As I mulled over what happened there, just because I live to over-analyze things like that, I couldn’t help but think how I could have died that morning and no one would’ve known [insert sad background music here]. My family and everyone close to me would’ve been in church, I would’ve died alone, and no one would’ve known until my body was cold and decaying.

Yep. Leave it to me to have a minor alarm clock failure and end up thinking about my dead and decaying body.

What I’m really trying to say is, I’m finding more and more reasons to affirm my decision to bid good bye to this *cough* exciting independent life, the most recent reason being, not having someone/something other than an expensive alarm clock to wake you up in the morning and to check if you’re still alive and breathing. However shallow that sounds.

It served me well, this full, life-altering independent life I got to experience in my younger days, the first two years with housemates (what my Dad thought of as a trial period-slash-OJT of sorts) and the last two years on my own. Moving out of the confines of my parents’ house has taught me a lot of things I wouldn’t have learned otherwise, I always say. But now I have arrived at the inevitable reality that one can’t really live on her own too long. I suppose it’s different for everyone as far as the length of time it would take for her to realize she’s done with being solo is concerned, but I do believe that if someone must choose to live by herself, she would eventually need to either (1) share her apartment with friends; (2) get a dog, (3) get married; or (4) move back home. (Notice, of course, my gender bias.)

I won’t in a million years recommend that you get a home-based job while living in isolation and keeping a long-distance relationship at the same time, trust me when I say that these three don’t mesh well together, LOL. Still, under whatever circumstances, I know that independence has done me good. And now, I’m happy to have come to this point in my life where I’ve experienced independence to the fullest that I’m ready (and excited!) to come back home. I’m counting the days.

OAN, I’m selling some of my furnitures. You want? c”,)

Lastly, I really should update this blog more often.

But I realize now, as I’ve been spending more and more Friday nights by myself, that it’s not so bad spending nights like this just being quiet, watching droplets of rain trickle down glass windows while cars pass by in the background like little bokehs, and listening to the hushed voices of lovers and friends chatting inside coffee shops.

It’s Friday night, I’m alone, and I’m in love.

In love with life, in love with NOW, in love with the promise of things to come. I want to remember these days, these Fridays I get to spend alone. I want to dry them up, like rose petals placed in between the pages of a hard bound book, and preserve them until they’re old and yellow and forgotten. And then maybe one day, accidentally or on purpose, I’ll come across these memories, remember how it’s like, and laugh at the silliness of it all.

Tonight I realize that I need to chillax and learn to not be so afraid of being alone.

(Thoughts that are too long for twitter. Posted from my mobile phone.)

Photograph taken one October day at Universal Studios (LA), 2008.

Anywayy, J, M, and I — we love talking and analyzing movies (and TV series) whenever we get together, among other things. We can dissect Lake House to no end and still have more to discuss the next chance we get. Sometimes, we would talk about fictional characters as if they’re our friends, and contemplate about their fictional lives with a passion. And that’s just the thing with movies. They move us, wimmen (maybe not all, forgive me for generalizing), into feeling as if we’re somehow involved, making us analyze our own lives in comparison.

But what really makes me sad (or frustrated) about watching movies is the element of time.

In movies, 20 years is something that can be jammed into a 4-minute video montage ala music video. (Think Ellie & Carl’s life together, my most favorite 4 minutes in the history of Pixar). In movies, you only have to endure 2 hours to know what’s going to come out of a story. Letters sent back and forth over a period of three years while trying to keep a long distance affair (ala Dear John) are made to look endurable. Ten years in Carrie Bradshaw’s life becomes a mere 2-minute narration.

In movies, it’s easy to just insert a blank screen with the words “after [so-and-so number of] years”, and conveniently leave out those years off the story altogether. But truth is, that transition, that part which gets cut off from the movie, is the most agonizing of all.

I kinda feel like I’m in that part of my life right now — that blank screen. I know I’m heading towards my “somewhere, someday,” but waiting and working for it is soo agonizing that I sometimes wish I have a golden thread so I can skip through parts, or, just like the movies, pull out that transitional blank screen. Except that this is real life, and one life can’t be all defining moments happening one after another, it has to have the long monotonous moments in between too. I mean, sure I don’t want to skip through 10 years of my life and miss out on actually living it. It’s really just the transitions that make me anxious and impatient.

It’s like.. Blahblahblah, zzzzz, blahblah, WOW! Blahblahblah, zzz, blahblah, WOW! Rinse, repeat. Meh, that’s some seriously disturbing alien talk right there, but you do get what I’m saying right? Can we just skip to the WOWs? :)

And this, my friends, is what I mean by Hollywood’s way of making me over analyze things. And frankly, I’m quite not sure yet if that’s a good thing or not.

