<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144</id><updated>2011-05-15T20:04:06.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>comfort in your strangeness</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112641005639047980</id><published>2005-09-10T20:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-10T20:40:56.396-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>i'm here to talk about my fears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;honestly, i wish i wasnt as scared and as apprehensive as i am right now. there are so many things that i wish i could say flat out, without fear of regret and rejection, but instead, i choose to keep them inside me like they were some sick secret that no one should ever hear about. because of this, these 'things i wanna say' always seem to end up coming out during the worst occasions, and i end up looking like a depressed rag doll with mascara-stained cheeks at the end of it. i miss open-endedness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think in all my relationships, i've been used to having things start and end with definition and finality. i always used to favor the best-laid plans over the "we'll see where it takes us" route. i guess i was of the impression that definition makes a relationship as secure and as perfect as it should be, where you and your partner can lay out your relationship rules and see where you both fit in the picture. but now, my head is swimming with thoughts of open-endedness. there's something richly beautiful about the whole "come what may" philosophy, because the two of you are not encased in the same box that most couples are in, where they fool themselves into thinking that everything will last forever without effort, as if relationships were built to withstand everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the only problem with this theory of mine is that its really scary, especially if you're so used to baring your soul for the other person to love/rip apart. its really scary because you tend to question yourself, you see yourself through someone else's eyes most of the time, and the fact of the matter is, you're so afraid of loss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i wish i wasnt so afraid. i wish i could just take my life by the reins (and that includes my emotional lapses) and be level-headed in everything. i wish i could take away insecurity and jealousy from this world, because i really dont think anyone needs to feel less about themselves just because they think they dont fare as much as the next girl/guy. i wish nobody had to feel bad about being compared to anyone else, because we are all being judged on the same level of comparison anyway. and i also hope that we people who "love" don't compare those that we love to other people, because we dont have to make them feel like they're not enough, that the happiness they give you does not satisfy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; i think in relationships, nobody has to be anyone's whipping post, nobody has to be on the recieving end of someone lashing out because of that person's past hurts. but i really think on most occasions, that's wishful thinking, because everyone almost always enters a new relationship with past baggages, with things you cant get back, with added preconceived notions about love, pain, things that matter, things that shouldnt matter, things that need to be talked about and things that need not be said, love that needs replenishing, and love that still fulfills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; i have no idea why i started writing about love and relationships in a very revealing way..i think these things need not be hid from people, and i think in a way it has to be heard. in the end, all i can say is, this is the first time i've ever lifted anything like this up to Him, the first time i've ever told myself to deviate from permanence, to never depend on anything set by other people's standards and norms, but to still be hopeful... and to love, keep on loving, keep on giving, and somehow, still believe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112641005639047980?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112641005639047980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112641005639047980' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112641005639047980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112641005639047980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/09/im-here-to-talk-about-my-fears.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112593813402727016</id><published>2005-09-05T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-05T09:48:54.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>one of the more threatening things for me is confrontation. be it having a talk after a massive fight with someone you're in a relationship with, the time when you have to explain your inexplicable absence to your parents, a fight with your close friend, or even duking it out with your idiotic freshman groupmate over some silly little thing such as who was supposed to reserve the CAL AVR for the report the following day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;another classic example (in my case, at least) is when you are forced to confront your own feelings of mediocrity. instead of going to class today, i got sidetracked by a certain classmate (who possesses an uncanny resemblance to a religious character) into skipping it. we ended up having so-called "intellectual" conversation, about palanca award-winning writers and how we envy their brilliance, how silly it is to be fans of our own professors, and how ridiculous certain college orgs are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the laments and happy exclamations then turned into a discussion about what i write, and sad to say, this is where the feelings of mediocrity kicked in. i dont really write anymore. aside from these blog entries of mine, i write practically nothing, really. the last time i tried writing something i would dare call 'literary' was like a month ago--something that strangely reminds me of the phrase 'ars poetica'...and even that in itself is a farce.