Forget yesterday, we'll make the great escape

Nothing annoys me more than people who question my decision to stay in the Philippines. True, the way my life is going now absolutely begs the question, but what's the deal with haranguing those who prefer to stay back with relentless appeals to jump ship abroad? I respect my friends' decision to pursue gainful employment outside our country. In turn, I expect the same kind of courtesy for those who want to stay behind.

It's only fair, don't you think? You do what you want, I do what I want.

I've never really stated outright that I don't want to go abroad. I've always maintained that I'd consider the option if the opportunity presents itself. There have been hits and misses here and there, and I have my dreams of touring Asia and the UK, but on the whole, I'm fine with staying put with where I am now.

A friend of mine, who by the way, is one of the smartest people I've met, told me that she had no plans to leave the country because she is needed here. I share her sentiment, although I've never had her courage to own up to it in front of people. A deep seated fear of regretting my words prevent me from doing so.

My stint as a volunteer nurse a year ago, however, cleared up my muddled perspective. I was of most use when I volunteered at the pediatrics ward of the Zamboanga City Medical Center. Despite the exhausting schedule, I realized that I am needed here. Nursing, wherever it is practiced, is service. I'd just prefer to give it to my kababayan first, before others.

To be fair, my staying behind is not all noble. Working abroad would need a lot of paperwork and money. Paperwork is the one thing I hate doing the most, given the bureaucratic red-tape shit we have, and money is the one thing that I do not have in mass quantity. It's been 3 years since I graduated and got my license. The nursing rat race will be the death of me and my fragile ego. Really, try beating a million other nursing graduates who are more gung-ho than you and just itching to leave the country.

My nursing background is nothing stellar. I know that I'm a damn good nurse, yes, but my so-called brilliance is a hands-on kind of thing. It's something that I can't adequately translate to in my resume.

And besides, I have plans of my own, plans to pursue my dreams of getting an MD hitched to my name. I've already done what my family wanted and it's not enough. There's just no substituting what you want with what you need.

Medical school is still hazy at this time. Preparations need to be made, plans to do, things to finish.

Here's to hoping. And dreaming.

Cry wine and sell vinegar

I had hoped that my 3-day vacation in Dumaguete City would clear my head and rejuvenate my weary 23-year-old self. I had visions of going back to work, so full of fresh air and healthy sunshine rays, that I'd dazzle everyone with my writing and my tan. As it is, I can barely write anything decent this week. One article underwent such a gruesome edit, I wept. Take away from me my writing, I lose whatever ounce of confidence I have and I turn into a cabbage. So, please, I really, really need to get it back.

I've had blocks before, sure, but nothing as serious as this. I'm stumped in nearly everything I do. My letters suck, my articles might as well be bonfire fodder and this blog post is killing me! I've got three more pending posts and I haven't the heart to finish it. Inspiration is a prima donna bitch, I tell you.

Normally, when I encounter blocks, I doodle. I've been a doodler since as far as I can remember, and doodling has always helped me squeeze out my creative juices when I need it most. It doesn't matter that I'm no Da Vinci. Doodling gets the gray mater running. It also used to annoy the heck out of my classmates. I'd doodle on their reference materials and they freak out. Strange people, eh?

And if doodling doesn't do the trick, I scribble. I'd write my name over and over again. And because my name is 26 letters long, my right hand gets quite the workout. That was before I got good with the keyboard, though, thanks to Typer Shark Deluxe.

Now, instead of scribbling, I type. Letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, only to delete them and start again. I even retype my stuff if I have to. I try to tackle simpler assignments first, like letters, memos and whatnots before sinking my fingers on to the heavy hitters. I blast my eardrums out with music. I eat. I walk. I do anything but stare at my blank word document. I go at it for as long as I can, and eventually, an article would type itself out.

This is what I'm doing now. Writing, re-writing, deleting and struggling to make this one post count. I feel that if I don't get through this, my head will explode and I'd be stuck answering and transferring phone calls for the rest of my life.

I feel a whole lot better now and I just hope the feeling will tide over to my other pending articles.

If it doesn't, then this:


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Facials

I’m deathly afraid of pimples. Ever since the outbreak of 2009, I have treated every spot and blemish on my face the way a homing missile would treat its target. I have obsessed over every irritation, dousing it with soap and astringent before it could develop into a full-grown facial irk. So it’s really quite annoying that the one time I decide to take better care of my face – cleansing, moisturizing and all that shit – pimples pop out. I doled out cash to have my skin break out. Huzzah.

I was better off with my old facial regime, the one where I did nothing. No creams, no soap, no cleansers. In high school, I never got the pimples. Everybody else around me was indulging in papaya soaps and facials. The worse I got from the adolescent hormonal onslaught were a bad set of growth hormones that only got me as high as 5 feet.

On hindsight, I should have stuck with what I was born with. Never fix something that isn’t broken, they say. I’m bashing myself with a mental hammer for messing around with skin care catalogues and listening to kikay ladies talk about investing in your face for the future.

But the body has its own way of taking care of itself. I don’t think we should mess around with something that has a way of getting things done. Faces are meant to sag and become crinkly. We are meant to be old, yes?

For now, I’m done with facial care. I’m going to stick with what my mama gave me. Once my pimples clear up, I’m letting my face (and body) be. I don’t have one kikay bone in my body, so really, why force it?

Dear face, forgive me. I just wanted to be pretty, too.

And I'll tell myself I'm special till the end

I only have one ninang, and when I was younger, it pissed me off to no end. In a culture where godparents are Santa Clauses all year round, not having at least a pair is a serious handicap come gift-haul seasons. Now, you'd think that with only one godparent, I'd be particularly close and clingy to my ninang. But as it turns out, I am unable to find a common ground with my godmother.

Which is really kind of disappointing. Ever since I watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix, I sort of fell in love with the idea of having a godparent, granted that they were as cool as Sirius Black. Who wouldn't want to have Gary Oldman as your alternative old man?

Aside from the occasional hi and hello on FB, I basically don't have a relationship with my ninang. The last time she came to visit, I was struck with the realization that we're just like oil and water. We can't/won't/shouldn't/don't mix. Our personalities our polar opposites - I'm droll and melancholic, she's a wee bit bossy and extroverted. She drinks beer, I don't. She gives me blouses, towels and bible verses when I'm a blatant bookworm to the core.

She doesn't know these things because we barely talk anyways. We run out of conversation fodder to sustain our talks. This is how our latest conversation went, the last time she was here:

Her: How are you?

Me: I'm fine.

Her: Are you working?

Me: Yes. I work at so-and-so as a so-and-so.

Her: Mmmm.

Me: Mmmm.

...

And that's basically it.

To be honest? Since she's supposed to be my second mother, I wish my ninang would take the time to know me. Understand my passion for books, writing and anime. To not see everything I do as a mistake, to not see my career choice as something that can always be improved on with suggestions to work at a call center.

Realizing this, I now understand that just because my family knows someone or someone knows my family, it does not mean that I'm obligated to believe everything they say or do. I can disagree with their thoughts and ideas. I can measure them against my own standard, quirky as they may seem, and that it's alright to do so. That I am entitled to have an opinion of them. Most important of all, (and I cannot stress how important this is), I don't have to like them. I am not required to like them. Respect is, after all, still earned and not given.

That it is OK to find one's family less than perfect - aunts can be snobbish and self-righteous, cousins can be pests, mothers can be stifling. That you won't get struck by lighting for thinking about these things.

It's quite liberating, really.

The other side of the moon

There's no official proclamation yet, but they might as well paint the city red. It seems that Zamboanga chose comfort over change, the old over the new. I don't like it one bit. But one can you do? This is what it is to live in a democracy.

Like a badge of honor

I can't say that I'm pleased with how Zamboanga's local election turned out. I am not pleased. Words cannot describe the feelings of disappointment and incredulity that have mingled to form a bitter taste behind my throat. How could people, for one minute, think of electing local officials who have done nothing for the years that they have been in public service except for wave at the crowd during city events? As if appearing in public functions is equal to public service.

What we will have, once proclamation is done and over with, are the same lethargic councilors who have done nothing to invigorate this city from its slump. Given their track records - or lack of it - they will continue to do nothing. Zamboanga may well sleep forever and be forgotten in the wastelands.

It also sucks that my mayoralty bet didn't win. Still, I could live with having 3 more years of Lobregat rule. The mayor has done his fair share for Zamboanga, and he's got something to show for it. Losing, in any form, sucks balls, so this is nothing personal.

What I find harder to swallow, though, is having a vice mayor who has nothing. I have no idea what he's done, what he intends to do and how he intends to do it. Soon to be declared Vice Mayor Ituralde may have some unknown aces up his sleeve, but that's just the point. Who knows about it? His smile is not reassuring, his constantly closed office (yes, constantly closed. I visited the Sangguniang Panglungsod quite a number of times and his office was always closed) does not speak of a person who is an achiever. The vice mayor roster was not particularly attractive, yes, but sir, I'm sorry, but you are not the best man for this job.

I guess what I'm most disappointed about is that Zamboanga did not make the most out of this opportunity. It did not dare to do something different. Which is why it is no different to what it was before.

So now what? What else is left except for the hope that somehow, no matter how strongly I disagree, this city made the right choice in choosing their leaders.

But this time, I'd like to be more vigilant. I'd like to see what our elected officials will do in the coming years, now so more than ever, with every city in Mindanao catching up and leaving Zamboanga behind in the progress race.

The joke is on this city. We vote, not on merit, but on popularity. And money. We want to see progress. And when we don't get it from our officials, we turn to each other and say "I told you so." Then, come next election, we vote for you again. To our officials, please make me sing a different tune next time. Please give me reason to believe. Bring it.

This year's election meant more than just a change of leadership. For me, it was an opportunity, the opportunity. I had high hopes for this election, and I was more than excited to be part of the country's historic first. Instead, all my expectations have fallen flat.

Tough luck.

Would that eternity become everyday?

Not that I'm prolific with blogging and stuff, but recently I've faced an insurmountable writing slump.

Shortage of ideas? Check. General walang-gana feeling? Check. Regular power interruptions that suck like hell? Check.

Yes, pin the blame on power interruptions, you lazy bum. But this time, I must admit, I am seriously not passing the buck to some innocent bystander. No emotional displacement here. It really is the truth. This power crisis is going to be the death of me - or at least the death of this blog, with all my dreams of being a superscribe dying with it.

Imagine having only 4 hours of work per day. Sounds good, if you've got electricity to power hard drives and the intarnetz, hell if you have stifling heat and boredom to deal with. Then you get these phone calls from bank agents from Manila who scoff at the idea of power interruptions. Talaga? Wala kayong ilaw? Yes, wala kameng ilaw. Power crisis po kame. Don't you read the news? Generators? No, we have wiring problems. We can't have a generator without frying everything in the office.

With nearly all my work tied to the computer and the intarnetz, it's impossible not to feel bored. Or tired. Or dejected. Or just so freakin' pissed at the world for taking global warming lightly. When the lights do come back on, I feel as if I've done a week's worth of work, like someone who has just experienced a dozen of health insurance leads gone wrong. By then, I'm too beat to do anything but abuse the intarnetz for the deprivation.

As a countermeasure, I've tried catching up with world events by reading the paper - present and past issues included - only to end up folding them into a paper fan. I've brought some books over, but the heat and humidity is not exactly a pleasurable ambiance to soak up literature. Anyway, power interruptions are supposedly going to end on June. Bully for that day.

This piece is 1/4 angst and 3/4 pure therapy for repressed emotions.

We were the kings and queens of promise

Yesterday, I received a piece of glass with my name on it. It has rendered me quite speechless.

Most promising employee. Thank you Lord.

Congratulations, Jas. For someone whose only ambition in life was to finish college, you're doing pretty good. Let's continue to kick ass, shall we?

I think I'll try defying gravity

Normally, I don't mind politics. It does not mind me and I it. The whole political mechanisms are most Machiavellian, and being machiavellian is something that God never deemed necessary when He created me.

In the hype before the May 10 elections though, it's something that can hardly be avoided. Everything is saturated with politics - news, events, text messages, social networking site.

As for me, I'm still kind of mum as to who my president would be. How I wish we have a candidate like Obama in our presidential elections. Someone exceptional. Someone who is remarkably different from the rest of the pack.

If I were to vote for somebody into the highest office of my country, I'd want someone who inspires me, someone who'll convince me to walk through hot coals. Yus, I'd walk on hot coals if someone can inspire me enough. In this presidential race, nobody is astounding enough to rise above the dough. Everyone is so, I don't know, so-so.

I feel for presidential candidate Gilbert Teodoro, though. At first glance, he is more than qualified to be president. But one look at who endorses him and people change their mind, me included. If that's not enough, look at where he is now. Left standing on thin ice, like someone whose health insurance leads went up in smokes. Too bad, too bad.



This election is going to be monumental. And I will be a part of it.

Mobile Suit Gundam 00 1-12

It is the year 2307 A.D. Earth’s energy reserves have dried up but humanity has now access to solar energy – virtually unlimited power. Despite this, global powers still wage countless wars with each other for strength and superiority. Celestial Beings, a paramilitary organization, intercedes and engages a war to end all wars.

Beautiful mecha and bishies. 'Nuff said.

I dared Mobile Suit Gundam 00 for one reason. The office server had all complete episodes for its two seasons, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, its incomplete episodes. An incomplete episode to me is like what coitus interruptus is to couples – a heart-breaking frustration.

A war to end all wars, to create a better world by destroying the old one – that’s a common enough cliché in anime. In Gundam 00, however, the storyline is doused with generous helpings of realistic characters, events and situations, infusing the whole series with a contemporary vibe. One can’t help but be drawn and engrossed with the excellently paced story.

The themes of war and its effects have always been the core of any Gundam series. But in Gundam 00, this theme is appreciated more as it is more pronounced and clearly detailed, abetted by its realistic storyline. True, the story is set in the future, but the problems tackled in the story are the same issues the world is facing today. I may be a little biased here, since the only Gundam series I’ve ever had an interest in before was Gundam Wing, with its good-looking protagonists and even better-looking antagonists. But to sum it up in a thought, the one thing I loved most about Gundam 00 is the fact that I can relate to it.

Animation wise, Gundam 00 is solid. A bit clichéd though with how the characters are drawn – a little too stereotypical and forgettable for me. Sure, Gundam 00 still has the bishounen factor in it, but more toned down if you compare it to Gundam Wing. I mean, definitely no Zechs Marquise here.

While the character animation may be a little blah, the mobile suits themselves are in a whole different league. Gundam 00 boasts of skillfully rendered machines, space shuttles and mecha designs. Beautiful is the only word I can come up with. The mobile suits are beautiful, superbly crafted, intricately detailed and designed, strong lines, fluid animation and infused with more personality than their pilots. Of the four Gundams, Dynames as the sniper is my favorite.

Dynames with a mean gun.

On character development, I’m still waiting for more action. It’s a great thing that the main cast is of varied ethnicity and of different backgrounds. The characters need a bit more fleshing out, though. Gundam 00, after all, has quite a big cast. But then, I’m only at episode 12 of season 1, so this is a premature worry of someone who is just itching to get through the 25 episodes at the soonest possible time.

The one thing that I found cumbersome is the technobabble. It’s a bummer really, trying to keep up with extensive narration of new technologies that you have never heard of yet. But I guess it’s something you can’t avoid in a futuristic mecha series. Thankfully, Gundam 00 limits the technobabble to a minimum, but it’s still enough to make me tune out and press the fast forward button.

I’ve yet to finish season one, but I have a feeling that I’m going to watch all 25 episodes and continue on with its second season. Hurray for office servers!

Not arrogance, just simple fact

People say it’s wrong to resent. To be honest, I’ve never been a resentful person, not if you count when incident in elementary where I wrote “I hate D and V very much” over and over again in my diary. You don’t become resentful overnight. It draws from a series of slides and snapshots from life, builds up steam like a locomotiove, and eventually explodes in your face. The funny thing about is that it can start from the most mundane of reasons.

Groceries, for example. I’ve always done the groceries for my family ever since I started working. It just happened. One day I had my paycheck, decided I wanted to have hotdogs for breakfast and from then on, it was so. Admittedly, I wasn’t doing it wholly out of the selflessness of my heart. It was also partly vanity and partly self-validation.

The hardest part about groceries is seeing it all disappear before the next paycheck arrives. Yes, groceries are meant to be consumed, better gone than left over, blah, blah, blah. But seriously, can’t we all practice a little self-control and go easy on the consumption?

Ok, so I wouldn’t feel so bad if I could see my groceries being a part of the great circle of household economy. Groceries feed person, person gets healthy, healthy person does housework, I come home with groceries. See the beauty of it?

In health insurance, you give some and you take some. It’s not all peaches and roses. You invest time looking for genuine health insurance leads; you invest your hard earned money in it and wait for the returns. It’s a sacrifice but one voluntary makes it, knowing that something is worth it at the end of it all.

Anyhow, I’d really rather not be a miser, twisted and shriveled up with resentment. But it’s harder and harder to be all generous and nice when you come home and see dirty dishes all over the kitchen sink.

Sturm und drang

I've always believed in my ability to stare into the eyes of the deadline monster, make it back off and crap itself. Unfortunately, the head honcho of all deadline monsters decided that enough was enough. The ickle beasties came back with a vengeance and totally obliterated my pride into pixie dust. I'm waging a losing battle, my report already settling on its 2nd day as an overdue and pending failure.

I've always been particular with meeting deadlines. My English teacher in high school ingrained in me my future work habit with her philosophy: I don't care how you do it or when you do it. Just as long as you have it when I ask for it. Campus journalism at its coolest.

At work, I carried this philosophy to heart. My bosses know better than to bother me with futile requests for updates. I'd lounge all week before getting into frenzied action, but I always manage to deliver so, no harm done.

Modesty aside, I have not missed a single deadline prior to this failure. Nuh-uh. Never mind that I sometimes submit my report at 11:59 in the evening. The point is, it got there a minute earlier and not a minute later.

It's official. Deadline is here to bite my ass.

I don't know what happened to me this time, though. I guess one can blame the amount of stress I had last month as the reason for the gaping hole in my brain. I can blame the rotating power interruptions for breaking my work momentum. All valid reasons, but in the end, I blame myself for lacking the discipline to see my assignments through the day. I rely too much on procrastination-induced adrenaline to come up with thinly disguised bullshit to pad out my assignments.

No more of this. Beginning today, here's the new world order, so brain, shut up and pay attention:

• Lessen internet hours. Surfing, games and movies will be limited to at least two hours of your 8-hour working day
• Once you have an assignment, start on it. RIGHT AWAY. No more tomorrow bullshit from you.
  
• Articles for editing can only sit with you for a maximum of two days. Chop them fast and quick, then it's off to delivery
• Go to work earlier. Take advantage of the morning peace to work on your stuff
• Run maintenance on your computer. You can't keep blaming it for being slothful all the time without you doing something about it
• Avoid bring home tasks. You're suppose to do work at the work place, not at home.
• Try beating you past performance. Dazzle the bosses even more
• WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL BLOGGING? FINISH THE DAMN REPORT ALREADY!!
  

The first of the line is tied to a tree and the last is being eaten by ants

One Hundred Years of Solitude tells the story of the rise and fall, birth and death of the mythical town of Macondo through the history of the Buendía family. Inventive, musing, magnetic, sad, and alive with unforgettable men and women – brimming with truth, compassion, and a lyrical magic that strikes the soul – this novel is a masterpiece in the art of fiction – paperback summary, One Hundred Years of Solitude

I won’t pretend that I have completely understood this book. I’m a hundred years too early for that. I’ve already had an idea of how profound this book would be when I bought it a couple of weeks ago, after a friend told me that this was a “deep” book. And indeed, reading it is like drowning in a sea of humanity, a humanity infused with such realism and emotions that you feel that they might walk out of the page, alive and sentient.

The one thing that is undeniable with One Hundred Years of Solitutde is the power and beauty of its prose – lyrical, magical and evocative. I'm still stumped by the sheer beauty of the book's words.

What I did understand from this story is essentially this – one can never run away from his family, from who he is. Like the indelible ash crosses of the Aurelianos, blood ties are the ties that bind, something that only a divine being can erase and obliterate. History only serves to repeat itself, in a loop of endless repetitions until time and fate put a stop to it.

The story of Macondo and the Buendía’s is also the testament to the duality of solitude – peaceful and destructive at the same time, its crushing heaviness made palpable by the extraordinary lives of the Buendías.

Storytelling is a gift and Gabriel García Marquez has that gift in overflowing abundance. I can’t wait to read another one of his books, and it can’t be too soon.

The picture of perfection is only in your mind

It wasn't until a college friend sent me a text message asking for a favor that I realized that I had become a citizen of the world(wide web). Her favor, which had me digging through my email's archive, began with this text: "Na computer tu ara? ("Are you in front of a computer now?")

Not "How are you?", or "Are you at work?". Just "Are you in front of a computer now?". The question just dared me to answer otherwise.

I don't think my friends ever expected me to be the resident computer junkie. Neither did I. I was one of those people who failed to grasp the significance of Ctrl + S in high school. I never got History of Computing right, messing up COBOL with FORTRAN and vice versa. Nearly all my projects were handwritten. I don't have a computer unit at home, ever since my brother thought it was a good idea to bring our hard drive to school.

It was only when I got my first job out of college that I started getting it. Networks, manga and Crunchyroll. I got my first office-issued laptop, a bulky Compaq, and from then on it was Photoshop, torrents and zip files (cough, porn!, cough). I miss the Compaq badly. Last I heard, they had him back in storage, never having figured out how to sweet-talk him to work. *sniff*

Oookay, so it's not that impressive. Any 15-year-old can do all those stuff better than I could ever hope to. But there are times when I feel that I ought to have an award for being able to do wonders with a computer. Take last week for example. The Outlook was being a pest, I had a deadline, and I only had YM-ed instructions from a colleague on how to configure the damn thing. Besides, I'm a nurse for Pete's sake. Nurses aren't suppose to know these things.

After a few snags, Google here and Google there, this:

Nirvana. Thank God for Google.

So yeah, now I'm a great believer in Google. I use it as a verb everyday. I get pissed off when people come to me for information when they can easily Google it online.

I expect to have more of these moments with my current work. I'm practically an IT professional by association. In a few months, I'll be marking my first year at work and will be logging my 8640th hour in in the internet. Yes, I actually did the math for that.

Despite my hours, I still have yet to become a full-fledged netizen - online shopping, internet banking, health insurance leads, freelance jobs, the works. You know, stuff that will turn me into a total hermit.

And health insurance leads? Everybody needs health insurance. And everybody ought to have genuine leads on the internet.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't have split identities when I'm online. I'm just as awkward as I am in person, still socially inept and retarded.

There are just some things Google can't do for you.

Don't you know you might find a better place to play?

When all the world was a post-it and everything had a deadline, this kept me sane.

Manila, the second act/Getting through the curtain

I was supposed to have had written this post last week. But whatever. I was a wreck when I left for Manila and still was when I came back to Zamboanga a week later. February was an extremely hectic month, with deadlines, rotating power interruptions and fickle-minded bosses adding to the stress of organizing a global launching event.

We arrived in Manila on a Sunday, which is quite lovely since I get OT points travelling on weekends. And that's about the only lovely thing I can remember. Everything went downhill from there. We left a bag full of money, checks and contracts in Zamboanga Airport's departure lounge. The office was closed for fumigation and fogging. We couldn't stay there because, yes, you will die when you stay behind a fogging. The chain holding the ceremonial agong broke. I got stuck inside one of Solair's tiny bathrooms and had to destroy public property to call for help.

Hell starts here.

These series of events did not sit well with my already stretched-out nerves. But as Ms. Cuchie philosophically enthused, better to get all the bad luck out of the system now than later. And that it did. Our launch event was a success. I was tired, hungry and battered beyond functionality but I was happy, more so when my boss congratulated me for a job well done.

