I'm Single And I Know It

Too many billion people in this planet and you can’t find one? That is the question. In this day and age, being single is tantamount to being a amputee, that you are walking around with a part of yourself missing.

Some people still shake their head at this destiny, or lack thereof. Some people see it as a crime; that somewhere out there a girl is having a miserable life because her “the one” chose to be alone.

For me, being single is a choice, a lifestyle even. I wake up, go to work, meet with friends occasionally and come back home to an empty house. And never did I feel the sense of being incomplete. I want it that way. In the same way you want to have a girlfriend or a family, I want to be single. Fact is, there is misery in being alone in as much as there is misery in being married. There is happiness in being married so there should be happiness is being single. All’s fair in love and life, right?

There was a time when I used to be defensive about this choice. It ticks me off how some people see it as a virus or a stigma. I remember a recent high school reunion where all the single guys and gals were told to go upfront, to be interrogated and heckled at by those lucky enough to find partners (rub it in, won’t you?); short of saying that being single is a fate worse than being broke. Yes, maybe it was all for fun and in the spirit of fun, I bit my tongue from saying things like “Yes I’m single but happy. You’re married and what again?”

For the record, I am not bitter about love. People think this situation is an aftermath of trauma or giving up on love. I recognize love, I wish it for friends and colleagues who wants it. I am happy when nice people find nice partners and live happily ever after. Heck, I am one of those guys who watch and read Nicholas Sparks and have a soft spot for Gus and Hazel in A Fault In Our Stars.

It’s just that I see love as some form of religion. I understand why people hold on to their hope in love, similar to the way sinners hold on to their faith. It becomes their reason for being. And like my view on religion, I respect that. I’ll leave them with their flowers and chocolate, white laces and promises. But it’s not for me.

Not that I have not tried it. I have, but my reaction to it reminds me of when I tried smoking. I didn’t like how it taste and feels. I don’t like pinning all my hopes and happiness on one person and making them the center of my universe. I don’t like synchronizing everything with that person. I don’t like the mush. I don’t being treated like a kid (kumain ka na ba?). I don’t like complications.

What I like is this freedom and being responsible only for myself. To be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want with whoever I want... without compromising someone. To be able to come home at any time and not having to apologize if my clothes smells like cigarette or another girl’s perfume. To be able to bond with a girl best friend without someone going jelly. To not pretend to like her friends or her family. Just to name a few.

They say Valentines Day becomes Singles Awareness Day for the unlucky ones. No need. Everyday, I’m aware that I’m single and for me, it’s a blessing. It’s the best way to exercise my right of free will and decision making.

I know people will see this as too juvenile, too cynical, too selfish or perhaps narcissistic. Again because they give “single” a bad name. Single is not a status. It is a feat which shows you are strong enough to live and enjoy life without depending on others.

There is dignity in being alone. Being accomplished and alone, being loved and alone, being un-lonely and alone.

Being single means more time to focus on myself. It’s like when I’m driving to an unfamiliar destination. For sure I’d still get there if I’m alone (give or take one or two wrong turns). If I have company, I tend to depend on them for instructions and lookouts. Being single means I’m in better position to achieve my goals in life. Somehow when you’re with someone, your goals take a back seat, or you have to make it around the other person. In being single I learn to appreciate myself more – know my capabilities, my strengths from my weakness, and strive to make myself a better person. Because I can only depend on me.

Husband or father might not be part of my curriculum vitae. Try good son and brother, loyal friend and great colleague. Maybe I’ll get chastised when I say I don’t need a partner to go through this life. I can travel alone, eat alone, shop alone or watch a movie alone. If there’s anything that scares me, it’s not growing old alone but being too independent. I see people as complications so sometimes I’d rather be detached. I even look forward to a “me time” despite being single and living alone.

There’s more to life than being in a relationship. You just have to enjoy the life that you have. Maybe someday I’ll find my match, maybe I won’t. And I’m OK with that. I won’t look back at my life with regret because I am able to do what I want.

I’m just saying that for what it’s worth, being single doesn’t make me any less happy or less grateful. And I know I am not alone in this sentiment.

Cheers to all the happy couples and the happy singles out there!

Mortality And The Infinite Lifetime

“Every day is one more step towards your grave.”

 I can’t remember where I read that but somehow it stuck. At the back of my mind, each day can be the last. I acquired this morbid perspective early in life. Blame it on my short dalliance with Anne Rice in college (for the uninformed: Anne Rice predates all the bloody vampire series of today. Before Kirsten Stewart’s lamb fell in love with the lion, there was Kristen Dunst who wants some more).

 Not that I am fascinated with death. I just see it as something tangible, inevitable and yes, accessible. Looking at the tombstone on my dad’s grave, I see that the name is just two letters different from my name. That’s how close I am to having my name on that tombstone.

Digging deeper, my morbid persona could be an aftershock of seeing my Mom fight for her life before I even turned 7. Or maybe it has to do with my high probability of dying from sudden unknown death syndrome (bangungot in vernacular, hemorrhagic pancreatitis in medical terms). They say only male Asians has this curse. I’m not kidding when I say I’ve experienced it countless times, to the point that I know what to do when it happens. So I’m familiar with the feeling of fighting for your life. How your mind screams for your body to not succumb. One time , I was too tired to fight it and conceded that that was it. So I just relaxed and just let it take me. Then it stopped and I woke up. And the rest is history in the making.

Growing up, I didn’t see myself as an adult in his twenties. I just don’t see the older version of me. Since I don’t have that vision, I honestly thought that I would die at a young age. Now, I’m in my early 30s and, as the Joni Mitchell song goes, I’ve seen life from both sides now. If I die tomorrow, it will be OK. I’ve seen beauty in as much as I’ve seen horrors in this world. I’ve seen some of my dreams come true and I’ve even been blessed with some not-in-my-wildest-dream moments that just blew me away. If my journey ends, then I’m happy with how far I’ve travelled. Maybe I took some wrong turns and some paths of thorns, but I always found my way back. And a better person at that.

 Our time in this world is finite. We are just a speck in this vast universe; we are just a blink in this great history of time. Some say procreation will guarantee survival. Hence, people think having a family and lineage is their only shot at immortality. I won’t argue with that, it makes sense.

But where does that leave me? I don’t plan on having a family of my own; I am happy with the family I have. Every time I would go thru that bangungot and still wake up, there’s no feeling of victory over the Grim Reaper. There’s only renewed hope and a small voice asking Why?. I know there has to be a reason. Maybe someone needs me, there’s still a purpose I have not served or there are still some dreams to be fulfilled.

So here I am at the prime of life. Or maybe just BEGINNING the prime of my life. I still don’t see myself as growing very old, like 50s old (but now I fear I have a Peter Pan complex). For now, I’m doing what I can to live that long. I take care of my body more than ever. Even if I have no bad vices that takes its toll on my body (except the occasional alcohol), I was not active before so my physical well-being was not ideal. The shift from sedentary to active lifestyle was quite hard (I had near-fainting spells when I was starting) but I now crave for that endorphin high. I go to the gym, I run, I eat right, I create my downtime. In terms of perspective, I’ve matured and have gone through endless paradigm shifts which led to an over-all optimistic view on life. I’ve somehow learned to ignore trivial things but I have yet to master dealing with Dementors. And if only I can manage my stress some more.

I realize as well that experience is not the best teacher. You’d think that you’d be wiser as you grow older. But the expectations are different. And the world is transforming right before our eyes so we have to catch up. Funny how I stared reading early but only recently did I discover the wonder of self-help and non-fiction books. I realize they are needed to feed the mind and expand the horizon. Currently I’m reading Delivering Happiness (by Tony Hsieh, CEO of Zappos) alongside No Time For Goodbye (whodunit thriller by Lincoln Barclay).

 Speaking of novels and dreams unrealized, I still want to pursue certain passions. Writing has always been my first love and I have this inkling for investigative writing. But after being relegated to the back burner, my prose and poetry has become rusty. I still would like to work on a book (fiction or a compilation of essays) or be part of an investigative team a la Rappler. This will be my shot at immortality and with this gift, my chance to make this world a better place. Likewise, I’ve had growing interest in photography and design so those are options as well.

Lots to do, and I want to believe I still have time. Life is indeed short. But never too short to not be able make the most of it. Life will kill you anyway, so just attack it.

