Virgin Beach Resort, Batangas

Punta Fuego, Batangas

Blue Coral Beach Resort, Batangas


I am going to the beach in December.



I want a quick fix when I get tired of shopping for the holidays and drinking until the break of dawn with my friends in Manila.



That means I would have to rule out Boracay, Palawan or any place beyond Luzon.



So when the choices are narrowed down, it is easier to choose.



I asked a lot of people to recommend nice and quiet beach resorts up north, like Batangas.



Kathrynne suggested checking out resorts in Laiya. So I did, and I found really heavenly resorts that would make me forget my name.



I especially liked Blue Coral and Virgin Beach Resort.



Some people also recommended some places in Cavite, Subic and Bataan.



Not bad, not bad.



It will be very very difficult to choose, but I will make sure that I get a nice clean bamboo bungalow with the best view of the beach, and a hammock where I can happily sip by coconut juice while being swung by a young local kid.



I will probably bring a book, my iPod (loaded with songs that remind me of happy summer days), and a good sunblock.



If I could drop the bikini and go skinny dipping, all the better.



I would really like a holiday free from garters, straps, make up, big bags and pricks.



I will do it in December, by hook or by crook.

Garbage - Cup of Coffee

i had been looking for this since 2007! Love it.

No Doubt - Suspicious Minds (live)

Bella's Boyfriend

Cubao was the most glorious place in Manila decades ago, and it is a stonethrow away from where I grew up. Fiesta Carnival, ShoeMart, Araneta Coliseum.

I was born in 1982, seven years after Muhammad Ali came to the Philippines to fight Joe Frazier in the heart of Cubao.

After his big victory, the Aranetas decided to build a mall that will immortalize his legacy and remind Filipinos of his historical visit. It was called (no kidding) Ali Mall. I spent my childhood walking around Ali Mall, holding Mama Becky's hand as we shopped for school supplies at National Bookstore, ballet costumes at Yvonne's, and gift items at Papemelrotti.

To date, Muhammad Ali is weak and old, but he is still much celebrated in the world of boxing. While I cannot say the same thing about Ali Mall --- now there's a more sosyal Gateway nearby and a lot of other places in Makati and Taguig --- despite the efforts of the Aranetas to revive its glory, I know I will still visit it. In fact last year when I was in Manila I did go there with my family. Starbucks. Plains and Prints. Nike. All the nice things that city people want have set up shop there. But is it enough to outlive the legacy of the boxer it was built for?

On a different note, at that time we already had Flash Elorde. That is why now Elorde Boxing Gym is very popular back home, because many yuppies and kolehiyalas aspire to have a slice of the action and noise created by the rise of this great Filipino boxer. If you say that you are working out at Elorde, that means you are getting hardcore street training. It means you will learn boxing and not tae bo. That means you will learn from people who learned from General Santos, a province down South where all the great Pinoy boxers hail from.

And then right nor there is Manny Pacquiao, who beat the shit out of Dela Joya, Morales and recently, Hatton. As he prepares to fight Cotto, the whole nation awaits his nth victory. And I await the slow demise of Ali Mall as the rest of Cubao remains resilient.

I am left wing, right brained.
I am sunny, cool swinging.
I am feisty, sheepish.
I am foreign, at home.
I am chocolate, vanilla.
Thrilla in Manila.

I am square, with a flair.
I am floating, free flying.
I am cuckoo, controlled.
I am quiet, mic hogging.
I am bland, all flavors.
Go tell the neighbors.

I am sleepy, eyes open.
I am doodling, deep thinking.
I am awkward, scene stealer.
I am exhausted, energizer bunny.
I am stinky, if you smell me.
All yours if you steal me!

Evian Roller Babies international version

Sugarhill Gang - Rapper's Delight

I first heard this song in the movie The Wedding Singer. This is really funky. This was probably in the mid to late 70'sbecause the people in the video looked really old school, but rap was beginning to gain ground in the music scene in the US. The lyrics are dope. This has got to be one of the longest songs I have listened to, but it's fun to sing and dance along to it. Try it!

Lady Gaga - Poker Face (Piano Version)

Skinny Bitching

I'm reading this book called Skinny Bitch for the second time.
It's a light read, and it's quite funny.
It's essentially a self-help book on how to eat healthy, but it's tough love at its fiercest.
I like how they don't sugar coat (pun intended) the truth about two things:
the bad stuff in the food we eat (even what we believe to be the healthiest meal could be the devil), and how girls really feel about their bodies.
The dirty politics that has been going on in the food industry for decades.
Business tycoons in the sugar and meat industries rake millions of dollars from fooling consumers, never mind the fact that what they are putting on the shelves of supermarkets from California all the way to Manila are either killing people of making them grossly obese.
Skinny Bitch gives you the lowdown on healthy eating and living.

Having said that, I don't think I am ready to become 100% vegan.
I like my occasional chocolate treat and I can't resist to heed my craving for salty chips.
And I will never ever give up drinking. The book recommends organic wine sans sulfites.
Where the hell would I get that on a Thursday night, when I am dying of alcohol thirst and there are very limited options for buying booze?
So as much as I enjoy skinny bitchin', I am only absorbing parts of the book.
Take carbs, for example. I can now tell the good from the bad, and I try to stay away from the bad of course. That's easy. Goodbye rice, hello couscous.
And I am seeing the effects.
I am losing weight in a healthy manner, plus I am encouraged to work out all the time.
And of course, as the books says, there's nothing more gratifying than taking a big steamy dump.

they are hunting me down
i am in my quiet corner
trying to write a melody
and a cat ran through they alley
and jumps on me
i am sipping my favorite tea
trying to find something to do
and a midget dances his way
towards where i calmly sit
there are demons in the manhole
for every temptress on the pavement
they are ready to attack
so i run for cover
in a shaded part of town
it's the heat
it's the boredom
it's about time they arrived

I would like to see the old Manila.
I joined a group on Facebook that had all sorts of photos of my city, when it was covered in grandeur and adorned with beautiful people.
The ports, the modest Spanish-inspired buildings, the women with their abanicos.
Circa 50's, 60's.
I obviously didn't get to see the city in all its glory.
I was born in 1982, when the martial law was about to end in a few years.
I was born under the Marcos regime, when just before his great fall.
I remember seeing people wearing yellow Ninoy shirts when I was three, chanting endlessly in the hope of achieving change.
Now as I look back, I can only sigh.
There were lots of chances for change.
Lots of opportunities given to lots of people to make things right.
The freedom that we aspired and attained through peaceful means is now blurred by a lot of other things that came with it - corruption, nepotism, the spread of prostitution and drugs, and the mounting garbage that we do not know where to dump.
Manila, my Manila.
When I come home in December, I will still look for a calesa to hop on and a big serving of palitaw.
I will still stroll on the streets and say hi to the shirtless children on the pavements.
But will pinch my nose before the stink reminds me of how bad the once magnificent place has become.

McDonald's Rap - Shea Sibling Remix

I came across this guy on youtube named Jimmy Shea. He's a US marine and he makes all kinds of videos about himself. But I especially like his vids with his siblings. They're cute. I remember when Zoe was 5 and I used to teach her how to rap. That was funny. She almost memorized Agent Orange by Slapshock. I know. I feel like a dork now.

If it's only possible to Alt-tab your way out of trouble.
Like, if your wife walks in on you and another woman getting it on in your bedroom, you could just press a few buttons and make the image of you and your mistress intertwined between the sheets disappear just like that.
Then you could give your wife a welcome kiss without guilt or that dumb look that gives away your lack of better words to say.
Computers are probably smarter that us.
What do you say?

McDonald's is addictive.
I braved the burning heat to get myself an Egg McMuffin breakfast meal.
Shit.
I am going to jog it off later, but right now, after devouring all that rubbish topped with ketchup, I feel like a pig.
Tomorrow I am going on a health check and take my BP.
Let's see if my heart is normal.
My heart's always been normal, save for special occasions.
So back to McDonalds.
I remember watching Supersize Me and loathing the fast food chain.
But when I see the big M, Ronald smiling at me like he's the best friend I never had, and smell the aroma of deep fried chemical-induced burger patties, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and order away.

The McDonalds Rap

Boom, Boom Boom Big Mac
Boom, Boom Boom Big Mac(this is the beat for the song...)
I need a double cheeseburger and hold the lettuce
Don't be frontin' son no seeds on a bun
We be up in this drive thru, order for two
I gots a craving for a number nine like my shoe
We need some chicken up in here
In this dizzle
For rizzle my nizzle
Extra salt on the frizzle
Dr. Pepper my brother
Another for your mother
Double double super size
And don't forget the FRIES......................
Crispy

Marine Beatbox Battle - JimmyDShea vs. Ollie Hand

found this on youtube and thought it was awesome and hilarious

Happiness is...

1. Jimmy D'Shea giving me swimming tips on youtube.
2. Roy's cow-like build.
3. The mystery of Bernie's gender.
4. The badass chicks at the karaoke bar.
5. Haodong suggesting I sing Qing Fei Dei Yi.
6. A half-eaten McDonald's breakfast meal.
7. Raffling off Roy to the runaways maids.
8. Interviewing a lesbian couple at the shelter.
9. Accomplishing my errands for Kenya and Clarky.
10. Running at sunset.
11. Dissecting Fifi's unfounded fears at Spinney's Karama at 3 in the morning.
12. Doing the Rico Mambo no matter what song is playing.
13. My new phone!
14. Hearing my mom say I was a good kid.
15. Not getting smashed at Hibiki but still having a good time.
16. Falling asleep anytime. Anywhere.
17. Listening to 80s pop, late 90's Pinoy alternative, and all my favorite bands.
18. Roy crossing over to the third sex.
19. Roy's English.
20. The absence of RTA on holidays.
21. My much awaited Kenya trip. Lions on my birthday! Yay!

I wish someone would throw a Pinoy 80s party.
Bagets, Regal Babies, That's Entertainment.

The last 80s party I attended was awesome.
I went as Cynthia Patag and everyone thought I looked like her.
Her trademark, aside from her annoying voice, was the big ribbon on her apple-cut hair.
Unfortunately I realized that at the last minute, when I was putting on my leggings.
So started panicking and going through my stuff.
Mostly rubbish.
And then I saw something that could make a nice big ribbon and complete my Cynthia look.
It was the only clean object in my bag.
I stared at it for a looong time and debated whether to use it or not.
It was clean. It was bright green. Very 80s.
I had to make a move.
Time was running out.
So I took out the sanitary pad from its wrapper, tied the wrapper in the middle and attached an elastic to it. I got rid of the pad and placed the plastic ribbon neatly on my hair.
Voila. Cynthia Patag.

At my next 80s party, I would probably do something of that sort.
Maybe with a tampon?

I'm On A Diet Again

I am on a diet.
A very successful one.
I am working out, eating healthy, and drinking lots of water.
Most importantly, I am having fun.

I've gone on thousands of diets before.
I was a chubby kid.

I remember when I was 15 I ate paper to feel full.
I ate my quiz papers.
Crumpled them, put them in my mouth,
wet them with my saliva, and swallowed them.
Then I flushed them with a liter of warm water.

I also went on a crash diet a few weeks before the prom.
I ate one Jelly Ace every day.
I didn't lose much, but I became so ugly and dumb.
Come prom night, I was exhausted.
I wore a really tight girdle that I though I'd pass out.
The sides of my pretty silver dress were stained with sweat from my armpits.
And I had to steal a shawl to cover them up.

I became a sell out in college, when I started trying laxatives.
In my opinion, taking something that everyone else is taking defeats the whole purpose of trying to stand out from the crowd.
But at that time it seemed like there was no other option.
So I swallowed those pills. Pill after pill.
All the toilets I "visited" were cursed.

So 12 years later, I am trying to make amends.
And I am doing a great job.
There is no better feeling in the world than knowing that I am not killing myself in the process of trying to live a happy life.

A group of scientists in England claim to have created sperm out of leftover stem cells from an IVF treatment.
So the sterile men can eventually shop for sperm.
It does not only give males with "uncultivated" reproductive systems a chance to have children of their own.
It also makes women feel that they have a choice.
Their children need not look like their dad.
Or think or act like their dad.
I think it's excellent.
Say goodbye to the old adage "Like father, like son".
So a little retail therapy can actually lead to having a family. What's up. That's crazy.

You never know what to expect when you actually purchase sperm.
If I were to do that (I wish I wish I would never ever have to, Jesus please), I would choose the COOOOL kind.
I want my kid to dance and sing and rap and play the guitar and piano and paint and sculpt.
I want my baby to have the cutest smile and the most contagious laugh.
I want my children to come from the best kind of sperm.

My eggs are not perfect, but they're way cooler than others'.

I am so amused at the Cherry Lou fight we had today.
It was so random but I just wanted to fight.
I just thought, hey, it's been a while since I fought with someone and it would to me good to just let all my anger out in one sitting.
So I did.
Thank you for getting angry and really letting me have it.
It was a good emotional exercise!
So I hope Cherry Lou is happy because I am in cloud 9.

I kept it running
Like a well-oiled machine
Until they found me out
It has little to do
With what it seems
I never had a doubt

My feet remain calm
My hands don't shake
I won't flee the scene
I had reasons to stay
And go all the way
Piece of cake

Small tragedies make pleasant surprises
The same is true the other way around
So I twist my fate, twist your arm
One look and I know I shut it down

The best presents come unwrapped
Good thing I'm not a patient girl
My fantasies remain untapped
My second voice still unheard

Bless my mind for it has sinned
I'm going down with my secret whims
Swimming in my stomach all this time
Along with butterflies and senseless rhymes

The Drinking Game

I grabbed the bottle and chugged it down.
And I thought I lost my mind for a second.
I tried to stay away from it but it calls my name.
And it happens again, round after round.
The bitter after taste makes me nauseous.
And the thought of pouring another glass frightens me.
But it's the only way to spend the day.
And it's the only thing that I want to have.
It sits on the table idly, waiting for me.
I glance at it and it stares at me.
I wait for it to shout my name.
And again begins the drinking game.

Today I interviewed the "winners" of Quit and Win.
It's an incentive-based program for those who would like to quit smoking.
It went on for a whole month.
Can you imagine not doing one of the things you love for 30 days?
I can never quit anything I love.
I interviewed a young man who joined the program but didn't succeed.
He's a lawyer who, whenever faced with anything as challenging as a TV interview, has to have his cigarette fix.
So after talking in front of the camera about how hard it was to quit smoking, we rushed to the basement to have a quick smoke.
He loves smoking. So do I.
And that is why we cannot quit it at this point.
We love it.
If you love something (or someone), it is impossible to turn away from it and say goodbye.
And if you do it, you will end up coming back to it quicker than when you first tried it out.
You will get addicted even more.
And you will appreciate every single puff.
And that is why I never joined the program in the first place.
I know that cigarettes are something I really enjoy and cannot live without, and I am going to be very very sad if I quit just now.

Some of the things we love are not necessarily good for us.
If I keep on smoking like this then God only knows what could happen.
Millions of people have died because they do did things that harmed their bodies.
In short, they died doing what they loved the most.
In a twisted world, that is awesome.
Would you die for something or someone you love?
That is a very difficult question, especially for me.
I love myself too much and I hate it when I love too much because my love for a particular thing or person is essentially competing with my love for none other than myself.
Ayos ba?

OLD OLD OLD OLD SCHOOL ... Happier days

Daniela, Tita Loloy, ME :), Carlo and Tita Monette patiently waiting for Tita Nenet to wake up.
Daniella, Shobe and ME :)
I was not a very good ballerina.



Me and Daniella. This was in my school.

Daniella, Carlo, Tita Monette and ME :)

I started growing my giant teeth at this age.

And check out the insect scanned with the pic.

Me Carlo and Ninish. Jesus Christ Superstar and Jumbo days.

Cousins ko! Laki laki na nila....

Thanks Daniella for the pictures... tell Mama to give you more and scan them...

did we take a pic of Carlo at Villa Virginia when he performed a miracle by the baby pool?

Tulad ng mga bituing
Nawawala ang ningning
Hindi ko makita
Ang gusto kong makita
Sa 'yong mga mata

Tulad ng dulot na perwisyo
Ng ugong ng eroplano
Nabibingi ako
Sa mga panloloko
Sa pabibo bibo

Pag natapos ang usapan
Simula na ng kasiyahan
Huwag ka nang magtanong
At di na rin kita pagdududahan

Pang ilang tagay na ba to?
Ika'y nakakahilo
Lungo na nga ako
Napapapikit na
Napapahikab na

Pang ilang kanta na ba to?
Gawa gawang lambing
Iisa lang ang tono mo
At di ko masabayan
Di ko masabayan

Pag sumikat na ang araw
At nasilaw ka sa akin
Kusa akong lalabas
Pinto mo'y ikandado
Para sigurado

It drags on... but the more important thing is that it drags on towards the right direction.
So it doesn't matter if it takes a day, a month or ten years, as long as it goes forward.
It's a healthy way of looking at anything.
For some people it's sheer optimism.
For others, delusion.
For me, it's the only choice.
It's like your favorite softdrink, or the place you always love to visit.
I feel gooooooood.

I always thought it would be funny to have another rectum attached on my forehead.
Messy, but funny.
Honestly, I need a good laugh.

Blame it on the weather.
40 degrees and rising.
It was around this time last year that I forgot to take my brain next door.
Thank God it was still on my bedside table when I came home.
It was also around this time in 2007 when I danced with a stranger in an 18th century costume.
I realized that the dentures were not really part of the whole ensemble.
Yuck.
It was also around this time in 2006 when I dreamed of taking a sip of that especially fermented drink. The thought of smelling vanilla in my drink hypnotized me.
But I snapped out of it. I always did.
But before I did, I had to endure looking at badly decorated walls, tasting cheap wine, and smelling sweaty armpits.
So this year it's different story.
It gets interesting. Not.
Really. It doesn't.

Ok a lot of things have changed since I left Manila.
Terri is getting married in December.
That is a milestone, because she is the first in our group to get hitched, and I can't wait to wear a nice dress and hug her on her wedding day.
Will the Gigs prepare a dance number, like what we did at Charm's 18th birthday party?
I remember wearing a Coca Cola shirt that I bought in Divisoria, plus a thick vest and a bonnet.
hahahaha. Yuck.
I am guessing that my friend Charm will be the next one to say "I do".
I'm happy to wear nice dresses and witness how true love is sealed and celebrated.
But I don't think I will get married soon.
I am happy to go through that "Always a bridesmaid" phase and drink lots of champagne.

Ok Terri getting married. What else?
Hmmm Wyson falling in love.
Why the hell not?
I think she is a great woman and the man she is in love with is nothing but lucky.
Wyson is beauty and brains and happiness personified.
I wonder what's been happening to her?
She used to make fun of me when we were in fourth grade.
All the way until we were in college.
I used to drool on her shoulder in the FX on the way to Cubao, and she used to poke my urinary gland with sharp pencil to see if I could stand "pee pressure" on Taft Avenue.

Ok Wyson getting married.
What else? Kath has a boyfriend!
Yay! I love Kath.
Hmmm I think Carlo is her perfect match.
They look good together and they always have lots of fun.
Plus they're both funny.
I would like to validate that statement in our blue book (Kath, insdie joke).
So does that mean that Kath will not say "Tado" ever again?
Or maybe she'll say it to Carlo when they have petty fights.
By all means.

I love change.
It's challenging.
Either you cope or you're out.
Or you stay at home and wish you'd die.
I love change.

So random.
Cheeseburger.
Margaritas.
Aegis songs.
Jumbo Hotdog.

It's like that one night with Ria on Jupiter Street.
Music 21 from 9 PM til 6 AM.
We had half a case of Red Horse.
And chugged down a bottle of Chocolait for breakfast.

Or like that nice evening on the beach.
Mindoro sling, pot.
High school kids.
Friendship bracelets.

Or like that eventful day in the heart of Manila.
Karting race.
Wake.
Eastwood dinner.

Random things are always fun.
But to end up being a random person in some random place is not.
I like things to start out randomly, as in that movie Serendipity.
But I would like to see things fall in place eventually.
That's what makes randomness amazing.
When the craziest circumstances lead you to something that will change your life.

So if something totally out of this world happens to you and it really hasn't made a difference...
It's just a badly written part in your autobigoraphy and you should just tear it out because it's irrelevant.

I called Mama Becky to say hello today.
She said she couldn't go out to pay her Globe bill because of the heavy rain.
Rain!
Now I feel like taking the first plane headed for Manila.
Suddenly random memories of my rainy days back home flashed before my eyes.
Kath and me, at Starbucks Katipunan, waiting for her ride. Hoto chocolate. Validating all her statements in the blue book (UP speak).
Muddy water chasing my feet on the pavement as jeepneys roared past me.
Arriving at work all wet and folding my dripping umbrella in the corner.
Hot chocolate. Chai tea latter. Cello's Donuts and Dips.
I remember having to walk from Miriam to my house in Project 4 because my school bus left me and I the jeepneys were being jerks.
Spending the day indoors and watching old movies. I remember watching Along Came Polly dozens of times while the raindrops angrily knocked on my windows, calling my attention.
And I remember realizing how much of a Polly I was.
I still am, perhaps.
Rain makes me happy.
Wet cement, wet grass, wet shoes.
LIVE AIDS rehearsals at Vinzons that finished at 11 PM.
Yosi yosi on the ground floor of the ELJ building, with call center posses puffing away like zombies.
Beer after work.
Gay bars.
Trapped in a gay bar on a rainy night!
That was fun.
Doobie doobie doo. For free.
Rainy days on the beach.
Ahhh. Fruit shakes and kebabs.
Eastwood. I have fun memories at Eastwood.
I'm not sure if Cable Car still exists but that's where Charm, Kath, Fifi and I went for some drinks all the way from Sacred Heart Subdivision.
Scared Heart. Do you have any idea how far that place is?
Two words: Tungko Jeepney.
Rain on Taft Avenue is also as interesting.
Taft, Espana, E.Rodriguez.
Strong winds, flood up to my waist, leptospirosis fears putting an end to my happy commute.
And don't even get me started about Aurora Boulevard.
La lang.

Garbage - Drive You Home (Acoustic Version) [Edinbourgh 2002]

You can google everything on the surface.
The name, the number, the smile.
But never the things that matter.
The reactions, the secrets, the lies.
So no, google is not all that.

Solitario

This week I've been playing Solitaire on my computer a few minutes before leaving work. That is a bad a sign.
When my first boyfriend and I broke up, I played solitaire for hours every single night until my brain bled and I realized I had to get enough Zzzzsss.
I play solitaire when I don't know what else to do.
Why have I been at it these days?
What am I so anxious about?
Nobody knows for sure.
But Solitaire is actually a great game, because you only have to deal with yourself.
You sharpen your brain and hope that next time you win and the cards go swooooossshhh.
So if you make a stupid move, you're the first one to know you're stupid.
Not your opponent. Not the referee.
And the good thing about the game is, you can quit anytime.
No one will force you to flip the cards endlessly until you get it, or there's no way to sort out the cards.
And I appreciate it even more now.
I can quit anytime.
Unlike smoking, or a similar bad habit.
I can quit anytime.
This is true for solitaire, and only for solitaire.
It's hard to bail out of most things in life.
Not solitaire.
I can quit anytime.

Eleven months and two days ago, I visited a small snake farm in Bangkok as part of a tacky tourist package that ripped me off. Aside from allowing a local man to wrap a giant python around me for a fee, I also cradled a diaper-clad baby monkey in my arms for the sake of a nice picture I would soon post on Facebook. The monkey held me in a tight embrace and his fur brushing against my neck gave me goosebumps. After a few seconds it lunged at my chest and its hands frantically looked for my breasts. It was hungry. I felt so insulted, but downplayed my hurt feelings because it was pointless: the only witnesses were a white couple and the local man who owned the monkey, its father. And at that moment he could well be my husband, if the monkey really thought I was going to nurse him without objection.

Number 1, I was and still am NOT lactating.

Number 2, I am not a monkey.

Never did I think that I would look back at that time and say to myself "There goes one of the happiest moments of my life." But compared to what I am going through right now, I think I was better off then, in a place where no one knew me and at a time when I couldn't care less about anything.

It's been a year since I have been mistaken for a monkey. By a monkey. Given the circumstances now, I'm more than happy to mother that chimp. Where's that monkey when you need him.

I Understand

Life is so fast-paced in Dubai that sometimes I don't have time to think about how great my December holiday will be, notice that the flat has run out of edible stuff save for rotten veggies at the bottom of the fridge, or even breathe.

I have been suffocating myself for a whole week now. I find it literally hard to breathe. Bad thoughts are the culprit. I have become so negative this week, something that I fear the most. I always fear that I will soon wave a white flag for everyone to see and just resign to the fact that I am bound to be afraid of the future.

But every day friends seem to appear from nowhere and rescue me. In many different ways. By giving me a ride to a very important meeting, buying me cigarettes, treating me to a lavish spa package, or simply saying "I understand".

When I heard someone say that, that he understood, that he knew what I was going through, I tried hard to suppress my emotions, but my tears betrayed me. How often do you hear that here, in a place where most of the time no one bothers to even try to get what someone is saying? When words come out of one's mouth, they vanish into thin air.

It's not easy to try to understand someone. It takes time and patience and a good ear to achieve that. And understanding is not the end of one task as a friend. It is only the beginning of a commitment to go through something together. And that is even more daunting.

This is why I have respect for a person who holds a friend's hand and is not afraid to say "I understand". Because I know the consequences of saying those words. I understand.

As much as I love my K800i, it is no longer working properly.
I will bring it to the service centre and see if the people behind the counter can still revive it.
I would still like to continue using it. It had never let me down until it drowned inside my bag.
My mineral water bottle decided to open itself to keep me from making very important work-related phone calls.

