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Hi there!!!! How are you color blind? Like why did they say you are color blind? Thank you.

Through Ishihara test. 

[vicjrcajilig]

Why Does Everyone* Want to be a Flight Attendant?

(*Okay, not all but most of us, fair enough?)

I get what you’re thinking. I can hear your scornful sighs and see your eyes rolling to the other side of the Earth. But what can I do? It’s now pretty hard to admit that my frustration in this part—a huge part of my life is to grieve for for as long as I live. That huge of a deal. Don’t ever get yourself started talking me out of my defeatism and into trying another airline company. I AM GENETICALLY COLORfcvkingBLIND. That is why it is outright not open to discussion. And besides, it’s irremediable and inoperable, but, at the least, benign and a crucial medical prerequisite among all flight crew members for reasons I have already accepted and understood. I am still not over it. Not totally. It’s been five years. But this time around, let me dig into the reasons how could a job like this resulted in a personal ordeal. What makes it so important? I don’t know if this, in any way, at least helps me in holding up but the urge made me itch to trace down what must be so special about being a flight attendant based from the way I look at it.

Day 1 of our first major subject as freshmen, Principles of Tourism I, and the professor (a retired international flight purser) asked the class the same question we were obliged to fill in for the rest of the day in each class, “why tourism [hotel, and travel industry] management?” Everyone got on their feet singly with their dreamy yet humble faces on.

Yet only tall, slender, good-looking girls could wear the confidence (and the right) to respond “I want to be a flight attendant.”

My answer then was I would like to work at an airport (which really happened after college); when at the back of my mind, what I wanted was the same thing only tall, slender, and good-looking people would. 

I lied to my professor, to the whole class, and, most importantly, to myself.

I took tourism management because I aspired to be a cabin crew (or so everyone told and thought it was the program apt for the job). I lied; I didn’t have the right to wear that confidence to tell the truth because, back in my freshman year, I was bespectacled, your typical boy from the barrio—timid and taciturn. In short, not flight steward material.

It was not a childhood dream. It was in fact way, way far from my childhood dream (to be a veterinarian) but as my last year in high school came hounding to make me decide what I want, I thought of something practical, something I had thought I could attain to the best of my capabilities… and something prestigious. What excited me more was the idea of travelling.

That’s right; I wanted to be a flight attendant because, basically, they look sharp and snappy, and their walk of life seems totally prestigious. With all those sleek, stylish uniforms; clean haircuts and hairdos; overall professional grooming and class; and lastly accessorized by their “trolleys”, who wouldn’t dream to be one, even for a day?

For the benefit of those who don’t know: for the record, I am not a flight attendant, or ever was; but almost. Here’s the two-part story why “almost” (click the title to link you to it): “I Should’ve Fastened My Seatbelt: My Philippine Airlines Life Episode”

But why do most of us want to be a flight attendant? What makes it different from the other lines of work? I am sure aspirants can also say the same that:

(Read: I don’t promise all entries here agree with the realities. I would like to reiterate that these are based from subjective opinion and observation, unless otherwise stated.)

It is a prestigious profession.

Well, at least in the Philippines. We Filipinos tend to admire people based on their physical attributes. We look up to celebrities, especially the best looking ones, and the rich and the famous, and even wish and try to be like them. And guess what—here in the country, cabin crew screenings and impact interviews are being held like or resembling a modelling audition, artista search, or beauty pageant. How do I know? Because I got to experience three times. Just observe the young and the new attendants; obviously they were screened thoroughly. Adding to the prestige is how they are well-maintained and taken care of by their companies. Strictly, these "celebrities” are not allowed to be seen in public transportations, let alone taking one. On top of that, the mere idea of having luxurious interiors and setting of an aircraft as your office makes the job even more prestigious. I have seen FA’s going home from their last leg of the day yet still looked as though they were just about to log in. That is how they are trained to be well-groomed and all. Another thing to admire about. I know FA’s would beg to disagree about this but it’s how we see it. It’s better than bad impressions, yeah?

Cabin crew of Germania, a privately owned German airline with its headquarters in Berlin. (CTTO)

Cabin crew of GetJet Airlines, a Lithuanian charter airline. (CTTO)

They make the job look easy-breezy. We therefore think it is. 

We thought it wrong, though. It’s what they call “grace under pressure”. And they are trained to be so good at that. That’s the spirit of excellent customer service, anyway. My ex-girlfriend is a flight attendant for three years now. I know what she had to go through before honoring her the “wings” (the term they use referring to their identification badges, usually designed with wings). Some people would find it an undemanding, unchallenging job just because they are food servers, trash collectors—total helpers in the air and demonstrators of the life jackets. Truth is, they are trained for months especially to be onboard lifesavers. They get to study on manuals as thick and elaborative as nursing textbooks. I saw them myself. So let us not underrate or sell these “maids” short (or any version of maid for that matter); they are bound to save our lives before theirs in times of danger. They are bound to have one foot in the grave on each and every flight to do their job right (that’s why they are paid way, way above above-average. More on this matter on the third point right below). And that is a naked truth their delightful countenance, composure, and uniform are putting out of our sights.

Cabin crew of Cathay Pacific, the flag carrier of Hong Kong. (CTTO)

It’s all about the pay and that perk. 

Just think about it: you are paid (and not just merely paid but BIG TIME and at the same time, like I’ve said, well-maintained by the company) to see the rest of the world (only applies to international companies). What else can you ask for as the best perk there ever is? Besides that rather selfish benefit, you can also bring along the entire family with free flights (this depends on the company). Must be a very rewarding feeling, something I will never get the chance to feel at all. Everyone loves to travel, so it’s now safe for me to say why everyone* dreams about it.

Cabin crew of Emirates, an airline based in Dubai, United Arab Emirates. (CTTO)

I have a bunch of FA friends; I think I have even an inkling on how much they earn because sometimes it shows on their “new”, ameliorated, or changed lifestyle and standard of living. It’s one of the highest paid jobs; however, statistics and surveys don’t show it and I don’t know why. Personally, though, this factor turned me the most into the dreamer that I once was; that is, once again and besides the first “p” that is prestige, the pay and that perk.

A classmate of mine who is now an international flight attendant told me that I am too smart to be one anyway. I don’t know if she’s just trying to do her friendly duty of consoling but I hope she was spontaneous and honest at the “too smart” part. Another one said it might not be my destiny, that there are more jobs for me, that this might not be my calling. All of it was too uneasy to accept because it is your dream job that you have to learn to let go. It is your future you are regretting about because you almost had it.

If you’d ask me if I get jealous of all my friends and classmates reaching our common dream job as tourism graduates, I would be the worst liar in the world and the underworld combined if I’d say no. Yes, I do get jealous, I’ll admit that, most especially when I see their success stories and travels earning a lot of attention and love and admiration all over social media. They deserve all of it. The journey to be a flight attendant is not a walk in the park—or on the aisle.

I worked my ass off to get through the painstaking impact interview attended by over 30 hopefuls. Certainly it was and will always be one of the happiest, proudest days of my entire life, for the vision of the dream—everyone’s dream, materializing before me was imminent. But it’s my other vision that ultimately let me down—my color vision. I can still recall the exact sensation on that high. And nothing else can ever make me feel that way again; the triumph, the pride, and the happiness overwhelming my heart and my senses just in a day—or half of it.

As long as I live, it’ll be a hole in my heart, a broken brick of my past, a piece of my jigsaw lost forever. Dreams unfulfilled are not at all a beautiful picture to behold. Not like the breathtaking aerial view you see out of the plane, either. It misleads you from the right direction in life. And regrets are scars that may itch at times.

But life has to roll nowhere else but forward. To be happy for them may struggle but it’ll come out naturally in time. Life injects frustrations into you. And it’s okay. It has to be. Just be frustrated about the right things.

I will never be a flight attendant. I will never reach that high. Not a chance. But there’s this dream remaining, the dream that started it all:

To travel.

And I hope this world that has been so un-fvck’n-fair can grant me this wish this time. The sky is never the limit.

I can still attest to the caption; pride, indeed. (CTTO)

For comments and reactions, please drop ‘em all to this link.

[vicjrcajilig]

There's workplace-stress, then there's A Quiet Place-stress

I began losing appetite for horror genre when exorcism movies became a trend over the past five years. And I totally lost it when it could no longer deliver even close to being good for the usual reason of having crappy, hackneyed storyline and cringe-worthy acting. But then came in from the shadows the intriguing trailer of A Quiet Place and my interest in the genre seemed to break itself from the silence of my movie-going streak.

Of course I had to watch it. And it's a good thing that I persisted to. It's officially one of my personal bests, at least for this year. One: it's my horror genre redemption, something I have predicted the first time I laid my eyes on its helluva trailer. Two: Emily Blunt did not disappoint. At all. Who else could've done it better in a movie where she only got like less than ten dialogues (for those who didn't know, the story is all about survival of, not the fittest, but the quietest) and the rest were her powerful facial expressions and reactions from the way her mouth trembled in fear and pain to the way she could speak a thousand words through her expressive eye movements (seems like the challenge of the nature of the film didn't make her sweat at all). John Krasinski, who also directed and co-wrote the screenplay, made quite an impression as well, equating his real-life spouse's performance. Now, before I go down to the third fun factor, I just want to think out loud on two things I wish were done another way: the resolution and the creature design. These can never bear anything at all anyway, though, to damage the overall quality of the film, because; three: it's so sleekly and originally thought of it was pushing me to the edge of my seat the entire run. This ain't no cheap thrill, and consider this as a warning—it's jam-packed with scenes you have yet to stress yourself out. Personal rating: 9/10.

P.S.

Here's a tip that can also be a fun challenge for those who are about to see it:

STFU.

As if you're in the movie. Or you're dead.

(Well, it's not just applicable for A Quiet Place, but also for all movie screenings in all cinemas and theater houses. *winks*)

P.P.S.

A prequel is pretty much needed.

[vicjrcajilig]

Throne Takeover: Game of Thrones S07E03 "The Queen's Justice"

**CAUTION: SPOILERS**

“The Queen’s Justice,” at first thought, would be talking about the queen of many names (see my eyes rolling?) but the episode actually belonged to my house, the Lannisters, especially to their queen, my queen. nostalgic to find Cersei down in a dungeon once again to verbally torture prior to the actual torture, she was slaying it all again—well of course; she’s just so good at antagonizing and a devout believer and implementer of “don’t do unto others what you don’t want to do unto you.” my heart beats fiercer and fiercer like a lion’s on eyeing a wildebeest whenever she gets vengeance. and she’s not just receiving it right away like a gift but she basks in it first. speaking of “the gift,” we thought it wrong it was Tyrion. oh well, Euron should’ve known it was already significantly used once.

i would love to see more of Jaime-Euron cross fire; they were in fact entertaining, especially Euron tends to always win with his psychotic streak that makes it funny all the more.

the milestone this show has gone won’t be as far as where it is now without the iconic walk of shame. that is why to see another episode with it (this time for three!) was yet another moment to say you’re a fan of this show—a proud one. i love walks of shame!

i can say this week’s ep was too chatty with a few visuals of action to startle the silence but your ears ought not to miss a dialogue, for every line long and short will always matter in this show. in Dany’s and Jon’s scene in the throne room, for instance, was one frustrating exchange of words and all I ever wanted to scream right at Dany in their midst was, “Hoy, pamangkin mo ‘yan!” (Hey, that’s your nephew!)

I didn’t expect this episode to give us another heart-melting Stark reunion; this time of Bran and Sansa, with the first being so weary and all from his journey and with his unwanted role as the Three-Eyed Raven that he could hardly register to his face anything about missing her big sis… or maybe not. it was me who had a lump in the throat as I watched Sansa welcomed her brother to her arms with the Stark theme intensifying the feels on the background. 😌

Casterly Rock and Highgarden, after all these years, were finally materialized! HOWEVER, i was a little disappointed with how they were graphically built and designed. Highgarden was too plainly green (it wasn’t called Highgarden for nothing) and as visually boring as Rapunzel’s tower, the total opposite of how it was always described by Margaery and Lady Olenna. it has nothing to do with how the trial at Sept of Baelor turned out, i wager. then there was Casterly Rock, looking rather small and easily penetrable—unprepossessing; and looking as dry as their mines of gold. and those Lannister army helms? ugh, looking silly.

lastly, i dedicate this post to the one and only Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna. yet another unforgettable, lovably feisty character had to wither away, ultimately pushing the rest of her house off into, the worst of all, extinction. her last moments with Jaime were, as she’d always do, badass.

