I am an internet lurker. I follow great blogs, people and have actually met these people in person. One thing I’ve noticed  is how markedly differently people can be in person from their internet personas. A person that’s quite eloquent on their blog can be pretty quiet in person. An Instagram personality, almost unrecognizable without their filters.
My six readers, I understand I am the same way. I don’t usually wax poetic about life and all its quirks, and analyze positively about most things like this blog and all its entries reflect.
To be honest, and readers, since you mostly know me in person (or are related to me, whatever), you know that I am a mostly sarcastic, sometimes offensive joke cracking wisebutt in conversation. My reputation at the last company I worked for that had a team that met in person once a month, have told me that I always sound like there’s a double entendre in most things I say. Birthdays I usually send links to a kind of offensive video to friends that denote something will be going on that day.
And yes, I do realize how easy it is to filter out the elements of your life that you don’t want people to find out about you. It’s always so tempting to present the most idealized version of us to the world, the one that’s always put together, or only have flaws that are adorable. So let me be a little more open right now, six readers, and let me know if I’m missing anything that you feel needs to be said.
I have a short temper. I’ve been known to lose patience quickly but I am trying to learn to reel it in, especially since I don’t have a poker face to hide what I feel at any given time.
I am a crazy bunny lady. Most of my day, if not focused at work, is focused on keeping my bunnies happy and healthy. Since I lost my bunny in June, I’ve been obsessing about the other one’s health and well being.
My coping mechanism is food. I usually look for something to eat when I’m annoyed or stressed or want to celebrate. Even when I’m sick, I’m always hungry. The one time I remember not being hungry is when my bunny died in June and I skipped a few meals because I was so devastated (told ya I was a crazy bunny lady).
I’m not very touchy feely. I use humor as a defense and don’t usually start emotional conversations. I can’t remember the last time I told my family I love them. We don’t hug unless it’s to annoy the other person.
I can be very passive aggressive. I hate this part of my personality and I want to be more confrontational and upfront, but years and years of indoctrination and getting that same treatment from people close to me, it’s hard to not be the same.
I have an incessant desire to help. It can be detrimental to my wallet, my mood, my overall well being, but if I see something I can fix or help with, I will try to do it. I’ve had friendships break because of this, because I had thought I warranted the same devotion, but I do realize just because we’re good to other people, doesn’t mean they will be to you, and that sometimes my definition of help is actually meddling, or that “good” is actually annoying/judgmental.
I gossip. I’m trying not to do this because I hate being talked about behind my back, but when you talk to the same people every single week, day in and day out, it’s hard to not listen.
What parts of your personality do you think you usually hide from the general public?
I went on two ethically debatable trips lately, one was to go back to the whale sharks in Oslob, Cebu, (plus a guided tour of the Aguinid and Da-o falls in the same vicinity) and the Buscalan tour in Kalinga. They are ethically debatable because I personally know a few people who are against these tours, the former for its impact on the whale sharks and the environment, the other, for the commercialization of an almost forgotten art.
They were both beautiful in differing ways. The first were to be able to have a chance to commune with such beautiful animals, the whale sharks are really gentle giants, hoovering meals of small shrimp with a boatman “leading” them to the right direction. The argument the environmentalists (see arguments here) are behavioral modifications and the like are sound, I have to admit.
Human interaction will inherently change how whale sharks, an endangered species approach us and their way of life, but at the same time, it was hard to take this way of life for a few hundred people and a community away from them. I left with a feeling of awe and guilt as I showered away the smell of the ocean and the vision of that huge mouth vacuuming away at the fish it was getting for feed. That is not a sight you forget in your lifetime. Whether it’s because of fear or just feeling like this creature should be revered and taken care of so it’ll thrive, I left there wishing this provides more awareness of their situation so future generations can still know their majesty.
Going up level 2 (not me)
We also went to the Aguinid falls (see tripadvisor link here) as an alternative to the now banned canyoneering in Badian. We thought we were just going to trek up a few minutes to look at beautiful  falls. When we got there we found out it was an adventure tour of five levels (up to eight!) of falls that you had to rope, climb, shimmy up on. It took us a couple of hours, but we got up the eight levels (the guides offered to take us all the way to the top) and it was more beautiful each level up. Water was cool, there wasn’t as much people as Badian, and it’s definitely less of a thrill ride (see, no jumping off 10 feet into water to start) than canyoneering but every bit as beautiful.
The guides were funny, very knowledgeable, even told us that they had grown up in the barangay, and that only people from the barangay can serve as guides. Tip though, if you’ve  gone to Badian, don’t expect any safety equipment besides your guides and your abilities. There are no helmets, no safety shoes, no life vests. There is a rope to go up one really steep part up where there are falls beating down on you, and your guides will bodily lead you up the other parts, but other than that, no regulations, no safety precautions, no way of getting you to a hospital fast if anything should happen.
I applaud this community for sharing their secret with the rest of the country, as the guides said, these used to be their playground, their own personal backyard, and now, to help with tourism and income, a lot of the teenagers are there are guides (100+ males and females 16 and up) to people who want to see what they’ve been able to enjoy their whole life. They set you up for every picture opportunity possible, provide reassurance humor to the trip. I hope that they figure out how to make sure it’s safer for everyone involved, and keep the falls clean and beautiful.
Cebu is definitely a treasure trove of things to do and places to see, at a pace anyone can match, and budget most everyone can afford. I am aware I am sounding like an ad, but the more I go outside the city and see more than the food (porky goodness), the more it’s growing on me (and the more it makes me grow).
On to Kalinga. We went with my boyfriend’s cousins to Buscalan in Kalinga, to visit Whang Od, the legendary mambabatok (tattoo artist). Documentation of her age and life vary. Her age online ranges from 92-98 as of writing. It was quite a trip 14 hours in a van one way from Cubao, Quezon City. There is a 45 minute hike from parking to the village of Buscalan, and for those who do not
Whang Od tattooing
trek at all, it’s a steep hike with a sharp drop. Prepare to bring your own things, see beautiful scenery, and freak out a bit on a high single person bridge with no railings. We were actually in a hurry to go before another group we had encountered in the market during breakfast, knowing they were there for the same reason, to get tattooed by the legend. One of the boyfriend’s cousins actually told us that there are days when Whang Od doesn’t feel like tattooing, so we might not get tattooed by her, but one of her two granddaughters, Grace and Elyang, the only two people she taught (tradition limits that she only teach those of her lineage or the tattoos will get infected). The issue about the tattooing was fine with me, as I set off not wanting to get one, as I had not been able to donate blood (I have an agreement with my mom to get that done first before getting any ink) beforehand. I was happy to just observe and see Whang Od in person, as I had seen her in photos and the tattoos in photos and found them fascinating and beautiful.
Again, the experience was a mix of emotions. You can tell that she was the queen of the village and most of the income came from people flocking in wanting to get tattooed by her and her granddaughters. The rest of the village provides homestays and serve as guides. They are all very nice and accommodating and have a trove of dad jokes with props even to share with the tourists. They are all very welcoming, the view is breathtaking anywhere you look. It’s a simple village set in the mountains where the air is fresh, the water is clean, and there are native pigs lying around like dogs as pets. When we walked a little outside the village where the rice terraces were, we had to take a ton of photos because it felt like something out of a nature magazine.
There is also the flip side that the village is now overrun by tourists that we encountered four or five kids that just kept repeating “Pera! Pera! Pera!” at us while we walked back into the village. The tattooing area was so full I had to take a break to get some air. This tiny lady in all her 90+ years just being stared at by more than a dozen people at a time, waiting for her to finish so they can get some of her art. I can see that her grand daughters were feeling the fatigue too, so I can’t imagine what she feels after a full day of tattooing and doing the same repetitive motion with her arms raised the whole day, the sound of her sticks tak-tak-tak-ing away almost like a heartbeat in its gentle rhythm.
I know that it offers the whole community a ton of income, and the three of them enjoy a special status in the community, and know how to handle the influx of tourists coming in. Our group was actually able to stay in Grace’s (one of the three artists) home and have a couple of drinks with her, she is a magnetic, confident woman who has these light brown eyes that are no doubt beautiful. Elyang, while a little more shy, is coming into her own, joking around with our group after tattooing the three in our group one after the other, dealing her own fiery humor after she got comfortable. Whang Od, though she does not speak any Tagalog, had her (male) translator blushing and refusing to translate something about the tattoo one Spanish tourist was getting. These are women that control their own fate, and know what they’re doing. It’s not feeling sorry for them that’s the issue, it’s the balance of how the community will be dependent on them, the culture and meaning of the tattoos now that people no longer need to earn them but pick them off a board or a magazine, and the simple thing of giving these women the choice to say no when they don’t want a certain tourist to take their photo or stare at them, or who gets to be in their company all day.
