Winter Update

I'm still alive. Cold, but definitely still alive. We're now transitioning to winter, a season people have warned me about. The last few days we've seen temperatures drop to single digits and then finally we were hovering just a little bit above zero. I'm freezing most of the time but there's really nothing much one can do but OWN winter. 

Perfect, now that we've talked about the weather - what else could be more important, aber? - we can move on to trivial stuff.

Oh, let's talk about school. I've actually managed to survive the first term, which ends in a week (and then it's the winter break!). There was a period during half-term when I asked my self what I was doing in masters school. I felt I didn't belong here… with all these brilliant kids in class! Really, they're pretty much kids but who know a great deal more than I do. 

And then came the first essay of the year (and I'm doing another one at the moment). It was all big drama doing it because for more than a decade now I haven't done any academic writing. Most of the time I was running around the library grabbing whatever stuff I could possibly use for my essay. I was tensed like crazy, I finished a first draft two weeks before it was due. I'm not saying I suddenly became brilliant, but really it was more because I panicked and rushed to write like my life depended on it (which might have been the case, actually). For a paper entirely built on panicking I managed to get a decent grade, although it could have been better (because I'm NEVER satisfied). 

Well, school is not always that dramatic. Mostly, I spend my time being alone, like most students I guess, poring through loads of assigned readings. That's school for you!

There are just days though when I feel like I need to extricate my self from my desk and take a long walk, especially when the sun's out, a precious moment during winter in London, it seems. Often I go to a museum to diffuse my mind or just walk down Oxford street and gawk at clothes I can't afford. 

On Friday nights I go out with Tyty and Fatima for some wine and Chinese food (the cheap kind, if that ever exists in London). That's all the "fun" I could do because I really can't afford going out more often, chai mai?

Speaking of finances, it's no secret that London is shockingly expensive. So I'm mainly subsisting on microwave food, bland soups in particular… something like 2 pounds per cup, which is still atrociously overpriced compared to a yummy bowl of noodles in Thewet for only less than a pound. 

At first I had to constantly remind my self that I'm not in Bangkok anymore. And then eventually I get used to the prices and I just basically have to live with it… meaning having a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. Oh, I applied for a temporary sales job in a department store but I didn't get it. On the one hand, I really need the money, but on the other I don't know where I'd get the time to do school work had I got the job. But I still need money, so I'd figure out how to whore my self somehow.

A note to my 21-year-old self

Oh no, the last day of 2011. What a year for me! But I'm not going to look back on it in this post. I'd rather go back ten years ago when I was 21.

I've always thought of writing a "note to my XX-year-old self", so I chose to write to my 21-year-old self because 2001 was a pivotal year for me. For one, I graduated from university, hence, I entered the world of being a real adult. And most importantly, I lost my virginity when I was 21. Okay, okay, I'm a fucking late bloomer. Charot!

So what will I tell my 21-year-old self?

On life in general, I'd say: "Gurrrl, life is not always fair. Most of the time, in fact, life is just damn unfair. The sooner you accept that, the more at peace you'd be with life." Harsh, but true, chai mai?

On your goals: Keep them high, but also make the most of surprising opportunities. Don't be afraid to tweak your goals along the way; it's not a sign of failure, but it only means you can adapt.

On knowledge: Be hungry to learn new things. Read. Most of the time there's no practical reason for knowing these things except to exercise your mind, a worthy goal in itself. Travel. It costs a lot but you'd have a lifetime of memories.

On your skills: You'll never be a good singer. Focus on what you do well and keep on honing it because you can always be better. Also, learn new skills that you can be good at. But, again, you cannot sing.

On success: Don't feel entitled to success. You have to earn it. Work your ass off. You may not always have the results you want, but be proud of your efforts nonetheless, and be humble about your achievements.

On other people: Respect them all the time and they'd respect you back. Three words: empathize, empathize, empathize. Be mindful that everyone has a story.

On family: Continue loving them with all your might. Your parents are as human as you are, so be generous in affirming them you love them.

On friends: They come and go, most of them at least. But nurture the few ones who you feel would accept you in spite of you. You'd be lucky with your friends. They're all amazing and generous. You'd have them for life.

On men: All men think with their dicks. There are many nice, decent, loving ones, of course, but ultimately they are all driven by their cocks. Don't take it personally; it's just how nature programmed them, including yourself.

On sex: This will be your year, gurl. Just don't expect too much. There will be NO fireworks. With the right person though it can be quite special.

On beauty: Enjoy that18-inch waistline. It will stay for only another two years, and then it all goes downhill from there.

In conclusion: Be fearless. Take risks. Keep on learning. Enjoy your youth. Love your family. Treasure your friends. Life would be very kind to you. And, bitch, 31 is not as old as you think.

Lara Stone Returns

I did not know that I'm in fact fiercely territorial until Lara Stone started camping in my place for two weeks now. I would not necessarily call it "living together", after all he's only staying here for a month, but it's certainly a new "arrangement", for lack of a better term, for me.

Well of course I'm thrilled he's back and we have lots of time to spend with each other. Reading the Sunday papers while having breakfast in bed; going for a swim every afternoon; endless talks... you know the drill. It's fun and I'm certainly knowing him more and more.

At the same time, I'm knowing my self more. One major discovery is, as mentioned above, I am absolutely crazy about my space, basically made up of the four corners of my tiny bedroom. Everything has to be in perfect order; and like the cosmos, it has it own laws, any diversion from which would lead to imbalance - my mind mainly.

Nobody told me my very idea of order would be rocked big time with the arrival of Lara Stone.

First came the queen bed to replace my erstwhile twin bed. Consequently. the bedside table and baskets have to be moved a foot. Then came the working desk, supplanting the small bench by the windows. The table invited laptop cables and cell phone chargers, along with an army of papers, folders, boarding passes, keys, wallets, tote bags, cameras, and whatnot, to pile on it. And then mushrooming in the cabinet are small vials of face creams, lotions, and perfumes that block my bracelets and necklaces from full view.

Don't get me started on the bathroom. Well, there are now two towels hanging from the rack, but at least they are color-coordinated. But gosh, the sink counter! Lotions are invading the "dental care zone' (we are talking about a total space of roughly three square feet). And on the "shower zone", green bottles of shampoo and conditioner disturb the all-white color scheme of my body wash and shampoo dispensers.

My bookshelf, with its books carefully arranged according to size and colors and accessorized with travel souvenirs, has sprouted books that simply just don't belong there. They have elbowed their way into the space of the Vietnamese water puppet. Now my dry gourd form Laos is pressed between a frayed notebook and a damp map of the Skytrain. The horror!!!

Did I tell you already about the dirty clothes strewn on the floor? How can that happen when there's a hamper in full view?

