My Blog

I’ve decided to save up the neat sum the tax office has refunded me and spend it on a holiday. I’ve been thinking a lot about going away by myself, a sort of grand gift in honour of turning 30 this year and I’ve decided to head for the US. People who really know me would roll their eyes at my choice of destination because they know that the US has nothing on offer,historically or culturally, that would possibly interest me. However, the place does have a few temptations.

Contrary to what my friends would think, I am not going to spend my entire trip getting hammered in one fabulous American bar after another. Getting drunk and making a spectacle of yourself in public is not my style. That was soooo 10 years ago!  Nowadays I’d much prefer to have a my drinks at home with a friends where I can be stupidly wasted and have access to a clean toilet to throw up in. It’s cheaper and more convenient.

This trip is meant to be one of self-discovery and awareness. Ugh. I apologise for the California-ness of that line but there’s no other way to put it. Quite simply, there have been a few missed opportunities in my past that I need to re-explore and if I’m lucky, will get the chance to relive. If only for a short time. In doing so, I hope to have this question answered:

Would retracing my past make me see my present in a better light and give me hope for the future?

That just sounded so banal and cheesy butI dare not expound on that lest someone I know finds out what I’m up to. The truth is, I want a memory. A stupendous, unbelievable, unforgettable memory! I intend to creat one on this little trip of mine. A memory that will re-ignite my joie de vivre, fuel my tired spirit when the ordinariness of existence wears me down. Something that I can look back and proudly say, "I did that! I was crazy and I broke the rules and I’m better for it!"

It scares me sometimes, this plan of mine. Mainly because I know that deep down inside me I’m a gutless priss and I might not be able to pull it off. I’m sure this all sounding very cryptic now but before you start worrying about me doing something outrageous like running away to become a groupie of some rock band, I’d like to stop you right there. This is not that kind of adventure — although if I were unmarried and had bigger boobs I would probably consider that. My plan is something a lot less dark than that. I even console myself sometimes by thinking it’s essential to my emotional and spiritual growth.

Time for bed. Will talk about this again.

The end of the financial year…definitely the most interesting time of the year — massive store sales going hand-in-hand with the payout of tax refunds, massive overtime pay and salary reviews based on your performance during the exhausting and nerve-wracking investment period. It’s often hard to accept the fact that there are a hell of a lot of people out there who are in the enviable position of having earned too much money and would therefore need to come up with a tax dodge strategy through investing. It’s even harder to accept the fact that there are people much younger than you earning 3 times your salary. No 26 year-old can be so brilliant to warrant that pay packet unless they’re either trust fund babies, or juniors working in daddy’s company/firm, or over-ambitious sluts sleeping their way up the corporate ladder.

Salary review has been finalised and as it is with Life’s general nature, you never get what you think you should be paid. Even though you smile through your teeth when the boss proudly presents you with your pathetic new salary package, you want to run out to the parking lot and smash the windows of his new BMW that was part of his new salary package. Oh well, at least I can take comfort in the fact that I’ll never have to worry about investing to get a tax deduction. I’ll never earn enough to need one.

Fate is intrinsically sadistic, hence one can find irony in almost everything in the world. It thrives on dishing out disappointment. I mean, have you ever met a lottery winner who really needed the money? Or if you bet your last chip on the table, what are the chances of you actually winning that round? Lady luck smiles on those who don’t need or care about her. She hates desperation in people.

It’s sort of like saying, “Love comes when you least expect it.” If you aggressively look for it, it will avoid you like the plague. Based on my own personal experiences, I have a strong inclination to think that both fate and luck only respond to reverse psychology. People who don’t expect much from life tend to get more out of it. So using that theory, in order for me to get what I really want I have to condition myself into thinking that I’m never going to get it.

Now some people would view this way of thinking as pessimistic, a sort of defeatist attitude towards life. And they’re probably right although I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I’m a pessimist. I prefer to think of myself as a wary optimist, battered by life’s disappointments, just playing along to fate’s cruel game.

