On a free night, with the air still warm from bodies left over from the jam packed holiday weekend sale at a nearby mall, three friends reunite in the cold comfort of the dimly-lit wine shop along Gorordo Avenue.
Their careers, outlooks and intangible baggage are as varied as the drinks at the bar. But they’ve been friends a long time and though sometimes they don’t hear each other, they at least agree on the color of wine – it’s white, this time.
The almost empty bottle of Don Barroso lies chilled in a bucket of melted ice. As their glasses meet and clink for the nth time, they become more and more oblivious to anyone but themselves.
Like a broken record from the popular and multi-awarded musical, AVENUE Q, their conversation flows like this:
[Artist]
What do you do with a B.A. in Fine Arts?
10 years out of college, still I can’t pay the bills,
When I was little, I thought I would be,
A featured artist on primetime TV!
But now I’m 30 and as u can see,
I’m not, oh well,
It sucks to be me!
[Journalist]
You think your life sucks?
Your problems aren’t so bad
I’m kinda pretty, and pretty damn smart.
I like romantic things like music and art.
And as you know I have a gigantic heart,
So why don’t I have a boyfriend when I’m turning 31?
It sucks to be me!
[OFW]
Your lives suck? Ha!
I go to Canada for opportunities,
I work as an aide, though I have a master’s degree
I have an unemployed fiancée and a family to feed
Got two apartments but no home to call my own
Where to go next, I don’t know
It sucks to be me!
[All]
You win! It sucks to be you!
Feel better now,
Here on Gorordo Avenue
Sucks to be us
But not when we’re together!
Here, let’s drink to real life
Till dreams come true and make it all better
And so it goes on for a couple hours or more. Until each one left – numbed with wine and none the wiser. But then talks like this, I believe, is the reason why wine tastes as it does.
-- Published SunStar Weekend, 12/27/08
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
All About Hair
As I browsed through my Multiply photos and saw that I’ve been sporting the same long hair style for the past 10 years, I resolved to get a new cut. Who would have thought that it would take about eight agonizing hours in the salon to execute a five-minute decision?
At first, what I wanted was simple enough – a layered cut that falls just above the shoulders. But as I entered my favorite salon on a weekday morning and spoke to the hair stylist, I realized that hair technology has long evolved and nothing, it seems, is really that simple anymore when it comes to hair.
He was quick to fill me in on the latest FYI: “relax” is out, “rebond” is still in, but now there’s “volume straight”, which I was told would be just perfect for me.
No, no, no. I just wanted a simple cut, I told him. The hairstylist just raised an eyebrow, fingered my hair, and declared that it’s sinfully wavy, dull and unruly. Did I really want to spend hours blow-drying and styling my would-be short hair every time? Indeed, a sneaky question that turned my head.
I was still vain enough to be seduced by the promise of “wash and wear”, “instant shine”, and smooth, flip-worthy hair. But, more importantly, I imagined all those extra minutes I could sleep on workday mornings if I could just cut on grooming time. So finally, I took the plunge and said, “All right.”
Chopping off one-foot long of my hair took about 5 seconds. I almost cried. But then, the real torture began as a contingent of salon girls were assigned to work on my hair.
On the first hour, they killed the remains of my hair with a pungent substance to – ironically – give it “new life”. The second hour was a trial by fire as they “cooked” my hair under red lights. On the third hour, they pulled and stretched my hair with iron while my eyes blurred from reading and I could no longer feel my butt.
Just then, the stylist came by to inspect. I growled, “Is it done?” But he just pursed his lips and uttered one word to his minions, “Redo.”
While my tongue tied itself in disbelief, he sweetly explained, “I just want your hair to be perfect, give you your money’s worth.” The stylist was mad, I was sure. But when put that way, who was I to stand in the way of an artist toiling for perfection? Especially when the creation was my hair?
On the fifth hour, I wondered if it was all a mistake. Did I really need to cut my hair in the first place?
