Maybe I'm ready to throw it all away

Going, going...gone.

One of the best things about PR?
Meeting new people on the job, many of which are excellent, excellent writers who can bring you to your knees with their prose.

Your ability to speak the English language fluently doesn't make you any better as a writer, nor any capable of piecing together what may be considered as a work of creative literature. That is the arena of those who have the world in their minds and fire in their hearts. - Sir Alex

Naks. :)

Hello, Goodbye
Over the last few summers, I've developed this horrible tradition of losing people. And it's made me all ~angsty~ and ~tortured~ like Peyton Sawyer***. (Just kidding. My angst was mostly pretend and temporary.)

I always thought it was selfish for people to leave, to sever existing relationships for the off-chance of new adventures. If everything in the world is indeed interdependent, why would anyone leave knowing they'd create dysfunction?

I'm forced to eat my words because now I have to be the one to do the leaving. Soon. And I absolutely hate it.

The thing is, I need to leave. And I will. And being on this end of the relationship cycle (being the leaver, as opposed to being the leave-ee) makes me understand better those who've left before. Being left shouldn't always reflect negatively on the leave-ee. I can choose Brand B, but that doesn't mean Brand A means any less, that Brand A will not be missed, or that not picking Brand A wasn't hard.

Also, assuming the fundamental nature of relationships presupposes an end, it'll do more people good to go the Rent-route and measure the value of relationships by the amount of love they put in rather than their shelf lives. Yes P. Sawyer, people always leave, but while they're still around they don't always have to love you. And when they actually bother to take care of you and love you and watch you/let you grow before the inevitable end, that makes all the difference.

I've lost so many people dear to me in the past, but they've loved me so many times more. I have no regrets. I hope leave-ee sees it the same way, eventually.

Best part about people leaving though?

Sometimes they come back. ♥

July can't come any sooner.


*** - One Tree Hill reference. Sad, I know. Haha.

So much for resolutions.
Woke up to "When Harry Met Sally" playing on Star World yesterday, which I found timely given the recent turn of events. I'm referring, of course, to a friend's newfound mission to act on her long-standing "what if," that is, a friendship she's always wanted to turn into something more.

I remain convinced there are no hows to the friends-turned-lovers dynamic (and if there were, I wouldn't be the person to ask. On a somewhat related note I really hate the term 'lovers,'), but from watching the movie I'd say it helps -- really, really helps -- if you have Harry Connick Jr. on your side.

At what age exactly do people trade in nights spent drinking in hole-in-the-wall joints for dressy cocktail functions with a big band playing classic songs that move people's stories along? (favorites from the soundtrack: "It Had to be You" and "Don't Get Around Much Anymore") Because those look fun...ish, and I'd manipulate my way to the guest list if an opportunity presented itself. Then again I'd probably feel ridiculous in such a staged get-together, but if something Harry-met-Sally-ish were to happen to friend in question, then I'll be there for moral support; dancing partner, uncomfortable heels and swingy dress in tow.

I feel like this entry is chock-ful of run-on sentences, but I'm giving myself a free pass because I'm admittedly rusty. At the start of the year I launched an extensive campaign to get people back on LJ (and by extensive I mean limited to two, maybe three people) in order to revive the romanticism of writing just because, and crafting entries with full regard of proper grammar and punctuation, without a 140-character limit, or a 'like' button. With my incapacity for follow-through I'm completely behind on my resolve to write again, but this is a start, so yay me.

To friend-on-a-mission, best of luck. You might not have any Harry Connick Jr. when the time comes, but watching John Mayer from the nosebleed section's not too shabby either, especially if he plays your song. ;)

I'm gonna get it done, get it done... before the night segways to day!
I've got a LOT of articles left to edit under 12 hours. Booo. Not cursing the raket because extra money is always good (very, very goooood), but I AM cursing myself for putting this off until the last minute (again). In light of this seemingly-desperate situation however, I will Pola my way through it (naks, my name is a verb now. HOHYEAH!) by procrastinating further. DON'T WORRY WENGAY I WILL FEEEENEEEESH DEEES!

