The Boy Who Stutters

20210809 How come you’re here? Certainly, this one’s different as I wouldn’t share a link to my social media unlike before because of some very personal content. Intrigued? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. This is the next entry for my UP slash college journey slash sharing-too-much-than-I-should-about-my-life blog entry. Because why not? I only do this once a year or two…and it’s always better to share your life with a stranger, isn’t it? Only that you’re not a stranger, are you? Regardless, I don’t mind; it’s not like you would tell me you’ve read this, or would you? Don’t. Perhaps it’s better that you keep being a silent reader, as you’ve always been because I have a confession to make. Or confessions, rather. Alright, where were we?  Ikalawang Taon sa UP (theboywhostutters.blogspot.com) A life crisis. Pandemic. Second Year. Ugh… it was the second year, an ‘early’ quarter-life crisis, then a pandemic and a life crisis again. Now I’m through with my third year. But I’m definitely no...

“Because more important than the award itself is the initiative to help the country realize the significance of cinema as a political tool and as a sign that reforms can be made and achieved” (Bolisay 189).  Ano nga ba ang saysay ng karangalan at pagkilala sa mga natatanging pelikula kung mananatili itong dekorasyon sa pangalan ng indibidwal na lumikha? Anong silbi ng parangal mula sa ibang bansa kung ang pelikula ay mula sa eksploytasyon ng danas ng kapwang Filipino na kinasangkapan bilang naratibo at laman ng pelikula? Maging mahusay at tanyag man ang likha, marapat na iakibat ang mga tanong na: (a) para kanino? (b) paano mapagsisilbihan ng pelikulang Filipino ang mamamayang Filipino? (Valerio 1). [FULL CONTENT REPOSTED @  Pelikula at Bansa: Mga Potensyal at Hadlang Para sa Kaunlaran – SineSalita (wordpress.com) Ang pelikula ay hindi katutubong midyum. Mula ito sa Kanluran at isa sa mga mahahalagang impluwensiya na dala ng kolonyal na kasaysayan. Naitala ang unang pagpapala...

Today I got my heart broken. I hate that I only write when my heart breaks. I wish I could write when it is happy. As to save it. As to remember. As to claim that not all the time is a sad day. Only if that is the case. This is not the first time I had my heart broken. And I know it is not going to be the last. But every time it happens, it hits differently. It is supposed to feel the same, right? The same thing just happened again. Again. Why does it feel like the first time? I thought I knew what tomorrow would bring because today was just like yesterday. For someone who does not have anything to look forward into anymore, I am almost always wrong. Today I realized, I can be more broken than I already am. But I wonder what is there to break? I fear that I am just making up this feeling, so I get to be human for a day. Sentient and not oblivious. Overreacting and not sedentary. Breaking my heart is the last thing I would make myself do – not because it is hard, but because it is easy....