High Five

#27: Remembering Five Things on the Fifth Friday of July

a. 5 items in a package I received 2 weeks ago.

b. 5 minutes that it took me to finish this pricing recommendation. Another 5 minutes to get our Country Manager to nod in agreement to that reco.

c. 5 times today that I listened to Mario Frangoulis' "Naturaleza Muerta."

d. 5 good things I had for lunch today: greasy pizza, salty chicken, mojos, chicken&corn soup with shoestring potatoes, Coke Light. (Yes, eat like a pig and wash it all down with guilt-free Coke.)

e. 5-letter name of someone I ran into last Friday who might as well have been named "depth."

Was That July?

#26: Wondering Where July Went...

And so another month is over. It's the 30th and here I am, all Rip Van Wilkle-ish about where the month went; baffled over where the first half of 2004 flew. This calls for a head scratch. Or two.

Time flies when you're having fun, they say. If that is the case, then maybe I was having fun.

I just didn’t notice.

Just like July.

Magic Hair 

Bad Hair Youth

#25:  A Hair-raising Tale
 
There's one person in the office who would always  try to guess if I was going out with friends after work on a particular day. 9 out of 10 times, he would get it right. When I asked him what it was that gave me away, he said, "It's your hair. When you wear it down, I know something's up." Hmm. I never really saw it as a freakily precise index of my social calendar but come to think of it, maybe I say more with my hair than I actually intend to.
 
Last Friday, as I was driving to a meeting, I noticed a little girl happily walking with her mom. She was about 7 or 8. She was thin and dark and too far away for me to see the features of her face. But she had long hair. And while she wasn't dressed so prettily, the way her hair just flowed as she bounced along to keep up with her mother's pace made me smile. It was actually a sad smile as I wondered why my mom didn't let my hair grow long when I was a kid. I would always have this cropped blah hair that, on top of my being dark and scrawny, made sure I faded into the background in all class pictures. No, I never even wore any of those ridiculously huge candy-colored hair ribbons.
 
When I was around 7 years old, I asked my mom why she never braided my hair. She just said, "I don't know how to. Besides, I'm a simple person. Simple people don't do braids." I don't recall if she actually said that brains mattered more than braids but that's what I got out of that. And I never asked her again.
 
It was close to ten years after that when I came to the point of saying "I think I've got the brains part figured out. It's time for me to stop having bad hair. " Another 10 years after and I've got my hairstylist for a bestfriend. I still don't do braids nor bright ribbons but my hair now is long with a lot of character. There's no fading with this hair now. Hah.
 
One time, after bumping into one of my old officemates at the mall, my friend Rachel asked me, "Why is it that you always seem to untie your hair when you run into someone?" Wha-? Huh? I got ready to protest; but after a blink or two, I realized that, hey, it was true. I had been doing it unknowingly.  Wow. I didn't know she was that observant. I didn't even realize I was that predictable or that consistent.  To release tension maybe? A subconscious form of 'loosening up' perhaps? Or maybe to just plain look better by whipping out my "magic hair."  I don't know.  All I know is that unless you're under 8 and completely dependent on your mother for your styling needs, there's  no excuse for having bad hair. 
 

Run for your Lives!

#24: Something I Saw
 
Last Wednesday, I saw the look of pure terror on the faces of two guys as I approached...

I was driving into the basement parking.
 
They were 3 meters away...
 
desperately trying to keep this huge garbage cart from dragging them down the ramp.
 
 
Run, Forrest, run.

Super Duper Mario

#23: This Pianist Goes Beyond Super

...and inspires me to re-learn piano. (That or dig up our old Nintendo.)

http://gprime.net/video/blindfoldedmariopianist2.php

10 minutes after, my mouth is still open and I still can't stop myself from shaking my head and saying, "Unbelievable."

Unbelievable.

Back to Espana (Espana, Manila July 2004) 

Three Wise Men (Espana, Manila, July 2004) 

The Smell of Spain

#23: Back from Espana

Just got back from Espana. No, not the country. That place in the armpit of Manila which smells of cats.

When we were young, we used to visit one of my aunts who lived in Espana. If I remember correctly, the exact location was Galicia. Listening to the sound that these words make now as they slide from my brain to the screen makes me think of some charming place far away. Far away, true (since it takes an hour to get there). But charming? Not.

Every time my dad told us to get ready to go to Galicia, I would feel a fever coming down. The place reeked of the smell of cats - yes, cats, urine and all. The esteros were murky and passing by one of them would knock the air out of your lungs. There would always be puddles with floating things you couldn't identify. And the dry part of the street would always have hardened black dirt and things of various colors you couldn't identify either. I told myself that if I got old enough to have a choice, I would refuse to ever return to Espana.

This morning, I went there to oversee a campus raid we did for my brand at the oldest University in the country. My excitement over seeing our Clearasil models in their fashionista attires, depleting tens of thousands of stocks of Clearasil samples gave bounce to my step as I walked from my car to the school, across streets and streets of the same icky things I saw when I was little. I actually almost forgot I was in Espana. That is, until I got a whiff of the smell of cats.

