Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Volleyball Action (Backtrack)

Got my hands on some pictures from the fateful volleyball game where I injured myself. Seeing the photos reminded me of how painful it was. The sprain left me debilitated for a few weeks.

Click here for the related entry.

The team ready for action.

An overhead serve.

Perfect setup courtesy of my teammate, Girlie.

An open strike from behind the attack line.

The game heats up.

Anything to save the ball.

Yes, anything.

Even injury.

The most painful sprain I have ever experienced. Ouch!

The team went on to finish the game.

We won the game and landed in third place.


  1. so this is where you got your sprain... hahaha.. i still remember that pic... kulang na nga lang ipaamoy mo sa amin eh... hehehe!

    hey, how about playing volleyball? dali... magpapawis tayo... hahaha!

  2. my gahd... the look on your face... i can just imagine the pain... mamatay ata ako pag sa akin nangyari 'yan....

  3. well, prue, i thought i was going to. sa sobrang sakit puwedeng nag-faint na ko. pero siyempre inisip ko pa rin ang reputasyon. kakahiya diba kung nawalan na lang ako bigla ng malay? hehehe. pero masakit talaga siya as in. di ko na nga naisip na pinipiktyuran pala ako. pangit tuloy ng itsura ko. hehe.

    may mga kilala ka rin bang players na puwedeng invite maglaro. there's you and me so we need about 10 more people para makalaro. :-)


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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.


Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda