Ramblings: Caught in Midstream

Thank You

2012-03-12T22:35:00.001+08:00

    I promised myself that if I either passed or failed that grueling mind-bender called the bar examinations, I was going to write this "thank you" note. After all, "thank you" notes do not depend on the outcome as an expression of gratitude is always deserved by those who simply go out of their way to do something for another.

   The entire bar examination process - the review starting late April, the examinations in November and the sanity-sapping wait until February - was what a recent reflection article called my "wilderness experience." It was at this point when I encountered my lowest, most trying moments. I came face-to-face with the fact that I was not ready for this mastodon of an exam. I was not good enough, I did not know enough and I was not smart enough. I reached the teeniest, tiniest ends of all my ropes and I was tempted more than once to just throw in the towel and shift my game to next year. I was either being very silly or being very brave. In the end, I threw caution to the wind and took my chances when I realized that I was not going anywhere if I did not stare at fear straight down its gigantic throat even if it really looked like the thing was going to swallow me whole and spit my bones out for the flies to suck. It was only when I was pared, peeled and diced to nothingness that I really felt my God infuse me with strength which I knew could not have come from any part of myself despite the ten-pound weight gain.

   The waiting period was different. God had been so unusually quiet the entire time. A lot of times it felt like we were both sitting side by side in a bench and I'd ask Him a bar exam update question to which He would respond by talking about something else which was completely unrelated to my concern. I never got so far as to ask him for a sign because I was too puppy dog scared to do so. But I talked to God a lot, especially when I did my long walks or took my bicycle out. I tried to talk to Him when I biked along the rocky terrain of my hometown's dusty roads. No response. I tried to talk to Him when I walked down the entire length of Boracay's white beach, with the fine sand between my toes. No response. I also tried to talk to Him as I hiked up and down Camp John Hay's off-road trails, smelled the pine trees and shivered in Baguio's chilly air. Still no response. Even on the very night before my exams, He was leading me towards Song of Songs. Seriously? Song of Songs before the day which was threatening to wield an enormous impact on my life?

   A few times, God did respond. But seriously, it wasn't always helpful. His replies were ambiguous and almost playful at times. For instance, when SC Spokesperson Atty. Midas Marquez made the announcement of the number of bar passers on Tuesday, my sister and I were in the mall and her bladder all of a sudden went haywire. The first thing we saw after she emerged from the bathroom was a book sitting in its holder in a bookstore's sill: "Pass or Fail," the title said. We went downstairs to buy something and we almost ran into a standee of actress Judy Ann Santos carrying a cake which bore the words "Let's Celebrate!" Feeling more optimistic now, we hurried to the parking lot where we were met by a huge, ominous looking tarpaulin complete with pictures of lightning bolts which proclaimed: "The end is near."

   But God knew my limits. He knew when I could take the silence no longer. Like when I was walking aimlessly around a bookstore and I chanced upon a book written by a pastor sitting on top of a shelf on Trade and Industry. "Help My Unbelief" the book title plainly said. Right on the Trade and Industry shelf, I tell you. A few meters away, as I ambled past the crafts section, a framed colored sand artwork clearly stated "I will not leave you nor forsake you." Ambiguous as to what I wanted to hear? Yes. But not ambiguous as to what I needed to be told.

   At the end of my wilderness experience, I come out overwhelmed and greatly humbled. It is true that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me - yes, even those which I know very well are beyond my capacity. I also emerge eternally grateful to you who have been His instruments in more ways than one.

   My mom and my dad! I cannot say "thank you" enough. You have taught me everything I know and have never withheld anything from Inday and me. I know, Mom, I told you several times that you needed to calm down but who am I to downplay your natural tendency to ensure no bad thing ever walks us. The next time that something like this happens, I will have a sphygmomanometer and extra tablets of Catapress just in case your BP shoots up like crazy again. Thank you, Dad, for meeting us just after the first and last set of exams ended on the first and fourth Sundays of November and for going all the way to Manaoag to pray and for being a pillar of strength even if inside you were all Jell-O.

   My crazy sister! You have done it! Pushing you when you stubbornly refused to budge was a more difficult job than learning Hungarian. This bar exam was all about you and not me. Besides, truth be told, you really know a lot more than I do. You will promise me that you will not let anyone put you down or make you feel any less than the person that you are. Unless you want me to follow you around for the rest of your life which is really not good thing to see when you're 90 and I'm 92 and your dentures are falling off.

   My Tita Vilma and Tito Dan who kept us fat with all the food, especially the yummy Mien San beef tendon noodles. You cried and rejoiced with us and took time off from your busy schedules just to listen to us rant. You reminded me to keep my chin up and to just keep on pushing until I could no longer feel my own fear. Thank you for encouraging me to always keep on trying, that "bara-bara" may just get you somewhere. And, oh my goodness, it actually did. My uncles, aunts and cousins from the Villanuevas and the Espinosas who sent their encouragement and prayers, I truly appreciate being able to talk to you when everything just seemed a little to much to bear. Manang Apple and Manang Maya, thank you so much for being there for Inday and me, just like the older sisters that you both are to us.

   To my dear blockmates, you guys have been amazing! From the goodie bags to the early morning hugs and send-offs, my words just fall short. Bryan, Jojo, Marge, I really appreciate your reassurance that everything was going to turn out all right. Lora, you were my rock and I do not know how I could have gone through each day without texting you. Joey, thank you for your notes, your time and your reminder to always keep my chin up. Rean, I took your advice to heart when I started panicking because I couldn't answer anything initially in the Political Law exam. I took a deep breath just as you said and I was fine again. Caps and Ricky, thank you for dropping by my room to calm me down that first Saturday night. Kooky and Yella, thank you for forcing me to sit down and eat breakfast that you set before me on that first Sunday morning when I absolutely refused to ingest anything and was fighting off continuous retching.

   To Cams, Jill, Loraine and everyone in the UP Bar Operations Commission - we cannot thank you enough for everything you have done for us from the reviewers, lectures and food up to the last-minute tips and the send-offs. What goes around comes around. To Raj and UP Women in Law, thank you for facilitating all of our needs and requests and for the academic materials which made cramming so much easier.

   To our band of prayer warriors - I thank you from the bottom of my heart. The texts, phone calls, Facebook messages, letters and tweets just did wonders for our confidence and once more fanned our resolve, especially during the difficult days. To Tito Ben Aplaon and family, Tito Stanley Madera family and Manong Deo Arroyo and family who always made their presence felt, Inday and I are just a loss for words as to how thankful we are to you. To all our friends in ILIASCO Canopy Church, Taguhangin Christian Fellowship, ERM Baptist Church and Greenhills Christian Fellowship, you constantly lifted us up to God as we went through our period of tribulation. When we were down on our knees with desperation, you reminded us that we were already in the best position to pray. Indeed, there is great joy in praying for each other.

   My professors in law school - I can only hope that we will make you proud. Thank you for teaching us that there is a huge responsibility that comes with knowledge and for the reminder that we must serve the nation in the best way that we know how. Dean Marvic Leonen, Prof. Ted Te, Prof. Victoria Avena, Prof. Domingo Disini, Prof. Beth Pangalangan, Dean Tony Lavina, Profs. Gigo Alampay and Rudy Quimbo and Prof. Vic Mamalateo - I really valued everything I learned in your classes. Thank you so much.

   My dearest friends who get their name from an episode of Futurama (hahaha), can I just say...this is crazy! Sue and Doi, you know I love you so I'll stop now. Ronald, I appreciate that you prayed for me on all four Sundays and texted me every afternoon just to check if I was still alive or breathing. If I told you I was fine, I lied because I was always a bundle of nerves. But I am really all right now, for real. Sharon, thank you for scaring me a couple of times and for reassuring me that it was all right that I couldn't remember everything I read...and that Tax Law was, in a lot of ways, similar to Organic Chemistry. Now hurry up and come home with that PhD. Dang, Jenny, Thea, Julie, Zaid and Reah, now is probably a good time to start laying the groundwork for that project.

   Anna Banana, Em and Kate, thank you for taking the time to text or call to remind me that I needed a break. Thank you for the dinners, the late-night conversations, midnight cupcakes, Twitter requests and for "s"-less congratulations. I really value your friendship. Now we can finally focus on Banana's wedding.

   To the people who knew exactly what we were going through and always made their presence felt, you made me feel stronger than I thought I was. My cousin Barbie who tweet-held my hand from morning till the moment the results were released in the afternoon, you will have your place in the sun. I fiercely believe that. Let me hold your hand when your turn comes, just as you virtually did for me. What are cousins for? My cousin Atty. Jeeli Espinosa, you are a person we look up to. You taught me that fear is a great motivator but that a desire to be become a better version of yourself is to be given utmost importance. Atty. Radney Garcia, thank you for the lectures and the Sababan Tax notes which literally saved me from complete Tax ignorance. Atty. Maricor and Sheen Parido, thank you for taking care of Inday for the first three Sundays of the exams.

   Ate Carol, I missed our Figaro/Taco Bell sessions when I was reviewing. Thank you for your time. I really miss talking to you.

   My PINC growth group mates, I miss you most of all. Lianne, your call completely changed our afternoon, especially when the web browser stubbornly refused to reload and all we could see were the surnames ending in "L." Riza, Macor and Mayla, I thank you for the prayers. Ate Sheila, thank you for keeping it real for Inday and me. Jessica, you have been so encouraging. And dear Joyce, you have been nothing short of inspiring.

   Harvest, giving you all up, albeit temporarily I hope, was a huge sacrifice I had to make. But thank you for ministering to me as I listened to you sing from the congregation when I decided to go on leave. Thank you for being a group which I could easily call my family - where I had "mother figures" (Ate Katsch, Ate Ann, Ate Lorna), older sisters (Anissa, Ate Jocy, Iting, and Sara), kaberks (Tepi and Venice), a deluge of older brothers who always knew the best places to eat (Kuya Zeb, Kuya Jojo, Kuya Stan, Ross and Edmund) and a cute bunso bunch (Jourd and Hannalee). You all saw me struggle through every difficult exam, every bad recitation, every challenging court hearing, every lengthy pleading and have prayed incessantly for my sister and me. My deepest thanks.

   To the people who went on this journey with me - I am simply beside myself with joy in seeing how much we have grown all these years and I am excited to see where this new road is going to take us.
       Charisse, my legal aid partner, my go-to girl, my study buddy, my closest friend in law school and my constant fashion critique - thank you for teaching me to seek my own level and to see the joy in waiting even when the rest of the world seems to be in hyperspeed.
       Edel, talking to you always makes me smile and laugh. Always.
       Jonas, you said "We got this" and I didn't believe you. Now I do.
       Anton and Ajang, I think I told you a lot of wrong things and I'm sorry. I'm gonna say it again: I'm the wrong person to ask.
       Jat, I'm itching to go to Coron because of (what used to be) your tan.
       Chris, I'm going to borrow Tyrion's words: Know who you are and wear it on your sleeve for they shall never be able to hurt you.
       Giulia, victory comes in every encounter.
       Rach, Dahlia, Apple, Ice, Ja, Terry, Sarah, we finally got what we had long worked so hard for.
       Tito Romy, it was a privilege, an honor and a blessing to have been your blockmate all these years.

   To the complete stranger who went up to me when I was reviewing early in the morning in Jollibee East Avenue just to tell me to study hard and give it my all, that gesture was something I would never forget.

   To all the fastfood establishments and coffee joints that tolerated my almost-daily, invasive presence, it was a symbiotic thing really.

   To the two little girls I met in the Office of Legal Aid who gave me the affirmation that being a lawyer was really what I wanted to be, I pray that I can carry that focus with me as the days and years go by.

   To everyone (friends, classmates, family) who sent my sister and me encouragement and support in every way, my deepest, most profound thanks.

   And lastly to my grandparents,

   my Papang, Nemesio Villanueva, who taught me to love my country;
   my Lolo, Atty. Gerson Espinosa, who taught me to love the law;

   my Lola, Aida Rojas, who taught me to love my God; and
   my Mamang, Rosita Beltran, who taught me to love the written word,
   this is for you.

The Night Before

2012-02-29T21:15:00.001+08:00

28 February 2012, 11 p.m.

So what does a girl do on the eve of one of the most important days of her life?

Months ago, I imagined I would be biting my nails to nothingness and fighting off sleeplessness, all while leafing through my Bible furiously and perhaps waiting for some divine sign that everything was going to be all right.

Instead, I am combing through about seven hundred photos of a recent family trip to Boracay, rinsing my seawater-infused snorkelling gear, picking out really stubborn whiteheads from my nose with a tweezer and trying to get one of my dogs to stop following me around. There is a certain calmness which has enveloped me and I know I will be reaching for my Bible just before bedtime to do my nightly reflection and say a small prayer. I can feel a slight pinch of nervousness, the kind that is less disturbing than the pain brought about by a small red ant taking a bite off the flesh in my toe. I never imagined I would be tweeting or uploading photos in Facebook.

Even THE day itself is typically non-existent. The day I either pass or fail the bar examinations technically exists only every four years. So if I intend to celebrate the anniversary of my deep heartache or extreme jubilation, I would be unable to do so every year. I guess it makes one realize how insignificant this day should be - how ever it turns out, even if it unfolds in my favor. This day does not define me, it does not make me who I am, it does not set what I can or cannot do.

Tomorrow will be another gateway into something better.

Whitney

2012-02-14T21:50:00.000+08:00

"I didn't know my own strength.
I crashed down and I tumbled,
But I did not crumble.
I was not built to break.
I didn't know my own strength."

So goes the chorus to one of the last Whitney Houston songs I came to love. I adore glorious comebacks and hers was one I felt was long overdue. So when her last album came out, I bought the CD, pushed it into the player and listened to the entire thing on loop all the way to Boracay. I noticed that her voice was raspier than I remembered and the songs were in a much lower register. Her runs were more predictable and less complicated, her notes less sustained. The big belter was quite difficult to find. In its place had settled a more subdued, more vulnerable, more heartfelt Whitney Houston. And that side of her I embraced willingly even if I admit I missed the booming voice and the notes that could hurl one straight into a brick wall. Long before her death on Sunday, I had already realized that the Whitney Houston of my childhood was never coming back.

Songs are a means of achieving some semblance of immortality. Certain memories wind their way through the measures both for the singer and the listener. As a little girl, Whitney Houston was quite awe-inspiring to me. She was one of the first pop singers I looked up to - really, really looked up to. Before her marriage, she was almost squeaky clean and was the daughter of a gospel singer. "Greatest Love of All" was an ultimate favorite anthem. My mother used to encourage me to sing just like Whitney - huge voice and solid belting that sent musical notes spiralling to the moon. So I tried to do just that in my striped red pajamas with the little flowers at age 4, grabbing a microphone and literally screaming myself to the most awkward shade of blue as I struggled with "One Moment in Time" and later "I Wanna Dance with Somebody." If I could take a look down my throat with tongue depressers, I knew I had scratched myself from the inside with hidden claws from my voice box.

But it was "The Bodyguard" that convinced me that Whitney Houston was simply the most amazing singer of all time. I was ten and a little too young for the movie but I listened to the soundtrack over and over and over and over again until the cassette tape could have snapped off the plastic rods. I remember being rendered immobile as I listened to her sing "Run to You" and "I Have Nothing" but it was "I Will Always Love You" that simply won me over. I still remember watching her on TV as she sat on a chair in the music video, the camera zooming out from her face at the very second that the momentary silence is interrupted when she opens her mouth and sings "And I(aiiiiyeeey)......will always loooooove yooooou." It was pure exhilaration, nothing less. Even now, when I listen to that song, the gloriousness of that moment never disappears. It's an entirely different thing to simply hit the note from singing it. Her rendition was effortless, uncluttered and an absolute epiphany. The ease with which she released that powerful voice of hers was almost mesmerizing. From that time on, I decided I was going to stop trying to be like her because I realized there was no way I was ever going to sing with that precision and power.

Whitney was the benchmark. Singing contests, lip-synching competitions, beauty pageants...you name it. People were always trying to sing her songs, attempting to imitate her trademark runs and jawdropping belting. For instance, take a look at all twelve seasons of American Idol and make a mental note of all the times the contestants decided to slay a Whitney Houston song. Then try to recall how many of them passed muster. In the end, the Whitney version was always a gigantic spectre quite too difficult to kill.

There is great unhappiness when I think about how troubled she had become later on until the end of her life. It was a truth I found very difficult to comprehend - that the immense talent which gave me so much joy was not affording Whitney her share. She was a poor thing, wasting away before the eyes of her adoring fans. Her singing mirrored her life. She was trying to regain what she had before her tumultuous marriage and her drug addiction. No matter how much I wished for a comeback, I knew it was not going to happen - not when she couldn't take control of her personal life and her wavering voice.

There is great consolation as I listen to more cuts from "I Look to You." As Whitney was stripped of a great instrument - her formerly reliable voice - she bared her soul even more in her songs as well as her faith. "I look to you," she sings in the title track. "When all my strength is gone," she adds, "in You I can be strong." She knew where to look for courage in the midst of her own frailty. In the wake of her death, it might seem that her source of that strength had failed her.

"I look to You," she sings once more. "I look to You."

"And when melodies are gone,
In You I hear a song,
I look to You."

Even in death, despite every fall and her tragic end, Whitney Houston is still an inspiration.

Holding Hands

2011-05-25T00:59:00.001+08:00

    There are a lot of things about the night of May 15, 2010 that I want to forget. As a matter of fact, I have been quite adept at trying to forget that I browse through my journal and I realize I never wrote anything about that night or the days that followed. The stash of photos is still waiting to be sorted out, stuck to albums or posted online for relatives who live time zones away to see but I have put off doing that for one whole year. Putting everything in the backburner is a good thing. I neither cry too often or too much. I go home, enter a half-empty office and tell myself my grandfather is somewhere on vacation, probably a little too selfish to let us tag along. "I'll see him tomorrow," I tell myself. Then when tomorrow comes, I say the same thing and the lie incessantly perpetuates itself into an endless indeterminate string like the value of pi or the uncontrollable sprouting of gremlins when the sprinklers go haywire.

    The night of May 15 began like any other. Dinner in the hospital. Reading the local daily and spotting an interesting ad about a 60-something Caucasian man looking for a girlfriend who, he said, had to have "huge thighs." Passed the ad to my Lolo who guffawed and told his amused nurse to send in an application. A few minutes later he couldn't breathe. Then the nurses and the doctors started streaming in. The sight of plastic tubes being readied was disorienting. Ran downstairs to the chapel to pray. Broke down to my best friend over the phone. Hunched in the hallway with my fingers to my ears, trying to block out all the sounds which still made their way into my auditory nerve and soldered themselves into my memory chips, sounds which still come back crisp and clear no matter how deep into my ear canal I shoved my phalanges wadded with cotton on that night. By one in the morning, our whole world had been turned upside down and kicked across the field to Timbuktu. That was the last night my grandfather ever spoke.

    My Lolo and I talked to each other all the time. He always gave me the best and the most memorable conversations. Period. He was articulate and could clearly express himself through the spoken word. Ever since I was a little girl, I would sit in front of his huge desk in his office and we would trade stories much like hawkers dealt with their wares. From my vantage point, my grandfather was a man in control. He was literally on top of everything and anything that came running down his way . Whether it be a rolling boulder or a gigantic mastadon, he could take it down just like a single shot from a Gloc could topple a rampaging elephant.

    The sight of him, helpless and frail, was too much for me to take that making a single step towards him was impossible. The lie that I forgot everything about that night continues to rear its ugly head as I can still vividly remember the sickening smell of antiseptic and the scent from Dr. Danucop's shirt as she put her arms around me. The guilt still hangs around like a lamprey with its vicious teeth sucking at my neck. Up to today, I still feel I was too chicken to stand beside my lolo in his moment of greatest need when he was a constant presence in all of my valleys.

    I remember shuddering and gagging at the odd mixture of antiseptic and alcohol which bordered closely on being labelled a "stench". My lolo's eyes were closed. The room was silent except for the steady hum of machines along with the mechanical sound of air rushing in and out of the respirator, much like Darth Vader inhaling and exhaling through the breathing vents in his black mask. My lolo lay very still. No matter how hard I tried to swallow, a stubborn bolus seemed to be stuck in my throat. Approaching his bed took all of whatever remaining strength I had left, which was actually very little. He was as helpless as a newborn baby but sadly was not as unencumbered. No matter how frightened I was, I did the most logical thing: I took his hand and held it in mine.

    That was the first time in a long time that I ever held my Lolo's hand. Unlike my sister, my grandfather and I were never touchy although I hugged him every now and then and pinched his cheeks, especially when he was being obstinate. In contrast to my desperate attempts to completely obliterate everything I saw and heard on that night, the feel of my Lolo's warm palm encased in mine was one fragment of memory I fervently wish an occasionally treacherous mind would never lose to time and dying brain cells.

    If I had the fluidity with words of a truly unimpeded wordsmith, I could clearly describe to you what it felt like to hold my grandfather's hands in the last ten days of his life. His palms and fingers were hard, rough and calloused, owing to years of manual labor. The skin in the back of his hand was thin, translucent and inelastic. I would pinch a section of skin and it would stay in place for a few seconds before slowly drifting back to its original state. Mottled brown patches were scattered sporadically around his knuckles. I could make out the veins underneath his skin which stuck out prominently akin to a network of thick wires running through the entire length of a thin carpet. His wrists were bony and his pulse was steady. Oddly, his hands felt very warm in contrast to the iciness of my own fingers.

    Initially, my grandfather was obviously uncomfortable with having his hand held. He wanted to wrench his wrists from the cloths which bound them to the bed rails. After all, he was indeed a man on top of everything. He probably felt we were holding him down and he would glare at me when I would hold him back and plead with him to be still. He would comply, albeit begrudgingly, but he never did respond to my touch.

    After about a day or two, I was surprised when he closed his fingers over my hand. I looked at his hand in mine and then at his face. His eyes were closed and he was quite relaxed as he breathed steadily. Then he slowly released his grip but I refused, wary that he might try to pull his tubes off again. He looked at me and motioned with his hand that he was not going to do anything. I let his hand go cautiously with my fingers just millimeters away from the cloth which bound his wrists.

    Slowly he lifted his hand over the bed rails, rested his palm over my right shoulder and closed his eyes. I tried so hard not to cry as he moved his hand back to the bed. I held his hand and he held mine back. We would be like this for the next couple of days, in a comforting - and comfortable - state of silence until his heart finally stopped beating.

    As I held his hand on that morning, I hummed softly. It was some random song - a spontaneous mash-up of "Over the Rainbow" with some unidentifiable tune. In my palm rested not just a mass of flesh, blood and bone but a hand which brought twenty-seven years of stories, laughter, love, forgiveness and encouragement. This was the hand which taught me how to deliver a strong straight and a swift uppercut. This same hand smothered grape jelly on my toast during 9 p.m. "midnight" snacks when I was six. This hand demonstrated how to properly hold a fishing pole and tug when something started biting at the other end. It showed me how to pluck a guitar. This hand had fingers which could contort into a bangi-bangi (local term for tiny crustaceans) and would tickle me to no end until I could no longer breathe. This hand also held me in dozens of family pictures, gripped my arm when I would stumble and planted more trees than I could count with my fingers, most of which would definitely outlive me. This hand made me countless dinners. This hand also curled into a fist when I said I was going to have a date for my high school prom. This hand wrote me countless notes. The very same hand would send me off with a wave from the front yard every time I would leave home at the end of every school break.

    One of my lolo's favorite songs to sing to his grandchildren and great-grandchildren as toddlers was a Hiligaynon lullaby called "Uy, Alibangbang." It is a song directed to a butterfly, asking it to take care of a tapulanga (vernacular for "gumamela") as it flutters about. He would sing this tune in the top of his voice and what made it particularly endearing was the corresponding hand gesture. He would flail his palm around the air like a butterfly's wings and he was so convincing that the grandchild he was singing to would be compelled to imitate the action.

    The song has always appeared to be innocent and straightforward but it is only upon closer examination that the last verse seems rather foreboding as far as my grandfather was concerned. There is, after all, no way we could hold on to him, no matter how much I wrapped my fingers around his hand. Much like the alibangbang in his favorite song, he had to leave at some point. That left us, the ones who had to stay a bit longer, in the same state as the tapulanga in the song - saddened and grieving with heads bent to the ground.

Uy, alibangbang,
Kung ikaw ang maglupad,
Tatapa sing maayo
Ang tanan tanan nga bulak.

Basi sa ulihi
Kung ikaw ang maglupad,
Pobre si Tapulanga,
Sa duta ayhan mataktak.

    On the other hand, maybe my lolo had his reasons for loving the song about the butterfly and the flowers he left behind. There is more to the act of flailing one's hand in an awkward attempt to imitate a flitting butterfly.

    Because flying through the air will be the very same hand which still holds his memory.

- In loving memory of my dear grandfather
(March 24, 1925 - May 25, 2010)

A New Year's Eve Letter

2011-03-24T11:42:00.002+08:00

31 December 2010

My dearest Lolo,

    I'm going to be straight out honest with you because I haven't been for the past seven years or so. First, I owe it to you to be honest. And second, no matter what I say, I will never get to see your lips droop into an upside down crescent moon in disappointment or your eyes make aim for some far off place I will never fully understand in my lifetime.

    All right, here goes.

    Some teeny weeny tiny part of me dreads the minute the clock strikes midnight on the 1st of January of every year. This feeling began when I hit the age of twenty, when I realized I was actually starting to grow some semblance of maturity. Ever since my sister and I were kids, you would have a new year package for the two of us consisting of a huge bundle wrapped in layers of newspaper and plastic. As if we had built in X-ray eyes, we knew exactly what was inside that package: thick clumps upon thick clumps of colorful sparklers, all ready for lighting. Oh boy, did we love those mini torches of color! If they were candy instead of combustible powder, we wouldn't think twice about sticking them up our tongues with delight.

My sister bending over some of the sparklers (New Year's Eve 2007).

When my sister and I were little children, you would sit by the front door and watch us run around the front yard with the sparklers in our hands, drawing all sorts of figures in the night air. I liked to pretend my sparklers were the propulsion and combustion mechanisms of a rocket and I'd make them soar through the air like Voltes V spewing blue or green flame from its soles. Sometimes, we would stick the sparklers in the ground in all sorts of configurations, light them with the embers in a piece of firewood from the kitchen stove and then dash through the entire length of the glowing sticks in the darkness, dancing and singing like tomorrow would never come as the sparklers were ignited one after the other.

My grandfather - with his Einstein hair - checks
on our "sparkling" progress (New Year's Eve 2007).

     It was a fun and safe way to celebrate the coming of each new year until one day, I came to realize I was growing too old to be playing with them. Of course, there was no way I could tell you that outright. There was no way I could utilize that brutal frankness, not when you'd still call my sister and me to your room every new year's eve and proudly present us with the usual set of sparklers with excited eyes which seemed to say "I got you what you really wanted!" I did not have the heart to tell you that maybe it was time to put an end to that literally sparkling tradition, even if I carefully rehearsed my speech year after year. I could not do that, not when watching us run around the front yard gave you so much joy, even if you eventually had to do so from your bedroom window since all the smoke caused your weak lungs to act up in spasms and made you cough. It now seems to me like we never grew up in your eyes and that to you, we would always be little girls carrying colorful little torches in the middle of the darkness, playing make-believe and tracing smoke through the air with our fingers. So for the past seven years or so, I had to pretend that I was still seven years old and that I still loved to do that new year's game - all in the name of keeping your heart and your smile intact.

    This new year's eve, I was half-glad there were no sparklers. There was no need to pretend anymore. Or so I thought. I laughed off that idea as I sat on the rattan sofa in the living room, watching my grandmother lug her pillow into your room for a quick nap before media noche - the very same room where we would claim our new year's gift annually with feigned surprise and excitement that could easily merit a grand slam acting award for my sister and me. No matter how much I denied it, there was still a need to pretend and play that game of make-believe that maybe, just maybe, there might be sparklers waiting inside that room because then that would mean you were alive and well and that everything that transpired within the last seven months was just a horrible nightmare. Then again, no matter how palpable the need to pretend was, the truth remained that there was no room for such a game this new year's eve. Much like Christmas, this New Year's eve was more than a mere reality slap. It was like being pummeled relentlessly by a pugilist with fists as fast as the Flash and as solid as Mike Tyson's. No one even dared to sit on your chair in the dinner table. The poor wooden thing just stood there empty for the entirety of Christmas, much like a silent sentry staring at all of us mutely with unseen eyes. That chair was akin to your shoes - cavities of leather with huge gaping mouths that were very difficult to fill. The best anyone could do was perhaps waddle in them. But then again, who in the world would ever take a duck (or anything that waddled, for that matter) seriously?

    When someone asks me what I miss most about you, my head starts spinning like a broken compass with an arrow that goes round and round endlessly in both directions in a rather crazy fashion. I miss buying you little gifts that make you laugh, small things like the wobblehead ceramic basketball player which has your photograph for its face or the little toilet clock we bought for you in Hong Kong. I miss watching so many movies with you. You allowed me to watch silly flicks like the Problem Child series and Child's Play (with the occasional reminder to cover my eyes when Chuckie started waving his knife) and then you would chuckle when my mother would walk in, roll her eyes and tell you to stop exposing me to nonsense. Little did she know that you also introduced me to a lot of pretty good films such as "Rocky," "The Godfather" and "Come, See the Paradise."

    I miss talking to you everyday. After all, you were the first person I'd call when I woke up in the morning and among the last ones I'd talk to at night. You were the best at conversations. Period. Everyone else pales in comparison. There was always that depth of understanding and the insights that came out of nowhere. You always listened intently with your hands folded above your belly and whenever something either amused you or peeved you, you would always let out a naughty snicker before giving out a piece of your mind. You had the ability to talk and listen to me like an adult and yet treat me like a child all at the same time without ever casting the net of antagonism or causing me to feel like a pre-schooler wearing my mother's heels. You taught me the value of listening, of breathing in everything I hear, holding it in for a couple of seconds and then exhaling only those which needed to be healthily expelled. I have lost count of the many things I wanted to tell you about long after you had gone. I sometimes find it unfair that you had to leave just at that precise moment when we had more relevant things to talk about and discuss. When I write my papers for class or my pleadings for the clinical program I'm enrolled in, I sometimes vividly imagine how butchered and bleeding my written work would look when they passed your scrutiny. I used to always ask you, "What do you think, Lolo?" and you never failed to tell me exactly what went on in your mind by drawing lines, tracing circles and making word changes with your red Pilot pen, leaving crimson blots which looked like gunshot wounds scattered all over the paper. Seven months and counting, I still find myself reaching for the phone, dialing your number and stopping midway, knowing I will never hear you at the other end of the line. As much as I miss enjoying every conversation with you, I also miss sharing the comfortable silence, usually while we're waiting for the sun to set, watching the sky turn to smoldering gold and the mountains to royal plum. Then when the sun's descent is complete, you turn to my sister and me and ask "Let's go home?" Why you kept on asking a question to which you knew the answer is something I cannot quite put my finger on. Perhaps it was to emphasize that the day had finally come to close, no matter how much we did not want it to end, and that there was nowhere else to go but home. Or maybe, just maybe, there was a faint hope in that question - the belief that seeing the sun set meant that you would definitely see its resplendent glory in the morrow.

    I miss your sense of humor, your eternally optimistic spirit and your ability to find joy even in the worst of circumstances. I miss watching your face and eyes light up when you're planning to spring another naughty prank on my grandmother or when you're thinking of the best gift to give her on special occasions. I miss the sweetness of your smile when she kisses you or when she has fits of jealousy which you find completely unbelievable given your age and the length of time you have been married to each other. I miss your adamance at forbidding me to drive a motorcycle or a truck because of your perception of the supposed inappropriateness for a girl to exhibit a tough, masculine side. I can still see the pleasant surprise in your face when you realized I could actually handle your truck despite its size and your eventual warming up to the notion of me being your occasional driver and you being the passenger. It felt good to be trusted by you, to know that you had faith in my ability to handle the wheel, the clutch and anything that could spring out from the road that stretched out before me all on my own, although you sometimes gave the reminder to watch out for a pothole or to be less of Speed Racer.   I miss seeing the incredulity in your eyes when I half-coerced you to wear pink and the sheer glee in your face when you realized you actually looked good in the color. Among so many things, I miss listening to you attempt to apologize.

    I am being straight out honest when I say I really did not want to play with sparklers again this new year's eve but I am not going to deny I will miss going out into the darkness of the night with those little torches of color, waving them around the air as the skies literally explode into the threshold of a new set of 365 days. Those were moments when I felt most carefree, most fearless and most confident that I could conquer the entire world with just my little set of flame-emitting wands. Perhaps it was because I was aware you were watching from the front door or from your bedroom window and that the moment the sparklers go out, I knew exactly where to go to despite being swallowed by darkness, smoke and the deafening sound of the pla-plas and piccolos.

    This new year's eve, the sparklers are conspicuously missing. I do not need to run around outside anymore and do my awkward smoke-and-fire gymnastics. The front yard lies empty and dark a full half an hour before midnight. I stand for a while in the muddy grass and walk a bit. In the pitch black night, in the absence of someone keeping an eye out for me from the front door or from the bedroom window, I still know where to head back to. And I know, Lolo, that this is one honest revelation which, in no way, will make your lips droop like an upside-down crescent moon or your eyes make aim for some far-off place.

All my love now and forever,
Albutra

Seeing Double

2011-02-07T16:12:00.004+08:00

    Ever since high school, there was always one other person in school who supposedly looked like me. Now that I find pretty amusing since my own sister and I barely resemble each other and the closest people who supposedly share some of my facial features are my Tita Vilma and my cousin Denise.

    Who knew that law school would yield another person who seems to bear an uncanny likeness to my physical appearance? After years of reading about how much fun it would be to have a twin, I was finally able to slip into that opportunity just last week thanks to the fact that my supposed doppelganger (actually reflexive since she could very well say I am the clone) was also fun-loving and was willing to capitalize on an opportunity to potentially sow confusion in the optic nerves of anyone we would meet.

