Huh?!

This afternoon as I slept in Ronald's arms I knew that our friendship was never gonna be the same again.
I met Ronald a couple of years ago when I was still managing a band called the Skrew-ups. He was the front-man of a band called "Huh?" They were pretty good. He is a punk in the truest sense of the word, the kind of guy who is snotty to authority figures but is so smart and likeable he ends up as the most popular guy in the end. We bonded over common interests, we have the same artistic sensibilities and a similar bohemian attitude towards life. He introduced me to the coolest and most obscure bands. He is not an art snob, not pretentious, nor artsy-fartsy, but he is a truly gifted artist. I love the humor in his paintings, his colorful pop-art canvases. We would spend hours talking about his fledging art gallery, his life as a starving artist, music, movies, obscure videos... he encouraged me to move out of the house, and he was so totally spot-on about his advice as he talked me through it.
We met today after not seeeing each other for months. I had lost my phone and I was only able to get in touch with him again recently through a common friend. So we met up and he told me where life has taken him so far, then went to his apartment, where I normally pore over his SPIN magazines. I thought it was more of the same.
So we were in bed, talking, chatting...and I'm not sure how it happened but I fell asleep in his arms. I could feel his heart beating so fast and I knew that this was the most reassuring feeling that I've felt in a long time. I knew that he had nothing but good intentions. In my head, however, I was cursing myself for putting myself at such an awkward situation. I was afraid that this may ruin our friendship. When I woke up, he didn't want to let go, but I said that I had to think.
I was also worried because he wasn't physically atractive. I mean we connect in many levels, but I'm afraid that I may be too shallow to actually look beyond that. I'm afraid that I'm actually throwing out a good product because it doesn't come in a pretty package. I'm also not sure if I'm actually ready to take the plunge. I'm not ready to enter into a relationship wherein a guy and I dont connect on all levels.
I'm afraid when we meet up next week. The way I act will define our relationship from hereon. I don't want to screw things up with him. I genuinely like hanging out with him. DAmn him. why did he have to complicate things?

All I want(ed) for Christmas (but didn't get)....

were...

three books

The Alchemist by Paolo Coelho
Dress Your Family I Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke

An empty journal

An MP3 player (Baby bro I'm waiting...)

What I got were...

More shoes
More soap thigies
More cosmetics, lotion, and toiletries than I know what to do with that if you bunk me in a bomb shelter for a year I'd still be good.

More clothes, including

...A Darth Maul baseball jersey (duh?)

Focault's Pendlum by Umberto Eco (I'm going through a European authors phase)

Not that I'm complaining. Twas a pretty good yield this year. I may have busted my pockets but at least I got pretty great stuff. As for the things I want...why don't I buy them myself, you say? Well, I'm a pretty cheap bastard. I'll buy them myself evetually if I don't get them by the end of the season. Christmas ain't over til Jan. 6, ya hear?

Guilty Conscience

Last Saturday I was at Club V when Gerard came up to me as I was dancing.We met last week during a birthday party in Tanauan, Batangas, a friend of a friend of my brother-in-law. I thought he was cute, but was weirded out because he was the namesake of my last "serious" boyfriend. I forgot about him.Until we met again that night. Inebriated by alcohol, he decides to put the moves on me. Therein begins the battle between

GOOD GIRL AND BAD GIRL.