[vicjrcajilig]

The Throne Takeover: Game of Thrones S07E02 "Stormborn"

*CONTAINS SPOILERS* this week's ep, "Stormborn," was one of the bests. Dany threatening Varys was like watching Cesar the dog whisperer successfully taming a misbehaving pup. Tyrion scheming an attack on his fatherland Casterly Rock had me pumped up. at long last, we get to see the golden lions' den (IF we see it)! Jon turning up Winterfell to Sansa had to be a big changer to the so called "game of thrones". let's find out on the next episodes if she learned beneficial things from Cersei, especially about the strength of a ruling woman and from her deplorable stay in King's Landing. i can't wait for it, just as i feel for Jon and Dany's imminent first meeting. speaking of the capital, i know i am not alone in this: to accept the obvious that Cersei was totally hopeless against the Mother of Dragons. but with Qyburn's unthinkable way of thinking, he presented a credible weapon that reminded me of Joffrey's which could give her army at least an advantage and a fat chance to protect the throne. now that is my Lannister. about Sam treating Jorah, there's one question i have in mind: didn't they have milk of the poppy? *blink, blink* Euron finally unrolling his evil tentacles all over his preys was one of the things I've looked forward to, but he has to outstrip Ramsay's villainous game now like how the latter did to Joffrey. I could even thank him for putting a tragic end to the characters of the loud and proud Sandsnakes. highlight of the episode: Arya reuniting with Hot Pie and Nymeria, reminiscent of the sensation when Sansa arrived at the Wall and jumped into Jon's embrace. did Nymeria bear ill will toward Arya for shooing her away that made the wolf choose to turn her back? well at least we know, though I've already known all along, that the wolf's alive and well and that Arya is safer.

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The Throne Takeover: Game of Thrones S07E01 "Dragonstone"

Whenever an episode opens to a scene (and not the opening theme that we’re used to hear at the beginning which some of you tend to skip), you’ll know that scene is going to be weighty, a scene that will take your breath away until the theme ends into a black screen. And it happened to be Arya’s own rendition of #WinterIsHere in the same hall where the Red Wedding was held. What an opening act that was! It had its own taste of satisfaction, yes, but I had tasted better with Ramsay and Joffrey’s deaths.

Then came in the march of the army of the dead (including giants that we have never seen before) which sent chills down my spine in all honesty. It could’ve been a good opening act, too.

Down in the North, Jon and Sansa were in yet another colloquy which only made me proud of the latter. She was nothing like the fragile, little dove (that I really hated) anymore but a reverberating voice in his half-brother’s (ahem, cousin) council, a grownup she-wolf. I stand with Sansa’s side on that argument, but with reservations. To lay punishment for their bannermen, the Umbers and the Karstarks, after breaking faith and fighting against them with the Boltons was no less than what was deemed deserving. It was consummate treason. But, as the King in the North enunciated, his opposing and rather irrational decision was irrevocable. To see those two youths from the two small houses renewing their vows to the North was pretty convincing, anyway. The only person that was pretty unconvincing up until now is Petyr Baelish as he lurked and smirked and lurked and smirked and, yes, lurked and smirked more. He’s the only mystery left living in this show, I must say.

Sandor Clegane had one of the cringe-worthy scenes for me (and Sam having the worst just because 💩💩💩) when he, on his only second attempt, was able to see images in Thoros’ fire. That made me raise an eyebrow. BUT my heart melted big time from that same fire as he uncovered more of his soft side when he dug a grave for those bones, tried to pray, and thought that they deserved better.

Daenerys finally setting foot on her fatherland, Dragonstone, was fulfilling. It must be the score and, of course, the incredible CGI. With all the touches of her hand from the shore to the dust of the Painted Table, you could really feel what was once homesickness. Now, we can never deny that she’s winning. Already. *rolls eyes*

And we can never deny who’s in the losing team (or at least it seems): the house that I love. Seeing “the only Lannisters that count,” Cersei and Jaime, only gave me contrived hope to survive the winter that has come and the wars yet to come. Jaime made us see that but his twin, on the other hand, was too headstrong to put down the fiercest face across Westeros. She just knew what she was doing and what to do, including the invitation of Euron Greyjoy (in his rather ultramodern, tailor-made, badass leather jacket).

I don’t know about you guys but I really think Euron was talking about Tyrion when he spoke about the “gift” that should win Cersei’s nod. Remember when the Imp presenting himself as “The Gift” back to their first meetings with Daenerys? And he had mentioned about proposing to Dany with, as he’d said, his “big cock” and he looked like he was heading now to Dragonstone to lay it before her, and if she refused just like Cersei, then Tyrion’s abduction is in order. Boy, I can no longer count the times Tyrion was abducted since season one.

Lastly, since everyone has had their own share on Ed Sheeran’s cameo, let me have mine: it was awkward prolly because he was exposed too much (he had to stay in every frame with Arya to hand things to her) but i meant no hate. I am a fan and to see him in a show that i am also a big fan of is….. FANtastic hahaha

[vicjrcajilig]

Hi po kuya! Nabasa ko yung post mo about csa sa topserve. Magkano po starting salary nila? Gusto ko din po kasi itry kasi tourism graduate din ako and i tried na sa pagss at macroasia hahaha ang hirap

iba na kase agency ng Cebu Pac airport services eh. pero dati, 8K lang monthly ang take home pay. from what i know, Cebu Pac has higher offer than Macroasia and PAGSS

[vicjrcajilig]

Hi. I've been reading blogs about Pal Cabin Crew Applicant's journey and I have read yours. I've always wanted to apply but I have a huge tattoo on my forearm, I know it's a NO but I did what my official cabin crew friend who has a tattoo did during his app. Yes, I concealed it and it' almost perfect. I have questions and I hope you can answer these. Would they touch my arm? How close the applicants are when we pull up sleeves? What's the position of your arm while they're checking? Thank you!

they won’t touch your arms but they will make you pull up your sleeves. with my experience, they checked out my arms from all sides and angles

[vicjrcajilig]

The Color of Grief: A Brother’s Reminiscence and Unsaid Eulogy

Disclaimer: This post contains more than 2,000 American English words, making it a five-page read. If you get bored easily with reading, feel free to discontinue. This is nothing like the stuff you see on Facebook that uncomplicatedly tickles your fancy. This is of somewhat eulogistic nature.

It must be one of the deepest cuts made by pain, if not the deepest and worst, to have ever known by the human body. It’s not the kind of sadness you will ever want to feel one more time for the strange, selfish purpose of just feeling something. It’s not the spur-of-the-moment kind of sadness or that sadness you get on Sundays because it’s Monday the next day. It’s worse than disappointments or goodbyes leading to long distance relationships. As a matter of fact, to my surprise, it feels dark. I’m not sure how dark feels like but it’s the best way I can describe it, if I were to, from how my senses translate. It’s too dark of a feeling I can’t even cite a shade or color to resemble its darkness. You can’t say it’s grey, though grey denotes gloom, but it’s still too bright for me; never dark, never gloomy. If there had ever been a shade darker than Cimmerian or ebony or pitch-black, it must be it. But there’s none; black is the darkest. So it has to be black—nothing else. Maybe that’s why mourners wear black to mean they’re grieving. Maybe that’s why death is always visualized in black.

