b>between the middle of the vehicle and the exit.</b> At my <b>right </b>was some guy I didn't even got a good look at although he was 20-something-years-old by my estimate and at his other side was an <b>unsuspecting couple</b>. Across me were a bunch or <b>random men with generic features</b> I didn't bother to observe because they didn't look at all suspicious nor did they seem to know each other. </div>
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As we passed the <b>LRT2 Santolan station</b>, the <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">robbers declared a hold-up</span></b>. At least that's what I <b>think </b>they did because I was <b>practically deaf </b>at that time from the <b>pop music blaring in my ears <span style="color: #0b5394;">(Mistake #2).</span></b> All I knew was that <b>pandemonium broke loose</b> inside the jeepney as about <b>3 men across me</b> began yelling and <b>yanking people's bags</b> and the <b>guy at my right started grabbing for my iPod</b> in my right pocket. I didn't try to stop him. He did this <b>uncontested </b>for about <b>5 <i>long</i> seconds</b> before he finally got the device out because<b><span style="color: #0b5394;"> a)</span></b> he was obviously an amateur and<span style="color: #0b5394;"> <b>b)</b></span> his other hand was<b> holding a knife at my face </b>as I was leaning away from him.</div>
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I knew I should be <b>terrified </b>but all I could think about was <b>how loud Katy Perry was wailing about <a href="http://youtu.be/-3D5FwwtNVM">rumbling thunder and crumbling castles</a> in my left ear</b> as one earphone fell off and I heard him frantically threatening me<b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"> "Gusto mong masaksak?"</span></i></b> and I remember thinking <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">1)</span></b> <i>Oh God, I'll be one of those Direct OR Stab Wound patients and wouldn't it be ironic if I get rushed in the very same hospital I work in, in the very same operating room I just scrubbed in earlier,</i> <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">2)</span></b> <i>This Katy Perry song definitely doesn't suit the situation</i> and <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">3) </span></b><i>Why is that knife <b>not glinting</b> from the (albeit, dim) jeepney lights?</i></div>
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Before I made up my mind that <b>the knife being waved at my face was indeed fake</b> and we were surrounded by a bunch of cowards who didn't even bother procuring real sharps, they started <b>jumping off the (slowly) moving vehicle somewhere in the Ligaya area</b>. I thought that was the end of it when the <b>robber in front of me suddenly grabbed my bag</b> which was still hooked on my shoulder. I managed to <b>get a hold of the strap</b> but not the actual bag itself <span style="color: #0b5394;"><b>(Mistake #3)</b></span> and pulled as hard as I could as the robber did the same. Apparently, <b>my bag decided it wanted to run away with the criminals</b> and the strap that I was clutching <b>heartbreakingly ripped off from its body. </b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khq0AlMyZTY/T8n-fjJcH5I/AAAAAAAABec/nYe1f0hdb_o/s1600/jeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khq0AlMyZTY/T8n-fjJcH5I/AAAAAAAABec/nYe1f0hdb_o/s400/jeep.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I watched helpless and kind of dumbfounded as the robbers sprinted away with <b>everything that I had that night</b> pursued only by <b>a brave and terribly pissed off male passenger </b>who was sitting beside me and managed to get out the window and run after his bag. The <b>jeepney kept on moving the opposite direction without stopping</b> and I remember feeling helpless, not knowing what to do, whether to: </div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">a)</span></b> <b>get off the vehicle and run after my bag</b>, but then I knew I stood no chance of catching up and I'll look pretty stupid running in all white uniform in the pouring rain,</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">b)</span></b> <b>get off the vehicle and report it to the police</b>, but then since the jeepney <b>didn't stop nor even slowed down</b>, we were then in a <b>dead area between Ligaya and Robinson's Metro East</b> and I didn't even know where to find an officer in that downpour, much less know what to report since, out of shock and my brain's inability to memorize faces, I didn't remember what the robbers looked like, and</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">c)</span></b> <b>stay inside, get home as fast as I can </b>even though I have no money left and immediately call my banks' hotlines so that I could get my ATMs and credit card blocked as soon as possible.</div>
