i like sports. well, ok — i like watching but i watch with such conviction, i scare myself a little sometimes and impress the initiated. my love for sports (wow, i say it like i actually play one… ) occurs in what i call phases. once, i was on a tennis phase — i was ready to profess my love for carlos moya and pete sampras. when i lived with my cousin who was into golf, all it took was a little ‘explanation’ from him, and i found myself spending a few extra minutes on a golf coverage when i channel surfed. basketball is a phase that never really goes away. although i watch the PBA and the NBA only when my teams are playing, i do keep up with the team standings and keep an opinion on trades and other controversies. (go, celtics!) i have also probably seen all of manny pacquiao’s fights  — including that fight in an open area in thailand, when manny was hardly a star, but definitely already impressive.

and now, the UFC. i am thoroughly entertained by it. and no, i am not one of those bandwagon fans that cheer for the favorite or the more attractive fighter. (because it’s embarrassing) don’t get me started, but i actually know my favorites. i remember my late mom getting so worked up whenever i watched MMA matches. she found it violent and feared that i was secretly blood-thirsty. rawr!

so anyway, the beautiful Georges St-Pierre gave Josh Koscheck a beating yesterday. aren’t men just an interesting lot? they trash talk and beat each other up in their skimpy trunks. then someone wins, of course — and they hug and kiss each other, whisper praises into each other’s ear, and sing each other more praises on the microphone as if they had not just each tried to mangle the other person minutes before that.

but really. sometimes, men are just the coolest. now i still wouldn’t want to be one, but there are a couple of things girls can actually learn from them and from mixed martial arts. i can not, for the love of me, imagine two girls going at it, and then hug and pat each other’s back for a catfight well-done. and when women talk nasty — they mean it. they aren’t just hyping it up; they are seriously out to ruin your reputation and your life.

if i try a little harder, i may even say that the UFC may be an interesting commentary on how life is supposed to be. you know, like here, the fighters pick men their own size. in the real world, a lot of people win over others who did not even have a shot to begin with. and they dare call themselves great.

the better fighters try to beat the opponents in their own game. they’re deliberate, and studious. life is like that. there is some level of pleasure in beating people where they believe themselves to be good at.

i wish life allowed us to tap out. you know, just tap out when you think you’ve had enough and save yourself from more hurt. for anyone who understands, it isn’t cowardice because it’s all part of the game. it’s a lifesaver at your beckoning.

and when cain velasquez knocked out half-man-half-concrete brock lesnar — i think it showed how, sometimes, there’s a way to beat the scary.

so do i watch the UFC to bask in all this art imitating life? nah. i’m all for the throw downs and watching the loud mouths get submitted. and it doesn’t hurt that kenny florian is too cute.

Guess How Much I Love You is something i share to my students whenever i find a chance; no one in my classes has ever known of this story prior to my telling them. when i told mama this story, i was all surprised, proud and heartened when she actually guessed Big Nutbrown Hare's last line. today, i read this story again after a long time and i am reminded of how even in her death bed, i (like Little Nutbrown Hare) couldn't outdo my mama.]

Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney

Little Nutbrown Hare was going to bed held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare’s very long ears. He wanted to be sure that Big Nutbrown Hare was listening.

“Guess how much I love you,” he said.

“I don’t think I could guess that,” said Big Nutbrown Hare.

“This much” said Little Nutbrown Hare stretching out his arms as wide as he could go. Big Nutbrown Hare have even longer arms. “But I love you this much,” he said.

“Hmmm. That’s a lot,” thought Little Nutbrown Hare. “I love you as high as I can reach,” said Little Nutbrown Hare.

“I love you as high as I can reach,” said Big Nutbrown Hare.

“That is very high,” thought Little Nutbrown Hare. “I wish I had arms like that.”

Then Little Nutbrown Hare had a good idea. He tumbled upside down then reached up the tree trunk with his feet. “I love you all the way up to my toes,” he said.

“And I love you up to your toes,” said Big Nutbrown Hare swinging him up over his head.

“I love you as I high as I can hop,” laughed Little Nutbrown Hare, bouncing up and down.

“But I love you as high as I can hop,” smiled Big Nutbrown Hare—and he hopped so high that his ears touched the branches above.

“That’s good hopping,” thought Little Nutbrown Hare. “I wish I could hop like that.”

“I love you all the way down the lane as far as the river,” cried Little Nutbrown Hare.

“I love you across the river and over the hills,” said Big Nutbrown Hare.

