sporadic thought bubbles

Since I
missed out on the college experience due to the “wonderful innovation” that is
the INTARMED program, I was quite the late-bloomer in the partying scene. While
my other (normal) friends were already “so over” the passing out in public
places thing, I covertly had an unhealthy level of curiosity. I practically
only started drinking in my mid-twenties, bashfully hiding my girlish giggles
behind those tiny cocktail umbrellas. So forgive me for being 26 years old, and
having only learned these crucial life lessons over the past few months.

Alcohol is
the perfect alibi. It absolves you from anything: the ten missed calls from
your mother and/or boyfriend, the tangerine-colored drink you spilled on that new
girl’s micro-minidress, and best of all, the drunk-dials you made to your grade
school crush, your fifteen ex-boyfriends, and everyone in between. It allows
you to (1) rip off your saintly image (if you actually have one), (2) do your
nasty bad girl deeds, and (3) blame everything on Pareng Jose, who poured himself
down your throat.

However,
alcohol is the biggest traitor of all. It never gives fair warning. One minute
you’re being your fun, flirty and uninhibited self, and the next thing you see
is the funky-scented inside of a plastic bag. Or the bright glare of sunlight
bouncing off the parking lot pavement, spearing your tired eyes and
reverberating in your head like a toddler with a bad sugar high and an
extra-bouncy Pilates ball. No heads-up, no warning bells. Just one silly girl
who can’t hold her liquor — the very archetype of the ditzy sorority girl you
never thought you’d be.

So I blame
you, alcohol, you backstabbing bitch. I blame you for one million bad
decisions, for incurable day-after headaches, and probably half a dozen
incriminating pictures. But we have a love-hate thing, you and I. We swear off
each other time and again, but like in any dysfunctional friendship, when the
going gets rough we always find ourselves in each others’ arms.

“I wish I
knew how to quit you…”

Today I had my final driving lesson. As with all other learning activities I’ve had in my life, the approach to the finish line feels somewhat premature and undeserved. I simply cannot accept that, at this point, I am supposed to know everything I should know about wielding the monstrous machine that is the automobile. My instructor says it’s just nerves – he thinks I suffer from a severe lack of confidence that makes me NEED someone in the passenger seat to watch out for me, to nudge my steering wheel every so often, to pull on the handbrake if necessary. I think he should be a psychologist instead of a driving instructor.

It’s a little weird to hear that I am not confident in myself. I always thought I had the world fooled. Because by all appearances, I’ve managed to look like I know what I’m doing. Somehow I am able to get through life simply by “winging it”, and I’ve led people to believe that this is how it’s really done. I’m the master of facades, the queen of faking it. But I’m the worst possible kind of “all-bark-and-no-bite” because I’m in a profession that does not allow for errors of idiotic presumptions. And while I’ve gotten this far without causing any serious damage, I’ve said it before and I still feel that it holds true now: that sometimes I feel like I’m a catastrophe waiting to happen. And by perpetually, quasi-confidently, smiling my way through life, I manage to raise the expectation bar to a level that makes my potential, almost inevitable, failure a massive, gut-wrenching disappointment.

But I’m in the driver’s seat now, in more ways than one. And my deeply buried inadequacies are about to surface once and for all. I feel like hurtling too fast onto a highway of professional racecar drivers who will secretly snicker and/or curse at me behind their shiny spotless windshields. I feel like my ineptness is about to manifest itself in a colossal way, because truly, I am out of my league.

I want to tell the world I’m new at this. I want to keep putting that “student driver” sign on my license plate, to warn everyone in my path that I’m not who they think I am, that I just might be the biggest mistake they’ll ever meet. I want someone to sit beside me and stress me, second-guess me, and hold my hand so that I won’t have to suffer through this alone. But I kind of know that it’s not going to be like that anymore. It’s going to take a number of embarrassing stops and starts but we’re gonna get moving, my life and I. And this time I’m taking the wheel.

“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there, with open arms and open eyes…”

My anticipation for American Idol Beatles’ Night had been building up for over a week. I grew up listening to some of the Beatles’ big hits after an accidental channel switch led me to watch a Fab Four documentary one lazy afternoon when I was about ten years old. Recently adding fuel to the fire was the movie musical "Across the Universe", which I tragically missed in theatres but thanks to my uber-thoughtful BFF i was able to get on DVD for my birthday.

That said, here were my favorites last night…

Jason Castro, because I’m heavily infatuated with him. It took tremendous amounts of maturity to prevent myself from saying I LUUURRVVV him. It’s that whole no-way-you-think-im-cool? schtick that totally gets me. And the nuances in his voice, the way it cracks just when it should, these things set him apart from the traditional Idol contestant. Granted, his "If I Fell" wasn’t the most spectacular of the night, but it was a simple song to begin with, a song that is powerful in its simplicity. It suited his voice and personality perfectly. But then I guess you could argue that he could’ve sung Kumbaya and I still woulda loved it. And you would be right.