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Needless to say, I chose <b>letter C.</b> All in all, only<b> my bag, the pissed off guy at my left who took pursuit </b>and the <b>couple-beside-the-exit's bags</b> were stolen. All the <b>passengers near the driver cowered together</b> and formed this sort of <b>Passenger Bond</b> that prevented the robbers from attacking them. And since I was one of the chosen ones to have been <b>surrounded by criminals </b>both on the side and front, I was not as lucky.</div>
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There was a slight commotion after the robbing incident inside the jeepney where we, those who have been robbed<b> insisted that the driver should have stopped the vehicle</b> while those who escaped with<b> all their things intact </b>argued that if the driver stopped, the criminals might have come back, a reasoning which I thought was<b> <span style="color: #0b5394;">a very large pile of horse manure.</span></b></div>
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I arrived home with only my<b> umbrella </b>(which I was unknowingly holding the whole incident), my <b>earphones </b>(which managed to loyally stay stuck in my ear minus the iPod) and just the<b> strap of my bag</b>. It was a depressing sight, that strap. I would have gladly handed over my cellphone and other gadgets if I can keep the bag and all the non-resaleable but important stuff in there. </div>
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So kids, what have we learned today? Right now, in my still <b>catatonic state of mind,</b> all I can think of are these things:</div>
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<ul>
<li>Keep <b>cellphone inside pockets.</b></li>
<li>Sit close to the driver.</li>
<li>Do not use iPod when commuting at night. (Although I doubt not using the device would have made any difference since my whole bag was taken.)</li>
<li>Robbers operate <b>after pay days </b>and <b>before important money-requiring events</b> (i.e. first day of school).</li>
<li>Contact number and iPod backups are<b> lifesavers</b>. Don't forget to backup!</li>
<li>BPI customer support for lost / stolen cards <b>B L O W S.</b></li>
<li>Changing of passwords is a must if cellphone/s and/or iPod/s linked to social networking sites and emails are stolen.</li>
<li><b>Wide Awake</b> by Katy Perry is a crappy robbery background music.</li>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">UPDATE (06/02/12)</span></b><br />
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I've talked to somebody earlier when I was getting my Affidavit of Loss typed and notarized that there was<b> a similar incident that happened not too long ago</b>. Same strategy, <b>four or five men declaring hold-up inside a jeepney on the Marcos Highway stretch, grabbing bags and taking off in the Ligaya area. </b>I'm convinced they are the same persons and/or part of the same syndicate. None of the passengers in our jeepney went to the police because of the mentioned factors but hopefully, with this post, people will be more aware of these kinds of strategies and be more careful the next time they unsuspectingly board a public utility vehicle. I sure will.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">UPDATE (06/06/12)</span></b><br />
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I remember now the <b>PLATE NUMBER</b> of the jeepney I rode at the night of the incident.<br />
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<b>Red Jeepney</b> with <b>Plate Number <span style="color: #0b5394; font-size: large;">DVL 183</span></b><br />
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Route: <b>Cubao - Angono Hi-Way / Tikling</b><br />
With <b>Yellow Light at left side</b> and <b>Red Light at the right side</b> of the exit doors.<br />
With loose Pull The String To Stop cables on the ceiling.<br />
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Upon hindsight and talking with a co-passenger that night, I'm convinced that the <b>driver and conductor was a part of the whole robbery plan</b>.<br />
<b><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /></span></b><br />
First, because <b>he didn't stop the vehicle</b> <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">during or after</span></b> the incident <b>nor did anything to attract passing cars' attention. </b>One of the reasons why we, victims, didn't have the chance to go to the police was that the driver didn't even stop when the criminals took off and before we even got the chance to gather our thoughts and decide on what to do, we were already in near Sta.Lucia and definitely farther from the robbers than ever.<br />
<b><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /></span></b><br />
Second, he was traversing the dead and dark area between LRT Santolan Station and Ligaya on the <b>side of the street </b>(where darkest and least likely to attract attention) in a <b>consistently slow manner</b> even as the criminals declared a holdup.<br />
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Third, the driver and the conductor <b>didn't even seemed surprised by the incident</b> nor at least shaken by having knife wielding robbers aboard their vehicle. It as like nothing happened and they continued their route like nothing at all happened.<br />
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So, <b>how did I know</b> / suddenly remembered the plate number of the jeep from 3 days ago? Because <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">I boarded the same jeepney just yesterday</span></b>, same time same place, and everything came back. The lights, the interior, the seats. I stared at the driver for about half of the whole trip and <b>he seemed to recognize me</b>, and I him. I was seated near the driver this time and he seemed fidgety the whole time staring left and right like he was uncomfortable <b>as I was trying to stare into his soul. </b><br />
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I know<b> none of these information will hold in court</b> that's why I'm posting it here in order to at least share awareness to commuters near the area. Be safe, everyone.<br />
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</div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-86528863426532223402012-05-22T11:34:00.000+08:002012-05-22T11:35:06.865+08:00On Being SINGLE, Bad Dates, Macho Luxury Liners and Sarcastic Midgets<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nreBE-nFV_w/T7sGSSnhskI/AAAAAAAABdY/hwBlUy_aAqs/s1600/being+single+heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nreBE-nFV_w/T7sGSSnhskI/AAAAAAAABdY/hwBlUy_aAqs/s400/being+single+heart.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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So you're <b>suddenly single.</b> Or you've been single for a long time, maybe a few years or months, and at this time, you're probably wondering when you're going to find someone new. Someone that could elicit overly hyped up but undeniably true feelings only a<b> special someone </b>could. The <b>pounding of the chest</b>, the <b>butterflies in the stomach</b>, the<b> anticipation </b>of a brand new <b>first kiss.</b></div>
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It's not that you're unhappy, there are definite perks in being as free as you can be, but it's also not like you're in<b> heavenly bliss</b> either. After the<b> near suicidal physically-painful post-breakup era</b> and the feeling of <b>boundless freedom</b> and excitement of meeting new acquaintances without the guilt of a jealous rage from your other half that comes afterwards, things have<b> plateaued down</b> into a consistent and stable <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">blah. </span></b></div>
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In a world of <b>millions of lonely people</b>, <b>common sense </b>would dictate that they should all just <b>pair up </b>and be<b> happy</b>. But there's <b>nothing common nor sensical about love</b>. In my experience (and probably everybody else's), it's either you don't like the person/persons who likes you or it's the other way around. Literature, theater, the film industry and lyric music are full of stories like these, and it's<b> not without reason</b>. For a feature film or a paperback novel, <b>unrequited love</b> is a goldmine that sucks everyone in but in reality, these circumstances just plain <b>suck.</b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fgpqZJBXgnQ/T7r3GmBtquI/AAAAAAAABdE/P_b5xu8PKPc/s1600/kissing+frogs+being+single.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="122" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fgpqZJBXgnQ/T7r3GmBtquI/AAAAAAAABdE/P_b5xu8PKPc/s200/kissing+frogs+being+single.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I've had my share of bad <b>I-wish-I-didn't-agree-to-this dates</b> that just made me miss the connection I had with someone from the past and really good ones that made me want to believe in <b>freaking fairy tales</b> and an <b>assortment of Nicholas Sparks novels</b>. But then, of course with my rotten luck and as with any tragic story that brings <b>tears to the sentimental</b> and <b>joy to the sadists,</b> things did not go the way I wished them to.</div>
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See, I probably am one of the few who <b>jumped off the ship </b>without having something to fall back on. Most people would make sure that they have <b>another vessel</b> to hop on to before they let go of a consistently reliable relationship. But that situation usually leads to<b> deceit </b>and <b>overlapping of commitments </b>and I'm really not the kind of woman who would <b>finalize a board and pass </b>to another without <b>terminating an existing contract.</b></div>
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Okay, analogy overload. Forgive the hyperactive imagination.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-csPkZwjUc1c/T7sExlI_W5I/AAAAAAAABdQ/CTfMNEUpydA/s1600/Ship-in-a-Bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-csPkZwjUc1c/T7sExlI_W5I/AAAAAAAABdQ/CTfMNEUpydA/s320/Ship-in-a-Bottle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's like being stranded on a <b>ship</b> in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The motors are wrecked and you know you're <b>going nowhere</b>. The rooms are comfortable and it brings solace from the <b>harsh waves of uncertainty </b>but you know you'll be staying there for a<i> looong</i> time in the middle of vast nothingness if you don't leave now. What do you do?</div>