Things definitely started to pick up after our event. For one, I could eat again! I stuffed myself with desserts from the breakfast buffet - parfait, chocolate cake, mango crepe, ice cream. Deciding that I had to affirm my dreams of going to Japan, I dared the sushi buffet and ate my first sushi and raw salmon.

RAW.

The hotel we were staying in was pretty posh, situated right smack in busy Makati and just in front of Greenbelt 3. Not exactly shopping central for a pauper like myself. The whole place reeked of eye-candy and, for some reason, smelled of soap. I saw my fair share of stars, Greenbelt being the high-end place that it was: Heart Evangelista, Marc Nelson and Nonito Donaire. Of the three, I was most tempted to approach Donaire, but I couldn't muster the bravado. /wrist

I managed to find an SM, but it was a disappointment. No Comic Alley there. I found Power Books in Glorietta, taking care of my reading needs, but for the first time ever, no anime. Sad, sad day.

Glorietta at night.

I had finally accepted the fact that I was going to spend my last day in Makati alone, when my friend, Penny, managed to drop by despite her busy schedule at work. We made our way to Greenbelt's cinema and did the one thing I was absolutely itching to do, pestering all my classmates in the process - watch Alice in Wonderland. In its full 3D glory. Another giddy moment for me.

300 smackeroos. And worth every penny.

And just like that, everything was over and I had to go back home - not as flashy as Makati, but home nonetheless.

Anyhow, I'm all but blank this week. I've expended so much neurons and dopamine last February that until now, I still can't get my act together. Out of whack until the next trip comes along.

Pretty hotel lamp deserves a photo, yes?

All in but the kitchen sink

Packing is a lot like health insurance leads. It’s personal, customized to individual needs, certainly not a one-size-fits all thing. It’s like a discipline, packing. You get better with practice.

In all honesty, I’d draw flake for my packing skills, or lack thereof. While it’s relatively easy for some people to pack their things in an hour or less, it takes me weeks and weeks of notes and pre-plan planning to get my packing in order. Last-minute packing gets on my nerves and I snap at everyone for every little thing – for not making me dinner, for misplacing my stuff and for being annoyingly cheerful.

This week, I’ll be in Manila for one week. With everything so topsy-turvy and hectic, I barely had time to pack, with the end result of having my mom drone on endlessly about the importance of not procrastinating. But take note. I did NOT procrastinate. Endless office OTs and rotating blackouts stole my time away.

Being on the slightly heftier side of things does not help either. From my meager experience in traveling, I had to carefully plan out my clothes, making sure that they weren't too short or too tight. Unlike petite ladies. They can use anything and they'd still look adorable. Dressing rehearsals are a must in my packing agenda. I’d prefer shirts and jeans anytime, but when you have bosses and jobs, you do what you have to do, though you don’t necessarily want it.

It’s a miracle that I managed to pack all of my things for this week in one trolley. Everything’s neat, light and budgeted. I’ve even got some extra space. Either means I’m getting good at this packing thing or I left something at home. Let’s hope I did not, yes?

It’s going to be a busy week. Looking forward to getting through deadlines, going shopping, seeing Zamboanga again and finally claiming in those OT credits for a week-long vacation.

It’s one, two, three, and suddenly, I see it at a glance

During our trip back to Zamboanga from Dakak last year, my boss casually asked me if I cooked. A tricky question, that. If cooking means pancit canton, noodles and fried fish, then yes, I can cook. But if you mean cooking like mix, seasoning, flavors and spices, then that’s another story.

My boss, upon learning my specialty of fried fish, insisted that I learn how to cook.

So, now I’ve got my aunt teaching me simple recipes for desserts. On my boss’ suggestion, I’m learning how to prepare the fairly simple mango float. According to my aunt, I still need to perfect my pouring skills (I poured more cream on the table rather than on the bowl I was aiming for). But she’s promised to teach me more desserts next week. We’ll be starting with the easy stuff, nothing hard. It’ll have lots of cream, sugar and overnight freezing.

I think it’s about time that I learned to cook. And let posterity note that it’s got nothing to do with that bull that the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. This one is for me.

I’ve always depended on others to prepare my meals. I’m dependent on fast food chains, instant noodles and junk foods for sustenance. To finally be able to prepare a dish would mean that I am learning the art of decisions. In cooking, it’s the conscious decision of waking up, looking at the fridge, getting the ingredients, mixing it up and serving it with a flourish. It’s really a quite selfless act, to cook for the family for a change instead of waiting for the food to be served.

And isn’t being able to make decisions, no matter how small, the mark of an adult? I’m growing up and getting ready to become an independent individual, no matter how late I already am on that department.

Despite being a total noodlehead in the culinary arts, I do make a mean sinigang. It’s my mom’s favorite dish, and I learned how to cook it when she came down with vertigo when I was in high school. My cousin finished 3 platefuls of my sinigang today, and there's not a single dollop left for tomorrow.

The secret to a great sinigang? Tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes. As in life, give and take generous helpings of anything and everything, and you've got it in the bag.

So I’m learning to cook. Who would have thunk it?

In search of glory and honor, we walk in the garden of his turbulence

Being a pessimist has its benefits – it keeps you on your toes, gives you that extra eye for details. Tomorrow at work, all hell breaks lose, with all the bosses present, and with barely a week left for preparations, before we leave for Manila for a major event.

Truth to tell, I’m catatonic with fright. I’m already steeling myself for a bloody week, where my nose will be rubbed raw from all the grinding I’m expecting to take. My apprehension is more on the fact that I can’t seem to pull myself together for work, no matter how much I try to psych myself out, no matter how many post-its I leave on my desk, no matter how long I stay on my workstation, compulsively opening and saving files.

It’s as if my system has gone into hibernation, to prepare myself from the physical backlash that awaits me in the coming days. While I wallow in the calm that is before the storm, I list, rune and muse the things that need to be done, things that I should be doing instead of wiling my time away on movies, online frivolity and general fluff. I’m trying to change, but I’m big on procrastination and cramming.

