「もののあはれ」

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Stuff written below is purely a personal non-thought and should not be taken seriously.

I have been fond of the Japanese culture since its glory days of anime during the '90s. Thanks to anime, I learned to draw cartoons. And from cartoons, I've developed to drawing real people and figures. I am not ashamed to say that's where my love for art held its foundation. Although I have outgrown a lot of things, I was kid who grew up with Final Fantasy, Gundam, Pokemon, Yu Yu Hakusho and such. And though I may have been brought up with a Barbie doll, I was also spoiled with those mecha toys. I cannot put to words how much I have learned because of the Japanese culture. I'm no longer enthused of it as much as I used to be, but Japan will always hold a soft spot in me.

STAGE 1: THINSPIRATION

Even the most stuck-up breed of teenage girls shares common insecurities with the normal ones. It is normal for a girl to be conscious about her body shape. It becomes abnormal when she does something about it that is too overboard.

Most people will laugh at one's own definition of beauty and perfection. Other than good looks, a bright mind and a charming personality, one should weigh according to his or her BMI (body mass index). The less he or she weighs is better.

On a summer night in 2008, watching models with garments hanging loosely on their thin frames while doing a catwalk on the runway had made her an obsessive weight conscious fifteen-year-old. Models not having awkward flabby arms and love handles sticking out of from their clothes and looking glamorous in everything they wear is perfection to her. She just had to be one of them, enough to please Anna Wintour, the ice queen of Vogue.

No matter how smart or beautiful a person is if she’s fat or chubby, she’s less likely to have a chance to be the face of fashion. Honestly, clothes look better on skinny girls. Being skinny is a feminine thing. Asian girls tend to have smaller frames than Western girls, and she thought she had to live up to that image. She has been aware of the increasing rate of obesity in the West, and they were often characterized to be unhealthy and lazy people.  Her own, stuck-up judgment had developed to hate the idea of being fat.

Although people often say she is ‘skinny’, she never considered herself as one, at least not until she sees her collarbone sticking out, or her skin clinging only to the bones of her arms, or her stomach at its flattest, or her face showing its contoured jaws. She has the dress size of two, but she's going for zero. In achieving so, she  avoided the greasy food, and only ate one meal (sometimes none) everyday.

On special occasions like family dinner, she made sure she drinks a lot of green tea just to get rid of what she ate. Thank goodness her family loves Chinese restaurants – she didn't have to pay 50 bucks just for a cup of tea.

She started to be disgusted with meat, especially pork. At one point in her life she tried to live like a vegetarian and ate what the rabbits ate.

Her appetite had always been small, but thanks to a sweet tooth, her journey towards a skinny body frame is being delayed for another week. Cutting her food intake was working, though.

And when the day comes when all the unreasonable things she had been doing, and when starvation had finally paid off, she gets to be the happiest and most contented girl on earth. No fats sticking out of a tight-hugging tank top, or thighs touching each other. She had the body of a waif, like Twiggy, she thinks.

The tape measure around her waist says 24”.  The weighing scale reads 42 kg.  For a small Asian girl with the height of 5’2”, it’s an achievement within two weeks. Her clothes when she was seven years old fitted her again. She didn’t have problems about clothing sizes when shopping, because she knew they’ll fit her anyway.

No friend of hers gets to squeeze a lump of fat out of her whenever they play around.  No lump of fat whenever she bends over or sit down. It was awesome, it was blissful, and she feels perfect. So she continued this lifestyle in the dark.

She knows that if people find out what she's been doing to herself, they will think she's not only insane. She's sick. But Kate Moss was right: “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”


STAGE 2: ANA AND MIA

Now that she has the body type she has been starving for, the next thing to do was to maintain it as long as she lives. Trying to maintain a thin frame was difficult.

 She wanted to be perfect all the time, but she can’t be. Like any other human being, she is flawed. She needs to satiate her physiological needs, like eating. She scorns eating. Eating makes her fat. But she had to eat. Who does not? This paradoxical situation she had been in had led her to more absurdity.

She started to become extra picky of the food that she eats: An apple for breakfast, tomatoes for lunch and water for dinner. Because she's starting to eat again, her cravings for sweets are stoked. All the hard-work and resistance from her favorite snacks were put to waste. She gained some weight, and that made her panic. She did her own research on how to maintain thin. Whenever she feels like eating, she bloats herself by drinking water, just to feel full. She ate ice cubes just to satiate her cravings. If that didn’t work, she brushes her teeth just to forget the feeling.

