Smoke and Mirrors

and pet peeve nombre deux.

I have been outright vocal at how I cringe at the term blogger whenever anyone asks if I blog. If being a pseudo-amateur-writer-about-clothes-style-and-personal-business could be summarized into another word, I would gladly embrace it. I find the term blogger too mainstream and has made itself into an actual industry. Take no offense, if this entry pops out of your feed it can be at least one of three things: we have a mutual respect for 1) blogging as a hobby, 2) fashion is just a serious business as music, food or art 3) or if you simply stumbled upon my site: you're just another blog lurker like me. Go ahead, try it, call me a fashion blogger and i'd be livid in a split second.

Welcome to the Blogging Monopoly, b*tch. Ever challenged yourself to question the sole purpose of putting out a blog? Whether it's for showcasing personal style or creativity, or simply for reconnecting, what do you think sets you apart from the 736482947 girls who author a blog then? There is the local fashion blogging scene and then there is a bloggatory (blog+purgatory). When someone mentions the term blogger in a contemporary context, why does it exude a mainstream, capitalist vibe when really, the rest of us just want to have a virtual space to scribble on? Not everyone intends to make a name, yet people look upon (/down on) you (yes me, a "blogger" enjoying the limbo aka bloggatory) as a struggler, trying to push their own blog up in the fashion blogging scene. It's almost an unprecedented joke how the term blogger became synonymous to, excuse the profanity, fame-whore, label-whore, what have you. 

People look at blogs as a personal, superficial, quasi-narcissistic online space headed to the direction of commercialization (if they can make it that far). But really, some of us just want to live a life; a well-documented life at that. Excuse me while I throw in some more excuses :) I author a blog; kind of like how Professor Dumbledore dumps his thoughts for the day in a pensieve or how Carrie Bradshaw spews her frustrations in Sex and the City. Same difference. Besides, I love fashion so might as well put a stake on my style by documenting it. But THIS cannot solely raise me to the ranks of fashion bloggers, because I am not one. I just blog. I author a whatever blog. My introversion coerced the need to channel my energy into something creative -- whether it's ranting, lusting or lashing out on life's cruelties.

So much for an introduction. This outfit will start a series of my romper rampage. Who ever invented onesies must be having some serious mixing and matching problems. A playsuit is a hit-or-miss article of clothing; it can either look put-together, or it can be tacky roadkill waiting to be obliviated by the next big trend. I am particularly picky when it comes to playsuits and they have to meet 2 criteria before they can join my growing family of playsuits: 1) it should be stylishly uncommon and 2) it must, MUST be comfortable because crotch rape is a serious crime!

This playsuit obviously met both criteria. I have never encountered a dressy cape playsuit with overlapping lapels. It was a sure-purchase from the moment I saw its entire Topshop-goodness. I am in love with the brand-always have, always will. I went for the overkill with layered chain neckpiece and I couldn't care less if it weighed a ton. The works.

Topshop leopard cape playsuit | Prada ballerinas | Balenciaga City

All Killer. No Filter. Okay this is lame. 

They struck gold!

Would you rather stay safe on a paved road or dare brave a bridge to get to your destination? As I quietly sat on my chair, waiting for my turn to take the podium, I started to realize how 'safe' isn't always sound. Today, marked the very first time I delivered a presentation before the heads of the Country Offices, two Deputy Director Generals and THE Director General himself. In IRRI (International Rice Research Institute where I work) parlance, they are the big bosses.

40 minutes and a momentary period of dead silence later, I reached my last slide. It was the heaviest expression of relief I have ever exhausted. I received 'thumbs ups' and expressions of approval from my audience. But what really cracked my guard was a comment made by one of the heads who came up to me shortly after I finished, "From the moment we interviewed you. I knew you are a gold mine".

And they struck gold; with a twenty-something graduate student who still has a bleak picture of a career path in front of her. Turns out this girl was able to fight through adversities and grab opportunities she never imagined existed. Hopefully, she is doing the right things.

-note to self

What's so civil about war anyway?

All those verbal altercations and passive aggressive gestures from months back look shelved when in fact they have been parasitically burrowing off the very foundation of whatever it is we have shared over the course of a decade. A relations built on malicious lying that have caused us to blindly stab each other on the back has no place in my reformed lifestyle. I am indifferent to this affair. I acknowledge the fact that we don't operate on the same wavelength. Heck that is an insult; as you have deliberately insulted and questioned my morale without reading through my intent.

We are a ticking time bomb about to blow any second now; allow me to detonate. Be in cahoots for all I care.


PS. Saying this once and for all. This is NOT written for a male subject. HA HA HA. 

People will wonder. Make them.

How do you do it? People ask. How do I do it?

We are no island, but I'd say I'm on the precipice of a peninsula, a panhandle even. Reclusion has stretched out into a lifestyle with all other connections at bay. I have amputated linkages that have caused more harm than good, much like those gangrene-infected limbs. Pruning my canopy so I can give my core a room to breathe. Everything I need right now, I have within reach -- both tangible and otherwise. I am happy. I am content - bar none. Whatever I find therapeutic is nobody else's beeswax. I need not seek validation from others thank you very much. Do achievements per se make us happy? Or is it the delayed gratification - the pronouncement of such achievements? Is it an absolute necessity to make everything known? People will wonder. Make them. Keeping this air of mystery as a safety net because one day, my daddy told me, I will make history.

I have made a profit from explaining too much (figuratively of course). Why not play reverse psychology this time: less talk = less chance of misinterpretation. Life's innate cruelty has given me resiliency much too strong for other's passive aggressive judgements to penetrate.

Some would sit together to gossip and exchange notes. I prefer to stay in my room and read. Focus is what keeps me in this game; work-school-family life balance keeping me afloat. Sounds like a fair life plan if you ask me. From here on, sightings of Ana Reynoso (excuse me while I refer to myself in 3rd person, I don't usually do this. Pet peeve alert!) will be few and far between. Kind of like those Big Foot sightings, or Axl Rose from 1994 to 2002 or Nessy from Loch Ness.

In any case a kind soul is wondering, I am good. Over and beyond. I am busy working in a reputable international research organisation by day and hustling to get good grades in graduate school by (late) afternoon. Although I am not sure if I can say the same thing about the latter after this semester. HA HA! Just kidding.

Blessed + Stressed + Well-dressed

Because I have everything I need right now and more. Reclusive life, try it.