Mary Ann

"Mary Ann."
The sound of her name sounded like a slightly off-key note in a song. I winced ever so slightly, hoping she would not notice it but she did. She looked at me and I looked back at her. She gave me a sad smile, one that seemed misplaced in a face as bubbly and efferevescent as hers.
A sad smile.
Just four days ago, there was no sadness in her smile. Along with ten other girls and four guys, we had confined ourselves to a small room in the more obscure innards of the church we attend. It was our Christmas party so we had pizza and chicken on the table, gifts on hand, a videoke microphone up for grabs, cameras going "whirrr" and friends side by side.
Friends side by side.
She had that tonight, more than a dozen according to my last count before I hugged her goodbye and left. It felt so different to see her eyes welling with tears, her face all flushed for reasons other than feeling giddy. Everything was different - from her face to her name. She had always been Mean to me, ever since that day we were introduced to each other by P. Joel almost two years ago. In that span of time, she became a very good friend and somewhat something like the older sister I had always wanted to have. She was as cool and as spunky as her name. She always had the sweetest of smiles and the gurgliest of laughter.
As people walked to her to extend their sympathies for her father's passing, I heard more voices calling her "Mary Ann." She looks a lot more serious than four days ago... a lot more tired, a lot more worn, a lot more like Mary Ann, a little less than Mean. But no matter what name she is called, I think to myself "She will carry through, she will carry on."
She will carry on.
Because behind her sad eyes is a spark of faith and a strength that is not of this world.
She will carry on.

Flashback

It's 1:30 AM and I really should be in bed at this time of day. I tried to correct that really bad habit of sleeping in the wee hours of the morning (like 3 AM) and waking up at around 9 AM. I acquired that habit during the summer and it did not serve me well, especially since in my hometown, people are up and about at 5 AM.

But thanks to our morning, oh-so-much-fun Christmas party with our PINC buds (this phrase is sort of pun-nish), my sister and I had to attend the vesper church service. Almost instinctively, we decided we should stick around afterwards to see the cantata which featured a singing Christmas tree.

Actually, the tree consisted of members of the church choir standing on tiers shaped like a Christmas tree. The entire idea was rather ingenious and I know I'll never look at Christmas trees the same way again.

They sang familiar Christmas songs and hymns but the piece I like best would have to be Gloria by, I believe, Vivaldi. It was a killer in itself. I tried to imagine the choir singing with a full orchestra and I almost immediately got goosebumps.

Getting home late meant sleeping late too but I did not mind. As of this writing I am uploading digests and reading a week-old, rather urgent email from Jepoy's mom. To keep me awake, I turned on the TV and lo and behold, a program was on ANC, discussing (what else?) the current constitutional mayhem in the Philippines, no thanks to that entity my first semester Crim prof has labelled "the house of De Venecia."

As I waited for all the files to finish uploading, I began to go through the files in my flash disk and I found this essay I wrote back in college when I was nineteen years old. I don't know but reading this essay again, taken in the light of the current crisis which gets my blood pressure rising, made it timely:

Sounds of dripping water seem to be the only constant sound heard amidst the shuffling of feet and the writhing of broken bodies. In a corner, a faint scuttle can be heard due perhaps to the scurrying feet of rats or mice. Buzzing mosquitoes are silenced and their midnight trysts to feed are interrupted by grimy hands slapping a mass of what appears to be legs and arms covered with welts, bumps, bruises and other painful scratches that the dark and damp prison cell has effectively concealed.

Whispers and murmurs reverberate among the shadows, mimicking the hum of a sullen harp in the symphony of death. Probing through layers of human agony, a still voice cuts through the throng of pain and anguish. Like a cool, calm flute granted its solo, it fills the darkness with its sweet melody of hope, endurance and faith in the courage that burns within every man's heart.

In the gloom of his cell in Buru Island, Pramoedya Ananta Toer was the flute that lifted the spirits of his fellow prisoners. He had the power of the pen but in Buru, he was forbidden to write. Unfazed by this and the brutality he received from the guards, he decided to narrate his stories to his fellow inmates every night. From Pramoedya's words, a story of freedom was born within the very walls of repression and confinement. This marked the beginning of This Earth of Mankind.

About forty years later, the tale uttered by Pramoedya in his cell in Buru has not lost its magic. In fact it claimed another victim, ensnaring the heart and the undivided attention of a nineteen-year old college junior. In my numerous trips to the library, I had never even noticed the thick volume nestled among the other books comprising the Buru Quartet. It was only when the book was given to my class as required reading that I realized that it was more than a beautiful piece of literature. Through Minke, his Javanese mother-in-law Nyai Ontosoroh and the other characters I met within the pages of This Earth of Mankind, Pramoedya gave me the answers to questions which had toyed with my mind for so long.

Pramoedya Ananta Toer is one of Indonesia's best and most popular writers. He regards himself as a freedom fighter and as what his life shows, he has never allowed any form of chains to keep him shackled. He was imprisoned by the Dutch when Indonesia was struggling to be free of foreign control. After Indonesia was granted independence, Pramoedya began writing about the social ills that were taking control of his country, such as poverty and corruption in government. During the latter part of Sukarno's tenure as president, tensions began to grow between the Indonesian army and the legal Communist party of Indonesia. Pramoedya became associated with Partai Komunis Indonesia's cultural institute and he even wrote for the literary section of the communist paper. When the coup of 1965 led to Suharto's rise in power, numerous left-wing supporters were killed. Pramoedya was instead arrested by the army and detained. Eventually he was transferred to Buru Island, a penitentiary for political prisoners. The detainees in Buru were made to engage in heavy labor and Pramoedya was not allowed to write. The attempts to silence him were futile since he would recite to his fellow prisoners what would eventually become This Earth of Mankind, a tale about Minke, a young Javanese who struggles to be recognized in a colonial society where social class defines a person's identity.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau once presented this dilemma in The Social Contract. He said that "Man was born free and everywhere he is in chains." Indeed man is held down by a lot of factors, some of which are stronger than links of metal and bars of steel. As I inch my way through life, I believe I may have discovered one which hangs like a pall over every person – fear. Fear immobilizes man. It freezes his muscles, knocks his brain unconscious and paralyzes his will. Of all the types of fear that man could undergo, I believe the most common of all is fear of failure.

Man has always been afraid of failure. In the first place, no one would want to end up flat on the ground with a tear-streaked face and a broken spirit. Everybody dreams of soaking up the klieg lights instead of getting trampled upon like overgrown weeds. Like everybody else, I would not want that. But then I look around me and I see a lot of things that need to be changed. I see a country in a state of disrepair, trying its best to scale the walls of globalization but plummets downward with every step. I see a government who functions through huge billboards broadcasting some new road being built rather than through passing and effecting legislations. Finally I see a people who are getting poorer by the hour, hungrier by the minute and more hopeless by the second. Though I realize that what I see is anything but eye candy, I stand here doing nothing, caged by bars of fear and apathy. I am moved by the urge to do something, to at least make an effort to effect change in society. But I am paralyzed by the thought of failing in my attempt, that instead of lifting up the spirits of others I might end up losing my own.
Society's ills all seem to be interconnected, each one sprouting after another like a never-ending chemical reaction. The task seems too overwhelming that any effort I might exert would not even make a dent on the problem, like a puny Swiss knife hacking at the bark of a huge sequoia. I find myself saying, "This could never be enough. Nothing could."

Through Minke, Pramoedya spoke to me and poked at the muddle in my head. Always the freedom-fighter, he slowly removed the iron clasps which had bound my hands and legs for so long. Pramoedya knew what it was like to fail and his novel was practically swimming in it. His early attempts to awaken Indonesian national identity were not successful. He was placed under town arrest after his 14-year imprisonment and his novels were banned from bookshelves all over the country. Yet he was never disheartened. In fact the flames were fanned even more.

Pramoedya is a testament to the true nature of failure. It is not something to be shunned. On the other hand, failure is a mark of courage and persistence. Failure always comes with trying and only those who try are those who are brave enough to face everyday of their lives with their noses thrust upon the ground. For almost his entire life, this was what Pramoedya encountered yet he never flinched.

Pramoedya regards writing as both a "personal and national task." Writing became his avenue in expressing his disgust with corruption and injustice in society. He used his pen to point out the freedom that every man possesses and the dignity that is innately his. He never fretted about not being able to do enough. He simply did what he could for his fellow prisoners in Buru. Later on these actions worked to inspire every person all over the entire Indonesian archipelago. Pramoedya's life serves as proof to everyone that no action would go about unnoticed. As the laws of physics dictate, any action, no matter how small it would seem, would always yield a reaction. Pramoedya's works started as small sparks which eventually ignited Indonesian national awareness.

This Earth of Mankind ends with Minke losing his young wife Annelies to her Dutch relatives according to the dictates of the Dutch law. As he watches Annelies disappear into the distance, he tearfully tells Nyai that they have lost the fight. Pramoedya could have chosen to close with Minke's words yet he did not. The novel concludes with Nyai who answers that they fought back "as well and honorably as possible." The battle was far from over both for Minke and for Pramoedya as he told this story to his fellow prisoners in Buru. In fact, it had just begun. And I believe, so has mine.

