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.
2.17.2004
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.
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.
2.16.2004
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.
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.
2.10.2004
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.
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.
2.09.2004
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.
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.
2.05.2004
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.
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.
2.04.2004
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.
But I will continue to write. Definitely. I have lots of things to share. But for today, please enjoy my photos.
2.01.2004
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.
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.
1.29.2004
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.
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.
1.26.2004
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?
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?
1.23.2004
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. :-)
I hope you will take time and enjoy the photos. And I hope you will join me in one of my upcoming trips. :-)
1.21.2004
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.
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.
1.20.2004
Vacation's over
Heading home from vacation isn't exactly a fun idea to me. It's just something that you have to do, a reality. You usually don't ask why much less question how soon. It's like having a closure in a relationship. After the exhilirating fun together usually comes the excruciating breakups. It's not a pleasant idea to have to mourn longer than usual or let the hurt linger for long. At some point, you usually got to do something drastic and painful yet nurturing so you continue with life.
That's what I did late yesterday afternoon when I planed in from Kalibo. How I felt about going home couldn't be pictured and couldn't be any more poetic than the time I chose to do it, at dusk. The sun has set already when the plane touched down at NAIA, Manila's premier airport. I walked so slowly from the plane to the baggage claim area. Each step forward wasn't one that I adored.
During this time, there remains only one thing I so heartfully and longingly wish. It is this: That money isn't ever a concern. I wish it comes like a spring, boundless and limitless. Day in, day out it pours tirelessly. If that happens, then I would finally fulfill my fantasy of living inside an airplane. I would shuttle between airports, more or less doing it like the kid's game Connect the Dots. I would travel all year long and smile a mile long all the time.
But then, if that happens, it's likely that I will lose heart and appreciation for work and toil. A lifelong spent doing nothing but grand traveling isn't likely to help one build and nurture the idea of having to work hard first for something. Money unearned, when spent, doesn't hurt for sure. Not having to worry about money maybe everyone's lifelong wish, but I'm not sure it's something everyone can live with.
So now, here I am.
Where else, but work.
Taking a brief break.
That's what I did late yesterday afternoon when I planed in from Kalibo. How I felt about going home couldn't be pictured and couldn't be any more poetic than the time I chose to do it, at dusk. The sun has set already when the plane touched down at NAIA, Manila's premier airport. I walked so slowly from the plane to the baggage claim area. Each step forward wasn't one that I adored.
During this time, there remains only one thing I so heartfully and longingly wish. It is this: That money isn't ever a concern. I wish it comes like a spring, boundless and limitless. Day in, day out it pours tirelessly. If that happens, then I would finally fulfill my fantasy of living inside an airplane. I would shuttle between airports, more or less doing it like the kid's game Connect the Dots. I would travel all year long and smile a mile long all the time.
But then, if that happens, it's likely that I will lose heart and appreciation for work and toil. A lifelong spent doing nothing but grand traveling isn't likely to help one build and nurture the idea of having to work hard first for something. Money unearned, when spent, doesn't hurt for sure. Not having to worry about money maybe everyone's lifelong wish, but I'm not sure it's something everyone can live with.
So now, here I am.
Where else, but work.
Taking a brief break.
1.15.2004
On trip
I was awake till around midnight last night to pack my things for my four-day trip to Kalibo and possibly Iloilo in central Philippines starting today. The finished product is a fully packed 50-liter backpack which I normally use for my weekend adventures. My all-weather canvass shorts are there, a red wine bottle is stacked somewhere along with my toiletries :-), a map and a book.
I am set to leave later this afternoon taking the last flight out of Manila for Kalibo. I will spend my weekend there to witness the famous Ati-Atihan festival. I'm excited about the day-long streetdancing and practically a merrymaking mood for the next two days.
From Kalibo, I plan to swing by Iloilo to at least traverse half of Panay island and to visit some friends. I know now where to go for a seafood feast and which restaurants I shouldn't miss. I will probably just do overnight there and hie off back to Kalibo the following day to catch my flight back to Manila late in the afternoon.
So while everyone is back at work after their christmas holiday travels, I'm here going against the tide, traveling to sites now free of maddening people to truly enjoy the experience. I've always think doing your travels this way is the perfect way to a perfect vacation. You no longer suffer from long queues at airports and hotels and malls, the hotel prices are more reasonable, even the storekeepers in the wetmarkets I visit seem to have become really friendly and they charge you discounted prices.
I'll try to find an internet shop along the way and give you a peek on places I have visited, people I have met, wine bottles I have downed, stories I have heard, and delicacies I have sampled. So in the meantime, say a little prayer for my safety. Stay still till I get back. Don't do anything foolish. Don't overdo your phonecalls. Minimize your trip to the ref. Don't be bitchy. Stay home. Watch your step. Don't play with your food. Be nice with your neighbors. Don't stay out late. Keep your cool. Visit your grandparents. Go to church.
I sound like my mom.
I am set to leave later this afternoon taking the last flight out of Manila for Kalibo. I will spend my weekend there to witness the famous Ati-Atihan festival. I'm excited about the day-long streetdancing and practically a merrymaking mood for the next two days.
From Kalibo, I plan to swing by Iloilo to at least traverse half of Panay island and to visit some friends. I know now where to go for a seafood feast and which restaurants I shouldn't miss. I will probably just do overnight there and hie off back to Kalibo the following day to catch my flight back to Manila late in the afternoon.
So while everyone is back at work after their christmas holiday travels, I'm here going against the tide, traveling to sites now free of maddening people to truly enjoy the experience. I've always think doing your travels this way is the perfect way to a perfect vacation. You no longer suffer from long queues at airports and hotels and malls, the hotel prices are more reasonable, even the storekeepers in the wetmarkets I visit seem to have become really friendly and they charge you discounted prices.
I'll try to find an internet shop along the way and give you a peek on places I have visited, people I have met, wine bottles I have downed, stories I have heard, and delicacies I have sampled. So in the meantime, say a little prayer for my safety. Stay still till I get back. Don't do anything foolish. Don't overdo your phonecalls. Minimize your trip to the ref. Don't be bitchy. Stay home. Watch your step. Don't play with your food. Be nice with your neighbors. Don't stay out late. Keep your cool. Visit your grandparents. Go to church.
I sound like my mom.
1.14.2004
AGAPE
I walked halfway from my place to work this morning. It was still early, the morning breeze was cool, there were not much people yet on the road, and the sun quietly rests only on peak of the taller buildings along Ayala Avenue. It was a perfect time to enjoy some moments of solitude and think about years gone by. I remembered old friends.
There was this informal group I constantly attended around nine years ago. It started as a regular coffee session among friends to share their life stories, air gripes at work and relationships, get updates on what and who's the hottest in town, and to solicit and offer advises to each other mostly on love. The initial group started to invite close friends who afterwards invited their friends and friends of friends until we had a hard time remembering names. The group swelled we had difficulty getting comfortably accommodated in Mike's flat where the sessions were held. The weekly forum had a loose format. A topic is up for discussion and somebody is assigned to facilitate. A usually very lively sharing sessions follow. And then the socials come next. Some would bring food, others would prefer to do hush-hush chats in the corner, a few would request to be introduced formally to the newcomers, several would sometimes run to the pizza parlor at the corner for more privacy, while the rest would serve as gracious hosts. It was a weekly dose of learning new things, knowing more people, gaining additional friends, and the endless possibility of bumping into someone romantically.
I miss those friends. They have made my initial working life in the city endurable. I have to credit them for helping me sort some personal issues in the past and for making it easier for me to see the world so to speak. Some of the nicest people I know I met in that group.
