Reelizations: On Movies That Define Me

One look into my laptop's movie folder and my collection of less-than-legal DVDs will tell you that I'm nothing of a film buff. I do like watching movies; I regard them as one of my favorite leisure activities. Often though, I find that I'm not willing to part with the time and money involved in watching films. As a result, I'm more of an HBO viewer, or else I tend to watch movies on the basis of my friends' recommendations and coercions. This passively affectionate relationship I have with movies makes it difficult for me to name particular ones that define me, so I've decided to do it by categories.

Except for one, that is. I might as well start with the exception. I've recently watched Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids Are All Right, and it struck me mostly because lesbian couple movies are rare. Also, it reminded me of me and my girlfriend, with a slight twist. While I'm (quite obviously) the soft butch one with the Ellen Degerenes clothing preferences, she's the more accomplished and slightly workaholic one. And while I’m pretty self-directed (unlike Julianne Moore’s character), I’m the one who got delayed because of shifting; besides, seeing my girlfriend’s diligence can make anyone feel like a slacker. She’d cancel or turn down some dates or meet-ups for the sake of her thesis or org activities. Admittedly, it’s caused endless issues between us, but we work it out and we’re otherwise very happy—which is why we’ve lasted this long. (In fact, every time I tell people we’ve been together on and off for seven years, I’m greeted with either respectful awe or slight alarm, depending on how fearful of homosexuality and/or commitment they happen to be.) I’m too young to think about settling down and having a big old lesbian family like the one they have on the film (minus the cheating and all), but I hope that when both the time and person for it comes around, my family and other people dear to me would be accepting, or respectful at the very least.

Next up are chick flicks/love stories, which would tell you that I am a sap. Yes, there’s just no use in denying the fact. Love Actually is one of my current favorites, particularly the subplot about the best man (Mark) who is secretly in love with his best friend’s bride. He surprises her on Christmas and tells her how he feels, even when he knows there’s nothing else that can be done about it. I guess the hopeless romantic in me can relate. Among many others, I liked 500 Days of Summer, a non-love story; Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, a love story where each character tries very hard, and yet fails, to not be in love with the other; and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, which I rather liked, despite unnecessary displays of Jason Segel’s…err…private parts. In hindsight, I seem to like bittersweet love stories, which I guess makes me an “emo” sap. Actually, it makes sense, seeing how I like to watch chick flicks whenever I’m depressed. Sometimes I just like to shut myself in my room, surrounded by comfort food, lamenting over the fact that—unlike most of the movie characters—I would probably die loveless and alone.

Last on my list are reality-bending movies such as The Truman Show. I only ever saw it once, as a kid, but the concept of creating an entire environment—an entire life—for a person really stuck. Then there’s Inception, the mind-bending film which also happened to be the first one I watched in a movie theater all by myself. I’m enchanted with the idea of subtly altering people’s perceptions. One of my ultimate dreams used to be to change the world—but with the jadedness that comes with growing up, I’ve settled for changing at least one person’s life, or even just a couple of people’s minds. Also, I love these types of films because they distract me completely, and take me away from the overwhelming monotony of everyday. 

After all, isn’t that why we watch movies in the first place? Escapism is a tricky thing, though. At the end of the day, all the films we watch and remember are reality-benders. Truly, we choose movies to take us away. But then, I think it’s about time we choose how much of them we take in, too.

[This was an assigned essay for my Audio-Visual Communication class.]

Skinny Bitch: On The Narrower End of Weight Issues

Ever since the age of ten, when I discovered the amount of time and money that one could save from not eating proper meals, I started growing thin. I grew thinner and thinner until I earned (along with unbearable amounts of ulcer-ish pain) the envy of my diet-crazy friends, and the concern of nurses and doctors whenever they reminded me of my woefully below average body mass index. I started eating properly again, but I just couldn't gain the weight anymore. Well, not until recently. I'm glad to report that my BMI just (barely) made it to normal levels, and all I need to do is maintain the weight.

