i wants

...a new work bag, something to take me from day to night. any of these, plus a clutch. nooneenoo...be still my heart...

itsy bitsy part deux

this time, fun nonsense stuff. this is also known as narcissism.
in celebration of my new job

maybe my grandfather would look like this, had he lived long enough, no?
i look kinda creepy though...
this one i would love to have in my future home.
something to scare future great-grandkids with, too!
wouldn't this look great on a birthday party event?
theme: self-love haha kinda like a VC Andrews paperback cover.

Go try out some vain fun :) --> http://www.photofunia.com (and try saying "photofunia" fast 5x!)

itsy bitsy part un

§ Not to be such a dork about it, but am excited to get a new notebook for the new job. But… I already feel a bit guilty because I have several unfinished ones lying around, and now isn’t the time to be spending on frivolous things… still, it would be nice to have a neat new little one, especially since I’m such a note-taking nerd. Plus, am thinking of a new set of colored pens and Post-Its, oh joy. Then…

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Here’s a pretty little thing I absolutely had to have because I had an unfortunate Mentos moment (ok, I snapped my heel off.) Good thing I was already in a mall, but I really had to make the purchase as cheap as possible since it was an unexpected buy (yeah, right, anything to get to buy shoes.) Scouring around for about an hour in Landmark, I found these neat little babies… I call these my Alice in Wonderland shoes; literally little- it’s so hard to find my shoe size- pieces of just-right blue patent heaven. I love them so much, I wanted it right by my bedside. You can’t believe how inexpensive these were, so although I was disappointed with my broken heel (a more expensive brand, by the way, and the pair hasn’t been worn that much,) getting this new blue pair made for a very happy pop of color in my day. I didn’t understand the stereotype of women’s obsessions with shoes, up until about three years ago. Hard to believe, but I was quite okay with having a few. Not that having a lot is ok, too- that’s another obsession and I believe in moderation. I just can’t believe I used to be that same person. Hmm…psychoanalysis by shoes. Friends who come over notice that my shoeboxes lined up are taller than I am , and I always reason out that hey, I’m not tall, so its not a lot…and then as I’m writing this, I am thinking of that pale turquoise wedge that I left behind…hay, soon little one, I just might come back for you.
The blue shoes, as mentioned, are from Landmark, a Korean brand to be found somewhere at the front area of the shoe department. Go be shoe-hounds!

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pictures+stories=love

Catch this article on Inquirer online:

http://showbizandstyle.inquirer.net/you/2bu/view/20080804-152588/A-modern-day-Flickr-fairy-tale

Lovely, sappy story ;)

enchanté

they say you meet people for a reason.

well, i just met my new employer today and everything feels right.

thank you, universe, for always steering me to the right direction, and thank you heart for being strong enough to stand by your passions.

true to form, i am still hesitant to be all-out jubilant, but i have a feeling this could be the first day of the rest of my fabulous life. (not that the "before" was too shabby either, but you get what i mean.)
so...cross your fingers, cross your eyes :P

sun at sargasso sea

That tinge of gray laced in lavender, indigo
A background for dark leaves, as if hiding something
But really, just placed there to be what it should be
Coffee cup kisses sweetened by time
Wafts of cinnamon and comforts of vanilla
In time
When indigo skies at sunset
Begins to mean more than
The setting of the sun
The ending of a day
It forces you to never stop looking.

Catching light, fast as you can
Grabbing hold of those in-between moments
Between daylight and darkness

I am the words to your pictures
We are the stories that we weave
In images and thoughts
Of old souls and new beginnings

You look and wait
But you don’t know what you’re
Waiting
Or looking for

All of life is storytelling
Tragedy, comedy or by a Savior’s grace
The convergence of seemingly strange, strangers
Passing by everyday flurry of routines, rituals
Until its time when your story be told
When convergence- such a powerful word-
To meet, to unite
A powerful word to describe the meeting
Of otherwise strangers in this big world
When two strangers meet and feel that
Butterfly in the pit in the stomach
At the same time,

The same thing, at the same time
That is magic.

