I didn’t think it could happen ever again- but it did. After 12 long years, I’ve finally caught the NBA fever one more time. I used to be crazy over the NBA.

I was introduced to basketball by way of trading cards, which started as a fad during my grade school years (like that deep wrinkle treatment my mom was so obsessed with). I remember back in grade 3, me and a number of my friends would sneak up and out over the heavily guarded school fence, cross rush hour traffic, and into Filbar’s along Mango Avenue. There we’d grab a handful of packs of NBA trading cards and traded them off right then and there. My idol was- yep, his Airness- Micheal Jordan.

I didn’t know anything about basketball then. I just loved how they depicted this cool dude literally defying gravity and the way the cards shimmered and glowed underneath the harsh fluorescent lights. Pretty soon, I found out that the guy wearing that number 23 jersey was famous and that I could make money selling his cards. So started my obsession of collecting Jordan cards, in the process learning about basketball.

Pretty soon I was in high school and the famous Utah Jazz-Chicago Bulls rivalry began. Needless to say, I got caught up in the thick of it. I won- and lost hundreds in bets with cousins, classmates, and even jeepney drivers. Those were the good ol’ days of basketball, where people from all walks of life were glued to their TV screens the moment the Playoffs started. Of course,  a lot of the hype surrounding the game could be attributed to Jordan. His seeming defiance of the laws of physics awed people to no end.

When his Airness suddenly went into retirement, so did the magic, the rivalry, that seemed to make fans out of ordinary folk. College life soon caught up with me and I lost all interest in basketball.

Flash forward 12 years later. The finals started last week with the Boston Celtics clashing with their bitter longtime rivals the LA Lakers. I was at home channel surfing and I happened to chance upon a game. Suddenly, that spark that I thought was lost when Mike called it quits came rushing back. I found myself cheering for the Celtics.

In school last Friday, a TV set was stationed out in the walkway. A throng of students, parents and faculty crowded round the TV. It was game 4 of the Celtics-Lakers game. Despite the heat and the sweat and the crowd, I stood there and cheered as my team won that match. And that was when it hit me- I’ve gotten my love for the game back.

I heard that Starmovies is going digital very very soon which means that I won’t be able to catch it anymore (unlike those acnepril reviews) unless I buy a digibox and pay the increase in the current monthly rates our friendly neighborhood cable station is planning to add in order for consumers to avail of Star. So I am trying to tune in to as much Star programs as I could- while I still can, which was how I came across The Rocker.

The Rocker is one of those feel good, zero to hero movies that follows the misadventures of  a drummer for a local Cleveland band (Vesuvius). As soon as the band starts getting fame, a big record company approaches the group and makes them an offer they couldn’t refuse, with a hitch- they have to get rid of their drummer. Feeling betrayed, the drummer vows to start another band that will soon eclipse his original group. Twenty years later and the drummer, Robert “Fish” Fishman, is stuck in a measly desk job that he hates. His luck soon turns when his nephew, who is in a high school amateur band (A.D.D.), asks for his help replacing their drummer who couldn’t play during prom night. So begins Fish’s second chance at adolescence and his ultimate rise to meteoric fame.

While I felt that the plot was not that original, I really found the sound track very refreshing. Most of the songs done by A.D.D. were catchy and I found myself humming along as they played. I Googled the songs to see if they were original and was surprised to find out that they are. I was also surprised to that A.D.D.’s fictional lead singer Curtis Powell, is played by a real-life musician (Teddy Geiger) and that all of the songs performed by A.D.D. are actually his. However, despite its refreshing repertoire of songs, The Rocker is still unfortunately, best known as the least profitable film of 2008, having grossed less than 7 million. Considering that they spent 15 million doing this movie, that’s quite a loss.

I normally consider myself a pacifist. I don’t believe in fighting and violence (Violence in video games don’t count). But there always comes a time in a guy’s life that requires him to don helmet and shield and fight. For some, that moment comes early in life when circumstances force them to literally take up arms. For others, it comes waay later in life when they fight their own selves in a virtual mirror match- an internal struggle that leaves them tired, haggard, but ultimately at peace (to craft wedding invitations or not).

