5 Years Old Tomorrow

I was backtracking my posts today and realised tomorrow is my blog's 5th year anniversary. That said, I have to think of something worthwhile to post.

I need inspiration.

On sacrifices, celebrations and tributes

I've given up social networking. At least, for the time being. This is part of a Lenten "tradition" I started since I was maybe around 12 years old. I give up something I really like as a form of sacrifice. Back then, it's as simple as eschewing chips or chocolates or watching TV.

So, yeah, this year, it's all about giving up Facebook and Twitter. Which delighted my husband, because he's convinced I'm addicted to them. (Perhaps. But I'm bored, what can I do...???)

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We're celebrating two very special occasions towards the end of the month. First, it will be my son's 5th birthday on the 24th (Easter Sunday!). We won't be having a big party, but we will nevertheless celebrate the special day. I already placed an order for a Tom and Jerry cake (currently his favourite cartoon), which I'll be picking up on Sunday morning. I was actually fearing the worst when I dropped by the cake shoppe yesterday, forgetting that most establishments are closed on Thursday and Friday (meaning there would be less days for them to work on my order). Thank goodness the lady at the counter was very nice and gave in to my pleadings :)

After my baby blows his birthday candles, we'll probably be off to Fun Ranch or wherever his little heart desires. The day is all about him so, while we have no concrete plans yet, our little master-of-the-day will be the one navigating our journey. Good times.

Come the 28th, it's time for us to celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary. Every year, hubby and I feel that the wedding date is sort of anticlimactic, as what we really celebrate is our boyfriend-girlfriend anniversary, which is already going on its 11th year. Still, we do make it a point to spend quality time by ourselves, because whether or not it's the "real" anniversary, it is the day we made our formal commitment, right?

But...but...but...! I have no gift for the hubby yet...! And I am on panic mode! 

I did purchase Maroon 5 tickets for the two of us, but the concert is still on May 23, which is almost one month post-anniversary. And I don't really know what else to get him, because on his recent trip to Vegas, he shopped till he dropped and so he's got everything he needs (and wants).

I have a few days to come up with a really bright idea. Sigh.

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Speaking of Vegas, hubby brought home the cutest M&M's I've ever seen.

Pastel-coloured peanut M&M's (photo taken from malamutechaos' flickr photostream)

Plain M & M's (photo from mtnman.com)

They're so cute I don't want to eat them. I just like looking at the yummy (and oh-so-girly) colours. And since this was probably the only kiddie shoppe hubby could find at Vegas, he brought home USD50 worth of candies for our son! 

Either that, or he really just had a grand time getting the candies...and who wouldn't?!?! (photo from flickr)

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On a more serious note, I realise it's been almost a year since my big discovery. I won't go into the details since it's not really something I feel like sharing with the general blogging community. Suffice it to say, it was an earth-shattering experience for me...and almost a year later, I'm fine. I really am.

Truthfully, I feel a bit scared of myself. At times I think I'm becoming too desensitised. Yes, I know it's a defense mechanism, but still...sometimes it bothers me that I can't be bothered anymore, know what I mean?

To celebrate this "milestone" of sorts, I got inked again:

I got the butterfly last year, a tribute of sorts to my father, and as a symbol for my "metamorphosis". This year, I added the branch on my shoulder, which shows sakura flowers falling, which represents leaving my past and moving on. My mantra, alis volat propriis, is inked beside the butterfly. It is a Latin phrase (a language I love, by the way) which means "she flies with her own wings".

That branch on my shoulder? Fucking hurts. The fact that the most painful part of the inking process was the visual symbolising the past is, I think, poetic justice.

Perhaps I'm not desensitised, after all.

Getting old, huh...? Indeed...

I stumbled upon a celeblog (celebrity blog) today and read an entry from one of the site owner's guest bloggers. The guest blogger is a starlet in Manila and her entry dealt with "getting old".

