The Rain and I

I am in the office. It’s raining hard outside and all I want to do is to snuggle under a comforter while the aircon is turned full blast. It is one of my peculiarities, really, that when I hear the pitter-pat of rain on the roof, I find this urge to turn on the aircon.

When I was living in Tokyo, and I never had to worry about electric bill, I did this a lot to the amusement of my roommate, Barno. During rainy days, we would find ourselves under our futon late into the morning. We would pretend to be sleeping even if we both knew we’re already wide awake. We had separate rooms but because our walls were made of paper, we could hear each other’s movements. Normally, I’d wake up earlier than she would because I loved doing our breakfast, but during rainy days we’d stretch our lazy time till our stomach grumbled. Barno and I would then spend the day cooking and eating. Since we lived quite far from our usual shopping areas, we’d just browse around Seiyu, our local supermarket. Then we’d bring home lots of food: different kinds of cheeses, fish, pork, chicken, fruits (which we never really ran out of), vegetables, eggs, potato chips, tofu and a lot more others. We’d hibernate in the house for days doing nothing but cook, eat, listen to music (she discovered Martin Nievera and I liked Sevara Nazarkhan) and watch TV. Barno was an excellent cook and she introduced me to a lot of Uzbek food. I, in turn, learned how to whip up several Filipino dishes, which she would gobble up – with certain twists -- in seconds. I initially thought that I stayed indoors during these times because I hated rainy days.

I distinctly remember walking under the rain in Tokyo with my Indonesian friend, Auqie, who told me he found rainy days romantic. I cannot forget that incident because I thought for a man to like rainy days, it must be something. Because I lacked the courage to ask him why, I turned to other friends who gave several reasons why they liked rainy days: weather is cool, the sound of dripping water is soothing to the nerves, there’s an excuse to hug, and – this made me laugh – it’s cute to see a couple cuddling under one umbrella.

I told Auqie that I didn’t particularly like rain, not in Metro Manila anyway where I have to dodge unscrupulous drivers who find fun in splashing pedestrians with filthy water and I am forced to tiptoe around dirty puddles to get to my destination. Today, I still don’t like rainy days, but only when I am in Metro Manila. Otherwise, I know I am fine with it.

Take this case. Last week I was holed up at the Fontana Resort in Clark Air Base. It was raining so hard I should have been disappointed that I was not able to visit the duty free shops right away, but I was not. Instead, I set the aircon to its lowest temperature, got a really good book and read while burrowing myself under a thick blanket. It was heavenly. I could do that for one whole week – with milk and cookies, to boot -- without getting bored. It reinforced my belief that I have already started a love affair with the rain.

Now I would like to tell Auqie how right he was when he insisted that rain is romantic. The serenity it brings does something to my senses and I am even writing about it now. (June 24, 2009)

the banana slips

You reach the landing panting from climbing 3-storeys worth of stairs. You insert the key in the keyhole of the main door then realize that the lock has changed. You are not informed about this sudden change in the office rules.

You sit down and wait for the others who are as amaze as you are that this is happening. You all wait and curse. The clock says it’s already 8am. You have been there for nearly two hours already, listening as the seconds turn into minutes…and minutes into hours. You and the others wickedly device ways and means to get back at the one whose bright ideas this is.

Then lo and behold! She arrives. You fall silent. The others, too. She smiles as if nothing is wrong. She mumbles something indistinguishable. You want to scream. You stare instead.

She opens the door and sashays her way into the room, feeling like a queen. You think she looks like a pig ready to be butchered. You smile. Nothing beats knowing you can restrain yourself from doing something nasty. Maybe some other time… You think everybody has his time.

After all, the day is just about to start…

when things get too hot to handle...

Thinking positive thoughts may take too much effort when one is surrounded by so much negative things. I know I am not the goody-goody person others pretend to be but I really do try to think as many positive thoughts as I can.

Then again in this dog-eats-dog world, survival of the fittest is the name of the game. When I was younger, I didn’t mind roughing it out with anybody who gets in my way. But as the years go by, I realized I’d rather channel my energy to things that would make me laugh. In other words, I learned to coast along the way.

At times when I want to end somebody’s life (I am not suicidal, bear this in mind), I train myself to look at the ceiling and breathe deeply. I then count from one to ten before I try to smile (even if there’s nothing to smile about). The art of self-control is something I have learned late in life but it does not mean that I do not practice it often. In fact, I practice it every single day, considering.

The reason why this piece of writing is actually coming out is because I am soooo pissed off. To my mind, you have no right to demand too high from somebody if you do not give any kind of support. That said, I want to go home already and read a book. I’ll be more productive and less murderous then.

the wanderer

if there is one thing ariel taught me, it is to embrace the unknown unconditionally. the weirdest thing is, i have never felt happier in life than when i am exploring the roads less traveled. sure, ariel taught me the joys of adventure, but i can only credit myself for perfecting its art.

while ariel has kind of settled down after getting married, i continue to bask in the thrill of discovering unchartered territories. sometimes it makes me wonder where this will get me. but heck, this is what makes the journey exciting.

i am writing this because right now i am on the verge of wanting another leap of faith. if i can only draw how i feel, it would be so much liberating. but i cannot even describe exactly my desperate longing to do something out of the ordinary. i only know that i want to do it so badly i can taste it.

perhaps batanes can quench this thirst, after all.

Must be...age?

Must be boredom. Or age. The fact is I sometimes find myself looking back and taking stock of my life. For somebody who’s used to reviewing her past, this preoccupation would not have been unusual except that now, mistakes from my youth bring forth smile to my lips. I did not realize this change in outlook right away until one day I found myself laughing at my crazy high school pictures. For the longest time, it was quite painful to look at them because I seemed to be so much happier then than now.

Yet, a couple of weeks ago I found myself looking at my prom pictures with so much fondness. How slim had I been! It may be difficult to picture me with a 23-inch waistline but those pictures would prove that I had once been slim and tall. This brought the first positive memory.

Then I rummaged through more mementos and realized that I was also a prolific writer. Today, it’s so convenient for me to forget about writing considering the heavy schedule I have at the office. Besides, I have found myself becoming less and less sentimental through the years. In fact, cynicism has become my operative word.

How simple life had been, back in those days when my major crisis revolved around hairstyles. I remember Nanay threatening to break the main mirror in the house because I would stand in front of it for hours on end, trying on clothes after piles of clothes. I thought it cruel at that time but looking back, it is funny. Now I don’t even have time to look at myself in the mirror to check if I have well-coordinated clothes. In fact, ironing clothes is probably the last chore I would do and I would only do it under force of circumstances.

Ah youth! And the love…it was a time of overflowing love for all sorts of things and a lot of persons. I experienced being showered with roses almost every day by different people. Like anybody who receive that much attention, I blossomed. I generally love flowers and roses were no exception. Birthdays were another matter, but nevertheless filled will happy surprises too.

Through it all, I learned to fall in love. Today, I now know that it was not the kind of puppy love one would expect from a high school sophomore. Somehow, my first love defined the road I chose to travel later. Like a baby, the steps I initially took towards learning were quite painful but my first boyfriend and I taught each other so many things about loving and leaving that would prove to be useful in our continuing journey in life.

Perhaps, if I have to name instances in my past when I was forced to go out of my comfort zone to confront reality head-on, this episode tops my list if only because it signaled my initiation to adulthood.

The second turning point in my life was when I fell in love the second time. Unlike my first relationship, this one reinforced the fact that I was already an adult and should be able to hurdle problems with much aplomb. The tears I shed for this relationship may had been enough to fill up a huge dam but the lessons I learned from this experience are something I couldn’t readily forget in this lifetime. In the end, I am still grateful for having been there and for doing what I did.

Whatever is the reason for the change in my reaction to my past no longer matters that much. The thing is, I am a better person now not in spite of, but because of my history.

As I write this, I once again feel restless. There is something that I have to do...I just don't know what. Perhaps another vacation abroad would be the answer to this itch. Then again, I know that whatever I choose to do, there will be no more regrets. As I grow older I have learned to be more forgiving of my own shortcomings. After all, as Scarlett O'Hara said in Gone with the Wind, "Tomorrow...tomorrow is another day."

a walk down memory lane

It was not a welcome sign. Nearly a decade since we last saw each other, the “pull” was still evident. Who would have thought that this would be the case? Apparently, the years did not blunt the attraction that drew us together in the first place. Suddenly, Barry Manilow’s “Even Now” started reverberating in my ears, and I was once again lost.

Ours is a story of a big adventure.

Suffice it to say that while my relationship with the first boyfriend was as smooth-sailing as a gondola ride, my journey with this one was as turbulent as whitewater rafting. After all, he nurtured my daring side. What the first boyfriend failed to break, he was successful in doing so: my rigid self-discipline. For nearly four years, he encouraged me to fly with the wind, to smell the air, to laugh heartily, and to just simply be. With him, I learned to ignore social rules. He taught me that happiness does not come in a box. We were young and we craved for adventure. We would visit places we’ve never been to before. Because of him, I developed a love for the unknown. We were reckless. We were having fun. We were happy. Looking back, he showed me happiness so deep and real that even a dot of pain would instantly be glaring.

More than anything else, I so admired his brain. He was intelligent in a way that the four walls of the classroom cannot mold. There were times when we had no money so we would content ourselves just reading newspapers from cover to cover. He was fond of reciting poems and it was from him that I first got a glimpse of Beowulf. He would tell jokes and we would laugh like hyenas. Oh how we laughed!

