One Birthday

#207: Coming Up

Today, two people reminded me that my birthday is coming up. I didn't think I would ever need reminding of my birthday - especially since at around this time, hype around it would have been up already. I would have already sent out follow-up text broadcasts and gotten a good grasp of how many people are turning up. The theme would've been finalized a good two weeks before the day itself and the e-invite sent out. At around this time, several people would've SMS'd me asking about what is okay and what isn't okay to wear, what the prize for the best costume is, what the heck was I thinking picking such a theme. At this point, I would've gotten in and out of some negotiations with my mom - who, year after year, thinks that I am weird and that she ought to put her foot down and banish my birthday parties from the face of the earth. Good stuff.

This year, as I've written in one of my posts in January, things will be a bit different. I am at my barest. After 11 months, I've embraced the simpler version of me. (Well, I still feel bad from time to time about having a 17 year old novice chop my hair off... and having to go back to the horrid practice of coloring my hair from the box to avoid the exorbitant rates they charge at the salon. Augh. Yes, I colored my hair on my own after 10 years of having skilled people do it. My learning: An MBA is no good for this task.) I am also looking at celebrating my birthday 6 days after it occurs, with 4 other people celebrating their birthdays between December 03 and January 17 - and that includes Jesus. A third of the people in that party, I do not know. The food, potluck. The theme... well, I'm planning to hi-jack the party by at least injecting some theme to it. The only worry is that once you lend your theme to a shared party, you lose ownership of it... you lose the equity (and there I go with the marketing talk.)

But, as a good friend taught me a couple of years ago, in everything, the answer is, "God is good. All the time." And all the time, God is good.

Some friends, during my farewell party last year, raised the idea of still coming over to my house on the 3rd and celebrating my birthday anyway - even without me. That way, they still get to play dress-up and have games with people with whom their only shared thing is their friendship with me. My mom welcomed the idea. I would be happy if they do that too.

So all this thinking around my birthday led me to dig up stuff from the previous years. I made a mental list of the themes I've had:

1999 - Grandorious Gladys Grills
2000 - Think Small
2001 - (Darn. I can't remember this one.)
2002 - Black & White
2003 - Back to the 90's
2004 - Pinoy Fiesta
2005 - Outback Jack & Back-to-School

I also remember not being able to post pictures from the "Back-To-School" Party last year.

So as a therapeutic way of dealing with the absence of the big birthday hoo-ha, let me post the theme I plan to throw into the shared party this year, plus some of the pictures from last year's 2nd party.


























































As I said earlier, Good stuff.

But I'm guessing this year will be good as well. Different but still good. What I didn't have the in last 6 years, I now have. So I guess it should be okay for me to not have what I had the last 6 years. After all, we can't have everything, can we?

Fine Matter

#206: I Have Become

Anti-social. By intent or by default, I couldn't tell. These days, I'd rather lock myself in one of the study rooms on campus than walk around and interact with people whom I don't really have genuine connections with. I'd rather go home and watch Oprah. And when people ask me what has happened to me - why I've disappeared, why they haven't seen me for a while, why I seem to be missing in action, sometimes I want to ask back if they're asking out of real interest or out of mere curiosity. Not that I want people fussing over me. In fact, the usual greeting of "Hey, how are you doing" is more confusing to me than comforting. How do you respond to that? How do you pick a non-generic detail in your life and condense that in 2 seconds to fit the time that you are passing each other down the hall. Or do you just pick a generic one and toss it in the air - hence, adding to the pollution of meaninglessness that gets volleyed back and forth, day after day, between strangers who never progress beyond being just that?

I'm supposed to be at a BBQ party right now. The Nth BBQ party for this year. But through the months, I've gotten tired of the small talk that gets exchanged in these gatherings. There's nothing more I want to do right now than ease into a comfortable conversation with real friends who take time to share - both listen and talk about - things that matter. And sometimes, things matter not because they are of great consequence in the larger scheme of life. They matter because they belong to the people that matter. It could be the 11th replay of one's recurring frustration. It could be a stupid email on first names and last names. You know Beast of Beauty and the Beast? What's his last name? Kwit. (Cue to collapse into a helpless pile of giggles.) It could be musings on how best to answer "How are you doing?" Fine. Not fine. A wreck. A miserable wreck. Uh, I meant, fine. Thanks. How are you doing? It could just be babble on the babble that come out of Public Announcement systems (Attention. All liquids, gels and pastes are to be secured in clear, plastic Zip-lock bags.) The key is to have more than flimsy connections underneath it all. To have at least something that can withstand a couple of weeks of absence from campus.

That said, let me go back to the BBQ and try it again.
I'm fine. Just fine.

Sleepless in Florida

#205: Someone get these peach-colored things away from me!

