Halloween is the stupidest, most pointless, blatantly banal consumerist “holiday” invented by the West. I understand X’mas, Father’s/Mother’s Day etc. They’re rooted in traditions that make sense. The premise of Halloween fails to make logical sense at all. What’s the point? Costumes? Candy? Closet sluts coming out? I’m leaning towards the latter, by the way. Halloween is the only time of the year where girls are allowed to look, dress, and act like sluts.

– cynical Me

It’s a good thing that government offices and businesses don’t close shop on Halloween and they don’t consider it a “real” holiday.

Oh, and for the record: I don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, either. I’m not Irish. Why would I force myself to celebrate something that does not have any significance for me? Why must I wear green? It is not rooted in my personal traditions and I could not bear to adopt it either as it makes no sense for me to celebrate it.

On the other hand, there is the example of the universal holiday of Thanksgiving. I have adopted the celebration of Thanksgiving since it is a way for me to give thanks for the blessings from this nation, as well as use it as an opportunity to get together with family. I celebrate Christmas because it is rooted in the Christian faith and is carved into my family traditions. I know that it draws from Pagan traditions as well, but we are focusing on the Christian aspect since the point of this rant is all about how I only celebrate things that I consider significant to my life experience. You know, I don’t force it. [NB: Slutty Halloween girls = FORCED.]

But Halloween? Sure, I guess I understand the “oh, let the kids play dress up and have candy” part of it, but what about the sluts coming out at night? I swear, I think that’s what Halloween is for: absolute rubbish.

Also take note that they also want to learn how to become anorexic.

This here is the perfect sign that our world is going downhill–fast.

Fun Facts:

• Vampirism now seems like a realistic goal in life and a sensible career path.
• A person would rather be anorexic than become a lawyer. Or a doctor or firefighter, for that matter.
• Based on search volume, more people who would still like to learn how to become teachers than those who would like to become anorexic.
• More people want to become pharmacists these days.
• A lot still want to become models–not a surprise.

Thank you for your omniscience, Google.

* * * * *

I came to the rotation feeling weak. I was recovering from profuse diarrhea that I have developed over the weekend. I just came from the UNC Hospital in Chapel Hill with my class. We dealt with burn victims and stayed there since Thursday night. I must’ve eaten something rotten along the way. That, or my GI tract got irritated somehow.

So anyway, today, I was assigned to be at the Pediatric Emergency Department. My preceptor gave me an opportunity to be part of a resuscitation team working with a 1 month-old cardiac arrest baby who just came in. I didn’t hear the specifics at that time since I was tasked with doing compressions on the infant’s chest [compressions as in pushing down on the chest during CPR]. The doctor wanted me to go faster and the respiratory therapist showed me how but pretty much took over after I let go. At this point, the adrenaline in my body really kicked in: I forgot about my diarrhea, or weakness. I was ready to get this baby up and about. Cardiac arrest? That is sooo cool. It’s so awesome that they’re allowing me to be doing this!

When I had nothing to do at the scene, my preceptor ordered me to insert a nasogastric tube [NG tube] down the infant. I have never put down an NG tube on a real person ever before, much less on a 1 month-old baby, but hey, this was the ER, and they want it done right now, so off I went, pushing that small tube down that baby’s nose. It was difficult to do and I couldn’t put it in–I met resistance–so I told the nurses around me that I was having trouble with it. One of them took over, met resistance as well, and eventually was instructed by the doctor to forget about that NG tube.

Things happened so quickly and there were a LOT of people all cramped into that tiny room. Some were other physicians who were merely observing, others the nurses, paramedics, and the actual resuscitation team. Monitors were attached, epinephrine was stuck onto the thighs, the physician was calmly barking out orders, the respiratory therapist was doing the compressions, the nurses were all over the place–at the midst of all this, I intently watched the infant, seemingly lifeless one second, seemingly animated the next. I prayed for it to survive. In fact, I was positive that it would survive. Cardiac arrest? Psh. Just strap on the defibrillators and you’re good to go.

However, in what I would describe as an Emergency Department version of a blitzkrieg gone awry, the people just stopped, took off their gloves, and left the room.

You will hate me for this analogy, but it just felt like that episode on Grey’s Anatomy where the donor organ harvest team quickly went into the room, and, in David’s words, “sliced and diced” the deceased patient, harvested the organs, and left. I forgot which character was left in the room, but when everybody else left, it hit her: this patient is human, this patient is dead, and what the hell happened? She just wept. That’s exactly how I felt, and that is exactly what I did.

