When I meet my friends in the mall, grocery, a bar, or any other public place, I usually walk up to them and spend a few minutes to say hi and ask what they have been up to. It's one of those things I can't bear not to do. Considering that my circulation revolves just around the house-office-gym, I've been virtually shut out from the world of fun and places to see and be seen. That's why I make it a point to snatch every opportunity that keeps me in touch with friends. In cases, however, where saying hi personally isn't too ideal, a nod is often done or a text message or a limp wave from a tired hand which is the last resort.
My friend M. did a quiet, almost mindless nod yesterday when I bumped into him and B. in an appliance store. It shouldn't be too much of a problem really since I was acknowledged in the first place and we are both in an age where our capacity to understand has been stretched and refined by countless hours of very open conversation with each other. I was nevertheless alarmed with what and how it happened, and more especially, with the unspoken message it brought.
The couple has been together close to a year probably. My friend M. is older than B. Both lawyers, they have been one of the few couples I know who have struggled to make their relationship weather itches and bitches. In a world where fidelity seems as strange as an ice cream parlor in the middle of the desert, the couple has managed to be monogamous (at least that's what I think!). It's something remarkable, yes. But for me who's in the know, it has been very difficult to convince me of its virtue or merit. M. has practically severed his relationship with friends in favor of B. Or if not, M. has reduced his contact with us to occasional text messages or phone calls that came very rarely.
I'm not jealous. I know that a friend's world changes immediately after a relationship is formed and formalized with somebody. One takes a front seat; another should be contented being at the back. That's alright with me. In the first place, it's never a question of one winning and another one losing. I think I've been around long enough to know these things and how they work.
What I don't understand is how this seemingly sweet romantic gesture of putting your chosen one a notch higher than friends in your priority list is done so blindingly it leads to a suffocating death among friends. My friend M. has repeatedly asked me to understand as he explains that I, along with other friends, can never be seen with him alone lest B. becomes suspicious and leads him to ask questions which my poor friend M. thinks he might not be able to adequately and convincingly answer. To this, I have made strong assertions to make my friend look at things differently and at least attempt to challenge B.'s mindset. I always get a blind stare as an answer. My friend is a bright lawyer I know, but he's disparagingly dumb on these things.
Which leads me to proudly declare, I may be single and I'm better off this way than be in a relationship with somebody whose concept of reality is as fatal as his notion of relationship as ownership. The passion ceases after a while, then what?
11.29.2004
11.24.2004
Heart friends
I don't take it against my friends when I'm the last one in their minds on the few times they feel kind and try to hook up their single friends on dates, yet I figure out prominently in them whenever they get whacked by a host of problems, mostly about love. I'm not sourgraping or delivering a litany of long-held annoyance. It's far from that. I like to think most of my friends are fine right now in their world of work and love since I haven't been "consulted" in a while. Either that or my friends have all turned a new leaf and have become matured and rationale people wisened by the years.
There was Vince, a friend I met in 1995. Over the years, I have been privileged to hear his most painful cries and confused look as he recounts countless mishaps in the heart arena. We don't usually get together everyday like other friends do. In fact, we have never gone to the movies together or Friday dinners with other friends. We'd bump into each other in the bar sometimes or send a surprise short notes on email, and that's about it. But he affirms that I was one of two or three people who know more about the real him than most of the guys he hangs out with every night. I feel good especially when he says he makes sure he gets to hear my take on most of his concerns because he respects me a lot and what comes out of my mouth. Through Vince, I realized friendship must not be weighed against constant presence or regular phonecalls. It's with the heart that it blooms.
Next to Vince would be Dan, whom I met in the early 90's when I was starting to work. We're of same age and birth sign, but that's not the reason we click. It's goes far beyond that, something that only the heart or the sixth sense can rightfully explain. I have forgotten the last time we spoke on the phone. It's more than a month at the very least. But Dan and I virtually remember the tiniest detail from every conversation. Whenever we get to talk, which mostly happens on the phone since he works nightime, we take our most comfortable position on the couch or bed to prepare for an hour after hour after hour of animated yet very revealing conversation ranging from his latest conquests to his self-proven oral techniques. We usually end our conversation affirming each other's friendship which makes the next conversation all the more exciting, something to really look forward to.
