Matter of Taste

This was posted on the UPAA-UAE YahooGroups by MR. Dan Tobias, a senior member.
It was published in 1999.
I liked it. :D

I have now been in this country for over six years, and consider myself in most respects well assimilated. However, there is one key step on the road to full asimilation, which I have yet to take, and that's to eat BALUT.

The day any of you sees me eating balut, please call immigration and ask them to issue me a Filipino passport. Because at that point there will be no turning back. BALUT, for those still blissfully ignorant non-Pinoys out there, is a fertilized duck egg. It is commonly sold with salt in a piece of newspaper, much like English fish and chips, by street vendors usually after dark, presumably so you can't see how gross it is. It's meant to be an aphrodisiac, although I can't imagine anything more likely to dispel sexual desire than crunching on a partially formed baby duck swimming in noxious fluid. The embryo in the egg comes in varying stages of development, but basically it is not considered macho to eat one without fully discernable feathers, beak, and claws. Some say these crunchy bits are the best. Others prefer just to drink th e so-called 'soup', the vile, pungent liquid that surrounds the aforementioned feathery fetus...excuse me; I have to go and throw up now. I'll be back in a minute.

Food dominates the life of the Filipino. People here just love to eat. They eat at least eight times a day. These eight official meals are called, in order: breakfast, snacks, lunch, merienda, merienda ceyna, dinner, bedtime snacks and no-one-saw-me-take-that-cookie-from-the-fridge-so-it-doesn't-count.

The short gaps in between these mealtimes are spent eating Sky Flakes from the open packet that sits on every desktop. You're never far from food in the Philippines . If you doubt this, next time you're driving home from work, try this game. See how long you can drive without seeing food and I don't mean a distant restaurant, or a picture of food. I mean a man on the sidewalk frying fish balls, or a man walking through the traffic selling nuts or candy. I bet it's less than one minute. Here ar e some other things I've noticed about food in the Philippines .

Firstly, a meal is not a meal without rice - even breakfast. In the UK , I could go a whole year without eating rice. Second, it's impossible to drink without eating. A bottle of San Miguel just isn't the same without gambas or beef tapa. Third, no one ventures more than two paces from their house without baon (food in small container) and a container of something cold to drink. You might as well ask a Filipino to leave home without his pants on. And lastly, where I come from, you eat with a knife and fork. Here, you eat with a spoon and fork. You try eating rice swimming in fish sauce with a knife. One really nice thing about Filipino food culture is that people always ask you to SHARE their food. In my office, if you catch anyone attacking their baon, they will always go, "Sir! KAIN TAYO!" ("Let's eat!"). This confused me, until I realized that they didn't actually expect me to sit down and start munching on their boneless bangus. In fact, the polite response is something like, "No thanks, I just ate." But the principle is sound - if you have food on your plate, you are expected to share it, however hungry you are, with those who may be even hungrier. I think that's great. In fact, this is frequently even taken one step further. Many Filipinos use "Have you eaten yet?" ("KUMAIN KA NA?") as a general greeting, irrespective of time of day or location.

Some foreigners think Filipino food is fairly dull compared to other Asian cuisines. Actually lots of it is very good: Spicy dishes like Bicol Express(strange, a dish named after a train); anything cooked with coconut milk; anything KINILAW; and anything ADOBO. And it's hard to beat the sheer wanto n, cholesterolic frenzy of a good old-fashioned LECHON de leche (roast pig)feast. Dig a pit, light a fire, add 50 pounds of animal fat on a stick, and cook until crisp. Mmm, mmm... you can actually feel your arteries constricting with each successive mouthful. I also share one key Pinoy trait ---a sweet tooth. I am thus the only foreigner I know who does not complain about sweet bread, sweet burgers, sweet spaghetti, sweet banana ketchup, and so on. I am a man who likes to put jam on his pizza. Try it! It's the weird food you want to avoid. In addition to duck fetus in the half-shell, items to avoid in the Philippines include pig's blood soup (DINUGUAN); bull's testicle soup, the strangely-named "SOUP NUMBER FIVE" (I dread to think what numbers one through four are); and the ubiquitous, stinky shrimp paste,BAGOONG, and it's equally stinky sister, PATIS. Filipinos are so addicted to these latter items that they will even risk arrest or deportation tryin g to smuggle them into countries like Australia and the USA , which wisely ban the importation of items you can smell from more than 100 paces. Then there's the small matter of the purple ice cream. I have never been able to get my brain around eating purple food; the ubiquitous UBE leaves me cold.

And lastly on the subject of weird food, beware: that KALDERETANG KAMBING (goat) could well be KALDERETANG ASO (dog)... The Filipino, of course, has a well-developed sense of food. Here's a typical Pinoy food joke: "I'm on a seafood diet. "What's a seafood diet?" "When I see food, I eat it!" Filipinos also eat strange bits of animals --- the feet, the head, the guts, etc., usually barbecued on a stick. These have been given witty names, like "ADIDAS" (chicken's feet); "KURBATA" (either just chicken's neck, or "neck and thigh" as in "neck-tie"); "WALKMAN" (pigs ears); "PAL" (chicken wings); "HELMET" (chicken head); "IUD" (chicken intestines), and BETAMAX" (video-cassette-like blocks of animal blood). Yum, yum. Bon appetit."

A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches" -- (Proverbs 22:1)

WHEN I arrived in the Philippines from the UK six years ago, one of the first cultural differences to strike me was names. The subject has provided a continuing source of amazement and amusement ever since. The first unusual thing, from an English perspective, is that everyone here has a nickname. In the staid and boring United Kingdom , we have nicknames in kindergarten, but when we move into adulthood we tend, I am glad to say, to lose them.

The second thing that struck me is that Philippine names for both girls and boys tend to be what we in the UK would regard as overbearingly cutesy for anyone over about five. Fifty-five-year-olds colleague put it. Where I come from, a boy with a nickname like Boy Blue or Honey Boy would be beaten to death at school by pre-adolescent bullies, and never make it to adulthood. So, probably, would girls with names like Babes, Lovely, Precious, Peachy or Apples. Yuk, ech ech. Here, however, no one bats an eyelid. Then I noticed how many people have what I have come to call "door-bell names". These are nicknames that sound like -well, doorbells. There are millions of them. Bing, Bong, Ding, and Dong are some of the more common. They can be, and frequently are, used in even more door-bell-like combinations such as Bing-Bong, Ding-Dong, Ting-Ting, and so on. Even our newly appointed chief of police has a doorbell name Ping .

None of these doorbell names exist where I come from, and hence sound unusually amusing to my untutored foreign ear. Someone once told me that one of the Bings, when asked why he was called Bing , replied, "because my brother is called Bong". Faultless logic. Dong, of course, is a particularly funny one for me, as where I come from "dong" is a slang word for well; perhaps "talong" is the best Tagalog equivalent.

Repeating names was another novelty to me, having never before encountered people with names like Len-Len, Let-Let, Mai-Mai, or Ning-Ning. The secretary I inherited on my arrival had an unusual one: Leck-Leck. Such names are then frequently further refined by using the "squared" symbol, as in Len2 or Mai2. This had me very confused for a while.

Then there is the trend for parents to stick to a theme when naming their children. This can be as simple as making them all begin with the same letter, as in Jun, Jimmy, Janice, and Joy. More imaginative parents shoot for more sophisticated forms of assonance or rhyme, as in Biboy, Boboy, Buboy, Baboy (notice the names get worse the more kids there are-best to be born early or you could end up being a Baboy). Even better, parents can create whole families of, say, desserts (Apple Pie, Cherry Pie, Honey Pie) or flowers (Rose, Daffodil, Tulip). The main advantage of such combinations is that they look great painted across your trunk if you're a cab driver. That's another thing I'd never seen before coming to Manila -- taxis with the driver's kids' names on the trunk.

Another whole eye-opening field for the foreign visitor is the phenomenon of the "composite" name. This includes names like Jejomar (for Jesus, Joseph and Mary), and the remarkable Luzviminda (for Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao , believe it or not). That's a bit like me being called something like "Engscowani" (for England , Scotland , Wales and Northern Ireland ). Between you and me, I'm glad I'm not. And how could I forget to mention the fabulous concept of the randomly inserted letter 'h'. Quite what this device is supposed to achieve, I have not yet figured out, but I thin k it is designed to give a touch of class to an otherwise only averagely weird name. It results in creations like Jhun, Lhenn, Ghemma, and Jhimmy. Or how about Jhun-Jhun (Jhun2)?

How boring to come from a country like the UK full of people with names like John Smith. How wonderful to come from a country where imagination and exoticism rule the world of names. Even the towns here have weird names; my favorite is the unbelievably named town of Sexmoan (ironically close to Olongapo and Angeles). Where else in the world could that really be true? Where else in the world could the head of the Church really be called Cardinal Sin? Where else but the Philippines ! Note: Philippines has a senator named Joker, and it is his legal name.

years and miles

Seven years ago we were nothing but fat asses tasting college for the first time.
Everyone called you a pothead and I simply looked awkward.
We were pals and stayed pals for as long as I can remember.
I transferred to another campus and you went on with your thing.
I was surrounded by funky gay divas and you were surrounded by your hardened brothas.
We were apart, and then we got together for a cigarette, and then we were apart again.
I found girls for you, because you said so.
I listened to your story and you listened to mine.
And we were drunk.
And we were steady.
But never together.
We played with the idea but never dared jump in.
Now after seven years, you’re still drunk, and I'm still a bit chubby.
Now I'm miles away and you’re telling me we can stay together.
You’re crazy.
I am too.
I believe you Curgs.

Way Back Into Love

From the movie Music and Lyrics. Sigh.

No Other Way

I only know one way to keep being happy.
No one has taught me any other way.
And it feels fine.
Just gets to me sometimes.

Everyone has gone through this phase at some point in their lives.
They have gone through all these things --- ecstasy, helplessness, addiction, depression, plateau plateau plateau.
Down in the dumps they find themselves.
Oh well. It's just one of those nights.
Those awfully lonely nights.

Last weekend I had two strangers read my palm.
One was a lady I met at the beach.
Another was a man I met at the bar.
They both said the same thing.
And once again, after weeks of keeping it in the periphery, it came out, exploded, like a waterfall, water running hard and fast and there was no way to stop it.
Why would they see that in my palm?
They didn't even know where I had been, didn't even know what I had gone through.
They didn't know me at all.
Why would they tell me the answer that I secretly, desperately tried to find?
And how dare they tell me that?
How dare they tell me things I wished for but wanted to go away?
If it never happened I would be doomed.If it did I'd be... I don't know.

And then it would take more than Hibiki nights, more than vodka and wine and whisky, more than parties and movie dates and nice dinners to stop the nightmares.
I don't know what else I'd do.

I don't know any other way to keep being happy.

productivity

I fucked up today.
No, for the last three days.
I have been eating like a pig.
Eating white rice, pork fat, buttery stuff and lots of chocolates and milky biscuits.
I eat when I want to, even when I don’t.
I feel like shit.
I feel like a big scoop of lard walking around.

But as they say, there will always be tomorrow, and you can use it to improve – to correct your mistakes and do better.
I don’t particularly hate myself for eating too much to the point of getting constipated.
I just think I should not have manifested my feelings in hoarding food.

Yes I guess I’ve been lonely for the past few days.
Why? A number of reasons.
I’ve been a coward these past few days.
I want to take one step forward but am a bit hesitant because I am so afraid of criticism.
So afraid.
And I am a little depressed because I had someone analyze my finances and he wasn’t as great as I thought they were.
Finally I am sad because there is a person who’s been giving me the attention and care that I need, but he’s so far away, in Manila. My Manila.

But!!! I didn’t sleep sad last night.
Even though I messed up my diet, I still did a few things to make myself feel better --- an attempt to stop binge eating, binge drinking, binge smoking.
And they ARE pretty great, great enough to cover my loneliness with the blanket of productiveness.

1. I cooked pasta for dinner. I used fresh tomatoes, and with just a glance at the rough recipe on the internet I managed to make it taste like the kind of tomato spaghetti you can have at Fazoli’s. I’m NOT kidding.
2. I finished a whole episode of Nigella Bites, both inspired to make dessert for everyone, and disgusted at how she EATS every dessert she makes. Plus before the show ends she goes to the fridge and naughtily nibbles on the stuff she made. Well I’ll make the fizzy fruity drink anyway. It’s the best dessert I can make. It has sparkling wine in it.
3. I changed my sheets. I really did. After that dream about roaches and itchiness and suffocation I was bound to do it.
4. Read a few pages of A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. I want to get engrossed in it and read it until I sleep. The story is proving to be very very interesting.
5. I haven't shelled out a single cent (shall I say fil) for two days. Yes. I've managed to nick cigarettes from people and cook my own food and eat other people’s. It felt so good to be in control of something other than … well, food.
6. I only had three cigarettes today. Cool.

I always feel like compensating for things I haven’t done and I know that to a certain extent it’s not healthy, but it’s good to know that the need to be productive and brilliant is thriving in me. That’s all I need to know that I am living my life the way I want to.

I woke up in the middle of the night from a horrible dream.
I dreamt of a million little cockroaches eating me up.
They were anoyingly quiet but very very fast in eating up my flesh and irritating my skin. I was scratching everywhere, in every nook and cranny of my body, and I wanted to die because it was so itchy and the cockroaches were not going anywhere.
They were there, crept their way inside the villa up to my room to my bed and multiplied and had a sole purpose --- to destroy me.
And they were doing a good job.
I woke up sweating and so frustrated and out of breath and I immediately took the comforter out of the bed and kept it in the cabinets.
Roaches.

odd pairs

Cuban music, mojito.
One, two bearded men in strange dresses.
A friend online, a glass of wine.
A biscuit, a cup of tea with milk.
A book, a cigarette.
I am never ok with only one thing to do, one thing to consume at any given time.
I am restless and I need things to preoccupy me.
They all come in pairs.
Is it because I am not part of one?

Work was very productive today.
I hope tomorrow it'll be better.
And then I can just take a seat and see things happen.
This is how I want it.

in vino veritas

For ten straight days I've been drinking.
Alcohol has always been available to me and it's hard to resist it.
It's even harder to resist its effect on me.
It gives me a high, gives me confidence to sing to a crowd, puts me to sleep.
Makes me happier in general.
The shallow kind of happy. The kind that makes me shake everyone's hand and laugh at every joke and graciously accept compliments. Strips me of inhibitions and makes me think that the world is a perfect place.
When I'm sober I am quiet, even when I want to say a million things and have a lot of ideas that I want to share with others.
When I am sober I am lonely, and I think about bad things, I worry and I have all kinds of reservations about all kinds of things.

When I am sober I am weaker.
No matter where I am, come evening, I drink.
I have a glass of wine while cooking, a bullfrog when I'm singing at the karaoke bar, a vodka when I'm dancing.
Wine, vodka, bullfrog, whisky, cheap Russian Breezer imitations.
I am queen because I think I am queen and I can say anything I want to say because when the alcohol invades me body I don't care about other people.
I care about myself and I am more open and honest and free.

I first heard the phrase "in vino veritas" from Maggie my orgmate.
It means "in wine there is truth".
And I have proven it to be true.
The most important thing in the world is myself, and that's all I ever want to tell the world. And with a little liqour slowly making its way down my throat, into my stomach, into my brain, I can do that.
Cheers!

the beach missed me and my fat belly

comfort women, comfortable men

I’ve been reading a lot about Japan and Shinzo Abe and their forefathers’ crime during the second World War. And so came about comfort women in Korea, among many countries that Japan invaded. In the Philippines some of our grandmothers also failed to escape the cruelty of those evil chinks.

But these evil chinks weren’t really different from today’s modern men. You. Yes you in the khakis pants, crisp white shirt and shabby Chucks. You love comfort women don’t you. Women to you are but bus stops that you can just stop by along the way and never return to again. No looking back. Forward always forward.

And you say this is how we live these days; that this is really how men are supposed to act, that you’re just having fun and enjoying life, and while women aren’t your priority that doesn’t mean you can’t have them once in a while.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, bastard.

feel it

Sitting out here in the front yard.
Wine.
Wifi.
A fag.
Nachos and salsa.
Nothing special...
but myself.
I forgot all about myself.
I was out for a couple of nights.
And I missed this.
I missed talking alone.
Writing alone.
Feeling alone.
Feeling it.
Just feeling it.
I had no time to feel it.
Now I have no choice, and it's a good thing.

I read about James Frey on the net.
Some site says they investigated his life story and it turned out to be an exaggeration.
A hoax.
But I like James Frey and his writing inspires me and I don't care if he made all that up.
I'll still keep reading his book and feeling his fears and mourning his loss and celebrating his recovery.
So what if he wasn't a hardcore drug addict and wanted in several states.
If he felt that there was a need to make things appear bigger than they are then he should express it in writing.
If he felt absolutely shattered then he should let his readers feel it.
I didn't have a tragic break-up.
It was just SMS that broke the bad news to me.
But it shook my insides and I felt like I died.
And even after that death it was still painful.
And it still haunts me.
Every inch of me aches when I think about it.
And no matter how much I drink and how many songs I sing and how many friends I spend my time with I still grieve.
Sad.
So a quiet text message destroyed my spirit and it's just so hard to rebuild it.
Wherever James is, send him my love.

Ok that was just a glass of wine.
But paired with solitude the truth just flowed like a stream.
From my mind, to my fingers, to the keyboard.

So here's a toast...
With no one...
To feeling it!