Unfortunately, I don't see much of them anymore. M. has been assigned in Bangkok for several years already which is good because his partner is from there. F. has remained single eversince he broke up with A., who has since migrated to the US and is flying Southwest as its first Filipino cabin crew. M. has moved back to his island province of Marinduque like S. who gave up a budding media career in the city in favor of less stressful work in his hometown. R. is still with the same bank like N. who's still with the same work. Im sad that the few of us regular attendees who are still here in Manila have completely lost touch with each other. Except for a few whom I still see albeit very seldom.
Getting near 30 is like hitting red in a traffic light. We do a quick check on the
how fast we're driving, probe left and right, feel the brakes, then stop. It's somehow similar when most of us get past this stage. We stop all of a sudden and look around ourselves trying to find out if we really have friends or, if we do, to determine what kind of friends we keep and the depths of relationships we have with them.
I'm deeply envious of people my age who have friends they have managed to keep from way back, sometimes even from kindergarten. I wonder how it feels.
There was this informal group I constantly attended around nine years ago. It started as a regular coffee session among friends to share their life stories, air gripes at work and relationships, get updates on what and who's the hottest in town, and to solicit and offer advises to each other mostly on love. The initial group started to invite close friends who afterwards invited their friends and friends of friends until we had a hard time remembering names. The group swelled we had difficulty getting comfortably accommodated in Mike's flat where the sessions were held. The weekly forum had a loose format. A topic is up for discussion and somebody is assigned to facilitate. A usually very lively sharing sessions follow. And then the socials come next. Some would bring food, others would prefer to do hush-hush chats in the corner, a few would request to be introduced formally to the newcomers, several would sometimes run to the pizza parlor at the corner for more privacy, while the rest would serve as gracious hosts. It was a weekly dose of learning new things, knowing more people, gaining additional friends, and the endless possibility of bumping into someone romantically.
I miss those friends. They have made my initial working life in the city endurable. I have to credit them for helping me sort some personal issues in the past and for making it easier for me to see the world so to speak. Some of the nicest people I know I met in that group.
Unfortunately, I don't see much of them anymore. M. has been assigned in Bangkok for several years already which is good because his partner is from there. F. has remained single eversince he broke up with A., who has since migrated to the US and is flying Southwest as its first Filipino cabin crew. M. has moved back to his island province of Marinduque like S. who gave up a budding media career in the city in favor of less stressful work in his hometown. R. is still with the same bank like N. who's still with the same work. Im sad that the few of us regular attendees who are still here in Manila have completely lost touch with each other. Except for a few whom I still see albeit very seldom.
Getting near 30 is like hitting red in a traffic light. We do a quick check on the
how fast we're driving, probe left and right, feel the brakes, then stop. It's somehow similar when most of us get past this stage. We stop all of a sudden and look around ourselves trying to find out if we really have friends or, if we do, to determine what kind of friends we keep and the depths of relationships we have with them.
I'm deeply envious of people my age who have friends they have managed to keep from way back, sometimes even from kindergarten. I wonder how it feels.
Me in the Samurai Code
Compassion: You are there to share your sympathy
with others. People would consider you affectionate
and caring, and someone to look up to.
Which Characteristic From the Samurai Code Matches You Best? (You may find out your best trait)
brought to you by Quizilla
1.13.2004
Restroom irony
When my women friends start wishing they should have been men whenever the queue in the mall restrooms reach superhighway lengths, I comfort them and say, it's not really what they think. It's not all the time as simple as unzip-splash-zip for us men. There are occasions when such mundane thing as choosing how to exactly unload becomes so perplexing. It's like choosing from an elaborate restaurant menu.
As soon as you enter the restroom, an important decision has to be made outrightly. Will you opt for an enclosed cubicle or be contented with the wall-pasted urinals lined up one after another? I'm telling you, this is not easy. The thing is, this lone decision item is only made after completing a thorough check on the restroom layout, the type of service urinals, the distance between urinals, if there are protective barriers between them, how many people are using the urinals at that time, how are they scattered, who is really peeing and who is not, which one has most water pressure, which one doesn't reek, and so on. What makes this exceptionally difficult is that all these decision items have to me made in split seconds. You don't get in there and hang around for a few minutes before deciding which one to hit. That's likely to invite burning glares from people.
