THE RAINBOW KID

Last night, while I was rolling on my parents’ bed, nursing a stomach ache no thanks to the three servings of rice I had during dinner, my mom received a text message from my sister, Camille, saying, “Punta ka dito,may sasabihin ako sayo.“ 

My mom, being the teleserye fanatic that she is, panicked thinking my sister could be: a. pregnant or b. failing in school. Of course none of these scenarios was right but it did have something to do with school. When we got to my sister’s room, she was sitting on her bed, bawling her eyes out, while I sat on the bed too, laughing my butt off (sister of the year, I know). Apparently, Camille’s adviser wanted to talk to our parents after her friend was caught with a boob-shaped stress ball that my sister gifted him with. Yes, my friends, a stress ball shaped like a boob! If that’s not enough reason to laugh my butt off, then I don’t know what is. Imagine my sister’s friend happily squeezing the stress ball to release, um, “stress”! Whoever thought of making boob-shaped stress balls is a genius, or a pervert, your call.

Okay, enough of the boob ball (haha, boob na, ball pa!). More laughable is the fact that the teacher is actually taking offense over a stress ball. It just wasn’t reason enough to call my parents and demand to have a word with them. My dad said, it was because the school is concerned with the students’ welfare and development, but I say it’s because no one thought of giving the teacher a boob ball of her own. Sound reasoning, I possess it. 

My sister’s boo-boo (get it? BOOBoo!) made me reminisce about my own boo-boos in high school. Like that one time my research teacher asked me if I wanted to go home after she saw me tinkering with my classmate’s bag during our last period or that time my friends and I got sent to the principal’s office after we watched a school concert, which was apparently, exclusive only to the college students. I remember being so scared at that time thinking I wouldn’t be able to graduate and my parents would kill me if they were called to see the principal, but fortunately, none of these happened and I got in and out of college alright. Life after college deserves another entry, though, we’ll get to that.

I’m thinking of moving whatever business I have from Blogger to Tumblr, what do you think? Yey or waley?

*boob-shaped stress ball photo courtesy of Lucky Cat Says Hello.

I get sucked into things way too easily. The F4 fever, skinny jeans, and most recently, K-pop music. K-pop and I go way back, actually, 2003 to be exact. I was just doing my only “physical” activity , more popularly known as channel surfing, when I accidentally surfed on to a Korean channel. More accidental was the fact that 5 decent-looking guys were dancing to a decent-sounding song that started it all. (K-) Pop goes my heart! 

What started out as an accidental discovery turned into a mild obsession with anything and everything Korean. I found myself watching Korean TV shows, singing Korean songs, dressing up (!) like a Korean, basically doing anything Korean except an actual Korean (hah). My relationship with K-pop came to an abrupt halt when I got sucked into the OPM band scene and yes, decent-looking guys singing a decent-sounding song were involved. K-pop goes kaput for the first time. 

Fast forward to 2009, the world became a witness to girls expressing their undying love and devotion to someone oddly-named “But You” (see what I did there?). Just one song and it was K-pop obsession all over again. This time, it was anything but mild. I bought myself a Korean language book and actually learned Korean, got an after-school job to save up for a trip to Korea, and spoke of Korea as a Korean ambassador to the Philippines would. I got sucked in pretty bad, if I may say so. Things went kaput with K-pop for the second and the final time when a certain employer said, and I quote, “You are not qualified for the position you are applying for.” Apparently, buying and using only Korean products, blurting out Korean expressions, and thinking highly of Koreans does not make me enough to qualify for the position. I got over it pretty quickly, as quickly as I deleted hundreds of K-pop songs off my Ipod and as I threw my Korean language book to the bin. Pardon the bitterness, but that’s just how I roll. K-pop goes kaput for the last time.

No tears were shed when K-pop and I parted for what seems to be the last time. I just thought of the “relationship” as a learning experience. K-pop taught me how to put on make-up, to curl my hair in different ways, and to appreciate a culture other than mine. K-pop also taught me how doing everything for someone, or, in this case, some place, still does not guarantee being given the same attention. That’s me being all deep and poetic about it. I am proud to say that I am over the K-pop obsession. Now, the obsession with everything Brit is another story.

And oh yeah, hello Tumblr. The rainbow kid at your service. :)

losing touch

out of sight

still not enough

inaudible sighs

__________________

friendly hellos

quickly dismissed

so long little fellow

you will be missed

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lingering stares

silenced whispers

pretends not to care

proceeds to whimper

__________________

offbeat paths

not daring to cross

so there she sat

feeling so lost

__________________

surrounded by everything

feeling alone

owning nothing

she holds her own