Here were her "tell-tale signs" of ageing (and I quote, verbatim):

1. When you choose beer over soft drinks.
2. When you can't eat pork fat as much (because you know your blood pressure will rise).
3. When start calling you Ms. Mr. Ma'am Sir and it gets TOO ANNOYING!
4. When you start to attend too many weddings and funerals.
5. When you choose to stay home than to go clubbing.
6. When you already do things that can put you behind bars.
7. When it's already an effort to look good.
8. When you're eating chocolates not because you love them, but because it makes you feel better after a bad break up.
9. When you have to think of bills rather than boys/girls.
10. When your mind makes contracts your body can't meet.
11. When you don't care when you're wearing white socks with black shoes (AND I REALLY DON'T).
12. When when sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.
13. When when there's nothing left to learn the hard way.
14. When you're told to act your age (YES MOM).
15. When you stop being excited about your birthday cake because chances are the candles will reveal your age.
16. When you choose to let your ass warm up on your chair rather than bringing it to the gym.

My comments, point by point:

1.  Young lady, if indeed you choose beer over softdrinks, then you are no doubt young. At my age, I have lost the quivering desire for alcohol. Unless it's over good conversation with some really good friends. Drinking for the sake of inebriation shows the characteristic irresponsibility that accompanies youth.
2. I have to agree that hypertension is a classic sign of ageing. Although people my age and older will take one look at the lechon (whole roasted pig) skin and say, "Gamutin nyo na lang ako pagkakain!" (Just give me my medication after I eat this!)
3. Ms./Mr./Ma'am/Sir stops getting annoying after a certain age. At some point, you recognise that it's a sign of respect (however grudging it may be sometimes). What offends me is being called lola (grandma), no matter how good-naturedly.
4. It's not attending a wedding or funeral per se that indicates your age. If you go to a wedding, you're no longer a guest or secondary sponsor, but a PRINCIPAL sponsor. Plus you are seated on the same table as the oldies. For funerals, I guess it's more of attending funerals of your contemporaries (think Dolphy).
5. The choice to stay home or go clubbing is not related to age. I was young once and I never enjoyed the social scene. Reading a book in a quiet corner of the house always won. I think that one is a function of her occupation and must not be taken as a generalisation.
6. Really, now...? Try saying that line in Singapore. Besides, irresponsible behaviour equals youth and immaturity. Ever heard of Lindsay Lohan?
7. It IS an effort to look good. It's just that some people were blessed with good genes and make it look effortless. Although, with Facebook now, I think everyone makes a conscious effort to look good (and to not wear the same thing on different photo albums, hahaha).
8. Binge eating after a break-up is not a sign of age. It shows the lack of capacity to deal with the problem, no matter how young or old you are.
9. Well, I have to give her this one.
10. And this, too.
11. Well, I damn well care! And, hello, Samantha Jones does, too. Actually, IMHO, age gives you the licence to carry fabulosity with aplomb.
12. Well, okay, that and fatigue.
13. Nothing left to learn the hard way? Then you are not ageing. You cease to live. Even my mom has important and painful life lessons at her age.
14. If you're being told to act your age, you're just being loud and irritating. Not old. If you're old, nobody has to tell you how to act.
15. I have no issues with candles. And I love birthday cakes. Besides, most people are discreet nowadays and omit candles. 
16. I've been that way forever. At my age, I've never been inside a gym for personal training. I only went inside for shoots.

Conclusion: you, Young Lady, are worrying too much. If anything. your post reveals how "un-old" you are and how little you know about the world. I don't know that much, either, but I certainly know a little more than you do.

Now go act your age and stay in your room! Kidding.

So Much for My List...!

I've been a bad girl this year. I just revisited my list of resolutions at the start of the year, and as far as I could see, I haven't made much headway. Here's my mid-year assessment:

...find more opportunities to communicate with Him. (ermmmm...this could still be improved, admittedly. Reading about Anne Rice' recent interview got me thinking. I'll blog about that separately.)

...be less critical of myself and others. (this one might need more time. I am still as critical of myself and others as I could be. Though perhaps a little less vocal.)

...be more patient and less short-tempered. I know I sometimes hurt my husband and son when I have those occasional - okay, not-so-occasional - outbursts, and I am endlessly sorry for that. (needs improvement, still)

...be wiser with my spending. I know I should take my savings more seriously this time around. (aaaccckkk...don't even mention this one! My wardrobe bears all the evidence of my guilty conscience.)

...drink more water and take less soda. (well, there we go. One resolution being kept!)

...spend less time on the internet (Facebook seriously hogs time!). Less time on the computer means more time for my loved ones.(Considerably lessened, yes.)

...be less whingey when hubby goes on his business trips.(this, too!)

...be more productive, both at home and at work. (hmmm...I guess. But needs improvement.)