And I can’t relax unless I’m on the same wavelength of hectic-ness as everyone else. I’ve got a list of things to do, and unless I can scratch some of them out, I’m a ticking timer on a countdown to hysteria. I can’t relax if everyone is busy and I’m not. I’m a dog with a serious case of flea infestation if I finish a job earlier than everyone else because I tend to believe in the adage that if you found something easy to do, you probably did it wrong.

I wish I can just sleep and wake up to find my deadlines and tasks done and over with. I want to do without this pressure, the feeling of air being sucked out of a room, leaving you in a vacuum void of anything but woe and bleak horizons. But if that were the case, how am I supposed to splurge in Manila next week? Every cloud has a silver lining. Mine is National Bookstore and Comic Alley. Hurhur.

I’m trying not to think of what will happen tomorrow, the day after that, the week after February. After all, I can’t change anything. And as what I’ve learned in OT last Saturday, there’s nothing you can do unless people learn the courtesy of replying to emails prompt and early.

Tonight, I pray for the Lord to take this nagging feeling from me, and as the prayer goes, to give me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change. I ask for Him to ease my worries, to find joy and satisfaction in a thorough job done. I’ll ask for a good night sleep, for a sound mind and a fit body tomorrow.

I’ll run through the forest to bury the acorn and forget.

Where do you expect us to go when the bombs fall?

A month ago, a bomb exploded, followed by another, early in the morning in the city. Thankfully, there were no casualties and no injuries, except for a couple of park bouganvillas gone to flower heaven. The incident hardly caused a fuss among Zamboanguenos. It hardly made the evening news, too. Some didn’t even know what happened.

Which goes to show how used we Zamboanguenos are to this kind of life. The worst bombing incident in this city happened when I was in high school. Bombs exploded in the middle of the commercial district, killing dozens and injuring millions. When you live in such a volatile area, you get used to walking around with eyes in your back. As time goes by, you develop a kind of bravura exclusive only to those who live in no-man’s land – a polished, sort of nonchalance, a frightening normalcy in the midst of chaos.

When the latest bombing happened, everyone went to work as usual. No holiday was declared. Just another day in Zamboanga. Doesn’t mean we weren’t scared. When things like these happen, you get scared and you think of the future. You think of things – the what-ifs, that car you wanted to buy, the book you haven’t read, the health insurance leads you were thinking of following up, your dream job. A couple of my friends have even thought of moving to another city with a more secure peace and order situation.

Whatever happens, though, we go on. The things that happen in this city do not define the people who live in it. Sure, we get scared. But we do the best we can with what we have.

And we hope for a better day tomorrow, where bombs don't fall anymore.

Do a little dance, give a little love

I have to hand it to my friends, we are really making good on our collective promise to be more socially outgoing twentysomethings. Now that we’re more open-minded about drinking, partying and stuff, we find going out for a weekend get together real easy. Being gainfully employed and experiencing a latent surge of hormones due to the late emergence of puberty are certainly contributing factors too, but I think it’s the habit of splitting the tab expenses between ourselves that makes us so willing to go out and splurge.

Take for example this month’s get together. We went for pizza and coffee, thinking that we were all full anyways, when we were really not. We ended up ordering two platefuls of pizza. On our last two slices, we learned that DJ is going to make it. It took all my willpower to leave them two pizza slices alone. I’m a considerate friend, you see. I want DJ to have something to eat when he comes. And besides, one bite and we’ll be splitting the tab fiveways instead of four. Teehee.

Total damages for the week: P 91.00.

The relatively cheap expenses for food (once split) notwithstanding, the conversations we have are always the best part of these social activities, the part that I really look forward to. Tonight, me and Toni talked quite a lot about mangas and animes. It’s nice to know that somebody shares my interest for Ouran High School Host Club and Hajime no Ippo and who isn’t completely baffled when I say things like shonen, forbidden brotherly love and Fairy Tail.

We talk about anything. We talk about work and how we want to be richer than we already are. We reminisce quite a lot, too. Reminiscing is way more fun when you had a quirky life in high school with equally quirky teachers who take offense when you laugh while they’re talking about siopaos.

And we talk some more. Of our dreams, of how we want to go to the gym to further support our blossoming social lives, of going abroad, of serving the country, of finding that someone, of being happy, of being proud of how we, in our own little ways, are successful in our fields. We gossip like old women. We make plans to travel to Boracay, Baguio and Hong Kong Disneyland. We bicker over pizza slices.

And we drink beer! Technically, they chug the beerz. I sip, make a face and order a tall glass of water.

Once, I got curious. Everybody else was drinking beer and apparently enjoying it. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against beer. I just can’t see why people enjoy it so much when it’s so bitter.

It’s like this, so they say. When you drink beer, you lose your inhibitions.

And that’s a good thing, right? I ask.

Of course. When you spend a week holed up in your room studying for biochem exams and you’ve got only one day to blow off all that steam, drinking the beers and getting wasted is the only way to go.

Interesting, I think. Justifiable. And plausible.

However, I prefer to have my inhibitions up and running. I’m anal that way. Also, when I need to blow off steam, I watch TV. Or play basketball.

And I'm struck with the realization that I’ll never finish a bottle of beer, never get wasted, never be inebriated enough to wobble clumsily down streets in my life. I think I’m missing quite an experience, yes? Note to self: try to drink more than 4 teaspoons of beer next time. I have low alcohol tolerance, so maybe inebriation is only a couple of sips away.

It’s a nice thing to have conversations over pizza and beerz. I’m not complaining. So chug away, guys.

Winter 2010: Durarara!, Katanagatari

Finally, an anime season that is worth watching! The previous anime seasons had nothing that really interested me. Lots of titles in varying degrees of suckiness. This year's Winter anime line-up may not be as epic as the 2007 season. And it will never be as epic because 2007 had Gurren Lagann, and 2010 doesn't.

But there are one or two titles that look promising. Huzzah!

Durarara!

Thinking, breathing, being bad-ass.

I initially wanted to watch Durarara! because it was from the same guys who brought us Baccano!. But after watching 4 episodes, Durarara! has got what it takes to stand on its own.

