The Goddess Loves CDO

Well, that goes without saying. I love Cebu like hell but CDO is where family and friends are. CDO is home and there is no place like it.

The two lady-loves of my life.

After free-lunch drinks.

Because we had to kill time and none of us thought of bringing a camera.

Good friends are so hard to find.

High-school, 10 years and 10 lbs later.

Girls just wanna have fun.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

photo credit

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.

Random Memory #4: The Toy Story

When I was six years old, we moved out of our rented apartment to a house of our own. There were still five us of then: my parents, me, and my two younger brothers. The youngest, Oning, was still a year old. That was a major adjustment period for everyone in the family, especially us kids. We were used to eating good food, having our friends around, watching TV and doing all other kids stuff. When we moved in to our newly-constructed house, we had a roof and walls but no floor. We had to wear slippers all the time which we were not used to. We had no electricity yet so no TV and refrigerator. We had no running water so we had to obtain drinking water at my grandmother's house a few blocks away and do laundry at the river also a few meters away from the back of our house. Most of what we ate were also vegetables grown on our own yard because we were still recovering from all the construction expenses we had incurred. On top of all that, we were in a new environment and didn't know anyone.

My mother must be some kind of a psychic because she had the social dilemma of us kids all figured out. Granted, kids adjust very quickly to new environment but my then 3-year old brother, who is my mother's favorite child, was even more socially inept that I was. The first day we were all settled in, she displayed all our toys for all the neighborhood kids to play with. I swear, all of the toys filled one very gigantic box. Our front yard was literally like having a garage sale for toys.

Me: Where did all these toys come from?
Mother: They are all yours and your brothers'.
Me: No, they are not. I don't remember having this stuffed turtle, that neon pink kitchen set and the alien-looking doll. I don't remember playing with any of these toys at all.
Mother: That's because you have a crappy memory. That stuffed turtle was from when you were 2 years old which I hid from you because you were so attached to it that you would not let it go even after it smelled like a dead animal and needed washing. The doll was when you were 3 but you didn't play with it because it scared the crap out of you. The kitchen set was also from 3 years ago and after playing with it for 3 days straight, you got fed up with it and left it under the tree outside. You have the attention span of a mentally-retarded person.
Me: My memory is not crappy.
Mother: When you were also 2 years old we got a white puppy and named him Whitey. You loved that dog. He was with us for more than two years then he got hit by a speeding vehicle and died. A year after that incident, you can't remember having the dog anymore. Yes, your memory is crappy.

Apparently, we eventually get tired of our toys and discard them but she just swooped in after our play time, repaired the broken toys and kept all of them in a box stowed somewhere. We thought we lost those toys but she had them all along. And she did this for years.

Of course, with a gazillion toys propped up on our yard, we were the most popular kids in the neighborhood. We did not even have to make an effort to gain new friends. We just sat with our toys outside and kids who lived blocks away would pile in and asked to play with us. Even if we had no electricity or running water, all the kids thought we were filthy rich and gave us special treatment. My mother is a freakin' genius. And a toy packrat.

I still can't remember the dog though. I mean, who the hell forgets a dog named Whitey? But my father says that there really was a dog. Even my brother remembered playing with the dog. Dude, you were two years old. How the hell could you possibly remember that? I swear there's a conspiracy going on here. There are no pictures of the alleged dog. My mother said that it was buried at the back of the apartment we rented but there were no markers or tombstone. She allegedly cried when the said dog died. If it were indeed beloved, then there has got to be some remnant of its existence. The whole family is ganging up on me and my poor memory.

As for our toys, they are now buried in their respective resting places. Some in the yard, some on the roof, some changed ownership without our knowing it and others reduced to dog poop courtesy of another dog of ours that I happen to remember who bit everything that looked juicy including my father's arm, whereupon our neighbors decided that the dog was rabid and proceeded to make a recipe out of it. Unlike the dog Whitey, whose true story the conspirators will probably take to their graves, I still remember the toys very well. And even if they eventually died, its okay because they have served their purpose. Even for a short time, I knew what it was like to be a rich kid.

