Anish Kapoor's

Standing for over an hour in a queue was all worth it.




Some of the collections:

Believe

Bo and I just scanned the computer graphics and fashion illustration books at Foyles. Looking at hundreds of published books related to his line of study, he projected a gloomy future prospect of professional living for himself. I must admit, this line of work is cutthroat.

In a matter of seconds, he belittled himself to a nauseating degree. Being therapeutic at this stage is usually imperative so out came my empathic approach with a bit of support for him. Like a child of fervent presumptuous nature or a mature case of mentally abasing inquisitions, I nearly gave up. How do you soothe a defeated pathetic rant of self disbelief? Since I know him well, I just don't.

Affording people support in an inopportune time is intricate. However, I find that the approach is always a case to case basis. There is no generic approach but knowing all available options of support is handy. My colleague was crying last week and all she needed was someone to listen to her angsts. A new staff was genuinely upset for cancelling her wedding next year due to leave issues and all she needed was the request book and a closed door meeting to express her concerns. One had her cat laid to rest and asked for a leave off work to grieve. Bo needed nothing but himself. He has a stern critic and punitive perfectionist in him enough to appraise how he fares well with the world.


(one of Bo's creation out of boredom)

I was just silent but deep inside he knows I'd die to have a little of his talent. In a way, I hate the bashful braggart that he is.

food for thought

It is only half four in the afternoon and I'm mentally shattered to pieces. You get that same feeling of exhaustion doing physical labour with mental strain. Today, teaching "Haemodiafiltration" to Renal Course Nurses at the College was just as tiring. I seriously need to recharge for other important things in the coming weeks. I am depleted.



On my way home, Johann von Goethe has something important to say: "Nothing is worth more than this day". From the poster plastered inside the carriage, I see his thoughtful admonishment. I pondered about it deeply. If that's the case, how do I gauge if I have made this day worthy of my living? Have I done enough to call it a day? Is it a constant battle to do the best of our abilities and be the best we can be in the process, day in, day out? I could think of more questions but I'd reserve some for eternity.

I want to live my life each day. But sometimes, forces out there are just de trop that you cull for an easy way out. Is that good enough Mr. J V Goethe?

Dear Diary

I saw Beyonce last night and it made me feel exhausted just watching her for more than two hours in her stilletos prancing, bending, stomping and gyrating onstage. It was worth it. However, waking moment this Monday morning was a pain. My back yearned for the soft mattress of my bed and head dozy against the pillow. It was a battle to even raise a finger.

I arrived work at 10 am and I had to come up with excuses like road closures and signalling problems underground. It was pretty much the case but I wasn't sure about how people at work perceived it. I couldn't care less really since I was still humming HALO in my head.

It was typical of a Monday at work. I was surrounded by faces who came to work for monetary reasons and not for the love of it (I guess). I love my job but there are days I truly empathise where my colleagues are coming from (re: working conditions). It wasn't surprising at all when lunch was at 3 pm yet again. It has given me a first hand perspective of how people battle it out out there just to make a decent living. It has a niggling effect in my head on how parity is something that's nonexistent in today's society. I'm sure you spend more energy worrying at work than spending quality moments with your loved ones. I think it's shameful that the direction humanity is heading treads the line of overworked, overzealous and psychological impaired citizenry.

I finished at 6 pm today to make up for being an hour late. I didn't mind really. I spent the last hour figuring out the weekly audits that're due every monday. I took the tube without delay and walked the Piccadilly savouring the approaching winter. My favorite season is right near my grasp and my cashmere jumpers and wooly coats are beckoning. I promised myself weeks ago a nice pair of boots and after an exhaustive search, I fell in love with what's on display at Russell and Bromley along Covent Garden. I tried it and didn't I just hear the boots call me “Master”?.. It's way way better than the Jimmy Choo boots I tried at H&M.

Bo finished work at 7 pm. I aged 70 years waiting for the Edgware branch train of the northern line. I realised how my toes were digging into my leather shoes. It's only when I sat down that I discernibly thought of how I covered roughly 2 miles of slow paced strides to Bo's workplace. Off the tube, cooking was the least of our concerns. KFC is always the best option when a lapse in moment is crucial to boosting an appetite or losing it altogether. It was delectable as always but left me reeling from a shortened life.



My night's going to be simple. I'll have my feet up and justify the reason why being a couch potato is not at all that bad. And yes, torture my brain senseless with monday night telly.


Do we still have a packet of Reese's?