I remember having a few good laughs on a few occasions that I hit the public restrooms whether in malls or airports. I can never understand how men can pee if they stand so close to the urinal that their foreheads kiss the walls. I don't know if they want to display their talents for noiseless peeing or if their champignons are so close to the balls they didn't want to display their frailties. That's how they come up with funny contortions from head to toe just so they don't feel violated. But what heck? Heads down there take the same mushroom shape. And besides, it's not like the whole giftedness is disclosed when seen in its flaccid state.
And so I have come to this: Women are still by far more fortunate. While they may have to wait a while to get in the cubicles before finally relieving themselves, they don't have to worry about ogling eyes over them when they do their thing. In the case of men, I have to say they're still the hapless unlucky lot. They have to make sure it's unloaded rightfully in the vessel without splattering droplets on the floor and their hands and at the same time making sure that no one's eyes are lucky enough to chance upon the sight of their tiny willy-billies.
So women, rejoice! You still win!!
As soon as you enter the restroom, an important decision has to be made outrightly. Will you opt for an enclosed cubicle or be contented with the wall-pasted urinals lined up one after another? I'm telling you, this is not easy. The thing is, this lone decision item is only made after completing a thorough check on the restroom layout, the type of service urinals, the distance between urinals, if there are protective barriers between them, how many people are using the urinals at that time, how are they scattered, who is really peeing and who is not, which one has most water pressure, which one doesn't reek, and so on. What makes this exceptionally difficult is that all these decision items have to me made in split seconds. You don't get in there and hang around for a few minutes before deciding which one to hit. That's likely to invite burning glares from people.
I remember having a few good laughs on a few occasions that I hit the public restrooms whether in malls or airports. I can never understand how men can pee if they stand so close to the urinal that their foreheads kiss the walls. I don't know if they want to display their talents for noiseless peeing or if their champignons are so close to the balls they didn't want to display their frailties. That's how they come up with funny contortions from head to toe just so they don't feel violated. But what heck? Heads down there take the same mushroom shape. And besides, it's not like the whole giftedness is disclosed when seen in its flaccid state.
And so I have come to this: Women are still by far more fortunate. While they may have to wait a while to get in the cubicles before finally relieving themselves, they don't have to worry about ogling eyes over them when they do their thing. In the case of men, I have to say they're still the hapless unlucky lot. They have to make sure it's unloaded rightfully in the vessel without splattering droplets on the floor and their hands and at the same time making sure that no one's eyes are lucky enough to chance upon the sight of their tiny willy-billies.
So women, rejoice! You still win!!
1.12.2004
Learning it the hard way
I remember I wasn't even 13 back then when I started to become a cause for distress for my parents. It was something they were not used to or even prepared to handle, especially for parents who were raising kids in farflung towns where old-fashion traditions were the fashion. No, I wouldn't figure in any school fights nor became a dreadful classroom bully. It was worse than that.
At that young age, I learned not to become a blind submissive follower everytime they had me subject to something unconventional. I started to bombard my parents with questions about reasons behind doing certain things they asked me to do. I wanted to understand why everything has to be like how their grandparents and greatgrandparents did it. I wondered why things can't go against the tide, why can't things be done this way or that way, and why every decision has to come from the top.
You see, I had to endure several physical pains because things handed down from way back from whomever were never questioned nor studied. I can't accept that I had to be the one guinea pig who became pathetic casualty in the end. I had to swallow my idealism and let my parents run the show hoping they knew much more. Besides, I had to obey them somehow lest I'd be outcast and banished to the hills. It was too late when I found out that they were no better than my classroom seatmate who would race his snot up and down his nostrils complete with slurping sound.
