These days find me doubting myself too much, in fact, more than when I was that angst-ridden Literature major in no less than the Royal and Pontifical university. Self-doubt has no place in an empowered self, a former professor once said. But when people around you come up with incriminating stories about you, all too often, you can't help but ask, what the fuck is wrong with me?

First, rumors about me went around the office. It's too pathetic to talk about it, really, but it did cause me distress especially when my boss confronted me. Not true, I told her, as I enumerated point-by-point clarifications to the story. Whether she believed me or not doesn't matter anymore. Now people at work think I'm little miss primadonna.

Then, there's the issue of my work being questioned--that I am not performing well, inter alia. I know how I work. I deliver. If people think that's not enough, they should tell me to my face. Reklamo sila ng reklamo, sila ba may ginagawa?
It's not even constructive criticism, for heaven's sake. It's simple fault-finding, I think. Of course, I'm stating this categorically. You--you know what I mean.

This morning, naman, I learned from a friend that another friend--let's call her A-- said that the reason why A and I had a fallout was because A thought I was spreading stories that she was so head over heels in love with me. Apparently, these stories reached her, as told by common friends. I respected her feelings, I didn't tell her to scram. After all, she just expressed how she felt and made it especially clear that she wasn't expecting anything in return. She decided to disappear. I was left wondering why, there was the friendship, in the first place. Maybe I am just insensitive? There probably was something wrong that I did or did not do, whatever it is though, it's not spreading stories about her pursuing me. I used to be in that circle of people, I may have told a couple of friends about A and me (because they were wondering what happened to us, they knew us to be friends); no more, no less. Now I really hope she's reading this blog. Let's talk.

I'm starting to hate this: I keep ranting on this blog and I am turning out to be such a bore, I'm afraid. And these issues are too juvenile. But believe me, the past weeks have been too much. There must be something about the stars that I am going against. Or it's just me, working against myself.

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Connecting People

Cellular started to be a promising suspense-action movie. At first, it promised to be a fast-paced thriller that wouldn't waste the audience's time, a plot that didn't linger on too much exposition. Then again, it turned out to be a comic story of a hunk once deciding to prove to his ex-girlfriend that he's changed from the irresponsible and immature guy that she broke up with, into a young man who plunges himself into the trouble of helping a woman who has been kidnapped--when the hunk takes her call through his cellular phone. Interesting?

It's a stupid movie, more like a one and a half hour extended Nokia ad, really, with stupid dialogues and predictable twists but you'll watch it still, munching on your cheese popcorn and gulping that soda. It's Hollywood's tableau of a Pinoy action flick: stupid and hilarious up until the credits roll.

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I'll be hopefully opening up a stall at the night market at the Tutuban mall in Divisoria. I'll be selling clothes, bags, handpainted artsy-fartsy stuff that can be give-aways for Christmas, notebooks, my leftover stocks of the Kikay Beach Kit, pens and pencils, and a lot more. I'll sell anything that can be sold. Partners are welcome :)