why i love december

Well... used to. I used to treat December as the most special month in all twelve of them. But growing up made me feel like it's just another month. I've felt this ever since I turned 14. I'm 18 now and I swear I'm not lying when I say I'm trying to be festive even though it's not really the right time for me, due to the unpleasant surprises that came my way. But anyway, I'm proud to say that it's been lovely, the past few weeks. I've been planning and planning about the future--my future--and it's exciting to imagine the next two years: having a job and earning my own money and graduating! I can't wait to graduate. So far, the following kept me grounded for two weeks now:

• Applying for a part-time job at Starbucks for next year (This is quite shaky at the moment but I'm very sure and determined about this because there's literally no turning back. I've made up my mind and I really need to earn my own money and be slightly independent.)
• ...Getting excited over the money I will certainly earn for next year, and spending it on a film camera or two...
• Listing all the movies I've seen and have yet to see. This is a fun yet challenging quest for the holidays, because I have this certain fear of dying without having seen all the best movies there are. I'm so paranoid about this at night, that I wake up at 3 or 4am and mentally remind myself to download this and that, and to check all the film blogs on my bookmark page. I'm weird but I'm very happy :( Because film keeps me grounded :(
• Reading Murakami as much as I can
• Exploring all the music I need to explore
• Brainstorming about an art project I want to share (film related of course)
• All the shows with bands I'm going to with my friends!!!

This doesn't really justify the fact that I need to vent out my feelings for the holidays, because this is an explanatory post about why I loved the holidays, then felt indifferent for it, then came to the decision that I should love it again. These playlists wouldn't probably elicit any holiday musing for you, but these have been my national anthems for two months now. I hope you enjoy.

 
 

Here's the real list of reasons why the holidays make me feel and remember everything: 

• The Christmas songs are always lovely. You can literally jam to them any time of the year. March, April, June. It's July and you hear Christmas songs and suddenly you start counting down the days 'til Christmas. I for one am a Christmas song enthusiast (I think everyone of us is) and hearing them makes me feel all smiley and forgiving (even though I shouldn't be. Joke lang).
• The weather is always lovely. This year's weather is extra cold, and all my sweaters are thanking me for the extra usage. 
• Gifts and the strict implementation of TREAT YOSELF. I recently just spent a lot on make-up, clothes, and food because I deserved it. Hell yeah, I do. Because if you say otherwise I will throw a fit and prove my point!!! I will filibuster my way to victory if I have to. 
• Back to five films a day - self-explanatory 
• Spontaneous day-outs with my family 
• THE FOOD, MGA BEH. THE FOOD. I don't need to explain this at all, because food in our family is either good or vert fucken GOOD. 
• TV Series marathons from day to night. I will never get tired of re-watching gravity falls and adventure time on my laptop, at 4am. 
• Seeing your friends from high school. I guess this should be on top of my list because being with them gives me such a breeze. They're a breath of fresh air. Literally a break from all the bullshit college gave me.
• MATCHA BLOW POPS. I rest my case. 
• Basically being home for the holidays, not bothered by everything. And having the life you want to live, despite having an expiration date.

This year started out great for me, not knowing that it would end up being shitty. But it still brought me a lot of blessings along the way. I guess I should still be thankful because what is a life of heaven without hell, anyways? (wow gumaganern). 2015 has been an eye-opener of all sorts, and for that I am thankful. I still have myself, my matcha blow pops and my real friends. I AM STILL HASHTAG BLESSED. 

So tell me how you feel about the holidays, by commenting your blog link below! Let's all talk about 2015 and how it gave you everything you need to learn about life, and public transport (kasi grabe ang traffic this year, pang pinoy pride pUNYETA). 

some screenshots that speak to me on a spiritual level

My plans for film are going nowhere. I feel like an absolute goner. The year is closing to a finish and I'm pretty sure I didn't reach the goal I was planning on since January: to watch at least 200 films. I wanna cry and blame school and yell at my professors for participating in Project No Films for Audrie. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW. 

from the film Me and Earl and the Dying Girl

I want a mental break from all the bullshit that came (comes) my way. I'm still trying to figure out what I did to deserve this. But the important thing here is: I'm tired. So get me out of here, SIR. 

from the film Ang Nawawala

replaced by rust

I used to be so full of plans and ideas. Creating art, watching films, and reading books used to be the touchstone of my free time. Now all I ever do is wallow in my bed and listen to Foster the People's Ruby on repeat, with a small dash of Regina Spektor's Field Below. It's agonizing, but it somehow feeds my soul and its unwavering desire to be understood. I like how these songs make me feel like they belong to me, and only me. It's selfish, but I don't want anyone I know to make these songs their favorites. I don't know, I can't explain it either. I guess I want to own something beyond what I share with these people. It's not that I hate them or anything; I share a lot of insights with them--music, films, books. 

