Adventurero!!!!!!!!!!!=:-)

source: http://style-anywhere.com/2009/05/29/jerome-lorico/

How do you start writing when you don't have something interesting to write about?

Maybe that predicament was the dominant reason why i stopped posting for a long while.

Or maybe i just started doing a lot lately that to write religiously for a blog site is another burden.

Aside from the fact that my system is filled with stress, I am living with value meals and take out dinners from McDonald's, Jollibee, and Wendy's.

I dread the moment that i need to head home in my boarding house. My room is just inches away from bursting from all the things and laundry that haven't been given attention for months.

Moving out and looking for a new place to thrive on is my mission now. And i couldn't wait to set my foot in a new street, new room, new address.

And a new alarm clock.

I AM FORMALLY OPENING MY GUEST LIST FOR MY SHOW FOR THE PHILIPPINE FASHION WEEK. ANYONE WHO WANTS TO WATCH THE SHOW PLEASE MESSAGE ME WITH YOUR COMPLETE NAME AND ADDRESS AS DIRECTED BY RUNWAY PRODUCTIONS. SEE YOU ALL ON THE 28TH OF MAY 9:30 PM AT THE SMX CONVENTION CENTER. =:-)

The capital is bathing in moisture and dark clouds.

I woke up with the sun gently looking through my window. I imagined a humid day in the city again, but it was only when I finally went out of my room that I noticed that Manila is transformed into a gloom city. It is the perfect time I suppose to be melodramatic. To write poems, write, sing in the bathroom, and visit an old friend. But then again, I think it’s not appropriate.

Every old thing that people used to find kind and romantic folded away with the gray streak of melancholy of this city. People got tired. And they also found everything corny and over rated.

This actually makes me feel gray. Gray as the tone of what I’m referring as the city that should be full of life and opportunity.  I always thought this place is a blooming flower for me, with the buildings and concrete as its petals, the dust and smoke as the pollen, and the hidden life and vibe as its nectar. And people like me who work and hunt for food and shelter are the bees who need to suck every little element that is served on the garden.  

Summer is a week away.

That’s another week of struggle. Of waking up under the moisture and humidity of the metro. Of never ending steps towards an appointment. Another seven days of complete techno rush and stress induced by things that either blinks red, green, or orange.

Oh well, at the end of this is a tunnel leading to a pause.

That should very well start right now.

Long before i ended up doing fashion, i used to design home accessories for my aunt's handicraft business. Usually, i would study a material, say a new way of weaving abaca. And from that i would sit with a pencil and a bulk of paper. I design some of our products apart from those which are just raw and consumer friendly materials which they can manipulate and use according to their own ideas. I remember these abaca balls which we use to produce and export. We export them to France and we submit them to trend shows and expositions abroad. One of these items appears below. And i vividly recall how hard it was for us to produce that order because of frequent rains and the lack of model which we can use as the mold for the huge light orbs. They are woven randomly in their specific molds and are attached to a circular metal ring on their mouths to give way for the final finishing of the product in China.



They used to come in pastel shades until i decided to try them in black.











I thought they just use them as home accessories specifically as lamps until i saw these images.....










Amazing.

And if ever McQueen is reading this, please leave me a message. I need an internship under your house.

NOW NA!!!!
=:-)

Where are you?

You, who will eat dirty ice cream like it's better than all Hagen Dazes.

You, who will watch films like you're watching sunsets on a boulevard, tireless and still.

To be in love again is to see someone like you. To be fond of someone again is to find someone who will hold me just like you do. Someone who will forever be shy to look in my eyes because I am just as shy to look into yours.

Will I ever find you in someone else's eyes? When I know that you're out there? Somewhere in a place where you could be smiling? Could someone with a different name bear the same mystery of your timid face? Or a sky that could even mimic that same serenity that I find in your voice?

To love again is to find you, in a road. Where I am continuously imagining you to be waiting for me. Would it be too much? To wish again on a faint star in a clouded dark night sky?

Should I dream again, like I used to do before? Under a blanket of fireworks and pillows of cigarette smoke? And in the dust of the night, before a revelry, should I lie again to myself, that you would ever return to realize how much I waited. How much I tried to be patient. And how much years strengthened my convulsive passion over an unreachable emotion.

Should I be part of an eclectic magnitude of your absent cosmos? A phantom in your being, clear and placid like water flowing between your fingers. How I wish I can cling in your fragile porcelain hands. But I am fluid, and soon I did evaporated In the warmth of your presence.

Now how could I return? To go back under the spell of a delirious young feeling? How could I remember? When all I see are horizons, and melting ice cubes in a glass of beer. Solid ice like my emotions which will soon turn to nothingness.

I can't believe I spent the first hour of my birthday in 7-11.

Not the typical area of a party scene, I was surrounded by detergents, canned goods, chocolate bars, a green trash bin, and some magazines coated in cheap thin plastic reminiscent of those clear plastic food wraps for sandwiches in my lunch box when I was in kindergarten school.

Time leaps. It makes you feel left out and somehow you don't want to think about it but yes, you are towards the aging process. Where you know you'd grow more facial hair, more acne scars, brittle hair, and all that vanity connected to being  young would soon vanish like a birthday candle being blown over an icing filled cake.

