Because I Live to Embarrass Myself

April 5, 2007

 

Most girls post only their most flattering pictures online. Not me. I don’t give a flying hoot about looking ugly, or awkward, or ugly and awkward at the same time. No, that’s not quite honest. I do, but not as much as other girls. Once, in college, I wore full uniform and a diaper for a class presentation. The role, which no one else volunteered for, required that I present the transition from fetus to adult. It entailed a lot of crawling and adorable-baby-go-go-gaga’ing and I happily obliged.

Obviously, I live to embarrass myself. I see nothing laughable or odd, even, about being dropped off and picked up at work by a motorcycle. Kaithy howled with laughter when I narrated how the manager of a bank in the first floor did his best to make me seek more respectable means of transportation. Every day, he’d ambush me on my way to the third floor and suggest, “Why don’t you apply for a car loan? Our terms are reasonable and I’d personally see to it you get it.” This persisted for a month or so; but because he got nowhere with me, he changed tactics and took to waylaying me and shoving pamphlets at my nose.

Poor guy. It must have disturbed the balance of his universe to see another manager report for work astride a motorcycle. Of course, a sliver of me thinks this mode of transport is “chakka,” especially when I’m in a pretty outfit and even prettier pumps; but the rest of me thinks its practical. A week’s gas costs only P130. I spend roughly the same amount on two taxi rides a day.

And so, because I’m such an old hand at self-abuse, meet my machine. That is me, before and after take off. Nothing inflates the nose like twin spells of skin asthma and allergic rhinitis; and if you think your asthma’s terrible, you should see me with mine. Some see the glass half-empty; others, half-full. I always see it diluted with Bricanyl and Nasonex.

Birth of a New Hobby, Or the Beginning of a New Artistic Pretension

April 4, 2007

If you read this post, then you know I've as many hobbies as freckles. My latest is becoming, as Tyra B. puts it, the Princess of Cheap. I try to find cheap alternatives to usual expenditures, and for me, what could be more usual than clothes? So, my first task under the I Will Curb My Spending Project is to look for more affordable clothing.

I like Victorian-looking blouses but they're so frigging expensive. They go for P400 to P800. So, what's a girl who likes frills and pleats to do? She has blouses made! I found a moderately skilled seamstress and had her sew the blouse I drew for her. The drawing I came up with after looking at many sites online. I'm an inveterate lurker in sites that have pictures of female clothing, even  if these drawings are of prom dresses. Don't you just hate the way prom dresses come in extremes? They're either too plain they make you look like a dowdy old aunt, or too over-the-top, in which case, you'd look like something out of a wedding cake. 

But I digress. Let's go on with this narrative, shall we? The execution isn't perfect; in fact, there are major deviations from my idea. However, it's not bad for a first try and although I was tempted to point out the deviations to her and sulk about them a little, I didn't. Instead, I calmly told her, "It's pretty, even though it's not exactly what I drew." She had the grace to look a little embarrassed and owned up to taking a little artistic liberty here and there. It amused me, that she felt so much a part of the creation process she wanted to change some of the designs, too. I think she and I will get along very well. To go borrowing from Casablanca, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Oh, and the entire blouse, inclusive of the sewing fee, set me back a cool P187.00 only. Isn't that great? The fabric was cheaper than Alpha Geena. I paid P24.75 for a meter of the fabric and P27.25 for the lining. I got four buttons, each priced at P2.50. The seamstress charged me P125 because, as she pointed out, "it has lining." Sans lining, she only charges P100 per blouse.

Naturally, W found my dedication to the whole enterprise of having a blouse sewn staggering. Just think, he said. You tried three different seamstresses before latching on to this one. You spent several minutes haggling with her over the price. Then, you made a very long trip to Countrymall so you can hunt down the cheapest fabric known to man. You made several sketches. You painstakingly explained your vision to the seamstress. And on top of it all, you visited her several times to ask if she's done. If you approach everything you do with the same determination, you could easily rule the world.

Okay, so now you know how vastly different the hub and I are. I think fashion; he plans world domination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And now, the requisite camwhoring shots. First pic is of me and the secretary, taken inside the office. See the neckline detail? Second pic shows entire outfit, as worn this morning. I know its difficult but you will have to ignore the model. She's a poor substitute for a mannequin. Haha.

 

On Homesickness

In college, in Davao, I used to miss home so much I cried myself to sleep every night.

Homesickness is a strange word. It seems all-consuming when you feel it, and silly when you don't. The only reason you are homesick is because you believe you have a home, that your heart knows where this home is, and that it aches for the smells and sounds and people you call your own. But  when you move around more times than you could count or have lived away from home longer than any child should ever have to, your heart becomes confused and you forget where home is. Still, you feel an ache every time you remember that place, mild at first and numbingly insistent as the days go by. It's strange, this ache, if only because you wonder how you could hurt so much over a place you thought existed only in a distant and forgotten dream.

That, I tell you, is now how I feel about home.

A Girl. A Story.

Listen:

There is a girl, average in almost everything and frequently overlooked because she is so brown-eyed and ordinary you couldn't remember her face even if you tried.

She likes being unremarkable, but there are moments when she wishes she were a little less plain, a little more colorful, a little flashier, a lot more striking.

So maybe one day, she'll be friends with someone — perhaps a man or a woman — who will take a closer look at her and go, "Why, she's beautiful in all the ways that count!"