State of the Blog Address 4 comments

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 acerbic humor and my trademark phrased adjectives that-look-like-this, I feel like I've lost my voice. 

Not only are the past articles just composed of book/movie/cellphone reviews and vacation recaps which nobody really cares about, the thoughts are dry and painfully robotic. Yes, there are still advocacy themed articles but they are less than before and far in between.

Where is the spontaneity? Where are the personal insights that I once wanted to share to the world? Where are the amusing observations about the roller coaster ride that is everyday life? The good, the bad, and the downright humiliatingly hilarious? 

I started this blog as a personal haven for all those little quirky impulses 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 at arms length 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.

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 back to the basics. And yes, that phrase just reminded me of underwear billboard ads.

So with that, I will shun the inner procrastinator in me that has long been reclining in the La-Z-Boy 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) random crap my friends and total strangers post on their walls and feeds, half of the time thinking "I wish I have her life" or "Waaay too much information. I'll just pretend I didn't see that.". 

And of course, there's always the lethal viral pet videos that's just Satan's way of telling you to waste your life for him, one adorable YouTube clip at a time.

But I'll be honest. My track record regarding resolutions doesn't exactly paint a picture of absolute adherence to said self-promises. But we'll see. I might be able to banish thy inner procrastinator permanently to the depths of Mordor or Tartarus, or wherever the heck it can stay and not bother me again.

Meanwhile, let me leave you with a photo of an adorable puppy sleeping on a cellphone straight from the 90's "I-have-a-flip-phone-I'm-so-cool" era. 

Just because.

The Test You Begged To Fail 6 comments

It's the "positive" result most people would have heart attacks over.

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 purchase the blue box as inconspicuously as possible but then the old holier-than-thou woman behind you on the counter notices and gives you the dirty eye. You come home feeling like your bag is armed with explosives. In the middle of the night, when everybody else is asleep, you brace yourself. You take a deep breath... and pee.

Minutes later, you find out that your life will never be the same again.

Of all the tests in your life, this is probably the only one you have prayed and begged to fail. 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 two red lines on that blasted stick stare back at you mockingly. Ha! This is what you get for pretending to be a star of a Nicholas Sparks novel turned movie, the urine-drenched lines taunt.

How could this happen? You're so young, with your whole life ahead of you and yet there's suddenly this parasite in your body feeding off of your blood, hopes and dreams. You still plan to do so much more with your supposedly carefree years. Spend the entire night drinking at Distillery until dawn breaks, go trekking at Mt. Pinatubo or island hopping in Anawangin, visit Boracay and flaunt that bikini so you can post lomofied version of the pictures to Facebook. 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 demand things like milk, clothing and education for the rest of your life?

And how about your career? You're not yet successful. 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 imprisoned in a life of diapers and responsibility. Add to that that just when you're starting to feel beautiful and attractive, it's either you'll have a episiotomized vagina or have a caesarian section scar to bear for the rest of your days. Oh, and the stretch marks, don't forget the stretch marks. 

And one last thing, your parents are going to kill you when they find out.

After the initial shock, you study your options. Do those herbal medicines in Quiapo work? Where the hell can you buy Cytotec 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 untrustworthy. Your cousin knows a friend of a friend who had an abortion before, does she still have the guy's contact number?

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 "blood clot" 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. 

You wish that this is all a dream and you'll wake up any minute now free from this nightmare. You bargain for a time machine 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. Real life unprotected sex leads to real life babies. 

You think of the jeering stares and hushed gossip of your sudden predicament from the people who know you and start to opt for termination (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 unknown pill that could very well cause hemorrhage, a fatal trip to the E.R. and one less soul tethered to this earth even before it had the chance to live. 

Here it comes, the Safeguard-commercial conscience moment that wrenches your heart from the inside. It feels like the Virgin Mary Mother of God herself is standing transparently behind you, crying pools of blood in despair. You know deep in your gut that although it measures only roughly an inch right now, it will be so much more 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?

The power of your body to create something, a life no less, out of nothing is unparalleled and feels extraordinary. Could you really give all that potential out for a cheap shot at momentary freedom and an illustrious chance at "success" (whatever that means)?

The fog in your brain clears up and the panic subsides. The drama-inclined may call it an epiphany, but you know it's just your heart talking to you.

You know what to do.

---

*Images taken from Google Images and http://fahdphotography.tumblr.com/

Baguio: City of Pines, Strawberries, Tiangges and Dogs in Sunglasses PART II 3 comments

Burnham Park

The boaters kept reiterating that the lake was only 4 feet deep. I resisted the urge to argue, "I do not fear of drowning, I fear of dying from infection!" (not to mention humiliation).

