Beatrice lay on the rumpled sheets, her eyes cast on the ceiling, focused on empty space. Rain poured heavily outside her bedroom window, leaving blotches of perspiration on its glass partition. It had been raining for about half a week. She hated the rain. She hated the sound of its angry downpour resonating through the walls of her room and the way it dominated the atmosphere, begging to be heard.

Nothing seemed to overpower the blatant noise of the furious rain; not even the music from her speakers on max volume—blaring, ironically, Rhythm of the Rain by The Cascades.

Chill managed to penetrate the marginal spaces of the window jamb and brushed against her exposed skin, causing goose flesh to rise. She shifted to her side, reached for a blanket on the pile of laundry by the bedside table, and wrapped herself in it. She basked in its warmth and thought of slumber. Her eyes were slowly drooping.

Upon the boundary between sleep and consciousness, her thoughts wandered.

There had been times where she’d enjoyed the rain. Especially when she was little, when rainwater was safe enough to bathe in—like a cool, comforting shower shared with close friends, although completely clothed. How long had it been?

Before she could even recall some past memories to answer the question, she dozed off.


To emphasize the gloom.

I stole the photo above off of Google images.



If I were given tons of cash, I’d spend them all on books and maybe an iPod touch. Really. Okay, and a bunch of shirts. But 95% would be on books.

Here is my to-read list on goodreads.

I don’t know why I’m writing about this. I just felt like it because I was browsing goodreads and started looking at Harry Potter box set prices on Amazon. Jen and I visited National Bookstore earlier and all the books we wanted were taunting us whilst settling inanimately in their shelves. I wanted so badly to buy The Book Thief (and several others), but there’s this hole in my pocket that takes a while to fill.

It’s pretty depressing to think about it. I made this big list of to-read books for the summer, and I’ve only read, like, less than a quarter of them. And not reading anything sucks.

Another thing, my imagination’s started working, but I need heaps of inspiration in order to get it to produce something that’s worth a story. Sucky imagination + mediocre vocabulary = nothing. I don’t know.

Sorry about this. I can’t get my thoughts sorted. They’re all jumbled. I’m just struggling to fish for sentences that are relevant and make sense. There are so many things happening in my head that it’s hard to even form one proper sentence.



Okay, this post will appear stupid to most of you, but whatever. Also, this is incoherent. And maybe sorta gross. And also pretty pointless. And it has tons of comma splices and fragments.

There are times where I so badly wish I were a guy. The first and probably most common reason why is guys, they don’t bleed for five days and get all hormonal during the cycle.

Another is because they don’t have to do so much to look presentable. They don’t have to, I don’t know, think about ways to unfrizz their hair, or think about whether it’s a good idea to apply conditioner on a certain day or will just a shampoo do okay. Hair treatments are damn expensive for girls who aren’t naturally gifted with shiny hair, and if we wanna have nice hair, we spend dough to get our hair practically frizz-free for a short period of time until it grows back. I know guys have to get their haircut several times a month because their hair(s?) grow immensely fast, but I can live with that, as long as I can live my life not having to shave my pits and not caring about leg hair or facial hair or hair on wherever place on my body that isn’t my head.

And the clothes, they can just pick a shirt off their closet and some shorts or jeans and some sneakers or flip-flops or kicks, and they’re good to go. They don’t have to carry so many personal slash hygienic stuff around, so they can walk around the mall or elsewhere without a bag or some shit.

I know these are all general observations, and I’m probably just too lazy to attend to my body, to shave/wax/pluck all the hair that isn’t on my head and down there, to pick clothes with color coordination, to apply something on my face in order to look at least presentable. All these are probably based off my brother, and I just envy him sometimes how he showers for only five to ten minutes because he doesn’t have so much hair to wash. And how he gets dressed within about a minute or something.

