Past Life

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.

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.

In the airplane on the way to Detroit, this 70-year old woman who was sitting beside me warned me that people don’t walk in New York, they run. Yesterday night, I found out how true it is. Everyone seems to be rushing to go somewhere, and even at way past 12 midnight, Manhattan is still very much alive.

Taken at past 12 midnight at Times Square

I had to make the most out of my first day in New York (and first day in the US), jetlagged and all. (My body clock is sooo screwed, but who cares!) A friend of mine was generous enough to take me around, and I was in constant amazement the whole time, as if I was living a day inside a Hollywood movie. For starters, I got to walk the streets of Queens, experience the subway, walk around Times Square and take photos, look up the high and mighty buildings of Manhattan, watch a real Broadway show (and Phantom of the Opera no less!!), and have my first Hollywood sighting (Daniel Radcliffe in the flesh). And let me just add that I love having to wear scarves for what they’re really purposed for — not to make a fashion statement but to keep myself warm. :)

New York is loooove. Everything is new to me and I’m taking it all in. At first I had fears of feeling alienated in a place like this, being an Asian in a sea of Americans. But I immediately forgot about it the moment I experienced firsthand the diverse culture that is New York. I felt like Manhattan embraced me with arms wide open. While it didn’t really feel like *home* (no, not yet, not at all), it surprisingly gave me a sense of belongingness — an assurance that I won’t have to worry about being different because everyone sure is different, like I’m swimming in a sea of cultures blending with each other beautifully.

Today, I’ll have more walkathons around Manhattan — I’ll make sure I wear the proper attire nao, the hoodie was a stuuupid mistake (it’s too cold here.) There’s a lot of places I have to see, I’m not sure where to start.

Be nice to me, New York. I promise I’ll be nice to you too. Let’s be friends. :)

P.S. Hey Mom, don’t worry about me. I’m having the time of my life. :)

Daniel Radcliffe, in the flesh. :)

And I didn’t just see him from a far, he was literally right in front of me, too close for me to grab him and propose marriage but of course I didn’t do that because the willpower to keep myself together in this city where everyone seems to be elegant and composed got the best of me.

You see, my friend took me to watch Phantom of the Opera on my first night here, and Equus happened to be showing in the theater just right beside. And just as we were leaving the the Majestic Theater where the Phantom was being shown, the cast of Equus was on their way out the backstage of Broadhurst and voila, we were just in time to take photos.

Harry Potter and I were destined to be in the same place at the same time, and on my first night in New York no less — take that. I’m loving every bit of this city. Hee. :)

See more photos of my first day adventure here. :)

This is why I don’t mind not having a TV in the condo (my roommate‘s taking it home with her). With Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill, Heroes, Prison Break, and now, Grey’s Anatomy downloads to keep me occupied, who needs the tube? (Spoilers ahead.)

So the Grey’s Anatomy gang is back, and let me just say the first two minutes made me grip my pillow a bit too tighter — not like they can really take Derek Shepherd’s character off the story.

McDreamy is still as dreamy as ever, Mark Sloan is still annoyingly but irresistibly cute, Meredith Grey is still made of emo (sometimes too emo haha), Miranda Bailey’s still my most favorite character, and Cristina Yang.. she has got to be my new idol. Her bitterness and cynicism FTW! (Take it from Yang, happily ever afters are not real, yeh.)

And then there’s George O’malley who’s more gay than ever (it’s too obvious to hide), making Lexie’s fascination of him a bit awkward. The team up of Callie Torres and Erica Han is still a bit icky but is taking an exciting turn, Alex Karev is still way too unpredictable, and Izzie Stevens is still the mushiest thing. I can’t think of a character that I didn’t like. Even the army surgeon (Cristina’s new love interest) is hawt!

I’ve always thought that GA script is made of win, that it’s the perfect blend of emo, cynicism, and medical psychobabble that I never thought I would consider to be interesting (I never really liked House or Scrubs or ER even when I tried).

GA’s bound to an exciting season, yay. And let me just say getting a glimpse of Denny towards the end of the episode made my heart skip a beat. Now there’s an idea. What if they let Izzie keep this imaginary love affair with his dead ex boyfriend in their own alternate universe, then we could all anticipate Denny’s surprise appearances throughout the season, yay. Too bad GA’s not like Heroes or Prison Break where they can twist the story around just to bring a dead character back. Hmm. No wait.

I’m officially hooked again.

Quotable quotes from Grey’s Anatomy after the jump.