So i guess I need your opinion on this dilemma. What do you think we should do as a culture to help the arts and nature thrive without throttling their very essence and life? Would you go on these trips yourself? Â What measures do you think need to be in place to keep them in check?
While I treasure these memories, not just because i got to experience them, but who I experienced them with, I want to leave a place better than I did going in, and not have a twinge of guilt after I do. Maybe we need longer term measures, and not just go for the sake of going. I am a lucky woman to be able to tell my future grandbunnies that I got to do this, but I want future generations to be able to as well.
So much for relaxing and leaving your brain on vacation eh?
I went to my uncle’s funeral yesterday. He was 85 and lived a full life. Married, had children, made mistakes, made some more, fixed those mistakes, and made amends with others. He was definitely not a saint but he wasn’t all at fault for all that’s gone wrong or right in his life either. I will always remember him as this man who was always cheerful, impeccably dressed, and loved watching wrestling. Yes the WWE. The last time we visited him at home, he actually had it on the TV and was excitedly talking to my brother about it. He may be the oldest fan of the franchise that I know. I’ve heard some stories about his life that have made me nod and think to myself that I’m not worried about what he’s done for himself, but for the family that he’s leaving behind, most particularly his grandchildren, who he was grandfather to, and sometimes father as well. He was a warm person and a fun loving guy, and my favorite memory of him is of three years ago, when our tire blew on the North Luzon Expressway, he took it upon himself to be an extra early warning device to make up for our puny orange cone. He picked up a large branch off the side of the road and just started waving it at the motorists that were passing through, to make sure they knew we were having an issue. It’s not very sweet. It’s definitely funny. It’s very much an anecdote of his personality, that he would make the effort to try and help, in any way he knew how. Also that he had a sense of humor about himself that never really went away.
The priest at the mass for him had said, the Bible says we live to 70. He got to live to 85, and for that, we need to be thankful. For anyone who gets to live their bonus years, and for being able to say goodbye in a room full of people who loved and cared for you until the end. Not a lot of people can say that. I am happy that he got to do so, and that the pain and difficulty he had been suffering the past several months because of the cancer that ravaged his body has now lifted, and in my head, he is off to his afterlife, sipping a brandy and watching advanced episodes of the WWE.
It’s really got me thinking about what I would be looking back on at my twilight years (If I’m lucky enough to get to them). I’ve been thinking about this a lot. It’s a mix of hearing friends describe their lives, what they’ve gone through, the situations they’ve been, the insanity that life has handed to them. While I have admittedly, gone the safest route possible, with the most moderate risks and thought about decisions this whole time.
I’m not particularly adventurous, nor very friendly. I don’t enjoy going out at night. I like to read, and catch up on shows I follow on TV. My most adventurous is when it comes to things I eat. Weird things, unusual tastes, I like to try new dishes and offerings that I can get to as much as I can. Even that though has its limits. I hardly go out anymore and I yawn when out at 9 pm at night. I stop drinking after two glasses/bottles. I don’t like rollercoasters, I don’t even watch horror movies. What gives me a thrill is a new restaurant, a nice  place to stay, a calm beach with no one else around and a cold drink.
My lifestyle was, and still is, quite boring, and my approach to life, safe. Sometimes I think about growing old and wanting to look back on life and finding something to reminisce about, the wild days. Because there are no wild days quite yet. Even at the age of 30, there are no stories that will make my future grandchildren blush or exclaim “Gross!”. And maybe that’s all right with me.
What scares me is not a life too safely played, but the inability to make significant connections to a minute amount of people. I am not very affectionate. 90% of my conversations are sarcastic comments and self-admonishing quips. I do not tell my friends I miss them or shower them with embarrassingly public displays of adoration during their birthdays or life milestones. I don’t even ask for hugs when I sometimes need them. I forget birthdays and lose numbers. When a friend is going down a self-destructive path and I can’t bear to watch them do it, but can’t really dictate their actions, I lend an ear when they ask, but don’t meddle. When I can no longer look, I step back and wait for them to ask for my help.
