Yesterday was the first time I fully participated in a “team building activity”. I never believed in team building activities. I was never the motivational speaker, self-help book type of girl. I thought all these years that it was all a bunch of boo-hockey that was made to force people into humiliating themselves for the fun of others, and no one was left better for it.

Harsh right? This (kind of) cynical girl has gone through all of it, scavenger hunts, cheering competitions, relays. All leaving me a little more with a bitter taste in my mouth, a lot sweatier, and a little bit angrier at what we had to go through as adults.

I went in doubtful, and even more so when they declared we were going to do a bit of strenuous activity, and I wasn’t exactly dressed for it. My sneakers and non stretchy jeans weren’t made for anything more than long walks or maybe a game of longest line. We were going to go through rope courses, a zip line, ground activities and a climbing wall. I braced myself for a session of eye rolling, especially when i saw the amount of people in the place. The wave pool looked like people soup, it was so packed.

Then things got started and I got caught in everyone else’s adrenaline high. People were really sincerely cheering each other on, and getting people to do what they normally wouldn’t. I certainly did things I really wouldn’t do if I didn’t have the team I had cheering me on. When it came for the parts of the activities with heights involved, my hands were shaking, my knees were buckling, I could feel an anxiety attack coming on. I took deep breaths and tried to compose myself from totally breaking down and letting my team down. Every point counted and I was in a hypercompetitive group, all willing to push themselves to the limit, I couldn’t be the one person to just fold my cards and say “No.”

So i went with it, and saw the really supportive, fun group I was in, and all the other groups that were helping each other succeed with the not easy tasks we were set. And we did, we finished everything. Nobody quit, everyone else was giving each other tips on how to go over faster, or reassuring them that everything was all good, and to just get through it, no pressure. Every single time I was thinking of throwing in the towel, I could hear a reassuring voice telling me there was nothing to it, and each time, the voice was different. I am a very lucky girl to have been surrounded by all that support, and it drove me to push the phobia I had aside and just have fun.

Of course after it was time for drinks to unwind and just get back to being silly, that was amazing too.

By the way, did I mention we won?

 

 

 

This summer has not been forgiving. Temperatures of 36-38 degrees Celsius are normal. There are no breezes to speak of, then suddenly a downpour for 20 minutes. Just enough to soak you to the skin and make your flipflops muddy, then the heat comes back worse.

I don’t go to an office everyday so there have been endless workarounds to the heat. I’ve worked in the yard, the garage, the living room, my parent’s room, whichever is the coolest at the time. Multiple baths. Icy drinks. I’ve worked with friends in different locations. I’ve begged the fiance to go out and work at tea and coffee shops that have constant AC and cushy chairs. I am this close to unfolding and using an above ground pool that my work is storing at home and working from the edge of that.

Then something like that rainbow appears. It just shows you that in the middle of the insanity of the heat, there are beautiful things out there. Sunflowers filling the entrance to UP Diliman (catch them this week before they all wilt!), the sky at almost sunset, the glorious purples and reds of a halo halo.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is, maybe we’re all scorching under this scary weather, but there’s still something to be happy about out there. You just have to look up.

Even with the onslaught of modern distractions, there are still plenty of readers in the world. I’d like to think we’re obstinate dinosaurs that begin our adventures from pages written by other people. People that have been blessed to be able to put these thoughts into coherent, flowing stories that make our life richer, more insane, and color the outlines of sometimes humdrum lives spent doing the routine we’re used to.

So what kind of reader are you? I can think of a few kinds:

1. The Extra Obstinate Dinousaur:

Readers that absolutely refuse to use electronic materials to read. They won’t use electronic readers, tablets or cellular phones to read. They insist that turning pages of books should include crinkling of paper and the smell of published ink on sheets. EODs will have bookshelves filled with old books, and love them the older the better.

2. The Loyalist

Readers that only stick to one, or a few authors or one genre. They will forgo all other books until their favorite authors come out with new books, and will be first in line to buy it, or will only go to the section of the bookstore for their favorite genre. They will recommend their favorites to all readers they come across, and will offer a favorite from the collection, and will stalk their authors online (if alive). They will also have part of their online handles include their authors’ names, and will try to emulate their way of speaking or fashion.

