Most people hate the rain, and why wouldn’t they? It makes driving harder, which makes it more traffic to get to work or wherever it is you need to get to, and so on and so forth. It soaks your outfit, makes a mess on the floor, makes your dad yell at you when you come in with wet Chuck Taylors (long story).
But it also makes for this view at the Banaue Rice Terraces:
Walang tapon,
We forget how beautiful nature is sometimes when it’s beating down on us and is seemingly endlessly depressing. We forget that it makes the grass green, the trees lush, flowers bloom, fruits exist. The beauty of nature is that it doesn’t merely exist, it sustains. Food. Air. Overall nourishment. It took us 14 hours in a van to get to here, and I’d like to think it was worth every second. What about that view, eh? It’s intensely gorgeous without trying to hard, and it makes food too.
When I think of my 2015, I think of two things: learning and hunger.
I say learning because I learned a ton more of myself this year than I have in a while. Leaving my comfort zone at work and actual comfort zone meaning my home and life for chunks of time (approximately 2 and a half months away from home, around 13-18 hour plane rides to get there each) gave me perspective on myself I never had to face before. I learned that I really liked my own space. That I need alone time to decompress after a long day. That being lost in a city isn’t so bad when it’s a gorgeous one that runs efficiently. I confirmed my uselessness at reading maps or even following an arrow on Waze. I renewed my love for museums and art. I won’t even go into how much I’m learning at my job now, because that’s a whole other animal that has made me grow in more ways than I ever thought possible.
In hunger, I mean in exploring the world and its places, and mostly independence. I yearn to see more of the other side of the world. I want to get lost and see what I’ve never seen before. I don’t even mind that I can’t take a selfie to document these jaunts, as they are with me always. My wanderlust has been awakened so much more this year, that travel is the biggest beast in my chest. And if you can believe it, even more than exploring the restaurant scene here at home. I’ve been excited about food places less and less this year, the ones that I’ve read about I’ve found to be more and more pricey and more hype than soul, tapping into the global market while alienating the budget and reach of my demographic. My hunger is changing and it’s a ton more scary for the wallet, but I’m ready to take it on.
It’s not been all fun and games. With learning comes lessons that are hard to swallow, and admitting limitations that can feel defeating. There are other things in my life that are unsure that I’ve never left to chance before, and it has given me migraines, ulcers and even falling hair. I’ve worried myself into a cave of frustration too many times to count, but I have so much more to be thankful for. This has been a banner year for me and I hope that it carries into 2016, or at least have provided me enough wisdom to get through the challenges of this one. As they say, we expect the worst, but hope for the best.
How was your 2015? What are you looking forward to this year?
One of my oldest friends got married last Saturday. I’ve known her since I can remember. From running around and playing patintero, to having sleepovers at my place, to running to Hotel Intercontinental having a fancy slumber party with our friends right before we graduated college, Pau has been there all my life. We don’t spend every day together, we don’t even see each other more than twice a year sometimes, but I’ve seen her grow up to be a good woman, a doctor, even.
I remember being in a jeep together one time. She was talking about her now husband. That he was her best friend, that there was something there, but it wasn’t quite happening yet. And last Saturday, her ex-best friend turned into her now partner for life. There’s something amazing to me about this story. To start off as friends and go through all these things together, and even if tough times are to be had, you’ve gone through enough to know that you’re going to see each other through it.
I’ve seen and heard about enough breakups, the reasons behind them, the crazy circumstance. Too many people are taking back their vows, or completely getting rid of the promise and just chucking forever.
To actually see the beginning of a life together still gets me. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Agreeing to live with someone for the rest of your life, to knowing that you’ll keep having the same disagreements about petty things, or have massive fights about life changing decisions. You commit to God, and the law, all that in a day. In front of people you love and respect. I get why some people want the big wedding. To share it with as much people as you can, declaring your love to as much witnesses as possible, because your love is JUST THAT BIG. You can’t contain it.
Her wedding was, for me, fit. It wasn’t crazy big. It was formal, yes, but had a touch of goofy to not make it stiff. Food was delicious. We were never hungry or thirsty. The music was covered by the Project 6 Elohist choir and  a string band with two vocalists for the duration of the program. Coordinators were efficient and nice to the suppliers. People looked like they were having fun. I stuffed myself (and had a beer) to a food coma. Photos and SDE were gorgeous. Her gown was perfect. His barong was different enough from the rest of the men to be distinctive but not strange. Almost everyone followed the dress code. Invitations covered any kind of question people could have had.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not a review on her wedding, but rather praise on what they accomplished as a couple. How they really gave all they could to make sure their guests had fun, without completely removing their personalities to do it. I am grateful to have witnessed this union, and look forward to being in their lives for their marriage.
To say I still believe in forever is an understatement. If anything, I’m a bigger fan than ever.
Hello, everyone who’s going through a quarter life, midlife, single life, married life, crisis.
