Digressions

I suppose getting burgled is not very interesting in the whole scheme of things. If anything, I am just another part of the statistic, some obscure news that, while unfortunate, isn't particulary surprising. People get robbed everyday on the streets and inside their homes.

But, man. Being part of the statistic doesn't make it easier. One would think the whole misery-loves-company thing would be in play somewhere, but no. I would never wish this on anyone for sheer number. Nor would I dismiss any burglary as offhandedly as I have done before.

It was a violation, not only of physical property, but of my whole concept of believing in the goodness of others. And, needless to say, it has infected the way I feel about people because it's harder to trust. There was at least one person who observed our routine, went to our door, forced it open, took our valuables. He rummaged through our closet, touched our things, even zipped open our Bible cases, and looked for anything with worth. He was there - where we slept, where we ate, where we LIVED.

For now, paranoia reigns supreme. But I do hope it wears off because it's too effing exhausting to be distrustful.

Once in a while, I catch myself wincing lately, but not out of pain. At least, not physically. More often, it's because I have let my thoughts wander back through the losses and some random memory of my mother wearing her diamond ring, some random file I can never access anymore from my stolen hard drives goes through my head.

The heaviest loss would understandably be my parents' valuables. So I'm going to steer clear of that for now because I don't want to have a breakdown.

Losing my laptop and external hard disk drive took some time to sink in. Both were very important to me but they were initially eclipsed by the enormity of losing the mementos of my parents. Days later after the robbery, it began to dawn on me that there were hundreds of drafts of writing that I will not be able to recover. Years worth of stories, journal entries - materials that I have been working on. I actually have been finishing a one-act play and was excited to send it to friends for review. I wish I already have sent it or uploaded it somewhere. Some lessons are so painful to learn. A thing about inspiration - it doesn't hang around waiting for you to create it (and back it up).

And all my pictures. Sigh. All the files from my old point-and-shoot until my DSLR. I don't often buy souvenirs when I travel because I always think that I take enough pictures to remember the places.  And while I won't ever see my image library again, the only consolation I have is that I upload a few selection to Facebook or Multiply to share.

After it happened, I space out more often trying to find the reason why it had happened.  Weeks before, I have contemplated on giving away my laptop to someone who needed it more. I was being nagged by the idea that if it didn't hurt when I give, then I was not giving at all. And it would be a hard sacrifice to give up my laptop because I was so attached and reliant to it. Now, I unbelievably regret that I did not heed that urge. And I resolve never to ignore it when it comes to me again.

While it is not likely that the robber held any Robinhood-like beliefs and it's not far-fetched that all the spoils went to drugs or booze, I hope that whatever amount he gained from the burglary, even a small part of it, was used to help someone in one way or another.

I'd like to take the rest of this space to thank all my family and friends who expressed their concern when they found out about what happened. Those text messages, emails, calls at 2 am, and offers of help in various forms are ALL very much appreciated beyond articulation. It is very assuring that your care is burglary-proof. Maraming salamat!

1) Traveling light is an achievement.
     I contemplated to buy new luggage, but ended up borrowing from a friend when I could not decide which kind I need to buy. Anyway, I was able to fit in that smallish case a week's worth of clothes, two shoes, my camera, toiletries, couple of jackets, electronics stuff. I was proud of the efficient use of limited space. The compression packs I have came in handy (from my old outdoor days). I hand-carried my laptop and another smaller bag for passport, wallet, phone.

2) Airport routine is cumbersome.
     It slightly irks me that immigration officers do not use the pages of the passport in sequence. They flip into a random blank page and stamps on it. My anal-retentive tendency is just not at peace with that.
     When we landed in Sydney, the machine wouldn't scan my passport. The officer had to ask me to follow him into a different scanner. What a waste of time the whole thing would have been if that wasn't resolved.
     It is absolutely a hassle to get through security with laptops. They ask you to take it out of bags and of sleeves. Those velcro straps, those zippers, the pressure that you're in a quick-moving line--aargh.
     On my way home, one of my bags had to go through the x-ray machine three times. I had keychain souvenirs in it and onscreen, the keyrings probably looked like grenade pins. I took a peek at the monitor and yes, it really did.

3) The language difference is more of an amusement than a barrier.
     The Aussie accent takes a while to get used to.
     Once, when I was buying a train ticket for Wynyard station, the guy in the counter asked, "One 'y'?"
     I paused and considered whether there was another Wynyard station in the city which was spelled differently.
     And then he continued with, "... or return?"
    "Oh, just one way please. Thanks."
     There was also a TV channel that I thought was named "Guy". I hear the ads saying, "... showing only at 'Guy'!". Apparently, it was "Go" channel.
     Of course, there's also the whole British naming - the elevator is a lift, garbage is rubbish, and the one which blows my mind - the chemist is the pharmacy. I wondered why there were these stalls for chemists. Who would need the services of a chemist so often? Go figure. I mean, "guy" figure.
     During training, the Australian manager could not find the record his American counterpart created. It turns out that he was looking for the keyword "authorised." An excerpt of their exchange:
     "Who in the world spells 'authorised' with a bloody z?"
     "Everyone else in the world who correctly spells."
     "And that is 'spellz' with a z, right?"

4) As a tourist, you have to unabashedly do the touristy things.
     I went to see the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, Darling Harbour. Took lots of pictures from the 360-degree view of the city from Sydney Tower. Sent myself a postcard from the highest working mailbox in the western hemisphere. Saw the kangaroos, koalas, and other wildlife at the Sydney Wildlife World. Went to see the sharks, dugongs, and other aquatic animals in the Sydney Aquarium. Saw the vibrant Chinatown. Went souvenir shopping at the Market City. Had hot chocolate at the Lindt Chocolat Cafe. I have to admit, the birds at the Circular Quay freaked me out. They were humongous. I looked so pathetic ducking whenever one flew over me. Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" came to mind.

5) "You've never been to the place if you haven't tasted the food."
     They serve us snacks and lunches during training. They usually have salads and sandwiches or wraps. Very fresh. The snacks comprised of scones (makes you want to fake an accent when you say "scones") with jam and cream cheese, croissants, and those delicious cake bars made of a coconutty base, custard layer, and chocolate topping. Soooo good. I wonder if I can find that here. For our team dinner, we went to a Japanese place called Rengaya - absolutely the best Jap food I've ever had. The salmon melted in the mouth and the grilled beef was so tender.
     Some other cool find was this fastfood place "Oporto" where they have chicken fillet burger with spicy sauce. I have a very high tolerance for heat, but that was a pretty good hot sauce. Before I left, my relatives took me to a buffet where there were very good grilled fish and vegetables. And though I was full, I was under obligation to try the roasted Australian beef, and I'm glad I did.
     Just a short postscript on food: Red Rock Deli Chips. Enough said.

6) Our South Pacific office is wickedly cool.
     The video conference room opens to the "kitchen", which is a spacious room with an island counter, some tables, sink, a whole wall of refrigerators full of the company's products. The other side opens to a rooftop garden with more tables, and a barbecue grill. We were told that when the weather is nice, some people actually go outside to work there. What a great perk to have. In Makati, that option would be unappealing because of the pollution.