Reality Slap

I hate it when I miss the primetime news. I hate it even more when I don't get to read the paper. But what I hate the most is the feeling of being uninformed. Like, for instance, when I picked up the newspaper today, I espied the right flag and found myself in a state of slight shock. I did not know that the Asian Games in Doha had begun already!
For a number of reasons (typhoon, no TV in my sister's dorm, no newsstand within an earshot, etc.), I had not read a page of the Inquirer for a couple of days already. During the weekend, we snuck into her friend's room in the floor upstairs just to check out what was on the news but the TV reception was so bad I thought I was being whirled in one of thise crazy teacup rides in amusement parks.
The Inquirer headline bannered the casualties of typhoon Reming, along with personal stories of those who survived its aftermath. The picture which enveloped much of the front page got my attention.

It was not long ago that Milenyo howling winds and battering rain ravaged through Legazpi, transforming it into a barren wasteland of silent weeping. It does not help that P. Joel, the pastor who helped me and my sister find a small group where we could grow, now lives in Legazpi along with Ate Em (who is on the family way) and their son. It was not long ago that they had spoken of rebuilding from the rubble. Now, just a few months later, they were back to square one.
Before I could completely absorb all the emotions that picture on the front page, my eyes almost instinctively drifted to the the news story just below the picture: "Cha-cha train starts chugging in House." All of a sudden, I just felt really angry. One of the strongest typhoons to wreak havoc in the country had just claimed 1000 lives (as of last count), destroyed homes and property, displaced families but it was apparently not tough enough to derail the Cha-cha MRT. It was the real thing, the real scenario getting shoved into my face. My mind was drowning in a curious mix of depression, despair and fury. There was no illustration better than this - the disparity between what the Filipino people NEED and what those elected into office WANT.
If it is not obvious just yet, I am not one of those gunning for Charter Change. When I was fourteen years old and President Ramos was advocating amending the Charter, I devoted pages of a journal I kept for my Asian history class to airing my distrust and opposition to Cha-cha. Almost ten years later, Cha-cha is still the dance to sway to. I believe that there is a need to amend the Charter but timing is of the essence. A teacher of mine during the first semester said it so eloquently: "We now have the chance to amend the Constitution properly. Why not do it the right way?" It was an obvious reaction to the now-junked people's initiative attempt.
Congress claims they have the required 3/4 vote as stipulated in Sec. 1, Art. 17, perhaps one of the most contested provisions in the Constitution. 3/4 vote of what? Congress, both the Lower House and the Senate, voting as one body? Or 3/4 vote of all the members voting separately? De Venecia claims it's the former, a number obviously easier to muster than shaping his eyebrows. The opposition argue it's the latter, taking into account the bicameral nature of the legislature. The more I think about it, the more I realize the lack of common sense among the members of Congress. If a regular bill needs to be deliberated upon separately by the Lower House and the Senate, shouldn't there be greater rigor in tackling an issue as crucial as amending what every 12-year old Filipino student recognizes as the fundamental law of the land?
Now is not the right time. Now is not the proper time. Amending the Charter is not what the Filipino people NEED right now. What they need right now is food on their table, clothes on their back, a roof over their heads and a government which serves their best interest with passion and dedication. As the Preamble put it "a government to serve OUR ideals and aspirations," not a government out to serve someone else's power hankering.

A Call with Cotton Candy

I felt like I had plopped my head on my pillow for just a minute or so I when I heard my lolo singing. He was singing a rip-off of Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" in the vernacular and it went on and on and on. Forcing one eye open, I grabbed my phone off my desk which was cluttered with papers and a highlighter. The phone display window said "Sniper calling." Yup, it was my grandfather all right...as if the wailing were not enough to indicate the caller's identity. I have a customized ringtone for my mother, father, sister and grandparents which features each of them singing a tune of their choice. That way, just hearing the phone ring would tell me who wants/needs to chit-chat with me.
"Hello Lo..." I said, trying to mask my sleepy voice. I could tell it was still dark outside so I craned my neck just a bit to steal a glance at the wall clock. 6:00 AM, Friday morning. I had been asleep for 3 hours and I could feel my brain begging "You need more."
"Hello, Butra? You still asleep?"
My eyes flew wide open almost immediately. There was nothing different about what he said - the trademark singsong voice he uses when he wants to be treated like a big baby, punctuated by wheezing; the monicker had given me as a newborn baby which only he uses...
But there was something about the way he sounded. He sounded so happy and cheery my half-dead brain conjured thoughts of blueberry cheescake and strawberry-and-cream at 6 AM with a half-full stomach.
I told him I slept at 3 AM, having had to pore through cases and textbooks. He then sounded apologetic and tried to end the call but I told him to go ahead. "What's up?"
He said he just woke up that morning feeling "great," "strong," "healthy," "happy," "relaxed" and all other adjectives related to "wonderful." I asked him where he was. He told me he was sitting in the back of his house in our hometown, absorbing a good amount of vitamin D. He mentioned he had gone for a walk that morning and checked out his trees and vegetables in his little garden near the kitchen. He was alone, he said, but his terrier-dachshund Sam was there to keep him company. "Your lola is still asleep," he told me.
He just sounded so pleasant I felt like the pall that had been hovering over me since the week started had been lifted all of a sudden. School was fine but some of my classmates were not. There seemed to be an extra helping of sadness and a little bit more worry during the week. It did not help that my lolo himself had been down with the flu recently which left him sounding nasal, tired and spent over the phone. But now he sounded like Hercules with a dandelion tucked in his ear.
I listened to him as he talked about this and that, about how my cousin CJ was going to celebrate her birthday later that day, about many other things most of which I cannot remember. Twenty years from now, if someone were to ask me the first thing I would remember about my 6 AM Friday conversation with my lolo, I'd say - "his hearty laugh." He has always had that hearty laugh but never before did it sound more significant and more meaningful than that morning.
The second thing I would remember would be this - it was the first time in a long time that, without him knowing it, my lolo made me cry.

Lessons on Faith

For about five months, from June to October, I waltzed, ran, dragged, crawled, etc. in and out of classrooms and the library, lugging with me what has been labelled as the heaviest bag in the world along with an armload of books and papers.

For five months, I was harrassed, barraged with questions, hurled insults, rendered speechless, regarded as "tabula rasa" and a potential convert to one advocacy or another, astounded by genius teachers, floored by people who (according to a classmate) were "too bright for their own good" and, well, basically scared to the end of my wits.

For five months, I missed the Amazing Race, Korean telenovelas, SNES and Super Mario, SM Megamall, videoke, Terry Brooks, telebabad, nonsense and lengthier sleeping hours.

For five months, I accumulated a growing stack of fire hazards (aka papers).

For five months, from June to October, I had to learn, unlearn and learn once again.

But unknown to me, the best lessons were to come at the close of the semester - old lessons I had learned a long, long time ago when I was a little girl yet lessons I was still learning and perhaps, I still needed to learn somehow.

I still had much to learn about faith.

Lesson #1

I was home for two weeks for the semestral break. Naturally, I was ecstatic over the thought of seeing my family and two dogs again.

A few days before I was due to fly back to Manila, my lolo began bleeding again. It had been about six months since his last bleeding problem. My frightened lola called us to say that my lolo's urine was reddish and that naturally got my mother all nervous. She began crying and fresh waves of lolo's bladder problem which had plagued us during the summer began to hit us once again.

At 81, my grandfather has lived through a lot. To be honest about it, people are amazed that he has managed to live up to this age. He has more pills than Paris Hilton has makeup and he downs them like vitamins. So it is only natural that everyone gets jittery whenever he gets sick.

He underwent urinalysis immediately afterwards. We then took him to see his urologist, which was actually the day before my flight. As we sat on one of the hospital benches, all of us were as tense as strung wire. Lolo was not as goofy as usual and mom and lola were very quiet. Having left my book in the car, I could do nothing more fruitful than surmise about what the urologist would say. Twenty-four hours before the urinalysis, lolo's urine was still pinkish. The urinalysis results would almost definitely support that.

Then I found myself silently saying just one word - "Lord." It was nothing more than a word, four letters, one syllable. Yet it was a prayer in itself already. "Lord," I whispered silently again. It was the first thing I said to myself when we received that phone call, informing us that lolo was bleeding again. It was not only that I did not know what to say. I just had too much say I did not know where to start, how to start praying at that point in time. Prayer has always been our first recourse in anything. That is one lesson my mother had taught my sister and me when we were children. Pray for anything, she would tell us...even for a god parking slot in the mall.

"Lord." It was just a word but I knew the Lord understood me. He understands my incomprehensible utterances, my non-sensical ramblings, my groans, my sighs, my very silence. Everything makes perfect sense to him.

Yet there was fear in me - the fear that I might not get the answer I wanted to hear. I have learned that God is not like a vending machine. He does not always give what His children ask for. Vending machines don't care whether the caffeine or the sugar will eventually kill you, they just deliver according to which button is punched. But God is not like that. He may grant, but He may deny. He may give but He may withold. The tangible indicators around us seemed to indicate something we did not want to hear. Like a little child, I asked "Lord, how would you work now?"

Mom remembered that lola already had lolo's urinalysis result in her bag so she asked for it. I saw the hesitation in the way my mother took the yellow slip of paper, folded in half right in the middle. She did not open it immediately but fingered it for an instant. I have seen one too many urinalysis results to tell me that when she opened the slip and the results were in full view, I knew that the figures written were just what we wanted to see.