And yes, there in the  far right of the picture is SM with its evil tree-cutting plans. Somebody please call Captain Planet and the Planeteers.

Burnham Park, 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 murky waters that probably haven't been changed since its first construction.

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 "miraculous faucets" of Manaoag Church while thinking, "Is that thing even purified??". 

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 seaman 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 Poseidon's adopted son.

A quick walk around the park after the boat ride. If not for the few degrees Celcius drop in the temperature, I would have thought we're in Luneta Park or Quezon City Circle. Where were the unparalleled green sloping lawns that I remembered back in high school when I first visited the place? And what are these ugly blue tents that just screams Divisoria? I want to speak to the manager!

The Grotto of our Lady of Lourdes

(a.k.a Stairway to Heaven)

Bring your anti-hypertensive meds, inhaler for the asthmatics and a coffin for the rheumatics.

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 at arms length from St. Peter's pearly gates (especially if you have a heart disease), but I could confidently tell you that there are a LOT.

A friendly climbing-the-grotto cheat sheet:

If you want to cut the climbing time / effort / calorie consumption / risk of myocardial infarction in half, bring your own car and park it in the grotto's designated parking space.

Upon walking to the "stairway proper" 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 senior citizens!

End Note:

Unfortunately, the Baguio City that everybody knows and loves has succumbed to the pressure and lure of over-commercialism. There are stores everywhere, in areas where the untarnished beauty of nature 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.

More than a few places already feels crowded and chaotic from all these people selling stuff from Baguio bonnets to overpriced sweet corn to pictures with fluffy dogs and neon-colored horses. 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 super mall giants and the locals themselves looking for some quick cash?

There is so much potential in this place. I just wish locals and officials learn how to harness that potential without stepping on the simplest of grass and plant-life that makes the destination spectacular in the first place. So that, in the years and decades to come, people will still say, "I want to go to Baguio", not because it's cold, but because it is a place of beauty.

Baguio: City of Pines, Strawberries, Tiangges and Dogs in Sunglasses PART I 1 comments

Turns out, an unplanned trip on what felt like the ends of the earth while sitting on a moving vehicle for 8 whole hours was just what I needed to cap off an unbelievably boring vacation month of April. Welcome to Baguio City! Known to be the City of Pines (which SM is hell-bent on destroying) and City of 24-Hour Air-conditioning.

It was the middle of summer yet we were in our jackets. This. Is. So. Cool. Literally.

So hours (and 2,000 php worth of gas) later, after traversing the whole of NCLEX and SCTEX, the never ending one-lane roads of Tarlac (I get a mini-heart attack whenever we're about to overtake a slow moving vehicle) and going up the winding roads to the city proper of Baguio, we finally got our first whiff of fresh cool air.

We were tourists in every sense of the word, asking for directions at every encountered intersection. We went to all the touristy places and bought touristy Baguio key chains. Here's the experience told in the most mocking way possible (a.k.a. the way I normally write everything).

The Mansion / Wright Park

Pretty. There it is, the summer getaway palace of the president, demurely introduced to all by that inconspicuous sign in the middle of a lawn telling you that you are indeed outside "THE MANSION". What a joy for dyslexics. 

Some clicking of the camera. Okay, there's nothing really left to do. Let's move on.

Wright Park, on the same hand, feels completely, well, the same. Oh look, there's a tree, some flowers... oh joy, a shrub! I think you've noticed by now that I'm not a huge fan of plants. I mean, I appreciate their role in the ecosystem but to gaze at them with awe and admiration is something you would not catch me doing. 

Oh, and the fountain water looks funky.

Mine's View Park

I didn't know what to expect when we were finding our way to the famed park. I just knew there was going to be some spectacular view ala that Tagaytay picnic ground area I forgot the name of. Anyway, there were plenty to look at, alright.

Bags, sandals, endless key chains and ethnic-looking figurines. Flavored corn on a cup worth 30 freakin' pesos. Pink horses everywhere and a couple of huge St. Bernards in sunglasses. Adorable! Must find a way to smuggle that dog inside the car. Oh, and there's a "viewing deck" filled with people with cameras. Us included. Okay, it doesn't matter that people can die from the tumultuous trek down to the area if they can witness this kind of scenic view... a view so... so foggy you can almost feel like a goddess in the clouds looking down serenely at those foolish mortals in the metropolis baking under the heat of the sun and relentless humidity.

