Sunday, December 7, 2008

Hyper When Hungry

Friday night, us four again in the car: ahya (driving), dihya (passenger seat), Daddy and me.

We were on our way to pick up Elaine from her bakeshop Carla and Elaine's in Greenhills and as expected, traffic was slow that night.


Around 7ish, Dad was getting hungry and we soon discovered that hunger was one of the three things* (and counting) that triggered his hyperactivity and heightened talkativeness, or what my dihya would refer to as "second childhood."



*(1) Golf the next day. He couldn't even sleep due to his excitement. And it's not like he just started to play the sport. He's been a golfer for more than a decade.

(2) Spicy food. Proven by Kocco's Hot Tuna Bread.

(3) Hunger.


Because of the traffic, my ahya had to look for a different route so we could go home in time for dinner. My dihya suggested that he take a shortcut dad had taught him a few weeks ago.

Remembering that my dihya was skeptical of his shortcut before, dad goes: Ooohhhh!! Iyan yung tinuro ko sa iyo dati. Sabi mo hindi OK yung turo ko tapos ngayon tinuturo mo na kay Ahya. Tama ako noh? OK yung daan ko. Aminin mo. Tama yung tinuro ko. Aminin! Uuyyy aminiiiiin!!! (then putting on a girly voice) AMIIIINIIIIIII--- (he cuts himself off, distracted by the car shop named Mother's we just passed by).

2 seconds after,

Daddy, singing a John Lennon song, feel na feel: "MOOOTHERRRRR...."



Someone give this guy a sedative. HAHAHA.

Monday, November 10, 2008

PostSecret 11.08.08

This is as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.












From PostSecret.



-----Email Message-----

Sent: Sunday, November 09, 2008 8:58 AM

Subject: So sorry for your loss.

I don't know if we have read your beloved's obituary, but my husband and I read your secret -- one of our favorite things is to read PostSecret on Sunday morning when we're still bleary-eyed and in need of coffee, making up stories about the poster's lives -- and he hugged me because it made me cry, and touched the screen saying, "it's really beautiful."

So you just became a part of our story. I wanted to share this with you, because I would be honored to be a part of yours.

Friday, November 7, 2008

Uhh...Guess Not

Dad was being his usual talkative self, this time the topic centered around someone's daughter.

My brother asks: Maganda ba?

Daddy: Mabait.

Brother: Maganda ba?!?

Daddy: Uhh...Matalino.

Conan: Celebrity Survey

My favorite Celebrity Survey* to date:

To the question: "My favorite time of day is..."

Evangeline Lilly wrote: "Dawn."
Matt Lauer wrote "Twilight."
.....
....
...
..
.
O.J. Simpson wrote: "Murder O'Clock."


Conan: I like how there's no attempt there to make sense.



*Celebrity Survey-- A Late Night With Conan O'Brien sketch wherein Conan supposedly sends out surveys to celebrities and then reads off their replies.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

The Neverending Story

The ride going to and from the office is never, ever dull.
In the car, both of my brothers are always seated in front; my dad and I at the back. The two most talkative, without a doubt, are my daddyo and his mini-me (although actually taller than him), my dihya.

Being the only girl there, I'm indebted to my iPod for letting me tune out and escape from all their chitchats on cars, sports, and other guy stuff I could care less about. Once I get in the car, I automatically take it out and press Play until we arrive home 30-40 minutes later.

Sometimes, their conversations would get too heated up I'd either have to increase the volume of my music or hit pause and play the role of the adjudicator.
Though if it isn't raised voices, it's usually boisterous laughters I hear through my earphones.

One time, my dad started sharing to us a story about China (or a childhood memory of his, or one of his business-related anecdotes-- I forget. He always talks about these 3 all the time.), so I stopped my iPod for a while and listened.

Two sentences in, my dihya goes: OOOOoooohhhppp ohp ohp ohppp. Stop. Alam na namin iyan.
My ahya followed: Nakwento mo na iyan.

