Purse Of Life

It’s already late in the night when I started packing my backpack for an out-of-town trip. The usual clothes and toiletries, cellphone, camera and its extra batteries were the mainstays in my backpack every time I travel. And then my coin purse.

My coin purse and I shared a very long history together. It was given to me by someone I used to get closed with many years ago. While the coin purse since stayed with me, I haven’t heard of its giver for a long time now.

It has been my constant companion wherever I go. It stayed with me in the campsites, the cottages, pension houses, hotels, garage and anywhere I can spend a peaceful night. It’s been to cities and the country sides, mountains and seas, sidewalks and parks, crossroads and highways. Every single possession I have in my backpack may go but not my coin purse. There is too much history in it. Too many memories and countless stories.




An acquaintance once made a comment about my coin purse. The first time she saw it her eyes popped out. I was taking it out from my pocket to pay for our food when I saw her shocked expressions. It was not long after when she offered to buy me a new one. I said, no. I offered no explanations.

Once, a travel mate, who knows my attachment to my coin purse, and I talked about it. She said that I should get a bigger wallet because if this boat we are on would go down with us, there will be no way to identify my body if all I have with me is my old and torn coin purse. I smiled. She smiled, too. She know her words fell on deaf ears.

Like wine, the older it gets the finer it becomes. Friendships get stronger with time. Pieces of art become more valuable as they age. My coin purse is none of these. But its loosen fabrics and torn linings witnessed, like no other person does, how I spent my life.

One Solitary Life

I was reading a book I read millions of centuries ago when I found a piece of paper inserted into it by its previous borrower. If there is one thing I am generous about, it would be my books. I always encouraged, coerced and begged my friends to read my collections of books. It always feels good to talk about books and its author.

Going back about that piece of paper inserted in my book. I think it was left there by accident or it was some sort of a Thank-You note. For whatever reasons and since it’s a Sunday, I decided I’ll publish it here and say “Thank you, too.” to its owner. Here goes...



He was born in an obscure village.
He worked in a carpenter shop until he was thirty.
He then became an itinerant preacher.
He never held an office.
He never had a family or owned a house.
He didn’t go to college.
He had no credentials but himself.
He was only thirty-three when the public turned against him.
His friends ran away.
He was turned over to his enemies and went through the mockery of a trial.
He was nailed to a cross between two thieves.
While he was dying, his executioners gambled for his clothing,
the only property he had on earth.
He was laid in a borrowed grave.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone,
and today he is the central figure of the human race.
All the armies that ever marched,
all the navies that ever sailed,
all the parliaments that ever sat,
and all the kings that ever reigned
have not affected the life of man on this earth as much as that
ONE SOLITARY LIFE.

How Soon Is Now?

It was my best friend’s 32nd birthday yesterday. She succumbed to cancer 13 years ago. She was 19.

We were in fourth grade when her family moved into my neighborhood. Although, it was only in high school that we became classmates, we spent most of our times playing in the “emburnal” in Santo Tomas Street.

She was always the silent type and I was the best opposite. We used to sneak out from home to gather seashells by the bay until we both reached the color of charcoal black. Sometimes, I'd climb a mansanitas at her request while she stayed in the ground catching the fruits I'd throw her. If she was the demure type, I was the never-mind-what type.

Although we have different friends in high school, we always walked home together talking about how our day went. After dinner we would sit by the "emburnal" and watch younger kids play the games we used to play. In school, she'd rummage my tornado-wrecked backpack to find my notebook and write our lessons in it while I was busy playing under the heat of the sun each noon break. We were happy then until graduation came.

We used to think that it was a harmless lump growing in her leg. A series of misdiagnoses by incompetent doctors killed her. Before that, her family lost most of their properties to finance her medication and her mother died before her, broken-hearted... unable to bear her daughter's agony.

I remember the day we buried my father. She cried like she was my father's daughter. It never crossed my mind that she would follow a year later and that I'd cry like crazy at her funeral. It was a nightmare one after the other.

I can't explain why it took me more than a decade to visit her grave. Distance was never an issue nor is time. But when I did it hurt like it's the first time I learned of her death. I still grieve over my loss. I guess it makes her uncomfortable.

There have been many best friends after her. One official best friend and a few unofficial best friends. Guess it would make her laugh to know that it took me 4 universities before I got my college degree. Probably I scared her out of her wits when I scourred the caves, climbed some mountains and dived to see some corals. She must have been smiling in heaven seeing I never changed and that I'm still the same person since the day she left until today.

