Bottled ※ Brain

"What do you want for Christmas?" "Can I be materialistic?" "Sure." "I want more fat." "You can have mine."

My dormmate, Rod, who's a Fine Arts major, took the three photos in Intramuros, Manila. I edited them to create this look. I just wanted to kill time.

Manong Ralph is taking the UP Law School's Law Aptitude Exam today. It's a tough exam: thousands of lawyer-wannabees are desperate to get in the most prestigious law school in the country. But my brother is not consumed with desperation. Instead, he is overwhelmed with preparing his heart, more than his mind, for it. I know he'll do well and that he'll do his best. Even in Math. But I know for sure that he will not be able to answer a single question unless the Lord gives him the means to do so. Today, he will get an idea, (but may not exactly observe), how the Lord operates in His children's lives. Whether he passes or not is secondary. What is most important is that my brother, in his time of need, will see himself utterly lacking and will therefore take the exam in calm surrender, knowing fully well that God is his God.

People close to me know for a fact that I talk a lot. They seem to listen to me all the time; I don't think they're sick of my blabbering. My mother, however, insists that I KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT if it's possible to do so, especially when I watch TV Patrol with her at home. She hates it when I talk while the reporters are saying something about the current state of dirty Philippine politics. I now get her point. I'm talking about this now because I attended the Youth Fellowship's Mid-School Year Retreat with the theme, BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD (Psalm 46: 10). Kuya Lito Sto. Domingo, the youth pastor of Higher Rock Christian Church, explained that God is a person to whom we can turn to for safety; He is a source of strength to those who are weak and defenseless. Kuya Lito went on to tell the story of King Hezekiah in the parallel chapters of Isaiah 53, 2 Kings 18 and 2 Chronicles 82: the king of Assyria had already invaded the neighboring cities except Jerusalem.

Myopic as my eyes may be, I live for a grand purpose. The world views this goal as foolish, nonsense, stupid; but I am not deterred. I do not live to please these wretched people; I live to please Him. To bring Him the honor and glory is my passion: I enjoy pursuing His joy such that it, too, becomes mine in due time. I desire to be with Him--and I desire Him--more than the fleeting trophies of this life. For to be with my holy Master brings me enormous joy, lasting peace, and eternal life. My lips sing praises to Him who first loved me while I was so unlovely. I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who lives, but Christ lives in me. What truth can be better?

When my math instructor sees this picture, he'd be fuming with inexplicable rage.

Nineteen units. Yes. Nineteen units of science courses that will make blood ooze out of my wide, fat nose. Nineteen units of subjects that will, in due time, sap all of the strength I've stored up during my day-long naps during sembreak. Nineteen units of Chemistry, Biology, Calculus, and Physics that will turn me into a skeletal human being walking around the campus. I'm exaggerating, of course, but in UP, 19 units is a lot to keep someone wide awake during the night. I'm not complaining, though -- that's a stupid thing to do. But I do know of a few friends who have enlisted 20 or 21 units, and I'm wondering how they could possibly manage their time -- rather, themselves. If only cloning or time travel were plausible options. I'm in the second-to-the-last leg of the feared UP-Diliman Math Series; it's Math 54 (Elementary Calculus 2) I'm taking. My instructor is Mr. Christopher Santos, a tall, bespectacled man who knows everything he's talking about,

I've never been good at finding things. I remember my father giving me the use-your-eyes-not-your-mouth lectures whenever he'd ask me to get him something, and I wouldn't be able to because I couldn't find it. Then, he'd look for it himself, and would clearly demonstrate that through silent searching, one could find what one is looking for. My Bio 11 laboratory activity therefore comes to mind. The class was asked to find all the crystals in the cell's vacuole. I chose the Begonia stem. I did a cross section of the stem, mounted it on the slide, placed a cover slip on the sample, and poked my tired, bespectacled eyes through the microscope. The sample looked amazing under the LPO: the compartments called cells were clearly visible, even the vacuoles where those crystals could be found. But the problem was when I had to focus it under HPO to create a greater magnification of the sample. The image I saw was darker, and while there were things that looked prominent

During my free time, I edited this photo through the wonderful program called Adobe Photoshop.

