Sleep, interrupted.

Several things happen when your electic fan breaks down in the middle of the night.

First, you find yourself sitting on your bed in the dark after unplugging the appliance. You considered trying it out in a different outlet, but figured the electrical thingies inside are all messed up and an indoor bonfire is probably not a good idea for now.

As (bad) luck would have it, it's an uncomfortably warm night. You could open your bedroom windows for ventilation, but you don't want to. There is no screen and you don't want to be invaded by insects that fly, crawl, buzz, or bite. Or even birds. A small bird wandered through your bathroom window a couple of weeks back and you let it have your bathroom for a few hours until it found its way back out. Your roommate made fun of you for that, but what the heck. She's the vet, not you.

There's an abanico somewhere and you try to search for it in your bedside table. You don't turn on the lights so your hands feel around your books, your lamp, your alarm clock, your phone. You eventually find it and begin to fan yourself. 

The humor of the situation sinks in. It's past midnight and here you are in the darkness of your room, the silence accentuated by the absence of the usual hum of the electric fan, and you're sitting cross-legged and using the abanico like some weirdo. You're just reenacting another Earth Hour, you say to yourself.

You look around your room and admit that you really should think about reorganizing. You come up with a to-buy list: table, whiteboard, magic tape, bookends. Maybe a small rug. And oh, you really should find the time to hang the cool "Les Aventures de Tintin" decor that your friend Karina got you from Vietnam. You have attempted to hang it several times before, but couldn't commit to a wall or to a height. It doesn't matter if the 3M hooks are peelable and come with extra adhesives. You just want to be sure the first time. You start to think about what that implies with other aspects of your life, but you stop yourself before the pseudo self-psychoanalysis could take off.

You think about reading. Or rereading something. You've recently finished "Surely You're Joking, Mr Feynman!" - the memoirs of the Nobel Prize physicist, Richard Feynman. You found it very interesting and amusing; there were several sections in the book that you want to review. But then, you would have to turn on the lights. You learned from somewhere that light is the strongest zeitgeber. Your circadian rhythm is messed up as it is and decide to drop the reading for tonight.

Ironically, the more you think of how much sleep you need, the less you end up having. And that results to a lack of enthusiasm for early mornings at work. Ah, work. Inevitably, you think about work and incidents and clarifications and teleconferences and emails. You realize you have the entire workday to worry about those things, and you force yourself to think of something else. 

So instead, you think about your life and ask yourself if you'd be proud to introduce yourself to your - let's say - eight-year old self. Can you unhesitatingly go up to your kid-version and say, "You're going to be me when you grow up! You should be excited!"

You try to remember being eight years old and play off this conversation in your head. You make a mental note to write that conversation down somewhere. There are so many things your younger self wants to know. Why you're not a doctor, why you're single, and how come everything you think you need always comes with batteries. 

Several things happen when you ask yourself questions. But you're too tired, and rest seems like a very good idea even on a warm, airless night. 

Bigak-bigak

My sister Mae came up with a game when we were kids. It's kind of disgusting when I think back about it now, but it was very fun when we played it. It involved molding mud and pretending to serve them as food. We never actually ate them, I'm happy to report. She called the game "bigak-bigak". I assume because the repeating syllables just sounds dirty, like "burak" or something. We never really got into the etymology. Good thing that came out of that was she really ended up being a great cook (of real food, not soil).

Mae shared a lot of traits with our mother: quick-tempered, stubborn, and argumentative. But like Mama was, she's also friendly, generous, and thoughtful. She's one year older than I am so she went away for college ahead of me. Whenever she came home during her freshman year, she'd bring  me back books and clothes bought from her own allowance. Even now, she likes shopping for us. Although she's often trying to force me with things that are pink, or with ruffles, or anything more "feminine", sometimes she'd give in and get me stuff of my own (less girly) taste. 

Happy Birthday, Mae! Hugs from across five time zones! Love you and miss you all.

Today's Daily Bread [excerpt]

“If God had told me some time ago that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and then had told me that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing me from all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom manifest even in this! For if you should see a man shut up in a closed room, idolizing a set of lamps and rejoicing in their light, and you wished to make him truly happy, you would begin by blowing out all his lamps and then throw open the shutters to let in the light of heaven.”

- Samuel Rutherford

Mentoring

I volunteer as a mentor for grade four students in a nearby elementary school. Every Saturday morning, my fellow mentors and I talk to the kids about heroism, nationalism, environment. They sing, draw, graph. It's good fun. The kids are really smart, they're well-behaved, and they really are like sponges. They take in everything you say.

My first mentee is the littlest of them all. Rozela, being 8, is the youngest of the group. Recently, I also took in Jericho. He didn't belong to a permanent mentor so I asked if I could handle him so he would have a sense of constancy.

We are scheduled for a field trip every after module. For the first one, we all went to the National Museum. And afterwards, the kids were invited for a special screening of the animated movie "Up" in Trinoma by corporate sponsors Chevron and Koliska.

I suppose I could tell you about how refreshing it was to see the kids' faces as they stared in amazement at the museum displays. Hundreds of jars retrieved from wreckage. Bones, clothings, cannons. Yes, they were really amazed. And it was fun to see them get amazed. During the movie, they laughed with reckless abandon. They sat on the edge of their seats, eyes wide-open, not wanting to miss anything. It was so endearing.

But what I simply wanted to take away from that experience is the newfound respect for parents who bring their kids to the mall. I kept on catching myself counting the kids in sight. 1, 2, 3, 4... 10. It should always add up to ten. You hold one little hand in your left, and in your other hand, another little hand which is connected to two other little hands. And then you ask them not to let go of each other and to keep close.

I mean, I like kids, I really do. But it's safe to say that I'm not too keen on taking care of ten all at the same time by myself. I think I shouldn't be allowed to anyhow, for that matter.

So to parents who take their young kids to the mall or at the church - hats off to all of you. I think it's nothing short of heroic.

Speaking of heroism, allow me a few lines of vanity right here. We had a button creating activity with the kids. They were asked to draw a button with the words "Bayani ka, sikat ka!", color them, paste them on cardboard, attach a pin, and give them to people who they think are heroes - those who make a difference in other's lives. The week after, my mentee shyly approached me and slipped something in front of my folder. It was one of the buttons I helped her start. She had finished it. I was so touched. There were crumpled scotch tape behind it and the circle was crudely cut, but I thought it was just great.

Some things you can't teach kids. Some things they get to teach you.

Resilience

We were let off work early on Friday in anticipation of typhoon Pepeng's arrival. The practical employee would've went straight home, stocked up on emergency supplies, snuggled on the bed, and watched the news.

I, on the other hand, was not practical. In fact, I thought I bordered on stupid that night. I spent more than an hour waiting for a cab. And another hour and a half inside one while I traveled from Makati to QC. In my defense, I had good intentions. Who was it who said that hell was paved with good intentions? Anyway, I wanted to check whether I was qualified to donate blood to a friend of a friend. We were of the same blood type and there was no supply of it in the hospital.

You have to know that I prefer not to take cabs by myself. I am paranoid that a lot of cab drivers are homicidal maniacs and I am willfully getting into a death trap. But I can't avoid taking cab rides altogether. Whenever I get off safely from one, I voluntarily pay more than the fare. I just want to thank them for not murdering or mugging me.

Mr. Makati-QC Cab Driver did not turn out to be a murderer or a mugger. What he turned out to be is chatty. And very animated, too. I mean, when the light turned green, he yelled "Go! Go! Go!". When the rainfall would strengthen, he said, "Ayan na! Ayan na!" He was tuned in to AM radio, which I was thankful for. I wanted to keep track of how much I would regret not taking the chance of early work release on that stormy night. Mang Makati-QC would react to grim updates with "tsk, tsk, tsk" or an occasional "shi-yet". He laughed out loud at the antics of Gerry and Anthony of DZMM. He also gave me a recap of the news. How strong Pepeng was getting, its speed, its direction.