It’s me, Jody. I have been there, and I’m still there. Lost, sometimes dissatisfied, always wanting more. I recently watched the movie The Pursuit of Happyness and found myself struck by the words in the movie, “preservation of life, & liberty, & the pursuit of happiness”. It left me asking, will we always be in the pursuit of happiness? Or are some people perfectly happy where they are? I ask, because, while I am happy, I am always on the lookout for the next big thing, the next step. Where do we take life when we’re hardwired to look for bigger things under the ideology of ambition and success. But what is success? I know I’ve asked this before, and so far, I haven’t found anyone who considers themselves successful and is good to stay where they are. In conversations, everyone is always waiting for the next step, a higher goal.
Does it set us up for success or failure? Will we always feel incomplete because we’re always in pursuit? Or will it keep us moving, always working and always finding something to strive for.
For me, now, it depends on your perspective. I’ve always read that the most successful people are the ones who never give up, who keep on working. And then there are those who are quite cool with the simple things, those that sit at the end of the day and think themselves lucky to have their one bedroom apartment, dog, and netflix streaming.
I say, define your own success and pat yourself on the back today. You got through another night, you woke up with all your faculties, you can sing (even if you can’t hit one note), you have that cup of coffee to stay awake. Even with a grueling commute to an exhausting job that you spend 50 hours a week on that still isn’t enough to get you through your vacation in three months, it’s there, you know you’re able to eat in a few hours.
Pat yourself on the back for smiling at the colleague who looks like he’s going through something today, but is too quiet to say a word. Or for not burning the toast when you forgot to take it out before you took a shower.
Pat yourself on the back for being you, because you are awesome. You believe it today, and the world will find out about it soon.
My sister was cleaning out her closet earlier today and told me her rule of “If it makes me cringe, it goes.” and it got me thinking. If I had that mindset, all my journal, diaries of all the things I can’t write about online, things I wrote even before I had an online outlet, all thrown out. Because usually, what I write down are the things that are particularly poignant, i.e. embarrassing to see looking back, because they were written at the height of the emotion, or right after those moments, or in those weak moments of pain, and seeming tragedies.
My 13 year old me liked to jot down texts, as when we were younger, phones could only keep a maximum of 30. I wanted to, at the time, remember every little thing, thinking that when this seemingly forever person and I grew old together, the texts I kept we could show our grandchildren were priceless as they showed how we first started as a couple.
However, 15+ years and several failed (or imagined) romances later, I find myself cringing at the moments I chose to write down, and what I didn’t. The glimpses of my adolescence and those I chose to spend time agonizing over, well, seem inane and unworthy of the ink and paper I used to immortalize them in my life. You can actually read how badly they treated me and how gullible I was then, and how those people chose to help me crash and burn into the ground.
When you’re thirteen and leading life, everything is a tragedy and my younger self definitely sought to see how this would work out, seeing a shiny life and an amazing smile and imagining forever, and when that didn’t work out, would whine and moan about what I did wrong and why he didn’t call.
Looking back now, and even through the cringing, I see the value of writing down, even those silly childhood flirty texts, they let me see how much better I have it now. That I was rejected by this person or that, or strung along, or duped into thinking they were so wonderful but amazingly, had a secret girlfriend, or was waiting for someone better to come along. It also got me seeing how badly I’ve been looking at things, and how the little things matter, or don’t really in the scheme of my life.
Names will be kept secret of course, but if you’re still there, reading this, thank you. For treating me horribly. Stringing me along. Writing poetry that was insincere at best, designed to hook me into your schemes at the worst. Introducing me to your friends as “that girl”.
It’s made me stronger, and shown me that I should find a person who treats me like I deserve to be treated. Who doesn’t forget I’m there, in the background, supporting them (albeit a bit sarcastic). Who sees me as I am and knows that this is the person they got into a relationship with, and not looking for something more to come along, but are happy with what life throws into the mix.
So journals, you’re here to stay, the memories I’m keeping making me cringe but always, helping me remember who I was, who I am now, and who I should be with.
The view from Bantayan island in Cebu was gorgeous. A sleepy tourist town, it is 4 hours away from Cebu City, with a 3 hour bus ride and 1 hour ferry ride to get there. It was my first time to visit my birthday weekend, after hearing about it for years, finally getting there for my birthday.
You will find it hard to get lost there, as it is small and filled with very helpful locals most willing to help. They have their own recommendations of course, and you will be offered a ton of services, but on the whole, they’re just nice.
It is also an island full of expats, seemingly German, who’ve married Filipinas and have built their lives there, with resorts, restaurants and other business that cater to those who just want to enjoy the island, no matter how short or long. It has become such a normal thing, that our sicad (pedicab) driver pointed out that a new, posh neighborhood mostly consisted of Europeans who have Filipina wives.
That is to say, this is not to be a commentary on the society of Bantayan, or the choices of women and men from different sides of the world.
It is an appreciation of where I was, turning 29, on an island, with who I was with, and what I’ve done so far to get there.
I dreaded 29, it seemed, OLD. I know if you’re older than me, you will roll your eyes at this, and if you’re younger, you’re probably nodding your head. 29 is the last of my 20s, of what is supposed to be, your formative adult years, where you can make mistakes, take your time, and explore. I have been, suffice to say, not much of an explorer. I have been wary of too much insanity, of too much risk, taking into account what my friends have done before me, and what limits me as a person of my own income, and responsibilities.
