It's gone

While I still shed a tear watching Pretty Woman or show loving stare on genuinely devoted couples, sometimes I think even the tiniest romantic emotion engraved in the past years somewhere in my heart has completely, utterly, and absolutely thawed out and vanished. I no longer relish romantic gestures, much less, romantic thoughts and expressions. I cringe when I come across narrations of love and romances being forced out of people who have just been or, much worse, are presently in their first ever formal relationships. I have also ceased to be affectionate, warm, and adoring.

The feeling became apparent this morning when I came across a love story about an exchange of gifts between lovers spending their first christmas together. Stories like this normalle make me sigh. There have been times when I would suddenly close my eyes and re-enact events and place myself in the picture. The sighs definitely became deeper. Yes, if you will, a drama princess. To the highest degree. Even inanimate things as a red pen or a lifeless paper napkin would, without a doubt, gain life from my thoughts and assume very significant meanings and worth.

I now fear, when romantic feelings leave, are they gone for good?

Little things mean a lot

People might be surprised to know that I'm actually shy.
The most important thing I’ve ever learned was keeping private things private.
And what this taught me was I can become a good confidant.
My mother taught me charity.
My best ever outfit consisted of trekking shorts, leggings, dri-fit shirt, 60-liter backpack.
My Saturday night consists mostly of home-cooked meals and dvds.
The soundtrack of my life would include mostly choral music.
If I were invisible for a day, I’d slip inside the Pope’s bedroom and find out how he sleeps.
What makes me most angry are people who power-trip.
When I’m gone, the’ll probably say he was a good friend.
The world would be a much better place if everybody smiles and shares.
My hero is my grandfather Cesar.
The thing that makes my life worth living is respect from my family.
I’m saving up for my own place.
My biggest indulgence is a massage.
My current state of mind: melancholic.
My five favorite words are hey, dude, see you soon.
The worst thing somebody said about me was I was mayabang.
The secret to happiness is contentment.
When I retire, I would farm and do civic work.
I aspire to be a good son.
I haven't told my friends about that two-page feature on me in FHM.

An old loveletter

What I lack in a vibrant social life I make up with a marvelous collection of very touching love letters I have received over the years from people who have been part of my life in some very special way. I consider myself lucky or, if you may, blessed to have been associated romantically with these very few people who are intelligent (because they write in impeccable flawless english), sensitive (because they are in touch with their inner selves), romantic (because they know handwritten letters are timeless), brave (because self-disclosure takes a lot of guts), and simply attractive (because men who know how to write really are alluring).

One of them came from A. We were together in college although the letter came much later on. I came upon the one-page letter again last weekend after going over my several tin boxes which I use to store letters, pictures, notes, little gifts, and sometimes unused condoms. Even if I needed to get my moves on cleaning my room that Saturday afternoon, I still stopped for a while and read the entire letter. I felt good afterwards.

And so, to pay tribute to a gained friendship, I wanted to share an excerpt from this love letter. In more ways than one, I hope it will provide you a glimpse of me, of my true heart and self, and of the countless unspoken truths about myself. In parting, I wanted to express my sincere gratefulness to A. for a meaningful friendship.


My Dear J.,

Your question on whether a person should give the reasons why he loves someone has made me think in the past few days. I could have easily answered with a Miss Universe cliché like enumerating reasons would take forever, but certainly, a man of your intelligence and wit deserves something better. (Naaaaaks!)

So I tried counting. In the car, at work, at home, in the shower, before going to bed, while eating, practically while doing anything. I slowly realized, I could really go on forever counting. Pffffft, there goes my Q&A portion. But it’s true, in the past months that we’ve been seeing each other, I have grown to love each and every bit of the person you are.

You make me laugh. I immensely enjoy our conversations, be it about our provincial childhoods or our metropolitan adult lives. You inspire me. By being genuinely pleasant, you somehow bring out the better me. I’ve noticed how much more patient I am now, how I’ve become more cheerful, more forgiving.

I am happiest too when I’m able to bring out your smile. Nothing compares to the gratifying feeling whenever I have done or said something that has made you happy. I am also thankful that you have been a very good friend especially during my sad and weaker moments. I’m not wishing you’d have such times too, but count on me to be always there for you.

Mahal kita. Not just because of the things I just wrote about, but also because of all the other things that you are. It’s amazing how one feels love all over again. J., I feel really blessed, lucky and joyful that I met a very special person like you. I hope that someday, luck would bless me more times over and give me the greatest honor of calling you mine.

By now you’re probably on the plane or in your hotel room. Enjoy your vacation, do not hold back when a new experience presents itself, but please, please, please take very good care of yourself. I will be waiting for you back here in Makati.

Love,
A.

Reminiscing

I was probably around 12 years old that time when I sent out the first love letter which carried my name. I don’t exactly remember what was written, not even the events surrounding that fateful day. All I remember was feeling immense delight seeing a scented stationery neatly folded inside a colored envelope adorned with scattered tiny trimmings of hearts and stars and dolls. For one young boy on the edge and age of discovering things, that little packet seemed to contain everything a tiny heart yearned to share. I do remember holding that tiny thing in my hands and saw an exquisite labor of love.

It was, in truth, an unselfish sacrifice on the part of Ate Mag, our 18-year-old maid that time who spent many hours that Sunday afternoon leafing through songbook after songbook to find the right song lyrics which we can copy, send out as my own, and pray soon after that I can get away with it. I rode my bike to the girl’s house around 200 meters from our place and braved their dogs to hand in the letter. I must have been furiously tensed that time or desperately frantic that I didn’t even manage to stay for a conversation. I came and left like a terse and hurried sneeze.

Many years later today, I have probably written a few love verses here and there for somebody. Some were delivered still in paper and envelope, but this time, (thankfully) unscented. A few came as beeper messages. Others were sent via electronic mail. To my credit, each one was painstakingly composed, not by the maid anymore, but by myself. I am not gifted with the ability to weave words into some form of artwork, but I’m proud of my tireless labor to put a face, through words, on my feelings and my heart’s sentiments.

Answers please

I’ve been building up my list of when-will questions that have been begging a great deal for answers. The list comes after several solitary visits to a local coffeeshop or fastfood and drown myself with the sight of passing people.

1. When will women learn how to wear thongs and spare themselves from ridicule whenever they insist on wearing panties beneath their tight pants and give rise to awkward panty lines shouting to the world?

2. When will men discover the virtue of wearing boxer shorts over close-fitting briefs that hug your skin so closely they can hardly breathe, thus creating a groin area that’s so damp, moist, covered with sweat, and completely filthy.

3. When will men realize that belts have to match shoes in color and stop walking around the town displaying an unpardonable stupidity?

4. When will men and women grasp the simple yet critical truth that protruding nose hairs don’t have a place in this world?

5. When will women decide on going against the tide and risk being labeled as playgirls from choosing to accept dating proposals from several men (or other women for that matter) all at the same time knowing that that’s the only way they can intelligently judge who’s best for them?

6. And finally, when will women finally relent and give up their hopes of ever ending up with a guy who’s intelligent, witty, sensitive, and responsible because other men have taken most of them already?

Here we go again

At about this time last year, I was alone in my place. It was a weekend, the maid was off, I didn’t have an out-of-town trip, there was so much time in my hands I didn’t know what else to do to match up the cool December breeze and the seasonal melancholic mood that strikes usually at the end of the year. I decided to clean my CD rack and check out albums I haven’t listened to in ages.

One of them stood out: Lea Salonga's The Christmas Album. I slipped it in the player, propped myself on two giant floor pillows, closed my eyes and soaked myself with tears as I listened to two songs over and over and over and over again.


SANA NGAYONG PASKO
(Jimmy Borja)


Pasko na naman ngunit wala ka pa
Hanggang kailan kaya ako'y maghihintay sa iyo

Bakit ba naman kailangang lumisan pa
Ang tanging hangad ko lang ay makapiling ka

Sana ngayong Pasko ay maalala mo pa rin ako
Hinahanap-hanap pag-ibig mo
At kahit wala ka na nangangarap at umaasa pa rin ako
Muling makita ka at makasama ka sa araw ng Pasko.

Sana ngayong Pasko...


IT'S JUST ANOTHER NEW YEAR'S EVE
(Barry Manilow/Marty Panzer)


Don't look so sad
It's not so bad, you know
It's just another night
That's all it is
It's not the first
It's not the worst, you know
We've come through all the rest
We'll get through this

We've made mistakes
But we've made good friends too
Remember all the nights
We spent with them
And all our plans
Who says they can't come true
Tonight's another chance
To start again

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
This New Year you'll see
Will be just fine

We're not alone
We've got the world, you know
And it won't let us down
Just wait and see
And we'll grow old
But think how wise we'll grow
There's more, you know
It's only New Year's Eve

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
The New Year you'll see
Will be just fine

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
This New Year you'll see
Will be just fine.

On getting serious

We are all too familiar with the little things that dating couples do when things start to get serious.

