what-if my foot

Music: Crack the Shutters by Snow Patrol

It started with a random conversation with an old friend—a suggestion that eventually led to counseling that eventually led to more conversation. I ended up going back to all the decisions I did (or did not) make in the past and wondered what could have happened if I had done otherwise.

1. What if I had transferred from my course to one that specializes in math and science, like I had originally planned? Would I be in a different industry then? Would I be happier, or more miserable?
2. What if I had chosen to stay in marketing rather than go back to publishing? Would I have improved my interpersonal skills? Or would I be sicker, thinner, and more burned out than before?
3. What if I had agreed to follow my then-boyfriend to Dubai, like he had suggested a few months after he left? Would we have lived happily ever after, even when I don’t believe in happy endings?
4. What if I had chosen his cousin instead—my first big infatuation? Would it be any different? Would he be like my ex, unfaithful when I’m not looking? Or would it have worked out better between the two of us than it ever did with me and my then-boyfriend?
5. What if I had flown to NC instead and married the one guy whom I almost fell in love with, but not quite? Would we be happy? Would I be happy, leaving my family and friends for a guy who made me feel great about myself?
6. What if I had left for Australia and built my life there? Would life be easier for me and my family, or would I feel too homesick to function properly?
7. What if I had decided not to pursue theater, to just focus on my job and not entertain the idea of leading a group of rowdy young people into productions designed to minister and touch lives? Would I have been content with my life?

One of my barkada said that there’s a science theory (wait, that’s not what he called it, but I forgot what it is exactly) that says that for every decision you didn’t make, there is an alternate universe where another you would make that decision. So if I choose to stick with editing books in this universe, the other me in the alternate one will most definitely be a rocket scientist.

Oh, that is so cool.

It’s too bad I don’t believe in alternate universes, but wouldn’t that be grand? In another universe, I’ll end up with that PR guy from a faraway place. In another universe I’ll be the geek that I was in high school, solving complicated mathematical equations and discovering new species of…uh, ants? (I have no idea where that came from.) In another universe I’ll be a most sought-after host, leading events and parties by big personalities left and right. In another universe, perhaps I won’t be the cynical, jaded, broken girl that I am now.

Meh.

I like who I turned out. Cynical, jaded, sarcastic and broken—this is me. I’ve chosen to accept who I was, who I am now, and who I will never be. What-ifs and alternate universes be damned. This is me. This is how God designed me to be. The what-ifs can stay what-ifs, and I’m perfectly happy with it. Again, as one of my favorite songs say:

I’m not sure yet about life, about love, but in time, I’m sure it will all be fine.

I’m not sure about a lot of things, but I am certain of one thing: the Lord loves me, baggage, scars and all, and because of that, I’ll choose to be happy, to be content, to not dwell in what-ifs that will only make me miserable.

Let what-ifs stay what-ifs forever. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirkulo: an Afterword

Music: Chocolate by Snow Patrol

It was one hell of a ride, that’s for sure.

Except that we’re not actually going to hell, but the opposite direction. And no, I’m not talking about purgatory either, mostly because I don’t believe in it.

I still have mixed feelings about the whole thing. On the one hand, I’m close to furious about the kinks and mistakes that happened—line bloopers by actors, lapel microphone and other technical difficulties, and the feeling that we’re not ready, damn it! On the other hand, I’m happy it’s finally over…and the audience turnout was really good. Add that to the fact that it was an evangelistic play that (hopefully) was able to touch countless lives—then darn it, I’m willing to be forgiving.

Three months of late-night rehearsals, of sweat and blood (literally and figuratively), of hunger pangs and headaches. Half of the time I wanted to give up, walk away and never come back, but of course I never do. Sometimes I want to throw chairs at my actors; instead, I throw them a slipper or two. Once or twice I cried without them knowing, just hid in the comfort room (not much comfort there, I tell you) and wiped away furious tears.

But then I remind myself over and over again that I am not doing this for myself or for anyone else—I’m doing this for the Lord. More than a thespian, more than a director of a play, I am a minister, a servant of God, tasked to lead a bunch of, uhh, diverse young people into producing a play that carries a message about salvation. And I revel in that privilege—that opportunity to serve Him using the talents that He has so graciously given me. I mean, seriously, how many people get the chance to do something they really love and serve the Lord at the same time?

