Pentimento: First ever post, re-written

This was my first ever post on the internet (not in Blogger).

I’ve (well, looks literally) re-written it using a super cool hand-written font I googled last night, and an even more super beautiful graphics (see acknowledgement below).

Read the short biography of Lillian Hellman in this site, and if it interests you, her lives and lies written by New York Sun.

I used the original background design of Kristopher Kanaly in this post; found it in www.designmeltdown.com.

The fonts I used in this post I got from fuel your creativity website, a very, very cool site of graphic designs.

Do we have responsibilities as bloggers?

When I signed up for Blogger, I didn’t read the contents of its Terms of Service. I just clicked yes. Embarrassing! Yesterday, I revisited the text of the Blogger Terms and here are two interesting clauses I found:

“By their very nature, Blogger.com and Blogspot.com may carry offensive, harmful, inaccurate or otherwise inappropriate material, or in some cases, postings that have been mislabeled or are otherwise deceptive. We expect that you will use caution and common sense and exercise proper judgment when using Blogger.com and Blogspot.com.”

“Google does not endorse, support, represent or guarantee the truthfulness, accuracy, or reliability of any communications posted via the Service or endorse any opinions expressed via the Service. You acknowledge that any reliance on material posted via the Service will be at your own risk.”

We are therefore on our own. It’s a freebie publishing! Or is it? Do we not have responsibilities as bloggers? If we have, then what are those responsibilities?

What other bloggers say?

Yesterday, I posted a topic in Blog Catalog and so far, only one commented on the question (oopps…there’s two now; one from an Indonesian who is also just starting to blog).

Says CaptainD, a PC gaming blogger from the UK: “Your responsibility as a blogger is basically what you set for yourself – I think most of us try to be accurate and fair in whatever we blog about…”

For more responses, I, as usual, googled it and here are what I found.

Rebecca Blood of Rebecca’s Pocket opined that “rights have associated responsibilities” and went on to list seven ethical standards in blogging.

Lorelle VanFosen of the Blog Herald said: “I like the idea of setting a standard with my blogging. I’m setting an example for others to follow on how to blog, how to comment, and how to network and establish relationships online…helping them understand the rules and guidelines about how to play in this new virtual sandbox.”

When Tim O’Reilly and Wikipedia proposed the formulation of Bloggers Code of Conduct, Inquirer.net’s Blog Addicts posted a question on whether (Pinoy) bloggers agree with the measure.

Shari of Misteryosa.com commented: “I think not. It just defeats the purpose of blogging. Especially personal blogging. The Blogger’s Disclaimer/Comment Policy should be enough for everyone. Setting a “standard/code” is just plain ludicrous. We all have our own way of dealing with hate comments…we all have our own meaning of “unacceptable content”. That being said, we should be responsible for what we say. But isn’t that already an “unwritten rule”?”

Martin Perez of Akomismo wrote a lengthier article on the subject. He said: “The code of conduct builds itself up through our interactions with our readers. That is why I find a general code of conduct unnecessary since all blogs have their own communities and develop their own norms anyway.” He went on to quote Robert Fulghum‘s All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten and adapted the poem to blogging milieu.

What’s my take on the issue?

Yes we do have responsibilities as bloggers. And yes, we should impose self-rule when we post in our blog.

Not because we label our blog ‘personal’ means our blog is only for private viewing. The truth is: it’s not. Once you click publish, you allow the blogging world to read, know and judge you.

And not because we just merely wanted to express ourselves means we could write whatever we want without any consideration for others. The truth is: people read us and people react to what we say. We influence people by what we write; by the way we write.

I’ve had my own (huge) share of trash on the web and I’m still trying to learn my lessons.

Personally, as a newbie blogger, I believe my responsibilities are founded on the primary reasons why I blog:

to express and to inspire;
to learn and to share what I’ve learned.

For now, I’ll use Google Blogging Terms as guide in writing my posts: I’ll use caution and common sense and proper judgment. And yes, I’ll try to keep in mind those basic things that I learned in grade school. (I’m one of those who skipped the kindergarten).

What is your say on the topic?

Just a thought on how honest we comment

There will be days when I don’t have anything substantial to write about, but it doesn’t mean there’s nothing in my mind right now. Here’s a thought…

[ How many times have you dishonestly commented in someone else’s post saying that you liked it (or even praised it) when in fact, by your standard, the post was a total garbage waste of webspace? .. ]

This particular post is off for comments. I know! It’s so uncool, isn’t it?!

Cowered by fear

I don’t know how to swim and when I venture in any swimming pool, I always end up like a talaba: immersed in water but clinging on whatever stable matter I can hold on to, never letting go.