I’m hoping when I get to the afterlife and I’m asked what I did in this one, that I can answer truthfully that I’ve loved and tried all my best to help and not to hurt. Because there is so much hate, pain and suffering we can inflict on others, and I don’t want to be part of that as much as I can.
When was the last time you did something for the first time? For people my age, it’s not a question answered lightly. At this age, people have typically been working for almost a decade. We’ve set routines, gone through the early quarter life crisis (hitting 25 and thinking it was a big deal), and thinking we know what we want. It now takes some convincing to take us out of our comfort zones, and as this age is also the beginning of when we feel the body slowing down, it’s also the time when we think we should slow down in life as well.
Recently I crossed off a lot of firsts, and packed in a span of several days, it feels like quite a blur, that if you told last year me, I would not have believed it.
You see, I am a chicken. I don’t do roller coasters. I’m not a fan of ziplines. My adrenaline rush usually comes in biking up and down mountains (or when I see a plate of food that smells great that I’ve never tried before). Heights make my knees shake. I don’t even like going to viewpoints. So when my friends said we were going canyoneering in Cebu and mentioned jumps in our messaging group, I deliberately did not look it up, nervous that if I did, I would scare myself out of going.
I’m glad I didn’t, because when we got there, even the motorcycle ride to the jump off point was scary. The ground was wet and the rocks loose, the hills were steep and the fall, quite high. I was convinced we overloaded that tiny motorcycle by having three people in it. I climbed off the bike vibrating and I wasn’t the only one. We were all nervously walking down the steps to the jump off point.
And then we got to the beginning of the 4 (we had a leisurely pace, so for us, 5) hour day of jumping off 15 feet, 10 feet, five feet rocks into water, sliding down rapids, and swimming down falls. The water was always running so everything felt fresh, even if it was shooting up our noses after unprepared jumps. The water was cold and I was shaking for half the trip. My friends were better prepared, with long sleeved rashguards, leggings and shorts on top of it.
It was an adrenaline rush different from what I’ve ever experienced. As you can imagine, we weren’t exactly thrill seekers, but this was definitely half a day of rush. To start the trip was a 15 foot jump into running water, and I almost didn’t go, but as I heard my friend and her husband laughing in the water below, I knew I couldn’t back out. Five women who hardly do sports, have trouble just walking, going to extremes for our wills. So that was our day. Holding on for dear life to our vests as we jumped, slid, climbed down. Laughing at ourselves so much we almost slipped down. Joking with our two guides so often that the quite grueling trek we didn’t feel until we went back to our hotel room and all the rush wore off. One of my friends even discovered a map of bruises that looked like she went through fraternity hazing. The rest of us could hardly lift our arms the day after, limping and waddling around.
It was a great experience mostly because I knew I was in good company. People in the same physicality and almost the same weenieness as me (I swear I am top 2 if not the top weenie). People I’ve known since we were in kindergarten that we could reminisce and laugh at ourselves because five years ago the most active thing we did was helmet diving in Boracay. Women I love and I could totally be comfortable with, who I’ve grown up with, and now, grown our limits together. It was also a great way to bond with my best friend’s husband, who we spent the whole day with, and used as our barometer on what we were able to do.
There is one regret I am holding now, as I see videos after the trip, is that I chickened out of a 25 foot jump. I overthought it, and was yelled at (very lovingly but in a really hurried, there is a long line of people behind you way) by our guide. Because I heard people land very loudly and cursing all the way down, I scared myself out of it. Most every person in our group did it, except for me and a friend after me, that after I chickened out, walked with me down instead of jumping.
This experience wouldn’t be the same without our guides, Kuya Randy and Kuya Noli, with their jokes, their pickup lines, their jumping from rock to rock and making us gasp every single time, telling us “Come to me and hold me” as they held out their hands as they guided us through tricky corners. I highly recommend them for a truly FUN time for even the most weenie of weenies. They are with Highland Adventures found here.
Maybe if we go back I can do it. And the 50 foot one as well.
I don’t really write much but essays. Or rants. Or whatever you call it. I’m not much for creating things I don’t know in my head. However as I was washing my hands yesterday over the sink, a scene popped into my head, and I knew I had to write it down. That said, please see Star. A work of fiction, below.
He saw her across the room and had to take a breath.