***

"Dark angels follow me
Over a godless sea
Mountains of endless falling
For all my days remaining"
- Why Should I Cry For You? / Sting

***

 The title of this blog is actually a twist on The Smashing Pumpkins album Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness which spawned a personal favorite hit called 1979. I was born before that. :)

100 Days Of Summer

Actually it’s only 90+ days but that is still way too long for me. There was a time when I loved summer. Back in HS, it meant days of not doing anything but summer reading and hanging out with friends. But come college, summer meant attending subjects you flunked or had to catch up on since you transferred courses (I had a taste of both). Some years back, summer meant a hot blabbermouth who’s being chased by a cool geek.

Now I hate it even more because of the heat! It just antagonizes my cold, cold heart (#emo).

At least there’s the Holy Week. Not that I’m deeply spiritual (far from it, actually). For me summer officially starts with this week when the entire country pauses and repents (why we are still Third World despite the abundance of resources). It’s the only season when you are allowed to not do anything (vs Christmas and the holi-daze it brings).

So today is Maundy Thursday (declared a holiday because of the confusion whether it’s Monday or a Thursday…so corny I know but I am a sucker for puns). I chose to be on house arrest/staycation and it has been quite satisfying and productive.

I’ve finished the Hunger Games book (tick one off the Summer Break checklist). It now holds the record for the book I finished fastest: only 2 weekends. It’s PBB meets Survivor so I devoured it like a famished tribute from District 12. Haha. I’ll admit I can relate to Peeta and though expected, it saddened me when Rue had to go.

Cleaned my room. Not yet the general cleaning that I want but it’s refreshing to see that I have a floor and no used mugs or clothes in sight. I believe that you don’t know what you got until... you clean your room.

Downloaded and read the latest issue of Esquire. Kudos to the local team for another great issue (Bianca is hot and that she is smart is like icing on a body part). I am getting a hang at reading e-mags. I can take it anywhere (long as I have Bokbok) and less clutter. I realized lately that I have tons of magazines that have taken over my room.

Slept. Though I woke up at an ungodly hour, the afternoon nap is a luxury in itself.

Did some work. I can never relax when a deadline or unanswered email is ticking somewhere.

Perhaps this is the only lazy day I can afford from this long vacation. I have lot of tasks at hand. My only consolation is that I can tackle them at my own sweet time.

Or can I?


*Originally posted at www.barnieboi.tumblr.com

The Script Experience

They had me at “I’m not moving.”

I first came across them in 2008 when their first single We Cry was shown every hour on MTV; as they were then the featured new artist of the month. Frankly, I wasn’t that impressed. I mean I didn’t hate it but I didn’t dig it either. Then one afternoon, I stumbled upon a song that aptly described my emotional well-being (or lack thereof) at that moment. Only to discover that it was from the same folks that spawned We Cry.

I bought their debut album by virtue of that song which will eventually be their biggest hit here: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved. And to say that I was wowed with every song thereafter was an understatement. I am not exaggerating when I say their debut CD never left my player all these years; it was one of the few CDs I could listen to in its entirety. I even got to like We Cry because at some point I got its message.



So what’s with The Script? First and foremost, their songs speak the universal language of love and heartbreak. Ergo, everyone that’s ever been in love and had their heart broken can relate to their songs. Cheesy, I know. But try it. As a friend pointed out there is always a couple of lines in their songs that would scrape at your tortured heart until their pain is your pain. Aside from the heartfelt lyrics, their melodies are ear- and radio-friendly. Yes, their sound is more mainstream pop than other bands out there but it’s the kind of pop that you never outgrow. And did I mention that their songs are irresistibly sing-along as well?

So imagine my elation when I learned that they will come to Manila for a concert this April. To think that I almost gave in to a friend’s suggestion to catch them live in Hong Kong. Wanting a music fix, I planned to watch The Script and Switchfoot but my cousin had a brilliant plan to just get higher priced tickets to The Script. Unfortunately and as expected, the tickets sold out fast and we have no choice but to get a higher-than-planned tickets. First time that I would spend this much for two hours of aural pleasure and emo-ness. But I know it will be worth it. I was counting down the days to April 16.



Hats off to the organizers for staging it in Araneta. I missed a lot of good acts just because I hate the chosen venues (MOA concert grounds and The Fort being the ultimate turnoffs). That includes Lifehouse, Daughtry and Mandy Moore...yes, THE Mandy Moore during her Wild Hope tour! So you can see how picky I am when it comes to venue.