House by the Woods (Bacolod, July 2004) 

Come to the River (Bacolod, July 2004) 

Tower of Babel (Bacolod, July 2004) 

Let's Stay Together (Cebu, June 2004) 

Alone With You (Cebu, June 2004) 

Black Hole (Cebu, June 2004) 

Beyond the Blue Door (Cebu, June 2004) 

Come Follow Me (Cebu, June 2004) 

Where You Go, I will Go 

The Week in Bullets

#22: Images from Last Week

a. Sleepless over a presentation on the principles of Starbucks' growth... (Coffee and its ill effects.)

b. An Architect remembers me from a forgotten past... (Poise is always a good thing to have at all times. Nice hair and killer suit too.)

c. A Finance person actually makes me laugh... (His advice on which architectural firm to choose for our relocation: whoever gives Godiva chocolates with the nicest flowers.)

d. Reconnecting with Real Estate fellows (who thought I had died with our office transfer project)...

e. I betray my old company by getting giddy over my new Smart phone... (issued by my company. I can't be blamed.)

d. Coffee with an Economist working to solve all of the problems of the Philippines while wearing David Beckham hair...

e. Palpitations over 50%-70% off sales at Glorietta shops... (My boss went crazy. I was at the 50-70% range.)

f. Friday Night guffaws with a good friend over Korean food... (Long live Kalbi-Jim!)

g. My dermatologist makes everything alright again... (I'm swearing off Pantene.)

h. My dentist installs hidden permanent retainers... (My smile has a secret.)

i. The kids at the youth group I teach gets me close to having dehydration... (how do you make teenagers give you undivided attention for at least 15 minutes???)

j. Sunday afternoon being a junkfood junkie with the youth... (plus we're having greasy pizza later for dinner. Hooray for junkfood!)

k. Sleepy satisfied smile as I write this entry... (It was an interesting week, wasn't it?)

So Sings My Heart

#21: Man After Your Own Heart
Words and Music By: Wayne Kirkpatrick and Billy Sprague

O God, Father in heaven and earth
I call to You like deep calls to deep over water
Show me Your endless measure of grace
Let tender mercies shine once again
From Your holy face

Deep in my soul there's a craving
To please the One who has saved me
O God, Though I have fallen so far
You know that I'm still A man after Your own heart

I am driven by rivers of pride
You are my rescue
The Maker and Keeper of my life
Lead me by the still waters again
Use me in spite of the prodigal child
That You know I am

Just as a deer runs to water
So does my soul to You, Father
O God, though I have wandered so far
You know that I'm still
A man after Your own heart
I'm still a man after Your own heart

Dressed to De-stress

#20: Dresscode for Stressful Days

Philosophy behind my definition of "corporate attire" for this week:

The more toxic the day, the more "side effects" you are allowed to have.

Knots Landing 

Hollywood Tie-up 

Monkey Business 

The Princess and The Pea

#19: Back To My Own Bed

You know those Shelley Duval fairytale dramatizations they used to show on Saturday nights when we were kids? I saw their version of "The Princess and The Pea" some million years ago and while I do not remember much of the details now, I distinctly recall asking why the heck the princess was so prissy. It was a pea, for goodness' sake. Not like they made her sleep on rocks or nails. Plus, there were about 20 or so mattresses on top of it. (Of course, I did wonder how they were able to get her up there. That would be terribly close to the ceiling and that would be a more likely reason for her restlessness throughout the night. I mean, why don't you try sleeping near a lightbulb? Or with only a couple of inches between your nose and the ceiling? See if that doesn't drive you crazy.) But since the focus was on the pea and how her "feeling" it was the true test of her being royalty, I dismissed the whole story as ridiculous and dubbed her as the most unreasonable fairytale character ever.

Fastforward to the year 2004. Business trip to Visayas once more. This is my nth time. 5th? 6th? I've lost count. I just know that this last trip made me realize that the story of The Princess and The Pea is not so far out after all.

There was this particular hotel we stayed at which was supposedly the best in that area. It had a grand driveway and a beautiful lobby alright, but beyond that, it was a crying shame. The carpet looked like if you stomped on it hard enough, you'll upset a whole flea city (circus included); and the towels were dangerously thin and strangely grayish that I feared they'd fall apart if bath product ingredients left on my skin came into contact with them.

But those things should be okay, right? I mean, I brought my own towel with me and I could always walk around with slippers instead of going barefoot. But you see, I didn't bring my own bed nor sheets, nor pillows... so those were the things that really killed me.

I will not make a long list of things that were so wrong with the beds. I will just say that it was freaky that they smelled... "human." ICK!!! Really. Of course that is much more major than silly peas, so tossing and turning all night won't really tell you if I'm a princess or not. (It will just tell you that I'm human and that I don't particularly like 'supposedly fresh' hotel beds to smell like someone had been sleeping on them for days.) But it calls the story to mind and brings the "prissiness" of the princess to a level that is more tangible and easier for me to comprehend.

There will always be certain things that will keep us from getting a good night's rest when we're away from home. Even the fluffy pillows and soft sheets in the next place we visited didn't remove my craving to go back to reigning as queen of my messy room once more. It's not just limited to obvious irritants. It's actually a consolidation of all the things - whether big or miniscule- that remind you that you're far away and that this is not home. These are the same things that will make you so glad to be finally back to your own space at the end of it all.

As for my princess status, on our last day, during lunch at this resort, the restaurant owner gave me this amused look as he was serving really small portions of porkchops. He proceeded to declare to everyone at our table that I so looked like the daughter of his boss back in Malaysia where he worked for 12 years. The boss? The king of Malaysia. The daughter I was supposed to have a striking resemblance to? No less than the princess. Whoa. How's that for royalty?

Please feel free to address me as "Your Royal Highness."

Collision Course

#18: Contrasts in Colon St., Cebu

An ocean of people. An absence of smiles. Murky pools by our feet. Bubbles floating to the sky.

An old lady sells two small green mangoes to a guard in front of a store that sells hundreds of yellow gold chains.

At a street corner, a man loudly mourns to the beat of tin drums. At the opposite end, a child sits staring into space in deathly silence.

The light changes. All collide at Colon Street's intersection.