The monitors were behind me and I have not looked at them during the whole code, and this time, I had the opportunity to do so. I looked behind me, and my heart sank: 0 heart rate, a flatline, and 6 respirations.

The baby’s dead.

In a part-idiot, part-panicked attempt to know what and why and because, I held the baby’s hand in my gloved finger. Cold. I squeezed its arm. Cold. My hands and feet are usually really cold, but this kind of cold flesh is something I have never felt before.

It was Death. It was Demise. It was that baby, dead.

Then it just hit me. I remember the physician [bless his heart, he was amazing], turn to me and started explaining what had happened. Tears started forming in my eyes. I had drowned out his words. It was just all too overwhelming, I couldn’t take it.

I wept.

I wept for that baby.

I wept for that baby’s parents.

I wept for my naïveté.

I somehow ended up being led into the staff break room, crying.

I never had anyone die on me like that: not even a pet. My heart was broken; it still is, and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again, ever.

Well, to my non-Filipino readers, kilig is that shivery, fuzzy, chilling [positive] feeling that you get when you’re “in love” or infatuated.

To get straight to the point, I think–take note, I said I think–that it is…

twitterpated

What do you think?

/EDIT 12/03/2008: Hey, I take dibs on this. I was the one who first linked the word kilig with twitterpated on the whole history of the Internet. Please give due credit by linking to this blog entry.

/EDIT 05/31/2009: Also, as for the history and origin of the word “twitterpated”, it is actually a fictitious word coined by the beloved owl in the Disney film, “Bambi”, describing how the animals “get all twitterpated in Spring”. See the youtube video here.

“Can I see your ID, please?” she asked. She was a pleasant looking woman, perhaps in her early forties, blond, tanned, yet very very white. She smiled a bespectacled smile, the type of smile that you get from people who wear glasses.

For what?, I thought. I didn’t know they did a Victoria’s Secret on here, asking for IDs when paying via credit card. But wait, I’m not even paying yet, how could she–?

I gave her my What The Hell Are You Talking About look.

“For the beer,” replied the Wise Bespectacled One, as if reading my thoughts. She got Dad’s case of beer from the bottom of the shopping cart and slumped it down on her little counter.

“Ohhh!” I lamely said. “Well,” I began as I waved towards my mother nearby. “She’s paying for these.”

I forced my credit card back in my wallet. I gave her my Stupid Smile.

She nodded and began the check-out process.

I could have told her that I’m turning 21 tomorrow, that I could buy all the beer that I want, and perhaps, even more. Of course, I knew better than to complicate things, and so I kept quiet. The fact that my driver’s license still has that ugly yellow “BELOW 21″ band doesn’t help, either [I renewed my license yesterday, and I wasn't 21 at that time anyway].

21.

Ha. Turning 21.

It still didn’t sink in yet, I think. Or maybe it probably did–I’m really not too sure. 21 is really a bigger deal than 18, I think, because of two reasons:

1. Being twentynothingsomething.
2. Getting kicked out of dependent status for my Dad’s visa. [More on this next time... this is supposed to be another blog entry & explanation.]

I was looking around the girls in my classes, and one thing I also noticed was that absolutely ALL of them have the unmistakable wedding band on their left ring fingers! They’re all married! Yes, a couple of them are older, but a lot of them are still pretty much my age [20 or 21].

Then it just sinks in. It’s like I should act like a fucking grown-up because everyone around me is. The truth is, I’m just a 14 year-old girl at heart: embracing singleness, playing games, leeching off my parents’ money, being a jobless bum and all that…

Ugh, I’ll be 21 tomorrow. I’m scared shitless. Not that it matters, since I’m pretty much 21 right now anyway. Why do numbers have to dictate how we act, how we should do things–basically our lives?

Fuck growing up.

I hope I have a happy birthday tomorrow because tomorrow is the start of the Rest of My Life.

PS: Happy 20th birthday to my friends Lora and Jade, as well! Also, happy 25th birthday to my cousin Tim.

That’s what I’ve been telling everyone ever since I’ve heard of this book’s “ingenious concept”.

“The Secret reveals the most powerful law in the universe.

