Tradition...Tradition!

Easter weekend was a very pleasant visit to my past. I love the rituals and traditions of the Catholic Church. To me, my faith is a light that beckons whenever I am morally lost, usually due to my own stubbornness and oftentimes misguided free will. I do not claim to be the most failthful and perfect Catholic, but I do try.

For an inexplicable reason, I woke up at three a.m. on Easter Sunday. I wasn't sure why I couldn't will myself back to sleep, so I played a computer game on the family PC.

Then I heard it.

The Church bells began to peal, and heard firecrackers being lit, reminding townfolk of the annual Salubong, a procession that symbolically re-unites Jesus and his mother Mary after his resurrection. I decided to get dressed and join the longer procession coming from my part of town, where the statue of the Virgin Mary was waiting. I remember my maternal grandmother would wake me up to join the procession with her every year when she still lived in Manila, and I felt that I should continue with the ritual without her.

I arrived at the barrio chapel, where there were over a hundred people milling around, ready with their candles. I didn't bring a candle, so I bought one from a vendor. A drumroll from the procession's marching band signaled the start of a mile-long walk to the parish church. Upon reaching the town plaza, the statue of the risen Christ had arrived from the church in the next barrio, and sparklers and all sorts of fireworks were lit to celebrate the official start of Easter. Schoolgirls in fluffy white dresses were ushered in to dance the 'bati,' a traditional Filipino Easter dance. Local officials personally hand-pick the girls who would join the troupe, though now usually families who are willing to pay officials to allow their little girls the honor of dancing the Pagbati are the ones chosen. I remember my sister joined the troupe when she was eight, chosen for her natural grace. As I watched the girls, I felt that my niece should continue with the tradition.

Easter mass was celebrated in the town plaza, and I met up with my childhood buddies, the now-aging altar boys who were there to assist the procession. People clapped as a girl dressed as an angel lifted the black veil over Mary's statue. I had been chosen as the angel for two Easters in a row when I was 13 and 14. I wondered why the girl just lifted the veil. How unfair. Under my watch I was made to memorize an entire monologue in Tagalog! And all she had to do was lift the freaking veil. Oh well, she was on a pedestal overlooking the crowd. I remember having to deal with acrophobia then act as if I was used to hovering above people, so I guess I can forgive the perceived slight.

I returned home at around 6 a.m. and slept soundly for three hours when I was roused by my mother, who said I should start dressing up because the family has to go to the Santarin family reunion in Cavite.

Santarin is my paternal grandmother's family, and apparently our esteemed lineage includes Sen. Richard Gordon. I dread going to family reunions. Being an unmarried woman in her 20s supposedly gives people the license to ask why I am not on the family way, unlike my dutiful younger sister, whose fertile ovaries and wide 'child-bearing' hips spit out two children into the world before reaching the age of 25.

The party was to be held at the Santarin family compund, where over 200 people, all bearing the same chinky eyes and square jaws milled about in color-coordinated tables and outfits. Shoot, our branch was supposed to wear green, and I was in white. Nobody told me. No wonder my mother and sister were dressed in green.

And as family reunions go, everybody feasted on the mounds of beef, pork and chicken dishes, all swimming in grease. And as tradition dictates, I was asked for the 4th year running when was I going to bring a boyfriend to the reunion. I have learned to cooly reply that nobody has caught my eye yet. Damn my brother for bringing his girlfriend along.

As usual, talk revolved around family scandals; who was getting married, who was pregnant, who was in the hospital, who was sick, who was on drugs, and who was in rehab. I sought refuge from the heat and the talk with my baby nephew, who had to stay in the family car where there was air-conditioning. I didn't mind baby-sitting him. Apparently my father also had enough of the chatter as well, and joined us. He was probably avoiding his older brother, who had just gotten out of rehab. They haven't spoken to each other in three years, for reasons I have forgotten.

Mercifully, my mother decided that she had had enough a little before three p.m., and said that it was time for us to head home.

