Old Money.

THIS… is who I get to hang out with in T-minus a week and a half… *achem**clears throat several times**mumbles really fast* innewyork *looks up blankly staring from side to side* Oh sorry, what? Did you say something? I didn’t say anything. You said something. Sure. Okay.

Hahahhaha. My excitement cannot be contained. Not only do I get to return to where I left my heart during the last week of August, but with good reason!

From left to right is Konrad, Andre, and Shaun. All members of a Vancouver-New York music collaboration also known as Old Money. Their sound and rap lyrical floetry is so innovative and unique, experimenting and combining various beats using hip hop, African, electric, dance hall, and the list goes on.

I have yet to meet Andre and Shaun, but Konrad is an individual I came across this summer while I was home visiting Vancity. How we are connected is through a web of random mutual friends, but needless to say, it granted in my favor. After producing the “Ode to my First Love” video, which Konrad is featured multiple times in the beginning segment, I was asked if I could shoot a video in New York with the trio. How could I decline? New York enchants me, my bus ticket was a student-friendly $80 dollar round trip, and heck, I get to hang out with super talented, creative, and handsome boys! Sorry. I WIN. You lose.

If you wanna check out more on these cats, scope this, and stay tuned for the upcoming video/photo visuals of my trip coming up soon. Yeuh, yeuh!

"Money, it's gotta be the shooeessss"


This weekend shall be dedicated not to lost souls, teeth-rotting candy and slutty angels and demons, but rather, getting a major head start on school work that will be due following my return to the city. No strip-or-treat and skanky pirate for Char, as if I’ve ever been. (Much to your initial impression that I’d be stoked for All Hallow’s Eve, you’re correct, its just that, simply put, I have drained all my energy towards school projects that I am left with no desire to contemplate an amazing costume.) (Not gunna lie, last year’s tribute to Spike Lee as Mars Blackmoon was one that garnered lots of attention at the Amnesia party… that and me strangely smiling and passed out on the front lawn of the Sound Academy.)

Back to essay writing. For the life of me, I find no interest or future use in MLA formats and formal writing such as this. I’d rather blog all day, errday.

I’ve spoken my piece.



you found your way back in…

I hate you.

You swoop down and steal my precious and valuable time. You barge right in here and throw my books back on the shelf. You force me to remain captivated within the confines of my oh-so-warm-and-delicious duvet.  You manipulate me with your words, telling me, “Just five more minutes, Char… you should make a snack, Char, you can’t concentrate if you haven’t nourished yourself…” But I ate… an hour ago… “Ah, you’re right,” is as much as I defend myself. You argue with me, with a voice so commanding and powerful. You tell me that Glee is the best TV show that just entered my life and the fact that I’ve upgraded to a premium account with Megavideo as opposed to buying more expensive scheduled TV cable, is more of a reason as to why I should watch just one more episode.

I have to admit, you’re good. You’re fucking good at what you do.


Enough is enough. As sexy and seductive as you are, I will not allow you to hinder my growth and progress thus far. The life I’ve chosen to live from now on is one that does not allow myself to see the light of day unless I’ve accomplished all in the Ryerson library. The life I’ve chosen to live from now on is one that does not involve you. There are bigger things to accomplish in this time, and I’m sorry to say that you are just a useless fool who contributes nothing but stress and annoyance. Temporary immediate gratification is all you are.

Key word: TEMPORARY.

So, please, here’s the door. Get out. You are no longer welcome in my presence.

You can either leave peacefully, or I will be forced to take physical action. We all know that I’m secretly a ninja who’s hiding huge gun-like biceps underneath this wool sweater. It won’t be pretty.


Now, Sonnet 13o, let’s get to talkin…

Comments (1)

A Mystery.

Most of you don’t know. You don’t know where I’ve come from and you don’t know where I’ve been. I can remember. Some things, I can remember every detail down to the exact time and color of the hat I wore on that one summer day when I had that terrible short hair phase. I know and I remember and I keep things. I keep things because they meant something, because I want to remember.

My eyes have been focused forward. Five years, five years, where will I be? So much has happened in only three. Five years, five years, what do I want to do? What do I want to see? I will have it, I will have done it, that, and so much more. It’s a matter of time. It’s always a matter of time. Things to accomplish, a list of to-do’s, living in the now, now, now.

And then I remember. I remember what I did. I remember how I did it. I remember why I did it. Maybe not as vividly as before, but I still remember.