7) Singapore is a good stop for a connecting flight.
     Singapore felt like a Sim City. So polished it almost looks like a model unit of cities, made with Legos or something. The Skytrain that connects all three terminals was cool, too. Changi airport is practically a mall, lined with shops.
     Going back to Manila, I had a twelve-hour layover in Sg. My friends Tago and Abs were so thoughtful to wait for me for three hours at the airport and then let me crash at their flat. There, I had the chance to watch two episodes of the BBC documentary "Life". Anybody else thinks that just listening Richard Attenborough raises their IQ's a bit? He could read off the classified ads and there'd still be oooh's and aaah's, I bet.

8) They mean business in business class.
     The company has a business class policy which I appreciated because this was my first trip out of the country and it afforded me a number of conveniences. The attendants were very nice and they keep offering you drinks and hot towels, and food - which was very good, I might add. Full course meals. The space was comfortable, too. Seats that transform to full beds - yeah, Singapore Airlines rocks. Unable to sleep, I got to watch a few movies from the video on-demand. I finally saw The Last Airbender (It wasn't as bad as some of the reviews made me think it would be), Letters to Juliet (a pleasant surprise), The Back-up Plan (I didn't even bother to finish it). On my way home, some executive-looking West Asian-looking old guy was on my left during the Singapore-Manila flight. He was in a suit and drank wine and watched CNN and read Financial Times. I was in my jeans and Chucks, drank my water, and watched Aladdin (An old favorite, been a long time since I last saw it).
 
9) All my memories are carry-ons.
     In summary, I couldn't have asked for a better trip. But the best hour of the whole experience was on a Thursday night. The training was done, but I had a few free hours by myself until a scheduled teleconference. I left the hotel and just walked block after block. It was cold and a little windy. I had my iPod on and was listening to Live.
     It was surreal. The anonymity of being in a faraway city was both scary and exhilirating. I'm just a nobody who doesn't know anyone. I wondered about my mother, as I often do. I walk down Buendia Avenue in Makati, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Buendia Avenue in Makati. And there I was, walking down Walker Street in North Sydney, I think of her and how she would think of me walking down Walker Street in North Sydney. What would she have thought? She would have been glad, I think, but I'm sure my worn out sneakers would have been disapproved.

I first read Sherlock Holmes stories when I was fifteen. My older sister was a college freshman and had brought books with her when she came home for a break. One of them was the The Strand Magazine reprint edition of Sherlock Holmes. And from then on, I was hooked. I have the books, both in the dead-tree and electronic format. I often reread them when I seek the comfort and familiarity of favorite stories.

Everyone is familiar with the characters of Holmes and Watson, even without having read the books. Sherlock is, after all, one of the most portrayed fictional characters of all time. It is a classic precisely because it never gets outdated. I guess intelligence is fashionable whichever the time period. All throughout the stories, Sherlock grows on the reader. He becomes a real person with quirks, habits, eccentricities.

Whenever I learn that someone has not read Sherlock stories yet, I am excited for all the fun they have before them. The enjoyment of meeting the characters, joining their adventures. But I realize that it's not for everybody. The archaic language is offputting for some, though I find it engaging. After reading a few stories, I think with a British accent which can be amusing.

It is no wonder that when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock in the story "The Final Problem", there was an overwhelming appeal for him to bring the character back. And so the detective was resurrected for another series of stories, starting from "The Adventure of the Empty House". Besides, how can Conan Doyle assume that he can do such a thing? To the readers, Holmes was a living, breathing, crime-solving human being. He lived on 221B Baker Street with his friend Dr. John Watson. He couldn't possibly have died. And so he lived on. He also became the inspiration of other characters -- a favorite of mine is Dr. Gregory House.

Another perpetuity of Sherlock Holmes is through film and television. Based on IMDB entries, there were dozens of releases. I only had the opportunity of viewing four of these incarnations on screen, as follows. Only the last of which I am going to share more of my thoughts. And so off we go.

Sherlock Holmes Returns (1993)
Anthony Higgins (as Sherlock Holmes)
Debrah Farentino (as Amy Wilson - a female version of Watson, for all intents and purposes)
This is the Victorian Holmes who invented and used upon himself a method of suspended animation and found himself waking up in the current day, in America, no less. This is a Holmes that bungles with a new world of modernities, of technology, of culture. A lighthearted approach on how the intellectual British detective could have coped with the changes.

Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)
Nicholas Rowe (as Sherlock Holmes)
Alan Cox (as John Watson)
This Steven Spielberg-produced and Chris Columbus-written work attempts to recreate an alternate beginning of how Holmes and Watson have met. Here, they are schoolboys together, sharing dormitories in a boarding school. It is endearing and aimed to explain some origins of the trademarks of the adult Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Robert Downey, Jr. (as Sherlock Holmes)
Jude Law (as John Watson)
And of course, the most successful Sherlock Holmes film of recent history. This is Holmes in his age, in his time, in his London. For the record, I have always liked RDJ and of course, Jude Law. And this was a very entertaining film to watch -- the costumes, the recreation of old London, the grand sets, the explosions. Guy Ritchie pulled it off - his Hollywood version of Holmes. And being that, there had to be a leading lady in the person of Irene Adler (Rachel MacAdams). Ms Adler was a character from the story "A Scandal in Bohemia", and although Holmes referred to her as "THE woman", it was never in the context of romance, but of intellectual respect. The Hollywood version was fun, though. And I am still looking forward to the sequel.

Sherlock (2010)
Benedict Cumberbatch (as Sherlock Holmes)
Martin Freeman (as John Watson)
And now, we arrive. This BBC's mini-series featured three 90-minute episodes of Sherlock and were created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, both also behind the Dr. Who series. "Sherlock" is about a modern Sherlock, in a modern England. We have here a younger Sherlock Holmes, early-thirties, tech-savvy, and brilliant as ever. Dr. John Watson is fresh from his tour in Afghanistan (notably, the original Watson also served in Afghanistan).

Apart from the time setting and all the implications that entail, this series is unmistakably faithful to the stories and characters of the books. The names, the addresses, the cases, even some of the dialogue all reverberate from the original Holmes that the readers knew.

The excellence of setting Holmes in the modern day is that it dispenses with the ostentatious sets and altogether avoided the anachronisms. It's not about the horsedrawn carriages, or the pipes, or the deerstalker caps. The series can now focus on the adventures and the characters. They maintained a semblance of the period feel with the clothes and the locations.

Holmes of the late 1800s used all the available resources to his advantage. This modern Sherlock is no different. And because technology abound, he employs the use of every means to aid his investigation: blogging, smartphone, email, internet.

There is an underlying humor in the writing that pervades throughout the episodes.

When accused of being a psychopath, Sherlock had replied:
"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath; do your research."

