Welcome to Sydney, Riz

November 24th, 2008 § 5

I’m gona crash anytime soon *yaaawn*, even though I slept about 6 hours out of the 8 hour trip from MNL to SYD. I originally planned to work on some reports in the plane. Fifteen minutes through it, however, I started to feel dizzy so I decided to take the much needed hibernation instead. (I luuuv it!)

Anywayyy, I’m finally here in Sydney! Woot!

And what better Welcome Committee there is than Jonah, my nephew-slash-godson, who was running and jumping around the Arrival Terminal of the Kingsford Smith Airport when I checked out. (Not that he was excited to see me, haha. I’m sure he barely recognized his Ninang Riz, and was more excited about the huge playground he could run around in).

A lot has happened in the past 24 hours. Every now and then (say, while watching the sunset from the window seat of the plane, or pushing my trolley to the next check-in counter, or taking photos of the “Welcome to Sydney” banners hanging all over the terminal), I’d look back to 4 years ago when I first asked God to send me to this place. I remember all those blogs I posted here and there, documenting each prayer that was answered — even the ones that were not — which ultimately brought me here. Truth be told, Sydney was the first foreign place I ever took interest in. I fell in love with the idea of Sydney long before I wanted to see Singapore or New York or London.

What do you know, I’m here now. Not in the way I expected or hoped or imagined. But it’s actually even better, come to think of it. Ergo, the ultimate reflection of the day has got to be this: Prayers get answered when you trust that God has a better plan for you than you have for yourself. Pretty basic you say, but it sure does work all the time. ;)

I’m ready to explore you, Sydney. Thanks for the warm welcome. :) Xoxo, Riz

And now that the obligatory I’m-here-in-Sydney post is done, I crash. Zzz.

NYC, Finding Passion, and an Epiphany

November 13th, 2008 § 13

Did you know that the Greeks didn’t write obituaries or eulogies?  They only asked one question after a man died: “Did he have passion?”

Hep. Before you start googling those lines to see if I plagiarized a Hollywood film because you’re thinking, hey, that sounds familiar, let me help you by saying that yes, those aren’t my own words. They’re actually from the movie Serendipity.

And let me help you remember that movie by posting this:


Serendipity Cafe at East 60th Street

Sorry, I just had to post that one. I was there!! :P

You see, that’s one of the things I waste precious hours over lately. I’d watch old movies taken in New York sighing over the designer clothes, and if I see a place I happened to have been to when I was there, I’d open up my folder of photos again and look for that place and sigh and wish I could somehow go back.

Anyway, the point is, the New York fever is still not cured. And I’m currently stuck in that phase where replaying NY movies is more important to me than taking my regular dose of stress tabs. Or adjusting my sleeping habits so I can go to work early the next day.

The other day I dreamt I was lost in the subway, not knowing which train to take. And then the most annoying blonde approached me with her perfect teeth and perfectly combed hair and perfect New York accent, and she was the one who actually helped me find my way. Why, Lord, why those dreams? :(

And. I’m. Losing. My. Train. Of. Thought. Again.

What I’m really trying to share is, and I do have a point.. in the course of trying to nurse this seemingly incurable disease that New York left me with, I actually had an epiphany. And what do you know, a line in a movie actually made me realize what could be missing in this life of mine.

Passion.

I need to find passion. To be so obsessed about something again enough to make me wake up early in the morning and face the day with excitement. New Yorkers strike me that way — they’re a people full of passion and drive to move and live; after all, they probably won’t be able to survive a place like that not armed with loads of those.

And that’s probably what I need, too. I need a purpose greater than finding the perfect pair of boots. (Which I haven’t found yet, by the way, unless I finally decide to succumb to that Aldo pair which has been the closest thing to perfect, so far. Italktoomuchblahblah.) Or, perhaps, I need to re-evaluate myself and find that one thing that I used to be passionate about, and be re-acquainted with it.

And who knows, someday, that one question that the Greeks used to ask will be answered with a resounding YES in this life of mine.

I’m getting there, I know it. When I find it, I’ll let you know.

He's Broke! Haha!

November 5th, 2008 § 3

I soooo love Jamie! :)

Jamie: *counting the coins in his piggy bank* I’m broke.

Nathan: You’re 5 years old, you’re supposed to be broke.

I know, I know, this scene lasted about 5 seconds in the recent One Tree Hill show, season 6 episode 9 — Sympathy for the Devil, but Jamie lines are just so.. bloggable! :)

Also, I just have to say.. I hate Peyton. That’s all, thank you.

Okaaay, back to our regular QLC programming. :P

Missing New York

November 3rd, 2008 § 8

I wish I blogged more when I was there. Sure, I flooded my Multiply contacts’ inboxes with truckloads of photos, and I betcha, I can still retell the places I’ve been to and the events that transpired in my entire trip (in chronological order, take that). But still, I wish I journal-ed more. I can recall how it felt to be there, but I often wish that years from now, I could still have a way of remembering things a bit more vividly because I know that soon enough, everything would start to be blurry.

Taken from Central Park

So everyday since I got back in Manila three weeks ago, I would click on the Write tab in my wordpress dashboard and stare at the blank space where my most favorite New York moments should have been, transcribed in words. I would browse through the unorganized clutter of photos (thousands of them) in my macbook, and flip through them for hours, and if that ain’t enough, I’d Google random New York images OR cyber-walk around Manhattan on Street View.

I’m not sure if it’s really New York that I miss or the feeling of being in a fabulus and foreign place. Then again, I could always compare New York to California (because California is also a fabulous and foreign place) and still say with all my heart that it is definitely NEW YORK (specifically, Manhattan) that I miss.

I mean, I watched High School Musical three-freakin-times, and my favorite has always been Ryan and Sharpay’s production number, I Want It All. (And if you’ve seen the film, you should know what I’m talking about.) Gossip Girl has become an important part of my week — it is imperative that I get my weekly dose. Little mentions of places in New York make my heart skip a beat, as if it has grown an additional artery that’s extra NY-sensitive.

I miss New York every single day. I miss watching the weather forecast early in the morning, to know whether or not to put my Suede coat on. I miss the subways and the sound of the train’s love affair with the rails as if music to the ears. (My ipod has always accompanied me everywhere I walk, but I had to take it away walking around Manhattan because I wanted to hear everything.)

I dare not say I fell in love with New York, because the last person I know who said those words left his wonderful life in Manila in exchange for uncertainty — to start a whole new life in a place where change is more constant than anywhere else in the world, and to live there for good.

Well, I’m not that obssessed yet. :)

I guess to me, New York will never be/feel like home, exactly why I long to be back there — to be away from home as I know it, and to experience more of the unknown as much as I can, while I still can.

Where am I?

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