About a month ago, i made a commitment to reach for 21 stars. And on the 27th, 4 nights shy of the coming new year, i completed all of them and earned myself my very first Starbucks planner!
Gee. Truth to tell, i don't remember feeling this thrilled and accomplished when i got hired by Bigfoot mid this year.
And it's not so much about the Starbucks planner really (though it's so, so nice). I haven't had a planner for years and I was just fine with it. I guess the rush came from the whole creative process of reaching for the stars one at a time.
The moment the cute waiter finally convinced me to accept the Starbucks card (which I snubbed the first time it was offered to me for FREE. sheesh.), I was a girl with a mission. I decided right then to make it my last goal for the year. I proceeded to connive, campaign and compete with other cardholder friends to have as many silver stars possible sticked on to my Starbucks card. I reached for my stars one at a time like a girl gone mad.
I drank so much Starbucks coffee the past month that I'm partly blaming it for exacerbating my weight gain (the rest I blame on mango float).
I don't usually like variety in my coffee (just black - no sugar, no cream) but the past month, I opened my world a bit and learned to appreciate the other flavors required.
And to think I've never been a Starbucks fan. I've always maintained (and still do) that Bo's brewed coffee is better -- in terms of taste and price. But the past month, I was all for Starbucks. So much so that I'm probably among the first to know that they just opened their third and newest branch at IT Park in Cebu.
Some may call me gullible. Others may consider this a waste of time and money. Perhaps.
One thing I'll admit -- it's one hell of a marketing strategy.
Besides, it was fun. Each accomplished star has its own story and that for me makes it all priceless.
I get to be a Holiday angel too as the planner comes with a donation made in my name to Project SparkHope (with the slogan: Enriching children's lives, one barangay at a time). Not bad.
I realize that all things can be made possible if you just focus your mind. And my cool Starbucks planner is one testament I'll carry through the coming year.
Happy 2007, everyone!
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Cloudbreaker
I learned something from FG last night -- there is such a thing as a cloudbreaker.
Have you ever looked up at night and seen that shaft of light sweeping through the skies?
All the while i thought it was just there to signal an event in the city and to call on/guide people to a particular place (much like that of a lighthouse). But actually, FG says it does more than that -- it sweeps through the gathering clouds to break them up and drive away the rain.
Instant weather control. Amazing.
So you knew it already, huh? Whatever.
I wonder though what they'll think of next.
And I so love the rain, too.
Have you ever looked up at night and seen that shaft of light sweeping through the skies?
All the while i thought it was just there to signal an event in the city and to call on/guide people to a particular place (much like that of a lighthouse). But actually, FG says it does more than that -- it sweeps through the gathering clouds to break them up and drive away the rain.
Instant weather control. Amazing.
So you knew it already, huh? Whatever.
I wonder though what they'll think of next.
And I so love the rain, too.
A Yen for Japanese Food
Out of the blue, it just came to me – this terrible craving for Japanese food. The last two weeks, I managed to drag friends to dine in three different Japanese restaurants in the city—Rai Rai Ken, Mikado, and Tokyo Joe’s. And still, I want more.
Every now and then, I get these terrible cravings. And by terrible I mean – non-stop, never-mind-the-expense, who-cares-if-everyone’s-sick-of-it-let’s-go! kind of thing. I remember one phase in my life when I had this yen for Yakisoba noodles that I ate it everyday for lunch for two straight months – much to my friend's disgust and (I’m pretty sure) amazement too ;) Not once did I puke and up to this day I still love it. Then there was Jollibee’s peach mango pie that I managed to eat five pieces of at one time and at least 2 pieces everyday for months too. Then there was strawberry ice cream, vegetable lumpia and, well, let’s just say there was a lot. And now, adding on to that list is Japanese food.
But why on earth Japanese food? It never was my favorite cuisine. Japanese food used to make me think of eating raw fish (which for me translates to French kissing with dead fishes), and the guy who French kisses so bad I simply want to forget him. Yet here I am, still not eating raw fish, mind you – but daydreaming of tempuras, maki, beef teppanyaki, chicken teriyaki, Japanese rice and much more. Yummmm
For lack of anything else, I’m blaming it on the chopsticks. If only F, my crush from long ago, taught me how to use them sooner like he said he would, then I would no longer have this overwhelming urge to eat Japanese food to prove that I can use chopsticks beautifully not only on my hair but my food as well.
The first time I successfully picked up a California maki and brought it to my mouth with my chopsticks, I decided right then and there it was definitely one of my favorite dishes and that I gotta have more. Then I tried chopsticks on tempuras and fell in love some more. So what if I’m still having trouble with my rice and noodles? Laugh all you want, but I’m getting there. I figure a few more Japanese restaurants ought to do it. Then I’ll never have to go hungry in China or Japan or Korea. What a thought!
Sigh. Who am I kidding? Raw fish aside, with chopsticks or without, Japanese food simply tastes so good it’s knocking off Sunburst chicken on the number 1 spot of my favorite food list. And mind you, that is no small and easy feat.
Anyone in the mood for Japanese food, call me.
Every now and then, I get these terrible cravings. And by terrible I mean – non-stop, never-mind-the-expense, who-cares-if-everyone’s-sick-of-it-let’s-go! kind of thing. I remember one phase in my life when I had this yen for Yakisoba noodles that I ate it everyday for lunch for two straight months – much to my friend's disgust and (I’m pretty sure) amazement too ;) Not once did I puke and up to this day I still love it. Then there was Jollibee’s peach mango pie that I managed to eat five pieces of at one time and at least 2 pieces everyday for months too. Then there was strawberry ice cream, vegetable lumpia and, well, let’s just say there was a lot. And now, adding on to that list is Japanese food.
But why on earth Japanese food? It never was my favorite cuisine. Japanese food used to make me think of eating raw fish (which for me translates to French kissing with dead fishes), and the guy who French kisses so bad I simply want to forget him. Yet here I am, still not eating raw fish, mind you – but daydreaming of tempuras, maki, beef teppanyaki, chicken teriyaki, Japanese rice and much more. Yummmm
For lack of anything else, I’m blaming it on the chopsticks. If only F, my crush from long ago, taught me how to use them sooner like he said he would, then I would no longer have this overwhelming urge to eat Japanese food to prove that I can use chopsticks beautifully not only on my hair but my food as well.
The first time I successfully picked up a California maki and brought it to my mouth with my chopsticks, I decided right then and there it was definitely one of my favorite dishes and that I gotta have more. Then I tried chopsticks on tempuras and fell in love some more. So what if I’m still having trouble with my rice and noodles? Laugh all you want, but I’m getting there. I figure a few more Japanese restaurants ought to do it. Then I’ll never have to go hungry in China or Japan or Korea. What a thought!
Sigh. Who am I kidding? Raw fish aside, with chopsticks or without, Japanese food simply tastes so good it’s knocking off Sunburst chicken on the number 1 spot of my favorite food list. And mind you, that is no small and easy feat.
Anyone in the mood for Japanese food, call me.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Look Ma, No Hands!
For a trip that had a lot of pre-departure drama, it was a roaring success. Two weekends ago, we explored another side of Cagayan de Oro I never knew existed till recently. There we learned to let go and let live. There, for the first time for most of us, we succumbed to the glory of extreme adventure sports.
First there was the 15-minute walk (okay, 30 minutes including the picture taking galore) down the sky bridge, 150 feet above the ground, at Makahambus Adventure Park. Below it was a dense habitat of what must be century-old trees and what-have-you forest creatures you can only imagine. And if only I wasn’t too busy gripping the side ropes for dear life (this despite the harness securing me to another rope above to prevent mishaps), I would have scared myself silly with my overactive imagination. The guide told us “down there” used to be a cave with bats and all until Mother Nature decided to uncover its head and shower it with some light.
Then, there was the zip line going back – now THAT was amazing and absolutely my favorite part. At first, while waiting for my turn to be released, looking at the distance and the high drop, I couldn’t help but ask—no, torture—myself for the nth time, “Wait, ayin, why is it you’re doing this again? Why, in fact, are you paying 500-fuckin-pesos just to take that dive to nowhere (possibly) when you didn’t have to?”
Then I heard myself answer back for the nth time, “Because it’s something different, it’s something beyond you, the opportunity is here, right now, and if you don’t do this now, you may never experience this kind of rush and one-of-a-kind freedom in your life.”
And you know what I found out? It was only the letting go part that was hard. Because once released, the feeling is so-so cool. You actually hear the wind rushing by your ears and that full-blown scream you release is so-so liberating. Then mid-way, you learn to let go of the ropes, just hang in the air with only the harness securing you through the thin line, and then you look up to the sky and somehow you wish you could just go on like that forever—so light and so cool, maybe not so brave yet still so safe. It was then I realized why, in life, many times, we just need to let go and let God. He sets us free.
Somehow, after the skywalk and the zip line, the thought of whitewater rafting, the main event which came after, did not scare us that much anymore. In fact, it was actually less scary than we imagined and prepared for.
Three hours of rafting on Cagayan river, which splits Cagayan and Bukidnon translates to P1,100 per person (less if you’re a group of 10). Before launching, we suited up – helmet, vest, and paddle, and were given a briefing on the safety measures while on river, which comforted me a bit.
Our main guide, Mael, who we absolutely loved for his comic deadpan anecdotes, directed us to “forward!” paddle, back paddle, and lock our peets (feet) when necessary. Because the water was high (thank God), we experienced about 14 to 16 ORGASMIC RAPIDS (normally 12) and every time we conquered one, the group celebrated the team effort with paddles in the air and a loud “high-five!”
It was amazing really… it’s like being in a big whirlpool bath with bubbles. Some rapids were mellow, some surprising, some amazingly fast, some wild, some long and deep – oh, I said orgasmic already, didn’t I? My favorite was what they named as the “Rodeo”. As we approached this particular rapids, Mael told us to stand, lock our peets and paddle rodeo style. We could barely keep our balance but still nobody fell off and it was exhilarating.
When it became too hot, our guides allowed us a couple of icy dips on still waters. It was murky, perhaps deep, and perhaps filled with unknown creatures or snakes from what they call the “Snake Mountain”, but what the heck—at that point, we were just glad to be alive on water.
Getting us back on the raft took all of our guides’ efforts. Mael bemoaned that we must have gained some pounds after we wiped out lunch. Who could blame us with that very sumptuous meal of mouthwatering prawns, fresh crabs, spicy chicken, puso and very juicy and sweet pineapples that our guides prepared for us? Yummmm. For me, that was the best lunch ever.
After the whitewater rafting, we went back to Makahambus park for the rappelling. After everything, it was a bit tame. You just release and control the rope by your butt to set the pace you want going down. Yes, going down that “dense habitat of what must be century-old trees and what-have-you forest creatures you can only imagine.” It was okay. What was not okay was going up the very steep steel and almost rusty staircase on our way back. I almost lost my breath completely in my bid to reach the top so fast in fear of crawling creatures that might spring up any time and of being left behind. I never felt so happy reaching the top in my life.I admit I went to Cagayan intending to run and perhaps to let go. And I did. But not for long. For FG followed and managed to catch me along the way. They say love is the greatest adventure. Call me senseless, but I'm inspired enough to give it another try.
To FG, here's a high-five and bottoms up (!) this time 'round!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Loved and Lost
They say love is always worth fighting. But when or where exactly do you draw the line? How do you know when to raise the white flag or when to continue fighting? How can you tell the difference between being foolish and brave?
For me, I guess, you know you’ve lost the fight when:
1. He tells you he can’t see you as being The One
2. No matter how close you’ve become, he says you’re not the only one he’s interested in after all… there are a couple more.
3. He admits that the only reason he’s not bored with you is because he doesn’t see you that often.
4. He agrees that you’re better off getting over him.
They say, in life, it’s better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all. How the world lies.
Just recently, I’ve loved and lost and I honestly don’t understand how this could be any better when:
1. You start to wonder what the fuck is wrong with you – plagued with questions like am I not beautiful enough, was I too kind, not funny enough, too bitchy, too nice?
2. You begin to ask why you never seem to be enough and doubt if you’ll ever be enough for anybody
3. You realize that a good part of you dies – that part birthed from childhood that has remained stubbornly optimistic, that stubbornly insists that life will turn out good if you just believe, despite the many shit that happen through the years.
4. You have to live with the consequences of doing the right thing (letting go)– that of trying to learn once more to just be happy by yourself, coz maybe, just maybe, love was never meant to find you in this lifetime. And it’s sad because you realize that no matter how people will try to tell you otherwise, you just don’t believe them anymore. All you hear is just bunch of crap, coz really now, when it comes to fate, do they really know any better?
I hate you, you know. I hate you for taking me for granted. I hate you for not loving enough to fight for what we could have. I hate you because I love you. And it sucks because I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna unlove you now and if I ever will.
One good thing about losing though is that at least you know that the damned game is over. And I can stop playing and finally start letting go.
And this time I swear, I will never, ever let this happen to me again.
For me, I guess, you know you’ve lost the fight when:
1. He tells you he can’t see you as being The One
2. No matter how close you’ve become, he says you’re not the only one he’s interested in after all… there are a couple more.
3. He admits that the only reason he’s not bored with you is because he doesn’t see you that often.
4. He agrees that you’re better off getting over him.
They say, in life, it’s better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all. How the world lies.
Just recently, I’ve loved and lost and I honestly don’t understand how this could be any better when:
1. You start to wonder what the fuck is wrong with you – plagued with questions like am I not beautiful enough, was I too kind, not funny enough, too bitchy, too nice?
2. You begin to ask why you never seem to be enough and doubt if you’ll ever be enough for anybody
3. You realize that a good part of you dies – that part birthed from childhood that has remained stubbornly optimistic, that stubbornly insists that life will turn out good if you just believe, despite the many shit that happen through the years.
