First Lesson of Yesterweek: A Hair-ball of a Lesson

N.B. These "lessons" entries have been posted a week too late. Thus "yesterweek" actually refers to the week before last...or in Pinoy terms "last, last week."

When my thesis teacher looms before me, two things come to mind. First, it has to do with an interesting concoction of fear and apprehension. Thesis writing is no easy task and the world does not need to be reminded of such a predicament. The second thing which comes to mind is more positive, depending on the point of view. I am constantly reminded of my ignorance. Learning, like change, is constant. Both seem to work hand-in-hand, much like the "chicken-and-the-egg" question. Learning effects change. People get acquainted with new ideas which help them do certain things better...or in some cases, worse. In another scenario, change effects learning. Change is imposed on a person or object that he has to learn a different technique or concept so he has to be able to adapt fully and effectively to the change.

Enough on the ranting about change. It's getting cheesy I almost feel like regurgitating the cheeseburger I had just this afternoon.

Yesterweek, I had two particularly interesting learning experiences. One was practical, whereas the other was theoretical. Last Tuesday, I decided to cut my hair after two years of abstinence from scissors.

Actually that was a fib of some sort. For the past two years, I had succeeeded in growing my hair from ear-level to a little past my armpits. This was quite a feat for someone like me who chops hair off as soon as it starts reaching the shoulders. Last May, I ran into trouble while working on my thesis. As I walked home from school, I felt like my head was really heavy on my shoulders. I took a side trip to the mall, waltzed into the salon and asked the stylist to cut my hair. He maintained the length but just cut off bits and pieces, giving it a layered look.

Now I'm the kind of person who resorts to haircuts instead of beer. Last Tuesday, I once more got frustrated with my work. I had actually been contemplating on trimming my hair when I saw a picture of how I looked two years ago when the F4 guys had (way!) longer hair than me. But Tuesday gave me the proper motivation. I nonchalantly pushed the glass doors of the salon and asked for a stylist. My hair was given the usual ceremony (shampoo and conditioner) prior to executing the death sentence.

The stylist (a different one this time) asked me what cut I wanted. I showed him that picture of myself two years ago. I clearly stated I wanted around two to three layers, with the longest ending in the same level as my chin. My hair is naturally thick and wavy so it has a severe tendency to blow itself up in huge, uncharacteristic proportions like a hot-air balloon. When it's short, my hair is shaped like a Fuji apple with baseballs implanted inside. Adding layers makes it look tamer. Not exactly tame like Cousin It but less fuzzy than a lion's mane.

Now I should have known something was about to go wrong. The stylist kept on showing me pictures from magazines and asking me if this was the look I wanted. I'd answer him by pushing away the magazine and shoving the picture in his nose. He repeatedly rammed hairstyling jargon into my already puzzled face and I'd respond by repeating the same specifications: two to three layers, longest layer at chin-level, refer to picture for illustration purposes. Finally he said he understood me.

I heaved a sigh of relief too early. He first cut my hair at one-length at chin-level. Then he called for someone to blow-dry my hair. Puzzled, I asked him about the layers. He said he'd first blow-dry my hair then do the rest of the work. I am no veteran of beauty salons but I have had enough haircuts to tell me that blow-drying is the last step, when the cut is in its final stage. So I relented and repeated to myself what Bridget Jones said to herself in Edge of Reason: "I am in the hands of a genius." I have nothing to worry about, right?

I was just about to realize how horrendously wrong I was.

When my hair was all dried up, he came back with his scissors in his hand. I reminded him about the layers again, almost with a hint of pleading and an edge of desperation in my voice. He said he was going to work on it now. I was getting unnecessary apprehension from a haircut when it was supposed to help reduce the weight from my already heavy head. He then started cutting the ends of my hair but did no more than just making little snippets here and there. I asked him about the layers once more like a kid pleading with mother for a lollipop, but he ignored me. I gripped the armrests hard, almost ripping the rubber from the metal frame of the chair. I said it louder one more time, now with more hints of a threat than a request. If he ignored me one more time, I'd seize the scissors from his hand and render his eyebrows extinct. He probably read my murderous glare so he stopped cutting and turned to me. In his sweetest voice, he said that he was not going to give me a layered cut because, according to him, it did not suit the shape of my face because, to reword it nicely, it was round and big - synonyms of the word "fat." I clenched my teeth so hard I almost unhinged my jaw. I kept quiet until he was done with my cut. I rose from the chair, paid the bill for the haircut and stormed out of the door.

