Sugarland

A Tropical Getaway It Is Not...

2009-08-20T16:44:00.004-04:00

The truth is, I've been putting off going back to the homeland because I am frightened. I fear changes. I fear that the home I left will not be the same home when I return. And I fear that the people I love and I may have grown apart over the miles and years. At the same time, I fear sameness. I fear that the things I was more than glad to leave behind will still be there. I fear confrontation with myself, and realizing truthful things I did not want to accept before.

Distance undoubtedly changes people. I came here with the hopes of remaining myself so that when I come back, the people that I'd be going back to will feel as if nothing has changed. But I have changed. I've lived in another place, with another way of life. I've made new experiences which enabled me to have different perceptions and tastes. I've developed preferences, as more options were made available. I have known things I did not know before. I may feel differently about things that I used to like, used to love, and used to believe in. And it's not a one-way thing. Time does not stop for anyone. A person you used to know so well can be a stranger in years.

I realized today that there is not one day that I do not think of the homeland. There is not one thought I have of my mother when I do not cry. I pray for strength and courage. I must go back. Before it's too late.

Welcome to the Quarterlife!

2009-06-09T10:55:00.002-04:00

When I was younger, I thought that by this age, I would have everything figured out. I thought that I would've been on my way to marry. I thought that I would have a stable job or a stable source of income.

The 25th year has finally arrived. I still don't have my life figured out. I have no plans of getting married in the near future. I am broke and in debt. I am still looking for a job. And frankly, I still don't know what job I want.

So this is 25. Sounds like a lot of fun! =)

2008-09-23T17:53:00.003-04:00

It is delightfully refreshing to come home to warm delicious meals and the presence of family. Ngin Ngin and Tita have only been here for 5 days but I feel as though I were back home in Manila once again. Aside from the pasalubongs I had requested, Ngin surprised me by bringing my humongous doggie bedroom slippers, my favorite Nike's, my black Mary Jane heels that I wore to my college graduation, my bright orange parasol, the caricature portrait of myself that my friends gave on my 18th birthday and old ID photos of myself from kindergarten and elementary. Though I may not use those things anymore, it was still very thoughtful of Ngin to pack them up and bring to me.

I now wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking. The apartment is virtually dust free. My dad has suddenly become neater in an attempt to impress his clean-freak mother. And the best part of it all is that our fridge is filled to its capacity. I lavet!

The Juice has met the family as well, and I think they're getting along quite well. It's important for me that he loves them, as these two women helped my dad raise me. I hope he gets to meet my mom someday too.

That's it pancit for now!

2008-09-07T12:15:00.005-04:00

Booooooo!!! The Juice got into a car accident today. He's not hurt, thank God, but the expenses and the trouble of dealing with insurance and car repairs will be pretty stressful. It's very unfortunate that this had to happen at a time when he's burnt out from work. I can't help but feel partly to blame because I had asked him to wait 5 more minutes before leaving his house to pick me up. Damn you, wet hair. No, damn you, Britney, because I put off taking a shower to listen to your song.

-------------------------------------

A favorite childhood toy for many Filipinos was on the news a few days ago for being recalled due to their hazardous properties. The "plastic balloon", or "children's balloon blowing kits," were sold by vendors manning the Philippine booths of the International Pavilion at the Canadian National exhibition. Apparently, these kits have been banned in Canada since 1973. Whoops.

http://www.cbc.ca/cp/health/080904/x090411A.html

Funny how I feel no shame on behalf of my homeland even after reading the article. It just dawned on me that maybe my toyo came from all those school-age years of inhaling dangerous fumes.

I'm gonna eat you someday, Canada

2008-08-01T21:57:00.004-04:00

You consumed 2 years of my life. It's payback time. Fuck you.

2008-07-17T23:16:00.004-04:00

The truth is, I never believed in having a best friend of the opposite sex.

I was drawn to the idea of having a male best friend in my early teens. It seemed "cool" to be close friends with a guy and to have people tease you about each other while you deny to death that there is something going on. I thought that I had found that person in my senior year in high school, when I developed a very close friendship with Tek.

The girls in my school gravitate toward Tek. My group of girlfriends eventually started hanging out with him. It wasn't long before we became inseparable and I considered him to be my best friend. But the friendship didn't turn out to be completely platonic. He admitted to having more than friendly feelings to me and started "courting" me thereafter. I confused feelings of enjoying his friendship to actually liking him. I turned him down soon after the revelation, but confessed to my friends that I missed him. My dear but immature girlfriends however, wanted to see a happy ending and therefore told Tek that I missed him in THAT way. He started hanging out with me again and even asked me to be his date for our graduation ball. I accepted and as I expected, we had a grand time partying our high school years away. That summer, he left for Thailand for a short vacation and promised to give me the world when he came back. He never heard from me since.