I'm not saying that Lara Stone is a slob. In fact, he is very obsessive in doing the laundry and he also fixes the bed every morning. And oh, he cleans the bathroom, a task I can finally relegate to someone, thank God.

What I'm whining about is how my sense of order has been disturbed lately. I'm mourning how I lost the total control of my space. Fortunately, Lara Stone has positively responded, albeit slowly, to being trained at arranging bottles of moisturizers from the smallest to the largest, or that books of the same color stand together.

A Room Without a View

I've been living in a tiny guestroom in my office building for three years now (an anniversary post is on its way). Being on the top floor, I call it the "attic". Romantic, no? The space is rather cramped but I like it that way.

The best part of the room is not inside anyway, rather it's the beautiful view outside. Our building is not surrounded by really tall buildings, so I have a nice view of the neighborhood.

On my first day here, I was immediately struck by the temple roofs not far from my building, which I can see from my bathroom window. I can also see the Rama IX bridge from the wide windows running on the entire length of the bedroom. Even if I'm on my bed I can see the spire of the bridge and it's pretty much the first thing I see when I wake up.

For years now I've been enjoying my view. I especially love the sunsets. I have gazillions of photos of the sunset from my bedroom. Many times I'd sit on the rooftop and just watch the sunset, or relish the view of the bridge and temple roofs lighted up in nighttime. I have in fact spent many evenings on the rooftop with friends drinking some beer, smoking, or just enjoying the breeze... and of course the view.

Starting last year, things around the neighborhood started to change. The construction of a new building right on the temple grounds was started. Slowly, columns of steel bars crept higher and higher. Concrete soon followed. Cranes were erected and the buzz of a typical building construction can be heard late into the night.

At the government office just beside my building, they also demolished a row of small structures, leaving behind a dusty surface. Soon enough, the surface was flattened, deep holes were dug, and gigantic cranes sprouted overnight. The construction was started about a year ago, almost at the same time as the school building, and in both sites construction workers have been deep into their work since then.

Aside from the noise, which luckily I don't hear much of when I'm inside my bedroom, I'm truly, truly mourning the loss of the view that I used to enjoy. Currently, the school building construction has effectively obstructed the temple roofs and a large part of the bridge has been replaced by this ugly green tarp that covers the side of the construction site.

From the side of the government building, I'm also losing the view of the Pratunam area, which I used to see on clear days. Replacing it is a phalanx of despicable columns that continue to rise and rise as each day passes.

Currently, the construction is ongoing and I imagine it to last a few more months. Until then, I'm very sad to lose the view from my room inch by inch.

Cut!

Thirteen years ago, I entered university. Months leading to commencing my studies, I was deliberating with my dad on what course I should take. My original intention was to take up Psychology, but my score in the entrance exam was not high enough (I'm even surprised I passed the exam!). Left to a limited list of degrees, I was inclined to enroll in Film and Audiovisual Communication as my first option and Theater Arts as an alternative.

My parents regarded those courses as somewhat impractical, my dad's point of view mainly. So in his hopes of me joining law school eventually, he chose my course: Public Administration.

I was of course just raring to head to Manila for university, despite joining a college someone else imposed on me. I was crossing my fingers then that eventually my dad would have a change of heart somewhere midway in my studies and allow me to shift to Film.

I tried my best to immerse my self in film while at the university (I honestly couldn't care less for my major subjects). The Film Center had regular screenings of films from Japan, France, Germany, Israel, Italy, etc., that I didn't have access to in Surigao. By watching some of the best works coming from the different parts of the world, I realized how many other ways a story could be told through the language of film-making, a far departure from the formulas of Hollywood that I was more exposed to previously.

Most importantly, my eyes were opened to the amazing heritage that was Filipino movies. Of course I've heard of Brocka and Bernal before that, but I haven't actually seen any of their masterpieces.

The university was generous in showcasing their works, among other movies by brilliant Pinoy film-makers who produced some of the best works of Philippine cinema, particularly those highlighting the political  radicalism of the 70s and early 80s. That period was touted as the second golden age of Philippine cinema. 

I was struck by the gritty realism of the films of Lino Brocka, such as Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang, Insiang, Bayan Ko Kapit sa Patalim, and Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag. Marilou Diaz-Abaya's Karnal still remains as one of my most unforgettable Filipino films.

Among the long list of remarkable films that came out in the 80s however, the one that stood out the most for me is Oro, Plata, Mata by Peque Gallaga, a nearly three-hour masterpiece I have seen three times to date. (I had a discussion with Miss Lyka Bergen about Oro, Plata, Mata yesterday, thus, prompting this post.)

Some of the best moments of my university days were spent inside the darkness of the theater. It helped that my dormitory was right across the university's cinema. I even skipped classes sometimes just to catch classics, well, such as the sexually explicit Scorpio Nights, which caused quite a big stir in campus when it was shown (our university had immunity from film censorship).My friends and I attended various film festivals the university regularly organized, such as those featuring films from Japan, which entranced us consistently.

Aside from watching films, I scoured the university libraries to read about cinema, which in the end I found too complicated, especially if one gets into the complex world of film criticism. I certainly felt juvenile in my understanding of what films are and how to relate them to a wider social context. For a time, however, I was satisfied to just sit on the sidelines as a film aficionado, but still hoping to study film eventually.

Not that I had a good idea what career I would have if I took Film. Back then, I just fancied a future in directing a porn film the great Filipino film or perhaps writing scripts. But looking at it now, my inclination was really film criticism.  

On my second year of coasting through university life and of being enrolled in a degree I was not particularly fond of, I finally dared to ask my dad if I could shift to film, to which he grudgingly agreed (I don't know how I convinced him, honestly).

I immediately applied to the College of Mass Communication, a very convoluted process in such a typically miserable state university, for the next term in the Film and Audiovisual department. By some strange turn of luck, I missed the interview schedule, thus, effectively cutting my chance in film school. I did not try again the next term, feeling guilty that doing so would extend my time in the university to the disappointment of my parents.

So I trudged on to finish Public Administration and tried to understand public policy and government instead (however, perhaps as an act of rebellion I refused to go to law school after university, as my dad originally intended).

With a botched career in film (or so I think), I kept my interest in movies, but never actually getting inside it nor comprehending its theories and process. I pretty much remain as an outsider, a dilettante if you may.

Life Begins Here?

In a few weeks I'm making that big leap to the big three-oh. I know I look like I'm 22, sometimes even 19, but there's no denying that I'm inevitably a victim of the passing of time. Not that I'm particularly terrorized by age. In fact since in my early twenties I've been wishing I'm thirty-something instead.

I started working when I was 21 and at that time my colleagues were mostly in their early to mid 30s. Mingling with these people, they caught my fancy right away.

I was struck by their aura of confidence and savoire-faire, versus my self-consciousness for instance. Many of them had a good career experience so they were always decisive at work and could face all kinds of people with ease.