Dear Annalyn,

My family and I still think of you. Very, very fondly. I'm still the same person you once played with in the "emburnal." Nothing has changed. The "emburnal" is still there. And I still looked at it like you were always there. The way we were always there. Wished you stayed a little longer, long enough to listen to me play this song.

THINK OF LAURA

Christopher Cross

Every once in a while I'd see her smile

And she'd turn my day around

A girl with those eyes

Could stare through the lies

And see what your heart was saying

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

A friend of a friend

A friend to the end

That's the kind of girl she was

Taken away so young

Taken away without a warning

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

I know you and you're here

In every day we live

I know her and she's here

I can feel her when I sing

Hey Laura, where are you now

Are you far away from here

I don't think so

I think you're here

Taking our tears away

Think of Laura but laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

When you think of Laura laugh don't cry

I know she'd want it that way

Ulipon Sa Gugmang Giatay

By the time this blog is published, I presume the book Brusha sent me is already in her hands. It was a good read although we agreed that the author said nothing new. Any progesterone-loaded human being knows it by heart. Everything he said is a confirmation of what I believed in and practiced. And I'm sure I am not alone. It was a good thing I always have an excuse everytime I got an invitation to attend his talks. I guess...

I am not going to write about a review on the book. My personal history tells me that everytime I open my mouth and let out an opinion, I get myself screwed up and earn an enemy or two. Since there is not much difference about talking and writing, I will shut up.

But.... Hear me for my cause! The book can be summarized in the email sent to me by the same person who sent me the book. Scroll down...

If a man wants you, nothing can keep him away.

If he doesn't want you, nothing can make him stay.

Stop making excuses for a man and his behavior.

Allow your intuition (or spirit) to save you from heartache.

Stop trying to change yourselves for a relationship that's not meant to be.

Slower is better.

Never live your life for a man before you find what makes you truly happy.

If a relationship ends because the man was not treating you as you deserve

then heck no, you can't "be friends."

A friend wouldn't mistreat a friend.

Don't settle.

If you feel like he is stringing you along, then he probably is.

Don't stay because you think "it will get better."

You'll be mad at yourself a year later for staying when things are not better.

The only person you can control in a relationship is you.

Avoid men who've got a bunch of children by a bunch of different women.

He didn't marry them when he got them pregnant,

why would he treat you any differently?

Always have your own set of friends separate from his.

Maintain boundaries in how a guy treats you.

If something bothers you, speak up.

Never let a man know everything. He will use it against you later.

You cannot change a man's behavior. Change comes from within.

Don't EVER make him feel he is more important than you are...

even if he has more education or in a better job.

Do not make him into a quasi-god.

He is a man, nothing more nothing less.

Never let a man define who you are.

Never borrow someone else's man.

Oh Lord! If he cheated with you, he'll cheat on you.

A man will only treat you the way you ALLOW him to treat you.

All men are NOT dogs.

You should not be the one doing all the bending...compromise is a two-way street.

You need time to heal between relationships...

there is nothing cute about baggage...

deal with your issues before pursuing a new relationship

You should never look for someone to COMPLETE you...

a relationship consists of two WHOLE individuals...

look for someone complimentary...not supplementary.

Dating is fun...even if he doesn't turn out to be Mr. Right.

Make him miss you sometimes...when a man always know where you are,

and you're always readily available to him- he takes it for granted.

Don't fully commit to a man who doesn't give you everything that you need.

Keep him in your radar but get to know others.

Share this with other ladies.....

You'll make someone SMILE, another RETHINK her choices,

and another woman PREPARE.

The Charmed Ones

Three days ago I received an LBC package from my Brusha. It contained a book and dvd copies of one of my favorite tv series. Such thoughtful gesture.

I met her on the wedding of one of my closest friend. While I was asked to say a “little something” for the newlyweds, Bru was a gate crasher who tagged along with Bruviv another close friend of the bride. I’m sure she’ll put up a fight over my declaration that she gate crashed. Bring it on, Bru.

We became fast friends shortly after the wedding. There were so many things we shared in common that our chemistry was overwhelming. The magnitude and intensity of our “tupak” was unbelievably identical that we blame it on us sharing the same birth date. We have so much fun together and most of them were spent in front of coffees, beers and capris.

She was the first person to make me laugh when I got my first major blow of the year last April. I don’t want to go into details how she did it but it was enough to make me finished my dinner and looked at the brighter side. She beat all those family and friends who rushed to my side the moment I got the blow. If rushing to my side was a race, she was a major front-runner. That night, the magic words she said worked wonders.

“Bru, don’t be sad. I’m still proud of you. Always will be.”