In the embrace of tradition and family dysfunction, I felt an odd comfort. Maybe it was the familiarity of it all.

Forgiveness

Events that took place in my life last week had been a lesson in humility. I realized that I can't win all the battles I pick, and sometimes I could gain more from losing than from victory. I don't realy feel defeated; I feel surrender would be better word to describe my sentiments.

To let go of things I cannot change. To accept inalienable truths about other people. That I don't have to fight for things I want all the time. That I was critical of other people because actually, I felt that I was not perfect.

I thought I had let go of my hard-heartedness, but I was wrong. I had counseled Jei to let go of his bitterness. That sometimes, we all have to take the bitter pill by swallowing our pride in order to be "the bigger man." It hurts but it has to be done. I don't want to be a person filled with hate and anger. I don't want to live with bitterness in my heart. I realized that I had to put my money where my mouth is.

I had sought refuge and counsel from friends and mentors. I had done a lot of thinking. Poured all my emotions both positive and negative in my journal. I had made peace with an old demon, resolved to stop feeding it. Hopefully, I will be able to keep it at bay.

I had e-mailed an old boyfriend who hurt me a lot and I'm pretty sure I hurt a lot as well. I made a lot of apologies to a lot of people. I tried to reach as many people whom I felt I needed to make peace with. I would contact them all if I could find them.

I feel joyful. It pays to be the bigger man.

Mi Famille

Seated: Me, the parents, my niece
Standing, Brother, Christopher senior with Chris junior, sister

Today I watched my niece's end-of school production number. She was dressed as a nurse while singing "Who are the People in your Neighborhood?" with her classmates.

I am amazed at how my family has gone full circle. In my mind's eye, my brother is 5, in his blue-and-white kindergarten uniform. My sister is in third grade, with bangs and buck teeth. Now she's a mother of two (with another on the way) and my brother is 21.

How did we all grow up so fast?

My brother has just quit call-center slavery to pursue his dream of becoming a computer programmer, and has proposed that us three put up a shawarma-taco-burrito shop called "Shawarmamania!" Its so cool! I'm very excited at the prospect of going into business with my siblings. Since we live near three schools and a church, I feel that this would be a profitable endeavor.

It's amazing how our relationship has evolved. Did we really pull stunts we learned from the World Wrestling Federation on each other? We used to weasel out of our afternoon nap by messing up our hair and use our fake just-woke-up voice. Oh geez we're all grown up!

What is Wrong with Me?

Love is something that cannot be forced. And I'm kicking myself right now because I can't give it to a guy who wants to love me.

Jei (from my Hey, Jealousy entry) had broken up with Jo two weeks ago. Being a good friend, I had been helping him mend, hanging out more frequently than we usually do. Last Monday I took him around Intramuros. It was his first time, and admittedly there was something electric in the air. We sat on top of the ramparts, looking at the golfers and had a great conversation about the night sky. He told me about his childhood in Saudi Arabia, and I introduced the city to him. Apparently to him, he felt that the electricity was between us.

I had told him about my heartache with the writer, how rejected I felt and how torn up I had been because he couldn't love me back, despite what I was willing to offer him. And I listened to him as he poured out his bitterness.

Today, we went to see this French movie about two ill-fated mad-cap lovers. Then I took him to Baywalk along Roxas Boulevard because he hasn't been there, either.

Tonight, at the steps leading to my front door in Makati. He confessed that he had feelings for me and gave me a silver jewelry set. He told me that I shouldn't feel guilty because I couldn't give him what he wanted from me. He said things that I wanted to hear from the writer. Here he was, willing to offer me his heart. But my heart was telling me that Jei wouldn't make me happy in the long run. Jei isn't the one.

I asked him if he was on the rebound. He said that he had a thing for me even before he and Jo broke up, but he only decided to go for it after last Monday, "with the moon, the stars, your gorgeous eyes and pretty hair."

I feel so bad because he is cute, he is smart. He's basically the perfect guy. But he's not perfect for me. He said that I was being stupid for holding out for someone who was hurting me, and said that I shouldn't be confiding in him anymore because it hurts him every time he hears me tell a new story about a new guy and how much this guy was taking me for granted.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???????

The Morning After

I had spent Saturday night with a guy I had been seeing for a few weeks now. Of course, my mother was completely clueless. I would usually spend the weekends at my parents, but I had told her that I was out partying with the anime-otaku crowd, and was too pooped to go home to their house, so I wanted to spend the night at my place in Makati.

I arrived at our Parañaque abode just in time for lunch. It was a warm, sunny Sunday. My sister, my brother, and his girlfriend were preparing beef steak and mashed potatoes, and my mom dancing to the "Ha-ha-ha-ha" song blaring from the computer speakers. All is right with the world, I happily thought.

So I went along in my merry way, made gravy for the steak, played with my baby nephew, lazed around, went to church. Oh what a great day it was.

I woke up at 5 am on Monday to get ready for work. I was surprised to see my mother up and about, bustling in the kitchen over two bowls of oatmeal. Oh cool, I thought, could get to eat breakfast before I left for work. Little did I know that this was a ploy, a trojan horse, a sneaky tactic from a sneaky woman.

As we sat down to have our porridge, my mother gently, with a smile, started to pry into my life. We had an argument a few months ago, so my conversations with her lately have been limited to sundry questions. "Have you paid for the gas? The water bill? We need rice," that sort of thing. I have never really been open to her about my life.

"Did you have a date last Saturday?"
"Wala. I told you I was with the anime kids."
"Who is this guy you've told your Tita Margie about?"
"Oh, no one, really. He's a writer."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
With wide eyes, I vehemently reply, "NO!" It was the truth. He wasn't my boyfriend. As best I could I tried to downplay the truth, lest she demands to meet him and make the relatioship I have with the guy go deeper sooner than I want it to.
"I mean, It's not even serious. We've only been on two dates. Marami pang pwedeng mangyari" (there's still a lot that can happen.)
"Oh really? Then what's a box of condoms doing in your bag?"

I nearly choked on my oatmeal. I had completely forgotten that I had it in my bag, and didn't think she would bother to check. In the year since I left home, I had completely forgotten that my mother was a snoop. And unbelievably curious about her children's sex lives. She would regularly check my sister's bag for cigarettes. Once, while she and my brother were watching TV, she suddenly asked my brother, "Dj, virgin ka pa ba?" (are you still a virgin?) My brother was saved from "the inquisition" by the sudden wail of my niece. It was my turn under the spotlight.

With a nervous laugh, I try to buy time to think up of the first cockamamie excuse I could think of.

"Ah, that? Wala lang. I was with the anime kids last Saturday and they were playing with the condoms, making balloons. They had some left over and they didn't want to bring it home so I offered to take it off their hands. I had used the same bag last Saturday and forgot to clean it out before coming here."

"Oh." And we continued eating our porrige in silence.

I think she bought the story. Or did she?

Santa, Blackman, and the Tooth Fairy

My five-year old niece believes that when she does something bad, Blackman will dot her heart with tinny black spots, then her evil, black heart will eventually rot with the evilness of her deeds and wither. She cries when I pretend to turn into Sadako from The Ring. Of course, being an astute little girl, she knows I'm not actually Sadako, but it's fun to scare the crap out of her, nevertheless. She believes in Santa Claus. That Baby Jesus and Papa Jesus are two separate entities, and that they love her. Once while we were playing, I pretended that I was being sucked by an evil force under the bed. As I was teetering over the edge of the mattress, she burst into tears. "Tita Cathy baka kunin ka ni Blackman!"

Just who this shadowy Blackman character is, she doesn't know, but it hasn't failed so far. "Eat your peas!" " No more Chickenjoy!" "Don't bite your playmates!"

Adults believe that children will believe anything we say. This is the lie we adults delude ourselves with. We talk down to children. We take advantage of their gullibility. Adults lie so consistently to children that it's amazing that the world isn't populated with people with a very skewed perception of the world. Having had parents that lied to me all my life, I'm amazed that I turned out all right. Then again, I could be wrong.

But I knew, I knew. I always knew something was not right.

I remember how frustrated I felt when I was a kid for being a kid. I felt that nobody ever listened to me, my opinions did not carry any weight, and my political opinions were always met with an indulgent pat on the head, "oh, isn't she being so precocious?" and what I felt was a half-derisive smile. Nobody ever believed me when I said that I hated being in an all-girls school, that the little bitches that infested it were satan's daughters as far as I was concerned, and I wanted to transfer to a co-ed school.

"No"
"But Mama!"
"No! and that's final!"

I just hated the powerlessness of being young. I hated the fact that nobody believed in anything I said, or pretended that I didn't matter. So I retaliated by being smug.

Not all the Bumbays and the Igorots and the other racially blighted people they tried to warn me about and scare me with could keep me off the streets even when the Angelus bells were ringing. I remember my grandmother, with a switch, a hanger, a belt in her hand, and the threatening look in her eyes, half-comical and scary, trying to get us kids to go home. I felt that the world owed me a favor because I ate the cauliflowers and actually liked the broccoli in my chopsuey, while my brother and sister detested vegetables. That because I liked books, I was better than everyone else. Even then, the only idiosyncracies that made sense were my own.

I understand rules. I understand the need for limits in children. But I feel that scaring discipline out of children will never work. I vowed never to lie to children. Then came the day that it backfired.

As I grew older, I realized that I needed to sugar-coat the world a little. I think that I scarred my niece psychologically when my grandfather died. As I explained to her that Lolo Daddy had gone to heaven because he was old, she asked "Si mama ba magiging old?" (Will mama become old too?) When I answered yes, she suddenly cried "AYOKO MAGING OLD SI MAMA!!!" For weeks she would beg my sister to never grow old. Of course, aging is inevitable, but how do I explain that to my niece? My sister did a better job at explaining death to her, and gave a surprisingly sophisticated metaphysical explanation that my niece actually understood.

It got me thinking. What if adults never lied to children? If I didn't lie to children, I would be denying them the magic of childhood, the magic of Santa and the Tooth Fairy. My truth would deny them imagination, music, love, faith, hope. I decided what the heck, maybe kids needed to be lied to sometime, then let them discern whether they were being fed bull.

Adults never give children enough credit. Kids understand more than we think. Two months ago I was having a very emotional argument with my mother in her room when the door opened. My niece peeped into the room. As if on cue, my mother and I suddenly force a smile on our faces. I was pretty sure that my smile looked more like a grimace. Two wide-eyed, teary women with scary, toothy grins frozen on our faces.

"Ano ginagawa ninyo?" (what are you doing?)
*SMILE*"Nag-uusap lang kami" (we were talking) my mother replies.

A pause.

Then my niece says, "Huwag mo awayin si Tita Cathy" (Stop fighting with Tita Cathy) and walks out of the room.

Our surprise was enough to end the argument. Children are so much wiser.

Random Nothingness by a Neurotic with Hormones on Overdrive

I am a reality show geek. I love The Amazing Race and American Idol . I think 'manly' geeks and nerds and gay guys are hot. My latest crush on the American Idol circuit is Anthony Federov (as an example). I had a crush on John Peter Lewis from Season 3. I don't like men with large builds. I don't like hairy guys. I think all the guys on Queer Eye are hot. But I think of them all Kyan Douglas is the hottest.

I am obsessed with the shows Manhunt and Outback Jack. I think the guys there are absolutely mouth watering. Keanu Reeves should father my son. Jude Law should help me with a daughter. Aussie and Kiwi guys rule. Their unassuming nature is adorable. My turn-offs are arrogant boors, guys who try too hard to be funny and witty, and men who don't have depth. I am trying to get over my fascination with neurotic men. Based on my most recent dalliances, boys aged 18 to 21 are drawn to me, I think. Compulsive liars should stay away from me. Never try to steamroll me to any cause. I will just resist you and unconsciously (subconsciously?) sabotage your cause with the truth, the most stringent bleach. I am not afraid of speaking my mind, or the truth. However, I am starting to ponder whether I should be more circumspect.

I love British humor, especially Brit-Indian humor. God Bless Star World for exposing me to Parkinson, Coupling, Goodness Gracious Me, and The Kumars at No. 42. God Bless John Cleese. He's the funniest man on the planet.

CSI Las Vegas. Period.

I prefer rockers to hip hop heads. I think Damon Albarn, the guy from Suede, and many others are hot. Pulp singer Jarvis Cocker is hot in an Alan Alda sort of way. Constantine Maroulis from American Idol Season 4 is also hot. I don't think he'll be as hot as he grows older. I think he'll end up looking like Omar Sharif.

I had a crush on Omar Sharif after watching Dr. Zhivago. When I was 12 I had crushes on Mel Gibson and John Malkovich.

I try to watch Oprah when I can .

I like the beach. I like mountains. I prefer the beach. I want to live on a bluff overlooking a beach. I like to dance. Men who can't dance are tipping the balance of attractiveness. Selfish guys suck. Guys who sulk when they don't get their way suck. Men who can't dance well but shake their little booty to their heart's content anyway is adorable. As long as they don't overdo it.

I am not obsessed with sex, contrary to common belief.

I am not afraid of death and dying. When you're dead you won't care what happens around you, anyway.

I like bishonen men. I like 'bishonen-ish' women. The whole ambiguous sex thing is really hot in my book. Surprisingly, I'm not into yaoi or yuri anime. I am not gay, I've never been gay, and couldn't stomach the thought of being in a relationship with a woman. I wish I were lesbian since their relationships don't seem to have a lot of hang-ups.

I am working toward a career in TV or print media. I do voice acting and hopefully, hosting.

I am a big personality. People are intimidated by me.

I couldn't think of anything else.

Hey, Jealousy

Every girl's nightmare is to have another girl go on the warpath because she thinks that you're after her man. Recent example is the Sunshine Cruz/Julianna Palermo scandal that caused everyone to titter behind their backs. Girls are scary to fight with, this I know. When I was in Fedex I had been harassed at work by my ex's now-wife, when I didn't even know that they were together. I have been called a b-ach, a boyfriend-stealer, names through the years.

I have been at the receiving end of this rampage again recently, from a girl . Imagine my surprise when I received a text message last night that said:

"U SL*T. U MADE THINGS WORSE BETWEEN ME N JEI. U R A SL*T BAKIT MO SYA SINABIHAN ABT MY E-MAIL. NOW HE'LL END IT BECOS OF U. PUTA KA."

Even just reading it is painful.

A quick recap.

Jei is an aquaintance from the anime community. He's an animator, working special effects on commercials and films. We became good friends when we became fellow voice actors in a cartoon we're working on called "Jobert."

Jei is from Iloilo, where his girlfriend is working as a Medical Representative. They've been together for six years. Now, Jei is cute, but he isn't my type. The guy is a complete softy, and bleeds easily. I shared my quest for career fulfillment with him, and he has cheered me on in auditions, through job hunts, disappointments, and other career opportunities.
Jo came here for a visit from Iloilo last month. Jei wanted us to be friends so she won't get jealous whenever Jei tells her that he and I are doing something together. I think it backfired, making her feel more insecure and jealous.
On Valentine's Day, she sent me an e-mail pleading me to refuse any invitations to go out with Jei even if he asks me. I felt slighted. How presumptuous of this girl, I thought. So I told Jei of the insult. He has been having trouble with Jo's paranoia for sometime, and he has been pouring out his heart to me, about his troubles, asking for advice and consolation. I keep on telling him to remember what it is about her that drew them to each other.
I understand where she is coming from. A long distance love is very hard to maintain. I am very disappointed in her now. I liked her. I thought that we could be friends. She asked me to keep an eye on Jei for her. And now this? I feel very betrayed.
I wanted to take the high road and refuse to acknowledge the insult. Of course, my sister, who is the palaban (spitfire) among my siblings, was outraged and answered on my behalf.
Whatever happens next, happens. I'm tired of having people throw their crap on me. I already have enough crap to deal with.