A weird, random thought --

If Ted Mosby has his front porch, then I have my Sunday morning smoke theory; that is, a means of judging which of my relationships will last by determining who will meet up with me on Sundays to smoke cigarettes and pass the time ten, fifteen, even twenty years' time. I see Maka, already a legend in the field of psychotherapy, using her trusty metal rods to help us move past issues (that really should've been put an end to decades ago); or console me for being in my loveless marriage (it, apparently, is written. DAMN YOU, RODNEY!!). Pia, by then, would of course be married (not a smug married though -- hello Bridget Jones's Diary reference; I'm such a girl yo), and will try to sneak a drag or two while Thena and Eric flit about. Reg would light up stick after stick, regaling us with her newest list of people she hates that week, while I, in response, help by gamely plotting said people's ruin (to no avail). I foresee occasional appearances by Kakki (who will rag on us for still being smokers), Ada, some A1, Syete and 9r people, and even Mikey (who hopefully by then will not be Beebee or Sparkles McGee or whoever). Haha.

This isn't to say that other people who don't make my Sunday morning cigarette list aren't important. (I seem to have left out some people, for example, who are dear to me but don't belong in certain groups. SoRryZ nA pOh! <-- yuck) But I think it'd be a great life if after decades, I still find myself in close contact with the persons i did name. This very random thought wasn't meant to sound syrupy, the primary objective was to voice out in words how luxurious it feels to smoke a cigarette on a Sunday (babaw!), but I guess in my own way, I'm throwing out what I want (what I really, really want -- haha!) to the world in hopes that I get what I picture to be an ideal ending. It's by no means perfectly happy -- as detailed earlier we'll all be old albeit still issue-ridden by then -- but in a world where apparently the only thing constant is change; I hopehopehope that these people stay permanent fixtures in my life.

In other news I haven't spoken to my mother in three weeks in what initially was an epic stand-off. Now I miss her and I feel horrible. I'm...sorry? :(

Also, I miss Rock Band. I also want a Kopi bun. And damn I really need to finish these articles. O-M-fucking-C. Hahaha.

The (Dreaded) Summer Wind
"Then softer than, a piper man -- one day it called to you
And I lost you, to the summer wind"

Last summer I lost my lifeline, and it nearly killed me. This summer, I'm losing two. Here's hoping this doesn't turn into some sick, cosmos-organized tradition to toy with my emotions.

I never realized I was capable of feeling inexplicable and unjustified affinity for people until I met them. I don't know why I fiercely love them, when I started, and how; but I guess all reason loses meaning when people feel this much. Maka blogged recently about how you sometimes feel an unspoken connection to people, because these people know you in a way that other people don't; because they've seen you change, and they've let you change. I commented with, "and those that let you change are perhaps the ones that love you the most." Funny how that line's come back to bite me in the ass.

Last night, we agreed on a bucket list -- things we need to do together before they both have to leave. We listed down plans that have been in the making since one full year ago, plans that have no chance of materializing, and plans that are downright T.G.I.S. (I jokingly suggested we should have a studio pic taken, and Mikey LOVED the idea. Haha.) I never told them, but I'm adding one more thing to the bucket list.

1. To let go. Happily. Because they need/want change. Because you love them without question.

I have a month to work on it. Good luck to me. My eyes are trained on the loss to come, but at the same time I know this sudden turn of events bodes well for all of us. Change on my end, change on theirs. I'm crossing my fingers the trade-off will be worth it.

Growth is the watchword.


But goddamnyou, summer.

Reviving my poor abandoned LJ until I get tired (again) of cross-posting
Yesterday didn't really feel like Mother's Day as my mother had her own plans and I had mine. But it was, introspectively, a celebration of my longest-standing relationship.


Granted, parenthood is rather obligatory.

But not everyone is a good parent, and not everyone can keep at it with the same resilience that my mother's displayed the last *gulp* 23 years. (I feel old.) Also, while the law decrees that parents be responsible for their offspring, there are no stipulations on love, and how.