It sacks me. Hard. Hard in the heart, hard in the head, hard across the face. It’s not a matter of wanting to be ‘her’ again. It’s not a matter of turning back the hands of time and reliving what it was to be ‘her’ all over again.

It’s just that… ‘she’ existed. ‘She’ was once. ‘She’ has evolved. ‘She’ is unrecognizable from ‘her’. You wouldn’t even think it’s possible that ‘she’ could be ‘her’.

You. Yes you. You might have known ‘her’… and some of you, have known ‘she’. They are one and the same. An evolution.

So then why? Why feel this… this… sadness? This… overwhelming sadness. I am happy to be ‘she’ and I am happy to have been ‘her’. I just… miss some things… you know? I just miss stuff. Stuff…

I’m not running. I did not leave to run away. I came to create something from nothing. I came to begin. And I’ve been moving. I haven’t stopped moving. It’s good, it’s good, it’s a good look they say.

It is. I know. I know, it is.


Sometimes, I just want to be that 15 year old girl who walks into her pastel blue room, crawls into her twin sized bed, opens her journal from underneath her pillow and writes about the teenage angst she experiences at Windermere Secondary. Mom and Faja are home. She can hear him snoring horrendously loud in the room next to her. Her brothers’ dreamcast on full blast just upstairs. She just hates stupid immature high school drama. She can’t wait to one day be somewhere else.

It’s nice to think that ‘she’ was once ‘her’.

Although ‘she’ is making all ‘her’ dreams come true… ‘she’ can’t deny that Home is where she first learned how to… HOW to…


Comments (1)

Styrofoam Ones – The Debut

Alexander, The

Alexander, The

Last Wednesday my room mate Jen and I went to the MTV debut of the Styrofoam Ones. Jr, as I know him, (who also goes by Alexander, The), is honestly, one of the most talented and eclectic musicians I have ever come across in my short life time. His list of various music endeavors is unending! Times Neue Roman, Santa Guerilla, Styrofoam Ones… And all of them are different in their own way. It takes a definite dedicated, passionate, and multi-talented human to be able to pursue and juggle all of that. I can’t say I know Jr. too well on a personal level, but every encounter I’ve ever had with him has always been so genuine. He’s that type of person who smiles at you like he’s actually happy to see you. (Then again, who wouldn’t be happy to see me? Lol. Trust me. It’s Toronto, I’ve come across those screwfaces.)

It was pretty amazing to witness them accomplish this in their musical careers. They repped T.O. hard and I couldn’t be more proud. If you wanna jump on this bandwagon and become a true fan, here’s where you can creep:

styrofoam ones

styrofoam ones



Santa Guerilla


and if you wanna peep the MTV performance, check em here! You might be able to see me in the crowd dancing up a storm.

I’ve spoken my piece.


[for full photo album, click here.]


I Left My Heart in Brooklyn

Mark your territory.

tell the word that you exist.

the way it should be.

art is free. the way it should be.

words to live by

words to live by

The week before school commenced, two of my homegirls visiting from Vancity invited me to take a spontaneous trip down to NYC literally two hours before our bus departed Toronto. (Click here for another post on my trip in more detail.) By far, Brooklyn was my favorite. There’s something so inspiring about the people who tromp those streets. Perhaps it’s the swagger and confidence that each individual exudes, but it’s not even about that to me. I just wanna know the story. Accept it, NYC. It’s hard to come by a true New Yorker. People from all walks of life have flown into this city and made it their home. Everybody there has a story to tell. Especially in Brooklyn. One day, I’ll be one of those people.

In the mean time, enjoy this eye candy. Shout outs go to my girl Simic, also known as Jen. She was my model for the day =)

I’ve spoken my piece.


[Click for the full album here.]


The Island of Misfit Toys

the men go for a round of shots

cheers, cheers, cheers.

Lady Galley and I enjoying our gravy dinner!

Mmmm. Gravy.

Yesterday I enjoyed an incredible thanksgiving dinner at the Barbaza residence. Red and Jay have recently become two of my most favorite people in Toronto, and for them to invite me to their family gathering was an honor. (I did, however, have to make the background check as to what the gravy situation is in their family. “Does your mom make awesome gravy?” “Yes. The best.” “Will there be stuffing? Turkey?” “Oh my god, please, obviously.” “… YESSSS, I’m in!!!”)

