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Monday, June 28, 2004
moving to the other side
Thursday, June 24, 2004
bravo sarah brightman, bravo
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
stuck with a sad song
so early and yet they roam
Barely in my senses as we drive down Pasay Rd on the way to work this morning, I was taken aghast by a horrid, horrid sight. This early in the morning this wondrous view greets my barely-opened eyes - a fashion victim walking along Park Square 1 of the Ayala Center.
I know, I may be too harsh. There are a lot of fashion victims and they roam the streets oblivious to the disbelief they instill in people like me. And, sigh, we can't rescue all of them. But shouldn't everyone, females in particular, at least know how to wear the proper undies? It wasn't enough that this woman was wearing a mid-rib shirt (so Locomotion). Okay, nevermind the low-rise pants that are 2 sizes smaller, making the bulges... well, bulge. Pan to the left and there reveals white underwear blatantly overstretched out of the confines of her jeans' waistband. Holy! There's reflective glass surface everywhere and gracious God, she's not even taken time to check herself out on the newly cleaned Kenny Rogers Roasters window. Thank heavens it wasn't a thong. That would be more disgusting (not that they don't happen). Sigh. Poor unfortunate souls. Taking all that in, now I have to go to work. How grand. Friday, June 18, 2004
weeping through words
It is what we can't speak of- Now this is where "easy" comes in. Because after anything is written, and you feel that it has expressed your soul sufficiently, then all becomes easy- the breeze, your breath, such that the atmosphere relaxes and sways. Easy. Tuesday, June 15, 2004
which poem are you?
I'm the Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath. I could be mad. On second thought, I most probably am. Why I got a love-sucky poem? I have no idea. Maybe it's an aftermath of all this talk about weddings and anniversaries. Hehe. Well, you guys tell me if this poem is me:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; To take the test, click here. Monday, June 14, 2004
three years and five months
We've been together for all this time and I still forget month-saries. I need to set alarms on my phone just to remind me that on every 14th, we celebrate a milestone of another month together. At least I don't forget the anniversary... I set 2 alarms for that. Hehe.
So on our way to work, I was putting on my make-up. He said, "Hunny, kiss." So I held off with my two-way foundation, leaned over to his side and gave him a peck on the cheek. And then he said, "Happy Anniv" with an ear-to-ear smile, his chinky eyes almost disappearing. On the contrary, my almond eyes flew wide open. Omigod! I forgot... again! He said that it was okay, he knew that I'd forget. And that he loves me anyway. I smiled. A deep, heart-warming sigh escaped from within. I felt like all the luck in the world was in my hands. Actually, more than that... I felt blessed... and complete (so Jerry Maguire, but what the hell). I wouldn't know how life would be like without him. Wednesday, June 09, 2004
there was a big wedding today
and i was in it, carrying a bouquet. it's life changing. really. It was held in the ballroom of the New World Hotel. Around 170 people were present. At 8:30 AM, we were married. Yes, we were all dressed in white. Some people I've never seen this decent. And no, it wasn't my wedding. It was a mass wedding... between the agency's Creatives and Accounts. For those not familiar with the stress-breathing world of advertising, Creatives and Accounts were traditionally two disciplines at the opposite ends of the earth, usually at war (a conference room we use for internals and meetings is actually called a War Room). Creatives were the bearers of ideas and concepts - end of. Accounts were the bridge between the Agency and Client - that's it. Now, in Ace Saatchi & Saatchi, both worlds were officially married into a single team we call a foxhole. Where everyone (although we retain our positions) would be accountable and expected to deliver results. Self-centerdness not welcome. No longer would we hear Creatives accuse Accounts of not doing anything but follow-up storyboards and scripts - aka "Marami pa kaming ibang accounts. Kayo, ito lang ang ginagawa nyo". That's because a team will work on the same set of accounts and as such, would know what each and everyone will be and should be doing. HA! This time, any idea from any person will be sacred - anyone is welcome to contribute any idea that will help the team. Accounts can be Creatives, Creatives can be Accounts. Now I have the right to tell them what font to use, what color would be better. I will no longer have to grin and bear words like "Excuse me, who's the art director here?". Even the Media person can pitch in. Splendid isn't it. Now everyone will have to remember business shares. Bwahaha! So there we all were, each team enveloped by this huge veil, entwined in the longest cord I've ever seen. We said our vows. In good and bastard clients, in sick leaves and vacation leaves, in many more things that can lead to hair loss... we were to be committed, unfazingly, to our foxhole, the Ideas Circle. Being trained in the multi-functional world of IMC, I just can't wait. Now this truly calls for the Hallelujah Chorus. As for my wedding, well, that's not for me to say :) Monday, June 07, 2004
the becoming of dezphaire
A lot of people ask me where the name came from. So I shall devote one post to explaining what "dezphaire" is and how it came to be. Well, it all started during a sophomore theology class in college. There I was, bored out of my wits, doodling on my ring-bound poetry notebook. It became a habit for me to list down words that caught my ear, words that I thought had great promise to stir others' souls in a poem. In the middle of the lecture, I heard the word abandon. That sounded nice. I wrote it down.