    It all started when Rach and Cha told me that I had a "kamukha" or "kahawig" - same facial features, practically same length of hair, about the same height, similar build (I was slightly pudgier) and so on. When I was finally introduced to Phibs, my supposed "twin," I really took the time to study her face and to see for myself whether or not we really did look alike. I was not sure if she was told the same thing though since she really didn't say anything about it.

    By the second semester, we were in the same team in legal aid. Rach and Cha still continued to label us as "twins" so Phibs decided to go along and call each other, well, "Twin." It was all together quite amusing since the more I looked at photos of us, the more I came to realize that we indeed looked alike. The semblance was more apparent when we were were not smiling (since Phibs has smaller teeth whereas I have humongous choppers and showcase three quarters of my gums like the Cheshire Cat). Our profiles were undeniably similar and our bangs fell in the same way across our faces when we tilted our heads. We both even like the shade of purple! Good heavens, we even part our hair in the same way! We tried to look into our family lines to check if we were indeed related but apart from the fact that we both trace our roots to the north (she is from Baguio whereas my father hails from Pangasinan), our bloodlines do not seem to have intersected at any point in time...except perhaps if we go ahead and do blood compact.

Phibs and me.  I saw this photo on her Facebook page and for about 
three seconds thought I was staring at myself.  Even our
shirts are quite similar.

Phibs and I both thought such indicators of resemblance were not enough to make people mistake one of us for the other. Even if we looked somewhat like Chip and Dale when we hung out, it still had not gotten to a point wherein someone actually thought Phibs was me or vice versa. I had always thought we were somewhere in that area about three blocks away from "deadringer."

    Until one day about three weeks ago when Cha's boyfriend Allan saw me in Uncle Moe's, a restaurant in UP Village, at around 7 or 8 in the evening. Allan texted Cha to tell her that he saw me in the restaurant with a couple of friends.

    That would have been all right if I really had been in Uncle Moe's. But the truth was, I was at home with my dog somewhere in the southern part of Metro Manila when Allan supposedly saw me in Diliman. What was even more hilarious was that Phibs had texted Cha at about the same time as Allan, telling her that she had just seen Cha's "Prince Charming" in Uncle Moe's. In Cha's words, this was how the text exchange went:

Phibs: Charito, andito sa Uncle Moe's ang prince charming mo. hehe. :-)
(simultaneously)
Allan: Hi hon. Bahay, kasama ko sina sis pau. nagtext sila. nakita ko sina aida.

***

Cha: San ang uncle moe's? And kasama mo ba si Aida? Haha nagtext si allan grand, nakita daw nya si aida. :)
Phibs: Dito sa Teacher's Village, and nope, hindi ko kasama si twin. hehe....
Cha: Haha malamang napagkamalan kayo. Bwahahaha!! :) or ibang prince charming ko nakita mo. :)
Phibs: Haha, ano ba yun. :D

    Phibs told Cha that Allan even said goodbye to her when he left with his friends, thinking all the while that it was me he saw in Uncle Moe's. Poor Allan only realized his mistake in a clarificatory text exchange with Cha later that evening.

Allan: Bahay ka na?
Cha: Bahay na. :)
Cha: Aida?
Allan: Yup. Aida . 3 silang sis mo, dito sa may malapit sa bayantel.
Cha: Si Phibs yan. :)
Allan: Ay oo nga pala. Si sarah (another nickname for Phibs since she supposedly looks like singer Sarah Geronimo). :) Magkahawig eh.

    I am quite sure that the last response by Allan was as sheepish as Baa Baa Black Sheep could possibly get in the same situation.

    Since Phibs and I had unknowingly (and unconsciously) precipitated an ever-so slight wave of confusion (either that or Allan just had eyestrain from work), we decided to go all-out on one duty day just for the heck of it. And if anyone should fall for the ploy, that should make the entire thing well-worth it but confusing people was not a major objective. We just wanted to play around with the concept of "looking alike" We had initially decided to wear an all-black top and go for any kind of bottoms we wanted but in the end, I decided to match Twin's weapon of choice: grey skirt and black heels. I was not quite sure if my grey skirt was even ready for pressing and I made up my mind to hang it in the back of the refrigerator just in case it was still a bit damp. The next day, the very minute Phibs walked in to the room for case conference, I just knew coincidence was a gleeful and willing conspirator because even the style of our respective collared, frilly black blouses was almost identical.

The day ended without any casualties although we did get a lot of inquiries about our wardrobe. Everyone in legal aid knew the two of us pretty well to be able to distinctly identify Phibs from Aida or Aida from Phibs. Except for, well, one applicant who was being interviewed by Twin. I was working in a separate cubicle when the applicant walked in, clutching her photocopied documents. She was heading straight for the cubicle where Phibs was conducting her interview. Unmindful of the applicant, I spontaneously rose from my seat to get my bag from another table across my cubicle. I unmistakably saw the applicant do a double take when she saw me. She made a quick U-turn then walked towards my direction, holding out her photocopied documents to me. I was initially puzzled, wondering why some person I didn't know from Adam was handing me documents. Then I belatedly realized she thought I was Phibs so I gestured that I was not the interviewing intern. For a while she had a confused look on her face but after about two more hard stares my way, she realized was thrusting her documents upon the wrong intern.

As for my next project with Phibs, it's all still under contemplation. For the time being, we can perhaps work on reading each other's minds and finishing each other's sentences while saving up for eventual DNA testing. And that also means I should postpone any plan to cut my hair.

The Night I Learned I Owned a French Poodle

2011-01-09T23:11:00.000+08:00

A set of shears can be a deadly thing.

As a frequent victim of a couple of scissor-wielding, manic haircutters, I should have thought about a hundred times before I decided to bring one of our five dogs, a 9-month old puppy, for her first serious haircut. At the bare minimum, I should have known what kind of haircut I wanted for her. That way I could tell the...er...doggie barber my specifications for the cut. However, for me to know what haircut options I have for the puppy, I should have known what kind of dog she was in the first place.

    "What kind of dog is she?" the doggie barber asked me. I stared back blankly as a chorus of yelps and barks from the other dogs in the shop overwhelmed my ears. Gee, I didn't know what kind of a dog Deting was. My aunt gave her to my sister and me back in June, a few week after my grandfather died hence the name copying. I knew she was white and had thick, fluffy hair which covered her eyes so we kept the furry mess on her forehead in a cute ponytail held in place by a pink rubber band. That left me with a couple of options but I was not confident enough to offer an intelligent guess, "I don't know," I finally relented, shrugging my shoulders.

    The barber pulled up my now-shivering puppy's face and gave his verdict. "She looks a lot like a poodle to me," he said. Here we go again, a poodle. My sister and I had long been locked in an endless debate as to whether or not Deting was a poodle. She was a mutt so it was quite difficult to pinpoint her exact lineage but I was not ready to concede that we finally had a poodle in the house. I was not exactly a big fan of poodles. They often struck me as high-class, fancy, snooty dogs fit for royalty. My dogs were all rambunctious, mischievious, naughty, rough, stubborn, reckless types who liked to run around the yard, make sky-high leaps for the clothesline, wade in mud and be everybody's absolutely adorable headache. Deting is particularly that kind of dog. She runs into my room and jumps into bed if she can't wait for me to wake up. She loves to play fetch with her spiked fuchsia rubber ball and rubs the thing on my leg when she's in the mood for the game. When I'm getting ready to leave, she pulls at my shoelaces, takes nips at my socks, bites my sneakers and pulls my pant leg as if she could stop me from going anywhere. She has to send me off at the elevator every time I have to go out (or else she goes into a riotous flurry of barks and screams) and will sit as sentry in the front door at around dinner time, waiting for me to walk in. At nine months she has been trained to relieve herself outside of the house but when she does not want me to leave, she does the job in the floor just so I would be forced to stay a bit longer to clean up her mess. So based on her very behavior, there was no way my white little furball was a poodle.

    "What cut do you want for her?" the barber asked. Kind of cut? Was there even such a thing in the doggie world? I looked at the barber. Exactly how good was this guy in chopping off my little canine's hair? The guy had cropped his hair so close to his scalp I wasn't exactly in the best position to judge his cutting skills or his taste for hair fashion. "What cut do you suggest?" I asked him. He motioned for me to follow him and pointed to a fat, cropped shih tzu sitting on the grooming table. "This one," he said. "A summer cut." The hair was cut really close to the skin and I was not quite sure if Deting would look good with fur that short. Oh well, this guy seemed to know what he was talking about. I thrust the puppy and her now booming heart into his hands and the dog started clawing for me silently. Uh-oh. Was this a sign that Deting herself felt that this was a really bad idea?

    The barber told me to come back after an hour so I pretended to be husband/father waiting for his wife/daughter to finish her salon duties. I went across the street to SM Hypermart to buy some stuff, check out the second-hand bookstore there and to read up for the devotional I was going to give the next day in my small group. After about an hour, I walked back to the shop to claim my dog so I could go home and get some sleep.

    The barber was now starting to give two more dogs a trim when I walked in. "Hi," I said. "Can I get my dog now?" He looked at me for a moment and said, "Oh yes, you're getting the poodle." Oh boy, poodle again. I wish I could roll my eyes and tell him to stop calling my dog that. There was no way in the canine world that I was ever going to own a poodle, buy a poodle or even have my dog look like a poodle. Poodles were, like I said, high-class, fancy, aristocratic...LEAPING LIZARDS OF MARS, MY DOG IS A POODLE! There in the hands of the barber was a white, furry dog which closely cropped hair, a fancy tail, a shaved snout and a rounded forehead typical of those show poodles with Swarovski crystals for collars. She looked absolutely ridiculous.

I eyed the quivering puppy in his hands. "That's not my dog," I squeaked. "Yes she is," he said while handing her to me. My head started to race with all the possibilities of bringing home the wrong dog. I mean, if they can exchange infants in a hospital nursery by mistake, how much more dogs in a grooming salon? This trembling little thing in no way resembled the dog I had brought in about an hour ago for a cut. If this was indeed my dog, what she had was a complete makeover. Before I could even decide on the thing's identity, the barber placed her in my arms. I took another hard look at the now happier looking dog. She started licking my face (her usual greeting) and when I looked past the shaved snout, I found the familiar round, dark eyes and I knew this was indeed my dog - just looking a little bit more posh and flamboyant in a subdued Adam Lambert kind of way.

Back in December, hours before her first trim.


After a very conservative cut, Deting looks quite presentable.

Her present authentic French poodle look

Deting wouldn't sit in the front seat on our way home. Instead she clambered into my lap and fell asleep as I drove. This was another trait of hers which came up especially when she has anxiety attacks from what she perceives to be prolonged separation from her humans. When we got out of the elevator, she ran like mad out into the hallway and headed for our front door like she usually does. Only this time, she was not bouncing around like the little furball that she was. The cut made her look like she was prancing and flitting around like a half-dignified little princess out on her first walk. It was even more hilarious when she was running after her ball and she forgot to brake that she half-smashed into one leg of the dinner table. True, the cut highlighted her lean, light frame and made her look squeaky clean.

I admit, however, I miss her disheveled hair and how she looks much like the abominable snowman, especially after she has not had a brush after about a day. There is something about my little wildchild of a dog that makes her a lot more adorable. Oh well, as for now, I'll have to wait until her hair grows back.

If it ever grows back. Yikes.


Don't you worry, baby. I'm still gonna love you, even when you look funny.

2010 in a Nutshell

2011-01-07T00:47:00.002+08:00

1. What did you do in 2010 that you'd never done before?
a. Drafted a real pleading, affixed my signature on it and filed the uber thick thing (all 40+ pages of it) in court;

b. Represented a client in court, officially entered my appearance in my first court hearing and argued with a real lawyer;

Just one really scary day which made me want to vomit.

c. Voted in the Philippines' first automated elections;

d. Got up close and personal with a tiger cub by stuffing a feeding bottle down its cute little throat;

Can I bring you home?

e. Went on a zip line;

Great view from here!

f. Dyed my hair blue-black which left my hair looking…just plain black-black;

g. Stood less than 10 meters away from where a bomb exploded during the Salubong in September.

2. Did you keep your new years's resolutions and will you make more for next year?
I didn't exactly keep all my new years' resolutions but I did fulfill most of them. :) So I should carry them over to this year and I am definitely making more for 2011.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My cousin Jodi gave birth to my niece Emily Capito Medeiros.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
I lost my grandfather to a lingering illness in May of this year.

With my sister and nieces before laying Lolo to rest.
We will see you again, Lolo.

Our church's senior pastor Dr. Luis Pantoja also passed away in September.
And though our only connection remains to be Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger's death was also quite depressing.

5. What countries did you visit in 2010?
First time in Macau and second time in Hong Kong

6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?
Understanding as wide as the expanse and as deep as the bottom of the ocean

7. What date from 2010 will remain etched in your memory and why?
15 May 2010. That night my grandfather was intubated. Everything happened so fast (and without warning) that I couldn't comprehend what was happening. It was just one very horrible memory that I still cannot shake off no matter what I do.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Surviving my first hearing without making a complete fool of myself or getting a scolding from the judge.

9. What was your biggest failure?
I can't think of anything in 2010.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Afflicted with chickenpox in early September because I'm such a loser who gets it at age 27. Good thing the early doses of Acyclovir pre-empted the welts from going full-blown and all I got was a mild case.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My iPod Classic! I think I'll manage to fill up all 160 GB of it when I turn 40.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Raissa Laurel. That girl is pure inspiration.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
The Philippine Supreme Court. Since when did plagiarism require "intent?"

14. Where did most of your money go?
Photocopies, gas, food, chocolate milk and in the latter part of the year, apple pie tea lattes.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Attending my high school reunion! It was great to be back in the best high school in the galaxy after ten years.

Batch Y2K is home!

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2010?
a. King of Anything by Sara Bareilles
b. You Make My Dreams by Hall and Oates because it was my year-long ringtone
c. That Baby, Baby song by Justin Bieber. That song drives me completely nuts and it doesn't help that my nieces sing it all the time. If my ears could bleed, they'd be hemorrhaging intensely.
e. Far East Movement's Fly Like a G6. Still working on the crypt walk! Yo!

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? -- Sadder. :( But I'm keeping my chin up. It's gonna get better.
ii. thinner or fatter? -- Ha! Same, I guess...still fatty. :D
iii. richer or poorer? -- Richer! YES! :)

18. What do you wish you'd done more?
Write for fun. I seem to have lost the drive to do so.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Play Plants vs. Zombies instead of reading. :) Great thing I have now been successful in restraining myself.

I love, love, LOVE this game. :)

20. What was your favorite TV program?
Glee! :) Even if I didn't catch the regular programming and had to settle with season marathons, that was more than fine. Always something to look out for in every episode, especially Artie. :)

21. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No…not really. Just disappointed, I guess.

22. What was the best book you read?
The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. Ever since Wuthering Heights, I've never read a book so beautifully written.

23. What was your greatest musical discovery?
That singing the Hallelujah Chorus in alto was actually something "conquerable," especially the early barrage of "hallelujahs" which come one after another.
Amy Winehouse was a belated discovery. I admit the tattoos, the drug issues and the scary hair put me off from listening to her for years but when I finally did, I stumbled upon a goldmine. Runners-up are Lady Antebellum, Arcade Fire and Leona Lewis.

24. What did you want and get?
a. Elusive three-inch red heels in patent leather for less than P1,000 (it came in a half-size for that perfect fit);
b. Finding the ultimate swimming/snorkeling companion in Madison, my Canon D10;
c. A portable hard drive in red!

25. What was your favorite film of this year?
Avatar, hands down!

26. What was the worst film you saw this year?
That Kim Chiu - Gerald Anderson starrer. Wasn't that bad but it was not as good as the other ones I saw.

27. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
On my 27th birthday, I was singing "Jesus Take the Wheel" (one of my favorite songs) with Harvest (among my favorite bunch of people) for the ultimate audience, my Lord and Saviour.

Backstage before we headed out to sing.

28. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
I wish I made it to my cousin Darryll's wedding in Texas. That would have really made my year! And, sometime in the middle of 2010, I wish I took an offer to run under the rain.

29. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?
Preppy with lots of button-downs, skirts and heels. :D Asenso...heels! :)

30. What kept you sane?
A lot of praying and reading the Bible…spending time with friends who made me smile…and, of course, Plants vs. Zombies or Burger Shop.

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Richard Poon and his cute eyes, Romola Garai and her endearing portrayal of Emma, Jonny Lee Miller and his killer dialogue as Mr. Knightley and after downloading Last of the Mohicans, went gaga over Eric Schweig all over again. Oh...and Rum Tum Tugger (John O'Hara) was one rockin' cat.

32. What political issue stirred you the most?
The plagiarism issue and the show-cause order for the UP Law professors.

33. Who did you miss?
My Lolo, especially during Christmas and New Year's Eve. Will most likely have the same answer next year.

34. Who was the best new person you met?
Atty. Oposa. How many professors you know make you plant something at the beginning of the school year with the intention of harvesting the fruits by the end of the semester?

35. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010.
Say what you need to say and show love when you can. Love is never forced, it is always spontaneous. When the time comes to say goodbye, the ones who are gone are no longer concerned with the trappings of the physical world. It is us, those who are left behind, who will have to deal with the "what ifs" and the "if only."
And, a little something from the law school dean - to do the right thing for its own sake and not your own. It is not about you.

36. What was the nicest thing someone told you about yourself?
My mom, to me, when I told her I had always known as I was weird but was quite glad about it: "You're not weird. You're just different." Of course, she's my mother. :D

37. The most touching experience you had this year.
Lolo was already intubated so he couldn't talk at all and only communicated via sign language or by writing. My parents were trying to keep him amused despite the situation and it was not difficult to lift his spirits. Mom started teasing me to one of the medical residents in charge to monitor his situation and asked my Lolo to do the proper, archaic introduction. He wrote this on his clipboard: "I would like to introduce you with bursting pride to my granddaughter" and he appended the legal title (which I am still working on) to my name. Then when the resident turned around to leave, he raised his fist at the resident's back right on cue then smiled at me.

38. What did you like most about yourself this year?
Being quite strong, especially for my mother and my grandmother when we lost my grandfather in the middle of the year. Keeping my tongue in check and refusing to retaliate even when I have every reason to validly do so was very difficult to do but it was something I could - and had to - do.

39. What did you hate about yourself this year?
Asking a lot of "whys" when I knew the reason behind them…and wishing for some things when my hands were full and obviously could not take anymore load. On hindsight, all the "whys" seemed really stupid, selfish and whiny.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Jumpstart my kaleidoscope heart
Love to watch the colors fade
They make not make sense
But they sure…made me."
- Uncharted by Sara Bareilles

41. Was 2010 a good year for you?
No, 2010 was not a good year. But it's in such times when you realize you can still find many reasons to smile.

42. What was your favorite moment of the year?
Snorkeling with my 81-year old grandmother in Balicasag Island, Bohol. She kept on telling us that we were all going to drown and was perplexed that the guide gave her a pack of bread. "What am I going to do with this?" she wondered aloud. "I am not eating this." I told her it was for the fish. "Aaaaah," she responded then went back to being the harbinger of doom by telling us once again that we were all going to drown.

My gwamma getting swamped by fishies.

43. What was your least favorite moment of the year?
May 15-25, 2010. Those ten days were the toughest of my life. Watching someone slowly slip away from you is torture enough. Feeling absolutely helpless to ease his suffering was even more difficult.

44. Where were you when 2010 began?
In Taguhangin, Ajuy, Iloilo.

45. Who were you with?
With my parents, sister and grandparents.

46. Where will you be when 2010 ends?
Still in Ajuy, Iloilo.

47. Who will you be with when 2010 ends?
With my parents, sister and grandmother.

48. Do you have new year's resolution for 2011?
To keep my focus and eyes on the goal, to remain steadfast and strong, to work so hard I can feel my heart pounding inside my chest, to never lose faith, to carry on the good fight and to make it to the finish line with a heart full of thankfulness and hope.

49. What was your favorite month of 2010?
June. That month was a period of major adjustment but that was also when I felt the love and support from friends and family. Thank you so much!

50. What was your favorite record from 2010?
Sara Bareilles - Kaleidoscope Heart
Glee soundtracks
Alicia Keys - Element of Freedom
Noel Cabangon - Byahe

51. How many concerts did you see in 2010?
Watched Cats in July and it was spellbinding and jawdropping.

Saw the Gin Blossoms concert! It was like being 11 years old all over again!

52. Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2010?
No. Ha! I should scrap this question in next year's survey.

53. Do a lot of drugs in 2010?
Last time you're going to see this question in this survey.
And the answer is no.

54. You do anything you are ashamed of this year?
As always, yes. :)

55. How much money did you spend in 2010?
A lot! Haha!

56. What was your proudest moment in 2010?
My sister graduating from law school. I watched her hurdle each day with mounting courage and unparalleled perseverance and to see her finally get that Bachelor of Laws degree was a promise fulfilled.

57. What was your most embarrassing moment of 2010?
I'm too embarrassed I don't even want to talk about it. To put it simply in keywords: "Corpo class," "Ramon Fernandez," and "El Presidente." Prof. Jacinto had one good laugh and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

58. If you could go back in time to any moment of 2010 and change something, what would it be?
None really. :)

59. What are your plans for 2011?
Work really hard, pray harder and just keep myself sane. This year is really going to be epic. Really.

60. How are you different now that the year has ended?
This year has been a major rollercoaster and I can say I've emerged more independent and more at peace with myself. I have come to know a lot of people better, even those I have known for almost my entire life. It is important to always keep a good measure of understanding and to really think not once, not twice but a million times before doing or saying anything.

61. What are your wishes for the new year?
I'm wishing for peace of mind for me and for my family. All of us have our own battles to fight and to finish. Inasmuch as one wants to win every battle he finds himself in, a person often misses the key element in pursuing victory: the cause for which he is fighting for. This year, I wish for a courageous spirit, a forgiving and loving heart, a sincere soul and a discerning mind.

"Angels We Have Heard On High" on a Silent Night

2011-01-02T22:59:00.001+08:00

24 December 2010, 7:30 P.M.

It is turning out to be one very interesting Christmas Eve for me. Earlier this morning, I had my day all planned out:

Bake two more batches of Shepherd's Pie;
Drop off gifts which needed last-minute delivery;
Buy pink flowers for my Lolo's grave (because he always gets yellow ones from my mom and my lola);
Drive off to our hometown; and
Attend Christmas Eve service (and watch out for my four-year old goddaughter Ashley's opening spiel) then cap off the night with noche buena.

    I made it as far as "drive off to our hometown." As I'm writing this, I'm sitting on my bed in the middle of our dark bedroom illuminated only by my laptop's backlight and the colored lights my grandfather had installed outside our window years ago. Three of our dogs are in the living room and the foyer, padlocked inside the house with me. Somewhere I could make out the sound of singing children from the little chapel situated near our house. I'll miss out on seeing Ashley deliver her spiel as well as the other kids sing Christmas songs I know by heart. I'm sure it's quite cold outside since I'm in the room but I'm snug in my sweater and blanket. My X-Mini is softly playing Bocelli singing "Angels We Have Heard on High" in Italian (at least I think it's italian). I don't speak or know the language but at the bare minimum, I wish I could hum along with the tune. But, no, on Christmas Eve I have to be nursing a very sore throat and have completely lost my voice. Swallowing is very painful and involves a lot of effort. Early this afternoon I was starting to sound a lot like my parents' long-lost son and about a few hours ago, the only sound I could generate was the slight hiss generated by air passing through my throat as I attempted to utter monosyllabic words. Since I intend to have some semblance of a voice tomorrow, I chose to stop talking altogether and to generate sounds only by drumming my appendages . So on Christmas Eve of 2010, it's just me having a very silent night..all alone with just Bocelli and the dogs. Maybe "alone" just up until around 9 p.m. when everyone else comes home from church.

    Save for the distant sounds of singing and the soft music in the room, it is indeed turning out to be one very quiet Christmas Eve. It's not a exactly a lonely Christmas, just a very different one. Okay, I admit, I just might be in denial. If only I weren't feeling so whoozy and heavy-headed, I'd have half the mind to walk out the house, wade in ankle-deep mud and sit by my grandfather's grave just so tonight would feel a little bit more like the ordinary Christmas Eves we've had for the past twenty-six years.

    Bocelli still continues to sing in Italian, his rich voice blending beautifully with the grandness of the orchestra and the accompanying choir. In the stillness of this night, it is now much easier to imagine how similarly quiet the shepherds of Bethlehem had begun their evening that very first Christmas 2,010 years ago. In fact, unlike me waiting for family to come home from church and to partake of noche buena later in the night, the shepherds had nothing festive to look forward to. It was just another night on the job, keeping watch over their flocks and perhaps exchanging stories just so they could stay awake. Or so they thought. They had absolutely no idea they were going to witness the birth of the One who would bring salvation to the world. Neither were they aware that they were going to be visited by angels in the middle of the darkness, bearing tidings of the best news that they were to ever hear in more than ten lifetimes. They did not expect to see and hear for themselves "a multitude of the heavenly host praising God" in the very same words Bocelli was singing so divinely at the moment. I bet they sounded way better than all the Bocellis, Pavarottis, Carusos, Grobans and Richard Poons in the world combined. This image is so grandiose and so astounding in my mind that I find it very hard to believe that none of the shepherds suffered a heart attack either from shock upon seeing the heavens open up to reveal the angelic celestial chorus or simply from sheer happiness.

In the middle of the darkness, the silence, the solitude, the struggling and the loneliness came a message of hope on that night 2,010 years ago. It was a message that was to change the world, the very course of history and the lives of all mankind. That message came in the grandest cosmic manner and filled the shepherds with euphoria so absolute they proceeded without haste to the birthplace of Jesus Christ and went back to their homes with hearts and lips praising God endlessly. So on this night of silence and of solitude, in the middle of the chill and the rain, I look forward to the grandness of God's plan for me and my family. This Christmas is new, different, lonelier and perhaps a bit more sentimental but the message of hope is no longer just a general generic reminder. True, I may only have Bocelli in digital music and not angels on high, singing sweetly over the plains but the message and the reason for singing remains truer and closer than ever. This Christmas, the hope which the birth of Jesus Christ has given mankind now resonates with a more familiar, more relevant connection in my heart.

In my head, I hum with a heart full of thankfulness and joy, summoning all the grandness my non-existent voice could muster: "Gloria, in excelsis Deo, gloria in excelsis Deo."

Channeling Frost

2010-11-16T19:09:00.003+08:00

    About two weeks ago, my mom and I went with my grandmother, my sister and her friends to Boracay. Because of pressing concerns back home, most of our companions left for Aklan a day ahead, leaving my mom and me to catch up with them in New Washington, Aklan by the next morning. This we surely did and by 5:45 A.M., I was backing our light blue mini SUV out the driveway with my mother in the front seat and my snorkeling gear all snug and secure in my overnight bag in the luggage compartment. As I drove away from our street into the main thoroughfares, I was filled with visions of white sand, cool seawater and hours of bonding time with "a whole new world" that came to existence with about two to three hours of snorkielling just off the shore of Crocodile Island.

    It was just my mom, me and Kami (my iPod) playing Sara Bareilles as I sped past Jaro, Leganes, Zarraga and Pototan on that clear, cool morning. We usually take the bus whenever we go to Boracay so that no one has to worry about driving all the way to Aklan although one has to contend with the steady stream of grainy Steven Seagal movies (and they don't even show "Under Siege") and the requisite stops in almost every town for bathroom breaks. So what I usually do is find a good seat near the window, prop up my fluffy jacket on one side of my head and lull off to sleep until we get to the Caticlan Jetty Port.

    So while I sat behind the wheel on that morning, I realized that in all of my trips to Aklan, I had come to ignore the beauty of the countryside. The trees lined the roadside like silent, proud sentinels, the mountains glowed purple in the horizon and the ricefields stretched like an endless verdant mass. "It's so nice here," I kept on telling my mom. The sight was all together familiar yet different, much like a steaming mug of chocolate in a coffeeshop in the side of town you don't usually frequent.

    Despite previous days literally pummelled by rain, the sun finally shone in its full glory on that morning, a big yellow ball resplendent in its corner of the sky.   That was the way it was as I drove out of the city and into the neighboring towns until I got to Passi, a relatively quiet, hilly town with roads that seemed to roll up and down and slightly meandered from one side to another. As a matter of fact when the car or bus is going pretty fast, one gets the same tummy tickling sensation that comes with sudden plane drops or riding a huge, fast-rotating ferris wheel.

    Thick fog had enveloped much of Passi and had settled into the road, leaving only a few meters in front of me visible. In a matter of seconds, the fog had engulfed us in an embrace that was pleasantly suffocating and seemed to have transported us into some English countryside inhabited by the likes of either sinister Heathcliff or pleasant Molly of Elizabeth Gaskell's "Wives and Daughters." My momentary morphing was interrupted by the sight of little children running down the road in their sleeveless shirts, cotton shorts and rubber slippers - clothing that obviously would lead to hypothermia in some far-off English countryside.

The fog drifted towards the car much like formless ghosts which temporary sojourned with my mother, Kami (still with Sara Bareilles) and me in the car's cabin as the vehicle plowed into their mass which offered no resistance. More trees lined the sidewalk and though there was no way they gave the impression of being in the middle of the woods, the low visibility caused by the fog seemed to make a good suggestion that I just do post-production and editing using my imagination. I immediately felt like the speaker in Robert Frosts's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" as the surroundings were slowly plunged into some kind of darkness with the trees offering quite a refuge from the sunlight's pathetic onslaught. I wanted to stop the car and take a walk, albeit a quick one. I was debating on whether or not I should pull over, bring out my camera and take a few shots. However, much like the speaker in the poem, no matter if the roadside appeared to be "woods...lovely, dark and deep," stopping would mean spending some time off the road even if I had kilometers to go before I got to my destination. So I snapped a couple of shots with my phone camera from the windshield just so I could have some sort of remembrance of the sight I found quite enchanting.

So I drove on without stopping until the fog had slowly dissipated and without me realizing it, the road in front of me was clear and my surroundings were sunny again. On hindsight, it seemed to have been a good idea to stop. In fact, it seemed like the perfect thing to do at a rare time like that. I promised myself I would stop on the way back even when I knew there was no reassurance that the place would once again be smothered with fog on my way back or that the same eerily comforting feeling would permeate the surroundings. But who could stop when there were still miles to cover, people to meet or deadlines to beat? When I first read that poem about fifteen years ago, I had been so sure that if were in the position of the speaker in Frosts's poem, I would stop with no hesitation. Turns out, I would not.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
(by Robert Frost)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

The Agony in Waiting

2010-10-13T00:58:00.000+08:00

Violence has never made sense. The senselessness is so absolute that the question "why" has never appeared more puny or dwarfed by incompetence. About three weeks after the grenade explosion in Taft Avenue that left more than 40 people injured, including two female law students who had to lose their limbs, the question still remains unanswered, like an ugly finger persistently lodged and probing with frustration against one's belly. I was driving home alone on Wednesday about two weeks ago, after a long day of interviewing witnesses for a case I was handling for legal aid. When I switched on the radio, the first thing I heard was the sobbing voice of Raissa Laurel's father and the sights and sounds of September 26th came rushing back to me. I texted my friends, the very ones who stood beside me on that cloudy afternoon with the rest of the contingent from my law school. I was disturbed and was grappling for answers.

The Salubong is law school tradition. It's what law students, professors and most especially the bar examinees look forward to after four weeks of living a high-strung existence. It's that time of the month when Starbucks Torre Lorenzo, McDonald's La Salle, Jollibee Vito Cruz and other food establishments in the area experience an immediate spike in sales. It's that time of the year when Taft Avenue bursts into all sorts of colors - maroon, red, blue, yellow and all other kinds of shades - and the somber mood that has settled into the La Salle area is finally exorcised almost literally by the booming drums and the steady, maddening cheers of classmates, friends and family members. It is the time to extol the values hard work, perseverance, patience and excellence. It is the time to celebrate friendship and the strong support system that law schools have always been known for.

That was what I came out there to do in the afternoon of September 26, in that little patch of concrete marked on every side by maroon-colored string and adorned with the white-and-maroon flaglets. My parents stood farther off near the gates of La Salle so that they could be among the first to greet my sister. Our law school contingent was almost beside the San Beda Law group in the portion of the street fronting McDonald's and since I had been in schizophrenic mode the entire September, I figured I was lucky enough to be standing in an area which would allow me to greet my sister when she came out and, at the same time still be stuck with my school colors. The University of San Agustin from Iloilo City had flown in Dinagyang drummers (arguably the best bunch of pounders and percussionists in that street) and with their steady, rhythmic beat, the street party mood was completely palpable.

Flags and balloons were waving in the air with frenzied anticipation. Cha, Da, Apple and I were getting our faces painted, no, emblazoned with our obvious affiliation. Every now and then, I'd get squirted by cold beer courtesy of a bunch of students who were spraying each other with pilsen and as the frothy liquid ran down my hair and my back, the last thing in my mind was taking a shower. A couple of meters away, more beer was flying off into the air like Ye Old Faithful amidst shouts, laughter and deafening cheers. The drums were getting louder by the minute and every now and then, I would glance at my watch to check the time.

    At around 5 PM, it was almost impossible to hear myself. The Pep Squad drummers were pounding so hard into their instruments that my heart gave a thud with every beat that resonated. We had been cheering so hard I heard my voice break a couple of times already. It was a matter of time before the bar examinees would make their grand exit. We would then meet them with the loudest whistles, cheers, hoots, yelling and screaming that our already flailing voiceboxes could muster. As they would make their way out, we would shout as loud as we possibly could. We would wave our flaglets and balloons into the air like prized war booties. We would be giving away hugs to everyone and no one then would have the right to feel upset at the end of the day.

    That was the gameplan before the explosion. Initially, I thought it was a drum that had been pounded really, really hard by someone as humongous as Gargantuan. But then, no drum would ever sound that loud and would end with an almost evil, razor-sharp rip. Neither would it send a slight wave of air or a rumble in the ground that my legs and feet obviously felt. It wasn't a drum and it obviously was too loud to be a gunshot. A wave of chill shot up through my spine when I realized that the Salubong, the yearly tradition that law schools look forward to, the celebration that was to extol excellence, persistence and friendship, had just been bombed.