Or should love blossom as it should?
be as sudden, fitful as a dump truck
Roaring down the highway hitting you head on
Should it be as violent as nine-meter waves crashing on your head
Or as gentle swells softly lapping, tickling your toes
In effervescent bubbles
The purity of the moment

These thoughts waltzing through your head
Later, you will see that your heart
has not steered you wrong.

little coco

Quaint finds, sloppy joe Sundays

Pop tarts, caramel macchiato in steaming hand-heart warming mugs

Needing high chairs because I can’t reach the tabletop comfortably

I nevertheless find a quiet nook for myself where I can be ignored;

Plush comfort for my bottom, slouching while I pound on the keys

It’s so lovely I almost sleep

Of pretty warm plates and people passing by

If there were places you just want to hug, this would be it.

blue man's heartache

blue man, lined face

he sits there in his corner, puffing on that stick

absentmindedly sipping his coffee

weather-beaten, yet clad in what seems to be his sunday best

He stares out on the street. randomly sipping

sighing with every drag

he watches the sun go down

face devoid of expression yet his eyes betray his thoughts running for miles

ambling, he walks away, undecided where he might go

there is a destination, yes, but he seems unable to imagine where

like a babe on his first tentative step. he manages to reach a different place

and then he comes back.

staring, sipping, waiting,

knowing she won’t come.

life is short. so am i.

Don’t Wait Too Long To Be An Entrepreneur. (Conversation Starter, Harvard Business Publishing Online)

Waiting for the “perfect time” to make the jump is usually futile, for there’s no moment that’s truly perfect. It’s never the best time.

Quit dreaming.

Now that’s quite a challenge for a self-proclaimed doodle-stare-into-space daydreamer.

Am I done serving my corporate sentence?

I currently go to work in board shorts, a tank top, tsinelas, and when I feel like it, a bandanna to keep my hair off my face. I take my lunch whenever I want; put on whatever music suits me. I can take naps in between (oh joy, reminiscent of kindergarten years!), watch TV when I need to space out and clear my head. The lack of “officemates” i.e. human interaction, I thoroughly enjoy- imagine, no mean looks, no bitchy divas, no weirdos lurking in the coffee corner. It also means I sometimes get starved for real people interaction, thus the occasional mass-text to friends, just so I’d have an excuse to get dressed and put on that new pair of heels. Yes, I miss dressing up, too.

I have a pretty tin can with vintage Wonder Woman (who looks suspiciously a drag queen) print. Its supposed to be my stash-keeper for my profits. I can still close it easily as I can open it. It’s not supposed to do that. Maybe I should start my Christmas carol drive; the coins do make for nice-sounding clanging.

When you’re employed, you work day in and day out and although one has to very careful and thorough in the way you do your work, there is more room for learning, coaching and the occasional bungle up, provided you don’t trigger corporate catastrophe.

It may be that I tend to be harder on myself, but running a business means a more personal stamp on things and for a perfectionist, that’s not very easy. I’ve learned the art of letting go several times over- I have no choice, I’m the boss, I can’t tear my hair out. Can I?

On the other end of the spectrum, in the corporate world, no matter what or how you do, you are assured of a salary every X number of days. Very comforting security blanket. Running a business, you learn that finer point of budgeting. I have a current love-hate relationship with Cash Flow.

Since I came from an HR background, I am at least familiar with the area. Marketing, too, since I’ve been trying to compensate by reading a lot on the topic, and thankfully, a natural inclination. But what about finance and accounting? I cannot just as easily refer to a “department” as I could in my previous offices. There IS no other department but us. We just had our business cards printed, pretty little ones with the impressive title: Managing Partner under our own names. Our job descriptions? Everything from picking up stocks, going through every single inventory, cleaning up our messes, writing our strategies, going on field, meeting prospective clients, getting lunch, putting up the website, doing research and development, among many, many others. Essentially, since we cannot afford staff –heck, even pay ourselves yet- these Managing Partners mean do-it-all-by-ourselves. Fun. (Errant thought: this is my standard-and very true- reply to every relative/acquaintance who asks me why I don’t have a boyfriend - I don’t need a boyfriend, I need an assistant. In between doing my laundry, chores & errands, still job-hunting, running a business and keeping my soul alive, an assistant would be heaven-sent. Notice the term, acquaintance. I’d like to think closer friends know me better.) So you see, as inspiration for why I’m writing this post, a reaction from the same article:

Don’t Wait Too Long To Be An Entrepreneur. (Conversation Starter, Harvard Business Publishing Online)

“Well today is my birthday, 40. And I am just finishing year 1 of my own venture. I have professional investment backing. A product in its infancy. Two large clients and a dozen smaller ones and a lot in the pipe.