Let me count the ways:
1. Each one is in the speed-dialing button of the other’s home and mobile phones to make sure time’s not wasted punching numbers. On very rare instances that that doesn’t happen, one is expected to have planted the numbers from memory so they can be spewed out from recall with great ease.
2. Your mobile phone now becomes your most important material possession. It’s the only thing that ensures you’re connected with your prince. So you start buying several battery chargers – for the car, at work, to add to the one you have at home. Your mobile phones, thankfully, will never see dark nights again. They will never be seen without charge again.
3. Even the most inhuman and evil physical torture employed during the war will not erase from your memory all of his details which you managed to gather from research. You can easily and eloquently articulate his biodata even in your sleep.
4. You have perfected the art of worrying and being paranoid whenever the other person doesn’t call or even send a text message. When this extends to mid-morning and, God forbid, late in the day, your officemates consider being near you as wilfully exposing themselves to unnecessary danger. You become ferocious ready to clamp down anyone who unfortunately gets in your way.
5. The slightest mood changes are easily reflected in your face. Everyone who knows you will turn your face into some kind of barometer to warn every person who might want to come near you. Wrinkled look means the safest place to be is in planet Pluto.

But things have changed a bit in the recent months. Today, it’s easier to spot couples or those who plan to be coupled with another. All you have to do is check if they have, as a second line, a Sun Cellular pre-paid account. If they do, chances are things are getting serious, if not genuinely serious.

A confession

There’s no question about it. Jollibee’s Champ burger is infinitely more appetizing than the rest. The juicy patties oozing with flavor pressed between crispy lettuce and melted chese beneath two fluffy buns appeal to me all the time. I have to train my eyes not to look at the tempting product shots every time I line up in their counters. Otherwise, that would mean staying a little longer than usual doing cardio in the gym in order to wipe out fats.

But even with my open fondness for the Champ, I still queue at McDonald’s more often. Not for their burgers although I have grown to like McChicken already, but for, well, some mortal reasons.

For those in the know, you may have noticed how the fabric used by McDonald’s for their crew uniforms carry this special power to hug the body so closely. Especially the pants. I don’t know how the textile is called or where it is sourced, but it’s something perfect to emphasize some regions in the lower torso and, of course, the groin area. For one, it makes the pelvis noticeably broader, the waist fiercely slimmer, the thighs impressively firmer, the butt powerfully rounder, and of course, the champ down there brutally stiffer therefore easier to spot and make sense of things.

I’m sure your next McDonald’s visit will never be the same again. Tell me about it.

My cellphone is me

My new mobile phone has been a constant object of funny remarks from friends ever since I got it about a month ago. Almost all of the one-liners thrown my way dwell on the phone’s perceived rightful place in the cellular phone family tree. In terms of sophistication, my phone’s supposed to be in an unflattering position since it doesn’t have a camera, the backlight is colored blue, no bluebooth, sound is far from being polyphonic, no built-in JAVA games, while compact it doesn’t use joystick for navigation or at least have faintest capability to receive photo images.

I have learned to laugh at all these. Not to mask hurt or feign offense, but really burst out loudly because it’s simply funny. Once, I was out in my favorite place checking out the latest pirated DVD releases and found myself checking out instead the mobile phones of the salesladies posted all over the area. Good, I wasn’t with my friend Adel otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to prevent myself from laughing. You see, the salesladies were almost outdoing each other with their high-end clamshell phones flaunting the cameras and the polyphonic ringtones and wallscreen images. They may never be able to grasp their camera’s functions and capabilities, but for them, it adds that tinge of style or elegance that has eluded them no end.

Deep down inside me, however, I feel a soothing sense of relief. My phone may not be really hot on a mugger’s eyes, but it has brought some very hot personal lessons to me.

Firstly, I have learned the virtue of contentment, to make do with what’s available. I’m glad the idea of keeping up with the Joneses has completely lost its appeal to me. I know now, one’s personhood is never dictated by cellphone models or apparel brands or other flimsy standards. The Little Prince comes to mind, what is essential is not visible to the naked eye.

Secondly, I’d like to think I know my priorities pretty much. I didn’t finish economics in college for nothing. I’m not gifted with an endless stream of money supply, my resources are extremely scarce, but I have sufficient amount to get me any of the recent phone models if I want. The thing is, the lowly Nokia 8250 phone I’m using now is serving me well. All I need in a mobile phone --- text messaging, voice, alarm clock, and calculator --- are conveniently featured in this second-hand phone.

Lastly, this phone has reinforced my image as a cheapskate, the man to beat in negotiations. Imagine, from 4,700 pesos, I managed to get the seller to agree on a price that's 1,000 pesos cheaper. Without dancing, blowing fires, eating worms, or anything like that. No one can beat that!!

Don't be stingy with praise!

As sure as virgins still exist, I will never understand as I have never understood the idea of some men that, to keep their partners in tow, sincere praises and compliments have to be scarce. I don't know where the idea came from, but I do know it's a widespread disease now among us.

Most men fear that incessant doling out of praises that show appreciation to their partners somehow unmasks them unnecessarily to expose their vulnerabilities. For example, some will never be heard saying how lucky they are, how their life has become more meaningful, how they look forward for each day with their partners. These verbal affirmations, as a popular reasoning goes, make them appear weak and thus, more vulnerable. They fear that they unnecessarily display desperation or patronage towards their partners and make themselves defenseless. And so, some men deliberately become stingy with praises and affirmations thinking it's the only way to protect themselves from being abused. This reasoning has frequently been challenged and found to hold more air than substance.

A lot of my friends who are partners to husbands, wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends have frequently complained to me about feeling unappreciated by their partners. It's a sad reality. And all too often, it has its roots in the stupid idea propagated over the years on how a man should behave. We are all too familiar with these illusions: men should never show any emotion, they should never be seen with a tear, they should hold, never to breakdown.

So what do we get? Men who are so obsessed with appearing as men leaving their partners feeling sad, unappreciated, and trapped in unfulfilling relationships.

Questions

For a moment, I wanted to get out of the office today and head straight to Marikina since it was nearer although Real, Quezon was where people should go to help. I couldn't imagine myself in my office attire sitting comfortably in an airconditioned office working while countless people are currently without shelter, food, wives, husbands, parents, and children.

I began to question a lot of things. For what worth is one's work if it's not of help to other people?

Who's better off?

When I meet my friends in the mall, grocery, a bar, or any other public place, I usually walk up to them and spend a few minutes to say hi and ask what they have been up to. It's one of those things I can't bear not to do. Considering that my circulation revolves just around the house-office-gym, I've been virtually shut out from the world of fun and places to see and be seen. That's why I make it a point to snatch every opportunity that keeps me in touch with friends. In cases, however, where saying hi personally isn't too ideal, a nod is often done or a text message or a limp wave from a tired hand which is the last resort.

My friend M. did a quiet, almost mindless nod yesterday when I bumped into him and B. in an appliance store. It shouldn't be too much of a problem really since I was acknowledged in the first place and we are both in an age where our capacity to understand has been stretched and refined by countless hours of very open conversation with each other. I was nevertheless alarmed with what and how it happened, and more especially, with the unspoken message it brought.

The couple has been together close to a year probably. My friend M. is older than B. Both lawyers, they have been one of the few couples I know who have struggled to make their relationship weather itches and bitches. In a world where fidelity seems as strange as an ice cream parlor in the middle of the desert, the couple has managed to be monogamous (at least that's what I think!). It's something remarkable, yes. But for me who's in the know, it has been very difficult to convince me of its virtue or merit. M. has practically severed his relationship with friends in favor of B. Or if not, M. has reduced his contact with us to occasional text messages or phone calls that came very rarely.

I'm not jealous. I know that a friend's world changes immediately after a relationship is formed and formalized with somebody. One takes a front seat; another should be contented being at the back. That's alright with me. In the first place, it's never a question of one winning and another one losing. I think I've been around long enough to know these things and how they work.

What I don't understand is how this seemingly sweet romantic gesture of putting your chosen one a notch higher than friends in your priority list is done so blindingly it leads to a suffocating death among friends. My friend M. has repeatedly asked me to understand as he explains that I, along with other friends, can never be seen with him alone lest B. becomes suspicious and leads him to ask questions which my poor friend M. thinks he might not be able to adequately and convincingly answer. To this, I have made strong assertions to make my friend look at things differently and at least attempt to challenge B.'s mindset. I always get a blind stare as an answer. My friend is a bright lawyer I know, but he's disparagingly dumb on these things.

Which leads me to proudly declare, I may be single and I'm better off this way than be in a relationship with somebody whose concept of reality is as fatal as his notion of relationship as ownership. The passion ceases after a while, then what?

Heart friends

I don't take it against my friends when I'm the last one in their minds on the few times they feel kind and try to hook up their single friends on dates, yet I figure out prominently in them whenever they get whacked by a host of problems, mostly about love. I'm not sourgraping or delivering a litany of long-held annoyance. It's far from that. I like to think most of my friends are fine right now in their world of work and love since I haven't been "consulted" in a while. Either that or my friends have all turned a new leaf and have become matured and rationale people wisened by the years.

There was Vince, a friend I met in 1995. Over the years, I have been privileged to hear his most painful cries and confused look as he recounts countless mishaps in the heart arena. We don't usually get together everyday like other friends do. In fact, we have never gone to the movies together or Friday dinners with other friends. We'd bump into each other in the bar sometimes or send a surprise short notes on email, and that's about it. But he affirms that I was one of two or three people who know more about the real him than most of the guys he hangs out with every night. I feel good especially when he says he makes sure he gets to hear my take on most of his concerns because he respects me a lot and what comes out of my mouth. Through Vince, I realized friendship must not be weighed against constant presence or regular phonecalls. It's with the heart that it blooms.