“Without exception, every human being has the ability to transform any weakness or suffering into strength, power, perfect peace, health, and abundance…

“The Secret explains with simplicity the law that is governing all lives, and offers the knowledge of how to create – intentionally and effortlessly – a joyful life. This is the secret to everything – the secret to unlimited happiness, love, health and prosperity. ”
–Official Site

The book (and audiobook and movie and website and diary and lunchbox and undies) talks about the Law of Attraction. In a nutshell, when you think of something, you’ll get it. Positive thoughts attract positive outcomes, and vice-versa. I haven’t read it–I don’t think that I even plan on doing so–yet from what I have been hearing from the reviews and write-ups, I think that this is all common sense. People have been doing it for years… what’s so new about it?

Miss Jackie’s Collage

You see, back in my old university in the Philippines, UP Manila, my English professor picked me together with a friend, Essel, to join her and her other hand-picked students for some dinner and a mini get-together and party of sorts.

So he and I attended the thing (it was at Blue Frog, in Malate, Manila) just because it’s such an honor to get picked by your professor for something that sounds so exclusive. Late into the evening, we found out that our professor, Miss Lumain, is actually a Life Coach. You know, those people you pay to make your life better.

That evening, she taught us how to get our Hearts’ Desire.

How to Get Your Heart’s Desire:

1. Gather some old magazines, construction paper, scissors, and glue on a table. You are going to make a collage.
2. Browse through your magazines and pick out all the items that you desire. You may pick out these pictures and attach literal or figurative significance to them.
3. Make sure that you truly–truly, madly, deeply–desire these things.
4. Using your scissors, cut out the pictures that represent your desires and paste them on to your construction paper. Finish off your collage.
5. Admire your work. Make sure that you allow the images to seep in to your inner consciousness.
6. Wait a couple of days/months/weeks/years. One or all of your desired objects would be given to you, and your wish(es) will come true.

Simple enough, eh?

“Who is skeptical about this exercise?” she asked.

Essel and I both raised our hands.

“You don’t believe in this?”

“It’s hard to believe in it,” Essel answered. “It might not work.”

“What would you do if it did?”

Fast-forward to November 6, 2005. It was early evening of my little “going away” house party. I was leaving for the United States on the 9th. Essel wasn’t able to come, and he sent me an SMS stating his apology. Along with it, he also said that,

“pam, nagkatotoo yung isa sa mga nilagay ko kay ma’am lumain!”
(translation: “Pam, the one of the things that I placed there in Ma’am Lumain’s [collage] came true!”)

I asked him what it was, but I don’t remember receiving his reply. Whatever it was, it came true after a few weeks.

Three months after I did that exercise, I got that new car and laptop. Okay, the car may not be registered under my name ( XD ) though I am its primary driver anyway.

This may all seem far-fetched to you (it still seems far-fetched to me as well XD ), but I read something off O Magazine (okay, guilty… ) that backs up all this positivity and visualization logic.

I’ll tell you all about it on my next blog entry…

* * * *

Sorry for not posting anything in a long, long time. My sister, Andi, just came home to the Philippines right after the holidays, and school immediately began right after, so things just went busier than I had imagined. School rocks and I am having lots of fun in my classes. A particular favourite would be my Philosophy class, which I am taking under Dr. Geller whom I have met with my dad early last year, at the Honors College banquet.

So many changes are taking place for me this year, though I don’t believe that I am even ready to tell you all about it.

Earlier in life, I had thought that my life was simply like a highway: it goes on a straight, distinct path and even if I may not know what goes beyond what my eye can see, I know that it simply goes on straight and right ahead. I thought that it was all so simple: after graduating from MCHS, I’d get into my dream university, UP Diliman, then perhaps study something to become a doctor, or a writer, or be both. I would graduate and pursue higher than higher education, and just be, as what Julie referred to me back in high school: “an over-achieving biatch”.

All of that never really happened. UP Manila happened, and moving to the US had to happen. UNC happened. I chose the university closest to home, switched my majors and all that jazz… I never knew it could get that complicated. I thought that it would all be simple.

It never was.

I guess just like Anne, I’ve taken a bend on the road. Well, I’ve taken a couple of turns along the way, and all this uncertainty–all these changes–are rather overwhelming. There’s just so many sacrifices to make, so many new opportunities to take on, and so many old dreams to let go of in order to pursue, yes, the same thing, albeit through a detour.

I speak in riddles. XD Pardon me, I’m not ready to let it all out. Not yet.

I sure hope that this all works out. I really want it to work out.

I miss you guys….