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my classmate termed my case as being the "discouraged writer". it really is depressing to admit it, but i think i actually am discouraged..even disgruntled and jaded in some ways. i dont want to expound on this anymore, because discussing it means admitting it, and admitting it means that i HAVE to address it. the fact is, i think a lot of things have contributed to this shift in my attitude towards writing poetry, which i used to adore. it was my recluse, and it didnt really matter whether i was the only one who understood them; to me those few shorts stanzas meant that i had some insight into my soul (which frankly still leaves me bewildered from time to time).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and now that it's become some sort of a job for me, i have lost most of my passion for it. i fear it now, because i cant master the forms, i cant think of anything imaginative or funny or insightful enough, and the fact is, i cant write anything that i'd be proud to show off to other people. my poetry is now hidden in cute little notebooks and journals. in essence, i think i'm killing my own art, and that, my friends, is pathetic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so what can i do about it? there's no sense in complaining about it. another classmate told me to try doing morning pages (write immediately after waking up). i'm seriously considering doing either that or coming up to the same prof whose class i skipped to ask him for some advice. i hate asking for advice; there's something about it that bothers me. all i know is, i cant possibly go on like this if i intend to stay sane. i cant possibly go on losing the one thing that used to make me feel better when i had no way to put into simple terms just how badly i felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i hate to say this, but there is no way i'm gonna graduate if i dont write sensibly soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112593813402727016?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112593813402727016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112593813402727016' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112593813402727016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112593813402727016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/09/one-of-more-threatening-things-for-me.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112480632742769624</id><published>2005-08-23T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-23T07:12:07.456-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When I first saw that Stresstabs commercial with the office girl asking her friend if she still looked like she was 25, I started laughing my head off because I thought that that would never happen to me. Now, I look at my reflection and all I see is this skinny girl with dark circles under her eyes, which not only spells impending doom, but is just plain depressing. Serves me right for frolicking in the world of hasty generalizations. (&lt;em&gt;and now I'm messing around with figures of speech. damnit.)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frankly, the reason why I'm slowly starting to resemble a cross between Fiona Apple with dark Kohl eyeshadow and a raccoon is the fact that I choose to stay up until 2-3 am talking on the phone. This, incidentally, causes a snowball effect with regards to my academic performance and athletic aspirations. I have been absent/late for so many meetings now for my 8am PE class and the only reason I'm still there is the lax attendance-taking. Now, dont get me wrong, I dont blame this entire episode on the person on the other line, because (..&lt;em&gt;and I dont even have to tell you this&lt;/em&gt;) we both have a choice in the matter. However, I find that late night and early morning talks are the most insightful ones, and therefore waking up for class seems secondary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the greater scheme of things, PE isn't as important as making sure that you maintain a healthy and fruitful relationship with someone else. BUT...I do admit to being an irresponsible schmuck, and therefore propose an upheaval. The person on the other line might eventually break off the pattern, might end up leaving me in the future with no one else to bug at 2am, and if that happens, I'm going to have to make sure that I have my grades, my sanity, and my life to be proud of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I know is, I will not fail my last PE in UP. Not if I can help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Now where did this sudden drive to pass come from? &lt;/em&gt;I'm so excited. :p&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112480632742769624?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112480632742769624/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112480632742769624' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112480632742769624'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112480632742769624'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/when-i-first-saw-that-stresstabs.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112439173195998774</id><published>2005-08-18T11:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-18T12:02:11.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>it seems that i use some form of a vice to fix my problems. makes me wonder where i got that stupid idea from. for some people, it's drinking, doing drugs, smoking, sex, or whatever fix would excite their senses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;for some weird reason, whenever i have a problem i cant seem to shake off, i always end up downloading a song that would make me even "sadder" and keep that song on loop. i'd bring myself to my very own rock bottom and just dwell there and breed more problems.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;take this song "high and dry" by radiohead for example. now, technically, the song has nothing to do with how i feel. when you take a close look at the lyrics, you might find a line or two that hits you where it hurts, but it doesnt take the cake as far as most hard-hitting verses go.  (&lt;em&gt;oh, you know those R&amp;B surefire tearjerkers..guilty pleasure for most people, i think.&lt;/em&gt;) But, when I listen to it, it takes me to even deeper recesses of this bad feeling. it's the perfect melancholic song in my opinion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;***&lt;em&gt;then i get these sudden jolts that make me wanna say, "screw that".