Written With Sass

September Sensibilities

2011-09-24T23:13:00.004+08:00

Well, I haven't been here in a while. It occurs to me that I write most when I'm sad, and I've been keeping from posting because I haven't been sad in a while. Or at the very least, I haven't had time to be. Anyway, allow me to break that cycle now, what with time and a different kind of happiness now in my hands.

It surprises me how I managed to survive the past two weeks. Yes, I understand how petty the issue of academic hell weeks seem compared to, the lack of world peace, for instance— but the cosseting of my university life (and upper middle-class++ life in Manila, in general) has lead me to believe that it is entirely possible to die from too much school work. There's something to be said about getting two hours of sleep a day for the past 14 days, and waking up each day thinking, "Crap. What the hell I'm doing to my body?" I can only hope it doesn't take it out to me when I'm in my wrinkly forties.

When I looked at the mirror this morning, for example, fireworks went off. BOOM BOOM BOOM went the three full throttle zits that have conveniently decided it would be pleasant to plant themselves on my face for a while. My skin is all flaky, my under-eyes look like I smudged unfortunate kohl eyeliner all over them. My hair has definitely seen better days. I haven't been to the gym in two weeks, and already I can feel my trainer and nutritionist breathing judgement down my neck.

I blame it on thesis. I blame it on work (which I don't really, because I love what I do, PS one more week until Women's Health October issue!). Mostly I blame it on my professors who, I'm certain, deliberately conspired against me and my health by setting similar deadlines within two weeks. I also kind of, sort of blame it on the stubborn side of me that fervently believes that weekends are for Sex and the City marathons, and not… much else.

But like every university hell week survivor, I'm proud of what I've achieved these past two weeks. Heck, I'm proud of everything I've gone through these past two months. August and September were roller coaster rides (the Six Flags kind, and not Space Shuttle, ew)– I've done my share of mistakes and complaints, all of which I surprisingly don't regret making.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, here's both to working hard and playing hard, not always doing what's right, but turning out stronger and smarter in the end. Here's to me too, and the fabulous realization that it will take more than two weeks of academic hell, and two months of frenzy to take me down.

As such here are a few things I'm looking forward to in the coming days, weeks and months: 1) my thesis group's defense on Thursday, 2) the Westlife concert... also (coincidentally) on Thursday, 3) the October issue of Women's Health, 4) the freedom that is sembreak, 4) going abroad with my family for my birthday, 5) second semester (really, and truly), 6) the November issue of Women's Health (plus plus, an extra surprise), 7) my first Christmas in two years as an Independent Woman, 6) 2012, 7) graduating, 8) three lazy months in New York City and finally, 9) what I'm assuming will be the beginning of an amazing career in publishing.

(I highly recommend what I just did there, bulleting all the stuff you're looking forward to. Getting it all out there makes me realize I have a ton to be thankful for, contrary to the "More! More! More!" cravings of my heart. I hope it has a similar effect on you.)

Mama

2011-08-17T19:01:00.003+08:00

My mother doesn't know how to cook.

When I tell my friends this, they almost always ask-- "So, who does the cooking in your house?" "My yaya," I admit. They nod, somewhat sympathetic.

I wonder what kind of image this conversation builds up about my mother. Maybe she's one of those mother types, my friends might think, the kind that holes up in the office for more than 20 hours a day, and goes home only to take a shower. Or on second thought, maybe she's one of those trophy wives who need to spend every minute buffing, waxing and polishing every inch of their body-- in the club, in the spa, in the salon-- all day, every single day. Or maybe she just doesn't care if her children have nothing to eat.

Often I think the question of cooking doesn't do my mother any justice. Try asking, "Who's your best friend?" Or "Who do you first talk to when you receive news, good or bad?" Or "Who knows exactly what do to make you feel better?" Or even, "Who do you look up to?" The answers are my mother, my mother, my mother. And my mother.

My mother doesn't know how to cook, and even if we live in a culture that measures the competence of a wife and a mother on her capability to mince and fry, I don't care-- because she is a mother to me where and when it matters.

