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random, quirky, weird, wonderfully complicated,energy-absorber, saccharinely-sweet, princessy-brat, perky-bitch, intuitive to the point of freaky-psychic, forever an island girl, climbing walls, stringer of words, paint dabbler, picture-taker, gimmick-thinker, perpetual organizer, proponent of simple joys, amateur tag-liner, meandering old soul, a google girl, a closet martha stewart/emily post, the best coffee-maker and a spa-addict.

Friday, November 28, 2008

still on thanksgiving: gross national happiness

A great read, and since it's Thanksgiving, really makes you think too.
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gross national happiness

DRUMROLL, PLEASE By Gena Valerie Chua Updated November 28, 2008 12:00 AM
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The stock market has been so depressing lately — especially if, like mine, your livelihood depends on its ups and downs. Unless you’ve been hibernating underground with seasonal bears, you have to know the world is no longer what it was a year ago or even what it was during the last financial crisis. Yet here we are, my beloved countrymen, happy as ever. Not to generalize, of course; surely someone somewhere is pulling his hair out from the rising cost of pandesal. But the majority of us continue to defy expectations. In Nielsen’s recent consumer confidence survey where the global average was 84 confidence points, Filipinos scored 102. The survey appendix notes that although we’re generally aware of a looming recession, this just isn’t enough reason for us to stop spending.

Last September, local car sales surged from the previous month. This as car dealerships abroad close down. As TV Patrol reports the fate of sinking international markets, bystanders on our streets flail their arms at the camera, grinning proudly in their one-second fame. Our malls are jam-packed with shoppers at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday — and we’re having the worst financial crisis in history? I once asked a Korean tourist guide why his people seem to be flocking our country. He said that in contrast to career-driven Koreans (who by the way scored lowest in consumer confidence globally with 36 measly points), Filipinos constantly manage to prove that life doesn’t really have to be so hard. Apparently, they find our happiness infectious.

Yup, we are a happy bunch in this country, all 90 million of us. And so will be the 2.5 Filipino babies being born every minute, the 12th most populous country in the world and certainly one of the least able to afford it. In 1972, Bhutan’s King Jigme Singye Wangchuck decided that his kingdom’s progress would be measured not only by the classic Gross Domestic Product (GDP) indicator but by something he called Gross National Happiness. Wangchuck said focusing only on economic growth eventually led to deep-seated problems in society. Maybe Wangchuck’s proposal wasn’t entirely outrageous. Rich nations do have a knack for developing all sorts of psychiatric conditions: when high school kids start shooting their classmates, you have a serious problem. Imagine, though, if happiness were really used to measure economic progress: how rich our little archipelago would be.

Yet we are not rich, not in the way that allows us to live comfortably and to assure our children of a shining future. Is it conceivable then that we score too high on the happiness index, and too low on everything else? Could it be that our disproportionate amount of Gross National Happiness is precisely what has caused our GDP to crawl like a snail stuck in its shell — and, vice versa, would a higher GDP take away the happiness that comes so easy to us as a nation? Horrifyingly, has our ability to withstand the bare minimum cost us the desire for something more, for something better?

We’re not lazy people — only citizens with a stable social security system and fallback pension fund can afford to sit on their golden arses all day. What we are, really, is complacent. It’s a vicious cycle that feeds on itself. We’re so easily contented with what we have, so grateful for the little crumbs sprinkled on our palms that we don’t feel the need to strive any harder. We’re so used to it being bad that we’ve come to stop expecting any good. It’s the opposite of being spoiled, which is what rich countries have inevitably become — and why we can’t understand what they’re making such a hullabaloo over. We shrug it off like dandruff. Nothing shocks us anymore; we’ve grown accustomed to a dumbing down of the sensibilities. How could we not? Just watch local television.

Economists have their theories. Our tropical climate is so conducive to growing food that we’ve never had to suffer a cropless winter. The Japanese, in comparison, have scarce seafood resources (thus the overflowing rice in donburi meals). This means the Japanese have to work harder so they can compensate for nature’s stinginess, making them some of the most determined, ambitious people on earth. Historians, on the other hand, believe that we continue to suffer the aftermath following centuries of colonization. We’re so used to being downbeaten and being told what to do that we’ve learned to manage our expectations out of life. Either theory may be correct or both could be wrong, but does it really matter? Do we really need to keep making excuses for our poverty?

While having churros on a sunny Florida day in Disneyland, I realized how most children back home will never know this experience. Our children have resorted to finding their own happiness, even while swimming in leptospirosis-infested floodwater. I could imagine the look on their faces as they bite on Mickey-shaped caramelized apples and watch the parade fireworks at night. Maybe it’s true that what they don’t know won’t hurt them — but how could you not want for them a piece of Disneyland, the happiest place on earth?