But even then, I knew the adventure was somehow going to end. Early on, I thought I had already mastered the art of letting go, but I was wrong. Understand that he and I parted the soap-operaish way. He just sort of disappeared. Although technically he could not disappear because we run around the same circle of people, we both understood that it was time to let go. We were forced to drift apart. And though there were no tearful goodbyes, the hole he left in my heart was so huge it took years before I finally healed.

Indeed, his influence in the way I lived and breathed was so overwhelming that when I was studying in Japan, my daily prayer included asking God not to let us bump into each other there. I knew he visited Japan every now and then, but I often failed to remember that Japan is a big country. One of the scariest thought I harbored then was accidentally meeting him in one of Tokyo’s busiest train stations.

Of course, my reaction to him or anything connected with him is always, to say the least, hysterically exaggerated. This is because my experiences taught me that between the two of us, there was no half-way or in-betweens. We would often go for the kill. We learned to temper this as we journeyed along, for fear of negative repercussions. In fact, we mastered the skill of civilized but impersonal conversations in public.

You see, several times since we parted ways we would still bump into each other, usually in big gatherings. It was during these times when conducting small talk became a tedious chore. Yet, we HAD to talk, otherwise people would. We were known to be extraordinarily close to each other that public displays of affection like holding hands and hugging were not considered unusual by those who knew us. Acting differently then would have started tongues wagging. We did not want that to happen.

Then, lo and behold, in one of those big parties the family held early this year, we met again. I knew instantly the moment he stepped within my boundary. I felt it. When my friend whispered about a man who was staring at me, I just knew it was him. As much as I refused to turn around to face him, I had no other choice but to force myself to come face to face with him.

“Hey,” I hoped a smile was plastered on my face for everyone to see.

“Hi,” he smiled back. Then the farce began. He took his lunch as far away from my table as possible. The rule was and will always be: the less interaction, the better for us to act normally.

Soon enough, people started leaving the party and we were left with relatives and few close friends. I was talking to his sister when I felt that it was time for the inevitable to happen. At that point, he was already prepared, and so was I.

“Hey, come over here and join us,” I called out to him. He excused himself from his group and joined his sister and I. To break what seemed to me as stiff atmosphere, I blurted, “How are you na? I missed you.”

“Oo nga. When was the last time ba that we saw each other? How long ago was it na? How are you? When are you going back to Manila?” the volley of questions between us left his sister out of the equation. Perhaps she was keenly observing us. Around the ever-discerning family, we would tread even more carefully.

Late into the night, when his sister beckoned that they already had to go home, I desperately hoped he would ask to be left behind. He did. He tried to convince his sister that he could just hitch a ride on the way home. But his sister put her foot down so he relented.

Right before he had to cross the gate, we were given the chance to be alone together. “Number,” he said. Dense and tense as I was, I shot him a questioning look. “Number…cell phone number,” he muttered for the second time.

“Oh,” I said and quickly took my mobile out. He then recited his cell phone number and instructed me to call him right away so he could record mine. Such impulses are welcome if only for the fact that this would somehow be forgotten the moment we get out of each other’s periphery and on to the real world.

Suddenly, we found ourselves hugging each other. In a few precious seconds, we were just being ourselves minus the prying eyes of the public. I whispered, “thanks.” Then we let each other go.

That night, I could not sleep. As I tossed and turned, I realized that maybe I did love him at some point. Between the two of us, the word “love” was never spoken. But maybe we really did have something special, aside from the intense attraction we felt for each other. Then again, it’s not easy to admit. Doing so would only heighten the pain of the loss.

In this world where social norms still reign, insisting to be together would only raise a lot of issues. And although we were allowed by law to end up with each other, we never wanted to purposely hurt the people most precious to us – our family.

The kind of love I always want to remember

"What I'm trying to say is that love...is the only thing that counts. I've loved her since I was eight years old, we've never been apart. Not a single day. And I will love her for all my days. That's all that counts. That's all that will ever count. All of my heart, forever."

"It's stronger than death."

I have been watching episodes of Ally Mcbeal lately and though I have seen them before I still couldn't help but be touched by some scenes still. So okay, that is an understatement. In fact, one morning I found myself crying for...nothing. Maybe I was just tired. (I have been JPEPA-bound the past few days) Maybe...I do not exactly know.

The thing is, Ally Mcbeal's relationship with her childhood sweetheart Billy never fails to tug my heart. I can relate to that. Ally's story somewhat went parallel to mine. We both had childhood sweethearts. For a while, we were hung-up on them. Then they became friends...etc... etc...I have written about my first love here so it's really not news anymore.

Why then do I still feel some kind of connection to Ally? Does that mean I still feel some connection with my first love? I know I am not making sense but I remember one friend telling me that first love (not first boyfriend, per se) will always be remembered fondly. As Ally said, he will always leave "big shoes to fill."