Camp John Hay / Butterfly Farm

Finally, a place in the City of Pines with actual unadulterated pine trees. The place is gorgeous but it lacks the excitement of more populated tourist destinations in the city. Aside from posh-looking conyo kids having overpriced coffee at Starbucks, there are only golfers in white looking all rich and mighty. I almost expected to see Chief Justice Renato Corona taking a swing or Pacquiao training in the distance.

The Butterfly Farm is another story. Nestled in the middle of a seemingly barren piece of wilderness, you have to brace yourself and pray for courage because it looks like a homeless person's house (if that makes sense to you).

You will be greeted by an enthusiastic caretaker/tour guide which will share nice-to-know facts about butterflies in an amusing accent and act as a professional photographer afterwards, putting butterflies in your hair and face for useful Facebook primary photo shots. Honestly, that man will single-handedly save the experience from being a boring 10-step tour around a greenhouse searching desperately for shivering butterflies hiding in corners (butterflies thrive in warm weather, so we're told).

Strawberry Farm, La Trinidad, Benguet

What would a trip to Baguio be without strawberries? So we went straight to the source of all the berry hype in La Trinidad, Benguet, half an hour ride away from Baguio town proper.

It was the most fun I've had surrounded by plants in a long time. This time, I didn't mind the endless strawberry stalls around the farm proper (vast fields of nothingness scares me). Young sister got to pick our own berries from kilometers of strawberry plants and I got to snap numerous shots of fields and of myself looking like a blue-blooded haciendera with over-sized sunglasses on worth 50 php straight from a mall stall and a designer umbrella. Notice the irony.

...to be continued.


Part II:
http://orchestroscopy.blogspot.com/2012/05/baguio-city-of-pines-strawberries_06.html

The Avengers feat. Joss Whedon 0 comments

The Avengers. Seven heroes from different parts of the universe and genres, including a recently thawed all-American superhero, a self-made iron flying machine, a Norse God of lightning with his mighty hammer and a bunch of other characters I'm too ignorant to describe.

Pardon me for not being well-versed in the whole Marvel comic world (what's the name of that Bow Guy again? A friend just called him Black Hawk and I was tempted to add the word "Down" but then that's another movie.) but if there's one thing I know, it's Joss Whedon's works and his absolute brilliance.

It is no secret that I'm a huge fan of everything in the Whedonverse (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse etc.) and watching The Avengers made me smile wistfully at all the little Joss-signiture quirks that I didn't know I was sorely missing. The whole movie was a trademark of his unparalleled wit and talent. I almost expected the whole gang to burst into song and dance number ala Buffy's Once More With Feeling and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog. Now, if there is one person who could pull a bunch of superheroes in costume do a sing-off, it would be this man.

The movie, besides the strong intelligent script and amusing dialogue, is also a visual masterpiece. I remember reading an article almost a decade back when Joss had to tweak a Buffy script because of budget restraints. This certainly wasn't a problem with this film because the eye-candy and non-stop action that the movie brings to hungry and expecting audience is nowhere near disappointing nor lacking.

I honestly don't know how to end this review, if it could be called a cohesive review in the first place because all I've managed to do is gush about Joss Whedon and all the marvelous neurons inside that balding head of his.

I guess the point of write-up is, the movie is great and you should all spend P200 to go watch it in cinemas because cam versions uploaded in streaming sites and torrent just won't cut it. 

Orchestr-o-meter: A

Fifty Shades of Grey, Smut and Fluff: A Book Review 4 comments

I've procured a digital copy of the Fifty Shades trilogy even before Twilight moms went raving about it, catapulting it to the New York Times' Best Seller List. After spending a month on my iBooks library, I decided to finally give this highly controversial series a chance, and, boy, did it give me an eyeful. 

As much as I don't want to admit it, the first book was surprisingly addicting. There is something about the mysterious, rich, handsome and sparkly perfect male love interest falling for the seemingly mediocre girl next door with self-worth problems. Sounds familiar? It should. The premise has already been published internationally, garnered millions of screaming hormonal fans and gave birth to an equally ridiculously successful movie franchise. 

Twilight-inspired BDSM fanfiction. This is ultimately what the whole series is. Anastasia Steele is precisely Bella Swan in ropes with her self-abhorrence, exasperating quirks and irritating dislike for expensive gifts. The same way Christian Grey is Edward, minus the superhuman strength, blood cravings and literal sparkle. 

