Halloween Special

Allow me to boost my dying confidence by reminding you that, once in my life, I was a Youngblood baby. To be exact, the first article I ever sent to the Philippine Daily Inquirer was published two years and one day ago—in time for the season of dead people.

Thus, Halloween becomes extra special to me.

To commemorate that fateful day, I shall post all the text messages I received and saved on my notebook which have something to do with the said article. (My excuses for presenting this important part of my blog entry in photos are as follows: I am too lazy to type them, I wish to preserve these pages of my notebook, and I am abusing this gadget called scanner.)











There are two times in my life when I felt so happy for myself that I didn’t mind getting hit by a car, that if it were the end of me I knew that I will pass away REALLY happy. My Youngblood moment is one of them.

Spirits don’t just die, everyone. Especially this time of year. Happy Halloween!

Www-wedding?

I woke up with one thought in mind: Today is Wendi’s wedding. It’ll be the day’s big event.

Note to self: Buy a gift wrapper with a matching gift tag.
Thought balloon: Why don’t I get these things for free? I work at Hallmark, for crying out loud!

I have a gift, I have a decent wardrobe, I can whip something that will resemble make-up, I just have to comb my hair for a change—to make the day special, and what else? Ahh, Mom tells me to spray on perfume. Good. I can pretend to be “formal”.

I hail a cab. The driver seems clueless as to where the Our Lady of Pentecost or Loyola Heights is. Well at least he knew Katipunan Avenue. I will have to confiscate his license if he didn’t. We nearly missed our turn. Good thing my geographically challenged brain is lucky today. Female intuition must be kicking in. I instruct the driver to turn here and there as if I know where we are going. As soon as we spotted the Church, the driver, who was silent the whole time said, “aatend ka pala ng kasal.”

Note to self: Be nice.
Thought balloon: Tama! Ano naman ang akala nyo, Manong? Feel ko lang magmaganda?

Great! I’m early. The bride, my friend, is not yet around. Only men in barong are present. And I doubt if the groom even knows my name. He must be thinking, “Hey, I have seen this girl from somewhere but I have no idea who she is.”

So I find a spot where I will be able to blend with the empty seats, away from people who actually knew each other. It’s no one’s fault really. The invitation says 2:30 p.m. Thanks to my theater background (not to mention very cooperative stomach) I made it not only on time but ahead of time. Yes, sometimes my theater training still makes it presence felt.

At least I have a few moments alone to shoo away yesterday’s crappy mood. And I also have time to psych myself for this event—for a wedding, that is.

Note to self: Don’t puke.
Thought balloon: I’ll get through this.

The invisible choir is really good, the bride looks beautiful, the holy matrimony thing is not stiff at all, and the flower girls are quite entertaining. Wow, Wendi and her gang has pulled off the first half well! And I can still smile.

Now off to the reception. The club house feels cozy even for a semi-stranger like me. The hosts have fed me well. Everyone seems pleased.

Whoops, why didn’t I think of the tossing of the bouquet before? Yeah, although I don’t feel like it, I am a single woman. I am required to huddle behind the bride’s back as she tosses her bouquet.

Note to self: Do not crush or kick the bouquet if ever it lands close to you.
Thought balloon: No bride or groom or guest, for that matter, will find that funny.

Positive thinking may save me. Well actually I am thinking the negative, which for me is absolutely positive. “Pretty bouquet, don’t you dare come near me!”

My positively negative thought did save me. Hallelujah!

This wedding is turning out really well. Not pretentious at all. Thus making it better than well. And although I am just a supposedly stress-free spectator, I am more than happy to have survived it.

Note to self: Don’t judge an occasion just because it is a wedding.
Thought balloon: Maybe a wedding truly is a happy event. Maybe all the preparations—the church, the choir, the flowers, the gowns and barongs, the luxurious car, the caterer, the band, the audio-visual presentation, the cake, the souvenirs—are all worth an event that runs for at least six hours. Maybe it is possible for an individual to find his “perfect” match. Maybe there really is such a thing as love—it being forever though is not guaranteed but at least it exists. Maybe a couple say their “I do’s” because they want to, not because the have to. Maybe a wedding is not a bad thing. Maybe it is not a death sentence after all. And maybe there is hope in it.

Maybe this wedding has gotten into me. Maybe I will survive the one on December. Maybe I will not fail the bride by then. Maybe I’ll turn out to be a better maid-of-honor than a sister. Maybe I will be able to prove that I am not a disappointment, or a wrong choice. Maybe I will feel better by then. Maybe I will be a better person when that time comes.

And who knows, maybe, just maybe I will actively try to catch the bouquet by then…

Poof!

There are some things even my thought balloon cannot handle.

COMMENTS

yes, hindi ko na-handle yon. kala ko pa naman e kabatak kita sa "not-the marrying-kind-club" forever and ever. charter member pa naman tayo noon!
anyhoo, the essay got me thinking about the exact same thing. maybe the bouquet will eventually fall on my feet, or it might hit me so hard on the head that i just MIGHT decide i would want to get married one fine June day.
who knows?
but seriously tye, you already are a better person. you had always been your "best person". you just needed to know that, i guess.
now if only your ate would realize that you are not the MAID OF HONOR but the BEST MAN, then everything would be ok.
Posted by: Nikka | November 1, 2006 10:17 AM

Hehe, Nikka, kabatak mo pa rin ako. Kita mong di kinaya ng thought balloon ko i-entertain ang idea of getting hitched someday.
And thanks sa comment mo. Lalo na sa BEST MAN part. That's the only sensible comment I got from this whole wedding thing. ;-)
Posted by: Tyrene | November 2, 2006 06:58 AM

Rambles of the Un

I’m blue and the weather speaks of how I feel. It is 3:40 in the afternoon and my supposedly well-lit room is devoid of sunlight.

I am not at work because my stomach has gone crazy from yesterday’s food tasting and a heavy dinner at Superbowl. I figure, I am gifted with an anorexic stomach—it can only handle one grand meal a day. Unfortunately, my brain has a flair for binging and since the mind rules over anything else, I end up taking in more than I can handle, leaving me in trouble—stomach trouble, that is.

A former high school classmate who once said she may name her future daughter after me (she liked my name, not necessarily me) sent her apologies for not being able to remember me. This is what I get from sending messages to people I add in my Friendster list which often contain the line, “I hope you still remember me.” Most people, they stop at adding friends and former acquaintances in their accounts. Not me. I send my hellos because I want to be polite and sincere. And now that someone has actually forgotten me, I feel…violated.

Then there’s last Friday when I felt that I was unusually hurting. And nobody, not even my shadow, knew it but me. I was so good at masking my pain that I was even able to post something about Friday the 13th, my lineage, and Chinese Dragon dance when in fact sometime during that day I had written this:

Say Cheese!

Bleep you, Eros!

You turned me into a pink loving freak! No, I wasn’t teasing you with my taunts last time. I wasn’t challenging you to do anything. I was just mocking you.

Now don’t you get me started with your mockery-is-the-best-form-of-challenge gibe! I bet my flat ass that you don’t even know rhyme even if it hits you on the face.

I haven’t completely fallen to your pit, Eros. I will bounce back. I know I will.

You shouldn’t do this to me. You shouldn’t.

Leave me in peace.

Because if I break, no one will pick up my pieces for me.

Perhaps I have bounced back, high enough that I have mustered the courage to post the cheesy bit that sprang from my alleged pain. Funny thing is, although Eros do not exist I have a history of carrying out a conversation with him, one that dates back to June 7 this year, the “last time” I was referring to in Say Cheese! It goes:

Hey, Eros!

Don’t think that I can’t see through you. I know that you’re up to something.

What’s with you today, huh? First you let me bump into your chosen subject. Classic! Frankly I am quite disappointed in you. I expected something original, you know, after all, you are Eros.

Then what? Music?! I listen to music all the time, pal. You have got to find other means to stir up my emotions in the standards of your specialty.

Oh yeah, the romantic camera angle you showed me. Clever, eh. You are using my fascination with movies to tease me. But surely I can come up with better scenes. And I am not Eros!

You know so well how much I would hate to get involved with your shenanigans. I am extra sensitive with issues that has to do with you. After all, you are a suspicious character I’d rather not trust.

So if you wish to pull me to your trap, I suggest you try harder.

I’m tougher than you think.

In my piece of paper, the previous stream of thoughts was suffixed with the following:

The monologue you just witnessed is a verbal presentation of a chemical reaction involving a series of “kilig” elements and Dalton’s tiny indestructible model of an atom.

Dalton’s tiny indestructible model of an atom is not so indestructible after all and yet it remains whole.


My blog seems unvisited as reflected by my comments portion where I, the author, was the one who posted the last thought seven days ago. Of course, poor readership results in the ebbing of the drive to write. That is why I have not written anything about my new cute godson, Perry, and my new kumares with whom I spent a Cubao Safari (as coined by Mareng Ging) last Sunday. Too bad, my mood will prevent you from hearing how we were time warped to a Marikina corner in Cubao. Or how I braved the streets of Quiapo in my skirt. Yes, skirt in public. Like haven’t done it for at least 13 years of my life. No big deal there.

Also, since my dad’s incessant texts and calls asking me where I am or when I will be home every time I leave the house have started to bug me, I have decided to confront him about it. I mean he is a cool dad but he does have a tendency to become “the jealous boyfriend.” I told him a while ago, “Dad, siguro mahirap kang maging boyfriend. Text ka ng text ng ‘san ka na?’ Tapos iba pa yung tawag” Of course he defended his side and of course I got his point. But I had to insist, “parati naman akong nagrereport sa iyo kung nasaan na ako unlike ni Ate and Soy.” Which I think he didn’t hear.

I chose to laugh it out, his nth text last Sunday about me getting home before it gets dark. I was waiting for him to add, “umuwi ka na, nakapalda ka pa naman.” That would have been funnier.

Yesterday, I was supposed to cram the day with my maid-of-honor duties. Still, I sneaked out as early as I could to claim the replacement of my ATM card from the bank branch during banking hours, as said by the phone bankers I talked to days before. Bank! (I mean it as a cuss word.) To my disappointment, my new card was not with them but on the express banking center where I opened my account which, by the way, doesn’t operate until the exact time I should be hitting the road with the future bride and groom to meet their caterer. I swear (not a curse), I clarified to several phone bankers where I should be claiming my card and where I had opened my account. They all told me to do the transaction on THE branch during THE friggin’ banking hours. Grrr…strike one! I guess they ought to know that with matters like this I don’t keep my mouth, or at least, pen shut. I really do make reports and demand action just as I did with Globe Telecom.

Oh what else? I got lost in Marikina with Ate and Warren, the future bride and groom, yesterday while we were searching for their caterer’s headquarters. Good thing, I wasn’t the one who paid the cab. Otherwise I would be blue and broke right now. Anyway, the long search was rewarded with a fantastic multiple-course meal—the main reason for my present upset stomach, not to mention indigestion.

No, I am not UNHAPPY despite the negative vibrations carried by my present blog entry. I am just UNINSPIRED and, mostly tired. Then again, I was able to come up with this two and a half page entry, didn’t I? Perhaps I am not all that uninspired. I am just un.

COMMENTS

oo nga, gabi na, nakapalda ka pa naman. susme. uwi ka na ng maaga. nyahaha. buti ka nga eh hinahanap. ako hindi. kebs forever!
ganda ng mga ninang ni Okay ka, Perry Ko!
sweeet.
Posted by: GinGmaGanda | October 17, 2006 08:43 AM

Weekend Wonder

It is Friday the 13th. I am hiding in my room. Tomorrow is Saturday the 14th. I am not sure if I will be coming out by then.

I fear the 14th more than the 13th.

