Solo Flight

There comes a point in a woman’s life when she realizes it’s perfectly okay to fly solo. As a Filipina, it’s not easy mind you to come to this. Our culture dictates that every girl must at least be chaperoned by a man or an older sibling. Being big on families and communities, we are used to traveling in packs and sharing experiences. That’s why when a lady is blessed with that rare moment of epiphany, something changes in her soul and she’s never the same again.

Have you ever tried watching a movie alone, living on your own, or taking that plane ride by yourself? What about dining solo in a public resto? Chances are most of us would find it weird, even unnecessary. People would stare, yes. A lot might wonder why. But those bold enough to do it anyway would find it’s actually fun. Just like Beer Below Zero, it’s cold at first sip yet super light and easy all the way.

For me though, the most exciting solo adventure a girl can embark on is exploring a new place on her own. Just recently, I had such an opportunity and I believe I was never the same again.

Last week, I was in Manila for a 2-day e-marketing seminar. While the course was great, the city wasn’t. Wanting to get out of the crazy metropolis and yet not quite ready to go home, I convinced my friends to get away for the weekend and visit a place I’ve been planning to go to for years – Tagaytay. Problem was they were called to work at the last minute. I figured I had two choices then- go back to Cebu or dare to go solo. Always a sucker for adventure, I took the latter.

When flying solo, I consider these my 3 best friends – the Internet, a reliable guide, and my sensible self. Right away I went online, researched Tagaytay and took advantage of a good hotel promo deal. I asked for help and the very efficient staff of Tower Inn Makati found me a trustworthy and affordable driver to hire. And then, to be safe, I gave everyone I cared about the heads up.

Tripping Tagaytay was better than I expected. The weather was cool, the people warm and the views extraordinary. On this journey, I discovered three great things about going solo as well.

One is the opportunity to make new friends. In my case, heaven sent me Sir Jimmy the driver and Mitch the hotel exec in Tagaytay. Sir Jimmy not only made the road trip in his car quite comfortable, he peppered the tour with fascinating historical tidbits and showed me the peaks and interesting hole-in-the wall places in Tagaytay one would not normally find such as Java Jazz, Bag of Beans and, of course, the roadside Manos Greek Taverna with the delicious lamb shawarma and Oyzo-Greek Island drink. Mitch was also kind enough to accompany me on her day off from the hotel and showed me where I can get the best ukay-ukay deals. Thank you guys!

And then, there’s the opportunity to move around as you please. You can eat when you want, where you want. You can bypass spots you don’t like and linger on the scenes that move you. Your time is your own -- something we can’t always afford as a couple or in groups.

But the greatest thing about going solo, I believe, is the opportunity to fall in love again. At first, I was dismayed to find Tagaytay to be such a romantic place. You go to People’s Park in the Sky or the Picnic Grove and you’d see couples cuddling, holding hands or falling in love. Sigh, could I be more out of place?

But come early morning, as I stood in the viewing deck of my hotel room and gazed at the misty beauty of Lake Taal and the famous volcano on its midst, I too fell in love. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. And to think I would have missed such rare and glorious sight had I waited for someone else to experience it with.

As I basked in the cool morning air, romancing the view with a hot mug of brewed coffee in my hand, my spirit soared. Solo or not, life remains beautiful. Like the lone active volcano in the bluish lake of Tagaytay, my single heart beat once more. And it was just fabulous.

-- SunStar Weekend, 19 September 2009

The Climb

When my older brother Manster declared a couple of years ago that he wanted to build his future on top of a mountain instead of the city, I laughed and thought, “Yeah, right.” No ATM, no fast food takeout, no convenience store around the corner – really, now.

We never really took him seriously until recently, my sister and I found ourselves in the middle of a jungle, trailing after Manster who was as eager as a bull to explore an undeveloped mountain property up north. An environmentalist at heart, he was already explaining to my parents how he wanted to build his house around the trees, use solar heaters and water pumps, create a state-of-the-art greenhouse, even raise livestock here and there as we trekked along.

Hearing my cosmopolitan brother talk about farming and raising cows simply boggled the insides. I won’t even pretend that I actually understood half of what he was saying. At that moment I was just trying to keep up with the novelty of being in that mountain jungle and somehow reach the top without bleeding.

Armed with only my cooling lip balm and a pair of sunglasses, I was quite unprepared by the long arduous climb, the slippery terrain, the clinging vines, and the unforgiving heat of the sun. As our shirtless guide cleared the path for us, I kept imagining an irate snake or two would suddenly belly out of nowhere, hissing for us to go home. Is this really all worth it?

Up and down we went through rocks, a hidden cave, wet grass, broken branches and clueless jungle creatures. And all the while, no matter how cliché, I can’t seem to keep Miley Cyrus’ song from blasting in my head and singing along:

“There's always gonna be another mountain/ I'm always gonna wanna make it move/ Always gonna be a uphill battle/ Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose/Ain't about how fast I get there/ Ain't about what's waiting on the other side/ It's the climb, yeah! Woooohh… it’s THE CLIMB.”

Before I could finish figuring out the rest of the song, we came to a halt. Puff, puff… we made it! And there on top of the mountain, I finally understood Manster’s vision of paradise.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. The air was so crisp and clear, my eyes begged to weep at the wide expanse of rolling fields of green below, dotted only by the occasional quaint houses. I saluted the coconut trees patiently standing guard on the perimeters, all scarred and slightly bent yet still unbeaten by the winds. This time, I listened to my mother and brother as they tried to broaden my pitiful knowledge of nature by naming trees, flowers and insects before me. Further up, the sea colored the outline of neighboring islands.

Admittedly, the only jungle I know by heart is the city I live in. But as I explored this other one, I found my world opening up to possibilities. If one survives the climb, how difficult is it really to flow from one jungle to the next? After all, when you really think about it, don’t we more or less find the same creatures in both worlds -- the cocky ones, the friendly parasites, the milking cows, the snakes, the professional night owls, the monkeys, and the occasional jungle cats like my brother?

I fell silent as I caught sight of a bird flying back and forth with dead grass on its beak. I soon realized it was patiently building its nest high on a tree. Wow. Perhaps, Manster and Miley were right. It doesn’t matter how long you get there or how impossible it may seem. If you can dream it, it will come.

-- SunStar Weekend, 8/8/2009

the right words at the right time

The New York Times bestseller entitled “The Right Words at the Right Time” by Marlo Thomas and Friends is an inspiring collection of stories of more than a hundred remarkable people such as Muhammad Ali, Walter Cronkite, Al Pacino, Steven Spielberg, Cindy Crawford, Jennifer Aniston, Oprah Winfrey and more, who reached back into their own lives and shared that special moment when simple words made all the difference.

I have come to believe that each of us is shaped by the messages we allow ourselves to digest at various points in our lives. Solicited or not, some words have the power to kill, heal or change us. And when life suddenly tastes like lukewarm beer, the right words at the right time could serve as the perfect inspiration.

As I turn another year older this month, allow me to revisit those words that somehow defined moments in my own life, revealing truths that have stayed with me for a long time.

Similar to a high school musical, what follows are lines borrowed from a song, poem, or script. Like the hundreds of remarkable people in the book, I share these in the hope that these right words at the right time for me might also be just that to someone else.

2003: Getting the worst haircut: “I am beautiful no matter what they say, words won’t bring me down.”– Christina Aguilera

2004: Leaving my comfort zone: “And I won't look back / I can go the distance /And I'll stay on track /No, I won't accept defeat / It's an uphill slope / But I won't lose hope / Till I go the distance / And my journey is complete” – Hercules

2005: Falling in love: “When you feel it, just say it -- say it out loud. Or the moment will just pass you by.” – My Best Friend’s Wedding

2006: When it was complicated: “There's a fine, fine line between together and not/ And there's a fine, fine line/ between what you wanted and what you got/ You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime/There's a fine, fine line between love/ And a waste of time.” – Kate Monster of Avenue Q

2007: Crashing: “Don’t let yourself go, cause everybody cries, everybody hurts sometime, so hold on, hold on” – REM

2007: Finding cheerleaders across the miles: “Let's make a new world now/ Where we can wear each other for awhile / I'll lend you my tears if I could borrow your smile / We'll get through tomorrow somehow today / Happy After / Once upon these days” -- Chantal Kreviazuk, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants

2008: Letting Go: And you begin to learn/ That kisses aren't contracts/ And presents aren't promises / And you begin to accept your defeats/ With your head up and your eyes ahead/ With the grace of a woman / Not the grief of a child/ And you learn /That you really can endure / That you really are strong / And you really do have worth / And you learn/ and you learn/ With every good bye you learn. -- Veronica A. Shoffstall (1971)

2009: Moving On: “Everything and this, too, shall pass” – Mom

But then, when words fail at the worst times, I simply go to a quiet place and pray, for baby, truly, God still say it best when we say nothing at all.


--SunStar Weekend, 25 July 2009

The Virgin Suicides

(Updated)

Probably to distract me from eating too much cake and poking my nose into his love life, my older brother Manster, who was visiting home one time, handed me The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides.

The book wasn’t familiar but the picture of four lovely girls making do like well-bred sardines on a small bed below a crucifix draped by a cream-colored brassiere tickled my interest for the bizarre.

So I flipped through the pages and, like a voyeur across the street with no name, joined the smitten boys in the book in monitoring the lives of the entrancing Lisbon sisters.

The first one to go was weird Cecilia, 13, who slit her wrists and, when it didn’t work, later on threw herself off the window (or was it the roof?) and fell upon the fence to die.

After some time, the rest of them followed -- daring Lux (14), conservative Bonnie (15), vain Mary (16) and science nerd Therese (17). Suicide methods included using a rope, sticking one’s head in a microwave and drowning in sleeping pills.

Because the story was told from a spectator’s point of view, I was frustrated about not knowing what was going on in the minds of the Lisbon sisters. Come on, when you have suicide and five girls on your hands, you’d be itching to know why they did it. But the writer just skirted around the sisters’ house and almost drove me nuts with his constant reference to the general teen suicide trend and stats, without any real answers.

Was it because they were guarded too much by their parents that they’ve lost the excitement to live? But I know of people with ultra-strict parents and yet they survived. What’s more, why ALL of them? They were supposedly beautiful, vibrant girls. Was it genetic then? Or was it just too much of a pressure being isolated in their old house after Cecilia died?

My many questions followed me to the toilet. And as I sat there farting, contemplating and speculating, I finally figured a few theories of my own:

-- Suiciditis is contagious. Cecilia probably got the virus from the boy who killed himself over another girl. And living in such close proximity, the rest of the sisters also got infected.

--Sharing a cramped room drove the sisters mad and triggered the suicides. My sister and I also shared a room until I graduated from high school. Yes, it was fun but I also remember the shouting matches, the “I’m-gonna-kill-you-for-using-my-shirt/dress/sandals-without-permission” or the screams over “this-is-my-side-of-the-room” violations, and even the burden of knowing each other’s secrets and being able to use them for blackmail when one was pissed off.

Good thing though there were just two of us and we have an older brother who sometimes forces us to momentarily cease fire, unite, and gang up on him when he’s being his naturally annoying self. And then there were the parents, constantly refereeing and lecturing about love.

-- The Lisbon sisters discovered the seeming worldwide conspiracy to annihilate and torture all virgins of this time. Probably got it from watching too much TV, which they did since they weren’t allowed to go out that often. Maybe they’re afraid that when they reach their 20s with their hymen still intact, people will start to pressure them or brand them as freaks. So rather than fall into the vindictive hands of the enemy, they decided to end their lives themselves.

Lux tried to solve this problem by sneaking to the roof with the boys and her varied contraceptive collection. But then, probably finding out that being a non-virgin isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be – killed herself anyway.

Uh-huh, maybe these do sound farfetched. But they’re more believable than the one that goes -- the Lisbon sisters killed themselves for loving the same guy.

I’m curious about The Virgin Suicides’ film version, though. I heard it’s long been out in the market and that Kirsten Dunst plays one of the girls -- I’m thinking Lux. Sounds promising. Still, I wonder if or just how Hollywood would make me wanna flush it down the toilet.


-- SunStar Weekend, 06/27/2009

Bagging It

(Updated)

A guy friend asked me once why I always carry a big bag around wherever I go. Surprised by the question, I looked at my never-been-washed blue denim bag and started to wonder myself.

