Movie Review: The Hunger Games

There was no hunger in The Hunger Games, but it’s still worth the wait.

Non-spoiler Synopsis

Panem, a world built on top of former North America, is governed by The Capitol. Its governance easily translates to tyranny. With the oppression of the 13 districts, District 13 led a rebellion aiming to overthrow the seat of power. The rebellion failed.

Thus, District 13 was incinerated and the Hunger Games was put into play.

Every year, two randomly selected tributes, a boy and a girl from each district, are shoved off into the televised Hunger Games. With the brutality of the games, the districts have become divided, and unwilling to ignite another rebellion despite the Capitol’s blatant injustice.

Praying not to be chosen as tribute, Katniss Everdeen of District 12 took on the job of bringing food on their table despite her young age, right after her father died in a mine accident. Her mom spent the days wallowing in grief, bereaving the death of her husband. Her younger sister, Prim, starving, Katniss had no choice but to be the head of the family.

The 74^th Hunger Games changed everything as Prim’s name, against all odds, was unfavorably handpicked as one of District 12’s tributes, Katniss had to volunteer, pitting herself against 23 other tributes who will fight to the death since the Games allowed only one sole survivor, the victor.

The Hunger

The Hunger Games movie is good, not great, certainly not epic, but it’s worth the wait. In spite of this, I can’t shake off the feeling that it lacked the plot’s backbone—hunger. I’ve read the book, but after years of watching epic chapters being truncated to 2 hours of footage, I’ve been reasonable with my expectations on paper-to-screen transitions and I highly hoped, with the movie title having “Hunger” on it, that the film would not fall short in depicting the cause, the purpose, and the mechanism that Suzanne Collins has driven the book on. Though the movie did show the lavish lifestyle of the Capitol, and is still a satisfying visit to the cinema, it failed to reflect the famine experienced by its protagonist which is her motivation to survive.

SPOILER ALERT!

The Cons

The Lack of Hunger or the Oppression:

-          Gale gives a bread to Katniss. Katniss did show a lot of interest on the bread that Gale gave her, this was very good but it’s like a picture frame without a stand because the rest of the film did not support this scene. Add Katniss’s flashback of Peeta throwing bread to her, and it made bread as if it’s the most luxurious food in District 12.

-          Katniss and Peeta’s appetite. In the film, Katniss and Peeta ate like they were used to food, pampered with their poise and manners despite the abundance of food, when they were supposedly trying to stop their selves from using their hands to devour every edible and succulent dish in sight.

Other film insufficiencies and unfaithful transitions:

-          Madge is nonexistent. This is very forgivable though Madge’s inclusion in the Hunger Games as a possible tribute is chained to the fact that even the District Mayor’s daughter isn’t exempted from the Hunger Games.

-          No goosebumps when Katniss volunteered. Maybe the lack of background music, the camera angle, or the framing of the scene failed to trigger a sigh. This scene felt rushed.

-          The Avoxes. This is also forgivable. Avoxes are people considered as traitors by the Capitol who are enslaved and whose tongues were cut. They are a living proof of the Capitol’s brand of justice. In the film, they're the ones wearing red either standing in a corner or waiting on the Tributes and their posse.

-          No bread from District 11 after Rue died. This was the first sign of hope for a unity between the districts so I felt that it was crucial point. Though the film brought us a glimpse of book two, Catching Fire, to substitute this scene. It lacked the message that the crisp bread delivered, the appreciation of District 11.

-          No hardship before finding a source of water. This showed Katniss’s ability as a hunter, that she can survive in the woods. I understand that the film had to trim this down, but it failed to compromise this cut by showing her survivor skills except for tree-climbing and her shooting.

-          There were notes from Haymitch. Katniss’s brilliance includes how she worked out a system of communicating with Haymitch, their mentor, through the receipt, and non-receipt, of gifts. Since this all went through her head, and the Games were televised, they can’t have Katniss speaking her mind so I guess the notes were the way to go.

-          Katniss did not say, “Let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin Cato. Let them begin for real”. Katniss did not say it in the book but this would’ve been a good dialogue, as a definite and defiant sign that Katniss and Rue was taking the offense.

-          Seneca Crane was influenced by Haymitch, The scene where Haymitch advised Seneca to milk the romance between Peeta and Katniss made it seem like Haymitch had an indirect hand in Seneca’s death. This scene never happened in the book.

-          Clove died without a dent on her skull. Completely forgivable, but definitely one of the things I was looking forward to.

-          The Muttations weren’t emphasized that they looked like fallen tributes. Also forgivable, the film did still expound the Capitol’s iron hand. I only included this because it depicts how ruthless and inhumane the Hunger Games can be.

-          The parting of Peeta and Katniss was too bland. It was a very emotional moment for Peeta, finding out that Katniss had to pretend during the Games and trying to compute how much of her kisses were make-believe.

