And then New York happened in this life of mine. Shortly after, Sydney.

That’s me with my cousin Dots and my godson, Jonah,
on a hill overlooking the Sydney Harbor. November, 2008.

Just now I came across this post Ala Paredes wrote on her tumblr:

In the mornings, when I join the mad rush of people commuting to work, and I’ve been on the train for an hour on my long journey from Western Sydney to the North, I feel uplifted when my train makes its slow crawl across the Harbour Bridge as if it were holding it’s breath.

I see the metropolitan sprawl beneath me, see the Opera House, the ships coming in, and wide expanse of sparkling blue ocean kissing the horizon and think,” Wow, I live and work in this city. You’ve come a long way from day one, baby”.

..and I can’t help but siiiigh and wish I could write the same expression of love. I fell in love with Sydney when I was there in 2008. (New York was a very close second, ‘just thought I’d add.) And I can imagine how it’s like, that morning that Ala so eloquently described, walking around Circular Quay and seeing the Opera House as part of a normal day and not just some touristy thing to do.

I just.. sigh.. I want to live in a city I’m in love with and constantly falling in love with. And no, please don’t look at me like I’m betraying my own country. I don’t like feeling like this, too. I wish I’m not struggling choosing between loyalty to this city God placed me in and the curiosity that maybe He planted this aching desire in my heart and I’ve got to at least do something to pursue it.. It’s a daily struggle that’s tearing me apart every single day.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way. /rant

I think I’m gonna dream of Polaroids and New York in technicolor tonight. <3

Anyway.. I managed to score 10 packs of One600 Polaroid films back in December after a loooong and winding quest to find suppliers here in Manila (which was, for the record, a failure, because we’re in a third world country and life’s not fair like that) and after finally succumbing to the fact that ordering from Ebay was the only way to go. So yeah, given that that acquisition cost me an arm and a leg, I’ve only used up 3 packs of Polaroid films so far, sparing the rest from impulsive, trigger happy shots and keeping them in the top shelf away from my itching hands.

I can’t wait to use up my remaining stock of Polaroids the way Andrew Farris did. Surely, New York (and Sydney) is worth saving up these overpriced boxes of expired films for.

(Via Design Vagabond)

I mean, come on. The signs are everywhere.

You see, I’ve been watching movies lately. Last full shows. By myself. And if you must ask, it’s not that I don’t have friends to watch movies with, I do have friends okay, it’s just that I recently discovered that it’s actually fun and therapeutic to watch movies alone. For one, I get to freely choose how I want my popcorn and have it all to myself (sour cream with extra salt, please). Secondly, I get to pick which movie to watch without the fear of being judged for my preference (something chick flick which doesn’t require too much thinking, please).

So it’s my third movie date with myself tonight. The last two movies I watched were Remember Me, and When In Rome, because they’re kindof the only chick flicks in the list and the other options were either way too comedy or way too serious for my taste.

I really don’t want to discuss in length how I thought Remember Me was too depressing to be watched alone, and how confusing it was to see Edward Cullen, James Bond, and Ellis Grey all together in one film; or how so-so When In Rome was, and how the only interesting part of it was the fact that some scenes in the movie were shot in Rome (you’d think, with that title, that the entire film took place in Rome, but no!)

I’m going to say my point now, people, sorry for talking way too much.

What I’m saying is.. What really made my heart leap in both movies was how they brought me back to New York and wooed me with beautiful moving images of Manhattan, Times Square, Central Park, Staten Island ferry, Brooklyn bridge, those yellow NYC taxi cabs, pigeons flying all over the place, and almost-empty subway stations, so much that it starts to feel like there’s this void in my heart that only New York can fill.

It’s a sign, you see. These movies — they are signs. I am bound for New York again, I know it. I just don’t know exactly how in the Universe it’s going to happen and when, but I am so going to be back there, the signs are just too obvious.

(And no, please don’t point out how stupid it is, and blasphemous, to consider these chick flicks as the Universe’ way of revealing to me my future. Of course I’m aware of the absurdity of that.) :P

Someone please give me an excuse to go back and see New York again.

The past weekend was life-changing. I got to unwind and chillax with the bestest best friends in the world, and we parted knowing that things are never gonna be the same again in a melodramatic but exciting sort of way. What a way to start summer, yeah? :) (And what a way to start another chapter in our lives.)

Gone are my dark and twisted days. I think I’m starting to fall in love with life again. :)

Sadly, this photograph was the closest I’ve ever been out-of-the-country last year. I was off to Bangkok with Joni and Romela but as we checked our bags in, I came face-to-face with one of the most devastating news in all my history of travel: Sorry Miss, we can’t let you fly out, so go home and start unpacking your clothes. My passport was expiring in 5 months and 3 weeks that time, and okaaay, I kinda knew that it was expiring, but I wasn’t aware that the 6-month rule applies to Asian countries too.

Dude. I know. At least I got to experience the airport huh.