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Me? I <s>foolishly</s> <s>wisely</s> jumped off the ship with only a <b>lifeboat,</b> a <b>paddle</b> and my <b>emergency kit of loyal friends </b>and headed to a nearby island and learned how to <b>make fire, eat alone</b> and <b>be friends with a volleyball named Wilson</b>. Every once in a while a <b>ship </b>would pass through, <b>manly honking their horns</b> and <b>blowing off steam in a macho way</b> asking me to board their <b>presented luxury liner</b> but I refuse because it's either I see a <b>band of pirates</b> or their route is to somewhere I don't want to go to.</div>
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I'm not that paranoid, really. I almost boarded one, but then the ship <b>sank before it even got the chance to sail</b> so I just <b>swam back to shore</b>, <i>wet and frustrated</i> (wait, that didn't sound right), chopped a few trees just for kicks and went back to having meaningful and thought-provoking conversations with Wilson.</div>
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So, here we are. At the <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">blah stage</span></b>. In this island. Time has been good but circumstances have possessed me to build a <b>great wall</b> manned by an <b>epic army</b> of <b>pellet-blasting plants </b>and <b>highly-armed midgets</b> with a perpetual expression of<i><b> I'm-surrounded-with-idiots</b></i> on their faces to guard me and Wilson from pirates and passerby alike. Sometimes I spot a <b>mighty ship</b> float uncertainly near my area probably contemplating whether to risk the journey but then passes by just as quickly, <b>intimidated by my midgets.</b> Go figure.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFWnFZvvDBs/T7r23VrRIjI/AAAAAAAABc8/X6hWxHAVqTY/s1600/Tyrion+lannister+quote.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFWnFZvvDBs/T7r23VrRIjI/AAAAAAAABc8/X6hWxHAVqTY/s320/Tyrion+lannister+quote.png" width="265" /></a>Right now, the walls are higher and the guards are fiercer than ever. Picture all the armies of the different monarchies of <b>The Seven Kingdoms, House Stark and Lannister </b>together, with <b>Khaleesi's full-grown fire-breathing dragons </b>leading the pack and <b>Tyrion Lannister </b>(head midget) blasting out <b>sarcastic quips</b> (he wrote this post by the way) from a pedestal.</div>
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Not all hope is lost though. It may sound like I retreated to this<b> impenetrable fortress</b> and cursed all men into <b>eternity of sexless pursuits </b>and <b>Gonorrhea</b> but that's not the case. I still let visitors in, but it's not without my invisible dragons breathing on their back and <b>sardonic imps</b> carefully observing from their posts. </div>
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I guess this is how it is to finally grow out of a fairy tale bubble.</div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-16244656325065700722012-05-17T18:53:00.000+08:002012-05-17T18:53:18.510+08:00State of the Blog Address<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am disappointed with this blog. I feel like it has lost the free-spirited feel and purpose it was created for. I look at recent posts, and though they are still infested with <b>acerbic humor </b>and my <b>trademark</b> phrased adjectives <b>that-look-like-this</b>, I feel like I've lost my voice. </div>
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Not only are the past articles just composed of book/movie/cellphone reviews and vacation recaps which nobody really cares about, the thoughts are <b>dry </b>and <b>painfully robotic</b>. Yes, there are still advocacy themed articles but they are less than before and far in between.</div>
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Where is the <b>spontaneity</b>? Where are the personal insights that I once wanted to share to the world? Where are the amusing observations about the <b>roller coaster ride </b>that is everyday life? The good, the bad, and the <b>downright humiliatingly hilarious</b>? </div>
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I started this blog as a personal haven for all those <b>little quirky impulses </b>my neurons keep on emitting several times a day in the most inappropriate of times. I guess my mistake these days is holding everything I write <b>at arms length</b> and watching it take form while devoid of actual passion and conviction, the kind of writing that comes out which reeks the impression of doing chores and things-that-you-just-had-to-do.</div>
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This personal blog has become less and less personal for a long time now, and I hope you're with me when I say that I think it's time to go <b>back to the basics.</b> And yes, that phrase just reminded me of underwear billboard ads.</div>