Growing up, I used to be a bit embarrassed about my family, my parents in particular (I think all children at some stage feel this way about their family). For one thing, my mom seemed to thrive on the fact that she scares a lot of people. Naturally talented in the art of arguing (much to the detriment of my dad’s "head of the household" status), she can stand up in a PTA meeting and in front of a hundred people tell the formidable Bro. Gus that his ideas were stupid and impractical. Oh and don’t get her started on tuition fee increases! Hooo, I can just imagine her spitting with rage as she explains how a 15% increase in fees would mean to a family with 5 kids in school! No one can talk as much as my mom. Being fluent in French, Spanish, English and 3 other Filipino dialects gives her an even bigger base on which to express her overly vocal self. In my whole 29 years, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who has beaten my mom in an argument.

And then there’s dad. Living in the shadow of my overbearing mother, the natural tendency was for dad to be the balancing force — the non-confrontational one. It’s the yin-yang principle. Which is probably why their marriage lasted so long. I don’t recall my dad ever spanking us. My mom spanked us plenty. I’ve never had my dad shout at me or any of my siblings. My mom has a screaming range of 8 octaves.

And with my parents both retiring early, there was always the financial struggle, especially during the extremely critical adolescent stage. My sisters and I wore hand-me-downs and never had enough pocket money. I remember being so excited to go to the flea markets with my sisters to find second-hand clothes that might still be in fashion. And everything had to be shared. Even underwear! We had to help with the chores around the house. I remember my brothers begging my dad to give them more than 10 pesos to bring their girlfriends out on dates.

But looking back now, I realise ours was a real bohemian existence, with childhood memories that were worth retelling to our own children.We weren’t like those kids whose parents worried about covering our heads when we played outside at night. As kids, we were allowed to sleep all night on treehouses we built ourselves, even though the planks were not securely nailed to the tree (as my poor sister Cecille eventually found out.) If we felt like cooking something on a real fire outside, my mom would allow us to use her pots and pans to brew leaves and mud. We had 5 pets at any one time and they were all allowed to sleep on our beds. If we found a stray dog or cat which looked somewhat cute, we just brought them home and instantly became part of the family. We didn’t need to ask permission if a friend or cousin wanted to sleep over (which happened a lot). While most kids would find their gifts from "Santa" wrapped under the Christmas tree, the "Santa" that came to our house had "little elves" who went out of their way to create a treasure hunt for us with clever rhymes and riddles giving us clues to where our presents were hidden. We were allowed to draw chalk pictures on our driveway and the walls of our house. We had aunts who wrote and published children’s books in which we were the main characters. We had uncles who taught us to meditate and count falling stars with us all night on the roof of the house until we fell asleep. As children, we performed plays with our cousins in front of any willing audience and invented our own games. We had a dad who exposed us to music and a mom who taught us to appreciate art and literature. Our parents showed us that creativity and imagination were all you needed to be truly gifted and make your mark in this world.

As children, we wore hand-me-downs from richer cousins. As adults, we face the world equiped with the best skills and lessons needed to live full, rewarding lives.

Saturday night. My friend Shellane and I decided to take Tito Paul out to town for a little taste of the Launceston nightlife. I haven’t been out on a pub crawl for a long while so I was a bit unsure as to which places were of a "sound" reputation (if you weren’t careful you might end up in some bikie gang hangout with a hairy guy called Johnno asking to buy you a drink)

Anyway, being out of touch with the club scene, we decided to have a little walk around to see which place had the right vibe for us. With a population of less than a hundred thousand, Launceston is not exactly a city pulsing with life at night. Our options were kinda limited. And since I chose to wear my 4-inch high stilletos that night there was no way in hell I was going to walk any more than 200 meters looking for a place to get a drink.

Shellane and Paul wanted to go dancing so we decided to check out this place on Brisbane street which supposedly allowed for a bit of dancing. We rocked up there, wondering whether it was worth paying the $15 entrance fee to hear some guest DJ from Sydney spin out some boring techno shit that all sounded the same to me (How in the world could Disco have died?!) While we stood there with Paul insisting that he could talk his way into getting us in for free, this white limousine rolled up in front. What the..? Then 12 or more teenagers in prom dresses and rented tuxedos spilled out of the limo giggling excitedly and fussing over their hair and make-up, each one with $15 dollars in their hand ready to have the time of their lives. Shit. This just demonstrates how long ago since we’ve been out into town. We’ve picked an underaged, non-alcohol serving club. Oh well, we’ll try the next pub.