Prior to that failed Bangkok flight, I missed a Hong Kong trip with Mae and Joni (why hello Joni, it’s you again) because *cough* I happened to have acquired a disease that was too sensationalized I was sent off to solitary confinement for 2 weeks, I mean, come on, universe, are you serious?, there are 365 days in a year and you chose this weekend of all weekends for me to come down with The Flu, how freaky coincidental is that? *cough*

There were more missed flights, but those two I mentioned were the best ones. (Or worst ones, whatever.)

Cruel. Cruel was the year 2009. It’s one of those years you don’t ever want to replay over because you don’t want to be reminded of all those wasted plane tickets.

Hence I made it my personal goal to make things right this year. Chase dreams. Fly. See places. Be a ridiculously happy traveler. Fall in love in a foreign place. Fall in love with a foreign place. Get lost in a foreign place.

Oh, and NOT waste a single plane ticket again, EVER.

And hey, I know there will always be circumstances I won’t have control over, but I also know that I’m one year older and wiser now. You see, it’s just not possible to come out of a year like 2009 and not be a better person — hats off to God for making awesome things out of, well, years like 2009. And given that I’m, I believe, *ehem* a better version of myself now, I’m pretty confident that I have better judgment and wisdom to know which tickets to invest in and which are not worth wasting time and money over. (Send in your truckloads of grace, Lord. Bring it on!)

Brighter days ahead, I can see it now. This year is going to be great.

And yes, I’m really just talking about plane tickets, okay, gimme a break. c”,)

Exhibit A. Sometime in 2006, I had to avoid Greenbelt for one whole year because I had to forget a college boyfriend. Typical, I know, but effective nonetheless. Exhibit B. In 2007 when my Dad died, I had to avoid being in his office for a couple of months because it’s impossible to be there and not cry over the reality that we’re never going to see him there ever again. Exhibit C. In my last day in New York in 2008, I had to ask the cab driver to pass by 34th street on the way to the airport. Just one last ride through my most favorite spots in Manhattan, I thought, because I knew that after that ride I would start to forget. And that time I didn’t want to forget just yet.

In the past 5 years that I lived in Ortigas, Pasig, my moving from one apartment to another was characterized by some huge transition in my life — my Dad’s death, that big career move, a relationship that ended badly, etc — as if it’s become a coping mechanism of sorts. Consciously or unconsciously, I wasn’t quite sure. I just know that for me to be able to transition, I had to start over in a new place, akin to flipping a fresh new page in a notebook.

Six is the number of apartments here in Pasig that I moved in and out of in the span of 5 years. Anyone can beat that record? If moving is a degree in college, it would’ve been time for me to graduate by now. But I guess it’s not time to graduate from this moving around just yet.

In all this apartment-hopping, Delgado Place was where I stayed the longest. Not only was this low-rise condominium the prettiest and the most secured I’ve ever lived in, it’s also the one place that actually felt like second home to me. The guards and caretakers have become an extended family. “Adobo To”, that karinderya (eatery) across the street, has become my most favorite lunch hangout.

I loved living here. I honestly believed I would stay longer, that this was going to be my last stop, but hey, life’s funny that way. Often, the things you thought you were so sure of, you find out later, are just mere phases in your life. Nothing is certain, I learn over and over, so you’ll have to be ready to pack-up, leave the unnecessary baggage behind and go when God says it’s time to go.

Tomorrow I make my 7th move. I have been feeling sentimental about it the past two weeks, boxing up everything in this room that once made it feel like home. But I’m almost ready, and excited to make new memories in the next city I’m going to conquer.

“..and with that, we say goodbye to Delgado Place,” Mae tweeted after she & Joni spent one last night here in Delgado with me. Glad to know I’m not the only one sad to leave this place behind.

So yeah. Thank you, Delgado Place, I just had to say (and blog). It was lovely spending 2008 and 2009 under your roof.

I’d like to think I’m well-traveled, being here for the second time in the past two months — I was here with Mae and Joni just last May. But really, it’s mostly because a cousin from New York is in the Philippines for a 2-week visit, and I have been one of his designated babysitters and tourist guides since he arrived. He wanted to see Cebu (and our relatives here), so here we are.

Now this has got to be my longest 48 hours ever. We landed here Wednesday morning, and tried to squeeze in two days as much of Cebu as we can.

That’s me (the one wearing the hot pink shirt), with the beautiful people I share my genes with.

It was a short trip, but it’s one of those trips that you’ll always remember and associate a place with. The secluded Mantayupan falls, the unforgetable rafting experience, and freezing cold water. The yummiest ice cream in the world made of cow’s milk from Molave — I can’t remember ever eating five ice cream cones all in one day. Sleeping in one of those bamboo gazebos and waking up to the smell of fried tilapia (that my cousins fished themselves), native tinola, and churizo. Daddy Rods’ home-made avocado ice cream, and Kuya Ginggoy’s kaldereta. Losing about 200 pesos over Majong and Poker. Cheetos, chapstick, the Terraces, cheap souvenirs, and making up funny songs on the road. And most of all, spending all of these with family.

I had to lose sleep and squeeze in work as much as I can in the middle of all of that, but it’s okay. I shall resume regular programming and catch up on piles of work as soon as I’m back in Manila, I don’t care. The past 48 hours is priceless.