Rule of the Game: I once admitted abnormally using and abusing parentheses in my blog posts or when I’m chatting with people, such that when I’m using them, I feel like “those parts that are enclosed in parentheses are invisible to everyone and I’m the only one who can see them”. So hey, let’s apply that one now just for fun (and because it’s raining and and I’m alone and I might say stuff I’m not supposed to say because they’re too emo or something, and I don’t want my boss to read this icky thing after sortof advising me to use my head more and my heart less).

Is it working? Yay. Ok. Good.

Disclaimer: Some parts of this post are semi-fictional, some are described just as they happened, some are figurative, and some written because I’m suffering major emo attacks (and mostly because of you). So, I duno. (Stop reading here?)

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And this time I mean it that way, and this way:

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?

Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?

Holly: No. The blues are because you’re getting fat and maybe it’s been raining too long, you’re just sad that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?

Paul: Sure.

From Breakfast at Tiffany’s, through Normi.

Here’s more QLC drama for you. I swear it’s a vicious cycle. It never ends. Pfft.

Fine. I was the one who bugged him. And now I regret why I ever asked him to interview me at all. Gaah. :P

So we interrupt our regular programming to make way for this rare meme that originated from I don’t know where and I can only go this far to trace where it came from. Anyway, what do you know, it reached this site. That’s what matters.

Here are the rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.”
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Ayt. Let’s do this. ;)
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My first week as a 24 year old passed by in a breeze, leaving me with a lot of things to be thankful for, and knowing that inspite of missing my Dad more than ever, there’s no better way I could have celebrated my birthday. After all, you only get to turn 24 once. Then again, fine, whatever number you put in that sentence still applies anyway. Hehe.

Last year, when I turned 23, I remember blogging about some of the reasons why I was glad I was turning 23. Now, I feel as if there’s a big leap somewhere between years 23 and 24. Suddenly, you feel old. Titos and Titas would come up to you and say, “I got married that age!” College people from church would ask you how old you are and when you tell them you’re 24, they would stare blankly at you, pause for a few moments, and say, “uhm, hindi nga Ate?”. So yeah people. I’m 24! Bring it on!

At first glance, there’s really not much of a difference — I’m still the same Riz, with the same surname (lol), and the same height, and the same God holding my life together. Still the same daddy’s girl who loves hugging people (fine, not ALL people), whose wardrobe’s 60% pink, who dreams of going to Oz, and of a happily ever after.

But looking deeper, I know that I’m a very different person from how I was a year ago. For one, I’m one year away from turning 25 (que horror!), and a whole year of drama was added to my life — defining moments, new set of people, new job (which is not so new anymore), new opportunities, bigger responsibilities. Twentyfour years made me this, and I’m glad. :) I just hope that when people look at my life now, they’d appreciate what they see — “some bruises here and there”, but still going, still thriving, still trying (and hoping) to make a difference one day at a time.

On a lighter note, a few interesting things happened this week: I had (1) an intimate birthday celebration at Fontana; (2) a lot of sweet surprises when I came back to work, day after my birthday; (3) a date with an agnostic (whose identity I shall keep anonymous as requested hehe); (4) a pseudo-date with my highschool best friend; (5) a get-together with three of my most favorite people in college, Jam, Drew, & Iking; (6) pizza party (photos to follow) with my most favorite people in the world (I know, I’m soo full of superlatives lately); (7) a new guitar (!!!) I named “Jar”, which I got as a birthday gift *swoon* and..

(7) Tadaaah! A new addition to my growing list of cyber estates. ;)

So to wrap up my week-long birthday bonanza, I invite you to hop to CLICK HAPPY, my pseudo-photoblog (not really photojournalistic but simply a space to store photos that speak a thousand words, or something like that), partly inspired by Liz’s Whats and Woots, but mostly my way of freezing memories when I’m not in the mood to be wordy. ;)

So go go go. And know more about those sweet surprises, and Jar, there. ;)

Dear Daddy,

Hi! I didn’t cry today! Proud of me? :) Er, except for that one time when Ninong Dave prayed over lunch, and, well, I’m sure you heard his prayer (thanking God for another year, and for all those people He brought into my life, and all the blessings, and well, the rest I won’t blog anymore because they’re un-bloggable and of course you already know them hehe). Did you see how all of us were giggling while we prayed? Was God laughing too when He was listening to us? :D So okay, I cried a bit there. But I don’t think that should even be considered as “crying” because I was just teary-eyed. You saw how I was able to hold the tears back and dry my eyes before everyone else opened theirs? Pretty clever huh. :)

I miss you, Daddy, today most especially. This morning, I woke up and found my mobile blinking with 27 text messages, waiting to be opened. 27, Daddy, 27!! You see how many people remembered? Not counting pa those who texted before I fell sleep the night before, and those who texted and called during the day! I am soo loved. But as I went through the texts and replied to each of them one after the other, I couldn’t help but wish I received a text message from you too. I can imagine it now. It would just be the usual, and you’d still be sending it even though you were just in the other room, or even when you already personally greeted me. It would simply say “hapy bday nak! luv u!“. But it would mean the world to me.

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