...be more organised. (oh dear...)

...blog even more. (10 piddling blogs for the year! *kicks self*)

But I take heart knowing that there's still a couple of months to go before 2010 ends. And that I didn't reach the 100-day mark before I posted another blog entry. Sigh.

Much ado about nothing

Please humour me and let me have a good laugh. I've just been called a chick by a 24-year-old boy!  I must say, I was thoroughly amused (and, okay, maybe a bit flattered. When you're a thirtysomething married woman, you don't get this kind of attention as often as you used to.).

My brother-in-law casually told me the other day that one of his friends popped in his Facebook chat window. He said he was browsing through little bro's FB friends, and he saw this chick. "Is he your sister," he asked. Little bro told him, "Uhhh...yeah...? Why?" "'Coz she's a chick. Can I add her?" To which he replied, "He's my big brother's wife! Choose another chick from my friends' list."

So the friend went through little bro's contacts (I think he has about 500+ on his list). The verdict? "She's the only chick I could find!"

Hahahahaha!!!!!

Seems that there's much to-do about my profile pic. But, seriously, what's wrong with it? Okay, I know there's probably a bit of cleavage showing there, but I've seen worse in other photos. Besides, even my husband noted that the shirt I was wearing wasn't really out-of-the-ordinary. It's just a nice top I could wear to the mall or to visit relatives.

So it strikes me as a bit peculiar that I've been getting a lot of friend requests from guys I don't even know. And a smattering of messages from male acquaintances/former colleagues. Heck, even a good guy friend from university scolded me for the "revealing" photo (he said he was uncomfortable with the picture, and that he could see my, ahem, chest area even from the small chat window. (And this is a guy who is exposed to half-naked (and naked) women on a constant basis.).

And what did my husband have to say about all the male attention? "Yeah, you could change your profile picture, you know. Let's take a sexier photo of you."

Thursday's Thoughts

An animal without stripes
A few days ago, my three-year-old son and I were watching TV. A commercial for a sporting brand flickered in and he curiously asked who the guy on it was. I told him, “Sweetie, that’s Tiger Woods. He’s famous because he’s very, very good in golf.”

He considered that for a while, then gave me a thoughtful look. “Tiger Woods?” he asked. “What a strange name, Mommy!”

Come to think of it, it IS a strange name. It just took a toddler to point out the obvious. Strangely reminiscent of The Emperor’s New Clothes.


Reading progress
Finally, I am in the final chapter of Kafka on the Shore! It took me an inordinately long time to finish that book. For one thing, as the review mentioned, it’s a “metaphysical mindbender”…and they sure weren’t kidding! Murakami has a very fertile imagination. As I’m reading it, my mind was on video-edit mode, complete with the dissolves and Gaussian blurs and other transitional effects. I’m a bit ambivalent, though, on how this thing will turn out if and when someone decides to adapt it on the big screen. It might be a bit too “metaphysical” to be given any justice in a movie version, in my opinion.

Another reason why I took so long reading it is because I’ve been getting dizzy trying to accomplish the feat in a moving bus; these dizzy spells sometimes carry on well into the evening. My husband warned me about my eyesight. Being that I'm thirtysomething that loves reading even in not-so-conducive lighting, I take that seriously. I'm not about to wear specs if I can help it. But with a chatterbox of a three-year-old around, I can hardly find any decent reading time. And when I put him to sleep, I conk out even before he does, so that’s the end of the peaceful wee hours I could’ve enjoyed.

This book deserves a re-reading. I have a feeling I’ll appreciate it even more the second or even third time around. I love this book and I would definitely recommend it to my cerebral friends.


On to other books
I was surprised to enjoy Jodi Picoult’s Salem Falls. If you happen to like some small-town intrigue mixed with courtroom drama, and a hint of Wiccan charm, you may enjoy this book, too. I think I would consider getting a copy of My Sister’s Keeper, if I don’t find a copy of Nineteen Minutes first (which is on my reading list). But I think I would have to forego JP’s books in favor of all the other titles that are just screaming out my name.

As for Eat Pray Love…hmmm…I find it so-so. I liken the feeling to sinking my nose into somebody else’s private journal, and someone I don’t know that well, for that matter. The book is okay, but you won’t be missing out on a lot if you don’t get your hands on a copy.