And the last would Alvin, whom Dan and I both know. I met Alvin about the same I met Dan. The three of us belonged to this group which regularly met one day each week to discuss common concerns and serve as support group to each other. Many years later today, I am sure that neither Alvin nor Dan know what each has shared with me. Most are very personal details, one which can make or break each other. I relish at this thought being a vessel of their most private information. It tells me there must be something in me that's good to make them risk disclosing things which even their parents or partners can only hope to know. I take pride in that.
The only downside is, two are currently based outside Manila while Dan is heading to London in a few weeks for work. I don't know if that means anything good. Is it a sign? Maybe people who want to be based abroad should be friends with me? Or maybe I help people build their wings so they can fly?
There was Vince, a friend I met in 1995. Over the years, I have been privileged to hear his most painful cries and confused look as he recounts countless mishaps in the heart arena. We don't usually get together everyday like other friends do. In fact, we have never gone to the movies together or Friday dinners with other friends. We'd bump into each other in the bar sometimes or send a surprise short notes on email, and that's about it. But he affirms that I was one of two or three people who know more about the real him than most of the guys he hangs out with every night. I feel good especially when he says he makes sure he gets to hear my take on most of his concerns because he respects me a lot and what comes out of my mouth. Through Vince, I realized friendship must not be weighed against constant presence or regular phonecalls. It's with the heart that it blooms.
Next to Vince would be Dan, whom I met in the early 90's when I was starting to work. We're of same age and birth sign, but that's not the reason we click. It's goes far beyond that, something that only the heart or the sixth sense can rightfully explain. I have forgotten the last time we spoke on the phone. It's more than a month at the very least. But Dan and I virtually remember the tiniest detail from every conversation. Whenever we get to talk, which mostly happens on the phone since he works nightime, we take our most comfortable position on the couch or bed to prepare for an hour after hour after hour of animated yet very revealing conversation ranging from his latest conquests to his self-proven oral techniques. We usually end our conversation affirming each other's friendship which makes the next conversation all the more exciting, something to really look forward to.
And the last would Alvin, whom Dan and I both know. I met Alvin about the same I met Dan. The three of us belonged to this group which regularly met one day each week to discuss common concerns and serve as support group to each other. Many years later today, I am sure that neither Alvin nor Dan know what each has shared with me. Most are very personal details, one which can make or break each other. I relish at this thought being a vessel of their most private information. It tells me there must be something in me that's good to make them risk disclosing things which even their parents or partners can only hope to know. I take pride in that.
The only downside is, two are currently based outside Manila while Dan is heading to London in a few weeks for work. I don't know if that means anything good. Is it a sign? Maybe people who want to be based abroad should be friends with me? Or maybe I help people build their wings so they can fly?
11.23.2004
Breasts and cuts
Tomorrow, my groovy Tita Judy, my mom's youngest sister and a favorite, will undergo a breast operation. They found a lump somewhere and they wanted to take it out. She's likely the third or the fourth family member who got the cut in the same area. It's a bit disconcerting, but I'm relieved since care facilities in the States where the family's based will certainly be more superior than what she would have gotten had the operation was done here. I pray for peace in her heart and comfort in the family as she's led into the operating room.
My first encounter with breast operation was in the early 1990's with my mom. I was still in college then when a lump was discovered and an operation scheduled soon after. It was summer, classes were out, so I was expected to be the one looking after her since my dad was left in the province along with my sister. I don't remember being so bothered about the whole thing to make me think about anything negative like death. But I remember managing to sit during the entire operation in a room reserved for family members who might want to witness the operation. I sat there watching every doctor's move alternately with any possible reaction from my mom. But she was just lying there heavily sedated and unmindful of what was happening. Biopsy results showed it was benign.