Strike one happened inside the public dentist's clinic. It was summer that time and my two canine teeth were halfway down already threatening to displace my incisors and some pre-molars. By this time, I had been harassed tirelessly by my mother to go visit Auntie Norma, the public dentist, and have them extracted. I would then start a litany of reasons, mostly from the World Book Encyclopedia I've been reading that time, why it couldn't be taken away. They wouldn't hear any of it and insisted that I go lest they do permanent damage.
I finally relented and made that visit only because I didn't want them to breathe down on me anymore. I regretted profusely that decision up to now. It wasn't just because the dentist should have been in the butchering business instead, but more because they caused permanent damage after all. Months later, I went with my Mom to visit my cousins in the city. I told them what happened. They yelled at me. Turns out my readings have been true. Canine teeth are the most powerful of them all. The rest could have been pulled out, but that them. I threw piercing glances at my Mom. She didn't look my way.
The next summer, my parents sent me to the city for vacation. I was having a grand time palying with new friends and catching up on cartoons when my mother's eldest sister asked me to join her to the clinic she was working. I didn't know why. I thought there were more kids there my age and she wanted me to have a good time. I should have known better.
Together with an aide, they led me to a room where a makeshift bed was the main furnishing. All of a sudden, I understood why my older cousins would joke about tomatoes and scalpels when I'm around. I froze as the nurse helped me take out my pants to prepare me for my date with another inevitable in most young boy's lives. I still don't get it why they are so incensed with some piece of skin and obliterate it from the world despite dutifully fulfilling its role.
I asked them why they had to subject me with that cruel and barbaric act. My parents say it has always been that way for most boys. Did they ever ask why or what for? I'm afraid this is another heartless case of willfully submitting one's intellect and sanity to habit and what's popular.
On one hand, I keep thinking, maybe that's why I'm working hard now so when I have enough money, I'll go see the doctor and ask him to re-attach that skin which should have always been there in the first place. Or maybe that's the reason why I'm so fixated with.....well, forget it.
At that young age, I learned not to become a blind submissive follower everytime they had me subject to something unconventional. I started to bombard my parents with questions about reasons behind doing certain things they asked me to do. I wanted to understand why everything has to be like how their grandparents and greatgrandparents did it. I wondered why things can't go against the tide, why can't things be done this way or that way, and why every decision has to come from the top.
You see, I had to endure several physical pains because things handed down from way back from whomever were never questioned nor studied. I can't accept that I had to be the one guinea pig who became pathetic casualty in the end. I had to swallow my idealism and let my parents run the show hoping they knew much more. Besides, I had to obey them somehow lest I'd be outcast and banished to the hills. It was too late when I found out that they were no better than my classroom seatmate who would race his snot up and down his nostrils complete with slurping sound.
Strike one happened inside the public dentist's clinic. It was summer that time and my two canine teeth were halfway down already threatening to displace my incisors and some pre-molars. By this time, I had been harassed tirelessly by my mother to go visit Auntie Norma, the public dentist, and have them extracted. I would then start a litany of reasons, mostly from the World Book Encyclopedia I've been reading that time, why it couldn't be taken away. They wouldn't hear any of it and insisted that I go lest they do permanent damage.
I finally relented and made that visit only because I didn't want them to breathe down on me anymore. I regretted profusely that decision up to now. It wasn't just because the dentist should have been in the butchering business instead, but more because they caused permanent damage after all. Months later, I went with my Mom to visit my cousins in the city. I told them what happened. They yelled at me. Turns out my readings have been true. Canine teeth are the most powerful of them all. The rest could have been pulled out, but that them. I threw piercing glances at my Mom. She didn't look my way.
The next summer, my parents sent me to the city for vacation. I was having a grand time palying with new friends and catching up on cartoons when my mother's eldest sister asked me to join her to the clinic she was working. I didn't know why. I thought there were more kids there my age and she wanted me to have a good time. I should have known better.