GOOD: Oh gosh he just put his arm around me! yuck! Mouth, tell him to get off!
BAD: Lighten up. It's not like you're gonna beome a couple after this! Besides, he's kinda cute
GOOD: He's also named Gerard. That should be an omen.
Later on. We leave the Club to go someplace quiet to talk. After chit-chatting, I learn that he's a legal management student from Lipa, he's 19, and he thinks I'm 20. He even buys me bottled water because I'm thirsty.
BAD: Oh look at him! Such a sweet boy! Look! he even bought me bottled water!
GOOD: I'm impressed with bottled water? I could've bought that for myself. Besides he's nineteen. Remember the last time you went out with an inebriated, horny teenager? That was just a few months ago. Remember how that turned out? Remember two years ago, when you went out with that 19-year old kid? Kids and sex do not have a good track record with you.
BAD: But c'mon isn't it time for just a little fun? When was the last time I flirted with someone? Why not be bad, even just for a little while? He's kind of cute!
GOOD: And barely legal! You'd be lucky if this kid has a condom on him! Besides, you're to young to be Demi to another Ashton!
"Uh, Gerard...you know I don't think that this will work. You see, I'm 25. I've done this before with an 18-year old guy and the emotional and mental age gap was just way too big. I just..."
"Okay. So just for tonight lang?"
"Sige, tonight lang."
"Wait, I'm gonna get something from my friends up in the Club. Wait for me."
Upon his return, he wordlessly leads me to his friend's van. I groan inside. From what I remember about making out in a car, it was a very uncomfrotable experience.
GOOD: A car! A car! Doesn't this say something about his opinion of you?
BAD: Why should it bother me? I have a low opinion of him.
GOOD: HE'S NINETEEN!
As He begins to gnaw on my lips, I push him away. "Look, This is weird. You're nineteen, and this doesn't feel right. I feel like I should't be doing this."
"No it's ok...ok?"
More gnawing. First, second, then third base. Wow! All in the span of five minutes!
GOOD: If his kiss is any indication of his performance, you're in trouble.
"Wait...wait. Let's not go all the way..Ok lang?
"Sure" as he proeeds to lay me down the seat.
A slow, quiet rumble begins to fill my head.
19 nineteen Nineteen NINETEEN NINETEEN ENOUGH!
I come up for air. "Sorry, sorry I can't do this. you're nineteen." I zip up. I kiss his forehead. " That's just way too young for me. Sorry I can't."
I get down and walk away. I never look back.
I guess this means that for all horny drunk teenagers, the muffin shop is CLOSED!

Closer to Home

KC P. de Venecia
April 6, 1988-December 17, 2004

I guess you've seen the news today. The big fire. The Boss's home is a total wreck. The concrete walls of the entire second floor is now a shell for ashes. And a devastating loss no one could believe happened. I last saw her on Wednesday, and nobody had an inkling of the tragedy that was to come.
She was a vibrant teenager, a bit rebellious, typical of her age. I didn't know her well, but she was friendly when spoken to. Very strong-willed. Determined to get her own way.

Tragedy. Many have eulogized what it means, how it is overcome. In reality, we all think that it is far removed from us. We never want to think that death is near our doorstep, that life and death is the very same person. We all want to think that bad things never happen to us, that people who meet untimely deaths had a reason to leave, or that they had, in some way, deserved what was coming. Tragedy is something that happens outside, in the big, bad world.
I know better. I have had the rug pulled under my feet twice. Once, when I learned that I was my mother's bastard daughter from another man. Another was when my grandather, the man I considered to be my father, had died. Both these occassions, life was never the same for me again.
The first time, I felt relief. I felt that life finally made sense, why things were the way they were. The second time was harder. I wanted to crumple, but I had to be strong. I felt the grave responsibility of having to be the stable core of the family. I felt that if I had shown weakness, my mother and grandmother, who both had unresolved issues with my grandfather, would crumble under the burden of his death. I had to take care of the paperwork. I had to bring him from the morgue to the funeral parlor. The van which carried his remains had no partition, and I watched with wonderment as his head bobbed up and down during the journey, how something that was once alive can be dead. I always had a morbid curiosity about the duality of two opposing ideas. Life and death. Destiny and choice. It is a debate that still rages in my head as I drift off to sleep.
I was always determined to live life to the fullest and without regret. With his death, I resolved that I wanted to do just that by being the best person that I can possibly be; to be a bigger me, a force to be reckoned with. To Be Fearless, even of death. I'd like to think I'm inching towards this.

Poor KC. All I know is, that she lived life to the fullest. Maybe that was the reason why she was rebellious. I guess now, she is home. KC, Vaya Con Dios.

