looking at various profiles in social networking sites, i do notice that people can’t help but accumulate favorite things. They can have as much as twenty favorite movies, even more favorite music, the sheer volume of their favorite tv shows will make you wonder if they are permanently bolted onto the couch doomed to watch series after series of shows ’til eternal repose.

ours now is a world of indecision, where young people are exposed to a blitzkrieg of stimuli from all directions, flung into fields from a million different angles. we can aimlessly flick through a multitude of cable channels and sift through the richest mine of the continuously expanding cyberspace. if this is how pop culture molded us as individuals, of course it would be too mind-numbing to choose only one favorite.

strangely though, i can name just one single favorite of many items:

book: the passion by jeanette winterson

song: when smokey sings by abc

visual artist: michael parkes

movie: il postino (dammit, not the kevin costner fluke, please stop asking! i may be tacky sometimes, but i’m not that tacky!)

animated film: a chipmunk adventure

singer: madonna (hey, i’m a popster at heart, and nothing beats the madge. though this would have been a toss-up between her and michael jackson. until jacko turned wacko and disappointed us all)

band: beck (and the coolest website too)

girl group: pussycat dolls

food: tofu

drink: coca-cola

fragrance: lacoste pour femme

cigarettes: philip morris (so?! eh jologs ako, paki alam nyo? you’ll never see me spend more than 35 clams for these cancer-inducing bad habits)

apparel: tyler

and so many other things to which i’d give one (just one!)answer when asked what of it is my favorite. without batting an eyelash too. this proves how tenacious a stickler i am. how single-minded and focused, how zoned-in i can be. how fiercely loyal i am to certain brands (heck, even my underwear drawer strains under the weight of just one brand).

but for the life of me, i can’t seem to name just one single favorite color. and that had chief flying off the handle there. which is a different story for a different entry.

…so you shouldn’t show you age.

this very day, i arrive at the lastest of my late twenties. one more year and i am officially doomed to obscurity. unless i do something about it.

first things first: vanity is a priority. yes, i plead guilty to the facile form of the highest capital sin. narcissus better scoot over that lakeshore so i can peer into my own reflection. and because i may have some sort of body dysmorphic disorder, i can sweat over the shallowest of things and suffer chronically of an insecurity against the rest of the beautiful populace.  

i have dry skin. which was fantastic growing up because while classmates labored over clearasil, astringents and oil blotters, i had absolutely no worries about breakouts. i never used face powder until i started working. but late twenties/early thirties will more than make up for what i lacked in blemishes. fine lines. the gradual appearance of the horror that is wrinkles. which i can overdramatize into a disaster now: tenacious creases under my eyes, the multi-pronged semi-dignified crow’s feet, a furrowed complex between my eyes and eyebrows, and these hairline canals of laugh lines in places that, at a younger age, indicated my joy.

my problem is… i hate face gunk. i don’t like the feeling of moisturizers, no matter how light they claim to be. they’re all the same heavy, humid, gluey stuff to me. heck, i don’t even use body lotion despite my scaly surface. so how to battle (or at least delay) these signs of aging without the aid of gelatinous substances? i suppose there’s no easier way.

so for the first time in my superficially insecure life, i used toner and moisturizer. i started using them about three weeks ago, after one of the consultants in our beauty department persuaded me into investing lunch money in moisture (”you will thank me for it, trust me. how you look in your 20’s is a gift from god. how you look in your 30’s is your gift to yourself”). he drove a very convincing argument there, so off i went to buy a set of facial wash, toner and moisturizer from the next personal care store i stumbled upon on my way to food (i’m afraid i am not ready to splurge on our own brands; it takes genuine enlightening experience for me to be persuaded into buying thousands of pesos worth of skincare).

three weeks after i diligently applied these compounds onto my screwy face, i still haven’t figured out how women built a habit of it. application is superfluous effort, takes away good sleeping time each morning.

when i visited one of the stores last weekend, the supervisor drew close to my cheek and suddenly says, “you’re skin is so nice today. what did you do?” and before i can even reply, she walks two steps into the stockroom, brings out one of the store staff and says to her, “look at her skin. isn’t it nice?” then she turns to me again, “what did you do?”

our beauty consultant was right. i will thank him for it.

we probably all know about matt’s dancing wanderlust, the video that’s sweeping the web by storm:

where the hell is matt?’s “dancing”

a youtube user wrote a comment on that video:
“well I knew there was a good reason for you tube. This has got to be one of the top ones. This and the dancing jail guys in the Philippines. I wonder about combining the two…”

of course, he is refering to these guys:

thriller

that comment actually makes my day! and you know what, that would be a brilliant idea! combine the two?!?! could someone please spread the word until it reaches matt! so he visits cebu and dances with the inmates there! he could include it in his next “dancing” video…

besides, he has danced with the kids in tagaytay, philippines (04:29 of the “dancing” video ). he could take a trip further south of the country and fulfill our viral imaginations what fun!!!

here i am again, with this some kind of feeling. a compound of anxiety and hopelessness to create a new substance: existential boredom. not that i’m not contended with what i’ve been doing, nor am i complacent with what’s been happening. it’s just another day when i concede defeat in the face of another resounding turn of events.

you didn’t have to insist on the subject when i clearly regret having brought it up. and you should know by now that i always mean what i say. i neither embellish nor subtract details in sorry attempts to preserve my ego: you just have to believe me when i say no. and while your sarcasm shines forth, i wish you don’t lash out like that when i couldn’t figure out which statements are earnest and which ones i can poke fun at. i was surprised, honestly. especially during a moment of mental turbulence, i don’t think i have enough energy to sift through your witticisms. i will surely not use the word “scald” for a long time yet. so please, a little sensitivity.