By the 6th hour, I was ready to scream. Only the sight of the girl in the mirror patiently ironing my hair for hours without complaint gave me pause. My pain must have been nothing compared to hers. Did she have superwoman powers?
Finally, on the 8th hour, the verdict was in. “Aahh, perfect!” the hairstylist crooned happily.
So much for vanity, I no longer cared. I was hungry and, to my chagrin, already late for a dinner meeting.
-- Published SunStar Weekend, 11/29/2008
At first, what I wanted was simple enough – a layered cut that falls just above the shoulders. But as I entered my favorite salon on a weekday morning and spoke to the hair stylist, I realized that hair technology has long evolved and nothing, it seems, is really that simple anymore when it comes to hair.
He was quick to fill me in on the latest FYI: “relax” is out, “rebond” is still in, but now there’s “volume straight”, which I was told would be just perfect for me.
No, no, no. I just wanted a simple cut, I told him. The hairstylist just raised an eyebrow, fingered my hair, and declared that it’s sinfully wavy, dull and unruly. Did I really want to spend hours blow-drying and styling my would-be short hair every time? Indeed, a sneaky question that turned my head.
I was still vain enough to be seduced by the promise of “wash and wear”, “instant shine”, and smooth, flip-worthy hair. But, more importantly, I imagined all those extra minutes I could sleep on workday mornings if I could just cut on grooming time. So finally, I took the plunge and said, “All right.”
Chopping off one-foot long of my hair took about 5 seconds. I almost cried. But then, the real torture began as a contingent of salon girls were assigned to work on my hair.
On the first hour, they killed the remains of my hair with a pungent substance to – ironically – give it “new life”. The second hour was a trial by fire as they “cooked” my hair under red lights. On the third hour, they pulled and stretched my hair with iron while my eyes blurred from reading and I could no longer feel my butt.
Just then, the stylist came by to inspect. I growled, “Is it done?” But he just pursed his lips and uttered one word to his minions, “Redo.”
While my tongue tied itself in disbelief, he sweetly explained, “I just want your hair to be perfect, give you your money’s worth.” The stylist was mad, I was sure. But when put that way, who was I to stand in the way of an artist toiling for perfection? Especially when the creation was my hair?
On the fifth hour, I wondered if it was all a mistake. Did I really need to cut my hair in the first place?
By the 6th hour, I was ready to scream. Only the sight of the girl in the mirror patiently ironing my hair for hours without complaint gave me pause. My pain must have been nothing compared to hers. Did she have superwoman powers?
Finally, on the 8th hour, the verdict was in. “Aahh, perfect!” the hairstylist crooned happily.
So much for vanity, I no longer cared. I was hungry and, to my chagrin, already late for a dinner meeting.
-- Published SunStar Weekend, 11/29/2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Marco Polo
Along the winding road of Nivel Hills you’ll find one of Cebu’s towering landmarks, the Marco Polo Plaza Hotel. Like its legendary namesake, it exudes a charming blend of the East and West, made evident in its continental rooms, Asian hospitality, and mixed cuisine.
One time, I was seated at the Café Marco, mentally prepping myself for a long awaited interview with a European hotelier. For this meeting, I was properly dressed in my most flattering business attire—French braid, Americana top, Italian pumps. Still, I was anxious. I knew it takes so much more than a Western outfit to deal with a continental man.
What is it about European men that flusters me a bit? Is it their strange tongue, their deadpan humor, or simply the fact that I always have to crane my neck to level with their eyes?
To soothe my nerves, I let my eyes wander around the café, well-known for its fine culinary fare of Asian, Japanese and Western flavors showcased on signature kitchens. I fiddled with the table napkin which, I noted, bore the mark of a horse with one leg raised, as if about to bolt.
This particular image made me think of another European guy, Marco Polo, a 13th century Venetian trader and explorer who journeyed to the East and back for 24 years.