4. You have to live with the consequences of doing the right thing (letting go)– that of trying to learn once more to just be happy by yourself, coz maybe, just maybe, love was never meant to find you in this lifetime. And it’s sad because you realize that no matter how people will try to tell you otherwise, you just don’t believe them anymore. All you hear is just bunch of crap, coz really now, when it comes to fate, do they really know any better?
I hate you, you know. I hate you for taking me for granted. I hate you for not loving enough to fight for what we could have. I hate you because I love you. And it sucks because I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna unlove you now and if I ever will.
One good thing about losing though is that at least you know that the damned game is over. And I can stop playing and finally start letting go.
And this time I swear, I will never, ever let this happen to me again.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Vegetable Lumpia
slightly overweight and broken,
i turned to you for comfort
no more appealing than a slice of boring brown,
i took you to my mouth and found
your kiss was like no other
aaahhh
crunchy on the first bite
flavorful when chewed
and hot with passion against my tongue
who would have expected?
so I looked more within
and discovered the colors in you
refreshing greens , pale yellows,
and cheerful oranges
that overwhelmed the blues
our love affair began
and I eagerly walked the many meters to Brutus paradise
all the while thinking perhaps, possibly
you’re the miracle I’ve long waited
the harmless spice in life I’ve craved
salty, sweet, and sour
you shield me
from life’s bitter flavor
your oil, fluidly unassuming,
gives me the gentle warmth I’ve missed
then P25, now P36
you ask, will I ever give you up?
how can I? you are my
comfort, inspiration, lover, and friend
all rolled into one.
i turned to you for comfort
no more appealing than a slice of boring brown,
i took you to my mouth and found
your kiss was like no other
aaahhh
crunchy on the first bite
flavorful when chewed
and hot with passion against my tongue
who would have expected?
so I looked more within
and discovered the colors in you
refreshing greens , pale yellows,
and cheerful oranges
that overwhelmed the blues
our love affair began
and I eagerly walked the many meters to Brutus paradise
all the while thinking perhaps, possibly
you’re the miracle I’ve long waited
the harmless spice in life I’ve craved
salty, sweet, and sour
you shield me
from life’s bitter flavor
your oil, fluidly unassuming,
gives me the gentle warmth I’ve missed
then P25, now P36
you ask, will I ever give you up?
how can I? you are my
comfort, inspiration, lover, and friend
all rolled into one.
Monday, October 02, 2006
ug sa dihang...
giawhag ko sa akong mga higala og suwat og binisaya... kanang stret-stret daw ug dili dapat moliko ... ug sa dihang... usa pa lang ko ka linya naglabad na akong mga mata! pagka lechugas!
give me a few months, honey-ho, and there will be a bisaya entry in this blog. that i promise you.
pagka faet.
P.S. suwayan daw beh...
"... mianhi akong gwapo na maguwang nga lalake gikan boracay. ug hala ka - mas niwang ug seksi pa cya namo sa akong maguwang na babaye. pero sama gihapon sa among naandan- aduna napod cyay daghang pakulo. sa karong higayon, iya ming gisaag sa usa ka bukid sa medellin. amo unta abton balik ang iyang gipang garbo nga tuktok na iyang naabot miaging adlaw. sa tanto namong tuyok-tuyok didto sa lugar nga daghang sagbot ug puno-an (ang malapalasyong gingharian sa mga bitin ug uban pa) , naabtan mi sa kagbhion mao na namalik nalang mi sa among agi. Ug ako, sul-ob akong pwerte ka mubo nga shorts ug tsinelas (kay ngano nag shorts ug tsinelas sa bukid, akong gahapon nga kaugalingon ra ang nahibalo), napuno og samad-samad sa akong wow legs hinapit. pero wa gihapon mi matagam kay matod pa sa mga walay buot nga manag-igsoon: sa umaabot, ato ra jod na abton ang tuktok."
ooo, diivaaa? do i hear laughing? or was that clapping? bow.
as i said, FAET.
give me a few months, honey-ho, and there will be a bisaya entry in this blog. that i promise you.
pagka faet.
P.S. suwayan daw beh...
"... mianhi akong gwapo na maguwang nga lalake gikan boracay. ug hala ka - mas niwang ug seksi pa cya namo sa akong maguwang na babaye. pero sama gihapon sa among naandan- aduna napod cyay daghang pakulo. sa karong higayon, iya ming gisaag sa usa ka bukid sa medellin. amo unta abton balik ang iyang gipang garbo nga tuktok na iyang naabot miaging adlaw. sa tanto namong tuyok-tuyok didto sa lugar nga daghang sagbot ug puno-an (ang malapalasyong gingharian sa mga bitin ug uban pa) , naabtan mi sa kagbhion mao na namalik nalang mi sa among agi. Ug ako, sul-ob akong pwerte ka mubo nga shorts ug tsinelas (kay ngano nag shorts ug tsinelas sa bukid, akong gahapon nga kaugalingon ra ang nahibalo), napuno og samad-samad sa akong wow legs hinapit. pero wa gihapon mi matagam kay matod pa sa mga walay buot nga manag-igsoon: sa umaabot, ato ra jod na abton ang tuktok."
ooo, diivaaa? do i hear laughing? or was that clapping? bow.
as i said, FAET.
Monday, September 18, 2006
This Time, I Don’t Know
"You're lucky. You go through life with the certainty that what you're doing is right. I know how comforting that is."
-- Boyd, a patient, to House (said regretfully, after having lost some of his own certainty)
"It is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it"
-- Wilson to House
Self-doubt, you find out, is an ugly thing that happens inevitably.
When I was a kid, I used to believe my parents have all the answers. Then my world got a little bigger and I realized that some people still get sick even if they eat their vegetables or take their afternoon naps religiously.
Before, I thought that educated, independent women are way better off than their domesticated counterparts. Today, I’ve met enough to know they’re not necessarily any happier.
I grew up believing I was smart. How can I not when my family keeps telling me so, when my records seemed to support it and my teachers affirmed it? And then I entered U.P. and that belief was challenged a bit. So okay, I may not have been the smartest after all, but I was still smart, I thought. And then I grew up some more and made mistakes along the way. Major ones, small ones… enough to make me realize that I am stupid too.
While I was still in school, I was so sure I’d be a good writer. I aced my English subjects, joined publications, read enough books, and criticized those who couldn’t put two sentences together. I believed I knew enough. Now, I write for a living. Yet everyday I find myself struggling to remember the basics. Half of the time, I’m not even sure if my S-V structures are right. A lot of people turn to me for their copy needs. If only they knew. If only they knew that a lot of times I just don’t know, then they wouldn’t trust me so much.
I remember a 13-year-old me declaring to my best friends that I would never, ever be with a guy who wouldn’t go down on his knees for me or who wouldn’t or couldn’t afford to bring me flowers everyday. I remember a 15-year old me who believed that there really is that one perfect guy out there somewhere I’ve yet to meet. At 18, I remember saying that I would only marry for love. I detested arranged marriages. I believed that marriages only work if two people love each other completely, that love lasts forever, that there is only that one, great love for each person. Now, at 28, I’m not so sure anymore.
While I was younger, I was so sure about what’s right and what’s wrong. I was full of advices. I thought I was wise for my age. I couldn’t understand why so many people would pick the wrong choices when the right ones are so obvious. How was I to know that, faced with the same problems, I would fall too? That I don’t really know any better. That the world offers more options other than black and white.
Funny and frustrating, isn’t it, how life constantly challenges our beliefs through time. The resulting self-doubt is no joke. It’s depressing and it’s ugly.
But without it, how would we know how annoyingly arrogant we’ve become believing that we are so right? How would we discover that fresh or bigger perspective? How could we learn to tolerate people and be more patient with them? How can we start to reshape ourselves to become better people?
Self-doubt is an ugly thing that happens inevitably, true. But going through this, I’m thinking, maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
-- Boyd, a patient, to House (said regretfully, after having lost some of his own certainty)
"It is possible to believe in something and still fail to live up to it"
-- Wilson to House
Self-doubt, you find out, is an ugly thing that happens inevitably.
When I was a kid, I used to believe my parents have all the answers. Then my world got a little bigger and I realized that some people still get sick even if they eat their vegetables or take their afternoon naps religiously.
Before, I thought that educated, independent women are way better off than their domesticated counterparts. Today, I’ve met enough to know they’re not necessarily any happier.
I grew up believing I was smart. How can I not when my family keeps telling me so, when my records seemed to support it and my teachers affirmed it? And then I entered U.P. and that belief was challenged a bit. So okay, I may not have been the smartest after all, but I was still smart, I thought. And then I grew up some more and made mistakes along the way. Major ones, small ones… enough to make me realize that I am stupid too.
While I was still in school, I was so sure I’d be a good writer. I aced my English subjects, joined publications, read enough books, and criticized those who couldn’t put two sentences together. I believed I knew enough. Now, I write for a living. Yet everyday I find myself struggling to remember the basics. Half of the time, I’m not even sure if my S-V structures are right. A lot of people turn to me for their copy needs. If only they knew. If only they knew that a lot of times I just don’t know, then they wouldn’t trust me so much.
I remember a 13-year-old me declaring to my best friends that I would never, ever be with a guy who wouldn’t go down on his knees for me or who wouldn’t or couldn’t afford to bring me flowers everyday. I remember a 15-year old me who believed that there really is that one perfect guy out there somewhere I’ve yet to meet. At 18, I remember saying that I would only marry for love. I detested arranged marriages. I believed that marriages only work if two people love each other completely, that love lasts forever, that there is only that one, great love for each person. Now, at 28, I’m not so sure anymore.
While I was younger, I was so sure about what’s right and what’s wrong. I was full of advices. I thought I was wise for my age. I couldn’t understand why so many people would pick the wrong choices when the right ones are so obvious. How was I to know that, faced with the same problems, I would fall too? That I don’t really know any better. That the world offers more options other than black and white.
Funny and frustrating, isn’t it, how life constantly challenges our beliefs through time. The resulting self-doubt is no joke. It’s depressing and it’s ugly.
But without it, how would we know how annoyingly arrogant we’ve become believing that we are so right? How would we discover that fresh or bigger perspective? How could we learn to tolerate people and be more patient with them? How can we start to reshape ourselves to become better people?
Self-doubt is an ugly thing that happens inevitably, true. But going through this, I’m thinking, maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Monday, September 11, 2006
High on the Sky in Cebu
Three weekends ago, me and some friends went flyin’ high through the Transcentral Highway on our way to Balamban. “Flyin’ high” because, as the locals are quick to point out, all V-hire drivers that serve the route are plain crazy. For them, no blind curve is too dangerous, no mountain is too high, and no other vehicle is fast enough.
Result? A rollercoaster ride sans seatbelts that we did not buy tickets for. But, by God, it was fun and it was amazingly beautiful. I just found my Baguio in Cebu.
The Cebu Transcentral Highway was purposely built to allow easy access to the hilly areas of central Cebu. As per the provincial government’s press release, this 400-million project funded by the World Bank (who else?) involved “the improvement of some 32.728-km. gravel roads to all weather cement concrete paved roads 6.7-m. wide with 1.5-m. gravel shoulder. It also included preventive structures for landslides along mountainous sections and the construction of a drainage system.”
It might have been a risky project, true, but really worthwhile if you ask me.
Cruising along the mountaintop with the winding roads, lush scenery, biting cold and the fog enveloping the mountains was definitely my kind of trip. Bounded by Cebu's watersheds, the highway passes by Ayala Heights, the Cebu National Park Forest Reserve, Mt. Manunggal and the Island in the Sky Resort – which KJ is still itching to go to up to now. Along the way are marketplaces selling fresh vegetables, sweet corn, flowers and a lot more at very cheap prices.
Yeah, who could resist going back?
*******
Perhaps still feeling high from that rollercoaster ride at the Transcentral highway weeks ago, KJ thought nothing of suggesting last Saturday going to the Island in the Sky late at night.
Hmm, the fogging highway at midnight… Whoa! Even I had some doubts. But then, I really want to go there too…
The roads are paved, insists KJ.
With lights? Uhm, not sure.
There are five of us and people have done it before us…it’s safe.
Even with all the fog?
Well, it’s really beautiful up there.
Nods.
I want to see it, pipes FG. Let’s go.
The Crosswind’s wobbly, Dax, our other driver demurred.
Bummer.
Why are we even debating this? We’re all out of our minds.
It’s a place we haven’t been yet.
It’s just about 30 minutes away…
Yeah, with no gas station or what-have-you in between…
Silence.
It’s really beautiful up there (plaintively).
Yeah.
Alternatives?
Mr. A’s? Mountain View?
Nah. Been there. Done that.
So where else in Cebu haven’t we been to yet?
That’s a tough one.
Debated and thought some more over pizza. Munch, munch. May I have some more frappuccino? Water please. Clock ticking…
Hey, I know! The Lighthouse!
Liloan? Amara?
That got me interested. While I was still working for Maria Luisa Homes, Amara was one of the competing residential developments I took notice of. With them claiming the Lighthouse as their USP (unique selling proposition) in all their collaterals, I couldn't help but be curious about the thing.
Cool. Who knows the way?
Well, I know how to get to Liloan…
That’s good enough. Go lets, bagets!
Less than 30 minutes later, Dax’s Crosswind and Voxy, which I just named FG’s dark red Volkswagen (not the Beetle), found the Lighthouse without trouble. Well, after just about three wrong turns, that’s all. Isn’t that great?
Just as we were about to proceed, we were told the Lighthouse closes at 10 PM. It was almost 11 PM. Oops. Awww.
Where do we go?
We noticed a group of people converging some meters ahead. What’s that—a diskoral? Let’s check it out.
