Airborne/Earthbound

Leaves fall... do you blame the wind or the tree that let it go?

Just one of the questions burning in my head right now. I have not been the happiest camper lately. There is this deluge of disillusion and disinterest that just burst forth, like flood water breaking out of a dam. It’s unstoppable and in no time I was drenched and carried away.

A friend asked: What happened? I said: Nothing. Just a series of unfortunate events. Which is more cruel because you don’t know which episode to digest.

I have never been good at throwing caution to the winds. Calculated risks and over-analysis are my cups of tea. But when logic eludes me and emotions become my pilot, I roll the dice. Last week, in a light bulb moment, I decided that whatever will be the Billboard #1 song will make or break an upcoming decision. It’s my version of asking the universe for a sign.

I know most people will just do the head-or-tail toss. But I’d like to be more creative and a little more personal. Going back to the head-or-tail toss, I read somewhere that as soon as you flip the coin there is that moment while the coin is in mid-air that you wish that it will go a certain way. Then that is the decision that you want for yourself. No flip of the coin can dictate that.

Ok, so I was torn. But while waiting for the Billboard charts to refresh last Friday, I realized I was secretly wishing that it will be a new #1 song. Somehow deep inside, I know this is the decision that will make me happy.

To cut the story short, last Friday the #1 song was Fly Like A G6 (Far East Movement).

There is no clearer sign than this.

I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe most of them we will never know. Maybe we don’t have the power to choose the “given” but we can still chose where we go from there.

Yes, I miss the perks...



***

I'm looking to the sky to save me,
Looking for a sign of light,
Looking for something to help me burn out bright.

So Long, Tubthumper!

It is way too easy to write a blog with such a heavy heart.

The past few months has been an apocalypse of sorts. I said goodbye to a lot of people. Not eternal goodbyes, but the seen-you-around kind of goodbyes. Not as painful but still it makes you take stock of things. As usual, I forced myself to be nonchalant about it and tried to grin and bear it. But denial can only go so far. Because last Friday was the straw that broke the camel’s already weary back.

Last night, we celebrated (bemoaned would have been the better word) the estrangement of a dear friend and partner in crime. A moment of truth that feels like a weird sequence in a bad dream. Also a communion between good friends who knows that what they have is beyond the confines of their current snow globe.



A mentor once told me to be partial to those who have gone through a lot in life; they will be my best allies. He told me to look for “shells” – people who can turn inner suffering into pearls. It’s an advice I took to heart. Come to think of it, my inner circle of true friends share a common thread of tragedy and the scars of a troubled past. I’ve become increasingly fond of people who managed to rise above whatever curveball Life throws at them.

So no surprise that we got along rather easily. On our first encounter, he immediately played the going-is-tough card, thus earning my early admiration. We are both overprotective Kuyas to hard heads who think they know what’s best for them. We went through parallel domestic difficulties and carry crosses that are not ours to bear. Not that we are complaining. It’s something we have come to terms with; victims of chance and circumstance that we are.

A lot has happened in the almost four years that he was with us. And he was always the de rigueur constant (especially during birthdays...how can we do 10 shots without you?). But now things are never the same again. Goodness gracious. I realize that with him gone, I only have one remaining male buddy. And yes, we do have a situation here. It’s a sinking and disheartening feeling, to be a solitary struggling Y in an overbearing pool of Xs.

Much has been said and there are a thousand things we will miss about him. Personally, I’ll miss having a default roommate who has everything you need stowed in his luggage. I’ll miss having a fellow metro-S and OC to boot. Oh, did I mention the sarcasm that can rival mine? I’ll miss his brand of bickering and lashing back (especially at P); so unassumingly yet effectively sarcastic.

I’ll remember him every time I wear this one polo that he also has. Now I don’t have to mentally recall if I saw him wearing his lately, for fear of us looking like identical twins. I’ll think of him every time I discover a cool new song, as we have this friendly game on who knows the latest RX wannabe. I’ll miss comparing movie notes with him; I remember he forced me to watch 100 Days Of Summer and I like it so much that I have watched it countless times.

I’ll miss having someone who cracks-up at my highbrow jokes and wade through my cryptic verses to comprehend the hidden meaning behind the words (elephants in the room be damned). Only a person of a similar wavelength can do that. And he has his own way of being enigmatic as well (but he cannot fool me with his Bench-themed tweet). I’ll miss having someone who has enough good nature to respect personal space and personal decisions. Someone who can make fun of you without bruising your ego.

He has a goldmine of patience and understanding. During the time when I was dealing with a mighty wind that almost burned my candle down, his silence and indifference became a much-needed comfort. In people like him I found the strength to shake it off.

In these times when sincerity is a foreign word, I’ll pine for the one who never added agenda to his dictionary. In this day and age where douche bags are placed on pedestals and where good guys become punchlines, I’ll miss the rebel with uncompromising values. I’ll miss having a fellow Ted Mosby in a mosh pit full of Barney Stinsons.

In a world where being yourself is simply not good enough, I’ll miss having someone who sees me as I am; someone who appreciates my strongest suit and understands the chinks in my armor.

So long, my friend. This chapter in your life is ending and I know your story doesn’t end here (sorry, but we are such indispensable characters). Though it brings us utter sadness, we know it’s time for your star to shine somewhere else. Much as it will make our world a tad gloomier, we will just bask at the trails of light that you have left behind.

Thank you and see you on the greener side. Wink, wink.

P.S. He is far from a tubthumper, as he is a person without agenda. It's just that the song will always remind us of him.

***

And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Be strong
Walk on

Question of Fate

Starry-eyed and nostalgic on a Saturday morning and I have Kate Beckinsale and John Cusack to blame. And some David Gray.

A few moments ago, I woke up with a slight headache; probably from staying up late and my stupid body clock waking me up and preventing me from sleeping in. While waiting for the caffeine to kick in, I opened the TV but nothing interesting to watch. Just one top model show after the other (seriously how many top models does the world need?). Then I chanced upon this Chinese channel showing English movies (with Chinese subtitles of course). At the risk of sounding cheesy and redundant, fate and destiny led me to one of my all-time favourite movies.



Ok, I never looked the part of a hopeless romantic. I'm more of the hapless romantic (cue in chuckles). Yes, I read Nicholas Sparks and Paulo Coehlo, but I approach their stories with my signature blend of sarcasm and disbelief; writing off their stories as modern day fairy tales where happy ever afters are so once upon a time.

But once in a long while, something permeates the thick wall of disinterest and indifference that I built. A resounding echo bouncing off the walls of my empty heart. And suddenly I get hit with a mind-blinding force straight out of Cupid’s bow.