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Everyone just had to blog about it, right? :)

But no, I wasn’t there that night. I was, half-hearted, on the way to Embassy with some colleagues when I got texts from my Mom and brothers (Kuya Nate was with the ABSCBN crew who covered the event) about the abrupt ending of the most-awaited rock concert of all time. Ely Buendia, having gone through loads of emotional and physical stress brought about by concert rehearsals and the death of his mom, had a heart attack towards the end of the first set.. but of course everyone knows already what happened.

My family has developed this familial concern for Ely Buendia, not only because my brother, Nikos, would spend all his high school allowance buying cassette tapes and making mixtapes of Eraserheads songs, and we would all have to listen to them blasting on our stereos all-day ’round. And not only because I eventually started sharing my brother’s addiction, spending all my lunch money buying songhits with Eraserheads centerfolds, lyrics and chords, much to our parents’ questioning however we convince them that Eheads was the new Beatles.

It was only when Ely had his first attack about two years ago that the rest of the family (read: my Mom) started being interested about the whereabouts and whatabouts of Eraserheads (and/or the lack thereof).

Which explains why I knew about Ely’s heart attack right when it was being announced. There I was, on the way to Embassy, in a conference call with my brothers and Mom. Yeh. :P

Last Saturday, Ely Buendia was released from the hospital, recovering from his third angioplasty, a heart procedure that is so familiar to me (and my family) because my Dad underwent the same procedure just before Ely’s first attack in 2007. Incidentally, Dr. Wilfredo Dee, my Dad’s Cardiologist, was the same person who performed Ely Buendia’s angioplasties. And I can just assume that it was Dr. Dee who performed Ely’s third angioplasty also, after all, there are very few cardiologists in the Philippines who perform angioplasty, and Dr. Dee is one of them.

Angioplasty is the new bypass. Unlike bypass, however, angioplasty is not an intrusive procedure because it doesn’t require to cut through the chest and open up the heart. In my Dad’s case, he was cut somewhere in his thigh, just big enough to insert the stent (“tightly folded balloons“) to flow through the vessels, and right through the clot that’s blocking the passageway of the blood to his heart. (Sorry for the very UN-technical explanation, I’m describing this based on how I understood what was done to my Dad. Heh.)

And, unlike bypass which cuts through blood vessels to install new ones for the blood to flow through, angioplasty restores the blood vessels to its original state, perhaps a bit weakened, but easier to recover from. You’d wonder how in the world can Ely Buendia still live to tell the story and promise a second Eraserhead Reunion Concert after three (!!!) heart procedures, well — it’s angioplasty alright. If Ely had three bypasses instead, I reckon his heart would be weaker, and he’d be on bed-rest the rest of his prime.

There’s a lot of buzz about another Eraserheads Reunion in the works. I make sure I get myself a ticket this time. Not only because Eraserheads has been the soundtrack of my young, carefree life too, just like everyone else; But I’d like to be rooting for Ely Buendia, most especially, for putting his whole heart out there — literally and figuratively — in the name of music and life. Hands down.

*Thanks to Jorem for the photo. Browse through his album to see more. :)

Plurk is was down, it’s raining, I’m home, and it’s Friday night. There you go. Four reasons why I’m here blogging *again*, breaking my record of sporadic posts, and on a Friday night no less. (Three blog posts in one week! Would you look at that!)

Confession: There are three things that give me manic depressive attacks on Friday nights: (1) Being stuck in the office; (2) Being stuck at home; (3) Being alone. Ergo, I usually make it a point to be out with friends on Friday nights, OR, if I must be by myself, I should be in some crowded place where I could burn moneysss (lol), i.e., shopping rediculously expensive stuff I don’t need, or splurging on overpriced dinner.

Like last Friday, when I spent two full hours at Shangrila after work, and had a grand live-now-pay-later time with my credit card. Or the Friday before that, when I walked about three blocks from the condo to Pearl drive just to get Starbucks coffee, and walked back taking all the wrong turns, exploring the village I live in, and experimenting where the unfamiliar streets would take me.

It’s weird how I often forget about the other days of the week and remember how I spend Friday nights. I’m starting to get worried about myself. Heh.

Tonight, for the record, I spent it blogging. And listening to Disney music, hoping that it would cure my Friday night sickness. And thinking of the many other things I want to blurt out on this space but can’t because I’m done being emo because I’m 25 years old and I have to blog my age, LOL.

Uhm-kay. 30 minutes left before Friday night ends. I think I should walk.