My friends, meet Grief. I’m talking about grief, that deep cut inflicted by pain itself; that feeling of blackness.

What do I know about pain and sadness, anyway? How was I able to know which sadness is worse? How dare I? Well, trust me; I have known them… until I met grief. And so far, it’s not nice meeting Grief. It’s the darkest, darker than vengeance or romantic heartbreak or have them combined. Ultimately, it’s grief at the peak of the pyramid. It’s too dark you can’t even grope yourself, let alone grope for support while in it. The feeling of getting lost and emptiness has never been so true.

All of this is unprecedented. I never saw bereavement until this. It’s a personal life record. I was born without grandparents hovering and playing strict and overprotective around me like how yours do or did around you. I’ve known the concept of funerals but I wouldn’t know how it felt like for those in loss. I’ve seen a few burials and it was not quite a sight to see (and hear). And twelve days ago, life’s roulette stopped at us—we sent our eldest to her grave. Oh what a black, black picture to look at.

Funny how I’d found it a little inhuman when Casey Affleck’s character in “Manchester by the Sea” reacted to his older brother’s passing. It was a phone call. He never shed a tear; neither was shocked nor seen in pain. But just like him, I got to shrug it off. Casey Affleck won Best Actor here so I ought to trust his emotional interpretation and I was also taking into consideration that maybe it was some typical American behavior or accustomed manifestation of machismo because even the son of the dead brother was never taken grieving and despondent. I’d carried on, ending up loving the movie anyway. Then, one Tuesday noon, it was a phone call too. An unregistered number rang me up to tell me that our eldest sister was found dead, that she apparently took her own life (as what was also impetuously blazoned on social media for the intention of gossiping and for the self-gratification from gaining likes which by the way reached one of my then unknowing brothers. Just one of the many reasons why I’ve loathed Facebook. It’s brimming with fake news and thirsty users. Dude, if you’re reading this shit, hope you rang up your purpose!). I was shocked, yes. I was clueless and in utter disbelief, too. I felt my body temperature rose like fever but maybe much worse. It was one typical, sweltering day but whatever temperature upsurge I felt was no way caused by it. I was stuttering throughout the call, too shaken to ask my hows and whys. I managed to do so but I couldn’t seem to absorb every excruciating fact the caller had to say. I felt no imminent tear to complete the mood, though. “Manchester by the Sea” was nothing less than emotionally accurate, I accordingly conclude. It was not something only Americans could pull off. To hear it first before anyone from my siblings was something I would never ask for; to hear real-life tragedy from my ear through my head and heart to imbibe was, however, something I would never want. Who would, anyway? I’d finally cried before that unforgettable Tuesday ended.

Ate Eng died alone. She died alone and probably in pain. She died on the floor behind a locked door, alone. She died ALONE that one night and wasn’t found until the sun was fully lit up in the sky. Her heart stopped while mine kept beating. I woke up that following morning; she did not. She wasn’t at least rushed to the hospital for the hope of performing anything medically useful for the chance to make her breathe the same air I breathe now and that she freely used to. These truths will forever wound my heart. This will forever be torturing. This will forever be haunting. Ate Eng, how I wish I were there with you that night. But if that was incontestably your last night, well at least you did not die alone… at least you were found earlier than noon.

Or you could have at least gasped my name.

I would love to blame myself just for the sake of putting the blame, but this was clearly nobody’s doing. And from the bottom of my heart, from the littlest string of it to each of its beating, I am still thankful to those who found you. I could only imagine their anguish finding you. There. Alone.

Ate “Eng,” born Florvic, was our eldest sister. Her demeanor and tone might’ve stricken you for someone of strong personality but she was fundamentally sweet and generous; to others, helpful and cheerful. If you’d ask me what can possibly be her impalpable legacy, it’s her cooking, for she was the best cook in the family, even way better than Mama. It must be her twists to typical dishes and the span of her culinary skills. I remember how she’d used to love cuddles in bed when I was still small enough for her tight embrace; when she’d loved clothing me with OshKosh B’Gosh; how she’d mashed Libby’s Vienna sausage to mix with my rice then loved it so much I could have the same thing thrice a day; when she’d cleaned my ears with “Baby JR,” as she called the Q-tips (cotton buds); when she’d supported me in my childhood Teletubbies collection and the BeyBlade frenzy; when she’d gifted me so much Ragnarok Online merchandise on my high school graduation that unexaggeratedly filled a big bed; when we’d used to hang out in Glorietta, her favorite mall, at Timezone when we were kids and watch movies and pig out when we grew older. These times will additionally remind me how she’d used to require sticking either of my hands into her jeans’ back pocket to keep me close through crowded malls; when she’d gone with us and paid for our school supplies; when she would intone, “So sad!” under so sad situations. And more little things such as her snorts, her sneezes, her loud laughter, her teenage fondness for Looney Tunes and Mickey and Minnie Mouse, her premium taste in shoe wear, flip flops, and smartphones; and the mosquito nets customized to serve as her blankets. She was a sweet sister to me from my Baby JR years even until I’ve outgrown the cuddles she loved and the OshKosh I didn’t really like. She was the reason behind my most coveted Canon, most significantly. It’s a material thing but, mind you, because of it, I will be forever indebted for making me believe that dreams can still come true.

She was not invariably the ideal flawlessly sweet sister though, because she was ill-tempered at the most part. She was temperamental, choleric. Scolding my twin brothers had been a common scene among them like how she used to do with me when I was their age. As she aged and so did all of us, her string of patience towards us seemed to have never been any lengthier. Maybe that was one way she was aging. The same sweetness we grew up with lingered nonetheless; she would always be the sweet sister, as sweet as the bars of chocolates she would hand us as peace offering after getting herself at the top of her lungs. Now, in return, I wish I could hand her anything more than the beauty and fragrance of pink flowers and the wisps of smoke from candles or even this writing.  Little did she know we are not big fans of chocolates. But I would love to let her know that we will forever be a fan of her sweetness, untainted throughout the years.