3. The Fad Reader

Readers that will read only the books that are hyped. These include old “reader favorites” such as the LOTR series, or new ones like the Harry Potter series, The Da Vinci Code books or the Hunger Games Trilogy. They will use these books in conversation and will sprinkle them in discussions. Otherwise, they will not use their time to read. They will usually only pick up a book if they hear about it and get their interests piqued.

4. The Memorizer

Readers that will reread the same book over and over again. They will have read their favorite books up until they’ve almost memorized all their favorite lines, or know the characters inside and out. They will also feel emotionally attached to each character and will bemoan their deaths each time they read the scene, even if they know it’s coming.

5. The Book Whore

Readers who will read any book, at any time, using any device available. These readers are addicted to the written word, and can spend hours in a bookstore reading an opened book. These readers usually log hours of page turning a day, and will count reading more important the meals/sleep/human interaction.

6. The Bargain Hunter

The reader that won’t buy a book for full price. They are usually found in thrift stores, cheap bookstores, or at mall sales hunting for deals on books. They will usually consider a book from an author/genre they don’t usually go for because of the price. They will also download all free books they can find online.

I’m kind of a mix of all of these. What kind of a reader are you?

In a country where deep fried chicken intestines are an afternoon snack, and fetal duck egg a midnight treat, the line for a Filipino’s food limit really can veer to the far left.

I’ve been thinking about this since last week, when I reached my food limit when visiting my godfather in his apartment in Marikina. This is what happened:

He asked us if we’ve ever had maya, and we said, “the bird?” and he said yes, the one you find everywhere here.

For reference, this is a maya:

(image from: http://www.sxc.hu/pic/m/f/fa/falk1984/457531_maya_bird.jpg)

So we said no, we made friends with a few since they’re all over the yard at home, but no, we don’t eat it. He then goes on to tell us that every year when he comes over to visit, his uncle catches a whole bunch of mayas from a rice field to cook in adobo. He then prods us to try it, then proceeds to take a microwaveable container out of his fridge so we could see it. At this point, my mother and sister were recoiling in horror, my dad was furiously shaking his head no and was saying he couldn’t do it, and me, morbidly curious was considering it, and asked to see how it looked.

Boy, did I regret looking. Mayas are teeny tiny birds, and I saw a couple dozen in that small microwaveable container with their heads intact, their beaks taken off, and with huge eyes staring at me, their heads oddly darker than the rest of their small, straight in death bodies, with the sadly familiar scent of adobo around them. I couldn’t do it. I promptly thanked my Ninong and told him that I couldn’t, but he should have the rest and enjoy them (he likes them a lot).

I’m sure if I grew up with it like he did, I wouldn’t blink an eye and just start chomping down, but those teeny birds still haunt me. It also got me thinking how far I’d go to satisfy the inner extreme foodie that I hoped I would be, but I think I’ve set my limits:

1. No animals I’ve known as pets. No dogs, rabbits or cats. I’ve heard so much about the benefits and deliciousness of all three meats (Dog warms the blood, rabbits delicious in stews, cats amazing in adobo) but I will not, to my values and morality, eat animals I loved as pets.

2. I’d probably say no to something with a face. I’ve said no to two things with faces. Cooked pawikan and the mayas. The faces really bother me. Even if it’s something that I eat everyday like chicken, I’d think twice if I saw something staring at me. I balk at fried chicken in a few Chinese places that include the head, I think twice at goat head. The only heads I’m not iffy about are pig and fish.

3. No to anything someone has gone bodily in before. Nothing prechewed, predigested, stepped on to crush in (yes, wine). I have issues with these things and I’d prolly say no.

Anyone else tried maya?

Also, what are your personal no-nos when it comes to food?

I say sort of food post because it was mostly just three girls wanting to meet in the middle of their workday and finding themselves in the same vicinity for once. Sarah, Anna and I went to have tea two weeks ago and catch up in a very grown up feeling venue, and we all agreed that we’ve been curious about the tea salon since it opened. I had seen the same establishment in a trip to Singapore and didn’t have the time to go, Anna passed by it a lot in trips to Greenbelt, and Sarah sees it often as it’s a hop, skip and jump away from her work.

We had the “Chic Set” which according to Munchpunch is:

TWG Tea from their extensive tea list, served hot or iced. A petite selection of three finger sandwiches – Vegetarian Set, Royal, Set, Imperial Set. Choice of 2 freshly baked scones or muffins served with TWG Tea jelly and whipped cream or 1 patisserie from their trolley.