Also, I blame this to the hormones, poor defenseless hormones. And the coffee.

I did write a birthday blog two weeks ago, but I posted it on a more discrete place, and well, maybe I’ll link back to it next year when I’m ready. Right now I just want an excuse to post these photos, hee.

I guess what set this year apart from the other birthdays was, this time, I wanted to lie low on the celebrations. And yes, contrary to the photos you’re seeing, I really did plan on just having a quiet day at home where I can work and contemplate on the past 27 years of my life (srsly), my only wish being that baby Isaac spent the day with me. But then my Mom, being the mother that she is (why thank you, mother!), couldn’t stop herself from preparing a surprise (and quick) birthday lunch for me, before she went out-of-town with some of our balikbayan relatives. Other highlights include dinner with Kuya Nate, Ate Imy & Isaac, the usual after-dinner coffee with Xai & Ivy, a bouquet of balloons delivered by Mark the latte boy, a pair of Nike slippers from my New Yorker cousin, a happy birthday serenade via Skype, and a humiliating photo album posted by Kuya Nikos in Facebook.

I can’t think of anything else I haven’t said already in my past birthdays, about growing one year older, leaving the past behind, being thankful for what you have, and how, when you turn a certain age, it would feel like your life is never going to be the same again. (Reading my old birthday posts, I find it funny now that I would say those very words every year!)

But ahh, a word to those who are turning 27, just.. keep it cool. When you reach this age, you will feel all sorts of pressure. See, your age is closer to 30 now, and if you’re like me who still doesn’t have a kid at this age, everyone will keep reminding you of your biological clock. Be ready to answer questions like, ‘when are you getting married?’ or ‘do you have a boyfriend?’, or ‘what are you waiting for?’, you’ll encounter lots of those on a daily basis. Prepare a standard answer, practice your smile. Keep your composure, there’s no need to feel anxious.

By this time you would have experienced how it’s like to have your heart broken, found success (or failure) in your career, enjoyed your independence, made countless of mistakes. That’s fine, what doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger, we often hear and say. At 27, you will always find yourself drawing strength from your past experiences and realizing that with God’s grace, you have, indeed, become a better person.

Sure, you will have to make decisions that will alter your life forever, but what I’ve come to realize is, whatever choice you make, or wherever God places you when you turn 27, you will be okay. Whether you choose to pursue your career, or settle down and start a family (or whether you’re already raising a family!), know that not one choice is better than the other. You will do fine, either way. And God.. God will remain faithful no matter what, you’ll just have to keep trusting and believing that He’s got the rest of your life in His hands.

And there I was by the couch, breathing it all in, enveloped by the comfort of the familiar, the peace that comes with being around family, love that needs no words.

Going home to an empty apartment, on the same night, was the perfect contrast. I dropped my bag by the couch where a bunch of other bags start to pile up. I stopped by the kitchen sink to wash dishes that accumulated over the past, okay, 3 days. I took out the garbage, checked if the doors were locked, turned off the lights. Finally, I dressed down to get ready for bed, and carried my laptop with me as I went. I knew then that it was going to be one of those nights I would lie awake in the dark wondering, “why am I living by myself again?”

I think this is my elaborate way of saying, I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Yep, that’s it. I could’ve just twitted that, huh, seeing that it’s under 140 characters anyway. But I somehow feel the need to explain that line to myself, hence this blog. (Sometimes, things become clearer when you think out loud.)

I feel like I’m starting to outgrow this independence already. Of course I’ll never trade the past 5 years that I lived on my own for anything. God has blessed me so much during this time — I enjoyed my independence to the fullest, found fulfillment in my career, traveled in places I never thought I’d see in my lifetime, learned to be accountable to myself.

But I think it’s time to come back home and spend time with my family now. I miss living with siblings I fight with, and my mom’s cooking, and the chaos that is our neighborhood in Caloocan. And I’m missing out on Isaac’s growing up, too! Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself by saying this, after all, I’m still not sure how I’m going to do it, I don’t even have a room there anymore, but oh well, I’ll deal with the logistics later on.

The countdown to my homecoming begins. (Got that, Mom? I’m coming home.)

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

When I was in Sydney in 2008, my cousin and I took a drive one Sunday afternoon to this quaint little town called Wollongong, an hour’s drive south of the city. (Wollongong is, by the way, one of my most, if not the most, favorite places in New South Wales.) We reached Wollongong that day alright, but going back to the city we missed a turn, so we ended up driving around in circles for more than 2 hours finding our way home. Amazingly enough, it was the “NO ENTRY” signs that brought us back on track.