    People started pushing and falling back and as I replayed the sound of the blast ripping through the air, I began to move away from Taft Avenue, anticipating that there would be another explosion somewhere. There was a lot of jostling, a lot of heaving, a lot of screaming, a lot of shrieking as people began to yell for help while others would shout for the crowd to calm down and to stop pushing so that no one would get hurt in a stampede. I could feel my phone vibrating in my bag but my hands were held captive by the crowd pressing into my arms, back and chest that I had to lift my chin up so that I could at least get some air. I finally got an opportunity to squirm my hand into my bag and when I answered the phone, my mother was screaming into my ear, "Where are you? Are you okay?" in rapid bratatat I could barely manage to interject an "I'm all right" into the steady stream.

    It almost felt shameful, selfish even, to answer "I'm all right." Not when blood was scattered in Taft Avenue, blood of law students like me who had come to Taft Avenue for the same purpose - to extol the values of excellence, hard work and persistence, to celebrate friendship and the strong support that law schools had always been known for, to cap off the horrendous month that had been September with a night of revelry. To say "I am all right" would mean that someone else had gotten hurt, instead of me.    Everywhere I looked, people were in a state of shock, huddled in little groups as they tried to make sense of what happened. The girls behind me who had been dousing each other with beer had settled into a stupor, hair strands slightly stiff and dripping as the only remnants of the festive atmosphere which had engulfed Taft Avenue only moments later. I could barely make out images of people running along Taft Avenue. Everyone had the same look of utter disbelief and shock in their faces.

    I moved out of our group to look for my parents and my mother was obviously immensely relieved to see me. My sister came out through a small passageway near the La Salle gate. She herself looked surprised and confused, saying that most of the people she saw who were being wheeled in stretchers or carried by rescuers were her friends from San Beda. They were clad in their identical black sorority T-shirts and it did not make sense to see them sobbing and bloodied when this was supposed to be a time of celebration. She was in the verge of tears when she saw flowers strewn all over Taft Avenue, flowers that were meant to be handed to them the moment they stepped out into the street like victorious conquerors. I looked at the street which was now cordoned off by a police line and populated by bomb squad personnel who were sifting through mounds of deflated balloons, plastic bags, cake boxes and other random things which were scattered in the street. Who were the conquerors now? Definitely none of us. We had just been conquered easily, swiftly, by a box containing an explosive (supposedly a fragmentation grenade) which had been thrown by hands belonging to an unidentified face.

    Violence never made sense and it never will. That is what makes the entire situation more painful, especially in the light of the 40-plus students who suffered shrapnel injuries and the two female law students who had to be amputated, two young women whose lives will be changed forever, who would need an extra battery of faith and courage to move forward and to continue pursuing their dreams of getting that "Atty." prepended to their names. They had done nothing wrong. In fact, they had been working so hard, tirelessly, for the past month in making sure that their barristers were well-fed, that their needs were taken care of, that they had to worry about nothing else except their exams. And now, this.

    The person (or people, for that matter) who hatched this plan, who hurled that ticking time bomb into the crowd, has to pay. The legal profession does not deserve and does not need people who do not even have the slightest hint of regard for the life and safety of others. The legal profession does not deserve and does not need people who have absolutely no sense of right and wrong and whose perspectives are so skewed that lobbing an explosive into a throng of students is not disturbing enough to keep him awake all through the night. The legal profession does not deserve and does not need people who are not man enough to stand up for their acts. The legal profession does not deserve and does not need this brand of cowards who walk around with their tails slithered between their legs. The legal profession does not deserve and does not need people who will further degrade its tarnished image and will give society more reason to fuel its love-hate tango with the legal realm. These are people who will not fight for the rule of law. In fact, they are the ones who will pound the very life and soul out of its sinews. Their acts on that afternoon of September 26th are enough to warrant their utter depravity and their adherence to lawlessness and utter disregard for the system that tries to somehow maintain peace and order in society.

    Up until now, however, no one has been made responsible for this act. Despite the supposed full-force of the law hunting down their heels or the amount of P1.2 million hanging over their no one has yet been made accountable. While we wait for the perpetrators to be identified and dragged out of their hiding holes, sunrise and sunset continues in a steady stream for those who were injured by the bomb explosion. Most, I suppose, are starting to move on with their lives in the hopes that the shrapnel wounds would fade with time and eventually disappear. But what of those who sustained permanent, more obvious and life-altering injuries, those that will never fade with time and will never ever disappear? They need and they deserve a reason to continue to believe in the justice system that they yearn and continue to work so hard to be a part of. If the system cannot protect the very people who seek to be its sentinels, then we really are in deep trouble.

Twenty-Seven

2010-06-26T23:19:00.002+08:00

It's almost 10 in the evening, about two hours more before I officially turn 27 on June 27th. :) My best friend Doi always thought that the birthday a person should look forward to is the one which coincides with the day of his birth. After all, she was the one who chose to have a party when she turned 19 on April 19, 2002. I liked the idea and I thought that I should do the same myself. My plans are still underway because they were railroaded by other more pressing concerns (such as my Lolo's hospitalization and eventual passing) but for the meantime, I'd like to write about something I started drawing up last year, a few days after I turned 26. I finally completed it two nights ago, when I was lying in bed, sandwiched by my two fat pillows.

This is a list of thoughts entertained, beliefs adhere to and lessons learned - all in the span of the 27 years I've been in physical existence. It is a list of pertaining to experiences which are either too beautiful to write about or too painful to clearly illustrate. Our walk in this world is, after all, a balancing act between the things which give us joy and those which give us sorrow. It is a medley of notes which are either spot-on or hang in that area of the musical staff known as a sharp,a flat or an absolute off-key. But then I've always stood pat on my belief that happiness is more than an emotion. It is a choice that one makes - that no matter how the world conspires (as Paolo Coelho puts it in "The Alchemist") to make your life a chugging, miserable choo-choo train, it is still your choice in the end to realize that the misery can never ever take away the sheer joy of life's ultimate joyride.

My List of 27

1. Never be afraid to admit you do not know something.
The ramifications are really scary if you don't come out clean about your ignorance. Just think, a lot of roadside accidents or plane crashes are traced to human error. And these are people who (supposedly) know what they're doing. To admit not knowing something allows for a lot of honesty and humility to come in. It also leaves enough space for #2 to come in.

2. Life always gives you second chances.
It was my 25th birthday and I was called to recite for my Nego class. My teacher asked me to talk about a case which he had not assigned for the class to read. As I was waiting for the earth to open up and swallow me whole, I apologized and told the professor I had not read the case. He told me to sit down and as I listened to about five other classmates recite one case after another, all I could think about was how nice a big, fat, red "5" would look like on my recitation card opposite the date June 27. All of a sudden, my teacher asked to stand again and he made me recite another case - one I had studied the night before. Then he made me recite another one...and another one...and another one. By the end of the class, the "5" had obviously disappeared.

3. Focus on what is here and now and not on what is to be expected.
Sometimes, we need to be like horses with blinders with our eyes and mind focused on one particular thing at a particular time. That's the best way to come up with a pretty good job. Otherwise we would never get any work done. Besides, whatever should happen next week or next year is anticipatory. The snake that is presently coiled at your feet could easily sink its teeth in your leg RIGHT NOW.

4. Life is like traveling down an open road.
Overused but absolutely true, especially when you're driving. The scenery can change and so can the sky. Everything can pass you by in a blur unless you choose to walk at a slower pace. Keep your eyes on the road all the time as you don't know what can immediately dart across. You don't exactly know who or what you can meet as you take every step.

5. You can be useful when you choose to.
It is all a matter of awareness, sensitivity and a sense of responsibility. Step up and take the challenge because there is a lot of work to be done. Your choice: idleness or productivity.

6. Wake up when the alarm sounds.
The "snooze" button will eventually fall off and you'll need to buy a new alarm clock.

7. Learn to deal with Murphy's Law but be prepared for surprises.
Manage your risks so that when the worst possible things happen in the worst possible time, you've got some skin left to save. When push comes to shove, it is important not o lose your cool (or your perspective). Surprises come but they may not always be bad. Good ones make an appearance too - like an invitation from my friend to be her maid of honor (in a wedding she was to have in FINLAND!) when I was in the middle of charming my way out of entering the wrong U-turn slot.

8. Be happy with what you have. Don't focus on the black spot in a white wall.
There is so much space to write on so get on with that. The spot can eventually make a good punctuation mark.

9. There can be no such thing as needless worrying from a mother's perspective.
My mother hates it when I'm out late, when I'm watching a movie alone, when I'm serving court orders in the middle of nowhere, when I'm munching street food in a hawker's stall in a foreign land, when I'm stuck in a flood, when I'm being quiet and even when I'm planning to go diving with whale sharks in Donsol. "Just think, they're not just whales or just sharks. They're WHALE SHARKS. They might eat you." No matter how hilarious it may seem that her anxieties have made her imagination as complex as a taxidermist's textbook, I have to admit it has to be a natural thing. "What out when you're a mother yourself," she tells me. I have a feeling she's right - again.

10. Find the song that's perfect for you.
There's so much to sift through in finding that perfect tune to headline your life's soundtrack - melody, lyrics, pitch, your voice quality, your limits, your good points, your perfect avenue of expression. I think I've found mine in The Carpenters' "You." Keep in mind, though, that this criteria shouldn't just be applicable to songs.

11. Thank God for friends. Be even more thankful for family.
No man is an island, really. If I didn't have friends, I seriously would be insane. My friends are always there for me and I never need to face anything alone. If I didn't have family, I'd be a lot worse. Family sticks to you no matter what, no matter how adhesive-unfriendly your skin has become.

12. Know when to stop - and really do it even if it involves a lot of false starts.
We all need to let go of some things or pull the plug on certain endeavors. Writing "fine" prematurely may be very difficult since reality and hopefulness are quite difficult to balance as well. Once you've got one foot out the door, the rest will eventually follow. Don't castigate yourself if you sometimes take a couple steps back. It's all a part of the process. If you come crawling back in the same door you left, then we really do have a problem.

13. Work really hard to get what you want.
It feels absolutely great to wrap your fingers around something you have bled for to the point of being anemic pale. Really.

14. You don't have to be tough all the time. A little vulnerability is okay.
I am still working on this but if toughness means clamming up and vulnerability means the exact opposite, then a little vulnerability is okay. Vulnerability is essential in relationships and females are relationship-based.

15. Be generous with encouragement, be prudent with constructive criticism. Shut up if you have nothing useful to say.
Foot-in-mouth disease is a struggle for me but people need to be hoisted up when needed and brought down to earth a bit when they've ingested too much helium. Words can both heal and kill. That's a lesson I continue to learn each day.

16. Do not allow anyone to make you feel bad about yourself. Be comfortable with your own skin. And, yes, geeks rule.
So sue me for loving "The Princess Diaries." Learning to love yourself is in no way the greatest love of all but it is crucial to any person's happiness. Work on your weaknesses but build on your good points and for the other areas of your person which will never improve no matter what you do, accept them as an integral part of yourself, your own unique seal which makes you...you. And, yes, I am proud to be a sci-fi-obsessing, literature-downing, tech-loving geek.

17. Every day is going to be the best day of your life.
Because every day is never going to be like the last or the next.

18. God will always be God. The problem is, we like to share the driver's seat with him. Have faith.
God is sovereign and we need to let Him take control and to lead us where to go. When we choose to hand the reins over to him, let him be the Sole Driver. After all He, not "He-Man" is the true Master of the Universe.

19. Forgiving is very, very tough. Forgetting shouldn't be tougher.
It is quite hard to forgive, especially when it's people you love the most who hurt you. But once forgiveness has taken place, forgetting should come naturally because the peace that comes with forgiveness overrides the pain which comes with the memory. When you tell someone you have forgiven him, you should really mean it.

20. Share yourself with others. It's the best thing you can do with your life.
I make it through the toughest of times because many people have chosen to share their lives and their time with me. I (hope to) have been changed because of their presence in my life and it is my way of giving back, of paying it forward. And it's not because I think highly of myself that I should share myself with the world or with other people. It's because a lot of people need that slightest indication that they have not been forgotten.

21. Everyone is entitled to some measure of vanity.
So what if I fuss a little too much over my hair more than any other part of my face? It's naturally puffy!

22. Everyone has to have at least one Stevie Wonder song in any playlist.
This guy has the best pipes in my opinion. I have 36 but "I Wish" tops the list. Why doesn't anyone sing like him anymore?

23. Don't pass judgment on other people immediately. Every person has a good side and a bad side. It all depends on how much of either you can tolerate.
It's very easy to compartmentalize people, shove them into boxes or drop them into two neat categories. The truth is, most, if not all, people do not fit perfectly into our little dioramas. There are a lot of factors which need to be factored into understanding what makes a person tick, what makes him laugh out loud, what makes him as red as a balloon with anger, what makes him sing in the shower. Reading people is one of the best things about being alive and every person is an entity of beauty.

24. Exercise.
Aside from the physical benefits of exercising, nothing beats the feeling of one's heart beating so hard in your ribcage you could almost see it thumping its way out of your chest. Those are the moments - when my face is red, my breath is coming out in gasps and my chest is heaving - that I feel absolutely alive. I started running last year and I sometimes do the treadmill but I still love swimming and cycling.

25. Always be thankful.
The world needs to hear more "thank you's" coming around. To be honest about it, we don't really deserve many of the best things we have in our lives so we should be grateful for what we have on our laps.

26. Say what you need to say. Leave no room for "if."
My grandfather died a month ago. I listened to his shallow breathing and as his heart rate plummeted to zero, I went up to him, kissed his forehead, said "I love you, Lolo" and smiled at him. I did not know if he could still hear me as he was heavily sedated but I felt no heaviness in my chest. The "I love you" was not for his benefit or mine. It was nothing but mere surplusage because in his lifetime, I had told him everything I needed to tell him, I had said everything I had to say, I had done everything that needed to be done to show him much he was loved and he, in turn, had heard and felt everything he should have felt and heard. The saddest word in the English language, according to my Labor professor, is the word "if." Short, two letters but is both heavy and haunting.

27. Love God, love Him with your whole heart and soul.
My God is my cornerstone. Because He is good, He is holy, He is perfect, He is true and He is wise, there is every reason to love him with my whole heart and soul. But aside from His perfect character, I love my God because He loves me in a way that exceeds everyone else's ability. His love transcends anything - time, space and all the puny fortresses I've built in my imaginary fiefdom.

If Only There Were More Words for "Thank You"

2010-06-17T23:02:00.000+08:00

It has been 34 days since the first of a series of devastating squalls hit my family, leaving all of us like broken compasses spinning wildly. I have always been assured that the True North will always be found despite the compass's seeming confusion; thus, that question is never left unresolved. It is more of confronting the issue of where to go next, what direction to take, how each day is like a looming monster to be taken down or enslaved. Every day for the past 34 days, I attempted to find at least some semblance of a downtime where I could sit and write about everything that was laid before me. Writing, after all, is something I find very therapeutic in the midst of all this upheaval but I go through my head and all I find is a mess - a tumble of fear, sadness, uncertainty and even utter disbelief that still leave me grasping at the emptiness. Until I poke through that muddle and some clarity befalls me, I find I must settle some things which need to be given priority. And one of those things which need to given that priority is an expression of gratitude.

"Kabalaslan" (loosely translated as "debt of gratitude") was a Hiligaynon word I often heard my Lolo Deting utter when he was alive. He constantly reminded me to be thankful for anything and everything and to make sure that there should be a corresponding expression or manifestation of that thankfulness. Because of "kabalaslan," thankfulness was always profuse and evident during his lifetime. Because of "kabalaslan," he was sometimes wounded or disappointed but more often than not, it gave him so much joy - not because it was an expectation he nursed but because it came randomly in little boxes called surprises. It was never an elixir for him. Instead, it was a form of encouragement to continue to think of himself less and to help others more. My Lolo definitely was not perfect and there were a lot of aspects of his character which needed some work but in terms of giving thanks and appreciation, he had given that trait a whole new meaning.

I am not writing this to hoist him in a pedestal of heroism because, in all humility and honesty, he was your average Joe. Plainly, I write with so much admiration because he simply meant so much to me. So from a very grateful grand daughter who sorely misses her doting grandfather, I would like to rattle off my thank you list.

To my Lolo's many doctors, especially Dr. Juaneza, Dr. Danucop, Dr. Jardeleza, Dr. Bito-onon, Dr. Jurao, Dr. Nadala, Dr. Bayona and Dr. Gopio, thank you so much for everything you did for my grandfather and for being there during the most crucial of times, standing beside us even in the wee hours of the morning. Your strength of spirit gave us hope in the moments when we desperately needed some form of light at the end of the tunnel but your gentle candor gave us the courage to be realistic and to start letting go. You were not just mere physicians to him; you were there for him as a friend.

Thank you so much to the medical residents who attended to Lolo and often had to deal with a host of very frantic and very emotional family members - Dr. Anico, Dr. Salazar, Dr. Prudente, Dr. De Asis, Dr. Lim, Dr. Lee and Dr. Castillo. I do apologize for the times I panic and call you directly, causing you some form of inconvenience. Your patience, calmness and genuine concern are all greatly appreciated and I do hope you will all become very successful specialists in the near future. May you never lose that sensitive human touch which makes expertise in the field medicine less than academic excellence and more of a valuable gift.

I would like to express my gratitude to the IDH nurses and staff, especially to Medeline, April, Leslie, Gerwin, Van, Fatima, Maricor, Joan, Chen and Charene. You all became a part of our day-to-day activities and have made indelible imprints not only in our hearts but in my Lolo's as well. Thank you for the attention you gave Lolo Deting in his most critical hours and for catering to his little requests such as giving him freshly squeezed juice or washing his hair. You all somehow eased Lolo's burden with your gentleness and your genuine laughter. I will certainly miss you all and hope that I will meet up with you again in less strenuous and non-medical related conditions.

I am extremely thankful to Dr. Soriano and the team of physical therapists in the Rehabilitation Medicine department. A very special shoutout goes to to Lani, Lemuel, Sir Archie and Manang Rosella's little bro Nonoy. :) I am not sure if you realize how much joy you all gave Lolo during his rehab sessions. He enjoyed talking about what he did in rehab everyday (I sure could say you also felt the same way) and he always looked forward to your daily sessions. You helped him deal with and accept his paralysis without completely dashing his spirit, for allowing him to bask in the heat of the sunshine without letting him feel the sting. Thank you for giving him so much love, for your patience when his temper started flaring up and for your creativity and good humor which never failed to make my Lolo laugh.

To Pastor Sharon Duremdes, Jaro Evangelical Church, St. Luke Sub-Circuit ministers, their respective churches and their families, Manay Felina, Manong Deo, the Quimpos, the Maderas, the Aplaons and the rest of our prayer warriors - thank you so much for the spiritual support you gave Lolo and our family. Thank you for praying with and for Lolo when he was in pain and when he was discouraged. To my discipler Ate Carol, Ate Shei, Venice and to my surrogate mothers, ates and kuyas in Harvest - your spiritual wisdom certainly made the very heavy journey lighter. Thank you for not sugarcoating the reality that I was bound to lose someone very important to me while giving me the courage to accept that inevitability with arms wide open. Thank you everyone for the constant reminder that our bodies are imperfect and are meant to waste away and die. Thank you for reminding us not to hold on to anything including our broken dreams so that God could properly put them back together again. Thank you for helping us not to forget us that God is good, that God is in control and that God is, and always will be, God.

Lolo devoted a huge chunk of his life to ILIASCO and I am very thankful to every member of his ILIASCO family who gave their support, sympathies and encouragement. I appreciate your efforts to share your time with our family during his wake - from singing for him for the last time up to staying up all night (well, at least, trying to stay up all night) on the eve of his burial. Lolo Deting loved you all very much and I am quite grateful for all the love you had given him in return.

To our many relatives who had supported us in a variety of ways, especially the Rojas-Espinosas, the Tupas-Rojases and the Rojas-Jalandoons, your efforts are greatly appreciated. Thank you for pulling us in the right direction and thank you for giving us numerous shoulders to cry on. Thank you for your encouragement and thank you for making us realize the real value of family. To the Villanuevas, thank you so much for your unexpected gift. We indeed felt the love even if seas have to be crossed and datelines have to be traversed. Special thanks to Tita Marie, Tita Bebing, Tita Diutay and Tita Luz who stood by us when we were at our most helpless, who prayed with us when we were at our loneliest and who stayed by our side and Lolo's side as well when we were all at our weakest and our most vulnerable. There was a rather odd mix of both deep-rooted sorrow and profound peace when we watched Lolo's heartbeat drop to zero in the midst of Tita Bebing's prayer of commitment and an impromptu medley of old Baptist hymns but thank you so much, Tita, for giving Lolo that beautiful farewell gift before his last heartbeat. I am extremely grateful to Nene Heartie and TIta Kang who took charge of the physical arrangement and logistics of the funeral and the wake in Taguhangin. Thank you for working tirelessly for Lolo despite the extreme heat in the daytime and the torrential rains at night. Thank you for helping us do the myriads of things which needed our attention and yet completely forgot. As you will know, grief has a numbing, disorienting effect on one's sense and grief of this intensity certainly has left us bewildered. Thank you so very much for everything and for giving us our newest hairy bundle of joy. The Rojas-Jalando-on brood's support and visit is also something which brought us happiness and comfort in the midst of sorrow. It was a joy to have bonded with you all, especially my long-lost cousins, even for a short period of time. Thank you, Manong Francis Neil and Tito Amsil Alubog, for accepting our invitation to participate in Lolo's vigil services and in his funeral service as well.

Thank you to our many, many friends who made their support known - whether physically or virtually, verbally or musically, via mass cards, texts, emails or even Facebook comments. I am very grateful to everyone who took the time out to be in Lolo's wake despite the rather bipolar nature of the weather. We are also very thankful to all those who sent us gifts, flowers and food. All your efforts are greatly appreciated by my family. Bad, I know I text you a million times a day and I understand how busy you are but I appreciate your responses (no matter how late), your medical explanations and assessments (no matter how frank) and your friendship. Doi (and Betty and Tita Tess), thank you for simply being there. Your physical presence was something I greatly valued and I totally appreciated the effort you made in coming to the funeral despite the distance. A special thank you goes out to the Kabayao family - Tito Gil, Tita Cora, Manang Selien, Far and Gil. In his lifetime, Lolo Deting really loved to hear you play and I express my sincere gratitude in affording him and our family the privilege and honor of another beautiful performance not only during his wake but also during his funeral. I am so thankful to you, Manang Ched (Maquilay), for being a strong pillar of support to our family during this time of trial. Thank you for all the time you spent in taking care of Lolo even if you didn't have to. Your gift - a writing tablet - is something we greatly appreciate and value. We had many wonderful conversations with Lolo using that writing tablet, even if such conversations would eventually be our last. Your gentleness of spirit and sincerity of heart certainly make you one extremely wonderful person, the kind that is quite hard to come by in these current times.

To everyone who pitched in and helped us in the 12 days of Lolo's wake - from cooking to cleaning up to doing the dishes - thank you, thank you, so very much! Thank you for doing this for Lolo and for our family. Your contributions have been indispensable and have allowed us to focus on other things also. On our own, everything would have been an utter mess. Thank you for doing for us and for the guests everything else that we failed to do. Thank you for loving Lolo both in life and in death and I pray that God may richly bless you a hundredfold in your respective lifetimes.

As I said earlier, my mind is a muddle and I may have forgotten a number of people and I do apologize for the slip. However, I still remain as I am - thankful, grateful and very much overwhelmed by the display of love for my late grandfather and the expression of support for my family. I do hope to be able to show my gratitude in a manner more tangible at some point in the future but for now, please accept my humblest thanks. Thank you for opening your hearts to our sorrow and for giving us so many reasons to smile despite the sadness and uncertainty that our loss has dealt. May life be as good to you all as you were to us.

This rosary was a gift for my Lolo from his favorite therapist Lani.
It now hangs on the rearview mirror of the car I drive,
a constant reminder of how much my Lolo was loved in his lifetime.

What the Black Box Brought

2010-04-29T21:25:00.001+08:00

My mom and I were in the mall about three weeks ago buying take-out food when she told me she had something to show me because I supposedly "know a lot about gadgets."

My eyes immediately lit up. "Really?" In my mind I was thinking of iPod speakers or, better yet, a 3D TV. Just think, endless hours of "Avatar."

"Yes," she said, half-dragging me through a row of pastel-colored silicon mitts. "I'm thinking of getting a mini oven." Not an oven toaster or a microwave oven. A real oven.

Play the "oven timer ting."

I immediately gave her my best blank, puppy-dog, Miss Emma Pillsbury stare. An oven was in no way going to fall within the category of "gadget." It belonged to a totally different classification. And, besides, I've never really denied that my cooking skills are Flinstone-primitive although I have tried my best to at least come up with something edible during Christmas dinner. So I really was the wrong person to ask about anything related to the kitchen.

With a lot of text-help from Anissa, one of the best baking experts I know, we finally selected a small, very cute electric oven which also came with a rotisserie. My love-hate relationship with that little black box began on the night we brought it home and stripped it of the bubble wrap and the stryrofoam padding. It sat on the marble counter beside the rice cooker, practically begging to be used by anyone in the house who wanted to be Betty Crocker in a nice pink apron. It didn't help that my parents both half-prodded, half-coerced me to "make something."

My first joint project with Mom was Shepherd's Pie, thanks to a winning recipe we got from Manang Beluna. The ingredients and other utensils were ready, all laid out before us. Our first batch of testers, the ones who would be subjected to either the agony or satisfaction of consuming the meat pie, were also staving off hunger - my dad and my grandparents. Manang Beluna guided us all the way, promptly replying to my texts for what I felt were the silliest of questions. Soon after, when the ground beef was now sitting prettily under the weight of creamy mashed potatoes, mom and I felt like real cooking experts. I took out the first batch after the potatoes had browned rather nicely, wrapped the pan in aluminum foil and drove to the hospital with my nice, warm package sitting in the front seat. Sure enough, the Shepherd's Pie was met with rousing applause in my grandfather's hospital room although I promised myself I'd add mushrooms next time. But the positive response further stimulated my enthusiasm to make something else in my little black gem of a mini oven.

Mom's first solo project was a success as well. Two days later, she made her own version of tuna casserole using the Shepherd's Pie recipe as a model. Instead of using ground beef, she used a can of tuna and added other bits and pieces to the mixture. Instead of mashed potato, she smothered the casserole with mozzarella cheese which I found to be a winner. I wish she nixed the green peas and added more corn kernels and tuna. But we disagreed on the presence of - believe it or not - hotdog bits on the casserole. I was telling her how odd, misplaced and even sacrilegious it was for fish casserole to have any semblance of meat in it. It simply didn't taste right! She looked at me from across the table with her "I'm-your-mother-so-you-can't-do-anything-about-hotdogs-in-the-tuna-casserole" look and spooned more of the food into her plate.

My first solo project with the oven was interesting. I dug up a very old, very basic beginner's recipe of chocolate cake using mayonnaise (thus ditching the entire folding of eggs and shortening process). It was pretty easy to do and was rather straightforward. When I finally pushed the baking pan into the oven with the batter inside, set the temperature and timer and watched as my little brown baby began to rise like a circus tent, I almost felt like an expert. The feeling poofed into nothingness when I realized that the cake was indeed rising but only the center part of it did so that what I had was a dirt-colored plateau. Uh-oh. My dad walked out when I was putting chocolate-butter cream icing on the..um…cake and asked me if he could have some. I feigned confidence and said "Sure." When I started slicing the cake, the top was well-done but the bottom started collapsing into tiny cake bits which made my dad ask if I was serving him chocolate sand. It did taste pretty funny and needed more sugar so I pushed whatever remained into the refrigerator, my disappointment now pooling around my feet and trailing me like jellyfish. I texted my two baking gurus Anissa and Ate Jocy, asking for tips and they said maybe there was a bit of a problem with the temperature. By dinner, I decided to give the cake another more objective try to see where I needed to improve. Surprise, surprise! I really wonder why the recipe author did not put in "Refrigeration required" because it sure did miracles for my now solid but moist cake. Sure I need to improve on the sweetness and the icing but it was all right for a first try.

The second solo project was certainly worthy of an encore. It was a few days before my dad's birthday and he had long forgotten about the chocolate cake incident. I volunteered to make dinner for both my family and my grandparents - a do or die situation which meant I had to make dinner early so that we could rush out for Lapaz batchoy just in case. I had downloaded a very interesting recipe of Chicken Alexandra from the WMN website and another interesting salmon stew with apples concoction by Norma Chikiamco from the Inquirer. I added more milk, cream and corn than the recipe for the chicken required and I carefully piped in the mashed potato topping. I have to say, without any pomp or pride, that it came out very, very well. It was smooth, creamy and absolutely perfect that my parents loved it. My Lola is still keeping some of it in her ref back home for reheating. As for the soup, I needed some help and Mom pitched in, adding two cups of apple juice just to bring out the taste. In the end, everyone forgot about the batchoy.

My dad turned 57 two days ago and because I received my paycheck only today, I once again volunteered to make dinner. After all, in my rulebook, birthday gifts come either in cash, in kind or in effort. This time, I decided to give the oven a rest. I made use of another Norma Chikiamco recipe for pineapple chicken, something I had tried in Manila last year and absolutely loved that I brought home one bottle of kecap manis. The verdict: the birthday boy was more than satisfied and he lamented on his now widening bottom

Last night, I got reunited with the oven after we received yummy fresh oysters. I decided to toss the oysters in the oven but not after trying to copy how this small but famous restaurant called Allan's in Oton, Iloilo makes baked oysters. There was no recipe in my hand so everything just came off my tastebuds. Sauteed garlic in butter and poured them on the oysters. Sprinkled the oysters with powdered milk then pushed them into the oven. Dinner was crazy good and my fingers are getting fatter.

Oh the joy of starting to fit into my own kind of apron! Make mine purple with nice yellow Saturn prints.

Some things off the top of my head as I end this food blabber:

1. Practicing really makes me comfortable. I still need help in the kitchen and I like to get a second opinion when I test taste what I'm cooking but the more I pitter-patter about with the pots and ladle, the more I'm feeling right at home.

2. My oven mitts are mismatched on purpose. I love it when things don't make sense once in a while.

3. It's good to have someone with you when you're cooking. One of my favorite companions is my 5-year old dog Balrog. She's my fierce dark angel and I love her sense of protectiveness when I'm using her perceived enemy: the mixer. Once I turn the mixer on and it starts bumping the edges of the bowl, she starts pawing, growling and barking at who knows what. She stops when I turn the mixer off, perfectly on cue. It's hilarious.

4. I don't think everyone follows any recipe to the letter. Along the way, everybody makes changes, whether major or minor.

5. It's really great to cook for my family, even if they sometimes pretend the food tastes better than it actually does. Now that does put my supposed kitchen success, pun intended, under fire now, doesn't it?

In My World

2010-04-20T11:07:00.004+08:00

Note: Entry written on November 29, 2009, a week after the gruesome massacre of fifty-seven people in the town of Ampatuan in Maguindanao. Most of the victims were part of a caravan en route for the COMELEC office in Shariff Aguak in order to file the certificate of candidacy of Esmael Mangudadatu, a challenger of incumbent mayor of Datu Unsay, Mayor Andal Ampatuan, Jr. The convoy was composed of Mangudadatu's wife and sisters and also included supporters, lawyers and journalists. Even motorists who were mistaken to be part of the said convoy were killed. Their bodies were strewn about a hilly area in Ampatuan, Maguindanao. In the crime scene, a backhoe which belonged to the Maguindanao provincial government and which was supposedly used to dig a mass grave for the victims stood prominently in the hilly area.

Fast-forward to April 2010. Acting Department of Justice Secretary dismisses the charges against Maguindanao Governor Zaldy Ampatuan and Vice Governor Akmad Ampatuan, brother and uncle of Mayor Andal Ampatuan, Jr., less than six months after the carnage.

November 29, 2009

If I were asked to describe everything that transpired within this week in just one word, it would definitely be "disturbing." So disturbing to the point that I cannot even come up with a word which could aptly describe the horror, the sadness, the anger that seeps right into my psyche. Even before the primetime news went into broadcast, my classmate Terry's Facebook shoutout already spelled out initially what had happened. All he said was that two lawyers were among those killed in election-related violence in Maguindanao. The strongest emotion I was able to muster then was sadness and sympathy for their bereaved families.

The 6PM news however brought vividness and drama which Terry's Facebook shoutout obviously could not properly illustrate. Corpses, bodies of what used to be living, breathing, vibrant people, littered a grassy hillside. The pictures were monochromatic and some were pixellated, sheer giveaways that the images were too violent to be shown in their original state for national TV. Torsos were exposed and still fingers had become new landing posts for flies. Some of the bodies were mutilated whereas some of the faces were mangled beyond recognition, even for their closest friends and kin to identify. One dead woman had her blouse hiked up to her chest to expose a swollen belly as if to testify that a fetus had started the earlier hours of a set of 24, initially enjoying the warmth in his mother's womb then all of a sudden losing grasp of air, food and life. The bodies scattered in the hillside were covered with mere banana leaves, an attempt to give the dead the least bit of respect and courtesy.

Everything else passed before me like a blur. I was angry, raging, furious and at the same time seriously disturbed and unhinged. Come election time, stories about intimidation and some form of election-related violence start to pile up like a stack of papers but nothing has been as bloody, as violent, as brutal, as hair-raising as the massacre in Maguindanao. One of my best friends who now lives in Finland reacted to my earlier shoutout about not getting the Maguindanao events out of my head. She said a couple of her Polish friends were excited at the prospect of visiting the Philippines after she had practically bragged her head about her country of origin. If I were in her place, I would say the same thing. I do hail from a beautiful country and my people also have their share of traits which should earn them a spotlight in the global stage. When the news broke out in Finland, her friends started having second thoughts and decided to forego a visit, the bloody mess in Maguindanao having done its job effectively of stripping away at the Philippines' international reputation, further destroying whatever good image we had left in the international eye. And it all came nipping at the heels of Efren Penaflorida's CNN triumph.