Approximately twenty-four hours after my grandfather discharged pinkish urine, his urinalysis was positively normal and absolutely ideal.

Lesson #2

This other entry is rather long overdue. I had decided to write about it at the end of the semester because, aside from the fact that it would be dramatic, I wanted to see how things would end up.

Something like that.

Actually, no. I should stop with the nonsense.

Nothing was written because the writer was afraid.

The writer was fearful.

The writer was simply "of little faith."

Backtrack to September 2006: I was in trouble, as usual, for Persons class (see related entry here). It was a week after our midterm exam which I felt I had butchered into a carcass. For one question, I had bungled up provisions in a concoction too absurd to stomach. A 40-point question was still giving me nightmares a week after the exam, especially because almost the entire class had given answers totally opposed to mine. I felt like a dead man walking.

Now my recitations seemed hopeful, not exactly skyscraper high but average...except for the glaring 5.0 on my recit card which I got a week into law school, thanks to Shields v. Gross.

When our midterm averages were handed in, I saw that I got a 3.0. I suddenly felt really queasy and I wanted to head to the bathroom and douse my head in cold water. I did not see how I could make up for that. I was in such a precarious situation. It was either a pass or a fail for the final grade and the finals exam was going to make all the difference. Just a tip of the scale, one move could spell the difference between a 3.0 and a 5.0. Uh-oh.

I went home feeling really down, the remnants of comfort food (which would be Jollibee mushroom-and-cheese burger) still between my teeth. And when I say down, I really mean down like deep-in-the-earth's-core down. I dragged my feet up the stairs to my little room/attic and sat on my easy chair. Without another word, I began to cry and pray. Everything just seemed impossible. I was working every bone, muscle, nerve to a breaking point but nothing seemed to make any difference. Stevie Wonder sang to me again - "Used to be that failure only meant you didn't try." After I had squeezed my tear ducts Sahara-dry, I curled up in the chair, hugged the Tigger pillow Ronald gave me for my birthday two years ago and, with composure regained, began to talk to my God. I needed to talk to someone but no one ever seemed to be right except Him. I poured out everything that was in my heart to Him like an F1 racer going downhill at top speed with no brakes.

"Answer me, Father," I implored. "I have done all I can. I do not know what else I should do. I am running on empty."

I reached for my devotional and opened it. I usually read it at night before going to sleep but I decided I needed to talk to God now more than ever. The reflection for that day had nothing to do with my turmoil but I checked out the Bible passage listed - Matthew 7:7-14.

Fresh tears flowed from my eyes the moment I read the first two verses:

"Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened."

That night, as I read my books again, I took a piece of blue Post-It and wrote that I claimed God's promise in Matthew 7:7-8. I had asked and it shall be given, as He promised. Opposite that, I wrote the date which was September 13.

I went on to take the finals and proceeded with semestral break. The final exam was tough but I had given all I can. I could only do so much. The thought, though, still lingered in my head from time to time - would God really grant His promise? Or was it another lesson this time around (see related entry here)?

God fulfills his promises, even to those who find it difficult to believe that they are possible, especially to those who are still swayed by the stormy winds and the rocking boat, to those of little faith.

God was true to His word and to his promise. On Wednesday, I found out I passed Persons.

"Ask and it shall be given to you; seek and you will find."

Not only that. Passing does not simply mean a 3.0. It could go a bit higher too.

For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened."

Promised. Claimed. Fulfilled.

(Over)Stretched Leather

Before anything else...

HAPPY 21st BIRTHDAY to my sister!

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Tuesday and I feel pummeled already. Still computerless so instead of being home 2 hours ago, I'm still nursing goosebumps in the library. I just finished digesting a case which I was planning to do in half an hour but thanks to a schizophrenic and aging computer...everything was obliterated.

I have 10 minutes so I might as well make proper use of the 40 pesos I'll end up paying.
I have always been thankful for being blessed with the best(est) friends ever. I am sure everybody feels the same way but I'd like to believe my friends are a notch above the rest.
These past few weekends, I have been running around like a headless chicken but I am amazed that I never seem to run short of steam...I always seem to have just enough. Or maybe, even a little more than needed.
I was puttering around on Saturday, reading case after case when I decided I was going to have a 30-minute break in the mall. If I didn't stop, I knew I was going to explode at some point. Living within a stone's throw of a mall can either be a blessing or a curse.
Then Martian (my friend formerly known as Banana) called me on my cell when I was on a queue in National Bookstore. "San ka?" she asked. I was wondering why her voice seemed to echo. I told her where I was and I retorted "Bat asan ka ba?" To my surprise, she and Em were outside my door, wondering why I did not even bother to open up. If I could be in two places at once that problem would have been solved.
It was great to see them both again after a LONG time (well, except for Martian coz I see her almost every Sunday). They were a little sore because their surprise was spoiled but I could not care less. They were both shopping thanks to their paychecks (huhuhuhu for me!) and I was surprised when Em gave me plastic bag with something inside. I peered into the bag and I saw a huge bucket of popcorn! Caramel! I can consume bags of Oishi caramel popcorn but this was the REAL STUFF! I could almost smell it! :)
But besides the popcorn, I never realized how much I missed these girls and my other friends as well. I sometimes feel like I'm trapped in a drum, dropped in the middle of the Marianas trench with oxygen supply and made to emerge 50 something years later. It gets a little lonely and a little depressing but at some point, someone drops by to refuel the oxygen tank and give me a hug.
Thanks Martian and Em! Wag ako sanayin!

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Ooohh it's 6 pm! Gotta go! But before that...last hirit!

Two years ago, my niece Cherlyze lost her twin brother. But last Saturday, all of us realized she was meant to be a big sister...to Cienna (born September 11th).

Withdrawal Pangs

It has been two weeks since I have been separated from my computer. For lack of a better analogy, I feel like a baby wailing for nappies (the Pampers commercial was the last thing I saw on TV before I went out to go to school) or a genie without a lamp (that was the last analogy presented in Consti class yesterday).
It all started with the keyboard. Brackets started appearing out of nowhere whenever I was typing. My first reaction was to get all freaked out because the entire thing struck me as a real/live version of that scene towards the end of "Ghost" where the computer screen was filled with "samsamsamsamsamsamsamsamsam." I then found msyelf wishing I'd have a ghost stalker half as good looking as Patrick Swayze. Then when I finally got a hold of my brain and realized it was going to entail hauling the computer to the shop, I got more freaked out just thinking how much that was going to cost my pocket.
I was told I'd have my computer back in about 30-45 days. I do not know how I can survive without it...well I can, actually...but just thinking about not seeing Mario on SNES is starting to make me cry.

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Speaking of crying, I had my first midterms in Persons last week. It was one of those times (which occur more and more often these days) when I really felt stupid...like stuff-which-you-scrape-off-your-shoe stupid. For the first twenty minutes, I did nothing but stare at the first question. I panicked even more when everyone else seemed to be writing the beginnings of a novel already.
Then I did a mini-drama inside my sister's dorm room on Sunday because I realized I made a HUGE mistake. Don't wanna talk about it...I don't even want to see the page of the Civil Code which has that provision lest I get up and torch the entire thing.

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Anna's back from Macau. It actually feels like I have not seen or heard from her in a long, long time. I was on my "sabbatical" for a couple of months and when I came back, she left for Macau. Actually, she left the week I arrived, I think. She could not email as often as she wanted (I would like to believe she wanted to email us as often as she could) because of her overly strict PM and texting was expensive. I'm just happy she's back even if it's for a little while.
Then less than a week after she arrived, I get a text that Shyne's going to Dubai. "DUBAI????" That was my silent scream while I sat on my window seat on a bus bound for home. Why so far? And why is everybody going away?
Blame it on school for my being soooo melodramatic/sentimental lately. I feel so detached from the world I feel like a Langdell specimen at the works...and to think I have not been spending THAT much time in the library. It's as if everytime I step into school, a thousand normal years rush by and the moment I step out, too much has happened for my poor heart to take.
Last week, the Snoo people were sending each other emails. We had not done that in a long, long time. I learned a friend of mine broke up with someone (whereas another friend of mine is being...er..."pursued" by someone else). Still another friend is organizing an anime quiz bee while the rest are either chained to their desks at work, stuck somewhere out-of-town or struggling with an anti-cellphone curse.
It just made me realize how I could still take some of the people closest to me for granted...like my friends and my family...like Shyne, for instance (I'm sure she'd looooove seeing her name here...like, more than once)...or Sarah, for that matter. I guess I had always believed they'd just "be around," like we could get together at anytime...to the point that anytime gets postponed numerous times everybody loses count.
Then I started missing everybody again, including my two dogs!

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And now...because I am in my "sad mood," I am going to drop by Jollibee on my way home for some comfort food.
And oh! A reason to rejoice: IT'S THURSDAY TOMORROW!

Love

Two years into this blog, I have written about a lot of things - from my dogs to my nieces, American Idol and Korean serials, videoke concerts to beaded slippers. I sometimes wonder what has taken me so long to write about this when I usually try not go MTRCB on myself.

For more than two decades, I have been falling deeper and deeper in love with someone.

And most of the credit to how that relationship has grown through years should not, and would not, be attributed to me. As a matter of fact, I am the worthy recipient of the usual snide remarks "He's too good for you." I admit I will never be good enough for him but because I love Him too much, I cannot and will not stop trying.