We are survivors, but that is precisely it: we are content with just surviving. Until when will it be enough? Because until we say it isn’t, that it shouldn’t be, this floodwater happiness is all we’ll ever have. Despite our countless talents, we will remain what we have been for too long: grossly happy and perpetually poor. We are forgiving to a fault (just look at our political record), tolerant of pains (malayo pa yan sa bituka), and work eight hours a day for minimum wage without complaint. And maybe that’s why we are unable and unwilling to fight for ourselves. We have too much strength and too little courage. We wake up very early each morning and go home to watch a little television in the neighbor’s house before sleeping at night. This is enough to make us happy. A celebrity sighting would make our whole week, our whole year. We snuggle into wooden folding beds, contentedly wrapping a holey mosquito net around our bare bodies. We have given up the one thing that remains free in this inflation-ridden world: our capacity to dream.

I’m not sure how long we can stay this way, so content with meager survival that we even have a name for: isang kahig, isang tuka. Maybe, hopefully, one day we’ll get tired of being the perpetual underdog we cheer for endlessly. Some part of me will be sad to see it go, this innocence and arguably shallow happiness that seems embedded in our cultural make-up. But a bigger part of me — the part that believes we are meant to do greater things as a nation — wouldn’t mind scoring just a little bit less on happiness and a little more on the future we build for our children.

Every condition of Darwin’s theory of natural selection says the Filipinos will eventually be selected against by nature. The laws of science indicate that we will be extinguished from the face of this planet as soon as the stronger races decide to run us off. But we are not a weak people; on the contrary we continue to surprise everyone with how much fight we have in us. With everything we’ve been through, we will probably survive a nuclear holocaust. I just wish we could dare want a little more for ourselves, because that is what we deserve — even when every fiber of our culture has made us believe we don’t.

Why not work harder then, why not breathe in and keep walking forward instead of staying stuck in our happy little rut? No matter how much we complain about government inefficiencies and the harshness of poverty, the truth is we do not want to change those things enough to do something about them. We’ve grown to be contented with what little we have, afraid to be given what we’ve never had because we wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. We’ve evolved into a people hardened by time and rusted by history. And while the rest of the world argue about evaporating stock markets and credit crunches, we crawl into the old shells they leave behind, smiling contentedly, grateful — always, always, simply grateful.

happy thanksgiving and have a Black Christmas

Obviously, this was lifted from this site: http://philmusic.com/main/content/view/198/7/
And yes, they're on Facebook as well. I've just asked where to reserve for a copy of their new album.
Read on:



Wolfgang's "Black Christmas"
Concert: Dec 10, 2008

By Official Concert PR
Sunday, 23 November 2008

posterThey’ve been sleeping for 6 years, but now iconic rock band Wolfgang returns with ‘The Black Christmas Project’ concert at the Eastwood City Central Plaza, Libis (near Ortigas Avenue) on Wednesday, December 10th, at 7 p.m.

The highly anticipated awakening by the band -- widely regarded as the Philippines’ definitive ‘rock gods’ -- is presented by No Fear, LevelUp, and Eastwood City, which is expected to reverberate with Wolfgang’s signature onslaught of thick ferocious sound.

Precision riffs, emphatic beats, power-drenched vocals, colourful licks, driving ostinatos, occasionally jazz-styled basslines and imaginative breaks merge with razor-sharp interplay in Wolfgang's unique style of American-influenced hard rock, heavy metal, grunge and blues-rock.

Basti Artadi, Manuel Legarda, Mon Legaspi are joined by Francis Aquino at the year’s ultimate year-ender.

The band's ability to infuse everything they do – be it power ballads, progressive rock songs, bluesy tunes or their harder-hitting material – with strong melodic hooks has made it the only Filipino rock act to be released in both the USA and Japan. Wolfgang is also the only Filipino heavy metal act to breach platinum records on home ground and receive more than 20 group and individual awards for creative virtuosity, cementing their reputations as stalwarts of the Philippines’ rock Valhalla.

What can fans expect? Says frontman Basti Artadi, “Expect lots of singing, dancing, drinking and all-around head-banging because it's gonna be a hell of a party!” (Tickets are now on sale at Ticketnet (dial 911-555) or place reservations at ticketnet.com.ph.)

I heart Basti and the boys.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

notes to self

I got this as a forwarded email awhile back, but I don't know who wrote it,
so sorry I can't give credit. Anyone out there who might know, please drop a
message. Really long, but so worth the read. Enjoy :)

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Note to self: Don't listen to Robbie Williams' "Sexed Up" while getting over someone. It might encourage anger or maybe even hostile tendencies. Don't listen to any Lenny Kravitz or "Heaven Help" or "It Ain't Over Till It's Over" or Regine Velasquez or MYMP or just any crapshit for that matter. These might encourage hopes of a reconciliation which could be detrimental to the recovery process. It might even cause delusions.