Little Miss Can't-Miss-Anything

Ethel commented on our restlessness. We’re sooo… out and about, just thinking about what we do for a whole week, even on a weekend, made her tired. I said I wanted to drown myself in things before loneliness caught up on me. She advised me to say no more, learn to shake my head and just stay home in solitude. I dismissed her advise, saying that YES was a very powerful word, and it can take me places. Many opportunities are waiting to be seized, by agreeing to go some place, meet someone, do something. And then she said… “You should also understand that it’s okay to miss things”… because missed opportunities will always be replaced. Don’t force the time, the place, the person.
Powerful powerful words that I’d like to remember and take with me wherever I go. Together with Colin’s “You have to choose to be happy” and Craig’s “Men are bastards”, Ethel’s “It’s ok to miss things” is now a tool for me to become better, wiser, less tired and with more money (saying yes to everything CAN be expensive).

a walk to the park

A walk in the park.
More like a walk to the park.
A long gruesome walk to the park.
Definitely not a walk in the park.
I walked all the way from my house (near the Fairmont) all the way to Safa Park on Friday noon.
I have no idea what came over me.
I just wanted to walk around aimlessly and see where my feet would lead me.
Also I wanted to do my groceries.
I just put on my rubber shoes and jogging pants and iPod and walked out of the compound.
The sun was killing me, burning my face and piercing my eyes.
But I went on walking until I was in the middle of Satwa, heading to Al Wasl, which I treaded for what seemed like an eternity.
I was sweating profusely.
Singing along with Mariah and Jacko and Beyonce and Gwen.
Doo doo doo doo doo doo.
La la la la la la.
Moderate walking, with my ever-reliable Dragon bag.
I walked one, two, three, maybe 20 km?
More. Definitely more.
I walked for one and a half hours.
For those who are in Manila and therefore have no idea how far I walked, it’s probably a Katipunan-Cubao type of pilgrimage. Diliman-Robinsons Galleria even.
I'm not kidding. Nor exaggerating.
I started at 12:45 PM.
So I walked and walked, stopped once to buy a bottle of water, and kept on walking.
On the pavement, around the flowers, crossing a petrol station, passing by laborers, tourists, expats, locals.
I reached Safa Park at 2:15 PM, and went inside Union Cooperative, the supermarket parallel to it, screaming more water.
I took a kart and walked around to buy the cheapest delicacies and meat and fruits and drinks in town.
I took a carlift home panting.
I took out my groceries and placed them in the fridge, in the shelves, in the cupboards.
And then I slept for three and a half hours.
It was the first time I slept like a baby in months.
No shit.
It felt sooo good.
So good.
I felt like a new woman.
I didn’t even do it consciously, but I did it and it felt good.
It’s an achievement.
Another achievement.
I’ll have to find out how far I walked.
And then I can boast of the number of kilometers I conquered and the amount of willpower I had inside me.
Will power. Control.

Take a walk from Fairmont to Safa Park.
Check.

a new conquest

I have a new goal and achieving it is proving to be very very exciting.

Last Thursday the guys had dinner at my place… because it was Sherry’s birthday! Afterwards we went to Hibiki and I was my usual high self.
In fairness to me, I was getting better and better at Underneath Your Clothes. And Joan, the waiter who controls the song list, knew that it was my last song, paired with the last bull frog I had for the midnight. They obviously decided that I was already a regular. Regular is fine, at least a notch higher than a nameless face in the crowd, but of course regular is what it is --- plain, same old fellow, hi hello, come and go.

I want to be a VIP. One of the UPAA UAE members, Sir Cheng, is definitely a VIP. He goes there and gets served his usual drinks, and he doesn’t have to wait to sing his song… they play it immediately. Nanginginig pa! And I had the pleasure of singing with him. He was actually mastering the rap in Where Is the Love, just as everybody had forgotten about it. That was a bit of a laugh, but it was soooo much fun. I sang the chorus parts --- all five of them, over and over again…
Where is the love, where is the love, where is the love, the love, the love????
And we sang it again last night. And we will sing it again next time.

The highlight of last night’s karaoke was the great showdown. The bartenders just made each one of us come up on stage and give it our best shot.
I didn’t. I was pathetic. I sang Dilemma by Nelly and Kelly Rowland.
But I won. And I think everyone believed that I deserved the gift certificate from Hibiki. Why? Because I was both Nelly and Kelly, didn’t let anyone do the rapping. And I even showed off my moves, moves that no fifty-something lonely white man could showcase in front of a crowd and actually impress them.
Yes, it was bloody awful. I rapped like a gangsta wannabe from Vaseco Compound and sang like an aspiring diva from Sampaloc.
But I did both. And I finished the song. And I won.

Yes, my friend. I’m definitely on the way to where I want to be. And my VIP status at Hibiki will be the greatest milestone in my Dubai life, aside from my professional achievements (they’re not much but I almost sold my soul to get to where I am now).

Now someone to sing with is going to be my next Zeena project.

baguio, december, mama, zoe

I can't believe my mother used the word "bling bling". I almost called her brotha after that. she was telling me how much Zoe enjoyed their Baguio trip and how nice our cousin Rupert was. And that Zoe found it funny that Rupert should wear some Baguio-made silver bling at the age of 12. Tita Amy wanted to wear funky native head dresses with Zoe and Rupert for the sake of a nice picture. Zoe and Rupert of course didn't think it was cool but they didn't really have a choice.

I died inside when I saw their pictures. I badly wanted to be with them and go around the Philippines with my family and relatives.

December, December. So near yet so far.

dees eez ze moment

I had my varicose veins treated today.
After almost ten years of thinking about doing it I finally went ahead with it.
Cosmesurge is a nice place to have your varicose veins treated.
The doctor was a specialist in veins, whatever you call the science.
I just know that he made me feel very comfortable and gave me a good discount because his housemaids in Beirut were all Filipino and they were all dear to his children.
He's actually based in Beirut and France, hence his name Antoine.
He also spoke with a funny French accent, and like most French I know, he never let me talk. I just wanted to thank him for solving my problem and I never got around to uttering any word that made sense before, during and after the treatment because he kept on talking.
I think it's a good thing. Before I knew it the syringes were in the bin and my legs were reborn.
I love it!!!!

Sick

Last night I felt really sick.
I went home at 11 feeling like an old hag.
Today I’m feeling worse.
And I can just imagine what I’ll look like tomorrow.

I am scheduled to have my varicose veins treated tonight.
Yes, I’ve got varicose veins.
I’ve had them since time immemorial and it would be best to banish them before Sherry’s beach thing on Saturday.

I’ve had enough this March and I swear I’m going to take it slow in April.
I’d like to have more “me” time, with lots of journal-writing and window shopping alone and blogging and reading and taking long walks and sleeeeping.
Yes that’s definitely on my list. Sleeping.

I also plan to steer clear of … tadadada . . . dating.
It’s a big joke, I know but I’d really like to be a little less out and about.
Not like I slag around.
It’s just that in a city like Dubai, no matter how many high rises tower over me and bright lights they put up, I’m always going to be lonely. Well, a little less happy than when I was in Manila.
And dating is really tempting because nice dinners always make me feel like a special woman, and great conversations with a nice man are what I live for… but then again I have to take a break and make sure to get rid of the skeletons in my closet.
I am crossing my fingers that it is not a big joke.
I really want to be alone.
I was alone when Guillaume swept me off my feet.
He made me happier for two and a half months but the break-up he initiated was the worst ever. The most traumatic, terrible, unethical, one-sided break-up ever.

With that always in mind… yes I think I do want to be alone.

Lying

Lying is such an easy way to forget.
Say you’re not affected, you weren’t up for it anyway.
That he wasn’t all that and you could do better than be with him.
Say things like, well, he turned out to be Mr. Wrong and I wouldn’t settle for him.
And then, as days go by, these lies become true, thanks to reinforcement by friends and the healing process that all heartbroken girls go through.
If you say these things over and over again until you believe in them, they magically happen.
And this is one of the very few excuses for lying.
Because in this case it is very, very helpful.

Weekends are always the best.
Weekends are the time to stop thinking.

THURSDAY
A seemingly endless karaoke night… in the morning Yolanda handed me a 50-dirham bill. I left it out in the front yard when I was opening the door the night before. What?!

FRIDAY
We all went to Jumeirah Beach Park last Friday afternoon and had a snack.
Sherry and I went to my place to take a nap.
And a few hours later we were in the company of several US Navy officers at the Fairmont Hotel.
We would have painted the town red to the tune of In the Navy and YMCA, but it was Prophet Mohammed’s birthday, meaning it was officially a dry night for all the places in the UAE, except for Nad Al Sheba, because of the Dubai World Cup.
And so we had at least three kinds of coffee on our table and a nice conversation that was really small talk stretched until the bar asked for our last order.
I brought them home to our villa where cold Carlsbergs were waiting for them.
(I meant to tell Craig, still haven’t, but will.)
I waited until I was sure they were good guys and were not going to get rowdy upon consuming alcohol. Each of them only had one, two beers.
Good boys.

SATURDAY
Taebo. Hardcore taebo and then a nice fruit platter for late breakfast with Sherry.
And then we took a looong nap and watched a movie.
300 was good! Really nice. It moved me. To tears. To big fat tears. I was sobbing until I didn’t know if I was crying because Leonidas died and left his queen with only a choker that resembled the ones they make in Boracay, or because I missed Guillaume and was disgusted at myself for having the courage show pain only inside a movie house, where it’s dark and no individual is ever noticed.

To be very honest, I did so many things during the weekend just to tire myself, so that sleep was the only alternative to fun, and breaking down was not an option.

Bad hangover, bad bad bad hangover.

Bad hangover.

Crazy house. It's spinning at 12 noon.

Bad bad bad hangover.

Karaoke.

The best. Karaoke.

Yahoo!

The Ex Survey...

Got this from LA's bulletin on Friendster....
lets see if I can get through it.

1. Longest relationship:
-- 2 and a half years

2. Shortest relationship:
-- 3 wonderful months

3. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have
you said "I Love You" to and meant it?:
-- that's a tough question

4. Have you ever loved someone so much
that it hurt?
--yes

5. Have you ever made a boyfriend or
girlfriend cry?:
-- yes once but I just really wanted to see the tears. Wouldn't let him go without making him look weak.