“She looks the sameâ€. He thought to himself. “Still not a smiler but always had a hint of a smirk there.â€
Beer in hand, he tries to carry on, but finds himself too distracted to concentrate much on the conversation. Excusing himself, he uses his empty bottle to steer himself away.
He picks up a beer from the bar and steels himself to go say hi. Turning around, he realizes he doesn’t need to. She’s right behind him, offering a hug hello.
Small talk. It’s been seven years, and they haven’t had an actual conversation, apart from the Facebook happy birthdays and Christmas greetings. Catch up. She’s running a couple of small businesses now, a spa and small pharmacy in nearby locations. He tells her of his post at the ADB.
“Have you met my wife?†he finds himself saying. She says yes, they met when she came in, their friends introducing them. Congratulates him on the baby on the way.
“She’s my rock you know, I don’t think I could have made it this far without her.†He shares without really understanding why. She smiles and says she knows, and that she’s never seen him this content. Confident. It’s a testament to how a woman can change one’s life, her always with the woman hear me roar statements.
“But you’re my star.†He mumbles. She stares at him but doesn’t really say anything. Opening her mouth to speak, he interrupts. “No, don’t. We’ve gone through this before. I’m happy with my life, I just had to be honest.â€
He continues, “Years from now, you will be a memory, a happy one, or better, a good friend, but for now, you’re still the star, my one that got away.â€
She apologizes and says thanks, and moves the conversation away from the brutally honest one that just happened. They talk, and it’s like the seven years hadn’t passed. They part ways to catch up with other people, promising to keep in touch more often.
He goes back to his wife, kisses her on the cheek, joining her conversation.
I quote this, not as a vague comment on my relationship (We’re happy, thank you for asking), but of life in general. As part of the *new year* the girls in the house decided to clean their closets for things to give away, and it hit me how my philosophy in getting rid of the clothes in my space now parallels how I relate to the people in my life. It was simple, if I can no longer see myself ever fitting in it, or I can no longer see myself in it even if it did, I’ll let it go (cue Elsa in the ice gown).
I got rid of about a third of my things. I heard that a lot of the things that no longer fit went to a younger, very skinny cousin that lives down the street, and the rest, mom will distribute to where she sees it fit to go.
I’m turning thirty (GASP!) this year and I have to accept that even though you feel a certain fondness for things and people, there comes a time to let go when it just doesn’t fit anymore. No matter how much you try, too much time has passed, too many things have been missed. There are too many hurts that leave scars that in its wake, people stop caring about each other.
Wait. I’m not talking about clothes anymore am I?
Yes. People. Friends, in fact. They fall away, and move on without you. That happens when you grow apart, find new friends, find yourself a whole different person from the one they knew. And it’s not one person’s fault, (I hope) as friendships, like relationships are a two way street. When they reach out to you, ask you to lunch, or dinner, or a party, and you find yourself refusing for one reason or another, too many invitations later, you’re not part of the invite anymore. You feel hurt. You forget that you’ve been asked so many times and said no so many times, they’ve gotten tired of your excuses.
When you try and keep in touch after such a long time you forget who they are, or not know them anymore because you didn’t make the effort to do so in the months or years you were away. They’ve moved on and become busy with their careers, families, significant others, that you lose commonalities, or even things to talk about. Conversations become stunted, awkward, and you can’t wait for the one dinner you show up to, to end.
I guess I’m writing this as a love letter to the friends I’ve let go of, and those who will move on from my life in the future. For one reason or another, you’ve all helped shape who I am, whether to push me to become stronger because of misunderstandings and pain that have been shared, or through your positivity and generosity. It sounds cheesy, but I wish you all the joy and happiness that you truly deserve in life, and even if we are no longer in each other’s presences, know I am ecstatic for your accomplishments and weep with you in your disappointments.
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?
So I’m not officially a Christmas elf anymore, since I moved companies early this year. That doesn’t make me less of an elf however, as Christmas still makes me giddy, even with all the stress that comes with it.
I love the weather. It’s a little bit colder than usual, cold enough to use a pajamas at night, a sweater if you’re spending some time outside.
People are generally more generous towards each other, with Christmas bonuses, gift giving, parties and all. There is a festive mood, even if people try to deny it and complain about the inevitable horrid traffic getting there and going home, when they get to see friends and family they made plans with, faces light up and people breathe better.