I remember buying this particular bag in one of the popular ukay-ukays in Baguio -- not because I liked its style or color but because it was big and necessary. You see, overwhelmed by the abundant low-priced ukay items there, I kinda lost my head at that time and bought more things than I could carry. Since my vanity was offended at the thought of carrying plastic bags in a 6-hour bus trip all the way to Manila, the only practical solution was to buy this bag… plus another one.

Still, I am by no means a bag-a-holic like my sis Maila or good friend Berna. Compared to their gazillion collection, I just have about six in my possession -- the blue denim bag, my petal-shaped office bag, a candy colored knapsack, a purse and a couple of travel bags. And I change bags only, when, and if they've become so obviously tattered with time that they can't hold my plentiful stuff anymore.

I've got to admit though that carrying a bag-- and a big one at that -- has become second nature to me. And while most girls change bags to suit their outfit for the day, I have a tendency to change my outfit just so I can use my favorite bag.

But what's in a bag? Is it true what that Kate Hudson movie scripted: "a woman's purse is her source of power"?

I am not the only one guilty of this peculiar habit. From my circle of friends, I count three who carry even bigger bags than I do. Why?

Amazing multi-tasker Emi does not leave home without her 12 x 18 in. visual board (among other things) since looking at it inspires and refreshes her during hectic days. As an added note, it makes for an interesting coffee table topic.

Online buddy and netizen Dan takes her laptop and gadgets with her shopping, to Neo Neo, Coffee Dream and even to yoga class so she’s connected to the world whenever, wherever.

My gypsy friend Azenith lugs around a bulky knapsack stuffed with an extra set of clothes and toiletries – just in case. As she reasons, who knows whose friends’ house she might end up sleeping in for the night? Cool. Besides, we can always use it as an extra pillow when we gals get together.

As for me, I finally took the moment to unload my bag one lazy Sunday afternoon and rediscovered the many reasons why I succumbed to this obsession. Among them are my makeup kit, my set of My Gel colored pens (there are 10 of them), a Snickers bar, 3 sachets of Hazelnut coffee, Bench hand sanitizer (which Al never fails to call the ultimate girl power every time we eat), my Acer notebook with the complete “Friends” series and my e-book for the moment “The Art of Seduction” by Robert Greene (since I absolutely hate waiting or being stuck somewhere with nothing to do), post-its, Kleenex tissues, panty shields, sanitary pads…

Oops, maybe I just unloaded too much. But then, the list goes on. As I went through each item, I realized I do carry a significant amount of baggage. But given the choice, what would I leave behind to lighten my bag? After some really serious consideration, I finally decided on "Nothing". Well, maybe last month’s payslip and grocery list (what on earth are these still doing in my bag?!) But that’s it.

What the heck, my dainty shoulders can handle them all anyway. Now that's what I call "girl power".


-- SunStar Weekend, 13 June 2009

Chips, Sea, Ahoy!

One free Saturday afternoon, my friend MK borrowed her grandfather’s boat and took me and five other single ladies cruising along the Mactan Channel and beyond. The boat was a gorgeous, sleek, modern lady too with just the right curves in all the right places. Like us, it was raring to break free from its anchor, run away to the sea and leave the city behind.

As we sailed on south, we watched the old landmarks, buildings, bridges and SRP flashing by with smug grins on our faces. We waved like queens at the matchbox cars and tiny people on the coast. With the sea as our buffer, we were all giddy at the thought that even just for awhile, the little stresses and issues we have contained in the island couldn’t touch us. For the moment, we let the chips fall from our shoulders - no work, no responsibilities, no loved ones to think of. There was just the sea, the boat and each other.

As ladies of the hour, we did our best to live up to our modern reputation – free, independent, bold and fearless. We fed our vanities and flirted with boundaries. We dared to break the rules.

For once, we conveniently forgot our work cell phones inside our tote bags. Sorry for the missed calls.

We drowned out the voices of Vicky Belo, Ponds Whitening Cream, and other skin gurus in the city as we shed our tight dresses of inhibitions, donned our two-piece suits and soaked up too much of the afternoon sun.