I do not travel a lot. I admit it. No matter how much fun it seems to blow savings and “figure it out later”, things have come up in my life that have prevented me from going away too long, or too far. I am also, a person very much attached to the person in my life, and if they do not want to go, I am embarrassed to admit that I would be quite disappointed to go without them (barring a few instances here and there).
I do like the beach, and staying in places where I can just sit, take a dip in the ocean, have a nice walk, and eat great food. It’s not much, compared to dreams of Paris or Rome.
So when I found myself doing just that, in a trip that someone else planned, executed and paid for, I couldn’t help but pat myself in the back and thank my lucky stars that I was there, I was happy, and I was whole.
It was, in my mostly down and up life, an amazing moment of peace and contentment that I was extremely grateful for, that I will look back on when people ask me how old I am, or ask when I’m getting married (no plans yet Tita), or how much weight I’ve gained lately (quite a lot), or the scars on my legs that have accumulated lately (bun life).
If you’re in the Philippines, you’ve probably spent hours and hours in traffic getting to places. This year, the traffic is a different kind of struggle, and the malls, like a zombie outbreak. We’re stressing out on an extreme level because everything is taking three times as long, and it’s scary going out there. Crimes against motorists, commuters are on a record high, and the average Juan can’t catch a break while the imprisoned rich are living 200% times better than us.
I do think there is a lot to be thankful for. For the fact that we actually have people to meet and places to go to that we’re braving the traffic and paying extra to get there. That we have the ability to buy the presents we want to give to our loved ones, even if we have to swim through the crowds to do so.
I hope your Christmas is kind of like the photo above (which is a rabbit diving into the food carrier), that even with a bit of struggle, is worth every second of effort.
It is no secret that I had a Disney childhood, most people my age did. When you don’t have the internet and a ton of choices in television and movies, people end up with shared experiences, and the same memories of culture references and ideas growing up.
Disney was a major part of my life, and mostly the reason I love colors. I remember preferring Minnie Mouse coloring books growing up, and thinking of color combinations to her outfits in reds, pinks, and purples. I wanted the ears that I saw in movies and television shows, the fireworks, the mascots.
Last week, I was fortunate enough to be able to experience it for myself, that even the pain of my recent physical shortcomings, I forgot. When the light and fireworks show came on, I felt like the 8 year old watching Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast over and over again, mouthing the words without fail.
Thank you, Walt Disney, for making children all over the world part of something that is magical and unlike any other.
Are you a Disney child too? What was your favorite Disney movie growing up?
I never take enough photos to properly document a trip, and this is one of the few photos I took of this past week’s company trip to Bacolod. The Ruins. A beautiful, beautiful place, with so-so food and awesome local beer.
To travel is to live. And I felt like I definitely lived last week.
Yesterday, in my daily Buzzfeed scan, I came across this article, of Sara Bareilles helping two couples propose (found here). It, quite honestly brought me to a few tears. While I’m not a fan of huge, public proposals, and this may be most public of all (it is a music video after all), these looked heartfelt, and the song is one I liked immediately after hearing it. The guy that proposed to his girlfriend made Post-It dioramas! The girl proposing to hers, included family and loved ones, and signs that reminded me of the scene in Love Actually, where a guy declares his love for the woman of his dreams, which is actually his best friend’s wife (see here).
I feel really happy for these couples who know they’ve found the person they will spend the rest of their lives with, and the excitement and enthusiasm they have for the beginning of something. A marriage. Which to me, is  the Everest of choice. Something that you will question every single day of the rest of your life, and will have to make moving forward.
My parents are 32 years married today. They are celebrating a marriage that works, of two people complementing each other with their differences, and choosing to stay together every single day, even when it’s difficult, frustrating, joyful, or tragic. They’ve lost almost all their parents (with my Mom only having her mom left), an only sibling (my dad’s), and both their homes in fires. They’ve survived raising three (sometimes difficult) children, putting up a home, careers, pets and relative presence that have impacted their lives together.
They chose each other, and still do, every day.
It’s a normal marriage, they do not write each other love letters, or hold hands through errands, or do anything particularly romantic. They like to do different things. My mom likes to go out, explore the world, run around doing all the things on her list (that she forgets if it’s not written down somewhere), while my dad likes to stay put, carry about his mental to-dos.
My mother is a social butterfly, randomly asking people on the street questions, while I have friends I’ve had for decades who can count on one hand the conversations they’ve had with my father.
I could go on and on about how they differ, but on one thing they are alike, and that is the decision they make each day to spend their lives together. And that, is remarkable in this world, that is full of uncertainty and when it is easier to give up and move on, staying is romantic in itself.
That is to say, it is also alright to choose to leave, to quit, to move on, when you know, in your heart, that this is not the choice for you. When you feel hollow, when you’re being hurt consciously, whether it’s physically, mentally, or emotionally. When other people are being hurt.
My point is (if it isn’t apparent by the what, 10 times I’ve used the word) is the choice.
My parents are together today, and have been together for 32 years, because they made one, and continue to make it every waking hour to stay together.
And that, is for them, both a mixture of luck, hard work, and love for each other.