It was love at first viewing. Kate Beckinsale is a jaw-dropping heartbreaker in this movie. I think the accent makes British girls seem smarter. Then, it happened during Christmas, where the blanket of good tidings makes everything and everyone seem a whole lot nicer. And the story...THE STORY!!! I know it's a bit Mills & Boon-y but for me, it was heart-breakingly simple but at the same time earnest and tender. In layman's term (haha), may kurot sa puso (tugs at the heart). Cue in the romantic sigh.

Maybe part of me is fascinated by how a smart beauty can fall for a sloppy wuss. Story of my life. Or should I say, FANTASY OF MY LIFE. Please don’t quote me on this.

I have the Serendipity DVD and I watch it ceremoniously every Christmas. I even have the OST and the opening notes alone of David Gray’s January Rain has the power to dissolve me in mush. By the time Evan and Jaron’s The Distance spins, I have morphed into a more mawkish version of Jonathan Trager.

I know my sister hates this movie because she thinks the plot is improbable (well with that kind of logic, she probably hates 9 out of 10 movies). But I beg to disagree.

I’ve had my Serendipity slash Bridges of Madison Country moment many years back. I don’t talk about it much because the magic of that day was simply beyond words. I bumped into her when I was babysitting my younger brother on his first educational trip. She was babysitting the brother of her husband (yes, you read it right...her husband). I don’t even remember her face now. All I remember is the pain in her eyes the one and only time I saw her after that. She was with her husband and when she saw me, her expression just fell. Her eyes were asking the question that I was afraid to answer: why only now?

Oh well. I am such a magnet for anything complicated.

So here I am on a muggy Saturday morning, wishing for a skating rink and snow. So I can just lay down and look at the stars and dream. Waiting for a mitten to come flying and for Fate/Destiny to hand me my own Sara Thomas.

But then again, Destiny cannot swoop down on me only because Reality is standing guard and slapping me in the face every so often.

So who am I kidding?



P.S. If by chance you see an old paperback copy of The Secret Garden with a number scrawled on the 13th page, call that number. Who knows...

P.S.2 Don't get me wrong. I'm happy with my self-imposed solitude. It's just that this movie puts me in an illogical trance. Emphasis on illogical.

***

I still believe my feelings
But sometimes I feel too much
I make believe you're close to me
But it ain't close enough

It's hard to remember
As long as you're away
When I find solace
There's only one way

- The Distance

Dear John, you should have stuck with the book

I picked the Dear John novel last weekend (thanks to CB for lending it to me) and I got really hooked that I finished it in less than a week, a feat for a busy bee like me. It was my companion while waiting for my 1.5 hour-delayed flight back to Manila last Friday. But I had to stop reading before I reached the end because I was already feeling a lump on my throat. Tears on a guy are like bombs on an airport, if you know what I mean.



THE BOOK

The story is rather simple, since simple beauty is the forte of Nicholas Sparks. He uses straightforward language and laid-back storytelling. But what sets Sparks apart is the heart he allows to beat in every story he fabricates. Living in this complex world, Spark’s simplistic prose appeals to our intrinsic human emotions... that is to revel in the lovely sunshine and the joys of love and at the same time suffer the gloom of heartbreak and loss.

Yes it’s a love story but told from the male perspective, so it is not that emasculating. Truth to tell, I can relate to most of the male leads to ever walk out of Sparks' pages. But John is probably and ironically the most self-destructive in the name of selflessness. Like John, I’m much of a loner and nonchalant to the thing called love. But when I do take the plunge, I approach it with such sensitivity and a mixture of wonder and trepidation that my life is never the same again. Sigh. And like John, I have been known to inflict personal pain if that meant making another person happy. Another sigh.

And so I drop the bomb. This is the third book to ever make me cry. Not bawling-in-fetal-position kind of crying. Just a tear shed for the beauty in the sadness. Reading Sparks is like engaging in a losing battle to keep the blues away. And then comes one sentence (yes all it takes is one sentence) which will dissolve all your restraint and you just let the emotions engulf you. At least I am man enough to admit that.

Dear John explores a different way of loving another person. And the sad part is that it’s also the only way I know how. Hence, no happy ending for me as well; I’ve longed accepted that.

There goes my Dear Bernard.

THE MOVIE

I was pretty much in a Dear John zone that I immediately dived into the movie after finishing the book. As a personal rule, I read the book first because I want to “connect” with it personally and not let a filmmaker interpret it for me. More often than not, the movie adaptation is a trying-hard effort. Some stories are not meant to be visual (stories can be simple whereas a movie has to be glossy). Since he banks more on emotions rather than imagery, Nicholas Sparks' works belong to this classification. But for some reason his novels and often turned into movies.

In fairness, the A Walk To Remember movie was acceptable, and not just because of Mandy Moore and the amazing soundtrack. It captured the essence of the story. Still better is the The Notebook adaptation. I hated the book (the ending chapter was revolting) but the movie gave the story a whole new light.

I think the trick is to stir up emotions and poignancy via cinematography and narration. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to cast pleasing actors and throw in a good soundtrack.

Dear John, the movie, is a dedication in dissapointment. It suffered from bad screenplay writing and lame direction (to think the director previously dished out Oscar-worthy Chocolat and The Cider House Rules). Though I have not read and watched Nights In Rodanthe, this is the worst movie adaptation ever. It’s like a Muslim was asked to make a movie out of The Bible.



Casting Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried was a step in the right direction. I initially wrote off Channing as a shoo-in for John (girls will swoon at his pretty face and built that is moulded for an Army uniform). But he proved me wrong because he carried the heavy scenes well enough. Still, the two lead actors did not have the same chemistry as Mandy Moore-Shane West and Rachel McAdams-Ryan Gosling. And they have the script to blame because the movie lacked something that the novel has.

Dear John’s biggest downfall is that the movie failed to capture the HEART and SOUL of the novel. It felt like the screen writer and director did not engage in the emotions of the story. They just look bits and pieces and strung it sans rhyme or reason. Sans emotional build-up. Even the full moon analogy was hackneyed, lacking the dramatic moments like the telescope-shooting star sequence in A Walk To Remember.

Had I not read the book, I don’t know if I would follow the development of the movie plot. For instance, how could Savannah say that John’s father has a disorder just by seeing him with his coins? In the novel you can understand how Savannah concluded that because we got to know the Dad. In the movie, the Dad was a disconnected character who was later given a tearjerker scene which left the viewer dumbfounded. Sorry, but the only reason I want to cry is because the movie was so far from the book.

