Headphones for JD

I suck at gift giving. It's not the lack of generosity. It's the lack of perspective. I wouldn't know the best thing to give a person. I'd do research and knack my brains out for the entire season and still cram for what to get, which usually ends up getting something that I WANT and not necessarily what THEY WANT.Being challenged choosing gifts as I may, one thing I'm certain is that I never give gifts that are not wrapped. I do the extra effort in picking out the perfect wrapper complete with ribbons, tags and depending on the mood and budget, bells and strings. There's a logic behind the grandeur especially if I'm not really sure about the gift. The wrapper serves as giving the extra boost of spirit, that inch of excitement and level of appreciation, until they open it of course, it's every gift for itself.

I hit jackpots sometimes especially if the recipient has fairly common interests as mine and isn't that demanding. People who are not materialistic are often the best people to give gifts to. For them "it's the thought that really counts." But I admit I'm not one of them. I'd rather receive a gift that they spent money for, that I would like and use, rather than give me something pointless that they thought I might like and end up wasting money. I appreciate it, but I don't necessarily prefer it because I know the dreadful feeling so I try extra hard to do my research, think and canvass to make sure that the money and effort are worth it. Also one rule that I apply, I only give gifts that could be used, something that isn't limited for display. For kids and my younger siblings, I may be the lousiest giver in the world because I always give books, bags, shirt, something that aren't 100% fun, but something they could definitely use. I never give toys. Not because I hate them myself, but lots of people would be able to give them that. I don't see the point of giving extra.

For my brother's birthday on August 7, it's always the same thing. He would ask me to add some units to his collections as my birthday gift to him. Last time it was Zoids, now it's Transformers. He is almost complete with his collection, he says. He just needs a couple more units to complete the set and since it's his birthday, it would be a fetching opportunity for me to end his 'misery.' But he knows as well as I do that I don't give gifts that belong to the category of toys. I just don't. Call me a bit selfish, but it's always going to be something useful for me. I also end up giving him bags, shoes, slippers or books. He gets very annoyed with this. He fantasizes what is behind the sophisticated wrapping until he opens the package. He would immediately realize that he has me for a sister who seems to effortlessly spoil his fantasies.

Now that he's turning 13, stepping on the first teen-year of his life, I want to give him something different. Youthful, but veering towards adulthood at the same time. In the end I eventually gave in, anything but books this time. He ended up asking for one Transformers collector's item to which I replied that I couldn't give because it's still against my personal rules. He asked me to break it just this once, but I still wouldn't. For the entire week of pride and motivation, I had to think, read and search until I came across the word "headphones." Like a faint Eureka moment, I know what I'd give him.



My brother, despite the age, still loves to play computer games, listen to music and play with his PSP. He uses a cheap pair of CD-R King headphones that his allowance could buy just to get through the gaming and listening experience. I know he wishes to have his own headphones that showcases in-depth coverage and intricate audio-detail. Hence, giving him kick-ass headphones as a gift would be perfect. It's something he could definitely use in gaming and listening to music. The next challenge was which brand I should get.



I asked my guy officemates to recommend a good brand of headphones for my brother and the brand Sennheiser always seems to come up. Mitch may be open to other brands but he is biased to Sennheisser as well so it was no wonder when I met him at Powermac Greenbelt for lunch, he quickly led me to the Sennheiser section.

I grabbed the Sennheiser basic 201 and was about to pay at the counter when Mitch called me back. After giving some time to test Mitch's new discovery, I fell in love with the crisp, detailed precision sound of Philips. I forgot the model, but I liked the surround sound and intense music output it brings. Even though this particular model of Philips is more expensive than the basic Sennheiser model, I didn't hesitate swapping it.



Like I said, the music came out so crisp and with full bass surround sound perfect for gaming. The pair has a snug fit and comes with a very reasonable price of 2,000 + not bad indeed. I initially wanted to give JD a pair of Skull Candy headphones, but Mitch overwhelmed me with his gadget expertise. If Mitch isn't impressed with it, then my interest goes down as well. In the end, I gravitated towards Philips, which Mitch also found fairly acceptable. Adding to his Sennheiser injury, I requested Mitch to bring the purchase to National Bookstore to be wrapped (complete with ribbon and tag.) By the time we had lunch at David's Tea House, my problem was already solved.

