cathartic exhibitionism

http://vidasoraya.blogs.friendster.com/photos/rock_bands_saydie/

check out www.saydie.com as shown in my album above.

if you know of any other indie bands who want to have photographs for album covers, posters and whatnot, message me here so i can send in contact info. hehe.

such a lazy tuesday after my macroeconomics class. sigh. it just feels so fucked up to be failing an elective i didn’t even sign up for. my belly’s so bloated after an eat all you can Maki fest at Komeshi (haha, Maica and I were laughing over weird shit like ham maki and spam maki). sigh. now heading off to Coffee Nook for another group meeting (the DEVC 180 barako coffee campaign).

ok, more substantial entries next time, i hope.

  "We are tricked by a phenomenon of time: hours and days pass slowly, but years pass quickly." –Sally Warner

Today
is the last day of August of my last semester in the University. Last
night, I met a 16 year old freshman girl from the official student
publication, the UPLB Perspective, and recalled how I was like 6 years
ago as a freshman in the same publication. I was relegated to the
research section (I was from Philippine Science High School, after all,
and most of the crap I wrote were morbid observations on the excesses
of human nature). Six years ago, I was also part of Layeta Bucoy’s
"Hulagpos ng mga Arkana," a play with characters from tarot cards (I
had my first onstage kiss with an MS student and dated the lighting
director of the production after we smoked kretek/clove cigarettes one
evening, after rehearsals). Six years ago, I used to play football for
PE2 class and was invited to join the SCUAA (or STRAA? ewan ko kay Teodulfo Villaflor) to Bacolod at that time,
but since I was too busy with lovelife and other things, I didn’t go –
we just played for the Upsilon Cup instead. Six years ago, I auditioned
and passed the screenings of the UPLB Jocks as the sole, obnoxious
freshman in my batch of DJ-wannabes (I flunked the auditions for Gary
Granada’s "Lean, the Musical" so I opted for the other audition that
same night). After a semester of training, I went on to handle three
programs on my own and hosted various events at the ripe age of
seventeen. Six years ago, I used to live with my aunt (the IRRI soil
scientist) and uncle (the agro-engineering) professor at the red brick
house on Greenway Street but regularly dropped by the house of my
neighbors, humbleprophet
and Mark-pintorkulapol to shamelessly brush my teeth and bum a meal
after soccer. Little did I know that I would also have a short-lived
fling with another neighbor, Ruairi, an IRRI intern from the University
of Wales, after a year of living away from Greenway.

One really does the darnedest things as a freshman.

Tonight,
I will have another round of reporting from the applicants of the UP
Photographers’ Society. Mmmmm, one fresh crop of idealistic freshies,
so nice for sinking teeth into. Tonight, I will also be viewing a set
of short films for Izabel’s undergraduate research. Just reminds me of
my really annoying panic attack yesterday after Macroeconomics class –
I think I should swim more often, or at least meet my 2-kilometer quota
per session.

p.s. AUGUST 31, 2005 pa ito. kainis naman ang friendster blog, walang backdating. leche.

my cellmate, Crisel, told me that kids born in September were conceived
around Christmas break, hence the term, "Christmas baby." I think our
Christmas baby at home is indeed, like Oedipus, such a child of luck.

it’s
my baby brother, Khalil’s birthday (09/09/1990), yet here I am slaving
away on my annoying manuscript. I think the "Babae Ka, May Say Ka"
jingle on RMN DZXL 558 Khz will drive me stark raving mad if I listen
to it again in the next few hours. Still, I have to, have to, have to,
just so I will graduate this semester.

I miss Khaliw-Baliw. When
he was younger, he couldn’t pronounce his name, so he’d refer to
himself as, "Khaliw." My charming bunso brother is the friendliest (of
course, his full name is Khalil Rama Ismael Salih Verzosa)yet
the most mischievous (he even played Loki in a play they had at Waldorf
School Manila when he was in 7th grade) in our brood. When we moved to
Marikina City, he was the first to accumulate friends ranging from his
contemporaries to the geriatric-types. He always wins raffles (we got a
piano, kitchen appliances, wine, etc under his name) and my mother says
she was able to cheat death when the July 16, 1990 earthquake hit
Baguio City’s Hyatt Hotel since her officemates who refused to let her
attend the convention there (she was pregnant nga, eh) were the ones
who perished. Indeed, Khalil is such a lucky, lucky boy. However, such
an affectionate demeanor sometimes gives way to dark moods…

A
few weeks ago, I had a shouting match with my father over how he was
raising Khalil. I couldn’t stand seeing how history was repeating
itself. here was Papa in all his table-pounding, test-paper-waving
glory from the Bulyaw - style of reprimanding children while Khalil was
crying over his meal (he was failing Math, too and his teacher
reportedly called my Mama to say that he had been sleeping inside his
locker instead of attending classes) and the rest of us were passing
around the rice and viand like it was the most ordinary thing in the
world. I stood up and brought my plate to the living room, "Stop
shouting! Stop shouting! Khalil’s not gonna learn anything if you keep
doing that! you know what, Papa? I hated you all throughout high
school. I wished that you would die since you were so verbally abusive!
How dare you demand high grades and excellent behavior from us — we
grew up without parents, Papa! You were too busy giving us money to
burn but no time for us. I left home early, I chose to stay in the
dorm, I chose to study in Los Baños just to get away from you and now
you’re doing it to Khalil! No wonder he’s misbehaving, he’s also
growing up without a father!"

Lo and behold, for the first time
in my entire life as a Verzosa, my mother, who’s normally so calm and
composed even in the worst manifestations of my family’s dysfunctions,
slammed her fist and pierced my father with such a powerful gaze just
as he was erupting with a heated retort, "shut up, Papa. I don’t want
another suicidal psychiatric case in this family!" of course, I
promptly walked towards Khalil and hugged him as my hyper-ventilating
father sat stupefied (or perhaps, defeated by this display of
matriarchy).

Anyway, our relationship with our parents has
improved drastically since we started attending Victory Christian
Fellowship. Whereas before, these events would end up with me running
off to some friend’s house, not returning for days, or with the other
siblings shutting out their words. Khalil, for one, is who I’m worried
about. My sisters and I, since we became toughened by years of enduring
my father (and for 9ni and I, my half-brothers)’s contempt for lowering
decibels when discussing things, are stronger and more inclined to
fight back than give up. Khalil, our baby, has such a tendency to shut
down in silent resignation. I hope that as he turns 15, he’d be able to
regain his self-esteem and would be able to claim his life away from my
father’s shadow.