Let The Countdown Begin

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Time is running out on 2010. A new year is beginning. A new chapter. This is what I love most about the new year. The slate is wiped clean. You can leave everything behind and start fresh.

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So here is to new experiences. New knowledge. New opportunities. To good health. good times and good challenges. To a happy life, happy family and happy friends. Let the good times roll and may they never run out.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

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Christmas is over but it is still in the air. Christmas decors are still up. People are still playing Christmas songs. I just love the Christmas season, especially since I get to spend some time in my hometown with the whole family. It is without doubt the most wonderful time of the year. I really find it hard to believe that statistically speaking, the rate of depression and suicide reaches an all-time high around these times. I mean. what could some people be depressed about? The lack of money? The absence of loved ones? That's the kind of things that you worry about for the rest of the year. Does other people's happiness amplify some people's sadness? Could be. But for me, it is still not a good enough reason to hang yourself. Happiness is supposed to be contagious. It's easier said than done, I know. But think of it this way. You probably have the same problem for most of the year. The holiday season offers a chance of respite from all that, even if it is just for a little while. So what if after Christmas you wake up and realize tat your problems are bigger that ever? What's new? As long as we're alive, we will have problems. Everybody is struggling one way or the other. But I simply can't believe that someone would like melancholy so much that he cannot appreciate the repose that Christmas is offering.

It's true that Christmas is not  like what it used to be. Very few people seems to be aware of its true meaning. For some, it is just a reason to splurge and this mentality has given rise to the kind of commercialism that equates happiness to spending. It is ridiculous of course but most people fall into this kind of trap, myself included. But to each his own and if some people believe that they could buy happiness, who are we to tell them otherwise?

I remembered when I was a kid, I used to receive gifts on Christmas from my aunts. I was very happy. Admittedly, the magnitude of my happiness is directly proportional to the price tag of the gift. But the mere act of receiving is a gift in itself. I never remembered being sad because I received less than what I expected. We did not ask gifts from our parents and they never gave us any on Christmas. On New Year's though, my parents have this long standing tradition of strewing coins in the living room as if they were confetti. My siblings and I would scramble to get as many as we can. We still do this up to this day but as expected I am no longer at the receiving end of gifts. Except for the compulsory gift-giving during Christmas party at the office, I do not receive gifts anymore. But you know what? It's okay. I like giving gifts anyway.

And the look on people's faces when they received their little wrapped presents? Priceless.

Christmas is almost here....

It's so near I could almost smell it. I have not blogged since last week but I promise to make up for it during my long Christmas vacation back in my hometown with my family. I'm so excited I'm just dying to get on that boat.

Hello, Cagayan de Oro. Hello, Christmas. One more day to go. :)

Song of the Moment: Wag Kang Matakot

Wag kang matakot
Dahil ang buhay moy walang katapusan...
...Ikaw ang dyosa't hari nang iyong mundo
Matakot sila sa 'yo...

How true, how true. This one is a song for the deities and this goes out to all the ladies out there who are goddesses in their own right.

Thank you, Eraserheads, for encapsulating in those few lines the force majeure that is a woman. If Ely B. were a woman, this song would have been perfect but we can't have everything.

However, this song does send a message. Guys, be scared. Be very scared.

Men and Women's Anatomy

If there are two things about women that men are so fascinated with, it's our breasts. 

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It doesn't matter that as infants they were fed from this part of a woman's anatomy, which is ewww. They go through their lives in constant awe from the wonders that is our boobs. Maybe the fact that they were breastfed as infants is what holds this fascination. That something so... squishy and so... jiggly could sustain them is indeed a cause for wonder. But then again, it could also be because both men and women have them but no matter how hard they work out at the gym, they can never grow theirs as big as ours. Let's just say thank God, He knows what it attractive, because for the life of me, I could never imagine macho men walking around with Pamela Lee's racks. That's just wrong. It's something out of the Twilight Zone series. 

I have been face-to-face with this charisma that our boobs have over men on more than one occasion. I noticed that if you show them just a hint of cleavage, they will not be able to help themselves. They will look. But since, it is just a hint of flesh and you are not being whore-ish, they just steal glances here and there for fear of invoking the wrath of sexual harassment charges.

Guys, even if you go on painstaking lengths to be cautious, we know that you are looking. Trust us, it's pretty obvious that you are looking at our chest when you are supposed to be looking at our faces when we are talking to you. It's obvious even if you are just "stealing" a glance. We understand that it is something instinctual and you can't stop yourselves. But your gentlemanly pretense is hilarious when you are just dying to see the goods.

A few times when I'd dressed slutty and displayed breast cheeks, they'd drop pretenses altogether and greet my boobs. And how about when you are talking to a guy and he is standing up while you are sitting down? Nine times out of ten, he's looking down inside the shirt.

I am reminded of a scene from the Big Bang Theory, when Penny was introduced to Leslie, the female genius.

Penny: Wow, a woman scientist! Cool!
Leslie: Yes. Guys come for the breast and stay for the brains.

Sadly, more often than not, men just come for the breasts period. If he is the kind of guy who stays for the brain, then he is probably not the kind of guy who came for the breast in the first place. But how many guys do you know are like that? How many, pray tell? (Janica, don't answer that question.)

It's funny how a lot of women go through the hassle of enhancing their boobs to make them more attractive to men. Sometimes surgical, like getting implants. Sometimes manual, like stuffing wads of tissue in their bra. Girls, you do not have to do any of these. Cut your breasts some slack and trust in the power they wield against all men. Big or small, all-natural or enhanced, men will take boobs in however way they can. Just as long as they are attached to a female homo sapien. Your A-cups should not be the cause of your worries. They should not be the reason for your inability to find a mate. The fact that there are more than a couple billion other women who possess the same anatomical parts is where the problem lies.

It Always Rains On My Parade

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The rain and I have a love-hate relationship. It loves me. I hate it. I am perfectly aware that there are numerous benefits that we get from the rain and life as we know it in this planet would not have been possible without it. But that doesn't change the way I feel about the rain. I don't like it. It's wet. It brings flood. It overflows the pathetic excuse for a drainage system in Cebu City and makes disease-causing filth flood the streets. Did you know that a person has a better chance of being hit by a lightning than winning a lottery jackpot? Not cool. How about getting drenched in the rain on your way to work or an important appointment? Not glamorous. At all. Unless you are Mariah Carey singing Through the Rain.

I was born in summer. I'm dark-skinned. Unlike every other Filipino women (and men) I know, I am not afraid of constant or over exposure to the sun. I am not afraid of getting sunburned. I am already burnt. There is nothing more that the sun could do to me that would bring about distress and hoarding of whitening products. I flourish under the sun. I love the sun. I worship the sun. Even if it is scorching outside, I would never bring an umbrella, another contraption I hate with a passion. Which is why I hate the rain even more. Try going somewhere in the rain without an umbrella. I cannot count how many umbrellas I have lost when I was still going to school. It distressed my mother that I had not the slightest inclination to protect myself from the constant ridicule of schoolyard bullies. So what if they call me 'Negra'? They can all froth at the mouth from calling me names but there is no way in hell I'm bringing an umbrella.

It is true when they say that when it rains, it really pours. In the Philippines, it pours a lot. And true to nuisance fashion, it always comes in the most inopportune times. Like when I'm wearing a dress and killer heels on my way to an important appointment and I find that my hair is in sudden need of of blow drying. Or when I'm supposed to play tennis but the court is submerged in rainwater and can be used for swimming. Or when I'm going to meet friends and suddenly the outfit I had previously picked out is no longer appropriate because of the weather. Or on my way to the office when I have a deadline and I get stuck at the other side of the street. Or when I need to run an errand but can't because I have no stinking umbrella. On a side note, did you notice that in the Book of Revelations, the apocalypse is signaled by raining something? Stones, fire, ice, scorpions, frogs, cats, dogs...

And what about the aftermath? Flood water and more flood water. Filth, filth and more filth. Mud, mud and even more mud. Everything is wet and unlike the images that poetry would have you believe, it is not beautiful. It is wet in a depressing and unattractive sort of way. This list could go on. What can I say? When you really hate something, you will not find any redeeming quality in it. Give me something you like about the rain and I will turn it into something awful.

In hindsight, I don't think I will be able to appreciate a sunny day as much if I don't hate the rain. There is always a yin to every yang. Maintaining a cosmic balance is such a pain in the posterior.

My Imaginary Conversation With a Non-Entity

My profuse apologies to the loyal readers of my blog which has now reached a count of 4 people. I know that you needed your goddess fix 3 times a week but I have not been updating for reasons I'm gonna explain below. Just this weekend, I was plagued with the most mortal of conundrums.

I got sick.

I don't get sick a lot. Germs would be lucky if they get into my system twice a year. But when I do get sick it's a big deal because germs come in full force. I get fever, chills, diarrhea, vomiting, the works, all in one setting. If disease were a festival, mine would be the Carnival at Rio. However, I am not the type of person who lets microscopic life forms get in the way of life. When I woke up on Saturday, my stomach felt funny but I went on with my tennis lessons anyway. It got progressively worse that by lunch time, even if I was really hungry, I couldn't eat anything because I felt like throwing up. I went home and had a major case of diarrhea. I took some medication then I slept and woke up at 3pm because I was going to have a coffee date with Janica. But I suddenly realized that I was running a fever and my stomach upset worsened. The more sensible of you might say stay in bed and get some more rest. You must understand, I do not see this person a lot. So when we set a date, it's written in stone. I just had to go. So I got up, vomit my intestines out and went. It's funny how vomiting can help you feel better because when I met Janica at the mall, there was no indication of the civil war being waged inside my body.

We blew our cash on overpriced coffee and stared out at the newly-opened hotel building across the street. I had the best toffee-chocolate cake ever. Then we stared out at the new hotel some more. But I left the mall feeling like I just had the most interesting conversation ever. Friendship is a funny thing.

photo courtesy: Janica

Her (taken with my phone's cam)

When I got back to the dorm at around 7pm, I was sick again. I took my meds and slept. After another 2 hours, I woke up and threw up. My vomit tasted of the cake that I had earlier that I was tempted to swallow it back up. I remembered that I had not eaten anything the whole day except for the cake which now lies in that black hole where crap goes after they are flushed out of the john. So I ate a little then I asked my cousin to rub my back which was aching like it's going to burst open.

I tried to have a conversation with my tormentors.
Me (channeling Gollum): Leave now and never come back! Leave now and never come back!
Germs: Sorry, vacation's not yet over.
Me (threatening mode): If you don't leave, I'll make sure that you are coming with me to the grave.
Germs: Nyahahahaha. Are we supposed to be scared now?

Damn parasite! They are not getting out without a fight. But I still wanted to give it another shot.

Me(bargaining mode): If you leave now and torture somebody else, I'll stop taking the meds, thereby increasing your chances of actually getting out of my body alive. I'll go back to being healthy and you can go on being a parasite. Everyone happy except the next host.

I fell asleep before the germ could formulate a witty reply. I woke up on Sunday still feeling feverish. Apparently, the germs are a slow bunch and have not yet made up their minds whether to accept my generous offer. Or maybe I'm the one who was dense and didn't get that the unwelcome tenants had rejected my offer. Be that as it may, I made sure the the delay or rejection on their part would cost them dearly. I took more meds. Die, you filthy animals! Die!

I went to my tennis lessons again but this time I made sure not to over exert myself. Like I said, I am not the type of person to let disease get in the way. I would never let them germs have that kind of power. Besides, no one in their deathbed ever said that they wish they had taken more bed rest.

To be human is to suffer and to deal with life forms which are so useless they can only survive by living off of other life forms. As if dealing with everyday life is not enough of a challenge, you have to fight creatures which you cannot see. What are our chances of winning?

Mortality, "thou art a heartless bitch".

Tales From the Creep

If you are familiar with the show from the 80's (Tales from the Crypt), then you will know that this is a horror story. Or in this case, a series of horror stories based on actual events.

Story 1
(Unknown person called. Girl picked up.)
Unknown person (guy): I love you.
Girl: Who is this?
(Guy hung up the phone but proceeded to repeat this procedure 5 times a day. Girl soon got tired of this so she did some research and found out who the caller was. So the next time the phone rang...)
Guy: I love you.
Girl: Classmate, I know who you are.
Guy: Ahh...Uhmmm... Sorry, wrong number.

Story 2
(Guy chatted up Girl.)
Guy: What are you doing?
Girl: I'm working.
Guy: Please turn on your webcam.
Girl: I can't. I'm working.
Guy: I want to see you.
Girl: You'll see me when you get to work tomorrow.
Guy: I want to see what you are wearing.
Girl: My work clothes. Geesh, you're like Norman Bates.
Guy: Who is Norman Bates?
Girl: That's you, sicko.

Story 3
(Guy chatted up Girl.)
Guy: Hi, how are you?
Girl: I'm okay.
Guy: Please use your webcam.
Girl: I can't. I'm at work.
Guy: Please. Just use your webcam.
Girl: I'm sorry but I really can't.
Guy: You know me. If I don't get what I want, I'll get angry and I'll bang this keyboard on my desk.
(Like I care? Offline mode.)

Story 4
Guy: Can I have your number?
(Girl doesn't know how to say no to requests like these, so she gave him the number. The next day, Guy texted Girl.)
Guy: Hi, how are you?
(Girl saw this as a chance to let Guy down without confrontation.)
Girl: I'm okay. But please don't text me, my boyfriend will not like it.
Guy: Okay. Let's go to church later.
(Huh?)
Girl: I will but I'm going with my boyfriend.
Guy: Why do you always have to be with him? He's already your boyfriend.
(That's a good question but I have a better one: If I'm not gonna be with him, then who should I be with? You? Don't think so. Remove from contacts.)

Story 5
Guy: Let's go out on a date.
Girl: Excuse me, you have a girlfriend.
Guy: Do you want me to break up with her? Because I will if you ask me to...
(Uhmmm.... Is that supposed to make me feel special?)

Story 6
(Guy posted on Girl's Facebook wall.)
Guy: Your smile is nice.
(Obviously, Guy has not seen Girl's awful teeth. But a compliment is a compliment.)
Girl: Thanks.
Guy: You're beautiful, baby.
(Ewwww. Remove post.)

Creeps of the world abound. Most of them men. I really only know two creepy women. One is me and the other is a housekeeper we had a long time ago. Somebody told me that creepiness is contagious. If you are exposed to it for prolonged periods, you will assimilate creep. But then again, there is a creep gene in every single one of us. It comes out especially at times when the current object of our obsession is unaware of our existence. And that's fine. But if you see a full-pledge creep heading your way, run screaming to the opposite direction. We can only hope that, for recognition purposes, they are wearing a name tag.

The Crypt keeper, creepy but genius. (photo credit)

Gratitude List for the Week

I thank...

God, for a great week overall.

Andres Bonafacio, for dying as a hero ergo making the day of your death a national holiday. We owe you the long weekend, Ka Andres.That may not be that way that you want to be thanked but I still thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.

Vida, for laboring for 2days straight, rain and shine, just to get better at whacking balls.

Kuya Platap, for being patient with our footwork and ground strokes. Thank you for teaching us the basics in tennis. See you next week.

The Alaxan boys, you old guys from the tennis club who wagger your kids' tuition fees on tennis matches (but I really hope you were all just kidding), for the encouragement.

My roommate, Janice, for getting me a bonsai plant. I hope we can prove your boss wrong by making the plants last for more than a week. Oh look, it's already 3 days and they are still alive. 4 more days to go.

My manito or manita for giving me a box of Curly Tops and snake jelly candies for the Kris Kringle last week. Looking forward to "something sticky".

My work and workmates for reminding me that I'm not yet in paradise and things still need to get done the hard way. Special mention to Menard, Kevin and Jules for agreeing to work on a holiday on such a short notice. I also thank Ryan, Dim, Ruby, Mike, Chino and Danica for taking the time out to take my bugging calls on a Sunday night.Work is such a bitch sometimes but duty calls.

My manicurista, for my nail job. You have made the work week ahead of me much more colorful. And you have freed me from the torment of my laundry for the next few days.You deserve a higher tip but unfortunately, I'm not a millionaire.

My Weekend in Pictures

Tennis practice with Vida for 2 days straight. Muscle pains highly anticipated.

My lousy footwork and bad backhand stroke.

Lunch at the Blue Elephant after day 1.

Lunch at Golden City Dimsum after day 2.

With my wrists hurting, I decided to get a nail job, another excuse not to do laundry this week.

Forgive me, food is always the highlight of my weekend.

It Runs In Our Veins

Statue of Athena at the Academy of Athens (photo credit)

Athena is the Greek goddess of war, civilization, wisdom, strength, strategy, crafts, and skill. She sprang forth from Zeus' head fully-grown and fully-armed and was said to be his favorite offspring. She wielded the thunderbolt and the aegis which she and Zeus exclusively shared. (source)

Athena, I believe, is the most formidable deity in Olympus and that makes her my favorite. I like the fact that she is strong and smart and a force to be reckoned with. It is not difficult to imagine that her stare could turn her adversaries to dust. If she were human, she'd embody women empowerment and guys would cower in her presence. Anything a guy can do, she can do better. In heels. And I am not just talking about mental stuff. I'm referring to physical endeavors as well. As a testament to her non-dependence to men, she was also known as a virgin goddess. Maybe she figured that she was too good for any man, even in the days of great Greek gods, and does not want to be saddled with a weakling.

Athena can kick the balls and skewer the guts of any man. Mortal and immortal alike. How cool is that?

I Blog Because...

1. I'm vain.
2. You can't stop me.
3. Life is beautiful but sometimes I need a reminder.
4. I love to write and blogging gives me an outlet.
5. I am not good at saying things. Most of the time I sound stupid.
6. I'm vain.
7. Sometimes life sucks and I need a reminder that I'm still luckier than most.
8. I need to constantly fight my natural inclination to procrastinate.
9. I want to tell my friends that happiness is a choice and you can find it in every little thing if you choose to.
10. Did I mention that I'm vain?
11. I want to tell my female friends that having a guy who loves you is important. But not as important as your friends, who you can be yourself with. Not as important as your family, who gave you life and unconditional love.  Not as important as yourself, who holds destiny in your own hands.
12. It's good to know that I am normal after all.
13. I want to help eradicate illiteracy and ignorance. Both are not cool.
14. It is a nice surprise to discover things about myself that I didn't know before.
15. Sharing somehow helps me make sense of things I don't understand.
16. The goddess is mortal. But it would be nice to leave something that would stay in this world long after I'm gone.

Gratitude List for the Week

I thank....

God, for all things good and true. For giving me another week which I can spend to live and learn from life.

My family, for being the anchor to my ship. I will all see you soon. Special mention to my one and only sister for securing my XU tshirts.

My friends, for bringing color to my life. You're just a few handful, beautiful people. If it weren't for you, I would have been a hermit, God forbid.

My work and workmates, for giving me a reality check once in a while. Special mention to Vida for braving the blazing sunshine and clay court to join me in my madness for tennis. We'll get better, Vids, I promise. And to Tito, my boss, for the snacks. More, more!

My massage therapist, for expertly kneading my back pains away. Thank you for putting up with my "problem areas". You have made my life a whole lot better, honest.

Tide, for helping me combat my two weeks worth of laundry.

My bed, for helping me reach REM stage every single time.

My pen and paper, for making me realize how lucky I am to be able to read and write.

24 Hours in a Deserted Island

A goddess has a gift of clairvoyance. In the event that I get stranded in a deserted island, these will be the 5 things I will have with me:

My book of the month. In this case The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin. (photo credit)

My notebook.

My trusty, old pen.

A humongous bottle of water.

Okay, so this cheating because these are two different items. But what good will being stranded in an island be if you can't wear a bikini and frolic in the sand? Which is why it is just as equally important to wear sunscreen. (photo credit: suit, sunscreen)

There are a lot of runner-ups to this list, the front runner being an ipod, then a phone and then there is also a guy and, of course, food. But unfortunately those things tend to run out of batteries or just plain run out, period. As this is a once in a lifetime occurrence, I do not intend to sleep while being on the island and I am not gonna tolerate low-battery excuses from my companions either.

November Book: The Life of Pi by Yann Martel

The story of Pi was that of an ordinary boy of extraordinary faith who went under extraordinary circumstances. It was a story of survival. It was the story of a boy marooned in a lifeboat with a 450-pound Bengal tiger.

At first glance, Pi was like any other young boy I know. He suffered in the hands of school bullies. He was constantly teased by his more popular older brother. He was normally curious about all the things around him. In short, he was not the kind of character that I'd take an interest in or who would leave a lasting impression. He was too normal and I really don't read books for normal daily-life portrayals. However, there was one thing striking about Pi and that was his deep love for God. So much so that he was a practicing Hindu, Catholic and Muslim at the same time. What I loved about the book was the event that happened to him which tested that love. His entire family were to move to Canada. Alas! The cargo ship which bore them sank in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. His whole family perished. He was the only person who survived and, worse, he was trapped in the lifeboat with the only other survivor from the shipwreck: Richard Parker, the tiger. When he was still an impressionable young boy, his father had warned him not to get close to a tiger under any circumstances. But he was trapped. He could either jump overboard the lifeboat, get drowned by the unfriendly waters of the Pacific or get eaten by sharks, whichever comes first, or he could find a way around Richard Parker until they get rescued, which was what he did. For seven long months on high seas.

The Life of Pi was a great story about human faith. When all is lost, when there is nothing left to live for, what makes us cling to life so tenaciously? When we look around and all we see is despair, why struggle with death? The Life of Pi tells us that the reason is faith. When all else fails, it is our faith that would get us through our ordeal. When we are at the deepest pit and we tell ourselves that there is no way in hell we can climb back up, faith tells us to get up and start climbing. And that's exactly what we do. We climb up or die trying. It's amazing what faith can do to a person's life. Even if there is no guarantee that things will get better, we believe that they will. Even if we are defeated and all we want to do is lay down and die, faith grabs on to the last embers of our will to live and absolutely refuses to let it go out. Instead, faith fans it until it glows into a flame again.

Do you have faith?

P.S. This was the book I stole from the cottage I was staying in when I went to Malapascua with some people from work. I have never stolen anything in my life, aside from the occasional lose change from my father's pocket when I was a kid. What pushed me to swipe the book? Could it be faith telling me that this book will give me a new perspective? :-)

The Weekend Without Pictures

What a boring weekend it has been. We were supposed to go to Apo Island on Sunday but it got postponed at the last minute so I was left without a plan. I decided to go to the mall to splurge the budget I allotted for the trip on Christmas gifts for the people on my gift list. Yes, as early as now, I'm already doing my Christmas shopping so that I do not have to blow my entire Christmas bonus on gifts. So I went out. And out was like the aftermath of the apocalypse minus the debris and filth that it usually comes with in the movies.

It was the Sunday that Manny Pacquiao was scheduled to fight whatshisname Margarito. A Mexican. Another one who, I was sure, will be added to the long list of Mexican casualties that Manny was responsible for. But to be honest, I'm not comfortable watching a Manny Pacquiao fight unless I already knew that he'd won. I avoided watching the live telecasts as much as possible. It's not that I have no faith in Manny's ability to win his fights. Obviously, his record speaks for itself. It's a superstition I have. I'm afraid that if I watch his bout live, the cosmos will play a cruel joke on me and make him lose. I know, it doesn't make any sense. First of all, I am not superstitious. Second of all, I am an insignificant person, just one out of the billions in this world. Why would the universe single me out for punishment? Third of all, there are millions of people all over the world watching Manny's fight. Heck, there could be creatures from the outer space watching Manny's fight. Why would he lose because I was watching? It makes no sense whatsoever but I am crazy that way.

Of course, as expected, Manny won. He is not one to disappoint. He beat the living crap out of Margarito who looked like he just came out of  a major facial surgery gone horribly wrong. Manny, on the other hand, looked like he could still shoot a movie afterwards, as Janica put it. Or appear on a congress hearing. Or sing on his concert. Or guest on Oprah. Ah, the many facets of Manny Pacquiao. If that is not genius then that's an over-abundance of chutzpah, which is not a bad thing. Filipinos everywhere were proud to be Filipinos. Crime rate almost zero. No traffic. Ceasefire between the military and the rebels. It's almost unbelievable.

The pride of the Philippines. A real modern day hero. I'm so proud of him because I'm Filipino and he is Filipino. Him winning is like giving a finger to everyone in the First World. I remembered another Pacquiao fight which I watched live in the Waterfront because my then boyfriend was a fan and was adamant about watching him live on a big screen. It was against Hatton. I was so afraid he would lose. Hatton was bigger and it was Manny's first fight in that weight division. A lot of people were saying that he needed to get lucky in order to win.Needless to say, the Waterfront was swarming with people. Nobody could hear the commentators on screen because of all the cheering. But it was great. It was communal experience at it's best. And when Manny knocked Hatton out, I wanted to shout, "Take that, you white ape! You arrogant piece of tae from a rich country!" I was ecstatic. But at the same time, I was bewildered. "That's it? That's all Hatton got? He got knocked down on the second round? How can that be? The odds were against Manny. Everyone had been forecasting a difficult fight for Manny. Nobody ever dreamed of a second round knock out. Did Hatton really prepare for the fight or did he think that he didn't need to because he can take on the Pacman easily? This is an insult!" I was indignant. I was probably more insulted than Manny was. I was frothing at the mouth with indignation while the whole Philippines was jumping up and down and never been happier to be Filipino. Which is not to say that Manny won because he is Filipino. Noooo. He won because he is Manny Pacquiao. If he were Italian he'd still beat the living daylights out of his opponents because... he is Manny Pacquiao. Being a Filipino has got nothing to do with it. His victories were brought about by his determination, his perseverance and his intelligence inside the ring. He may claim his victory to be the victory of every Filipino and we Filipinos may claim his victory to be ours. But the truth is, his victory is his alone. We are but a witness to his greatness and legacy. There are about 90 million other Filipinos. If he won because of his citizenship, why is there no one else like Manny Pacquiao? Or Charice Pempengco for that matter?

So this in not entirely a weekend without pictures because in closing, I would like to  post this picture of the champ:

photo credit

Let that face be warning enough. I pity all those Mexicans who fought and will fight him. They were all a bunch of pretty looking boys. The difference in the level of gorgeousness is like heaven and hell. Mexicans, heaven. Manny, hell. But at the end of every fight they always end up looking worse than Manny. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You Mexican boys never learn.

Confessions of a Chef Wannabe

photo credit

I have a confession to make. I am a chef wannabe.

The people who have known me for a long time would make a face. Or pause in disbelief. Or choke on food. Or die from a bout of laughing fit. That's because of all the people that they've known, I'm the person who would not be caught dead donning an apron. I could not blame them. When I was younger, I would not go to within a 100 meters from a spatula.

My mother is a great cook. There is absolutely nothing that she couldn't do in the kitchen.Give her a whale and she will cook the hell out of it. Her being old-fashioned and me being the eldest, not to mention a girl, she had expected me to take over her crown in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I did not have a thread in my whole body that was interested in any house chores. But we are talking about my mother here, who must have been a drill sergeant in her past life. My non-interest did not stop her from hammering me all the time with house chores in the hope that by constant exposure, the chores would somehow integrate themselves into my being and become a habit. I'm sorry, mother. No can do. Which is not to say that I didn't try. A part of me believes that had she been more appreciative, I'd have a reason to try harder. On the other hand, I could not really blame her for being less adoring. I admit, I totally suck. My cooking had never been just right.It's either to salty or blah. On some occasion, my mother would say, "Wow, now I know how the ocean tastes like." Other times, she would say, "I feel like I'm eating paper." Yes, I suck that bad. On the other hand, my dear little brother, now an engineer, had always been a mama's boy and true to mama's boy fashion, he went around poking his nose into every single one of her business that when he was about 2 year old, my mother accidentally hit his face with a hot electric iron. He was always around her all the time. He was like a shadow she could not shake away. I think that's what made him assume the role that my mother, in her delusion, thought that I would play: the next cook of the family. It was a role that suited him to a tee because he was fat, he loved food, he liked to cook and... he was fat (I am suspicious of thin chefs.). I had actually thought that my brother coming into light with his spatula-welding ability would free me from the pressure of my mother's old-fashioned-ness. Boy, was I wrong.

Mother: Don't think for one second that you could get away from me with the kind of handicap you are harboring. (Yes, for my mother, a woman's inability to cook is a handicap, an offensive handicap.)
Me: Give me a break. mother. Gorick can cook. He would gladly do it for you. 
Mother: I do not mean that you do it for me. Do it for yourself. Do it for your future husband.
Me: Mother, you underestimate me. I do not need to cook for myself. Trust me. Food will make itself available to me, ready to be eaten when I need to. As for my future husband, if he has any decency in him, he will cook for me.

I am so appalled by my mother's lack of confidence in my ability to choose a mate. Mother, I will never saddle myself with someone who is not good enough to cook his meal. At the very least he should be good enough to buy it. That's unfair, she would say, why would you expect him to cook when you can't cook yourself? Because, mother, even if he ends up being saddled with me who is not good enough to cook her own meal, he would still be lucky anyway (ahem).

Mother: That's the point you wanted to make? Oh boy, he is so gonna starve.

But people grow up and change. You suddenly find yourself showing interest for things you have no inclination for when you were younger. That's what happened to me. Maybe I missed my mother's home-cooked meal. Perhaps it's my desire to constantly improve myself. Or maybe I just wanted to prove my mother and myself wrong by doing something we both thought I would never do. Whatever it is, I now find myself wanting to flex my muscles in the kitchen. I'm still not gonna do it for any guy though. If I can cook, I would become too good for any man.

Random Memory: McDonald's and Me

photo credit

My love affair with McDonald's started when I was in college. I didn't really know McDonald's that well in my high school and grade school days. But in college, the true love of my life was McDonald's. It was the witness to all my exultation and tribulation. When I was happy, I went to McDonald's. When I was sad, I went to McDonald's . When I wanted to relax, I went to McDonald's. When I wanted to cram, I went to McDonald's. There was even a time when a bunch of classmates and I stayed at McDonald's for six hours straight just to study for an Accounting exam.

Usually, we went to McDonald's after our evening classes to have dinner. During those times, Josh, a dear friend and project leader, could be heard saying, "Our professor is stupid. He gave us an A minus for our group paper that I spent 2 hours copy-pasting from the internet." Plagiarism was no big deal to us back then, we just wanted to pass. We also went to McDonald's for the brainstorming session of our group projects and on those occasions Josh could be heard saying, "Let's stop fooling ourselves with this brainstorming crap. We all know that I will still end up writing this paper all by myself. You should all be thankful that I am good at copy-pasting stuff from the internet." Whereupon we dropped all pretense of brainstorming and proceeded with our pointless gab-fest over french fries and Coke float. Yes, Josh, we owe you for making our academic burdens lighter. You are the best group leader ever. Where was I? Oh yes. In college, McDonald's was a way of life.

When I landed my first job, it required me to move into a different zip code for the very first time in my life. I remembered being anxious while I was riding the ferry that would take me to the place I would call home for the next two years. I was excited and scared at the same time, the magnitude of my choice to be away from my comfort zone just dawning upon me. I looked out of the ferry, staring at Ozamiz City as it drew near when, lo and behold! A McDonald's! That's when I knew everything was gonna be okay. And so the vicious cycle continued. When I get stressed out, I went to McDonald's. When I get the job done, I went to McDonald's.

Now, since moving to Cebu, I have come to know other places that I love to go to when I wanted to eat. But none of them gives me as much comfort and a sense of home as McDonald's. Oh Ronald, if only you were a real man, then I will have nothing more to look for.

My Weekend in Pictures

Another grueling tennis practice session with Vida.

Second-hand book shopping. Another check on my 6-month goals list.

I could stay here forever. I love the smell of the store. It smells like good old paper.

Some of my purchases. It will go on top of my Bara-dur

I also bought a bunch of travel books. I hope I could set foot on these places for real and put the books into good use.

Chicken and Krushers with my dear friend, Nila.

A Crappy Day in the Head of the Goddess

(To document most of the thoughts that fleet through one's mind is no easy feat. I had to resort to saying what's on my mind loud enough to record myself.)

Upon waking up...

What is this pimple doing on my face? It's as big as my head. If it grows any bigger, it'll grow hair. Maybe I'm mutating.

Nice. Only a few of the ladies are up. No mad dash for the bathrooms. No body count first thing in the morning. I love sembreak!

Shit! My period's here again. Funny how most women's reaction to their period depends on their sex life. Active sex life: Yes, period's back! Non-existent sex life: Noooo, period's back! For me it's definitely shit, period!

I feel so ugly today. But I have to keep up appearances.

And now it's raining. This is so not my day.
 

I cannot read jeepney signs without squinting. I'm so gonna get wrinkles in the forehead.

In the jeep...

I hope this guy beside me is not a snatcher. I'm in a foul mood. If he attempts something, I might beat the living shit out of him.

I hate mass transportation. One of the downsides of poverty. Brings you in close proximity to people who had never seen the insides of a shower room before. Unfortunately, we can't all be rich.

Stupid guy from another car blowing the hell out of his horn like there is no tomorrow. Most probably a guy who thinks of himself as macho. With that kind of attitude on the road, he is probably gonna die in a car accident. Or survive but will have both of his legs cut off. Then he can suffer like how our eardrums did when he was still playing Road Runner.

Arrrrgghh. It's  not yet 9am but I'm already incurring the wrath of the cosmos. It started raining cats and dogs just when I was at my stop. This is an attack!

Stupid rain. Now I'm stuck here. My office building right across and I'm soaking wet. Just when I have a deadline to catch this morning. Shit shit shit.

In the office...

My shoes are wet. My feet are wet. I look like a wet chicken. Shit.

Don't be flustered. The elements are never against a goddess. The rain is supposed to be under the control of my whim. Just say that you are sporting the dewy-goddess look. It's a big trend from where I came from. Lesser mortals would never understand.

Fuckin' rain. This is all your fault. I hate you rain.

Now I have to cram for my research deadline. Stupid rain.

Son of a bitch! None of these are making any sense to me. If I don't finish this in the next 30 minutes, I'm gonna gouge my eye out. Or my pimple.

I'm hungry.

Almost done. Then it's good riddance, payday loans. I will never hear of you in this lifetime again. Ever.

I wonder if the food's already here. I'm hungry.

Yes! Done! Sent!

Gotta check on FB to know who are celebrating birthdays today. If it weren't for online birthday reminders, my friends would hate me for forgetting. Lousy memory.

A million other things waiting to get done. What to do next?

Sign above printed name.

Now, what is it this time?

I'm hungry.

I gotta eat or I'm gonna faint.

Lunch...

My gums hurt.

Why do I always finish first when eating? Everybody else always eats slower than  me. This is my mother's fault. She trained us like the drill sergeant that she is.

Back at my desk...

I wonder why he didn't accept my friend request. He must have thought that I'm gonna stalk him. Oh well, can't really blame him.

Shit! What's with webmail?

Shit! What's wrong with my outlook? Piece of shit! Useless! Arrrrgggghh!!!

Unbelievable! Now I'm having a mental block. I just need a starting point... C'mon brain, work!

I really wonder why he didn't accept my friend request. Tsk.

Still can't think. Need to find another diversion.

Maybe I should eat something.

Oh goody, somebody volunteered to go to McDonald's. Monster coke float and twister fries for me.

What's taking so long? Maybe he got buried under the burden of my monster coke float. *evil laugh

I love McDonald's.

I'm broke. Thankfully, payday is tomorrow. Whoever said that you don't need money to survive is grossly naive. Don't need to have a lot. But you definitely need it. Come to think of it, only rich people say that they don't need money. That's because they have it in abundance that they really don't realize how much they are using it.

Dumb Briton! I need an assassin on the other side of the planet.

6.00pm...

Wow, it's less crazy now. At least I got a lot of stuff out of the way. Yey! I think I deserve a reward.

Shucks! I forgot. I'm broke. Oh well, looking at beautiful things won't hurt either. I'll drop by the mall later.

That's it. Au revoir, work. I'll deal with the rest of you tomorrow. 

At the mall...

I love National Bookstore.

I'm gonna buy a copy of this book.... And this book.... And this book also....And that....

I love National Bookstore.

I wish somebody would give me a P1 million worth of shopping spree at National Bookstore. I would thank him to death.

Oh, so many beautiful stuff. Can't buy any. Time to go.

At the dorm...

Everyone is watching "Magkaribal". I hope Bea dies. I hope Gretchen dies. I hope Derek dies. I hope Angel Aquino lives happily ever after.

Can't bear to watch it with one million girls in the common room though.

Lousy day. Tired like hell. Got to sleep now.

I wonder what tomorrow will be like. It's payday tomorrow. Even if tomorrow I get hit by a speeding vehicle, because it's payday, it would still be better than today.

Yey! Will play tennis again this weekend after 2 weeks of sloth.

Why did he not accept my friend request?

(That's the last thing I recorded. I fell asleep after a few minutes.)

Venus Rules

During my teenage years, the concept battle of the sexes was very rampant. Almost every discussion would always lead to a girls-versus-boys thing. Now that I’m an adult, I realized how inaccurate that concept was. There is no such thing as men versus women because aside from the fact that there is “too much fraternizing with the enemy” (Jessica Zafra) going on, men are not evolved enough to be on the same level as women. In boxing, you cannot fight someone who is not from the same division as you are. Men are not only not on the same weight division so to speak, they are not even in the pros.

Here’s a newsflash (I’m not gonna hold back so here goes…): most men are stupid. It’s a fact that almost every woman knows. What’s funny is that, even with this knowledge, women still find that men are essential to live a fairly interesting life. So what does a girl do? She pretends that she is even more stupid than her guy. No, we would not want to hurt their feelings. We have to make them feel like they are in-charge or they’ll feel emasculated.

But let’s be reasonable here. Most guys are probably saying, “WTF! How can you say that?” Because, guys, number one, you walk around with the delusion that you are God’s gift to women. You are not. You were created first. But God saw that you were lonely, wandering all alone in the garden. Oh, poor little boy, so helpless and miserable. So God, who is all-powerful and knowing, created us, which in effect makes us women God’s gift to men. But nooooo, you would never admit to this. You are so full of yourselves that you feel like it’s a sin to be keeping yourselves from other women even if you are already with somebody else. Tsk, bad, bad boys. Number two, you think you are smarter than us. I would not even have to elaborate the obvious. We just let you think that you are smarter because, let’s face it, what fun would you guys be if you go around with a long face, moping and feeling useless? Plus, we have a longer lifespan, have higher EQ’s, can give birth to the next generation, are generally more pleasant to be around… the list goes on. But more importantly, men are easy to read. The moment you show yourselves and utter a single word, we know what you want, even if you go on painstaking lengths to hide your true motives. We know. Women, on the other hand, are deceiving. Because it’s what men want, we make you believe that we are damsels in distress because it feeds your machismo to be thinking that you will save the day. You cannot even prove your worth without having to do something physical.

Poor boys, frothing at the mouth as we speak. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, to be the one to shatter the rose-colored glass that has blissfully shielded you from the truth. Don’t worry, you are not completely useless. Yet. Just as long as nobody invents a more viable replacement. A dog would have been perfect. Unfortunately, we need it to be able to stand on two legs and lift heavy objects. So don’t lose heart, guys. You will still find countless intelligent women who will laugh at your not funny jokes, show interest at your boring stories and act impressed by your uhmmm… man stuff. It is so hard to find a good source of entertainment nowadays but one has to make do with what is available, another characteristic which makes women better than men. We adapt and we adapt well.

In conclusion, women are superior. If you guys know what’s best for you, don’t piss us off. We are holding your balls in the palm of our hands. You would not want us to crush them into oblivion, would you? What then would the source of your macho pride be? Oh, the tragedy.

My Weekend in Pictures

A whole afternoon with nacho chips and tomato salsa dip. Yum!

Finished my book. Yey!

Coffee ice cream, music, pen and paper on a rainy night.

My all-time favorite: double cheeseburger, fries and Coke float.