28 and Counting

I'm 28! (The thick-rimmed glasses punctuates my age. hehe)

For my birthday entry this year, I’ve decided to count my blessings…

1. I’m alive and almost healthy (at least asthma-free but with one extra floater in one eye).
2. I’m 15-20 lbs overweight, not a good thing but it only means I have food to eat and apparently I’ve been eating a lot.
3. My savings account is not zero. At least not technically. And I am doing well at settling my credit card bills. Yahoo!

4. Just as I wanted when I was younger, I pulled off juggling three jobs for almost a year. I had a day job, I’ve become a teacher and I proofread for a national paper. However, I woke up today relatively jobless but that’s another story.
5. I’ve published 2 Youngblood articles and 1 comment at Cosmopolitan. Plus I have co-edited a book. (It’s not really a book that circulated outside the school but I’m just as proud.)

6. With one less brother-turned angel, my family is well. And I have also welcomed a brother-in-law and later, a beautiful niece.





7. I have friends who I know I can count on through thick or thin, laughter and tears, jologs mode or shala times.




8. I have an ample collection of shoes, socks, T-shirts, skirts (yes, skirts), sunglasses, etc.
9. My flair for writing hasn’t ebbed. At least I haven’t been facing writer’s block that will ultimately force me to go on a writing hiatus. Ergo, my blog is alive and almost healthy. Just like me.

10. I haven’t stopped learning new things everyday.
11. I have been able to buy the books I like to read and/or stare at. And the ones I am collecting are all signed by the author!

12. I’ve appeared on TV at around 4 times. Haha!




13. I know how to commute all by myself. I can even travel to as far as Sta. Cruz, Laguna with me and my bag. And soon I’ll be traveling overseas alone.
14. I know I’ve mentioned this in number 4 but I wish to emphasize on it now: I got a shot at teaching kids for a year—as in inside a real classroom with real students and with real grades involved.

15. I’ve been to GMA and back. At least I had the chance to live the Kapuso experience.

16. The Philippine Daily Inquirer head office has become my part-time home. That is, every so often on Saturdays.
17. I’ve met a whole lot of new people via the internet at a time when my family and I needed help so badly. One Pinoy Doctor based in the US, one music lover in London (?), groups of Pinoys in Canada and the US, friends of friends, families of friends—to name a few.
18. I won a 2-burner gas stove, Php 500 cash, electric fan, swiss knife, Php 2000 gift cheque, and a lamp at different raffles.
19. I’ve mastered Divisoria (well, almost) and have bonded with the place, its people and its merchandise.
20. I’ve watched the movies and TV shows I loved to watch.
21. I’ve learned to use Photoshop and Illustrator, for real.
22. I’ve partly been the person behind some of the greeting cards we see in the country.
23. I’ve gone to the beach, not a lot of times, but at least I’ve experienced the sand beneath my feet.


24. I’ve tried living alone, cleaning everything from my closet to my bathroom, not having to worry about who’d wait up for me at night or what anyone would say about my so-called meals.
25. I graduated from UP, not excatly after four years but it's UP. (Repeat refrain: Quality education takes time!)



26. I was able to afford a facial. I wish to afford one again.
27. Despite occasional threats, my sanity seems intact.
28. I’m geared up for a new adventure ahead and open for a whole lot of blessings to come!

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Eye

They’re called Vitreous Floaters. Those things that pollute the vision of their sufferers.

I am a sufferer. I have one tiny thread floating inside my right eye.

Aside from being distracting, the floater causes me no other problems. But a recent visit to a different ophthalmologist from whom I gathered a second opinion killed my hopes of getting rid of the irritating floater.

The doctor said that based on experience, floaters don’t go away. He prescribed me a drug which may help but he clearly stated that taking the medicine does not guarantee that I’ll be floater-free.

However, he reassured me that I will be fine, that I don’t have to worry. It’s not like I’m hemorrhaging somewhere inside my eyes. To further relieve me from my bugaboo, he said that he, too, has a floater in his eye. Ok, that helped.