But for now, I think I deserve a little space and privacy. I think the universe would be lovelier if it gives me a little more time to own something. 

Anyway, since I'm not really here to talk about owning a song and forcing it upon everyone's asses, here are some pictures that would explain (and give justice to, hopefully) my woes. The past four weeks have not been lovely. Last night has been very momentous for me and my friends, and I guess you could say that it changed the way we view things, and school. 

 It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the 

world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.

This handkerchief has been sitting in that corner for almost a week now, and the urge to pick it up and put it back in my cabinet is very strong. But I never got the drive to do so, I don't know why. I think I've spent a lot of time staring at this red, square material that's taking up little space. Epiphanies have been formulated while staring at this thing, like how I wanted to land a job in a film organization or a publishing company. Memories have been recalled while staring at this thing, like how I wanted to feel things twice. 

Some unfinished business. I wish school didn't get in the way of how much I want to finish them all in one week. We're on the fourth day of our week-long vacation and it feels like I haven't done much. I thought this week would recharge me and slowly bring back the driven, full-of-plans girl I used to know. (My 2011-early 2015 self.) I only have one day and I guess trying hard to actually do something that would nurture me would be futile because I have school the next day (which is stupid because it's a Saturday; why can't they just suspend classes and give us a Fucking Break. Give ME a Fucking Break.)

I have a lot. Underneath this facade of snarky (less snarky now, because I decided long ago that being a nice, break-it-to-them-gently person is, well, nicer), frizzy-haired, broke-as-hell, noodle-slurping of a girl is a person who has a million emotions. My journal isn't enough proof that I am a person inside an endless whirlwind of emotions, both unwanted and desired. It's just a quarter of it. 

And all I'm ever dreaming of is to have someone by my side who would gladly catch every single thought I'd spill, because they know they're heavy and I need help. 

But for now having a heavy, hardbound notebook is enough.

 Where Love Went Wrong - Augustana 

Kicks - FKA Twigs

Ask Me Anything - The Strokes

Reminder - Mumford & Sons

Sparks - Coldplay

Avril 14th - Aphex Twin

Melody Maker - The Kooks

I Know It's Over - The Smiths

Sense - Tom Odell

Masaya - France Feranil

Like We Did (When We Were Lost) - The Maine

God, even my closet is a mess you wouldn't dare to fix because you're scared and you have so much better things to do. 

I LOVE EATING ALONE AND RE-WATCHING PARKS N REC AND FILMS. One time I was at SM San Lazaro and I had dinner at the food court all by myself. There were a lot of people. And all I could do was look at them and create these stories about them. Eating alone in a crowded place makes me think a lot about the future and where would I go from here. 

So I made a poorly-collated collage, documenting my recent aloneness. 

it's like forgetting the words to your favorite song // ancient bruises

I have a great connection with this scene from Frances Ha. I hope this doesn’t last for too long, because it’s making me sad. David Bowie’s Modern Love is playing in the background; it’s lively and fun but right now it’s just pure agony. It’s when you’re walking at street with brightly colored lampposts above you, and it looks like you’re in this movie wherein your character doesn’t know where to go.

That’s currently me.

People scare me now. I can’t even get out of bed without having weird fits of crying for twenty minutes, with the thought of walking to school stabbing me in the head. It’s a strong itch, and you can’t simply put it off by scratching it because nothing ever works when you’re too sad to deal with things, and school, mostly.

School has been dragging my ass for a complete month now, and I can definitely say that academic therapy is not working for me. Not like it used to work for me, but having a shitload of requirements can’t even faze me from having these thoughts. And feelings. I’ve never been so insecure in my life. Facing people and talking to them seems to be the hardest fucking job now. Even pulling the door open to our room makes me shiver and nervous.

I’m not overreacting when I say it’s hard. It’s fucking hard. And I shouldn’t let this get to me, but even the prettiest Regina Spektor song won’t work. I tried it while waiting for class; it made me cry even harder because I realized I looked stupid, sitting on one of the benches beside the lockers. I always imagine myself as this girl from a low-budget, coming-of-age movie with a great, slow soundtrack whenever I’m in one of those situations. But now it’s just pure suffocation Real Emotion™.

I don’t know how long will this last, but it’s starting to feel like for fucking ever.

I’m watching everyone go on with their lives as I stand at the back of the room. I don’t wish to be part of that crowd. But I wish the person I’m expecting to be there is… actually there.

