7 Milestones That Made My 2012 Awesome

 

I don’t typically do a countdown of sorts to welcome the New Year. Recently, however, I came across an interesting school of thought called The Happiness Advantage by Shawn Achor. Watch his Ted talk here. Witty presentation and entertaining as hell, too.

According to Achor, we have a twisted view of happiness and success. Our brains are wired to think that if we work harder, we become more successful. The more successful we get, the happier we become. That is our current formula for success and happiness. After years of research, what he found out is that our brains work in reverse! When we train our brains to be positive, we are more productive, more resilient, and yes, more successful.

So what does this have to do with me? (or you, for that matter) Well, what this simply means is that we underestimate the power of positive thinking. Note that the operative word is train, which involves a conscious, wilful effort towards achieving it. One of the strategies Achor highlights to start creating the ripple of positivity is to list down the things you are grateful for every single day. And this is how I want to start the year – light, positive, and just plain thankful for the awesome year that was.

On average, one year gives us probably around a hundred noteworthy experiences – good and bad, pleasant or otherwise. I have narrowed mine to seven. And since my goal for this post is to be as positive as I can, here are the seven best experiences that made my year awesome and memorable in different ways.

Swimming with the whale sharks in Oslob. Oslob is a quiet town in the southern part of the Cebu province. Well, it used to be quiet until word got around that whale sharks (butanding, in the local language) were spotted in the beaches. Oslob became a sensation. Everyone wanted to go there to see the whale sharks, including yours truly. So several of my work colleagues and I packed our swimming gear, cramped ourselves in a rented multicab, and drove around 2 hours to Oslob. And it was beautiful. Just like a lot of Cebu towns, it was rich in cultural heritage. The whale sharks did not disappoint, either. The experience was breathtaking and a little scary – swimming just meters away from live creatures bigger than you with nothing between you and them but just water. And those mouths! Oh my god, I think if they really wanted to, they could suck you right into their mouths. I had this irrational fear that they would gleefully chomp down my legs, but thank God, it never crossed their minds. As we were leaving, my heart sank when I saw chips of paint on their mouths from bumping into the boats. I just wish there was a better way of taking care of them. We drove back to the city that afternoon and as we were driving along the south road properties area – as if on cue, fireworks lit up the sky. Amazing. Seeing the colours engulf the black night in smoke and light. That would have been a perfect ending to a beautiful day. Until the engine of the multicab conked and wouldn’t start. Epic fail. We were stuck for about an hour until help came along. Nevertheless, it was a great day and we had a pretty good laugh about it.

Writing my bucket list. A bucket list is simply a list of things you want to do or experience before you die. I never thought I’d make one for myself. But the whale shark encounter in Oslob really inspired me, along with the realization that the clock is ticking and there are so many things I still wanted to do, experience, or make out of this life. Some of them reasonable. Some of them just plain crazy. But who cares, right? My life, my rules. I once wrote a post on the difference between existing and living. Writing my bucket list made me look into my own heart and define for myself the kind of life I want to live. My bucket list is my personal manifesto, a promise to myself to not waste this life, and a declaration to live out my dreams. You see, life is so random that I want to put a little more deliberate-ness into this random-ness. I don’t know if it makes sense to you but it does to me. And strange as it may sound, I have a really good feeling that going after each item in my list will teach me a thing or two about life and living. So I am quite the excited little kid. And the world is my playground.

Learning how to drive. I wanted to learn how to drive for a number of reasons, the most ridiculous of which is getting another valid, government-issued ID in the form of a driver’s license. On a more serious note, I wanted to learn how to drive so I don’t have to keep asking my brother or my father to drive me to where I want to go. Also, one of my items on my bucket list involves driving so learning to drive is simply a means to an end, not the end itself. Anyway, I took driving lessons last year and learned the basics. A little more practice and mastery should do the trick. So for now, it’s a work in progress.

Taking up a crash course on film. The last time I dabbled in film was during my college years for my thesis. I love watching films. Creating one is a different story though and requires a lot of patience and hard work. The filmmaking course was offered on a scholarship. I got in, attended the classes, and produced a 5-minute film about Mega Cebu.

Auditioning for a musical play. Another item in my bucket list. The thing with a bucket list is that once you put each item into writing (and does not remain as some vague idea in your head), you have signified your commitment to doing everything your power to make it happen. If you are gunning for a life with no regrets, this commitment might be the extra push you need to keep going despite the frailty of your convictions. When I woke up in the morning of the audition day, I wanted to get sick. My feet were cold and it felt as if I drank a dozen cups of coffee. I was nervous and jittery all over. My heart was in my throat and my mind flew somewhere else. Anyway, to make the long story short, I walked into that audition and went as far as the final casting audition. I’d have to say I enjoyed going through the process. It was all very new and exciting to me. In the end, I didn’t make it to the play but I have ABSOLUTELY no regrets. Well, until next time then. J

Traveling to Shenzhen, China. In 2011, I traveled to Singapore, Hong Kong, and Davao. I thought for 2012, I’d lie low and save for a major trip in 2013. But I guess I got lucky. Our team decided to hold our teambuilding exercises in Shenzhen, China. I always feel ecstatic when I travel. And who doesn’t? It’s an adventure, a trip outside of your comfort zone. It means meeting new people and immersing yourself in a new culture and a new way of life. Geography can be very limiting. Yes, I am referring to the physical boundaries that separate nations, cities, and towns. Traveling gives you the opportunity to look at life in a different lens. It liberates you from your own narcissism and ignorance. Plus, you get to learn about yourself or the people you’re traveling with.

