Screwed.

Yup, I'm screwed.

My external hard drive went kaput.

EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING IS GONE.

MUSIC. PICTURES. MOVIES. DOCUMENTS. MUSIC. PICTURES. MOVIES.

ALL GONE.

Did I just say I'm screwed?

Fuckin' screwed.

Of Pen and Paper. Part II.

She wrote back! Rita wrote back!!!!

It just arrived this afternoon and when I got home from work at around 9pm it was displayed prominently on our mail table. I opened it immediately and started reading.

I mailed my letter the day after I wrote my Of Pen and Paper entry. The date on her letter said March 5, 2007, so it took my letter more than a month to reach her. She said 'it has been a long time since I last wrote you. But it doesn't mean that I forgot you. I'm very joyful about your letter.'

Parang gusto kong umiyak nung pagkabasa ko 'yun.

She also sent a picture. Sorry, it's blurry because my scanner is busted so I had to use my phone to take the pic. The little boy beside Argo, her dog (who is 7 dog-years old now), is Karlis (her son! Ang gwapo!) who just turned 4 last January 11. Her mom and dad have retired enjoying their 4 grandchildren. Rita passed her medical exam and she's now working as a nurse in P. Stradiva Hospital in their Neurovasculary and Neuroncology department. She's now a Ph. D. student and will defend her doctoral thesis in engineering sciences 2-3 years from now. She says she doesn't have internet yet but will send an email my way once she has it in their home.

Wow. I can't wipe away the silly smile on my lips. I am truly happy for her and relieved she's doing sooooo well, and her family, too.

Thanks everyone for hoping with me! It was well worth the wait really.

I'm glad that I took the time to write her and, well, sort of renew our friendship.This is definitely a bond worth keeping.

A year after saying goodbye...

Yes, I'm still in love.

Demmet. *drives a stake through heart*

*sigh*

Gusto ko nang dumating yung araw na iisipin ko na lang ----

"What the fuck was I thinking?!"

That'll be the day.

For now, I still love him. And it's killing me.

Of Pen and Paper.

I had free time over the weekend so I decided to clean up my desk drawers. As I was sorting through the countless receipts, meaningless post-it notes, and funny-smelling stationaries I've collected since I was in grade school, I came upon Rita's last letter which I haven't been able to reply to.

Just to make things clear: Rita was, well, is my Latvian pen pal. Yes, PEN PAL. Haha.

It all began during my last year in high school. On our first week of classes Mr dela Vega, our beloved World History professor, told us we had to write to someone from another country and have them give us first-hand information about their culture, history and traditions. No relatives: Canada and the US were not included. Filipinos in any country do not count. [This was a time e-mail was not option, the internet available to businesses and was altogether unheard of at that time]. You could just imagine our horror at was he was asking us to do. But our grade depended on this, so a week into the announcement it was a common thing to see the seniors of St. Paul Pasig batch 94 to have a copy of Buy and Sell, scanning through the pen pal section, looking for a prospect pen pal.

I wrote to at least 10 people who appeared wholesome in their ads. Only 2 wrote back. The first was a German, who wrote in his reply to my candid letter of friendship that he was 'looking for Filipina wife and you seem to be perfect.' I tore the letter into pieces and burned them.

The second letter I received was from Rita. Her English was bad but she got her message across, her penmanship neat and clear. She was 17 (at that time) and planning to enter medical school the next year, and has 3 sisters. They are not rich but they get by, she says. Her dad is a driver and her mom a housewife. She didn't know anything about the Philippines but she'd very much like to know everything about it and would I care to correspond with her? Would I care? I wrote a reply and sent it the next day.

We continued to correspond over the next 5 years, sending each other tokens, pictures, postcards, books, pamphlets, and even food. We've shared deaths, birthdays, holidays, and births even. She would write me stories of her dog, Argo, and I would entertain her with stories of my cat, Long. She invited me to visit her and I said if she found herself in Asia someday she can definitely stay with me.

Now, I have in front of me a letter she sent in 2000. I feel bad for not finding the time to write back. I feel so ashamed of not taking care of the friendship we've formed. I've grown accustomed to just typing the words and sending it through email that I don't know if I'll be able to write something eligible and meaningful.

I realize that I will write back and I will write beautifully. It will be long and I will send pictures of me and my 3 pesky pamangkins. I will tell her how sorry I am for not corresponding with her the past 6 years and that I have no excuse to offer her. I am still her friend and I hope that she feels the same way.

And maybe I'll also ask her if she has an email address now... you know, just to make things easier for the both of us.

Trip.

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.

An 11-minute orgasm.

Nobody does it better than Jason Mraz.


Merry Christmas!