I looked around and tried to read for myself what these floaters are all about. And here’s the summary of the information I’ve gathered:

Vitreous floaters result from the clumping of some parts of the vitreous body, the gel-like stuff that composes the hollow sphere at the back of our eyes. They are more common than we think. They happen mostly to people aged 40-50 or to young ones who happen to be myopic. (Darn, my myopia!)

A person with floaters may see a strand of fiber or specks or even tiny clouds moving along with their field of vision. The floaters tend to be more visible under certain lighting conditions and, in my case, I see it whenever I am staring at a white surface.

There’s no non-invasive treatment for floaters except for a laser procedure. There’s that thing called vitrectomy but it may lead to retina detachment which is not at all good; a detached retina causes blindness. Generally, floaters pose no health hazards to its sufferers. But to some, floaters tend to block their vision almost totally.

A healthy lifestyle and good nutrition may save people from these so-called floaters.

Sometimes, the only way to live with these pesky floaters is to not mind them at all and to imagine that when you open your eyes, everything’s perfect, no spots, just sunshine.

Read more about floaters on:

http://www.eye-floaters.com/floaters-whatcausesfloaters.php
http://www.vitreousfloaters.com/
http://www.angelfire.com/ns/floaters/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Floaters

My Head in the Clouds

I saw the heavens today and I remembered how I used to adore the clouds. They are one of the most beautiful among God’s creations! I recall how I wished I could hug them. How my sister and brother and I planned to open the plane’s widow just to grasp a piece of the clouds.

Sandra Cisneros, in her House on Mango Street, devoted at least two chapters on clouds. And those white cottons in the sky deserved the space and words allotted to them.

Whoever said that we should learn to stop and smell the flowers should have also advised that we take the time look up to the clouds.

Think about how satisfying and refreshing it is to stare at the clouds every once in a while.

The clouds promise possibilities. They stretch our imagination farther than we realize. They remind us of the calm after the storm. They tell us that big things are possible if we put our minds and even our hearts to it. They somehow represent a grander Being who looks down upon us, guiding us, protecting us.

And if only for that, we can thank the heavens for the clouds it flaunts.

Da Boy Dies Today

It was Ma who broke us the news that actor Rudy Fernandez, a.k.a. Da Boy, died today.

It’s really none of my business if he dies or not but apparently I care more than I should. Actually, it’s difficult not to care when the news is at my tail even when I’m doing some serious proofreading work.

The thing is, people die all the time, thus the boom in the funeral service business. And I wouldn’t have to go very far to know that printing obituaries is lucrative, too. Then there are the doctors who, after witnessing too much deaths, are desensitized from the whole grieving ordeal. Just imagine how many deaths it took for them to get numb.

I’m no longer sure if it was Sigmund Freud who said that there are two things that draws human beings which, despite their efforts, they cannot getaway from: sex and death. Both phenomena will haunt them wherever they may go. I am sure, however, that it was Brad Pitt’s character in Meet Joe Black who said that if there were two things man cannot run away from, those would be death and taxes. In our country some people do get away from their taxes, but surely not death.

And Da Boy’s demise proves that. His fame and power could not buy him immunity from mortality. And the spotlight magnifies that fact ten times over.

Da Boy’s death may be masked as a glamorous one, thanks to his star status and million-peso coffin. (I don’t dig the super expensive casket, though. The money might as well have been used to feed a thousand malnourished children.) But the pain it may cause his bereaved family is just as normal and real as it usually is to most of us.

Looking at the people whom Da Boy left, I couldn’t help but relive the pain and disorientation that they must be going through. A tiny voice inside my head was ordering me to throw something at the television just to save me from the drama and trauma, but it wasn’t my TV so I had to restrain myself.

The scenes were all too familiar, I hated it!

You are reduced to choose your ailing loved-one’s “release” in place of a longer time of torture. You’d think you’ll be fine. You’d think. Not until you realize what you’ve lost. Whom you’ve lost. And then you see yourself standing in front of your loved-one’s remains, knees trembling and too weak to keep you upright, tears generously flowing down from your tear ducts as if they will never dry up, emotions a mess. And so are you.

