Wanted: drinking buddy

Anybody out there may apply.

Pagod na ako

Damned if I do, and damned if I don't. When will this vicious cycle ever stop?

What's up with Kim?

A whole lotta mess! That's what's up with me. I just noticed that I haven't friggin' blogged for over THREE FULL MONTHS! Too preoccupied with the mundane things that have been happening since my last post... Haven't even had time to visit Chrissy's site, or to read CK's latest rantings and ravings, or to even check out the new pup pictures on http://uncivilone.blogspot.com.

Last night, I managed to read an interesting article on an old Reader's Digest edition (Feb 2004, if I'm not mistaken). The article's called "Stress in 10 Minutes Free."

Oops.

I meant "Stress Free in 10 Minutes." (It's that darned confusing layout.)

So, here I am - implementing one of the tricks that the stress doctors that Reader's Digest interviewed had recommended: thinking happy thoughts.

Since the thoughts that are entering my head are fuzzy and warm, I thought I'd post some pictures of the "old" life I'm trying to get rid of... which I'm hoping that I could fully get rid of by the end of this month.

Above's a picture of my temporary desk in the office. It's what my colleagues have started to call "The Blackhole."

Here's my mini-cabinet. The papers on top of it just started to materialise about 7 months ago. And they've obviously taken over the entire BEING of the cabinet. "What's inside it?," you may ask. Food. Lots and lots of food. Junk food to be more precise.

This box has been with me since July 2007. I haven't opened it since that time, but I keep lugging it around with me. I may never open it up at all. I'm too scared to find out what's already grown inside it.

You would think that the bottom of my desk would be "safe" from me. But, noooo. Thank god there's only one pair of shoes underneath it when I took this picture. There used to be 2 pairs. They're spares, by the way. I had my flip flops on when I took this pic.

And, yes, I wear flip flops to the office. I'm too harassed to wear those killer stilettos everyday.

My brother, the rockstar

Acknowledgment: Trixie B. , you're a star photographer, dude.

Thwarted Nationalism

I believe that the Philippine national government needs improvement. I believe that our people deserve better. I believe that there's a time to stand up for one's beliefs and a time to let peace reign.

When Senator Trillanes and his cohorts walked out of the Makati Regional Court and holed themselves up in another 5-start Makati hotel, they said, "let the Philippine economy be damned, let the Philippine reputation for fear and lawlessness remain."

***** Sigh ******

When will we ever learn?

This is my major impetus to blog

C and Uncivil, thank you for looking for me. I feel the love across the Pacific Lake that separates me from you.

Work's been a beeyatch. I'm having fun, for sure, but it's just been toxic, you know? A girl needs to just sit in front of her TV and watch pirated copies of popular American boob-tube prime time shows after being in front of a lousy laptop 10-11 hours everyday. That said, I CANNOT FRIGGIN' BELIEVE MY LAST POST WAS IN AUGUST. :(

But I'm back (or at least I'm trying to be), because I have a new toy that's motivating me to blog like hell. Check it out, world!

This is my desk at work (teehee, you can even see the brand of cigarettes I smoke. The roll of tissue paper is to wipe the desk in the morning, NOT for use in the toilet, mind you!)...


This is my laptop (badly taken but you've seen laptops a-plenty already, I'm sure, so you know what one looks like)...



I was gonna take more pictures, but my batteries ran out, and my friend who sold me this camera has not given me new ones yet, as he had promised (If you're reading this, Ganns, consider this a shout out!) Not just that, but I accidentally deleted other ones that I've taken of my officemates and of myself, because I had stupidly tweaked the folders of the camera's memory card after I plugged and played it on my computer. There were a few hours of panic, coz I couldn't get the darned camera to save the pictures anymore. But thank god for Ganns, he showed me how NOT to screw up my new camera after he finished his meetings that day.

So, expect more blogging to come from my l'il corner, world. This little camera, whom I've named Bubba, is gonna get abused a lot in the next few days (that is, as soon as Ganns gives me the batteries that he's promised me at the onset of our transaction). :)

h0liDae sEa5oNs

Josh Groban came to the Philippines recently. Tickets for his concert cost between PHP3,000 to PHP25,000 (approximately USD70.00 to USD591.00) and Groban still packed 'em in here in "impoverished" Manila, Philippines! He even brought two of the most influential, still powerful, and politically-opposed women in the country, Former First Lady Imelda Marcos and Former President Corazon Aquino, together under one roof, without any political agenda whatsoever.

With the holiday seasons quickly creeping up on us, I wonder how "impoverished" Filipinos will be in term of their spending to give our other underprivileged countrymen peace of mind at this time of the year...

I'm supposed to...

1. be working
It's a bright sunshiny Sunday. Quite unusual since it's been raining everyday for the past couple of weeks. Had our usual Sunday breakfast in a restaurant - today, it was at a hole-in-the-wall place called "Dragon House" along M.H. Del Pilar in the City of Manila. Dragon House has THE best meatball congee in the entire world. Their pork siomai recipe came from the gods. Total bill for breakfast: PHP576.00. That's about US$13.00... for five people with very very full stomachs.

Those are two good reasons why I'm blogging instead of working. It's too great a day to be thinking about sales reports...

2. be laundering my ball gown, the one I wore to a party last year
...but I'm too lazy. So, the ball gown lies in wait.

3. be watching a re-run of this past week's CSI: Las Vegas programme
However, my dad has other ideas. He's now plopped down in front of his precious television watching an NBA game. NBA Season is over, by the way, so he's watching a re-run. Yep, we in the family loooove re-runs.

4. be helping mom cook lunch.
But I'm still full from breakfast. So, I'm faking a stomach ache.

5. be paying my credit card bills via Internet now.
The stupid credit card company's website is down!!! Grrrrr... if they charge me with another late fee, I'm gonna go on the warpath, I swear to god.

6. be working now.
Okay, bye.

Tah-dah!

My friend Ganns was showing me his new shoes the other day. He blogged about those said shoes, and the owner of the shoe store and/or designer of the shoes himself dropped by on his blog, and ¡VOILA! Ganns tells me that he's getting a new pair of shoes FREE because of the free advertisement he's given to the shoe-guy online.

So, listen up, Mr. Marc Jacobs, Ms. Monique Lhuillier, Mr. Ben Chan, Mr. Jeffrey Lubell, and Mr. Randy Ortiz... consider yourselves advertised on. Hope you drop by! Oh, and it wouldn't hurt, either, if Mr. Henry Sy sees that I'm plugging his SM chain of stores here, too.

I accept anything you're willing to offer.

Aimer Barbara

Lucky 8's

Time.com reports that the best wedding date ever is 07 July 2007, a.k.a. 7/7/7. Not only are Tony Parker and Eva Longoria tying the knot on this day, so are Wolfgang Puck and fiancee Gelila Assefa and ten thousand other regular "Joes" who are marrying their ideal and regular "Janes."

As for me, on 7/7/7 (a Saturday, as LUCK would have it), I would be doing my usual:

1. Convince myself to go to the gym
2. Go pick up the laundry
3. Celebrate my personal holiday called, "It's Pasta Day, Today!"
4. Take a siesta
5. Go home to Quezon City and spend the weekend with the folks who are mourning the gradual loss of their aging brood.

But, I'll plan for something special on 8/8/8. That oughtta be an auspicious day - because (1) it's gonna be a Friday, and (2) my Chinese ancestors bet a whole darned lot on triple 8's (which, when pronounced in Cantonese is "fa, fa, fa," a homonym to the words "luck, luck, luck" in the same language), and succeeded in whatever they've done that had been associated with this "most lucky of numbers." Surely, there'd be something good goin' for me on that day, too.

The OTHER Paris

I was talking to a friend last night after a long day at work. Listen in on our short conversation:


SET: Me and J smoking outside a Starbucks cafe somewhere in Makati, while inhaling carbon dioxide spewed into the air by passing vehicles.

Me: Girl, Paris sure looks great from this point of view.
J: No way! Did you see that latest picture of Paris?
Me: Yeah! I was just googling and daydreaming about it earlier.
J: You were googling about Paris??? Why? Paris is all over the news these days! No need to google about it anymore, sweetie.
Me: Paris is in the news? Oh, you mean about the President's anti-immigration stance?
J: No! About the jail term!
Me: Sarkozy's in jail???? Oh my god!
J: Who the hell's Sarkozy?! I'm talking about Paris!
Me: Me, too! But why would they jail Sarkozy because of his views on immigration?
J: (burning herself with her cigarette ash.) S#@%!
Me: (burning my tongue on my hot coffee) S#@%!
Me: Arggh! Who cares about Sarkozy anyway? I STILL want Paris.
J: (raises her perfectly shaped eyebrow) Are you turning lesbo on me, Kim?



Gawd, what a mixed up conversation that was! Ahahaha!

And, I have nothing against people of the third-sex, but I most certainly am NOT a lesbian.

And, I STILL want Paris (France). *** Sigh. *** Don't you just love love love Fridays?

21st Century Taboo (Adobo-Style)

MSN UK recently listed ten 21st century taboos in an opinion article (read it here), and asked its readers which one(s) they’re guilty of. Ticking some of them off one by one, I’d say:

1. I have never given a beggar money – not because I’m a Scrooge, but because crime syndicates rampantly use the “Help-me-I’m-poor” ploys and some greedy lazy parents criminally use their kids in the “Help-me-I’m-young-AND-poor” gambits here in Metro Manila. I have, however, once given a poor tattered-looking boy my packed sandwich when he had approached my car that was, at that time, stuck in traffic. That wasn’t taboo, Mr. MSN. That was… uhm, me sticking to my no-carbo diet.
2. I am a deeeeee-voe-ted Princess Diana fan. I have an altar dedicated to her in my closet [because I don’t want anyone to see it :-)]. Never would I ever malign her name. Shame on those who would!
3. I like gentlemen. Opening doors for women is not a taboo. It’s common courtesy. Heck, I’D open a door for another woman, if (a) she’s older than me and (b) she’s overburdened with ten million things in her arms. Kill me with a spoon whydontcha, if you disagree.
4. Lennon’s “Imagine” is a classic. It is an idealistic piece of shmooze, and is number 23 on my computer’s digital music player list. I’ve also got “Hey Jude” on my song list… What can I say? I’m a quasi-Beatle-Fan reincarnate.
5. I am an advocate of non-fat milk. Whenever I drink it, I feel like I didn’t gain an ounce. It doesn’t mean I’ve actually lost weight, but I feel like I did. Therefore, I am a staunch advocate of non-fat milk.

With regards to the five other taboos listed - I gotta admit I have absolutely no idea what the guy was talking about anymore, since they’re too “British” for me to relate to, but here are some that people of my culture and in my society would most probably consider taboo in the 21st century:
a. Wearing t-shirts over your bikinis on the beach.

Why’d you buy a bikini in the first darned place, honey?

b. Singing “Thriller” at your favourite karaoke bar.

Let’s face it. That Michael Jackson song really fits Michael Jackson’s vocal range and Michael Jackson’s alone. Your “hoohoos” and “heehees” would never sound like Jackson’s. Give it up. Try singing something by Ne-Yo now. I hear his song “Irreplaceable” is quite a hit. Especially if you’re drunk.

c. Begging.

Right now, I believe they call this act “Selling.”

d. Playing with real marbles and real Barbie dolls.

PS3’s and laptops, according to the general up-to-date consensus from ten-year-old kids and kids-at-heart, are way cooler than boring old games like these. Besides, ancient things like marbles are no longer being manufactured, and Barbie dolls are for older women and gay men who collect such things as memorabilia of their once-upon-a-time youth.

e. Eating with your hands.

One word? Ewww.

f. Using hairspray

Like, oh my gosh! Haven’t you ever heard of, like, CFCs?
Or is it CCFs?
I, like, could never get that dangerous thingamajig’s name straight. But, like, my gosh!
Haven’t you heard of them, like, at all???

g. Consuming meat.
See letter “f.”

h. Speaking only one language.
Yes, I understand you’re a true-blue Filipino, man. I know exactly how you feel. But, you just GOTTA learn how to speak English well, man. You just GOTTA. Please understand: “piss” and “peace” DO NOT RHYME, man. They just don’t, you know what I mean?

i. Getting married at the church where your parents got married in.
This was soooooooooo ten minutes ago – that tradition died together with Mandy Moore in the movie “A Walk To Remember.”

j. Getting married.
Period.