I also found out that people in their thirties are more financially stable while at the same time they are not caught up in materialism, unlike people in their twenties who must have the latest cell phone and such unnecessary whims while earning entry-level salaries.

As I got closer to my colleagues, I was endlessly captured by the stories of their lives. I was a rapt listener to their anecdotes. Some had gone through failed relationships but emerged from these experiences stronger. Some were doting parents to their kids and could think beyond their limited self-interests.

I don't know, they seem to just live much fuller lives and are not drawn to the impulses and recklessness of the young.

And always they shared to me some lessons in life (perhaps some of them had to learn it the hard way). One office-mate said our twenties are some of the most crucial years in our lives because that's when we make key decisions - e.g. getting married, having kids, taking a particular career path, etc. - that affect how the rest of our lives go.

Another colleague said we should enjoy our twenties because it's that time of our lives when we're most physically beautiful and desirable, and when we reach our thirties everything just starts to sag. (OMG, I should've listened! I used to take for granted - even hate - my metabolism. Sigh.)

 

But I think the most important lesson I learned is: to go through our 20s with mindfulness. I was told it's easy to live life with abandon, which is a good approach to life to a certain extent. At the same time, however, we should be aware of the consequences of our actions and that decisions should be guided by our values.

In fact, our twenties is a time when we supposedly find out who we are, what we believe in, our convictions. Figuring those out is one of the foundations of facing life with confidence, I was told.

Eventually, many of these people became some of my SUPER close friends, with whom I still keep in touch until now. In fact for quite some time many of my friends were at least ten years older than me. I surely look up to them. I don't know, but I always find them more insightful and sure-footed than people my age, and these are the qualities that I like to have as well that's why I gravitated towards them.

My experience with my friends in their 30s somehow influenced me to attach "maturity", "stability", and "self-confidence" to a specific age range. I must've overlooked the fact that not everyone younger than thirty is immature and the other way around.

Well, obviously I romanticized thirty-something-hood (and beyond).

So I'm stepping into my thirties. This is it, life supposedly begins here. I'm excited to reach this threshold after waiting for it for so many years. But I guess I have to find out if being in my 30s is as good as I thought it would be. I have a decade to reach for an answer.

Harsh Reminder

I just finished chatting with my friend who lives in Pattaya. He and I are not are particularly close, but we have kept in touch through the years. A couple of weeks back I learned he's moving back to his home country after living in Thailand for nearly three years now. He mentioned he does not have a particular reason for going home, it's just that he's looking for a sense of the familiar after having been abroad for around ten years (he used to live in Spain).

Through the years, I have many friends in Thailand who have since left. These are some of those instances when I'm reminded that my stay here in Thailand has an expiration date too. I dread thinking about the transitory nature of our lives here, but this is a reality I continue to confront.

I once remarked to a friend that I'd probably go insane if I leave BKK now, having sort of found a comfort zone here after about three years. I'm just not ready to go anywhere else. Bangkok is my home, at least for now. Well, especially now that there's more at stake for me in this city.

Must-read: Written on the Body

Tonight I finished reading Written on the Body (1992) by Jeanette Winterson. I've read one other Winterson book in the university called The Passion and I loved that book so much I read it twice. Our teacher who assigned us that book also recommended Written on the Body and I have long been curious about it until luckily I found the novel in some second-hand bookshop.

The first page of the book is already a thing of beauty, with lines as: "You said, 'I love you.' Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear?". Right there I knew I was in for a good book.

It is definitely a worthy read, mostly intriguing because the main character is nameless and is gender-less. He/she sleeps with both men and women, names of which the character mentions in many parts of the book it's sometimes hard to keep track who is whom.But at the center of his/her obsession is Louise, a married woman with whom the main character cheats (he/she is also dating someone at the same time).

I find the language beautifully languid and introspective. The character has a tendency to ramble, albeit beautifully, taking a fascination with random things against which to refer his/her romantic escapade.

The novel is about passion as much as loss, where all love affairs end. " 'You'll get over it...' It's the cliches that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes."

For some reason, these lines reminded me of my dad's passing away a few months ago. Since his death, I've had about four dreams in which images of him flash and ultimately I find my self crying hysterically in my dream. It always wakes me up and I could feel my heart beating very fast. I expect my self to be actually crying because in my dream I'm like seriously bawling, but I find the pillow dry.

There had been no day that I did not think of my dad. I'm sure it's pretty normal and I don't get particularly sad whenever I think of him. At this stage, I'm just proud of my dad and what he achieved and I would like to think he is fondly remembered by some people as well.

Nonetheless, I could not help feeling a sense of emptiness whenever I realize I will never see him again. I guess this is what Winterson means, that to lose someone creates a void in you no one and nothing can fill and it will remain a void forever. And I guess if that means remembering him with fondness and love, I have every reason to honor his memory everyday.

I'm still constantly concerned how my mom is coping though. I still cannot imagine what she is going through, and it does not help that there had been no opportunity for her and me to talk about what she's feeling. Luckily, she is coming to BKK for a visit, along with my sister and brother.

Just Saying

Damn, this blog has never been this lifeless, don't you agree? I have to apologize to my four readers (or is it already six?) for having been remiss in my blogging duties since December. Except for the weekend and travel reports, nothing substantial has come out from me lately, I have to accept.

Well, it's not that I'm anywhere close to "substantial" to begin with. But then, I used to have posts in which I put some thought into them, in Fairview Quezon City. What I mean is, my posts of late had been soooooo same-same, chai mai? Or my six readers are just too kind to tell me how boring I've become.

I really don't force my self to write, although ideally there should be a regularity to my entries, something I've tried to maintain before. Add to that some deliberate variety in the topics as well. I even have a list of topics to write about at the start of the week. But lately I've not had the chance to be reflective, hence, the sporadic (even absence of) emo posts.

I have to note here though that my readership has increased steadily, for some reason I cannot understand. When I checked my Sitemeter lately, I'm surprised I have surpassed the four thousand monthly mark, most remarkably in December when I only had like three posts or something. I hardly care how many people read me, as long as my close friends do (after all, I'm doing this mainly for my dear amigas). Still, it's reassuring that some people bother to check this blog and I hope I'm making your time worth while.

On the other hand, I do feel pressured sometimes with the idea of more people reading me. Thus, I cannot write just anything, especially the more sensitive matters (which could mean anything really). Like I cannot comment about my biases on politics and people for fear of offending others.

Of course because I do not enjoy anonymity I try to limit mentioning family stuff and the more intimate parts of my life. I do value my privacy very much, although perhaps readers think I spill too much sometimes. Far from it, dahling! Don't be mislead, puhlease. I reserve the more juicy topics to my self coz they're far too important to be shared with the masses. Gosh, as bloggers, do we really know who's reading us?