After Kafka, The Time Traveler’s Wife is now winking at me from my bedside table. My colleague graciously loaned me the book. She cautioned me that this novel had her blinking back tears in the MRT, so unless I want curious stares from complete strangers, I think I’ll dive into this book in the privacy of my bedroom, thank you very much.

Next on my to-buy list: a toss-off between Artemis Fowl and The Lovely Bones.


The trouble with Tuesdays
The past few Tuesdays have been quite a bummer for me. Hubby’s been leaving every second day of the work week since the start of this month for his business trips. And it’s not gonna let up until sometime next month, I surmise.

Sigh. I knew the two months’ worth of non-travel had to have some hidden repercussions. But as my brother pointed out, I should expect it because his work requires him to travel a fair bit.

I just never get used to it, that’s all. At least, I have a lot more reasons to look forward to Fridays because he’s usually home by then.

A Bag's Life

I remember a time (a veeeery long time ago, if I may add) when I could go out the house without a bag. Much to the chagrin of my fashionista mother (who, in true Imeldific style, maintained a plethora of bags, shoes, various accessories, jewellery...the works), I insisted on sticking everything in the pockets of my jeans, and anything that doesn't fit either gets left behind or enjoys instant accommodation in her purse.

Fast-forward a decade hence and here I am, getting those occasional gentle scoldings from my husband, who is convinced I'm close to developing scoliosis because of the bag I constantly carry. I haven't gone around weighing it yet, but I think it weighs close to three kilos.

Here's my load on a regular work day:
Cosmetic bag - which normally contains foundation, concealer, powder, 12-colour eyeshadow palette, blusher, various make-up brushes, eyeliner, lip gloss, lipliner, lipstick and mascara, plus a comb. My eyelash curler doesn't fit in the pouch, but if it did, I'd bring it along in a heartbeat. Hey, a girl has to be pretty, right?

A bottle of perfume - because a girl's got to smell pretty, too, even after a long day.

My purple umbrella - you never know when it's gonna rain (although, weirdly, I rarely use it because I find umbrellas too cumbersome...I carry one just in case I change my mind).

Marlboro Medium - and a lighter, of course.

A pack of tissue - because you don't want to eat at the hawkers without it. On top of that, I also have a handkerchief.

A change of undies - plus feminine pads and pantiliners. Because I never want to be caught unprepared (even if I'm as regular as clockwork).

MP3 player - it's a staple for a Singapore commute.

Plus:
Mobile phone
Wallet and coin purse
Hand sanitiser
Pen and small notebook
Candy
Sunglasses
Any book I'm reading at the moment
My breakfast (usually a sandwich)
Fan (it gets hot, okay)
Name card holder
Rosary - not that I use it, but it's been my constant companion since 2nd year high school. I never leave home without it.
Thumb drive
House keys
Nipper (for those pesky hangnails)

No wonder my bag weighs at least three kilos! Come to think of it, it's a good thing I have an office cabinet where I can leave my phone chargers and organiser, not to mention that I don't lug around my laptop anymore as I refuse to take home my work.

That's a normal working day for my bag. On a family day out, my bag heaves even more with a change of clothes and various odds and ends for my son (water bottle, wet wipes, snacks, etc.), and a few things that don't fit in my husband's pockets.

Well, such is the life of a working mother, I discovered. Which is why I can never get around using those teeny-weeny purses that are gathering dust in my wardrobe. And which is also why my husband has taken to bringing me big bags from his overseas trips (much to my endless delight).

So, what's in your bag?

Monday Randoms

The high point of my week occurred this morning: I just finished enrolling my son in Nursery! He will be starting classes on the first week of January, and will be attending afternoon sessions between 1:00-5:00 pm.

I cannot believe how fast time flies. My baby will be a school boy in the coming months, and that means he will start having a life of his own, away from me. Prior to enrollment, one of the thoughts I had was, will my boy be crying and clinging on to my skirt (or denims) when it's time for him to enter the classroom? That remains to be seen on the 4th of January, but seeing how tickled pink he is at the thought of going to school, it looks like I'll be the one left to deal with my own separation anxiety!

It's a big step for everyone. For my son, it's a whole new world for him, the start of many years of academic learning and social education. For both my husband and I, it will primarily be a crash course on proper budgeting. And then there will be the lifestyle changes; apart from having to think about monthly expenses, we can no longer go on spur-of-the-moment holidays, seeing that our activities now has to follow the Ministry of Education's 2010 calendar.