Or when John talked to Sherlock about his encounter with his "archenemy".
“Did he offer you money to spy on me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Pity. We could've split the fee. Think it through next time.”

I grinned at the quip about the "three patch problem", an update of the "three pipe problem". And the allusions to the infamous seven percent solution during the drugs bust. It's as if the writers and creators were sharing an inside joke with the readers. A conspiratorial wink. As if nudging and saying, "Remember that part from the book? Hilarious to find it here, isn't it?"

Admittedly, it is also very possible that I am writing favorably about the series solely on the account of my being smitten with Benedict Cumberbatch. Very, very possible. So if you have good sense, you may take everything I say with a grain of salt.

Cumberbatch looks like the younger version of the original illustration of Holmes by Sidney Paget. Tall, very lean, with a high forehead. He has successfully captured the demeanor of Sherlock. He is confident and composed, even dignified. He is very capable of both charm and conceit. And although he is primarily a cerebral person, he also has boundless energy at his disposal. Cumberbatch has portrayed Sherlock with his distinctive traits: Precision in movement. Impatience. Intensity.  

I like that they did not introduce Sherlock with a love interest. Because frankly, Sherlock really had no interest in love. They did, however, made fun of the talks that the Sherlock and John are gay.

Martin Freeman I remember from "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and from "Love Actually". I know he is famous for the British "The Office" and by all means, through his interviews, his sense of humor and wit often shine through. Freeman lends depth to Watson's character. He is not just a narrator -- he is his conscience, his manners, his connection to human emotion. He is a partner, not necessarily an equal, but still above a chronicler.

The last episode of the series ends with a cliffhanger that will end all cliffhangers. If it were a speech, it was cut mid-word. Most viewers regarded this as mean, and maybe it was. But it certainly did leave us wanting for more. Fortunately, there are confirmed reports that there will be more episodes. Although, it would be at least a year's wait. In the meantime, the DVD of the recently concluded mini-series will be released in the UK later this month.

Watch the series if convenient — if inconvenient watch all the same.

<Geek Guidance: The following entry is not approved for all audiences.>

I am the kind of person who buys pens and notebooks for no particular reason. I generally like school supplies and often linger in stores to browse through nifty products like clip dispensers or fabric glue. But pen and paper are always the staple (no pun intended).I'm always looking for pens. Not necessarily expensive ones, just those that write well. In fact, both Parker pens I have were given to me as gifts. Admittedly, how well a pen writes is relative to the person using it. People have different criteria for writing instruments and I find it interesting to find their preferences. And sometimes, if I hear a good recommendation, I set out to find and buy the pen myself.

My minimum criteria for a pen is that it does not skip. The other factors really depend on the paper, because different textures of paper absorb ink from pens differently. I also prefer those that are refillable.

I keep pens of different millimeter line widths. When I take notes and have the time for it, I sometimes use a thicker width (0.5 mm) for headings to simulate a bold style and use a finer width (0.3 mm) for the body of the notes. In school, I used different colored pens for this purpose, but I grew out of that. All my personal pens are now black.

The following are the current roster of my pens. I have a number of others among my things, but these are the ones that are easily accessible and often used.

Pilot G-Tec-C3 ultra-fine rollerball


This is my go-to pen. I've been using this pen since college, although I started with the 0.4mm width. I switched to the finer 0.3mm in senior year and have always had one in my possession ever since. I buy refills for this pen until the barrels are worn out and cracked. It's a pleasure to write with them, especially on smooth paper. The thing with G-Tec is that the fine tip can be sensitive and when it snags, it can be a pain to get the ink flowing again. 



Pilot Ballpoint Pen Stick Type (BP-S) Fine


The one I have now of this was actually issued by the office on my first day. I remember using this pen in high school, but I often lose them so I would buy the cheaper Panda. Pilot BP-S is a good ballpoint. Reliable, smooth and easy to write with. The pen's plastic barrel is brittle, though. I actually broke mine at the end tip and had to tape it together.

Uni SX-210 Jetstream Rollerball


This was a very good recommendation to me. This is definitely one of the smoothest pens I've ever used. It glides through paper as if without friction. The barrel is lined with rubber, making it an easy-to-grip pen. I like this pen for jotting down quick notes during talks because I get to write faster and the ink dries fast. But my handwriting looks very inelegant with this pen, because of the line's thick width and because I find that I have less control with my strokes.

Parker Vector Standard Fountain Pen


This was a gift from my friends Jayjay and Karina. I like the fact that I have a fountain pen, but alas, I am no Butch Dalisay. I had to read about fountain pens before I got to use mine. I bought a Parker piston converter and a bottle of ink. I learned to assemble and refill this pen. I also found out that I sometimes had to wash the nib through running water. I actually like writing with a fountain pen. I like the quality of the lines and the difference of the effect with holding it differently and with varying degrees. I would use this more often if I had a proper desk.

Parker Insignia Chrome Ballpoint Pen


My old company gave this pen to me as a sendoff present. I haven't actually used this much and have kept it in its fancy box and its fancy case. They had my full name engraved on the pen and it nearly occupied the length of the cylinder. I like the weight of this pen in my hand. The writing is Parker-quality, but I don't think I'll carry this around. It seems to belong to the desk.

Faber-Castell 1401 Gel Pen 0.5


I saw this pen at the store, made a few tentative strokes, liked it enough, and bought it. This is my "bold" stroke pen for my notes. Some notes: the ink on paper dries a while but the ink on pen dries out the tip quickly, so better keep it capped.

Zebra F-301 Compact Ballpoint


This is my newest find. I read a forum where the Zebra F-301 was highly rated, almost to a cult following. I went to several bookstores to find this pen before finally getting it from the small school supplies section of the mall, of all places. I actually found the compact edition, but I bought it anyway. It is only 97mm in length when closed, but when the cap is placed on top, it extends to 133mm. It is very handy to carry around or to clip into notebooks and planners. I like the stainless steel cap and it writes smoothly and with a fine line.

And after all that long-winded rant, this brings me to the point of this whole entry. If any of you come across the following pens, please let me know where I can find them. Or if you're feeling particularly benevolent, just buy them for me and I will be glad to pay you for them. Thanks!

Ultra-fine Pilot G2 0.38mm


Zebra F-301 Deluxe Stainless Steel Ballpoint



What pens do you use? Let me know so I can add them to my list. :)

An HR officer in the company addressed me by the wrong name. She called me "Raquel". It's not that I have a problem with the name nor that I particulary dislike it. It's just that... well, it's not mine.

In that moment after she asked me how I was -- or more appropriately, how Raquel was -- I had one of those moments of self-assessment wherein I weigh the best course of action in an awkward situation. 

First up, there was a possibility that I have misheard her. Some people call me "Cel" although the syllable is not found anywhere in my considerably long three-part given name. The more accurate variation would be "Cil", which is a subset of "Cecilia". And of course there are "Ces" and "Cilia" -- oh, the snickers I got as a kid during science class when the discussion included the cilium.

