Oh sure, I also got a label of how I am supposed to be called. Denice Christine Gemora Garcia as my parents decided. The “Denice” you’d often find in the office stuck in the computer in the hope of keeping Consultancy Division a box-office hit in Colliers Jardine’s division festival. The “Denice” to my friends who sometimes have to put up with me when I’d start playing the classic “Summer of 42” on the piano, or when I’d sing Astrud Gilberto’s songs (without assuming I have her voice), or when I clone their stories in my write ups which I intend to publish someday, or simply as inspiration to my paintings. The “Denice” who as diagnosed as “Peter Pan of the ‘90s” three years ago by “Dr. Shrink” or simply “Ness” to my two sisters who think I eat too much and I talk too much — much like the rabbit stuff toy with an Energizer battery on that you must have seen on the TV commercials recently. read more

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