Allergic to Love

To Tina Turner, my heartfelt thanks. When I first heard her sing “huwaaaaat’s love got tah do / got tah do with it,” my four-year-old brain immediately connected with the lyric, and it became a strong testament to my then sponge-like absorption of things new: “What’s Love Got To Do With It” was the very first song I sang in one of my countless recitals as a kid. I even kept the Tina outfit I wore (no wig back then – too gauche, my voice teacher thought), in memoriam of that particularly embarrassing three-and-a-half minute worth of fame, an experience among numerous others, which I would not care to repeat in future lives.

Now, twenty years later, I think that Tina said the most brilliant thing and sang the most heartfelt song ever. Ember Anne blogged about something similar on her own site (which, weirdly and eeringly, sounds like my own life story being told – by another person whom I’ve never met before) and it got me thinking about two things: (1) what, indeed, does love got tah do with anything, and (2) am I allergic to relationships?

I have girlfriends who have/had bad relationships. Their stories range from coping with temperamental/jealous/unfaithful boyfriends/husbands, to living with woman-beating s#%* heads, to giving their hearts to lying, cheating men who are in “wedded bliss” with other women. Because I love these lady friends who trust me enough to tell their stories to, their influence and their lessons have a profound effect on me.

Because of them, I think I’m afraid to take risks and let myself go.

Add to that the fact that I read blogs by women like Girlie Monkey and Mindy in Minneapolis – and I think, if svelte smooth sexy women like them (at least that’s how I perceive them to be) have trouble in the dating world, what more for me???

I try to forget about the horrible experiences(sssssss) I’ve had with the opposite sex back when I was a teen, but it’s not easy especially when I see a piece of monay (a big round-shaped piece of bread). I laugh now at the awful nicknames given to me by the boys back then, but…

Sometimes they’re still objects of my nightmares, you know?

And then, I read blogs like:

• Chrissy’s Life on Manitoulin, where a poor character named “hubby” is awoken at two o’clock in the morning to save a rain-soaked cat (he was smart enough to just roll back to sleep, though);
• Jimmy’s UncivilOne, where he captures images from websites his ex-wife likes and pastes them onto his own blog (awwwww, how shuweet);
• Curiosity Killer’s custom-made site, where she talks about her extraordinary life in Hong Kong (I’ve never come across a “love”-related issue/angst yet in her blog, so please DON’T correct me if I’m wrong);
• Ganns Deen’s personal site, where he posts songs of praise and love, and shares stories about his life-made-in-heaven with wife "C," son "N1," car Gigi, and soon-to-be daughter "N2"; and,
• PJ’s Tech Shark blog, where words like “halubshu” and “mahal” dedicated to a woman named Conne abound.

So, in answer to my own concerns…
(1) What’s love got tah to do with it, Tina? ANS: Everything.
(2) Am I allergic to relationships? ANS: Yes. But I try and “cure” myself of this allergy through daily doses of bullet-points one to five, mentioned above. Thanks to them, hope remains.

A Nightmare Come True

On one of our sojourns to the Ice Vodka Bar in Greenbelt 3 on an early Friday evening, three of my friends and I reacquainted ourselves with Liza, one of the bar waitresses, and dunked our collective angst in booze and cigarette smoke. We were, once again, taking horrible advantage of the bar’s PhP395+ (roughly around US$8.78+) drink-all-you-can vodkatinis, which are headily combined with a salmon pizza that’s good for one’s supper. You oughtta tell by now that my MadDoggerz and I spend plenty of time and money on this awesome promo package that the bar offers its patrons during its lean hours, 1800H to 2100H.