You wanna mess with me, punk?

For me, the call to arms came when I was in my freshman year in high school. That was the year I transferred from a preppy, “upper class” school (read: swimming lessons, dance and ballet) to a more rough and rowdy technical school where we learned to fix engines, wired circuits, create metal tools.

As you would expect, my former school background ensured that I would be scorned and laughed at by my new classmates who considered me somewhat of a sissy. The taunts came often and became more cruel by the day. Then came the pranks. My water jug would suddenly go missing only to show up hanging from the gym’s ceiling later in the afternoon. My basketball inexplicably grew a hole during gym class and I ended up failing that gym class test ’cause I didn’t have a ball to bring to class. There were thumbtacks on my seat, notes pasted on my back. Though they were annoying me, I tried my best not to pay them any attention. However, that patience was bound to break.

It happened one sweltering afternoon during shop class. We were tasked to make a device designed to adjust levers on machinery from a block of metal. I’ve been working on my project for the better half of a year. I patiently sawed it (by hand), filed it, drilled it and made sure it matched the specifications of the draft. I was hoping to submit it as an entry to a contest sponsored by Bosch. I finally finished it and had just chrome-plated it when my teach called me up to the faculty room for a consultation. I left my precious project sitting on my work bench. When I returned, lo and behold, I found three symmetrical holes drilled into my project. For a full minute, I just stared at it in disbelief. Who would have the gall to destroy something I’ve worked on for so long? The faces of my tormentors flashed before me. I knew they’d done it.

Without a doubt I knew.

So I stormed out of the shop and into the school grounds. I was in a rage. I’ve never felt this angry before. It wasn’t long before I found them. They were lounging by the soccer goal guffawing and grinning- all happy at my obvious distress. As I approached, the ringleader (the biggest and rowdiest of the bunch) called out to me, What’s the matter? Holes in your gear puller? That did it.

I charged headlong into the group, grabbed the leader by his shirt and pulled him to te ground. He got up and started punching and kicking. I responded by lashing out with a series of punches scoring a few to his midsection and face. The rest of the gang was stunned at what was happening that they just stood aside and let us punch it out. However, the bully got the better of me as he was considerably waaay bigger. He kicked me to the ground and for a moment, I just lay there, the wind knocked out of me. I could hear laughter and I knew it was directed at me. I decided enough was enough. So I got up and charged for a second time. I managed to grab his neck into a chokehold and succeeded in pulling him to the ground. I then straddled him and proceeded to punch him repeatedly in the face until he bled. I suddenly was aware of a complete silence. I didn’t stop punching him until one of his teeth flew out and I felt hands pulling me and away from my adversary. It was his mates. They were begging me to stop. So I stood up, looked them all in the eye with all the hatred I could muster and walked away.

Not us, but how we probably looked like

They never bothered me again.

Oh, as for my adversary, we became fast and close friends.

Imagine a team of American football players looking all badass in helmet, pads and spikes suddenly start swaying their hips, tapping their feet and pointing to the ring fingers of their left hand to the tune of All the single ladies.

Auditioning for an alternative career in case football doesn't work out

Just click on the picture for the full video.

Now ain’t that a sight! I literally couldn’t stop laughing! It was just pure, unadulterated FUN. Welcome to Glee.

If there’s one word to describe Glee it would be WHOLESOME FUN (elliptical would be another word to describe it). Er, make that two words. When she first introduced Glee to me, I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it that much thinking that it would be just another re-make of High school musical. Since it was the middle of the Christmas break, where bumming was the IN thing to do, I decided to go ahead and watch it. And- surprise! Not only did I like it, I was hooked! I couldn’t stop watching episode after episode. And I couldn’t stop laughing! The series is definitely refreshing and the song selection delightful. I found myself humming / singing the songs while doing other stuff. I just love their repertoire. The characters are also easy to like (believe it or not, my fave character is the show’s antagonist Sue Sylvester!).

Scary. But likable.

So for those of you looking for a fun, lighthearted, refreshing break, this show’s for you.

I’ve been getting depressed lately.

I don’t know why.