Goodbye, Gilmore Girls

Nice run, girls. I enjoyed it so much. Thanks for the roller coaster ride.

After all those time that our bond was put on hold because I went away from home and lived in places with no TV. I finally got to watch the whole 7 seasons of Gilmore Girls. All those witty comments, hilarious jokes, food-binging and mother-daughter moments reminded me of the time when I sat in front of the TV watching your pilot episode many years ago wishing that I had the same relationship with my mother. If your final episode came out then, it would have made me realize that there was still hope for my mother and me.

Chris was the very essence of perfection...

...but I still prefer to have a Luke.

I cannot believe I was living vicariously through the Gilmores. Now its over. Oh well. Goodbye, Loreleis.

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!

Nostalgic For Anime

I came across this on YouTube. It's one of my favorite anime shows and has one of my favorite anime songs as well:



I used to watch it with my younger siblings. Finding it now brought back to mind a bunch of really good times and I realize how I terribly miss those guys.

The truth of the matter is one of the reasons that I moved out of the house was because I felt that it had become way too small for all of us. I have 4 younger siblings and they behaved like how normal kids do when they are around each other. They fought, they bickered, they teased, they ran around the house, they yelled at each other. The chaos was insane. I just had to get away.

Don't get me wrong. I love my siblings. That is something that I have always known. I practically raised our youngest brother. Being the eldest, I was very protective of them. I would fight their battles for them if I had to. When somebody bullied them, I always came to their rescue. I threatened to beat the other kid until he promised not to mess with my siblings anymore. I would rather die than see any harm come to those kids. But at some point, I grew exasperated of the chaos and the proximity to those little monster kids became too much.

There were a lot of things we didn't agree about, especially when it came to watching TV. They liked basketball and gag shows. I liked Charmed and Gilmore Girls. But when it came to anime, we were all in complete agreement. We watched Ghostfighter, Dragonballs, Samurai X, Slam Dunk, etc. on TV together. The homeworks had to wait. We even used to sing along to the opening and closing songs. They were all in Japanese and we didn't know the lyrics but we sung it with feelings. Now I will always look back at those times and feel lucky that I have my siblings who shared those times with me.

I'll be back home for a few days this weekend. When I do, I'll give each of them a bear hug and tell them that I missed them.

Forgive me, but before I sign out for the weekend, here's another one of those anime songs:

Random Memory # 2: A Test Subject for Freud

I am like my father in so many ways. My mother said that had I been a boy, I would have been his exact carbon-copy. Unfortunately for my mother, that was to her disadvantage. I'll explain later. One of the many things that my father and I share in common is our extremely low tolerance for pain. Let me share a random memory.

I was about 4 and my father came home from a basketball game with a huge scrape on his knee (what else can you get by having 10 guys fight over one stupid ball?). Upon seeing this, my mother went into wife-mode, chastising my father for not being careful while preparing the disinfectant and some cotton balls. I, on the other hand, fascinated by how a grown person can get wounded like a scrawny kid in the playground, was examining my father's wound. Apparently, kids have high tolerance for stuff that would otherwise induce a cringe from an adult. When my mother was done with her preparations and was about to disinfect my father's knees, she relegated me to a corner from where my vantage point was limited to a view of my mother's back. The moment the alcohol-soaked cotton made contact with my father's wound, he gave out a loud howl. It brought about a panic in me and prompted me to do what I thought was called for on such occasions.

I bit my mother.

I bit her so hard that this time it was her who had to give out a loud shriek. She abandoned the idea of cleaning the wound for fear that I would bite her again until I drew blood.

Far be it for me to rationalize my actions from two decades ago, I can only say that some instinct kicked in when I thought that my father was being killed and I had to do what I had to do. Freud would probably be amused and say that I have a classic case of an Electra Complex. Maybe so. Based on my own observations, I noticed that most first-born girls have this kind of attachment to their fathers. And I really am a carbon-copy of my dad. Not only do we have similar physical features but we also share an inclination to impulsive shopping and, more importantly, a loathing for housework. Like I said, unfortunately for my mother.