I fear heights. Whenever there are scenes on tv particularly showing a POV of someone on a building ledge, I feel an uncomfortable sensation in my groin!

I fear snakes. I fear poverty. I fear popular people.

And now that I’m no longer, ehem, young, I hear William Wallace’s famous Braveheart line: …and dying in your bed, many years from now, would you trade this day to that day…!

Yes, I would trade any day to that day when I could learn to swim or I could bungee jump without fear.

Because you see, one thing that my parents forgot to teach me is to be adventurous because they themselves weren’t. They let go of their adventurous spirit in lieu of our future — my sister’s and mine. You know that thing called sacrifice for the betterment of your children? My parents did that and have forgotten how to become adventurous.

Don’t they have courage? They do. There’s no question about that. My father was raised in Carles, Iloilo; my mother in Anao, Tarlac. They traveled to Manila at very young age: poor and full of dreams. My father pursued radio technology; my mother midwifery (nurses were not in at that time). Both didn’t finish school and, at 20, had to work in a factory. And work they did for more than forty years! That’s how hard they struggled in raising us, providing us the provisions we need, with the meager income they get out of that factor. They let go of their personal dreams and wasted their youths so they can raise us decently.

And that same ‘loyalty’ had rubbed off to my sister and I. My sister, a registered dietician, found her job (so unrelated to her degree) right after college and stuck in that job for more than 17 years! Now that she’s 40 and retrenched, she has nowhere else to go.

And I have been in this same company in Saudi for more than 12 years! Although I’m sure I will not get fired anytime soon, I still fear that, if indeed I am fired, my chances are now more limited and my job choices a lot fewer than when I was younger.

Today, I thought that maybe it’s time I take the plunge, dive the unknown. As Birdie Conrad in You’ve Got Mail said: …(dare) to march into the unknown armed with (pause)…nothing. Precisely that’s my point. Why do I fear when I have nothing to lose? It’s been too long that I’m playing it safe here in Saudi and I honestly feel that my fear had cost me a lot of opportunities.

Before I went to Saudi in my mid-20’s, a friend offered me a job as her assistant for a major advertising company in Manila. I declined. She’s now in the US and the last thing I heard of her, she’s working at a big advertising firm in New York.

Some ten years ago, a friend invited me to apply for a scholarship in Germany for an engineering degree. I declined because I said I’m getting well paid as a secretary in Saudi. My friend, a BS Psychology graduate, is now in Canada as a Contracts Manager.

Because life has no Control-Z (shortcut for undo in Microsoft), I can only wonder what my life would have been had I took a different set of choices. I will never know.

I’m confused, really. I wanted to leave Saudi and find another job elsewhere. I wanted to leave Saudi and pursue further education in the Philippines and perhaps find a better paying job in two year’s time (I would be 43, 44 by that time). I wanted to leave Saudi and start my own small business in the Philippines (of what, I don’t know). I wanted to leave Saudi and plant kamote in my father’s farm.

I wanted to learn how to swim and bungee jump.

:-{

I’ll wait for the summer because I think the changing weather is making me conjur up silly thoughts. It’s the weather alright. It’s the weather and that naughty post I did yesterday. Or maybe because it’s full moon tonight.

I know. I’ll plan for it. I’ll plan for it and take action. I’ll take action and see whether I’m right or wrong. I read in a study on risks that willingness to take risks decreases with age and them taller tend to take risks more than the smaller us. Bah. We’ll see.

Those naughty, hidden spots

Warning: This post about those hidden spots is definitely not suitable for young audiences. If I were you, I’d rather read about my lessons on love.

Don’t be deceived about my being single and my claim of being a 40-year old virgin because the truth is, I’m no longer 40.

Why is it when we talk of sex, either the organs or the acts, there’s always that patina of guilt and restraint? Like we don’t want our family to know that we once secretly enjoyed reading Xerex, that sometimes even inside the church, we get impure thoughts, that there are people we meet everyday with whom we fleetingly imagine having sex with.

This post is not a comprehensive discussion of sex; just a brief brush of the g and the p spots (no pun intended).

These are my caveats: I strongly believe that in sex, there’s no such thing as right or wrong, except when taken with a stranger who refuses to do it with you, or with something inanimate or with a non-person. It must be agreed mutually and never, ever done with a minor. Secondly, I don’t espouse extra-marital affair or sex out of marriage. Thirdly, I’m not an expert; just being naughty this Valentine.

