Monthly Archive September 2008


When I got wind of Chicane coming to Manila last August, the first thing I did when I got home from my drunken Godskitchen weekend was transfer their whole discography to my iPod (ok, so more like just three albums). I’ve been a huge fan of theirs since, like, forever (fine, since I discovered house and electronica when I was in college) and I’ve always regretted not being able to see them when they were here a while ago (stupid call center schedule, really). I almost didn’t go last Saturday due to some social obligations (if you must know, the brother’s girlfriend had her birthday slash despedida party that same night), but when Rico offered me his other ticket, I took it as a sign from the universe and told myself: “You’re meant to go, Helga. You’re meant to go.”

Or maybe something less dramatic than that.

And OMG, it’s a good thing I went because thanks to Nokia, Jayvee, Fritz, Phoebe, and Rico (to quote Jayvee: this blogging thing *insert big smile here*), I was lucky enough to be at the pre-gig press conference and be in the same room with the band.

Chicane in Manila


Chicane in Manila


BEST. EVENT. EVER— not once during the concert did I sit down. My kilig was so apparent that night because I couldn’t stop hugging myself and squeezing my purse and well, dancing. I can’t thank Nokia (and Rico!) enough for putting us in Nokia VIP (VIP section nearest the stage), giving us a great and hassle-free Chicane experience. There were some technical difficulties and even two instances of dead air, but seriously, I don’t care. The band pulled through and predictably ended the night with No Ordinary Morning (as Nick Bracegirdle said during his Myx interview: “You guys love that shit, don’t you?”)

Chicane in Manila




Over a year ago, I took this test and got this result. I’m a sucker for personality tests and tend to re-take the same tests after a certain period of time because I like deluding myself into thinking internet tests prove that I am an emotionally-evolving human being. So today, while dilly-dallying and reading up on orovo detox, I went through my archives, found that particular entry, and took the test again. Last year, I was a weasel. This year, I am a wildcat. I should totally be in High School Musical 4.

Wildcat personalities do not differ substantially from their domestic cousins Felis Domesiticus and exhibit the aloof behavior that is common to all felines. With their well-deserved reputations as creatures of comfort, wildcats jealously guard their independence while indulging in the finer things in life. Attractive, solitary, creative, and curious, these individuals are quite happy to observe the world from a distance.

The wildcat would never take a conventional route, preferring to explore life from off the beaten track— relying heavily on its instincts and powers of observation to guide it safely through the jungle. Its air of indifference and need for privacy keeps it on the outskirts of society, but its love for comfort always brings it back

The wildcat differs from its lion relatives in its approach to its social structure. With an aversion to the complex family organization of the lion, the wildcat finds freedom and self-indulgence to be far more compelling. So as a natural explorer, it disdains staying in one place for long, preferring the freedom of solitary roaming. in exotic locales. This wanderlust makes it ideal for a career as a travel agent, explorer, mountain climber, researcher or writer.

It’s difficult to really know cats. Although they make little attempt to disguise their emotions, their communication style is somewhat abstract. They readily display their disgust and boredom as it stalk off to spend solitary time sulking. Usually however, they return to the place that offers them security and creature comforts. Close alliances are formed with others that share their eremitic and wandering ways. Horse and deer, and tiger personalities are good candidates as soul mates, while gorillas provide them with much appreciated security.

Wildcats are also incorrigible flirts and their feline mannerisms are attractive to members of the opposite sex. As a result, wildcats almost always get what they want — plenty of pampering without the nuisance of a long-term mate. And making love to one is more than just a lot of hissing and scratching, for it is a curious lover whose tendency to get lost in the moment guarantees an unpredictable encounter.

Because of the wildcat’s tendency to protect its independence, it can be difficult to get it to talk about personal issues. But when it comes to matters of the world, the wildcat loves a challenging debate. It is thoughtful and insightful on neutral themes, but when things get personal…logic flies out the window with the cat close on its heels.



I was a finalist in the Best Personal Blog category in the recently concluded Philippine Blog Awards 2008. I wasn’t expecting to win— not when the competition was mostly made up of better bloggers— and win I did not! The fact that I made it past the long ass list of eligible blogs and into the final list surprised me, considering I’ve long stopped taking blogging seriously. There was a time when I found some sort of joy in cannibalizing and whoring my life to the public, documenting my too-occasional (drunken) mishaps (usually involving sex and/with the wrong kind of men and acne. K, so not rly acne) and throwing in half-naked pictures of myself every now and then (which surprisingly has not rendered me highly unemployable…yet). I can only run the same shtick over and over again until it gets old, really, and I’ll be the first to admit that I have little to write when it comes to other areas of interest. Let me share with you a secret, though: if you get me drunk enough, I start spewing out my life and college learnings like why I think Asian sweatshops actually do the world good or why I don’t need an imaginary friend named God. Nifty stuff, though most of the time, I end up a babbling idiot demanding for more rum.