The Philippines' international reputation was the least of my worries. After all, if matters ain't harmonized within in the homefront, no amount of PR could fix the mess and the stench would certainly reek beyond our borders. I was more concerned with the answer to the question "Why?"

Why would anyone want to kill more than 50 unarmmed people? Why would anybody want to violate these women, these wives, these sisters, these mothers before dealing them a cruel blow of death? Why murder journalists and people's lawyers who were merely doing their jobs, noble professions that they were? Why should their untimely execution be as horrible and unforgettable as this?

Why? Has our system of morality declined to a point so low that human life is given this scant a value? Some sinister mind hatched this plan and saw through its execution like an invisible hand. Those who saw it done, whatever their reasons for doing so were, did carry out the orders in a manner so sadistic, the hillside still cries for those who perished and laments for the lives that could have been. To be riddled with bullets, to have corpses mutilated, to tear faces to pieces, to hurl bodies and vehicles into mass graves and pound them into a mound twisted flesh and metal...I could go on and on and anybody would certainly agree with me that this is indeed no way to die, no matter how horrible one lives his life on this planet. Looking at the Maguindanao massacre, a person's life has become something like loose change thrown around casually when no longer needed. Cambodia no longer earns the distinction of being called the land of the "Killing Fields." The Philippines just had to share the grisly honor. And that is, in my world, enraging and disturbing.

Why? Have our priorities been altered so radically that political positions are afforded with such high a regard that it has become the end-all and be-all for the country's so-called public servants, that one is willing to lose his sense of right and wrong in exchange for a political position? Souls have been sold and lives have been lost all in the grand name of politics. To stand at the helm of power and to have everything within your fingertips is maybe perhaps indeed a cause worthy of death. However I certainly hope that I never would come within a thousand meter radius of understanding such a twisted concept of what is worth shooting fifty lives to a bloody, mangled end. It is not only lives which have been lost in this deadly exercise. It is the also the real value, the real meaning underlying the word "politics." Common good, conciliation, the people...they have all floated down the River Styx toward a land that time has forgotten. And that is, in my world, infuriating and disarming.

Why? Has justice become a fable, a dream, an illusion that we can yak about it all the time like parrots and yet never fully taste its sweetness? Has it become a myth, something that ranks among the halls of Valhalla, something we can gawk at with mouths hanging agape like brainless fools, something we strive so hard to reach yet we can never ever quite attain no matter how hard we try? Has justice become so elusive to the point that spirited Diana herself could never touch even its heels with her golden arrows? Is it a dying man, grasping at the fading light, groping in the darkness for any warm hand it could wrap its fingers on? The blind-folded lady still stands proud like royalty as she holds aloft the scales which have now come to be regarded as one big joke, her formerly gleaming sword slowly yielding to the slow decay of truth and morality in this country. It is not too difficult to imagine the same lady on her knees, cowering, hands tied with what formerly was her blindfold. Such a sad sight but in the light of the Maguindanao massacre, it sure is a reality. And that, in my world, is harrowing and heart wrenching.

It is quite easy to simmer in the cauldron that is anger and feel the steam rush out of all my possible foramina. But what should take less effort, what should easily come as a snap is second-nature to one's fingers is remembering. Throughout history, Filipinos have exhibited what seems to be short-term memory. We find it very easy - or convenient, as the case may be - to let certain milestones, certain experiences drift with the wind. This is akin to the expression "ningas cogon," in reference to the fury with which fire consumes cogon grass and then, almost immediately, dies out to nothing but white smoke and ashes. Maybe, to be extremely positive or altruistic about it, we innately are very forgiving as a nation, choosing to move on to the next square in chess board. But the purging seems to be absolute as what flows down the river of forgetfulness also includes the lessons which should have been learned, those which should have been carried with us as we take the next step forward towards tomorrow. That, in my world, is not how things should be.

In my world, death is not an eraser. It is a hallmark, a beacon, an obelisk etched to every corner with all the names of those who are to be remembered because their lives were either stories to be told for generations or tales awaiting a just ending, a lighthouse which will shine even in the darkest night on Earth. In my world, the horizon will be dotted by such reminders of the work that needs to be done - not out of sheer rage or seething revenge but because it is what is right, it is what is just.

In my world, the fifty people whose lives were deemed lost still inhabit the hilly slopes of Maguindanao, crooked fingers not only pointing at those who carry the scythe but also to those who have chosen to bury them via the backhoes of forgetfulness. In my world, they are not dead.

One Quiet Afternoon

2010-04-15T22:24:00.002+08:00

I arrived in Iloilo a little over two weeks ago and yet this is my very first lazy afternoon at home - with no appointments to rush to, nothing important to do, no life-altering event to mull over. It's just me sitting by a couch my mom had strategically placed beside my window. My mother remodeled my room less than a year ago. It's the very same room I occupied as a child when we first moved into our house about 24 years ago. I walked in one day in October, hours after arriving from Manila to twin emotions - first, the utter elation of seeing my mini-library of books piled on extra wooden shelves she had installed on the wall and second, to the complete horror that she had repainted a significant part of the room avocado green and the remaining three-quarters a pale pink.

But the one thing I do love about the room is the newly added couch which she had positioned strategically beside my window. I had always wanted a couch by the window on this side of the room because I had always thought it would be one of the perfect places to read, write, play guitar, think or just be plain quiet. I don't know how she knew that I wanted it that way because I never told her. Case of mother's instinct, I suppose. Sometimes, when my sister's beagle Mai wanders into the room, she occupies one end of the couch while I sit on the other end and we both live a rather peaceful co-existence for about fifteen seconds until she realizes my bed is way more comfy and makes a sky-high leap for it.

The two weeks since I've been home have been nothing but sheer madness. Yesterday, Doi asked me if I was back in Iloilo and I told her I was in town but I was practically living in my grandfather's hospital room. The routine was pretty much very easy to memorize - up by 7 (or 8 if I like the pillows a little too much), in the hospital about an hour later, lunch with the grandparents, while the afternoon away in the company of IV tubes, sphygmomanometers, pulse oxymeters, nurses and tubs of hospital pancit canton, dinner, drive home then slumber party time. It doesn't help much that the traffic here is snarling insane, something I am totally unused to in this side of the country. What used to take about ten to fifteen minutes travel from my house to almost any point within the city has now shot up to half an hour or even more. Blame it on the construction of (only) the second flyover in the city and on a dozen or so road improvements, drainage repair and any other activity which involves noisy drilling and slight ground trembling in random parts of Iloilo. Interesting how all these so-called infrastructure developments always make their presence felt come election season.

Lately, my gwamps has been doing very well, loads and heaps better than the state he was in when he arrived in the hospital on the night of Holy Thursday. The past two weeks were akin to being in a theme park - a carousel for the first couple of days, followed by a walk through the haunted mansion, then a sudden shift to the gyro drop...just one monster rollercoaster all through out. Now we're sort of in one of those floating swan rides and hopefully heading straight for the exit right after. I have a feeling a lot of people are thinking I should be used to such a set-up by now. Believe me, I too thought the run-down has become all too familiar but I was quite surprised at the revelation that I had grown too comfortably close to the routine for comfort that I was always expecting to see the light a the end of the tunnel all the time. Maybe this time that light has somehow showed up again but what then will I do when everything remains pitch dark and I forget my Coleman flashlight in my desk drawer with the colorful, springy keychain still lopped around it like a boa constrictor?

In short, I've barely been home. The house has been transformed into nothing more than a hotel/changing area and to have this quiet, lazy, leisurely afternoon all to myself is certainly as precious to me as the Shy Violet rag doll I've had since I was four. No, actually scratch out "quiet" in the description. The four dogs have been barking at each other just outside my window, their fangs out and vocal chords exercised to the max. Turns out the beagle is back to terrorizing the three others who are older and more laid back, howling at their noses just close enough to give them temporary deafness yet far enough to escape a nip. Add to the interesting array of canine sounds is the occasional noise pollution thanks to campaign jingles which are played on speakers mounted on mini-trucks and prowl around the city. So far I've heard versions of "Jai Ho" and Willie Revillame's "Igiling-giling" among others and the roving music boxes make their pass every half an hour or so in our relatively quiet neighborhood.

It's a good afternoon, not too hot and the canopy of clouds gives the sun a bashful appearance. I'm not exactly sure what time it is as my wall clock is off to the repair shop. It's a pretty old thing, about 14 years old in a plastic blue casing. I miss the ticking sound the second hand makes, a faint mini-version of a whoosh that travels short distances. I can't throw the clock away because it is the only one of its kind. I dolled it up myself back in high school and tried to make it quirky-cute, gluing an old family photo underneath the clock's hands then sticking colorful buttons and paper clips all over it, along with a 10 centavo coin and the old version of the 25 centavo coin (the one with the butterfly), just so I will never forget how both metal pieces looked like. Besides, I like old things, much like the thingamajigs taking their own special spot in every nook and cranny in my private space in this house. They make me feel like I'm somehow in control of time and memory, two of life's best gifts which could someday turn into any person's biggest betrayer, depending on how one looks at it.

I took time off from reading Alice Sebold's "The Lovely Bones" just a while ago. It's the third book I've picked up ever since I got home and I'm well on the way of fulfilling a promise I made to myself to catch up on non-law related material for reading despite all the hospital duties. Maybe tonight I might go back to reading that after I finish writing this...this...random nonsense. It is quite a page-turner and is beautifully written, much like the other two titles I finished earlier in the month. If not, maybe get a head-start on all the movies and TV series Anissa gave me before I left. Honestly they all look so interesting, I don't know where to start. Again, it's mostly old stuff, period material or movies made (or based on events that occurred) way before I wsd even a thought...and definitely lots of Austen. Add that to the other flicks that have had their share of abusive rewatching in the hospital: "Little Women," "The Last of the Mohicans (and the sigh-inducing Eric Schweig two decades ago)", "Willow," "The Truth About Cats and Dogs (Janeane Garofalo's unrivalled wit and humor)", "Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer," and "Reality Bites (and defining irony)."

It's finally quiet, perhaps because Mai has finally decided to leave the older dogs alone. I could hear Mrs. Chu, our next-door neighbor, playing her piano. It's a series of soft tinkles, a sound that almost resembles the wonky-tonky mini pianos that kids usually get for Christmas and sound like xylophones. Mrs. Chu is a great with the ivory keys, I swear. I took lessons from her for about six years until high school came in. I'd walk into her house in my PJs and she'd give me chocolate after some lessons. Now, I listen more intently as she strikes the notes with the precision of a samurai wielder. No matter how hard I listen, I can't seem to make out the piece she's playing. The sky is turning into watercolor before my eyes, bluish with a highlight of orange. It's nothing short of breathtaking and it's all just from my window. I am not quite sure how it looks like outside so I take a step out as I am sure it would turn out grander.

When I come back minutes later, Shy Violet still sits in a hunch beside my old Simba stuffed toy. I take my seat once more on the couch with my fluffy pillow propped on my back. She stares at me through her rubber, painted glasses and I return the stare through my own specs. She certainly has done nothing in all the months and yearss I've been away, in all the hours I've never been home but wait for me. And though she will never know it, I'm certainly more than glad to be in her and Simba's company on this quiet, lazy afternoon.

Of Valentine's Day Lists and Queues

2010-02-14T00:56:00.001+08:00

I should have known today was the wrong day to go grocery shopping. But to be rather honest about it, I really thought that all the lovers of the world would be congregating in restaurants or cafes and not in the grocery store. As Master Yoda goes, "So wrong I was."
I was picking up some last minute things for my friend's wedding tomorrow when I was asked to drop by the grocery store to pick up a dozen eggs. The lines in the check-out counter were kilometric and even if there were hearts dangling all over the place, I could say "all the loving'" was the the last thing everybody was feeling.

I lined up at the express counter which allows payment for baskets or carts carrying 15 items only. It was exactly like the rest of the supermarket - bursting with people jostling for space, toddlers crying and kids going through the gondolas near the counter, asking mama to buy a stick of gum or a bag of candy. A guy and his best friend were ahead of me, carrying a basket of chips and some prune juice (or so I think it was prune juice). I cradled the eggs on one hand while I started texting with the other. I was dead-tired since school had started early in the morning and all I wanted to go home, have dinner and then walk the dog before going to sleep. I was suspiciously eyeing a cart half-full with groceries which was parked right beside the express check-out counter, wondering what in the world it was doing there.

The next thing I know, this lady of about 40 elbows her way past us and starts pushing the cart in between the two guys ahead of me and the girl standing in front of them. "Excuse me," she said. "That's my spot," she indicated, pointing at the microscopic space between the girl and the two guys ahead of me.

Bewildered, I glanced at the sign in the counter to check if I was indeed in the right queue. The sign remained the same, still screaming "Express Counter, 15 items or less." My eyes ricocheted to the lady's half-full cart. I am no mathematician but there was no way either beyond or below the stratosphere that the items inside the cart would amount to 15. It was more like 15 sets of 15.

She kept on jabbing her cart at the eensie-weensie space in front of the two guys. One of them, a guy in a brown shirt with closely cropped hair let out a very polite protest. "Ma'am," he began to say, "this is an express lane. Only fifteen items are allowed per transaction."

I eyed the lady who was now teetering close to an uproar. Her eyes bulged as she started pulling items out of her cart. "I know," she said curtly. "That's why I'm transferring my items to a basket," she declared.

She should not have said basket. She should have said basketS. Yes, that's with an "S" as huge as the Rio Grande.

She and her husband started pulling out one basket after another, filling each basket with, you guessed it, fifteen items and then lining them up in the express counter. The two guys and I watched with eyes aghast as she did this rather mechanically, dropping one item after another into one basket, two baskets, three baskets…four…

I had never been so flabbergasted in my entire life. Well, no, maybe I have been before but what I meant was, I had never been this stumped in the longest time. We all know very well what the point of having an express counter is. The name precisely implies its purpose. But this lady was being smart about the entire set-up and was working around a prohibition, much like a lot of people in this country. In fact, much like a lot of lawyers in this country. Haha. Anyway, if she was tired, so were we. If she hated long lines, so did we. If she wanted to go home, so did we. If she had a long day, she could take a look at mine and realize it was equally as intense. We were in the same boat, pari passu as my Banking teacher would say. It just so happened that the sign technically allowed us to fall in line right there but the same could not be said for her. But, no! She was going to have her way and we either had to take it, leave it or face up to her. And man, did I want to stand up to her, to tell her she can't just push us around like that, not when the sign has clearly chosen our side, no matter which court in the land takes jurisdiction of our potential dispute.

I wound my fingers around the egg crate and did a mental countdown that my mom told me to do whenever I felt my internal fuse box starts to spew fumes of some sort. "Patience," I told myself. When part of the plastic crate went "creak," I stopped with the squeezing lest I crack one of the eggs. I bit my lip so as to diffuse the anger that was now welling up within me.

"1…2…3…" I began to count when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I just burst like a bubble - and started snickering. It wasn't a sarcastic, sinister kind of laugh. It was laugh that was initially born out of audacity and was now nurtured by nothing but sheer amusement. I stifled my gurgles with my handkerchief and turned away from the sight of the lady and the two men before me. True, this lady was mean and unfair but, in a way, she was also outrageously, creatively funny. And besides, it was Valentine's Day and the world needs some love going around.

The two men ahead of me were fuming mad and moved to the express counter beside us which had an even longer queue. I followed suit, still with my handkerchief practically glued to my mouth, still fending off sporadic snickers. The line moved slowly until I finally got to the cashier and paid for my plastic crate of eggs. As the bagger handed me the plastic bag with my purchase, I eyed the the counter where I had originally stood earlier.

The lady still stood there, two people away from the counter, her baskets clumped around her like eggs arranged in a mother bird's nest.

Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day, I figured I could at least ride along with the lovey-dovey feel and the deluge of pink and red. Back in college, my friends and I used to have a movie marathon come February 14 (of the weekend closest to that day). We'd rent the sappiest, cheesiest romantic movies, pile up on the chips and chocolate and lug around huge bottles of soda then soak ourselves in a jacuzzi of all the schmaltz possible, non-stop from morning till…er…early the next morning.

Now since I am practically drowning in all the saccharine possible, I'll just pour on more sugar and get as mawkish as possible as I go through my list of favorite romantic books and movies and, of course, sappy love songs.

Though I've never been a huge fan of the romantic genre when it comes to my books, there have been a number of standouts in my bookshelf - and nothing beats the classics. Wuthering Heights is as sweeping as the lush moors which bear witness to Catherine and Heathcliff's turbulent love for each other. Pride and Prejudice is quirky and entertaining in its own right - no matter how quaint it may seem at every page - and I indeed have lost count of the number of times I asked myself, "Will Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy end up with each other?" Nicholas Sparks churns out one charming story after another but my favorites have to be the book-turned-movie A Walk to Remember and The Rescue, a poignant story about a troubled fireman, a single mother and her autistic son. An interesting pick is Train Man, a Japanese novel of sorts which actually looks like an Internet forum, complete with posts from fictional netheads and even graphics. It follows the travails of a quiet, nerdy guy who falls for a girl he meets on a train in Tokyo. Not knowing how to ask her out, he asks for help from an Internet forum where anonymous people all help in, pitching in advice bits here and dating tips there.

In terms of movies, rom-coms are among my favorites but I also like the serious ones. One of my ultimate favorites is the monochromatic classic Casablanca. I love the contrast between the sardonic yet sentimental Rick (Humphrey Bogart) and the sweet but tortured Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman). The movie's dark conclusion on the airport runway, along with Rick's trademark swipe at Ilsa ("Here's looking at you, kid."), will always make this movie memorable. Roman Holiday is generally light, fun, predictable and made me pine for my own Vespa. However what makes it a choice pick is the movie's final scene, after Princess Ann (Audrey Hepburn) ends her press conference and walks out, leaving newsman Joe (Gregory Peck) all alone to traverse an empty hallway. The miniseries version of Pride and Prejudice did not disappoint. Neither did Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle who were both born to play Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, respectively.

A little drama always makes a movie a little bit more endearing. Who could forget a Lloyd Dobler (John Cusack) standing outside Diane Court's (Ione Sky) bedroom window, holding up a boombox playing Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" in the movie Say Anything? Rain also adds a bit more drama to any film. A perfect example is another favorite, the Korean film The Classic where university student Ji-Hae (Son Ye Jin) manages to run from building to building while staying dry, thanks to her secret crush Sang-Min (Jo In Sung), who holds his now-dripping jacket over her head the entire time. The movie itself was actually a good combination of both light and heartbreaking scenes. By the end, I actually felt rather bipolar in a nice way. In the tradition of quirky rom-coms, Tootsie will always be cute, endearing and everything adorable. But my top pick would have to be the superstar-packed Love, Actually, a movie I love watching over and over again courtesy of Hugh Grant dancing, Andrew Lincoln playing Christmas carols on a radio for Keira Knightley while flipping flashcards, Colin Firth slow typing and mumbling awkward Portuguese when he proposes to Lucia Moniz with the entire community in attendance...the list never ends.

To complete the schmaltz attack and the Valentine fever, music has to enter the picture. Apo Hiking Society's Panalangin is easy on the ears yet bursting with optimism, especially in the new version of the song courtesy of Moonstar88. One of my favorites, Take That's Back for Good, has poetic prose for lyrics while Jon McLaughlin's So Close is, well, enchanting. Side A's Forevermore is one of my ultimate favorite love songs as it is brimming with hope and promise. I keep my fingers crossed that someday, I'd get the chance to sing it for one or two of my best friends on their respective (future) altar dates. That and, maybe, Endless Love (we could borrow Mr. Schuster for a while).

Love songs though do not always have to be sweet and sappy. I also like stirring, emotive songs sung by hauntingly beautiful voices such as You're Still You by Josh Groban, Every Little Thing by Dishwalla and Yuki no Hana (Snowflower) by Japanese singer Mika Nakashima. But in terms of a song being both "haunting" and "beautiful," no other song fits the description to a perfect G-clef other than You by The Carpenters. There is nothing grand about the music or the lyrics. As a matter of fact, it is the song's innate simplicity that makes it absolutely perfect in my scale (pun absolutely intended). After all, lines like "You are one who makes me happy" and "You are one of the few things worth remembering" are certainly quite tough to beat as they are rather plain to see but beautiful when heard.

Fine.

The Sound of the Sky

2010-02-12T14:40:00.002+08:00

For Lois

11:58 PM, sometime in 2009

The sky was black and the streetlights had just been switched off. I sat by my window, surrounded by complete darkness. The cool wind blew a soft caress into my cheek and I warmly grasped its cold fingers. I had set a date with the Sky at 12 midnight because a meteor shower had promised to make its appearance. I sat and waited for quite sometime, looking at the darkness of the sky, my eyes slowly adjusting to the blackness. My sister was asleep and she twitched a bit when she heard me open the window across her bed. "Close it, please. It's bad for my throat," she croaked. I opened the window across my bed and sat beside it. I called out "The meteor shower's starting anytime." She then mumbled something inaudible about ice cream and candy, a rather obvious indicator that she was sleep-talking again. I went back to the Sky. The stars, though not as numerous as the sparkly dots in the night sky back in my hometown, were bathing in their simple radiance. They were twinkling miles away, small as they were before my eyes but huge, incendiary, gaseous bodies somewhere in the deepest recesses of space. As I gazed at the Sky, I realized I had long forgotten how beautiful the celestial blanket could be if only one paid very close attention. It seemed to be breathing on its own and everywhere, life in the outermost bowels of space was pulsating in its own silent, rhythmic beat. The longer I gazed it, the more I seemed drawn to the darkness, swallowed even, as my eyes tried to reach as far as they possibly could. Eventually, the feeling of being stuck like a galactic bolus in a wave of astronomic peristalsis ended pleasantly in a warm embrace courtesy of the quiet grandeur only fulfilled by the Sky.

In the darkness and stillness of the night, I could hear hearts breaking. It is a sad thing to hear, hearts breaking. There is no sound at all like that in the rest of the world. It is the sound of silence, of a heart ceasing to beat. It is the sound of wings, fluttering desperately. It is the sound of fragile crystal transforming into tiny shards as it crashes albeit muted into a cold stone floor. It is the sound of a dream slowly drifting to nothingness, of light passing through a black hole and then sucked into its unforgiving vortex.

In like manner, there is no other soreness which comes with a heart breaking. It is quiet pain, a slow death. It goes deep into the very core of your spirit and refuses to die or go away quietly. It hangs like a pall over your face, a veil both translucent and opaque. It is pain which seemingly has a life of its own and roots of its own which, when left unattended, could drain or strangle the very essence out of all hope.

Out of the corner of my eye came a streak of light as thin as a hairline. It flew through the Sky like a short strand of golden thread, disappearing as quickly as it came. More streetlights a block or two away were simultaneously turned off. The weatherman promised a night full of meteors, a shower even of about 20 or so bright strands of light every minute. I peered through the darkness, egging the Sky for more meteors on horseback. But all I got was about three or four random streaks every minute or so, randomly swooping in any point of blackness and then disappearing completely. Just when I thought I had seen the last one, my date did not renege on its promise and let loose a bit more of the sparkling threads. Though conservative at best, the sight of happy-go-lucky, fiery little meteorites certainly made bedtime a little more magical than usual.

In the middle of all these sights and non-sounds comes the quiet whisper of a heart mending, a heart growing, a heart coming back to life. God knows how frightened anyone would be at the realization that the little life that many thought had been nursed to a slow death is now stirring back to existence. How different then is this creation, an entity both old and new? What then would set it apart from all the hearts breaking or self-combusting in their little ribcages all over the world? The shards of a broken heart may not have completely disappeared because they are still a bit too precious too discard so they just sort of hang around there like deadly icicles in some self-imposed winter.

My eyes were slowly giving up on me and I leaned out to close the window. The air was chilly, almost nippy outside and I made a mental note to say a prayer of thanks for not having been born in Siberia. I blew my cosmic, taciturn date a quick kiss as I locked the window and it responded with a bit more flashing meteorites displaying their subdued brightness. I could still hear the sound of hearts breaking, unmistakeable and distinct. I could hear a million voices quietly whispering, promising never to subject the poor, throbbing little muscle to any more emotional distress. Yet, in the wake of what could be an aortal massacre and a mad scramble to tediously put the pieces back together, I found myself consumed by the last thought in my head before being completely overtaken by slumber - I found myself, once more, believing.

2009 in a Nutshell

2010-01-30T21:45:00.000+08:00

Had been meaning to do this since 2010 began but I never got around to doing that. So before January ends, here goes my annual blogging tradition.

1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
It was my first time to go parasailing during the summer…my first time to be on a parachute actually. I was partly thrilled, partly nervous but I absolutely enjoyed every minute I was being dragged through the air.

I had never been caught in the middle of a raging typhoon before - until 2009. When Ondoy swept through Manila, bringing heavy, unceasing rains in its wake, I was driving my car through the northbound lane of EDSA. When I got to Pasig, the floodwaters were getting deeper and my dashboard lights were coming alive in colors I had never seen before. Tried to go back home via EDSA's southbound lane this time with floodwaters raging. Took me two whole hours to get home (normally takes 10 to 15 minutes) and by the time I walked in the front door, I was so shaken up I had to curl up on the couch with a blanket and a pillow and watch helplessly as water invaded Metro Manila.

2. Did you keep your new years's resolutions and will you make more for next year?
Yes, I kept almost all of my resolutions for 2009 but I still need to work on other things. I'm getting better with the cooking thing. If I made dessert (Ate Jocy's no-bake cheesecake) for giving away as gifts two Christmases ago, I made pasta this year almost single-handedly. Almost! Will definitely be making more resolutions (and food) this year. Yay!

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Had a new cousin (and another namesake) this year in the person of baby Aida Shara.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
Didn't know President Cory Aquino personally but she holds a special place in the hearts of all Filipinos, including mine. Michael Jackson's death was a shocker too.

5. What countries did you visit in 2009?
Didn't travel outside the Philippines this year.

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?
Haha! A Mini Cooper! In my dreams.

7. What date from 2009 will remain etched in your memory and why?
Lots!
August 3, 2009: Walking alongside Pres. Aquino's funeral cortege along Ayala en route to the transfer of her remains from San Juan to Intramuros. The procession stopped for a while in the corner of Ayala and Paseo de Roxas and in the midst of a downpour of yellow ribbons, yellow balloons and confetti, everybody started singing "Bayan Ko" while flashing the Laban sign.

December 27, 2009: Finding the perfect place and time to sing for my Creator.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Starting out the school year with insecurity and uncertainty and emerging victorious in the end. As my friend Rachel said, "Go happy endings!"

9. What was your biggest failure?
Hmmm…I can't think of anything.

10. Did you suffer illness of injury?
Had stomach flu about twice or thrice this year.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A nice red dress which looks good, fits well and cost me less than $6! Wait…did I just say the best thing I bought was a dress?!

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Every Filipino.

The Bayanihan spirit once more made an appearance when Ondoy ransacked much of Luzon. It wasn't just about helping each other out in times of need. It was also about looking at every Filipino and finding a bayani, a true hero, right before your eyes.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Sad to say, the President. This seems like a pretty constant answer. Yes, PGMA and Peter Pan. :D

14. Where did most of your money go?
Photocopies, load for my Broadband stick, KFC Twister treats on Saturday afternoons and buying my sister's dog.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Getting Fully Booked gift certificates for my birthday! I schedule the books I buy so that I don't consume the gift certificates in one trip. I still have a couple more left!

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2009?
a. "The Show" by Lenka because it's the first song I hear every morning…overtime my alarm goes off.
b. "Defying Gravity" from the Wicked soundtrack because it's a beautiful song with great lyrics (and Idina Menzel and Kristine Chenoweth really blow my socks off overtime I listen to the song).
c. "Jesus Take the Wheel" by Danny Gokey. First time I heard him sing it live on American Idol was mind-blowing. And my goodness, how does he come up with those runs?
d. "Stray Italian Greyhound" by Vienna Teng. Great song, perfect lyrics with the right amount of abstruseness and very fitting for my year.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? -- Way happier!
ii. thinner or fatter? -- Ha! Fatter…slightly fatter. :D
iii. richer or poorer? -- Richer! YES! :)

18. What do you wish you'd done more?
I wish I laced up my sneakers and spent more time running or hit the pool more often rather than just sleeping. I wish I read a lot more law-unrelated books this year. I only read a handful and it's pitiful!

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Less procrastination! My gosh, it's like a disease!

20. What was your favorite TV program?
American Idol Season 8 made my year! Everyone on that particular season was really good. As for teleseryes, I was so hung up on Tayong Dalawa despite the horrendous ending and Boys Over Flowers even if the Korean version of Rui Hanazawa/Hua Ze Lei looks like a girl in some angles.

21. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No…not really.

22. What was the best book you read?
The Time Traveller's Wife was a great book to just sink into. It was a different kind of read - very straightforward prose, very masculine even in some instances but surprisingly emotion-laden.

23. What was your greatest musical discovery?
I realized that I was not a Michael Jackson fan but many of his songs were ranked among my favorites. Slightly irreconcilable but true.

24. What did you want and get?
Mara Jade, my new laptop and latest manifestation of geekdom! :D And getting published in the Inquirer again in January of 2009 was certainly a thrill. :) I was on Cloud 11 for days.

25. What was your favorite film of this year?
Toss-up between Slumdog Millionaire and (500) Days of Summer. Slumdog Millionaire was the best feel-good movie I have seen in a long time whereas (500) Days of Summer was hilarious, quirky and boasted of a great soundtrack.

26. What was the worst film you saw this year?
Didn't get to see a movie I didn't like in 2009…which is good. :D

27. What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I turned 26 this year and on my birthday, I wore my red headband and had dinner in Glorietta with my high school friends and classmates.

28. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Watching the Lea Salonga Your Songs concert would have definitely been like a cherry on top of my parfait that is 2009!

29. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
I love the long shirts/tops and fitted jeans ensemble and that plaid made a comeback!

30. What kept you sane?
As always, the Bible. :)

31. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Oh my goodness…Danny Gokey! He's a guy who sings like no other and does so with his heart! Kristin Chenoweth is hilarious and Idina Menzel is a showstopper!

32. What political issue stirred you the most?
Hmmmm…the controversy surround election automation, PGMA's supposed extravagant dinner abroad and the Maguindanao massacre, of course. The Maguindanao massacre was especially disturbing since it made me reflect on whether or not the value for human life is almost nil in this country to the point that politics is enough a motivation to brutally slaughter so many people. What for?

33. Who did you miss?
Pastor Acosta. I always looked forward to his sermons whenever I went home for vacation and I still need to get used to the fact that I will never hear him speak again.

34. Who was the best new person you met?
Getting to know people more is better than meeting new persons. I thank God for giving me the chance to get to know Ate Wawa and Ate Germaine this year. I was also so glad be "bus mother" to my Evidence posse, people who have become not just a support group but friends (you know who you guys are). :)

35. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009.
It's good to make long-range plans but always be on the look-out for detours - and be ready to take them. They may faze you at first but going through them be something you won't regret doing.

36. What was the nicest thing someone told you about yourself?
My cousin James to me when I was parking rear first: "Do you realize how sexy that is?"
That got me thinking: if a parking slot were a runway, I'd be a supermodel! HAHA!

37. The most touching experience you had this year.
Sitting next to Lolo's bed in his hospital room and reading the Bible to him.
Crouching beside Mamang's tombstone and clearing it of grass and dried leaves, all the while hearing her speak to me in my head, "Finish your story, Aida Rose."

38. What did you like most about yourself this year?
I liked the fact that I didn't let fear take hold of me this year. I didn't dwell too much on not getting what I wanted but instead made do with what was given to me.

39. What did you hate about yourself this year?
My hissy fits! I need to install a circuit breaker in my head or something. Still working on it…still working on it.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"Oh no not now,
Please not now,
I just settled into the glass half empty
Made myself at home

So what do I do with this?
This stray Italian greyhound
These inconvenient fireworks
This ice-cream-covered screaming hyperactive thought

So what do I do with this?
This sudden burst of sunlight
And me with my umbrella
Cross-indexing every weatherman's report
I was ready for the downslide
But not for spring to well up

What do I do
With a love that won't sit still
Won't do what it's told
What do I do
With a love that won't sit still?"
- snippets from Stray Italian Greyhound, Vienna Teng

41. Was 2009 a good year for you?
Yes, it was a great year.

42. What was your favorite moment of the year?
My cousin Loida's wedding was something all of us had been looking forward to for a long, long time. Getting to dance "Jai Ho" during her wedding with the rest of my cousins was a blast…and the rehearsals were more of a riot.

Going on a homecoming trip to Pangasinan with Tita Vilma, Tito Dan and my cousin James was quite poignant.

Coming home in October to find my grandfather moving past the fact that he was practically married to his wheelchair and was now "walking for real."

43. What was your least favorite moment of the year?
Having to go through this school year's enrollment by bidding for subjects. Everything was just so uncertain…and I ended up in a class that I really didn't want to be in! Yikes!
The summer was also particularly difficult to deal with as total nerve compression paralyzed my Lolo from the waist down and I know I will never see him walk again.

44. Where were you when 2009 began?
In Taguhangin, Ajuy, Iloilo.

45. Who were you with?
With my parents, sister and grandparents.

46. Where will you be when 2009 ends?
Still in Ajuy, Iloilo.

47. Who will you be with when 2009 ends?
Hopefully…still the same people.

48. Do you have new year's resolution for 2010?
I hope to be more patient, more optimistic and less of a pain.

49. What was your favorite month of 2009?
December! I took a lot of pictures during Christmas season in 2009. Plus, Tito Stan and Tita Ping took us to a surprise road trip to Aklan where we visited the Sampaguita Gardens and practically froze our toes off in the cold springs of Nabas! Wooohooo!