My dad pauses. Sitting beside him, I see his face still looking excited. And so he continues on with his story.

My two brothers: OoOooohhh narinig na nga namin iyan. Ilang beses mo na iyan kinwento eh. Paulit ulit na.

Daddy, pauses again, letting them finish. His facial expression still unchanged and his body shifted forward, making sure they hear him loud and clear: .....tapos noh...blah blah blah... tapos........

Brothers, laughing a little while daddy continues talking: Sinabi na ngang narinig na, kwento pa rin siya...

Daddy, unmindful and still fascinated by his own repeatedly-told story (his intonations and hand gestures full of emotion each time he tells it): ...blah blah blah...tapos.....blah blah blah..........

Brothers: Wala talagang effect...

Me: HAHAHAHAHA!

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Aww. Cutest Bunny Ever.

Armed and dangerous.











('Shopped) Photo from Cute Overload.



Isn't she, I'm assuming, adorable??? :)

Saturday, October 4, 2008

The Girl With An Apple

This is a true* beautiful story.

*Saw a report on CNN this afternoon that parts of this story were embellished.
The gist:
They did meet on a blind date.
He was in fact in a concentration camp.
He had that dream.
She was in hiding with her family, but they were 200 miles away from the camp.
No apple-throwing occured.



August 1942. Piotrkow , Poland.

The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square.

Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

'Whatever you do,' Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, 'don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen.

'I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker.

An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.

'Sixteen,' I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood.

My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people.

I whispered to Isidore, 'Why?'

He didn't answer.

I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.

'No, 'she said sternly.

'Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers.'

She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany .

We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers.

'Don't call me Herman anymore.' I said to my brothers. 'Call me 94983.'

I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator.

I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number.

Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin .

One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice.

'Son,' she said softly but clearly, I am going to send you an angel..'

Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream.

But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone.

On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.

I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. 'Do you have something to eat?'

She didn't understand.

I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life.

She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.

I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple.

We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.

I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me?

Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia .

'Don't return,' I told the girl that day. 'We're leaving.'

I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.

We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed.

On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM.

In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over.

I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.

But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers.

Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived;

I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival.

In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.

My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years.

By August 1957 I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.

One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me.

'I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date.

'A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me.

But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma.

I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island . Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with.

Turned out she was wary of blind dates too!

We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time.

We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.

As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, 'Where were you,' she asked softly, 'during the war?'

'The camps,' I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.

She nodded. 'My family was hiding on a farm in Germany , not far from Berlin ,' she told me. 'My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers.'

I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.

'There was a camp next to the farm.' Roma continued. 'I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day.'

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. 'What did he look like? I asked.

'He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months.'

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it.

This couldn't be.

'Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?'

Roma looked at me in amazement. 'Yes!'

'That was me!'

I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel.

'I'm not letting you go.' I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

'You're crazy!' she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.

There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.

That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.


~Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach , Florida

A Letter To Your Younger Self

I saw this in the September 2008 issue of Marie Claire and I'd like to share it with you.

Readers were invited to submit letters they would write to their younger selves and three were selected. I chose this one in particular because frankly, and I hate to admit it, I related to this one the most.


To Melanie,

When I peer into the looking glass that illuminates you, I see a shy, quiet girl who is critically afraid. Afraid of failure, afraid of rejection, afraid of loneliness... and these fears are holding you back. If there were one lesson I could give to you, it would be to stop letting fear keep you from living. Don't run away, for joy often lies just below the surface of uncomfortable. You will fail, but failure will make success a little richer. You will be rejected, but rejection will refine your inner strength. Be good to yourself: Practice self-reverence, self-discipline, and self-control. For in the end, you are stronger than you think. The consequences of all that you fear are not nearly as bad as the regret of what is missed while standing on the sidelines.