Lately, I find myself updating mostly to meet sponsored posts deadlines (pshaw at me all you want for selling out; I’ve been at this for almost ten years and it was about time I made easy money out of it). I would like to fool myself (and you) into thinking that I’ve simply moved on to more important things, like focusing on my career (which, by the way, has got nothing to do with what I took up in college) but we all know that’s not true. I’m still very visible on the internet, polluting the e-space with my nonsense which often has nothing to do with what I do for a living.

I’m like a tin can, really. Hey, at least I’m shiny. Sometimes.

Anyway, call it corny but being a finalist was enough for me. That said, I gladly lost to Benj Espina from (whom I went to high school with, reprazent). Two of our fellow finalists (and eventual loser— ok, no) were my good friends and co-TMB members Fritz Tentativa and Mike Villar. The awesome Bim Barbieto, another TMB member, won in the Best Hobby/Recreation category. As Ganns joked: “It’s the most powerful barkada (clique) in the history of Pinoy blogging!” There might not be any truth to that statement but I agree whole-heartedly when Lauren said: “I choose my friends wisely”. Or something along those lines (we were attacking the desserts table when she stated that).

So. Can I put this on my resume?

One Esplanade


Congratulations to all the winners and thank you, PBA organizers. I found a bunch of new RSS feeds to subscribe to, yay.


I was going through my abandoned Livejournal today, hunting for a link to an internet article from God knows how long ago and because it’s a bit unavoidable, I started reading my old entries. I do this every now and then (usually when I am hit with bouts of paranoia and start worrying that I didn’t privatize certain posts) and as usual, the barely recognizable Helga of old left me chagrined. I was a whiny, unnecessarily dramatic, meandering wreck who thought too highly of her bratty self and I find comfort in the thought that I have come a long way since. It’s nice to know that despite being a drunken mess for the most part, the past three years or so weren’t such a waste.

For a 23-year old, I’ve had a pretty interesting dating career. Unfortunately (and I say this with no trace of bitterness at all, just how I see it in hindsight), most of the guys I’ve ever involved myself with proved to be bad choices and— to a certain extent— wastes of time. I do have questionable taste in men, I admit to that. Fortunately, I didn’t end up with any of them.

These days, it feels like I’ve reached the end of the road and I mean that in the loveliest, most optimistic, and most satisfying way possible. It hasn’t particularly been a long time— just a little over a year (and I must say: there’s this pair of jeans I’ve had longer…), but it’s been a sweet journey culminating in the realization and the hope that he is The One, the last lover, and the only person I would ever want to wake up next to every morning (and please forgive me for the cheesiness) forever.

As much as I try not to, I have always had this tendency to romanticize even the most mundane of things. Everything seems prettier when written down and thought of in big, fancy words; the scenes and stories, as they play out in my mind, are always duplicated, layered, blending set to screen with 60% opacity, and topped off with 2 pixel Gaussian blur filter. It’s easy to lose myself in this little world of mine (and I often do) so I compensate (usually guiltily) by attacking life in the shrewdest and harshest way I can.

Un-romanticization #1: There are no great forces that brought us together. The universe did not see two stranger hearts seeking each other and decide to have them meet.

Following the trail of e-breadcrumbs I left, I have come to see that one major factor that brought our relationship out of the carnal stage and into that level of having actual, deep feelings for each other was my unconsciously understanding what it was that I wanted. You know how it is when you’re young, pretty, and have people left and right telling you you can basically get anything and anyone you want: you turn ruthless and obsess about objects (ideas and people included) that don’t easily fall onto your lap. You seek and are always up for a challenge; the main goal is to figure out how something or someone works to own them. Embarrassingly, that was how I was. Coupled with my former inclination to go after assholes, it’s no surprise I never formed anything lasting up until he came along.

And so I realized that I was looking for a connection, not a challenge. I got it right, this time around.

Un-romanticization #2: My heart has never been more honest with my mind.

I love how my body fits into his perfectly— like a Matryoshka doll, how in sync our movements in bed are (with only the slightest blunders caused by emotional highs), and how attuned he is to my thoughts and emotions. It’s not hard to forget the rest of the world and its complexities and totally immerse myself in just us. It’s the scariest thing ever.

Un-romanticization #3: But not as scary as us not working out.

Before he left, he told me that he fears I’d be hating him two years from now because our plans didn’t fall through. Each day is geared towards making us work. The distance is frustrating and so am I, when I demand, dwell, and let my immaturities get the best of me.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been feeling bad about not having ever received flowers for him. It’s a barrel of silly, really, wanting a bouquet of roses simply because it’s what boyfriends give to their girlfriends as a romantic gesture. I have yet to get my flowers but I’ve stopped complaining and giving him grief for it. If he’s willing to let me hold his hand while I fall asleep or while we make love; if he’s there in bed beside me when I wake up, ready to be assaulted with my good morning kisses; if he’s working his damn hardest for our future because he wants nothing more than to settle down and start a family with me, that’s pretty romantic.

Check out these deals on printers.


Well, I think this is cute: an online dating community created specifically for tattooed women and men. I guess there are some is a market out there consisting of people who require potential partners to have a tattoo (or two).

I am neither inked nor am I single (and looking for a boyfriend), but if anyone out there is: registration for is free.

1 2 3