In the end I'm happy to have thought something out of the box. I hope he's going to be happier as long as it's not books this time. And given time, I'm sure he would appreciate the gadget more than any of his lifeless collectibles. At least it's not going to be books again, that is just enough to excite him.

I am a Sister after all.

As usual, I had a hectic week full of late night shifts and conference calls. I’m literally living like a ghost, a ghost whose memories and neurons are fried due to lack of sleep and the thing called stress. Sometimes I forget what my house looks like or what needs to be done in my still barren room, or even if I’ve rinsed my head of shower gel that was mistakenly used as a conditioner.

But I still do manage (even if it doesn’t look like it). I’m still living and incorporating this busy lifestyle gracefully. I still get to accomplish my commitments with people and my responsibilities to Harvey. I get my bills paid on time. I have been keeping my health in check, and there are times that I get to go home early and play SIMS. My reading flow is great by the way. Managing two titles for a month isn’t that pathetic compared to my previous year’s reading trends. With all the provisions and manageable health, I’m blessed to have life being merciful to me still. It also helps that my parents have become more accepting of my recent lifestyle. They do not make a big fuss over my hectic schedule anymore. They too have adapted. I think they like me as a ghost. We get to enjoy each other by not being with each other unless of course my father gets attacked with his sudden rush of sentimentality.

Last Wednesday, I decided to go to work after lunch. I had a scheduled conference call in the evening so I am pretty much given the reign to store up energy for the entire morning. As usual, I would ask my driver to take me to the shuttle station in SMB where the ride brings me straight to my building. But before leaving, my mother told me that the driver could drop me off at the office since he is picking up JD, my brother in school. I was relieved at that time. No more fumes and unnecessary spending for that Skyway fare. I thought my brother had an exam.

But it was only a couple of weeks ago that they just had their periodicals and then I knew he was advised to be sent home for an entirely different reason. My brother, the once reaping of academic awards and was deranged by his steaming Art teacher, is sick. So I fetched him at school before I requested to be dropped off at the office. He was so pale when I saw him, with droopy eyes and dry lips. He was in no mood to fool around.

I saw his nurse slip and he had a high fever of 38 point something. He quickly laid down at the back seat, concentrating on not to feel his headache. Seeing him like that was not funny. I seldom get fevers and I as far as I can remember, I hate how fever affects my thinking, my time, my energy and my comfort. Colds, I can manage, but fever is such a pain in the ass. I decided to offer him a small comfort and treated him to McDonald’s drive through. He has no appetite, naturally, but I managed to coax him to eat something so he could just sleep and drink medicine after. I knew him too well to agree with McDonald’s quarterpounder. He ate silently at the back seat as I was dropped off at the office. I never thought about his fever again because like all normal fevers, it just needs rest and medication easily found at home.

The next day, on Thursday, he wasn’t able to go to school. I kind of expected it, a precautionary healing day is a must. So, I went to the office at lunch only to read a text from my mother that my brother was sent to the nearby hospital for blood tests and medical check up. My mother wanted to rule out dengue as much as possible and she couldn’t just observe forever when my brother’s temperature began to increase even after home medications had been done. For two older children that she managed to bring up, she knew that my brother’s particular fever is different.

I still didn’t think about it too much no matter how my aunt called me up in the office and suggested that we go home early. I didn’t see any point actually. I don’t think I’ll be much of use if I go at home anyways, and I was positive enough to believe that everything is going to be all right. After a few hours, I received a text from my mom that the check-ups have been made, my brother is not suffering from dengue and my globe phone bill just arrived. I didn’t even think of worrying.

But then when I was in the middle of a conference call at 10 pm, I received a text from my aunt with full exclamation points. My brother was rushed to Makati Medical Center by my parents due to high fever, vomiting and sore throat. My mother freaked out with the vomiting. My father, knowing him, would not settle any second observing at home. I tried to ask for more information, but my aunt was a wrong kind of person to ask because she's being slightly edgy and paranoid. As soon as I finished my call, I checked the time and called my father on the cellular phone.