The good thing about blogging is you can hide as much as you can reveal. In fact there are times when I exaggerate some posts to cover up my emotional lows. Often, the more frantic I am with posting, the more lonely I really am. Sometimes, but not always, ok mai? Talk about using the blog as a diversion and, to a certain extent, a mask as well. So take this recent bout of blogging silence as an indication of the many things I'm hiding lately. Wink, wink.

Oh, next month is the anniversary of my blog. Just saying.

Quote du Jour: Aray

"Sanay akong nasasaktan pero di ako sanay manakit..."

-- Moi

Drama Queen Speaking (Redux)

Prologue: Remember Friendster? (Pause for some cringing.) Don't you think those were rather the dark ages of social networking? But damn, most of us had an account. I haven't opened mine in like a millennium and for some reason I was brave enough to pore through my account a few minutes ago.

After discovering how stupid the site still is (it has even managed to replicate the features of Facebook), I found my old Friendster blog, which I started in 2005 (and ran until 2007). The posts were rambling affairs about my trips and the movies I saw. Also, it has a good number of sensitive explorations of my thoughts and emotions, stuff that I hardly do these days in this current blog.

A few minutes ago, I stumbled into this one particular entry (published 11 November 2005 while I was still living in Davao), which I'm reposting below... just because. (I've tweaked the post a bit for the sake of style and clarity.)

***

I hope you still remember Thea and LJ the Maton. As mentioned in an entry a few days back, both of them were trying to outdo each other on who's "love life" is more "dramatic" (read: who has more issues that warrant cry-fests in the bathroom). After a couple of hours of histrionics, and perhaps getting bored of listening to themselves, their eyes darted towards me and they asked if I have some "drama" to share . I replied that my "love life" is boring, primarily because I have a non-existent "love life" in the first place.

I realized how I’ve snugged my self in a comfort zone in the past couple of years or so. After two relationships, I seem to have given up on cultivating intimate connections with anyone the way that most straight people (and a lot of gay ones, I noticed) make sense of their emotional dependence. Okay, that last statement was not for all cases and you can consider yours as the exception (the bayot rolls his eyes).

For the past couple of years, I’ve instead adopted the path of "re-virginhood". This has been one of the longest dry spells in my life, with intermittent encounters happening just within the past month. But for about nine months before that, El Nino ravaged like a merciless plague. I almost forgot what IT felt like (now why am I suddenly prudish?). It’s not only sex (there it goes!) I’m talking about though.

I made the choice to stay single because when it comes to relationships I’m not sure if I can handle any complication in my life right now. Maybe it is indeed the comfort zone I'm currently in, one that I cannot bear leaving. As such, I’m staying away from the emotional snags present in every relationship - things not deserving any of my energy.

On the other hand, I've tried thinking of the bright side of being with someone, especially the bliss of a blossoming relationship. I asked my self why I'm allowing such opportunities to pass me by just because I couldn't be bothered with dealing with normal relationship issues.

Someone very honest told me that maybe I’m not the marrying kind. Ay pa-girl. But yes, I'm convinced I may not be a relationship person. Or to be specific, I'm not up for the "drama" in relationships. I remember what a roller coaster ride my two previous relationships were. I don’t want to go through that kind of hell again. Perhaps, I just couldn’t accept that relationships in most cases is one damn roller coaster ride. And damn, how those rides crashed.

Sometimes I wish I could just be a cold-hearted bitch who could hurt one person after another and not look back. I also wish that I could be a cold-hearted bitch who would not mind being trampled on by others. But then that bitch is not me. So I simply choose to avoid situations wherein I could potentially hurt people or let others hurt me.

Is that an appropriate defense mechanism? Maybe it works for now, but in the long-run what could its implications be?

I remember how I admired (and definitely envied) that gay couple I saw last week with Sarah. I’ve also seen so many other gay couples who seem very happy, whose relationships look like it was one ride on endless calm seas. Sometimes I wish I would reach that state with someone as well, even if for sure they have their issues as well.

The pessimist side of me would always jolt me from these stupid wanderings of the mind though. Thus it brings up another question: if the right person comes along, would I always have these walls I have conveniently surrounded my self with, thus losing the possibility of ever loving someone again?

Anyway, I guess I have answer for that. Some people love, some people don’t. Maybe I am just part of the latter.

Now Thea and LJ, if that is not drama, I don’t know how to call it.

***

Epilogue: Damn, such a cynic I was five years ago, chai mai? Does that mean my views have changed? Let's put it this way... I've considerably mellowed down from that absolute ice queen persona above. What did I know, I was only 25 years old and sorely inexperienced. Since then I've gained insights into how most relationships actually work.

For one, I don't think anymore that people in relationships are just trying to cope with their emotional dependence. Relationships are in fact one of the ways of nurturing another person, to think beyond one's vanity and actually commit to care for someone else.

Which brings me to a very insightful statement my friend said over a glass of Mai Tai last night... that loving an individual (particularly in the context of a romantic relationship) is just an initial step for you in loving humanity.

Meanwhile, in the last five years, it dawned on me that to love and to be in a relationship is an act of courage. Somehow you just cross your fingers that it fucking works or at least you're prepared to get hurt if it doesn't. After all, it is said that if it's not painful then it's not love, bitch.

The days drag

In my house right now where my dad's wake is. Day 6 of 9. Hay, haggardity ever as we speak. This wake is driving me insane but I'd stop right here coz I don't want to whine.

I'm relieved that my mom is generally OK, or at least that's how she it seems for now. It helps that she can talk about her grief to the endless stream of people coming in and out of the house. However, three days ago, I was sitting beside her in a sofa and she attempted to take a quick nap. Within a minute, she whispered to me that every time she closes her eyes she always recalls how my dad died on the hospital bed.

On another topic, apparently her regular sleep pattern lately (way before my dad died) is that she wakes up at 2:30 am every single time. I think it's common among people her age, no? And so when she wakes up she also finds my dad awake beside her (again, it's an old people thing I assume). So with both of them unable to go back to sleep they have these long talks instead while lying on the bed or sometimes they watch TV together. Yesterday, she told me that in the coming days, without daddy beside her, she would not know what to do when she wakes up early in the morning.

These are two of the things I have to find a way to handle somehow. My sister and brother are going back to Manila and Cebu after the funeral. I would be alone with my mom. I have assumed it to be my responsibility to help her cope with the mourning and I really wish I have a better idea how to do that.

Oh, another thing. A day after my dad died, my mom found a small notebook on my dad's medicine tray. When my mom checked its contents, she found an undated list my dad made (in his squiggly penmanship after his stroke) of his so-called accomplishments and other basic stuff about his life. He mentioned his birth-date, his parents, where he finished school, the date of him passing the BAR and things he considered were the milestones of his life. He also noted his wedding day, my mom's name, and our names (his kids), our degrees, etc. I don't know how to make sense of this list really.

On the next pages, he titled a list "In case of my death". There are about ten items or so. The ones I can remember right now is that he wants us to wear white on his funeral; that his favorite love songs be played the entire time of his wake; and that eulogies be made "reasonably brief". It surprised us of course to find this notebook but I have yet to read it again coz it only makes me cry (even now just thinking about it).

Just in case you want to know

The first thing I noticed when I woke up at 5:30 yesterday morning was that the light on the Rama VIII bridge, which I can see from my window, was switched off. As it was still dark outside, it should be lighted up. For some strange reason, I said to my self that something must have happened, not pinpointing specifically what that "something" was.

At 6 a.m. I went down to the first floor to prepare my usual breakfast of muesli and soy milk, which I ate while watching the news on TV. And then I brought the newspapers to my bedroom at around 7 a.m., read a bit, and eventually dozed off. Work is still an hour and a half away.

At 8:30 a.m. I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I picked it up, pretty much half asleep. The screen said "private number". My sister's voice was on the other side of the line. She was sobbing.

"Daddy's gone."

"What?"

"Daddy's gone."

I remember my hands shaking and telling my sister to calm down. I said goodbye and called my mom. She was crying and I could not understand much of what she said. I just remember her saying over and over again that my dad has left us. The best I could tell her at that time was that she calm down and I promised her that I'd call later.

The previous evening, my sister messaged me that my dad had a heart attack. When I talked to my mom, she said that they were in the hospital and that my dad is generally OK but is just a bit weak. This did not worry me much and since he was already sleeping I planned to check on him the following day.

After talking on the phone with my mom yesterday morning, the instinctively I make a list in my head of the things I felt I needed to do right away.

Buy air tickets. (How long do I need to be away?) Wash clothes. (The water pump is broken, so I have to bring my clothes to the laundry shop.) Ask permission from my boss that I will go home. (For how many days?) Get a haircut. Cancel trip to Bali and Java. (Not that I will get a refund, but someone else might need to use my seat in the plane.) Finish the project proposal I was working on. What book shall I bring along? Do I need to bring leather shoes?

The list was quite random, it hardly was coherent, but I had just this compulsion to immediately organize things.

When I told my boss about the death of my father he instantly said that the office will pay for my air tickets. Damn, I could not be more lucky considering how expensive the tickets are at this time of the year. For that I could not be more thankful to my office.

Having the ticket cost covered I had to decide how long I was planning to be away. I thought a couple of weeks would be enough but when I talked to my sister she said I better stay for Christmas and New Year, assuming that my mom would want that. It made sense, after all the holiday mood might in fact make her much lonelier and that the best I could do is be there for her. I opted to stay until after the New Year.

Damn, these air tickets are expensive!

By eleven o'clock I've ran out of things to do. Until then I haven't really given much thought to the death of my dad. I felt there were more immediate things to do and that I can deal with mourning for him later when I'm in Surigao.

Strangely, I had the urge to tell my friends. I SMSed first my BKK friends and then I YMed the Czarina of Penang, who then told some of our blogger friends. The BKK friends called to check on me and soon enough messages from the blogger amigas came in one by one.

Until yesterday, I did not have a very clear idea of how to comfort people who just lost their loved ones. When I received my friends' messages of condolences though I honestly felt less and less lonely.

I wasn't particularly sad but looking at it now I was just completely lonely, that someone left me on my own. I remember asking my self while staring at my computer screen: where is everyone? I don't know what I meant with that question, I was simply yearning for people to acknowledge my loss.

So I wrote that blog post about the death of my father. I suppose I wanted to lessen the desolation I felt by sharing my mourning. I haven't had this kind of feeling before and to tell people about my grief was almost instinctive.

As the day progressed I felt that I needed to inform more of my friends about the death of my father. Not that they can do anything about it, but I figured maybe they should just know. Again, this feeling is really foreign to me, that sense of urgency that my closest friends acknowledge my loss. I swear it's strange.

I initially planned to inform my friends in Davao and Surigao. As I checked my list of people to inform, I kept on adding one name after another. I started with just four names but ended up sending the email to about two dozen people: former colleagues, classmates, etc.

And the email was supposedly just a short notice, instead I just kept on writing, adding nonsensical details about my dad's condition, my plans of going home, and so on. When I reviewed what I wrote it dawned on me that I must've over-done it. I seriously asked my self: why do they need to know all these?

Until now I have yet to find an answer to that question. It just felt good writing what I said and realizing that these people know what I'm going through. Perhaps, I needed to validate my feelings while I was utterly incapable to describe them. Strange. Really strange.

The entire afternoon I had this really, really strong urge to write, write, write. I had many topics floating in my head. Things such as how my father told us bedtime stories, or how he and my mom met, or how he performed magic tricks when we were kids, or about his humor, or how he loved to dance with my mom.

I pulled my self away from my desk instead, scared of the flood of emotions that would engulf me if I wrote about my dad.

In the bus to meet my friends in Silom, I was wishing that I had something to write on while the bus is stuck in traffic. The urge to write was just as strong, it does not really make sense to me. And it's not just writing my thoughts and emotions but also to put it out for others to read. Really strange, no? But I always asked my self: who really needs to know what you think and how you feel? And so I eventually tried to resist the temptation to write.

Until a few minutes ago I have been frantically ticking off the things on my list. I had a haircut and picked up my laundry. I sent some emails to friends. Read blogs. Called my mom. Updated my albums on Facebook.

I finally ran out of excuses not to sit down on my desk and write, hence, this post. Just in case you want to know.

Daddy

My dad turned 70 this year.

In December 29, he and my mom are celebrating their 32 years of marriage.

He worked as a lawyer for more than a dozen years in our little city.

Five years ago, he had a stroke and had been partially paralyzed since then.

My dad was perhaps the most influential person in my life.

He taught me humility and he always instilled in us that we should respect everyone. Most importantly, I learned the lesson of courage from him. He's always the one inspiring us to "just go for it", to be brave to face new things and stand on our own two feet.

The last time I saw my father was June this year.

Today, 26 November 2009, my dad passed away.

I love you, Daddy. I always will.

Constipated

Around a week from now I'm going to take my Big Trip of 2009 (talagang capital letters, di ba?), one which I initially planned to do earlier this year. I'm trying to have at least one Big Trip annually, although ideally there should be at least two but since I'm not a bloody heiress nor the child of Thaksin, I can only afford one this year.

Anyway, the point of the Big Trip concept is to travel alone for about a couple of weeks. It has served as my "retreat" in previous occasions, and this time I think I'm doing it just at the right time.