And to add bitter icing to this already blown-up cake, they made a lot of changes to the characters (like Allan being Tim's son instead of brother). But I can forgive that. What’s appalling is that they had the nerve to change the ending! THE ENDING! It’s like they questioned the decisions made by John in the novel.

I didn’t realize that Hollywood can be this heartless.

Dear Mr Sparks, if it’s your dream to see your novels on the big screen, this is not they way to do it.

Postscripts to Elections 2010

Yeah, it’s been a week and most of us already went back to our daily grind. We have no excuse not to. The fever died down hours after the precincts closed last May 10. If only because the results were proclaimed in a matter of hours. Welcome to the 21st century, Philippine elections!



Voting for me was a breeze. My brother went to the precinct early to vote with his friends. He came back a few hours after saying the lines were long. Since the precinct was walking distance from our house, Mom, Sis and I decided to wait until 5 in the afternoon. When the heat is more bearable and most people have voted. Lo and behold, only a few people infront of us on the line. The girl who gave out cluster and precinct numbers immediately found our names on the tattered registry book. A few minutes after I was placing my fingerprint on another registry book and was handed my ballot. It took me only few minutes to shade my choices and I don’t have to use a kodigo because the names were all there.



I had my picks for national positions and local ones until vice-mayor. But I was at a loss when I reached the councilors and party list. Why do we have to elect eight councilors? I barely know these people and what does a councilor do exactly? (I remember that UK is also having their elections and the number of electoral seats are lower. Is there a certain ratio of politicians versus total population? Why is it that we have tens of thousands of public officials but our country is still grossly mismanaged?) So I shaded the names that were quite familiar. I undervoted for councilors which is OK coz the PCOS machine still digested my ballot.

So Elections 2010 leaves much to be desired. There were reports of long lines and PCOS breakdowns. But it was not the doomsday that people feared. To be fair to COMELEC, the PCOS malfunctions are forgivable and expected (I think about 500 out of several thousands deployed). And for something done first time, this was far from a disaster.

I can understand media’s vigilance in reporting problems in different precincts but these are but a spattering of isolated cases. Looking at the total picture, it’s not as bad as we feared. It was relatively peaceful and definitely an improvement. As I said, we were not promised perfection. We just wanted something better and on that parameter, COMELEC delivered.

Say what you want, but I think automation worked. As explained, it was not the voting that was automated but the counting. And the counting process was really amazing. Gone are the days when the teachers will peruse for days to have the certificates of canvass accomplished. This will often lead to protest, inconsistencies, manual errors and, of course, ballot snatching and dagdag-bawas. For what it’s worth, I think we have witnessed the first fraud-free elections.

However, this election is the worst in terms of mudslinging and black propagandas. The social networking sites were exploited to proliferate the bad and the ugly. I received text messages from unknown numbers “exposing” scandals and vendettas (the worst and most baseless was implicating a Gloriaquino tandem...perhaps an answer to Villaroyo?). Good thing that most Filipinos can see beyond the allegations, political gimmickry and insincerity (a word I would have to use for the MV-LL tandem).

Hat’s off to all the people who worked hard to make this election a turning point in our history: from the COMELEC to the teachers to the network reporters and of course the voting public who wants to have their voices heard.

(Sidebar: I was watching the news from all channels and can’t help but compare the local news networks to the likes of CNN. If you watch ABS/GMA/TV5 you would think that the election was a failure. Which could be borne out of vigilance and social responsibility. Whereas CNN painted a peaceful and successful elections. Watching CNN news made me proud to be a Filipino. The blonde reporter said that the election was relatively peaceful and festive and she lauded the Filipinos for cooperating despite the heat, the long lines and the birth pains of the first automated elections. She even said the Filipinos seem to be smarter and wants change in order to rise from the corrupt administration that has suppressed us for so long).

Just some last comments and jabs regarding the elections and the aftermath:

* A Yahoo headline: Did Willie Revillame cause Manny Villar’s downfall? I didn’t read the article but I don’t think Willie has that effect politically; his troubles are his own and he is a self-incriminating villain. Villar just self-destructed. JZ was right...character assassination is way too easy but to behave like a respectful man worthy of our vote is hard. Manny was not able to sustain his campaign and its tail-end was marred with low-blows (the crying mother and hysterical sister). He was increasingly pikon and his indifference to the issues thrown at him casted a lot of doubts.

* Kids may be singing your jingles but are they voting?

* Gibo was at the wrong place, wrong time and wrong alliance. Too bad coz I think he has it.

* It was amazing how the national result mirrored the controversial surveys. Which should have shut up the hecklers of SWS and Pulse Asia. This is statistics at its finest; as long as you obtain a representative sample, the accuracy is quite high. It is not about the numbers per se but the trending. If you don’t understand the logic and the science of a survey, then you must have flunked your math subjects. Math is logical and scientifically proven. As compared to what… the psychological tests that some people tend to believe? No offense to psychologist but the human psyche is way too complex and subjective to be defined, graded or tested.

* It is interesting to note that we have a mix of the old (hmmm...I’m tempted to call them trapos) and the new. The Aquinos and Marcoses are back in the upper echelons of politics. I can understand Aquino’s popularity but I think the Marcoses were seen in a good light after Arroyo’s anti-Midas touch. But I find it odd that some people are really THAT popular and are thus clinging to power (the outgoing and the president-before-her included).

* A few days ago, I saw on TV the bottom three presidential losers (JC, Perlas, Jamby) questioning the election process and results. They said they are not doing this for themselves but for the Bayan. Well, I’ve got news for the three of them: the Bayan is not complaining at all. And the bayan was intelligent enough to NOT vote for sour losers like you. Mr. JC, you seem like a nice guy but your Math is a failure. How can you expect to have the same votes as your highest ranking senator (that's 12 slots vs 1)? It does not follow also that you will win in your place of origin (if our outgoing mayor or governor ran for a national position, I will not vote for him). Mister (sic) Jamby, it is not impossible for Villars voters to have gone to Erap and it does not follow that you will be guaranteed several million votes if you spend several millions for ads (think Prospero Pichay).

After all this fanfare, I hope the whole nation will soon get over it and start the re-building. Yellow, green, orange or whatever…there is no longer the need to take sides. We have been given a new slate and let’s make good use of it. This chance will not come in another 6 years. We have made the decision and let us all stand behind it. It’s about time we end this enduring darkness and, as a nation, step towards the sun.

This is it, Philippines!

Watt. What?!

I had the shock of my life when I saw my April electric bill. The liwanag ng buhay went off of me.



My average consumption is 50-70 kilowatts per month. That’s about 200 to 400 pesos depending on Meralco’s scheme to suck money out of us through generation charges. There was even a time when I did not pay anything because of their infamous refund.