The Pros

As I’ve said, I still enjoyed the film. Films inspired by books can’t remain faithful to every detail and still produce a reasonable movie-length. But this is how the creativity, intelligent workarounds and strategic displacement of book elements, of film makers is tested.

-          Casting. First off is casting, I think casting was perfect especially for Haymitch. Perfect portrayal for Cinna. Followed by Katniss, Rue and Effie. Gale was a good choice and Peeta, though I still feel that Josh Hutcherson’s height compared to Jennifer Lawrence’s should’ve been considered, but I did not feel this was of great importance when watching the film. Cato was perfect. Okay, a bit biased but to be fair, his acting was fluid when he was on the Cornucopia and about to kill Peeta.

-          Capitol People. Aside from the breathtaking, Star Wars-like, design of The Capitol, its people were exactly how the book described them.

-          The Chariot scene. It could’ve been improved but it was enough. Though there was no Cinna suggesting to hold hands, symbolizing an alliance, I have no misgivings on this scene, Katniss is still the girl on fire.

-          Haymitch’s anger. Haymitch was angry while watching a Capitol kid pretending to attack her sister with a sword. The use of the kid playing around suggests the immensity that the Capitol do not see the tributes as people anymore and that they have lived with The Hunger Games for too long to care what it does to the tributes, their families and their districts.

-          Rue’s death. Rue’s death was epic, in terms of its tear-jerking capability. It triggered the same emotion in the film as it did in the book. Amandla Stenberg’s acting was notable.

-          One-on-ones of gamemaker, Seneca Crane, and Capitol leader, President Snow. The film interjected scenes where Seneca Crane was speaking with President Snow. Though this was an obvious way to compromise the transition of book to film, used as an excuse to tell the tale of implied concepts, these scenes were well-placed and well-made exhibiting a good use of foreshadowing.

-          Peeta is not a loser. The book made it seem as if Peeta is helpless and useless in hand-to-hand combat. Setting aside his strength of throwing a bag of flour, he never really used it to prove his strength in a fight. But during the fight scene with Cato, the film supported Peeta’s character in general, as a person who will fight and can fight when needed.

-          Overrated romance. The film did not include the ridiculous part where Katniss was too in love with Peeta in the interview with Caesar Flickerman, which I think is out of character despite her quandary when I was reading the book.

-          The suggestive part two. We all know that The Hunger Games is a trilogy and the film ended with an implication of something bigger is coming.

All in all, it is as expected that the film will not suffice the thirst of the story’s readers. However this may be, we always need to remind ourselves that we are an audience when we enter the theater, not a reader. I’m not saying that this is a hopeless and given case for book-to-film transitions, there’re still film makers who can surprise readers.

It is a good film. We should always be generous with our praises as much as we are with our critiques, that the experience was an exciting watch. But we cannot deny the decrepit backbone in portraying the hunger experienced by the districts, a healthy underpinning would’ve made an audience, who hasn’t read the book, easily understand where Katniss is coming from—a life of struggle, of poverty, of hunger. They should learn this from the film and not from their friend who read the book.

After all, Katniss, and the rest of the districts, has lived with a voracious appetite not only for food, but also for justice.

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JK Rowling. My Inspiration

The fuse of my circuit, the matchstick of my flame, the diesel of my engine, the switch of my light and the ink of my pen.

This is Joanne Katherine Rowling's commencement address at Harvard University. Another boost for my meek and meager might with pen - ultimately one of the things I stand for and against.

read this to the end. You'll be inspired.

The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination

J.K. Rowling, author of the best-selling Harry Potter book series, delivers her Commencement Address, “The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination,” at the Annual Meeting of the Harvard Alumni Association.

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock.Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I’ve used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:
As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives.

Thank you very much.

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Yam's Goodbye To You

Here's Miriam "Yam" Morales's rendition of Michelle Branch's Goodbye To You. Yam has the voice and looks of a recording artist, probably even better than some who already are. Who knows, she might be the next (high-pitch voice) Pinoy Pop Superstar! (Shoopershtar!)


And here's the lyrics to Goodbye To You:


Of all the things I believe in
I just want to get it over with
tears from behind my eyes
but I do not cry
Counting the days that past me by

I've been searching deep down in my soul
Words that I'm hearing are starting to get old
Looks like I'm starting all over again
The last three years were just pretend and I say

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew
You were the one I love
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

I still get lost in your eyes
And it seems like I can't live a day without you
Closing my eyes till you chase my thoughts away
To a place where I am blinded by the light but it's not right

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew
You were the one I loved
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

Ohhh yeah
It hurts to want everything & nothing at the same time
I want whats yours and I want whats mine
I want you but I'm not giving in this time

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew
You were the one I loved
The one thing that I tried to hold on to
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything I thought I knew
You were the one I loved
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

We the stars fall and I lie awake
Your my shooting star 


Enjoy!

