tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-382176412024-03-07T16:04:16.869+08:00Princess BanterI don't know who you are or where you've come from, but from now on you'll do as I say, okay?
- Princess Leia, Star WarsPrincess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-31821914139569234212010-10-05T09:37:00.007+08:002010-10-05T09:54:50.881+08:00No One Else Is Coming<div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">I.</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My Life</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Is a Train Station</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Where I wait</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">and wait.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sitting on the dull</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">gray concrete Bench</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Just underneath</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The Big Round Clock</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">... tick tock ...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I button up my pea coat</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">It was cold.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Love</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sat next to me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He said He was waiting too</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">May He sit a while?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I nodded</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Red licorice? I offered.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He took one and chewed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He waited with me,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">For my Train,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No rush, He reassured.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He told me pretty stories</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And we laughed</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">and we laughed</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">and ate candy corn.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I'll board your train </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">With You, He promised.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But not this one,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The next one, He said,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Or the next.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We waited.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I waited</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">and waited.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">For a long time.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Impatience and frustration</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Became of me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No, I had to go</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I left His Bench</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Behind</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And my bag of chocolate coins.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I boarded the Train</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Heading West.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">II.</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I picked a seat</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Next to the Window</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The breeze, that earthy smell;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Like a tall glass of water</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On a perfectly humid day.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The world cruised by</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">At a steady 90 miles per hour.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Faith</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sat next to me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He took my hand in His</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And made promises</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">of Marvelous Tomorrows;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Honeysuckle, butterflies, dew drops</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On purple maple leaves.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">All out there</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">All out West.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But the Sun</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Woke up in the East</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">All my senses -- as if like magnet</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Drawn to its</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Overpowering Lust.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I hopped off</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My Westbound Train.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span">III.</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On platform 12</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He was waiting. Again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Love, again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">You'd be back, He foresaw.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The Eastern Train is coming</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sit with Me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Gummy Bears? He offered.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I took one and chewed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We boarded the Train</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Heading East.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The clouds were painted</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In 16-tone colors;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Horses neighed and</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Panthers loped.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">It was like Art;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Beautiful.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Moons passed, hearts beat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I was ready to alight</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He wasn't.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Not yet, He said,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Soon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Soon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But Soon never came</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I jumped,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I tucked, I rolled;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Dusted off my bruised flesh</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And my broken spirit.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Head held high</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On platform 9</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I waited</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Again</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And licked my wounds.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">IV.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A train wreck</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Nearby;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A collision </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">With God's Secret.</span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Hope</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Emerged with tired eyes;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Wounded and damaged</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But His Spirit flickered.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Hope</span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sat next to me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Bloodied hands and all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Twinkies? I offered.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No thanks, He said,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Then He changed His mind.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He took one and chewed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He shook</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">From the crash He survived.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No more Trains, He vowed,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Just walking.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Very lonely though, I supplied.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Lonely is okay, He argued,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">When life almost left you be...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Lonely is nothing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We ate marshmallows</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As the sun dipped.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He repaired His brazen self</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Each day at a time</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But the trains have stopped</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Coming,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No more hoots, no more chugs.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">He stood up, He shifted,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Wiping His hands on His jeans.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Coming? He asked.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I sat there rooted.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Coming? He echoed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I sat still</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On my Bench </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Beneath the Big Round Clock</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">That same one</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">... tick tock...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">V.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Arms akimbo</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I stared down the rails</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Further down</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And down</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As far as this naked eye</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Can see.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The Sky blushed</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A bashful orange hue;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I trod down the beaten</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Iron Path;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">No one else was coming.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">No one else is coming.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Faith, Love</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span">,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Gone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Just got </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Hope</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">That's all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-46275356602787784832010-09-06T13:06:00.002+08:002010-09-06T13:16:23.777+08:00I Could Be<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I could be better to you</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">...</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> For you</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But the ghost standing</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">By the corner</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">-- holding a glass </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">pink </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">lemonade</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> --</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He taunts me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And he grins -- </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">oh that</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Malicious grin</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And he dares me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">He glides over to sit</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On the</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Lacquered coffee table</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His transience </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Blurring</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Your </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">jagged edges</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His hollowness</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His false distance</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">His inferiority</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Bitter</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Piercing</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Permanent.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I could be better to you</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">... </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">For you</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But the ghost sitting</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">In front of me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Is still </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">stepping heavily</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On my</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Bleeding toes</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-39110122424825639572010-09-05T14:05:00.004+08:002010-09-06T06:55:38.693+08:00Via Dolorosa - Scourging, Crowning And Falling<span style="font-family:arial;">Someone I look up to once told me that everyone has crosses to bear -- how there are one or two life-altering events in our lives that we must go through in order to learn from and become better people. A purging of sorts, if you may.<br /><br />It made vague sense to me so I asked him what his crosses had been. He mentioned that one of them had been his journey through his survivorship of clinical depression. He was twenty four when he got diagnosed with it and the eight years to follow were the most difficult of his life. He went through an insane whirlwind of emotions with people coming and going (though most of the latter) in his life. And this was on top of having to experience a life so tumultuous as it already is. He scraped himself together one day and fought the depression with every ounce of strength that he had. And he was blessed with a partner that saw him through this. "She was my light at the end of the tunnel," he told me with unmeasured fondness.<br /><br />I became thoughtful after that. I brought up the subject matter with my mother one evening that we had dinner together. She readily agreed about her concept of crosses. "As a matter of fact," she said, "You should be slightly wary of your pending cross. That as much as you're very blessed with many good things, you will get tried one way or another." I then asked her what her cross had been. She furrowed her eyebrows and picked on the pasta on her plate.<br /><br />"Your father and I have gone through so much together," she began. "One of the more difficult parts of our life together was when we had to help each other through financial difficulties. We had marvelous plans for you kids, and failing wasn't an option. But we were a team and we'd be there for each other when one collapsed. It was hard, yes, but it was worth every bit of it. And if things came easily to us, then I don't think we'd appreciate where we currently are."<br /><br />She looked at me in the eye. "I just hope that when it's your turn to carry your cross, you'd be strong enough and have enough faith that you could get through it. Because I know you will, but it's all up to you."<br /><br />That conversation took place some five years ago -- but the idea never left my head. I am aware that no matter how invisible to the naked eye, we all fight some internal battle within ourselves. Some do a better job masking it from others while some just can't. Either way, we're all struggling with something.<br /><br />Then one day, it hit me. <em>My cross</em>. It had been there all this time and I just didn't realize it. My cross consists of my collection of relationships that I can't seem to fully realize -- that I couldn't seem to be with those people that I truly love and care for.<br /><br />My family -- a prime example. They perhaps make up the majority of my support system. And every single one of them live oceans away from me. Then there's my best friend whom I've only had the pleasure of sharing the same time zone with a couple of years ago. Not to mention all my closest friends and members of my extended close-knit family. They all have the same story. They are all anywhere but here with me.<br /><br />And there were also my past relationships. They both had to end partly because of the distance. No matter what type of effort I had to put into them, I almost always had to pull the plug because I couldn't seem to bridge the growing gap between us. On my second one, I thought it was going to be different and that I was finally given a chance to rid of the constant gaping hole inside of me -- only to wearily watch the relationship suffer a slow and painful death at the end for the same reason as the first one.<br /><br />That's when I stopped trying. I was convinced that I could only seem to love people whom I can't be with. Physically or otherwise.<br /><br />The cross I bear isn't a particularly outstanding incident that shook my world once upon a time. As they say, God gives us burdens that come in different forms. Mine just happens to be the sort to travel with me and to constantly weigh on my shoulders. And only God knows how long I'd have to carry this. In terms of magnitude, I know that it pales in comparison to what others have had to go through, but it more than makes up for the length of time I've had to bear it -- and moreso, the uncertainty of the time when it would stop being my cross.<br /><br />I've learned to deal with it though. And in exchange, I've become a stronger and a more emotionally self-sufficient person. I've become a person so vastly different from how I was before. But most importantly, it taught me to never take for granted whatever time I am allowed to be with the people who matter to me. I could only make the most out of it and then fervently hope that the next time wouldn't be too far away.<br /><br />This is why I enjoy the happily boring events with the right people just as much as any world-class memories I've ever had -- simply because both don't come by that often in my life. And when they do, they're mine and mine forever.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-79219252551612653202010-08-04T15:07:00.001+08:002010-08-04T15:07:58.911+08:00Priceless Little Things<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I live for:</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">1) Toasted buns on my burger</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">2) Going away on holiday</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">3) Mindless chatter with people that matter to me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">4) Reading while tightly wrapped in a blanket</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">5) Fresh snowflakes</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">6) Wearing clothes that look good on me</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">7) Excellence</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">8) Calamansi juice with kiamoy</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">9) Being in love</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">10) Keyboards that have just the right clicking sound</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">11) Awesome telephone conversations</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">12) Unexpected good news</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">13) Music while in a moving vehicle</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">14) Genuine warmth from pseudo-strangers</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">15) Purple fluffy slippers</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">:)</span></div>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-48235915687379102872010-07-06T21:23:00.003+08:002010-07-06T21:33:38.038+08:00The Steadfast Tin Soldier<span style="font-family:arial;">The other day, I rode a cab with a particularly chatty driver. He asked me perhaps the most common question I ever get asked since I moved here to Singapore. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Where are you from?" he asked curiously. "You look Chinese, but you don't sound like you're from around here." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I'm from Manila," I answered politely. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Oh yeah?" he retorted stealing a glance at me. "You don't look Filipina." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Again, one of the most common comments I receive, but I never really know how to respond to it. I simply gave my usual awkward laugh. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"How long have you been living here? Are you a citizen now? Or a permanent resident?" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I've been here for six years now," I said. "But I'm neither. I'm still on employment pass."<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I braced myself for the usual retort about how being a permanent resident in Singapore has so many perks -- the CPF that eventually translates to retirement savings, the eligibility to apply to be a citizen, and just having the privilege to live in a country with a raging economy. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But he surprised me by saying, "You're very smart, you know?" </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Huh? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"At least you get a choice where you want to live by not tying yourself down to Singapore," he continued. "If you decide to become a Singaporean, you will lose your other passport. They force you to give up so many other things." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I frowned. I don't get that a lot. "Where are you from?" I asked. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Singapore. Born and bred," he said simply. As if it was the answer to everything. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Having grown up in a country where colonial mentality is inherent, I could sincerely understand why many Filipinos would jump at the chance of owning a foreign passport. I've gotten accustomed to filling up lengthy application forms for visas whenever I have to travel and trust me, it's not exactly a bed of roses. I silently fume at how people holding privileged passports could take such a thing for granted. And holding a Philippine passport subjects me to various stereotypes and all kinds of racial profiling. It's not something I enjoy, but I've gotten used to it. Once you've gone through it a few times, you'd realize that everyone has the same idiotic ideas about your country and your nationality that you'd end up pitying them more than anything. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Despite all that, it never occurred to me to give up my Philippine passport. Sure, I still fantasize about owning a passport that will allow me to go to any country out of sheer whim. But it's too frivolous for me to act upon. I wouldn't mind holding dual citizenship for pragmatic purposes, but that's all it will be. A practical decision. As much as I curse being Filipino every time I have to shell out EUR 100 for a Schengen visa, I still maintain my pride for my national identity. After all, the Philippines is still my birthplace, my family home and the roots of my culture. I owe it that much. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I haven't lived in the Philippines for the past twelve years. That's about two-fifths of my life. Even though I still look back fondly on my memories of growing up at home, and even though I still keep a healthy amount of close relationships back home, I can't help but feel like I'm being pulled away further and further from it. I've spent my impressionable years in a couple of adopted cities -- I've had to adjust to other cultures and paradigms. While the core of my being is still very much Filipino (after all, it's the culture that molded me while growing up), a significant part of me has also absorbed bits and pieces of other cultures especially those that make sense to me. My ideas and mindsets have adjusted to more global environments, and my decision-making skills have morphed into the practical kind more than the usual traditional and emotional categories. In essence, it was like I was given a palette of cultures to choose from -- and I cherry-picked those elements that I wanted to keep. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't particularly strike myself as the patriotic kind. As a matter of fact, I am acutely aware of the shortcomings of being typically Filipino and I try so hard to stray from them. I refuse to fall into some cookie-cutter trap where my nationality defines my individuality. But if I was forced to choose sides, I wouldn't think twice about adhering to my mother land. I may not speak my first language like it's really my first language, I may have been quite a delinquent during voting and election times, I may not have as many Filipino friends than I have foreign friends, and I may not have traveled as extensively in the Philippines than I have in New England -- but these are not testament to my being any less Filipino than the next karaoke-belting woman dressed in a Maria Clara costume. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My passport is the only official document that links me to my country. I don't own anything else that proves I'm Filipino (though I fervently hope my mother still has my birth certificate somewhere). This hit me hard a few years ago when I had problems availing of the local hotel rates at the Shangri-la Hotel in Manila. There's nothing more frustrating than having to prove something true without any hard evidence to accompany it. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So to give up that single thing that reminds me of who I am and where I came from is asking for too much. It's too big of a footprint to discard so easily. As baseball player, Branch Rickey, once said "It is not the honor that you take with you, but the heritage you leave behind.”</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-57008283784611457872010-06-28T17:18:00.001+08:002010-06-28T17:21:15.756+08:00这是给你的<div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">A haiku for you</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">Because you've always believed.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">I love you, you know?</span></div>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-21153114694169588512010-06-17T17:18:00.004+08:002010-06-18T11:21:55.765+08:00Half A Decade<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The last time I filled up one of these was way back in 2005 -- one year after I started my life in Singapore. It was both nostalgic and exhilirating re-reading my past blog entry ont it. Even though I never felt the past six years pass by, it made me realize how much I've changed as a person since my naive little self set foot at the legendary Changi airport upon my first arrival.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I could still afford then the luxury of having no idea what would be in store for the rest of my life. I've got to say. Not too shabby. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Happy sixth anniversary to me</i>; to my life in this little island that I've managed to adopt as my home.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">~*~*~*~*~</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What did you do in the past 5 years that you hadn't done before?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It feels like my life only started at 23. Not that my life prior to my 23rd year was exceptionally bad, but I think I only started growing up at 23 when I realized just how big the world was -- and that it doesn't have to be scary. I've done so many things for the first time in the past half-decade, but having to let go of any nearby safety nets by living in a brand new country all on my own may have topped my entire list. Do I recommend it? No. It can be insanely frightening. Was it that traumatizing? It doesn't have to be. You simply take what is offered and make the most out of it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Did anyone close to you die?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Unfortunately, my two Lolas passed away within months of each other in 2008. It was an intense year, but I hope there are a lot of flowers and greenery wherever they are right now. And with my Lolos. That would make them extremely happy. Rest in peace. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Did anyone close to you give birth?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Yes, as a matter of fact. The world welcomed my three favorite nephews -- two from my sister and one from my brother. The buggers took my place as baby of the family.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Even if we did lose both my Lolas, we were still gifted with more additions to the family. Indeed a blessing.</span></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Did you travel? Where did you go? Best holiday memory?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">You bet your behind I did. I completely made up for that cultural blackhole I suffered from when I was living back in the US. I rediscovered my wanderlust and remembered just how hard it kicked. It must've acquired some newfound energy while I was dormant. Traveling seems to be one of the very few things I live for these days. Asking me to pick a favorite holiday memory would be like asking me to pick a favorite child. If only I can bundle up all the memories up and stuff it in a cannister than I can take with me everywhere I go -- I'd do it in a heartbeat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Best thing you bought?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">My crappy camera. Seriously. It was the only thing that enabled me to capture all the memories I've collected over the past few years. And it was the only instrument that ever reminded me how awesome and how beautiful the world really is. And how we take so much for granted. And how we see things differently in hindsight. I really should invest in a better one, but it won't feel the same. Perhaps there can be beauty found in raw imperfection.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Where did most of your money go?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I wish I knew. Though I know that a solid chunk went to investments on my relationships with family and friends. May it be flying off to see them, traveling the world with them, enjoying gastronomic experiences with them or simply racking up on ginormous overseas phone bills to speak with them -- it was worth every penny. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What do you wish you had done more of?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I wish I had the mind to spend more time with my Lolas before they passed on to a much better place. But dwelling on that will take me nowhere so I wish to take that lesson and apply it somewhere that I can still control. Having said that, I've learned to cherish and appreciate the people around me even more -- knowing that the day will come that being with them will simply be reduced to memories. So while I can still hold on to those as realities, then I shall. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Other than that, I wish I wrote more. Never stop writing, I keep telling myself. And I still tell myself that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What do you wish you had done less of?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Eating those damn ice cream sandwiches that they sell for a buck in the streets. Oh sigh, but they make such great comfort food! What's a girl to do?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But no regrets. As much as we feel the powerful sting of regrets that trail behind us, I believe that they still play important parts in turning our lives for the better and making us better people.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What kept you sane?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Knowing that I have a whole posse behind me that provides me with all the support I need -- plus the fact that I know they're all one plane ride away ready to welcome me with open arms. And of course, there are also the wonderful people (whose patience and tolerance I've unwittingly put to the test) that God peppered around me here in Singapore. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">And Jack Daniels. And Absolut Vodka. And Amazon.com. Oh, and those awesome Malaysian pirates that bring my favorite American TV drama series right to my doorstep. May Allah bless you and catapult you straight to eternal happiness.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What drove you mad?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">People. But hey, can't live with them, can't live without them. We're screwed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>How were your birthdays?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Pretty good. I can't say they were all memorable, but I do know I had fun in each one that passed. I spent them with all the right people and there was always cake (always a good benchmark for me). I had the most beautiful purple cake for my 25th birthday but I don't remember eating it. And I had one of my most expensive meals for my 27th birthday. One thing I realized, however -- birthdays are best spent as quiet occasions with people who matter most to you. Preferrably not sober because once it sinks in that a year has passed and I still haven't done much out of my life, it can be pretty damn depressing. So, bottoms up! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What political/economic issue stirred you the most?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The Financial Crisis of 2008. Being in the heart of the financial industry didn't help matters at all. I witnessed first-hand how lives of people turned for the worst, and I saw how former high-flyers had their wings clipped by humility. It was perhaps one of the greatest events that purged the world. Lessons of prudence and moderation were hopefully learned. I would sacrifice a lot not to go through that kind of trauma again.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What made you celebrate?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">The weekends. Every single one of them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What song will remind of the past 6 years?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Crash And Burn</i> by Savage Garden </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>"Cause there has always been heartache and pain, and when it's over you'll breathe again, you'll breathe again" </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">It was a tough lesson to learn, but it's true. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Biggest achievement?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Achieving a state of pseudo-contentment and finding comfort in knowing what I don't want in life. I've spent my whole life trying to figure out what I want and truth be told, I could be 70 years old right now, and I still wouldn't have a clue. However, it took a while for me to realize that I want to be anything but ordinary. And that I don't desire the kind of life I was trained to work for along with everyone else. And realizing that it's okay not to want that, experiencing the joy of rejigging my priorities, and garnering the support of my loved ones -- just priceless.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>Biggest disappointment?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Nursing heartaches, allowing fear to get the better of me (thus, yielding a lot to playing it safe and avoiding numerous risks), and having to sever ties with people who used to be important to me. But such is life, no? We don't get anywhere by sitting on the fence so no matter how intimidating, we have to jump off and pray hard that we land on the good side. And if we don't, then we simply deal.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>What is the one thing that would have made you more satisfied?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Instinctively, I wanted to write down that it would've been better if I were financially better off. But when I chewed on it, I don't think things would've panned out the way they did if I had everything I wanted. Or at least easy access to them. I was provided with everything I needed -- I had to work for anything else I wanted beyond that. And that's what it was all about, wasn't it? A big part of the journey is finding out whom you'd become as you pine after your aspirations. And more importantly, whom you'd become when you don't get them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>A valuable life lesson you learnt?</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Leben und Lieben</i>. Live and love (despite everything that can go wrong). It's the best thing you could ever do for yourself.</span></div><div><br /></div>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-65958321124461653142010-05-27T15:32:00.006+08:002010-05-27T16:09:10.275+08:00Do You Remember?<span style="font-family:arial;">To my beloved "Thelis,"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You were about three years old then; I was five. It was scorching hot that afternoon, but I don't remember which part of the year it was. Was it summer? All I know was that the leatherette seat covers on the backseat of our Toyota Corolla were burning my thighs from the heat. Daddy was driving and Mama was on the passenger seat. I was alone at the back -- and I couldn't wait to see you. My parents told me you were in the hospital and that we were going to visit you. I didn't get any details, but they said you were very sick. I hoped you were okay. I wanted to show you the new Rainbow Brite doll I got as a reward for getting a gold eagle award in school. Mama helped me pray for you at night so that Baby Jesus would make you all better. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We rode the elevator up the hospital. I don't remember which one it was, but I can still smell the stench of the Lysol that was generously sprayed on every corner. Mama knocked four times against your door and your Papa answered. I took his hand and touched it to my forehead, and I asked for you. Your Mommy said you just woke up and that I should take it easy with you. She looked like she had not slept in years. She said you just went through your operation and that you were tired. And to be gentle with you.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My height barely reached your hospital bed, but I managed to see you. You looked so small laying in the middle of those white pillows. Your eyes were closed. I poked my fingers through the bed railing trying to wake you up. Your eyelids fluttered -- and you smiled widely when you saw me. I grinned and waved. <em>I missed you</em>! You were sporting the coolest hot pink bracelet on your left hand. I pointed to it and you showed it to me. It had your name on it, as well as your doctor's name. At least that's what I thought it said. I couldn't read that well yet at that time. I wanted one so badly, but I knew it was one of those things I could never have.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Mama came over to see how you were. She was whispering rapidly with your Mommy. They were talking about your doctor, I think. Then she placed her hands over your head and started praying over you. You were staring at her as if not knowing what to do. You looked at me; I smirked and then you smiled. Heehee, Mama looked funny when she talked with her eyes closed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I wish we could have stayed longer but my parents whisked me away and said you had to rest. Already? It was barely half an hour! They promised me that you'd be home soon and that I could come over to your house to play when you're better. And that in the meantime, we were going to SM Department Store to buy you a toy. I told Mama that you would like a Rainbow Brite doll too -- Shy Violet was your favorite. I turned around to say bye to you and you waved a limp hand. Hmm. You did look tired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Back in the car, I asked Mama why you were sick. She told me that your intestines knotted up with each other and that the doctor had to open you up to unknot it. I didn't know what intestines were, but somehow I envisioned a friendship bracelet of sorts inside you. She said you had to watch out what you ate from then on -- no bananas, no suman, nothing sticky. And she told me that I should look after you just in case you ate something that's not good for you. I put on my most serious face and nodded sagely. No bananas, no suman and nothing sticky, I said to myself.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As promised, you were sent home a few days after. I brought you some gummy bears when I came to visit you, and you ran to your Papa to ask if you can eat some. He allowed you two, but you had to give the rest to Yaya Mercy so she can keep it for you. We were all very cautious of what you ate -- we didn't want you to end up in the hospital again. You turned to me and said "Mommy bought me Red Butler for being a good girl when I was sick, do you want to see it?" Of course I did.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I swear, if your parents could have placed you inside a vaccuum to protect you from everything that is harmful, they would have. I would have. They would have given you a million Red Butlers just to make sure you would always be safe. You scared them half to death with that incident -- you scared all of us. You were so young, so small. So helpless. You didn't deserve to go through that. We could have lost you. But praises to the heavens that you were okay. It was a big gamble.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Do you remember it?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">God only knows how I would've turned out if you weren't there with me growing up. You grounded me and you gave me balance. You were the baby sister I never had -- and yet there were times when you seemed a lot older than me. Oh, the endless anecdotes we have with each other! Truly precious. I would have given anything to ensure your safety, good health and happiness. And I still will.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Now that you're about to embark on a whole new journey in your life, I do want you to know that nothing has to change between us. I promise you that. Despite everything we've gone through, we're still as solid as the two of us can be. Everything else that we are meant to weather will just add more colors to our story. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In two weeks' time, you will be someone else's -- and I know that there's nothing else in this world that makes you happier than that. Trust me when I say that you deserve nothing less. And I am more than honored to be there with you and for you on your special day. Because after everything you and I lived through, I won't have it any other way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I love you.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Yours Forever,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Basulelo"</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-85175162005338884602010-05-18T15:33:00.006+08:002010-05-18T16:58:09.162+08:00Nullum Desiderium<span style="font-family:arial;">Regret</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Is that bitter aftertaste</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Lingers</em> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">For stretches of time</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But we are only human</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We must accept</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">All we can do</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Is keep moving</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Dwell not.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The <em>anguish </em>deliquesces</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The remnants</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Eventually veer</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Into</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Beautiful memories</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Like <em>scabs</em></span><em> </em><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">That we relish to</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Scratch</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And then it stops</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Hurting</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Almost.</em></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-31592780202025482992010-05-07T15:38:00.001+08:002010-05-07T15:38:53.920+08:00Bon Mot<span style="font-family:arial;">It's funny how we spend half our lives pining and praying for numerous things. We call out to our respective gods for favors and bargains; and then we spend the other half of our lives whining and complaining that we never get anything that we've asked for. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">If we take a closer look at our lives, we are actually given most of what we've asked for. We rarely realize this. The caveat, however, is that they just aren't usually presented in the way that we were expecting they would come. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's like asking for a huge sum of cash, and eventually getting it in the form of inheritance from a late parent. Or like asking to meet Mr. Perfect, only to meet Mr. Perfect and his equally perfect wife. Or like asking for a fair stab at love, only to find an acne-ridden stalker serenading you by your rose bushes every night despite your attempts at throwing him clumps of hardened clay. Or like asking for the dream job, only to find out it pays so poorly that you may have to live in a cardboard box outside your workplace. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Frustrating, really.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The gods indeed have a wicked sense of humor. But perhaps it's to prove to us that they know what's best for us so it might be in our best interest to simply let them do their jobs. We ought to just sit back and relax -- and just be grateful for what we have now instead of constantly kicking up a fuss about what we don't have. Life is tough enough as it is. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>"It is better to want what you have than to have what you want."</em> - Proverb</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-53393092362265021842010-04-29T16:02:00.010+08:002010-09-06T13:36:38.424+08:00Schwarz (Black)<span style="font-family:arial;">What I've always wanted my eyes to be. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My favorite turtleneck which I bought from J. Crew for $9.99 that I still refuse to throw out after twelve years. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The sky during my entire birthday week when I turned fourteen. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Cabs in London.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The onyx bracelet my mum gave me two years ago for year-long luck -- which I broke three days later. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My outfit during my high school graduation dinner at Le Souffle. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ink in my fountain pen. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The Oasis shirt my brother bought me during my first visit to Tower Records. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My favorite 600-thread count bedspread. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Pitch.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My upright piano that eventually found a new home at the Benedictine Monastery. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That Bebe cardigan which I never wore. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The ice on the road on Route 16 when I got into my first car accident. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Char that I don't like on my steaks.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The forest in my nightmares where I run through with bare feet </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My patent leather Mary Janes that has always been too high for me to wear. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Kohl around my eyes. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The blood in the tub of that Alfred Hitchcock movie.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What Africa just isn't.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">All fourteen of the Planet Hollywood shirts that I painstakingly collected from all over the world</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My mood when I get crossed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The suit I wore during my first job interview. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The Spanish fan my grandmother always brought to church on Sundays. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My Discman that I used to bring around on road trips as I watched the world pass me by. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The bruise on my thigh after I got spanked for lying when I was in 4th grade. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Darth Vader. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The beret I bought in Paris because my ears were too cold. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The tarnish on my mother's silverware that only I was allowed to clean until I moved out</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The only pearls I'd ever wear. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The stage right before the first act opens. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Chanel's little dress that revolutionized fashion.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The sketchbook that I bought as a sign of support and encouragement.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">is Beautiful.<br /><br /></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-7044468126925485972010-04-16T15:25:00.001+08:002010-04-16T15:26:57.921+08:00Wayward One<span style="font-family:arial;">I was in my pre-bedtime lull last night when the words <em>"Being adrift isn't that bad, considering its freedom"</em> popped out of the book I was reading. My mind kept wandering back to it as I tried reading the next five pages after it. Once I assessed that it's impossible to get any further, I sighed to myself and joined my headphones laying on the floor. With the cold floor pressing against my back and loud music cozying up to fill my head, I allowed my ghosts to hover around me once again. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So there I was, at twenty eight years old, laying on my floor at the cusp of midnight on a random Thursday night. I would never have thought to myself that's how I'd end up at this juncture in my life. Not that there's anything wrong with it (quite the contrary, really), but when I envisioned my life back when I was younger, I thought I'd be more... textbook. Textbook <em>and cliche</em>. I counted on following the quintessential footsteps of the lives of people introduced to me by the media (and my traditional family). I thought that by the time I've reached this age, I would've reached some sort of "ordinariness" and predictability in my life. My plan was to finish school, work for a bit, meet someone spectacular in the process, get my master's degree, get engaged, enter marriage, acquire a mortgage, have 2.1 kids (and a dog) and live life within the bounds of white picket fences. I thought that's how it was supposed to be so I was gunning for that.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Little did I know that life had something else in mind. I did everything by the book up until I finished school -- then that's when my new friend, <em>Uncertainty</em>, embraced me with an all-encompassing gusto. It was like losing control over my life and allowing a rather unknown force to guide me through it instead. I had no idea how to steer myself back on track until I got derailed and eventually catapulted into a dimension completely alien to me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I despised not knowing exactly where I was heading. And I hated it even more that I couldn't do anything about it. And to make matters worse, I had no idea how to handle the curveballs that life kept on hitting me with. I spent a good deal on the ground trying to regain my balance -- and while I'm still working on it, I'd like to think I've gotten exponentially better in taking <em>Uncertainty</em> in stride.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It took me a while to realize that <em>Uncertainty</em> can possibly be one of the more beautiful things in my life. It kept me from entering a fiercely mundane life and it taught me to fend for myself. I am still largely searching for myself -- but I think I may have caught glimpses of my reflection here and there. And it's not too shabby. I like how I've learned to love my imperfections more than yearn for their absence. And I like how I've learned that what really counts is how we rise above our tribulations more than how we have a lack of them in life. Because ultimately, the best experiences stem out of our difficult moments because the pain is what's ingrained in our minds -- and the determination to eliminate the need to go through it again. Forever.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It no longer matters that I still have no idea where my life is going right now because part of the fun is finding out. And along with that are the discoveries that I make about myself and the world -- and the realization of how little I know and how much more I can learn. And with <em>Uncertainty</em> also comes options. Forks on the road become more visible and possibilities simply become endless. All of a sudden, notions that have never occurred to me before has become a foreseeable choice. And there's no better feeling in this universe than autonomy. And knowing that there is absolutely nothing that holds me down. There's no way we can enjoy the ride if we don't let go. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There is nothing wrong with the life I've wanted for myself before. But obviously, it wasn't meant for me to have. At least not right now (or maybe not ever). But in hindsight, if I did attain that life, I highly doubt that I would've grown as spectacularly as I've had as a person otherwise. Maybe we do need those curveballs -- not to dodge, but for us to dance with. They will never go away; it's one of those things we have to deal with no matter what. And it's probably best to do so with grace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, yes, I agree -- to be adrift isn't bad because it gives us the chance to change perspectives. And the ability to change perspectives is something that isn't granted to everyone. It is reserved only for those who have lived and learned.</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-66481936339945315712010-04-07T12:34:00.002+08:002010-04-07T12:40:28.873+08:00Taedium Vitae<span style="font-family:arial;">A state of nothingness</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So shallow, yet so deep</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Looking far beyond</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Only for trifle to unfold</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A state of quelling</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And yet still deafening</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Cadence of the pulse</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Yield strident din</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A state of solitude</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So tranquil, yet so disturbing</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There are thoughts and ideation</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But none of vigor</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A state of power...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">... So meek, yet so puissant</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">- Lia (<em>Notes from the Attic</em>)</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-25015126340918385372010-03-31T17:25:00.002+08:002010-03-31T17:27:21.094+08:00Theory Of Devotional Equilibrium<span style="font-family:arial;">My mother is your typical woman that sheds too many nuggets of wisdom. Most of them seem unnecessary until it hits you squarely in the face one day. <em>Bugger</em>. But there's this one thing she said that have always haunted me: "When you choose to be with someone, you have to make sure that he loves you more than you love him."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It sounded so unhealthy that I didn't know what to do with it. I did what every rebellious teen-ager would do -- unabashedly ignored it. And yes, I did regret it. I went around wearing my heart on my sleeves completely unmindful of the cuts and bruises that it garnered along the way. It wasn't until the final and worst blow that I made the conscious decision of becoming more selfish with it. Nursing it back to health was no mean feat, after all. Ever since then, I learned to love with my head. I only allow my heart to speak when the head has given it the green light. To love with the heart had always been my downfall -- it blinded me and it weakened me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It sounds terribly cold, I'm aware, but let's simply consider it as my defense mechanism (one of my many). Contrary to popular belief, I'm quite a simplistic person. Whenever I care enough for someone (may it be family, a friend or a partner), I will give them my one thousand percent. No question. But what I learned the hard way is that to say that I don't expect anything in return for would be hogwash (or ferocious naivete). Not that unconditional love is the Holy Grail; it does exist -- but simply, it is reserved for the most unadulterated and noble cases.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There is that old adage where people claim that love is a two-way street. And it is. However, it was never designed to always be a fifty-fifty street. There are times when one gives more to the other; and likewise, other times would warrant for one to take more than the other. But when something as infinite as time is involved, this balance may either evolve or diminish. More often than not, I'm the one that ends up giving more as I have the tendency to get more attached (and I'm not sure if this is a product of me being of the Y-chromosome). I've never been one to count stock, but when the gap between efforts start becoming glaringly obvious, that's when I begin approaching a screeching halt -- and I very rarely look back.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">If I have to plot my usual progress in a line graph, I tend to start at floor-zero with a very slow but steady upward movement. In my past experience, all my counterparts have started from the opposite, which is a perfect hundred -- with a lethargic decline through time, eventually hitting a plateau. In an eventual turn, our lines will cross and we will sit on a happy equilibrium. I am more than content with plateaus as long as it's on a level that I can work with (with the occasional spikes along the way). But once it dips below what is reasonable or once it stagnates -- and especially if it experiences a steep nosedive -- then I pull myself out.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To pseudo-quantify devotion like that is terrible, yes, I know. But for my mother to tell me that I must find someone who loves me more than I love him -- it is basically her telling me to find someone who has the capability to love me on a more or less equal footing to the kind of love I will be giving him in the future. Because I work on an inversely progressive direction, in the perfect world, we will eventually reach the halfway house. And perhaps, if happily ever after does exist, we may even achieve that. But of course, that's another thing worth pondering for another day. I haven't quite gotten there yet.</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-77094222650427177182010-03-23T15:50:00.000+08:002010-03-23T15:52:11.081+08:00It's The Little Cracks<span style="font-family:arial;">Somebody wise told me before that people are no better than Bisque Dolls -- just as fragile and just as breakable. Although it takes quite a bit to completely fragment it, every little crack that it acquires will contribute to it at the end.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As people, we are not strangers to resilience and adversity. It's part of life, after all. An old adage claims that we only become stronger every time we fall but it fails to mention the fact that the strength only stems from the jadedness it comes with. Because of these tribulations, we learn pretty fast to put up walls around us to protect us from getting hurt again -- thereby mistaking it for strength. Perhaps it is strength. The kind of outside strength that we draw energy from while we're still repairing ourselves from deep inside.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing wrong with keeping the walls around us while we recover. But we must also know when it's time to bring them back down brick by brick. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We're all broken somehow. But what counts is how we mend the cracks -- no matter how long it takes us to do so. Like Bisque dolls, it isn't impossible to put us back together again, but there are certain areas that take a little more time to fix. And while it's impossible to get restored back to our original forms, we make do with what we have and we learn to live with our scars. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And then we will realize that we are just as beautiful despite them.</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-63128658025900587242010-03-16T12:04:00.002+08:002010-03-16T12:52:59.931+08:00Forever And A Day<span style="font-family:arial;">Forever is probably the biggest word I've ever encountered. It's a concept that stretches far beyond my wildest imagination and I don't blame anyone who claims it to be a myth. It might very well be. But I surprise myself by realizing that I may actually believe in such a thing -- despite everything else inside and outside of my life.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've had the unfortunate experience of having to hacksaw a person very close to my heart recently; someone that I've leaned on heavily for a decade. It was like getting rid of an important limb. It was severely painful and difficult to do. The indecision plagued me for months but I had to do it. We thrived on everything that was unhealthy -- battered self-esteems, irritating berations, regurgitated arguments, passionate yelling matches (short of throwing plates at each other), subconscious indifference and even juvenile name-calling. It was incredibly exhausting having to live through that over and over for ten years. Our relationship suffered an unnaturally long and agonizing death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Despite all that, I still believed once upon a time that I was meant to be with him forever. A little naive, I know, but we clicked in more ways than one -- a rarity especially for me. Our fundamentals were solid. And funny enough, they were pretty much the only things we never argued about. Our philosophies, mindsets and beliefs flowed with each other like water from the pitcher's mouth. It was almost mind-blowing. For the longest time, they were the glue that kept us together in spite of the glaring differences in our lifestyles, personalities and interests. I thought it was enough. I had always been ready to take the good with the bad. After all, forever surely could surpass the little things, couldn't it?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Well, it didn't. The breakage in the little things eventually led us to our downward spiral.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To be fair, there were also the natural wear and tear of relationships that everyone goes through. And we were in a very difficult position to mend them as sturdily as most people do. We patched everything up with poorly chewed gum and willed them away. We were very good at ignoring kinks even though they constantly crept up to us. We figured that there were more important things we had to focus on because we had so little time to spend with each other. But these kinks -- they were powerful enough to gnaw two people apart. They clung to us like leeches and they unwittingly bred exponentially. And neither of us saw it coming. With everything that we've weathered together, I was confident that we were as strong as anything can be. But I was wrong. What didn't kill us only made us severely exhausted. And it reached a point where everything just became irreversible and unfixable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With that at the back of my head, it just made forever sound that much longer. Surely it didn't have to be that way. But the thought of releasing one of the few anchors in my life and exposing a massive vulnerability for the cosmos to pounce on didn't bode well with me. However, there comes a point in our lives when we have to let go of good things in order to rid ourselves of the bad. Some call it sacrifice, I call it liberation. I had to set him free in order to set myself free. It was a trade-off I was willing to make because I love and respect myself that much. It's a simple case of self-preservation. I could no longer afford to lose more of myself to darkness. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My failed attempt at forever doesn't derail me from my faith in forever though. Just because I haven't reached it yet doesn't mean I'll never get there. And just because I may never get there doesn't mean it isn't there. And I need it to be there. I need it there because I need that one ray of hope that might assure me that I won't have to get hurt again. And that maybe, just maybe, it's all right to fully allow myself to be engulfed by someone else again. And to submit to that kind of surrender can never be achieved by the finite. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Unfortunately, there's no real way of knowing if forever does exist or not. After all, none of us can last that long. But to live believing that everything good will have to come to an end, I would live a very guarded and mediocre life. And life's a pretty damn long time to be lived like that.</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-50947859702900174562010-02-26T16:16:00.001+08:002010-02-26T16:17:33.579+08:00So Beautiful<p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">Whether I'm right or wrong</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">There's no phrase that hits</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">Like an ocean needs the sand</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">Or a dirty old shoe that fits</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">And if all the world was perfect</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">I would only ever want to see your scars</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">You know they can have their universe</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">We'll be in the dirt designing stars</span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></em> </p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">- <strong>Savage Garden</strong></span></em></p><p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;">"So Beautiful"</span></em></p>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-33666210049123109852010-01-27T15:21:00.005+08:002010-01-27T15:38:25.334+08:00Unwritten<span style="font-family:arial;">I'm not sure exactly what pushed me to dig up an age-old blog (one I created before this), but I did. I'm still deciding whether or not that's a good idea. A lot of the writing was cringe-worthy, but at the same time shamelessly nostalgic. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This particular one which I wrote back in 2006 managed to pull some chords somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. I vividly remember writing it four years ago... and I remember going through the emotions that I was feeling that very moment. It was my first time coming back to Boston after abruptly leaving it in 2003. It's one of my encounters with closure -- when I had to let go of an unfinished chapter in my life so I could move on to the next.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><strong>Ghost Of New Year Past</strong> </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>9:04pm EST - December 31, 2005</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I'm glad I've come to terms that 2006 is coming... because it's here. Not that I can do much about it. I think I'm ready for it. I'm ready to accept all the changes that have happened and those that are bound to happen. One more bullet to bite -- out of the many that I've already choked on.</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I've just arrived here in Boston a couple of hours ago. I feel like Death just ran over me with a vengeance. I don't think I ever got used to all those long-haul flights that I used to take four times a year (for about five years, mind you). </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Coming to Boston has instilled a variety of feelings in me. I still haven't quite sorted out what they are, truth be told. I'm exhausted and bushed... and all I want is to lay in bed covered in fluffy comforters and feather-like pillows. I feel like I've been put in some bizarre twilight zone where I'm back to relive the past that I've left behind. The same past that I was hoping to detach myself from.</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Upon inserting my key in the keyhole of my brother's flat (my former abode), and turning it slightly to the right and hearing the lock click before the door opens in a warm welcome... I observed the once-familiar place. As I turned on the lights by the foyer, I immediately saw my 22-year-old self running down the stairs, putting on my boots, grabbing my car keys and heading towards my car. It seems like it was just yesterday. I can still feel the sadness that I've kept inside me... the heaviness, the uncertainty. For two years I cradled it; it became a part of me. And this place was a witness to all of it. My bathroom was my refuge. I took profoundly long showers... hot showers that sent steam everywhere. I pretended that the steam were my problems and that I was letting them out. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I entered my former bedroom... and opened up my closet. All the clothes that I left were still there. They still smell of inexperience, naiveity and jadedness. Even my cupboards were still intact. All the consumer goods that I've purchased to boost the retail sales of the good ol' US of A were still there... untouched; as if waiting to be used again.</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I'm no longer from around here. I'm officially a visitor... or perhaps a returning one. I'm not here to stay and somehow, this makes me smile of relief. This great city has certainly taught me lots and I've to admit, I was forced to grow up and make numerous major decisions in my life. Unfortunately, I had to take the consequences and results somewhere else...</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I'm glad to be back, that's for sure... and because I know I'm not here to stay, everday is like a new dawn. Happy New Year!</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It only seems like yesterday when everything happened. I can hardly fathom that it's almost been a decade. Good times, indeed. Memories are lovely things.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-57522022643367908132009-09-02T15:42:00.000+08:002009-09-02T15:43:11.027+08:00Babel<span style="font-family:arial;"> I do have a love affair with languages. It mostly consists of dangerous lust to speak a multitude of them because I know it's something that I could never really do -- unless of course, I'm Wonder Woman. At best, I can probably speak a butchered version of a hand-picked selection, but nothing noteworthy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've tried studying Spanish and Chinese in the past -- and now, I'm onto German. Even though I'm a far cry from being a fluent speaker, I take comfort in knowing that I can probably survive going to parts of those countries that don't really speak English. Well, at least I know how to ask for the bathroom and to ask where I can get food. What else do we need, right? *grin* If I lived in a universe that resembled to that of The Matrix where I can download almost anything into my brain, I would love to learn Latin, Russian, Swahili and Thai. Why? I'm not sure, really, but doesn't that sound like a fabulous array of skills? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">However, my biggest frustration lies on my own mother tongue. I find it the teensiest bit ironic that my spoken and written skills in Filipino is just a notch higher than "poor" and yet I have the hide to say that it's my first language. I assume that this is so simply because I was born in the Philippines. But in truth, I'm just absolute crap at it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I blame our classist society, our colonial mentalities, and our overeagerness for Westernization for all this. It's not necessarily a bad thing, though. After all, it is because of the Filipinos' superior English-speaking skills (relative to the rest of Asia) that brought about many international businesses to be established and developed in the country. That is always a good thing for our GDP. Alas, I cannot say the same for our culture and native language. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Because of the government's and society's drive to get everyone to learn proper English -- which eventually became an indicator of one's level of education -- people continued to shy away from speaking Filipino. Nay, let me correct myself. It led people to speak broken Filipino because the focus just wasn't there anymore. Everyone was so bent on speaking in English that it no longer mattered whether or not it was real English. As long as someone speaks more English words than Filipino words (whether correctly or not is a different story on its own), then that was fine. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This incited the rise of the "conyo class" -- a class consisting of confused people that could neither speak neither straight English nor straight Filipino. The "conyos" (as they have lovingly become known as) have skillfully managed to create a language of its own that combine both English and Filipino dubbed as Taglish (Tagalog + English). Seeing this statement in black and white is enough to find it genuinely appalling but the sad reality is that the Filipinos have embraced this conyo way of speaking with both arms. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I can almost see our Filipino ancestors frowning on us trying to demand what we have done to a perfectly decent language. We, as a people, tried so hard to reach a bilingual status only to the detriment of our mother tongue. Finding someone in the Philippines who can still speak a full sentence in Tagalog without much of a pause or the interjection of an English word in it is just as good as finding a unicorn walking in the middle of a busy mall. I am not a hypocrite -- I am not one to deny guilt in being one of these people.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">What have we done? We have bastardized our own language further than our Spanish ancestors have bastardized it (I know they did their fair bit in pouring truckloads of Spanish vocabulary in it). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I get the heebie-jeebies hearing today's generation try to speak Filipino. And I thought I was bad. I would probably forgive them for having such poor Filipino skills if they actually spoke English well. The sad reality is, their English language skills are just as bad as their Filipino language skills because they are used to blending the two together. And well, I highly doubt they can build a nation that can have Taglish as a national language. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Then again, I ought not speak so soon... it might just happen (that'll be the first sign of the Apocalypse). Both my parents are Filipino and both of them speak Filipino quite well. I know I have no excuse for my poor language skills in Filipino. Even though I know that I'm more competent in English (which a lot of people can appreciate) than my mother tongue, I still feel like a loser of sorts because of this fact. I envy those countries where English only comes as a secondary language -- where the locals still speak their native language flawlessly. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Is it too late for a country like the Philippines to be one of those?</span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-27488519725602010752009-03-20T15:14:00.001+08:002009-03-20T15:16:54.515+08:00Tip Of The Iceberg<span style="font-family:arial;">Having lived in the US for a while, I got familiarized with the rigid tipping culture of the Americans. While the concept of tipping exists to the rest of the world, the US just had to take it a hundred notches up -- almost causing people to miss the entire point. I have nothing against rewarding good service. I acknowledge that waiting tables and certain customer-oriented jobs can be jobs imported directly from hell. But the thing is, it's still a job. Some people are good at it, some are not, some enjoy it, some don't. That's the reality of work. If it's fun, then it probably won't be called a job.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have no qualms at all having to pay for service charge in a restaurant. I mean, that's essentially what we're paying for anyway -- service during dinner or lunch -- if not, then we eat at home. And neither do I have problems shelling out for tips. But here's the thing -- if I leave a tip, it's because I want to leave it and not because I have to. If the 15% tip is mandatory in the US, then bloody put it on the check! If I think my waiter deserves more than that, then I'll leave him or her some extra cash in the cardholder. No big deal! But I don't like it when waiters sneer at me because I <em>only</em> left a 15% tip simply because they're expecting more.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I hate tipping especially because it forces the patron to put a price tag on the server. And as a result, servers tend to profile customers according to how they tip. Surely there are many creative ways to come up with these certain profiles. Though some profiles end up spot on, I'm sure some of it were done unfairly. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In most countries that I've been to (including those I've lived in), service charge is written up on the bill -- and no tips are expected from me. That's because the food and the services are duly paid for. If I particularly like my waiter, then I will leave him a little extra to show my appreciation. But because he is receiving a regular salary, whatever I leave is only a bonus for him. Whether or not he can make this month's rent doesn't depend on how much I leave him (just his financial management methods). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Here's the best part. I can probably swallow having to tip waiters 15% for their service, but why do I need to tip the coat girl for taking my coat? Isn't that her job? Why do I need to tip the doorman for opening the door for me? Again, isn't that his job? Why do I need to tip the bellhop for taking my suitcases to my room? What else was he expected to do? I mean, if I asked one of those people to do something out of their job description like asking the doorman to help me with my bags, then yeah, I'd tip him in a heartbeat. But for simply opening the door for me? </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Seriously?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">At the risk of being called a snob or elitist, this I will say -- I do have much respect for people who work in service-oriented industries such as hotels, restaurants, and the like simply because it's something that I know I will not be good at. To smile through gritted teeth while a customer raises hell over something no one can control, that's some skill right there. I just don't have the patience. But here's the thing, I also have to deal with clients and assholes in my line of work. I don't expect a tip whenever I answer a client's query. Neither do I expect a tip for fulfilling research assignments given to me. And I don't expect any tips whenever I make a client happy for resolving a data problem. Why? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Because it's my job to do those things!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was hired to execute particular tasks -- just like in most (if not all) jobs. If lucky, we get a bonus at the end of the year. That is probably the most comparable thing we receive to a tip. But these bonuses are rarely guaranteed. That's why it's called a bonus -- it's something paid above what is due. Once bonuses start being required and mandatory, then it should no longer be called bonuses anymore, eh? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's the same with tips. What's the point of tipping if it's mandatory? Why can't restaurants just charge for their service directly and place it on the bill? That way, there will be less arguments and less dissatisfied people. Waiters will get their money and patrons will be quantified and judged less.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I tip my hairdresser and my manicurists whenever I utilize their services. I don't have to, but I do so because they know how to make me happy. When I'm not, then I don't tip them or maybe I'll tip them less. What I ultimately loathe is paying for a full 15% tip even when I'm not happy with the service -- if not, my food will have spittle on it or my hair will magically turn purple. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Despite all this, I still think that when in Rome, we do as the Romans do. I had to succumb to the tipping culture in the US while I was living there simply because there was nothing else that can be done. I usually tip 15%, but I do the occasional 20% when a server goes the extra mile. For instance, I tend to give a bigger tip to delivery guys during a snow storm or to a nail technician during a public holiday. Or when a cab driver takes to my destination much earlier than expected.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm not a monster, I'm not stingy and I'm not ungrateful. I'm a fair person. I give credit where credit is due. I recognize hard work and outstanding service. I'm not in the hospitality or food/beverage industry but I definitely know how it is to face clients and customers. I can appreciate what patience and willpower not to strangle anyone when dealing with a particularly difficult one. But at the end of the day, we all do it for a paycheck. It's a job. The money that people part with for tips is hard-earned money (well, for many people at least) so we can't blame people if they choose to give it to those who truly deserve it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-42626674634178030032009-03-11T16:33:00.005+08:002009-03-12T00:43:34.644+08:00Existensialism In Kindergarten<span style="font-family:arial;">I was five years old when I entered the school for the "big boys and girls." And at five, everyone else looked big indeed. There were about forty kids in my kindergarten class -- about half were boys, and the other half girls. Every morning just after the bell rings, the teacher gives us ten minutes to use the bathroom before classes properly started.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In the girls' bathroom, there were two stalls. For some reason, there became an unspoken rule that the firsr two girls that reached the stalls get to decide who can use "their" respective stalls. Great. Even bathroom stalls in kindergarten got bouncers. It's up to those two girls to decide what their criteria for the day was -- only girls with ribbons, only girls with braids, only girls with shiny shoes. There weren't much to choose from really because we all had to don uniforms.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Unfortunately, on days when the 'bouncers' were feeling particularly uncreative, they would <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtqNG_ShdbgJWKmpJX_3gHJoRoIO0yjgGPIREclYwVoBfBxwyI8jORvQ2QEaXLXti69-Px_tHp1GAU8AYmFlgfAqBc1k9HQrK0ZSz1iQgZ53AQQHt9ENzKGmHaiC9K8_evAnf4Q/s1600-h/liakid.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311846258355113634" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right; width: 85px; height: 128px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtqNG_ShdbgJWKmpJX_3gHJoRoIO0yjgGPIREclYwVoBfBxwyI8jORvQ2QEaXLXti69-Px_tHp1GAU8AYmFlgfAqBc1k9HQrK0ZSz1iQgZ53AQQHt9ENzKGmHaiC9K8_evAnf4Q/s200/liakid.jpg" border="0" /></a>usually say "only skinny girls are allowed." My five-year-old self would usually roll her eyes and walk out of the bathroom in search of another one. See, the thing is, I have never been regarded as skinny my entire life -- especially not at five years old. I was cute and cuddly because of the inch of fat that blanketed my body. My rotund face was framed by my Anna-Wintour-bob and my cheeks were smooth like peaches. I lost count of people who would pinch my cheeks and would couple it with snide remarks like "spending a bit too much time in the kitchen, aren't we?" If only my five-year-old self knew how to flip the bird. But you know what? I don't care. I was cute, hmph! Well, that's what my mum told me at least (so I'm sticking to that story).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Needless to say, there were a lot of times when I had to go to class without getting the chance to use the john -- or coming into class late because I had to use a farther bathroom. I would celebrate those days when my friends got the chance to be the stall bouncer. I would even get in even if the criteria only allowed skinny girls to come in. Ah, the power of connections! Nepotism in my country starts pretty early. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One day, for some odd reason, I managed to get to one of the stalls first. The feeling of power was exhilarating! I felt the blood rush through my veins. You see, because I've always been one of the tallest girls in my class and we had to go to the bathroom in single file (from the shortest to the tallest), this phenomenon was virtually impossible. I was usually the last in line. Hence, the delirious excitement for my little self. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It never happened to me again though. It was definitely a glitch due to my permanent disadvantage. I never got to play Stall God anymore. However, one day, one of the stalls had a big fat floater in the toilet. The girls squealed in disgust thereby abandoning that stall. They all flocked to the other one. I'm not sure what the category was that day but I remember one of the girls needing to pee really badly. She asked if she can go in because she was about to literally pee her pants. But the girls were adamant in forming a line and taking turns. The girl buckled her jaw and went for the soiled stall. Everyone watched her in amazement as she bravely peed in the toilet. She was smiling as if to say "Hey, at least I don't have to queue up."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I felt compelled to eat my Cheez Whiz sandwich with her during recess time that day. Now that was someone whom I wanted to be my friend -- someone who didn't give a shit about what people thought. Someone who broke the rules, and someone who created her own. We traded Rainbow Brite stickers that day. That cemented our friendship. I still remember her up until this day -- I wonder how she is.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's funny how we all usually condemn high school for throwing us in a world of cliques and gangs. The need to belong starts at a really young age. I wonder where we learn it from. High school only makes it worse. Let's just say that high school is the peak of the ugly mountain of Mt. Mean Girls, but prior to that, it's a steady incline that eventually leads us there. The popular circle never disappears though -- they just change in form as we advance in life. College has them, and the workplace definitely breeds an assortment of them (though more subtle). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I love it how I emerged from that kind of world relatively unscathed. How that happened, I'm not quite sure. I was the perfect candidate for being an outcast when I was in my youth. Perhaps I managed to round up the other misfits and we were able to form our own comfortable circle? Or maybe people got intimidated by my size and height (and oh yeah, having a big brother helped)? Or was I just not worth being picked on because even though I had my quirks, I just wasn't interesting enough to be made fun of?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Whatever it was, I'm glad I eventually found myself. Because everyone was so busy trying to fit their square selves into circular holes, I was already sitting my triangular ass in the most perfect triangular hole. If only people knew the secret -- not to give a shit, and we're bound to find other people who also didn't give a shit -- then the world will indeed an easier and happier place to live in. Why do we insist so much on conforming to what bigger circles dictate? Where exactly does that take us? Acceptance? Does it really take that much to be accepted?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Be your own bouncer in your bathroom stall. Don't let the short skinny girls dictate what you should be like, because you know what, half of those girls ended up pregnant and expelled before high school ended anyway... That leaves most of the bathroom stalls available for taking over :)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-8585865585487140872009-03-06T16:48:00.001+08:002009-03-06T16:52:01.790+08:00Crap-orate America<span style="font-family:arial;">It's a slow Friday here at work right now so my brain is flitting slightly. Earlier, my thoughts found itself six years ago when I was twenty-one and at my first job. My very first job out of college was a customer support trainer for one of those multinational conglomerates that sold document solutions. That's what our brochure said though -- but to put it bluntly, we manufactured, produced and sold photocopiers from Japan. I was a small cog in a huge worldwide operations. Trust me, I totally felt my insignificance the minute I came in for my first interview.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My office was the Boston branch and it very much shared the same dynamics as The Office (though the boss wasn't that annoying). We even had a Dwight! However, as part of my job, I spent very little time in the office. Everyday, I put in at least fifty miles in my car driving from client to client training them on the complex boxes that we sold them for amounts that could've fed a family of ten in a third world country. It was a lonely job but I liked the independence -- and I really learned how to drive, read maps, navigate and guess roads (it was the pre-GPS days back then). Mapquest.com was my best friend. I only went in at work during the quiet days where there were no training requests from the sales representatives.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I didn't make a lot of money as a customer support trainer but it was better than nothing. I graduated in 2003 which was post-911. Jobs vacancies were skint and I had rent to pay. Not a very good combination. Some three months into my job, I noticed that the training requests were getting lesser and lesser. I was spending time in the office more and more. Our branch sales director was smoking more and more outside by the side entrance -- and he looked like he had more lines on his face than my college-ruled binder. I knew something was not right. I mean, the economy was struggling back then, but the management never made anything transparent to us. I knew we weren't making a lot of money but I had no idea we were actually negative.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One day, my manager called me into the conference room. The HR guy was in there. I didn't know what was going on -- I thought maybe it had to do with those bullshit Peoplesoft crap that our HR kept making us do. I vaguely remember, but our HR guy was one of those people you really had to force yourself to like. He moved really slowly and called everyone by their full names. He liked to think he was bourgeous just because he's from Connecticut. And he had this thick moustache across his face that made him look like the Monopoly guy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Maria," he started as I cringed with what he called me. He cleared his throat. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I waited.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Due to the company's financial position currently, we would like to sever your services to the company operations beginning today," he said -- no joke, he really used those words. He said that my department was being abolished and that the sales representatives will be conducting the product training then on forward.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"What???" I demanded. I turned to look over to my manager --- who promised me the world when she offered me the job -- and she was extremely focused on her palms.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"What I meant to say is--" Monopoly guy started.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I know what you mean to say," I said, rather rudely. "But I'd like to know if the four other people in my team will also be sacked. Are they?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Neither of them said anything.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Am I being let go because I'm the newest?" I asked. "Why am I not given the same chance as them? I can be a sales representative too! I know the range of products better than any of the sales representatives. Surely, if you guys will help me, I can learn how to sell too!"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Both of them still remained quiet. Monopoly guy looked more bewildered than somber.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"No seriously," I said. "If you think we're a cost center, then give me a chance to generate revenue for the company. Don't you think that it'd be a waste to simply let all the training you gave me go down the drain? Clearly I'd never use it again if I had to leave."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">From the corner of my eye, my manager was looking at me and she was nodding in agreement. She almost looked proud of me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"B-b-but," Monopoly guy stammered. "You're twenty one."</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"And?" I countered.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He took a few seconds to collect himself. "I will discuss it with the sales managers and I will get back to you," he said. "For now, please clear your desk and we will give you a call if anyone agrees to grant you an interview." I wanted to deck him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My manager escorted me back to my desk and asked if I had any outstanding accounts. I handed them over to her and wordleslly left the building. I entered my car and drove aimlessly for a good two hours until I got hungry.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I decided to go to Panera Bread for lunch. Mid-swallow of my panini, my mobile rang.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Maria!!!!!!" the voice on the other side boomed. "Jim Kelly"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Ah, James," I mocked. Monopoly guy always called him James. I could hear him cringe over the phone. Jim was one of the sales managers in the company and he looked like Santa Claus (complete with the platinum white hair. He rang me up because he heard from my manager that I was looking to start in sales.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Why don't you come to the office tomorrow," he said jovially. "And we'll discuss your career, won't we?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I agreed, happy that it was him who called me. Out of all the sales managers in the office, he was the most human-like. Everyone else either seemed like dried glue or like Margaret Thatcher reincarnations. Jim was the only one whom I had the gall to joke around with during the times I bumped into him in the pantry.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"You know," he said just before hanging up. "I told Marne to let me know if anything was going to happen to you. I had my eyes on you, kid."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The very next day, I signed my papers for my new position. My manager approached me in Jim's room just after signing the dotted line. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"The HR guy had to go to the hospital that afternoon, you know," she said. "He just couldn't take the tension like that. We weren't expecting all of that to come from a twenty-one-year old. Congratulations!" She smiled warmly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That was my first real brush with the monster called Retrenchment. I hated it. Even though they company took me back, it was never the same again. It was like getting back together with an ex-boyfriend that cheated on you. There was a constant air of suspicious hovering around my head ever since. However, the rest is insignifanct because I have obviously moved on. But at twenty-one, it was perhaps one of my bigger achievements -- being able to turn a lay-off into a mini-promotion. Too bad I can't say it was happily ever after ever since. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I ended up leaving the company six months later for a Fortune 500 company. It was a similar position with a wider range of products (but no photocopiers, thank goodness). I went through four different people during my interview and a fifth one with the Boston sales director. She was this middle-aged woman who looked more suburban than any of the Desperate Housewives. And she had a faux fur coat hanging from the back of her door.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"So I see you've just worked for (insert old company name here)," she commented as she looked at my resume.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Yes, ma'am," I said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She looked at me. "The fact that you're speaking to me right now simply means that my sales managers that you spoke to prior to this really liked you."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I didn't think she was looking for a response so I kept my mouth shut.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"I used to work for your old company, you know," she revealed. "It was a heavily male-dominated industry back then. They were all ruthless. Who's the sales director there now?"<br />I gave her his name.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"That bastard," she said good-naturedly (I think). Then she cleared her throat. "Okay, do you have any other questions?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Yep," I said rather boldy. "When do I start?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She smiled. "How about the second week of November?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I survived my first economic crisis five years ago (albeit nowhere as big as the one going on right now). I also survived my first retrenchment experience, and I survived my first real job. A lot of my experiences were more bitter than they were sweet, though I don't regret any of them happening. I am now involved in an industry that has absolutely nothing to do with those two companies I first worked with -- but admittedly, the experiences I garnered from there all contributed to who and where I am now. And most importantly, I learned a lot about people and work dynamics. I realized what my priorities were and which direction I wanted to head towards as an individual. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With the current global financial crisis, I can just imagine all the people losing their jobs -- and college graduates having a tough beyond imagination time finding employment. My heart totally goes out to them because somehow, I've been there done that. However, I am confident in saying that they will be able to get through these hardships and tribulations in due time. And that it's still possible to hold on to hope. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I still have my job and for that, I am eternally grateful. But becauseof what I've already gone through in the past, it comforts me to know that it's something that I can conquer somehow.<br /> </span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-21241527803972929072009-03-01T23:14:00.005+08:002009-03-03T09:10:56.750+08:00Pushing The Envelope<span style="font-family:arial;">A few months ago when I went home for my grandmother's funeral, I was able to find some time to hang out with my cousins -- which I was very thankful for since it has become a rare event with me living overseas. My closest cousin is two years my junior. Her boyfriend of six years was chewing the fat with us one late night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"Dude, it's been so long," I said to him half-joking. "When are you going to marry her?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">He turned serious and furrowed his brow for a bit. "Maybe in two years," he said. "I want to save up a bit of cash first before we enter the lifetime commitment." I heard a slight mockery in his voice when he uttered the last two words. But I had no doubt he was serious about taking my cousin for his wife one day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Then two weeks ago, he IM-ed me which was a surprise since it's something he never does. He asked me if I wanted him to burn some songs on a CD to send my cousin whom I was meeting in Hong Kong a week from then. In mid-nonchalance, he told me that he was planning on proposing to her on the first of March -- during their seventh year anniversary.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The funny thing is, even though every bone in my body expected him to say it, I still felt taken aback when the words on my screen looked me in the eye. Somehow, it felt more real. It felt concrete. It really was happening. Somewhere deeper inside me, I was really happy -- that I will gain an awesome family member and that my cousin will finally fulfill her lifelong dreams of getting married (and perhaps starting a family soon afterwards too). I am confident that my entire clan will be shocked if they broke up (and I'm willing to bet my cousin won't be the only one that will be nursing a broken heart).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I couldn't understand what was the matter with me. Could it be jealousy? It can't be -- I know that if anyone asked me to marry him now, I wouldn't be able to answer NO fast enough. Could it be age wincing at me? After all, she is younger than me -- and in my family (and culture), there are great expectations for the older girls to get married first. That is their definition of "a natural order of things." </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It took me a while to realize that it was the fear that the happiness she will feel when proposed to may not be something that I could ever experience. I know, I know -- I expect many eyes to roll with me saying that because I'm hardly in my 30's and that I still have strings of years to find "the one." But no matter. I wish I can be secured that I will someday possess the certainty that she will have when it comes to being with a lifetime companion. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't ask to get married right now -- not even to get engaged. The idea actually sends chills down my spine right now simply because I am not ready. But that doesn't stop me from wishing and hoping that I knew what was in store for me in that department. And it kills me not knowing. And it kills me even further knowing that there's a possibility that it might not happen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You know when men in their 50's hit the brick wall called "the mid-life crisis" and they set off to buy a tiny red sports car to compensate for it? Well, my version of it is buying a house. Not really, but something similar. I was presented a potential opportunity to buy the house that my siblings and I grew up in (a result of my grandmother dying). At one point during a conversation with my mum, I heard myself saying that I'd be interested in maybe purchasing it if my dad and uncles decided to let it go (and then they can divide the proceed among themselves). </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It was like a demon possessed me into saying that. Did I really know the responsibility of having a mortgage -- on top of having to pay for rent since I live in a different country? Ironically, it made sense. The timing seemed spot on to buy the house and knowing that I will be buying the house that furnished me and my family a thousand fond memories makes the deal even sweeter. The idea set my heart to race in Olympic speeds. It felt right... only if destiny has written in the stars that I'm meant to own it. If not, then que sera sera, right?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm not sure if it's simply coincidence that the opportunity presented itself just when I was feeling rather down and confused regarding my cousin's engagement. They are two separate events that have absolutely nothing to do with each other -- yet I feel that they cancel each other out. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Was it my version of over-compensating for the fear that I might not get married at all? Or was it my method of acquiring stability and certainty of sorts for myself? Or maybe I simply needed something to distract myself from my destructive thoughts? I'm really not sure. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's no doubt that at one point in our lives, we all need some growing up to do. Some people are able to do so gradually in their own pace while others get forced to mature more quickly. My cousin and I grew up together -- and it's nice to know that we're still growing up together, just in different ways.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I got the call at 3:30 this afternoon. My mobile phone reflected her name and I knew that he finally popped the question. My cheeks hurt from smiling as she spilled the story of how he proposed. Then her boyfriend took the phone from her and confessed he was unable to sleep last night due to his excessive nervousness. I laughed -- not because it was funny, but because I was sincerely joyous for the both of them. For them, and for me. I wish them all the happiness in the world.<br /><br /></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-23712053983921929302008-09-02T11:30:00.001+08:002008-09-02T14:29:24.539+08:00Journey To The End<span style="font-family:arial;">A few days before my grandmother died this year, my mum and I were talking about how she just wanted her to finally "go with my grandfather and into the gates of heaven." Her last few weeks on earth seemed to be the most painful to her -- physically! It is not so much that my mum was being mean or selfish for saying that, but you had to be there to know what she means. I would fly home quite frequently to visit her in fear that I may never be able to do it again. And every time I'd see her, my heart broke a little.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just like anyone laying on the deathbed, there came a point where she stopped waking up and opening her eyes, her hand grip became almost non-existent, oxygen had to help her breathe as she started wheezing, and she stopped eating (the nurse had to feed her through a tube). I couldn't stand looking at her in that state. I was extremely thankful to the nurse for being so compassionate -- she would comb my grandma's hair lovingly, put lipstick on her from time to time and lathered her face with moisturizer to keep it from peeling. May God bless her kind soul.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The nurse also told me that there were times when my grandma would call out my grandfather's name (he died some 25 years ago) in the middle of the night. Goosebumps populated my epidermis all over my body -- she was already being fetched. I knew it was all she had been waiting for.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The ground beneath me stopped moving the day I got the dreaded phone call from my sister that my grandma died. I was in the middle of the pavement on the way to the grocery store then. I found a small rock to sit down on and dialed up my mother's number to confirm the news. She picked up clumsily and started spewing incoherent words in the middle of sobs and chokes on the phone. I whispered a few words of assurances but we both knew that it was only for the best.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I sat on that rock for several minutes trying to process everything that just happened. My brain was chanting "she's dead, she's gone, she's dead, she's gone" and effectively, I knew it was my cue to cry for my loss. I waited for the tears to come... none. I went to the grocery, bought a few knick-knacks, went home, sat in bed... still no tears.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I prayed for my late grandma's soul and looked back on my lovely memories with her. Still no tears.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">For a while, I felt guilty for my lack of tears. Why was I not mourning? Could it be that I've been expecting her death for so long that the nightmare's realization became almost anti-climactic?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It was only recently that it dawned on me that I was actually happy for my grandma that she's in a far better place than the rest of us -- she's happy with the Lord, with my grandpa, in paradise. Why cry when you're feeling only happiness for someone? Sure, I'm sad for my family's loss but ultimately, we are happy that she is finally delivered from pain and suffering and that she has fulfilled a full life... and is now with her maker.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">She lived a full life. Now she has reached its end and is embarking on the next journey -- one that is still unknown to the rest of us. We could only pray for her journey's success and her peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I miss you greatly, Lola, I love you. We all do.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm no longer sorry for not crying when you passed away. I only feel happiness for you and not grief. I'm only sorry that I can't be with you right now... but at one point, I will be. I hope you're there when it's my turn to take that journey. I will have a lot of stories to tell you. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38217641.post-3300861561168398782008-08-14T10:50:00.002+08:002008-08-14T11:48:18.510+08:00The Full Circle Of Life<div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Though I've always known that there's a reason why my best friend is my best friend, I never fully realized why. Sure, we have the general ties that bind us together -- the musical genre we listen to, the desire to travel the world in all its glory, our choice of clothing color (black), our preference for 'out of the box' and 'non-mainstream' options, and loving our respectively dysfunctional family dynamics. It has been over ten years since that one fateful day that we met. And we have gone through tests of timezone differentials, geography and distance to be confident enough to say that we are definitely stuck with each other in this lifetime (sort of like saying 'I really tried to lose her but the bitch just keeps on coming back!') -- <em>I love you</em> *grin*<br /><br />However, I only fully understood the reason to our friendship a few weeks ago when we were lazily hanging out in my living room after a shopfest the day earlier. Her feet were propped up on the sofa and she was idly looking at the TV without really watching.<br /><br />"Mass tomorrow is at 9am. We've to find a way to wake up that early," I reminded her.<br /><br />"Mmm-hmm," was her lazy response.<br /><br />"You know," I said. "Not that I say not going to church anymore is wrong, after all, to each their own, but I'm quite glad that you still do. I think it's only because many of the people I know stopped going to church after high school -- after they stopped getting forced to go."<br /><br />Ah, the products of private Catholic school.<br /><br />"And quite frankly," I continued. "I don't think I know anyone else who has the same degree of faith as me."<br /><br />She frowned and looked at me. "Like what do you mean?"<br /><br />I sat up on the couch and tried to think.<br /><br />"Well, for one thing, I've always believed that God knows what He's doing and that everything He does has a reason," I said.<br /><br />"Okay..." she prodded.<br /><br />"And even though I can't explain why bad things happen to good people, I still believe that He knows what He's doing," I replied. "Like, I believe that God doesn't let us down but why do women get raped, or why do babies die, or why do good people get conned? To date, I've been blessed with so much and I don't want the day to come that something terribly unfortunate would happen to me and test my faith in God. And people will go 'so you still think your God is so great?'"<br /><br />"Well, the way I see it, people being humans can only fathom up to a certain extent," she replied. "There's this movie that I watched which explained it to me quite well." (she did mention the movie's title but I naturally forgot)<br /><br />She sat up as well.<br /><br />"There's this one guy who went to a clairvoyant or something," she started. "The woman told him about the future. She basically said that he will write a book and he will get published. However, the book will be a colossal flop and that no one will buy it. The woman adds that it is important to still write the book, get published and go on with life's motions even though he already knows about his pending failure. Twenty years after he dies, a little boy will pick up this book and he will be greatly inspired by it. The book will inspire him to be a politician and eventually get elected to be the country's president -- all because of the book that flopped."<br /><br />I raised my eyebrows.<br /><br />"What I'm getting at here..." she said. "There is a bigger picture out there that is probably too big for us to see. We always say 'look at the bigger picture' but we really don't know how big this bigger picture can be. So everything that happens may have a direct impact in the future no matter how near or far it is. And you know what, God's probably the only one who can understand all this."<br /><br />I sat there quietly and I could feel the wheels in my head churning with a vengeance.<br /><br />"Like getting pregnant from rape, for instance," she continued. "I understand why people would want to resort to abortion if they got pregnant through rape. But you never know, a woman might potentially give birth to a scientist that can find the cure for AIDS or something. You just never know."<br /><br />"So God may have His own sordid way of making things work out?" I asked.<br /><br />She shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not," she said. "But yeah, I also have faith that He knows what He's doing -- whether or not we like His methodology of it."<br /><br />And with that, she went back to idly watching MTV.<br /><br />I went to the kitchen to fetch myself a cold glass of water. I think that my friend may have just brought my belief and faith into a full circle.<br /><br />I didn't want to call it blind faith but I really do believe that everything happens for a reason -- and that there are no accidents whether good or bad. Everything that happens simply set the stage for bigger and better events. And unfortunately, in universal law, in the yin and yang, the good and the bad will always be present somehow.<br /><br />It only proves that my best friend and I are best friends beyond our black wardrobe collection and the brimming playlists on our iPods -- we share the same philosophies, faith, beliefs and values. I now understand that it is bigger and deeper things that draw us to each other despite the seeming abundance of display of commonalities.<br /><br />Where I stop running the race... she finishes it off for me. </span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5234214571021298354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSG5hOQyKrhqgoXkT0TSJINtlm-pxfeN2COBdNfihh5oR4HAn5u711vTzwMk4SvB4kSVaGYx4JuaIUhOJXBxm2NNm4-a20cVQlCLOGV9zNnRXJNpGreV1AVSZTS9uLjsDit-JE_g/s320/bearlia.jpg" border="0" /> <p align="center"><em><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;">*goofing around in our hotel room in Bangkok, Thailand*</span></em></p><p align="center"> </p>Princess Banterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14481130646604985046noreply@blogger.com14