It was kinda cool actually. Some ingenious local has converted what seemed to be an abandoned hilltop into a provincial version of a disco bar. They even had an entrance fee of P50 (non consumable). They served barbecue and beer (exclusively Red Horse and San Mig pilsen and Light) without ice. The nearby lighthouse provided the disco lights (now what’s cooler than that?). And the local band? They played The Playlist! You know, the list of songs that you hear every local band play here in the city whichever bar (expensive or otherwise) you go to. We know The Playlist by heart already and there’s some comfort in that. The vocalist ain’t bad, too.
It wasn’t exactly what we planned for. But we had the full moon, a nice view of the sea and the island across, the power of the nearby lighthouse, nice music, and the gentle kick of Red Horse grande. And with MD around, of course we danced. Even FG and Dax. Who cared? We were in Liloan. The people there, both young and old, were quite game, too.
Who would have thought? All this and us at a diskoral miles away. Hehe.
Somehow, that’s what happens when you dream about that Island in the Sky. Better get there actually soon ‘coz who knows where we’ll end up next time, huh?
Result? A rollercoaster ride sans seatbelts that we did not buy tickets for. But, by God, it was fun and it was amazingly beautiful. I just found my Baguio in Cebu.
The Cebu Transcentral Highway was purposely built to allow easy access to the hilly areas of central Cebu. As per the provincial government’s press release, this 400-million project funded by the World Bank (who else?) involved “the improvement of some 32.728-km. gravel roads to all weather cement concrete paved roads 6.7-m. wide with 1.5-m. gravel shoulder. It also included preventive structures for landslides along mountainous sections and the construction of a drainage system.”
It might have been a risky project, true, but really worthwhile if you ask me.
Cruising along the mountaintop with the winding roads, lush scenery, biting cold and the fog enveloping the mountains was definitely my kind of trip. Bounded by Cebu's watersheds, the highway passes by Ayala Heights, the Cebu National Park Forest Reserve, Mt. Manunggal and the Island in the Sky Resort – which KJ is still itching to go to up to now. Along the way are marketplaces selling fresh vegetables, sweet corn, flowers and a lot more at very cheap prices.
Yeah, who could resist going back?
*******
Perhaps still feeling high from that rollercoaster ride at the Transcentral highway weeks ago, KJ thought nothing of suggesting last Saturday going to the Island in the Sky late at night.
Hmm, the fogging highway at midnight… Whoa! Even I had some doubts. But then, I really want to go there too…
The roads are paved, insists KJ.
With lights? Uhm, not sure.
There are five of us and people have done it before us…it’s safe.
Even with all the fog?
Well, it’s really beautiful up there.
Nods.
I want to see it, pipes FG. Let’s go.
The Crosswind’s wobbly, Dax, our other driver demurred.
Bummer.
Why are we even debating this? We’re all out of our minds.
It’s a place we haven’t been yet.
It’s just about 30 minutes away…
Yeah, with no gas station or what-have-you in between…
Silence.
It’s really beautiful up there (plaintively).
Yeah.
Alternatives?
Mr. A’s? Mountain View?
Nah. Been there. Done that.
So where else in Cebu haven’t we been to yet?
That’s a tough one.
Debated and thought some more over pizza. Munch, munch. May I have some more frappuccino? Water please. Clock ticking…
Hey, I know! The Lighthouse!
Liloan? Amara?
That got me interested. While I was still working for Maria Luisa Homes, Amara was one of the competing residential developments I took notice of. With them claiming the Lighthouse as their USP (unique selling proposition) in all their collaterals, I couldn't help but be curious about the thing.
Cool. Who knows the way?
Well, I know how to get to Liloan…
That’s good enough. Go lets, bagets!
Less than 30 minutes later, Dax’s Crosswind and Voxy, which I just named FG’s dark red Volkswagen (not the Beetle), found the Lighthouse without trouble. Well, after just about three wrong turns, that’s all. Isn’t that great?
Just as we were about to proceed, we were told the Lighthouse closes at 10 PM. It was almost 11 PM. Oops. Awww.
Where do we go?
We noticed a group of people converging some meters ahead. What’s that—a diskoral? Let’s check it out.
It was kinda cool actually. Some ingenious local has converted what seemed to be an abandoned hilltop into a provincial version of a disco bar. They even had an entrance fee of P50 (non consumable). They served barbecue and beer (exclusively Red Horse and San Mig pilsen and Light) without ice. The nearby lighthouse provided the disco lights (now what’s cooler than that?). And the local band? They played The Playlist! You know, the list of songs that you hear every local band play here in the city whichever bar (expensive or otherwise) you go to. We know The Playlist by heart already and there’s some comfort in that. The vocalist ain’t bad, too.
It wasn’t exactly what we planned for. But we had the full moon, a nice view of the sea and the island across, the power of the nearby lighthouse, nice music, and the gentle kick of Red Horse grande. And with MD around, of course we danced. Even FG and Dax. Who cared? We were in Liloan. The people there, both young and old, were quite game, too.
Who would have thought? All this and us at a diskoral miles away. Hehe.
Somehow, that’s what happens when you dream about that Island in the Sky. Better get there actually soon ‘coz who knows where we’ll end up next time, huh?
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Dr. House
D - damaged (walks with a cane, burned by love)
R - ruthless and rude
H - hot
O - outrageously acerbic and arrogant
U - unapologetically unconventional
S - sexy
E - exceptionally brilliant
How can I not be crazy about him?
I’ve been cooped up in the house, sleeping way past my bedtime, missing appointments and even extending lunch breaks just to indulge in a Dr. House DVD marathon ever since Fritz (shoot him!) brought seasons 1 and 2 to the house. And now all I can think about is scouring for the following seasons’ installments in the streets of Fuente or even that place that I always try to avoid (clue: it starts with a C).
I know, I know. This is not me.
Having spent enough time with him, I figure just how Dr. House would diagnose me with the aggravating symptoms above: an addict. Bad. This is so bad.
Things I learned from him so far:
1. It’s human nature to lie. People always lie. It’s just a question of what we lie about.
2. If you’re a doctor, eventually you’re bound to kill someone. If you can’t deal with it, get out.
3. You’ll know what’s the right thing to do when you allow yourself to commit mistakes.
4. You have got to stop pleasing people and do what’s right, even if they’ll end up hating you for it.
5. In life, you’ve got to choose one and accept to lose the other.
********
Last night, I realized how blessed I am to be FREE:
To use my brain, my body, my heart
To live in my own home
To walk the streets
To bond with my family
To go out with friends
To work
To smile
To eat
To have the option to be sane and insane when I want to
To learn
To be healthy
To live
To love
… when some people can’t, when some people don’t have such freedoms. It makes complaining about the things we have no control over just oh-so- petty.
Thank God.
R - ruthless and rude
H - hot
O - outrageously acerbic and arrogant
U - unapologetically unconventional
S - sexy
E - exceptionally brilliant
How can I not be crazy about him?
I’ve been cooped up in the house, sleeping way past my bedtime, missing appointments and even extending lunch breaks just to indulge in a Dr. House DVD marathon ever since Fritz (shoot him!) brought seasons 1 and 2 to the house. And now all I can think about is scouring for the following seasons’ installments in the streets of Fuente or even that place that I always try to avoid (clue: it starts with a C).
I know, I know. This is not me.
Having spent enough time with him, I figure just how Dr. House would diagnose me with the aggravating symptoms above: an addict. Bad. This is so bad.
Things I learned from him so far:
1. It’s human nature to lie. People always lie. It’s just a question of what we lie about.
2. If you’re a doctor, eventually you’re bound to kill someone. If you can’t deal with it, get out.
3. You’ll know what’s the right thing to do when you allow yourself to commit mistakes.
4. You have got to stop pleasing people and do what’s right, even if they’ll end up hating you for it.
5. In life, you’ve got to choose one and accept to lose the other.
********
Last night, I realized how blessed I am to be FREE:
To use my brain, my body, my heart
To live in my own home
To walk the streets
To bond with my family
To go out with friends
To work
To smile
To eat
To have the option to be sane and insane when I want to
To learn
To be healthy
To live
To love
… when some people can’t, when some people don’t have such freedoms. It makes complaining about the things we have no control over just oh-so- petty.
Thank God.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Fallin'
Given to me by a friend, who says it's originally written for a friend, and is now dedicated to a friend. Sa maka-relate, read on:
My heart I know was in good condition
When suddenly you came
Putting it in a different situation
Giving love a new definition
I try not to smile when you drop by
But what my heart says I can't deny
Just one look from you
And I don't know what to do
You gave life a new meaning
And I felt that from the very beginning
The feeling is so wonderful
That it makes me feel real beautiful
But at the end of it all
I don't want to fall
I want so much to fight this feeling
Yet every night it's you in my mind that's clinging
I know it's not right
And this feeling I want to fight
But what can I do
I'm just a girl falling in love with you
-- Secret Author
My heart I know was in good condition
When suddenly you came
Putting it in a different situation
Giving love a new definition
I try not to smile when you drop by
But what my heart says I can't deny
Just one look from you
And I don't know what to do
You gave life a new meaning
And I felt that from the very beginning
The feeling is so wonderful
That it makes me feel real beautiful
But at the end of it all
I don't want to fall
I want so much to fight this feeling
Yet every night it's you in my mind that's clinging
I know it's not right
And this feeling I want to fight
But what can I do
I'm just a girl falling in love with you
-- Secret Author
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Dating Ideas Galore
Would you believe that I now write weekly dating tips for one of the projects of the company I work for? Me, of all people! But as the only writer left, I don't really have a choice, do I? So well, well, well....
I'm not really supposed to post this here since anything I write becomes company property, but i just can't resist. So shhhh...
This is for all dating guys and gals out there: Do away with your usual unimaginative excuses and learn from Itzamatch's Dating Tip #9:
Dating Ideas Galore
Don’t know where to go or what to do for a memorable date experience with your special someone? Fret not. Itzamatch gives you the following dating ideas, according to your mood or interests, to start you off or spice up your time while cruising the romantic lane of love.
Here goes:
Easy – Rent a movie or watch TV together; Go malling; Have coffee or a drink; Watch a movie, concert, or any show
Fun – Dare to karaoke; Run together in the rain; Bump cars; Play ball one-on-one; Try new board or card games; Go to an arcade
Not Your Usual – See fireworks; Go for a hot air balloon ride
Sentimental – Do volunteer work together; Visit each other's families especially grandparents
Out-of-Town – Go camping, create a bonfire then roast hotdogs or marshmallows; Go to the beach and do shell searching together; Visit exciting caves; Take a trip to any of our 7,107 islands
Something Physical – Go dancing, horseback riding, biking or rock climbing; Garden together; Work out together
Romantic – Go on a riverboat cruise or a country drive; Go for a moonlit or sunset walk; Park and stargaze; Listen to romantic music together
Practical – Grocery shop together; Walk your pets; Visit garage sales
Artsy -- Finger paint, build models, or decorate a room or Christmas tree
Social/Cultural – Go to a wedding, a party, or church together; See ballet, a play, a symphony or musical; Visit an art gallery, museum, an amusement or city park, or even a circus or your local haunted house
Educational – Join a hobby class together; Go to the bookstore; Read the news or tabloids and then comment or laugh together
Food fest – Have a picnic; Cook out; Bake cookies or cook special dishes together; Experiment with ice cream
Water sports or activities – Swimming, jet skiing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, water-skiing, sailing, scuba diving or snorkeling
Pet Props – Visit the zoo; See an aquarium; Visit a pet store
Child’s Play or Games – Play a game of tag; Climb trees together; Go rollerblading; Make and fly a kite; Visit a playground or your favorite childhood places and swap stories
So ano, date tayo weekend? hehehe. ciao!
I'm not really supposed to post this here since anything I write becomes company property, but i just can't resist. So shhhh...
This is for all dating guys and gals out there: Do away with your usual unimaginative excuses and learn from Itzamatch's Dating Tip #9:
Dating Ideas Galore
Don’t know where to go or what to do for a memorable date experience with your special someone? Fret not. Itzamatch gives you the following dating ideas, according to your mood or interests, to start you off or spice up your time while cruising the romantic lane of love.
Here goes:
Easy – Rent a movie or watch TV together; Go malling; Have coffee or a drink; Watch a movie, concert, or any show
Fun – Dare to karaoke; Run together in the rain; Bump cars; Play ball one-on-one; Try new board or card games; Go to an arcade
Not Your Usual – See fireworks; Go for a hot air balloon ride
Sentimental – Do volunteer work together; Visit each other's families especially grandparents
Out-of-Town – Go camping, create a bonfire then roast hotdogs or marshmallows; Go to the beach and do shell searching together; Visit exciting caves; Take a trip to any of our 7,107 islands
Something Physical – Go dancing, horseback riding, biking or rock climbing; Garden together; Work out together
Romantic – Go on a riverboat cruise or a country drive; Go for a moonlit or sunset walk; Park and stargaze; Listen to romantic music together
Practical – Grocery shop together; Walk your pets; Visit garage sales
Artsy -- Finger paint, build models, or decorate a room or Christmas tree
Social/Cultural – Go to a wedding, a party, or church together; See ballet, a play, a symphony or musical; Visit an art gallery, museum, an amusement or city park, or even a circus or your local haunted house
Educational – Join a hobby class together; Go to the bookstore; Read the news or tabloids and then comment or laugh together
Food fest – Have a picnic; Cook out; Bake cookies or cook special dishes together; Experiment with ice cream
Water sports or activities – Swimming, jet skiing, kayaking, whitewater rafting, water-skiing, sailing, scuba diving or snorkeling
Pet Props – Visit the zoo; See an aquarium; Visit a pet store
Child’s Play or Games – Play a game of tag; Climb trees together; Go rollerblading; Make and fly a kite; Visit a playground or your favorite childhood places and swap stories
So ano, date tayo weekend? hehehe. ciao!
