Friday, January 25, 2008

Boracay 2008 at Random

Direk Jillmer Dy, Glenn and Eve.

Carbo-loaded at breakfast.

Host Danielle.

Eve on the floor, briefing our client-host.

Local dancers backstage. Boracay goes Brazilian.

The production staff.

Party time!

Hard-earned success.

Wrap up!

Lounging at the beach.

Danielle, Ruth, and Jeng.

Dabest! Morris, the bartender.

Strike a pose.

Group shots.

Bossa artist and friend, Milan (Phoebe), and Danielle (Anna).

Danielle and Mey.


Parting shots.


  1. haaaaay! asan ako dito? hahaha! aaaah... o nga pala nagpaka-alipin ako sa station...

    congrats stickies... never doubted the success of the event... as morris would say, magaling magaling magaling!!! hehehe!

    question: who's the guy holding the tanduay bottle? hmmm... not sure ha but there's some semblance with jeng's brother... though i doubt it's him coz he wasn't a crush... hahaha... nagamit ko tlga yung term... anyways, may dating sa akin yung guy na yan ha... judging from the other pics, is he some sort of connected with danielle? really, in fairness, may dating tlga sa akin... hahaha!

  2. hello! si ricky yun! wahahahaha!


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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