05.29.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 9:04 am by Miracle ♪♫
Why make-up?
Is it an endeavor for beauty?
What is beauty anyway? Artificially luscious red lips? Framing one’s eyes azure? Having Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” plastered on our faces? (Oh, please, we have canvases for that.) Not to mention glitter… on human skin? It is unthinkable!
Is it for concealing?
Concealing what exactly? Our actual selves? Who we truly are? Yet at the same time we ironically plead to be loved for who we “really” are?
(Alright, disguising a pimple on a significant occasion, I can forgive.)
Is it to feign age? Well, I can be lenient to menopause-ing women who are barely in their right minds. As for younger women, make-up does help us feign age… instead of being in our twenties, we can actually fool people to thinking we’re in our teen thirties!
Is it to become sexually attractive?
To secretly wallow in delight if we cause a man to drool? To make legions whistle at our sight so we may act annoyed but sincerely flattered inside? Goodness, why make-up to simply become live baits and end up terrified if a man eventually seizes bait?!
I am concerned at the realization that make-up has emerged as a subtle and crafty drug that has countless women addicted. They are enslaved to this devious material that many even become immobilized and unappeasable without it.
So… why make-up?
Christen me Weird, but I behold the most sublime mortal beauty in a pure sleeping face and during a person’s first waking moments… that’s physical beauty in its best. Raw… unstained… unmade-up.
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05.24.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 7:40 pm by Miracle ♪♫
Mysterious? I was
quite puzzled when a cousin I have never met commented that about me recently,
and that has not been the first time a person has stated that a propos myself.
I admit a tendency where I cajole myself with such remarks
as I envisage those female enigmas from South American novels, and Europe’s baffling Gypsy women (thus my former Multiply.com’s heading; Tzigane Incarnate). On the other hand, I consider such
observations quite odd.
It is a fact that I am rarely seen in public domains. This is because my “night-life” is preferably spent mentally
discoing or cozying up with Nobel winners, Oxford graduates, and other
peculiar minds. I get intoxicated on
their philosophies and party on their luminous ideas as I desperately imbibe even the most trivial droplets. Yet, this does not make me mysterious.
(Wow, I was not even aware that “discoing” is
an accepted term).
It is also a certainty that most people in my neighborhood obtains
only a whiff of the arousing aroma of the daily espresso I concoct and heed the
sound of the piano and violin without ever seeing the struggling performer
behind the tunes. Still, this does not
qualify me as mysterious.
My headless photographs and paintings with faces turned
away, they still disclose a quantity of ideas. The “about me” section of my Friendster account is rather plump with
personal descriptions… and my blog - it does articulate so much!
Notwithstanding, people continue to ask about the base of
the iceberg.
I do not mind being asked, but do grant me liberty not to
elucidate every distinct detail and tolerate me to shelve some personal
elements, lest I mislead you by mistake. So by my candid choice of words, colors and
melodies, you may endeavor to unearth and discover who I am wholly.
Then shall you see me… beyond swathes of vagueness and
ambiguity. Then shall you seize what is beneath
the tip of the iceberg. Then shall you
say, “Miracle Romano… I know her… she is not that mysterious after all.”
For I know that deep inside every reflective human being alleges a silent beseeching, “Know who I truly am…without having to ask me.”
…but on the other hand…
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05.21.07
Posted in 2007 Mosaic at 11:10 am by Miracle ♪♫
These are the jargon and burbles that sanction me as a faulty writer… but this is my blog, my own infinitesimal territory in cyberspace, and this time I will inundate it with the outflow of thoughts that involve other people - the very same thoughts that may not even matter to the selfsame people. Still… I begin…
For a supreme friend of a cured friendship. Recently you provided me with the closure and resolution that I have longed for in years of vexatious counterpoints. Thank you for preventing me from losing you forever. I am more than grateful for You, and for Time – whether it be Mayan time or Filipino.
To another woman. A man is not a seasonal fad. You cannot simply ignore him for a time and decide to “love” him again when you are less busy. Perhaps the reason that even triggered you to contact him again is not even love, but the sole realization that he may have sought refuge in another heart. He is not merely a preserved face in a frozen time as a photograph, he has feelings, too. You are an intellectual, they say. I must be so moronic since I cannot recognize any sense or comprehend how one can love that way. I do not despise you, but to understand you more, I pray.
To yet another woman. You were the exclusive person who shunned me officially. Thank you for denouncing that title. It feels wonderful to return on being un-hated.
