Digressions

The Adi Chronicles

2012-01-29T13:19:00.001+08:00

This is a first hand account of a 17 day long contact with a two-year old human subject with a given name of Adrian Daniel. Subject invariably answers to calls of "Adi".

Physical Appearance

Subject is two years and seven months old and has a height of a little over three feet. He has a big, round face, soft cheeks, and brown eyes. His head is topped with slightly curly hair that is usually cut very short, except for winters when his parents let it grow out as a warmth layer for the subject's still-delicate head.

Indoors, he is often seen wearing pajamas with patterns of ducks or turkeys. Subject also likes wearing socks and would exhibit restlessness if they are removed from him intentionally or not. When leaving the comfort of shelter, he wears a thick hooded jacket and usually, any one of his pairs of Lightning McQueen sneakers. His fascination with this character will be discussed more later.

Speech

Adi is at a stage of vocabulary building and would sometimes parrot new words he hears. Because of this, the adults would be extremely careful of word choice around the subject so as not to taint his vocabulary with rudeness. Unfortunately, there are a few times when an undesirable word or phrase would be in his earshot (like "Oh, sh*t!") and he would repeat it. The adults would exchange glances and tacitly agree to ignore it, but the subject has the uncanny ability to sense that the phrase has elicited a unique reaction and would then proceed to repeat it over and over again.

His speech has significantly developed, especially in the past year. For instance: to express gratitude, he started from "Tutu", to "Tikyu", and finally to "Thank you." It must be said, however, that whenever he thanks someone, he also appends "You're welcome" to his response. He still has not grasped the idea that the phrase is not for him to say. He must be under the impression that in the previous instances that it has been said to him, he was being prompted to say it, too. So when one gives him candy, for example, he would say, "Thank you. You're welcome."

A very promising aspect of his speech is his pronunciation. He has a clear distinction between his voiced and voiceless dental fricative (/th/ as in "this" and "thing"). And also between his "B" and "V" sounds.

Movement

Motor skills have greatly improved in his second year and he is now able to run and walk with relatively more stability. However, he has a propensity for climbing on top of tables and stacked chairs which he still is not adept at. He also trips every now and then on flat surfaces. With any misstep and imbalance, he admonishes himself out loud with, "Careful, Adi!" or "Hinay, Adi!" (Subject is exposed to Tagalog, English, and Visayan. His vocabulary is a mixture of the three.)

Diet

Bananas are an important part of his daily diet. He asks for them the whole day. When he knows that his mother would not give him any more after he's had two or three in one sitting, he would find another adult to conspire with and ask in a low voice if they could get him more bananas. When at home, he asks for rice when he's hungry. When outside, he asks for candies. When he's sleepy, he asks for milk. He also has acquired a taste for kubus (Arabic bread) and paratha (Indian bread).

At home, they have a rule that allows the subject to reject a food offered, but only after he has tried it. His first encounter with a pomelo is an apt example. He was adamant he did not want to eat even a little bit of it and was close to having a tantrum. When he was finally tricked into sampling some, he realized that he liked the taste and would not stop asking for it until all the pomelo was gone.

Behavior

Like most two-year olds (in their "terrible" stage), subject is prone to tantrums. Although his tantrums is limited to just being all-around grumpy (not listening, crying and yelling for no reason). This often happens when he's not had a nap during the day. Otherwise, he stays agreeable until bedtime.

When he is not deprived of his nap, Adi is very congenial and will hug anyone at request. He also repeats "I miss you" to anyone he interacts with. Apparently, he does not know what it means but is sure that it is something that establishes friendship. Outsiders find his politeness remarkable. He reaches for a handshake, he says "please", "thank you", "excuse me", "borrow". He is generous with his toys and his food. He distributes his matchbox cars so you can park them with him or create makeshift humps in the sofa with him. He would readily extend his feeding bottle if he is jokingly asked to share some of his milk.

Cars

Subject has a significant fascination with cars. He loves the cartoons "Cars" and everything to do with Lightning McQueen and Mater. But this does not stop with the Pixar franchise and its characters. Adi spends most of his time playing with toy cars, looking at books with car pictures, and pointing out cars on the road when he's riding in the backseat. He can also identify them by names like, "Honda Civic", "Nissan Tiida", "Xterra", or "Innova". He knows which ones are buses, pickup trucks, or taxicabs.

In one instance, he saw a car carrier and could not contain his glee. He literally jumped off his seat, clapped with excitement, and exclaimed in a loud voice, "Tungtong ang car!" Although he still has not understood the concept of a convertible because when he saw one with its top down, he said, "Guba ang car" (The car is broken).

Familial Relations

Adi has the structure of a complete and stable family. He has a mother who stays at home with him, a father who is only out of the house eight hours a day for work. An aunt who lives in the same city and sometimes spends weekends with them. Another aunt who lives on the opposite side of the continent and only sees them on vacations, but loves her nephew so much and misses him everyday.

Level Two

2011-08-23T11:45:00.001+08:00

A little over two years ago, I left my long-time job at a software development firm and transferred to the IT department of a multinational company. Although I started still as a programmer, all application development of my new company was eventually outsourced to a third-party and I ended up becoming part of functional production support.

I had the intention of professionally branching out of coding, but did not expect that the chance would come as soon as it did. I had my hesitations at first, but decided that it would be a good thing to learn more about business processes and the applications that support them at a higher level. So I transitioned to the new position. I scooched over to the functional support and am now sandwiched between the clients and the technical group.

Now, just a background of my previous programming job. For a long time, it had been my comfort zone because the setup was fitting to my personality. In actual work, I only had to deal with three people: my systems analyst for the specs, my test engineer for the bugs, and my team lead mainly for the schedule. All I had to do was to make sure I followed the design, I fixed all the bugs before deployment, and I met the schedule.

I went from having to interact with those three technical people to having to interact with multiple marketing managers across the world who use the application I support.

My first few months in production support were rough, at best. The workload was not a concern as I was used to having a six day workweek with 10-12 hours a day in my old job. But needless to say, I did have to adjust to a number of other things: the increased number of people I had to interact with and also the multicultural differences. However, the most significant adjustment for me was that I now had to deal with non-IT people.

The difficulty in transition did not lie so much in the difference of technology skills, but the communication. Business people and IT people talk different languages -- that much is a given. And I now found myself in the position of being the interpreter for both sides.

When the tech tells me that the database listener of the web server is down, I cannot relay that to the client word for word. Because all they know is that nothing is working and that it should just get fixed. This is an instance wherein detail is not appreciated. So I choose my words and to consciously rid it of jargon.

And there would be times when I get the heat from clients when the application does not behave the way they expected. It takes patience to explain that it is not a bug when the expectation does not match the design. Especially when the design have been communicated, reviewed, and approved by them.

There have also been funny, priceless facepalm moments. I once attached a form in an email and have asked it to be returned to me filled out. I was very suprised to find out that the client printed out the form, filled it out in ink (you know, by hand and with a pen), scanned the document and sent me the image file. I should have tried to be more explicit in the instructions.

Another time, a client was adamant that her access rights were revoked because she cannot view a record. She was about to raise a ticket when I asked her to just please try scrolling down. And her priceless response to me was: "It was hiding!" (exclamation point and totally serious demeanor are hers, not mine.)

It got me thinking whether I should have accepted that job offer by old friends from the university who went into start-ups and new cool technologies. I visited them a year ago and was asked the same famous line from Steve Jobs to John Sculley "Do you want to sell sugar water for the rest of your life, or do you want to come with me and change the world?" I knew he didn't mean it, but it was a witty and coincidentally appropriate joke.

Regrets hover on me for just a bit, but do not really settle, because in truth, I do have an interesting job. I get the chance to step back from the nitty gritty details of semicolons and pixel widths and millisecond response times. And now, just think about how all those are used in the real world and how they affect real people. Also, one nice thing about this transition, my clients are very expressive of their appreciation whenever I help them resolve an issue. I've been called a very nice, kind person and an angel numerous times complete with the halo-bearing smiley emoticon. I mean, I never heard that from any of my systems analysts or test engineers.

I guess there are far worse things than dealing with, eww, people.

Adi Adventures (S02, E01)

2011-08-13T22:50:00.001+08:00

My brother called me today and told me about the the latest incident my nephew had this morning: little Adi locked himself inside the room and could not get out.

Their apartment has these old-fashioned doorknobs that require key turns for it to be locked. So they usually just leave the keys hanging from the knobs.

Apparently, while inside the bedroom by himself, Adi was able to somehow lock the door, but was then unable to turn the key and unlock it the other way. The opposite keyturn gets slightly jammed and has to be twisted more forcefully. My nephew is two years old, by the way. He could barely reach the knob in the first place and is not yet strong enough to unjam it.

When Adi realized the predicament he was in, he started to cry and scream out loud. His mom tried to calm him from the other side of the door, but the crying went on. She initially asked him to try and turn the key but could tell that he was having a hard time with it. She finally had the idea of slipping in a paper underneath the door. There was a slight gap between the door and the floor wherein the key can be slid out. So my sister-in-law carefully talked Adi into following the instructions of pulling out the key and placing it on top of the paper that she slipped under the door.

And in between sobs, screams, and probably panic, he did as he was told.

The moment the door opened, Adi, still crying, rushed out and hugged his mother very tightly. My sister-in-law later found inside the bedroom that Adi tried to improvised way to reach the doorknob. He tried to drag the chair and other things near the door.

For now, we view his fifteen-minute self-inflicted involuntary exile to the bedroom as a testament that no matter how far his playfulness gets him into trouble, he is at least smart enough to help himself out of it.

Jeepney commuters, beware.

2011-08-10T16:00:00.001+08:00

A warning to fellow commuters out there. Be wary of groups of men who board the jeepney together. Their modus operandi is to seat themselves around a potential victim and to crowd around him. They will devise a way to distract the person by either nudging/pushing/elbowing or by making an excuse to talk to him/her. During this time, the other accomplices will be going through the victim's things or pockets to take out valuables.

My friend's sister was a victim of this setup a few months ago. The group crowded around her and created a commotion among themselves in her immediate space; Someone even pulled her hair. Disoriented, she got off the jeepney and was not surprised that her Blackberry was already missing from her bag when she checked.

I personally had a close call this morning, on my way to work. Three men boarded together from somewhere near Don Bosco Makati. Two of them seated on my right, while the other sat across from them. On my left was a lady who got off a few blocks ahead. I was about to move to her vacated space but the third guy across took it instead. Instant warning bells. I also felt like being crowded by the one on my right since his backpack was almost overlapping mine. And he also had shifty eyes. Finally, the last straw: the one who was not seated beside me tapped me on the shoulder and mouthed something. I had my earphones on, but I could tell he did not speak out loudly. I ignored him and looked away. He tapped me again and repeated what sounded like "May dumi ka", and pointed somewhere in my hair or ear.

Right then, in a moving vehicle I stood up, yelled "para", and got off the jeep. Thankfully, I was near a gas station and quickly walked to its convenience store, hoping there would be a security guard nearby in case any of the men followed me. There was no guard, but as luck would have it, two uniformed policemen were having breakfast. I stayed in the area for a few minutes to catch my breath, to make sure I was clear, and to let the fear and/or adrenaline settle.

I recounted the incident to an officemate and just as I mentioned the part about the man saying that I had dirt on me, she agitatedly interrupted to tell me that it was a well-known tactic by robbers and snatchers. They would tell victims that there was something on their hair or shirt, even if there was none. Or sometimes, an accomplice would intentionally rub dirt on them so the other one can point it out. My officemate personally knew of one incident when one guy spat on the victim, and the other pretended to help, but only to have the victim's bag emptied.

Friends, please be safe. Be aware of your surrounding and your fellow passengers. Don't let your guard down when the situation seems suspicious. I do not recommend anyone to be as paranoid as I am, but sometimes, it does pay off.

Google+: my two cents

2011-08-03T21:39:00.003+08:00

For someone with limited real-life socialization, I sure have made the rounds of most social networks. Currently, I maintain active accounts in Facebook and Twitter. In the past, I also had profiles in Friendster, MySpace, and Multiply. So it should not come as a surprise that in true geek fashion, I got a Google+ invitation only a day or so after its beta release.

Over a month and 20M+ new users later, there have been hundreds of opinions on Google's latest attempt in the social networking scene. Early on, some have readily dismissed it as another Orkut or Wave which were both unsuccessful in widely catching on. But most reviews have been positive, overwhelmingly so. However, most descriptions concentrated on it being a killer of some sort: Facebook killer, Twitter killer, Microsoft killer. That sounds all very exciting, but I'd rather much prefer to not attribute any bludgeoning violence to Google+.

Just to get it out of the way, I think Google+ is awesome. I feel like it has taken the list of everything I find essential in a social network and implemented it. I actually require very few things: a venue where I can share links, photos, blog entries, and thoughts; where I can also see what my family and friends shared. Also a place to find interesting sites and people to follow their news and opinions.

But then you ask: If that's all there is to it, then what's the point in "migrating" when Facebook and Twitter already cover those features?

The clincher is that Google+ chose to emphasize on privacy. Privacy is the proverbial card up Google's sleeve. Sharing revolves around "Circles". It is a feature wherein users are able to categorize their contacts into groups and with that, the ability to share specific things only to specific groups.

And before anyone else can yell, "But Facebook already has Lists and Groups!", let me just stop you right there. Believe me, I know this because I've used it. I actually took the time to categorized all my contacts into specific lists. And the process was far from pretty. It works but it was tedious.

Any heavy object can hit a nail, but a hammer is designed to fit in your hand and to hit efficiently and with much better precision. Google+ was designed with Circles in mind. You can effortlessly group your contacts to however you see fit: family, friends, co-workers, or "crap! They found me!". The process is intuitive. And it doesn't hurt that the interface is sleek.

Also, truth be told, I'm like most people who had the misfortune of being guilted into approving everyone's friend requests in Facebook. And I had to pay for it by wading through a newsfeed with entries that are irrelevant to me. I don't need to know if one of my friends commented on the post of a person I have never met. I don't need to know if someone reached a new level in a game I have no intention of playing. I am not very interested in where people are "checked in" and am most certainly not keen on sharing my whereabouts. Burglars don't need my extra help to know if I'm out of the house.

The way I see it, Google+ has given us the chance of a do-over. Now that you know which of your contacts post vague and inane remarks every hour, and which ones share interesting stuff - you are now armed with the knowledge on how to proceed. You have the option of adding them in a circle or just let them follow you. It totally takes out the risk of offending anyone, because you "follow" people (as in Twitter) but you don't "friend" them (as in Facebook). It is up to you whether you are willing to share what you post publicly or only within your circles.

So if you're still up for more of my chatter, here's my take on some of the features:

Technology

Hangouts is the group video chat feature of Google+. It allows at most ten people to share the same room with the host. Others have used this feature for discussions or interviews. Some people even do yoga and meditation together. Unfortunately, the extent of my experience with this is when my housemate and I just tested the interface and video called each other while we were lounging in my room. It worked fine and it looks like it has a lot of fun potential. The cool things about Hangouts for me is that all it takes is a browser plugin. No fussy software installations, just a teensy plugin. Very nice.

Facebook has its "like", Google+ has its "+1". Now if you have a Google account, you will notice that this notation is ubiquitous. It appears in the stream, search results, articles. The rationale is that when you go to a site or a service that one of your contacts have approved (plussed one? incremented?), you will be able to see it. It's a networking review of everything online.

Google Chrome is my browser of choice. It's fast, it's uncluttered, and best of all, it has great available extensions in Chrome Web Store. There are the basic things like dictionaries, screen cap tools, and then there are also extensions that hide YouTube comments (this would do wonders for your sanity). When Google+ was made public, it literally just took hours for developers to release related extensions for it. Some can change the colors, the layout, or scrolling behavior -- basically a load of things that have not been natively supported yet.

Now, since Google+ is technically still in beta, these extensions can actually be submitted as feedback. And Google's Feedback Button is such a nifty litte tool. The whole feedback mechanism is a great app in itself. Coming from a software development background, I really appreciate how one can send comments and automatically attach a screenshot with highlighted or blocked portions. You can just imagine this tool being reused and plugged into a totally separate app.

User Interface is streamlined. I'm sure others find it ugly, but I personally like the minimalist, low-key design. And after the horrible, horrible chat panel/eyesore in Facebook, G+ became way prettier in comparison.

Google Integration

The infamous Google bar in the browser is the quick access of your Google existence. And I have to admit, it made me realize how reliant I am of anything Google: Gmail, Images, Translate (such a lifesaver in global support), Reader, Documents, etc. This just goes to show that the cloud is where it's at, people. It's scary and exciting at the same time. Just imagine: all these data are accessible just by logging into a Google account anywhere, with any device. I say take advantage of the tools, but it is prudent to back things up.

Google+ can be integrated into Picasa and Blogger accounts. So if you stuck with these services for your photo sharing and blogging all these years, that's an advantage. And there's also the mobile OS Android whose users gloated for a good few weeks for having the Google+ mobile app way before the iOS iPhone users.

User Base

The concept of "following" users instead of "friending" them allows ordinary people to be privy to the updates of the celebrities they follow. This was more of a Twitter advantage because Facebook's Fan Pages just seemed a little impersonal. So millions of people follow actors, athletes, and politicians on Twitter and feed on their 140-character updates. However, microblogging limits what can be shared because of its brevity constraint. And discussions in Twitter seems a little awkward because of the lack of continuity.

In Google+, celebrities have the option to share whatever they want publicly or privately. And they can share not just text or links, but also videos, photos, paragraphs of text. And also, it has a commenting system to interact and discuss efficiently with their followers. They can even host Hangouts. Personally, I follow dozens of public personalities in my Circles - some from the tech industry, some photographers, some Google engineers.

Unfortunately, I am having a hard time convincing anyone from my family to switch from Facebook and so my Family Circle remain empty for now. Facebook's ace remains with its huge user base. 750M people using the system is no small feat. And it will take a while for most of those users to switch to another social networking service, if they even switch at all.

Since I had to end this very long litany at some point...

Finally, some tips on how to retrieve your data from these two social networking services (at least, whatever data they would allow you to retrieve).

For Facebook, you will have to go "Account" > "Account Settings" > below that page, click on "Download a copy of your Facebook data." > reenter your password > after a few hours, you will get an email from Facebook notifying you that your data is ready for download > go to the link and download.

For Google+, go to google.com/takeout and click on the "Create Archive" button. Reenter password and download.

Anyway, here are wise words oft-repeated in the halls of the internet: "If you're not paying for something, you're not the customer; you're the product being sold". Well at least, they try to make it worth our while.

Happy social networking.

Cubao - Quiapo

2011-07-28T23:33:00.001+08:00

The jeepney driver's hair was all gray. He resembled KFC's Colonel Sanders. But a little gaunt and Asian. And instead of an affable grin, he had a sullen expression. In hindsight, he did not resemble the colonel at all.

He was also hard of hearing. The passengers had to repeat their destinations to him at least twice. They had to yell "Para!" louder or miss their stop by a few meters. No one seemed to be annoyed at this inconvenience even if it was a rainy rush hour. Maybe they gave him leeway for his gray hair. Or his sullen expression. Or his remote resemblance with Colonel Sanders - but only if he was a little gaunt and Asian, of course.

