snippet of a dinner conversation

conversation at the dinner table a few nights ago.

me: saan kaya ako ikakasal?

ninin (deadpan) : sa dreams mo.

leche. mukhang totoo nga.

in my dreams.

detachment

i never really thought of myself as the kind of person who was overly attached to material stuff (except for my shoes and books, of course). I don’t mind getting cheapo clothes from tutuban and various other sale bins. i don’t care that my iPod is four years old already and creaks like an old man’s knees. i don’t care that my mobile phone doesn’t have all that new-fangled technology that my non-techie brain cannot comprehend. it matters very little to me that my jewelry and bags and watches are all fun and not serious and not the type that will appreciate with time, nor are they the type that can be handed down to the next generation.

and all this time, i didn’t mind having regular stuff because i figured if they were taken away from me, then it’s okay. i realize i accumulate stuff for their fun value and throwaway attitude.

until my phone crashed.

my beautiful girly pink phone that trills “chweet chweet text message” when you SMS me and sings “this is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world, but she looks so sad in photographs, I absolutely love her, when she smiles” when you call me.

my pretty pink phone that holds my illegal photos of the Sistine chapel ceiling, the live recordings of the Duomo church bells in Florence and Noel Gallagher singing Champagne Supernova at an Oasis concert in Singapore, and other photos of my feet in Bohol, Bangkok, Mindoro, Rome, Venice, Glasgow, CamSur, Boracay, Malaybalay, and Romblon. and a photo of the words Les Miserables on a London West End theatre stage.

my arte pink phone that contains ten years worth of HR and headhunting contacts, contacts that have been the foundation of my life as an HR girl. little known phone numbers of CIOs and group heads of banks. work phone numbers of colleagues and competitors in the HR world. email addresses of headhunters.

gone. all gone.

so now i am rebuilding what in all honesty cannot be rebuilt. and yes, i am an idiot for not backing up any of the information in my phone.

and i am not as detached as i thought i was. i am attached to everything in that phone and all that it represents.

i’m so upset. i need a nap.

grooviest cab ride in the world

it was an extraordinarily tiring day. so tired my eyes felt like popping out of their sockets. and days like these require me to do Me Time. and Me Time i did. but the big mac meal and caramel macchiato did not fix me the way they should during Me Time, so i decided to walk. and walk i did, and when that didn't help i just decided to go home and take a shower and sleep. got into a cab after about ten minutes of waiting and humming some tuneless note in my head.

i got into a cab, no different from the hundreds of cabs the whole world over. i gave the driver my destination, and sat back and emptied my mind of the day's flotsam. then it started out so quietly – like a quiet breeze ruffling the nape of my neck – i thought it was my imagination finally snapping. i heard singing. so softly.

two drifters off to see the world
there’s such a lot of world to see
we’re after that same rainbow’s end
waiting round the bend
my huckleberry friend
moon river and me.

the cab driver was singing Moon River. beautifully. with an unmistable andy williams flavor.

i kept silent in case it really was my imagination snapping and i was imagining the the whole thing. but after a few lines, the cab driver says, “okay lang po ba mag-ingay ako? mahilig po kasi ako kumanta pag nagmamaneho.”

i wasn’t losing my mind after all! he really was singing! and i wanted to weep at how beautiful his voice was. so i urged him to keep singing.

and sing he did. he sang a bunch of old tagalog songs (that i couldn’t identify, sayang). and right as he was rounding the corner into my village, he starts channeling elvis costelo.

she may be the face I can’t forget
the trace of pleasure or regret
may be my treasure or the price i have to pay

holy camote que, the man is singing She. one of the most heartbreaking songs in my world.

then in a twist that makes my world one loony bin, he belts into the next stanza

she may be the beauty or the BEST
may be the famine or the (yes you guessed it) FEST
may turn each day into a heaven or a HEEL.

mercifully, we reach my house as he finishes the song. i gave him a P40 tip and thank him for making my day.

at least in the eyes of at least one cab driver in this world, i am a goddess worth singing to. thank you manong. this was the trippiest ride ever.

tripping over thin air

when people trip, they always trip over something.

a banana peel
a battery operated mickey-mouse-on-a-singing-train
a wobbly step on the staircase
an open bag of cheetos
a small dog

whe i trip, i usually over trip over nothing.
well, not nothing exactly.

i trip over thin air.

and today have two bruised shins, a possibly sprained toe, and a black-and-blue ego to show for it.
i even think it was a cute guy who tried to pick me up (in the most literal sense of the word) after i tripped.

tripping on thin air. what a bonehead.

God's Sick Sense of Humor

God is a funny and unfair Man. Don’t get me wrong, I love Him dearly, and I think He is the grooviest Man ever. But He does have a sick sense of humor and I feel like He makes my so-called life the butt of His practical jokes.

Case in point.

2006. I meet Blind Date Guy (see complete story in an earlier entry). Who one day just disappeared into thin air.

2007. I meet M, who seemingly fit all my requirements -- employed, intelligent, heterosexual, Catholic, enjoyed pursuing me. Who fit all my requirements except one -- does not want to be in a committed relationship with me. Go figure.

Mid-2008. I meet Sgt. Saludo (my colleagues have a knack for naming the men in my life) who seemingly also fit all my requirements – smart, can charm the skin off a snake, unbelievably intelligent, funny, straight (so sexy!), seriously seemed to like me. Who is of a different religion. A religion I cannot marry into. C’mon, God!

Late 2008 – I knew this was a lost battle from the very start but it bore considering. A really hot guy, so intelligent, so great at his job, physically drooling-all-over-myself hot, so refined and well-mannered and well-spoken. And gay. As a butterfly. Who twirls before sitting on a chair. God, work with me here please!

And here is God’s biggest practical joke of all. He makes me the Ultimate Meantime Girl. He makes me The One Before The One (see earlier blog entry too).

I got a midnight text from an old flame yesterday. Saying he is getting married next year. Which led me to think of all the men who have come and gone into my life (and believe me, there have been plenty). And each and every one of them, without fail, have married the girl they hooked up with AFTER they date me.

Every frigging one of them.

God is a really great Guy. But His sense of humor is really twisted. God, You know I love You, man. I really do. But please please pick on someone else. Am starting to get pikon with Your practical jokes already.

my last dangerous game of solitaire

the sacrifice the 19-year old made delivered the results today.

and 14-year old memories came unbidden

1. kalachuchis swiped from the neighbor's tree
2. dancing in zu (gaaak, when disco was still hot)
3. coming home early from the US to see me off to bontoc
4. a green ribbon during the SEA games
5. exchanged braids
6. silver ID bracelet and matching college rings
7. lunches at makati sports club
8. luneta, world youth day 1995
9. once on this island
10. a&w rootbeer floats

the 33-year old is amazed at the ability of the 19-year's heart to love beyond what a heart is capable of loving.

at 19, she gave him what he wanted, because it meant the world to him.
and she wanted this day to happen, because he wanted this day to happen.

there you go, God. he's all yours.
he loves me, but he loves You more.

one liners

lots of thoughts floating around my head. need to pin them down and shake them off so can move on with the rest of my life.

• i seem to find new and innovative ways of humiliating myself in front of you (during a late night phone call after one measly mojito).
• all the what if's have been answered and i have done everything humanly possible and i am slow to accept that it is all out of my hands now (after one last good self-absorbed cry. last na talaga)
• there are loads of much better ways of earning a living (after one idiotic email too many)
• i remember how i lost that earring (after a three-year disappearing act)

i just need a nap. on the beach. under the shade of a tree. on a really sunny day. with the wind blowing. slathered in suntan oil. in a really nice bikini. with a flat stomach. and thin arms.

the secret sisterhood of the big sister

when she was born, you initiated yourself into the secret sisterhood of the big sister, and promised that you would do everything in your power to make sure that would have everything she can ever want. you swore to protect her. and you promised move heaven and earth to make and keep her happy.


and you've been doing a pretty good job until now, when she has started to discover who she is and is starting to step out from under the mantle and safety of the big sisterhood. when she is discovering what she wants. when she is making her own decisions. when she is finding out what makes her happy. and when she is discovering that making and keeping her happy is no longer your job, but her own.


you never denied her anything from the moment she was born. and you cannot deny her THIS now, now that THIS makes her happy. now that THIS is what she needs at this point in her life. now that THIS is one of the most important things she has.


now is not the time to begin denying her anything, especially when you know how imporant THIS is to her. you swore by the big sister code, and turning away from it is not and will never be an option.


time to step up, big sister.

the re-return

june 22, 2008
12:04 am

chweet chweet. chweet chweet. text message:

i'm okay to be friends if you're okay to be friends.

holy camote que.

if there ever was a moment to say "be still, my heart"
this would be it.

farewell to my pot-bellied finny friend

the goldfish at home are family members, they have the same overweight look as the rest of the human family members. they never say no when food is offered to them, which convinced me that we are really related.

one of the goldfish died last friday.

their tank was being cleaned, and when he was being moved from the tank to a timba where his brothers were temporarily parked, he leapt from the cleaner's hand and went SPLAT! onto the cold marble floor. he was hurriedly put back in the tank where he did a few halfhearted wiggles before moving on to the great aquarium in the sky.

he would've turned 3 years old on the day i turn 33.

goodbye, fishie. feeding you and your brothers before i leave for work is always a high point of my mornings, and you always manage to take away my sungit by swimming up to me like crazy when you see me approach with your fish food.

your brothers will miss you too. my mornings will never be the same without you.

disappearing act

ñ has disappeared.

and my own safely guarded disappearance has been blown, due to an inconspicuous run-in at work.
now i am no longer flying under the radar.
the old circle has found me, the circle i have worked so hard to disappear from since i dropped my basket.

and apparently ñ's disappearing act has been more successful than mine -- resigned from his job, left his flat, changed numbers, no replies to phone calls and emails, and seems to have been wiped off the face of the earth.

around the same time i dropped my basket.

it has been three years.
there must be a reason why this is all coming up after three years. party's definitely over.

beautiful bohol forever

a zillion more reasons why bohol has been good to me

02/14/2008

first flowerless valentine's day in 16 years.

ika nga ni tuds, "hindi ka nalulungkot?"

leche.

true love

eating crabs is a metaphor for life. it is beautifully served on a plate in front of you, arranged beautifully on a bed of greens and swimming in oils and sauces. steam wafts up, carrying with it the scent of unearthly spices that drive your tastebuds into a frenzy. the anticipation of digging into this feast is almost too much to bear. but there is the challenge of getting the meat out of the shell.

shelling a crab is no easy feat. one must painstakingly dirty one's hands, as there is no other way to get the meat out. one uses all tools available -- the nutcracker, the long pointy forky-looking thing, one's fingers, one's teeth -- to get all the meat out. once in a while, one stubs one's fingers on the sipit's sharp points, but that is okay because there is still meat in the crevices.

the result is worth it -- a pile of slightly steamy, succulent, sweet crab meat that one will mix with the bagoong rice drenched in szechuan sauce, and which one will deliver to one's mouth with silent and almost reverent ecstacy, which will cause one to swoon over the sheer delight of it all.

bliss.

that is life.

and true love? it is seeing my dad, who loves eating crabs almost as much as he loves his kids, shell the biggest, fattest sipit, collect the fat from the crab's middle, and put it all on my mom's plate.

that is true love in this life -- getting the best parts of the crab and giving it to the one you love best.

happy birthday poppy. you're the best.

sleeping with the Lord

new priest at last Sunday's mass. might not be all that acquainted with chapel's sound system, which is so sensitive it can pick up an ant's hiccup. various lessons from various parables pounded into our eardrums. could actually feel the pew vibrating with the strength of the priest's bass voice. it was LOUD.

overheard this whispered conversation during the homily.

ninin : ang lakas ng boses ng pari.
poppy : oo nga e. hindi tuloy ako makatulog.

26 sugar high years

her first word was "okay."

and she said it to me when we were standing on the hairy rattan-woven welcome mat pretending we were astronauts on the way to outer space.

***********

she is the didi to my zsazsa, or the zsazsa to my didi -- depending on whose villain needs to be bitch-slapped.
she is the loony pill to my loony bin.
she is the ernie to my bert.
she is the nuts in my chocobanana shake.
she is the green, the red, and the white on my pizza.
she is the patis and kalamansi on my inihaw na tilapia.
she is the maggi savor to my plain white rice.
she is the durian to my suha.
she is the funny hats to my kadayawan.
she is the glass of lukewarm water to my cafe juanita buffet lunch.
she is the tongue-piercing to my bellybutton tattoo.
she is the pilates dvd to my home tv shopping.
she is the flower power sando to my yemen shirt.
she is the lost phone to my bayo sale.
she is the palaisdaan to my every mindoro vacation.
she is the sugar high to my sungit.

she is my missing piece.
she is my missing peace.

happy birthday, baby sister

dashboard confessional

m : i thought i was going to end up marrying you.
M (without missing a beat) : me too.

positive work attitude

great insight about handling work stress.

if we're going to die working,
we will die with our make up on.

graduating from hogwarts

i was not prepared to deal with the end.

(if you haven't read harry potter and the deathly hallows, i suggest you turn off your computer RIGHT NOW and go back to the book.)

mad-eye moody
hedwig
remus lupin
nymphadora tonks
dobby
fred weasley
severus snape
peter pettigrew
cedric diggory
sirius black
albus dumbledore

i cannot imagine a world without you in it.

to harry, ron, hermione, prof. mcgonagal, hagrid, buckbeak, neville, mr & mrs weasley, tom the barman, crookshanks, peeves, nearly-headless-nick, the fat lady, diagon alley, hogsmeade, hogwarts and the rest of the wizarding world, i have no words to say how terribly i will miss you all.

the past seven years of my life have been filled with anticipation, wonder and magic.
my inner witch thanks you and, difficult as it is, says goodbye.

hmmmm what to wish for

i have my black dress, my lipgloss, my ice cream and my birthday candle.

what else can this 32-year old girl possibly want?

life is good. so unbelievably good.

ahhh, here's what i wish for.

i wish your life be as un-freaking-believably good as mine.