Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Endpoint :(

In Wordweb, 'endpoint' means the final point in a process. Perhaps, I should come to this final stage and face whatever pain in the ass it may create. I just don't want to wait for nothing.

Adios irrational being! I have my own world. I have my own Pandora where an Avatar like you is not meritorious to be accepted.

Still, NUMBERS matter. :(

Friday, December 18, 2009

The Nature of a Fabricated Literary Competition

Yes to showing of teeth...

Yes to prepared Kwento Pro scenes...

Yes to MUTE judges...

Yes to "may connection" judges...

Yes to time manipulation...

-o0o- -o0o- -o0o-

Quoted: "Please read the mechanics."

I say: I have studied the boulevard. Everything written therein is slenderly different from what you have printed.

you need workshop guys. be trained before you get into the battlefield. :p

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Thanks be to technology :-)

I can't all the time put the blame on the outgrowing clout of technology. Without such, these pictures wouldn't be possible. Learning does not matter on distances. Cultural differences are not an incumbrance to attain what goes on inside the four corners of a classroom. This proves that learning is not confined.
That Korean cute boy is Jacob, my favorite student after Pakon finally stopped. Jacob and I truly have a bond, a bond that continues to strengthen abridging our divergencies.
Indeed, I learn a lot from what I teach.

Truth and Nothing but the Whole Truth

Phoebus Apollo is in Greek Mythology the god of truth and light. He is said to be the "most Greek of all gods". He is a beautiful figure in Greek poetry who delights Olympus as he plays on his golden lyre. Without an incertitude, Philip Andrew chooses him to be his archetype.

It's nice to dream about and traverse the mythological world. :))

Mahiduol Ikaw ug Ako (Closer You and I)

Oy, nagalutok sa mga mata
Gugma sa unang tan-awKabahin ka sa damgo
Wa na’y molabaw pa
Pero din a ako makahulat
Di malimtan ang imong paghiyum
Sa kada pagpiyong nako
Ikaw makita
Sa pagpaduol nga magunitan ka
Sa pagpaduol nga mabati ka
Hatagi ug dugang pagtagad
Kita magkadayon
Kada simpleng hiyom
Dala ang paglaum
Sidlak sa mata
Takna sa kalipay
Hatagi ug dugang pagtagad
Kita mahiduol
Ikaw ug Ako
Ako magmahal kanimo
Labaw pa kaniadto
Pero mura man ug damgo
Wa na’y molabaw pa
Nakita na nako ang kahigayonan
Katawa mo mura ko’g mamatay
Guniti ko ug ibutyag mo
Magpabilin ka
Sa pagpaduol nga magunitan ka
Sa pagpaduol nga mabati ka
Hatagi ug dugang pagtagad
Kita magkadayon
Kada simpleng hiyom
Dala ang paglaum
Sidlak sa mata
Takna sa kalipay
Hatagi ug dugang pagtagad
Kita mahiduol
Ikaw ug Ako
Translation Requisite in Eng 41

When heart starts to play..

It has always been a game with no assurance of winning. Many cried, rolled in the aisles, grinned, and doubted. And it does not only end with a past tense. Yes, it knows no time or age limit. It isn’t a doll or a robot played only by youngsters nor cockfight or lotto exercised mostly by elders. So long as your heart beats, you can get your own play. It is just so cynical that after you get lost a hundred times, you still want to grab the claim “I’ll play again”. No doubt, even if it may not be among the most commonly used words, it surely remains the most commonly abused.
For many people, it is a noun. Yet for those people like Jane who doesn’t have ample will to get on it, it remains a pronoun. An almost two years of leaving her feelings unspoken had inauspiciously brought such dilemma to Jane. She might have been bursting out into covert insanity but she never had opened her mouth and let her tongue speak in behalf of her heart. Love is not only blind, mute likewise. She kept her words for so long, but she was so careful she wasn’t able to swallow them. Months passed and yet revelation seemed to be unsuitable. She used to see the boy whom she thought felt the same way. If she could only have confessed her love, she could have known if her mind made the right forethought. But it may seem odd, she believed. The boy and she had an eight-year gap. Perhaps, she was already writing her home-reading report when the boy was still being taught on how to do the strokes of the English alphabet. Age doesn’t matter, she asserted. But it couldn’t be that way. It still matters at the end of the day. She couldn’t coerce him to stop playing ‘pellet gun’ nor convince him to hang out in a bar late at night. That’s his life. Let him act his age. Hence, she did not let anyone know her tackiness, for if she did, she might have felt ashamed of her being a lady. Yes, a lady who was tied up with the strands of affectionate regard wherein her single hope was to come out of her closet. For a guy? Young boy, she corrected. And her days submerged into befuddlement.
All of a sudden she realized: We are unparalleled. Obviously right. At any rate, was it her fault to choose a chick over a rooster? Jane didn’t have a choice either. The fact that it unknowingly grew within her heart and hallucinated her mind, she was ambushed. The boy also seemed irrational who would always end up with a hanging thought. The fact that he maybe fell in love with her despite their age breach and was also apprehensive to speak up— that’s what she didn’t know. She only thought. At the outset, actions were always giving them a clue. They were too close to be true, perchance. They would always converse about anything their minds would tell them, yet their hearts tended to pump more blood in order to catch up with their uneasiness when their eyes happened to meet at a single speck, by accident. He was one of her featured friends, she too in his. Thanks to Friendster it served as a tool. Cell phone as well did. Every bit of move would mean something their brain cells could hardly process. Every day would pass leaving questions unanswered. It was indeed love that she could have felt for a guy of her generation but she knew there was no pretense in what she sensed.
Due to her status in life, Jane rapidly became busy. That made her live up with a thought of arrogance that she must serve her priorities. At one point, she wanted to show that she should not love the young boy anymore because he would only be a hitch in doing her purposes. Inhuman, that is. But after several attempts, she still couldn’t get away from him. Blame it on their distance because they felt like they were only inches away from each other. Constant dealing imprisoned her. She must move on as she always screamed out. But it seemed like she was kept alone to hear her grappling voice. She hoped as her tears fall down from her blunt eyes the feeling would come down with them. She wished it could be that easy. Nevertheless, her heart could only let blood out, not tears. Days went on. She also went on despairingly waiting.
Time was so kind. Unnoticeably, she passed off it. Finally. Whether she got tired of waiting or was able to get over her affection, she didn’t know. Perhaps, she must leave it all there for it also started without giving a signal ‘GO’. They remained friends, and still do. The young boy never had spoken about anything. Should there be something to speak up? He alone knew it. He must have known that the game’s finally over. Jane declared it. The mere lesson she learned was that it does not take time to realize; one needs to realize that it takes time. It helps much. At the back of her mind, she recollected: Love and Game both contain same number of letters, are similarly monosyllabic. But one must have to know, she continued, that the former is more than just a game of fun where the only prize is experience.

