Wednesday, August 12, 2009

The Queen

We had this descriptive/narrative essay writing sort of quiz in Comm I (read: recorded). And lovely Pacita gave me a one-point-zero for this… this mini-allusion to her.

She sits on her throne with that sophisticated European touch, though the way she lays herself on the cold stone makes her seem unaware of the countless people who have passed her by all day. Without so much as a flick of an eyelid, she lifts herself up and jumps off her throne, only to roll across the pebbled pavement in a seemingly playful manner so unlike royalty.

I take it that she has called her maids and ladies-in-waiting, as I stand a couple of meters behind her, mesmerized by the gathering at hand. She then leads the way, strutting with just the right amount of grace and power; her ladies follow suit, like the penitent and faithful in solemn procession to the church on Good Friday. Entranced and enthralled by this rather mystical parade of fur coats, I follow them.

When they reach the far end of the pathway, where the imposing Rizal Hall stands, they stop. Somehow, they have become aware of my presence (though I try my all to exude an uncanny friendliness). In a silent command, she tells her servants to disperse; obediently, they scatter with nary a whisper. One by one, they take up their places – beside a shrub, amongst the fallen leaves – and go about their business.

It is then that I realize that the queen has called for me. Sitting directly ahead of me, she looks me straight into the eyes, piercing my soul with her gaze. She scours through my thoughts, searching through every nook and cranny, perhaps judging whether my knowledge of the world is worthy to stand before her presence. I walk away from her towards the main entrance of Rizal Hall, but I can still feel her inside me. The soft melody – the harmonized purring of her servants – fails to distract me, or lead me into believing that my mind is still my own. Somehow, I can hear her in my head, calling to me, telling me to bow down before her and make her my goddess.

Then, I step inside Rizal Hall – and she promptly leaves my mind. I turn around, looking through the glass panes of the door. The ladies are still absorbed in singing with the trees and shrubs; she, however, seems dazed, as if something else more interesting and complex than my mind has caught her attention. Then, I realize that she is just snapping out of her psychic adventure into human thought.

She turns around, catches my eye, and smiles at me.

Monday, August 10, 2009

That Blasted Bird

I’ve lately been so distracted by a number of unwanted mysticisms, foremost of which are academic sojourns and mental typhoons, that I’ve almost forgotten about this gem of an experience. Trust me: You don’t know what “trauma” means unless a bird’s attempted to attack you.

We were walking along the Faura sidewalk across Robinsons on our way back to CAS for the Nat Sci class. But what should have been a rather boring talky walk turned out to be one hell of a blast-ended skrewt.

Our feet brought us to this certain spot somewhere near the Supreme Court gate, where I observed a few rather irritable, low-flying sparrows. We ignored them, presuming (as human nature would have us presume) that the birds would just mind their own nonhuman businesses and fly away. And fly away they did.

But how on earth was I supposed to know that one of those blasted birds was actually brave enough to stand a few feet away from us, directly on our path??? And the worst part was, upon sensing our approach, it took off like an airplane - diagonally upwards, directly headed towards…


Well, my forehead (we must give due credit to the most victimized of the victims).

It was probably the biggest “What the Heaven” moment in all of Manila: a seemingly brainless bird, its tiny but nonetheless deadly sharp beak aimed at my forehead!!! And what was I to do but make this sort of backward dance move like in The Matrix?! Otherwise, I would probably have found myself in PGH with a stupid bird stuck on my forehead, struggling to wrench itself off my head – or worse, with a tiny bleeding hole on my forehead.

If you’ve seen those Japanese fighter planes make nasty nose dives in those World War II films, then you should somehow be able to visualize the damn bird – only it’s headed up instead of down. Why did such misfortune befall me; why was I cursed to be victim of a failed bird attack?

Theory No. 1: The brain sensed its nest in my head; in other words, I may be bird-brained.

Theory No. 2: The bird was a rogue bird, much like the rogue bludger in HP Chamber of Secrets.

Theory No. 3: There’s a secret mafia of birds, now in the move to gradually eradicate homo sapiens.

Dammit, I couldn’t think properly afterwards. Trust me, you wouldn’t have been able to. The thought of injury by bird... blasted, hell-sent bird!

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Walt Disney films in the UP curriculum II

Second Departmental Examination

Use a bluebook to answer the exam. Do not copy the question; only the corresponding number of the question, and the answers should be written. Failure to follow instructions will mean ZERO.

I. Present the plot of Enchanted in exactly fifteen boxes. (15 pts)

II. Give allusions, references, or homage made by Enchanted to the following:

a. Walt Disney films in general (10 pts)
b. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (10 pts)
c. Cinderella (8 pts)
d. Sleeping Beauty (6 pts)

III. Compare the characters of Prince Edward and Robert Philip. (6 pts)

IV. Compare the characters of Giselle and Nancy Tremaine. (6 pts)

V. Discuss a traditional Disney ideology presented in Enchanted. (4 pts)

Perfect Score: 65 points
Passing Score:
37 points

Bonus Questions:

1. Write the entire lyrics of Happy Working Song. (8 pts)

2. In the Enchanted soundtrack, who performs the song So Close? (1 pt)

3. In the 80th Academy Awards, who sang Giselle’s part during the performance of That’s How You Know? (1 pt)

You are not a very nice old man!
- Giselle, “Enchanted”