This is my normal consumption considering that I only have a few appliances in my rented unit. Just the basics: TV, ref, electric fan and stove. I have a DVD and oven toaster which I seldom use. Plus I am only home from 10PM-8AM and most of this time I am passed out with the lights off. I’m not even there on weekends.

I’ve consumed 50-70 kilowatts in the last 3 years. Winter, spring, summer or fall notwithstanding. So can someone please explain to me why my April bill reached record high?

150 killowatts or 1,800 pesos!



My neighbour friend who has aircon and at home most of the time has the same bill amount.

I am no pea-brain so I know something’s wrong. Even if Meralco sweetly attached a letter explaining that it is summer and consumption rises with the mercury and generation charges are inevitably higher, there is no way I could have consumed that much electricity.

Theory #1: Manong Meralco read the kuntador (meter) wrong. This is because the dial comes close the next number when it is almost that number, adding a quick 100 kW to the reading. Like reading 395 as 495.

But when I checked, the meter is already digital. My neighbor said they replaced it with digital after Ondoy. I therefore conclude that the theory is false. Even a 2-year old can read a digital number.

Theory #2: Someone tapped on my electrical lines. So I made a public rant to my neighbours about my bill and that I am calling Meralco. To scare the theoretical culprit off.

As planned, I called Meralco Roosevelt to report my predicament. A girl answered with a bored voice and asked my billing details. I did not finish my horror-over-electric-bill story because she cut me off and told me someone will just check the next day.

Well to be fair, someone came the next day. Seconds before I was to leave for the office. He checked my place and took note of the appliances and number of light bulbs. That was all. He never asked anything which would have explained my kW usage. But I volunteered some information that I only come here to sleep. He smiled and said “Hideout lang?” As if I was a not-so-proud husband using this place to house the concubine. Or a drug lord who uses this for pot sessions. “Yes, hideout lang,” I said. I almost told him “You can think what you want, just correct my effin electric bill!”

That was last Friday. And I don’t know what will happen next.



I know how to read the kuntador and compute my current kW. It is telling me that I have consumed 80 kW in the last 15 days. Unbelievable!

Theory #3: I am having electric dreams and my body is absorbing electricity as I sleep.

In The Shadow Of Zafon

Last weekend, I finished reading what I am earmarking as one of the best novels of this generation. It took me half a year to finish it; not because it was horribly dragging and unsuitably lengthy. It was the polar opposite. I have to slowly devour the pages, cherish every word and wallow in the sentiments and emotions they evoke.

(Second reason is that I am reading a flood-warped copy that I had to dry off after Ondoy’s flood almost obliterated it. Meaning I can’t bring it anywhere with me as that will be quite pathetic.)

The book is The Shadow Of The Wind.



This is my second helping of Carlos Ruiz Zafon but this is really his first novel. For a debut novel to be this impressive says so much about the promise and future of this now-celebrated Spanish author.

To attempt to summarize this book is tantamount to vandalizing its beauty. But for your appreciation, I’ll risk it. This is the story of how Daniel discovered the book The Shadow Of The Wind (yes, same title) and becomes obsessed with it and its author. This obsession leads to a Pandora’s boxful of concurring events as Daniel unravels another man’s mystery and disturbs memories and vendettas which soon threaten his existence and will define his future.

Zafon is at his most skillful when he weaves a multi-layered and textured story without the reader feeling lost in the labyrinthine episodes (the downfall of the likes of The Time Traveler’s Wife). Hence, Shadow transcends genre; it subtly blends coming-of-age romance with Gothic intrigue, social commentary, historical family saga and even steamy erotica. And Zafon does this ever so seamlessly. In fact this book is almost the literary equivalent of a soap opera. Shadow interlaces two parallel lives and the way Zafon knits the individual fragments into a single tragically beautiful tapestry is breathtaking. You will close the last page with a desire to read it over again, thinking “What the hell was that?” And I mean this as a compliment.

Zafon’s characterization is deliciously real and each person to ever walk across its pages is imperfectly human. Even the antagonist asks for our pity and understanding even if his fate has already damned him to his deserved kingdom come.

Above all, the magic of Zafon is really in his romanticized narrative. He paints Franco’s Barcelona in a superb albeit obtuse light. I’ve been to Spain a couple of years back but I have never been as captivated visually as when Zafon describes the grandiose palaces and creepy dungeons. In Zafon’s hands, Barcelona becomes a creaking trapdoor which opens to a world that is strange and familiar at the same time. Eventually these doors will lead to the dark recesses of the human mind.

Considering that this book was originally written in Spanish, a shower of praises to the translator is also appropriate. She did a sterling job capturing Zafon’s celebration of imagination; making the book more accessible without destroying its soul.

A good book lingers even after you have closed the last page. This book and its sequel (The Angel’s Game) will haunt me for years to come. The irony is that this will be the gold standard to which I will pit my humble literary pieces against. And I know they will always pale in comparison.

And there is the danger of superlatives: after reading this, all other books will be second-rate, mediocre and less enjoyable. I guess I will just be content with the fact that at some point in my life, I have seen (or perhaps "read" might be the correct word) perfection.

The Shadow of the Wind sets the bar high and is the PERFECT illustration of the all-encompassing power of a story well told.

P.S. I now pray that the rest of Zafon’s Spanish books will be translated. Que cera cera. I will live for the day when they will be released.

My Sacrifice

And suddenly the silence. I half-expected Faith, Sacrifice and Repentance to become trending topics. And I am not being sarcastic here. This is my penance for this week; to lay low on the caustic acid.




It’s Day 2 of an elusive 4-day weekend. Pardon the insensitivity but for agnostics like me, it’s just another long weekend. The only time of the year when I get to slow down and become the King Of Nothing To Do. I know Christmas is a longer holiday but it is a flurry of one festive activity after another. Until you wake up January 2 and exclaim What the hell happened? And it leaves a feeling like you have been robbed. You know what I mean. Wry humour, anyone?

But during Holy Week, you are allowed to do nothing. You are expected to do nothing. Just be good and meditate...or “reflect” to put it in religious context.

So I reflect on what I have done these past two days. I chose NOT to compartmentalize this vacation. Which entails making a list of To Dos and have fun watching the checkmarks appear. I decided to just let it slide by, seize the solemn minutes as they come.

