Parisians snub their noses at our broken French so their imperfect English is fair game! I couldn't resist laughing out loud when I received this call from France this afternoon:
Caller: Good day, Madame, I am Monsieur so-and-so calling from (company name) in Paris. AM I SHOCKING YOU?
September 23, 2009
Am I Shocking You?
February 27, 2009
This is not quite it.
There are a lot of things that no one wants to feel on any given day. Emotions, or sensations, like wrath, sadness, panic, pain, hunger, or something as mundane as a hang nail.
Today I discovered -- no, not discovered, as I've felt it before in the past -- recognized a feeling that can drag you down just as much. Something really quite dangerous because it can be difficult to put your finger into it, and only a healthy sense of grounded reality will enable you to call it as it is.
The feeling that you're settling.
When you know you deserve better (self-entitlement). Or when you know you should aim for something better, but doesn't want to, or couldn't. (Apathy?) Or whatever. I told you it's difficult to recognize, let alone describe.
Today, I feel like I'm settling.
February 16, 2009
25 Random Things About Me
1. I am not experimental with food. When I look at a restaurant’s menu, I scan for the most familiar and tend to order the same tried-and-tested dishes every time. I only discovered sashimi a few years ago.
2. I love cats. I think they’re the most beautiful creatures. I currently own 12 of them right now, much to my mother’s chagrin. Some of them are strays I pick up from the street. One of the most agonizing moments for me is whenever I see a little stray kitten crying by the side of the road, and I deliberate if I should take it home or leave it to die. If I win the lotto, one of things I’ll do with my money is set up a shelter for strays.
3. I was a nerd when I was little. One of the things I did to pass the time was to watch the traffic from our second floor window and count the “ba-o” (Volkswagen Beetles) that passed by. I’d consider it a good day if I counted a hundred. I loved going to school and counted the days in the summer until the classes start in June.
4. I wish I had become: a) a concert violinist, b) a veterinarian, or c) a pre-school teacher. There’s still time :)
5. I rarely get sick. I don’t easily catch a cold or fever. I have never been admitted to a hospital. I secretly fear that I’ll get my fair share of sickness all in one go and then I’ll die quickly.
6. I am good at flirting. Not necessarily to hook up, but I can think of a quick come back to every lame pick up line. My friends and I wanted to write a book around 3 years ago on flirting, dating and relationships, a la “The Rules” or “He’s Just Not That Into You” and might have been minted millionaires by now. But sometime in the course of drafting the book, I fell in love and personally broke every single rule. Because when I fall in love, I become an idiot. A happy, tortured, desperate idiot.
7. The most beautiful place I have been to is Barcelona in the spring. The weather is beautiful, the language is beautiful, the people are beautiful. Even the cab drivers are hot. Nobody can say the same of our local taxi drivers.
8. Mantra for 2009: Why not? Life is short.
9. I love soccer. It’s the only sport I understand inside and out. I am a rabid fan of Real Madrid and Ronaldo.
10. I can never figure out why people think Brad Pitt is so hot. I mean he’s okay, but really, I’d prefer someone like Edward Norton over him in a heartbeat. Has more depth, appears much more intelligent and interesting. Big muscles turn me off. My hands-down favorite romantic lead is Nino Quincampoix from the French movie “Amelie”. If you know him, he pretty much represents someone I’d likely have a crush on.
To illustrate my point:
- Ralph Fiennes over David Beckham;
- Hua Ze Lei over Dao Ming Su;
- Barack Obama over any given Sexiest Man Alive;
- Francisco Barretto over everyone else.
11. I am forever trying to learn a new language. I once enrolled in a Spanish class, and quit after 3 sessions. I have tons of French language CDs and books, gathering dust in my room.
12. I have a love/hate relationship with coffee. I love its taste, but hate how quickly it can turn against you. Just a little more caffeine than I need, and I get palpitations and shortness of breath. So I think coffee is lovely, but it has cruel beauty.
13. I am not good at planning for the long-term. That’s short of saying my life has no direction hehehe. But God has been really good to me and have given me easy choices in life so far. It’s all in His hands. I live by Jeremiah 29:11.
14. I am not a morning person. I think it’s an amazing feat for people to wake up early and get to the office on time every single day. I usually stay in the office after every one else is gone and find that between 6 to 8 pm are my most productive hours.
15. I love wine. I don’t know if I’m in the scale of being an alcoholic, but my friends make it so much fun hehe. And just for the record, some of them have it so much worse than me. Ain’t that right, Kris John Castro? Hehehe.
16. I hate the rain. I think it’s highly inconvenient. In my self-absorbed world, it should only rain on Sundays, the perfect ruse to curl up and stay in bed the whole day.