Having read and written too many fanfiction chapters for my own good, for me, this literary serving came from the McDonald's fastfood chain of greasy fiction. Not much seasoning, full of unwanted calories and prepared for the non-choosy masses. There are countless of better places to dine in, however, it still sells and people keep coming back for more.

It's like reading crack. You know it's bad for you and you could even feel your neurons wasting away but you can't seem to stop. At least for the first book (Fifty Shades of Grey), I've had this experience. However, with Fifty Shades Darker, the only thing that got darker is one's view of the plot. Because there was none. It felt like reading endless fanfiction chapters of fluff and smut with no direction whatsoever. Even the graphic sex scenes, which, let's face it, are a big contribution to the success of the trilogy, were toned down to make way for cuddles and never-ending professions of love.

Whether I will find the will and the patience to start and finish the latest installment of this runaway hit, I don't know, although one thing is clear. People reading these books should throw away the paperback novel and stick to their obscure iPads, Kindles and iPhones ebook versions because if I were to spot someone reading this book on the LRT, mental snickers would follow. 

You'll know what I mean.

Orchestr-o-meter: B-

Before Ever After by Samantha Sotto: An Anthology of Short Stories 2 comments

I'll be honest. "Pinoy Pride!" and "I'm so proud to be Filipino!" mantras aside, I only read this book because I heard that a Jose Rizal protegee has managed to penetrate the international publishing market with this debut novel. Thank you for living my dreams, but I will not sugarcoat this review and worship the ground that she stands on (ahem Charice fans ahem) just because me and the author shame the same ethnic background.

So here's my untainted opinion about this book that has been covering the shelves of local bookstores lately. It was... okay.

Three years after her husband Max's death, Shelley feels no more adjusted to being a widow than she did that first terrible day. That is, until the doorbell rings. Standing on her front step is a young man who looks so much like Max; same smile, same eyes, same age, same adorable bump in his nose; he could be Max's long-lost relation. He introduces himself as Paolo, an Italian editor of American coffee table books, and shows Shelley some childhood photos. Paolo tells her that the man in the photos, the bearded man who Paolo says is his grandfather though he never seems to age, is Max. Her Max. And he is alive and well.  

As outrageous as Paolo's claims seem; how could her husband be alive? And if he is, why hasn't he looked her up? Shelley desperately wants to know the truth. She and Paolo jet across the globe to track Max down; if it is really Max and along the way, Shelley recounts the European package tour where they had met. As she relives Max's stories of bloody Parisian barricades, medieval Austrian kitchens, and buried Roman boathouses, Shelley begins to piece together the story of who her husband was and what these new revelations mean for her "happily ever after." And as she and Paolo get closer to the truth, Shelley discovers that not all stories end where they are supposed to.

Let it be clear that I am not a fan of semi-supernatural love stories. Either have a whole new world of mystical beings such as vampires having relationship with slayers and wizard friends slowly falling for each other or have a completely realistic circumstances (albeit unlikely) set in places that actually exist in real life. 

That said, this novel is exactly at the middle of these parameters, much like The Time Traveler's Wife. But as much as adore that book, I can't quite say that with this publication . It doesn't mean that it's not any good nor doesn't deserve to be read. I've read lots of reviews praising the prose. I guess it just didn't fit with my tastes and expectations.

For me, the greatest weakness of the novel is the lack of an actual main plot and a satisfying ending to answer the mystery that has been slowly building up since the first page. The book is made up of endless short stories, spanning from a few decades ago to the beginning of civilization, portraying different characters and explaining historical sites, all of which are interesting, but after the nth flashback, I just wanted to skip all the Mother Goose tales and get back to the real plot. Unfortunately, this finally happened with only a handful of pages left, which were not sufficient to quench this reader's appetite for plot hole clarifications.

I do have to applaud the novel for the witty and superb writing style that made me stay with the book up until the end. The characters are likeable enough, I admittedly found myself swooning every time Max is on the page. For a romance novel, it lacked a few passionate punches here and there. It did, however, make me crave for baked eggs and cheese.

It was not an unputdownable book, nor a novel that would haunt me long after reading the last word, but I did pick up a few things from the journey, and that in itself made it worth the time and effort.

Now, if I can only find the recipe for that infamous Baked Eggs & Cheese.

Orchestr-o-meter: B-

The Hunger Games (2012) Review: A Reader's Dream 2 comments

It's quite fitting that I haven't eaten for more than 24 hours when I found the time and waking neurons to catch the latest YA-Novel-to-bigscreen-superstardom flick of 2012. The Hunger Games is definitely one of the most anticipated movie of the year, and let me just say that all the hype and excitement surrounding the next-big-franchise was not a waste of time. Cower in your sparkly boots, Twilight, teenage angst will only get you so far, but a gripping story and strong independent characters will always prevail in the hearts of the thinking masses.

