Leaving Los Banos

We have booked our moving truck to haul the clutter of our lives back to manic Manila. While I think and say that the move back to Manila will be good for me career, and other-things-wise, I can't help but feel a huge lump of separation anxiety about leaving Los Banos. I'm also feeling a little sad about wrenching myself from this idyllic place, a place where dust doesn't gather as enthusiastically, where traffic jams in the area are a huge topic of conversations (rather than an accepted fact), and where Gishi happily deposits himself by the threshold all day watching the world go by.

Back and Forth

So the past year was quite an interesting roller coaster ride.

I quit my job, moved to Los Banos, worked at IRRI, met some interesting people, quit my job again, and returned to Deltek. It's been a dizzying ride but something that I think, no, feel, will resound for the rest of my life.

I'll probably tell my grandnieces and grandnephews about how P, Gishi and I spent a turbulent year (career-wise), and led a peaceful, bucolic life in Pleasant Village (yes, for real) at the foot of Makiling. I'll also tell them about all the rockstar-scientists of the rice-based agricultural research world and the bittersweet experience with the IRRI Ed team. I might mention that one time that I met Gretchen, the carabao.

I actually thought that I was making progress over at IE, and that I was doing significant work that impacts the whole rice-growing community and getting to be known as THAT person that does amazing instructional design things. But you know what? I knew that staying on would be too taxing mentally and emotionally AND would turn me into someone who's awfully bureaucratic and, well, them. I would've probably gone out of my mind after year 2.

While my return to DU plunges me back into the anonymity of the corporate jungle, I actually think that I'm learning so much more about my craft and I'm able to test out crazy ideas that would've been deemed too far out by the powers-that-be in the agricultural research sphere (ironic, isn't it?).

Isn't It Ironic, Don't You Think?

An emotional connection with someone emotionally unavailable.

Lines

Sometimes I wonder how far we've strayed from who we were 20, 30 years ago. I look at my HS friends and think about how life has beaten them down and lifted them up. I look at the lines on their faces, and I try to figure out if those lines were stamped by happiness, or torment.

BFT

Several years ago, E, my best friend, and I made a pact that once we're both in our 40s, we'd go on a best friends cruise and have cabin boys suck on our toes while sipping cocktails on the deck.

So last week, E turned 40, and we went on a best friends trip! We didn't go on that cruise, but we lazed on the beach at a beautiful, serene cove with everything taken care of, in a lovely resort that provided the quiet and calm we needed. The toe-sucking cabin boys didn't happen but the pool boy made sure that we had pinacoladas on the beach while watching the marvelous sunset. E did see a gorgeous pilot that made her mouth drop while waiting for our flight back (I saw the back of the pilot's baldish head and tattoos peeking out of his uniform sleeves) - that was perhaps best cheap thrill of the trip.

Next best friends trip would be a gay cruise, with some of our gay friends when we reach our 50s.

Cheers to best friends trips!

Please

I don't want to get so caught up in routines that I forget that I have a soul. That the world is larger, odder, and far more amazing than what I'm seeing.

2018 So Far

Started 2018 feeling more confused than ever. Somehow, everything that I want to happen doesn't seem to jive with everything around me. Everyday, I'm feeling more and more out of place here. I'm not sure if it's me or the people around me, but I feel like I'm being edged out little by little, inch by inch everyday.

POI

So, I have this tendency to obsessively stalk a person of interest and gather as much information about him/her. Sometimes, I get too immersed that when I do get to meet that person, I have to be careful to not spill that I know a lot about that person. It's creepy, I know.

I've been stalking this POI a lot recently for what reason, I don't really know. One thing led to another, and here I am, mulling over that person's life details in my head. I came across a YouTube clip of that person performing a song. I know that that person wrote it and it was beautiful and extremely sad. I felt bad for stalking that person and thinking like I blew the lid off an emotional can of worms, but I also can't help but feel drawn to that sadness that seems almost...delicious.

Clingy

Sometimes, you want to desperately cling to a fleeting, intense feeling just so you can be assured that you're still capable of that. That you are not as calloused and jaded as you think you are.

A Good Day

Nothing like a being in a cool office on a hot day, with fast internet, and this little ditty playing full blast on a pair of over-ear headphones:

It's going to be a good day.

Just One of Dem Dayz

My Childhood Heroes are Leaving

I've kept mum about the passing of Chris Cornell, but when I opened my Heaven is a Place on Earth playlist on Spotify on shuffle, Sunshower played. I'm still feeling the loss.

Funny, the Heaven is a Place on Earth playlist is made up of songs that make me feel fuzzy on the inside; songs that feel like heaven IS indeed a place on earth. Now, it's a bittersweet reminder that yes it can be but for people like Chris, leaving it is the only answer.

