The Best of Bianca's Pessimism

My usual disclaimer: Alas, the first paragraph of my EN12 memoir.

A few days ago I received my draft back from my teacher and I was absolutely mortified upon seeing that my work has been bombarded with criticisms. Her prime issue was that I lacked sensitivity. That is a trouble I am afraid I can not fix. If the Power Puff Girls had sugar, spice and everything nice, my memoir has sarcasm, gloominess and insensitivity. I don't really mind if calling Anaheim a bigot city or alluding to dead people as if they had no souls would diminish my work. You are probably thinking, "Wow, this girl lacks maturity. How stubborn" So nevertheless, I have decided to revise my work, as this is still an academic paper. Also, I would do it out of respect for that critic who might be my favorite teacher. She is much older, much wiser and a much skilled writer. Maybe she is right. Anyhow, I just want to share this first paragraph with you to share my current outlooks on life. I am now on the verge of pulling all my hair out as I attempt to revise such a soiled and nullified memoir, and I'm pretty sure many would soil and contest to these beliefs as well:

Pain is a very abstract concept. Its meanings could lie anywhere between pricking your finger with a needle and perpetual psychological torment provoked by incest rape. Most people detest whatever kind of pain there is. There are a few, on the other hand, who take the most deviant pleasure in it. This is a story of a girl who's stuck the middle. She doesn't weep over pain and listen to Evanescence songs while slashing her wrist, nor does she jump in joy and see rainbows every time the feeling comes. For most, pain is an ubiquitous, inevitable and invincible opponent. But for those like her who have attempted battle against pain but failed, pain becomes their best friend. Why battle something that would never go away? Its like an nagging mom, or that giant mole on your face-- there's no point arguing against for they will never leave you. Better yet, befriend them, flaunt them, show them off. Stop it with the attempts to be an optimist as I am definite of your failure. There are no such things as real optimists. The truth is, optimists are like clowns who mask themselves as happy beings to put smiles on people around. But on the flip side, clowns are even more melancholic than most others. In time you're gonna have to realize that life is and will forever remain like a Nicholas Sparks book; where the story's perpetual gloom would lead you to assume that a happy ending would come and save you from the tears you have wasted, but more often you are left disappointed as the lead character either dies, runs away, or completely forgets every single sweet thing you have done for her. Nobody lives a perfect life. Yes, lesson learned. So when everything seems to be going about perfectly, panic yourself out, as the circle of life and luck will surely break your bliss eventually.

Random thoughts bursting from every hole and pore of my anatomy

Random tidbits of thoughts before I put this day to an end. Good night.

You intrigue me.

You intrigue me; Like a hundred dollar bill on the floor;; Like going to prom for the first time; Like why Kurt Cobain shot a bullet to his head ; Like the veracity behind Corona’s case; Like an illegitimate sibling I may never have; Like the existence of aliens; Like why is Yao Ming so huge; Like the plans of god that I have redirected away from; Like the controversial tabloid cover that elitists pretend to hate; Like how it feels to be a dog; Like what in this cruel world made Hayden Kho and Vicky Belo fall in love; Like the melancholic fate of Amelia Earhart; Like the other possible combinations of my parents’ DNA; Like the feasibility of Jurassic Park’s plot to turn into reality; Like how celebrities look without make-up; Like the 2012 end of the world conspiracy; Like what is this effect you have on me? You intrigue me and it just won’t go away.

You make me smile.

You make me smile; Like a basket full of puppies; Like those Sunday evenings with my family; Like going to Disney Land; Like going back to the 90's; Like sunflowers and Barbie dolls; Like the death of Kim Jong Il, Bin Laden and Gadhaffi; Like properly manipulating a yoyo for the first time; Like when I get away with my schemes without being caught; Like nerds feel about Math; Like having 10 full hours of sleep; Like going back to high school; Like having a photo taken with your favorite celebrity; Like a sim whose mood is all green;Like a scrumptious chocolate chip cookie; Like listening to Nirvana’s music; Like eating without getting fat; Like winning the lottery. You are the lottery. I won the lottery. I am happy.

I wanna stab you.