I’m alright one moment and suddenly, wham! There goes the blues.

I guess I just feel…trapped.

It’s as if gravity is pulling me down and keeping me in the one place in the world that I want to break free of. I don’t want to stay here anymore. god knows I’ve been wanting to go someplace new for so long now- get a tv stand, join the workforce, settle into something different, travel the world with her. Oh, the things I want to do! I wana spread my wings and fly.

I was blog hopping the other day and I stumbled upon a post our friend Dee made. She was recalling the events of the past decade and what she has accomplished so far. I was reading the post when it hit me. In the past 10 years (10!) since graduating from high school, I haven’t done anything but study. Study to finish college, study to become a doctor, study again for my master’s degree…it’s been a whole decade spent on books, books, and more books. For what? For the future. It’s always the same reason, to build a better future.

But would it be worth it? This future that I am investing so much sweat, emotions, and tears in? Would it be really worth it? I guess only time will tell. For now I am just so thankful I have someone to talk to during times like this.

She never lets me down.

And she always knows how to cheer me up.

Thanks for being there- oweis.

I love you.

The hills and mountains of Zamboanga in aptly named Buenavista, which means "Beautiful View".

On my 27th birthday

Buenas! I am Flisha Fernandez, a Filipino; firstborn to a prominent newspaper editor-in-chief (rest in peace, Papa) and a Philosophy teacher (now Vice President of Academics of my alma mater); and eldest of three sisters.

I consider Chavacano my first language. I speak fluent English, passable Tagalog, unrecognizable Visayan and am learning Japanese.

I entered school at the age of four, at a nursery called Tanglao. I spent two years of kindergarten, six years of elementary, four years of high school and four years of college at the Ateneo de Zamboanga University. I graduated cum laude, top of my class and top 3 in my batch in 2003.

Journalism and I have a love-hate relationship. I grew up writing poetry and short stories (I even attempted a novel at the tender age of twelve, and I hold my cheesy, unpublished and unread work dear to my heart. ;-P). In high school, I joined The Blue Eagle, our school paper. I won many awards and writing competitions in my time, mostly from my news and feature articles. I failed to garner the top position of editor-in-chief in my senior year, which contributed to my disillusionment with journalism.

A girl on the brink

I took up Computer Science in college, in a bid to challenge myself (Math, next to Filipino, was always my weakest subject) and separate myself from the world of literature. I was quite active in organizations — helping to revive the fading debate society, becoming one of the core founders of the computer society and working as the editor-in-chief of the Beacon Yearbook. After graduation, I found work as a programmer for the local government before returning to my alma mater to become a systems developer and part-time instructor.

I completed two years of a masteral degree at the Ateneo de Manila University. I am currently working as a SAP specialist for Hewlett-Packard.

Gracias con vos otros and I hope you enjoy reading my blog!

*Updated October 2009

Barkada is a Filipino word that loosely translates to “circle of friends”. But it’s really more than that. It’s more like a “pack” (as in wolf) of humans, that’s what it is. It signifies a deep bond, a strong sense of identity, and unlike other sets of friends that change with the passage of time, a barkada almost always stays the same.

That’s the case with mine, anyway. We all met in high school, the seven of us. Each and every one of us probably has his or her own version of how we became friends, but I will tell you mine.

It was the first day of high school, and that was the day I met Chris, a boy who would be the greatest friend of my life, and perhaps, would mean a little bit more. He was standing by the window on the second floor, or maybe I was the one standing. It was so long ago I forget. He asked me what time it was, and I answered. It was that simple, but I saw him first on that first day, and he saw me first, and that creates a bond, and somehow we ended up walking home together, and every day thereafter.

There was another boy we walked home with, and his name was Donnel. And that’s how we three got close, walking home together. I would always walk the farthest, and Donnel the shortest.

During class, I sat next to a short girl, Katrina, near the front row, by the window, even though I was a head taller than everybody else. I always had a problem reading the blackboard, because I needed better glasses, so I chose that spot. (I always needed better glasses, every year.) I would often ask her what was written on the board, and often borrowed her notes, and that was how we became friends.