Weeks before they came, a friend asked out of the blue: Do you know The Script? It’s like you wrote their songs. Ok, I don’t know if that was a testament to my writing skills or a diss at my tendency to be emo. I’d take that as a complimentary barb.

I was practically invincible the week leading to April 16; it was the proverbial light at the end of the dark tunnel that was my work week. Days before, I had to listen to Science and Faith, their sophomore set. I’ve had it since it was released but my busy schedule prevented me from soaking in it. But if lead singles For The First Time and Nothing were any indication, this CD is far from the dreaded sophomore jinx; it was nothing short of brilliant.



Finally, April 16. We were in Araneta Center with some minutes to burn for dinner and revel in the excitement that is in the air. Last time I was here was 7 years ago I think. To watch Mandy Moore during her Cry and A Walk To Remember heyday.

Araneta, minutes before the concert, was already stoked. I swear the crowd went berserk when they started testing the lights and sounds. And then they went over-the-top when The Script finally took to the stage! Everyone was on their feet.

They started with You Won’t Feel A Thing, the opening track to their second album. Good choice since this U2-esque song is upbeat, uplifting and one of their more romantic songs (as opposed to their slew of tragic hits). Then it was one hit song after the other, interspersed with equally awesome unreleased tracks. The crowd was singing along to every song, but more loudly on their chartbusters.



For me these are their best five concert moments:

The Man Who Can’t Be Moved – of course, this was a given. What surprised us was that we were expecting this for the encore. But we were damn wrong. I thought Araneta would collapse when we heard the all-too-familiar opening strums. Danny challenged the crowd to sing...which we did of course. The experience was magical; like you were really a part of one big thing. Then Danny started over again to nail the song. At the end of it, he said it makes the hairs at the back of his neck rise when the audience sings back “I’m not moving.”

Science And Faith – One of their more affirmative love anthems. I listened to this song only recently and I saw its huge chart potential. I swear this song is even better sung live. And I had a geekgasm when their backdrop showed flying chemical symbols and math formulas a la 3D. I love this song so much this is now my new ringtone.

Nothing – they narrated a story on how this song came to be. Apparently this was written by Danny (a.k.a Master of Drunken Songwriting) in one of his alcohol-laced stupors (or breakdowns, for that matter). They swore that nothing gets their creative juices flowing like alcohol. So I guess I’m on the write track...I mean RIGHT track. Haha!

The unnamed song – of course I know the title of this song. I just can’t say it because it is way too personal...like bulls-eye personal (so please allow me to keep this a mystery). I was pleasantly surprised when they actually sang this as this was unreleased. Yes, I almost died when I heard the first lines.

Breakeven – In likely concert drama, they said their goodbye but it was obvious that they will have an encore... they haven’t performed two big hits! This and For The First Time. We were all chanting Breakeven! Breakeven! Hence, this became their final act and an excellent way to end the already awesome night.

Bonus: In Talk You Down, it was rather charming when Danny changed London to Manila in the lyrics. Also, as expected the audience roared every time Danny will say something in Tagalog. Yes, the token Mabuhay and Mahal ko kayo in that unmistakable Irish twang.



While the audience were captivated by The Script’s performance, trust it to the Manila crowd to turn the tables. The band, too, were overwhelmed by the audience’s response. At one point I saw Danny cover his mouth agape in awe when he heard the audience singing. Also many times he would exclaim “Oh, you should see what I am seeing right now.”

Overall, it was a show that was everything I wished it will be. Props to The Script for the no-frill, no-nonsense performance. They let the sheer power of their music wash over the audience. I was on my feet the entire time and I was singing along at the start of every song but I have to stop myself so I can hear them sing. My body can’t decide if it will jump and sing or be still and take a video. So most of the videos I took ended up shaky and blurred. I won’t post them here as I know there are better videos posted on YouTube.

The stage backdrop was also simply enchanting; the lighting was downplayed but dramatic and the background videos would subtly complement the songs. I totally loved the street corner video shown as they were singing The Man Who Can’t Be Moved and the numbers on Talk You Down.



It was a short two hours but they sang everything you want them to sing...and more. They have 10 songs each in their two albums and judging from the songs I didn’t hear, I think they sang 16 of the 20 songs. If I had one complaint, it will be that they didn’t sing Live Like We’re Dying, their B-side song that was popularized by AI winner Kris Allen.

The Script promised to come back and though the energy and magic of this night will last me a lifetime, I will defy science and faith just to catch them again.