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So with that, I will shun the <b>inner procrastinator</b> in me that has long been reclining in the <b>La-Z-Boy </b>of my left cerebral hemisphere like she own the place. I don't blame her, she has been there forever and I oftentimes give her treats like when I spend hours on Facebook and Twitter just reading (and liking) <b>random crap </b>my friends and total strangers post on their walls and feeds, half of the time thinking <i>"I wish I have her life" </i>or <i>"Waaay too much information. I'll just pretend I didn't see that."</i>. </div>
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And of course, there's always the <b>lethal viral pet videos</b> that's just Satan's way of telling you to <b>waste your life for him</b>, one adorable YouTube clip at a time.</div>
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But I'll be honest. My <b>track record</b> regarding resolutions doesn't exactly paint a picture of <b>absolute adherence </b>to said self-promises. But we'll see. I might be able to banish thy inner procrastinator permanently to the <b>depths of Mordor </b>or<b> Tartarus</b>, or wherever the heck it can stay and not bother me again.</div>
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Meanwhile, let me leave you with a photo of an adorable puppy sleeping on a cellphone <b>straight from the 90's <i>"I-have-a-flip-phone-I'm-so-cool" </i>era.</b> </div>
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Just because.</div>
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<br /></div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-7077767053938069602012-05-13T23:23:00.000+08:002012-05-13T23:23:44.482+08:00The Test You Begged To Fail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pR6-bMxW5wA/T65yU4nwUmI/AAAAAAAABbg/YoMOnGjZmCQ/s1600/A-girl-holding-pregnancy--007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pR6-bMxW5wA/T65yU4nwUmI/AAAAAAAABbg/YoMOnGjZmCQ/s400/A-girl-holding-pregnancy--007.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's the<b> "positive" </b>result most people would have heart attacks over.</div>
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It starts with that dreadful feeling of a missed period after an inappropriately timed unprotected action. You try to go on your routine ways but the thought haunts you. You delay the errand of buying a pregnancy test kit as long as your curiosity can withstand but then succumb to your neuroses a few hours later. You <b>purchase </b>the blue box<b> as inconspicuously as possible </b>but then the old <b>holier-than-thou woman</b> behind you on the counter notices and gives you the <b>dirty eye</b>. You come home feeling like your bag is armed with <b>explosives</b>. In the middle of the night, when everybody else is asleep, you brace yourself. You take a deep breath... and <i>pee.</i></div>
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Minutes later, you find out that your life will never be the same again.</div>
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Of all the tests in your life, this is probably the only one you have prayed and <b>begged to fail.</b> But it seems like fate has a different plan for you or maybe the Powers That Be chose you as the reluctant center of their cruel game. Either way, the<b> two red lines </b>on that blasted stick stare back at you mockingly. <i>Ha! This is what you get for pretending to be a <b>star of a Nicholas Sparks novel turned movie</b>,</i> the urine-drenched lines taunt.</div>
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How could this happen? You're so young, with your whole life ahead of you and yet there's suddenly this <b>parasite </b>in your body <b>feeding off of your blood, hopes and dreams</b>. You still plan to do so much more with your supposedly carefree years. Spend the entire night <b>drinking at Distillery</b> until dawn breaks, go trekking at Mt. Pinatubo or island hopping in Anawangin, visit Boracay and flaunt that bikini so you can post <b>lomofied version of the pictures to Facebook</b>. How are you supposed to do all these when there's another human being that's supposed to come out of you nine months from now and <b>demand things</b> like milk, clothing and education for the rest of your life?</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V7_s40DW_nY/T6_JbIetRVI/AAAAAAAABb4/YhJeAQfB3ok/s1600/teen_pregnancy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-V7_s40DW_nY/T6_JbIetRVI/AAAAAAAABb4/YhJeAQfB3ok/s320/teen_pregnancy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And how about your career? You're not yet <b>successful</b>. Or at least you don't feel like it. You don't feel like you've done anything substantial yet with your life especially since it's just starting to form into something meaningful. It's too early for you to settle down and be <b>imprisoned in a life of diapers and responsibility</b>. Add to that that just when you're starting to feel <b>beautiful</b> and attractive, it's either you'll have a <b><i>episiotomized</i> vagina </b>or have a caesarian section scar to bear for the rest of your days. Oh, and the <b>stretch marks</b>, don't forget the stretch marks. </div>