Girlfriend

Girlfriend. It's a label I'm not very comfortable with. Whenever I'm referred to as "Cathy, girlfriend ni _____," I tense up like a bachelor who has first heard of his girl's unplanned pregnancy. People are often surprised when they hear that I'm not in a relationship, and I am still surprised that they're rude enough to suggest that I marry. You should see the eyebrows that shoot up when they hear that marriage and a relationship is the last of my priorities. They all look like they've undergone a bad brow lift.

I can give you a million reasons. I guess I've been too burned by past realtionships, or I have a vulnerability issue or a commitment problem. I do want a relationship, I want to be intimate with somebody, preferably someone who fits my MNYKG ideal, but just the idea of being with someone also scares me. No matter how much I would like to be in a relationship, I won't just jump into something just because it's a bandwagon. The benefit of my experience is that I am able to distinguish between a real connection and a physical thing. And I will never settle in a relationship for a connection that is merely physical, no matter how much we try to put substance in it, or a settle because everyone around me has a hyphenated last name. I may bewail that people around me are getting married and are having babies, but when I ask myself if I am ready for the whole shebang, the answer is, not really. If it comes, I can handle it, but it is not something that I will actively pursue.

I have been alone most of my life. I have always been an independent person, a quality which my mother has always resented and grudgingly admired in me. The concept of being interdependent, or reliant on someone is not completely alien to me, but does not sit well with me very easily. Growing up, I've learned the hard way that you are the only resource you can rely upon. You will never fail yourself.

My past relationships ended badly. Past lovers describe me as an "Iron Maiden," that I insist on taking charge too much to the point that they feel emasculated. I never see this as something that is my problem, I see this as their problem because I know that the male ego is easily bruised, and I am never one who will mollycoddle someone for too long because he wants to be babied. Whenever I feel down, I shut up and sit in a corner, then spill my guts to process the situation when I'm ready. I know not everybody works that way, so I guess I need to find someone who understands that.

In my idea of a relationship, I have my own world, my partner has his own world. Our worlds ocassionally meet or collide but we are our own separate identities. We don't have to do everything together, we don't have to be attached at the hip. I am not a particularly needy person. Most Western guys I date understand this concept, but for Filipino men, in my experience, they usually get this concept after a particularly nasty marriage, and by then they have children or some sort of emotional baggage that I'm not ready to deal with.

Lastly, the reason why I still don't have a boyfriend is that I still haven't met anyone who is worth my effort. Period.

Say a Little Prayer

The Philippines has been rocked by two super-typhoons in the past two weeks. Living in the city makes people forget how much we are actually in the mercy of nature. Manila did not really feel the effects of the typhoon, so it is easy to dismiss the human casualties of the storm as something so remote and distant, though the wall separating us from them is alarmingly thin.

Yesterday, Mrs. Boss went on a relief effort for the victims. She and the "ladies who lunch" set, with cameras flashing, gave away food, blankets and some cash to the victims. We made rounds in three Manila hospitals where the rescued were airlifted to safety. The flash of the cameras, the glitzy photo op, I realized that it really is very easy to forget the human face at such an inhumane tragedy. Every person had their own heart-wrenching story to tell, and I had to do everything in my power to stop myself from weeping. The older I get, the more compassion I feel for people; the more empathy I gain, I find it more difficult it is for me to be flippantly bitchy for no reason. I realized why I was there. Journalists are here to remind everyone that there is so much inhumanity in this world and and so much beauty at the same time.

There was so much suffering, so much pain. I wondered how the nurses do it. I couldn't face such horror every day. I don't think I can harden myself to such a degree. And to think, I only do this once a year, during the requisite Christmas photo-op. Everyone we faced had compound fractures; shattered arms and legs after huge logs carried by the swirling flood waters smashed their homes to bits. Children who didn't know that their mothers had died trying to save the youngest child, most probably a newborn. Missing relatives. It was just horrible, I couldn't believe that in Manila, we just had a bit of rain. In Quezon province, only 300 kilometers away, people were dying. A man buried in the mud for 24 hours before he was saved is now dying of lockjaw. A 10 year old girl asking for a Barbie doll. Her little brother, in a different hospital a few kilometers away, was catatonic, in a full body cast. He is too shell-shocked that he was is now absolutely unresponsive to the outside world. A 12 year old girl with a huge dent where the smooth dome of her forehead should be.