Mang M-Q told me of how Ondoy, just days ago, flooded their home in Tandang Sora and how he lost all appliances and furniture. The water almost reached the second floor where he and his family took retreat. He had wanted to save at least the TV or the mini-component but his son had pleaded for him to stay with them and keep himself safe. He saved up for those appliances, he told me. It took a long time, but he bought them while he worked as a truck driver a few years back. "Sabi ko nga rin sa sarili ko, ang mga appliances, pwede mapalitan. Kitain uli. Ang importante, kumpleto kami at walang nasaktan." He told me all this in a conversational way. Without a trace of angling for pity. He said that I'd be his last passenger for the day as his wife has been worried sick and texting him to come home since earlier that afternoon.

I got off at St. Luke's and thanked Mang M-Q.

After the initial screening process, I was eventually deferred on account of my colds from a week ago. Which - for a lack of better term - sucked. I wanted to tell the med tech the utter ordeal of getting there. But it wouldn't have helped. They were just doing their jobs. And a lot of people have better reasons to whine than I do. Barely remembering my courtesy, I thanked them for their time.

Mr. QC-Pasig Cab Driver was also tuned in to the AM radio. I was again given the summary of Pepeng's current strength, speed, and direction. He mistook me for a student (ahem) and advised me to stay indoors during the weekend. Mang Q-P remarked how traffic was much lighter at that time since most of the people have already gone home early. He'd have gone home to his family and also-flooded house "pero kailangan maghanapbuhay".

I got off at my street and thanked Mang Q-P.

It was late when I got home, but I was safe. What I took from that night is a little less paranoia of cab rides and a little more pride in the resilience of the working class Filipino.

Death by Toasted Bread

Tonight, we say farewell to our rice cooker.

This trusty appliance has served us well since I was in college up until a few hours ago when it decided to end its usability with a bang. A literal one.

Let it be known that its last hurrah was toasted bread. Luz was about to unplug it from the socket when it made a bright spark (Luz maintains it to be an "explosion", but that's really just taking it a wee bit far). Instinctively, she took a quick step back, but it only occurred to her that the spark/explosion was electrical when she turned and found me frantically looking around and asking her where the circuit breaker was. 

We managed to find it behind the cupboard then I switched all the levers off, and while Luz held the flashlight, I unplugged the aberrant rice cooker cord with the help of a leather belt (just to be on the safe and paranoid side). Later on, we found Luz's right hand with dark streaks of black soot caused by the blowup just like the ones I had as a kid when I had my run-ins with anything electrical.

We've been roommates for more than a year and a half, and yes, our room is still in one piece.

And so we offer a moment of silence for our unusable rice cooker and all those years of service, not only in the field of rice-cooking but in all manners of culinary dorm-room skills. People still can't believe we pulled off a Kare-kare using it.

What's in a (wrong) name?

An HR officer in the company addressed me by the wrong name. She called me "Raquel". It's not that I have a problem with the name nor that I particulary dislike it. It's just that... well, it's not mine.

In that moment after she asked me how I was -- or more appropriately, how Raquel was -- I had one of those moments of self-assessment wherein I weigh the best course of action in an awkward situation.

First up,there was a possibility that I have misheard her. Some people call me "Cel" although the syllable is not found anywhere in my considerably long three-part given name. The more accurate variation would be "Cil", which is a subset of "Cecilia". And of course there are "Ces" and "Cilia" -- oh, the snickers I got as a kid during science class when the discussion included the cilium.

Anyway, I dismissed that since most officemates call me "Cecil", as indicated in the issued nameplate posted on my cubicle. In fact, nobody knows anybody else's name apart from what that nameplate and the LDAP defined.

If she did mistakenly address me, I could just pretend I misheard her say my name incorrectly. By virtue of double negation (and sensible sentence structure): I will just pretend I heard my name correctly. I could easily pull that off. My roommate and I spend a good chunk of our conversations asking to repeat what the other said. Not really for fun, it usually just has something to do with mornings.

