Pangarap ko talagang maging rockstar noong hayskul. Pantasya kong maging gitarista sa isang banda, at kami raw ‘yung bandang hindi sobrang sikat, pero hindi rin naman nakabaon sa kaibuturan ng “who u.” Sakto lang. Sapat lang.
Marunong akong maggitara pero hindi ako mahusay. Sabi sa mga nababasa kong magazine dati, hindi rin daw technically mahusay ang Eheads noong nagsisimula pa lang sila. Pinanghawakan ko ‘yun, baks. Kasi ibig sabihin, hindi ko rin kailangang maging henyo bago ako maging legit na musikero.
Pero napapaligiran ako noon ng mga batang henyo. Ang dami kong ka-eskwela na mahusay sa gitara, sa violin, sa cello, pati sa kudyapi at sa kulintang. At sa tantya ko, sila ‘yung mga batang sadyang ipinanganak na mahusay. Gifted, kumbaga.
And it isn’t really a blog, sort of, because it’s nothing but pictures and YouTube links and a few occasional notes about the movies and the songs that I used to enjoy. I wish I still owned the account so I could fix the grammar lapses, haha, but I was young and dumb and,
hmm, when exactly does “youth” stop being a valid excuse? After high school? Upon turning 21? (I’ll confront this thought some other time.)
But if any of you are curious about my 2011 self, go ahead and visit this link. There’s little to browse and there’s no juicy secret to uncover; it’s just a few pages of snippets that may or may not remind you of me, however you perceive me today, seven years later.
And if by chance you trace who I really am, the real name and all the details I purposely try to hide, do you mind just keeping it between us, just you and me, like our little secret?
Love love, Jolens
The featured gif is originally from a now-defunct tumblr site.
A part of me regrets posting the Plath poem last night. Work has been a shitshow this week and yesterday was just — hay, ‘tang ina. The gist, I suppose, is I fucked up.
Or other people fucked up. But because my brain is wired a certain way, I have this crippling tendency to just take in all the blame.
This morning, for example, the contractor told my boss that our project had not been running smoothly in their site. Parts never arrive on time, he said, and it’s my job to tell the vendor to provide all the parts on time. But I always speak with the vendor and he always assures me that he’s got it, that he knows the drill. Welp. Apparently not.
The other day I had a different problem with another project. The site discovered existing issues with my design, all of which I assumed were already handled in the past. Again, apparently not.
So I made all these assumptions and they ended up biting me in the butt. I’ve been trying to justify my decisions but, to be honest, they were really just shitty decisions. I fucked up.
listening to the ticking of the clock and the humming of the furnace; I’m already in Sleep Mode so no more music;
thinking about how my weekend went — even though I didn’t leave the house and celebrated Halloween like a typical twenty-something living in This Side of the World, I still think my weekend was well spent;
I have no plans tonight. R invited me to “his thing” but I already made up my mind: I hate social interactions on Friday nights. Sorry, R. Happy birthday.
Weather Network predicts a high of 13’ today (Celsius, not Freedom). I will be visiting another open yard site for work; I hope I don’t freeze. The last few days have been unusually warm for October, but I don’t want to jinx it. Oh god let’s not jinx it.
Maybe I should go to the gym tonight. Yes, that could be the plan. Go to the gym after work, go home, and eat cake. There should still be some beer in the fridge. Perfect.
Yes, totally. And I don’t really care so long as the pages remain intact and the words remain legible. I’ve long abandoned this banal sentimentality towards physical books; nobody is any less of a reader just because their books look “used.”
Have you ever damaged a borrowed book?
Essie lent me (or gave me, haha) her copy of Junot Diaz’s The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao about 10 years ago. I’ve read it so many times and now the back cover is almost torn off. Sorry, Essie, for never giving it back.
How long does it take you to read a book?
It depends on how busy I am and how “heavy” the book is, literally and figuratively.
Today’s a Monday, I know, but this is my blog, so let’s follow my rules. (And I’m sure the creator of this tag wouldn’t mind? Or at least I hope they don’t).
Anyhoo, I am currently
readingAmerica Is Not The Heart by Elaine Castillo, and it’s hitting way too close to home;
writing this post and a thinkpiece (charot) on OPM and migration. The second one doesn’t seem to be taking shape though — I just don’t have the discipline to do research, prfft;
listening to Eraserheads’ “Sino Sa Atin” off the under-appreciated “diket-diket” album Natin99;
thinking that I really do like Natin99. Legit, beh. Enjoying this album comes with age, I think; I just never cared for it when I was younger. But now? Dude. “Kahit Ano” is the barkada anthem. “Tama Ka,” “Maselang Bahaghari,” “Pop Machine,” “May Sumasayaw” — damn solid bangers, I’m telling ya;