6. Are you happier single or in a
relationship?:
-- i try to be happy either way. happiness is a choice, no matter the circumstance.

7. Have you ever been cheated on?:
-- yes. It hurt like hell. Like someone just locked you up in the freezer and you don't know when you'll get out.

8. Have you ever broken someone's
heart?
-- yes he was the sweetest thing in the world and i was a monster

9. Talk to any of your exes?:
-- yeah a couple of times

10. If you could go back in time and
change things so you could still be
with one of your exes, would you?:
-- well, no. seriously.

11. Think any of your exes feel the
same way?
-- i guess so. im an old cow to them. (old cow, new cow theory from the movie Someone Like You)

12. Have you dated someone older than
you?:
-- yes 16 years older. George Clooney-ish. Winner!

12. Do you regret anything that you
have done with a boyfriend or
girlfriend?:
-- never

13. Do you believe everyone deserves a
second chance?:
-- maybe.

14. Believe in love at first sight?:
-- yes! but i havent experienced it! i want to!

15. Ever dated two people at the same
time?:
-- yes

16. Ever been given an engagement
ring?:
-- no

17. Do you want to get married?:
-- maybe, maybe not

18. Do you have something to say to any
of your exes?
-- yes. fuck off! (he already did, actually.)

19. Ever stolen someone's boyfriend or
girlfriend?:
-- never

20. Ever liked someone else's boyfriend
or girlfriend?
-- no

21. Does heartbreak really feel as bad
as it sounds?:
-- worse. but i always get over it. always.
forward, always forward!

How do you feel better?
How do you feel better after everything?
Consolation is an end in itself and sometimes it can make you even sadder.

Maybe we didn’t need consolation at all.
Stop sugar coating the situation and tell it like it is.
Last night Craig scolded Jen, Sherry and me for thinking too much.
Come on girls, men are simple creatures.
They want three things --- food, sex, booze.
And sometimes they’re so dumb that they do all sorts of things to get these “basic needs”.
Yolanda joined us outside and agreed a little, disagreed a little.
But it was true.
Men are not complicated at all.
They’re cruel though.
Very Machiavellian.
Feelings, schmeelings.

I want to think too much.
Because if I wouldn’t, how would I understand them?
How would I know what to do?
I’m thinking longevity, he’s thinking Johnny Walker.

I’m thinking… is he thinking of me right now?
He’s thinking, Zina who?

why is it not 6 yet?

I try so hard to take control of every situation in my life, no matter how hard it is.
I try to keep the faith and move on. Forward, always forward.
Every single time.
But there are some people who just push me a step backwards, a little too hard, that it hurts my feelings.
Ugly, egocentric colleagues to be specific.
I’ve been very polite to them and they treat me like shit.
Like I was scum of the earth.
Well I’ve got news for them. They’re not that cute or smart to be acting that way.
They’re not very important either.
Inhale, count from one to ten, exhale slowly, and at 6 PM get the hell out of here.

way up there

I feel miserable.
I want to just let go of myself and I don’t want to be polite and have manners and say things like “please”, “excuse me” and smile all the time like I care about everyone’s welfare. Newsflash, I don’t and I don’t want to be part of this social bullshit.

What I really want to do is… sing and dance.
Yes, sing and dance. Get drunk and sing and dance until the world seems really fun and I can stand living in it.
Go to Hibiki and sing all my favorite songs and dance to the tune of all the songs the regulars were singing, like Sweet Caroline (oh oh oh).

I also want to lounge around a house full of soft soft pillows, bean bags and lots of fine wine. I want nice music, the kind that I can dance to alone, or if someone can slow dance with me that would be excellent. I want to be in my pajamas and huge red jacket, wine glass in hand --- never empty. Never empty.

And then I want to call a fortune teller and have him tell me all sorts of things about my life. Like, don’t worry you’re not a slag you truly loved him and things like that. Or there’s a much better man coming along and you don’t have to worry about his cholesterol level because he’s fucking Lou Ferrigno.

Also I’d like a whole weekend to myself, maybe to go the beach or write a book. Write a book about me or a children’s book about a five-year-old boy breaking a four-year-old girl’s heart. That would be very useful to toddlers. Warn the kids while they’re young, because when they find out what they’re getting into in ten years time there’s no going back. Hell. Ok this is a bit too much but who the hell cares.

And I want to be bitter. And be forgiven for it. Or completely ignored even. I just don’t want to be judged for saying things I feel like saying. I want to tell the world that I was very cautious and doing all the right things when Guillaume and I were together. And that I had no reason to think that I was to be blamed for the break-up. It was his break-up, not mine. And I just kind of went along with it since it obviously takes two to tango. I want to tell him how horrible it feels and ask if he’s guilty. If he is, good. If not, then fuck it. What’s new.

And one more thing. I want to fly. Travel, fly, literally, like a bird or a plane. When you’re above everyone no one can really do anything to you, you’re absolutely free, and no one would dare catch you and drag you down. Or if they really want to catch you then they have to do some serious thinking. Because it’s not easy reaching for the sky. I want to be waaaaaaay up there.

Way up there, man.

I was trying to listen to Lil Kim for some girl power, to get into the hoe vibe. But her lyrics only made me cringe.

What the?

Had a fucking miserable day at work.

Every quarter my fate changes.

Another nightmare, another test of self-control, another reaffirmation of self-love. Another three months of being a clown to myself.

Send in the clowns. I don't want to be my own clown anymore.

My Saturday was action-packed.

Sherry and I woke up at 1 and we went straight to Crowne Plaza for some hard tae bo. And then we had a nice breakfast date with Ethel at Cafe Bolero in the same hotel and then we went walking around Safa Park. Safa Park's not a bad place to hang out. Sherry and I lay on the grass thinking about the crappy men in our lives while Ethel jogged around. Then we went to Book World in Satwa for some leisurely book-shopping. I bought two Archie comic books and a book about Mao Zedong. Don't ask me why.

Got home, took a quick shower and had dinner with two dickheads and then went straight to sleep. What a way to keep myself preoccupied on what should have been a lazy Saturday.

But my day didn't end there. I had a bad bad dream. A nightmare really. Me and Guillaume dining in a cheap restaurant. And he kept on going to the washroom. When he went for the nth time I was so afraid he'd never come back that I forced myself to wake up. And then it was suddenly time to get my lazy ass to work. Jesus. I don't want any of that again.

I want a break down. A major cryfest. It's all bottled up inside me and it's not healthy. Why is it so hard to cry? Aerosmith has the answer. J-j-jaaaaaaaaded.

By the way Aerosmith is coming to Dubai in May.

shakira p'rang sira ka!

Shakira Shakira!

It was perfect. In the morning Hamed called and said he couldn’t make it to the Shakira concert… and I could have both tickets! Yahooooo! Sherry was the sensible choice since she’s going out with Amir, Hamed’s friend. I was a little bothered because I also wanted to bring Jen. Turned out Anton had a media pass and didn’t want to go. So we all ended up going! Yahoo!!!

He picked me up at my place and we went to Japengo, and to my horror he didn’t have any intention of using chopsticks. But he gave me the Shakira tickets and I was happy. I was happy. Happy happy happy that we even had tea afterwards.



Finally Sherry, Jen and I arrived at the concert venue. I was overdressed and tried to forget about it by frequenting the drinks counter. I had two glasses of chardonnay --- in a plastic cup to tone down my flamboyant outfit.

The concert was delayed for about thirty minutes. The crowd gathered very slowly, lazily, like Shakira could wait. We camped out in front of the stage eating our free M&M’s and smoking and drinking and going to the loo. My bladder freaks me out I swear. I must have gone four, five times.

Shakira was sexy, pretty, lively, a sight to see really especially when she was belly-dancing. But how could she sing twelve Spanish songs out of the sixteen on her list? How could she not sing The One, the song I was humming until right before the concert? But I had an overwhelming moment when she sang Underneath Your Clothes. I sang that song at Hibiki and he listened to it like I was the best thing that ever happened to him. And on its fortnight Shakira herself sang it. It was like a dash of salt on a fresh wound. Shit. And the next few songs were a celebration of love and life again. I swear I could go insane that night!
We danced and sang along and looked amazed. You could say that the audience were … err, cooperative. They were ok, humming along, dancing along, but not enthusiastic enough. Unlike your typical Manila audience --- lots of clapping, ooh, ahhhh, name-chanting, riots, stampedes woohoo…..
To prove my point, after singing her fifteenth song, Shakira blew a shukran kiss to the crowd and said goodbye without even singing Hips Don’t Lie. So the audience simply accepted her farewell kiss and started walking away. Knock knock. Who’s there. Encore. Encore who. Jun Encornacion, may he rest in peace. I don’t know if she had a crappy audience or the production team was more crappy for succumbing to the so-called encore tradition, which was, to quote my flatmate Yolanda, was supposed to be a spontaneous thing. Either way, Shakira reappeared with the same level of energy -- -even higher, with a bunch of belly dancers and confetti and this Cuban guy in her band who was a sub for Wyclef. So we danced to the last song. I felt like I wanted to dance forever and get drunk. I wanted the song to go on forever and ever. Not because it was my favorite, but because it felt so good to have an excuse to let go of myself.

