They were few, but there have been times in the past when I became resentful of romantic things, romantic songs, romantic settings, romantic images, anything romantic. Even the most touching sight of romantic dinners by the window overlooking an endless sky isn't enough to make me stretch my lips and smile a bit. For me, they are a cause for alarm as they make me draw my hanky ready to wipe the remains of an ominous and voluminous puke. My eyebrows, in fact, meet tightly in the middle and rejoice instead.

There just isn't anything romantic about that, I would insist. Sooner or later, one leaves the other in tremendous sorrow and they would forever live making each other's name synonymous to a curse. Honey will then be Stupid. Darling will change to Asshole. Buttercup will now be Loser. Cupcake, a Liar. The revolting feeling doesn't end there. It goes even more abysmal, more earthy, more animalistic. So you laugh to the heavens as you decide to name your ugly dog from your ex and your neighbor's uglier cat from your ex's new partner. You do this while praying that it will make things a lot easier for you and you recover soon.

I couldn't place exactly where those intense resentment originated. It couldn't be autumn, since Manila only has dry and wet weathers. It certainly couldn't be anything related to deprivation because I would have friends with me and I have a good time when I'm with them. It can never be dietary because I'm fed well. Hormonal? I don't know.

But then at the back of my mind I knew maybe where it rightfully comes from. I was just too embarrassed to acknowledge it because it wasn't one that's uplifting. I am glad those times are over now. Something's really improved with age. I can now tirelessly watch loving couples pass me by and I all wish them well while I smile. I am now happy with news of friends finding partners finally as well as partners finding their formers partners and decide to be together again. I can join hundreds of couples at the Promenade looking out to the sea while waiting for the sunset and I wouldn't feel awkward. I smile when I see flowers and cakes and chocolates and rings. I pray when I attend weddings.

And I can soundly sleep now.

As gloomy as the Makati skyline was this afternoon, I received a depressing news from a friend informing me about J.'s sudden demise today from still unknown cause. He was last seen by another friend last month and J. apparently looked awfully haggard. He just planed in from Netherlands that time.

J. and I are not exactly friends. But we move in, more or less, the same circle. I don't know much about him, except that he liked to laugh and make others laugh during those times when we would play volleyball together with other friends. You can spot him easily in the group since he'd be the only one wearing kneeguard or, if not, he's known to let everyone know he's serving ball with his unusually high-pitched tone that would shame Diana Ross. Except for those few times of fun games, we wouldn't really hangout much together.

But anyhow, J.'s death came piercing through. The news pulled me back to my senses. Death really comes like a thief in the night. Sometimes, when it's kind it lets you know it's coming as if to soften whatever devastation it brings. But frequently, death is as cold and numbing as it really is. It doesn't give any hint. Like in J.'s case. So friends and family you leave behind have to endure unspeakable pain and sorrow.

What makes J.'s demise doubly sad is thinking about what fruitful life he otherwise would have had had he lived longer than his 26 years. He's so young to depart this life. But what keeps me from feeling so low is knowing he lived the way which for most other people seem unimaginable -- open, free-spirited, pleasant, affable.

So long, J. My next spike is for you!

I was doing my usual emails this morning when, out of nowhere, I came to realize something unique about my hometown. It's not something related to any mouth-watering native dish or a strange secret known only to the community. It's one thing that we have grown accustomed to since birth but unfortunately, oftentimes completely overlook.

When you visit my dear old town, you will be swamped with greetings all punctuated with Dios (English translation: God). It's really unique, sweet, and refreshing. If you're not watchful, you actually think you're in some heaven. I've been around to many places in the Philippines but there is none like it. We probably got it from the Dominican missionaries who first arrived in the province and converted most to Catholicism. Or it may have been there long before any of the Spanish conquests, a testament of my people's long and old culture.

We don't have time-specific kind of greetings, much like the ones you have separately for mornings, afternoons, and evenings. But we say it with all the sincerity we can muster. We look at you in the eye, and with a courteous nod and smile we say, "Kapian ka pa nu Dios," literally meaning "May God be good to you." After the greetings, we bid you adieu and make sure you're safe. And who can go wrong with how we do it, "Dios machivan dimo," literally meaning "God be with you." And you respond, "Dios mavidin dimo," literally meaning "God stays with you."

You don't look for a doorbell when you visit our homes. Chances are, our gates and main doors, including windows, are wide open so we don't need one. And they're open not just when we're there, but oftentimes for the entire day even when no one is around. You may call out the name if you know it, but even then, you should never fail precede it with "Dios." It's probably the way to say you came in peace or you're bringing good grace. The funny thing is, you have to learn to deliver it not in your most baritone voice no matter how sexy it may be. You have to learn to do it with a more nasal tone. Be ready to appear and feel awkward.

This is my favorite. Receiving gifts or showing appreciation in my town is something taken deeply and seriously. Since we grew up not used to getting presents, receiving one is always something personal, one euphoria that's going to last for longer than usual. And so prayerfully we say, "Dios mamajes," literally meaning "God will repay." There is something poignant on how we say it. We accept we don't really have anything to repay the gesture. And so we pray to God and trust that what you rightfully deserve may be granted.

My friend A. insists I was a flight attendant in my past life. I don't know exactly what brought that statement but I guess it had something to do with congeniality. It was said jokingly of course, but nevertheless, I relish at the thought of me walking up and down a wide-bodied aircraft's aisle in ravishing shirt and tie beneath the apron trying to push the food cart from the galley to the first class section --- all at 30,000 feet above sea level from New York to London.

Another friend argues that, as certain as his silky red nail polish vanishes in three days, so is my past life as social welfare secretary. I had all the making, he swears: good trekking shoes which will serve me well when I hike up to depressed areas all around the country, 20-20 vision important when I try to spot the tents and school buildings transformed as refugee centers from a helicopter, toned biceps useful when distributing hundreds of relief goods in different areas in one day, short-cropped hair which makes a beautician's life fixing my hair a lot easier when I appear on the television pleading for donation, and of course, high-bridged nose perfect for news gathering which will keep me on top of any trouble.

Still, another friend declares that there was no other way he can imagine me to be in my past life than talkshow host. There's no need to look for elaborate proof, he says. One only needs to listen very intently on how I phrase questions and how I frequently manage to have some of our friends execute juicy and entertaining depositions about their failed romances and dates. As if to make me want it more, my friend feigns deep envy with all the signature clothes I would be asked to wear and the primetime slot I would be given. I would be the town's celebrity no doubt.

All these readings have, in one way or another, their own merits. And it all boils down to this: That I'm in my best elements when I'm around people, eating with them, talking about their day and kids, finding about their interests, making them comfortable and smile.

The funny thing is this. They don't believe it when I confess I couldn't be anything of what they pictured because I'm really shy, terribly shy.

Some of my best weekends are spent at home. The place where I stay is not your typical grand penthouse unit on top of the building, but it's modest and cozy. There, in the confines of familiar space, I can lounge around my bed till noon, sometimes in boxer shorts, at other times au naturel. I can let loose my magazines and have the porn ones sit with ease beside Time and Newsweek. I can stare at the ceiling for hours till I'm lulled back to sleep again and again, and not worry about hitting the shower. Besides, there is something about not taking a bath till later in the day that's so infinitely relaxing it actually becomes addicting. I don't know, the feel of sheets on your skin in the early hours of the day may have something to do with it also.

Or it could be the pleasant air of informality and simplicity that pervades the whole place. It's soothing to imagine that you can be ugly for the rest of the day and no one, not one of your friends or dates, will be privileged to see you. And so you feel safe going around the house crudely in shirts whose only claim to existence is that either you're too sentimental or you're too close-fisted and no one will shout to remind you that floral or plaid ensemble is sooo done. You can also listen forever to all the hopelessly romantic songs bordering on lunacy and idiocy, and you don't have to be nice to consider the preferences of other people. You can prop up your feet atop the tallest furniture in the house and you don't have to contend with comments reprimanding you for needing foot makeover. I love staying home.

When I'm embarrassed finally and decide to at least make myself look and feel human again, I take long hot baths and heartily sing in the shower. I change into new set of comfortable house clothes and check the refrigerator for anything that suits my mood and my clothes or my hairstyle. Sometimes it's just Diet Pepsi, other times seedless grapes, or just plain jumbo hotdog and sunny side-up eggs. I take any one of the Dalai Lama books I have and find a spot in the couch where my lower back is planted firmly, and then I begin to drown myself in Buddhism.

All these while Shirley Bassey accompanies me at the background sometimes. When she's off, it's Harry Connick Jr. or Steve Tyrell or Michael Buble or....or....well, what the heck, Dulce!

Hope your weekend was great!!

The more I listen to the radio, the more I read the papers, the more I watch television these days, the more I want to pack my luggage and leave Manila. It has gotten to the point where I am willing to overlook the virtue of patriotism I have always kept and just cut it cool. I don't care if I end up in some place whose language would take my lifetime to learn. I don't even give a damn if I'd start out washing cars, bagging grocery items, cleaning toilet bowls, or even dancing in the nude.

I am sick and tired of all politicians, specifically congressmen and senators, who go around the town and masquerade as the chosen and enlightened lot but whose idea of public service is as twisted as their logic. I closed my eyes in shame and rage three years ago as the country suffered international embarrassment in the form of Erap's grossly inefficient and corrupt government. I clenched my fist so hard as one Japanese television reporter interviewed me on camera and asked me why I was out there in the streets at the scorching heat of the sun. I ended my piece several sentences later and said, Enough of this nightmare. I don't like to be ruled this way.

Some remorseless remnants of the disgraced Erap are on the loose again. They have been egging another actor, incidentally Erap's best pal, to run for president in the national elections barely seven months from now. It seems that politics in the Philippines has gone so inconceivably archaic they think popularity actually translates to expertise in governance. This move to root for another actor to wrest control of Malacanang is so bereft of sanity and reason that it makes you puke.

I used to be so idealistic that I wanted to work in government or at least do something related to public or social service. I did that when I was 23 years old when I went back to my hometown to "give back Caesar what is due Caesar's." I am afraid I have to swallow a bitter reality pill in the coming months and rationalize that I can still serve my country even if I'm across the globe.

I think that's sad. That's another good worker lost, good heart wounded, and good soul ruined, possibly for life.

I thought I should be thankful for whoever came up with this list. To show my deep appreciation, I decided to have each item pay tribute for each of the 30 years I have lived --- sometimes happy, sometimes in stinging sadness.

So here's to the last 30 years. Lessons about love and life and lust.
================

1. Do not fall in love every time you fall in bed. Learn to detach emotionally.
2. Sex does not equal commitment.
3. Do not revolve your entire life around him/her. Addiction is bad for your health!
4. Do not cling, act needy or demand. Doormats are for your feet, not your heart.
5. It's OK to say NO!
6. Stop talking so much. Neverreveal everything.
7. Do not grill them or their friends for information.
8. Master the art of listening.
9. Treat him/her as you would your best friend. Friendship creates long-term love and comes before sex.
10. Forget about fixing your partner. It will never happen.

