yesterday was a disaster if i've ever seen one. he spoke too much, i spoke too little. my take on the situation was...he was doing his best to disprove me (or disabuse me) of my notion/stereotype that jocks are airheads. well he exceeded my expectations beyond imagination. we were talking....but not really talking. there was no connection like there was online...we spoke (well he spoke) mostly about politics, government, what its like in brazil. almost nothing personal. well, nothing personal at all!

and i haven't heard from him today. one good thing that came out of it...well, the one ok thing...was he kissed me on the cheek. he probably does that with everyone anyway...so i shouldn't think its anything special. and also...im not so starstruck anymore.

i entered 'salam pax' on google and clicked go...apparently theres a furor in the 'blogosphere' over his identity and what he's been writing so far. yeah...definitely gives us a different perspective from the news on tv where journalists seem reduced to recounting...this missile hit so and so building...injuring so and so many soldiers/civilians...

these are unsettling times. sitting here, with my main worry to finish my two papers for my e.u. and i.s. 270 classes, i still feel a bit distraught somehow. maybe its salam's weblog that's given me this strange...feeling. i've stopped watching the news every now and then. mostly i stick with bbc. their broadcasters seem more...neutral than cnn. plus they keep showing protesters from all over the world.

well, if you've checked out salam pax's weblog, you might want to click on paul boutin's weblog he seems convinced salam is for real.

found an interesting blog today. found it through the guardian. its supposedly a weblog of a 29 year-old iraqi still in baghdad. makes for interesting read.

click here to read a guardian article about 'salam.'

here is the weblog url.

glued to the tv set last night, images of a city bombarded kept me awake til about 3am here. it looked like carnage to me. baghdad looked completely defenseless, the unseen enemy attacking from miles away. how many civilians have been killed or injured i wonder? 20? 200? how long will it last?

what happens after the smoke has cleared? when the 5 american construction companies awarded the job to clean up have finished? will it really make for a better world? who's next? north korea? and after that? will it ever stop?

i have a new entry on my other neglected blog. click on 'armchair activism.'

also, for people who want to see figures about the upcoming war in iraq, click on this

much to be improved on this site. yeah, i've only started to learn a little bit about html, so people reading this blog must forgive me for...the shortcomings of this site. i intend to do something more with it when i have time. at the moment i have two papers to finish.

written on march 15, sitting at starbucks as usual. sitting here, alone with my thoughts which insist on wandering off instead of concentrating on what's in front of me, i find much dissatisfaction. with myself, as always. why can't i be happy? why do i always find something lacking, not quite right in my life? there are many things to be thankful for. but deep within, my thoughts ping-ponging in my head, there is much to be desired, much to be achieved, much left undone and i sit here, wishing i were more.

where shall i find self-satisfaction? if i keep seeking it within and yet always afraid to put thoughts into action, where shall i seek satisfaction? if i were to think less, let my other body parts work more, will i be more content? will i stop expecting so much from myself? will i stop being too self-critical? will i stop seeing myself as a failure so young? the luxury of a simpler mind. i feel almost trapped.

the luxury of wanting simpler things. the luxury of being 'shallow.' i do not like the road in which i travel. the path where i'm headed. someone, something, show me the way.

my brother just hurt me. he's never physically hurt me before..well, not since we were kids. but he's not a 8 year-old kid anymore. he's a grown 20 year-old man who just shoved me. if my back weren't hurting already, it probably wouldn't have hurt as much. but mentally, it hurt. that he would lay his hand on me in anger. it hurts even more because progressively, as each week, month passes by...i see more and more of my father in him. its totally fucked up, because the closest i've come to feeling hate for anyone is with my father.

what really really hurts is that i don't want my kid bro turn out like him. and i'm trying so hard to not see the similarities, but im already fucked up myself. even now, months since both my bro and i have seen our father, he's like this ghost hovering over us...coloring our relationship...fucking us up. still.

u know what i like? getting school work done at starbucks. luckily, theres something like...4 starbucks nearby. i was told manila is the the most "starbucks congested" city outside of any american one. i'll totally buy that. things i like about the place (not in any particular order):

1. the smell of coffee
2. the way the place looks
3. the coffee...grande nonfat caramel macchiatto please...
4. the baristas
5. the really comfy chair and table...just the right height for reading
6. the fact that you can spend 6 hours in there and nobody would kick you out
7. the whole second floor (of both tomas morato branches) are usually packed with people like me...studying..med students, people about to take one board/bar exam or another
8. the lighting...specially the new branch...glass walls...nice veranda..
9. when i cant concentrate, i can always amuse myself with people watching...and starbucks gets some pretty...'interesting' people. we get movie stars now and then too!!
10. i started the book rest trend...and now...i usually see one or two studying with a bookrest at three branches.

however i might love the place i have some pet peeves too:
1. the fact that it gets too cold sometimes...and the with the new branch you cant just go and adjust and aircon settings..they taped it up!
2. really snooty rich or pretending to be rich people.
3. the med students who insist..absolutely insist on speaking with their loud american accents (they're probably fil-americans here to get a relatively cheaper med education)
4. people who just talk too loud
5. when the place is too packed
6. when someone already has my favorite spot!
7. when the place is empty...boring...usually early in the mornings
8. they keep jacking up the price!...and is it me or does the coffee taste...well, not quite the way it tasted before.

if for every thought/idea worthy of writing and expressing myself i actually do put pen on paper and make tangible, in written words, my thoughts and ideas, i might've been able to produce volumes and volumes of essays. to write on almost every aspect of my life, from the personal, to the mundane, to the academic. it has always been a pursuit i find liberating in a sense. seeing the words on paper, recorded, somehow make my ideas more solid, worthy of reflection (mine). if only i could write fast enough to capture every nuance of thought.

writing is release in some ways, it also affords self-revelation of some sort, and validation from whoever the readers may be. validation in form of not just appreciation but agreement or disagreement with my ideas. i have no formal training on writing. but i have always found strength in self-expression. in this language and in the vernacular. although lately, well since high school, i have not had the opportunity to explore tagalog. i mean to, even though it will present considerable difficulty.

is writing egoistic? surely, in most aspects, it is. does it not mean, broadcasting your thoughts out there, imposing/declaring your views/beliefs to whoever might be interested enough to read? surely it is something close to exhibitionism? stripping yourself/your mind for all to see, digest?....

writing is ultimately self-validation. to count your ideas worthy of print, your thoughts sensible for publishing/for mass consumption or for consumption period. it is belief in one's ability to string words together in sequence that express meaningful ideas that communicate to readers. in my case, an attempt to look deeper within myself and find/achieve self-worth/self-awareness. that i am, in a way, extraordinary, that my thoughts, opinions, ideas mean something, are original.

is writing not an escape? escape from having to communicate with someone who could immediately respond?....

writing affords me to change my world in the smallest of ways possible. is that not the ambition of every writer? for creative/fiction writers, aside from entertaining, is there not a moral thrown in in the story somewhere? is there not an attempt to divulge some hidden lesson? to enlighten them to some truth?

is writing not preaching? who wants to be a preacher?....