papa paul

i was already fast asleep when my mobile suddenly rang. in a panic, i quickly picked it up and went out the room since kuya was sleeping as well. i had retired from the day early since i had a race the following day. on the other side of the line, a seeming familiar voice proceeded out in greetings and the usual "kamustas". i had not yet recognized who i was talking too, hoping that my frazzled brain would eventually start working before the guy realized i was just being polite by responding... however, the stupid tone in my answers gave me away. "di mo ako kilala no?" "hehehehehe, no. sorry." "si paul to, engot!"

paul! i forgot he was back in town for a break. paul was my room mate back when i worked in dubai. we shared a room for a good 2 months together, back when our company still housed us. when the lease to our apartment expired, he and my other office mates decided to find cheaper accommodations near work while my other (girl)friends and i decided to stay put. anyway... that's another story altogether.

i met up paul last night at QC as i had invited him out to dinner. he brought with him his new love, isa. well, not really so new since she was his first GF apparently, and they have been "dating" (online) and had been rekindling the old flame for the past four months.

seeing paul again, after more than 2 years since i left dubai definitely flooded me with memories. i'm actually quite embarrassed since during the entire time we were having dinner, i think i had completely neglected talking to isa since i was too occupied catching up with paul. can you really blame me though?

on and on, paul and i talked about all that has happened since i left; my company, dubai, the people i worked with, my bosses, the malls, EVERYTHING. i also got to talk about his life. just listening to him talk, seeing his face, and hearing his modulated voice again, i could not help but feel a tad bit emotional. hehehehehe. i neglect to mention that i had a mini-crush on him as well. he was a steady character during a tumultuous time in my life. i recall every time i had a bad day, just by talking to him, even if it didn't make things any better, made things, at least feel, well, normal. we all have bad days apparently.

my best memories of paul would always be by, or in, the swimming pool. he had a fractured hip from a biking accident, and when time would come when the old injury would bother him, he would occasionally go up and take a dip in the rooftop pool where the company used to house us, the waters gloriously heated by the desert to a comfortable temperature. under the arabian sky, mesmerized by the reflections and the dancing of light caused by the agitated waters, i would often find myself in deep introspection and would have lengthy conversations with paul, the topics of which were endless. those nights were like moments shared by old friends, by like kindred souls, and even in some times, by like that of father and son.

i love my papa paul. 

 

freshly squeezed

last time i wrote a post this early in the morning, while my brain is still free of clutter, was a very long time ago. can't really say there's a lot swishing about in the head though, enough to actually bring about a decent post. um...

well, i need a definite career path. that seems to be something. though working as an auditor for the family serves as a means to an end, i don't think i will end happy, or better yet, feeling fulfilled. money doesn't seem to be a good enough driving force for me since, well, i really suck at handling it. what i have found out though, i am creative and thirst for new experiences. i guess this would explain the random sketches in the middle of the day, as well as the obsession with running and the gradual experimentation to barefoot running. i once feared falling to the adage, jack of all trades; master of none, but yet, i seem to be fitting that mold perfectly. i know a lot apparently, enough to form an opinion about a gamut of things, however, what i know is still short to support a probably factual debate. i don't think i even have enough to win a game of trivial pursuit...

i think i am also taking a break from the relationships-game. it's getting too much in the way of normal life and really just wastes too much of my energy. with all the worrying, the thinking, the drama... really, i think i'd just channel that strength to something more constructive, maybe, like building a better spiritual life of improve on my running form and my overall fitness.

speaking of overall fitness, i think i should finally take this seriously.... getting abs. hahahahaha, i know i often avoid sounding shallow but since getting that washboard torso seems to be the HARDEST thing to do, and considering i have this hunger for punishment... i'm just thinking, why not? i have been working out for 8 years now and have on some occasions seen tell-tale signs of the coveted loaf peeking thru, but never really got serious in building on them. what for, i thought. but now... well, just because i'm getting bored with my regimen, i think i will try to aim for that magazine-cover worthy 6-pack. not that i have desires of having them advertised (just like how most men i meet do), but the sense of fulfillment is definitely something i am gunning for.

just bought the issue of men's health philippines with carl guevara on the cover. OMFG. i want him now. ahahahaha, his body on mine i mean, well, no, not THAT WAY. i mean, i want to get a body like that for myself... no, that didn't sound right either! ARRRGH, i want my body to be just like that, is what i want to say.


gaaaad.... i wouldn't mind getting a face like that as well (just look at that JAW *drool*) ... hahahahaha.

dee u h-yeng shy'u bo?

