DISCLAIMER: Please don't hold me liable for any of these. @_____@ *tambling!!!*
MOST TAMBLING DAY OF THE SEMESTER
---------------------------------------------------------
Setting: Skywalk, Micah was doing her article, Lau was listening to music on her MP3 player, and I, well, I was bored.
JM: Arrrrggghhh I don't have anything to do!!!
Micah: *point blank* Shut up!
JM: @______@ *tambling*
---------------------------------------------------------
Same setting, a few minutes after
Micah: Ba't kaya hindi pa nagtetext si Dyan, ano na kayang update dun? (Dyan went to an interview with Candy Mag kasi; fast track, as of around 9:30pm natanggap sya!)
JM: Baka hindi pa tapos.
Micah: Ah, oo nga.
A few seconds after, and because Lau was still wearing her earphones:
Lau: Ano na kayang nangyari sa interview ni Dyan?
JM & Micah: @______@ *tambling*
---------------------------------------------------------
Micah: This is such a sabaw day! And it all started with a piece of underwear! (I refuse to explain that)
Just as Micah was saying those words, a nun suddenly walks past our table. (Nuns in MassComm? I know right.)
JM & Micah: @______@ *tambling!!!*
---------------------------------------------------------
JM: So, anong title ng article mo (on planned teenage pregnancy)? "Did you plan it?"
Micah: Hah?! Digi Planet??!
JM: @______@ *tambling*
---------------------------------------------------------
Marj and Kam, explaining the methodology of their thesis:
Kam: So we're planning to interview all the alumni of Journalism... blah blah blah...
Ma'am: You'll interview them all? How?
Kam: Yes, ma'am. We'll call all of them. (Or something to that effect)
Ma'am: Ah ok. Good Luck.
The whole class: @______@ *tambling*
Dan, in a loud voice: Wow ma'am that's very encouraging!
The whole class: @______@ *double tambling*
---------------------------------------------------------
Ma'am: They say when you get it from one source, that's plagiarism. When you get it from many sources, that's research.
The whole class: *crickets, crickets*
Ma'am: You don't get it? That was a joke.
The whole class: @______@ *tambling*
---------------------------------------------------------
Salamat sa mga sabaw moments. Bow.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Exit Strategy
So here’s the game plan: go through five more months of schooling, excel in everything and dabble in anything, work on The Great Thesis, pass all requirements, finish the yearbook and graduate, hopefully with flying, shining, shimmering rainbow colors.
Easier said than done, of course. Easier said objectively as well, sans all the melodramatic necessities of a change of phase (or is it pace?). Such is the life of a journalist: almost completely devoid of emotions, distant from any situation that may compromise the output.
But real life is not a news article. Far from it, actually. Real life has overnights, drinking sessions and partying in between. It has crying sessions, farewell letters, group hugs and bonding moments that seem like eulogies for the dead. It has all the sentimentality that goes with a Kimerald movie, no matter how cheesy or corny it may be. It has all these and more, not just a few one-paragraph sentences capped with the dreaded “30” or a sharp sharp in the end.
After this, everything changes. Change that doesn’t begin with Meanwhile, a 20-year old student of Mass Communication decides to leave school—for good. It is a change that shall prove pivotal to The Big Plan, that one that sets the course of one’s lifetime.
Times like these I wish life is exactly like a news article. Pointed lead, supporting details, sharp but almost unnecessary ending, which can always be skipped or cut off. A news article that represents the Voice of God, absent the occasional shifts in tone that give the piece a voice, an embodiment that supports its existence. I wish life were that disconnected, a life devoid of sentimentality over little things that tend to be over-exaggerated.
I wish I can skip the last part, that insignificant and unnecessary detail that signals the end of the article. I wish I can skip farewells, goodbye’s, adieu’s. I wish I could just go on and jump over that phase and move on with what comes after—the next article, the next headline, the great beyond, whatever is “out there” that isn’t extraterrestrial. I wish to be rid of all these emotions that seem to push all my buttons—emotions that tend to clutter the page, emotions that turn said into uttered, thought into ruminated, asked into inquired.
I am a journalist. I said that to myself two years ago, when before I thought I should rather be called a psychologist, one which says reinforcement can either be positive or negative; in any case, it still is a way of encouraging a certain behavior. But I am a journalist. A journalist who rather says that the police still hasn’t identified the motive behind the incident. Clear, direct, concise. Devoid of any feeling that may seep through and get in the way of getting the message across.