P.S. To cap off this splendid night, I saw my biggest local celebrity crush when we were exiting Araneta. This is the third time I’ve seen her up close but I’m still spellbound. She is just so simple and elegant. Sigh.

***

These are some of The Scripts tweets. You can tell they were equally pleased with their Manila visit.



As their Twitter follower, I know they always take a photo of their concert audience. This was their Manila money shot:

Still

Sometimes, I catch myself letting you back in.

I don’t know if that is good or bad. Part of me knows I want it and I need it, more so now that I’m going through tough and crazy times. But part of me still hesitates, knowing that doing so would repeat the cycle of love-loss-hope. With you, I am always at war with myself.

Seeing you that Saturday afternoon made me realize what we had and what we lost. I knew I should have taken the chance and bridged the gap between yesterday and today. But truth to tell I was simply mesmerized. At the sight of you, all my logical thoughts just fly and I am reduced to a senseless fool.

I tried to find other ways to express it or explain it but I always come back to one simple truth: I miss being overwhelmed by you.

I miss sharing my life-changing moments with you. I remember how you helped me ace one of my coming-of-age moments. How you came running after such a short notice and how you waited patiently until I finally made my home run. Then you faded into the background so I can enjoy my limelight.

I miss how you make each red-letter day special. Especially Christmas. I never had a Christmas as merry and bright and as warm as when we had our own wonderland. I have to admit the memories of you torment me most when the cold wind starts to blow.

I miss having intellectual conversations with you and how we can talk about anything and everything. It helps that you like what I like and vice versa. And whatever it is that you or I do not like but the other does, we influenced each other until we are both so into it.

I miss how you understand my rants and just laugh off my sarcasm until my anger and angst dissipate. You calm the storm in my heart. I miss our banter and how you do not always agree with me and call out my mistakes. I realize also that I miss our fights, even the cold spells that lasted months. Yes they are awkward and agonizing but there is some comfort and beauty in the making up. It’s like falling again and doing everything for the first time.

I miss the version of me that can do anything when I’m with you. Until now, I cannot fathom how I was able to do the things I’m scared of, I’m ashamed of or would simply never do under normal circumstances. I never knew I was capable of those things until you happened. Because somehow you make it easy. And rewarding. I’d give or do anything for that smile of appreciation and that uninhibited hearty laugh of yours that not many people know you are capable of.

I remember the good... and the bad. I have never forgiven myself for that ill-fated episode some years back. By now, I hope you realize that the knife cuts both ways. And for what it’s worth, I got my karma and the shorter end of the stick: it took me forever to move on.

You are still my Patronus. When darkness and dementors are upon me, even a sliver of memory from our best times together is enough to cast a blinding light and suddenly I’m invincible.

The irony is that we have to quit something we never tried.

Eras have passed but one sad fact remains the same: there cannot be just the two of us. No matter how good we are for each other, there is a bigger world out there. As with anything in my life, reality always gets in the way. I was forced to see things the way they are and not the way I wish they would be. In as much as I want to fight for what we have, it will just be one battle after the other. Sure I can take that but I don’t want to subject you to that. You deserve much much more.

So this is me adoring you from a distance. This is safer for both of us, even if I will forever be haunted by the could-have-beens. Please don’t make it any more difficult for me. Don’t remind me of the things I am trying to forget.

There was a time when you were my power, my pleasure and my pain. And fact is, you still are.



***

You don’t have to say a word coz deep inside I already know
That you can’t keep holding on just because I can’t let go
I’ll be alright, try not to cry when you again walk out my life
Just leave me with a beautiful goodbye

Raise Your Glass, 2010! And 2011...

Dear Y2010,

I am writing this letter in the calm and quiet that ensued after you left. Last night I watched you slowly slither away as the world explodes in welcome to your predecessor. Sorry for the quick thank you and good-bye; I am really bad at these things. The flipping of the calendar always makes me sad but I mustered a smile for your departure. And if you are hurt by my happy smile, know that I am smiling from the good memories that you left and not that I am happy to see you go.

Well, in a way I was happy to see you go. The 365 days that I spent with you was a crazy roller coaster of a ride and you know I am someone who craves stability. OK, to be fair, you were in equal parts good and bad and that makes you a blessing in itself. Coz I’ve had it real bad before. You can ask your siblings when you do your recap. Some of your brothers (or was it sisters coz they were such a bee-yatch) were real unkind to me. I couldn’t wait to kick them out of my system.

