This time, Bloggie, my gift to him is a visit to the dermatologist and, quite possibly, a facial.
Several weeks prior to this day, I couldn't help but notice how he wrinkled his young forehead every single time I saw him in front of the mirror. I know the feeling very, very well. I wanted to spare him the misery of miseducation and physically damaging experimentation that I offered to take him to the dermatologist. I got a blank stare. I persisted. For good measure, I gave him the lowdown on facial treatments that could get so excruciating it was like the equivalent of a face-off minus the anesthesia. He turned visibly pale, but I was beyond caring. It was for his own good!
We are in front of the clinic and neither of us is moving. Two minutes later, I look at him real hard and tell him it is going to be all right. He must have seen flaming red eyes or something but he finally opens the door. I breathe a sigh of relief. Brother!
After the assessment, King is endorsed to one of the attendants for a deep-cleansing facial. (That one? Gosh. That will hurt some.) I smile at the dermatologist while at the same time assuring my brother that we will sue them to the last penny if they botch the job. King laughs at me. I am dead serious.
I wait for an hour and a half before he emerges from one of the cubicles. His face was red. There is no smile on his face and he is not looking at me. The attendant pulls me aside and tells me King has had to endure a lot. My golly. We leave the clinic in deafening silence and the slowest elevator in the world is taking forever to open. I ask if he is ever coming back for the succeeding treatments. He remains ominously mute.
Outside the building, the weather is balmy. I steal glances at him and see that his face is getting okay fast. I stop walking and ask if he has seen Greenbelt and Glorietta. He hasn't. I know it. Malls to him pertains to the holy trinity of SM Megamall, Edsa Shangri-la and Gateway. Full of conviction, he says Makati is for serious, working AND older people. I am totally stumped. How in heaven's name can I begin to argue with that?
I recover my wits and nudge him to the right and onto Greenbelt. It is lovely - Christmas trimings and always a good vibe all around. I like what I am seeing at every turn, but more so on the fact that King seems to be having some seriously good time. The view - living and non-living - must have been a feast to his eyes.
We keep on walking until we find ourselves in Glorietta. I feel like I am starting to gag but I have an unfinished obligation to my uninitiated underling.
A thousand miles after, I ask him what and where he wants to eat. I shouldn't have asked because he eats anything, absolutely anything edible. He's at this stage where 'live to eat, live to eat' seems the sacred mantra. I bring him to Cibo. It is his birthday, anyway. He likes my choices. Could I be staring at the mirror?
Out of the blue, King suddenly opens up to me. We talk and talk about lots of things - the past, the present, and the future. We can stay rooted to our spot forever but it is getting late. We agree to retrace our steps to the clinic, which, incidentally, is near the terminal.
While waiting in line, I smile back at him, teasingly point to the clinic and remind him of his appointment in a couple of weeks. He appears to mimic me and says, "...for your own good, for your own good. And for my peace of mind,". He really surprises me sometimes.
Lots of firsts for him, he says. I am about to say nothing else applies more to me but I risk smothering him. There's our van.
I am immensely thankful that everything turns out like it does.
I just hope King is still cool once it all sinks in and he realizes that I just became his, well, birthday date. :-P
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
One drink too many
I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment. - William Shakespeare
Tina asked where I was. I thought it was a funny thing to ask considering that she almost always knew where I was. And vice versa. Having been recently orphaned by friends who left one after the other to build their fortunes in various parts of the Western hemisphere, we promised to always stick with each other. As if I did not, pre-exodus. Heck, we went as far as going to the custom jeweler to help her choose the wedding rings, eh? Well, JP surely gave her the details of how he wanted the bands to look, but hey, this is, like, major stuff. Right, Bloggie?
Anyway, she reminded me that I was supposed to be with her in a couple of hours to watch some movie. I didn’t recall ever knowing about the movie…translation: she needed company.
I didn’t remember what we watched. Was it that mediocre? As we were walking out of the cinema, Tina received a text message from Nelson asking where we were blah blah blah. Tina turned to me and pleaded for more of my time as Nelson could really use some company. I could see where this was heading, but knowing fully well what Nelson was going through, I called home to say I’d be staying with Tina and would be back the following day.
We fetched him at Padi’s Point. He was alone, as usual. He looked fine to me. The food was a major bummer so we decided to pack up and head to Salo instead.
The place was almost deserted except for the couple at the far end of the bar. Nelson ordered a bottle of tequila. I said I wanted loads of vegetable sticks. So we got both. And Tina’s octopus. I was expecting a highly charged atmosphere but it was not coming. What? After downing the bottle? Nelson signaled something to the server who promptly went away after being given some instructions. He came back after a couple of minutes to deliver another bottle. I was keeping tabs. I was going for my 12th shot. Oh gosh. I started to feel a burning sensation in my throat. Plus it was getting so hot. Oh my gosh. Just then TY, Nelson’s brother, came in and joined us. He immediately worked us into a bantering mode. I barely managed a weak smile while I thought Tina was getting more hyper by the minute. I downed my 13th - quite foreboding, I must add. I brought my head up, looked at Tina across the table and saw her with three pairs of eyes.
I thought Nelson saw the signs. I told him I couldn’t stand up. I felt my body getting numb and weightless. Plus, everything was spinning in slow motion. TY sent for coffee for Tina and myself but I was clearly so out of it already. Nelson stood up. He had to drag me to the restroom.
I was failing – and falling – miserably. I couldn’t even expel a dot of carrot stick no matter how I tried. I would not poke my finger down my throat, the way bulimics do, if my life depended on it. Then, without warning, it happened. In no time, the sink was clogged with orange, green and white sludge. Think bird’s nest soup, Bloggie. Yikes!!! I really thought the onslaught would add my intestines into the mix as a fitting garnish. It was sickening. But it didn’t stop there.
Strapped at the backseat, I was still throwing up in the car. The last thing I remember doing was plunking my wasted carcass into the sofa and passing out faster than you could say forty winks.
I recall wanting to be really, really drunk since I first tasted of alcohol. Who wouldn’t want to be when your first was a bottle of dom perignon my guy friend in high school stashed into his bag for the after-prom party in their home’s attic? He eventually came out of the closet. That must explain his fine taste at an early age. Don’t you think so, Bloggie?
So. That was how being totally, absolutely soused was all about. At least for me. I didn’t even plan it. And, by golly, I found out only after three decades? Tell me, Bloggie, is it worse for others?
One last thing. There’s something I have disproven. You should not believe it when people say they don’t know what they’re doing when they’re drunk and that they don’t remember what happened. It’s all bull. They know it. How else could I spill all this to you, Bloggie? Or was my sottishness ain’t enough???
Whatever. I am just so thankful I was with friends. Lesson well learned.
p.s.
Bloggie, the lady jeweler makes really nice rings! Hmmm…as if! Well, at least I learned some nifty things about wedding bands from the gracious lady. ;->
Tina asked where I was. I thought it was a funny thing to ask considering that she almost always knew where I was. And vice versa. Having been recently orphaned by friends who left one after the other to build their fortunes in various parts of the Western hemisphere, we promised to always stick with each other. As if I did not, pre-exodus. Heck, we went as far as going to the custom jeweler to help her choose the wedding rings, eh? Well, JP surely gave her the details of how he wanted the bands to look, but hey, this is, like, major stuff. Right, Bloggie?
Anyway, she reminded me that I was supposed to be with her in a couple of hours to watch some movie. I didn’t recall ever knowing about the movie…translation: she needed company.
I didn’t remember what we watched. Was it that mediocre? As we were walking out of the cinema, Tina received a text message from Nelson asking where we were blah blah blah. Tina turned to me and pleaded for more of my time as Nelson could really use some company. I could see where this was heading, but knowing fully well what Nelson was going through, I called home to say I’d be staying with Tina and would be back the following day.
We fetched him at Padi’s Point. He was alone, as usual. He looked fine to me. The food was a major bummer so we decided to pack up and head to Salo instead.
The place was almost deserted except for the couple at the far end of the bar. Nelson ordered a bottle of tequila. I said I wanted loads of vegetable sticks. So we got both. And Tina’s octopus. I was expecting a highly charged atmosphere but it was not coming. What? After downing the bottle? Nelson signaled something to the server who promptly went away after being given some instructions. He came back after a couple of minutes to deliver another bottle. I was keeping tabs. I was going for my 12th shot. Oh gosh. I started to feel a burning sensation in my throat. Plus it was getting so hot. Oh my gosh. Just then TY, Nelson’s brother, came in and joined us. He immediately worked us into a bantering mode. I barely managed a weak smile while I thought Tina was getting more hyper by the minute. I downed my 13th - quite foreboding, I must add. I brought my head up, looked at Tina across the table and saw her with three pairs of eyes.
I thought Nelson saw the signs. I told him I couldn’t stand up. I felt my body getting numb and weightless. Plus, everything was spinning in slow motion. TY sent for coffee for Tina and myself but I was clearly so out of it already. Nelson stood up. He had to drag me to the restroom.
I was failing – and falling – miserably. I couldn’t even expel a dot of carrot stick no matter how I tried. I would not poke my finger down my throat, the way bulimics do, if my life depended on it. Then, without warning, it happened. In no time, the sink was clogged with orange, green and white sludge. Think bird’s nest soup, Bloggie. Yikes!!! I really thought the onslaught would add my intestines into the mix as a fitting garnish. It was sickening. But it didn’t stop there.
Strapped at the backseat, I was still throwing up in the car. The last thing I remember doing was plunking my wasted carcass into the sofa and passing out faster than you could say forty winks.
I recall wanting to be really, really drunk since I first tasted of alcohol. Who wouldn’t want to be when your first was a bottle of dom perignon my guy friend in high school stashed into his bag for the after-prom party in their home’s attic? He eventually came out of the closet. That must explain his fine taste at an early age. Don’t you think so, Bloggie?
So. That was how being totally, absolutely soused was all about. At least for me. I didn’t even plan it. And, by golly, I found out only after three decades? Tell me, Bloggie, is it worse for others?
One last thing. There’s something I have disproven. You should not believe it when people say they don’t know what they’re doing when they’re drunk and that they don’t remember what happened. It’s all bull. They know it. How else could I spill all this to you, Bloggie? Or was my sottishness ain’t enough???
Whatever. I am just so thankful I was with friends. Lesson well learned.
p.s.
Bloggie, the lady jeweler makes really nice rings! Hmmm…as if! Well, at least I learned some nifty things about wedding bands from the gracious lady. ;->
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The business of being cheery
‘If you haven’t confirmed your flight information yet, please hold on. We are in the final stages of gaining approvals from the Philippine government. I just want to make sure hat when you need to leave you have all the approvals. We are sitting tight. This has been a frustrating process…’
That’s the latest word from Big 4.
This waiting game is really frustrating. I am thinking: if not for the signed employment contract, Big 4 might have withdrawn their offer pronto as the POEA hubbub unraveled.
And what about my friends? I remember feeling so downcast when a good friend teased me unceasingly and, as a final blow, said, ‘aalis ka pa ba?’. I mean we’re not even close! Now, before they tire of asking me whatever the h*ll is happening to me, I told them to just stop asking and wait for my call/sms/email. That’s a joke. But, admittedly, it was the essence of my last message. Now, I am making myself scarce save for a handful of girl friends. You see, Bloggie, I’m kinda tired of explaining my case.
I am happy most times, but there’s just this day when I cannot stop myself from thinking if I really made the right choice, if there’s more to the delay than just merely waiting for POEA’s action, if Big 4 actually withdraws its offer (the horrors!), if I really know where I’m going… I can actually poison my brain with more depressing thoughts.
That’s why I have to stop. I’m sitting tight, yes, for more time than I care to count. I don't have to understand everything everytime. I know in the deepest corner of my heart that I am all right. That’s why I’m happy.
I'll always be Happy! :)
the light of a cheerful heart
i tell you that you and I and the commonest
person are all journeying the same way,
hemmed in by the same narrow path,
leading to the eternal years.
we pride ourselves over our particular superiority;
but really there is little difference between us;
and in this journey over the thousand hills and
valleys called life, he is wisest who is
patient where the way is hard, has faith when
he does not understand, and carries into the
dark places the light of a cheerful heart.
That’s the latest word from Big 4.
This waiting game is really frustrating. I am thinking: if not for the signed employment contract, Big 4 might have withdrawn their offer pronto as the POEA hubbub unraveled.
And what about my friends? I remember feeling so downcast when a good friend teased me unceasingly and, as a final blow, said, ‘aalis ka pa ba?’. I mean we’re not even close! Now, before they tire of asking me whatever the h*ll is happening to me, I told them to just stop asking and wait for my call/sms/email. That’s a joke. But, admittedly, it was the essence of my last message. Now, I am making myself scarce save for a handful of girl friends. You see, Bloggie, I’m kinda tired of explaining my case.
I am happy most times, but there’s just this day when I cannot stop myself from thinking if I really made the right choice, if there’s more to the delay than just merely waiting for POEA’s action, if Big 4 actually withdraws its offer (the horrors!), if I really know where I’m going… I can actually poison my brain with more depressing thoughts.
That’s why I have to stop. I’m sitting tight, yes, for more time than I care to count. I don't have to understand everything everytime. I know in the deepest corner of my heart that I am all right. That’s why I’m happy.
I'll always be Happy! :)
the light of a cheerful heart
i tell you that you and I and the commonest
person are all journeying the same way,
hemmed in by the same narrow path,
leading to the eternal years.
we pride ourselves over our particular superiority;
but really there is little difference between us;
and in this journey over the thousand hills and
valleys called life, he is wisest who is
patient where the way is hard, has faith when
he does not understand, and carries into the
dark places the light of a cheerful heart.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Bringing the house down
One cool Saturday evening…
‘…walang pakiramdam ang mga magulang,’ I heard Grannie say as I got myself seated to her left.
‘Ano yun?’ I asked earnestly. I turned to my left and pinched Twixie’s plump cheeks.
‘Si Grannie, nanlalait na naman ng contestant,’ Ria said, smiling conspiratorially with Grannie.
I looked at the tv and saw this show, Pinoy Pop Superstar, hosted by Regine Velazquez, a.k.a. Asian Songbird, being shown.
‘Alam namang walang kagaling-galing ang anak, pinasasali pa. Kaya daw, di naman. Niloloko nila anak nilang walaaaaanggggg ka- talent-talent! Tingnan mo, ginatungan pa ng mga kamag-anak. Naku, dinadamay pa tayo sa lokohan!’ Grannie said, very seriously.
The monologue elicited a round of laughter. It didn’t end there.
