somethings and nothings

What lovely words. Image from here.

So November has come and gone without me even writing a post, which is really just baaaadddd.

It has been a mix-up of good and bad things and mostly me trying to struggle with deadlines and me trying to sneak out to get to a lecture or to have time to see friends and attempt to have a life.

I have been busy yet there is this feeling that the busyness that has taken over is filled with such insignificant things.

It's not a bad place, where I am, but I am always questioning why I am unable to move past this -- to wow myself and the world in ways that I thought I would.

There is the feeling that I have been filling my days with "nothings" and this is why I haven't written -- but then again, I suppose things it is up to me to make "something" out of things. What makes a moment, a thing, a person special anyway?

When I began the idea for writing this, I was thinking of how I felt left behind by my peers -- My body has forced me to graduate through certain phases of my life, but I don't necessarily feel as though I've recovered.

There is that feeling of always just needing to catch up on life.

Now though, all thoughts turn to a dearest friend who has encountered a sad thing. Why do things happen the way they do anyway?

Butterfly visits

Hi Dada! Image from here.

I lost my grandfather when I was five. I was really young when he passed, but I remember really loving him, and really feeling loved by him as well. Though I was too young to feel pain after his passing, I still really miss him. I find myself thinking about him all the time, and feeling as though he is watching over me -- my own personal guardian angel. I suppose it is why whenever I find myself feeling worried or nervous about something, I find myself calling out to him and asking for intercession, or guidance, or a little bit of courage.

Today, I called out to him once more, as I was cramming for an exam that I had not studied enough for -- there just wasn't enough time after being sent out of the country for work and then coming home to a stack of deadlines both for my master's and my two jobs. As I ran my eyes over the text, in a mad dash to remember as much as I could, I called out to him. I asked him to help me remember everything I read, to calm my heart so I could concentrate more, and to just help me get through the day. I remembered too that it was his death anniversary. He passed away on October 5, 1987.

This morning, as I was on my way up to get dressed for the test, I saw a tiny brown butterfly hanging out on the staircase. It was not the showy kind, very much a plain-jane butterfly if there ever was one (and my lolo was not a showy person himself). I had to take a closer look, because I was still feeling dizzy from lack of sleep. It was there, just like it had been in many other points in my life, most often on the day of his death anniversary. It was telling me he had heard me, and that everything was going to be fine.

I got to school calmer, though still a bit worried that I did not know enough to pass the test. It got rescheduled to a week from today, giving me ample time to get everything done. I wanted to smile at heaven and wrap my arms around my lolo, to blow a kiss at my brown butterfly who had come down all the way from heaven to tell me that everything was going to work out. Thank you Dada for always looking out for me. I hope that in spite of my failings, that when you see me, I make you proud. I miss you all the time, but I find comfort in knowing that you are somewhere far better than here. Till we meet again!

Love

Image from here.

Valentine's Day was always a sour point with me, especially when I was in college and even when I was in law school; there is always this pressure that one feels whenever they are with their contemporaries (or is it just me?). When you are around people the same age as you, and who are in more or less the same circumstances, you are always made to wonder what is so wrong about you that you couldn't find someone to fall for you in that swooning, drooling way. You are made to see people in the throes of romance, holding hands in the halls, dressed up for special somewheres and you ask yourself what the hell is wrong with you. All my years in school have more or less gone that way, so much so that I have come to hate Valentine's Day and all the judgment (self-inflicted and otherwise) that came with it.

But I think so much of the (imagined) trauma comes from heightened expectations. Whether or not you are in a relationship, all of a sudden there is this urgent need to label and assess your romantic inclinations or your potential to be the recipient of such. (It amuses me that I now sound like a professor of sorts -- well, I have been analyzing my non-existent love life long enough to be an expert!) And when your current state falls short of romantic norms (and it will, because of said heightened expectations) you belittle the love that you do have in your life -- be it from family, friends, or (if you are so lucky) paramours.

I have learned that the best way to survive this holiday is to expect little, but to love more. Love yourself. Love your life. Love all the things that make you smile about your day. Love the friends you do have, love the time you have to yourself, love the space in your heart that's still open and hoping for romantic love.