Her social life was sold for being skinny. She refused to eat meals with her family as she excuses herself that she have already eaten at school. Her friends (who love food), she had to ditch them. she goes straight home to do cardio exercises and sleep, just to avoid the thought of food.

Yet again, one has to emphasize that as a flawed human being, she needed to eat. An inevitable thing. So, she found a way how to not to gain weight other than starving myself or drinking tea. And she did it – put two fingers inside her mouth and touch her own tonsils until her insides flip, and purge. Successfully, those two slices of pizza and fries were out of her system right away. And so, whenever she feels fat after a meal, she just locks herself in the bathroom and throw up. Even if the after-feeling is unbearable and sickly, she had to endure it. To this date, one could say that this was the most outrageous thing she ever did, proving that she was very obsessive about her weight.

Gladly, for the first few weeks, no one caught her frequent visits to the bathroom. She knew she was going to be fine, as long as no one notices. But no later than that, people around her had begun speculating over her dramatic weight loss.
She did not care as long as she was skinny. The feeling of an empty stomach was surprisingly gratifying.

STAGE 3: SIDE EFFECT

I became used to this lifestyle, as my family and friends started nagging that I should eat. But I was just as stubborn as Gandhi. I thought that they were just insecure of me being thinner than them. I’ve irrationally feared and hated body fat. And to some points in my life, fat people.

My family and friends started to point out habits I’ve gotten since I started becoming weight-conscious. The most extreme was that I always call myself fat on photographs, even if I was not, and I kept insisting I was. To my dismay, they do not see what I see towards my self-image, and had thought I was only seeking attention.

They do not know what I feel, they have no right to say such things, I thought. So I just continued on. I’ve gotten used to only eating an apple a day, with the occasional salad.

Unknowingly I have associated the word ‘fat’ to ‘food’.

By June 2009, everything was okay until I was frequented by colds and high fever. My complexion turned unattractively pale and was too sensitive that it itched on everything it feels. I missed two weeks’ worth of classes and I was not getting any better. Obviously my immune system had been performing poorly. I knew the solution but I did not want to admit it myself. For assurance, I had to see the doctor. The doctor said I was not eating right. The problem was simple, and the answer was simple as well. I had to eat.

However, it was not such a simple thing for me to do.

By the time this thought had dawned to me, I took into consideration that I may have some sort of mental disorder. I mentally debated whether I was anorexic or bulimic, and if this lifestyle was truly a mental disorder or a choice. It was both. Maybe I am anorexic, I think to myself. But maybe I am not, because whenever I look at the mirror, I see a not-so-skinny-but-quite-chubby girl.

All of my ideologies regarding beauty and perfection may have to do something about the artist in me. Maybe I’m just mentally messed up that I had these discriminatory thoughts towards being fat and fat people. If these were true, then I feel very ashamed for being so prejudiced. I feel ashamed that I am so insecure of myself. I want to change.

After I got better, I started to eat right again. I try to eat like a human being -- at least two times a day. I still have not gotten over some of my eating disorder habits. I still drink tea after every meal. And I still skip meals. Though I gained weight, I am still weight-conscious. I know I’ll never be fat because of genetics, but I kept having withdrawal symptoms from eating more. I want to accept the kind of body type I have, but the negative perception of it remains in my head.

It is quite frustrating to be in the mid of what you want and what you have gotten used to. But the surest thing right now is that I know what I don’t want. I don’t want any eating disorder to get the best of me. It’s all in the mind.

This is how you'll enter the real world:

Your welcoming committee will be wearing their smug, weary, stressed faces, with nonchalant eyes. But you're sensitive enough to know they're judging you, from your fancy shoes up to your well-combed hair.

They're eyeing you like a prey. They won't show it, though. They're too clever to don this indifference. Your meat and wits reek of inevitable freshness. They can smell that you are young, you don't know anything, we can fool you, or so they think. They'll be kind to you, be the 'role-model' figure you just need and still be treacherous.

But little do they know that you're aware of this social play. You give them the benefits of mocking and fooling you. And because you're a smart-assed kid, you'll act ignorant and stupid -- trying to find out who was the husband with five wives. But you're sly. Within this polygamy, there's always that slut or whore. Because you're better than anyone else, you subtly squeeze that out without pulling your sleeves.

After pulling that off from your playbook, you start to doubt every goodness you've learned from your preppy school. That's just how it works, dear. You can let your guard down now. Tough world, eh? Breathe, stay calm. Go on and cry, but you have to go through this on your own.

You know, after a bad night, when we wake up the next day, we have this apathetic, indifferent expression plastered on our faces. As if whatever happened did not matter, but in truth it did. It's actually eating you up. But we love to wear disguises.