History tells that despite Marco’s strangeness in the Eastern world, he was among the first foreigners to be welcomed in Asia. In fact, though he was no prince, he managed to charm his way to a trusted position in the courts of Kublai Khan, ruler of the biggest empire of the east.
What was Marco Polo’s secret? Instead of being shunned or killed for his white skin, how was he able to travel safely and extensively in the unknown Eastern world, relate to different peoples, blend in cultures completely alien in spirit to his own, and even gain the trust of a most feared Mongolian emperor, Kublai Khan?
Was it his education, his proficiency in different languages? Was it blind faith or courage? Or was he simply fortunate that Kublai Khan at that time bore an open mind and a curious nature for foreign cultures?
With my mind still reeling of pictures of Marco Polo on horseback, my appointment arrived. As expected, he towered over my 5’2” frame. Before I could take a deep breath, the European gentleman extended a pale hand for a warm handshake. I smiled. Maybe, sometimes, that’s all it takes to blur the lines between the East and West.
-- Published SunStar Weekend, 11/15/08
One time, I was seated at the Café Marco, mentally prepping myself for a long awaited interview with a European hotelier. For this meeting, I was properly dressed in my most flattering business attire—French braid, Americana top, Italian pumps. Still, I was anxious. I knew it takes so much more than a Western outfit to deal with a continental man.
What is it about European men that flusters me a bit? Is it their strange tongue, their deadpan humor, or simply the fact that I always have to crane my neck to level with their eyes?
To soothe my nerves, I let my eyes wander around the café, well-known for its fine culinary fare of Asian, Japanese and Western flavors showcased on signature kitchens. I fiddled with the table napkin which, I noted, bore the mark of a horse with one leg raised, as if about to bolt.
This particular image made me think of another European guy, Marco Polo, a 13th century Venetian trader and explorer who journeyed to the East and back for 24 years.
History tells that despite Marco’s strangeness in the Eastern world, he was among the first foreigners to be welcomed in Asia. In fact, though he was no prince, he managed to charm his way to a trusted position in the courts of Kublai Khan, ruler of the biggest empire of the east.
What was Marco Polo’s secret? Instead of being shunned or killed for his white skin, how was he able to travel safely and extensively in the unknown Eastern world, relate to different peoples, blend in cultures completely alien in spirit to his own, and even gain the trust of a most feared Mongolian emperor, Kublai Khan?
Was it his education, his proficiency in different languages? Was it blind faith or courage? Or was he simply fortunate that Kublai Khan at that time bore an open mind and a curious nature for foreign cultures?
With my mind still reeling of pictures of Marco Polo on horseback, my appointment arrived. As expected, he towered over my 5’2” frame. Before I could take a deep breath, the European gentleman extended a pale hand for a warm handshake. I smiled. Maybe, sometimes, that’s all it takes to blur the lines between the East and West.
-- Published SunStar Weekend, 11/15/08
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Inner Dance
I had just returned to Cebu when a friend invited me one night to an inner dance session. I thought it was a new dance craze in the city like ballroom, reggae, and hip hop were once upon a time. Instead, I found out with some fascination, inner dance is actually some sort of freestyle moving meditation, a healing art that moves you in more ways than one.
While some would call it new age, inner dancing, also called Kali-Pi Mu (Your happiness), is said to be the lost healing dance of ancient Filipino medicine men and women, the Babaylan, healer priests and priestesses of pre-Hispanic Visayan tribes.
Now rediscovered, it is attracting quite a number of people -- the affluent, yuppies, healers, and artists, among others – not just in the Philippines, but also Singapore, Indonesia and other countries.
That Friday night, I joined three other neophytes at the dance studio. Without the slightest idea of what must be done or what would happen, we lied down on our yoga mats and started by going into “alpha” mode (the relaxed mind state) through meditation.