She was there to watch my ballet recitals and theater plays growing up, not just to give me rides to and from the theater, but to give moral support (a bouquet for every bow I took, no fail) and to teach me practical things (like sometimes it's okay to use lipstick for eye shadow and blush, a make-up tip I still use to this day).

She kept a close eye on me during my era of struggling adolescence, a solid couple of years where I preferred to talk about her behind her back, always gabbing to my friends over the phone or in school. I don't know how many times I skipped family dinners during this time, often under the guise of homework, when I just really didn't want to talk to anyone related to me by blood. She stuck close, careful not to suffocate, but also wary about setting me completely free. As far as good parenting goes, I'd like to think she struck a good balance between the two extremes.

She was literally there when I spent half a year abroad in Paris-- there to bring me to Europe, there to pick me up before going back home to the Philippines. She was there, even through the thick of time zone differences and technological unfamiliarity, to say good night every single night, and hello every time I woke up.

She was there, most recently, through my first break-up-- an episode that I thought would take me years
to get over-- only to have the recovery time cut to a couple of months, thanks to rude awakenings ("Let go of the past, anak") and a strong financial support over my frequent salon trips.

I wonder how many girls my age still cuddle up to their mother before they sleep or say "I love you, Ma!" like it's the most natural thing to do. I wonder if they text their moms about pimple problems and bad hair days, and expect a good laugh from the reply back. I wonder if they're able to both scream bloodily at their moms in the morning, and still manage kiss her goodnight before bed. Granted, it's a weird relationship. Granted, I'm also blessed.

My mother is the strongest, most respectable and most sensible woman--no wait, person-- I know. And to be fair to all the other mothers in the world, I guess she simply insists on not knowing how to cook.

"Syempre if I know how to cook, sobrang perfect ko na, diba?"

And that’s straight from my mother’s mouth. Happy 47th, Mamita!

Cancer and a Cup of Tea

2011-08-08T19:54:00.003+08:00

Today, over cups of coffee (and later on, tall glasses of milk tea), I talked to cancer survivors.

It's an unhappy kind of serendipity when work assignments hint on our personal problems. Two weeks ago, when I was given this story to cover, I didn't think anything of it. But when a week ago, I found out that my favorite tito's cancer came back, I couldn't help but notice how many times I used the word "malignant" in daily conversations. It was unsettling.

I'm confident my tito will get through this, just like he did in 2004, but it does occur to me how unfair the situation is. Cancer once is a lesson learned, but what does one get from cancer striking a second time? He's paid his dues, and his entire family-- a wife and two kids-- have taken all the necessary pre-cautions after the first episode. What's the point of a second round? I think not knowing the answer to this question is what devastates my lola and my mom (my uncle's sister), the most.

Cancer is nobody's cup of tea, but like all things in life, you have to deal with what you were served. Often, that's what makes a victim a survivor-- the ability to deal, and eventually, the strength to overcome. The survivors I talked to earlier today, though they didn't say so explicitly, appeared to have acknowledge the role cancer played in changing their lives. One met her husband after her diagnosis, while the other founded a local foundation geared towards helping other patients cope with the disease.

Maybe that's what makes me secure in my tito's chances of beating the Big C a second time. Because I know he can take this specific cup of tea without recoil, or even so much as a single flinch. Because if he's gone through it a first time, how hard would a second encounter be? As for the rest of the family, we try to find peace in the thought that there's a point to all this, that it will strengthen our relationship, and make us stronger people in the end.

I hope you can find time to send a happy thought or a prayer towards my tito, his family, my family and our grandparents after you've read this entry.

Shopping, Day 3

2011-08-06T17:47:00.003+08:00

Okay, so I kind of understand what Jinkee Pacquiao was getting at when she decided to set up this store.