But in a few minutes reality came crashing down and we found ourselves walking for an hour and a half, trying to find a shuttle that could take us the hell our of Dubai Autodrome, which was in the middle of nowhere. We finally asked Ethel to pick us up, thanks Ethel!

Oh Shakira. Thanks for making my weekend less lonely. In fact, it was fabulous!

just some things

Last night after semi-howling in the car upon hearing the truth from Jen and Eve's mouths, we partied at the recently revamped Lodge. It was fun. I danced with this bald guy and it was good for a laugh. Three bullfrogs later I was complaining about my heels (which I wore for the very first time) and came home throwing my brains up.

I'm going to the Shakira concert!!!! In exactly 7 and a half hours! How cool is that? God loves me.

Plus I must have lost 2 lbs because of my post-break-up diet. Good good keep it up Zeena.

Mama already received my birthday gift --- a certificate for a day at the spa. She was happy and I'm glad she liked it. She said she needed that and she'd go on the 9th of April, a holiday in the Philippines.


I still haven't experienced a breakdown. I need it. It feels so heavy inside and I need to let it all out. I thought three bullfrogs could do the trick. Maybe I need to be alone for a whole day to realize that I am really alone, not part of a couple.

I have no idea. I'll probably ask Shakira's hips later. They don't lie. Wahooooooooooo!

work is shit

I am so pissed off at work I cannot even begin to tell you how bad I feel right now.
It’s not my fault that I’m Asian and I’m actually proud of my heritage and I badly miss working with my friends in Manila, where I felt like a part of a huge family.
Now I feel like robot that’s supposed to be void of emotions and swallow their shit.
I don’t swallow shit, thank you very much.
I’m trying to keep a straight face while they laugh at their own stupidity and blame me for their lack of intelligence like it’s not a big issue at all.
Oh, there’s Zeena. Someone we can always blame if we don’t people to find out that we’re actually incapable of carrying out what we’re getting overly paid for.
I love my work please please please don’t make me hate it.

Men

London. Karachi. Lahore. Berlin. Toulouse. Paris. Kiev. Ipswich. Tehran. Alexandria. Manila. Kerala. Tokyo. Singapore. Boston. Dubai. Melbourne. Amsterdam. Amman. Abu Dhabi. Ho Chi Minh for crying out loud.

No matter where they come from, they’re all the same.

Same shit.

Manners, fashion sense, choice of words, level of sensitivity. Oh brother.

They come in hideous disguises, all shapes and sizes. With moustache, without. Cut, not cut. Ear stitched up. Blue eyes. Brown eyes. Civilised, not.

They're still the same old shit. Even worse than their ancestors.

Fly-by-night vultures. Freaks. Liars. Monsters.

Thank God I’m female, with a solid group of friends.

And thank God I'm still not tired of men.

my horoscope today

You may feel defeated during the first part of the day, but later on certain developments will have you feel as though things are turning in your favor.

Well said, horo. Well said.

worth the weight

I don’t know why I’m falling into the girly newsletter trap.
I open my emails, and my inbox is flooded with subjects like “How to Lose Weight and Keep It Off”, “How to Treat Depression”, “Are You A Good Kisser?”, and --- this one is my personal favorite --- “Why Men Do That”.
I know that the writers just reword their old articles, more or less these articles have the same content, and yet I can’t help opening those emails. One. By one. By one.

So far I’ve learned that grapefruit and kiwi are good for weight-watchers, and I need to take in 1,250 calories a day and do thirty minutes of exercise in order to lose weight.
I also need to count calories all the time and keep in mind that there are 9 calories in one gram of fat, and there are only 4 in a gram of carbs.
And if I think I am overweight I must immediately see a nutritionist so he can plan my meals and reprimand me for being a bad girl in the kitchen.
If I get really depressed because of my weight, I must see a therapist.
Turn to my friends when I feel lonely instead of depending on that big bag of chips to make me happy.
Keep a food journal.
Drink light beer. It has only one third of the calories in most ladies drinks.
Multiply my weight in pounds by 15, and that’s the number of calories I need to consume to maintain my current weight, or if I want to lose a few pounds, I must consume 500 fewer calories a day and do 30 minutes of moderate exercise.
I need to wear low and narrow V necklines to create an illusion of slenderness. Wear tops with breast pockets to create an illusion of breasts --- yes, they are an illusion in my case.
And the list goes on and on.

But these random things actually come in handy.
Last weekend I didn’t buy popcorn when we watched a movie.
And I attended tae bo class.
And I now take long walks instead of sitting my ass off every single evening.
I now forgive myself for those late-night French fries, Long Island and karaoke nights and do better the next day.
I drink lots of water and lessened smoking.
I really did.

And I’m slowly on the way to doing something really important.
And I’m learning to love my body. I love my body.
It’s pear-shaped, it’s not perfect. Oh Lord knows it’s not perfect… but it’s mine.
I don’t want to lose an arm to realize how important it is for me.

Then again I could lose a few pounds. Maybe five.

One of the weirdest phone conversations at work...

Hi, I am Zeena from (COMPANY NAME).

Hi, Wissam here. Where are you from Zeena?

I am from (COMPANY NAME).

Okay ... are you Filipino?

Yes I am. Why do you ask?

(laughs) You are most welcome to cover our event. I am Syrian. (laughs again)

(I think "so what?") Good bye, Wissam. (I don't laugh.)

I don't know what to make of that.

I don't feel like laughing. I really don't.

I don't care where he's from. Why should he care where I'm from?

Oh I shouldn't even care about it at all.

I am always on the run and always on the brink of something I always never know. But it’s fun because I don’t know what happens, and more often than not the paths I unknowingly tread turn out to be beautiful blessings in disguise. Beautiful. Now I think my life is getting more and more beautiful, growing, chasing dreams I never knew I had and finding out things I never knew existed. I know I’m living my life to the fullest because I’m always wide-eyed and thinking “Awesome!” or “Whoa, I’m glad I did this!” I will never ever trade experience for… say, a well-planned life in Manila. Even if I could live like princess there. I swear. I’d still let the world borrow my soul, because I’ve always known that the interest I’d reap would be priceless. Priceless.

There. Just finished my one-minute say-anything, write-anything, think-anything moment.

relax

I’m happy, I’m steady, everything is fine with my life, but I feel tired. Maybe because I never stop moving. Going out, running around, looking for things to do. I have not taken the time to stay in bed for more than eight hours, just being a princess. Now I’ve got a backache and no focus at work. I have to relax.

There are many things I could do to relax, actually. I’m going to have to exclude surfing the net, because in the long run it stresses me out and traps me, so that I can’t do anything else. So what relaxes me? (in no particular order….)

Hmmm…

 Reading a good book.
 A good movie to watch at home. Or channel surfing. Alone.
 Dancing to my favorite tunes at home while waiting for my laundry to finish.
 Believe it or not, washing the dishes.
 Taking long long long loooooooong naps.
 Taking a hot hot hot bath. Candles, a fragrant body wash, a nice song to hum.
 Talking with Mama on the phone. Saying I love you to her and Zoe.
 Emailing all my friends in Manila.
 Stretching.
 A long walk. Alone.
 Window shopping.

I’d like to know what relaxes you. Maybe we can exchange ideas?

how did you spend your weekend?

Things that happened this weekend:

1. I attended a meeting Thursday night and had fun with the UPAA UAE BOD members. We discussed the BIG VISIT for the Nth time and after so many exhanges of insights it started to be a bit of a laugh.

2. On Friday a few UPAA UAE members met in Karama at 7 AM to go the the Abu Dhabi Family Fun Day. We arrived there and failed to register, so we ended up having lunch in Marina Mall. Fast food. All the way to Abu Dhabi for some Popeye's chicken. But it was fun. Abu Dhabi is quieter and less polluted (lotsa trees). The sandstorm didn't stop us from going to the house of the Dy-Liaccos for coffee and karaoke.

3. After Abu Dhabi, Enna and Tito Dan gave me a ride to Sharjah. Big help, I swear. Guillaume waited for me at the Millenium Hotel and we went to his flat. Whisky. Malibu vodka. Cigarettes. TV with 3 or 4 channels, all Arabic. Laughing. Talking. I swear Guillaume must have been a little drunk when he asked me to dance ballet. I didn't, don't worry.

4. My favorite part about staying with Guillaume is the mornings. We wake up, buy breakfast downstairs and hang around their flat for a few hours doing absolutely nothing. Listening to music. Getting ready to leave. Lounging around like retired businessmen and talking about Dubai.

5. I had them drop me off at the Crowne Plaza. I needed to workout. I really did. I attended the tae bo class and walked home feeling better than ever.

6. I met Sherry and Xernes in Mercato and we watched Trust the Man. It was a feel good movie. I didn't say it was good, but it made us laugh a little. We walked all the way to the Palm Strip to have dinner at Japengo. I had three huge beef sausages and mashed potato. Eve followed and we had coffee at Starbucks, just next to Japengo. We talked about Xernes and his woes, Sherry and her woes, Eve and her woes. Different kinds of dilemmas. I'm glad I succeeded in forcing Eve out of her house.

Now I am home and as I write my sheesh kebab is in the oven. I will eat it for lucnh tomorrow. I'll wrap it up and put it in my lunch box, the funkiest lunch box in town. I will call Guillaume to say good night, read a book by James Frey --- it's proving to be very interesting --- and doze off. Peacefully I hope, without interruption.