11. Your choice of partner is a reflection of who you are and who you are not!
12. Enjoy the moment first. Live in the present. Don't worry about the ex's or start naming your future children.
13. Never read your partner's journal or go through their paperwork and mobile phones. If you have no trust, you have no relationship.
14. Allow space and freedom between you.
15. Do not always be available. Calling frequently is a turn off and signals insecurity, neediness and control.
16. Open your eyes to lies and cheating, OR... close them, justify the bad behavior, and live with the consequences.
17. Little or no eye contact? Start walking. They won't even notice you're gone.
18. Anyone preoccupied with their physical appearance and dress, usually have very little or nothing to offer from within. Look beyond the physical!
19. Never compromise your values.
20. If you overgive, you will lose your lover and his respect.

21. DO NOT LOSE YOUR IDENTITY.
22. May-December relationships are great. However, seasons change and the May lover will, sooner or later, hear the call of Spring.
23. If someone really wants to be with you, they will be.
24. Sleeping with a married man? Don't count on him divorcing anytime soon.
25. State your personal rules in the very beginning or expect them to be broken.
26. If they ask to be just friends, be just that and look elsewhere for a love partner.
27. If someone wants to really be with you, they will. If they keep giving reasons for not calling or say they are extremely busy, get the hint. Leave them alone.
28. Marriage before thirty is an inevitable celebration for divorce.
29. Don't ever give up your friends for him/her.
30. If your partner one day leaves you, be sure you have friends, money, a career and a life of your own which you never gave up. Do this so you won't painfully blame yourself in the end!

I learned to play hide and seek really well from the most unusual place. And from the most unusual playmates one can ever find.

The place where I grew up in is your typical provincial setting. It is small, life is spartan, everybody knows everybody, everyone is related to everyone in one way or another, and everywhere to nowhere is walking distance. The town center is surrounded by the schools and the plaza on one end, the church and government building on another, while all around it is where we live.

Life is predictable, especially on Sundays. When I was young, probably around seven up to time I was nine, it is a criminal act to miss the mass. You can sleep late on other days, but not on Sundays. You can get sick while enduring the hour-long mass, but you have to be there. It's understandable if you're unable to take a bath, it's fine if you left the house with teeth unbrushed and spoiled breath. No one is exempted. People have a way of knowing if you're not in. Funny, but everyone seemed to sit at the same place all the time so it was effortless to spot who are absent. The only one's free from this rule are those who are ill and confined in the hospital across the street where the church is. So the town may virtually be looted from inside out --- and all would still be in church without anyone having the slightest clue.

I hated Sundays that time. It was arduous enough to sit-stand-kneel-bow heads-raise hands for an hour. But our troubles do not end there. After mass, my friends and I have to maneuver our ways past three senior religion teachers who were probably friends of our grandmothers when they were our age. I was still young then, but I had good memory. I knew exactly the time Lolas Toria Ydel, Juana Aguasa, and Pining Viola would leave their seats and position themselves in the middle of the three big cathedral doors as our parents would exit. That's when we kids played the best hide-and-seek games of our lives back then.

I remember getting caught just once. But that was because I decided to go back to my seat and prayed some more after communion. I forgot I wasn't suppose to do that. Or if I opted to, I had to do it near the exit so as soon as I see the three coming, I would rush out and run home faster than Forrest has ever run. So that time I got caught, Lola Juana led me to where the other kids were. When all of us "captives" were seated, we occupied probably four pews. We looked differently, some were in shoes, some in slippers, others barefoot. But we all had the same angry look. Like a masterful conductor, the three women will then divide the kids according to age and make us recite from memory prayers that we hear oftenly spoken. The younger ones, of course, get the easier ones But regardless of whether it was an easy prayer or the longer prayer, all of us kids would recite them so loud that the motionless images facing us at the altar would likely throw us out if they were alive. After the prayers, we would be asked to enumerate the ten commandments and the sacraments and all the other enjoinments and reminders. We know we have to perform well otherwise they would let us stay there till there would be no one else left in the church but the three old ladies and us kids.

I laugh heartily when I think about those days now. I keep repeating to myself, I really had colorful childhood. Lest they say I'm not contrite, I will say a little prayer in a while for Lola Juana (who died years ago) and Lola Toria (who died last night) and Lola Pining (who's still alive but has gotten older). I have to thank them somehow. Were it not for them, I think I wouldn't have become a damn good sprinter at one time in my life.

Most people I know veer away from questions about their age. They either change topic or pretend they didn't hear anything. I myself stopped counting when I turned 26, unfortunately, I would always be reminded of the real count courtesy of my kind friends who would volunteer to compute for the difference of my birth year from the present year. As if it's the lucky number to blacken in the lotto ticket.

But starting out one's third decade in this world need not necessarily be tragic. I refuse to be affected by a deluge of print ads left and right that I now need, more than ever, to start investing in moisturizers and other skin-care concoctions. For me, water and enough sleep and exercise are still the secrets to beat.

Meanwhile, let me reminisce and try to list down the things I'm extremely delighted I did before I hit 30. Most of these are those that I think I won't be able to do in a few year's time. Either because I'll have weak knees or I'll breathe in new air from some place far.