I am not perfect and I never will be, not while I am here. I am a work in progress, a manuscript with lots of blank pages, a piece of pottery with more than half of it all lop-sided and sloshy, a song in dire need of arrangement. But He does not seem to care - to borrow Julia Stiles' lines from 10 Things I Hate About You - "not even a little bit, not even at all." He is very patient with me, carefully smoothening my rough edges even though the entire exercise involves Him getting hurt and disappointed with me time and again. I can feel His pain everytime I fall. His disappointment is unmistakeable and apparent, I immediately hate myself everytime. How could I deeply hurt someone who loves me so much that the world could never be enough to fill? Callous. Selfish. Insensitive. That's what I am. Yet He believes that I can be better and He never stops giving me new beginnings and new mornings, when I can stand up, dust myself off and walk with Him, hand in hand, towards the sunrise.

His everyday gift for me is visual poetry - clouds with a silver lining, an irrepressible smile from a child, a sparrow fluttering about while ruffling its feathers, leaves of green swaying with the wind, slender fingers of lightning. On more special occasions, there's a cloud with a silver lining, a fiery sunset, bridges all aglow with lights, tulips of pink and blue, myriads of stars that the night sky almost looks silver. This is all for me, He says, and so much more. Once, He asked me if I knew how much He loved me. He said He loves me like the ocean. No matter how far you look, there seems to be no end, even past the point where the sky kisses the water. Just like the way water rolls over the ocean floor, He sees past my depths, which conceal sights of both beauty and darkness, and covers it all completely. Perfectly.

He is not just my happiness. As a matter of fact, He IS happiness. He is joy. This joy is not of this world, not like fleeting laughter or smothered giggles. It is happiness that goes deep down within me that even my soul sings in mute tones only audible to His ears. The happiness He gives me overflows, like water gushing from spring, gurgling and struggling to be free.

I find it a shame, though, that amidst my inner glow, the girl who sits across me in the jeep looks downcast...or the lady who bags my groceries seems forlorn...not to mention the teener selling sampaguitas near the bus stop whose eyes mirror uncertainty. And it's not just them. The old woman with sad eyes, the guy at the computer store who seems mad at everything he sees and the smart-suited woman who carries a Starbucks cup on one hand and the whole world on her shoulders. It does not feel right at all.

But it should feel right, I tell myself. If I overflow with happiness, someone would naturally be affected by it somehow, much like the way the common cold slips from one person to another with ease. It's somewhat like water flowing past the brim of a cup, rendering the surface it stands on void of dryness.

How could I, participant to the greatest love story the world has ever known, venture only as far as to see that there are others are in need of that love too? A love that will cover their imperfections and give hope. A love that spans time, gender or natioality. A love that can fill any void too deep or too dark. A love that is both true and truth. A love that is already given and simply waits to be accepted.

A love that is patient, love that is kind, a love that does not envy nor boast, a love that keeps no record of wrongs, a love that always trusts...always perseveres...

A Whole New World

Two weeks into school, I have been running out of sleep and my study hours have gone into overdrive.
Ever since school began, I decided to keep track of the number of hours I study...literally. I tally the number of hours in a notebook and by the looks of it, I seem to spend more hours studying than sleeping.
Hmmm...which reminds me, I should call Sue and ask her how, according to her personal claims, she has become perhaps the first and only medical student in history who gets adequate sleep each day.
To sum up the entire experience so far, I could not find a better and more appropriate expression than "carino brutal."
Either that is the only term I could think of right now or I do not know enough Latim maxims yet. With the ones I do know, I harbor some uncertainty when it comes to spelling.
About seven years ago, when I was still nursing this childhood ambition (no matter if it had been eroded to an iota all through out high school) to go into medicine, I bought a copy of Eric Segal's Doctors, a book which chronicled the brutality every aspiring medical doctor had to undergo in all the years of study in order to earn the right to be called one.
During orientation, we were cautioned by professors and seniors alike that law school was going to be tough, perhaps one of the greatest ordeals we would ever have to face. The first two weeks would more or less be the yardstick as to how life in the law school would be: how everything goes into fast-forward, how sleeping hours have to be trimmed to almost nil and how less time should be spent for hygiene (not that I look like trash or anything now).
We were warned that this was not the place for people seeking wholeness. Confidence was to be eroded, self-worth was to be questioned. If in the course of your existence you have yet to encounter your breaking point, in this place you will realize it will just be around the corner...or in the next minute.
The work is backbreaking, not excluding the fact that the readings to be lugged up and down the stairs are mounted sky-high. On the jeep on the way home one afternoon, I was trying to figure out how I could manage to finish readings two-inches thick for a class the next morning. I never did, actually.
My tall ceramic cup has become my best friend and he (a gender I chose to bestow upon the thing) has become responsible for clogging my arteries with coffee. My favorite companions now are my barrrage of highlighters and two notebooks for making my digests for cases from four of my six classes. I spend too much time with my highlighters I think I should baptize them with appropriate names, just like I did with my first computer Christina. Come to think of it, I miss my computer, now that our dates have been confined to as often as twice a week whereas before, I almost never turned it off.
The cases are an interesting yet difficult read. For one thing, I am training myself to be more sensitive to the nitty gritty detail lest I get asked about that for recitation and I can only muster silence...although, for instance, knowing the middle name of the petitioner is not always a requirement. Comprehension is also difficult, given the fact that lawyers have always been (in)famous for infusing too much legalese in whatever they write...not to mention that some justices specialize in writing paragraph-long kilometric sentences.
Recitation time is always a memorable (daily) experience. You could almost hear the hearts hammering in the rib cages and sweat dripping from perspiring hands.
But of course, worrying does not help at all, so I always leave the house thinking I have done all I can and being nervous does not help at all by making you stammer and adding more wrinkles on your face. Of course that is easier said than done, although my classmate Mini seems to have mastered that trick very well.
As with any other ordeal, humor always tries to muffle the squeaks...much like a buffer, if I could still invoke a term used often during my undergrad days. There's the laughter in the library, as we wait for photocopies along with the usual jokes about how law school could either turn you into Twiggy or make you balloon like Harry Potter's aunt Petunia. For instance, the moment the professor's footsteps resound in the hallways, significant amount of calories are lost already. The number of calories lost upon the professor's entrance, the shuffling of recitation cards and of course, the moment a name is called...that I leave to your mathematical genius.
One professor told us we live in a parallel world, a world where reality is redefined in new terms...a world, he said, much like Harry Potter where a stick becomes a wand, a broom becomes a form of transportation and a loo...well, pretty much remains the same although I think it sometimes becomes a wailing wall of sorts. That world though is still pretty much obscure and still remains generally invisible before my eyes. To make it visible entails sleepless nights, rustling pages, racing pulse rates and several stabs to the heart.
Here's to hoping the feeling doesn't change.

A Letter to a Long-Lost Friend

Dear Anne,

Fear.

This has been the pervading emotion since the start of school last Tuesday. It has gripped, not only me, but the entire class also with the ferocity of a boa constrictor. A significant amount of time has passed since I had been a freshman and about a year or two since I wrestled with calming my frazzled nerves and keeping my spirits buoyant.

It is an interesting experience, nonetheless. An almost opposite emotion somewhat, though unsuccessfully, offsets the near-paralysis from fear.

Awe.

It has been far longer since I last found my jaw dropping invountarily, stricken almost lifeless with utter amazement. Fear is experienced by my now overworked heart on an almost, if not, continual basis but awe is something else. It's almost like a left straight which seems to come from nowhere and hits you squarely between the eyes. All of a sudden you're down on the ground, flat on your back but delirious from the knock-out which sends floating yellow stars doing the Cha-cha just inches from your eyelids.

Walking along and around these halls gives me that feeling. At some point in time, great men planted their feet on the very floor I was standing on. Even now, men of great brilliance walk past me. The feeling of unworthiness engulfs me all of a sudden - a sense of disgrace that I had dared trespass on the halls of the great. For someone like me who entertains no illusions of grandeur and is more than content with the mere thought of making it through intact after a week of backbreaking, nervewracking, heartstopping work, the feeling is overwhelming and disarming yet encouraging and hopeful at one end.

An upper classman said to us that the walls seem to take on a life of their own, standing as mute, cold witnesses to years of study which permeate both brutality and enlightenment. Ghostly voices reverberate in a swirl, exchanging tales of yonder and greatness amidst footsteps and the sound of pages being turned.

If I were to be granted the mercy of walking these halls everyday for the next 525,600 minutes and hopefully another 1,576,800 more, I only wish that the walls would speak kindly of me.

Blogger's note: As a girl of 10, I used to secretly pretend I had a correspondence with a friend named Anne and I wrote letters to her on an almost monthly basis until I was 19.

Anne is actually Anne Frank.