I love theater. I used to tell my friends that if going full-time in theater would give me a stable source of income, I’d do theater all my life. I’m generally shy, more of an introvert, really, but when I’m on stage, saying lines I know by heart, or when I tell an actor how to deliver a line or block a scene, I feel content, like everything and anything in the universe is in its proper order. And working with those young people—no matter how many times I wanted to bite their heads off for always being late for rehearsals or inattentive to my instructions—really, honestly, inspires me. It reminds me of how I was once back when I was just starting to act for a church play (although I can say, sans false humility and all that, that I almost always come on time and I rarely do things that would make my director want to throw a shoe at me), of how inexperienced and so much of a noob I was, and how by God’s grace and the patience of my director, I developed into a half-decent actor who could face a crowd of fifty-or-so people to perform a character that is nothing like me.

I love my actors. Headache-inducing bunch and all, I love them with all my little broken heart can take. And yes, I love myself too. But more than that, I love the Lord. And if theater is the way to serve Him best, then I don't pretty much care about anything else.

If anyone asks me if I’d be willing to do all of that all over again, I’d answer with a resounding YES.

And what do you know? We have another production this coming December. I don’t have any material yet, just bits and pieces swimming in the wasteland called my brain, but with God’s help, I’m sure I’ll figure something out.

After all, that is my job.

post-book fair fever

Music: Sick Cycle Carousel by Lifehouse

I'm officially broke until the end of September . . . and maybe a week or two after that. But I don't care, because I am now the proud owner of not one, not two, but five fiction, one non-fiction, and ten children's books, all bought during the Manila International Book Fair held at the SMEX Convention Center in MOA.

I think I deserve some bragging rights for having the guts to go without allowance for two weeks (or more) in exchange for these wonderful titles:

Fiction:

1. Son of a Witch (Gregory Maguire)

2. Perfume (Patrick Suskind)

3. I Am the Messenger (Markus Zusak) - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!

4. The Last Jihad (Joel Rosenberg)

5. The Last Days (Joel Rosenberg)

Non-fiction:

1. Epicenter: Why the Current Rumblings in the Middle East Will Change Your Future (Joel Rosenberg)

Children's Books:

1-5. Batang Historyador series (I already have the complete set way back in college, but Augie Rivera was at the Adarna booth that day and I just couldn't resist . . . I had to have him sign a new set for me.)

6. Just Add Dirt (Becky Bravo / Jason Moss)

7. Tiger on the Wall (Annette Flores Garcia / Joanne de Leon)

8. Naku, Nakuu, Nakuuu! (Nanoy Rafael / Serge Bumatay)

9. Xilef (Augie Rivera / Beth Parrocha-Doctolero)

10. The Book That Eats People (John Perry / Mark Fearing) - LOVE THIS!

Now I don't want to sound like a total nerd or geek or whatever, but I'm considering taking an "Internet break" so I can focus more on my to-read list, which, quite frankly, had gotten longer and longer over the years. So if you don't hear anything from me via the world wide web in the next, say, three months, do not fear. I am not dead (well, hopefully not). I am simply too busy reading something to go online.

Uh. Right.

Good luck on that.

staying single in a “coupled” world

Music: Give Up! by Sherwood

I belong to a barkada whose members are mostly single—three girls and two guys, with only one guy in a long-term relationship. All around us, our batch mates are getting engaged and married left and right, while the people in our little group spend late nights drinking coffee (and tea, in my case, since I’m the little exception to the rule) and wondering when we’ll have our own versions of a happy-ever-after.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not in a hurry to get married. My goal is to get hitched before my 28th birthday, and I still have a pretty long way to go before then. My friends are not worrying too much either—half of the time we’re content hanging out and discussing books, legal cases (one of us is a law student) and our respective jobs, and the other half we end up talking about things that make no sense at all.

Married life is not something I’m really anxious about. I’ve had one disastrous relationship which involved a lot of tears and angry words, and for a long time I’ve been jaded and disillusioned with happy endings. Up until now I am still trying to overcome my cynicism about relationships and the idea of staying faithful to one person for the rest of your life, and I think that has affected my current status. Like I was sending off a negative vibe to people, saying that I do not believe in happily-ever-afters and that happy endings are only happy because they haven’t ended yet.

Still, there are times when I can’t help but ask, “When will it be my turn?” My girlfriends and I would often joke about boys taking a detour and then getting lost along the way, only to be too stubborn not to ask for directions. It’s funny at best and frustrating at worst, and we sometimes vent our annoyance at our lack of romance to the other single guy in the group, who could only do so much to appease our irritation. The other guy isn’t much help either—he’s been in a relationship far too long to understand what we’re going through.