The next morning, I washed my hair and when it dried, I wanted to make a mad dash for the salon. I looked like I had a pumpkin on my head. It was huge and fuzzy and was everything I did not want. I did not know what to do. I called Em and all she could suggest was to stick my head in a vat of conditioner or mousse.

It would have been all right if only the stylist followed my specifications. If my hair looked like it was blown up in the middle of the sky because of my mistake, I could live with that. I have the person to blame right where my arms could easily strangle her. The fault was mine and mine alone. But then in this scenario, the person to blame was the stylist who decided to murderlize my hair completely at his discretion. What is it to him if I decide to go as bald as the day I was born? I reached out to pull his eardrums into visibiclity yet I get nothing but air. Arrrggghhh! The monstrosity of battling an invisible enemy!

Lessons learned:
1.1 If the stylist looks - and sounds - like he does not know what he is about to do aside from snapping scissors, ask for a new one. If you don't, it would be tantamount to asking a five-year old to cut your hair for you. But if you have the guts, make up some urgent excuse to extricate yourself from the claws of impending hair capital punishment...remember to pay for the shampoo and conditioner, of course.
1.2 Insist on what you want, especially if you have every reason to believe you are right. I should have insisted on the haircut, especially since I had had the same haircut before and I believe it suited me.
1.3 Stylists are like surgeons. They ought not to perform liposuction when all you're in for is tonsilectomy. They should always be worthy of your trust.
1.4 A good conditioner always does wonders. My daily saviour comes in a tube of Palmolive Naturals Conditioner (the purple variant).
1.5 Never repeat the same mistake twice. Go for a different stylist next time or better yet, look for a different salon.
1.6 To assuage your anger, just remember that you'll learn to deal with your hair as the days go by.

Second Lesson of Yesterweek: A Heart-ful of a Lesson

Just four days after my experience with the stylist from Deep Six, I met up with some college classmates in Megamall. A good number of us showed up in Kenny Rogers for dinner along with a teacher of ours. I won't name him for fear that it might be intrusion to his privacy. I went with my perennial companion Anna. To add to the already stacking comments that Anna and I look alike, Leigh's boyfriend said that we could be mistaken as sisters. We have been labelled as cousins and the sister comment is particularly common. Anna and I are just waiting for the day that someone declares we're twins.

After dinner, Teacher suggested we go watch a movie. It was getting late so the others decided to leave. I opted to go for the movie along with Affie, Ken, Diane and Teddy. We wanted to watch The Skeleton Key but it was not yet being shown. The bowling lanes were practically overflowing with people. So we decided to go to the Megastrip, have some coffee or dessert and talk.

We found a spot in an already bursting-at-the-seams Seattle's Best: a small table with two chairs. The Megastrip is not usually teeming with a crowd this big even on weekends but on that day, Parokya ni Edgar was doing a free concert in the parking lot in front of Seattle's Best. A little while later, some people vacated their seats and we occupied a much bigger space consisting of two tables and just enough chairs for the six of us to do what we came to do - have coffee or some dessert and talk.

That's when I learned another lesson from Teacher who I have since then associated with an alter-ego I call The Guru of Dating.

The Guru said that there was such a thing called theory on dating.

A theory on dating was interesting to learn, especially after the concept was introduced to me at the age of 10, credits going to Francine Pascal and her whole band from Sweet Valley.

So the six of us sat there, with Parokya wailing "First Day Funk" in the background, as The Guru shared with us the theory of dating which, he said, was related to him by a friend.

One of the first premises of the theory of dating states that if you, for example, feel good about your date and enjoyed it immensely, chances are, your date also shared the same sentiments.

For instance, you say something to your date because you think he would like it or you feel it would amuse him. The truth of the matter is, if your date really did like what you said or truly felt amused by it, chances are, he would try to give the proper response. The proper response would consist of your date throwing back an interesting reaction, story or comment which he thinks would give you the same level of amusement you gave him, or even higher. You receive the response and enjoy it immensely so you return the favor once more. So the entire date goes on like a volleyball game - the ball getting tossed back and forth between the net as two teams try to do their best to get the ball to the opposite side with as much interesting flair as possible.