 I whipped out my electronic thesaurus. The word abandon led to surrender then to loss then to desolation and then despair. Despair. Defined as the absence of all hope. Ahhh how sad, how simple yet poetic... how soul-stirring.Despair. Despair. I became drawn to the word. Let's put more spice into it, I thought. Dez^pair. How about like Liz Phair. How about Dezphaire? That was it. It was like the air grew thick around me. And I was filled by it in this one grand finding of self. And the dark, soulful writer in me had a name. And my poetry had an identity that is my own. To be amongst my composed words, click here. an ignoramus asks... asl?
To pass the nothingness happening last night, I revisited my college (anti) social life... mIRC. And after almost 4 years of being off-line, I am sent into a time warp ala Back to the Future by three letters: ASL.
Here comes the disappointing part: no matter how we call the internet the information gateway? Some people are still stuck in a backward rut with closed minds and asses for heads. A short demo please: By the way, this happened in the main chatroom... ignoramus (not his real nick but could be): dezphaire, asl? dezphaire: 23/f (normally i don't disclose where) ignoramus: so, where you from? dezphaire: (okay, since you asked nicely) Philippines ignoramus: oh i didn't know they had electricity there already if there was one thing i learned from years of dealing with people like these online and offline... it's that it's USELESS to argue with IDIOTS... dezphaire: yah, we just had it yesterday and now the hut's too bright (stupid boba) I didn't bother to ask where he was from... his ass probably. Tsk tsk. Saturday, June 05, 2004
nothingness on a rainy saturday afternoon
My boyfriend's in China (hopefully not contracting SARS). My parents are in a house blessing. My sister is watching a dance recital. I am home, doing nothing.
It's the first time in a long time that I'm actually home. Like really home - with nothing planned, with all things unstressed. Just plain home. I can walk around the house mindlessly, until my shih tzu gets dizzy watching me. With a roll of his bulging eyes, he turns to the other direction and decides that it's better for him to sleep. Later on, I find him lying on his back with legs spread apart, asleep strategically on a spot where the fluffy hairs on his belly welcome the electric fan air. I smile at him, amused. Nothing is happening. So here I am, writing about the nothingness that is (not) happening. It is comfort though, this nothingness. With the strong but soothing choruses of Handel's Messiah playing in the background. Sigh. I feel like a high-school student in summertime. Well, I read poetry to pass the time. I revisited my favorite verses. I read Wilde, Dickinson and Neruda. And to end this post about nothingness, here's one of my favorites from Neruda, fittingly so: Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence, Friday, June 04, 2004
Inhere
a poem i wrote as i watched my love, asleep... The night was still far. Thursday, June 03, 2004
wireless, mobile and free
On my way to work this morning, I noticed that there was this new billboard up. It was for an ECS laptop and its copy read:
You're Wireless With all the technologies being developed here and there, innovations are spurting out of the ground like mushrooms. If you buy new hardware, it's going to be obsolete by the time you install it. I may be exaggerating but that's how I think it is. All these cellular phones, laptops and PDA's - we have indeed become a wireless and mobile human race. Human race. Well, we are in a race. The question is, are we still human? And furthermore, as wireless and mobile as we are, are we really free? We can go anywhere and everywhere... and people can still reach us. You can still be "together" even if you're continents apart. You can work without an office, but you'd still have officemates. We're in a world where "environment" no longer means "nature". Because of the internet, the world is smaller, faster and "more efficient". Our lifestyles are driven by the technologies we have. In the end, what is there to be human about? We don't see each other, let alone feel each other. We touch keyboards and keypads more times in a day than another human being. That's what being wireless and mobile is all about isn't it... staying connected without the "connection". So, are we free? I think not. We are slaves to the lives we lead. We are tied down even if we're wireless. We really aren't getting anywhere despite being mobile. Amazing isn't it. You'd just sit back and think... my God, what is the world coming to. Wednesday, June 02, 2004
a zebra and a goldfish
Last night, I went to the gym. For the first time in my life.