Durarara! channels a lot of Baccano! goodness, which is good and has me all nostalgic again, and it's unfolding to be a great story. It has a huge cast, interesting characters, a fair amount of gore and supernatural and fast-paced action. One would likely get lost within the frenzy of activities in Durarara!, especially if you haven't watch Baccano! yet (which is, trust me, even more frenzied than Durarara!). It's important to note that the story proceeds in a non-linear structure. Think one major event, different viewpoints.

This has the potential to be absolutely kick-ass. Or it can spontaneously combust. But 4 episodes in and so far, it has been great. Now I have to wait another week or so before the next episode comes out.

Damn, I miss Baccano! so much. I wasn't able to save a copy of the series from my laptop from my previous job. Ach, dang it, I miss you Ferio!!!

Katanagatari

Kawai, neh? *blink, blink, blink*

Interesting premise, solid cast, simple animation and clean lines. I just finished the first episode over lunch. It has all the right stuff in the right places. I appreciate the quirky comedy too. I lolled quite a bit while chewing on a particularly hard piece of meat. Here's the OP credits.

Katanagatari will only air one, 50-minute episode each month (!). Not good news for someone who's already hook and interested to see how things turn out. However, since it'll take a month to produce each episode, I prolly can expect great stuff to come, since the studios will have more time to do things right. One thing I'd like to see more are fight scenes because them fight animation rocks.

For now, these 2 are the only titles that have piqued my interest. I'm planning to give Ookami Kakushi a whirl because I need something dark to tide me until the next season. Will also catch up on Fall 2009 titles, especially Kimi ni Todoke. I need the fluffy romance factor too, now that February is here.

Everyday is a faded sign I get a little bit closer to feeling fine

Last 2009, I got the chance to visit Dakak, not once but twice. My first trip, a team-building activity, had me all wide-eyed and giddy all over the place. I was giddy enough to wake up at 5 AM to take self-timed pictures of myself, for posterity's sake and for bragging purposes. On my second trip, a business plan workshop, I was more restrained and less giddy. I also went easy with the shutter button, preferring landscapes over me posing on some rock.

Sunsets are awesome.

Dakak is 8 hours from Zamboanga City by bus, and it's pretty isolated. To make sure you get there in one piece, eat and drink sparingly. Eating while traveling on torturous and winding roads is not recommended.

In Dakak, I preferred walking down the park's paths at nights, while everybody was either swimming, pigging out or watching the cultural show. Nothing beats solitary walks through abandoned pathways, listening to the silence and feeling the world disappear.

We also had the chance to pass by Dapitan, and visit the place where Jose Rizal first landed. According to Sir Ric, the old marker had more history to it.

Dapitan has its own theme park too! It's not anything like Enchanted Kingdom, but it's a great start. In my excitement, I ended up leaving my tickets with the front desk reception. Thankfully, we had extras.

Caution: Hot

I didn't go gaga over the beach, though. We have plenty of those here.

I've got my eyes only on you

And this time, I got my eyes on you Osamu Mukai. Oh yeah, the fangirl is back and she is rabid!

My concept of beauty has been blighted by my adolescent exposure to good-looking anime men. I remember a conversation that I had with my teacher back in high school:

Teacher: What do you look for in a man?
Me: (Pause). That’s a hard question.
Teacher: We’ll start with what you look for physically in man.
Me: As long as he looks like Rukawa, I’m good.

I wasn’t trying to be cheeky here. Rukawa was honestly the one guy that I wanted. I still want him, but I don’t think I can handle a relationship with a guy who is perpetually 15 years old. Anyway, Mukai here has some things which the objects of my previous fangirl rages did not have: He’s on the same level of 3D existence as me, a breathing, living and aging (!) person who I can actually meet – once I muster enough concentration and will to plan and save for a trip to Japan. He has a smile that makes you want to glomp him senseless.

He’s starred in a couple of interesting shows. He’s in Honey and Clover, where he plays Mayama. He plays Okura Sho in the ongoing Japanese series Atashinchi no Danshi, and he’ll play Yoshiyuki Taira in the movie adaptation of Beck: The Mongolian Chop Squad. After seeing him protray Mayama real well, I’m definitely going to check out Atashinchi and Beck.

Rabid, rabid, rabid.

I am the one who chose a summer that was unchanging

It's the second day that I have sat through 8 hours without doing any actual work. Never mind that I have a set of guidelines to complete or a newsletter to prepare. Having been at this kind of job for half a year now, my brain's configured to function best when the deadline monster is breathing down my neck. The only way, really, to get work done is to cut my ties with the intarnetz. But then, half my work is tied to the internet, so cutting it off is really rendering me next to useless.

This week, I'm interested to see how fast I can get through the 12, 1-hour episodes of the Japanese live-action adaptation of Honey and Clover.

The live-action cast and the anime cast. Both pastel-y.

I'm a fan of the anime version. Honey and Clover was the first anime series that I bought during my first trip to Manila back in college. My mom thought I was crazy for coming home with CDs instead of tshirts and donuts. Anyway, here's a link to a review of the anime version.

I knew that the anime had a live-action version of sorts (Japanese and Taiwanese adaptations and at least one movie) but it wasn't until I learned that Studio 23 will be airing the live-action version on February that I got interested. I think Studio 23 is going to air the Taiwanese version. I found the Japanese one online and I'm sticking with it for the meantime.

Usually, I'm everything but eager to see live-action adaptations of anime and manga. Think Meteor Garden for Hana Yori Dango and you get my drift. After all, live-action adaptations have a lot of things to consider: visual presentation (no super chibis here), budget, character likeness and plot accuracy. Most important? How to take a 26-episode anime and compress it into 12 episodes. Then there's measuring up to the anime/manga version. Online debates on which is better, and the comparison never ends. In live-action adaptations, many things can, and probably will, go wrong.

Thankfully, the Honey and Clover live-action adaptation is a good one. It does not follow the same story line as the anime, but it does capture its gist. Osamu Mukai is a dead ringer for Mayama sans the red hair and Hiroki Narimiya is impressive as Morita. Toma Ikuta, Riko Narumi and Natsuki Harada all do a great job as Takemoto, Hagumi and Ayumi. Natsuki Harada, especially, looks gorgeous while delivering high kicks. Wiki on the cast here.