Maybe, she thought, Southern Philippines needed a more luxurious kind of shopping experience, like the kind she presumably went through while popping in all of Las Vegas' designer flagship stores. That's probably why the interiors of Jinkee's Fashion World include a hot pink suede couch (stop smirking), blatantly white walls with fancy lighting and similarly hot pink throw rugs on the floor (I said stop).

They were probably meant to say: hey there visitor who'll leave empty-handed anyway... We're totally classy here! Except well, for all the extremely expensive brands her store carried, we were all hearing something else.

Maybe it's the way Love FM was blasting in the speakers the moment I entered, or how upon seeing me, a lady with Kewpie Doll-like make-up started half-yelling "Ma'am, leepstick! Leepstick Ma'am, leeeeepstick!"

Or maybe it was just the hideous pink couch.

But hey, Jinkee was after an experience, and an experience is definitely what you get in Jinkee's Fashion World. You're not there to buy (an P11,000 Bebe dress? No thanks), but you are there to see her insane collection of designer wear and accessories. Jinkee's Fashion World after all, isn't a store-- it's a museum of all the fabulous things she can throw to your face after you poke fun at her leeepsticks.

Prada, Balenciaga, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Burberry, Gucci-- it's way more than what 20 brand-conscious girls, put together, can ever own in their lifetime.

It was a momentarily amusing experience, but in an afterthought, also pretty impressive. The clash between baduy and glamour can be summed up in my final conversation with the Kewpie Doll saleslady. She was trying to sell me a long, rainbow-colored pendant made out of Swarovski crystals, which upon a few twists, also doubles as a bolpen.

Experimenting, Day 2

2011-08-02T21:31:00.003+08:00

Lemlunay means "paradise" in the T'boli/B'laan dialect.

What we used to go sailing

The Hawaiian way of serving the traditional sashimi. The dish, called "Pokey", is your average raw sashimi only with sesame oil and a lot of ginger.

"Pokey", like I said. The funny thing is the term is actually an edited version of the dish's original name. It's too dirty in Filipino... Can you guess what it is?

Sailing with the boys, sons and a nephew of my dad's friend, one of whom is apparently my Philosophy classmate in school. Small world!

Most people tend to disagree at first, but I think I look a lot like my dad :)

Wet look daw

The 73rd Infantry Camp did not look like a camp

Who can wake up to military drills when the beautiful sea is this close to you?

The M4. I'm holding it differently, because my body won't be able to take the impact of the gun recoil. Pero tama na din daw yan, sabi ni Kuya Soldier.

No target shot with this one. The thing was LOUD.

The 9mm pistol! A personal favorite.

In which I become one of the boys. What an interesting second day in South Cotabato!

Meandering, Day 1

2011-08-01T23:01:00.000+08:00

It's no Changi, but T3 sure is an upgrade from NAIA 1.

Touchdown General Santos. Fields and mountains stretching on for forever.

Lake Sebu

The sweetest pineapples I've ever tasted. I actually asked the waiter if he added sugar on it. My throat even hurt after!

Looks... fun.

A meal good for six. The dish nearest the camera is chicharon tilapia, and it's heavenly.

A meal good for six... At only 751 pesos.

Uhh... Where I get my weird ticks from. Hehe. I love my Dad!

The Tiboli tribe courtship dance.

This bird talks. "Good noon! Good noon!"

An actual college.

Where a lot of the Tiboli tribe youth go for their secondary and tertiary education.

They even have Guidance tests!

Interesting how they don't put rooms near the ground. It's an old warrior's custom, and it's meant to keep people safe from lurking enemies.

In Kalsangi, the Dole plantation. This is Tito Jun and Tita Evelyn's living room, quite possible the most refreshing living room I've ever been in.

Open-air.

I remember thinking Vienna looked a lot like this...

Macadamia nuts that fell off trees. Delicious!

And of course, Dole juice.