But even if I am a journalist, I’m still a human being. A human being that feels, that gets hurt, that experiences all these emotions plus more. So even if I put my game face on and tackle life as a chronicler of history, a life that is hard-pressed and competitive, the world couldn’t—wouldn’t—deprive me of the opportunities to examine, to question, to feel, to think, to analyze the things I’m going through. Even if it means putting little pieces of me between all these big and illustrious words.
And yet, and yet, the jump is but one hurdle to get through. What goes after? What goes next after the tears, the goodbye’s, the deep, pregnant sighs? What’s there to look forward to beyond the biting cold? (After Image, sometime in the ‘90s)
Do I become a journalist instantaneously? Do I jump right into the great snake pit that is the newsroom? Or do I dilly-dally my way through life, planning my steps, carefully measuring my walk and thinking two steps ahead? Then again, who really knows?
Sure, the allure of donning the glitz and glamour that is being a media man is, well, alluring. Just imagine the elusive Press ID, all those exclusive events, interviews with famous and important people… the feeling of being significant, sought-after, wanted—but not in a sinister kind of way. It’s all tempting. It’s there. It’s the Bright Red Apple to my existence in the Garden of Eden.
But the question is, do I take a bite and gain all that it has to offer?
And what of the moral principles I choose to hold on to? What of Press Freedom, of the Right to Information, of Ethics, of The Public’s Right To Know? Will it do me any good? Will it feed my mouth and those mouths I need or choose to feed? Will Utilitarianism, Humaneness, Balance, Fairness—will they bring me anywhere?
Once again, who knows, right? If I knew I definitely wouldn’t be asking all these questions.
I just wish there’s an easier way than this. I wish there’s a however, Mr. Tuazon refused to comment on the matter to this situation—a quick evasion, an escape route, a short cut. But there’s no evading these big questions in life. In a world where people tell you what to do, where to go, what to wear and who to talk to, the universe conspires and turns the spotlight on you. The journalist becomes the news, and the universe asks the questions:
So, Mr. Tuazon, after all the things you had to go through, what’s next for the man who did a little too much?
I know I don’t know right now. But I know I’ll find the answer in the next great story I’m pursuing: Life.
Easier said than done, of course. Easier said objectively as well, sans all the melodramatic necessities of a change of phase (or is it pace?). Such is the life of a journalist: almost completely devoid of emotions, distant from any situation that may compromise the output.
But real life is not a news article. Far from it, actually. Real life has overnights, drinking sessions and partying in between. It has crying sessions, farewell letters, group hugs and bonding moments that seem like eulogies for the dead. It has all the sentimentality that goes with a Kimerald movie, no matter how cheesy or corny it may be. It has all these and more, not just a few one-paragraph sentences capped with the dreaded “30” or a sharp sharp in the end.
After this, everything changes. Change that doesn’t begin with Meanwhile, a 20-year old student of Mass Communication decides to leave school—for good. It is a change that shall prove pivotal to The Big Plan, that one that sets the course of one’s lifetime.
Times like these I wish life is exactly like a news article. Pointed lead, supporting details, sharp but almost unnecessary ending, which can always be skipped or cut off. A news article that represents the Voice of God, absent the occasional shifts in tone that give the piece a voice, an embodiment that supports its existence. I wish life were that disconnected, a life devoid of sentimentality over little things that tend to be over-exaggerated.
I wish I can skip the last part, that insignificant and unnecessary detail that signals the end of the article. I wish I can skip farewells, goodbye’s, adieu’s. I wish I could just go on and jump over that phase and move on with what comes after—the next article, the next headline, the great beyond, whatever is “out there” that isn’t extraterrestrial. I wish to be rid of all these emotions that seem to push all my buttons—emotions that tend to clutter the page, emotions that turn said into uttered, thought into ruminated, asked into inquired.
I am a journalist. I said that to myself two years ago, when before I thought I should rather be called a psychologist, one which says reinforcement can either be positive or negative; in any case, it still is a way of encouraging a certain behavior. But I am a journalist. A journalist who rather says that the police still hasn’t identified the motive behind the incident. Clear, direct, concise. Devoid of any feeling that may seep through and get in the way of getting the message across.