With courage, Melanie

Friday, October 3, 2008

Paul Newman (1925-2008)

I first learned of Paul Newman in my early teens (I am now 25) while I was reading a feature article on Hollywood Screen Legends. It mentioned quite a few actors and actresses, who were all considered icons by many, but the only 2 people I would still remember from then on were P. Newman and Marlon Brando.
And that would be because I've never seen anyone as beautiful a creature as they were.


Paul Newman.



*Note: I abhor smoking and would never encourage it but I must admit these photos are delovely.









Marlon Brando.

To be honest, I don't really know much about Paul Newman but I've always found him charming and fascinating. (Must be his eyes; Blue Eyes they called him. Eyes are such give aways. And for Mr. Newman, his easily divulged of his good soul.)

I've never really seen a whole lot of his movies. Well, aside from the animated film Cars, the only other movies of Paul Newman's I've watched were Message In A Bottle and Road To Perdition. (Two totally different genres but I enjoyed them nonetheless and I must say, even as a crime boss, Mr. Newman certainly was charming in his roles.)
All I know, from what I've heard and read, is that he was a great actor, a devoted husband, and the founder of Newman's Own.

The next I would see him in is on the television show Iconoclasts wherein two "creative visionaries", as described in its Wikipedia page, discuss their lives, influences, and art. In that episode, P. Newman and his close friend Robert Redford interviewed each other.
Prior to that, I only knew of him as an old crush who was, and is, considered a legend. Watching it, however, I learned that he was more than a celebrity, more than just a great actor. Paul Newman, was a humanitarian*. And that was what I admired most about him. It's not impossible, but surely it's rare to come across a person who is so lucky to be blessed as such and be as kind and selfless as he was.
And as cliche as this may sound, he made me want to be a better person.
*(His company, Newman's Own, donates all of its profits to charity and his camps, Hole In The Wall Gang, continue to help seriously ill children today.)



Paul Newman passed last September 26, 2008. Now, I'm not going to write about his life story or discuss his film works because Wikipedia and IMDB are better sources for that. I write this blog entry because I consider him as an inspiration and I mourn the loss of such an amazing human being. He managed to live a full life while he exemplified the value of generosity, kindness, and of love. He dedicated his life to giving back and for that, he made this world a better place.



Rest in Peace, Mr. Paul Newman. You will be missed greatly.

Hi. My Name Is Sharleen. And I'm A Conanholic.

I say it's admiration.
They say it's obsession.


Ahhh. What I would give to be able to watch him live.


Thursday, October 2, 2008

Monday, September 29, 2008

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

I Guess He's Not A Fan As Well

The morning after mom's birthday party, our refrigerator was stocked with boxes of cakes, one of which was the famous Conti's Mango Bravo. (A tall cake with layers of meringue, whipped cream, chocolate cream, and of course, mangoes.)
They say it's their bestseller; personally though, I'm not really a big fan.


Photo by Mr. Anton from the blog Our Awesome Planet


At the breakfast table, my mom asked my dad if he wanted to bring a slice of the Mango Bravo for merienda later.

Daddy, irked: AYOKO 'YAN, OVER-ACTING! MASYADONG OVER-ACTING!

:)) Haha.

Surprise Party For Mom


Planning the surprise party was a bit stressful honestly, especially with all the things you have to prepare and take note of: guest list, reservations, the food, banner (courtesy of Auntie Mary), the cake (by Elaine), the cupcake souvenirs (Elaine, too), and the flowers.
This we had to do in a span of one week and it didn't help that mom's schedule was a little hectic due to her other birthday treats. But thankfully, we pulled it off. Despite the fact that SM was having a three-day sale and traffic was heavy, everyone (except for a couple) we invited was there and there were no slip-ups. The suprise party was successful and everything went well.

But as stressful as it was, seeing the look on my mom's face when she came into the room and everyone started singing Happy Birthday? Ahh, nothing beats that.