Still, that's work for me. Yes, I am an effortlessly skinny bitch. To most, it may seem like a blessing. That's probably because you haven't experienced being underweight. It only ever comes in handy when:

• You're involved in those team-building activities where group members need to carry or lift their team mates. I usually get passed around like half a sack of potatoes.
• You're a trained ballet dancer. I was forced into ballet by my high school PE program, and it was one of the most awkward and embarrassing moments of my young life. Needless to say, I am not—and will never be—a trained ballet dancer.
• Your carpool gets very crowded and sitting on each others' laps becomes a necessity. This is rather unfortunate for the person you have to sit on—in my case, my sister who's four years younger. Ha ha.
• You're in the running towards becoming America's Next Top Model. Sadly, not only did I use to have the weight of half a potato sack, I also happen to share its level of fashion knowledge.

On the other hand, here are some challenges I've encountered as a skinny bitch:

• There's a reason it's called underweight. Just like being overweight and being obese, being underweight is medically not normal. 
• You can't donate blood. The last time I tried, I came up short by half a kilo, I think. And it's something I've always wanted to do, too.
• You're something of a weakling. Especially since my arms seem to gain no fat nor muscle, I could never lift things. Those carry-your-team-over-the-web activities? I proved pretty useless once I got to the other side because I couldn't lift my other team mates.
• You get trapped outside with a signal #4 storm. Seriously, I've tried. I happened to be walking on a slanted surface during a really windy storm. I could feel my balance being affected. I imagine it would have made for a really bad Mary Poppins knock-off.
• You're not even tall and you get mistaken for a kid. Which always, always happens to me. Either that or people mistake me for a prepubescent boy, which isn't comforting either. Damn it people! Do I have to wear my birth certificate on a chain around my neck?

But really, this is all for fun. To normal-weighing people who go crazy about dieting (especially by unhealthy means), please don't stone me to death. And please, stop trying to be those starved skeletons you see on the Internet.

Weight is just a number. Whether you have a little too much, or too less of it, should not run nor ruin your life. If you're really trying to gain or lose some pounds, you should do it for yourself, and not for those critical significant others, relatives, neighbors, or friends. 

And if you happen to be a self-imposed weight critic, please do the world a favor and STFU. You know what everyone hates more than a skinny bitch? A nosy one, I'm sure.

Bad Decisions

A week or two ago I watched this one episode of How I Met Your Mother, where Ted, one of the lead characters, has to tear down an architectural landmark (The Arcadian) to make way for a new building he was designing. He was pretty reluctant; at first he thought it was about the building. But then he realized it was really all about a girl who was protesting against his project. His friends then recalled the silliest things he'd done, all for the sake of dating particular girls.

I just love that show (you should watch it, it's awesome). And—not for the first time—I found myself being able to relate to Ted. Embarrassing as it is, I have to admit I may have, on occasion, gone totally out of my way for a girl I liked.

There's this incident from almost ten years ago that I remember vividly. I was in fifth grade, and I had developed a crush on this girl, who upon meeting me, apparently decided that she hated my guts. She teased me relentlessly, until one day she decided to stop; at that moment I realized that I liked her. Now, I don't know what that says about me, but (*cough* masochist *cough*) I guess I was pretty much a hopeless (and clueless) romantic at the age of ten.

So anyway, we were friends already, and there was a fair of sorts in school—with mini-rides, inflatable houses, and all that. I was with a couple of friends when she and a couple of her friends went up to us, joking around and asking to be treated.

And, before I knew it, I had my wallet in my hand. I wasn't a rich kid, so I handed her the remaining 50 pesos in my wallet. I got a sweet smile and a peck on the cheek, and I guess that made my day back then, despite the fact that I had no money left for the rest of the day. Later on she went on to be the first girl to officially break my heart, when she started dating a close friend of mine. Tss, kids those days.

Here I am, ten years later: about five inches taller, with a better haircut and better fitting clothes, but almost exactly the same attitude when it comes to my love life. I may not be tripping over myself in the haste of doing irrational things for every single girl I happen to like, but I can't say I've quit the habit entirely.