Next to Vince would be Dan, whom I met in the early 90's when I was starting to work. We're of same age and birth sign, but that's not the reason we click. It's goes far beyond that, something that only the heart or the sixth sense can rightfully explain. I have forgotten the last time we spoke on the phone. It's more than a month at the very least. But Dan and I virtually remember the tiniest detail from every conversation. Whenever we get to talk, which mostly happens on the phone since he works nightime, we take our most comfortable position on the couch or bed to prepare for an hour after hour after hour of animated yet very revealing conversation ranging from his latest conquests to his self-proven oral techniques. We usually end our conversation affirming each other's friendship which makes the next conversation all the more exciting, something to really look forward to.

And the last would Alvin, whom Dan and I both know. I met Alvin about the same I met Dan. The three of us belonged to this group which regularly met one day each week to discuss common concerns and serve as support group to each other. Many years later today, I am sure that neither Alvin nor Dan know what each has shared with me. Most are very personal details, one which can make or break each other. I relish at this thought being a vessel of their most private information. It tells me there must be something in me that's good to make them risk disclosing things which even their parents or partners can only hope to know. I take pride in that.

The only downside is, two are currently based outside Manila while Dan is heading to London in a few weeks for work. I don't know if that means anything good. Is it a sign? Maybe people who want to be based abroad should be friends with me? Or maybe I help people build their wings so they can fly?

Breasts and cuts

Tomorrow, my groovy Tita Judy, my mom's youngest sister and a favorite, will undergo a breast operation. They found a lump somewhere and they wanted to take it out. She's likely the third or the fourth family member who got the cut in the same area. It's a bit disconcerting, but I'm relieved since care facilities in the States where the family's based will certainly be more superior than what she would have gotten had the operation was done here. I pray for peace in her heart and comfort in the family as she's led into the operating room.

My first encounter with breast operation was in the early 1990's with my mom. I was still in college then when a lump was discovered and an operation scheduled soon after. It was summer, classes were out, so I was expected to be the one looking after her since my dad was left in the province along with my sister. I don't remember being so bothered about the whole thing to make me think about anything negative like death. But I remember managing to sit during the entire operation in a room reserved for family members who might want to witness the operation. I sat there watching every doctor's move alternately with any possible reaction from my mom. But she was just lying there heavily sedated and unmindful of what was happening. Biopsy results showed it was benign.

A few years later, a re-growth was noticed and a trip to the doctor was scheduled again. This time, my parents opted for something drastic, a mastectomy. It was probably one of the most painful decisions they have made as a couple, but it was the only response they knew that would avoid an agonizing trip to the doctor every now and then. I didn't watch the operation because I had classes then, but I came after just in time when she woke up. The only thing I can do then was caress the mass of bandage wrapped around her upper torso.

It has since been more than ten years I think after that operation and I pray to God for complete healing. Unlike her eldest sister, Tita Elmie, who didn't survive and died of breast cancer in 1995 and became the family's first brush with death.

One truth

I am not ashamed of my roots. My humble beginnings do not embarrass me. I do not have a hard time recalling my childhood memories spent in a very remote province known mostly for its isolation as it is for howling winds and thunderstorms. On the contrary, my story uplifts me and makes me attractive. At least that's what I think.

Something else bothers me. I can't bring myself to look at my body for long in front of the mirror. It's like I feel disgraced when I spend a little more time than usual looking at my contours. I have seemed to be conditioned to think that nothing there is worth looking. And so by habit, I have perfected the two-minute routine of drying my torso with towel after bath, wrapping it around my waist afterwards before applying deodorant and other stuff. All the while, my gaze never falls below my clavicles. Otherwise, that would start an endless rant of foolish blaming and pathetic wishful thinking.

That should stop. I have to learn the virtue of admiring my body and looking at it to carry far deeper meaning. Otherwise, I will never get to the point of fully accepting and loving myself. For how can you love something which you can't even bring yourself to admire.

And so last night, I willingly allowed myself to drown in this truth: Only when you learn to love and cherish your physical body will you start loving and cherishing yourself. I'm sure that this truth is nothing new and it has lived with us for life. But it takes a little special effort to realize and accept it.

It has since been very inspiring. I know I have to burn a few more fats here and there as well as tone a few flabs here, there, and everywhere, but it no longer becomes so numbing. I know I couln't even come close to Adonis on the outside, but, my God, I'm beautiful!

Losing things

Some people have come to know me to be thorough and mindful of even the tiniest details. That's why I work best where attention to details is a crucial attribute. I'm proud of this, but sadly, all that is disappearing slowly each day. That feeling struck me in the face really hard yesterday. After losing at least three costly personal items in the last few months, I thought I'd be numb and dazed for the next ten years and, worse, completely rid myself of even the faintest libido for the next twenty.

I headed back to work from lunch completely bewildered. I keep saying, not again, not again in between heavy sighs and frowning. The entire five-minute walk from my bank to the office was a spinning headache.

I first lost an Oakley titanium sunglasses. It has been around serving me only for a few months. One Sunday afternoon, I decided to do something different and headed to Luneta to catch the 4pm Concert at the Park show. I was seated in one of the concrete benches near the stage surrounded by a sea of blue-collar community as well as maids and drivers on their day off. I had a good time watching the featured university-based choir. I was even more delighted finding everyone around me appreciate avant-garde choral music. I left without noticing that the sunglasses drifted from my pocket to the bench. To this day, I sometimes still blame myself for not doing a once-over before I left. That's unthinkable for somebody like me listed as a mountaineer with an outdoors group. More than 300 meters later, I figured it out and went back for it. A parent who sat at my back said she could only scold the vendor who took it.

Next came my mobile phone. On my way back to the office from gym one lunch time, I remember still using it till I got to my office lobby. I finished my take out food first when I got back to my desk. I then decided to do a five-minute power nap first before hitting the computers again. An hour later, I was going to use the phone and, lo and behold, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I headed down to my building's security office to have the tape from the surveillance camera reviewed. A guy (probably a messenger) was the only person who entered our office and was seen tinkering with something on his way out. I felt bad but at least I had the closure I needed.

And yesterday, I knew that there was going to be at least two thousand pesos left in my wallet after I deposited my November rent to my checking account at the bank. I froze at the teller's counter when I saw only one 500-bill left.

Now, I'm learning a painful lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be too overconfident of my ability to cover bases all the time. I'm no obsessive-compulsive, but my training as a mountaineer taught me this. On one hand, maybe my being thorough isn't really the problem after all. Maybe it has something to do with my tendency to be trusting of people and believing that man is by nature good, one basic life truth I have held deeply since before.

Has man failed?

A different tune

When a phone line was finally installed at my new place the other week, the first number I called was V.'s apartment. I knew he was going to be surprised which I really wanted to do, but he wasn't home. The following night, I called again and almost every day after that. The person who answers seemingly never ran out of reasons he probably hoped would sound new and believable to me each time I call. The only thing that never changed was his voice and how he says hello.

I became suspicious one time when this housemate asked me to wait while he calls V. I couldn't make sense of the mumbling worried voices in the background, but it sort of gave me a hint. A voice came on the phone saying V. left the apartment and they don't know where he went. I sighed. In all the phonecalls, I would end it saying my thanks to hide a heavy heart, replace the handset quickly and afterwards breathe a desperate sense of loss.

The last time V. and I talked, everything seemed ok. As usual, he would rant about schoolwork that leaves him out of the house all the time and without a bit of time for himself. I updated him with any thing that I would guess he'd be interested to know about me. Almost always, they were things happening around my new place, my games, my gym sked, my trips. And in all ways, they're never about lovelife or a faint tinge of social life which I was unfortunately not gifted with at the moment.

He'd ask me if I'm dating anyone right now, and I'd set off the same answer everytime. He knows the answer. My dating life is the next boring thing in the world next to copying a whole Webster's dictionary by hand. I would be curious to know and ask him about his dates, but he would always say he didn't have time for it. When our conversation wound up about us, we knew something about each other even though we may not be telling. Deep inside us, I think we both knew we still have a flame burning, so to speak. I like to think we still think fondly of each other, we don't have anything but good words for each other, and we don't have a prayer other than love and care for each other.

That's why his text message yesterday asking me to leave him in peace because he has a new partner completely numbed me. It's not the idea of him getting a new partner that unnerved me, but more about the sudden demand for me to vanish just because there's a new one. I can't seem to really put the whole idea into chewable bits for me to digest after our repeated affirmations over the months with each other to always be connected.

I still haven't understood everything. No matter how I try to keep my peace and smile to the world, everything around me seems grainy and out of tune. I'm left with mostly unanswered questions, heavy breathing, wishful thinking, unimaginable hurt, and, quite ironically, hopeful heart. Do endings really mean devastation?

Let me explain

Many definitions can hold, but in the case which I wrote earlier to mindfuck means, plainly speaking, playing it straight. It happens when you willfully lead somebody to believe something mostly about yourself that is untrue in order to gain momentary pleasure. It is a cruel form of self-gratification, if I must say.

The pleasure is derived from many things. Some of them can be fathomed even by those who carry the least ability to make sense of things. People do it to obtain a gleam of superiority. Others just fancy seeing people bulge their eyes in amazement. I'm sure there may be profound reasons behind these which we unfortunately just don't know. Different folks, different strokes.

But in my case, I do it mostly to give people reality check. I don't find it heartening to see them assume right away that every love story they hear profused with so much heartfelt romance and selfless affection only occurs between a man and a woman. I find it extremely offensive to see them mindlessly promoting the idea that fulfilling relationships are a monopoly only of those whose attraction follows what is deemed usual.