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And one last thing, your parents are going to<b> kill </b>you when they find out.</div>
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After the initial shock, you study your options. Do those <b>herbal medicines</b> in Quiapo work? Where the hell can you buy <b>Cytotec </b>that isn't fake these days? They say the black Cytotec works better, is that true? You scour the net and look for black market sellers. There are so many you don't even know where to start and yet all of them look <b>untrustworthy</b>. Your cousin knows a friend of a friend who had an abortion before, does she still have the guy's contact number?</div>
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You start to panic. You don't know what to do. The father of this thing inside you (which you like to refer simply as <b>"blood clot"</b> since it's still too tiny to be considered as a life form) is useless. He's ambivalent and says he will support whatever decision you make. It's a choice you have to bear on your own. </div>
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You wish that this is all a dream and you'll wake up any minute now free from this nightmare. You bargain for a <b>time machine </b>that will take you even for just a second before you make the stupidest decision of your life. You're no Allie in The Notebook or Savannah in Dear John. <b>Real life unprotected sex leads to real life babies. </b></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CxonRlv5JKE/T6_K-UU3rzI/AAAAAAAABcA/BRee1LQrosA/s1600/abortion+delete.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CxonRlv5JKE/T6_K-UU3rzI/AAAAAAAABcA/BRee1LQrosA/s320/abortion+delete.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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You think of the jeering stares and hushed gossip of your sudden predicament from the people who know you and start to <b>opt for termination </b>(so that everything may go back the way they were and you can pretend this catastrophe never happened) but then something feels wrong. A subconscious part of your brain fights off the thought of taking an <b>unknown pill</b> that could very well cause <b>hemorrhage,</b> a <b>fatal trip to the E.R. </b>and <b>one less soul tethered to this earth </b>even before it had the <b>chance to live. </b></div>
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Here it comes, the <b>Safeguard-commercial conscience moment</b> that wrenches your heart from the inside. It feels like the <b>Virgin Mary Mother of God</b> herself is standing transparently behind you, crying <b>pools of blood</b> in despair. You know deep in your gut that although it measures only roughly an inch right now, it will be <b>so much more</b> in a few months, more so in the years to come. A baby, a student, a journalist, a lawyer, an ambassador for a humanitarian council who knows?</div>
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The power of your body to create <b>something</b>, a <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">life</span></b> no less, out of <b>nothing</b> is unparalleled and feels extraordinary. Could you really give all that potential out for a <b>cheap shot </b>at momentary freedom and an illustrious chance at<b><i> "success"</i></b> (whatever that means)?</div>
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The fog in your brain clears up and the panic subsides. The drama-inclined may call it an <b>epiphany</b>, but you know it's just your heart talking to you.</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">You know what to do.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Images taken from Google Images and <a href="http://fahdphotography.tumblr.com/">http://fahdphotography.tumblr.com/</a></span></div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7916368113244926290.post-45705058307828331402012-05-06T15:55:00.003+08:002012-05-06T15:56:14.982+08:00Baguio: City of Pines, Strawberries, Tiangges and Dogs in Sunglasses PART II<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Burnham Park</span></b></div>
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The boaters kept reiterating that the lake was only 4 feet deep. I resisted the urge to argue,<i> "I do not fear of drowning, I fear of <b>dying from infection!</b>"</i> (not to mention humiliation).</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3dM89lHFwsc/T6YTV3h-kuI/AAAAAAAABaI/sEVi-1Jr3iQ/s1600/DSC04255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3dM89lHFwsc/T6YTV3h-kuI/AAAAAAAABaI/sEVi-1Jr3iQ/s400/DSC04255.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">And yes, there in the far right of the picture is <b>SM </b>with its<b> evil tree-cutting plans</b>. Somebody please call <b>Captain Planet </b>and the Planeteers.</span></span></td></tr>