Death is real, so I have realized. I know people naturally die but you will never understand until it’s right there at your face. Losing someone for good is real. I’ve never seen my father cry before nor seen my mother in so much misery as I kept her in my arms (just imagine their pain sending their child—their eldest to the grave). Hence, death. We’ll never see her on her pink scooter again. Hence, death. We’ll never smell her perfume or her hair shampoo or her body lotion again. Hence, death. We’ll never hear her laughing again that everyone but our family will remind them of her. Hence, death. We’ll never taste her Java Rice, baked mac & cheese, lasagna, crab omelet, panna cotta, and well-spiced sunny side-up again. Hence, death. We, the seven children, will never be seen seven again. Hence, death. We can see her smiling again only in pictures and see her alive on videos (how I wish I had more pictures and videos with her!). Death, so now I’ve realized, is real. And it pains to think about it. It pains worse to accept it.

What hurts me even more is that everything about her is now was. Everything about her is now in past tense. She’s now was.

In this ordeal, I have found out that strength of one’s soul is also real, that the soul has to be taken care of for the sake of holding up well. You don’t simply hold up, you have to hold up well. You have to keep your soul intact. You have to keep sane (what kept us sane was our first ever nephew. Without Allen, this could’ve been more of a struggle. Without him, we could hold up, yes, but could never hold up fast and well). Lastly, you have to be strong for the people around you who need strength. Strength is contagious and in fact absorbable. Trust me; it’s true. The first week was the worst for me. Well, of course. I couldn’t stand being alone in one room. I consistently longed for another human presence, particularly of another family member. I couldn’t listen to sad songs (much less danceable and happy ones) or play Ragnarok or read George R.R. Martin to at least divert my attention even for a short while. And my appetite was fucked up. My system was all down and out, seemingly too tired to normally function. It just happened that I have a bunch of brothers and an irresistible nephew, so I am pretty lucky. I’ve never felt guilty of walking at the mall while there she lay in her casket (because I had thought I could distract myself that way).I've never felt guilty of delighting in good food while there she lay in her casket, probably starving. I’ve never felt guilty of wearing bright colors while there she lay in her casket (though I would love to be clad in black every day, only I ran out of black t-shirts shortly the second day). I felt like I didn’t deserve happiness and enjoyment in any way while she lay there in her casket. Oh fuck—the thought of her lying like a log, breathless in a rectangular container so-called “casket” was too true to accept as true… until I saw her that night. There. In a beautiful white and gold casket beneath a white canopy of lacy textile and the crucifix. There I looked down at her for the first time since her death with all-out agony and sympathy. There she lay, looking like Mama. Stiff. Lifeless. Nestled in the mergence of scents of death and candle and pink rose and white daisy and dahlia. A scent that is now imprinted in me as the scent of death and grief, and nobody’s but only hers.  White… Can grief be as pure as white?

Just like that, she’s now dead and gone. And she’s only 35. She never had the chance of bearing a child, of playing the part with motherhood. Of being a wife, she will never walk the altar in white (I couldn’t imagine her in traditional wedding dress, though! I just can’t hahaha). She could have done more things in life, especially plans for their future. But along with her, that future withered away. But I can say she was at least happy, thanks to her partner Kuya Marvin. She did not take her own life, by the way, as clinically  affirmed. She might have been ill-tempered and anxious at times but she was a woman of hope and strength. The strength of her soul had always been unswerving and she was surrounded with love (as shown by the number of people who went to her 14-day wake until the pre-burial mass). Suicide is the last thing she could’ve ever had in mind.

I wrote this down not for owning up my regrets, for there’s nothing I’ve regretted. I had better memories with Ate Eng. All I want to say, however, is I’m certainly going to miss her every single day as long as I live. Her presence may be gone, her body may have been buried six feet down the ground, but she will forever be in our hearts, never for a second be forgotten. I can light a candle every day for her if I could. I will make sure it’s pink, too—hold up now, can’t it be pink? Can pink resemble this grief? It’s her favorite color anyway. No?

So, this is how grief feels like. Now I know. And it’s been empty and dark, like you’re the one buried. For those who are putting up with this darkness, be strong. It substantially means you should keep eating and keep sane. Then take time to grieve—cry away. It’s okay. Get as much hugs as possible. I know it’s not going to be a walk in the park. I should know. I know it’s black and dark but light will cut through as you heal over time. Don’t let its blackness discolor your soul all over. Just remember that there’s no sadness in this short, borrowed life that will stay ubiquitous and can remain tender forever. There’s no such thing as incurable unhappiness where the cure is not something you take orally but can only be wrung from the strength of the soul with what and who surround us. Hugs and crying also help.

I told you, it’s really black. I was born colorblind but I know what black is. It’s in fact my all-time favorite color and I bet Ate Eng knew it. I was born color deficit but I know how black feels now. It’s more than a color or a shade now. Now that I know what grief is, I don’t want to feel it over again. It cuts too deep.

Black will do, but just in case you find a shade darker than black, oh please let me know. Help a colorblind. Help a grieving colorblind. Help someone who’s been feeling black.

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” ― Elisabeth Kübler-Ross

I will miss you every single day of my life, big sister. Every. Single. Day.

-Baby JR

20 October 1981 - 23 May 2017

[vicjrcajilig]

Hi ! I am a tourism student in Haiti, I like everything about tourism but sometimes people make me feel bad by making me think that I made the wrong choice, that I won't succeed.. What advice can you give to me..? (Excuse my english)

if you really want it then study hard and prove them wrong once you finally reach your life goals. tourism is one beautiful path to take. just make sure you have the passion for it.

[vicjrcajilig]

I saw your post about your PAL experience, I just wanna ask if your colorblindness was the reason of your disqualification of even your eye grade? and if its ok to know kung ilan grado ng eyes mo that time? im worrying kasi 375 ako and near sighted, scheduled for an interview next week. Thank you in advance for your response and time :)

disqualified for colorblindness and, yes, nearsightedness. PAL can only accept contact lens wearers with, as far as i know, less 150 eye grade. ipa-laser mo na yan. for both brighter future and brighter vision ;) i just had mine, btw

[vicjrcajilig]

Hi! I was looking for tips for impact interview with PAL when I come across your blog. Great blog! I love how you describe your experience :)

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😊

[vicjrcajilig]

Good Day Sir! Can I just confirm your height in your previous blog about your FA Application in PAL? You said you were 5'6 1/2 and then the PAL Doctor took your height measurement again, you said you were an inch smaller? So I'm Assuming that you are 5'5 1/2? Thanks in advance

sorry i can hardly remember that i wrote about being an inch smaller than what I've known of. but I'm 5'6 1/2" in actuality

[vicjrcajilig]

I would like to ask, how much is you eye(lasik) surgery?