It’s simple logic. When there’s a “NO ENTRY” sign, you have no choice but to not take that route. When God closes a door, you don’t push your way through that closed door, you wait on Him to open another one. When God answers your questions and prayers with a resounding”NO”, you trust and acknowledge that He wants something else for you.

Such is life.

And I know it’s easier said than done, but I’ve learned in my 26 (almost 27) years of existence that God’s NOs in my life ultimately took me back where I’m supposed to be, especially during those times when I became too stubborn to admit that I lost my way, or times when I deluded myself into thinking that I was on the right track that I stopped relying and asking Him for directions. “Closed doors are God’s way of directing us on the path He wants us to walk on,” I read somewhere. I couldn’t agree more.

Four months ago God closed a door to my face, and took me out of a place that was clearly not His will for me. And now, I can’t help but heave a sigh of relief, thanking God for being more stubborn than I am, and for loving me so much that He closed all the other doors except for this one that He so lovingly left open for me.

+ OAN, I was at the Darlene Zschech and Hillsong Team’s Worship Concert last week, and it was made of awesome. :)

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)

Heh. What’s a box of Krispy Kreme mini doughnuts (ohh and some painkillers for the dysmenorrhea please, thank you very much), a bag of Cheetos Puffs, a can of coke, and a Mushroom Swiss Meal from Burger King when I’m spending the next 6 months of my life being a slave to my gym trainer anyway, right?

Yes, friends, I finally succumbed and signed up for a 6-month fitness program! I was really just walking around one night checking out my neighborhood when I passed by this fitness center and thought I’d come in to inquire, and geewhiz, their lounge looks so inviting and they have dance classes and their marketing consultants are soo cute convincing and I. Am. Just. Human!

Kidding aside, I’m honestly starting to get concerned about my health and my eating habits and how my office and my bedroom are like 3 steps away from each other that my body has developed this horrid habit of resisting any form of physical activity. So yay, please be happy for me because I’m actually taking a step to the right direction (as Kara Dioguardi would say, LOL), and finally doing something good for my health, and my future, and the future of my kids. And oh boy, this is the first time that I ate this much food and didn’t feel bad about it. (Woot, let’s celebrate with more doughnuts!)

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Meet Lovelle, or “Love” as friends call her. We knew each other from UP Diliman but her family migrated to Sydney shortly after graduation. When I went there in 2008, Lovelle was among the few friends I got in touch with. I honestly can’t recall the specific details anymore, but I do remember that our quick lunch date then was a meaningful exchange of stories and prayers between two crazy, lovestruck dreamers. These photos are from that beautiful afternoon in Paramatta, we only had a few, oh how I wish I took more!

It has been a while since I last heard from her, and since she last updated her blog. And so I was pleasantly surprised to read this short and sweet blog comment she left in one of my posts, which lead to an exchange of happy emails between two giggly, still-lovestruck but now-2-years-older-and-wiser dreamers.

Here’s an excerpt from her email, her response to my demand for details:

Last Sunday night after church, we were having our goodbye hug but this time, he didn’t let go straight away, instead he whispered, “Will you marry me?” So I had to step back and get him to repeat the question. Haha.

It’s so funny coz all day, even at church, he was agitated and always sulking but he won’t tell me the reason why. At that point, everything dawned on me that he was really scared/tensed/about-to-die coz he didn’t know if I’m gonna say yes to his proposal.

When he asked the question again, I said YES. :)

He didn’t even get a ring coz he’s not too sure of my size so we went engagement ring shopping just today and I got to pick the style and the cut I want. :D

I’ve heard all sorts of engagement proposals, ones which had all the grandeur and fireworks, and they’re great, no doubt about it. But there’s something about simple proposals such as this one that tugs into the deepest portions of my heart. I love the quiet, the simplicity, and how they happen at the most unexpected of times. I can just imagine Lovelle’s joy.

It inspires me to hear stories like these. Of lovers taking the path to marital bliss. Of couples being blessed with babies after years of praying for them. Of high school classmates passing the boards and now having an “Atty.” attached to their names. Of friends leaving their comfort zones, and successfully establishing their careers abroad.

Like I told Lovelle, stories such as hers are living testimonies and constant reminders that God stays true to His promises, and that He is who He said He is — Faithful, Perfecter of our faith, Author of love, Maker of all things beautiful.

Happy is an understatement, Lovelle. My heart soars for you, and the love of your life, and the exciting journey you’re taking together. ♥