This will be my last Valentine's day as a twenty-something, and I will be celebrating it alone as I always have. I am not (no longer) bitter about not having found love yet; and I have stopped blaming myself for all my perceived faults and shortcomings. For now, I am secure in the idea that I spend my days trying to be the kind of person that I want to become -- Hopeful. Always striving for the future -- for something better. Striving but at the same time grateful enough to celebrate what I do have now. I have family, who, though they show it in the strangest of ways, love me and care for my welfare. I have friends who celebrate who I am now, but who also believe in who I can become. I have myself, and (finally) the awareness that I have today to be alive and to make what I can of it. So while I dream of romantic love, I will not be bitter if it doesn't come. Every day, alone or with someone, is a gift.

Image from here.

 
P.S. 
Spent the earlier part of the day watching The English Patient for my Brit-Lit class (it was so good!), the middle part of the day reading and writing and letting people I love know that I love them, and then spending tonight with high school girlfriends for our annual Valentine's Day dinner (an event which we have been doing since we were 13 year old freshmen!) My life is full, and for that, I feel blessed. Hope you realize how full of love your life is too!

Chance meetings

Image from here.

Where do your mundane activities lead you? The other day, I was doing homework and then I suddenly found myself caught up in one of those whirlwinds that leave you shaken for days, even weeks (I hope not) after.

What began as research for class turned into one of those three-hour conversations that you keep in the pockets of your mind - an unwitting bench mark for more meaningful conversations in the future. The conversation itself felt a bit like literature (carefully crafted questions, beautifully written responses, glimpses of brilliance in little turns of phrases). And it began so innocently - a thing that I needed to check off my to-do list. It was Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail who so aptly put it: "The odd thing about this form of communication is that you're more likely to talk about nothing than something. But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings." And so it has, for me at least. In the three hours that we spoke, I've said more to that stranger than I have to those I call my friends. It was both strange and fascinating, a bit like walking on a ledge, edging closer and closer to see how far you can go without actually falling. It felt a bit like putting myself out there, like taking a chance, like all those other cliches that people use to say falling in love without actually having to say it. It felt like dangling my legs by the edge, wondering how it felt to jump into something so foreign, so unknown. I jumped.

It ended as abruptly as it began.  At the end of the third hour, I realized how strange we actually were to each other. It had taken him that long to tell me that he was getting married. Soon. After that, we exchanged nothing more but polite pleasantries. I said goodbye before I could do more things I would regret. But when I remember things he said, I don't, really. It's only when I hear his words in my head that I feel haunted.  Haunted by the idea that I could meet someone like that, so late, too late. Haunted by the idea that he might be the only one like that. Haunted by the idea that while I will keep those three hours worth of words for a long time (maybe forever), I know that he has already forgotten me. How could he not?

My head is still above the water though, I'll live.

wanting and believing

A few years ago, during my very short stint as lifestyle editor for a youth-oriented magazine, I pitched a story to my editor that basically espoused the idea of dating yourself. Since we wrote for impressionable youth of college age, and going through the whole college dating (or non-dating) scene myself, I felt it was important to show single people (single girls, mostly) that being single was not the curse many people thought it was. This whole concept was lost on my editor of course, and I don't blame her. She was pretty, smart, and genuinely kind. I imagine she found it hard to believe that there existed a shortage of men available to wine and dine the female college population. More than that, I imagine she questioned the logic of any girl who would want to forgo the rules of dating (and society in general). What self-respecting girl would skip ahead of the dating part and go straight to dessert? And if not to date, then what for?

Now, I'm sure it is obvious that I was a girl unlike my editor. I was the girl who sat patiently while other girls talked about their dream dates, when their respective significant others had surprised them with pre-ordered gourmet dinners followed by gargantuan bouquets with hidden concert tickets to her favorite musician's show, or with dates that took them from rollerblading to picnicking to smooching atop a lighthouse tower, who imagined how the food tasted at the posh hotel they had been taken to, who wondered if such a date, or any date in the same ballpark would materialize for her. now many years out of college, i still wonder. it just never happened for me, i guess.