Note to self: Stay away from the cookie jar. In moments of absentmindedness you pluck at cookies as though they were popcorn and before you know it, all you've gained are pounds no figure-forgiving fabric can hide and fat by the ounces and then you'll be unloved, heartbroken and- to top it all off!- hideously overweight, thus jeopardizing any hopes of future trysts with anyone.

Note to self: Stop trying to convince yourself that it's your fault and you deserve to be rejected. No one, no matter how they've screwed up in the past, deserves to be rejected. Jason Mraz already rhymed about it- It's our God-forsaken right to be loved, love, love, love, loved. You just got the luck of the draw and struck out but things'll get better soon. Don't beat yourself up and stop crying over spilled milk. What's done is done. Blaming is not gonna make things better, just a little bit more bitter.

Note to self: Don't cling on to hope- or anything else or anyone else for that matter. In times of heartbreak and utter sadness, the only person who is strong enough and able to help you is you. Hold on to yourself. You've survived this savage world so far. You'll get through this hump fine, bumps and bruises and scarred heart notwithstanding. You'll be a little damaged and maybe even cynical but you'll be stronger, wiser, and thinner after all
the moping.

Note to self: When the pain comes over you, succumb to it – SERIOUSLY. Pain is good. It means you're coping, accepting and very well could be on the road to healing. The angels could be singing the Ode To Joy faster than you can say "recovered". The pain, thankfully, only lasts a fortnight. Maybe sometimes longer or shorter than a fortnight but it goes away just as quickly as it comes. You let out one big bellow of anguish and in one fell swoop you're healed! Just don't wait for the big bang. It does build up and explode but it's not an orgasm.

Note to self: Stop going over every detail of the two of you and stop trying to analyze. That's just what it is – two halves coming undone – a breakup. You both screwed up somewhere and the damage has been deemed irreparable so there's no other option but separation. That's all. No need for long speeches or gut-wrenching goodbyes to the world and yaddah…yaddah…yaddah. It's no one's fault. You can come up with all the clichés in the world but you'll never be able to make more sense out of it other than – things happen for a reason and the two that once became one has now gone back to just being two.

Note to self: Eat – but in moderation. You need to sustain yourself. Crying is tiring. It should be considered a workout for this reason – like jogging or sex. Worrying takes its toll too. Thrashing your room and flailing your arms in defiance and defeat and beating the floor with your fists are all considered predictable actions when getting over someone and they all
require strength. You need stamina for this. You owe it to yourself to at least be physically prepared for the rigors of heartbreak. You're too young to keel over out of exhaustion just because you broke up with someone.

Note to self: Say NO to self-pity. It doesn't matter who broke up with who. If you're not together anymore, it just means you're way too good for each other. I know it's a screwed up theory but take it for what it is and you can thank me later. It works for me. It still is true in this cosmic loony bin we're in. You're too good for each other so you had to part. Someday when all this is over, another loony will find you and thank their lucky stars for you and the two of you will live loony ever after.

Note to self: Do not even consider getting up on any type of vice – smoking, drinking, drugs, overeating, shopping, playmate-hunting and Lord knows what else. You already made the mistake of falling for the wrong person before. You don't have to top that by screwing yourself over intentionally this time. Think of a more docile vice – like praying or reading the Bible or maybe even going to church. Most people forget that God still exists despite all of this. Maybe it's time you got back to that.

Note to self: Be thankful. Really. Some people live and die without feeling real love at all and nothing's gotta be more tragic than that right? You fell in love and things didn't work out and you broke up and now you have to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. But at least you loved. If you're broken and all screwed up inside because you loved someone deeply enough, count yourself blessed. Love, despite all its unfairness and craziness, is still this life's most incomparable glory. If you've loved truly, madly and deeply even once in this life, I daresay you've lived a full life.

post halloween post

My new office building is old-school, with dark wood panels and mirrors in the hallways. It is reminiscent of the '70s and I half expect to see Christopher de Leon in the driveway, clad in a pale blue polyester shiny suit with wide shoulders and wider bottoms. Getting down from a BMW 3.3 Li Sports Limousine circa '77, opening the door for Rio Locsin in perhaps a Christian Espiritu and hair teased into her famous waves. See what early mornings do to me?

fear. Monday last week, a foreigner was found dead in one of the residential units. In our floor. According to the grapevine, he died of a heart attack that Sunday. What a Halloween/All Souls' weekend. The girls were scaring themselves with stories of meeting the dead man in the elevator. *Salamat ha.* This led me to imagining creepy scenarios when, one day, on a candy run across the building, I got in the elevator with a huge foreign man, about the same age as the deceased. Great. He must have seen how startled I was when he
asked, *did I scare you?* Momeee.