However, it was on this fateful Friday that I heard one of the weirdest songs I’ve ever heard. Ne-Yo sang his hit tune “Irreplaceable,” which he had originally written for Beyoncé. When the song’s Intro beats started blaring from the bar’s humongous speakers, everyone on the dance floor started their usual bump and grind, but instead of the normal “To the left / to the left” lyric, Ne-Yo sang:

“To the right / to the right
Everything you own in a box to the right
In the closet / Yeah, that’s my stuff
So, if I bought it / Bitch, don’t touch…”

It was already 2200H when Ne-Yo assertively screamed these words through my fuzzy brains (I wouldn’t blame me for being a wee bit buzzed by this time – I’d started on the vodka drinks at 1800H, for cryin’ out loud). So, I then happily pointed out to my friends that Ne-Yo f***ed up his own lyric, resolutely sang my own completely indecipherable words in time with the song’s beat, and purposefully struggled off of my bar stool to dance drunkenly in front of two very sexy guys.

I was told that no more than two minutes passed when my companions (read: ex-friends) forcibly pushed me out of the bar door, hailed the first cab they saw, and dumped me with the poor, hapless taxi driver. I distinctly remember waving goodbye to the two aforementioned hotties, but I don’t think they waved back. I also think I ruined a pair of good fuck-me shoes that night, but I don’t remember where I’d put them now.

…

Come to think of it, I don’t even remember if all these things really happened to me on this supposed Friday night. Gawd, I hope not, coz I just blogged about it to the whole wide world.

Monday Mlues

The fourth of June started out badly for me. I had an hour’s travel time, from Quezon City to Makati, waiting for me as soon as I woke up at 0530. Breakfast wasn’t exactly the best that it could be, although my dad (who’s cooked breakfast for us since time immemorial) did his damnedest to get the organic rice cooked on time. It was the first time he’s ever handled organic rice, and albeit his good intentions, his results were an absolute disaster. From here on end, my bad day blues, henceforth known as “Monday Mlues” starting pouring. Mlue #1: a busted breakfast.

The trip to Makati City was as bad as expected, especially on Monday. A twenty-minute build-up in a small minute part of the gawd-forsaken highway called the Epifanio Delos Santos Avenue, or EDSA for short (which really stands for “Every Day Superdupersloooooow, Aw-c’mon-i-did-not-swerve-across-that-lane-i-swear-mister-officer”) was hellish, as usual, but what was particularly surprising was that there was another thirty-minute disaster on Buendia Avenue. What should have been a mere five-minute ride to our final destination became a half-hour nerve-racking Mlue #2: the tempestuous trip.

As soon as I stepped into the office, I cannot friggin’ believe what happened next. My cute sandals’ straps broke off! Mlue #3: shoddy shitty shoes.

My desk was also being attacked by a zillion tiny little buggers that grew from the overflowing trash can our office maintenance personnel forgot to take out last Friday. Mlue #4: icky icky insects.

Then I received an e-mail entitled, “Di ta guae yong khee.” At first, I thought, “well that’s a weird e-mail subject,” so I read it. It was one of those supposedly funny stories people e-mail to each other, telling the experience of a Filipino college student who tried to help his classmate take care of the latter’s ailing father in the hospital. His classmate was Filipino-Chinese, whose family spoke fluent Fookien (a Chinese dialect from the Fujian province of China). As he tended the old man, the Filipino student suddenly heard the patient repeatedly gasp, “Di ta guae yong khee! Di ta guae yong khee!” Then, the old man just died. The stupid author was trying to be morbidly funny, but his humour sure as hell didn’t pass muster with me. Number one, “di ta guae yong khee” is a horrible Anglicized translation of “You’re stepping on my oxygen.” Number two, the author kept on repeating that his classmate was “intsik,” that the classmate’s family was “intsik,” and that he did not understand the “intsik” language. The term “intsik” is a derogatory term locals here use to refer to their fellow mix-blooded Filipino-Chinese nationals. And, number three, even if this story is false, pray tell, why the hell is a story about manslaughter funny??? Mlue #5: black-and-blue bigotry.

I just wanted to say: Mondays suck.

Big time.

And, so do Thursdays. I oughtta have a “Thursday Thumpers” entry, but I better get through with this Tuesday first before “Tuesday Chuvaness” occurs.