It was the loose logs that did most damage, I figured. They were the huge debris that left everybody homeless. No wonder everyone is calling for a log ban. The catch-22: They are also the ones who benefit from all that logging.

In the midst of it all, a weird, touching, and somewhat hilarious miracle. We met a 1-1/2 year old hydrocephallic child. His head has swollen to a circumference of 20 inches. His home was swept away. He was found and rescued in a river near their home two hours later. His fluid-filled head was bouyant enough that he floated, and his head kept him afloat so he was able to keep his head above water. His disease was the reason why he was miraculously saved.

We all have a responsibility to help. In the Air Force General Hospital in Villamor Air BAse, where all the airlifted victims are first brought to before they are transfered to other hospitals, There is a woman is in need of metal plates and screws to fuse her shattered leg together. The hardware would cost her P 15,000. She couldn't afford that, let alone the operation.
Mrs. Boss has written to the PCSO. I don't know how to help her, really. But if you have time, visit her at the Air Force Hospital, she won't be discharged just yet.

After the fact, I went to Starbucks with a couple of friends. Amid the tall buildings in a city that I love so dearly, I marvel at how lucky I am and how the onus of being so blessed requires us to give back.

In the Mood for...2046

In the Mood for Love, Hong Kong director Wong-Kar Wai's evocative period romance set in mid-1960s Hong Kong is a lot like an unattainable woman's allure: sexy, provocative, dangerous without meaning to be.
It starts off with a series of coincidences, when Mr. Chow (Tony Leung) and Mrs. Li zhen (Maggie Cheung) move in the same building, the same floor, in apartments next to each other. In the cramped spaces, they soon form an easy friendship, based on their common interest in martial-arts based stories and novels. They are frequently alone, and in the lonely nights when their spouses are "away on business" they keep each other company. It doesn't take them long to discover that their partners have actually been carrying an affair with each other for some time.
Stung by hurt and betrayal, the jilted embark on a journey of revenge and discovery. How can they turn their backs on their marriage vows? Mr. Chow and Mrs. Li zhen wonder. Familiar with the habits of their better halves, they act out and try to re-create as best they can the circumstances that may have led to the affair. Unknowingly, they develop feelings for each other, and are both surprised to discover that like Mrs. Li zhen's husband and Mr. Chow's wife, they have fallen in love.
Since they have promised that they would never be like their cheating spouses, they mutually agree to nip it in the bud. However, their unkindled passion becomes a ghost that haunts them both. He moves to Singapore to forget about the nasty business in Hong Kong. He extends and open invitation to Mrs. Li zhen, but she decides to stick it out with her husband.
She could not keep away for long. She decides to visit him in Singapore. Like a ghost, she goes into his flat, lingers without his knowledge. She pays him a phantom phone call at work from his apartment, smoking his cigarettes, wearing his slippers, inhaling his smell. She leaves before he comes back from work. They never meet , but he knows, he knows. It was never meant to be. and they both know it.
Years after the fact, Mr. Chow visits the Angkor Wat. According to an ancient custom, he finds a hole in one of the temple walls, spills his unspeakable, aching secret which he cannot bear to tell nor keep, and buries it among the ancients.
Christopher Doyle's moody cinematography is a perfect complement to Wong's highly-stylized direction. The moody music that i frequently saw my grandparents dance to (Nat King Cole, Spanish guitar instrumentals, Quesas, Quesas) only added to the restrained formality binding explosive feelings. It is a film noir romance in overly saturated colors.
It is a valentine about a romance in a more formal age. In a corner, the unattainable woman, with her pouty lips and cool stare, smokes a cigarette.
***

Its sequel, 2046 will be showing in theatres Dec. 8 in the Philippines. Watch out for it.

Separated at Birth?

Sorry, my ego just had to :P

By the way,the one in the magazine is actress/model Milla Jovovich, just in case you've been hiding under a rock.