1. Not tempted to have a tattoo. Still drug-free.
2. Have never been to the school guidance counselor.
3. Took the train from Manila to Legazpi in Bicol.
4. Joined an adventure race.
5. Ran a marathon. Well, a mini-marathon.
6. Breakfast bonding with my father.
7. Graduate school.
8. Traveled both ends of the Philippines. Batanes to Sulu.
9. Donated blood.
10. Taught sunday school for kids.
11. Ran 5K below 30 minutes.
12. Scaled mountains. Perfected my patience.
13. Acknowledged and accepted it.
14. Questioned my faith. Started attending Baptist services.
15. Haven't caused damage to property.
16. Agreed to stand as sponsor in a baby's christening.
17. Have seen the filthiest to the swankiest motel. Nothing shocks me anymore.
18. Diverse set of friends.
19. Did volunteer work.
20. Enjoyed my grandparents' company.

Taking off from my previous entry, here’s my guest list for the dinner that I will host for everyday people in my life.


1. I don’t see much of her anymore in the entrance lobby, but this lady guard gives me special treatment every time I enter the building where my gym is. Unlike the others whose bags she would painstakingly scrutinize, she would accord me the most gracious welcome, much like the express check-in for first class passengers. She never checks my bag and, what’s more, she would engage me in brief happy talk all the time. And so, I will ask her to join me for dinner as my way of formally introducing myself. It’s funny, but we both don’t know each other’s name, however, that didn’t stop us from being nice and being friends. That’s exactly the statement I’d like to make with my invitation: That it doesn’t take so much effort to be friendly, but its rewards bountiful.

2. You will not miss Mang Andy when you go into the barbershop. Most of his hair is gray while some wait for a few more years to turn completely white. It is evident that all of his workmates there hold him in high regard. That’s probably why he’s stationed at the prime spot where it’s easy for him to be seen. Whenever I see him, I just park myself in the high chair and lull myself to sleep. He knows exactly how I like it done. But I won’t invite him for dinner to thank him for how he has managed to make me look human all this time, but for something more. I think Mang Andy deserves a tribute for a lifelong vocation of hardwork and selflessness. He has time and again narrated how he left Iloilo province when he was yet a minor to find work in Manila and establish his place in this world. Manila has seen him ripen to way past 60 years already. I will offer him a toast for a life meaningfully lived.

3. Lastly, I feel very strongly about inviting one saleslady from any of the many SM department store branches in Manila as a form of protest. For me, they represent the sad employment state in the country today. It’s not difficult to chance upon college graduates who, because of lack of job opportunities befitting their degrees as well as the need to stay alive, will swallow what’s left of their pride and work as salesladies or baggers. The harrowing experience doesn’t end there. Once they’re taken in, they suffer some more from lowly wages and depressing work conditions. For one, they are made to wear real short miniskirts as uniform not for aesthetics, but more as security precaution. It’d be difficult to shoplift and easier for the guard to do body search. And so, I will invite one of these ladies for dinner to provide a release for what otherwise would have been voiceless gripes that may build up inside her. So that the next day, when she reports to work, she feels a little better having been heard and appreciated and, more importantly, she will finally smile genuinely while attending to us.

That night was not pageant, but I was asked for three figures whom I would want to invite for dinner. I gamely answered Tom, Dick and Harry and that sent some people in the room snickering. Of course, I wasn't serious. I could have likewise readily uttered Ming-Fidel-Baby and, it would still be a joke.

I spent the next several hours pondering whom exactly merits my complete and undivided attention and interest, enough to send me into a frenzy of butterflies in the stomach and, if lucky, multiple orgasms without the slightest stimulation. I sort of caused myself stinging migraine trying to fit just three people in a cozy ambiance of good food and music. And so, I said, what the heck! Why don't I just have three dinners with different sets of people and theme, and topics of discussion.

Here's my list, as of today:

~ Historical people, Local version
1. I would like to find out from Kris Aquino's father how he would have played his role in the sickening and nauseating Kris-Joey affair. I'm sure he also has something to say to about the ugly and abysmal brand of broadcast journalism that ABS-CBN so wantonly displayed that time. But I will leave the KJ-Kris/Joey-Killjoy topic after a while and take on one that has given me the creeps for years already. I'll ask Ninoy, whatever happened to her sister Tessie, the senator? Was she born stupid or impeachment trials and senate sessions are special occasions?

2. With due respect to Lola Rosa, I'd also want her company over dinner. For those unfamiliar, Lola Rosa was the first Filipina who publicly rose and made known the atrocities done by Japanese soldiers to countless young Filipino women during the war who were made sex slaves servicing the Japanese army. I won't dwell on the gory details of those many nights they were numbed by hundreds of take-turning uncut men who would devour them like playthings. For the entire evening, Lola Rosa and I will have intelligent and animated discussion on parenting styles of Filipino couples. Specifically, we will try to come up with a list of those ways of parenting done during her time which need serious re-thinking today. Intelligent and brave that she is, I am sure she will agree with me that just because we were born into a certain parenting style doesn't mean that we should embrace that as the rightful way to raise children. I will find a way for her to evaluate and validate my theory that our parents do not have the monopoly of knowledge when it comes to parenting. I wonder what she has to say.