I finally decided to use my Nokia Navigator, after much hesitation.
I never found the need to use a GPS, and always relied on the driver's memory whenever I went somewhere.
Today though, I was pleased at myself for using it.
It told us to make a crucial exit that will take us out of Abu Dhabi and back to our office.
We must have saved an hour because of that turn.

If only I have GPS for everything, a device I can consult when I have to make decisions that would potentially change my life. Should I do this, should I do that, what do I wear, where do I go. Do I make peace with him, do I leave him alone, do I tell him off for being a jerk. Am I finally going on a diet, am I leaving town, am I drinking too much? Are they the ones I should hang out with, am I willing to sacrifice something precious to me for a person who is only a potential mate. Is this place safe, is this thing worth buying, am I not allowed to be sad for a moment. Should I go now, should I leave, should I stay, should I completely ignore it or tackle it head on.

I will never finish. Imagine the thousands of decisions we have to make. Every day.
And it all boils down to our guided (or misguided) judgment.

But maybe this is precisely why I love my K800i. It doesn't tell me what to do.

Good Night

I went home at 4 in the morning, pleased at myself for being extra sociable.
I attended two Halloween parties, not ashamed of being underdressed or irrelevant.

I had to work today and though there was not much to do in the office, I felt tired.
The mere thought (and reality) of being at work on a Saturday consumes me.

I thought a nice dinner with a friend would cap my day, and I would go to bed constipated, dreaming of some toilet action.

But like I always find out, the day is never finished until I close my eyes and start snoring.
At this very moment, a few minutes before bedtime, I find myself listening to a Russian lullaby that is gently putting me to sleep.

Good night!

I am waging a war against feeling ugly.
In high school I always thought being pretty was a sin.
I despised my schoolmates who wore lipstick in class and powdered their noses at lunch.
But I didn't really understand the importance of having all these beauty products until I finally bought some of my own.

They could save your life.
It's not like that age-defying cream actually has the power to stop the crow's feet from branching out around your eyes, or that moisture rich lipstick can make a guy kiss you.
It's the feeling of knowing that you are taking care of yourself.
Everytime I enter our bathroom and see the heaps of shampoos and soaps and shower gels and mud packs I have bought or have been given to me, I sigh in satisfaction.
This is how much I take care of myself.

I get a high out of taking a whiff of my perfumes and stirring the paste I use to stick on my gel bra (which is my greatest possession, they stick and seamlessly BECOME my breasts, without the fussy straps and bulky wires). I slather on my lotion like there's no tomorrow. My papaya bubble bath is a cheap thrill that guarantees a good relaxing weekend.

By the time I finish showering and get dolled up and ready to have a good time (usually at the karaoke bar), I have become a concoction of all these wonderful beauty aids that --- though manufactured by rabid capitalists for my consumption and my wallet's grief --- give me reason to think that I am not wasting away.

Blind dates don't always work out; work isn't always a piece of cake; weekends are not always as fun as I would like them to be. But I don't kill myself because I know I have done more than enough to make myself feel good under no matter the circumstances.

I just read what I wrote and it sounded downright silly. Oh well.

But silly is the last thing I feel when I peel off my citrus-scented Vitamin C mask.

Oman

From Tuesday to Thursday, I kept myself warm under the soft sheets of the Shangrila Muscat. It was a trip for work, but the organizers did such a good job at making us feel as if we were on a holiday.

My room had an excellent view. The great Omani landscape greeted me a good morning, and the weather was perfect for sun bathing and haing mojitos by the pool.

The Muscat Airport was a modest building of traditional architecture. Not many people travelled except for the holiday makers and businessmen, who are probably heading for Dubai.

The city is quiet compared to Dubai, which has a nuerotic way about it. In Muscat, I heard a spacious one bedroom apartment near the business district would not cost more than 250 Omani Riyal, which is exactly 2,500 Dirhams. Good deal. For some reason, I didn't feel pressured to think about work, even though that was what I was doing the whole time. In the evenings we had a drink or two before going back to our hotel rooms, where I read a book in the bath and watched TV to put me to sleep.

But minus the Shangrila and the mountains and the low rise Arabic establishments peppered all over town, Muscat would still be a great city. Their people are their real asset.

The Omanis are the best. They have the most sincere smiles and the genuine desire to make sure that your experience in Oman is nothing but the best. They engage in a conversation with a semi-stranger like me, a chat that goes beyond meaningless small talk and devoid of pretenses. I would love to go back there and say hello once again to the people I met and took care of us.

They don't know how much I appreciate their warmth and care. It was a much needed break from the bright lights and the cranky people, and its all I need to go back to work on Sunday with a smile on my face.

Hu Hu Hu

I discovered that right before my monthly period, I cry. Uncontrollably. Ridiculously.
The reasons are not even worth mentioning, really.
But that's not to say they're irrelevant. They're only small things, true, but when they happen right before my period, they are the last straw.

Like that time I couldn't get a cab in Media City. On a normal day in my menstrual calendar, I would simply sigh and try to find another way to reach my destination. But I was ovulating. When I hailed the last cab driver who rejected me, I raised hell. I think I told him to --- a tree, then broke down at the bus stop. Or that time I couldn't say no to a friend's party. I put on my pre-menstrual face the whole evening, complaining about the food and the music and the weather. Or the weekend nobody was free. I thought the world has deserted me, so I out on ACAMP's Song for the Leftovers while sobbing in the mirror.

But I also realized today, after shedding my September tears, that crying every month does wonders for me. I feel so much better! Calm, inspired, strong. The negative energy falls off together with the tears, and I am stripped of issues once again, or at least have managed to get rid of their dead skin, often provokingly ugly, sitting on the surface, waiting to be dispelled. Until we meet again the following month.

Next month I wonder what I'll cry about. How about the stench in International City? Or the lack of space in the office? Or my weight (crowd favorite -- and by crowd I mean hormones)?

I hope I didn't ruffle some feathers there
I only want to let myself in
If you tell me to go away
Then I don't have a choice, do I?

I hope I didn't say the wrong words then
If I used kinder ones, would you still be around?
I only wanted to see the truth
What are you afraid of?

I hope you're really busy like you said
Not hiding from me, I'm not hunting you down
No I don't want to shake your hand
I found out it's dirtier than mine

You know your blog is starting to suck if your shoutout box is full of messages from automated rubbish.

Today was not a very nice day at work.

I had gone out to cover a small event, from which I was sure I could approach someone and get the information I wanted. It turned out it was more complicated than that. The man I tried to build a rapport with and painstakingly made myself known to, had opted to keep his silence in my company. The minute another person --- male, same nationality as his --- came up to him, he opened his mouth in a big smile, slapping the lanky fellow like they were old friends. Happily distracted by small talk, he was oblivious to the rest of us who were struggling to rub elbows with him, solely for the sake of getting our job done. I noticed though, that I was the least likely to achieve that. I didn't want to think the reason was my skin color or my appearance. Surely racism is a thing of the past, and anyone who would dare think he is being manipulated by the twisted notion of superiority by virtue of ethnic origin must have low self-esteem. It's a borderless society, the highly educated men in suits say. But if the lock of the gate to accomplishing a simple task glares at me with they key nowhere in sight, where do I go? It's hard to break down borders, especially the invisible ones. Many people choose to literally turn around and refuse to see the helplessness of those who are capable, but turned down over and over again for reasons that ultimately look silly.

At the end of the day, I choose to take it with a grain of salt. I refuse to live in bitterness and stop knocking on doors. On other days, I get lucky and make friends with nice people who see people not as crayons that can be disposed if they do not create a bright picture of the society, but as souls anyone can connect with, taking similarity of interests and feelings into consideration.

I keep on telling myself that I am too young to care about these things. At the same time, the issue of racism is getting too old. I hope that it dies soon, so that I will never ever have to encounter it again.

What's Up What the Hell Did I Just Write

I overheard two men talking about success.
Man number one is a middle-aged successful product of a capitalist society, and man number two is a twenty-something happy-go-lucky guy who maxes out his credit cards on signature clothes and doesn't have a clue how the world goes round.
M1 tells M2 to take it slow, don't get married yet. The world is not about that.
Make money and get women. That's how you know you've reached the peak of success.
Women will start flocking to you and you don't have to marry the first dreamy-eyed girl you've slept with.
Wow. Men must have it really good. They read their forefathers' biographies and found out that marriage is no longer an integral part of a life worth living. A man can get pleasure and does not have to stick it out with someone who will soon turn into an old nagging hag, just by having a huge trust fund.
That must explain why there are countless of women who settle for men they know they could never have. They are ok with that, as long as they are slapped with fat wallets and showered compliments that border on dirty and tasteless.