But then, it almost never happens for many girls like me. this realization brings me to another unfortunate realization: sometimes, no matter how great the girl (and i don't even mean me), it just never happens. And what is to become of those girls who never bothered to go out or get dressed unless someone asked them? what kind of permission did they need to be able to taste good food, to see spectacular sights, to seek out new experiences?

the many years of waiting to be asked out has made me a bit (a lot) cynical, to be sure. as an act of defiance, i had eschewed the whole meeting people thing. it got to be too frustrating. i had built wall after wall around me, until i got to the point where i am now: so isolated from the world that even my job allows me to begin and end the day without any form of human interaction, except from my editor, who i am required to touch base with. i got emotional connection only from fictional characters in the books i read or the things i watched. i had become so bent on trying to get by alone that i no longer even attempted to find anybody.

as i was sitting at home yesterday, going through yet another old episode of ally mcbeal (my own brand of self-torture, but that's a story for a different day), something one of the characters said got to me, about wanting love but no longer believing in it. i had always assumed that i was afraid to want love because it might not come, but i had never considered not believing in it until now. how was it possible for someone to want love and yet not to believe in it? but it was true in my case. i stopped believing in it so much that i stopped existing outside of my fort, where there were moats but no bridges. for all the thinking that i do, it never occurred to me that no one could find me even if they wanted to. i was never out. so, for the benefit of all single sad mopey girls like me, yesterday was the first day of testing my idea. i went on a date with myself.

i went all out - put on a dress, fixed my hair, even put on my makeup. then i found a nice place to go where i wouldn't run out of things to do. i had packed provisions in the form of a good book, my journal, and 20 hours worth of songs on my mp3 player. i felt a bit funny at first, walking around and watching young couples shepherding their children like cattle through easter extravaganzas. but after a while, i felt fine. i even managed to have fun. somewhere between feeling insecure that i was not a young mom and wife and wondering if i would ever get married, i managed to have fun, all by my lonesome. i went to a nice new restaurant and gave myself freedom to order anything i wanted. i consumed my meal while reading my book and writing in my journal. i went to a different one for dessert and ate tempura fried ice cream while squished between table upon table of happy couples who were feeding gyozas and noodles to each other. i survived. i got some curious looks from others, pitying (i imagine) looks from some and maybe even some interested ones (without my glasses, it was very hard to tell), but i survived. i liked it so much that i decided i would take myself out for coffee so i could finish the chapter i was reading. i really did have a great time.

for me, the lesson in dating yourself is not so much being seen or discovered by whoever it is you're looking for (though if it happened it would be a happy bonus), but in giving yourself permission to believe that you are worth the effort. to spend on at a good restaurant, because you've been dying for the excuse to try it. to make the effort of putting makeup on, or fixing your hair, of putting a great dress on, for no other reason than because you want to. that if no one asks you, you do not have to sit home and just take it. you can go out, with others if you please, and choose what to do and where to go. if you manage to get over yourself while you do, i promise that you can have a lot of fun. i know i did. so here's to a second date, a third date, and a lifelong love affair with myself, finally. i am enough of a reason to celebrate. this is my way of believing in love again, i suppose. i believe it is possible, or at the very least, worth making an effort for.

how to be single

i just finished reading a book entitled the same way, and im not quite sure how i feel after reading it. this post is not going to be a review, but for most part a general wondering of why i felt the way i did while i read the book. it is essentially a 38-year-old woman's journey around the world in search of how other women of the same age are single.

this book felt relevant to me because, in my entire 29 years of life, i have never ever been with somebody. i always wonder why that is, and it asked a lot of the same questions that i ask of the world when i wonder why it is that so many great women (excluding even me) are single in the world right now.

i suppose if i could answer that question, i wouldnt be single now, obviously. but i take the blame for some of it (or all of it even) for practically encasing myself in bubble wrap away from the world. i dont go out, and when i do, it is to meet single girlfriends. a lot of the time, when i do go out, i am already in my head deciding how the evening will be playing out, and somehow in spite of my best-ever intentions, i play the role of the saddest, most single, uncouple-able girl in the world. too often, even as i get dressed i wonder why bother? who will be looking at me when my hotter, thinner friends are around. countless friends tell me i am only comfortable and up to my antics when there is no danger of being discovered by someone else. why is that? is it because i am so afraid of performing in front of a new audience? of being booed off the stage? of being told i am in way over my head?