Brooke White, because she is the female Jason Castro. Hahaha. She gives off this Carole King folksy vibe, it’s lucky she’s been consistently able to find songs that complement her image well. "Let It Be" never fails to give me the shivers, it’s uncanny. And again, there’s something in the way her voice cracks and falters at all the right places, it just made the song sound all the more pure, all the more sincere. Kudos, White girl.

Carly Smithson, because her "Come Together" was sooo bad-ass. She definitely has the confidence of a professional (probably cause she already was?), and confidence is the key ingredient to doing this song without sounding like a lame growling rocker wannabe.

These guys were not as bad as the judges said they were…

Michael Johns, because "Across the Universe" is the one of the best songs ever written and he did an okay job with it. When he was singing that first verse with his earnest Aussie eyes looking straight at me (yes, me) I felt actual ripples under my skin. Ripples, people! But his chorus was pretty average. Then again there’s only so much you can do with "Nothing’s gonna change my world" repeated four times, unless you’re…um, the Beatles. Or Fiona Apple. I liked her version too.

Ramiele Malubay, because her voice was amazing in "In My Life". Simple, clear, and controlled to every last inflection. (David Hernandez you should really take notes) If it had been Pinoy Idol or some other lame third-world imitation she woulda won the whole thing there. But since this IS American Idol and ADHD is an epidemic over there, I get how they could’ve been bored by that. I seriously wanted to kick Randy Jackson when he hesitated on whether our homegirl was good enough to survive elimination, though.

And these people, they needed to go, like yesterday.

Kristy Lee Cook. WTF??? Where are the one-toothed, banjo-playing cousins in denim overalls? Why didn’t she do the jig? How the hell was that a Lennon/McCartney song? Are you high, girl? Sniff too much hay?

Amanda Overmyer. Because every song she sings sounds the same as the last ones (like she’s choking on something), and the blond streaks are nas-ty! And why is she wearing the same outfit over and over again? If they really need a token rocker, keep David Cook instead. Sure he has some irritating hair preferences too, but he can at least sing.

David Hernandez, because he’s too pretty and they miss him at the strip club. And he has an awfully old-fashioned way of belting out big songs.

Everyone else, I forgot. But the judges are right, this is shaping up to be the best AI Season ever. Here’s hoping they sing "Strawberry Fields Forever" and "Hey Jude" tonight.

I was cleaning my room when I stumbled on two pieces of paper with the funniest covert conversation ever, from six years ago. (Uh yeah, I haven’t cleaned my room in six years, so what?) Hahaha. This must’ve been some pretty intense note-passing in a second-year med class…Patho i’m guessing?

Purple ink - Ting Tanega

Blue ink - Pat Tejada

Green ink - Natz Tan

Red ink - Ela Taruc

Brown ink (kulay jebs) - JP Tan (hehe ubos na ang colors e sorry)

——————————————————————————-

Grp. 24 Boys,

Plano? Ela bought gift na. Anymore? She’s inviting us for lunch on Wed. Or baka ako lang ang sinabihan? Ako lang ata invited? - Ting

Grp 24 Baby Girl, O? Ininvite ka sa Wed.? Kami daw bukas e, sa Fridays. Kami lang ba invited? Hehehe. - Grp 24 Boyz

Bumili na si Ela? Para sa buong Grp ba yon?

(Points to Natz’s reply) Pwede rin bili ka sarili mo!

Sama ako! Dalawa lunch ata ako invited! Special ata ako e!

But we’ll buy pa whatever. So what will we buy and how and when wil we give it?

Grp. 24 SPECIAL baby girl,

Cge, Wednesday na lang Kawawa naman si Kai kung masyado mapagastos. La pa kami maisip, pero we’re planning to buy na later. If you like, you can make sabay so we can get something kaka, right?!

Hiwalay na lang parang 2 sets. Hindi ko alam papaano. Kaw na bahala! Ok?

(Encircles HIWALAY) ??? Wala tayo pera!!! Isa gift na lang! Flower? Balloon? How?

(Underlines TAYO)

Grp. 24 special POOR baby girl,

May pera kami. Madami. Kaya nga we’re willing to share! O di ba?! Punta na lang tayo Rob later. Manlilibre daw pamangkin ni Lucio Tan.

Ok, e di ba bumili na si ela? hindi pa ba yn yon? Sino pamangkin ni Lucio Tan?

NATHANIEL TAN!

Plus JP Tan - anak sa labas!

Alam ko na, i-gift natin tong paper na to! At least we have effort diba?