‘Pati si Pop ay kita mong di natutuwa sa batang iyan,’ said the self-appointed critic.
‘Pop?’ everyone on the table echoed.
‘Aba, di ba si Pinoy Pop ang host?’ Grannie asked, looking at me, as if asking for a way out.
*****
We were furiously attacking banana fritters. I was cutting portions for Twixie, but I could sense Grannie was watching us. Then…
‘Tingnan mo nga si Bae,’ Grannie said.
‘Ha? Bakit po?’ I asked, not sure what she was driving at.
‘Papa pa ang pinapatawag sa ama ni Janjan. “Punta ka sa papa.” Naku, hindi ko mapigilang tumawa,’ she said. Janjan is Bae’s kid.
‘Grannie…’ I said as I shook my head, instantly aware where the conversation was going.
‘Nung araw, Inang at Amba ang tawag namin sa aming mga magulang. Pag nanay at tatay, aba, mayaman na yun. Bigatin na,’ she continued.
‘Mga Bicolano, Grannie, papa ang tawag nila, kahit ano…’ Nanay said, matter-of-factly.
‘Tsaka Grannie, kelan pa yung panahon nyo? Muntik mo na yata maabutan first world war eh,’ I said.
‘Grannie, sa amin babalik ang pagpuna mo, sige ka,’ Meng warned. Oh gosh.
‘Hayaan nyo na sila. Mukhang ok na nga si Janjan. Mataba, singkit pa. Chinese, hehehe,’ I added, looking Grannie’s way hopefully.
‘Naku, manglo ang batang yun!’ Grannie boomed.
All of them began laughing hysterically. I, on the other hand, started to laugh because the word sounded very funny to me. I didn’t know what the word meant.
‘Whaddaheck is ‘manglo’,Meng?’ Ms. Almost Always Clueless asked helplessly. They were practically beet red from laughing. I wanna be like them!
‘Tabang hangin,’ Nanay barely managed to say.
Heavens!
*****
The laughter subsided a bit. We looked at Twixie who seemed to be loving the fritters to bits. She was applauding fitfully, looking menacingly at the bit-size portions I piled on her plate. It was time for another lesson.
‘Twixie, say “delicioso!”. Try?’ I prodded, trying to demonstrate how to execute the act. Meg and Bianchi had perfected this lesson, eh?
The kid just kept on nodding her head, smiling widely as she willed her tiny fingers to mimic my hand. A few more attempts and all we heard were incoherent ramblings at best. I gave her A-plus for effort.
‘Tama na, baby. Bata ka pa, pressured na,’ I said as I lightly pinched her cheeks.
Then, Grannie craned her neck to see Twixie more clearly.
‘Twixie, sige nga. Say “malicioso!”. Twixie, go. “Malicioso!” Grannie coaxed the poor kid. Twixie gave her a puzzled look only a toddler her age could muster.
We almost fell off the chair.
‘…walang pakiramdam ang mga magulang,’ I heard Grannie say as I got myself seated to her left.
‘Ano yun?’ I asked earnestly. I turned to my left and pinched Twixie’s plump cheeks.
‘Si Grannie, nanlalait na naman ng contestant,’ Ria said, smiling conspiratorially with Grannie.
I looked at the tv and saw this show, Pinoy Pop Superstar, hosted by Regine Velazquez, a.k.a. Asian Songbird, being shown.
‘Alam namang walang kagaling-galing ang anak, pinasasali pa. Kaya daw, di naman. Niloloko nila anak nilang walaaaaanggggg ka- talent-talent! Tingnan mo, ginatungan pa ng mga kamag-anak. Naku, dinadamay pa tayo sa lokohan!’ Grannie said, very seriously.
The monologue elicited a round of laughter. It didn’t end there.
‘Pati si Pop ay kita mong di natutuwa sa batang iyan,’ said the self-appointed critic.
‘Pop?’ everyone on the table echoed.
‘Aba, di ba si Pinoy Pop ang host?’ Grannie asked, looking at me, as if asking for a way out.
*****
We were furiously attacking banana fritters. I was cutting portions for Twixie, but I could sense Grannie was watching us. Then…
‘Tingnan mo nga si Bae,’ Grannie said.
‘Ha? Bakit po?’ I asked, not sure what she was driving at.
‘Papa pa ang pinapatawag sa ama ni Janjan. “Punta ka sa papa.” Naku, hindi ko mapigilang tumawa,’ she said. Janjan is Bae’s kid.
‘Grannie…’ I said as I shook my head, instantly aware where the conversation was going.
‘Nung araw, Inang at Amba ang tawag namin sa aming mga magulang. Pag nanay at tatay, aba, mayaman na yun. Bigatin na,’ she continued.
‘Mga Bicolano, Grannie, papa ang tawag nila, kahit ano…’ Nanay said, matter-of-factly.
‘Tsaka Grannie, kelan pa yung panahon nyo? Muntik mo na yata maabutan first world war eh,’ I said.
‘Grannie, sa amin babalik ang pagpuna mo, sige ka,’ Meng warned. Oh gosh.
‘Hayaan nyo na sila. Mukhang ok na nga si Janjan. Mataba, singkit pa. Chinese, hehehe,’ I added, looking Grannie’s way hopefully.
‘Naku, manglo ang batang yun!’ Grannie boomed.
All of them began laughing hysterically. I, on the other hand, started to laugh because the word sounded very funny to me. I didn’t know what the word meant.
‘Whaddaheck is ‘manglo’,Meng?’ Ms. Almost Always Clueless asked helplessly. They were practically beet red from laughing. I wanna be like them!
‘Tabang hangin,’ Nanay barely managed to say.
Heavens!
*****
The laughter subsided a bit. We looked at Twixie who seemed to be loving the fritters to bits. She was applauding fitfully, looking menacingly at the bit-size portions I piled on her plate. It was time for another lesson.
‘Twixie, say “delicioso!”. Try?’ I prodded, trying to demonstrate how to execute the act. Meg and Bianchi had perfected this lesson, eh?
The kid just kept on nodding her head, smiling widely as she willed her tiny fingers to mimic my hand. A few more attempts and all we heard were incoherent ramblings at best. I gave her A-plus for effort.
‘Tama na, baby. Bata ka pa, pressured na,’ I said as I lightly pinched her cheeks.
Then, Grannie craned her neck to see Twixie more clearly.
‘Twixie, sige nga. Say “malicioso!”. Twixie, go. “Malicioso!” Grannie coaxed the poor kid. Twixie gave her a puzzled look only a toddler her age could muster.
We almost fell off the chair.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Banishing the bane of my existence
“Ah, details. They're kind of the bane of your existence, huh? Unfortunately, they are a necessary evil that everyone must deal with from time to time. And now it's your turn. But have no fear -- it'll all turn out well.”
That, Bloggie, is my horoscope for the day. Not that my existence depends solely on the alignment of the stars, but the astrologer’s prediction was right on the mark today.
Details here pertain to shoes. I plead no contest to the charge that shoes are kind of the bane of my existence, I mean, over and above clothes, bags, accessories and bath necessities (I think I am addicted to Lush and Body Shop but that’s another story). These are absolute essentials, arguably close to being luxuries for my middle-class sensibilities but they are definitely not staples of vanity…these are a lethal mix…we’re talking bane here so…so, in the event of my involuntary march south of middle class, these are the culprits, ok?…Anyway, where was I?
It must have been the high from knowing some good news from my US employer that suddenly pushed the buttons and set me into a fast and furious housekeeping frenzy.
My eyes automatically took aim at the first casualty of this – how should I call it? – streamlining. You see, Bloggie, Meng’s and my shoes – purchased from 2002 onwards - are neatly strewn (neat and strewn – go figure) all over the place: (a) along the staircase; (b) on the shelf beside the staircase; (c) in my bedroom; (d) on a makeshift four-tier shoestand; and (e) where else, oh where else?
I was a bit daunted but I persevered as I couldn’t contain my sudden obsessive-compulsive need to put some things in order. I stared at the neat pile along the staircase. The shoes in this corner were safe as they were obviously flavors of the month. Now, the shoes stacked in the rest of the areas were a totally different story. Herculean effort is in order, both in terms of deciding which among the horde would be discarded and which would be shipped off to, well, whoever would find use for the used but still fully serviceable pairs. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that neat hereabouts pertains exclusively to the way the shoes were stored, meaning, a good number of them, being unused for quite some time now, would require a sturdy pair of cleaning hands. I was close to trading places with Hercules.
Here’s why.
It took me the whole day for each pair to be removed from the box/shelf, inventoried, cleaned/dusted, assessed for redundancy, and, for those which passed rigid quality control inspection, returned to the box/shelf. Did I say that by default the boxes and the shelves also needed serious wiping?
I am really driving home my reference to that Greek/Roman hero of extraordinary strength, so here is the register of shoes on which I labored:
(in pairs)
low-cut suede shoes – 3
office shoes (flat) – 5
office shoes (with heels; either closed, open-toed, or with slingback) - 14
boots - 4
flats for walking – 4
shoes for when attending weddings (in satin, silk, or lace) – 4
mary janes - 3
strappy sandals/wedges – 5
sneakers - 7
mojos - 4
slip-ons (flat) - 4
slip-ons (with heels) – 14
slippers (good enough for jeans, skirts, etc) - 12
I leave you the task of adding up the items, Bloggie. (Then I remember a dozen or so pairs which I discarded last year before I worked in Singapore and some other pairs I left behind when I left after ten months.) Okay, take out a quarter from the whole lot because they belong to Meng, and you’d arrive at my share. Which leads me to ask if there’s an anonymous group dealing with this sorry affliction (like Alcoholics Anonymous, Blog Addicts Anonymous….)?
Shoes are the necessary evil that must be dealt with from time to time. That much is true. Although my efforts turned out well, the stars did not grant me immortality, very much unlike what Hera rewarded Hercules for his 12 labors (7 or 12?). But, ordinary mortal that I am, I couldn’t be more proud of my feat.
So. Am I a strong candidate for obsessive-compulsive behavior? Hmm, maybe a few more posts and let's see if I need to hire a psychiatrist. Agree?
But it surely feels good. I feel several pounds lighter. What could be more rewarding than that? I mean, I haven’t heard of a more fight diet regimen where you feel the effect instantaneously.
That, Bloggie, is my horoscope for the day. Not that my existence depends solely on the alignment of the stars, but the astrologer’s prediction was right on the mark today.
Details here pertain to shoes. I plead no contest to the charge that shoes are kind of the bane of my existence, I mean, over and above clothes, bags, accessories and bath necessities (I think I am addicted to Lush and Body Shop but that’s another story). These are absolute essentials, arguably close to being luxuries for my middle-class sensibilities but they are definitely not staples of vanity…these are a lethal mix…we’re talking bane here so…so, in the event of my involuntary march south of middle class, these are the culprits, ok?…Anyway, where was I?
It must have been the high from knowing some good news from my US employer that suddenly pushed the buttons and set me into a fast and furious housekeeping frenzy.
My eyes automatically took aim at the first casualty of this – how should I call it? – streamlining. You see, Bloggie, Meng’s and my shoes – purchased from 2002 onwards - are neatly strewn (neat and strewn – go figure) all over the place: (a) along the staircase; (b) on the shelf beside the staircase; (c) in my bedroom; (d) on a makeshift four-tier shoestand; and (e) where else, oh where else?
I was a bit daunted but I persevered as I couldn’t contain my sudden obsessive-compulsive need to put some things in order. I stared at the neat pile along the staircase. The shoes in this corner were safe as they were obviously flavors of the month. Now, the shoes stacked in the rest of the areas were a totally different story. Herculean effort is in order, both in terms of deciding which among the horde would be discarded and which would be shipped off to, well, whoever would find use for the used but still fully serviceable pairs. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that neat hereabouts pertains exclusively to the way the shoes were stored, meaning, a good number of them, being unused for quite some time now, would require a sturdy pair of cleaning hands. I was close to trading places with Hercules.
Here’s why.
It took me the whole day for each pair to be removed from the box/shelf, inventoried, cleaned/dusted, assessed for redundancy, and, for those which passed rigid quality control inspection, returned to the box/shelf. Did I say that by default the boxes and the shelves also needed serious wiping?
I am really driving home my reference to that Greek/Roman hero of extraordinary strength, so here is the register of shoes on which I labored:
(in pairs)
low-cut suede shoes – 3
office shoes (flat) – 5
office shoes (with heels; either closed, open-toed, or with slingback) - 14
boots - 4
flats for walking – 4
shoes for when attending weddings (in satin, silk, or lace) – 4
mary janes - 3
strappy sandals/wedges – 5
sneakers - 7
mojos - 4
slip-ons (flat) - 4
slip-ons (with heels) – 14
slippers (good enough for jeans, skirts, etc) - 12
I leave you the task of adding up the items, Bloggie. (Then I remember a dozen or so pairs which I discarded last year before I worked in Singapore and some other pairs I left behind when I left after ten months.) Okay, take out a quarter from the whole lot because they belong to Meng, and you’d arrive at my share. Which leads me to ask if there’s an anonymous group dealing with this sorry affliction (like Alcoholics Anonymous, Blog Addicts Anonymous….)?
Shoes are the necessary evil that must be dealt with from time to time. That much is true. Although my efforts turned out well, the stars did not grant me immortality, very much unlike what Hera rewarded Hercules for his 12 labors (7 or 12?). But, ordinary mortal that I am, I couldn’t be more proud of my feat.
So. Am I a strong candidate for obsessive-compulsive behavior? Hmm, maybe a few more posts and let's see if I need to hire a psychiatrist. Agree?
But it surely feels good. I feel several pounds lighter. What could be more rewarding than that? I mean, I haven’t heard of a more fight diet regimen where you feel the effect instantaneously.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Seeing is believing
As I was browsing through my photo blog (or log, whatever), I realized that I treated myself to some good music during the first half of the month. I like seeing and hearing musicians live on stage, basically to see what they're made of and to better appreciate their musicality.
1 October - The CompanY at the CCP Main Theater
I am not really head over heels in awe of this group. In fact, I don't recall ever being an avid follower. Besides, I can only manage a handful of their songs that I like. But, hands down, they are at their best doing a cappella. Then again, I haven't watched a single concert of this group, so...
So the timing could not have been more perfect when Meng told me that The CompanY was having a concert to mark their 20th anniversary (!). Not being a diehard fan herself, I wondered why she was quite eager to watch it. Turned out there was a line-up of formidable guest singers in the concert. Okay...