Then you will realize that there is nothing fine at losing someone, especially to death. You only have to find a good in it, no matter how impossible it maybe, if only to make the pain worth all the trouble.

Moving on is a challenge. And based on experience, it really does take time.

You can’t have your loved-one cremated on a weekend only for you to go back to your normal life the day that follows. Moving on is more complex than appearing fine to everyone. Plastering a smile on your face while having a black pin do your grieving for you is not in any way a sign of strength. In the same manner, not being able to cry doesn’t mean you’re over mourning. Suppressing your tears is just as self-destructive as drowning your sorrow with booze.

I’m not sure if there is a correct way of picking up oneself after a tragedy. But I know that alienating yourself from the collective whose presence may be of help to you is not a good idea. Also, thinking that you’re the only one who’s lost a loved-one is plain stupid. Because death leaves a void to everyone’s lives, everyone who has no choice but to continue living with one less person in their lives.

I’m no expert at this. To tell the truth, I am formulating my theories on a daily basis. I’ve been learning something new about death and life for the past 10 months or so. And it ain’t easy.

Yes, Da Boy dies today. My brother died over 10 months ago. Who knows who’ll go tomorrow?

And although death is a part of life, it will surely take a lot to convince Da Boy’s family, me and, perhaps, you that someway, somehow things will get better.

Neighbors from Hell

I would have gone for a more subtle title but my head is throbbing from lack of decent sleep plus I ended up swiping in late for work this morning so forgive me for bitching.

I’m not asking much really. Just peace and quiet every once in a while or at least at around midnight.

Is that too much to ask?

Apparently quiet is scarce when the neighbors from hell are on the loose.

Last night, unlike most days, we were spared from shrieks and wails from a kid gone wild, and screams and roars from a woman gone crazy. Which was good.

But then, they were in a festive mood, celebratory to be exact. They pumped up the volume of their sound system which filled the air with rock metal gibberish. Hardcore metal and rock is trash to my ears. But I waived my human right to decent music just because someone is celebrating his birthday. I wouldn’t want to be the one to poop the party. (Thinking about it now, I might as well have pooped on their party.)

Being the pacifist I hope to be, I zipped my mouth and found a way to sleep amidst the noise and the party voices which successfully penetrated our walls and shut windows. I had to sleep with a pillow on my head which I hate especially since I tend to panic when my airways are constricted.

I have barely completed a sleep cycle when a loud slam or boom instantly got me on my feet. It was too weak to be a gunshot but I feared bullets will start ricocheting through our walls instead of the trashy music which hardly sent me off to slumber.

And the more-than-a-thud went off again and again and again. If I were anymore afraid, I’d be peeing in my pants.

Good thing I didn’t.

The alleged gunshot sound came from someone slamming the car parked just outside our gate with, oh I don’t know, his hand?

I won’t go into details about what the brawl was all about. I didn’t have to gawk to figure it out. After all, it was too loud to miss. But here’s the gist: some people got drunk thereby causing an unfortunate end to the party.

I somehow wish they got drunk earlier. That way, they wouldn’t have to keep me up until past 12 only to wake me up at around 3AM.

R U +639064579912 ?

By now, I’ve got a strong feeling that my cellphone number is written, not only at the door of a public toilet, but also at the back of a bus seat. Now that promises a bigger audience!

What are the chances that one gets weird texts at least once a month? I get one set of weird texts on almost a monthly basis now. That’s how frequently I receive messages that are, umm, ahh, entertaining to some degree yet equally time consuming. And the thing is, I save my TEXTERS’ numbers—note that TEXTER is in plural. No number bugs me at two different times.

The number I used in my title, +639064579912, which found its spot in my phonebook under the name, “Raketeer,” is my most recent visitor. Here goes Raketeer’s text:

hon d2 ka nalang reply or call asap mahalaga sasabihen ko sayo send ka load 150pesos last txt na e2

Let’s deconstruct. All letters were typed in the lower case. Texter must be in a relaxed state while texting or he may be too much in a hurry to switch cases. Hey, texter even waived the use of proper punctuations and correct spacing between words! The sense of urgency is alarming especially with the use of “call,” “asap,” “mahalaga,” and “last txt na e2.”