50. What was your favorite record from 2009?
Lots! I loved Lenka's The Show, the original Broadway cast recording of Wicked and Rock of Ages and the soundtrack to (500) Days of Summer. And oh, my own personal compilation of MP3s of Danny Gokey's live and studio performances.

51. How many concerts did you see in 2009?
None…except the Easter and the Christmas cantatas in church.

52. Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2009?
No. Ha!

53. Do a lot of drugs in 2009?
Evervon-C.

54. You do anything you are ashamed of this year?
As always, yes. :)

55. How much money did you spend in 2009?
I'm not an accountant.

56. What was your proudest moment in 2009?
The day I got a text that Evidence grades were out and I ran to the OCS to see for myself how I did. And I actually fared well! I was so freaking scared to be in that class and every class session was always met with apprehension.

57. What was your most embarrassing moment of 2009?
Ask Sue about December 26, 2009. :) HAHAHA! I wanna hide under a rock.

58. If you could go back in time to any moment of 2009 and change something, what would it be?
Ask me…but not here.

59. What are your plans for 2010?
Hope to enjoy whatever academic work is hurled at me this year. I keep on forgetting I'm in the rut...er…place I'm in because I chose to be here and because it is something I'm interested in. I plan to live a bit more healthy this year - cutting down on Coke, going back to swimming and running, giving up on fries and hamburgers (except when I think I deserve a reward). I hope to get the chance to write more.

60. How are you different now that the year has ended?
I hope I've become more mature and more appreciative of the smallest things that every day throws at me. I'm thankful for anything and everything.

61. What are your wishes for the new year?
I wish this year would be the year for change. I say that every year and I do mean it. I pray for a complete overhaul in terms of not just our lives but also with regard to our country, our families, our homes and our relationship with our Maker.

When the Laws of Science Collide

2010-01-01T01:10:00.001+08:00

One of the many things that I love about science is its universality in terms of application. Many scientific concepts have found their way in daily conversation and sometimes, their scientific root is forgotten.

In high school, chemistry and physics were two subjects I had to study. I loathed physics whereas chemistry was always the more interesting read (nothing beat biology, though). There were two concepts from these branches of science which have come to have a different meaning for me as time goes by: momentum and catalyst. One starts things off and the other technically gets the ball rolling.

A catalyst, if my high school memory would not fail me, is a substance which allows a chemical reaction to proceed at a much faster rate. The catalyst itself does not undergo any major change in the course of the chemical reaction. Momentum, on the other hand, is one of the simplest formulas to remember. It is simply defined as M = (m) (v) or mass multiplied by velocity. It is that amount or quantity of motion of a body which would depend on how heavy it is and on how fast it is going at a point in time. The easiest example for such a concept is a ball rolling (thus the last sentence in the previous paragraph). A bigger ball rolling at a faster speed naturally has more momentum than a smaller, slower ball. Both the concept of a catalyst and of momentum have no apparent relation in the realm of science but upon closer examination, one can see that both fit the earlier correlation I earlier made. As I said, a catalyst gets things started at a much faster rate whereas the momentum keeps the ball rolling.

In both the theoretical and the figurative sense, a catalyst may not be the equivalent of momentum. After all, what started the spark in the first place may not be the same as that which keeps the candle burning. The natural progress of the inquiry would then delve into the question of which among the two would be more important: the firestarter or the one which keeps the party going. An almost immediate answer would naturally point to momentum. After all, any explosion can start but if nothing propels it forward like a grenade launcher, it's going to pretty much burn itself into the oblivion that it dust particles. But upon closer introspection, the catalyst itself is also rather important. In the first place, it gives the push, the shove and practically determines how far one can go. It sets the direction for the movement, where everything is headed and whatever it is that needs to be hit, crashed into or, simply, achieved.

If every new door, every new opportunity, every new year were a catalyst, I'd wish it were the type that would accelerate the right chemical reaction at the right pace with a particular end product in mind. If it were to be the momentum one seeks, I wish it would be the perfect combination of the optimal mass, the appropriate speed, the best angle and the most favorable of circumstances so as to send any ball rolling and any pendulum swinging for as long as it is possible.

Ribbons and Paper

2009-12-25T07:49:00.001+08:00

Whew! It feels good to sit by my lonesome in the stillness of the night. Ever since I arrived home last week, everything has sped past me in a blur thanks to all the preparations for the office Christmas party which is tomorrow. As a matter of fact, that's how Christmas has always been for me - everything seems to be on high speed and I find myself running around helping my mom, decorating the house, wrapping gifts, doing last-minute groceries and before I know it, Christmas is over.

I promised myself this year that I'd write 25 stories/reflections about Christmas 25 days before December 25. So did I manage to fulfill that objective? Not at all. So before Christmas Day dawns upon me like the morning sun, I will write a little something about why this season is the most-loved and the most anticipated by almost everybody.

Ha! Thanks to the faulty Internet last night, Christmas morning did dawn on me without getting to write anything.

*********

Gifts are particularly common come Christmas. Two days ago, I dropped by the local supermarket to pick up some basil leaves. On my way out, I passed by two girls who were trying to decide which trinkets to get for their office Kris Kringle. Today, I went to the mall to buy some blank CDs and as I made my way to the parking garage, I espied a little girl in a pink dress crossing the street on board her brand new pink bicycle, training wheels and all. I could tell it was brand new because a red Robinson's Place label was still stuck to one of the wheels. Her father carefully held the handbars and the bicycle seat as the girl pedaled, her face shining with unmistakeable joy. Inside the mall, I walked past a family of three - a father, a mother and their young son - having merienda in a fast food chain. The boy was bringing brand new toys from a plastic bag: a set of action figures and a wind-up train which sped in its own circular set of rails. His parents watched as the boy arranged the toys on the table, next to his unfinished packet of French fries, and laughed as the train went whirring round and round until it had to be wound again.

There is something about gifts which can give a bad day a quick jolt and a shove to make it do a complete 180. I think anyone who abhors receiving gifts has got a dozen loose screws and needs a lobotomy. Through the years, I've received a lot of gifts come Christmas and I do have some favorites which stand out from the pack like a gayly wrapped present. For instance, when I was a child, my family and I would celebrate Christmas in my grandparents' house in Mangatarem, Pangasinan. Come Christmas Eve, Mamang, my late grandmother, would give me one of Papang's old socks and tell me to hang them on the window for Santa to fill with goodies. In the morning, I'd wake up to find the sock stuffed to the seams and I'd run to Mamang to show her all the chocolates and candies I got and she'd excitedly watch me count my stash even if she knew very well what was inside.

This year, my mom gave me Mara Jade, my new laptop (trust the geek to give the laptop a geek name), just so I could now retire Lei (my 8-year old notebook) which was, in some instances, trusty and in other instances would just turn itself off for no apparent reason. I was so happy that when I got home, I showed her Mara Jade and gave her a quick run-down of all its features, muttering about how "awesome" it was and how thankful I was for getting it for Christmas.

My favorite Christmas gift by far, however, was the one my sister and I also got from "Santa," 19 years ago. I had been pining for a dog and I had written "Santa" about it for the past two years but he kept giving me other things. On that particular Christmas Eve 19 years ago, my mom ran into the room my sister and I used to share and told us Santa was in the front yard with our presents. My sister and I raced to the front yard and found no Santa there. My mom then said Santa was in the kitchen and, because we were young, stupid and gullible, we ran out and found nobody except my mom jumping and pointing to the sky, telling us to wave goodbye because Santa was in a hurry and that if we looked closer, we would get to see his sleigh flying across the night sky. Disappointed that we didn't get to see Santa (and I was wondering how someone that fat could move so fast), my sister and I ambled back to the living room and were surprised to find two baskets sitting under the Christmas tree. I remember hiding behind a chair as my sister, who was always the more adventurous one, slowly walked toward the basket with the green ribbon, struggled with the wicker lid, pulled it out and then found herself greeted by a tiny, furry black head which popped out of the basket. I opened my basket (the one with a red ribbon) and found an all-white puppy cowering inside, a Spitz-Pomeranian I later named Sandy.

It would take me years later to realize that the red glow I was pointing to in the sky as Santa's sleigh was a signal light in a communications antenna and that, yes, my mom indeed had a future as an actress. What made my parents spill the truth beans about Santa, you may ask. Well, when I was 10, I got the toy catalogue for Strawberry Shortcake and I wrote Santa one letter after another, asking him if I could have the Betty Crocker baking oven or the electric-operated ice cream maker. Apparently the toys were a little too pricey and my parents had to disappoint me lest I burned a hole in their bank accounts.

As much as I love receiving gifts, I particularly enjoy giving them as well. Actually, I look forward to Christmas not because of the gifts I'm bound to get but because of the gifts I'll be giving to family and friends. I love to watch the recipients open their wrapped presents and wait for their reactions once the ribbons are off and the boxes are opened. I love to watch their faces light up like a light bulb - like the grin my dad gives when I get him a shirt meant for yuppies, the expression on my mom's face when I give her something she has always wanted to get herself or the amused look my grandfather gives me when I give him something funny. After all, I spend the entire year keeping my ears wide open, hoping to catch a drift of what they need or want. I love watching kids rip candy wrappers apart with huge grins in their faces. I enjoy watching eyes, fingers and smiles in endless combinations whether or not the "thank you's" come afterwards.

I guess it has to do with the fact that I've been in the receiving end a little bit too much so I need not just to pay back but also, as the movie goes, pay it forward. The gifts come from deep within a very, very, very thankful person.

*********

Gold, frankincense and and myrrh were the gifts the three wise men brought for the child Jesus. These were gifts fit for a king. Or so they thought.

Come to think of it, I don't think there is a gift on this planet which would be worthy to lay down on the feet of the King. I was sitting alone in my room, in the quietness of the night, thinking about this. What gift would be fit for my King? Actually, there is none because everything falls short of His glory and majesty. He created all things, all things were made by Him and for Him. Yet God chooses to accept whatever we offer at His feet as long as it is given with a pure heart. Abel's sheep was the equivalent of the magi's gifts. The poor widow's few pennies were as valuable to him as a rich man's gold coins. The shepherds who were the infant Jesus' first visitors did not carry with them any gifts of material value but the worship and adoration they brought with them were more than enough.

Aside from the fact that they were bearing gifts which were of no compare to the King's majesty, I am not sure exactly how long it took for the magi to realize that they were actually not the gift givers. They, along with the rest of mankind, were the recipients of the ultimate gift of sacrifice - a babe born out of God's immense love.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Sentimental Blue Highlighter Writes '30'

2009-12-03T22:57:00.001+08:00

(Note: I wrote this immediately after my final exam in my toughest subject last semester and promised myself I wouldn't post it if the story does not end well or has no semblance of a happy ending.)

10 p.m., October 16, 2009

I am sitting on my bed with the covers pulled off as I am typing this. It actually feels rather good to have my legs graze my sheets again and to have absolutely nothing beside me except my extra pillow. The alarm clock is not set to go off at a particular time tomorrow because I am going to sleep for as long as I want, for as long as I think I need. For the past two weeks, I would find myself awake at 4 a.m. and realize that I have slept on my schoolwork again - and quite literally at that. I wake up with papers rustling in my back, my pens and my blue highlighter strewn all over the bed like a Jackson Pollock work and my books wide open beside me in various states of disarray.

Tonight has finally come. If you asked me yesterday how I think I'd be doing tonight, I would have probably answered "brain dead." This week has become probably the most stressful of my entire existence. It was difficult not to see myself as an endangered specie, one whose very existence and sanity was dangling by a hairline from the edge of a precipice. As each day passed and stress levels hit the ceiling, bore a hole in the roof and shot like fireworks through the exosphere, the day for the finals loomed before me and my classmates like a burly grizzly bear. All week, we swam through the text of the Rules of Court as they floated in our heads like a million random corks in the middle of the ocean. The day had finally come to tie them down to paper. The exercise of answering the examination itself was, to put it simply, difficult. It felt like I was grasping at a hundred helium balloons which were floating in the air in different areas, a situation so tricky when you don't quite know which string to pull out of the mess.

My genius-friend Bryan SJ once told me that he loved written exams better than class recitations. I wouldn't choose either of the two of I had any liberty but he did explain his choice to me with his trademark humor. "At least iyong papel hindi nagsasalita, hindi ka sinisigawan," he told me with a laugh, his fingers opening and closing like a bird's beak. That was the one of the first things I thought of as I scratched my answers on my exam booklet with my pen. I did manage a smile as I imagined my paper rise before me and transform into a mouth like those Harry Potter howlers before screaming into my face like a banshee.

Four hours later, when I turned my booklet in and walked out of the examination room, I felt very, very tired. That was expected. I felt a curious mix of relief and dread. That too was expected since a huge chunk of load had been lifted off my shoulders but I honestly did not know how I did in that exam. My head was spinning and my stomach was grumbling. That was another development I had anticipated since the only meal I had which had some semblance of decency was a heavy breakfast.

But there was another feeling lurking somewhere in the corner, something I had neither expected nor anticipated. It was the quiet, nagging feeling that said, with all certainty, that this fragment of my life would be missed - in a sorely sadistic way that I never thought would be possible. No matter how I much wished I would never go this way again, I certainly could not deny that a part of me would certainly miss all the ups and the downs that came with my ordeal of the last four months.

There were the little things, like the undeniable, uncomfortable silence before every class when my classmates and I would wait for the earlier section to end. The minute that first class adjourned, we would rush to meet the deluge of students (usually Kiyo, Jat and Jonas) and the air would then be thickly populated with all sorts of permutations of only one significant question: "Hanggang saan kayo umabot?"

Then there was that feeling of dread which came with the sound of the professor's heels echoing down the hallway. After all, those footsteps were so distinct they were almost equivalent to DNA evidence in terms of weight and sufficiency. My classmates and I would listen for them and when the familiar "clak clak clak" would reverberate across the walls, you could almost taste the panic in the air and feel the calories drain through your ears. The minute she would walk into the room and effortlessly swing the heavy wooden door open, you could almost hear the symphony of hearts hammering and pulses racing. Everybody stops breathing for a minute, whether consciously or unconsciously. The entire experience was insanity-inducing but, on hindsight, at the end of every class session, it was also as deliciously thrilling as wakeboarding in the Pacific Ocean in the middle of a squall.

The scarier moments would come when the questions would hit the student out of nowhere like shots from a sniper. Sometimes, the student dodges the recitation bullet but in other instances when the sniper finds its mark, makes a mortal wound and leads to the dreaded "Sit down" booming through the classroom like a bazooka, there is nothing left to see but necks bared, heads bowed and hands furtively leafing through pages of whatever pieces of paper are on the desks. The silence is, to make a direct quote, "sepulchral." Prayers rise through the air like steam as the area is scanned for the next target and if such steam clouds were visible, they would all have read the same way: "Not me, please."

The tough moments make their entrance when the recitation shotgun is whipped out and an entire row of people rejoin their seats a little soon after being called to stand, one after another in rapid succession. Sometimes, there are days when you've practically read the entire assignment and committed everything to every possible fold of your synapses, thinking you cannot be as ready as ever. Then with one question, your day comes to an end. Those are the days when the heart weighs heaviest, when you realize that the old adage of "failure means you didn't try" does not apply at all. Those are the lowest moments, when you think you could sink far lower than the Marianas Trench, even when you already feel buried neck-deep in quicksand.

But then, there were also the lighter moments, like the jokes before class about how karma goes around and comes around. Teasing another classmate "You will get called" is practically like opening yourself up to heaven's wrath. This tirade is usually exchanged while waiting in line for orders of instant pancit canton or fishballs, the kind of food so unhealthy that they will surely kill you if the over-the-scale stress levels don't do the job. Wailing is a standard and can come in a variety of forms. The usual goes something like "Hindi ako nakaaral" with matching (fake) sobbing. Sometimes, it can be as blunt as a frustrated "Ayoko na!" or as overused as a desperate "Hindi ko natapos!" The most commonly overheard is "Hanggang saan inaral mo?" which just makes everyone more nervous, especially when the case assignments are as thick as pocketbooks and you feel you've only scratched the surface.

Then there were the brief after-class laughs, the coffee shop study sessions and the rides in my "magic school bus" where none of my passengers paid me anything even if I made the appopriate legal demand. Coffee Bean Balara is probably the best joint to study as a group because hardly anyone ever shows up in the daytime and Cha and I still have a good supply of those "buy-one-take-one" coupons for cheesecake and ice blends good enough for all of our tummies. But the overall winner for the best source of a snicker would be Mims who could still manage to crack a joke about why Herce vs. Cabuyao was included in the subtopic about hearsay when everyone else thinks the world is coming to an end. Get it? Herce and hearsay?

After everything else, there are the class members, the ones you'll remember for their quips, their mannerisms, for the days they have saved the class sessions with their recitation answers, despite the extra strain on their legs from all the standing which could last up to three hours. The ones who will applaud and whoop at the end of every class session, at the precise moment the wooden doors swing shut. The ones who do not mince with encouragement and are generous with the handshakes, the high-fives and the pats on the back. The ones who celebrate the smallest of victories and ignore the bad days. There's Mr. Mendoza, otherwise known as Mr. Evidence, who could recite all 37 disputable presumptions word-for-word without the slighest hint of hestitation. Then there's Miss Rios, the resident Miss Evidence, who picked up a nuance in Africa vs. Caltex which no one in the entire history of the course had ever noticed. Of course, there is Mr. Dumlao, the class saviour who stood till the very last day and could tell you where the periods and the commas are in the text of the law. There's Miss Cabrera who always leaves at 7:30 for her Succession class and Miss Canete who does not buckle under pressure. There's Mr. Muniz, Mr. Quilala and Mr. Revillas who are always called at about the same time, one after another. Then there's Miss Boncaron who is always persistent; Mr. Asilo who is always confident and Miss Salazar who is always brilliant. There's Dr. Simangan, the resident physician; Miss Buenavantura, the class beadle and Miss Martin, the cool cat. There's Mr. Salinas, the perfectionist; Miss Sabitsana, the firecracker; Miss Rial, the one with the quiet confidence. They were labelled as our "first line of defense" because they sat on the row immediately in front of ours and once they were called to recite, it would automatically mean we, the ones who sat in the back, were coming up next. Of course, there's Miss Pineda who is great (and loud) at broadcasting her answers to those who are fielded for recitation and Mr. Ridon who was so unlike himself during class hours. There are my seatmates, Mr. Arcilla with his "small eyes" and Miss Mendoza with her pink laptop who types simple reminders like "Relax" on her computer screen, all visible for the ones who are standing, stretching their calf muscles and have to deal with more than just trembling patellas.

And then there's me, the one who started this walk with a curious mix of pessimism and optimism and will sign off at the kiss of sunset - and the adventure - with a grateful heart, a quiet laugh and a fervent hope that this fight will indeed end well.

Aftermath

2009-09-13T01:13:00.001+08:00

September 10, 2009, 8:00 pm.

My pen was making scratchy noises on the paper as I wrote one line after another. The movement of my fingers was rapid, almost fluid like swaying dandelions in the middle of an open field. And to think that the aircon was turned way up high and the room was so cold I half expected to see a polar bear sit beside me and rip my desk to pieces. That would have been convenient, though...to push away my desk and say "Ma'am, I can't take this test anymore. The polar bear just ate my paper."

Every so often the stream of ideas would stop like water gathering behind a dam then would slowly push itself forward, regaining momentum but with a noticeable reduction in speed. With every tick of the clock, my internal river was slowing down, grasping on its brakes like one would grasp helplessly at straws.

Then like a person ramming himself into a brick wall, I crashed into my own cul-de-sac and heard my brain give way with a tiny creak. Uh-oh, the end has come. The horde of stress-inducing nanomites had merged forces with the growing army of Weariness and Nervousness and they had now succeeded in breaking into head and scorching my synapses to dust as they blazed their way into the innermost recesses of my brain.
I re-read the question. "X grabs an iron bar and hits A's medulla oblongata. A dies." The cul-de-sac naturally refused to budge and my brain was now emitting fumes like a pressure cooker. I manage to laugh though. Some guy in a night club named X who probably can't even differentiate his veins from his arteries could grab an iron bar and aim for a guy's medulla oblongata instead of simply going for his head. "Relevant?" goes the question. I still can't get over the medulla oblongata. Maybe X was a Doogie Howser who dropped out of Harvard and could do the human genome project with both eyes closed. Was it relevant that X aimed for A's medulla oblongata? He could have hit A's cranium and A would still land six feet under in a wooden box lined with lace.

My head hurts as if X's iron bar leapt past the test paper. I know I badly need food and sleep.

When I get home, I sit in front of the sofa and watch MTV, staring with a half-empty head at pop stars singing and dancing underneath disco lights in their psychedelic dresses. My brain is still simmering as I drown in my mug of misery called ice cream.

Wow, it's one thing to go through a long and difficult examination. It's a totally different issue when your brain throws in the towel and simply gives up on you.

Waiting

2009-08-20T00:05:00.001+08:00

I have been at this since 1 this morning and as the clock strikes 8:30, I find the entire experience to be both stressful and slightly hilarious even if it is akin to waiting for the bar exam results.

"This" refers to waiting for the results of the medical licensure examinations. My best friend took the exams for two weekends and she told me that the list of those who successfuly passed the exam should have come out last night, at the latest today. As of this writing, there are no updates from either of our ends. The results were supposed to be posted in the official website of the PRC and when I checked with Google last night, all other sites such as blogs and forums were also announcing that they too would post the results as soon as they were ready.

That all together struck me as surreal. My parents took the board exams back in the 70s and the results of their board exams came out after about five or six months. My friend, on the other hand, hurdled the last cluster of exams on Sunday and the waiting period for her had been drastically reduced to just a number of days. Back during my parents' time, the results were posted on reams of paper and people had to fall in line to check if their names were on the list. With the advent of the Internet, my best friend and I need not go anywhere but just sit in front of the computer and wait. Not only that, to factor in a human element to the torture, as I browsed through forum posts and comments to blog entries, I practically felt the anxiousness of the med students who took the examination as they put their ordeal to tangible form through blog comments and forum posts...people I didn't even know. I figured that generally, the advances in communications technology had certainly done their part in making the wait slightly less unpleasant.

I was browsing through a blog site which was creative enough to make a red, flashing marquee-like header for the medical licensure exam results. I was not sure exactly if that helped with soothing the stress levels but the blog entry claimed that the passing rate was about 70% according to a source. People then started posting comments to the blog entry until finally someone named Vince wrote that he had a leaked copy of the results. The inquiries then came like a flood with people asking if Mr. So and So or Miss XYZ was in the list. He answered some of the inquiries but gave vague answers like, "Two of the three from School ABC did not make it." Then as quickly as he came, Vince just disappeared from the deluge of very angry med students who finally figured out he was taking them for a joy ride.

I thought it was cruel for someone to turn someone else's anxiety into web fodder. These people, like my best friend and me, had been waiting since the wee hours of the morning for the results and it certainly was not funny to make up some story about having a leaked copy of the results. As a matter of fact, I thought it was downright inhumane.

I am sure as you are reading this, you must be wondering why I didn't think of visiting the most reliable source online for the results of the physicians licensure exam. I did figure early on that the best way to get the news was through the official website of the PRC (http://www.prc.gov.ph). But, as they say, when it rains, it pours. And this applies to almost all things, I suppose, including stress-inducers.

Before visiting any other blog site at 1 in the morning, I had first typed in the URL for the official PRC website in the address bar of my browser and waited for the page to load. Voila! I didn't get a website which hinted at a website of the PRC! Instead, I got a maroon background with some text written inside a box. An icon of a police officer was pictured on the left hand corner of the box and the page carried a warning that the PRC website was classified by Google as an "attack site." When I clicked a button to provide me with more information, I found out that when Google tested the PRC site, malware was downloaded and installed without the user's consent.

I sighed as the comments of seething rage continued to be hurled at Vince in the blog site. I wasn't about to tell my friend to just unplug the computer and go to the PRC but sometimes, there are things such as Vinces and viruses which you don't worry about when you're simply falling in line and waiting for reams of paper to make their grand appearance.

Postscript:

By 11 PM, a few hours after I had posted this entry as part of weekly blogging assignment in a class blog, it finally became official that Sue Ellen T. Abad now had the initials "M.D." for a name suffix. She has gone a long, long way from the six-year old who initially wanted to be a nurse (if the pre-school yearbook were to be a basis).

Congratulations Bad!

Redefining Yellow

2009-08-05T16:28:00.001+08:00

"It could have been the sunniest day," I thought as I stood in the midst of a sea of yellow. It was the perfect day to go out, take a walk, go for a run, do anything to celebrate the vibrance and warmth of a life well-lived. The sun was back in her golden throne after days of seeing nothing but rain and the dreariness of clouds.

I was standing across 6750 Ayala Avenue at 11 in the morning with my hair wet all scrunched in a ponytail. I had belatedly decided I was going for a walk and my companion was on her way. I didn't mind waiting because the breeze was cool and the air was thick with a stillness which had remained elusive for the longest time.

A few minutes later, I saw her approaching. She made her way through the street with the quiet grace that had long been her trademark. There was nothing pompous, nothing grand about her last walk except perhaps for the yellow blooms which kept her company or the four uniformed men around her who kept quiet watch.

I waited as she came closer, my fingers gripping the iron railings which lined the street. The metal was still curiously cool to the touch despite the sun's grand re-appearance after days of unceasing rain.

The stillness had since dissipated and there was now a wispy feel to the air, like giant cats padding quietly across a stone floor. My walk was about to begin any minute now and I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

Nothing could have prepared me for the deluge of yellow flowers and the sight of my country's stripes - the deepest blue, the most fiery red, the purest white, the most vibrant yellow - draped over a wooden box.

As my former President's body slowly passed my inconspicuous little spot along Ayala Avenue, the tears came quietly in a stream as steady as the flow of people who had come to pay their respects to the woman in yellow.

Martial Law Babies in a Revolutionary Society

I was born during an interesting point of Philippine history - right at the fringes of the martial law era and smack at the doorstep of a revolutionary tide that was to radically reshape the environment that I was to grow up in. When I was a couple of months old, then senator Benigno Aquino Jr. was felled by an assassin's bullet in the tarmac of the Manila International Airport and by the time I was three, the Philippines had its first woman president in the person of his widow, Corazon Cojuangco Aquino.

Bespectacled. Calm. Gentle. Mild-mannered. A woman of quiet strength and relentless courage. It was easy to look up to President Aquino with all admiration and hope as her husband had now become one of my great personal heroes. Her smiling face graced the pages of a coffee table book on EDSA Uno, her thumb and index finger stretched out to form the letter "L," symbolizing the Filipino word "laban." That pretty much summed up how the American-educated widow was thrust into the public limelight. She had taken up the cause of her deceased husband and was now fighting for freedom, for liberty and for democracy which the Filipino people deserved. Little did she know that her fight was not to stop the moment she stepped down from office in 1992. The Filipino people still came running to her like little children with scraped knees everytime the cornerstones of democracy came under intense attack. Willingly she came out of the confines of her life as a private citizen, her clear, steady voice cutting like a knife through the haze, akin to the constant sting a probing conscience makes on a guilty mind. At the last moments of her life, she fought the cancer that had ravaged her body until she finally yielded to the eternal rest that she so belatedly deserved.

To be honest about it, I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly what she was like as a President in terms of policy. I was three when she took her oath and was nine when turned over the presidency to Fidel Ramos and all I cared about back then was my daily game of dodgeball. She survived seven coup attempts from disgruntled members and officers of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and I do know she got flack for some of her policies, including the Comprehensive Agrarian Land Reform.

President Aquino was not a perfect President but then she was someone who worked very hard to do what she could in an imperfect society. The fact that she has not lost the people's respect and admiration I think says a lot about the kind of President she was. Her support was still sought after by people in all the issues which has rocked this country's foundations and has threatened to suck our people's pride dry as dust.

President Aquino's strength and courage as a woman was of a different breed. She was not a Gabriela Silang, not a Boadicea, not a Joan of Arc, not a Xena Warrior Princess. It was difficult to imagine her with hair in wild disarray, mouth curled in a raging fit of anger, arms raised in a battle stance. She was more of deep water which ran with a strong current that belied its stillness. I vividly remember a picture of her sprinkling Holy water on her slain husband's coffin. Ninoy's body still bore the marks of his death and his clothes still carried the bloodstains. Her face was composed and her courage was unmistakable. She was determined, unfazed and focused but all tucked within the folds of gentleness, integrity and conscience. She could be tough and unyielding when the circumstances called for it, when truth and freedom were to the impending victims of a pillage. It is interesting to note how yellow, a color which supposedly relates to cowardice, has come to hold a different meaning in the Philippine context.

Yellow: A Color of Courage, Faith and Selflessness

Ever since news of her hospital confinement hit the country in June, yellow ribbons were seen fluttering all about the metropolis - in cars, buses, bicycles, motorcyces, lamp posts, tree trunks. Masses for her healing were held one after another. Where so many politicians and public figures had failed, an ailing former President had succeeded - in uniting once more a nation that was polarized by bitter divisions in class and politics. President Aquino was a woman of intense faith and she had urged the Filipinos to unceasingly pray for the Philippines. The support through prayer came spontaneously like the yellow ribbons which sprouted overnight, like the love which a grateful people felt for the simple housewife who stood up against a dictator.

Her simplicity was astounding and were she not selfless, she would not have taken the burden of becoming the country's president along with all its trappings, intrigues and the immense pressure. When Ninoy Aquino was in exile in Boston for three years, Cory described that time as the "happiest" in their married life. She obviously preferred a quiet life away from the limelight but because her duty as a citizen called for being more than just standing by the sidelines, she bravely accepted what had been thrust into her hands.

A Tale of Two Women

In a time like this, it is difficult for me not to draw comparisons between her and the current President of the country. Both are women, both came from politically affluent families, both were educated, both were thrust into power by a peaceful revolution, both came to prominence at a time of clamor for change, both took their seat as the highest official in the land with the highest hopes of their people spread before their feet like a sheet all ready for treading.

One has earned her people's love and sad to say, the other is in the opposite side of the spectrum. One has constantly upheld the truth and sad to say, the other has not. One has consistently fought for freedom and justice and sad to say, the other has attempted to bury them. One has tried her best to live a life of integrity and has become a beacon of light to her people. Sad to say, the other, even after eight years, has yet to earn her own people's trust.

The Presidency cannot always be about popularity but it does speak so much about what a leader is when her own people have not ceased to respect her.

Walking By

As I stood by that railing in Makati on Monday and walked along with the procession up until the Ninoy Aquino memorial along Paseo de Roxas, I realized that most of the people who stood and walked beside me were people my age. Most of them might have been toddlers or little children when President Aquino came to power. Some of them might not have been born yet even. But we call came to bid our farewell and pay our respects to the woman who had allowed us to grow up in a society where we have a significant degree of freedom, rights and liberties. A woman interviewed on TV said she withstood the heat and the rain just so she could see the late President at the Manila Cathedral, saying it was her "only way to repay" President Aquino. I understand where she was coming from but in reality, we could do so much more for her by continuing to safeguard the democratic ideals she had fought to restore, by not allowing anyone to take away our pride as a nation and as people and by continuing to fight for what is right, what is fair and what is true even in the simplest of circumstances.

A quick to flashback to 2001: I was a freshman in university and I was standing in the middle of the intersection of Ortigas Avenue and EDSA. Right in front of me loomed the huge image of the Virgin Mary atop the EDSA Shrine as people chanted and waved huge placards, urging then President Estrada to resign. It was almost 5PM and I was urging my friends Em and Shyne that I needed to go home badly. I had gone to the rally without my parents' permission and I had to be home before my mother checked on my whereabouts. We were weaving through the crowd and we finally reached a clearing. We slowly walked towards Galleria but when we passed the gate of Corinthian Gardens subdivision, I suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Did you see that?" I asked Em.

"What?" she asked.

I turned around and walked towards the direction of the Shrine just to confirm what I saw. All of a sudden, my excitement took the best of me and I ran back, my knapsack jiggling as I dashed back to the crowd.

Shyne and Em ran after me while shouting "What's going on?"

I turned around and shouted in one breath, "Cory, Cory, Cory!"

It was easy to remember how Shyne ran faster than I did when she heard me. After all, she was shouting "Kris, Kris, Kris" like a true fan girl. It was easy to remember the faces of the people in the crowd looked when they saw the former President approach. After she did so without the slightest bit of fanfare or deluge of bodyguards. But I will never forget what I felt the first moment I saw her emerging from the direction of the subdivision gate. She was in black and walked slowly, casually. She unaccompanied except by her eldest daughter Ballsy on one side and her actress-daughter Kris on the other. The three of them had walked past me when I was heading away from the crowd. I knew it was the former President when I first saw her but my mind went blank just like the black shirt I was wearing. She had a pleasant look on her face and gave everybody a ready smile. I felt something indescribable well up inside me and that was when I ran back like mad just so I could stand in the same crowd with a freedom fighter.

That memory rushed back to me as I stood momentarily in front of the Makati Stock Exchange on Monday morning. The flatbed truck bearing her wooden coffin had come to a halt because of the crowd. When a quiet chant began somewhere, I allowed my fingers to form an "L" as I spoke in unison with the people on the streets: "Cory, Cory, Cory..."

Testing the Right to Vote

2009-08-04T23:29:00.001+08:00

Aside from enduring the sweltering heat and practically numbing my knees as I staggered along Padre Faura in my two-and-a-half inch heels, it certainly was a privilege to have attended the oral arguments in the Supreme Court last Wednesday concerning the nationwide automation of the May 2010 elections. It wasn’t my first time in the Supreme Court but I still found myself eyeing the imposing pillars and ogling at the portraits of all the Chief Justices this country has had.

As the newspapers have reported, the Concerned Citizens Movement headed by Prof. Harry Roque had initially filed a motion for the issuance of a temporary restraining order about a month ago. The motion was not granted but the Court ordered, however, that oral arguments should take place between CCM as petitioner and respondents Commission on Elections, TIM and Smartmatic.

