Bottled ※ Brain

I want start a tradition in my blog. I want to end each, single year with a Looking Back entry, like the one I had written a year ago . Humans, after all, are forgetful people—I am not excluded—and chronicling significant events of the past year through blogging will definitely emboss these seemingly insignificant embers of history into my brain. And just how forgetful are we? Forgetful to the superlative level. To illustrate: whenever the teacher asks, “What did we discuss yesterday?” I’d have to dig my brain’s dysfunctional memory card—what did we talk about last time? What? WHAAAAT?—and find it blank. But that’s a very shallow example, so here’s a deeper one: we hardly even remember the Lord’s goodness for the past year. We are so comparable to the Hebrews, God’s chosen people forgot God’s great miracles—like the Parting of the Red Sea —after only a few years. All they ever did was complain. These are the events that have happened to me, events that the Lord has used to

I was browsing through the blogs and websites than linked me and was shocked to see Mr. Manuel Quezon III's blog in the list. In one of his Christmas entries , he greets the bloggers who read him and whose blogs he reads, too. My blog, bottled, appears in the Blogger-ful list. Merry Christmas!

Maybe it's just misinterpretation, if not downright ignorance, that plagues the world, including some supposed parts of Christendom, during the Christmas season. What bothers me is that people have developed a wrong sense of the celebration and have perhaps forgotten the real reason for the rejoicing. Christmas is not about Santa Claus nor the gifts he gives to children. It is not about freezing water or the drowsy air from Siberia nor the existence of red-nosed reindeers in the North Pole. It is not about Ethel Booba making amends with another Gwen Garci in Startalk nor about Kris Aquino crying tears of joy after a 15-year old high school senior won the million in Game Ka Na Ba. It is not about going to mass and making sure that one's attendance is complete for the entire Simbang Gabi. It is not about the sky precipitating cool, white bits of ice. It is not even chiefly about giving, forgiveness, love, happiness, family, friends, and goodness. So what is Christmas then? It is

I wanted to know if prolonged failure to update my blog would give me hemorrhoids or temporary insanity, or, worst, a pimple in my nose so huge it looks like a ripened tomato. No. It doesn't. However, experience tells me that a prolonged failure to have a daily, quiet prayer time with the Lord makes me terribly pained. It is a feeling that something is wrong--that something could go wrong. After all, not being able to pray is not being able to rush to the comforting arms of my Savior and be comforted by His timeless promises amidst the conflicting anxieties of my soul. It is to deprive the soul with the very air that nourishes it. Do we take time to pray? Do we immerse ourselves in intimate conversation with God rather than talk about the latest gossip in town? Prayer is to the soul as blueberry cheesecake is to the body.

And I continue: The CS Carol Fest ended with us smiling widely. After all, the MBB Choir wowed the audience: they sang with much fervor that it made our mammalian fur shiver. In singing competitions, that’s always a plus. Anyway, I proceed with my tale. This time, the victory party. Still filled with the rush-hour excitement of winning, I heard people shouting, “ So, saan ang victory party?” “Sa Albert na lang. Malapit.” [Albert Hall is the home of the National Institute of Molecular Biology and Biotechnology]. “Sino’ng may gusto sa Eastwood, sa Libis?” Opinions were varied, and so were the voices that made them. And so, after quite a few minutes of debate, they’ve decided to hold it in Libis. And so, like a chaff that’s being dragged by the wind, I went with the group. After all, we were supposed to be treated to a sumptuous dinner by Sir Carlo, one of the instructors I think. I was hesitant at first because of these two valid reasons: 1.) I am not a member of the choir and 2) I am no

When Angela and Juanchi sounded so terribly convincing, I knew that I had no other choice but to join them. I asked myself: Why not sacrifice a few hours of my time watching the CS Carol Fest at Aldaba Hall? Why not contribute my presence to support my fellow MBB (Molecular Biology and Biotechnology) majors? And oh, why not take a breather from lab reports and quizzes and exams to listen to comforting Christmas music? "Why not? Sige , I'll go with you," I told them. It wasn't really a hard decision to make: since I had shifted, I've never really involved myself in any of the College of Science's (CS) activities. We first dined with Ciara at Lutong Kapitbahay, walked all the way to Yakal because I needed to brush my teeth and get a decent jacket, then proceeded to Aldaba Hall where we saw groups of people who wore the same attire and carried colorful props around. The show started promptly, as soon as the hall was opened. Nine CS organizations competed for the

There are a million ways to offend others, and the possibilities increase all the more when national boundaries are crossed. Go Team Philippines! If you don't get the overall championship, it's your fault that you didn't allow me to participate.

More than ten years ago, Tatay gave us new scissors. Mine was yellow, Manong's was red: or perhaps, it was the other way around -- I'm not really sure now. History has a way of deleting precious colors from memories. My father didn't exactly know that deep inside his two cute children -- I was the cuter, and still am -- were terroristic tendencies to cut anything that could be cut. And so, Manong and I, with our scissors, cut pieces of paper from books, Nanay's flowers in the garden, etcetera, etcetera, until our options were exhausted. "Why don't we cut this?" My brother pointed at his hair. My eyes glowed with excitement, and my fingers couldn't resist the urge to trim it, like a bush that has grown uncontrollably for ten years. You get the feeling. "SIGE!" Then, we were giggling with immeasurable delight, and eventually found ourselves cutting, bit by bit, strand by strand, each other's hair. We saw bundles of keratin-rich cells fall t

It suddenly occurred to me that the temperature air has gotten cold with fresh, crisp air, a sure reminder that Christmas is here! While I do appreciate the cooler temperature in the morning, the one thing I necessarily detest is the icy water. Of course, that’s never a problem if you don’t have classes or work early in the morning. But for students like me who need to wake up day after day, whereupon encounter the refrigerated feeling of H-two-O in the process of showering, it is always a difficulty. When the water is frigid, the time it takes for me to take a bath is prolonged. In scientific terms, temperature is inversely proportional to the time of bathing. The cold makes me rather unproductive. Upon undressing, I would gently twist the shower knob. Tiny drops of water would squirt out of the shower head, and then slowly, slowly, very slowly, I would draw near the trajectory of water: first, my head, and then my arms, then my feet. Lastly, I would drench my torso, my upper body. I