3. And in order to have an air of youth and adventure, I'll probably work hard to have infamous terrorist leader Abu Sabaya partake dinner with us. Is he really --- well, --- gay? Since there were a number of beauty products, mostly for the face, found in his bag at the time of his death, does that spill the beans on him? Or is it, by any chance, KFR (kidnap for ransom), his main job, has become unattractive money-wise so he does door-to-door selling of beauty products to supplement his income? Or is their group Abu Sayyaf an ultra-conservative "bevy" of discreet gay men who roam around the place masquerading as terrorists? I'll surely rib Abu Sabaya and find out the real score between him and Janjalani. I'm sure he has some juicy details to leave us all in locked jaws.

Next list: ~ Everyday people

Whenever I see a girl cling to his boyfriend unashamedly in public, I smile. Sometimes, I actually say a little prayer for them wishing that all couples are like them. But those moments that I feel heavenly come far and scarce. There are more occasions now that the sight actually amuses me no end, sometimes even to the point where I wish that a toilet bowl suddenly falls from heaven so I can puke unashamedly to my heart's content and everyone gets thrown out of the room.

One of them happened earlier. The couple who sat beside me in the bar were just like all the other couples in the room -- young, employed, playful. If you look closer, however, you will witness that there's something awfully off. I started to play the eliminations game and tried to get rid off everything repulsive and hideous. That's when it became clear. I don't know if all girlfriends are like that, but she was so abnormally clingy to the boyfriend you'd mistake her for one of those vines you see in abandoned gardens trying so much to hold on to whatever it can otherwise it gets obliterated. From the face of the earth.

So while I was nursing my Diet Pepsi, I would smirk on and off while making sense of the clueless couple. I thought, if all couples in dear old Manila are like them, we'll probably embarrass Paris so much that they will meekly relinquish their title to us as the Romance Capital of the World. Or worse, we will hold the unnerving title as the Contortionists Capital of the World with women (mostly!) who have developed this extraordinary talent of disfiguring their forearms and fingers if only to flaunt they are not single (like everyone else I know) or to declare that they are beautiful and attractive since they now have men who appreciate their gift of cling-ing and contort-ing.

I hate myself, I should have asked if the guy was visually-impaired. That would have shut me up.

At this moment, I personally know of two mothers who are in deep anguish. Both have only one son. One lost his youngest child in an ugly car accident a few days ago; the other lost his eldest son, this time in a tragic misfortune of narrowness and bias. The younger son died instantly; the elder one continues to live but in constant fright and distress.

Who's living a better life now?

I was alone over lunch today and felt differently. Lunch by my lonesome is not supposed to intimidate me since this is something I have done over the years since college. But this was going to be my first lunch alone after so many weeks of always having somebody with me. My three lunch buddies are all unavailable: one is terribly sick, the two others are keeping vigil in the wake of close relatives who died last week.

I sat by the window and was ready for some quiet time. I savored every bite of the usual dimsum I would order, immediately finishing almost half of the tofu I generously drenched with ginger sauce. I wound my way to my favorite part, the chorizo, when, all of a sudden, it just fell off the siopao and rolled a few meters away from me on the floor. I didn't look again since I was kind of feeling bad about it.

On my way back to the office, I joined two ladies in the elevator who were conversing animatedly. The shorter girl, half-smilingly said, she finds it funny sometimes when the best part of our favorite food manages to slip through our fingers, almost all the time on the last bite.

I chuckled and thought, that just happened to me. And what's funnier, I've been thinking about that the whole time I was walking back to my building. But I was more thinking about how it has happened in our lives so often, sometimes even more frequently, than when we eat.

How many times have we come across a person whom we thought was going to be a great love partner when, all of a sudden, something happens and you just part ways. How many of us have lost their boyfriends and girlfriends without the slightest clue after spending years of their our lives with them. How many possible romances have been nipped in the bud just because of rigid and oftentimes impractical standards. How many happy marriages and couples have gone sour and died because love walked out and they didn't sense it.

I now wonder, do we have to lose love and special people to appreciate them?