Many issues emerged in the course of the oral arguments but one particular argument proffered by CCM caught the interest of the justices that Prof. Roque was quizzed on the issue endlessly. This involved Sec. 6 of RA 9369 which provides for the use of the AES (automated election system) in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. The provision states as follows:

“SEC. 6. Section 6 of Republic Act No. 8436 is hereby amended to read as follows:

‘SEC. 5 Authority to Use an Automated Election System. - To carry out the above-stated policy, the Commission on Elections, herein referred to as the Commission, is hereby authorized to use an automated election system or systems in the same election in different provinces...

xxx xxx xxx

Provided, that for the regular national and local election, which shall be held immediately after effectivity of this Act, the AES shall be used in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao, to be chosen by the Commission…

xxx xxx xxx

In succeeding regular national or local elections, the AES shall be implemented nationwide.’”

CCM argued that the proviso was mandatory given the wording of the law. The word “shall” was used for starters. In addition, the last sentence of Sec. 6 states that the AES shall be implemented nationwide “in succeeding regular national or local elections,” indicating that the “pilot testing” should first take place in two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. The term “pilot testing” was not used in RA 9369 but this was originally utilized by Sen. Richard Gordon, one of the sponsors of the law when it was still in the initial stages as a bill. On the other hand, the COMELEC was of the position that the provision was not mandatory and that even if it were, it had complied with the proviso through its use of the AES in the recent ARMM elections.

Statutory construction has offered three possible interpretations for the said provision which could support either view. However, in examining the said provision, I submit that the mandatory view finds its support in another realm apart from what a former senator has called legal gobbledygook.

I do know from experience how tedious a systems project can be. The process itself is far from a walk along the Elyssian Fields. System development in itself is an experience which can be described as harrowing and horrifying. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a lot of fun but at some point in time, your head starts throbbing and you don’t know for sure whether your computer will overheat before your senses. In the process of system development, before the end product can be delivered to the end user, an important aspect is testing. Testing in itself has a number of stages such as unit testing to system testing to user acceptance testing with each stage undergoing a particular number of iterations. Factor in Murpy’s Law and you start to feel to have a steady supply of Paracetamol. But the bad news comes when you realize that no matter how many times testing is done, no matter how many iterations are noted, glitches and bugs can still make their grand appearance in the actual environment.

It would be healthy to assume that Smartmatic has conducted hardware testing on its counting machines along with a systems testing of the software to be used by the machines. However COMELEC intends to go full blast with the implementation of the AES come May 2010 and that is where my reservations start trickling in like a steady stream of code. The machines are essential, crucial even, in determining the outcome of the elections thus they should at least have some semblance of reliability. No, not just some semblance, they should possess a significant degree of reliability. Reliability, in turn, is assured by system which is stable and should perform according to its intended function without compromising or altering the data input. These are the very attributes which testing is going to highlight.

Before the AES is to be implemented, it is essential that it should first be tested in the actual environment. This is what the “pilot testing” intended in Section 6 aims to do. The “pilot testing” in two highly urbanized cities and two provinces in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao will reveal possible system problems which could be encountered including user difficulties, system defects, bugs, environment problems and the like. Only until all such permutations have been accounted for should a nationwide rollout of the AER take place. In systems development, despite all the testing a system undergoes, problems are still encountered in the actual environment as not all issues with the system can be anticipated. In the same vein, if the AER were to be implemented nationwide without first undergoing pilot testing with the actual users a.k.a. the voters, it can be assumed that voting come May 2010 will not be easy. The ARMM elections cannot be considered as the “pilot testing” intended by the law since different machines were utilized. In testing, the same hardware and software should be used in the actual environment, otherwise there would be no point in going into the exercise.

Knowing that these counting machines are crucial in reflecting the choices I make as to who should comprise this government come 2010, it is therefore reasonable to demand integrity, reliability and stability. In fact, it is my sacrosanct right to do so. Utmost protection should be given to every vote and part of securing that vote is to make sure that each ballot is properly accounted for. The right of suffrage is the very cornerstone of our democratic society and I would certainly want to be assured that my vote was counted – and counted properly, at that. No matter how some pessismists argue that this is nothing but legal fiction, there is certainly no way that I would allow my voice to fall into a dark unknown crevice, (no) thanks to a mere machine.

Fishy, Fishy

2009-07-16T00:43:00.001+08:00

About eleven years ago, I went nuts over my MOPyfish, a virtual pet named Christina which lived in my monitor and resembled a parrot fish. Christina, like her other siblings spawned by their MOPyfish mother, was available for download from the HP website. For starters, it was completely lifelike unlike other virtual pets which looked like Looney Tunes rip-offs. It swam around the screen with graceful fins as if it were really underwater. Christina was fed everyday and I could play with her by clicking on her and she would make underwater somersaults. She had a temper, though and overclicking on her would make my MOPyfish scuttle away into some unknown corner of the monitor.

At first, a MOPyfish's tank came bare: nothing but darkness and seeming depth. But points could be acquired with printouts (hence the MOP in MOPy which meant Multiple Original Printouts). When I reached a point threshold, I'd get MOPyfish paraphernalia like a plant or aphrodisiac which made Christina hyper and give me a kiss. Eventually I learned you could download a rip for the software without a need for printouts.

The realization that Christina's lifelikeness was both a boon and a bane came later. I was on vacation with my father for a month and when I came back, the first thing I did was to rush to my computer to check on Christina. I was horrified when I found her floating on the "water surface" with her belly on the side, looking every inch like a real dead fish! It was so realistic I could almost smell the stench and my stomach lurched at the thought that a dead fish had been floating inside my computer for a month.

For virtual reality, some say the more realistic, the better. In terms of virtual fish as pets, that may not always be the case. And Christina's lifelikeness did more than just scare the socks off my toes. She bore a hole in my pocket and cost me a lot of ink. Back then, I should have realized there was indeed something fishy behind that kiss.

Rain, Randomness and Pigeons

2009-07-11T01:28:00.001+08:00

Lately, the rain has been a constant presence in Manila's afternoons. I should have known that it was a bad idea to have the car washed and my friend Joey did give me ample warning. I was walking back to the car when I realized that the sky was clear and the sun was shining mightily with its rays outstretched like an extended slinky. So I decided to bring the car to the wash shop and as the mud and the grime started to disappear before my very eyes, I believe I made the right choice.

I spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in the debilitating coldness of the student lounge, trying to study while trying to ignore the lure of the couch. By 4 PM, rain pours down in torrents and washes away eighty pesos worth of car wash. Oh well, at least the car was clean for a couple of hours.

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

I haven't been to the bookstore in about three weeks - and that's a long time considering its proximity to the place where I live along with the fact that I used to drop by the bookstore twice a week to browse through new titles, snag a few free reads and, of course, smell book paper.

On my way home, I decided to make a quick stop to my favorite place on this side of the world. After all the week had been a pain in the derriere and I did deserve a break. Besides, I could use the time to check out which books I could get with packet of gift cards I got from my parents and my GG-mates on my birthday (arguably the best gift anyone could ever get me). I did end up getting C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces" and Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" and I was walking out with what could be my weekend reprieve, I looked up and saw the falling drops of rain reflected on a street lamp. Back where I'm from, old people attribute gender to a lot of things, even rain and the rain tonight perfectly fit the "male" type - small, thin pinpricks which hit the ground with silence. This was in contrast to the "female" variant which consisted of huge, fat drops which plopped like water-filled balloons erupting when hit by darts.

Maybe it was the yellow light from the lamp post against the darkness of the sky but the rain tonight seemed to fall with such softness, it almost felt wispy, lightweight, like snow piling quietly over a rooftop (not that I've actually seen snow fall but the movies do seem to show it). The raindrops looked so delicate they could have disappeared like vapor the minute they hit my "Mickey Mouse's dismembered parts" umbrella.

On my way back to the parking lot, sloshing through the street in the rain that looked like snow was practically therapeutic.

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

Weird story coming up.

I think I might have a stalker.

A bunch of pigeons live somewhere in that space above the ceiling of the law school building. They practically fly over my head when I walk across the oft-deserted hallway of the third floor while toting my dismembered "Rules of Court." Sometimes, sparrows join them in some game of hide-and-seek but generally, the birds pretty much keep to themselves. That's something that I am comfortable with because I have this unexplained fear of the avian kind. Blame it on Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" or that movie about ghosts manifesting themselves as hawks or something. The eyes scare me and the way they cock their heads in an almost robotic fashion give me the creeps.

Yesterday was a day like any other in my rather somber existence in law school. I was standing on the open area across the hall from my third floor classroom, parroting provisions I had committed to memory when I looked up to see a pigeon perched on a water pipe above me. That would have been nothing extraordinary had I not realized that the pigeon was staring at me with its unblinking little eyes! It sat on the pipe, neck unmoving as if it had bird paralysis or something and its eyes fixed on what seemed to be my face. I moved my head to the right, to the left, bobbed it forward then backward but the pigeon still sat there, staring at me intently. Then with its beady eyes still fixed on me, it started opening its pink little beak as if it was trying to say something to me, as if I could comprehend the slightest smattering of bird speak.

"Cha..." I called out to my friend. "You've got to see this. The pigeon's looking at me."

"Well, there's no reason why they they shouldn't be there. They live there, you know," Cha answered me.

"I know," I said, aware that I sounded obviously silly. Maybe all the memorization and talk about the Corfu Channel was making my synapses overheat, resulting to illusions about a white bird with a stiff neck and a hyperactive beak.

"But, really, it's staring at me...and it's opening its mouth too."

Cha looked up to the ceiling and started laughing. "You didn't see the other one?"

Bewildered, I followed her gaze. "What other one?"

True enough, there was another pigeon sitting right above my first captive audience, its head and neck somewhat snuggled into its breast yet still obviously staring at me with the same beady eyes and intent gaze.

"This isn't funny, Cha," I said as I began to move away from the ledge. What if the birds were delusional and were seeing me as a large piece of bird food? I started singing the pigeon fling its white body into me like a compies leaping into their prey. Okay, I was being ridiculous.

Cha said maybe I was channelling Snow White. Dahlia, another friend, offered an interesting suggestion which, if I did take up, was going to be as weird as having two pigeons for a captive audience - try singing "Happy Working Song" with the matching "Aaaahh-aaahh." It just might bring in more members of their flock and more bird stalkers to freak me out.

Maybe I am going insane. Or just being over-imaginative.

Weird story over. But that does not change the fact that the birds were still staring at me.

Detour

2009-07-06T02:08:00.001+08:00

de⋅tour [dee-toor, di-toor]
–noun
1. a roundabout or circuitous way or course, esp. one used temporarily when the main route is closed.
2. an indirect or roundabout procedure, path, etc.

I don't like detours, especially when the huge yellow sign with a twisted arrow makes a surprise appearance in a place totally unfamiliar to me. When I was learning to drive in Manila and every street corner was as strange as the last one, detours scared me to the tips of my hairstrands. I then had to make use of my inner sense of direction as I'd navigate streets that were totally unfamiliar in order to find my way into a road that I would recognize.

I remember when I had to get a new OR/CR for my car two years ago in some obscure LTO branch located somewhere within the labyrinth that is Sta. Mesa. The streets were narrow, cars were parked along the sidewalk and a couple of streets were closed so I had to take one back road after another until I saw the familiar throng of jeepneys along Aurora. As I made one turn after another in those little side streets, all I could think about was getting out of that maze.

If that was one detour I never want to go through again, there is another detour I wish I relished being in. In Cebu, there was a detour we took by mistake which saw us driving through a breathtaking view of the mountains and a rushing river. But because we were in a hurry to catch a Ro-Ro to San Carlos, all I really remember about that trip was the sound of my fingers angrily drumming on the glass window of the car. All the blah about view of the mountains and the river was just something I tried to reconstruct in my head.

Last week, I turned 26 and everything about this new stick added to the little tally board welded to my brain is a detour. A couple of years back, I had plans of how things would go about at this time of my life and now, those plans are a few blocks away, obscured from my range of sight. Like jeepneys honking their horns, like a train roaring through the tracks, I can hear them, I know they're there but I can't get to them just yet because I need to get in touch with my Inner Compass and work my way through these streets.

For someone who has pretty much mapped out his destination ala the Human Genome Project, being greeted by a detour is like getting whalloped by a thousand pound animal in the face with such intensity that he starts seeing psychedelic stars dancing the cha-cha-cha before his eyes. It is easy to get carried away with the "whys" and the grunting and the whining and the complaining and the scuffling of shoes down an unknown curb. Theseus must have felt the same way as he worked his way along Minos' elaborate labyrinth had he not had Ariadne to guide him.

But no matter what a detour is, despite the extra effort, the longer distance, the expense of time, it still is a journey, no matter how short or how long it may turn out to be. And in my world, every journey thoroughly deserves to be enjoyed with all its peaks and its valleys. Though unexpected, it is littered with little packets of possibly everything which could make this walkabout worthy of every memory cell's mitochondric activity.

Everything that happens in the year that I turned 26 will all be a surprise, pretty much like Jack jumping out of the box, like getting an extra strawberry chunk in my strawberry ice cream. It is good to be in unknown territory once in a while and I easily forget that I had one of the best times of my life when I was thirteen, alone and walking around in a new city in a foreign country.

I am looking forward to a year of long walks
and even longer talks,
tough lessons for the mind
and even tougher lessons for the soul
pealing laughter to rival church bells
endless songs to sing
beautiful mornings
and even more beautiful nights

A year for bones to be broken
and dreams to be restored,
for first chances
and even more shots at a second,
for strawberries to be picked
and for grain to be sown,
for unexpected arrivals
and graceful exits.

A year of tears in battle,
perhaps more tears in victory,
for family, for friends,
and anyone else along the way,
A year for the weary minstrel
to find his song,
A year for the stream of promises,
waiting in the silence of fulfillment.

That should be enough to turn those psychedelic cha-cha-ing stars into black holes.

Redirection

2009-06-24T22:52:00.000+08:00

Yes, I do blog...but not here. I admit I am thinking of moving my blog to Blogger but I am loving my Blogdrive account a little too much to do that right now. So for the meantime, drop by Amberle Brin's original home right here: Ramblings.

Remembering the Summer of '09

2009-06-13T11:37:00.002+08:00

It's June 10, Wednesday. 11:30 in the evening.

I am writing this inside my grandmother's dimly lit hospital room. The nurse has just brought in a bag of blood for her blood transfusion and while I'm typing this, I struggle with my goosebumps as I try not to look at the bag which now looks like a giant squid with only two tentacles. The summer vacation which bluntly ended last week with my disaster class grants and my hasty departure for Manila due to enrollment issues has been given a new lease of exactly a week (no) thanks to a global health issue simply labelled as A(H1N1).

This, I suppose, has given me an additional opportunity to look back and acknowledge how different and, in the words of my Tita Vilma, how diverse, the summer of 2009 has been for me. Who thought that a lot of things could happen in a span of a little over two months and I did not need to fly out of the country, soak myself in some foreign sun and eat something alien to my gastrointestinal tract just to make this summer memorable, unforgettable and, of course, sentimentally significant. I will devote this entry to make the events of recent months as vivid as the rains which kept the days drenched in a bid to work my way around the erstwhile traitor that is memory. After all, the summer of 2009 had a healthy and proportional mix of both fun and serious matters which kept me straddling that thin line between helium balloons and the bricks of inevitability.

1. Summer, sickness and role reversal

There was absolutely one reason why I had to go back to my coastal city home for the summer: to take care of my ailing grandfather. As I had written in my previous blog entries, my grandfather has been paralyzed from the waist down due to total nerve compression. He cannot get up on his own and needs to be turned every 2 hours or so and he frequently experiences excruciating pain along his lower back.
A case of complicated UTI compounds his health problems along with other ailments concerning his lungs, his liver and his heart.

What makes his situation more heartbreaking is the fact that he is still very much alert but his physical body serves to confine him to his bed. In his so-called "good days," he tries to maintain some semblance of normalcy by still going to his office and personally attends to a lot of work-related problems.

The entire summer saw me practically living in the hospital as my grandfather was wheeled in and out of admission with a certain degree of frequency that he eventually earned the monicker "balikbayan" among the nurses and staff. To add a more interesting angle to our hospital stay, my grandmother was also hospitalized within a week after my arrival due to pneumonia. She was allowed to share a room with my grandfather and she often walked around the room while dragging her IV tubes after her like a steel-and-plastic Christmas tree.
As if having two patients was not enough to give me a crash course on practical nursing, my own mother was hospitalized a few weeks after my grandmother got better! She had severe abdominal pain due to obstruction which in turn was attributed to intestinal adhesions. It got so bad to the point that her consulting physicians (a.k.a. my dad and his doctor-friend) were contemplating surgery. Everyday for about a week, I had to traverse ten rooms just to check on my grandfather and walk all the way back to my mother (who was curled like a ball in her bed due to severe abdominal pain) to give her a quick report on how he was doing.
The summer went by like a routine but we did our best to make the days a little cheerier. Who knew that white could be such a drab color? During instances when our patients would be napping, we would catch a couple of Pinoy flicks or other English titles that I missed. Every so often, my sister and I would go for a quick break by going out of the hospital to commit the greatest form of gastronomic sacrilege in the history of fast food - washing down Jollibee french fries with a McDonald's Coke float. Of course, my karma came in the form of a noted increase in the size of my thighs. I also met a deluge of wonderful people who had the gentlest of hearts and the brightest of smiles (such as a wonderful person named Lani from rehab who is my grandfather's therapist and this nurse whose name I forget who paid extra attention to my mother when she was in pain).
However there is ont really good thing about this summer that saw the reign of the antiseptic. I got to be part of a great rigodon of roles in my family. My grandparents and my mother had spent a significant portion of their lives taking care of me and fretting over me when I got sick and now it was time to switch seats. This time, it was our turn to give back after many years of simply receiving. Most days were difficult, especially when you find yourself sitting beside helplessness as you watch a face contort in pain. For my part, I found that there was a profound sense of joy and fulfillment in keeping watch over someone who used to keep an eye out for me and a infusion of courage and wisdom in knowing that despite the presence of pain and difficulty, there is a beautiful rainbow to look forward to.
2. American Idol Upset

This season, I was really, really, really rooting for Danny Gokey with a lunacy beyond that of a normal 25-year old. I was so upset over his failure to make it to the finals that I didn't watch the elimination results show (I had gotten wind of the bad news earlier in the day thanks to a friend) and I made my way through the rest of the day in a daze. The finale night was a bit anti-climactic but Kris gave Adam a good whallop. Kris Allen's victory over the flamboyant Adam Lambert was a shocker but overall, it was the best results show I had ever seen from one of the most talented batches in the show's history. Now I'll just sit pretty and wait patiently for Danny and Allison Iraheta's solo albums.
3. Betty's First Birthday

I was so excited when I found out my best friend Doi's daughter Sariah Beatriz was turning a year old. After all, Betty was the first baby to be born within my circle of closest friends and I had always known that Doi was ecstatic about being a mother. Betty is growing up to be an intelligent, curious and precocious little girl with the best comedic timing for a toddler. I sure cannot wait to see where life will take her - and her proud parents too.
4. Encore for the Ballerina

About ten years ago, my sister was deadset on pursuing a career as a professional ballet dancer until she realized it was not the best path for her to take. When she decided to stop dancing, I felt as if I lived in a totally different world. After all, my sister had been dancing ever since she was five and the sudden disappearance of smelly toe shoes, rolls of Leukoplast, gel bottles, Spraynet canisters, holey tights and old Tchaikovsky CDs took some time to get used to.
However, several doors have been reopened for her to enter the world of dance once more. For instance, this summer she had been hoping for a much quieter existence but after an invitation to join her former ballet teacher's summer dance recital was afforded to her, she immediately accepted it. After all, it was a chance for her not just to do something which she has always wanted to do but it was also a new opportunity to renew ties with close friends, a couple of which have gone on to pursue careers as dancers with Ballet Philippines and Ballet Manila.
Watching her do her trademark turns on that stage was like a breath of fresh air. My sister's love for dancing has a raw intensity which is rarely found in a lot of dancers. I know parting from her toe shoes was a major heartbreak as she lived, slept, ate and walked in the world of pirouettes, grand jetaes, arabesques, pas de deuxs and other fancy French words. She had a love-hate relationship with dancing. She revelled in the artistic fulfillment and the applause but struggled with many things - her weight, her so-called "bad feet," numerous injuries and her self-esteem which she had lost many times but she has thankfully regained through time. When she is on that stage, there is a ferocity at the edge of her smile and a happiness that is unmistakeably clear. I am glad that at this point in her life, she has been given a new lease in her chosen craft with a deeper, more profound reason for making those splits in mid-air: her faith.
5. Book dates
I decided that this summer was going to be the time for my dates with my favorite writers. I had originally scheduled reading about two to three books a week, a goal which I never followed because of my hospital duties. During the entire course of the summer, I only managed to read a measly four books, one of which was a repeat. I did get to finish Audrey Niffenegger's "The Time Traveller's Wife" which I thoroughly enjoyed because of its direct but intricate prose. I also read "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown just so I could watch the movie without committing the common mortal sin of book-to-movie projects. I'd say I enjoyed this book far better than "The Da Vinci Code" (which I read in secret during one of my MS classes) because of an interest in the works of Bernini and Galileo (and Milton too!) which figured prominently in the book. I also did my nth revisit of "Pride and Prejudice" which is my favorite Austen work, no matter that my professed fascination for the novel has made my friend Edmund conclude that I, indeed, am a girl. No summer would be complete without a date with Nicholas Sparks which I did through "The Lucky One." The novel was trademark Sparks, nothing fancy or different but still heart-tugging. I did get a kick out of imagining Adrien Brody as Logan and Amy Adams as Beth, the main protagonists, even if the book descriptions did not match any of them with precision.
Right now, I am in the middle of Jodi Picoult's "Change of Heart" which I found to be thoroughly interesting (as always with anything by the author) but the rest of my summer days were filled with other important things as well, so I had to part ways with the sheets of paper just for a while.
6. Getting the perfect summer tan
Of course, being a severe lover of water, summer means hitting the waves and getting pruny while baking my skin to a crisp. Despite the hospital shifts, I did manage to squeeze in a bunch of trips to the beach. During the long Labor Day weekend, I joined Ate Carol, Iting, Ross, Kuya Stan and Mark in Boracay. The rains were torrential and made the 6-hour bus ride to Caticlan dreary. Snorkelling was a challenge since I felt like a cork bobbing helplessly in the water and it did not help that my life jacket's styro packs were getting dislocated, no thanks to the huge waves. When we got out of the water, Kuya Stan even told me he was going to sell his "uber slightly used snorkel." Sitting on the boat when we went island hopping felt like being on board a more subdued thrill ride as our boat crashed into the waves every so often. I tried parasailing for the first time with Ate Carol and it felt wonderfully relaxing as I floated along, sandwiched between the sapphire sea and the blue sky. The bumpy speedboat ride though to get to the parasailing spot stress tested my inner balance (and my derriere's capacity to absorb direct impact) and I found myself on the verge of motion sickness which I rarely experience. In this Boracay visit, I also found a lot of satisfaction when I was not in the water thanks to my early morning walk alone on the beach and another early morning trek to Boracay's highest point with Ate Carol, Iting and Mark.

For a quick beach fix within the confines of the city, another destination was Anhawan Resort in Oton. The sand was nowhere as fine as Boracay or the water as blue but it still was the perfect place to relax and unwind. As a matter of fact, Manang Gracious and I found it to be the perfect spot to take some snaps.

7. Visitors and tour guides
This summer, we welcomed a bunch of visitors into our home. Early on, my sister's friend Maricor had dropped by for a quick visit. I enjoyed having her around since she is as crazy as my sister and has the same adventurous streak too. Even if she technically does not fall under the category of a visitor, I was glad that Manang Apple was also home for a couple of months.
Faye, a friend from GCF in Ortigas, was also in town for a teaching stint. After a number of postponements, we finally did get to meet up and I thoroughly enjoyed being some sort of a tour guide for her. She told me she had not been to a lot of places around the city so I decided to take her some place outside of the city for lunch. We had our meal in my current favorite food joint - Allan's in Oton. It turns out that Faye loves oysters (and seafood!) as much as I do so I ordered two plates of Allan's trademark baked oysters (one for each of us) along with fish and squid. Oh boy, did we wipe our plates clean!
I also discovered that Faye had a flair for architecture and in my part of the world, we had our fair share of old churches, Spanish-era houses and other interesting buildings. I took Faye to St. Anne's Church in Molo, the sinamay dealer's house in Arevalo, Nelly Garden and the other homes owned by the Lopezes along Luna Street and Central Philippine University where we had an interesting picture taken near the University Church by mounting Faye's camera on two monobloc chairs stacked on top of each other. I tried my best to play the part of Faye's tour guide, offering bits and pieces of information which (hopefully) only a local would know. If only we had more time, I would have wanted to bring her to the Jaro Cathedral, San Jose Church, Downtown, Fort San Pedro and the beautiful stone churches in Miag-ao and Tigbauan. That made me realize that there were actually a lot of things which visitors would find interesting about my home city and I thought I should set aside some time to reacquaint myself with a place I may have given inadequate attention to.
By the end of May, my family and I shared our home with someone we had not seen in eight long years - my cousin James from Houston. I've seen him in four different instances in his life: as a three-year old with (in his words) a temper, as a hyperactive ten-year old when I visited Texas, as a lanky fourteen-year old piano whiz and now, a 22-year old college graduate. James has grown so much through the years, both in terms of height and maturity, but he still retains so many traits which make him endearing. His sense of humor has remained intact and he still cracks the craziest (and most sarcastic) of jokes. He is great with conversations (which could stretch until way past 2 A.M.) and is very honest and straightforward. He has yet to prove that he is indeed a "dog whisperer" but he has sure made a convert out of me as far as the TV show "The Office" is concerned. All in all, I sure enjoyed having a "younger brother" around.

8. Love in the month of May

After eleven years of being together, my cousin Nene Loida and her boyfriend Manong George were finally married! Whew, I couldn't believe they had been together that long! Her wedding was originally scheduled around August but because of my grandfather's condition, the ceremony was moved to May. She asked me to be a candle sponsor and I had to go on a crash diet in order to fit into a gown I wore eight years ago. Within less than two weeks, I quit the diet and instead asked a seamstress to transform the gown into a corset so that I could adjust it according to my current size.
The wedding was intimate but there was enough room for spontaneity to become the perfect family affair. The wedding reception ended with the members of the entourage hitting the dance floor with our own version of "Jai Ho" and as I watched my newest cousin-in-law twirl Nene Loida around, I truly felt happy that she had found the person she was to spend the rest of her life with.
Love and all its intricacies is truly a lesson that one learns through time. "I love you" is not an expression to be thrown around casually as the word signifies more than just emotion but a deep-seated passion for the best to be brought out of every person who comes within contact and for complete acceptance to be a natural consequence. Inasmuch as love is a word pregnant with immense sacrifice and responsibility, it is interesting to note that it usually starts with nothing grandiose - a glance here, a smile there, a quiet conversation in the silence of the night - all in the most unexpected of places or situations. Thus getting to know the other person is actually an adventure in itself already. Only time can tell where everything is headed but sometimes, even if the story has yet to reach its ending, the journey itself is beautiful enough to be retold, the memory is special enough to be revisited and the lessons learned are too precious to be forgotten.
This may be my girly side rearing her head again but in the name of pink unicorns, I do hope for a happy ending everytime.
9. Revisiting Mangatarem
James and I went on a road trip with Tita Vilma and Tito Danny to the hometown of our respective parents. It was one thing to go back to a place which holds a significant part of my identity. It is another thing to take that trip back with one person who has never been there before.
I was surprised to know that James had never been to Mangatarem before. For my part, I don't get to visit my father's hometown very often but I had accumulated a significant amount of memories from the place - flying my first kite there at age three, playing with plastic teacups in the front yard, dangling from a tree branch in the front yard, sitting beside my Mamang and watching her unbraid her long hair, attending Simbang Gabi with my entire family for my Papang's 90th birthday and falling asleep half the time because I couldn't understand a shred of Pangasinan. The minute I entered their house in Torres Bugallon with half a Calasiao puto still in my mouth, I could hear Papang singing "Pilipinas Kong Mahal" and my grandmother reciting "O Captain, My Captain." Their scent lingered about the house and even if I didn't spend a huge fraction of my life here, I still felt like this place was home. I took James to the second floor where he saw his mom's graduation picture along with our other aunts and uncles.
Standing before my grandparents' graves, I wondered what they'd tell me and James if they had the chance to talk to us. I'd want to know what they thought of us now that we were no longer children, now that we were trying to find our own respective places in this planet. I would want to know if they would be proud of what we have become because I am truly proud to be called their granddaughter.

10. Faith
Before proceeding to Mangatarem, we first dropped by Manaoag for James to start with his novena. I took in the quietness of the church and started to pray as I sat beside Tita Vilma. When I was done, I looked around and saw people on their knees with prayer booklets, rosaries, candles. Their eyes were closed, their hands were clasped. I can only surmise as to what went through their minds at that moment but there was one thing I was certain of: people cling to their faith in times when the sky is overcast.

Overall, the past couple of months have been a test of faith for me and my family. I practically have dog-eared the page of my Bible which contains Romans 8:28. The Lord works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. In the moments of laughter and the sunniest of days, God has been so good. In the midst of the difficulty, the frustration, the grief and the disappointment, God is still good. It is a truth which I have come to comprehend with greater understanding in the past couple of months. I have faith in God's goodness, in God's promises and in God's nature. He is good all the time and every time, through rainclouds or sunshine, through the days of light and night, through the moments when the snow comes in spring and the rains come in summer.

Through Misty Eyes

2009-05-29T00:41:00.001+08:00

While I'm writing this, my eyes are getting more watery. I blame it all on two things: first, on a tube of Maybelline mascara which does wonders for eyelashes but are more horrific than "Night of the Living Dead" when it comes to taking the gunk off and second, the soap I used to get it out of my lashes.

My cousin Loida got married today. I waited for that point in the wedding service when Pastor Luces announced that Loida and her now-husband George were officially married before I changed I hyphenated her husband's last name on her contact entry in my phone. Whew! After 11 whole years of being an item, they were finally married.

Nene Loida and I along with our cousin Candy made up a trio of girls when were children. Maybe it was because they were the closest to me in terms of age difference and I really thought it would be cooler to hang out with my older cousins then instead of the young ones who I loved to call "the kids." I spent summer after summer with them. We'd take turns sleeping over in each other's homes and do the craziest things. We would paint our toenails or put make-up on each other's faces and see who'd make the best looking witch. We'd go out into the ricefields or go trekking somewhere in our slippers and then get scolded for not getting back in time for lunch. We'd try to stay up as late as we can just so we can experience what it's like to have a midnight snack - like drinking Sprite from an ice cream cone. We also spent one night putting a mole just above our upper lips like Madonna until we realized it was more fun to put additional moles or birthmarks all over our bodies with red pentel pen. I still snicker when I recall the sheer panic in Loida's mother's face when we emerged from her room in the morning to have breakfast because she seriously thought the three of us had chickenpox.

Nene Loida was the first one to have a boyfriend but Candy beat her to getting hitched. Now Candy has two children and when Loida finally told me she was getting married herself, I could only say "Finally."

Nene Loida asked me to sing during her wedding. Of course I said yes even if inside I wanted to say "no." The last time I sang for her was during her 18th birthday and in the middle of the song I broke down and started crying. I seldom cry in public and I certainly did not want to do that again. So this afternoon, when I walked up to the podium to sing "Two Words" for Loida and Manong George, I did not really dig deep into the lyrics and stuck my tongue out at the two of them in between verses lest my eyes start dripping again. I got through the song with neither the slighest quivering in my vocal chords nor the thinnest mistiness in one's eyes.

Of course if I end with that, I'd be lying. Because the truth is, the minute I saw her walking down the aisle in my grandmother's white dress and her long veil, my tear ducts started going hyper. I was standing next to my cousin Aiyi who could only say "Hala!" when the teardrops started to get seemingly inevitable. I blinked them back as best as I could as I thought of how long I labored over my eye makeup.

Even if I did manage to stop myself from morphing into an uncontrollable faucet, I did wish Nene Loida a life of happiness and contentment through misty eyes which had almost remained unnoticed.

The childhood girl trio with Manang Gracious
and two of the former "kids"

Me-and-Me

2009-05-06T13:24:00.002+08:00

May 1, 7 AM.
Boracay Island, Malay, Aklan

I toss my empty cup of hot chocolate into the trash bin, still bewildered that a Starbucks branch now stands proudly along the seashore of what is touted as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I always thought the tourism council of Malay was considering a more rustic feel but with the coffee shop proudly showing off its dark green signage along with a Shakey's branch somewhere in Station 2, I was getting the idea that the more natural look was maybe abandoned.

I had gotten up early and judging from Ate Carol and Iting's steady breathing, none of them were about to depart from Slumberland anytime. I quietly changed in the bathroom and locked the room upon leaving. The morning was slightly chilly so I slipped into my coat and realized there was a tiny hole near the right sleeve. Drat!

It had been a long time since I've had a "date" with myself and on that morning, I went on a long walk. I was also trying to rid myself of the guilt from licking my plate of quesadillas clean the night before when I should be on a diet. I had taken off my slippers and the feel of the wet, soft sand and the cool water between my toes was almost magical. I passed by a number of local kids doing cartwheels on the wet sand, their toasted bodies reminiscent of jumping white dots on a piece of white paper. Further on, I walked by two kids racing their Hot Wheels trucks by the seashore. Upon closer inspection, I realized that each truck carried a rather unwilling passenger - a black and white rodent which was frantically trying to get off the moving toy. I walked past Willy's Rock and Jona's Fruit Shakes. The people began to thin as I reached Boracay Terraces. I then turned around and walked back to my point of origin. Upon reaching D' Mall, I walked back towards Boracay Terraces again when I realized the sun had reared its warm head in the midst of the clouds.

I finally walked back to the place where we were staying and reached a row of plastic benches arranged right in front of our resort. None of my companions - Iting, Ate Carol, Ross or Kuya Stan - were anywhere in sight. I figured they might still be enjoying the company of the covers a bit too much. Oh well, that was fine with me.