And that's okay, that's their right. I believe a recent generation of the female species stood up to their ex male lovers who reeked of machismo and put their nerve-embossed brawns in their place --- a dark one, where their mistresses no longer cry when they feel neglect, which could only mean they are eyeing another rack-and-bumper set; where kisses planted on their bodies don't have the warmth that indicates true love but a part of a game they started playing, hoping all beings cursed with X chromosomes also possess the stupid gene; where women have already caught up with the idea that romance to their partners are nothing but three-hour rendezvous, a machine that stops in the absence of physical connection, and they now utilize this idea to their advantage. What did they expect from the smarter sex?

While some women are merely coping with the reality that most men live their lives keeping the lower part of their bodies satisfied, others have actually realized that they don't have to pretend or ride along. They can take the lead. And again a recent generation's gradual yet powerful revolution made this possible. Successful women in designer suits can be seen picking up men in bars; high school girls seduce their college crushes instead of only dreaming about them, knowing that showing the goods is all it takes to get what they want; waitresses write their numbers on the napkin they serve along with the steak that the George Clooney lookalike ordered. And so on. The girls are marching on naked, towards a goal that would put Christopher Columbus to shame.

While an individual female may view this as the next logical step towards empowering women, I am starting to think it's dangerous. It's almost creeping me out. I've seen and heard the worst and it won't be impossible to see girls dating pet dogs, as a reaction to men's general behavior. I think we beautiful creatures should start pulling our counterparts back to the ideal world. We're known to be very inspiring and warm and genuine, and that doesn't have to change. I hope we don't let the men take us to a dark place devoid of all we ever want to happen in a relationship.

I kind of want true love to hang around longer, just in case I need it some day.

I gave up canned food (except for tuna) and instant noodles recently, and it feels good knowing that I'm not lugging around kilos of MSG and other artificial ingredients that would eventually kill me.
I am planning to give up smoking soon, by reading the book Simon gave me, called Easy Way to Stop Smoking. If only there was a book called Easy Way to Stop Dancing In Front of the Mirror Like A Retard When There Is Nothing Else To Do. Oh well now that I've mentioned it, maybe someone will take on the idea.
I am planning to give up lots of things, not only for the sake of feeling light, but in order to accommodate many other things that I have always wanted to include in my life. The problem was, I was too preoccupied with stuff that proved to be useless time and again. I just ignored them in order to avoid change, which I used to feel very inferior to.
So now I am getting rid of some things so I can do lots of other things. I can't name them all, because they're all too random to list down. A few would be to flirt more when the occasion calls for it, drink lots of water, and scrub my knees harder in the shower.
Hopefully write beauitfully.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Inevitable. It's just there, slowly creeping its way towards me as the big day approaches.
All the fears I usually come face to face with are much harder to handle, perhaps due to the frustration of not having killed them yesterday, when I was a year younger.

Six years ago when I was nineteen and wandering in the middle of the Aurora-Katipunan junction, thoughts of my future filled my mind.

I ruled out the possibility of being a news reporter, which I had always wanted to become, because it just didn't fit my personality then. I smoked like a chimney, did stand-up comedy, and struggled to earn the respect of the people I looked up to.

I also dismissed the thought of going out of the country to look for other options in my career or otherwise. Couldn't live without my family: Mama and her home-cooked meals, best served with gossip and lots of laughter; Zoe and her way of avoiding a conversation with big sister, just how girls in their puberty should behave. Couldn't live without my friends. I always enjoyed hanging out with my high school friends. Those nights on Katipunan Road never ended, they merely stopped to give way to distractions such as work and higher studies, and resumed, complete with the ladies' drinks and a session that consisted of jokes that would put Family Guy and The Office to shame. The CDG gang's taste in idle entertainment was a lot different, involving trips to the gay bar and karaoke-ing until the sun set on Tomas Morato.

I loved those days, when my monthly expenses excluded rent and laundry, and consisted of food, booze and concealer. And I rarely found myself alone. Somehow, just when I would sit in a corner and think of what to do, my phone would ring and ina matter of minutes I was saying hello again to the city's bright lights, and saying goodbye to what could have been a moment of loneliness.

Before I knew it I was in the most cosmopolitan city in the Middle East, reporting for a local TV station and missing everyone back home. A combination of bizarre circumstances brought me here. Until now I am neither objecting nor wishing to undo any of the events that occurred in the past two and a half years, because they are essentially the turning point of my life. Now, with that bloody rollercoaster ride over, I am excited to see what else fate is concocting to bring a new flavor into my life.

The small gestures of people and the most trivial occurrences make me feel fortunate, and this urges me to pass on the blessings to other who deserve it. Yes, leading an interesting life abroad, even for a only a couple of years, teaches you to become less selfish. I had always wanted the kind of freedom that gives meaning in one's life, and I think I possess it. I understand now how it is to be truly free. And somehow, this realization made me a little less scared of the future. I truly appreciate what I have and I am happy to share it. And that's one way to get rid of fear, uncovering more about my purpose.

But I still dislike the fact that I am turning 26. Late twenties is the new garbage.

My weekend was not a blast, but rather a pleasant, easy one.
I learned some things that, though didn't cause any form of intellectual stimulation, made me smile and think that the world could be as sunny as I would like it to be... minus the scorching heat of the Dubai sun.

From Avril Lavigne poser rocker chick, my sister Zoe now wants to become a Harajuku girl. While my mom was on the phone with me, I could hear her telling Zoe what a bad idea putting on eyeliner before bedtime was. But Zoe insisted that it was what girls do in Japan. Japan. What did she know about that country, that earned a reputation in the Philippines as a place where underaged singers in the province could make a fortune singing and giving lap dances to yakuzas. But all right, I'm a good sister and I love my dear Zoe, so I agreed to buy her a colorful tube dress, fish net stockings and a make up set in flamboyant colors. My sister just turned thirteen, but this fact doesn't disturb me at all. I know that in a few weeks she'll embark on a nother journey of exploring her real identity. I'm just praying she won't go down the road Amy Winehouse did. No TB patients in the family, please.

I started reading Kate Adie's The Kindness of Strangers. It was nothing but inspirational, having found out that this tough war correspondent for the BBC also had her boo boos, from announcing the wrong scores of a celebrated game (can't remember the sport) on the radio, to transmitting a tree, which she had mistaken for one of the guys in their team who was supposed to do a piece to camera amidst the morning haze in some country (I also forgot. Some journalist.). I would like to think that I still have a lot to learn, and I just have ot be patient with myself and remain zealous and inquisitive. Oh, and she also produced a farming program on the radio, which I thought was charming. If there is one program I would like to produce, regardless of the format and the medium, it would resemble the kind of humor and braveness of Family Guy, a program that can feature anything, including farts and the bitter reality that a father of three was diagnosed as retarded.

I watched The Love Guru with Ethel, and I must say that Justin Timberlake delivered a bravura performance, which included pretending that he was well-hung. His attempt at speaking with a French accent was awful though, but I guess I wouldn't know how Quebecans actually do it. My ex-boyfriend was surely funnier, even thoug he didn't really want to be. That's part of the fabric of his being, his hideous accent. Mike Myers was amazing, one of the many reasons being his effort to bring two elephants to a crucial hockey game that would decide the fate of the protagonistic team, and urging them to hump like anything to stall the opponents.

I bought a new shampoo, and I am hoping against hope that it will not make my face itch like Pantene does. At this moment I'm having to pause typing every ten seconds just to scratch my right cheek. On my face. Near my scalp, which is the only part of my body I shampoo.

Family Guy rocks. I love that series, and I watch the episodes over and over again. It gives me a sense of belongingness, knowing that I am not the only one (along with the millions of the show's viewers) who finds pleasure in jokes about fecal matter, retardation, body odor and so on. Plus the facts that the family's baby Stewie is the smartest of them all, and the household dog Brian actually dates hot human females. I am in love with the show. Hope it's in love with me too.

