end/less

a loop, a routine;
it makes me fall in
(makes you fall out of)

the 1+4+3 bin

=8, infinity.
i go back again
and it’s only me–

a loop, a routine.


© 2009 Cat Ramos

August 10, 2009 @ 2:45am

Markers are Forever

Markers are meant to be permanent. It’s the kind you want to write on your boxes when you’re moving out and shipping packages. Or for presentations on a manila paper, old school style. It’s not my most favorite piece of writing instrument because I am notoriously known as someone with an illegible writing with bonus doodles on the side. I write fast but not in the “automatic writing” sense because that would classify me as creepy.

It’s a different thing with whiteboard markers. It’s temporary when used on plastic-ky surfaces, obviously on whiteboards. You write on the board, you erase it, it’s gone, and you write again. It’s a great invention, really. You could write or doodle forever and change your mind; the whiteboard marker just doesn’t care. I like it because they’re so easy...to remove.

But it’s a disaster when you write with a permanent marker on a whiteboard surface. Once it’s there, it’s there. Any attempt on erasing it with an acetone or soap is practically futile. Not to mention the easiest and most convenient ‘cleansing’ material available for emergency cases, the alcohol, makes it even worse. It’s always a misconception that alcohol can totally remove or dissolve anything unwanted. But it just dilutes the problem, even spreading it. Alcohol is not that reliable sometimes.

The board can somewhat still be functional but the stain always gets in the way. It’s still there, microscopically speaking. Well, the marks could fade a little but it’s never completely removed. There will always be distractions. Magulong intindihin, mahirap nang basahin.

As suggested by a friend of mine, there is probably one solution for this problem. How ever unpopular it is, it could still work. Apparently, this tip came to me through word of mouth or for lack of a better term, a hearsay. This is some chismis that I cannot ignore and I ought to try it myself. Many people have tried it and it worked, according to them. There’s even an instruction from Wikihow on this.

Steps on how to erase marks left by permanent marker on a whiteboard (my shortcut version):

1. Get a whiteboard marker.

2. Outline or shade the marks of the permanent marker on the board using the whiteboard marker.

3. Once completely shaded, get an eraser.

4. Erase all.

Expected result: All marks will be removed.

So I did try it. There was one large whiteboard in the office with permanent marks all over it (figures, drawings, notes). The condition of the board was poor and no longer useful for presentations. It was a good board to experiment on. So I got myself a black whiteboard marker and followed the steps on how to remove it. I shaded it, outlined it, tried erasing it and Voila! It failed. Even the whiteboard marker ink could not be erased. It became permanent. Now it just compounded the problem.

You may say, something must be wrong with the temporary whiteboard marker. Or maybe it was clearly the permanent marker’s fault. Or even the eraser’s. You could even blame it on the given set of instructions. But rarely do we think about the board itself. I found my answer through this.

At a glance, the board may look like a victim of misused permanent markers. But if you examine closely the surface of this board, you would notice small scratches, little wounds that it has collected over time because of numerous marks and erasures. And here’s the catch: The original unremovable marks were not really caused by a permanent marker but by a whiteboard marker instead. Even the temporary becomes permanent if your board is a mess.

Removing something permanent through something temporary is unusual and at the same time, effective. For some.

But not for me this time. I’d rather fix the board first.

© 2009 Cat Ramos

Give Me a Numb3r

I just realized how important numbers are. Its numeric symbolism, I mean. Although I am someone who is pretty much average with mathematics in academic sense, I think I love it now.

Numbers never lie. Whenever I see a number, like a “7” for example, it really is the number seven. No hidden meaning there and I know this number will not turn into something else, like “8” or “9”. It’s such a no-brainer, easy to figure out. It is what it is.

It’s different with words though. It lies. It denies. It evolves. It conceals. It’s the devil himself.

How many times have I encountered people (myself included) who have been deceived because of words? Countless. Or in my current numeric fascination, I can say it’s probably around 1,404* times to date and it’s just my statistics alone. If there’s one business I would surely like to venture on in the future because it would definitely be a hit, it should have something to do with words. Laway lang ang puhunan.

Everyday brings us new entries to our vocabulary of words. No wonder the dictionary is getting thicker and thicker each time. Rarely do I come across words that expire. It takes a couple of hundreds of years before it vanishes completely, as Latin as it may be. But then again, the Roman Catholics still use Latin in high mass so it hasn’t died yet, in a way. Not too mention the common phrases or quotes we frequently use in philosophy, i.e. In vino veritas - The truth is in wine; A drunk person tells the truth.

Words never die. And if it does, it reincarnates and attaches itself to our thoughts and yes, feelings. Then it stays there for awhile until we hear another set of words to replace the previous ones. It’s practically a cycle.

Maybe there’s a glitch with words. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the people who tell them. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the people who believe them. Are we that gullible?

There must be a good set of instructions on how to single out the truest of words when it comes out of one’s mouth. While growing up, we were taught how to be honest, to always tell the truth and that liars go to hell. But there were no lessons on how to detect a lie or a bluff. How come these are not taught in school?

For now, I’d rather stick with numbers. It’s the epitome of the WYSIWYG principle that I’ve been adapting lately. It’s credible, precise, and most of all, no bullsh_t.

Playing poker is another subject.

*My age x 52 weeks, conservatively speaking

© 2009 Cat Ramos

Saunafab /

Today, I realized that my bathroom has turned into a mini sauna. I’m not sure if this is a blessing in disguise for me. The last time I went to a sauna was in 2006 when I was still enrolled at Gold’s Gym. However, I never maximized the perk that went with the membership maybe because I am never fond of anything that has got to do with heat and perspiration. But with the combination of heat, perspiration, and pleasure, that’s another matter.

