Entries for November, 2008
You know, coming from an otaku, one shouldn't really ask. Then again, it's really worth sharing. Baboysai's trip to Japan.
For a turista like my family, a few days or a few weeks doesn't matter. We'll round up what we can muster. I'd have thought five days wasn't enough for the trip since I kept comparing it to our last overseas trip which was for the US. We spent 3 weeks there, and we didn't even get to see the Grand Canyon or Mt. Rushmore. Although we went coast to coast, the trip was crammed and jampacked, plus the jetlags, I expected the same thing for Japan. Maybe conclusions should come in the later paragraphs, when I'm about to conclude something. Heh. I should probably start by first impressions.
Japan is beautiful. The balance between nature and manmade environment creates an awesome effect. As a declared deserter of architecture as a passion, I had become once again ignited with that spark of hope. Architecture in Japan is fascinating, and perhaps, amusing. They find places for everything. My sister's apartment had a 1x1 sq.m. toilet and bath, with tub. They plot what I thought would have been impossible parking spaces. There was no argument about how Japanese were able to live with that. Bottom line was, they had a very strong sense of aesthetics. It was just part of who they were.
Therefore, they were naturally glamorous. The very apt word to describe the Japanese. There were no restrictions on age, brand, color, length. Anything and Everything was okay, and they looked good in them. Take a blue checkered top, and red checkered trousers with a different pattern, and it didn't hurt my eyes. The "salary man" which is the supposed typical office worker, would go to work in a suit and tie, of course. Well, and the spiky hair, Louis Vuitton handbag and white crocodile skin pointy shoes. I felt like I was in some scene for a dorama. You'd expect them to tone down a bit since they'd commute, but they take their heels even for hikes.
Japan's main mode of transportation? Trains, trains, trains. Their train system was as complex as the different jeepneys in the whole of Metro Manila and Quezon City, but as smooth as a single LRT line. That, and the kick-ass cars. How come the cars in Japan looked so kick-ass than the rest of the world's?
Of course, the trip isn't complete without the food. Japan has good food. Not bland, not too spicy, not too weird. Thus I gained 2 kilos in the five days I stayed there. >.> Japanese rice was just too good to resist. It wasn't right at all to pass it up.
If you thought up something that you ought to buy and it's not anywhere in your country, expect the Japanese to have it. Anything you had or hadn't imagined to wear yet, they already had. My conclusion about Japan? It's an interesting first-world country to explore again.
Is what you always hear.
Here’s one for the minority. How do you sleep when you’re breaking a heart?
There is a line from Takaya Natsuki’s graphic novel, Fruits Basket. Which hurts more, being left behind or be the one to leave?
Being left behind leaves you the freedom to wait, or give up in anguish. It gives you the right to be angry, impatient, and selfish. It gives you the right to hate, and say all the things you want to say. People will understand you. People will support you. You will have friends, you will have them on your side, cheering you up, hating with you.
If you are the one to leave, you walk away, you have no choice but to hurt, and still walk farther away. Until all the hate directed towards you will no longer hit you, as the accuracy of their targets fade in the distance you have created. You cannot come back. The one you leave behind can wait and wait, but you can never come back. That’s just the way it happens. You’ll be all alone.
You may be lucky to not have experienced leaving. I could probably say in the future, “You may be lucky to have experienced leaving once.” But then again, I could be wrong on that too. Obviously, this will be my first time to leave. Like a baby trying to walk, I am grabbing on to anything that can make me stand up and do this. It’s taking up all my energy, all the strength I can muster, just so I can have the courage to leave someone. Someone, if you didn't notice, very dear to me.
How do you sleep when you’re breaking a heart? It is a question I sincerely ask as I see the sun coming up over the rooftops. I felt a breaking heart once or twice. I know what it feels like. Heart in a glass of ice-cold water, slowly pushed down until it drowns, and you hear the cackle of the glass as it freezes over. And then, I notice that is not what I am feeling. I realize my heart is not breaking, but that I am breaking someone else’s. There is a constriction of the heart as it is forced to stop beating. It panics. My breathing evolves into short gasps of air like I desperately try to live. Ironically, the bigger picture is that I’m leaving, as a desperate attempt to live life.
There is only so much anyone can give. “No, no, no, don’t do that for me.” But in all honesty I don’t want to owe anyone anything. Don’t hurt yourself, don’t suffer, don’t lose, so you won’t have to blame me. So you won’t have to blame me too much anyway. I accept I will be blamed, I will be hated, I will not be forgiven. That is what this courage is all about. Let me face it. Or I gasp for air all my life. And that’s stupid. I think.
Baboysai reads The Great Gatsby
Baboysai watches Clannad After Story, Gundam 00 season 2
WARNING: This entry is not about what you think it's about. But I sure hope you get what I mean anyway. We all go through this more than once in our lives after all.