A couple of blocks ahead, the jeepney stopped at a gasoline station and an old man and an old woman clambered up. The woman stepped in first and she held her husband's hand as they made their way inside the jeepney and sat down. The other passengers took a moment to notice the couple and their unusual eyes. They both had narrow squinting eyes, almost slits, and they did not seem to have lashes. The old man especially had a vacant stare and he sat upright with an unmoving head. Without changing his posture or moving his gaze, he unzipped his bag, reached inside, and pulled out a candy. He unwrapped it, placed the yellow candy in his mouth, and pocketed the wrapper.

His wife was a little more restless. She bent low and rummaged through her purse and pulled out a fifty-peso bill. She inspected it right under her nose and after confirming the denomination, she reached it out to pay to the driver. "Dalawang Taft. Kasasakay lang po."

When the driver got the bill, he asked, "Saan ito?"

"Taft. Dalawa."

"Sa inyo ba ito?"

"Opo, dalawang Taft. Bagong sakay lang po!"

Without saying another word, the driver reached and gave back the bill. When it was passed back to the old woman, she straightened it and held it two inches away from her eyes. She looked momentarily confused when she found out that she was handed back her own fifty-peso bill. Immediately, she reached it out to pay, "Manong! Dalawang Taft po yan!"

The driver waved it off, "Wag na po."

"Ha?"

"Wag na po!"

She turned towards her husband, "Ano daw?"

The other passengers almost collectively said, "Wag na daw po kayo magbayad."

She laughed somewhat embarrassedly and said, "Ay, ganun ba? Naku, maraming salamat!"

Her husband also called out his thanks, a friendly smile on his face and a gaze still fixed straight ahead.

The jeepney moved on. In fact, it always sped on and on every time a passenger yell out "Para!" the first time. The gray-haired driver is blissfully oblivious to the fact that he is unloading his passengers a good block farther from their stops. Or to the fact that he resembles Colonel Sanders. But, no, not really.

If symptoms persist...

2011-06-29T14:39:00.001+08:00

Monday found me having wheezing breath.

I felt my lungs were lined with thick mucus that I could not get rid off. They just stick there, resilient and unwilling to let go of my bronchial tubes, no matter how hard I try to cough them out. My apologies to those who are queasy and found that description disgusting. My breathing, though not laborious, was uncomfortable. Fortunately, I work from home on Mondays and was still able to clock in my hours. However, the moment Luz came home, I welcomed her with my whining that I could not breathe properly. One of the many perks of having a great friend and med student as a housemate.

She got her stethoscope and listened to my chest for a bit before agreeing that my breathing was clogged and that I needed a mucolytic (Uhm, "mucus thinner" for the layperson). The type of mucolytic she asked me to take was one that she found effective beforehand. It's called Fluimucil® and it comes in sachets of powder. It is taken by drinking the water you dissolve it in. To give you an idea of what it tastes like, imagine dissolving quarter of a teaspoon of powdered orange juice in a tall glass of water. It only leaves a very slight hint of flavor that it might as well be drinking water from a previously unwashed juice glass. Anyway.

Wednesday found me having unpleasant coughs.

The meds are taking effect. I'm not a wheezer anymore, but a cougher. A quality that is not appreciated in public transportation, I might add. Thankfully, my lunchmates were more sympathetic. Although it is Lanie's persistent curiosity on my mucolytic that has prompted me to look up the pharmacology of Fluimucil®:

Fluimucil contains N-Acetylcysteine, a mucolytic agent. It reduces the viscosity of bronchial secretions. The free sulphydryl group in Fluimucil breaks the disulphide bridges present in the mucus & thereby causes mucolysis. Further, in the mucus producing cells, Fluimucil prevents the formation of disulphide bonds & thereby regulates the viscosity of the mucus. Also, as a precursor of glutathione, an endogenous antioxidant, Fluimucil ensures a protective action on the respiratory system. Thus, it not only protects the respiratory function, but also improves it.

That made very little sense to me, but I'm hoping whatever's in it will make Thursday find me much, much better than today.

Disclaimer: This blog is in no way affiliated with Zambon Switzerland, the manufacturer of Fluimucil®. For medication, please consult your doctor. Or if you're lucky, your almost-qualified roommate.

When Great Trees Fall

2011-06-21T21:02:00.001+08:00

Today, Father's Day, also falls on my Mother's birthday. It's hard to find words to describe how I miss my parents on this day so I will borrow Maya Angelou's beautiful verses to share.

When Great Trees Fall

by Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great things fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

Commuting Sentences (and Paragraphs)

2011-06-10T15:20:00.001+08:00

Whenever it rains hard during my daily commute, I get philosophical.

Who am I? What am I doing? Why is it important that I live and work particularly in this unkind metropolis?

This is what abundant potholes, flooded streets, scarce jeepneys, and jostling passengers do to me. I lose my good humor. Ok, maybe my humor is not very good to start with - especially during commute. I am a dour version of myself when I'm commuting. But when it rains and I have to be out of the house -- man, I become far, far worse.

There's nothing glamorous about urban dwelling unless you're part of the small fraction who can afford the lifestyle of chauffeur-driven cars and a prime address. After all, having a car does not exempt you from the horrors of driving through rainy traffic. And what good is it to live in a nice, spacious place if it is three hours away from your work?

Chances are, you're like me. An ordinary employee who lives a good distance away from work and commutes everyday. However, there is nothing ordinary about commuting. Commuting in the metro is war. It is an all-out, stand-your-ground, put-your-gameface-on war. It is a war against all elements; Man against man, man against nature, man against himself.

Commuting is not for wimps or the faint of heart. By your fellow passengers, you will be elbowed, pushed, yelled at. You also have to be wary of snatchers, perverts, and everyday-variety jerks. I'm afraid there's no shortage of those anywhere.

When it rains, be prepared to sacrifice composure and proceed to fold the cuff of your jeans, cramp under an umbrella, and, if you're unlucky enough, trudge through leptospirosis-laden floodwater. There are few things more disgusting than dirty wet socks under sodden shoes.

And remember when I said that I am a dour version of myself when I commute? Well, that was an understatement. I always, always have to check my temper. In the very early days of my commuting, I once noted that the MRT makes me a horrible person. It's hard not to take the shoving during rush hour personally. I know we're all in a hurry, but must you push me? Ah, the many times I had to remind myself that life's too short to be upset over inconsiderate people.

On my very first day at work at my current office, it rained so hard that the road outside got flooded. It was around this same time of the year. Come to think of it, it was also a June and I now just realized that I've been with the company two years. Whoa.

Anyway, I digress.

It rained so hard that the the road outside got flooded. An up-to-your-calves flood and by the time I headed home, it was still pouring hard. I could not catch a jeep, much less a cab, or any break. I was drenched, I had to buy rubber slippers, and I had to wade through the murky water. I swear, I wanted to cry. I seriously regretted taking the job at that moment.

Also some years ago, when my brother and I still used to commute to work from our old house in Antipolo, the worst we experienced was three and a half hours on the road going to Ortigas. And by distance, that's just 10-12 kilometers. For some inexplicable reason, the traffic that day was more unbearable than usual. So we came up with a different route. It ended up that we took five different modes of public transport to get us to our offices. We took the trike to the town proper, a jeep to Junction, an FX to Marcos Highway, a train to Cubao, and a cab to Ortigas.

I have piles of other horror stories, but there were also a few comical ones. There was the time when I was riding the southbound train with a stern, schoolmarmy, middle-aged woman who was trying to get off at the Shaw station. She was coming from somewhere in the middle of the car and since it was fairly crowded, was laboriously burrowing her way through the passengers. When she got near where I was standing with others at the doors, she yelled, "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME! PADAAN! ANO BA?!" How dare we block the doors and not make way for her, an exiting passenger? What incosideration on our part! Didn't we know that it is common train courtesy? Yeah, if only that were the case.

As she was clearly blinded and disoriented by her frustration at us, I quietly told her, "Ma'am, sa kabila po ang bukas na pinto." She looked up and finally noticed the closed door and the concrete wall she was headed for. She turned around without word and exited at the freely accessible open doors on the opposite side.

At the moment, I think I hear that it has started to rain outside again. This is most unwelcome as I am currently nursing a slight fever and also a sprain from slipping yesterday. I'm foreseeing that when I log off in a few hours, I will be stepping again into the battlefield, as it were.

Friday rush hour. Old foe, we meet again.

Geeking Out

2011-06-07T22:22:00.001+08:00

I love pens. My friends know this fact and because of this, I get awesome pens as gifts. On my last birthday, I got two new ones. One was an Inoxcrom. It has a Tungsten Carbide ball stainless steel point. Very nice, very elegant.

The other was from my housemates who got me - are you ready for this? - a Space Pen! What, you ask, in the world, is a Space Pen? Well, you may not be asking, but I have been dying to be asked so I can finally geek out about it.

Space Pens are created by a company called Fisher. They patented the anti-gravity pen which was tested and used by NASA in Apollo 7. Fisher manufactures pens that can write in extreme temperaturess (-30 to 250 degrees F, can write at any angle (even upside down), and can write underwater. What I have is the trekker variety which comes with a carabiner and a break-away lanyard. The day I got it, I left it in the freezer for two nights, and it wrote perfectly well after. Such a cool pen (literally).

I love books. Since I got my Kindle a few months ago, I have picked up again on my reading. Interestingly, I have been reading more nonfiction, which I previously wasn't very keen on. Most recently, I've read "Freakonomics" and "Superfreakonomics" by Steve Levitt and Stephen Dubner. Fascinating stories, studies, and experiments. Who knew Economics could be so fun?

Somewhat long overdue, but I've also finally read the Douglas Adams book with cult-following, "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Amazingly humorous writing. And the book was way funnier than the movie. I also tried to start reading Frank Herbert's "Dune" because of the stellar reviews, but I'm putting it off for now. Something about the dialogue, and the use ellipses and the hyphens that I need to get used to.

I still read dead-tree books, to those purists out there. I think the last one I read was "Flowers for Algernon" by Daniel Keyes. Lovely, touching story. I still love the feel of a physical book in my hands. Turning the pages, smelling the paper. In fact, I have an Excel file of my list of to-buy books which my friends just ask me to email them as a gift guideline. It turns out, they are not readily available in bookstores, much to the frustration of Pau particularly, who have asked me point blank to just give a book and store branch where he could find at least one so he can get it over with.

I love podcasts. I commute to and from work and I found out that listening to podcasts is a good way to calm myself during the rush hour. Currently on my list are: Freakonomics Radio, NPR: On Science, Geek a Week, The Nerdist, Doctor Who, TEDTalks. I am a fairly new podcast listener and am open to suggestions, so please let me know what you listen to.

One downside of listening to podcasts is that I look totally mad when I smile or laugh to myself amid the crowd of grumpy commuters. The Chris Hardwick interview with Adam Savage at the Largo was fantastic. I'm sure its humor was lost on the elderly woman I sat across from in the train who obviously thought I was odd, but it was worth it.

In a different podcast, an interviewee said that he needed an outlet so he could release all the geek tension that he carries around with him in everyday life. And I could totally relate. The disadvantage of having very specific interests is that you'd be hard up to find people who share the same enthusiasm on the same things. It's hard enough to find someone who will not think you weird, much less find someone who was as psyched as you about Steven Moffat's twist on River Song's identity.

With that, I am so glad I have a blog (but after this, it will be with a huge chunk of ostracized readers, admittedly).

Aggravation

2011-05-15T22:42:00.001+08:00

Yesterday night, there was an attempted burglary three houses down from ours.

It was around half past ten and I was still up watching tv when I heard Luz and Allen madly go down the stairs from their room. They heard frantic yells from outside alerting the neighbors that there was a burglar running about.

We scrambled around the house locking windows and double checking doors. We huddled all together for a while on the kitchen stairs and talked lowly among ourselves, trying not to freak out. Shortly after, we went out and joined the neighbors to find out what had happened.

Apparently, the robber entered through the compound's back fence and was trying to break through the bedroom window's screen. The lone house occupant heard the scratching noise from downstairs and upon checking what it was, saw a man trying to climb through his window. It was then that he cried for help. One of the neighbors heard him scream and saw the robber retreat from the window, run away, and disappear into the dark. The eyewitness did not clearly see the face, but could only make up that he wore shorts and a t-shirt, and that he was carrying a gun.

Hearing these details was not very reassuring for us, in the least. We shared the same back fence as that house and if the robber escaped by jumping through terraces to exit on the other side, it meant that he could have gone through our own house. More importantly, both our houses were of the same configuration and the bedroom that was attempted to be broken into corresponded to my own bedroom.

Barangay officials and the police came. And it might have been better if they didn't. They came, loud voices and all, strutting about like they owned the place and they did absolutely NOTHING. Well, they blamed the victim and pointed out obvious things, if that counts. Luz and I stood there incredulous at the utter stupidity of what was happening. The tenant whose house was burglarized was a student, a kid around twenty years old or so. They were blaming him on his lack of security precautions. WTF?! They said this and that was the problem. This and that should have been done. They did not check the torn window screen or the scaled fence. They did not take down notes or fingerprints. And they did not even know there was an eyewitness until the neighbors interrupted them on their long, useless, ego-stroking tirade. "Ay, may nakakita? Ay, may baril?" They could have known these details much earlier if they shut the heck up for a few minutes and actually did their job. They went about like it was a privilege for us to have them onsite. But even then, they did not accomplish anything. They're not unlike any of those kanto tambays who just came by and offered their unsolicited opinions after gossip-mongering. "So paano? Wala na tayo magagawa, wala na, eh." The gall!

When we came back home, Luz asked me if I was ok sleeping alone. She told me that I could crash in their room or she could stay in mine. She and I share the horrible experience of having our apartment broken into last year and somehow we knew that we're scared more than we care to admit. I said I was ok and would just leave the light on when I sleep. But of course, sleep did not come. Paranoia set in. I was expecting my glass windows to be broken anytime and a robber would be aiming a gun at me.

It was probably around 4 or 5 am when I finally slept out of sheer exhaustion. I found out without surprise that none of us had slept well during the night. The darkness carried with it some unknown sinister event that had us on edge. We were all practically just waiting for daylight to come so we could all breathe a little easier. We made plans of placing security measure around the house, of looking into the possibility of moving into an inner unit. So many things to consider, so many things to do.

The next thing you know, it's nighttime again.

Text Twist

2011-05-08T00:31:00.001+08:00

My mother loved Text Twist. She used our old desktop almost exclusively for this purpose. She had reached dozens and dozens of rounds in the game because she merely paused it whenever she needed to go do something else. So sometimes, a single game would be days old.

If she got stumped on the longest word, she asked any of us in the room to help. I used to go through my old notebooks or text files and find just seven random capital letters and nothing else. These are where I used to hastily write the jumbled letters as Mama would call out each one and ask us to find the longest word they could make. Whenever I got it right, she was always generous with her praises. In my mother's eyes, I was smart, I was quick, I was great. ll because I enabled her to get to the next round of her favorite game. She liked it that much.

Some idle night while I watched her play, I took out my cellphone camera and took pictures of her in engrossed concentration. I still have them somewhere, but I can't look at them now without feeling sad. Sometimes, if I try hard enough, I can somehow contain the memories only to the happy ones. If I just recall one very specific thing - playing Text Twist, cooking Christmas dinner, or watching Harrison Ford movies - I can look back and be happy that the experience even happened.

I miss my mother all the time and I think of her everday without fail, but I'm finding the second Sunday of May especially melancholic. I wish she were still here. I do miss her taking care of me, but I wish she were still here so I can take care of her. I know my siblings feel the same way. She was gone too soon and we have not begun to repay - no, repaying would be impossible - but even just to show her how thankful we are to have had her.

Tonight, I play Text Twist as I welcome Mother's Day. And what is now my yearly request on this occasion, please hug your mothers for me. Be thankful that you still have the chance.

The Muse

2011-04-27T10:57:00.001+08:00

Tagged by Paulo. Will not tag anyone else but feel free to repost at your own discretion.

THE RULES:

1.) Put your Itunes, Windows Media Player,etc. on shuffle.
2.) For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3.) YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4.) Tag 20 friends.
5.) Everyone tagged has to do the same thing.
6.) Have fun!

_____

1.) IF SOMEONE SAYS 'ARE YOU OKAY', YOU SAY?

Drive.

"Are you ok?"
"Drive. Just drive."

Gawan daw ba ng eksena? Haha.

2.) HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?

Sweetness.

Uhm, parang hindi. I am sure a lot of people would readily choose another taste to describe me.

3.) WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?

Billie Jean (Jason Mraz)

A crazy girl blackmailing a guy into thinking he's the father of the baby she's carrying. Akmang-akma nga, grabe.

4.) HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?

Friday, I'm in love.

False. And false.

5.) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?

Bills, Bills, Bills.

Wow, I don't know whether to laugh or cry at that.

6.) WHAT'S YOUR MOTTO?

The Middle.

This one's the Jimmy Eat World song. "Everything will be just fine, everything will be alright." I love this song and I love that it played for this entry.

7.) WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?

Amber.

Ngye. Amber is the color of my energy?

8.) WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?

Man of the Hour.

Actually, this song is for them. "Goodbye for now."

9.) WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?

Drops of Jupiter.

This is actually spot on. Pat Monahan of Train wrote this about his mother's death.

10.) WHAT IS 2+2?

You Found Me.

Yeah, you found me out. I can't do math at all.

11.) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?

Forget you.

Luz would disapprove.

12.) WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?

Fly Me to the Moon.

That doesn't make any sense at all. Its Mars I've always wanted to see.

13.) WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?

Teenage Dream.

Yan ang tumatanda ng paurong.

14.) WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?

Back to you.

Aysus.

15.) WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?

Shimmer.

Ok, that settles it. A wedding dance that plays Fuel is a nonexistent wedding.

16.) WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?

Ghost in You.

Hahaha...

17.) WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?

The Space Between.

The space between what's wrong and right
Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you
The space between your heart and mine
Is the space we'll fill with time

Lovely song. Wala nga lang kinalaman sa hobbies or interests ko.

18.) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?

Somewhere over the rainbow.

... there is a leprechaun. And we all know little green men with uncontrollable need for gold are scary.

19.) WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?

Somewhere only we know.

Sa amin na lang yun. Wag na makitsismis.

20.) WHAT DO YOU WANT RIGHT NOW?

Hey Soul Sister.

Ano daw?

21.) WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?

Always.

"I am always yours." Naks naman. (Disclaimer: this is the Switchfoot song. The others of the same title are way too cheesy.)

22.) WHAT WILL YOU NAME THIS NOTE?

The Muse.

Sabi mo, eh.

Not so high

2011-04-26T21:36:00.001+08:00

I have been corresponding with a few of my high school classmates recently for some event they're organizing on behalf of our class. Thanks to Facebook, there's no such thing as being able to just fade into oblivion anymore. I'm not sure if that's part of the whole direction of the social networking revolution. Whatever its implication on post-high school life, it got me thinking back on those four years.

I attended a science curriculum public high school, but I never felt 'scientific' about anything during my stay. Although a good portion of my classmates did eventually major in Chemical Engineering, if I'm not mistaken. So maybe the additional load of advanced chem subject was a good jump off point for them. Personally, I was just glad to get it all over with.

I participated in school activities just enough to claim involvement, but always managed to stay in the peripheral. That, ladies and gentlemen, required subtlety to pull off. So needless to say: I was not in the student government, I was not an officer, I was not an athlete, and I never participated in any form of singing, dancing, and everything else that involved an audience and my nonexistent talents in the performing arts.

So in short, anything that required extended periods of social interaction and public presentation, I steered clear from.