But the prime reason why I sometimes wish so is because books written by men are far more interesting, especially written from the male perspective. Not that I’m saying books written by women aren’t interesting, and I’m probably only saying this because I haven’t read enough books to judge enough authors. I mean, Jane Austen and Harper Lee and Luisa May Alcott and Emily Dickinson and Anne Rice and Danielle Steel and all those well-known female writers had written great works, so women stand equally in the field of producing interesting work. (Although I haven’t read the works of half of the authors I mentioned above, but since they’re positively famous, it’s automatic that they produce good material.)

And one thing, girls can get pretty sappy and get all dramatic. It sucks sometimes. I don’t know what goes through guys’ minds but they don’t look like they’re easily occupied by their emotions. Except, maybe, anger and contempt, which eventually leads them landing a fist on some other guy’s face and stuff.

Maybe I’m just saying shit, but I don’t know. It’s one of those nights.

But well, it’s not that I really wish to be a guy. Being a girl is nice. God made me a girl for a reason. I mean, I appreciate the sexuality I was born with, and I’m happy to embrace the hormonal fits I sometimes encounter. It’s nice to ogle at good-looking guys from afar or from my computer screen. And it’s nice to be able to open up and not feel metaphorically gay about it.

Hell, it’s nice to even harness long-term crushes on unattainable guys that last at least two or more years. Even though this is sort of masochistic, especially when the said crush has a girlfriend, and it’s basically my part-time job to resent the girlfriend and think ill toward her and sob over the fact that the said crush barely acknowledged my existence. But whatever.

Sometimes I just find guys slightly curious.




Lo and behold! Inserting some random photo of me and my family (excluding my mom, who was taking the picture) looking all happy and summery.

In this post, I am going to state what I’ve so far achieved during the first month of summer, discuss about book series (Harry Potter, specifically), and rant about some things.

Okay, so I’ve just gotten home from Boracay with my family, and tomorrow I’ll be flying again, off to Palawan for this journalism contest called NSPC. Expectedly, I’d gotten at least a shade darker, with pale lines on my skin that serve as my summer adventure’s markers. I’m not really gonna give a review on Boracay because almost everybody already knows about its splendor and whatnot. I’m neutral toward it, mostly because the shores were infested with algae that, when excessively clumped together, emitted a strong stench. So I wasn’t too keen on bathing myself in its waters and all, which is primarily the reason why we even went there. Plus, the sun was searing.

I love beaches, really, but I’m not particularly fond of huge groups of people, and Boracay was flooding with people. The amount of people in a certain area can be likened to the amount of ants swarming in a displayed bowl of sugar. But, well, it’s understandable. It’s the holidays, the summer, and the island’s extra popular. It’s beautiful and there are tons of foreign people—enough to outnumber the locals—sauntering on the sand, flaunting their beach bodies in their tiny bikinis and trunks and board shorts, looking tan and blissful. Enjoying the sun. All that.

I can easily say that I felt sort of far out, like I’m not part of the crowd or whatever. I didn’t have balls to expose my body with its obvious lack of chest and rather noticable belly. No way. We just walked around a lot, making my calves all solid and bulky. And most of the time I just curled up in our room, reading Harry Potter through my phone’s e-book/PDF reader because I’m such a bore.

I thought I would’ve enjoyed it more if I were richer, ’cause there were tons of expensive food I felt the need to taste but was unable to because it was a financially struggling endeavor.

And there’s Harry Potter. When school ended, I made this list of all the books I plan to read before college starts, and most of them are book series because I used to dislike them and I wanted to know why people were so into them. So I started with The Hunger Games, because my best friend made me read it and lent me the book before I even asked, so I had no choice. And because I get easily attached, which I hate, I fell in love with it.

Now, I’m reading Harry Potter (shoot me now for not reading it sooner, when the hype has died down), and I’m already on the fifth book. And, well, I’m just as in love with it as I used to be with The Hunger Games. And, gosh, why didn’t I start reading it way back, when there were still movies to look forward to even when the series was over? I regret being stubborn on feeling indifferent toward book series. I had all these stupid assumptions and I was afraid of attachment. I love The Hunger Games and Harry Potter equally. Maybe the latter a little more. Then I’m going to watch the movies after I finish the series.