Here’s a superdelayed thank you post, for Karlo Pineda, who, not only encapsulated my Dad’s memories into a beautiful poem, but took also the opportunity to have it published for all to see. :)

Sometime March of this year, Karlo’s very first draft was posted on my multiply account, a mere comment on that photo from that multiply album I put up during Daddy’s first death anniversary. Without really knowing my Dad, and just by looking at the photos I uploaded in multiply, Karlo wrote a poem I wish I had the gift to write myself. It was beautiful. And needless to say, it made me cry buckets of tears.

Last week, Karlo (with Camz in tow) made me cry again with this lovely surprise.

The July 2008 issue of Philippine Graphic

..with my Dad’s memory, printed on page 44 :)

It’s one thing to have read the poem from the comments section of my multiply account, another thing to have seen it splashed across the poetry section of a magazine — preserved in print forever.

What can I say? I’m honored to have received something intricately crafted by a brilliant poet. But even more so, honored to have a father who lived a life worthy to inspire someone to write something so beautiful. I will forever treasure this masterpiece. Thank you, Karlo.

P.S. You and Camz are still, and will always be, my most favorite couple. I’m counting on you guys. I need my regular dose of inspiration. Stay in love. ;)

After the jump: Karlo’s poem, From the Sky to the Kite, in memory of my Dad.

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(Truth Thursday on a Friday: Here’s what I really want to say.. *ehem*)

Love has been defined countless of ways, and to add my own version is a fear I guess I’ll never overcome. I mean, take it from a girl who thinks that “love sucks” is probably the most profound thing she’s ever blogged about love. Get the picture?

So I’m simply quoting a classic, because I actually think it’s true: Love hurts. No matter how you look at it, it hurts, and if it doesn’t for you yet, it soon will.

I mean, look:

Must remain superhero.

Must choose social reputation.

Must choose loyalty.

Must remain friend.

Fine, the last part is just ME. There’s no romance between Harry and Hermione, I know right, but oh how I wish there is! :)

And fine, it’s no fair that I used fictional characters to prove my point. Then again, this needs no exhibits. Love does hurt. Love without pain, or sacrifice, is not love at all. Ultimately, when it starts to hurt, that’s when love is most real. Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not an expert at this. But with love, IMHO, ending up together is (probably) not the most important thing.

So hey, it’s me, love blogging over coffee break, and loving the bittersweet taste of my coffee that has gone cold.

(In fairness, blogging about love is more enjoyable to me than bloggging about food. Then again, it must be the rain.)

Also, you think I should start working on my bitterness?

I may be a lousy blogger, but please don’t hesitate to tag me. Who knows I might respond in a year. Blpht. :P (Here you go, Mae. I dazzle you once again with my tardiness.)

What is love. *bitter pill overdose*

Love sucks. Love hurts. It’s confusing. It’s oftentimes deceiving. It makes you clingy, always wanting, always needing. It makes you forget about yourself, robbing you off your individuality, and blinding you with warmfuzzyblahs and hope and wishfulthinkings.

But what sucks even more is.. however frustrating this thing called love is, and inspite of everything that makes it suck, you know that at the end of the day, you’d still choose to love and be loved. Losers.

Fine, Joshua has a more optimistic way of putting it. I wish I thought of saying that first. ;)

Meanwhile, Riz’s attempt at love, age 25 = RIP. I’m lighting a candle. Join me watch it burn? :P

SPONSORED POST. Filipina Web Designer / CSS Goddess. (Haha, Mae.) Also, PHOTO by Poppy Smiles.

Remember when I said that the apartment I moved in to less than two months ago was, like, the worst thing that ever happened to my history of apartment-hopping? Well, I just left that apartment and found myself a new (more expensive BUT much much better) place.

5 different apartments in 2 years, take that!

Actually, I was still (kindof) enjoying going home to Caloocan and sharing my Mom’s bed with her (I had to do this for a week). I didn’t realize, though, how unbelievably messy I could be until one late morning in Caloocan, when I woke up in the middle of this *points to picture*, and found my Mom sleeping near the edge of her bed. I knew right then that I had no time to lose — I needed to spare my Mom from this mess.

Moving to the new place was no different, at least for the first night. I slept in the middle of a room full of moving boxes, but in spite of the mess, the place felt like home. :)

Even more now that everything’s right where it should be.

So yay, I found my home-away-from-home, and this time, I’m confident it will be for good. (What with that one year contract, and the expensive rent, I’ll sure make the most out of this, heh!) :)

Man I’m getting old.