But because I did not want my mother to be called again by my teacher with the concern that I was "not assertive" enough (true story), I made an effort to join activities that would be more apt to my personality. My joining essay writing contests so that I'd be excused from Math class is an oft-repeated story in the halls of this blog. I was part of the COMELEC -- non-partisan politics, ftw! I was also with the Red Cross Youth -- way better than marching back and forth under the heat of the sun. In Red Cross, we learned first aid, planted a garden, kept the grounds clean, and spent time with the kids at an orphanage. And lastly, there was the school paper. The only time I represented the school at anything was when I competed in the national level for the copyreading category. Yeah, copyreading. The process of editing and correcting written material. I did not compete to write, I competed to be a grammar nazi!

But, yes, I did write for the school paper. Forgettable stint, really. Mostly composed of boring news items around campus, except for that one time when the adviser decided to publish my article on local basketball fanaticism. Cheesy, juvenile article, but fun to write and it amused me that our adviser was stumped whether to put it in the sports page or the features page.

I don't know why I insist on reminding people of how much of a geek I was/am by sharing these stories when it is so obvious that they can perfectly remember without my help. I suppose I could write about how popular I actually was in school and how I had such an awesomely memorable personality, but alas, my fiction writing is a little rusty.

The Intersection

2011-04-25T22:45:00.001+08:00

Luz and I agree on a lot of things. Being friends for six years and being housemates for three is an indication of how we willingly submit ourselves to each other's company. That is a pretty good sign that we like the same things.

And we really are in synch with the "important" stuff: faith, values, books, humor, etc. But we are sooo different in a hundred different small things. One of those little things is agreeing on the appreciation of aesthetic values in the male species (i.e., we seldom agree whether a guy is cute or not).

Having this difference in taste is a good thing, especially between friends. But since she's a married woman now, it renders the point moot. Nevertheless, it has never prevented either of us in disparaging the other. Well, now she gets to make fun of me more since any joke I make on her taste would throw shrapnel on her husband Allen who is also a good friend of mine and, for the record, a great guy.

All these years, we have kept this informal survey of our "intersecting" tastes. Amazingly, of all the celebrities in movies/tv shows and all the real people we both know, we only have a grand total of TWO intersections. And the other's agreement is more like "Meh, but yeah, kinda cute." These two intersections were Paul Rudd and Jay Chou.

Luz always has a dissenting description for the celebrities I like. Jesse Eisenberg is too geeky (I think his neurosis is endearingly funny). Zachary Levi's grin is creepy (It's not. Great looking guy, in my opinion). IBM scientist Dr. David Gondek seems like a psychopath lurking behind a nice guy facade. (What?! He's intelligent, self-effacing, witty.)

The way she mercilessly judged those guys is nowhere near my diplomatic assesment of her pre-marital taste of athletic jocks and masculine men -- some of whom you don't want to meet in a dark alleyway without pepper spray or a good self-defense training. And so for a long time, we have been working under the theory that we're just wired differently in that human aspect. It's a source of amusement for us both and we were willing to concede.

So one can imagine how pleasantly surprised we were when we found our ultimate intersection. No halfway compromises, no measure of tolerance on either side. Just an outright YES, all caps. And it comes in the form of Grant Imahara. Over the long weekend, Luz and I had the chance to catch up on the episodes of MythBusters and we were both smitten by the robot-obsessed, Japanese-American build team member who is smart, funny, and adorably cute.

I'm so taken with his unapologetic geekiness and open smile. One of my favorite MythBuster moments was when he gleefully clapped his hands while saying, "I love those two words! Bomb robot!" Luz's first reaction seeing him onscreen was: "What a great skin complexion!" And the ultimate compliment: she'd marry Grant if she were still single.

So Grant Imahara has busted our theory. So much so that when Allen called us for dinner, his wife had yelled out, "Wait! We're finishing watching the cute guy!" And to recover for that, Luz added, "He's also an electrical engineer like you. I have such great taste."

Nice save.

XXX

2011-04-04T23:43:00.001+08:00

I turn thirty today and for the record, I am happy being older.

I'd rather be at this age and know the things I know now than be younger and know way less. And it's not even things of wisdom or enlightenment because I'd be the first to admit that I have neither. Just knowing things about myself. I am glad that at thirty, I know myself a little better.

It's not profound, but I find it important. Too often people don't bother really knowing who they are, what they believe in, what they value. Or what makes them happy, sad, calm, or angry. It seems trivial - knowing yourself. But I think without it, you will understand very little why you act and react the way that you do. Hopefully, with this understanding comes the ability to correct one's self, to arrive at sound decisions. To be able to live purposefully.

And because that suspiciously sounded like a cheesy self-help load of crap, let me just pull out an example from pop culture (which everyone knows is sooo much more credible). Remember in the first Matrix (the only one worth watching) when Neo first met the Oracle, she shows him the Latin phrase "Temet Nosce", which means "know thyself". She tells him that when you know yourself, "you just know it, through and through."

So I wrote mine down on paper - a sort of "this is who you were" piece. As if I were introducing myself to a future me that does not exist yet. Nothing poetic or structured, just random facts. Some take long, thoughtful paragraphs, others just short, lame phrases like, "Your humor is not mainstream". I'm not sure what I'm going to do with that particular personal tidbit five or ten years from now, but I'm sure it's worth a few laughs in the future. Yes, that sound like MY kind of humor.

I just wanted to share one of the most important things I will add on that list this year. I realized that gratitude is a great start towards happiness. With that, I would like to thank all my family and friends who greeted me a happy birthday with their presence, calls, emails, pm's, wall posts, texts. Please know that your good wishes are sincerely appreciated.

Sleep, interrupted.

2011-03-29T22:05:00.001+08:00

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

2011-03-23T18:28:00.001+08:00

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.

Quaint Sagada

2011-03-16T20:53:00.001+08:00

I was not in any particular hurry to write about the Holy Week trip to Sagada, because I am quite confident that even without the written account, I will not easily forget the place.

My current state of mind makes me remember with magnified fondness that tiny municipality of far-away Mountain Province. I am on a long respite from work. A long overdue one, I think. And it takes every ounce of my sensibilities to keep myself from taking the next bus way up north and experience Sagada all over again.

Avoiding Crossfire

The Holy Week trip was supposed to be a trek through the Bontoc Circuit Trail. But upon reaching Bontoc, we were advised by the tourism officer that a military operation has just concluded around the area, just in time for the rebel army's anniversary.

Nobody wanted to risk it. To be honest, I was quite relieved that the three-day hike was not pushed through. The load was not very appealing to carry for kilometers' worth of trek. I packed very few clothes, and even opted to leave my tripod. It was the food load for the next few days that weighed a lot. And we got a little carried away with rice and butane supply. Bringing four kilos of rice and nine - yes, nine - butane cassettes. One would think we were going to cook for the community.

And it begins

So we arrived in Sagada on Holy Wednesday, three days earlier than planned. We arranged lodgings in the house of a nice local family, the Abeyas, where we occupied three of their bedrooms. The view from our window is to die for: rolling green hills, path walk, drifting clouds. A distinct difference from the grimy buildings of Shaw Blvd as seen from our apartment window.

It rained every single afternoon while we were in Sagada. And I got to shower in the rainfall. I was still a kid when I last deliberately stayed out in the rain. We'd ask permission from Mama if it's ok to play when it rained heavily and she'd let us, but only if we took a bath right after and we don't go traipsing in the middle of the street where we could get run over by passing cars.

Rain is always a special thing for me. It is one of my favorite things in the world. But admittedly, on the second day when we found ourselves frantically searching awnings for shelter, I didn't like rain that much. We had our cameras with us, Gary and I. And it was pouring really hard. I just wanted to find a roof, a dry place to check whether my camera was ok. I wonder if this is how parents feel when they're protecting their kids. Maybe a tiny, tiny fraction of it.

And here's the part where I'm hoping the Australian bag company Crumpler will give me some advertising recompense. When we finally got to the house, I opened the five-million-dollar-home bag (that's the bag model, not the price) to find my camera safe and dry. Gary's Lowepro did a pretty good job, too. So Crumpler, Lowepro - if you need any endorsers, leave a message. *wink, wink*

Kiltepan Sunrise View

The first stop for Maundy Thursday was the Kiltepan sunrise view. Caring enough to reach this distance above sea level affords you the majestic luxury of witnessing sunrises through an ocean of clouds. Sunrays radiating slowly through the scenery. It's amazing, it almost makes you hear soundtrack of angelic orchestra. The only other place that I experienced this was in Mount Pulag's summit.

Bomod-ok Falls, Echo Valley, Hanging Coffins

We headed to trek to Bomod-ok Falls afterwards. We had to descend through concrete steps that traversed through rice terraces. Sun's out. The fields are green. Skies are so clear. It was a pleasant trek, despite the fact that I could not stop myself from worrying that I have to ascend the same steps and despite the fact that I neglected to put on my knee support.

During this trek as I skidded and slipped through some of the stones, Gary gave this insight: when I'm raising my kids, he said, and they ask me to buy them expensive shoes, I can convincingly tell them, "Mga anak, maniwala kayo sa akin, di nakakatulong ang mahal na sapatos. Kung lampa ka, lampa ka talaga. May pagmamanahan ka pa naman."

I was wearing my new trekking shoes. I have never spent that much on any footwear in my whole entire life. Actually, they were a good bargain already in comparison to other brands, but it's me. Believe me, I'm a cheapskate when it comes to buying things for myself.

The falls was really worth the trek. It was probably 150 feet high and has texture, character. We had brunch at the rocks at the base of the falls, which was really cool, I think. Made me feel that we were really roughing it.

That same day, we also went to see Echo Valley and the hanging coffins. The valley was not much to see. What's interesting is how the local tribe's view the afterlife. They "bury" their dead high on the cliffs. They also tie chairs to their coffins. A friend surmised, for something to sit on while waiting to cross to the other side.

Manang's Halo-halo and Avocado Shake

We ended the day of outdoors activity at the municipal plaza where the charming Anglican Church was situated. Just outside the gate, a sidewalk vendor sold Halo-halo made of fresh fruits, among them - avocado. Jay came up with the brilliant idea of requesting avocado shake - shaved ice, milk, sugar, and slices of fresh avocados. Delightful. Absolute soul food.

Sagada Weaving

On Good Friday, we opted to acquaint ourselves with the town. Just the visit to Sagada weaving was well worth it. In the shop, we somewhat found the product prices steep. But when we went inside to see the actual weaving in the building just behind the shop, we changed our minds. Those weaving are priceless! The workers use the traditional weaving machines- with wooden gears and pedals and endless, colorful, meticulously-lined threads. Their movements were so fluid the way they add layer after layer of thread to painstakingly create fabric. Jaw-dropping amazing.

If I were allowed to try weaving, I bet it would take less than a few seconds and I would have managed to knot all those threads in a hopeless jumble. Without effort.

Cave People

Along our aimless walking, we came across a cave restaurant/cafe/burger-joint/bar. We're not really sure what it is. It was another one of those afternoon showers and we went in for temporary shelter. The interiors of the place was straight out of a macabre movie. Cave stone for walls and ceilings. Old books (including an Italian version of a Ludlum paperback), curios and other knickknacks strewn about. Driftwood-type furniture for chairs and tables. Very interesting.

We had a kick out of taking group pictures. By the way, their melon smoothie was also very good for something that just costs P20.

Dinner and Documentary

We had dinner reservations at a restaurant run by a French chef. It was a buffet dinner. The food was good. The chili sauce with the warning that it was 300x spicy was really spicy. You have to take my word for it. I am known for my tolerance of heat. The best part was dessert. Chocolate. Strawberries. *sigh*

Oh, I take that back. Best part of dinner was when Gary taught me about second curtain option of flash settings. That was way cool. Good job, Gary, and to your kumpareng Scott Kelby.

There was a Nat Geo documentary that we wanted to see - Jesus Revealed. So after dinner, we rushed back to the house to catch it. What retained to me in the two-hour docu was how much pain Christ went through during the crucifixion. Unfathomable pain. The nail on His feet was actually struck on His ankle. How does one choose between placing pressure on the palms or the feet? I cannot imagine it. I thought about my mother and the pain she went through. And how she started from shots of paracetamol, to demerol, and finally to morphine until the very end. The undeniable pain. I cannot imagine it.

Sorry, I digress.

Food Trip on Market Day

Black Saturday found Miss Sheng and I browsing through the sidewalk market of Sagada. We had fun buying potatoes, watermelons, wild blueberries, and other vegetables. When Miss Sheng bought five sili, the kid who sold them just asked her to take them and not bother paying. I thought that was so amusing. That sort of thing is not likely to happen in the city.

I decided not to join the cave connection and just spent idle hours of the afternoon food-tripping. Lemon pie and egg pie at Salt and Pepper. Strawberry yoghurt and carbonara at Yoghurt House. I helped prepare dinner of pochero and the creamy avocado dessert. I talked with Jay about our thoughts on corruption and of college days. With Dennis, of books and American Idol.

That night, most of them grilled Adah on her personal life. For the record, Adah, I don't think you should ever be pressured to be anything or do anything. Don't let them make you believe that you are incomplete because you're single. :)

Sunday in Banaue

Easter morning, after a quick breakfast of Maling luncheon meat and other leftover camp food, we bade goodbye to Mrs. Abeya and her family. I had the chance to apologize for the glass I broke while washing dishes. No surprise there, I would imagine.

During the trip to Banaue, we passed through valleys of cottony-white clouds forming u-shaped basins. Later on, the jeep drove through the white mist and we practically breathed in clouds.

Of course when we reached rice terraces, it was also awesome. That's the view from the one thousand peso bill! Three elderly Igorot women in traditional costume were also in the viewing deck. They were very nice and accommodating, but I'm sorry I did not post any portraits of them, just of their hands and feet. It didn't feel right, somehow.

While waiting for our afternoon bus, we played the card game in-between. Miss Sheng won at least P600 at the end of the game. She couldn't sit still on the last deal as she bet the whole pot. If she lost that hand, she would've owed a cool grand upon going back to Manila. Good job. :)

We had enough time to hear Easter Sunday mass at the Immaculate Conception church in Banaue. The bus left at 630 pm and we arrived in Manila at 3 am.

Acknowledgement

My thanks to my trip companions: Miss Sheng, Adah, Jay, April, Junar, Sir Ed, Acoy, Dennis, and of course,Gary. To the Abeya family, to Sir Joel, our jeepney and travel guide, to Glenn our trek guide - good luck in SLU, and to the other guides.

Miss Sheng, I'm glad that we got the chance to bond during this trip. To Adah and April - thenkyaw, too. I'm thankful for the easy companionship. So sorry I am boring when it comes to girl talk. Hehe...

Jay, thanks for the invitation to this trip. Sagada is so unforgettable. And yes, I promise to deliver a eulogy for you if you go ahead of me.

Junar, Dennis, Acoy, and Sir Ed - thanks po. For the record, I am not the 'matampuhin' type. That's just false propaganda. And there are meals I skip just because.

Gary, I realized that I unknowingly sought you whenever I found a slope daunting, a rock slippery, a dog's bark menacing, grief unbearable. It's your sleeve I clutch to, your hand I reach for, your shoulder I lean on. Thanks for letting me.

Post script

Everything about Sagada drew me in: the cool temperature, the green trees, the mountain sceneries, the skies above. The best part about it is its unhurried pace. Time seemed to crawl its way in Sagada.

I recall Alan Lightman's "Einstein's Dreams" and all its concepts of time. Sagada is one of those places where time flows languidly, without tension nor panic. And there are other places like Manila, where you can't even find the time to catch your breath or else you'd find yourself half an hour late or worse, stuck in traffic.

This is Sagada's magic for me. I had the chance to breathe in and savor the moments of the day and let the surreal beauty of the place pervade through me.

Today's Daily Bread [excerpt]

2011-03-16T20:49:00.001+08:00

“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

2011-03-16T20:48:00.001+08:00

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

2011-03-16T20:43:00.001+08:00

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

2011-03-16T20:41:00.001+08:00

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.

Touching Base

2011-03-16T20:24:00.001+08:00

Tago was home for a few days from Singapore. It was a perfect excuse to catch up with each other. We do all keep in touch somehow but it's different when we're all together in one room, able to hug, poke, make faces at each other in analog presence.

We commandeered three tables at Cyma for a few hours, gave out "Friends" pop quizzes ("Name Oscar award winners who guest starred in the sitcom", "What are the names of Frank's triplets?"). This went on and on. Yeah, we kinda like Friends.

After dinner, we watched Toy Story 3. I'll spare you the review. All I have to say is: try not to miss this one. It's a good movie. Not just a good sequel to an animated Pixar release. A really good movie.

After the cinema, we had froyo. After froyo, we had coffee. We just kept on coming up with venues to sit and talk.

Memorable lines from last night's craziness:

Tago: Yung maliliit na saging - "princesita"

Ryan: MTV show na "Ride my Pimp"

Liz: Yung sinisigaw ng mga waiter: "Punyemas!"

Pau: Di ba patay na si Ashanti?

Dens: Anong pinaguusapan nila? Sports? (dismisses them with a wave and promptly tunes everybody else out)

Tago: Yung book ng Dog of Flanders? The Philandering Dog.

Your friends have the best ammunition in the world against you. All the happy, sad, messy, and proud moments. They remember all your screw-ups and will never let you hear the end of all your mess. But you'll just be glad you're able to laugh it off with them.

>:D<

What's in a (wrong) name?

2011-03-16T20:23:00.001+08:00

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

2011-03-16T20:21:00.001+08:00

<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

2011-03-16T20:17:00.001+08:00

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.

RCEP Greatest Hits

2011-03-16T20:12:00.001+08:00

~ o ~

[16:55]<JohnPak> tested should be OK~

[16:56]<gfabic> Ah ic. So no errors encounterd so fart?

[16:56]<gfabic> *far

Comments:

- Bakit kailangang maglabas ng masamang hangin kung walang errors?

~ o ~

"HK will try to grab user and investigate. There's no further action required from RP as of yet." - Gary

Comments:

- Kukwelyuhan na ba talaga ang users?

~ o ~

"I was adding a source document using CCSS55XX, parent screen is CCSS30XX, when it suddenly happened. I was so shocked. " - EJ

Comments:

- Wag nyo gulatin si EJ, hikain na nga yan, bibigyan nyo pa ng sakit sa puso…

~ o ~

"And is Sex really optional?" - Rizza to Kevin

Comments:

- Kevin naman kasi, optional nga ba?

~ o ~

"Suggest to use eng or short notes for that screen, or param value passed instead of some informal wordings like below:"Hello ako si carding""- Alan

Comments:

- Ang galing! Napatagalog nyo si Alan!

~ o ~

"Hell Angus…" - Ms. Tata

Comments:

- Naku! Parang galit na si Miss Tats…

~ o ~

"Hi Miking..." - Kevin (email to Mikong, presumably)

Comments:

- Sounds like a pansit variety

~ o ~

"Please refrain from using WEED during loading time and index maintenance period."- Christian

Comments:

- Caffeine na lang muna.

~ o ~

"Hi, Christian Lazo. I am Stephen Chan." - SC, using Kevin's email.

Comments:

- "Hi, Christian, I am your father…"

~ o ~

Internal 195: "The colour of the cursor of the OG is not well-matched." In MVN, Angus posted:The face of the person in the OG cursor is green in color. It's a bit odd.

Comments:

- Baka malapit na mag-puke yung guy from OG…

~ o ~

"Do you the fix today?"- Virg

Comments:

- Do you enough sleep today, Virg?