Which is why pretending to enjoy a date is a particularly difficult feat. Your date throws you a story or a comment which you do not find the least bit interesting. Lacking the proper motivation, you fire back a response without the slightest idea of what particular level of amusement to fulfill. Most likely, given your disinterest, the response would be way below par of your date's initial attempt at an interesting conversation.

The Guru said that his friend was able to subject the theory to experimentation, saying that based on experience, the women with whom he had the most pleasant dates also shared his sentiments that their date went very well. He would find out about this through other friends with whom his previous dates shared their thoughts with.

The second premise is that good dates are driven primarily by good conversation which consequently is predominated by excellent communication. Sharing sentiments and thoughts is part of good conversation and this helps people get to know each other better.

Thus the theory shows that in as early as an initial date, a relationship is already fostered between two people in their inital attempts at a conversation and gradually grows much thanks to communication. The entire process is an exercise of give and take. You are given something by someone which brings a big smile to your face. So you take it but you are not contented with just receiving. You want to go ahead and see the same, if not an even brighter, smile on his face so you go ahead and send something back. This could go on for days, months and even years. This constant communication volleyball is so crucial that once someone stops sending the communication ball flying over the net, the relationship ends just like when someone decides to stop playing the game and walk away.

Lessons:
2.1 The whole theory of dating does not just apply to the context of a boy-girl relationship. It works for parents and children and friends.
2.2 Listening is as important as talking. Sometimes there could be no better response than to just listen.
2.3 Selfishness does not figure prominently in a relationship. A monologue (mo-no-lo-gu in Japanese) ensues instead of a dialogue.
2.4 Someone can choose to stop playing the game when it is no longer amusing.
2.5 If dating has a theory, I am sure a theory also exists as to why people choose not to date.

To close this entry, here is an interesting (and funny) email I got from a friend today.

Dear Tech Support:

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 5.0 to
Husband 1.0 and noticed a slowdown in the
overall performance, particularly in the flower and
jewelry applications that had operated flawlessly
under Boyfriend 5.0.

In addition, Husband 1.0 un-installed many
other valuable programs, such as Romance 9.5
and Personal Attention 6.5, but installed
undesirable programs such as NFL 5.0 and NBA
3.0. And now Conversation 8.0 no longer runs and
House Cleaning 2.6 simply crashes the system.

I've tried running Nagging 5.3 to fix these
problems, but to no avail. What can I do?

Signed,
Desperate


Dear Desperate:

First keep in mind, Boyfriend 5.0 is an
entertainment package, while Husband 1.0 is an
operation system.

Try entering the command C:\ I THOUGHT
YOU LOVED ME and download Tears 6.2 to
install Guilt 3.0.

If all works as designed, Husband 1.0 should
then automatically run the applications Jewelry 2.0
and Flowers 3.5. But remember, overuse can
cause Husband 1.0 to default to Grumpy Silence
2.5, Happy Hour 7.0 or Beer 6.1. Beer 6.1 is a
very bad program that will create Snoring
Loudly.Wav files.

Whatever you do, DO NOT install Mother-In-
Law 1.0 or re-install another Boyfriend program.
These are not supported applications and will
crash Husband 1.0.

In summary, Husband 1.0 is a great program,
but it does have a limited memory and cannot
learn new applications quickly. You might
consider additional software to improve memory
and performance. I personally recommend Hot
Food 3.0 and Lingerie 6.9.

Good Luck,

Tech Support

December Love Song: A Mix of Opposites

Two weeks ago, I was sitting in a computer cafe in the U-belt area, having the time of my life downloading MP3s from different Asian artists. Despite the muddle which was the World Wide Web, I was able to come across a website which could be considered a treasure trove for an MP3 hunter for Asian songs like me. *Looks around cautiously* The computer cafe was powered by a DSL connection so I was downloading more MP3s than usual - A*Mei, BoA, Tamaki Nami, Cherry Filter, The Pillows, Maaya Sakamoto, Twins and even the opening and closing songs from several anime titles. Asian songs are very difficult to find in local record bars. Scouring the shelves would just yield albums from the following artists: F4 (including their solo albums), 5566, Harlem Yu, Jolin Tsai, Utada Hikaru (naturally!) and (the sole representative from Korea) BoA.