Goodbye, M.H. del Pilar

Yesterday, I was hit by a strange realization. We were on our way to Sanrox, to drop off gifts from our recent Tokyo trip. As we drove by my old childhood neighbourhood, the familiar heart-tugging sadness was gone. At that moment, 16 years after leaving that place, M.H. del Pilar has stopped being my home.

Now, I'm wondering if ghosts have ceased to flit around my old childhood home. I would often dream of roaming the house like I used to when I was a feisty kid, that it felt as if there was something inside of me that refused to let go of the old thing. That somehow, I am the one haunting the house with spectres of memories past. I'm trying to recall when I last had a dream about the house. Nothing comes to mind.

Goodbye finally, M.H. del Pilar. My home now is where P and Gishi are.

Kicking Off 2017: A Blog About Museums!

One of the things I thought about what I'd do in 2017 is to involve myself in more museum activities. As some of you may know, I love, love, LOVE museums and I want to work for one someday.

Here's something I made to kickoff 2017: a museum blog.

I'm still developing content, but I hope you can drop by and check out the blog.

Cheers!

New Year, New Post

Happy new year, everyone!

I've already come to terms with 2016 and have decided to forgive the old bastard. So, with a soul full of hope and a heart full of love, I look forward to what 2017 has in store for us.

I'm reposting one of NG's new year wishes, because this is something that still resonates, and something that I've forgotten to do more of in the past year:

Be kind to yourself in the year ahead. 

Remember to forgive yourself, and to forgive others. It's too easy to be outraged these days, so much harder to change things, to reach out, to understand.

Try to make your time matter: minutes and hours and days and weeks can blow away like dead leaves, with nothing to show but time you spent not quite ever doing things, or time you spent waiting to begin.

Meet new people and talk to them. Make new things and show them to people who might enjoy them. 

Hug too much. Smile too much. And, when you can, love.

Here's to a bigger and better year. Love you all.

Maurice

Maurice was a grey rabbit with soft, brown eyes that were wide and curious. We rescued him from the hands of children who would toss them when their sharp, tiny nails would rake across their child-skin, from a petting pen at a children's party.

He was very feisty, my Maurice. I was hoping to get the docile brown and white one, but another child pleaded and got that. Maurice was thrown back in the pen when a boy decided that he didn't want a sharp-nailed bunny. P picked him up before another child could  get to him, and handed the squirming rabbit to me. He was climbing on my arms, wanting to jump on the table and climb up my shirt to my shoulders. I had to stroke his big bunny ears so he'd relax. We wrapped him up in a giveaway straw hat and cuddled him all the way home.

On the way home, we acquired a small dog cage that we padded, for him to call home. Gishi was naturally curious, and Maurice was equally so. Gishi smelled and smelled and smelled him, seeming to drink in all the odors that Maurice can offer, and ever so slowly, Gishi started licking him. Once he got past licking, then came the tentative biting. Through all this, Maurice was very quiet and stayed uncharacteristically calm, nestled in the crook of my arm.

We realize that it was not yet time for Gishi and Maurice to be alone together, so after giving some food to the tiny one, the cage went into the other room. I would visit Maurice in the other room every morning and evening. Everyday, before I start my day, I'd dress up in the other room, open his cage and clean it out. He'd hop around the room, investigating every corner and test-nibble on various objects in the room. He would also hop on my leg and offer his head for rubbing. After having his fill of head-rubs, he'd hop back to his cage and eat his salad. At the end of the day, after coming home from work, I'd spend about an hour in the room with him, letting him exercise, cleaning his cage, and finally giving him his salad and carrot treat. That was to become our everyday routine for the next week.

One day last week, he started to just hang out on my chest - I'd lie down on the floor after cleaning up his cage - he'd climb up my shirt and proceed to pancake on my chest while receiving some head-and-ear rubs. We'd stay like that for minutes on end, and when I pause with the head-rubbing, he'd hop closer to my face and start licking my chin and cheeks. I was afraid that he'd nibble on my skin, but he never did. It was just purely licking. I had to suppress the urge to swat him away since it felt like insects crawling on my face, and once I got used to it, I enjoyed the bunny kisses that little Maurice would bestow upon me. Warm, damp, and smelling like hay mixed with a little musk. I loved that smell.

After that day, whenever I'd open his cage to let him out, he would just hop on my lap while I sweep up his poop and change his litter paper, looking a little impatient until I start doing the head-rubs.

Last weekend, after our morning routine, we got ready to go out. P and I went to the hi-fi show, had a great Japanese dinner, and after much deliberation, went to a friend's house in Cubao for some drinks. Next thing we knew, it was 5am. We said our goodbyes, and watched the sunrise in the car on the way home. Poor Gishi was anxiously waiting for us, since he didn't get to go on his regular night walk. P brought him out, and I cooked Gishi's food and prepared Maurice's salad.