On the other hand, I don't think Mayama was that mischevious in the anime. I don't remember Mayama ever teaming up with Morita to pull a prank of Takemoto, though when it does happen in the live-action, its really quite funny and fresh. So nothing majorly disastrous there for me.

Buffering the second episode now. Pretty slow, but I'm still trying to get the hang of these 1-hour dramas anyhow.

Have jacket, will go places

I live the simple life. I lounge around all day and only get up when my matey, a silly and clumsy girl I share an office table with, needs me. As long as I'm left to my own devices, I'm good.

Today, though, something happened. I was walking around the office with my matey, doing our usual errands, when we got called in by one of our supers. Lazy bum that I was, I tuned out of the conversation. After all, the girl I was with could handle the conversation baggage just fine.

Yada, yada, yada, Japan. Yada, yada, yada, 6 weeks. Yada, yada, yada, can I bring you with me. And more yada, yada, yada.

Wait, what?

At that point, everyone got excited. Above the ruckus that ensued, I mentally pieced the fragments of the conversation. "I'm going to Japan for six weeks. Can I bring her with me?"

Me. Getting invited to go to Japan for six weeks. In the winter season. Snow. Japan.

I waited for my mate's reaction. Though we've only been together for a couple of months, I knew that she had this great passion for anything Japanese. She reeks of Japan love. I mean, I spend my time in useful lassitude. She spends her time in front of a computer screen, sifting through anything that has a connection with Japan - anime, bento boxes, magazines, manga, sushi maker, tofu strains. She even sneaks a peek at those hentai stuff when she gets the chance. No wonder her computer is so slow these days. Probably some illicit virus found its way to her PC's drives or something.

Anyhow, I was surprised to see her so cool about it. She was even smiling and being helpful and all that. Prolly hiding all that disappointment inside. Beh.

The trip is not until next week, so we went back to our table. She was pretty silent. I wondered what was going through that weird little head of hers. Of course, she'd be thinking of all the Japan stuff she would be asking for as omiyage. Personally, I know she'd be wanting some of these stuff. I just hope she has enough hidden moolah to get them all.

Gurren Lagann's Viral figurine. Rawr.

Oodles, piles and columns of these...

...And even more oodles, piles and columns of these..

Something traditional like this kimono...

An inkstone would be nice too...

Still, it's not as if she's picky. I can bring back a stone and she would suck out all the Japan essence from the darned thing in no time.

Too bad, matey. You'd like it there, I know. I'm sure you'll go there someday and drool all you want. You may be the 'most promising' employee and all that, but this time, it's me they need there. It's winter, and everybody'll need a jacket or two. Don't worry, I'll give Japan your hellos.

Sincerely, your jacket

It goes on and on and on

The boss was out today, and I had the lullz at work. But still, it wasn’t enough to kick start my brain, rusty as it is from the holiday break. I reek and creak of rustiness. Rawr and a double rawr! So, shake it off and let’s get a-cracking.

I couldn’t complete any of the things I had set out to do today. Partly, it was rusty engines and partly this (the darned thing won't embed itself, boo).

I’ve heard of Glee before but never really paid attention to it. I figured I was too old for musicals and singing anyway. Which goes to show how much I know and that we’re never really too old for anything. Anyway, instead of doing work, I spent the afternoon hunting down online episodes. The ports of the office connection are all closed, it seems. I don’t know what that means, really. All I know is that it won’t allow me to torrent and it’s making my life just a tad bit difficult.

I’ve been meaning to write about the stuff that had happened since 2009 ended. For a self-confessed social retard, the year-end and the year-start were pretty hectic, what with friends and old classmates coming over for vacation, a last-minute office trip to Dakak, my grandfather’s 86th birthday and my aunt giving birth to my latest niece. With everything such a blur, I don’t think I gave my 2009 a proper send off. I don’t remember much of it, which is good because then I’d be nostalgic and depressed and it’s not really a great way of starting the new year.

2009 was the year I finished my stint as a volunteer nurse at the Zamboanga City Medical Center. In 3 months, I learned more than I did from the 4 years I spent in college. Volunteering gave me the confidence to admit that I was a competent nurse, and that I was a pretty darned good one at that. I gained back my confidence and realized that I did not need anybody to make a name for myself. I could do it on my own. I was working punishing hours, received no pay but I was blissfully happy. Now I know. I am meant for the medical profession, and I’d never be as happy elsewhere.

My three months ended and I needed another job. All hospitals in the city needed volunteers, but I wanted, needed, compensation too. Obviously, you can’t be a rich nurse in this country anymore. The family urged me to go abroad and I refused. I want to work here, on my own land, my own city. For God and country. It took me a while, but I finally understood it.

For two and a half months, I worked as a researcher for a military-affiliated agency, and I’ll always be grateful for the experience. I worked with nice people, met a fine mentor, mad friends and had the finest boss of all time. We only had a short time together, but I’m happy to have met such people. I want to make them proud of me, which is why I’m working really hard at my current job. I’m six months in and counting. I think I’ll be staying for six months more and then I’m probably off to another job. By that time, I hope I’d have the guts to go back to nursing and start a career. I’m 23 year old, undecided and career-less. Tch.

I’ve worked the hardest this year. I’ve also travelled the most. I went to Cebu, visited Pampanga and went to Manila and Dakak, twice. It’s an exercise which I hope I can continue this year, travelling. I encountered the dreaded pimple this year, after 22 pimple-less years.

I discovered that coffee hates me and I it. I discovered new anime and fell in love with old ones as well. I saw terrific sunsets. I saw the sun set behind great mountains, settle on drifting clouds and sink behind the calm waters of the ocean.

This year, I want to start things right. I will work harder. I will be of use. Go out more. Do crafts. Take up a new hobby. Write more, draw again. Save money and splurge! I will be better. I want to be awesome, but yeah, I’ll settle for better for now.

Goodbye, 2009. You were great.