And of course, there is the mature option of politely correcting her. I am, after all, an adult and should be well-equipped to ably navigate through social situations with grace and courtesy, circumventing any possible awkwardness.

I'd be polite, appear respectfully amused while I point out the error. She'd laugh, maybe a quick apology or a quick excuse that she misspoke. She'd proceed to tell me that of course she knew my name. After all, she was the one who conducted my qualifying personality interview which I was half an hour late for. Maybe she'd bring that up. Ask me how I was getting along. And I'd say that I was doing well, and thank her for asking. Yes, yes. This could work.

And so I smile at her and say, "I'm ok naman po, thank you."

Good job, Raquel.

Pens

<Geek Guidance: The following entry is not approved for all audiences.>

I am the kind of person who buys pens and notebooks for no particular reason. I generally like school supplies and often linger in stores to browse through nifty products like clip dispensers or fabric glue. But pen and paper are always the staple (no pun intended).

I'm always looking for pens. Not necessarily expensive ones, just those that write well. In fact, both Parker pens I have were given to me as gifts. Admittedly, how well a pen writes is relative to the person using it. People have different criteria for writing instruments and I find it interesting to find their preferences. And sometimes, if I hear a good recommendation, I set out to find and buy the pen myself.

My minimum criterion for a pen is that it does not skip. The other factors really depend on the paper, because different textures of paper absorb ink from pens differently. I also prefer those that are refillable.

I keep pens of different millimeter line widths. When I take notes and have the time for it, I sometimes use a thicker width (0.5 mm) for headings to simulate a bold style and use a finer width (0.3 mm) for the body of the notes. In school, I used different colored pens for this purpose, but I grew out of that. All my personal pens are now black.

The following are the current roster of my pens. I have a number of others among my things, but these are the ones that are easily accessible and often used.

Pilot G-Tec-C3 ultra-fine rollerball

This is my go-to pen. I've been using this pen since college, although I started with the 0.4mm width. I switched to the finer 0.3mm in senior year and have always had one in my possession ever since. I buy refills for this pen until the barrels are worn out and cracked. It's a pleasure to write with them, especially on smooth paper. The thing with G-Tec is that the fine tip can be sensitive and when it snags, it can be a pain to get the ink flowing again.

Pilot Ballpoint Pen Stick Type (BP-S) Fine

The one I have now of this was actually issued by the office on my first day. I remember using this pen in high school, but I often lose them so I would buy the cheaper Panda. Pilot BP-S is a good ballpoint. Reliable, smooth and easy to write with. The pen's plastic barrel is brittle, though. I actually broke mine at the end tip and had to tape it together.

Uni SX-210 Jetstream Rollerball

This was a very good recommendation to me. This is definitely one of the smoothest pens I've ever used. It glides through paper as if without friction. The barrel is lined with rubber, making it an easy-to-grip pen. I like this pen for jotting down quick notes during talks because I get to write faster and the ink dries fast. But my handwriting looks very inelegant with this pen, because of the line's thick width and because I find that I have less control with my strokes.

Parker Vector Standard Fountain Pen

This was a gift from my friends Jayjay and Karina. I like the fact that I have a fountain pen, but alas, I am no Butch Dalisay. I had to read about fountain pens before I got to use mine. I bought a Parker piston converter and a bottle of ink. I learned to assemble and refill this pen. I also found out that I sometimes had to wash the nib through running water. I actually like writing with a fountain pen. I like the quality of the lines and the difference of the effect with holding it differently and with varying degrees. I would use this more often if I had a proper desk.

Parker Insignia Chrome Ballpoint Pen

My old company gave this pen to me as a sendoff present. I haven't actually used this much and have kept it in its fancy box and its fancy case. They had my full name engraved on the pen and it nearly occupied the length of the cylinder. I like the weight of this pen in my hand. The writing is Parker-quality, but I don't think I'll carry this around. It seems to belong to the desk.

Faber-Castell 1401 Gel Pen 0.5

I saw this pen at the store, made a few tentative strokes, liked it enough, and bought it. This is my "bold" stroke pen for my notes. Some notes: the ink on paper dries a while but the ink on pen dries out the tip quickly, so better keep it capped.

Zebra F-301 Compact Ballpoint

This is my newest find. I read a forum where the Zebra F-301 was highly rated, almost to a cult following. I went to several bookstores to find this pen before finally getting it from the small school supplies section of the mall, of all places. I actually found the compact edition, but I bought it anyway. It is only 97mm in length when closed, but when the cap is placed on top, it extends to 133mm. It is very handy to carry around or to clip into notebooks and planners. I like the stainless steel cap and it writes smoothly and with a fine line.

And after all that long-winded rant, this brings me to the point of this whole entry. If any of you come across the following pens, please let me know where I can find them. Or if you're feeling particularly benevolent, just buy them for me and I will be glad to pay you for them. Thanks!

Ultra-fine Pilot G2 0.38mm
Zebra F-301 Deluxe Stainless Steel Ballpoint

What pens do you use? Let me know so I can add them to my list. :)

Sherlock

I first read Sherlock Holmes stories when I was fifteen. My older sister was a college freshman and had brought books with her when she came home for a break. One of them was the The Strand Magazine reprint edition of Sherlock Holmes. And from then on, I was hooked. I have the books, both in the dead-tree and electronic format. I often reread them when I seek the comfort and familiarity of favorite stories.

Everyone is familiar with the characters of Holmes and Watson, even without having read the books. Sherlock is, after all, one of the most portrayed fictional characters of all time. It is a classic precisely because it never gets outdated. I guess intelligence is fashionable whichever the time period. All throughout the stories, Sherlock grows on the reader. He becomes a real person with quirks, habits, eccentricities.

Whenever I learn that someone has not read Sherlock stories yet, I am excited for all the fun they have before them. The enjoyment of meeting the characters, joining their adventures. But I realize that it's not for everybody. The archaic language is offputting for some, though I find it engaging. After reading a few stories, I think with a British accent which can be amusing.

It is no wonder that when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock in the story "The Final Problem", there was an overwhelming appeal for him to bring the character back. And so the detective was resurrected for another series of stories, starting from "The Adventure of the Empty House". Besides, how can Conan Doyle assume that he can do such a thing? To the readers, Holmes was a living, breathing, crime-solving human being. He lived on 221B Baker Street with his friend Dr. John Watson. He couldn't possibly have died. And so he lived on. He also became the inspiration of other characters -- a favorite of mine is Dr. Gregory House.

Another perpetuity of Sherlock Holmes is through film and television. Based on IMDB entries, there were dozens of releases. I only had the opportunity of viewing four of these incarnations on screen, as follows. Only the last of which I am going to share more of my thoughts. And so off we go.

Sherlock Holmes Returns (1993)

Anthony Higgins (as Sherlock Holmes)

Debrah Farentino (as Amy Wilson - a female version of Watson, for all intents and purposes)

This is the Victorian Holmes who invented and used upon himself a method of suspended animation and found himself waking up in the current day, in America, no less. This is a Holmes that bungles with a new world of modernities, of technology, of culture. A lighthearted approach on how the intellectual British detective could have coped with the changes.

Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)

Nicholas Rowe (as Sherlock Holmes)

Alan Cox (as John Watson)

This Steven Spielberg-produced and Chris Columbus-written work attempts to recreate an alternate beginning of how Holmes and Watson have met. Here, they are schoolboys together, sharing dormitories in a boarding school. It is endearing and aimed to explain some origins of the trademarks of the adult Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes (2009)

Robert Downey, Jr. (as Sherlock Holmes)

Jude Law (as John Watson)

And of course, the most successful Sherlock Holmes film of recent history. This is Holmes in his age, in his time, in his London. For the record, I have always liked RDJ and of course, Jude Law. And this was a very entertaining film to watch -- the costumes, the recreation of old London, the grand sets, the explosions. Guy Ritchie pulled it off - his Hollywood version of Holmes. And being that, there had to be a leading lady in the person of Irene Adler (Rachel MacAdams). Ms Adler was a character from the story "A Scandal in Bohemia", and although Holmes referred to her as "THE woman", it was never in the context of romance, but of intellectual respect. The Hollywood version was fun, though. And I am still looking forward to the sequel.