*Quotable quotes from the party:

Mommy, wearing a plain purple empire dress/top with white leggings and black sandals, who at that night wasn't really at her best fashion-wise ("I thought we'd just be having a small, simple dinner," she later explained) said this right after everyone greeted her at the party: Gwa eh sah huan hiong oh! (My outfit looks hideous!)

Sophie, seeing mom's pic on the banner: Amaaaaaaa!!!!!

Chiz, to one of the guests: Goodbye, Vick.



Thanks to Elaine for providing the lovely (and yummy!) fondant cake and rose cupcakes and making the surprise party a special one.















*Please visit her other blog, Cosmo Bread to see her complete list of baked goodies.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Coolio Daddio

After having checked the schedule for upcoming concerts here in Manila, I immediately messaged my dad.


Me: magconcert paul anka sept 20 (Paul Anka's having a concert on Sept. 20.)

Daddy: pangit yun (That's ugly / I'm not interested.)

Me: nde ba fave mo yun? (Isn't he your favorite?) ---knowing full well he owns P. Anka CD's

Daddy: dati ngayon si maroon 5 (Before. Now, Maroon 5.)



..........Wow. And to think I spent the whole day listening to OPM's.



*I especially love how he preceded Maroon 5 with a Si. Haha.*

Saturday, July 5, 2008

Pilosopong Crustacean


Mutts Comics by Patrick McDonnell.


The bird's like, "Ehhhhhhh..." Haha.


Happy Summer to me friends there and to me friends here, where it feels like Summer all year long.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

David Gray's Shine




I can see it in your eyes
What I know in my heart is true
That our love it has faded
Like the summer run through

So we'll walk down the shoreline
One last time together
Feel the wind blow our wanderin' hearts
Like a feather

But who knows what's waiting
In the wings of time
Dry your eyes
We gotta go where we can shine

Don't be hiding in sorrow
Or clinging to the past
With your beauty so precious
And the season so fast

No matter how cold the horizon appear
Or how far the first night
When I held you near
You gotta rise from these ashes
Like a bird of flame
Take my hand
We've gotta go where we can shine

For all that we struggle
For all we pretend
It don't come down to nothing
Except love in the end

And ours is a road
That is strewn with goodbyes
But as it unfolds
As it all unwinds
Remember your soul is the one thing
You just can't compromise

Step out of the shadow
We're gonna go where we can shine
We're gonna go where we can shine
We're gonna go where we can shine
(and look, and look)
Through the windows of midnight
Moonfoam and silver



Tuesday, May 20, 2008

LANVIN Spring-Summer '08

The collection that would inspire even more collections.

Premiered last October 2007.

No other fashion label has ever given me this much goosebumps.

Lanvin's Spring-Summer line is truly breathtaking; the artistry, the colors, the fabric choices, the fluidity of the garments, and the overall Parisian feel.



I remember on first day of fashion school our teacher asked us to look for one fashion designer or a fashion label that would serve to be the foundation, the inspiration of what kind of fashion designers we would come to be.
"Choose one, read up on it, and study the designs. Learn as much as you can about the designer/label," he said. That was almost two years ago.

I think I finally found mine.



Mr. Alber Elbaz, thank you.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

The Square Root of 3

I fear that I will always be
A lonely number like root 3
A 3 is all that's good and right,
Why must my 3 keep out of sight

Beneath a vicious square root sign
I wish instead I were a 9
For 9 could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic

I know I'll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a 3
Has quietly come waltzing by,
Together now we multiply
To form a number we prefer,
Rejoicing as an integer

We break free from our mortal bonds
And with a wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
And love for me has been renewed.


As heard on Harold And Kumar: Escape From Guantanamo Bay, which I think is a hilarious movie despite what my sister and friends say :P

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

I Need My Conan and SNL Fix










I still haven't forgiven SkyCable for removing Conan and SNL from their program line-up.




At least they finally got The Colbert Report on Maxxx. Yay!
One less reason to switch cable providers! :D