For me, these are the most erotic parts of the body: the ear, the neck (particularly below the ear), the lips, the breast, near the pelvis, both thighs, the penis and the vagina. Unless we’re pressed against time, let’s not dive into the situation right away. If you can, venture away from it and lick (yes, using your tongue!) those erotic parts as gently as you can.

Now let’s concentrate on the spots.

G-spot, books say, is the most erotic part of a female. Touching it (together with the clitoris and the urethra) gives pleasure to the woman. Fondle the g-spot to stimulate it, and stroke it gently with either your middle or fore finger and mostly your tongue. The movement should mimic that of flirtingly calling someone to ‘come here’ using your finger or like taking that elusive part of a ‘kuhol’ using your tongue.

In bed, when she moans, unless she’s good at faking things, don’t stop. Vary your position when you get tired.

Let’s go to a man. To pleasure him, try licking everything else except his genital. Concentrate on his p-spot but first ensure that your partner has washed thoroughly. Salted eggs are best taken with rice or on top of ensaymada. P-spot is man’s most erotic part. It’s above the opening of the rectum and that stem beneath the ball. Lift the balls and feel it. If you can’t find it, go ahead, don’t be shy, ask your man where his p-spot is. Then tongue it.

Do everything as slowly as possible. Never haste. Unless you’re playing basketball, never dribble. Slide in a rhythmic fashion. And never stay in one place for too long. Vary.

Don’t be too shy to feel using your hands. X-rated films always show rough sex with lots of oohhs and aahhs and shriekings. Don’t be fooled thinking that the noisier the sex, the better. Duh. Noise has nothing to do with it. In fact, sex, the act, is like a slow dance ritual. It must be suave and gentle; wet and sweaty and steamy. And the only sounds you must hear are the beating of your hearts and the slow, rhythmic panting of two souls.

I’m done.

Shari Cruz’s Give and get knock-your-socks-off sex discusses these spots more clearly; her article actually inspired me. And then there’s this web article that promises the ultimate technique in reaching the peak of or—. Oh, please just read them!

This post is definitely so un-me!!! (Magmalinis b?)

Some tips on living life

Subtitle: Algunos Consejos (Some Counsels).

Yesterday, I received an email with tips on how to make life more beautiful (subtitled It’s up to you!). Usually, I am the pit stop of those kind of emails. Unless it’s thought-provoking and worthy of attention, I automatically delete the file to oblivion. Call me nasty, but if it doesn’t interest me, I’m sure it will not interest other people. If I find it a waste of time, I’m sure other’s will, too.

Well, not this one. I thought this email is worth cascading to others. Hence, I’m posting it here with a few (of my personal) side comments.

Take a 10-30 minute walk every day and while you walk, smile. (And sweat, too).

Sit in silence for at least 10 minutes each day. (The longer you can, the better. It’s what you call meditation).

When you wake up in the morning complete this sentence: My purpose today is to … (And it has to be a positive purpose unless you’re a suicide bomber whose purpose is to annihilate mankind).

Live with the 3 E’s: energy, enthusiasm, empathy, and the 3 F’s: faith, family, friends.

Spend more time with people over the age of 70 and under the age of six. (I lived with my two nieces and my aging parents. I am bored most of the time. Maybe I’m just missing the lessons there).

Dream more while you are awake. (And don’t ever forget: dreams must always be followed by action).

Smile and laugh more. It will keep the energy vampires away.

Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good. (I totally agree!).

Life is too short to waste time hating anyone. (I think it’s normal to hate but not as much as it ultimately becomes our character. Never ever be a vindictive soul!).

Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does. (I totally agree with this one. Mistakes have their own way of solving itself).

Make peace with your past, so it won’t mess up the present. (Tell me how to do this because, frankly, I thought this is too profound to follow).

Don’t compare your life to others’. You have no idea what their journey is all about. (I, 100%, agree).

Burn the candles, use the nice sheets. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special. (I hope my mother reads this).

No one is in charge of your happiness except you.

Forgive everyone for everything. (Except those people who sap your positive energy all the time! Run away from them!).

What other people think of you is none of your business. (What this line should say is that we should not try to please everybody).

Time heals almost everything. Give time, time.

Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your family and (at least one or two of your) friends will. Stay in touch. Call your family often. (Or YM them to limit your telephone expense).

Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful. (I think this pertains to memories. Because if we get rid of unuseful, ugly, grouchy people, the world will end up with a lot fewer population).

The best is yet to come. (Oh, yes I do believe).

Believe. (I just said that).

Do the right thing! (In our office, there’s a big sign that says do the right thing, the first time! Difficult to live by, I’m telling you).