I was born on a Saturday. It was the 14th day of the month.

My fear is not unfounded after all.

* * *

I am not really into superstitions. I like formulating my own superstitions, though. But I am not Chinese. Probably a tiny, recessive part of may be able to recognize Kanji especially since my dad’s mom’s dad’s mom’s dad is an Ongkiko—or so I remember my Nanay Isay’s story. Needless to say that the Chinese blood in me has been diluted by at least four generations. And that is just one quarter of the story.

I have no idea if my mom has Chinese blood. But she once mentioned that she attended a Chinese School some time in her life. Her story is pretty much vague to me. Maybe if I ride a boat or a plane and visit her places of origin, I would know more about her past. Or then again, I could just start listening to her and her stories instead. Maybe then will I know if I am Mao Tse Tung’s racial sister.

* * *

Since, I consider myself NON-Chinese I am not aware of Chinese Festivities such as the Moon Cake Festival which I now know exists—at least this time of year, thanks to that mini event at Megamall last night.




I was about to go home when I stopped to see the Dragon dance at the atrium of Megamall’s building A. Prior to last night I had no idea what that dance was all about. Apparently it is some mating dance and the dragons were less than subtle at humping each other. Chris, my officemate who witnessed the event with me, tried to explain what was happening without sounding offensive or, for a lack of a better term, pervert-y. Which was weird because as I have said, the dragons were less than subtle. Or then again he may be analyzing the dragons and was just thinking aloud.

The dragon dance was amazing though. I mean it is not just some dance. It was a ritual and the men inside those two dragons, they were serious about what they were doing. They must have studied and practiced their routine for, probably, years.

Those Chinese, they are all around us and yet it is only now that I really feel their collective presence. It helped that I have become a frequent visitor of Divisoria these days. I’ve talked to them, tried to haggle, and in a way established something close to friendship. And they do know how to speak Filipino. Which is good. Somehow we too are dominating their world.

Speech, Kids and a Fork

What a week! Trouble keeps on heading towards me. It was really chilly! I became ill…

That is as far as I can remember—the single stanza speech exercise we had back in high school. It was supposed to improve one’s switching from long “e” to short “i” and back. I guess I need a lot of this exercise today as I am consistently fumbling on my “eee’s” and “i’s”.

It is beginning to bother me. After all, I have minor studies in Speech Communication. Part of my Speech Comm background is my Voice and Diction class where I got a 1.0. Add to that the three best speaker awards I got for three different speeches in my Occasional Speech class. I was not bad in my Oral Interpretation class either. I even once gave a speech in British accent which, I guess, I did pull off well.

And now I stutter and I seem to have lost my inner speaker. It is sad.

From an exaggerated stand point, I guess my lost inner speaker may be one of the reasons for my sleepless nights. I mean, can you imagine how uncomforting it is to be a passive spectator to a disintegrating special gift? At the rate I am going, I do not think I can keep the promise I made one of my instructors back in college. I told her I would work on my emcee-ing skills. Not only am I not improving it, but I am actually losing it.

I am not supposed to deteriorate at 26. Nobody is supposed to deteriorate at 26.

Ahhh, 26!

Last night, I went out to buy an internet card. There were a lot of high school boys and girls hovering around the business establishments near our place. There was a concert in their school and they were out to get something to eat. I know because my high school brother attends the same school and he was in the same concert last night.

I tell you, when you are around these kids, you cannot help but feel old. I felt old. The most frightening thing about getting old is probably defined by the relationship between your age and the number of mistakes you are allowed to commit. It is inversely proportional—the older you get, the less blunders you are entitled to. It sucks really.

So if I were to advise the kids of today, I would tell them not to rush. Never ever hasten the growing up process. Because when one hits the adult mark, there is no turning back. Otherwise one will face a more grave form of deterioration. This deterioration will not just suck; it will suck suck. Or make that triple suck.

If by reading me right now you get the notion that I am depressed, don’t. I am not in one of my sunny states but I am not depressed either.