Getting Along Swimmingly

W. Chan Kim and Renée Mauborgne wrote of “blue ocean strategies” that may be applied in the business world. True enough, they gave samples of organisations and leaders who are creating blue oceans of their own: Canada’s Cirque du Soleil, Australia’s Casella Wine [yellow tail] brand, and Korea’s Samsung, among others. Even the company that I’ve just recently signed up with, Direct With Hotels, is trying to create its own blue ocean in the worlds of the tourism and hospitality industries.

Personally, though, I think each person has the ability to create his/her own blue ocean. A blue ocean is (I’m paraphrasing as I go along, so please forgive me for any missteps in explaining what a blue ocean is ) that area where a person or an organisation creates a “unique” environment where other people/organisations would find it hard to compete against it. For instance, Cirque du Soleil did away with animal shows, three-ring stages, and expensive “big named” circus artists who ask a premium for their performances. Instead, it focused on providing pure entertainment, not for children, who are the traditional target market of big league circuses, but for adults. Similarly, I think an individual can create his/her own blue ocean through what Kim and Mauborgne called “value innovation.”

In my case, I think I can start building my own blue ocean if I start “rearranging” my daily attire. No more loose jeans and floral-printed shirts for this baby. No more head bands and scrunchies (not in public at least). Target market: rich youngish-looking bachelors with kind hearts. Hence, low-cut v-necked tops, dark coloured clothes (to hide the unavoidable bodily curves and bumps) flowing or sexy skirts, and subtle hair accessories are, I think, what Dr. Cosmopolitan has just ordered for me. Also, no more hiding the fact that I’m an alluring combination of both “smart lady” and “smarty-pants”. My competitors who are stuck in the “red ocean” market, in my humble opinion, consciously depict themselves as bimbos who can’t lift a finger when it comes to facing an adversary. Why they do so is beyond me. Likewise, no more wishing for Prince Charming. I just recently realised he does not exist. My friend Winky had advised me in one of our heart-to-heart conversations that in the game of love, a woman ought to have “low expectations and great fun.” Amen, sister, AMEN.

Furthermore, I think that in order to expand my own blue ocean, I would have to create new values to my person – values that other people, whose trust and respect I need to have, would also value. Wit, fun, humour, brains, and passion are “things” that I wish to possess – thus far, I don’t think I’ve failed in acquiring them. There are other values that I wish to imbibe, though: generosity (but not to the point of stupidity), wisdom (but not geeky), strength (but not super duper muscular that I’d look like ArnoldA Schwarzenegger), and true beauty (hello, Nip | Tuck?).

My blue ocean is still in the making and I don’t think it’ll be completely achieved until I reach the ripe ol’ age of 35 (!). As my blueness is still a work-in-progress, I’ll carry on doing what I do best, and blog ‘til I bleed out of my ears. Regardless of how long my blue ocean’s going to be developed, I think I still have the chops to get along with the rest of the world quite “swimmingly”.

Home

Inspirations

For these past two weeks, I’ve been writing our project’s final report which would eventually be submitted to our funding agency, the European Commission. (If you could, please check out the project/consortium website I had helped develop, www.comqual.com. :-)) My brain juices have essentially been bled dry during this excruciating procedure at work, and I just had to seek out inspiration to keep myself sane.

Time’s list of 100 Most Influential People in the world today was my constant desktop companion during my sojourn into this final project documentation. I must admit, there were names there that made me raise my eyebrows: Osama bin Laden (who’s categorised under “Leaders and Revolutionaries” – but I tend to think of him as the face of 9/11, as opposed to “leader”); Brad Pitt (who’s still recognised as “Artist & Entertainer,” but is generously praised for his film producing powers and his philanthropic ambitions); and, Elizabeth Edwards (labelled as a “Hero & Pioneer,” because she embattled and is continuing to embattle breast cancer. Of course, I am aware of cancer’s omnipotent destruction – my mother underwent breast cancer surgery in 1990, a young cousin died of leukaemia, and a college classmate had fought valiantly against yet still succumbed to bone cancer. But Edwards, a politician’s wife, is, in my humble opinion, neither a hero nor a pioneer because of cancer. Thousands of other people are battling other fatal diseases and illnesses, but they are not placed on pedestals by commercialised news or feature magazines. So, I have to ask: why?).

