History

Kay Ganda? Maybe they meant Most Dangerous

/ iamsupercarla / Leave a comment

The killing of 57 civilians and media people last year made the Philippines “the most dangerous place in the world for journalists,” said Frank La Rue, UN special rapporteur on the promotion and protection of the right to freedom of opinion and expression.  (Source:  Philippine Daily Inquirer)

I remember a foreigner saying the Philippines has one of the freest press in the world.  I guess not anymore.

For a complete read on the article (hence, more depressing facts), click here.

Please do not forget the people who were murdered a year ago.  Do not forget them, their stories, their families.  Too many people have forgotten already.  Please do not be one of them.

Hair, there, everywhere!

/ iamsupercarla / 3 Comments

After the day’s pictorial (yes, there was one at work, just from an ID picture), I started to miss my hair.  I’ve been shifting lengths year after year, and this year, I believe I dislike the fact that my hair is starting to grow slower than it used to.

Here’s a look at my hair through the years.  I know it’s not that interesting, but I really miss my hair.  I wonder which of these styles you think fit me best.

If I'm not mistaken, this was... 2002.

This was at the tail end of my college years, 2003.

2004

2007

Late 2008

Late 2009

About two months ago

Of course by now it has created its own volume, mainly focused around my cheeks.

Dear God.  Please make my hair grow fast again.  Right now, it’s awkward and not-so-pretty.  I promise I won’t curl it.  Thank you.

REPOST: Thank you for the cheesecake.

/ iamsupercarla / 1 Comment

I was looking through my notes on Facebook and I stumbled upon this old thing I wrote about a year ago.  I remember being in a coffee place and feeling all these things, so maybe you can be transported in a coffee place and feel all these things too.  Enjoy.

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It’s a Friday night and I am surprised by the lack of people in the city. Usually, the city is alive on Friday nights, with people itching to escape an entire week’s worth of work, an entire week’s worth of arguments and senseless topics over tasteless luncheons and rushed breakfasts. Usually, the city is alive on a Friday night. But not tonight. At least, not tonight.

There are people. They walk around, boys with their big hoodies attempting to appear ghetto and “cool”, girls with their high-pitched voices and emo punk hair do that often make their morena skin look dirtier than it actually is. There are men and women in their business attire, some with a group of high school friends, others sitting intimately with their partners, whispering the day’s aggravations over cold coffee and a shared pastry. Everyone wants to keep their money to themselves nowadays.

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