The movie opens with a sorrowful portrayal of District 12, showing scenes of poverty and destitution in shaky, head-aching angles that could only come from a camera man with a neurological disorder. But aside from the near-migraine I got from the style they decided on showing Suzanne Collin's world, I appreciated how the production made it a point to differentiate the way of life of poorer districts and the lavish colorful existence of those from the Capitol.

Enter the Capitol and the Hunger Games mission control center. From a film with a limited budget and a complicated world it has to portray, I think they succeeded in luring in the readers and giving their imagination the visual candy it deserves. Save for the disappointing silent screen Cornucopia scene (which I found terribly disappointing) and the bloody and violent killing moments which the production decided to soften by again putting their cameraman with uncontrolled spasms behind the lense, the movie portrayal was a success even for the whiniest and eyebrow-raising book fan that I am.

Strongest points of the film? The actors, without a doubt. Jennifer Lawrence played Katniss Everdeen perfectly. She carried the role with such power and social awkwardness that fits the character that I did not have to convince myself that she is the heroine in my mind while I was reading the book. The other actors also carried their own weight, although I do wish that Gale and his jawline managed to get more screen time. In the next movie, perhaps.

Weakest? They could have wrapped up the film more tightly, in my opinion. There are numerous scenes of morose lamentations and soul-searching stares that the 2 1/2 hours of the film could do without. I'm all for character development, really, but in a movie that boasts a televised arena where teenagers kill each other in order to survive, more action, less talk please.

End Note:

With the end of the wonderful and magical Harry Potter era and the closing of the sparkly slightly-homosexual vampire saga of Twilight later this year, this fan is happy to say that in a time of never-ending book adaptations, there is one that stayed surprisingly loyal to the prose. It didn't need to cut scenes nor add ones to make the film more interesting. Both the written and shot versions were superb and if that doesn't say the odds are definitely in our favor, then I don't know what does.

Orchestr-o-meter: A

HTC ChaCha: Qwerty Messaging Goodness 0 comments

Just in case you didn't notice the solitary "F" logo flashing proudly in its place, yes, it's the Facebook phone. And no, I didn't purchase it because of Facebook.

I've been wanting to change my phone for quite some time now. Although I've grown fond of my Samsung UltraTouch, times have changed and my elderly mobile just can't keep up with the aspects of technology that has now proved to be a necessity rather than a cool function a few years back.

Enter Mr. Chacha. The name may be lacking a few punches and reminds me of red lipsticked middle aged women and the Dance Instructor era, I've chosen this Gadget Baby as my new everyday electronic companion. Most people are underwhelmed with his capabilities and poke fun at his calculator inspired aesthetics but I love him anyways. Here's why:

1. HTC Sense Interface. I've been drooling over the HTC UI for quite some time now since I've already grown sick of Samsung's dark and dreary screens. Aside from Apple's iPhone which is still unbelievably expensive and a bit redundant for me since I already have an iPod Touch, there are only a few brands which came to mind. 

• Samsung? Pass, I'll try something new. 
• Forget Nokia, Symbian is for cave people. 
• Blackberry? Yes please, if they weren't so darn expensive. The touchscreen-qwerty combo is still on the 20k+ bracket if I'm not mistaken.

2. Responsive Touchscreen. For a phone boasting its comfortable qwerty keypad, it has a surprisingly sensitive touchscreen with great feedback. This is particularly a deal maker since I've cancelled a lot of HTC phones off my list (HTC Explorer / HTC Wildfire S) because of less than brilliant screens and lagging processors.

3. Great Full QWERTY Keyboard. I've never had a phone with a full qwerty keyboard before. I've always typed novel-length texts with a physical/virtual alphanumeric one and to be honest, my right thumb really needs an ally in his duty. And I won't lie, this Blackberry nation has brainwashed me into thinking qwerty phones look more professional and sophisticated.

4. Affordable. For 8,900 php plus a complimentary dedicated silicone casing, you can't get any other Android touchscreen plus a physical QWERTY keypad with just the amount of one month minimum wage salary.

5. Threaded Messaging Heaven. To say that HTC's messaging interface is 90% of the decision making mental pie chart that made me buy this phone isn't that far off. Since I've been texting a lot recently, the threaded blue and white send and received texts sorted chronologically has been life changing.