&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think, essentially, i sound like this because i'm stuck in a rut. any idea how to fish myself out from this one episode? i'm starting to think about downing some happy pill or some depressing notion like that, but then i think, i have never been dependent on anything for happiness. it's crazy how someone like me can have so many emotions all at the same time and have no idea what to do with any of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;honestly, i feel like i cant be too happy, or too sad, or too angry. everything is limited, and the more i talk about it, the more whiny i sound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;goodness, i think i might just need help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;will chocolate do the trick?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112439173195998774?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112439173195998774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112439173195998774' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112439173195998774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112439173195998774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/it-seems-that-i-use-some-form-of-vice.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112411875393933670</id><published>2005-08-15T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-15T08:12:33.946-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>If you've ever spent some time with the UP Mountaineers, chances are you know who &lt;strong&gt;Lawin&lt;/strong&gt; is. I really have to be politically correct in introducing him to you, as I dont want to be accused of being a judgemental person. *Yeah right, as if I haven't been called that before.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everytime I see him, I feel like I took a wrong turn and can either turn back, hang on to my friend's arm, or simply avert my eyes. Call it a lack of understanding on my part, but Lawin just brings up all these questions for me. Why does he always hang out with the Mountaineers' tambayan just to recite his litany of names of famous people? He does that at the top of his voice, and he even modulates it like a tabloid-sounding news show anchor. He runs the Anniv Run wearing a cape and a mask. He looks at you with those disturbingly deep eyes. He freaks me out, man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I see people like Lawin, I find myself completely disoriented. What should &lt;em&gt;I &lt;/em&gt;do? I'm the type who likes striking up conversations with random strangers, but with him, I could never seem to do that, partly because I know he might not understand me and I'll just end up feeling stupid, and partly because I am afraid of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea what goes on in his mind whenever he shouts "Vilma Santos-Recto! Perla Bautista!" at the top of his voice. I have no idea why he lines up his various junk food treats as if they were part of some factory line. I have absolutely no idea why he owns a fake camcorder. Lawin is a mystery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;BUT...&lt;/strong&gt;I can't say that I'm too eager to get to know the answers. Like I said, I'm afraid of him. I'm terrified of feeling foolish, of laughing at him, of acting like I'm "above" him. I'm scared that he hasnt really gone bonkers and is just playing up this act to avoid having to put up with the pretenses that we all put up with to fit in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deviance does feel like delicious ambiguity sometimes. I have to admit, I do get the pangs sometimes to act so radical just to spite other people, or to shock them just to see the look on their faces. Does that make me crazy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to sound preachy, but I think we all need a little bit more tolerance. After all, once I got used to hearing Lawin's voice, I kind of forgot all about it. It's funny how his rants blended in with the birdsong after some time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112411875393933670?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112411875393933670/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112411875393933670' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112411875393933670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112411875393933670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/if-youve-ever-spent-some-time-with-up.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112403594074649778</id><published>2005-08-14T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-14T09:12:20.746-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lately I've been thinking of random things at an alarming rate. Reason why I find this alarming? Because too much has been happening that I dont have time to answer certain questions such as "what is carpal tongue syndrome?", "why does everyone revere Oprah like she's the utmost authority on things?", "why is Christina Aguilera considered a style star even if she looks like a slut?", "If we know that certain people belong to the NPA, then why dont we just arrest them?", "why do hospitals smell that way, and why do i like it?", etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This bugs me, because I cant sit through mass without having to process these stupid things. I can't even stare at someone's face without having to think of certain issues that I might be having with that person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came across something an LJ friend of mine said in her blog: &lt;em&gt;I wish I could tune the whole world out.&lt;/em&gt; I find this interesting. If I had the chance to tune everything out, I'd probably take it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112403594074649778?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112403594074649778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112403594074649778' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112403594074649778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112403594074649778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/lately-ive-been-thinking-of-random.