And here she is again. Sensing my boredom, she sent me a book that made me laughed all the way. No, not by its content, it was a serious stuff, but by the sarcastic (?) comments she made on some of the author's theories. Inside the book was written :



Bru,

Read this you won't regret it. It's actually entertaining at the same time enlightening. Enjoy.

- S.

The dvd's were a charmer, too. It occuppied so much of my time everyday
since I got it. I saw it even in my sleep. Hahaha! The note accompanying it
was awesome.

Bru!

Here are your copies of CHARMED Seasons 1 and 2. The others will
follow. Maybe next year. I don't know.
Enjoy!

Blessed be.

-S.

P.S. Take care. I missed our jocular conversations over coffee much more the ones we have over beer and capri.

Return the book please. Coz after you read it, I'll be throtting someone else to read it. Si Mildred the friend I was with on our brief encounter sa SM. And thwart a co-teacher to read it too.

I am too cheap and too broke to buy you girls your own copy.

You'll all thank me.

- S.

If there is one thing I love most about life, it is the fact that I am surrounded with family and friends whose genuine love and concern is enough to make me love life itself. They are my gems. They are my precious find. And here is a picture of one of them. At the back of the picture was written :

Bru,

This smile will drive away your depression. You'll think that you're better off than this bitch. Hehehe!

- Bruha

Yeah, right. Laughed I did. She once called me "disturbed" and now she suspects I am depressed. Thank you very much. How can I be? There is not much reason for me to experience any "tropical depression". The weather is just fine.

Anyway, Bru, I know you will blow your top if you will see your silly grin published here on the net. Sorry but I can't help it. I just want you to know that I AM SO DAMN PROUD OF YOU, TOO. ALWAYS WILL BE.

Blessed be.

On William Diehl, et. al

After I said my little prayer and the OFFLINE sign remained as it was, I got up from my chair and felt little needles stinging my ass as I opened the door and breathed in some air. The air outside was as polluted as the air inside. Although, the air outside was a much better choice.

As I walked down Espiritu Street passing through thousands of ukay-ukay stalls, my happy feet brought me to a newspaper stand I used to frequent as a child. I was busy reading the screaming headlines of the day when I chanced to looked up the line of books neatly piled in the shelves. They are unread but old, torn and faded through long exposures to wind, rain, dusts and anything only-God-knows-what. And then my heart stopped beating. For a moment.

In my hand was a book written by William Diehl. My eyes popped out and my hands shook for a brief moment as the attendant looked at me suspecting I’m a nut-case with my dirty slippers, torn jeans and a weird reaction on my face as I held the book. The attendant stepped aside as I uttered a “My God” while I made my way towards Angela’s Ashes written by Frank McCourt. A travel mate recommended to me this book and said it’s a good read and it's her mother’s favorite book. And finally, I found Roald Dahl, an old favorite.

Luck comes not twice, not thrice but frice, I mean, four times. At least in my case. I almost dropped the three books when the attendant told me each book costs 25 pesos! I was beginning to question my own sanity by then and asked myself “Where in the world was I?”

As I entered the place where the air is polluted inside, I was no longer bothered whether they call the men from England, Canada and Australia as Kano. I just met three of the world’s most wonderful Kano : William Diehl from Georgia, USA, Frank McCourt from Limerick, Ireland and Roald Dahl whose parents are Norwegian.

I sat back facing the OFFLINE sign. It doesn’t bother me anymore. So before my ass begins to numb and droplets of saliva lands on my right sleeve I closed my eyes and pray : “Dear Lord, thank you for the three books you have given me today. You know I searched far and wide for William Diehl, eager to know Frank McCourt and was so excited to be reunited with Roald Dahl. I know you took trouble to know the desires of my heart and thank you for fulfilling it. Can I save you from more trouble and give you the list of the books I so desperately want? You can deliver them at my door or I can go pick it up. Whichever is convenient for you and your angels, is fine with me. Thank you. Please txt back. Amen.”

What's In A Name?

Running an errand kept me sitting on a chair for two solid hours while facing the OFFLINE sign. The friction between my ass and the chair under me was so irritating that killing the person next to me was a very welcome diversion from my boredom. No, actually, I was not bored. I only complained of the aching numbness in my ass.

Boredom has no place in a small town where two or three strangers can gather in anybody’s name and talk about his or her life or the life of others from cradle to grave. We were enclosed in one storey of a building, half of it looked like a congressional session hall and the other half looked like a street corner where everybody gathers for the latest update on the neighborhood buzz. I belonged to the latter half.