I have no grand plans. Call me a loser but I’d rather stay at home than troop to the nearest tourist hotspot and burn my skin golden brown. I’d rather stay indoor or online; reading a meditative book, finally watching the DVDs I have bought, or surfing my favorite sites. I tried to give up Twitter and FB as my sacrifice but that would be like nailing my own hand to the cross (pardon the bad pun)...the tweets will just pile up. And since head bang/bob music is one of the 7-deadly sins this season, I’ll chill with some sappy ballads. Which means I’ll probably be asleep before the silky voice reaches the coda.

So I picked up Up In The Air, the book I have been reading for a few days and labored to finish it. And I mean labored hard. I am a big fan of the movie so I went out of my way to buy the book (to think that I seldom buy first-hand). I always thought that the book is better than the film version. Until this one. The book can be thrown up in the air. The first half was a nice smooth ride but it went tail spinning soon after. It was a mess; the writer is such a scatterbrain. Maybe I am too Asian to appreciate the Western humor but seriously the book lacked fluidity and coherence. RD was right; it has a lot of glitches and a huge part of the nomadic character is fictional. I sighed after I turned the last page. It felt like Christmas and I have been robbed of almost 400 pesos.



If this blog seems too rambling then I have the book to blame. I’ll try to copy Walter Kirn’s style in the next paragraph so you’ll know what I am talking about.

Then I turned on the small tube and had my fill of pop TV. AC360 on CNN talking about bullying in the schools, scientology and the scandals that rocks the Catholic Church. No, not during their week. American Idol on their R&B week with who else but Usher mentoring. This marks the week when invincible Siobhan Magnus shows her Achilles heel. But it was Didi Benami (as I have predicted) who was kicked. She is way better than two or three of the Top 8 but she did suffer from bad song choice syndrome. P. Diddy performed his new song and I think he is now called by another name. Something like Diddy Dirty something. He and Prince hold the record for multiple A.K.As. Reruns of The Ellen Degeneres Show. She is so cool that if asked who my man-crush is, I’ll have to say her name. I hope she doesn’t mind. Why does it seem like Glee is on every 2 hours? It’s overkill in soprano. Watched TMZ but I didn’t know half of the celebrities they featured. I now know some of the TMZ peeps by name (other than Harvey, of course); I am following Dax and Matt on Twitter. Then the usual suspects: CSI and CSI: NY (again pardon the pun). I know which season it is by looking at who’s in or out and judging by Nick’s haircut and Danny’s current flame. I don’t like Lawrence Fishbourne; is there a petition somewhere to bring Grissom back?

There. Are you confused now? That’s Kirn for you.

Not much movies to watch on cable either. I am surprised that they don’t show Passion Of The Christ, just the usual Ten Commandments and variations of Jesus of Nazareth. Even iffy PBO does not feature local adaptation Kristo. I fed The Blind Side onto the player and was caught up in the story in mere minutes. But then the DVD conked out after 35:04 minutes (the part when Big Mike and Sandra visit the ghetto after his first sleep in). Times like this, I curse piracy. Then I watched Precious (another Best Picture nominee) but the story was too miserable; I need something enlightening not depressing. For lack of better options, I chose The Rebound but it won’t play. I give up.

I checked my Twitter and it seemed like Ryan Seacrest’s account has been hacked. The hacker had the nerve to post some pretty malicious tweets.


Until I remembered it was April Fools. You almost got me there!

I also wanted to do some detox so I have been eating healthy: fruits, yoghurt, fruit juice, water, sugar substitutes. I just cheated when the oysters fresh from Hagonoy were delivered. But as a sacrifice I have abstained from chocolates. It was a toss up between giving up on snacks or chocolates. But you gotta love your own so I chose chocolates. Hello, Frito Lay!

Speaking of, I had some work done and answered some emails a few hours ago. Just so I won’t be swamped on Monday.

I wanted to do some tidying up but the heat prevents me from even emptying the trash can. It is now full of used tissue papers. I’ve had a bad colds and cough since Tuesday. Again the heat. Unlike most people, I get colds during summer.

What to do tomorrow? Mall time with the family. I need to get out or I’ll have cabin fever. I could have met up with my high school buddies but they changed plans. Try again next time.

All in all it has been one heck of a good Friday. Excuse me, I am about to have an epiphany.

Marooned

They say when you’re down and out, go to that place where you were once trampled and try to spit at its face screaming “Look where I am now!” Just to feel good about yourself.

And damn right, it works. In a reverse psychology kind of way. Some people conjure happy thoughts to keep the depression at bay. I think of the previous dismal points in my life (and there is an entire gold mine) to convince myself that I am in a better place now. No matter what I am going through. Life is unfair that way. It can get harder as it gets better.

I am having this horrid week and by some twist of irony, I found myself in this redeeming situation. Unknowingly. I was driving around on official business and mulling about what I would like to call occupational hazards. And I soon realized I am in a very familiar territory. Not that I have not returned here since I left. It’s just that everything is relative to the emotions you are feeling.



I don’t know if it was the heat which reminded of those punishing summers of not so long ago. But under the entangled embrace of the trees that lined the oval, the memories came rushing back.

And what is a cinematic moment without a musical score. My iPod that was playing on shuffle suddenly coughed out MJ’s song Childhood. Have you seen my childhood? I chuckled.

I see the familiar sporting a different look. Same old brand new things. I realize that things may change physically but their epitomes are immortal. Like the street names now boast of a different color but to me it’s the same old street. The streets where this journey began.

I saw the same queue on jeepney stops where I wasted countless hours scrambling for a ride home. There are the same anxious and constipated faces hurrying to destinations unknown or sitting lost in thought on the building steps. Students who look older than they are, burdened by the sins of their past and the uncertainty of their future. Some years ago I was one of these people. I want to tell them now that they have every right to be distraught. Being there is just a ticket. A deceitful ticket. It gets you IN but it doesn’t get you THERE. You’ll know what I am saying the moment you step out of the cocoon of those halls. Cue in Ryan Seacrest saying “Welcome to the real world, baby!”

I saw the old tambayan where I learned about love and adult life and everything in between. Lunch conversations over sticks of barbeque infested by the occasional falling caterpillars. Vacant hours spent shuffling a deck of cards and flinging coins. The logbook that whispers pages of secrets and confessions. The politics and the juvenile drama.

And then there was the building where I spent my last years. I remembere it as grey and cold (though it is now painted); a showcase of luxury and apathy. Very representative of the people who thrives in there. This building is my downfall and my salvation. My first real taste of bitter reality. Outside looking in. It took me a lifetime to erase its tang from my mouth. This is where I developed my shell of indifference and my talent for self-dependency.

Now comes the church where I made a wager with God himself. He kept half of His promise, and I kept the half of mine. But by then I was already broken beyond repair. I already morphed into a cynic. Like REM, I lost my religion. Which is really different from losing your faith. Faith is belief, religion is rules.