halloweening. I was all prepped for a Friday night scary-movie marathon with the girls, and we had a modern Twilight Zone series (forgot the title) that bordered on B- gruesome, bloody and plain stupid. Then we moved on to The Strangers, starring Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman- gorgeous Scott, great for a couple of screams, but overall still stupid. I miss super-scary movies- how come there aren't any good ones being made now?

chupets. On to more juvenile pursuits. I woke up on my first weekend free to a cold Saturday morning and I rolled out of bed in my lovely, wonder-smell new orange hoodie. After a bit of breakfast, we went out to nearby National at Crossings, me still unkempt with an-out-of-bed look. I loved the fact that after a week of being all dressed up for work, I impulsively went out with nothing but my housekeys in my pocket, shades on, uncombed hair tied in a bun and a lollipop in my mouth. We spent the afternoon in a blissfully empty bookstore and I finished "browsing" a couple of books. Teehee. The geek in me loved all the paper products and the bargain bins. And I was a good girl; I didn't buy a new notebook, even if I desperately wanted to. I'm having paper-guilt, I still have several unfinished ones I cannot part with because of sentimental value.

In the afternoon, I was persuaded to go with some friends to Star City. Of all places. It's so hard to be perky when you're not really feeling well, but it didn't stop me from going on the bumper cars, alternately running and gingerly tip-toeing in the horror tunnel and the Mummy ruins, the standard (vs. the more complicated) roller coaster which led me to conclude that
damn, I am so getting old because I actually got scared, and my favorite- the pretty, pretty carousel ride. What's an amusement park trip without corndogs and ice cream, which we had our fill of. Luckily, I think more calories were spent walking and playing around, so that absolved the guilt from the food trip. The truly scary part though, was when the car wouldn't start on the way home and we had to wait awhile since it was raining.The tune of 200 bucks was more than enough for "kind strangers" to help us out by supercharging the batteries. Sheesh.


I miss more idyllic days of childhood Halloween games of Jason vs. Freddy, a
morbid game I played with grade school friends and with one named Jason
who
was, because of his name, perennially It. So chupets and fun.




Tuesday, November 18, 2008

hello, universe?

I was browsing through old entries, trying to tidy up my blog when I came across my
Nov. 30 entry, brain candy fluff, a random survey I answered.

Item # 15: By this time next year: I will be working in publishing, making good my promise to be relatively on my way to succeed in writing/PR. And, oh, I will have taken that SE Asian backpacking trip, with or without him.

Well, here I am, finally writing and in the PR industry, almost a year after I answered that survey. Creepy, in a good way- I started Oct. 27.
If only the universe would serve us up everything our heart desires, no? Yet, I believe that somehow, everything we want, if it is meant to happen, will definitely happen.
I know, the difficult part is believing and remembering to hold on to our dreams. Which is why am careful about them (my dreams). I have this feeling that not everyone would understand it, and it's ok. I just don't want anyone trampling on them just because people don't believe enough. This, after someone told me not to be so ...serious, was the word.(Me, the silly-giggly girl, serious?!) Hmm that made me think though. If I can't be serious about my life plans, then I wonder with what else? True, setbacks abound, but I don't worry about it. I just want to be at peace knowing what I want, what makes me happy and everything will work itself out.

Well, I didn't get to go backpacking through SouthEast Asia- yet. :)

Cute Kid in the City

How cute is this?

12-Year-Old’s a Food Critic, and the Chef Loves It


Full article here.

Photo: Michael Appleton for The New York Times

Monday, November 17, 2008

.

These words I read today broke my heart a little bit:

“i have a fire escape with a greenhouse, a cat, a red couch, a brisket in a crockpot timed to finish at five, and you ... you have my best wishes.”

Read the whole story here.

Friday, November 07, 2008

i like making lists

and I found this nifty little thing on the internet.
I know, it is going to be one of those social networking sites again, but I don't mind.
Lists are nice. I'm a nerd.

http://www.43things.com


Thursday, November 06, 2008

meet mr. worry

Sometimes I lay awake at night and my thoughts just run amok. I worry about these decisions I make- and do not make. I worry about the standstill, about running too fast, and not getting anywhere.

I worry about the leavings, the partings and the staying. I worry about not doing enough, about doing too much.


Most of all, I worry about the rightness of this.


I'm not used to this helplessness, to this not knowing. I've been taught to always do something about things, to look for solutions, to seek out answers to "what are you doing about it?"

Alas, there are some things you just have to let go. Especially if you can't put a finger to what it is.


Damn this existential nattering. Must be the weather.


*picture from a children's book on, appropriately enough, OCD. By Albert Whitman, 2004.



the audacity of hope pays off

lovely man, lovey pictures.
i'm so happy he won. check out
callie shell's photos of him at
digitaljournalists.org.
most of these photos were taken
with a leica m8.