An elderly woman who spits out droplets of saliva every time she talks first complained about the air-conditioning unit which seemed to be the most useless appliance in the room. As she fanned herself she talked about her daughter who met a man from England in the internet. The “Kano” as what she called the man from England is a very good man and he sends them money regularly for their sustenance. As she talked about the generosity of their foreign benefactor her audience nodded in admiration to the man from England whom they called “Kano” and envied the fortune of the elderly woman who spits droplets of saliva every time she talks.

The elderly woman wasn’t the only one with a foreign funding in the room. As soon as she finished her story another one butted in. She married an Australian and her papers are now being processed and she is due to leave anytime soon. Another is pregnant courtesy of a man from Canada and the “Kano” is flying into the country within the week to be there with her when she delivers the baby. As I sat in the bench feeling the numbness in my ass crawling up my spine, I prayed to God to send some angels from the heavens on high and tell them that they could not possibly call a man from England, Canada and Australia as “Kano”. Their foreign benefactors would be gravely insulted should they ever find out they were called "Kano".

But before I say "Amen" I stopped myself and think. The "Kano" issue is so petty its not worth my prayer. The angels are too damn busy on some bigger issues that they don't concern themselves with how one should call the other. "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet". Yeah, right. Dollars would smell as sweet whether they came from Canada, Australia or England.

As I changed my mind and shifted from my seat, I said a little prayer and said Amen as soon as I finished. "Dear Lord, with all humility I ask You, please send some angels from the heavens on high and let them take away the OFFLINE sign. My ass hurts from the numbness and the numbness is now slowly crawling up my spine. My right sleeve is almost wet with saliva droplets and my head aches from the odor and the heat. Have mercy on your child that has to "Kano" story to share and no dollars to smell. Amen."

Don't Dream It's Over

I’ve been here, there and everywhere the past few days. Part of my game plan to forget the stunning, shocking, horrible defeat of Justine to the fat, big-eyed and weird French woman (they’re not my words, I tell you).

My happy feet brought me to as far as Barcelona. No, not Spain. It’s a remote place lined with long stretch of ash-colored sands facing the all too calm Pacific Ocean. As me and my Kuya waited for the fishermen’s arrival, I mentally note that the place is good for wind surfing. The charming waves were very inviting and the place is totally unexploited although the locals doesn’t seem to care on a potential tourist spot.

Far from the civilization and the attention of the powers-that-be, it broke my heart and scared the daylights out of my wits when I realized that we need to cross a rotten bridge that is ready to tumble at the faintest whisper of the wind. But cross we did.

Cross we did. And all in one piece. On our way back, my heart was heavy as I think about the rotten and ailing bridge. It is a disaster waiting to happen. Perhaps, the bridge is waiting for someone to go down with it.

Knock on the wood.

The Day I Saw Her Last

We were classmates since first grade. Every recess period, we would hang out by the school’s main gate to get a glimpse of the Mayor’s son. One day, she excitedly ran towards me and with panting breath said, “Yami! Yami! Iyang si Marlou Ro****?¹ Adoptation iyan!(sic)”². From that day on as far as I can remember, we stopped hanging out by the school’s main gate. We were seven years old.

We spent most of our times together when we were kids. She taught me how to collect stamps and stationeries, including hello kitty and snoopy stuffs. She was a regular in our house while I never knew where she lived until we were in high school. It was only later when I learned that she was the eldest of three siblings and that she lost her father when she was 5 years old. Her mother remarried shortly after her father’s death. With a bubbly person like her, it’s hard to believe she has been through so much at such an early age.

We lost contact after high school. I heard she married a drunkard and had two kids with him. Regularly she’d take in laundry from her neighbors and got battered by her husband every once in a while. Talk has it that her husband once brought home a mistress which resulted in a heated argument and ended in violent beatings. Knowing her, I dismissed the talks as an exaggeration of something completely unbelievable.

Years later when I was home on vacation, a woman almost stumbled as she made her way towards me. She was so skinny with bulging big eyes and two of her front teeth were missing. I guess it took me a lifetime to recognize it was her. She literally looked like a beggar that day. Her dress worn out from too much and prolonged use. I felt she was surprised when I hugged her the instant I realized it was her talking in front of me . She cried while I was speechless all throughout our conversation. The talks were all true.

Every time I remember the day we last met, guilt strikes me no end. I was so sorry I saw two big bulging eyes instead of the sadness that was in it. I was so stupid her old faded clothes caught my attention instead of the ailing body underneath it. I was a fool when I observed a skinny body instead of the dying spirit within her. My insensitivity was simply unforgivable.

I’m sorry I was not much of a friend to someone who was in need. If only I could find her boys and see what I can do to help. Maybe that would ease my burden of guilt. Somehow.