He was in a hurry to talk; and from the tone of his voice he was deeply worried. He was being paranoid in his own subdued way. I wanted to go directly to the hospital, if I had not already arranged my scheduled service to take me home. I figured, I wouldn’t be doing them much favor anyways, and I knew just like any ER incident that I’ve had, that he will be able to go home after a series of tests and medication. So I went home, played with Harvey and slept.

In the morning, my parents and JD weren't around, apparently they are STILL in the ER department since there were no rooms available. My aunt already filed for leave and began to pack things for my mom and JD. Worry crept in. My family may not be entirely a healthy bunch of peeps, but we’re not the type to be confined overnight in a hospital either.

With my aunt and the driver, we went to my dad’s office, which is a couple of buildings away from the hospital. We met our father there who was up 24/7. He told us to park in his slot because he intended to go to have a quick shower and a nap. We parked the car and walked towards Makati Med looking for my brother who was still stationed in Makati Med’s pediatric ER center.

A slightly renovated premier hospital, with no apparent available rooms for more than 7 hours of waiting, is slightly annoying. Unless there’s an epidemic involved, I don’t think see why there is a deficit of rooms, even semi-private ones. Looking at my brother, with his hand strapped to the dextrose, he was looking pale but with spirits slightly better than the previous day. My mother was eating breakfast and couldn’t wait to get a room to sleep. My brother had so many nasty comments about the small bed and he couldn’t wait to go home,. He even wanted to attend his recollection the next day and play his SF Game. I guess that was indication that he feels fine. But as usual, my father and mother insisted he stay in the hospital for further observation.

So after inspecting the cramped up ER ward, I asked the driver to drop me at the office and hoped that my brother will get better. I don't like him seeing so 'handicapped' nor parents stressed. In certain things I might be too unemotional, but I am a firm believer that health is wealth and having a family member hospitalized is never a fun thing to consider. I might be one of the few people who likes hanging around in hospitals, who likes hospital food with broiled fish that tastes like paper, and sees confinement as a quick vacation, and out of sisterly love and sacrifice, I'd rather it was me than anyone else in my family who is in that room. Hey, I am a sister after all.

How my brother became Stewie

I feel sad and sorry for my brother. I empathize with him. He's slightly depressed and he's turning into an effortless Stewie with all the C4 speech for his dreaded art teacher. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

My brother, just to describe his full profile, is smart. He's not studious, although my mom forces him to study in between his PS and PSP games. He is also responsible at school. He is always the point of reference when his classmates forget to write down the instructions of their homeworks. He can easily do random math computations in his head. He reads...sometimes. He can throw in punchlines like a pro, thank you to the Family Guy and Hey Arnold. He likes sports. He is not a NERD in any sense. He looks like a mini-bouncer and an airhead, until people find out he's always the top of his class and either the TOP 2 or TOP 3 of his entire batch of 14 sections. He is popular.

However, he also has his less agreeable side. He is conceited. He is very competitive when it comes to his academic and societal status. He is moody. He doesn't like people getting near his toys and collection. If you need something from him, it involves a lot of coercion and sometimes bribe. He never automatically associates himself with just anyone. And he is a bad enemy once you've crossed him. And, unfortunately someone did.

It was a big news in our family that he wasn't included in the roster of Academic Awardees this quarter. Yes, his academics didn't go down below 95, but there's one TEENY WEENY subject that made him sit in the "academically average chairs." It was ART taught by their head teacher Ms. Pa**ma.

Ever since that awarding ceremony, where he didn't get to sit with his normal contemporaries, he became devastated, vengeful and cynical. He wants to get even big time and he won't stop until that person who created him distress will fall down. In this case, it's his art teacher.

I have to defend my brother, not just because he is my brother. I'm defending him because I've suffered toiling the same sentiments ever since. It hurts my ego, but he is even better at me in most calculated aspects, even academically. So I'm speaking for the both of us here. I'm not coming from unfamiliar waters.

