For the first half of my trip I indulged myself in contemporary Japanese literature.

Haruki Murakami put an end to my fiction reading hiatus, and once again my senses were excited by words craftilly put together to convey a slice of life.

The story starts with a wide shot of Tokyo, like a crane camera breezing through the city. Everyone knows about Tokyo. Bright lights, funky outfits, crazy music, colors everywhere.

But Murakami's camera does a freefall and zooms in on people, places and actions. Closer shots may not capture the city's jumping neon vibe, but it makes the place more human. It fleshes out the secret thoughts and desires of people in the city as the night ends and another day approaches.

The book gave me a high. I read on the bus, while on a wildlife safari, outside my cottage with a maginificent view of Kilimanjaro, in the bed, and upon waking up. And no matter how beautiful Kenya was, I was enslaved by Murakami's writing. I couldn't put the book down.

Personally, I'm a very emotional and empathetic fiction reader. If I can't relate to the characters, I cannot finish a novel. And this is why I love After Dark. I think if it were made into a movie, it would be charged with energy and emotions, and a million other different feelings.

Mari, Takahashi, Eri. Deep slumbers, dreams of going away, committing a crime a decent person would never have done during the day, nights in the weirdest places. It's all about perception, feeling, getting a whiff, a slap, a sip of things. The things you do make you alive, and if you do something new it gives you a rush. In your brain, in your heart, in your veins. It's like drugs minus all the medical complications and the possibility of death. It is the complete opposite.

Come dawn, things are completely normal. The individual adrenaline dissolves in a mass of coats, boots, and slowly drowned out by rush hour noise. And it is devastating to be a faceless person in a crowd. We all want to stand out, in more ways than one. That's why we strive. And we do things differently. But a force collects us all so that the crane camera can film a perfect shot of the city. Coffee shops open, restaurants full, office computers turned on, cash being exchanged by busy hands.

Ok I have to stop writing before I get sad. The point is, I loved the book.

I got this from Facebuko. I do not own it and do not intend to, that's why I am sharing it with all of you. Hilarious!

update from Kenya

I am itching to blog but don't have much time!
What I can tell you is that I am having the time of my life.
Been eating lots of meat but the safari has been a total work out.
Lots of bruises and mosquito bites on my poor thighs.
Hmmm and have been reading a lot.
Any reading material I see, I grab and scan.
So I've learned a lot about anything and everything, but that's a different story.
Right now I am in a beautiful resort in Diani, with a view of the beach :)
I am three cartwheels aways from the spa, which makes it increasingly tempting to just go there and use my Visa card.
Shillings can be deceiving, you see.
You think a few thousands is just a couple of dirhams, but they all add up and before you know it your bank account's in jeopardy.
Luckily internet here is free.
Ok, pictures, anecdotes, and maybe a whole new layout when I' back.
See yah!

PS Follow me on Twitter! zeenahhh

FUNNY SIGNS!!!! (from the Definitely Filipino Facebook Page)

I loooove funny signs. Enjoy!

I want to change my blog layout but I am completely handicapped when it comes to following very specific instructions and figuring out which codes to use. The last time I fixed by layout and the color scheme, I was in front of the computer for hours and didn't even notice that I was salivating. The dining table had spit on it and even then I still couldn't find a way to move my profile picture from the center to the sidebar.

If you know a great blog layout site for dummies, let me know. I'm super bored of this look.
Might also change the title. Forward always forward sounds very Lea Salonga-ish, and I think I've outgrown that struggling nice girl making lemonade out of lemons phase.

Three Things (I got this from Eve)

THREE NAMES I GO BY
1. Zeena 2. Zinzin 3. ZZ

THREE JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE
1. Brainstormer 2. Scriptwriter 3. Reporter

THREE PLACES WHERE I HAVE LIVED
1. Quezon City 2. Dubai 3. ELJ Building hehehe

THREE TV SHOWS THAT I WATCH
1. The Office US 2. Family Guy 3. Ali G reruns

THREE PLACES I HAVE BEEN
1. Bangkok 2. Delhi/Agra 3. Muscat/Nizwa

THREE PLACES I WANT TO VISIT
1. The U S of A :D 2. The rest of Asia 3. Some parts of Europe

THREE OF MY FAVORITE FOODS
1. Pinoy 2. Japanese 3. Anything sweet/salty

THINGS I LOOK FORWARD TO
1. My much awaited December vacation 2.Working on an awesome story 3. Hanging out with the people I love

THREE PETS THAT YOU HAVE OWNED
1. Sonia the infamous garter snake 2. an unnamed goldfish 3. that’s about it

THREE FAVORITE BANDS/SINGERS (I have so many, but ok lets see)
1. Garbage 2. The Cardigans 3. No Doubt