Huh? Bibigay natin tong paper lang?! But Kai deserves better!!! Imagine, she has gone out of her way to surprise each and every one of us on our birthdays –> plus, mabait pa sya, matalino, maganda, well-liked… how on earth do you think matutuwa sya with what she will see here?!

(Underlines MABAIT) Pwede na to! Masaya na siya for sure!

Ano ba ang budget natin?

Ako mga 20 pesos. Ikaw natz mga 500? Okay! Pamangkin ka naman ni Lucio Tan!

Huh? Hingi na lang tayo ng donation sa kanyang mga suitors. Ok ba?

Natz and Pat,

I have to leave agad pala. Be fetching my sister at Assumption at 5. Pano yan? What can I do? I can buy anything outside Rob. - Ting

What can I buy? Cake? Ano bilin nyo?

Feb 18, 2002

Pat and Natz,

So what did you guys get for Kai? We’ll go to cafe d’angelo sa lunch to give everything. Then, alis na. - Ting

We got her a stud. Hehehe. We couldn’t find a boyfriend kasi e. Kukunin namin sya during lunchbreak.

Kai,

Ang hirap mong hanapin.

- Ela

Kai,

La lang.

- jptan

——————————————————————————-

HAHAHA! I miss you guys! =)

If you’re a 2009 residency match applicant looking for a step-by-step manual on how to work with ERAS, this has absolutely nothing to do with that. Stop wasting your time and go do something more productive than reading some slightly hungover, ditzy semi-doctor’s blog.

——————————————–

So I’m back in California, supposedly studying for my last exam which I scheduled for Valentine’s Day (hell yeah!). But then my cousin KG’s dear friend Aimee is getting married in a month, so a kick-ass bachelorette night out is warranted, right? =)

KG drives us down from Long Beach to San Diego, a good 2-hour road trip. When we finally get there, it’s 10pm and the girls are antsy to get out. And then, HORROR. I realize that I left my IDs and passport in LBC. Tempers flare. Haha. Idiot third world resident who keeps forgetting that carding is SOP over here. I think think think about anything I could possibly produce to prove my over-21 identity. I go online, and it hits me.

ERAS!

Oh wonderful electronic residency application service, which has my CAF (common application form), which is my resume-like thing that contains my birthday! Fingers crossed, charms in tow, I bring my 4-page CAF and my credit card to the bouncers.

Surprise surprise, after minimal questioning by the supervisor, they let me in! Mwahahaha! "Good luck with your studies" he even says!

So there goes my story, about how one ghetto Filipina kid with no picture ID manages to get into a swanky club thanks to her CAF. I would like to lay claim on that as The Most Imaginative Thing one can do with her residency application. Thank you very much. Bow.

I promise to be a responsible adult. Starting tomorrow.

I know this is far from the most original statement I’ve ever written, I know there have been many before me who’ve claimed that men are like shoes. But as I sit and stare at the overworked, dilapidated three pairs of boots that have seen me through this adventure, I cannot help but resuscitate this sad old simile.

Men are like shoes.

When we are out shopping, we think we want just about every pair, but we know we only need one.

Sometimes we try them on and think they fit perfectly, think they complement our feet so well, think they’ll be able to sustain our weight and crazy walking patterns. But when we take them home they end up hurting us. Wounding us, covering our feet with nasty corns and calluses, forcing us to wonder how long we can suffer through this torture.

But we hurt them too, put them through hell and high water, until they are mangled and scuffed versions of themselves, rewarding their loyalty with eventual abandonment.

So I don’t know if I really deserve good shoes. I tend to choose the wrong ones for me, the ones that are obviously more suited for someone else. And I’ve always been so afraid of going barefoot that I hop from one pair to another, with my classically myopic foresight neglecting to remind me of the endless repercussions, the inevitable discomfort, the telltale scars.

I think it’s time to kick them off and put my feet up.

a little something i came up with recently…enjoy =)

I hate it when people make themselves out to be victims. When the biggest predators claim to have been oppressed, torn down, heartbroken. Don’t they get back spasms from the weight of the lies that they carry?  Were they not taught other ways to catch prey beyond licking their pretend-wounds in hopes of attracting sympathy from innocents? It is low, gutless, and utterly disgusting.

We all have our roles to play in life. So to those who’ve chosen to play villain, i say, own up to it. Stand tall and revel in your malevolent glory. ‘Cause to cower in a corner and claim suffering while the entrails of your conquests languish in your digestive tract is plain shameful.

Just say you needed to eat.

Just say you wanted to taste.

Just say you didn’t know how it died.

Just don’t say you were the victim.

I mean, COME ON!

This list came to me while I was tossing and turning at 2 am, so forgive me if it’s a little incoherent.