Each night before you go to bed complete the following statements:
I am thankful for…
Today I accomplished…

Remember that you are too blessed to be stressed.

Make the most of it and enjoy the ride. (And I wrote about it in my previous post about life being a trip).

Happy valentine everyone!

Val and Tina and two other stories

First disclaimer: The following stories may not be suitable to young audiences. Parental guidance is advised.

Second disclaimer: The stories depicted in this post are fictitious and not true. Any resemblance or similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Lame Val and blind Tina

That’s what you call love. Both goodlooking. She is blind, he is lame. And everybody thought they’re made in heaven. And on the night they were married, although it was raining, some claim they saw glints of stars in the sky. Ironically, everybody thought the marriage will not last: she is blind, he is lame, remember?

And because she is blind and he is lame, they had difficulties making through life. Val never had worked, he is lame, remember? Tina did all that has to be done to make both ends meet. After all, she’s only blind but she’s capable. Everybody thought the marriage will not last; it did for the next seven years.

But miracles do happen. One day, Val is no lame anymore. He found a job that could now support his family; and not just a job he took. He also took another wife.

And Tina can finally see. She is no longer blind to what’s happening around her. And the irony of it is that there was no longer love between them. They loved each other despite he being lame and she being blind. And when their circumstances changed, so does their love for each other.

There were glints of stars in the sky that night Val and Tina parted ways.

Three Madonna

She carried her in her womb alone and sorry, for Madonna got pregnant out of a night’s drinking binge. Although she had an idea who the father was, she can’t run after him because he’s married. And so she had to travel that lonesome, difficult journey of single motherhood, alone.

Madonna’s daughter grew up beautiful and loving. Madonna gave her her namesake too, in fact. And everybody’s against it because they were afraid that Madonna, the child, would grow up like Madonna, the mother. The irony of life is she did. Madonna, the child, grew up like Madonna, the mother: with unknown pregnancy at a very young age. In her deathbed, Madonna, the mother, felt sorry for naming her daughter after her. She thought her daughter’s life would have been better had she named her Susan or Maria or Monica.

What Madonna, the mother, didn’t know was that Madonna, her child, named the newborn as another Madonna. And everybody thought the same cycle of sorry and sorrowful life would continue. They were wrong. Madonna, the mother, promised herself that her Madonna will not live like her. And so she toiled day and night, ensuring that her Madonna gets the best education. In the end, Madonna, her child, grew to become a successful hairdresser.

Madonna, who was once a daughter to a mother named Madonna, in her death bed, smiled and said: I’m glad I named her after her grandmother.

Perfecto

The only thing that’s perfect about him is his name. Everything else seemed out of place. He is cross-eyed. His left foot is shorter than his right. He stutters when he speaks and drools all the time. But, as his father always proudly exclaims, he is the most intelligent among the kids. He could read at three, could do Math at six, and was considered a computer whiz at 12. At 20, he was already a millionaire. He still stutters and he is still cross-eyed and everybody wonders why, with his money, he still hasn’t considered an operation to improve his look.

Perfector said: I was extraordinarily loved by my family because of how I looked. They thought I was the most vulnerable. All my life, I get this feeling that everybody around me seemed to be proud of my achievements; everybody seemed to be prodding me to strive harder like it’s their own battle that I’m fighting for. All because I don’t look threatening.

He stuttered a lot on his wedding vows. No one seemed to mind though. Every mothers thought they were seeing their own son get married.

It’s Valentine. This is the saccharine-iest I can get. Sorry.

Mukhang mahirap

Dugyot, nognog, maitim. I’ve been called that when I was a child (and up until now actually). Short of saying ang pangit ko!

The saddest part is that I tend to agree with them not because it’s true but because I have nothing to show to refute their so-called ‘claim’ about my being ‘mukhang mahirap‘. Firstly, my complexion is dark and I have constant sores (and evidence of sores) in my arms. Normally, a mosquito bite in my arms becomes a sore and then becomes a pus after some time (I’m just kidding). A mosquito bite reddens my skin very easily and it leaves a permanent mark — peklat ba!. When I was small, my mom said, I was covered with galis all over — even in the head.

She said it’s because my blood is unpure, unclean (honestly, I think because my blood is blue…dugong bughaw ba!).

I was well taken cared off. Even today, my mom wouldn’t let me sleep without a mosquito net (kulambo). Nightly, I rub lotions in my arms (feet first actually!). I wish I could shun away from chicken meat but I can’t because it’s my favorite. Sadly, however, I can never tend a chicken coop because my skin is easily gets bitten by chicken ticks; I don’t know why.

