The other night at Walmart...

I usually check out the board by the entrance of Walmart to look at photos of missing kids. One girl caught my eye, the photo was a teen's self-protrait most likely taken from her MySpace profile (you know, that shot taken from a strange angle, a super-model pout and with one corner of the photo taken over by a glimpse of the outstretched hand that held the camera). It dawned on me (again) how far our picture-taking has evolved, including its uses.  I knew that one day, missing person's files won't just contain ID pictures or cut-outs from birthday party pictures!!! Now, if ever I go missing, please don't post my photo in that hula outfit even if I'm so darn proud of it!

Seriously, do you ever take a close look at photos of missing people?  Next time, can you please take some time to stare at their eyes, say a prayer and hope that one day you or someone else will find them and return them to their loved ones?

Uh-oh, Have I Just Sold My Soul?

        *This post is really not meant for this site, but I'm posting it anyway*

        It's been what...3 weeks? 4? since I became official with Payperpost and Blogsvertise. The only two income-generating seas I've so far waded in where blogging is concerned. There's still a huge chunk that doesn't fit snugly in my heart because I feel that I've sold some precious little pieces of myself. I'm just a bit apprehensive that those avid readers *yeah, wishful thinking* who have somehow followed my posts because they found themselves resonating to my thoughts, picking up something good if not learning a little lesson or two, will lose interest because of a slight change in flavor (or lack thereof).

         I have nothing against monetizing the blog, nor those who do it. In fact, I'm a puppy of the same litter and I'm so darn proud of it! In these times where the economy goes nowhere but plummet south and the power of money is shrinking to a nano-size particle, monetizing the blog is a really clean venue where one can earn extra with a little effort, especially for those who are inclined to write. My other feelings about this (the ones that aren't as pleasant) are purely personal though.  I just realized that the plant I'm growing is getting more and more different from the seed I have planted when I started to blog.  This "Coffee, Anyone?" is the product of a dream, born full of promises...both the good and the bad, the crazy and the sober, the fascinating and the mundane facets of my journey.  I am happy with the readership that has developed, it's not that many but quite an appreciative lot. That's something I didn't expect but I am so grateful for. After all, I'm an ardent crusader of the "Starfish Story" principle --- it doesn't matter if what I do can't change the whole world as long as it affects one tiny soul in a good way.  That's one of the life purposes I have been embracing for a long time now.

         I'm in a quandary because a little drop of buzzing or advertising seems to dilute this purpose. On second thought, won't they pass as part of it all, like additional spices in a stew that you are allowed to add but may also do without? I only write about those whose pieces fit into my current plot anyway, although I admit I'm forcing some in with a passion.  I don't know, maybe this is only an initial feeling that is part and parcel of first-time experiences...like that of a virgin's after having sex for the first time. Pardon my example but it's the best thing I could come up with at the moment. Yeah, talk about forcing some in with a passion.  Right. Right.

        One option is to create yet another blogsite specifically for that purpose, but this will bring me back to square one in terms of building up Page Ranking and other related ratings to qualify. Perhaps I should plant another seed without any intention of monetary gain again. Maybe it will evolve once more into something that will bear "fruit" down the road. Definitely, my original site, the one I always refer to as my "birthplace", Thoughts at 3am, will remain unadulterated for life. This niche, on the other hand, will be a collage of sorts for now where I run the risk of people giving my updates the cold shoulder expecting each post or each link to be of commercial nature or people having doubts about my integrity debating if the things I claim to be passionate about come with a fee or are genuinely mine . I have always been passionate in sharing every little discovery in my journey.  So either way, trust that everything is made with the purest intentions. In this case perhaps, the means justifies the end...(and vice versa). Besides, "pure intention" is another strong principle I always try live by.

         Perhaps I should start linking up this post as an epilogue to My Disclosure Policy too.

Saturday Night

Today, hubby and I did a pretty good job with stuff pertinent to our move. We're going to our favorite bar tonight in the city.  He "asked me out" yesterday. Date night, for a change *woohoo*. So I'm sitting here on the bed, writing this post in full "going out" regalia, make up, dangling earrings and all, and I'm still wearing my worn-out flipflops.  He's still in his casual highschool reunion a few blocks down and I didn't go because I needed time to shower and change from work clothes (fresh from the garage). He should be coming back soon. Good thing most of the wives didn't go either (I've hang out with most of them in his clique). I started sipping some wine by myself too.  Hopefully a little alcohol will cure my toothache which has been bothering me for two days now. I know, I know..I should make that long overdue appointment already!

He's Back!

Thank God my Dad's brachytherapy went well. After three or so hours of torment, he woke up, regained sensation after being numbed (for the first time ever) by spinal anesthesia and asked our driver who won the basketball game on TV.  I tried to wake up and say the rosary for him at 3am which was 6pm in the Philippines, the start of the procedure. Then I fell back asleep, but I fell asleep praying hard so I know that God heard me anyway.  The comforting part is that we know that 66 tiny radioactive seeds have been implanted and are now at work inside him -- oh God's little army! A few weeks from now, he'll be undergoing external radiation, which buys me more peace of mind at this point. Peace of mind. But that's not what I need. I just need him to have a new lease on life.  I just want him to live. Period.

Isn't this just a perfect example of the saying -- or question -- why do bad things happen to good people? But it's not my question to ask. I will just keep praying and hoping that he pulls through. I hope this is just one of those hurdles that will pass, a nightmare we'll eventually forget, and drama that won't leave an indelible mark (nor a permanent empty space) in our hearts.

On the lighter side, here's something funny.  As I was told, when my dad was in the recovery room, he was so bored and needed to look at the time frequently.  He asked for his prescription glasses and my sister (or was it the driver ---loyal Mang Romy, thank you for always being by my family's side!) handed it to him. He put them on and instantly got very alarmed saying that his vision seemed to have totally gone bad.  They had to ask the doctor if it was possible at all as a side-effect of knocking him out, my dad bugged the puzzled nurses, worried my sister and subjected himself to some self-inflicted horror trying to figure out why all of a sudden he had impaired vision. Then my mom, oblivious to the situation, arrived and complained about misplacing her own specs.  They later realized that my dad was wearing hers after all! That's my funny family, folks!   We are all walking unpredictable comic reliefs, you know.  And about my dad, this is his way of showing the world that he's back.  You see, nothing can keep a good man down.

Birthday Time!

Happy Birthday, Rocky!!! You are a rare friend. Someone I can trust,  someone who knows exactly how I would feel about things, and someone who holds genuine concern for my interests and the people I treasure, someone who knows a lot about me yet holds my secrets dear, someone who already knows what I need before I even realize it, someone who's there to find it before I look for it, someone who always wants the best for me. You are rare. I love you and I wish you your own slice from the happiness pie. It's about time...

Mixed Nuts

        What a crazy week...mixed feelings...mixed emotions. The schedule is not as wild as my craziest thus far, but I'm feeling kinda in the dumps. The 90210 re-runs that I've gotten attached to for the past months have just concluded last night and I'm suffering from separation anxiety.  I miss Kelly, Dylan, David, Donna, Steve and Janet already (they were my pseudo-friends). Maybe I'm just being hormonal. LOL. We're finally moving to the new house hopefully by Labor Day and I haven't gotten anything organized. There’s this little garage sale to start with hopefully next weekend. We don't have a handful of projects for the new house so I guess there’s nothing to be stressed about but I do want the kitchen repainted into a beautiful shade of Rustic Red. Then we’ll work from there -- shots of Contemporary Tuscan around the house. Wrought-iron décor...chunky candles everywhere, a good selection of subtle accents with tuscan colors like copper, terra cotta, tuscan gold, paprika, sage green, luscious olive, deep burgundy, chocolate brown, soft gold, tan, rust and dark red…

        It's all good. Not really. Miles away, Daddy’s getting in the hospital for his Brachytherapy and he has been telling me that he’s so terrified, this being his very first major medical treatment in all his 71 healthy and youthful years. (last year, he considered Botox treatments! – but I think he meant it as a joke *I think*) Seriously, I remember when I was 8 years old, the bank transferred him to a branch so far away that he’d come home only on weekends. He told me how he would drive across railroad tracks everyday (regular city tracks but at 8 years old that made me very fearful) And I remember praying so hard almost every moment that I could make God deaf just so he will be kept safe from incoming trains (and I guess in general), for me. I’m praying like that 8-year old all over again…So hard I can trade everything else that’s special.  But I know that God doesn’t work that way.  I hope He’ll keep my dad as safe and healthy as He has kept him when I asked for it more than two decades ago.

        At work, we have this big nationwide project that’s launching on Friday where I’m in charge of the Southern Pacific region with about 30ish branches to take care of. We are expected to implement in 4 days and all I have done so far is checkout the main company’s website and stare at it for hours.

        I’m in this phase again where I hope that time will fly faster so I can rush into the new house and do all the beautiful things I’ve planned, and at the same time wish the clocks will stop so my dad doesn’t have to go through his medical ordeal.

        I’m so antsy at work right now. I’m going nuts, big time.

Merry Christmas

For the second time in years, tears rolled down my eyes without following a surge of angry or hurt feelings.

The first time was a year ago when I was driving home from work and I spotted a woman with a dog by the intersection.  The dog looked and moved exactly like Milo – my sister’s pet back home who I found myself being a full-time stepmom to. I realized how much I missed the happy bonding run and fetch moments I shared with that hairy mutt. Cheesy, I know but nonetheless sent tears streaming down.

Last night was the next. I continued to catch up with my 90210 re-run recordings and they featured an episode where Donna’s mom was selling their family house and Donna told David about her happy childhood memories and how Christmas was her favorite time in that house. Long story short, David arranged for an off-season final Christmas in the house with the giant Christmas tree, the ornaments, Christmas carols in the background, the eggnog, family and friends wearing Santa hats. I could almost smell Donna’s Christmas…Donna’s final Christmas in that house.

And I suddenly smelled my own memories of Christmas past. Growing up in the  ancestral house, midnight mass in a private convent, new clothes, new shoes (that hurt because they haven’t been broken in), Christmas carols on the radio, our giant tree, Christmas eve (and “Noche Buena”) treats, cheese(!), the twinkling Tivoli lights, waking up on Christmas morning, the cool breeze, and spending time with family. 

FAMILY.  I miss my family. Is homesickness making its way in? Is it slowly creeping through tiny holes and gaps of the box that houses my heart? Through the cracks on windows that have been boarded up and doors I have nailed shut? I’m not dense, but I try to keep emotions at bay as much as I can, trying my best to live up to being the anchor of strength in my family that I can’t fold and will never intend to. Or perhaps, I take after my grandmother, the matriarch, who indirectly showed me how to be a real lady in emotional moments –calm and “seemingly” unaffected, zealous in her love but strangely distant; keeping it together to try and keep everyone from crumbling…in full control but straining hard not to dangerously collapse inside. 

I make sure every long distance phone call to my parents is a cheerful one – to leave them laughing and their spirits high until the next one, or to distract them and make them forget about me not being close by.  I’m miles away from these special people in the treasured Christmases of my childhood. Memories that make you ache to experience all over again but you know you can't. A hundred little pieces of homesickness pierced through last night.  Or perhaps, just being far away pushes one to wax prematurely nostalgic at age 35.  For whatever it was, this steel magnolia finally cried…

Second Chances

I'm so sleepy again you will have to hook me via a concentric catheter in the external carotid artery to an intravenous drip of 20% Red Bull, 25% Monster, 20% Rockstar, 25% Coffee, 10% Diet Coke. My schedule is still out of whack and I'm dog-tired.

Anyhoo,  I still can't fathom why for days on end, I would pay the coffee pot a visit on my 3pm breaks when I know that nobody makes coffee at that hour anymore.  And each time, the same repertoire of motions vis-a-vis feelings transpire: I waddle dazedly to the lunchroom bearing my prized coffee mug that contains nothing but a faint brown stain of coffee that dried up on a straight line as I desperately hang on to the last drops of morning fix with my mouth wide open and head tilted back so far I could fall off my chair, then I aim the mug under the spout of the thermos as a drought-victim would upon seeing an artesian well for the first time in 50 years, I press on the pump with so much faith that never seem to remember days and days of no coffee in the coffee pot at 3 o'clock. Then the spout manages to cough up air (or bubbles on good days) that so much sounds like but is definitely less productive than a person with a mild case of bronchitis. Then I turn around, embarassed for the almost imbecile show of hopefulness, and head for the water dispenser to get some cold water as an after-thought. And to dilute what remains of the stain.

Last week, as I was walking back to my desk, Anna (my co-worker inhabiting the cubicle next to the lunchroom) blurted out, "And what makes you think there's coffee at 3pm?" She heard the thermos cough. Several times. I don't know. Perhaps, I'm stupid that way. I'm stubborn that way. I persist and hope and anticipate change despite repeating disappointments. I know I can send Pavlov turning in his grave.

Today, at 3pm, I marched into the lunch room again but lo and behold, this time I emerged triumphant, with a mug full of coffee (not as hot but warm enough to tide me over). No one finished the morning fix! I showed my prize to Anna, she was on the phone but she gave me a smile and a thumbs-up sign.  You see, I'm very trusting and forgiving that way.  I don't lose hope on anything. Or in most (I didn't say all) cases, anyone. I believe in the innate cosmic goodness in things, events and people as long as we give them a chance (even if you need to turn them inside out, or shake, twist and squeeze...there's gotta be something!) You see, I don't give up easily. You see, you'll never know when you're going to hit the jackpot.

Hotline to Heaven

How can one explain that on the same day that I wrote the deposit check for the house we're buying, not even an hour after our agent picked it up and I started having qualms about the cost of this humongous California mortgage causing a major revamp in our monthly budget, the President of our company comes calling me to his office, hands me my payslip and says "thank you for your wonderful service to the company, we're giving you a raise and it's already incorporated in this pay period". My hair was raising all over as I walked back to my desk.

I don't remember praying for it but I do remember throwing this silent question to God in one of my passing thoughts: Lord, I don't know if it is the right house, or if it is really the ripe time for us, just show me when you can.

What a wondrous and beautiful language he speaks to us in. Isn't it?

631,152,000 seconds of friendship

OR 10,519,200 minutes and counting – I think that sounds fascinating too!

Hi Ali!

It’s August 8, 2008 in the Philippines (the 7^th over here) today. I don’t know if there is such a big and official thing as an anniversary of friendship but I hope you remember that at one point, we officially recognized August 8, 1988 (8/8/88) as the start of our friendship. It was a lucky day for us alright!

Twenty years, brother! Twenty years of knowing that I have the kind of friend  who will stick by me even if I will be the Most Wanted criminal in the world. You are that kind of friend. And that’s one special lesson on friendship that I learned from you.

I still find myself visiting that happy place in my heart.  A place that tells tales of long hours on the phone, breakfast meals at 10pm, round trips on the train just for kicks, a long list of things to do together scribbled on a folded piece of paper tucked in our wallets (way before PDAs and cellphones became popular), movies, shared tears, road trips, food trips, caffeine and nicotine trips (a-huh!), our RC cars…and even deeper down memory lane: painting and sketching together in high school, the dance number we did (ulgk!), the endless exchange of letters when I went away for college, the unspoken agreement to celebrate the day after Christmas (my mom’s birthday) at my house each year. And you know what I miss the most? Those endless philosophical musings and intellectual conversations I shared with you.  That has been pretty scarce in my circle lately. *sucks*

It’s sad that the road we used to travel has reached a fork that split our ways physically, but hopefully not in any other way.  People evolve, lives do change, and we cannot stop the wheel from turning.  The happy thing is that you’ve found your own bestfriend in your spouse, and so have I in mine. My hubby  doesn’t get jealous when I talk about memories with you. He knows that you are my brother, and are now also his. At any rate, I am at peace with knowing that we are both happy where we are now, and in a good place which we only used to dream of.

I just want to thank you for being my bestfriend through those years, really the “bestest” friend, although there is no such word, only such meaning...and it applies to you. I have been so blessed to have that kind of friendship with you. The same still goes out from my heart to you, and now to your wife, and my godson. I look forward to seeing you all on my next visit.

*squiggles* whatever that means, boy!

PS. I'm posting pictures I stole from your friendster! Hahaha. I know you wouldn't mind LOL =P because for some reason, I have no "digital" pictures of us to post right away.  That's how ancient we are. YIKES!

Wanna hear something funny?

Okay. So I ended up pulling my husband’s hair (not the sexy kind) like one wicked and enraged witch the other night (AARRRGGGHHH!). IN MY SLEEP.

I had this dream that someone I knew who’s always been so stubborn and never respected my words and feelings in the past has dunnit again! And if I used to be patient, understanding and tolerant with her, I certainly was the exact opposite in my dream.  Talk about suppressed feelings!  Aggressive and revengeful tendencies! In my dream, I was so frustrated I started yelling at her (YES! finally, after all those years of torment!) then I grabbed her thick wiry hair and started pulling it (like in an overly-dramatic soap opera with flames almost churning out of my nostrils).  GGGGGRRRRR!!!!! ARRRRRGGGH!!!! It was almost cathartic. Aaah, the pleasure of finally letting the floodgates loose!

Then suddenly, I woke up because my husband shook me.  He had this big astounded and bewildered look in his eyes...no, make that thunderstruck ... stupefied...flabbergasted...PETRIFIED... as he nervously chirped, “What the hell did you do that for?” I was pulling hard on his hair with such adrenaline-powered grip and his eyes were as round as golf balls.  Oh the poor innocent sleeping thing...

It was hella funny.  I ended up laughing my way back to sleep.  Maybe I should start seeing a therapist for a sleeping disorder (aggressive tendencies in dreams) hahaha or for some minor problems while fully awake (suppressing anger and stuff).  Nah, I prefer to transcend and stay calm.  Too much drama makes one ugly and sick.  Besides, I must admit I enjoyed that hair-pulling drama and I'm not about to let that go *LOL*.

I still can't stop laughing! Hell, yeah!

"Compassion and tolerance are not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength." - Dalai Lama

Aloha Festival (Presidio, SF)

I had a blast last weekend.  We performed at the Aloha Festival last Saturday.  I just remembered how last year, I promised myself I wouldn't be just watching at the festival anymore, I would be performing. Well...

Here's something to scratch off my list again! But I'll keep doing it. See you next year! Mahalo...