"h-yeng shy'u" pronounced in your most nasal of tones, is fookienese that loosely translates as "fondness". it can be used to connote a liking for people, to be more specific, a crush as in "u h-yeng shy'u", or "CRUSH KITA!! (very Krissy), or with regards to the context of this post, a level of interest, to one's work to be more exact. 

note: this is not a rant.

i was making my rather exciting breakfast this morning, a shake consisting of my whey protein, psyllium husk and flaxseed meal mix, a dash of cayenne pepper and maple syrup, when my mom in her batik daster sashayed towards my direction asking how i was. she looked at the time, 7:35am, and looked at me. i had just come home from gym. today was anaerobic training day which meant i was extra exhausted than usual. i was dripping in sweat and trying to stay relaxed as i readied myself for the rest of the day.

she offered the idea that i hurry up and get moving soon so as that i get to the office early. she said i rush often, this way, i had more time to dilly-dally. when she noticed my dismissal of her suggestion, mom said in chinese, "lola and i were praying for you, hoping that you would grow more fond of your work." i didn't really understand how this statement affected me, but it definitely hit something raw. i really don't know why, but every time family discusses work with me, i find myself all of a sudden on the defensive. it seems like every time they prod about my job, it feels like they are subtly questioning the quality of my work. of course, this is just my feeling. i'm sure they have no ill intent against me. it just however feels that way. 

as expected, i began my oration on how i do what is given to me, to the best of how i know. i site examples of my diligence and try my best to sound convincing that i do my fair share, even then some...

but basing on my reaction though... it's interesting to consider that maybe, why i feel so defensive all the time is because i really think i am inept at my job. i am too afraid to admit it. i am too ashamed to tell my family. i am too clueless what to do after. 

suddenly, escaping again feels so good.

of midnight strokes and divine love

i find myself waking up often now, in the middle of the night, almost like waking up from a bad dream, only without the usual panic. it feels like becoming instantly conscious, like being blessed with a stroke of lucidness, regardless of how deep my sleep was. in these moments, i chose to lay still, feel my body, my breathing, hoping the light rise and fall of my chest would lull me back again to slumber.

i try my best not to linger too long in these wakeful moments, especially when i wake up very late in the night and everything is quiet except for the steady drone of the a/c or the electric fan, should i chose to be economical that night. in the cold, still darkness of my room, i cannot help it but feel miserably alone. just the mere beginnings of the feeling will be enough to send my thoughts racing... more often that not, i would keep me awake hours later. i would fall to sleep only again after even my mind now has tired itself out. no more scenarios to ponder, no more questions to consider. i succumb to my present... and then, my alarm would ring. my day is now beginning.

there was a time i had resolved to myself that i will be ok living a life alone. it was a possibility i considered, since, i felt i should only be prepared. pessimistic as it may seem, i would rather be realistic and shield myself from the disappointment. however, as time went by and as i found myself fall for people and have people fall for me, as i felt what love can offer and what can do, i began to reconsider my resolution. i began to entertain the possibility that maybe, there is someone out there for me.