With human interaction valued as society's strongest currencies, the comfort of having my mom be my mom is priceless.


So for the record, I did not forget. And I am always grateful.

Here's to your 'special day,' mom.

Dinner next week's on me.

Because sometimes a night of pure conversation can change your life
You get me and the things I say, and it's nice not having to explain myself any further when I mouth off on random things. You seem to really like listening to the babaw crap I tend to talk about each time you catch me inebriated. For some reason, every time we see each other we never have cigarettes AND a lighter -- it's always one or the other, and it's become an inside joke that no one else will probably find amusing. We like the same music, and we're equally passionate about our fan-bands. Out of the blue you suggest songs you think I'd like, which I find endearing in a big brother sort of way. We're both itching for creative expression, and we share the understanding that for now we're in limbo -- being fine with who we are now, yet being scared shitless that growing up this wasn't how we envisioned ourselves to be. Technically we've only "spent" two nights together, but we've already built this easy rapport that I find comforting and familiar. It's all very...nice.

Sometimes a night of pure conversation can change your life. But last night wasn't it. Promise masarap ka kausap. Pero yun lang yun. In any case, I'm flattered. And I am long hair. Haha.


In other news, I finally got to play Rockband last night! Woooot! I got to live my Paz Lenchantin fantasy! I am the bass guitar and the bass guitar is me! (Whutwhut.) I also sang "Don't Speak" with a little too much feeling. Hahaha. What is lasing and bigay na bigay with matching closing of the eyes. Demmit.

Compulsory start-of-the-year entry
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you --
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good.

At the strike of midnight I shed a tear for the year that was (you can't really blame me, I'm PMSing) and raised my glass for the myriad adventures to come in 2009. I haven't felt this hopeful in a long time. It's absolutely refreshing.

A few years ago I wished the world an unlimited supply of chocolate to cure sad little girls like me of pretend neurosis. This year I'm just toasting to all the people who've made me feel perpetually loved, bad perm***, mood swings, spontaneous whims, redundant stories, snide remarks, and all. My heart feels so overwhelmingly full at the start of this new year, and truthfully I couldn't have reigned in 2009 any better. CHEERS!!!


*** - I went against my officemates' suggestions and got myself a perm to avoid the hassle of putting on elastic curlers every single day. I am now sporting a Soul Glo 'do thanks to BONG OF A MAKATI SALON THAT SHALL NOT BE NAMED, and will be in hiding 'til further notice. If you never watched "Coming to America" and have no idea what Soul Glo is, do watch this video. *bows*

Batman hates Christmas. Hahaha.
I'm in the middle of rebuilding my 'library' (a by-product of my newfound free time now that November's over and done with) and I was wondering if anyone has a soft copy of Naya Valdellon's poem, "Ped Xing" with them? I've been googling for the last hour, but I haven't had any luck, and the link on Ail's page is dead. Help, anyone? Tidings of comfort and joy (it's the holidays, after all) to the lucky helper! -_-'

If you don't watch The Office, then you won't understand. :D

The newest Office ep is love. Hey Ail and whoever wants to watch! -->

One of the running themes of said episode was carrying on after a break-up which I found... convenient? Coincidental? The world's way of poking fun at me, maybe? Heh. But anyway, Jim and Pam squee-ness aside, Kevin and Michael have my heart forevaaah.

In one scene, Michael made all of his employees list down on index cards women who he could be set up with. He saw the name Wendy on one of the index cards, who was described as a spirited redhead. When he dialed Wendy's number he actually wound up calling Wendy's. Hahaha. Watching the episode made me realize that I want my own Dwight though. I want a friend crazy enough to find me my own chair model, and who will belt "American Pie" with me in a graveyard no questions asked. (Come back home, Veeetchy!)

Float Away by Up Dharma Down's (yes, the jingle for McDonald's) been on my head for the last week. You are a positive distraction. Hmmmhmmmm. ;p


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