Nostalgic

Two weeks ago, I forgot I was turning 23. One day, my mom called up, saying she was sending a gift for me through my dad. "Really?" I remarked with surprise. Surprise not because she was sending me a gift but because my birthday had slipped from my mind. Oh yeah, it was THAT time of the year!
I was so swamped with schoolwork I had forgotten my own day in the calendar! When the clock ticked to 12 midnight, it was no surprise that I was in the middle of my readings. The first text I got was from Maricor and my parents called a little while later. At around 1 am, my sister texted me, greeting me a happy birthday. "Sorry we could not celebrate it better," she said, she being in the middle of a sea papers just like me.
I wasn't sorry.
Last year, I spent my birthday locked in a videoke kiosk, wailing like a madwoman with my friends.
This year, I was locked in my room in the company of my books, with the wailing of someone down the street breaking the silence once in a while who, I bet, was doing videoke.
Who gets to spend their two birthdays back-to-back with such outstanding contrasts?
Oh, my gifts were outstanding too...aside from a little present I bought myself: Sylvia Plath's Ariel, which I had been eyeing for quite sometime now.
For starters, I was called for recitation in my first period class. I was only allotted fifty percent of the entire class time for recitation...and the class lasts for two hours. So for one hour, I tried to answer question after question and took notes while standing up...and my calves did not complain at that. The moment that class ended, my classmates all echoed "Happy birthday?" I laughed and made a mental note to myself to become more acquainted with the justices of the Supreme Court...even the dead ones. Especially the dead ones.
Later that night, hours after my phone had been rendered silent, it suddenly came to life with a phone call. Aidagere was on the line. "Happy birthday, Manang," she said. "Mama said she couldn't contact you earlier." I told her it was okay and we talked about the Backstreet Boys. That was inevitable. Oh adolescence is starting to kick in.
Then moments later, I could hear Pau pulling the phone away. "Epi bertdey, Mnang," she mumbled. Such a cute kid. "What gift do you have for me?" I asked her. A long pause followed after which she said "You're too old to ask for toys."
Bea came last and she sang "Happy Birthday" for me over the phone.
I ask her, hoping for another interesting answer this time: "Do you have a gift for me, Bea?"
I could hear her take a deep breath.
"I love you, Manang."

****************

I texted Em today. "Fab Five's coming!" Em replied, "I know!"
What followed then was a lengthy plan for a dinner date on Thursday in Greenbelt and I had to text the others who wanted to come.
I started imagining how Thursday would be like. From school, I'd hop on the bus headed for home, change into a nice, clean shirt (I don't want Carson to do an impromptu makeover on me!) and then head for Greenbelt. Then everything else morphs into divine visions of Jai and Kian with matching smoke machine effects and musicbox tinkers.
A black hole all of a sudden sucks everything into nothingness.
I have to be somewhere important on Thursday night.
*Sigh*

****************

I was talking to my mom today and in the background, I could hear my dog Balrog barking.
All of a sudden, I missed being home.
I miss lying on the hammock and reading.
I miss staring at my Terry Brooks books lined on a shelf and saying "Wow!"
I miss my bed and super extra fluffy pillow.
Also my stuffed Simba.
I miss hearing the male neighbor sing Britney Spears songs in Britney Spears' voice.
I miss hearing Mrs. Chu's play the piano.
I miss seeing Balrog dig a hole to China in my mom's manicured garden.
And Nicky waddle like a duck whenever she sees me approaching.
I miss Kong Kee siopao.
I miss seeing people point at Kong Kee siopao and say it's cat meat.
I miss Christina and watermelon.
I miss hardhats and forklifts.
And office love affairs.
I miss the mud and the sea.
I miss bananas, crabs, charcoal.
I miss breakfast under a tree.
And watching the wind blow your food away.
I miss the stars.

Over Burgers and Iced Tea

For the entire duration of college, we frequented this burger joint right across our university during lunchtime. If we got off class late and the people flocking by the burger counter resembled a mini-mob, we would eat somewhere else but still head back there during the afternoon break to grab some potato wedges or twister fries. If the chairs we sat on for hours could speak and went on a talk show like Jerry Springer's, our cheeks would be a deeper shade of pink than a monkey's bottom.
I have not seen my friends in months so now that I am back just for a couple of days, Em arranged for four of us to meet again. So late in the afternoon today, after running some errands and major cargo handling, I did a quick change of my soiled T-shirt and boarded a jam-packed train headed for Makati...but not after I realized I forgot my wallet.
As I was nearing my drop-off point, I got a text from Em, telling me where I was going to meet them.
Here we were, a bunch of 20-somethings yet still meeting in the same burger joint...in a different branch though. It even becomes more interesting to note that the girl manning the order pick-up counter was the same person from the university branch. "You're still together," referring to my friends as I picked up my order, "but you've all graduated already." I smiled back at her, as if she were a just-swirled snowglobe with the white flakes starting to settle so that the figure inside was now perceptible.
So over huge burgers and bottomless iced tea, we chit-chatted and giggled about the remake of Bituing Walang Ningning, American Idol and why Taylor Hicks should win, the lack of Pinoy guys who sport anime haircuts, Marc Nelson's abs and our long-time crushes Dennis Trillo and Ryan Agoncillo.
Gosh, in a no-mushy way, I miss these girls.

Little Bit of This and That

It's summer so I need to take a break from issues that tend to rip my heart, still beating from my ribcage. The heat is too much to bear but the President's mole is death itself once you stare at it too long. I shall dwell on "lighter" issues.

********************

It's been two week since I decided to drastically alter my 8-month old haircut. It had gone a long way from lip length to armpit length. It had grown huge in an angry, bloated octopus meets Dolly Parton sort of way...just like I had warned that person who cut my hair all in one length a few weeks before I left for Seoul last year. The summer heat was too searing for words so mom decided to get a trim while I got partly possessed by Natalie Portman's character in V for Vendetta. I had about six inches of my hair cut off and as I saw the clumps of hair drift lazily to the floor of the salon, I was almost overcome with unexplained deliriousness.

My mother almost collapsed when she saw me. My niece could not look at me straight in the face without laughing while my sister declared she had a new brother. I, on the other hand, was filled with extreme happiness over a new haircut and a lighter head.

That is, until my 6-year old cousin Lance burst my "I-have-the-best-haircut" bubble by wagging his finger at my face during a family lunch and saying "You look like Gloria Macapagal Arroyo." I wanted to reach for the knife and do hara-kiri.

********************

There are two things which get me a natural summer high...well, aside from hearing "Summer Day" from Barbie Almalbis on the radio. First of all, I take extra pains to keep my hair healthy. The summer heat is doing its damage but I have no fear because of the pink variant from Cream Silk. I don't know about you guys but this has got to be the best conditioner out there. It's cheaper than the competition and works a lot better...and it smells great too!

The other thing I cannot seem to get my hands off would be beaded tsinelas (slippers). I first saw them in Boracay being sold for as much as P300 and I was thinking to myself "Crazy!" A few months later, I go to the mall and I find even better versions of the beaded tsinelas in different colors. I bought two pairs (in different occasions, of course) which I use to saunter around the city nowadays. They are just simply cute and comfortable.

********************

I don't know what's with "T's" this month but I've sure got a lot of it going on...in names of newest crushes, that is. The first "T" must've been long foreseen but, hey, it took me a long, long time getting over Kevin Covais exit from American Idol, I found myself staring out into nowhere, fervently wishing he'd come crashing into the stage after the supposed last contestant has exited. Sadly, no Chicken Little in sight, but I am going nuts over Taylor Hicks A.K.A. the guy who shares Gandalf's silver hair... only shorter and minus the rebond.

He is inferior vocally when compared to Elliot Yamin's flexible pipes but as David Foster pointed out tonight, Taylor has charisma. He has the total performer package and I love the raspy sound to his voice. Some part of him sounds like Bo Bice minus the wink (sighs) with the added head cocking and the raspiness of artists like Rod Stewart. Tonight, he sang James Ingram's "Just Once" and I watched his performance three times (twice in StarWorld and once in ABC5) and each time I was left with this glassy look. My mother could not take watching his performance lying down. She had to sit up and applaud him. Now as I type this, I'm listening to the James Ingram version and downloading the Taylor Hicks live performance. Yes, I believe there is nothing left of me to save now.
If Sue were sitting in front of me today, I would have gotten smacked. It's hard when you've known a person since the time you both wore plastic eyeglass frames (hers was pink, mine yellow) since she almost always guesses what's going roundabout in your head. Like a few months ago when I began saying "I liked the new King Kong movie..." and she immediately screamed "Adrien Brody!" So much for surprise...which brings me to my other "T." This afternoon, I texted her that I was about to add Topher Grace to my list of favorite actors/guys-I-can-never-have-even-if-I-walk-on-my-knees-from-the-church-entrance-to-the-altar-ten-times. She immediately texted back "You watched Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!" even if she was in the middle of work training. She eventually got reprimanded for texting me but anyhow, she almost smacked because I told her I never did get to watch That 70s Show and I totally regret it now. But that gives me more reason to watch out for Spiderman 3 (yay!) while waiting for reruns of That 70s Show. Tad Hamilton was not exactly revolutionary in the romantic-comedy genre but I love Topher's character Pete. I have always greatly preferred wit over rock-hard abs! As he claims, he could win wrestling matches and swordfights using his rhetoric alone!

********************

In other AI news, for the first time this season, I no longer get severe convulsions and fits of anger when watching AI...thanks to Ace Young getting the kick. Now I expect to get threats of mutilation from heartbroken girls.