Yawningly yours,

Bug-a-boo

Add on

I am happy to have a minor circumvention with the routine.




Here's that routine and the add on extra which somehow created a sepia effect into my life:

Woke up - after hitting the snooze button four times
Took any bus to Golders Green
Took the Bank Branch of the Northern Line and stood all throughout the journey
Faced paperworks and problems and whining/whinging
Phone calls and more phone calls
Scrutinise people's works
Thinking of missing lunch but temptation was far too much to resist - had pudding
Got a text from Orange Wednesdays - Planned to watch 2012 with Bo
Light meal at Nando's - got 20% discount for being a healthcare staff
Wandered around the bookstore to kill time- thought of Nelson
Flicked through the pages of photographs of Lachappelle and Bailey and Testino
Queued to get in at the cinema- Orange Wednesdays' still pulling people in
Cinema-goers in an irate mood as seats running out
And boom.... A film full of cliches but blown away just the same
Jackson Curtis is the man



I'm glad to have gone home late for a change.

Lifeline

Once a month, CBN Grupo - Remittance Company is one of my main stops at Oxford Street.

Living abroad somehow resonates to responsibility which no matter how hard I explain to my partner (who happens to be of different race and culture), he finds that odd and mentally indigestible. Sending money to your loved ones on a monthly basis is not a European thing, apparently.

There's a totally different concept about living abroad in relation to customary obligations and cultural predispositions of legal aliens. This is just one of the many reasons why countries differ and also the difference that makes a greater magnitude of an impact to surviving life.

Luna-cy, Luna-tic

I watched New Moon with Janette. Tonight, I blame myself for going in with a hyped expectation.

I wanted to pull my hair out (obviously I can't) or kick my own backside. I ended up pouring my (luckily!) cold drink to that excitable youth sat next to me (albeit intentional) and ended up muttering my least favorite word. It's so violent of me, I know. It's so unlikely of my nature but I excruciatingly bite my tongue for failing to understand the direction this film's heading. There's only one explanation to this: the director wasn't thinking of the likes of me when he did this film (not that he cares and vice versa). And even if he did, he just targeted a cross section of my kind.

That much I know.

RED

I hate red but I'm seeing one right now. It is emblazoned in its brightest hue that it annoys the hell out of me. I am tempted to become verbally violent where I could scream the house down. I am actually pessimistically conjured to wring someone's neck and suck the life out of IT just like in horror films.

I don't want to calm down. It is something that's very easy to do. I count to ten and even before reaching ten, I have already pacified myself. I'd rather experience how it is to feel the rage and rant sensibly or senselessly. I am past caring this time. To bottle it up means ending in a mental asylum where ruckus and acrimony equate to electroconvulsive therapy. That's painful.

Few minutes from now, I'd read back through this entry and laugh about it. This bloody memo pad of my phone is frazzling my heightened emotion. I hate it so much for stealing that moment of humanity. Typing is energy-zapping.

It's damning that I'm calm now. I detest the therapy of venting out through typing my thoughts.

CS3

With so much brouhaha over photoshopping, I decided to try it with one of my pictures.


Voila!

I wonder

It is nearly christmas again and walking along the shops after work is verging to a tedious and daunting experience. With recession in mind, shopping has become an exercise of willpower tenacity. You have to weigh a lot of things in your head before even looking at the price tag. Economic sensibility comes first.

Trundling along the shopping colonnade, I spotted the watch of my dream. I wish and drool for it everytime I happen to traipse along Bond Street. However, Audemars Piguet remains a dream I surely wouldn't get to grab hold of in reality. I truly wonder if that day would come. However, I guess there's no harm wanting something badly as long as you keep your head in the right perspective.

The closest I got to wearing an Audemars was when I tried one on years ago. It was a delight. Good thing I have a steady head/sound mind in Marlotte. I got to settle for a Tag Heuer. It wasn't bad in fact. After all these years, my Tag still serves its purpose.

Still, I wonder if I'd get to own one someday. If I have nearly £15,000, would I really buy a common Audemars for that price? I really wonder.

In The Know

End of December, I have to do some socialisation of my own gearing towards a definite purpose. I need to be "in the know" of what's new in London in a cultural perspective. I don't think it'll be hard but finding time is.



Today, I had another conversation with Jay, a friend of mine who writes for Philippine Star. Again, he asked me if I'd be interested to write for the paper. With this, commitment is vital. I know the meaning of most words but commitment is something I struggle to comprehend. The lure however of getting a short piece of writing published is attractive enough to give it a try; to earn something out of my utmost interest re: writing, is a bonus. As per conversation with Jay, I have until the end of December to come up with an article that would reflect London living in a cultural sense.