It used to be easy; now it seems impossible. Sad isn't even the right word. I can't put my finger on it, but the word is next-level, no-holds-barred kind of sad. The kind of sad that makes you fall silent when you're in the middle of doing something. Because whatever you do, wherever you are, you can't just shake it off, because it's in you. 

I've had nightmares about being abused and chased around a city, nightmares about being eaten by spiders; the kinds that you see in horror and/or crime flicks. They're scary. But I had one particular nightmare about this person. Can't really tell what this person did because I don't remember, but it really scared me because I felt empty while dreaming; I had goosebumps when I woke up and cried. 

It's so hard to be 18 and hollow. 

I had this weird urge last week to ride the train to Cubao, just because. I had the time and money, and being in transit felt like the only escape for me. I've come to realize that train rides are therapeutic. I guess it's those movie scenes I've seen growing up. It's this long, metallic tube that could take you places in minutes, and lets you meet a thousand different people in just a matter of minutes. 

It's amazing how a train ride could change a person's plan for the day. You ride the train in the morning and suddenly the sunrise makes you feel able. You ride the train in the evening and all the city lights make you wonder and miss everything, everyone. It's all perspective. Kinda like a placebo effect taking all over us, because we always think the other way around. We always think that a train ride or a bus ride means something. Or is it just me? 

I've been thinking about good things and the possibility that those good things might just happen. But it never does, because I always miss the chance. And there's always someone who's going to be the first to take it away from you. So you sit there in silence and stare off into empty space.

And that might just make you want to ride the train. Forever. 

I don't know if there really is a light that never goes out. I just want this all to be over soon, because I'm running out of breath. The three of us are running out of breath. 

the slowest month is august (and september. kinda.)

Basking in my own inadequacy as a writer

I'm not really sure if the words 'I'm tired' are enough to let you know that I am tired, but suffice it to say, I'm fucking exhausted. I am crawling at the back room in the dark, dressed in my own fear of being inadequate. Being a Journalism major is tiring, especially if you know that you are not capable of articulating your feelings and producing newsworthy shit. This isn't even worth reading, but I am on a roll and no one can stop me. My professor isn't even helping. He's scary, uptight, and is only ever funny at the end of every class. He makes me feel very small; I feel like I'm going to be sucked up by the fucking floor every time I try to recite.

Incapability and capability

School nights are lovely; I find it really easy to plan the week ahead of me. I study a lot, and it's kind of fulfilling. But the moment I wake up in the morning, it's like the four walls of the room I'm staying in sucked in all the plans and ideas I had for the day. It's horribly amazing to know that a person could only take so much in, and still be able to move and take a shower and prepare for the day. 

Searching the walls for more time

Summer was a great time for films. I used to see five to six films a day; from Kubrick to Coppola and Scorsese. I try to keep up with my routine, but I never found the time to watch one film ever since school started. I'm still trying to figure out if I'm too lazy or just tired to actually find the time. I don't know, maybe I am too caught up to know the difference between laziness and not having time. Do these differences actually exist? I don't know I'm too lazy to find out.Still grateful for the number of films I'm about to see on my laptop, though.

Scared of the fucking future

I lie in bed thinking about the future and it feels horrible. I am not sure what I am doing here, and I know I'll never be sure if what I'm doing right now for the future is ever enough. Impermanence is a lovely idea, but I sometimes wish I could stay this way forever. Young, dumb, and scared. Sometimes having the knowledge I always dreamed of having is scary because then I stop striving. I stop acknowledging my weaknesses. I haven't done this yet, but who knows? I might actually end up fighting myself to the grave for being such an air-headed bitch. 

Single as FUCK 

When I was in high school I thought college would be the place where I'd find someone I could flirt with for 8 hours a day, or make out with, if Jesus allowed it. But He didn't, for heaven's and His dad's sake. I've been crying about this lately, like the total curious bitch I am. I feel so alone and unloved and ugly. Everyone seems to be having the time of their lives with the girl or boy they're heads over heels with. Everyone seems to have stories about their romantic experiences and all I could share about mine was how this boy had the stomach to ignore my feelings. (I'm over this now but this will always make me feel like people owe a big fucking explanation.) I mean, a fling would have sufficed but all I have is the harrowing realization that I Am Not Cool Enough and My Humor Will Never be in the Girlfriend Zone. Is it wrong to dream about a boy sees me as the one who keeps them grounded? Is it wrong to dream about a boy who sees me as the one worth making those corny and tacky music videos about? (She Changes the Weather by Swim Deep ominously plays on the background as I type this.) 

