upping the ante

At some point in our life, there comes a time when you will ditch everything right and comfortable to test your mettle and see how far you can go.

It's like standing over the edge of a cliff. While you know it's not safe to take a step forward, you just can't come to terms with the idea of getting left behind. It's that thing, that drive, that itch, that will to be, to know, to go. It's more than just a craving for a different scenery. It's more than just an appetite for adventure. It’s not that juvenile, spur-of-the-moment, to-hell-with-everyone kind of whim that you can easily shrug off when daddy says "no." It's something more powerful—like an overwhelming sense of purpose—that drives us, no, compels us to seek for something else, something bigger or better, something that is far beyond what is in the here and now.

I was at the exact same threshold about three years ago. I was straddling in between retreating into my own private cocoon and throwing myself into a tornado of my own making. My inflated sense of self worth told me I am more that what I think I am so I took a giant leap with my eyes closed and traversed the road less traveled. Life was never the same since.

Like any other rites of passage, mine was never easy. I remember the birth pains, the long and winding twist and turns of fate. You know it shouldn't be that huge of a deal if the instances that followed allowed for at least a couple of minutes for careful considerations. No, they were the big-bang, leap-of-faith, win-or-lose, now-or-never, w-t-f kind that called for desperate measures.

Maybe it's because I cared too much. I'd like to believe that there was an altruistic side of me that simply refused to sit within my designated seat ridges and watch the world fuck itself up.

Or maybe because I cared too little. Maybe I just believed in myself too much. Maybe I believed too much in my grand illusion (or delusion) that I'm designed for greatness, that I'm some kind of a wunderkind destined to be the solution to the world's god-forsaken, sorry life. This may sound cheesy, but just like everyone else, I am also in eternal pursuit of meaning.

I think most of us are too, and I think, just like me, most of us are just too scared to explore and consider that option because at the back of our heads we all know that the path to greatness may not always be the one that leads to happiness--or at least the blissful, euphoric kind.

Maybe it isn't so but it seems to me that this is one of those either-or things--either you're happy or you're great, either you're important or you're comfortable, either you're stable or you're free. I don't know with everyone else (and partly I don’t care) but it seems that I always find myself in a raging tug-of-war between two opposing forces.

Every time I manage to be utterly close to something I want for me, another aspect of my life falls apart. For some reason, I can't seem to hit them both at the same time--or if I probably did at one point, I couldn't seem to keep them firmly in my little hands for more than three point fifty seven seconds.

You know this was never a problem before I took that leap. I was one hell of a lucky girl. Damn, I really was a lucky girl. Everything I wanted during any given time was given to me on a silver platter. I don’t remember asking for much, but everything I had ever wanted fell from the sky right above my head, and I was the only one who was perfectly positioned to catch it.

Of course the struggle to make it big on my own had always been there, and I'm pretty sure the effort counts, but it didn’t feel right laying claim to something you didn’t feel you worked hard for. I’m not even sure if it’s right to call it luck in the first place. Maybe I just lack ambition, the will to aim for the highest, that even a tiny bit of accomplishment seemed like a huge trophy for me. That’s probably the reason I hardly failed at anything. I'd always assess my battles, and pick the ones with better survival rates. I wouldn’t gamble. I wouldn’t throw things to chance.

I didn’t think of ever trying to change the world then. I didn't even want a career. What I wanted was a happy family of my own like the one I grew up in, a hardworking husband who loves me more than I love him, and 3 kids to spoil on weekends in the country club. I thought, if I could change the world, what would I do? If I had the power to change the world without tampering on freewill, I don’t think there's much I could do anyway. Say, I want to eradicate poverty from the face of the earth. I bet my life that if I gave all the poor people in the world $1,000,000 each today, suppose I could afford it, I swear they’d be lining up for food stubs again after 3 weeks. Scums of the earth, no matter how much they have in their pockets, will always be scums of the earth. What a waste of omnipotence.

Sarcasm aside, what I’m trying to say is, I think the world is the way it is because people choose it to be this way. And I think God, with all his power and might, didn’t make us perfect human beings with a clear set of direction to which we must go so we can make that decision for ourselves. We chose who we are, and we can choose where we want to go.

So I decided to take the giant leap; and three years later, I find myself on the other side of the world, braving harsher winters, elbowing my way to the center against a bigger crowd, and leading the kind of life I wasn't quite prepared for. 

As of this very moment, I can say, despite best efforts to strike a balance between happiness and greatness, I am leaning towards the happy side--and for a cost, of course. I’m miles and miles away from my career goals, I feel that I lose a little of that writing spark as each day goes by. The words don’t come out now as easily as before, and I fear that one day I will lose altogether what little I have left. But as for all the other aspects, I feel so blessed; it will be gluttony to ask for anything more than what I have right now.

Then again, what’s so great about being great anyway? Most of the people I consider great don’t exactly lead the kind of life I want. And those who used to be great by my standard somewhat fell behind the shadows of fame when they decided they wanted to be happy. They all retired/fell from grace at the height of their career, and all we, spectators, could do was to shake our heads and feel nothing but shock and disappointment.

The higher they flew, the harder they fell. Some of us would rather feel that fall than feel nothing at all. On the other hand, some of us would rather carve a tiny, peaceful existence, seal ourselves in that small, air-conditioned room, and lock out the glare, the heat, and the suffering world. Some of us think that the downside of going the extra mile is compensated by the satisfaction derived from it. Some of us think that our only shot at perfection is to strive for it in our own little corner of the universe.

I think all of us are right in a way, but I think too that even if we underwent the most precise deliberating procedure, we wouldn’t always end up where we want to be. Of course we are always welcome to bitch about it, but whatever for? Sometimes it doesn't hurt to play along with life and its fickleness once in a while. After all, we can always console ourselves and say that maybe everything happens for a reason, that maybe it’s all for the best. That should work. At least the blame wouldn't always be on us.

We can do that or we can keep fighting and try to outdo ourselves in spite of ourselves. That thing, that drive, that itch deserves a spot in all of us. And I think despite its empty promises, we should keep on trying to push a little further, to up the ante, to raise the bar, to change the rules, and to dictate the tempo even if the world says "no." We can’t afford to be too contented in this world. And that even if we lacked the gift to wrestle with reason, I think the questions must still be asked. Maybe we should because I don’t think I can stand at the edge of the earth, stare into a vast space, and not wonder why God created such a big universe only to cramp us all in a small planet.

Whether I made the right decision, I don’t have an answer. Just like you I am hoping that one day I could bring all my thoughts into a sensible conclusion, hoping that all my imaginings and pondering will resolve themselves without my help.

Maybe I care too much. Or maybe I just believe in myself too much. Maybe I’m bound to hit rock bottom sooner or later. But maybe, too, it’s okay to be confused and scared today. After all, the greatest rewards come from doing things that scare us the most.

Up the ante, raise the bar, change the rules, dictate the tempo—not because we must but because we can.

from drab to fab

i am extremely satisfied with how our home improvement project is going. as most of you already know, for the past month now, most of our time, energy, and resources have been geared towards revamping what used to be an umabitious bachelor's pad into something a more sophisticated couple would live in. our condo-townhouse has just turned 1 last march 28, and we thought there has never been a better time than now to give it its long overdue makeover.

also known as a duplex in the philippines, our house sits on a quiet subdivision that is slightly elevated from the road. It is composed of two modest floors with two bedrooms (one converted into an office/library for the time being), a living room with an almost floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks a bed of greenery and the road outside, a kitchen and a dining area that overlooks a small patio, and a separate garage about 10 steps away. It's a nice small house just about right for newly weds. It's not much by any standard, but it's ours and we have it only to ourselves. i must commend bong for his foresight, for not many guys his age would have the prudence and initiative to invest and build up assets even if there was a more comfortable option for us to live in his family's house.

most people who have been to our house say that its main selling point is its choice location, where everything--from commercial complexes such as the streets of woodfield, to convenience stores such as target, dominick's, and walmart, to schaumburg's business district, recreation centers, and array of specialty restaurants, to hospitals, fire stations, and other places of interest--is within easy reach. for me, though, what i like most about it is the presence of a golf course (or two, i'm not sure if the two are connected) and a small man-made lake just across the street.

i didn't truly appreciate how amazing the location of our house was until spring began. under a clear blue sky, you can alsmost see a 180-degree view of green, perfectly manicured grass that gently slopes toward an inside road. on this carpet of grass just outside our front door are yellow dandelions and a number of maple trees under which i can imagine myself reading a book or eating home-grilled pork barbecue or lamb kebab on a warm and sunny day. we even had a row of red tulips, which to our surprise, bloomed and recoiled on its own accord as the weather changes. they all died just as fast as they had bloomed, but i'm anticipating that a new batch of blooms are already well on their way.

the inside of the house, though it looked utterly clean, needed a little work and a lot of imagination. the first thing we did was to splash a dash of color onto its pale walls to give it a young and vibrant look. then we added some plants to freshen and enliven it. this turned out tricky as neither of us had a green thumb. we have probably killed a whole nursery of plants before we found a few that do not require too much attention--one of which is an orchid plant, which, to our ohhs and ahhs, can actually subsisit on 3 ice cubes a week.

we are now in the process of touching up paint spillovers in between completing the furniture we need. you have no idea how many home and furniture stores and flea markets we have been to just to get good deals. we actually don't need too much, as we want all our things to complement each other and to serve a purpose. this means no antique drawers, wooden statues, or glass figurines for us--those take too much space and cleaning time (which i unfortunately barely have).

i really have a good feeling about how it's gonna look as soon as we're done. it has really come a long way since the first time i've seen it last october. before it felt cold being inside it; i felt more like a guest, a stranger. maybe it's because i wasn't there when bong purchased the house, although i've seen pictures before the actual purchase. maybe because most of my personal things were left in the philippines and i have nothing to bind myself with. maybe because the house didn't say much about me or about bong, except the fact that it was uber clean (bong's a neat freak; he makes me look like a slob). maybe because it was fall and the weather wasn't exactly warm and welcoming. or maybe because i was never really sure if this is the kind of world i want to belong to.

but after doing all this makeover, i began to develop and establish a strong affinity with this house. i may not have the right to say that i've done it with my own bare hands, but let me just reiterate that--contrary to what bong is telling everyone else--i am a major force in this makeover project. like how it has always been in this relationship, i am the brain, he's the brute (hun, if you wish to retaliate, you put up your own blog). hopefully though, as i try to give our house a facelift, i'll be able to pick up a thing or two from watching the "queer eye for the straight guy." whatever semblance of style or taste i have accumulated over the years, i got it either from the fab five or my mother.

i must say that my mother's sense of style is effortlessly immaculate; mine pales in comparison with hers. she fancies expensive things too, but only those that complement her and do not violate her creative parameters. she also knows when to buy affordable ones without letting you figure out the difference. she sets the trend among her colleagues, that even the wealthiest of her friends would ransack the racks of the rustans just to get hold of even a semblance of what she has. it only goes to show that you can never buy class and style, that you can don yourself with the latest and the most expensive item there is on the runways of milan and still look cheap and tacky. that's one thing that our brand-crazy generation does not understand until now.

but more than anything else, i like the fact that even if this project has left us tired from walking from one flea market to another and with little time to sleep, it has given bong and i plently of time to bond, laugh, play, think, work, talk, choose, make plenty of mistakes, overhaul, restart, and learn together. even with too many instances of painting and repainting, in between installing, dismantling, and re-installing, and despite buying, changing our minds, returning, and buying again--our house still has a long way to go. it's still far from perfect, but at least it looks a lot better now, a lot more colorful, a lot livelier.

i know months from now, some of our handiworks would backfire on us (labor here costs much so we had to rely on those do-it-yourself thingies), but right now, at this very moment, i could say that i couldn't be any happier. like everything else in my life right now, our house is a work in progress, and it will continue to be so as each day progresses, as we continue to change and grow with the changing of seasons. as i've said, it may not be much, but it's ours, it's a by-product of our conjugal thoughts and actions, it's all that we have in our hands--and what we have is great.

broke.

by now, it's probably completely trite to write a blog entry on bad economic times. and it's probably equally imprudent to write about such when i know there are others out there who had been more severely hurt by budget cuts and mass layoffs. now i don't mean to sound insensitive but hear me out on this one, ok?

as of press time, i only have $23 (minus $1.66 for my hazelnut coffee c/o dunkin donuts--hey, starbucks is overrated!) to last me until wednesday next week. that's seven days from now. meaning, if i wanted to live on til the next payday, i would have to subsist on $3 each day for the next seven days. if you have no idea how terrible that is just re-read the first line of this paragraph and see how much a small dunkin donut coffee is.

you know it wouldn't be so much of a big deal if i'm still living the life in the comforts of home. and when i say home, i still refer to our modest las pinas home in the philippines. despite the fact that money flows more fluidly in the hands of a freelancer, i remember being in the same situation quite a few times. i'm usually very frugal, meaning i only allow myself to splurge on three things: books, food, and travel ops. the splurging part could get intense though sometimes; it could terminate a bank account's lifespan in a jiffy. anyway.

a thousand bucks in the philippines can go a long way--especially if your mom mans the ref and you have unlimited access to the spare car at home. of course there may be a few belt-tightening measures involved, but if you know where to go--and the right connection to boot--you'll never starve in this side of the world.

location of course plays a critical part when doing things on a budget. this is where i miss bf the most. from shopping to bar-hopping, from casual to fine dining, from running errands to simply lounging about at your friend's house--"anywhere" is merely within one kilometer radius.

on days like this, when i find myself pressed for cash, you'll most definitely find me at au's carwash. the carwash has its own "bar and grill" where we spend most of our time either bashing each other face-to-face, laughing about something serious, or indulging ourselves in that i-want-to-make-a-difference kind of conversation over barbecue and beer, which you may or may not pay depending on au's mood.

now if you're lucky, which almost always happens, you'll find three to five of your friends show up at about the same time that you do. and if you're really lucky, which also happens kinda all the time, more and more of them will turn up as the night progresses--and you'll end up going home at about half past midnight--a bit drunk, a bit nauseous, and maybe a bit in trouble, but immensely happy about how great your day turned out even without shelling more than twenty precious bucks. those were the days.

obviously there had been a bit of miscalculation (or mismanagement) on my part where budget is concerned. back in the philippines i always knew how to manage these kinds of scenario (when all else fails, i cry out to mommy). but it's a completely different ballgame here, and i'm just beginning to learn the tricks of the trade.

oh well, hopefully the next pay cycle will be a lot brighter.

what will be, will be

"When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here's what he said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be."

***

great, just great. the future is so damn bright that i can't see a damn thing.

what goes around comes around

I lost something so dear to me at a time I needed it most—my earmuff.

Of all the nights, it had to happen on a cold, windy night of about negative effing something degrees. I must have dropped it somewhere as I was scurrying down the slippery sidewalk on the way to the nearest bus stop.

Oh well. Wherever my fur-coated earmuff is right now is probably in the hands of that lucky bastard who probably has no intention of looking for its rightful owner. After all, earmuffs are lost and found every day, right? Who would give a damn?

Yeah, that was what I thought too when I found someone else’s earmuff lying on a vacant train seat about a couple of weeks back. At that time I had no real need for one because I had my own and it was working perfectly fine. Still I found myself shoving the newfound treasure in my bag, thinking that if I were the owner, I wouldn't go all the way back just for something so basic and virtually worthless ($9 at Wallgreens).

Well I know stealing is bad, but who gets punished for keeping something that doesn't belong to anyone?

So two weeks later, on that cold winter night of about negative effing something degrees, my bare ears—cold and white as snow—suffered the fate of my ill-judgment. For a while I thought my ears were going to fall off any time soon. Fortunately, they didn't—and they lived to see another day to tell the miraculous tale of that thing called Karma.

Now I may not understand the whole concept/ideology/philosophy surrounding Karma (I mean the way Hindus do with all the reincarnation and all), but I have always believed in the fact that whatever you do comes back to you. In fact, I'm not the only one.

Hindu version: "Let not any man do unto antoher any act that he wisheth not done to himself by others, knowing it to be painful to himself" (Mahabharata, Shanti Parva, cclx.21).

Christian version: "Treat others as you would like them to treat you" (Luke 6:31).

Confucian version: "Do not do to others what you would not want them to do to you" (Analects, Book xii, #2).

Buddhist version: "Hurt not others with that which pains yourself" (Udanavarga, v. 18).

Jewish version: "What is hateful to yourself do not do to your fellow man" (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbath 31a).

Muslim version: "No man is a true believer unless he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself" (Hadith, Muslim, imam 71-72).

Justin Timberlake version: "What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around" (What Goes Around Comes Around).

The earmuff incident is just one of the many Karmic incidents I've experienced first hand. In fact, I have had quite a number of anecdotes that will support all these ancient sayings; not all of them, however, are negative.

When I still was what they call "problem child" (hey, I told you already about my delinquent past, right?), no matter how serious my offense was, I would always find justifications for my actions. My mom had given up trying to teach me verbally the rules of propriety, so she would always resort to playing the toughie by giving me a hard slap on the butt. It didn't work, of course. I mean, so what if I get a few bruises that would heal in a few days? That wasn't so bad. All I had to do for redemption was to pop my big child eyes and apologize; no need for actual change of heart.

My dad, on the other hand, used a different approach. Instead of associating bad results with doing bad things, he associated good, non-material rewards with doing good things. Think of it as having a "moral bank," he said. The more you invest, the more you save for the rainy days ahead. That was my first karmic orientation.

As the years go by this whole idea of a "moral bank" has become the benchmark of my actions. That probably is the reason why I am what I am today.

I may be meek by nature, and may even be too courteous for my own good, but there's a reason why I'd rather give a cold shoulder to other people's misconduct than to engage myself in cheap catfights, dirty trash talks, or bloody blogwars (well I may have, but I did it in style—helluva difference!)—and that has a lot to do with my understanding of how the karmic energy works.

You know in fairy tales, when the good always triumphs over evil, there's really a heady dose of logic behind it (no, it's not just a scheming adult's ploy to terrorize kids). Of course we all hate those frickin' princesses and how they always have to be the fairest of them all, and how those dashing princes have to come all the way from faraway kingdoms just to save them from their ugly step-relatives (which end up either dead or locked up in a lamp or something), and how they allegedly live happily ever after with nary a sign of discontent.

But come to think of it, like the rest of the not-so-fair ladies in the kingdom, they don't always get what they want. In fact I think it's rather unfair for them to be the subject of someone else's disgust for the sheer reason that they're, well, "the fairest of them all." I mean, since when has being pretty and pleasant become such a huge crime?!

On the other hand, I can also understand where the wicked witch's wrath is coming from. For some reason, the wicked ones always have the upper hand in the beginning of the story. They're always the ones blessed with power, authority, competence, machinery, an army of goblins and orcs, and mastery of sorcery and black magic. Still these were never enough to give them the distinction of being the best, the most, and the fairest. They always seem to lose it to a "nice" and "pleasant" country lass who has no real ambition but to kiss the cutest boy in the kingdom. Nice girls always win by default. Come to think of it—it doesn't seem fair at all either.

So why does the "good" always triumph in the end? Two things: One is that those who are wicked by nature have a natural tendency to self-destruct; and two, those who are naturally nice (by fairy tale standards) unconsciously creates an invisible bubble of hope and optimism that sort of shields—or at the very least cushions—them from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes. No matter what the ending is, they always come out unscathed, untroubled, undaunted.

In short, the concept of triumph and tragedy is not in the circumstances we face every day—it’s all in the mind. We all face the same battle every day, and we are all equipped with equal sets of hands and feet. We lose and win every day. We only differ in how soon we stand up and fight back after we fall.

Most people I know say, whether in good faith or not, that I probably fall under the princess category. Whether it has something to do with my recurrent blond moments, I don’t know. But just as how most fairy tales go, princess gracee has encountered one too many villains in her life. And just as how most stories go, theirs would always end with a painful twist—most of the time, it would happen almost methodically and without requiring her to lift a finger. An awful lot has tried; but as they say, you can’t bring a good girl down.

Happy people, as in really happy people, as in happiest-in-the-world kind of people, always have a way of attracting positive karmic energy. Either they are happy because they're reaping karmic rewards or the other way around. Either way, this healthy exchange of positive energy makes them almost impervious to negative feelings such as anger, hatred, envy, and regret. You’d know a happy person when you see one, usually they don’t say or write mean things about other people. They don’t feed on other people's misfortunes. They don’t take advantage of other people’s weaknesses. They don’t desire for something that’s not theirs. They don’t just take what they want at the expense of others. In a nutshell, they wouldn’t and just couldn’t find it in their hearts to hurt anyone knowingly and deliberately.

I am yet to see a truly happy person. They say it’s easy to do good things if you have everything you need right within easy reach. And just the same, it’s easy to harbor a collective grudge to the world when it always turns a blind eye on you. They could be right, but I also think that in the end, the quality of our life and our being is determined by the actions we live by and that it is on how we deal with our misfortunes—and how we manage to keep our values intact despite them—that our characters are judged.

In short, Karma doesn’t make good things happen to good people, nor does it make bad things happen to bad people. It’s simply a system of reward and punishment that we consciously or unconsciously give or inflict upon ourselves. Yes, whether other people know what we did or not, there will be an equal retribution for all our actions.

Of course, even if I didn’t exactly harm anyone by taking that earmuff, I know I should have taken the pains of giving it to the train attendant (even if I knew he’d keep it for himself anyway). So in the end even if I lost my earmuff, I won’t have to feel bad and look back to that day I’ve taken someone else's. And I won’t have to take the pains of writing this long entry and you wouldn’t have to take the pains of reading it through. You see the domino effect now?

But even so, at least I was able to share with you three valuable lessons I’ve learned from this experience which I’ve already learned in kindergarten:

1. What’s his is his, what’s hers is hers. Do not take what’s not yours.

2. Do not take more than your fair share of anything.

3. When you’ve taken something, put it back to where it belongs.

You'll never know what you will lose next time. After all, Karma can be real bitch sometimes, especially when it needs to. But then again, you know that already. In fact you think about that a lot, especially at night when you lie awake for hours all alone, thinking about the good old days long gone.

...

past is past, or so she told me. looking back now, i wonder who she was trying to convince: me or herself. was she even listening to herself? the statement is a cliche alright, but did anyone actually believe in that? fool.

but more than that, what amused me more was how she said it with so much conviction--as if she's reciting a tongue twister in a foreign language thinking it was an age-old chinese proverb. i shook my head. so that explains the frivolity, i thought.

i have learned that in order to fully understand her, i needed to lower myself a little bit more. (oops...not enough, how about a little bit more. ok there you go.) still, even at ground negative, i still couldn't bring myself to look at her with respect.

while i'd like to think of myself as the proactive one, i have always given the "past" the amount of dignity and respect it deserves. isn't the past the former present? in fact, it's the mother of all present events. we are what we are now because adam and eve bit the apple. because judas betrayed jesus. because magellan landed on the Philippine shores. why was she regarding history as if it was nothing but a bad dream, something that she can easily flush out of her system once the blue pill has been swallowed? isn't it that if she truly valued the present as much as she'd like me to believe, she would extend the same amount of veneration to the past?

for me the past is not just the past. it represents a day in one's life--a day that could either be good or bad, happy or sad, bright or dark. hearts might have been broken somewhere in that time, spirits might have been crushed, lives might have been lost. how could she look down upon it, look at it like a dirt on her sleeves she can easily brush off?

did she really think she could get away with it just because it has passed? maybe. after all, the world has forgiven japan for being the force behind world war 2. nobody shudders anymore at the thought of hitler's name. erap has gotten out of prison. and soon, probably, a monument would be erected in honor of saddam husein. but even if the world has decided to move on--in whichever way it deemed plausible--the memories of the past, pleasant or otherwise, will always be remembered.

the past is not just the past. it's always something else--something good, something bad, something happy, something sad. whatever it is, it always means something to someone. its not just it. it's way, way more than that.

sloppy firsts

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." - Aeschylus

The first snowfall of the year descended upon Chicago on my first day at work.

It was four p.m., and just as my colleagues and I were hopping inside the rented vehicle that would take us to O’Hare, where my first project as a marketing and communications specialist would take place, one little snowflake hit the tip of my nose. It sent a tingling sensation down my spine; it felt like a soft kiss from the sky. At first I thought it was raining; then I looked around and saw a million white things dancing in the air. For a while I was worried I wasn’t as bundled up as I should be.

“Nah, it’s just flurries, you’ll be fine,” my colleague said. Unlike most people here, I wasn’t trained to sit through weather reports before leaving the house. I didn’t know it’s something that they really hold sacred here, like a bushido or something that they really need to know by heart and live by. Anyway.

I should have captured that moment, I know. I must have looked really silly. There I was in the middle of downtown Chicago, grinning like a child on Christmas morning, holding my palms up, waiting for the sky to open up and drop some more.

It was just so magical. It gave me a weird feeling—the happy kind of weird if you know what I mean. It felt almost like I was in grade school again and it was the first day of school. Or I was five and it was my first time to ride a bike. Or the first time I rode a plane and went out of the country. The first time I went to Disneyland. The first pay check. The first kiss…

They don’t like the snow very much around here. Partly, I think, it's because of the major inconveniences it entails—heavier and costlier coats, oversize gloves, unflattering bonnets and ear muffs, slippery roads, a driveway-full of snow, coughs and colds, precious leisure time spent inside the house. And partly, i think, it's because of the cold. It can really get pretty cold around here. Really cold. In fact too cold that sometimes even the noon-time sun seems useless.

I am yet to feel the kind of cold that winters bring, but if I may be so brazen, I must say that I’ve had my fair share of autumn’s chill. It made me miss the seemingly endless summer days of home. I knew from the start that the seasons would change eventually; I just didn’t think the transition would be drastic, quick, and sometimes harsh. Of course, in times like this, one can always opt to hide under the heavy sheets and curse the weather. Or, one can get up, take one baby step out of the comforter, and start moving.

Physiologically, working out those lazy muscles helps in blood circulation and maintains body temperature. Psychologically, it makes you forget about it. Now I’m not sure about the physiological part, I’m not a doctor. It’s the forgetting part that worked for me. The sheets are so damn comfortable, I know, but it can only do so much. I have learned that if I want to fend off something—whether it’s the winter chill or not—I’ve got to help myself, because sometimes, if not most of the time, nobody will.

Especially in downtown. But I love the downtown—its urban rhythm, beat, bustle and all. It’s mad, mystical, and whimsical. It’s fierce, foreign, feisty, and unforgiving. It won't give you enough elbow room for adjustments; no time for grace period. In most part of Illinois, leaves fall, trees die, wild geese migrate, skunks hibernate, but life goes on in downtown Chicago. Despite the wrath of winter, the men and women in suit would soldier on, wander the streets purposefully like young soldiers in the battlefield. Now I’ve encountered fatal deadlines and worked with some of the fiercest editors before, but never have I understood the meaning of "life on the run" until now. You’ve got to move really fast and learn really fast to keep up with everybody’s pace. Americans are wasteful of everything except time.

Of course this is pretty unusual for someone who has always lived the alternative lifestyle—the kind that some people will never get the chance to live even if they work their asses off all their lives. Oops, how mean of me to talk about that during this difficult time. I keep on forgetting that I now belong to a world where the word “economy” makes noses cringe. For someone who’s used to economy flights and economy size, I find it amusing the way Americans deal with recession.

They keep on relating it to the Great Depression, a time when Americans stand in long bread lines and hide their money under the mattress. It was a time of hardship and suffering on a massive scale. If you ask me, the long NFA rice lines in the Philippines look more like the Great Depression kind than the near-empty shopping malls here. I think they’ve become so accustomed to their high life that they think it’s depressing already that they need to hold off any attempt at hitting the mall and buying one of those things they’ll never use. If you want my honest opinion, I’d say the war on terrorism and the surging oil prices are not the problem. It’s this culture that is cushioned and conditioned by credit cards and the generation that turns a blind eye on this glaring fact that kill them. But then again that is just my opinion.

Aside from money, almost everything else here is fast and fleeting, which is why running is a way of life. Everything comes in unceremoniously, and just as you are starting to recover from the shock and get comfortable with it, it leaves—also unceremoniously. Just like that big sale at the corner of State Street. Just like that train I’ve waited an hour for. Just like the flurry that day at four p.m.—it didn’t even last for more than 20 minutes. Just like autumn.

Autumn was my first heartbreak. For someone who came from California where the weather is more Pinoy-friendly, the thought of living in Chicago used to give me the chills. But that was before I saw autumn. It was picture-perfect, not to mention the climate is just right. The sun is bright and hot but the chill of winter is in the air. It is truly Chicago’s crowning glory.

On a good day, the skies would be so blue--the bluest I've seen so far—even at noon when sunlight is at its prime. It would complement the cacophony of colors everywhere—mostly from the falling leaves along tree-line sidewalks. I just love that crackling sound when dried leaves crumble beneath my feet.

The best thing about autumn is that it changes its face every day; no day is the same. And every day I would tell myself to make it a point to bring my good old camera whenever I go out. For some darn reason and some vague excuse, I never got around to doing it. Before I knew it, the leaves have fallen and then it was winter. Just like that. Winter came just as I was growing emotionally attached to autumn. I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye.

Well I guess that's just one of the realities I need to live with from now on. It's not like I have much of a choice. I can't hold on to something that doesn't belong to me. Right now I'm just glad I was one of the privileged few who got to see and appreciate it. And so I say hasta luego, autumn, I’ll see you when I see you. Even with bad reviews, I still look forward to the promise of winter. Come on, it can't be that bad, right? And besides, I’ve always loved the color white.

But I'm afraid I'm the only one who does. They didn’t even flinch at the idea of the first snowfall, those men and women in suits in downtown. For them it simply meant shoving aside their bright summer clothes and stacking up on high-calorie junks. But for me it represented the first of the many firsts that I will enjoy and endure from this day onwards.

I’ve just turned 25. Isn’t it weird that I’m already about to start the second quarter of my life (suppose I live to be a hundred years old), and yet I’m still encountering a lot of things for the first time? Did I start late? Do they ever run out? Will I wake up one morning and dare to say I’ve been there, done that, and lived to tell the tale without much humiliation? I don’t know. I really wish but I really don’t know. I know there’s perfection in things familiar, but that’s just too far ahead right now. After all, all I am is just a small girl in a big big city. Maybe tomorrow I’ll conquer Chicago; then after that, the world. But before I get there, I am fully aware that there would be undulations in the process. It's the same everywhere; who am I to complain? The trick really is to be optimistic and believe in the fact that the future will always be better than the past. For now, I'm just enjoying the thrill of discovery that comes with experiencing all these firsts.

obama wins

i know i owe you so much kwento but right now, i can't afford to just sit here and write about mundane things while america is making history. the good thing about this is i'm right in the thick of the action. my workplace (uhuh, i'm a downtown girl--details to follow) is right across where the obama rally is being held right now. since no one is allowed to stay in the surrounding office buildings beyond 3pm, i went over to grant park as soon as i got off just to catch a glimpse of whatever's gonna happen--a party, a riot, a terrorist attack, whatever. they said this is quite the first time in a long time that america has gotten too much involved in their election. if i'm not mistaken, today's voters are more active, engaged, and enthusiastic now than at any time in history. this election has been the constant subject of conversations since i got here. even oprah and saturday night live made it into the front page of leading newspapers just for flirting with politics. now i'm not sure how this is all gonna change my life here. i'm just more than happy to be part of it.

before anything else...

Unlike most journeys that require only a single step, mine began with a giant leap. Surprisingly though, the decision didn't come as a painful struggle. In fact, there was a highly tempting invitation that made deliberating rather useless. The bait--or should I say, the major driving force behind the movement--is the perennial presence of my long-time boyfriend. The other--which they say is equally important--is "the good life."

But as some of you know, the weeks before my departure had been tumultuous. I guess if it were not for the wonderful people I'm leaving behind, the transition wouldn't have been as drastic. But still I'm glad I felt the way I did. If it had been easy for me to let go, then what kind of a life have I lived in there? I am so lucky I have a loving and caring family who supported me through and through and a wide circle of hot, gorgeous, intelligent, and ever-supportive friends.

Grabe, you really can't have too many friends in this life. Napatunayan ko 'to during my most trying times. Hindi ko inexpect yung warmth na inextend niyo saken. Up to now, I still can't help but smile when I remember my last few days there. I don't know kung paano ko susuklian lahat yun, it meant so much to me. Sobrang thank you, everyone, for giving me a rare opportunity to be loved and taken care by all of you.

So before I begin a new chapter in my life, I just want to thank these people who threw in their extra time and effort just to give me something to look back and go back to when I leave.

Fit for Royalty

My very chic, Manhattan-inspired surprise bridal shower at Elan Hotel with sher, nek, des, and rhas.

Friends for like Forever!


Good times and thought-provoking discussions with my bene friends over japanese food and cream rose at santana and four-twenty.

BF Kids on the Block



A heart-warming, tear-jerking, blair bitch-themed despedida with my fellow drunkards. I didn't know these mahaderas and car junkies have a soft spot. =)

It's in the Blood.


Family gatherings are never complete without the force field of noise my relatives create whenever they see each other. Above are pictures of my cousins. We're cousins by blood, but they're brothers and sisters to me.


Time Warp




September 21, 2008. My family threw a surprise birthday and christmas party at home with guests pats and pj. I left for the States that night.

back to basic

a year ago, my blogsite looked exactly like this--minus, of course, the kaeklavuhan you can now see on your right.

i'm expecting major lifestyle changes in the coming weeks so i might as well start getting used to it as early as now. overhauling my blogsite is a dry run.

i'm also expecting that with leaving, i'll be able to get new and exciting materials for writing and photography. i'm really looking forward to this. now if only i can stop procrastinating...

i'm still bound for greece, in case you're wondering. i'm just making a short stopover somewhere 20,000 miles away.

while i'm obviously struggling to ward off possible symptoms of separation anxiety, others find themselves on a manic "decluttering" spree, burning bridges here and there for reasons i still don't understand. what in god's name could warrant such action? i've been unplugged and re-plugged from and into someone's circle several times before. obviously, i don't mind being unplugged and re-plugged all over again, but don't you think we're kinda getting a little too old for this? i know i am in no position to make judgments, at least not until i know what the freakin' heck is going on. nevertheless, i'm hoping we can all grow up and get along--in cyberspace at the very least.

so there...that's it for now. here's to a more exciting (and healthy) bloglife for all of us. cheers!

usapang kanin

"Tangina Mo, Andaming Nagugutom sa Mundo Fashionista Ka Pa Rin!"

– Radioactive Sago Project

There’s an unwritten rule among Bene High students (especially among the ladies) that prohibits the eating of everything on one’s plate during a meal. If I’m not mistaken, the generally accepted quantity of leftovers is at least five spoonfuls of rice and at least two bite sizes of the main course. Of course, this goes to show that the more food you leave on your plate, the more socially attractive you become. Everybody who’s anybody (even those who are at least trying to be) knows this rule very well.

I have no idea when the tradition started or if it’s still being practiced today; but during my time, it was social suicide to go beyond the usual rice intake regardless of how hungry one is. It’s probably the culture of wastefulness that generates the sweet air of affluence. Mga taga-bene nga naman. Ridiculous, I know, but it used to make sense to me back then when being socially accepted was more important than being sensible.

Four years later, I moved out of comfort zone and headed for the urban jungle known as Manila. College life along Espana is not for the faint of heart. For one, it takes forever to get there, no matter where you’ve come from.

In this side of Manila, a complete meal of P15 is more than just possible; it’s edible. As I discovered the cheap offerings of small restaurants (more like hole-in-the-wall eateries) that line the eskinitas along Dapitan, eating at the usual fast food joints became a rare commodity. Each time we eat, my college classmates would look at me with curious eyes, perhaps a little concerned over my habitual wastefulness. I didn't realize I carried on such a foolish tradition. From time to time they would raise their concern and tell me all about the hungry people who subsist on garbage for food. Of course the idea of young children going hungry because of me was enough to pierce through my conscience, enough to force me to finish everything up to the last grain of rice, thinking that by eating everything there will be one less hungry person in the world.

Since then, it had been an old habit of mine to constantly remind my fellow eaters about the prevalent malnourishment in the world. And just like me, they would blindly oblige and gobble up whatever’s left of their meals. Until one classmate—probably fed up from all the persistent malnutrition alerts—pointed out, “bakit, pagkinain ko ba ‘to lahat, mabubusog ba sila?” So rude yet so true—until prices of rice started soaring to outrageous heights.

Lucky for our family, we are not so much of a rice-eater that’s why we can still afford to indulge in the P60 per kilo jasmine rice (it’s really the gas that’s depleting our resources). Our monthly rice consumption is probably just around 3 kilos, so it’s not much of a burden—yet. Imagine if we’re all boys, my mother would have gone crazy! It would have been miserable, just like when my dad was a lot younger. He told me their family used to eat just rice and soy sauce every day and it was a good meal already, a lot better than having nothing to eat. They were very poor, and there were 13 mouths to feed in the family.

Whenever my dad would tell me stories about his past, I can’t help but feel so guilty for having everything I need (not want; i don't belong to a well-to-do family) within easy reach. It sucks that my dad had to live that kind of life, but it sucks more knowing that most Filipino families still live and eat that way. Now, with oil prices hitting the ceiling and rice becoming an endangered commodity, what more is left for them to eat?

It’s no wonder food riots are happening all over the world (yes, it’s not just in our country). Even if governments are trying their damn best (I sure hope they are) explaining to people how the law of supply and demand eventually led to steep price increases, the people wouldn’t listen, let alone understand. And we can't blame them. They only measure the state of the nation by the growling of their stomachs. And believe me, it’s hard to speak to the belly especially if the growling is so loud.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I know, I know, but let’s not resort to barbarism and other forms of deviltry here. After all, we’re talking about the government, not the Ministry of Magic. While they can make money disappear in one flick of a finger, they can’t pull sacks and sacks of rice from their magic hats! That would be too much to ask. So let’s not take over the streets and throw paint balls on Shell’s building façade. Believe me, whatever you say will just fall on deaf ears. Besides, did you honestly think that the CEOs and COOs would clean it up themselves? No, sweetie, it’s the poor janitor, whose daily earning will remain dormant despite the additional de-painting job you just hurled at him.

Times like these call for frugality, and maybe even a little creativity. Sometimes, we have to go through crunch time so we could learn to look at other assets available under our noses. You see, people now are beginning to take a second look at public transportation. What used to be so eewie and unflattering among social climbers is now a favored way to go from point A to point B. Moms are beginning to see the light in replacing their 60-watt incandescent light bulb with a 13-watt fluorescent lamp. Governments are now considering the commercial consumption of alternative sources of energy that are cheaper, renewable, and earth-friendly. And hopefully my schoolmates in Bene have undertaken a healthier perspective on food intake.

In my recent travels to Ilocos Sur, I’ve learned about the cultural and historical roots of their food and eating habits. Unlike in France and other parts of Europe, eating in this side of the country is driven by the will to survive. They don’t think about the flavors and aromas or what kind of wine would go well with it. They eat because they have to, and they cook whatever they can find in their immediate environment be it an ant, a sparrow, a frog, or a rodent. Whether I had the stomach to try them all would be discussed in another entry in another time.

I’m not saying we should eat our pets, let alone eat our house pests. I’m saying we can look at different alternatives to ease or maybe even avert the growing global demand for rice. In Africa, people eat bananas as a meal staple instead of rice. Not only does it grow abundantly in our country, but it also has a slew of nutritional benefits not found in rice.

It’s true that need is the mother of all inventions. Let’s take this opportunity to shut our mouths, use our heads, and stamp out our debilitating culture of wastefulness. Mass movements will mean nothing unless we collectively adopt a more rational method of using our resources.

pride can stand a thousand trials,
the strong will never fall
but watching stars without you,
my soul cried.

The Big, the Bad, the Bold, and the Beautiful

You know how karmic revenge works? It’s like one moment you’re so happy you can die tomorrow and the next you’re so upset you wanna die today. Well the same disparity applies in this industry. One moment you feel a deep sense of purpose, the next you find yourself surrounded with a bunch of superficial bitches, whose asses—perfumed with designer labels, of course—must be kissed at all times.

A day after the karting event, I was invited by an old friend of mine (a creative director by profession) to attend a cocktail party hosted by Makati Shangri-La as part of the upcoming 2008 Beijing Olympics. I didn’t look around that much, but from the stench of the plush, oriental-themed lobby I could detect the presence of the people who matter. The scene was amusing from where I was seated. As the sweet sound of the orchestra was playing in the background, different kinds of dimsum and Peking duck rolls were passed around by costumed ladies. Imported wines in different colors were consumed by dignitaries. Business transactions were openly discussed. Designer clothes were paraded. And pleasantries were exchanged even between competing forces.

Being part of these occasions used to be part of my job. As an editorial assistant, it was my job to serve as a walking advertisement of my magazine. Ah, the glamour and grandeur—I just feel so lucky that I’m not part of this anymore. There were times that night when I felt the urge to break into a conversation and talk about the existing woes in Burma and China. If I weren’t too Catholic, I would’ve asked them why oh why do they think the poorest of the poor are always the ones feeling the brunt of nature’s wrath, when in fact there are people like them who seem to be better equipped to handle such catastrophes. What would the brats have said? I guess I’ll forever wonder.

You know what, sir, I finally said, let’s get out of here. After all, Chinese food—whether fine-dining or street-cooked—tastes pretty much the same.

And so we walked into the dark night, leaving behind all the bright and fancy lights of the big bad city.

Addicted to Speed

Speaking of speed, last Tuesday I was reminded again of how I wouldn’t trade this one hell of a job with any ergonomic chair-based office work. I was given an assignment on karting (to the excitement of my car-crazy friends). Being irrationally prudent almost all my life, I don’t exactly trust anything that moves fast. Not that I’m accident-prone or something, but for some reason unfortunate events tend to happen when I move too fast—glassware and tableware are knocked over, heels get stuck in between sidewalk cracks, heads are accidentally banged against a wall of glass, slip of the tongues are hurled at the wrong time—simple (and totally coincidental) things like that. And so having an assignment that involves a great amount of speed didn’t exactly thrill me at first.


At that point I was ready to turn the article over to Getty who, given enough encouragement, can actually write so well. It doesn’t hurt too that he knows so much about cars and engine. But the cosmos didn’t allow me to get away with it that easily. Later that day I learned that the photographer will be taking photos of me and the mean machine (watch out for this those of you who will be flying out in July). I mean machines like that hate me; they have minds of their own! I could just imagine my kart flying and flipping over (on second thought, this would actually look good in the picture), and before I know it, the poor me would be lying on a stretcher.


But all the agitation vanished into thin air when I met Jean, the French guy who manages the karting facility at Km 18 West Service Road in Sucat, Parañaque. City Kart is the country’s first indoor and outdoor go-kart racing track with an elevated bridge that overlooks the Tagaytay Lake. At City Kart, racers use four-stroke engines that can go as fast as 150 to 160 kmph. However, because of the kart’s skeletal frame, karting delivers a thrilling sensation of speed even at 40 to 60 kmph.



I heaved a long sigh of relief when Jean personally discussed the safety features of the karts and the adeptness of the marshals. He also said that I wasn’t the first chicken shit to ever try karting as a leisure activity. As a matter of fact, go-kart racing is slowly becoming a popular teambuilding option for large companies and universities. But the best part of it all, Jean was nice enough to let all seven of us have two 12-minute rounds (Au and Getty got to have three!) for free.


In case you’re wondering, one round costs 600 bucks per person. That’s like twice the daily earnings of minimum wage workers. How could 12 minutes of one person’s life be enough to feed one family for two days?! I’m assuming that only filthy rich boys who are totally oblivious of the widespread poverty and the soaring prices of gasoline would be heartless enough to enjoy such a ridiculously expensive sport. That’s simply not right! That’s totally insane! And most of all, that was awfully, sinfully awesome! The guilt was there, alright, but karting felt so damn good it was worth every penny. My verdict: I can starve myself for two days any time in exchange for 12 minutes of pure and unadulterated freedom. I love it, I love every single second of that 12 minutes.


So what’s the rush all about? If you’re as fast as Au, who averages about 1.0 minute per lap, that would mean 12 glorious laps in the 700-meter race track. But for lesser creatures like me, who at best finished at 1.27, every lap was a means to be better, faster, and more addicted to speed. My first few laps took me almost a couple of minutes, I was cautious at every turn. By the time the second round began, I was already getting the hang of it. It was like a mechanical force was urging me to step on it harder, strip off another layer of inhibition, and go the extra mile. As the race progressed, I became more and more drawn to beating the guy (or girl) ahead of me, which actually never happened (I was always the one who gets the blue flag, which by the way means “give way to the faster guy behind you”). But the point is a competitive sense was awakened inside of me, and that sense—which is almost like a mania—kept me all pumped up even way after the race was over. The adrenaline rush was so at an all-time high that I got off the kart shaking with excitement. No kidding, that was the best 12 minutes of my life!

the banes and boons of being a magazine writer

Writers have a special responsibility to the world because they have he power to change it. They must be careful how they tell their tales, and to whom, for storytelling is an act whose effects are incalculable and endless.- Indra Sinha

Journalism?! What, you’re going to be a writer?!

About eight years ago, one of my good friends made an interesting comment about my chosen career path. I don’t actually remember if it was a question or an exclamation. Looking back, it was probably nothing more than a sincere declaration of disbelief—well-meaning but very misguided.

She said by the time that we graduate, people will be glued to their television sets, computers, cell phones, and play stations. Nobody will read anymore and that would render us print journalists irrelevant, even useless.

Of course that’s not what happened eight years later. Apparently, newspapers have managed to be relevant even in the age of the World Wide Web. Concept and specialty magazines have managed to reach a wider customer base, with their monthly coffers skyrocketing to whopping millions. And we, print journalists, have at least managed to keep our heads above the surface even without the rigid system that gives a false sense of security to corporate parasites. Hey, no offense meant.

Just like any job, however, mine too requires a lot of patience. Sure it also has its ups and downs, glamour and glitch, banes and boons. While it’s quite liberating not being confined in a four-corner workspace within an eight-hour work sched, I feel that my ability to write is greatly dictated by a thing called “artistic temperament”—a.k.a. mood swings that can either fuel or paralyze one’s train of thought. I know, I know, I am no artist and my procrastination issues are probably more of a self-inflicted disease than a bragging right, but yes, I do feel that erratic ebb and flow of inspiration from time to time. Say, I can stare at my laptop for two whole days without blinking and not get anything started. On a good day though I’d feel that rush, that steady stream of creative juice that makes me want to write at the speed of thought. This is where it gets crucial; any form of delay or interruption could mean going back to where I started. I am no artist, but I love this kind of rush, this sudden surge of emotion, this fleeting orgasmic exhilaration. Uhuh, kinda like being drugged and drunk…not that I know how that feels.

naisip ko lang...

kanina i was sent to the grocery by my mom to buy a kilo of shrimp. we have visitors coming over tomorrow and my mom was thinking of serving chili shrimp. i don't cook, and so buying ingredients for a certain dish is not really one of my favorite activities. you can just imagine how i stood there transfixed and confused in front of schools of shrimp squirming inside a large aquarium. i didn't know you buy them alive and kicking, literally. oh those poor things. i watched closely while the grocery boy mercilessly scooped them with a fishing net and tossed them into a plastic container. you should have seen them run (or swim) and fight for their lives. some of them even went as far as jumping over the glass edge. those who managed to escape were left to die on the floor, of course.

there were still signs of life even as i was driving home from the grocery. from the driver's seat i could still hear the wriggling and the twisting and the gasping for air. it's almost heartbreaking. for a while i thought the vegan principles border on the extreme, even cultish to some extent. but when i saw how those sea creatures fight for their existence, it made me wonder if nature really meant it to be that way. it made me think if animals are really meant for human consumption. parang ang unfair lang. the rule of the game is survival of the fittest, pero not every creature is equipped with an equal capacity to fight.

kung sa bagay, nung kumakain naman sila ng seaweeds (or whatever it is that shrimps eat), hindi naman sila inirereklamo. siguro nga ganyan lang talaga ang buhay.

mornings made of these

nothing beats a cup of coffee right after a soothing (and bone-cracking) yoga class. after one week of thriving in a gluttonous work environment, this is just what my lazy bones and chaotic mind need. i really love the luxury of time and space that my job affords me from time to time. despite the many things--mostly mind-boggling--that hover like a dark cloud on the horizon, there is still so much to be thankful for. like mornings like this. oh, i love mornings like this. and as i write this entry in the sleek ff lobby with ergonomic couches and unlimited internet access, i contemplate on the exciting possibilities of this day (that includes my dance class and mabuhay coverage afterwards).

oh and yeah, did i mention that fitness first at moa rocks?

poison ivy

hush now, little one
save your tears
if i've stung you
and caused your little fingers to bleed
it was never intended.
nay, little boy
don't look at me with accusing eyes
you knew i must not be touched
you were told to walk away
if you can, while you can
as my hands are thorns
and my lips are poison
cursed by the same gods that blessed the roses
pained by a love that was no more
do not judge me, lad
you do not know me
for under the gloomy sky i stand
where the wind is dry
the sun is cold
and the stars do not twinkle.
do not take it personally
it was pure self defense
my vegetative soul does not think twice
nor does it look back and apologize
so walk on, lad
linger no more
walk past me
do not love me.

forgive me, i'm too angry to hold sensible thoughts

They said, let it go, if it comes back then it’s meant to be. And I said, bullshit. That was probably the greatest mistake of my life.

For the past few months, I have been competing with Chance. They say if something is meant to happen, it will happen despite your best efforts. When everyone was repeating the exact same line, I held on to Coehlo’s words: When you really want something to happen, the whole universe conspires in your favor. When someone hits you on the cheek, you don’t offer the other side just because someone decided your face is meant to be hit. I’d say it’s only prudent to fight back. I thought I was too old to believe in things like serendipity.

But everything I did turned out to be one futile attempt after another. I fought a good fight and I scored my best points but still I lost. Instead of blaming it on Chance, I told myself that maybe somebody else wanted to win more badly than I did. Someone else was hungrier and better prepared. And so I gracefully accepted my defeat before my opponents and mourned secretly so as to not spoil someone else’s victory party. I was taught that in matters of love, just like in war, you must know when to surrender. Because sometimes, it’s not about winning or losing; it’s about not losing yourself in the process. But unlike in war, in love, as long as you keep another happy, even if you lose, you still win.

And now that the storm has passed, Chance is asking for a rematch.

When I was young, I used to mull over how God decides who gets to win in a basketball match. If both teams with equal number of players would pray for the win, whose side is He gonna take? Isn’t it a wonder that if a team wins, every member would naturally raise their hands to heaven and thank whoever is up there, but if it doesn’t, the members would simply shrug their shoulders and say, “our time hasn’t come yet.” It seemed to me that every possible life path in this world has already been carefully mapped out. We’re already traversing a long and winding road with fixed u-turns, dead ends, and detours. A lot of times I asked, given a perfect masterplan and a grand design for everyone, are prayers still necessary? Does competence matter? Do our choices and desires even count?

It really never ends, does it? I thought running forward would take me somewhere else, anywhere but where I came from. I must have taken a wrong turn because now I’m back to square one, facing the same people and challenged by the same options. The truth is I don’t want to fight back anymore; the war has claimed so many lives already on both sides. But I also know that this is my one last shot at being completely happy. Once again, I find myself at the threshold: One more step backward and I’ll fall over the cliff, one step forward and he’ll pull the trigger aimed at my head. I don’t like where I’m at right now but I don’t know where else to go. One misstep and I’ll go crawling back again to the seven circles of hell.

And so I am now making peace with Chance. I thought I was different; I guess I’m just like all the other fools. So, Chance, go ahead and rule my life. After all, I have nothing to lose anymore. If it turns out well, then I’ll thank you. If it doesn’t, then I’ll forever hold you responsible. Why trouble myself with making difficult choices when I can always close my eyes and walk blindly towards the easiest way out? Why not leave everything to chance because that way nobody points a finger at me when somebody gets hurt in the process? At least all I need to do now is to grab anything that crops up right in front of me because maybe Chance has willed it to be there. Maybe I’ll sell a book with my new number on it and marry whoever gives me the first call. Never mind logic, forget values, to hell with free will. Chance will always be there to bail me out, right? I think that arrangement is fair enough, not to mention convenient. God, I’ve been completely stupid, thinking that what I want actually mattered. So do your thing, Chance, while I sit back, put my feet up, and watch the world roll by and get fucked up.