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Pedicure Ko 'Yan!

Is it still eavesdropping even if you can hear your neighbor having a loud argument from across the street? (stupid question)

It was more than just a heated argument; it was more like an explosive debate. Our neighbor was having a shout-off contest, both of them trying to top the other's voice. Can you blame me for listening? I mean, they’re way louder than our TV. Maybe if I can shut my ears and focus my listening, it will all go away. That is if we plug an earphone to the TV.

There were a few words that I could make out from the seemingly endless series of yells and sort of "battle cries." My friend and I began wondering what the ruckus was about. So we turned the TV and electric fan off, we’re obviously gossip-mongers, and our attention shifted from American Idol to our neighbor’s window. It's as if we were listening on a radio program. The type that goes, "Aray! Bakit mo ‘ko hinampas sa batok ng malakas?"

   

We can’t make out their whole dialogue; we were only able to determine a number of words - which doesn’t make sense at all. They were, in random order; electric fan, bayaran, p*t*ngina mo, leche ka, ako pa rin, kanina ka pa, masakit

    

Let’s try making sense with these words by stringing a few lines:

   

Woman: ARAY! P*t*ngina mo! Masakit!

Man: eh hindi ko nga sinasadya eh! Nakaharang ka kasi d’yan p*ta!

Woman: eh g*go ka pala eh! Kaka-pedicure ko lang n’yan! Kaya mo ba bayaran ‘yan hah?

Man: Leche ka! D’yan ka kasi nakapuwesto sa electric fan eh!

Woman: pinapatuyo ko nga pedicure ko eh tatapakan mo lang! t*ngin* ka rin eh noh!

Man: (slams the electric fan) eh p*tangin* akin naman ‘tong electric fan ah! Kaya mo ba bayaran ‘yan hah!? HINDE!

Woman: p*ta! Ako pa rin ang nagbabayad ng kuryente ng p*nyet*ng electric fan na ‘yan! ‘Wag mo sirain at ginagamit ko pa! F*ck sh*t!

Man: Ul*l ka nagpapedicure ka lang ang yabang mo na! kanina ka pa bwis*t ka!

Evidently, they weren’t rehearsing for some play since the lines are just plain dumb. Nah I made those lines up (you didn’t really think that they were having a debate over some pesky pedicure right?). But the jumbled words are true, these words were the most audible fragments of their shout-off.

    

If you're thinking why I posted this, imagine yourself in your room and you can hear a vocal war right outside your window. What to do? Blog.

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Maroon 5's album, It Won't Be Soon Before Long

Yes I will buy Maroon 5's album, It Won't Be Soon Before Long. I just love listening to their songs. They've been around for a while but I never bought their album because I would like only one or two songs. Oh yeah I didn't like their song for Spiderman—Woman.

But now their songs are just damn fine like I Won't Go Home Without You, which is better than She Will Be Loved (which I also like). When it comes to the composition and arrangement I'd really go for Makes Me Wonder. It's got this wait-for-the-song-to-finish-before-you-change-it effect.

For easy listening they've got Sunday Mornings which have excellent vocals, of course their other songs have that too but Levine's vocal capability to go slower is more evident with this song.

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No to Homophobia!

NO TO HOMOPHOBIA!

I am the boy who never finished high school, because I got called a fag everyday.

I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

I am the man who fears that I will never be able to be myself, to be free of this secret because I won’t risk losing my family and friends.

We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didn't have to always deal with society hating me.

I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don’t believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends I'm a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.

I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to “teach me a lesson”

—IF YOU BELIEVE THAT HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG, REPOST THIS ON YOUR BLOG!

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David Archuleta!

I have a huge crush on this kid.

Well not just because of his looks and his windy and smooth voice.

With all honesty, though it's quite hard to believe, I wasn't exactly fascinated on his first appearance despite the angelic face.

For his voice, I live in the Philippines where most are granted with remarkable singing voice. Heck, even the mere 'tambay' at the nearby videoke bar is able to sing a bit of Humperdinck and Ogie Alcasid. I was using an umbrella and wearing my raincoat when God showered singing talents because I don't have, not even a pinch, of tone and harmony. Maybe my voice would be good for rallies or as a barker for jeepney rides but not for singing.

Though his voice is identifiable, let's just say that I'm too used to hearing a lot of good singing here. This is not to downplay his talent because I'm already see him among professional singers.

The one thing that made me admire him most was the fact that he had a problem with his vocal chords, he had a surgery. I can't exactly remember his problem with his larynx, or maybe throat, but to think that he still has 'that' kind of voice is just remarkable. His every performance is applauded with ease.


And he plays the piano really well. Playing the piano is one of my frustrations, aside from my singing. My singing can frustrate others though.

So yeah, I have a huge crush on him.

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