South Cotabato: Untouched, underrated, unreal

2011-08-01T20:11:00.006+08:00

For a lot us who've grown up in Manila, traveling long-haul from the country's biggest island of Luzon often means heading to the world-famous beaches of Palawan, partying the night (and day) away in Boracay or shopping in cosmopolitan Cebu. Sometimes it even means leaving the country altogether, and spending a wallet-breaking weekend in Hong Kong or Singapore. But when was the last time you heard someone say, "Omg let's totally hit up South Cotabato next!" ?

I've been looking forward to my trip to Mindanao ever since I bought a ticket to General Santos City on impulse two weeks ago. I've been calling it the "Mindanao trip", because frankly I really didn't know where I was headed-- I just knew that it was somewhere I've never set foot before, even after living in the Philippines for close to 20 years. The things I know about the country's most controversial island are stereotypical of the Filipino (or fine, Tagalog) knowledge: that it's unsafe because members of the NPA, MILF and the Abu Sayyaf mill about the island, that certain areas are targets for terrorism attacks, that Bin Laden used to go in hiding there.

My long weekend in South Cotabato taught me otherwise. I met people from different tribes-- and though they were tough-looking, they were also incredibly courteous people who can surprisingly give the typical call center agent's English a run for its money. I spent a day in the beach-- and though it wasn't the sought-after white-sand Bora type of beach (it was on a cliff, for one), I was able to see some of the bluest waters and clearest skies I've ever seen in my life. And finally, I brushed elbows with a few soldiers, rode on an army tank, shot an M4 and a 9mm pistol for kicks-- typical of a "Mindanao" trip you might think, but the way these soldiers spoke of peace and avoiding conflict in their region really caught me off-guard. It was refreshing to hear, and it made me respect our men in uniform, which I honestly never really did.

Then there's also the more practical stuff that travelers might want to know. The cost of living in General Santos (the most commercial city of South Cotabato) is so cheap, it's laughable. Case-in-point: my mom was able to buy a dinner for 21 people for only 3,000 pesos. My tita usually buys a kilo of sweet mangosteen for only 10 pesos. Kaya pa daw tawaran hanggang 7 pesos nalang. And me? I was able to buy a Jinkee Pacquiao-designed blouse for only 300 pesos. At maganda nga naman talaga siya, straight from Jinkee's Fashion World eh! Three-star hotels are up and running, so you don't have to worry about the absence of acceptable accommodation. People get around with a tricycle, or they hitchhike with motorcycle passers-by for free (and for real).

So you know how Filipino idealists are so certain that someday, someday, the Philippines will become a really well-off country? Well for that to happen, I think the secret lies in Mindanao. The place is bursting with fertile lands, untouched greenery, mining potential and I kid you not, oil (and lots of it). And while getting everyone to uncover the secrets of the island will take time, there is something we can do now, and that's to travel to Mindanao and try changing people's perception of it.

I'm already looking forward to spending my next four-day weekend there.

Mindanao-Bound

2011-07-29T23:04:00.006+08:00

Taken inside the City Hall (Hôtel de Ville) of Geneva, Switzerland

Too many changes this week to count: 1) new manicured nails, 2) a new life mindset, 3) a new gym trainer. A lot of blessings too: 1) the cancellation of classes from Monday to Wednesday, 2) a relatively good performance (or so I think) at an exam I've been dreading for a class I loathe, 3) my first shot at helping out at a magazine cover shoot.

And then there's the ultimate change and blessing I've been looking forward to the whole week-- a trip outside Manila to help me recover from the travel bug (plus other things) that have been keeping me down for the past few months. I'm so grateful for this welcome change of scenery; it really couldn't have come at a better time.

So here's to three days in sunny Mindanao (where I've never set foot ever in my 19 years of growing up in the Philippines), specifically in General Santos City, Koronadal and Saranggani Province. I'm excited for new experiences and learnings that are sure to come my way... and if they don't, I'll be swimming, tanning, shopping and diving for three straight days anyway! :)

One Less Lonely Girl

2011-07-27T22:04:00.002+08:00

There are girls who can't go on a bathroom break alone, and there are girls who look forward to spending rainy days by themselves. Today (and most days actually), I was the latter.