We had the Royal set, as the Imperial one had foie gras, and Sarah told us of a friend fiercely against it. We didn’t feel like the vegetarian set as we wanted a little protein (well I did, I forgot to have lunch).

It was nice. It felt very civilized, and while we talked about not so civilized things sometimes (wedding stuff, bachelorette things), we enjoyed ourselves immensely. We ordered a fruity, light tea that I forgot the name of (it was recommended by the waiter since we looked so overwhelmed at the 400 tea menu) that went great with the teeny salmon and kani sandwiches and the scones.

Would I go back? Yes, but with like minded ladies and a semi-full tummy, as it’s not really the place for the ravenous, as everyone is sort of dressed up and civilized. I can’t imagine digging into a full meal not caring about the horrified stares of ladies who lunch in the next table. If you want relaxed, grown up conversations, and really good tea, try it. Maybe I’ll bring Mom there soon. 🙂

 

1. Men in suits are hot. Three piece, wide peak lapels, the works. What guy doesn’t look good in a well-made suit? Ask Harvey Specter (Suits), Neal Caffrey (White Collar), John James Preston III (Sex and the City), they’ll all tell you, or better yet, show you.

2. Aling Ude’s tokwa’t baboy cures all hangover ails. Catch her at the Marikina Riverbanks early morning every day (I think except Sunday?)

 

3. The MyThai/Jack’s Loft in Il Terrazzo aint a bad place to work, an outlet, fishbowl iced tea, and cheesecake! (Though sidenote, not a fan of their pad thai, too greasy, yecch).

 

4. Making a mix tape to introduce a coworker to Filipino music is harder than I thought, when you can’t pick songs sung in Filipino, it makes for a really watered down mix.

 

5. Don’t get a haircut when you’re bored, or at least tell the stylist to “do whatever” or you’ll end up with a haircut that you’ll have zero idea on how to get back the moment you step out the salon. It will also leave you looking like Billy Ray Cyrus in the 90s.

6. Singing Bob Marley’s “We jammin'” while eating ube jam makes for a very annoyed, within earshot mother.

 

7. the Transporter tv series feels like FPJ, Lito Lapid and Chuck Norris collaborated on a character and made him drive. He gives chicks money after smashing their car to save her life, gets a multibillionaire heiress to strip naked in front of him to “get a man’s opinion”, crushed more than a dozen apparently inept armed men with his bare hands, and got a police inspector to water his daisies with a single look. Absurd, and Statham is ten times sexier with that rough voice and workingman appeal that carries all his movies, however absurd they seem, the guy in this one, not really.

8. Hellish hot Mondays make for very absurd thoughts. What do you think?

The one sport (aside from biking) that I enjoyed immensely the first time, was surfing. It was 2005, my friend K asked if I wanted to go to La Union with her and her football friends from Ateneo, and I went. It was a looooong ride to La Union as SCTEX (the titular highway linking Pampanga to Tarlac) wasn’t done yet and we had to go through the long way. I saw town after town and after what felt like days, we arrived at this quiet shore with a handful of resorts, and hard bodied men offering lessons.

I was hesitant. If you’ve ever seen me on land, you’d know why. I’m clumsy and uncoordinated, and trip over my own feet, and this thing is about being one with your own body. I can’t even say anything about my balance.

But as the saying goes, it took like a duck to water. The first time I tried standing up as the instructor pushed me, I rode the board to the shore, my only issue was getting down. That one hour I spent riding to shore and giddily getting back to the water to wait for the next one.

So I made plans to go to another trip, to Baler, a different shore, the same purpose. I found Baler more consistent, but harder to get to, a 10 hour car ride to the shore. I felt more attached to La Union, but have went back twice to Aurora for weekends made for surfing in the subsequent years.

But wait, it’s 2013 and this story started in 2005, what happened?

I got lazy. I didn’t apply myself to what I felt was a sport that I could just pick up anytime, especially when I started dating someone who could take me to La Union any time. Every time we went, I just felt myself wanting to not go with the crowds of surfers learning with instructors, and not having the courage to just get a board and try it myself. I wanted to relax and spend my days just reading on the shore, or just diving in. I went twice with an instructor and tried and failed one pre-New Year weekend to surf by myself, but the past 4 years, my surfing wasn’t really anything worth writing home about.