"LORD, give me a lover!" i read this often once as a tweet, a friend's call to the universe to conspire in his favor. though i may not be so overt in my now new-found wish, i do recall praying for it once. funny, in my prayer to a secretive God, i felt rather embarrassed, close to whispering in my silence communion with my Lord, inquiring if there will be  a special someone in my future. i asked, if it was in accordance to His will, that He could help me feel less lonely, if it were ok that i find someone to call my own. i chose to leave the specifics to Him. i thought to myself, who was i to impose what i think is best for me. that prayer was made years ago....

i find myself thinking sometimes now, maybe, i should give up. not because that i can't find someone. surely it's not that difficult to find people nowadays... but i am beginning to loose hope in finding that right someone, that person who i wished i can call my own. i think my Lord had led me to a few possibilities in my past, pointed me here, pointed me there, but like in a lot of things He does for me, He only accompanies me so far and then leaves me to decide on my own. like the one who prayed to Him years ago, the specifics of the relationship, He left them to me to decide, maybe hoping in His heart that as i explore these possibilities and exercise my heart, that i will understand His true intentions... that my life is never really about me. my life was all about Him all along.

will there be still someone for me? maybe. God only knows. it's not so important now, however. i love irregardless of.

it's all in the voice

i have noticed that whenever i used the second or the third person voice in writing my posts, i tend to sound more "emo". despite how much i have been trying not to sound so dramatic, or rather, TRAGIC (so say my beloved kuya) in my writing, i seem to keep falling back to my same old style. there is obviously comfort in being able to express one's self and yet, make it seem like you're talking about a totally different person. projecting, am i? i'm no shrink or literary genius, but for all i know, i could be building for myself an imaginary voodoo doll of my repressed, unexpressed, CONSTIPATED self and having him serve as my proxy in living life, well, just all the downsides of it, if i have to be more specific.

when writing in the first person however, like what i'm doing now, almost instantaneously, the tone becomes lighter, more candid and definitely un-emo! either the first-person-me is really jovial by nature, or like in some psychoanalytical mess, the first-person-me is just too much of a coward to face his (3rd person) demons and hide behind humor and plainness, only to address them once focus is shifted back to the imaginary third-person.

i think i learned writing like this back when i was in high school. i recall my english teacher teaching us how to properly construct introductions. always use the third person voice, was what she said. all this time when doing my theme papers, i have always used the first person, why shouldn't i? i was deriving from personal experiences and putting down my thoughts, i should own every word. however, this wasn't the case when doing formal papers apparently. i have forgotten the real reason why we use the third person, something about avoiding liability, that or it just sounds MORE SERIOUS if you phrase your words as "the proponents" or "the researchers" rather than "my friends and i".

why the sudden fuss over voices, you may ask. well, bespren from Turkey says that i am overly dramatic when i write. i really cannot deny. i am. i have been trying to change it, but as i said, i keep back sliding to the same, old, self-cannibalizing default. then, while sitting on the can this morning.... i realized THE pattern. the voice i used was the catalyst. hehehehehehe, i had an AHA! moment in the middle of the push.

i also realized something else.... may bago akong CRUSH. ahahahahaha! pero friendly crush lang to. shucks.... feeling high school!

like peeling a bear like a banana

i never liked owing people anything, favors, more so, money. i rarely ask for them since i feel shameful whenever i do. it's as if i am ill equipped to face my situation, more so, that i am rendered impotent to help myself. i do accept help though. who wouldn't want assistance anyway, but only if it is freely offered and not asked of. maybe it's pride, but in my head, it's more me not wanting to inconvenience anyone of my troubles. more often than not, i got myself in this situation. i should, in turn, get myself out.

"when you borrow money, pay them immediately". my mom taught me that. i try to practice it whenever my memory would cooperate. then again, it fails me often as well, leaving me with a tinge of guilt when i forget to pay what i owe. in so doing, i don't borrow money anymore, and in the situations wherein i am strapped for cash, i would often find myself sacrificing (or prioritizing, as i see it) something just in order to get me by with whatever cash i still have at hand. walking home in the rain and skipping meals have not been uncommon. living within my means, was what mom calls it. (thank goodness i run marathons now and fast as well... hehehehe)