For the past month or so, I've been going through some sort of emotional upheaval, although it's not anything grand or earth-shaking.

I don't know what the impetus was, but simply, I'm easily irritated of people in general. I'm annoyed of people's arrogance, of their selfishness, of their conceit. I'm outraged at how people can talk endlessly about their sorry assess. If only they would seriously listen to themselves and realize how annoying they are.

I thought it was going to be one of those fleeting moods brought about by hormonal imbalance (pregnancy or menopause anyone?). But the fractiousness has persisted for about a couple of months now.

Well, I don't have the audacity either to tell people to just shut the fuck up.

If I were better at articulating my feelings it'd be easier for me to just describe my mood lately or where it comes from. I'm so emotionally constipated I'm honestly annoyed at my self as well.

Perhaps, I'm annoyed at people because I don't feel like I was given the chance to talk about my feelings for a change.

The thing is, I do not like to explain my self. I've always thought I'd bore people whenever I do. Also, I've long thought that talking about my feelings would only make me appear vulnerable to other people. It's better to just wear a mask and divert attention from my self.

On the one hand, I rarely meet people who are genuinely interested in how I feel. I've always been afraid that nobody really understands me, even my closest friends, I'm sad to say.

On the other hand, if I don't express my self in the first place, absolutely no one would have an idea of my real emotions. So there, why I'm whining about not being understood at all?

Hmmm... so there, it's kinda weird (and I'm not sure if I'm making sense).

So where does this lead me? Perhaps because of a bit of pent-up emotions, I've withdrawn from people lately. Although they deserve some explanation at least, I've never really told my friends why; I just tell them I choose to be alone. Thankfully, my closest friends understand this and not until in this post did I confess.

(Honestly, I don't know why I'm writing this, pero punyeta pagbigyan nyo na ako, mga bading. Tse!)

Wow, writing about this actually helped. I have a good number of realizations from just reading what I wrote above. Cute!


***

So there, I deserve a break. I need to get away from all the noise I've sparked in my head. Which brings us to this Big Trip to set things in order, to sift through my thoughts, and hopefully to pacify my mind.

I've wanted to visit this place since I was a teenager and it's finally coming true. What did I tell you about dreams? Choz!!!

I began planning the trip late last month, a process that brought me a certain level of stress as well (but it's a fun kind of stress). You know me, I go frantic in planning my trips. I LOOOOVE planning. Buwahahaha. Fuck spontaneity. I prefer traveling efficiently.

For the past few weeks I've been poring the internet for travel trips and so on. Aside from the usual travel websites, I stumbled into many travel blogs, which enormously helped me in planning my trip. It's amazing how many people bother sharing travel tips, which I've always found way too tedious (i.e. what to see, getting there, where to eat/stay, etc.).

I feel like I'm leeching from other people's experiences though without giving back much to the community of travelers like my self. Therefore, I'm planning to write little travel guides of my future trips, starting with the one I'm taking in December.

I did not really intend to come up with a separate blog for that coz I only have about four trips a year. Instead, I'd incorporate my mini travel guides in this blog, and the posts shall be separate from the travel impressions and usual travel churvaloo and campiness I write here. This way, I'm hoping to return the favor to the "community" (whatever that means) who would one way or another stumble into my blog.

Fixated

I've always been proud of being freaking normal, like I'm thisclose to boring. I mean, I would like to believe I'm not manic-depressive, schizophrenic, or antisocial.

Perhaps I have bouts of the disorders I mentioned, like you know, one second I'd feel like I'm Jacqueline Jablonski and the next second I'm Tao Okamoto (that's my version of bi-polarity).

OK, OK, I have my delusions, but tell me, who is not delusional these days, aber?

One time my colleague recommended this quiz on Facebook to test if I have some sort of a psychological disorder. And gosh, I said if it is on Facebook it must be a valid uber scientific test! So off I took the quiz, which surprisingly had about thirty items instead of the usual five questions. I thought, hmmmm, this is more scientific than I initially thought.

Just as I expected, I fell under the boringly normal category, somewhere in the middle of some freaking spectrum... EXCEPT that I have a tendency to be obsessive-compulsive.

Gasp! Finally, I have a claim to some disorder after all! How exciting is that? I would've wanted something more romantic, like I don't know, depression or schizophrenia, which would lead me to do grand works of art or saintly deeds (hello, Joan of Arc?).

Anyway, I reckoned, obsessive-compulsive is not that bad. I can live with that. So I was prompted to do a mayjay self-reflection and soul-searching to see if indeed I have patterns of OCD.

I was doing this grand self-examination while brushing my teeth and intently looking at the timer to make sure I dedicate at least thirty seconds brushing the top of my left-side lower molars before I proceed to the right-side upper molars and so on.

Tanaaaah, epiphany galore!

I checked my toothbrush holder and I saw three toothbrushes that I use everyday. The softest toothbrush in the morning, the mid-soft toothbrush after lunch, and the hard bristles for the evening.

And then I continued further on my self-examination of my supposed OCD while I carefully floss my teeth, making sure I reached the tiniest gaps in my teeth, which was followed by cleaning my tongue with these tongue cleaner thingies, and eventually finishing the whole oral ceremony with exactly fifteen seconds of gargling mouthwash to make sure I have a totally clean mouth.

Wait... I do have to run my tongue around my teeth hoping I did not miss some bits, otherwise I have to brush my teeth even more.

This whole mouth-cleaning routine consumes about twenty minutes each night that God makes. Does that qualify for OCD?

OK, OK, I am quite concerned about having order in my immediate surroundings.

Like, in my bathroom, I make sure that all the bottles of shampoo, body wash, and facial wash have to be white. I do not base the choice of shampoo for instance on whether it gives me bouncy or shiny hair. Fuck that. I just need the freaking bottle to be white to match with the body wash.

And the books on my shelves. Oh my god, where do I start? I arrange them according to size. Nothing annoys me more than a book protruding from among its shelf-mates, in which case, I have to transfer it beside a book of its size. I don't care if the books are not arranged alphabetically or by topic, I just want them neatly standing according to height.

The thing is, I'm not exactly crazy about cleanliness. Like I don't mind dust so much (like I haven't swept my floor since Thaksin was ousted from power) as long as things look neat and in order. My mind could not just be put to rest if things are out of place.

However, the obsession for order does not cut across everything. Like my closet is one big mess (God bless my closet). It's just that I demand more from my books, CDs, and bathroom stuff.

Oh, I'm also constantly crazy about the flat iron. I always think that I forgot to unplug it.

Several times I'd already be at the bus stop and I'd run back to my building, scared out of my wits that my floor is in flames just because I did not unplug the flat iron (only to find out that I did, as always). Or I'd be inside the shower and from out of nowhere I'd panic at the thought that I left the flat iron on so I'd rush outside with just bubbles covering my nipples.