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112403539087333074</id><published>2005-08-14T08:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-14T09:03:10.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I know I'm supposed to have written about this scary story that a classmate of mine related in class, but for some surreal reason, I cant seem to bring myself to do it. Tonight isnt the night for reliving harrowing stories. I turned on the TV and the commercial spot was about Kate Hudson's latest movie, "The Skeleton Key". I have to tell you, I might end up watching that movie if my friends want to go see it, but I can already tell that it wont be a pleasant experience. Let's just say it deals with seeing people through mirrors (i.e. compact mirrors, big ones, windows). Now that I think about it, I don't know if watching it would be such a good idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll have to write about my classmate's scary story some other time, like when I'm not too afraid of my own imagination.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112403539087333074?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112403539087333074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112403539087333074' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112403539087333074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112403539087333074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-know-im-supposed-to-have-written.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112359896742563651</id><published>2005-08-09T07:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-09T07:49:27.433-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>if you have to wonder what he's doing when he's not with you, or when he doesnt call, or if he doesnt make his presence felt in any way, does that make you clingy and childish, hence, pathetic?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as in any new relationship, the two parties are still treading the fine line between getting to know each other and letting that person get to know the good things about you. You dont necessarily want that person to find out your icky issues and secret single behaviors at the onset of your so-called love affair.  What will he think if he finds out you doodle his name in class, or that you prolong picking up the phone (only after 5 rings will you pick up, of course) so he wont think you wait for him to actually dial up? (let me stress these are not MY behaviors, I've observed this, so dont laugh at me)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when he finds out all these crazy notions you have about dating someone, there is a 50-50 chance that he might get turned off. (Hasty over-generalization, anyone? Indulge me.) Either that, or if he's a nice guy, he'll just laugh his head off while thinking of the reasons why he hooked up with you in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, you're bound to find yourself in this sordid predicament of having to weigh your options. Do you remain pathetic forever (and accept it as your personality) or do you force yourself to be like a stone when it comes to these girly issues?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At 21, you'd think someone like me would have figured this out by now. But nooooo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;This will hencefoth be the last of these sad entries of mine. No more. Will talk about something else soon. Promise.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112359896742563651?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112359896742563651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112359896742563651' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112359896742563651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112359896742563651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/if-you-have-to-wonder-what-hes-doing.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112356726068237504</id><published>2005-08-08T22:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-08T23:01:00.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>A friend of mine left for the States this morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I happen to know a lot of gay guys, but he is one of the rare few that I actually have a great deal of respect for. He has this equal balance of cunning intellect, wit, sexiness, and veracity that most gays just make up for with boisterous behavior and green jokes. I remember actually being scared of him the first time I met him, because he wasnt one of the typical ones that you could strike a conversation and click with just by adapting to the same mold, i.e. laughing with your diaphragm, checking out men's asses, and talking about the latest showbiz intrigues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, he was one of the few ones that remind you that gay guys are still men to some degree. You have to choose your words wisely. No joke can ever be too funny, because they will always find something to top it. No theory can be right, because they will always debunk it. And no matter how hard you try, if they dont like you, chances are, they never will. He is just like that. He's the better version of Boy Abunda. (Loads better.) Take note, he's not stupid! He graduated magna cum laude with a degree in Molecular Biology and Biotechnology..and he joins adventure races and is part of the UP Dragonboat Team.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, seeing as how he doesnt seem to have any intentions of coming back soon with his dreams unrealized, I just have to contend with the fact that getting a scholarship from Georgetown is the most important thing to him right now. The fact that he still wants to pursue post-doctorate studies in Cambridge stuns me, but what can someone like me do? It's not like anything I can say will matter more to him than his dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, the aftermath: my friends and I find it hard to laugh right now. It's hard to imagine going back to training and not seeing him there. But we just have to keep on moving. It's just like we've been saying: &lt;em&gt;di pa naman siya patay e. &lt;/em&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112356726068237504?