The closest thing to a birthday cake that I received was a cupcake from MISTER DONUT. My friends' bought this candle and limply buried it into a generic pastry for my birthday last year. Aside from that, I don't remember a particular time where your playmates or classmates would gather around you with their tongues animatedly hanging from their mouths because they wanted to do the blowing of the birthday candle for you. Never in my life that I placed a party hat in my head as I wait for everyone to finish their hurried happy birthday song just so they can cut the cake already. That's still my frustration. And I don't know why.

I found myself in MC DONALD'S. And weird as it may seem. I ordered a KIDDIE MEAL. This should be alarming but I found joy with what I did. I enjoyed the sweet spaghetti and the toy that goes with it. I added an apple pie, and a large fries. I wanted to treat myself.

In the early hours of the morning, I am struggling to compose an eloquent or maybe a mature enough article that can prove that I am indeed growing. How I wish I am smarter. How I wish I am more aware of what I can do and what I cannot do. But above everything, I wish that I could make the people dear to me feel that they really are dear to me. I am a silent chunk of bones and muscles, but I hope they can see through that.

This day would be over in less than 20 hours. And what I just did today would be history. But I felt special in my own way. I felt that I can make myself feel special without anyone patting my back. Tomorrow would be just another day. And that is just a shame.

I am very much aware that I have a huge appetite. But at this moment I wasn't even able to finish half of the food that I bought. For all we know, it could mean that my stomach is not quite up to large servings of food anymore. I am deeply wishing it means that I am actually growing into the youthful me again. To the time when I can't even finish a sandwich sealed in my kindergarten lunchbox.

A barely empty bottle of mineral water, two cellphones, a pack of cigarettes, and some calorie and oil filled fries and garlic burger stare back at me.

I love it whenever I feel inanimate objects to be taking life and giving me attention. It gives me a different kind of high. It gives me a unique sense of creative pang and drive. And to prove this, my ten fingers are now busy typing away in a black plastic key board. Every key is a joy whenever I press them down. They feel like cushions. Comfortable and soft on my finger tips.


I want to blog this emotion now. This easy and weird feeling of perpetual experience. When you don't have anything to worry about but the rising sun in a few hours. When you can't think of problems anymore because you know they can be solved. When you can't feel any kind of fear because you know they're just products of active pigments of our imaginations.


Right now alcohol is still running in my system. I like it that way. It eases everything. Like a controlled dose of drug that's taming the active molecules in my plasma that can surge an upcoming emotional tide.


Let me tell you about this boy who went to the city. He walked and decided to run. He was fascinated and so he chose to travel the miles. He is adventurous and he was filled with vigor that no one could ever measure. And this made him into a different person. He felt different in his own shoes. But he's aware that somehow he can still turn back. As the traffic in the capital continues to keep him awake, he realizes that sleeping is the only escape. And that being awake is the only way to move.


The bottle of mineral water lies quiet. The two cellphones remain silent from incoming messages. The pack of cigarettes are untouched, and the fries and burger from a nearby fast-food chain starts to get cold. The plastic bags rustle due to the artificial winds from two wall fans. They are the only things supplying the noise. Outside the cars are mad because of the absence of traffic. The wind is cold and the darkness is a soothing spell.


Inside me I feel empty. Like a book filled with words yet inanimate and would never be able to read his own self. In my capsuled brain I feel that I am getting smarter as time goes by. The clock hits three in the morning. Millions of people are sleeping, but I chose to stay awake. Amidst the fear of being permanently being sleepless and fond of staring on blank walls.


One day I will tell you again the story about this boy who went to city. He who realized that sleeping is the only escape and that being awake is the only way to move. But I was hoping he would give a different ending. A different stanza that can differ a generic book that could be lying somewhere in the darkness of the night.

SOURCE: http://www.stylebible.ph/gallery.php?id=535&p=1

 

WE MADE IT TO THE 2009 CINEMALAYA INDEPENDENT FILM FESTIVAL AND COMPETITION!!!!!!!=:-)

I'M STILL AWAKE IN THE WEE HOURS OF THE MORNING WHEN I DECIDED TO CHECK CHUVANESS. AND WHAT I FOUND LITERALLY JERKED ME OFF MY SEAT AND SENT CAFFEINE JITTERS INTO MY SLEEPY NERVES.

 

 

BEHOLD:

 

 

CHARO IN PHILIPPINE FASHION WEEK WEARING MY DESIGN

 

AND....

 

 

JESSICA JOFFE

 

 

WHATCHATHINK?????

 

 

PHOTO CREDITS: www.chuvaness.livejournal.com

 

And so it was done.

After a time of intense stress and hyperactivity, I am back to my "GO WITH THE FLOW" attitude. Suddenly after a gruesome stage, every cellular membrane in my body is floating like a tiny pinprick red balloon hundreds of feet way up in a clear blue sky. But only now, I must contest, that the weather won't permit such an apparition to occur. But even so, my own private piece of sky is clearing.

Fashion Week ended weeks ago, but i can still feel the vibe in my veins. I am recovering but the "hang over" is still there. This could mean good or maybe not. But I am feeling OK. The fact that I'm writing again is enough proof.




I have a lot of stories to tell. And as i start to recuperate, I will try to tell them piece by piece. Give me a few days. And I will fire away. But for now, I just want to share with you the three main images that solidified my collections this Fashion Week. I would like to thank the people behind every image. Milo Sogueco, Doc Marlon Pecjo, Roy Macam, Gay Domingo, Noel Flores, Diane de Castro, Dimple Callada, Adrian Go, and to my mystery model. Thank you so much guys!!!