Having a preference for Mandarin pop, I scrolled over to that section of the website. To no surprise, my favorite Mando pop singer Wang Lee Hom was listed. Having fallen deeply inlove with his songs, I shall dedicate one entry to him and to him alone. Hehehehe...I sound like a inane teenager. Anyway, I still checked the list to see if there were any songs there which I had not yet heard. I basically had all...except one. It was a song entitled Shi Er Yu De Qing Ge which in English means December Love Song. I read the artist credits and saw that it was actually a duet with Gackt (pronounced Ga-Ku-To), a popular Japanese singer and former vocalist for a visual kei band, with whom Lee Hom co-starred with a few years back in a movie called Moonchild.

Wang Lee Hom (center) and Gackt Camui (second from right) with their co-stars from the movie Moonchild, including Gackt's fellow J-Rock icon, L'Arc-en-Ciel frontman Hyde (second from left).

My ignorance of J-Rock (or K-Rock for that matter) is really deplorable. Having listened to a few songs from that genre, I still gravitate towards songs from local alternative and indie rock groups. Add to that the fact that in my junior year in college, a classmate of mine loved J-Rock and once carried a magazine which featured one of her crushes. I was looking through it and found myself half-curious, half-shocked that the people in the magazine pages looked androgynous. Pop is definitely more universal, despite the language...thus the name. I was fifteen when I first saw Utada Hikaru on MTV and I felt a certain affiliation for her music even if I didn't understand a single word she said...well, except the lines "It's automatic." But as for rock and alternative music, I prefer to stick to songs I can understand.

My hesitation to listen to the song was fuelled by the fact that I knew that the song was an original by Gackt (originally entitled 12 Gatsu no Love Song in Japanese). Given his visual kei background, I was wary about how his duet with Lee Hom, a hip-hop/R&B pillar in the Mando pop music scene, would come out. But despite the fear of disappointment, I was also interested in how the voices of both would blend. I started visualizing Ashanti doing a duet with Steven Tyler. Later on I gave in and decided to listen to it, rationalizing that I never heard Gackt sing in the first place. Dragging the song into Media Player gave me the best musical journey I had ever been on.

The song starts out with the familiar intro of a typical Christmas song - faraway bells. Then a soft, short instrumental (I'm suspecting it's violin) makes an entrance followed, finally, by Gackt singing the first verse. His voice is deep and dark with an interesting mix of classical tremolo roughened up by a bit of rock flair. It was like listening to a father sing a song to his little daughter that I soon found myself closing my eyes to further absorb the emotion Gackt was putting into the song.

Then my eyes fluttered open when I was jolted by sudden beating of drums to signal the start of the chorus. I immediately heard a various array of instruments, their respective sounds blending with each other, intertwined in a haunting melody - guitars strummed, drums pounded, violins bowed, piano keys struck. As if that were not enough for my poor heart, Lee Hom joined Gackt in singing the chorus. Together, their voices sounded with such exquisite richness I almost forgot to breathe. It conjured images of Gackt singing in a stage with curtains drawn, all drab and dark except for a lone spotlight focused on him. Then all of a sudden, floodlights are switched on in a split second and the curtains are raised, revealing a full orchestra in the background and Lee Hom somewhere near him. Everything seems to be drowning in the brightness of light in the entirety of the chorus.

After the chorus, the song flows into second verse, reverting into its former quiet nature. Once again the Yuletide feel was ushered back thanks to the soft chiming bells. Softer percussion follows along with plucked guitar strings. Lee Hom sings the second verse and knocks me off my seat. I have listened to this song countless times that had it been recorded on magnetic tape, there would be none left now but shreds of it, yet everytime this part comes, I always cannot help but smile. Lee Hom's smooth, lush voice greatly contrasts yet perfectly complements Gackt's rougher rendition, it seems like watching water cascade over a rock - soothing and quiet, almost like sunlight streaking through a canopy of trees.

The entire song itself is a harmonious blend of opposites: rough and smooth, loud and soft, faraway and imminent. However if there is one constant thing about the song, it would have to be the intensity. The alternating entrance and exit of opposites would give the impression that the energy dips and rises in every available opportunity but it does not. The instrumental portion even allows this showcase of contrast - melodious interlude from possible woodwind instruments punctuated by heavy percussion.

Gackt and Lee Hom sing their hearts out until the end, even belting in the climactic portion of the song. Lee Hom's signature "Ooooohhhs" make several appearances. Gackt even seemed to be influenced a bit by Lee Hom as evidened by his occasional "Heys" and "Nooooos." The ending of the song is not entirely sudden though not completely anticipated. It was like slipping slowly into nothingness but getting the chance to bid farewell. As the last strains of the song disappeared, I was only too disappointed to know it had finally ended - after seven minutes and 2 seconds of auditory rollercoaster.