Valentine, Schmalentine

Guys, sorry for not posting for some time.

I'm working through major issues right now. I find myself at a crossroads, and as usual, I have no idea of what fork in the road to take. The thing about life is, nothing is what it seems, and there are no guarantees. The dream job is never handed to you, the dream guy is never what he seems, and "friends" stab you in the back. I have lived my life knowing that what's here today is here today. But I am talking about the future here...so here goes...

If there is one thing I know, I will recognize my guy I will be with the moment I see him. Definitely. I'm such a romantic!

After I am able to thresh these out, you will be able to enjoy my regular weekly postings.

Valentines Day is around the corner. Every time Valentines day rolls around, whether I have a boyfriend or not, I wear black to protest the over-emphasis of romantic love in popular culture. I believe that there are more, deeper kinds of love. Filial love, friendships. I treasure friendships greatly, that's why I never mess around with my friends and I try my best to be a good and supportive friend, no matter what my opinion is on how my friends live their lives.
I've been doing this since 1997. I remember V-day 1998 I sat in the bus and nobody wanted to sit beside me because I looked like I stepped out of a coven.

I love freaking people out.

"Its Not the Size of the Wave...Its the Motion of the Ocean"

Author's note: This article was written after certain male readers wanted me to tell them what women really say when they think of men. The opinions cited here are my own. This is strictly a clinical and objective article about a very charged subject. WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

The penis. This appendage is apparently the source of all joy and insecurity among men. Honestly, as a woman, I don't get this penis-centric mentality. The closest female protrusion that would approximate the feelings men have for their penises are breasts. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, breasts aren't really primarily important in the reproductive function. Women can still be attractive without breasts. Just ask breast cancer survivors. Or flat-chested women.

Men are apparently obsessed by it. Whenever conversation with my friends turn into sex, the men in the group will always, always talk about or allude to their little men. Goodness! I guess women aren't really tuned into this whole obsession because most of the time, we just lay there, really. We are at liberty to critique. So probably the onus of giving a wonderful performance in bed falls on men, and when you can't fall back on technique...I guess you focus on size.

From my experiences, whoever coined the phrase "Its' not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean" was only half-right. What's the use of great technique when the little man can't get to where he's going? At the opposite end of the spectrum, what's the use of being genetically penile-gifted if you don't know how to use it? If a man isn't willing to listen to women, and unless women actually speak up, a man will never really improve in bed, no matter how many times he's been sexually occupied.

So here are the three things that I feel matter when it comes to the little man.

Length--But of course!
This matters to a certain extent. Whoever said that it doesn't matter is lying to you.
However, too much of a good thing can be bad. I remember one time I had with an ex boyfriend who was a little above-average gifted. However, since he was practically a virgin (I think I was second on his list), his large size made his inadequate performance all the more painful. My sex sprain took three days to heal. Ouch!
So in the right person, size is a good thing. If you ain't that lucky in the genetic lottery, I'm really sorry, because there isn't much that you can do. However, you still have girth working for you.

Girth--As an old Friends episode has revealed, girls talk about girth. I know my sister and I do.
Girth is okay. It does compensate for size a little...but just a little. If your package is a stub, it doesn't really do much, but at least we'll know its in. Again, too much of a good thing is bad. Even if you're good in bed, too much girth will really hurt!
I once had a friend with benefits relationship with someone who has since moved to the US. He wasn't lengthy, but he was a bit thick. We couldn't do certain positions because IT REALLY HURT! Could I emphasize this enough?

Curvature--The little quirks of the human body could be a wonderful thing!
Yes, Virginia, the G-spot does exist. I discovered this fact due to a fortunate accident I had with a lover, who had a package that curiously curved upward. I wasn't very keen on the missionary position, because frankly, it did nothing to rock my world. But with this guy...whoa.The missionary has made me a convert!That was the night that I had my first multiple orgasm. Three times in a row.