My stomach used to hurt from laughing
At something random and obscure
I used to rest my head on your shoulder
When the long ride became a bore
I would tell you stories about my family
And how we visited seven churches
And the one about Magnolia Ice Cream house
Was no doubt your favorite
I used to call you in the middle of the night
And ask you to meet you-know-where
That well-lit strip in the middle of the city
Once again it's coffee upstairs
We would walk uphill to have shawarmas
And maybe a beer or two
Blurt out the names of our highschool classmates
Forgetting who was who
We used to roll on the grass and talk nonsense
And never want to go home
You used to say my love life would turn out better
Than that of Bridget Jones
We used to go to the slums and raid a beerhouse
And work the jukebox til dawn
We had coins and a few crumpled bills
Hell yeah, we owned the microphone
And the burlesque queen and the macho men
Were no match to your moves
You did a mean Christina Aguilera
And spun around in your pointed boots
Remember Valentines Day when we were single
We spent it with men in thongs
Watching them dance gave us quite a laugh
Until the Mama San came along
Humming My Humps while scavenging for smokes
And walking all the way home
The jeepneys were alive and the ladies were dancing
But it's time to see our folks
One the beach we dressed our men like skanky hoes
And paraded them around
Remember when we broke up in smaller groups
You guys were nowhere to be found
My face was red from too much beer
And the little boy wanted to talk
So I taught him a lesson, he learned really fast
We kept the door unlocked
I was crying in a place where I didn't belong
There you were, panting like anything
It was vision in life that brought us together
In a place where we could sing
You were speeding on the highway
And you wanted some support
So I slept for two hours straight
I wanted conflict and bitterness
But you said you needed rest
I apologized but it was too late
I found myself having a Martini
In the middle of your graveyard shift
I told you everything that meant nothing
You nodded while I threw a fit
Spilled carbonara on the floor of McDonalds
Right before the big trip
Eight girls in a jacuzzi in colorful bikinis
That's how we wanted it
We were metal band groupies
And Divisoria junkies
Driving down EDSA again
To follow them rockstars
No matter how far
We were morons to our friends
Well I wanted to watch him
Watch my little sister
Scream Agent Orange with all her might
You wanted him to have
That yellow wrist band that you bought
At a bazaar the other night
So I boarded the plane and waved good bye
And you laughed until you cried
Hell yeah we were funny
But this one's pretty serious
It's much longer than good night

Friday

Friday
Crack down on lonely hearts
Get up form under the covers
Take a cold cold shower
Put on your best dress
The one withred flowers on it
Waterproof mascara
Is enough to make you
Smile in the mirror
The warm breeze
Hikes up your skirt
As you hail a cab
And swing your purse
30 minutes of neon lights
Honking and listening
To one hit wonders
The radio excites you
Revolving doors
His, hellos
Blue drinks and crisps
Dim lights
And Elton John
They all go together
On a Friday night
You grab the mic
And clear your throat
And you sing Sheryl Crow
Like there's no tomorrow
Like Simon Cowell
Is watching you
From the disco ball
Cheesy tracks
Blasting the speakers
For the singles and couples
And divorcees to hear
Laughing with acquaintances
Dancing with strangers
The world is yours
Until 3 AM
When you hop into a cab
And you're head's spinning
Blue vomit in the toilet
And toothpaste in the sink
That's how you know
Friday's come to an end

The sun here is rude
Always in my face
Every day on my case
Leaving me dry and thirsty

Ethel's birthday is in 30 minutes, and we're both exhausted.
She just wanted to have peace and quiet tonight, followed by some good movies which she usually watches in isolation in her bed, complete with her massive headphones that helps her shut off the rest of the world.

My birthday is coming up in less than a month, and I am excited.
I know that at 26, I have done things I never thought I could, with the help of angels who disguised themselves as friends, bosses and boyfriends.

Two and a half years in Dubai was not a piece of cake.
I had to survive eviction (not because of non-payment, thank you very much), break ups, rejection and loneliness, and the long, unfriendly oven-hot summers did not help. But I can confidently say that they are all a thing of the past, and now I am entering a a new chapter in my life. It's unfamiliar territory, nevertheless I welcome it, ambiguities and all.

So now after what seemed like forever, I am learning driving. Some people who have been driving forever may get a kick out of this fact, but I am too psyched to think about them. For me it is something that could not have come at a better time.

And I am also planning a few things that involve a lot of hard work, determination, positive thinking and prayers.

I read some of my blog entries in 2005. Wow. I actually thought I would be stuck print scanning every Sunday for the rest of my life. Now I am stil working on Sundays, but I don't mind. I love Sundays and every day of the week.

So my point is, I've changed my attitude. And I now perceive everything as an easy job, maybe because I had already gone through the worst. So at 26, I am confident that I will achieve more and become better. Every single day, I learn something. Every single day I meet someone interesting. Every single day I actually feel alive and ready to live for a hundred more years. And every single day, I am thankful.

Proximity is king.
I was pining for my then new neighbor and monitoring his daily ETA, and every single time I took out the trash and walked past his flat, I got a high.
It was excitment at its best, with a rather cliche theme.
But one day his car wasn't in the parking lots anymore, and I stopped seeing him in the lift and bumping into him in the hallway.
My heart sank. Every day I felt queasy and uninspired, neglecting to take out the trash and fixing my hair.
But all things come to an end, and sulking over the disappearance of my hot neighbor was no exception.
I forgot all about him in a week. Completely.
So days passed by, and I read books and went out with new people and and cut my hair ridiculously short and went shopping and singing on weekends.
Everything transpired like a swift memory, like a moment in my life in passing.
The other night, while I was in the middle of my pre bedtime reading, my doorbell rang.
It was him.
HE was back from a trip.
A long one.
When I looked at him, I didn't feel the same tingling sensation I used to feel whenever our eyes met in the hallway.
There was simply nothing in his eyes, or in mine.
We said good night, and that was it.
When someone goes away, you lose them and it takes a massive amount of effort to bring back what you had with them.
And I don't have the energy to do that right now.
No effort. Just coasting along.
Proximity is king.

I expected more from my tomato alphabet soup. On the packet, it looked delectable and fun, with all those letters floating around. But when I cooked it, the letters sank to the bottom of the bowl and all I could see was orange liquid. When I was trying to scoop them with my spoon, they emerged broken. I couldn't recognize them. I couldn't see the Es, the Rs, I just saw a bunch of finely cut up noodles, and for a moment I wondered if the characters were in Arabic.

How random would that be?
Me, eating tomato soup in the middle of the desert.
Tomato soup with Arabic characters in it.

Finally! I had 8 hours of sleep last night! I feel fresh! Plus my hair's sticking out funny, which is exactly how I like it. I had my first shoot at 930 AM, so that jumpstarted my day, and then later in the afternoon I'll be meeting a bunch of prominent Filipinos at the FilExpo event.

I love life. Again.

I had a hair cut. It's my first time I am wearing my hair this short in Dubai. It's always been straight and long. I feel so much lighter, but at the same time I am a bit insecure. My long hair was always something that people liked about me, at least my expat friends. I feel like I have exposed my big face, among other parts of me.

In Manila I had no problem cutting my hair super short, and not styling it. I know that every strand, whether in place or otherwise, represented me --- flakiness and all. Now I feel there are many things that I shouldn't be revealing to people, mainly because they are not ready to accept them.

I have secrets, and they are best kept in a place like this, where people have different backgrounds, opinions and interpretations of things. And I can't not give a rat's ass about them, because I am dealing with them every day and I need to maintain cordial relations with every one if I want my life to be conflict-free.

I don't think I am creating conflict within myself though. On the contrary, I think I am being myself. I am a born pleaser. I live to please people and get their approval. Not a good thing, but this attitude pushes me to do more, to do my best.

So yeah this hair cut might turn out to be a good thing after all. How? I'm going to find out soon.

Nobody does it better, according to Carly Simon. I’ve been singing that song at the karaoke bar for ages and I still haven’t found someone good, let alone someone who does it better.

Highlights of my work week:

1. I got my business cards today. Yay!
2. I got some stuff from my mother, courtesy of Roy. I wore one of the tops she gave me at an event yesterday.
3. I alphabetized by business cards. Lorna also gave me an address book so I can list down all the numbers I’ve written on pieces of paper which are now kept under my drawer.
4. Someone gave me flowers. They’re lovely. You should see me now, I’m blushing.
5. Touch My Body played on the radio twice today, and Rasool and I got a kick out of it.
6. I attended a press conference by the government. It was about how they planned to prevent fires. On the same day a fire broke out in Al Quoz.
7. I slept nine and a half hours the other day and 9 hours yesterday.
8. Decided to do something about my weight. Today is my last day snacking on lard. I had a cheeseburger, fries, pork menudo and rice. I’m jumbo Zeena today. Tomorrow is a new day.
9. I am no longer constipated, thank you very much.
10. I am smoking less.

At the age of 18, I was inevitably thrown into the world of dating, a shocking experience that was further worsened by the fact that it had to naturally take place after my turbulent puberty years, when I was chubby, insecure and clueless about boys --- qualities that repel men.

My first few dates were not successful, but my fears of not getting the hang of this whole dating thing were assuaged when I had my first boyfriend. We lasted almost three years, and towards the end of the relationship, I realized I have not reached the end of the road yet. In fact, it was just the beginning of a long and sometimes frustrating journey to not being single. And so I went out on blind dates, and some of them might as well have been literally blind. Some of them were creeps. I bet the others thought I was the creep.