Monday, December 14, 2009

A Scholarly Confession

Memorization, as they say, is the poorest form of learning. I find it hurtful then that I am into the poorest way. Most of my colleagues would say that I am "best in memorization" with the highlight "period to period". I do masticate explicitly what are printed on the textbooks and fact sheets. I do deposit any quotable statements to be my prefabricated patterns because I know they will incorporate magic to come up with notable codes. To wrap it up, I only rely on my personal scripts and thus I am no good when boxed into steep settings. These words alone, I have already dragged myself down to feel that I do not deserve what I am straining for.

Achievement be it in any corner is always at stake. People around would keep an eye on whatever you can and cannot do. If you are ahead, you tend to be followed. If you are behind, they tend to brush you off along the existing saga. No matter how intimidating it may seem like, it has always been the trend. With that, you start to fear not to fall or descend from the higher platform. Worse, no one perchance would dare to catch you if you happen to get out of balance. Comparison to term it is inevitable. And you cannot look forward to that in a competitive world like academe you only think of your own and must focus on your own foothold. Competition never gets its heart and soul with no recurring edges between the involved. That is what fences are made for—bound to have boundaries.

In a way, I feel sorry for my self. I feel like I have been working hard and yet people are only made to believe that it is always about gaining ground. It is not easy at all. My family is hoping that I could meet opportunity right after graduation to be able to provide sustenance to come across the day-to-day imperative needs. What if I couldn’t? Will that be soothed by “It’s okay.”? Funny, I find it. That’s why most of the realities in life are sore and what make us feel up are archetypal. Nevertheless, no one of us would let onerous conditions last. And I will always be the one to take pins and needles for my family even if I cannot always get the right stitch of good fortune.

After all, I don’t want to be ahead of my own persona. I mean there is always a room for improvements and I should and each of us consider such. Grades are only numerical values that are recorded down and computed to show how much you have done inside the proximity of the classroom. They don’t define totally how intelligent and erudite a person is because school lessons are only slices of our experiences. I major English language yet I am not in the authority to claim that I’m perfectly good in grammar. There is still no monopoly in using the language and so saying wrong grammar is somehow unjust and unfavorable. I even can’t use the language the way others use it. I neither cannot speak like Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago nor write like columnist Conrado de Quiros. I can only be myself. I don’t study when I’m tired and I even cram and it’s my choice at the end of the day. I toil for what I want and not for what I need.

I would just like to restate what my good friend once told me and it says: “You need to have a vision so that you won’t get tired of what you are doing.” Without a qualm, she’s right. It’s like a drug that diagnoses me after getting worn out. However, there’s something better than having a vision as what columnist and host Patricia Evangelista quoted from the speech of Butch Jimenez to the graduates of UP Diliman; "it’s having a cause". Anything that is pushed through is rooted from a desired ground. I strive hard not to place my head and shoulders above others but to make my family proud of me. I want them realize someday that at least I have done something good when I chose to become independent. And that is what keeps me up late at night to take hold of my lessons mentally even if they would say I have only memorized everything.

-Philip Andrew Garlitos-

Thursday, December 10, 2009

mythology exam's aftermath

"You teach the language, not about the language" -- ALL method. (reporters were not feeling well)