POSTSCRIPT: Lee Hom fans loved the collaboration with Gackt. Gackt fans however were apalled by the temporary on-the-verge-of-pop transformation of their rocker idol and openly declared they preferred the original Japanese version. *smiles* These are the English lyrics of December Love Song. I have been searching the Internet for the Pinyin version of the lyrics so I could sing along to Gackt and Lee Hom too. After two weeks, I was met with success...IN AN AYUMI HAMASAKI FORUM of all places!!! *laughs*

December Love Song

The evening lights, coloring the night's busy avenues,
down the street brings back memories of you.

Now I am watching, as lovers pass me by,
finding your shadows, in the views of my eyes

Now I am here, all alone
Remembering the time we used to laugh together
in the fall of the cold
I still think of you,
Wondering if you feel the same

CHORUS:
Save, your smile for me,
even although you cry for me
Remember me and love me always

Love, and smile for me,
Hold on to all that we had
remembering and love me again

I'm so depressed living , a quiet life now,
There is no one here, in which to hold hands,
or protect me from the cold
Feeling like this loneliness will tear me apart
I am waiting and looking for you voice
To get me out of the dark

Snowflakes fall like the tears that running down my face
I wanna hold you just one more time
I think of you night and day
Wondering if you feel the same

Being in the silence of the night
Fall into my arms and I'll hold you so tight
My kiss will guide our missing hearts
and tell me you'll love again

Save, your smile for me,
even although you cry for me
remember me and love me always

Love, and smile for me,
Hold on to all that we had
remembering and love me again.

The Great Flood

The Bible gives an account of the great flood that wiped the face of the earth clean during the time of Noah:

"The waters rose and increased greatly on the earth...and all the high mountains under the entire heavens were covered...every living thing that moved on the earth perished...everything on dry land that had breath of life in its nostrils died." (Genesis 7:18-23)

I had my own version about two weeks ago:

"The waters rose and increased greatly on the room...and the thinning grey carpet and wood-tiled floor were covered...every living cockroach that crawled in the deepest cracks and crevices perished...everything on dry land that had some form of breath of life in its nostrils died, including the laptop adapter."

I was jolted out of a really good sleep by our helper at seven in the morning. My mind was barely registering what she had said because I had slept at three in the morning after a really fun YM session with Anna. "Baha...baha," she kept on repeating. My half-asleep brain lit up with a bit of life and so I asked "Did it rain?" The next thing I hear was sloshing as she made her way to the phone. I get off the bed and instantly come in contact with cold water that almost reached my ankle.

Apparently I had a really good sleep...too good to even hear or notice that the water hose under the kitchen sink had come off (blame it on age says the plumber) and practically sprayed water into the room, transforming it into water wonderland in a matter of hours. Water does wake you up, especially when you're standing on it. I splashed around, assessing the damage. Most of the furniture were mounted on wooded stands, especially the sofa, so the damage was minimal...for our part. We opened the door and realized that the hallway was slowly showing the beginnings of what could be a Rio Grande in a matter of minutes, not to mention water getting into our neighbors. Panic began to surge but reached its pinnacle when our helper pointed something to me. "Your laptop adapter." I whirled around (slosh) and ran (more slosh slosh slosh). The laptop adapter practically looked like a little black flatboat rocked by waves which obviously came from my sloshing. I was not thinking and did the most stupid thing ever. All I could ever think about was the submerged laptop adapter and how much it was going to cost me. Yes, to cut a long story short and to wind down to the most stupid of my actions, I picked it up. Like I said, my head was not right. I was thinking what the sogging wet adapter was going to do to my pocket, but not to myself in terms of a casket, Coke and biscuits for the wake and a gravesite with a dark tombstone and nice yellow daisies. I got a sudden (but not too much) jolt of electricity, just in time for the electrician to walk in and see me. He turned off the main switch for us.

So I spent almost the entire morning trying to dry up the wet floor and the dripping rug. The kitchen hose was replaced with a new one and I tried to console myself about the laptop adapter (it had scratches anyway). I particularly enjoyed mopping and sweeping the floor and seeing dead roaches at every corner. After lunch, my eyes began to give way and one of my last thoughts before I drifted off to sleep was how to keep my ears perked up for ominous sounds and how utterly brainless I was for picking up the sogging adapter.