Then never mind that for months, we’ve constantly struggled to keep our bodies fit. As we settled on the nose deck, we indulged in a rare moment of junk food binge – chips, chocolates, super oily ngohiong, and more chips. Then, overflowing cocktails in plastic cups at 2pm? Why not?

Of course, there was gossip about men and the bizarre creatures on land. There were the countless poses and familiar snapshots of four different cameras. Then, further down south, there was the occasional bold dare among women: Jumping from the boat in the middle of the sea without a lifejacket? Why not?

It was a wild day for single women, trailing with shouts and peals of laughter. It was a day of breaking free, feeling light and crossing over. It was sweet and liberating.

We were still high from the experience when we finally turned around and docked. Not wanting to end the day yet, we decided to continue the party on dry land... only to find another one already in full swing on the same beach spot we intended.

We stopped in our tracks as we saw a bunch of half-naked coeds in their late teens dancing to loud music, drinking booze and smoking pot like it was the most natural thing in the world. And here we thought we were already wild. Some might say it was also sweet and liberating. But the sight sobered me up.

They invited us over to party with them. We declined. Maybe it’s the age gap. Maybe we’re just too old for their kind of fun. Maybe, despite being bold and fearless, there are still some boundaries we’re not willing to cross over after all. I don’t know. Like the water under the Mactan Bridge, somehow, it just didn’t smell right.

-- SunStar Weekend, 5/30/2009

Once Upon A Time

“Tell me a fact and I’ll learn. Tell me a truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a story and it will live in my heart forever.” – Indian Proverb

When I was a child, my father would read me stories. During siesta time, we would snuggle in bed with my favorite book -- a slightly tattered, dog-eared collection of fables, myths and fairy tales which always began with the classic words, “Once upon a time…”

I would marvel at how he just didn’t read the words, he also acted them out – changing his voice and making faces to make each story more alive. I would snicker at the sight of his moustache twitching with every punctuation. I would stare at his animated face and be mesmerized by his deep voice as I flew with Peter Pan in Neverland or skipped with Little Red Riding Hood in the woods. I adored him, this amazing man, who introduced me to the pages of magic and ever-afters.

I guess it was no wonder that eventually I developed two consuming passions in life – writing and the theatre arts. All through high school and college, I tried to recreate the magic in feature stories, scripts and dramafests. I attended one workshop after another and my fascination with stories simply grew. So much so that in 2004, I and fellow stage enthusiasts Em and Al put up a little theatre company called Artist Link Productions.

The first play we ever produced was based on the famous and well-loved novel by French aviator Antoine de Saint-Exupery -- The Little Prince. While the material’s inspired, our greatest challenge was sharing the heart of the story—that which is essential and invisible to the eye-- to a cast of 7-to-12-year-old kids, most of whom would rather be playing ball, computer games or pranks than reading a script.

I remember during our first script run-through, one kid actually fell asleep. The next day, my friends and I tried reading to them, just as my father would have probably, but the cast just sat there with their shy and blank faces. As days passed, lines were memorized, but still everything was flat. There was no heart, no passion for the story.

As the play’s creative director, I was frustrated beyond words. How could they not feel the wonder and loss of The Little Prince? How could they be indifferent to his journeys? How could I ever tame these foxes? I was ready to pull out my long glorious hair and scream. But then, at that moment, I remembered myself with my father many years back. How was he able to sustain the magic? Then it hit me—he always made me feel that the story was my own.

So there in the middle of rehearsal space, I changed direction. I told each cast member to drop their scripts for the meantime. For first, I believed, we needed to hear a different story -- their own.

The kids took turns sharing their personal tales – some funny, others sad, but each one definitely interesting. Then, with a little imagination, my friends and I tied their stories with the Little Prince’s. Like pieces in a magnetic jigsaw puzzle, you could almost hear them clicking together-- the ‘aahhs’, ‘oh-yeahs’ and nods of understanding made our blood sing. This time, the Little Prince was a part of them. And I thought, isn’t it just amazing how one’s story could actually define another?

Once upon a time, my father told me a story and gave me my first dream. With it came invisible gifts beyond price like passion, friendship, faith and love. Perhaps, you could share your story too.