Brotherhood of Men

I just witnessed a hilarious thing which happened to my officemates. These are two 30-something guys who works on the same field and, more importantly, they are brothers. They got into an argument about something which I didn't understand. Well, whatever it was, it was definitely a subject they both understood plenty because they were arguing so heatedly that not one of them was able to finish a single sentence throughout the entire debate because they kept interrupting each other. If there had been other people present, they would have made quite a spectacle.

So anyway, they were engage in this ferocious battle over who was right and as I was sitting there listening to them, I had no idea how they figured that the other was wrong because they weren't even listening to each other. They were literally talking at the same time. They went like this:

Them (at the same time): Listen to me! Blah, blah, blah...(both stops mid-sentence). You are not listening to me!!!

If they weren't so serious I would have died on the floor from laughing so hard. They would go silent for a few moments while devising another way to rebut the other's argument. When one of them uttered a single word, the whole argument started anew but taking up the same line as above. I am pretty sure that it wasn't resolve up to this point but an hour or so after the debate, they got into talking about another subject and they were laughing like they weren't on each other's throats a few seconds ago.

It's a typical male behavior. If it were girls, even after the issue had been resolved, there would follow a cold war that would last for generations. This also got me to thinking about what would happen if my brother and I got into an argument like the one that they just had. The only thing I could think of is it wouldn't be possible because number 1, my brother and I are not in the same field and number 2, if my brother will argue with me, I will employ the technique I have long practiced over my siblings which basically discourages any of them from arguing with me: I'm going to smack him.

There is no room for democracy when you are snipping sibling rivalry at the bud.

My Thank-You Directory

Just to show that I am not a bitch most of the time, I am going to post my gratitude list here. I make this every week not only because it is one of the features of my planner but also because it is actually pretty awesome to look at it and know that I am one lucky person.

First, I would like to thank my PARENTS, the two most awesome people in my world. Thank you for all your sacrifices and hard work. Pa, you are my hero, my idol. Thank you for all your stories, for setting a great example and for making me your favorite child. Ma, thank you for your strength. We do not see eye-to-eye on a lot of things and we used to fight a lot but I want you to know that I am grateful and proud to have you as my mother. Thank you for not judging me and for all your advices. I want you both to know that I love you and I think that you really did a great job raising us.

Second, my younger SIBLINGS, all 4 of them: Gorick, Oning, Kakay and Dwight. You are a handful bunch. I want you to know that I miss you all everyday. Thank you for all the chaos you got me used to. I know that you  all look up to me as the eldest but I also want you to know that you can be better than I am. Give your best in whatever you do and always listen to Mama and Papa. They are not our best friends and we don't like them most of the time but they are always right. Trust me.

Next, I would like to thank my friends. DIANNE & TETET who are very much with me despite the physical distance. Our exploits together had been legendary. You are part of who I am. JANICE, my roommate, I thank you for putting up with me and my messy side of the room. Thank you for all the late night talks and DVD marathons. JANICA, we have so many things in common that we finish each other's sentences. You always know how to make me laugh. Thank you for being there for me. Let's get together soon. I owe you lunch. NILA, girl, thank your for being an example to me. We may not agree on a lot of things but I want you to know that I admire you. I would also like to mention some friends who I don't get to see as much as I'd like but are good friends nonetheless: ANN-ANN, APRIL, CHERRY, PRINCESS, EARLYN and others I have failed to mention, thank you for being the friends that you are to me.

I would also like to thank JOSEPH for being a constant fixture in my life. Thank you for your love and attention. I am here for you always.

I want to thank my JOB and CO-WORKERS for making me feel productive without being insanely stressed out and for showing me that it is possible to work and have a life at the same time.

Last and most important of all, I thank GOD for giving me all these things that I am grateful for and even for the things that I am not so grateful for. Thank you for giving me this life that I may enjoy all that you've given me. So many times in the past I had wished for a different life. Thank you for not granting me that wish. Thank you for all that is good in this world. I never appreciate them enough.