i don’t blame you though. you’re not biologically bound to the same worries. you can be a prick about these things and you can summon any express excuse from a whole spectrum of excuses, conveniently laid out before you in display cases only the likes of you can reach. while the likes of me parry the blows as they crash.

i am being unfair. you’re not a prick. just a little insensitive when the going got tough. i would expect the behavior from the other douche, but hey, that’s how he was spun. i would still like to believe you were spun better than that.

anyhow, i am sorry for the inconvenience i may have caused (this statement again?!). this time, it will surely not happen again because the night is over. new day, new troubles. i’d rather not recycle the same problems.

ok, so that was infinitesimally smaller than should warrant the white flag. yes, i am being unfair for having flung the guilt at you. but what have i got to lose? we don’t have too much at stake to begin with. better turn back while the skillet’s still warming up. nobody wants to get burned.

just think this is self-preservation, if it would make us both feel better. that’s the essence of survival.

so, av, i give up. it’s been nice, but the emotional aftermath is just too tough to handle. but i mean it when i say it’s been nice. a little sad, but no regrets. see you around!

warning: please see previous entry

after operation, still in her anaesthetic sleep.

she was allowed to drink milk only when fully awake. she was so hungry.

she regained her usual mood the next day.

two days after the operation, she didn’t need the dextrose anymore, though the IV remained for antibiotics.

at least she could already change out of the OR gown.

and we didn’t stop her anymore from using the tube as a teether.

warning: this entry will feel like sitting next to a zealous old lady trying to invade your privacy by shoving 2R pictures of her grandchildren into your sleepy face. only, i’m not an old lady and this is not my grandchild. this is robyn.

today, robyn turns 8 months. just over two weeks ago, she underwent the second in a series of three operations. at least now the worst one is over.

arriving at the hospital, she seemed both scared and fascinated. she would cry sporadically, but cease abruptly when she zones in on something unfamiliar. like the metal bars on the sides of the bed.

feet not included.

she holds her own bottle now.

and would even try to grab the camera while she feeds herself.

and when she’s through…

…she flips the bottle over to use it as a teether. this is one of her favorite forms of amusement.

by morning of the second day, she was starting to get used to the hospital.

and had even started engaging in her other favorite form of amusement: sputtering spit at people. which looks like that.

by afternoon of the same day, she was so comfortable already, she was back to her old self.

by evening, her mirth quickly turned to horror when the doctor put her on IV. which was horror to watch for me too because her site was so difficult to locate, the doctor had to re-insert three times. plus, she is unusually strong for her age, so it took some serious effort to restrain her. we ended up “mummifying” her in a blanket just to keep her still.

she was afraid for a while, but again, got over it a bit when she saw something new. like her IV.

…that may also be just a bunch of hot air. perhaps because he would like some attention from other people on father’s day. for the first time in his life. celebrate it like the rest of them.

yep, that’s most likely it.

because i know for certain that he is selfish and his motives are shady.

almost three months after so the drama, we finally come to terms with each other. for once we strongly agreed on one thing: no one will do anything to pick a fight with the other.

so imagine the surprise when he offered me his seat to join him and his peeps. and when i refused, he addressed them all to introduce me as the mother of his daughter.

just in time for father’s day.

i read these few entries back and i am startled at how disconsolate i may have seemed solely based on what i have written. i am not fundamentally unhappy. let me make that clear. i just like putting down unhappy thoughts. so i could get them out of the way. 

because on days when i’m blithe and cheerful, i won’t even stop to think, much less stop to actually write.

what would really make my day today is a can of pik-nik. i’ll buy one on my way home and eat it watching those nonsense soaps. it’s pure bliss.

i want to lose my head over getting sick with grief. my throat was parched but blocked, my nostrils were heavily clogged, my ears were hard of hearing when i woke up from a sleep that barely touched surface. i wanted to sulk all day and be sad over my lack of companionship, but i can’t help feeling calm about things. i realized that i had no more house food left and i didn’t have enough cash to make the minimum delivery order footnoted in these fast food fliers. i was too lazy to even put on decent clothes so i can walk to the nearest atm. i called up the neighbor across the street to ask what breakfast they could assemble for me, i’ll just pay whatever. i felt sorry for myself looking at the greasy preparation, all of which i would have relished if i weren’t schizophrenic today, so i took what i couldn’t shovel into my mouth anymore and lay them right in front of the orange cat stretched beneath the pick-up.

i wanted to just stay home and be desperately lonely. it’s overcast, the rain will surely pour in a matter of minutes, this was the best day to be romantically sulky. but i had responsibilities to accomplish. medium-sized shoes to fill in the office. i can’t be neglectful of duty, that’s not my style. my style is to put it off for a while, but not to neglect it altogether. so i called in sick this morning, saying i’m reporting to work after lunch, i’m still nursing a monumental cough you’d think i would expectorate my larynx with this tenaciously gluey phlegm. which is true; although i refused to have the phlegm boost itself up my throat, so when i report to work later in the afternoon, they’d know i’m not kidding about the monumental cough.

so the morning was oil-ridden meat and scrambled eggs for breakfast, a trusty can of coca-cola, some schoolboy’s cartoon network shows and a steady, stalwart drizzle from a solemn gray sky.

it’s such a nice day to be sad.