Getting inked. Safe to say, I did not end my year with a bang. It was more like bzzzzzzt. A buzzing sound like that of a bee, except that it came from an electronic needle that stung my flesh over and over again. Getting a tattoo is an item on my bucket list. People have asked me why the hell I wanted to undergo such torture. I guess it’s my own way of testing my limits; in this case, my tolerance for pain. Tattoo, check!

The bar has just been raised and 2013 is going to be a tougher year – because playing it safe in the status quo is a dangerous thing. I hope my 2013 will be bold, risky, and adventurous – in a positive way. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself here. I’m taking it easy, one milestone at a time. I super love what one of my favourite writers, Jeff Goins, says: "Some of the best things in life cannot be planned. They can only be enjoyed. So go. Live. Be surprised."

22 and counting

Hi guys! You’re cordially invited to my advanced birthday celebration tomorrow at Lamesa Grill in SM Northwing, 7:00 PM. Please don’t spread the word. Limited seats only.

I’m now officially and irrevocably 22 years old. And unlike before when you really had to torture me before I would admit I’m older, this time I calmly handled with poise what others would consider as tragedy. As a matter of fact, I welcomed my birthday as soon as the clock struck twelve. I celebrated my birthday a day in advance. Instead of 08/09/08, I celebrated it on 08/08/08 – not that I’m superstitious. But it was the perfect day to celebrate, what with the UP Cebu Cookout rocking at the UP Cebu Grounds. The few chosen guests who were close friends, my brother, and his girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife were all available that day. And that was a Friday. What more could the birthday girl ask for?

I chose to celebrate my birthday through a nice dinner. Celebrating it on a beach with family and friends seemed impossible with the erratic schedules my call center friends follow, so dinner was the next best thing. I chose Lamesa Grill on impulse because I started “planning” 5 days before my actual birthday. But I knew I made the right decision when we checked out the place. I totally fell in love with it! The shell lamps that give a soft glimmer to the dark night were a beauty. The bamboo blinds and the wooden fixtures that adorned the place gave it a Filipino accent. I certainly didn’t mind having to trade the beach for a place such as that. It’s a pity I didn’t take more pictures of the place but I swear on my knees, everyone should try it out. The food is fantastic. The service is superb. The crew kept asking if we enjoyed the food and if we needed anything else. Actually, their customer relations skills were excellent, even short of them spoon feeding us. It’s a bit pricey but it is just lovely.

You be the judge if we committed gluttony that night. Our table was laden with pinatayong manok, pork belly, lad apahap kinulob (a kind of fish – don’t ask me further, we ordered it because Mark was recovering from skin allergy), sinigang na salmon head, mixed seafood ala gambas, seafood rice, leche flan, and buko macapuno rumble. But is this gluttony? We were just enjoying good food. I would have wanted to take pictures of all the stuff we ate that night but I didn’t want to look like a total nerd, going around the table and taking pictures of every dish served.

The crew of Lamesa Grill found out that it was my birthday celebration so they embarrassed – I mean, surprised me by singing a rather loud Happy Birthday song and gave me a cassava cake with a candle on top. Awww, that was really sweet. Joining me that night were Mark, Arrah, April, my brother Amiel, and his girlfriend Michelle. I have also invited Phrixel but due to last minute work delays, he wasn’t able to catch up. I honestly wanted to invite my blockmates Noreen, Krishna, Ivy, Delna, Yarry, and the others but my budget was not so accommodating. I owe you something guys. I’ll make up for it someday.

After dinner, we headed to UP Cebu to party. It was the annual UP Cebu Cookout but what made it extra special is that it was the Centennial Cookout. I enjoyed the performances and though there were areas that could be improved, it was all in all a great Cookout. At the UP Grounds, I fell in love with Refrain (everybody did, too – or all the girls did) and saw my old friends and schoolmates in UP. I spent most of the time talking, actually. And while I ignored the pasimple hints that I should give a treat, they were nice enough to greet me at 12m.n.

The main attraction of the event was the performance of Manila-based Slapshock. While they performed and everybody flocked near the stage, my friends and I kept talking while one even slept! Pasaway. And in the middle of their performance, the sleeping Jason Baguia woke up and told us he was going home. Okay, I thought that was enough for the day. It was 2AM and I myself could barely keep my eyes open. I decided to go home, too. I still have to work the next day.