Yes, I think that's a nice way to end the weekend.

busy busyhan

Guillaume is very tired today. He has been going out with friends and experiencing Dubai for the first time after Global Village. He’s seen Old Dubai, went on a desert safari and had a barbecue in the middle of nowhere, and today he went to Hatta, the beautiful border of Dubai and Oman. I bet he had lunch at the charming Hatta Fort Hotel, an old lovely place that serves nothing but the best food.

I have a meeting tonight and I must go home early so I can wake up at 6 AM for tomorrow’s big Filipino family day in Abu Dhabi. Abu Dhabi. I’ve never been there and it would be nice to see that infamous Emirate. And then I’ll probably rest or see Guillaume, depends on his own plans.

I am sooooooo busy and I like it.
I like working and moving around and seeing the paperwork pile up on my desk.
I like calling people up and looking for them and talking to them diplomatically.
When I see them personally I like shaking their hands and explaining what I do and smiling whenever I have the chance and taking out my business cards and giving them away.
I like being restless.
I hate being idle.
Being idle makes me think of ridiculous, horrible, out-of-this-world things.
I get paranoid and unreasonable and restless and I don’t want that.
I don’t want to think about things that don’t deserve to have a place in my mind.
I must have better things to think about, things that will change my life or change my world or change someone else’s life for the better.
I need to have ideas, and experience new things.
I want to be told what to do and tell someone what to do, to just think about things worth thinking about.
I want to solve problems and do good things and check as many things in my to-do list and break away from the stress of not having anything to think about.
I am sooooooo busy and I like it.

He is so busy, I am so busy.
And when we find time to be together it will be sweeeeet.

bald bellligerent bastards at B****r

Last night we went out but not without the fucking bouncers causing a commotion.
Sherry and I were there first and we wanted to have a few drinks while waiting for Jen so we went to B****r immediately.
A huge ugly man in grey blocked our way and demanded for our IDs. We really didn’t have a problem with taking out our IDs, but we’d been going there forever for Ladies’ Night and no had ever asked for our IDs. So we argued but he didn’t listen. And even when I showed him my Free Zone card he refused to accept it because it didn’t have my date of birth. What a prick.
We walked away, I was shocked and speechless while Sherry was furious and in the mood for bickering. Determined to have some drinks and relax, we went to the other entrance and another ugly guy waited for us there to tell us that no, we couldn’t go inside.
Finally Jen arrived and she convinced the bouncer that Sherry and I were grown women, and if I had the chance I’d have told him that I had my period (see? Way past puberty) and he better not mess with me.
So we finally got in, and we drank away our embarrassment.
Fine. I appreciate the fact that someone actually thought I was younger than my age, and that they were just after the welfare of minors (well, partly). But what about their customers? Don’t they care if their loyal customers stay outside the bar in sheer undeserved shame just because they’re up for a little ego-tripping? We like B****r and we want to go back again but I’m not looking forward to see those two bald bastards.

The best things in life are free… almost!

Just a short one…straight out of bed…. bad breath and all……..

At 8 in the morning I received a call from another aunt of mine -- -Tita Ruby! I have not spoken to her in ages. Even when I was still in Manila I hadn’t had the chance to actually sit down and talk to her. And she actually bought a phone card to call me! I was really happy. I also had a short chat with Patty and Paulo. Patty’s going to college. Is the world crazy? I thought she was in 6th grade! I just told her everything I had to go through here in Dubai and I wanted to let her know that it hasn’t been easy for me. For the longest time I had wondered what they thought about my sudden decision to leave and brave the world outside Manila. They didn’t have anything bad to say, and I was relieved. If anything they said they admired me for being so gutsy. I wouldn’t say fearless, because God knows how many million fears I had and still have about Dubai and my life. I’m just so happy we got to talk again, and in a few months’ time I will get to see them again and we’ll all hug and have fun together. We talked for 33 minutes and that’s such a big deal. I appreciate her taking the time to talk to me and asking me how I was and wanting to know if I was okay. I know the best things in life are free but she needed that expensive phone card to give me a call…

Hips Don't Lie

I'm on a copy and paste roll. Just think of it as my way of sharing my knowledge with you. May ganon!

Hips Don't Lie
10 Food Fibs That Make You Fat
by Sophie Pachella, founder of EatStrong

When Pinocchio lied, his nose grew. When you lie to yourself about your diet, it won't be your nose growing.
1) I deserve it
This is a classic example of self-sabotage. Exactly what do you deserve? Blown progress? Thicker thighs? Self-medicating with food is a learned behavior, which invariably leaves us feeling miserable. Instead, establish a food-free reward system such as indulging in a good workout, or new pair of running socks. Work on progressively altering the feeling that food soothes. The numbing effect is fleeting at best but the consequences sadly linger.
2) I've saved calories from skipping breakfast.
Not so. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. Skipping breakfast lowers your metabolism meaning that the next meal you eat (famished) is far more likely to be stored as saddle bags. Skipping a healthy breakfast doesn't give you free license to gorge on chips and dip before lunch. Some appetizers run 1500+ calories. Eat regularly and consistently to keep your blood sugar level and temper temptation.
3) It's free!
Hardly. The 500+ calorie free bagel at the office costs you $80 with your trainer just to get back to square one. Furthermore when food is free we settle for sub-par standards. Stale? Picked over? Bring it on! Ask yourself if you'd shell out the money to eat the item. While you're at it - pop $1 in a jar each time you skip free food. At the end of the month treat yourself to a healthy reward.
4) It would be rude to refuse
Never have two issues been as frequently confused as food and love. When a co-worker, mother or friend offers us food, we feel compelled to accept even when we're not hungry. If this situation occurs frequently make your case clear: rather than repeatedly turning down food state your intention once, firmly and politely and ask for your efforts to be supported. In circumstances which require a little more finesse, graciously accept while insisting you're already full and are only having a bite because "it looks divine". If you announce your intention, you're less likely to then polish off of the entire slice of pie.
5) It's not the same without [popcorn, hotdog..]
If an event requires food to distract you, go home. It can't be that entertaining. Our behavior at the movies is quasi-Pavlovian. So use this to your advantage: create a new habit, and work on making it stick. Bring your own air popped popcorn to the movies or better yet, take pride in proving yourself you can survive two hours (gasp!) without food. Once you've established a new habit, you can draw upon that behavior the next time and repeat it until it becomes the new you.
6) Supersize and save!
$1 extra for a vat of coke and side of chips... why not? Because your goal isn't to load up on as much food as possible, that's why. Food isn't scarce. If you pay full price for half the portion, enjoy the fact that you're treating yourself right. Pay more for less you. Now that's a bargain.
7) It would be wasteful not to.
Call me cheap, but this is my downfall. Throwing food away doesn't come easily; apparently I'd rather use my tummy as a trash can. How many times have you finished what's on your plate in a restaurant because you paid for it, even though it didn't taste particularly good or ate a tasteless protein bar because it cost $3.50? The "children are starving" mantra haunts us, but we fail to recognize that shoveling in the last few bites won't help anyone. Note to moms: stop this manipulative tactic immediately. It's a terrible precedent to set. Overeating is just as wasteful (in a far more damaging manner) than throwing leftover food.
8) But it's a party, we've got to celebrate.
Is every get -together an excuse to eat? Food is fuel, not a party trick. Focus on the conversation and company, rather than the caterer. You might meet someone nice, which beats a pig in a blanket.
9) Just this once won't hurt...
Actually, yes it will. The devil is in the details. 100 calories a day translates into an additional 10.2lbs a year. Your body is the most accurate computer ever made: while you might choose to pretend the sneaked bite never occurred, your metabolism won't let a single calorie slip by. Rather than working on excuses, channel your energy into testing whether "just this once" you can pass the temptation by. The pride you gain is immeasurable.
10) It's too complicated/expensive to eat right
When we're feeling particularly lazy, this little fib sounds plausible until we weigh the cost of an apple and yogurt ($1.50) against a bag of chips ($1.50). Echoing Fib #3, think how much you'll save by eliminating the need for another training session to melt away a pound of fat grown as a result of "cheap decisions". Inexpensive healthy snacks are abundant. Make a list of your 20 favorites, and refer to it when feeling thrifty.

Got time to talk?

Stinking feet
My feet don’t stink anymore, because Khadijah gave me a nice pair of shoes that matches my top today. I really hate those bronze slip-ons I got from Global Village for 35 Dirhams. They made my feet stink like hell, and Guillaume even caught me smelling themlast Friday morning. I thought he was fast asleep. I like doing all sorts of things when he’s dozing off. One time he caught me plucking my armpit hairs. Another time I was putting on concealer. I don't know why the hell I did that but I just feel more secure with my concealer on all the time. Hips don't lie and they're sexy. Scars don't lie but they're freaking ugly so better cover them up.

Problem sleeping
I have trouble sleeping and I think it’s getting more serious. I drink lots of water and try not to smoke a few hours before bedtime, and I take a hot shower with pretty little candles all around the bathroom. And then I read a book. I’m reading one called My Friend Leonard by James Frey. I recommend this one for those who liked Holden Caulfield and that guy from Trainspotting. And then I wake up in the middle of the night and turn on the fan, or turn off the fan, or read again or pee, or drink water or something. I don’t know why I wake up in the middle of the night. It’s crazy.

