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.
6.10.2004
6.08.2004
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.
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.
6.07.2004
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.
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.
6.02.2004
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 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?
5.30.2004
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.
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.
5.27.2004
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.
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.
5.24.2004
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.
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.
5.18.2004
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.
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.
5.04.2004
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.
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.
5.03.2004
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.
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.
4.11.2004
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.
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?
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?
3.31.2004
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.
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.
3.30.2004
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.
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.
3.25.2004
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.
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.
3.19.2004
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.
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.
3.18.2004
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.
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.
2.17.2004
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.
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.
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.
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