I don't think this is something hard to decipher as London in itself claims to be the centre of artistic domain. There is not a weekend where a social happening isn't taking centre stage rousing the masses to celebrate. It is only dead when you choose to black out what's on offer. But it takes a lot to do that. Even being clinically depressed has its perk in London society. Actually, being dead is the only option (or sometimes not).

I look forward to this new challenge. There's so much to say but finding where to start is tricky, precarious. It's like finding the first stroke of Pollock's genius on his canvass. The main solace is this: no matter how hard it is to start, there's so much to write about.

I truly heart London. I guess that's a good premise.

last leaf

I was drawn to this leaf swaying with the wind across the yard.

Up the first floor where I was doing the study day on Clinical Communication, I was easily distracted by it that I took no chance of leaving my curiosity unsatisfied during the coffee break. I took a photo of the leaf in its final stage of dying. Despite the reminder that winter is just around the corner, I find the comfort it brings. It warms my heart as it centers my blood circulation same with the emotions it afford me.

I see myself more calm and rationale when winter sets in. It somehow dampens heightened physical, mental and social affinity to rigours of living. I associate myself with some mammals who hibernate and laze themselves with the cool breeze and smoky breath. The only thing is, I get alive and happy as the season progresses. Hence, the last leaf.

It is akin to most depressing settings of human drama and existence as well as the genesis of perhaps a new life. Personally, it is the beginning of happiness.

Clique

In this particular group, despite coming from the same department, you easily notice the clique amongst staff. It is a no-brainer as to why it exists and certainly instantaneous like brash instinct. People cluster mainly according to race if not interests and commonalities like the daily grind of work.

It defies my dream of harmony and unification at work. They obviously don't shop at Benetton.

capture

It is a wet day.

However, this doesn't deter nor dampen my spirit from finding the remaining elusive sunshine amidst the cooling season. The trees are nearly barren from the browning leaves and the grey meteorological aura is complimenting these changes. Today, I am armed with my hooded puffer jacket and my trusted dSLR.

I have said this before: I love winter. It is so cold outside that it keeps my heart warm.

Insider

YSL stuff in action...errr... auction.

For once, allow me to sit and bid like a filthy rich patron of the arts/culture.

Ryeboyonce! (@O2)

Macho Peas

Don't ask me how it got its name.

The only thing I know is that this side order at Nando's happens to be the best conceived concoction of peas ever. I love it so much, I dreamt of it last night. I can't wait to have a blindfolded tasting session with someone I know who loves to hate peas.

Pea redemption is nigh!

Friday Mode

BEYONCE CONCERT (NOV 09)

Finally, the end of the working week has come.


BEYONCE CONCERT (NOV 09)

I can't wait to spend quality time with the things I love most like writing essays and grading pre-registration documents as part of my Master's Programme. Oh, how I look forward to these moments.


Thanks God for sarcasm.

Tour Finals

MY FAVORITE MEN!!!!!!

3 nights

It is believed that it'd cost one a whopping £2.7 million pounds for three nights of stay in a space hotel. Since the planet Earth orbit's every 80 minutes, guests will be able to watch 15 daily sunrises. This hotel will be ready in 2012 and despite the cost, 43 people are already on the waiting list.



Oh, don't expect a plush bedroom and other grand hotel facilities. You share a room with six other galactic guests and fastened the right way up by a Velcro. It is rather very very interesting. It makes me think of the final frontier of living.

In as much as I love the wonders of space and space exploration, with millions in my bank, I could think of ways to spend it that could stretch to my whole lifetime and the generations to come. Do these people need someone to feed and nurse them whilst aboard the spaceship? I do volunteer.

Truly, I don’t mind enslaving myself to these billionaires.

Rubbernecker

I have done this a million times. Spending most of my waking moments at work, I can't help but resort to rubbernecking. People-watching is an interesting hobby of mine which sometimes verge into social voyeurism/social intrusion. It all started with ideas that came flooding my nous on that tepid, humid day where instead of beating myself with nonstop auto-bickering, I channelled that focus into reading people’s minds and watching their fascinating ways (a handy qwerty handset also helps).

I associated my transient travel companions with Hollywood actors before and also read their innermost thoughts as well. Today, I thought of assigning them a suitable job that truly reflects their character.

Mr. A - He must be in his early forties. He's continuously biting his nails. He looks perfect as an undertaker.