Adjustments notwithstanding, my son is excited to attend his classes. He has a sense of ownership already ("Have you seen my school? Did you see my teacher today?"), he's looking forward to wearing his 1st uniform, and he's happy that some of his playmates will become his classmates. As for me, sure I have the normal maternal fears (Will there be bullies in class? How can he eat properly when I have to chase him around for each spoonful of food? Will he be able to cope with his Mother Tongue (Mandarin) class?), but overall, it will be for everyone's good (well, I HAVE to send him to school at some point, right?). And ultimately, I think that Mommy and Daddy will learn a lot in the course of the school year.

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Which brings me to another point. I think I'll have to learn Mandarin together with my child. Number 1, I need that to help him with his lessons. The principal explained to me this morning that kids will bring home one book per week to read together with their parents...so if it happens to be in Chinese, then what the hell will I do? Pin Yin, here I come.

Number 2, it's logical. I'm living in a Chinese-speaking country, and for practical reasons, it's a good idea to learn the language. I'm pathetically stuck at "Ni Hao" and "Xie Xie", so I'm welcoming the opportunity to learn alongside my son. If anything, it will be a great bonding experience for us.

And thirdly, assuming my son will be perfectly conversant in the language in the near future, I wouldn't want to be shut out from his activities with Chinese-speaking friends, right? (Oh dear, I sound like a nosey Mom there...).

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That said, I am stuck in the office all by my lonesome self (at least in my department). My colleagues are in Indonesia today to celebrate an ex-colleague's wedding. Both hubby and I were actually invited, and I was really looking forward to going. Unfortunately, we had to wriggle our way out at the last minute because of some personal circumstances and schedule problems. Then, there's another co-worker currently in Scotland for a two-week holiday.

So while they are out cavorting in the streets of Jakarta or busy roaming the Scottish highlands, here I am keeping house. Thank goodness blogging is keeping me occupied.

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Hubby and I will be celebrating our 9th anniversary as a couple this November. It's funny because until now, we remember that anniversary better than our wedding date.

As luck would have it, Hubby will be missing this important anniversary because he has to attend a roadshow in Bangkok. He's asking me to join him on his trip so we can have a Thai celebration, but the practical side of me is kicking in and I am wont to refuse.

It must be a sign of the times. Imagine throwing away a nice holiday in favor of practical reasons! I'm getting old!

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On more inane things, that pink cow on FarmVille is frustrating me. I can't adopt one on time. I want one!

Weighing the Issue

Forgive me for being a girl today.

I never had a problem with weight. Except during my pregnancy, I never went above 48 kilograms (about 105lbs), which I think is ideal for a petite frame of 5’1”. I guess I am one of those women whom others would say is blessed with good genes. Most notably during my adolescent to early adult years, I could eat like a horse and still get away with it. Today, I am a 33-year-old mother of one, and the weighing scale tells me I am around 43.6 kilograms (96lbs). Not bad, I suppose.

Yet vanity is making itself felt today. I feel that my mere mortal body is succumbing to the force known as gravity, and everything is headed south.

I look in the mirror this morning as I am dressing up for work, and I turn a critical eye on myself. I find myself a bit wider in some places, a little loose in some, a tad sagging in a few areas. *cue in the cuss words*

I know, I know. Don’t give me grief for the fact that I weigh less than a hundred pounds, and here I am complaining. But I know now that having low weight doesn’t necessarily mean you’re exempted from all that excess baggage.

Disclaimer: I am not blaming my pregnancy for this. It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me, so far be it for me to point my fingers on it. It’s just that I realised, during that phase, my skin stretched out far more than it was ever used to (I gained 35lbs then). Now that I couldn’t shrink back to my original form, those blasted fat cells took the opportunity to fill in all those nooks and crannies, thus giving me all this flab (and grief). It doesn’t help that I read up a bit and was reminded that fat actually weighs less than muscles, and so I therefore conclude that while I may weigh less now, I still damn well look pudgier than usual.

This should probably be my cue to dust off my old sneakers and start running for fitness again.



Now the problem is, I find too many excuses NOT to exercise.

First of all, it’s too friggin’ boring. I have an issue with routines/repetitiveness, and if there’s one thing I frequently see on exercise manuals, it’s the word repeat. Can’t I just do it once and everything will magically transform thereafter?