And so on these occasions, I thought it's best to shake people's obtuse mindsets and keep them in touch with the truth even if it means me playing a cruel game. I only wish that their deep-seated traditional thinking are challenged and given a much needed awakening. If that one happens, let my soul be redeemed.

I don't want you to think that this is something I'm still having fun doing. I have long ceased to find appeal from it. Something's improved with age. It's better to throw pebbles of truth straight to people's faces sometimes.

A mind-fuck

The first time I played mind-fuck with somebody was more than five years ago. I don't even exactly remember how far back it has been. But that was one early evening in summer. I was standing by the stairs in front of Tower Records in Glorietta while I was perfecting meditative breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

And there she was, about three meters across from me. Our fate probably intersected that particular time as we were obviously destined to wait for somebody. For her, it was likely -- or hopefully -- a loving husband who was going to fetch her along with the two kids holding her pantsuit one on each side. And for me, a loving creature who was hopefully going to sweep me off along with, not just two, but countless apprehensions holding me back everywhere.

I'm sure we noticed each other by the time five minutes have passed. She smiled to me quite sincerely, and I smiled back. Smiling really does wonders. The moment I stretched my lips sideways there began a roller-coaster conversation skimming through our work, college, and of course love stories. I would normally become aloof about strangers probing and feasting on my private life, but surprisingly this time, I was very friendly. I shared some of my romantic moments, those ones that my friends have grown to be so envious about, and let her relish the thought of how lucky my partner could be with me and my romantic side overflowing.

"So, what's your girlfriend's name?" she asked innocently.

"Marco," I replied while quietly looking at her face expecting distortions to erupt anytime.

"Uhhh..I hope I heard you correctly..is the name.."

"Yes, it's Marco," I emphasized, quickly cutting her off. "And speaking of him, there he is now." I said sorry to have to cut it short and ran to the car as fast as my romantic knight-image vanished from her.

For the next ten minutes, my excited voice and my cousin Clarissa's laughter filled the car.

Changes, changes

Time was on my hands today and I decided to give my blog a new look. Initially, I just wanted to update some links and list new interesting ones I have come across recently. I am no techie, so I was glad to see Blogger.com come up with idiot-friendly guides for bloggers.

I spent several minutes trying to decide which design suits me well. I thought my groovy look today would influence my choice and make me click on that one with colors splashing all over the page. I was having my eyes set on an earthy look, something consistent with my nature. In the end, UP's maroon color won. I was happy. In the first place, I have bias for silver combined with maroon or burgundy. It's elegant, timeless, and very stable, rigid.

There's just one thing I'm sorry about. I'm not sure, but when you migrate to a new design, all the comments posted on your previous layout vanish. I can't see any one in my new blog. I feel really bad. Is there a way out to recover those ones?

Is there a saint to call for all computer mishaps and plain ignorance?

Blows and being blown

In the streets, at gym, inside the mall and occasionally even at my office elevator, I sometimes look at men's faces and wonder if they have ever been blown. Not just by anybody, but by another man. I can't imagine them letting something as heavenly as a man's blowjob pass them by.

The more I stare at Pinoy men, the only species I'm most capable to talk about, the clearer things turn out to be. I think more and more of them have likely let another man's tongue bathe their juniors. Lest I'd be branded as somebody with unforgiving judgment, I tried to look for reinforcements.

I'm sorry, I will have to do the elaboration next time. I hate it when I write and my tummy would make all these sounds. I gotta go find reinforcements. Literally and figuratively.

Breathing

And finally, I'm back writing again. It's been the longest hibernation so far. I'm glad the writing nerves are getting back in shape albeit slowly. I hope it will remain alive and breathing for the rest of the year.

What happened the last few months will be enough to fill up thousand pages of disclosure that will last until probably late next month. I had a few trips here and there, but I realized I'll probably be writing more about yearning or getting by or pulling through. There were a number of times in the recent weeks I've been with cry baby friends and their love stories. I've also had my share, in fact more than I can bear, of lost love stories whose only contribution to mankind is leaving my friends so dazed they had to make extra purchases of eye firmers.

Meanwhile, I found out some of my old, old friends have found their way to this blog. I don't know how they did it, but I just got a call one day from a few of them and I got bombarded with questions asking me about this and that. I have always planned to make my blog serve mostly very personal experiences; but, with this, I have yet to gain enough courage to start full disclosure. :-)

But maybe, just maybe, something very bold will happen soon. After all, it's another year older for me in the next few months.

A new cut

I called the my Kyan-to-be grooming guru friend yesterday and sought an advice on where to best go for a hair makeover. For once, that feeling of intense excitement over engaging in a hair battle even with no clear idea on the odds for victory in my favor became so appealing. My friend had me hooked up with a senior stylist at, as I found later, a pretty pricey salon in a nearby mall. I confirmed for an after-work appointment.

Of course, I came on time. I told the receptionist I had a 6pm with Jun. She checked the registry and called me by my name which was very reassuring, and led me to Jun's assistant who then shampooed me and helped me get settled before calling him in to set off a miracle. All it took for Jun was about 15 minutes max to cut and shave and style my hair to what it looks like now. Which other people immediately noticed and which, personally, I so love.

The experience made me ponder on two things. First, for beautiful and meaningful changes to happen, all it takes sometimes is a small step to make everything happen. I tried to figure out why it's difficult for most men to make a switching decision and try out a hairstylist as opposed to their longtime barbers. It's easy to find out why. At least as far as I'm concerned. Most are downright ignorant or just plainly ill-informed. They don't read or even attempt to find out what might be better looking for them and instead just be contented with the haircut they've grown accustomed to since their first barbershop visit in gradeschool. A number are incorrigbly afraid to take risks thinking that it's not after all a manly thing to be so preoccupied with hair and grooming. Now, what do we get? Men who become downright false testimonies to creation.

Funny, but I likewise started to think and compute about how much will I start to set aside each month for this expense. Considering that I, on the average, visit my barber twice month, I just might have to cut down to some things (like pirated DVD purchases hehehe) in order to afford this. Lest you think it's costing me two arms and a neck, I'd have to say the fee was reasonable. After all, it's not cheap to look good.

Love and time

I think I wasn't even ten that time, but I already knew love was never measured by length of time. More than 20 years later today, I still feel very strongly about this.

My first valuable love lesson was culled from my mother's love story. For the longest time that her friends and siblings remember, she was involved romantically with a guy named R. starting from her last days in college all the way down until they were both working. I couldn't exactly remember how and where they met, but I am sure that their many years of being together started when she entered her twenties.

R. apparently was every girl's dreamboy. Tall, athletic, well-chiseled, schooled. While my mom was, modesty aside, a looker in her time. Petite, confident, conservative yet fashionable. R. was my mom's first love. Both loved each other deeply.

Things changed on their eighth year when she left the province to pursue graduate studies in the city. Within a few months, she got the dreaded news, like in most soap operas, about her R. getting somebody else pregnant. Many of what actually happened to my mom after the news broke out has never really been disclosed. All that her sisters managed to tell us was that my mom cried for months. And more months. And that they have never seen somebody cry like she did. When she was done with school, she went back home still broken-hearted, but nevertheless recovered. If R. actually talked to my mom that time to explain his side, I don't know that part of the story.

My mom, meanwhile, burned her time doing well in her teaching job. By then, she was in the central town elementary school teaching baking and sewing to grade six pupils. Slowly, she was having a grand time and she now found her old self again. To some extent, her renewed cheerfulness was brought by a some guy, a new guy. This time around, it was Dad. Both knew each other since they were kids having been neighbors in the town where they both grew up. They knew each other very well; in fact, their parents call themselves friends.

Eight months later, one Saturday in late November, my mom finally found love again. This time, one that brought her immense joy and meaning. They got married quite late -- mom at 28, dad at 27. When we were growing up, I don't know for what reason, but my mom would sometimes fill us up with her story and emphasize about not being deceived by time. Just because a couple has been together longer than other couples does not mean thay they have more meaningful relationship or that they should end up marrying each other.

Cousins, cousins

My sister and I grew up in the province knowing our cousins really well. Much of that have to be credited to our parent's tireless efforts to gather us together, not just during christmases and fiestas, but also during our birthdays and graduations. And so the nine of us cousins who lived in the countryside grew up having this kind of special bond among us compared to what we have with our cousins who grew up in the city.

When we left the province one after another for college after finishing secondary school there, our parents still tried to keep the old times rolling. They would still have the usual christmas lunches and kris kringle even without some of the cousins. But it was never the same again.

The years that followed saw us heading to college and working in different fields and places. There'd be years when we wouldn't see some of us, but we would have our news about everyone from just about anyone, but mostly from our parents. They try to keep us updated about what each other was up to. That was how we came to know that John was working as a chef in a restaurant abroad, Jocelyn and younger brother Joel took up nursing and both decided to be based in primary schools working with children, May-may now does quality assurance kind of job with Coke after finishing chemistry in the State U, my sister is completing her graduate studies in the University of Indonesia in Jakarta as an ASEAN scholar, 27 year old Cindy just recently returned home as the country's representative to a World Bank conference in Washington and heading to London in September for her masters degree in Economics.

All of us are happy about each other's achievements. Many years have passed by, but we're still -- no doubt about it -- sooo much country kids when we get together. We have a lot of fun recalling the old days and private jokes.

There's just one thing though. All of us are still single up to this day. For a while, it alarmed us though we love to joke around it when we're together. But probably things will change within the month.