17. Money is not everything. I have very little patience with people who make it their religion.
18. I am generous, to a fault. I am loath to come to a birthday party without bringing a gift. I lavish my loved ones with presents, just because. I make a big fuss out of occasions, to the point of being OC. I get hurt when they don’t appreciate my efforts, but I try not to show it.
19. I almost drowned once, in a beach in Moalboal. I owe my second chance at life to my friend Eden, whom I clung to as she swam for the both of us. I love the beach, even if I don’t know how to swim. Go figure.
20. I can live without TV.
21. I only recently appreciated the value of family. It took my father’s death for me to realize I have a very healthy family. Not without its imperfections, but I wouldn’t choose another set of people to love, even if someone paid me.
22. I love my friends, in all their complicated glory. We grew up together, seen each other in our best and worst; we have perfected a certain kind of dynamic, known what makes each other tick. We are each other’s fiercest protectors and worst enemies.
23. I am touchy-feely. I see no problem in kissing mere acquaintances on the cheek. I am the first one to offer my hand when meeting people. This leads to some inconvenient misunderstanding sometimes. Every now and then, I have to remind myself that other people define their physical boundaries differently.
24. When I was 11, I formed an imaginary band called The Crush. I was the bass player. I’ll spare you the other details. The first records (cassette tapes) I bought were by Billy Joel and The Beatles. By my fifth grade, I knew the lyrics to all of the Beatles songs. My favorite Beatle is Paul.
25. I totally expect you to try and give back 25 things about you. Come on, it’s fun. Leia o post completo...
February 11, 2009
Wishlist, 1st Qtr 2009
Another wishlist, another reason to goad my private donors (you know who you are) into buying me my obsession du jour. I should know better, and some people will wag their fingers at me if I say that sometimes we exist solely to acquire a succession of material possessions. A cellphone, a car, the newest iPod, bragging rights to having traveled to the Maldives.
Shallow, I know. Morally bankrupt if that's the only philosophy you subscribe to. But nonetheless an astute observation of the way of life in the 21st century. You are what you own. And besides if you shop - as long as you can pay for it, you help the economy. I know, Obama says so. And we all need heroes in times like these, so yes: SHOP SHOP SHOP!
Actually, what a convoluted way of saying that I'm really only salivating after one thing, a laptop bag for my new laptop. I'm going to stare at the below images of positively chic laptop bags, and summon the powers of attraction, a la The Secret, until they physically materialize before my eyes. Or maybe I can just buy one, to save time.
January 16, 2009
January 5, 2009
Random Thoughts, Grasping at Straws
I've always thought that people who have to deal with the death of a loved one only has to deal with the loss. When someone who has been a parent to you, or a lover, or a close friend suddenly passes away, then you struggle to fill the void. I've always assumed the straightforward solution was to look for something to fill that void, accept the absence, and move on. No one that close to me has died before, so I couldn't have under-estimated the matter more.
It's especially confusing because I have not had my father for 25 years. Logically speaking, there is no void to fill because he wasn't there. I wish only the brain has to process this, because then it's that simple, no big deal, and I can go on with my life like nothing happened. Because if I include feelings (and I'm a terribly emotional person), then everything goes haywire. Because if I should be so honest about what I feel, then I've lost my father twice over and it's too much loss to go through at once and there's no filling up that emptiness forever.
So I hid behind numbness and shut the feelings out. It's easier that way.
--------
I now understand that grief doesn't come to you in a big wave and after the crash, is gone forever. It manifests itself in bits and pieces, often uninvited, often when you least want it to. Sometimes, it reasons with you and you can converse with it and you begin to understand why it must come. Sometimes it taunts you and you can either be angry or you can smile resignedly and let it be your friend. Sometimes it is unkind, sometimes you realize that it is generous in the wisdom it brings.
Growing up, it seemed to me there was very little evidence that he loved me. I knew that he could not get along with my mother and knowing both of their temperaments, I understood the reasons why he left. They were self-serving reasons, but I understood just the same. Nowadays it seems that all I can do is to understand, to be able to cope.
But it seemed unfair that because he fell out of love with my mother, he chose not to love me as well. Other husbands have left their wives, but have chosen to try to do what they can to soften the blow on the children. There was nothing subtle about my father's choice to be absent from our lives.
After a person dies, the ones he or she left behind ruminate about the life that once was. Me, I don't have a lot to go by. A three-year old's memory can only hold so much. But the people I talked to during the funeral, relatives and friends, filled me in. Like that New Year's eve when he and my brother were blasting firecrackers in our front lawn. Somehow I found my way to the pile of firecrackers unsupervised and picked up a whistlebomb and held the wick to a lighted candle nearby, imitating the adults. My brother told me how Papa quickly ran to me as they heard that familiar whistling sound go and knocked the firecracker away before it blew my right hand into pieces. He said he was rocking me back and forth protectively to make sure I wasn't scared.