LASIK - 61KPRK (the procedure i was qualified) - 60K

[vicjrcajilig]

To See Life for the First Time: My Laser Eye Surgery Story

I involuntarily learned squinting, as far as I could remember, when I was on fifth grade. There was a time when I was told to read the lesson on the chalkboard but, from what I was seeing, everything else was no longer brightly clear, so I stepped out of my row to make my way to the front. And I didn’t even seem to mind. I never told my parents about it. I was still arranged to sit at the back in most of my classes because I was one of the tallest, only to make me squint more and more each day.

I was pretty much abusive to my eyes as a kid. I confess that. I also truthfully admit that as a kid, I was the widest reader in the family—I loved reading from different publishers of encyclopedia to thick, heavy dictionaries and story books anyplace, regardless how dark or well-lighted, as long as I could sit; and play GameBoy, PC, and PlayStation till my eyes wetted and hurt. No question now how I grew up with this disability. I never regretted anything, though; I had a fun, well-spent childhood to remember, needing no 20/20 vision to see it all clearly.

I was a high school freshman when I ultimately decided to wear specs, with my mother finally knowledgeable. But before that, I used to ask my teachers to seat me along the front row, declaring my near-sightedness. My visual acuity was already, I guess, playing around 200 and 250 that point in my life. People on the streets then started calling me Harry Potter and mistaking me for some whiz kid when at school. I never wanted one, not merely because of people’s false, unflattering impressions but it was not cool to wear one (it was high school so I tended to be conscious about what looked cool yet unconcerned about what I really needed to normally function), so I only wore them as needed like reading in class, watching TV, and when at home. But on my first year in college, I had no better choice than to wear my then nerdy pair again just so I could cope with the entirely new environment and, consequently, people called me names once again; if it was not smarty-pants, it would either be weirdo or emo. A year or two later, I learned to wear contact lenses. It was way better and I got along with people better. I was a contact lens wearer for almost five years, everyday at school and at work, except when at home where I would still go back to wearing glasses to rest my eyes. My vision however never ever improved, ever; it even rose up to 300.

Then, little did I know it was about time I acted out the twist in my written, destined story…

I was scheduled the same day as my oldest brother’s birthday, August 14th of this year, for my first surgical experience. I was expected to be anxious and all as a first-timer but since I was aware that it was not as big of an operation as heart surgery or liposuction which needs equal, grave amount of anesthesia and bravery, I kept it all cool. I was reminded by one of the Final Destination movies, though, which featured this procedure where one woman had a hapless, bloody story of it.

Yes, I have undergone laser eye surgery called photorefractive keratectomy (PRK).

(I braved this surgery not for vanity but for a company’s medical requirement, and who wants to wear eyeglasses, anyway? I was apparently no longer prescribed and advised to wear glasses by the eye doctor as well. It was also found out that I could no longer count my own fingers from afar using my right eye. I did not notice that until then and I was rather taken aback to confirm it myself. So, everything was for a profound purpose or two. Money, time, and effort well spent.)

It was also my first time to be in surgical gown, of course, and I was only in my undies, so it was uncomfortable, I must say, and freezing. At the recovery area, I was sitting beside another eye surgery patient—a lady in her late-twenties, I guess—who, as what I overheard, had visual acuity way, way worse than mine. She was to go first so she received the pre-surgery prep first which included the anesthetic eye drops. She was accompanied to the operation room a couple of minutes when the nurses felt like the anesthesia was already working. I still found it weird that I was not terrified of what was imminent even if I was hearing the laser machine from where I sat like an unperturbed king in fuzzy slippers. Instead, I was more focused on the bright thought of finally restoring my 20/20 (or better) vision on the next hour or two.

It took her some 30 minutes. When she came back to her couch, I studied her post-surgery facial reactions or behaviors if there was any, but she was rather relaxed. She looked as though she had not just stepped out from surgery. I asked her questions instead.

           “How was it?”

           “It was okay,” she said.

           “Was it painful? How does it feel right now?”

           “No pain at all. The only thing I felt was the pressure of the device they set around my eyes.”

I probed no further to intend cutting the conversation short so she could rest and for me to take in her positive reactions to add up to my coolness. I couldn’t wait!

And so my turn had come. After the pre-surgery prep, I was led to the operating room. This is it! There I saw the long bed attached to the laser machine, the fully-geared surgeon, and his three assistant nurses, who one of them asked me to lie down the moment I stepped into the dim-lighted room. I did so, and that was the second I felt my body stiffening like a carcass. All the excitement I imposed and all the courage I fronted were gone altogether in a flash.

The surgeon’s voice was appreciatively comforting; probably because he was friendly or at least sounded like one. He told me a few instructions and with no further ado, the operation began. It had to begin to get done with it.

My body was funnily tensed, hard. I was told to lie still, anyway, so the stiffness kind of helped them and myself. They also asked me to relax, by the way. And that, I could not promise. The weirdest thing about this operation is the patient gets to see everything. Every little thing they did, I saw it all, like how the surgeon used his blunt instrument (I suppose, as described by articles online. I couldn’t describe it by myself because at that moment I still had my old eyes on) to remove a part in my eye (as far as I could recall, he was scraping my cornea with the instrument BUT I didn’t get the sensation which should be the human reaction to the mere thought of “scraping” your eyes like scooping vanilla ice cream because it categorically sounds legit pain), how he squirted water not only once into my eye for seconds, and how he effortlessly placed the contact bondages. When it was time to make use of the laser, I was not actually seeing beams of lights yet I did smell something tolerably awful—or something was burning. I assume it was my eye being “burned”. Then again, I felt nothing and only the stiffness of my body and—yes, the lady patient was right, the pressure from the speculum to hold our eyes wide open. One thing I hated about the surgery was it would always startle me with a jerk whenever they streamed water into my eyes. The whole procedure was real quick. I guess per eye took 5-10 minutes; just imagine three songs. Still, my body was all the way stiff like pupa.

I could make out the big, magical difference right away when I went back to the recovery area. We were positioned facing a wall of glass and now, I could see every little thing outside—the tall grass, the people, the naked sky, the muddy earth, and the dazzling sun, so I drew the blinds in front of me. It was not the final result, so I was hoping for a sharper or the sharpest vision soon. It seemed like I was seeing under the sea. It was hazy but hey, it was way better than my vision before, so there was nothing to complain about. After we were being briefed what to expect on the next hours and how to take care of our eyes, prescribed with a couple of eye drops, shared all the do’s and don’ts (e.g., no head bath for 14 days, no strenuous activities), received the eye shields, and told to come back the next day for assessment, we (I was accompanied by my sister, as required) went home.