My feet were still a bit warm from the long walk so I sat on one of the plastic benches positioned strategically under a beach umbrella, took out my Bible and began to read. The passage was about Jesus' encounter with his disciples while they were fishing. This was my favorite post-resurrection story. The disciples had been fishing all night long and they had caught nothing. In the morning, Jesus saw them and told them to cast their nets on the other side of their boat and to their shock, their nets were filled with so many fish that the ropes of the net began to fray.

At that moment, I heard a loud series of "thuds." I looked up from what I was reading and saw that the morning dragon boat race had just started. The wind and the waves had been treacherous ever since we arrived in Boracay and the sky was constantly overcast. The rowers were definitely taking a serious beating as they plunged their oars into the water and drew them back with all their might. The guy up front who was the equivalent of the coxswain in a rowing team was beating his drum steadily. With every stroke, it seemed like the dragon boat and its rowers could be washed ashore but none of them were.

There were about four boats clustered right before me. From the corner of my eye, I spotted one dragon boat which was speeding ahead of the cluster. I figured this boat was be powered my super rowers with arms made of metal or something. As the dragonboats in the cluster desperately tried to catch up, the leader of the pack simply continued to pull ahead and emerge as the runaway winner.

A person can rely so much on his own strength, on his muscle power, on his intelligence. Somehow the assumption is that such strength, power or intelligence is like the fuel which gives rockets that thrust and sends them into the outer realms of space. People can rely on that with absolute dependence that they are left at a loss when such strength fails, especially in times when they are desperately needed. Going back to the rowers, they may have practiced and strengthened their arms but what happens when the situation they are plunged in is far from the ideal, different from what they expected? What happens when their own strength fails them and the heart and muscle fall prey to vulnerability and discouragement?

The years have taught me never to depend on my own set of strengths and abilities. My knees have buckled, my mind has shut down, my strength has been seeped to the point of emptiness. I've slept many nights and such sleep has done nothing to relieve me of the intense weariness which has invaded every corner of my body like a vine. I had grasped at some things and squeezed with all my might only to find them unchanged and my own hands slashed like ribbons. I have reached down deep inside me to pluck up whatever strength I had left and came up wanting.

God picks up where I leave off. It's all a matter of laying everything down at His feet and claiming the promise that I will not be left alone nor forsaken. Indeed He makes up for everything when my strength comes short, when I have done all I can and everything seems to amount to nothing. He has proven Himself to be faithful and true as my Sustainer in so many circumstances I have completely lost count.

I closed my Bible and sat alone for another couple of minutes, breathing in the sight of the sea and the waves crashing into the shore. I knew that at that point in time, I was nowhere near the shore. In one way or another, it was more like I was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, bobbing with the waves like a cork and I know that no matter how much I flail my arms or pull myself toward the shore, there was absolutely no guarantee that, on my own, I could bring myself to shallow water.

A little while later, I turned around to see Ate Carol greeting me good morning. It looked like she had a good night's rest and she volunteered to take a picture of me sitting on the bench. I was glad to have some company again and my me-and-me time had finally come to an end. Actually on second thought, as I went for my long walk on that beach, I did not really have a me-and-me time to begin with.

Of Driving, Doi, Disco, Danny, Diets and a Despedida

2009-04-23T00:10:00.001+08:00

My sister got her DRIVING permit today. Actually it's just a student's permit, her second try after she completely ignored her first one years ago and it lapsed into nothingness. Anyhow, it entitles her to use the car in the city's main thoroughfares as long as she has a licensed driver with her. She took the car out today and drove from my mom's office to our house. I would say that was the longest car ride I have been on although she was quick to point out it was as scary for her when I was learning how to drive myself. I made a mental thought to wear a neck brace the next time she sits in front of the wheel as she slams on the brakes too hard and I'm afraid of snapping my neck off my head. Given our current hospital engagements, none of us are available to teach her how to drive so my parents think she should attend DRIVING school. My sister is horrified at the thought while I told her to cheer up because she will at least get some kind of formal education in terms of DRIVING. But then I do shudder at the thought of having some complete stranger teach me how to drive. The road, with all its hazards, is enough to make me nervous. Add a complete stranger in the front seat and the pressure mounts. In the meantime, I feel there is a need to warn pedestrians and other fellow drivers that my sister is bound to hit the road anytime thus they should keep their eyes peeled for the newest road menace!
Last Sunday, my best friend DOI's daughter Sariah Beatriz turned a year old! I asked to be relieved of my hospital duties on that afternoon and I drove myself to Betty's party in their home in Leganes. DOI has been married two years but I still cannot believe she's a mother! When I see Betty, I cannot believe that this precocious little girl came from her! Betty had absolutely no stranger anxiety (just like her mother) and even if all she could muster were syllables, she yakked on throughout the entire afternoon as if everything she spouted was comprehensible. I gave Betty two books for her birthday and she ought to get used to that because I'll be giving her books birthday after birthday until DOI tells me to stop. Watching my friend fuss over her little daughter was something I wouldn't trade for the world and I am glad she is with two more people she can really call her own.

It's DISCO night in American Idol! The night wasn't as hopping as I expected it to be and to be honest, I did get a bit disappointed as the night was not marked with the 70s spirit. But tonight's show bolstered my earlier remark that this year's batch of contestants is indeed oozing with talent. I really love them all and everytime someone gets booted off the show, I feel really bad about it. For some reason, none of them really performed to the level that knocked my eardrums to outer space. Adam Lambert's performance was good but it still couldn't hold a light to what "Tracks of My Tears" did for me. As for DANNY Gokey, I love him no matter what he does ("bilang fan niya ako" to quote Joey) and I do agree with Paula that his voice is sexy. My mom derives great joy from making fun of DANNY and watching my face crumple like crepe paper. I just want to see him, Allison and Adam in the Top 3 and from that point onward, I'll be as objective as I can.
I hate DIETS. I've never actually tried one but the thought of not being able to eat anything my stomach yearns for is disheartening! Now it looks like I'll actually have to start going on a DIET. My cousin Loida told me I'll be part of her wedding entourage. Her wedding was originally scheduled on August but because of my grandfather's health, she and her fiance George decided to move the wedding to an earlier date. She asked me to use the gown I wore in my grandparents' wedding anniversary so that I'd go with the motif. The thing is, I last wore that gown EIGHT YEARS AGO! I tried fitting the dress again tonight and I felt like Scarlett O'Hara in her corset with twice the pulling. Yikes! The wiry things in the gown were sticking into my sides like chopsticks and skewering me! Double yikes! Maybe I could get through the wedding without moving if that were possible. The reception, however, will be at Roadhouse where the alfredo is creamy, the fish fillet is delightful and the ox tongue melts in your mouth. Gosh, I'm feeling so down. I wanna rummage through the ref for some raisinets now.
It's 11:15 according to my watch which means one thing - Manang Apple is flying over the South China Sea bound for Hong Kong where she will take another flight to Heathrow. My sister and I organized an impromptu DESPEDIDA for her yesterday. We had a huge pizza from Dos Marias, spaghetti in a bilao and chicken wings. I wish she didn't have to go back. Her three children obviously have the same thing in mind also. Everytime she comes home, she is met by great excitement and anticipation but when the time comes for her to leave, the events are nothing short of heartbreaking. I do hope the heartbreak and the DESPEDIDAs all come to an end very soon and that she can finally go home - to wherever her children are.

A Night of Reel Music

2009-04-15T22:55:00.001+08:00

I love music and I love movies. Thus a fusion of both is always a treat. I am hoping "Idol" will have the Broadway theme again this season just like last year but while I'm keeping my fingers crossed for that, I'll take a night of movie theme songs anytime. With the range of choices, a contestant is bound to end up with either a jackpot or a huge mistake in terms of song choice.

Tonight, I don't think Lil Rounds and Matt Giraud fared very well. Lil sang Bette Midler's "The Rose" and I would say it was not as bad a song choice as the judges thought it was but her performance was rather rough. She was going off-key in one too many places and I seriously thought that in one way or another, it was like "Surrender" all over again in the sense that I thought she was having difficulty with the song. Neither did Matt do well with "Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman" from Don Juan de Marco. He seemed to have vocally tangled himself up in all the runs he was doing and like Lil, he was always going off pitch. The bridge did not sound too well with him sounding like he was struggling with the pitch, the tune and even his runs. I'm not sure who among them both would end up going home since Matt is not as popular as the other contestants and I am not sure if after weeks of Lil not performing up to judges' expectations, her fanbase is still pretty strong.

Allison Iraheta, Kris Allen and Danny Gokey fall into my "okay" group. Kris did a song called "Falling Slowly" which I had never heard before. I have never really been a huge fan of Kris's voice and for me, this song didn't really bring out the side of his vocal ability which I liked. I think if he sang it in a lower pitch, I might have liked his performance.

Allison and Danny sang two of my favorite love songs. Allison picked the Aerosmith power ballad "I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" from the movie Armageddon. I really love the original version so I tend to make comparisons. On its own merits, Allison's performance was pretty good. She now ranks among my top 3 favorites and her voice literally blows me away. I just had a problem with the fact that I have heard one too many versions of this song and Allison's performance was not exactly a standout. Danny sang "Endless Love," which, as I said, is really one of my ultimate favorites. He started okay although at one point, he did go off key. I loved his emotional connection with the audience (and did I say, with me?) and that really is his asset. I was glad that he did not depart from the original version since I am very conservative when it comes to my old favorites. However as much as it was his boon, it also was his bane. The performance came across as very safe and nothing extraordinary so, like Simon, I too was disappointed.

Adam Lambert was, once again, in a world of his own as he shattered through the night of ballads with "Born to be Wild." The night saw him literally jumping back to his histrionics but I was glad he did tone down the screaming tonight. But then the man is, as I have said one to many times, an entertainer and he makes every bit of radiation exposure from the TV all worth it.

My favorite performance of the evening belongs to Anoop Desai who sang "I Do It For You" from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. This song holds a particularly soft spot for my sister and me since Robin Hood was the movie which marked our first jump from Betamax to laser disc. We both loved singing along to the song (with the matching air guitar playing) before we got to the opening credits of the film. Anoop's rendition of the song was, in a word, beautiful. I was crushing the pillow I was hugging into nothingness. His voice was smooth and rich and I totally and absolutely loved his version of the song. I HEART ANOOP again!

Perspective Reorganization

2009-04-15T21:56:00.002+08:00

I've been home for barely a week.

In a rather strange/funny twist of a consequence, I've also barely spent time at home ever since I got back. The only time I'm with my entire family is either during breakfast or dinner. My dogs probably wonder why I'm gone in the morning and come home late at night. And I keep forgetting to tell my mom that the fresh coat of green paint she had applied on one wall in my room is not as bad as it looks from the earlier pictures she sent me through MMS.

As a lot of people know, my grandfather has been in the hospital for the past two weeks. He has been wheeled in and wheeled out like this for the last three months. Before I came home, the last time I saw him was in January. He was doing very well and could hoist a Monobloc chair by himself, limping gait and all. Now he's confined to a hospital bed 24/7 and I have to get used to the fact that he cannot even scratch his own foot when it feels itchy. To be honest about it, scratching his foot is just one of the less serious things he can no longer do.

In another stranger/funnier twist to our current hospital adventure, my grandmother also got sick with pneumonia last Wednesday! The doctors allowed both my grandparents to be confined in the same room although my grandfather's constant infusion with steroids makes him predisposed to infection thus the need to keep the room's built-in plastic dividers constantly unfolded. It does get pretty hilarious at times, especially when I sit in one corner of the room and I see two beds with two people lying in them and IV tubes snaking about in metal poles right beside them. Sometimes when my grandmother needs to go to the bathroom, she drags her IV along with her and stops about 6 feet away from my grandfather and starts waving. In fact, my sister and I are planning on making them one of those can-and-string contraptions so that they don't have to shout at each other all the time. For the meantime, we make them sing duets and I think it becomes some form of lung exercise. Sometimes I get the feeling that the nurses wonder if we do have an idea of how serious my grandparents' respective medical conditions can get but then, just like Patch Adams, we believe laughter is a really good form of medicine. After all, in occasions such as this, I have learned that it really helps to couple one's faith with a huge dose of humor just so the "ups" rise higher than they normally could and the "downs" are not as low as expected.

Actually other lessons have been learned in the process. I do not think of this as a form of escapism. I'd like to call it something like perspective reorganization, a fancy term for what others may call viewing the glass as half full when it can also be seen as half empty. I do not deny that there are a lot of things going around which can make the heart seem heavier but I refuse to be weighed down by negativity. My cousin Striker took me out to dinner tonight in Maki with his girlfriend right after his hospital shift ended at 9 PM. It was good to finally get out of the hospital and have some fresh tempura and as he drove me home, I exchanged more stories about chewy cookies, sotanghon, baked oysters and fried chicken with his girlfriend who, apparently, was a foodie just like him! That (and a vision of Mrs. Fields cookies on a plate) certainly worked to ease the stress, tiredness and frustration off my shoulders. Next time maybe we can go out for some nai cha after every shift.

Apart from that, here is a rundown of the other good things about practically living in the hospital:

* New version of family reunions
- My entire family usually gets together on birthdays, weddings or holidays or other occasions which call for a celebration. This time around, my family came up with a shift schedule wherein we each take 4-hour shifts to keep an eye out for our two senior patients. This is just to make sure that at least one person is on hand to be with the both of them. But that does not mean you can't drop by during another person's shift. For instance, last week and yesterday, I got to spend some time with Manang Apple since I've really missed hanging out with her. I also get a kick out of playing matchmaker when it comes to Manang Gracious and a certain other person. Sometimes, M.B., one of my cousins, joins us vicariously when she entertains my grandfather's request to play old love songs in her morning radio show. The best day of the week comes when a family member brings food like pancit and arroz caldo...although there is no greater hit than Aiyi's truly amazing taco pizza which, I believe, is making me pudgy! Yum!

* Catching up on reading
- During my shift, when my two wards are in lullaby land, I do two things: catch up on my reading and the movies I've missed. I've been on an Audrey Niffenegger hiatus since January and I am soooo happy to be finally reunited with Clare and Henry. When I'm done, I'll be seeing some Jodi Picoult, David Baldacci, Mary Higgins Clark and Nicholas Sparks. Yehey for the bookworm!

* DVD marathons
- My grandmother loves to watch movies, especially anything which stars KC Concepcion. So I've seen "For the First Time" one too many times for comfort. I also have some musical selections for her like "Hairspray" and "Mamma Mia," both of which she really enjoyed. Tomorrow we'll probably be watching another Tagalog flick and it will surely be interesting because my grandmother does not speak Tagalog. Neither does she understand the language. Yipee for the team of translators!

* American Idol with guest judges
- Last week it was different to watch American Idol with my grandparents. My grandmother was ranting about how she didn't get my taste in music or TV shows. For instance, she looked baffled when my sister and I did a standing O for Adam Lambert. She thought he was from Ghostbusters or something like that. My grandfather, on the other hand, was more critical than Simon Cowell as he made thumbs down gestures at the end of every number. He fell asleep halfway through the show, though. Yahoo!

* Bonding with our Creator
- It's great to bond with my grandparents over a meal or a good conversation. But nothing beats praying together. I've never really prayed with my grandparents on a one-on-one basis before. Throughout the week, I sat on my grandfather's bedside and I read to him from my Bible. If I was up to it, I'd ask him questions. Sometimes he'd answer me, sometimes he'd tell me to read on. Sometimes he'd finish the passage for me, just like what he did in the morning of Good Friday when I was reading a passage about the two thieves crucified with Jesus in Calvary. The word "paradise" all together had a brand new meaning for the two us. Yes indeed!

* A 58-year old love team
- Come June 11, my grandparents will officially hit the the 58-year mark of being married to each other. Their marriage hasn't been perfect, that's for sure. What amazes - or surprises me - is that after 58 years of being together, they can still wake up in the morning with new realizations about each other. Yihee!

* Giving back
- Call this a case of role reversal. My grandparents have given their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren so much. It's time for us flip the coin or put the car on reverse. At the point of our lives when we needed them, they were always there for us. Taking care of them is, for me, not an obligation. It is as natural as a river taking its proper course - in the same way that in a person's life, everything has to run through the same route.

iTuned In (As Usual)

2009-04-02T17:21:00.001+08:00

So Wednesday night comes again - that time of the week when I shut out the world for two whole hours and it's just me, the couch, the TV and my text buddy Joey. But first a quick rewind to last week. Motown night was a blast and I still couldn't get over the performances. I absolutely loved Matt Giraud's soulful take on Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" but top prize went to Adam Lambert's subdued and controlled rendition of "Tracks of My Tears." Michael Sarver did not give the worst performance (that distinction goes to Megan Joy who gave me ear hemorrhage if there is such a specie) but it was no surprise that it was the oil rig worker, and not the font designer, who was sent home.

With iTunes night, there was definitely no dearth in terms of song choices. As long as the song was a top download in the iTunes register, it was up for grabs. In addition, this was another opportunity for them to sound relevant and contemporary and also for the viewers to get an idea as to what kind of singer they will be if they do make it to the recording biz. But with a range of songs that wide to choose from, it can also work to one's disadvantage as it can give hints as to the singer's creativity and flexibility as a performer. From my perspective it is also important to pick a song which showcases the singer's range and personality but still remain distinct from the original artist's version.

With nine people left onstage, it becomes easier to categorize the performances. I'll start with the "middle 3" a.k.a the ones who sang all right - Lil Rounds, Allison Iraheta and Scott MacIntyre.

Scott's vocals have never really been overly impressive but I have always liked his voice quality. Singing "Just the Way You Are" brought that out rather well. He was not amazing but his performance was very good. Allison is also one of my favorites and her rocker chick getup was not as distracting as the judges (or Joey, for the matter) thought. I also loved her song pick (No Doubt's "Don't Speak" which is one of my sister's favorite songs) but she did sound a little too much like Gwen Stefani so I don't think she brought anything new to it. As for Lil, she is (still) frustrating. I loved her audition and I also thoroughly enjoyed her Top 36 performance but everything has been sort of downhill from that point. I am still waiting for her to take one song and rip it into a million of shreds because with a voice as big as that and a personality to boot, she can do it. That perfect song just seems elusive for Lil Rounds at this point. Celine Dion's "Surrender" was not right for her. There were times when she sounded a little too nasal for comfort and other times when she seemed to struggle. She did soar on the big notes though and I think that, and the swooping camera, worked to her advantage.

The "bottom" three a.k.a. the endangered ones would include Megan Joy, Matt Giraud and Anoop Desai. After two weeks of making me swoon like a schoolgirl, everything came to a screeching halt for Anoop. He chose to sing Usher's "Caught Up" and did he have huge shoes to fill! Usher is the total performer and is smooth in terms of both the dance moves and the vocals. Anoop, for the life of me, has the voice but not the groove. I did not get any bit of that toughie, gangsterish gloating (which we last saw in his performance of "Beat It" three weeks ago) and I don't think it worked to make his performance any better.
Megan Joy was a letdown. Last week she was not good at all. She didn't hit the high notes that she was supposed to hit at all and she was sort of getting all over the place. This week was no improvement. It wasn't as horrible as last week in terms of technique but her performance was so boring I felt my eyes drooping. I think it is about time Megan Joy goes home. I will miss her spunk when she's gone, though.

Matt Giraud also was a disappointment. He decided to go the alternative route this week, taking on The Fray's "You Found Me." That brought me back to the first week when he performed a Coldplay song which was not good. I don't like it at all when Matt starts snarling because he sounds much better when he's all smooth and suave. He sounded A LOT like the original and that, for me, took some points off him.

Now that leaves me with my "top" 3 - Danny Gokey, Adam Lambert and Kris Allen.

Danny didn't deviate so much from The Temptations' original version of "Get Ready" last week. Neither did he sneak in his signature runs - or do anything radically different - in his rendition of Rascal Flatt's "What Hurts the Most" this week. But what made his performance endearing was just the right blend of emotion and power which he injected into the song. He did veer off-key about twice in the course of the song but he more than made up for it. With his unique tone, he was able to make the song his own. I think he should take one week off the power hook and just croon to one sentimental ballad with all vulnerability.

Adam was, in two words, a showman. I love Adam better when he's soft and subdued (like I previously mentioned, his "Tracks of My Tears" performance was simply beautiful). This week, he chose Wild Cherry's "Play That Funky Music." Joey texted me, "Why is it that it's okay when Adam Lambert gets indulgent?" Maybe, that's because that's when he's most entertaining. Not his best but entertaining. I would prefer that he left his histrionics to the dressing room but I guess since people know he's a theater dude (he was understudy for Fiyero in LA's production of "Wicked"), they allow him to be flamboyant. I just need to turn the volume down a bit low lest my eardrums explode. But over all, I really did enjoy watching him work up the stage.

The night did not end without seeing me become a Kris Allen convert. I seriously doubted the abilities of this worship leader from Arkansas in the initial stage of the competition, but tonight, he really showed his prowess with "Ain't No Sunshine". The arrangement was perfect and his performance was equally great. He is not as vocally gifted as my other top contenders but he picks songs which best show his abilities.

The Special Jam

2009-03-28T13:42:00.001+08:00

Once upon a time, in a blue planet called Earth, there was a tiny, nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific. On that tiny, nose-shaped island was a city criscrossed by a river. Somewhere near that river was a house with a white roof, stone walls and a 30-year old tree which stood by its lonesome in the front yard. Somewhere inside that house, there lived a little girl.

This little girl loved to do so many things. She played her little wonky-tonky piano. She climbed the huge tree in the garden. She made an obstacle course out of old tires and string. She dug a hole in the front yard, hoping to get to Brazil. She dug another hole on another side of the yard with hopes of finding a velociraptor fossil. She made mud pies and topped them with flowers. She washed her socks near the water pump in the garden. She sang lullabies. She flew paper planes with secret messages hidden under the flaps. But above all this, there was one thing which topped the little girl's list of things to do. She absolutely loved to eat.

The little girl's father was an excellent cook. In fact, he was a wizard in the kitchen. No one else in the city criscrossed by the river, in the nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific, in the blue planet called Earth was as skilled in the culinary arts as the little girl's father. He made sunny-side ups with ketchup smilies and mouth-watering shepherd's pie. His fish-and-chips was a mealtime winner as well as his trademark macaroni-and-cheese. The steamed rice was always fragrant and the vegetable dumplings were crunchy. The roasted chicken was a runaway hit as much as the fresh salad. The mashed potatoes were always warm and drowning in gravy and the cheesecake and chocolate-chip cookies were sweet and soft.

But the little girl's father made one farely simple meal which his daughter absolutely loved above all the fancy meals he made - toast with butter and his special home-made jam. No one else in the city criscrossed by the river, in the nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific, in the blue planet called Earth made jam like this. The little girl usually had her sweet snack a couple of hours before noon, just around mid-day when she was in the middle of her front yard activities. Her father would call out her name and when he did, she would drop whatever was in her hands to rush inside the house and enjoy her snack. The toast was brown and crisp. The butter was soft and warm but the jam was the best. The sweetness was not too strong for the palate and the jam had a fruity-creamy taste to it which went absolutely well with the toast and butter. The jam and the butter were generously spread all over the toast that the filling would sometimes drip beyond the bread and onto the plate where it usually sat.

Day in and day out, the routine proceeded as such. The little girl went through her daily activities in the front yard while her father would keep an eye on her while doing his own brand of magic in the kitchen. By midday, he would call out to her for their quick snack together and she would rush in and sit beside him as she licked her fingers clean of her favorite toast, butter and jam ensemble. Day in and day out, morning till night, that was the life of the little girl and her father who lived in a house in the city criscrossed by the river nestled in a nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific on the blue planet called Earth.

One day, the little girl woke up as usual and walked to the front yard for her usual daytime activities. She brought out her tiny tin box filled with small, plastic soldiers smartly dressed in their red coats and fur hats. She arranged her mini army in flanks and ranks and brought out her little bugle so she could play some form of battle music for her plastic troops. She was so engrossed in her work when she realized that it was already past midday and her father had not yet called her in for their snack of toast, butter and jam. Puzzled, she ran to the kitchen and found him there, emerging flushed from the oven as he took out freshly baked loaves of bread.

"Papa," she said. "It's midday. Are we not going to have our snack?"

Her father smiled at her and answered, "I thought we ought to try something different today. I was thinking you were getting a little pudgy," he answered with a tease. "But if you're hungry," he added, "we can have the toast now."

The little girl bit her lip and thought to herself. She did not think she was as pudgy as her father hinted she was becoming but she realized she wasn't that hungry yet anyway. Besides, while building her mini version of the battle of Waterloo, she had a bright idea of constructing a make-believe town out of her dolls and other toys just a few meters away from the "battlefield." That ought to give the entire setup a more realistic feel.

"I'm not hungry," she declared. "We can have the toast later, Papa. Thank you." With that she skipped back to her front yard while her father shot a quick glance at her retreating form.

She sat down on the grass and arranged her dollhouse on one side of the garden, a few feet away from the battlefield. She made pinwheels out of plastic and paper and moved some pots of plants and flowers into her little town center. She placed her dolls in various positions and scattered small branches and twigs in a make-believe park. She made mini-skyscrapers out of matchboxes. She shook beetles from the leaves of the tree, tied up their wings and placed them on the little town center as overweight horses.

Morning sped into noontime and the little girl continued with her work, not even noticing the noonday heat pierce through her red dress. She blew into her little bugle and the mock battle proceeded. The enemies were defeated and the little town and its horse-beetles were declared safe from the invaders. All was well in the front yard.

Except, that is, for the little girl's stomach.

It was now rumbling and grumbling, as if a herd of buffaloes went on a stampede inside her tummy. She glanced up at the sky and saw that it was blue bordering on orange, indicating it must be pushing into late afternoon. She wondered where her father was and what on earth he was doing.

As if he were reading her thoughts, her father called out her name and said "Snacktime!"

She abandoned her little town and sped to the table like a bullet to have her long overdue meal. She found her father sitting on the table with the toast on a plate and she rushed to her chair.

"I thought I was never gonna have one of the--" she began to say as she climbed into her chair. She stopped midway and stared at the toast sitting on the plate on top of the table. She looked up to her father with eyes full of bewilderment and then she frowned.

Her father again read her mind perfectly. He inhaled slowly and said gently, "That's the different thing I wanted to try today."

The toast was warm and the scent of the bread with butter and jam was unmistakeably familiar. But this time, the butter and jam filling was almost invisible. In fact, it only occupied a small section of the toast, right on the center of it, like a ballerina in the middle of an otherwise empty stage.

"But I'm not pudgy," she began to protest.

"I know," her father answered. "But that's all you're gonna have today."

"Why?" the little girl asked as her eyes began to brim with tears and her stomach continued to roar in rage.

"Just eat," her father said calmly and pushed the plate towards her.

She knew better than to protest or whine. She reached out for the piece of toast and stole another glance at her father. His answer to her silent plea was "Go on, eat."

She exhaled sharply and began to nibble at the bread. It was warm and crisp like before but without the jam and the butter, it did taste a bit flat. But she was hungry and she needed to quell the revolt that was now being staged by her gastric system. She sighed and continued to chew. She was so eager to get to the center but realized she ought to save the best part - the section of the bread with the oozing chunk of butter and the sweet jam - for last. So she bit and chewed and nibbled at the toast - right, left, small chunks here, bigger chunks there. She carefully worked her way around the areas without the butter and the jam, ignoring the clamor for the sweetness and the creaminess. All the while, her father sat on his chair, watching her.

Finally all she had left was the remainder of the piece of toast with the jam and the butter on top of it. She stared at it, as if it were cherry on top of a cake. She turned to look at her father who gave her a small smile.

"Do you promise we won't have to do this again tomorrow?" she asked hopefully.

Her father looked at her with quiet gentleness. He brushed back a stray strand of hair which had fallen out of place from her ponytail and his hand finally lingered on her face.

"I can't make that promise, I'm sorry," he answered. "That's the last of my special jam."

Her eyes widened with surprise. No more of her favorite jam? No more of that special sweet concoction which was the only one of its kind in the city criscrossed by the river, in the nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific, in the blue planet called Earth? This cannot be happening!

"Well you can make more, can't you? You always have," she pleaded through tears which now refused to stop flowing from her eyes.

Her father shook his head slowly but he never took his eyes away from her. "I'm not making the special jam anymore."

She placed the remnant of the toast on her plate and began to cry. How was she to go through each day without her special snack of toast with butter and her father's special jam? It was what she looked forward to every morning, after a long day in the front yard with her dolls, her soldiers, her mudpies and her beetles.

The little girl felt her father's hand on her shoulder and she heard him whisper "I think you need to eat your toast now. The butter is melting."

She took another glance at her father. His eyes still had that quiet gentleness but were themselves brimming with tears. He gave her a small, quiet smile as he wiped her face. "Go on, eat it. Eat it, my child," he prodded.

Struggling with her fingers, she picked up the remnant of the toast, closed her eyes and made her first bite. Her teeth sank on the warmth of the bread, the softness of the butter, the sweetness of the jam. The creaminess was beyond what she remembered. The jam was subtle in its sweetness but it had never tasted as delicious as this before. The toast all of a sudden acquired new life with the butter and jam. As she chewed, she remembered the sound of her father's voice calling her, the waft of baked bread from the kitchen, the slurping sound she and her father made as they both licked their fingers clean after the meal, their hearty laughter as they bit into their favorite midday snack.

The toast was gone a little bit too soon. The little girl brushed the bread crumbs off her dress. Even if she was full, she felt hollow somewhere inside as if she had swallowed chunks of air which left her feeling bloated. That was it. With one bite, the last piece of toast with butter and her favorite special jam had disappeared, never to be seen or tasted again in the city criscrossed by the river, in the nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific, in the blue planet called Earth. The sweetness left a sting on her tongue.

She blinked back tears as she clambered off her chair. Her father watched her patiently. "Are you going back to the yard?" he asked.

She knew she ought to go back. Dusk should come in a while and it looked like it might rain. She needed to untie the beetles and allow them to crawl back to the tree. The dolls were probably getting dirtier by the minute and the little plastic soldiers were scattered all over the yard.

Instead she walked up to her father, clambered into his lap and began to cry as he enfolded her in his arms.

Rain began to fall on the white roof of the house with stone walls in the city criscrossed by the river, nestled in the nose-shaped island somewhere in the Pacific, in the blue planet called Earth.

Note:
Thanks to my friend Bannanna for introducing me to Kopiroti's Kaya toast (the progenitor of the toast-with-butter-and-jam concoction in this story). It's really great comfort food, especially at a time when the heart is overcome by what author William Young has called the Great Sadness. It also goes well with a mug of milk tea! A quick shout-out to Bananna's boyfriend Marbs whose weird/unique manner of eating Kaya toast is illustrated in this story.

All's Well in Opry

2009-03-19T00:07:00.001+08:00

Aside from Christmas and my birthday month, the period from March to around May is another time of year that I look forward to because it's American Idol season. I started watching the show since the first season, got interested in the third season because of Jasmine Trias and Camille Velasco but really got hooked into it in the fourth season (where I cheered for Bo Bice and Carrie Underwood and daydreamed about Constantine Maroulis). My favorite season would have to be season 5 where I was practically nuts about more than two contestants namely, Kevin Covais (yes, I found him irresistible), Katharine McPhee, Chris Daughtry, eventual king Taylor Hicks and my season favorite Elliott Yamin. Last season started off rather slow for me as I found David Cook and David Archuleta way too talented for the other people in the competition so I did not mind missing a couple of weeks of the show. In the end though, I did rejoice when David Cook was proclaimed winner and it was only recently that I replaced "Always Be My Baby" as my phone's call alert.

Tonight was the second batch of performances for the Top 11 contestants in the show's eigth season. This season is fast climbing my own charts as a favorite because of the vast amount of talent which was conspicuously absent last season (and the season before that) along with season eight's huge dose of diversity. In the past, when I download MP3 performances of my favorites, it usually involves four singers tops. Now my regular download list consists of eight people, in my order of preference - Danny Gokey, Adam Lambert, Anoop Desai, Allison Iraheta, Scott MacIntyre, Lil Rounds, Alexis Grace and Megan Joy. But then I download more than eight files when there are good performances from the others who are not in my list.

Take Grand Opry Night for instance. I actually downloaded the MP3s of all the performances because aside from my regular list, I loved the remaining three. After all, the performances were not as bad as Michael Jackson week which saw Jasmine Murray and Jorge Nunez bid the show farewell. What I find more interesting is that my favorites did not shine tonight as much as the ones I usually ignored did.

I was fairly disappointed with Lil Rounds for starters because I really felt like she was holding back and it really affected the way she sang "Independence Day". And the comparison with Carrie Underwood's performance of the Martina McBride song in season 4 was inevitable. She unfortunately fell flat.

Another disappointment was Alexis Grace's rendition of "Jolene." For some reason, I liked Brooke White's version last season better because it was more relaxed and laid back and it seemed to me that Alexis did not look as comfortable as she did when she sang "Never Loved a Man" about four weeks ago.

Allison Iraheta did not disappoint as usual but she was not all "wow" for me tonight. The same comment goes for Scott MacIntyre with his rendition of "Wild Angels". However I am a huge fan of both their voices, especially Scott who has this ability to establish a connection with his audience despite the fact that he cannot do "goo goo eyes" with the camera ala Jason Castro (sorry Joey!). Megan Joy was still unique and interesting when she sang "Walking After Midnight" and I think her bluesy sound will carry her through this week.

My top two favorites did not shine so much tonight as they did last week. After all when the Grand Opry theme was announced, I wondered how these two would hold up. Adam Lambert was...well, he rendered me tongue-tied. The entire Middle Eastern, sitar-infused, Muse-meets-Nine Inch Nails version of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" was verging on that little grey area between strange, funny and creepy. I sat on the couch with one half of my body cringing/recoiling and the other half suffering from seizure because of endless fits of laughter. After his performance, my mother called me to ask what I liked in the guy "with a manicure." Very funny, mom. No matter what Adam does though, he is still very entertaining and his range is unbelievable. He was not as manic when it came to his vocals this week when compared to his almost screamfest version of "Black and White" and his theatrics did work out for me to some extent.