The memories are getting heady but I am starting to feel a sense of fulfilment. Somehow going back to where my real journey started made me realize how far I’ve come. It may not be that far for some people but in my personal yardstick, it is. Somehow hitting rock bottom makes you appreciate the bouncing back, regardless whether it comes in pulsing increments. This rewarding feeling is forever lost to people who have been so used to being in the stratosphere.

I hurriedly did my official business there. And left. That day, looking back became my calming salve. It is a lesson in humility and a recharging of my pride.

Driving out, my iPod shuffled out R. Kelly’s Fly Like An Eagle. Ok, Mr. Musical Scorer...I think you got the wrong song. No offense but I’m not THAT blue.

Flying Without Things (Excess Baggage Not Allowed)

Once in a long while, a movie comes poised to slap you in the face and pat your back at the same time. Up In The Air is that kind of movie. It patronizes and mocks the person that you are. A satire where no one is laughing because while it was fun, it was almost cruel in its intense honesty.



Up In The Air is a cosmopolitan dramedy that humanizes the antiseptic lifestyle of a modern alpha male (modern existential man, to be exact). A man who looks at himself and finds his value in VIP cards and frequent-flyer miles. Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) is a professional Shiva. He is in the business of firing people, sugar-coating job termination as an opportunity to chase your other dreams. He lives a high life that is spent mostly in-transit and doing the dirty work that corporations have no balls to do themselves. He is deeply in love with his job and its platinum-card privileges. He seldom comes home; and home to him means priority airport lounges and humdrum hotel rooms. A self confessed cynic, he has isolated himself from his family, from relationships and people in general. Hmmm.

Enter two women who will shake Ryan's clockwork world. Alex (Vera Farmiga), the female version of himself who engages Ryan in a casual relationship which will soon turn into his sweetest disappointment. And Natalie (Anna Kendrick a.k.a. Twilight’s Jessica), an ambitious newcomer who has a brilliant idea of using the internet to sack people professionally. She makes Ryan squirm in insecurity and she questions his philosophy in a bid to make him see the other side of being human. Alex is the Ryan now, Natalie is Ryan from 10 years ago. Alex is the karma, Natalie is the conscience.

Take out the hot girls and Ryan will look like someone I know. As a friend who knows me so well has pointed out, this is the Hollywood adaptation of my life. In a crude kind of way. My life, my rules, my philosophy. Yes, my backpack.

All the telltale signs are there. Single man who enjoys a thriving career and non-existent “life.” A lifestyle made by choice, mind you. I almost smiled at Ryan’s radical philosophy: What’s in your backpack? He preaches that relationships with people and things tie you down and if you rid yourself of those you are free...well, up in the air.

In Ryan’s wise words, I am travelling light; I am living a life that is divested of relationships and all other things. My life is ruled by my job and I am deliberately alone most of the time. And guess what...I am not complaining. This is the life I have wanted and designed for myself. This is the life I am used to. My rhyme and reason. I know most people don’t understand it. But if being boring and two-dimensional meant that life will be less complicated, then I am in this boat alone. No frills, no fireworks. Simplicity is the spice of my life.

I often wondered at what point did I exactly de-sensitized my existence. I really can’t tell. I think it was the sum of all fears, doubts, disappointment and letdowns. Over the years, I have tried different versions of myself. And lately I have settled for what is most comfortable; the path of least resistance. I play the run-of-the-mill guy who exudes cool awesomeness under pressure but with a suppressed caustic side. Hard candy with a surprise center.

The movie ended with a sharp sting, perhaps the most sophisticated and heartbreaking ending in silverscreen history. Like most great movies, it leaves more questions than answers.

Yes, I have anticipated that kind of ending to my story. I’ll confess that there are times when I feel empty and hollow. Pointless even. But I prefer this to being caught up in a tangle of emotions and I see attachment as a double-edged sword. I’ll admit that sometimes paranoia creeps in. What if I die alone in my rented house and it will take days before anyone realizes I’m gone? What if people will stare at my sarcophagus and realize that they know me but never really KNOW me.

How about some self pity...what happens during those winning moments? Will I be like Ryan and celebrate the realization of my platinum dreams with a total stranger? But then I realize that if I am man enough to own this lifestyle, then I’m also man enough to face the consequences.

I’ve also asked myself if I am master or if I am slave. In my search for stability, maybe I have trapped myself within a mechanical routine. That in trying to avoid the high and lows, I ended up running in circles. And I like it that way.

Under its high gloss production (it's a Clooney vehicle for crying out out), Up In The Air is actually brutal and hard hitting in its emotional truth; an entertaining depiction of modern socio-economics. In more ways than one, I find this movie deeply comforting if not a little disturbing. I always thought that I was fighting a battle of my own. That all the previous events in my life have conspired to bring me to this point. Little did I know that I am only one of many. I was churned out of a cookie cutter after all.

The next time someone asks me why I am devoted to a life of lucrative solitude, I’ll just smile and say: I’m up in the air.

Pop Goes My Saturday

The god of time management smiled at me today.

If you have a schedule as toxic as mine, then lazy Saturdays come as unexpected surprises. It belongs to the same wishlist as at least 6 hours of sleep and vacations without official phone calls. Even if I vowed to work my arse off from Monday to Friday to free-up my weekends, my weekend to-do list is simply inexhaustible.



A lazy weekend for me would mean no work and no chore. Just time to do the things I love: sleep, read, blog, tweet, sleep, listen to music, watch TV or a movie, sleep, and a fitness activity here and there. No official emails, no preparing for Monday meeting or business review, no organizing of accumulated paperwork.

If there is one thing I learned about time management, it’s that you have to MAKE time. That “I have no time” should not be an excuse.

Since I will be somewhere far on Monday-Tuesday, I persevered to finish most of my work stuff last Friday. Even if it meant staying at the office until 10PM.

And the unexpected reward is I have this Saturday on cruise control. Woot-hoo!

So I slept till the bed was too hot for my own good (no dirty thoughts please...the bed is facing east). Then I finished my household chores before 10AM. I perused a couple of chapters of the book and I have been reading (still Carlos Ruiz Zafon); dozing off every now and then.

I was enroute to Bulacan by 2PM. Cue in backtrack music from Mellow 947’s Decade playlist. I used to cringe when my parents listen to 60’s/70’s music during weekends. Now I look forward to weekends when I can again hear the music of my teenage years gone by. Even if I have them on my iPod anyway.

After lunch I dozed off again while watching TV. I woke up and resumed channel surfing, eventually settling for TMZ, American Idol and snippets of Glee. Yes, I need my fill of pop culture.