I am in a fork and I am trying to assess things before I choose my path. I should do good after all I will be a godparent to a boy named Perry seven days from now.

Series of Minis

This is my 51st blog entry and I’ve decided to rummage through my trash pretending not to be trash and hopefully give you a series of minis—my quick thoughts on whatnots which I jotted down on pieces of scratch papers at random moments in time.

Random moments in time as they may be, however, my obsession and compulsion would not let me in peace unless I declare that the first two minis were written today, 6 October 2006 while the next two were on 4 October 2006. The last one, you just have to believe me about its randomness.

Renewable Energy’s Statistics
Nichi’s almost up and about. He’s craving for food and he’s back to his old talkative self again. And he looks great, too!

Sometimes I realize that my 12-year-old brother has been through more than I have—medically, physiologically, spiritually and emotionally speaking. He’s been treated by 3 Pediatric Hematologists plus several other Hema Fellows, a Pulmunologist, an Infectious Disease doctor, an ICU doctor, a Gastrointestinal doctor, a Neurologist, and now he is seeing an Oncologist. I will not forget to mention the nurses and midwives who have attended to his needs while at PCMC, especially the friendly nurses of Ward 2A.

Nichi has undergone multiple blood tests, Intrathecal, bone marrow aspirations, RBC and platelet transfusion, and GCSF. He’s taken numerous milligrams of drugs I cannot enumerate by myself. He’s had X-rays, a CT scan, an EEG, an ECG, Kreatenin tests and an MRI is yet to be scheduled.

Despite these statistics, he manages to stay as normal as he can, playing his Yugi-Oh cards—the game he has commissioned me to master (he has lent me his Yugi-Oh Rule Book), watching TV in an hour or less, playing the computer in an hour or less, and living for the rest of the time.


Drowsy on Monday, the Truth on Wednesday, Fun and Dry on Friday
Monday, I was more than lazy. I was completely sleepy. Not even the mug of coffee did the trick. The whole time I was trying hard to keep my job…and my consciousness.

Wednesday, the truth hit me. It was the drugs that were pulling me into an untimely slumber. Sometimes, truths are revealed through comparison. Only then did I discover that I had been taking the non Non-drowsy kind of medicine last Monday!

Friday, the only 8pm weeknight which had been spared of a crazy downpour. The moment I had been waiting for after (3 x 9.6 hours of work) + (2 x 11.6 hours of work with overtime). The mall was unpopulated because of the Octoberfest. I laid back and had a nice chat with a friend.


Bactidol Will Keep Me Alive
Yes, Bactidol!
Milenyo splashed my face with water,
Whipped my hair to an utter disarray!
Neneng didn’t spare me of her fury.
I had to experience her powers!
And so my tonsils have begun to hurt.
My nose…it’s clogged, It’s runny, it’s clogged.
And yet here I am standing
Amidst an impending fever.
I am not hungry, unlike the Beegees
But Bactidol has kept me alive.
Except for my tastebuds, though.)


Subnormal
I am one of those people
whose normal body temperature is a little over 36 degrees Celsius.
Suffice it to say that I am cold blooded.
But this did not happen overnight.
I have been like this for a long as I can remember—
Specifically in high school when I learned how to take my own body temp.
Cold-blooded as I am, you wouldn’t have to worry
About me performing a massacre with one giant bolo.
That is, if I am successful in keeping my cold-blooded cool.

Gift of Tongues
I swear, swearing is a gift! I mean, yes, it is vulgar and it isn’t pleasing to the ears at all but it still is a privilege. If we cannot throw a hammer, a chair or anything within grasp to the object of our wrath, we can at least throw profanities. Besides, it is not like we have to yell.

One curse and, hopefully, the anger’s gone!

And if we still have the decency to control ourselves despite ebbing patience, it will be best to curse at inanimate objects or perhaps at the empty polluted air just so we won’t hurt others’ feelings and at the same time save ourselves form an impending heart attack.

Posted on 06 October 2006 at 10:14 AM in Whatnots | Permalink