The word platonic is said to be a description of Plato's non-sexual relationships with his students. That for me is BS, because I still believe that he had strong sexual affections for Socrates. Having said that, I don't think that a "platonic" relationship between people of opposite sexes can be completely devoid of romance.

In my own definition, a best friend is the person whom you are closest to. It is the person you openly confide in, the person you genuinely enjoy talking to and being around with, the person you know in and out. I cannot imagine having a male friend possess all those qualities without me falling for him, or being attracted to him at the least. I have heard of people suppressing their feelings to "save the friendship." But it only takes one spark to ignite the fire. Emotions are easily triggered to surface.

I empathize with boyfriends and husbands of women with male best friends and girlfriends and wives of men with female best friends. If you are able to tell something you can't trust your significant other with, then what does that say of the relationship? Moreover, what does that say of the relationship with the best friend? I can only imagine the bad feelings or insecurities that are brought up in this situation. It is also this very reason why I believe that exes cannot be close friends again.

I do not intend to ridicule those who believe that platonic best-friend-relationships exist. I do not dispute that one cannot have close friendships with someone of the opposite sex as I too, have those. But I also do not regret to burst the bubble of people who are mystified. I find that a lot of people, young women especially, hang on to the romantic idea of a male best friend, thus making their sincerity in the friendship questionable.

Even these kids are honest about their feelings toward their best friend. Cute video :) I heard the advertising company had to interview over 60 pair of best friends to film this. Well worth it, if you had seen the little boy's reaction. Priceless!
http://youtube.com/watch?v=rJvJgvXcoMQ

A little post script...

For me, labelling someone as a best friend requires a weight of careful considerations. If I stuck to my convictions of what a best friend is, then I would have an extensive list, because I have not necessarily remained closest to any one person at all times in my life. And since labelling someone as a current best friend, best friend in high school, or kindergarten best friend sounds completely belittling to its value, I'd rather not name names at all. I am grateful enough to have good friends and I feel no need to name favorites.

Manhattan '08 Part 1: Shopping

2008-07-02T11:32:00.021-04:00

Our itinerary was originally a mix of sightseeing, shopping and food tripping, but the wet, and often humid, weather and our aching feet had us doing more of the latter two. It didn't help our pockets that our hotel was located right at the centre of Midtown Manhattan. As we exit from the lobby, shopping strip 5th Avenue was just a few steps to our left. This promdi-suburbs tourist gawked and ogled at boutiques to her left and right. How can I not? 5th Avenue demands attention. Almost as attractive were Madison and 7th Avenue, the former having high end shops, and the latter, more affordable.

It was imperative that we visit two specific stores, the first being the NBA store. I couldn't tell if the Juice looked like Charlie at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, or a guy who just stepped into heaven. The revolving door at the entrance of the store must have had magical powers, for he was dead tired prior to coming in. The moment the doors swung him inside, he was as energetic as a child with ADHD. I saw his eyes excitedly dart from left to right as he quickly made his way to personnel and asked where the Bobble Head Figures were. Much to his disappointment, Kobe wasn't available, but that didn't stop him from running around the place. 5 minutes into the store and I was the one carrying all the shopping bags, literally jogging just to keep up, and taking pictures of him with store merchandise and displays. He was a starstruck fan, meeting his favorite players through the jerseys. The sight of him was just too cute.

The Juice promised to get me something in New York for my birthday present. A little something-sumthin in a familiar blue box, to be specific. Now I don't consider myself a big fan of luxurious goods and jewelry, but I was more than thrilled to visit the 6-storey Tiffany and Co. store. We were greeted by sparkling pieces of jewelry upon entering. It was fascinating just to take a peek through the glass display, but the friendly and courteous staff were more than willing to take them out for you to try on. The urge to swipe the plastic was tempting, so we headed to the "safer" zone in the building, which is where the silver jewelry was located.

"Safe" is really relative. The infamous charms and hearts could could cost you quite a ton. Even the tiny pieces of jewelry were adorned with precious stones, gold and pearls. I had my heart set on a tiny silver necklace with a butterfly pendant that I saw online. It had small aquamarine stones on the tips of its wings. I was crushed to find out that the store, unfortunately, sold out already. The Juice went around the displays with me and suggested other pieces. There was even one necklace with an interwoven hearts design that was really unique, yet something still felt amiss. Finally I saw a delicate silver ring with an aquamarine stone in the middle. The stone was so faint, it almost looked like a crystal. It gripped me the way its financer did, and right then I knew that it was "the one."

Every other store we went to fell short of exciting us the way the above two did. But they were great nevertheless. I was pretty disappointed with Century 21, the much-hyped discount department store. Racks were packed so densely it was hard to see the clothes themselves. A lot of items were on the floor being stepped on and ripped. Luckily, the store's shoe department made up for it. They carry a plethora of every shoe imaginable. Designer brands were marked down up to 70%. Trendy shoes sell like hotcakes, so if you see a pair you like, grab and don't let go.

Our hotel was a short walk to Saks 5th Avenue, but I only went there to use the women's lounge and check the designer purses on sale. Bloomingdales was also a bit too expensive for my budget so we settled for Macy's, where you could find virtually EVERYTHING at every price range. Macy's gave discount cards to shoppers of other nationalities, so we took advantage of the additional 11% discount to buy pasalubong.

Despite our small purchases, the shopping experience proved to be extremely enjoyable. There's a certain rush you get upon finding a good deal, being surprised at the total after taxes, or having to pay no taxes at all (Trust me, if you live in Canada, everywhere else is shocking), or even successfully hailing a cab after shopping during rush hour. And there's still a lot more to experience. Who knows? I might be courageous enough to rub elbows with the models in SoHo or even haggle with the vendor selling fake Louis Vuitton pochettes on the sidewalks next time. ;)

2008-06-27T13:07:00.002-04:00

4 exhilarating days with my love. A go signal from the parental unit. Shopping money too. Promise of a certain blue box ;-) What more can I ask for?

An extra pair of feet maybe.

New York City, here we come!

Father's Day

2008-06-12T20:23:00.004-04:00

Five years ago, I wrote a special entry on my blog about my most memorable Christmas. I am posting it here because aside from it being my Christmas story, it is also a fatherhood tale.

Friday, November 28th, 2003
Subject: Dad's Most Precious Gift
Mood: Nostalgic

Around 10 Christmases ago, my dad bought me two dolls as his Christmas presents. But for some reason, he decided to give me only one of them and hid the other in my room so that I'll "discover Santa's gift for me" later on. The one that he hid was a big and beautiful furry Santa bear with a red and gren plaid scarf and black rimmed glasses. and the one that he gave me himself was a tiny African baby doll. It didn't even have 'real hair'.

I was so disappointed when I saw it. Not only because i found the doll ugly but because it looked rather cheap and because it was the only present he gave me. I cried and cried and shoved the doll back to my dad. I said that I didn't want it because it was ugly. When I couldn't be consoled, dad finally led me to my room where the SAnta bear from "Santa Claus" was. As soon as I saw the big bear, I realized that it was from dad and that he just gave me the small doll as a 'cover up' for the bigger present. I looked up at dad. He was looking at me, sort of expecting that I'd give him a big smile and say, 'I have a beautiful present fom Santa' and that I'd forget about the little doll that he gave me.

That night, I cried in my room, not because I was dissatisfied by his bigger gift but because I realized how ungrateful I was and how I must've hurt dad's feelings. I didn't even thank him after he gave me the little doll. I just said that i didn't want it. I behaved like a brat without thinking of his feelings. Sadly, I haven't apologized to him even to this day.

Three days ago, my lola cleaned our stock room and found that little African baby doll. When she gave it to me, I gave it a closer look for the first time. I came to see that it was the most beautiful thing that my dad has ever given me and that it was more precious than all the other presents more expensive and more beautiful than it. I placed it on my topmost shelf, enclosed in glass, and seated beside my most treasured books. There it will stay as one of my most precious possessions.

I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for my dad to raise me without my mother. My less than perfect-little-angel self probably caused him so much frustrations over the years. I hope I had at least brought him joy, even if it was short-lived.

On this Father's day, I wish you happiness, good health and wealth. I wish you the love of friends and family, though they are thousands of miles away.

I thank you for all you have done, and all that you have given and sacrificed for me. Know that I am, and always will be, daddy's girl. I love you Dad.

Maligayang Araw ng Kalayaan, Pilipinas

2008-06-12T18:40:00.002-04:00

Ang bayan ko'y tanging ikaw
Pilipinas kong mahal
Ang puso ko at buhay man
Sa iyo'y ibibigay
Tungkulin kong gagampanan
Na lagi kang paglingkuran
Ang laya mo'y babantayan
Pilipinas kong hirang.

2008-06-11T22:24:00.006-04:00

I just turned 24. You could say that I am poor. After all, I only work part-time and I owe the bank a monstrous sum for my tuition fee. I don't have a career and I'm still in school. I have a love and hate relationship with my life.

I had no parties on my birthday. There was no drunk celebrant. The only fireworks that were lit up were between me and my babsy. I had cakes of course. My only birthday wish was to go to downtown Toronto to see and experience the Luminato Festival. The weather was cooperative. Too cooperative, in fact. Friday saw temperatures rising up to 33 degrees but, with the humidex factor, felt more like 45 degrees.

Opening night at Dundas Square did not disappoint. We had a taste of music from Nova Scotia by the East Coast New World Orchestra. I particularly enjoyed a piece they played that was Irish-inflluenced. The sounds of the flute and violin brought back memories of listening to The Corrs while reviewing for exams at Cherry's house during our 5th grade years. The last song they performed was also a hit with with the crowd. They had a guest vocalist sing an upbeat number in Arabic. We were clapping our hands in the air and dancing all throughout the song.

The next segment of the night was my favorite. Professional dancers gave a basic lesson on the Lindy Hop, which is part of the swing family. After seeing them perform, I was convinced that the lindy is probably the most entertaining dance genre EVER. So when the pair of instructors called the audience to come to the center for the lessons, guess who pushed their way right up to the front. Haha. Media photographers and cameramen were right there with us. We posed, we laughed, and we swung our hips and flailed our arms like crazy. What can I say, I'm self-absorbed and the opportunity to get my 10 seconds of fame was right there.

Following the dance lessons was an amazing jazz performance by the Count Basie Orchestra. They performed for about an hour and was then joined by 14-year-old jazz prodigy Nikki Yanofsky. We didn't make it to her performance though, as the humid weather and volume of people made it too uncomfortable to stay in crowd. Our throats were yelling for Cokes, and our feet, benches. We were also aiming to catch the last bus before midnight, as I had to wake up at 6AM the next day for work.

Scottish culture and music were the stars on Saturday. I wanted to go just to hear those sexy bagpipes and see the cute Scots in kilts, but it had gotten so hot by the time I was done at work. Plus, Arjay was badly fried from playing under the sun earlier that day. We opted to stay in and just prop ourselves on lounge chairs in the backyard. Minutes later, Tito Nonit was barbecueing and serving pancit because it was my birthday daw. I'm touched :)

Sunday weather was a repeat of the past two days. After having yummy eggs benedict and choco-banana crepe, I just wanted to take a nap while enjoying airconditioning indoors. We saw Don't Mess With the Zohan in the afternoon, which had funny scenes throughout but failed to amuse me as a whole. And the night was capped with a simple dinner at Ellen's with dad. Come Monday morning at work, my boss' wife came in carrying a birthday cake. Suweeeet!!! And as if that wasn't thoughtful enough, he took us all out for dimsum during lunch and handed me a present in pretty pink wrapper after.

I guess it's true when they say that as you get older, you'd want quieter birthdays spent with loved ones. I'm either at that point now, or I really just don't have a lot of close friends to "genuinely" party with, you know? It's so easy to have a party here, but the general rule of thumb is, if say, you celebrate at a club, friends you invite can bring other people along, since you're not expected to pay for anyone else's drinks or cover fees. So you're dancing and getting drunk with people you hardly know. Not exactly my cup of tea. To be honest, my best birthday "bash" wasn't even at a club. It was in a private room of a karaoke bar with a huge TV, 2 microphones, a pool table, couches, great food, and most importantly, great company. Gawd I miss it. But I am here now. The quiet life is going to have quiet birthdays.

Not unless I can go Lindy Hopping again next year ;)

2008-06-05T18:22:00.002-04:00

Our lecture in Finance class earlier was about personal cash management, something I need to learn badly because of my spending habits and lack of earning resources. While my bank account is never depleted, my savings account is also never growing. The most I've seen it budge was an increase of 6 cents within 3 months. I wonder if the banks or interest rates we've used as examples in class are real. Must pull my finances together. Must. Pull. Myself. Together.

2008-05-28T10:13:00.003-04:00

I miss being passionate about something. I am at a point in my life where everything seems routine. My excitement has been reduced to a trip or even a weekend to look forward to. The ambitious woman inside of me has gone off somewhere and I don't know when or if she's coming back. I miss being able to go anywhere I please, do anything I want. The life I am living has confined me in so many ways. This is not a whiny complaint. It is what it is.

And an awful truth that I realized last night was that... I miss being single and unattached.

I've hopped on my present relationship not long after my last one, which makes it seem like I've been in one for 4 straight years already. I have been happy, and blessed to have been loved in return. But putting all that time and energy to make the relationship work and be a happy one has left me losing a part of myself through the years. My faith, my ambitions, my relationships with family and friends, all of them have been rocked by my dependence on a man who I relied on to make me happy. And he does so, unfailingly. But I am afraid to come to the point that I can no longer satisfy myself and my happiness would only depend on him. Or has it reached that point already? Just yesterday when he mentioned his coming trip to the homeland I found myself having anxiety attacks.

Everyone's personal objective in life is to be happy. It can come in different ways, but more often than not, it comes from the feeling of being loved. And because I think that no one in this world is capable of loving another person unconditionally, to be loved requires you to give. A lot. I have given much, and I have no regrets. But I might have given something that was meant to be for me. Maybe I didn't leave myself enough to keep.

It's high time that I give more "me time". Throw out the gloom and depression. Quit relying on someone or something else to validate me. It's not going to be a boyfriend, a career, a size 0 body with size D breasts, tons of money or a functional family who will gratify me. I seek to find thrill again, to never let myself drown in self-pity, to find joy in the shallow and the mundane, to be creative again and be pleased with my creation, to study and not get caught up in just the academics of my education, and to constantly seek to improve myself.

I am smiling as I type this, because within the few minutes that I was going on and on, I found something to be excited about.

2008-05-15T12:12:00.002-04:00

My mind is blank. I cannot think of anything interesting to write. I just wanted to post something for the sake of posting an entry. If I had my camera or its memory card with me I would have photoblogged.

There's not much going on. Almost half the year has gone by and I feel like I'm not as productive as last year. I might have been more forgiving on myself last year since it was my first full year in the country but now that I've been here for almost two years, there's no room for slacking off. Sure, I have school, and I have my part time job. But I've procrastinated so many things that could have been done earlier. Obtaining a driver's license is one. I haven't even taken the written test for it. We also didn't advance in our salsa lessons. I still haven't taken an art course, which I was supposed to do last year. I have a ton of books still left unread. And I haven't been going on as much trips as last year. My days as a tourist/newly-landed-immigrant are over. Hello routine and boredom. Hello debt and hard work, and not necessarily party harder.

I do have New York to look forward to. After much delays, we're going back this year, in late June. Everything's booked. I now just have an itinerary to plan and a bank account to deplete, haha. I guess the trip is the calm before the storm, as work would be busier, my partner-in-all-things would be vacationing in the Philippines, and my second term in school would be coming to an end.

That's it pancit for me.

2008-04-22T09:55:00.003-04:00

We made a pact 2 nights ago to exercise more frequently and strive to be more fit. He was working out every night after work and taking walks with his co-worker during lunch breaks when I first met him. He now has a belly from being cooped up in his desk all day and not exercising regularly. I, on the other hand, have never been physically active in my entire adult life prior to last year, when I discovered my love for walking (hence my elephant calves), our regular salsa lessons, and when I finally signed up at the women's fitness club beside my apartment. But as I had expected, I went to the gym less frequently after the initial novelty wore off.

This promise of exercising more regularly stemmed from our constant complaints of back pains and aching muscles. I am so unfit that I could not go up a flight of stairs without panting by the third floor. My backaches when I have my period have also escalated to the point that I cannot even bend over. In my sudden panic over my lack of flexibility, I bought myself a Pilates workout video and a yoga mat. 20 minutes later, I declared myself a disgrace to this method of exercise. If you had seen me attempting to mimic the trainor, you would have laughed yourself to death.

Hence, the pact. We shook hands on it, with spit on our hands (yep!), doing it old-school style. Yay for a healthier heart, flexibility, and high energy!

2008-04-04T21:24:00.004-04:00

I can't believe that a quarter of the year has gone by already. I'm still trying to get used to typing (naks! Typing ha, not writing) 2008. Again, I feel like I didn't do anything special or memorable.

Let's see...
1. I went back to school. First year student AGAIN.
2. I took up Salsa Beginner Level 3, which I didn't really complete because I didn't show up to the last 2 of 6 classes. It wasn't as fun as when we did Level 1 and 2 at the ghetto gymnasiums =(
3. I started working at the dental office. I now understand why most receptionists are unpleasant.
4. I worked out religiously for the first 3 weeks in January, stopped, worked out again last Tuesday, and felt so sore after I could not even bend over. Until now.
5. I became a pseudo-rock star thanks to PS2 and Rock Band
6. I learned how to make Sex on the Beach, Egg Pie, and really good sinigang.
7. I got back to reading again (yay!)

Speaking of item#7, this is one feat that I consider to be an accomplishment. I used to LOOOOVE reading. I remember the time when I was about 8 or 9, and the highlight of my week would be Sunday, because Tita Pegs would take me and my cousins to the bookstore to get us new books. If we were only allowed to say, pick one or two, I would beg to stay longer so that I can sit on the floor on one corner and finish the book that I can't take home. By the time I was in high school I swore off "Sweet Valley", "The Babysitters' Club", and the like because I felt that I was ready for the big stuff, the novels. When book prices got ridiculously expensive, and the weekly trips to the bookstore were no longer, er, weekly, I scouted my Tita's collection and read whatever I could find. I didn't dare be picky. I just needed to have something to read. Visits to my cousins Tate and Ate Shine were also an excitement, as they had quite a collection. They would lend me their books, making me promise to take care of their plastic-covered babies.

I don't know when I stopped reading regularly. The lack of resources (i.e. PERA) might have been a major factor. And then college happened, and I was suddenly swamped in 6-page reading lists (for one class!), B-O-R-I-N-G texts, and enough readings in theology and philosophy for me to minor in Divinity Studies. Despite the heavy reading load throughout those four years, I had never felt more unintelligent and dull in my entire life. I was reduced to Plum Sykes, Sophie Kinsella and Meg Cabot. I couldn't even finish Harry Potter. Shameful I know.

I still don't think that I have the same amount of zeal that I had when I was in elementary and high school. But I'm starting to pick up the habit again. I'm in no position to be a literary elitist. Heck, I would devour a Paulo Coelho if it were handed to me. I'm getting to know authors again. It's hard. Meeting new people, getting acquainted with old friends. I don't think I'll ever reach the point of being considered well read. For now I'm just happy knowing that I have a renewed love for reading.

Here's one of my favorite commercials. So cute. Never fails to make me go "aww."
http://youtube.com/watch?v=QDNm4y7_2Xw

2008-04-04T20:46:00.004-04:00

Putangina!!! 'Yan ang sayo!

Sensya na sa profanity. Wala kasing equivalent sa English vocabulary na lulutong pa kesa sa murang Pinoy.

This project gave me so much stress during the week that it was due that it clouded my head with so much negativity. I was fuming over my groupmates' lack of efforts to work on their assigned parts. The grammatical errors and mispelling could be overlooked, because those can be easily edited. But to hand me in something makes absolutely no sense and include parts that were obviously copied and pasted from an internet source is downright infuriating. As if students here are not spoonfed enough. Punyeta talaga. I ended up rewriting majority of the content.

I don't claim to be the sole person responsible for getting that mark. I know myself and my capabilities. If I were still in Ateneo, this would have been deemed as a mediocre paper handed in by a first year student. But Dorothy's not in Kansas anymore. Things here are waaaaaaay different. My tendency to procrastinate certainly did not put me in the deans' list back then. Let's just say that here, an A is more easily attainable.

2008-03-17T21:19:00.003-04:00

I just finished reading this beauty a few nights ago. It had everything I like in a drama: reciprocated and unrequited love, tragedy, the right amount of sappiness, and ambiguous endings. 518 pages later, I was in tears, bearing a heavy heart. WHYYYY???? Why why why, Delilah? Why did Henry have to die?!?! Why do I feel so much for Gomez, Charisse, Ingrid, Celia, Richard De Tamble, Lucille Abshire and even Kimy? These were the characters who didn't get their happy endings. They were the sawi, the desolate. And yet, I gravitate towards their sad lives. Why? Why is the novel only a few hundred pages? And WHY are the story and characters fictional? Unreal as the plot may be, the themes of love and lost depicted in it are universal. My emotions were held captive, and for the duration that I was lost in the book, I believed once again that time and distance are the true tests of a relationship.

(This is not meant to be a book review. Post reading rant lang.)

2008-03-13T00:11:00.002-04:00

Baba?
Yes babe?
*whimpering* I'm having crying spells.
Oo nga. Iyak ka ng iyak kagabi.
I know... Sobrang annoyed lang ako.
With me?
With everything and everyone.
Aww... That's okay babe. I understand. Do you want some ice cream?
*laughing* Do you think ice cream will make me feel better?!?!
Babe, ice cream ALWAYS makes everything better =)

The above conversation stemmed from my unpleasant bouts of PMSing for the past 4 days. Advil, Tylenol and Midol not only failed to deliver pain relief, they also made me throw up. I have never had dysmenorrhea this bad. While I did not think that I was dying this time, I had thoughts of cysts or a malfunctioning uterus residing inside my reproductives. But no matter how badly I wanted to consult an OB, my student health plan did not cover such costs. I called Arjay in the middle of the night wailing, "My health plan does not cover visits to the OB!" He groaned and said, "That's okay babe. I'll take care of it." And I practically screamed at him, "No, it's not okay!", in a manner so reminiscent of Christina Ricci's character in Now and Then when she vehemently cries to her 3 friends. And then I realized that I just spilled those words for drama. 10 shameful seconds later, we hung up and I cried like a baby into the wee hours of the morning.

Come Wednesday morning, I still felt like crap. Hence, I decided to pay the walk-in-clinic a visit, so I could at least say that I made an effort to make myself feel better. However, I just came out of the clinic feeling sorry that I even came in the first place, since the doctor told me nothing I did not know already. I told her that I was concerned and that I wanted a referral to see an OB, or to at least get a prescription for a more potent drug, and she just said that there was no need for that. In her words verbatim, "Stop taking Midol. Sometimes the stomach gets upset if you put too much drug in it. Just wait until you get your period. The pain will go away. If it does not, take an Advil." And that was after I had explained that Advil, and the other painkillers make me throw up and that I had been taking them as instructed, every four hours. So basically, she just advised to me to suffer and bear the pain until I get my period. Boy I wanted to smack her in the head. My level of irritability had reached its peak at that point. I was also pretty upset that I had to miss school and work because of PMS.

That's why I was so happy when Arjay came to visit. One cup of vanilla ice cream later, my mood has definitely improved. Sugar is definitely my drug. Thank you baba dear =)

2008-03-11T18:03:00.002-04:00

I'm cursing my effing hormones as I'm typing this. Period season isn't exactly my favorite time of the month, as PMSing causes me to be overly irritable, overly sensitive, and overly grimacing in lower back pain. Ibuprofen makes me throw up. Exercise makes me sore. How can I be enticed by motherhood if what they say is true about pregnancy being 100x worse than PMS? Punyeta. Ang hirap maging babae.

2008-03-08T19:33:00.014-05:00

I played nurse to my sick boyfriend yesterday, despite The Weather Network's warnings of a snowstorm heading our part of the province. I didn't even bother glancing outside the window to check how much snow the grounds have accumulated. All I wanted was to care for Baba: cook for him (I burnt the rice), watch him while he napped (I was snoring before he even fell asleep), play Family Feud and Text Twist and watch movie after movie while snuggling under warm blankets. Despite protests, I insisted on taking a cab home so as not to trouble anyone in the family in those dreary weather conditions.

Mister Taxi Driver was of Southeast Asian background. One time during the ride I thought he said something to me, and because I was so embarrassed about having to say "pardon me" again due to his thick accent, I said "yeah, i know", trying to be agreeable to whatever he just said. And then I realized that he was speaking to someone on his cellphone in Punjabi or Urdu or whatever language that was. The next time he spoke I thought he wasn't speaking in English again so I didn't say anything and then it turned out that he WAS saying something to me.

Right before he turned to my street, he asked me how much I usually pay when I take that route. Pucha. I thought I left those taxi-drivers-from-hell back home already - those who ask you how much you usually pay and then they would ask you to just give them 30 pesos more because the traffic was bad or they were going out of their way to take me to my destination and all other excuses they can think of to squeeze out more money from the passenger. I told the driver that I didn't know because I don't usually take a cab, and that was the truth. As he pulled over my apartment's driveway, I prepared myself to hear him ask for more than what the meter indicated. But he just said, "Thank you. Have a good evening, miss." Wow. He thanked me before I even handed him the fare. I suddenly felt sorry for this driver who probably wanted nothing more than to stay home in this snowstorm. I gave him a 5-dollar tip despite the fairly short drive and said thank you and good night. Just as I was stepping out of the cab he said, "Oh. One more thing, miss." I braced myself for him to say that my tip was not enough. "You're a very beautiful girl", he said in his accent that then sounded like music to my ears. That was probably the tip talking, but oh well, I'm just grateful that he didn't turn out to be a kupal driver.

2008-03-04T21:00:00.003-05:00

My New Year's Resolutions. Knowing myself as I do, I only came up with this after 1/6th of the year has gone already.

1. "Delete" Friendster and Facebook accounts.

Cancelling my account with Multiply.com was inevitable since it was a product of a relationship long gone. I am now deliberating the termination of my two remaining social-networking accounts because of two reasons that will ultimately, and hopefully, improve my mental and emotional health. First, I believe, and I am sure that I am not speaking for myself, that these sites breed narcissism. I admit to flattery when I see the number of profile views that I get a month, or when reading (and rereading) comments/testimonials/wall posts, especially those from yesteryears when people actually bothered to write a lengthy affirmation on their friend's worth, embarrassing anecdotes from childhood or bits and pieces from a shared memory. Second, these sites reel you into the lives of people you end up comparing yourself to, be it a friend or a stranger. In my case, looking at other people's profiles triggers a lot of ill feelings: Insecurities about being an undergraduate student (STILL!) while the rest of my batchmates are building their careers or are getting post-graduate education, homesickness from seeing a barkada or family picture without me in it, or simply sights of places and activities in my homeland. On occasions, I am even guilty of doing my share of shameful "stalking", or spying on people of interest. (Come on! You've done that too!) In the end, there's really nothing good that comes out of it so... And really, 400 of my 400+ "friends" on Friendster are people I hardly keep in touch with. And I figured, those who really mattered would just contact me by e-mail.

(As I was typing this entry, Arjay called and we chatted for a good hour. He also made me reconsider resolution # 1 because he would sorely miss looking at my photos, and more importantly, the captions that I label them with.)

2. Get my driver's license

Hello? Anong petsa na? I don't even have a G1 license, which you acquire by passing a knowledge and vision test. So! I vow to take driving lessons in the summer. It would also be something I could occupy myself with while my significant other is vacationing in the Philippine Islands. Driving would liberate me from the rut that I get stuck in when I am bored in the suburbs. Kailangan kong pumiglas. (Naks. I just wanted to use that line.)

3. Lose some effing weight!

I have to accept that I am not born with the typical Filipina physique. That I will never be the type who can pretty much wolf down anything I want and not gain a single pound. Some people are lucky like that. I console myself by taking pride in my hairless arms and legs. At least I don't have to shave and wax to wear mini skirts, shorts and sleeveless shirts. I just need to work hard to lose the extra pounds and to be physically fit and healthy. While parting with sugar is such sweet sorrow (pun intended!), I vow to cut back on my addiction by going into sugar rehab. I am not aware that such a place exists so I would still have to work on the program myself. Hopefully I'd do well.

4. Establish routine and regular activities

Right now, I would say that I am still a new immigrant, therefore, I am not fully adjusted to life here yet. That may be due to the fact that I haven't accepted that this is my life now, that this is going to be home now. I am now in the process of accepting the idea, hence, I should establish myself here. Be involved in church, do groceries every other week, explore the city, etcetera etcetera... The more I LIVE here, the more it'll become home. Although I am still pushing the thought that I may renounce my Filipino citizenship someday away.

(to be continued. My back hurts all of a sudden)

2008-02-29T17:37:00.003-05:00

A co-worker asked me once where I learned to cook. From the Internet, I told her. And then she started laughing. Totoo naman eh!

As a child, I was fond of watching my lola and yaya prepare and cook food in our kitchen. We had what we called, the "dirty" kitchen, where all the actual cooking was done and where you would come out smelling like the dish that was being prepared. And then there was the "clean" kitchen where a 4-burner electric stove used to sit and the tiles along the sink had pretty pastel designs on them. Just before I left, Tita had replaced the stove with a huge Elba oven that could fit a person inside. Also in the "clean" kitchen were our refridgerator, our freezer, which never runs out of frozen Bangus, and the 5-gallon water jug. Also displayed on the old-rose coloured top shelves were the dainty China and glassware that I don't remember ever using. In the "clean" kitchen, you aren't allowed to wash anything but glasses and mugs. All plates and dinnerware go at the back, at the "dirty" sink outside the "dirty" kitchen.

While my lola would let me look on while she cooked, she never actually let me cook myself. I wasn't allowed to experiment, probably because she thought that I would just "waste" food. Hence, my kitchen duties were limited to throwing the ingredients in the pot and occasionally stirring. Tita Pegs was more lenient with me. I remember her letting me cook spaghetti the way I liked it, with real tomatoes instead of putting in spaghetti sauce, with tons of garlic, and meatless. Naturally, only the two of us ended up eating the dish, so we just saved our Italian food craving for our tita-niece dates at Bellini's in Cubao or Italiani's.

And because I was so afraid that I would starve once I landed in Canada, I had Tita buy packets and packets of Mama Sita, Knorr and Lee Kum Kee instant sauce mix and soup mix. I found out later that Filipino stores existed here and that they sold those products in abundance. And little did I know that I would end up throwing them away eventually.

I assumed the role of cook in our home because Dad is hardly home long enough to do more than place bigas on the rice cooker. He'd tell me what he wanted to eat and I, having no one to ask, would seek the Internet for recipes. Later on I discovered the wonderful secret to cooking called Tita Rose, a.k.a. Arjay's mom. I have never met anyone who is more passionate about cooking than Tita Rose. She can make ANYTHING and everything. She's the type who would wake up at unholy hours to start preparing for a lunch. Breakfast at her home is a 5-course meal. My freezer is full of pre-prepared food frozen and ready to thaw and cook. So when I am unsure, or when what the Internet provided looks fishy, she's the person I call. I bet if she lived here in Brampton, I'd never lose weight.

I am proud of myself, considering I was pretty sheltered growing up. Who would've thought that I would be able to cook a mean Afritada, Tinola, or Tahong Soup? I can whip up Tuna Fettucine, Korean beef stew almost as good as Yaya Neng's, Beef Nilaga, and breaded fish fillets that can rival the ones being served at the local Fish and Chips joint(Naks! Ang yabang!) I thank the Internet above anyone, for without which I would be eating corned beef and spam for the rest of my life. I would also like to thank Tita Rose, Bobby Flay, Emeril, Giada de Laurentiis and sige na nga, Rachel Ray. Lastly, I would like to thank those people from the Chinese cooking shows that I watched as a kid, those cooks whom I could never understand but with whom I am much in awe at for being so skilled at using Chopsticks for EVERYTHING, and Sandy Daza, who influenced me to put ingredients in individual saucers or small bowls. Because of you, I prepare ingredients as if I have my own cooking show.

"You know what I say. Anyone can cook. " - Chef Gasteau, Ratatouille

2008-02-21T22:59:00.002-05:00

I just realized something.

Ayokong magkaroon ng anak. I have yet to be convinced about motherhood. I grew up without a mother figure. I grew up being an only child. My cousins were all almost my age. I have never been around babies or children. I have no experience taking care of babies and young children. I am not the type who goes, "HOMAYGASH! Hangkyoot ng bebeh mo!" at parties, reunions or anywhere else, sabay agaw sa baby from the mother's arms. Sit me with a toddler and I ache to leave or return him or her to the mother within minutes. Palpak ako, pramis. Maybe it's not for me. *sigh*

Baka ayoko ring mag-asawa.

P.S.
Hindi ako buntis. At lalong hindi ako engaged.

2008-02-18T15:18:00.002-05:00

For the first time since I've been here in Canada, nagka-sipon ako. Not bad I say for someone who's used to 30 degrees year round and who's suddenly shipped to a country with dreary weather.