There are a ton of parties to go to, reunions, people you troop to the other side of the metro for, since most of the year there seems to be less reason to see each other. When you think December, you remember the people you don’t get to see often but want to do so.
There seems to be more food going around. Being given as presents, baked goods abound. Cheesecakes from the family friend that’s also a dentist, brownies (my Tita Lita’s fudgy brownies I CAN’T WAIT), cookies. Bibingka and puto bumbong from the church early in the morning, in our town in Batangas with this perfectly made pandan tea. Suman from our town in Bataan with halaya already in the middle, perfect with a cup of tea (or coffee if that’s your thing).
More hugs are given for some reason. Maybe it’s the weather. Maybe it the mood. Maybe it’s a hugging disease going around, and I’d like to get infected with it.
I know I’m lucky, to be surrounded by family on Christmas, a particularly noisy, easily excitable family that is there for each other year after year, and I hope to never get tired of it, or lose that place.
Christmas is my favorite holiday, bar none.
May your Christmas be merry, and full of love. If it’s quiet, make it noisy. If it’s lonely, reach out to a person you love, you won’t be less of a person if you make the first call. Fill your life with love. Be careful with people’s hearts. Love one another.
So I found myself in the UK last month. It still seems like something out of the Twilight Zone , me actually getting there(Millenials, see here). After two weeks of preparation, I found myself in the freezing early winter in the UK for a week and a half. I never feel like I’m fully prepared for a trip. I never pack the right amount of clothes, either it’s too much or too little. This trip fully left me with a sense of panic. This was evident as I was waiting for my aunt to pick me up at the train station in Newcastle, wearing layers entirely too thick for the country I left, and pathetically thin for the country I was in.
I have lived my whole life in a tropical country. Our average temperature is around 25-30 degrees Celsius even in the coldest of months. Our humidity is 75% up and smog adds to the thickness of the metro. Knowing this, I had bought and packed parka type jackets and thick coats that in the heat of the weather where I bought them, seemed enough, even too much for where I was going to. Through the advice of my significant other, and (sort of) cousin I packed mostly in dark colors, mainly black, so as not to literally stick out of the crowd in my usually loud colors. I brought (thermal) layers, scarves, headgear, and thick socks.
I was smug and thought for once I had packed quite enough for the weather. I was happy with my monochrome wardrobe, knowing I had survived with significantly less in the thick of winter at the Bay Area, with temperatures at 8-11 degrees Celsius during my stay.
I was wrong. This is what happens when you’re overconfident. I knew I got cold easily since I usually get cold here, but when I got there, I was miserably freezing. After a few hours, a family friend came over and brought over a suitcase (literally, a roller bag full) full of winter things for me to wear. Things I would actually buy if I knew how much I was in for, and how cold I would really feel.
That whole UK trip (Scotland, NewCastle, York, Sunderland, London, Maidenhead), 90% of what I wore was from that suitcase. I switched out some things and did laundry, but the average -1 to 3 in the north, 2 to 11 degrees in London was a lesson to me on humility and gratitude. Humility that I did not know what i was doing even if I thought I had enough research and prepared, gratitude to the people around me that understood what it means to be from a country so different.
I certainly felt like I was going to a foreign territory, but found myself feeling quite at home because of the community I dropped in on. Those who I was related to by blood, but also those who I knew since I can remember. One thing I’m grateful for is for the warmth of the welcome, the degree of hospitality, and the generosity of the people that I saw when I was there. I never could have enjoyed myself without their help, and have seen the country for what it meant to them and their families for them to be there.
They say the Filipino spirit is waterproof, I say it’s lifeproof. However far we are from each other, how different our lives are, how hard the obstacles, we still find a way to smile through tough days, months, years. I admire each person who leaves our country to work for their families and loved ones, because it is exhausting to be in a place that’s not “home”, and to be apart from the ones you love for months or years at a time is an immense sacrifice. Of course it is also great fun to explore, see another place, find your way around and get to travel the other side of the world, but in the end, home is where our hearts are, and if we’re not there for most of our lives, it’s forfeiting time spent with the ones you love.
Suffice to say I am learning more the farther I get from my home base. And I am loving that I get the opportunity to do so.
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.
o so many times, they’ve gotten tired of your excuses.
much I was in for, and how cold I would really feel.