Anyway, those are all in the past and that is something you taught me. To let go and shrug it off. You changed my perspective and made me realize that the past has grounded me but in a negative way. You forced me to weed the bitterness from the lessons learned. You taught me acceptance where there was once indifference and dismissal. You made me calmer and more composed in dealing with the everyday battles.

Having said that, you dared to conjure battles I never thought I would fight. Something beyond my wildest imaginings. And though I accepted your challenge, it took the most out of me. That trauma is still fresh and even if you take it with you, the aftermath will stir evermore like ripples on water. Maybe in time I will laugh about it, but for now I am still licking the wounds. This will be your tattooed remembrance on my persona. Good thing that during those darkest hours, I found some sort of Patronus. But please do me a favour and tell your next of kin to ease up on the Dementors. I long for the times when I was just plain, simple, boring and ordinary, as opposed to being the chosen and designated one.

And what’s with you and your penchant for CHANGES? Blimey, did you make a lot! Some I am thankful for and some got me pissed off. You unveiled new avenues of possibilities and opportunities, which would have been awesome but there are times when I felt that you went overboard. You could have at least warned me when you were shoving me into the fire. I could have held onto the frying pan for a while longer.

You helped me find a new home so I can again enjoy the rains and not be paranoid of being swept away by a freak storm. Plus the new residence is more accessible to a lot of stuff. If only you gave me more time to enjoy it all.

Oh thank you for showing me a new-found appreciation for people. Yes, I am still channeling George Clooney in Up In The Air (in terms of my stand on relationships) but I do appreciate what I have. I am blessed to have a great family at home and at work, the people who make it all worthwhile. And of course friends who slap me with the truth, make things tolerable and give me ammunition to fight back. Plus, this year you brought me closer to my long-time friends from elementary and high school. You also brought new people into my life, people who gave me fresh perspectives and provided stepping stones so I can further propel myself. Some of this new people gave me a difficult time, but still I learned a lot from them (who says learning is easy anyway).

Hey, come to think of it, you also sidetracked people from my life by placing them in a different tangent where out paths will now seldom intersect. It was disheartening to let go of some people who have deeply shared my life for the past years. Though I know our connections are stronger that those defined by the workplace, damn you still for shooing them away.

Another downside: you made my schedule so crazy and impossible. Many a times I wished I have Hermione’s time travel machines so I can defy Physics and be in two places at once. It sure felt like a million clocks are counting down my deadlines. I had to sacrifice personal time and I had to disengage myself temporarily from my blog (shameful 14 blogs this year, the lowest turnout ever) and Facebook. Good thing there was Twitter to make me feel alive...online. You took me away from my books and now I have an entire bookshelf of a reading list (I know you will blame me for not getting an iPad). I have to settle for magazines and surfing just so my brain cells won’t stagnate.

As a side effect to the stress you gave me, I had to resort to retail therapy. Have you seen the number of shirts, jackets and shoes I bought this year? It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase charge it to experience.

I realize that you have added a new layer of indifference to my hard bitten cynicism. And I still don’t know if this is good or bad. I seem to be unaffected by a lot of things, be it the awesome or the horrific. I am blurring the line between nonchalance and insensitivity. I think the part of me that is empty and numb has ballooned. With it comes the sarcasm that, like wine, is getting more potent in time. My own coping mechanism perhaps. Something to keep my head above water as I wrestle against time and tide.

With that I say goodbye to you, 2010. You were good to me, and since I seldom get "Great," that puts you with the best of them. You taught me a lot and made me realize the options that I can pursue. You gave me distressing struggles but you threw in some shining moments. Having known you have made me a better, stronger person. I can never thank you enough for that.

Love,
Bernard

P.S. This goes out to your heir apparent. Please be kind and cut me some slack. That’s all I ask. I am not even asking you for Love and anything grandiose. Just a chill lifestyle. Less of the stress, curve balls and hurly-burly moments. And maybe you can throw in some generosity. I heard it will go a long way. Just so you know, you have big shoes to fill. Thanks in advance. XOXO

***

A quick shoutout to everyone:



May this year be filled with new beginnings, second chances, fond memories, miracles, magic and dreams. Let's go, 2011!

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.

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.

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!