I won't sugarcoat the first phone that I bought with my own money, it isn't perfect. The internal memory is only 150mb as compared with its advertised 512mb and I've read it fills up easily with apps and cached information from Facebook and other programs. The battery also makes me paranoid because without the proper settings, it has the potential to drain quickly.

But since I will be mainly using this for the normal call and text routine (more of texts really), its limitations doesn't really bother me. Find another gadget for your games and graphic heavy apps because the screen will leave more to be desired.

But if you're like me who just needs a fairly cheap mobile with a comfortable keyboard, a messaging interface to salivate over and the yummy Blackberry-ish LED light indicator for notifications and such, then look no further, you would definitely love dancing to the beat of this phone.

When She Woke by Hillary Jordan 4 comments

Hannah Payne’s life has been devoted to church and family. But after she’s convicted of murder, she awakens to a nightmarish new life. She finds herself lying on a table in a bare room, covered only by a paper gown, with cameras broadcasting her every move to millions at home, for whom observing new Chromes—criminals whose skin color has been genetically altered to match the class of their crime—is a sinister form of entertainment. Hannah is a Red for the crime of murder. The victim, says the State of Texas, was her unborn child, and Hannah is determined to protect the identity of the father, a public figure with whom she shared a fierce and forbidden love. 

In a future world where the lines of state and church is eradicated, felons roam the streets in multicolored stigma and revered church leaders commit sins in the worst possible ways, this novel portrays an all too familiar society present today that some would not dare admit.

In this dystopian universe, a sexually transmitted disease has rendered a good part of the population sterile, giving way to an political and religious fusion which brought about extreme faith-abiding laws which served as a noose around personal freedom. It encapsulates the reality how the faithful worship religious leaders like groupies in a rock concert and how, in return, these evangelists spread hope and strength while keeping terrible secrets of their own.

Aside from the gripping tale of an unlikely sinner protagonist, it is the characters' views on faith which I enjoyed the most. Like many of the articles and opinions I've read, it mirrors exactly my sentiments on religion, faith and today's society.

On the existence of God:

"If God is the Creator, if God englobes every single thing in the universe, then God is everything and everything is God. God is the earth and the sky, and the tree planted in the earth under the sky and the bird in the tree, and the worm in the beak of the bird, and the dirt in the stomach of the worm. God is He and She, straight and gay, black and white and red - and green and blue and all the rest. And so, to despise me for loving women, or you for being a Red who made love with a woman, would be to despise not only His own creations but also to hate Himself. My God is not so stupid as that."

On having a personal God not necessarily in congruence with any established belief:

And yet, Hanna's parents had taught her that faith was deeply personal, something between her and God alone. The contradiction struck Hannah now, as she fully appreciated how little volition she'd ever had in her own faith, how little her opinion had even mattered.

"My God is a God of infinite wisdom and love and compassion," Simone was saying, "not some bully who spends His time in throwing fire and Brimstone at homosexuals."

On the diversity of different religions and practices:

"A Catholic would tell you that questioning God is your first mistake, that faith must be blind and absolute or it's not faith at all. Of course, if I were a Catholic, I'd be wearing a habit not a collar, and my opinion about such important doctrinal questions wouldn't matter a damn to anyone... It doesn't matter to  God what we call ourselves, or even what we call Him. We're the only ones who care about that...."

On Free Will vs. God's Plan

"You don't have to stop thinking and asking questions to believe in God, child. If He'd wanted a flock of eight billion sheep, He wouldn't have given us opposable thumbs, much less free will." 

She'd been taught that free will was an illusion; that God had a plan for her and for everyone, a premapped destiny. But if that were true, then He'd meant for her to get pregnant and have an abortion, to be chromed, to be despised and humiliated, kidnapped and almost raped. She saw suddenly that this was at the core of her loss of faith: a reluctance to believe in god who was that indifferent or that cruel.

What impressed me the most is the undertone in the novel that, even though the world in the story is full of liberal minded homosexuals, abortionists and hypocrites hiding under the veil of religiosity, there is still this wonderful all-encompassing higher being who is watching over us all. That things aren't black and white as they seem. The shunned criminal may have reasons for his actions and the most pious evangelist may be hiding the blackest of sins.

Religion may be a driving force for most people but it is not a prerequisite in believing and loving an omnipotent being who, in my opinion, doesn't need a specific name nor an image. He (or She) may be born in a stable to be visited by three kings or from traders from Mecca, what matters is, we do the most that we can in this existence and try to touch as many lives as possible, religion or no religion.