-- SunStar Weekend, May 16, 2009

Summer Fling

For some, a Summer Fling is the cool overpriced cocktail you order at the bar. For others, it’s the seductively wild affair you know will never last. As for me, he’s the longtime-crush-turned-friend I first met eight summers ago in the city.

Let’s call him Mr. DJ -- a guy who grew up in Germany, lived in Bohol, transferred to Cagayan, studied Vet Med in Leyte, occasionally stops over in Cebu, and dreams of setting up a clinic in France.

I first met him when he was just turning 19, and I 23 – a time when we were still game enough to be the backup-plan-cum-chaperones of a couple of friends going on a blind date. Like usual, we all ended up drinking coffee. While our respective friends suffered from the worst blind date ever, the both of us talked and smoked Marlboro Reds on the side and the bitter black coffee never tasted better.

He was 4 years younger yet made more sense than most guys I knew my age or even older. He taught me that in some parts of the world, people drink beer like water. With him, I could blah about European authors and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash. He introduced me to Bic Runga, Usher and the unforgettable beats of alternative music.

We flirted for a time. But things didn’t always work out the way I wanted to. Just when I was beginning to really like him, he left Cebu without a word. Ouch.

Christmas went and summer came. Then Mr. DJ came back for a visit. This time, he declared he had feelings for me all along… just when I was no longer available. Well, well, well. It was awkward but as we continued to talk over a couple of San Mig Lights, we decided we liked each other enough to remain friends.

So we kept in touch. The calls and texts were sporadic and far between but once every few months or so, he’d check to see if I’m still alive – times when I least expected him to. Then Friendster started happening and it made it easier to update each others’ lives. The following years, we crossed paths in Cagayan, Cebu, Leyte… but each time never for long.

This summer, I had the unexpected gift of seeing him again. Mr. DJ dropped by Cebu for a few hours -- long enough to be able to invite me out for coffee. It’s been two years since I saw him last but it was nice finding it easy to slip back to being good friends with him again. He’s not as skinny as before but the rest is, like Rob Thomas’ song, Ever the Same. He still speaks English with that German accent. He still smokes Marlboro Reds. He’s still the same interesting person, this once 19-year-old guy.

We talked and talked and the cheap coffee never tasted better. We didn’t bring up last time. Nor did we speak of tomorrows. I was glad. With Mr. DJ, you never know. From him, I’ve learned there’s beauty in simply taking the moment as it comes.

They say each person who comes into your life is there for a reason, a season or a lifetime. With Mr. DJ, I’m still not quite sure even after all these years. But for the moment, he’s like a long cool glass of iced melon tea with rum on a hot summer day. That’s what I call the perfect summer fling.

--SunStar Weekend, 5/2/2009

A Cool Change

When you have work piling up and deadlines looming, taking a break and soaking up the sun almost feels like cheating. But when the heat is on and the sea starts waving on holidays, who could resist a cool change?

Last week, my sister and I took a spur-of-the-moment coastal detour to our parents’ beach house up north. Blame it on the long months of being yuppified in the city, but even as we left our offices and high heels behind, we went there still armed with our work gadgets. We figured combining work with R&R would lessen the guilt and put us right on track when the work train catches up with us.

So there we were, a couple of city gals lounging by the beach, looking ridiculously out of place with our files, laptops and mobile phones. I thought being far from the city would save me from its many demands and distractions so I could finally work on the overdue concept paper for my new project. My sister spread out on the hammock with her files, and thought just the same. But as we prepared to work there on the supposedly quiet rural edge of Medellin, we found ourselves distracted still.

First, there was the arresting sight of sea birds gliding like a banca. So intrigued was I to see them walking on water, taking off, then swooping down for fish that I spent most of the morning daydreaming of Nemo, the Little Mermaid and other creatures of the sea.

Then there was my mother’s cooking. After years of takeout, pancit canton and canned food – otherwise known as the singles’ menu -- the nostalgic aroma of real food pulled us to the kitchen time and time again.

Deliciously bloated, I tried going back to my empty computer screen for the nth time, only to find the reflection of my sister falling fast asleep on the hammock. For awhile I pondered on project targets and action plans but then, soothed by the cooling breeze and the rhythmic splashing of the sea, I also fell asleep not long after.