A pleasant wake-up call
My phone rang at 1230 in the morning and it was one of my favorite aunts, Tita Anna. I sent her a Friendster message asking her to call me. She did! I talked to Neil for a few minutes and it was nice to know that he had not twisted his Tagalog tongue. We talked about random things, and while she was doing number 2 she said goodbye. Only two Euros worth of talk time with her dear niece.

Bheng mah Mhen
Bheng went online last night just as Jel was disconnected. I was grateful for his company because he was very helpful, especially when I was telling him about Guillaume. I suddenly found Bheng very similar to Guillaume. When I was still in Manila we used to go out a lot with the CDG people and get drunk and do karaoke until the break of dawn. We’d find ourselves crawling on the streets, sometimes vomiting and singing songs and telling jokes. And then his girlfriend would send a message and he’d call her. Men like Bheng and Guillaume like drinking and having fun and staying up late doing nothing. Maybe their girlfriends have nothing to worry about. I don’t know. Bheng said I should keep my cool and stop wondering where he is or why he hasn’t replied yet or why he hasn’t been calling. And I totally agree with him. First and foremost --- keep my sanity in tact. In the long run it’s going to be the most integral part of a relationship, and most importantly, a person.

Leftovers, dependency
As I write this I'm watching Yolanda and Craig eat the freshly baked chicken pie Yolanda made. I was determined not to have it for dinner, because after all, it wasn't mine. The leftover beef barbecue however, was not their property anymore and therefore was up for grabs. Not that anyone would grab it. It was two weeks old. Well I did. I shoved it in the microwave, put some sweet chili sauce on it and threw in some corn, and dinner was served. My dinner. I want to be responsible for myself and not depend on someone else to make my dinner. Isn't that a mature thing to say? Well I'm serious. If and when I get sick of sardines maybe I'll force myself to cook. If not then my body deteriorates from all the MSG and preservatives. That's my fault.

Damn why did she have to make apple crumble and vanilla ice cream. Can I now eat my words.

Think like a man

Interesting snippets from an article I read on www.ivillage.com.
A male author boosting men's morale. Ivillage says these tips also apply to women, and so I'm sharing them with you so you can learn a thing or two and hopefully prevent a future heartache.

Enjoy!

Write down 10 traits that will make you invaluable to any woman who's lucky enough to get your attention and time.

You should be exercising regularly and maintaining a healthy diet in order to give the ladies what they like — a strong, fit body with abs of steel and anaconda arms, and don't forget to stand up straight.

If you want to feel confident 100 percent of the time, you have to look stylish 100 percent of the time. If you don't, you'll subconsciously feel inferior, and before you know it, that will outwardly manifest itself as nervousness. Make sure you're properly groomed and dressed better than the people you expect to meet.

Shut the hell up and listen for a change. By only opening your mouth to ask open-ended questions, you'll be letting her do most of the talking. Not only does this help conceal your nervousness, it gives the woman you're speaking with something else to focus on — in this case, herself. She'll think you're a great conversationalist if you just let her do all the talking.

It is very easy to go from super-confident to flat-out depressed based on someone's comments. The secret to surviving criticism and rejection is to expect it and not take it personally when it happens. Remember: You will encounter people who don't like you, and when this happens, I recommend that you don't give a damn about it.

Week one: Resolve to smile at five people on a daily basis, and don't limit yourself to beautiful women. Get in the habit of being more amicable toward both women and men, whether they're beautiful or not so good-looking, short or tall, skinny or fat, old or young.

Week two: Follow the same routine as week one, but add a "hello" to your smile.

Week three: After you smile and greet people, you'll begin to feel comfortable enough to spark up small talk with friendly strangers in places like elevators or lineups. Before you know it, you'll be making small talk with just about any woman. Once you come to the realization that a woman is open to your friendliness, go ahead and break the ice by saying something like "Boy, it feels like this line is moving backward" or "I never thought the elevator would get here so quickly. It usually takes forever."

Week four: Once you practice the art of small talk for a while, you're going to discover something odd — confidence will become a part of your being! So keep it up. And if you ever encounter an antisocial individual who rudely ignores you, don't worry. Just remember element number five (volatility) and don't give a damn about it.

You don't have to be a millionaire, but having some sort of direction, determination, goals and financial stability will eliminate some of that stress and build your confidence that much more.

:D

I had a nice weekend.
I went to HIBIKI (the place to be) with Sherry, and I promised myself I'd have a good time. I did. Bullfrog after bullfrog. Song after song.
It was very nice of MOther Galo to join us, because Sherry and I looked a little silly just sitting there other friends. Or worse, without dates.
And then Randi and his friends came and joined us (someone in their group was celebrating his birthday). The party was getting noisier and happier and I was loving it.
And then Guillaume called. Within a few minutes he was there beside me in Hibiki, singing all sorts of songs --- Your Song, Copacobana, Lately. It was so much fun!
I sang Underneath Your Clothes. Don't throw up, he loved it!
Fun because of two things: 1)he was with me in a karaoke bar, actually singing and talking to my friends and laughing and dancing. 2) I had four bullfrogs --- they make you tipsy but extremely hyper --- and I was able to tell him everything I wanted to. I confronted him about his weird behavior lately and he explained everything and that was all I needed to know.
And so everything was resolved and I really thanked God for the blessings that night ---friends that cheer you on, a nice man to be with, karaoke, and drinks that make you go wooooooooooooooooooo.

The following morning we sat under a tree facing the beach. I read the paper and he enjoyed his espresso. Perfecto.

I truly truly loved my weekend.

the remedy, the weapon, the lifesaver

My face is smashed with indifference
And now it’s got ugly scars of you
I cover them up with the best concealer
But people can still see traces of you
I cover them up some more, more than enough really
And people ask if it’s because of you

I cover my face with my large chunky bangs
And they irritate my eyes and tears stream down
My face is uglier and my smile is gone
And I cannot erase this hideous frown

It always happens, and I refuse to suffer
That’s why my make-up kit is ready to cover
Scars, dullness, wrinkles and scratches
A friend hands me a tissue and I fully recover

coffee, women, instinct, truth

Last night I had coffee with Sherry and Ethel and I liked our exchange of insights and I was inspired to do the right thing. I always need a good push to do something that requires strength and courage, and I think I got a pretty good one last night. The best one was about women’s instincts. If a woman has a bad feeling about something or someone, it’s probably right. Instinct is a gift from God and shouldn’t be ignored, but used and oftentimes heeded.

While I cannot say I’ve been perfect, I know that I’ve been true. And I’m holding on to the truth in my heart whatever happens, and will not believe other’s truths. They’re not mine, for one thing, and more importantly, only my truth matters. And that’s really all there is to it. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Experience is not what happens to a man. It is what a man does with what happens to him."– Aldous Huxley

krispy kreme doesn't save the day

There was a huge Krispy Kreme truck in front of the CNBC Building, and we heard that they were giving away boxes of donuts, so we rushed to where the action was. Anjjelo got me a box and I finished two already, and I saw Sherry getting two boxes like donuts were a precious commodity.

Did you hear that? I finished two already. Two Krispy Kremes. Very sweet and warm and soft. And yet I can't take the smug look off my face.

What did I learn? No amount of free sweets can appease a bitter girl.

Gusto mo yun?

i've got the power~

Yesterday I was going through my Friendsters and saw that my Tita Anna uploaded new pictures of their family. It was on my cousin Nico’s first birthday. They didn’t look like they were in England. They looked so happy with several Filipino moms and dads and their children surrounding the party table. I sent her a message and I hope she can reply soon. I really miss her. She’s always been the aunt who believed I’d go places and lead a good life. She has so much faith in me and I know she wants me to be happy. When we were chatting some months ago she told me to make sure that my next boyfriend was going to be nice and make me happy. Long loud sigh.

In the afternoon when I was getting ready to leave the office I caught up with my Tita Monina on Googlechat. We just had a very short chat and I showed him Guillaume’s picture and I said we’re okay and she said they were okay and then I had to go home already. I miss her and I wasn’t to see her soon. She’s been one of the very few people who never grew tired of convincing me that I was beautiful even when everyone else thought otherwise. Until now I think about that and it never fails to make me smile. She said that Guillaume looked nice. Sigh again.

When I came home I moped around the house and watched a bit of American Idol and moped some more and did really bad things and ate really bad food until I couldn’t find a more self-destructing activity and went online…and found Tita Dina. She lives in LA and rarely goes online. I was so happy to catch up with her. She asked me if everything was all right, and I told her about my little problem. She gave me really good advise, the kind that made me proud of being part of our family. She reminded me of the most important things like self-respect and true love. Very inspiring.

I resolve to make a change today. I realized that I was very weak yesterday and I was given today to regain the strength I lost for a while. I want to be a strong and beautiful as my aunts. I want their wisdom, their survival skills, their beauty.

I am in charge here and I can navigate this to any direction I want.

The power is mine.

I can start off by waxing my upper lip tonight.

WEIRD THERAPIES

This week I’ve been so stressed out and found out that reading helps only for a certain period of time. So at work and at home I’ve tried doing some things that surprisingly killed my boredom, stress and a little bit of the paranoia I’ve had and denied for quite some time now.

Try them, they might work.