Though tired and sleepy, I had to stay awake for one more ceremony before dozing off: opening my gifts. Much love and thank you to Mark and Arrah who surprised me with presents. Mark even tried to throw off suspicion by telling me through text that the traffic was almost impossible to deal with and that he had no time to pick up a present for me. But when he showed up at the restaurant, he was carrying this Blue Magic paper bag. Mark gave me a very cute pink teddy bear named Monina. It smelled nice too. I had to keep it in the closet because I’m pretty sure if it stays on my bed, the pink color would magically turn grey after quite some time. Arrah gave me an original cd of my latest obsession – Daughtry! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! I loved it.

Presents or no presents, I loved every minute of my birthday celebration. Despite sleeping late, I am thankful I still woke up just in time the next day to prepare myself for work. My officemates never found out it was my birthday until I told them late afternoon. But that’s a different story.

Slow down, you’re going too fast

For the second time in five years, I was admitted at a hospital in Cebu. The diagnosis: classical dengue fever. For once, I was relieved that the cause of my latest distress in life was a blood-sucking Aedes aegypti and not because I couldn’t keep myself from chomping down contaminated food. The first time I was ever admitted at the hospital was when I was a freshie in college. I was admitted due to typhoid fever. Then on the summer before my senior year, I got mild amoebiasis (and nearly got hospitalized). Geez, bacteria love me so much they find a way to invade my system through the food I eat.

Anyway, what’s more important is that I’m well now and back to work after six days of bed rest, fluids, and anti-inflammatory pills (for the rashes). Although I feel a little bad of having to leave work for a couple of days, I somehow felt that it was a welcome respite for me. I’m not glad that I got sick. But boy was I glad to have taken a break from work. Some of my friends who visited me at the hospital actually envied me and would gladly take my place at the hospital bed. But well, I wouldn’t give up my slot either. Except for the incessant poking of needles in my arm to draw blood samples, everything else made me feel like I’m on vacation. Kudos to the hospital and its staff! If only the hospital was tucked somewhere in the mountains or near the beach, it would have been the perfect escape.

On a more serious note, being confined at the hospital gave me a good time for contemplation and reflection. I couldn’t help it, you know. My bosses were really understanding enough not to pester me with work and would rather check whether I was fine. So I had all the time mostly to myself. And I wondered what could have I possibly done this time to be in this situation. The answer: none. I certainly didn’t want to be bitten by a dengue-carrying mosquito in the first place and I could have gotten it in a lot of possible places – the boarding house, the office, the mall… But among all the people in all those places, it chose to bite me. Why me, I asked. Perhaps, I needed a little jolt.

For me, it was a natural roadblock. Unexpected, sometimes unwanted but almost always desperately needed. You see, most of the time we want to take full control of our life – driving it at topmost speed and making the most out of the little time we are given. And that’s not bad. It’s just that sometimes, we get so caught up with our job and our everyday struggles that we tend to miss the very little but very important details in life that actually matter – family, friends, love, and even life itself. In other words, it is simply life’s way of saying, “Slow down, you’re going too fast.” Life must have, at first, tried to warn me about it but I didn’t listen or I was too busy to even hear what it was saying. So it deliberately stepped on the brakes so I would stop. Stop and breathe. Stop and savor every single moment. Stop. And start all over again.

So today, I am back at the wheel, coursing through uncharted paths. I make right turns and sometimes bump into the wrong ones. Sometimes, I drive back. Sometimes, I speed up. But I’m fervently hoping this time, I’ll know when I need to stop.

Do cats get claustrophobic too?

I have an uncanny knack of making feral cats my pets, especially if they exhibit outward signs of human sociability. I always pounce on that weakness. For instance, my first-ever pet cat Clovis was a wild cat which I slowly lured to domestication by appealing to its voracious appetite. The others that followed were drawn by basically the same motivation. But not Dr. Jinx.

Or maybe he was when our friendship started. The memory of our first meeting was lost in the blurry of my college years. All I remember was that as soon as I stepped on the topmost rung of the staircase that leads to the door of my boarding house, he sprinted towards me, meowing like crazy, and rubbed his white and orange head against my legs. I was a bit taken aback by his aggressiveness. Never have I encountered such behavior unless the cat and I are already friends, which we weren’t. But ever the diplomatic person who will not thwack any unfamiliar cat’s butt, I sweetly said hello. I could not remember if I shared some leftovers that night but my brief greeting further goaded him to come near me. The next day, he was at his antics again and this time, he was clever enough to get ahead of me in entering the room. Up to the present, I wrestle with him at the door as he futilely attempts to bypass my towering frame. I think his goal in life is to just set his furry paws in our cozy room.