Together with an aide, they led me to a room where a makeshift bed was the main furnishing. All of a sudden, I understood why my older cousins would joke about tomatoes and scalpels when I'm around. I froze as the nurse helped me take out my pants to prepare me for my date with another inevitable in most young boy's lives. I still don't get it why they are so incensed with some piece of skin and obliterate it from the world despite dutifully fulfilling its role.
I asked them why they had to subject me with that cruel and barbaric act. My parents say it has always been that way for most boys. Did they ever ask why or what for? I'm afraid this is another heartless case of willfully submitting one's intellect and sanity to habit and what's popular.
On one hand, I keep thinking, maybe that's why I'm working hard now so when I have enough money, I'll go see the doctor and ask him to re-attach that skin which should have always been there in the first place. Or maybe that's the reason why I'm so fixated with.....well, forget it.
1.11.2004
One truth
When some of my friends pester me with their should-they or shouldn't-they questions about formalizing things with somebody they like, they tell me I speak one truth they always try to hide from: That's it's easy to be in a relationship just for the sake of it, but it's infinitely difficult to be in one if you're looking for somebody worth your while. That has become my standard reply and it's one truth I've always held close to my heart.
When one friend in a group of friends decides to officially become somebody else's partner, most of the time those friends who remain single suddenly confront themselves harshly. They beat themselves to death asking why can't they do the same. They may be just doing half-jokes, but instead of sympathizing, I lord it over them and I become bitchy. Just because one has a relationship doesn't mean that you have to be in one as well. Relationship is one area where keeping up with the Joneses doesn't make sense.
I speak from experience. How I feel about myself doesn't rest on whether I'm in a relationship or not. I have never felt ugly nor threatened even if most of my friends have ended up in loving relationships with somebody. I would remind myself constantly that love and I will find each other in the end. It may take a while some time, but we will certainly bump into each other.
And thankfully, it has been like that for me. They may not have lasted centuries, but the relationships I've had over the years have always been well-remembered. I always think of them fondly and I don't harbor any hurt or resentment after each break up. I continue to be friends with them up to now. Some are still in the speed dialing keys of my mobile phone. Sometimes, we'd be on the phone catching up on things or, at other times, we would decide to meet for lunch or dinner if our schedules match. We would never forget to send greetings on special occasions like birthdays and christmases. And their calls are the only one's we'd likely take if they came through in the middle of the night.
For all of this, I attribute a long period of rest and preparation I had in between relationships. This period, which on the average lasted three to four years, were all well-spent on diverse and enriching activities in the field of sports, homemaking, traveling. I engage in a new sport every year, do really good at it even to the extent of actually competing. I read books, spend time with old friends, and just about do anything I enjoy. This decision is strategic. I choose to do things that will inevitably improve myself to increase my chances of being more worthwhile for the next person I'd end up with. I don't want to hear anything that says I'm unworthy or I'm only good for their dog Misty. There has to be some semblance of growth and betterment from the previous years.
When one friend in a group of friends decides to officially become somebody else's partner, most of the time those friends who remain single suddenly confront themselves harshly. They beat themselves to death asking why can't they do the same. They may be just doing half-jokes, but instead of sympathizing, I lord it over them and I become bitchy. Just because one has a relationship doesn't mean that you have to be in one as well. Relationship is one area where keeping up with the Joneses doesn't make sense.
I speak from experience. How I feel about myself doesn't rest on whether I'm in a relationship or not. I have never felt ugly nor threatened even if most of my friends have ended up in loving relationships with somebody. I would remind myself constantly that love and I will find each other in the end. It may take a while some time, but we will certainly bump into each other.