 Cleaning the bathroom. The other night after dinner, after 3 plates of rice and sinigang na manok and apple crumble with vanilla ice cream, when Sherry and Jen left, I felt so bored but restless and I had no idea what to do. A little voice inside me told me to get the disinfectant under the kitchen sink, fetch the mop downstairs, remove my pants and raid the toilet. And so I did. I scrubbed every single corner of the bath and the bidet and the sink and the toilet and the bathroom floor, and rinsed everything. I took a whiff of the disinfectant with a feeling of fulfillment , put my pants back on, and had a cup of tea before bedtime.
 Scrubbing the bottom of a pot. That’s what I got for allowing the rice to burn and allowing myself to eat burnt rice --- a relaxing pot-scrubbing session. I took the challenge of scraping off the black stuff at the bottom of the pot I used while dancing to the tune of Snoop Dogg and Akon’s I Wanna Love You. Better than doing pot. Possibly.
 Printing. Documents, information on events, guests’ profiles, contact details, anything I can find on the internet, in the folders, in my emails. Thirty minutes of hitting the print button non-stop and fetching the warm papers from the printer. It felt sooo good. I didn’t care if I was wasting paper or ink. Me first, and then the environment. That’s the inconvenient truth.
 Watching old music videos on YouTube. Carly Simon’s Nobody Does It Better from the James Bond movie The Spy Who Loved Me really made me feel cozy. Not that a spy actually loved me. But I felt much better than that. I don’t need spy. I need a drunken French guy from Sharjah.

Hoping to discover more therapeutic activities. Quick fixes for sudden anxiety. Amen.

The spy who loved me

I love the song and this bit from that old James Bond film The Spy Who Loved Me. SIGH!

The Flatmate Factor

In Dubai, when you’re dating someone, it’s always nice to be friends with the flatmate.
Jen gets along well with Khashif’s flatmate Fahad, and Khashif gets along well with Sherry, and so on and so forth.

I never really thought of Emmanuel as Guillaume’s flatmate. He has always been the fellow Frenchman, the business partner, the older one of the duo. But on Friday night I began to see him as the owner of the other half of the flat, the great flatmate, and with that in mind, I felt the need establish a certain kind of friendship with him, the kind that will make him take my side if and when Guillaume and I get into a huge fight.

So Emmanuel called me Friday night to say that Guillaume fell asleep again and he wasn’t sure when he’d wake up, so I better not wait for him to pick me up in Bur Dubai. Instead he suggested I come over and surprise him. So I did. I traveled all the way to Sharjah, on the phone with Emmanuel to give me directions on how to get to their flat. I reached their building and bought a pack of cigarettes for Emmanuel before going up to the 20th floor.

And so we met again. High five, laughter. So far so good. I gave him the cigarettes and I took out the pancit that Obet cooked earlier. He liked it. I told him that Guillaume sent me only ONE email the whole time he was in Paris. He said that wasn’t their style. Emails. Bleah. And I was thankful that he confirmed that, which saved me from the embarrassment of asking Guillaume about it. No drama. Sigh of relief. I was also very happy when he said that upon arriving at the Dubai airport and meeting him, Guillaume asked if I called. Although he didn’t make any sense, because the phone was with Emmanuel, I was more than ok with the fact that he thought about me, or he thought about whether I thought of him.

With a smile on my face, I went to Guillaume’s room to finally surprise him. He wasn’t surprised. It was as if he was expecting it. He had his arms ready to hug me, which I thought was sweet. So anyway in his giant robe he went out of the room and stretched.

We all settled in the living area, whisky and cigarettes and a bunch of retro and electronica CDs Guillaume brought from Paris. Paris, Paris, Paris. I’d never hated Paris so much in my life. For two weeks Guillaume was there and I couldn’t handle being away from him. Well, I could, obviously, but you know, I hope he doesn’t go away again because it makes me miss him and think about weird stuff that could happen between us to the point where I almost turn psycho. But I’m glad he’s back and he’s back for good, and that’s all I need to know for now.

So Emmanuel had too much whisky already, and we were laughing and drinking some more and listening to music and laughing again. It was fun. I had fun with Emmanuel as my boyfriend’s flatmate, more than I did with Guillaume actually. I think I invested enough in this much-need alliance, enough to keep it solid for a long time. And finally in his drunkenness the words I had so wanted to hear came out of his mouth: You’re lucky I like you… Meaning, he’d have punched me in the face straight away after hearing my comments about his age and his appearance and his taste in women and music.

I’m lucky he likes me. He likes me for Guillaume, like a father likes someone for his only son, and more or less I have his blessing, so that if anything unpleasant comes up he will be sure to tell me about it and support me all the way. And then I realized how important Emmanuel is in the equation. And I have to treat him good, stay friends, make him laugh --- which is not really a hard thing to do, it actually comes naturally because he’s very likeable himself.

And that, my friend, is the flatmate factor.

guess who's back???

he is! love it!

i miss him!

I couldn’t help it.
Last night when I had coffee with Obet, Xernes and Sherry I realized how much I missed my boyfriend, and how badly I wanted to be with him again.
So I took a deep breath and did something about it.
I called Emmanuel and asked when Guillaume was coming back.
Friday, he said. What happened, my dear? Are you drunk? You sound different?
I just said yes to cut the talk short.
He chuckled. Like he always does.

So, he’s back on Friday.
I’m afraid I have a meeting on Friday.
Fidgeting in my chair.
Nervous.
He’s been gone for two weeks.
Could he have changed?
You’d be surprised.
Oh well.
Stay calm, and if he calls on Friday, then good.
I’ll have the chance to say I’m too busy to meet him, maybe tomorrow or Sunday.
If he calls on Saturday I’ll tell him off or give him the cold shoulder.
If he doesn’t call at all?
It’s karaoke time, girls.

racism

I want to believe that racism doesn’t exist in my world, but no matter how much and how long I ignore it, it seems to resurface...over and over again. I know that people who still live in the medieval times are ignorant and big idiots, but I can’t help feeling sad. They put me down, yes they put me down. And there’s only one person who can lift my spirits again – myself.

Fuck. That's a HUGE task.

Why did you have to put me down in the first place.

KARAOKE at Harry Ghatto's with UPAA Gang - Feb 22

Yesterday I ate an enormous amount of corn that sent all the farmers in Asia planting double for the next quarter. I felt terrible last night. And to help “aid” my digestion, I had Milo, a kind of sugar that pretends to be hot chocolate. I felt so bad that I couldn’t control my eating that before I fell asleep I cried so hard. I imagined there was Oprah’s camera next to my bed, and so I made everything even more melodramatic by saying things out loud.

I don’t want to be alone. I eat when I’m alone. I realized that without someone to love I become a monster. And I eat and eat until I cannot feel, and whenever this dreadful feeling comes back I just eat some more. I hate being alone. I can’t be alone.

Things like that. Sorry not a good scriptwriter for reality segments but my feelings were real. To appease myself and divert my attention to something --- anything!!! --- I ended up watching Close To You, which starred John Lloyd Cruz, Bea Alonzo and Sam Milby. I liked it, but it was a bad copy, with shadows of heads (wearing caps) crossing the big screen and laughter and smirks. I also searched YouTube and even danced in my chair. And had a short chat with Colin before I finally allowed him to go to bed and do what he does best.

And then afterwards I resolved to lose weight. Before Guillaume comes back, before I lose my cool, before I turn into someone I can’t recognize in front of the mirror.

And so today I had three liters of water, cereals for breakfast, fresh orange juice, and a banana. And I feel much lighter now.

So no, I’m not on my way to self-destruction. Thank God!

everything was going on smoothly. and then i farted!

at least that's how i feel right now. things have been perfect until one day when i became reall stupid. and i feel like everything's over.

maybe not.

i am angry

My horoscope today says it’s ok to be angry. Controlled anger is normal, and as long as I can express it without ruining other people’s lives then I have every right to turn red.

I am so frustrated. Work has been ruthless and though I know that it’s not like all eyes are on me waiting for me to commit a grave mistake, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed and pressured. I’ll lose all my hair before 6 PM, I swear.

I am also sad that the weekend has gone by and I am back in my swivel chair that sometimes disappears after lunch and reappears when it wants to. I am back to answering a thousand emails and deciding on things to which a simple “yes” or “no” could make all the difference. I can make ruin the program in a split second, or can make it one of the best episodes. Aside from that I am in charge of everything else until the end of the week, which is seemingly ages from now!

I am also harboring bad feelings towards my friend because she’s been very inconsistent and I really don’t want to have to do anything with her or for her because she has a bad habit of taking me for granted. I tried helping her out and working out her request but she’s just been so scatter-brained and I don’t want to get involved in her shit, as I already have my own to deal with. Her annoying habits are taking their toll on me and our friendship and no matter how much I love her she’s just throwing it all away.

I am angry. And I like being angry because I have reasons to feel this way. I want to scream and shout but won’t. I want to pull your hair but I won’t. I want to tell my friend that she can forget about our friendship but I won’t.

Will take a hot bath instead. Or go out for sushi with a friend.

Sorry natawa ako. Kakapanuod ko lang ng interview ni Lolita Solis ka HOPE, yung kabit ni James Yap. Tinanong ni Lolit kung may ibang nakakaalam ng relasyon, sabi ni Hope, "Meron po yung facialist niya si Elise at yung scrubber niya, si Mitos". Grabe yung setting na derma clinic!