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<b>Burnham Park</b>, known for the man-made lake in the middle of a mountain. A trip to Baguio would not be complete without a 30-minute paddle around the <b>murky waters </b>that probably haven't been changed since its first construction.</div>
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I guess I'm a hygiene freak when it comes to non-sanitized elements from sources I do not trust, the same way I frown at people drinking from the<b> "miraculous faucets" </b>of <b>Manaoag Church</b> while thinking, <i>"Is that thing even <b>purified</b>??". </i></div>
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So, in fear of overturning and/or sinking like a wooden Titanic, we hired a paddler for our boat (additional 25 php), who turned out to be a <b>seaman</b> so we knew we were pretty much in good hands. He sure can handle a 5 foot non-motorized boat if he has studied extensively how to be <b>Poseidon's adopted son.</b></div>
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A quick walk around the park after the boat ride. If not for the <b>few degrees Celcius drop in the temperature</b>, I would have thought we're in <b>Luneta Park </b>or <b>Quezon City Circle.</b> Where were the unparalleled green sloping lawns that I remembered back in high school when I first visited the place? And what are these <b>ugly blue tents </b>that just screams <b>Divisoria</b>? I want to speak to the manager!<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">The Grotto of our Lady of Lourdes</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8Q7bi7jfK0/T6YeOfgrojI/AAAAAAAABaU/CU5qGEyKNQY/s1600/DSC04355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8Q7bi7jfK0/T6YeOfgrojI/AAAAAAAABaU/CU5qGEyKNQY/s320/DSC04355.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>
(a.k.a Stairway to Heaven)<br />
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Bring your <b>anti-hypertensive meds</b>, <b>inhaler for the asthmatics </b>and a <b>coffin for the rheumatics</b>.<br />
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I don't pretend to be Kuya Kim to know how many steps there are before you reach the Grotto which seemed to be just <b>at arms length</b> from <b>St. Peter's pearly gates</b> (especially if you have a heart disease), but I could confidently tell you that there are a LOT.<br />
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<b><u>A friendly climbing-the-grotto cheat sheet:</u></b><br />
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If you want to cut the <b>climbing time / effort / calorie consumption / risk of myocardial infarction</b> in <b>half,</b> bring your own car and park it in the grotto's designated parking space.<br />
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Upon walking to the <b>"stairway proper" </b>you would realize that you've already climbed half you way to the Grotto, leaving you with only a measly 50 or more steps to the finish line. Great news for <b>senior citizens</b>!<br />
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">End Note:</span></b><br />
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Unfortunately, the Baguio City that everybody knows and loves has succumbed to the pressure and lure of <b>over-commercialism</b>. There are<b> stores everywhere</b>, in areas where the <b>untarnished beauty of nature </b>should be reigning supreme. There are too many wanting to take a slice out of the profit cake in expense of the destruction of nature which is ironically the primary reason why people flock to the destination in the first place.
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgmB4VahqwQ/T6YrVOlHsxI/AAAAAAAABag/9U74_w64gOE/s1600/DSC04093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lgmB4VahqwQ/T6YrVOlHsxI/AAAAAAAABag/9U74_w64gOE/s320/DSC04093.JPG" width="180" /></a></div>
More than a few places already feels crowded and chaotic from all these people selling stuff from<b> Baguio bonnets </b>to <b>overpriced sweet corn </b>to<b> pictures with fluffy dogs and neon-colored horses.</b> The city has their climate to thank for the relentless tourists from all over the country looking for an escape from the humidity of summer city living, but will the interest still suffice if the pride and honor of the place is already overrun and destroyed by <b>super mall giants</b> and the<b> locals themselves</b> looking for some quick cash?<br />
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There is so much potential in this place. I just wish locals and officials learn how to harness that potential without stepping on the<b> simplest of grass and plant-life </b>that makes the destination <b>spectacular </b>in the first place. So that, in the years and decades to come, people will still say, <b>"I want to go to Baguio", </b>not because it's<b> cold,</b> but because it is a <b><span style="color: #0b5394;">place of beauty.</span></b><br />
<br /></div>Clarriscenthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04268036060498205768noreply@blogger.com3