We push people away. We like to be alone. We don't want anyone uncovering our weaknesses, or for anyone to know who we are, because there was a time someone did, and that person didn't like it. That person hurt you. And from there, you don't want that to happen again. We torture ourselves with our loneliness. We keep these feelings to ourselves, because we don't like anyone touching them; because we might hurt more. But we're really just running away from getting healed. We think we're too good for anyone to bother us -- or should I say -- to take care of us. We love self-pity. We feel special. We think we're cut above the rest, because we think no one understands.

And so we carry on with this masquerade. This mask, the poker face, is but a lie we've engineered. And when we keep on pretending, we become the mask itself. We become these faceless people, no longer recognizing anything, anyone else, not even ourselves.




I'm that sort of selfish. I think I'm like that. I was a heathen in disguise. I thought I knew everything, I thought I could do things alone, with my way. But I'm just really vulnerable, putting an armor too big for me to wear. I think I'm special, too special that it's disgusting.

I don't want to be that person anymore. 

I know I need to rely on you. I know I'm not alone.

Title: 1Q84
Read: 2013


This 900-page sort of surreal epic fiction with two story lines that are narrated alternatively chapter per chapter is set on a Tokyo with two moons. 1Q84 is about a woman named Aomame, who ought to have entered an alternate reality she calls "1Q84", and Tengo, who ghostwrites a 17-year-old Fuka-Eri's novel, Air Chrysalis. The character of Ushikawa, a private investigator, was introduced in Book 3. I'll end it here that Aomame and Tengo are lovers, as I'm to keep this spoiler-free.

This is said yet Murakami's most ambitious work. Ambitious that it is 900 pages long, but other than that, Murakami is still Murakami in 1Q84. Pensieve protagonists, graphic descriptions of the smallest of things, otherworldly creatures called The Little People, and all things surreal and beyond a normal person's imagination is in 1Q84. Contrary to the majority of Murakami's books, 1Q84 was not written in first-person. It also didn't have the erotic style Murakami had put in his other novels such as Sputnik Sweetheart.



Considering what I have said above-mentioned, the ordinary reader will not appreciate this, and it is clear why.



I am aware that 1Q84 consists 80% of descriptions and bland paragraphs and 20% of the story. The climactic paragraphs are buried within the 80%, which makes the novel a very slow-paced read. But the slowness was the experience from 1Q84. Narrations that will take you somewhere else, then the next one, you are being pulled back to the reality -- back to the story line. Not to mention, I love how the plot has been formulated. It is easy to point out how well-thought it is.

I think most of those who tried to read Murakami fail to appreciate him as a writer because they can't understand him. Murakami is a surreal litterateur, his nature, his specialty which cuts him above the rest. Reading Murakami is not to understand but to get lost with it. And only then the reader will understand.

Noting that there are a lot of quotable passages to be found in 1Q84 than the rest of his works have, I think Murakami's style grew from apathy to empathy, and the ending vouches for that.

I am bummed how long it was though, and I still think Kafka on the Shore and Wind-Up Bird Chronicle were his bests under his surreal genre, but nonetheless 1Q84 was very enjoyable.


EASTER EGG (for those who do not know): The Japanese word for the number nine is "kyu", thus one-kyu-eight-four.

Title: Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore
Read: 2013
Note: this is the first time I'll be writing a review about a book that is not my favorite. However, this does not indicate that I have poorly judged a book, for I believe each book tastes different to another bibliophile such as me.

Clay Jannon is a jobless techie, until he strolls onto a 'Help Wanted' sign on a peculiar bookstore 'Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore' in San Francisco, California. Mr. Penumbra is an old man who owns an old (older than Penumbra himself) bookstore. Clay, as he detests to live in tents, accepts the night shift. Clay soon figures out that he was to become more than just a clerk of an oddball's bookshop.

I will no longer give away what this book is all about. The first time one shall read this will spend hours and hours picturing Mr. Penumbra's bookstore. More or less it's a book about books (I am referring to the printed word), and sort of a commemorative fiction for books.

In the age of kindles, Sloan has given fair effort to face the issue of e-books against the printed word. And roughly, the ever so sensitive and stubborn bibliophile such as I, will be opened to the favors of the electronic format.

Sloan's writing meshes with simple but concise vocabulary and falls under the hipster subcult. There's nothing much, Sloan's work is not quotable, but the experience of reading this book was refreshing. All these characteristics I have mentioned made the book a page-turner to me.