Eyes closed, I breathed in and out, and felt so relaxed I almost fell asleep. After awhile though, I felt the background music shift. Skeptical, I continued to lie there like a block of wood until someone touched the top of my head and I sensed a jolt of energy flow -- a tingling of the neck, a touch on my spine and elbows, and soon, butterflies on my stomach. It was the awakening of the energy points or chakras, I was told.
My body felt liquid. My eyes burned with flashes of color so light. Before long, I sensed the twirl of my fingers, the fling of my hand, then the swaying of my arms. These jerky movements would have been weird or ridiculous had I had my eyes open, but I just surrendered to the rhythm within.
According to Pompet “Pi” Villaraza, who rediscovered inner dancing in a Palawan island called Kalipay years ago, “Inner dancing happens when a person becomes conscious of his or her own energy and that of the surrounding environment. You gather energy and become a powerhouse and you can do healing.”
Practitioners say that inner dance is not a discipline, nor is it a teaching. “When you come to discover it, you will find that it is not something you learn. It starts with the premise that movement is not something we do, it’s something we are.”
Two hours later, the session was over. But the incredible lightness of being remained.
-- SunStar Weekend, 10/4/08
While some would call it new age, inner dancing, also called Kali-Pi Mu (Your happiness), is said to be the lost healing dance of ancient Filipino medicine men and women, the Babaylan, healer priests and priestesses of pre-Hispanic Visayan tribes.
Now rediscovered, it is attracting quite a number of people -- the affluent, yuppies, healers, and artists, among others – not just in the Philippines, but also Singapore, Indonesia and other countries.
That Friday night, I joined three other neophytes at the dance studio. Without the slightest idea of what must be done or what would happen, we lied down on our yoga mats and started by going into “alpha” mode (the relaxed mind state) through meditation.
Eyes closed, I breathed in and out, and felt so relaxed I almost fell asleep. After awhile though, I felt the background music shift. Skeptical, I continued to lie there like a block of wood until someone touched the top of my head and I sensed a jolt of energy flow -- a tingling of the neck, a touch on my spine and elbows, and soon, butterflies on my stomach. It was the awakening of the energy points or chakras, I was told.
My body felt liquid. My eyes burned with flashes of color so light. Before long, I sensed the twirl of my fingers, the fling of my hand, then the swaying of my arms. These jerky movements would have been weird or ridiculous had I had my eyes open, but I just surrendered to the rhythm within.
According to Pompet “Pi” Villaraza, who rediscovered inner dancing in a Palawan island called Kalipay years ago, “Inner dancing happens when a person becomes conscious of his or her own energy and that of the surrounding environment. You gather energy and become a powerhouse and you can do healing.”
Practitioners say that inner dance is not a discipline, nor is it a teaching. “When you come to discover it, you will find that it is not something you learn. It starts with the premise that movement is not something we do, it’s something we are.”
Two hours later, the session was over. But the incredible lightness of being remained.
-- SunStar Weekend, 10/4/08
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Arranged Marriage
My good friend MD is the epitome of a modern woman – bold, self-sufficient, and liberal in her beliefs. She was the first girl I knew to have her hair ironed back in the 90s, the first in our journalism class who dared to have her work published, and the first feminist I know to embrace out-of-the-closet lesbian lovers.
MD is perhaps my most forward thinking friend. Who would have thought that, in the end, she would willingly succumb to a most traditional concept – an arranged marriage?
As I witnessed my friend’s legal marriage to a man she barely knew, I wondered – are arranged marriages the next big trend in the city? Has the age of love and courtship become so forward that so much of the future is going back to the past?
About three years ago, MD, after having had several failed relationships, expressed her intention to her spiritual mentors to have her marriage arranged. She was tired of making the wrong choices, of being clouded by the illogical decisions of a person half crazy with love, she said.
Fast forward to the summer of 2008, little did MD know that her solo flight to an international yoga conference in Davao would land her in weddingville. The day before she was supposed to fly back to Cebu, she was told that “her husband was ready.”