THREE FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH
1. Basketball 2. Boxing 3. That’s about it

THREE FAVORITE DRINKS
1. WATERRRRRRRRR 2. fresh juice (coconut, mango, cranberry) 3. Wine

Annika

The latest from my cousin Annika :D

On overdrive
Sleep deprived
A thousand feelings
Come alive
Humming to
A catchy tune
Daydreaming
All afternoon
Fetching thoughts
From deep within
Tossing bad vibes
As I sing
Fading memories
Of a shady past
High five
I'm home at last

"When you encounter difficulties and contradictions, do not try to break them, but bend them with gentleness and time."– St. Francis De Sales

"There will be change, because all the military have are guns." - Daw Aung San Suu Kyi

I was having breakfast at Al Reem Tower while waiting for my passport to get stamped by the Kenyan consul when my eyes idly turned to the TV screen. Aung San Suu Kyi was on Al Jazeera, meeting a crowd of journalists after being sentenced to another 18 months of house arrest. I have not heard of anyone who has gotten used to being imprisoned in their own home - two decades to be exact. She has done nothing but fight for democracy and the people in Burma who wanted change, and the Burmese military junta just keeps throwing her back in her home where she is expected to shut her mouth and grow old, hands tied.

But Dr. Suu Kyi has shown nothing but resilience. The very first thing you notice is the calmness on her face that does not at all indicate surrender. It's both a knowing look that saw yet another mockery of justice and democracy, and more importantly, a sign of hope and dedication. She will just keep trying, house arrest after house arrest.

She has a lot of supporters around the world. Governments, high-profile officials, intellectuals, non profit groups, civilians. She has won a lot of international awards for her efforts to pursue democracy and peace. It's sad that the only place in the world where support for her is perpetually suppressed is in her own country, which is the only reason she has been through a life-long political struggle.

I realized while watching her gracefully accept her fate that she is someone I truly admire. There is something in her eyes that says the struggle is worth it, and one day her efforts will pay off. Not for her own benefit, but for the nation she has lived for. The challenges in my life are nothing compared to hers, and there is no reason for me to worry, something I tend to do all the time. So I reminded myself to do like Aung San Suu Kyi --- live life or calm and ardor, with a smile that only the people who truly understand me will know the meaning of.

When I got my passport stamped with the visa, I beamed and glided down the escalator, in true Aung San Suu Kyi fashion. The only thing I've got that she hasn't is my black abanico. What's up Dr. Suu Kyi.

I'm eating Khadijah's cold spaghetti
Straight from the Coca Cola paper cup
Thinking if the dots on my face are happy
Wondering if the swelling will ever stop
I finished writing my piece for the day
About a satellite and a bunch of men
And I plan to drink a glass of chardonnay
After work for a moment of zen

From Khalidiya, to Rashidiya
The heat and stink gonna kill ya
I miss Manila, my esquenita
Where my peeps dont sleep we gonna grill ya

I was so bored I started rapping in my head.
And these words just came together like a badly made mosaic.

Zoe was such a cute adorable kid.
And a smart aleck too.
She used to have witty conversations with old people, like our great grand parents.
May they rest in peace.
Ok so back to Zoe.
She looooved dogs. She would wake up in the middile of the night just to witness my uncle's dalmatians and boxers give birth.
She would look after the pups and watch my uncle feed them and bathe them.
She smelled really nice, like Johnson's baby powder or just the natural scent or an adorable little girl.
When she was 5, I dressed her in cargo shorts and Birks and she started to think she was a boy.
She rode bikes and did rough things in the playground.
That was a good laugh.
Her tomboy phase lasted a few months, which drove my mother crazy.
She also loved dancing.
She would do the otso otso like there was no tomorrow.
She would flash her toothless smile while grinding up and down.Then she would get all sticky and sweaty and we would all hug her.

In less than a decade, my sister bloomed inside and out and became a pretty young lady.

And she now has a boyfriend.

I cannot believe it.

She likes dressing up like like any funky teenager.

She likes her phone and her Nintendo DS Lite and her music and her pictures.

She likes hanging up on me because she thinks big sister is an old hag.

I didn't know what to think when I heard the news.

I knew there were a lot of gentlemen who would like to be around her.

But she had chosen one and now everything is official.

And when I go home in December I am likely to meet this man.

To be very honest, I don't like his hair and that drunken smile.

But my mom said he's a good guy. He visits Zoe at home and they all go to the mall.

Something like that.

And when I ask my sister about him, she stays on the phone with me for more than a minute, which is really unusual.

As long as he's a great guy, I don't really have a problem.

My problem is, I feel like an old fart.

My Zoe.

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.