So I went in my bathroom, closed the door, removed all articles of clothing and stood there. The exhaust fan of my bathroom was in a frenzy and it did not relieve me from the summer heat. No difference when I still had my clothes on.  A minute passed by, standing in stationary pretty much reminded me of the sauna bath I had at the gym. Thick air entered my lungs and I started to sweat. It seemed like a claustrophobic encounter minus the panic.

What I like most about the bathroom is that it adjusts to me. I can always step in the shower and wash away all the heat that I felt a few minutes ago or I can just stand there and appreciate the sauna effect I just recently discovered. I can always make a choice.

But some choices can only be made there, when you’re the only one who can go through the effect of your decisions. Decisions outside the shower curtain or beyond the tiles are always tough, especially if we deal with the temporary summer heat or the long-term effects of global warming.

As much as I would like to influence the weather or the uncontrollable external forces (probably Darth Vader’s fault), I cannot. My power lies only within the constraints of my bathroom and my bathroom alone. I am thankful.

I choose to turn the shower knob and let the water pour down on me.

I feel cold.

 

© 2009 Cat Ramos

'Tis You

If I could buy something one of these days, it would be a new man. Yup, you read that right. 

I would like to ward off people who seem to act like they’re an authority when it comes to settling down just because they happen to be recently married. I say this to all the dear smart alecs who are trying to recruit me to join the marital norm ASAP, if they have been successfully and happily married for over 30 years and are sincerely satisfied with it (in terms of financial and sexual aspects most especially), now would be the best time to tell me what to do or ask questions about me getting hitched because I would assume they would be that credible given the strength of their union over that span. If not, they should just talk about the weather or GFC. Or better yet, if they do feel like telling me what to do, they better have a candidate, a preferred Mr. Right for me, when they ask me pointblank the usual when-are-you-getting-married question.

I don't know if I need to let out an SMS campaign that I am recently unattached (read: emotional break) and in no mood right now to actively hunt for a lifetime male partner so I could avoid other people’s pseudo-wishes slash greetings to me about my current non-interest in marriage. I noticed this is becoming a common subject these days when trying to start a conversation along with the used-to-be off topics like age and weight. Like yesterday, I got a text message that goes, “Hi, kamusta? Kelan ka pakasal?”. It even came from someone I haven't heard in ages! I am annoyed. 

I don't small talk about the subject of relationship status unless I volunteer to bring it up in a 1/8-meant, joking manner. Otherwise, I would assume they are doing my biography or probably just wants to know about my personal life because they really really like me a lot (especially if they’re men). How sweet.

As for buying myself a man, it’s a pretty good idea. It is a very sound solution to temporarily stop all the wonderings and naggings bluntly directed to single females within my age bracket from these ‘concerned’ not-so-close friends or acquaintances. Except for the usual SOP questions during family reunions and other get-togethers, I can tolerate that if it comes from relatives because they are naturally nosy. It’s forgivable. 

If there’s a decent guy out there who is willing to have himself bought by my allotted budget of PhP16.00, it would be a perfect ploy. However, I doubt if there’s such a decent guy. Yet, how can we be sure that the rest of the free and cannot-be-bought male population is 100% decent? 

I am a notorious spender for something I truly crave like some of the overly materialistic investments, err, unpractical things I’ve bought over the years (disclaimer: I’m no longer like that now, yup). But since I do not have the drive to be stuck long-term with a guy at this very moment, that amount is enough.  I want this man to be as disposable as a roll of tissue like the cheap 2-ply China-made wipers that most so-called practical and unpatriotic consumers have been buying lately.  It’s a safety net of mine if ever his interest level to me starts to wear off (I am sure it will, based on my own personal survey), I can just easily flush him in the toilet. Or out of my life, I mean. Saving me from future waste…of time.

I am not a man-hater. As a matter of fact, I like them a lot that I am glad to be surrounded by the kindest and most wonderful male siblings, relatives, and friends whom I treasure very much.    

It’s just that I don’t want to think about settling down today or tomorrow or next week. But as sure as the Philippine weather forecasted by PAG-ASA, save a little benefit of the doubt on that one. I might go on a buying spree and hoard on a lifetime supply of Joy, the only right person for me, sooner than I think. My moods always change. 

And hopefully, so will the usual questions too. 

© 2008 Cat Ramos

palpitations

i want to jog, do the cardio

see you after

with my heart going --

     throb throb throb throb

and convince myself i was in love.

 

but i'd rather have my coffee fixed

by a veteran barista

venti, cappuccino

with my name "kat", misspelled

yet he would call out my name

perfectly

in sing song intonation

"one venti cappuccino for caaa-aaat!"

and i would go there,

get my cup

sip a bit

think of you

     throb throb throb throb

and convince myself i was in love.

 

it's funny how

my mobile phone rings

or beeps

     throb throb throb throb (in vibrate mode),

in the middle of the night

with a message

telling me

you missed me

and you want me right then,

right there

and i would.

yep, i would --

convince myself you were in love

 

my heart beating

(because it always does)

my head aching

(sometimes)

from convincing myself i was in love.

 

but really, i was not.

you were not.

 

it's the cardio, it's the cappuccino

with my sony ericcson in shhhhh!

at night

 

but who knows,

tomorrow

     i may be.

 

© 2008 Cat Ramos

Trying This Out

Just downloaded blogger on my P1i.