So they met for the first time. The man could barely speak English or Cebuano, but they talked. Nineteen hours later, they were blessed in a spiritual ceremony as husband and wife. The legal rites followed 3 months later.
There was no courtship. No rings or red roses. No premarital sex. But apparently there was a meeting of the mind and soul.
“Did he “complete” you?” we asked. MD answered, “No, but 3 years ago I profiled the man I wanted to marry. He completed my checklist.”
Perhaps it’s mad to marry when one is not in love. But then maybe in a world in which the search for "The One" has disappointed so many of us, there is comfort in letting someone else solve the love dilemma. Imagine never having to waste time looking for love. I quote one woman, “We’re on option overload, and we’re maxed out in terms of time, and we’d all love a partner. So it makes sense to enlist those who know us best to forge a proper and satisfying match.”
I still think having an arranged marriage was one of the craziest decisions my friend made in her life. It was also the bravest. To MD, who never backs down from the unusual, best wishes to your new life in Korea!
-- Sunstar Weekend, 9/20/08
MD is perhaps my most forward thinking friend. Who would have thought that, in the end, she would willingly succumb to a most traditional concept – an arranged marriage?
As I witnessed my friend’s legal marriage to a man she barely knew, I wondered – are arranged marriages the next big trend in the city? Has the age of love and courtship become so forward that so much of the future is going back to the past?
About three years ago, MD, after having had several failed relationships, expressed her intention to her spiritual mentors to have her marriage arranged. She was tired of making the wrong choices, of being clouded by the illogical decisions of a person half crazy with love, she said.
Fast forward to the summer of 2008, little did MD know that her solo flight to an international yoga conference in Davao would land her in weddingville. The day before she was supposed to fly back to Cebu, she was told that “her husband was ready.”
So they met for the first time. The man could barely speak English or Cebuano, but they talked. Nineteen hours later, they were blessed in a spiritual ceremony as husband and wife. The legal rites followed 3 months later.
There was no courtship. No rings or red roses. No premarital sex. But apparently there was a meeting of the mind and soul.
“Did he “complete” you?” we asked. MD answered, “No, but 3 years ago I profiled the man I wanted to marry. He completed my checklist.”
Perhaps it’s mad to marry when one is not in love. But then maybe in a world in which the search for "The One" has disappointed so many of us, there is comfort in letting someone else solve the love dilemma. Imagine never having to waste time looking for love. I quote one woman, “We’re on option overload, and we’re maxed out in terms of time, and we’d all love a partner. So it makes sense to enlist those who know us best to forge a proper and satisfying match.”
I still think having an arranged marriage was one of the craziest decisions my friend made in her life. It was also the bravest. To MD, who never backs down from the unusual, best wishes to your new life in Korea!
-- Sunstar Weekend, 9/20/08
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Homecoming
After about a year of blissful beach life existence in Boracay, I figured it was time to trade in my well-worn island slippers for the comfort shoes of city life once more. Never mind that the habagat season was just beginning and bringing a rain of new possibilities to the island this year. I was going home.
So last month, I came back to Cebu, too late for my alma mater’s weeklong centennial homecoming celebration, TUNOB sa U.P. I was just in time, however, to experience firsthand that a 2-minute taxi drive in the city already costs more than P40, that the basic jeepney fare has gone up to P8 from P6, or that the prices of movie tickets have skyrocketed to about 50% more. Even Charcoal Grill’s ever tasty and dependable 5-peso ngohiong is now being sold for P7.
But while one feels the gaping hole in her consumer pocket, Cebu’s changing landscape tells you that the city is far from challenged, and is in fact, booming despite the times.
I remember that the 30-minute ride from the airport was an intriguing blur of new high rise buildings, worse traffic, new line of car models and more advertising billboards. Who would have thought that the influx of international companies would cause employment ads to leap from the classifieds to the skies?