So off we went, buying tickets at the last minute, somewhat surprised upon finding out that they were almost sold out. I think we'd need binoculars?
Our balcony tickets notwithstanding, we saw and heard them clearly. Thank heavens the venue was an auditorium. The audience were expectedly gushing over old OPM faves - Now That I Have You, Muntik na Kitang Minahal, Pakisabi Na Lang, Baka Ikaw. They even gave Eraserheads' Ang Huling El Bimbo and Viva Hot Babes (?) Bulaklak a funky and jazzy twist. Neat! They were nothing if not versatile that night. Maybe that was their whole point. We got it.
6 October - Catherine Tuttle at the Podium
"..that was Alone by Catherine Tuttle. Catch her tonight at the Podium..." That was all I heard as I flipped the dial to 92.3. In the last few days, I was shifting between 105.1 and 92.3 in the hopes of catching her voice. Talk of miserably bad timing.
Dragging Meng along, we found ourselves mingling with predominantly foreign crowd. A few minutes after settling in our seats, Catherine came up on stage unobtrusively. Only 18 years old, she endeared herself to the crowd with her down to earth manner. She was so unpretentious. Why, in the middle of her performance, she borrowed a pen from the audience, flipped her hair with it, and, voila, an instant hairclip! I even noticed she removed her slip-ons, the wooden sandals presumably preventing her from feeling the rhythm of the piano more accurately. I like her! :)
I am not a critic, Bloggie, but I felt like I was listening to a younger version of Carole King, or Sarah Maclachlan, or Tori Amos even. I bought a copy of her cd (of course!). Turned out she composed all of the tracks except for Rescue Me. Neat!
'Twas good! She was good!
7 October - Mishka Adams at the Podium
I was ecstatic to learn that Mishka would be back by this time (from London) to cap the week-long Candid International Jazz Festival. I longed to see her perform live, longer please.
She's better heard live, her voice so smooth it practically rendered the crowd clamoring for more, more, more! Without a doubt, it helped that Mishka was backed up by equally gifted musicians whose improvisation must have stopped passersby on their tracks, pulled by the force of truly wonderful fusion of sound coming from the instruments.
I was with Meng. Again. Come to think of it, Bloggie, she is very much a sport when it comes to indulging my taste in food, clothes and, yes, music. The events of the preceding days could attest to that. Anyway. She'd heard Mishka before but she was not that, uhh, enthralled by her. I can tell you, Bloggie, that it all changed when she saw and heard her in person. She was positively gushing after a few awkward moment. I told her it was all right as I nudged her to look all around.
I can't wait for her next album.
1 October - The CompanY at the CCP Main Theater
I am not really head over heels in awe of this group. In fact, I don't recall ever being an avid follower. Besides, I can only manage a handful of their songs that I like. But, hands down, they are at their best doing a cappella. Then again, I haven't watched a single concert of this group, so...
So the timing could not have been more perfect when Meng told me that The CompanY was having a concert to mark their 20th anniversary (!). Not being a diehard fan herself, I wondered why she was quite eager to watch it. Turned out there was a line-up of formidable guest singers in the concert. Okay...
So off we went, buying tickets at the last minute, somewhat surprised upon finding out that they were almost sold out. I think we'd need binoculars?
Our balcony tickets notwithstanding, we saw and heard them clearly. Thank heavens the venue was an auditorium. The audience were expectedly gushing over old OPM faves - Now That I Have You, Muntik na Kitang Minahal, Pakisabi Na Lang, Baka Ikaw. They even gave Eraserheads' Ang Huling El Bimbo and Viva Hot Babes (?) Bulaklak a funky and jazzy twist. Neat! They were nothing if not versatile that night. Maybe that was their whole point. We got it.
6 October - Catherine Tuttle at the Podium
"..that was Alone by Catherine Tuttle. Catch her tonight at the Podium..." That was all I heard as I flipped the dial to 92.3. In the last few days, I was shifting between 105.1 and 92.3 in the hopes of catching her voice. Talk of miserably bad timing.
Dragging Meng along, we found ourselves mingling with predominantly foreign crowd. A few minutes after settling in our seats, Catherine came up on stage unobtrusively. Only 18 years old, she endeared herself to the crowd with her down to earth manner. She was so unpretentious. Why, in the middle of her performance, she borrowed a pen from the audience, flipped her hair with it, and, voila, an instant hairclip! I even noticed she removed her slip-ons, the wooden sandals presumably preventing her from feeling the rhythm of the piano more accurately. I like her! :)
I am not a critic, Bloggie, but I felt like I was listening to a younger version of Carole King, or Sarah Maclachlan, or Tori Amos even. I bought a copy of her cd (of course!). Turned out she composed all of the tracks except for Rescue Me. Neat!
'Twas good! She was good!
7 October - Mishka Adams at the Podium
I was ecstatic to learn that Mishka would be back by this time (from London) to cap the week-long Candid International Jazz Festival. I longed to see her perform live, longer please.
She's better heard live, her voice so smooth it practically rendered the crowd clamoring for more, more, more! Without a doubt, it helped that Mishka was backed up by equally gifted musicians whose improvisation must have stopped passersby on their tracks, pulled by the force of truly wonderful fusion of sound coming from the instruments.
I was with Meng. Again. Come to think of it, Bloggie, she is very much a sport when it comes to indulging my taste in food, clothes and, yes, music. The events of the preceding days could attest to that. Anyway. She'd heard Mishka before but she was not that, uhh, enthralled by her. I can tell you, Bloggie, that it all changed when she saw and heard her in person. She was positively gushing after a few awkward moment. I told her it was all right as I nudged her to look all around.
I can't wait for her next album.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Running around in circles
My patience is hanging by a very precarious thread.
I thought I should be in San Jose, California by now, working for the "biggest professional services organization in the world". But as Fate (?) would have it, I am still here in the Philippines, taking in more than my share of government bureaucracy. Well, I am p**ing from this diet I am having for close to three months now. Hello!!! It boggles the mind what's taking this government so long to approve the local agency tasked by my new employer to expedite POEA's issuance of the all-too-important Overseas Employent Card.
By the way Bloggie, I do not wish to chronicle the events leading to my clinching the Stars and Stripes job and eventually obtaining an H1B US visa for it...see? That statement was the long and short of it. And I could barely remember the nitty-gritties, anyway.
Lest you think, Bloggie, that I am heaping all the blame on this desperate government, my Big 4 firm also didn't quite get the alternative available to me - and effectively, to them also, right? - as prescribed by the POEA in case the waiting game drags on. Which is that I could just sign the POEA Waiver Form and therefore free Big 4 from any responsibility except those that bind them as per the employent contract. I kept on explaining this alternative to my Big 4 contact through email, then, just now and a couple of days ago, through phone. Her last response went something like their legal department adviced me to wait for the POEA's response and that I should advice them if I took this route because they were not aware of any waiver and its contents if ever I pursued in signing it. Somehow, I kinda expected this response if you know what I mean, Bloggie.
That's why it totally escapes me why they still had that bit about not being responsible for the waiver's contents. If you think about it, Bloggie, I'd end up with the shorter end of the stick. In the midst of its perpetual state of lethargy, I could appreciate POEA in protecting its overseas workers, thus the additional requirements which could confuse foreign employers. With the waiver, the employee (me!) has no choice but to stick with what's in the employent contract. It is THAT simple. It's sign-at-your-own-risk and I fully, fully understand it. The employent contract is super fine with me, anyway. The only thing lacking, as per the POEA, is that thing about repatriation of remains. My salary could afford it, thank you. And I have lots of relatives in California, whatever happens.
What's more exaspirating is that my San Jose contact is aware of my other colleague who resorted to the Waiver Move. Big 4's office in San Francisco, where he'd be posted, approved the idea. He is now waiting for his flight on 24 October. Grrr...
In the end, I know it is just a matter of time. But can I please be spared the runaround? It is never fun.
I thought I should be in San Jose, California by now, working for the "biggest professional services organization in the world". But as Fate (?) would have it, I am still here in the Philippines, taking in more than my share of government bureaucracy. Well, I am p**ing from this diet I am having for close to three months now. Hello!!! It boggles the mind what's taking this government so long to approve the local agency tasked by my new employer to expedite POEA's issuance of the all-too-important Overseas Employent Card.
By the way Bloggie, I do not wish to chronicle the events leading to my clinching the Stars and Stripes job and eventually obtaining an H1B US visa for it...see? That statement was the long and short of it. And I could barely remember the nitty-gritties, anyway.
Lest you think, Bloggie, that I am heaping all the blame on this desperate government, my Big 4 firm also didn't quite get the alternative available to me - and effectively, to them also, right? - as prescribed by the POEA in case the waiting game drags on. Which is that I could just sign the POEA Waiver Form and therefore free Big 4 from any responsibility except those that bind them as per the employent contract. I kept on explaining this alternative to my Big 4 contact through email, then, just now and a couple of days ago, through phone. Her last response went something like their legal department adviced me to wait for the POEA's response and that I should advice them if I took this route because they were not aware of any waiver and its contents if ever I pursued in signing it. Somehow, I kinda expected this response if you know what I mean, Bloggie.
That's why it totally escapes me why they still had that bit about not being responsible for the waiver's contents. If you think about it, Bloggie, I'd end up with the shorter end of the stick. In the midst of its perpetual state of lethargy, I could appreciate POEA in protecting its overseas workers, thus the additional requirements which could confuse foreign employers. With the waiver, the employee (me!) has no choice but to stick with what's in the employent contract. It is THAT simple. It's sign-at-your-own-risk and I fully, fully understand it. The employent contract is super fine with me, anyway. The only thing lacking, as per the POEA, is that thing about repatriation of remains. My salary could afford it, thank you. And I have lots of relatives in California, whatever happens.
What's more exaspirating is that my San Jose contact is aware of my other colleague who resorted to the Waiver Move. Big 4's office in San Francisco, where he'd be posted, approved the idea. He is now waiting for his flight on 24 October. Grrr...
In the end, I know it is just a matter of time. But can I please be spared the runaround? It is never fun.
Monday, October 03, 2005
Falling into place
***********************************************************************************
If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.
***********************************************************************************
Whenever I am at home these days, my cousin Ria and I usually eat mid-morning snacks together. Other than bringing baby Twixie over to be my current playmate, I like having her around. Why?
She is two years my junior but she figured prominently in my childhood as we were constant playmates. We go a long way back. It’s return to Pooh Corner, Christopher Robin and, yes, ruffled undies. I can think of no more graphic interpretation.
True to our being 80’s kids, we’d engage in countless sports like our life depended on it. No kidding.
Biking, patintero, tumbang preso, climbing trees, jogging, piko, table tennis, Chinese garter, hide and seek, luksong tinik, football, swimming, volleyball, badminton, hulug-hulugang ginto, touch-the-handkerchief, monkey-monkey-Annabelle-how-many-monkeys-did-you-see, hula hoops or plain running in the rain.
Those games which ended up on stalemate were decided on by jack-en-poy. Hahaha. Ria had this uncanny ability to win it almost every time. I hated her for it as I was irredeemable on that score. Barring that waterloo, Barring that waterloo, I did very well in all those sports such that our playmates always wanted me to be part of their teams. Ria hated me for that.
Sit-down events would involve jackstones, pick-up sticks, trump cards, sungka, rubber bands, gameboys, jolens (so much better than saying marbles, yes?), and Ritchie Rich/ Popeye/ Bioman/ Shaider/ Pacman/ Transformers/ SuperFriends sessions with my Pop Cola or Ria’s Sarsi and Nanay’s champorado, puddings or pancakes, or powdered Milo mixed with loads of Birch Tree and sugar.
We were also in the business of plucking leaves, twigs, flowers and whatnots from our ill-fated garden. We’d chop, slice, mince, crush and cook them in clay pans and pots made in Antipolo, no less. We lovingly served them to stray cats and dogs which, unfortunately, never paid us another visit after their first try. We always wondered why.
When we were into our teens, believe it or not Bloggie, we joined the local church choir. Just for fun, as always. I was an alto and Ria was a soprano. The highlight of our short-lived career was singing Latin songs at the Asian Institute of Liturgy and Music. Our conductor had so much faith in our group he thought nothing of using us in his graduation recital. I don’t know if it was out of white fear or undeniable talent that carried our group through, but we sure made it.
As time went by, we sort of drifted apart. I basically lost track of what was happening to her and to the world, for that matter. I remember struggling with a lot of issues on my own. I was so myopic I couldn’t care less what happened to people other than my family. But now that I look back, I realize she must have faced up to life’s challenges harder, much harder than I could have had managed on my own. She lost her mother, then her father, then her home. She survived a tumultuous relationship with an inveterate freeloader. For the life of me, I couldn’t hold a candle with what she had to go through to get to where she is right now.
Right now? She is a picture of pregnant happiness, no pun intended. You see Bloggie, she is expecting her second child in February. She married a very good man. She went back to the house they lost, restored it and made it her growing family’s home. If I think about it, everything she lost was given back to her in different packages, apparently overloaded with blessings. Here, I remember what a friend told me. God helps those who helps themselves.
Now why, really, do I like her? She is one tough cookie, like Rosanna Roces’ brand of fearlessness minus the latter’s misdemeanors and triple X adventures. She also has this way of endearing herself to people, particularly elder townsfolk. That’s why I never need go out of the four corners of our house to know the latest tittle-tattle in the four corners of our town.
My goodness! I have to write it all down before I finally get it. I have met and will surely meet lots of other people but she is one of those people who will always remind me of my roots. I cannot drive home the point more clearly.
If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.
***********************************************************************************
Whenever I am at home these days, my cousin Ria and I usually eat mid-morning snacks together. Other than bringing baby Twixie over to be my current playmate, I like having her around. Why?
She is two years my junior but she figured prominently in my childhood as we were constant playmates. We go a long way back. It’s return to Pooh Corner, Christopher Robin and, yes, ruffled undies. I can think of no more graphic interpretation.
True to our being 80’s kids, we’d engage in countless sports like our life depended on it. No kidding.
Biking, patintero, tumbang preso, climbing trees, jogging, piko, table tennis, Chinese garter, hide and seek, luksong tinik, football, swimming, volleyball, badminton, hulug-hulugang ginto, touch-the-handkerchief, monkey-monkey-Annabelle-how-many-monkeys-did-you-see, hula hoops or plain running in the rain.
Those games which ended up on stalemate were decided on by jack-en-poy. Hahaha. Ria had this uncanny ability to win it almost every time. I hated her for it as I was irredeemable on that score. Barring that waterloo, Barring that waterloo, I did very well in all those sports such that our playmates always wanted me to be part of their teams. Ria hated me for that.