The past six months

I was doing treadmill over lunch yesterday when, out of the blue, I just froze and realized it's June already. It's the start of the first-half's end. Five months are now gone and another one is slowly vanishing -- all quietly, without me noticing a bit of it. In two more months or so, the BER months will be here and, without us knowing, another christmas is survived and another year is welcomed.

A bit of flashback on the past few months:

1. Phlogging. I have grown to enjoy taking pictures and posting them on my phlog. So far, I have close to 2,100 pictures already. This new hobby has introduced me to new friends both here and outside the country and brought me to new places as well.

January - Kalibo, Aklan; Iloilo; Capiz; Laguna (Nagcarlan, Magdalena, Pagsanjan, Liliw, Calauan, San Pablo)
February - Cagayan Province (Tuguegarao, Piat, Iguig) and Isabela Province (San Pablo, Tumauini, Cabagan)
March - Banaue, Ifugao; Caliraya, Laguna (Lumban, Pakil, Pangil, Paete, Mabitac); Tagaytay, Cavite; Nasugbu, Batangas
April - Agusan del Norte/Sur; Surigao del Sur; North Cotabato; Davao; Maguindanao
May - No weekend out of towns because of Namfrel

For this month, I'm heading to an island called Calalanay off Camarines Norte next weekend for a quick getaway with some friends in my mountaineering group. I'll stay in the city for two days after that before flying to Batanes for a ten-day vacation. I'm excited. I'm sure my phlog's going to be filled with tons of pictures again.

2. Badminton. I joined several badminton tournaments and played well. I have likewise enjoyed new friends not just from my club (Shuttlers), but from other people you regularly bumped into in the courts. Court receptionists and queueing attendants now greet you when they see you outside and, on whole, I'm glad I came to know a lot of new people because of the sport.

3. Lovelife. Whhaaaatt??? What lovelife?

A son's predicament

There are times when I question if my being the eldest and lone son is a blessing or some form of a burden that I have to constantly carry for the rest of my life. Of course, there is no doubting on my appreciation for the blessings I have lived and received so far, and the seeming inherent advantages of being one of only two children in a family.

It's just that, embarrassingly as it may be, I found myself being ripped apart several times by work, on one hand, which I should attend to since it's the one helping me pay for my bills and, on the other hand, my filial duties as a son whose calling I truly respect and keep. It has never been easy trying to do both, an ever precarious balancing act that you should master, an intense fighting of wills and practicable reasons that you should negotiate.

The past few days since my parents arrived have made this apparent once more. I am rendered helpless and could only muster a quiet yes once they say they needed somebody to join them as they run to different places to attend to different things. It's good if they say it straightforwardly like this because, more or less, it's easier to decide. But my mother has this thing of making it really subtle and smooth that you get floored and just end up closing your eyes as you surrender. She would ask for directions on how to get there or would inquire on my schedule for the day and make very faint pitches on how things would be easier if I'm there.

Wheeeeww, there has to be a way to work this out. Don't get me wrong, I'm not being bitter about being a dutiful son or anything related to my fulfilling that role. I relish every chance of showing back appreciation to my parents. If there is anything to be bitter about, it's more about not having enough time.

Meanwhile, my folks are enjoying their vacation. I make sure that the maid prepares Pinoy food everytime and that the breakfast basket should be filled with not just pandesal but mangoes and more mangoes. I have sago't gulaman in the fridge and Sarsi once in a while.

Two women

I was the picture of a model escort-son the whole day yesterday. I'm not sure if that's a cause for celebration or that's something that will put me into trouble for the coming days.

It was way past nine last night when I, together with my mom and her sister, went home. By then, they have traveled from San Diego to L.A. to Manila and, more specifically, to Makati, Tutuban, and back to Makati, all in one day or so. I picked them up from the airport earlier that day for a month-long vacation here in the Philippines. In a few days, they're headed to the province where they will spend most of their vacation. The city life isn't something that appeals to them.

Our last stop yesterday was the most memorable and fun. They wanted to address some pressing concerns, they said. When I asked them to be more specific, they showed me nails that that were cut likely long before I was myself cut. They took off their socks and revealed toes and heels that made gladiators' feet more attractive. And lastly, my auntie ran her fingers through her hair and said, she'd probably like to remember how it feels having a comb do it. Of course, I'm exaggerating, but it drives home the point of their immediate desire: be beautiful.

So off we went to a nail spa in a mall a few minutes away from where I live. There, they surrendered to the beauty gods. After quickly taking off their step-ins, they raised their feet on the footstool and slumped their tired bodies on the lounge chair and enjoyed the heated mineral oils which filled the room. Two attendants each worked on my mom and auntie doing both manicure and pedicure at the same. The sight was just captivating. I couldn't help it. I sat in one of the lounge chairs myself and asked for somebody to work on my nails. I dozed off in no time.

After her nails were done, my auntie wanted a hair makeover. While my mom was having a back massage after the nail job, I brought my auntie to Piandre which was conveniently just across the nail salon. There, too, she surrendered everything to the stylist and, occasionally, would glance to me seemingly asking for feedback or suggestions or anything that I may care to add. I felt, this must be how Kyan (of bravotv.com's Queer Eye for the Straight Guy) is feeling when he brings people to salons for makeovers. That power, that complete subservience people grant you to rule over their looks is just so overwhelming.

So, after three or so hours and a few thousand pesos poorer, we left the place and headed for a walk to Makati's premier malls. It was an evening late in the week so I guess people starting to prime up for their weekend stuff. Everyone seemed to be out that night. I was afraid I'd bump into some friends and they'd ask me to explain why I was in the middle of two women in their late fifties, each one tightly clinging in my arms.

But then again, I thought that least bothered me. The sweet sight of us three last night was far more important. It's not often that I get to enjoy that experience with them. It's not often to see mothers feel happy and proud they did well in their job of raising kids.

Queer invasion

If you've been far from your TV sets these past few weeks, you may not have noticed that ETC channel is finally on the list of most cable companies in Manila. I'm slowly being glued on the couch and to the TV channel certain days of the week.

One reason is a funny yet very informative program called Queer Eye for the Straight Guy where a team of five gayguys team up to give a very lucky straigh guy makeovers on grooming, culture, fashion, wine and food, and (apartment) interior design. Practially from drab to fab, as what they say.

Here's my answers to a questionnaire I found in their website:

1. Describe your ideal vacation — location and activities.
Cottage on a deserted beach + music + red wine + love (if the gods are good).

2. What type of workout keeps you in shape?
Running/Weights.

3. What's your favorite "guilty pleasure?"
Chocolates/Chinese food.

4. What is your all-time favorite book?
I'd have to say all of Dalai Lama's books.

5. What celebrity do you think has an amazing sense of style?
Nicole Kidman.

6. Which celebrity would you most like to makeover, and why?
Kris Aquino. She thinks she's so pretty.

7. What is the worst style faux pas a person can commit?
Trying too hard.

8. What's your biggest pet peeve?
Rudeness.

9. What's your favorite place to be seen on a Saturday night?
A bookstore. Or maybe a grocery.

10. Who is your role model or personal inspiration?
My grandfathers.

Dreams change

Sometimes, I don't know what to dream anymore.

For the longest time, I nurtured a dream that brings me to places far and all quite unimaginable. There, I will embrace my work like my prayers and my relationship like life itself. I will have no problems enduring the worklife in a cosmopolitan city with all its speed and casual dealings. I foresee myself living in a building surrounded by lifeless concrete and nameless faces, but will endure it only because it's near my place of work. I will keep a notebook of addresses and numbers of old friends and relatives and will take note of birthdays and anniversaries.

Lest I will be cautioned as being too stiff, I will definitely not forget to enjoy life's many sweet treats. I will drive an SUV and own rollerblades. On weekends, I will head to the beach or decide to be a gracious dinner host for a few close friends. My personal quiet time I will spend doing charity work or in aimless drives to the countryside.

Recently, however, things have somehow changed a bit. I don't know if I'm really aging or it's really like this when you get past a certain age. But I have found the idea of farming in a far rural place quite comforting. The house may not be grand in design and amenities, but it will have at least a radio. A guitar hangs in one of the walls. There will be no concrete suffocating me except for the paved road. Outside the house is a well-kept garden with a cottage in one end where I entertain friends over brewed coffee. Wind chimes are delicately mounted all over the garden to create more ambience.

Unexpected gift

For a moment, I thought maybe I can really earn some money from my photos. And then I can really start planning out visiting Tuscany.

You see, one dinner time the other week, an advertising guy all the way from Dubai called me on my mobile asking if I can head to Luneta the next day and shoot Rizal's monument for a poster they were doing for Pinoy audience there. The Pinoy art director happens to know somebody I know, and that's how my mobile number wound up to Dubai. They have seen my pictures in my phlog and, the guy said, I can do the job. I was quite nervous since I've never had somebody ask me to do photography formally and then get paid for it.

It was a nice feeling getting an affirmation like that. When I started to give more attention to my photography, all I really wanted was for my folks and my only sis who are living abroad not to feel too homesick. Images of familiar Pinoy settings and things, I thought, should at least comfort them a bit. It was farthest from my mind that they will get recognized and, more interestingly, it will lead me to an ATM bank.

I'm delighted to share with you that the Rizal Monument pics I took were accepted. I was in Glorietta two straight days last week buying things for me from what the pics earned me. Among others, I got a new gym bag, CD player beltbag, a number of DVD's, and, what could be the best buy of them all, soft-bound copy of Rick Warren's bestseller The Purpose-Driven Life.

