Sunday, December 31, 2006


Dec 29 '06. Friday, 2:19pm. Tired from harassing myself to finish my quota for the week, I gratefully sat on a vacant bench on the bus and proceeded to listen to my pod. I go to my Chill Out playlist and once the music starts I close my eyes and take myself on a ride I'm all too familiar with.

My mind processes the events which made me cry and left me with no sleep. I cringe at my feeble and cowardly attempt to profess my affection and a sigh escapes from my lips at the thought of getting no reaction whatsoever. Regret tries to enter with its ugly lengthy horns, but I close my mind to regret. If it hurt, it was probably worth it.

Flashes of Nitro IB pics, okrayan with Markie and Jamie, coaching session with my agents, 45-minute yosi breaks in Starbucks Valero, counseling sessions with Cha Ems, Astoria drinking nights.

My mind then scans through the QA room nightshift quartet (Vince, Jenny, Fats, Me): I remember the night when Fats went on leave. In an attempt to have Fats bring us some Julie baked goodies the next shift, Vince staged a hostage-taking photo-shoot of Fats' stuffed toy (using my crazy Nido pen and a plastic fork). The QA room conference table was laden with ensaymada, hotdog rolls, and sweet cakes the next night. I then remember the small gifts and thoughts everyone gave me when I had to leave the program to start a new one: the Jollibee cheeseburger, the Goldilocks pinipig, the sweet cards, the ref magnet...

And then the beach trips. La Union, Batangas, Bohol, Boracay. I begin to miss the waves of La Union and the awesome morning breeze in Batangas. I try hard to recall the feel of the ebbing tide around my ankles as I walk on the beach in Boradise. I long to lie in the hammock I slept in on a lazy morning in Panglao.

Faces of the people I love parade before me and I thank the heavens for my good fortune in spite of the hell-ish 12 months. I then tell myself: It's been a crazy year. I have no idea how I survived it.

I open my eyes and see the Pasig River, reminding me I have to be ready to get off the next stop. I stop my pod and stuff it deep in my bag.

I don't listen to music as I climb to the MRT and cross EDSA to ride a trike for home, but I still see the faces, the places and events. I regret nothing. I still hurt. I am not happy.

I am fortunate to have lived through it.

Sunday, December 24, 2006

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Empty Room.

Share with you this passage which made me teary-eyed unexpectedly.

"Passion, it lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unbidden, it will stir, open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us, guides us, passion rules us all and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments: the joy of love, the clarity of hatred, and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace, but we would be hollow--empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead."

Will be leaving for Baguio in a few hours.

May this short respite rekindle any passion left within.