Bowling Down The House

I have always stayed away from bowling. Probably because I find it disgusting to have to wear bowling shoes. Maybe because I was afraid I would totally suck at it [the way I felt before I'd even tried playing pool]. Apparently, those fears were unfounded.

Coz tonight at the Skydiving Center along Hera'a, I totally KICKED ASS.

















Oh, yes, people, I have to go on and on about it. That's me at Number 2 with all those yellow triangles that my friends call "strike". Talk about beginner's luck.

I played with Abdullah and Ibrahim, and we kicked the other team's ass.

And I have to reiterate, that's me with all the triangles. WOO-HOO!!

Johari Window

Please click on the following link if you have nothing else to do.

http://kevan.org/johari?name=nessreen

The Saddest Thing

This has to be the saddest email I've received my entire life.

I miss you so much, Nhuraphy.

Date: Sun, 16 Apr 2006 03:43:00 +0000
To: hamlet_ness@yahoo.com
From: "Birthday Reminder" <Service@BirthdayAlarm.com> Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert
Subject: First Reminder for Nhuraphy Magarang's Birthday on Sunday April 23rd

Nessreen

Nhuraphy Magarang's (hardcore_nhurzy@yahoo.com) birthday is on Sunday April 23rd. Nhuraphy will be 24 years old.

Click below to choose an eCard and we will send it on Nhuraphy's birthday...
http://www.BirthdayAlarm.com/eCard/129163884a1b194764443c23285808

Kind Regards,

BirthdayAlarm.com

Former Fuzzy Feeling

Here's a fond memory:

One evening, Yahya's mom Tita Irene took us to one of the condominium units the boys and I signed up to "agent" for [i.e. we sold them and earned a percentage]. We were in it for what little percentage we just might earn, but mostly, too, for the free dinners that almost always follows every "trip", and the extra time we could all spend monkeying around. That night, it was Yamani, Jill, Xaviere, Rommel, Yahya's sister Camille, and possibly even Bart, and myself. Yahya was out at a bar along Timog Avenue for a high school reunion. Tita Irene decided it would be fun to play a joke on him by calling him up on his mobile and threatening to crash the party, her, Yahya's Dad, and the whole lot of us. We'd parked outside the bar and made silly jokes heavy with half-truths and connotation, and sure enough, 15 minutes later, Yahya comes out of the bar, mobile in hand, pretending to be pissed but actually looking rather pleased about the attention we were all showering on him. I remember how close we'd all become then, that we had actually communicated through looks alone. We had a look that said, "Don't say nothing stupid now, the old folks are here". Another one said, "Let's pretend we're all going home after this and then meet up at Sarah's afterwards." There was also the classic, "We'll laugh about this later when no one else is listening." Sure, we said some things out loud, but we would continue the conversation in silence, or much later in the night at Sarah's little drinking place, or on a 5-hour phone conversation. I remember basking in their spoiling attention, how Tita Irene always reserved the front seat of her car for me in each trip, how nice she was.

When I recall moments like this, I think of winter-time. I love winter. The contemplation. The cold. The warm moments seem more pronounced in winter. The overall cozy feeling that seeps through me, like a huge, fragrant blanket around my shoulders. It reminds me of my good friends, like Alfie, and my first trip to Marawi City, our hang-out time with other good friends.

That former fuzzy feeling. Like coffee on a cold, cold day.

Just a day after that night rushed back to me, I got a phone call from Yahya. It was good to hear from him again after so long, my good, good friend Yahys. We hadn't talked in almost a year. We've been reduced to smatterings here and there, each one heading to a different direction. I wonder if we'll all stay friends; if, when things change, I'd be the same person they claimed to love having around.

The Sea

When I see the sea once more
















Will the sea have seen

Or not seen me?

The Fabulous Englishman

I've just had one of the more excellent experiences reading in that book by Robert McCrum called The Fabulous Englishman. My fascination, as per usual, is with the way writers like him weave their words to create beautiful language, their keen and accurate observations. This book has been very real, down to the last paragraph. Sometimes, we like - and expect - things to be black and white, forgetting all the gray areas in between. And we always manage to look shocked in the end. At least I know I do.

The other nice thing about this book is what little I've learned about (former) Czechoslovakia and the Prague Spring (revolution). It also led me to read on Franz Kafka and get a grasp of communism, fascism, and activism, all gray areas to me. I am now basking in the exhilaration of enlightenment. Politics and socialism are two subjects I can't even bluff about.

Clearly, I'm not cut out to be a fighter, an activist, a believer if you will.

Things I fiercely believe in:

God
Fear
Luxury
Certain Death
Deception
Change

Does it embarrass me that my intellect is, after all, skin-deep? Yes. But more than that, it makes me sad. I feel empty inside. There must be something meaningful, something I would live for, something bigger than myself and my trivial flights of fancy that I'd be willing to fight for. There must be something in there, something for humanity, some compassion, or a speck of motivation so I don't waste my time, my youth on purely selfish interests, on fashion, scandal, drama, empty entertainment, self-pity, resentment.

I'd like very much to hear the music of Plastic People of the Universe. They sound very intelligent. "Hundred Per Cent" seems like a testament to that genius.

10 things I'm afraid of:
1. I am afraid of rejection.
2. I am afraid of old age.
3. I am afraid of motherhood.
4. I am afraid of commitment and responsibility.
5. I am afraid of physical pain.
6. I am afraid of bodies-of-water.
7. I am afraid of the past.
8. I am afraid of obscurity.
9. I am afraid of punishment.
10. I am afraid of monotony.

"So why are you afraid of me?"