Estella

Her name is Estella: a by-product of a cosmic collision some twenty-three years ago. Many would think of her as the spook of a love that was halted by a conspiracy of the universe. To others, however, she is as real as any human, in flesh and bones, on the face of the earth. Beautiful yet imperfect.

She often gazes at the stars; wondering why she ever does in the first place. Is it because she was human – alone in the universe on a cold and dark night?

She closes her eyes and aspires the day when another lone stargazer disrupts her solitude.

They can dance to the imagined waltzes of Chopin. They can dream like children with minds untainted by the stains of the world. They can love each other – slowly, ardently and undisguised by any man-made fashion.

By then, it will be the stars’ turn to gaze at them.

Do the stars gaze back? Now that’s a question.
- Stardust

Estellas Theme - Patrick Doyle

Unlocking the Case of the Ex

It’s been a while. It was hard at first. But the wounds have healed as separate lives are lived. However, one day, when they both least expect it, girl meets boy… again.

This is not a fantasy scenario. Time and again, men and women find themselves face-to-face with an ex — often unsure of whether to be open for relationships that range from the platonic to the romantic, or not.

It is said that when two former lovers remain friends, it can only either be that they are still in love with each other or are just carrying on the good sex. Can this be a general truth? How platonic can relationships with an ex really be? Are the typical 20 to 30-somethings open to second chances? If so, how likely is it then for a second chance to work out?

The following attempts to unlock the Case of the Ex are derived and concluded from a series of casual interviews over lunch, cocktails and online correspondences with a handful of Filipino men and women as young as 24 to as old as 37.

The interviews all seem to indicate a common truth: a purely platonic relationship with someone whom one had been physically or emotionally intimate with is impossible. There will always be a desire or a tendency to re-live memories and repeat old habits, even if both parties are already involved with their new partners. It is only out of ethical reasons that such desires and tendencies are not acted upon. (And ethics die in the spirit of alcohol or one single touch at the “wrong” place.”) For “friendship” to properly work under this set up, and without anyone ending up hurt because of concealed expectations, routines must be stopped and treatments must be different. There should no longer be any sort of displays of affection. An ex in this setting and an ordinary friend must be dealt with similarly. In the end, when one is really over an ex, the only sure way to be friends in a purely platonic level is through being civil – the hi and hello, I’m fine and so are you, bye and see you whenever type. No touch. No lust.

Small breakups do occur in most relationships. Some may take just a day while others may extend even to a couple of months. No guideline or formula can really determine what makes a boyfriend or a girlfriend an ex. It is a case-to-case thing and only the parties involved can tell when it is finally the end.

The respondents are mostly open to the idea of reviving a closed relationship; one even claiming that the heart is not selective: when it is really open, it grants access to all – regardless if an ex or not. However, the following factors seem to play a crucial role in deciding for another try:

1. the reason and manner of the breakup


2. the length of time apart


3. the current status of both parties
   

It is usually hard to make a badly ended relationship work again. There are many who would not consider getting back with an ex who made a grave mistake, believing that lessons learned should be used to prevent history from repeating itself.

Meanwhile, there seems to be no wound that time cannot heal. Time gives room for people to accept and forgive. When both are achieved by both parties in their period of separation, then it becomes possible start anew.

Lastly, of course, current conditions should be considered. It cannot be serious when both are already married, unless they are in Hollywood. Right?

It takes effort to make things work in serious second chances. Things are easier when they remain trivial or when they downgrade from serious to trivial. There is a risk, however, of one being hurt as expectations cannot be avoided once old passions are re-kindled. It will entirely have to depend on who is brave enough to face the risk… or who is stupid enough to make the same mistake all over again.

Case closed.




I would like to thank the following persons for responding to my inquiries: Mr. Anonymous, Mr. Ex, Cat Ramos, Mrs. Cullen, Mr. “Outsider,” Ms. Fireness and MFV.

This is my first attempt to pull a Candace Bushnell (or a fictional Carrie Bradshaw. This is originally posted at my personal Multiply account.

Please feel free to get in touch with me if there is anything that you would like me to write about.

Macho I Love Yous

Why is it so easy for Pinoy men to say I Love You? And why do they expect women to respond, if not reciprocate, just as fast?

This was one of the entries in lastyear's Filipina Writing Awards. It was previously published in The Inquirer's Youngblood. Love it... so!

This is for all the Filipinas who have never been kissed, never been touched, no boyfriends, nothing. This is for all the Filipinas accused of having hearts of stone. They include the mahirap maabot (those who are hard-to-get) and the mahilig magpakipot (those who pretend they don’t like a guy but they really do). You secretly delight in men’s existence because they make you feel so special, don’t you? You’re just too proud to admit it! Don’t fret, I am not going to expose your boring love lives. I am not that cruel. I am here to warn you ice queens of the new millennium who have hearts that are whole… still. Don’t succumb to the charms of the typical macho Filipino!

Tell me honestly, who wants a boyfriend who calls females “chicks”? A boyfriend who thinks he is complimenting you by saying you should join a beauty contest because "sayang ang beauty mo"? (Your beauty’s a waste if it isn’t displayed) A boyfriend who asks you every hour where you are and tells you what to wear? A boyfriend who reacts in disbelief, nay, contempt, upon the discovery that “his” girl carried a 20-kilo backpack up Mount Apo or that “his” girl is a black belter in Taekwondo? A boyfriend who insists on paying the bill even if you were the one who asked him out? Worse, a boyfriend who reeks of San Miguel and Marlboro because he can’t live without them?

Ladies, meet the typical macho Filipino who always wants to be stronger, bigger, faster, smarter, taller and older. He is such a pretentious prick on the outside but inside he can be like delicious jelly (sometimes). He doesn’t mind looking foolish slugging your tiny black Gucci bag. (Isn’t that cute?) In a country where PDA (public display of affection) is still largely frowned upon, carrying a girl’s bag is the ultimate gesture of possession. We don’t need to witness couples exchanging sticky French kisses to understand that.

The typical macho Filipino opens doors for you like a real gentleman (uh, security guard). He lets you take your seat first in a crowded jeepney and tingles in the anticipation of your shoulder touching his, your hand on his knees, your hair brushing his face and what else. He steals kisses in the dark but never in school, at the market or in church, and especially not in front of your parents. He purposefully walks on the left side of the road, and if you don’t mind, with a protective arm around you to prevent you from being run over by traffic.

The typical macho Filipino is also very creative, (to a certain extent). He scrounges the Internet for poems he doesn’t even understand himself. These he incorporates in mushy love letters that he secretly inserts in your books when you aren’t looking. They are declarations of love he nonchalantly claims to be the author of for he doesn’t know that plagiarism is a crime. It is not very unique but the effort is impressive. (What did you expect? A picnic on the moon?)

To impress you some more, he sends you text messages quoted from Pablo Neruda: “I want 2 eat ur lips lyk a pis of almond!” Or, “I dnt knw any odr way of lovin u bt dis. One n w/c der s no I or U. It s so intimate dat ur hand upon my chest s my hand, dat wen I fal aslip, it s ur eyes dat clos.” Pardon my poor translation but Spanish is so much more romantic. Who wouldn’t swoon over someone who calls you his “amanda mia”? (my love) But when you ask him to translate two simple sentences, he doesn’t reply! The farce!

Did you know that Filipinos, aside from the French and the Italians, are one of the world’s biggest “I-love-you-ers”? It’s just hearsay about the other nationalities but gosh, Filipinos do like to say “I love you” a lot. Ask any girl. The expression has become so over-used that it has almost become a cliché.

I hate to shatter your illusions, but guys? Most of the time, they only mean half of what they say. Good thing we Filipinas are smarter and won’t fall for their gibberish. Remember, God created Eve because she felt that Adam was too dull. And, it is a fact that females live longer (need I elaborate?).

Lately I have been going to Venue a lot to accompany a kababata (childhood friend) from Holland who is here to learn Filipino. Also called the Netherlands, Holland is that tiny tulip and cheese country lying perilously below sea level and protected by a complicated network of dikes and dams. It is the country of marijuana, homosexual marriages and euthanasia, moralists like to jest. It is also the country of the lowest abortion rate, by the way.

My kababata who has been immersed in Filipino culture for one month now, says that in more liberated Holland, it takes at least a year before a guy tells a girl that he loves her. Sure, just like in the movies, they think nothing of necking and petting and torrid kissing and sex. But who would have thought that those are only the prerequisites to saying “I love you” (according to my friend)? Strange people, the Dutch.

Here, it is baliktad (different). Guys think they have to say “I love you” over and over again. (That is sooo important. Makes me think of Destiny Child’s “Brown Eyes”: “I know that he loves me ‘cause he told me so…”) Then there is the list of things he feels he has to do. He showers her with gifts of perfume, imported chocolates and jewelry (can’t he be more original?). He takes her out on expensive dinners in De Bonte Koe, Mount Fuji, or Picobello (with his parents’ money of course). He fetches her and brings her to wherever she wants (except his room). Guys, don’t assume that by giving her three red roses a week, she’ll be yours to keep.

Courtship? Relationships? You could call it a test. Only when the Filipina is sure of his everlasting love will she take the risk of doing “it” with him. The problem is that in his excitement and haste, he forgets to use protection. Nine months later…oops! As Drew Barrymore thoughtfully puts it in “Riding in Cars with Boys,”: “Life is really just a couple of days which determines the rest of it.”

Back to the original point of this discussion. While Filipino men find it easy to say, “I love you,” the Dutch dread it. They avoid it like the plague. Uttering those three words is like proposing marriage, my friend explains. In Holland, guys fear the pain of rejection that’s why when he likes you he just says so. “I really, really like you. I want to be with you. ‘I love you’ is such a big word,” she says.

How true. Just because we are pretty, beautiful, gorgeous and stunning don’t mean that you can tell us “I love you” and then expect us to love you in return. How can you say that when you don’t even know how we like to drink our coffee? How can you say that when you don’t even know our dreams, our insecurities or what makes us laugh and cry? You probably love us just because we look sexy in high heels and minis. Just because we look cute when we flash that Close Up smile. Just because others desire us!

All this talk about males and their pathetic attempts at romance makes me want to write something about typical Filipinas. For starters, I will write about Filipinas like myself who won’t say, “I love you,” when by “love” I mean, “I love the full moon” or, “I love Jollibee.” When I say “I love you,” I will really mean it. And, it won’t be just an ordinary “I love you.”

No, no more macho I love yous.

Click here to read more of Maya Flaminda. Post taken from http://mayaflaminda.blogspot.com/2007/11/macho-i-love-yous_6018.html

Meet My Fling

I would've entitled this post Meet My Man for the sake of creating an alliteration but I digress -- given that human hobbies, in my own everday runway, are passé.

Anyhoo, I have re-kindled the flame with this old fling which I haven't put into good use for about two years. This, I made on an ambiguous night of mixed passions when words seemed to have escaped me. How it happened was rather traditional. Nope, I was not in front of my computer. Rather, what I had in front was a clean sheet of letter-sized paper and a newly-sharpened Mongol # 2. Driven by whatever it was that robbed me of words, I was able to etch something out of memory in just about 45 minutes!

It was right then and there that I decided to revive this old fling.

I went to see my girl friend Cat for an advice. Of course, she was happy about it. She showed me my options: there was Cretacolor in Sketch Books, Greenbelt and another one called Derwent in National Bookstore. After a few weeks of trying to tame my fickle mind, I finally decided to go to Sketch Books Greenbelt and buy myself the 10-piece Cretacolor Graphite Set and a brand nes sketch pad.

I was in love.

I went to Coffee Bean to catch up with my expecting friend Jen. I tried to copy her mood out of graphite pencils (which I did not really know how to use) while she was giving me an account of her recent frustrations. (I will upload the sketch probably over the weekend.)

I was then surprised when this kinda hot (though not my type) half Italian-looking guy (with semi-long hair -- like a bit below his ears, not gross goatie and sideburns) from the other table came over to compliment my drawing.

Nah, it wasn't a pick-up line. But hey, it was a TWO for the ego -- not that I need both :p

It's almost like Friday:-)

The day is good: sunny with a bit of wind and cloud. It was a great decision to mix and match yellow, white and my feel-good wedges. Truly, these shoes have lifted my being some inches higher even on days that are already good by themselves. Think: payday and half-day tomorrow, oh, and a relatively light workload this week. Ooh-la-la! Lavet!

Say goodbye...

This morning, I was surprised to see that I am a few weeks short to putting my Belle De Jour Planner to rest. Time flies fast... whether you're having fun or not. I remember being all too eager to write birthdays and appointments on this ultimately chic planner during the last week of December. Over ten months later, I've almost filled it up with my colored writing in bullet points, with Post-its and flags sticking out at some pages.

Ever since I ditched those real-life journals for blogs, I feel like the only non-virtual things on earth that can expose me are my planners. Swear, I'll never make the same mistake of leaving them in places, where people who do not know a thing about respecting other people's privacy, may pick them up. (I find it safe though to leave them open on my desk so my boss can look at them on rare occasions I'm late without notice. :p) My planners know my short-term and mid-term plans, my whereabouts -- where I get a haircut, a pedicure or a Brazilian wax, and the people I'm with. It knows how and where I spend my bi-monthly paychecks. Damn, I sometimes even jot down ideas and frustrations when I am so feeling them. And this year, with my BDJ, my monthly b*tchiness can already be tracked down.

It's too early to feel sentimental about how I spent the year. After all, I semi did this with my Year 24 musings. Maybe I should just count the number of movies I have watched. Or the number of doctor's appointments I made for Krissy. Or maybe I should count the number of bastards who asked me out for the year. (Hehe :p)

Anyhoo, we'll see. There's November and December still waiting to be filled-in with activities with my family, friends and colleagues. I'm crossing my fingers that they better be good. Who knows I might be kissing someone special under the mistletoe?

Pfft!

Love in the Time of the Global Meltdown

Love.

When it starts with something big, it trickles – just like the financial fiasco in the US, now hitting the far smaller countries in Europe. The key is you have to be resilient if you are small for the stakes are high: it can consume your whole being. Fears and doubts can cause your whole economy to collapse. The stocks; your investments can drop significantly, as values are always the variable.

In this age when the world is seen from the left eye which is the political and the right eye which is the economy, it is impossible to claim that you have no hand over the things that happen in your life; let alone the investments your heart gets to choose.

Love is a disease; a  m e l t d o w n  that is the consequence of a series of poorly-made decisions and rash actions, driven by a fatal mix of attraction and affection. A bailout seems to be the quickest solution but it only provides temporary relief. There must be something out there that can be done before the Great Depression happens again... for it is safe to assume that you will be the next casualty of a recession called “unrequited love.”

“Socialist” perspectives may always be used – that is, of friends' much-needed intervention. You can always heed their advice. You can always listen. You can burn the lines of your broadband, your mobile and even your lungs in the midst of your neverending coffee and booze heart-to-heart talks but at the end of the day, it is just a standard policy – one that has long been there – that you need. This is the framework. This should be the mould that shapes your perspective.

Why does love cause so much unrest? Why does it destabilize even the most robust beings? Why can't humans be Marxists when it comes to love, where everyone works and earns equally? Can't the proletariat converge to attain this equality?

However, in this age of capitalism, you can acquire and accumulate more than the necessary to beef up your market value and increase your investments. You can be the tall, dark and handsome Harvard-educated Juan, now a corporate big shot and named Manila's Most Eligible Bachelor. But still, there is no such thing as security for people and emotions, just like financial markets, are unstable.

Nothing is fair in love. Once you have fallen, you have to be open to the possibility that a thud may come next. The Spartan in you can always aim to conquer and spend all your useful energy to beat all the odds but when bankruptcy is inevitable, a soft landing is always your best alternative. You can only put up defenses to cushion yourself – cutting down on losses and saving all your chips for that rainy day.

With all the big players around in your trade, it is really frightening to think about what a meltdown can do to a player your size. Again, THE standard policy must apply. Plus, it will have to take a lot of faith, prayers and by-the-book advices from the equivalent of Marx, Keynes and Friedman.

So what do you do when the supply is low and your demand is high? How do you safeguard the real when the unseen and intangible is already on a  m e l t d o w n ?

A 36-C... you want?

Disclaimer: This breast is not mine.

IT IS A FACT that the desire for big boobs transcends class, race and gender. Women can opt for Belo or some obscure (or even fake) cosmetic surgeons for augmentation. They can be black, white, Puerto Rican, Chinese or Pinay and, still, wish upon the Boob Fairy to make their breasts a cup size higher. Most of all, the desire for big boobs is "felt" by men, women and those who are in between. (I'm sure I do not need to explain why.)

It is frustrating to think that because of too much aesthetic and erotic value being attributed to a woman's breasts, their purpose has been limited to serve the male libido. It is evident in pornography and every other product that is targeted towards the male market like magazines, booze, cigarettes and cars. Promotions of these products always include big-busted women in cleavage-baring outfits gracing print ads, TVCs or exhibits where they work as promo girls.

Most of us seem to have forgotten the breast's biological purpose or in other words, its life-giving purpose. To the women, it is quite basic -- YOUR BREASTS ARE MADE TO NURSE YOUR YOUNG AND NOT YOUR MAN!

Needless to say, women must take good care of their breasts not for the purpose of having something good at the hem of their low necklines. Likewise, men should learn how to tame their cravings by making themselves aware of the risks that women take when they undergo surgical enhancements for the male benefit.

October is BREAST CANCER AWARENESS MONTH.

According to Breast Cancer Awareness Group, I Can Serve Foundation, breast cancer is the leading cause of death among Filipino women. It ranks third among the leading cause of mortality and morbidity among Filipinos. That is, it is next to infectious and cardiovascular diseases. (So you can worry about it next after a feast of lechon kawali, crispy pata and lechong baka.)

While the disease is mostly diagnosed among women who are 35 to 50 years old, it does not mean that one can never be at risk in her 20s. In fact, women must conduct a monthly Breast Self Exam (BSE) about a week after her period. By age 30, besides a BSE, women must have a clinical exam every year. By age 40, besides a BSE and a clinical exam, women must have an annual mammography. (I Can Serve)

The thought of mammography can be quite a torture but let us be quite thankful that we, here in my Multiply, belong to the 40 and below bracket.

Conducting BSE is very simple. BC advocates Dawn Zulueta and Lea Salonga have DVDs in Filipino and English, respectively, that show how to perform the self-exam. Click here to be directed to the site.

Meanwhile, I found this 5-Step BSE when I wrote my Breast Cancer Awareness Month piece last year. You can bookmark the site.

View: The 5 Steps of a Breast Self-Exam

My permission goes to everyone who would like to forward this to their family and friends for advocacy purposes.


Photo taken from http://www.cosmeticplastics.com/images/breastlift.jpg
Statistics and information from:
Parallel Universes - Breast Cancer in the Philippines
I Can Serve Foundation
BREASTCANCER.ORG

How far would you go on your first date?

Found this a year ago and re-posting. I so love how Emma wrote this. People may or may not disagree, depending on their morals. :p

Oh to be neither slut nor saint…

by Emma Cerise

When I was in college, I never really deviated from textbook first-date protocol: meal, movie, coffee, all followed by a yap fest of your finest qualities—two people bouncin’ to the boogie with only their best feet on the dance floor. This has to continue many more times because everyone knows that only girls with loose morals allow themselves to be kissed on the first date. I learned this in Bullshit 101.

I eventually graduated and got a job, where I one day overheard a woman recounting how her first date one night ended. Details were sketchy but I remember it was with more than a peck on the cheek. I wondered if she was a slut, because she didn’t look like one. So I asked her why she did what she did on that first date. She smiled at me and said, “Because he was Italian, and I have a libido.” Turns out she wasn’t a slut. She was the company vice-president—smart, funny, successful, approachable, with double Master’s in Economics and Modern Literature. And she had become my muse. So the first thing I did with my paycheck was buy myself a backbone, the kind that allowed me not to give a flying fffffft what my reputation would be by the water cooler. And then I discovered a secret still unknown to the nuns in my high school—that even if they confiscate your libido, IT GROWS BACK.

Fair Share Of First Dates
There was the requisite blind date, which, like all blind dates I’ve had, was capped with beso and a solemn silent promise never to see him again.

There was the EB. Back when Friendster was still the number-one online pastime, a guy sent me a witty message about my taste in books. After a few more online repartees, and since he was a friend of a friend (i.e. certified non-serial killer), we met up for a few drinks. Conversation was even better in person. Unfortunately, no stirrings in my loins. I liked talking to him, sure, I just didn’t have the faintest desire for him. Not even after my fourth cocktail. And that was that.

There was the pick-up. My best bud Sab and I were enjoying a quiet night of brewskies at a quaint bar in Mandaluyong. When she went to the little girls’ room, a guy from a gaggle of young laddies one table away came over and asked if he could join. The first thing I asked was, “Is this a friggin’ dare?” He was younger than me: as in fresh out of college when I was receiving my nth paycheck. But I relented and had him take a seat, so Sab and I could pick on him. But he still got my number, still texted when I got home, and still asked me out. I indulged him if only for the fact that he was ballsy beyond his years. But also because he was actually cute and I figured I could use a good lay. The first date came, followed by a few more. We were bonding…but with too many clothes on. He was too nice when all I wanted was a little wham and bam. Besides, I like being called “ma’am.”

Then there was the hook-up. I joined a friend with a few of her surfer buds and came upon a delicious-looking surfer from out of town. Technically, that was our first date, albeit with a group. We hit it off and flirted shamelessly with each other. I ended up bringing him to my place and putting his sun-kissed, six-packed bod to good use.

First date dilemma: to be naughty or nice?
(Models for visual aid only! Me hamming it up with photographer buddy Chino Acosta who was at the Female Network shoot.)

What I did notice, though, was that I never quite went the whole nine yards on a first date with guys I eventually got involved with. Oh it wasn’t even about “I like him too much to have sex with him on the first date,” coz that’s just not how the math works in my universe. If I like you, then I will jump you. If you happen to be among the unfortunate breed of guys who only think of girls in terms of sinner or saint, I’d rather leave you mid-dinner than make like a virgin—I’m a girl who likes my remote controls, so posturing takes too much effort for me.

But I digress.

I guess when it comes to guys that I connected with on other levels, I realized the difference between “I like your abs” and “I like your abs and your sense of humor and your impersonation of Robin Williams giving face and how unassuming you are despite being profoundly intelligent and how you’re witty but never sarcastic and how you’re nice to the waiters even when you think I’m not looking.” Too many things get in the way of what could’ve been just a casual roll in the hay.

So, How Far Should You Go On A First Date?

As far as you want to take it and can actually handle, I suppose.

Just a tip: if you want flexibility in choice, get your own place. I mean, really, stranger-banging across the hall from your parents’ bedroom? More effective than a cold shower. Coz if you don’t have your own place, then it’s either the guy’s crib or a motel. In which case, the question should be, “Should You Go To Mariposa On Your First Date?” My personal answer, despite my loose morals, would be a “Hell no.”

And if you put out, put out because you want to or because you’re horny or because your vibrator’s out of batteries—never because you’re window-shopping for a relationship. We’ve all seen this before: it’s the next day, he hasn’t called, and you turn psycho-bitch on him in 0.2 seconds. We’re tired of your kind giving the rest of us a bad name!

One thing’s for sure, though: this is not something one should contemplate if they still believe that jumping up and down after unprotected sex will prevent them from getting pregnant. The female body is NOT like a box of Tic-Tacs—sperm is not gonna tumble out just because you make it alog.

Full text at: I Got the Moon On My Mind (a Femalenetwork Blog)

Super dooper late--> My 24th Bday

Nothing fancy. Just celebrated my bday in the company of the persons I love best.

Sep 14. Had dinner with my family at Banana Leaf in The Block and then went shopping with Krissy after.

Sep 15. Met up for an early dinner with friends at Cibo, Gateway. Went home agad to have a small celebration for my dad's bday.

UAAP Season 71 -- When it all ended on Game Tiu

Congratulations to the Ateneo Blue Eagles for being this year's UAAP champions!

It's been a long time since our last championship. I was still in Ateneo when we last held the title six years ago. Needless to say, I'm mighty proud we finally made it. Everyone actually worked for the win -- beating La Salle 4 to nothing this season and most of all, having the longest winning streak ever for UAAP at 16-1.

Cheers to our players as well for bagging most of the individual awards: Rabeh Al-Hussaini (MVP, Most Improved Player, Jollibee Champ Award, Mythical 5), Nonoy Baclao (Best Defensive Player), Chris Tiu (Mythical 5), Ryan Buenafe (Rookie of the Year, Rookie Team) and Nico Salva (Rookie Team).

I was in Ateneo yesterday morning and was able to congratulate Nonoy amidst fans who are taking his pic. Hehe :p

Anyhoo, what are we all waiting for?

sa Tuesday at the Bellarmine Field.

Read more about the winning game at Bleacher's Brew.

Photos taken from random Google searches.

Lipstick Memories: A History

6. Sep. 2008

Pucker up. Not.

Many, many years ago, men would have never considered kissing temptresses with scarlet-painted lips. Women, meanwhile, would have been extra careful not to smear crisp white polos with their lipstick — for kiss marks, then, did not have the sexy, sublime symbolism that they have now. Back then, lipstick was more than just an aesthetic tool and its mark, left memories of no less than forlorn tragedies of maladies and injustices.

What many are not aware of are the events that accompanied the evolution of women’s best-selling cosmetic. It took centuries of queer ingenuities backed up by numerous controversies to give lipstick its current form and space in the purse.

Beauty that breeds self-esteem and attracts the opposite sex, may have been the gist behind the invention of lipstick some five thousand years ago in ancient Mesopotamia. However, more often than not, beholders in the succeeding eras have not warmly regarded women who paint their lips. What is now a tiny tube of wax and color has a long history of conflicts between women and men; of being wanted, needed and loved versus being loathed, condemned and banned.

So the question is: why?

Did lipstick play an underlying role in fatal attractions that threatened men so much to the point that authorities had to impose bans in ways that range from logical to downright foolish?

Practically speaking, lip paint in ancient Egypt contained ingredients that resulted into serious illnesses – a valid point for lipstick to be completely banned from use. Later on, however, human ingenuity has paved the way for safer and easier to apply versions.

So what remains a puzzle is that, if lipstick then was not safe for use, then how come it was the male-dominated societies and institutions which stereotyped, if not forbade its use and not the women who wore them and faced the risk of mixing lipstick with their food?

History shows that ancient Rome reserved the use of lip paint to prostitutes. Meanwhile, in medieval times, lipstick was given a more despicable position by its association to the devil. More recent periods show attempts to outlaw lipstick as in 1770 when the British Parliament passed a law to make lipstick illegal and in 1924 when the New York Board of Health considered banning lipstick out of fear that it might poison men who kissed women who wore them.

It can be noted that some of the most powerful women in history were behind the craze for sexy red lips. Cleopatra, the Queen of Nile and the mother of cosmetics, crushed carmine beetles and ants to give her lips a deep red pigment (Wikipedia). Elizabeth I, meanwhile, repealed the medieval condemnation of lipstick when she popularized the classic Golden Age look of stark white faces and “piercing red lips” (The World Book Encyclopedia). Pop history later depicts sex symbol Marilyn Monroe puckering up bright red lips to compliment her blonde locks and creamy complexion -- something which men found alluring yet society considered scandalous.

Nowadays, lipstick remains as an indicator of a woman’s position in the society. Dark shades are reserved for women with power while the brighter shades (puta red-type of colors... pardon the French) are associated to those who are “loose” and ostracized in the society. The writer’s experience is reminiscent of men who prefer that their girlfriends look au naturel – meaning, no lipstick as much as possible.

Given this brief, effortless research, it may not be impossible to assume that the lipstick ban transcends physical reasons. The earlier times may have not been too keen on granting women with their much-deserved self-esteem for fear that it may cause infidelities and allow women to covet the roles of men. However, these days, it may just be due to the fact that men just want to be pleased according to what they deem as pleasant.

It is unimaginable that what seems to be a tiny object kept in women’s purses has gone through such bizarre history. So the next time an urge to comment “it’s like putting lipstick on a pig” or “it’s possibly lipstick on the collar” is nagging, just think about all the men who gave women a hard time just because of painting their lips. Women, nowadays, must not wear lipstick for a man but rather out of a sheer desire to please themselves.

Sources:
1 Why Women Wear Lipstick: Preliminary Findings by Madeleine Ogilvie and Pauline Kristensen-Bach http://smib.vuw.ac.nz:8081/WWW/ANZMAC2001/anzmac/AUTHORS/pdfs/Ogilvie.pdf
2 Wikipedia
3 The World Book Encyclopedia (Whoever thought encyclopedias are passé)
4 Photo from decideforyourself.wordpress.com

Writer’s Note: The original version of this blog was written days earlier than the published version of Lipstick Memories. Now, this serves as a supplemental reading to those who enjoyed LM.

The Forgotten Road

It’s been years.

But again, I find myself on the edge of a road I have long forgotten about -- grappling against doubts. Alone... because you are no longer here.

Deciding to go against my qualms, I see how much of the scene has changed – the old shops have closed to be replaced by others, some lands cleared to give rise to new villages. It is now an unknown territory, yet, the road seems to have preserved its silence.

I remember how this silence enveloped us – hand in hand – on our late night drives when the alcohol has already robbed us of words.

Nothing mattered then for we were sure about where we were headed to. I was calm and in place, knowing that I was in good hands. In the darkness, you could safely drive through this steep, winding road in the speed of light. On the other hand, you were secure to have me around like a map, pointing out in jest that women, having excellent intuitions, must have a better sense of direction.

If this is so, then was it my fault that we have lost our way? Have I failed to guide our relationship to its destination? Or was it you whose recklessness caused us to plummet to our end?

It is too late for this.

Time may have abstracted most signs on the road but today, I realize that it cannot really obscure memories.

We have long departed our seats in each other’s lives. I am alone and at times, I am afraid.

Somehow, I wish that you could meet me at the end of the road.

Written in thoughts 16 Sep 08. On the way home from Caliraya.

Suddenly - Soraya

Guess what? I'm in love. Again.

This, I realized, while we were holding hands in a nearby pizza parlor. We were munching on pizzas and sipping Cokes -- a favorite Saturday afternoon activity we haven't done for quite some time. In those weeks (or months) since the last time we did this, I was quite immersed in problems of my own... like meeting deadlines, deciding how I can split my body parts to multi-task and problematizing men in general. I kind of forgot how it's like to be in love... with the same person I used to wake up beside with for the past three years.

For a lot of times, we lose the "in" in love once we get lost in our routines and day-to-day problems. It just takes one relatively simple, feel-good break to find ourselves back to the feeling.

I love her. And now, I am in love again. She's a sight to behold. Look at her, ain't she pretty? Gahd, if you can only feel how it's like to be hugged, kissed and held the Krissy way then you'd be crazy.

SARAP maging mommy. xD

A Day at Caliraya: When you're supposed to be working but...

Just got back from a 13-hour trip that involved zigzagging through two mountains quite down south and at the east -- Laguna and Rizal.

It was my second time within the quarter to visit Caliraya to check sites for our tree-planting activity, which is the third phase of our recently-launched environmental program. Given the scenic view of the lake and as well as the fresh air of the province, I wanted to run around in the open... arms stretched and shouting with much excitement like a child. Or maybe, I could sit on the lone bench by the edge of the lake to do my inextravagant favorite hobbies: to read, write, draw or just reflect.

But I couldn't.

I had to work. I had a two-week deadline to meet. No, make that just a week. Though I'm glad that I have more experienced colleagues who are there to back me up, I honestly feel like if one tiny detail is overlooked, I'll be, well, a failure.

Anyway, the only therapeutic thing that I was able to do was to obsess myself with some native jewelry holders in Paete. I do not really know what to do with them so I guess I'm selling the others on my Multiply shop: http://smartdresser.multiply.com. The meals and the conversations were also great. Don't I always, always love long drives, good food and the conversations that make them all the more better?

It rained when we were on our way home. How I wish I could've gotten out of the car and let the child in me come out to dance in the rain.

Gah. I have to go.

Note: The picture above will be our planting site. (Taken on my first visit last July.) Volunteers can take off their clothes, leave them by the bank and do seven laps to get to the islet in their birthday suits. I think a volunteer can plant as much as 15 seedlings there. Hehe.

More pics of the site and out R&R area to be posted. You'll lavet!

Year 24

It's the eve of my birthday, a Friday evening, and I am seated in mock isolation within the confines of 9-square meter cubicle. I am trying to rack my brains about something... or anything special that can be linked to the number 24. However, to no avail. My hard drive cannot recall a song, a fancy saying or a Carrie Bradshaw quote that mentions anything fabulous about being 24. (Twenty-three was so much better. I was finally able to quote Plumb in one of my favorite songs, Real. But it ends there.)

Anyhoo, just to stop myself from concluding that 24 is indeed boring, I'd like to see this year as a challenge. You know, I like goals—coiling, aiming and shooting at them. So, I take Year 24 as a year to let all my realistic quarter-life dreams (and wild fantasies) happen while at the same time, preparing for the next big thing at 25, my silver year. After all, I won't be as young as I currently feel when I step on the silver ladder. (So will there be a big party next year? We'll see. Work hard, party harder, right?)

Ugh. Does that mean forever ditching my denim minis and not skipping around the office when no one is watching? And... less baby talk?

I'm such a kid. I know. Krissy will probably outgrow baby talk faster than I ever would.

Anyway, I thank God for giving me a great year. It was a year of firsts, a bit of accomplishments, a couple of meaningful friendships, some trials and a few imagined heartbreaks. What matters most is that I came out of 23 as a better person... though partly disappointed at reviving an old harmful habit.

I am thankful that I have my family intact and that I have a home and a beautiful daughter to go home to everyday. Also thankful that I have a job that allows me to exercise my creativity and meet people from various walks of life.

Earlier this month, I came up with a wish list but I honestly do not feel like I really wanted most of them. (But yes, I am thankful I have yet to make use of a free waxing privilege and that I have received chocolates from various non-romantic sources within the past week.)

As I told someone today, I am wishing for something that money cannot buy. Happiness—for me and the people I care about. I believe I am quite in that state in spite of my make-believe struggles and heartaches. I love the drama. But seriously, as of the moment, I find no gaps in my contentment continuum. I am whole. I guess I just get really bothered whenever I see loved ones being jaded or fighting some inner demons. I hate it.

But as I learned in my speaking engagement this week, happiness is a personal effort so my real wish is for God to give me opportunities. Meaning, opportunities to be happy and to make others happy. Along those lines, I wish for opportunities to make things finally happen.



My heartfelt thanks to everyone who made their advance greetings... including the crazy guys who sang me a loud birthday song in PLPI's elevator.

It wouldn't hurt to wish for a spankin' sexy pair of shoes this year. Just look at these hot pair of CL boots donned by Blake Lively on her birthday. Some birthday boots! :p

Self-enhancement Workshop

I was once again invited by Systems Plus College, Angeles City to conduct a self-enhancement workshop for their college freshmen. This year, the topics were Time Management and Self-Awareness. For the sake of marrying both concepts, I gave my workshop the title: From Good Times to the Good Life.

I love giving trainings. As many might not be aware, everything started in grade school. I always felt like it was a privilege to be assigned as a student-teacher to younger grade levels everytime the teachers have to converge for seminars or meetings.

Eventually, my parents would ask me to handle some personality development sessions in their training center for healthcare workers and as well as in their colleagues' centers. I cannot really remember them much but I am sure that the experience helped me overcome my fears of teaching older, more experienced people than I am.

Later on, I joined one of the country's pioneer speech and personality schools as a part-time speech coach. It was a short stint. But it always felt great to have students thanking me for helping them improve their lives or even requesting me to handle their next classes!

I was able to learn much from my boss (who quite resembles Meryll Streep's character in The Devil Wears Prada) who brought me along with her in her corporate trainings. The experience gave me a good back-up when I was later promoted as a sales trainer at a multinational bank. There, I trained direct and tele-sales associates. I was able to build good "mentor-slash-friend" relationships with most of my trainees that I kind of became their "go-to girl" when they were already on the field. (Gahd, I miss them.)

For the past two years, I have received a couple of invitations for various speaking engagements. Some did not materialize out of constraints on schedule. But lately, I have been thinking of doing this regularly -- with or without honoraria, depending on the cause and the audience, just so I can continue my personal advocacy, which is to help empower people.

Last year, I was able to make young men and women come up and speak about their insecurities. According to them, the experience was very liberating. In the process, I felt the same way too, and at the same time, humbled, for I have to do it myself to be able to get my audience do it.

Preparing and giving trainings is a 2-way learning process. While they are mainly opportunities to transfer knowledge, I cannot discount the fact that as a speaker or a trainer, I also learn much from the process.

I am glad to have gotten very good feedback from my audience. But it ends there if I was not successful about inspiring and motivating them to live better lives.

We'll see. I always check with my contacts how well they are faring. My prayers for now.

Lipstick Memories

Among the many complexities of being human is the desire to be remembered. That is why men and women go to great lengths – often expressed in simplified ways – to find themselves in the most far-flung place on earth: the other’s thoughts.

The other may have been a part of a relationship – that which has happened out of bizarre, unconventional circumstances; coincidences where we put meaning to, such that, they become a work of fate. It may be that, which have left us forever on a limbo, not really because the other has gone in the absence of verbal pronouncements, but rather, because we choose to look, with hope, not beyond the grey areas. It is the relationship that might as well never happened when it had, once, at a certain moment in our lives... and of the other’s life.

This realization creates a certain kind of fear among ourselves. We are afraid to be forgotten… more than we are afraid to forget.

Lengthier relationships have the privilege of creating bigger spaces for memories and more opportunities to create them. There will always be the missives that will recount lost affection, pictures that frame a face; an expression once worn, and videos that replay moments that will never happen again.

But what concession do short, unpronounced relationships deserve but only those as mere as a smudge of ourselves?

Lipstick – on the cup of coffee we consciously leave plunked on his cupholder; innocently smudged on his cheek after a goodbye kiss. Their fame is only good until the cup has been tossed to a waiting bin elsewhere along the road or until they have been smoothly erased by just one wipe of a hand.

Maybe lipstick on the collar is better in some ways. They linger for a few hours, overnight. They fade the next day, with soap and water, after a furious rubbing of two tightly closed fists.



TIP LINKS:
For women: How to avoid putting MAKE-UP IN ALL THE WRONG PLACES
For men: HOW TO CLEAN LIPSTICK FROM THE COLLAR

Photo credit: Stain Expert

About A Friend

Our similar adversities were among the things that brought us closer together. It was a surprise, having been introduced once, barely acquainted, that we would be in constant contact with each other -- exchanging leads, talking about our careers and sharing our woes as young single mothers who both came from abusive relationships and yet, who dream of that one big love of our lives.

There would soon be the regular get-togethers, independent of the connection that conjoined us as friends. They all ended well; I always went home feeling stronger as a young woman and relieved of all my apprehensions knowing that I have a friend who was putting up well with more than what I was going through.

I admired her, though at the expense of my perception of myself as a mother. I paid high respect for her uncanny ability to finish school while nursing a baby in between classes, work hard (and save) to pay for her child’s pre-school and still be so hands-on to his needs.

I was earnestly happy when she broke the news that she has found herself a new love – one who readily took her two-in-one package deal. That was also when we started to see less of each other. I understood, just like any good friend would. And I promised to myself that I shall always be around and ready to listen and help, just like any real friend would.

Two summers ago, she asked if we can meet for coffee and chat. I readily said yes, hoping to hear even more better things from her. But my excitement was cut short by the somber expression she wore as she walked in the café’s smoking section. I knew that something was wrong and her stories confirmed this. But we parted with hope made visible by the smiles on our faces.

It was the last time I have seen her well.

In the proceeding months, I saw her self-inflicted deterioration from the woman she used to be. I knew no other way to be her good friend but to distance myself and let her deal with her problems independently.

Months had again passed before our next meeting.

At the café, she walked in with a big smile; looking so much more at ease with herself than the last time I saw her. Inside, I was hoping not to hear the same stories that drove her to her self-imposed exile; the same problems that her stubbornness will not allow to be solved. But again, my hopes were unheard. I learned about her sufferings on top of her heels, and of those of her loved ones out of her own unconscious efforts.

It was just too much that I can bear for a friend: watching her deteriorate out of her own means.

We stood looking at each other for a long time – I, with so much concern, asking her to take care of herself in between sighs of hopelessness and her, repeatedly assuring me that she will be alright.

I walked away feeling guilt from a forced indifference.

Photo credit: Deterioration in Art at www.artreview.com

Comfort Women – Their Tales and Revelations Behind Closed Doors

One can look at prolonged comfort room breaks in two ways. It can be seen as an annoying phenomenon, as perceived by men. Or it can be regarded as a privilege to be upheld by girls and women alike.

What really goes on behind the closed doors of the female restroom is none of males’ business, though no woman will deny having men as a favorite restroom business agenda. Well, among many others.

So, what do women really do behind the closed doors of common washrooms? Why do they go in herds and make men hang on for what seems like longer than the wait they endure during courtship?

First of all, unlike men, women have to stand in queues for their turn to urinate. Women have to deal with more than just buckles, buttons and zippers. There are trousers or skirts, together with hosieries and underwear, which all have to be pulled all the way down to their knees… after the buckles, buttons and zippers have been loosened. Then, they have to reverse the entire process.

Hygiene and make-up re-touch are also among the reasons.

But the meat of this post actually lies on the supposition that one woman does not truly know another woman until she has shared a comfort room break with her. Many friendships have been formed inside the washroom. Some might have started with something as superficial as comparing each other’s lip tint. Some may involve a bit of mentoring, like showing someone how to properly apply liquid eye liner or teaching her the advantages of using a gel sun block over the lotion type. Some may have been born out of an act of kindness – giving someone a generous amount of pulls from her toilet paper or shelling out a peso or two for someone who needs a sanitary pad from the vending machine.

Girls excuse themselves in groups in the middle of dinner or a night out basically, to whip up a perfect plan for the night. Usually, girls take this opportunity to ask for their girl friends’ opinion of the guy they are with. In worst cases, the comfort room serves as the venue to discuss the great escape from a bad company.

True to its name, the comfort room provides comfort to distressed women; that is, comfort other than those which are biologically required. Many have shed uncontrollable tears while concealed in cubicles. Some girl friends take time to talk to their heartbroken friends inside the washroom.

Other than all these, women can nowhere else be as sincere as they are inside the four corners of the comfort room. They talk about their lives and of secrets best revealed in the hush-hush of this place.

It is most likely that men will be even more stupefied after reading this post. Why do women have to excuse themselves for comfort, is perhaps, their next question.

Well, the answer is simple. It is why they call them comfort rooms. :p

A Great Long Weekend

I love long weekends.

For me, they're the perfect time to bond with my family, meet with long-lost friends and accomplish something domestic or personal -- like checking the consistency of my color-coded closet, dusting all my old stuff, sorting through memory boxes and whatnots and most of all, evaluating my state of mind (or heart).

Started the weekend with a good Friday. I went to Gamboa to say goodbye to our accounting staff, si Rose, who's joining another company.

Later, I spent a lovely, laidback evening in the company of a good friend. It was great getting to know him and sharing my own stories, especially with a bottle of sweet wine and a box of assorted chocolates, which we halved and sampled one at a time.

I spent Saturday taking care of Krissy. I just realized that I have finally gained back her love and trust, after a few weeks of coming home late on most nights.

Still the same on Sunday. Started reading Love in the Time of Cholera again to finally finish it, after years of being quarantined on the pile under my TV. I then served as a lector in the evening mass. It's great that Krissy already seems to be inclined about doing the same thing when she grows up. :)

My sister and I


On Monday morning, my parents, sister and I brought Krissy to a different pedia for a second opinion. She's well naman so there should be no more worries. I'm proud she's super brave and very good at following the doctor's instructions. We later went to The Block. Had lunch at Martabak. (Always liked it there.) Then went shopping for a bit. Krissy had a great time at Toy Kingdom. Bought her her "wish-a-wish-a-woo-hoo" wand (something I coined; and something she'd repeat as "mish-a-mish-a-moo-hoo"), her Boots (Dora's monkey best friend) speaking toy... whatever it's called, and a new set of flash cards. We then had iced chocolate at Figaro, where she opened all her loot. I kind of had a hard time saying goodbye to her with her please-don't-go-mommy look. I was afraid she'd burst into a crying spell. (Geez, she's learned much from her mommy-o!)

Proud of her loot


Mmm... Love my iced choco!


"Mish-a-mish-a-moo-hoo"


I Love Boots


So after a bit of sweet talk, I went to Tiendesitas to check the food stalls there. See? I had to work on a vacation since the week's going to be pretty tight. I need info by Thursday at 7:30 in the morning while the my Tuesday and Wednesday are already so full of To-Dos, so what's there to do, right? I asked another good friend, si Big D, if he'd like to follow and drink with me. He was game but knowing how spontaneous that friend is, I just found myself renting a swimsuit and spending a very, very relaxing evening at a water spa. It was super worth it. I really, really love this guy (as in love in an uber platonic way). The spa's indeed very therapeutic, I got myself out of depression and emotional dependence such that I was able to take what-might-have-been two big emotional let downs for me level-headedly. If you happen to read this, thank you again. You're really such a great friend. Promise, I'd write about you and pimp you out in cyberspace. Hehe :p

Anyway, I have nearly overcame all the consequences of having such a great long weekend. One more day, then I'm out of it.

A feel-good Friday to all!

Song for the Week:

No One - Alicia Keys

A Sneak Peek at Religioso's Latest Collection

Just some of the clothes I like from Religioso's Latest Collection. Don't we all love the collars and the details that make Religioso clothes speak for their name?

Gaetana Dress

Detail of the Gertrude Dress

Detail of the Greta Top

Life is like a box of chocolates...

Just found this while looking for someone's Perugina chocolates.

Eat your hearts out, my dear readers :p

____________________________________


Some people are semi-sweet; others are just plain nutty. Don't cry over spilled milk - unless, of course, it's chocolate milk. There is a fine line between vice and addiction. Blind dates are like chocolate - they're usually chunky and they quickly disappear. When life presents you a rocky road, just eat your way out of it. Money can't buy you love - but it can buy you chocolate - 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Keep your fingers off other people's bonbons. Mothers-in-law are like chocolate syrup; a little goes a long way. Flowers and champagne may set the stage, but it's chocolate that steals the show. An ounce of truffles is worth a pound of anything. Milk chocolate .. for all it's worth. You never really know a person til you've shared a box of chocolates with them. A kiss is just a kiss, but a chocolate kiss is bliss. True love will remain long after the chocolates have gone ... provided there's another box. The best things in life are not fat free. Nothing is worth getting sick over except, of course, chocolate. When all else fails, fudge it! And remember, if life is like a box of chocolates, take a bite out of everything.