“That’s very far,” thought Little Nutbrown Hare. He was almost too sleepy to think anymore. Then he looked beyond the thornbushes, out into the big dark night. Nothing could be farther than the sky.

“I love you right up to the moon,” he said and closed his eyes.

“Oh, that’s far,” said Big Nutbrown Hare. “That’s very, very far.”

Big Nutbrown Hare settled Little Nutbrown Hare into his bed of leaves. He leaned over and kissed him goodnight. Then he laid down close by and whispered with a smile. “I love you right up to the moon—and back.”

Now I do not want to forever be the girl whose mom died and I do want to be able to stop talking about her death. But if anyone is really my friend or if anyone ever really knew me or mama, he will have to allow me to hold on to whatever is left of the best gift God and life have ever given me.

Mama was my happy thought. She still is my happy thought. With much struggle and help from many people, I have made some considerable progress at letting go, and moving on, and believing (without much rational understanding and with all the hope that my broken heart is able to muster) that everything happens for a reason. Not that any reason could ever make me whole again. I’m not sure I am even interested.

A day has yet to pass without me crying and talking to mama as if she could hear me; if the ‘rules’ in the afterlife allowed it, I’m sure mama had been listening. I have yet to make dinner without hoping I could have mama over the phone to ‘talk me through eating alone’. I have not stopped dreading weekends, when I have to go home and not have mama expecting me. I miss getting random treats, just because mama thought ‘it’s cute and I might like it’. I miss mama’s stories, and random musings. I have yet to really enjoy a happy thing or circumstance without wishing I could call mama and share it with her.

I have yet to stop thinking mama has been helping me out in my answered prayers and lucky haps lately.

I have yet to bring myself to delete mama’s phone number.

I have only just started to pray again.

Dreams have been a-plenty lately and mama is in each and every one of them. I’m not sure what to make of them, but I’d like to believe mama knew I was lying when I told her to stop worrying about me if it was already too difficult for her. I’d like to believe mama knows how I’ve always needed her. I’d like to believe mama kept true to her explicit promise of ‘babantayan at aalagaan pa rin kita’. Truth is, I basked in being her daughter. I basked in the comfort and security that came with her love.

I don’t need anyone to cry for or with me. Mama’s death is my tragedy. The story of my life has taken a lonely turn; it doesn’t get rewritten. I’m still a little interested, albeit passive, about how the story turns out; but for now, what gets me by is reading through the past over and over, because there were too many good and happy parts.

Happy birthday, mama.

I lost the person I could and would talk to for and about everything. I lost my biggest fan, as well as my best-meaning critic. I lost my quietest but most encouraging cheerleader.

I lost the only person I can say anything to, without any fear of being judged.

I no longer get the phone calls that wake me in the morning; there are no more missed calls I hurry to return at lunch time and some time else in between, lest you worry. And I have no one else to call when I get home to an empty unit at day’s end. I lost the person who checks on me like I’m the most precious thing.

I lost my favorite date for weekend lunch. I lost my favorite shopping companion.

I lost the person whose opinion and approval matter most.

No matter what people say, I am really no longer somebody’s somebody. I don’t belong to anyone anymore, and that is the worst part.

why students nowadays think they are too cool for school. that’s just uncool.

why some people feel so entitled. like the world owes them.

how i could learn to bathe FASTER.

how you answer the question: “Miss, is it okay if I don’t do as you say?” and “Miss, is it okay if I do it my way even though you’ve pretty much spent so much time teaching us a pattern of organization?”. Of course students don’t say it that way. But do they ever mean it? Many, many, many effing times.

why I cannot stop touching my ears.

why it’s just so good to eat breakfast food at lunch and dinner time.

whether i was a good leader or a good bully in high school. maybe it’s the former. or maybe my classmates just loved eating for free and didn’t mind that i was pushing them around a bit

why i even bother setting the alarm clock when i awake at 4 a.m., whether i mean to or not anyway.

what i’m doing here blogging when i have essays to mark and an exam to finish.

who really cares?

2. HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
the last time – keane (??? yeah. didn’t get that either.)

3. WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A LOVER?
the dynamo of volition – jason mraz (dynamo? volition? what?)

4. HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
breakeven – the script

5. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
love isn’t – same same (sabi ko na nga ba e…)

6. WHAT’S YOUR MOTTO?
make it mine – jason mraz (yeah. way to go, self!)

7. WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
realize – colbie caillat

8. WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
kissing a fool – george michael (ha??! sus. kala lang ni mama ‘yun)

9. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
love bug – jonas brothers (grabe… love bug na, jonas brothers pa.)