Second, I get sick when I overexert myself. Don’t laugh at me…it’s true! I’m such a lazy-ass that any form of physical exertion leaves me feverish for three days! Ask my husband. Back when we were still dating, he casually invited me for a game of lawn tennis. I was a bit rusty since I haven’t played in a long time, but – what the heck – it’s great bonding, right? Wrong. I had a 39-degree fever and body aches for a few days and sent my then-boyfriend into near panic, and that’s when I remembered that childhood malady: during the first few days of PE class, I’d be absent because of fever. I thought I outgrew it, but turns out I didn’t. Think that’s an isolated case? The first time I was here in Singapore and walked too much, I developed a fever. Pity my poor, unused muscles.

And thirdly – and most importantly – I don’t have time. I wake up early to go to work, and I come home with just a few hours to catch up with my family’s day. How can I sacrifice quality time with them for such vain shenanigans, right?

My husband is trying his best to help me. Recently, I’ve been on the receiving end of small tokens from my always-generous husband: an mp3 player and a good pair of cross trainers. Bless this man, he really knows how to handle whiny little me! Instead of telling me bluntly to go out and do something about my “problem” (which will almost certainly be met by an absolute refusal), he is gently coaxing me to take my new playthings out for a spin, i.e., go jogging or something. I actually told him good-naturedly that I recognise the tactic, to which he replied that, had I known how to ride a bike, he would’ve bought me my own so we can cycle every weekend.

Sigh. I really should stop making excuses and run a few laps this weekend.

On the other hand, brisk-walking from one mall to the next is still a form of cardio, right?




many thanks to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos

Rants and raves on the last day of the year

Well, at least the last day of my 32nd year.

There are two ways to approach this milestone. Since I like to save the best for last, maybe we’ll start with the glass-half-empty perspective.

Tomorrow is just another date on the calendar. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, and wonder why I even bother to set the alarm that early if I won’t get up, anyway. I’ll drag myself to work, pretend I’m busy for a while, then give up at precisely 6:25pm so I can be out the door by 6:30pm. I’ll zone off by around 11:00pm. And then it’s the same thing again the next day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded how much it sucks that, out of the 365 days in the year, the hubby’s boss decided that now would be a good time for him to visit Beijing. So I’ll be stuck in a place far away from the home I’ve always known, unable to visit my mom for my usual sumptuous birthday spread, and won't expect the deluge of siblings, nephews and nieces to wish me a happy birthday. A few cold ones with old friends will not even be a remote possibility. And I’ll surely be missing the flood of happy birthday text messages.

But if I look at the glass half-full…

Tomorrow is the first day of a brand new year in my life. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, then snuggle back into my warm pillow and enjoy the luxury of sleeping a bit longer. I’ll be thankful to have a job to go to in these tough times, accomplish what needs to be done, and be grateful to have some spare time to check my email. I’ll start packing up by 6:25pm so that by 6:30, I’ll be rushing home to my son’s delighted squeals, big hugs and warm kisses. I’ll start feeling deliciously languid by 11:00pm. And then I drift off to Lala Land to prepare for another wonderful day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded that, no matter where in the world he goes, I have a good husband 365 days every year. I can’t wait to see the presents he is sure to have picked up for my son and I as he goes around Beijing. I have a new home away from home, enjoying the quiet reverie for a change, where I can have some quality time with my mother, whom I will surely be speaking to over the phone as I drink my morning coffee. No cold ones with my friends, but, recently, I’ve had some quality smokes with representatives from each phase of my recent past: an old high school classmate (haven’t seen him in about 15 years), my college buddy (adopted her in between “Mraz-zing”), and a former colleague (also my son’s godfather – stayed in our spare room for two days…and soon, we will be neighbours!). As for the text messages, I probably wouldn’t miss it that much because Facebook will surely live up to my expectations.

And so, with that, I raise a glass that runneth over and give my Divine Writer a toast, for giving me a wonderful life, and for the gift of wisdom that helps me see things in the proper perspective.

Happy birthday to me :)

A Most Dreadful Gesture

I was checking my Facebook account the other day when I came across a link posted by one of my contacts. It was about a wedding proposal. Out of curiosity (and maybe because, deep inside, there's a cheesy gal in there), I clicked the link and watched it.