To an individual who knows how much I love. Thank you so much.
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Posted in Life Betwixt Book Covers at 11:09 am by Miracle ♪♫
by Anais Nin
“The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.”
“If
you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing,
or sing in writing, then don’t write…”
“It
is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar
with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as
if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.”
What You Need To Be A Writer
by Erica Jong
…to be
a writer
what you need
is
something
to say:
something
that burns
like a hot coal
in your gut
something
that pounds
like a pump
in your groin
and the courage
to love
like a wound
that never
heals.
by Sidonie
Gabrielle Claudine - Collette
“To write! It means the lengthy dreaming
before the spotless sheet; the unconscious scribbling, and the idle play of the
pen as it circles round and round a blot, and nibbles and scratches at the
inaccurate word, till it is bristling with tiny darts, ornamented with feelers
and legs, and finally, losing its legible word-from, becomes transformed into a
grotesque insect, and as rapidly converted into a fairy butterfly.
To write! It means the rapt, hypnotized
gaze, caught by the reflected window in the silver inkstand. It means the
burning of divine fever on cheek and brow, while a delightful death chills the
hand that chases words upon the paper. It means oblivion of time, the idle
nestling in the corner of the couch while yielding free reign to a very riot of
invention. It means emerging from the debauch all tired and stupefied, but
already richly rewarded, and the bearer of great wealth to be poured slowly out
upon the virgin page in the circlet of light sheltering under the lamp!
Oh, to write! To pour out furiously all the
sincerity within one on the tempting page, swiftly, quickly, till the hand
struggles, stumbles, is exhausted by the impatient god that rides it so hard!
And then, next morning, instead of finding a golden branch burst into bloom in
one flaming hour, to gather only a withered briar—an imperfect blossom!”
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05.12.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 8:18 am by Miracle ♪♫
My rationale of why Mother’s Day is nonsensical.
-
Somebody once said, “What I am defending is the real rights
of women. A woman should have the right to be in the home as a wife and mother.” Thus I can nobly claim that my mom has practiced her rights to bounteous extents. Not only does she embrace a life at home with her family as a wife and mother, but also as a teacher, and a symbol of love.
-
The word “difficult” falls short of describing the stage when she and Papa decided to have us home-schooled and raise us in an unconventional system. In a place where minds of people are bigoted, she persevered despite the hostility and degrading rumors.
-
I am aware that it is not easy for a University Scholar at UP Diliman to ignore abundant career offers in the metropolis and instead choose a provincial and simple life for the sake of her family – although simple in the sense of materialism, but extraordinary and abundant in all the right fields. She was and continues to be an over-full-time mother and wife having only returned love as a salary. For her this is the highest salary one could ever think of.
-
Like all mothers, she has flaws, and she rarely hides them…
and like all mothers, they see our flaws but will correct and hide them… and that alone is a most wonderful gift.
-
Besides the fact that we are gender partners, and even though I love each member of my family equally, Mama seems to be the closest person to me in a way I cannot elucidate. We are anchors to each other’s emotions and relationships, and we share a bond like no other.
-
Her heart is an abode of forgiveness and love and in her bosom she bears the blueprint of my soul. She is my home.
-
“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.” That is how my mother is.
She is my real Alma Mater in the most veritable sense… and one’s motherhood is too remarkable and wonderful to simply be consigned and celebrated within 24 hours, out of 8765.81277 each year.
Let Hallmark be happy today, but let us treat our moms as if it were (and as it should be) Mother’s Day everyday.
“Motherly love is the fuel that enables a normal human being
to do the impossible.”
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05.08.07
Posted in Uncategorized at 11:49 pm by Miracle ♪♫
If I stripped you bare…
If I desquamated the substantiality
of you being an artist by heart,
I would still see you as a
nonpareil violinist and musician.
…but then if I sheared your reputation
as an impassioned violinist marveled by women,
I would still beam at you as a notable writer.
…and yet if I disregarded the actuality
of you being a wordsmith,
there would be the bookworm and literati
I find myself drawn to.
…but if I pared you
of your knowledge literature-wise,
your likeness to Jude Law would probably be
a reason to make me stick around. =P
…and yet again, if I stripped you bare
from all these attributes…
I would still be left with a beautiful soul…
and no one can take that away.
…but then, I cannot strip you bare
from all these qualities,
And I can only be grateful for knowing you
and having you by my side as a brother,
teacher, bestfriend - or anything we wish
ourselves to be.
I love you dearly… =)
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