i do lend people money though, though i try not to do it regularly. despite how some people have no problems asking to be paid back, i, however do. maybe because it feels like i'm asking for a FAVOR, asking to be paid back what i'm due (crazy as it may sound). i somehow view people on the same standard as mine, wherein they too are prompt and dutiful in repaying debts and don't like the feeling of owing people anything. it also feels kind of rude, to be asked to be paid back. there seems to be no proper way of doing it without sounding like a mean landlord demanding payment for rent. this is quite unfortunate really, considering that i have the memory (ironically in this respect) of an elephant as to who owes me cash and how much they owe me. let us say, this issue has been a cause of strain for many of my social ties and having money as the cause is certainly a most sorry thing. case in example... guy from ROTC who borrowed P10 from me during one hot day, saying he will pay me back. now.... i really could have let this go, what is P10 nowadays anyways? but what i held on to was HIS WORD of paying me back. ah.... kuya told me before, money can always be earned. one's word of honor however... well, not as easy. a wise man told me once, how you treat small things, say P10, would tell you how you would treat large things as well. needless to say, i never trusted ROTC guy again. let's not even talk about other's who've mishandled BIG things.

maybe i have trust issues? could be. how else could i explain the stringent qualifications i measure people with? just one point off perfect and i tag you already. then again, am i really that strict or have people become too loose? what is so wrong about expecting people of being responsible, of being wise, of being respectful of others, of being honorable? are they really things we shouldn't aspire to anymore, we shouldn't practice? is it too much to expect of people to have these basic qualities? or are these now all defunct and that like MANY things in modern society nowadays, everything is only good if it's to one's convenience? everything can be now be changed, debated upon, reconsidered, questioned, set aside until further notice, just because their existence and the demands they impose on ours is causing us discomfort and strain.

funny where this post is leading... and to think i started this originally to rant about how it sucks to be in change of my company's payroll. i really could go on. unraveling my thoughts is fun.

blood letting

draw it out from me,

please, for i have had

an abundance of it.

i have already had

too much of it, and 

have no room for it 

anymore.

it weighs itself 

too heavily in me,

an over-filling and 

congested member.

a fast-tightening and 

overwhelmed chamber,

robbing me of breath, 

it fully engorged.

(sigh)

i pray that you soon 

will bleed yourself out.

released from your hold,

and freed from your clout

so that on again i can live,

cured of this infection of you,

purged of an evil, a parasite

called my love.

how to end a 42 hour fast.

1. qoola yogurt. took the tub out of the dispenser, then proceeded to pump out the original flavor, careful to catch it in a most decadent swirl. i didn't want the flavored versions since they would just add too much sugar to my first intake. tub full, off i go to the toppings bar. fresh strawberries, sliced almonds, yogurt bits and honey. weighed the damn thing and paid. the best P270 buck of my life!!! take THAT red mango!!!! (spiteful much?)

2. starters: pumpkin soup. i always loved pumpkin soup since it reminds me of baby food. think GERBER. yes, GERBER. anyway, so for dinner, i originally wanted to eat at Mr. Jones since i was badly craving for fries and all that greasy stuff american diner food is so famous for, but alas, the place was full. second option was Italiannis then, but on route, we passed by the newly relocated bizu and simply got sucked in to their bright interiors like moths to a flame. propped my hungry ass on their newly re-upholstered chairs and ordered like, well, i was ending a fast!

pumpkin puree with leeks, herbs, lots of black pepper, hold the cream. best pumpkin soup i've had. not too creamy, uber flavorful and VERY gerber-ish.

3. salad. Waldorf. was never really a fan of the waldorf since i more often order oriental salads due to the crispy vermicelli they add. i like texture in my food and the addition of just apples in your waldorf wasn't enough to make me consider it. however, what drew my curiosity to this version was the dressing, yogurt. interestingly enough, the combination of greens, the bitterness of grilled chicken slices, walnuts, tart apples, citrus oranges and the tangy yogurt dressing was divine. i would have liked the dressing to have a bit more spike to it though, maybe add a few drops of balsamic but over-all, it was utterly delish.

4. pasta. chorizo linguini with olive oil. kuya ordered this since he loves spicy chorizo. nothing special to it though. it tasted just like how chorizo, mixed with al dente linguini in olive oil should taste like.

