In case you were wondering whose hand that is, that’s my left hand. I can’t lay it flat on a surface or stretch my fingers; years of bad typing habits have sort of deformed both my hands into something akin to claws. Then again, it’s almost always the case that when someone notices my hands, they think lady fingers.
(Posted as a reply to Katrina Stuart-Santiago and the anti-JJ crowd… a riposte)
The chicken wire enclosure to your left may seem meaningless; it’s found on every open parking lot in Ortigas Center. That itself carries with it an import; that I am not supposed to cross here, that I am not allowed here unless I have a car and am willing to pay the fee.
It may all seem trivializing, but you can derive meanings like that from things which are nothing more than simple enclosures to public space. For something made with wire and metal tubes, a fence can evoke strong feelings.
It’s not that fences are built to be evil, but it is the purpose of a fence that carries with it some degree of meaning.
After the Friday the 13th incident at the UP Fair, I’ve been reading up a bit on talk of “securing UP’s borders;” the gated community, fences, and so on. The “us-against-them” mentality that seems to be present in UP right now is starting to creep up on the University grappling with the idea of “us-against-them,” of “UPians” and “outsiders.” My stay in UP was sort of defined along those lines as well; I’ve seen some sort of violence erupt outside the fence of my own campus some years back which involved “outsiders” enjoying the Christmas concert.
The Metro Manila Development Authority (MMDA) can build fences in a matter of hours if the feel like it, y’know. Now as far as a fence goes, building one around UP Diliman is rather easy:
So much for being a fence-sitter, so to speak… here goes.
So… did I get to go on a date with anyone last night at Lovapalooza?
Nope. I was with friends watching the Rico Blanco/Pupil/Bamboo/Spongecola concert from a projection screen. While the urge to throw bricks at the rowdy-dowdys ready for an impromptu heavy metal mosh-pit while Yael was singing “Jeepney” was definitely there…
POINT!
OK, every now and then I have this gimmick of being a “lyrics translator.” Some people love it. Then again, there are some people who hate it. Some people may claim that I’m not really taken all too seriously these days because I have the lyrics translator gimmick.
Again, here’s my justification: I can’t talk about politics and serious stuff all the time.
I usually translate love songs, so here are 10 really popular love songs (at least I think they’re popular) that could have been great for Valentine’s Day.
I blame at least one thing to a generation gap: I don’t understand emo kids going into a mosh pit during a Bamboo concert while raising the corna.
Above is Coy’s video account of the violence that took place last Friday at the UP Fair. I wasn’t there, so I couldn’t give an objective evaluation of what happened, but the posts written by Rom Sedona and Alex Maximo – as well as the account of Tiffany Chua – got me thinking.
Stream of thought.
Like all holidays, Valentine’s Day means many different things to many different people. While there is a historical basis for Valentine’s Day, there’s no better way (at least for me) to explain this crock of shit called Valentine’s Day than with a good old-fashioned conspiracy theory.
Something off the pages of doomsday prophets and political extremes… something completely unsubstantiated, but believable and plausible.
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the terrorist organization: “XOXO.”
For the better part of a week, I was quite bitter about the whole idea of Valentine’s Day. It’s all because of the idea that Valentine’s Day is just another Hallmark holiday, or maybe I’m just embittered by the fact that I don’t have a date or that I don’t have a romantic relationship to treasure, much less to worry about. Valentine’s Day is still pretty much a very frustrating day that I have to spend – yet again – in the embrace of the only real date I’ve ever known every February 14th: solitude.
I’ve had some time to think things over, and I realized that it can’t be all that bad. February 14th is just another day; another anomaly in time that, by virtue of saints and greeting cards, is a red-letter day.
Methinks that the only reason why I’m so embittered about Valentine’s Day is because I don’t share – even in a very remote sense – those feelings and situations that other people have during this time of the year. There’s no one to give roses to, there’s no one to take to dinner, and there’s pretty much nothing – and no one – to be my Valentine this year, 23 years running. No first kisses, no first dances, no dates that actually took place on Valentine’s Day.
It doesn’t mean I have to be bitter about it, though. Maybe I’m just blind to whatever gesture of love is there, or I overthink.
People could cry “commercialization” and “consumerism” all they want, but I think it’s tragic for us to limit the best expressions of our love just because it’s Valentine’s Day. In effect, it’s insensitive, depersonalized love reduced to mere calendar dates. There are just too many dates, flowers, and Valentine cards given on this day, but never on any other day. Many of us forget that flowers bloom every day, that Hallmark makes cards every day, and that the person we love most is always there for us, whether it’s Valentine’s Day or not.
I guess that Valentine’s Day is a very tragic holiday; rather than be a cause for happiness, Valentine’s Day should be a reminder to all of us that we have successfully limited the strongest expressions of love when everybody does it, not when our hearts and minds feel most obliged to give our all to that special someone we hold dear. Perhaps even the simplest, most meaningless days in the calendar should have some meaning attached to them. Especially when they are memorable days spent with that one person who changed your life not for the better, but changed it for the best.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
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