Loving everyone from NC,

Pam

PS: For your laughter and mine, well, randomguy is BACK! I received yet another fun letter from him! More on him next time…

My mom and I were talking yesterday when suddenly, she said something that I have never heard of before:

“Pinabugbog ni Imelda yung Beatles nung andun sila sa Pilipinas,”
[Translate: Imelda (Marcos) had the Beatles beaten up while the group was in the Philippines.]

And boy, was I shocked to say the least!

My brother came in and joined in the conversation. He agreed and said that one of his high school teachers told them about it. The Beatles were beaten up by some of Imelda Marcos’ thugs at the airport, on their way out of the country during their 1966 visit.

Imelda Marcos had the Beatles beaten up at the airport? Why haven’t I ever heard of this before?

So I did a bit of research and ended up with this brilliant page that features a transcript straight from the fab four’s recollection of their traumatic Philippine visit. This was taken from The Beatles Anthology documentaries.

To those who, like me, are quite shocked by this, I recommend that you read the entire webpage to be enlightened. Their ordeal has some eerie resemblance to the last few events in the movie, The Last King of Scotland.

The story in a nutshell [according to their Wikipedia page, at least]:

In July 1966, when The Beatles toured the Philippines, they unintentionally snubbed the nation’s first lady, Imelda Marcos, who had expected the group to attend a breakfast reception at the Presidential Palace.[69] When presented with the invitation, Brian Epstein politely declined on behalf of the group, as it had never been the group’s policy to accept such “official” invitations.[70] The group soon found that the Marcos regime was unaccustomed to accepting “no” for an answer. After the ’snub’ was broadcast on Philippine television and radio, all of The Beatles’ police protection disappeared. The group and their entourage had to make their way to Manila airport on their own. At the airport, road manager Mal Evans was beaten and kicked, and the band members were pushed and jostled about by a hostile crowd.[71] Once the group boarded the plane, Epstein and Evans were ordered off, and Evans said, “Tell my wife that I love her.”[72] Epstein was forced to give back all the money that the band had earned while they were there before being allowed back on the plane.[73]

I guess that dictators’ wives are really spoiled rotten like that. The fact that she even had the nerve to maltreat the Beatles like that and give the country a bad name just shows how God-like and superior she thinks she is. To be able to tell everyone that “Hey, I beat up the Beatles! Get it? Get it? *roflmao*” would be a big ego-booster, I guess. She is, after all, the dictator’s wife.

Don’t you just love to hate Imelda?

And oh, look, they’ve made fun of her! XD

To my Filipino friends: Am I living under a rock this entire time? Have you guys heard of this before?

Author’s note: My blog, my rules. I value freedom of speech, but for Pete’s sake, STAY ON TOPIC. Off-topic and verbally abusive comments have been rejected, and trolls have been banned. Now about the blog entry… Read first and understand the original entry before proclaiming your love for me. Come on, we’re civil people around here.
UPDATE 06-28-2009: Commenting has now been disabled.

I have noticed during these past few days that traffic to my blog has exponentially increased due to the fact that people who were searching for “The Awful Truth About Filipinos” on Google have landed on one of my many personal blog entries.

This has kept me wondering: what the hell is this “awful truth about Filipinos”? It definitely sounds like a title of some book, a documentary, or some nasty e-mail chain letter.

My last guess came in close. Upon further investigation, I found out that some ignorant outdated dude posted the deleted Slashdot comment that reproduced the infamous Art Bell e-mail chain letter hoax on this forum [notice the date that the forum member posted this outdated 2001 message].

The aforementioned essay rant called “The Awful Truth About Filipinos” was originally attributed to popular American radio personality, Art Bell. According to Wikipedia [because I'm too lazy to summarize stuff for you]:

The Philippine Daily Inquirer printed a letter found on a web page purportedly from Bell that made derogatory statements about Filipinos. This letter was subsequently demonstrated to be a hoax perpetrated upon Bell, who in fact had a publicly loving relationship with his Filipina wife and his previous wife Ramona who was also Filipina, and who often spoke openly about his admiration for the Filipino people on his radio show. Subsequently, the Philippine Daily Inquirer printed a retraction and apologized for printing the statement upon their verification of the hoax. This fraudulent act upon Bell still periodically results in serious threats to Bell when this material surfaces from time to time.

Please, just stop. Haven’t you even read Bob Ong’s essay regarding this? I am sick and tired of reading these types of articles and forum posts.

I hate the fact that Filipinos keep talking about how awful our country is. Please stop the hate and negativity.