Anyway, I dismissed that since most officemates call me "Cecil", as indicated in the issued nameplate posted on my cubicle. In fact, nobody knows anybody else's name apart from what that nameplate and the LDAP defined.

If she did mistakenly address me, I could just pretend I misheard her say my name incorrectly. By virtue of double negation (and sensible sentence structure): I will just pretend I heard my name correctly. I could easily pull that off. My roommate and I spend a good chunk of our conversations asking  to repeat what the other said. Not really for fun, it usually just has something to do with mornings. 

And of course, there is the mature option of politely correcting her. I am, after all, an adult and should be well-equipped to ably navigate through social situations with grace and courtesy, circumventing any possible awkwardness.

I'd be polite, appear respectfully amused while I point out the error. She'd laugh, maybe a quick apology or a quick excuse that she misspoke. She'd proceed to tell me that of course she knew my name. After all, she was the one who conducted my qualifying personality interview which I was half an hour late for. Maybe she'd bring that up. Ask me how I was getting along. And I'd say that I was doing well, and thank her for asking. Yes, yes. This could work. 

And so I smile at her and say, "I'm ok naman po, thank you."

Good job, Raquel.

I bought you two new books today. After hearing mass, I passed by a bookstore and saw two books that were very familiar to me. They are from the series: "Bright and early books for beginning beginners".

You see, when we were growing up -- your Papa, your Tita Mae and I had the whole set of these books. Your Lola read to us all the time, especially before our afternoon naps. I remember disliking that we were forced to sleep, but I did like the stories. From the books, we met The Cat in the Hat, The Berenstain Bears, and Hooper Humperdinck.

The ones I got you are: "The Big Honey Hunt" and ""The Berenstains' B Book". Those were two of my favorite. In fact, when you get older, I'll let you listen to our voice tape made by your Lola when I was three, Tita Mae was four, and your Papa was eight. Your Lola recorded us reciting the whole B Book from memory. You'll also find out that I was a very irritable kid. Not unlike you, as I hear. Your Mama and your Papa say that you are well-behaved, except when you demand to eat what everyone else is eating.

I saw pictures of your first birthday. You had two parties! And three birthday cakes! You've grown so big. I like the picture where you were poking the nose of the mascot Hamburglar. At least now I am assured that my nephew is not one of those wimpy kids who run away from mascots or big scary burglars.

When I saw you last Christmas break, your could barely crawl. Your Papa would dump you on my bed in the mornings to wake me up and you would pull my hair until I got up. That was also the time I learned that you had the propensity of biting/chewing everything that had batteries. Interestingly enough, you knew which ones had batteries. You insisted on drooling all over mobile phones, music players, remote controls, and digital cameras. They say you are still that way at one year old and you like eating your Papa's new phone. Unfortunately, that is not the edible kind of blackberry

I enjoy it whenever your Papa calls me and then passes the telephone to you and I can hear you mumble incoherent words on the other line. Of course in between those mumbles, I can also hear beeping sounds as you press the keypad of the phone. I look crazy saying "Hello, Adi!" in varying tones forty times, but I do not mind.

It was supposed to be your Lola's birthday yesterday. She's not with us anymore, but I hope you'll still get to know her somehow through our stories. I'm sure she's happy to be your guardian angel.

Today is Fathers' Day, too, Adi. Did you greet your Papa? You probably just slobbered more all over his phone, but you'll get the chance when you grow up. Both of your Lolos are also part of your guardian angel security group. So we'll thank them in our hearts.

I will see you again soon, Adi. Be obedient to your Mama and Papa. And try to lay off on the electronics devices.

Hugs,
Your loving Tita

I consider myself fortunate that my polling place at UA&P is just a five-minute walk away. My friend and I decided to go early together to vote.

By 630am, we were out of the building. The area designated for the polls was the covered basketball court. Four clustered precincts in makeshift classrooms. It was not difficult to find our names. Just a few "nagpakaduling saglit" moments.

There were around 15 monobloc seats alloted for each cluster where voters can sit and wait. When those are already occupied, people have to stand and wait in queue. By the time I fell in line, I was one of those right behind the monobloc chairs, part of the next group to have seats after the next move.

Presidential candidate Nicanor Perlas walked in with his son, presumably. Not a lot of fanfare. A few TV crew crowded to get a shot of him while he checked for his name in the board. Perlas seemed like a decent, dignified-looking man. What was impressive is that he fell in line, along with the others. In fact, he was right behind my friend and he tried to help keep the line orderly.

Another sidenote, TV personality Drew Arellano loitered around the court. He was interviewed nearby and joked around with the crowd.

The overall atmosphere of the precinct was friendly. There was a sense of community as most of the pollwatchers knew the voters. It was easy for them to appeal for organized queues and for patience. A fellow voter on my side struck a conversation with me. She thought I was an online reporter because I kept glued to my Twitter account on my phone while waiting for the queue to progress. I was intently checking for news and updates.

When it was our batch's turn to go inside the precinct, it was efficient. I gave my name, my precinct number, my voter number. The officer found my name, I showed my ID, I made the thumbmark and I was given a ballot. I was careful to wipe off any residual ink on my thumb with wet tissues before taking the ballot.

I was then asked to take a table which was also partly used by the BEIs. There was a bottle of ink on the table and I took measured movements to keep everything clean. I took out a facetowel and dried my hands and arms before I started to shade. I was concerned about the marker's ink absorbing through the other side of the paper. Anyway, having a codigo is very useful. I was done in four minutes.

And now, the close encounter with the infamous PCOS machine. It was an unassuming piece of machinery. Looked like a photocopier. I wanted to make a joke and ask it, "How's the family? CF card configured ok?" I inserted my ballot, a few seconds later the little digital screen indicated that all was ok. Hallelujah.

Some guy dropped a generous amount of indelible ink on my forefinger. Another thumbmark and signature. I asked if there was anything else, the BEI smiled at me and said that was it. I thanked them and left the precinct.

The BEIs at our polling place were polite, competent, helpful, and very patient. I know the COMELEC has gotten a lot of bad rep for the number of fumbling incidents involving the automation. Sure, I continue to have my hesitations if they can pull it off, but I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt. I choose to look at them as growing pains. It's a tough job. They have to take pressures from the electorate, the candidates, the media. For whatever it's worth, I think Comm. Gregorio Larrazabal and Dir. James Jimenez are sincerely doing their best.

When we left UA&P, the queues were almost at the gate exit already. But it seemed tolerable to everyone. It was around half past 8 when we finished. Which was not terribly bad, I think, for exercising a right as important as voting.

Just a final piece of my mind on this election. I found myself saddened at some display of intolerance of opinion, especially online. I like it when voters are passionate about their candidates and try to convince the others of their choice's qualifications and share their achievements. I like it because it helps me decide. It's the mudslinging I can't stand. The condescension towards other people who do not share your opinion. It's a democracy. We have our own set of values. What is most important to you may not be most important to me. And that doesn't make any of us less. We're just different and that's ok.