There was nothing fancy-schmanzy about it. No romantic, candlelit dinner, no spectacular beaches at sunset. What actually made it special was the video the guy made to propose to his girl. It basically showed a cut-to-cut compilation of his smiling self, medium shots, with some road signs/establishment names behind him...such as the U-turn sign, the last two L's from "Shell", the McDonald's "M", stuff like that. All together, the signs spelled "Will U marry me". Plus points for the guy for his creativity and effort.

What ruined the moment for me was when I saw him kneeling in front of the girl, that classic pose while offering the engagement ring. Okay, I know I have a sappy streak, but for some reason, I find that gesture quite pretentious.

What does kneeling mean?


To kneel is to beg. So now a man has to beg a girl to marry him? How pathetic can you get? If you need to beg to get the girl you want, then there's something really wrong in the picture. Take off the rose-coloured glasses to get a better look at things.

It means devotion, true. But I only kneel in front of my Divine Writer. I am devoted to my mother but I never did that to her. Sure, I kneel in front of my cat, but only to pet her.

Kneeling connotes subservience. Remember the olden times when servants will kneel in front of their kings and queens? Hard core romantics may argue that it means they are willing to "serve their queens"...but how come they expect women to pick up their dirty socks and cook them dinner - can someone clarify who is supposed to serve whom again?

Humility? Maybe. But men are expected to "wear the pants" and be the "head of the family" in our patriarchal society. It has been ingrained in their earliest memories that they are the masters of the house. I don't think they'll give up the claim. So why waste the moment kneeling on the day you propose? They shouldn't promise a lifetime of humility when their basic, socially-conditioned, testosterone-driven nature goes against it.

I'm a deeply romantic woman. My husband knows how romantically creative I can be, and I have made him weep tears of joy on several occasions. But kneeling in front of a woman to propose marriage is not for me. At the risk of sounding like I'm sour-graping, I'm glad my husband did not propose to me as such.

In my humble, personal opinion, a marriage is a union of equals. Therefore, there should be no expectation of subservience. It should be give-and-take.

My husband and I once talked about this, and we agreed that we should never refer to the other as "my better half". We choose to call the other "my other half". We're "partners" in every sense of the word. Because we complete each other. Because one is not "better" than the other; instead, we make each other better. We complement each other's weaknesses as well as our strengths. And our life's decisions are never based on who gets to have the final say; rather, we arrive at a mutual agreement that we are both comfortable with, that we feel would be best for our family, and would not leave any resentment in the other's heart just because one of us needs to give way to a designated decision-maker.

So please stop kneeling. Unless you want to give a blowjob.

Happy Valentine's Day!



Thank you to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos

The Facebook Phenomenon

A few years ago, Friendster was the coolest thing to ever hit cyberspace. It would have to be the biggest breakthrough in social networking (at least, in my unprofessional opinion).

Currently, though, it's competing neck-to-neck with many other service providers, such as Multiply, MySpace and Hi5, to name a few. Friendster may not be enjoying monopoly anymore, but I guess they could say that they have the singular honor of starting the snowball of social networks.

Enter Facebook.

My account is actually a few years old. I got a lot of invitations from FB buddies, along with the flood of others such as WAYN, Tagged, Hi5, LinkedIn, Multiply, etc. Truthfully, I opened some accounts just to get rid of the very persistent invites that some have been sending (read: to shut them up, hehehe). So my Facebook account was actually born out of that.

Up until recently, the only social networking tool that I've been faithfully updating was my Multiply account. My Friendster is, well, just there. I log in once in a while when there are message alerts, and sometimes to see my friends' new photos, but other than that, it's pretty dormant. I'm no longer interested to accumulate more friends there.

Ah, but Facebook is so different.

In the few weeks since I've resuscitated my account, I've made contact with former colleagues, old friends, long-lost buddies, classmates from primary school, even family members I had no idea existed (and who probably didn't know about me, either!). It also allowed me an opportunity to gain closure on an issue that I had long since buried and tried to forget about.

Now that I've got so much spare time in my hands, I'm quite surprised about the little discoveries I've been making. And I get dumbstruck when I think of how relevant those discoveries are to my life. Even a seemingly inane invite on Facebook now has a reason.

That's probably God super-poking me :)

On Patience

"Patience is a virtue."

"Good things come to those who wait."