These are the three things that matter when it comes to the variables of this part of the male anatomy. If you are a man and inadequate in one of these aspects, don't fret. Hopefully, any guy reading this could try to determine how to best make use of their little quirks to their full advantage.

The Kiss

A man's kiss is his signature. ~Mae West

A kiss can be a comma, a question mark or an exclamation point. That's basic spelling that every woman ought to know. ~Mistinguett (Jeanne Bourgeois), Theatre Arts, December 1955

The first time I had a real kiss from a guy I really liked happened when I was 17. At the time, all knowledge I had about kissing was anecdotal. I would use my tongue to try to twist a cherry stem into a knot (a skill I perfected at age 19) and would suck the soft flesh of my forearms till it was bruised red and raw. I swooned when the macho hero/boy next door finally kissed the busty femme/girl next door in the volumes of Sweet Dreams and Valentine Romances that filled my bookshelf.

It was everything I thought it was going to be, it was better than I ever imagined. It was fireworks, it was the world buzzing in my ears, it was the knowledge of the forbidden fruit. In fact, in retrospect, it was better than my first sexual experience. I was fortunate to have found myself an experienced kissing partner who had thick lips and knew how to use them.

Then it went all downhill from there.

I've kissed a lot of frogs since that memorable first encounter in my family living room. For one, my technique got better. However, the feeling of that memory ebbed with each guy that followed. Among all the men I've kissed, very few could match that first man's skill, and fewer could arouse the sensations that he did. My next most memorable osculatory exercise happened with that gay guy, who really knew how to plant a knee-weakening smacker on a girl, even if he liked guys better.

Most guys I've kissed probably learned the art of kissing from the instructions they received during "locker-room lessons" with other supposedly more experienced boys. All they probably know about kissing was that they were supposed to put their lips on another pair, plunge your tongue in until you feel your partner's tonsils, then move your lips and tongue around every which way. Horrible. I feel that all those frogs received more action from the crook of their elbow than from a real girl, get my drift? Girls are really doing guys a disservice by refusing to point out their partner's flaws because of shyness, or fear of offending him. I would never hestitate to tell a man that he is a lousy kisser, and instruct him on the fine art of kissing.

The three worst offenders are

Slobberers--Guys who release a cascade of drool on my face and neck

Gnawers--Guys who think that my bottom lip is chewy beef jerky. Dude, whoever told you biting on a girl's bottom lip is sexy was SOOO WRONG! That is okay if done once or twice, but use it upon moderation and depending on the situation.

Hockey players (aka the Gene Simmons)--My tonsils are not a goal to be reached, and the tongue is not supposed to be stiff during a kiss. Our tongues are not battling lightsabers! This is not a contest to learn how far your tongue will go. Activating my gag reflex is not a nice thing to do, believe me.

I believe that I have enough experience in this department to instruct people on how to be a great kisser. So here is what I have to offer to the world to instruct people on how to become great kissers.

Pucker up! Soft lips are the way to go. Try to channel your inner Angelina Jolie. Think that your lips are a cushion to land on.

Be flexible. Go with the flow. Kissing is not an exercise where you have to do three reps of every technique, where there are solid steps to be followed. In fact, there is no one solid technique to kiss. Kissing is an art, where skill meets instinct. Play it by ear. Move your lips to meet where your partner is headed, or comply be his/her unspoken need or demand. Is your partner not giving tongue? Don't force it. Go by it slowly and gently.

When the kissing gets to its most intense, I feel that people suck by instinct. Give in to the sucking, but don't overdo it. A hoover belongs on the neck, not in the mouth, unless you want to swallow a gallon of your partner's spit. If you don't mind it, or if you even like it, you have a weird fetish and are a sick, sick person.

A kiss doesn't solely belong on the lips. There are other body parts that get lonely too.

Be creative! Have fun! A kiss is supposed to be enjoyed! It is the interlude before things to come.