And this journey seems far from over. A number of reasons. 1. I am only 25 years old; a serious relationship that may lead to marriage is not an option. 2. I am single and still looking, and I am not one to approach someone I fancy, so I guess waiting is the most stupid but safest thing to do in order to not mess things up with a guy. 3. I have not met anyone I want to be with for a very long time. My male friend says it’s all about excitement. I want a guy because he is new, and we have a lot of things to talk about and laugh at and make fun of. Once that fun phase is over, discontent takes charge and I lose sight of any future that might have been miserable anyway.

And I am not in any way unique in this department. Millions of women suffer from dating dilemmas at any given time. Our stories are everywhere. We were portrayed by Bridget Jones and mocked in many other chick flicks, written about by countless of chick lit authors, turned into statistics by bachelors who don’t have anything better to do than divulge information about their conquests, and pitied by the ones who are hooked up.

But the focus has been so much on us that we fail to take a peek at the other side of the fence, where countless of nerds, dorks and chumps cringe at the thought of not getting the girl they like, or not getting a girl at all. And their story was made clear to me through a book called The Game, written by Neil Strauss. He talked about his experiences socializing with allegedly the world’s best pick up artists, who could steal a guy’s girlfriend under his nose in minutes. I am not yet finished with the book, but I am resigned to the idea that yes, guys also have it bad. Strauss made it clear that the book is a factual account of how he mingled and emulated different pick up artists, whose techniques ranged from magic tricks to a list of cocky-funny jokes they have used hundreds of times to hook up with hundreds of girls. However I still couldn’t believe such men existed (either that or I was not worth the trouble of having to bring all those props just to get my phone number), so I went online and looked them up. And there they were, the websites freely available to all the guys who want to get laid fast and all the girls who want to know how men actually seal the deal. www.puatraining.com and www.themysterymethod.com are only two of the most popular websites on this subject matter, and I’ll leave all the details for you to research.

Learning about this nonsense -- which these men claim as an art/science/result of extensive research in psychology – has made me feel more cautious and suspicious of intentions. If a guy has genuine feelings, he would not resort to phony methods and project a false image to start friendship with a girl. I must admit, suave guys are really a turn-on, but finding out that all this pizzazz roots from insecurity --- the feeling I hate the most --- and takes elaborate practice, then there’s nothing more disgusting and irritating and… well, disappointing.

I am wary of bachelors out there, but more than that, I am on the look out for the simple guys, who are nice and offer nothing but a simple hello. No matter how witty pick up lines are, I now think they’re all lame. Even the prospect of having more excitement in my life isn’t enough reason to make me write my number on a piece of tissue paper. Schemers may kick off fast, but they also kill it as soon as girls find out about their phony act. Nice* guys don’t finish last. They simply last longer.

Nice here is used in the context of genuineness. It pertains to guys who are not aware of any game or schemes, or may be aware of them but do not bother to use them. They may be arrogant, dorky, or plain, but at least they are true and are not evil enough to fool girls, making them nice.

When you're searching your soul,
When you're searching for pleasure
How often, pain is all you'll find?
But when you're coasting along
And nobody's trying too hard
You can turn around and like where you are

-When I'm Thinking About You, The Sundays

Sick

I'm not well. I haven't been for the past week. I guess I was just in denial because I didn't want to miss dinners, karaoke dates, good stuff at work. But now the heat and my bad eating and drinking habits have taken a toll on my health,and I need to keep it in check. So I finally acknowledged that I am sick, and I am going to be better by the end of the day, Tomorrow, I will kick ass at work. I am looking forward to an evening of nothing. No karaoke, we're supposed to mourn the death of the ruler's brother.

Today I made a list of things to do, and I've checked almost half of them. I already washed my underwear (not the most fun on the list, for sure), cooked lunch for myself and Eve, swept the floor, cleaned the bathroom, shaved all unwanted hair, soaked my feet in this minty concoction, and had tea to aid my stupid indigestion.


I've realized that denial actually worsened my illness. I was sick and dehydrated but still went to Ajman and walked under the sun --- 45 degrees or higher --- for three, four hours. By the time I got home yesterday, I was vomiting and pooping and had a bad bad headache and felt my stomach contracting like crazy. Gross right?

Well, now I plan to get better. I want to end the work week with a bang, just like how I started it. I want to enjoy my weekend by making it well-deserved. More importantly, I'll try to enjoy it without drinking. Ok maybe a mojito to quench my thirst.

Plus I need to sleep. All the eye cream in the world will never be be good enough to replace 8 hours of sleep every day. I can't keep on living like a zombie. It's not right. It's messing up my brains and giving me headaches.

And I need to go out. See new places. I've been going to the same bars and coffee shops and restaurants and I need a change. Maybe that's what's making me feel sick. Sick and tired. I'm doing the same old thing, feeling the same old feelings, and chaining myseld to routine. Tsk tsk tsk.

Ok on the weekend, I will do something different. Maybe wear a wig, meet a new friend, or try new food.

This is exactly the kind of thing that makes me a little kinder, and things a little more visible to me.
Last evening I was enjoying a glass of Baileys and milk when the doorbell rang. I eagerly opened the door to find a Chinese lady with bags full of copy copy DVDs.
My knee-jerk reaction has always been to say "no money, she she..." and shut the door.
And then I realized, the Chinese lady was human too. And I needed someone --- anyone --- to keep my mind off the very distracting and destructive thought of the boy next door.
So I let her in and bought what seemed like a 1000-in-1 DVD for only 20 AED. Not bad. Not bad at all.
So she thanked me and kept on smiling like she was trying to tell me something. While I didn't want to answer her with my meaningless forced smiling, I got creative. I opened the BBC website and showed her the pictures of the recent earthquake in China. Her face fell. Ok I just ruined her day.
Anyway we ended our chat happily, by exchanging She She's. And she promised to be back. When she's back I hope I won't ignore her anymore.
Even if I had my life back.
So there. I can't believe certain feelings soften your boundaries and allow you to be more open to others.
This is the kind of feeling that makes you finally buy a DVD from the Chinese lady you usually shooed away on a normal day.
This is the kind of feeling that makes you buy hair spray.
This is the kind of feeling that discourages you to eat like a trucker.
This is the kind of feeling that makes you watch the movies and read the books you've put off for so long.
This is the kind of feeling that just makes you stand in front of the mirror and dance to Glamorous by Fergie.
And make sure that your hair is the right kind of messy.
And sleep on Desperate Housewives dreaming of killing Terri Hatcher.

And I don't understand
Why trivial feels good
It flows in my bloodstream
Though it never should

I want to walk away
But it runs towards me
Awakens my senses
Sets me free

It's a nasty stain
An awkward joke
A friendlly banter
Another prolonged hoax

I can't believe I spilled red wine all over his new sofa. It's peach, and it's four days old. And yes, I could tell he was livid inside. How could he show anger to a lady who has obviously reapplied lip gloss a dozen times and combed her hair so that the fringes rested excatly on her cheeks, giving him the opportunity to brush them with his fingers? He kept that Joker-like smile on his face, and I was still happy he had the decency not to throw me out of his place, even though I conveniently live next door.

Nevertheless, I think, his kind forgiveness was a complete act. Not a good one even. I spilled wine on myself first before I accidentally splashed it on the sofa. My cute top, my skirt. All over me. If I walked out in the hall way my other neighbors would think I was fermenting. And yet he never even bothered to ask if I was okay. He asked if I wanted to wash my skirt (which would mean I would have to step out of his bathroom skirtless), and I refused. He could have just shown some concern. The way he looked at his poor peach sofa, and the way he scrubbed it silly with a stain remover, you'd think I wasn't there. But I had to be there because I spilled the wine.

He's a furniture freak. But why would a man redecorate his house fifty seven times solely for his pleasure? I have not heard of furniture fetish, but I DO know that gay people are the best in furniture design. It's their passion.

Speaking of passion, I am not very passionate about this thing. He's my next door neighbor and if we got too involved, I would mess things up. Big time. And even in my building I wouldn't be able to move around with liberty. This morning I had to take the stairs because his friends crashed his place last night and we found ourselves heading for the lift at 8 AM. I didn't want to exchange awkward looks with them in the lift, so I ran down three floors (panting and all) just to catch my bus.

That was absolutely appalling. I hope I don't have too many cute neighbors. Ok one more wouldn't hurt.

Dating has always been an exciting part of my life. Most of the time though, I am not in the dating loop.

In a year, maybe five guys would ask for my number, two of them would actually call, and well, those two are most likely to just mess it up before the third date.

There are times when I get a little impatient, but most of the time I just sit back and relax. Oh and drink.