Sit-down events would involve jackstones, pick-up sticks, trump cards, sungka, rubber bands, gameboys, jolens (so much better than saying marbles, yes?), and Ritchie Rich/ Popeye/ Bioman/ Shaider/ Pacman/ Transformers/ SuperFriends sessions with my Pop Cola or Ria’s Sarsi and Nanay’s champorado, puddings or pancakes, or powdered Milo mixed with loads of Birch Tree and sugar.
We were also in the business of plucking leaves, twigs, flowers and whatnots from our ill-fated garden. We’d chop, slice, mince, crush and cook them in clay pans and pots made in Antipolo, no less. We lovingly served them to stray cats and dogs which, unfortunately, never paid us another visit after their first try. We always wondered why.
When we were into our teens, believe it or not Bloggie, we joined the local church choir. Just for fun, as always. I was an alto and Ria was a soprano. The highlight of our short-lived career was singing Latin songs at the Asian Institute of Liturgy and Music. Our conductor had so much faith in our group he thought nothing of using us in his graduation recital. I don’t know if it was out of white fear or undeniable talent that carried our group through, but we sure made it.
As time went by, we sort of drifted apart. I basically lost track of what was happening to her and to the world, for that matter. I remember struggling with a lot of issues on my own. I was so myopic I couldn’t care less what happened to people other than my family. But now that I look back, I realize she must have faced up to life’s challenges harder, much harder than I could have had managed on my own. She lost her mother, then her father, then her home. She survived a tumultuous relationship with an inveterate freeloader. For the life of me, I couldn’t hold a candle with what she had to go through to get to where she is right now.
Right now? She is a picture of pregnant happiness, no pun intended. You see Bloggie, she is expecting her second child in February. She married a very good man. She went back to the house they lost, restored it and made it her growing family’s home. If I think about it, everything she lost was given back to her in different packages, apparently overloaded with blessings. Here, I remember what a friend told me. God helps those who helps themselves.
Now why, really, do I like her? She is one tough cookie, like Rosanna Roces’ brand of fearlessness minus the latter’s misdemeanors and triple X adventures. She also has this way of endearing herself to people, particularly elder townsfolk. That’s why I never need go out of the four corners of our house to know the latest tittle-tattle in the four corners of our town.
My goodness! I have to write it all down before I finally get it. I have met and will surely meet lots of other people but she is one of those people who will always remind me of my roots. I cannot drive home the point more clearly.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
What'd they do to Dr. Seuss?
The movie was shown way, way back, 2003 in fact. My question is: Was there ever a signature campaign to erase the movie from the unsuspecting moviegoers' memory? Let me sign up!
* - *
The other day, I was so looking forward to a blissful sleep owing to a very relaxing spa. Well, I did manage to get some shuteye. It lasted for exactly an hour.
With bleary eyes, I got up from my bed and turned on the tv. I surfed and surfed until I came to HBO. I saw someone who looked like Dr Seuss, one of my all-time favorite cartoon characters, and early teachers, for that matter. I ditched the idea of going back to sleep and fed my sudden and unexpected longing for nostalgia.
Dr Seuss’ Cat in the Hat, that was the movie I was watching. I recognized Dakota Fanning, Alec Baldwin and Kelly Preston. Thing 1 and Thing 2, they were also there, but of course! And was it Paris Hilton in a disco-dancing cameo? Her appearance was so fleeting she was practically gone in the blink of an eye.
I think I caught two-thirds of the movie but I think I didn't miss much.
In one of the breaks, I frantically searched for and found the hardcover book from which the movie was made as I had zero recollection of the story.
What did I see?
Mike Myers was a rather podgy version of the tall and skinny cat I knew. Why, he was a total miscast and too mischievous for comfort. Dr Seuss was so famous and well-loved by kids because of the downright funny and catchy rhymes and the wonderfully nonsensical words. Myers, for his part, kept on blurting out inappropriate and at-times callous lines so totally out of the kids' league. The writers must’ve thought of mom & dad who watch with the kids. FYI Bloggie, the attempt at humor got wearisome in a hurry. (Yup, I'm single, so???)
Fanning and the other kid who played her brother looked so bored and tired that at various scenes they looked like they needed to be roused from stupor to speak their lines. I needn't say more.
The story? It was inserted with needlessly elaborate subplots. The kids’ mother - represented in the book by a slim leg whose foot was shod in a fancy pointed and beribboned black shoe – was fleshed out by Preston and was being pursued by a next-door neighbor played by Baldwin. The movie also sprung an overweight babysitter named Mrs. Kwan. And, not to forget, Preston’s boss who went by the lousy name Mr. Humberfloob - the writers probably thought Dr Seuss’ amazing ability to create very likeable out-of-this-world words rubbed off on them. Not in their wretched lifetime.
What the heck. I thought they needed to stretch the 61-page book of deceptively simple rhymes and eye-catching illustrations into something which was sustainingly entertaining, at the least. The end-product was pathetic, to say the least. The kids' lethargy must've been unconsciouly transmitted to them by the brains behind this lousy movie. The writers could have just as well incorporated other stories in the Cat in the Hat series. See? They could be found in the “I CAN READ IT ALL BY MYSELF" BEGINNER BOOKS. I won’t even discuss the lousy way they rendered the illustrations in the book. These imps messed up real big.
This is a child turning ballistic about the way the masterminds murdered her well-loved character and bedtime companion.
The grownup in me - my brain, I hope - considers Dr Seuss and The Cat in the Hat a classic children’s literature and for it to be rendered with incredible crassness is just so loathsome.
Thank goodness this lousy, lousy movie has not spawned a sequel.
It is really best to follow the advice of Dr Seuss' wise fish:
Make that cat go away!
Tell that cat in the hat
You do not want to play.
He should not be here
He should not be about.
He should not be here
When your mother is out.
The cat, of course, is Myers and the coterie of directors, scriptwriters and cinematographers responsible for this horror of a movie.
* - *
The other day, I was so looking forward to a blissful sleep owing to a very relaxing spa. Well, I did manage to get some shuteye. It lasted for exactly an hour.
With bleary eyes, I got up from my bed and turned on the tv. I surfed and surfed until I came to HBO. I saw someone who looked like Dr Seuss, one of my all-time favorite cartoon characters, and early teachers, for that matter. I ditched the idea of going back to sleep and fed my sudden and unexpected longing for nostalgia.
Dr Seuss’ Cat in the Hat, that was the movie I was watching. I recognized Dakota Fanning, Alec Baldwin and Kelly Preston. Thing 1 and Thing 2, they were also there, but of course! And was it Paris Hilton in a disco-dancing cameo? Her appearance was so fleeting she was practically gone in the blink of an eye.
I think I caught two-thirds of the movie but I think I didn't miss much.
In one of the breaks, I frantically searched for and found the hardcover book from which the movie was made as I had zero recollection of the story.
What did I see?
Mike Myers was a rather podgy version of the tall and skinny cat I knew. Why, he was a total miscast and too mischievous for comfort. Dr Seuss was so famous and well-loved by kids because of the downright funny and catchy rhymes and the wonderfully nonsensical words. Myers, for his part, kept on blurting out inappropriate and at-times callous lines so totally out of the kids' league. The writers must’ve thought of mom & dad who watch with the kids. FYI Bloggie, the attempt at humor got wearisome in a hurry. (Yup, I'm single, so???)
Fanning and the other kid who played her brother looked so bored and tired that at various scenes they looked like they needed to be roused from stupor to speak their lines. I needn't say more.
The story? It was inserted with needlessly elaborate subplots. The kids’ mother - represented in the book by a slim leg whose foot was shod in a fancy pointed and beribboned black shoe – was fleshed out by Preston and was being pursued by a next-door neighbor played by Baldwin. The movie also sprung an overweight babysitter named Mrs. Kwan. And, not to forget, Preston’s boss who went by the lousy name Mr. Humberfloob - the writers probably thought Dr Seuss’ amazing ability to create very likeable out-of-this-world words rubbed off on them. Not in their wretched lifetime.
What the heck. I thought they needed to stretch the 61-page book of deceptively simple rhymes and eye-catching illustrations into something which was sustainingly entertaining, at the least. The end-product was pathetic, to say the least. The kids' lethargy must've been unconsciouly transmitted to them by the brains behind this lousy movie. The writers could have just as well incorporated other stories in the Cat in the Hat series. See? They could be found in the “I CAN READ IT ALL BY MYSELF" BEGINNER BOOKS. I won’t even discuss the lousy way they rendered the illustrations in the book. These imps messed up real big.
This is a child turning ballistic about the way the masterminds murdered her well-loved character and bedtime companion.
The grownup in me - my brain, I hope - considers Dr Seuss and The Cat in the Hat a classic children’s literature and for it to be rendered with incredible crassness is just so loathsome.
Thank goodness this lousy, lousy movie has not spawned a sequel.
It is really best to follow the advice of Dr Seuss' wise fish:
Make that cat go away!
Tell that cat in the hat
You do not want to play.
He should not be here
He should not be about.
He should not be here
When your mother is out.
The cat, of course, is Myers and the coterie of directors, scriptwriters and cinematographers responsible for this horror of a movie.
Catching Mishka
I have my own SIGNED copy now, of course, but more than three weeks after that blessed day, I still remember the funny incident attached to the autographed copy of Mishka’s cd in my hands.
It was August 31. I was with friends on our way to Belle’s going-away dinner when I received an SMS from James. Mishka was going to have a free miniconcert and cd-signing in a couple of days. What could I say other than the word free doing it in for me? I didn’t need to be wheedled.
September 2, the big day, came and I was still wrestling with James about cutting my driving lessons short so I could catch Mishka at 6pm. Well, there was no other way. And what about James? He cut his working time short so he could catch Mishka at 6pm. :-P
My driving instructor, fully aware of my plan, was so caught up he didn’t notice that we had to park by 5:30pm. Out of desperation, I broached the idea of him dropping me off in front of Tower Records at Glorietta. It was a no-brainer.
Running late, the MRT would bridge the gap between Point A and Point B the quickest. You could never guess, Bloggie, how fast I sprinted to the train station. Inside the coach, I was unmindful of the hot eyes surreptitiously eyeing my cell phone. James was letting me know how miserably late I was for the show. When the cabin door finally opened at the Ayala station, I made a mad dash out. You could never guess, Bloggie, my struggle as I bumped each person who sort of got in my way. I was right smack in the maddening rush hour traffic. Just great!
I reached Tower Records almost in a daze, failing to even comb my hair. Then I heard the familiar strains of God Bless the Child. It led me to the basement. The owner of the voice was indeed there, so young yet so very good at what she was doing. My bubble dream burst when James, his right hand covering his nose, blurted out, “Ang lakas naman ng pabango mo!” I didn’t care. At least a few spritz of Lacoste Pour Femme prevailed over the fumes, dust, and smoke which kept me company as I waded through the sea of humanity just to get to the venue.
After the show, I bought a copy of Mishka’s cd. I was not particularly proud of the cd being spanking new but then I thought it would be eternally insulting to present her with an unmarked copy – courtesy of James - for her to sign? Got it, got it?
With the cd on hand, I queued up for Mishka’s autograph. Hopeless shutterbug that I am, I brought along my digital camera to sort of immortalize the moment. When my turn came, I made her write my nickname before she wrote her dedication. You understand, Bloggie, that I have one of the trickiest nicknames on the planet. Yes siree, I spelled it out for her! I felt so cheap. Again, I didn’t care.
The affair finally wound up but James and I lingered some more. Why? She was still there! Poor James, I dragged him to where Mishka was sitting. I managed some incoherent ramblings that somehow fashioned themselves into a request to have another shot taken with her. She obliged.
I finally let up. Thirty seconds of her voice and a few photos were enough.
I couldn’t remember being so star-struck…well, there was the Sharon Cuneta incident back when I was doing the audit of a certain movie outfit.
But Mishka’s not even a pop star for crying out loud.
I promise to high heavens that I will restrain myself just please let me see and hear her perform again before I fly to Marrakech*. I promise NOT to be late, come what may.
* Marrakech is USA. Sorry. Dreams. :)
It was August 31. I was with friends on our way to Belle’s going-away dinner when I received an SMS from James. Mishka was going to have a free miniconcert and cd-signing in a couple of days. What could I say other than the word free doing it in for me? I didn’t need to be wheedled.
September 2, the big day, came and I was still wrestling with James about cutting my driving lessons short so I could catch Mishka at 6pm. Well, there was no other way. And what about James? He cut his working time short so he could catch Mishka at 6pm. :-P
My driving instructor, fully aware of my plan, was so caught up he didn’t notice that we had to park by 5:30pm. Out of desperation, I broached the idea of him dropping me off in front of Tower Records at Glorietta. It was a no-brainer.
Running late, the MRT would bridge the gap between Point A and Point B the quickest. You could never guess, Bloggie, how fast I sprinted to the train station. Inside the coach, I was unmindful of the hot eyes surreptitiously eyeing my cell phone. James was letting me know how miserably late I was for the show. When the cabin door finally opened at the Ayala station, I made a mad dash out. You could never guess, Bloggie, my struggle as I bumped each person who sort of got in my way. I was right smack in the maddening rush hour traffic. Just great!
I reached Tower Records almost in a daze, failing to even comb my hair. Then I heard the familiar strains of God Bless the Child. It led me to the basement. The owner of the voice was indeed there, so young yet so very good at what she was doing. My bubble dream burst when James, his right hand covering his nose, blurted out, “Ang lakas naman ng pabango mo!” I didn’t care. At least a few spritz of Lacoste Pour Femme prevailed over the fumes, dust, and smoke which kept me company as I waded through the sea of humanity just to get to the venue.
After the show, I bought a copy of Mishka’s cd. I was not particularly proud of the cd being spanking new but then I thought it would be eternally insulting to present her with an unmarked copy – courtesy of James - for her to sign? Got it, got it?
With the cd on hand, I queued up for Mishka’s autograph. Hopeless shutterbug that I am, I brought along my digital camera to sort of immortalize the moment. When my turn came, I made her write my nickname before she wrote her dedication. You understand, Bloggie, that I have one of the trickiest nicknames on the planet. Yes siree, I spelled it out for her! I felt so cheap. Again, I didn’t care.
The affair finally wound up but James and I lingered some more. Why? She was still there! Poor James, I dragged him to where Mishka was sitting. I managed some incoherent ramblings that somehow fashioned themselves into a request to have another shot taken with her. She obliged.
I finally let up. Thirty seconds of her voice and a few photos were enough.
I couldn’t remember being so star-struck…well, there was the Sharon Cuneta incident back when I was doing the audit of a certain movie outfit.
But Mishka’s not even a pop star for crying out loud.
I promise to high heavens that I will restrain myself just please let me see and hear her perform again before I fly to Marrakech*. I promise NOT to be late, come what may.
* Marrakech is USA. Sorry. Dreams. :)
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Grand musings on grandmommy
I don’t know what it is with orchids and garden plants that makes me want to wake up early in the morning to water them. As far as I know, the only thing that can effectively rouse me from slumber at an ungodly hour is a toss-up between finishing work-related deadline (i.e., the kind where the knife is about to drop, get it?) and catching a ride for the much-awaited out-of-town trip.
The exercise takes all of two hours. No kidding. And it does not get better. Each time I look, the pots feel like they’re going to crack from the weight of overgrown orchids and flowering plants, meaning, we will have to transfer the outgrowth to new pots yet again. It is a never-ending cycle; has always been this way for more years than I care to count. But no one seems to mind. Surely not me, more assuredly not my Inang. Gardening keeps her hale and healthy.
My main point on watering the plants is that it is always followed by an invariably lively morning talk with Inang over the usual fare of hotdogs, bacon, butter, strawberry jam, pandesal and coffee. This quasi-ritual I have come to enjoy over time, if only to tell me over and over again how resilient, courageous, revered, and funny Inang is, all at the same time. Possibly without her being aware of it, I have come to know, value and love her more because of this.
For one, because of her, I now know how I am related to my neighbor-cousins. Ours is one circuitous tree, if there ever was one - what with ancient stepmothers, half-brothers and half-sisters among the branches. Now, do I remember the fruits of the tree and the branch to which they belong? Come to think of it, at 87, Inang truly has a remarkably sharp memory.
Then, there are always these people who drop by from time to time to consult her on issues ranging from the mundane to those heavy enough to split a close-knit clan. For some reason, her advice seem to weigh a lot to them.
On another note, she is a one-woman charitable institution. I know a lot of people come to her to borrow money. She gives and gives even if at times she knows that the money is good as gone as soon as it leaves her hand. While at it, I also remember some hired hands who took advantage of her generosity and gullibility. She says it’s always better to give than to receive. I’ve known it since kindergarten but more than two decades later, the lesson still begs for my full appreciation, understanding and application. If anything, I guess I got the ‘gullible strain’ from her, of all things.
Still on another note, every time she cooks lunch or dinner for relatives, everyone turns up. It might be because she is, I think, the oldest in the clan. But then again, it might have more to do with the food spread on the table which, although mostly consisting of more or less the same fare each and every time, taste really, really, really good.
She just has this idiosyncracy that is truly her own and one that never fails to drive me off the wall.
She has this costly habit of reordering and/or changing things. By things, I mean any area of the house ranging from the garden, the kitchen, the bedrooms...or the house itself. It’s like this: after commissioning work to rework the kitchen, she somehow finds something lacking or wrong with it several months later. Rework on top of rework. You have to thank the heavens if the structure remains untouched after one year.
There are other equally fascinating incidents which I cannot quite remember in detail any longer. I just hope I have absorbed the lesson well, like the food I eat everyday. I mean, I don’t remember what I ate last month or last week but I’m sure I had my fill and it is now part of who, what and how I am. That kind of thing. :-P
p.s.
belive me, bloggie, when i say that as of today, a couple of hired hands are banging away at the back of the house to relocate the kitchen sink and the cupboard.
oh well.
The exercise takes all of two hours. No kidding. And it does not get better. Each time I look, the pots feel like they’re going to crack from the weight of overgrown orchids and flowering plants, meaning, we will have to transfer the outgrowth to new pots yet again. It is a never-ending cycle; has always been this way for more years than I care to count. But no one seems to mind. Surely not me, more assuredly not my Inang. Gardening keeps her hale and healthy.
My main point on watering the plants is that it is always followed by an invariably lively morning talk with Inang over the usual fare of hotdogs, bacon, butter, strawberry jam, pandesal and coffee. This quasi-ritual I have come to enjoy over time, if only to tell me over and over again how resilient, courageous, revered, and funny Inang is, all at the same time. Possibly without her being aware of it, I have come to know, value and love her more because of this.
For one, because of her, I now know how I am related to my neighbor-cousins. Ours is one circuitous tree, if there ever was one - what with ancient stepmothers, half-brothers and half-sisters among the branches. Now, do I remember the fruits of the tree and the branch to which they belong? Come to think of it, at 87, Inang truly has a remarkably sharp memory.
Then, there are always these people who drop by from time to time to consult her on issues ranging from the mundane to those heavy enough to split a close-knit clan. For some reason, her advice seem to weigh a lot to them.
On another note, she is a one-woman charitable institution. I know a lot of people come to her to borrow money. She gives and gives even if at times she knows that the money is good as gone as soon as it leaves her hand. While at it, I also remember some hired hands who took advantage of her generosity and gullibility. She says it’s always better to give than to receive. I’ve known it since kindergarten but more than two decades later, the lesson still begs for my full appreciation, understanding and application. If anything, I guess I got the ‘gullible strain’ from her, of all things.
Still on another note, every time she cooks lunch or dinner for relatives, everyone turns up. It might be because she is, I think, the oldest in the clan. But then again, it might have more to do with the food spread on the table which, although mostly consisting of more or less the same fare each and every time, taste really, really, really good.
She just has this idiosyncracy that is truly her own and one that never fails to drive me off the wall.
She has this costly habit of reordering and/or changing things. By things, I mean any area of the house ranging from the garden, the kitchen, the bedrooms...or the house itself. It’s like this: after commissioning work to rework the kitchen, she somehow finds something lacking or wrong with it several months later. Rework on top of rework. You have to thank the heavens if the structure remains untouched after one year.
There are other equally fascinating incidents which I cannot quite remember in detail any longer. I just hope I have absorbed the lesson well, like the food I eat everyday. I mean, I don’t remember what I ate last month or last week but I’m sure I had my fill and it is now part of who, what and how I am. That kind of thing. :-P
p.s.
belive me, bloggie, when i say that as of today, a couple of hired hands are banging away at the back of the house to relocate the kitchen sink and the cupboard.
oh well.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
It's in the stars...and stripes III - The new recruit?
27 April 2005
This time around, I didn’t wear my kinda ‘lucky’ uniform for the interview.* Instead, I had on a dull grey blouse under a no-frills black pantsuit. Bland and so ho-hum, the combo was just perfect! I only needed to summon that deadpan, dead serious face skilled number crunchers liked to put on when coming face to face with their similarly unreadable clients. But no, I won’t go that far. That was not me, anyway. I intended to remain cool and cheery even under extreme pressure from the looming roasting and grilling I was about to go through.
In the guise of going out for another client assignment, I disappeared from my work area a good two hours from the 3:30 pm interview. I went to Raquel’s area on another floor and dumped my laptop in her locker. I would just come back for it later.
By this time, I was trying to feign an appearance of calm and confidence. If Raquel only knew that my knees were practically shaking….
PwC office was just across the street. Having ample time, I managed to walk leisurely.
Angela was there, in the flesh, to welcome me. She was very warm and congenial. I liked her in an instant.
After some time, the moment arrived. Angela introduced me to Haresh from PwC-San Jose and Pete from PwC-Washington.
The interview with Haresh had gone well, I think, precisely because he didn’t ask a lot of questions. He was more like a father reciting a list of to-do’s for her daughter who was about to be sent off to a university in a faraway state. I was just nodding the whole time. :)
Pete was a different story altogether. First off, he had this eerie resemblance to David Caruso of CSI – Miami! And his eyes were rather piercing, like, “you cannot hide anything from me”. Get the picture? On top of that, he ushered me to sit beside him! It was such an unusual arrangement.
Initially, the atmosphere was rather formal but as the discussion wore on, with myself meeting his gaze the whole time, I just found myself getting comfortable with him. He was pleasantly surprised on some nitty-gritties I squeezed in my CV. I was silently thankful that he noticed them. J After that, everything was a breeze. I was not even asked a single technical question! No SOX, or US GAAP vs IAS vs IFRS, etc. Thank heavens for that. I was visibly relieved and I thought he saw it. But I didn’t give a damn. I think this, too, went well. He said they’d definitely get in touch in two weeks. He even gave me his business card. :)
I didn’t get burned, just lightly ‘grilled’ and ‘roasted’. Just the way I like it. :)
I didn’t come back to the office, instead, I went straight to Pacific Coffee for a shot of cappuccino. I needed time alone to absorb what I initially thought was a thoroughly delightful incident.
Then suddenly, in the middle of the hustle and bustle of what I could see were similarly situated yuppies musing about the good life this city supposedly owed them, I found myself asking if going to the US was what I really, really wanted.
It was so not in my plans, wasn’t it?
The thought was potentially treacherous…
But the interview… the interview went great, didn’t it?
* I have this office uniform from my previous employer which I wore a couple of times in a couple of final interviews for two different companies on two separate occasions. In both instances, I got hired.
This time around, I didn’t wear my kinda ‘lucky’ uniform for the interview.* Instead, I had on a dull grey blouse under a no-frills black pantsuit. Bland and so ho-hum, the combo was just perfect! I only needed to summon that deadpan, dead serious face skilled number crunchers liked to put on when coming face to face with their similarly unreadable clients. But no, I won’t go that far. That was not me, anyway. I intended to remain cool and cheery even under extreme pressure from the looming roasting and grilling I was about to go through.
In the guise of going out for another client assignment, I disappeared from my work area a good two hours from the 3:30 pm interview. I went to Raquel’s area on another floor and dumped my laptop in her locker. I would just come back for it later.
By this time, I was trying to feign an appearance of calm and confidence. If Raquel only knew that my knees were practically shaking….
PwC office was just across the street. Having ample time, I managed to walk leisurely.
Angela was there, in the flesh, to welcome me. She was very warm and congenial. I liked her in an instant.
After some time, the moment arrived. Angela introduced me to Haresh from PwC-San Jose and Pete from PwC-Washington.
The interview with Haresh had gone well, I think, precisely because he didn’t ask a lot of questions. He was more like a father reciting a list of to-do’s for her daughter who was about to be sent off to a university in a faraway state. I was just nodding the whole time. :)
Pete was a different story altogether. First off, he had this eerie resemblance to David Caruso of CSI – Miami! And his eyes were rather piercing, like, “you cannot hide anything from me”. Get the picture? On top of that, he ushered me to sit beside him! It was such an unusual arrangement.
Initially, the atmosphere was rather formal but as the discussion wore on, with myself meeting his gaze the whole time, I just found myself getting comfortable with him. He was pleasantly surprised on some nitty-gritties I squeezed in my CV. I was silently thankful that he noticed them. J After that, everything was a breeze. I was not even asked a single technical question! No SOX, or US GAAP vs IAS vs IFRS, etc. Thank heavens for that. I was visibly relieved and I thought he saw it. But I didn’t give a damn. I think this, too, went well. He said they’d definitely get in touch in two weeks. He even gave me his business card. :)
I didn’t get burned, just lightly ‘grilled’ and ‘roasted’. Just the way I like it. :)
I didn’t come back to the office, instead, I went straight to Pacific Coffee for a shot of cappuccino. I needed time alone to absorb what I initially thought was a thoroughly delightful incident.
Then suddenly, in the middle of the hustle and bustle of what I could see were similarly situated yuppies musing about the good life this city supposedly owed them, I found myself asking if going to the US was what I really, really wanted.
It was so not in my plans, wasn’t it?
The thought was potentially treacherous…
But the interview… the interview went great, didn’t it?
* I have this office uniform from my previous employer which I wore a couple of times in a couple of final interviews for two different companies on two separate occasions. In both instances, I got hired.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
It's in the stars...and stripes II - Build me up...buttercup?
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars. - Les Brown
21 April 2005
It was exactly two weeks before I saw Angela’s name in my mail again.
I would be interviewed on 27 April for a possible assignment in San Francisco, San Jose or Los Angeles. With the email came the perfunctory employment application that I need to fill up and bring to the interview.
Angela informed me that should the stars be in my favor, I would be granted a full H1B visa sponsorship for an October 2005 start date. This last line did it for me.
Once again, the dam broke loose. A torrent of thoughts and images fought for space in my brain. Having been let loose, my mind was slowly but progressively rendering reality as I knew and lived it as nothing more than an illusion.
Goodness. My imagination was already shooting for the moon. To think that I still had to hurdle the interview.
So God help me.
21 April 2005
It was exactly two weeks before I saw Angela’s name in my mail again.
I would be interviewed on 27 April for a possible assignment in San Francisco, San Jose or Los Angeles. With the email came the perfunctory employment application that I need to fill up and bring to the interview.
Angela informed me that should the stars be in my favor, I would be granted a full H1B visa sponsorship for an October 2005 start date. This last line did it for me.
Once again, the dam broke loose. A torrent of thoughts and images fought for space in my brain. Having been let loose, my mind was slowly but progressively rendering reality as I knew and lived it as nothing more than an illusion.
Goodness. My imagination was already shooting for the moon. To think that I still had to hurdle the interview.
So God help me.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
It's in the stars...and stripes I - The accident that was most welcome
I have always believed that all things depended upon Fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. -George Gordon Byron
7 April 2005
I was rushing out of our office building to eat a late lunch when I literally bumped into Jean. I didn’t recognize him from afar.*
He not so much as yanked my right arm, led me into a corner and showed me a letter he received from PwC-US stating that they’d be scheduling an interview with him when they come over to visit Singapore from 27 – 29 April to scour for foreign talents (read: OCWs!!!).
Hmmm, I didn’t know that. Nobody told me they were actually coming over. In any case, working in the USA didn’t quite figure in the equation of my dream-in-progress, if there ever was one. :)
After showing me what could be his ticket to greener pastures, he made me promise not to squeal on this happy development. Not just yet, anyway. Sure.
While he was into it, he said I should also give it a shot and send my CV to Angela, his contact in PwC-US. Sure.
I almost forgot about that meeting with Jean had I not ran into his name in my Inbox as I was searching for my client’s email. I don’t know what came over me then but I just found myself stopping midway from what I was doing. I hurriedly opened my CV and updated it. I neither cared to glance at the revisions nor did I think up a neat cover letter. In thirty minutes flat, my CV was on its way to poor, unsuspecting Angela. A few minutes after clicking on the Send button, I realized I only remembered Angela’s email address from memory, I mean, I just saw it from the email Jean showed me.
That was 6 April.
The following day, I received an email from her telling me that she was scheduling me for an interview sometime between 27 - 29Apr!
It was kinda fast. I was kinda thrilled! Honestly, I had doubts on my chances at the outset. I thought I was too late. Apparently, I made it just in time.
I debated with my neurotic self on whether I should tell a handful of friends about the very promising event. I mean, what if, after all the excitement, I didn’t make the cut?
In the end I did tell them as I knew they’d always be there whatever the outcome of the upcoming interview might be.
* How could I? Burdened as I am with nearsightedness, I still stubbornly refuse to wear a pair of eyeglasses or contact lenses.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
PG chronicles III - Seizing the day
Carpe diem is an obscure Latin phrase I always associate with Dead Poets Society. I think it means living life to the fullest and getting the most out of each day.
Well, in true seize-the-day fashion, our second day at PG was marked by loads of activities and unexpected encounters which I could choose to view in two opposing perspectives - one of bragging rights (yeah, yeah) or one of dreadful panic.
7am
We barely managed to get up for the snorkeling adventure over at San Antonio beach. But once there, our normally lethargis selves got all worked up as we viewed the amzzing view from under water. Johnne and I even spotted a school of fish, their graceful and uniform movement taking our breath away. How could they do that, move in unison? It boggles the mind. Like a flock of seagulls...jonathan livingston seagull...i am digressing.
I found out that my new friend Anthony conducts diving lessons. Wonderful! Now I know who to contact in case the 'itch' to dive becomes unbearable. :P
2pm
Having been sufficiently toasted by the sun, we called it a day by 12 noon, freshened up and headed to Traveller's Delight for some major pig out session. I do not know if it was because we were soo hungry or the food just really tasted great. Hunger tends to distort your judgment, you know.
4pm
Totally let down upon knowing that there was no money changer in the *^%$# place, we contemplated on our bleak future. Our saviour cum saints of perpetual help were anthony and phoebe. Bless them. Our mood literally turned from dark to grey...errr...bright, bright...whatever. We were ecstatic. Or was it just me?
6pm
We assembled at the beach to do Banana boatride. Was it fun! We must have given Manong a minor case of heart attack as we vigorously shook the boat until it capsized. It was pitch dark, maybe well past 7pm, dear bloggie. Poor Manong. You could really see him struggling as he took stock of the juvenile delinquents that were his passengers. Fun! :-P
10pm
Of course, we were eternally hungry. So we ate at Nikita Dining (I think). Then, it was time. No trip to Galera was complete without the notoriuos Minodro Sling. So it was basically Gina and I who were downing the pitcher. Anthony added bottles of cheap vodka in the mix. As the night wore on, only Gina and I remained standing. It was also good as we were in too deep with girl talk.
2am
Then, a couple of Super Dry landed on our tables which, according to the gay waiter (waitress?) was courtesy of two foreigners sitting somewhere within our field of vision. Goodness, did we look like some sweet painted ladies???? Before we could protest further, who would took a seat but one of them white men. Gina immediately called JM to rescue us. Understand that we still managed to keep our cool surface under the circumstances.
230am
JM took us to his former groupmates in JCC over at the other side of the beach. By this time, I was a little light-headed but definitely sane. JM introduced us to the guys and girls. There was one tall guy, though, who kept talking to me and even managed to get my number. I thought that was the end of it. Anyway, I was getting bored, sleepy and woozy so I pleaded for coffee.
330am
After a round of black coffee, JM accompanied us to our cottage for the much needed shuteye. I heard my phone beep. It was the tall guy we met at the beach. What was he saying???? For all I know he must have been cross-eyed and sufficiently soused way before he met us for him to be saying these...whatever. I needed to sleep.
Saturday, April 30, 2005
PG chronicles II - The 9:40 am/pm brouhaha
I told them my flight was on 30 April at 9:40am. They thought 9:40am was the plane’s touchdown at NAIA.
The moment I turned my phone on, I got a call from Gina. It turned out they - Johnee, Jannette and Gina - endured additional three hours waiting for me. I was so unaware of their ordeal.
What a total blunder!
After hurriedly packing our things in Johnne’s home, we boarded a cab that would take us to the bus terminal in Buendia. By 5:00pm, Johnee, JM, Jannette, Gina and I were neatly tucked in our seats as the bus began its bumpy ride going to Batangas port.
It was roughly 8:00pm when we reached the port. Thankfully, there was one last boat going to Puerto Galera. The five of us, plus the other five guys the boatmen fished from somewhere, were herded to a jeep that would take us to the dock where the our precious boat was anchored.
It was pitch dark but we were determined to reach White Beach so we were not deterred. I found out from JM that it was illegal for small boats to go out to sea at night. Thus, the absence of a single light on the boat! It felt real creepy but I was not the least bit jittery. I was, in fact, so happy. I dunno if I shared this strange excitement with anyone from my group. My urbane, proper and genteel friends were deafeningly quiet. Could they be praying for our safety?
Oddly enough, we felt that the boat was ‘moonwalking’, like, we were not moving. The lighthouse remained a dot in the horizon. I shut my eyes and silently uttered a prayer. A real adventure, this trip was turning out to be.
What should take an hour from Batangas port to White Beach took our boat close to two hours to navigate. I wondered if the boat did moonwalk…
We arrived at White Beach at 9:40pm, famished but quite relieved that the trip was over.
It was good that Gina booked a nice place for us. We dumped our bags, freshened up a bit, locked the door and went out to score some nice food. Get a little drunk, probably???
This night, we would find out, saw the biggest turnout of people yet. Good!
We managed to find our little space, settled down on the sand and immediately ordered - what else! - Mindoro sling. We just watched as the merry melee of younger and more daring crowd showed their moves on the dance floor..err..sand. Some gal even sent the entire male population whooping as she literally showed her wares.
With that, we called it a night. We had to. It was already 3am!!!
p.s.
what i went through just to make my wish come true:
plane from Singapore to NAIA – car from NAIA to Johnne’s home – cab from Johnne’s home to Buendia bus terminal going to Batangas port – bus from Buendia to Batangas port – jeep from the port to the dock – boat from the dock to White Beach!
if there's a 'wheel', there's a way. :)
The moment I turned my phone on, I got a call from Gina. It turned out they - Johnee, Jannette and Gina - endured additional three hours waiting for me. I was so unaware of their ordeal.
What a total blunder!
After hurriedly packing our things in Johnne’s home, we boarded a cab that would take us to the bus terminal in Buendia. By 5:00pm, Johnee, JM, Jannette, Gina and I were neatly tucked in our seats as the bus began its bumpy ride going to Batangas port.
It was roughly 8:00pm when we reached the port. Thankfully, there was one last boat going to Puerto Galera. The five of us, plus the other five guys the boatmen fished from somewhere, were herded to a jeep that would take us to the dock where the our precious boat was anchored.
It was pitch dark but we were determined to reach White Beach so we were not deterred. I found out from JM that it was illegal for small boats to go out to sea at night. Thus, the absence of a single light on the boat! It felt real creepy but I was not the least bit jittery. I was, in fact, so happy. I dunno if I shared this strange excitement with anyone from my group. My urbane, proper and genteel friends were deafeningly quiet. Could they be praying for our safety?
Oddly enough, we felt that the boat was ‘moonwalking’, like, we were not moving. The lighthouse remained a dot in the horizon. I shut my eyes and silently uttered a prayer. A real adventure, this trip was turning out to be.
What should take an hour from Batangas port to White Beach took our boat close to two hours to navigate. I wondered if the boat did moonwalk…
We arrived at White Beach at 9:40pm, famished but quite relieved that the trip was over.
It was good that Gina booked a nice place for us. We dumped our bags, freshened up a bit, locked the door and went out to score some nice food. Get a little drunk, probably???
This night, we would find out, saw the biggest turnout of people yet. Good!
We managed to find our little space, settled down on the sand and immediately ordered - what else! - Mindoro sling. We just watched as the merry melee of younger and more daring crowd showed their moves on the dance floor..err..sand. Some gal even sent the entire male population whooping as she literally showed her wares.
With that, we called it a night. We had to. It was already 3am!!!
p.s.
what i went through just to make my wish come true:
plane from Singapore to NAIA – car from NAIA to Johnne’s home – cab from Johnne’s home to Buendia bus terminal going to Batangas port – bus from Buendia to Batangas port – jeep from the port to the dock – boat from the dock to White Beach!
if there's a 'wheel', there's a way. :)
Friday, April 29, 2005
PG chronicles I - thank God for friends!
But friendship is precious, not only in the shade, but in the sunshine of life; and thanks to a benevolent arrangement of things, the greater part of life is sunshine. Thomas Jefferson
By all accounts, it seemed like The Great Escape to Pagudpud was a resounding Go! Everyone was excited. Except me. I was ecstatic! I was timing my short visit to coincide with this much-anticipated event.
But, as fickle as a fashionista’s fashion sense, everyone suddenly had other prior commitments as the days to the Great Escape drew near.
Just like that.
Did they not know that going to the beach meant the world to me at this time? I was so desperate to break away from the pressure of work.
But I know there was no use forcing my case on them.
Like a selfish, inconsolable crybaby, I whined my cares away on Gina and Jannette.
Ever ready, Gina said we could squeeze ourselves with her friends who were off to Puerto Galera on those days. She would take care of the accommodation.
Jannette called long distance and committed Johnne and herself to go with us. She insisted on fetching me from the airport so we need not bother my parents. She offered her apartment.
I was utterly shameless and I knew it. But of course, characteristically they would hear nothing of it. For them, it was all part of friendship.
To be loved by friends like that! :)
I knew things were really looking up from here.
out of the (match)box
i have been a fan of matchboxtwenty for the longest time.
i have all of their albums - yourself or someone like you, mad season and more than you think you are.
i can say with certainty that i like all of their songs, no exceptions. they tell stories of love, loss and of life and how to live it. i can go on and wax poetic about how i like the lyrics and everything but i know i risk sounding tacky and second-rate.
i like rob thomas and his voice. angsty is how i would describe it. for some reason, and like maroon5's adam levine, listening to him sing is enough to jumpstart my typically humdrum day. and it doesn't hurt that he was once considered one of the fifty most beautiful people walking on the planet. not bad. he rocks. period.
my question is why did rob thomas think out of the (match)box and leave his bandmates? if not for yahoo, i would not have known that he is striking it out on his own via his something to be album.
of course i have the cd. i am currently listening to the 8th track and it is kinda hard not to think of the pop-rock band for which he has been the lead singer and songwriter since 1998. ever the same and when the heartaches end sound sooo matchboxtwenty. i cannot feel much less hear the difference. i thought lonely no more, although a catchy tune, was a tad too pop and mainstream. well, these are just my thoughts, so...
so why did rob rob matchbox twenty of its heart and soul? i wonder if there is really no turning back for him. that would be sad.
i have all of their albums - yourself or someone like you, mad season and more than you think you are.
i can say with certainty that i like all of their songs, no exceptions. they tell stories of love, loss and of life and how to live it. i can go on and wax poetic about how i like the lyrics and everything but i know i risk sounding tacky and second-rate.
i like rob thomas and his voice. angsty is how i would describe it. for some reason, and like maroon5's adam levine, listening to him sing is enough to jumpstart my typically humdrum day. and it doesn't hurt that he was once considered one of the fifty most beautiful people walking on the planet. not bad. he rocks. period.
my question is why did rob thomas think out of the (match)box and leave his bandmates? if not for yahoo, i would not have known that he is striking it out on his own via his something to be album.
of course i have the cd. i am currently listening to the 8th track and it is kinda hard not to think of the pop-rock band for which he has been the lead singer and songwriter since 1998. ever the same and when the heartaches end sound sooo matchboxtwenty. i cannot feel much less hear the difference. i thought lonely no more, although a catchy tune, was a tad too pop and mainstream. well, these are just my thoughts, so...
so why did rob rob matchbox twenty of its heart and soul? i wonder if there is really no turning back for him. that would be sad.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
grey area
************************************************************************************
i knew it was coming.
i should get going by this time and make myself 'useful' but i don't want to. not yet.
this conversation with two dear friends, initially about something so simple as deciding what to do with my time during my short visit, has veered into the 'touchy' topic once again.
as usual, when it concerns the status of my lovelife (ugh!), we usually end up talking and debating about these two guys. but technically, if there ever are technicalities involved in the ever-confusing art of relationship, the other guy should be out of the equation because i do not see the two of us ever swerving from the friendship track. but as usual, and because i am outnumbered, according to them, what this guy and i have is enough reason to qualify for some discussion and dissection.
sometimes i just want to cut myself off from all form of communication and pretend i totally don't know these guys from adam. but it just takes one text, email or ym message and i am reminded once again of their existence. other times, i think i am overthinking, that there is really nothing there. nada. i try to play it cool but i know both my dear friends know that i am not ever going to get used to this 'art'. ever.
in truth, i am getting tired of being in this running-around-without-getting-anywhere state. maybe part of it is self-inflicted. maybe, maybe not.
gosh, i better stop.
in the end, as long as friends like them are there, i'll be fine. everything else be damned.
************************************************************************************************
i guess a lot of things are bound to happen when i go home for a short visit.
in the meantime, i better go.
************************************************************************************************
p.s.
let it be known to me (for future reference, hahaha) that i had second thoughts about posting this blog. but whadda heck.
so gina, if ever you are gonna comment on this one, don't do it here, please? email me instead. :)))
i knew it was coming.
i should get going by this time and make myself 'useful' but i don't want to. not yet.
this conversation with two dear friends, initially about something so simple as deciding what to do with my time during my short visit, has veered into the 'touchy' topic once again.
as usual, when it concerns the status of my lovelife (ugh!), we usually end up talking and debating about these two guys. but technically, if there ever are technicalities involved in the ever-confusing art of relationship, the other guy should be out of the equation because i do not see the two of us ever swerving from the friendship track. but as usual, and because i am outnumbered, according to them, what this guy and i have is enough reason to qualify for some discussion and dissection.
sometimes i just want to cut myself off from all form of communication and pretend i totally don't know these guys from adam. but it just takes one text, email or ym message and i am reminded once again of their existence. other times, i think i am overthinking, that there is really nothing there. nada. i try to play it cool but i know both my dear friends know that i am not ever going to get used to this 'art'. ever.
in truth, i am getting tired of being in this running-around-without-getting-anywhere state. maybe part of it is self-inflicted. maybe, maybe not.
gosh, i better stop.
in the end, as long as friends like them are there, i'll be fine. everything else be damned.
************************************************************************************************
i guess a lot of things are bound to happen when i go home for a short visit.
in the meantime, i better go.
************************************************************************************************
p.s.
let it be known to me (for future reference, hahaha) that i had second thoughts about posting this blog. but whadda heck.
so gina, if ever you are gonna comment on this one, don't do it here, please? email me instead. :)))
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
di elibs sa eLeave :))
Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes,
and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit.
A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief
that all's right with the world.
The thing with our very own eLeave is that it is self-approving, meaning, you apply and approve your own leave. The HRD absolutely believes it's a very smart idea and that we should be grateful since it's like saying that the powers-that-be are letting you take charge of your time, however way you want to spend it.
Of course the first time I heard it, and probably owing to my (almost) chronic distrust to accept things at face value, I didn't believe it for a second. There has got to be a catch-22 somewhere...
I found out when I applied for leave last year.
As it turned out, my immediate superior/s, Admin Manager and Group secretary would be simultaneously notified, thru email, that I was about to ditch my job for a teeny-weeny while so could they give me this break or else... That is the catch. Another 'trick' of the trade.
From where I stand, our seemingly 'smart' eLeave is nothing more than an electronic version of the old, used-to-be-manual form that snakes its way up the the 'proper' channels before finally being determined that, yes, I deserve a temporary break from permanent servitude.
Okay, I've had my fill of daily ranting.
Hmm...why did I end up raging against the machine, ooops!, establishment when I was going for a happy post because I have just applied for and approved (they should go together!!!) a one-week leave once again? I should be happy.
I am happy! :)
can't wait to buy my plane ticket.
of course, sunscreen, beachwear, dresses for my nieces.
something for my parents.
etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.
hmm..my parents. i will be returning to Singapore with them! :)))
and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit.
A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief
that all's right with the world.
The thing with our very own eLeave is that it is self-approving, meaning, you apply and approve your own leave. The HRD absolutely believes it's a very smart idea and that we should be grateful since it's like saying that the powers-that-be are letting you take charge of your time, however way you want to spend it.
Of course the first time I heard it, and probably owing to my (almost) chronic distrust to accept things at face value, I didn't believe it for a second. There has got to be a catch-22 somewhere...
I found out when I applied for leave last year.
As it turned out, my immediate superior/s, Admin Manager and Group secretary would be simultaneously notified, thru email, that I was about to ditch my job for a teeny-weeny while so could they give me this break or else... That is the catch. Another 'trick' of the trade.
From where I stand, our seemingly 'smart' eLeave is nothing more than an electronic version of the old, used-to-be-manual form that snakes its way up the the 'proper' channels before finally being determined that, yes, I deserve a temporary break from permanent servitude.
Okay, I've had my fill of daily ranting.
Hmm...why did I end up raging against the machine, ooops!, establishment when I was going for a happy post because I have just applied for and approved (they should go together!!!) a one-week leave once again? I should be happy.
I am happy! :)
can't wait to buy my plane ticket.
of course, sunscreen, beachwear, dresses for my nieces.
something for my parents.
etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc.
hmm..my parents. i will be returning to Singapore with them! :)))
Monday, April 18, 2005
hopelessly lost in translation
first off, let me just say that i am, and will never, pretend to be an authority in grammar, phraseology, diction, etc. because i am not. it's just that sometimes, you get completely stumped by the way some people put into writing what they perceive are unmistakably coherent thoughts.
i have been staring at this email for the longest time but i still cannot decipher what it means. i am close to giving up. for chrissakes, i am not a cryptologist.
******************************************************************************
______________________________________
From: Staff (SG/AG3)
Sent: 18/04/2005 8:06 AM
To: Me (SG/AG3)
Subject: ISI and IAH
Hi ******(my name here),
This is the latest version by add in the Kamille's apologies on found the share certificate.
******************************************************************************
i think this one beats everything in terms of twisting my brain senseless trying to decode the words. no kidding, she wants me to decode the words!!!
for the record, i think i have let pass variations of this 'murder' (forgive me, bloggie, but i am really kinda floored by this entry). most times, i find humor in it, sometimes i think it's cute.
but this one???
does it ever have to come to this? do i actually have to 'crack the code' for scraps of meaning embedded somewhere in these pile of words?
sometimes i wish i were one of dan brown's incomparably clever characters.
help!
Thursday, April 14, 2005
back on the friendship track
Friendship consists in forgetting what one gives, and remembering what one receives.
Back in high school, I knew that she was one person who was for keeps.
It came automatically. This 'for keeps' thing is so juvenile and as tacky as the entries in the ubiquitous high school slumbook go, but hey, I meant it.
I thought she made a lot of sense. I thought she understood me more than anyone else. It was just a pity we got to know each other in our senior year. Nonetheless, when it was time to say goodbye, we promised to keep in touch, no matter what.
Then again, growing up meant growing apart.
I forgot about high school and got too busy trying to grow up. Too busy, I guess, that we lost touch.
But I guess I could not escape high school even if I wanted to. There were the weddings, christening, house blessings and all sorts of milestones in the lives of people who once graced the pages of my own slumbook to keep me reminded. Yeah, I used to have one, so? :)
Anyway, these events always triggered memories of yesteryears and made me wonder whatever happened to those few precious friends I had then...whatever happened to Etta?
God bless whoever created yahoogroups. Someone from high school managed to track me down, asked for my email addy and the rest was history. All too suddenly, we became current...well, except for the faces I associate the names with. I wondered aloud how they looked now and what they made of their own good lives. It turned out everyone was on the same line of thought.
So we met up. And there was Etta! :) Needless to say, we chatted endlessly. When it was time to go, we promised never to lose touch. This time, the pledge was for keeps. Why, we are grown-ups and grown-ups have supposedly outgrown their erratic ways by now, keeping promises included. :))
Now, I am chatting away with her.
It feels so good talking to her because I can tell her everything. And I mean everything. I can write kilometric lines and she gets it. No matter is too trivial or unimportant to her. And each time, her riposte is so funny I sometimes forget my oh-so-important issues.
She is the reason why I write this blog, to thank her for just being there.
I never imagined just being there could mean so much.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
amazing!
I just realize that I am talking, no, exchanging emails, with friends from different corners of the world. Right about now.
I particularly envy Lotta, a dear friend from high school. She has been in Switzerland since December doing SAP work. Of course, we do not discuss work (duh). We have totally nothing in common in that respect, anyway. Now, why do I envy her? It's the more-than-picture-perfect pictures and the totally exciting places she has been to eversince she was assigned there. Side by side, Singapore and Switzerland has totally nothing in common other than having S as initials.
Then there's this guy-friend who is on secondment in the U.K. He is from JCC. We just basically talk about nothing and anything. Anyway, he was able to convince me to try my luck there as the rest of Friday Club peeps are also interested in migrating there, with Supremo leading the pack. Let's see. I now realize I am not too sure if I want to relocate there. It's so far from home.
Still, there's Jenray, also from JCC. She is in Dubai. She seems to be enjoying herself immensely. She sez Pinays are 'mabenta' over there. Hahaha.
Awhile ago, I was chatting with Nette, another very good friend from JCC. Recently married and happily settled somewhere in the US of A, she has this way of always, always segueing into my lovelife or the lack of it. Hmmm...I might do a recording one day just so I would not repeat my standard reply over and over again until further notice, thank you. :)) (Not that there is totally no lovelife to speak of....I better shut up regarding this one...)
Amazing. ;->
I particularly envy Lotta, a dear friend from high school. She has been in Switzerland since December doing SAP work. Of course, we do not discuss work (duh). We have totally nothing in common in that respect, anyway. Now, why do I envy her? It's the more-than-picture-perfect pictures and the totally exciting places she has been to eversince she was assigned there. Side by side, Singapore and Switzerland has totally nothing in common other than having S as initials.
Then there's this guy-friend who is on secondment in the U.K. He is from JCC. We just basically talk about nothing and anything. Anyway, he was able to convince me to try my luck there as the rest of Friday Club peeps are also interested in migrating there, with Supremo leading the pack. Let's see. I now realize I am not too sure if I want to relocate there. It's so far from home.
Still, there's Jenray, also from JCC. She is in Dubai. She seems to be enjoying herself immensely. She sez Pinays are 'mabenta' over there. Hahaha.
Awhile ago, I was chatting with Nette, another very good friend from JCC. Recently married and happily settled somewhere in the US of A, she has this way of always, always segueing into my lovelife or the lack of it. Hmmm...I might do a recording one day just so I would not repeat my standard reply over and over again until further notice, thank you. :)) (Not that there is totally no lovelife to speak of....I better shut up regarding this one...)
Amazing. ;->
Sunday, April 03, 2005
One...Two...Three...Action!
Yup, take two
I looked back at what I posted on THE day. It was kinda sad and I hated it. I don’t want to remember my first birthday in Merlion country that way. No way, highway.
I was just so out of whack at that time because of some viral infection my doctor over here couldn’t quite identify. I couldn’t believe my ears when she intimated that I might have contracted dengue fever (!!!!!!) in KL. I would have objected and ruled that the rain did it on me, as I have proven countless times but she just kept rambling on and on I chose to shut my mouth. But dengue????? So utterly terrifying, don’t you think? But that’s another story.
I was in fact happy. A lot of my dear friends buzzed in, sent their kisses and said they missed me. Good. :) And those few dear friends who seemed to have forgotten? I made sure they remember. :))
The food? It was nothing fancy. I got myself the requisite cake and ice cream. And pasta in pesto sauce. The first two items were courtesy of a couple of newfound friends who somehow got wind of the fact that it was my birthday. (Until now, I haven’t told my friends here about my birthday. I’m quite shy. Yeah, right.) The third one was on me. Of course! :) If I told you these are a few of my favorite things, then they would have been enough to keep me grinning from ear to ear, my lousy state notwithstanding.
After four days
No dengue or anything remotely resembling the scary diagnosis (?) of my doctor, thank God.
I remember I promised Raya, a cousin who is in town to visit her hubby, that we’d go out on my birthday provided I wasn’t busy and she’d bring Twichie with her. Also, I want to check out how Jonah, a friend’s younger sister, is getting by with her new job here. Another thing, my brother-in-law has just arrived from a long vacation.
And yes, the icing on my cake was delivered one fine Friday morning, 31 March, in the form of an announcement by our partners that an ex-gratia equivalent to our full month’s salary would be credited to our account on a glorious Saturday, 1 April. The fact that they had no prior ‘warning’ of the news that it totally blew me away. Happiness. :))
Considering the godsend windfall, I am ready to burn a few hard-earned dollars to treat them. Hah! They can name the place for all I care. :))
Thank goodness Raya and Jonah have no idea yet where to go that they just pointed to the restaurant beside our meeting place. Mid-range, so totally within my means. :)
We dine at Crystal Jade Restaurant and stuffed ourselves silly. The pictures prove it.
Considering the absence of sickness and the more-than-pleasantly-surprising bonus, I am truly thankful.
I looked back at what I posted on THE day. It was kinda sad and I hated it. I don’t want to remember my first birthday in Merlion country that way. No way, highway.
I was just so out of whack at that time because of some viral infection my doctor over here couldn’t quite identify. I couldn’t believe my ears when she intimated that I might have contracted dengue fever (!!!!!!) in KL. I would have objected and ruled that the rain did it on me, as I have proven countless times but she just kept rambling on and on I chose to shut my mouth. But dengue????? So utterly terrifying, don’t you think? But that’s another story.
I was in fact happy. A lot of my dear friends buzzed in, sent their kisses and said they missed me. Good. :) And those few dear friends who seemed to have forgotten? I made sure they remember. :))
The food? It was nothing fancy. I got myself the requisite cake and ice cream. And pasta in pesto sauce. The first two items were courtesy of a couple of newfound friends who somehow got wind of the fact that it was my birthday. (Until now, I haven’t told my friends here about my birthday. I’m quite shy. Yeah, right.) The third one was on me. Of course! :) If I told you these are a few of my favorite things, then they would have been enough to keep me grinning from ear to ear, my lousy state notwithstanding.
After four days
No dengue or anything remotely resembling the scary diagnosis (?) of my doctor, thank God.
I remember I promised Raya, a cousin who is in town to visit her hubby, that we’d go out on my birthday provided I wasn’t busy and she’d bring Twichie with her. Also, I want to check out how Jonah, a friend’s younger sister, is getting by with her new job here. Another thing, my brother-in-law has just arrived from a long vacation.
And yes, the icing on my cake was delivered one fine Friday morning, 31 March, in the form of an announcement by our partners that an ex-gratia equivalent to our full month’s salary would be credited to our account on a glorious Saturday, 1 April. The fact that they had no prior ‘warning’ of the news that it totally blew me away. Happiness. :))
Considering the godsend windfall, I am ready to burn a few hard-earned dollars to treat them. Hah! They can name the place for all I care. :))
Thank goodness Raya and Jonah have no idea yet where to go that they just pointed to the restaurant beside our meeting place. Mid-range, so totally within my means. :)
We dine at Crystal Jade Restaurant and stuffed ourselves silly. The pictures prove it.
Considering the absence of sickness and the more-than-pleasantly-surprising bonus, I am truly thankful.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Chasing happy ever after
WHAT is a whirlwind romance? Can it be considered an offshoot of true love? What is its rate of success? Surely, there must have been some credible, definitive and - of course! - scholarly study about this type of relationship.
RELATIONSHIPS, of the whirldwind variety or otherwise, tend to end up either in the blind alley of Coupledom Wasteland or in the happy-ever-after Wonderland anyway, so...
SO. I am not a Carrie Bradshaw wannabe who, by the way, is my favorite character. Bless her sense of style. I am digressing...
I am serious about my question, though. And the adjectives? Sure.
MY dear cousin, Mia, just got married yesterday to a guy she barely knows. Think one week. Think Imelda Papin!
WHAT happened in that one short week? Holy Week at that. This question I asked Big Sister, Small Sister and Ria, Mia's younger sister. I got different answers. Not surprising, really, considering the turn of events that unfolded at lightning speed.
BIG Sister: This guy, Marcel, just came back from the US to observe the Holy Week. He met and befriended Mia. Poor guy. Mia made him join her and the rest of the horde of worshippers walk every single street of town on Good Friday. By the time the procession ended, I think Mia had also ended her novena and the poor guy, sweating profusely even after guzzling four mineral water bottles, proposed and, that's it, they were engaged...Tita's (Mia's nanay) reaction? She would not get in the way of what the new couple wanted...Don't ask further...Until now, Tatay is asking me if this is all true. We're already heading to the Mayor's office, Bianchi is all dolled up in her yellow princess dress and he's still asking if all this is true? Here, talk to him. Don't forget your medicines.
SMALL Sister: Mia put one over us. We're older than her, remember??? How could she do this?...Yes, to the story. Well, this Marcel has a twin brother (TB)...Why call him TB?...OK. Anyway, these twins are the sons of Imee, Tita's best friend from way back. TB, we found out, is in fact Mia's email buddy of sort...Why the mix-up? I dunno. Strange things happen, perhaps?...Don't ask. No one seems to be asking. And everyone seems happy, see?...Yeah, wish you were here...I haven't met him so I can't tell you what he looks like. Hey, talk to you later, ok? I gotta find Eggmeg. Bye. Mwah.
RIA: Mia and I were being paired with these guys way before. Imee said she wanted either of us to marry either one of her sons...Yes, just like that. I said I already have a boyfriend. So she turned to Mia...Yes, one week...Mia sez he's nice and kind...Uhm, I also dunno how it started but yesterday they went to the US Embassy to declare Mia as Marcel's fiancee...I dunno how they managed to do all that, including arranging for this civil wedding at a very short notice. But his family has lots of connections, so...I dunno how they're gonna do it. Mia is having her period right now. Hahaha...Imee wanted Mama (Tita) to go to the US also. It's kinda weird. She also said that if it should happen that Mia didn't like Marcel anymore, she could end the marriage, no problem. She could even live in the house in the US if she still wanted to...I dunno. OK, have to go. I think Mama is looking for me. Take care, ok?
AFTER talking to them, the thoughts swirling in my head while absorbing the fantastic event seem to dissipate. I now find myself with so much less to say. In fact, they are reduced to two words:
LIFE happens.
WAIT... I am fighting the urge to say a lot more things, more out of concern for Mia than anything, but my mind is telling me to just take the situation as it is.
IN love, no one can harm anyone else. We are each of us responsible for our own feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we feel and for what we have become because of that.
So, amidst the madness, comedy, misplaced feelings and even deceptive motives, I wish Mia and Marcel a life of
blissful togetherness.
Cheers!
p.s.
the following lines are a fitting end to this episode.
profound desire, true desire is the desire to be close to someone. from that point on, things change, the man and the woman come into play, but what happens before - the attraction that brought them together - is impossible to explain.
when desire is still in its purest state, the man and the woman fall in love with life, they live each moment reverently, consciously, always ready to celebrate the next blessing.
when people feel like this, they are not in a hurry, they do not precipitate events with unthinking actions. they know that the inevitable will happen, that what is real always finds a way of revealing itself. when the moment comes, they do not hesitate, they do not miss an opportunity, they do not let slip a single magic moment, because they respect the importance of each second.
*sigh* *sigh* *sigh*
RELATIONSHIPS, of the whirldwind variety or otherwise, tend to end up either in the blind alley of Coupledom Wasteland or in the happy-ever-after Wonderland anyway, so...
SO. I am not a Carrie Bradshaw wannabe who, by the way, is my favorite character. Bless her sense of style. I am digressing...
I am serious about my question, though. And the adjectives? Sure.
MY dear cousin, Mia, just got married yesterday to a guy she barely knows. Think one week. Think Imelda Papin!
WHAT happened in that one short week? Holy Week at that. This question I asked Big Sister, Small Sister and Ria, Mia's younger sister. I got different answers. Not surprising, really, considering the turn of events that unfolded at lightning speed.
BIG Sister: This guy, Marcel, just came back from the US to observe the Holy Week. He met and befriended Mia. Poor guy. Mia made him join her and the rest of the horde of worshippers walk every single street of town on Good Friday. By the time the procession ended, I think Mia had also ended her novena and the poor guy, sweating profusely even after guzzling four mineral water bottles, proposed and, that's it, they were engaged...Tita's (Mia's nanay) reaction? She would not get in the way of what the new couple wanted...Don't ask further...Until now, Tatay is asking me if this is all true. We're already heading to the Mayor's office, Bianchi is all dolled up in her yellow princess dress and he's still asking if all this is true? Here, talk to him. Don't forget your medicines.
SMALL Sister: Mia put one over us. We're older than her, remember??? How could she do this?...Yes, to the story. Well, this Marcel has a twin brother (TB)...Why call him TB?...OK. Anyway, these twins are the sons of Imee, Tita's best friend from way back. TB, we found out, is in fact Mia's email buddy of sort...Why the mix-up? I dunno. Strange things happen, perhaps?...Don't ask. No one seems to be asking. And everyone seems happy, see?...Yeah, wish you were here...I haven't met him so I can't tell you what he looks like. Hey, talk to you later, ok? I gotta find Eggmeg. Bye. Mwah.
RIA: Mia and I were being paired with these guys way before. Imee said she wanted either of us to marry either one of her sons...Yes, just like that. I said I already have a boyfriend. So she turned to Mia...Yes, one week...Mia sez he's nice and kind...Uhm, I also dunno how it started but yesterday they went to the US Embassy to declare Mia as Marcel's fiancee...I dunno how they managed to do all that, including arranging for this civil wedding at a very short notice. But his family has lots of connections, so...I dunno how they're gonna do it. Mia is having her period right now. Hahaha...Imee wanted Mama (Tita) to go to the US also. It's kinda weird. She also said that if it should happen that Mia didn't like Marcel anymore, she could end the marriage, no problem. She could even live in the house in the US if she still wanted to...I dunno. OK, have to go. I think Mama is looking for me. Take care, ok?
AFTER talking to them, the thoughts swirling in my head while absorbing the fantastic event seem to dissipate. I now find myself with so much less to say. In fact, they are reduced to two words:
LIFE happens.
WAIT... I am fighting the urge to say a lot more things, more out of concern for Mia than anything, but my mind is telling me to just take the situation as it is.
IN love, no one can harm anyone else. We are each of us responsible for our own feelings and cannot blame someone else for what we feel and for what we have become because of that.
So, amidst the madness, comedy, misplaced feelings and even deceptive motives, I wish Mia and Marcel a life of
blissful togetherness.
Cheers!
p.s.
the following lines are a fitting end to this episode.
profound desire, true desire is the desire to be close to someone. from that point on, things change, the man and the woman come into play, but what happens before - the attraction that brought them together - is impossible to explain.
when desire is still in its purest state, the man and the woman fall in love with life, they live each moment reverently, consciously, always ready to celebrate the next blessing.
when people feel like this, they are not in a hurry, they do not precipitate events with unthinking actions. they know that the inevitable will happen, that what is real always finds a way of revealing itself. when the moment comes, they do not hesitate, they do not miss an opportunity, they do not let slip a single magic moment, because they respect the importance of each second.
*sigh* *sigh* *sigh*
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Pops is not telling a lie
When the solution is simple, God is answering. --Albert Einstein
Just when I thought I would not see the light of day...
HE is in charge. Why do I need to be always reminded?
I thought I needed more than luck, blood, sweat and tears to carry me through this extraordinarily hectic week (for the record: feb 28 - mar 4. there.).
I got all the deadlines down pat (you should see my diary). I had scheduled the client calls I needed to make. Of course if I called them, you could bet your last cent that they would volley questions back to my homecourt so I likewise made allowances for that. Check. Then I had to play big sister to my overly proactive underlings who ask questions ranging from the splendidly smart to the terrribly duh.
Oh. My. Gosh. How, how, how could I breathe? Even if I gave up a couple of hours of shuteye everyday (from this day forward so heaven help me), I knew I needed something that resembled a miracle to finish ALL of these *#*"* stuff in time.
On top of these, I was particularly bothered by two items:
(1) Some client said that the reporting package attached to the main report we sent to our counterpart in Zurich was - horrors!!!! – not the updated version. What???? What would I tell the partner then? How could I convince him to sign another fax telling Zurich about this inexcusable blunder??? Oh dear. I couldn't breathe...
(2) Another client was following up on the draft annual report. Fair enough. Fieldwork ended first week of Feb anyway. But where do I start, pray tell? It’s a totally different ballgame here. Out-and-out DIY.
I had one manager for both (1) and (2) who left without so much as an adieu. Pfftt! Just like that. When I asked our secretaries if someone would take over her post, they said the partners said I could probabaly manage these NEW engagements. Thank you. What does NEW mean? No prior year files to copy from, no prior year financial statements patterned after my firm’s template. No prior year everything. And I am a NEWbie, did they overlook that fact?
Does Hercules have a female counterpart??? Did she become a saint? I could probably burn incense in front of her image, let the smoke rise up to the heavens to rouse her from slumber and rescue me from this fix. Quick!
I honestly thought my neck would be on the block. The idea, though, didn’t seem so morbid to me if I considered the imminent ire I would probably earn from the partners.
Deal with them I did, frightened as I was about the outcome...and the backlash, needless to say. I just prayed. Period. Didn’t know what else to do.
(1) I was afraid of checking the numbers and found the client’s accusation to be true. I only remembered checking and re-checking the figures because I was reporting directly to our partner….Well, what do you know? The reporting package we sent to Zurich was correct! My underling just mistakenly stamped the unpdated version and gave it straight to the client without my knowledge. ( I would deal with him later). I, on the other hand, downloaded the updated version, printed a copy, stamped it, attached it to the report, had it signed by our partner, and, finally, sent the signed copy to the Zurich people. Whew.
(2) I - I was basically left alone to finish this, remember??? - promised the client we’d forward the draft report first week of March. Then our secretary informed me that they just added some clients to my existing portfolio. Wow. My schedules had just gone from manageable to plainly absurd...and then there's this new client...how???? Well, what do you know? By some stroke of luck, our partner on this engagement went to China on business and would not be back ‘til 10 March. I had a way out! In short, I was able to buy some more time. That was truly a close call.
What can I say? I have proven time and time again that HE somehow always makes things right just when I thought things were so totally beyond my control and I had no way out.
I am grateful. The worrywart can breathe normally again. Well, until the next onslaught...i am so hopeless sometimes.
But I don’t care what happens tomorrow. I just survived a ****** week!!!
x's : pops? fernandez. GOD is good, all the time. sounds familiar? yes. :))
Just when I thought I would not see the light of day...
HE is in charge. Why do I need to be always reminded?
I thought I needed more than luck, blood, sweat and tears to carry me through this extraordinarily hectic week (for the record: feb 28 - mar 4. there.).
I got all the deadlines down pat (you should see my diary). I had scheduled the client calls I needed to make. Of course if I called them, you could bet your last cent that they would volley questions back to my homecourt so I likewise made allowances for that. Check. Then I had to play big sister to my overly proactive underlings who ask questions ranging from the splendidly smart to the terrribly duh.
Oh. My. Gosh. How, how, how could I breathe? Even if I gave up a couple of hours of shuteye everyday (from this day forward so heaven help me), I knew I needed something that resembled a miracle to finish ALL of these *#*"* stuff in time.
On top of these, I was particularly bothered by two items:
(1) Some client said that the reporting package attached to the main report we sent to our counterpart in Zurich was - horrors!!!! – not the updated version. What???? What would I tell the partner then? How could I convince him to sign another fax telling Zurich about this inexcusable blunder??? Oh dear. I couldn't breathe...
(2) Another client was following up on the draft annual report. Fair enough. Fieldwork ended first week of Feb anyway. But where do I start, pray tell? It’s a totally different ballgame here. Out-and-out DIY.
I had one manager for both (1) and (2) who left without so much as an adieu. Pfftt! Just like that. When I asked our secretaries if someone would take over her post, they said the partners said I could probabaly manage these NEW engagements. Thank you. What does NEW mean? No prior year files to copy from, no prior year financial statements patterned after my firm’s template. No prior year everything. And I am a NEWbie, did they overlook that fact?
Does Hercules have a female counterpart??? Did she become a saint? I could probably burn incense in front of her image, let the smoke rise up to the heavens to rouse her from slumber and rescue me from this fix. Quick!
I honestly thought my neck would be on the block. The idea, though, didn’t seem so morbid to me if I considered the imminent ire I would probably earn from the partners.
Deal with them I did, frightened as I was about the outcome...and the backlash, needless to say. I just prayed. Period. Didn’t know what else to do.
(1) I was afraid of checking the numbers and found the client’s accusation to be true. I only remembered checking and re-checking the figures because I was reporting directly to our partner….Well, what do you know? The reporting package we sent to Zurich was correct! My underling just mistakenly stamped the unpdated version and gave it straight to the client without my knowledge. ( I would deal with him later). I, on the other hand, downloaded the updated version, printed a copy, stamped it, attached it to the report, had it signed by our partner, and, finally, sent the signed copy to the Zurich people. Whew.
(2) I - I was basically left alone to finish this, remember??? - promised the client we’d forward the draft report first week of March. Then our secretary informed me that they just added some clients to my existing portfolio. Wow. My schedules had just gone from manageable to plainly absurd...and then there's this new client...how???? Well, what do you know? By some stroke of luck, our partner on this engagement went to China on business and would not be back ‘til 10 March. I had a way out! In short, I was able to buy some more time. That was truly a close call.
What can I say? I have proven time and time again that HE somehow always makes things right just when I thought things were so totally beyond my control and I had no way out.
I am grateful. The worrywart can breathe normally again. Well, until the next onslaught...i am so hopeless sometimes.
But I don’t care what happens tomorrow. I just survived a ****** week!!!
x's : pops? fernandez. GOD is good, all the time. sounds familiar? yes. :))
Thursday, February 17, 2005
kumusta na?
wow, matagal na pala akong walang bagong balita. hindi ko man lang napansin na mahigit dalawang buwan na pala akong walang...ahhhh...nasasabi. hay, ang hirap pala magsulat ng maayos na filipino (tagalog o filipino...ewan). waahhhh...
i give up.
well, i just want to say hi. yeah, just for the sake of adding another post in my archive. hahaha.
i can not think of what to say at the moment. but yes, really, i just want to say hi. it is not that nothing much has happened or is happening.
i have a confession to make:
...the truth is I FORGOT MY USERNAME AND PASSWORD.
ako talaga, oo. minsan, hindi, madalas, parang ewan.
can you blame me? i can only remember so much usernames and passwords.
i give up.
well, i just want to say hi. yeah, just for the sake of adding another post in my archive. hahaha.
i can not think of what to say at the moment. but yes, really, i just want to say hi. it is not that nothing much has happened or is happening.
i have a confession to make:
...the truth is I FORGOT MY USERNAME AND PASSWORD.
ako talaga, oo. minsan, hindi, madalas, parang ewan.
can you blame me? i can only remember so much usernames and passwords.
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