CHERYL GRACE C. de JESUS, 1976–2006. In memoriam.

___________________________________________________________________________

¹ I’m sorry Marlou, but it is really necessary to mention your name. Peace.
² Yami! Yami! Marlou Ro**** is adoptation! (she meant Marlou Ro**** was an adopted son)

Wedding Vows For A Friend

After spending time with a friend I haven’t seen for 17 years, he had to leave to make preparations for his June wedding somewhere in the land of the sweetest people. Days after he left, he sent me the following text message:

“Yam, I intend to ask you personally but it skipped me because we talked non-stop. Can you please make my wedding vows? I want you to have a special part in my wedding. Thanks.”

It’s the most unusual favor I’ve ever been asked to do. Never in my wildest dream did I ever think that I’d write a wedding vow for someone else. I’ve done so many unimaginable things for my friends in the past, things that would make my family gasp in horror should they ever find out. But writing a wedding vow for someone is a totally different thing.

Don’t get me wrong. I am very honored to write his wedding vows. I am more honored on the thought that I’d be a part of his wedding despite my physical absence. It indicates how he cared for our friendship the way that I do. But, man, I have no idea how to do it. I am, literally, facing a blank wall, er, a blank monitor.

I know I need to have it done before his wedding otherwise it won’t be making any sense. And so, as a gesture of affection for a friend on his wedding day, I summoned all sides of my brain to come up with words (and numbers!) befitting for a man who is in love and is ready to march down the road so frequently traveled by people who frequently lost their minds. Harharhar! Honestly, it took me days and weeks to finish his three-sentenced-one-paragraph wedding vows. He didnt know what kind of hell I have been through doing it that I swear if he'll ask for the same favor again, I will kick his sorry ass. Hehehehe!

My friend, as you march down the aisle today, I cheer and rejoice and clap my hands at your new found life and love. This day marks the end of your Palaboy days. Somehow, I am sad about it but, friend, I’m happy because at last you are home. Please don’t falter as you say your wedding vows, I’ve been through so much hell doing it, just…just do it right, ok?

Best Wishes and God Bless you and your bride.

The First Man I Loved Forever

We used to gather driftwoods by the bay. While I was busy daring the waves to catch me, he’d gather driftwoods nearby while whistling his favorite novelty song. Occasionally, he’d teach me how to catch crablets using a loop made from the skin of a dried banana trunk

Mostly on weekends, we would leave early for a day-long trip to the woods. The long walk was not always fun. It always sent me sleeping inside a make-shift little camp made of dried coconut leaves while he tended to his own business. On the later part of the year, we would board a little bangka and head to the farm for the durian harvest – one of those trips I always looked forward to.

I was less than 12 years old then. I rarely went with him on those trips when I reached 13. I guess, it was my restless fluctuating hormones that did it. Or maybe, my time was up and it was my two younger sibling’s turn to experience the ritual (my Kuya underwent the same ritual before me). Then he went away.

Sometimes, I wondered if he had known that he was going away early. I know those trips we had on the bay and in the woods were ways to spend quality time with us. In between paddles or strides, he’d patiently answer every childish question that got into my head. And he always ended up carrying me in his back half way through the trip.

Later in life when I was on my own, those childhood experiences carried me through so many storms. When the law of gravity was pulling me way down until I reached rock bottom, the memories I have of my father always pulled me up and kept me afloat. I have always known I am special by the way I was loved by my father.

He has showed us overflowing love more than anything in the world. In his short time in this world, he has taught four little souls how to be as strong and smart as he was. He was a wise man to have spent the last part of his life preparing his children how to face life confidently.

There aren’t enough words to tell him how much I missed him all through these years. He has always been an inspiration to keep going if only to show him how grateful I am that I was blessed with a father like him. There will always be a part of me that is exclusively for him.

Happy Father’s Day, Pa. I know you have been watching us everyday but I would still want you to know that we are all doing well. Mama’s sugar has been erratic these past few days but don’t worry, she is in good four pair of hands you trained so well. Pa, it’s Kuya’s first wedding anniversary today and we are suspecting a little angel is on the way. Hehehehe!!!

The Passion Fruits

I was in the terminal waiting for my ride when I saw a high school classmate I haven’t seen for a long time. While I was with my backpack, she was with her big luggage suggesting a travel that is far and possibly a long stay in her destination.