Sherlock (2010)

Benedict Cumberbatch (as Sherlock Holmes)

Martin Freeman (as John Watson)

And now, we arrive. This BBC's mini-series featured three 90-minute episodes of Sherlock and were created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, both also behind the Dr. Who series. "Sherlock" is about a modern Sherlock, in a modern England. We have here a younger Sherlock Holmes, early-thirties, tech-savvy, and brilliant as ever. Dr. John Watson is fresh from his tour in Afghanistan (notably, the original Watson also served in Afghanistan).

Apart from the time setting and all the implications that entail, this series is unmistakably faithful to the stories and characters of the books. The names, the addresses, the cases, even some of the dialogue all reverberate from the original Holmes that the readers knew.

The excellence of setting Holmes in the modern day is that it dispenses with the ostentatious sets and altogether avoided the anachronisms. It's not about the horsedrawn carriages, or the pipes, or the deerstalker caps. The series can now focus on the adventures and the characters. They maintained a semblance of the period feel with the clothes and the locations.

Holmes of the late 1800s used all the available resources to his advantage. This modern Sherlock is no different. And because technology abound, he employs the use of every means to aid his investigation: blogging, smartphone, email, internet.

There is an underlying humor in the writing that pervades throughout the episodes.

When accused of being a psychopath, Sherlock had replied:

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath; do your research."

Or when John talked to Sherlock about his encounter with his "archenemy".

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time."

I grinned at the quip about the "three patch problem", an update of the "three pipe problem". And the allusions to the infamous seven percent solution during the drugs bust. It's as if the writers and creators were sharing an inside joke with the readers. A conspiratorial wink. As if nudging and saying, "Remember that part from the book? Hilarious to find it here, isn't it?"

Admittedly, it is also very possible that I am writing favorably about the series solely on the account of my being smitten with Benedict Cumberbatch. Very, very possible. So if you have good sense, you may take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Cumberbatch looks like the younger version of the original illustration of Holmes by Sidney Paget. Tall, very lean, with a high forehead. He has successfully captured the demeanor of Sherlock. He is confident and composed, even dignified. He is very capable of both charm and conceit. And although he is primarily a cerebral person, he also has boundless energy at his disposal. Cumberbatch has portrayed Sherlock with his distinctive traits: Precision in movement. Impatience. Intensity.

I like that they did not introduce Sherlock with a love interest. Because frankly, Sherlock really had no interest in love. They did, however, made fun of the talks that the Sherlock and John are gay.

Martin Freeman I remember from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and from "Love Actually". I know he is famous for the British "The Office" and by all means, through his interviews, his sense of humor and wit often shine through. Freeman lends depth to Watson's character. He is not just a narrator -- he is his conscience, his manners, his connection to human emotion. He is a partner, not necessarily an equal, but still above a chronicler.

The last episode of the series ends with a cliffhanger that will end all cliffhangers. If it were a speech, it was cut mid-word. Most viewers regarded this as mean, and maybe it was. But it certainly did leave us wanting for more. Fortunately, there are confirmed reports that there will be more episodes. Although, it would be at least a year's wait. In the meantime, the DVD of the recently concluded mini-series will be released in the UK later this month.

Watch the series if convenient — if inconvenient watch all the same.

 

Things I learned during my recent trip

1) Traveling light is an achievement.