And thankfully, it has been like that for me. They may not have lasted centuries, but the relationships I've had over the years have always been well-remembered. I always think of them fondly and I don't harbor any hurt or resentment after each break up. I continue to be friends with them up to now. Some are still in the speed dialing keys of my mobile phone. Sometimes, we'd be on the phone catching up on things or, at other times, we would decide to meet for lunch or dinner if our schedules match. We would never forget to send greetings on special occasions like birthdays and christmases. And their calls are the only one's we'd likely take if they came through in the middle of the night.
For all of this, I attribute a long period of rest and preparation I had in between relationships. This period, which on the average lasted three to four years, were all well-spent on diverse and enriching activities in the field of sports, homemaking, traveling. I engage in a new sport every year, do really good at it even to the extent of actually competing. I read books, spend time with old friends, and just about do anything I enjoy. This decision is strategic. I choose to do things that will inevitably improve myself to increase my chances of being more worthwhile for the next person I'd end up with. I don't want to hear anything that says I'm unworthy or I'm only good for their dog Misty. There has to be some semblance of growth and betterment from the previous years.
1.08.2004
Being vulnerable is being beautiful
I think I'm most attractive when I'm vulnerable. It may be odd, but I'm personally convinced it's absolutely, positively, and flawlessly true. I have repeatedly affirmed this truth courtesy of a few times in the recent weeks when I had the chance to be alone and be introspective.
But contrary to what most people think, I am not self-destructive when vulnerable. I do not seek alcohol although there are occasions when having a beer or vodka just fits the mood. I do not drown myself in anti-depressants neither do I succumb to the spell of sleeping pills. I do not camp inside my room and stack on Kleenex. Neither do I get bewitched with enchanting stories about testing drugs. I never become suicidal.
I have to say, it's somehow easy to spot whenever I'm likely to be vulnerable. It happens oftentimes when important occasions hover in the corner and I find myself separated from people close to me, especially my family. I don't know if it happens that way to other people and I'm not sure if it triggers them to be defenseless too, but I'm weakened everytime. I retreat, become easily moved, and somehow discover that I had been gifted with having little depth. My tearducts are shallow. I then become tearfully sentimental without really trying.
When this happens, go past the tears and look inside. My emotional state during these times is perfect for starting a nurturing friendship. I find myself devoid of critical thoughts but filled instead with an overflowing desire to open my thoughts and my lifestory. All of a sudden, I feel free, I breathe deeply, I smile genuinely, I listen with my heart, and I become eloquent. Without the slightest difficulty, I can start to candidly narrate my life's crossroads, convey my deepest yearnings, and proclaim my dreams and prayers. My ugly frailties and flaws better buried in secrecy are quickly surrendered and disclosed.
This is me at its most vulnerable state, but this is me at its best.
But contrary to what most people think, I am not self-destructive when vulnerable. I do not seek alcohol although there are occasions when having a beer or vodka just fits the mood. I do not drown myself in anti-depressants neither do I succumb to the spell of sleeping pills. I do not camp inside my room and stack on Kleenex. Neither do I get bewitched with enchanting stories about testing drugs. I never become suicidal.
I have to say, it's somehow easy to spot whenever I'm likely to be vulnerable. It happens oftentimes when important occasions hover in the corner and I find myself separated from people close to me, especially my family. I don't know if it happens that way to other people and I'm not sure if it triggers them to be defenseless too, but I'm weakened everytime. I retreat, become easily moved, and somehow discover that I had been gifted with having little depth. My tearducts are shallow. I then become tearfully sentimental without really trying.
When this happens, go past the tears and look inside. My emotional state during these times is perfect for starting a nurturing friendship. I find myself devoid of critical thoughts but filled instead with an overflowing desire to open my thoughts and my lifestory. All of a sudden, I feel free, I breathe deeply, I smile genuinely, I listen with my heart, and I become eloquent. Without the slightest difficulty, I can start to candidly narrate my life's crossroads, convey my deepest yearnings, and proclaim my dreams and prayers. My ugly frailties and flaws better buried in secrecy are quickly surrendered and disclosed.
This is me at its most vulnerable state, but this is me at its best.
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