Oh, I forgot to say. That one pic earned me 10 thousand bucks.

A plague

I keep thinking about it over and over again. Maybe it's just a phase, or maybe the moon and the tides have something to do with it, or maybe it's in the diet or sleeping time. Or maybe it's a plague and it's all over town.

The last week or so, I have had at least two friends who called me to seek help. It wasn't anything related to money since they very well know I'm the wrong person to approach for that. They needed something more. They said they were in the blues having bouts of sleeplessness and shortness of breath. They found themselves smoking stick after stick after stick. Their attention span is shortened and they seemed to drag themselves to work almost every morning.

I knew what it was. Depression.

It has invaded almost every conceivable human being --- from national artists to the lowliest-paid employee. Some people mistakenly label themselves as invincible only to realize depression attacks like a thief in the night. It's something as universal as love and music. Per se, I sometimes find depression something that's favorable. It keeps someone grounded and wittingly tempers people who regard themselves as gods. More importantly, it keeps one in touch with very humane feelings of helplessness, being prayerful, and resignation, quite a good reminder of not being in control all the time and the presence of Somebody Supreme.

It's not bad to be under its spell once in a while. What's very disturbing would be loving to be in that state for prolonged periods of time. Or, in a very different way, to relish the feeling of self-masochism. That's when I think professional help is recommended.

I hope my friends find their way through this. It's good they were very courageous enough to admit it to themselves and speak to somebody else about it. Those steps lead to healing. I shall be praying for them and for all to be free from the painful stings it bring.

My phlog again

Ohhh...this made my day. I'd like to have my one-minute share of fame and let you into it.

Since I put up my phlog site, I've been regularly getting very heartwarming messages from people, most of whom I don't know and most of whom are outside Manila. They all say one thing: They miss home. That makes me even want to go to places around Manila (and possibly around the country) and capture images of things familiar and close to the heart. Oh yes, you can say I'm a sadist.

Staying home

Sometimes I think I'm thankful that Philippines is predominantly catholic which makes Holy Week something to really look forward to every year. The excitement is not at all built around anything religious or profound. The days surrounding Holy Thursday and Good Friday are where most summer vacations are planned and where almost everyone leave their homes to travel.

Except me. I didn't want to be part of the mayhem in the local travel during this time. I may be an adventure rat, but I absolutely detested the mere thought that I'd be queueing up in the check-in counters of bus stations or the airport. I likewise didn't relish the idea of beaches filled with people I don't know or hotel owners charging insulting rates. I just wanted to be in a quiet place where I can cuddle up and enjoy myself.

So a day before the long break, I gave in to a long-time wish. I dropped by an appliance store and got a 21-inch flat TV and, to complete the cast, a DVD player. I planned to stay home for much of the Wednesday to Sunday break and drown myself to watching those films I wasn't able to catch on regular screening at Greenbelt. I'm glad I did. I shed a tear at Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ and Spielberg's Schindler's List, I laughed at Dory, I sang with the Abba's, Mystic River got me pumped up. I have a long way to go, at least ten more DVDs to watch in the coming days or till my eyes drop to exhaustion.

I think most people dragged their asses back to work today after that five-day holiday. It's never easy. You're back on your desk yet your mind is still buried on fluffy thoughts and fluffy pillows or they may start to recall things and start to wonder, was everything holy during the Holy Week?

Soldier

I got an urgent call at lunch time today. My teammate Eric had an emergency and had to beg off from being sent to the field till Sunday. The coordinator asked if I could cover the Agusan del Norte and Agusan del Sur stints for Eric doing what I did in North Cotabato last Monday.

Like a true soldier, I said yes. Things seemed to fall into place one after another. My boss is leaving for abroad tomorrow so that means not much work for the next few days. An officemate offered to cover for me. I'm still at work waiting for my plane ticket and my itinerary. I have a birthday party waiting for me and a bed that has missed me for sometime.

So for the next few days, I'll be around Mindanao again doing Namfrel stuff. I have a free day, I think, so I'll try to find an internet cafe and let you know the latest. I'm excited to go out for more photoshoots to fill my phlog.

Catch you all soon.

20 hours

I was awake for 20 straight hours yesterday starting at two in the morning. During that time, I took a cab, a plane, and a bus to get to North Cotabato over a thousand kilometers south of Manila. I met with a bishop and two priests, had lunch with a teacher, spoke before a crowd of almost 70 people most of whom are older than my parents, got interviewed on-air by a local radio station, and, to cap my day, dined with nuns. As soon I woke up at 3AM today, I had to travel two hours to get to the airport and fly back home to report for work.

That's just half of the story.

For the next 41 days leading to the elections in May, I expect to make a few more trips like that, mostly in Mindanao. That's part of my job as a Namfrel volunteer. Together with another guy in myteam, they call us regional directors for Mindanao. We get deployed all over Mindanao a few weeks before every national elections to train Namfrel volunteers in the field. We are practically on call. Namfrel secretariat would call us and advise us of preferred training dates that our provincial chapters have requested. Most of the time, we don't have a choice. We file for an emergency leave and take a one-day working vacation to far places. In cases where I need to sweep several provinces in one trip, I let the Namfrel chairman call my boss and request that I be made available for the job. I'm glad my boss has very strong sense of his social responsibility.

It's a very humbling experience to brush elbows with co-volunteers whose stories in the field since 1986 are as colorful as the lives they live. It's even more humbling to witness their passion to do selfless service for a cause, while risky and unpaid, yet provide unexplainable rewards that only them can understand.

My dealings with these volunteers have kept me grounded all the time. But largely, it makes me deeply sad at the same time. I almost never fail to wonder why ordinary people like them have the biggest hearts for something big as guarding ballots while some people allow to be preoccupied and filled up with mundane GQ and Cosmo things.

Maybe I'm just old. Or maybe I just know how to value things.

A restroom incident

It looked like she almost wanted to pounce on me. She was walking by to where I was on her way out with a friend when our eyes accidentally met. I noticed a different look, that one that you usually throw at someone who stepped on your toes or who took your cab or who got the last available seat in a restaurant.

I knew very well why she stared that way. She stood behind me in the queue to the only toilet in a Starbucks cafe near my office. I noticed her because we were both waiting forever for the door to be unlocked so we can unload our bladder. The door seemed forever closed like heaven's gate. It wouldn't make a sound, it was firmly closed, the big "occupied" word splashed on the frame. She was fidgeting while tinkering with her mobile phone, while I was looking out far on the street across and tried to notice people's faces in the noontime heat.

When finally the door opened, a lady in miniskirt donning a three-inch heel and an inch-full of make-up emerged. She walked by mindlessly, almost rushing out. I then inched my way to the door, stopped for a few seconds before finally pushing the door open. It was a mistake. A certain after-pupu smell filled the room, that one that causes you to gag and whip out crisp curses. There were water I wanted to leave right away and run after the lady, but my pee was practically begging to seep out. So I headed towards the urinal plastered on the wall and started pushing my bladder so hard it spewed out pee 60mph. I wasn't breathing the whole time.

In less than 15 seconds, I was done. I felt human again. I pulled out the door to leave and rushed out to catch a good look of the lady who came in before me. I wanted my killer look to strangle her and make her own up to the filthy crime. She was no longer there. In a rather twisted kind of way, I ended up suffering the raging look that was supposed to be for her.

If that's karma, I don't know that it hits you so quickly.

For a change

Tomorrow morning, I agreed to do something completely different for a change. Instead of being behind the camera, I'll be the one in front. Yes, I will be a photographer's subject.

People close to me know that there has to be one really compelling reason for me to agree to be under bright lights and become a submissive subject. I think there is. Otherwise, I wouldn't even consider waking up at 6 tomorrow morning to be ready for the shoot at 8. The reason? I just can't say it now. I mean, I'd like to surprise everybody. Nah, I wouldn't be in any of the shouting billboards along EDSA.

I'm not photogenic so I'm not sure how things will turn out. I guess the magic spell of Photoshop may be called at any time, I don't know. But I'm putting my complete trust on the professional photographer who will do the job. I'm thinking, maybe we work the same way. We both like our subjects to appear good and feel good afterwards. That's what has given me, as a budding photographer, immense joy.

So in the meantime, sit back, relax, and enjoy the weekend.

Finally

Oh yes, I'm back.

After exactly a month of being out of touch, I'm here again. I was not going to be away for good, that's for sure. I was just pre-occupied with other things like...

1. Phlogging. From just a few photo entries when I started, I have sort of gotten addicted to it, so much that I have leaped to be one of five people (worldwide) with the most number of photos uploaded on the site.

The pictures have a special way of connecting me with my friends and loved ones here and, most especially, those who are based abroad. I have received very encouraging emails informing me how the photos have made them miss home or how they managed to be more educated about the country. Because of my pictures, my sister, for one, has gotten to love the idea so she recently started to upload her pictures also --- straight from faraway Jakarta.

More than receiving inspiring messages, I have also learned to love phlogging since it keeps me on toes always on which unexplored places around Manila deserved world attention. This has brought me out of town on most weekends, or at least out of my house. I'm in my best element when I'm outdoors or when I'm in the countryside.

I hope you will enjoy my photos.

2. Badminton. I'm training under an Indonesian coach every Mondays and Wednesdays for the last four weeks now. I have around six or seven more weeks to go. It's not like I intend to tryout for the national team. I think I'm too old already for that. It's just that I wanted to graduate from just knowing how to smash balls (pardon, no pun intended) or clear them. I want to move around the court like any other competitive player that we watch on ESPN.