The next one wasn’t so bad. It had a live band and it didn’t have an entrance fee. But it was too bright inside, like the inside of someone’s living room and the walls to the street were made of glass. I’d be too embarrassed to dance there when everyone can see you. Already, I could see one guy doing some sort of chicken dance with a 40+ woman in a red lace singlet. Ugh. Not pretty.

The next one was good. Or at least, I was happy to stop there. My feet were killing me. It was a little dark hole which supposedly played jazz on special occassions. This night however, it was a DJ scratching out more techno crap. What is it about TECHNO?!! Is it now considered uncool to dance to music that actually had more than 5 words in it? Already there were a couple of girls dancing and jumping in front of the DJ like he was sort of Rock god or something. But the place was good and dark. Everyone wore jeans and didn’t look like they were over 50. This’ll do. We ordered our drinks, toasted to our friendship and our youth and proceeded to get drunk enough to have the courage to get up on the dance floor. Cheers!

The temperamental old bag at reception has managed to grate my nerves again this morning. She seems to think that old age gives one authority on all aspects of life and she often dishes out unwanted advise on how we "young people" should be conducting ourselves. While I can pretty much put up with the rantings of old people teetering on the brink of senility, this one is proving to be quite difficult to tolerate.

I arrive in the office, rushing as always because it was nearly nine AM and my body was craving for its daily caffeine hit. I was already cranky and in no mood to place nice. Anyway, this old bird looked up as I came in and with a big frown squawked:

"Up to no good, are we?"

Understandably, there’s been a few stories being passed around since that "initial contact" with someone I will not mention here. Still, I didn’t think I had done anything wrong. And I certainly didn’t think it was anyone’s business what I did in my private life.

"Probably, but then again, it’s not as if I slip in a few glasses of wine during my lunch break like some people do. " I smiled jovially at her. Hooh, there’ll be hell to pay for that little retort. Whatever.

Very seldom do I question my judgement when it comes to my work. Whenever I’m backed into a corner or placed under extreme stress, that’s when I come up with my best ideas. Anger, you can say, makes me almost brilliant. Now I am a generally agreeable person but I’m pretty proud of the fact that I can be a bitch when I’m called to be.

But when it comes to making decisions for people I deeply care about, I am a total mess. My ability to blur the lines of what is wrong and right scares me. I can see the boundaries but my emotions push me to overstep it. The emotions I use to my full advantage in my profession proves to be my weakness in my private life. If I can smell the slightest hint of BS from a stranger, how come I can’t be as wise when dealing with someone I know and love? Am I really unaware of it or do I deliberately choose to ignore it because deep down I know I’m a real wuss and can’t deal with it?

What the heck. It’s worth it.

Spring is here. This season is always very important to me, most obviously because I hate winter with a passion (although the chance to wear my favorite knee-high black leather boots makes it somehow bearable). But the start of the warm weather for me always comes with the dreaded rider’s bum.

This afternoon I had to get my fat brat of a horse Windy out of her winter hiatus and get her to work off the weight she had gained during those months non-stop grazing. She wasn’t very happy when I started to saddle her up and I could tell she was looking forward to this exercise as much as I was. Anyway, one and a half hours later, after a lot of tugging, prodding, pleading, swearing, and bruising on my part, Windy finally remembered who the boss between the two of us was. I must admit, I absolutely adore her feistiness. If Windy was human, she’d probably be the friend I’d go to see and have a bitching session over coffee. So in spite of the fact that I am now sitting on little bags of ice to soothe my bruised bottom, I can’t help but think happy thoughts of the next 5 months with my favorite grand lady.

A long lost soul mate found. Just when you feel like you’re slowly drowning in the drudgery of your existence, life throws you a lifeline. Suddenly, I find that it’s easier to smile.

What makes someone a soul mate? Is it the way the person magnifies every emotion you have? Like when every little joy you share with that person becomes a moment for celebration? Or when every hurt they cause feels like death? Whatever it is, you know you feel more alive when they are with you.

Thank you, my very special friend.