Caesar Flickerman

When I am idle, my feelings toward my fictional obsessions become stronger and doing anything against them only intensifies this so I’ll just make a blog post.

This is Caesar Flickerman, as my title boldly states, played by Stanley Tucci. And I think he is the most perfectly cast character among all others.

Stealing graphics from tumblr because I can’t make my own.



Doesn’t he have great teeth?

There’s also this smile he does in the beginning of his segments. WHICH I CAN’T POST BECAUSE GIFs REFUSE TO MOVE FOR SOME REASON. So I’ll just post a link.

Here’s what I’m talking about.

Oh maaaaaan.

This guy is so versatile. He was the mad pedophilic murderer in Lovely Bones, this dude in Devil Wears Prada, Meryl Streep’s husband in Julie & Julia, Emma Stone’s dad in Easy A, this gay dude in Burlesque, and some guy in several other movies I have yet to see.

Credits to those who own all the photos.



So here’s a very brief review on The Hunger Games trilogy and the film. I’m not gonna put everything in detail because I suck at that, and I suck at thinking of words that fit, and I suck at writing my feelings.

I’d finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy three days ago, and there’s still this lingering attachment for the characters within me. I’d watched the movie with my best friend yesterday, and I wanted to cry because she didn’t understand why it meant so much to me. I had to treat her to watch the movie because she didn’t want to and I didn’t want to watch alone.

Fictional characters are my weakness, I guess. I keep re-reading the small dialogue between Katniss and Peeta in Mockingjay, just before the epilogue, because it gave me goosebumps.

The Hunger Games was, commonly, my most favorite book among the three. It made me thrive for action. Catching Fire was equally good, and the cliffhanger in the end killed me a little. Mockingjay was depressing. Really.

I can’t seem to accept that the series is over, because there was very little closure between Katniss and the others. And I’m a sucker for character interaction. Also, the ending seemed rushed. But it was okay.

The movie had little changes, and they left out some pretty substantial parts of the story, but whatever. I understand it’s not that easy to put an entire book into a full-length film, having to decide which details to leave out and add.



It just occurred to me that I’d finished reading both Looking for Alaska and The Fault in Our Stars within a span of two days. I was trying so hard not to read them both so quickly, and we went out a lot this weekend so there was only a slight chance for me to continually read. But I managed to finish both books within two days for some reason.

I was trying to save The Fault in Our Stars, too, because I’d wanted it to last longer than a day. But I failed. I got too absorbed with all the characters and their idiosyncrasies. John Green writes so realistically well, and his characters are always so smart and different that it’s pissing me off. The attachment doesn’t wear out for days and just allows itself to consume me.

And the pain. The death of the characters I’ve learned to love is unbearable. Maybe this is only because I’m an unduly sensitive person, whatever. But really. I am a sucker for characters who are intelligent, and John Green is an expert in the field of making intelligent characters. He also happens to be an expert in killing them in the best ways possible.

Both books were sad. They’re like treats when you start reading the first few pages, but midway through, there’s this factor that alters all the joy and unknowingly depresses you. But that’s the beauty of it, I guess. And both books had humor. Even after the saddest parts you can imagine, there are these hilarious bursts of conversation that come out of nowhere, and you just crack up amid tears.

And there are lines I’d like to share, all from The Fault in Our Stars, because I’d only gotten the idea of taking pictures of my favorite lines—after I’d read Looking for Alaska, which also had several quote-worthy statements—when I came across an amazing dialogue. Which was:


I melted. This made me fall in love with Augustus Waters. I like how this is so smart. Not particularly professed through the usage of the usual, romantic words most girls prefer to hear, but this would’ve gotten me head over heels.

Another is this:


Just, wisdom. Really.

And the last:


It’s okay, Augustus, I can’t pull my ideas together as well. All the time. And the last sentence, gosh. My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations. Really.

Okay, this particular line from Looking for Alaska, I just have to share it with you:

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

And that’s it.

I am currently reading The Hunger Games, which doesn’t really belong to my type of genre, but it’s pretty okay within the first thirty pages. I might like it.