Living in an era riddled with songs and movies about love and relationship can be tough for the singles, particularly to the NBSBs or NGSBs (No Boyfriend/Girlfriend Since Birth) out there. They are usually the ones who feel more pressure about getting in a relationship, especially if everyone around them appears to be in one. Out of desperation they sometimes engage in blind dates or participate in speed dating activities, only to find themselves more frustrated than they originally were.

How does one stay single and sane in a world seemingly filled with couples? I, for one, turn to books. Lots and lots of books. It may seem sad at first, this unfortunate girl substituting a “real” relationship with works by Dean Koontz and Lemony Snicket. Save your sympathy. I am known as a girl who will readily choose a bookshelf over a boyfriend any time of the day. Because unlike a boyfriend who will give you headaches to no end, bookshelves are strong, reliable, and can hold as many books as you wish. But then I guess the comparison is rather inappropriate. I don’t think any guy would appreciate being compared to a chunk of wood anyway.

My point, though, is that in order to lessen the blow of being unattached, you can opt to find other diversions that are more worthy of your time. Try something you’ve never done before. Find a new hobby. Read something interesting, like a new novel, or a non-fiction book about a renowned person. Volunteer for a worthy cause. Or skydive. I personally would not do it, but to each his own, right? Who knows, you just might find your niche in jumping out from planes zipping across the sky.

Or just do what I do: I tell myself, “You’ve waited this long. Why not wait a little longer?” That usually does the trick. Usually.

And to those who have meantime guys and meantime girls, a little word of caution, since I’ve had one myself (and paid dearly for it): In principle, meantime people are convenient, because you get to do fun stuff like having dinner, watching a movie, or just hanging out and talking, without the need to invest on emotions you’re not really ready to invest. The only problem is that you either a) fall in love with your meantime pal, or b) your meantime pal falls in love with you. I didn’t, couldn’t, fall in love with mine, even if I tried. I saw him—no, I still do—as an older brother, and you don’t fall in love with your older brother. That’s called incest. I wish he had done the same. Oh no, he did not fall in love with me (at least I hope he didn’t), but he broke the number one rule in meantime relationships: suggest you two could be something more.

I’m still recovering from that traumatic experience.

(Dear meantime guy, if you’re reading this, I still do not want to talk to you. I love you as a girl would love an older brother, but I don’t think I can face you just yet without feeling the urge to sock you in the face.)

To all the single people out there, cheer up! Chances are, the person next to you in that train or elevator ride is single as well. So you’re not really alone. I know I’m not.

how to survive quarter-life crisis with your sanity intact

Music: All I Ask of You from the Phantom of the Opera Soundtrack

I’ve seen twenty-five Novembers. Graduated from a prestigious university, switched jobs twice, and finally settled for a job that allows me to accept other projects on the side. I’ve read tons of books, written none, and taken on enough writing projects—whether it be a short story, a radio drama script, or a simple book review—to satisfy my usually-deflated ego. I’ve seen numerous plays, written scripts for some, and acted in a few. I’ve had one disastrous relationship, and am currently alone, while my batch mates are getting hitched left and right. And I have one question I’ve been trying to answer since I celebrated my 25th birthday: What is my purpose in life?

Quarter-life crisis. A phenomenon that inflicts a number of young professionals these days. It is similar to the mid-life crisis in the sense that the person who suffers from it usually asks questions like: What have I accomplished so far? What legacy will I leave when I die? Will people remember good or bad things about me, or will they remember me at all? But in a fast- paced world, where everything and anything is now for instant gratification, young people between the ages of 20 to 30 experience what their older counterparts took another twenty-five years to feel.

Why do young professionals suffer from this kind of crisis? And how does one stop it? I don’t know much about stopping its cause, because I for one am struggling with it as well, but I can give a few insights on the matter and hopefully give a few tips to lessen its blow, if not totally

remove it.

Wikipedia defines it as “a term applied to the period of life immediately following the major changes of adolescence, usually ranging from the early twenties to the early thirties.” Characteristics may include insecurity about present accomplishments, disappointment in one’s job, boredom of social interaction, and stress over finances. Young professionals with quarter-life crisis feel that everyone else is better than him or her, usually prompting feelings of incompetence, frustration, to downright depression. They have set expectations about how things will work after graduation, and then are overwhelmed about how tough the “real world” is. They get stressed to the point of burnout, and still not able to find meaning in what they’re doing. They find themselves with low-paying jobs that have nothing to do with their degree, living in their parents’ place instead of buying a house of their own, and generally not reaching their full potential because of their inability to adjust to a new workplace environment.