~ o ~

"Re: CICS (An.....gus) - logging in link chart" - Subject of one of Luis' mail

Comments:

- Bangag na si Lu……is.

~ o ~

"Get attached." - Ryan

Comments:

- Bawal maging single?!

~ o ~

wtumalad mail:

"Hello All, pending are MLopez, and RYAN in g:\sysad\schedule\request.xls (sino pong ryan?) regards"

Response:

"Ryan "The Pogi" Liwanag :P"

Comments:

- Pakapalan ba ng mukha dito sa CICS? Hehe. JK!

~ o ~

"Prog Comment: The sorting is chaotic when viewing different pages (under default sorting with DC source)." [18:01]<pcinco (paulo)> it's not chaotic, it's my screen..it's a personal insult.

Comments:

- Uy, wag nyo naman paiyakin si Paulo, kawawa naman…

~ o ~

"Previously when I tried using NOT IN clause oracle may do stupid full scans so I am using not exists clause instead." - Kevin

Comments:

- Walang kokontra, galit si Kevin sa Oracle FULL SCANS! Grrr.

~ o ~

"Don't get shocked by the big red star that signifies mandatory fields." - Karl

Comments:

- Karl naman, wag kang manggugulat, kawawa si EJ.

~ o ~

Cecil: I have no idea how the batch programs work. I'm not a batch person.

Jona: Of course, you're not a batch person! You're just a person!

~ o ~

"alan, is it critical issue? If not suggest to put into the bug list, and ignore it. "time is of the essence"; so, we can tolerate to have bugs." - Hong

~ o ~

"Moved to tom 12 noon (Feb 15) ---- deadliest deadline --- done with systest and closed all bugs" - Jona

~ o ~

<Mail1> "Hi Angus, posted a question about…" - Jeco

<Mail2> "Revised. Thanks." - Angus

<Mail3> "I mean replied. :P" - Angus

~ o ~

Eunice Amutan wrote:

Subject: SL Notification

Dens and Rizza. FYI.

After 20 mins

Eunice Amutan wrote:

Rizza is also on SL.

After duplication detection:

Eunice Amutan wrote:dapat yata ... Eunice is still on SL =P

hehehe hilo pa :D

Things I learned during my recent trip

2011-03-16T20:07:00.001+08:00

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.

2011-03-09T15:35:00.001+08:00

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]

Friday night is covered.

2011-03-04T21:01:00.001+08:00

Friday night is covered.

2011-03-04T20:58:00.001+08:00

Quoting Antolini

2011-03-01T22:13:00.001+08:00

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.

Not So Elementary

2011-02-21T00:42:00.001+08:00

Like many others last week, I have closely followed with interest the games of "Jeopardy! The IBM Challenge". For those who weren't aware of what went on the past few days: The IBM Research group has built a computer system capable of answering questions in Jeopardy!. They named it Watson. And in a historic event, Watson competed last week with former Jeopardy! champions in a two-game charity fundraiser.

Now, some would ask what the big deal is all about. After all, we use computers all the time to answer things for us. We have Google, Wikipedia, and loads of others. The big deal is that Watson is able to answer questions in natural language. It's harder than it seems. It took the team over four years to develop the system. Watson is made up of "a cluster of ninety IBM Power 750 servers (plus additional I/O, network and cluster controller nodes in 10 racks) with a total of 2880 POWER7 processor cores and 16 Terabytes of RAM." A machine needs that much power and processing to be able to compete with humans in a game show.

I've seen the IBM officially-released videos, the PBS NOVA documentary "The Smartest Machine on Earth", and the actual Jeopardy! games themselves. What I find most fascinating about the Watson project is not the technological aspect of it. Although, from someone who majored in Computer Science, I could appreciate the immense breakthrough in NLP and machine learning algorithms. And excited how these new advances can have practical applications in other fields.

The most interesting part about this for me is observing the people surrounding Watson. Dr. David Ferrucci, the Principal Investigator of the project, is very defensive of Watson. During the practice games in IBM, he was very annoyed at the stand-in host who often made fun of Watson's way-off-the-mark answers. I guess if I spent the last four years of my life building something and all my efforts were being mocked, I would be very frustrated, too.

Todd Crain, the comedian who was hosted the practice games, just couldn't resist the wisecracks since Watson was the perfect "straight man" of a comedic duo. Watson doesn't know that some of his answers are funny and he doesn't know that he's being made fun of. For a host, I guess it's very hard to pass up on the chance for a comic relief in an otherwise very cerebral activity.

Dr. David Gondek leads the Strategy Team of Watson and is responsible for keeping its answers closer to the correct ones and far from hilarious inappropriateness. One of my favorite parts of the PBS documentary was during a practice game when the category "Celebrations of the Month" stumped Watson. Unlike the humans, it did not readily recognize that the answers should be months of the year. But thanks to a fix that allowed Watson to be informed of the answers after it has been revealed to the other contestants, it was able to learn the pattern. So after four clues of "learning" in that category, when Watson was able to answer the final clue, I was as thrilled as Dr. Gondek when he said, "He got it!"

The IBM team basically treats Watson as their child. They are very supportive of it, very proud of it, and yes, protective of it. The games are held at IBM and the audience is full of the company's engineers and executives. As Jeopardy! champion Ken Jennings has put it, it was "an away game for humanity". Jennings holds the 74-game winning streak record for Jeopardy!. He is known for his subtle humor and even inserted the following line in the final jeopardy round against Watson: "I for one welcome our new computer overlords".

Watson may know that the quote is from The Simpsons. That it was from the episode "Deep Space Homer". But for all its efficiency and capabilities, I don't think it knows why it is funny. Not yet, anyway.

Everydayness

2011-02-14T00:44:00.000+08:00

Have you ever caught yourself doing something mundane -- like crossing the road or brushing your teeth -- and during that moment, recognized the triviality of the action and say to yourself, "Wow, this is so... ordinary."

In some respect, recognizing that moment for what it was lends itself a sense of profundity, if that makes sense. But I seem to be getting a lot of these insignificant moments that add up to the routine of my life's 'everydayness'.

Sure, life is made up of periods of time that, when broken down into small enough pieces, will yield to moments mundane enough to be relatively insignificant. A soldier fighting for his country in war should have at one point tied his shoelaces. Or a great scientific discovery would have involved countless moments of simple mathematics.

But I wonder how many people, when they zoom out on their ordinary moments, can claim with conviction that everything they are doing is part of a greater whole. That the summation of all their seemingly unimportant moments culminates to a grand design.

What ill timing to get existential! Others may hastily conclude that this particular day has something to do with this trail of thought. Alas, no. It's just a case of Mondays.

But for whatever it's worth, I hope you all had your share of amusement from today's occasion.

Unsorted

2011-01-21T00:51:00.000+08:00

I've been going over some random memories. Please excuse the incoherence.

I remember being around five years old and sliding belly down the banister of the stairs. I did it with my sister who is a year older than I am. The first few times we did it, we had loads of fun. We'd climb up the steps, throw one leg over the banister, hug it tight, and then release our grip so we can slide down.

Now, have I mentioned that this was an outdoor stairs? It was cemented and pebbled all around. When we slid, the rough surface would ride our shirts up, expose our tummies and thereby scratching them when we reach the bottom.

Neither of us made the connection right away. All we know is that we were playing and then all of a sudden, our tummies had scratches and blisters. Indeed, at this point I humbly play the I-was-fivecard.

And as how all hurt, disappointments, and injustices of the world were addressed back then, we ran crying to our mother. For some reason, our mother promptly asked our Kuya what he did to us that made us cry. I distinctly remember feeling sorry for Kuya and insisting to Mama that he had nothing to do with our (ahem) brilliant idea of a game.

I suppose it's hard to be an eldest child. But I'd like to think that it has equipped my brother with skills needed to be a good dad. My nephew's still eighteen months old, but I pray that he grows up to be a good person.

Right now, I hope it's not any indication that he trolls us during grocery shopping. When we're not looking, he stuffs the cart with everything his tiny hands could get. We once turned away from him for a few seconds in the frozen food aisle and afterwards found him clapping his hands in glee. We discovered half a dozen kielbasas in the cart as proof of his successful mischief. The funniest one I've heard of was when he, unable to chase his dad, threw the item in a bid to shoot it onto the cart. I'm sure when he's grown up, he'll use the I-was-one-and-a-half card.

And I know some might be annoyed that I am writing and talking about my nephew a whole lot. Truth is, I am actually already holding back as it is. He is such an adorable kid. And I have newfound sympathy and understanding for all parents or grandparents who incessantly bring up their kids and grandkids in every conversation.

This reminds me of the old lady I met during my twelve-freaking-hours flight delay. She's seventy-five years old, but very fit for her age. We got to talking for hours. For some reason, the elderly find me charming. (Now if I could just extend my demographic...) More than 40 years ago was the first wave of the demand for nurses abroad during the Marcos era. She was one of those who took this chance to migrate to London and has lived there ever since. During breakfast, she talked about her grandkids and told me how clever and funny they are. She whipped out a homemade Christmas card that they made for her. Enclosed was a picture of the kids, three and five years old. Beautiful kids, indeed.

I wonder how they are with grocery carts, though.

Dear Adi,

2011-01-08T00:51:00.000+08:00

I am going to miss you. I have spent everyday of the past two weeks with you, your Papa and Mama, and your Tita Mae. This has been the first Christmas that we have spent all together in a long time.

You won't remember much of it because you're not even two, but we had loads of fun. Let's go back to the zoo when you're older and no longer call all four legged animals as cats. And we promise to get you your own racquet when we go to the beach because you won't use it as a shovel by then. We'll also take you to a tennis match, unless you still have the need to run up and down stairs or poke kids and calling them "baby". (Which is very odd because you're much littler than most of them.)

I'm not sure if you'll outgrow your love for cars and balls (most boys don't). But please outgrow Justin Bieber. Years from now, we'll tease you that you dance to his songs whether you're upset, sleepy, or hungry. And that you watch the first 20 minutes of "Finding Nemo" AT LEAST once a day. But that's nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I watch it with you, too.

You're very lucky to have very loving parents. Don't give your Mama and Papa headaches, especially when riding escalators. And Tita Mae is always on the shopping lookout for cute stuff for you so try to spare her from your morning grumpiness.

I'm going to miss waking up to your "Tita? Tita!" shouts. Also sneeze-pretends and playing peek-a-"BAH" with you.

Give kisses to everyone for me. I love you all very, very much. I'll see you all again soon.

Mwah! Aaah-choo! :)

Love,

Tita Bom

The 100 Books

2010-11-26T00:43:00.000+08:00

Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books listed here. Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Bold those books you've read in their entirety, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish or read an excerpt. Tag other book nerds. Tag me as well so I can see your responses!

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien

3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling

5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

6 The Bible

7 Wuthering Heights

8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman

10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott

12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy

13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller

14 Complete Works of Shakespeare

15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk

18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger

19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20 Middlemarch - George Eliot

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell

22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald

24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy

25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams

27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck

29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll

30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens

33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis

34 Emma -Jane Austen

35 Persuasion - Jane Austen

36 The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - CS Lewis

37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini

38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres

39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - A.A. Milne

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell

42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving

45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery

47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding

50 Atonement - Ian McEwan

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel

52 Dune - Frank Herbert

53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons

54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen

55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon

57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens

58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck

62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt

64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy

68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding

69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie

70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens

72 Dracula - Bram Stoker

73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett

74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson

75 Ulysses - James Joyce

76 The Inferno - Dante

77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome

78 Germinal - Emile Zola

79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray

80 Possession - AS Byatt

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens

82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker

84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry

87 Charlotte’s Web - E.B. White

88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom

89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad

92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery

93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks

94 Watership Down - Richard Adams

95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare

99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

I've only finished a handful from this list, but at least more than BBC's expectation? :)

Broken Into

2010-11-15T00:43:00.000+08:00

I suppose getting burgled is not very interesting in the whole scheme of things. If anything, I am just another part of the statistic, some obscure news that, while unfortunate, isn't particulary surprising. People get robbed everyday on the streets and inside their homes.

But, man. Being part of the statistic doesn't make it easier. One would think the whole misery-loves-company thing would be in play somewhere, but no. I would never wish this on anyone for sheer number. Nor would I dismiss any burglary as offhandedly as I have done before.

It was a violation, not only of physical property, but of my whole concept of believing in the goodness of others. And, needless to say, it has infected the way I feel about people because it's harder to trust. There was at least one person who observed our routine, went to our door, forced it open, took our valuables. He rummaged through our closet, touched our things, even zipped open our Bible cases, and looked for anything with worth. He was there - where we slept, where we ate, where we LIVED.

For now, paranoia reigns supreme. But I do hope it wears off because it's too effing exhausting to be distrustful.

Once in a while, I catch myself wincing lately, but not out of pain. At least, not physically. More often, it's because I have let my thoughts wander back through the losses and some random memory of my mother wearing her diamond ring, some random file I can never access anymore from my stolen hard drives goes through my head.

The heaviest loss would understandably be my parents' valuables. So I'm going to steer clear of that for now because I don't want to have a breakdown.

Losing my laptop and external hard disk drive took some time to sink in. Both were very important to me but they were initially eclipsed by the enormity of losing the mementos of my parents. Days later after the robbery, it began to dawn on me that there were hundreds of drafts of writing that I will not be able to recover. Years worth of stories, journal entries - materials that I have been working on. I actually have been finishing a one-act play and was excited to send it to friends for review. I wish I already have sent it or uploaded it somewhere. Some lessons are so painful to learn. A thing about inspiration - it doesn't hang around waiting for you to create it (and back it up).

And all my pictures. Sigh. All the files from my old point-and-shoot until my DSLR. I don't often buy souvenirs when I travel because I always think that I take enough pictures to remember the places. And while I won't ever see my image library again, the only consolation I have is that I upload a few selection to Facebook or Multiply to share.

After it happened, I space out more often trying to find the reason why it had happened. Weeks before, I have contemplated on giving away my laptop to someone who needed it more. I was being nagged by the idea that if it didn't hurt when I give, then I was not giving at all. And it would be a hard sacrifice to give up my laptop because I was so attached and reliant to it. Now, I unbelievably regret that I did not heed that urge. And I resolve never to ignore it when it comes to me again.

While it is not likely that the robber held any Robinhood-like beliefs and it's not far-fetched that all the spoils went to drugs or booze, I hope that whatever amount he gained from the burglary, even a small part of it, was used to help someone in one way or another.

I'd like to take the rest of this space to thank all my family and friends who expressed their concern when they found out about what happened. Those text messages, emails, calls at 2 am, and offers of help in various forms are ALL very much appreciated beyond articulation. It is very assuring that your care is burglary-proof. Maraming salamat!

My dear nephew Adi,

2010-06-20T22:05:00.002+08:00

I bought you two new books today. After hearing mass, I passed by a bookstore and saw two books that were very familiar to me. They are from the series: "Bright and early books for beginning beginners".

You see, when we were growing up -- your Papa, your Tita Mae and I had the whole set of these books. Your Lola read to us all the time, especially before our afternoon naps. I remember disliking that we were forced to sleep, but I did like the stories. From the books, we met The Cat in the Hat, The Berenstain Bears, and Hooper Humperdinck.

The ones I got you are: "The Big Honey Hunt" and ""The Berenstains' B Book". Those were two of my favorite. In fact, when you get older, I'll let you listen to our voice tape made by your Lola when I was three, Tita Mae was four, and your Papa was eight. Your Lola recorded us reciting the whole B Book from memory. You'll also find out that I was a very irritable kid. Not unlike you, as I hear. Your Mama and your Papa say that you are well-behaved, except when you demand to eat what everyone else is eating.

I saw pictures of your first birthday. You had two parties! And three birthday cakes! You've grown so big. I like the picture where you were poking the nose of the mascot Hamburglar. At least now I am assured that my nephew is not one of those wimpy kids who run away from mascots or big scary burglars.

When I saw you last Christmas break, your could barely crawl. Your Papa would dump you on my bed in the mornings to wake me up and you would pull my hair until I got up. That was also the time I learned that you had the propensity of biting/chewing everything that had batteries. Interestingly enough, you knew which ones had batteries. You insisted on drooling all over mobile phones, music players, remote controls, and digital cameras. They say you are still that way at one year old and you like eating your Papa's new phone. Unfortunately, that is not the edible kind of blackberry

I enjoy it whenever your Papa calls me and then passes the telephone to you and I can hear you mumble incoherent words on the other line. Of course in between those mumbles, I can also hear beeping sounds as you press the keypad of the phone. I look crazy saying "Hello, Adi!" in varying tones forty times, but I do not mind.

It was supposed to be your Lola's birthday yesterday. She's not with us anymore, but I hope you'll still get to know her somehow through our stories. I'm sure she's happy to be your guardian angel.

Today is Fathers' Day, too, Adi. Did you greet your Papa? You probably just slobbered more all over his phone, but you'll get the chance when you grow up. Both of your Lolos are also part of your guardian angel security group. So we'll thank them in our hearts.

I will see you again soon, Adi. Be obedient to your Mama and Papa. And try to lay off on the electronics devices.

Hugs,
Your loving Tita

Some thoughts from Precinct 0440A

2010-05-10T13:48:00.001+08:00

I consider myself fortunate that my polling place at UA&P is just a five-minute walk away. My friend Crystal and I decided to go early together to vote.

By 630am, we were out of the building. The area designated for the polls was the covered basketball court. Four clustered precincts in makeshift classrooms. It was not difficult to find our names. Just a few "nagpakaduling saglit" moments.

There were around 15 monobloc seats allotted for each cluster where voters can sit and wait. When those are already occupied, people have to stand and wait in queue. By the time I fell in line, I was one of those right behind the monobloc chairs, part of the next group to have seats after the next move.

Presidential candidate Nicolas Perlas walked in with his son, presumably. Not a lot of fanfare. A few TV crew crowded to get a shot of him while he checked for his name in the board. Perlas seemed like a decent, dignified-looking man. What was impressive is that he fell in line, along with the others. In fact, he was right behind Crystal and he tried to help keep the line orderly.

Another sidenote, TV personality Drew Arellano loitered around the court. He was interviewed nearby and joked around with the crowd.

The overall atmosphere of the precinct was friendly. There was a sense of community as most of the poll-watchers knew the voters. It was easy for them to appeal for organized queues and for patience. A fellow voter on my side struck a conversation with me. She thought I was an online reporter because I kept glued to my Twitter account on my phone while waiting for the queue to progress. I was intently checking for news and updates.

When it was our batch's turn to go inside the precinct, it was efficient. I gave my name, my precinct number, my voter number. The officer found my name, I showed my ID, I made the thumbmark and I was given a ballot. I was careful to wipe off any residual ink on my thumb with wet tissues before taking the ballot.

I was then asked to take a table which was also partly used by the BEIs. There was a bottle of ink on the table and I took measured movements to keep everything clean. I took out a face-towel and dried my hands and arms before I started to shade. I was concerned about the marker's ink absorbing through the other side of the paper. Anyway, having a codigo is very useful. I was done in four minutes.

And now, the close encounter with the infamous PCOS machine. It was an unassuming piece of machinery. Looked like a photocopier. I wanted to make a joke and ask it, "How's the family? CF card configured ok?" Anyway, I inserted my ballot, a few seconds later the little digital screen indicated that all was ok. Hallelujah.

Some guy dropped a generous amount of indelible ink on my forefinger. Another thumbmark and signature. I asked if there was anything else, the BEI smiled at me and said that was it. I thanked them and left the precinct.