Languor was the day's theme. I woke up, went to a very interesting press conference about sex (where the words 'penis' and 'erection' were said 2 out of 5 times against more ordinary words); had my nails done and window-shopped in the afternoon; had a tiring, but de-stressing workout at night; and then capped the day off with an Italian dinner with my mom.

Before today happened, I don't recall the last time I felt so... worry-free. When you're alone, there are no obligations, hardly any thinking, zero waiting, and certainly no compromising. The chances of loneliness and sadness slipping through the cracks, and downgrading the supposedly ideal situation is extremely possible and even, close to inevitable, but the sheer happiness born-to-be-hermits like me take in solitude seems to cancel the possibility of that out.

I'm not sure why I like being alone more than the next girl. Don't get me wrong though, I like the occasional party, and even the awkward small talk with acquaintances. I love meeting new people and making new friends, but if you give me a day to spend by myself, I bet I'll find a way to make it pretty enjoyable still. Case-in-point: when classes were cancelled yesterday, I spent half the day holed up in Fully Booked and Coffee Bean. And when they were suspended last Monday, I chose to stay at work for 12 hours to participate in my very first issue turn-over.

Sometimes I think it's because I'm not a very selfless (or you know, I could just say I can get pretty selfish) nor a patient person to begin with. When I'm alone, all I need to think about is myself, and I really, really like it that way. I know these aren't traits one should be proud of having (which is why number 9 on my "Getting Back in the Game" list reads, 'Think of self less'), but as I learn to be more mindful of others, I'm also going to enjoy being alone while I can.

On a side note, I was supposed to catch Captain America by myself today, but three straight movies watched in a cinema without the company of others already borders on tragic. Even I know that... Although I think Chris Evans' abs would've been worth seeing, alone or not. :)

The Playlist

2011-07-25T01:43:00.001+08:00

Like medicine for the soul.

1. Jordin Sparks' One Step At A Time - Because chances are, the entirety your life sucks right about now.

You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it

2. Demi Lovato's Skyscraper - Bulimia, bipolar disorder and bullies-- if Demi can, so can you.

Go on and try to tear me down, I will be rising from the ground
Like a Skyscraper

3. Keri Hilson's Pretty Girl Rock - Also known as: Dear God, may you give me the confidence to be just like this woman.

All eyes on me when I walk in, No question that this girl’s a 10
Don’t hate me cause I’m beautiful

4. Flo Rida's Who That Girl - Because we all want to be that girl.

And when she struts that thing around
Everybody be breaking their neck like
Who that girl?

5. Maroon 5's Nothing Lasts Forever - A stripped-down, honest-to-goodness song about needing to let go.

The distance between us makes it so hard to stay
But nothing lasts forever, but be honest babe
It hurts but it may be the only way

6. Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive - An oldie, but a goodie.

As long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give
And I'll survive

7. The Pussycat Dolls' I Don't Need A Man - Because the lyrics are pretty strong. And also, the video is really hot.

I don't need a ring around my finger to make me feel complete
So let me break it down: I can get off when you ain't around... Oh!

8. Vanessa Hudgens' Gotta Go My Own Way - Because songs written for pre-teens have a way of resonating with almost adult lives.

I've got to move on and be who I am
I just don't belong here
I hope you understand

9. Adele's Someone Like You - In which you will probably bawl like a baby.

Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead

10. Coldplay's The Scientist - Because questions of science, science and progress do not speak as loudly as the questions of your heart.

Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

Thinking

2011-07-25T00:27:00.002+08:00

The second hardest part in trying to get over someone is figuring out what to do with your time. Suddenly, you have a whopping surplus of it.

(The most difficult hurdle by the way, is trying to make it past the awful mourning period-- which still hasn't happened to me, so it's either 1) I don't have a heart or 2) I respond to pain extremely late, which makes me prone to sudden outbreaks on Red Brick Road at any given time, which also coincidentally, sounds like a lot of fun).