1. I like visiting houseware section in the department store.
2. I was born through the caesarian section.
3. I like and I follow the Buddhist teachings.
4. I need to smile more often.
5. I love discounts and discount stores.
6. But I hate buying items during sale.
7. I sometimes ask myself, “Am I complicated?”
8. I only order boneless chicken barbecue at Aristocrat’s.
9. Romantic dinners make me sigh.
10. I recycle gifts.
11. I am seasick sometimes.
12. I once was asleep for 16 continuous hours.
13. I drive motorcycles.
14. I smile in front of the mirror.
15. I have dimples on both cheeks.
16. I once received two-dozen roses.
17. I cry at happy endings.
18. I have stitched wound on my forehead.
19. I love classical music and the Latino beat.
20. The farthest I got to tattooing was henna.
21. I made a wooden ironing board as a high school practical arts project.
22. I know how to ride to bicycles.
23. I was once in a children’s choir.
24. I make good turbo chicken.
25. I know my parent’s love story.
26. I once sang in a wedding.
27. I was born on the 9th day of the 9th month.
28. I love re-arranging the furniture.
29. I am a wet-kisser.
30. I love hugging.
31. I get pedicures once a month.
32. I’m really shy.
33. I’m embarrassed to say no sometimes.
34. I listen to standards.
35. I once walked naked on the beach.
36. I’m a demanding customer.
37. I’m not afraid to show my affection in public.
38. I know how to do massage.
39. I love pasta.
40. I love the relaxing feeling of a cruise.
41. I read several books at a time.
42. I prefer doing lunch on first dates.
43. I grew up on Childcraft.
44. I’m a hopeless romantic.
45. I wear white ankle socks with rubber shoes.
46. I have never held a gun.
47. I still keep letters written to me as far as back as 13 years ago.
48. I taught Sunday school in college.
49. I like the sound of violin and cello.
50. I consider myself as an advocate.
51. I’m not into pop music.
52. I love watching weddings.
53. I’m a rightie.
54. I love cold weather.
55. I make a wish every time I see a shooting star.
56. I know how to play the guitar.
57. I wrote poetry in college.
58. I give people the benefit of the doubt.
59. I’m always hopeful.
60. I can’t draw.
61. I like doing grocery.
62. I think I kiss really well.
63. I still believe in love at first sight.
64. I live listening to all-male choirs.
65. I like Pepsi more than Coke.
66. I love earth colors.
67. I get rashes easily.
68. Banana’s my favorite fruit.
69. I love Wonder Woman.
70. I can sleep in the nude.
71. I can be very secretive about personal details.
72. I like to wet my lips.
73. I love promenades.
74. I watched myself cry before the mirror once.
75. I love dark chocolates.
76. I’m not a coffee person.
77. I like to describe myself as insightful.
78. I try to read the newspaper everyday.
79. I can start a conversation with a complete stranger.
80. I’m a good events organizer.
81. I like surprising people.
82. I can’t pee in the streets.
83. I don’t believe in fortune telling.
84. I love reading.
85. I only eat Katsudon from Komoro Soba.
86. I don’t watch horror movies.
87. I sleep with the table lamp on.
88. I love McDo’s McMuffin.
89. I haven’t read a novel in ages.
90. I still have wet dreams.
91. I like blowing bubbles.
92. I usually prefer to be behind-the-scenes.
93. I let others shine.
94. I enjoy inviting friends over at home for lunch or dinner.
95. I have once finished 11 pizza slices in one sitting.
96. I have never undergone any surgery.
97. I know a good singer when I hear one.
98. I am very competitive.
99. I prefer deserted to commercial areas.
100. I don’t have a naked photo as an adult.
101. I think I’ll make a very good detective.
102. I sometimes think I should be Supreme Court justice.
103. I type fast.
104. I don’t get eight-hour sleep anymore.
105. I have a huge heart.
106. I am always hopeful.
107. I have foot fetish.
108. I like to look at people’s lips.
109. I enjoy observing people from afar.
110. I like traveling alone.
111. I have read “The Little Prince.”
112. I like to make people feel loved and special.
113. I hope to become a triathlete.
114. I should improve my swimming.
115. I need two alarm clocks to wake me up.
116. I have been complimented once for a nice butt.
117. I sleep on the right side of the bed.
118. I am thankful for answering machines and cordless phones.
119. I am blood type B.
120. I'm more of a listener.

Some friends have been on the road lately. The daring dating road, that is. I thought I should be kind today and do something to help them.

It's easy to be in a relationship. You dress up and go out Saturday night and it's likely you'll end the night with several prospects to choose from the next day when you want to have coffee. But if you're thinking of something worth your while, being in a relationship is never easy. It's work, it's being patient, it's opening up yourself, and it's more work. So before any of my friends reach the moment of truth and decision, I hope they'll find this helpful.

Do the boyfriend test to see if he's truly boyfriend material:
Credit: Ken Hanes

ï‚· If he has growth potential, +3
ï‚· If he listens to you, +5
ï‚· If he communicates with you, +5
ï‚· How many exes does he have? One or less per year, +1; Two or more per year, -2; Zero and he's been out more than three years, -2
ï‚· How many exes is he friends with? +1 per ex
ï‚· If an inordinate number of his exes seem to be in prison, -3
ï‚· If he seems genuinely bewildered as to why his last partner took out a restraining order against him, -5
ï‚· If he has values and morals similar to yours, +3
ï‚· If he puts handcuffs on you without asking, -3
ï‚· If he asks if you love him after one date, -2
ï‚· If he says he loves you during the first date, -2
ï‚· If he scratches his pubes in public, -2
ï‚· If he has Dianetics in a prominent place in his home, -2
ï‚· If he owns any of Paul Monette's book, +1 per book
ï‚· If he shows up for your date already sloshed, -2
ï‚· If he passes out on your first date, -2
ï‚· If he tries to talk you out of safer sex, -10
ï‚· If he's uncomfortable holding your hand in public, -1
ï‚· If he has to take a shower the second you finish having sex, -1

Scoring:
Zero or under Forget him; keep looking
1-5 Date him if you want, but keep your eyes open
6-11 Possible compatibility. Give the guy a chance
12-18 Super potential
19 and above Forget him. He's lying

Above all, go with your instincts

I've finally managed to put a comments link on my site.
Of course, with a little help from my compu-whiz friend Dindin.

Please feel free to share your thoughts. Next time, we'll talk about them over coffee or beer. Your choice.

I remember that time when I was in grade school and I happened to be in my parent's room while my Dad was changing clothes. I turned to look at him and amusingly asked why he was wearing my Mom's panties. He tried to make an excuse and said something like he was rushing earlier and that was the first undergarment he picked in the closet. I started to wonder, why didn't he look harder enough for his briefs, or why didn't he ask our househelp, or if he asked permission from my Mom, or if that's what he really wears all the time and the white briefs in his closet are just props.

Several years after that day, I found out that a number of men or husbands or sons or boyfriends actually prefer panties to briefs, regardless of how skimpy they may be. They have varying reasons from funny ones to extremely strange. But most cite the thin and silky fabric used in making panties which make them more comfortable.