We talked like old times, smiled like school children as we chatted about our own lives and the lives of our other high school classmates. She is still the same the way I have known her since two decades ago. Only this time, she is now married with two children all boys ages 7 and 5 and her husband is in Manila looking for a job. She left her two boys with her mother. She is now bound for Manila to rejoin her husband while waiting for a call from an agency for a possible job deployment in the Middle East.

I heaved a deep sigh and remembered my friend who is now languishing in jail somewhere in Kuwait.

She did all the talking for the rest of our conversation while I constrained myself to monosyllabic words to keep her going. To sum it all up, all she wants is a comfortable life for her family. And she was all too convinced that it is worth all the risks. Before we ended, I told her that if she thinks that they can live here although not comfortably but together, maybe she can reconsider her decision to go abroad. I thought I saw some tears slowly gathering in the corner of her eyes. She looked down and scraped off some dirt under her fingernails and said, “ You know Yam, last night I was thinking maybe I should apply for a job in the City Hall and forget this silly idea about going abroad. My boys begged me not to go but all I can do is write them a letter so that they can read it anytime they want when I will be far away.”

On the bus, I kept thinking about her invitation for me to seek employment abroad. She was not the first and I’m sure there will be more who will try to convince me to "jump in" on the bandwagon. I’m not really closing my doors about the idea, but for a person who wants her hands dirty, a job somewhere outside the country is unnecessary.

As I unboarded, I was thinking of the seeds of the passion fruits I planted weeks ago. They are already sprouting and I want to see them grow every step of the way.

The sun is already up and my granny is waiting and her farm is not so far away.

The Ball Is In My Court

Days of watching the recently concluded French Open was spectacular. It sent me falling out of my seat many times while screaming inaudible expletives and/or praises constantly irritating my housemates. Never mind. They’ll never understand. The only person who understood my wild jubilations and/or frustrations was five million miles away- a tennis aficionado like myself.

So, while we watched the French Open from different places, it felt like we watched on the same television and was sitting on the same sofa. Thanks to the inventor of cellphone! I thought I could hear us screamed together and clapped together while cheering for Justine and Fed. Text messages were sent immediately as soon as breaks or commercials were called. Opinion exchanges automatically sets in when the players were on their seats. Hahahaha!!! Thanks to the inventor of cellphone. Although it felt awkward to be enjoying alone with something I am passionate about, it felt better to be connected with someone with the same interest as mine even if distance gets in the way.

Two beautiful things happened during the French Open. Justine, the Queen of Clay, won again. And, someone guaranteed me a front seat ticket to the next Australian Open! Guys, my eyes rolled unceasingly! I was stunned for a moment and thought of banging my head on the wall to see if I was dreaming. I was lucky my brain warned me on time otherwise I’ll be attending the Australian Open with a patch on my head because of a cracked skull. Hehehehe!!!

So, guys! If you happen to watch the next Australian Open, look for me. I’ll be sitting in the front seat. Bwahahahaha!!!

Sarap mabuhay, noh?

And, hey! The Wimbledon is on.

Formaldehyde In My Shampoo and Conditioner

A friend brought my attention to the Formaldehyde content of my shampoo and conditioner, Sunsilk and Creamsilk, respectively. The first thing that came to my mind was that my shampoo and conditioner has Formalin! Dammit, Unilever!

My first affair with the formalin was when I was in second year high biology class. I dissected a lonely unfortunate frog and injected some formalin all over its body. That would have been enough but I went a bit too far out of my mind and put the helpless frog in a jar and soaked it with formalin. My teacher made a little tongue lashing and said my frog is not a human fetus and soaking it with formalin was cruel. Hehehehe! Sorry. She suggested I try preserving a mollusk – to which I did.

Imagine my horror when read the back label of my Sunsilk and Creamsilk and realized I got a daily dose of formalin in my hair. The unfortunate frog must have been screaming “Karma” wherever it is. Dammit, Unilever!

My horror brought me to my knight in shining armor, Mr. Google. Mr. Google said, formaldehyde is a colorless, flammable gas that has a distinct, pungent smell. It is also known as methanal, methylene oxide, oxymethyline, methylaldehyde, and oxomethane. Formaldehyde is naturally produced in small amounts in our bodies.
It is used in the production of fertilizer, paper, plywood, and urea-formaldehyde resins. It is also used as a preservative in some foods and in many products used around the house, such as antiseptics, medicines, and cosmetics. Formaldehyde can cause irritation of the skin, eyes, nose, and throat. High levels of exposure may cause some types of cancers. Also, Formaldehyde is well known as a preservative in medical laboratories, as an embalming fluid, and as a sterilizer.

Beat this, I stupidly embalmed myself everyday, I mean, my hair. I got the privilege of embalming my hair before I die. Thank you very much, Unilever. I expect a long, straight and shiny black hair when I am in my coffin.

