An Abso-freaking-lutely Fabulous Dive Trip in Cebu

Last Friday, November 30, was a national holiday, so the past weekend was another long one for Filipinos. Rocio had informed Gines and I months ago that there was a dive trip to Cebu scheduled for this period, so we signed up quickly. We decided that come hell or high water, we were going.

As it turned out, the trip started out with a lot of stress. A last-minute curfew imposed by President Arroyo because of a failed coup attempt threw a monkey wrench into our plans. We ended up having to go to the airport much earlier, and we waited hours for our flight sitting or lying on the cold and rather dirty airport floor.

Anyway, all those negative vibes were shoved aside when we got to Cebu. The weather was perfect, the resort was comfortable (though they had atrociously expensive food), and the company was excellent.

It was a different diving experience for me. I had so much fun going deep at Cabilao Island, where we saw a school of barracudas. The walls of coral were simply majestic. It was very quiet and peaceful at those depths as well, and I felt then more than ever, how diving can be an experience bordering on the spiritual.

Me gaping in awe at the school of barracudas

On the boat ride back to the resort, we had a brief stopover at a sandbar which we christened "Happy Island". It was a really small place, but the white sand and clear waters had us all jumping about and gamboling like children.

Rocio, Gines, and I on Happy Island

Best attempt at doing a group jump on Happy Island

I seem to be at a loss for words in trying to describe what made that trip so special to me. I do have snapshots in my head of what happened there, a slideshow that I play when I try to remember what happened in Cebu. Tom leading our four-minute descent into the deep, Gines downing four tequila shots at a time, Rocio doing jumping poses on Happy Island, Greg digging into the bottomless "talaba", Travis striding into the water with twin tanks, the wall that seemed to stretch endlessly into the bottom of the sea.

I flew home to Manila more exhausted than I'd been in recent memory. I hardly had any sleep in those four days. But I realized there would be time to sleep and rest in Manila, so I lived those four days to the fullest. I stayed in the water for as long as I was allowed, I stayed awake as long as my body could endure, and I spent as much time with my friends as I possibly could.

Last weekend will undoubtedly be top-ranked among my happy thoughts.

Beautiful Baby Raffy

On November 12, Tintin and John (but mostly Tintin) gave birth to a gray-eyed, brown-haired boy, whom they named Raffy, short for Raphael Ignacio. I visited the proud parents and the brand-spanking-new baby while they were at St. Luke's, but I couldn't take a good look at Raffy because he was behind the glass at the nursery. I couldn't wait to take a closer look at him when he'd adjusted to living outside the comforting confines of Tintin's tummy. I can only imagine how stressful it was for him to deal with the world of noise, bright lights, and smells that he was jolted into.

Mama's birthday was on the 17th, so we celebrated it at Tintin and John's home since the new mother was still recovering from what I could only believe to be a highly traumatic experience (the childbirth, that is). Raffy was only five days old, and I realized I hadn't really been exposed to babies who are that young. Usually, I just visit new mothers at the hospital and view the infants at the nursery. Then, I would only get a chance to see the baby again when it was a few months old and deemed ready and old enough to be exposed to the rest of the world. It was an unusual and fascinating experience to see up close a baby who was practically fresh from his mother's womb.

I was entranced by Raffy. Ten tiny little fingers, ten dainty little toes. (The perfectly-formed finger and toenails were actually what really mesmerized me.) He still had the fine downy facial hair that babies are supposed to have when they're newborn. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he missing the silence of the uterus? Did having so many faces peering at him freak him out? Well, freaked out or not, I pointed my camera at him at clicked away. He probably thought I was a nuisance who was disturbing his nap, but he's too tiny to complain. Besides, he better get used to having paparazzi around. The new parents are bound to record every little thing he does, which of course, could only be magic.

New Friends, New Diving Memories



My friend Gines got certified as an open water diver in May, and he excitedly messaged me on Friendster to share the happy news. I was also very happy to have someone new to dive with, so we vowed to go diving when I got back to the Philippines.

This month, I spent two weekends with him at Outrigger Resort in Anilao. We went with the Divers' Network, which is a group of pretty cool people. I bumped into this group quite by accident. Chi and I went to a dive shop in Tomas Morato to have our equipment serviced, and we met the owner of the shop, Rocio Morato. I remembered Rocio's name from one of Gines' stories from the past. He had mentioned her as a friend of his who was also a diver. I told her that Gines was a friend of mine, and so a friendship was forged in an instant, through our common bond with him.

We immediately made and carried out dive plans. Both weekends were a lot of fun. Diving in itself has always been a very good experience for me. Hovering in the water, looking at schools of fish and gardens of coral; always feeling in awe of what I see and being thankful for the privilege of experiencing a totally different, almost alien world. Last Sunday, on the trip back to the resort after a dive, six or so dolphins passed right in front of our boat. We stopped and looked at them jump for air three more times. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face after that. It just seemed like magic to me.

My new friends are a happy bunch and really a joy to be around. They are the perfect company to have if you just want to kick back, talk about nothing in particular, eat, and most of all, LAUGH (maniacally, at times). I am so glad to have met Rocio, her sister Melissa and Meling's husband Travis, Ronette, Greg, and Aris. I can sense that these are people to form lasting ties with.

It has been also been great to meet new people to dive with; people who share my appreciation for marine life, for the high that comes from being underwater. I had long associated diving with Caye, since I met him on my first open water dive, and he had been my dive buddy until I left for the US. Meeting new friends and having new dive buddies have been immensely therapeutic for me. My new friends remind me that there are so many more new memories to be made, and with each dive that I make with them, the past becomes just a little more distant, loses a little of its mystique, and becomes simply that... my past.

Facebook hits Manila

I have been unable to log on to facebook for the past couple of hours, and I suspect that it's because Filipinos have been using it like crazy and caused facebook's server to crash.

Facebook used to be available only to students with .edu email addresses, but late last year, it opened up so that anyone with any email address could join. I remember how facebook groups cropped up, demanding that it continue to be available only to students. There was no stopping facebook though, and facebook vowed to take over the world. I don't know about that part, but it sure has sucked Manila into its vortex.

During the past three months, I noticed that the facebook craze has caught on among many of my friends. It has caused massive addiction, much more than that caused by Friendster when that became popular about four years ago. Its applications and interactivity have caused my friend Yvette to state her facebook status as "Yvette is the latest resident of the facebook rehab center". Many other friends are throwing sheep at each other, giving out mardi gras beads, leis, and oktoberfest beers to people on their list of friends.

Facebook is really addicting, and I myself have spent many hours poking people, writing on their walls, winking at, sending drinks to, or hugging them online. The stalker in me (and I'm sure in other people) is given free rein in this social networking site. I have various accounts in other networks, but I do like facebook best. I think it's been a hit with Filipinos because we are such social creatures, and it gives us a chance to do online (in various creative ways), what we sometimes do not have time to do offline. Touch base with our friends, give them drinks, and spend office hours interacting with them.

Now, if only the server were up again...

The Secret to Happiness

I was visiting my very pregnant sister-in-law Tintin this afternoon, and I was feeling a little blue. So I told her I was going to the friendly neighborhood store to buy some chips and diet coke in hopes of improving my mood. She said she was feeling down as well, and asked me if I wanted to have some pizza instead. I thought that the combined effects of chips, diet coke, and pizza might be enough to make us feel better, so I still went off to the store, while she ordered garlic and cheese pizza from Shakey's (our favorite) for delivery.

We attacked the chips as soon as I got back, and chatted about our respective reasons for having the blues. After a while (meaning three bags of chips later), we noticed that the pizza had still not been delivered. Shakey's has a 45-minute delivery guarantee, and it had already been 47 minutes since Tintin ordered, according to her watch. After a few more minutes, the pizza guy arrived. Tintin pointed out that 50 minutes had passed since she called in the order, and so the guy said the pizza was free. Our disposition immediately improved, due to the MSG from the chips, the caffeine and artificial sweetener from the coke, and most importantly, the FREE PIZZA from Shakey's.

The secret to happiness is no big mystery after all.

Desperate Overkill

As I mentioned in my previous entry, Pinoys have gotten very agitated about a certain scene in Desperate Housewives. Apparently though, some of the reactions are now well in the realm of the ridiculous. I heard about the demands that some Filipinos are putting forth to ABC, and I agree that they are somewhat (and I say that ironically) of an overreaction. I mean, boycotting Disneyworld? There's also a demand to issue an apology in the next three episodes. I think sobriety is called for here. While it was important to make ABC realize that what they did was wrong, it would also be unfortunate if the whole issue ends up becoming trivialized because of the ridiculousness of our reactions as Filipinos.

"Desperate Housewives" gets Filipinos really angry

It's been just a short while since Desperate Housewives aired their season premiere (just a little over 24 hours ago, if I got my facts straight), but already, thousands of Filipinos are up in arms against the show; Teri Hatcher in particular. Her character, Susan, is at the hospital, and she was told by her gynecologist that she might be hitting menopause. To this, she replied "Can I check your diplomas? I just want to make sure they're not from some med school in the Philippines."

There is a petition to express concern, disgust, or disappointment to ABC, the station that airs this show, at http://www.petitiononline.com/FilABC
People are also encouraged to email them directly at abc7@abc.com. I've already done both. It's no sweat off my back, and really, that line was quite insulting. Everyone involved in the show (particularly the Executive Producer) should answer for their actions.

Here's the clip that has offended so many. Bring out your inner activist and get involved in the cause. Some might find it petty, but frankly, I like anything that gets the goat of Pinoys and encourages some form of mass action from normally apathetic people (Like that Malu Fernandez controversy a few months ago).

The Not-so-Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe(box)

I've been in the (two-month-long) process of moving to a new condo. It's been taking me so long to actually move into the unit, not just because I've been reluctant to cut the umbilical cord that apparently attaches me to my brother John (despite us not having a parent-child relationship), but also because the place is so tiny; microscopic even. That means I've been having trouble fitting all my stuff in it. I'd thought it would be easier because I've purged a lot of my things. I sold off and gave away a lot of things when I left the Philippines two years ago, then I sold off and gave away even more stuff when I left Columbia. However, it seems that "stuff" just multiplies when you are not looking. Kind of like partner-less socks in your drawer. Or fat cells on your inner thighs.

Anyway, the place seems to be the smallest place I've ever lived in (and I've stayed in pretty tiny condos). But aside from its lack of floor space, there are a couple of things that I've found that are hampering the enjoyment I usually experience when I move into a new place (lack of size notwithstanding). First, since I do not have an airconditioner yet, there is a gaping hole in my wall that leaves me vulnerable to the elements, both natural and criminal. Second, I have discovered first-hand the process of choosing the audience for the game show Wowowee. You see, I live right across ABS-CBN, which would not have been so bad in itself. What IS quite alarming is that the people who want a chance to be a part of the audience of this show line up the evening before outside the station, RIGHT ACROSS my condo. In fact, I came across some of them camping out and sleeping one night on the parking space I had hoped to get for myself.

Going back to the process of audience-choosing... Around seven in the morning, someone using a very powerful loudspeaker announces the names of the lucky people chosen to be audience members. Now, the voice of the announcer would have penetrated any wall of the average Filipino home. However, there is that matter of the gaping hole in my wall, which lets in pretty much all the sounds from outside (including occasional drunken conversations of the cigarette vendor downstairs having drinks with his cohorts). When the announcer reads out the names and cracks jokes to break the monotony, his voice is so loud it feels like I'm standing in line down there with everyone else. Also, this all happens too early in the morning, when it is particularly unpleasant and jarring to be shouted at by someone.

So right now, I am kept busy trying to improve my condo situation. I'm still trying to get rid of some things so I can fit all my worldly possessions into my two-square-meter condo, and I'm on the lookout for an airconditioner that can fit into said gaping hole and solve a multitude of problems. It will stop the rain from getting inside, deter criminals from getting a hold of my worldly possessions, and muffle the announcer's attempts at comedy as he calls out the names of people who spend a whole night on the sidewalk for a chance at watching a gameshow hosted by the biggest buffoon ever to grace Philippine television.

Priscilla, the Musical

When I arrived in Sydney, Gigi had already lined up lots of things to fill up my itinerary. One of the things on her list was watching a musical, and she gave me two choices, Billy Elliot or Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Billy Elliot has received rave reviews (both for the movie and the musical), but it was no contest for me- I definitely wanted to watch Priscilla live. I loved the movie, and I remember buying the CD of the soundtrack as soon as I got out of the theater. That CD became well-worn, since there were just too many drag queen karaoke favorites in it that I could sing along to. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert also marked my early days as a fag hag.

Gigi had a hard time getting tickets, as a lot of the shows were sold out. After a lot of conscientiousness on her part, she finally bagged us two tickets for the eve of my birthday. I was really pumped to see the musical (and sing along to the music, of course!) So I started to sing the songs from the soundtrack any time I got a chance, to get into the mood. (While walking along the street, in the shower, while strolling in the mall etc.)

On the night itself, we had a typical late start from the apartment, and got to Lyric Theater a mere five minutes before the show was to begin. Well, we made it, and that's all that mattered. The show was everything I expected it to be, and I was amazed by how effectively they were able to translate the film onto the stage. (A quick summary for those who have not seen the movie- three drag queens from Sydney travel across the Australian outback in a bus nicknamed "Priscilla" to perform at a casino in a remote town. It is revealed later on that the drag queen who planned the gig actually agreed to perform as a favor to his wife, who owns the casino. He is also revealed to have a son.) They were able to communicate the vastness of the landscape with the use of a revolving stage.

The music was great, the performances funny, and the costumes, just FABULOUS. They hired the same costume designer as the one hired for the movie (the costumes in the movie merited an Oscar in 1994), and the costumes just added to the visuality of the whole performance (Cupcakes as skirts, and candles as headdresses!). And how could they go wrong with the songs? "I Will Survive", "I Love The Nightlife", "I've Never Been To Me". Gigi gave me the CD of the soundtrack as my birthday gift. It had more songs than the film version, for some reason. I had a wonderful time during the show, and I was singing the songs in it for days after. "I don't think that I can take it, 'cause it took so long to bake it, and I'll never have that recipe againnnnn......."

Birthday Celebration Kickoff

Blowing out my birthday candle

It's my birthday weekend, and Gigi helped me make plans to make sure that I celebrate it in style. First on the list, a visit to Rockpool, consistently ranked as one of the best restaurants in the world. I wanted to have my actual birthday dinner there, but they're not open on Sundays. I tried to get reservations for Saturday, to make it the eve of, but still no go, since it was fully booked that evening. They had an open slot for Friday, so Friday it had to be. I was psyched to try their twelve-course tasting menu.

So tonight, after much primping and preening, Gigi and I set off for the Rocks, which is (obviously) where the restaurant is. We got there a few minutes late because of traffic on the Harbour Bridge, but thankfully we didn't lose our table. There's really not much else to tell about the dinner, except that it lasted for four hours, the food was excellent (especially the desserts), they gave me a beautiful birthday cake (the picture doesn't do it justice- it's chocolate cake in a nest of spun golden sugar), and that Gigi and I went home with distended stomachs. Pigging out is a must when celebrating one's birthday, after all.

Tomorrow evening, we're watching Priscilla, Queen of the Desert- the Musical, and on Sunday, we're off to Hunter Valley for some wine tasting. Food, wine, and drag queens. No better way to celebrate getting older.

More Good News/Bad News

So, the good news is that someone from CNN emailed to inform me that they are offering me a post as a video journalist at their head office in Atlanta. The bad news (OBVI, as some would say) is that I can't take the job. I emailed her back to say that I have to serve a two-year sentence in my home country before I could even think of working in the US. Again, I felt pretty bad that I had to say no to an opportunity like that.

I was expecting her to email back to say "that's too bad, have a nice day" and the like. Well, I was very happy that, instead, she wrote:

"Please hold on to my contact information. As CNN continues to grow, we are always looking for top talent! While you may be unavailable to discuss opportunities at this time, we no doubt will have opportunities in 22 months when you return. I would be more than happy to discuss at that time what opportunities are a match for you."

That made me feel much, much better :)

Last Hurrah in Sydney, Australia

I'm on the last leg of my 2-year break from work, and I'm spending it in Sydney with Gigi. I flew here the day after James' despedida (with a slight hangover), and I've been having an awesome time so far. I'll be staying here until the 22nd, so I'll be celebrating my birthday here as well. Sydney is great- the food is excellent, and you get a glimpse of the sea from many points in the city. I hadn't known that the food here would be outstanding; apparently, this city is heaven for a foodie.

At Hyde Park

Gigi in front of the Opera House

Gigi's been a great host, showing me the sights, bringing me whale-watching, and taking me to her favorite eating places. Gigi has a special role among my friends, in that she is my eating partner. Of course, I eat with ALL of my friends (it's kind of a requirement), but she feels as strongly about food as I do. We talk about food for hours, and even better, she is a great cook. So she gives me a lot of recipes (her going-away present when I went to Columbia was a cookbook of her own concoctions), and while I'm here in Sydney, has been cooking for me.

So whether we're eating out or in, the food's been great. One thing about Sydney, though, EVERYthing is so expensive, as the city has a very high cost of living. Even stuff from the grocery costs so much more compared to the US. When it's time for me to go home, I'll be heavier from all the eating, and poorer from all the spending. Well, that's what holidays are all about.

Never-ending Goodbyes

The prospect of going back to work at ABS does not seem so depressing, when I think about spending time with my friends who also work there. However, a lot of my friends are no longer there. Gigi is now working in Australia, Anne is in New York, Daphne is with QTV, Patrick is with Channel 5. Then, another one of my good friends from the network, James Ong, is leaving to work for the lifestyle section of a website in Singapore.


Luckily, I did get to spend some time with him before he left. We had dinner a couple of times, then on the night before he left, I got to attend his despedida. He and his friends were at Chili's and he invited me to join them for a couple of drinks. After Chili's closed, we moved to Butterfly, which is a small gay bar off Morato. We danced (to 80's music!) and drank until three in the morning. I had a lot of fun, and I will really miss James when he goes.

Finally DIVING again!

One thing I’d been sort of dreading to do since I got back home is go diving, which is strange because it's something I’ve always enjoyed doing. I was dreading it, first, because I had not done it in two years and so needed to adjust to being in the water again; and second, diving has a lot of emotional connotations for me. Diving had always been my special thing with Caye. After all, I did meet him during my first ever open water dive. Caye had always been my dive buddy, and except for the time he lived in Bacolod, he was usually around to look out for me underwater. I used to tell some friends that I often felt closest to him when we went diving.


So, my friend and climbing partner Angel told me that her brother Jan, a dive instructor, is now working for Oceana, a resort in Puerto Galera. She said he was inviting us to try the place and also resume our diving career. After some major coordination, we finalized plans for the trip. The cast of characters- Angel, Mars, and their baby Tykey, Anjou and Anton, Jan and his new (at least new to me) girlfriend Jules, and me. I felt like the seventh wheel, unless I could consider Tykey my date.

Jan, Jules, Anjou, Anton and I left for Galera on a Friday afternoon. Apparently there was a storm of some sort, so the boat trip from Batangas pier to Galera was pretty rough (there were ten-foot waves). We finally got there in the evening, and we tried to call it an early night (after a few Margaritas) so we could dive early.

The next morning, Angel, Mars, and Tykey arrived, and after a huge breakfast, we all set out to dive (except for the baby, of course. Tykey's only one year old). After another rocky boat ride, we arrived at the dive site. As the group started to descend into the water, I panicked because my mask started to flood. I went back up to the surface to try to fix the problem, but because the waves were so strong, I just couldn't calm myself down. Also, I started to have doubts about my equipment because I did not have it serviced before the dive. To top that all off I started to get pissed off at Caye because I was thinking that he should've returned my dive gear when I asked for it back in February and not just when he sensed that I was back in the country (but that's another looong story).

Anyway, with all those things happening while I was being thrown about by the waves, I told Jan to proceed with the dive without me. But, being the good dive master that he is, he told me to go down with them to fifteen feet first, then if I still felt uneasy, I could just come back up. I agreed, and sure enough, being in the water calmed me down. I continued and finished the dive without mishap, and I felt comfortable in the water again.

I went on four more dives after that, and I really had a lot of fun in and out of the water during that entire weekend. The resort was nice, diving in Galera was great, and I enjoyed all the eating that I did. Being near the sea, and spending time with my friends doing things I love doing, were all reminders of what I like about being in the Philippines. Diving does hold a lot of memories for me, but it's time to move on and make new ones.

Finally Driving Again

During my whole stay in the US, I didn't drive; not ONCE. I just walked everywhere, or hitched rides from friends. I didn't really feel deprived. Columbia is a small town where a lot of the happening places are within walking distance from my apartment. I did feel weird having to ask people for rides, but since that didn't happen too often, it was all good.

When I got back to Manila, I didn't get my car back from Yeng, as I have mentioned. At first I thought it was just so I would be spared the expense of both the car payments and the gas. I've just been taking the MRT and cabs, or my friends would gamely pick me up and bring me home.

Today, I had a meeting near the station, and I decided to drive a grand total of 3.4 kilometers (just over two miles) both ways, so I could start getting to used to driving on the streets of Manila again. I borrowed my brother John's car for my little adventure. On the very brief drive home, I realized that I have been avoiding getting back my car not just because it would cost more, or because I would have to deal with crazy drivers on the street again.

I have been reluctant to drive because doing so would mean that I have really returned to my life in Manila, where I drive myself everywhere, where traffic lights are mere suggestions, and where chaos rules the road. And if I can accept that, I guess I'll have to really accept that I am indeed home, and everything else this fact entails.

The Surprisingly High Cost of Living

I've been in Manila for going on three weeks now, and one of the biggest changes I've noticed since coming home is how expensive everything has become. I was only gone two years, but the way prices have gone up, it feels like I was away for much longer. My friends are already sick of me bitching about this, but really, the cost of everything is just a little too steep. One small but concrete example is the price of coffee in Figaro. I used to hang out there a lot, since it's very near the station. A cup of basic brewed was P49 when I left, and it's now P75. That's a 35% increase in a little less than two years!

I haven't gotten my car back from Yeng yet (she took care of it while I was away), and one reason I've hesitated to do this is the high price of gas (that and my newly discovered fear of driving on city streets). Apparently, new taxes and high inflation rates have resulted in these seemingly atrocious prices (at least, they're atrocious to as-yet-unemployed me). Maybe I'll feel better when I start getting a paycheck again.

Some Things DO Change

I went to the Land Transportation Office (LTO) yesterday to renew my license, prepared for the usual hours-long wait involved in having to line up for around a dozen counter windows. That's because there's a counter for every move you make in this government agency, much like others. One window to pay the fees, another window to get your receipt, etc. etc. (or as Felicity has learned to say, chuva chuva chuva). Not to mention having to line up for the medical exam and the drug test.

I was pleasantly surprised though that the whole experience took me way less than an hour- from the time I had to pee in a cup for the drug test, to having my eyesight tested, to when I got the license itself (not just the receipt, but the actual card). Going to the LTO in the past had always been such a time-consuming and stressful experience, but yesterday it was much less so. Maybe it was just luck, but I'm hoping it was a sign that the tangle that is Philippine bureaucracy is somehow figuring itself out (or at least, at the LTO).

It's not over

I'm back in the Philippines, and I discovered a very interesting thing. I've found proof that you do not go through the stages of grief in a linear manner, because I am back in ANGER. Take note, that's ANGER in all-caps. As I've said, I'm not a very angry person, but right now, I am. The rage in me is now boiling, roiling, white-hot, and painful to the touch. I am once more shaking to the core because I am fuming mad. The desire to strike out and cause physical pain to someone is intense, and it is taking all my sense of dignity and self-control not to give in to it.

I am embracing my rage because I did not have a chance to fully experience it while I was in the US. Sure, after Caye broke up with me, I had my moments of anger, but I always felt it was impotent simply because I was far removed from the situation where I once shared a life with him. I couldn't give in to it because I had school requirements and my desire to graduate to occupy me. I didn't want to deal with it because I thought that acknowledging the anger would be tantamount to feeling the pain.

But now, I am back, and so is my anger. And it has come back with a vengeance, demanding to be acknowledged, insisting on being wielded, commanding me to act on it. The anger began when I arrived at the airport. I thought to myself, "Caye was supposed to welcome me home and pick me up from the airport, as he has for so many years". Then as I lay in bed thinking about how it feels very surreal to be back home and how difficult it will be to be re-assimilated into life in Manila, I thought "Caye was supposed to hold my hand and help me through this stressful transition period". These thoughts began to make me angry, and then I remembered all the hurt that Caye and Corinne inflicted on me.

I remembered how eight and a half years of a life together were thrown away just like that, and how Caye and Corinne are off gallivanting and acting like they didn't betray me, hurt me, or rip my heart out oh-so-casually with their bare hands. I saw on my cellphone as I reactivated it an old text of Caye saying "I will make it my life mission to make you the happiest woman in the world", and I think how nonchalantly he broke his promises. I think of how the man I had thought of as my life partner discarded his commitment to me with no compunction, and with no effort to honor it.

These thoughts and many more have revived my anger, and breathed life into it. I am livid, seething, and I have yet to determine how, if, or when I will give in to my wrath.

Why little boys should stay little



I've been hanging out with my 4-year-old nephew Aidan a lot, and it's been a joy because he's at a good age- basically, the age where he still thinks spending time with family is great. He's been more affectionate of late, and always looks for "Tita Nis" (his nickname for me) whenever he gets home from school. Earlier this evening, he said "I love you, Tita Nis." So, I said, "I love you, Aidan." Then he said, "I'll tell you how much," as he pulled my head to whisper in my ear. "I love you forever."

I wish I could record such moments so that in the future, when he doesn't think I'm so cool anymore and refuses to hang out with me, I can hold him to what he said. (Like I actually could, right?)

The Long Way Home

I only have a few more days left here in the US, and I am feeling somewhat apprehensive about going home. There are so many adjustments to make, and I am not sure how the re-assimilation process will be. The biggest change I am dreading is having to go back to work again at ABS. My life here has been almost like a two-year vacation- no bosses, no co-workers, no office intrigue. Life as a student has been awesome and almost idyllic. Despite my bitching about papers and projects, I would take that life any day over the daily grind of work. (But only if I still received an allowance.)

The Inexplicable Allure of the Bad Boy

I've always had a weakness for bad boys. A cursory look at my dating history will show this. A long, long time ago, I dated a long-haired photographer who was into shabu (though he said he was over it at the time we were going out), got into bar brawls, and got into a major car accident which resulted in him staying at the ICU for over a month. I remember that he got into another bar brawl complete with chair-flinging AFTER his accident while he was still recovering from his wounds. He's fine now, though he bears a lot of scars from this accident.

I dated another heavy drug user after him, and this one would describe to me the effects of different kinds of drugs, from mushrooms to coke to acid and some other substances I'd never even heard of. If I remember correctly, he eventually checked into rehab. I find bad boys very intriguing, and like a lot of women, I feel myself irresistibly drawn to them.

I recently met a guy who seems, so far, to be the baddest of them all. He has big scars running down the back of his head, because he was shot there. In fact, the bullet is still actually lodged inside his head, since the doctors said it was too tricky to remove it. He was heavily into meth (aka shabu) in high school. Missouri is the meth capital of the US, and apparently, living in a small town (he's from the middle of Nowhere, Missouri) makes you so bored that you're almost obliged to contribute to the state's number one product.

Anyway, I've kept in touch with this guy since I met him at a party. Recently however, he's been harder to get a hold of, because he got arrested for a DWI (driving while intoxicated) and has to serve jail time for five weekends. He also has to render community service on top of this. He chose to do time because in that way he can get his license back more quickly. If he had not agreed to, he would have had his license suspended for a whole year. In a place like Missouri where public transport is practically non-existent, that would have meant his virtual immobility.

It's been very interesting to know someone like him. His world seems to be far removed from mine, and asking him about his life is like experiencing his bad boy existence vicariously. He has become a friend of sorts (he seems to not have any real friends), and strangely enough, I will actually miss him and his rather uncouth ways when I leave the US.

Getting to know him has revealed much to me about a slice of American life that I otherwise would not have been exposed to. I've learned a lot about middle America and how young people navigate their way through it. It also doesn't hurt that he carries with him at all times the programmed-in-the-DNA air of the bad boy. And this is something he doesn't relinquish at all, not even for a minute. Which makes him all the more attractive, of course.

A very brief entry on the awesomeness of JT

I'm talking about the new-improved Justin Timberlake, of course. Not the Britney-Spears-dating, all-denim-wearing, long-curly-hair-sporting version. Actually, I just like one of the songs from his album "FutureSex/LoveSounds", which I have been listening to repeatedly. "What goes around, goes around, goes around, comes all the way back around..." This former Mouseketeer certainly has a great way of rehashing and imparting Hindu/Buddhist/barbershop wisdom. Even he believes in karma.

Grades, grades, grades

When I started going to school as a kindergartener, I didn't care about grades. Who did at that age? All we cared about was playing, making new friends, and maybe getting a stamp of a star on our hand to show to our parents when we got home. Then came prep, grade school, high school, and college. All those years, I still didn't care much for them either much to the chagrin of my parents (Maybe if they still gave out star stamps, it would have been a different story).

Decades later, though, this changed. Don't get me wrong, I didn't necessarily change my poor study habits practiced over a lifetime (Cramming has become hardwired into my system). I just CARED more about grades. Maybe it's because I'm in a different country, and so had some desire to prove that Filipinos can hold their own in the first world.

Well, I am very happy to report that I got invited to join the Kappa Tau Alpha journalism honor society. They only invite people with a GPA of 4.0, so I was glad that recent upheavals in my life did not adversely affect my academics as might have been expected. Pasensiya na sa pagyayabang. I know my friends and family will be very happy for me. I was just very excited about this, and it's the first academic goal that I've really been wanting to achieve.

Romance is Dead

A friend of mine told me a rather interesting story. His best friend, a very successful and intelligent man, has just told him that he's now engaged. What's interesting about this piece of news is that his friend had just met his now-fiancee over the last weekend. JUST this past weekend. So, they met, fell in love, and decided to spend the rest of their lives together within double-digit hours. If I got the story right, they met at a bar where the woman works as a waitress. So, in spite of their disparate backgrounds, and the brevity of their acquaintance, they have decided to tie the knot.

Now, I know a lot of romantics out there will ooh and ahh over how love at first sight is once again proven to exist, and how love really conquers all. And what do I say to these developments? "Bah, humbug!" I can't even begin to imagine how someone sane could do something like that. Maybe I am too cynical (I actually prefer to call myself a "realist") to see how thrilling whirlwind romances can be. All I could think of is, "another divorce statistic waiting to happen".

Is there something wrong with my way of thinking? I honestly don't think so. Love is such a difficult thing to deal with. I believe that using your head along with your heart (or other parts of your anatomy) is simply the best way to go. Relying on your smarts obviously does not automatically ensure the success of your relationship. I just think that the odds are already naturally stacked against relationships working, because the chances that two people will mate (happily) for life are very slim to begin with. Thinking your way through it, I believe, just increases the probability that things will work out.

I'm a Master!

So... I just want to share the happy news that I successfully defended my project before my committee. I was so nervous before going to the room to meet them. I had rehearsed my presentation while I was still at home (actually, in the shower), but I felt I was losing my nerve as the time to meet them got closer. The defense lasted about an hour, during which they asked me questions about my paper and about my work for the past semester. After the Q&A, they sent me out of the room as they discussed my fate. Then one of them, Prof. Stephanie Craft, went out to look for me. She said "Congratulations!", and with a sigh of relief, I knew they had all signed the document that committee members needed to sign before I could graduate.

I was so happy as they shook my hand to congratulate me. I actually felt like crying, but thankfully didn't. So, even though I still need to log in a few more weeks working on the website of Global Journalist, I am assured of getting my diploma, and after all these years... a Master's degree.

A bundle of nerves

This weekend, after recovering from the excesses of Friday night, I didn't really do much. I stayed home, and the only time I left my apartment was to have dinner tonight at Taco Bell, which is just a short walk away. They have a new item on the menu- the 7-layer crunch wrap- and I was eager to try it since I only eat two things there; the cheesy bean and rice burrito, and the 7-layer burrito. Pretty much everything else has meat in it.

But the thought of food makes me digress. Back to the unproductivity of the weekend... The reason why I have been feeling antsy and unable to do anything of importance (aside from the fact that I can't overcome my natural sloth), is that I am going to defend my project (the 70-page paper mentioned in an earlier post) before my committee tomorrow. I have four committee members, and they are all very, very nice. However, collectively, they strike terror into my heart because they have the power to decide whether I graduate.

I've been told that the defense process goes like this- you give them a short roundup of what your paper is about (though I had given them the paper last week, there is always that chance that one of them has not read it), then they ask you questions about it. When they're done with their questions, they ask you to leave the room as they decide whether you pass or fail, and therefore also whether you graduate or not. Then they call you back in to tell you your fate.

That is what I'll be going through tomorrow, and it is really making me nervous. My friends have been telling me that I'll be fine. But I guess it's very hard for anyone to relax when you're about to face a group of people who will decide whether you make the grade.

One Sign of Age

Yesterday, Felicity successfully defended her thesis before her committee for almost two hours. She said it was a nerve-wracking experience, but she passed and so is now a Master. To celebrate, she and Blaine (the boy she's going out with) came over to my house with a bottle of champagne, which we polished off quickly enough. After that, we went to Forge & Vine, a restaurant/bar to meet some other people from the journalism school. We had a few drinks, and because it's a Friday night, the J-School people then headed to Alley Bar.

(A brief background- Alley Bar is a tiny hole in the wall dance club which doesn't really have a name. It's just found in an alley off Ninth Street, and the door is between two dumpsters. Journalism people seem to gravitate to that place every Friday night.)

Alley Bar plays a lot of 80s songs, and all the J-School people sing along to some of them each time I've been there, including Don't Stop Believin' by Journey. Anyway, Felicity, Blaine, and I continued to drink while we danced.

Since all the bars close at 1:30 am in Columbia, we headed to the Hubbell House when we were shooed out of Alley Bar (over here, people actually shout at you if you don't leave their bar at 1:30 on the dot). The Hubbell House is a popular venue for J-School parties (four journalism students live there). It's also a place where a lot of hookups happen, a phenomenon I call the triple H or the Hubbell House Hookup. I didn't drink there anymore, mostly because there was no place to buy alcohol at that time (stores stop selling liquor at 1:30 am as well).

Around 2:30, we left the party, and Felicity and Blaine dropped me off at my apartment. At this point, my head was already reeling from the alcohol that I'd consumed. I drank a lot of water to try and counter its effects (too little, too late), then went to sleep.

I woke up at eight in the morning, drank some more water and some migraine medicine, then went back to bad. By the time I woke up again, it was 3 pm! I couldn't believe that I'd slept so long. That's when I was reminded that even though I hung out with very young people, I myself am not that young. When I was in college, alcohol didn't affect me very much- I was never hungover, and I didn't have to sleep the whole day for my body to recover from a night of boozing. I have to get in better drinking shape though, because there'll be a lot of post-school parties in my last few weeks here. My days as a carefree student are now numbered, and I fully intend to make the best use out of them.

Consummatum est!

No, no, I have not developed a Messianic complex. I am just joyfully saying "it is finished!" and by "it" I mean my 70-page paper that I needed to submit so I can graduate. All I need to do now is defend it before my committee next week. (Now that's a whole new stresspoint.) They have to approve it before I become a "Master" (of what exactly, I'm not quite sure).

That's all I can write for now, my brain is practically dead as I have been cramming all last night and all day today. (Old habits don't die hard for me. They just cling on for dear life.) It was not the best work that I've ever done, but at least it's DONE.

The Homestretch

I've been in denial about the amount of work that needs to be done before I can graduate, but I think this time, reality has finally bitten. I just realized that I have only two weeks left to finish my mini-thesis/research paper before I have to send it off to my committee, before whom I will defend the paper and my activities for the whole semester. I've looked at some examples of such research papers done by students from previous semesters, and some of them looked encyclopedic. Meaning, their papers ended up very, VERY thick, much thicker than my paper can ever aspire to be.

Also, because I was foolish enough to enroll for two other classes other than my professional project (which is equivalent to three classes), I am also cramming to finish the requirements for them. As I write this entry, I realize that I probably sound saner than I feel. Sometimes I find myself sitting at home laughing hysterically at the thought of all I have to do just to finish my degree. I know I'll pull through. After a lifetime of cramming, I just know I will. It's just that I also know that at this point, it will take a minor miracle for me to do so.

And after weeks of being unable to sleep, I now find myself getting suspiciously sleepy early in the evening. Suddenly all I want to do is tuck myself in at 7pm. My body seems to know that I have tons of work to do, and is shutting down as a form of protest. My appetite has also made a comeback, in the form commonly known as stress-eating. Eating, after all, has always been one of the best ways to procrastinate.

Hopefully I will get my act together very soon. In the meantime, I think it's time for a nap.

A Portent of Things to Come

I've been checking my email on my ABS-CBN account, just to make sure I don't miss any important announcements at the office. I don't really like doing this, as this reminds me of the reality that I have to face when I get home. The past year or so, though, there were no earth-shattering memos, so I got complacent and started checking my email expecting only announcements regarding First Friday masses, holiday hours, badminton club schedules, and the like.

My bad. Just this week, two rather disturbing emails arrived at my inbox. The first was about how I owed x-amount of money for the insurance on my car, which I got through the company. The amount was totaled from December 2004 till the present. Weird how they decided to charge me for this NOW. Then, today, I saw an email regarding my accountability for video tapes issued to "F", the now-defunct show where I worked before leaving for the US. This one was even less amusing, since the total amount was nearly P300,000. How I'm going to return those tapes, or pay that amount for that matter, is a real mystery to me.

It's really strange how these matters have come up just now when they've apparently been an issue for a few years. This leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Just as I've adjusted to the thought of coming home, I now have to also adjust to the idea of a rather (financially) unpleasant homecoming.

Yvette, an Inspiration


I have been chatting with one of my best friends Yvette, who is currently working as a UN volunteer in Sudan. She was my first housemate when I first moved out, and we had some very good times living in the poorly ventilated, rat-infested "chalet" in Quezon City. We spent many nights talking till the wee hours of the morning, staying up till we could no longer wipe the sleep from our eyes. (She actually fell asleep once in the middle of telling her OWN story.)

Yvette has been a source of inspiration for me. She recently went through VERY trying times, been through hell and back, yet she has picked herself up. Not unscathed exactly; burned, definitely; but infinitely stronger and more self-aware. She has finally realized what a fabulous woman she is, and that she deserves to be surrounded only by people who know this as well.

I've been thinking that whatever troubles I may have, Yvette will always be there to support me, to unconditionally take my side, to give solid advice. She also serves as a constant reminder that I can handle whatever life throws at me- the sticks and stones, the heartbreak, the sadness, as well as the blessings. And she inspires to me to handle both the good and the bad with grace, humor, music, and, of course, lots of food.

Good News/Bad News

I've recently had the rather upsetting experience of getting VERY happy (for a few hours), then getting VERY disappointed. Here's what happened.

A few months ago, I emailed Fulbright-US to ask if I could apply for Academic Training after I graduate. This is the official term for getting a job in the US after graduation when you're on a J-1 visa (those issued to what they call exchange visitors/scholars). My friend Alejandra, a Fulbrighter from Costa Rica, had been allowed to stay to work for up to 18 months after graduating. Your academic training has to be a job that is related to your field. (That means a graduate of the J-School can't apply to be a manager at McDonald's.) So, I emailed Fulbright to find out if I could do the same as Ale did.

I hadn't received any reply, but I applied to some media companies anyway. I thought that if they allowed Ale (and Felicity too) to apply for Academic Training, there was no reason I wouldn't be. Anyway, last week while I was in school, my cell phone rang, and the area code of the number being shown was that of New York. I normally don't answer the phone if I don't know the caller, but the area code got me excited. It turns out that it was InStyle magazine calling to tell me they wanted me to join their editorial team. As you could imagine, I jumped up and down for joy when I got the news. The woman who called me said the details of the offer were in an email that they had sent me. So, I rushed home, then excitedly logged on to read about the offer. Aside from a salary, they were going to provide housing, which was a big thing for me considering the job was in very expensive New York. That night, I couldn't sleep from excitement. I was already planning what to do when I got to the Big Apple.

The very next morning, I finally got a response from Fulbright-US. The email said that Fulbright-Philippines does NOT allow their scholars to take Academic Training. I was crushed. I emailed Fulbright-Philippines immediately, but their response just confirmed what had been said earlier. They don't allow it as a rule, and only TWO people had been allowed to take Academic Training since 1948. I was informed of the appeal process, but I didn't try it anymore. InStyle needed an answer in a few days, and it was unrealistic to think that my case would be decided in that span of time.

I had also applied for another New York job at "Wide Angle", an international investigative program aired on PBS (Public Broadcasting Service). And though they also expressed their interest in hiring me, I could no longer be excited since I knew I couldn't work there anyway.

Talk about good news and bad news. The good news got me all excited, but this happiness made the bad news even more of a downer. I have come to terms with my frustration, though. I've adjusted to the idea that I will come home in June. I guess I should take comfort in the thought that I could be hired by other US media companies in the future.

Baby Steps

This has been a very stressful time for me, primarily because I have less than two months of school left and I haven't even finished half of the work that I'm supposed to be doing if I intend to graduate. There is a strong tendency for me to be overwhelmed by my situation, including finishing my mini-thesis, worrying about packing all my stuff and moving again (to another country!), having to go back to work at ABS-CBN, leaving the friends that I've made here, and all the other things involved when one phase of your life is set to end.

I do have a penchant for worrying about things all at once, since I figure if I'm stressing out about one thing, I might as well stress out about everything else at the same time. Kind of like getting the most mileage out of the emotional low. However, I am trying not to be so negative because I don't want to waste the little time that I have left here in Columbia, so I revel in little things that make me happy within a day.

One little thing that made me happy yesterday is that I finished a project that I had been working on for school. I made an interactive map for the website of Global Journalist, the magazine that I'm working for as part of my professional project for my final semester (I have the very fancy and rather undeserved title of "Online Director" at the magazine). Click here to see the map that I made. I guess finishing that map made me remember that I came here primarily to learn a lot of stuff, and this was proof that I actually did.

Seeing a Therapist

Part of the student fee that I pay, or rather, Fulbright pays for, includes health care. This covers a lot of services (like earwax removal, wart removal, and other fun stuff), including free sessions with a psychotherapist or a psychiatrist. So I thought, since I'd never used these freebies before, now is as good a time as any to make use of them. In the Philippines, seeing a therapist is not very common. Usually, when I hear of people talking to a professional about their problems, it would be a marriage counselor or some such person. I rarely hear of people going to a therapist for problems as an individual. It takes a lot for a Filipino to admit that she or he needs professional help. Maybe it's because we have a lot of support systems like family and friends, who are expected to help us through all our problems. (We're probably also worried that people will talk behind our backs and call us crazy.)

I tried to book a session last week, but the first session that was available was an hour this afternoon. Apparently, Mizzou students have no problem with seeking professional help. I went to the Student Health Center for my appointment, met my therapist (wow, how American) Dr. Susan, and though there was no couch in her room, there was a very comfortable lounging chair to sit on. We just chatted for an hour about what I'd been thinking about, and Susan was very easy to talk to. The time flew by, and they have a clock right in front of you as a reminder of how much of your hour you have left. (Americans, if anything, are efficient.)

It was a pleasant experience, mostly because a person is forced to listen to you for an hour and they CAN'T complain. I mean, it's great to have friends who are willing to listen to you for hours on end, and in fairness, none of mine have complained one iota about lending an ear. But I can't help but sometimes feel guilty about talking ad nauseam about my problems to them, even if the circumstances justify it. Now, If someone is actually paid to listen to you, they have no choice but to do just that. And they can't really tune you out, pretend to listen, and just nod at appropriate moments, because they have to give you some input at the end of the session to prove that they'd been listening to you all that time.

Now, I understand why a lot of Americans are hooked on therapy. I'm going again next week.

Off-topic

I'm taking a breather from my personal affairs to talk about another person's more interesting life. Tomorrow night, there will be a farewell party for one of the J-School's students, a photojournalism major named Leah Gallo. She's leaving us in the middle of the semester for London because she's been asked by Tim Burton (director of Batman, Edward Scissorhands, Big Fish, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, etc, etc...) to shoot photos on the set of Sweeney Todd. Apparently, Mr. Burton has this tradition of having photos taken to document the filming process, and then compiling them into a book which he then gives as a gift to members of his crew. Leah is the lucky one chosen to shoot the photos for this book.

This is great news for Leah, who's both talented and beautiful. Felicity and I are jealous not just because this is such a wonderful career opportunity for her, but mostly because Sweeney Todd is played by Johnny Depp, whom we both believe to be one of the hottest men (if not THE hottest man) on planet Earth. I mean, it's one thing to be working on the set of a movie starring, let's say... Jack Nicholson; it's totally unbelievable that she'll be seeing Johnny Depp every day for a couple of months!

Haha, so this entry is a good indicator that I'm in much better spirits. If I can be shallow enough to rave about a Hollywood actor (although Johnny Depp is not just any old actor), then you can bet I'm nowhere near being depressed, nor am I in danger of becoming an alcoholic. (Though Fil and I might have a drink or two to drown our envy during the party.)

I'll be fine.

A Few Good Men

I've had a long day at school, so I don't have much energy for the entry I so wanted to write today. Instead, I will paste here a note from one of my guy friends that I received PBU (post-breakup). I have very few male friends, so it's always interesting to see what they have to say, especially about matters of the heart. I mean, my girl friends are very attuned to what I feel because of how close I am to them, so they are bound to instinctively say what I need to hear (bless their hearts). They only tell me the blunt truth when I ask for it, and they sugarcoat it even then. My male friends, on the other hand, just tend to say whatever's on their mind. Here is what this friend of mine wrote when I told him about the breakup news.

"Wow. I'm both sad and happy for you.
On one hand, regardless of the civil status, you were, in effect committed to the guy.
On the other, he should've moved heaven and earth to keep you, and now he won't have that chance. Idiot.
In any case, that privilege will be bestowed upon someone else."

I was particularly touched by his note, because my friendship with him is at a rather cerebral level, even as we would speak about personal matters. I highly respect this friend of mine for both his intelligence and his character, and he's actually one of the few remaining men I consider truly decent. He's one reason why despite my recent debacle, I still believe that good men do exist. Which is a good sign, indicating that although I've become even more cynical, I've not become embittered for life. Not just yet.

Panic Attack

As the title of my entry implies, I am undergoing a panic attack. The past few weeks have left me unable to concentrate on my studies, and I feel like the work has just piled up. I'm facing yet another Monday unprepared for what is to be done, with papers that have yet to be written, pictures that have yet to be taken, computer programs yet to be learned. Suddenly, my previously important goal of trying to maintain a 4.0 grade point average is the least of my worries; simply keeping myself afloat seems such an insurmountable task at this point. I know I have to keep myself busy and try to distract myself with what needs to be done, but I haven't recovered enough, emotionally, to do this. Grades just don't seem all that important to me now.

I have learned from past failures (failed relationships, to be precise) that no matter how bleak things seem to be, I will be fine eventually. Right now though, I'm just trying to take things one day at a time. Each day, trying to get some sleep that lasts for more than a couple of hours; forcing myself to get out of bed at below freezing temperatures to go to class; trying to hold back tears in public places; gauging how much anger and how many tears I have left in me. I can't say each day is always better than the one before; some days are simply worse than others. Recovery from these things after all is not linear. I'm trying not to rush myself through this, although I am really getting impatient. I want to feel better RIGHT NOW, get the drama over and done with RIGHT NOW. But, of course that's impossible. As Alanis sang, the only way out is through.

On the plus side, I still have not recovered my appetite. At the very least, this experience, just as similar ones in the past, have the side effect of weight loss. I have been working on losing my holiday weight gain, but I do wish the solution hadn't come at such a cost.

A Few Helpful Suggestions

As I have mentioned in an earlier post, I have been getting a lot of emails, messages, IMs, and whatnot, from friends, all giving their words of support. An interesting aspect of these messages from my friends is the range of suggestions they had in terms of things that I could do to make myself feel better. They range from baby steps that I could take to get through each day, to rather drastic measures that they thought would make me feel... let's just say... instantly gratified. Here are a few examples of these ideas.

• Open a Word document and just type and type whatever comes to mind, while having a glass of wine.
  
• Lift problems to God.
• Get a fabulous haircut.
  
• Ipapatay ang mga salarin.
• Find a new man.
• Think of how miserable their life together will be.
• Immerse self in studies.
• Put on Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" and play in apartment full-blast.
  
• Learn to forgive.
  
• Ipakulam ang mga salarin.
• Believe that karma will bite them in the butt.
  
• Talk to a psychotherapist.
  
• Have random sex with strangers.
• Remember that you are better off without him.
  
• Spit on offending parties when spotted.
• Go to the gym frequently to release happy hormones.
  
• Become an alcoholic (but only until emotional turmoil has ceased).
• Binge on as much chocolate as desired.
• Take sleeping pills and mind-altering drugs as needed.
  

Some of these suggestions are more attractive to me than others, so I have yet to decide exactly which ones I'll take. Obviously, I can't do all of the above, though I'll definitely try some of them. The rest will have to remain fantasies to indulge in. I am still very open to other suggestions, though; so shoot me a note if there's anything else that's been missed out.

The Five Stages of Grief

Another one bites the dust. So, step right up to another round of... "The Five Stages of Grief".

I'm out of Denial, and I'm definitely over Bargaining. I'm at the part that is supposed to be the most fun- Anger. However, I was never really good at Anger. Having suppressed it for most of my life, I don't know exactly how to express it properly. Usually, when I'm really mad, I just end up crying/bawling in frustration, and raising my voice as I tell a friend the story behind my rage. The only thing that instantly gave me release back home was the Primal Scream which results in a sore throat (pleasantly accompanied by a lighter feeling). But since I have no car around here to do that in privacy, any attempt at doing this in my apartment could result in a frantic 911 call from a neighbor and my subsequent deportation.

I wish I could throw things around, bash plates on the ground, punch a hole in the the wall, or do something destructive and physical that would immediately release some of the negative energy pervading me. But, I'm too practical for that. I would think too much of the literal cost of the damage ("But this is Corelle and I won't be able to afford another set on my student allowance.").

I also wish I could go up to people who had hurt me, say every word in my dictionary of foul language (which is rather comprehensive and I have to say, pretty impressive), and try to hurt them with words. But that's rather coarse, and causes enduring damage as well. Not my cup of tea.

Then there's the sticks-and-stones approach. In my fantasies, I accidentally see the people who had hurt me, and proceed to give them a stiff uppercut, preferably resulting in a couple of lost teeth. BUT... Although I am physically strong enough to do this, I am not violent enough for it. If violence prevents me from eating meat, it will certainly stop me from hitting people.

So, there seems to be very little recourse for me.

There is an obscure story about me that I will disclose, although it is REALLY embarrassing. REALLY. It will give you an idea of just how badly I deal with anger. Years and a lifetime ago, I had a fight with my then-boyfriend Gambie during a student conference in Japan, because he kept hanging out with this six-foot German girl despite my protestations. I told him that the time they spent together was bothering me (hmmmm... deja vu?), and he refused to cut their time together. After a heated exchange, I burst out in tears (as usual) and went out of the cottage where we had our little tiff.

I was furious at him and his refusal to listen to me. So... what did I do? I was so mad that I went deep into the woods behind the cottage for some privacy, and... DANCED (while crying!!!) to the tune of Madonna's "Express Yourself", music provided by moi. And I was serious about it. I sang "Don't go for second best baby, PUT YOUR LOVE TO THE TEST!" at the top of my lungs. "Second best is never enough, you'll do much better baby ON YOUR OWN!", I sang as I sobbed. And if I remember correctly, I was dancing a mutant form of the running man. (Well, I was obviously temporarily insane and not to be held accountable for this.)

The point is, many years have passed since then and I still have not found a good way to release my anger. In my younger years, Madonna and a few bad moves helped me do it. Even that, although really humiliating, was far more effective than anything else I've tried in recent history. All I've done in the immediate past is recount what I went through to a friend, and then another one, and another one, until they get sick of hearing about what made me so mad.

Maybe I just can't do Anger right. Or at least I can't do it at will. Don't get me wrong, Anger does strike me, very strongly at that... as I tell my story to a friend and my body involuntarily starts to shake; or as I lie in bed and a wave of impotent rage comes over me and brings hot, angry tears to my eyes.

So for now, I deal with Anger in a protracted manner; by making it dissipate each time I bore yet another person with the details of my personal drama, by organizing my thoughts into this blog. Anger is just too tiring. I do wish I could get rid of it in one dramatic burst, instead of having to be surprised by it little by little at the most inopportune of moments.

Come on, Anger, go away. I can't wait to get into Depression.

The Myth of the "Good Guy"

During my first semester in the U.S. and I was just beginning to be friends with Felicity, she asked me why I didn't date. (She herself had an active dating life here in Columbia.) I told her, "I have a boyfriend back home". She began to ask me what Caye was like, and what I liked about Caye. "He's nice," I said. "And don't think that's a lame answer. That is in fact, the highest of praises," I added. To clarify, I told her that in my experience, nice guys are so very hard to find. It's easy enough to find men who are good looking or rich; but nice guys? They're the holy grail of relationships, as far as I was concerned. I elaborated further. "He's a good person. Most of all, he's kind."

Caye had always been Mr. Nice Guy; he even looked the part. Boyish good looks, a clean-shaven face, dimples, and a smile that would make any mother wish him on her daughter. Because he looked like such a good guy, people would always assume that when we had a fight, it was because of something I had done. If I told a friend that he and I had fought, she would say, "What did you do to Caye?" I remember telling Donna, my makeup artist at ABS-CBN, that Caye and I had had an argument. I shared this information with her after she asked me why my eyes looked like I had been crying. Her response to what I said... "Bakit mo naman inaway si Caye?"

Recent developments have shown that Caye is not the good guy that everyone (including Caye himself) thought he was. And I think this is why so many of my girl friends reacted with such disappointment and anger at how we broke up. Caye made many of us believe that there are nice guys out there that treat women well. Men who are decent; men who are good. I doubt that my friends would have reacted as strongly as they did if they had perceived Caye as a jerk. My friends were therefore not just disappointed for me, per se; they were also disappointed for THEMSELVES. Caye not just broke my heart, he also shattered THEIR belief in good guys. This was a recurring theme in some of my friends' responses to the situation. "He's not a nice guy after all. He fooled all of us." "I've lost some faith in good guys." "I really thought he was a nice guy."

This whole experience has left me and probably some of my friends just a tad more jaded. Maila's P.S. in her email summed up this cynicism in five words... "wala nga atang "good boy".

The Fallacy of the Platonic Friendship

For those of you who haven't as yet heard the gory details, here is a summary of events that led to our breakup.

Everything between Caye and I had been okay, despite my leaving in August 2005 to study here in Missouri. We managed to communicate and maintain our relationship with the use of webcams and email.

Before Christmas 2006, his best friend Corinne broke up with her boyfriend Richard. I remember during one of my video chats with Caye that she was there in his house with Popie (they are quite the triumvirate), and I remember feeling bad for her. (I have a soft spot for breakup survivors.) So during the holidays, they spent an inordinate amount of time together; Caye and Corinne, that is. Supposedly to comfort each other- Caye comforted Corinne about her breakup, she comforted him during a Gidget-less Christmas. They wrote about each other (praises, praises, praises!) on their blogs, they drew up a list of "100 things to do before I die" with each other, they ticked off said items together (Corinne wanted to go ice skating and learn to change a tire, and Caye obliged; she taught him to cook, which was on his list), they did yoga together, they drank almost every night together, they listened to "Postal Service" together.

Since I, unlike them, was not in denial and was seeing through all this all too clearly and the danger that their behavior posed, I emailed Caye about how worried I was about the time they were spending together, how they were discussing their hopes and dreams, and how they seemed to be getting too emotionally intimate. I made it clear to Caye that I saw exactly what was happening. He tried to reassure me by saying "Get that out of your head. It's unthinkable. Corinne is like a little sister to me." (Apparently, they later on decided that incest is best, but I digress.)

After emailing my concerns, Caye's behavior toward me deteriorated. He continued to see Corinne very often, and hardly logged on to chat with me. I again emailed him about how I was feeling neglected, and how I was getting very jealous of Corinne. The week before the breakup, I texted him, but he simply did not respond. For a week. He made no effort to contact me through the many ways available to him. That week was hell for me. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't focus on my studies. I didn't know if he was still alive, if he was in the hospital, but deep inside, I knew something bad was going on.

I asked Tintin to text Caye just to find out if was still alive. Since he did respond to her, and he didn't sound like he was in the ICU, I decided to give in to my rage, my sheer unadulterated anger for being totally ignored. After all, I was his girlfriend of almost nine years. I deserved to know what was going on, no matter how painful it would be. I didn't deserve to be shoved to the side while he threshed out his issues. At the very least, he should have informed me that he was thinking some things through.

Last Sunday, I decided I had had enough. I called his cell, and when he answered, he said he was in a movie and would call me later. I said I wanted to talk right then, but because of technical difficulties or his refusal to talk to me then, I waited until he got home so we could video chat.

He messaged me that he emailed me something, and that we should chat only after I had read it. So, there it was... the horrible words... "over the past couple of months I have developed feelings for Corinne...". What really made me furious was the phrase "she is one of my closest friends and the last person i thought i would have feelings for. But that is what happened." What did he mean this is "WHAT HAPPENED"? These things DON'T just happen, unless you're 15 years old and don't know better. Love is a decision. Emotional intimacy does not "just happen". You don't spend all your waking hours outside of work with a person and not expect feelings to develop!

Besides, if I could see it happening as early as Christmas, they sure as hell knew exactly what was going on. And they both allowed it. That's why I hold them both accountable; after all, it takes two to tango. They got in deep, and there is always a point where you can tell yourself "This is wrong. This has got to stop." But they both chose to cross that point, also known as the point of no return.

So that is "WHAT HAPPENED". Caye chose not to honor his commitment to me, and Corinne was his willing accomplice. They are not star-crossed innocent lovers who were suddenly struck by a lightning bolt of love. They are both guilty of causing all this heartbreak. As Gigi said in her last email, "Falling in love with someone doesn't JUST HAPPEN. This isn't the movies."

The Benefits of Technology (and having true friends)

As it turns out, technology has been very useful to me. Aside from Felicity, no one else is physically here to be a shoulder to cry on after my breakup. But after I emailed my friends and family about the news, everyone responded immediately. They emailed, they texted, they logged on to Yahoo! messenger and iChat, they called. I am so grateful to have such great friends, who are there for me even if they are miles and miles away. Yvette called from Africa, Gigi chatted with me from Australia, Anne texted and called me from New York, Chi, James and Kennie called from the Philippines, Anjou texted from Hong Kong, Karmina messaged me on Friendster from Philadelphia, Kuya Bong left a comment on my blog from Cambodia. Biljana emailed me from Serbia, Kuya and Liz from LA, Iva logged on to YM from Virginia; Gilson, Mariann, Eileen, Lissa, and John emailed from the Philippines, Tintin, Gines and Angel chatted with me from home as well.

Obviously, I practically emailed the whole world about my situation ;) But then again, in times like these, one has to lean heavily on one's friends. Since they are all great friends, they don't mind being leaned on anyway. I thank them all for being so supportive, and knowing exactly what to say to/text/message/email me to make me feel better. You are all great. Thanks so much for everything, and especially to those who are drinking a beer with me in spirit.

Breaking up in the New Millennium

Relationships have been given a new dimension by the electronic age. When I was in high school, text messaging and cellphones were non-existent. Therefore, when a boy liked a girl, he had to gather enough guts to ask for a girl's home phone number; and harder still, muster enough courage to actually call her and risk having her parents answer the phone. Girls, of course, would never think of asking for a guy's number.

Then came text messaging. It became easier to get a girl's, or a guy's cell number. A casual "I'll text you about our class meeting", or some such lame excuse would naturally result in an exchange of numbers. Of course, email has also been around for awhile. Now there's Friendster, MySpace, Facebook, and other social networking sites where you can just message each other and establish relationships of some sort. Technology simply made starting relationships much easier, and changed the face of the wooing process.

But what do all these developments mean though when you're having a breakup? Well, you realize that you have quite a long electronic trail to erase to be able to vent your anger and ease your pain. Whereas before, a simple gathering of love letters and pictures and putting them in a shoebox would suffice, now, you have to attend to several things to erase him from your memory (in your hard drive or your brain). Since this is the first breakup I've had in the uber-Internet age, these are the things that I realized I've had to do.

1. Remove him from my Yahoo! messenger contact list.
2. Remove his friends from my Yahoo! messenger contact list.
3. Remove him from my iChat contact list.
4. Erase the message history of all our chats from my Adium messenger (some dating back to 2005). Also, remove his name from Adium messenger contact list.
5. Change my status on Friendster, MySpace, and Facebook from "In a Relationship" to "Single".
6. Remove the offending parties from my Friendster list of friends. (People who knowingly cause you pain don't deserve to be called friends.)
7. Remove his contact information from my Palm Pilot.
8. Remove his special folder from my email inbox.
9. Delete all his emails.
10.Delete all his digital photos in emails, and in my iPhoto library.
11.Remove his number from my cellphone.
12.Remove links to blogs of offending parties from my blog.

I haven't even finished doing all the above, among other things I have to do to be able to shove the past eight and a half years into the annals of history. And I'm sure there are other things I might have forgotten that are still floating around on the World Wide Web.

On the plus side, I don't have to bother with shoeboxes or letter-burning anymore. Deleting someone from your life is now simply a wireless mouseclick away. If I can't have the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, I'll settle for the temporary solace of the Caye-free computer.

Old Dog, New Tricks

I've been feeling overwhelmed by school, and it's barely been a month since classes began. I thought about why I felt so swamped, and I realized that aside from signing up for 15 credit hours (the usual full-time grad school load per semester is only 9 credit hours), the classes I've signed up for all entail learning new computer programs and many other skills. For my photojournalism class, for example, there are so many skills I need to learn, and fast. Composing shots, knowing how my camera works and how to make good use of light, telling a story through your pictures, etc. But on top of these basic skills any photojournalist needs to learn, I also need to learn Photoshop and InDesign, which I am only vaguely familiar with.

Then for my mapping for journalists class, I need to learn to use a mapping software called ArcView which enables you to plot a lot of information onto a map. And for my work at globaljournalist.org , I've been assigned the task of webmaster (lord knows why, since I know next to nothing about webmastering), and so I have to learn how to use Dreamweaver. ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!

My poor brain can only take so much. Maybe if I got exposed to all these programs when I was in college (and much younger), it would have been a breeze to learn them all. Instead, I'm learning them now, when my brain cells have been diminished in number by various toxic substances, and the synapses are no longer what they were. I have to almost plod along until my brain somehow absorbs the information.

Despite my awareness that my mind just isn't what it used to be, I am happy that I am still able to learn at all. Not as quickly as I would've been able to years ago, but nonetheless, it remains quite a feat that this old dog is still able to learn some newfangled tricks.

Three Good Things

I am a pessimist. Definitely a "glass half-empty" kinda girl. I remember realizing and articulating this to myself as early as the fifth grade. I am not lucky enough to have Biljana's "lifelong subscription to pink eyeshades :)". I've often thought that wearing rose-colored glasses just causes you to trip, stumble, or lose your way.

There are advantages to being a pessimist. You are not as disappointed as others might be when things don't turn out well, mostly because that's exactly what you expected to happen. However, it can also make your mood dark and even unhappy for extended periods of time, because you fail to see the good that often does happen.

Felicity told me of one way to fight such dark moods in a very practical manner. She said that everyday, you should think of three good things that happened to you. At the beginning, you might find it hard to accomplish this seemingly simple task. But eventually, you will find even more than just three things to celebrate each day.

It's nearly midnight now, and I've only thought of two good things that happened today. Looks like I need a lot more practice before I get the hang of this positive thinking thang.