Monday, July 24, 2006
My Favorite Things
The sun is setting, the sea particularly sparkling from afar, and though I’m listening to Maroon 5 at the moment, I can’t get Julie Andrews’ voice singing “These are a few of my favorite things…” out of my filmic (thank you for this term, Ronald) head. What the…?! Aaarrghhhh. So let me just play along for the moment…
My Favorite:
Dish: Hot and spicy tuna with cheese
Time of the Day: Sunset
Flower: Yellow or peach roses
Getaway: the Beach, with a nice, modern CR (of course! Hehehe)
Sensation: Raindrops on my skin
Hugs or kisses? Both! Both!
Mindless activity: Long drives to anywhere
Smell: Hmmm…FG knows
Exercise: Swimming
Drink: brewed coffee
City: Aside from home? Baguio.
Expense: Travel
Cake: Red Ribbon’s Choco Mallows (yummy)
Food: Ice Cream
Day of the week: Friday
Chocolate: Cadbury or any Swiss or Belgian choco
Shake: Mocha shake from Shakey’s
Thing to look at: the Moon
Pizza: Yellow Cab
Stress buster: Slow and deep shiatsu massages
Musical Instrument: Drums
Song: Burn
Date: Quiet talks by the beach
Alcoholic beverage: tequila (cuervo ha)
Musical Play: Miss Saigon
Author: uncomplicated, funny and wise Andrew Matthews
Book: Ecclesiastes
Color: Red (for now)
Morning alarm: sweet text messages
And, oh! -- my good friend Berna, who apparently is also praningningning (based on her latest blog entry. oops. peace, girl!), wrote me the sweetest (my favorite) testimonial ever on my birthday. (I luv u jud dai… and not once did you even mention the word ‘nice’--- I love you more! hehehe). I was so busy the past days that I almost missed reading it. Imagine?!
Anywayz, these are just a few (few daw!) of my favorite things… So can you hear it? Can you hear the music? Will you tell it to stop already please so I can get back to work? Nah, let’s sing nalang: “Raindrops on roses…”
My Favorite:
Dish: Hot and spicy tuna with cheese
Time of the Day: Sunset
Flower: Yellow or peach roses
Getaway: the Beach, with a nice, modern CR (of course! Hehehe)
Sensation: Raindrops on my skin
Hugs or kisses? Both! Both!
Mindless activity: Long drives to anywhere
Smell: Hmmm…FG knows
Exercise: Swimming
Drink: brewed coffee
City: Aside from home? Baguio.
Expense: Travel
Cake: Red Ribbon’s Choco Mallows (yummy)
Food: Ice Cream
Day of the week: Friday
Chocolate: Cadbury or any Swiss or Belgian choco
Shake: Mocha shake from Shakey’s
Thing to look at: the Moon
Pizza: Yellow Cab
Stress buster: Slow and deep shiatsu massages
Musical Instrument: Drums
Song: Burn
Date: Quiet talks by the beach
Alcoholic beverage: tequila (cuervo ha)
Musical Play: Miss Saigon
Author: uncomplicated, funny and wise Andrew Matthews
Book: Ecclesiastes
Color: Red (for now)
Morning alarm: sweet text messages
And, oh! -- my good friend Berna, who apparently is also praningningning (based on her latest blog entry. oops. peace, girl!), wrote me the sweetest (my favorite) testimonial ever on my birthday. (I luv u jud dai… and not once did you even mention the word ‘nice’--- I love you more! hehehe). I was so busy the past days that I almost missed reading it. Imagine?!
Anywayz, these are just a few (few daw!) of my favorite things… So can you hear it? Can you hear the music? Will you tell it to stop already please so I can get back to work? Nah, let’s sing nalang: “Raindrops on roses…”
Thursday, July 13, 2006
18 + 2(5) = 7 (1+3) + 20(0)6
Apparently, numbers don't lie. Today, I turn 28 and try as i might, there's just no way i can argue my way out of it.
If my life were to turn out the way i planned:
2 years ago, i would have been at the peak of my professional career, livin' my dream job
last year, i would have traveled the world already
this year, i'd be married
and in two year's time, i would have died and gone to heaven.
And yet today I find myself, after everything -- still single, a traveler not of the world but of my own home, and working at a job i did not know was possible when i graduated from college.
Apparently, too, My life already has a plan not my own.
Maybe, after all, my friend M is right: If it's just too hard to get something, then that something must not really be for you. You're meant for something else."
Come to think of it, the best gifts in my life did come to me in moments unexpected and times when i did not really ask for them: my family, true friends, helpful hands and souls when i was down, free vacations, great jobs, a lover, a 7-inch angel flying on a quarter moon arriving at my doorstep last midnight, faith ... maybe, even love?
For one who hates surprises, my life is certainly full of them. Maybe that's what it's all about.
Me? I'm done with planning. I'm done with wishin' and hopin'.
I'm tired of waiting for the fire in me to spark. I'm done looking for magic.
If they're meant to come, they'll come.
Born under the sign of cancer, I learned some time ago my element is water. Perhaps the best thing for me now is just to go with the flow.
At 28, my heart is learning to beat only for the moment -- another of life's gifts.
If my life were to turn out the way i planned:
2 years ago, i would have been at the peak of my professional career, livin' my dream job
last year, i would have traveled the world already
this year, i'd be married
and in two year's time, i would have died and gone to heaven.
And yet today I find myself, after everything -- still single, a traveler not of the world but of my own home, and working at a job i did not know was possible when i graduated from college.
Apparently, too, My life already has a plan not my own.
Maybe, after all, my friend M is right: If it's just too hard to get something, then that something must not really be for you. You're meant for something else."
Come to think of it, the best gifts in my life did come to me in moments unexpected and times when i did not really ask for them: my family, true friends, helpful hands and souls when i was down, free vacations, great jobs, a lover, a 7-inch angel flying on a quarter moon arriving at my doorstep last midnight, faith ... maybe, even love?
For one who hates surprises, my life is certainly full of them. Maybe that's what it's all about.
Me? I'm done with planning. I'm done with wishin' and hopin'.
I'm tired of waiting for the fire in me to spark. I'm done looking for magic.
If they're meant to come, they'll come.
Born under the sign of cancer, I learned some time ago my element is water. Perhaps the best thing for me now is just to go with the flow.
At 28, my heart is learning to beat only for the moment -- another of life's gifts.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Ever The Same
While in Cagayan de Oro, I rediscovered Rob Thomas amongst sexy Maya babes' eclectic CD collection and fell in love with him again. One song in particular moved me so much that I'm blogging it.
To Ann, Maya, my sis, my cousins, and my friends back in Cebu -- Thank You so much for letting me fall on you when I felt like falling apart. No words can ever describe how much it means to me.
And especially to the one sweet guy who took the 6-hour bus trip from Davao to CDO and then back just to see me, well, you may not be Rob Thomas, but thank you for making me feel this just the same:
we were drawn from the weeds
we were brave like soldiers
falling down under the pale moonlight
you were holding to me
like someone broken
and i couldn't tell you but i'm telling you now
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you so we both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you forever in me
ever the same
we would stand in the wind
we were free like water
flowing down
under the warmth of the sun
now it's cold and we're scared
and we've both been shaken
look at us
man, this doesn't need to be the end
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you so we both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you forever in me
ever the same
call on me
i'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
forever it's you
forever in me
ever the same
you may need me there
to carry all your weight
but you're no burden i assure
you tide me over
with a warmth i'll not forget
but i can only give you love
-- ever the same (by rob thomas)
To Ann, Maya, my sis, my cousins, and my friends back in Cebu -- Thank You so much for letting me fall on you when I felt like falling apart. No words can ever describe how much it means to me.
And especially to the one sweet guy who took the 6-hour bus trip from Davao to CDO and then back just to see me, well, you may not be Rob Thomas, but thank you for making me feel this just the same:
we were drawn from the weeds
we were brave like soldiers
falling down under the pale moonlight
you were holding to me
like someone broken
and i couldn't tell you but i'm telling you now
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you so we both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you forever in me
ever the same
we would stand in the wind
we were free like water
flowing down
under the warmth of the sun
now it's cold and we're scared
and we've both been shaken
look at us
man, this doesn't need to be the end
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you so we both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you forever in me
ever the same
call on me
i'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
forever it's you
forever in me
ever the same
you may need me there
to carry all your weight
but you're no burden i assure
you tide me over
with a warmth i'll not forget
but i can only give you love
-- ever the same (by rob thomas)
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
he’s just Not that into you
While in Ozamiz, Ann gave me a book to help me pass the time while I wait for her to finish doing her rounds in the city. As soon as I saw the selection, I groaned. Ain’t life a bitch? As if I wasn’t already depressed enough. But I do believe books come to you for a reason. And since this one nudged its way particularly at this point in my life, I put aside Keats for the moment, and read it.
The book “he’s just not that into you” by greg behrendt and liz luccillo, consultant and writer of the hit and multi-awarded HBO series, Sex and the City, is perhaps the most painful, realistic yet enlightening book I’ve ever read in my life.
I had chest pains all the while I was reading it at a coffee shop all afternoon. And the cute waiter must have seen it all in my face, too, for he kindly kept giving me iced glasses of water while I was there.
The truth is not always pretty, but here let me just lay this down for me – and perhaps for you too-- so I’ll (or we’ll) never have to wonder again.
Hey girl, listen and listen well. Greg, a man, knows what he’s talking about when he says:
1. He’s just not that into you if he’s not asking you out. Because if he likes you, trust me, he will ask you out.
2. He’s just not that into you if he’s not calling you. Men know how to use the phone. If he’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on his mind. (Ouch.)
3. He’s just not that into you if he’s not dating you. “Hanging out” is not dating. In the book, 100% of the guys polled said “a fear of intimacy” has never stopped them from getting into a relationship. One guy even remarked, “Fear of intimacy is an urban myth”.
4. He’s just not that into you if he’s not having sex with you. When men like you, they want to touch you, always.
5. He’s just not that into you if he’s having sex with someone else. There’s never going to be a good excuse for cheating.
6. He’s just not that into you if he only wants to see you when he’s drunk. If he likes you, he’ll want to see you when his judgment isn’t impaired.
7. He’s just not that into you if he doesn’t want to marry you. Love cures commitment-phobia. Just remember this -- every man you have ever dated who has said he doesn’t want to get married or doesn’t believe in marriage or has “issues” with marriage will, rest assured, someday be married. It just will never be with you. Because he’s not really saying he doesn’t want to get married. He’s saying he doesn’t want to get married to you. (Ouch!)
8. He’s just not that into you if he’s breaking up with you. “I don’t want to go out with you” means just that.
9. He’s just not that into you if he’s disappeared on you. Sometimes, you have to get closure all by yourself. (Aaarrggh)
10. He’s just not that into you if he’s married (and other insane variations of being unavailable). If you’re not able to love freely, it’s not really love.
11. He’s just not that into you if he’s a selfish jerk, a bully or a really big freak. If you really love someone, you want to do things to make that person happy.
The truth does hurt, doesn’t it? Sometimes, we just need it spelled out for us to finally acknowledge what we’ve known all along.
It’s not that easy to admit that the guys you’ve dated and liked are just not that into you. I’m guilty too of making excuses. I let myself be confused when actually there’s nothing to be confused about. It’s become so painfully clear that it’s not really men or my relationships that are complicated… it’s me who’s making things complicated.
Take it from the man who says it as it is: “When a guy is into you, he lets you know it. He calls, he shows up, he wants to meet your friends, he can’t keep his eyes or hands off of you, and when it’s time to have sex, he’s more than overjoyed to oblige. Men are not complicated, although we’d like you to think we are…We are driven by sex, although we’d like to pretend otherwise… And sadly (and most embarrassingly) we would rather lose an arm out a city bus window than tell you simply, ‘You’re not the one.’”
And there goes the bitter flavor of humble pie down my throat.
“Don’t waste the pretty,” Greg says.
Still, call me naïve, but I don’t see how you can really stop love when you feel love, even when it’s for a guy who’s really not that into you. Love after all is love. It should come freely and with no strings attached. When you feel it, you show it and say it. Something that beautiful should never be hidden nor go undeclared. I think it’s just sad to kill love once you feel it since it comes so rarely.
But I understand now how the guy who’s not that into you -- though you love him -- could never be THE ONE – no matter how much you believe you can change him. For The One will always be someone who will love you equally back. You don’t have to ask The One to stick by you and prioritize you in his life – he just does.
Well, maybe there’s love, and then there’s Love. Maybe love will just die naturally – eventually-- when the object of your affection is not really that into you. At least, I hope so.
My faith, I admit, is a bit shaky right now. But yeah, I still believe that in order to grow and be happy in love, we all need and deserve to be with The One.
Oh God, I so need a hug right now.
The book “he’s just not that into you” by greg behrendt and liz luccillo, consultant and writer of the hit and multi-awarded HBO series, Sex and the City, is perhaps the most painful, realistic yet enlightening book I’ve ever read in my life.
I had chest pains all the while I was reading it at a coffee shop all afternoon. And the cute waiter must have seen it all in my face, too, for he kindly kept giving me iced glasses of water while I was there.
The truth is not always pretty, but here let me just lay this down for me – and perhaps for you too-- so I’ll (or we’ll) never have to wonder again.
Hey girl, listen and listen well. Greg, a man, knows what he’s talking about when he says:
1. He’s just not that into you if he’s not asking you out. Because if he likes you, trust me, he will ask you out.
2. He’s just not that into you if he’s not calling you. Men know how to use the phone. If he’s not calling you, it’s because you are not on his mind. (Ouch.)
3. He’s just not that into you if he’s not dating you. “Hanging out” is not dating. In the book, 100% of the guys polled said “a fear of intimacy” has never stopped them from getting into a relationship. One guy even remarked, “Fear of intimacy is an urban myth”.
4. He’s just not that into you if he’s not having sex with you. When men like you, they want to touch you, always.
5. He’s just not that into you if he’s having sex with someone else. There’s never going to be a good excuse for cheating.
6. He’s just not that into you if he only wants to see you when he’s drunk. If he likes you, he’ll want to see you when his judgment isn’t impaired.
7. He’s just not that into you if he doesn’t want to marry you. Love cures commitment-phobia. Just remember this -- every man you have ever dated who has said he doesn’t want to get married or doesn’t believe in marriage or has “issues” with marriage will, rest assured, someday be married. It just will never be with you. Because he’s not really saying he doesn’t want to get married. He’s saying he doesn’t want to get married to you. (Ouch!)
8. He’s just not that into you if he’s breaking up with you. “I don’t want to go out with you” means just that.
9. He’s just not that into you if he’s disappeared on you. Sometimes, you have to get closure all by yourself. (Aaarrggh)
10. He’s just not that into you if he’s married (and other insane variations of being unavailable). If you’re not able to love freely, it’s not really love.
11. He’s just not that into you if he’s a selfish jerk, a bully or a really big freak. If you really love someone, you want to do things to make that person happy.
The truth does hurt, doesn’t it? Sometimes, we just need it spelled out for us to finally acknowledge what we’ve known all along.
It’s not that easy to admit that the guys you’ve dated and liked are just not that into you. I’m guilty too of making excuses. I let myself be confused when actually there’s nothing to be confused about. It’s become so painfully clear that it’s not really men or my relationships that are complicated… it’s me who’s making things complicated.
Take it from the man who says it as it is: “When a guy is into you, he lets you know it. He calls, he shows up, he wants to meet your friends, he can’t keep his eyes or hands off of you, and when it’s time to have sex, he’s more than overjoyed to oblige. Men are not complicated, although we’d like you to think we are…We are driven by sex, although we’d like to pretend otherwise… And sadly (and most embarrassingly) we would rather lose an arm out a city bus window than tell you simply, ‘You’re not the one.’”
And there goes the bitter flavor of humble pie down my throat.
“Don’t waste the pretty,” Greg says.
Still, call me naïve, but I don’t see how you can really stop love when you feel love, even when it’s for a guy who’s really not that into you. Love after all is love. It should come freely and with no strings attached. When you feel it, you show it and say it. Something that beautiful should never be hidden nor go undeclared. I think it’s just sad to kill love once you feel it since it comes so rarely.
But I understand now how the guy who’s not that into you -- though you love him -- could never be THE ONE – no matter how much you believe you can change him. For The One will always be someone who will love you equally back. You don’t have to ask The One to stick by you and prioritize you in his life – he just does.
Well, maybe there’s love, and then there’s Love. Maybe love will just die naturally – eventually-- when the object of your affection is not really that into you. At least, I hope so.
My faith, I admit, is a bit shaky right now. But yeah, I still believe that in order to grow and be happy in love, we all need and deserve to be with The One.
Oh God, I so need a hug right now.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Tripping Mindanao
"He set about writing his first major work by taking himself to new places where fresh scenery would stimulate his senses." -- in reference to John Keats (Who, by the way, looks absolutely dreamy on his book cover)
It was perhaps the most depressing two weeks of my life when – like an angel from heaven- my all-time favorite travel buddy Ann offered me a way out of Cebu… at least for awhile. Sometimes in life, when you can’t see the road in front of you, it pays to have a friend point – nah, drag you—in the right direction.
I got no job and I’m almost broke, I told her, all too ready to decline her invitation to visit her down south. But like a deaf woman, she overruled my pitiful objections. So I cashed in the last money I had in the bank and bought a one-way ticket to Mindanao. How I’ll eat or where I’ll go, "bahala na lang si Lord." I just wanted to get out. That’s how desperate I was.
First Stop: Dipolog
"I feel more and more every day, as my imagination strengthens, that I do not live in this world alone but in a thousand worlds." -- John Keats
It takes about 20 minutes via tricycle to reach Dipolog from the Dapitan port. The two are called twin cities, by the way. Coming from a bustling city like Cebu, I kept wondering over and over, "where on earth are the people?" Though bigger than Dapitan, most of Dipolog’s streets were still quiet, disturbed only by the occasional tricycles that pass along. It took me about three days before I saw people my own age. Really.
There are no taxis and the few people there are – apparently lost in this other world—generally ignore you. But though it is not a friendly place, like Dapitan, it is a peaceful one.
It was in Dipolog where I found the cheapest pension house in all my travels so far, courtesy of Ann of course -- smart agent of Smart Communications whose area includes Zamboanga del Norte. Green Mellow Court only charges P120 per person, P80 if you can live without the TV. So what if the room was no bigger than my own at home? So what if it was so hot that you feel like drowning in your own sweat from time to time? So what if the ceiling fan wouldn’t rotate and faced only one direction? At least it was decent and clean. And you know what I found out? Eventually, you get used to it. Isn’t it funny how the little inconveniences just fade away when you’re nursing a greater one in your heart?
Second Stop: Dapitan
If you’re traveling hoping to meet some cute guys in some distant island, then Zamboanga del Norte is certainly not the place to be. But I went ahead and fell in love anyway, at least with Dapitan.
It takes 6 hours to get there via Oceanjet. Once on the coastal road, I saw unusual rock formations to my left and the quiet blue sea to my right – a quiet harbor for troubled souls, I thought. The roads are dotted by charming Spanish-styled houses. Apparently, the land area is so vast they don’t compete for space at all.
Dakak
On my second day, I had the privilege of being invited to the Fun Familia outing of Smart Communications Dipolog in Dakak.
Dakak, I just found out, is owned by Jalosjos—yeah, the controversial politico. Not only Dakak, but most of Zamboanga del Norte, apparently, so he must not be rich- but really filthy rich.
Dakak wasn’t as I expected. For one, it was farther than I thought. Located in Barangay Taguilon, Dapitan, it takes about an hour to reach there from Dipolog. Second, it was bigger than I imagined. Third, the sand was too fine to be true. Fourth, the staff was too unfriendly to be working at a resort.
But as always with Ann, the experience was a blast. While we have to walk for about 10 minutes and climb a hill to get to the cluster of cottages, our abode was charming. It was big and quiet and slightly overlooking. A perfect honeymoon spot, I thought. There I spent the night reading John Keats, my current travel book, and it was simply sensational. I’d hate to say orgasmic, though it was close ;p
And of course, there were the hunks and the hot babes by day, the endless pictorials, and the swimming sessions by the pool and the sea. Being partially enclosed by islets, the Dakak sea is so calm and clear I even saw one big fish swim right past me.
For our first night, we were treated to a cultural show where the girls danced the hula and the "pearly" dance and the men ate fire. It was unforgettable, just like our stay.
Rizal Shrine
"I am as happy as a Man can be… with the yearning passion I have for the beautiful, connected and made one with the ambition of my intellect." -- John Keats
Just by smelling the air of Dapitan, one can already sense the richness of its history. So though there was little time, I just had to drop by Dr. J.R.’s house, a man of intellect and passion.
And being there, I finally understood how Rizal could turn his back on a progressive life in Spain or Manila, and how he could have denied the Katipunan heroes his support for a bloody revolution and opted for more peaceful means. Dapitan, for me, just looks so serene that if I were to be exiled, I’d want it to be there too. It’s the needed breath of fresh air in a complicated life. And its beauty would inspire anyone to write. No wonder Rizal was so prolific too.
The Rizal shrine also gives testimony to his life as a doctor. It is said that he taught and treated in the various huts in the compound. His house was simple enough. Who needs more anyway when you’ve got a spectacular view of the bay, especially at sunset? The paints of his many girls were displayed, too. And, judging from his replica, he really is not that tall. It was so easy to hug him. Hehe. And studying his many faces on the wall, you’ve got to admit, he’s kinda cute. But the hairdo, man, I still maintain it’s a complete turn off.
Gloria de Dapitan
"However it may be, O for a Life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts! It is ‘a Vision in the form of Youth’, a Shadow of reality to come." -- John Keats
Zooming past Dapitan’s boulevard stretch from the Rizal shrine was such a thing of beauty that for once, I stopped thinking, and simply reveled in the sensation. As Keats said, already "Beauty is truth, truth beauty – that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
My eyes feasted on the spectacular view of the sun’s rays dappling on the quiet blue sea. Pension houses interlaced with more Spanish- inspired structures. Before reaching the end of the stretch, there is this one place worth dropping by – the newly launched Gloria de Dapitan center. Boy, it was so amazing, you feel like you’re on foreign land. In the midst of such an old and traditional town, its screaming modernity is such a welcome respite. After going without a coffee shop for almost four days, I went delirious with joy when I finally saw one, Ann couldn’t help laughing. There were bars, an internet café, a classy shopping center, a gym, not to mention a circus complete with merry-go-rounds, ferris wheels, a castle and what-have-yous. Alright, I admit, while I hate it sometimes, I will always crave a remnant of city life wherever I go. The city will always be home for me.
But when you have the charm of old town in one hand and the convenience of a modern world on the other, what more could you ask for? As we rushed to catch the last bus for Ozamiz city, one thing kept running in my mind—yes, definitely, I’ll go back.
Next Stop: Ozamiz City
"She (Melancholy) dwells with Beauty- Beauty that must die" -- John Keats
As I write this, I am in Ozamiz City. They say this is the land of krooks. I dunno. Whatever.
Here we camped in Ann’s tiny computer-shop-cum-apartment. This place I’ll never forget for we had to fight at least five brave, crazy cockroaches to claim our right to be here. I dunno, it must be the lateness of the night, but I actually found it fun especially seeing us so brave when we’re both scared to death of the little bugs. We had no choice but to fight.
We dropped our bags amidst the printers and computers and slept on the floor. It really doesn’t matter where you are, does it, for as long as you are with the right companion. Halfway through Ann’s philosophical discourse on the malady of our love lives, I fell deeply into sleep. Morning came too soon.
This afternoon we ride for Iligan. I don’t know where I’ll sleep or find there, either. I’ve never been there. One thing I know, I’m not ready to go home yet. Besides, what for, anyway?
Monday, April 10, 2006
Malady of Love
Umberto Eco’s Name of the Rose came to me as a blurry, philosophical babble on religious heresies, follies and crimes designed, I suspect, to drive me out of my illogical mind.
New York Times hailed the book as a bestseller. I might have been dazzled by its brilliance too were I not distracted by the fact that I found it all quite meaningless.
Umberto concluded by burning the once prominent abbey and glorious labyrinthine library in Italy where it all happened. And now I believe I shall do the same with the 600 pages or so I just wasted about two weeks digesting in my mind. Well, maybe, save five of them…
About mid part of the book, I was given pause from mindless reading, so surprised was I to have run across a commentary on a subject that has continually plagued each and every one of us through time – the malady of love.
It was Adso -- a character I’ve reluctantly grown fond of whose occasional witticisms have saved me from completely dozing off or smashing the book across the room before I reached its final page—who discovered Speculum amoris by Maximus of Bolgna while leafing through the books in the said library in search of a truth.
Like every one of us at some point in our lives – this young novice monk suffered too from the malady of love, particularly when his vows prevented him from pursuing the girl he slept with one night and constantly thought of the days after.
What is love and how do you conquer it? Allow me to quote from the book and share to you Adso’s discovery:
“So I was moved by the pages of Ibn-Hazm, who defines love as a rebel illness whose treatment lies within itself, for the sick person does not want to be healed and he who is ill with it is reluctant to get well. I realized why that morning I had been so stirred by everything I saw: it seems that love enters through the eyes, as Basil of Ancira also says, and – unmistakable symptom—he who is seized by such an illness displays an excessive gaiety, while he wishes at the same time to keep to himself and seeks solitude, while other phenomena affecting him are a violent restlessness and an awe that makes him speechless…
“I was frightened to read that the sincere lover, when denied the sight of the beloved object, must fall into a wasting state that often reaches the point of confining him to bed, and sometimes the malady overpowers the brain and the subject loses his mind and raves. But I read with apprehension that if the illness worsens, death can ensue, and I asked myself whether the joy I derived from thinking of the girl was worth this supreme sacrifice of the body, apart from all due consideration of the soul’s health.
"I learned further, from some words of Saint Hildegard, that the melancholy humor I had felt during the day, which I attributed to a sweet feeling of pain at the girl’s absence, was perilously close to the feeling experienced by one who strays from the harmonious and perfect state man experiences in paradise…
"… the great Avicenna defined love as an assiduous thought of a melancholy nature, born as a result of one’s thinking again and again of the features, gestures, or behavior of a person of the opposite sex: it does not originate as an illness but is transformed into illness when, remaining unsatisfied, it becomes obsessive thought, and so there is an incessant flutter of the eyelids, irregular respiration; now the victim laughs, now weeps, and the pulse throbs. Avicenna advised an infallible method already proposed by Galen for discovering whether someone is in love: grasp the wrist of the sufferer and utter many names of members of the opposite sex, until you discover which name makes the pulse accelerate.”
“Alas, as remedy, Avicenna suggested uniting the two lovers in matrimony, which would cure the illness… Luckily, Avicenna did consider the case of lovers who cannot be joined, and advised as radical treatment hot baths… But then, I read again in Avicenna, that there were also other remedies: for example, enlisting the help of old and expert women who would spend their time denigrating the beloved – and it seems that old women are more expert than men in this task… The last solution suggested by the Saracen was truly immodest, for it required the unhappy lover to couple with many slave girls, a remedy quite unsuitable for a monk.
“I did find a passage in Arnold Villanova, an author I had heard William mention with great esteem, who had it that lovesickness was born from an excess of humors and pneuma, when the human organism finds itself in an excess of dampness and heat, because the blood (which produces the generative seed), increasing through excess, produces excess of seed, a “complexio venerea,” and an intense desire for union in man and woman. There is an estimative virtue situated in the dorsal part of the meridian ventricle of the encephalus (What is that? I wondered) whose purpose is to perceive the insensitive intentions perceived by the senses, and when desire for the object perceived by the senses becomes too strong, the estimative faculty is upset, and it feeds only on the phantom of the beloved person; then there is an inflammation of the whole soul and body, as sadness alternates with joy, because heat (which in moments of despair descends into the deepest parts of the body and chills the skin) in moments of joy rises to the surface, inflaming the face.
"The treatment suggested by Arnold consisted in trying to lose the assurance and the hope of reaching the beloved object, so that the thought would go away.”
New York Times hailed the book as a bestseller. I might have been dazzled by its brilliance too were I not distracted by the fact that I found it all quite meaningless.
Umberto concluded by burning the once prominent abbey and glorious labyrinthine library in Italy where it all happened. And now I believe I shall do the same with the 600 pages or so I just wasted about two weeks digesting in my mind. Well, maybe, save five of them…
About mid part of the book, I was given pause from mindless reading, so surprised was I to have run across a commentary on a subject that has continually plagued each and every one of us through time – the malady of love.
It was Adso -- a character I’ve reluctantly grown fond of whose occasional witticisms have saved me from completely dozing off or smashing the book across the room before I reached its final page—who discovered Speculum amoris by Maximus of Bolgna while leafing through the books in the said library in search of a truth.
Like every one of us at some point in our lives – this young novice monk suffered too from the malady of love, particularly when his vows prevented him from pursuing the girl he slept with one night and constantly thought of the days after.
What is love and how do you conquer it? Allow me to quote from the book and share to you Adso’s discovery:
“So I was moved by the pages of Ibn-Hazm, who defines love as a rebel illness whose treatment lies within itself, for the sick person does not want to be healed and he who is ill with it is reluctant to get well. I realized why that morning I had been so stirred by everything I saw: it seems that love enters through the eyes, as Basil of Ancira also says, and – unmistakable symptom—he who is seized by such an illness displays an excessive gaiety, while he wishes at the same time to keep to himself and seeks solitude, while other phenomena affecting him are a violent restlessness and an awe that makes him speechless…
“I was frightened to read that the sincere lover, when denied the sight of the beloved object, must fall into a wasting state that often reaches the point of confining him to bed, and sometimes the malady overpowers the brain and the subject loses his mind and raves. But I read with apprehension that if the illness worsens, death can ensue, and I asked myself whether the joy I derived from thinking of the girl was worth this supreme sacrifice of the body, apart from all due consideration of the soul’s health.
"I learned further, from some words of Saint Hildegard, that the melancholy humor I had felt during the day, which I attributed to a sweet feeling of pain at the girl’s absence, was perilously close to the feeling experienced by one who strays from the harmonious and perfect state man experiences in paradise…
"… the great Avicenna defined love as an assiduous thought of a melancholy nature, born as a result of one’s thinking again and again of the features, gestures, or behavior of a person of the opposite sex: it does not originate as an illness but is transformed into illness when, remaining unsatisfied, it becomes obsessive thought, and so there is an incessant flutter of the eyelids, irregular respiration; now the victim laughs, now weeps, and the pulse throbs. Avicenna advised an infallible method already proposed by Galen for discovering whether someone is in love: grasp the wrist of the sufferer and utter many names of members of the opposite sex, until you discover which name makes the pulse accelerate.”
“Alas, as remedy, Avicenna suggested uniting the two lovers in matrimony, which would cure the illness… Luckily, Avicenna did consider the case of lovers who cannot be joined, and advised as radical treatment hot baths… But then, I read again in Avicenna, that there were also other remedies: for example, enlisting the help of old and expert women who would spend their time denigrating the beloved – and it seems that old women are more expert than men in this task… The last solution suggested by the Saracen was truly immodest, for it required the unhappy lover to couple with many slave girls, a remedy quite unsuitable for a monk.
“I did find a passage in Arnold Villanova, an author I had heard William mention with great esteem, who had it that lovesickness was born from an excess of humors and pneuma, when the human organism finds itself in an excess of dampness and heat, because the blood (which produces the generative seed), increasing through excess, produces excess of seed, a “complexio venerea,” and an intense desire for union in man and woman. There is an estimative virtue situated in the dorsal part of the meridian ventricle of the encephalus (What is that? I wondered) whose purpose is to perceive the insensitive intentions perceived by the senses, and when desire for the object perceived by the senses becomes too strong, the estimative faculty is upset, and it feeds only on the phantom of the beloved person; then there is an inflammation of the whole soul and body, as sadness alternates with joy, because heat (which in moments of despair descends into the deepest parts of the body and chills the skin) in moments of joy rises to the surface, inflaming the face.
"The treatment suggested by Arnold consisted in trying to lose the assurance and the hope of reaching the beloved object, so that the thought would go away.”
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Suite 34
In this country, you’ll hear two ways of saying it: “Sweet” 34 or “Shoot" 34. The Mr. and Mrs. AutoCorrects, I know, would grit through their teeth that the former (“Sweet”) is the proper and only way to pronounce it. For me though, it really doesn’t matter. Particularly when Suite 34 of Alona Tropical in Panglao, Bohol has come to mean both.
In early March, when the moon was exceptionally full and bright due to a lunar eclipse, my cool cousins from Australia – Nimrod and Jet – dropped by Cebu to visit their equally cool cousins – us, of course ;p
“Coz, we’ve been tasked to be the official welcoming and tour guide committee, k lang?” my cousin Fritz currently living with us asked me. Answer: “Cge, go!”
“Hey, so what guys, gimik starts tonight?” Nimrod greeted us at the airport when we picked them up. Answer: “Cge, go!”
“Yin, let us introduce you to Jack Daniel's (the drink, not the man). Wanna give it a try?” I was asked at Formo. Answer: “Cge go!”
And finally, on their third and supposedly final day in Cebu, I got a text message at the mall, “Coz, hir at ticket ofis. Going 2 Bohol. Wanna go wid us? Libre ka ni Jet. Decyd now. Buying tickets.”
I had a writing deadline the next day, but what the heck -- I sent 2 words: Cge, go!
They could have said Basilan or Batanes and my answer would still have been the same.
When you’re young, broke (read: jobless), and with no serious commitments, you’ll find that your answer to almost anything is “CGE, GO!” After all, what have you got to lose?
So there we were -- Nim, Jet, Otep (Nim and Jet’s cousin from Davao on their mother’s side), Fritz and I -- swapping childhood stories aboard Oceanjet’s last ferry ride for the day to Bohol. My cousins migrated to Australia more than 10 years ago and since then we haven’t really communicated nor seen much of each other. But amazingly enough, there was none of the awkwardness or stilted silences common in strangers among us. And I think we have our childhood summers in Davao to thank for that.
Summers in Davao meant sandcastles in beaches, swimming pool dunks, wild escapades, misguided dares, shared punishments, notorious moments, endless storytelling and hilarious games -- which, thinking now, have made us particularly close. And being the youngest batch of cousins in our clan, we shared the burden – and glory, mind you—of being irresponsible, late, creative (oh boy, the things kids could think of!), daring and spontaneous. And today, we find nothing much has changed.
It was already dark when we arrived in Alona Tropical, Panglao.
“We only have the suite room available. Good for 4. With the extra bed, it’s gonna cost you around P6,000 per night,” the guest officer told us.
Groan. No way, Fritz and I said. For us, that’s already a package cost for a 4 days/3 nights- Bohol/Panglao trip. We braced ourselves to look for another resort.
But Nim and Jet thought differently. “Cge, go!” they said with that charming Australian accent.
“What?!” Fritz and I, in all good Filipino conscience, tried to protest at first. But they, comparing it to resorts in Australia – which they claim are not even half as nice, insist it was cheap.
Well, if you put it that way, and when you think of the difference between the peso and Aussie dollar, it does sound cheaper. Plus, you factor in the late hour, the tiredness, and our growling stomachs, you could almost believe that “Cge, go!” was really the best answer all around. Besides, they’re paying anyway ;)
When we opened the door of Suite 34 -- our abode for the next few days, the first word that came out of Nim and Jet’s mouths was “SWEET!” Apparently, “sweet” is what you say in Australia when you mean “cool, dude!” or “the best!” or simply, “cge, go!” I had to agree. I figured when you’re paying that much, it has to be suite or sweet, right?
I don’t wanna attempt to go into details about the features of Alona Tropical’s Suite 34. You have to live there to smell, see, feel, taste or revel in its “sweetness”. We were just so happy. So happy that in fact later, when one of the pleasant staff asked us, “Which room, sir/ma’am? Shoot 34?” We just amiably answered, “Yep, that’s right. Shoot 34.”
The best perk of Suite 34 is having the swimming pool and the partly-submerged pool bar right outside our door. There we spent midnight-to-dawn sessions -- swimming, mixing drinks (Nim and his unique concoctions), and plotting world domination over iced Tanduay Rhum-Coke, Otep’s Red Horse, chips, white toblerone (the best!) and snickers.
It was on our last midnight session at the pool, as we were mapping out the organizational details of our new would-be cult when we were distracted by the arrival of Mr. VP Kabayan of the Philippines and his entourage, checking in at Suites 33 and 35.
We stared, plotted, and naturally thought of assassinations. The bodyguards also stared, considered, and perhaps wondered if we thought of assassinations.
How would it print in the papers, our overactive minds slightly muddled with alcohol wondered: “SHOOT 34 GANG DOWNS VP” or “SHOOT 34 GANG BLOODIES VP KABAYAN TO DEATH!” or “ALONA’S SUITE 34 HOUSES NOTORIOUS GANG” or “SHOOT 34 GANG FOUND, ARRESTED IN PANGLAO”.
Haha. They wish.
The next morning, I found two guy neighbors at Suite 33 trying to draw me into conversation at the terrace. At first, I thought they were just flirting. To my chagrin, after 20 questions or so, I realized they were actually just trying to check us out. SOP, my cousins told me. Still I wondered, did we really look as sinister as our overactive minds? Oh well. I was nice anyway. Bohol, by day, was too beautiful to entertain such bloody assumptions. Maybe next time-- when I have a job and remember how much I’m bloody paying for my government tax… hmmm…
Anyway, until then, I couldn’t be distracted by such trivial matters… not when you have Bohol laid out before you to explore. After three visits, you'd think there’s nothing left to discover in such a small island. I was wrong.
Let me highlight some of the firsts I experienced on this latest trip to Bohol:
- ATV (All Terrain Vehicles) or Quad Bikes. It was just so cool parading with 3 rented bikes on the dirt road along the Chocolate Hills. Zigzagging along brings you so near you feel you could touch them. After awhile of back riding, Nim let me drive through one paved hill as an initiation. He almost fell off laughing as I screamed all the way up.
- Still ATVs, this time on a deserted, undeveloped beach in Panglao. We took turns driving at low tide during sunset and Nim -- a talented photographer like our cousin Louie (d best! Just check out his blog: slyboyhunt) -- in his Shoot 34 mode, took shots worthy of a National Geographic edition, I must say. It was the fastest I went on four wheels. Another first.
- Loboc River Cruise at lunch time. It was just so beautiful and romantic that I almost forgot to eat. Being the only girl, Nim – still in Shoot 34 mode-- aimed a stolen shot at me and titled it the River Princess. If ever I do find my prince one day, I’ll definitely insist that he take me back there.
- Crossing the hanging bridge while my merciless cousins horsed around. Whoa!
- Seeing the reputed largest python in Asia or the world
- Lying on my back on the beach at night and finally (!) drawing among the stars the Small Dipper.
- Needless to say, Suite 34 of Alona Tropical, of course.
On our second day, supposedly our last, after mooning for awhile at the brunch table, we dared each other to forget our obligations back home and extend for one more day. It was a late move, irresponsible, spontaneous and totally inspired- the most brilliant idea we’ve had so far.
Of course, the cool gang of Suite 34 chorused: Cge, go!
And you could almost hear the enchanting echo: Sweet!
In early March, when the moon was exceptionally full and bright due to a lunar eclipse, my cool cousins from Australia – Nimrod and Jet – dropped by Cebu to visit their equally cool cousins – us, of course ;p
“Coz, we’ve been tasked to be the official welcoming and tour guide committee, k lang?” my cousin Fritz currently living with us asked me. Answer: “Cge, go!”
“Hey, so what guys, gimik starts tonight?” Nimrod greeted us at the airport when we picked them up. Answer: “Cge, go!”
“Yin, let us introduce you to Jack Daniel's (the drink, not the man). Wanna give it a try?” I was asked at Formo. Answer: “Cge go!”
And finally, on their third and supposedly final day in Cebu, I got a text message at the mall, “Coz, hir at ticket ofis. Going 2 Bohol. Wanna go wid us? Libre ka ni Jet. Decyd now. Buying tickets.”
I had a writing deadline the next day, but what the heck -- I sent 2 words: Cge, go!
They could have said Basilan or Batanes and my answer would still have been the same.
When you’re young, broke (read: jobless), and with no serious commitments, you’ll find that your answer to almost anything is “CGE, GO!” After all, what have you got to lose?
So there we were -- Nim, Jet, Otep (Nim and Jet’s cousin from Davao on their mother’s side), Fritz and I -- swapping childhood stories aboard Oceanjet’s last ferry ride for the day to Bohol. My cousins migrated to Australia more than 10 years ago and since then we haven’t really communicated nor seen much of each other. But amazingly enough, there was none of the awkwardness or stilted silences common in strangers among us. And I think we have our childhood summers in Davao to thank for that.
Summers in Davao meant sandcastles in beaches, swimming pool dunks, wild escapades, misguided dares, shared punishments, notorious moments, endless storytelling and hilarious games -- which, thinking now, have made us particularly close. And being the youngest batch of cousins in our clan, we shared the burden – and glory, mind you—of being irresponsible, late, creative (oh boy, the things kids could think of!), daring and spontaneous. And today, we find nothing much has changed.
It was already dark when we arrived in Alona Tropical, Panglao.
“We only have the suite room available. Good for 4. With the extra bed, it’s gonna cost you around P6,000 per night,” the guest officer told us.
Groan. No way, Fritz and I said. For us, that’s already a package cost for a 4 days/3 nights- Bohol/Panglao trip. We braced ourselves to look for another resort.
But Nim and Jet thought differently. “Cge, go!” they said with that charming Australian accent.
“What?!” Fritz and I, in all good Filipino conscience, tried to protest at first. But they, comparing it to resorts in Australia – which they claim are not even half as nice, insist it was cheap.
Well, if you put it that way, and when you think of the difference between the peso and Aussie dollar, it does sound cheaper. Plus, you factor in the late hour, the tiredness, and our growling stomachs, you could almost believe that “Cge, go!” was really the best answer all around. Besides, they’re paying anyway ;)
When we opened the door of Suite 34 -- our abode for the next few days, the first word that came out of Nim and Jet’s mouths was “SWEET!” Apparently, “sweet” is what you say in Australia when you mean “cool, dude!” or “the best!” or simply, “cge, go!” I had to agree. I figured when you’re paying that much, it has to be suite or sweet, right?
I don’t wanna attempt to go into details about the features of Alona Tropical’s Suite 34. You have to live there to smell, see, feel, taste or revel in its “sweetness”. We were just so happy. So happy that in fact later, when one of the pleasant staff asked us, “Which room, sir/ma’am? Shoot 34?” We just amiably answered, “Yep, that’s right. Shoot 34.”
The best perk of Suite 34 is having the swimming pool and the partly-submerged pool bar right outside our door. There we spent midnight-to-dawn sessions -- swimming, mixing drinks (Nim and his unique concoctions), and plotting world domination over iced Tanduay Rhum-Coke, Otep’s Red Horse, chips, white toblerone (the best!) and snickers.
It was on our last midnight session at the pool, as we were mapping out the organizational details of our new would-be cult when we were distracted by the arrival of Mr. VP Kabayan of the Philippines and his entourage, checking in at Suites 33 and 35.
We stared, plotted, and naturally thought of assassinations. The bodyguards also stared, considered, and perhaps wondered if we thought of assassinations.
How would it print in the papers, our overactive minds slightly muddled with alcohol wondered: “SHOOT 34 GANG DOWNS VP” or “SHOOT 34 GANG BLOODIES VP KABAYAN TO DEATH!” or “ALONA’S SUITE 34 HOUSES NOTORIOUS GANG” or “SHOOT 34 GANG FOUND, ARRESTED IN PANGLAO”.
Haha. They wish.
The next morning, I found two guy neighbors at Suite 33 trying to draw me into conversation at the terrace. At first, I thought they were just flirting. To my chagrin, after 20 questions or so, I realized they were actually just trying to check us out. SOP, my cousins told me. Still I wondered, did we really look as sinister as our overactive minds? Oh well. I was nice anyway. Bohol, by day, was too beautiful to entertain such bloody assumptions. Maybe next time-- when I have a job and remember how much I’m bloody paying for my government tax… hmmm…
Anyway, until then, I couldn’t be distracted by such trivial matters… not when you have Bohol laid out before you to explore. After three visits, you'd think there’s nothing left to discover in such a small island. I was wrong.
Let me highlight some of the firsts I experienced on this latest trip to Bohol:
- ATV (All Terrain Vehicles) or Quad Bikes. It was just so cool parading with 3 rented bikes on the dirt road along the Chocolate Hills. Zigzagging along brings you so near you feel you could touch them. After awhile of back riding, Nim let me drive through one paved hill as an initiation. He almost fell off laughing as I screamed all the way up.
- Still ATVs, this time on a deserted, undeveloped beach in Panglao. We took turns driving at low tide during sunset and Nim -- a talented photographer like our cousin Louie (d best! Just check out his blog: slyboyhunt) -- in his Shoot 34 mode, took shots worthy of a National Geographic edition, I must say. It was the fastest I went on four wheels. Another first.
- Loboc River Cruise at lunch time. It was just so beautiful and romantic that I almost forgot to eat. Being the only girl, Nim – still in Shoot 34 mode-- aimed a stolen shot at me and titled it the River Princess. If ever I do find my prince one day, I’ll definitely insist that he take me back there.
- Crossing the hanging bridge while my merciless cousins horsed around. Whoa!
- Seeing the reputed largest python in Asia or the world
- Lying on my back on the beach at night and finally (!) drawing among the stars the Small Dipper.
- Needless to say, Suite 34 of Alona Tropical, of course.
On our second day, supposedly our last, after mooning for awhile at the brunch table, we dared each other to forget our obligations back home and extend for one more day. It was a late move, irresponsible, spontaneous and totally inspired- the most brilliant idea we’ve had so far.
Of course, the cool gang of Suite 34 chorused: Cge, go!
And you could almost hear the enchanting echo: Sweet!
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Drumming No More
Yesterday near midnight I sold my drum set – my lover of three years. I sold it for the price of an undiscounted roundtrip plane ticket -- less than half its value when I bought it.
As I helped my friend load it up in a cab and watched them all roll away, the memories came like a movie flashback – one sweet, passionate moment after another moving through the pulsating soundtrack of soft and alternative beats like Burn, 214, Sway, Push, You’re A God, When It’s Over, If You’re Gone…
I knew I was sane when I sold it so I welcomed the pain when it came.
In the summer of 2002, I took up drumming lessons. I fell in love, went a little bit crazy, and bought the instrument not long after.
I bought the drum set because I wanted to impress a cute crush. I bought it because I wanted to do something wild and different. I bought it because at that time, I could.
Today, my crush no longer exists, the “something wild and different” has come to mean something else, and the cash comes in really handy for my itchy feet since I’m bumming once again.
My drum set was a smooth, shiny Puresound maroon pride – well, once you wipe off a year’s worth of dust anyway. It was sleek, it was loud, but oh so completely out of tune because I didn’t know how to fix it.
Nevertheless, we understood each other completely. It understood my need to de-stress from time to time. And I understood its need to be massaged with deep, sharp and hard strokes from time to time.
We learned from each other. It learned that my every heartache scars – as evidenced by the resulting scratchy drumheads. And I learned it pays to be loud to be heard and mend a broken heart.
We respected each other. I discovered long ago that drumming is not that easy. First of all, cleaning the hi-hat, the snare, the base and other drums, and the cymbals to make the sound clear– is no joke. Second, reading through the notes, listening to exercise tapes while making it all come together is just like juggling 3 balls when you barely know how to juggle two.
But because I loved it, I did it all patiently—well maybe not always that patiently. And since it was hard, I came to respect the craft. And because I tried so hard, my drum set learned to tolerate me and did not break when I tried to smash it.
I cannot claim though that we did beautiful music together. But the jam sessions? They were just glorious.
I know the basics, true, but I’ve always admitted that in three years, I just learned one complete song … and it wasn’t even taught to me by my professional teacher but a fellow drummer and friend. The rest of the time were just wacky playing— drumming along as you listen to the radio but not being completely sure if you’re doing it right. Well, I’ve always maintained that the not knowing is part of its charm.
So for a few years, I played. I dropped my teacher yet I continued to play. I wouldn’t clean our sala but I’d meticulously wipe off the dust from the drumheads. I let my whole body dance while drumming and our almost 50-year old wooden house would sway along. I made a racket all over Gorordo Avenue and ignored my neighbors’ hands on their ears. For me, it was like being on top of the surf and only the wave could bring me down.
I cannot pinpoint exactly when the passion faded… when the songs started to sound old… or when the drums started sounding hollow. All I know is that it wasn’t because of another man.
But maybe, like most rocky relationships, it started with not having enough time. Maybe it was because of my constant traveling the past year. Or maybe, I just didn’t have the right teacher.
My heart broke as I saw the drum set grew a bit rusty and a whole lot dusty with time. And it broke even more as I realized that I no longer have it in me to give what it needs.
Have I grown up or have I simply become old? Is the love affair really over even though you love it still?
One thing I know-- I couldn’t stand the sight of my drum set growing old with neglect like some forgotten artifact in a dreary museum. So early this year, I decided to sell it.
And because it was a good friend who bought it – I agreed to sell it cheap. He promised he’ll take better care of it than I ever did or will. God knows, he knows it much better than I do anyway.
I did not play it one more time before I let it go. I figured, what’s the point? But I let the memories wash over me. It makes me sad for drumming has been a consuming part of me for some time. Yet knowing that my drum set is in good hands comforts me too. And the thought that maybe this time, it can finally play more beautiful music under his hands, makes me glad.
Now, if only I can get over my love affair with a man the same way...
As I helped my friend load it up in a cab and watched them all roll away, the memories came like a movie flashback – one sweet, passionate moment after another moving through the pulsating soundtrack of soft and alternative beats like Burn, 214, Sway, Push, You’re A God, When It’s Over, If You’re Gone…
I knew I was sane when I sold it so I welcomed the pain when it came.
In the summer of 2002, I took up drumming lessons. I fell in love, went a little bit crazy, and bought the instrument not long after.
I bought the drum set because I wanted to impress a cute crush. I bought it because I wanted to do something wild and different. I bought it because at that time, I could.
Today, my crush no longer exists, the “something wild and different” has come to mean something else, and the cash comes in really handy for my itchy feet since I’m bumming once again.
My drum set was a smooth, shiny Puresound maroon pride – well, once you wipe off a year’s worth of dust anyway. It was sleek, it was loud, but oh so completely out of tune because I didn’t know how to fix it.
Nevertheless, we understood each other completely. It understood my need to de-stress from time to time. And I understood its need to be massaged with deep, sharp and hard strokes from time to time.
We learned from each other. It learned that my every heartache scars – as evidenced by the resulting scratchy drumheads. And I learned it pays to be loud to be heard and mend a broken heart.
We respected each other. I discovered long ago that drumming is not that easy. First of all, cleaning the hi-hat, the snare, the base and other drums, and the cymbals to make the sound clear– is no joke. Second, reading through the notes, listening to exercise tapes while making it all come together is just like juggling 3 balls when you barely know how to juggle two.
But because I loved it, I did it all patiently—well maybe not always that patiently. And since it was hard, I came to respect the craft. And because I tried so hard, my drum set learned to tolerate me and did not break when I tried to smash it.
I cannot claim though that we did beautiful music together. But the jam sessions? They were just glorious.
I know the basics, true, but I’ve always admitted that in three years, I just learned one complete song … and it wasn’t even taught to me by my professional teacher but a fellow drummer and friend. The rest of the time were just wacky playing— drumming along as you listen to the radio but not being completely sure if you’re doing it right. Well, I’ve always maintained that the not knowing is part of its charm.
So for a few years, I played. I dropped my teacher yet I continued to play. I wouldn’t clean our sala but I’d meticulously wipe off the dust from the drumheads. I let my whole body dance while drumming and our almost 50-year old wooden house would sway along. I made a racket all over Gorordo Avenue and ignored my neighbors’ hands on their ears. For me, it was like being on top of the surf and only the wave could bring me down.
I cannot pinpoint exactly when the passion faded… when the songs started to sound old… or when the drums started sounding hollow. All I know is that it wasn’t because of another man.
But maybe, like most rocky relationships, it started with not having enough time. Maybe it was because of my constant traveling the past year. Or maybe, I just didn’t have the right teacher.
My heart broke as I saw the drum set grew a bit rusty and a whole lot dusty with time. And it broke even more as I realized that I no longer have it in me to give what it needs.
Have I grown up or have I simply become old? Is the love affair really over even though you love it still?
One thing I know-- I couldn’t stand the sight of my drum set growing old with neglect like some forgotten artifact in a dreary museum. So early this year, I decided to sell it.
And because it was a good friend who bought it – I agreed to sell it cheap. He promised he’ll take better care of it than I ever did or will. God knows, he knows it much better than I do anyway.
I did not play it one more time before I let it go. I figured, what’s the point? But I let the memories wash over me. It makes me sad for drumming has been a consuming part of me for some time. Yet knowing that my drum set is in good hands comforts me too. And the thought that maybe this time, it can finally play more beautiful music under his hands, makes me glad.
Now, if only I can get over my love affair with a man the same way...
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Decoding Manspeak
Ok, I admit -- for all my communications training, I still can't decode manspeak. I don't get men (well at least most of them anyway) . And because I don't, I find myself easily falling through the cracks of gullibility.
So Man 1 says he likes you. You smile.
He says he'd like to see you again. You grin.
And yet he doesn't ask. You wait.
He texts you sweet nothings. You smile.
Likens you to a movie star. You laugh. (Aw, shucks) You don't believe it but you laugh.
And still you wait.
So Man 2 says you're pretty. You smile
He asks for a photo. You stall.
He asks for your friendster address. You add him -- after you edited the darned thing you haven't visited for months.
He says your sexy. You grin.
Yet he doesn't make a move to kiss you. You wonder.
He says he misses you. You melt.
And yet, he doesn't ask you for a visit anyway. So you wait.
Weeks pass and you begin to realize that the question you've been waiting for does not really exist. What's more, it dawns on you that his statements actually end with a single dot, not ellipses.. so there's really nothing more to them than that.
So Man 3 tells you you're a spoiled brat. You fire back and say so what, he's an insensitive jerk too.
Man 3 says you look like a boy with your hair short. You cut it shorter.
He says you look like a manananggal with your long hair flying. You refuse to touch your hairbrush the entire day.
He sneers that you're too mushy and gullible. You punch him.
He says you're hopeless in the kitchen then proceeds to cook for you. You smile.
And then comes V-day, Man3 pops the question: Would you like to go out with me?
You say yes because he asked. Besides, you totally get him.
Sigh.
Just this afternoon, I got the following email from a friend. Whether it's true or not, you tell me please. After all, I still can't decode manspeak:
'WHEN A GUY SAYS HE MISSES YOU"
Guy Facts:
When a guy calls u he wants to be with you
When a guy is quiet, He's listening to you...
When a guy is not arguing, He realizes he's wrong
When a guy says, "I'm fine," after a few minutes, he means it
When a guy stares at you, he thinks you're the most beautiful thing in the world
When you're laying your head on a guy's chest he has the world
When a guy calls you everyday he is in love
When a (good) guy say he loves you he means it
When a guy says he can't live without you he's with you till your done
When a guy says, "I miss you," he misses you more than you could have ever missed him or anything else
And I say: Yeah, right. Stuff it.
P.S. O, berna... here's another entry as you ordered. Can't think of anything else. Paet.
So Man 1 says he likes you. You smile.
He says he'd like to see you again. You grin.
And yet he doesn't ask. You wait.
He texts you sweet nothings. You smile.
Likens you to a movie star. You laugh. (Aw, shucks) You don't believe it but you laugh.
And still you wait.
So Man 2 says you're pretty. You smile
He asks for a photo. You stall.
He asks for your friendster address. You add him -- after you edited the darned thing you haven't visited for months.
He says your sexy. You grin.
Yet he doesn't make a move to kiss you. You wonder.
He says he misses you. You melt.
And yet, he doesn't ask you for a visit anyway. So you wait.
Weeks pass and you begin to realize that the question you've been waiting for does not really exist. What's more, it dawns on you that his statements actually end with a single dot, not ellipses.. so there's really nothing more to them than that.
So Man 3 tells you you're a spoiled brat. You fire back and say so what, he's an insensitive jerk too.
Man 3 says you look like a boy with your hair short. You cut it shorter.
He says you look like a manananggal with your long hair flying. You refuse to touch your hairbrush the entire day.
He sneers that you're too mushy and gullible. You punch him.
He says you're hopeless in the kitchen then proceeds to cook for you. You smile.
And then comes V-day, Man3 pops the question: Would you like to go out with me?
You say yes because he asked. Besides, you totally get him.
Sigh.
Just this afternoon, I got the following email from a friend. Whether it's true or not, you tell me please. After all, I still can't decode manspeak:
'WHEN A GUY SAYS HE MISSES YOU"
Guy Facts:
When a guy calls u he wants to be with you
When a guy is quiet, He's listening to you...
When a guy is not arguing, He realizes he's wrong
When a guy says, "I'm fine," after a few minutes, he means it
When a guy stares at you, he thinks you're the most beautiful thing in the world
When you're laying your head on a guy's chest he has the world
When a guy calls you everyday he is in love
When a (good) guy say he loves you he means it
When a guy says he can't live without you he's with you till your done
When a guy says, "I miss you," he misses you more than you could have ever missed him or anything else
And I say: Yeah, right. Stuff it.
P.S. O, berna... here's another entry as you ordered. Can't think of anything else. Paet.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Missing
Tuesday, 8.45 A.M. Two text beeps and the sound of my cell phone wailing rudely interrupted me from a deep, well-deserved slumber. My first thought was “Shet. It’s dawn yet! Can’t you wait for one more hour please.”
I peered with one eye at the offensive screen of my phone and barely made out a blinking number I did not recognize. Pressed the red button. A second later, my phone sang again. With a voice hoarse from sleep, I answered a curt “hello?”
The frantic voice on the other end sent an alarm and woke up the sensible me. “Is this Aileen? Christine’s office mate and friend from Beetlerock/Fairyland before?”
It took me a moment to place Fairyland. “Yes, yes. This is she. Who’s this please?”
“This is Christine’s mother. She’s missing. She hasn’t come home for two days now… her phone can’t be reached. Do you happen to know where she is? Help me to find her, please.” She was sobbing.
I haven’t had contact with my friend for about 3 months now and I told her. “What happened ma’am? Last I heard, she’s working at a call center… did she have a fight with anyone at the house the last time you saw her?”
“No, no. Everything was fine. I’ve called everyone….her workplace. She went AWOL daw. She had a text mate… this guy… the one she met in the game and constantly chatted with – Junjun, is it? Do you know him?”
The name rang a bell. “Ah yes, but all I know is that he’s from Iloilo… I don’t even know his full name, ma’am,” I said sadly. I could sense her frustration. I was getting frustrated too at not being much of a help to her.
“I’ll try calling her and I’ll ask around. Call you as soon as I know any thing,” I assured her. I heard a landline ring at the background. She spoke quickly, “Salamat, day. Please do. I’ve got to answer the other line. Maybe this is her.” A hopeful statement but too soon yet.
I was worried. I began to text people but a friend beat me to it.
His text: “Do u knw d l8st? Chris s missing... Asa kaha tong bayhana?”
Reply: “Boanga btaw. Ts nt lyk her to not go hom & not tel any1. Obedient child bya to cya.”
When we traveled to Dumaguete and Zamboanga City, Chris was the first one to text and call her parents on her whereabouts and tell them she was safe. And she did this before and after we boarded the air/seacraft, when we reached the hotel, when we left the hotel, before going to sleep, on the way to the airport… well, you get the picture.
His reply: “Na, basta gugma, it changes things ra ba. Lisod na if nagpadala to cya storya sa lake.”
A few more text exchanges with friends ensued. What really happened? Where could she be?
Did she really run away? Was it because of love?
Is she stranded somewhere where there’s no signal? Or was her phone stolen?
Was she angry with anyone at home and left to cool off?
Was she vacationing somewhere and was afraid or forgot to tell her parents?
Nobody knew for sure. Each one put in their two cents worth of possible reasons. Yet everyone was afraid to voice out what was in everyone’s worried mind -- another possibility, a scarier possibility:
Could she be lying somewhere… raped, injured or dead?
Everyday, you read or watch the news and you know that these things happen with boorish regularity. And everyday you feel yourself becoming numb, detached, indifferent and impatient. Even bored. And sometimes, perhaps churlish enough to be amused by some of the circumstances.
But you realize with a jolt that it’s a different thing altogether when you try to replace the deformed faces on the tabloids with that of a friend. Scary.Painful. Hurtful. Not funny at all.
Tuesday, after 8.45 A.M. I did not read the papers nor turn on my TV.
But I started to pray. And hope.
I peered with one eye at the offensive screen of my phone and barely made out a blinking number I did not recognize. Pressed the red button. A second later, my phone sang again. With a voice hoarse from sleep, I answered a curt “hello?”
The frantic voice on the other end sent an alarm and woke up the sensible me. “Is this Aileen? Christine’s office mate and friend from Beetlerock/Fairyland before?”
It took me a moment to place Fairyland. “Yes, yes. This is she. Who’s this please?”
“This is Christine’s mother. She’s missing. She hasn’t come home for two days now… her phone can’t be reached. Do you happen to know where she is? Help me to find her, please.” She was sobbing.
I haven’t had contact with my friend for about 3 months now and I told her. “What happened ma’am? Last I heard, she’s working at a call center…
“No, no. Everything was fine. I’ve called everyone….her workplace. She went AWOL daw. She had a text mate… this guy… the one she met in the game and constantly chatted with – Junjun, is it? Do you know him?”
The name rang a bell. “Ah yes, but all I know is that he’s from Iloilo… I don’t even know his full name, ma’am,” I said sadly. I could sense her frustration. I was getting frustrated too at not being much of a help to her.
“I’ll try calling her and I’ll ask around. Call you as soon as I know any thing,” I assured her. I heard a landline ring at the background. She spoke quickly, “Salamat, day. Please do. I’ve got to answer the other line. Maybe this is her.” A hopeful statement but too soon yet.
I was worried. I began to text people but a friend beat me to it.
His text: “Do u knw d l8st? Chris s missing... Asa kaha tong bayhana?”
Reply: “Boanga btaw. Ts nt lyk her to not go hom & not tel any1. Obedient child bya to cya.”
When we traveled to Dumaguete and Zamboanga City, Chris was the first one to text and call her parents on her whereabouts and tell them she was safe. And she did this before and after we boarded the air/seacraft, when we reached the hotel, when we left the hotel, before going to sleep, on the way to the airport… well, you get the picture.
His reply: “Na, basta gugma, it changes things ra ba. Lisod na if nagpadala to cya storya sa lake.”
A few more text exchanges with friends ensued. What really happened? Where could she be?
Did she really run away? Was it because of love?
Is she stranded somewhere where there’s no signal? Or was her phone stolen?
Was she angry with anyone at home and left to cool off?
Was she vacationing somewhere and was afraid or forgot to tell her parents?
Nobody knew for sure. Each one put in their two cents worth of possible reasons. Yet everyone was afraid to voice out what was in everyone’s worried mind -- another possibility, a scarier possibility:
Could she be lying somewhere… raped, injured or dead?
Everyday, you read or watch the news and you know that these things happen with boorish regularity. And everyday you feel yourself becoming numb, detached, indifferent and impatient. Even bored. And sometimes, perhaps churlish enough to be amused by some of the circumstances.
But you realize with a jolt that it’s a different thing altogether when you try to replace the deformed faces on the tabloids with that of a friend. Scary.Painful. Hurtful. Not funny at all.
Tuesday, after 8.45 A.M. I did not read the papers nor turn on my TV.
But I started to pray. And hope.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Playing Maid of Honor
Contrary to what some may think, not every girl dreams of walking down the traditional wedding aisle of ever after.
I'm intimidated by weddings. Some ladies picture gliding in glorious gowns. All I can think of is the three-inch heeled shoes one has to wear for hours just to accent a gown too white and beautiful you're afraid to touch it. It's enough to make me want to grab my torn rubber shoes and run.
I'm bewildered by weddings. Why do couples want to subject themselves to months of nerve-wracking preparation, endless debates over motifs, difficult suppliers, in-laws and coordinators just for a few hours of saying 'I Do' ?
I'm bored by weddings. I'm sorry to say this but hey -- same script, same characters, same costumes? I just couldn't understand why people would want to spend ridiculous amounts of money to produce what suspiciously looks like to me an over-rerun stage play.
So I try to escape weddings as much as I can, which unfortunately is becoming more and more difficult at my age. And then, fate, apparently, has a twisted sense of humor.
Just recently, to my horror, I received not one but three proposals from friends on their way to the altar-- "Will I be their maid of honor?"
It sounded like a bad joke. Felt like the poor lass in that King Kong movie who got cast into a role she didn't even audition for. Why me of all people? A thousand and one reasons why I couldn't sprang to my lips each time I was asked. But in the face of couples so obviously in love and dear to you, how can you say anything but "Yes"?
So there I was last month, clueless, thrust into a significant supporting role in the first of three weddings in a long while I could not manage to avoid.
And it was as I expected. Being maid of honor, I got side tickets to the rollercoaster ride of frustrating last minute changes, tears, arguments, misplaced invitations, wrong table arrangements, high heels, heavy gowns, and more. And I found myself thinking -- if my friends manage to survive this madness, then it must be true love indeed.
And it was more than I expected. Being maid of honor, I got a front row ticket to a surprising show of love and pure passion. After everything's said and done, I realize that these are what carry you through and that the more you work for it, the more it matters.
And somehow, it was humbling. For then I finally understood that while the road of love may not be as blissful as we'd like, it's actually the crazy moments that make it all worthwhile.
Yes, I may not be a big fan of weddings, but these guys who dare to brave the madness are among the few reasons why I still believe in happy endings.
I'm intimidated by weddings. Some ladies picture gliding in glorious gowns. All I can think of is the three-inch heeled shoes one has to wear for hours just to accent a gown too white and beautiful you're afraid to touch it. It's enough to make me want to grab my torn rubber shoes and run.
I'm bewildered by weddings. Why do couples want to subject themselves to months of nerve-wracking preparation, endless debates over motifs, difficult suppliers, in-laws and coordinators just for a few hours of saying 'I Do' ?
I'm bored by weddings. I'm sorry to say this but hey -- same script, same characters, same costumes? I just couldn't understand why people would want to spend ridiculous amounts of money to produce what suspiciously looks like to me an over-rerun stage play.
So I try to escape weddings as much as I can, which unfortunately is becoming more and more difficult at my age. And then, fate, apparently, has a twisted sense of humor.
Just recently, to my horror, I received not one but three proposals from friends on their way to the altar-- "Will I be their maid of honor?"
It sounded like a bad joke. Felt like the poor lass in that King Kong movie who got cast into a role she didn't even audition for. Why me of all people? A thousand and one reasons why I couldn't sprang to my lips each time I was asked. But in the face of couples so obviously in love and dear to you, how can you say anything but "Yes"?
So there I was last month, clueless, thrust into a significant supporting role in the first of three weddings in a long while I could not manage to avoid.
And it was as I expected. Being maid of honor, I got side tickets to the rollercoaster ride of frustrating last minute changes, tears, arguments, misplaced invitations, wrong table arrangements, high heels, heavy gowns, and more. And I found myself thinking -- if my friends manage to survive this madness, then it must be true love indeed.
And it was more than I expected. Being maid of honor, I got a front row ticket to a surprising show of love and pure passion. After everything's said and done, I realize that these are what carry you through and that the more you work for it, the more it matters.
And somehow, it was humbling. For then I finally understood that while the road of love may not be as blissful as we'd like, it's actually the crazy moments that make it all worthwhile.
Yes, I may not be a big fan of weddings, but these guys who dare to brave the madness are among the few reasons why I still believe in happy endings.
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