Spot the difference . I've been playing this game all day, comparing last sem with this one. This sounds crazy, but the differences, I've realized, are rather stark. For instance, I used to really get sleepy and tired in most of my classes last sem, but there's something rather exciting about the classes I'm taking now. And then, I feel that I'm more receptive to the lessons, I write more notes, I smile a lot more. Is it my instructors? My classmates? Or is it my newly-evolved sleeping habits of six hours or so a day? Living things do learn to adapt.

Like a pilgrim I walk To marvel at the twisted, orange rays of light That signal the end of the day And the reminder of others to come. I embrace each moment For tomorrow, this world may hear the last sigh of my breath Never to be seen alive, but only through the teary eyes Of loved ones laying down flowers in my peaceful grave Only a memory doomed to be forgotten through time. With myopic eyes I see the world In pixels of myriad colors Blended to reveal the timeless portraits of Creation Whose beauty lasts but for a second. What wonder and awe! I am overwhelmed. I may not remember all. My wish is relish each moment To capture the pixels of the present In timeless frames of portraits That seem to shout, "Perfection!" So that someday When my hair recedes and turns grey in old age I can relive the captured moments And with breathless expectation leave this world With pixellated memories.

I changed my blog template for the nth time. This minimalistic blog design is inspired by Tom Kealey's blog, a Creative Writing professor at Stanford. I hope you like it, just as much as I do.

The beginning can never determine the end. A good start can only pave the way for a good ending. It cannot dictate the end. But who doesn’t think good beginnings are better than bad ones? After all, in the aftermath of the events, the end is inevitable and will perhaps remain elusive until we have almost reached the finish line. Therefore, in our cluelessness, we ought to start things right. The problem is that we can’t. Or, more appropriately, we can’t on our own. Even if we so desire to do so, even if we’ve exerted all the effort we can muster, we can only do so much. We don’t have the final say. The final card isn’t in our sleeves. We need help. But help from whom? It must be help that comes from Someone who knows all things, plans all things, and does all things for our good. We need God’s help. Better yet, we need God Himself. Isn’t it He whom the Bible magnifies as the Alpha and Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end?

"My eyes will pop out." 'What are you looking at? Is it the globular thing with red spots on it?" "17 EMDs! Why that big?" "Can't focus it." "This microscope's too heavy." "It's so hot. I feel so oily. I want to wash my face."

I was provoking my little cousin, Naomi, to anger yesterday. "I own a hundred of those [referring to the rice fields we were passing by]," I told her. "I own a thousand," she said. "I own ten thousand." She just wouldn't give up. "I own a hundred thousand!" I said, "I own a million. Can you beat that?" I was grinning. "Aaaaarggghhhh!" She was quite furious with me. She doesn't know any number greater than a million. I couldn't stop myself from laughing--I'll wait till she gets into calculus.

I've been to Banga, South Cotabato to visit my mother's side of the family. It's a tradition, see, but I don't really look at it like that. It always gives me a wonderful feeling to talk to my aunts and uncles, to laugh at the seemingly incessant problems that flood them, and to play with my cousins who are getting taller every time I see them. But while I was there, I couldn't help but think, "Will people misunderstand what I had written yesterday?" This, folks, is my post Cries of desperation . I was hoping to jolt people who happen to stumble into this blog, and remind them that we, as living beings, ought to put greater importance to our souls rather than to our physical bodies. I was hoping to remind these people to come to Christ, or else, their souls will rot like animal carcass eaten by filthy maggots. But praise God for the two people whose comments may have shed light to this issue. My friend, Jef , wrote, What a wretched fate those departed soul