I came back to see SM Northwing fly and well-heeled yuppies do The Walk at IT Park. Ayala has a new posh wing and Lexmark just erected a couple of buildings. Starbucks is multiplying. Even Figaro has come to Cebu.
After being an island girl for some time, I really do not know what scares me more – that I would no longer know how to walk on high heels or that a city you’ve walked on for so long could change so much after only a year.
But then one dawn, while jogging along a nearby park, I was surprised to see some familiar faces – the once pregnant lady in hot pink pants, the faithful group of Chinese businessmen, and even the guy athlete in skimpy shorts. A face or two lent a smile of recognition and I gladly waved back. It felt good to know that some things remained the same. In that moment, as I reveled in the cool morning air, I felt at home for the first time.
Like an old classmate you meet again three jobs later, Cebu may sport a different look now, but I realize the history is still there. Now looking forward, I can’t wait to get to know this city once more.
-- SunStar Weekend, 9/6/08
So last month, I came back to Cebu, too late for my alma mater’s weeklong centennial homecoming celebration, TUNOB sa U.P. I was just in time, however, to experience firsthand that a 2-minute taxi drive in the city already costs more than P40, that the basic jeepney fare has gone up to P8 from P6, or that the prices of movie tickets have skyrocketed to about 50% more. Even Charcoal Grill’s ever tasty and dependable 5-peso ngohiong is now being sold for P7.
But while one feels the gaping hole in her consumer pocket, Cebu’s changing landscape tells you that the city is far from challenged, and is in fact, booming despite the times.
I remember that the 30-minute ride from the airport was an intriguing blur of new high rise buildings, worse traffic, new line of car models and more advertising billboards. Who would have thought that the influx of international companies would cause employment ads to leap from the classifieds to the skies?
I came back to see SM Northwing fly and well-heeled yuppies do The Walk at IT Park. Ayala has a new posh wing and Lexmark just erected a couple of buildings. Starbucks is multiplying. Even Figaro has come to Cebu.
After being an island girl for some time, I really do not know what scares me more – that I would no longer know how to walk on high heels or that a city you’ve walked on for so long could change so much after only a year.
But then one dawn, while jogging along a nearby park, I was surprised to see some familiar faces – the once pregnant lady in hot pink pants, the faithful group of Chinese businessmen, and even the guy athlete in skimpy shorts. A face or two lent a smile of recognition and I gladly waved back. It felt good to know that some things remained the same. In that moment, as I reveled in the cool morning air, I felt at home for the first time.
Like an old classmate you meet again three jobs later, Cebu may sport a different look now, but I realize the history is still there. Now looking forward, I can’t wait to get to know this city once more.
-- SunStar Weekend, 9/6/08
Saturday, August 02, 2008
30 & Feeling the Rain on My Skin
Surprisingly, it feels so good to be 30! A fresh start, a red carpet of new possibilities. New faces to meet, new places to go, new adventures, new mistakes to learn from. Fresh dreams, greater loves. And a newfound wisdom that only comes after being 30 to back you up whenever the sun gets too hot...
If you agree, sing with me:
-----
UNWRITTEN
Natasha Bedingfield
I am unwritten, can´t read my mind, I´m undefined
I´m just beginning, the pen´s in my hand, ending unplanned
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Oh, oh
I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We´ve been conditioned to not make mistakes,
but I can´t live that way
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inner visions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
Oh, yeah, yeah
If you agree, sing with me:
-----
UNWRITTEN
Natasha Bedingfield
I am unwritten, can´t read my mind, I´m undefined
I´m just beginning, the pen´s in my hand, ending unplanned
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Oh, oh
I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We´ve been conditioned to not make mistakes,
but I can´t live that way
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inner visions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
Oh, yeah, yeah
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
My Lakbayan grade is B-!
My Lakbayan grade is B-!
How much of the Philippines have you visited? Find out at Lakbayan!
Created by Eugene Villar.
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