Mr. B – He is the same age as Mr. A but more rounded than the latter. He'd be perfect as a chef. His nose tells me so.

Ms. A – She is in her early 20's but showing a promise. She's smartly dressed and looks the part of an ambitious Barrister in the future. She argues with Ms. B with much flair and conviction.

Ms. B – She is a future model housewife. She'll be a Stepford housewife minus the put-on frills and the pastel colours.

Ms. C – She wears glasses and is in her late 30's. She looks like “S&M Mistress” on weekends. Despite the prim look, her nails seem like an accessory to purring and scratching eager backsides of men with affinity to despotic masochism.

It is rather easy to pass judgments on people and perceptions of how they live their lives; so easy and handy when you have a mind that's verging into malicious and severe inquisition. It reminds us all of "First impressions last..." and the pitfall it affords in cinching a person with pertinent accuracy. The fact is, listening to their conversations during the entire journey, I’m probably half right with one of them: The secret “night dweller” in Miss C as she proudly scans a copy of D.V.Teese's photography book. The rest of them, I’m ashamedly remote from being spot on. Ms. B is in fact, a lawyer.

Being judged myself, I wonder if they'd have an idea of what I do for a living....... (maybe, a good for nothing loafer unless someone *arrests* right here, right now).

the art of killing a duck

Isn't this interesting?

Another way to decapitate a duck!

(St. Martin's day - Switzerland)

Change

Change is “like taking a shower” as what revolutionaries-at-heart would shout. Then you have resistance to change where nonconformity means getting burned at stake, figuratively. These days, you ask for change and bureaucracy steps in and you die waiting.

Not Arturo Brachetti. He changes in seconds, from Scarlett O’Hara (Gone with the Wind) to Liza Minelli (Cabaret) to Queen Elizabeth II. The hand shadow puppetry’s sublime and so is the grandiosity of production. I wonder if he gets confused by the hundred characters he portrays. I must admit that in his transvestite moments of hilarity, he looks good as Anita Ekberg in “La Dolce Vita”.

Man-die! Monday

I was busy as a beaver today. I was teaching and helping a manager sort out stuff and I was answering phone calls and doing practice development roles and finding solutions to staffing problems and booking people for trainings and dabbing on multitasking and.... You get the drift, right?

It was 3 pm when I realised that there's a thing called lunch.

Back in the office, I had these choices:



Glazed doughnuts
Reese's chocs
Celebration chocolate box
an apple
a diet coke



A combo of apple and cola in my mouth was refreshing. The fizz of cola and the tangy crisp apple blended well like a piece of brie and green seedless grape; only more biting in texture with a bit of oomph. I was just at the height of savouring this new found lunchtime menu when this Monday freaky routine went for another cycle of madness. I swear there's something in today's water. There's chaos everywhere and I wasn't even ready to face it as my hunger raged on.

If only talking when your mouth is full is polite then I'd take something to chew in this boring meeting.

Down the escalator

I am petrified that life is going to hit me the hardest this time. But then again, being woebegone is something of a familiar ground to me. Although a breath of fresh ground/atmospheric air would be good sometimes, the dingy place where the richness of used oxygen below the Tube suffices my basic needs. Good thing is, I am not alone down there.

The escalator is heading down the underground station and my phone signal is losing its battle for life. It is true that as you go far from your own desires, limitations and dreams, the lesser is the chance of living quality life. As you lose that aura of awareness of the earth and its pecuniary trappings in life, you are left instead with an acute sense of yourself. The only way you know you are still alive is the fact that you are directed to a certain goal out of necessity. Like the Tube, you either go home or try to reach a destination faster.

Down the end of the escalator is a sign on the left where my way home is. It somehow shows you the way and forces you to comprehend why living is hard and acceptance of its failings is routine. The path is dark and obscure.

I am tired and sad. The light from station to station illuminates the fibreglass tube windows. However, the light at the end of the tunnel remains a flicker, a blip.

Prosaic Rhyming

Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.



Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.
Simon is shit.

eat, sleep and die (blackberry in between)

I was dubious about getting a blackberry. However, after careful deliberation between my ID and Superego, I chose Blackberry over iPhone (and other new phones for that matter) in the market. I upgraded last week and I have nothing but praises for this phone. It certainly caters to my needs and occasional whimsical outburts.

Now, it seems like I'm always in-sync with myself (my thoughts) and concomitantly, with the world. However, my "me" time is even reduced to near nothing. I am not even allowed to get bored anymore. Seriously, I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing.