Contrary to what many members of my extended maternal family think, when I say I love the Ateneo, it is not meant to gloat or to belittle other people's academic backgrounds. What I mean to say is simply that I am very grateful for the opportunity to have studied at the Ateneo, and to have spent some of the best years of my life there. I grew up, nay, raised myself, at the Ateneo, and I will be forever grateful for having been able to do so under the auspices of the university.
As I expounded in a previous entry, college was an escape for me. When I left Lipa to go to college, it was the beginning of a new chapter for me. I was sixteen, and about to embark on a new life in the (relatively) big city, alone, sans supervision. Only two others from my high school (Sands and Jenna) went to Ateneo, most having gone to DLSU. For all intents and purposes, I had been given a proverbial tabula rasa.
My college experience was not entirely smooth sailing. There were a lot of bumps along the way. My first semester in college, there was that enormous mess of an issue with an essay I wrote for English class which the substitute teacher had published in the Philippine Star without telling me. The short of it is it was intended to be a satire on dorm life which people took the wrong way. It was really bad, but my roommates and other friends from the dorm got me through it.
Towards the end of my freshman year, I decided to shift majors from Philosophy to Legal Management, as I was uneasy about job opportunities for a Philo major after college, and I was yet unsure of our family finances being able to see me through law school.
After my sophomore year, college was in full swing, and to say it was fun would be an understatement. My roommates, my Eliazo batchmates and my blockmates and I had become really good friends by then. I had a little mishmash of a family away from all the stress back home.
Then the summer of 2001 came along, and I met this guy who I'd eventually be "in a relationship" with for a little over two years. It's part of the whole college experience, I guess. I was young, and I thought I was in love. Looking back though, I'm not sure... Out of self-respect, I refuse to expound on the whole thing, but oh boy, if I could get my hands on my 17 to 18-year-old self, I think I'd give myself a good slap. =p The short version is it was a really long and drawn out and messy affair which, looking back, shouldn't have started in the first place, as we really had nothing in common. But hey, I was young and stupid and in college. I was entitled. =p Hey, at least Daddy and Tita Susan no longer lecture on the matter every time we talk. Well fine, they still do. And Chi and Punch still chide me about it too, come to think of it. Lord, pwede ierase? Okay, I think I'll go crawl under a rock now. Anyway, things fell apart two years later when I went to law school and we both moved on to other things, me to becoming a lawyer, and him to his officemate. =p Like I said, it was messy.
Nico, Sands and I have a term for ourselves: Self-raising Children. Just add hot water. I decline to speak for them, but in my case, that couldn't be more true. Save for financial support, I was fully detached and independent from my family. Unlike Chi's parents who called practically every night and sent her care packages every week, some members of my extended family, though they claim that we're a tight-knit group, apparently see keeping in touch as a one-way street, i.e. with me being the only mobile vehicle on the road. And so my friends have become my extended family. As I learned to see things in a new light, to think and discern, and to understand, the more I failed to comprehend. And I was okay with that.
I think a close friend of mine could not have put it more succinctly when she said, it's really sad that we can no longer relate to certain members of the family on the same level. I remember my freshman year English professor, Dr. Tony Ferrer, discussed this very same concept with us during one of our classes. We read this selection from the compilation of a poor boy from the province who was besotted with a girl from one of the influential families in their province. Her family didn't approve, and the girl also looked down on him as he was poor. The smart boy he was, he was able to pursue his studies as a scholar at a prestigious university. When he graduated, he went home to pursue the girl, but found that he could not relate to her intellectually.
It's not that we intend to belittle certain members of the family, but sometimes, they can be very touchy and overly and unecessarily sensitive about certain things, and just telling them about our day somehow gets interpreted as looking down on someone. Mob mentality adds insult to injury. All I can say is first of all, I am a long shot from being rich. I get by, that's all. I try to save and to be financially responsible, but that's it. I try to help out the best I can with what little I have, but I guess sometimes people take it the wrong way. Yes, I'm also entitled to get irritated, and to get mad. I don't think it's a character flaw on my part that I clam up and keep to myself when I'm irritable, irritated or annoyed. I try my best not to let my emotions get in the way so I don't say or do things fueled by fleeting anger. That's how my mom raised me, and that's how I am. I was trained not to shout, to throw a tantrum or even to cry in public. My mom underscored the importance of keeping one's emotions in check especially when in the presence of other people, and never to exhibit signs of anger or sadness in public just to attract attention to oneself. When I was a kid, if I wasn't in the best of moods, I was told to go to my room and resurface when I no longer felt like dealing with the world like an asshole, although of course not in those words. My mom said, for instance, that if I really wanted to cry, then I should do it in the privacy of my room, and when I was done, to wash my face and come out presentable. She lived what she preached too. In the short span of time I spent with my mom, I never once saw her lose her cool in public.
All that having been said, I am blessed to have mended my relationship with my dad, and to have reconnected with Tita Susan. While I have drifted apart from certain members of the family due to fundamental differences, I have also learned to understand and to see others in a new light. There are certain things that my sixteen-year-old self could not comprehend. What I saw as character flaws when I was younger, I now recognize to be simple personal quirks, which, if I may say so, are actually kind of cute.
And that, my dear friends, is the overly abbreviated version of the adventure, the pain, the excitement, the thrill, and the challenge of my experience of growing up. And the fact that I'm still sane and able to process and comprehend all these things in my own way in spite of everything is precisely why I am thankful to the Ateneo.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Weddings and holidays
Christmas somehow tends to bring out the best and the worst that Manila has to offer. On one hand, the temperature drops, and the normally searing heat of urban decay becomes more bearable. Christmas trees, lights, Santa figures and sleighs come out, and carols play everywhere. The spirit of Christmas even makes work seem more enjoyable than usual. On the other hand, traffic comes to a virtual standstill with the deluge of millions of shoppers rushing to meet their self-imposed deadlines. Today, for instance, it took us more than two hours to get from Padre Faura to Kalayaan in Quezon City. Que perdido de tiempo.
The flipside of the horrible horrible holiday traffic is I got to spend time with two of my favorite people in the world: Chi and Ngangi. (Uuuuy flattered! May bayad na 'to ha.) I'm oddly relieved they're both moving back to Manila after something like three years in Singapore. These two gremlins are like sisters to me, and I'm really happy they're back. Ngangi now has a place of her own, although it's not yet fully paid, and is now vice president (Ngangs, pinagkakalat ko na ha.) of one of the biggest BPO's here. Galing, diba? I'm so happy for her. She deserves everything she's accomplished. (Clap clap clap.)
I met Ngangi the summer before my sophomore year in college, and she was in the AJSS program at the Ateneo. She took over Tanya's corner for the summer, and I was equally shocked and impressed to see someone reading the classics for fun. A year later, Ngangi moved into Eliazo and became a regular visitor in Room 305, then in Unit 403 at that little hole in the wall behind Pizza Hut that we rented for a year, then Unit 615 in Prince David. I saw her struggle to find her sea legs in her first few years out of college. I saw her scared and heartbroken, and stressed over her move to Singapore. Well, Ngangi and Buyang are back, and they now have a home to call their own.
As for Chi, well. What can I say. First, she's insane. Second, she's gotten me into trouble so many times. Third, she's seen me through my innumerable life crises and mood swings, and we're still friends. One simply cannot put a price tag on a friendship that has survived having to clean up someone else's puke, with Carmi and I passed out drunk and involuntarily puking on ourselves on the floor of Tanya's condo after having shared an entire bottle of tequila. I don't think any of us have ever even considered eating Chicharitos after THAT episode.
I remember this conversation we had in a cab on our way back home from Eastwood a few years back. We said, the best thing about our friendship is we never feel compelled to talk. It's such a shame we lost touch with Tanya and Carmi after college. I'm really happy though that in the midst of kicking unwanted roommates and bouts of family drama, Chi and I are still friends.
A few hours from now, we'll be hosting Chi's bachelorette party, a little less than two weeks before the big wedding. I generally don't believe in marriage, but I think this one will be different. This one will most definitely work. I don't think I've seen two people more perfect for each other. And of all the weddings I've been to, this is the one I'm most proud to be part of. Maybe it's because both these crazy kids are good friends of mine, and despite what other people may say, they're both good people, and I know for a fact that they really sincerely love each other. Of course I'm extremely biased, because I've been rooting for these crazy kids from day one. =p
So anyway, have to go sleep now. My errand list this month just keeps on growing.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Weddings and unrelated nostalgia
My best friend from high school got married yesterday. Aside from the obvious stress of being a bridesmaid, what kept nagging me were, one, the expected awkwardness when I ran into old friends, teachers, neighbors, acquaintances and whatnot, and two, and the palpable excitement at the prospect of catching up with them.
When I left Lipa in 1999 and started my first year of college at the Ateneo, I was sixteen; in hindsight, no more than a child, albeit with a bit more baggage than most. It was the happiest day of my life in six years. Finally, I was free. Finally, I was out from under my father's roof, and though I was a minor and under his protection and control, I had what, to my sixteen-year-old self, seemed like the culmination of six years' worth of tear-filled heartfelt pleas to a higher form of life, to an unseen deity, to get me out of there.
My mom had died under suspicious circumstances six years earlier, and my brother and I had been left with our least favorite parent by default. Even without the egging proof of my father's relatives' involvement in my mom's death, we hated them. In fact, to this day, I still refer to them as just that: my father's relatives. They were mean, in fact downright hateful, and at some point, to my mom, utterly criminal. We begged and begged to be sent to live in Baguio with my mom's family, but to no avail. We got a few weeks in the summer, and if we we pestered my dad enough, we got a few days around the semestral break. The rest of the year, we counted days to our next escape. Those days were occupied primarily by school, to which I devoted my entire childhood. It was key to breaking myself out of jail, and I worked and slaved at it day and night until I finished high school.
Aside from the rigors of matriculation and extracurricular activities, there were the daily doses of stress that living in a rather large clan who lived in adjacent houses in the province brought about. People walked in and out of the house at random intervals, borrowing a plate here, a glass there, raiding the fridge of what little it contained. We ran out of glasses, china and silver at multiple points because those who "borrowed" never bothered to return them. Not even when we were served at their houses with the same objects we knew were ours.
Oh, and we got dragged to endless "family" events. The 100th birthday of a distant uncle who, to this day, I have no idea how we were related to. The much-anticipated fiestas. Random birthdays. People passing licensure exams. There, we would have to plaster fake smiles on our faces at random strangers who were introduced as Tia this or Tio that. We had to raise the back of their hands to our foreheads in the mano, which my mom's family, who'd we'd grown up with prior to her death, did not practice. I always found the gesture odd. I was more comfortable with the single hug and peck on the cheek I'd been accustomed to. But then again, I had no intention of hugging and kissing random strangers, related or not, so I stuck to tradition and did the whole mano thing a hundred times over. I reluctantly picked out a few dishes to stuff my plate with and sat down in the farthest corner, away from prying eyes and the neighborhood chismosas, who would scan everyone for something worth gossiping about. I'd wait until it was time to leave. I'd trace cracks in the floor, in the ceiling, or focus my attention on a random detail in the room, working out the details. I'd play with numbers or letters in my head. Anything to pass the time.
That was the easy part.
The hardest part was always having to talk to them. We had nothing in common. And I had not developed my knack for making smalltalk with random strangers. My dad's nuclear family and their respective nuclear families, are a notch above the rest. In fact, I believe I may be generalizing based on the model of their existence. I remember the day of my dad's wedding to my stepmom, she sat me down at my paternal grandmother's house, and asked me to give my paternal side a chance, to get to know them. I looked at her and said blankly, “No. I didn't like them when I was a child. And I do not like them now. I see no need to change that.”
But I digress.
The idea of college as an escape had been planted my brain by my maternal family, as a beacon of hope in those days when I really did hate my life. My relationship with my dad has mended itself over the years, but we do not share the warm close relationship that my friends do with their dads. When I was younger, I used to loathe him silly, call him the evil engineer (because he's a civil engineer). My mom was a very warm, caring, and eloquently affectionate person. That's what we were used to. When she died suddenly one Thursday morning, we were thrust into this alien world where we got no hugs. We got no kisses. We got a verbal beating when our grades dropped a point. We were on an assembly line headed for insanity. All day everyday we were compared to his friends' children, who, he said, at our age, could run a household by themselves. At that point, I couldn't even sweep a floor properly. I had just turned nine, and using the rice cooker was a great achievement for me.
And thus I learned to despise the accent, the manner of speaking, the way they dressed, how the looked, and how they smelled. Life there was a long battle with chronic stress and those random incidents that manage to drop in along the way. I think I only got through it because I chose my friends well. And I had adults who probably saw through what was going on and took me under their wing. Aside from my maternal family, which had not yet thoroughly degenerated at that point, from gradeschool, I had Dianne, and at some point, Lira. My childhood mentors, Sands' aunt, Teacher Susan, Teacher Aileen, Teacher Myrna, to name a few. It was a small town. Word got around. They knew my life inside and out, and didn't judge me for it. Come high school, I met Sands, Kiel, Ate Karen, and the rest of my high school barkada (including Dianne). On an intellectual level, Sir Torrecampo was the best, but Ma'am Latay has always been a cut above the rest. Maybe it was because she was my English teacher, and I took my essays and short stories to heart. I took every assignment seriously, and every piece was a part of me. These people made an unbearable childhood enjoyable. They got me through the worst part, and made me smile through it.
The day I graduated, I remember my high school world history teacher, Sir Torrecampo, tell us to look around the room at the people seated next to us, as that would probably be the last time we would see each other. At that time, I shook my head and smiled, thinking to myself that incredulous to think so. Well, here I am eleven years later, to attest to the hyperbolic truth.
Over the years, I've fallen out of touch with most of the people I owe my relative sanity to. I see Sands every two months or so. I see Kiel about twice a year. Before last night, I hadn't seen Ma'am Latay, Dianne, and my high school barkada since, well, high school. Teacher Susan I hadn't seen or talked to for so long I can't even recall the last time.
While it pains me to realize that when I sought the escape hatch to Ateneo, I left so many people behind. Looking back though, I see why I had to do it. And I would do it again. I had to leave Lipa to pursue a higher education, to learn to forget as a precursor to eventual forgiveness, and to mend my relationship with my dad. College and succeeding years bore a myriad of other different dilemmas of another nature, but those years also brought about another set of friends I am very blessed to have.
I still do not feel comfortable spending extended periods of time in Lipa because of the innumerable bad memories that plague my association with the city. But there may well be hope for us yet. As for the manangs with their apple-cut hair though, nah, probably not.
When I left Lipa in 1999 and started my first year of college at the Ateneo, I was sixteen; in hindsight, no more than a child, albeit with a bit more baggage than most. It was the happiest day of my life in six years. Finally, I was free. Finally, I was out from under my father's roof, and though I was a minor and under his protection and control, I had what, to my sixteen-year-old self, seemed like the culmination of six years' worth of tear-filled heartfelt pleas to a higher form of life, to an unseen deity, to get me out of there.
My mom had died under suspicious circumstances six years earlier, and my brother and I had been left with our least favorite parent by default. Even without the egging proof of my father's relatives' involvement in my mom's death, we hated them. In fact, to this day, I still refer to them as just that: my father's relatives. They were mean, in fact downright hateful, and at some point, to my mom, utterly criminal. We begged and begged to be sent to live in Baguio with my mom's family, but to no avail. We got a few weeks in the summer, and if we we pestered my dad enough, we got a few days around the semestral break. The rest of the year, we counted days to our next escape. Those days were occupied primarily by school, to which I devoted my entire childhood. It was key to breaking myself out of jail, and I worked and slaved at it day and night until I finished high school.
Aside from the rigors of matriculation and extracurricular activities, there were the daily doses of stress that living in a rather large clan who lived in adjacent houses in the province brought about. People walked in and out of the house at random intervals, borrowing a plate here, a glass there, raiding the fridge of what little it contained. We ran out of glasses, china and silver at multiple points because those who "borrowed" never bothered to return them. Not even when we were served at their houses with the same objects we knew were ours.
Oh, and we got dragged to endless "family" events. The 100th birthday of a distant uncle who, to this day, I have no idea how we were related to. The much-anticipated fiestas. Random birthdays. People passing licensure exams. There, we would have to plaster fake smiles on our faces at random strangers who were introduced as Tia this or Tio that. We had to raise the back of their hands to our foreheads in the mano, which my mom's family, who'd we'd grown up with prior to her death, did not practice. I always found the gesture odd. I was more comfortable with the single hug and peck on the cheek I'd been accustomed to. But then again, I had no intention of hugging and kissing random strangers, related or not, so I stuck to tradition and did the whole mano thing a hundred times over. I reluctantly picked out a few dishes to stuff my plate with and sat down in the farthest corner, away from prying eyes and the neighborhood chismosas, who would scan everyone for something worth gossiping about. I'd wait until it was time to leave. I'd trace cracks in the floor, in the ceiling, or focus my attention on a random detail in the room, working out the details. I'd play with numbers or letters in my head. Anything to pass the time.
That was the easy part.
The hardest part was always having to talk to them. We had nothing in common. And I had not developed my knack for making smalltalk with random strangers. My dad's nuclear family and their respective nuclear families, are a notch above the rest. In fact, I believe I may be generalizing based on the model of their existence. I remember the day of my dad's wedding to my stepmom, she sat me down at my paternal grandmother's house, and asked me to give my paternal side a chance, to get to know them. I looked at her and said blankly, “No. I didn't like them when I was a child. And I do not like them now. I see no need to change that.”
But I digress.
The idea of college as an escape had been planted my brain by my maternal family, as a beacon of hope in those days when I really did hate my life. My relationship with my dad has mended itself over the years, but we do not share the warm close relationship that my friends do with their dads. When I was younger, I used to loathe him silly, call him the evil engineer (because he's a civil engineer). My mom was a very warm, caring, and eloquently affectionate person. That's what we were used to. When she died suddenly one Thursday morning, we were thrust into this alien world where we got no hugs. We got no kisses. We got a verbal beating when our grades dropped a point. We were on an assembly line headed for insanity. All day everyday we were compared to his friends' children, who, he said, at our age, could run a household by themselves. At that point, I couldn't even sweep a floor properly. I had just turned nine, and using the rice cooker was a great achievement for me.
And thus I learned to despise the accent, the manner of speaking, the way they dressed, how the looked, and how they smelled. Life there was a long battle with chronic stress and those random incidents that manage to drop in along the way. I think I only got through it because I chose my friends well. And I had adults who probably saw through what was going on and took me under their wing. Aside from my maternal family, which had not yet thoroughly degenerated at that point, from gradeschool, I had Dianne, and at some point, Lira. My childhood mentors, Sands' aunt, Teacher Susan, Teacher Aileen, Teacher Myrna, to name a few. It was a small town. Word got around. They knew my life inside and out, and didn't judge me for it. Come high school, I met Sands, Kiel, Ate Karen, and the rest of my high school barkada (including Dianne). On an intellectual level, Sir Torrecampo was the best, but Ma'am Latay has always been a cut above the rest. Maybe it was because she was my English teacher, and I took my essays and short stories to heart. I took every assignment seriously, and every piece was a part of me. These people made an unbearable childhood enjoyable. They got me through the worst part, and made me smile through it.
The day I graduated, I remember my high school world history teacher, Sir Torrecampo, tell us to look around the room at the people seated next to us, as that would probably be the last time we would see each other. At that time, I shook my head and smiled, thinking to myself that incredulous to think so. Well, here I am eleven years later, to attest to the hyperbolic truth.
Over the years, I've fallen out of touch with most of the people I owe my relative sanity to. I see Sands every two months or so. I see Kiel about twice a year. Before last night, I hadn't seen Ma'am Latay, Dianne, and my high school barkada since, well, high school. Teacher Susan I hadn't seen or talked to for so long I can't even recall the last time.
While it pains me to realize that when I sought the escape hatch to Ateneo, I left so many people behind. Looking back though, I see why I had to do it. And I would do it again. I had to leave Lipa to pursue a higher education, to learn to forget as a precursor to eventual forgiveness, and to mend my relationship with my dad. College and succeeding years bore a myriad of other different dilemmas of another nature, but those years also brought about another set of friends I am very blessed to have.
I still do not feel comfortable spending extended periods of time in Lipa because of the innumerable bad memories that plague my association with the city. But there may well be hope for us yet. As for the manangs with their apple-cut hair though, nah, probably not.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Back online.
So after 10 million years, I'm finally back online. I just got a netbook earlier tonight. I'm actually saving up for a Mac, but since my life is in dire need of a technological boost, I decided to get a netbook to tide me over. So I took Punch's advice. At least when I get a Macbook, I'll have this netbook for travel or whatever, and the Macbook can be my desktop replacement at home. Better than having two notebooks, right? And I love my little Acer. Reminds me of my old little Acer, the one that I used all throughout law school. That little guy was pretty sturdy. It's still alive actually, but I don't use it anymore because the resolution's so bad, and it runs on Windows 98. So anyway, I hope this one lives a long and fruitful life.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Planning a trip to Spain
I kinda figured my research might be able to help other people planning a trip to Spain as well. So here are some useful links that I’ve chanced upon. I’ll post draft itineraries as this Spain trip comes together. Enjoy. =)
For Rent: NJ just across Manhattan
On a side note, I'm posting this for my friend:
For Rent: NJ just across Manhattan
Looking for roommates! Place is a bus ride away from Manhattan and bus stop right in front! I have 2 rooms, each room can fit 2-3 people. Preferably female! Just message me here!
Friday, July 16, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
And the shit has hit the fan.
Just when I thought I had a good thing going for me, I find myself shoved into yet another crisis not of my own making. To cut the long story short, it seems to me that I’ll have to move again soon. Yes, my dad is going to kill me. Yes, this was NOT part of the budget. Yes, I HAVE been trying to save. Yes, I DID already map out my budget for the next year. And NO, I did NOT know nor did I foresee that I would have an unwanted third housemate (who, I might add, does not share in any expense) when I took up my friend’s offer to move in with her. I’ve tried to be open-minded about it. I’ve tried to keep mum about the whole thing. But I really cannot stand the situation. And I cannot keep on living like this.
And all I can say is: SHIT.
AND because I never anticipated having to move so soon, I didn’t set aside that much cash for the initial cash out. I did not sign up for this. I never would have, had I known. I was perfectly happy in my little hole in the wall in Salcedo Village. Yes, it was small and kinda expensive. But I was happy there.
Now it’s not just the expense that’s literally keeping me awake. The whole thought of having to pack (again) and organize the move (again)…it’s such a daunting and unbelievably stressful feat I do NOT have time for. Hello, I don’t even have time to look for an apartment. I have to draft a gazillion decisions by the end of the month! And now THIS??? How I’m going to work this out, I have no idea.
At this point, I don’t think anyone will hold it against me if I’m just fuming mad, irritated, disgusted and the whole shebang. Not good. Not good at all.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Happy pill please...
The past week has been a bit of a drag for me. After being perenially sick since before Christmas, Mama had a mild stroke last Friday. She spent two days in the ICU, and another three in a regular room under observation. She was discharged Wednesday afternoon. I've been commuting back and forth since then. Before that, I was more or less based in Laguna for four months, from late December to late April. After this latest stint, I was able to return to the apartment yesterday afternoon.
Saturday, my cousin got sick and had to go to the hospital.
My tita, my mom's eldest sister, has leukemia. Her first child is being so mean, to put things lightly. Her second child died. Her youngest son is doing drugs. One of her twin granddaughters died. The other twin was taken from her. Her husband is perenially absent.
My uncle, my mom's youngest brother, also heart as heart problem. He had to be operated on recently.
My brother is still in Neverneverland, with no sure chance of recovery.
My mom's other brothers are both in Houston and are stuck there because of their jobs.
And my mom's dead. And I seem to have been thrust into her place as problem solver of sorts. Well, in theory, that is. I can barely deal with my own issues, no matter how trivial they are, much less my extended family's infinitely more complex and deep-rooted problems.