Kat had a friend whose name was Jotie. And they walked home together every day, though not with Chris, Donnel and me, because they had another route. And that’s how I knew him, because of Kat. I never did have much in common with Jotie, but I do remember we shared a love for music, especially Celine Dion. That love for music brought me a lot of grief in the later years, because I could not sing to save my life, but I thought I could, and so did everyone else.

The two other people in my barkada I had already known before high school, Raquel and Brian. And so I suppose it was natural that we would gravitate towards each other once more. Brian, especially, meant a lot to me. We were very close in elementary, but to my bewilderment, he vanished in the fourth grade, only to reappear for a day in the sixth grade, to tell me he had transferred school. (If I knew how to then, I would have said, wtf?) Needless to say I was very happy to see him return to our school the year after.

My friendship with Raquel had always been very tenuous, and perhaps that is the reason we took care not to offend each other. I don’t think we ever even quarreled in high school. (Whereas, with Chris, it was pretty much every week.) But as quarrels go, the two of us had already had our fair share before high school. We had to give it a rest, didn’t we?

Our friendship was founded in four short years, but the seven of us have been friends for fourteen years and counting. We broke paths a long time ago, and built separate lives. But there’s an invisible magic string that binds us close, and we will always find ways to come together again.

Note: The picture above is a collage that Jotie made. It’s from our slumber and pool party in Astoria Regency Hotel last December. Thanks, Jots! Love it like Manolo Blahniks!

I’ve got a few too many school years under my belt, but none mattered more than the four years coming-of-age high school.

First loves, first broken hearts, first passions. Those really were some of the best years of my life. I learned about life, I found myself, and thanked my lucky stars I wasn’t alone in the growing up.

I am no longer that close with my friends in high school. But it’s nice to see the whole class come together again, from time to time, even when really we no longer have anything in common but memories.

 

 

 

 

Brian with boyfriend Shane. Oh to be young and enjoying love’s first blush.

 

 

 

 

 

Note: Pictures were taken (by everybody) with Jotie’s newest toy, a Nikon DSLR. I postprocessed them in Photoshop. Thanks, Jots!

This is so high school, the Eraserheads. It was the time of alt rock, and they were the Beatles.

Ely Buendia, Raimund Marasigan, Buddy Zabala and Marcus Adoro reunited in concert on August 30 of last year, an engagement cut short after Ely almost had a heart attack and had to be rushed to the hospital. They were able to perform half of the planned 30 songs.

Sony BMG has just announced that the Eraserheads: Reunion Concert DVD will be released on January 31, 2009. All 15 songs are included “plus bonus features of behind-the-scene footages, rehearsals, etc“.

The tracks include Alapaap, Ligaya, Sembreak, Hey Jay, Harana, Fruitcake, Toyang, Kamasupra, Kailan, Huwag Kang Matakot, Kaliwete, With A Smile, Shake Yer Head, Huwag Mo Nang Itanong and Light Years.

There was a time my face was peppered with acne. That was in sixth grade, and thankfully all traces of acne receded by the time I was in high school. Talk about a potential awkward coming of age! (No, all my awkward moments were mostly weight-related.)

Perhaps because I get pimples so very sporadically, I have no idea how to treat them. What I’ve always done is to pop them. Basically I just rub and rub at it, until the white goo comes out and it stops hurting. It bleeds a bit sometimes but then it’s gone the next morning.

Not so lucky this time. I got an acne a few months ago, like a little white bump on my face. It didn’t hurt or anything, but it bugged me so I started rubbing at it. I took like 30 minutes rubbing idly on the bed, but it wouldn’t come off! Concerned, I went to the mirror and was horrified to see that I had a big red splotch on my face, completely rubbed off! Eeeekkkk!

The next day it was still a big red spot. Like a painted blush on a doll. But it didn’t look so good on me. I spent the last few months hiding behind my hair, and now it’s faded but I think it’s permanently scarred my face. Sigh.

And no, no pictures, no siree. I’ll keep that shame to myself (you will only see the cake of makeup I’m wearing, yupdidoo).

I may perhaps just seek acne treatment next time.