10. WHAT IS 2 + 2?
free – brooke white

11. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
I hate this part – pussycat dolls (sorry gina. sorry marifi )

12. WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
starlight – muse (eherm. celestial.)

13. WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
northern star – melanie c. (i was gonna say ‘to just grow up’)

14. WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
have a little faith in me – john hiatt

15. WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
breakfast at tiffany’s – deep blue something (naks. can’t wait to be wed. este, to dance.)

16. WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
you can’t always get what you want – rollingstones (hay naku, I know, ok? I know.)

17. WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
innocent – our lady peace (weh.)

18. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
ooh child – hall & oates (right on. )

19. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
show stoppin’ – danity kane (yeah, I’m a born diva. I’ve always suspected that.)

20. WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?
make up – jesse mccartney (e may jonas brothers na nga e. jesse mccartney naman wehehe!)

21. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
only human – jason mraz (of course, right?)

22. WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
broken strings – james morrison feat. nelly furtado

INSTRUCTIONS:
1. Put your iTunes, Windows Media Player, etc. on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS. DON’T LIE.
4. Tag friends (me also, so I can see your results) or however many you want. Everyone tagged has to do the same thing.

i almost always have opinions coming right out of my ears. i do not really expect others to take them up as their own, but i surely do stand by them.

a discussion of Dante’s The Comedy is the reason for this blabbering. i think it makes sense. indifference is a sin indeed.

i usually make my students laugh when i ‘accuse’ them of just sharing in the oxygen of the universe (and therefore, being a waste) every time they could not seem to make up their mind on a yes-no question. they know i mean it, though.

as in the famous epic, there is punishment for those who wouldn’t shed blood or tears for anything.

i may not always be right.

but i take a stand.

and people can count on me to never be on the fence when they need me to be on their side. when i am not on theirs, at least they know it, too. there is peace in truth.

i am writing this after a long time of wanting to but deliberately avoiding to write something (i know i could have put that one better…).

one of my new year’s resolutions is to try my best to NOT ENTERTAIN negative feelings too much. and by not entertaining them, i mean NOT TALKING about them.

it’s going to be such a shot. like a three-pointer. from the opponent’s end of the court. with one hand. and eyes shut. could i be any more lame?

i am a fan of venting. to a close (unfortunate) few. and in here. I feel that it keeps me sane.

however, on brighter days (which actually come quite often) and i read the thoughts i have written — i feel like i am doing my existence an injustice by painting such a dreary picture of it.

nowadays, my work is getting to me a little more than ever, and in many years. often i forget that while it is a part of my life, it isn’t my life.

then in occurred to me: if i could avoid venting too much, and just take things in stride a little more, maybe i’d feel more at ease. if i could just worry less and accept that i can not control every thing (no matter how hard i try), i’d see clearer. if i could just allow myself not to be too disappointed by people, i’d feel less perturbed about possibly disappointing others myself.

something (or someone) in the universe is probably sending me this poem. i will be bold to admit that tonight is the first time that i ever really read it. i remember having seen it on too many walls. i remember having seen it on too many notebooks and journal covers and calendars.

i’ve only paid attention now. and what a time to actually read it.

DESIDERATA

(things to be desired)

Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

okay. i’m okay.

not great, as i had wanted it to be.

but not lame. or lonely. or sad. just fine.

one day in the mall (of all places), i was ‘playing wise’ and shared to someone that recently, what has made me way happier and more peaceful is my resolve to just stop expecting.

no, it isn’t succumbing to mediocrity. or being lame. or losing aim. it’s just that the biggest heartaches i have ever suffered have been caused by my idealism. by my planning. by my counting and placing. it’s the libran in me — obsessive.

but christmas. it’s just one of those things i spend at least half the year waiting for. i couldn’t NOT have expectations.

this one, however, started off kinda wrong. too cramped. too bustling. too full of the unwanted. too different.

i’m sure i was being selfish. but we all are selfish, one way or another. and i couldn’t convince myself that i wanted what or who was around on the one holiday that i treasured like nothing in the world. it was like looking forward to the usual simple warm pie, then getting something so darn different — like fruit cake, which looks fun and bursting. only, that wasn’t what i longed for.

so i have holiday expectations. bite me.

things did get better later on the 24th. more people came. the ones that made this particular holiday what it has always been. i did get my pie…

but really, the child (still very active, in fact) in me, had already been disenchanted. so much so that i have to write about it, or this is going to carry on until the new year.

am i being a brat? of course, i am. i should have known better than to harness expectations.