What frustrated me though, was the cliched ending. I was expecting of something to equal the idea of Sloan, because truthfully, the whole 'oddball-bookshop-slash-oddball-people-coming-over' was something that I wished (particularly, the bibliophile's) existed in real life.

But I'm going to let this slide, Mr. Penumbra's bookstore is just too cool not to imagine, and personally, I think this book has dedicated itself to the existence of books. This work had heightened my love and appreciation for books.


This is how I imagined the bookstore and Mr. Penumbra: *don't judge*

"Of course, the relationship between book and reader is private." -- Mr. Penumbra.

Complete title: Disco Bloodbath: A Fabulous But True Tale of Murder in Clubland a.k.a. Party Monster
Read: 2013

The only murder story to ever tickle you.

Written by one of the party queens of the disco era, Disco Bloodbath is a memoir of celebutante James St. James which follows the murder of a drug dealer named Angel by his toppity-top-party-promoter and friend Michael Alig.

Honestly, what makes this book worth the read is the oddity and the surreal reality of disco heaven, a dying 80's subculture in the Big Apple during the 90's. "The party was over. The ride was through. It was the end of an era, MY era, and, damnit, that meant I was about to become 'dated.'" 

As St. James would have said, it wasn't all "sequins and cocktails". The side stories of drugs, homosexuality and sex will keep you turning pages out of curiosity. The followers of the disco subcult tried to party forever even if it was already over. Partying, a theme in the light of happiness and all things wonderful and to smile about, becomes a paradoxical thing when the elements of drugs, homosexuality, sex and murder come in the picture.

 There is nothing much so special about the murdering of a drug dealer, nor is it thrilling as a crime story, but the book's leading quality is its style. It's a true story that makes you ought of fiction because it is catty and funny. Whilst reading, one may forget that this story was true. With all of these stated, Disco Bloodbath is not a true crime story that you will take as Capote-eqsue, but a memoir written in the most creative way an author can do so. St. James, disco guru, loved to be quotable without losing context. If being cool and witty is the turf, this book has a lot of lines worth remembering. By the end you will remember this book as a moral story with a swaggering wordplay.

In very peachy days such as this one, our abilities are put to the test on how we spend the day. You finally got rid off your workload (or perhaps not), and you still got a long night ahead of you. You get to have your 'me-time'. After you have done all humanly possible things out of sheer boredom -- say, watched a film about musical penguins or New York mobsters beating each other all the way to Hell's Kitchen, played NBA or FIFA for several hours -- the thing is, once you stop what you're doing, you'll be alone with your mind. You'll start to think about him, or her. "What could she be doing?", "Does he think of me?", "Does she like me too?", "I miss him so much".. Sentimentality. It's the most dangerous thing that isolation brings.

Read: 2008

"This bird has flown."

When the Beatles tune "Norwegian Wood" played on the airwaves, Toru Watanabe starts to reminisce upon his arrival in Hamburg, Germany.

Toru Watanabe  is torn between his complicated relationships with Naoko and Midori. Naoko was the girlfriend of Toru's best friend, Kizuki. Kizuki committed suicide and had left a more-than-miserable and emotional Naoko alone. Toru, being in love with Naoko, tries his best to comfort her and help her move on. But Naoko is helplessly haunted by her memories, guilt and love for Kizuki. Toru then meets a girl who is totally the opposite of Naoko. Midori, bright, vivid and lively, is a drama classmate of Toru. The whole story wanders around Toru's unresolved feelings for Naoko, his grievance towards Kizuki, and his blossoming love for Midori.

The story follows the typical events of lovelorn, a favorite theme of authors from the romance genre. However, what makes Norwegian Wood stand out is not its story, but its style of prose, depicting what is often intrinsic -- Toru's thoughts and feelings in words.

The characters are rounded and well-developed, from major characters to minor ones (e.g. Nagasawa, Hatsumi). Naoko and Midori are of the strongest personalities in the book.

Norwegian Wood is often categorized under romance. But Norwegian Wood is more than just romance. It exploits the complex and untouched aspects of heartache, pain, yearning, nostalgia, and other feelings. The reader could find something new in himself; mostly, to recognize the presence of feelings that were then unknown.

Murakami also gave justice to this as an erotic novel. Instead of putting 'sex' as something to relate with only love or something carnal, 'sex' has been also used as a device to depict Toru's feelings. Sex becomes subtle, but does not lose its role for the erotic genre.

Murakami deviates from his usual style of surreal fiction (which are heavily-injected of concretes such as talking cats), completely different from his other works. But one trademark of Murakami has been left --  apart from long dialogues, Murakami's language and control of metaphors make the readers imagine and visualize abstracts. That is something praiseworthy of Murakami.

