adventures in neverland

(* i have known izh since we were young, when we were still dreaming with our eyes wide opened (and without the huge dark shades) of life that was then way, way ahead of us. oh how flies the time. at that time, izh used to sport really short hair (barber's cut) because the nuns at the school frowned on long hairs for men. but even then izh already has an eye for beauty and for all things artful and tasteful. too, he was already razor thin back then when skinny was not yet in. he is indeed a true blue trailblazer.) It is not easy to shine in the highly competitive world of haute couture, specially in a place like Dubai where some of the brightest names in fashion are burning the ever effervescent desert sun to come up with the most exquisite dresses worthy of the discriminating taste of their loyal clienteles, mostly members of the royal family of the oil-rich Middle East. But sparkle he did, like the precious gems that are stitched into his artful, intricate creations. Th

filipinos (ok some of us) love to be tortured. or subjected to something painful. in short, we are all masochists, one way or the other. take politics for example. we always complain about the quality of our leaders from the president down to the barangay councilor, and yet we keep on electing the same set of politicians and their relatives. just look at the senate. how many of them are first time senators (in other words we keep on electing the same set of senators every time that's why we keep on having the same old problems in the country and in government) and how many of them deserve to be in that respectable institution where the country's intellectual elites used to debate the boiling issues in the country and overseas in the interest of the filipinos? yet, every election, same faces, family names, spawns of dynasties keep on winning and getting elected. same celebrities, sports heroes, b-movie stars and others keep on thriving. then there's the issue of the

fate is taking a shine on young actor  derrick monasterio. his afternoon soap on his home network gma seven titled half sisters has been extended until january of two thousand and fifteen. then there are plans to relaunch him into a more mature, sexier leading man in the mold of say brad pitt in legends of the fall -- hunky, gorgeous, but oblivious of his good looks that is why women are falling all over his blessed feet. there are talks on the blogsphere that gma seven is now holding auditions for derrick's next project, this time on prime time. the new soap will showcase derrick's flair for drama and at the same time bank on his now well-toned body, a product of hours and hours of slaving in the gym and the discipline of eating only healthy, non-fattening food, to lure the audience, who are now clamoring for new faces and talents to rule the local television industry. the six-feet, nineteen year old star, who recently surprised a lot of fairies in the pink

"the joy of gift giving is seeing the happiness painted on the face of the person after he opened your presents." -- mahatma gandah. gift giving should be a joy. both for the giver and the receiver. the giver because he truly cares (even loves. or likes) for the person on the receiving end and it will give him so much happiness that the receiver appreciates his gift(s). the receiver because he will cherish the gift and will forever be grateful that there are still people who are generous enough to share their blessings. gift giving is simple. you give what will make the other person happy. it vexes me therefore to think that there are those who still don't get it. that they think the gesture itself, that is, the act of giving, is already enough. sorry to disappoint you my dear, but it is not. because giving a gift that the other person won't appreciate is tantamount to insulting him. seriously. it's also a delicate art that involves balancing what you wan

(inspired by imaginary events.) the last time the pope was here, almost twenty years ago, my heart was broken. it was so badly broken that i thought it would no longer heal. that i would no longer be myself again. it was january nineteen ninety-five and i was a struggling financial reporter, still new in the industry. still could not differentiate, for example, the different terms for money supply (m-one, m-two, m-three), still unable to explain bad loans, sour loans, unpaid loans, among other confusing terms that senior reporters at my other beat, the banking and finance, chewed quite easily and with delight like fruit flavoured bubble gums. ( i said other beat because apart from the central bank and finance department, i was also covering the president of the philippines then. looking back, i could not imagine how i was able to do that. juggling between two important beats and two vastly different subject matters -- politics and business.)