We have to understand that we have to eventually heal the divisiveness that the campaign period has wreaked. We still have to all work together whoever wins and I don't think it's very productive to start off with antagonism. Enough of the mudslinging, please. I would have thought everyone else was fed up with it by now.

On that note, I don't care much who you vote for. Just please, please go out and vote.

When I was in preschool, my mother used to hold teaching sessions for me and my sister in the afternoons. Actually, it was more of a monitored playtime where we would answer puzzles from activity books - spot the difference, connect the dots, mazes. Sometimes, she would ask us to learn nursery rhymes or short poems. And then, she would read us stories before nap time.

My favorite was the stories with dogs. It had stories about anthropomorphized puppies with titles like "Bernie, the Chilly St. Bernard" or "The Puppy with the Mischievous Wink". There was also the book about fairies. I still remember the one about the pixie who always made the boy late for school everyday. Or the one of the "tiniest of the tiny fairies" - I was so distressed when she left home in fairyland to go to the beach. My mother would read the dialogues with character voices and dramatic facial expressions.

Of course, I had to interrupt often to ask the meaning of some of the words. Mama answered each question. Eventually, she taught me to take out the big red dictionary off the shelf and use it to check each word myself. When I was nine, she bought me a pocket dictionary which she told me to keep near when I read.

I must have been annoying child, I realize now. I interrupted story time. I ran around when she asked us to read out loud. I did not want to take my naps. Just to name a few.

But thank God for mothers and their patience. I was never reprimanded for asking questions. And I will always be grateful that she equipped me for finding the answers myself. I may not have her with me anymore, but I have a lot of other things to keep.

This will be a yearly favor that I will ask from you all. Please give your mothers a hug for me. Thanks.

Fire is fire.

Everyone goes through fire. Whenever we go through personal trials, we go through fire. And it is how we react to fire that reveals what we are made of. And as the metaphor goes - some get softened and turn to mush, like carrots. Some are hardened, like eggs. Some reveal their best essence, like coffee beans.

In a remote barangay in Zamboanga, an eleven-year old girl went with her uncle to fetch water. A group of men, out of nowhere, came out brandishing long knives and began hacking on the uncle until he lay dead on the ground. The girl ran for her life, but the men chased after her. They hacked their knives on her back, on her neck, on her wrists. The girl laid very still until the men went away, convinced that she was dead. When they left, she saw herself lying in a pool of her own blood.

With great pain, she stood up and tried to drag herself home. Every now and then, she would stagger and fall on the ground. She would momentarily lose consciousness. But when she regained it, she would stand up again and keep on heading home.

When she finally saw her house, she screamed for help with the little energy she was left with. Her mother, horrified at the sight of her bloody daughter, wrapped her in a blanket, cradled her into her arms. The nearest hospital was twelve kilometers away and there was no public transport. The mother carried her daughter and walked four hours to reach the hospital.

The girl underwent surgery for five hours. She had 25 stitches on her back, but the doctors could not save her arms. The very next day of tragedy was the girl's birthday. They incurred heavy hospital debts. When they came home, they found their house burned down.

Talk about fire.

That was eleven years ago. The girl is Maricel Apatan. She has recently graduated with the degree of Hotel and Restaurant Management as a scholar. She is on her way to being a full-fledged chef. A chef with no hands.

Along the way to her recovery, angels in the form of the church people, volunteer groups, and charitable organizations, helped the girl and her family. But it started with Maricel's willpower to stand up. And her refusal to stay down.

Imagine every excruciating step she had to endure. The trauma of going through that as an eleven-year old. She had every excuse to hate the world and complain for the rest of her life. But today, she is a cheerful and productive person. She uses her wrists with utmost dexterity. I saw her peel, chop, slice vegetables. No hands.

I watch her with amazement and I am humbled. It puts a lot of things in perspective. All those whining, petty complaints of everyday life. Just a quick scan of social networking updates just lets you know how many people let themselves get stuck, myself included.

Remember the three men in the book of Daniel? Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to pay homage to a golden idol. They were ordered to be securely bound by ropes and thrown into a furnace. They came out of the furnace unharmed, their clothes were not burnt, only their ropes.

Fire is fire. It is how we react to it that matters. We always have the option of letting fire set us free.

Today's Sunday service prayer meeting was about eagles. Those majestic birds and the very interesting manner they learn to fly.

Eagles are spectacular parents. They build their nests high up on the cliffs. The males gather together twigs and branches to make the nest's base and include thorns as protection from other animals. Afterwards, they cover it with soft grass. The mother eagles pluck feathers from their own breasts and lay them on nest to make the eaglets comfortable.

Everyday, the parents would hunt for food and feed their young. They would shelter them from strong winds by spreading their wings over them. They kept their children safe, warm, and comfortable to nurture their health and their strength.

But after ten weeks or so, the eaglets are left on their own in the nest. The parents hover and watch over them but they rarely give in to their cries of hunger. They stop the constant feeding. They also deprive them comfort by flapping their great wings to rid of the nest's soft grass and feathers. The thorns and twigs are exposed and the eaglets are forced out of their nest. Finally, in what appears to be the cruelest thing a mother can do to her child, the eaglet is pushed out of nest, and off the cliff.

Imagine the tiny eaglet shrieking in fear as it drops from that height. Mid-air the father eagle catches him and brings him back to the cliff only to be dropped again and again until finally, out of necessity, he learns to flap his wings. And the realization settles in: he knows how to fly.

At one point or another, we have all felt like being abandoned, being deprived, being wounded, being pushed out, being dropped down. It's easy to complain and to cry out injustice without realizing that we were nurtured to be strong enough to withstand everything that comes our way. And neglecting to recognize that we are capable of flight all the while. The pain was just an instrument to open our eyes.

I was once part of the warm, loving comfort of a home. It was taken from me. I have lost a lot, but I gained the willingness to learn. Every time I hear mass - may it be Sundays or during work lunch hours, I come to be taught.

Another fact about eagles. They can sense when storms are coming, but unlike other animals, they do not cower from it. They fly somewhere high up and wait in excitement for the winds to come. When the storm hits, they just let the wind pick up their wings until they soar way up above.

Let's not stay in our nests. We were meant to conquer the skies.

I shook the hand of a great person today.

After this afternoon's casual keynote talk, he was just sitting quietly in a corner. My friend and I asked if we could have our pictures taken with him. He willingly obliged and was so polite about it. Afterwhich, I reached out to shake his hand.

I feel compelled to mention here that I don't usually do the whole "celebrity" thing. In fact, it borders on uncharacteristic. I am unlikely to ask for pictures or autographs from anyone. (Ok, my thing for basketball players in high school, notwithstanding) . But after hearing his story, I was filled with much admiration. Here was a person worth looking up to.

He grew up at a dumpsite. He slept on the streets. At five, he would race with other kids whenever the truck would unload garbage. It was in one of these mad dashes that he was pushed into a burning tire where he badly burned his  arm. He was taken in by a volunteer group until he recuperated. And when he got well, he wanted to repay his benefactors' kindness by helping in the group's Kariton Classroom project.