The disappointing thing about Florida is that it doesn't disappoint you when it comes to meeting your stereotypical expectations. We're booked at a hotel that is huge, audacious in design, tacky in concept and stuck in the 80's Miami Vice in terms of color palette. Think of obscene levels of peaches and light blues and pinks and mint greens. Then think of them on the floor, on the walls, on the curtains, on brochures, on the paintings, inside the elevators, outside of them. It should drive you nuts. If it weren't for this overpowering jet lag (thanks to 14 hours Sydney to San Francisco and 5 hours from there to Orlando), I would go officially insane. Which wouldn't be good at this stage.

Dinner however was exceptionally good. They served fennel-almond-blue cheese and pear salad, steak and halibut with soft veggies, then bitter chocolate and raspberry mousse. The rest of the 1,200 or so people are still busy yakking away and networking. During sessions, limelight hogs from big name schools stand up to ask questions that they already know answers to... or that if answered, don't matter much to their future with this company anyway. I think they all just pretend that these questions are of great concern. Some take the pains of saying their name, then saying their school name louder before their life-and-death question. "Hi, I'm Alice Biggins from IMD in Lausanne, Switzerland. "Then collective nods from fellow candidates would follow, along with murmurs of, "That's a really good school."

I am not fazed. If this opportunity is for me, it is mine. If it is not, then no amount of microphone-grabbing and pearly-whites-flashing will give me a shot. The Lord's sovereignty is a wonderfully comforting thing. Not that I am slacking off and chilling in my hotel room while everyone is busy elbow-rubbing and networking with their potential new employers downstairs. I am actually hanging out here and chilling because I need to rest and get ready for the 5 interviews that await me in the next two days. 6 in all. How's that for a relaxing time in Florida? Then it'll be back in the can, in that torture chamber they call "Economy Class" for 20 or so hours living out "Sleepless over Seattle"...Detroit...Hawaii and all the areas we will be flying over on the way back to lovely Sydney. I need a massage.

Some brash "I'm-an-MBA-student-from-one-of-the-flashier-schools" dude was trying to stage his own pissing contest in front of the HR Director of the company's Norweigian group ealier today. He was talking to this guy from INSEAD, Paris: "Imagine how much they're spending on us. (750 candidates + 450 executives/employees/staff) x airfaire x hotel accommodations for 3 days" The INSEAD guy smiles and says, "Ah, a typical McKinsey case" - signifying that he had been interviewed by that consulting firm and that he's familiar with the process. I gave a snort. Or at least I imagined I did. Some MBA grads can just be full of themselves.

So, enough about them. Now let's talk about ME. [wink]

San Francisco Stopover

#204: Stop the World, I wanna get off!















With my Ninang who's practically my big sister.














With my younger brother who feels like he's the older brother.

The Art of Labels

#203: And of Wearing them

How strange that we can forget physical wounds easily but find it hard to forget emotional ones. Physical scars are more evident. More present in our present. Yet one can't forget a harsh word from years ago or an accusation hurled decades ago. You can't forget the labels you've been called from back when you were in 2nd grade. You still know the exact tone with which they were declared and laid on your shoulder. They ring clear. And when they ring often enough, they become truth. They then become easier to live out.

I still remember how hard I cried when a friend called me something back when I was 13 years old. I still remember the silent tears that fell after class when a teacher called me another thing when I was 16. I always manage to pull out of it. Collect myself. Not let the person know the damage he or she has done. But strange that I never manage to completely forget.

Last week, the goverment imposed certain restrictions on teachers against "labelling" kids certain things. Schoolchildren nowadays can't be called "moody" or "lazy" even when they arrive wearing their most catankerous mood or even if they haven't been turning in the last 11 out of 12 assignments. I heard the news and thought it was ridiculous. Heck, they should be able to call them that if they are. Thing is, who determines to what degree these labels are true?

Last Saturday, the son of our minister had an epileptic seizure in the shower and knocked himself unconscious. They rushed him to the hospital and after a couple of days, he was well enough to go back to school. On his first day back, he was a bit moody. (Hey, if you went through what he did and then had to go back to school, wouldn't you be moody too?) Imagine if someone who didn't know what had happened to him suddenly blurted out, "What's wrong with you, man? Why so moody? You have your period?" That would be cruel.

So I guess that's what labels can be. They can be cruel. Perhaps we all do it. Perhaps there are people we can easily classify as weak, or dumb, or selfish, arrogant, cocky. I don't know though if the best way to let them know is to tell them straight to their face. "You know what your problem is? You're a weakling. You deserve to be squashed underfoot by poodles. Or teacup chihuahuas. Choose." Again. Cruel.

There must be some anesthetic version of labelling. Maybe there is a loving way of calling someone pig-headed. "You know what? Maybe you can bite an apple and roast." That didn't sound loving.

"Oh dear, what big head you have!"
"The better to absorb my big fat self, honey."

Ah. Maybe that would be a more pleasant way to remember.