But what gave the scam away? Contrary to what it may seem, it’s not the “hon.” It’s the “150pesos.” I would have considered the text a wrongly sent message but the amount of money it asked for was pretty much suspicious. No person in a hurry to make contact on the phone would ask that much load. It’s stench is beyond fishy.

Lucky for me I had the means to reply. I had this to say to Raketeer:

“Hon,” ang tindi ng raket mo ha! 150 pesos?! tsk tsk. kaya d umaasenso ang Pilipinas! Lakas naman ng loob mo mag-cellphone!

I may have gone jologs with my reply, but you have got to admit, I hit my point well.

* * *

Going through my phonebook now, I see two more of my texters’ numbers:

Bmytxtm8 : +639167954465
Da who ang epal n 2: +639277536093

If you know any of them, I suggest you inform them that they’re being punished for bugging me. And if you happen to be one of them, well, now the world can be your textmate. No medium can pull a bigger audience than the World Wide Web, right?

It beats any public toilet door or bus seat for that matter.

The Longest Day

Today I have once again proven that the longest days are the ones spent in the outside world, far from a constricting office table.

It’s sticky hot outside, uncomfortable, and polluted. But that’s a small price to pay for freedom.

Yes, I was free for a day, thanks to birthday leaves! I remember spending last year’s BL with Nichi—helping out in having him discharged from the hospital. For 2006 I spent my BL watching Superman’s return. Meanwhile the first birthday leave I ever had which was in 2005, that I spent in my usual self-imposed house arrest where I must have sat and stared.

Today, almost 2 weeks away from my birthday, I packed an activity-filled birthday leave.

First on my to-do list was to drop by the school to get important papers. Unfortunately no one was there to attend to my concern. My contact person failed to tell me when I called her last week that they were scheduled to have their recollection the same day I set to visit them. Argh…

I proceeded to my next stop: A dental prophylaxis. There I discovered three teeth that needed filling. Noted to self to ask mom’s help in finding a dentist-friend to fill my teeth instead of the dentist provided by my health card.

I got inside a bus and headed to my asthma doctor who declared that my lungs are doing fine.

“Basta wag ka muna magnigarilyo,” the doctor said.

“Opo naman, hindi muna,” I replied.

If doc only knew, it’s the least of his worries.

Soon I dropped by the bank to consult the experts how feasible my Paypal plan is. As it turned out, it’s not. While walking, I drafted plan B: formulate another plan.

I made a quick stop for lunch and, along the way, searched rubber temple tips for my old eyeglasses. For Php 78 I may be able to use my old pair of prescription spectacles without the discomfort.

When I was trying to accomplish the 6th item on my list, the sun’s heat was at its finest which was great timing for me. I just had to subject myself to all its glory. I had to bear the heat while I was on my way to claiming the honorarium for my Youngblood article which came out last December. (Yes, everyone, you get paid when your work gets published!)

Then I visited my part-time boss and officemates to say “hi,” shook hands with my even higher part-time boss, and then got what I came there for. (At least this one worked well, unlike the school.)

Later, I met mom and went to the clinic where the dentist-friend who’s supposed to fix my teeth was supposed to be. His schedule was full. My appointment was set 17 days from now.

I said goodbye to my mom and was in a hurry to fulfill my next mission: to purchase some TDK blank DVDs…the only brand our writer recognizes. Snob!

By the time I was targeting my next to-do item, I was too exhausted to do it. I segued to watching “Caregiver” with my mom and brother, who conveniently were a few escalators away. But before entering the theater, we grabbed an early dinner first and waited for the showing time inside a bookstore where I got torn whether I’d buy Neil Gaiman’s “The Day I swapped my Dad for Two Goldfish” or not. It pained me to let the book go. It really did.

I was ready to call it a day and sit on a moving vehicle that’ll bring me home but scarcity of a ride prompted us to get some refreshments instead. We killed time in the proces. Soon enough we found ourselves a ride.

To complete the day, I decided to write this entry.

And so it ends.