Anie Writes: 2012

Something I Held

One morning inside my K2 class, one of my students, asked me something that completely threw me off my seat.

“Miss Anie, are you smart?” the little boy asked inquisitively.

"Uh, hmmm" I hesitated and finally said, “Sweetheart, I just read a lot” and thought how vague my answer was.

He then turned to me with his 1000 mega-watt smile and sweetly said, “I think you are smart, Miss Anie.”

Instantly, my heart burst with so much cheerfulness and gave the kind boy a quick hug and a pattypat on the back.

I am not afflicted with false modesty when I gave my answer to my student. I like to think I'm smart but the truth is, I just read a lot and fell completely in love with it in the long run. The possibility of a world without books is, honestly, frightening and this is why I seize the opportunity I have to actually sit down and devour one. I have no particular preference when it comes to genre, switching things up from time to time is something I like to do. From classic lit, mystery, romance, fiction, non-fiction, history, to audiobook, ebooks, paperbacks and hardbound, you name it! When two of my high school best friends, Sheila and Kristina, whose love for books knows no bounds, suggested the much talked-about novel, Fifty Shades of Grey, I swiftly got myself an audiobook and finished the trilogy in a wink. Some expressed their disapproval because I’ve read such material {whose erotic contents I thought was too much for my Maria Clara upbringing but really has nothing on Anne Rice's The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty} but then I’ve also read the 7 Harry Potter books and religiously follow The Southern Vampire Mysteries series.

Truth is, I read novels because it is thrilling to know that after just a chapter or two, you're not in your bedroom anymore. Novels allow me to travel through other people’s thoughts and ideas, simultaneously helping me come up with my own views whilst increasing my intellectual thinking and keeping my vocabulary sharp. But, with that being said, at the end of the day, there’s only one reading material that I authorize to fully shape and nourish my spirituality… THE GOOD BOOK. I plant it in my heart as it boosts my faith and feeds my spirit for the strength I need to overcome everything in the world.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Personal,

Peace, Be Still

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Style,

What and WEAR

It’s been half an hour since the program has concluded. Flashes of distant cameras were still evident from the center stage where the very event took place. Family and friends gathered around in celebration of victory and delight as Earl Jane, Karl, Josh, Kim, Joyce and Vince takes pleasure in their triumphant stint as pageant winners. Across the canteen table, I sat down on a monobloc chair, finishing my egg sandwich. In nonchalance, I watched the spectacle from afar as the hollering and hooting continues.

Heading to my direction were Ate Sha and Ate Ann. In haste, I swallowed my food, gulped down my drink and went to my feet to engage in an after-event conversation.

“Kids” I muttered, pointing to the boisterous display in front of us. Both of them smiled.

“Love the outfit, Anie” Ate Sha said out of the blue.

“Don’t tell me you got that from the thrift shop again” she inquired.

“As a matter of fact, I did” I replied, quite pleased with myself.

“For a hundred and seventy-five pesos, no less” I went on and gave them a quick carefree twirl.

Photo from https://fuhrigg.wordpress.com

I confess I have been one of the boys for quite too long and slipping into short dresses is a preference I’ve recently got the hang of. When it comes to dressing up, I resort to an Ukay-Ukay to procure an inexpensive and stylish outfit. Ukay Ukay is actually a Visayan word that means “to rummage”, a term generally used throughout the Philippines to describe how people pick out garments from an imported second-hand clothing outlet. Yes readers, most of the dresses I wear once belonged to someone else. My dear Ate Ann wouldn’t consent to this and so as my pastor, but Ukay is just so addicting! There’s a sense of thrill in unearthing something fabulous amidst racks and racks of clothes and the best part is, you hardly ever get the same thing twice!

Nowadays, I go for dresses mostly for the comfort it offers, adding a dash of feminine touch to my short hair and accentuating it a little comes in second. I hardly consider myself a fashionista, truth is, that word irks me and I don't give a rat tooth about brands either, I'm all for comfort, wearability {if that's even a word} and the reasonable price that comes with it. I'm an advocate of Ukay not just for the big thrift that I am but for the STYLE OF CLOTHING that you won’t easily find anywhere else in Angeles City. I roll my eyes at people with the impression that Ukay are for the less fortunate or for the cheaps, because it is not. Lately, even the ones with fashion cred has done it at some point, so why the prejudice? Think BRANDON BOYD. I love him. Furthermore, Ukay is for the unpretentious, who’s unaffected by anyone’s opinions and I honestly think no one can be classier than that.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Fangirl, Good Read

Ode To One of My Favorite Literary Heroes

Blog entry originally posted 5 December 2011 via Life's Blah:

Behold a fangirling blog post. You’ve been forewarned. This is what reading, classic literature or not, does to me. If I’m still in college and is required to write a term paper on my favorite literary hero, this blog post is is something I would submit, no questions ask! Well, more or less. Categorically, I’ll have “Why I’d Marry Michael Fassbender” as my initial title page. In bold Algerian font it will be, centered in a 50pt font size, in fuchsia pink font color and underneath it the words: “A Fangirling Term Paper By Anie Ordillo”. Whether or not a title page is mandatory, I would still include it just for the pleasure of having one and gaily submit it to a professor. I’d start by narrating I want to marry Michael Fassbender because, well, 1. Gary Oldman and John Malkovich are too old for me. 2. because Fassbender is a suitable addition to my rather unembellished name and 3. because he is the closest Edward Fairfax Rochester I could get in an era where romanticism is long forgotten and that some men (at least a few of those I personally know) completely disregard the idea of putting forward a decent {not commercialized/mainstream} marriage proposal… I’m just saying.

While I’m quite in the leisure of divulging random bits and pieces now, I’d just say this plainly like how I tweeted it few weeks before: I fancy Mr. Rochester with great ardency. A fangirling blog post, I told you! It all started when I watched Cary Fukunaga's cinematic adaptation of Jane Eyre. This period film, superbly atmospheric depiction, beguiling yet somewhat dark held my interest and I intensely fell for it. Consequently, it fired me up to listen to the 38-chaptered audiobook (narrated by Elizabeth Klett) that I’ve avidly devoured in four mind-blowing days. I confess, with no bit of any shame whatsoever that I’d still play chapter 23 and 37 again and again while reading the e-book whenever boredom strikes. Why? Because I'm a nerd and gothic romance as such tickles my fancy. No shame in that too! 😆

Edward Fairfax Rochester, who I find ever endearing every time he calls Jane Eyre, “Janet”, is the classic byronic hero with an angst-ridden soul in the story. Easily, I fell in love with him. Well, if you’re into the terribly enigmatic type, seemingly ideal, introspective and passionate kind of guy who challenges you mentally, like I do, then, you’d know where I’m coming from. Brontë, through her heroine’s eyes gave a picture of Mr. Rochester as a middle height, broad-chested man with heavy brows, granite-hewn features and gloomy but very fine eyes. Brontë further described him as “very grim to look at”. In addition, Mr. Rochester has an appalling array of flaws: cynical, self-indulgent and arrogant. And yet, along with his obviously dreadful disposition, he’s also passionate, romantic and intellectual, thus, winning the heart of, not only his mousy governess but the hearts of million classic literary female readers, including myself. But what struck me the most apart from all that, dear readers (to paraphrase Miss Brontë)... is the power and beauty of his of language. The reason that made me head over heels with Mr. Rochester and never more so than when he was about to bring to light his true feelings for the governess and spoke:

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I’ve a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly.

Those very lines made me instantaneously forgave him for the way he lark around with Jane's emotions, teasing her, carrying out that awful and confusing scheme that drove Jane to believe that he was to marry that obnoxious Blanche Ingram. And what could be a more breathtaking marriage proposal than to be asked to pass through life at your beloved’s side, to be his second self and to be his best earthly companion? I would say yes in a wink even without the vintage heirloom Pave Asscher diamond engagement ring in platinum from MDC Diamonds New York that I saw online sometime ago.

As for Michael Fassbender, he embodied the very essence of my mental image of Rochester and convincingly portrayed the abundance of sarcasm, passion, expressions, mannerisms and that wistful sadness and hopelessness that Rochester had. Michael Fassbender’s sarcastic broodiness nails Rochester spot-on and yet his versatility brought in the subtle vulnerability in Rochester when he lost Jane, leaving me with emotions I never knew I'm capable of feeling. To top it off, Michael Fassbender’s deep voice adds up that sense of rugged sexiness in Rochester, drawing me to a conclusion that there is indeed something about men with deep voices. Go figure, haha! I must agree, though, Michael Fassbender is a little too handsome to be Rochester. Why, I swooned over every time I see him on screen as Rochester but that can’t be a bad thing, I supposed. It is true that there are many Jane Eyre adaptations but seeing Cary Fukunaga's take on this classic lit made me a little prejudiced towards the other versions. I just can’t help it.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Good Read, Good Watch