i dont know if i am to be comforted by the thought that even at 38 years old, single women around the world feel as lonely and as hopeless as i do. i reveled at characters, who refuse to settle for anything but the fluttery feeling of being in love. i suppose, even in life i am that way. many have called me "flaky" because of my apparent inability to stick to things. not first jobs, nor second jobs. while i cannot identify with specificity what it is i am passionate about, it is always rather clear to me what i cannot fathom; not bad behavior, not joyless texts, not arrogance, not self-righteousness. am i single because i am the same way about love? i know i cannot rehash past relationships to find the answer; i have had none, to be honest. i have been hiding from the world, waiting for an appropriate time to live. it feels like such a waste, really. maybe in treating myself more like a product waiting to be tweaked to perfection, i am holding off on my "launch" into the world until i am certain that i am sale-able. maybe this is where the book's LOVE YOURSELF ending comes into play. i am uncomfortable because i could not. in my loneliness i often dream of escape - from my life and from my body; only to be brought crashing down by the notion that i have to be happy here first (in my life and as me in my body) before i can even begin to run. is the lesson that i will never be as perfect as i dream i could be? but then i am brought back to the question i often ask of myself as i look into mirrors day in and out: can anyone ever love me as i am now? all questions, no answers. it made me uncomfortable at seeing how blank my life really is compared to what i imagined it would be as a young girl, when i still allowed myself to dream.

interesting things that i read lately.

so I've been sick. really sick for quite some time now. it sort feels like a preview of how things will be in a few days. and it was not the fun kind of being sick where you are lovingly pelted with food and treats and given free reign over the tv from your bed type of sick either.

it started with a traumatizing work experience where i literally questioned the kind of person i was (for real). when it began no one even wanted to believe i was sick, and our lack of medical supplies (paracetamol, proper fluids, or a thermometer even) let my fever go unchecked for 2 weeks and then it morphed into asthma which then morphed into the supersickness of the year: pneumonia with complications of chronic asthma, bouts of hyperacidity and vertigo. and so now i am in a semi-permanent state of dizziness and terrified beyond belief of facing my "work" once again.

the only good thing that has come from being sick is that it has allowed me the luxury of being well enough only to read. i managed to finish Madame Bovary, which I started reading when I was still in college. I felt so grownup as I turned the last page, and as the sad story ended it made me realize how there are some people who go through life that lonely. It made me wonder how many people do get to live happy lives, actually. I've felt so unstable and so discontented with everything in my life, I've come to realize. It feels like I've been living a cartoon version of what my real life should be. in the back of my head there is this fear that this kind of life is what happens when you read too much or watch too many movies - that your own life ends up paler in comparison, so much so that no amount of real-life excitement could ever compensate. not for those orchestrated movie-montages where music swells and starlights gleam above you, where every word is carefully chosen, every frame carefully edited, lovingly put together. how can real life compete?

another interesting idea that i read is from this book Pleasure by Nikki Gemmell. She wrote about how former US Secretary of State Madeline Albright rediscovered her hatred of beef after divorcing her husband of over twenty years. She said:

"We haven't freed ourselves from the pursuit of love, despite all the feminist advances of recent decades. We never will. I wonder now, what Miss Mansfield would be more astounded by - a woman in charge of the foreign policy of the world's most powerful nation or the fact that that woman had eaten something she didn't like almost every night of her married life."

here is another interesting thought process from the same book.

