Hello, ladies. I’m sorry I haven’t touched base in a while. I had to go on a long hiatus to take care of “non-frivolous” things. I’m glad to report that my little venture has been successful and I look forward to telling everyone about my “adventure”. But I missed telling you about my many junkets during the hiatus. I will find time to fill you in later on. (My boyfriend says I keep making that promise but I post so sporadically, the blog almost seems like a semi-annual magazine. Pfft. Well, if he wanted me to write more, he should take me out of the city more.)
In 1984, Regal films produced the first “Shake, Rattle and Roll”. It was an aberration from the insipid movies that were being churned out by the movie companies of the time. This movie was good. More than good, it was effective. It scared the bejeezus out of it’s viewers. When Joel Torre’s hand crawled its way from the grave to haunt Arlene Muhlach (Unfortunately, I never saw the beginning of the segment), to that naughty, naughty refrigerator and its trysts with Janice De Belen, and finally to the terrorizing Irma Alegre stalking Herbert in the dark forest. It was a winner. Hailed as a triumph way ahead of its time, the first SRR managed to scare its audience without breaking the bank in special effects.
As Tina Fey said decades later, “If something kinda works, we just keep doing it until everybody hates it.” The same production outfit proceeded to churn out SRR sequels with the same formula that has made educated audience scorn at Philippine Cinema and dread the Christmas season where all sorts of crap earn money because foreign films are banned. Now, instead of eager anticipation, the Shake, Rattle and Roll franchise is met with eye-rolling and disdain.
Something wonderful just happened to me. In a rare occasion, I managed to make everyone around me happy. I did this by passing the Physician Licensure Examination of February 2014 <insert applause here>. Such a wonderful event surely has an epic saga attached to it and the sheer relief I feel and the jubilation of those around me demand that I narrate it to you. But ever since I found out that I finally made it, I have been stumped at trying to find the right words. For some reason, everything that I wrote in the last two days concerning this topic has been, well, crap. Then, I realized that this was not the first time I wrote about my uphill battle with The Big MD. I had started this series years ago, five years ago to be exact in a defunct blog I had but did not maintain. So, because things have come full circle, I will share with you my journal entry/introduction to the series “High Hopes” by finally publishing my unfinished thoughts from five years and a million stories ago.
I usually try to keep sentiment out of my blog. This isn’t a journal of private thoughts. It’s a bunch of posts that I write to entertain in the hopes that someone out there is reading it. Hence, writing about my own mush as a whole piece and not just in mere passing seems indiscreet. But I suffered a huge loss today and my heart is broken in a million places. So, forgive my indulgence.
I wasn’t always a mom (I’ve been at it barely a year) and I was never a good girl. For a long time, I was a consummate single girl. I wasn’t THE single girl; I didn’t travel enough. But I certainly had my share of the woes, fun, and shoe addiction that came with being unattached and socially eligible.