Jane Eyre: A Kinda-Sorta Review

Classic literature has an eternal appeal in my eyes. Growing up in my teens with compulsory make-up-projects, I always singled out reading as a great escape and in the process grew fonder of making book reviews. I had the pleasure of reading Little Women, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Beowulf, The Canterbury Tales, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Secret Garden, among other things. Such great stories continue to resonate with me as it takes me back in a time far different from mine and somehow gives me a glimpse of how extraordinary stories they were. I suppose that very experience coagulated my love for the written world and later for period films. While Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is and will always remain as one of the many dearly loved novels I have a high regard for, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, however, is currently on the top of my list. This may sound blatantly sentimental or Miss-Universe-like-answer in its Q&A segment but one thing that is identifiable about Jane Eyre, at least to me, is her atypical strong-willed character with unbending convictions. Jane Eyre, having a disconsolate past, has that resiliency in her that paved her way to a rewarding life in spite of everything she had been through. On chapter 27, with a called-off wedding on her plate and an aching revelation that her beloved Rochester already had a wife, she still managed to listen as he recounts his tragic union with a lunatic and offer pity in the face of deceit.

You would think her unswerving affection for her dear master would shake her strong sense of self and what’s right and wrong by her. No, sir. Some, even in our present time, would go against the world and damned morals all in the name of love. Not Jane Eyre though. Her strength amid weakness, her possession of self-worth and dignity, among others are truly admirable. I’d like to think that she didn't really come back to marry Mr. Rochester. She went back for him out of restlessness and enormous concern as a person who cares. She went back because it was the right thing to do but her thoughts on being his mistress never changed. Her values on all things upright, in my book, are absolutely a winner! If you haven’t read Jane Eyre yet, I highly urge you to. It’s a good read without a doubt and while you are at it, go see Jane Eyre, a film adaptation by the talented Cary Fukunaga.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Ahh Life, It's An Aunt Life

Then Came Loreen

From a vague dream, I woke up with a jolt, somehow disoriented.

“Crap, I'm late for work!” I told myself, drowsy eyes closed as my right hand search for my phone from under the pillow.

“There.” I mumbled sleepily once I got hold of it. Still feeling somnolent, I coerced my eyes to open and then proceed to unlock the Samsung Corby 2 on my hand.

The clock widget states:

06:05 AM

08/05, Sun

Angeles City

“Oh, Sunday” I sighed with ease and allowed myself to the the prospect of getting back to sleep but a pressing need from my bladder brought me to my feet. So, off to the bathroom I went.

Returning to my florescent-lit bedroom, the impulse to curl back to sleep appealed to me as I gaze down on my scruffy unmade bed, but for some reason, I decided to fire up my computer instead. Imagine my surprise when I got a Facebook message from my brother so early in the morning. As I read the message, the only words that seemed to register to me were “Irregular contractions. Water bag broke. Contact the midwife.” Without missing a beat, I quickly slipped into my blue vintage wool plaid dress and put on a white strappy aerosol flats as fast as I can. I informed my sister right away and in no time, we hopped in a van to pick up the midwife. From that point, the day stretched furiously long.

By the time we reached the apartment where my brother and his wife opted for water birth, my sister-in-law was already in labor. The midwife dashed to the room where they were while Ate Loi and I helped ourselves to a seat in the living room. KC, our nephew, arrived momentarily. He sat across us in synchronized silence and deep anticipation. There, we found ourselves in a state where waiting came restively. Scores of thoughts reverberated through our heads blocking rest to fully set in.

Things started to pick up, labor progresses and discomfort intensified. Strings of piercing cry coming from the room where my sister-in-law was, can be heard audibly. The three of us would gape at each other, without ever saying a word, and would distract ourselves with whatever digital diversions our phones offer. So few moments in life do we witness first hand, the unfiltered honesty play out before us. That instance, to me, was one of those rare moments of transformation and passage. Childbirth is indeed a naturally beautiful and also a terrifying human experience and my sister-in-law was nothing short of a magical birthing unicorn, knowing full well that she was braving an experience only her body would get to go through that day.

Time went by and the rest of the family came. There was an inexplicable sense of nervous expectation amongst us. I got uneasy, pacing back and forth. This pushed me to eavesdrop at the door behind where my sister-in-law was giving birth. Pressing my ear close against the door to listen in, I tried to make sense of whatever I can pick up through the layers of paint and pine.

“Nothing.” I mouthed at Ate Loi.

I paused, my ear still pressed against the door to snoop for any sounds from within. After a few moments and several odd looks from everyone later, a breathtaking cry of a new born baby broke the silence from the inside. The sweetest sound I’ve ever heard and I gasped.

“She’s here!” I announced, still in a hushed voice.