Anyway, since it has been his habit to hang out in our room, I let him indulge in this desire every once in a while. In fact, I let him sleep there. And so far, he hasn’t chewed on my toes or peed on my shoes yet so it’s fine with me. One day, while I was watching a movie from the computer, a small rat tiptoed across the computer table right in front of me. I wanted to scream but the image of the rat jumping at me and landing right into my mouth shut me up. As I found out later from my brother, the rat George has been disturbing us for quite some time. (Yes, my brother and I name our mammal friends. The only creatures I don’t give names are cockroaches because one, they’re the grossest things on earth. Two, they’re not mammals. And lastly, they’re not our friends.) I decided it was payback time. I let Dr. Jinx inside the room and waited. I was about to drift off to slumber when I heard a crash. (By the way, I named the cat Dr. Jinx because I feel that our electric fan is at the brink of extinction every time he roughly brushes his head against it, as if he really plans to jinx it up.) Sure enough, George’s tail was wiggling like a lollipop outside Dr. Jinx’s mouth. Eeewww. Well, at least I’m happy and Dr. Jinx is happy. That’s all that matters. And I thought that was the end of the Georges.

One night, I was stripped down at the bathroom ready for a ritual evening bath, humming to my heart’s content when a George lurking somewhere popped its small pointed head and ran around the bathroom in squares. I instinctively jumped on the toilet seat and my soft humming evolved to natural screaming. I got dressed quickly, locked the bathroom door behind me, and called on Dr. Jinx for help. For some weird reason, Dr. Jinx was scared of the bathroom. No matter how many times I tried to shove him towards it, he would always find a way to evade the damn bathroom. Unmoved, I dragged him to the bathroom and locked him inside. As soon as I closed the door, Dr. Jinx started whimpering! Jinxie, find George and eat him alive, I pleaded through the door. The whimpering continued. Then I heard a scratch. I thought he finally caught George. Imagine my astonishment when I opened the bathroom door and saw Dr. Jinx, not on the floor but at the top of the thin laundry line wobbling for dear life with wide eyes. I could not imagine how he got up there, considering that the laundry line was way over my head. Being trapped in a bathroom seemed to pump some adrenaline into the poor cat. Seriously, are cats capable of getting claustrophobia? Anyway, I got Dr. Jinx out of the bathroom and forcefully shooed George out. (while shrieking, of course) The moment George skittered on the room premises, Dr. Jinx grabbed him and chomped him down. But the whole ordeal left indelible memories on Dr. Jinx’s system. After that night, he never dared go anywhere near the bathroom door and would rather lie down at the bottom of the double-decked bed near my shoes. No George has been pestering us since then and I’m almost looking forward to meeting another George. Why? Well, he might be the key to finding out another one of Dr. Jinx’s well-kept secrets.

My little piece of paradise

So far, it has been one literal hell of a summer. Paranoid over coming down with heat stroke and dehydration, I have put into practice all the scientific and the unorthodox ways of coping with too much heat. That includes guzzling more than a dozen glasses of water per day, cutting my hair short, opening all windows in our living room, putting the air conditioning unit to maximum level, sweeping the floor of my bedroom every after 3 or 4 hours (I feel the room getting hotter when it’s messy. And if my parents are lucky, I would include their room in my cleaning agenda for the day.), wearing sunglasses inside the house, occasionally popping my head inside the freezer, and a whole lot more. Trust me, if the heat goes on longer, I swear I’m going to go nuts.

At times like these, all I really want is to be in this place – a little piece of paradise on earth.

This picture was taken on Black Saturday last Holy Week. Our clan was capping off the weeklong reunion, as we always do, on a small resort in Barili, Cebu. While the others were busy cooking food, eating, playing volleyball or mahjong, swimming, and singing (courtesy of the very trusty karaoke machine), I wandered off for a while and surveyed the beach. There, I found my place.

It was a shady spot where I could feel the soft billowing of the cool breeze, hear the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, and watch the blue sea stretching out to forever. I couldn’t resist the urge to bask in a glorious moment like that. I took my towel, spread it out like a mat, and sat cross-legged with a book, a pen, and a little notebook on my lap. I plugged some good music to my ears, drowning the sound of merrymaking in the background. Then, I got lost. Lost in all the beauty unfolding before me. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, slowly, painstakingly…like I was never going to breathe again. In my mind, I devoured the richness of life and pondered on the splendor of nature, making me realize I’m so lucky to be alive – to be able to see and feel how everything around me lives as well. It was, truly, a magical moment.

I would have stayed there the whole afternoon but you all know how our relatives are – always asking what we are up to. Turned out, while I was lost in my own world, the people from the real world were looking for me. Soon, I was tapped back to the present with them approaching and asking me, “What are you doing?” I just smiled and said, “Nothing.” Then I winked at them. If only they knew where I’ve been to.

Goodbye, Captain

I vividly recall the day Captain came into my life. The midday sun was scorching hot and we were in my high school Science laboratory working on some experiment. My classmate Christian arrived with a backpack, the main zipper of which was slightly open. Out popped the head of the cutest dog I have ever seen! He was a plump little Japanese spitz with white and brown fur. My classmates and I squealed in delight. I have been pestering my classmates to give me a pup of my own and on that day, my wish was granted.

