I knew that some good would come out of my being such a shameless KSP (Kulang Sa Pansin, what else?). After advertising my blog yesterday to unsuspecting family and friends, I was surprised to receive emails from my old college sorority sisters, obscure relatives, friends I haven't seen for ages, and clients from way back (when I was still a corporate bad-ass wearing 4-inch stilettos). They told me that they viewed this blog (although I think they just said that as not to hurt my feelings because last time I checked, my profile views remained a sorry number of 67! I know because the 67 views were all mine -- liars!), and congratulated me on how domesticated I've become what with 2 beautiful kids and an adoring husband, etc., etc.
But more than their requisite hellos, I was glad to hear a lot of great news yesterday. And one that really made me all happy and excited was an invitation from Joanna, my sorority sis and ka-batch, to her wedding this December. She told me that it was a whirlwind romance, which made it all the more romantic. Although knowing her, she must have hit him with a big club, and dragged him to her cave -- oops, I think that was a scene from a National Geographic documentary I watched last night -- must have confused the two (grin, grin).
To my friend, hope you make not just your wedding fun but your married life as well. You deserve it my dear, wedding bells and all. Congratulations and all my good intentions and wishes go to you and your future husband.
the case of the missing photos
After months of looking for my old photos, which I knew were just lurking somewhere in the dark abyss of my husband's files, patiently waiting for their master to reclaim them to their former glory, I finally found them. The whole lost and found scenario reminded me of Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past".
"I feel that there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and so effectively lost to us until the day [which to many never comes] when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison. Then they start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognised their voice the spell is broken. We have delivered them: they have overcome death and return to share our life."
That's not me talking, that's my old (and dead) friend, French writer Marcel Proust. Absolutely dramatic. For some old photos, I break into poetry. Give me a million bucks, I'll probably do something really extraordinary like contort or recite all of Shakespeare's sonnets backwards. Toss a few hundred thousand bucks more and I'll do both at the same time.
Those photos won't see the cover of Vogue, Cosmo and definitely not O (even if I don a wig, gain 70 lbs. more and go to the tanning salon -- simply because I'm not Oprah, dummy). But they give me this blast from the past (when I was a few pounds thinner/heavier and younger with less wrinkles) that always makes me SMILE.
Here are some of the pictures for your viewing:
our family photo, watch out for the angry baby! (because you're holding me too tight, mother!)
Striking a pose at the Sanson y Montinolla Antillan house
(one of Iloilo's heritage treasures, the house, not me).
Photo by James Chua, styling by Jasmine Castelo, make up by Dyutay,
La dolce vita!
I bamboozled a complete stranger to loan us this beautiful yacht for a pictorial.
Photo by Leo Solinap
the cast of characters of the shoot for a magazine I'm no longer connected with (thank God! the biatch who claims to own the magazine needs a lobotomy and some tips on corporate manners, not to mention a crash course in magazine editing and writing -- this is a story that I would gladly tell you on another day perhaps..). Anyway, the foreigner dude beside me is Marcel who owns the yacht, the rest are our models and staff, oh, there's Pepoy on the far right who did the hair and make up.
oh, ain't she the cutest? Me not Ripley. Ha-hah!
That's me with all of my post maternity fat (can someone photoshop those damn arms?),
my devoted husband (who's one of the few guys
I know who can get away with a pink shirt),
and of course, my little angel Ripley at 6 mos.
This was taken on her baptism at Messe Ristorante.
But more than their requisite hellos, I was glad to hear a lot of great news yesterday. And one that really made me all happy and excited was an invitation from Joanna, my sorority sis and ka-batch, to her wedding this December. She told me that it was a whirlwind romance, which made it all the more romantic. Although knowing her, she must have hit him with a big club, and dragged him to her cave -- oops, I think that was a scene from a National Geographic documentary I watched last night -- must have confused the two (grin, grin).
To my friend, hope you make not just your wedding fun but your married life as well. You deserve it my dear, wedding bells and all. Congratulations and all my good intentions and wishes go to you and your future husband.
the case of the missing photos
After months of looking for my old photos, which I knew were just lurking somewhere in the dark abyss of my husband's files, patiently waiting for their master to reclaim them to their former glory, I finally found them. The whole lost and found scenario reminded me of Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past".
"I feel that there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and so effectively lost to us until the day [which to many never comes] when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison. Then they start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognised their voice the spell is broken. We have delivered them: they have overcome death and return to share our life."
That's not me talking, that's my old (and dead) friend, French writer Marcel Proust. Absolutely dramatic. For some old photos, I break into poetry. Give me a million bucks, I'll probably do something really extraordinary like contort or recite all of Shakespeare's sonnets backwards. Toss a few hundred thousand bucks more and I'll do both at the same time.
Those photos won't see the cover of Vogue, Cosmo and definitely not O (even if I don a wig, gain 70 lbs. more and go to the tanning salon -- simply because I'm not Oprah, dummy). But they give me this blast from the past (when I was a few pounds thinner/heavier and younger with less wrinkles) that always makes me SMILE.
Here are some of the pictures for your viewing:
our family photo, watch out for the angry baby! (because you're holding me too tight, mother!)
Striking a pose at the Sanson y Montinolla Antillan house(one of Iloilo's heritage treasures, the house, not me).
Photo by James Chua, styling by Jasmine Castelo, make up by Dyutay,
La dolce vita!I bamboozled a complete stranger to loan us this beautiful yacht for a pictorial.
Photo by Leo Solinap
the cast of characters of the shoot for a magazine I'm no longer connected with (thank God! the biatch who claims to own the magazine needs a lobotomy and some tips on corporate manners, not to mention a crash course in magazine editing and writing -- this is a story that I would gladly tell you on another day perhaps..). Anyway, the foreigner dude beside me is Marcel who owns the yacht, the rest are our models and staff, oh, there's Pepoy on the far right who did the hair and make up. 
oh, ain't she the cutest? Me not Ripley. Ha-hah!That's me with all of my post maternity fat (can someone photoshop those damn arms?),
my devoted husband (who's one of the few guys
I know who can get away with a pink shirt),
and of course, my little angel Ripley at 6 mos.
This was taken on her baptism at Messe Ristorante.
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