I wanna stab you; Like a rapist deserves to die; Like people hate the Nazis; Like you murdered a bunch of nuns; Like what Kurt Cobain did to himself; Like you slaughtered me inside; Like the devil lives in you; Like you don’t deserve to live; Like hipsters despise the Biebs; Like pulling your teeth off; Like dropping you down the abyss of the grand canyon; Like what the Japanese did to San Lorenzo Ruiz; Like you’re the reason behind poverty; Like the cure for cancer is attainable through your death; Like your death is the world’s salvation; Like you drove me crazy; Like you deserve to be on an electric chair; Like you are liable for all the World Wars; Like you instructed Eve to take that first apple from the tree; Like you are devil. Because you are the devil and you deserve something worse than death, you deserve perpetual suffering.

How do you kill a devil?

Background: This note may expose crazy and wild ideas, one that may normally come from a crazy person. But I would like to assert that I am not disturbed, nor am I a nut job. This is not me talking, rather, it is me writing. Among all I can say this is not yet my darkest and grimmest work of all. Suddenly I was struck with such an inspiration; An inspiration I find no words adequate to describe. All I know is I feel like the apostles during that one Pentecost Sunday when the spirit gave them that crazy ability to speak in different tongues, as I am writing in a different persona. A disturbed persona is not tantamount to a disturbed writer.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Disclaimer: Just a short figment of my ideas and imagination, nothing special, nothing I’d invite anyone to read, nothing based on personal truth, nothing your scant minds could use against me. Just pure deviant perverted ideas we all have, except I have the drive to actually write them.

She lives by the codename of Isabella. And no, contrary to your judgmental belief, this girl is not me. No pathetic relevance at all to my second name. Everyone is named Isabella. The deprived pale girl from Twilight was Isabella. Lizzie McGuire’s crazy twin was Isabella. The exorcised girl from The Devil Inside was named Isabella. Every fictional Russian and or Italian character lives by the default name of Isabella. So who cares, really? Isabella is as default and helpless as I could get. Let’s name her Isabella.

She lived an average life. Or not so average. Close to perfection, actually. The only problem she ever lived to face was that her hair always curled, and people often mistook that lack of sulfur in her hair as her laziness to exert ample effort to comb or brush it. Apart from that though, no one ever described her aesthetics to her face, horribly or on any negative note whatsoever. She was quite a doll. She had good education, taking home grades of a nerd’s standards. But shit happened. Oh, wait. I mean, shit happens. No past tense allowed, because shit is perpetual. No one has it perfectly. And no, this shit isn’t anything horrid as an Earthquake, nothing like a fire, and a far cry from a car accident.

But she did wish it were an Earthquake, so she would have no world left to wake up to every morning. Or perhaps a fire, so all that agony would’ve just burned down with her.

I will not say what happened to Isabella as it is too aberrant for me to share in public without being judged by your scandalous issue-fabricating minds, my dear readers, if there are any. All I know is there was blood. There was vengeance---vengeance rooted from an angry vindictive heart. There were cigarettes. Plenty cigarettes. Lots and lots of cigarettes. And a gun. And a corpse of a guy--kind of fat, teeth crooked as a hillbilly who was foreign to the concept of braces, but had braces nevertheless. The corpse of a poor soul not much blessed with height, probably the spawn of the devil. Wait, the spawn is an understatement. He is, in fact, the devil himself. A devil hungry for virgins, to enlighten you much more. He’d slaughter their consciousness with his venom which came in a bucket. A bucket that had six bottles inside. An enticing venom, masked as social acceptance for the much blinded people of generation X onwards. He had aids. Or at least Isabella wished he had aids, you know, to let nature take his life, effortlessly. But at least now, he’s just a corpse.

How do you kill a devil?

Whose was the blood? Was it Isabella’s?

You know what, it doesn’t really matter, for she was dead inside. And the most abhorring part is how that crooked-tooth devil manages to go through life without a single drop of guilt. Oh wait, why is she shocked? He’s the devil, devils don’t have guilt. Devils are heartless demons. How much more redundant could I get?

And as Isabella’s disturbing story must be put on hiatus for now, do expect more. And do expect that people lie. People lie in blog disclaimers. Perhaps this story is real. Perhaps they just want it to be real. Perhaps it’s a foreshadowing of your life. Perhaps it represents a phase in everyone’s life. Everyone has been deceived at some point in their bittersweet lives. I shall gamble my soul to you, in a bet that with all encrypted honesty, if you actually think deep enough you’d find yourself in Isabella. We’ve all seen the devil at some point of our lives. Isabella, on the other hand, is certain of his character. She lives everyday knowing who he is. She knows who the devil is. She is left with no option but to see him everyday.

And much as I would want to leave this post hanging in the most mysterious and enigmatic way as your bothered minds could handle, I can’t, as most people who actually read this are judgmental. You’d do your best to connect the dots, connect the imaginary dots, thinking you know everything, thinking you know more about me than I’d choose to share. But if you insist to keep that mindset, thinking that this clandestine story of a bothered Isabella pertains to something deeper, I commend you for your wild imagination. J

A Movie Review on Cathy Molina's failed attempt to localize Friends with Benefits (Unofficially Yours)

We've all seen No Strings Attached while savoring every single second of Ashton Kutcher's butt exposure. The same goes as well for Friends with Benefits, starring Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake, whose perfect dose of hotness and chemistry just brings out the inner perverts in all of us. Both movies were released within the span of one year. So now I wonder, is this a mere coincidence or does this “friends with benefits” kind of relationship represent a generational fad? Are what we now call as “fuck buddies” much more palpable than our naïve minds could imagine? Nevertheless, both movies’ prodigious success is probably what pushed Cathy Garcia Molina to localize the same old plot.

Prior to the movie’s premiere airing, trailers were all around ABS-CBN and most local cinemas around. It seemed to be as interesting as a Star Cinema movie could ever be. We have to admit, it’s not everyday that a mainstream ABS-CBN movie with such a sensual plot be released. (Although this movie seems to be following the trend for sensual sex scenes set by No Other Woman, which has been a phenomenal success as well) To hype up the audience’s steam and curiosity, Molina coupled such a daring plot with a very interesting choice of characters to play the role. At first glance, this movie would seem like the perfect hit. With the perfect recipe,consisting of the ideal cast and a plot that would stroke all the souls of the Filipinos made repressed by the death of the 80’s and 90’s Sex Trip movies (this is the closest to non-indie pornography you can get, in the oddest way it reminds me of love and other drugs ) I sat down the cold seats of the Eastwood movie house expecting two hours of tears, laughter, and movie satisfaction. But my expectations were just as much the setbacks and disappointment I felt throughout the movie. Never had I sat in a cinema itching so much for the apparition climax, the turning point, any interesting thing actually, or at least the end of a very dragging scene.

Overall, I grade the movie with One star. Why’d I leave one star? (1) For the effort of Molina and (2) as credit for Angel Locsin’s Beyonce-like body. I mean, who really cares about the first one? We all just paid attention to the latter. Knowing that a daring, revealing, semi-pornographic sensual role was to be played by someone mandated by a men’s magazine as the sexiest woman in the country was definitely one of the things most people looked forward to, and it was in this aspect alone that I wasn’t disappointed. And although its against my long standing principles, I’m afraid to say that the same does NOT go for John Lloyd. (Peace and no offense meant to all his fanatics out there)

Now what did I do with all the other four stars? Did they fall asleep from all the tedious scenes in the movie? Or were they scared away by John Lloyd’s newly grown baby fats? (Contradictory in itself, haha)

I deny them of one star as John Lloyd’s massive (I am not sure if it is that evident, or I just have a meticulous eye for these kinds of things) weight gain has denounced him of his crush ng bayan label. His now healthier-than-regular face size and receding hair-line now give me the feel of someone who belongs in Aga Mulach’s age group. And on a more insulting nore, he did not have the abs of Derek Ramsay to pull off the same enigma he created during No Other Woman’s bed scenes.

As I would hate to go on and on with exasperating reasons as to why this movie has aggravated me, I cannot end this post without mentioning how slow the movie paced. It felt like a century sitting there. I had a restroom trip and returned without missing anything, finding myself absolutely needless to ask my friend “what happened when I was gone?”

It was that tedious.

I deny them of the two more stars for the movie is engraved with tedious scenes that would just bore the knack out of anyone who isn’t in love with either John Lloyd or Angel's face. They failed to entertain me, despite the plot and perfect cast, I can say that without a doubt.

What a waste.

And to worsen things much much much more, all their attempts to encrypt jokes in the dialogue just dug their own grave for them. This costs them one less star on my rating, once again. Obviously, they copied the same pattern (Re: Carmi Martin’s hilarious lines and jokes + Sex scenes) that No Other Woman took, hoping that they would deem the same success for the second time around. But K Brosas’ attempt to peg Carmi Martin just made everything worse, and causing a sore to the eye, the ear and the heart as well.

Anyway, I would like to end this movie review with a nice and deserving paragraph that it deserves. But the movie deserves no better and through this I shall be stating my aggravated point.

Sexy polo dresses, anyone?

I know this "wear-a-mans-polo-and-turn-it-into-a-dress" thing is one of the most overused and overdone themes in both 9-gag and tumblr. But that wont stop me from trying it out myself. And hey, it wasn't as easy as it looks =))

As for my version

Just an ordinary conversation in the Reyes household

(Mom dropping the big stinky bomb in the bathroom)

Inigo: *knocks* Mommy why are you there?

Mommy: I'm pooping. :|

Inigo: Why don't you poop in the other bathroom?

Mommy: Because you and Bianca are there.. :| :| :|

Inigo: Mommy!!

Mommy: WHAT??

Inigo: You know they say that when there are many people near, you can't poop cause your poop becomes shy.

Mommy: YES!

Inigo: It's not true mommy! That's not true.

Mommy: GET OUT!!!

Pride vs Pagpapalakad : A response to a facebook status.

Disclaimer: Let's act like mature young-adults and understand that this is simply an exchange of opinions; It is not to be taken personally nor is it rooted from any deeper secret antagonism or whatever your scandalous brains might think of fabricating.

A very appalling facebook status has caught my attention as I browsed through my newsfeed. Something about cheating one's way into a college that didn't accept you while everyone worked hard to pass, and the likes of it. Although it was worded in the most subtle way I could imagine, it was still quite an agressive post with a very condemning message.

I salute the optimism displayed towards this issue, but I just have to say that the point-of-view from where the writer is seeing things is irrefutably simplistic. Not everyone is blessed with a full scholarship in one of the most prestigious universities in the country to fallback on once their dream college has rejected them. When all else fails, one has no choice but to find loopholes to get themselves in the college they want to ensure themselves of the quality education they desire. It's merely an act of survival, especially in this world where everyone tries to step on each other. And with no doubts I can affirm that one who has bought his way into college, wouldn't see it as cheating either.

First and before anything else, he/she probably didn't take into consideration the huge extent of facebook users who under her paradigm might be labeled as someone who cheated his way into college. I, with all gratefulness, passed one of my target universities, but yet I am still appalled by this post. I have a number of friends scattered in different universities yet didn't make it to the entrance exam's cut-off (or "nagpa-lakad" in a less sugar-coated way) and I don't think any less of them for making that choice. In fact, several of them made it to dean's list on the first semester itself. There is nothing un-dignifying about finding other ways to get into schools that have rejected. Because despite all the "likes" and exalting comments this facebook post has earned, I know that somewhere, there are readers who were hurt and offended by your very jubilant advice.

Nevertheless, I don't want this argument to be an appeal to emotions, or grounded on other people's feelings. In fact, we all have our right to voice out our opinions. So on the technical level..

You can argue that the "lakad" system may take away the value of meritocracy (rewards in life based on merit, working hard and in this case, passing the entrance exams). Although, once they enter that target school they "cheated their way into" , if they really aren't competent enough to reach the school's standards, then they're gonna fail. But if they can survive, then they have obviously met the school's standards, proving wrong the principle of the entrance exam score as the main criteria to get in.

But those are just my sentiments.

With all my heart, I hope and plea that this post doesn't make either myself or the facebook status writer sound like a total bitch to anyone. This is merely about clashing ideas and opposing thoughts and nothing on the personal note.