Of Ramblings and Musings

I have an idea. I will do a book review. Why not? I love reading. I am vocal to what I like and not.

I made these guidelines so as not to lose myself and what I believe in while book reviewing.

  1. I shall not change my opinion about a book because of other’s opinions.
  2. I shall only read and review because I like to and not because others tell me to.
  3. I shall not be pressured to read “new” books because other book reviews review them. OR I shall read books that I like to read. Period.
  4. I shall not and never lose the joy of reading just because I plan on reviewing them afterwards.
  5. I shall put up my reviews on weekends. Or early Monday. Haha.


The following review is only my own opinions. I wasn’t paid to write these reviews by anyone.

These reviews are only an outlet for me to express *THE FEELS when I read a book and not to be taken TOO seriously by addicted fandoms. You may not agree with me. I am not you.

*THE FEELS – those indescribable feelings when reading a book. Can be associated with extreme giddiness, kilig (feeling of love, Filipino term), happiness, sadness, sorrow, depression that shatters your heart in a million pieces and will leave you incapacitated for a few weeks or a month. So, yeah. THE FEELS.

I changed my mind. Of Ramblings and Musings will not be a review. Uh-uh. Rather it will be where I write what I think about the books I have read. (Isn’t that the definition of review? Oh, well.) Think of it as a digital book club (with me doing most of the talking). It is full of spoilers so read at your own risk. Kisses!


The Great Unsyncing

February 16, 2016. 6:05 PM.


Do you have iBooks? Yes? Well then you know its highlight and note features. As a devourer of eBooks, I am very fond of using these. Imagine then my dismay over having to say goodbye to my eBooks as I sync my iPad to another computer. (Back story: My hard drive died, iTunes contents were erased.) I will call this The Great Unsyncing. The Great Unsyncing is like saying goodbye to friends I made over the years. Yes, fictional characters and I made bonds that cannot be broken. Forever. TGU is like letting myself go, like forgetting who I was when I was reading those books. Goodbye, Karla of 2015.

Deep, alveoli-torturing, feel-the-pain-in-your-stomach, shuddering sigh.

As hard it is to do this, I’m clicking… Sync.


Date and time I really clicked Remove and Sync: 2:08 PM, February 23, 2016.


Show off.

Have you ever seen those girls who go to school just so they can wear their stylish clothing and wear make-up that is way over the top for school? Yes? Okay then. They have always reminded me of peacocks preening and showing their majestic feathers to any willing onlooker. Pretty to look at but practically useless. Now I feel bad about the peacocks I am comparing them to. To the peacocks of the world, my apologies. I love you.

Meat factory.

I don’t know why but I get the feeling that students in school are like chickens in poultry factory – made plump for their meat and slaughtered when fat enough. Just like how kids are forced to study, then graduate, then enslaved with the same job that they will do forever. At least chickens get to be put out of their misery.

Disclaimer: I know, I know. A handful of people get lucky enough to be stuck with jobs they love. I hope I will be one of them.


It was lunch time. The place was jam-packed with hungy, noisy students. My friends and I had trouble finding vacant seats enough for the three of us. We craned our neck, searching for those coveted seats so that we could finally fill our grumbling stomachs. We approached and asked a girl if the seats beside her were taken.

“Excuse me. Are these seats taken?” my friend asked. She had to modulate her voice to be heard over the clinking of cutlery over plates and enthusiastic conversations. I’ve got to tell you that the girl seemed to be concentrating really hard on portioning her rice with her adobo so a little jolt was needed.

“No,” she answered, going back to her portion concentration.

We put our bags down, marking our territories, so to speak. We got on the line, thanking the God above because the customers were dwindling a little. I unstuck my clinging shirt that was so intimate with the sweat on my skin. Oh, this room is stuffy, I thought. Why would they install an air conditioning unit if they will not use it? Cursing the powers-that-be that were responsible for my sweaty dilemma, we made our way to our table after finally getting our ambrosia.

It was our luck that we had to share a table for four girls that didn’t seem to care in airing out their sentiments about a horrible instructor.

“Argh! He is the spawn of Satan!” Girl No. 1 said, spearing her poor tilapia in the eye.

“I beg to disagree,” said No. 2. “I think he is Satan himself.”

This made them guffaw. Thankfully, they still had humanity in them that they laughed with no food in their mouth and spared us the view of chewed whatever-that-was-in-their-plate.

“And the way that he gives us all those assignments and requirements! You would think he is our major!” No. 3 said with so much indignation I was worried she was going to pop a vein and die.

“Can I just stick a knife on his throat?” asked No. 4 innocently, like she’s talking about the weather.

Meanwhile, the rest of the room went on their merry lives like no plan of assassination was being formed. Cashiers busy charging students of their food. Servers trying to keep up with the hungry. Students gobbling as much food as they could.

The girls stood. They dropped their dirty dishes on the assigned area. At least their hate for their instructor didn’t affect their appetite. Well, it did. It made them lick their plates clean.

My twelve twenty-five went this way…

Morning. 7:21.

