Firsts

In my 25 years of existence, I've met a lot of friends.

There are different kinds: those friends who praise you, those that make you laugh, those you have that occassional witty banter with, those who are just part of the scene, those that make a scene, those that hold your head when you throw up because of having too much alcohol, those that hold your hand during the hardest times...and those that introduce you to NugaBest.

"It's for free." this friend said. "Just come with me, please. It won't hurt."

It was a Saturday morning and I had just started my weekend itinerary of doing absolutely nothing. This beckoning...this invitation, was very easy to resist. Why the hell would I spend minutes on that when I could just get on with my selfish weekend plans?


Ten minutes later, I found myself lying down on one of those NugaBest massage beds that was equipped with jade stones and tourmanium ceramic meant to "heal all sorts of illnesses".



As I marveled on the different sensations this miracle bed was giving me, I realized how this friend of mine pestered me into doing many things I never thought I'd do in my life, like go hiking to Mount Samat just the two of us, spend a weekend at the beach instead of going out to a bar, and most importantly, stop smoking.

There are friends who are happy with 'just the way you are'. Yeah, they're great. And I love them. But there are friends who challenge who you are and see if you can be something more. Such is the relationship I have with this friend.

I stood up from the massage bed and thought of how for the first time, in a very long time, I've experienced a first.

Later that night, my first time at NugaBest gave me the courage to try another first.

"Hey mom, want to go out with me tonight?"

"Really? Why?" Mom said, looking puzzled.

"Nothing. Let's just hangout."

And so we did.

Close Encounter

Not having won the lottery (yet), I carried on and lived my life not knowing what's going to happen next.

There are things in life that just come without any warning, like that parking space along the most vehicle congested part of the city or that quip that made you laugh because of its, well, unexpectedness.

And then there's the encounter you have with your mom.

Mom and I stood up from the dinner table and do our own thing around the house on a lazy Wednesday night. I was planning on watching Friends on DVD and she'd go to her room and watch her telenovelas (Eversince Dad passed away, she managed to 'like-like' these shows).

However, tonight was different. Instead, we sat down on the couch in the living room, dissed our dates with our own television sets and began talking about Dad.

Well, Mom did most of the talking.

She went on from one memory to another, from one realization to another...as I sat there and listened, mesmerized, and saw Dad in another light.

I saw him tonight. He was alive. He lives in my Mom's heart. He lives and breathes. He made me smile today...

More importantly, I saw Mom today. A new encounter. She was wife. She wasn't mother. She was lover, not parent.

My Dad, who's often reserved and distant, would have never allowed for such an encounter between us to ever materialize.

Yet as I listened to Mom tell stories she kept hidden like an old scrapbook made for any of her sons, a man I never fully knew slowly reintroduced himself to me.

You, me, never really had
What they had, Dad
Never really asked for much from you.
Just 'Son, I love you, too.'
And my heart keeps on beating
You run through my veins...let's keep it that way, OK?
OK...

On lotto and pedicures

There comes a time in our lives when we simply don't have anything to look forward to. No upcoming parties to go to, no album releases to watch out for, no oblivious text message from your crush that you happily would want to decode with your friends over coffee.

Such was my dilemma. Until I played the Grand Lotto 6/55.

Everyone's been talking about it. A chance to become 333.5 million richer. Wow! I can't even begin to 'budget' that amount of money. How much should I keep for me? How much should I give a relative? How much should I give a long lost relative that suddenly appeared out of nowhere? And how much should I give to the poor? (I had to write that one in so that I sound more deserving).

Oh, the anticipation. It made me smile just thinking about it. Imagine having to buy all the stuff you want. Should I put it in the bank? Start a business? Or should I just blow it all away? Another wow and a sigh to go with that.

Try betting on the lottery. Just do it. Spend, say, 20 bucks and go to the nearest lotto outlet. Tell me honestly that you, even in the slightest bit, didn't 'half'-expect that your numbers will bedrawn and make you oh-so-rich? That your mind didn't do a little 'oh that's the number' affirmation while you picked your numbers one by one? Oh come on!

Everyone's got that little (stupid) dreamer inside of us that looks forward and says a (stupid) little prayer in the hopes of winning the lottery after buying the (stupid) ticket.

If it's any consolation, it gives us something to look forward to. The hours seem a bit more 'hopeful' compared to the usual dreariness of not becoming a millionaire anytime soon. The sweet possiblity of being a (stupid) socialite seemed to be right 'round the corner.

I did bet last Sunday night in the Grand Lotto 6/55 in the hopes of winning the ever-growing 333.5 million jackpot. I don't know if that's more embarrassing than the fact that I'm writing this thing while getting my toe nails done.