And thanks for the cancer, too. High level of exposure to formaldehyde causes cancer. With my daily use of Sunsilk and Creamsilk, I wouldn’t be surprised if I will be diagnosed with cancer of the hair! There goes my crowning glory! So, I die of cancer and I’m tucked inside a coffin hairless! Dammit, Unilever!

Moral lesson of the story : Check the labels. Always be conscious of the chemical contents of every products we put our hands into. I read the contents of formaldehyde in Sunsilk’s Summer Fresh product. I checked the other shampoos and conditioners and saw no similar contents. I have long since abandoned using Sunsilk and Creamsilk. Unilever has got to do some explaining.

And Guys, sorry I informed you about it this late.

Peace.

Life of a Friend

She was a high school friend. One of my best and closest barkada. She married her boyfriend right after our high school graduation and delivered their first son seven months after . Another son followed December of the same year. While the rest of the barkada attended college, she worked as a clerk in a cosmetics laboratory which eventually ceased to operate due to huge business losses. Her husband was perpetually in and out of job during the whole time.

Before their financial crisis took its toll on her, she decided to go to Manila to try her luck. Guess there ain’t no luck when one works in a sardines factory and lived in a shanty while painfully separated from her family. Years later, she boarded a plane bound for Kuwait to work as a domestic helper. Everybody thought that finally luck smiled at her. Little did we know that the nightmare has just began.

Serving a rich family with ten children all minors, she’d wake up at three in the morning and sleep around midnight each day. Locked from the outside and her passport confiscated, she’d cry alone every single day, missing her family and her home, begging God to change her fate.

She was skin and bones when she escaped from her hell. When she was rescued, she looked like she was in her forties when in fact she was only in her mid-twenties. Her tears welled from her eyes out of immeasurable pain. Her wrinkles are traces of sacrifices beyond human imagination. But the thought of a comfortable life for her family kept her alive.

Refusing to go back to the Philippines empty-handed, she lived in a foreign land avoiding contact with the authorities on a daily basis. For a few years, she managed to send money back home, constantly supporting the needs of her family and her still jobless husband.

Everything was well until she disappeared strangely. A friend informed me that she was caught, arrested and detained. Being an illegal alien, she would be lucky if she would be deported without lashes and not raped.

My heart goes out to my friend. There are thousands of OFW abroad who are similarly situated as her. Maybe even more and worse than her plight. In their bid to escape from their misery, they not only left their family and friends, they also divested themselves of their self-respect and dignity. For me, that is the worst tragedy.

I’m hoping for the day when my friend doesn’t have to be a slave of others just so she can put food on her table. I’m hoping for the day when a Filipino doesn’t have to go abroad to have a comfortable life. I want to live in a time when a Filipino has his self-respect and dignity intact.

Diamonds Are Forever

I’m still not over with the Ms. Universe pageant. I salivated each time I remember the prizes Ms. Japan ran away with. One lucky hell of a woman who perhaps right now is still in cloud 9 at her sudden fame and fortune. Arigato must be her favorite word right now. And, Moshi! Moshi!

One prize disturbed me, though. A crown with custom diamond and pearl crown designed by MIKIMOTO valued at $250,000.00. The crown has 800 diamonds, almost 18 karats. If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, diamonds are lady's best friend. Right now, I’m still without a best friend. Harharhar!

What are diamonds? Diamonds are small pieces of carbon with no great intrinsic value –and have been the cause of thousands of death, oppression and poverty in Sierra Leone, a West African country. For more than a decade, Sierra Leone was ravaged with civil war highlighted with drug-crazed child soldiers chopping limbs off civilian victims. The center of conflict? DIAMONDS. Diamonds are often traded to finance purchase of arms, drugs and other illegal activities. In Sierra Leone, whoever holds the most diamonds, rules.





Source of Pics: www.un.org

When most of us fought for the rights of panda bear, the whales, dogs, chicken and God-knows-what, thousands of lives are wasted just so we can wear diamonds and feel good about ourselves. When J. Lo was met with so much protest for wearing a fur coat, nobody said a word when Ben Affleck decorated her finger with a million dollar diamond ring. Funny, huh? And for an organization like the Miss Universe who advocates on the eradication of poverty, promotes the rights of women and children and other social and humanitarian missions and causes, what are those diamonds doing in the head of its ambassadress?

Diamonds are classified as legal diamonds, conflict diamonds and illicit diamonds. Buyers are warned to be careful and buy only legal diamonds. But there are always one thousand and one ways to mix conflict and illicit diamonds with the legal ones. Truth be told, there is only one way to stop the trade of blood diamonds, STOP BUYING DIAMONDS.