But what we're doing here is moving on down the list of stuff a newly minted single girl needs to get used to. This one reads: "Now what?"

Now what? Suddenly you find yourself among the company of a wide-open schedule, a relatively empty to-do list and a dangerous amount of time alone-- all of which you need to busy up before it drives you mad. Relationships apparently take a lot of time; I hadn't realized that until I was no longer part of one.

The problem lies in the reality that you no longer have to deal with relationship stuff, whether you liked them or not. No more dates. No more texting random things at random hours, all day long. No more sharing secrets about people you secretly hate. No more fighting, no more time spent fixing what you just fought about, no more trying out every new restaurant in town, and pretty much, no more eight million things you used to do together-- working out, having breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, watching episodes of Modern Family until you can quote every single one of Phil's quotable quotes to your hearts' content, hopping in a car and not knowing what the hell to do, but figuring out that no matter what it is, it will be pretty fun anyway. No more going to the mall to look at things that you can't afford, nor going to the mall because there's nothing else to do. No more talking and talking and talking (and talking and talking) for hours. No more. Or, like what I've been telling people who've been asking this week's question of the week: wala na.

When you break-up with someone, there's always a self-righteous, high-propping person (who you happen to really love) who'll say, "Keep yourself busy." Keep yourself busy, why? Because when you're busy, you don't think. When you're in class, your mind is in class; at work, you're thinking of how to make women make themselves sexy in 150 words or less; in the gym, you're thinking, holy f*** I really hate the gym.

Being busy gets your mind off of things you shouldn't be thinking about-- because when you get so much as a minute's worth of free time, it's just like going on a roller coaster ride, only with the other half of the big ass loop completely cut off. The questions that mark free time-induced, post-relationship thinking all come pouring in-- the regretful what ifs, the miserable I misses, the open-ended whys.

I might have not gotten my share of the mourning period misery, but all this free time is killing me. Yes, I do have work at night every single day, yes I do have a thesis to produce this semester, yes I have school along with dreams of graduating with honors at the end of the year, and yes, I have three excruciating sets of ab workouts to do everyday. But they aren't enough to keep me from thinking.

So now what?

EuroTrip Eats

2011-07-19T17:21:00.005+08:00

Because sometimes, words can't do what photos can...

London, England

All photos from Harrods

Prague, Czech Republic

Gingerbread, Beer, Bonbons, the Easter Weekend Food Market, Trdelnik, Sausages

Vienna, Austria

Chicken Schnitzel, Vapiano Pasta (technically an American brand, but whatever), Sachertorte

Geneva, Switzerland

Swiss Cheese, Swiss Chocolates, Whatelse

Nice, France

Marché aux Fleurs, Fruit and Candy, Croissants Napoli, Nicoise Salade

More to come from Barcelona, Rome, Florence, Milan, Venice and Paris!

Commuting

2011-07-18T22:11:00.009+08:00

So today is my first day living up North again.

If there's anyone who's experienced every single kind of living arrangement while in college, that would be me. First year: Dorm. Second year: Family rented a house, and moved up North. 1/2 of third year: Drive everyday, back and forth to the South. Other 1/2 of third year: Rented a flat in a foreign land. And finally, my senior year: condo living with three other girls.

Living away from my family always feels weird, but I like the familiarity of being on my own for a bit, at least until I finish my practicum. After class everyday, I head (read: commute) to work and write in the office from 5PM until around 8PM. I used to commute back home to the South, but that got really tiring, thus the new condo arrangement. Now it's still tiring, but the upside to commuting is you never feel stuck (in traffic). My friend Karen says I have issues with feeling stuck (in general), so maybe that's why I really, really hate getting trapped in traffic. Waiting in a car for an hour feels more tiring than walking around for the same amount of time.

Speaking of walking, I've been trying to get a grip on Manila commuting etiquette. The MRT, more than the LRT1 and the LRT2, is the perfect example of the 'matira matalo' mindset Filipinos sometimes have (loosely translates to 'you snooze, you lose'). If you don't fight, I repeat FIGHT, for a spot in that perpetually crowded train, you can be sure you'll be left behind. And while I understand how badly we all want to go home, I can't help but think of a few ways to make MRT rides more efficient and less uncomfortable.