So looking back now, my Dad is not alone. He's just one of the increasingly growing number of straight men who have increasingly become more in-touch with their feminine side.

They are called metrosexuals, a term first used around ten years ago to refer to a particular segment in the male consumer market comprising of straight men who are so confident and secure about their sexuality and sexual preferences that it doesn't bother them to occasionally behave in a manner that may be considered feminine by most. These men largely live in urban areas, hence the word metro.

I'm sure you've chanced upon one at one time --- your dad, brother, nephew, current boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, parish priest, your boss. These particular type of men are oftentimes branded or misread as gays primarily because they prefer gym to outdoor sports (because they don't like excessive sun exposure? I don't know), classical music and arias to Eminem (because that makes them more cultured? I don't know), reading biographies and self-help books to Mills and Boons-type of novels (because they're thicker? I don't know), pink or peach polo to boring blacks for a Saturday night-out attire (because they catch more attention? I don't know).

I am particularly delighted and amused with this development, not because my Dad has long been a Renaissance man than most that we find today, but more because this concept of metrosexuals is redefining and challenging standards we have. Gone are the days when men who opt to explore their feminine sides are forsaken. The stupid equation that gay = feminine-acting, vain bahaviors doesn't hold water anymore. The myth that straight men only like rough and tough plays seem funny now.

Here's what I fear now: It would be doubly hard now for single women to spot these unique creations from the crowd and pursue them. The lines are blurred and overlapping. I wonder how my younger sister will do it. I think this time she'll read self-help books. And if that won't help, I think she'll just give up men and refuse to be confused by them. I have a feeling she'll convert our house into a mini-school for single women and put up a Metrosexuals 101 class, "How to correctly segregate the chaff Metrosexuals from the grain Metrosexuals."

And for sure, my sister will make millions.

Fourteen years ago,

1. I was a lanky sixteen-er who was just starting college.
2. I had a 27-inch waist and longer hair with bangs.
3. I only had two or three pants.
4. I can brush my teeth and wash my face with just one glass of water.
5. Most of my underwears were black bikinis.
6. I was shy.
7. I wouldn't smoke.
8. I didn't know Tequila can get you drunk.
9. I was just learning how to swim.
10. There was still Wordstar (Control + KQ, Control +KS, etc.)
11. I can finish three cups of rice in one meal.
12. I was enjoying eight hours of sleep everyday.
13. Jeepney fare was just 50 centavos.
14. I wasn't shaving yet.
15. DZMB was the radio station that lulled me to sleep.
16. I can wear a pair pants for four days, straight.
17. I was writing home via the snail mail.
18. One hundred pesos can go a long, long, long way.
19. A complete meal at UP was just fifteen pesos. Unlimited rice.
20. Life was simpler.


Today,

1. I have put on weight and attended graduate school.
2. My waist stretched a few inches more. I have cropped hair. Goodbye bangs.
3. I have at least ten pants, but would only regularly use three.
4. I still brush my teeth and wash my face. But I drink the glass of water.
5. Goodbye bikinis, hello boxer shorts.
6. I am still shy.
7. I still wouldn't smoke.
8. I now know Tequila can get you drunk and lead you to foreplay.
9. I have attended Basic Water Safety training.
10. It's Word.
11. I only finish half cup of rice in one day.
12. Eight hours of sleep is a miracle.
13. Jeepney fare increased 700%.
14. I am shaving --- up there and down there.
15. DZMB disturbs your sleep. Kelangan pa bang i-memorize iyan?
16. I can wear a pair pants for five days, straight.
17. Nobody's home to send snail mail to.
18. One hundred pesos is just enough for a value meal.
19. A complete meal at UP is a lot more pesos and a limited rice.
20. Simple life is a dream.

Indeed, in life, you win some, you lose some.
But life goes on. And it should go on.

Last weekend was tops!

It started Saturday afternoon with a restful stare of the Manila Bay sunset with its vast stretch orange skies spread all over as far as your eyes can see. I was seated in one of the benches along the promenade with a hundred other people looking out to the sea. Some are senior citizens with probably their children with them, others were young families and their playful kids, but most were loving and affectionate couples who didn't have the slightest discomfort on diplaying their affection. Not that it was bad. On the contrary, I thought it was uplifting. How nice it was to be surrounded by partners who were so dearly sweet and hopelessly romantic. It makes you think then, this could be heaven.

I left Manila Bay that night feeling inspired. I thought, Manila could very well be the world's most romantic city. Just before crossing the street, I made a vow. I said, I should drop by for a visit regularly and make it a habit. It will be good for me.

The following day, I met up with two friends and went to other equally famous Manila spots, Quiapo-Binondo/Chinatown areas. I didn't just sit and stare. This time, we had camera bags and backpacks slung over our shoulders, sweaty face and arms, and thousands of burned calories from visiting on foot the four beautiful churches of Quiapo, Sta. Cruz, Binondo, and the Manila Cathedral. Along the way, we took hundreds of pictures (Thank God for digital cameras!!) and made friends with some strangers.

When we got to our last destination at Intramuros, all of us either ran out of films or had discharged digicam batteries. We decided to rest over coffee and funny stories of the day. The three of us agreed, we should do it again.

In parting, I say, Manila's incomparable. Its smiles, smell, and sights are truly one of a kind. It's no wonder that some people, like my friend Adel, can't imagine themselves living anywhere else in the world than sweet old Manila.

I love watching people.