Time’s list got me thinking then, who’d be on my personal list of ten “most inspirational and influential” people? I count them (from the past to the present, and hopefully into the future) down here:

10. Drew Gilpin Faust: First, a confession - I’ve never heard of Faust prior to reading Soledad O’Brien’s write-up about her on Time.com. But I certainly have heard of Harvard – and of its paternalistic management history. Upon reading of Faust’s appointment as the premiere educational institution’s 28th president, I felt goosebumps rise on my upper arms and a thump in my chest, while I thought, “If Faust can do the near-impossible, so, perhaps, I can, too.”

9. Oprah Winfrey: Nelson Mandela gently reminded Time’s readers of the obstacles Winfrey went through before she got to where she is today, Chairman (yes, she calls herself Chairman, not Chairperson) of her own company, Harpo Productions. She was molested by her cousin’s older boyfriend when she was a mere slip of a girl; she was often passed over earlier in her career for other “more beautiful” female reporters; she was (and still is) often ridiculed for her weight issues; and, she is a daily target for tabloid fodder and public jealousy. Essentially, however, Winfrey shone through, creating choices and grabbing opportunities that went her way. Her perseverance, wit, and compassion are what keeps me glued to her show and to her website – she leaves me breathless while I anticipate to see what she has next up her sleeve.

8. My friend, Kai: a single mom, who’s managed to bring up the most wonderful boy who’s graced my world.

7. Nelson Sulpico: In July 2004, Sulpico, a Filipino taxi driver from New York returned every single piece of jewellery, collectively worth thousands of dollars, to his passenger, showing the whole wide world the true brand of someone who’s been privileged to call himself a “Filipino.”

6. Ziyi Zhang: My favourite foreign actor is a woman - a high-flying, ass-kicking, beautiful woman of pure Chinese descent, whose drive and ambition made her a great English-language communicator and caused men of various races to drool. Hers is the face that launched the faces of a billion other 21st century Chinese-descended women, me included. Her brain is nothing to scoff at either – which, equally, makes me look damn good.

5. Maya Angelou: Her words resound in my head whenever I feel like crap: “I am a woman / Phenomenally / Phenomenal woman / That’s me.” Now, tell me: how could I not admire her?

4. My first grade home-class adviser: Mrs. Baja and I fell in love with each other at first sight. She with my messy pig-tail tied hair, I with her kind eyes. She gifted me with my love for learning, and I gave her a leather hand bag that she constantly carried with her, all throughout my high school years. I’ll never forget her.

3. My aunt, Beth: She is what society would call an “old maid.” To me, she is what I hope to be someday - a rebel with a great cause, a generous heart, and a brilliant mind, who is also waaaaay cool.

2. My papa: His gruff exterior and oft-undecipherable interior still makes me quake in my shoes whenever I know I’ve done something stupid. It is his face that haunts my dreams and his words that strike at my conscience if I go ahead with my baser instinct and do something to hurt another human being. Because of this, his name I’ll forever carry.


1. My mother: ‘nuf said.

Fun in the Sun, Vol. I, Series 2

Mitch, Conne, and I again hopped into a car two weekends ago, this time with a few other friends and family members [yes, PJ finally got his “weekend family getaway” with Conne and their toddling son. But, like I’d toldcha, Peej, I’m sorta like family to you. You can’t get away. Mwahahahaha :-) ].

We traversed the South Super Highway, erstwhile known as the Sergio Osmeña Highway (why they changed the name, you may ask? I have no clue whatsoever. People usually don’t give a hoot about the changes made and still call the streets whatever name they had originally been baptised with. Oy!) Mitch rammed us through the smaller and bumpier streets of Batangas province – at a speed of at least 150 kph (which is equivalent to a little more than 93 mph)! Gawd, I’m still trying to untwist my poor maliciously distorted intestines. But, setting Mitch’s barf-brewing driving skills aside, the time we spent in Kabayan Resort was abso-bloomin’-lutely wonderful. I think we each made a couple of new friends, saw and enjoyed ogling attractive people of the opposite sex, and criticised (read: beeyotched about) our fair share of people who looked prettier than we did.

Since the rainy season is upon us now, I doubt I’ll be able to post another entry like this again, unless I go to Bermuda soon…