A few years later, a re-growth was noticed and a trip to the doctor was scheduled again. This time, my parents opted for something drastic, a mastectomy. It was probably one of the most painful decisions they have made as a couple, but it was the only response they knew that would avoid an agonizing trip to the doctor every now and then. I didn't watch the operation because I had classes then, but I came after just in time when she woke up. The only thing I can do then was caress the mass of bandage wrapped around her upper torso.
It has since been more than ten years I think after that operation and I pray to God for complete healing. Unlike her eldest sister, Tita Elmie, who didn't survive and died of breast cancer in 1995 and became the family's first brush with death.
My first encounter with breast operation was in the early 1990's with my mom. I was still in college then when a lump was discovered and an operation scheduled soon after. It was summer, classes were out, so I was expected to be the one looking after her since my dad was left in the province along with my sister. I don't remember being so bothered about the whole thing to make me think about anything negative like death. But I remember managing to sit during the entire operation in a room reserved for family members who might want to witness the operation. I sat there watching every doctor's move alternately with any possible reaction from my mom. But she was just lying there heavily sedated and unmindful of what was happening. Biopsy results showed it was benign.
A few years later, a re-growth was noticed and a trip to the doctor was scheduled again. This time, my parents opted for something drastic, a mastectomy. It was probably one of the most painful decisions they have made as a couple, but it was the only response they knew that would avoid an agonizing trip to the doctor every now and then. I didn't watch the operation because I had classes then, but I came after just in time when she woke up. The only thing I can do then was caress the mass of bandage wrapped around her upper torso.
It has since been more than ten years I think after that operation and I pray to God for complete healing. Unlike her eldest sister, Tita Elmie, who didn't survive and died of breast cancer in 1995 and became the family's first brush with death.
11.21.2004
One truth
I am not ashamed of my roots. My humble beginnings do not embarrass me. I do not have a hard time recalling my childhood memories spent in a very remote province known mostly for its isolation as it is for howling winds and thunderstorms. On the contrary, my story uplifts me and makes me attractive. At least that's what I think.
Something else bothers me. I can't bring myself to look at my body for long in front of the mirror. It's like I feel disgraced when I spend a little more time than usual looking at my contours. I have seemed to be conditioned to think that nothing there is worth looking. And so by habit, I have perfected the two-minute routine of drying my torso with towel after bath, wrapping it around my waist afterwards before applying deodorant and other stuff. All the while, my gaze never falls below my clavicles. Otherwise, that would start an endless rant of foolish blaming and pathetic wishful thinking.
That should stop. I have to learn the virtue of admiring my body and looking at it to carry far deeper meaning. Otherwise, I will never get to the point of fully accepting and loving myself. For how can you love something which you can't even bring yourself to admire.
And so last night, I willingly allowed myself to drown in this truth: Only when you learn to love and cherish your physical body will you start loving and cherishing yourself. I'm sure that this truth is nothing new and it has lived with us for life. But it takes a little special effort to realize and accept it.
It has since been very inspiring. I know I have to burn a few more fats here and there as well as tone a few flabs here, there, and everywhere, but it no longer becomes so numbing. I know I couln't even come close to Adonis on the outside, but, my God, I'm beautiful!
Something else bothers me. I can't bring myself to look at my body for long in front of the mirror. It's like I feel disgraced when I spend a little more time than usual looking at my contours. I have seemed to be conditioned to think that nothing there is worth looking. And so by habit, I have perfected the two-minute routine of drying my torso with towel after bath, wrapping it around my waist afterwards before applying deodorant and other stuff. All the while, my gaze never falls below my clavicles. Otherwise, that would start an endless rant of foolish blaming and pathetic wishful thinking.
That should stop. I have to learn the virtue of admiring my body and looking at it to carry far deeper meaning. Otherwise, I will never get to the point of fully accepting and loving myself. For how can you love something which you can't even bring yourself to admire.
And so last night, I willingly allowed myself to drown in this truth: Only when you learn to love and cherish your physical body will you start loving and cherishing yourself. I'm sure that this truth is nothing new and it has lived with us for life. But it takes a little special effort to realize and accept it.
It has since been very inspiring. I know I have to burn a few more fats here and there as well as tone a few flabs here, there, and everywhere, but it no longer becomes so numbing. I know I couln't even come close to Adonis on the outside, but, my God, I'm beautiful!
11.17.2004
Losing things
Some people have come to know me to be thorough and mindful of even the tiniest details. That's why I work best where attention to details is a crucial attribute. I'm proud of this, but sadly, all that is disappearing slowly each day. That feeling struck me in the face really hard yesterday. After losing at least three costly personal items in the last few months, I thought I'd be numb and dazed for the next ten years and, worse, completely rid myself of even the faintest libido for the next twenty.
I headed back to work from lunch completely bewildered. I keep saying, not again, not again in between heavy sighs and frowning. The entire five-minute walk from my bank to the office was a spinning headache.
I first lost an Oakley titanium sunglasses. It has been around serving me only for a few months. One Sunday afternoon, I decided to do something different and headed to Luneta to catch the 4pm Concert at the Park show. I was seated in one of the concrete benches near the stage surrounded by a sea of blue-collar community as well as maids and drivers on their day off. I had a good time watching the featured university-based choir. I was even more delighted finding everyone around me appreciate avant-garde choral music. I left without noticing that the sunglasses drifted from my pocket to the bench. To this day, I sometimes still blame myself for not doing a once-over before I left. That's unthinkable for somebody like me listed as a mountaineer with an outdoors group. More than 300 meters later, I figured it out and went back for it. A parent who sat at my back said she could only scold the vendor who took it.
Next came my mobile phone. On my way back to the office from gym one lunch time, I remember still using it till I got to my office lobby. I finished my take out food first when I got back to my desk. I then decided to do a five-minute power nap first before hitting the computers again. An hour later, I was going to use the phone and, lo and behold, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I headed down to my building's security office to have the tape from the surveillance camera reviewed. A guy (probably a messenger) was the only person who entered our office and was seen tinkering with something on his way out. I felt bad but at least I had the closure I needed.
And yesterday, I knew that there was going to be at least two thousand pesos left in my wallet after I deposited my November rent to my checking account at the bank. I froze at the teller's counter when I saw only one 500-bill left.
Now, I'm learning a painful lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be too overconfident of my ability to cover bases all the time. I'm no obsessive-compulsive, but my training as a mountaineer taught me this. On one hand, maybe my being thorough isn't really the problem after all. Maybe it has something to do with my tendency to be trusting of people and believing that man is by nature good, one basic life truth I have held deeply since before.
Has man failed?
I headed back to work from lunch completely bewildered. I keep saying, not again, not again in between heavy sighs and frowning. The entire five-minute walk from my bank to the office was a spinning headache.
I first lost an Oakley titanium sunglasses. It has been around serving me only for a few months. One Sunday afternoon, I decided to do something different and headed to Luneta to catch the 4pm Concert at the Park show. I was seated in one of the concrete benches near the stage surrounded by a sea of blue-collar community as well as maids and drivers on their day off. I had a good time watching the featured university-based choir. I was even more delighted finding everyone around me appreciate avant-garde choral music. I left without noticing that the sunglasses drifted from my pocket to the bench. To this day, I sometimes still blame myself for not doing a once-over before I left. That's unthinkable for somebody like me listed as a mountaineer with an outdoors group. More than 300 meters later, I figured it out and went back for it. A parent who sat at my back said she could only scold the vendor who took it.
Next came my mobile phone. On my way back to the office from gym one lunch time, I remember still using it till I got to my office lobby. I finished my take out food first when I got back to my desk. I then decided to do a five-minute power nap first before hitting the computers again. An hour later, I was going to use the phone and, lo and behold, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I headed down to my building's security office to have the tape from the surveillance camera reviewed. A guy (probably a messenger) was the only person who entered our office and was seen tinkering with something on his way out. I felt bad but at least I had the closure I needed.
And yesterday, I knew that there was going to be at least two thousand pesos left in my wallet after I deposited my November rent to my checking account at the bank. I froze at the teller's counter when I saw only one 500-bill left.
Now, I'm learning a painful lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be too overconfident of my ability to cover bases all the time. I'm no obsessive-compulsive, but my training as a mountaineer taught me this. On one hand, maybe my being thorough isn't really the problem after all. Maybe it has something to do with my tendency to be trusting of people and believing that man is by nature good, one basic life truth I have held deeply since before.
Has man failed?
11.15.2004
A different tune
When a phone line was finally installed at my new place the other week, the first number I called was V.'s apartment. I knew he was going to be surprised which I really wanted to do, but he wasn't home. The following night, I called again and almost every day after that. The person who answers seemingly never ran out of reasons he probably hoped would sound new and believable to me each time I call. The only thing that never changed was his voice and how he says hello.
I became suspicious one time when this housemate asked me to wait while he calls V. I couldn't make sense of the mumbling worried voices in the background, but it sort of gave me a hint. A voice came on the phone saying V. left the apartment and they don't know where he went. I sighed. In all the phonecalls, I would end it saying my thanks to hide a heavy heart, replace the handset quickly and afterwards breathe a desperate sense of loss.
The last time V. and I talked, everything seemed ok. As usual, he would rant about schoolwork that leaves him out of the house all the time and without a bit of time for himself. I updated him with any thing that I would guess he'd be interested to know about me. Almost always, they were things happening around my new place, my games, my gym sked, my trips. And in all ways, they're never about lovelife or a faint tinge of social life which I was unfortunately not gifted with at the moment.
He'd ask me if I'm dating anyone right now, and I'd set off the same answer everytime. He knows the answer. My dating life is the next boring thing in the world next to copying a whole Webster's dictionary by hand. I would be curious to know and ask him about his dates, but he would always say he didn't have time for it. When our conversation wound up about us, we knew something about each other even though we may not be telling. Deep inside us, I think we both knew we still have a flame burning, so to speak. I like to think we still think fondly of each other, we don't have anything but good words for each other, and we don't have a prayer other than love and care for each other.
That's why his text message yesterday asking me to leave him in peace because he has a new partner completely numbed me. It's not the idea of him getting a new partner that unnerved me, but more about the sudden demand for me to vanish just because there's a new one. I can't seem to really put the whole idea into chewable bits for me to digest after our repeated affirmations over the months with each other to always be connected.
I still haven't understood everything. No matter how I try to keep my peace and smile to the world, everything around me seems grainy and out of tune. I'm left with mostly unanswered questions, heavy breathing, wishful thinking, unimaginable hurt, and, quite ironically, hopeful heart. Do endings really mean devastation?
I became suspicious one time when this housemate asked me to wait while he calls V. I couldn't make sense of the mumbling worried voices in the background, but it sort of gave me a hint. A voice came on the phone saying V. left the apartment and they don't know where he went. I sighed. In all the phonecalls, I would end it saying my thanks to hide a heavy heart, replace the handset quickly and afterwards breathe a desperate sense of loss.
The last time V. and I talked, everything seemed ok. As usual, he would rant about schoolwork that leaves him out of the house all the time and without a bit of time for himself. I updated him with any thing that I would guess he'd be interested to know about me. Almost always, they were things happening around my new place, my games, my gym sked, my trips. And in all ways, they're never about lovelife or a faint tinge of social life which I was unfortunately not gifted with at the moment.
He'd ask me if I'm dating anyone right now, and I'd set off the same answer everytime. He knows the answer. My dating life is the next boring thing in the world next to copying a whole Webster's dictionary by hand. I would be curious to know and ask him about his dates, but he would always say he didn't have time for it. When our conversation wound up about us, we knew something about each other even though we may not be telling. Deep inside us, I think we both knew we still have a flame burning, so to speak. I like to think we still think fondly of each other, we don't have anything but good words for each other, and we don't have a prayer other than love and care for each other.
That's why his text message yesterday asking me to leave him in peace because he has a new partner completely numbed me. It's not the idea of him getting a new partner that unnerved me, but more about the sudden demand for me to vanish just because there's a new one. I can't seem to really put the whole idea into chewable bits for me to digest after our repeated affirmations over the months with each other to always be connected.
I still haven't understood everything. No matter how I try to keep my peace and smile to the world, everything around me seems grainy and out of tune. I'm left with mostly unanswered questions, heavy breathing, wishful thinking, unimaginable hurt, and, quite ironically, hopeful heart. Do endings really mean devastation?
11.10.2004
Let me explain
Many definitions can hold, but in the case which I wrote earlier to mindfuck means, plainly speaking, playing it straight. It happens when you willfully lead somebody to believe something mostly about yourself that is untrue in order to gain momentary pleasure. It is a cruel form of self-gratification, if I must say.
The pleasure is derived from many things. Some of them can be fathomed even by those who carry the least ability to make sense of things. People do it to obtain a gleam of superiority. Others just fancy seeing people bulge their eyes in amazement. I'm sure there may be profound reasons behind these which we unfortunately just don't know. Different folks, different strokes.
But in my case, I do it mostly to give people reality check. I don't find it heartening to see them assume right away that every love story they hear profused with so much heartfelt romance and selfless affection only occurs between a man and a woman. I find it extremely offensive to see them mindlessly promoting the idea that fulfilling relationships are a monopoly only of those whose attraction follows what is deemed usual.
And so on these occasions, I thought it's best to shake people's obtuse mindsets and keep them in touch with the truth even if it means me playing a cruel game. I only wish that their deep-seated traditional thinking are challenged and given a much needed awakening. If that one happens, let my soul be redeemed.
I don't want you to think that this is something I'm still having fun doing. I have long ceased to find appeal from it. Something's improved with age. It's better to throw pebbles of truth straight to people's faces sometimes.
The pleasure is derived from many things. Some of them can be fathomed even by those who carry the least ability to make sense of things. People do it to obtain a gleam of superiority. Others just fancy seeing people bulge their eyes in amazement. I'm sure there may be profound reasons behind these which we unfortunately just don't know. Different folks, different strokes.
But in my case, I do it mostly to give people reality check. I don't find it heartening to see them assume right away that every love story they hear profused with so much heartfelt romance and selfless affection only occurs between a man and a woman. I find it extremely offensive to see them mindlessly promoting the idea that fulfilling relationships are a monopoly only of those whose attraction follows what is deemed usual.
And so on these occasions, I thought it's best to shake people's obtuse mindsets and keep them in touch with the truth even if it means me playing a cruel game. I only wish that their deep-seated traditional thinking are challenged and given a much needed awakening. If that one happens, let my soul be redeemed.
I don't want you to think that this is something I'm still having fun doing. I have long ceased to find appeal from it. Something's improved with age. It's better to throw pebbles of truth straight to people's faces sometimes.
11.09.2004
A mind-fuck
The first time I played mind-fuck with somebody was more than five years ago. I don't even exactly remember how far back it has been. But that was one early evening in summer. I was standing by the stairs in front of Tower Records in Glorietta while I was perfecting meditative breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
And there she was, about three meters across from me. Our fate probably intersected that particular time as we were obviously destined to wait for somebody. For her, it was likely -- or hopefully -- a loving husband who was going to fetch her along with the two kids holding her pantsuit one on each side. And for me, a loving creature who was hopefully going to sweep me off along with, not just two, but countless apprehensions holding me back everywhere.
I'm sure we noticed each other by the time five minutes have passed. She smiled to me quite sincerely, and I smiled back. Smiling really does wonders. The moment I stretched my lips sideways there began a roller-coaster conversation skimming through our work, college, and of course love stories. I would normally become aloof about strangers probing and feasting on my private life, but surprisingly this time, I was very friendly. I shared some of my romantic moments, those ones that my friends have grown to be so envious about, and let her relish the thought of how lucky my partner could be with me and my romantic side overflowing.
"So, what's your girlfriend's name?" she asked innocently.
"Marco," I replied while quietly looking at her face expecting distortions to erupt anytime.
"Uhhh..I hope I heard you correctly..is the name.."
"Yes, it's Marco," I emphasized, quickly cutting her off. "And speaking of him, there he is now." I said sorry to have to cut it short and ran to the car as fast as my romantic knight-image vanished from her.
For the next ten minutes, my excited voice and my cousin Clarissa's laughter filled the car.
And there she was, about three meters across from me. Our fate probably intersected that particular time as we were obviously destined to wait for somebody. For her, it was likely -- or hopefully -- a loving husband who was going to fetch her along with the two kids holding her pantsuit one on each side. And for me, a loving creature who was hopefully going to sweep me off along with, not just two, but countless apprehensions holding me back everywhere.
I'm sure we noticed each other by the time five minutes have passed. She smiled to me quite sincerely, and I smiled back. Smiling really does wonders. The moment I stretched my lips sideways there began a roller-coaster conversation skimming through our work, college, and of course love stories. I would normally become aloof about strangers probing and feasting on my private life, but surprisingly this time, I was very friendly. I shared some of my romantic moments, those ones that my friends have grown to be so envious about, and let her relish the thought of how lucky my partner could be with me and my romantic side overflowing.
"So, what's your girlfriend's name?" she asked innocently.
"Marco," I replied while quietly looking at her face expecting distortions to erupt anytime.
"Uhhh..I hope I heard you correctly..is the name.."
"Yes, it's Marco," I emphasized, quickly cutting her off. "And speaking of him, there he is now." I said sorry to have to cut it short and ran to the car as fast as my romantic knight-image vanished from her.
For the next ten minutes, my excited voice and my cousin Clarissa's laughter filled the car.
11.08.2004
Changes, changes
Time was on my hands today and I decided to give my blog a new look. Initially, I just wanted to update some links and list new interesting ones I have come across recently. I am no techie, so I was glad to see Blogger.com come up with idiot-friendly guides for bloggers.
I spent several minutes trying to decide which design suits me well. I thought my groovy look today would influence my choice and make me click on that one with colors splashing all over the page. I was having my eyes set on an earthy look, something consistent with my nature. In the end, UP's maroon color won. I was happy. In the first place, I have bias for silver combined with maroon or burgundy. It's elegant, timeless, and very stable, rigid.
There's just one thing I'm sorry about. I'm not sure, but when you migrate to a new design, all the comments posted on your previous layout vanish. I can't see any one in my new blog. I feel really bad. Is there a way out to recover those ones?
Is there a saint to call for all computer mishaps and plain ignorance?
I spent several minutes trying to decide which design suits me well. I thought my groovy look today would influence my choice and make me click on that one with colors splashing all over the page. I was having my eyes set on an earthy look, something consistent with my nature. In the end, UP's maroon color won. I was happy. In the first place, I have bias for silver combined with maroon or burgundy. It's elegant, timeless, and very stable, rigid.
There's just one thing I'm sorry about. I'm not sure, but when you migrate to a new design, all the comments posted on your previous layout vanish. I can't see any one in my new blog. I feel really bad. Is there a way out to recover those ones?
Is there a saint to call for all computer mishaps and plain ignorance?
8.27.2004
Blows and being blown
In the streets, at gym, inside the mall and occasionally even at my office elevator, I sometimes look at men's faces and wonder if they have ever been blown. Not just by anybody, but by another man. I can't imagine them letting something as heavenly as a man's blowjob pass them by.
The more I stare at Pinoy men, the only species I'm most capable to talk about, the clearer things turn out to be. I think more and more of them have likely let another man's tongue bathe their juniors. Lest I'd be branded as somebody with unforgiving judgment, I tried to look for reinforcements.
I'm sorry, I will have to do the elaboration next time. I hate it when I write and my tummy would make all these sounds. I gotta go find reinforcements. Literally and figuratively.
The more I stare at Pinoy men, the only species I'm most capable to talk about, the clearer things turn out to be. I think more and more of them have likely let another man's tongue bathe their juniors. Lest I'd be branded as somebody with unforgiving judgment, I tried to look for reinforcements.
I'm sorry, I will have to do the elaboration next time. I hate it when I write and my tummy would make all these sounds. I gotta go find reinforcements. Literally and figuratively.
8.23.2004
Breathing
And finally, I'm back writing again. It's been the longest hibernation so far. I'm glad the writing nerves are getting back in shape albeit slowly. I hope it will remain alive and breathing for the rest of the year.
What happened the last few months will be enough to fill up thousand pages of disclosure that will last until probably late next month. I had a few trips here and there, but I realized I'll probably be writing more about yearning or getting by or pulling through. There were a number of times in the recent weeks I've been with cry baby friends and their love stories. I've also had my share, in fact more than I can bear, of lost love stories whose only contribution to mankind is leaving my friends so dazed they had to make extra purchases of eye firmers.
Meanwhile, I found out some of my old, old friends have found their way to this blog. I don't know how they did it, but I just got a call one day from a few of them and I got bombarded with questions asking me about this and that. I have always planned to make my blog serve mostly very personal experiences; but, with this, I have yet to gain enough courage to start full disclosure. :-)
But maybe, just maybe, something very bold will happen soon. After all, it's another year older for me in the next few months.
What happened the last few months will be enough to fill up thousand pages of disclosure that will last until probably late next month. I had a few trips here and there, but I realized I'll probably be writing more about yearning or getting by or pulling through. There were a number of times in the recent weeks I've been with cry baby friends and their love stories. I've also had my share, in fact more than I can bear, of lost love stories whose only contribution to mankind is leaving my friends so dazed they had to make extra purchases of eye firmers.
Meanwhile, I found out some of my old, old friends have found their way to this blog. I don't know how they did it, but I just got a call one day from a few of them and I got bombarded with questions asking me about this and that. I have always planned to make my blog serve mostly very personal experiences; but, with this, I have yet to gain enough courage to start full disclosure. :-)
But maybe, just maybe, something very bold will happen soon. After all, it's another year older for me in the next few months.
6.10.2004
A new cut
I called the my Kyan-to-be grooming guru friend yesterday and sought an advice on where to best go for a hair makeover. For once, that feeling of intense excitement over engaging in a hair battle even with no clear idea on the odds for victory in my favor became so appealing. My friend had me hooked up with a senior stylist at, as I found later, a pretty pricey salon in a nearby mall. I confirmed for an after-work appointment.
Of course, I came on time. I told the receptionist I had a 6pm with Jun. She checked the registry and called me by my name which was very reassuring, and led me to Jun's assistant who then shampooed me and helped me get settled before calling him in to set off a miracle. All it took for Jun was about 15 minutes max to cut and shave and style my hair to what it looks like now. Which other people immediately noticed and which, personally, I so love.
The experience made me ponder on two things. First, for beautiful and meaningful changes to happen, all it takes sometimes is a small step to make everything happen. I tried to figure out why it's difficult for most men to make a switching decision and try out a hairstylist as opposed to their longtime barbers. It's easy to find out why. At least as far as I'm concerned. Most are downright ignorant or just plainly ill-informed. They don't read or even attempt to find out what might be better looking for them and instead just be contented with the haircut they've grown accustomed to since their first barbershop visit in gradeschool. A number are incorrigbly afraid to take risks thinking that it's not after all a manly thing to be so preoccupied with hair and grooming. Now, what do we get? Men who become downright false testimonies to creation.
Funny, but I likewise started to think and compute about how much will I start to set aside each month for this expense. Considering that I, on the average, visit my barber twice month, I just might have to cut down to some things (like pirated DVD purchases hehehe) in order to afford this. Lest you think it's costing me two arms and a neck, I'd have to say the fee was reasonable. After all, it's not cheap to look good.
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.
6.08.2004
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.
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