When I first brought him to our house, he was a quiet little fella. He didn’t know where to go or what to do so he just followed me around. I sat on the floor beside him. After a few seconds, he gently put his head on my lap and slept. Such a sweet dog. Of course, he was a pain in the neck at times. Few days after, he became very hyperactive that he chewed on our carpet and crashed on my stuffed toys. That was just the beginning of his craziness. Months later, he would chase my cats and knock over our neighbors’ flower pots.

I remember how he used to hate my cats because he was jealous of them. Whenever my attention was focused on the cats, he would whimper loudly. But later on, he befriended the cats and even went as far as playfully biting their tails. (I suspect it was some sort of revenge)

Despite all that, Captain was my best friend. It didn’t matter to him whether I was the best or the worst master. He gives me a look of assurance telling me that no matter what happens, he will always back me up. At times when I am down in the dumps, all I really need to do is to sit down in silence. His presence would be comforting enough. Sometimes, I even feel guilty for leaving him when I had to study in college. But whenever I get back home, he would still be the same Captain I left behind – mischievous, playful, and loyal. Sadly, today, no faithful comrade would be standing by the door to meet me.

I miss stroking his fur behind his ear. I miss giving him a bath. I miss changing the water on his bowl. I miss purposely tickling his ear with a piece of dry leaf. I miss cuddling him with all my might. I miss him jumping at me whenever I arrive after how many months of being in school. Above all, I just miss him. But then again, he might be in a better place now.

Goodbye Captain, my Captain, I’m still missing you…

chopsuey for New Year

I didn’t exactly have chopsuey on New Year’s Eve.

I had pansit, sweet and sour fish fillet, beef, and lechon so small we suspected it was a Chihuahua in disguise. But my experiences during the months before the year ended were bursting with a variety of fun moments and bittersweet realizations that it seemed I just swallowed a whole bowl of chopsuey!

Let me start with the more serious part of this entry. Several months have passed since my last post. The last post I wrote was about my current occupation of answering calls from people at the other side of the globe. Well, I still do now. The only difference before and now is that I’m getting the hang of it – to the point that if my customer gets irate, I get irate too. Hahaha! Not that I advise it. I mean, we’re supposed to “care” for our customers. But when people get mad, their overwhelming emotions cloud their judgment and they say a lot of things irrelevant to the issue. I just want to give them a taste of their own medicine, so either I answer back or channel my anger in more subtle ways like putting them on hold longer. Newbies, you shouldn’t be reading this. Anyway, the good thing is I have fulfilled my end of the contract. But to be honest about it, I’m not only relieved. I’m anxious as well. Why? Because that means I have to face another crossroad: What next and where to? If there is one good thing about this current job, it is that it made me realize that you have to find a job that you’re really passionate about because you spend almost all your day working. If you’re unhappy about your job, you’re going to be unhappy for most of the day…and logically, for most of your life! Been there. Still am there. So if it all boils down to passion, what am I passionate about?

“I have decided to avoid employment in mainstream media because I do not want to be caught in a situation where I have to compromise my ethical values. The media is one of those places where you can most likely trade your ideals for money. I’d rather be employed in a corporation, whose nature is admittedly profit-oriented than be employed in a media institution, whose nature is also profit-oriented, hiding under the guise of public service. I was once fooled into thinking that if I become a part of mainstream media, I could affect people’s lives and fight for what is true. Well, that is partly correct. But it happens if and only if it will not collide with the personal interests of the media owners. Otherwise, it is best to shut up if you don’t want to be fired. At least in a private company, I know clearly what I am working for. No icing on the cake. No false guises. Just… reality. And just what I want at this point in my life…”

Shortly after I graduated, I boldly made a statement about being employed in mainstream media. Looking back, I realized that the way I wrote it, I gave the impression that it is media per se that I’m trying to avoid. But what I was only trying to avoid is the kind of inner conflict I’ve dealt with as a Mass Communication student. I thought that by getting away from the field I’ve been in for four years would mean getting away from all the conflict. But now, 6 months later and with more gray hairs on my head, I realized it’s not where you are – whether you’re in media or you’re in a corporation – that matters. Wherever you are, you will always and continually encounter struggles within and beyond yourself. Struggles that test you how far your principles and your personal values can go. But these are actually little details of life that make you scream and fight. And in the end, they make a stronger person out of you. It’s quite interesting, looking back at all these and wondering why I wasn’t able to see the grain of truth hidden behind all these. But then again, now that I’m already out in the real world, the hallowed halls of my school can no longer shelter me from causing myself further trouble. Whereas before, my teachers could just warn me of impending dangers ahead, now I have to steer the wheel and explore it all on my own while picking up my lessons along the way. It’s tough but it’s inevitable. Well, this is life, as what they all say…

I don’t want to turn this post into a melodrama of sorts so let’s get to the fun part. Whoopee! I’ve always been a fun-loving person. With all the unnecessary stress we get from our job, three of my batch mates and currently my colleagues in the call center industry, and I decided to go out after the last shift of the week before the year ended – probably to ward the stress and bad luck for the coming year. Mark, Jeiko, Raine, and I went knocking pins and pulling each other’s leg at SM Bowling Center. Then our childhood kept haunting us back that we couldn’t resist a ride in bumper cars. I guess what was a little embarrassing was that our competitors were little kids but we didn’t care and just stepped hard on the pedal, trying to avoid bumping into each other and the kids. We watched a movie next, ate pizza, and to top the big event… tadaaaa… karaoke galore with the drinks on the side! We sang and drank and danced to our hearts’ delight. We even wanted to go bar-hopping after that but the beer had already taken its toll so we decided to end the night with an after-drink dinner instead.