At least, I've got something to look forward to. So what if I didn't win? Well, at least I was hopeful for a day and a half.

But right now, I only have beautiful clean nails that I can truly look forward to.

Work it!

So today I went back to work after a two-week break (I think). I'm trying to slowly slip into the normal routine of things, thanks to my animated colleagues, everything's not monotonous.

A friendly banter here and there, a meaningful conversation with an office mate over lunch break (and beyond!), a hilarious encounter with a client, discovering more about my colleagues and superiors, or even an uber-stressful day, are what makes up my everyday at my 8 to 5 job.

I think that's the thing about work. You've got to appreciate the people around you and every encounter you have with customers. If you can't stand any of these, you probably won't last. Even the high paying salary (I think) wouldn't stop you from saying 'I quit!'.

And also, you've got to feel useful or needed in the workplace, otherwise you'd just beat yourself up and think, this company will keep rolling in money with or without me!

I'm not trying to sound like Oprah here, but those are just simple tips I can give to those contemplating leaving their jobs.

If you find yourself questioning, why am I here? Am I really needed here? Maybe you've got to rethink or justify why you're hired in the first place. Put in more effort and aspire to be noticed, or probably think about how you'd feel if ever you quit. Once you hand in that resignation letter, your relationship with Human Resources will never be the same again!

Work is like a relationship with a lover. Sometimes it's stressful, hectic and frustrating, but if it's worth it, you'll find every reason to hang on and cherish the rewards- monetary or self-gratification.

I know I do. Mom showed me how. She never said a word about it.

I do NOT love Acoustic!

Whilst having breakfast alone, I came across a newspaper spread lying around the kitchen so I decided to read it while devouring scrambled eggs. It's the entertainment section of the Manila Bulletin dated October 21, 2010.

There's this article about Sabrina, an acoustic singer who makes a living out of doing covers of recent hits. We pretty much know that there is this trend of female acoustic acts doing that nowadays (Ugh!).

So I read on and she goes on to say, "As far as I know, OPM is anything sung by local artists. Basta kinanta ng Pinoy, it becomes OPM." I want her to say that in front of Mr. Ryan Cayabyab and all other OPM artists so that I can see a beating afterwards.

Damn, she's so wrong. OPM literally means 'Original Pilipino (or Pinoy) Music'. According to credible source Wikipedia.com, these are songs created in the Philippines or composed by Filipinos. The lyrics, in fact, may be in any language (although most of it are written either in Tagalog, English or Taglish), but most importantly it should be original.

She shouldn't be called an OPM artist, let alone be called an artist. This Sabrina girl is merely an act. Her songs are redundant in style even with the wide range of songs she chooses to cover. I'm even wondering what possessed the composers for them to grant permission to the record company to use these songs!

Here is a mix of her songs and see for yourself.




Artists should create their own songs and never live off reviving recent hits. One or two cover songs is OK, but a whole career out of it? That is unacceptable! Oh, that reminds me of this pathetic duo called M.Y.M.P., who did make a whole career out of it.

You wanna know what's more effed up? Star Awards made her Acoustic Artist of the Year in 2009. And people all over the country are digging it. Look at how M.Y.M.P.'s career survived all throughout the years.

OPM surely has a bleak future if this trend continues.

For my niece Aspen

It's her birthday today. I made this video clip for her :)
Such a happy little girl. You'd love her.

Silver

It's been a long time since I posted here. :)

I've always kept a journal ever since I was in high school but stopped in college from then on because I was 'living life' instead of blogging about it.

Now I feel I have more time to write...I don't know if that's good. haha

I’m 25 years old now. I threw a party consisting of friends and family to celebrate. Just a small barbecue at my house and ofcourse, some booze.

I saw my Facebook page and there are a lot of people who greeted, even people whom I never really made contact with. Wow.

A really good friend of mine gave me a silver necklace- yes, because I’m already celebrating my silver years. Sweet.

Today is my first birthday without Dad. We had a celebration of his birthday two days ago. A lunch party. Mom put together a Dad memorabilia display, like his sunglasses, aftershave, clothes he often wears and a bottle of San Miguel Pale Pilsen. Together with his picture frames all over the living room, our house looked like a museum of Dad. I thought Dad would’ve felt mortified if he was alive!

My sister is in Oman and it feels weird not having her around. She texted me and said she was having cake with her husband and my niece Aspen at a park nearby their house in celebration of my birthday. Aspen kept blowing the candle. I can only imagine that funny little girl…it’s her birthday today and she turns 2.

And I just turned 25. It ain’t so bad. I feel like I’m 25 anyway. I don’t feel as if there’s something I missed out on. In fact, I think I’m learning at the right pace.