Do it with passion! Kisses convey more than what you think they do. Think about Jesus receiving the kiss of betrayal from Judas. Your partner can definitely feel whether you feel awkward or are not 100 percent present. If you know little about kissing, do not hesitate to play student. Your partner will not think that you're a loser just because you don't know how to kiss properly. This could lead to role-playing, and everyone knows how sexy that can get.

A kiss can mean a lot of things. It can convey joy, anger, love, fear. It can be an effective mood-alterer, and it makes foreplay more interesting. A kiss is loaded with symbolism and meaning, so never ever underestimate the power of a kiss. Honestly, I haven't received a decent or memorable kiss in a very long time. I feel that guys think more about technique than focus on pleasuring the person they're kissing. I do love to kiss people. I hope that the next decent romantic kiss I receive will contain all the fireworks the world has to offer, will wire me in to all the possibilities of the universe.

Until then, with bated breath. MWAH!

The Global Village

As the world knows by now, a giant tsunami has devastated the coasts lying along the Indian Ocean rim. But apart from the tragedy that has befallen more than 500,000 people, I am more amazed at how the human spirit has triumphed over this tragedy, proving that while we can't totally beat mother nature, the human race will always fight back, and survive amidst most terrible adversaries.

As I see the tragedy unfold before the whole world, through the TV screen, newspapers, the internet, and the radio, it is apparent that modern technology has made the whole world a village, a community where people look out for their neighbors.

So far, THREE BILLION US dollars have already been donated worldwide in relief effort. Imagine. This tragedy has involved the over five billion humans living in the planet. I feel that people really do feel for those who have lost loved ones. I guess the scale of the destruction has made people go out of their way and lend a hand, regardless of race or creed. Even the much-maligned insularness of The United States of America, a nation normally apathetic to the plight of third world countries where they do not have any underlying interests in, has melted away. Nations who normally are too wrapped up in their own turmoil have also made their own efforts to help during one of the greatest natural catastrophes of all time.

I feel that this is a glimpse of the world John Lennon has dreamed of.

Though the world is mourning, I have never been more proud to be human.

Tabula Rasa

I constantly amaze myself at the things I am able to do. In 2004 , I have lived alone, self-sufficiently, for over a year! Imagine! When I had only given myself six weeks to be able to tough it out on my own! I love living in Makati, walking through its streets, its malls, and high-rises. Amid the bright lights and the big city, I feel that I am finally an adult, that I have finally found a spot to root myself, my place in the sun.
I am amazed at how people can re-invent themselves. Personally, I am interested how I would evolve in the coming years. As Svelterogue put it, it's time for everyone to do a Madonna and re-invent themselves.
It's been a weird, sometimes arduous, trip. I'm so glad that my mother finally recognizes my autonomy, that I am my own person entitled to be different and to clash with her occassionally. I am so glad that she no longer thinks of me as her doormat or lapdog. I felt that if I couldn't make her see it, I would have a hard time doing much else.
It has been hard to do things to achieve what I want to become. I've always wanted to be someone who emanated sincerity, integrity, love, and truth. I wanted people to take one look at me and know that my essence comes from the truth. I am not quite there yet, not quite larger than life yet, but I think that I am on the right track.

For the next year, I will

try my best to let go of my perfectionism.
Try to forgive myself, be more forgiving of myself and of others.
Stop gossiping for good. Ever since I saw the Passion of the Christ, I realized that gossip is a form of cruelty.
To shut up if I won't say something savory, especially to people I don't completely trust.
To learn that NO is a sentence. Period.
To find whatever my passion is.
To love and love freely.
That its all right to feel scared sometimes.
that its important to have the right people to rely on.
That being an intellectual doesn't necessarily mean that you're a moral dilettante.
That you need to hold on to your guns and hang on for dear life.

I've learned a lot of things in 2004. To everyone who has touched my life, in an either positive or negative manner, thank you for helping me realize myself a little more.

As for the year 2005...

BRING IT ON!!!!!

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.