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112356726068237504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112356726068237504' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112356726068237504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112356726068237504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/friend-of-mine-left-for-states-this.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112334428133789465</id><published>2005-08-06T08:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-06T09:04:41.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Have you ever had one of those "I wish I hadn't known this" moments?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had one, just this afternoon. I've been seeing this guy constantly for the past month now, and prior to entering into this relationship, I have pre-conditioned myself to not sweat the small stuff so much, or else I am bound to do two things: a) drive myself incessantly crazy and b) ruin a good thing altogether by over-analyzing everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, all self-control that I have been tirelessly practicing went down the drain today.  For all intensive purposes, let us call said &lt;em&gt;guy &lt;/em&gt;as Weirdo. Weirdo showed me a text message from some girl who expressed interest in making out with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Now...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;perhaps this was his way of saying that he has no intentions of keeping secrets from me, but did it work to his favor? What do you think? I'm kind of in limbo about this. On one hand, it was truthful of him. But on the other hand, it was, from all sides of the story, plain and simply irritating and for a lack of a better way to say it, &lt;strong&gt;blech.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This now leads to the all-important and never answerable question: Why are men so hard to comprehend? And why are we girls so susceptible to falling for it every single time? I find experiences like this so humbling. You can never really tell what kind of a person you can be until you find yourself in a situation that quite frankly, drives you nuts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weirdo has to realize this, right? But...knowing myself well enough, I would rather shrivel up and die than admit how a simple text that expressed intentions of making out made me feel insanely affected.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112334428133789465?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112334428133789465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112334428133789465' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112334428133789465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112334428133789465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/have-you-ever-had-one-of-those-i-wish.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112324867988373999</id><published>2005-08-05T06:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-05T06:31:19.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I never really had much of an affinity for politics and the people that run this government, but I have to admit, hearing about Sen. Raul Roco's death saddened me. There was something about him that endeared him to me since the very start. Maybe it was because we were both native Bicolanos, or the fact that I read somewhere that he talks to his plants, or his crazy shirts that were immortalized during the elections, or just because in a world full of men with big tummies, he was the cutest of them all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really have an idea what kind of efect this will have on the current situation. I dont think even a death as important as his would cause some kind of pause from this circus that we call the Republic. All I know is, even if I never registered for the last elections, had I gone through with it, he would have been the one that I'd have voted for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, kudos to you, &lt;em&gt;Mr. Roco,&lt;/em&gt; you managed to rouse the youth even for such a short-lived period. Someday we will all rally behind some other guy/girl's cause..I just hope he/she has your crazy fashion sense and can pull off the same corny jokes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112324867988373999?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112324867988373999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112324867988373999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112324867988373999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112324867988373999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-never-really-had-much-of-affinity.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112315343683559384</id><published>2005-08-04T03:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-08-04T04:03:56.840-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Another interesting lesson courtesy of Prof. Carlos Aureus. Today's topic was about the wonders of Boethius. I have to admit, I wasnt really looking forward to talking about some guy that I have no affinity for, but somehow, the discussion became one of the more lively ones we have EVER had since the start of the sem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you know that apparently, philosophers have always been "first in line"? *I'm just gonna spout out second-hand information herel hence, be prepared to listen to my pseudo-intellectual discourse*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When homosexuality and witchcraft were still the 'in' things to persecute, philosophy and theology were the prime courses to take. For some reason, people then thought that the best thing they could possibly be was a &lt;em&gt;pilosopo&lt;/em&gt; or a priest. The curious thing is--and this is according to Prof. Aureus-- philosophy isn't all the rage anymore, but it's about to make some form of comeback due to certain movements in the psychiatry and philosophy sectors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The deal is that when someone is depressed or sick in the head, you wont really have to take Prozac or any other happy pill to get over it. All you have to do is have some coffee, cakes, and a decent conversation with a philosopher, and eventually you'll be cured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, call me a skeptic, but I cant seem to grasp the possibility of a philosopher curing mental disorders. Depressed people dont even want to think anymore. Take Dr. Phil for example (even if he's just a phony psychiatrist): how can you trust him to cure your depression just by going on his show and lamenting over your husband leaving you for another woman?