The Power Four at Yellow Cab

Strike! (Please don't embarrass me...)

I'm innocent! I was just singing and you accuse me of...drinking?!?

That’s just about it. Not exactly ending the year with a bang but lessons were learned and friends were made. So I’m just contented about it. The new year has come and I’m wondering what’s in store for me. I can’t wait to find out.

best place next to home

For the past twenty years of my existence, I have spent most of my Holy Weeks in Barili, the hometown of my father located at the southern part of Cebu. Save for that particular week during the year, my grandmother’s house is relatively quiet. But as Holy Tuesday steps in, people start pouring into the house, lugging baggages, appliances, little kids, and beautiful memories behind. My grandmother’s house would seem to glow from all the noise and bustle inside it – the sound of hammers fixing the wooden figures of the family caro, the music and the voices coming from the rented karaoke machine, the crying and screaming of little kids, the laughter of binatas and the dalagas talking about the latest happenings in their lives, the conversations of the mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles on how the kids have grown, and so on and so forth. It is no longer the lonely house it was during most of the days of the year. For the next few days, it becomes our home.

Tradition has it that every Holy Week, all the eleven sons and daughters of my lola Guadalupe Alquizola-Yap gather in her house not only to observe the Holy Week but also to participate in a family-held custom – to decorate, arrange, and parade the family caro every Holy Wednesday. In a way, we are obliged to be there since it’s a family thing. But then, as the saying “the more, the merrier” goes, all the preparations we undertake can hardly be called tasks since we enjoy working together and catching up on each other in between. Amid all the fuss of arranging the flowers and dressing up the life-sized figures of Jesus the Nazarene, Simon, the Centurion, and the rest, we manage to pop in a little chitchat. Our efforts, after all, are not in vain. We are rewarded by delicious meals prepared by the mothers at home. And it’s no ordinary meal. In honor of the occasion, it’s almost like a feast.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays seem to roll by quickly with the busy schedule. But as Thursday morning peeps in, everyone can sit back, relax, and savor the rest of the week. I know Holy Week should be a time for reflection and prayer but it seems to be the only perfect excuse for everyone to leave their jobs and classes behind. We only meet once a year as a big family so we don’t let it pass without having some fun. This is where the karaoke showdown, the movie marathon, and the small trips to scenic spots come in. The week is usually concluded with a day or a day and a night at the beach, complete with the inuman sessions, night swimming, and eating.

On a personal note, here are the things that I really love most about staying in Barili for the Holy Week: (1) I like the feel of being united as a big family, despite the generation differences. Today, there are about three generations of our family gathering in my lola’s house and our family just keeps on growing! (2) I especially like meal times, even if we have to go by batches since the dining table can definitely not accommodate all of us in one sitting. I like meal times because aside from my obvious affection for food, meal times are usually accompanied by small jokes thrown at each other at the dining table. (3) Bedtimes are sometimes a headache. The house has only five rooms. Imagine trying to fit in eleven sons and daughters plus the children and the grandchildren in one house. Some end up sleeping on mats spread out on the floor. Just last Holy Week, the five of the older girl-cousins – that’s me, Japril, Pauline, Ella, and Julie Ann – had to make do with one bed. Three of us had to sleep sideways so we won’t all fall out of the bed. Hahaha! That’s actually a fun part of it. Since we girls are inseparable during those days, we push the limits harder. Even the smallest nook of the house can become a haven as long as we’re together and we can talk about our love lives and sing together. (4) Do you know that since time immemorial, (okay, that was just an overstatement) we girl-cousins take a bath together? I’m not really sure if it saves time and water. But we love it anyway. (5) Lastly, I love being with my cousins. I’m lucky that I have cousins who have (more or less) the same age as mine. I see how we have grown from awkward kids to mature adolescents. I can now recollect fond memories of my childhood in that house and I can see the difference between then and now. For instance, back then we really love riding the trisikad at night to get some fresh air and to tour around the town proper. Now, we do it because we want to be on the lookout for cute guys. Before, we play with our toys and we even cringe at the mere thought of us having boyfriends. But today, guess the main topic of our conversations? Mostly about the things we eewed and ughed before – boys plus relationship and dating. We really have grown up.

As I write this article, a wave of nostalgia hits me as I realize that as we grow up, our priorities change. For those who have finished college like me, our work becomes our priority. Some of my cousins cannot make it to the Holy Week gatherings because they work as seamen abroad. And with the looming crisis facing our country, some members of our family plan to leave the country for good. I hope that one day, I wouldn’t have to miss the gathering for other things in this life. But just in case I do, I still would like to go back to that house once in a while – Holy Week or not. It is, after all, the best place next to home.