Everyone sprung up to their seats and assembled in front of the door with ineffable excitement. Shortly after, my brother emerged from the bedroom, drenched in sweat, grinning from ear-to-ear. He looked exhausted, panting even, but a pure transcendence was etched on his face. That day, I watched my brother seamlessly transform into a father. How incredible it was to see him endured the societal pressure to attend the delivery and birth of his first child, no matter how mind-numbing and fearsome it must be, without fainting and surprisingly still intact. My heart melted.

Brief chit-chat were made as he handed the camera, allowing us to get the first glimpse of his “little progeny” and then hurried off to his family in the other room. Yes, his little family! As he exited the living room, the midwife entered, soaked in sweat and worn out as my brother was but wholly relieved, her kind dark eyes lit up with bliss and she beamed as she told us that the baby was healthy and that everything went well.

After a bit of a wait, Mama and I headed to the bedroom where my sister-in-law and niece were. We were the first one to see them and instantly my heart leaped with the picturesque view that greeted me upon entering the room: my sister-in-law, looking serenely delighted and by her side was my little niece, wrapped in a blanket and sleeping soundly. Loreen suddenly became more real to me when I set my eyes on her: skin and bones being presented to us in a human form. It was magical. Nine months seemed like an eternity and at the same time, an all too brief one.

How is it that an impossibly tiny and delicate human could render me completely speechless? I reveled in her baby coos, her successful attempts to open her cute little eyes and make that absolutely endearing soft cry and that heart-melting little half smiles she threw in from time to time.

Later that night, I got home late. I was a little dead-beat but with a heart swelling with happiness and pride. What an honor it was to be present and be a part of something extraordinary {my first experience of home birth!} Loreen’s arrival became more profound the more I contemplated about it. A whole new person in our lives has finally joined us, who, I know will alter the entire course of, not just her parents’ lives, but the rest of us as well {mainly, us aunts, who yearned for a niece for so long}. I am just thrilled to be an aunt again and already, I'm having mental pictures of what my life would be now that little Lori is here.

I climbed the bed in my pjs with a smile on my face and those very thoughts played in my mind for a moment. Then effortlessly, I drifted off to sleep as the rain poured down.

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Make-Up, Personal

Throwback Post: Why Make-Up?

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Good Vibes,

Goodbye, May!

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, by Anie Ordillo

In Ahh Life, Personal

Life’s Blah (Chapter Deux)

Out of the need for a much needed break from being cooped up in my workspace with writing tasks and whatnots, I instantaneously felt the impulse to re-read my old blog entries. I formally started blogging in 2004 at the tender age of 19. I was navigating my way through college for two years already when Life’s Blah, my first blog, came into inception. Its first half was mainly about my college frustrations i.e., flanking Accounting and Calculus, frequent absences, dealing with inconsiderate professors and introversion just to name a few. Blogging at that time was inexplicably therapeutic to my convoluted self and left me feeling self-assured and somehow gratified... or so I thought.

Going over these blog entries with such emotional resonance gave me a bird’s eye view of my life as a young adult and how unmitigated drama queen I was. A time when I was in my most cynical and overrated self, exquisitely irked in my entire life and that my wretched teenage angst was nothing more than a light wind to the cyclone that churns in my innermost self. Such an awful place to be at, in all honesty, making life overly complicated than it already is, was absolutely foolish. I didn’t love everything I’ve read from those old blog entries, to be honest, but the insights I’ve gained in rediscovering myself are invaluable. It’s almost like Dumbledore’s pensieve where it takes you back to your younger, wretched self, providing you a space for a present day reflection and finally gets a better understanding of your life. At least that’s what it did to me and though re-reading it benefited me in so many extraordinary ways, I don’t think I’d like to share those frivolous blog posts to anyone anymore, especially when I’d rather put emphasis on things that are noble and sensible.

Hence, I came to a decision to finally close down Life's Blah, my old little niche on the web that housed my thoughts for eight amazing years and start afresh here. I believe in discretion and in spite of the extensive freedom that we have in expressing ourselves through social media and other internet platforms, I also believe in befitting and responsible blogging. Thus, I welcome you to Life's Blah, Chapter Deux: Anie Writes Stuff, where I would take on the blogosphere as a cautious adult (err, to the best of my ability) in hope to inspire, exercise my love for self-expression, share my so-called adventures in the field called Life and hopefully leave something of significance along the way. And in the same manner, I would also like to look back and re-read whatever written entries I'd fill on this digital space by the time I turn ninety and trust I would no longer feel mortified because of my former foolishness. Here's hoping!

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, by Anie Ordillo

Something I Held

Peace, Be Still

What and WEAR

Ode To One of My Favorite Literary Heroes

Jane Eyre: A Kinda-Sorta Review

Then Came Loreen

Throwback Post: Why Make-Up?

Goodbye, May!

Life’s Blah (Chapter Deux)

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