* * *
Can't wait! :p

The Best Days

Thursday morning. Had to wake up extra early to make it to a 7:30 am breakfast meeting at Mario's Kitchen. I didn't. But I'm glad I made it 5 minutes early.

It was the first big group meeting called for the organizers of the upcoming Children's Rosary Rally. The plan sounds good and I'm optimistic that coordination for this year will not be as stressful as last year's.

Evening. I got pretty hyped up when this really good new friend of mine called for a private choco fest! We're both big fans of chocolate and we can't wait to do it. Might as well call our rendezvous, "Chocoholics Anonymous." :p

I later got a message from a more senior colleague asking me if I can make it to an important breakfast meeting on the next day. So...

Friday morning. Dropped by the office first to properly inform my boss that I'm supposed to attend an 8 am meeting. I'm actually thankful that since my job requires a lot of field work, my boss trusts me enough to allow me to leave the office anytime. This is just one of the many things I enjoyed when I was still acquiring accounts for my old job. I get to go out and meet people of all sorts.

It started to rain hard when I got on a cab but the good thing was that it stopped when I reached my destination. I haven't been to High Street/Serendra for the longest time and I was surprised that so many establishments were already operational since those times I hung out a lot in the area.

I love my mornings good -- waking up early, saying a prayer, walking a bit and having good breakfast. Boy, I miss those times when my dad would ring the doorbell in my pad so we can have breakfast together in Katipunan. Or those times when we'd go to our favorite breakfast places when he drives me from home to my pad on early Mondays.

Again, I must say that I am really thankful that I get to sit down with the local CSR gurus and watch how they work. It's very humbling plus I feel so privileged about learning so much from them.

This is what's so good about being able to identify one's own passion. You can always live it out. Earlier this week, I got to have a restroom conversation with one of our company's lawyers; also one of the women I admire at work. Again, I thought that it's really such a small world. She happens to be friends with this woman who spoke in my course's career talks. I have always thought she had the job I wanted. My officemate told me that apparently, her friend was asking her to help her look for someone who'd replace her post in the Swedish Embassy just two Aprils ago. Boy! It could've been me! :p

Anyway, Saturday was something else. Loved the whole of it! Brought our GK kids to ACPACI's special screening of Repertory Philippines' Mulan at Onstage, Greenbelt 1. Brought Krissy with me and she seemed to have so much fun. This plus the fact that I've heard much of my favorite compliment -- Krissy and I having splitting images, made Saturday so great!






Today is Sunday and I am looking forward to more activities with my family.

"He Says" in Life in High Heels

Just to make Life in High Heels even more exciting, I'm adding a
"He Says"
portion in some of my posts.

I invited a couple of guy friends over to my blog and it was amusing that they'd give their piece of mind over some of the most controversial posts here.

I'll be posting a "He Says" update every once in a while.

Some friends would like to keep their identities in secret. Well, we'll keep it at that. But I assume I'm given a free hand at giving them codes. Hehe...

Read about our first two featured "He" opinions at my Meet the Brazilian (Brave Encounters with Waxing Down There) post. Click here.

Cheers!

Blue & Green: Back-to-Back So-Hot Bachelors

Blue.




Enough of Chris Tiu. I find him too perfect to be exciting. I am giving it to Ateneo Blue Eagles 6'7" center RABEH Al-HUSSAINI who is undeniably UAAP Season 71's Most Improved Player.

Tall, brown-skinned and not-so gwapo... Don't these make such an exciting come on for girls?

But yeah, too bad, he currently has a girl friend.


Green.




Well, although I cheer a lot for my alma mater's team, my eyes cannot help but wander to the green side on Ateneo-La Salle games and zoom in on hot, hott, hottt DLSU point guard SIMON ATKINS. Lean, bad boy-looking mestizos certainly rock! Isn't he a sight to enjoy in Araneta and along EDSA with his sexy underwear billboards?

Come on. Take me to the green side!

Wanna see more of Simon?

"See Simon and a blue ball between his legs, a half-naked Simon cocking a rifle, a shirtless twink Simon, Simon proudly showing off his golden bird, Simon squatting, Simon in a girly pose, etcetera, etcetera..." (Misterhubs) at http://misterhubs.blogspot.com/2007/07/simon-atkins.html

Hope

As a development practitioner, I tend to see the world in a child's eyes -- positive, hopeful and dabbed with a certan mix of innocence and curiosity.

Earlier, I have watched a presentation of an NGO, which reminded me of what I would have done after graduation if I was not blessed with my beautiful Krissy. I thought of going on a mission; perhaps continuing my earlier experience with Regnum Christi's Youth for the Third Millennium missions or maybe joining Jesuit Volunteers or other similar organizations. I have always found inner peace in being immersed in communities -- like teaching children, listening to what older people have to share, getting all sweaty and dirty under the afternoon sun with happy children, eating meals with simple families, and enjoying scenes and the peace and quiet of 5:00 pm.

Until now, I wonder how life would have been like if I pursued my plans of teaching children in a far-flung bario and being a volunteer in Africa. Would I have lasted a year in my post?

I knew it was not a permanent thing. But then, it would be something humbling. The experience will always have to be something which I would like to remember as I move forward in life.

When Krissy came, I knew it was the end of my youth; a life well-lived and made the most out of. I have no regrets. That life may have ended along with my aspirations of being a volunteer on a mission but Krissy just started something new. It is the life that reconciles self-interest and the greater good. I have to secure Krissy and I a good life while at the same time, helping the society as a whole.

For the past year, I always wake up happy, feeling in love and ecstatic. Sickness and heartaches all seem to be just trivial. I allow myself to take time to embrace the pain, give myself a rest and then just go on without any frills.

Again, as a development practitioner, I am glad that instead of seeing the Philippines as a hopeless country, I am filled with hope. I am glad that while others end at feeling pity or shame, I seek ways and solutions.

This is how I have always been, though at times I forget. The world is beautiful for as long as we see the glass as half-full. If it becomes ugly, then we can always work on a makeover. I believe that everyone is capable of making a difference but it only takes a brave soul to take the initiative to act.

Happy Monday!

Who's who?

Can you tell who's mommy and who's baby?

Joyce is a Wanderlust Girl!

http://wanderlustmanila.multiply.com/reviews/item/8

Moi as featured in fab designer Celine Cruz' online catalogue. Check out her stuff at Wanderlust. They're available at The Ramp in Trinoma and at http://wanderlustmanila.multiply.com.