********************

Okay, I am not all cynical and emotionally detached as most people would like to think. As a matter of fact, I am a (closet) romantic although I wish flowers and teddy bears should be permanently deleted from the list of best gifts to to give women. One time, my sister and I were talking about what gift a girl would consider to be most romantic. I wanted to answer "An opportunity to swim with dolphins!" but I knew that would be a little over the top so I mentioned the next best gift in my opinion - "A book." She stared at me as if I had just become an undiscovered organism which reveals itself during routine root canal procedures.

But anyway, there are three songs I cannot help but listen to over and over again without getting sick. One would be Josh Groban's "When You Say You Love Me." The ending always gets to me: "When you say you love me, do you know how I love you?" The lyrics are nothing new but the way Josh Groban sings it is just refreshing it feels as if some minty breeze has enveloped me.

Another is the Japanese version of Wang Lee Hom's "If You Heard My Song." I don't understand a single word Lee Hom sings in that song but he gives the words natural life when he does it...not to mention the guy's got one of the best, most soothing voices in the world. The Japanese version is a lot more laid back and relazxed compared to the Mandarin version and it seems to overflow with sincerity and sadness. Bad thing though is after I listen to it, I usually feel like reaching for the box of tissues beside me.

The last song would be Dishwalla's "Every Little Thing." When it comes to love songs, I find that rock/alternative bands always come up with the best stuff overall. Pop love songs almost always come across as too sugary for me that I sometimes feel like choking. I like the entire approach to "Every Little Thing," with the somewhat subdued musical accompaniment and the rather breathy way JR Richards sings it.

"Every Little Thing"

Let me in
to see you in the morning light
to get me on and all along the tears they come
See all come
I want you to believe in life
But I get the strangest feeling that you've gone away
Will you find out who you are too late to change?

I wish I could be
every little thing you wanted
all the time.
I wish I could be
every little thing you wanted
all the time,
Sometimes.

Lift me up
Just lift me up don't make a sound
And let me hold you up before you hit the ground
See all come
You say you're all right
But I get the strangest feeling
That you've gone away- you've gone away
And will you find out who you are too late to change?

I wish I could be
Every little thing you wanted
All the time
I wish I could be
Every little thing you wanted
All the time,
Sometimes.

Don't give me up
Don't give me up tonight
Or soon nothing will be right at all
Salvation
Will you find out who you are too late to change?

I wish I could be
Every little thing you wanted.

Girl on the Beach

Gosh so this is what it feels like to get published. It's an interesting mix of "What was I thinking" with ''Ohmigoodness" and some "I don't remember writing that" topped off with an indecipherable series of gurgles and almost-somersaults.
So this is what Jo March must feel. I find myself smiling, thinking some part of me is becoming her.
Youngblood : Girl on the beach
Editor's Note: Published on page A11 of the March 14, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer
STANDING at the water's edge, with the afternoon sun beating down her back, she quietly snapped pictures of the shoreline. She had grown up swimming on a beach like this, just a few kilometers north of where she was standing now, where the sand was almost as dark as her hair and the water murky like rain clouds. Yet these never once mattered to her as a child. The water was always enticing, despite its gloomy appearance.
She thought of several Sundays spent on this particular beach with her family, when she was still a child of five or younger. She dug deeper into her thoughts and found it incomprehensible that she could no longer remember the last time she had been here, the last thing she had done here, the people she was with and why they just stopped coming here all of a sudden.
There were smooth stones at the water's edge, the waves lapping at them every time the water came sliding into shore, easing itself into the sand like transparent silk. There were leaves and twigs and a bit of litter. Some remained half buried in the sand, while others drifted with the waves. They'll wake up in a different place tomorrow, she thought, and then let the thought go with a tinge of jealousy.
She looked at her watch. About half an hour more and she would be going down the road again, forced to listen to overplayed rock songs on the radio on the drive home, much like the way her departure was imposed, too. Laughter echoed behind her, but it sounded almost like a mockery of what happiness was. For the world, it was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a balloon reduced to mere rubber when not allowed to fly, a beautiful sunset that disappeared before one could even find the perfect word to describe it. For the world, time and happiness were in a constant chase, one trying to outrun the other but neither really emerging the victor. How she longed for that day when happiness would lose its deadline, when it finally became what it was meant to be: timelessness incarnate.
"For the time being then, am I lonely?" she mused. Her head answered with a silent yet definite no. It was not because she was afraid to admit it but because it was the truth. But then she had always thought there was something romantic about the notion of loneliness, of solitude, even of death and dying. It was not about being manic-depressive or anything that should raise the psychological alarm. Maybe being lonely defined in a different sense: the world, as the years go by, sinking lower and lower in the mire created by itself, slipping farther and farther away from the ideal. She herself was no exception, she admitted, she was nothing short of a disappointment. Everybody was, but she did not think of that as a defense. That was just the way things were, things are and things will be. It's like being in the water with the waves pounding on you and you simply ride along to survive. You ride on and on until you reach your West.
She heaved a sigh of a thousand meanings. The sun was still shining on her face, her cheeks soaking in the warmth she had always savored. It was time to put her hermit-like nature in check. After all, she did not want to look back again and not remember anything about this place, except that the sand was dark, the water murky and that her face shone brown-orange in the sun.
"My life is a battle," she concluded, "but my daily existence is a blessing." Then she turned around and trudged back towards the end of another day and the beginning of a new morning tomorrow.

Matryoshka

There is always a voice behind every song, a face behind every mask, a story behind every story.
This entry is one of those.
One of the persons I texted today when I saw that my article had been published was Sue...which is relatively no surprise since she is one of my best(est) friends. Buddy talk aside, I had to text her because she actually inspired me...by giving me a rare chance to see myself.
On that week after Christmas and before New Year, we met up with high school friends in a beach up north about an hour away from the city. We waited until the sun was not too hot and then decided to go for a walk. She has been into photography for a long time and her sister Khan claims her photographs can merit a good space in Biology books. Her hobby had rubbed off on me a bit so while everybody else was busy burying a friend of ours in the sand, in a bid to help him reach Brazil, I had drifted off to the shoreline, trying to get some good shots.
About a month later, we exchanged pictures and I found this among her stash.

She had captured a part of me which was bitter yet hopeful, sad yet happy and a little confused between the words ''foolish" and "brave." For that, I thank her.

It was only yesterday that I was telling my mother about this set of dolls from Russia. Each doll in the set is actually a container which holds a smaller version of itself so that opening one big doll reveals a smaller doll inside which, in turn, hides another smaller version of it inside. These dolls are known as matryoshka.

Someone's Happy

It's been over a week already yet whenever THE thought of it plops into my head, I cannot help but smile wherever I may be, not caring who the heck I am with (not even if they start thinking I'm a severe mental case). Of course, it did not help that less than 24 hours after I had learned of the great news, I was downed by what my dad calls GI flu, squirming beneath three layers of blankets while nursing a 38 plus degree fever. Now THAT lends authenticity to the phrase "feverish with excitement."
I get to go back online after what seems like eternity (that would be a week), late but still bubbling with excitement that I feel like dousing myself with champagne to get the real feel of it. The feeling is still there and my hands are itching to write about it, to capture a small fragment of my memory and see what that would seem like perhaps ten to twenty years from now.
I made it to the law school of my preference.
I had been frantic about the results as early as a mont after I hurdled the exams. I was haunted by one too many dreams of standing before a long list of names and seeing mine was nowhere to be found on that paper. Two weeks before the results were released, I was already pestering the lady in the law school office as I inquired about the results without even attempting to disguise my voice.
I called on a Wednesday morning of that week and I was told to call again on Friday or Saturday which I did but with negative results. I took a shower before leaving the house and I was feeling knots all over my stomach as I began to indulge in thoughts of not making it to the roster of freshmen. I was successfully distracted the rest of the day as I kept my grandfather company in the hospital...just up until I was through with dinner and I was downing my last slice of watermelon. I checked the website and I seriously felt blood drain from my head to my feet in a matter of seconds when I saw that the list was online. I was not particularly interested with prolonging the agony so I dove headfirst (no matter how drained of blood it was) and skimmed through the list. I practically gave my parents the fright of their lives as I tumbled across the hallway and fumbled with their doorknob for an agonizing couple more seconds. I eventually crumpled into a sobbing heap between my parents, a sight which my mother proclaims is my best dramatic moment ever and reserves it for future sessions of embarrassment.
I texted all my friends, both to tell them the good news and to thank them for their support...which turned out to be a BAD idea because I later ran out of load that night. In return, I received a lot of proposals for illegal businesses from my overly imaginative buds. Sue even broke free of her 2-hour enslavement courtesy of American Idol to yak it out with me on the phone. I was calling everybody, from my sleeping grandfather to Tita Vilma in Manila. That night, my volume control button had to be soldered back into place.
True, I gave my telco provider a heck lot of revenues that night but if there is one network I had shortcircuited, it would have to be the lines to Heaven. My "thank yous" jammed the celestial airwaves. All the roads I took, I always prayed for and it still amazes me what calling God can do. As a matter of fact, the entire experience falls nowhere short of being purely jaw-dropping. It's never disappointing and is always revealed to be perfect at its own designated time, as Doi told me. Not only that, I had friends and family praying for me, overheating communication lines to Heaven to alarming levels. My sister was particularly very happy for me, despite being buried alive in her own books which she constantly blames on my "sabbatical." For some reason, I believe she prayed harder for me than I did for myself. Thanks, Kol.
What I found funny (or foreboding?) about the entire experience was when I was turning on the computer to go online. I had Bo Bice's CD on the player while I was going about doing that. It took me a little while after I had regained some pieces of my sanity to realize that the song playing was nothing short of appropriate, as if the player had a mind of its own. The song was "It's My Life."
Everything keeps moving fast
What I want is what I have
Right now, I'm closer than I thought I could be
It's my life, my time to find the answers
Don't always know what kind of road is in front of me
But I'll go slow wanna remember every moment
That passes by the goodness ride has ever been
It's my life.
I have never felt more excited and more scared in my entire life. Come to think of it, our lives are not like badly-done movies. Every new experience always seems to overshadow the ones before it...both positively and negatively. But one thing is pretty clear though and I will always strive to remember, especially when I make my way into those whitewashed halls, to tack this to the most conspicuous part of my brain: It may be my life but I can never - and will never - manage to get anywhere on my own.S

Family

This entry is long overdue but I always found a lot of reasons hinderimg me from writing it...such as an interesting book to read, three nieces to hang out with, Carrie Underwood and Bo Bice's new albums to lip-synch to...and did I mention a new puppy to play "Catch Mom's Fake Plastic Orange" with?