Since he was only six at this time, he could not help out with teaching other kids how to read or write. When asked what he was good at, he said he was good at brushing his teeth and washing his hands. And that's what they let him teach to the other children - how to properly brush their teeth and wash their hands. He attended public school on weekdays and volunteered on the weekends.

All this time, everyone called him Kesz. Eventually, they got hold of his birth certificate, found out his real full name and birthday. And for the first time in his life, they celebrated his birthday when he turned eight. When asked what his birthday wish was, he got confused. He didn't know what it meant. And when explained that a birthday wish was something you wanted to happen, he answered that he wanted the other kids from his old dumpsite to feel the same happiness that he felt at the moment. He was aware that he couldn't hold parties for them. Kesz wanted simply for them to have toys and slippers.

For his next two birthdays, he tried to raise money to buy dozens of slippers by selling candies at his school. One of the teachers helped him. He kept all he earned in a coin bank and spent it on his birthday for other kids still living in the dumpsite.

When Kesz heard that his teacher's mother was hospitalized, he asked if he could have his coin bank opened to donate his savings to her.  He said his teacher would be happy if her mother got well and he wanted her to be happy because he loved his teacher.

And so he gave his birthday fund away. It was only around three hundred pesos but it was everything he had. And it was at this point of listening to Kesz's story that the waterworks started.  Right there on the second floor hallway of the public school elementary school. Seated on one of the monobloc chairs.

Kesz is eleven years old now. He collects books from people and donates them to schools for students to read and enjoy. He still raises charity for children scavengers. He goes to school. He speaks to schoolchildren and fellow volunteers. He inspires.

After speaking to the students,  Kesz sat back quietly on his chair.  He is respectful and well-behaved. He has bright eyes and a cheerful smile. He even sang a bit at the prodding of the emcee.

I shook the hand of a great person today. And the scars on his arm are barely visible.

--

Chris "Kesz" Valdez and Vonn Manalaysay, Efren Peñaflorida's mentor were guest speakers at the opening of the book club of the public elementary school where I volunteer

I volunteer as a mentor for grade four students in a nearby elementary school. Every Saturday morning, my fellow mentors and I talk to the kids about heroism, nationalism, environment. They sing, draw, graph. It's good fun. The kids are really smart, they're well-behaved, and they really are like sponges. They take in everything you say.

My first mentee is the littlest of them all. Rozela, being 8, is the youngest of the group. Recently, I also took in Jericho. He didn't belong to a permanent mentor so I asked if I could handle him so he would have a sense of constancy.

We are scheduled for a field trip every after module. For the first one, we all went to the National Museum. And afterwards, the kids were invited for a special screening of the animated movie "Up" in Trinoma by corporate sponsors Chevron and Koliska.

I suppose I could tell you about how refreshing it was to see the kids' faces as they stared in amazement at the museum displays. Hundreds of jars retrieved from wreckage. Bones, clothings, cannons. Yes, they were really amazed. And it was fun to see them get amazed. During the movie, they laughed with reckless abandon. They sat on the edge of their seats, eyes wide-open, not wanting to miss anything. It was so endearing.

But what I simply wanted to take away from that experience is the newfound respect for parents who bring their kids to the mall. I kept on catching myself counting the kids in sight. 1, 2, 3, 4... 10. It should always add up to ten. You hold one little hand in your left, and in your other hand, another little hand which is connected to two other little hands. And then you ask them not to let go of each other and to keep close.

I mean, I like kids, I really do. But it's safe to say that I'm not too keen on taking care of ten all at the same time by myself. I think I shouldn't be allowed to anyhow, for that matter.

So to parents who take their young kids to the mall or at the church - hats off to all of you. I think it's nothing short of heroic.

Speaking of heroism, allow me a few lines of vanity right here. We had a button creating activity with the kids. They were asked to draw a button with the words "Bayani ka, sikat ka!", color them, paste them on cardboard, attach a pin, and give them to people who they think are heroes - those who make a difference in others' lives. The week after, my mentee shyly approached me and slipped something in front of my folder. It was one of the buttons I helped her start. She had finished it. I was so touched. There were crumpled scotch tape behind it and the circle was crudely cut, but I thought it was just great.

Some things you can't teach kids. Some things they get to teach you.

There's a standard phrase that Luz and I say out loud before we (frantically) leave the room in the mornings.

"Money, phone, key."

It's our checklist of the things that we should not leave behind. Sometimes, there are variants of this. Mostly, additional things like "flash disk", "MRT card", "handkerchief". But the core three are the staple ones. It would be such a day's cumbersome complication if one is left behind.

I remember Tago has a good version of this during travelling. But Tago, being himself, calls it "Valuability check!" - which is like a cue for us to ascertain the current location of wallets, cameras, cellphones.

The whole checklist is a good conceptual attempt, in theory. Not necessarily fool-proof, though. Especially in the case of me and my esteemed roommate. Maybe it's because we're often in a hurry to leave. There's something about the MRT - fifteen minutes can sometimes mean a difference of easily getting on the first train or shoving your way just to get into the third.

We're experts in cutting it close. It is like bluffing our ways to our 8 am call time. But you have to give us a little credit. From the Shaw station, we go our separate ways and wave our goodbyes after inserting our tickets in the platform. Luz goes northbound to QC, and I go southbound to Makati. Commuting is bound to leave you a little frazzled and forgetful.

Our friend's sister-in-law - whom we haven't met personally - lives one floor up from us. She knows us, though. As a matter of fact (but not of pride), we're known as the two girls who always forgets something and comes back up into the elevator to get it.

Once we were almost at the village gate before we figured out what we forgot and had to retrace our steps back to our building. Also, it's not unusual to find me waiting for the elevator while putting on earrings, wristwatch, bracelet. It's efficient use of slack time, you've got to admit.

So this morning, I went over the ritual. I paused at the door's threshold and reminded myself out loud. "Money, phone, key." Mentally making tick marks, I went out and headed out into my thursday.

I decided to blog about this because upon arriving at the office this morning, I found out that - of course - I forgot my phone.

“If God had told me some time ago that He was about to make me as happy as I could be in this world, and then had told me that He should begin by crippling me in all my limbs, and removing me from all my usual sources of enjoyment, I should have thought it a very strange mode of accomplishing His purpose. And yet, how is His wisdom manifest even in this! For if you should see a man shut up in a closed room, idolizing a set of lamps and rejoicing in their light, and you wished to make him truly happy, you would begin by blowing out all his lamps and then throw open the shutters to let in the light of heaven.”

- Samuel Rutherford

She seemed like just another normal kid.

She sat on her bed indian-fashioned, still wearing her jammies. She watched Ice Age with us in the tiny tv screen. She laughed at Sid's antics. She has a dimple on her right cheek that shows whenever she smiles.

Very polite kid, too. Without any prodding from her parents, she offered us candies. She angled the screen towards us so we could see the movie better. She addressed Luz and I as "ate".