But not the kind that ogles over them trying to look through their dresses and making sense of what curves and shapes lie beneath. I specifically relish the experience of sitting in one of those crowded places like cafes or airport lounges and quietly fill your sight with faces and all possible mysteries that go with them.

Recently, I dropped by a coffeeshop near my gym and decided to while away time. I pulled out a book from my bag, but decided to put it back in no time after getting bored with long sentences and pathetic stories of men whose only reason for living is to stick in their sticks in all the holes they can find. I then sat back, relaxed, and opted to quietly feast my eyes with everyone there.

Lest I be accused of reckless imprudence resulting in manslaughter (if there's such a thing), I assure you, I only do friendly stares. I enjoy looking at the other customers but I specially delight in watching waiters, lady guards, receptionists, and the others who, by virtue of their work, are transformed instantly as our meek servants in between crisp curses and swears. I normally look for a certain twitch in their brows or pout on the lips or listen to the tone of their voices, sometimes even an infuriating mannerism. From there, I get drowned in a deluge of thoughtful questions.

: Could he be married? Was it shot-gun wedding?
: Is he the family's breadwinner?
: I wonder if he's happy.
: Why is she so clingy?
: Did he ever finish college?
: Are they still virgins?
: From which province could be be?
: Why is he eating that way?
: How mean can she get?
: Did he have a good morning?
: Is he happy with his job?
: Does he read the newspaper?
: Is she good in bed?
: Has he ever worn a thong?

Crazy thoughts. But they make you the best scenario builder in the world.

One time I asked her, what could be the secret for her long life. She held her ears. I laughed. But she was serious. She said long and big ears mean long and fruitful life. I found myself wanting for a bigger ear. But really, I think life loved her so much and she has lived this long because she has given back so much to life itself. And there are angels who take care of her.

Some of these angels came to life in 1992. That day, she was alone cooking food for her pig in a vacant lot across her house. Now you see how driven she was until that age. She sat there mindlessly beside the iron-stove when all of a sudden the cauldron full of boiling hog food fell on her. The weight of the pot was just too much so she was pinned to the floor, in the middle of hot and steaming water. Since this was far from the house, no one saw her. She relates that, later on that there was a man who passed by and saw her. The man carried her, brought her home, and quickly left. She said she was able to thank the man.

What was startling was that the place where it happened was far from where people would go, not being accessible. And yet, there was that man at the right time. When my tita saw Lola drenched in steam, she screamed to the heavens. But my Lola was just sitting there calmly trying to fix her blouse. She has managed to take off her drenched dress and changed into a new one. That turned out to be a bad decision because as soon as they got her to the hospital, the doctors had to remove the dress --- and the skin peeled off with them. She spent many months in the hospital. And she never walked properly after that.

Small miracles

But then she would create a miracle everytime I go home for vacation. Because on the day that I arrive and the time I would finally leave for the city again, she would make sure that she is strong enough to walk over a hundred meters from her house to where we live. It is a daunting task for her, I know. But she says, she wanted to see me off. And I would be always deeply touched. My cousins would throw piercing looks at me. I don't know if it's because of envy or because of worry for Lola.

I don't mind. I feel special everytime. More especially because I'm the only grandchild she allows to cut her nails. This has been a running tradition between us from the time I was in college. I would spend the last hour with her before leaving the province. I'd take out my nail clipper and would cut her nails in both feet and hands. And then she'd ask me when I will be home again. I'll just say in no time. She would pledge to have her nails cut only when I'm back. My cousins have time and again tried to persuade her to have them cut it. But Lola Laget would always say she'd wait for me even if the nails grow really long.

As much as possible, I refuse to write about sad things. I always say, there's so much sadness in the world already, I don't like to add one more. But this one caught me by surprise and got me to think about certain things.

I was getting ready to sleep one late night when I got this call from a friend. He said he was driving around aimlessly around Makati near the place where I live and asked if he can come over my place. I sensed an unusually different sound in his voice, some cracking, a bit hoarse, heavy breathing.

I asked why, what the matter was. He matter-of-factly replied, "Deep sadness." I was stunned, shocked, and embarrassed. Then when I recovered, I invited him over and asked the maid to prepare dinner for him.

M. is hardly the person you would suspect to succumb to this feeling. He's 30, bright, a lawyer, independent. He's a loving older brother to a younger sister whom she would pick up from work everyday to make sure she's safe, and a very thoughtful younger brother who's ready to part with 100,000 pesos from selling his car and give it to another sister just so she and her boyfriend could start firming up their wedding plans.

But that night, seeing him so lost and tired when he walked in my door, I had two things in my mind.

First, this feeling of sadness, the deep one as my friend described it, comes like a thief. It doesn't choose whom to hit and, what's worse, it hits when you least expect it. I have long understood the painful reality that nobody is excused from its attack. All of us, albeit at different pain levels, we all suffer at one time from this feeling of being so alone even when surrounded. We try deep breathing to soothe our tightening chests to no avail. Some try to find comfort from buckets of beer or maddening eat-all-you-can restaurant promos. And yet, as if we don't know, the feeling will still be there long after the beer has found its way to the urinal bowl, long after the feast has been transformed to something unsightly.

Which leads me to my second thought, I wouldn't like to see myself in his shoes if I can help it. And for that to happen, I have pains to forget, mindset to change, people to evade, companies to enjoy, friends to cherish, more maturity to aspire for, more support to solicit, more time for myslef, more prayers to recite, more warmth to share, more secrets to reveal, more of myself for others.

No one has to be lonely.