And more importantly, is it wrong to show the world (the male population, to be specific) that I am very much capable of loving someone so much I start to forget about myself?

Boys are dumd

I'm not actually looking for affection. What was written above is just a spur-of-the-moment feeling, and is caused by my impulse to sound like a genius from a coming-of-age novel. It's just that boys are giving me a headache and it's sad that they can't see me. They're blind and amazing. They're unpredictable and cute and I want to punch their dicks politely.

Being one with the crowd

I saw Up Dharma Down last week and it felt like I was in a different world, like I was never tired and sad. I love them to bits, and I am happy to announce that I am going to see them again this weekend. 

A list of things I should be thankful for

There are a number of things I should thank the heavens for, like being accepted at the Thomasian Film Society and being able to hang out with my friends despite the asphyxiating schedule and number of homework we have. I'm still lucky to have these people around me who are also having a hard time to cope with the universe. Cooperating with what the world has to offer is very hard, especially if it doesn't go your way. I'm not alone, after all. 

Like right now. I'm hogging the internet connection here in the library, along with these people from different colleges who are practicing escapism with me. Cheers to untouched responsibilities and sound judgments regarding our own feelings which we choose to ignore because we can't fucking deal! 

.

i feel like the world has abandoned me in a carnival. 

"And you say, leaning in. 'The World!'"

I have a long list of films I want my children and my grandchildren to see; a lot of them are my favorites, the rest are just remarkable enough to leave me wonderstruck. I used to marvel over the fact that there thousands upon thousands of films I have yet to see. As a child, I grew up seeing compact discs of the Star Wars trilogy on the top shelf, together with the movies we rented from Video City. Those were the heydays of my childhood, with my parents introducing me to movies and TV shows. I remember the Home Alone features playing a vital role in my childhood, amongst other Christmas movies. I loved festive movies, especially the Christmas-themed ones because the mood always changes whenever I hear a children’s choir singing Christmas carols. I’m eighteen now and I still find The Polar Express entertaining; adulthood made this movie a tear-jerker for me, I don’t know why.

I've never really established a favorite director, up until recently (last year). I guess I've always paid attention to the movies, not the directors--which is a great mistake I've been listlessly committing since the dawn of my enthusiasm over films. Apparently, paying close attention to both director and film brings you glorious amounts of detail because you can't help but notice the styles and habits brought about by the director her/himself. Plus, you feel this connection (friendship!!!) with them, even the slightest bit. It's great knowing that you've grown aware of what your favorite director might do next, because no matter how familiarized you already are with their films, you still somehow consider yourself inferior to what they're about to show you in the future, because you never really know. 

That's the thing I love about Wes Anderson. I don't think my rusty writing skills would ever do his films justice because I AM NOT WORTHY. I guess the connection I felt with his films sparked the brightest with my five-year-old self. It was the time when my parents were, well, Not On Good Terms. All his features showed me the childhood I've always wanted, but never had. I guess you could say I was forced to grow up at an early age, with my parents' disintegrating marriage right beside me. 

Maybe his films gave me my dream childhood, even if it's 14 years too late. 

There are a few things I've learned from reading the whole collection. One was the undeniable fact that I didn't want to finish the book just yet, but at the same time, I'm itching to see through the whole book. I would read the main articles furtively, careful not to see the pictures and the anecdotes around just because. That's how I treated myself with the book; I would check out the pictures and the notes last, because the torture is exquisite while I save the best for last. 

Anyway, these are my favorites from the book! I have a lot of favorites (how can i NOT have a LOT of favorites, really), but I chose not to spoil the whole book because you might actually buy it after seeing these, so as not to kill the thrill I will leave you here!

I don't know why The Royal Tenenbaums wasn't an instant favorite of mine. I loved every scene from the film, but I fell in love over again after reading the the Tenenbaum part! It was a full-on retelling of how I wanted to escape my sad childhood. The film cultivates this trip down to memory lane for me, but I liked it, no matter how it was all vividly tragic back then. It's my favorite now, along with Darjeeling. 

It felt kind of special to me, reading Wes’ insights on every film he did from 1996 to 2012. Like I said, (and I’m going to say this again because it feels great knowing that I have this connection with him even though it’s totally one-sided [it’s only ME who’s feeling things but WHATEVER] and very biased), there’s this little connection, and I loved it because I read his parts in his pristine, professional, eager voice. I even watched a bunch of his interviews before reading the book because I wanted to savor the whole reading experience, like he’s right there beside me, talking and “hmm”-ing. 

Also, can we please talk about how Wes' handwriting can be a potential font?