The only thing I felt right after the surgery was, besides the changes in my vision, the pressure on my eyes. It felt like my eyeballs were being pressed, like they grew heavy. But there was no pain at all. Or just yet. I was like a happy kid when I watched everything out the windows of the van so bright and clear—too bright, actually, for now. I could see things fifteen feet, or farther, away without squinting. I could count my fingers when I stretched them out before me. I felt like I've just seen the world for the first time, like I've just seen life for the first time. Then, halfway on the road, there came the pain.

The anesthesia seemed to gradually dissolve like how it was meant to be. It was so painful I could barely open my eyes. Tearing had also started and that might be maddening the sting. And the sunlight was getting more unbearable. For the rest of our commute, I was putting up the hurting, couldn’t wait to lay all of this to rest.

I went straight to bed once we got home, and the pain had never alleviated. So how was I supposed to go back to the clinic with these circumstances?

Here is my mini journal to recap my recovery for 10 days:

My encouraging aphorism all throughout this short yet huge part of my life was “no pain; no gain”. The patience to heal was not easy to find either. And it is now true as I write this all down comfortably facing my laptop’s monitor backlight unassisted; it was all worth the pain. It took me 10 days to recover, people. And I’ll leave that as self-explanatory.

I remember how I kept my eyes shut just to ease the pain for almost the whole damn day (so I was almost resembling bedridden; if not asleep, I was wide awake but had to keep my eyes close); how I ate without enjoying in seeing whatever was on my plate; how I listened to the radio as my one and only form of entertainment; how I could not bear the littlest flash of daylight, electric light, or monitor backlight—any form of brightness (so I spent my days lights off and double-layered curtains down, unaware whether it was already night or day. I would wear sunglasses indoors as well, besides the eye shield that I had to wear every time especially when asleep); how I longed to talk to a friend, or anyone, about what I was going through (I was constantly talking to my mother on the phone, though, and I am grateful about that but it would have been nicer if it were with a friend); and how every major bodily movement could cause pain (so I barely went downstairs or walked out and across the room). There’s no other circumstance that can better translate #TheStruggleIsReal. It’s a moment of your life that you won’t ever want to go back to but it’s a moment you would love to think about surviving.

(This must be the longest facial hair I’ve ever grown, since I would prefer sleep over shave!) 

Now, as I finally got rid of the eye lubricant (post-surgery patients have to keep their eyes lubricated in recovering, and for the first few weeks after, to avoid scratches and visual haziness), it’s been feeling good (in spite of the fact that even a single eyelash getting stuck in my eye could cause huge deal of irritation but I can deal with it without complaining). I can’t believe I don’t need glasses anymore. I can't believe I will never put up with the discomfort and hassle in wearing contact lenses again. I can't believe I can see everybody’s faces from afar. I can't believe this whole damn thing.

Science and technology has been so mercifully full of amazement. I am still in disbelief and in awe how myopic people (that, and astigmatic for my case) can have a chance to see well once again. Life, despite of all our personal issues, has something good in store for all of us and it’s in fact jam-packed with hope and second chances, and I myself can see it clearly now.

Drop your thoughts, questions, and reactions here.

[vicjrcajilig]

17 Years, 17 Songs: Seventeen Songs that will Forever Make My World Stop

I’ve been attached to music since, as far as I could remember, first grade. It’s my rock, especially back in the days when I was bursting in angst and self-pity as a teenager, like every other.

It’s utterly strange how a song can crawl into the deepest inch of your bone to dominate you, how it brings back memories, how it can save your life, and how it’s become a massive part in your life now. Music lovers are usually music players or singers but I've never been, though I had the opportunity to be taught to play the keyboards on third grade (and I regret that now) and always wanted to sing like Joey McIntyre or Harry Styles. It did not make me less of a music lover nonetheless.

When I was in grade school, what I would always hear (or see) on MTV if not from my sisters’ cassette tapes were, among others, Britney Spears, P!nk, Ricky Martin, the Backstreet Boys, *NSYNC, Westlife, SClub7, S.T.E.P., the Moffats, TLC—all those popular ones. Growing up also entails personal preferences so I lent my ears mostly to R&B, especially when Ne-Yo was its hottest artist. “Because of You” is one of my few favorite R&B. In high school, Rock was introduced to me (Indie, Hardcore, Grunge, Metal, Gothic, Emo) amid the Emo scene creeping like virus everywhere. Lastly, EDM and House rolled into my roster when I was working because, if chances permit, I've always wanted to go to every big outdoor music/rave fest there is. And sadly, to date, I’ve only gone to one (MTV Music Evolution ‘16).

Music is amazing and that’s self-explanatory. All genres are beautiful in their own way, but there will only be a few select songs for you to label as personal bests. Here, I enumerate (meaning, not in any particular order) songs from different periods of the music scene that made a huge impact in my life; songs that I will never get tired listening to; songs that, no matter how old they and I get, will forever be remembered. This post is also intended for my close friends or my family to somehow give them a clue what to play at my funeral and death anniversaries. *winks*

1.    “Whataya Want From Me” by Adam Lambert, from the album For Your Entertainment

I believe this song is one of the most competently composed and arranged ever, plus Adam’s remarkable execution. It’s like it never moved away from my ears the moment I first heard it and it only gets better whenever I listen to it as it seems. Maybe that’s simply why it has been a favorite—an all-time favorite. Another song I love by Adam is “Better Than I Know Myself”.

2.    “Represent” by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, from the album Lonely Road

“It’s funny how the words of a child can be/Simple but the thought there is so meaningful.” This has to be the official soundtrack of my high school life, if ever I could make one.

3.    “Lonely Road” by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, from the album Lonely Road

This was my favorite background music when I walked my way to school. Just like “Represent”, it reminds me of high school and that’s why it is special.

4.    “I'm Not the Only One” by Sam Smith, from the album In the Lonely Hour

The perfect soundtrack for those who put up with unfaithful partners, this song is the reason why I became a Sam Smith fan, making me download the rest of the album and loved every single. It also reminds me of my first job. “Like I Can” is my next Sam Smith fave.

5.    “If My Heart Was a House” by Owl City, from the album Ocean Eyes

Whenever I listen to this, it automatically puts an astronaut helmet to my head. Owl City was brought to fame with “Fireflies” when I was a college freshman. And with it, I instantly fell in love with this new artist making bizarre, celestial, Super Mario-sounding tunes and melodies. “If My Heart Was a House”, for me, is his best and one of the personal bests. It’s soothing to the ears then through your soul, almost therapeutic.