Over the years, in the name of dating, or simply liking someone, I have:

• embarrassed myself multiple times by trying to pull off something I normally wouldn't even want to try;
• been dragged into awkward events and situations wherein I knew practically nobody else;
• taken impractically diverted routes home for the sake of being able to commute with aforementioned someone;
• stayed up amazingly late, or woken up amazingly early to talk to said someone (depending on whether she's a midnight or morning person);
• regularly attended classes which I wasn't enrolled in;
• waited for hours, hoping to casually bump into said someone during her free time;
• gotten lost multiple times, trying to find/buy things as gifts;
• learned to play the guitar to impress aforementioned someone;
• totally overhauled my wardrobe (yippee for me);
• played nice (actually, I really am nice), even when it felt like torture;
• tried/am trying to change my attitude toward things (yeah, that's mostly for the better though);
• and some other things which are too specific and/or dramatic to disclose here.

They might sound like totally normal things to do. I guess that's because at some point, we've all done irrational—or, at the very least, uncharacteristic—things for the sake of love, or the faintest illusion of it. If you haven't...well, hang on, you'll find your match.

Does loving or liking make us foolish, or does it make us brave?

Hands down, I'd have to agree that it drives us to make some really awful decisions sometimes. But still, unless you'll end up getting seriously hurt physically or psychologically (or something horrible like that), I'd say go for it.

After all, bad decisions make for good stories. Or so they tell me, anyway.

Counting Years

If you ever read my older, mushier posts, you'd know about my ex-ex. We keep getting back together that my friends all tease me about not being single since I was thirteen, and thus being terribly out of the dating/flirting game. But we can't help it. We're just so much better at being together.

She's the most awesome person I know. And she's such a big part of the person I've slowly morphed into for the past years. She helped me grow up (haha) by growing with me. 

I try not to write about her, because--for all my love of words--I still know I could never do her justice. I'd either come up too short, or too mushy that my insides might melt--like how they feel even just as I'm trying. [See what I mean? B, if you're reading this, it's honestly the reason why I don't write about you much.]

Considering we first got together on her 13th birthday, it has now been 7 years of on and off bliss (for the most part), and incredible comfort and contentment (all the time). We've stopped trying to count because we couldn't agree on what years to include.

But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I've been in love with just one person for the past 7 years. Definitely no contest about that one.

Taken some years ago.
Okay, I look like a dog here. But never mind that.

*I'm sorry for the mush. It's my girlfriend's birthday, I hope you understand.

Runaway

One evening, a few weeks ago, I sat caught in the middle of a traffic jam and the pouring rain. One of the (many) things that usually piss me off is riding jeepneys on rainy days. The windows are all draped with thick plastic and the general lack of air and space triggers my slight claustrophobia.

Luckily I was in one of the seats at the very end of the jeep. Staring out at Taft Avenue, I noticed a pedicab driver, singing at the top of his lungs as he pedaled by, completely drenched in the rain. He whooped as he swerved and passed under the torrent cascading from one of the LRT station roofs.

It's crazy to admit, but admired the pedicab driver--or rather, I admired the freedom he exuded. The image of me, crammed inside a jeepney for fear of getting wet in the rain, was one that I felt defined my life in general. I'm confined by rules, by things I've been led to believe I should be doing.

Click for source.

Lately I've been catching myself thinking about living more. I've grown tired of my rules and my duties, of always doing the right thing even when it makes me miserable. I want to do crazy things--dance in the rain (Gene Kelly style), stay out late, go on vacation, pretend to be a rock star, go on a road trip, or talk to total strangers. Or something, anything out of the ordinary.

It's the way I've been raised, and it grew on me, I guess. I've always had to be responsible--for myself, and for people around me. I've always been wary of letting people down, that I sometimes find myself in situations I'd rather be out of.

I have this fear that I'll be stuck in the routine my whole life. I know the responsibilities will just continue to pile up, and I want to get away--even just for a while--before I have to deal with them again. For once in my uptight life, I want to run away and come back, just to feel that I've changed somehow.

But for now I just have to make the best of what I've got, find small ways of escaping the ordinary. And someday I'll find the means, and or the courage, and maybe a buddy who'll go crazy with me.