1) Keep the trains coming. The reason why they're always crowded is the next train always takes forever, and the platform ends up getting packed with people.

2) Let people step out before stepping in the train. Let people step out before stepping in the train. Please, friends: let people step out before stepping in the train.

3) Stop texting, and keep your hands beside yourself, or on your bag. Keeping your hands in front of you wastes space, irritates the person standing (or madly ducking) next to you and come on, parading your phone for everyone to see basically makes you a pickpocket's wet dream.

4) Try to keep a cool head. During my first few times commuting, I always felt pissed because I hated walking. But now that I see that kind of attitude does nothing for me, I sing Keri Hilson's "Pretty Girl Rock" to myself instead.

Commuting in Manila can be a hassle most times, but nothing beats being in charge of your time. Sometimes, when it's raining and EDSA's stuck in an endless jam, I secretly laugh at the people stuck in their cars. The train may be crowded, but hey, at least it's moving.

* * *

Got my grades back from Sciences Po tonight, where I studied for five months this year. They read: two 17s, one 16 and three 15s. On the French grade scale of 1 to 20, I pretty much got As and B+s for a semester spent not studying. I love Europe.

A New Page

2011-07-17T17:37:00.000+08:00

I like reading books.

Growing up, I loved reading them so much that even after my mom shut all the lights to our room, I would keep reading under my blanket with the backlight of my Nokia 5110 to illuminate the pages. I read everywhere-- in the car, in the bathroom, in malls, on the dining table while eating, in school right over a thick, hardbound science text book. It got to the point when I needed to get glasses on my first year of college, but hey, the stories I read were worth giving up my 20/20 vision for.

I was never one to put a good book down, never was able to keep myself from turning another page. And that's why now, even after everything that's been thrown my way since I arrived home a month and a half ago, I have to keep going. I need to keep going, because that's the only way I know how to deal with things.

Going back home wasn't a lot of fun. Sure, I missed being able to talk to people naturally, and without having to rack my brain for correct diction and grammar; sure, I love being able to talk to my parents everyday now, and listen to my dad crack his odd-humored jokes; and sure, I absolutely enjoy being in the company of friends I've known for years again. But it's been 49 days since I arrived in Manila, and until now, I still crave for the smell of Paris in the spring. When I hit traffic on EDSA, I can't help but think of the quick Métro rides I used to take to get from point A to point B. And the food? I don't even know where to begin there. But let's just say I've been steering clear of anything remotely European, for fear of throwing a crying fit inside the restaurant.

I don't like talking about this a lot, because I get how annoying it will seem. But it isn't even about living in France for half a year, and feeling all faux Parisian and thinking how much the Philippines sucks all the time. I love my home, and nothing in the world will ever compare to it. But the problem with seeing the world is that it changes you; it lets you see, live and experience your own life in a very different way. You come home, you don't see home like you used to, and you just feel different. Not sad, nor angry, nor frustrated, just different. And that can be difficult.

So in an attempt to take it easy, I tried to make things feel unchanged, made an effort to stay the same. I went after the same things I went for, and then got madly frustrated when I didn't get them. I tried to make things 'like they used to be' with my relationships, and when they didn't, I let things go. And in the midst of trying, and trying, and trying to get everything back together, I somehow managed to lose it all.

Being sad is well, sad. I hate being sad, more in fact, than I hate cats. So you know what I think I'll do? I'll stop fighting it. So what if I'm an org-less (slightly friend-less) college girl this year? So what if I'm single, and watch movies alone (highly recommended by the way)? So what if I've changed? The point of living, after all, is to keep moving. Much like reading, you need to keep the pages turning if you want to know the (presumably amazing) ending.

And much like the books I used to read way back when, this story is going to be one hell of a pageturner. You should keep reading :)