My childhood sweetheart -- looking back now -- shaped my life. Perhaps he will always be the reference point of my adulthood. Whenever I get frustrated about something, I would always wonder: What would life be had I married him?

Always. That's how it is...and how it's going to be.

I have long accepted this already...after several loves have passed my life. Yes, even after numerous heartaches and headaches.

Well, this is just me.

And, of course, Ally.

ano ba ini?

hay naku, di ko alam kung anong nangyayari sa akin. mahal ko naman ang trabaho ko ngayon. pero...at ito ay malaking PERO...bakit ganito? lagi na lang napupunta sa akin ang mga bagay na di ko naman pinangarap.

actually, nagsimula ito nung ako ay kumuha ng kurso sa kolehiyo. nag-enrol ako sa mass comm kasi ayaw na ayaw ko ng math. i thought na kapag nag-mass comm ako, wala akong magiging math subject except math 1. hellooo...nung nasa 2nd year na ako, nalaman ko na required kong ipasa ang isang statistics subject! mass comm? may stat? haller!!!

"iha, communication research ang major mo. kailangan mo ng statistics para mag-research," sabi ng isa kong adviser. isip ko: puwede pa bang mag-shift??? papatayin na siguro ako ng tatay ko. in short, nagpatuloy ako...naka-gradweyt din.

ilang taon ang lumipas at ako'y nag-desisyong mag-aral ng master's. hanep! ang napasahan kong kurso ay international economics. ngyee...eh wala akong econ background. pero sige pa rin. bahala na si lord. syempre, cramming galore ako sa tokyo. sino si hecksher? ang kilala ko ay si stephen spielberg. anong WTO? ang alam ko VIVA. as usual, nakapasa ulit.

so bumalik na akong pinas. nagkataon na nag-enjoy ako sa international economics ko na mga subjects so naisip kong sana mabigyan ako ng trabahong related dito. syemps, mabait nga sa akin si lord kaya napunta ako sa trabaho ko ngayon. ang gusto ko lang naman, sa totoo lang, ay makapanood kung paano ginagawa ang negotiations sa geneva at maintindihan ang pagkakaiba ng pananaw ng mga developed sa developing countries.

pero, ano ka, heto at binigyan ako ng assignment sa opisina. i-compute ko daw lahat ng tariff lines ng mga export natin sa japan using the applied rate, gsp rate at jpepa rate. hanep, tsong, di ko nga maintindihan nung una kung ano ang applied tariff. mabuti na lang, matiyaga akong makinig sa mga lectures ng boss ko kahit medyo hirap akong makaintindi. narinig ko ang definitions ng applied at bound tariffs. o, di ba? sa totoo lang, marami akong natututunan dito. kaso hirap lang talaga ang utak ko. sabi nga nila, "the body is willing, but the mind is weak." hehehe...

ngayon, nag-break lang ako from computing those rates. ang tanong: makaka-survive kaya ako dito? sa presentation pa lang ni raul m. on the simulation ng sps, sumakit na ang ulo ko. paano pa kaya yung ibang topics? si bossing naman, supportive kaya nagpapasalamat ako. alam niyang marami pa akong kakaining bigas (not nfa rice) bago makahabol sa mga pinag-uusapan ng mga tao sa division ko. sheeet.....

bakit ganito ang buhay ko??? parang life!

the tragedy of war: vietnam in retrospect

Imagine there's no heaven...It's easy if you try...No hell below us...Above us only sky...Imagine all the people...Living for today...

before i flew to saigon (now called ho chi mihn), i had a hazy idea of vietnam's painful past -- its foray into communism and how vietnamese resisted american occupation. credit many hollywood movies like oliver stone's platoon and heaven & earth for my limited knowledge of vietnamese history.

Imagine there're no countries...It isn't hard to do...Nothing to kill or die for...And no religion too...Imagine all the people...Living life in peace...

my visit to the vietnam war museum, in front of the hotel where we stayed for the duration of our visit, was therefore very shocking to me. pictures of children killed on sidewalks and mothers grieving for their massacred family affected me deeply. it did not help either that there were also pictures of the after effects of Agent Orange -- the nickname given to a herbicide used by the U.S. military its warfare program during the Vietnam War.

You may say I'm a dreamer...But I'm not the only one...I hope someday you'll join us...And the world will be as one...

in these pages, i have copied some of the pictures i saw in the museum, hoping that we shall all know the extent of destruction ANY war could bring.

Imagine no possessions...I wonder if you can...No need for greed or hunger...A brotherhood of man...Imagine all the people...Sharing all the world...

if only man can be less greedy, then we could lessen the sufferings in this world, there will be less orphans and grieving families.

You may say I'm a dreamer...But I'm not the only one...I hope someday you'll join us...And the world will live as one...