Then my grandfather got sick two weeks ago, was discharged a week later and was later wheeled back in the week after. There I found time to write about this...rather than watch "New York Minute" being replayed five times. Then I myself got sick...and had to rest for a couple of days...but decided I had to finish this even if my mom thinks this entry is...like leftover food. But, my Mamang always told me to finish the stories I write, no matter how long it took, and she was always patiently waiting to read the finished product. I'm sure she'll be reading this. She always loved reading stories.

For the past couple of months, I had been looking forward to January of this year. It has been a couple of years since I last saw my relatives from the US and Canada. I have a rather large family, especially when viewed from Western standards and very tightly knit at that. But then, what Filipino family isn't?

My cousin Denise dropped by in the middle of January. My lack of an older sibling has always had me considering all older cousins as big brother/big sister types. Among all of my cousins in the paternal side, I think she has visited us the most, about four times ever since I could remember. She stays for a week at the least and has met all of the dogs we've had (and we've had a lot).

Denise had a pretty jampacked schedule this time so she was unable to stay no more than three days, which she herself found a little weird. No matter, I resolved we were going to have a great time no matter how short.

Denise and I went to Boracay to do the entire cousin bonding exercise. Besides she was in need of much R&R, given the frenzy of Manila. The sun was obscured by the clouds on our first day but eventually decided to take centerstage on our second day. Denise was hellbent on getting a tan since she noticed her feet were as white as the Boracay sand. I was not too eager on the entire sunbathing thing since my skin is overly congested with melanin so I found a nice place for my overheated derrier under a coconut tree. Denise also had her massage by the beach and a glass of cool mango shake. Swimming was a given. The cool water was so inviting given the intense heat I could almost swear I could see steam rise from my skin as we sank deeper into the water. She also bought a lot of stuff in D Mall like swimsuits and seashell necklaces.

We had an acoustic night by the beach where we got to hear songs from the Eagles and the Bee Gees thanks to cool renditions from a Gollum look-alike who sported uber long hair up to his waist. On our second night, we wanted to go to the underground disco near Regency but Denise got too attached to her pillow, she never got out till morning.

The thing about cousins growing up apart is that you never really realize how much you have changed until you see each other again. When we were younger, I remember my sister and I used to teach Denise how to eat balut, a delicacy which she believes should be eaten in the dark confines of the bathroom. She introduced me to Austin Powers and for a time, we both swooned over the Backstreet Boys, along with her sister Raina. I remember numerous trips to the beach with her and her sisters, the last time being a good six to eight years ago. She had burnt herself to a crisp toast, "as red as a tomato," if I remember my sister's words correctly, because she refused to slathe sunblock on herself. I cannot really remember what we talked about while hanging out by the beach except that my sister and I were at fault for a sleepless night she had to endure thanks to our animated tales on the diverse taxonomy of Philippine creatures of the dark.

Our conversation this time has certainly taken a turn for the mature. We discussed our careers (in my case, career options) and our priorities in our lives. We talked about family, our friends, her take on relationships and mine, our regrets and things we look forward to. There was less talk on mythological beings with a head of a horse and a body of man but we did settle for the mundane...like deciding if a guy on the beach was gay or if the scuba diving instructor who just passed us was cute.

On Denise's last night before heading back to Manila, we went on another night out to listen to alternative music in a local bar. She found the guitarist cute and I shame myself since I still have been unsuccessful in my attempts to get his name. She found their rendition of Alamid's "Your Love" to be pretty good although she was disappointed because they did not do a Filipino song she had been singing for the past few weeks: "Pare Ko" from the Eraserheads. My guitar was on sick leave then, one string dangerously on the verge of snapping. Maybe we can sing our own version when she comes back this December for her sarong...and another Boracay trip.

Just two weeks after Denise, more relatives arrived. Dad's older sisters Tita Val and Tita Nadi along with my grandmother's sister Auntie Lina and my dad's cousin Tita Agnes, who came with her husband, Tito Steve. It was Tito Steve's first visit to the Philippines. Denise and I were talking about it in Boracay and I was planning on calling him "Tyong" but I changed my mind at the last minute. I didn't want to scare him or anything. I should have realized Tito Steve was not THAT easy to scare. Actually, he was what my sister and I would call an "ideal visitor." He was willing to try almost anything, from climbing coconut trees (with sandals on, I might add) to all the gastronomic delights and horrors the Philippines had to offer. I tried telling him spooky Philippine ghost stories to render him insomniac just like what we did with Denise but I could tell he found the entire idea of a vampire with an unusually long tongue flying in the middle of the night with just half a body completely un-scary...actually more of silly. Now THAT was just kewl.

My aunts (who I shall refer to in the succeeding paragraphs as Katitahan, Inc.) were still so much fun to be with, given the fact that they have the most diverse personalities ever. Tita Agnes was still the uber fashionista while Auntie Lina was the shopping guru who always managed to get the best buy in terms of prices. I'm trying to refine my haggling skills thanks to her tutelage. Tita Nadi reminded me most of my Mamang for a lot of reasons - the way she talked, the way her hair was curly, the way she appreciated things in a very quiet manner. Tita Val was still as bubbly and effervescent as ever (not only because of her hair), despite her worsening allergies.

To relate everything chronologically would be almost be like the epic of Gilgamesh in proportion so I won't go into that. Instead I constructed my own glossary to remember the highlights better. The vocabulary is very much open to additions..which should be sometime in January 2007?

*ADING
Conventional definition - A Pangasinan term for calling a younger brother or sister.

Alternative definition - Dad and Tita Nadi to Tita Val.

*ANNEX
Conventional definition - An extension of a building or a structure

Alternative sefinition - Annex is the videoke bar where we all trooped for a night of music before Katitahan, Inc. and Tito Steve left for Manila. Dad opened with his rendition of Elton John's "Skyline Pigeon." A little while later, everybody was singing to songs from The Platters, BeeGees, Abba and the Beatles while I tried to prevent myself from time travelling by selecting songs from Kitchie Nadal and Christian Bautista. Why! Even Tita Vilma was surprised that Tita Nadi stood up and sang!!!

*ATIS
Conventional definition - A roundish, green fruit with a rather mottled skin characterized by uniform bumps all over it.

Alternative definition - My Lolo had this in his backyard and Tita Agnes screamed when she saw it...not because it was scary but because she had not eaten atis in the longest time. Too bad it was not ripe yet, though.

*BANANA BOAT
Conventional definition - Tube shaped ride where a speedboat does the tugging through the water

Alternative definition - The ride Tita Agnes and I failed to get on in Boracay.

*BORACAY
Conventional definition - Also known as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world because of the clear blue water and the fine white sand. Tourists from all over the country and all over the world abound and it was rumored that Kwon Sang Woo had been there last year for a photoshoot.

Alternative definition - But Boracay is more popularly recognized by Katitahan, Inc. as one of the best shopping places ever. Actually, my aunts spend more time shopping there than swimming! The favorite hangout was *D Mall and of course, *D Talipapa.

*BUS
Conventional definition - Medium of transport to Boracay. Holds about 80 people and plays nothing but action movies all the way to Caticlan, especially butt-kicking flicks from Steven Seagal and Van Damme.

Alernative definition - Showcased my family's volume...not volume as in content but volume as in sound. All the way to Caticlan, my dad chatted it up with Katitahan, Inc. and Tito Steve. Even the bus conductors decided they were a lot more enertaining than Steven Seagal! Please, no contest!

*CHIMES
Conventional definition - Hollow, metal tubes you can hang by your window so that when the wind blows, a tinkering sound can be heard.

Alternative definition - Tita Nadi hunted for this in *D Talipapa and brought a nice one home. It was shaped like a birdhouse and was made of brown wood.

*CHOPSTICKS
Conventional definitin - Long, thin pieces of wood which look like bamboo skewers usually used for eating meals in East Asian countries.

Alternative definition - Tita Val's preferred cutlery in Thai restaurant which renders her completely silent for the longest time...because she has been eating more than usual.

