Maita: So what do you guys want for dinner? Fried rice?
Marie: Yeah, fried rice is good.
Me: Wait, but I won't be home for dinner.
Maita: Why not?
Me: I'm going to a friend's birthday concert.
Maita: Well, that's your fault for having friends.
Me: What?! (turns to Marie)
Marie: I was going to say the same thing.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Truth Serum at the Office
I don't know why, but God must have sprayed truth serum in the office. The applicants just blurt out what they normally don't say in an interview. It's good for us because it gives us a clear picture of their personalities, helping us see which guys are a match to our office culture. So thank You, Lord, for that.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Where is the Wonder, Where's the Awe?
Where is the wonder, where's the awe?
Where's dear Alice knocking on the door?
Where's the trapdoor that takes me there,
where the real is shattered by a Mad March Hare?
Where is the wonder, where's the awe?
Where are the sleepless nights I used to live for?
Before the years take me,
I wish to see the lost in me.
- I Want My Tears Back, Nightwish
While my sister was cleaning up a few days ago, she found some of my stuff from high school. They were drawing books and notebooks and brown envelopes that contained my stories.
I wrote a whole lot in high school. And it wasn't bad, actually. And I wrote in both English and Filipino. I filled notebooks with prose. I wrote poetry. I typed (yes, typewritten. Those were what the brown envelopes contained) scripts. My drawing books were filled with characters I loved. And I loved them as entities, and not as mere works of art. I drew costumes. I made back stories. They were alive to me. And I lived in their world half of the time. Maybe more. Stories never left me. I always had a story. In fact, they were so many that I couldn't stick to one. I couldn't sleep without a story playing in my head. Stories were my world.
What happened between then and now?
Suddenly, I find myself running a game company. Suddenly, getting my work out there doesn't seem like such an impossible feat anymore. But where is the heart I once had? I still have stories. Not as many as before. But they're still there. I still like stories. I still read, i still watch. But the near-obsessive force that drove me to learn HTML amd JavaScript just so I could make a fanpage for my favorite story isn't there anymore.
I guess on the one hand, that's good because I'm more level-headed now. But on the other hand, I miss it. I still seek the thrill stories (whether they're mine or others') used to give me. I know that I need a clear head and a slightly icy heart to make decisions to push a piece of work to its best. But I wish, oh, how I wish, that I'd be able to feel that almost-obsessive force when making a story again.
Where is the wonder?
Where's the awe?
Before the years take me, I wish to see the lost in me...
Where's dear Alice knocking on the door?
Where's the trapdoor that takes me there,
where the real is shattered by a Mad March Hare?
Where is the wonder, where's the awe?
Where are the sleepless nights I used to live for?
Before the years take me,
I wish to see the lost in me.
- I Want My Tears Back, Nightwish
While my sister was cleaning up a few days ago, she found some of my stuff from high school. They were drawing books and notebooks and brown envelopes that contained my stories.
I wrote a whole lot in high school. And it wasn't bad, actually. And I wrote in both English and Filipino. I filled notebooks with prose. I wrote poetry. I typed (yes, typewritten. Those were what the brown envelopes contained) scripts. My drawing books were filled with characters I loved. And I loved them as entities, and not as mere works of art. I drew costumes. I made back stories. They were alive to me. And I lived in their world half of the time. Maybe more. Stories never left me. I always had a story. In fact, they were so many that I couldn't stick to one. I couldn't sleep without a story playing in my head. Stories were my world.
What happened between then and now?
Suddenly, I find myself running a game company. Suddenly, getting my work out there doesn't seem like such an impossible feat anymore. But where is the heart I once had? I still have stories. Not as many as before. But they're still there. I still like stories. I still read, i still watch. But the near-obsessive force that drove me to learn HTML amd JavaScript just so I could make a fanpage for my favorite story isn't there anymore.
I guess on the one hand, that's good because I'm more level-headed now. But on the other hand, I miss it. I still seek the thrill stories (whether they're mine or others') used to give me. I know that I need a clear head and a slightly icy heart to make decisions to push a piece of work to its best. But I wish, oh, how I wish, that I'd be able to feel that almost-obsessive force when making a story again.
Where is the wonder?
Where's the awe?
Before the years take me, I wish to see the lost in me...
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
Reflection
It's Good Friday. Many people I know are taking this time to go on vacation. Others, me included, are using it to rest. But I believe we should also take this time to reflect and recalibrate.
Since, for most of us today, Holy Week is something that involves a rest from work, it may be good for us to stop and think about why we do what we do. My brother let me listen to a talk, and I'd like to share with you some of the questions from that talk that I, myself, have to reflect on and answer.
Since, for most of us today, Holy Week is something that involves a rest from work, it may be good for us to stop and think about why we do what we do. My brother let me listen to a talk, and I'd like to share with you some of the questions from that talk that I, myself, have to reflect on and answer.
- Who do you trust?
- Are you trustworthy?
- What are the standards that you employ? What are the things that channel and guide you so that things are properly directed?
- What are the passions that get you out of bed every morning? What is the reason why you do what you do? Is it simply to make money?
- Is there a word or experience that can bring transformation to what you do? That you may be the person you should be, and not just probably the person you find that you are?
I shall take some time this long weekend to ponder this. I hope you would, too.
Conversations in my Family
Dad was outside washing the car while the rest of the family was having merienda in the dining room.
Dad (calling out from the garage): Maits?
Maita (my sister): Dad?
Dad (malambing voice): Coffee.
Maita: Instant or brewed? Brewed is ready, though.
Dad: Okay.
Maita goes and prepares brewed coffee for Dad.
Dad: Maits?
Maita: Dad?
Dad: Hamburger.
Maita: Daaa~ad. Where am I supposed to go get hamburger on a Good Friday?
Dad: Ri?
Me: Dad?
Dad: Apo.
Me: DAAA~AD!
Dad (calling out from the garage): Maits?
Maita (my sister): Dad?
Dad (malambing voice): Coffee.
Maita: Instant or brewed? Brewed is ready, though.
Dad: Okay.
Maita goes and prepares brewed coffee for Dad.
Dad: Maits?
Maita: Dad?
Dad: Hamburger.
Maita: Daaa~ad. Where am I supposed to go get hamburger on a Good Friday?
Dad: Ri?
Me: Dad?
Dad: Apo.
Me: DAAA~AD!
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