Whistling a little tune and chatting with friends overseas, I went upstairs to visit Maurice and give him his treat. I opened the door and saw Maurice's cotton-tailed butt and one leg sticking out of his hidey-home box. He would normally jump out of his box whenever I'd enter, but I figured he was still sleeping that early morning. He wasn't.

I called to him, but he wouldn't move. I opened his cage, hoping against hope that he'd bolt out of his box and hop on my leg, but he didn't. He was gone. He seemed healthy when we left him. He had his waterbowl, his litterbox and a bunch of hay in his cage. We left a fan on for him so he wouldn't get too hot. All that for nothing. My dear little Maurice passed sometime that night.

I've been wondering if he bonded too tightly to me that spending more than 12 hours alone without me caused his death. I wondered if an errant bird flew into the room and gave him a heart attack. I would never know. All I know is that I miss those tiny bunny kisses; those little sharp nails clinging to my shirt; that sweet, hay-musk smell of his breath.

It's been 3 days since he died and I still can't help feeling a bit guilty for not being there for him when he needed me the most. It still stings whenever I enter the room where his cage used to be. It's a bit crazy, but I somehow get comfort from smelling his bag of leftover hay - the only thing of his we still have. I've noticed, though, as days pass, that the hay is smelling less and less of him. I am dreading the day when I go to sniff his bag of hay, and it smells of exactly that, and not him.

It's funny how something so tiny can burrow so deep in your heart in such short a time. It felt wonderful being loved ever so purely, even for a short amount of time.

Maurice Bunbun

Oct. 29 (approx.) - Nov. 13 2016

IDK

IDK why I'm working on a holiday (maybe because you need to catch up on work for a project you've been procrastinating on whose deadline is just around the corner?)

IDK why I'm not sleeping when I should (stop surfing in bed!)

IDK why I don't travel as much as I want to (avoid useless spending on useless things just because you think they're cute!)

Sigh.

Tin

I had almost forgotten how refreshing and rejuvenating it is to have a really good conversation with someone.

I've been feeling a bit low lately, especially at work. At least once a year, I get these blue funks and question everything I'm doing and feeling so exhausted about everything. It's about that time of the year for me now.

So the other day, I came in at my usual early morning shift, and lo and behold, I saw Tin, my teammate who comes in at night. I asked if she was on her way home and she said that she just got in too, wanting to try the morning shift.

After setting up, I went to her workstation to ask her about something and that visit ended almost 3 hours later, and me feeling more cheery and optimistic.

We had a great conversation about childhood, school, husbands, places, friends. Everything flowed oh so easily, jumping from one topic to another, then going back to what we were originally talking about - just the type of conversation I enjoy. We laughed about how creepy she was in high school, compared Iloilo and Marikina, pondered on urban development, and stalked high school crushes on FB. It was great not pushing an agenda, not arguing, no one hard-selling an idea, and absolutely no snarkiness. It was all pleasant, amiable, self-deprecating, and un-self-conscious.

After the really long chat, I went back to my station feeling so much lighter. I tackled work, and the world with a smile on my face and the sun in my heart (corny, but yeah).

Thank you, Universe for people like Tin.

It's Just That I've Been Losing So Long

photo from here.

Floor Cleaning

The thing about not having household help is that your weekends are spent doing chores. Yesterday was all about that - it was actually a nice break from the huge flurry of social activities since the Christmas break - cleaning the house, specifically scrubbing and polishing the floor.

I like listening to old, familiar music while doing work that needs a little bit of thinking. Yes, cleaning the floor is both physical and mental exercise for me. I do want to be able to do the work in the best way possible, in the most efficient way I can, which involves figuring out whether to use the long-armed scrub brush or my usual way of using a scouring pad and immediately wiping off the resulting gunk with a nice absorbent cloth. The long-armed scrub brush won, and I have to say, using it made so much sense, and made the whole painful process a lot easier. Anyway, I streamed my Spotify playlist while cleaning, and when it was time to sit and let the floor wax dry off, my eyes wandered to the scenery outside my window.

It was the golden hour, and lately, the golden hour meant everything is blanketed in a soft, rose-gold afternoon light. Rose's Theme was playing in the background, and I suddenly thought of my favourite Paris Je t'aime vignette about falling in love with a place, and a place falling in love with you. No matter how much I've been hating on Manila lately, I couldn't help but fall in love with her at that moment. All the smog, dust, crowds and spit-riddled streets melted away and the loving feeling I last felt in 1999 when E and I pounded the streets of old Manila came back like a gentle, old friend. I also felt that dear old Manila loved me back, welcoming me with her warm, familiar, sampaguita-scented embrace.

This morning's commute was heavy with smog and the grey sky being pierced occasionally by the harsh morning light. Monday weighs heavily on motorists and commuters, but somehow, I felt a little pep in my mood while looking at the passing city scenery.