For us Pinoys, if you’re not kutis porcelana, you’re negra! And no matter how many black Ms U wins and even if the most powerful man on earth is Barack Obama, I still believe that for Filipinos, black is not in…never!. (Deep inside, although we, Filipinos, are secretly die-hards of Ate Guy, we would still vote for Ate Vi as the more beautiful).

That’s why the Philippine market is constantly deluged with beauty products promising a ‘whiter, clearer, fairer, more beautiful skin’…’in just 60 seconds’ (ay Eye-Mo pala un!).

That’s why Saudi has now the ‘magic cream’ and some other beauty products from the Philippines like Likas Papaya.

Are all Filipinos — men, women and women-looking men — really dying to be ‘white’? Maybe not. But I think we’re all so enamored with anything western that we, unknowingly, are all dying to look, sound and feel Western.

Why? Because for us, having a white skin is a rich thing. I remembered when I was small growing in Anao, Tarlac, everytime we see a white-skinned kid, we always say ‘he’s a Manilenyo‘ (he’s from Manila). When I grew up in Manila, everytime we see a mestiza, we call her ‘artistahin‘. Parts of our everyday language are the words ‘mukhang katulong‘ and ‘mukhang pulubi‘.

We are indeed chronic, pathetic profilers!.

I believe being dark-skinned is not ‘mukhang mahirap‘. It’s actually a thing of beauty. I am not mukhang mahirap. My color is natural of a Filipino. And it is definitely not ugly. Because I had the same color of Lapu-Lapu, Rizal, Bonifacio — un-‘magic creamed’ and un-papaya-ed.

This trip called life

This morning, I cut my UPS calendar’s January 2009. And when I looked at its blank black sheet with a picture of a speeding UPS delivery truck, I thought it would be a good backdrop for something. A poem perhaps.

Here’s that something.

(I fireworked it using whatever little knowledge I have of Macromedia MX).

Enjoy the ride while it lasts
Because this journey called life
will, one day, end.

For when we reach the road’s end,
we will be measured
…not by the distance we covered,
…nor by the height we reached,
…not by how loaded we were,
nor by how famous we’ve become;

but by how honestly we lived,
and how well we drove,
and how well we took
this life’s bumps and curves:

enjoyably or complaining?

Let’s take a happy trip.
It’s the only way to ride out this life.

(Besides…)

No one said it would be easy,

so let’s not make it any harder.

In Praise of Slumdog Millionaire

Saw Slumdog Millionaire last Thursday evening. Watched it again the next day. I wouldn’t mind watching it again tonight if a friend drops by and asks me if there’s a good movie to watch.

The movie is Indian, in English (with pinches of Hindi language in between). The story is riveting and hurtingly funny and as what I usually say of a good movie, heartful.

It has won numerous Golden Globe trophies and is now a leading contender in Oscar’s.

The film tells about the survival of three slum orphans in Mumbai’s harsh setting and what became of their lives after going through series of injustices and difficulties. The three orphans, for me, represent three different choices in life. Those kind of choices that we — knowingly or unknowingly — take; choices that would ultimately determine what will become of us later in life. Pa-profound ba?.

Jamal’s choice: I will take life’s shit (he literally plunged in deep shit in one of the scenes) because I believe that life will be better someday, especially if ‘it’s written’. He ended up answering all the questions in Who Wants to be a Millionaire, winning 20 million rupees!

Salim’s choice: I will not take this sitting down. I have to do something to better my situation. In the end, he became one-of-those thugs by one-of-those bigtime mafia bosses. (Although I personally thought his choice was mainly because of his love for his younger brother Jamal).

Latika’s choice: I will survive by waiting and seeing. (In fact all throughout the movie, she is seen waiting and seeing. She actually reminded me of those fairytale damsels who opted to wait for their knights in shining whatever to save them). She was prostituted but in the end was saved by his knight, Jamal.

For me, the first part of Slumdog is the best part of the movie; the first thirty minutes to be exact. I was impressed with that young boy who acted as young Jamal. I was fascinated by the quirkiness of the dialogue. I saw a scene reminiscent of the play Ang Paglilitis kay Mang Serapio. For a moment, I also thought I was watching a lighter version of Lino Brocka’s Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag.

Slumdog is that movie that I wouldn’t mind seeing over and over (at least until after the Oscar’s is finished because I believe Slumdog will beat Benjamin).

(Too, I wouldn’t mind recommending Slumdog to RJ who was a bit sore after I’ve made recommendations about Seven Pounds. RJ: hope you love Slumdog as much as I did).