My brother, by far, has the highest academic marks in the history of this family. He is good with math. He is good with reading. He's good at sports and he is a responsible student. He is not an introvert nor an annoying extrovert. He is not verging on extremes and he adores my mother. I, for one, SUCK at Math. I love Science, but I'm not enthusiastic about it. I get my strength from reading and doing isolated activities. I don't get along with my parents that much because I've always lived on supreme isolation, which confuses them most of the times. I'm not popular and I'm not as pleasant as my brother. My brother so far has an edge in this category.

However, he was given a HISTORY breaking grade of 84 in his report card, by his more than competent (i'm sure..sarcastically speaking) art teacher. It was shattering. I would understand if it's a quantifiable subject like Math or Science. But giving 84 in ART, just a point away from being qualified to be academically recognized, is simply unacceptable. There's a conspiracy, obviously. The head teacher, who also happens to be the art teacher, gave my brother 84 when she could've easily given him an 85 to pass the honors' roll call. What even made my brother sink to an 84? Enlighten me, please.

Based from my mother's accounts of their confrontation, the head teacher was also devastated to see my brother's report card flashed at her face. She immediately knew that her ART grade was the most glaring one!

"If only I had known..." said the art teacher. Boo-hoo. Explanation not accepted! She's the head teacher, and she's a freaking ignoramus! And do, please....ENLIGHTEN me...how she came up with an 84?

"...in fact I have very high standards with art.." WRONG! Ms. Artsy-fartsy gives her students very laborious art assignments on top of all their academic works. Their art works don't veer on simple pasting and gluing. They have to come up with artistic drawings that appease the teacher's high standards in art. Well, my brother may be smart and talented, but he is not...currently not yet...producing works like Michaelangelo. I saw his works and it's not TRASHY. Mine were hideously TRASHY when I was in high school, but I still got an average of 85. The point is, my brother's work is good enough, clean and very well thought of. He might not have the best and artistic work. He doesn't have much talent in drawing, but his works could easily land a 90! I'm not being biased, but do tell me how you can quantify all that? In truth, the art grading is SUBJECTIVE, and in every common sense of a SUBJECTIVE mind, my brother's art projects are not bad. They're not gallery material, but they're not bad. What's one point to give him a break? What's wrong with giving him 90? If I have the time, I could post some of his drawings right now.

"...in fact, I give even high marks to students who submit their work on time..." True. My brother submits his work on time, not a day late. He submits it clean and complete. But how sure is she that some of her LABORIOUS art projects were not turned into a family affair. My brother sometimes asks for help from my artistic sister KARLA because some projects are just so wild. My sister does some outlining and helps him with delicate stuff, but my brother is always the one who begins it with a concept and most importantly FINISHES it. Just like how I encouraged him to make an essay. I never said a single word to be included, yet he provided his own topic and BOOM he landed the first prize in the English Essay writing contest. I was surprised as well. How sure is she? Because down right, if I had those complicated art assignments, I would've paid our maid to do extra work.

What's bad about it is, I wouldn't defend my brother if he was given a 75 in art if his works are that trashy. I wouldn't even lobby for a single point if I think he doesn't deserve it. But he does. He can easily earn that 1 point to 85. He can even earn points to get his art grade to 90. What does the teacher expect from her students anyway? Art is something subjective, a freedom of expression. It should be given more understanding and appreciation. You can never express yourself with Math and expect it to be appreciated. I've tried and it didn't work. Art is something personal. In school it is needed for balance, that's true. It has standards, that's also true. But what standards are we talking about here? Can you still enlighten me please, because I'm just confused! And administered by a CONSPIRATOR and a CONNIVING terror artsy fartsy teacher just takes the cake. I'm not even going to divulge here the lewd conversations and contradictory statements that Teacher said to my mother.

My brother, he's the still the greatest. His ego might be brused, but there's nothing better than proving someone wrong. He will come with vengeancethis third quarter. My dad even offered him advice and I second the motion. In his next art class, we suggested that he should just go in front of the class and strip naked encouraging self-expression and encouraging nude art. I'm doing a full report on David and let him report it. That's artistic. That's education. Until that terror arty fartsy teacher clears up what she's talking about, I'm praying my brother gets even.