 
I hate the fact that the most insecure strangers that I come across online are most of the time Filipinos. [i.e. They always start threads that go along the lines of "What Do You Think Of Filipinos?". God, why are you all so insecure?!]

 
I hate the fact that Filipinos try to bring down their fellow Filipinos [see crab mentality].

 
I hate the fact that a lot of Filipinos are so ignorant—many believe that “buying foreign products will kill our economy” or “speaking English is unpatriotic”.

 
Be open-minded.

 
We are living in a global economy, a global society–a global world where “nationalism isn’t bound by time or place. People from other nations migrate to create new nations, yet still remain essentially who they are,” as Patricia Evangelista has said in her award-winning speech.

 
I’ll end this by quoting more of Patricia’s words for those idiots who accuse me of being a traitor to my beloved country:

“Leaving sometimes isn’t a matter of choice. It’s coming back that is. The Hobbits of the shire traveled all over Middle-Earth, but they chose to come home, richer in every sense of the word. We call people like these balikbayans or the ‘returnees’ — those who followed their dream, yet choose to return and share their mature talents and good fortune.

 
“…I may take advantage of whatever opportunities come my way. But I will come home. A borderless world doesn’t preclude the idea of a home. I’m a Filipino, and I’ll always be one. It isn’t about just geography; it isn’t about boundaries. It’s about giving back to the country that shaped me.”

Narrow-minded fools.

2. When people ask for your age, you still have to calculate it because you just simply lost track after 18.

3. You wish that you were sixteen forever…

4. …but on the other hand, you do feel like a sixteen year-old stuck in this adult body.

5. You find yourself saying the phrase “back in high school” far too often.

6. You romanticize and idealize your high school experiences too much.

7. You realize that the 1990’s babies are all grown-up now [you being the 80's baby that you are].

8. By the time you realize #7, you get depressed.

9. You think that age is more than a number and make a big deal out of it.

10. You wish that you were 21 so even if you were a twentynothingsomething, you could start drinking legally and drown in the depths of despair along with your two new buddies, Mr.Daniel and Mr.Mule [and perhaps Senor Zapata, as well]. XD

11. You keep on referring to twenty-somethings as twenty-nothings. [Which is bad, I think.] XD

12. You would refer to anyone 19 years old and below as a “kid”.

13. If you are a twenty-nothingsomething and single, your folks would bug you about getting a boy/girlfriend.

14. If you already have one, they’ll keep warning you not to get married.

15. You then realize that you have to get a job…

16. …but then again, you’re aiming for “young, wild, and free [and maybe failure to launch, as well]” so why get a job? XD

17. You write essays to get free cash for school textbooks.

18. You’re busting your a** in preparation for med school.

19. All of the above items apply to you.

20. Upon reading #19, you get depressed.

* * * * *

One thing I’ve realized after all these years is that birthdays aren’t all about the material stuff–heck, my mom gave me tons of make-up so that I would start “acting like a girl”–as if I weren’t already . Birthdays were invented so that people would remember each other. I use birthdays as an excuse to say hi to that certain someone whom I haven’t talked to in ages, or that somebody whom I’ve found myself to drift away from through the years.

It’s all basically an excuse to poke somebody out of the blue and not feel embarrassed about it.

Thanks to those who remembered [who poked, prodded, messaged, rang, and texted], and to those who didn’t, as well.

Last night, all I asked God was for me to be happy.

Today, I really am.

I love my life: that new house we’re getting built is looking fantastic, the people around me are just fabulous, my friends are all so thoughtful, and my family just rocks.

I love everyone. ♥

*starts a new chapter in my life-book*

Okay, then. Let’s process what we just saw.

That video clip above was a deleted scene.

In that episode, Brian’s flamboyant gay cousin, Jasper, drops by with his [her?] Filipino boyfriend, Ricardo.
At the end of the episode, the two of them get married in the family’s backyard. Notice that Jasper [yes, the dog] is wearing a wedding gown, and Ricardo is too stupid to know what the hell is going on.

Also take note of Stewie’s sarcasm.

Filipinos all over the Net have been passing on this video, and are just too gosh darn proud of it.

I watch Family Guy myself, and I know that everything’s done all in good fun–heck, I bet they even have Filipinos on board–but still…

Yes, I don’t want to apply Lit.Crit. on this video clip, so I invite you to analyze this clip yourself.

Reactions, anyone?