     I contemplated to buy new luggage, but ended up borrowing from a friend when I could not decide which kind I need to buy. Anyway, I was able to fit in that smallish case a week's worth of clothes, two shoes, my camera, toiletries, couple of jackets, electronics stuff. I was proud of the efficient use of limited space. The compression packs I have came in handy (from my old outdoor days). I hand-carried my laptop and another smaller bag for passport, wallet, phone.

2) Airport routine is cumbersome.

     It slightly irks me that immigration officers do not use the pages of the passport in sequence. They flip into a random blank page and stamps on it. My anal-retentive tendency is just not at peace with that.

     When we landed in Sydney, the machine wouldn't scan my passport. The officer had to ask me to follow him into a different scanner. What a waste of time the whole thing would have been if that wasn't resolved.

     It is absolutely a hassle to get through security with laptops. They ask you to take it out of bags and of sleeves. Those velcro straps, those zippers, the pressure that you're in a quick-moving line--aargh.

     On my way home, one of my bags had to go through the x-ray machine three times. I had keychain souvenirs in it and onscreen, the key rings probably looked like grenade pins. I took a peek at the monitor and yes, it really did.

3) The language difference is more of an amusement than a barrier.

    The Aussie accent takes a while to get used to.

    Once, when I was buying a train ticket for Wynyard station, the guy in the counter asked, "One 'y'?"

     I paused and considered whether there was another Wynyard station in the city which was spelled differently.

     And then he continued with, "... or return?"

    "Oh, just one way please. Thanks."

     There was also a TV channel that I thought was named "Guy". I hear the ads saying, "... showing only at 'Guy'!". Apparently, it was "Go" channel.

     Of course, there's also the whole British naming - the elevator is a lift, garbage is rubbish, and the one which blows my mind - the chemist is the pharmacy. I wondered why there were these stalls for chemists. Who would need the services of a chemist so often? Go figure. I mean, "guy" figure.

     During training, the Australian manager could not find the record his American counterpart created. It turns out that he was looking for the keyword "authorised." An excerpt of their exchange:

     "Who in the world spells 'authorised' with a bloody z?"

     "Everyone else in the world who correctly spells."

     "And that is 'spellz' with a z, right?"

4) As a tourist, you have to unabashedly do the touristy things.

     I went to see the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, Darling Harbour. Took lots of pictures from the 360-degree view of the city from Sydney Tower. Sent myself a postcard from the highest working mailbox in the western hemisphere. Saw the kangaroos, koalas, and other wildlife at the Sydney Wildlife World. Went to see the sharks, dugongs, and other aquatic animals in the Sydney Aquarium. Saw the vibrant Chinatown. Went souvenir shopping at the Market City. Had hot chocolate at the Lindt Chocolat Cafe. I have to admit, the birds at the Circular Quay freaked me out. They were humongous. I looked so pathetic ducking whenever one flew over me. Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" came to mind.

5) "You've never been to the place if you haven't tasted the food."

     They served us snacks and lunches during training. They usually have salads and sandwiches or wraps. Very fresh. The snacks comprised of scones (makes you want to fake an accent when you say "scones") with jam and cream cheese, croissants, and those delicious cake bars made of a coconutty base, custard layer, and chocolate topping. Soooo good. I wonder if I can find that here. For our team dinner, we went to a Japanese place called Rengaya - absolutely the best Jap food I've ever had. The salmon melted in the mouth and the grilled beef was so tender.

     Some other cool find was this fastfood place "Oporto" where they have chicken fillet burger with spicy sauce. I have a very high tolerance for heat, but that was a pretty good hot sauce. Before I left, my relatives took me to a buffet where there were very good grilled fish and vegetables. And though I was full, I was under obligation to try the roasted Australian beef, and I'm glad I did.

     Just a short postscript on food: Red Rock Deli Chips. Enough said.

6) Our South Pacific office is wickedly cool.

     The video conference room opens to the "kitchen", which is a spacious room with an island counter, some tables, sink, a whole wall of refrigerators full of the company's products. The other side opens to a rooftop garden with more tables, and a barbecue grill. We were told that when the weather is nice, some people actually go outside to work there. What a great perk to have. In Makati, that option would be unappealing because of the pollution.