Thank you

It has been over a week since I graduated. Yes, the ordeal is over. After what seemed like an eternity waiting for the verdict of the University Council, I finally donned my sablay, walked onstage, took the fruit of my four years’ hard work, and shook hands with the university president. Man, that was just overwhelming. I was nearly brought to tears as I was walking up the stage with my parents because it was only until then when the reality that I was actually graduating sank in! The problem with our curriculum threatened our chances for graduation but I was not overly worried about it. Well, my teachers were confident that the council would let us graduate, considering it wasn’t our fault to begin with and considering the consequence that we would probably sue them if they wouldn’t. Still, graduating was like a distant dream for me. All the time, I was hovering in my own little world of dreams that I didn’t notice one of them was coming true – for real. You see, after the final defense of my thesis, I temporarily shut myself out to the world. I was dead tired and drained to the last drop of blood and tears. I took a supposedly short break during the Holy Week and spent it with my musically-inclined family and relatives in my father’s hometown in Barili. But I missed vacation too much that I generously allowed myself to bum the week after that. The thought of graduation was far from my mind since I wasn’t sure I would be graduating anyway. So when the good news broke out that majority of the members of the University Council decided to let us graduate after the deliberations, all I did was to shout, in my half-drunken state, “Makagraduate ko!” I jumped up and down, sang my heart out, drank more than a little, ate a full meal after, and threw up. (I’m actually allergic to beer. My brothers say it’s in the genes.) In other words, it seemed as if I just heard a joke and I laughed it off. Silly me. But well, I did graduate and reality finally snapped me back to the present.


So now I’m standing at the door of a new chapter of my life. I’m about to join the country’s labor and tax-paying force. As of press time, I haven’t sent an application letter or résumé. Er, maybe I’ll bum a little more while planning my next moves in the chessboard of life. In the meantime, my heart is bursting with profuse thanks for the people who helped me course through my college life. For sure, they didn’t make the journey easier but they made the trip worth it. To my parents, for giving me the go signal in the times when I’m about to venture into something new and for knowing when to bring down the red light when my foolishness got the better of me. My brothers and my sister-in-law, for being my professional support system. You guys might suspect that I have more crazy bones in my body but you still backed me up whatever decision I made. To my teachers, whom I have cursed because I sometimes found them unreasonable and unjust, thank you – for all the things I’ve learned in the four years that I stayed in the university. To my block mates, who have seen me grow (and ehem, mature?) and practically grew up with me. You brought the best and the worst in me. I didn’t cry during graduation (it didn’t occur to me yet that from now on, we’d go our own separate ways) but I know that days from now, I’ll be sobbing on my own because I’ll be terribly missing our food trips, night-outs, even the casual conversations in class. To my friends and all the good acquaintances I’ve made, you made my college years rock and roll. You’re the best! Lastly, and definitely not the least, the Lord Almighty, whom I have doubted, trusted, doubted again, and trusted again but who – amidst all those weaknesses, always picked me up when I fell and never failed to teach me the right lessons. For embracing me with loving arms, Father, I thank you. Have Your will in me.

A kid again

Another year has again gone by. And age is surely catching up with me. But before I turn this entry into one of those sentimental, waah!-I-am-getting-older posts, happy holidays to everyone! Don’t we just love this season? A season of giving and loving and eating. And in my case, a season of going back to the neighborhood I grew up in.

As soon as vacation stepped in, I rushed home to Leyte. Ah, my neighborhood is still basically the same one I left four years ago when I decided to study in Cebu for college. Not many people would find my neighborhood very appealing but for someone like me who grew up there, every street, every tree, and every living mark of my childhood is precious to me. They hold a thousand memories forever carved in my consciousness. It can’t be helped that when you walk through all those things in the present, you recall your past. Once, when I passed by the small canal near our house, I nearly laughed my head off when I remembered how I unsuccessfully tried to do an acrobatic trick – walk across it using a flat piece of wood. Thing is, I was competing for space with a huge basin of water because that wood was actually used to hold basins when people get water from the faucet beside it. I tried in vain to walk around it with my arms spread out as if I were a bird. One problem with me, however, is that I have poor balance. Whoosh! The wood tipped to one side, dropping me into the canal with the basin of water tumbling after and over me. Not really my idea of a good bath.

When I also look at the banana trees in our place, it brings to my mind the days when my adventurous spirit overwhelmed me while my neighbors and I were playing a sort of Indiana Jones game. I grabbed one dead banana branch still hanging from the trunk. I tugged once. I tugged twice. Hah! Perfect. It’s intact. Summoning all my strength and the powers of Tarzan, I swung myself from the branch. I might as well have shouted, “A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h….o-w-w-w-w!” As the branch snapped, I fell on my butt, and slid downhill. Oh well, so much for role-playing games.