But even if I am a journalist, I’m still a human being. A human being that feels, that gets hurt, that experiences all these emotions plus more. So even if I put my game face on and tackle life as a chronicler of history, a life that is hard-pressed and competitive, the world couldn’t—wouldn’t—deprive me of the opportunities to examine, to question, to feel, to think, to analyze the things I’m going through. Even if it means putting little pieces of me between all these big and illustrious words.
And yet, and yet, the jump is but one hurdle to get through. What goes after? What goes next after the tears, the goodbye’s, the deep, pregnant sighs? What’s there to look forward to beyond the biting cold? (After Image, sometime in the ‘90s)
Do I become a journalist instantaneously? Do I jump right into the great snake pit that is the newsroom? Or do I dilly-dally my way through life, planning my steps, carefully measuring my walk and thinking two steps ahead? Then again, who really knows?
Sure, the allure of donning the glitz and glamour that is being a media man is, well, alluring. Just imagine the elusive Press ID, all those exclusive events, interviews with famous and important people… the feeling of being significant, sought-after, wanted—but not in a sinister kind of way. It’s all tempting. It’s there. It’s the Bright Red Apple to my existence in the Garden of Eden.
But the question is, do I take a bite and gain all that it has to offer?
And what of the moral principles I choose to hold on to? What of Press Freedom, of the Right to Information, of Ethics, of The Public’s Right To Know? Will it do me any good? Will it feed my mouth and those mouths I need or choose to feed? Will Utilitarianism, Humaneness, Balance, Fairness—will they bring me anywhere?
Once again, who knows, right? If I knew I definitely wouldn’t be asking all these questions.
I just wish there’s an easier way than this. I wish there’s a however, Mr. Tuazon refused to comment on the matter to this situation—a quick evasion, an escape route, a short cut. But there’s no evading these big questions in life. In a world where people tell you what to do, where to go, what to wear and who to talk to, the universe conspires and turns the spotlight on you. The journalist becomes the news, and the universe asks the questions:
So, Mr. Tuazon, after all the things you had to go through, what’s next for the man who did a little too much?
I know I don’t know right now. But I know I’ll find the answer in the next great story I’m pursuing: Life.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Juggle
Sometimes I think if it's even worth it...
Sometimes I ask myself why I'm the one who has to sacrifice just to get things done...
Sometimes I wonder if I could just drop it all off...
Maybe they'll realize the balls and the pins and the bottles have all but fallen, and have crashed to the floor.
Maybe the noise will make their heads turn.
Maybe the peculiar sensation of a pattern broken will make their eye twitch.
Maybe the tension will fill the air and nag their souls.
Maybe they'll realize I've been juggling for them all along...
But unless I become certain, all these are but just maybe's.
Fuck this stress. Thank God for de-stressors.
Sometimes I ask myself why I'm the one who has to sacrifice just to get things done...
Sometimes I wonder if I could just drop it all off...
Maybe they'll realize the balls and the pins and the bottles have all but fallen, and have crashed to the floor.
Maybe the noise will make their heads turn.
Maybe the peculiar sensation of a pattern broken will make their eye twitch.
Maybe the tension will fill the air and nag their souls.
Maybe they'll realize I've been juggling for them all along...
But unless I become certain, all these are but just maybe's.
Fuck this stress. Thank God for de-stressors.
Monday, September 22, 2008
No Grad Pic Yet? Don't Fret!
Zone 5 Studios will accept walk-in CMC clients tomorrow, September 23, 2008, from lunch time onwards. Just have your 50% downpayment ready and they'll shoot you on the fly, just like that!
Don't know how to go to Zone 5 Studios? I SAID DON'T FRET! Here's the map ('cause we know what Dora says, we need... .... .... ... ... ... a MAP!):
Don't know how to go to Zone 5 Studios? I SAID DON'T FRET! Here's the map ('cause we know what Dora says, we need... .... .... ... ... ... a MAP!):
From UP, simply ride a UP-PANTRANCO Jeep then drop off at DELTA (Quezon Avenue corner West Avenue).It's that easy! So why wait?! Minsan lang 'to! And I'm sure you've heard how wonderful their studio is. So... tara na! =)
Pakipasa na lang sa friends mo na di pa nagpapa-gradpic, okay?! Salamat!!! =D
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
HOY!!! Basahin mo 'to, KERI?!
AT PAG NABASA MO NA, IPOST MO RIN AT IPASA PARA MABASA NG LAHAT, KERI??!
KERI!
(URL of image: http://jmtuazon.tinig.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/test-poster2-420x577.jpg)
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