Archive for April, 2011

Wardrobe Androgyny (or, How I Revisit My Childhood Crush On Christina Ricci)

April 27, 2011

For the record, I actually wished I could be Devon Sawa when I was a kid, if only to take his place when he and Christina Ricci kissed in Casper. Dude was so lucky the liplock recurred in Now and Then, which I think was the last nail in the coffin of my young heart getting broken by someone who I’ll eventually associate with Prozac.

Ah, Roberta*! How you taped your boobs, then in due course, exposed them with utmost frequency. There’s a confession I need to make, though: in those times when I bore witness to your mammary displays, it’s still and always your face I noticed. Your face which has only gotten prettier with age and reminded me how it was for a boy, naïve and all, to think that he was falling in love in a moment of his choosing—even if, really, he wasn’t. Perhaps that’s just how innocent affection works: infatuation over malice, sincerity over shame, wishful thinking over reason, smiles over nipples.

There’s something about distance, impossibility, and madness that mocks me right now, but it just feels good to be that boy again. This time wearing your clothes, this time with Devon Sawa out of the picture.

Spotted Separately: She in Los Angeles, I in Mandaluyong.

*Roberta was the character played by Christina Ricci in the movie Now and Then. She was a tomboy who plastered her breasts to make her chest flat as a man’s.


On Depression

April 25, 2011

When you fall in love with sadness as if it’s the only thing that can make you happy, you don’t need someone to tell you everything’s gonna be fine. Because really, at that moment, it won’t. Simple because it can’t. Times like these, someone who listens and understands is enough.


April 1, 2011

Bad hair day gone good. Always, always the expected surprise without thinking of combs and mirrors. No care at all for people’s second glances. Flurry dances, on my head in your face at the tip of today’s boredom. Ah, this beautiful bedlam! Mark it, check it, you’re different, deterrent to this world’s detergent for fools.

(She loves my hair this way and I love it that she loves it that way. More importantly, I love my hair this way the way I love her and her ways of loving me more than my hair.)

Memorable Mentors

April 1, 2011

What I learned from being trained by many a mentor, be it about writing, music, or dance, is this: the best teachers show you how things are done, then set you free so you can be yourself as you do your stuff. They train people, yes; but they don’t manufacture them. They don’t take credit for producing someone like you, but it is you who, in the end, give them the well-deserved credit.