Danny Gokey also proved he was not superhuman tonight. The army of Danny haters are probably celebrating with cheese and champagne tonight so I let them be. "Jesus, Take the Wheel" is one of my favorite songs but is signature Carrie Underwood so that anyone else who sings it usually pales in comparison to the original. Danny did not actually go cyanotic but the first half of the song made me realize how much he needs to work on his low notes, especially in terms of the fluidity and support. But when the chorus swelled, I knew I had the guy I loved back even if he did resemble a polar bear tonight. To all the people who think he was screaming the chorus to smithereens, maybe the volume of your TV sets are set too high. It is called swelling and soul, ladies and gentlemen. So I call out to Joey and Kiyo, if ever you guys read this, I am not biased when it comes to Danny Gokey even if you think so.

I admit though that my real bias rests in Anoop Desai, the college student from Chapel Hill who physically resembles Slumdog Millionaire's Dev Pattel. This bias I share with my fellow Idol freak Joey. Anoop totally crashed big time in Michael Jackson week and I wanted to pull him offstage while he was dancing about with his collar raised. In class today, I told Mini I was hoping Anoop makes it and she answered something like "But he's so bad." I replied "I know but he's so cute." But tonight, he certainly proved he deserved his place in the Top 11 with his beautiful, soulful, soaring rendition of "Always On My Mind." I actually couldn't stop myself from swooning!

Matt Giraud and Kris Allen do not really rank among my favorites. I dismiss Kris as this year's Jason Castro or Ace Young with loads more talent and I love to tease his fans in my class that he sings with his jaw unhinged. But tonight, I loved his vulnerability as he sang "To Make You Feel My Love" sans his guitar. To my surprise, I realized he actually has a very nice, soothing voice and I concede that my comparisons to Jason Castro and Ace Young are misplaced.

Matt was also a pleasant surprise. He took on another Carrie Underwood song and I have to say, his slower version scored more points for me than the original. He stripped the song down to its very core with his beautiful voice and brought it to new heights at just the right point. I am not sure if he did outsing Danny as Simon claimed but I sure cannot wait to hear the studio version.

Who do I think is going home, as if my opinion matters? But then let me pretend I could control "Idol" for a moment now. I think roughneck Michael Sarver is going home...even if I like him also and he seems like a really nice guy and a cool dad at that. He gave the weakest performance tonight and he did not really stand out. But to his credit, I really love replaying his R&B, full-bodied version of "You Are Not Alone" for some reason, especially when I'm stuck in traffic.

Insignificant

2009-02-21T01:40:00.001+08:00

"Today this could be the greatest day of our lives...
Let's make a new start...
Before we run out of time...
And the world comes alive..."
- "Greatest Day," Take That

Prelude to February 20

The minute I woke up at 8 a.m. today, I had every reason to end my day tired, worn-out and up-to-my-hair-roots harassed. The night before, I had fallen asleep while studying for my MedJur exam. The last thing I remember was lying on my bed. After about a while, I found myself flat on my pillow. I turned to check the clock and I realized it was 3 in the morning. I had spent the last two hours lying on the reviewer my friend Cha made. So much for the fables surrounding paper-to-brain osmosis! I panicked and resumed studying until 5 a.m. when I realized I couldn't keep my eyes open. As I switched the light off, I swore to myself I would never do that again.

Preliminaries

For the past week-and-a-half, the first thing I do when I walk out of my room is to make a phone call to someone in a hospital room. "Hi Lolo," I greet him. "How are you feeling today?"

There are good days and the not-so-good days. The past couple of days would fall under the latter category. My morning surprise came in the form of his cheery voice when he said "Good morning!" So today was apparently a good day. I asked him how he was doing and he excitedly related to me how he was able to get a pass from his doctor to go home even if it was just for half the day. I asked him why and his answer made me laugh: "I miss Sam." Sam, ladies and gentlemen, is my grandfather's dog. "They wouldn't let me bring him to the hospita." Now with a dog like Sam who doesn't bite except when you're within a two-meter radius of my grandfather, that was a bad idea.

I grabbed my phone off the dresser as I raced to the bathroom. I was meeting up with my classmates in the university post office by 10 a.m. for a class assignment. As I looked at the screen, I noticed a small warning which came up. The warning said "Memory full." Arrrrgh! My phone, like most Nokia N-series units, has this memory problem which strikes at any given time. And today was another one of those days. Drat! The worst part was that although I could usually fix it, this time it didn't seem to be the case. I couldn't even delete anything without it saying "Not enough memory to do the operation." ARRRRGGGHH! I was gonna be late for my 10 a.m. appointment! So I called my classmates and asked them to move the meeting time an hour later. I tried to work around the phone and later I got desperate so I plugged it into my computer. As I played around with the folders, I realized that two music files found their way to a folder in the phone memory. The files were barely 5MB in total but I had a feeling they acted like a memory plug, sort of like a cork stuck to an inverted wine bottle. So I erased the two files and lo and behold! My alleged 9kb of free memory leapt to 35MB! The genie has been released from the lamp!

Maybe that genie was the happy genie.

Post Office

I got to school by 11 o'clock. I parked near the university grocery and walked towards the post office. This class exercise was out to get us how to use the registered mail system for sending ("filing" to the Court and "serving" to the opposite party) pleadings. Inside the post office were my classmates and the rest of the people in the class.

To be honest about it, it was only my second time to send anything through the post office. When I was younger, I used to send letters through my mother's office messenger. In this day and age of email, the opportunities to sing that Karen Carpenter classic were almost verging on extinction. But still, when the lady behind the counter swirled the envelope around some sort of machine for the stamp, we all went "Nice!" It was hilarious but we were actually being wowed by the technology of yesterday! We happily filled out the pink registry cards and paid the postage. The lady behind the counter was getting cranky and was half-screaming at us, telling us to hurry up because it was break time. I didn't hear her but I did note the wall clock said "11:30." Maybe it was the old-timer feel or the sound of papers being shuffled or the sight of glue being swatched on envelopes. Although there was nothing significant or difference about the goings-on inside the post office, I found myself smiling.

Food

Before heading back to the college, Cha and Anton had a hankering for fruit shake in a stall near the post office. I walked with them and waited as they made their selection. When they went inside to pay, I stood outside with my half my face exposed to the sweltering heat of the sun. I watched as more people lined up to buy shakes - mango-banana, strawberry-mango, watermelon...all kinds of permutations of fruits. Someone beside me was crushing ice. The blenders started to make more whirring sounds. I stared at the strawberries. Maybe it was the coolness of the crushed ice beside me or the sight of the strawberries or the whirring. Although there was nothing significant about the goings-on in that stall, I found myself smiling.

More Food

Cha and I went upstairs to our Genders classroom to start studying. After about half an hour, my tummy started to rumble and I began to regret not buying myself that shake. I took some money and walked out of the college building towards the library, heading for one of my favorite food joints in school which served pasta, pizza and chicken. There were a lot of students crowding around the stall. I ordered pasta in mushroom sauce and chicken and sat down on a concrete bench and started to read. More people started coming and the empty spaces on my left and right side were soon occupied. The heat of the noonday sun was turning my back into a waterfall. The smell of pancit canton filled the air. I continued to read about stuff like "True Victorian Love" and writers' other name games until I got my order. I walked back to my college building and took the stairs to my classroom. Cha was still reading when I sat on my chair and started eating. Maybe it was the coolness of the room after a relatively long walk in the noonday sun or the smell of chicken with mushrooms. Although there was nothing significant about the goings-on in that classrom (or in the way my pasta and chicken tasted), I found myself smiling.

The rest of my day went by as planned - review with Cha and Dahlia by 4 p.m., class at 6 p.m., a sit-down exam by 8:30 p.m. Perhaps everybody's tongues were all a little too tired from all the memorizing and it was easy to start mispronouncing words and names - like "ibidence," "fillure" and "Pascuashio," for instance. For three hours in class, we talked about fistullas, cholycystecomies, cyanosis, curretage and all other words which we don't meet in a legal dictionary. My classmate Chris even sounded like a medical student as he rattled on about typhoid fever and antibiotics...and our teacher noticed. Maybe it was the occasional laughter or the slight nervousness as we flipped from page to page of our notes. Although there was nothing significant about the goings on in that class - except perhaps for Chris yakking about Chloromycetin and antipyretics in one breath without getting his tongue twisted - I found myself smiling.

Calling it a Day

Today was my regular run-of-the-mill day. Nothing significant or nothing momentous happened...except perhaps when I availed of cheaper gas along Commonwealth Avenue (a seven peso difference from the gas station near the place where I live) which gave me a full tank at a much lesser cost. I'm still hungry as I type this and I downed my last Oreo last night and I'm too lazy to walk across the street to go to the convenience store.

Maybe the universe just conspired to give me a shot of endorphines for today.

Maybe the band of killjoys are out on vacation.

Or maybe, just maybe, I am getting good at letting go - and that's why I'm smiling.

Bowled Over by Down Under

2009-02-12T23:53:00.001+08:00

"Marley and Me."

I frowned at my sister. We were standing in front of the ticket booth in Glorietta, trying to decide what flick to see when we chose to drop by the cinema on impulse. After all, we had both been itching to watch a decent movie for the past three weeks in order to block out the recurring images of Tanging Ina in our heads but our weekends were always full.

"Noooo!" I protested. The last three weeks have been really artery-stretching in terms of stress and this particular Saturday was no exception, especially when you get called on to recite with absolutely nothing in your hands except the warm, smooth feel of the surface of a wooden desk in contrast to your cold, clammy palms.

"I wanna see Australia," I declared. After all, even if the Marley puppy is really cute, the goo goo eyes do not even have a sliver of a chance against one of my biggest crushes in the world in terms of stress relief. After much cajoling, she did give up on her puppy love and needless to say, when the end credits to "Australia" started rolling up the screen, she got much more than she bargained for in terms of the animal kingdom.

Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman both headline Baz Luhrmann's Australia. The title is practically a give away if the actors don't do the job. Nicole Kidman is Lady Sarah Ashley, an English aristocrat as formal as her thoroughbreds. Her husband owns and manages a cattle ranch calle Faraway Downs in the Land Down Under. She flies to Australia to be with Lord Ashley and is met by Drover (Jackman), a man who works for her husband in the ranch on a commission basis and vaguely reminds me of a buffer, way better looking version of Aragorn. After enduring a long, dusty ride through Australia's unforgiving terrain (where she has her first brush with a kangaroo both in action and in death), she finds her lifeless husband lying on the kitchen table in Faraway Downs, allegedly skewered with a spear by an aborigine nicknamed "King George." Sarah is introduced to the hired help in Faraway Downs - among them an alcoholic accountant, an Asian cook, an aborigine woman and her daughter and Faraway Downs' cattle manager named Fletcher (David Wenham of The Lord of the Rings, 300). Fletcher has apparently fathered a child with the aborigine woman's daughter, an intelligent little boy named Nullah who is actually the grandson of "King George." Nullah is labelled by the Caucasians as one of the "creams," a derogatory term used to refer to the "stolen generations," a growing population of children of aborigine women sired by white men. Such children are usually taken away from their mothers and brought to "mission centers" where they supposedly are educated and cared for.

Through Nullah's stories, Sarah discovers that Fletcher also works for Carney (Bryan Brown of The Thornbirds), her husband's rival in the cattle business and Australia's biggest supplier of beef. Fletcher had been secretly transporting some of the cattle to Carney's ranch and had also tricked Lord Ashley to believe that Faraway Downs was operating at a loss. She fires Fletcher but is left with no one to help her with the cattle. To bring in money for Faraway Downs, she has to deliver the cattle to Darwin for loading to a ship. She turns to Drover who, at first, turns her down as he supposedly hates being tied down to anything or anyone. But then a man can change his mind when the price is right...which, in this case, came in the form of Sarah's prized capricorn.

After journeying through the desert with a lot of setbacks in the form of bushfires, stampedes and poisoned water courtesy of Fletcher's sinister mind, Sarah manages to make her delivery. Throughout her ordeal, she forms an extraordinarily strong bond with Nullah and falls in love with Drover (come on, who wouldn't?). She seems to have settled in Faraway Downs in an almost idyllic, slow mo-perfect fairytale ending with the flowers and the white-washed house but Fletcher persistenyly snaps at their heels as he schemes to acquire the cattle ranch. As if that were enough and with the second world war brewing above their heads like the dust in the Australian outback, Sarah realizes she could be losing more than just Faraway Downs as Nullah yearns to be with his grandfather to learn his heritage through a coming-of-age ceremony called a walkabout and Drover still battles with commitment and settling down. And, as they say, commitment used to be the good guy.

Clocking in at almost 3 hours, Australia is not a pain to watch. The storyline was, for starters, pretty simple and straightforward. With the brain functions set aside, it was relatively easy to be swept away with the film, thanks to its epic-like appeal and old Hollywood glamour. As usual, Baz Luhrmann did not disappoint. Australia stands out like a white dress in a rack of red when compared to his earlier works as it actually attempts to be normal in the sense that there is a near-absence of Luhrmann's theatrics and exaggeration. But Luhrmann still manages to be grand and ostentatious despite the seeming normalcy with his breathtaking cinematography which he perfectly couples with his signature slow-mos and close-ups. The action, drama and romance are all so real, I almost felt like I were part of the movie. I loved his shots of the horses whipping up dust in the outback as they ran around Faraway Downs, the shots of of Sarah, Drover and company as they steered the cattle through the outback, the aerial shots of the cattle stampede during the bushfire in the cliff and the last shot toward the end of the film where Drover's small boat with the white sails carrying the half-aborigine, half-Caucasian children cuts through thick smoke and a mass of charred ships. To really hit the nail on the head, the cinematic experience of watching Austrlia is further enhanced by a rich musical score punctuated by occasional aborigine chanting, giving the film that swell that comes with the approach of the tide.

Nicole Kidman is engaging as Sarah. One notes her character's subtle development as she starts off as a distant, well-bred aristocrat thrust into the wild, untamed world of the Australian outback and later evolves into a woman who finds her own strength but never loses her heart. The first half or so of the movie is bursting with her seeming endless supply of faux pas as she glares and gloats at Jackman, sings a jumbled, operetta version of "Over the Rainbow" in terms of both lyrics and notes and attempts to do telekinesis on cows. What I love about her character is that she is not melodramatic. She is deeply hurt when Drover walks out of her life and is heartbroken when Nullah is taken away from her and yet she remains in complete control of herself and her pain. I was so thankful she didn't hurl herself at pillows or pound at the wall like a human hammer.

Hugh Jackman was not new to the scruffy-looking, sweaty, tanned character that was the Drover. He always fits such roles to a T and the predictability was not necessarily a liability as far as he was concerned...but then again, I profess I am biased. The screen could almost spontaneously combust everytime he came up, whether he appears with or without facial hair. In one particular scene which featured a missions ball in Darwin which Sarah attended, it became pretty easy to identify all the girls in the theater. In almost all movies where a scene involves a prom, a party or a ball of sorts, the girl always makes the grand entrance ala Cinderella. In this movie, the roles are switched as the limelight falls on a clean-shaved, slick Hugh Jackman in a white suit. My sister started wriggling like a glow worm and pinching me like crazy. I myself almost yanked the armrest off from being swoony when I realized that a buzz had started in the theater and all the other females were also doing their own versions of pinching, punching, silent screaming and, yes, armrest-wrenching. Jackman's scenes with Kidman were always tender and heartfelt and they never seemed over-extended or mushy.

The runaway scene stealer though was Nullah (Brandon Walters). He had beautiful, soulful eyes which lent Nullah sensitivity, intelligence and a dash of mischievousness every now and then. To me, Nullah's character was a pillar in the movie as a spine is to a book. His mixed heritage pretty much indicated how he both belonged to the country of his ancestors and the new world which the Caucasian settlers brought with them. He loved his aboriginal predecessors but also shared a strong bond with Sarah and Drover. Among all the characters in the movie, he had the best lines, the most memorable being "I'll sing you to me" which always left me feeling like I was shot in the heart or something.

Addendum: The song which plays as the credits roll in the end is really nice. It's called "By the Boab Tree" by Angela Little.

Happy Thoughts

2009-02-08T17:49:00.001+08:00

Ever since I started law school, I made a resolve not to dwell on anything negative which comes my way - the insults, the difficulties, the setbacks, the bouts of depression and the occasional perception of being the lowest protozoan in the face of the planet. That mindset has since extended to matters of sadness beyond law school and no matter how much my fingers are itching right now, I am not going to write about things which make are a little too heavy to carry for the pounding little muscle that is called my heart. After all, a bit of offloading was done when I succumbed to my urge to cry over my lunch plate of chicken inasal and garlic rice (I decided to skip an extra helping since I've been guilty of overeating lately) which, ironically, is probably one of the best reminders of a place called home.

Instead, I will write about the good things which make me smile and give me reasons to look at tomorrow as a new day and not a new burden. After all, one of my favorite songs to sing as a child was Favorite Things and a line from that classic goes "I simply remember my favorite things and then I don't feel so bad." No, I won't be writing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. But,yes, I'll spare our drapes from an instant execution because aside from the fact that they're dusty and heavy, my mother is going to launder me if I do anything to them.

Last Thursday (February 5), my grandmother and namesake celebrated her 80th birthday. It was not practical to make preparations for a huge party because of my grandfather's delicate state with us not knowing when his next landing in the hospital will be. Actually the nurses have been wonderfully humorous about it, calling him a "balikbayan" whenever he gets wheeled in. Aside from my grandfather's unpredictable hospital visits, the birthday girl herself actually hates huge parties. She would rather have small, intimate gatherings with family and close friends instead of something that involves a lot of lace and tulle.

So that was exactly what my Lola got on the day she turned 80 - a surprise birthday party which started with a thanksgiving service in our garage followed by dinner and capped with my grandparents huddled inside my room with my cousins, nephews and nieces as their ever-bibo great-grandchildren rendered an impromptu concert on the videoke microphone (and my TV's screen is, well, the cutest in our house).

The fact that I missed out on all the fun stuck out like a sore thumb and I really felt wretched as I walked from my first class to the next. I consoled myself with the thought that I wasn't the only one absent - my sister was here, Manang Apple and Manang Maya were both working abroad whereas Aiyee was on hospital duty. I dialled the house number immediately when I got home at 7:30 p.m. After about thirty minutes of talking to a very excited Aidagere (who began and ended every sentence with a "Manang!"), the phone was finally passed to my grandmother. She was laughing and sounded extremely excited on the phone, telling me how she was having so much fun...that it was great to have her daughter and three sons together...that almost all of her children and grandchildren were there...how my nephew Dane bit my cousin Lance in the middle of their dance number...that my room was now a complete mess...and she continued to laugh some more. I asked her what made her 80th birthday really special and she answered "Nothing really. It's just that everybody's here. I'm really having so much. Ka-sadya sadya guid tana!"

The day after (February 6), my cousin Aida Raissa turned 20. She had a Hawaiian-themed party Saturday night in our cousin Carol's house which everybody also attended, except for the abovementioned perennial absentees. Aiyee was pretty in her flower-print dress and I still can't believe she's grown up (and graduating so soon at that).

Birthday girl Aiyee (right) with Carol

Maybe my grandmother was still in party mood or something because, to the surprise of my mother, she joined all the "young ones" in dressing up like a Hawaiian island girl, complete with a garland of yellow blossoms around her neck and another flower stuck behind her ear, all freshly plucked from her garden.

And she didn't end there! She also went as far as dressing up my grandfather like Lito Atienza in a Hawaiian-themed shirt. And how did my grandfather like it? Well his face pretty much sums up how silly he felt but he seemed to have forgotten all about his getup when he got the chance to have a quick dance with the birthday celebrator.

2008 in a Nutshell

2009-01-17T23:51:00.000+08:00

2008 in a Nutshell

What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?
1. Have a baby elephant massage my back
2. Get involved in my first ever car accident when a jeepney collided with the SUV I was driving head-on. The first thought I had after the jeep crashed into my bumper was "Darn! I'm gonna be late for class!" :) After that my next concern went something like "And I just cleaned the car!"

Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I did keep some of them but I need to work on the others, like doing less procrastinating. I started learning how to do some cooking and I continue to work on my Hiligaynon by translating songs from English to the vernacular. But yes, I made more for 2009.

Did anyone close to you give birth?
My cousin Cheryl gave birth to her first baby boy Garrick Marcus and my best friend Doi is new mommy to Sariah Beatrice. And although he didn't exactly give birth, my cousin Ramboy is papa to Tyler.

The baby with so many names: Saraiah Beatrice a.k.a Volta a.k.a Betty

Did anyone close to you die?
In 2007, we lost our old, old, really old dog Nicky :( She was twelve years old when she died. My family and I also said goodbye to Pastor Rudy Acosta who was a very good friend to my family and a mentor to so many people. Rev. Kevin Alamag and his wife Ate Belle of GCF Ortigas also went home to be with the Lord this year.

Nicky with Aidagere and me when she was alive and well.

What countries did you visit in 2008?
Malaysia, Brunei and Thailand

What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
A Macbook? In my dreams!
Well I wish I'd have a lot more courage and faith in 2009 than I had last year.
What date from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
July 2008 - as they say, there's always a first time for everything.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?
For the mundane, cooking Christmas dinner...rather, helping with Christmas dinner. Every difficult thing I encountered in 2008 was big and the fact that I got through them, scraped knees and all, was already an achievement for me.

What was your biggest failure?
Everything my family I went through this year, all the hits and misses, everything was a learning experience.

Did you suffer illness or injury?
Just occasional bouts of stomach flu, especially when I ate a little too much.
What was the best thing you bought?
Toss up between a black hoodie to replace the one I lost in a taxicab two years ago and Take That's Beautiful World DVD which has given me countless hours of listening and viewing pleasure.

Whose behavior merited celebration?
Jun Lozada

Jun Lozada and the unforgettable headline

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
A lot of Filipino politicians.

Where did most of your money go?
Photocopying expenses for cases!

What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella coming to life on stage! Lea Salonga did not disappoint (as usual) and it turned out to be one magical evening. I saw the Leslie Carone and Brandy versions years before and I loved all the songs. I wish Paolo Montalban played Prince Christopher though!

What song(s) will always remind you of 2008?
Take That's Back for Good and David Cook's Always Be My Baby

Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? --
I've always believed happiness is a choice and I choose to be happy because I have every reason to be such.
ii. thinner or fatter? --
I gained weight over the summer...and then I lost weight during the latter part of the year. Which means that I weigh the same.
iii. richer or poorer? --
Haha I saved more money this year than last year!

What do you wish you'd done more?
I wish I ran more and swam more. Swimming is so hard to do when you're living in a building like mine because you're in full view of the construction workers in the buildings around ours.

What do you wish you'd done less of?
Cry. I love a good cry but this year, I just bawled a lot more than the usual.

What was your favorite TV program?
Aside from American Idol and The Amazing Race, it would have to be Pushing Daisies! Lee Pace is soooo irresistible! Close runners-up would be Kahit Isang Saglit with Jericho Rosales and Carmen Soo and Chuck which always left me in stitches.

Lee Pace (with Anna Friel) in "Pushing Daisies" (top) was fun to watch. "Chuck" was downright
hilarious and "Kahit Isang Saglit" (bottom, right) made Pinoy primetime appealing.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Joc-joc Bolante. That guy's nerve is really beyond the ordinary, he should be in a museum or something.

What was the best book you read?
"A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini was a really beautiful book. It was a straightforward work but was nevertheless a heart tugger, more than "The Kite Runner" I daresay. Runners up would be the "Twilight" series (which made me swoon) and "The Shack" by William Young (which got me all pensive and introspective).

What was your greatest musical discovery?
Muse, Muse, Muse and this little boy who sang beautifully during Arn and Ruby's wedding! He sang a David Pomeranz song and though I don't really like David Pomeranz, I found myself clapping my palms off for this wonderful little boy.

What did you want and get?
A new member of the family in the form of a really silly yet intelligent dog named Aslan Marie.

What was your favorite film of this year?
Becoming Jane. I adopted a new habit this year in terms of Jane Austen movies. I watch Becoming Jane first and then follow it up with Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice.

What was the worst film you saw this year?
Don't Mess with the Zohan! This movie was so bad, I didn't even finish it. In fact, I don't think I even got beyond 1/4 of the movie. I thought it was gonna be something like Fifty First Dates which I enjoyed watching and it wasn't! I chucked the DVD straight to the trash bin. The jokes were crude and they weren't even funny.

What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I turned 25 in June. I was in my room, studying as usual but I had a post-birthday celebration with friends which doubled as a housewarming occasion.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Definitely more sleep!

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
The slow death of the T-shirt. The opportunities for wearing my usual fare of round-neck cotton T-shirts gradually diminished, much to my dismay. My jeans are next on the chopping block. *cries heart out*

What kept you sane?
The Bible. If I didn't have my Bible, I wouldn't know what I'd do. God's word was my source of strength throughout the entire year.

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Toss-up between James MacAvoy and Cate Blanchett in the Entertainment world and of course, Barack Obama in politics.

Cate Blanchett is brilliant, James MacAvoy elicits sighs and Barack Obama makes history.

What political issue stirred you the most?
Too many! Just thinking about it makes my blood boil but I guess it would have to be the ZTE controversy involving Jun Lozada. It is amazing how some people can lie with faces straighter than rebonded hair...and these are people who are expected to at least have some semblance of public integrity.

Who did you miss?
I missed Manang Apple a whole lot. But she did come home, even for just a short while and, as usual, I fetched her when she arrived and drove her to the airport when she left. I hope the next time she comes home, I won't ever have to drive her to the airport again. Manang Maya also left in the middle of the year and I do enjoy catching up with her on YM. My PINC sister Me-ann also left to work in the Middle East this year and GGs have not been the same without her. My cousin Star also left for Canada this year and we miss her just as much as (I know) she misses us.

(Left )With Manang Apple and Manang Maya in Boracay in 1991
(Right) Me-ann will be on vacation this year. That's something to look forward to.

Who was the best new person you met?
Technically, 2008 was not the first time I met Ate Carol but I got to know her a lot better this year, she being my discipler and all. I really value everything I have learned from her and I look forward to our discipleship sessions.

I also loved meeting the Filipino staff and crew of Superstar Gemini over the summer. These people are amazing - they're driven and hardworking and can smile and laugh even if they don't always feel like it. I wish they would all find their respective harbors very soon.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008:
You are not as strong as you think you are. You can nurse all sorts of illusions that you'll be fine when this happens or you'll react this way when that happens. The real test is when that possibility becomes reality - that's when you'll really know how low you can sink and how high you can bounce back.

What was the nicest thing someone told you about yourself:
A really nice "I love you" from my mom and dad. That was definitely more profound than all of Shakespeare.

The most touching experience you've had this year?
I felt like I connected with my friends in a different, much deeper way this year. I really valued every conversation I had with all of them.

But this year also made me realize how blessed I was to have such a loving and closely-knit family. These are the people who will really stand by you no matter what. Family members can hurt each other the deepest but among them, it is where forgiveness also runs endless like a spring and love is truly unconditional.

What did you like most about yourself this year?
I found a lot reasons to smile and I found myself opening up more to other people.

What did you hate most about yourself this year?
Well...I kept on telling myself I was okay when I actually wasn't. It was like as if I was stuck in a hole and I couldn't move on.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
"You've got to get yourself together
You got stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

And if the night runs over
And if the day won't last
And if your way should falter
Along this stony pass

It's just a moment
This time will pass."
- U2, Stuck in a Moment

Was 2008 a good year for you?
A loud, resounding yes! 2008 was a very difficult year for me and my family but it was really one great year! It was definitely a year of God's faithfulness and provision.

What was your favorite moment of the year?
Kayaking with my parents in Thailand. My parents are the semi-outdoorsy type but they like hiking more than water activities. My sister and I enjoyed the rowing. We glided past beautiful rock formations and the sound of our oars lapping at the water was so relaxing. Then we turn around to find our parents waaaaaaay behind us, struggling with their oars.

What was your least favorite moment of the year?
All those times in the course of 2008 when my grandfather got sick. I never really liked hospitals and the smell of antiseptic....yech!

Where were you when 2008 began?
At home, as usual!

Who were you with?
With my parents, sister, grandparents and a bunch of family members.

Where will you be when 2008 ends?
Still at home!

Who will you be with when 2008 ends?
Still with the same people mentioned above. :) Not that I'm bored having them around all the time.

Do you have a new year's resolution for 2009?
To be a dutiful daughter/granddaughter, a reliable older sister, a dependable friend, a good example to my growing band of nephews and nieces and to be God's faithful servant.

What was your favorite month of 2008?
December 2008. I love Christmas and I love my family. :)

What was your favorite record from 2008?
Hmmm...the Mamma Mia soundtrack enjoyed countless replays in the car stereo. I always cracked up whenever Pierce Brosnon sang his part in "SOS." It sounded like he was in pain or something.

How many concerts did you see in 2008?
I did not get to attend any in 2008 BUT I did get to listen to one as it went on and on - the Rihanna and Chris Brown event in Taguig.

Did you drink a lot of alchohol in 2008?
No, except for the wine in the pasta we made for New Year.

Do a lot of drugs in 2008?
Well, paracetamol, Robitussin and antiobiotics. :)

You do anything you are ashamed of this year?
*sigh* Yes, as always.

How much money did you spend in 2008?
I don't count but I did not spend more than I ought to.

What was your proudest moment of 2008?
September 2008 - Walking away with a smile on my face and no anger in my heart.

What was your most embarrassing moment of 2008?
Hitting someone else's car because I was not paying attention. Enough said. *cringes* Good thing I didn't do any serious damage.

If you could go back in time to any moment of 2008 and change something, what would it be?
I'm stuck in this question...hmmm...I guess, April 2008. I wish I could go back and restart a conversation I had with my mother.

What are your plans for 2009?
I'm adopting a wait-and-see attitude, but still keeping my options open. I want to try getting some experience by working in a law firm or getting myself involved in a project which involves abused women and children, something that I have always wanted to to get into. I'm still looking for an opportunity to teach again.

How are you different now that the year has ended?
I am more grounded and more fulfilled. I endured lessons on humility and I certainly value my friendships a lot more.

What are your wishes for the new year?
2009 is going to be another rollercoaster of a year but I do wish that 2009 would be a year of marked change in this country. I hope I get to meet new people this year and I wish for health and love for my family and friends.

Ready to Welcome a Storm

2009-01-03T22:11:00.001+08:00

As I write this, I'm bundled in a nice thick blanket as I lounge about in my usual oversized t-shirt and jammies with aquamarine paint smeared on one leg. I got the paint smear when I was fourteen. I was putting the finishing touches on a handpainted T-shirt which I had to submit for my Art 2 class. I drew a boat with yellow and aquamarine sails much like one of the sailboats which usually participate in the city's annual "Paraw Regatta" and I accidentally smeared some of the paint on my jammies.
It is unusually cold at this time of the year, something people attribute to global warming. It has been like this since New Year's Eve. Around Christmas, the weather was not exactly tropical sunny as the rains came and went but it was not exactly cold. This went on until early morning of New Year's Eve. I remember waking up at 2 a.m. or so and reaching for a blanket. I meant to close the window but I saw that my mom had probably closed it earlier. The wind was howling outside and rain rapped at our windows incessantly. Later when I got up in the morning, clouds had started to gather in the sky and there was an almost nasty nip which the wind brought. By afternoon, it was getting too cold for comfort. The rain had turned our front yard into one muddy mess and the wind was rattling just about everything from the coconut trees to our teeth. For people like us who are pretty much used to perspiration-inducing weather, the temperature drop could almost be described as freezing cold. At this time last year, firecracker and fireworks explosions could already be heard randomly but because of the wind and the rain, who would even entertain the thought of going outside and lighting firecrackers if that were indeed physically possible?

I walked to my grandmother's kitchen and settled myself in front of the dapog (wood-fed stove) which, on usual circumstances, was not exactly my favorite place in the house. The usual festive mood had been dampened (pun intended) by one major meteorological killjoy and now, no one really wanted to leave the house when a storm was whipping its way outside into its own version of a twister party. I looked out the door and I began to consider that a stormy New Year's Eve actually seemed like an appropriate way to welcome 2009. After all, forecasts about what 2009 would bring seemed nothing short of discouraging or dismal - possible mass layoffs, global recession, Charter Change, political and economic turmoil, rise in prices of basic commodities, not to mention natural disasters which are a staple in times like this. In short, the incoming year was going to be just like what I saw outside - one major storm that was going to be stirring up lives, nations and hearts into a never-ending frenzy. The wind seemed to howl in agreement as the thought settled in my mind and started to really scare me.

As I watched my grandparents' cook chop ubod into little bite-sized pieces for stuffing into a lumpia wrapper, I realized that even if my hands were still rather cold, I was not as cold as when I was outside, sloshing through the rain. The heat from the fire had warmed my hands rather subtly and I welcomed the return of some sensation to my fingers. Dinner was served a little while later and while the wind continued to howl and the rain continued its barrage on our windows, none of the people sitting at the dinner table seemed to care. Talk and laughter went on as usual and I almost forgot that a storm was on the rampage outside our house. The storm continued its assault outside. We continued with our daily goings-on inside the house, even if we were confined to a much smaller space now. But still no one cared.
2009 may brings more tornadoes, twisters, hurricanes or squalls. It may be, as forecasters predict, a year which will break a person's spirit more than 2008. It may bring too many baggages to carry, too many problems to fend off, too many hunger pangs to ignore, too many painful nips to forget or too many storms to weather. But I guess, anything can continue to range outside but as long as you have something or someone to retreat to like a sanctuary and give you some rest or warmth, it cannot be as bad as it would seem. It can be anything or anyone - your family, your friends, your faith - anything or anyone at all which can quiet the angriest storm and temper the nastiest spirit which threatens to rip you to shreds. It is anything or anyone which/who can be your sanctuary, your stronghold, your refuge, your little stove which continues to burn brightly and quietly as the roughest of tempests rages right about outside your door.