adventures in neverland

so  there i was. roaming around malate reminiscing about those nights when halloween was celebrated with much fanfare -- everybody walking around in costumes, especially the pink sisters who really made it a point (kinakarer in gay speak) to dress up fabulously for this special night -- as booths and kiosks selling different kinds of beers and foods, as well as fortune tellers in colorful dresses offering to see what's in store for you in the not so distant future using cards or the palm of your hands, competed for your attention and your limited pink peso. but tonight, there was no party. there were no people dressed in halloween costumes. in fact, there were very few people prowling the streets. there wasn't even any moon. it was a sad, lonely and depressing sight. the once bohemian place full of artists (thriving and starving, it doesn't matter. they co-exist peacefully and happily), active and out-of-work theatre actors, published and rejected writers, poets, journal

life is simple. really. i don't know why i made it so complicated in my younger years. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ there is this scene in my favourite movie about my generation -- reality bites -- where the depressed waif  winona ryder , who can't find a job that she is passionate about and suits her qualifications as a class valedictorian, went walking with the poster boy for the slacker and romantic generation ethan hawke to calm her nerves after she had a heated argument with her roommate, the brilliant janeane garofalo,  about unpaid phone bills and rent. then they stopped for a cigarette and cheap coffee. while exchanging smokes, ethan said something like -- this is all you need in life. a cigarette, a coffee, a good conversation and a friend to cry on. when i first watched this movie decades ago (mid-ninetys), i was young then (fresh graduate) and still burning with ambition (yes i had that phase and i am not ashamed of it. i learned a lot.), i just couldn't relate

the lawn is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return gently at twilight, gently go at dawn, the sad intangible who grieve and yearn..                 -- t.s. eliot,  to walter de la mare                like most children, we loved listening to stories about ghosts and other spooky tales from our older sisters, brothers and sometimes from our cousins when they were at our house for special occasions like a fiesta that could last for a week or two. the story telling usually happened at night when we were all about to go to sleep. my two younger sisters and i had bed sheets ready just in case the story became too scary to bear that we had to cover ourselves with them. but apart from those stories, i had my personal encounters with these creatures from the other world. flashback. lights off. candles on. gushing wind. hair raising musical score. &&&&&&&&&& my first encounter with a ghost happened when i was twelv

IF you drop by the Hobbes and Landes specialty shop in either Greenbelt 5 or Bonifacio High Street, you will most likely see parents and their kids (or, in some cases, single men and women) busy coloring ceramic pieces on a table, just having a great time while whiling the hours away, or simply letting off steam after a busy day at the office. Most likely, you will also see a tall, well-dressed woman with a svelte figure thanks to regular yoga and exercises, her long cascading black hair complementing her mocha skin, dressed casually (usually in jeans and long-sleeved top) but elegantly, assisting customers or simply giving them tips on what colors to use. Welcome to the world of Emma Reyes Pante, a former bank economist and strategist, now spending most of her time leisurely helping out parents and their children, as well as single men and women at her specialty lifestyle shop aptly called Color Me Mine. “The business model is meant to provide a place where people can bond b

unless you are a hermit who has been hiding in a cave way into the depth of a jungle, then by now you should know him -- the hottest man in the planet at the moment. &&&&&&&& the body and the face  jamie dornan -- is probably the most popular among the three. the model who starred in that scorching and erotic calvin klein jeans ad a couple of years ago with the sultry eva mendes was recently tapped as the lead star in the movie adaptation of the trashy novel fifty shades of grey as, you're right, christian grey, replacing another sumptuous dish, the british actor charlie hunnam. the thirty-one-year-old irish actor, whose well-sculpted body could send shock waves into the body of any woman or pa-woman, has already starred in some movies and television shows, notably in sofia coppola's version of marie "let them eat cassava cake" antoinette starring the mesmerizing and ethereal kirsten dunst in the title role of the tragic fren

i don’t want to see anybody crying at my funeral. nor talking only good things about me, the great deeds that i have done, as if i were a saint. i was not. like my favourite artiste, who passed away recently, i knew i was no good. my mother, the frustrated dramatic actress, would probably shed a tear or two. she might even faint. let her be. i have seen it during the wake of her husband and then of her oldest son (so i heard. i wasn’t there). she cried hysterically in both funerals, like a mad woman. but i love her, so i gave her the license to showcase her flair for the dramatics that would put even her idol, nora aunor, to shame. it’s hypocrisy to the highest degree to cry in someone’s funeral when all you did was treat him badly when he was still alive. my older sister was like that. when my older brother died, she acted like the martyr, urging everyone to fly to another city to attend his funeral. even if this would mean spending a lot of money to go th