As with most ten-year olds, she likes cartoons. Spongebob Squarepants, Jimmy Neutron, Ariel the Little Mermaid. Some other Japanese animations I'm not familiar with.

She told us of her pets and the story behind each of their funny names.

She seemed like just another normal kid. Except for the IV bag of chemo medicine inserted in her vein. And her inch-short hair sticking out in every direction. Her dad stroked her hair and remarked how they should have it fixed. With a small pout, she said, "Kalbo na naman..."

When the nurse came to take off her IV, she tried her best to keep still - just grimacing a little when the adhesive stuck to her skin. When we asked if it hurts whenever they stick a needle into her, she shook her head. It's already been over a year, she said, and she's already gotten used to the monthly treatments.

She missed a year of school, though. When she was diagnosed, she almost became a cripple. The nonchalant way she said it was unnerving: "muntik na nga po ako malumpo nung nagkasakit ako nung isang taon."

Another two years of treatment and she could be well again.

Just a little after the credits of Ice Age rolled, she asked her mother if she could take a bath already. We then said our goodbyes to the family.

And as we watched her wave goodbye, she seemed like just another normal kid.

Click upper page corners to read.

I feel a little guilty for enjoying the heavy rains of this week. I know a lot of people find it bothersome - those who live in easily flooded areas, those who commute and find it inconvenient to wait for public transport in the downpour (I will be part of this demographic again soon enough). I'm sorry and I do empathize, but I couldn't help but feel gleeful over spending my bum days in the gloomy overcast of the indoors.

It is possible that I might be a hermitic, nocturnal creature in a previous life (if one subscribes to the belief of reincarnation, that is). I like being alone, being in the dark. In addition,  I've always loved the heavy rains. A lot of people find this fact about me weird and most of them don't hesitate to let me know.

In college, when I have the room all to myself if I got off early from class - I turn off the lights, shut the door, and close the curtains - thereby keeping out all sunlight, noise, and movement. My roommates would find me in this state and would ask me what the heck I was doing sulking in the dark. One compared me to Anne Rice's vampires.

My current roommate, who usually shares my eccentricities, conceded that I was far too advanced in my dislike for socialization (and light) than her. Read: she thinks hanging an opaque curtain is a good idea, but closing it the whole way through is inadvisable and bordering on suffocating.

In my personality interview with Azeus, Miss Nettie asked me if I had any concern working late nights. I remember telling her that I actually preferred working when it's already dark and quiet, without sunlight. Those exact words. She laughed but she must've thought I was an absolute wacko. She was nice about it, though.

I'll be digressing a bit, but I just had to mention a little bit about my tech interview with Sir Spens - since we're on the topic anyway and I've been thinking lately a lot of how I started with my first company after my resignation. The way it went back then, you were given a problem to solve in a couple of minutes and you have to write the solution in a piece of paper. You can use any programming language or just even the pseudocode. You have to explain to the interviewer your logic. When asked "Is there a better way of doing this?" Without thinking and neglecting the hold on my sarcasm, I told him, "Well, I'm sure there is. But this is what I've come up with given the time."

I'm sure no one else remembers that incident but I've always fantasized of going back to that moment and answering that question with a little subtlety and tact. I still can't believe I got in after my seemingly disastrous qualifying interviews.

Anyway, fast forward to the present.

Just today, I woke up early and wanted to pick up where I left off on my reading. The morning light was taking a backseat to the cloudy skies and since my sister was still sleeping soundly, I couldn't turn on the light. I ended up rummaging through the shelves for my flashlight and used it for reading. A friend suggested I used a headlamp next time. Very interesting suggestion - one that I might follow. I'm still halfway through "The Time Traveler's Wife", by the way. It gets interesting once you get past the weird sense of pedophilia in the early parts.

I got the chance to do other indoor things lately. I watch movies, make origami, and follow recipes. I made something named 'Layered Cookie Cake'. It's made of raisin bread, cream, crushed chocolate cookies, and fruit cocktail. It didn't turn out to be much. Insubstantial mush. I also tried some writing. Like this entry. Oh, look. I can reuse the same adjective phrase for this: Insubstantial mush.

(Note: I missed to thank a few of my friends in my farewell email so I'm posting a more complete version here to make up for the lapse.)

------------------------------

Thank you. I don't know how else to say it.

I'll see you all around. :)

Regards,
Cecil
---@yahoo.com (YM, Multiply, Facebook)
+63917-------

------------------------------

Sa inyo po na dumayo pa ng Cebu para mag-imbita na maging bahagi ng Azeus:
Miss Mayose · Miss Nettie · Sir Spens · Sir Jerry · Miss Daisy

Thank you po for giving me the chance to experience Azeus life. I've learned so much in the last four years than in any other time of my life - professionally and otherwise.

Trainers and Tech Team
Sir Spens · Ryan · Miss Raqs · Jay C · Sir Christian · Sir Zhen · Sir Roy · Herbert · Glenn · Master

Sa pagtuturo at pagpapasensya sa mga kung anu-ano kong tanong, salamat po.

Sa May 2005 Batchmates
Jayjay · Brian · Kathy · Jeff · Dick · Jack · Nat · Berney

Keep in touch. Invite nyo pa rin ako sa yearly get-together. :)

Basketball
Czar · Pam · Keis · Nadz · Darl · Melai · Farrah · Miss Tats · Miss Raqs · Miss Jay · Miss U · Miss Daisy · Anjo · Hanna · Dea · Pearl · Toni · Jo · Liz · Let · Eka

Ang saya ng mga drills. Ang saya rin ng games kasi we also cheer even for the opposing team. :)

Azeus Microbloggers
Daniw · Jaime · Chry · Keis · Pam · Sir Roy · Renz · Kimo · Rizza · Miker · Manny · Tems · Celes · Jek · Lloyd

There is indeed wit in brevity. :)

Team Leaders and Coordinators
Miss Rose · Sir Mon · Miss Tats · Miss Eunice · Keis · Kimo · Harlene · Tago · Herbert · Miss Tara · Miss Chris

Thank you for the chance to be part of your teams.

COMIS/CICS (COMICS) Family
Miss Rose · Virg · Karl · Noel · Liz · Tago · Paulo · Ryan · Gary · Dens · Luis · Joanne · Tal · Oni · Lors · Rizza · Jerome · Josh · Sir Roy · Miss U ·  Sir Christian

Friendships forged over ON's, OT dinners, standbys.

Sa mga naging trainees ko
JC · Darl · Farrah · Roy B · Jonathan

Good job! Keep it up and thanks for bearing with a klutzy trainer.

Sa mga taong madalas kong maabala
Miss Irma · Ate Marlyn · Ate Dendyn · Wilson · Chard · Miss Acel · Yran Miss · Roda · Jeanette · Ryza

Salamat po sa lahat ng tulong. :)

Ka-team, Kakwentuhan
Robert · Miker · Jaime · Daniw · Leslie · Melai · Jek · Czar · Harlene · Phoebe · Miss Daisy · Eka · Sam

Salamat sa mga "good morning", sa pagpapahiram ng libro, sa mga panggugulat, pagshare ng mga mp3/pictures/movies, pangungulit sa pantry, elevators, hallways, at jabber.