6.    “Ryan” by Eyes Set to Kill, from the album Broken Frames

“Will you be there in the morning?”

That was 2007, I was a high school junior, when a classmate let me borrow her ESTK CD to quench my curiosity about how emo would sound like. However, Broken Frames with the song “Ryan” came out when I was in college and I was already their number one fan for years. Eyes Set to Kill is the frontrunner of my favorite rock bands.

What I love about this song is its darkness and melancholy (just like their every other song) though it’s in fact about uplifting a suicidal who, I guess, is Ryan, “Catch your breath you’re only 21…Catch your breath you’re not the only one.” Eyes Set to Kill is loud and I loved them primarily because of that but “Ryan” doesn’t sound totally like it. At this point, I can say this should be my number one song.

7.    “Circle” by Flyleaf, from the album Memento Mori

I don’t have an explanation why I love this Flyleaf song the most among their many beautiful songs (“So I Thought” and “There For You”, to name a few that could have also made to this count). It’s a mystery only my senses can understand. This song, by the way, can be categorized as Christian Rock considering the conspicuousness in the lyrics and I, if you are not aware of, am not a believer; but there’s something behind the beauty of the song that will relentlessly touch my soul. Flyleaf was also one of my high school jams.

“No man shows greater love than when a man lays down his life for his beloved.”

8.    “Try Sleeping with a Broken Heart” by Alicia Keys, from the album The Element of Freedom

It’s also one of the best arranged and composed songs for me. I will never get tired listening to it. It deserves a spot in this list for one mere reason: it’s fucking beautiful.

9.    “A Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay, from the album Ghost Stories

I appreciated this song even more when I heard it from Ding Dong Dantes and Marian Rivera’s prenuptial vid. I am not a DongYan shipper or any local love team for that matter but this will forever ring a bell to me how it made the video even more special. This song is a tender caress to the heart and I know Coldplay is known to be writing songs with that upshot. It’s not a heartbreak song but I will surely break into tears if I see Coldplay live playing it! Its own music video, also, is as beautiful. If I would name another Coldplay song following “A Sky Full of Stars”, it’s “Everglow”.

So, can I have this for my funeral? No?

10.  “I Lived” by OneRepublic, from the album Native

I can shed happy tears to this song, let alone the music video. It’s obviously not a sad song but an inspiring one, with lyrics that are just so beautiful and empowering. This song can be my weakness and, at the same time, my strength. It was even more goosebump-y to hear LIVE from the band themselves!

11.  “Let’s Cheers to This” by Sleeping with Sirens, from the album Let’s Cheers to This

Sleeping with Sirens was my college jam. I even watched them live…alone. This song was not on their lineup so it was rather disappointing. I completely loved ALL of their songs until they went mainstream with the Feel album. This song always gives me the chills and makes me want to take wings above a cornfield whatsoever. It’s a freeing song for me.

12.  “Vox Populi” by 30 Seconds to Mars, from the album This is War

I love the way it is built to be a battle song with all the powerful tribal chorus and thunderclaps and Leto’s surprising vocal prowess that sounds as if he’s on vanguard. This is another empowering song for me. If I lose my courage and strength, I can seem to find them back through this song. The part: “Here we are at the start/I can feel the beating of our hearts” shakes my chest and throat to possible tears, though.

13.  “Save Yourself” by Sense Field, from the album Tonight and Forever

I first heard this from my older brother’s alternative CD way back in my preteens. From then, this song has never abandoned me and I never abandoned it; I always made sure to have it on every music player I have had.

“’Cause my self-esteem, it’s been low/Go ahead and count, it’s been lower than low/I know the feeling of it: stealing life out from under me.”

14.  “Happy Endings are Stories that Haven’t Ended Yet” by Mayday Parade, from the self-titled album

It’s one of the few songs that can shatter me into pieces when I want to and only few songs can do something like that. This is the ideal song you want to listen to when you’re seated next to the car window on a rainy weather. Mayday Parade is your band and their self-titled album is your album if you want to celebrate heartbreak.

15.  “Said I Loved You…But I Lied” by Michael Bolton, from the album The One Thing

I don’t listen to oldies. I only get to hear them especially on Sundays when radio stations play them. And that’s perhaps the story how I stumbled upon this Bolton classic. It’s like the only old song that I truly, truly appreciate in a certain different level.

16.  “It’s Complicated” by A Day to Remember, from the album What Separates Me From You

It’s a song that will entirely rock not your ears to bleed but your musical soul. It’s not metal-loud, anyway. I'm lucky I downloaded this song without even knowing what it sounded like (I thought they were the “Anthem of Our Dying Day” band but it’s in fact Story of the Year). Funny it turned out to be a song that qualifies to this list. There are just songs that come to your life that will be eternally glued on you and “It’s Complicated” is inarguably one of them.

17.  “Irreplaceable” by Beyoncé, from the album B’Day

If there’s a song that never ages, this must be it. It’s like the color black. It’s like denim jeans. It never gets out of style. Whenever I listen to it, it’s as though Beyoncé’s latest single. I was actually battling whether this song or “Best Thing I Never Had” should make to this list; the latter is also an immortal song by the way.

Once again, “Irreplaceable”, for me, is excellently engineered and composed, and it’s sung by my personal and the world’s top R&B artist. It seems like life’s perfect song, technically-wise, for everything’s on point. For years, before I met the rock bands, this used to be my number one all-time fave.

 You must have noticed I'm more into songs that abide sadness and that I have cheap, illogical tears up my sleeves. It only comes to show that I was or have always been a nurturer, a tolerator of this particularly downcast carnal sensation. I know you know how unhappiness can impact as memorably influential as how happiness does. This is it thus far and, to tell you honesty, I have a long list following (Far East Movement’s “Turn Up the Love”, Travie McCoy’s “Need You”, The Fray’s “How to Save a Life”, Paramore’s “That’s What You Get”, Meg & Dia’s “Getaways Turned Holidays”, Linkin Park’s “Papercut”, Escape the Fate’s “Something”, etc.) and it gave me a hard time weighing them all in.

I am looking forward to more beautiful songs to come and put down significance in my life! Life, no matter how far it will go, will be full of it anyway.

[vicjrcajilig]

I had read your post about being CSA , Can I ask how much is your compensation ?

8K take home pay monthly :) it was all about passion for me so i put up with it for almost 2 yrs