It’s during lazy times like this when I get to listen to myself and discover certain things:

1) That when I have time in my hands, my neat freak self rears its organized head. I pay homage to my OC genes. I don’t stop until my room is spic and span. And my weekend bags packed and re-packed to perfection.

2) Which goes to show why I like watching home improvement shows and reading home improvement magazines. If I am not in Marketing, I would have made a career as a home improvement consultant. But only the organizing part. I’m not that creative for interior design.

3) That I am still fascinated with reality shows. I just watched Bill and Juliana’s reality show on Lifestyle. I know Bill as the first The Apprentice winner. How a smart guy like him can marry a so-so hottie stirs my interest. As a fan of reality show, I would know if some scenes are scripted. And their show is 70% scripted!

4) That I have become an American Idol fanatic. I caught the re-run of the boy’s Top 10 performances and this early I am predicting that the 2010 American Idol will again be a boy. So far, I like Lee, Aaron, Tim and Alex. Aaron reminds me of David Archuleta; Lee might be the next Chris Daughtry.

5) That I have placed TMZ’s Harvey is some sort of pedestal. Don’t be surprised if I will soon sport a red tumbler with straw. And start spewing (the usual) sarcasticisms (yes, I just invented this word).

Sleep. Check. Read. Check. Blog. Check. TV. Check. Tweet. Check.

Hopefully I can still catch a movie. I am planning to watch an Oscar contender this weekend (still choosing between Precious and The Blind Side). I’m not too excited about the Oscars on Monday as I haven’t seen most of the films (yes, even Avatar). But for sheer beauty of its title and because I usually root for the underdogs, I am rooting for The Hurt Locker.

Excuse me while I prep the DVD and get some snacks. My Saturday night is just starting.

Tomorrow is another story. I have to work. Oh, sick cycle carousel!

On A Geo-Physical High

Note: Pardon the delay; I wrote this blog a few hours after the Chile quake hit. But it is only now that I had time to post it.

I am on a natural and geo-physical high. I know this sounds inappropriate considering the alarming turn of events of the past few hours: the 8.8 magnitude Chile quake and the Pacific-wide tsunami alert.



And yes, I know this sounds a little too geeky. But geology is one of my first loves, even pre-dating my love for the written words.

Blame it on this one summer vacation we spent at the grandparent’s residence. The only book I saw was a hard-bound Science textbook. I think it was part of a grade-school encyclopaedia, the kind given by the US Salvation Army to further our Western education. Anyway, for lack of anything entertaining to do, I perused the said book. It was a volume on the Earth and its physical properties. Ergo, the birth of my fascination with Geology. I remember thinking why it was called Earth when it was plainly Water (considering that it was ¾ water!). You can tell my sarcastic genes are fully developed even as a child.

Then in college, as I was pursuing my ill-fated first degree, I took Geology as a Science elective. And what do you know, my grade is Geology was way better than my major subjects. And I impressed the teacher since Day One. During our first class, she asked what the different kinds of rocks are and their differences. Of course, I did not raise my hand (I am not a fan of recitations). No one dared to answer. So she drew a random card from the recently-submitted class cards and called out my name. I recited the answer, remembering it word-for-word from that Science text book of my childhood summer. Teacher smiled in satisfaction and remembered my name since then. I almost shifted to Geology if not for my family threatening to disinherit me if I pursued a degree that is a “hobby” rather than a “profession.”

Fast forward to today. Before going out last night, I already saw the breakings news on CNN about the Chile quake. Oh no, not this soon. A quake is still a sensitive global concern, considering that the ghost of the Haiti quake is still lurking in the background. And when I got back, it was still the breaking news but now CNN is heralding the possibility of a tsunami hitting the Pacific countries, in a tone that is almost apocalyptic. Who can forget the tsunami that raced across the Indian Ocean a day after Christmas 2004 (following a magnitude 9 quake in Indonesia)? An unspeakable number of people died in countries as far as half the world away (in Africa).

That tsunami was an eye-opener and painful lesson. Now I am amazed at how sophisticated the tsunami warning system has become. They can even predict the probable time and the path it will take. Of course, it’s not an exact science but a little paranoia is better than a repeat of the Banda Aceh tragedy. These days, they had a lot of reference data, saying that a similar quake (one of the strongest in history) happened in the 1960’s and spun tsunamis as far as Australia and the Philippines.



I just don’t know how the local government will react should the Pacific Warning System declare that a tsunami hit is imminent. Frankly, after Ondoy, I lost faith in the system. In a third-world kind of irony, media has become more reliable than government and Kris Aquino can unite us better than the president.

As of press time, smaller-than-expected tsunamis have struck the smaller Pacific islands but damage was thankfully conservative. The tsunami warning has been lifted in most of the territories including Eastern Philippines.

A few minutes ago, I was sitting in my parked car while waiting for my Mom. Engine was turned off and to kill time I was deleting some messages on my phone. Then I felt the earth heave. I was gripped by fascinating terror. I checked to see if a big truck has passed which might have caused the movement. None. The slight tremor continued for a few seconds. If I had some animals near me, I could have confirmed from their sound and expression if there was actually a quake.

I remembered a similar incident in high school. It was wee hours of the morning and I was finishing my Drafting plate. I was enveloped by the usual sounds of night time: crickets, occasional barking dogs and the rickety sounds of a house settling. Suddenly everything was silent; like I was abruptly immersed in a vacuum. Uh-Oh...tell-tale signs! True enough the ground started to shake. I felt it and saw it because the technical pen I was holding went crazy, as if mimicking a seismograph; almost ruining my precious drawing.

I don’t know if I am just paranoid or a slight quake really hit today at around 10AM. But still I am amazed by it all. Ah, the power of nature. In some way, it puts things in perspective. To realize we are just an insignificant piece in this jigsaw puzzle called the Earth.

***

P.S. Just some comic relief: Every time I would type the word quake on this blog, I would end up typing quaker. You know, the famous oatmeal brand. Which goes to show what I have been used to these days. I’m so NOT a geographer.

Update: No quake happened that Sunday. It was just my paranoia trying to shake my boots.

Gunning Down Valentines

In a week’s time the world will be enveloped in a scarlet shroud, like ribbons of blood tangling with water. It’s the feast day for die-hard romantics and hard-core sappies.

Is it any coincidence that the color of love is also the color of blood and pain?