Azeus Photography Enthusiasts
Gary · Tago · Jay M. · Bobong · Tems · Manny · Nat · Josiah · Jek · Paul · Andrew · Let · Sir Spens · Joan · Karlo · Jensen

"The most important gear is an inch behind the viewfinder". (Naks! ;)

AzCebu Family
Jayjay · Karina · Brian · Kathy · Oscar · Jessie · Jeff · El-el

There's a sense of comfort I feel with you guys, despite the geographical distance. Thank you for the CD of requiem songs for my mother and the encouraging words you all wrote.

Virg
Salamat, mentor. Di lang alam ng marami kung gaano ka kabait sa likod ng ng paninindak mo sa newbies. :) 

Karl
Isa ka sa mga una kong naging kaibigan sa Azeus. I still owe you that expensive dinner. :P

Luis
Salamat sa pagtitiwala sa mga kwento at saloobin mo. You look something-ly something today!

Jerome
Keep up your inspiring inclination to serve others.

Rizza
I wish you lasting happiness found within yourself.

Sir Roy
I'm going to rip off someone else's remark about you. You are indeed the "developer's developer".

Sir Christian
Salamat sa tulong sa Enquiry ng CICS.

Miss U
Grateful po ako sa double complexity na CENS0420. Dami po ako natutunan. :)

Lors
"Para sa iyo po, Miss Lors..." --- salamat. :)

Jaime
I am going to miss our conversations. Let's continue them online. :)

Tal
Mula kababawan hanggang kalaliman - salamat sa pagkakaibigan. :)

Oni
My favorite "child". Hehe... Issue one! ('o')/

Marco
My one and only mentee. Be good. As you always have been. :)

Robert
Thanks for helping me out and keeping me company earlier this morning. Great coffee-chocolate, too! :)

Miker
Your sweet thoughtfulness is so touching. Magsabay tayo akyat Romelo minsan, hehe...

Kimo
Balato ko sayo yung last minute "Cecil moment" ko. Hehe.

Karina
Definitely one of the coolest people in Azeus. "Buried in Cliches" rocks! :)

Jayjay
Thank you for looking out for me even though you're hundreds of miles away.

Ryan
Your energy is uncanny! Thanks for the touching scrapbook message. :)

Nadz
Stay strong. I will always keep you and your son in my prayers.

Czar
I am sincerely thankful for your thoughtfulness, generosity, and kindness. Salamat sa libro. I am looking forward to finishing it. :)

Leslie
You are so sweet! So are the chocolates you gave me. :)

Pam and Keis
Thank you for the easy companionship. See you in Twitter. ^_^

Marnel
Rock on! Daghan salamat sa tanang kalingawan sa COMICS activities. :)

Noel
I will never forget the time you showed up for work after Ethan was born. You were the first one in COMIS and when I arrived, we ended up talking for more than half an hour. Your excitement over your son was so palpable. Good luck in your family life. And basketball, of course. :)

Joanne
If I need sensible conversation, I can rely on you. Your comfortable and quiet company has calmed me often. Thank you for all those after-work, walking to Mega, snacking on Jollibee moments we shared. :)

Miss Rose
I want people to know how grateful I am to have been blessed to be part of the teams you led. If there is a way to capture the teamwork of CICS in a model, they should try and find it. Dozens of mostly newbie resources working fifteen hours a day everyday for months, going home at sunrise, going back to work midday - motivated, willing, and happy.

Tago
Azeus would have been so much duller if it weren't for you. You're one of the most absolutely memorable people I've met in my lifetime. Your love for life is infectious and you deserve to be happy. :)

Liz
You are my official kid sister here. I am protective of you as you are of me. Daily life without you would be like stepping out from warm comfort of a room into a cold and dark night. Enough with the cheesy analogy. Love you, Liz. :)

Dens
I give you credit for expanding my taste in music, books, and movies. Thank you for leaving me sandwiches or Yakult with imperative notes like "Eat!". You're the only person who could make me laugh in un-laughable circumstances.

Pau
Your tolerance of my whining is absolutely heroic. Thank you for putting up with me and my manic depression. You are the only person who empathizes with how it is to be brought up in the same middle-class background. ;)

Gary
People do not understand what is between us. In a lot of ways, neither do we. I guess it goes with the territory of being friends who have shared so many things together.  Thanks for everything.

I lost a bet today. Not really a bet. It's a result of my initial gullibility and subsequent skepticism.

Dens claimed that McDo has introduced a new menu item called McPorkchops. He said it's like porkchops covered with the same breading of Chicken McNuggets and served with the same sauce options, i.e. barbecue, honey mustard, sweet and sour.

Since I haven't been to McDo in a while and I don't have popular tv channels, I don't get to view many ads and it was very likely that I missed this new menu from McDo.

Eventually, Dens admitted that he was just pulling my leg and told me that actually it was Jollibee that has a new 39ers meal. Calamares. And it was so convincing the way he told me about how meager the serving is. Six or seven rings of squid, he said. The name escaped him - probably jollycalamares or jollysquid.

And I have to admit, I almost bought the story. >_<

Finally, he told me about the new french fries size of McDonald's. The small one is still small, the old large is the new medium, and the new large is a very large serving. I said I wouldn't fall for it a third time. And agreed to treat him to three supersized fries.

I can't decide whether Dens is just smooth or I'm just easily duped. Whichever the case may be, I have to pay up with unhealthy carbohydrates.

John Mayer said something I found interesting in his Twitter. Yes, I'm one of those who follow celebrities on Twitter out of curiosity. Just eavesdropping on their opinions, their articulateness, their sensibilities.

Anyway, here's what he said:

"Think of how different your life would be if you sent everything you've ever written."

For a compulsive note-taker like me, the idea is overwhelming. I'm not a confrontational person and what I can't say straight to another person, I write down - on the back leaves of notebooks, on post-it notes, on notepads (digital or paper variety), on the cellphone as draft messages.

Sometimes, it's just a case of just not knowing how to say it out loud. Using my voice, looking at a face, finding words along the way. I'm slow that way.

I need the shelter of organized thoughts, the luxury of finding the most appropriate word. Because it's bad enough when you have to say something important. It's worse when you don't get to say it right.

And all these drafts, these spilt guts remain unsent and accumulate in my hard drive, my boxes of things not to be touched. It's catharsis, maybe. Just the thought that I have pieced together what I wanted to say is enough. And I don't need to send them. Or don't want to. I'm pathetic that way.

I thought it'd be different with you. I kept telling myself that with you, I'll do it differently. That one day, I'll muster enough courage to tell you what I feel. Or what I've felt all those time you made me retreat to my pen or my keyboard.

But I now realize that I don't want to care anymore. I take the cue from your impassivity. Sent or unsent - it won't make a difference in my life. And I don't want to feed the disillusion anymore that it will. Because it won't.

I can be dismissive that way.