Bridal Shower

After a lovely dinner with Rene (though he was Dutch we didn't go dutch treat! yay!), off I went to a somewhat sleazy KTV joint with my officemates. We planned a secret bridal shower for my officemate Me-ann. It was held at one of those places along Quezon Avenue. The bar even had a "fishbowl" where, for 500 pesos a night, you could take your pick of pretty ladies whom you would want to sing the night away with. But since we knew the owner, and they had great food, it was the perfect venue for our little party.

While waiting for our friend Marie to bring Me-ann to us (we lured her out of the office early to meet up with Marie, upon which Marie will take Me-ann to the place), we sang a little videoke in our little private room. I got myself an unstoppable case of "meningococcemia," the latest disease scare to hit the Philippines. I was unstoppable on the mike and the dance floor, dancing like crazy and singing my little out-of-tune heart for all its worth.

We were searching for a male stripper to entertain our bachelorette. We set it upon our gay officemate Eduard to do the task. After last minute negotiations and hassles, we were finally able to secure ourselves one.

After laughing and eating and singing some more, Me-ann finally arrived at around 10 pm, more than pleasantly surprised at the trouble we went for her. Oh, she had no idea.

At around 11, the male stripper walks in. Me-ann wonders who the guy is, but our screaming gave us away. All she could do was shake her head. He was in a sheer white Enrique-Iglesias-like shirt. He seemed young, not more than 20 years old. He wasn't particularly cute or muscular, but eh, okay enough.

And then he decides to gyrate to a series of songs...his shirt comes off.
Then his belt.
All us girls were roughly the same age, and NO ONE was willing to play along with mr macho dancer. Not even the bride-to-be! Of course, who else do they recruit?


Then his pants.
The guy was already in his knickers by the third song. Guy and Eduard were having a little discussion after the third song. I later found out how it went.

Guy: (sensing the discomfort in the air) Huwag ko na kayang ituloy ang all-the-way? (I don't think I should go "Full Monty")
Eduard: Ay naku kailangan! Usapan natin yan, di ba? (YOu have to! it's part of the agreement)

All us girls see was the guy suddenly ducking to the restroom. We were worried that maybe the guy was not game to strip it all off.
The last thing I hear myself say as the first bars of the Bon Jovi song "Bed of Roses" plays in the background is "Huwag na kaya nating ipag-all the..."

OH MAY GAD....
AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

There the guy was, completely nekkid! It was like a car crash, I so wanted to look away, but I couldn't! I was agape (and not because of the size. Thanks to the air conditioning he was shrinking by the minute) and I could not just turn away. the room was completely silent, especially when Ed touched the guy's, uhm, thingie. One of my officemates, Sugar, the self-professed virgin of the group kept screaming.
however....
Sugar: (with her hands over her eyes) Aaay! ano ba yan! Malaki ba? Ano itsura?
Marie: *Rolls her eyes* eh tanong ka nang tanong jan tignan mo na kaya (yanks Sugar's hands from her face)
Sugar: AAAAAHHHHHH!!!! *AND SLAMS HER EYES SHUT!* ayoko makita! ayoko!

So after the dance, we fed the poor boy. THe girls were a little too jarred by what happened, and didn't go anywhere near him. Only Eduard mustered the guts to talk to the guy. Hey, the guy was human too, you know? So I struck up conversation.

He told us his name was Albert, but told me his real name was Rupert (ah...ok)
That he was from Aklan, in Manila for a couple of months now.
And strips to his skivvies "as a hobby" (ohkaaaaay)
He said that he is a real-estate broker by day. (sure.)
and a bunch of other crap. He struck me as a country boy lured by the bright lights of the big city, seeking fortune and fame the fastest posible way.

He asked for my number. I didn't want to give it to him. What if this guy gets arrested? What if they check his cellphone and mistake me as a "client?" Oh gosh. He asked from what office we were from, but I merely said that we were officemates from Makati.
But I knew guys like him had chips on their shoulders. I didn't want him to think that I looked down on him because of his job. So I gave in. Turns out he asked Ed's number too. I complemented his nice bracelet. He gave it to me. I didn't want to accept it, but he insisted ( where it went off to the dumpster after he left).

He sent me and Eduard a couple of text messages the next couple of days.