                I decided not to sleep in so that I can do a good deed. Can you guess what it was? Feed the hungry? Nope. Teach kids to read, write and count? Not really. I planned to walk Douglas, my aunts’ dog, which was chained for over two years now. I know, I’m a nice person. Haha. I wanted him to experience a little bit of freedom and stretch his atrophied legs (ß exaggeration. You know how I am with baby doggies) for about an hour. So I got out of bed, shook off the remnants of sleep trying to lull me back to the heaven that is my bed and put on my underused exercise gear. Little did I know sleeping in was a better option.

Morning. Still. Ten to twenty minutes later.

                I got my wish. Douglas was running wild and free. But not the way I intended.


                The sky was a sea of uninterrupted blue. The birds are singing their sweet, cheery morning song. It went downhill from there.

                The little monster willingly wanted to be leashed. I went awww, he’s so excited to experience his first walk. And since it really was his first walk, it was a disaster. Douglas kept tugging and pulling my arm, making me wonder if I was to lose an arm afterwards. I then thought of the brilliantly stupid idea of not walking him anymore but to just let him play, sniff, pee, and run in our modest-sized front yard. I didn’t realize our yard wasn’t enough for Douglas. He wanted something bigger and wider. Something like our barangay. He found a hole in an unfinished part of our supposed garage, jumped and went bananas in playing, sniffing, peeing, and running in our neighbor’s empty lot. Luckily, the lot was fenced so Douglas was in a rude awakening. He didn’t have anywhere to go. I decided to call my aunts to catch him. They attested to how naughty of a dog he is. This is also the reason why they don’t let him unleashed.

Morning. 8:00. Or later.

                After a little bit of calling, Douglas came willingly to us. We went back to their house and chained him again which went against my belief that dogs should be free souls but after the stint/stunt that he pulled, wasn’t feeling very lovey-dovey to him. I apologized (profusely) to my aunts and went back to our house. I again thought of another brilliantly stupid idea of toning my lower body, that is subjecting my legs and thighs to exercise routines that were supposed to firm and strengthen my calf muscles and glutes. Needless to say, I was sore afterwards.

Morning. 9:00?

                Tahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! went the taho vendor. Oooh, breakfast, I thought. Another brilliantly stupid idea. Will tell you later.

10 A.M.

A few minutes after 11 A.M.

                Mother and I went to the market to buy whatnots. I just realized I was almost going to faint from hunger when I felt a wave of dizziness. Please refer to Morning. 9:00?

12 noon. Or later?

Lunch. Then siesta hour.

5:21 P.M.

                Woke up. I still had to pack for I am to go to Manila in four hours. I don’t like cramming. I can tell you that much.

9:30 P.M. Onwards.

En route to Manila.

Worse than Voldemort

I had the pleasure of being with my relatives over the holidays. To say that we rarely see each other is an understatement since we only meet every five to six years. Being with them is like eating in an expensive restaurant. The rareness and the specialness of it make you cherish every second of it. (We’re poor. We only eat out at restaurants that give you heart attack with their prices once in a blue moon. And their food is not that healthy to begin with so there’s that.) I was also made aware of what I didn’t have in the span of eight days that I was with them. I never could have the sophistication that they have that I have always associated with living in the Metro. I don’t have lots of money to spend on trivial things I don’t want and wouldn’t even use. I pitied myself, both for these things I didn’t have and for being fixated with material wealth as the measure of my self-worth.

This set my mood for the holidays. I was very happy around the Manileños while I was irritated with my own parents when they would engage me in a conversation. I was trying to imitate at how the Manileños seem to be blasé and indifferent with things they have, things that I would usually work hard for. I was so blinded that I didn’t realize my relatives would still love me even when stripped of all things worldly and, as clichéd as this might sound, what matters most is what in a person’s heart. And to also think that I was mean and disrespectful to my parents who raise me and give me everything that they can is just unforgivable.

Over the holidays, I became the monster that I didn’t want to be. I messed up. Hugely, badly, and stupidly. I regret the things I’ve done. And I’m sorry. Very, very sorry.

I’m so sorry.


Freeze! Show Me Your… Tongue?

I had to Google first what makes a photo an action one and it said it must freeze an act that should have been a movement in real life. Or something along that line. Coco says hi, by the way. 🙂


Coco is part Labrador Retriever and part AsPin (Asong Pinoy). He likes to chill out in the living room, even sitting on the sofa sometimes. Here he sends his kisses (and/or licks) to every dog lovers out there.


Reaction to the Interview

I get the impression of the word “passion” all throughout the interview. The interviewee mentioned the word explicitly when she said journalism has always been her passion and passion is a qualification for the job not just a degree in communication or journalism. Passion is really what drives journalists because who would start their day the night before their work really does and do something that does not always guarantee a high pay as Ms. April has said? And I think journalists, once they get in the business, would never own their own time again because they go when and where there is news. Erica Jong’s rules 7 of forgetting the intellect and 9 being a beginner, forgetting about the things you learned in the four walls and corners of your classroom, is also present when the interviewee mentioned about learning new things every day as well as meeting different people. This is what I also realized: journalists are selfless the way Erica’s rules 3, 4, and 14 are realized in the answers of Ms. April. They do what they do because of the “fulfillment that we derive from what we do passionately” and not of the monetary rewards they might get from the job. For sure, selflessness and passion are what make up journalists.