Bye bye baby

I'm leaving this blog for good. I'm shifting to wordpress. Not that I have regular visitors, but to anyone who may pass by, i'm moving to ethelkatrina.wordpress.com

I'm feeling good about that blog. My latest multiply seems to be working. So in that tradition, I'm committing to wordpress too.

Ciao!

When do you know?

Just spent the day listing down all the account names and passwords I have for every bit of Internet social network, blog site, email account I have thus joined. I don't usually keep the same password for every account (giving out this information is dangerous for me, huh?) and I always end up exceeding the number of password tries since I can't remember which password I matched with what account. Effectively scatterbrain-ish --- this betrays my level of techie-ness.

I'll be going to Boracay the day after my birthday. It's my first time there (loser), and I'm already feeling the crisp sunlight beating down my shoulders as they defrost from the chill of the Ensure conference room. I've always loved having a tan since that's a million times easier than being gluta-white. I'm raring to walk barefoot. I want to feel the sand. I'm can't wait for something new.

It's oddly exciting when ghosts from the past pop up from your inbox. Gives me the funny creeps.

I'm a Buhlud addict! Search it on Youtube.

Aching for Some Creativity

When I stepped into college, I couldn't believe how the chapters that piled right on, the petty squabbles, the mythic soul searching and the semestral flings practically sucked out the bit of creativity I used to take pride on. First it was my poetry; it died as soon as the first semester of first year started. Then, I proudly declared that I would, hence just deliver prose, feeling that it was just a diversion, if not maturity in the words that I strung. Gone were the days when I just treated poetry as a lyric journal for now, as a 'serious', consientious writer, I would have to spare my readers from overly emotional, self deprecating poetry that would make Sylvia Plath want to turn on that oven all over again.This acute sense of self became me, and as quick as I could say the word quick, the deal with poetry was off.

And it just continued. I couldn't paint anymore. Last time I did that, I was trying to get over someone who I eventually did hook up with but eventually lost. The pieces were good, and for about a year they hung on my wall. But now, the room's been repainted, the latest works don't quite match and I'm not sure if I still have the courage to brush plain canvassses with color again.

I am aching for some creativity, and I sure hope this step is a way to get back to how things used to be. I need to write again, I need to paint again, I need my life back.

I am missing the times when everytime I was full of pretty intense emotion, however immature, some bit of creativity would find its place there. I vented through my words, I could write 8 feverish poems in a row. My scribbles showed it all, as if I hid behind the abstract acryllics and oils. I created pretty cool jewelry as I moved on from a fling. This quarterlife is making it hard for me to deal with intense emotions, or lack thereof. God forbid it would have to be food. I have already gained seven pounds.

I am aching for some creativity, something new that I could create. The whites and grays of my office are making it harder to see the color I should be making. But this journal is a step, Its a step towards reclaimin that lost life back.

I have got to have it back. Whatever it may take.

Carol

"Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad
Prospero Ano Felicidad

I want to wish you a Merry Christmas
I want to wish you a Merry Christmas
I want to wish you a Merry Christmas
From the bottom of my heart"

And so I heard from carolers next door.
They're the kind that send envelopes days before announcing that they'll be coming over to sing some Christmas songs. The season indeed has come.

But I don't feel it. I feel so un-Christmasy. I feel as though it's just a regular August that's approaching, and there's really no big deal other than the fact that Charles and Keith is up with it's year-end inventory sale. But other than that, I don't feel the season at all.

It can probably be because of Reming and what it did to Bicol. Or the fact that I'm already 22. Or because Christmas has become increasingly lackluster the last couple of years. I would love to feel light-hearted at the sight of the twinkling lanterns lining up the Pasig bridge. I had some puto bumbong the other day just to induce the feeling, but to no avail. I want to feel Christmas. So I stayed outside the house for a while longer to eavesdrop as the carolers did caroling. I was waiting for their next song when finally, they sang it:

"Boom tarat tarat
Boom tarat tarat
Salamat salamat
Boom boom boom"

Ted

"Woke up this morning I was staring at the ceiling cracks and road maps and landscapes and highways..."
-Cynthia Alexander, Comfort in Your Strangness

Haven't sung that song in a while, and I was clearly reminded of how nice it sounded.

***********************

Yesterday was Wednesday. Wednesdays are officially my revelation days, when something quite pivotal always comes along. It isn't always high impact, it doesn't always last long, but they're revelations nonetheless.

***********************

How I Met Your Mother is nice. Makes you realize stressing over not having a boyfriend or a girlfriend at 22 is quite trivial. Try doing that at 28 and it becomes more credible.