Sure enough, Red lived up to his word, and I devoured turkey, pot roast, smashed potaters, and veggies with my pool of gravy. I should also mention that getting “seconds” for me entitles me just pouring more gravy over whatever is not on my plate. (Have you gotten the hint that gravy is one of my most favorite foods in the entire world? Yes, it is an item, it stands on it’s own. It is not an accent or food accessory. Don’t tell me otherwise.)

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a family environment as welcoming and warm as Red and Jay’s. When Jen and I walked into the room, it was as if a parade went off, both Red and Jay’s moms got up exclaiming, “You must be CHAR and JEN!” I just want to punch out a T.V. or two for how freaking adorable this entire family is. My heart longs for Filipino famjam settings. It is something I am so deprived of ever since I’ve made the move to Toronto.

baby Red

the cousins crew barkada.

Some highlights of the evening include: guitar jam seshing in Jay’s room. (This appears to be a prominent family party activity with all Filipinos.) I also adored looking through old family photos that Tita Maria put up on the T.V. screen. The days of GQ Red and Jay are soooo facebook worthy. I can understand Red’s swagger, not only after meeting Lola, but seeing what baby Red was kopping back in the day?! Tita knows whassup. By far, the most entertaining part of the night was Youth Summit 2009 — a circle gathering of everyone sprawled on the living room floor, roasting Jay and Red about their lady encounters. Theo and his father officially win Best Father-Son Award, Lola wins Best Dressed, and Red wins Best Impression of Jay on the Phone. LOL. *on her stomache and kicks her legs back and forth*

The weekend isn’t over yet. Lots of reading to be accomplished today, and the Main Ingredient party tonight.

Happy Thanksthanking, ya’ll!

I’ve spoken my piece.

[for full album, click here.]

Comments (2)

an ode to my first love

[vimeo vimeo.com/7002329]

Long overdue, but better now than never. A montage, a visual declaration, if you will, of my love for my hometown. Not enough footage was captured to summarize my summer, but nonetheless, I give you this. Summer 09, I barely knew thee.


the comeback.


phil, the definition of froshie coolness.

I’m terrible at this. Relentless blogging used to be second nature to me. Ironic, considering blogging is my part time job now, as well as I’ve been placed with another paid offer to be a blogger elsewhere. (I can’t believe people are paying me to do this. Social media is greeaaaat.)

The Post-secondary comeback. That’s what’s up.

I can’t repeat it enough: I effing love school. It’s an incredible environment, being in post-secondary again. It’s different this time around. When I was 18, I was being educated at this institution also known as Langeezy College, in Vancity, B.C. All you need to know is that it was a major gong show and my grades were shameful. It is strange though, to be in classes with people 4 years younger than me asking me to bootleg for them for alcohol. I’m in no way, shape, or form, an old fart. I’m usually the youngest in the various groups I roll with, so don’t you DARE make me feel like a grandma. Lol.

Moving on.RYER-WHAT?! Ryerson!

A few weeks ago was frosh and the annual parade and picnic. Ryerson goes ALL OUT. By that, I mean, we are shameless with attracting attention to ourselves. You know, let’s just shut down Yonge Street, paint it red with our endless chanting, and take over Toronto Island. Wiiiitth… K’Naan and Girl Talk. No biggie.

Girl Talk!

sweatpants at a concert?!

It was a great afternoon. I will never pass up the chance at free food and awesome music. Over stimulation with all these new people I’ve been meeting, student groups I’ve been joining. Phone numbers being exchanged front, left, right and center. I also overcame my childhood fear of frisbees and decided to take another crack at it. Just my luck, my hand-eye coordination has improved over the years, thus I am able to catch frisbees now as opposed to them giving me first degree concussions. Haha.

The transition from full time celebrity lifestyle of working, chilling, restauranting, partying and traveling to Montreal 6 times out of the year to student broke ass lifes has been extremely difficult. I am easily swayed by peer pressure and the seductive coaxing of all things unrelated to studying. I put post-its on my wall above my desk to inspire and push me to be a bit more academic. Oh you know, things like, “Uh.. You go to RYERSON, Char. Don’t F*ck it up!” and “Are you gunna trump all those freshies, or what?!” and “If you can read this, you’re not studying, FOOL.” Surprisingly, it works. Meet King, my instant bestie.

Speaking of which, there is a PSA I must write for my broadcast writing class.

Enjoy the new layout. I’ll try not to leave this on the back burner. I know you like to read about my oh so interesting life and my cryptic analogy-epiphany posts. 😉

I’ve spoken my piece.


(for full album, click here.)