5. main course. braised lamb shank, grilled veggies in truffle mash potatoes. the mash was super delicious. velvety and rich. the vegetables were grilled just right to release their sweetness. the lamb meat feel off the bone.... but, lacked the flavor i was expecting from lamb. it had the after-taste but surprisingly, nothing more. the meat was definitely soft but i just couldn't understand why i couldn't taste the meat. i had to drown it in the sauce just to get a bit of flavor in, actually. chose lamb over the 10-hour roasted roast beef since i wanted to cut down on the fat. was supposed to leave the mash alone as well but since i could barely get any satisfaction with the meat, i ended up finishing everything.

6. movie. clash of the titans, 3D. i didn't know i got tickets to the 3D screening. i just got seats for the time that was available. it didn't occur to me that the tickets were UNUSUALLY expensive. needless to say, it was an unwarranted P300 since i could have practically watched the movie without the 3D glasses since there was barely any 3D to it. o well.... what's done is done.

7. dessert. rainbow cathedral jello and hazel nut chocolate. i was still hungry.... so sue me.

till the next fast.

the lesson.

why does it feel that way? whenever i share something personal, that it almost feels as if i am cutting a part of me off and offering it to others. i recall a certain scene in the movie adaptation of "the joy luck club" wherein they show an old custom of serving meat soup to an ailing parent, using one's own flesh, as an ultimate gesture of respect and honor. it feels like that, slicing a bit of my soul, maybe just so i can share something real, maybe offer a bit of my life to others, in the hopes that they can use it to help themselves.

talking about myself was painful in a way. it forces me to uncover things i would rather leave hidden, face things i would rather ignore. i never liked being hypocritical, since i detest hypocrites, so i strive to be as honest as possible. it's an exhausting process that often leaves me dazed sometimes, after-effects of emotional hemorrhaging i guess. but despite it all, i believe i do what i do because it is good. because i believe i can help. because i believe when dealing with matters that involve one's soul, you need to use the sincerity of a soul to connect with it. nothing else would do.

and in doing so, as i connected with my friends and hoped to unravel certain things, i realized something. as i was putting myself in the position of other people, trying to live their experiences and hypothetical situations, it came to me that i... i think... and i shuddered at the thought.

my eyebrow twitched. i bit my lip as my heart sank a bit. i suddenly felt like i needed to mourn. i have been wasted, in pursuit of something i willfully knew was unattainable. i ran after the wind, wishing i could catch it one day, yet knowing it will never happen. i fell in love knowing i can not go all the way.

the vanity of feelings, the real lesson.

i think i'm bad for people.

pagod

"don't talk to me." i told my mom, from under my breath, as my anger finally boiled over. she gave off a deep sigh and walked away. i tried not to look up, nor to feel guilty as i busied myself unpacking my things, trying my best not to shake. timing and subtlety were never her best traits, and most often than not, as if the universe does it on purpose, she manages to push the right buttons at the worst possible time. it used to drive my brother crazy when he was younger, back when he was just beginning to work and i was the one pacifying him. now that kuya's mellowed down, i seem to have now taken the role of "who-gets-pissed". don't get me wrong, i certainly don't HATE my mom, she just drives me crazy at times. what drives me more crazy is that there is nothing i can do about it, since she's my mom (and i love her just being how she is) and TIMING is not something you can really teach.

to cut things short, my long awaited trip-to-unwind to tagaytay was cancelled due to my mom's impeccable ways of suggestion, thus adding another to the list to what seem to be my running streak of unfavorable events. one after another they come and quite frankly, i don't know how much more i can take. i am cracking under the pressure already, which now that i think about it, seems to be the main universal objective. deconstruction.


disappointment after disappointment after disappointment... ANO BA TALAGA?? will there be an end to all of this anytime soon?? what do i need to see and learn from all of this anyway? how to handle MORE crappy events that come to my life? is this punishment for treating people badly? have i been treating anyone badly enough to deserve this? am i supposed to just take it all? i just need some validation really, that at the end, there will be something good from all of this. i really need a break, please!!!