Or how he'd listen to Bombo Radyo when I was a Mass Comm intern and ask the neighbors to tune in as well and proudly announce that that was his daughter reading the news. Or how he'd look forward to every end of the school year when he'd go on stage to put on me all the medals I earned and how he looked for a good barong to wear to my grade school graduation. He was proud to be the valedictorian's father.
During the wake, a former colleague of his told me how he once confided that he was just waiting for my brother to come home from Dubai and then he'd brave the shame and ask to be allowed to come home to us. My brother was to arrive December 30. Papa died December 21. Did he want to make up for all the time we lost? Could he have wanted to finally be my father?
The other day, I visited his hometown. I passed by the area where he lived, the market where he must have bought the food he cooked daily, the tiny streets where he rode his trusty bicycle. I listened to my uncle reminisce how he used to take care of his orchids and fishes, and how every Friday they'd gather to have a few laughs and drinks. I learned he loved the sea and how he'd spent a whole afternoon mamasol for that night's supper and how he must have been a fisherman in another lifetime.
These evenings past, my mother would regale me with stories about how handsome he was as a young man, and how many girls came to her sobbing when they learned he was already married. She told me how he used to hold me as an infant and say lovingly, "day, maski asa nga angle ka tan-awn, gwapa gyud ka kaayo... tan-awa ang ilong, katalinis sa ilong, 'sus!"
I want to listen to these stories over and over again. I want to understand.
I want to understand.
Leia o post completo...
I now understand that grief doesn't come to you in a big wave and after the crash, is gone forever. It manifests itself in bits and pieces, often uninvited, often when you least want it to. Sometimes, it reasons with you and you can converse with it and you begin to understand why it must come. Sometimes it taunts you and you can either be angry or you can smile resignedly and let it be your friend. Sometimes it is unkind, sometimes you realize that it is generous in the wisdom it brings.
--------
Growing up, it seemed to me there was very little evidence that he loved me. I knew that he could not get along with my mother and knowing both of their temperaments, I understood the reasons why he left. They were self-serving reasons, but I understood just the same. Nowadays it seems that all I can do is to understand, to be able to cope.
But it seemed unfair that because he fell out of love with my mother, he chose not to love me as well. Other husbands have left their wives, but have chosen to try to do what they can to soften the blow on the children. There was nothing subtle about my father's choice to be absent from our lives.
After a person dies, the ones he or she left behind ruminate about the life that once was. Me, I don't have a lot to go by. A three-year old's memory can only hold so much. But the people I talked to during the funeral, relatives and friends, filled me in. Like that New Year's eve when he and my brother were blasting firecrackers in our front lawn. Somehow I found my way to the pile of firecrackers unsupervised and picked up a whistlebomb and held the wick to a lighted candle nearby, imitating the adults. My brother told me how Papa quickly ran to me as they heard that familiar whistling sound go and knocked the firecracker away before it blew my right hand into pieces. He said he was rocking me back and forth protectively to make sure I wasn't scared.
Or how he'd listen to Bombo Radyo when I was a Mass Comm intern and ask the neighbors to tune in as well and proudly announce that that was his daughter reading the news. Or how he'd look forward to every end of the school year when he'd go on stage to put on me all the medals I earned and how he looked for a good barong to wear to my grade school graduation. He was proud to be the valedictorian's father.
During the wake, a former colleague of his told me how he once confided that he was just waiting for my brother to come home from Dubai and then he'd brave the shame and ask to be allowed to come home to us. My brother was to arrive December 30. Papa died December 21. Did he want to make up for all the time we lost? Could he have wanted to finally be my father?
-------
The other day, I visited his hometown. I passed by the area where he lived, the market where he must have bought the food he cooked daily, the tiny streets where he rode his trusty bicycle. I listened to my uncle reminisce how he used to take care of his orchids and fishes, and how every Friday they'd gather to have a few laughs and drinks. I learned he loved the sea and how he'd spent a whole afternoon mamasol for that night's supper and how he must have been a fisherman in another lifetime.
These evenings past, my mother would regale me with stories about how handsome he was as a young man, and how many girls came to her sobbing when they learned he was already married. She told me how he used to hold me as an infant and say lovingly, "day, maski asa nga angle ka tan-awn, gwapa gyud ka kaayo... tan-awa ang ilong, katalinis sa ilong, 'sus!"
I want to listen to these stories over and over again. I want to understand.
I want to understand.