"The aim: to manage your life rather than simply let it happen to you. So much unhappiness stems from a lack of control." <-- i can so relate to this. I remember going to a creative writing class where one of the guest speakers wrote a short story wherein its heroine was an insomniac who spent her nights rearranging the furniture, while her mother was asleep. i thought it was beautiful then, but it is such a mold of my own life that it seems more like a prediction than a memory.

from the same book, on driving:

"Driving gives women a great sense of strength and independence. It's no surprise that so many Muslim women are forbidden to drive. There's a subversive freedom to it, the thrill of independence."

on sex:

"Marilyn Monroe said, 'I don't think I do it properly.' What a relief to read it. No one is born a lover, it has to be learnt."

on porn:

"Porn is all about what men can do to women, rarely the other way around. It's about men exercising control over women - who are always available. Life is far messier than that. x x x I wonder if some men drift further and further into porn because it's so much easier than the challenge of a real relationship."

I just love how all of these ideas are ripe for my picking. Even when I am sick. So thank you books, for being my companions during this trying time.

the whole lah-dee-dah

so i found myself going to 2 different weddings in two different provinces during this whirlwind of a weekend.

weddings for me are very tricky. i find myself very much conflicted between feeling happy that i am single and then dastardly that i myself have no marriage prospects. (or rather, feeling dastardly at having to explain to the kindly aunt, friend, or tita who inevitably asks me when my turn will be that i am not really in a hurry to get married - NOT IN THE LEAST BIT).

to be honest, even though i am "at the marriageable age", those who have known me in recent years know that i have since shed my rose-colored glasses and am, for the most part, deathly afraid of marriage. sure, the wedding is the fun part, and whenever i am at one it is but normal for me to look around and compare how my own (if ever) wedding will be. but i suppose all girls do that, and it harks more to my party throwing desires than to have a wedding, to be honest. but it's the after the wedding that i can't shake. what do you AFTER? forever?

it's just that while i don't condemn those who dive in head first into marriage (or question their judgment even), i cannot imagine being married without the safety net that is divorce. maybe i am a pessimist, maybe i am a realist, but i do believe that people who are miserably married shouldn't have to stay together forever just because they are (married, i mean).

i realize that it is this notion of "forever, for better or for worse" that makes marriage such a romantic undertaking - the thought of choosing to be with your partner regardless of the incidentals is surely noble, to say the least. but is it practical? of the few things that i know to be true in my life, the fallibility of man's judgment rings certain. change, be it in the form of circumstance or personality, is another. i am not saying that every marriage becomes miserable at one point later in the day, or that there are no people who find themselves in happy and lasting marriages for the entirety of their lives. but life is too short for you to devote your life to someone so unlike the person you first fell in love with. at least that's my opinion.

but i digress. being faced with this paranoia about marriage always brings me to this question while i sit at weddings: feeling the way i do about marriage, do i still believe in true love?


ironically, i would have to say i do. and though i protest at the fact that we are one of only 4 (or 2? ive lost count) countries in the world without divorce, my being invited to weddings in spite of this lack is the best proof of true love i suppose. that people are willing to bet their whole lives that the person they chose to marry is one that they will love and be loved by forever, without any safety nets or easy outs, is the best evidence that true love exists.

and so when friends decide to marry, i will put on my dress and put on my face and put on a smile and celebrate. celebrate the fact that in spite of my cynicism, and although i am ruled by fear, in my universe there are still times that true love wins over fear, and that i saw it live in my lifetime.

how hard can it be?

last night, over sushi with good girlfriends (i kid you not, it was very sex and the city minus the promiscuity) we ended up talking about "love", as we often do.

our topic of choice was "plotting"our good friend's unfolding love story, and much discussion was had on plans of action (or inaction), and while i won't discuss the sordid details, I kept on thinking to myself, is it really this hard for people to find love? should it really entail this much effort?

i was weaned on many great and dramatic love stories, from your garden-variety fairytale to the epic starcrossed lovers-type, but the ones i ended up loving the most are the simplest ones - where outside of the dramatic meet-cutes and the slow motion meeting of the eyes - some very ordinary circumstances bring about the most extraordinary of experiences. and somehow from there every "average" is made great.

i truly believe that great love, real love, should be had without a significant amount of pain and effort on our part. nothing should be that hard. now it makes me wonder if we are asking too much out of fate and circumstance in looking for all the hoopla that comes our view of romantic love.

its the person that will make it romantic, after all. must give this more thought.