The BEIs at our polling place were polite, competent, helpful, and very patient. I know the COMELEC has gotten a lot of bad rep for the number of fumbling incidents involving the automation. Sure, I continue to have my hesitations if they can pull it off, but I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt. I choose look at them as growing pains. It's a tough job. They have to take pressures from the electorate, the candidates, the media. For whatever it's worth, I think Comm. Gregorio Larrazabal and Dir. James Jimenez are sincerely doing their best.

When we left UA&P, the queues were almost at the gate exit already. But it seemed tolerable to everyone. It was around half past 8 when we finished. Which was not terribly bad, I think, for exercising a right as important as voting.

Just a final piece of my mind on this election. I found myself saddened at some display of intolerance of opinion, especially online. I like it when voters are passionate about their candidates and try to convince the others of their choice's qualifications and share their achievements. I like it because it helps me decide. It's the mudslinging I can't stand. The condescension towards other people who do not share your opinion. It's a democracy. We have our own set of values. What is most important to you may not be most important to me. And that doesn't make any of us less. We're just different and that's ok.

We have to understand that we have to eventually heal the divisiveness that the campaign period has wreaked. We still have to all work together whoever wins and I don't think it's very productive to start off with antagonism. Enough of the mudslinging, please. I would have thought everyone else was fed up with it by now.

On that note, I don't care much who you vote for. Just please, please go out and vote.

Mothers' Day

2010-05-09T20:01:00.000+08:00

When I was in preschool, my mother used to hold teaching sessions for me and my sister in the afternoons. Actually, it was more of a monitored playtime where we would answer puzzles from activity books - spot the difference, connect the dots, mazes. Sometimes, she would ask us to learn nursery rhymes or short poems. And then, she would read us stories before nap time.

My favorite was the stories with dogs. It had stories about anthropomorphized puppies with titles like "Bernie, the Chilly St. Bernard" or "The Puppy with the Mischievous Wink". There was also the book about fairies. I still remember the one about the pixie who always made the boy late for school everyday. Or the one of the "tiniest of the tiny fairies" - I was so distressed when she left home in fairyland to go to the beach. My mother would read the dialogues with character voices and dramatic facial expressions.

Of course, I had to interrupt often to ask the meaning of some of the words. Mama answered each question. Eventually, she taught me to take out the big red dictionary off the shelf and use it to check each word myself. When I was nine, she bought me a pocket dictionary which she told me to keep near when I read.

I must have been annoying child, I realize now. I interrupted story time. I ran around when she asked us to read out loud. I did not want to take my naps. Just to name a few.

But thank God for mothers and their patience. I was never reprimanded for asking questions. And I will always be grateful that she equipped me for finding the answers myself. I may not have her with me anymore, but I have a lot of other things to keep.

This will be a yearly favor that I will ask from you all. Please give your mothers a hug for me. Thanks.

Stay Down or Stand Up

2010-04-18T23:36:00.000+08:00

Fire is fire.

Everyone goes through fire. Whenever we go through personal trials, we go through fire. And it is how we react to fire that reveals what we are made of. And as the metaphor goes - some get softened and turn to mush, like carrots. Some are hardened, like eggs. Some reveal their best essence, like coffee beans.

In a remote barangay in Zamboanga, an eleven-year old girl went with her uncle to fetch water. A group of men, out of nowhere, came out brandishing long knives and began hacking on the uncle until he lay dead on the ground. The girl ran for her life, but the men chased after her. They hacked their knives on her back, on her neck, on her wrists. The girl laid very still until the men went away, convinced that she was dead. When they left, she saw herself lying in a pool of her own blood.

With great pain, she stood up and tried to drag herself home. Every now and then, she would stagger and fall on the ground. She would momentarily lose consciousness. But when she regained it, she would stand up again and keep on heading home.

When she finally saw her house, she screamed for help with the little energy she was left with. Her mother, horrified at the sight of her bloody daughter, wrapped her in a blanket, cradled her into her arms. The nearest hospital was twelve kilometers away and there was no public transport. The mother carried her daughter and walked four hours to reach the hospital.

The girl underwent surgery for five hours. She had 25 stitches on her back, but the doctors could not save her arms. The very next day of tragedy was the girl's birthday. They incurred heavy hospital debts. When they came home, they found their house burned down.

Talk about fire.

That was eleven years ago. The girl is Maricel Apatan. She has recently graduated with the degree of Hotel and Restaurant Management as a scholar. She is on her way to being a full-fledged chef. A chef with no hands.

Along the way to her recovery, angels in the form of the church people, volunteer groups, and charitable organizations, helped the girl and her family. But it started with Maricel's willpower to stand up. And her refusal to stay down.

Imagine every excruciating step she had to endure. The trauma of going through that as an eleven-year old. She had every excuse to hate the world and complain for the rest of her life. But today, she is a cheerful and productive person. She uses her wrists with utmost dexterity. I saw her peel, chop, slice vegetables. No hands.

I watch her with amazement and I am humbled. It puts a lot of things in perspective. All those whining, petty complaints of everyday life. Just a quick scan of social networking updates just lets you know how many people let themselves get stuck, myself included.

Remember the three men in the book of Daniel? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to pay homage to a golden idol. They were ordered to be securely bound by ropes and thrown into a furnace. They came out of the furnace unharmed, their clothes were not burnt, only their ropes.

Fire is fire. It is how we react to it that matters. We always have the option of letting fire set us free.

Learn to Soar

2010-04-11T20:58:00.000+08:00

Today's Sunday service prayer meeting was about eagles. Those majestic birds and the very interesting manner they learn to fly.

Eagles are spectacular parents. They build their nests high up on the cliffs. The males gather together twigs and branches to make the nest's base and include thorns as protection from other animals. Afterwards, they cover it with soft grass. The mother eagles pluck feathers from their own breasts and lay them on nest to make the eaglets comfortable.

Everyday, the parents would hunt for food and feed their young. They would shelter them from strong winds by spreading their wings over them. They kept their children safe, warm, and comfortable to nurture their health and their strength.

But after ten weeks or so, the eaglets are left on their own in the nest. The parents hover and watch over them but they rarely give in to their cries of hunger. They stop the constant feeding. They also deprive them comfort by flapping their great wings to rid of the nest's soft grass and feathers. The thorns and twigs are exposed and the eaglets are forced out of their nest. Finally, in what appears to be the cruelest thing a mother can do to her child, the eaglet is pushed out of nest, and off the cliff.

Imagine the tiny eaglet shrieking in fear as it drops from that height. Mid-air the father eagle catches him and brings him back to the cliff only to be dropped again and again until finally, out of necessity, he learns to flap his wings. And the realization settles in: he knows how to fly.

At one point or another, we have all felt like being abandoned, being deprived, being wounded, being pushed out, being dropped down. It's easy to complain and to cry out injustice without realizing that we were nurtured to be strong enough to withstand everything that comes our way. And neglecting to recognize that we are capable of flight all the while. The pain was just an instrument to open our eyes.

I was once part of the warm, loving comfort of a home. It was taken from me. I have lost a lot, but I gained the willingness to learn. Every time I hear mass - may it be Sundays or during work lunch hours, I come to be taught.

Another fact about eagles. They can sense when storms are coming, but unlike other animals, they do not cower from it. They fly somewhere high up and wait in excitement for the winds to come. When the storm hits, they just let the wind pick up their wings until they soar way up above.

Let's not stay in our nests. We were meant to conquer the skies.

Kesz

2010-03-07T02:04:00.000+08:00

I shook the hand of a great person today.

After this afternoon's casual keynote talk, he was just sitting quietly in a corner. My friend and I asked if we could have our pictures taken with him. He willingly obliged and was so polite about it. Afterwhich, I reached out to shake his hand.

I feel compelled to mention here that I don't usually do the whole "celebrity" thing. In fact, it borders on uncharacteristic. I am unlikely to ask for pictures or autographs from anyone. (Ok, my thing for basketball players in high school, notwithstanding) . But after hearing his story, I was filled with much admiration. Here was a person worth looking up to.

He grew up at a dumpsite. He slept on the streets. At five, he would race with other kids whenever the truck would unload garbage. It was in one of these mad dashes that he was pushed into a burning tire where he badly burned his arm. He was taken in by a volunteer group until he recuperated. And when he got well, he wanted to repay his benefactors' kindness by helping in the group's Kariton Classroom project.

Since he was only six at this time, he could not help out with teaching other kids how to read or write. When asked what he was good at, he said he was good at brushing his teeth and washing his hands. And that's what they let him teach to the other children - how to properly brush their teeth and wash their hands. He attended public school on weekdays and volunteered on the weekends.

All this time, everyone called him Kesz. Eventually, they got hold of his birth certificate, found out his real full name and birthday. And for the first time in his life, they celebrated his birthday when he turned eight. When asked what his birthday wish was, he got confused. He didn't know what it meant. And when explained that a birthday wish was something you wanted to happen, he answered that he wanted the other kids from his old dumpsite to feel the same happiness that he felt at the moment. He was aware that he couldn't hold parties for them. Kesz wanted simply for them to have toys and slippers.

For his next two birthdays, he tried to raise money to buy dozens of slippers by selling candies at his school. One of the teachers helped him. He kept all he earned in a coin bank and spent it on his birthday for other kids still living in the dumpsite.

When Kesz heard that his teacher's mother was hospitalized, he asked if he could have his coin bank opened to donate his savings to her. He said his teacher would be happy if her mother got well and he wanted her to be happy because he loved his teacher.

And so he gave his birthday fund away. It was only around three hundred pesos but it was everything he had. And it was at this point of listening to Kesz's story that the waterworks started. Right there on the second floor hallway of the public school elementary school. Seated on one of the monobloc chairs.

Kesz is eleven years old now. He collects books from people and donates them to schools for students to read and enjoy. He still raises charity for children scavengers. He goes to school. He speaks to schoolchildren and fellow volunteers. He inspires.

After speaking to the students, Kesz sat back quietly on his chair. He is respectful and well-behaved. He has bright eyes and a cheerful smile. He even sang a bit at the prodding of the emcee.

I shook the hand of a great person today. And the scars on his arm are barely visible.

--

Chris "Kesz" Valdez and Vonn Manalaysay, Efren Peñaflorida's mentor were guest speakers at the opening of the book club of the public elementary school where I volunteer.

Toby and Tyra

2010-02-13T18:29:00.001+08:00

I just found out that my mother's pet dogs already passed away. Our neighbors in the old house who were taking care of them for us texted me the sad news that Tyra and Toby passed away recently and only three days apart from each other. Mama loved those askals. Especially Toby whom she got thirteen years ago. She named the puppy Toby because she got her on an October. The dogs kept her company when we were at work. And also Papa after he retired. My mother fed them, bathed them, took care of them when they were sick. She talked to them as she would talk to children. When disciplining them, she used her stern voice which was very familiar to me and my siblings.

When Toby was still little, I distinctly remember the incident when we woke up one morning and found shreds of paper strewn about on the kitchen floor. Toby had bitten off and chewed on the cover and first few pages of my sister's copy of Salinger's Nine Stories. My sister is very particular with her things and it was a big deal. I tried to salvage what was left of the book and taped torn pages, teeth marks and all. When my sister found out, she whined to our mother. And Mama told us in all seriousness that we should not worry about it; she has already reprimanded Toby and told her that what she did was a wrong thing and she won't do it again.

I remember how my sister and I were so incredulous at the resolution that my mother offered. Toby was a dog, after all, and what good did it do that the pet was told off? BUt that's how Mama was. She believed that the pets understood. She told me that Toby was aware whenever she was planning to give the dogs a bath. Just planning, no water hose involved yet. She came to this conclusion because Toby would hide under beds every single time. Tyra was a little slower and would be the first to be subjected to the unwelcome baths. But Tyra had always been the amiable one. We joked how lousy she was as a guard dog because she was friendly to all strangers. Both dogs would always rush out of the house whenever the gate was opened. But they always, always found their way back home.

When my parents passed away, Toby and Tyra were both inconsolable. Since we did not stay at our parents' house anymore, we had to leave them in the custody of our neighbors. They told us of how the dogs whimpered at night. And how the both of them waited around at our locked house, seemingly waiting for any member of the family to come home. They shared our grief.

I texted my siblings about Toby and Tyra and got separate phone calls from them. Both are working overseas, living separately in the same city. We couldn't hide the sadness we felt and my sister unsuccessfully tried to hold back tears at work. We all just hope that the dogs were reunited with our parents and maybe Toby can even nag Salinger himself.

Some-degree burns

2009-11-11T18:50:00.000+08:00

Ok, situational pop-quiz.

It's Tuesday night. As part of the Christmas party committee, a few officemates and I went to a resto-bar to finalize the venue booking. The events manager played the gracious host and offered as serving after serving of the menu choices. Later on, the bartender placed before each of us a shot glass with layers of liquid. Being the allergic-to-alcohol, non-drinker dork that I am, I had to be explained what was in it. Vodka, Kahlua, Bailey's. It was named something crass I don't feel like typing down right now. Anyway, here's the clincher. The waiter brought a lighter and lit each cocktail on fire. I mean, honestly - allowing a klutz within inches of an open flame indoors? What were these people thinking?!

So, question is: will anyone be surprised if I told them that at one point during the night, a significant portion of my table was on fire? Literally. Blue flame crawling on the table's surface. Someone burning the knuckle of her index finger.

Tell me, that is still considered unexpected, right? Hypothetically. >_<

Looking back now, I guess I should have given them fair warning to not light up mine. I think it should be my civic duty to responsibly inform all unknowing people the hazards of being in my company. As my dear roommate said, anywhere I am is a hard-hat zone.

Now, maybe firesuit-zone, too.

Fallen

2009-10-24T22:02:00.000+08:00

Though news of any accident involving myself may not come to most people as "news" but mere "eventualities", I'd just like to mention it right here as a preamble so we can get that over with right away.

I injured myself tonight. I just came from watching a movie with Tal, Karl, and Gary and while walking home just off the Shangri-La curb, I tripped. Tripped on what exactly - I'm still not sure. But I twisted my right ankle, landed on and scraped my left knee, almost ripped my denim at its point of impact, scratched the heels of my hands in my attempt to break the fall.

So instead of walking our way home, we had to take a cab. And when I was getting on it, I took a misstep with the injured foot and almost did a repeat performance. Apparently, I just can't get enough of the concrete. It's not enough that I walk on it. I have to be one with it.

I am adept at falling.

I guess it's natural to acquire a sense of deftness in something you always get to do. And it's not the act itself that I have accumulated skills in. After all, falling is less of something you make happen than something that happens to you. But skills in handling the post-impact.

Here's the thing. Once you've found yourself from an upright walking biped to a sad subhuman who fell on all fours - the first thing you want (or you're likely) to do is to scream expletives in the loudest decibel your lungs can manage. I've encompassed the expletive spectrum from kolehiyala "goshes" to mild euphemisms to outright good old vernacular curses. The devil-pertaining Visayan ones are particularly accessible. The anger and frustration is expected. It's acceptable even if the anger is directed at inanimate objects like crooked floors or uneven carpeting. Also acceptable if you're directing them at yourself. Of all the stupid, thoughtless, careless things to do.

But of course, while superficially satisfying at the particular moment of impact, cursing does not dull the pain. At some point, you just have to stop and pause. Find out where it hurts. Find out if something was broken, torn, or strained. Or all of the above. This self-assessment often requires tentative movements. A lot of wincing also follows, so this is not really a part where poise is a standout presence. It's very probable that there's a trail of mess everywhere. Maybe even blood.

Once you are aware of the damages, you relocate yourself. Assuming that most of the venues of these inelegant occasions happen in open public. So you go and find yourself a quiet corner or a curb where you sit down and try to soothe your pain. Friends, if they are around at the time, can help you. Sometimes you can not fully appreciate their sympathies right then and there - because you're hurting, goshdarnit, and no one will really understand. At least, never totally. But eventually you realize how pathetic-er it is to be pathetic alone than to be pathetic with friends.

There will be a time - unimaginable as it may be - that the pain will subside and you'd be able to consider other things. Still related to the pain, yes, but other things nevertheless. Like your self-esteem. Or its consequential degradation thereof. It occurs to you now how many people have seen you make a fool of yourself. The embarrassment of it all. The implacable awkwardness of vulnerability. What will they think? Poor you. What a klutz. But trust me, unless this was one of those rare hopeless situations - there will always be a little pride and defiance left in you to to question who the hell are they, anyhow.

Hopefully, there remains enough sensibilities for you to get up from that corner, to stand up and leave. Limp painfully if you must, but get a move on and be somewhere else. Because - come on - staying and wallowing in self-pity is just plain inexcusable disservice to one's self. It's not really anyone's fault. Falling is only bad when there's no one to catch you but the cold hard concrete.

I may have taken a figurative turn in all this logorrhea somewhere, I'm not sure. I've always had a poor sense of direction. Don't mind me. I'm just the klutz with liniment on her ankle and betadine on her knee.

Ticked Off

2009-09-24T07:19:00.000+08:00

There's a standard phrase that Luz and I say out loud before we (frantically) leave the room in the mornings.

"Money, phone, key."

It's our checklist of the things that we should not leave behind. Sometimes, there are variants of this. Mostly, additional things like "flash disk", "MRT card", "handkerchief". But the core three are the staple ones. It would be such a day's cumbersome complication if one is left behind.

I remember Tago has a good version of this during travelling. But Tago, being himself, calls it "Valuability check!" - which is like a cue for us to ascertain the current location of wallets, cameras, cellphones.

The whole checklist is a good conceptual attempt, in theory. Not necessarily fool-proof, though. Especially in the case of me and my esteemed roommate. Maybe it's because we're often in a hurry to leave. There's something about the MRT - fifteen minutes can sometimes mean a difference of easily getting on the first train or shoving your way just to get into the third.

We're experts in cutting it close. It is like bluffing our ways to our 8 am call time. But you have to give us a little credit. From the Shaw station, we go our separate ways and wave our goodbyes after inserting our tickets in the platform. Luz goes northbound to QC, and I go southbound to Makati. Commuting is bound to leave you a little frazzled and forgetful.

Our friend's sister-in-law - whom we haven't met personally - lives one floor up from us. She knows us, though. As a matter of fact (but not of pride), we're known as the two girls who always forgets something and comes back up into the elevator to get it.

Once we were almost at the village gate before we figured out what we forgot and had to retrace our steps back to our building. Also, it's not unusual to find me waiting for the elevator while putting on earrings, wristwatch, bracelet. It's efficient use of slack time, you've got to admit.

So this morning, I went over the ritual. I paused at the door's threshold and reminded myself out loud. "Money, phone, key." Mentally making tick marks, I went out and headed out into my thursday.

I decided to blog about this because upon arriving at the office this morning, I found out that - of course - I forgot my phone.

Normalcy

2009-07-20T19:33:00.000+08:00

She seemed like just another normal kid.

She sat on her bed indian-fashioned, still wearing her jammies. She watched Ice Age with us in the tiny tv screen. She laughed at Sid's antics. She has a dimple on her right cheek that shows whenever she smiles.

Very polite kid, too. Without any prodding from her parents, she offered us candies. She angled the screen towards us so we could see the movie better. She addressed Luz and I as "ate".

As with most ten-year olds, she likes cartoons. Spongebob Squarepants, Jimmy Neutron, Ariel the Little Mermaid. Some other Japanese animations I'm not familiar with.