Last week the guy next door (literally the guy in the flat next to ours) asked for my number. We said hi while waiting for the lift and then in the lift, we exchanged How are yous. And then on the ground floor, he out down his coffee mug and whipped out his... mobile phone and asked for my number. Great. Last evening he said we should get together some time. So the big question is, will we be able to do that? And the bigger question is, are we going to get along? If not then I would have to take a longer route going to my flat just to avoid his door.

My point is, ok this stage is very exciting, and I can't wait to see how this turns out. If he turned out to be an idiot, I would be so disappointed.

I never for the life of me imagined myself in this position, at this point of my life. The stakes are higher now, but I have never been more comfortable with what I am doing. My family is also facing some tough challenges.

However seemingly overwhelming, I think that all these simultaneous changes are not an accident. After all, the whole universe knows that Mama and Zoe are two of the strongest females I have ever known, the one and only reason they are facing a lot of intertwined transitions that are bound to turn our life around as a family.

I moved to a new flat with Ethel. It's probably the boldest move I've done in the first quarter of the year. Why not? the place is nice. It's fully furnished, the neighborhood is quiet, and the things I need are accessible within the area. I am still close to my friends and I have nothing to worry about when it comes to getting some rest after a long day at work. We have a nice living area, a dining area where I can have wine and write in my journal, a nice balcony where I can sit back, relax and watch my neighbors play basketball or park their cars like idiots, and of course our very our kitchen where I can experiment with ... well, food. I don't know. I'll probably boil some potatoes tonight. Or tomorrow.

I have been losing sleep these days... but don't worry, it's not over something bad. Jel lent me a DVD of this reality series called In the Lot, where upcoming directors compete to work with Stephen Spielberg and score a million dollar deal with Dreamworks. Not bad. I like watching 20 different movies in one sitting, hence the eye bags. Plus the host, Adriana Costa is one of the most beautiful girls I have seen. So there. Perfect recipe for insomnia.

Work is also very very rewarding. I have been doing my job well enough for me not to worry about losing it, so that can't be a bad thing.

My mom and I are constantly communicating, so I am not worried about her and my sister. We have never been closer. I love that feeling. I am going to chase it forever.

On the weekend I think I will get some sleep and visit a few friends. I kind of want some time alone. A few well-deserved days off just to recharge and regain my zest for life.

Oh, and yesterday I cleaned my toe nails. Yes, after much cruel criticism from colleagues and friends, I decided to push back those cuticles a bit and scrub that dead skin off my big toe.

Ummm yeah I guess that's it.

My colleagues punked me today.
They involved our big boss and they totally made my armpits sweat like anything.
Anyway I think it was a great idea for me to just shut up and own up to my mistake.
Or else I would have looked like an idiot in front of everyone in the boss's office.
I actually feel kinda special. No one has ever pulled an April Fool prank on me.
In a way, yeah I am honored. Stupid to be thinking so but what the hell.
Ok I admit it. I was hung over yesterday, and wasn't able to go to work.
Many would think that was retarded, but I say I'm human and I wasn't about to show up at work reeking of alcohol.
Plus I felt so guilty I made sure my story for today was comprehensive.

I totally messed up at work today. And I wasn't even there. Long story.
But tomorrow hopefully I can do a much better job.
That was such a disgusting move. Wrong. Wrong.
Loved the wine though.

Why I am Excited to Move

I am moving into a new flat in four days and I am excited! There are a few reasons actually:

1. I am moving into a fully furnished studio apartment with only one roommate, which means more space for myself and less computations when paying for stuff like water and electricity.

2. I am much happier that the other three times I moved, no hang ups or bad memories that go with the leaving and packing, and there are no saddening events that have transpired so far to make moving hell for me.

3. I really think that this is the next step to getting a place of my own. In a year I can probably get my own place and experience living alone, in every sense of the phrase. Well let's wish I would have found a decent boyfriend then. But who cares.
Me. I care.

4. I am increasing my expenses, which means I have no choice but to work harder and consequently earn more. You might think that working twice as hard would not necessarily mean getting compensated better, but I guess I don't have time to believe that. No matter how cynical this world may seem, as my friend had pointed out, if you just do whatever you want and feel it's right, then everything will fall into place. Everything.

5. I can cook, which is cool. I had started learning to make edible stuff at Colin's place, but I had to give it up when I moved into another place. Now I want to pursue that. My first dish would probably be something straight from my mom's recipe box.

6. There is a basketball court right in front of our building. Awesome. Total body work out without having to pay or worry about transportation. Cool.

These are just some of the reasons I am thrilled to move. Of course I am getting goosebumps just thinking about the additional expenses, but goosebumps are fine. Based on experience in live entertainment, goosebumps are a precedent to a successful performance. For sure.

5.

My Weekend

Yeah, I had a fun weekend.
Pooped from my very productive Abu Dhabi trip on Thursday. I headed straight to my friend's place to have wine and cheese. Minutes into our conversation, I fell asleep, snoring and all.
On Friday, Sherry and I went swimming at my friend's building, and I had an awesome time just trying to get some sun. I am seven shades darker now, no big deal.
In the evening, after a meeting, we went straight to the karaoke bar. Modesty aside, I kicked ass once again. I don't think there will ever come a time when I would suck at karaoke. At least with the songs I like. I would like to believe that together with my mastery of converting feelings of sadness and all the other loser thoughts that go with it into golden opportunities to creatively handle life's challenges, I have also developed an uncanny talent for singing like a pro. Of course I am kidding.
But what the hell. As long as I don't sing She's Always A Woman by Billy Joel ever again, I will continue to be fine and well-loved at that joint.
Ok so I went home Friday a bit tipsy and annoyed at a bunch or middle-aged Germans in grey suits who all tried their best to vex me when I was singing a Stevie Wonder song. Well, they failed. I emerged the victor. And they're still bald.
Saturday... hmm... I kicked off my day with a huge serving of The Office Season 3 episodes. Healthier than breakfast, if you asked me. Not only does it keep me from being hungry (I realized I had no food anyway), it makes me laugh. And there's nothing like loud laughter to start the day. Then I received a call from my friend Boki, and we bought coffee from the nearby petrol station. He dropped me off at my friend's building, where I took full advantage of the steam bath and sauna, and had lunch.
At 4 PM my neighbor picked me up and we went to Uptown Mirdif. I accomplished something that evening - I sent money to my friend. I told her to buy Mama a watch for her birthday, and she did! I was so happy because it was exactly what Mama wanted. Anything for my mother. Absolutely anything.
So we went around Uptown Mirdif, a charming place where you can breathe fresh air, go shopping for knick knacks, and look at the children going down the giant inflatable slide in the middle of the "plaza".
Then we met up with Jel and Johnny and we suddenly had this crazy idea to visit the karaoke bar in my soon-to-be apartment building. It was a big flop, mainly because of the quality of the sound in the place. We rocked.
So there. That was my weekend. Fully booked.
Uhhh.... no, there is no moral lesson to this story. I just wanted to write about my weekend. Feels good.
Thanks for reading.

life's questions

I filed a story today and it felt good to officially finish work at 11:30 in the morning. I had two lunches, both with rice. I know, what a pig right? But yesterday I had nothing to eat for lunch because I was in Abu Dhabi all day working my butt off. But you know what? It feels weird not having anything to do. I didn’t even have to choose between stuffing my face and reading hilarious The Office quotes on the net. I did both, and it was okay! I didn’t neglect any task or forget to do something. I was literally done with work even before lunch! Tomorrow I am going to Abu Dhabi again for another kick ass story, and even though I love Abu Dhabi and would actually consider living there if a good offer came my way, I hate having to go on a long trip only to reach a destination where you’re supposed to start working. Long trips are for holidays, otherwise just slit my throat and stitch it up when we get there.

Oh and today I didn’t take a shower. Don’t ask me why. Not that I’m uninspired or anything negative like that, it’s just that I had five minutes to prepare and I didn’t want to be late. Ok, my carpool was late. Big time. I was standing in front of my building for five, six minutes trying to look cool and patient, when I could have spent that precious time shampooing.

Ok so back to the main idea. I think I am happiest when I am given something to do. A very important task, perhaps a full-day coverage of a local celebration. Or a feature on those 8-foot monsters who roamed around Global Village, getting people to have their pictures taken with them for ten dirhams. What were their lives like? Did they have to do that because their mothers were sick? Or were they wealthy children who decided to turn their backs on their parents and their wealth for the sake of freedom? Or do they just want fame and glory?

You know what, these are the questions we need to be asking ourselves. I've had time to do it, because I’m so good I finished work at 11:30 AM. So yeah, when you do have free time, you can puzzle yourself with life’s questions.