*CRABS
Conventional definition - Dark colored crustaceans with great tasting meat which turn red orange when cooked. If the meat is heavenly, don't even get me started on the crab fat. *stomach grumbles*

Alternative definition - Subject of eating contest between Auntie Lina and Tita Val. Crab shells and other discards were piled on the placemats like mini red versions of the Tower of Babel. Tita val was getting allergies as red as the cooked crabs but still she insists "It's not the crabs!"

*FIVE (DAYS AND CAMERAS)
Conventional Definition - A number which comes after four and leads to six.

Alternative Definition - Number of days Katitahan, Inc. and Tito Steve stayed with us...and oh yes, the number of cameras I had to click for every photo op.

*FOOD
Conventional Definition - The number one requirement for staying alive.

Alternative Definition - The number one reason why Katitahan, Inc. and Tito Steve gained serious poundage according to our weiging scale (which has been mercilessly accused of being faulty).

*GOLD
Conventional Definition - Yellow, shiny metal which fetches huge sums of money anywhere.

Alternative Definition - Current color of Tita Val's hair.

*HALO-HALO
Conventional Definition - Filipino dessert which consists of an odd but delicious mixture of ice, milk, sugar, ice cream, corn kernels, nata de coco and cornflakes.

Alternative Definition - Reason why Auntie Lina, Tita Val, Tita Nadi and I walked all the way to Station 3...and we passed by some really cool sand art too!

*KAMATSILE
Conventional Definition - Thin, elongated fruit characterized by about three or four bulges along its entire length. Green in color but turns red when ripe.

Alternative Definition - The other fruit which Tita Agnes has not eaten in more than two decades.

*KAMOTE
Conventional Definition - Local term for sweet potato.

Alternative Definition - Voted everybody's favorite breakfast. Katitahan, Inc.'s fascination for kamote truly amazed everybody. Auntie Lina brought the rest of the kamote on the flight home with her to give to Tita Vilma.

*"KILL HIM"
Conventional Definition - Two-word sentence which can be applicable to a variety of scenarios - from execution scenes in movies to guys who don't respect their women.

Alternative Definition - Tita Val's battle cry while watching the Manny Pacquiao-Erik Morales slugfest in Las Vegas.

*LAUGHTER
Conventional Definition - Usual reaction to a hilarious situation which can range from modest, dalang Pilipina soft giggling to jaw-wagging boisterousness akin to epilepsy.

Alternative Definition - Heard this non-stop from everybody for five whole days...and missed hearing it several days later when everybody had gone.

*LOVERS IN PARIS
Conventional Definition - Korean TV serial which scored phenomenal ratings in its home country. Eventually imported by the Philippines, turning its lead stars into everybody's favorite on-screen pair.

Alternative Definition - Tita Val boarded the plane back home without seeing how this series ended.

*MAMANG & PAPANG
Conventional Definition - My dearly missed grandparents.

Alternative Definition - Everybody's favorite topic. Dad would unceasingly relate how Tita Nadi would try to avoid getting her cute little butt spanked by Mamang which got everybody roaring...and Auntie Lina telling my Dad to leave her sister in peace in heaven. Don't worry Auntie, Mamang loved being reminded of those naughty little details when she was alive.

*MANNY PACQUIAO
Conventional Definition - Current Filipino boxing hero from General Santos City. Sports a moustache and recently figured in an alleged adultery scandal.

Alternative Definition - Partly the cause for a highly tense yet extremely boisterous Sunday in my grandparents' home. The other reason was Tita Val who completely forgot about her allergies and looked like she could take on Mexican champ Erik Morales herself, what with all her shouting and fist-waving. The excitement of the boxing bout left Tita Val hoarse...and Tita Nadi and Auntie Lina in stitches.

*MS. BORACAY ISLAND GIRL
Conventional Definition - None

Alternative Definition - Boracay beauty pageant of my invention which pitted Auntie Lina, Tita Val, Tita Nadi and Tita Agnes against each other...the winner was no one other than Auntie Lina because of her unique taste in fashion!

*"OH MY GOD"
Conventional Definition - Expression of Western origin used during moments of extreme emotion like happiness, fear or anger.

Alternative Definition - What was basically heard when great food was on the table usually from Tita Agnes or Tita Val...synonymous with kamote, milkfish, atis, kamatsile and the sea bass....and oh yeah, also for every song the bearded restaurant singer did in Boracay (see "Only You").

*"ONLY YOU"
Conventional Definition - Old song originally done by the Platters and most recently by Pinoy Big Brother alum Sam Milby who, by the way, looks simply gorgeous in person (yes, I saw him in the flesh).

Alternative Definition - Tita Val's theme song in Boracay. On our first night in Boracay, we were having dinner in this all-you-can-eat restaurant which also featured a singer doing his own rendition of old songs. Everybody loved the songs (I have to say I was enjoying the Bee Gees hits) and Tita Val was getting sentimental because she started to miss Tito Ernie and wanted to dance with him. Later on he did another slow but danceable song which got Tita Val and Auntie Lina dancing. The singer realized he had an appreciative audience so he dedicated the next song - "Only You" - to Tita Val.

*PEARLS
Conventional Definition - Round object (usually beige in color but may come in shades of light pink or black among others) which is formed when oysters get irritated

Alternative Definition - Boracay is known to be a source of cheap pearls so everybody was on the lookout for a good deal.

*PIGLET
Conventional Definition - Offspring of a pig...looks the same and smells the same but a heck lot cuter.

Alternative Definition - Tita Val's preferred toilet companion (see "Toilet").

*QUEQUERO
Conventional Definition - Flat silver or dark-colored fish with spiny things along its back. Great for lunch when grilled...and for dinner as tinola or sinigang.

Alternative Definition - Tita Agnes' favorite fish...need I say more?

*RED
Conventional Definition - Outermost color in the rainbow usually associated with war, love and lobster.

Alternative Definition - Would refer to Tito Steve's face after a couple of weeks stay in the Philippines...and yes, the color of Tita Nadi's blouse in Boracay which always got my lola whispering to me: "Your Tita is soooo fair!"

*SARONG
Conventional Definition - Multi-colored, tie-dyed wrap with fringes in both ends which can come either long or short.

Alternative Definition - Auntie Lina's weapon of choice in the Ms. Island Girl Beauty Pageant which she tied around her waist...which made her win the pageant (according to the inventor...me)!

*SEA BASS
Conventional Definition - Carnivorous fish which lives in saltwater

Alternative Definition - Tito Steve's favorite fish...need I say more?

*SHARK
Conventional Definition - One of the most-feared sea creatures popularly identified because of its fin and is known for its sharp teeth and voracious appetite

Alternative Definition - The usual reference to the fish raised by my grandfather

*TOILET
Conventional Definition - The place where people do Number 1 and Number 2.

Alternative Definition - This is my favorite among all the terms in this glossary. The appearance of the toilet could vary, depending on where you are at that moment. It appears like the conventional tiled room with the huge mirrors if you're in houses or buildings like offices, malls, schools, churches, etc. But if you're in the most rural of areas, it consists nothing more than a shallow hole dug in the ground with a bunch of dried palm leaves to cover it. To give you some privacy, a make-shift wall made of cogon and palm does the trick...this is the toilet I have in mind now.

When we made our first bathroom stop in Dumarao, Capiz on our way to Boracay, everybody went to the bathroom except my mom, Tita Val and me. Soon the bathroom stops became less frequent and Tita Val began to feel her bladder was on the verge of bursting. We asked the driver when the next bathroom stop would be and he told me it would be in the bus terminal in Kalibo which would be about an hour away. Tita Val felt that she could not hold on for an hour so I asked the bus conductor if they could stop somewhere just so she could relieve herself. They stopped by a vendor's makeshift booth where she was selling eggs, balut and other kinds of food. They allowed us to use their toilet which was located out back near the trees. Tita Nadi and I accompanied Tita Val. It was raining so the ground was muddy and slippery. Tita Val was shouting from inside the toilet that the entire experience (in terms of visual, olfactory, auditory...you name it) of relieving herself was not pleasant at all. Tita Nadi and I were bursting in fits of laughter it probably appeared to the people on the bus we were having an epilepsy attack. What's worse, tied just a few feet away from Tita Val was a piglet which did nothing but stare at her the whole time.

*TRAPEZE
Conventional Definition - An acrobatic stunt performed in circuses which has people throwing themselves at each other while hanging on to a swing by their arms and/or legs.

Alternative Definition - Coined by Tita Val and Tita Nadi, "trapeze" is now a word used to mean "bagets." For instance, when I lent them loose shorts which were hand-me-downs from cousin Cheryl, I told them they looked "bagets" which loosely translates to "groovy" or "young". The next thing I know, they were calling themselves "trapeze" because they forgot the word I used.

*TUKO
Conventional Definition - Local term for "gecko."

Alternative Definition - The tuko is believed to have populated Boracay before it was commercialized. Now a local artist handpaints bags and T-shirts with pictures of the tuko...like the nice white T-shirt Tita Agnes bought in Boracay.

*TUYO
Conventional Definition - Dried, salted fish which is great for breakfast when paired with fried rice and fried egg.

Alternative Definition - Auntie Lina's favorite fish which, unfortunately, was unavaible during her visit.

*WHEN
Conventional Definition - Usually used to inquire about a particular point in time

Alternative Definition - The beginning word of the question I asked myself when my mom, dad and I drove everybody in the early morning to the airport (wasn't even sure if my tears were from the yawning or the crying): "When will we see each other again?"