By late afternoon, I woke up to the warning beep of my dying laptop. Feeling guilty for not being more productive, I tried to resume work once more. But I simply couldn’t concentrate. The local children were already out seashell hunting at low tide. Even my 5-year-old nephew has turned off Disney Channel for a change to join them. As I watched fishermen returning home to their wives and children laughing while loading up their catch, it dawned on me – I’ve been stuck on dry land for so long that I’ve forgotten what’s it like to enjoy the sea. It wasn’t true that I was distracted from my work, but rather it was my work distracting me from what I came to the beach for – a cool change.

Like most city people, I realized I’ve been so focused on the daily grind, I no longer knew how to slow down—even on a break. We get used to the rush so much that we forget about time and stops. Then one day, we just wake up to find ourselves exhausted, burned out without ever really knowing why.

So for the love of my job, I gave up. Just stopped. I zipped up my work and let it go for the moment. Just as computers need to be shut down, we also need to let our jobs rest so we can reboot, refresh and recharge.

Later that day, feeling light for the first time in a long while, I joined my family, breathed in the sea air and simply gazed at the amazing sun kissing the sea good night.

-- SunStar Weekend, April 18, 2009

From Flip Flops to High Heels

"It's a hell of a lot easier to talk with flip-flops than high heels.”
-- Overheard at a cocktail party

If I were to live in my version of a perfect world, I’d walk around the earth barefoot. Just imagine the sheer bliss of the touch of wet grass, fine sand, cool stone or polished wood against your feet. But since it’s not just practical in this time and place, I settled for the longest time on the next best thing -- flip flops.

Known as slippas in Hawaii, thongs in Australia, ojotas in Argentina, flip flops come in a lot of names, shapes, material and sizes. I couldn’t be more grateful when, about five years ago, the launching of ridiculously priced slippers finally made it acceptable and fashionable to be worn where it never dared to tread before. Havaiannas, Ipanema, Crocs. Even surf brands like Quiksilver and Billabong are marketing these with their usual wacky flair. Now you can mall shop in flip flops and no one would bat an eyelash.

For years I was comfortable. As much as possible, I avoided events, places and jobs with footwear restrictions. I didn’t go far, true, but at least I could run.

That is, until my world began to shift -- friends starting to get married, me getting pulled into the corporate world, clients launching cocktail parties. One time, someone bluntly told me I could not step through the doors of the career I wanted until I managed to be 3 inches taller than my normal 5’1” frame.

So time came when I finally stopped running, opened wide my closet doors and seriously evaluated my footwear selection of flip flops, sneakers, flats, and more flip flops. A dear friend pointed out I needed to infuse a sense of adventure into my limited collection by considering other strange yet fascinating footwear such as platforms, wedges, stacked heels and, finally, fab spikes or stilettos.

I’ve always had high respect for women who manage to wear heels to work, wear heels to events, and even wear heels to shop for more heels. Though probably not as bad as the Chinese Wrap Shoes of olden days, for me, walking on high heels is definitely risky business. The good thing about it though is that there will always be another lady willing to teach you how.

Let me share with you some tips I learned from other women: start with a low or thick heel; conquer it one inch at a time; practice walking on carpeted floors; walk with your legs straight, chin up and shoulders back; take smaller strides to help maintain balance and minimize the risk of damage to the feet. More importantly, just keep on practising till you get it right.

As for me, the first time I was brave enough to try them on in public, I landed on my butt while strutting down the tiled steps of SM Baguio. Taking my cue from Miriam Quiambao, I just stood up, laughed and learned to strut again… far away from the embarrassing spot, of course.

Up to this day, I’m still getting the hang of high heels. Most of the time, I still favor my flip flops. But as you flow from one life to another, one event to the next -- it’s always nice to know that a girl has options.


-- SunStar Weekend, 3/21/2009

The Best Choice

Another friend of mine recently left the country to join the thousands of overseas Filipino workers in Singapore. This despite current news of massive layoffs there and talks of looming recession in Asia. It’s not that she did not have a good job here. In fact, she was on her way to becoming the top agent in her company. It’s just that it’s always been her parents’ dream for her to go abroad. So go on, her heart said. Stupid, some might say. Brave, I should say. After all, despite all odds, she’s fighting to be the best daughter.