Up until last Monday. The waves were the best for a beginner, and the shore deserted, as La Union’s waves are really low from March to October, and more reliable in the months after that. So I grabbed a board and tried to paddle out, read the waves that were worth riding to shore, and propel myself with no help.

I failed. Whether it was lack of arm strength to propel myself properly, or not reading which waves were the ones that were to shore, I spent 45 minutes of paddling out, paddling furiously to catch waves, and failing. Frustrated and disappointed, I trudged my weary self to shore and drowned my sorrows in a cold Coke.

Future attempts will be made, and arm strength built. But right now, I’m still dreaming of success.

One of the most haunting voices I’ve ever heard, and such simple, sweet lyrics. Hear this song and stay haunted. This song is older than me by a lot, but it’s one of the most played songs on my ipod, and one I sing often.

The lyrics go:

Just before our love got lost you said
“I am as constant as a northern star”
And I said “Constantly in the darkness
Where’s that at?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar”

On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you’re in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I’m frightened by the devil
And I’m drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid

I remember that time you told me you said
“Love is touching souls”
Surely you touched mine
‘Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you’re in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
“Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed”

Oh but you are in my blood
You’re my holy wine
You’re so bitter, bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I’d be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

The line “Oh but you are in my blood” I can relate to the most. Some people just leave their traces, and we can feel them pumping through our veins. Only needing a whiff of a scent then you’re back where you were ten years ago, saying you’ll write letters, or laying a bottle of their favorite gin on their grave. People we love get us drunk on the feeling we have for them, but if you can still find yourself on your feet, you know you’re right where you need to be.

I turned 27 this weekend, in the most blissful place possible, the beach.

Maybe this growing up thing ain’t so bad, I thought, as I wiggled my toes into the sand and lay down the and smelled the salty air that always makes me hungry for uni. It was a trip we finalized the night before, and just planned as adults. We got into the car, decided our own itinerary, and headed for the North, to one of my favorite shores on earth, San Juan, La Union.

Why do I love San Juan? It’s easy. People are nice. Resorts don’t charge entrance. You can buy a beer at one place, and drink it on the shore, in front of any place. You can get salmon sashimi that’s oh so fresh.So back to the growing up thing.
27. Not really a momentous age. Nothing changes except a number. No milestones except for the ones you make. It’s not like it’s 25 that makes it a quarter life, or 30 that shoves you into adulthood. It just ages you.

For me, it’s a milestone year. This is my last one pre-marriage. The last one before the adulthood really kicks in. I wanted to make it fun, and spend it somewhere where I felt the best, with the people I loved most. The beach, the fiance and my family. True, things didn’t go exactly to plan, things were missed, some people had other responsibilities to take care of, and conditions weren’t truly perfect, but at that moment, all was well.

I would like to spend the rest of my life, with my birthdays in front of a beach. If that’s not a life goal, I don’t know what is.

When was the last time you told a person you loved them? Did you mean it? Because too often, I hear this phrase used, abused and thrown around like it was nothing.

I love you is easy, what you do to show the person you really do, is what’s difficult. Relationships, and keeping them alive in the real world with minimal tragedies, are a measure of patience, honesty, and compromise.

Sure we read about the great tragedies of Romeo and Juliet. We dream of the Noahs of the world that will love us even through Alzheimer’s (The Notebook), the Henrys that will make us fall in love with them every single day because we can’t retain short term memory (50 First Dates), and the Mr. Bigs that will run to Paris to win us back from Russians that don’t know what we’re worth (Sex and the City), but who will write about the daily lives and the normal things that people go through, and the tough life it can be when everything is just normal?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in a bad place, I truly am in a great one, but when people wax poetic about their “epic” love stories because they had to go through “obstacles” and “complications” I just shrug and say we all have our issues to work through. People get complacent, they forget about being there, things fall apart simply because you’ve gotten too comfortable and forget about the other person in it.

Love is a state that will always have ups and downs, and it’s your decisions in life that will point the direction of where it’s going to go, and your choice where to channel it.

I’m not a psychologist, or a relationship expert in any way, but from the time I was carefree and single to where I am now, it’s a whole different ballgame. I’ve lived, I’ve learned, I’ve gotten scarred, bruised, battered and broken. I have also been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve experienced milestones that I never thought I’d get to at this age and I’ve found a whole new level to living from one perspective, to two.

“I love you” is not a phrase I just throw around, and I’m happy to report that I’m still using it knowing the gravity the words carry behind it.