An absolute shocker upon seeing my professor, Joselito Zulueta being mentioned in the acknowledgement of a bio of Nick Joaquin.

The spread for my article. <3

Also, please read our collaborative blog! <3

As promised, I have mentioned earlier that I will be sharing some personal things with you — don’t you guys worry, it’s still slightly drama-free.

My reason why I haven’t been updating lately other than my academic life is because of the London Olympics on July to August. Because I live approximately at GMT 8:00+, the games start at night up to the after hours. So apparently, after school, I go home immediately to take a nap and wake up in the dead of the night to watch the games.

Personally I was never a sports person. I hate sweating and getting dirty. I don’t watch any game other than football — until the French Open in tennis this year took place. After watching the French Open I’ve become more open to other sports.. in which why I would like to share my love of football — something that I have been keeping in arcane for years. Here in my place, football is not the main sport, but ‘basketball’. Weird enough, I have tried to be open about my preference to football over any other sport, and I’ve been labeled ‘elitist’ for such. Up to now I still cannot comprehend why people here are like that, since the whole world other than my country and the United States deem football as their national favorite. Football is the ‘world’s favorite sport’, no doubt about that.

And it’s Premier League and La Liga season again! :-D I rarely have people to talk to about my football feelings and my very detailed admiration for Iker Casillas and Fernando Torres. I really envy football fans who get to watch and talk about the games with their family, friends and peers. I would also like to mention that I only know one or two guys who watch football out of all the people I know. My life is sad D:

I like Spanish football. I love how the Spaniards play the game with so much passion and tension. When it comes to Real Madrid and FC Barcelona, I don’t really have a long-shot preference over the two, since I think both clubs are best on their own; but because I just really, really adore Iker Casillas (second will be Fernando Torres), Real Madrid is ahead by .001% for me.

And I’m very glad I’m taking Spanish classes right now else I would not comprehend a word Sergio Ramos and others are saying on Twitter.

Whenever someone asks me for my favorite football team, I would answer La Roja or the Spanish football team instead of a football club. Personally, I think La Roja is perfected by its members. After Spanish football will be Latin American football.

I always imagined myself that I’ll never be a writer for a broadsheet or a tabloid, but of some high-end magazine writer of arts and culture. Although I am fully aware of local and international politics, I’m a bit hesitant getting involved of it. I know that arts and culture won’t take me afar, but right now, I do consider being a sports writer. In truth, though, I really don’t know what will become of me after I graduate.

How do you feel about football? Or your favorite sport? :-)

Last August my best friend ambushed me. We decided to take a drink at Café Noriter along Taft, Manila.
'Noriter' is the Korean word for 'playground'. The café gives you the complete comfortable and homey feeling. You can doodle, draw and jot down personal messages on some parts of the café. :-)

BFFs forever hahaha

The real bonus here at Café Noriter is you can be just comfortable while being with your friends, or alone while reading your book. You can lie down or take a nap --  as long as you order something, of course! :-)

Roboto!

Lovely interior design. Don't you agree?

Café Noriter is one of Taft's must-go-to places. Order your coffee now!

Christine, Nikka, Mark and I watched The Reunion (2012) last Saturday (18th August), a local film about four buddies reminiscing their high school lives. The film's soundtrack is heavily induced with Eraserheads songs, with also subtle references to the songs. Though I am not a fan of local films, I actually enjoyed this. I think the cinematography was breathtaking and something all filmmakers should copy. The quality is already at par with Japanese and Korean films :-)



Though Enchong Dee was actually the most-centric character of all the four main characters, I personally thought Xian Lim's charm and his hilarious acting was the most remarkable.


We ate our lunch at Bon Chon!


The famous chicken. When it comes to meat, I prefer to eat beef than chicken, but Bon Chon's chicken has to be the most scrumptious chicken I have ever tasted. Will definitely eat this again.

Chapchae

Christine & I.

Nikka & I!

Nikka's love for Happy Lemon extends to the point she's thisclose in being an endorser!



Bought three new books to be added in my library -- The First Family by Mike Dash, a non-fiction about mafias; Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern; and the book I've been scavenger hunting for two years now, Mein Kampf, an autobiography by Adolf Hitler. I still have a bulk to read before I start with these D: check my Goodreads account! :-)

Mark, Nikka and I.

Lucky Chinatown is like Narnia within Chinatown. It's a diamond in the rough. Unlike other malls, it's not so crowded here. I'll go here often now.