In addition to Mondays and Wednesdays, I'm also likely to be on the courts on weekends as well. That means, I'm spending around three to four days a week doing badminton. Does that make me sick?

3. And lastly, introspection. I'm spending more time now reflecting about things around me. It gives me a certain peace, one that's enough to make me smile.

Getting noticed

Eversince I came up with my phlog site, I have received very encouraging feedback from my friends who knew about it in every way possible, as a text message, email, phone call, or over coffee. And they never fail to get me pumped up.

This morning, I got an email from my New York-based friend Mavic who took pains in writing good words about me and my site. Because of her and her excitement about showing the pictures to her workmates at the United Nations, another friend says I can now rightfully claim I have conquered the world.

I don't know, I have never considered myself as a photographer. Well, I would during the few times that I attend parties and family gatherings only because I don't want to stretch facial muscles to smile. Maybe that was the start of my newfound love for photography. That should land me in a book of funny stories: Because I abhorred smiling in front of camera, I was forced to take up the camera and be the one to take everyone's pictures.

The real passion about my love for photography is my desire to give importance to what otherwise would have been overlooked everyday things. I don't subscribe to the idea that photos are called great only when you pull in all the technical gadgets and gizmos together and you wheel in lights and make-up artists and a boxful of lens. For me, what makes a good photo is to capture unguarded moments when defenses are held down and just a pure spirit overflows.

Thank you for your kind words. They inspire me.

Bigtime fantasy

Whenever I pass by tall hotel buildings, my thoughts are filled unconsciously with one, in fact the only one, sexual fantasy I have grown and groaned to like over the years. I then start to do a run-through of what it will likely be just in case it will happen.

I imagine the sun has set by then and, one after another, the city lights come to life. All imaginable neon colors surround people who, by this time, will be out to enjoy dinner in any one of the restaurants lined up along the commercial center nearby. Parents will be with kids, boyfriends will be with girlfriends, friends will be with friends. The whole sea of people outside the hotel teems with excitement and glee looking forward for night of fun. The winds blow softly.

Thirty floors up from where the people are, I come to life. Only the lamp lights are switched on in my room as I draw the curtains open. I imagine that my room is slowly transformed into a stage where I perform fluently before the world down below who becomes my audience. It's dark outside and I don't have a clue if I get them glued to me. But nevertheless, I'll do my moves by the window. I will have no qualms about being naked and figure in a role where I become a dominant sexual partner. The whole world will be treated into a lovely sight of two naked figures up in the sky who get lost in themselves as they celebrate love and intimacy and adventure.

Thoughts like this convince me that I might actually have a flare for flesh display. But then again, prudence dictates otherwise. Unless I want to hear and see people puke before me. Which I have never fantasized about.

Meeting with ex's

I have come across some people who found it very weird that I would accept dinner invitations from my ex who would be coming along with the new boyfriend. Thay say either I am dreadfully desperate or I haven't gotten over everything yet or I have an insatiable appetite for masochism. Nothing, not one remark affects me, fortunately or unfortunately. The idea is as attractive as welcoming a new child into a home.

The first time I went out with a duly accompanied ex was several years ago. It was your typical steak restaurant setting -- neutral, not too romantic, not too intimidating. I didn't find it very difficult to accept the invitation. It didn't matter to me too that the whole idea behind it was to introduce me to the new person who took my place. :-) Maybe I have grown to a certain level of confidence that introductions such as that do not make me cringe in self-pity or stupid inferiority complex. Or maybe I have a huge trust on my ex's maturity in choice and decision. Just as I wouldn't settle for anyone not worth my while, I'd like to believe that the same holds true for my ex.

I came to restaurant a few minutes behind them. We said our usual hellos and got settled. The whole evening turned out to be very meaningful and pleasant, not just on how we dealt with each other but on the topics we talked about as well. The three of us behaved like long-time friends who talked about familiar things and familiar people. It was heartwarming and very enriching. For one thing, there were no awkward moments of one trying to size up another. Maybe I spent a minute or two trying to notice how tall he stands or his haircut or his smile. But for sure, it was just that, so fleeting. I don't feel bad if the new guy is taller or has bigger biceps or is a gifted size 10.

For me, the whole experience celebrates love that has evolved from romance to something that's higher and more noble. And that's what makes such events really meaningful. I don't look at it as comparing previouses with presents nor is it an attempt to pulldown anyone. The intent is to ensure that your loved ones are really in good hands. You go out there and meet the new person and offer a sincere friendship. The new person almost always honors you and your place as an ex. After all, of the two, you are likely to know more.

The only drawback of such meetings is when the new person turns out to be less mature, inferior, possessive, suspicious, and downright malicious. Nothing, no amount of explanation can ever be adequately convincing for them. In my case, I'm happy I have never come across such people. This means two things: my ex made a good choice; and secondly, is in good hands.

And that makes me happy.

Surviving the city

I can never drive in Metro Manila. I have short temper. I don't have patience. I don't forgive stupidity. I hate to see drivers putting one over another. I abhor undisciplined pedestrian. I loathe at increasing car sales without corresponding improvement in road length and conditions. I cringe at the mere thought of daylight holdups. I detest endless search for parking space in public places. And I despise rip-off parking rates.

So for most of the time, I have decided to live near my place of work where walking to and from work is always an option. It's a lot more expensive than having to choose the outskirts of Makati, but I'm happy here. I can afford to sleep late watching TV knowing that I can extend my wake-up call when morning comes since my office is just few minutes away. I don't have to worry about going home during the rainy season even when the whole city is flooded since I can walk home. I have the country's premier malls just a few minutes away. Since Makati is a business district, there's always a cab coming along. I have a whole lot menu of fastfoods, groceries, restaurants, gyms, moviehouses, museums, spas, and bookstores to choose from. More importantly, living in Makati ensures you of prompt service from your utility companies (like phone and cable) since they always have ready technicians to do the job.

But Makati has its downsides too. At least for me. When you make Makati your home, the sight of concrete is something you have to learn to live with everyday all the time. The first thing you see when you wake up and the last one you glimpse before retiring at night would likely be buildings, whether they are office skyscrapers or residential condominiums. The landscape of manicured gardens or vast orchid collections is out of the question. This is one reality I have learned to live with fortunately. I have learned to look at buildings as if they were the Great Wall and the narrow asphalt roads as mountain trails.

That's why on weekends, I try to go out of town and get my dose of the greens. It's actually my form of praying and renewing my spirit. There would be months when I'd be in the city for only one weekend. The rest I spend backpacking to the hinterlands of the Cordilleras or to unexplored places never before swarmed by tourists. I love the experience. I'm more relaxed, I'm always in my best elements, I feel closer to God, I become more thankful of God's blessings, I smile more sweetly, and I eat vegetables and more vegetables.

Try it one time. You'll see what I mean.

Playing Ate Helen

All it took was one email to make me feel wanted. I received it over the weekend. The sender, a public nurse from my hometown, wrote asking for my thoughts about sex and marriage as she prepares for her talk this Friday before a group called Couples for Christ where she's a member. I wrote her back "despising" her for thinking about me of all people. I said, first, I'm not married. I'm neither living in with somebody. And secondly, and more importantly, I'm sure her sex life is infinitely more active than mine. But nevertheless I said, I was going to give it a shot. I'll leave it to her to pick which ones she thinks would be useful and which ones better ignored.

I strongly suggested that she uses the occasion to lead a campaign to break the myths regarding sex (and sexuality for that matter) prevailing mostly among provincial couples. It's sad but the place where we came from is not one where topics like sex are openly discussed among married couples or between parents and children. We grew up learning about sex from friends or from porn materials. Naturally, the idea that sex is supposed to be meaningful and sacred never really gained ground. That has to be stopped. Children should obtain their first lessons about sex and sexuality from parents. This is to make sure that the information filtered to them are correct and sound.

But I cautioned my friend not to come out too imposing lest she will antagonize the audience. The best way was to invite her audience to be open about the idea that there's another way to look at the issue. The way to make them more appreciative I think was to cite the significant implications it will have regarding lowering unwanted pregnancy rates and enhancing parenting skills of their children who will be parents themselves in the future.

Secondly, and lastly, I told my friend that I think it would be wise to reinforce the idea that sex within marriage really means communication. I think she should emphasize the need for couples to communicate meaningfully. Both sides should attempt to hear each other's needs so each one knows how exactly they're met. Sex for most couples has virtually transformed most women as either sex objects or comfort women. The men lay down there in deep slumber after contact. The women, on the other hand, spend the rest of the time, staring at the ceiling wondering what exactly happened. It is high time that sex should start to regain meaning among couples where each one equally finds meaning and satisfaction, and where bonds are renewed.

I hope my friend finds use of my two cents worth.

Prelude to Hearts Day

By this time next week, most restaurants have been booked for dinner for two's. And while flower shop owners would have a grand time marking up their prices, laundry shops would then think about operating for 24 hours at least for two days to be at the beck and call of motel operators who would need help to wash their linens as they certainly smile on their way to the bank.

Funny, but it's only during Valentine's Day when I turn to be bigtime cynic. I have and continue to hate how restaurant owners and shopkeepers have conspired to make single people feel miserable on this day, as if only couples are entitled to life's treats and those in the singledom are banished. That's why either I go out of town on this day to shield myself from too much valentine commercialism or I deliberately make reservations in a restaurant for two, and then arrive alone.