It seriously feels like some sick bug has hit the family. And it sucks. And it's not just the health problems. It's all sorts of shit. Talk about Murphy's Law. Thing is, in our case, bad luck doesn't seem to come in threes. More like three hundreds. It's so exhausting. I mean, it's not like I don't care. It's because I do that listening to everyone's ills weighs me down so much. Seems I've been empathizing too much and too deeply. As I told Nico earlier, I love my family and all, but sometimes being around them is a little toxic. Seems like nothing ever goes smoothly for more than a few days, sometimes hours, at a time. When you think you've gotten over one bump, another bigger one comes along. On top of the mid-sized stones along the way. I need a few days to detox. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to have a major heart attack at and die at 30.
Thus the title.
Saturday, my cousin got sick and had to go to the hospital.
My tita, my mom's eldest sister, has leukemia. Her first child is being so mean, to put things lightly. Her second child died. Her youngest son is doing drugs. One of her twin granddaughters died. The other twin was taken from her. Her husband is perenially absent.
My uncle, my mom's youngest brother, also heart as heart problem. He had to be operated on recently.
My brother is still in Neverneverland, with no sure chance of recovery.
My mom's other brothers are both in Houston and are stuck there because of their jobs.
And my mom's dead. And I seem to have been thrust into her place as problem solver of sorts. Well, in theory, that is. I can barely deal with my own issues, no matter how trivial they are, much less my extended family's infinitely more complex and deep-rooted problems.
It seriously feels like some sick bug has hit the family. And it sucks. And it's not just the health problems. It's all sorts of shit. Talk about Murphy's Law. Thing is, in our case, bad luck doesn't seem to come in threes. More like three hundreds. It's so exhausting. I mean, it's not like I don't care. It's because I do that listening to everyone's ills weighs me down so much. Seems I've been empathizing too much and too deeply. As I told Nico earlier, I love my family and all, but sometimes being around them is a little toxic. Seems like nothing ever goes smoothly for more than a few days, sometimes hours, at a time. When you think you've gotten over one bump, another bigger one comes along. On top of the mid-sized stones along the way. I need a few days to detox. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to have a major heart attack at and die at 30.
Thus the title.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Biñan sucks.
I swear, if I wasn't attempting to be good (or at least as good as I can be before blowing my brains out), I'd steer the hell away from this place. It's unbelievably hot. The place looks like it did thirteen years ago. (The only exceptions being the Jollibee and Ministop at the corner. And that Chinese restaurant. Although they're technically part of Carmona, I think.) And now, my God, the entire village water supply has gone kaput. I am not kidding. NO WATER. Sheesh.
Add all these things up, plus the human temper factor, and it's like a gunpowder factory waiting to blow up in everyone's face. I think I'll pack up my stuff and attempt to work in the apartment. B or no B, I pay rent. I'm entitled to be there. I'll just ignore the hell out of him. I really need to save up and get my own apartment.
Add all these things up, plus the human temper factor, and it's like a gunpowder factory waiting to blow up in everyone's face. I think I'll pack up my stuff and attempt to work in the apartment. B or no B, I pay rent. I'm entitled to be there. I'll just ignore the hell out of him. I really need to save up and get my own apartment.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Hello blog.
Upon the prodding of the now tech-savvy Mary Trish, I now have a new blog on Tumblr. Follow me at http://attorneybyaccident.tumblr.com.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sublessor wanted
I'm moving out of my 27 sq.m. studio at Alfaro Place in Makati City by the end of March. It's an inner unit at the 4th floor, which is great, because it's never dusty or noisy or hot. Rent is 11k, exclusive of utilities and association dues. You canwalk to practically anywhere in Salcedo Village (and even Legaspi Village / Greenbelt if the sun isn't too glaringly hot). It's right across from Velasquez (aka Salcedo) Park, and there's a Starbucks and a Coffee Bean within a 3-minute distance. I'm moving in with a college friend by the end of March. Lemme know if you're interested. =)
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Clarification
I don't know who squealed, but I hope you rot in hell, you moron. Nothing's even final yet. I haven't decided. I haven't done anything. So if I get called in because of you, I am going to track you down and kill you.
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