7) Singapore is a good stop for a connecting flight.

     Singapore felt like a Sim City. So polished it almost looks like a model unit of cities, made with Legos or something. The Skytrain that connects all three terminals was cool, too. Changi airport is practically a mall, lined with shops.

     Going back to Manila, I had a twelve-hour layover in Sg. My friends Tago and Abs were so thoughtful to wait for me for three hours at the airport and then let me crash at their flat. There, I had the chance to watch two episodes of the BBC documentary "Life". Anybody else thinks that just listening to David Attenborough raises their IQ's a bit? He could read off the classified ads and there'd still be oooh's and aaah's, I bet.

8) They mean business in business class.

    The company has a business class policy which I appreciated because this was my first trip out of the country and it afforded me a number of conveniences. The attendants were very nice and they keep offering you drinks and hot towels, and food - which was very good, I might add. Full course meals. The space was comfortable, too. Seats that transform to full beds - yeah, Singapore Airlines rocks. Unable to sleep, I got to watch a few movies from the video on-demand. I finally saw The Last Airbender (It wasn't as bad as some of the reviews made me think it would be), Letters to Juliet (a pleasant surprise), The Back-up Plan (I didn't even bother to finish it). On my way home, some executive-looking West Asian-looking old guy was on my left during the Singapore-Manila flight. He was in a suit and drank wine and watched CNN and read Financial Times. I was in my jeans and Chucks, drank my water, and watched Aladdin (An old favorite, been a long time since I last saw it). 

9) All my memories are carry-ons.

     In summary, I couldn't have asked for a better trip. But the best hour of the whole experience was on a Thursday night. The training was done, but I had a few free hours by myself until a scheduled teleconference. I left the hotel and just walked block after block. It was cold and a little windy. I had my iPod on and was listening to Live.

     It was surreal. The anonymity of being in a faraway city was both scary and exhilirating. I'm just a nobody who doesn't know anyone. I wondered about my mother, as I often do. I walk down Buendia Avenue in Makati, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Buendia Avenue in Makati. And there I was, walking down Walker Street in North Sydney, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Walker Street in North Sydney. What would she have thought? She would have been glad, I think, but I'm sure my worn out sneakers would have been disapproved.

Nothing but the tooth.

Ordinarily, being at home on a workday is something to look forward to. This Wednesday seems to be an exception.

I'm holing up in my room with a sharply bitter taste of anesthesia in my mouth, a drilled hole in my tooth, and a tongue that feels like it has doubled in size. Welcome to the first day of treatment of my impromptu root canal therapy.

When I found that my tooth had a slight underside crack, I did not hesitate to see the dentist. I honestly thought it would be a simple filling. Even as a kid, I was never one of those people who were afraid of dental appointments. I have a high threshold for pain, I'm not particularly scared of needles, and most importantly, I like to take care of my teeth. But lo and behold, after a thorough dental assessment, some drilling, and an x-ray later, it was found that my poor tooth was far worse than I thought it was.

The only way to save the tooth was through an RCT. Having it extracted was out of the question. I also remember my mother was adamant about keeping our original teeth. And so it goes. After more than an hour of keeping my mouth open, I now have a tooth in WIP therapy, a sore jaw, and a side of the mouth I'm not allowed to chew with. On top of that, I'm also out a couple of thousand pesos. And here's the best part of it all: I have two more weeks of these dental visits! So excited! [/sarcasm]

Quoting Antolini

For this edition of random memory unearthed - I'm taking you back at the time when I was seventeen. I was a college sophomore in UP and it was the semester I took Comm III. Our instructor took the whole class outside. She sat down and asked each one of us to stand a good 15-20 feet away and recite from memory one paragraph of our choice. 

This was mine. 

"This fall I think you're riding for—it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started." 

Written as a last remark on my comment sheet was, "Nice excerpt." What can I say? Salinger's got my back.