i used to complain when i was younger, to my mother actually, how come bad people get away with a lot of things and it's the good people who suffer because of it. it just doesn't seem to be fair. what happened to justice? you try to do good, and yet, you get  screwed over because of it. i know the answer in my head and i try to see the the bigger picture... but after all the shitty things that has been happening to me through the years since i first asked that question till now, i am nearing the point of no longer caring.

yes... it is slowly reaching that point already. i am tightly wound, nearing the end of my tether. dropping people. redefining relationships. reconsidering maybe, there's really nothing worth looking forward to.

mad.

it was a dismal day that didn't turn out any better.

my family decided to visit my lola yesterday. she has been having health problems lately and we thought having family over to give her support would lighten up her spirits. it was already late in the afternoon and quite frankly, the boredom of the uneventful day had already sucked me out of all life. though i don't think i have much to offer my lola, the change of surrounds could be good for me. definitely better than laying home idle and having my mind wander to places it really shouldn't go.

while driving to lola's i suddenly got a message from someone i know. i didn't understand it at first, and i found myself reading it again and again. it was allegedly a message written by the sister of a friend, informing me that my friend just passed away and that funeral arrangements were now being made.

to say that i found myself suddenly disoriented would be an understatement. i tried to stay calm but it was already too late. my brain was already racing. i tried calling the sender but the number was busy. this can't be true... how could it be true??? i suddenly found myself shaking. i was beginning to panic. my mom was beside me and noticed the distress on my face. she asked me what was happening and i tried to lie to her, pretending nothing was wrong. i, obviously was a poor liar. even my brother got involved, asking me what was happening since my voice was beginning to break and i was starting to hyperventilate. my anxiety attack had set it and i began to feel light-headed.

the message mentioned two names, the name of my friend's sister and the name of my friend. i don't know the the sister so her identity, as far as i was concerned, was irrelevant. my friend's name tho... i only know of two people bearing that name... one of which was "him". the thoughts of him dead raced in my head. i wanted to throw up, i wanted to scream in the car. i looked up his number in my phone and despite promising to leave him in peace, i called.

i had to know. i had to know it wasn't him.

a few rings after, an unfamiliar voice answered. my heart sank and all blood drained from my body. he cleared his voice.... "jamie?"

i breathe a sigh of relief. i stumbled on my words, still trying to act calm in my attempt to explain to him what happened. my family, i knew, was also listening to our conversation.

a few clarifications later... i found out, it was a prank.

A SICK SICK PRANK.

i used a term with mcvie once to describe how wrathful one can get with utmost hate and anger, without resulting to profanities and expletives.... i called it (and i ask for the author's pardon) "to go CHRONICLES OF E on him!"

that is what i felt. i called up the sender again. he finally picked up the phone and greeted me "april fool's". i hung up on him, too mad to talk, too mad too deal, too mad to care, too mad to find ANYTHING about the death of a friend or my former love funny. too mad now to even bother saving a friendship.

kuya said it right: "anong klase ba yang kaibigan mo? walang kuwenta!"

how the fucking hell am i supposed to help cheer up my LOLA now??

bored

boredom is a withdrawal symptom from the stresses of modern life.

right now, i am so bored, it's fucking up my hormones. i feel tired, sluggish, and a tad bit horny. i'm also a little depressed.

i'm trying my best to stay still, to stay present, to stay within the moment. this is like when you're fasting and you begin to feel sick because your blood is now being flushed with toxins released from your bowels. i can feel that a part of me wants to break away and escape, but i'm trying to hold on to reality. face it like a grown man. i guess the sexual urges are a form of escape as well. can't seem to get the image of a guy i met last night out of my head. i know i'm not deeply interested, but right now, you can tape his face to a lamp post and i'd probably hit on him (it, whatever).

i sincerely want to dip myself in a warm pool, and have skilled hands work out all my tension (issues). the offers of something extra would hurt, though i know i am too virginal to bite. the prospects of it just possibly happening is all the adrenaline fix i need.

feeling warm now. hot maybe. images of cute waiters from chelsea, this miniaturized victor basa look-alike from high street, *ehem* and sando wearing tisoy in the pedicab who looked straight into my car as i came home last night now feeding the lust flames.

some HOLY week i'm having....