In writing this I know I will be accused of being a sourgrape or even bitter. Whatever. In my humble opinion, Valentines is a terrible marketing ploy, an occasion orchestrated by Hallmark, et al. It’s like Christmas but sprinkled with saccharine charm and cheese. Honestly, do you need a special day to confess the depths and potency of your love? With all due respect to “thoughtful” people, I never believed in grandiose displays of affection. Roses and chocolates are absurdly theatrical and there’s something phony, insincere and scheming about them. I’m an advocate of the little constant things. Let me put it this way. No Ferrero Rocher but I will always have a Choc Nut handy whenever she needs one.

But anyway, what do I know about that crazy thing called love? Love and religion are my two most favorite arguments. And so I remember the metaphor made famous by the pa-autograph moments of my grade school days: Love is like a rosary full of mysteries. Come to think of it, it makes sense. Joyful, sorrowful and devious. Amen.

Being single and alone is no longer a stigma. Still, I wish those who give single people a funny look will realize that relationships are acquired taste; they are not for everyone. For me, the feeling they call love is overrated. I’ve confessed that I am a love atheist. I like sarcastic FU songs (the likes of Trains's Drops Of Jupiter and Lifehouse's Sick Cycle Carousel) and I have a playlist on my iPod called P.S. I Hate Love for such songs. Like that 3HO!3 song, L...O...V...E is just another word I’ll never learn to pronounce. It’s a concept I cannot grasp, like the laws of physics. It’s a journey I just don’t have the map for.



Who can blame me for being cynical? Life did not show me enough reasons to believe that relationships are worth it. Fact: My parents did not exactly have a happy marriage. Fact: I spent half my college life playing counsellor to my squabbling mag-ON friends. Even now, I’ve been privy to the intrigues and scandals of my married friends and they run to me for advice and confessions (And not once have I asked: Why me? What do I know about this stuff?). Fact: One of my best friends is happily divorced with only her great kids as proud reminders of what used to be. True story: One Tita is currently in distress because her only son just fell in love with the neighbour’s help. See what I mean?

Fact: In the handful of times that I tried to take a plunge, something else in my life goes wrong or I am placed in a compromising and impossible situation. Like life telling me that I can’t have my cake and eat it too.

Oh and did I mention the pain? That if I want to relive it I will just watch One More Chance over and over again.

I rest my case. We live in a world where the Ted Mosbys play second fiddle and the Barney Stinsons get all the action. After all (as quoted from 500 Days of Summer), women prefer men with Brad Pitt’s face and Jesus’ abs. And we have Cosmo magazine to blame. I refuse to take part in that blah nonsense.



Sometimes it bothers me that I like doing things alone. I am happy with my status quo. I live alone and I love the peace and quiet of solitude. I can go on self-dates; walking around the mall by myself or jogging alone. I don’t like eating out so I’ll never be placed in the awkward situation where I am alone and a loser in a fancy restaurant. I don’t need to be with someone to enjoy coffee, a book or movie. And if I want to be around people, I have my family and very select circle of friends. I never felt the sense of needing someone in my life or having this void I need to fill. Yes, you can say I feel complete.

I am living my life and that’s all that matters. How can you measure the promise of love when it’s weighing against a chance that comes only once?

Friends have called me commitment phobic, like most guys. I’m not confirming nor denying. It’s just that I have too much on my plate right now and I see relationship as a dessert. Something for later. Or something I can skip altogether but I’ll still feel full and satisfied.

I know what people will say. That I have NOT met the right person. But maybe I’m too stubborn that even Destiny has given up on me. Then again, destiny and ever-after be damned. Say what you want. I’d rather be ALONE than UNHAPPY. If you know what I mean.

If it’s your thing, happy Valentines to you!



***

So tell me isn’t happiness
Worth more than a gold diamond ring?
I’m willing to do anything
To calm the storm in my heart
Not looking for a miracle
Just a reason to believe

KThxBye, 2009...Hello, 2010!

Where does time go? A few breaths ago, we were closing the decade and shooing 2009 away. Now we are already a fifth into 2010 and Christmas/New Year was a thing of the past.

Before I say anything more, HAPPY NEW YEAR to everyone! May the dawn of the new decade bring us closer to the brighter future we all long for, be it in our personal lives or as a country.



While many people think that the new year marks a fresh start, a new beginning; I’d like to think of it as a MOVING ON. Especially after our experiences in 2009, an annus horribilis for most people.

It was the year of challenges and triumphs for our country. While we seem to be afloat amidst the global economic crunch, we were hit by the storm of the century. Storms, to be exact. The scenes from Ondoy and Pepeng are forever seared in our memory. And amidst the horrorscapes of devastation, there are the proverbial rainbows after the rain. The spirit of bayanihan is in the DNA of every Filipino. We CARE, and that is half the battle won already. I still remember the girl who had a cast on her right shoulder but was helping us pack relief goods. With only her left hand. We need everyday heroes like her.

We celebrated the people who made us proud to be Filipinos. The death of democracy icon Cory Aquino revived the nationalism and it is a miracle that even in death, Cory showed us the way. Manny Pacquaio, Brillante Mendoza and Efren Penaflorida erased the global fallacy that we are a country of domestic helpers. But a few hours after CNN toasted Efren as their Hero of the Year, the Maguindanao massacre hugged the CNN headlines and shocked the world. Ergo, Ampatuan became our Villain of the Year.

On a personal level, I think I did well in 2009. I will even go as far as saying that this is one of my best years ever. It felt like after running in the shadows for so long, I suddenly burst into my own pocket of sunshine. I am usually wax nostalgic as the year comes to a close. At the end of 2009, I did not feel a twinge of regret or remorse that that I wasted the year. I did my part in 2009! I felt happily invincible that even the ghosts of the past failed to haunt me.

To start the new year and new decade right, I got obsessed in organizing my life. It started with the makeover of our house. Seeing everything spic and span and seemingly new is a natural high for OCs like me.

A new year also means new journals for me. And I have two journals. The green one is for tracking my finances (weekly budgets, credit card purchases) and personal stuff (date for changing contact lens, wardrobe plan, wish lists, reminders, etc.)



The second one is for jotting my thoughts which will soon find its way into my blog. Or for writing inspiring passages (even inspiring tweets)I come across. Thanks to C for giving me that leather cover! It makes me feel like a legit writer.

For this blog, I plan to do a little makeover. Of course there will be my usual musings and rants. But I might veer away from the entertainment blogs (music, movies). In my own little way, I want to promote positive change. Hence, I will be sharing tidbits which can improve lives, change perspectives and promote well being and empowerment. Nothing political or preachy, but definitely something close to our hearts. Wink, wink.

Placing yourself in the right moment puts you in the best position for BETTER moments. While I will miss 2009, I’d like to think that better things are in store for 2010.

I will make 2010 count! So can you.