It’s a refreshing and fulfilling experience altogether to realize you were once foolish, naughty, and clumsy. And even more surprising, when you find out you still are today. Whoever said that there’s always a child within us is a genius. And sometimes, it’s good to revert to the child we once were because in childhood, there is simplicity and wonder in how we look at the things in life. There’s always that spark, that magic that keeps us awed at how beautiful and fun life can be.

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year everyone. This season, let the kids in us shine forth with happiness and love, just like the child who was born in a manger wrapped in swaddling clothes, and brought us peace and salvation here on earth.

Blue Glass

Reality TV must have doused my mind too much. When I look at the common everyday things, an invisible video camera lodged somewhere in my brain reels on and silently checks if the shots I took were perfectly framed for editing. Then the assuming writer-editor takes on the job, mentally clicking away captions and titles for each new frame as the story unfolds, directed by the master storyteller that is only a piece of my imagination. The process is literally endless and probably inherent, with countless new episodes for a slight mood swing, a major hunger pang or a cursory trip from this world and back. I do not wonder then why I carried this feverish passion when the chance to travel to Bohol jumped at me. With the invisible camera still at the back of my head, I set out on a journey that allowed me to zoom in on the details of what’s really at the other side of my world.

Easy to say, yes. From a hypocritical point of view, the whole immersion thing was an absurdity in that it relied on the overused strategy of “eating what they eat, doing what they do” to feel how they are feeling. But for compliance’s sake, I decided it was favourable for me to just go and do what I was told. No questions. Period. But along the way, as I was struggling with the acrid odour of the ship, lugging my bags despite the weakening condition of my lungs, and enduring the bumpy ride up the sleepy purok, in near madness I almost cried out loud, “Wait a minute! This is not right!” when a far more important question should have been, “What is right?” What is right? I should have asked myself that when we came to live with Manong Boy, Manang Tata, and their eight children in Trinidad.

The sleepy purok in Trinidad didn’t really shock me out of my guts. From hearsays, I even imagined it was worse – no water (uh-oh, no bath?) and no electricity (what about my phone?). It turned out that there was plenty of water but no electricity. I heaved a sigh of relief as I remembered rushing to the department store at the last minute for flashlight and batteries. But that was, I realized later, only the beginning of my troubles.

How could these people lead this kind of life? I cringed at the thought of not having a proper rest room where nobody can peep through. I cried during cooking sessions with the dirty kitchen constantly blowing smoke and ashes on our faces. During the night, the mosquitoes nearly sucked my blood to death. And beware of going barefoot, you might step on something squishy that is either the cat’s or the dog’s poo. (or probably the chicken’s or the pig’s)

On the brighter side, life is fun when you make it. I mean, rather than moping around and grumbling about how things never went your way, why not make the most of it? Personally, I loved our poso baths with touches of mischief and carefree spirits. I thoroughly enjoyed our acoustic concert with the farmers (They were the audience and we were, ehem, the performers.) and I so often fantasized about “candlelit” dinners in their home. And the kids! James, my favourite, was the ever-shy four-year-old kid who peeps out at us from the bedroom when we weren’t looking.

What is right, I now dare ask. Life is fun wherever you are. It’s how you put up with it. But for people, like Manong Boy and Manang Tata, how can they be happy when deep inside they are continuously being haunted with the threat of being evicted out of the land they tilled? And with eight mouths to feed, what could be more depressing than the thought of not being able to provide for their daily sustenance? But all of these anxieties, our hosts never showed. They gave us the best rooms, took out their best plates and utensils for us to use, and helped us prepare the meals. At night, before we went to sleep, they made sure we were all right and cozy with our blankets and mattresses. Sometimes, I think it’s the ingrained Filipino values that make the Pinoys survive in this harsh world. And when it comes to the typical warm Filipino hospitality, our hosts were the perfect examples.

It’s quite sad that when you look a little deeper into things, reality sometimes leaves you with no room for hope. All that idealism is thrown away into the trash in an instant. But if the people, like Manong Boy and Manang Tata, never cease to hope, never cease to dream for a better life, why should we? I am constantly reminded of a particular scene in our hosts’ home. We were desperately looking for extra glasses to use. (Imagine how many we were in that house.) Manang Tata took out a blue glass from her prized collection. It looked queer back then, glinting against the pitch-black night that enveloped the house. But now, I see it as the hope we should cling on to –faint in daylight but when darkness falls, when the worst of the worst casts its ugly doom, it comes, shining its light upon the people who never stopped believing and never stopped dreaming. And I so salute our hosts for that. Until now, they never stop dreaming. They never stop believing and hoping that all the fight is worth it.

So now I’m back in the midst of the city bustle. I may never hold the solution to the great fight the farmers are in right now. Solutions? They come and they go. What must never fade is faith. For faith makes one strong. And when faith makes one strong enough to withstand the fluctuating current of destiny, any action will be stronger.

To sum it all up, just three words: Dream. Believe. Survive. I told you I was struck with the reality show fever. And I’m not even talking about reality shows.