So that means I have that CEO title, and I was sweeping floor this morning. Its 3:30AM and I am still at work, for the 2 all nigher (sic) this week. I don't have enough people, time or energy to deal with all the daily problems - like making a Costco run to get more printer paper. Yes the hours are arduous, my customers more demanding than the most incompetent boss I have ever had. My pay is paltry and I sometime need give it back. The work environment is less desirable than my college dorm room. But, the second half of my career looks so good from here! - Posted by Wellman; September 12, 2008 5:31 AM”

Why do we do this to ourselves then? Maybe, as I would like to think, all things great and worth doing are worth doing well. So please don’t get that misguided notion that being an entrepreneur is all glamour and freedom. It is so not, contrary to the “wow, big time” comments that I get. Yes, it may be glamorous- someday, when we’re reaping our rewards; someday, when I actually have the means to hire that assistant; someday, when we’re about to open our very first store on the beach. Yes, I actually feel great bits of freedom because I don’t have (yet) fixed hours- but not when you wake up on a rainy morning and you know you just need to get your butt off that lovely cold/warm bed and out under the blankets; not when inspiration strikes at 3am and it becomes a battle of sleep vs. strategies; not when you twiddle your thumbs in the afternoon because you wait for that inspiration to strike but somehow it finds its way niggling at your brain, yes, around 3ish in the morning; not when you need the discipline to get things done and actually accomplish something worthwhile.

So, everything’s new, everything’s freak-out-worthy-new and well, I’ll always, always be a work-in-progress.

I want to be able to wipe the slate clean and be unafraid to get it all muddied up again. I want to be surprised, and to surprise myself.

Reassembling myself, I’ve knocked off all the blocks and have started rebuilding.

supergirl shoes

Well-meaning text messages, forwarded snippets of wisdom and thoughts conveying strength and support.

Nice.

It’s the thought that counts, or at least that’s what they say. But personally, when you’re on the verge of/delicately-dipped your toes-testing the waters of taking that full-on plunge to freak-outdom, I’d rather they save the crappy-caring thoughts until I am actually able to feel it. Because now they just bounce from this metal cast-plate on my chest, like Superman facing a bullet.

Plunk.

The sound it makes falling to the ground.

supergirl shoes

coffee with henry

Thoughts from Henry Miller:

A writer shouldn’t think much.

Nothing freezes the imagination and creativity than the thought of censorship.

And in a Paris Review interview, he says of “cadenzas”-

The passages I refer to are tumultuous, the words fall over one another. I could go on indefinitely. Of course I think that is the way one should write all the time. You see here the whole difference, the great difference, between Western and Eastern thinking and behavior and discipline. If, say, a Zen artist is going to do something, he’s had a long preparation of discipline and meditation, deep quiet thought about it and then no thought, silence, emptiness and so on—it might be for months, it might be for years. Then, when he begins, it’s like lightning, just what he wants – it’s perfect. Well, this is the way all art should be done. But who does it? We all lead lives that are contrary to our profession.

Just how many lives have I missed out on? If within ourselves is a space as infinite as the universe, as Zen teachings tell us, then have I only just begun to chip at my layers?

I call myself a writer but of late, I’m beginning to feel like such a poser. My work hasn’t been published, I don’t write for a living. Labeling myself as one seems so pretentious. I cannot even bring myself to think of it.

Sometimes I would think I had a lot to say, but the pages are still empty. Or they’d be littered, peppered with strings of words that do not make sense.