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uunahan na kita--I know that's a hasty over-generalization, but it'd just too ideal, if there's such a thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aside from those 17th century people clamoring over philo and theo slots, they still get preferential treatment up until now. Take the university graduation march at UP. After the administration enters, the philosophy graduates are next to take center stage. When this was first said, it didnt really mean anything to me, until I asked my prof when CW majors enter. He said we were so far at the back that he has to squint just to see where we were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Great. You slave over so many books and papers and apparently, your course used to be treated as a "vocational" one. However, he did say that the prestige is coming back, so hopefully, when I do graduate, I wont feel so bad about the placing that we get. Or maybe I just wont attend the University Grad. :p&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112315343683559384?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112315343683559384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112315343683559384' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112315343683559384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112315343683559384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/08/another-interesting-lesson-courtesy-of.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14185144.post-112049287328544159</id><published>2005-07-04T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-04T09:01:13.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;Catfights are for sissies.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;..Although, I have to admit, there is something strangely fascinating about watching two girls going at it (and I mean that strictly in the catfight sense, nothing x-rated about that). However, despite the fact that I've always wanted to witness one ever since I started getting involved in the weird mess that is the Catholic high school social circle, I have never been able to see one up close. Having given up on this absurd fascination of mine, I decided to go after the other kinds of fights. I was so sure that I would get to see some once I get into college. Just last week, I got my weird fix.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;I thought that next to the occasional frat rumbles I have witnessed in UP, I would never witness an actual personal fight. I guess these things really do happen when you least expect them to. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;And this part of the story shall be told in a "Once upon a time" kind of way. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;Right after a grueling training session with my team at Manila Bay, we went straight to KFC Vito Cruz for much needed sustenance. There we all were, gnawing at our chicken meals when all of a sudden, someone mentioned a commotion right outside the window. Apparently, two people were having a physical fight of some sort. I nearly fell out of my seat as I remembered how I needed to pay attention to this particular event (for this particular reason).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;I couldn't keep my eyes off them. One Guy, one Girl. Across the grimy fastfood window, I could see how said Guy was strangling said Girl right in front of us. It was the total package--eyes bulging, hands flailing everywhere, and people like me totally fixated on it. More than anything, I was really surprised at the roles being played by the both of them. For some strange reason, I was under the impression that in such occasions, a girl would be the one doing the strangling.  No matter how commonplace wife battery was, the naive girl in me said that the setup was just plain weird. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;The Guy was pointing at the Girl as if saying, "&lt;em&gt;Sige lumapit ka pa, uupakan talaga kita!".&lt;/em&gt; And hurray for her, she didn't even back off. Naturally, it was at this point that the guard decided to butt in and calm them both down. It was fascinating how the Guy tried to act like there was nothing wrong. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;It was at this point that my team mates and I decided to "dub" the scene, given that there was this window blocking the noise out. What could have been his reason for strangling her? Was he a spurned lover? Did she issue him a bouncing check? Did she make a cruel remark about his gay lover? Did she blow tobacco smoke into his eyes? Was he psychologically imbalanced? Did the Girl sleep with the guard? OR...*gasp*....did the Guy sleep with the guard, was caught by the Girl, and was threatened that she would tell his mother all about the sordid affair?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;I guess we'll never really know what went on. Despite the fact that I'm crazy when it comes to witnessing fights (I act as if I'm a kid in a circus), my better judgement got the best of me and I didn't go outside to hear more. I decided that I didn't really feel like getting caught in the middle of all that. And besides, it was more fun to make up my own storyline. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ff9966;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14185144-112049287328544159?l=mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/feeds/112049287328544159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=14185144&amp;postID=112049287328544159' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112049287328544159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/14185144/posts/default/112049287328544159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mynameistaneesha.blogspot.com/2005/07/catfights-are-for-sissies.html' title=''/><author><name>taneesha</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v520/haidster/hand.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