"For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

These all pertain to that wonderful virtue that I wish I had more of. And in my Divine Writer's eternal wisdom, He thought that now would be a good time for me to grow some.

It's not easy for someone like me. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled brat (which my mother and husband both "lovingly" insist that I am), I'm used to getting my way. Immediately. Whether by coercion or sweet manipulation. I guess that is one of the downsides of being the youngest in the brood. Everybody pampers you and so you expect the whole world to lie at your feet. And you develop a sort of Machiavellian attitude towards life.

I'd like to think that, while my life isn't exactly charmed, I have been very privileged. But now that things aren't going according to my expectations, I vascillate between frustration and anger one day, and depression and self-pity the next. It's not a pretty picture.

But when you find nothing but blank walls, you recognize signs that you would normally miss during your humdrum march in life. And in the overwhelming silence, you learn to listen to your heart.

Whereas before I could only see a closed door, I now see the windows opening.

I marvel at my Divine Writer's sense of humor. I could never be half as witty as He is. He certainly deserves an Emmy.

Forging On

I noticed that I have become increasingly fatalistic as days pass.

People close to me know that I am not exactly religious. Quite an irony, especially since I was educated for most of my life in a Catholic school, and that my father's side of the family tree had their share of nuns and priests. Be that as it may, it doesn't mean that I am a non-believer. I think that I am in touch with my spiritual side, and I do treasure my personal relationship with my Divine Writer.

A lot of changes are happening on the family front. Things happened at a dizzying speed. We were totally unprepared, but strangely, the events seem to fall into place with precision. I am a firm believer that things are preordained, and this is no exception.

From my end, I face a lot of uncertainties. I have a lot of fears. I try my best to follow what I feel is the path my Divine Writer scripted out for me, but I am human enough to admit that I do feel lost sometimes. I do not understand some of the things that are happening now. I know, however, that I just have to keep my faith and trust that all things will be for the best.

After all, we were all promised that His plans were made to prosper us and never to harm us.

And so life goes on...

Breakthrough Moment

I just had a breakthrough while I was walking to my husband's office a while back.

I realized why I'm having problems with my current job. It's because I have to adapt to an existing system. In my previous jobs, I always had the leisure of doing things my way. I always started from scratch. But now, I have to pick up where others left off.

I guess this is where I will have to learn -- and unlearn -- some things.

It's also timely that I found a document a few days ago, near the photocopier in the office. Maybe my guardian angel placed it in my line of sight, just to offer me comfort and support:

"10 Tips on How to Succeed from Failure:

* Failure doesn't mean you are a failure...It does mean you haven't succeeded yet.
* Failure doesn't mean you have accomplished nothing...It does mean you have learned something.
* Failure doesn't mean you have been a fool...It does mean that you had a lot of faith.
* Failure doesn't mean you've been disgraced...It does mean you were willing to try.
* Failure doesn't mean you don't have it...It does mean you have to do something in a different way.
* Failure doesn't mean you are inferior...It does mean you are not perfect.
* Failure doesn't mean you've wasted your life...It does mean you have a reason to start afresh.
* Failure doesn't mean you should give up...It does mean you must try harder.
* Failure doesn't mean you'll never make it...It does mean it will take a little longer.
* Failure doesn't mean God has abandoned you...It does mean God has a better idea!

God looks at you and sees a beautiful person waiting to be born! If you could see in a vision the man God meant you
to be, never again could you be quiet...
You are God's idea and God only dreams up beautiful ideas. He is expecting great things from you. Cooperate! Believe
in yourself, now, and draw the possibilities out of your being."

Sound inspiring, doesn't it? I'm trying to keep a positive attitude. I still have my moments when I feel lost half the time, when I feel like I'm committing a lot of booboos, and when I feel that the people around me swear I'm just plain stupid. But I guess I just have to keep rereading what I've written above, and prove that I can hurdle this.

It also helps, that, going back to my mobile phone's inbox, there are so many messages of support from people I hold dear in my heart...such as my good friends, my husband, and my mother. They absolutely believe in me. Sometimes, when I read their messages, I wonder why I have lost faith in myself, when all they can see is how fully-equipped I am to face up to the challenges.

Of course, when all else fails, I could always looks for a new job. But can I ever rest, knowing that I backed down?

It just takes a little more work than I anticipated, but -- for the moment -- it looks like I can lick this helluva job.