As I sat there, waiting for inspiration to strike- I had a sense that once I touched the keyboards, my fingers would, it seem, know their way around, as if they have found their way home. As a child, I had wanted to learn how to play the piano. My parents wanted me to learn violin- I thought then it was way too baduy, a childhood judgment of cool which I regret now. So there was no compromise, and I am left with no musical talent to speak of. Back to the flitting of my fingers on the keyboards. There is a sense of accomplishment every time a word finds its way to the page, every time a sentence is formed, every errant thought that somehow makes sense when put together. Write with the heart, edit with the mind. Best damn piece of advice I have ever gotten.

This much I know. I may not make a living of writing, but I believe that I live to write. It is my peace, my therapy. That act of stringing words together, of “words falling over one another” makes me feel deliciously alive. It brings me to my truths, painful and yet necessary. It forces me to confront, and sometimes, to consort with my demons, as Erica Jong mentions in her autobiography.

So at times, I do everything except actually sitting down and start. It is so difficult to just start. There are so many things and yet nothing.

Ah, so there it is then. “We all lead lives that are contrary to our profession.” I am a corporate whore (to borrow the term from a friend), a struggling entrepreneur. But in my heart, I will allow that I am a writer, and that keeps me alive. It defines me; it is my essence.

rambling brought to you by lady thiang

Lady Thiang, The King and I: He may not always say/what you would have him say/But now and then he’ll say/something wonderful!

What’s a little dreaming?

Setting expectations appropriately.

I am ready to be convinced otherwise.

Will you fall back into me?...Heard of it, you know, the song?

Thought bubble: Yessh. Borderline cheesy.

You’re a writer? Well, I try, I replied. It’s my passion, for sure.

You’re too pretty to be a writer.

Hah. Thanks, I guess. And that means?

Well, writers are supposed to be full of angst. And angst is never that beautiful.

It is all about the dialogue. I have had countless perfect settings, “costumes”, the right song playing (yes, it happens!), but never all at the same time with the perfect dialogue. True, no one expects perfect everything, but I’ll take crappy songs with the perfect script. Oh wait, I did. Not something I want to remember, but I did. Well, yeah, fine, so nothing is perfect, but that one time, now and then, he’ll say something wonderful, indeed. And it was well worth the imperfect setting and song. Let’s see how this game plays out, shall we.

mrs. darcy

Sometimes I wonder about that stranger. Is he merely passing by life, driven by a temporary need to connect? Or will he forever leave imprints in my life? Who decides such things, really. All I can do is, if I allow it to, let people in, let them stay if they will or open the door. (Parang open house? Ganoon?)

Yes, I don’t like you, in fact, I may just hate you. But if I had a rubber band on my arm to snap every time I think of you, both my arms would be full of welts by now.

My pages are stained with cheap wine and cheaper tears. For Mr. Darcy, that dark, brooding, mysterious drug called man.

pain points

I am all up for improvement, but when do we actually start believing that we’ve done a good job? I know that it is dangerous to be complacent. In the tough corporate world, once you start thinking that you are in any way good at what you do, that’s when the trouble starts. But can’t we at least just give ourselves that pat on the back? Everyone needs validation, once in a while. I have minimal requirements; I do not need hand-holding. You only need to leave me alone, too. I do not need veiled sarcasm and comments guised as feedback. I do not need, especially, the ego-tripping. If there’s a kind of person that I loathe, its intellectual snobs who think they know everything.

Just because I don’t bow down to your self-claimed greatness doesn’t mean that I don’t respect you. But then your constant self-important declarations just show that your mirror may have just come from the funny house. All fluff. The cupidity of power and influence can be quite heady. They say it’s a dog-eat-dog world and that it’s a constant rat race. I never did want to become a rat. And some dogs can be smelly. Worse, slobbering and rabid.

Moral authority- that’s one of my favorite phrases lately. For what authority do you have to say bad things about and demoralize a person, when you are not perfect yourself?

Ego, we meet again. My, how you have grown.

The character of a person is seen in the way one deals with difficult situations. As always, class and grace cannot be bought. Lesson learned: always be careful of what you say, how you say it and who you say it to. Target audience. Sadly, people always hear what they want to hear.