I felt like a zebra amongst horses. I was in a place totally alien to me... and silly as it is, I feared the treadmill. I feared that I may be a real-life reprise of people stumbling and falling on their faces ala America's Funniest Home Videos. Okay, I'm digressing... back to being a zebra. Aside from the fact that I've never set foot inside a gym, I set foot with the totally wrong outfit. Background: I open my gym bag and (gasp!) I grabbed my black coat instead of my black jogging pants?!? Someone tampered with my effort to make sure everything was prepared. I distinctly remember setting all the needed stuff on my couch two days before. Pucha. So there I was, a zebra in army green drawstring pants. The instructor was kind enough to walk me through the whole program. My warm-up was 15 minutes on this reclined bike thing. The longest 15 freakin' minutes of my life. While catching my breath, she then explained to me the stretches, and the machines and the sequence of the stuff I was to do. So, first would be crunches. And after that, you need to stretch a certain way (she demonstrates). And we went on to the second, the third... so on and so forth, each exercise with a corresponding stretch. Thought balloon: how the fuck am I going to remember all these things?!? I have the memory of a goldfish. I forget the first as soon as we move onto the second. I look around and see all the other people... they know what they're doing. Shit. This is worse than being lost in the big ocean finding nemo. So there. Oh by the way, I used the treadmill. I got dizzy after. And I met my new best friend. His name is Ben Gay. Tuesday, June 01, 2004
comfort food
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I'm not really sure if the grass is greener... but here I am, on the other side of the P&G Accounts room. I guess now I should really feel the re-org. New team, new accounts, new corner in the office (I'm beside a wall, so it's literally a corner).
strapped in @ 
Last night, I watched the 
She gave 2 encores, the last one where she was suspended from the top. B-R-A-V-O. Three standing ovations. After, we waited by her limo and snapped this picture (blurred, yeah but better than the lady beside me who got the bodyguard's arm). She's this beautiful petite woman and you'd wonder where all that voice comes from.
I'm obsessed with this song. It's by a local band called Stonefree. This song was playing on the radio this morning and it never left my head. I scoured the internet for the lyrics but couldn't find it, being that it was a Tagalog song. I ranted to my officemate how frustrated I felt that I couldn't find the lyrics to this beautifully sad song I soooo wanted to post on my blog. She asked what it was. Lo and behold. She knew the lead singer of the band. They were friendsters. I got the freakin' lyrics! So as gravely intended, I'm now posting it, with the hope that the song moves (those who can understand it), as it did move me:
Someone had asked me why it seems that dark and despairing literature are the easiest to write - because he had noticed that a lot of people are writing that way. My answer is that dark or not, writing is not easy, to some it would just be natural, but that doesn't mean that it is easy. It involves the whole self, the turmoil of every cubic inch of you. And it is not easy to pour your being into words others will read, hopefully capturing all that you want to say, without the merit of any explanation. And he asks, "Why do you write dark ones, then?". So a poem for him was born:
