How To Live On P200 A Week

In the interest of economics, I have decided to share how I was able to survive one work week with a P200 budget.

Here is a list of what I did:
1. Consume the groceries from the week before.
2. Packed lunch, a true sign of hard times.
3. Instant noodles. Cheap and convenient. Just add hot water. Of course, the preservatives are going to kill me eventually but the title of this entry is not "How To Live Past 70".
4. Instant oatmeal. Cheap and healthy. Tastes blah but maybe in the process I'll finally be able to lose that 3kg I have been trying to lose for a year now. I'm not being vain. I'm just trying to reach my ideal body weight, you know, to be healthy. Maybe in the future, I'll get to write "How To Live Past 70".
5. Transfat is my bestfriend. Cookies, biscuits, all those chocolate-covered goodness that will slowly but surely block my arteries after ingestion. I'll probably die of a heart attack, thereby reducing my chances to write that "How To Live Past 70" article I'm so excited about. And I do not mean to take these sources of transfat as snacks. If you drink enough water, they can constitute one meal. Not a hearty meal, but you know what they say, beggars can't be choosers.

There you go. Admittedly, it is not a lot. But trust me, it can go a long way. It's no brainer that if I had to choose between a lifetime of scrimping or a lifetime of gluttony and good food, I would choose the latter, even if I end up trying to lose 50 pounds for the rest of my life or not living past 70. However, I highly doubt being able to resist an unplanned, exciting weekend getaway to some exotic place I've never been to before. As such, the chances of my living on P200 for a week again is not far-fetched. But for those who do not want to live like a beggar, here's my advice: Don't go on unplanned trips. Or better yet, don't get a life! That, ladies and gentlemen, is economical.

Song of the Moment: Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.



Lately, this song has been playing in my head. Don't know why. It's certainly not a song from my generation. It's 1975, for crying out loud. My father was like 20 years old then. He will not be meeting my mother in another 6 years. I also saw the music video, or I think that was the music video. There were 2 men and a woman, all bloody in a moving convertible car along a highway. Then they came upon a police road block. Bullets flew and they all died. I don't know what to make of that. But I do love road trips.

And I love this song. I'm a free bird.

And this bird you cannot change...

The Camotes Island Adventure

There was no plan. At all. I was supposed to sleep after my shift. Instead, I got dragged to the mall to buy the outfit I wasn't planning to buy and, 2 hours later, I was in a ferry on my way to a place I wasn't planning to go. At all. But, life is too short so what can I say? Carpe diem.

The place was freakin' amazing!

Can you see the beach behind us? It's awesome! We ate...

...and we drank.

We went to these really amazing caves with really amazing spring water. It's so cool and clean.

We even had a Dawson's Creek moment by the lake.

My partners in crime. Thanks for the amazing weekend, girls. It was just what I needed. It's do it again soon :)

Saturday: The Ultimate Spur-Of-The-Moment Day

To make up for the boring week that I had last week, my weekend turned out to be throw-your-plans-out-the-window crazy.

1. Morning: Splurge almost 2,000 on freakin' groceries. What the...?
2. After lunch: Spent 1,000 on beach clothes that was not even on my to-buy list for the next 6 months.
3. Late afternoon: Went to Camotes for an unplanned weekend getaway with 2 girlfriends.

After all of which, I had successfully made a huge gaping hole in my pocket. I have decided to forgo eating in the next two weeks until my next paycheck comes. So to my kind-hearted readers, I am now officially accepting charity. Please direct all donations to my bank account. For those who wants to help me out but are not particularly in a charitable mood, I will offer to do your laundry for a certain fee. Call me.

This is one big white space.

A reflection of my current state of mind. Or more probably, my life. Empty. I don't mean empty-meaningless. I mean empty-nothing to do. Boring. I mean, let's see, aside from tennis on weekends, there is not much that I do nowadays. I haven't watched any movie for a long time. I still haven't gotten around to finishing the book that I'm currently in the middle of, and I haven't tried anything new yet. So what should I write about. I cannot write about doing groceries. If I list down my groceries here, then maybe you should bury me because that would be like a nail in the coffin of my blog. So I'm just gonna retire for the weekend, look for something to do, maybe watch a movie and finish that damn book so that I will have something to rant about. Hopefully, something exciting will happen, like hail and brimstone. I'm kidding. A little.

Man, I have got to do something.

Le Grand Bal

And so it came to pass that the event that I had been dreading for days came and went without any incident. The truth is, I actually enjoyed it. In the world of creative design, where the people you see are wearing t-shirt and jeans everyday except for the big bosses, it was actually refreshing to see everyone at their finest. The guys were wearing coat and tie. The girls were all made-up and wearing fancy dresses.

Of course, I am still not a fan of such events. Nevertheless, I still went all the way. I bought a new dress, shoes and evening bag. I don't have any formal evening stuff in my possession, so I had no choice even if it pained me to part with that much money on clothing I'm gonna use for a grand total of 5 hours.

It was fun. The food was great, of course, as we held the event in one of the good hotels in our city. We had a trivia game during dinner where our group won. There was also a dating game where we laughed our dinner out of our nostrils from all the goofball answers that the guys were giving. There was dancing after the program wherein the guys proceeded to make a clown-in-formal-attire out of themselves. 

My general confusion over the event was the comments thrown at me for the dress I was wearing. For the first time in my life, I went to a formal event not hating the dress that I was in. No, that was an understatement. I meant, I LOVED my dress. Totally. The neckline was low but so? It was a good conversation starter, so that took care of one of my social problems.

Really, guys. I didn't understand why you were making such a big deal out of my dress. You were making me feel like the whore of Babylon. So the decolletage was low but it's not like you haven't seen me wearing less. You had seen me in a bikini, for crying out loud. Please don't go Simeon Ibarra on me. I am not Maria Clara. Wrong year. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

It doesn't look so bad now, does it?

To My Beloved Friend and Minion, Alexis

(My friend Alexis wrote this on her Facebook page. This blog entry is my reply.)

You are right. Day offs are rare gifts. Why do I get this feeling that you spend yours worrying about tomorrow or about the stuff you need to do when you get back to work? You worry too much. You need to relax. If I had a dime every time I tell you this, I'd be a millionaire by now.

You are right. Life is not easy. All of us have some sort of bitterness, regrets, and mistakes. The important thing is we learn from them and move on. Do not let the negative stuff take center-stage.

It is human nature to be uncontented. It is okay to aspire for possessions and a higher status in life. But that should not be your end goal. When we die, we cannot take any of those with us to the after-life.

If you don't like where you are and what you do, you can only do so much. At some point you have to stop and ponder if it is all worth it. Things may not work out but that doesn't necessarily mean a dead end. If you have learned from it then it has served its purpose. Nothing we do is ever pointless, the good or the bad. Unless you just sit in one corner and wait for the day of your death or the apocalypse, whichever comes first. Now, THAT is pointless.

The most important thing in life I believe is to do something which you believe in, something that is worth your time. Not only will your life be productive but when you die and your Creator will ask you what you have been doing with the time He gave to you, you will not be embarrassed with your answer.

Do not wait for things like love, fame and success to happen to you. Make them happen. And if they don't happen, cheer up, it's not the end of the world. There are other things in life that can make you happy, like your family, friends and work. Like everything else in this world, happiness is a choice. It has to be a conscious effort on your part and no, you cannot find that in another person especially if you are not happy with yourself.

Indeed, you are lucky. Your family loves you. We, your friends, love you just as much. I know you will continue to worry. It's one of the things you do well. It's one of the things we love about you. It's one of the things that make you you. But don't overdo it. Wrinkles are never in fashion. Always remember, however deep the pit that you may be in at any given time, some people have it worse. Some people die miserable. As long as you are alive, you have a better chance of getting yourself out of that shithole and die happy.

More importantly, what makes you really lucky, is that you have me. Your semi-perfect deity of a friend who is willing to go out on a limb to give you decent advice. Understand that this is non-compulsory. You may read this and not follow it, if you wish. Though I strongly advice against that because I know I am right and I would totally hate to see this blog space go to waste.

I am kidding, of course. A little.

Now, if I could only learn to follow my own advices, I'd be in better shape than I am today in all respects. But I guess that's just not how it works.

The Unlikely Ineptitude Of The Goddess

If I were Superman, my Kryptonite would be social gatherings. I heard a statement from America's Next Top Model being said of one of the contestants and I am going to use that statement to describe my ineptitude: I have the social grace of an infant. Yes, I watched that show. Call me shallow then sue me.

Being surrounded by a bunch of strangers or casual acquaintances in an environment that requires me to mingle with them incapacitates me. I'm just not good with making friends or starting a conversation. I would rather sit in one corner and pretend to text all the people in my phone book as if my life depended on it. I don't know when this started. I was Most Sociable in Kindergarten. I swear, I'm not making that up. I don't know what happened between then and now that turned me into a hermit. I guess I was surrounded with close friends all the time that I didn't feel the need to make new ones. The thought of being involved in some mundane conversation with people I don't really know is not appealing to me. What's worse is I have to pretend that I give a rat's ass about these people's problems or their current preoccupation in life. Big deal. We all have them, get over it.

Maybe that's why I don't have a lot of friends. I am too... Sheldon Cooper, for lack of a better term. Maybe I should try harder. But on the other hand, I don't really have to.

Leonard: ...We need to widen our circle.
Sheldon: I have a very wide circle. I have 212 friends on MySpace.
Leonard: Yes, and you have never met one of them.
Sheldon: That's the beauty of it.

But here is another trusty quote from my old friend, Jean-Paul Sartre: "Hell is other people." 


How empathic.

The Dark Side of Human Nature

I had a text message conversation with one of my girlfriends that went something like this:

Me: Guess what? Ruby is pregnant and Hector is the father.
Her: I really don't care about them. They're both ugly.
Me: Yeah, me neither. Just thought that you'd like to know. Think about it, they're going to have a spawn who will have the misfortune of taking after their looks. Hahaha.
Her: Yikes! Who needs more commercial models for sour vinegar? Hahaha.

I would have added that they should be executed for bringing bad genes into the world, as if the present gene pool is not contaminated enough. But that would be a bit much.

I do not like dissing other people in public but I'm only human after all and I really hate people who hurt my friends. That is not to say that I am beautiful. But before you say that I am being falsely modest, I am not. I am just less of an eyesore. That being said, I do not wish them ill. If they do end up together and happy, then good for them. But realistically-speaking, the chances of that happening are very slim.

Have a good life, Ruby and Hector.

Random Memory # 3: Prom Nights Straight Out of Stephen King's Brain

If a memory-erasing device had been invented, I would employ such contraption to wipe out my recollection of the prom night in my junior and senior years. As this was not the case, let me recount to you the horror.

It all started with the pairing. In our school, the teachers get to decide who you should go with. If you're a junior girl, you will be paired with a senior guy and vice versa. I had no cause to complain in the partner department as I had been paired with okay guys. By okay, I mean that it could have been worse. I don't mean any offense by that. I'm pretty sure that those unfortunate guys would have gladly gone with somebody else rather than me. But like I said, they were okay. The problem lies with everything else. The clothes, the shoes, the hair, the make up, and the event itself. I had the feeling that in some distant past, these events were meant to serve as punishment. Then I read Vanity Fair and all I can say was: Boy, I am sooo glad I wasn't born in England during that era. The social functions would have been the death of me.

I really hated the prom. What's funny was that I went to two of them. What? Attendance was compulsory. I hated my clothes, my shoes and my stylist had successfully made me look not myself but some has-been movie star from the 60's. If we were just made to sit around until the whole ordeal was over, it would have been more bearable. But, nooo. We had to parade ourselves around the ballroom and I had to see everyone raise an eyebrow to outer space upon seeing me. No, I wasn't being paranoid. And to make my humiliation complete, we had to do dance numbers whereupon my ill-fitting brassiere was threatening to stop doing it's job of covering my pathetic breasts and go on strike. The only thing I was thankful for was I still had the clairvoyance to avoid any photo ops, therefore, no OMG-is-that-me pictures of myself which my friends can use to blackmail me with. If you happened to be in those prom nights with me and have an incriminating picture in your possession, please contact me so that we can agree on some terms.

The book reminicent of my prom. Carrie by Stephen King (also had a movie version)

My Bara-dur

If I were Frodo, this would be my dark tower:

Like Frodo, it is my mission to conquer this tower. But unlike Frodo, my tower is self-imposed and will not likely end with my going to Mt. Doom to cast the ring of power to the fire, unless the ring is a metaphor for my eyesight and Mt. Doom is the cataracts. And yes, the tower is in dire need of replenishment. I am scheduled to go on a book hunting in the next month.

I am now reading this:

It is the last book from the trilogy.  What I will read after that will depend largely on my mood. Some of these books, like The Sound and The Fury, I have bought years ago but have not gotten around to reading. In the case of The Sound and The Fury, I had attempted many times in the past to read it but after several pages, my nose and ears started bleeding so I put it down and started reading another book.


"The people loved learning. They loved stories and poetry even if none of these were any good for getting a job." ~Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt

I'm A Daysleeper

"I'm the screen, the blinding light.
I'm the screen, I work at night."



I work at night. Have been doing so for the past 6 months. To be honest, I had hesitations when I took the job. There were obvious concerns like my safety on the way to work since I will be commuting from downtown and, more importantly, my tolerance for graveyard shift since I had never worked graveyard before. These concerns were then quickly dispelled. I have been coming to work earlier than my shift thus reducing my security risk, albeit not completely. I refuse to believe that there is such a thing as 100% safe as you can get shot in broad daylight, in front of everybody. My concern over my biological clock going bonkers was a non-issue since I have been doing the same shift for 6 months without change. As for my tolerance, this also became a non-issue because I discovered that not only do I sleep well but I sleep well at any time of the day. And as long as I get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep for the day, I can function well anytime of the said day. Of course, there are obvious disadvantages, the very glaring of which is that  everyone I know is asleep during the time that I am awake. But there are also advantages, like the stress-free work environment and the fact that it is more economical because, let's face it, everything's closed, therefore no unplanned eat outs or take outs. I eat breakfast, go to sleep then eat dinner when I wake up.

Just recently, my boss told me that he wanted me to be screening people to replace me at my post during the night because he feels that with my skills and background, I would be more useful to the company during the morning. I am flattered at other people's confidence in my abilities, a topic worthy of another blog entry. But I must say that I have mixed feelings. I am happy to finally be a morning person again and to be in the loop with everything that happens around me, instead of opening my emails at night and asking, "What the hell happened?" But I am also sad because I'm gonna miss my zen work environment and economical eating habits. Well, nothing's permanent but changes. And I should really be happy. No, wait. I am :D

Summer Lovin' Happened So Fast...

Summer is over. I'm sad. Sniff. Though, I would welcome some relief from this unbearable heat, I still love summer. I was born at the peak of this season. Thankfully, I was able to go to two summer getaways this year. The first one is to our company summer outing at Maribago, courtesy of our employer, and the other was to Malapascua Island with some of my co-workers.

Snorkeling and island tour at Malapascua Island. Perfect!

              

    At Maribago with the entire RC team, because all work and no play...

      
Thank you for all the good memories, Summer. 'Til we meet again...

My Passion for Writing: A Long History

When I was still in kindergarten I wanted to become a nurse. My main fascination lay in the fact that they look immaculate and sexy in their uniform. Moreover, every single nurse that I saw then was really pretty. However, I realized that I have a weak stomach for things like blood, ugly wounds, anything that smells bad and anything that looks eww. A trait which I have unfortunately inherited from my mother. So I had to chuck that ambition out of the window.

When I was in 3rd grade, I discovered the joys of reading and how it made me better in my English subjects. So I started reading more than what was necessary and, naturally, this led to my interest in books and wanting to write something that I would want to read. When I graduated in elementary, I was Writer of the Year, an accolade which was awarded to me because I wrote one lousy poem about my crush and cemented by the fact that I read and spoke better English than the rest of my classmates.

When I got to high school and went to Philippine Southfield School, it was a little different because although I still read more than most of the people in my class, there were now a few guys who were just as good in English and writing. But that didn't matter so much because I have never been a type A competitive person. I'm the kind who, when I'm sure of my answer, will share that to anyone who asks for it, even on major exams. Yes, I know. That is considered cheating but did I also mention that I have always been morally-gray? That is also the reason why I am not so religious. Religions are pretty much black and white when it comes to their stand on moral issues. I'm just not. But I digress.

In freshman year of high school, notwithstanding the fact that there were a few other people good at what I thought was my field, I still loved English and writing all the more. Teacher Vi was a really great teacher and she made the subject interesting. In sophomore year, we had a second English teacher. Teacher Maia was new to our school and she was also a real writer. Our English classes under her were focused on writing and applied English in general. I honestly thought I could impress the hell out of her. When I received the first-ever composition paper that she graded for us, holy stinking cow shit! It was a blood-bath! I literally could not see my own penmanship because of the gazillion corrections that Teacher Maia did in red (even now, if she is reading this, she is probably making mental red marks :)). And since I didn't adapt the I-don't-care-if-I'm-wrong-as-long-as-we're-all-wrong mentality until college, it didn't matter that all the other paper shared the same fate. I was beyond humiliated. Fortunately, I am not easily disheartened when failing at something I love doing and Teacher Vi and Teacher Maia were very encouraging and enthusiastic. By junior year, with our English teachers as advisers, our school established its own publication, I being a part of the editorial staff. By the time I graduated, my father and I were advised by our school's Vice President for Academics, Mr. Apepe, who was one of our mentors during workshops for the school paper, that I should take up Creative Writing or Mass Communication at Siliman University. I was even more encouraged by that push. My father went as far as inquiring dorms for me in that school. Unluckily, my mother did not agree because Siliman was too far away and she would rather that I studied within Cagayan de Oro City. The best school in our city was Xavier University but it didn't offer any creative writing courses so I went on an entirely different path and took up Accountancy which was the best curriculum that XU offered. I do not hate my mother anymore for not letting me go and I don't really dwell on the what if's of my life. Sometimes, though, it does cross my mind that if only I've had formal training...

College was distinctive, for lack of a better term. I wasn't sure about my major. Being enrolled in the most intimidating course of the most intimidating school in our part of the country, every single one of my classmates were the smartest or the second smartest in their respective schools. All of them wanted to sit in front. All of them raised their hands when the teacher asked a question. All of them spent their vacant periods studying in the library. I wasn't a bad student. In fact, I was an honor student all through elementary and high school. But I never sat in front. I never raised my hand even when I knew the answer. And I only visited the library when I was stalking my college crush or when I was reading books not related to my course (which, if it counted for something, would have made me summa cum laude, no kidding).

Suffice it is to say that my love for English and writing never waned and in that environment of stressed-out students and overdue papers, I found another formidable English teacher, Ma'am Illana. Since my course considered English a minor subject, I only had 5 English classes my entire college life. Fortunately, I had Ma'am Illana in 3 of them. I may not have been good in Accounting, Finance, Law, and Taxation, subjects which were considered major in my course, but not even the best person in Accounting from my class could trounce me in English (ahem). I aced every single English class I had. I especially liked the Humanities. I always studied for it. One time, my father noticed me studying and we had a conversation that went like this:

Him: You are always studying for English. That's your minor and you are already good at that. Even if you don't study, you're gonna get good grades on it. Why not study more for your Accounting? That's your major and you are flunking out on that.

Me: I'm bad in Math and anything that involves numbers. You knew this. If you had only fought for me to go to Siliman, English would be my major, I wouldn't have any Accounting subjects and we would not be having this conversation.

Ok, it didn't actually happen like that but you get the idea. Like I said, I do not hate my mother anymore for not letting me go. At some level, she was right. I do notice that there were just a lot more opportunities for commerce graduates, though I could be wrong. And like I said, I'm not the type who dwells on the what if's. I am happy now. I really am. I may not have turned out to be the writer in the caliber that my high school teachers expected but I believe that I am where I should be. Of course, I will always thank them for their help and influence:

Teacher Vi, with her post-it notes of praise and encouragement which I kept up to this very day.
Teacher Maia, with her ever-reliable red pen. I appreciate all the corrections and comments. They made me better and made me see the beauty of the language even more.
Ma'am Illana, with her formidable look and ancient knowledge in English. You'll never know how much you touched my life.

Thank you!

One Thing Out of My To-Do List

I know, I know. This blog was supposed to chronicle my activities on my way to midlife but most of the entries that I posted had been about my past. Forgive me. I have this inclination to be sentimental at times.

Over the weekend in my hometown, I have managed to do something which has been on my to-do list for a long time: learn to play tennis. Yes, I may not be a sports-minded person but I don't completely suck at the physical activities that I try my hand on. And I have long wanted to play tennis. It is the sport of most of my father's side of the family. He played tennis. So does 1 of his 3 brothers, all of his 3 sisters as well as his own father. In high school, I have asked him to teach me how to play it. He just told me that I was too small and the racquet will be too heavy for me. I didn't object since I really was small in frame. I didn't realize then that the racquet weigh a mere 0.75 pound. When I was in college, I asked him again but he wanted me to focus on my studies first. When I started working, I just didn't have the time. Now that I do, I asked him again and fortunately, he agreed.

So that is what we did the morning before I went back to Cebu.

Admittedly, there is still so much that I need to learn that's why I resolved to keep on practicing and playing here on weekends. I have brought two racquets back with me so that I could practice with someone. Besides, if this will become a regular habit, I will be hitting two birds with one stone. Not only do I get to cross out that item on my to-do list, I will also fulfill my resolution to keep in shape. I have tried running on weekends but, man, I find it so boring, I couldn't finish 3 rounds in one setting. Tennis is way better.

My sister, the other beginner at tennis. We made a pact that she would also practice so that we can have a tennis death match when I go back to Cagayan de Oro. She has a huge advantage since she is considerably younger ergo more flexible and she has my father to practice with. But it doesn't matter because when I get back I will pulverize her. (evil laugh)

My father, our mentor. He may be a tennis-player-not-Agassi but he was pretty good when he was in his prime. Unfortunately, he is still unaware that that era has long gone. But he is a good tennis teacher.

One Day in the Life of A Celebrity

I had a blast last weekend. So many things to do, so little time. This is what happens when in the eyes of the people you love, you have acquired celebrity-status.

Let me see. After my shift at work which is 12mn-9am, I went directly to the supermarket to purchase that bane of Filipino hospitality, the pasalubong (gifts). After that I went back to the dorm to prepare my stuff and went straight to the airport. As soon as I landed at 2pm, my father picked me up signaling the start of the gabfest with my family until 6pm whereupon I had to get ready for a get-together with my highschool classmates. I had dinner with them at 6:30pm and afterwards, we had a videoke session in one of the nearby bars until 3am. In the morning, my mother woke me up at 7am because the whole family was going on an outing. You can just imagine the how little sleep I had in 36 hours. So for most of the day, we frolicked in the pool and scenery of this really beautiful botanical resort up in the mountains. Although I was still sleepy and my head was throbbing of the hangover from the previous night, I immensely enjoyed myself. We headed back home at about 4pm and after a couple of hours we went to the city proper to do groceries which lasted for another 3 hours. By the time we got back home, I was practically on my knees from exhaustion and lack of sleep. Oh, well. That's the price to pay for eminence.

Here are some of our pictures:

That's me wearing a yellow shirt and holding the mike. I could not carry a tune to save my life but I loved these guys and I was having too much fun to resist belting out a few numbers. More importantly, these guys love me back enough to forgive me for committing the crime of ruining their eardrums and their favorite songs.

The place was great! The view, the flora, the water, the cottages. The best part was it was so secluded not a lot of people knew about this place. We had the pools to ourselves the whole morning!