You know you’re at least 25 years young when…

1) You bring a granny-sized payong to work/school/the palengke, and you couldn’t care less. You, who once would rather stew peacefully in acid rain than carry an umbrella that wasn’t fashionable, foldable, and fully automated can now wield this cane-like contraption a la fifth ninja turtle: stopping traffic, poking innocent bystanders, and (OMG) opening it to shield your fragile skin from getting the sun spots and age wrinkles that no Olay Total Effects could ever truly cure.

2) Your ipod is updated for you by a much cooler younger sibling, because you just can’t, for the life of you, sit there downloading songs that you’ll eventually learn are so 3 years ago. What, laos na ba si Billy Joe Crawford? This screamo stuff really hurts my ears.

3) You occasionally get low back pain. Unlike your parents, however, you still get horror-house images of being trapped inside a baul at the strong menthol-lola smell of Salonpas. So you suffer in silence, discreetly stretching from your neck to your pelvis when no one’s looking. Personally, I like to claim it’s the scoliosis (which is still an acceptable young-person-back-disease).

4) You do frantic face-name association rundowns whenever you bump into someone you know from somewhere, sometime. When the database comes up with zip, you are accustomed to flashing a mega-watt smile OR doing a semi-interested half nod and making a beeline for the nearest exit. Must’ve been in that brain cell you fried while downing that last shot of tequila.

5) You have more exes than prospects. Some of us have gone through the eligibility list so efficiently that prospects = exes. The real reason the world seems smaller when you’re older is that you’ve dated half of it.

6) You can talk about once-ballyhooed topics such as sex, drugs, and rock and roll without the necessary girlish giggle or pre-practiced disclaimers. Sometimes, you are amazed at how Carrie Bradshaw you’ve become. Or at how crazy the world really is once you’ve taken off your rose-colored glasses.

7) "See you soon" means "see you within this year", and "we should really go out one of these days" is actually "maybe once more before I die". You have so many sets of friends that it seems impossible to actually keep in touch while trying to hold down a steady job OR trying to watch pinoy big brother every single day. Then again, maybe that’s just cause I’ve always been horrible at keeping in touch. =)

and finally, (i’m getting to the point)

You just can’t be apathetic anymore. You’ve grown a conscience, (against all odds, I know) and you suddenly care about what life’s gonna be like 5, 10 years from now when you’re raising a family, juggling responsibilties, and shedding strands of hair. It’s got to get better. It’s got to get better.

I don’t wanna bore you so I’ll just lay the cards down right away.

Dr. Martin Bautista for Senator.

Dr. Dorothy Delarmente for QC District 1 councilor.

And AGHAM as your Partylist of choice.

Because you shouldn’t be wasting the next 25 years not caring.

—–

For more information on the above candidates, email me at kaipatoots@yahoo.com. I’ll be glad to fill you in. =)

As soon as new friend and fashionista-lawyer-of the-future Leana mentioned those two words, I knew it would make for an interesting blog post. Unfortunately, the creative juices were just not flowing. Dunno, maybe it was the sadly slow pace of my studying, or the lack of exciting events in my usually Lindsay Lohanesque party life, but i just couldn’t come up with anything to write about beyond the catchy title. After sitting here the past couple of minutes, though, it hit me. Feb 14 soon. You all know what that means. Say it with me, it’s Kris Aquino’s birthday.

Hah. Am slightly ashamed that i can rattle off celebrities’ natal days at the drop of a hat when i can’t, for the life of me, remember the different types of dyslipidemias. (Shut up, inner nerd.) Well aside from Miss Kris, the rest of the world has cause to celebrate since Feb 14 coincidentally happens to be a little pagan holiday we like to call (Ate) Vi-day. Yes, it’s that Hallmark time of the year once again. Time to pull out all the stops, time for Holland Tulips to rake in millions, time for mommy to pull out her good old black lacy underwear (oh dear, i sure hope not). Time for cheesy balladeers and overpriced chocolate fondues, for freakingly ubiquitous red plastic balloons and teeth-gnashingly redundant romantic comedies (what, no Kate Hudson?). Time for David Pomeranz to romance the squealing matronas, and the squealing matronas to take home their personal trainers for a night of rarr-rarr-romansa. Can hardly wait till i stroll down the Baywalk at sunset with my sweetheart, putrid wind in my hair, bad canned band music in my ear, with couples positioned all around me in various states of fornication. Oh yeeeeahhhh.

Don’t know bout the rest of you, but I’m feeling a little of that criminal intent right now. (Hence the title. Yesss!)

*****

Note: If you actually go looking for me at Baywalk on Wednesday, then you’re a helluva lot sicker than I thought. Happy V-day everyone. And don’t forget the more important date that comes 5 days later, Kai day!