Yesterday I concluded that I should just fuck it. Men. Fuck Men. Tie them up, use a fork ever so gently, until the skin breaks, then kick them into the ice-cold water. Men are trouble. Men are a pain in the neck. And women are equally frustrating.
What the fuck is this word "serious" that it should drive everyone nuts? What do I have to pay around here to get some peace, quiet, and contentment? Okay, the contentment part I know is expensive, but peace and quiet? It was either I swallow my pride, or swallow man-cum. I.don't.swallow.at.all.
I realized recently that I actually didn't like tango. Someone else should be able to do it, and handle me, but I want to keep up, and I can't. Fuck tango. It rocks, it's effing sexy and everything, but it's difficult, so I give up. What a pain. It's just like mind games. You play it because you think it's cool to think and beat it and shit, but thinking and losing gets you frustrated by 187%, the fact that you make and effort, and PHAIL. Unfair? So stay out of tango.
Now being emotionally and mentally fucked would be good if they make me a super hot dominatrix, kicking everyone's balls and having an excuse for it because I have the trauma of being emotionally and mentally fucked at the prime of my life. Hence, the devil wears Prada. Unfortunately for my kind, fucking me up causes weight gain and eventually suicidal thoughts (Refer to context above for clarifications on the meaning of the word "fuck"). Kidding. I'm not suicidal. I just want to shoot everyone with a .45.
I am never good at hiding anything. Take a look at the paragraphs and they come out as shit. Garbled, nonsensical, gooey shit that barely pass for a code. If I should only say what I feel, it's actually clear as chicken soup.
Baboysai watches Nodame Cantabile Paris-hen, Gundam 00 season 2, Clannad After Story
I think I've used that phrase too loosely in the past. I realized the actual weight when I heard that from someone else.
bb: "I just thought it was very insensitive of you to say those things."
person1: "Well, that was a reality check."
*stab*
Which I didn't really get, was painful as hell, but it was indeed a reality check. In the end, I chose to drift from it. Pfft, we're allowed to believe whatever we wanted right? The reality was painful, so why go with it?
And then I thought I was this ethereal being who should never bother about health. Or something. When it finally hurt to piss, and it was a thick, red piss to boot. I ended up borrowing money from my sister, and could only pay for two days of medication when I should be having seven.
doctor: "You have hema-garbledshitmedicaljargon which means you have blood in your urine. It's an infection."
bb: "Is that some Urinary Track Infection?"
doctor: "~yyyes. But I recommend you get an Ultrasound to check your kidneys. Just to make sure."
bb: 
later..
bb: "How does a UTI happen? And how does dehydration cause that?"
person1: "See, your vagina has colonies of bacteria, but your pH level inhibits them from growing. If you were dehydrated, that might have offset your pH a bit, and the slightest change would be disastrous."
bb: "But no bacteria showed up on my lab results."
person1 (and doctor in hindsight): "Hmm.. but there's a high white cell count. So most likely your immune system is reacting to an infection anyway."
bb: 
later later:
sister: "How can that be an infection if there's no bacteria?? Get a second opinion!"
bb: "um.. as it is, I already owe you money.. and the meds.. and the Ultrasound would have.. and the consultation could get.."
2nd reality check: I was dirt poor. I never experienced poverty this way. When I finally had the guts to text my father for financial support on the medical expenses, I cried. I couldn't even take care of myself.
The school secretary was constantly pestering me about the medical certificate. Failure to submit on time would mean incomplete registration, and I guess I couldn't attend classes? Add that to the fact that my classes clashed with my work schedule.
3rd reality check: I should probably just grovel at my father's feet. And admit defeat that I could really support myself while doing this.
For the record, I hate reality checks. I really do.
Baboysai reads The Great Gatsby
A lot of people didn't get what they expected when I told them I'd bring them a banana flan.
It actually had a crust.
Well, let's get it straight, fellas. According to Mr. Webster, a flan is:
an open pie containing any of various sweet or savory fillings; custard baked with a caramel glaze.
Heh. So this is my banana flan:
This particular banana flan is made out of the sugar dough (for the pie crust), the melted chocolate to hold the crust together, the pastry cream (more popularly known as Bavarian cream,and of course the bananas, and the garnishing on the side.
Baboysai's tip of the day:
Don't overlook the secret ingredient!
Here's why. I actually kept tasting my cream and I didn't want it too sweet because I don't like sweets that are well, too sweet. And I thought it was actually perfect, when all of a sudden Chef Alex (our pastries instructor) poured All purpose cream into the Bavarian cream that T and I and perfected. 
He said it was a secret to make our cream even creamier but at that point we could no longer add sugar to adjust the taste. Hanya? He should have told us what was coming. But well, maybe he did it on purpose. For some reason unknown to me. So the result was fine, not BTS-kind of good, but just fine. Like, probably a 7/10.
And here's us in uniforms:
Spanking, huh?
I kick ass.
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