One last thing, I have this obsession with pencils, pens, and notebooks. I only use my Muji pen for my Muji notebook, which I bring with me all the time. I have a notebook and a corresponding pencil beside my bed just in case I need to list something (or someone's name... hihihihihi).

Meanwhile, I love pencils. Let me say that again... I LURV PENCILS. I steal pencils from hotels where I attend meetings... just because. I don't use them though coz I have specific requirements for the ones I use.

I swear by Staedtler 2H for the notepad beside my PC. Nothing else writes on that notepad, puhlease. And then I use a Staedtler 2B for my "work notebook" coz it writes in heavy black that matches my eyes.

Oh, nothing frustrates me more than un-sharpened pencils, BTW. Show me an un-sharpened pencil and I'd die in two seconds flat. At least now you know how to kill me.

Ahhhmazing

Ooops, I nearly forgot. Gosh, how can I?

Girls, today I celebrate my second year here in Thailand. I know, I couldn't believe it my self.

I don't want to go on and on how much I truly love my life here and how the country and its people have influenced and inspired me in countless ways.

In the end, I only have a few words to say...

khop khun maak krap!!!

Mai Pen Rai

On the occasion of marking my second year here in BangCock I asked my self lately if the city changed me at all. In particular, I wondered if I've adopted any of the habits of the people, which I doubted coz I practically have no Thai close friends. (I know that's an ignominy but I've not stopped trying.)

With a little more introspection, however, I realized how my opinions on things have mellowed down, thanks to the Thais. Let me explain.

Many times when I ask Thais about their opinions on things (pretty much EVERY thing) they often tend to just say "It's OK". Full stop. Nothing too elaborate. I've always wondered if they are just being polite by not expressing very strong opinions about a subject or if they just don't care.

On the contrary, most of the Thais I know are just as concerned about things as everybody else, although it's quite true that frankness is not something I expect from them all the time.

More importantly, I GUESS because of Buddhism's immense influence on the culture, Thais might espouse a less judgmental stance on most things.

On the other hand, I grew up in a culture that puts a strong value on criticism. Filipinos always have something to say about EVERY thing. Pinoys generally like to analyze and take a stand and a person's relevance and intelligence is rooted on what he can dis.

In many cases, we especially like to disagree, which is exactly not "bad" because it gives a certain dynamism to discussions and it's good exercise of our analytical skills. However, too much of it can be toxic, especially if we think we are always right and everybody else is wrong. I noticed that it has become too prevalent for Pinoys to disagree just for the sake of disagreeing.

I used to be vociferous in defending my opinions as well. In fact, just like any regular Pinoy, I'd always have an instant opinion about ALL things. My statements tend to start with... "I like...", I don't like...", "I hate...", "You're wrong...", ""You're right...", "He's dumb...", "They should've...", etc.

I must've sounded very arrogant when I brought that attitude in Thailand. I'm not sure if I did really, I was totally unaware of such things then.

Since coming here though I've been influenced by the Thai's approach of non-judgment, if I may call it as such. I tend to see things just as they are and there's hardly any judgment reflex of either liking or approving, much less labeling things as bad or good.

At first I was concerned that I'm less analytical than I used to be. Does that make me less smart? Or is it just pure laziness on my part? Is it being superficial? At the end of the day, I realized it's fine not to have an opinion all the time. Yeah, on certain cases I can still have very strong opinions although I generally keep them to my self. Who cares what I have to say anyway?

Still increasingly, I'm hearing my self quipping "OK" more and more rather than "I like/don't like..." That approach has considerably lessened the noise in my head and I feel more attuned to that.

I don't know if this leads to a level of apathy. I think it is, especially if for instance I have less political opinions. Or that my sense of morals are more relativistic than many people I know. I don't even deem my opinion as more valid than others. Again, the effect is less mental pandemonium.

Instead of judging, I'm more inclined to put more effort in understanding things, people especially. Rather than labeling them as disagreeable/agreeable, I'm more curious how and why people think or behave a certain way.

Of course my more mellow take on things cannot be applied in all cases. I'm a natural, condescending bitch after all.

Perhaps I deliberately developed my non-judgmental approach and the attitude is less of something that just happened on its own. Perhaps part of it is the influence I get from my current environment. I'm not exactly sure, but somewhere along the way, I must've started on developing the habit of not having an opinion, to be less critical, to just accept things as they are, to just say "it's OK".

Is it necessarily a good direction to take? I'm not sure. It does not really matter.

(Again, the pictures do not have anything to do with this post. Love the curves of those bodies though, chai mai?)