When my previously gay friend announced that he wanted to get married to a real lady, there were a lot of eyebrows raised. Why? How? We were still asking these big questions even while he was walking down the aisle. Could he ever remain faithful? Perhaps. As he said, he might not be the best man, but he respected the girl he married and his dream was to be the best father he could be.

About two years ago, I gave up a high paying job in the city to be a part time bum/writer in another island. I left my friends, my comfort zone, and perhaps broke my family’s heart a bit. Most people thought I was crazy. But then, I needed the break from the familiar to rediscover my better self.

Everyday we make choices – who to spend time with, what things to do, what to junk, which voices to hear and so on. And no matter how these make sense to us, there will always be people – even those we love - who will judge and question the choices we make.

Hear it from Kris Aquino on national TV: “You can’t please everyone.” How true. Just consider how some people are so quick to dismiss us when we fall short of the best expectations: Why can’t we be the best friend that we used to be? Why aren’t we the perfect son or daughter? Why didn’t we make it as top employee of the month? Why can’t we be the best writer?

Sometimes it’s not a matter of incompetency, inability or indifference. A lot of times it’s because we’re prioritizing and allowing ourselves to be better or the best at something else.

We live in a time of highly specialized careers, Coke Lights and Coke Zeros, mouse clicks and Internet options. Opportunities are endless. Choices run high. So as not to be buried alive, decisions have to be made. In deciding the best choice, there’s the ultimate question: What do we want or who do we want to be?

Consequently, there will be sacrifices, other things put aside, and people left behind.

Princess Fiona gave up beauty to be the best wife to Shrek. Years ago, Lea Salonga quit school despite her high scholastic records to be the best theatre actress. Queen Elizabeth chose to be married to her throne, giving up love perchance, to be the best queen of England.

We need not apologize for the choices we make. The truth is we can’t be the best of everything. What’s important is that -- be it at one thing or another-- we’re constantly choosing to be better. That is the best choice.


--SunStar Weekend, March 7, 2009

Unwritten @ 30

In one morbid moment, the topic came up -- what age do you want to die? There were a lot of numbers thrown in-- 40, 60, ah, er, now? Who wants to live forever anyway?

I used to think that 30 is it for me. If my life were to turn out the way I had planned at 20: five years ago, I would have been at the peak of my profession and living my dream job; at 27, I would have traveled the world already; at 28, I would have found “The One” and been married; and about six months ago, I would have died and gone to heaven.

I wanted to die young because I was vain. I wanted to die young because as a twenty-something, I was restless, impatient and frustrated about a world that's getting more dirty and harsh with each passing year. Every time I tuned in to world events, I found myself asking-- what's the point? And finally, I wanted to die young because I figured there's no place like heaven.

Now I'm 30 and I realize that I was missing a very big point. That life is a gift. If we fight it and hurry too much, we miss the taste of heaven here.

Looking back 30 years, I see that life doesn’t always turn out the way we plan it to be. After all, today I’m still single, a traveler not really of the world but of cyberspace instead and, just recently, rebuilding a career in an industry I did not mind while in college.

But then, if my life had turned out exactly the way I had planned, I wouldn’t be in the moment. I wouldn’t have known the beauty of having different dreams and living them through one job after another. Maybe I wouldn’t have experienced the pain and madness of loving the wrong men and discovered the strength of letting them go. Maybe I wouldn’t have learned that the tide always changes, that time heals all wounds, and that you get second chances.

And most importantly, I wouldn’t have known what a blessing it is to be able to close three decades of your life and begin again with a new perspective.

At 30, it feels good to be alive and know that the rest of life is – like Natasha Bedingfield’s song – yet “Unwritten”. To borrow her words, “I’m just beginning, the pen’s in my hand, ending unplanned.”

As I stare at the blank pages before me, I imagine a red carpet of new possibilities -- fresh dreams, greater loves, bigger adventures. New words, new faces to meet, new places to go, even new mistakes to learn from.

At 30, my heart is learning to beat again for the moment. At 30, I’m feeling the rain on my skin.

If you feel the same way, sing Natasha’s song with me. You may hear it and view the complete lyrics at ayin713.multiply.com.


-- SunStar Weekend, 1/10/09