Diamond is a useless piece of mineral whose only role is to adorn a lady’s finger. We can live without diamond. If the value of diamond is like that of oil, water and food, maybe, it will be easy to understand why bloodshed happened in Sierra Leone. A diamond is forever but a human life is not.

I’m glad I never owned a diamond in my entire life. My resolve not to watch any Miss Universe pageant in the future is a statement of protest and is to take effect immediately. Maybe, Miss Earth is a lot better pageant. I have a very high chance of being crowned – Miss Earthquake!

Peace.

Miss Universe 2007, Mexico City

I just finished watching the 56th Annual Miss Universe pageant held in Mexico City. My first since 1994. Hehehehe! Don’t ask. I’m not into beauty pageant. Not my cup of tea. Now with my hands empty, I decided to sit and face the boob tube. Perhaps in unity with half of the population of the Philippines…the other half will watch the reruns later in the day.

My eyes popped out at the list of prizes the winner can get. Never mind the jewelry and other showcases which I think is close to a million dollars, I am particularly interested in the apartment in NY, year-long attendance to movie and Broadway premiers in New York City, 2-year scholarship at New York Film Academy (Lord, have mercy!), and an extensive travel around the world! Whew!

It got me thinking. Should I abandon my backpack and head where the audition is? Well, there is a chance to travel the world over for free. I wonder what is the age requirement? I don’t seriously think it’s already late. Harharhar! Where the hell I have been in the last ten years of my life? Never mind.

Watching the pageant convinced me more deeply to travel and see the world up close and personal. No, to see the world closer and more personal. I just hope there is a way to travel where money is not an issue. Hehehehe! Really. Out of the 22 prizes the Ms. Universe can get, I only want 4. So, please Lord, give the 4 to me. Hehehehe!!! Amen.

And, oh! I always thought before that the Mexican crowd is rude. Today, I am more convinced that they are. I can only guess why the pageant ended in such a hurry. Dammit, if only I can stop loving tacos.

Our Heels and Their Wheels

Before my sun-burned skin could finish its peeling, my happy feet were in motion again. This time into a thick forest where a majestic view awaits. Again dropping the convenience of a vehicle, we decided to bank on our footwears and trust the power of our heels. Biting the dusts and ignoring the scorching heat of the sun, the road uphill was defined but never easy.





But reaching the top was both fulfillment and bliss.





Yet, nothing and no one prepared us for such majestic views as these:





















Our eyes lusted on Nature’s bounty while our stomach feasted on man’s folly.





When it was time for us to go, we smiled as we looked back at our majestic find and sighed at the road that lies ahead. But nature is always full of wonder. As we begin our first step back home, a delicious offer was waiting at the corner. A free ride back home!





And so our day ended. My body was sore. My heart is still. My sleep deep. I am home.

The Vagabond and the Driftwood

Blame it on the summer sun or my cheerful adrenaline that came rushing every time I hear the sea breeze, I am now three shades darker from my original beautiful morena skin. It’s been days since I made it my national pastime to avoid television to save myself from knowing the latest pathetic line up of new senators. And so? When an invitation came, I grabbed it at the first chance.

I bumped into a very close friend I haven’t seen in 17 years (yes, 17-his calculation – I really can’t do math, honest!). A little talk was all it took and an hour after we were headed to a little white island to make up for the lost 17 years. We were both surprised that we pursued the same interests. While he called himself “Palaboy”(Vagabond), I told him I’m a “Dagsa” (driftwood). A Dagsa that gathers no moss. Harharhar!!!

Dropping the comfort and speed of a motorized boat, we decided on a little sailboat much to the disapproval of our respective “concerned citizens”. With seven others all males, two little sailboats and one life vest, a fish sanctuary and a beautiful white island, only a fool would stay at home and witness the latest national political tragedy unfolding.

And since we are not fools, we cheered as the naughty waves tossed our little sailboat farther away into the Pacific Ocean. The thought of the Marianas Islands as the possible destination kept our spirits high. As we shouted with excitement each time seawater filled our boats, our “concerned citizens” stormed heaven’s gate to bargain for our safety and prepared a lengthy tongue lashing in the event our victorious homecoming. Blah!

The trip was all worth it. It closed the gap of 17 years. I couldn’t remember the day he left to begin his life of being a ‘Palaboy’. I just knew he wasn’t there anymore. I guess, that’s the best part of not saying “goodbye”…you can always say “hello” again at a much later time.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™