Ang Kaganapan Sa NAIA... Isang Pagbubunyag

Miss Aruba: teka, i read ur post. anong ginawa sa iyo ng immigration people?
kawadjan: pinagpasa-pasahan ako ng mga taga immigration. they gang raped my puri! mga hayop sila... hayuuuuuuupppp... huhuhuhu
Miss Aruba: hay, i hope nag condom sila ha
kawadjan: kase nga ayokong kumuha nung sa POEA chervalu. so derecho lang ako sa immigration. i thought kase kung sa inter-govt org ka eh di na kailangan ng POEA, like i only need to pay the travel tax.
Miss Aruba: honey, di rin ako dumadaan sa POEA chorva. i always tell them, I DONT LIKE POEA
kawadjan: so confused ang immigration when i told them i work for an IGO. hinahanapan pa ako ng kung anek anek na ID. wala kaming ID, di namin cultura ang mag ID coz we trust the people in the office. so pina-go pa ako sa OWWA, na may office sa labas ng airport.
Miss Aruba: josme
kawadjan: tapos pagpunta doon yung humarap sa akin eh same questions na naman. i told them i have an official/diplomatic visa in thailand, i dont need OWWA. i can take care of my own WELFARE.
Miss Aruba: u have a thai visa! anong problema nila!
Miss Aruba: my gawd, sana tinalakan mo sila. i hope tinalakan mo sila!
Miss Aruba: (i hope naka couture ka ha while all these things were happening)
kawadjan: kawadjan: i was wearing a jersey shirt. choz. di na, nagtimpi na lang ako.
Miss Aruba: ok, fine, keri na ang fashion mo that day
kawadjan: tapos tumawag pa sa kanyang supervisor ang tao sa OWWA. mega deliberate sila sa aking case. as in clueless si manong na nasa front desk.
kawadjan: habang may isang empleyado having lunch doon sa desk. he is eating tinolang isda na sinabao nya sa rice. ang langsa!!! like, you should not eat in front of clients, di ba? we know that. ditto for the airport in surigao, may kumakain ng piniritong isda sa may x-ray machine.
kawadjan: tapos in the end sabi ng tao sa OWWA eh i just need to pay the travel tax and no need to apply for OFW ID.
Miss Aruba: abosulutely!
kawadjan: tapos di ko mahanap-hanap ang punyetang desk where i pay the travel tax. kase naman nilagay sa likod.
Miss Aruba: hehe yes nasa likod sila. para silang factory dun. assembly line.
kawadjan: imagine, when i paid the travel tax, apat na tao ang kailangang mag process ng payment ko. isa ang tatanggap ng passport at gagawa ng resibo. isa ang mag staple ng resibo. tapos lipat ka na naman ng table para isulat ng ang receipt number mo, tapos may ibang tatanggap ng pera mo. as in apat na tao.
Miss Aruba: e kasi, grabe ang labour surplus natin. kaya yan, college graduate na may MA on public ad ang tiga stapler.
kawadjan: tapos ang kapal ng mga tao sa NAIA ha, they ask you to pay P750 airport tax eh kala mo naman kung anong 5-star hotel ang airport nila. kahit nga banyo di nila eh ang dumi.
kawadjan: and could you imagine, dito na lang yata sa pinas ang nagpapatanggal ng sapatos.
Miss Aruba: hmm sa s US din, they do that.
kawadjan: eh ang US may serious threat of terrorism, tayo wala.
kawadjan: nakakainis pa sa airport, ang daming guard, ang daming empleyado na may ID, tapos wala namang ginagawa. nakakalat lang sila. sa may pinto ng CR eh parang may guard pa.
Miss Aruba: walang urbanidad ang airport natin
kawadjan: sinabi mo
kawadjan: tapos pagpasok mo lang ng wing to the gates eh may magche-check pa ng boarding pass mo! ano ba yan.
Miss Aruba: ang OA na di ba?
kawadjan: tapos pagpasok mo pa talaga ng gate mismo eh may nagche-check na naman ng boarding pass using paper and pen! at tatlong tao ito ha! may taga tanggap ng boarding pass na bibilugan ang boarding pass mo. mega encircle sya ng mga numbers sa boarding pass.
kawadjan: tapos yung isa she will write your seat number sa isang matrix at guguhitan nya ng highlighter ang matrix. at yung isa eh taga-turo kung saan ang gate, eh nasa gate ka nga mismo.
kawadjan: gosh, nahilo ako ha. i swear, feeling ko nasa divisoria ako. ang daming nagkalat na empleyado doing the most mundane things on earth.
Miss Aruba: clap clap clap clap
Miss Aruba: para syang isang malaking SM store
kawadjan: i could only imagine what the foreigners would think of our airport.
kawadjan: anyway, mas kawawa ang mga pinoy kase ang susungit daw minsan ng mga taga immigration, although i noticed, and in fairness, mababait naman sila, incompetent nga lang.
kawadjan: ay don't get me started on the dept store sa atin. parang sa landmark. may nagsusulat ng order mo na ilalagay nila sa invoice. tapos ipapasa ka nila sa cashier who will scribble all these things sa invoice tapos she stamps it with these things and runs them through a small printer na ewan.
kawadjan: ang daming seremonyas!!!! di ko makuha. i wonder what happened to the computers. tapos may taga-balot pa talaga!!! as in tatlo sila sa kahera. di ko makuha baket
Miss Aruba: kasi nga, may surplus ng labor. lahat pwedeng magka trabaho
kawadjan: sabagay nga no?
kawadjan: oh well, sorry ha nagtalak ako. ma-post ko nga to sa blog ko.
kawadjan: hmp

Ang Kahon

I'm supposedly on holiday but still I woke up at 7:30 am today. Since I arrived home I've been sharing a bed my dad who, I discovered, snores like crazy together with his regular trips to the bathroom in the middle of the evening.

At four in the morning, I hear the pan de sal (some type of bread usually eaten at breakfast) seller going around the village hollering at the top his voice.

At five, tricycles start plying the streets and we all know how annoying they sound.

At six, some sanctimonious radio announcer, who the household listens to every freaking day that God makes, comments about the ludicrous Senate hearing on the latest sex-video scandal.

At seven, the neighbor, armed with a Magic Sing microphone, wails to some stupid Bon Jovi song in front of his TV for the whole village to hear.

All these and a cacophony of other annoying noise leaves me no choice but to drag my self out of the bed while holding back my self from shoving the Magic Sing down my obese neighbor's throat. Ugh.

Good morning, bitches! Nothing makes a perfect morning than good old bitching, chai mai?

That said, let's go to more inane stuff.

As a ritual, one of the first things I did when I arrived home was unearth my box. THE box contains some memorabilia of the days when I had a body mass index of 15, and we all know how long ago that has been.

I discovered gazillions of letters from friends in high school (Nikki, haler!!!!). I hang out with these friends at school everyday but we exchanged letters nonetheless on things such as thank-you-for-being-the-best-friend-in-the-world. I swear I find them cute, I truly do.

And then there are also loads of letters from my girl "pen-pals" from all over the world, i.e. Finland, Brazil, Sri Lanka, and even Thailand. Together with my high school friends, we once went crazy collecting pen-pals. Which reminds me, I might check the names of these pen-pals on Facebook.

Oh, back to the other contents of the box.

I also unearthed dozens and dozens of student papers from my university days. Hardly anyone owned a computer then so we wrote our drafts in long hand on yellow pads (after which we went to the computer shop to type and print them. History lesson, anyone?).

There are also a few graded papers and blue books. The latter reminds of how poorly I did in some of my courses. I disliked my major subjects like law, project management, and public finance. I often find my self inside the university cinema the night before long exams, which explains why I barely passed my major subjects. On the other hand, I worked hard on minor subjects that were more interesting for me, e.g. literature, sociology, philosophy, and international relations.

The box also contained many of my artworks (naks!) when I dabbled into watercolor while in the university. I also found my stamp and money collection still in good condition. Oh, I still even saved my medals from school. Ewwwww.

There were likewise a few notebooks and scraps of paper of some amateurish poems I wrote (goodness, please remind me to burn them ASAP).

But the things that I refuse to burn are my journals, no matter how embarrassing their contents actually are. There quite a good number of them journals, one is as far back as 1994. I've read a few entries from the various journals and I could not believe I bothered to write about such inanities as "it rained today". Now I realize how I became the queen of writing inanities.

Those journals are worth closer inspection though, mainly to find out how I think then. I wonder if I changed that much. In my 1996 journal for instance, I remember writing a lot about my confusion on my sexuality in between comments about the latest storm that hit Surigao. There are also a few entries about how I questioned religion interspersed with notes about the latest pregnancy in high school.

Gosh, major processing itech!

I'm bringing the old journals back to BKK.

Meanwhile, I decided to throw away a few of the box's contents, such as school notebooks covered in purple art paper and empty purple pens (I was THAT gay).

So I made more space in the box, hopefully to fill it with a few more stuff as I go along.