She told us of her pets and the story behind each of their funny names.

She seemed like just another normal kid. Except for the IV bag of chemo medicine inserted in her vein. And her inch-short hair sticking out in every direction. Her dad stroked her hair and remarked how they should have it fixed. With a small pout, she said, "Kalbo na naman..."

When the nurse came to take off her IV, she tried her best to keep still - just grimacing a little when the adhesive stuck to her skin. When we asked if it hurts whenever they stick a needle into her, she shook her head. It's already been over a year, she said, and she's already gotten used to the monthly treatments.

She missed a year of school, though. When she was diagnosed, she almost became a cripple. The nonchalant way she said it was unnerving: "muntik na nga po ako malumpo nung nagkasakit ako nung isang taon."

Another two years of treatment and she could be well again.

Just a little after the credits of Ice Age rolled, she asked her mother if she could take a bath already. We then said our goodbyes to the family.

And as we watched her wave goodbye, she seemed like just another normal kid.

Flashbacks

2009-06-21T15:07:00.002+08:00

I dreamt about my mother the morning of her birthday. In the dream, I was with my brother and sister seated around a small table. We were sharing fond memories of our mother. Retelling stories of personal incidents during her life and our childhood. My mother was not in the dream per se. There was just a sense that if it were a video, her presence was there as an inset. And it was not creepy or mournful or even sad. She was there as if to listen to what we had to say.

And we had so many stories to share about her - even to each other as siblings. Because my mother was a great mother. I've always said that I sincerely wish everyone of my friends have met her. So they'd understand what I mean. A few minutes of talking with her - anyone would've known that she was a special person with a warm and welcoming heart. And maybe if people have known this, they'd understand why losing her has changed me so much inside. I do think that my close friends who have met her understand better why it has been so difficult for me to handle the loss.

You would have loved her, too. You see, we were the kind of children who rushed to go home after school not because our mother ordered us to but because we wanted to spend time with her. We're the kind of children who got envied because our mother read us stories before afternoon naps, sent us stuffed toys in school during Valentine's Day, baked us our own birthday cakes, helped build art projects, taught us calligraphy on weekends. She made us learn and recite nursery rhymes and well-loved poetry by Marlowe, Whitman, Longfellow. She bought me classic books like Wuthering Heights and Little Women. Also pocket dictionaries.

She was funny, gregarious, intelligent, sociable. My love for reading and writing were her influences. When she read out loud to us, she glided her fingertip along the line she was reading and so even before I actually knew how to read, I was familiar with the "shape" of the word in print. She gave me my first diary when I was eight and encouraged me to write my thoughts everyday. I've always kept a journal ever since - in the forms of juvenile scented notebooks, standard 80-sheet ruled notebooks, of .doc and .txt files, of blog entries, and more recently, a Moleskine.

In the dream, my siblings and I talked around a table. We don't do that anymore, but we used to have them all the time when we were growing up. My mother was the kind of parent who wanted to hear our opinions. The first time we transferred provinces, she all sat us around the table and told us of the many changes and adjustments that we will have to go through during the period. I was ten at the time, seated with the others in the table, asked of my concerns, and treated as an adult. And this happened often because we moved quite a lot.

And even when we were already working, she was the mother who would pick sampaguita flowers from our backyard and put some of the blossoms in my bag so that it'd smell fragrant. In fact, when I was packing my things in Azeus, I saw one of the sampaguita branches she gave me which I kept in a box. I don't know why I kept it. But I'm glad I have the dried up flowers in my treasured possessions. There was also the mask I had to wear when she was already in reverse isolation in ICU. I'm still conflicted whether to keep that one. I find myself constantly in this place where I want to forget but I need to remember.

My mother was also very human - with weaknesses and contradictions. Until the very end, she regretted not being able to give up smoking. And it was one thing that she always asked forgiveness for. To us and in her prayers. I have seen her try to quit all throughout those years. Many, many times. Often dramatic memories when she would ask us to throw out all cigarettes, lighters, ashtrays and she'd end up in tears. Weeks or days or hours later when she couldn't resist the temptation, she'd pick up the habit again.

As a kid, I never understood how hard it could be. Naively, I drew an anti-smoking poster and stuck it on one of the ref magnets complete with text copied from health books about how smoking is bad for the health and with a real cigarette stuck in the center of the paper for added effect. I think it was Papa who took the cigarette from the poster and smoked it. What irony. Yeah, we were a comedic family.

A part of me believes I'm meant to be single forever so I'm not keeping a list anymore of what I am looking for in a person, but if I were - smoking is a deal-breaker for me. I'm not being judgemental or self-righteous. In fact, it's because I'm being selfish. I don't ever want to go through all the magnificently long drawn out pain of losing a loved one because of this habit. I have gone through it with both of my parents. And it felt like you had to helplessly stand and see them kill themselves willingly and hate themselves for it. It is hell and it is as if your heart is wrenched out from chest. No, no. It would have to be somebody else's wife. Somebody else's child. I won't sign up for that all over again.

My mother would disapprove of this notion, I know. She always told me that I had a tendency to be inflexible in a sense that I have no in-betweens. Black and white - no grays. I am stubborn and she was worried that my extreme likes and dislikes would make me miss out on some of the things in life.

The way things stand, I'm set to miss out on a lot of things in life, anyway. Having a wedding where your parents give you away. Or having a family with a mother to guide you in raising a child. And a more trivial thing: my new office emphasizes on work-life-balance and they have these family day activities every now and then where you bring... well, family. I absolutely dread it. Because I can't bring anyone. Just yesterday, I had to call up an aunt I haven't spoken with for years just to ask if she could confirm my information to the bank where I was opening an account. It was funny and awkward and just utterly pathetic.

One of things my siblings and I talked about is that during those times when we were all living apart from each other - and it was not very unusual that our family of five were in five different cities at the same time - home was always where our mother was. Home was not a fixed city or even a tangible house. Home was where my mother can listen about our day, give us a hug, talk to us, let us know how much we were loved. And no matter where we're coming from - a toxic semester in college or a long day at work - we all knew where home was. Or who home was.

And it still stands true. We'll all be going home someday to where she is. In the meantime, I'm trying to live my life with intention. So I could have something worthwhile to tell her when I see her again.

Happy birthday, Mama.

Transubstantiation

2009-06-14T20:16:00.001+08:00

I've heard a very interesting story today. A true one at that. Juicier than any of the showbiz tsismis. More incredible than any of the Ripley stories.

So a long time ago, there's this wife with a womanizing husband. What else is new, right? But this happened a really long time ago so instead of seeking annulment on the grounds of psychological incapacity or hiring a private investigator to follow him around - the wife instead consulted a Jewish sorceress to ask what to do.

So in keeping with her weirdness, the sorceress asks for a consecrated host in payment for a magical potion that will supposedly help the wife. A consecrated host - well, you know - it's the same host we get at communion. So the wife heard mass and after receiving communion, she removed the Host from her mouth and kept it in a knot in her veil. Just then, the Host began to bleed profusely. It bled so heavily that people thought that she was really, really sick. Or with a very deep wound or something. So she freaked out - naturally - and went home. She placed the wrapped Host in a wooden chest where she kept her clean linens.

When her philandering husband came home, he discovered the secret of the hidden Host because the chest was all lit up. Just absolutely beaming with brilliant light. In fact, it was so bright that it illuminated their whole house! The parish heard about the incident and after a couple of years, the Church recognized it as a legitimate miracle.

Amazing, huh?

But I just wanted to share what the priest reminded everyone - that physical miracles like that is not what people really need to see. The miracle that people - especially unbelieving ones are looking for, is the miracle of change in the lives of those who claim to follow Christ.

It's been mentioned that those who go to Church and openly pray but live un-Christian lives are so much worse than those who do not go to Church at all. Because they convince people that the Church does not change lives. But just breed a bunch of hypocrites. People shouldn't go to mass because they feel like they're being good. People should go to mass because they want to be good.

And that rang true in my head. Because I try not to miss mass not because I feel like I'm being better than those who don't go. But because I feel I need it more than others.

So what was the lesson from this Sunday's homily? Apart from the miracle of change in our lives - steer clear of sorcery when addressing marital problems.

Torrents (the non-digital kind)

2009-06-04T21:44:00.000+08:00

I feel a little guilty for enjoying the heavy rains of this week. I know a lot of people find it bothersome - those who live in easily flooded areas, those who commute and find it inconvenient to wait for public transport in the downpour (I will be part of this demographic again soon enough). I'm sorry and I do empathize, but I couldn't help but feel gleeful over spending my bum days in the gloomy overcast of the indoors.

It is possible that I might be a hermitic, nocturnal creature in a previous life (if one subscribes to the belief of reincarnation, that is). I like being alone, being in the dark. In addition, I've always loved the heavy rains. A lot of people find this fact about me weird and most of them don't hesitate to let me know.

In college, when I have the room all to myself if I got off early from class - I turn off the lights, shut the door, and close the curtains - thereby keeping out all sunlight, noise, and movement. My roommates would find me in this state and would ask me what the heck I was doing sulking in the dark. One compared me to Anne Rice's vampires.

My current roommate, who usually shares my eccentricities, conceded that I was far too advanced in my dislike for socialization (and light) than her. Read: she thinks hanging an opaque curtain is a good idea, but closing it the whole way through is inadvisable and bordering on suffocating.

In my personality interview with Azeus, Miss Nettie asked me if I had any concern working late nights. I remember telling her that I actually preferred working when it's already dark and quiet, without sunlight. Those exact words. She laughed but she must've thought I was an absolute wacko. She was nice about it, though.

I'll be digressing a bit, but I just had to mention a little bit about my tech interview with Sir Spens - since we're on the topic anyway and I've been thinking lately a lot of how I started with my first company after my resignation. The way it went back then, you were given a problem to solve in a couple of minutes and you have to write the solution in a piece of paper. You can use any programming language or just even the pseudocode. You have to explain to the interviewer your logic. When asked "Is there a better way of doing this?" Without thinking and neglecting the hold on my sarcasm, I told him, "Well, I'm sure there is. But this is what I've come up with given the time."

I'm sure no one else remembers that incident but I've always fantasized of going back to that moment and answering that question with a little subtlety and tact. I still can't believe I got in after my seemingly disastrous qualifying interviews.

Anyway, fast forward to the present.

Just today, I woke up early and wanted to pick up where I left off on my reading. The morning light was taking a backseat to the cloudy skies and since my sister was still sleeping soundly, I couldn't turn on the light. I ended up rummaging through the shelves for my flashlight and used it for reading. A friend suggested I used a headlamp next time. Very interesting suggestion - one that I might follow. I'm still halfway through "The Time Traveler's Wife", by the way. It gets interesting once you get past the weird sense of pedophilia in the early parts.

I got the chance to do other indoor things lately. I watch movies, make origami, and follow recipes. I made something named 'Layered Cookie Cake'. It's made of raisin bread, cream, crushed chocolate cookies, and fruit cocktail. It didn't turn out to be much. Insubstantial mush. I also tried some writing. Like this entry. Oh, look. I can reuse the same adjective phrase for this: Insubstantial mush.

AzFarewell Letter

2009-06-02T01:08:00.002+08:00

(Note: I missed to thank a few of my friends in my farewell email so I'm posting a more complete version here to make up for the lapse.)

------------------------------

Thank you. I don't know how else to say it.

I'll see you all around. :)

Regards,
Cecil
---@yahoo.com (YM, Multiply, Facebook)
+63917-------

------------------------------

Sa inyo po na dumayo pa ng Cebu para mag-imbita na maging bahagi ng Azeus:
Miss Mayose · Miss Nettie · Sir Spens · Sir Jerry · Miss Daisy

Thank you po for giving me the chance to experience Azeus life. I've learned so much in the last four years than in any other time of my life - professionally and otherwise.

Trainers and Tech Team
Sir Spens · Ryan · Miss Raqs · Jay C · Sir Christian · Sir Zhen · Sir Roy · Herbert · Glenn · Master

Sa pagtuturo at pagpapasensya sa mga kung anu-ano kong tanong, salamat po.

Sa May 2005 Batchmates
Jayjay · Brian · Kathy · Jeff · Dick · Jack · Nat · Berney

Keep in touch. Invite nyo pa rin ako sa yearly get-together. :)

Basketball
Czar · Pam · Keis · Nadz · Darl · Melai · Farrah · Miss Tats · Miss Raqs · Miss Jay · Miss U · Miss Daisy · Anjo · Hanna · Dea · Pearl · Toni · Jo · Liz · Let · Eka

Ang saya ng mga drills. Ang saya rin ng games kasi we also cheer even for the opposing team. :)

Azeus Microbloggers
Daniw · Jaime · Chry · Keis · Pam · Sir Roy · Renz · Kimo · Rizza · Miker · Manny · Tems · Celes · Jek · Lloyd

There is indeed wit in brevity. :)

Team Leaders and Coordinators
Miss Rose · Sir Mon · Miss Tats · Miss Eunice · Keis · Kimo · Harlene · Tago · Herbert · Miss Tara · Miss Chris

Thank you for the chance to be part of your teams.

COMIS/CICS (COMICS) Family
Miss Rose · Virg · Karl · Noel · Liz · Tago · Paulo · Ryan · Gary · Dens · Luis · Joanne · Tal · Oni · Lors · Rizza · Jerome · Josh · Sir Roy · Miss U · Sir Christian

Friendships forged over ON's, OT dinners, standbys.

Sa mga naging trainees ko
JC · Darl · Farrah · Roy B · Jonathan

Good job! Keep it up and thanks for bearing with a klutzy trainer.

Sa mga taong madalas kong maabala
Miss Irma · Ate Marlyn · Ate Dendyn · Wilson · Chard · Miss Acel · Yran Miss · Roda · Jeanette · Ryza

Salamat po sa lahat ng tulong. :)

Ka-team, Kakwentuhan
Robert · Miker · Jaime · Daniw · Leslie · Melai · Jek · Czar · Harlene · Phoebe · Miss Daisy · Eka · Sam

Salamat sa mga "good morning", sa pagpapahiram ng libro, sa mga panggugulat, pagshare ng mga mp3/pictures/movies, pangungulit sa pantry, elevators, hallways, at jabber.

Azeus Photography Enthusiasts
Gary · Tago · Jay M. · Bobong · Tems · Manny · Nat · Josiah · Jek · Paul · Andrew · Let · Sir Spens · Joan · Karlo · Jensen

"The most important gear is an inch behind the viewfinder". (Naks! ;)

AzCebu Family
Jayjay · Karina · Brian · Kathy · Oscar · Jessie · Jeff · El-el

There's a sense of comfort I feel with you guys, despite the geographical distance. Thank you for the CD of requiem songs for my mother and the encouraging words you all wrote.

Virg
Salamat, mentor. Di lang alam ng marami kung gaano ka kabait sa likod ng ng paninindak mo sa newbies. :)

Karl
Isa ka sa mga una kong naging kaibigan sa Azeus. I still owe you that expensive dinner. :P

Luis
Salamat sa pagtitiwala sa mga kwento at saloobin mo. You look something-ly something today!

Jerome
Keep up your inspiring inclination to serve others.

Rizza
I wish you lasting happiness found within yourself.

Sir Roy
I'm going to rip off someone else's remark about you. You are indeed the "developer's developer".

Sir Christian
Salamat sa tulong sa Enquiry ng CICS.

Miss U
Grateful po ako sa double complexity na CENS0420. Dami po ako natutunan. :)

Lors
"Para sa iyo po, Miss Lors..." --- salamat. :)

Jaime
I am going to miss our conversations. Let's continue them online. :)

Tal
Mula kababawan hanggang kalaliman - salamat sa pagkakaibigan. :)

Oni
My favorite "child". Hehe... Issue one! ('o')/

Marco
My one and only mentee. Be good. As you always have been. :)

Robert
Thanks for helping me out and keeping me company earlier this morning. Great coffee-chocolate, too! :)

Miker
Your sweet thoughtfulness is so touching. Magsabay tayo akyat Romelo minsan, hehe...

Kimo
Balato ko sayo yung last minute "Cecil moment" ko. Hehe.

Karina
Definitely one of the coolest people in Azeus. "Buried in Cliches" rocks! :)

Jayjay
Thank you for looking out for me even though your hundreds of miles away.

Ryan
Your energy is uncanny! Thanks for the touching scrapbook message. :)

Nadz
Stay strong. I will always keep you and your son in my prayers.

Czar
I am sincerely thankful for your thoughtfulness, generosity, and kindness. Salamat sa libro. I am looking forward to finishing it. :)

Leslie
You are so sweet! So are the chocolates you gave me. :)

Pam and Keis
Thank you for the easy companionship. See you in Twitter. ^_^

Marnel
Rock on! Daghan salamat sa tanang kalingawan sa COMICS activities. :)

Noel
I will never forget the time you showed up for work after Ethan was born. You were the first one in COMIS and when I arrived, we ended up talking for more than half an hour. Your excitement over your son was so palpable. Good luck in your family life. And basketball, of course. :)

Joanne
If I need sensible conversation, I can rely on you. Your comfortable and quiet company has calmed me often. Thank you for all those after-work, walking to Mega, snacking on Jollibee moments we shared. :)

Miss Rose
I want people to know how grateful I am to have been blessed to be part of the teams you led. If there is a way to capture the teamwork of CICS in a model, they should try and find it. Dozens of mostly newbie resources working fifteen hours a day everyday for months, going home at sunrise, going back to work midday - motivated, willing, and happy.

Tago
Azeus would have been so much duller if it weren't for you. You're one of the most absolutely memorable people I've met in my lifetime. Your love for life is infectious and you deserve to be happy. :)

Liz
You are my official kid sister here. I am protective of you as you are of me. Daily life without you would be like stepping out from warm comfort of a room into a cold and dark night. Enough with the cheesy analogy. Love you, Liz. :)

Dens
I give you credit for expanding my taste in music, books, and movies. Thank you for leaving me sandwiches or Yakult with imperative notes like "Eat!". You're the only person who could make me laugh in un-laughable circumstances.

Pau
Your tolerance of my whining is absolutely heroic. Thank you for putting up with me and my manic depression. You are the only person who empathizes with how it is to be brought up in the same middle-class background. ;)

Gary
People do not understand what is between us. In a lot of ways, neither do we. I guess it goes with the territory of being friends who have shared so many things together. Thanks for everything.

I owe fries.

2009-05-28T22:15:00.001+08:00

I lost a bet today. Not really a bet. It's a result of my initial gullibility and subsequent skepticism.

Dens claimed that McDo has introduced a new menu item called McPorkchops. He said it's like porkchops covered with the same breading of Chicken McNuggets and served with the same sauce options, i.e. barbecue, honey mustard, sweet and sour.

Since I haven't been to McDo in a while and I don't have popular tv channels, I don't get to view many ads and it was very likely that I missed this new menu from McDo.

Eventually, Dens admitted that he was just pulling my leg and told me that actually it was Jollibee that has a new 39ers meal. Calamares. And it was so convincing the way he told me about how meager the serving is. Six or seven rings of squid, he said. The name escaped him - probably not jollycalamares or jollysquid.

And I have to admit, I almost bought the story. >_<

Finally, he told me about the new french fries size of McDonald's. The small one is still small, the old large is the new medium, and the new large is a very large serving. I said I wouldn't fall for it a third time. And agreed to treat him to three supersized fries.

I can't decide whether Dens is just smooth or I'm just easily duped. Whichever the case may be, I have to pay up with unhealthy carbohydrates.

Unsent

2009-05-24T11:08:00.001+08:00

John Mayer said something I found interesting in his Twitter. Yes, I'm one of those who follow celebrities on Twitter out of curiosity. Just eavesdropping on their opinions, their articulateness, their sensibilities.

Anyway, here's what he said:

"Think of how different your life would be if you sent everything you've ever written."

For a compulsive note-taker like me, the idea is overwhelming. I'm not a confrontational person and what I can't say straight to another person, I write down - on the back leaves of notebooks, on post-it notes, on notepads (digital or paper variety), on the cellphone as draft messages.

Sometimes, it's just a case of just not knowing how to say it out loud. Using my voice, looking at a face, finding words along the way. I'm slow that way.

I need the shelter of organized thoughts, the luxury of finding the most appropriate word. Because it's bad enough when you have to say something important. It's worse when you don't get to say it right.

And all these drafts, these spilt guts remain unsent and accumulate in my hard drive, my boxes of things not to be touched. It's catharsis, maybe. Just the thought that I have pieced together what I wanted to say is enough. And I don't need to send them. Or don't want to. I'm pathetic that way.

I thought it'd be different with you. I kept telling myself that with you, I'll do it differently. That one day, I'll muster enough courage to tell you what I feel. Or what I've felt all those time you made me retreat to my pen or my keyboard.

But I now realize that I don't want to care anymore. I take the cue from your impassivity. Sent or unsent - it won't make a difference in my life. And I don't want to feed the disillusion anymore that it will. Because it won't.

I can be dismissive that way.

Mothers' Day

2009-05-10T02:11:00.000+08:00

On Sunday afternoons, I try to sleep. Sometimes during those moments I am about to transition from sleep to consciousness, I sense my mother's presence. I am dreaming, of course. I know it. But I feel comforted to imagine that she is seated at the base of my bed, watching television like she used to. I actually leave the TV on while I sleep so I could feel less alone.

For the past couple of weeks, advertisers have capitalized on the approach of Mothers' Day. And every print, radio, or tv ad of mother and child remind me of how much I miss my own mother.

I used to get her something every year. I guess I totally bought all the advertising pitches. When I was in high school, I'd save up on allowance and buy her roses from one of the flower stands behind our campus. Those that sell for P50 or so. In college, I also get her cake. The year I did summer OJT, I sent her a collection of CDs of piano instrumentals. And when I eventually got employed, I usually got her kitchen gadgets which she really liked.

My mother was a very appreciative and affectionate person. She'd hug me whenever I brought her anything. Even if it's just MacChicken sandwich takeouts. But well, all mothers are that way, I guess. You just get home in time before the heavy rain pours and they're thrilled. You just offer to do the dishes after dinner and they're happy. Mothers are easy to please that way. In fact, you just have to be. And you're loved.

There's a part of me that could never shrug off the feeling that I could've given her more while she was still around. Came home earlier. Took her to a vacation. Done more, said more.

But now the cards and CDs are dusting in a corner of a cabinet and the appliances are placed back in their boxes for storage. And today seems less special for me. Like last Christmas or New Year. All other occasions or long weekends. I try to cope with sleeping and the drone of television in the background.

Enough of that. Just please do me a favor and hug your mothers for me. Thanks.

Surf and Sniff

2009-05-07T11:57:00.000+08:00

My colds has progressively worsened the past couple of hours. Or regressively, I should say. Yesterday morning, I just had a sore throat and a manageable sniffles. Today, I'm a full-blown, wheezing, snotty-nosed, raspy-voiced, sick person. And what a pretty picture to paint for all you wonderful people in this beautiful morning. Sorry, enough of grossing you out.

I only managed three hours of uncomfortable sleep. The rest of the time, of course, was spent on the internet. Yeah, I know, I know. Did I think that I could surf my way into sleep? I just have the lame excuse that there was nothing else better to do. And if you want some tips on doing nothing on the Internet, welcome to the club.

Traveller IQ Challenge

I spent a solid hour playing the Flash game Traveler IQ Challenge. It's a very simple game of identifying in the world map the city capital or famous place shown to you. You just click the map and it automatically computes how many miles you are from the actual location. I was never very good in Geography, but I know the general (very general) area of most countries.

I got pretty adept at zoning on the European countries bunched up together. I have a lot of trouble with the African and South American continents, though. I know if a country belongs to either one, but they're big masses of whole continents!

Sometimes, I'd guess way off and the distance computing window would flash a wisecracking comment: "This is Earth. You know that, right?" or "Holy geez - You're terrible!" What a smart aleck.

I reached level 6, which is midway of the range. Maybe I'll try it again later and see if I can do better.

tell me what you believe now

I also stumbled upon this website that lets people complete the sentence: "Right now I believe ---." They post anyone's answer and you can just refresh your browser to view a different one each time. It's uncensored so you may come across loads of senseless twaddle - but sometimes you can find an interesting post every now and then.

"Right now I believe that I may have HIV, but that life is beautiful anyways."

"Right now I believe this website has poor spam detection. This message has been posted 137 times. "

"Right now I believe facebook took my life."

And we segue to...

Facebook

I spend some time browsing through my friends' Facebook status and wondering about the results of quizzes they posted. It's funny how we all get amused with all those personality tests that attempt to sum us up through the answers we provide in a series of questions.

And the Mafia Wars - what the heck is happening in that part of the online world? People are exchanging Jack of Hearts and Poker Chips and Orange Trees and Sheep. Oh, wait. That's for Farm Town. And the Farm Town - what the heck is happening in that part of the online world?

Last weekend, at a children's party I attended, someone nonchalantly apologized for attacking me. As I had zero recollection of being mauled in the recent past, I responded with a puzzled look. It turns out, the victim was my Facebook vampire character or something - which I didn't even know I had. Go figure.

I have been contemplating whether to create my own Pick Five list. I was considering "Five Blogs You Follow", but the available options are too limited. In any case, my answers would be: Karina's Buried in Cliches, Jason Mraz's Freshess Factor Five Thousand, Chico Garcia's Strange Fruit, Rye's The Lead Character Chronicles, and Bo Sanchez's Practical Soulfood.

Twitter

It's true. Sometimes all you need to say can be said in 140 characters or less. (So unlike this blog that has been dragging you all around needlessly.) Twitter is the venue for those wit in brevity. And! It also gives you the chance to "follow" the thoughts of well-known people like Neil Gaiman and John Mayer. And I had no idea Rob Thomas is very opinionated.

I am not sure if Plurk is better than Twitter, and frankly, I'm not too keen in finding out. Technology can be stressful if you let it overwhelm you. Look at me - (sarcasm alert!) I have simplified it to this: my blog entries in Multiply are cross-posted to my Blogspot account which is cross-posted to my Facebook. My Twitter auto-updates my Facebook status, too.

The thing is, I think there's a problem with the Multiply-Blogspot cross-posting tool. And I don't want to reconfigure the settings because there's a chance that I will spam all of you when the system reposts all of my six years' worth of blogs. You don't want that to happen, trust me. A barrage of angsty, immature, and whiny blogs from my old self is the last thing you want in your inbox.

Hmm, I guess my personality's been pretty consistent these past few years.

I'm off to wallow in my state of wooziness, people. The discarded tissues are starting to form a new landform here in the apartment. I wish you a virus-free day. And if anyone needs me, I'll just be around - guessing which part of Russia the Battle of Stalingrad took place.

Bunny-Ears Knot

2009-03-29T20:04:00.000+08:00

I find that I talk to myself more often lately. I talk to myself out loud - that's not a new quirk. I've been doing it since I was a child. The frequency of it now is what is I find notable.

You see, I have this notion of the afterlife. When we're done here and we get there - wherever that is for each of us - there's a film showing of your life. For everyone to see. We're in this great big hall with a screen much, much bigger than ten iMaxes put together. It's not going to be length of your lifetime, I'm imagining. Just a montage of important events. You know the videos they play after an American Idol gets voted off? That kind. Or an episode of E! True Hollywood Stories.

Maybe there'd also be video collections of special moments. Some voice-over will be saying, "... In her lifetime, so-and-so is known for her klutziness..." - then rolls a video of slips, skids, knee-scrapings, glass-breaking (very familiar actions to me, I must admit). It'd be just like a rip-off of America's Funniest Videos. I watched too much TV in my lifetime, too. You can always tell from all my references. I'll write a whole book about this notion, I swear. As early as now, I'm accepting advanced reservations.

Anyway. I was thinking that when they play my video, there'd also be a specific section dedicated just for the times I talked out loud to myself and then maybe a glimpse of the reaction of the people around me. The period of the past few months will be a wealthy resource for these clips of my life. Maybe because I'm by myself more often now. Alone by circumstances, and lately, also by choice. It's ironic to think that I'm not talkative when I'm around people, but relatively chatty when I'm by myself.

When I watch television, I applaud, swear, and let out acerbic comments whenever appropriate. Who says it isn't interactive? I draw the line at shadowboxing when watching Pacquiao, though. That was something only my mother did. I also think out loud when I write. I'm murmuring now as I type this. When I walk alone, I think of character monologues, dialogues, multi-logues - those I make up on my own and those that I want to say to people and those that I like from books or movies. I find it tricky to write conversations. I don't want them to seem trite and contrived. People do not talk tritely or contrively. So I'm learning how to do that by saying it out loud before writing them down.

My roommate is used to it by now. But Luz talks to herself a whole lot, too. Especially when she's studying. At least, my loud thinking mostly pop culture. Hers can be too medical to make any sense. So it's fair game at the apartment.

At work, though, I still get ribbed when I talk to my monitor. My loud "What is wrong with you?!" remark has been replied with, "So ano? What is wrong with it daw?" I also have my share of "ffO" moments accompanied with "You've got to be kidding me!" I sometimes get asked if I was still ok. I guess burying your head in your hands, digging the heels of your hands in your eyes, and yes, talking to one's self are not very good indications of wellness.

This afternoon, I got to hear mass at the Antipolo Cathedral. I had to go home to get some stuff from the house. Just two things actually: my sleeping bag and a couple of DVDs. I didn't stay long at our empty house. Couldn't. I get so overwhelmed with the emptiness of the living room, the dining table, my parents' bedroom. Too much that I almost couldn't breathe. And so, I don't stay long.

Yes, I go on talking to myself and to the memories of people in my head. Meanwhile, I try to act normally as I could and do normal things. I think about this during mass as I watch a kid in front of me arduously attempting to tie her shoes. It was during the Prayers of the Faithful. And guilty as charged, I got distracted from listening to the petitions. The mass was in Tagalog which I'm not used to. In any case, the toddler caught my attention. The shoelaces of her high-cut sneakers were loose and with her uncoordinated fingers were trying to tie them together. I hung on to her every failed attempt and her perseverance to not give up, rooting for her to finally pull it off. And when she did, I caught myself saying out loud, "Good job!" I discreetly look around somewhat embarrassed.

For the record, though, I'm not going crazy. I just feel compelled to mention that.

"No, they're not overalls."

2009-03-27T21:38:00.000+08:00

It was Monday when I met her. Ok, "meet" might be the wrong verb to use. Let's try that again. It was Monday when she weirded me out.

Typical day. I entered the building through the Pearl Drive entrance. I rushed to the elevators when I saw one of the green lights blinking. I missed it by two seconds and I swore under my breath. I'm a very tense person. Tension and the elevators at my office building do not go well together. And swearing is a natural byproduct of such unfortunate combination.

Anyway, I was waiting for the next upward elevator when a girl suddenly addressed me. I probably have ignored her the first few times she spoke. I have a very limited peripheral vision - not really optical in nature, I just don't care much for what's happening around me. So I am apologizing in advance to everyone whom I will unintentionally ignore. I have tapahoho.

So this girl started asking about the jacket which I was carrying over one arm. She actually asked if it was overalls. You know - the work clothes of those who do heavy manual labor. Yes, it's bright orange, but really - I come off as the type who needs to bring overalls to work?

I politely told her that no, it was just my company jacket. And then she started off with a series of questions that made that exchange one of the weirdest I ever had with a total stranger.

---

Where do you work?

I pointed to the embroidery in my jacket.

She pronounced it weirdly.

I spelled it out for her.

What is the nature of your work?

I'm a software developer.

IT company, too?

Yes.

[Elevator door opens and we both get in.]

She rattles on about how she works for an IT company on the 32nd floor. They have offices on other floors of the building, as well. Some other details of her office I don't recall now.

I nod.

Which floor is your office?

28th.

How many years have you been working there?

Almost four.

Pretty long.

Yeah.

What is your name?

Cecil.

Do you have a business card?

No, none on hand right then.

She whips out her phone and hands it to me. If I can just input my number, please.

I was soooo tempted to input a fake number, but I couldn't get myself to lie. So I obligingly typed in my number.

She spelled out my name. Is that correct?

Sure, anything works.

[Elevator stops at my floor and doors open]

I'll text you, she says.

Ahm, ok.

[I step out.]

Nice to meet you, she calls out.

[Elevator door closes behind me]

What the heck was that.

---

I suppose it is expected that some of the people whom I've told this story to thought it was a pretty dumb idea to give out all those personal details. I don't know, I guess I believe in the goodness of every person. Or it was just too early in the morning that I wasn't really sure of what was happening. I plead guilty to gullibility due to sleep deprivation.

The rest of that day passed by without a word from my elevator acquaintance. I thought it was something that I could already just charge to experience. But very late Tuesday night, while I was talking on the phone with my friend Luz, another call beeped in from an unregistered number. I put Luz on hold and answered it.

---

Hi. Cecil?

Hmm, yeah. Who is this?

It's Abigail. We met recently.

[long pause] Who?

Abigail. We work in the same building. We met last Monday.

Oh.

Don't you remember?

I think I remember. From the elevator, right?

Yes, in the elevator. Is this a bad time? Can you talk now?

Actually, I have my friend on hold in the other line.

Oh, I see. Can I call you back? Can you text me so I can call you back?

Ah, sure.

Ok, thanks!

[End call, activate Luz's line]

Luuuuuz! The weird girl from the elevator just called! What does she want from me?!

---

I'm betting it's sales. She's in IT, but she sidelines in sales. Somewhat unlikely, but possible. Or she's in IT, but sidelines in derangement. More plausible.

Abigail, if you're out there in blogosphere: I already have life insurance. I'm not interested in buying or selling. And just to cover all possible bases: I'm not interested in a cult movement. Nor phone pals and textmates. I'm also straight and have no lesbian tendencies.

Stairwell Existentialism

2009-03-24T20:35:00.000+08:00

I found myself sitting alone in the office building's 26th floor stairwell this afternoon. Two floors up, I've already logged the required hours of effort. There were still things to do, yes, but I had to breathe. Not that stairwell air is much better. But at least it was quieter. And unoccupied.

Staring at that heavy fire exit door, I pondered on the meaning of life, death, afterlife (and afterdeath?). That morning, I was at the hospital for a followup consultation. I didn't have a tumor, the doctor concluded based from the test results. Although she considered that possibility two Saturdays ago. Honestly, I was ready for however it would turn out. Morbidity comes naturally to me, and I discover that it's something that people do not readily welcome about me. So I'll just leave it at that.

A part of me believes that maybe I'm really ill. I have a resident headache that dials up into a migraine and dials down to a dull throb, depending on where I am and what I'm doing. But it's always there, lurking. And there's also the lethargy I can't seem to shake off.

Maybe all this is brought about by the fact that I've not been having real meals. Sandwich bites taken in between keystrokes and mouse clicks do not seem to pass off as lunch. Nor do instant noodles pass off as breakfast.

I used to come home to dinner of real food. I'm crazy for starting with this line of thought and I know I'd just regret it later when I'm reduced to a lump of sad excuse for a human being. But I used to come home to a home. True, I used to commute for hours. But when I arrive, there will be a place setting for me at the dining table. My mother would reheat my dinner, slice me a piece of fruit, sit with me at the table and ask me about my day. A few years back when I was part of one of those high-pressured projects, I started to cry halfway through my dinner out of sheer exhaustion. My mother got so worried over me and started crying with me. She said that if she could take my burden for herself, she would. I was just so guilt-ridden for making her cry that I didn't remember what I said or if I even said anything in reply.

When I get "home" now and if I feel like eating, I bring takeout which I eat on my bed. And of course, because I am me, I spill ice tea and hot sauce on my bedsheets every now and then. Lately though, I just eat Knick Knacks or Pretzels. Or lychee-flavored nata de coco jelly. Sometimes, I just skip all the attempts and try to sleep. And of course, sleep is a luxury that my messed up mind cannot afford so easily.

Going back to that stairwell this afternoon, I was going over all these past experiences in my head and going totally existential. The fact is, I don't want to invite everyone to my sadness. It's bad enough that I'm lousy company and I reek of depression poorly camouflaged in an air of fake indifference. I don't expect people to understand - that's just asking for too much, I think. I don't even get the situation myself.

But one's thoughts can only go too far sitting on a stairwell. At some point, there are real-life things to address two floors up.

September 25, 1974

2009-03-21T19:57:00.000+08:00

I went to Pampanga last Wednesday - to the same house my grandparents lived in, the same house I grew up as a kid, and the same house that my aunt still lives in. While there, I got to browse through stacks of old photographs. My grandmother was a schoolteacher and there were class pictures from as far back as 1950. I realize that her grade school pupils are now senior citizens.

There was also my father's copy of "Cardinal & Gold", Mapua's official college yearbook. He earned his engineering degree from there, staying longer that the usual five years. Lola said that there was a time when he wouldn't attend classes because he'd just play chess the whole day at the bleachers. My grandparents pulled him out until he promised them to take his studies more seriously. But chess, you know? What a way to slack of on your studies. Not drugs, not alcohol. Chess. In a way, that was so characteristic of Papa.

The hairstyles and the horn-rimmed glasses of the students are so 1960s. And of course, there weren't any IT courses then yet. And it was the former President Marcos who wrote the congratulatory message. Anyway, I browsed through the pages until I reached the Mechanical Engineering department. And right near the end part of it (alphabetical, naturally) was my father's picture and below it - very austere - was his name, hometown, and a membership of his course's org. Nothing else. But I would've been more surprised if he joined other extra-curricular activities. He was a very reserved person. Kept a low-profile and never cared much for other people's company. Which explains the fascination for quiet and analytical games like chess.

An important find of that day were my parents' wedding pictures. They had their civil wedding in Surigao in 1974. My mother's side of the family were from Aglipayan Church, may father's - Roman Catholic. Thus, the civil ceremony. But they had the other trimmings of a traditional wedding in the reception.

Looking through those pictures were difficult, yes, but I wanted to keep that happy memory of my parents with me. So I slid a picture off the album and inserted it into the book I carry around in my backpack. Aptly, the book is "Migrations to Solitude" given to me by Jayjay. He gave it to me because I seriously considered resigning to a quiet life in service. I like being alone and I find being around a lot of people very uncomfortable. I guess I take after my dad in that way.

Sadly though, I never really got very proficient in chess.

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop

2009-03-21T19:07:00.000+08:00

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

---

I miss you. More than you know. More than I care to admit. More than the nonchalance I try to pull off.

Sectioning

2009-03-15T23:59:00.000+08:00

Do you still remember your section names in school?

My friends and I were having dinner at Shakey's when we started testing the pens I just bought by writing down our names in the paper place mats. I buy pens needlessly, by the way. Just for the heck of having them. Just those that write well, not necessarily expensive ones.

Anyway, Luz was saying that if I wrote down my full name when I was a kid in school, it wouldn't fit in the width of the grade-one blue-red-blue-lined pad paper. Because we had nothing much else to do while waiting for our food, we tried to write my long name, repeating it again and again until we were satisfied that we got the right blue-to-blue height.

So the conclusion was: my name can fit in the grade one paper. But only barely. If I had to place the date or my section on the right portion, I'd be writing on the armchair. Thus began the spontaneous recalling of our section names since preschool. Here are mine:

Prep:
Senior Casa - Beige
Grade school:
I - Blue
II - Blue
III - Red
IV - Red
V - Green
VI - St. Paul
High School:
I - Archimedes
II - Darwin
III - Avogadro
IV - Einstein

You can tell from the sections the times when I switched schools. Luz didn't recall much of her elementary. Her high school sections are:

I - Opal
II - Sampaguita
III - Strontium
IV - Gluon

She did better in remembering her advisers' names, though. I could only recall three or four. If I have any classmates out there reading this, drop me a line if you still remember their names.

Try to recall your section names and class advisers to see if you did better than us. I'm starting to believe that we are just getting too old to retain these memories. And I'm blogging about it because the harder I try to fall asleep, the more awake I become.

So insomnia, you win.

Palabok

2009-03-12T18:25:00.000+08:00

There was a pair of ambulant merienda vendors at the office today. Two women stationed just outside the hallway where they hawked camote, saging, nilagang mais, and palabok. Ah, palabok. For those of you who do not know (and probably don't want to), palabok is my favorite kind of pancit. I associate it with the warmth of my childhood.

When we were growing up, we bought homemade palabok from a maglalako who passed by our house almost every afternoon. Her name was Dang Maring - "dang" being the Kapampangan form of "ale". She was a middle-aged woman and her hair was always tied up in a bun. The sight of her walking down the street with a basket full of merienda was a source of pleasure in those slow afternoons after school.

She also sold ukoy - the crispy, deep-fried patty made from grated papaya/squash and shrimps - which we dipped in spicy vinegar with lots of black pepper. And sampelot - a very thick version of guinataan.

But the bestseller in our household was Dang Maring's palabok. I haven't had it since I was a kid and I could be remembering it a little differently from how it actually was. But I recall the palabok's perfectly cooked noodles, the sauce with just the right consistency, just the right color, and just the right amount. I remember that it also had a few chopped kamias on it, which added zest.

My parents would buy us each our own portion and would get a few extra in case one of us wanted another serving. We'd all sit around in the dining room, our afternoon merienda transferred to plates and we downed them with glasses of Eight o' Clock instant orange juice.

I was already in college when Mama tried to make her own palabok recipe, and after several trials, she finally got it together. During Christmases, we'd assemble bilaos of our own palabok to give to relatives. What I loved about Mama's palabok is that she let us assemble our own plates. As much shrimps as I'd like and as little green onions. From her, I also took the habit of always trying out the palabok of a new restaurant or fastfood or foodstall when it is in the menu. Some would be good, but some would turn out to be too soggy, too runny, too orange-y. Once, we also went on an early morning palabok hunt which I wrote about .

Today's palabok at the office was passable - at least for the P25 standard. It had tofu instead of the shrimps that I am used to and its color was a tiny tad too orange. I'm thinking of what the hex value of my ideal palabok color is, but that would be taking it a bit too far.

At the very least, it provided me a trip to memory lane - the happier side(walk) of it.

Earth Hour 2009

2009-03-03T19:57:00.000+08:00

Earth Hour 2009 by WWF - Sign up for Earth Hour!

Sell Me Sleep

2009-03-03T18:02:00.000+08:00

Wouldn't it be so great if you could buy sleep?

Think about it. Two hours' worth of sleep at your nearest convenience store. Or if you really pulled out an all-nighter - a full eight hours.

Sleep is something that caffeine can only hope to imitate as a replacement. Nothing beats uninterrupted hours on a comfortable bed, subdued lights, eyes closed, mind drifting off to somewhere where there's no worry or pain. (Or Java Exceptions and unupdated tasklists.)

Oh, I'd be a fan of bottled sleep. Or capsuled sleep - whatever. I'd have them handy all the time. I've been struggling with sleep. You have no idea how hard I have to try to silence my mind just long enough to let rest settle in.

The Sandman is slacking off with me. He'd better shape up. Or else he'd be facing the financial crisis unemployed.

Tutay

2009-02-13T19:49:00.000+08:00

I retreated myself in an obscure corner - away from the unfamiliar faces, the even more unfamiliar dialect chatter, the dried watermelon seeds, cupcakes, coffee, and stacks of non-biodegradable styrofoam cups.

In solitude, I hoped to distance myself from the past few hours that have magnified seemingly into years and weighed down on me like a necessary burden.

The little girl sought me. Maybe she was bored with her company. Or maybe she felt sorry for me, sitting by myself in the far bench. Whatever her reason is, she was not put off by my seeming aloofness.

She offered me a Zest-O, which I declined. She proceeded to insert the straw into the previously offered juice, apparently claiming it for herself. She crossed her legs, indian-fashioned. We talked for a while - the only lengthy and significant conversation I've had during the day.

Her name is Haira Jean. Or Tutay. She explained the uncommon nickname even before I got the chance to ask. She only knows that her aunts started calling her that when she was four and it stuck. I considered maybe it could be a child's mispronunciation of "Tatay". Amazingly, we share the same surname. Her father is a distant cousin of sorts. Another one of those relatives I do not know about. Her siblings are also initialled HJ. Hazel Joy. Harvey John. And other HJ's.

She is in the second grade; has been ranked top five both in the first and second grading period. The third grading period results has not come out yet, so she doesn't know yet how she fared. She wears a key around her neck. She tells me it's their classroom key and she was the assigned keeper because she comes to school early at 630 am everyday.

On February 21, she will receive the sacrament of confirmation and she asks if I'll be in town by then. "Kumpil" are still big deals in the small predominantly Catholic towns. She's part of the children choir and participates in the church activities for kids.

She was not satisfied in just answering all my questions. She wanted to ask me some herself.

How old am I? Twenty-seven.

Am I married? No.

Do I live nearby? I used to, but I now live in Manila.

How did I get there? I took a bus and two jeepney rides.

How much was the fare? Offhandedly, around P120. (When she asked for each ride's specific fare, she told me it was actually P119.)

Do I have any brothers or sisters? Yes, but they weren't around.

Where's my mother? She died last October.

Her eyes widened in apparent concern. She glanced at the well-lit focus point in the center of the room - the flowers, the candles, the framed photograph of my late father on top of the ornately carved hardwood casket. "Ibig sabihin wala ka nang magulang?"

The realization washed over me. I nodded and told her, "Wala na."

Suddenly, she did not seem like the tiny eight year old talking to the adult. She was the good-hearted person sympathizing with an orphan.

I close my eyes, seeking rest from the past few months that have magnified seemingly into years and weighed down on me like a necessary burden

Look Away

2009-02-01T04:14:00.000+08:00

I went to see an ophthalmologist yesterday to have my eyes checked. I've been having frequent headaches lately, concentrated around my eyes and forehead. When asked to describe what kind of pain, I tell them it's like having a constant head rush - the dizziness when you stand up too fast. Or the wooziness of laughing too hard. The pain is bad enough to make me miss last Friday's work.

Actually, I didn't want to see a doctor. But my Kuya made me promise to go. And I'd feel so guilty to break a promise, even one made over YM. He's been a little paranoid over my health, and of my sister's. Maybe it's because the three of us are living so far from each other and there's no one else looking out for us, but ourselves. On a somewhat related note - when I donated blood a couple of weeks back, I was asked to fill out a form of personal data. One of the required entries was the "in-case-of-emergency" contact person. And I literally had to stop and think for a while. Hmmm, tough one. I ended up texting Luz, my friend and roommate, if it was ok with her if I wrote her as my ICE. She said it was and so I did.

It was kinda weird, kinda sad. But it was real life. It was such a responsibility to be someone's ICE. Especially to one with propensity for accidents such as myself. Family members are supposed to be there for that, but I didn't have the luxury of that option. Although it is true that friends are the family you choose - or what life chooses for you. And so you just deal.

Anyway, back at my eye checkup. The doctor gave me a few pointers on how to relieve the headaches. Apparently, my eyes were fine. Although I wear corrective glasses, I can still actually do ok without them. So here are some of the tips, in case they may be of help to you:

1) Increase water intake. I usually get seven or eight tumblers during the day. I have to try for ten or more.

2) Sit a little farther from the computer screen and have it situated diagonally. Same goes for reading books. As the doctor have told me in an unsolicited (but appreciated) crash course on optic muscles, we strain our eyes more if we look at things more closely. Keeping the muscle tense for a very long period of time causes headaches and so you need to relax it by doing number (3).

3) For every ten minutes of work, spend a minute looking at something 20 feet away. "A full minute?" I asked. Yes. So mentally, I computed that would be 6 minutes per hour * 7.5 work hours a day. Forty-five minutes of just looking away in a manday. Huh.

4) Avoid stress. When asked whether work has been stressful lately, I said, "No, not particularly." But I wondered whether we have the same gauge of a stressful day.

5) You could always take painkillers. But the thing is, I don't like painkillers. As much as possible, I don't take them and just bear the pain. So my friends know that if I reach for Ibuprofen or Mefenamic Acid - pain is already way beyond tolerable level.

If none of these things work, I am to go back for consultation after a week. Maybe by then, I'd be given something more substantial than a list of do's and don'ts.

So when you see me looking aimlessly far away - for the record, I am not spacing out. I am following doctor's orders.

Two be or not two be. [repost]

2009-01-29T15:50:00.000+08:00

Nung toddler pa ako, gusto kong magkaroon ng policeman na laruan.

Hindi ko naman matandaan kung bakit. Baka siguro na-uso na ang RoboCop ng panahon na iyon. Hindi lang ako sigurado. Basta, ang alam ko, nung tinanong ako kung anong gusto kong laruan, ang sinagot ko, gusto ko ng policeman.

May voice tape kasi kami na ni-record ng nanay ko nung mga maliliit pa kaming magkakapatid. Two years old ako nuon, three ang kapatid kong babae na kakaumpisa pa lang mag-aral ng pre-school at seven years old naman ang Kuya namin.

Sa Middle East kasi nagtrabaho ang tatay namin noon. Pre-gulf war at pre-US war of aggression against terrorism pa nun. Matagal nagtrabaho bilang inhinyero sa ibang bansa ang tatay ko kaya maraming sulat at pictures na naipon ang mga magulang ko nung nagco-communicate sila. Kabilang dito yung voice tape na binanggit ko. Wala pa kasing email nuon.

Dun sa voice tape, pina-perform kami ng nanay ko ng mga nursery rhymes. Yung mga tulad ng Hickory Dickory Dock, Baa Baa Black Sheep, at ang walang kamatayang Jack and Jill. Pinagdasal din kami out loud ng prayers. (Grabe, ang bait kong bata noon) Gaya ng Our Father at Hail Mary. Teka, The Lord's Prayer nga pala ang tamang pangalan ng Our Father. Kasali rin nga pala dun yung Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.

Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray to God my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray to God my soul to take.

Ngayon, pag naaalala ko yang dasal na yan, medyo naiilang ako. Di ba parang medyo morbid sya na prayer para sa isang bata? Kung mamamatay ako bago ako magising, ipinapanalangin ko na kunin na ng Panginoon ang kaluluwa ko. Parang hindi wholesoeme, di ba?

Anyway, marami pa kaming toddler tricks na ni-record sa tape. Mga singing, counting, alphabet, at question and answer. Parang nagpapa-showcase kami sa tatay ko para naman kahit na hirap sya na magtrabaho sa malayo, matuwa naman sya sa amin na ang gagaling ng mga anak nya.

Nang pinabilang ako from one to twenty, ang sabi ko, "...fourteen, fifteen, seventeen, eighteen..." Pangitain kaya yun na Math ang magiging weakness ng academic life ko? ;p

May precursor rin pala ang pagkabulol ko. Ayon sa akin, twenty-one years ago, ang seven continents of the world ay: "Ey-cha, Africa, Europe, North America, Chout America, Antarctica, Ochrelya."

Ang saya-saya.

Ang kuliiiiiit ko pala nung bata pa ako. Hindi lang ako terrible two. Terrifically, terrifyingly, terrorizing, terrible two. Feeling ko, kung makita ko ang two year old self ko, makukurot ko talaga sya sa singit. Sa tape, ayaw kong ibigay yung mic sa kapatid ko. Gusto ko, akin lang palagi. Tapos, ginugulo ko sila kapag sila na ang nagre-recite. Umiyak talaga ako ng pagkalakas-lakas nang pinapaawat na ako ng nanay ko. Umabot siguro yung mga hiyaw ko sa mga kapitbahay namin.

Naaaliw akong paulit-ulit na pakinggan yung voice tape na yun. Andaldal ko kasi for a two-year-old. I find it amusing to hear myself so loud. Parang nag-peak ang talkativeness ko at two pagkatapos nun, it all went downhill from there.

Natatawa rin ako sa mga tantrums ko. Kasi madalas kung may nagco-comment na maswerte daw ako kasi ako ang youngest sa pamilya, lagi kong sinasabi na hindi ko nararamdaman na may special treatment sa akin. Pero kung pakikinggan ko yung tape, talagang hindi ko maipagkakaila na bunso nga ako. Ako yung pinagbibigyan. Pinagpapasensyahan. Yung hindi pinapatulan.

Pero sa tingin ko, never naman kaming naging spoiled. Hindi lahat ng gusto namin nasusunod. Tulad na lang nung policeman. Sa pagkakaalala ko, hindi talaga ako nabilhan ng policeman. Manyika at stuffed toy lagi ang binibigay.

By the way, I just checked. The movie RoboCop was released 1987. Eh, kakaumpisa ko na ng grade school nang time na yan.

Bakit ko talaga kaya gusto ng laruan na policeman noon?

Grackle Gone AWOL*

2009-01-22T18:46:00.000+08:00

So I came to work today and found that my machine is not at my desk. The monitor is still there, but the system unit is nowhere in sight. The only indication that it was ever there was the remnants of unplugged power cables hanging in the desk.

The pictures and notes that were stuck by magnets on the system unit now lay flat on my table, beside the origami and toys that were also on top of it. I stood a good couple of seconds unmoving, still wearing my bag, trying to rack my brains for a reason. I was in this state when Karl came up from behind and in his usual bickering tone said, "O! Asan machine mo? Sinesante ka na!"

Of course not. Well, hopefully not, I thought to myself.

So where is my mysterious missing machine? Fortunately, one of my workstation neighbors informed me that it was the admin who took Grackle for transfer. I approached the admin desk and asked where and why it was moved. Apparently, they received an email late last night that I was the one who was going to train the new batch of developers for the first module of web development. Actually, this was the original plan but I was pulled out from training duty for some other task.

Yes, I train HTML, CSS, and Javascript. My site is so lame that it's almost embarrassing to admit it openly. This one I use is even just a downloaded theme, for crying out loud. But somewhat as a defense, just know that we focus more on the the code structure and not the aesthetics. (Pathetic excuse, I know.)

Anyway, I confirmed with Miss Tara whether there was indeed a mix-up or if I was really going to train that day, for some reason. She told me, "Ok na, nag-email na ako. Sinisi na kita."

Oh. It was embarrassed to be told that it was my fault all along. Was I was supposed to inform the admin that I was pulled out from training? I started to apologize but I eventually found out that Miss Tara meant that she CC'ed me in the email. Not that she blamed me. CC - carbon copy. Sisi - put to blame.

Haay. Miscommunication. Look how that turned out for Romeo and Juliet. At least, the only tragedy for me is just the few frantic and paranoid moments of unemployment.

--

*Grackle is my machine name. It is a kind of blackbird. Our company names our network machines after animals, plants, and sometimes mythical creatures like Nazgul and Basilisk. Wouldn't it be cool if we had Marsh-wiggle or Dufflepud? :)

Elevator Blues

2009-01-22T17:42:00.000+08:00

I have poor luck with elevators. It is officially one of my life's little annoyances.

At work, our office building actually has a decent number of elevator units. As far as I know, sixteen for each tower. Half of which serves the low zone, the other half for the high. But for some reason, a few of them are often out of order. So the zones are bunched up and before we reach the 28th, we have traversed quite a number of other floors.

And there's another thing about them that bothers me. I think some of my fellow software developers have also commented about the weird algorithm that our elevators have. Or the lack thereof. You sometimes see three units at a time heading down simultaneously. And it's frustrating whenever a lot of people are waiting to head up. Especially if it's almost ten and Azeus people are rushing to beat the OTS. :)

I also spent a lot of time in the hospital last year. And Medical City has really atrocious elevator service. And they're also aware of it. They have signs on the lobby apologizing for their elevators' (in)capacity. In the sign, they also included well-worded encouragements to take the stairs because it's good for the heart and overall well-being. Right.

The first few times, I tried to wait. But patience is not a virtue I had the luxury of keeping because I always had to rush to get something or to be somewhere. In the long run, I took the stairs, even five flights of it, just to save time.

But the elevator here in our apartment building takes the cake. It is old and tiny. It looks like it was hijacked from one of the sad MRT stations. When you go up, you have to press down; and you have to press down when you're going up. The fan goes on only when you're about to get off. The floor buttons are almost falling off. The control panel cover is secured with masking tape which is almost always ripped - exposing the switches and knobs underneath, crudely taped with handwritten labels: "man. up", "man. down", "lights", "fan", etc.

To top it all off, it has a sickness. Our elevator is moody. It hates our floor on some days. And on some specific hours.

Our room is on the fifth floor. And the elevator's idea of "opening" on the fifth floor is abruptly stopping, giving a few moments of violent shakes, separating the doors three inches apart, and then - nothing else. When this happens to you for the first time, you begin to contemplate your mortality. You'll start to think whether you're doomed to spend the last minutes of your life in this heaven-forsaken, lousy excuse for technology.

The first time it happened, my roommate actually yelled my name very loudly through the three-inch gap. Unfortunately, no one could hear her from the hallway.

But now, we have an established workaround. After the elevator's "turbulence" in the attempt of opening on our floor, we hit the close doors button and then the 6th floor button. It closes and goes up to the next floor where its doors smoothly (yes, smoothly) opens. Then we take the stairs down one flight.

So now I find myself muttering when I take the elevator, "please open, please open, please open." Sometimes my muttering ends with a sigh of relief, sometimes with a low curse. I have a friend on the sixth floor and I think about dropping by at her place just to make the detour trip more worthwhile, whenever the elevator is in one of its mood.

Well, at the very least, I can console myself that I'll have a healthy heart. Nothing about a cheerful humor, though.

Feel the Rain

2009-01-18T20:19:00.000+08:00

Today's gospel was about faith. Faith like a child, especially. Please don't squirm. This is going to be quick and painless. I just wanted to share it.

The homily mentioned an oft-repeated story about a town facing food shortage because of drought. To address this problem - the townsfolk, along with all the religious groups, priests, and parishioners organized a prayer rally in the plaza to pray for rain.

But among all the people in the crowd, only a small child brought an umbrella.

I wonder at what point do we lose that sense of blind trust. When do we stop being kids who believe that everything will be ok and that life is simple. There are no conditions. Or negotiations. I wish there was some way to unburden ourselves with the doubts that keep on piling up. And begin to trust the truth that we are loved more than we realize.

Have you ever asked yourself the question: when you pray for rain, do you bring an umbrella?

“I assure you that whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like a child will never enter it.” – Mark 10:15