A few years ago on Valentine's, I tagged along another single friend to Puerto Princesa in Palawan. For three days, we had a grand time island hopping and living tourist's lives. We would down wine at night as we regale ourselves with our lifestories and, when morning came, we would slip on our shorts and head straight to the port for more exploration. On Hearts Day itself, I don't know what got to us but we made reservations for two at a local restaurant called Kalui. We decided on this because we wanted to snoop around people who would be out on dates that night. Only a few couples, most of them visiting tourists like us, came. There were not much lifeless heart decors or any heart-wrenching lovesong that night. The only sign that it was Valentine's were the single red roses the doorman-host-owner gave to every lady guest. We didn't find that repulsive at all.

More recently, I headed to the rice terraces on Valentine's day since it fell on a weekend and it was fullmoon. It turned out to be a perfect venue for hide from it all. The natives were oblivious of the occasion. There were no deafening radio plugs from opportunist establishments or mushy greetings professing endless love to certain people. It was just a grand peaceful time.

Those kind of trips have made me master the art of being unaffected during Hearts Day. I only want to breathe fire on those people who use the occasion to put one over other people. That's about the only reason why one would find me spitting stinging remarks. I only begin to keep my mouth shut when I start amusing myself trying to find out who's more wise yet silly, those one's who succumb to commercial valentine celebration or flowershop owners who fill their shelves with flowers and ornaments, pray to the gods they will sell even at stupid prices, and then, with no other choice left, just agree on bargain prices the day after for all those unsold.

Oooppss..Sorry

I've been having a great time uploading my pics to my phlog site making it a bit difficult for me to actually sit down and write. I feel bad, but when I think about it, you'll likely enjoy the pics since you're sure to feel the same passion I have on every shot I took.

But I will continue to write. Definitely. I have lots of things to share. But for today, please enjoy my photos.

Misimpressions

If there's one word that I'd be delighted to describe myself, it would be that I'm an advocate. I feel strongly about many things and pretty much I speak my mind very well on these things. These strong beliefs did not come from an overnight reading of Oprah's recommended self-help books or a single session with the religious or building my library of Dalai Lama books. They are, instead, products of long nights of deep thinking and self-introspection as well as meaningful conversations with elders whom I deeply respect.

Apparently, I was giving out a completely different picture to people, so different that I would certainly rate abysmally low when they're made to think of people they find nice and approachable. I was seen to be bigtime aloof.

The first time I heard of this impression about me was in college. One girl classmate whispered to me how everyone in class feared getting close to me or at least start a conversation with me since they have, wittingly or unwittingly, associated my name with another four-letter word, snob. I was shocked. I tried to understand why, and only came to this: It was likely that they formed that opinion since they don't usually find me lingering around in the building or along corridors after class. I would come to class on time, sit in front, listen and participate, and, after class, I would leave quietly and head home or to the gym. Worse, I purposely didn't join any academic organization so virtually, I wasn't really circulating much around campus the whole time I was in college.

What most of my classmates didn't know then was I didn't have enough extra money from my allowance to go join their fun. My parents would send me my allowance for the month through bank transfers at the end of the preceding month. That would be it for me for the next 30 days. Under no circumstances were they expected to send more than that. There are no second servings so to speak. I would have to learn to live with what was sent to me.

That's why it disheartened me when people thought I came out aloof and overbearing. I just try very hard to stretch my lips to smile and console myself that they probably have weird way of understanding and accepting people who have managed to shape their opinions on many things and issues. The misimpression saddened me, but it didn't kill my spirit.

Several years later today, I still have that firm and valiant spirit. Idealism hasn't died at all. Hope overflows all the more. Prayer is said with more passion. Love is felt with more meaning. Friendship is offered more openly. Lifestory is willfully shared. Risks are taken. Relationships are mended. Life is lived.

My cousin M.

Out of the blue, an older male cousin called me at work yesterday morning to, surprise of surprises, find out what I have been up to lately. I was taken aback. I mean, he has never done that before so naturally, my eyebrows were raised up high to the heavens the whole time. Every word he said was met with a bit of eagerness and a loadful of frown. There were lots of things running in my mind the entire seven minutes we talked.

Initially, I thought he was going to drop the bombshell. I was expecting him to smoothly talk me into excitement on his decision to finally tie the knot. He's the youngest in their family and the only remaining single. What's more, he's way past 30 and just about the next likely one to get hitched among cousins. Of course he had a hard time finding his lines or creating the mood. With my one-liner replies, he really can't get through. He asked about my ex, inquired about my sister, how my flat looks like, how my games are, which places have I been to recently, if I'm dating, and a whole lot of other funny questions.

On the other line, I was a bit bored. I'm not sure if I came out as a heartless creature because I didn't let him do his moves. I knew him too well. Maybe his being a psychologist has something to do with it. They're pretty predictable.

We ended up agreeing to meet one time soon so he can get my two cents worth. And true to being forthright, I gave him a bit of what to expect from me when that time comes. He curiously asked why I wasn't being supportive of his wedding to girlfriend Y. when I was one of the first ones to prod him heavily into marrying his ex-girlfriend C. I said, maybe he didn't read between the lines. I never openly shouted go, go, go to him before. Maybe I was just picking his brains.

This time around, he's going to get a mouthful. I'm sure he's expecting it. Among cousins, I have this standing reputation of talking very rarely. But when I do, it stings. No, I'm not going to talk my cousin out of marriage. I just wanted to make sure if his fascination about weddings starts and ends with the ceremony itself, or if life the morning and mornings after has really been thoroughly thought.

Doing the plunge

I once asked if aging in America was really unpleasant since they stow their elderly in care institutions in far places. I couldn't imagine anything more tragic when you're old than being packed together with other elderly people in the suburbs far from where the normal people live. I couldn't even make myself think how it is for old people to be slapped like this with the painful reality that illness and infirmity and old age are never revered and infact do not have a place in modern living.

For us Asians, we pride ourselves with having a glorious way of revering and taking care of our old. We take them in to live with us and always reserve to hear their say on important family decisions. They are never treated with disgust or repulsion. They are never made to recall or pay for past mistakes or misjudgments. All their wishes are given paramount importance. They are well remembered during birthdays and other special occasions. Even our newly-borns are named after them. These has changed how the East is viewed by the West. Retiring in the East, particularly in the Philippines, is a sweet and touching tribute to a lifetime spent working and raising a family. It is heaven on earth.

There's a reason I asked about aging in America. I was interested to know more since, one after another, my mother's siblings trooped to migrate to the US for good. In less than a year, the families of an uncle and two aunts stuffed some of their belongings in suitcases and travel boxes to start a new life across the globe from us. All of us who stayed were a bit apprehensive. We couldn't completely picture how our cousins would fit in school or how my uncles and aunties would be able to adjust to new working lifestyles there. More especially, we wondered, how will they ever be when they get old?

I admire my relatives for their fearlessness. They didn't have qualms about leaving their businesses and friends and families here and move to an entirely new and foreign setting --- where doing certain things has to be learned, where new language has to be spoken, where some things have to be given up.

But God is good. My cousins are doing really well in school. My aunties say they were never in the honors class consistently when they were here in the Philippines, but they have managed so far to top their classes all the time. All of my aunties and uncles have found jobs already. Things seem to be working pretty well for them.

Am I ready for the plunge?

Photos, photos

Finally, I can now have everyone check out the photos I have of my trips. It's a good way to motivate me to be extra persevering in taking pictures. The better part of it is for you people not just to enjoy the sights and colors of the places I visit, but for you to marvel at the beauty of the countryside, of places still unexplored, of Manila's secret nooks --- which remain to be my favorite travel themes.

I hope you will take time and enjoy the photos. And I hope you will join me in one of my upcoming trips. :-)

Zodiac and me

I don't do horoscopes and zodiac stuff. I have never allowed somebody's readings of the sun-moon alignments or even colored cards to dictate how I should behave or how I should run my day. I find that very archaic. Besides, most of the time, the readings are everyday knowledge of things we should and should not do and most of them we have learned since kindergarten. The farthest I went is knowing I'm a Virgin.

This unbending view of anything related to foretelling can be explained. When I was starting college, I tagged along one time with my cousin while he visited one of his friends. When we got to their house, that friend had an aunt doing palmistry on some neighbors. I watched her as she did her thing animatedly. When she was finished with everyone, she moved to sit beside me and forced me to show her my palms. I was shocked and told her I wasn't there for it. By then, my cousin and his friend were practically shoving my hands to her and I couldn't do anything. After spending some time going through the ridges and lines, she matter-of-factly declared I wouldn't be able to finish college since I was going to get married early. I didn't know if I was going to frown at her or laugh to the heavens. As soon as it was done, I left hurriedly almost running out to the street and peed against the nearest wall. I felt like throwing up too. Of course, that didn't happen. That was not going to happen. I finished college on time and with no red marks. I'm still unmarried.

That's why I always find it silly when people turn to the horoscope corners and pages of newspapers and magazines as they start their day. I can't fathom how in the world would they just let something like that, whose origins we don't even know, impose a commanding influence on their behavior for that day. Doing something like that is like living on bread crumbs. I find that despicable. I'd rather have the whole bread.

Because really, when you think about it, the bits and pieces of "wisdomed" truths you find written and placed beside your zodiac sign at the backpage of your favorite newspaper grew out from larger truths about life. It makes more sense to spend time learning these larger truths than having to be contented with filtered bits and pieces whose connections with other life truths we may never be able to completely comprehend.