As a twenty-five-year-old young professional who also undergoes bouts of insecurity, I make it a point to steer away from quarter-life crisis by doing the following:

Find a new hobby. If you feel that life is becoming a dull cycle of frustration and stress, look for something new to do. Not only will it distract you from thinking about your so-called failures, but it may also let you discover a new talent you didn’t know you had before. And what better way to boost your morale than excelling in something you’re good at, right?

Bond with friends. Feeling blue? Have dinner or coffee with your best friend or barkada, and let them cheer you up. You can also talk to them about your current crisis and ask them for advice. If your friends are feeling down themselves, meeting up may be a good chance to lift each other up with words of encouragement. Just be careful that you don't fall into an "emo" session. There's nothing worse than a bunch of yuppies wallowing in self-pity together while downing bottles of warm beer and choking on unforgivable versions of Celine Dion and Shania Twain karaoke . . . or, heaven forbid, a drunk version of "My Way."

Take a breather. Most young professionals are burnt out with their jobs that they sometimes find themselves asking, “What am I even doing this for?” At the first sign of burnout, take the time to pause, inhale deeply, and relax. Go to a spa. Sing songs in a karaoke bar. (But get a VIP room. Don't let other people, other than your closest friends, suffer as well.) Eat in an eat-all-you-can restaurant. File for a vacation if needed be. Go to a retreat house somewhere up in the mountains. Or lounge at the beach and get sunburn. It’s better to take a few days off and then return feeling refreshed, than spending hours in overtime without getting any quality work done.

Volunteer. Some young professionals feel that their life is meaningless because they’re trapped in the vicious cycle of corporate life which appears to lead nowhere. Try volunteering for a foundation or a group that helps the least fortunate. Or round up your friends for a weekend trip to a health center or orphanage, and share your blessings with the sick and children. Get out of your comfort zone to reach out to the needy. You will surely feel better once you see their smiles and hear their warm thank you’s.

Pray. There’s no better reminder that you are important than talking to your Father and having him assure you that you are special, and that what you are doing in life is not a waste. Other people may not appreciate what you’re doing, or you yourself may question what your purpose in life is. But by talking to Him, you will be reassured that you do have a purpose, and that no matter how bad life gets, there’s still someone you could turn to.

patronizing "Filipino" books

Music: The More You Ruv Someone from the Avenue Q soundtrack

This is unedited version of the article I submitted to Alerto Filipino, which came out last August. I am still miffed at the idea of having my complete name published for everyone to see, but I guess I should be thankful that my article actually saw print.

I'm choosing to look at the brighter side of things :)

(Is it working?)

---

Patronizing "Filipino" Books

I have a confession to make: I’ve been partial to books by foreign authors for the better portion of my life.

I think this stems from the fact that I haven’t really been exposed much to Filipino authors and their works during my childhood, and what little exposure I have in high school—Francisco Baltazar’s Florante at Laura, Amado V. Hernandez’s Ibong Mandaragit and Luha ng Buwaya, Lualhati Bautista’s Dekada ’70 and Bata, Bata, Pa’no Ka Ginawa—were made uninteresting by boring group reports and long quarter exams. I do remember enjoying Rizal’s Noli Me Tangere, but that’s about as far as my love for Filipino writing went. Come college I was introduced to the likes of Nick Joaquin, NVM Gonzalez, and Carlos Bulosan, but by then my hands were full with thick volumes of Shakespeare, Homer and Aristotle, that I had little time to indulge in side-readings of Butch Dalisay and Ninotchka Rosca.

Up until I graduated from college, I never made much of an effort to familiarize myself with works by Filipino writers, maybe except for children’s books, which caught my interest since I took an elective about writing for children back in third year college. I’d splurge on books every year at the Manila International Book Fair, a yearly event for book lovers in the Philippines, but I’d always buy fiction books by popular and not-so-popular American and English authors, very rarely by Filipino ones. My reasoning was the epitome of colonial mentality: surely works of American authors are better than their Filipino counterparts.

How wrong I was.

It is only later, when I started working with a publishing company, that I started to really appreciate the beauty of books written by Filipino authors. It is only when I was forced to read them (because I was required to write press releases and feature essays) that I understood why Severino Reyes and Sarge Lacuesta deserve the same amount of love that I give to C.S. Lewis and Dean Koontz. And it’s not simply because of the sudden need to be patriotic that I began to pay attention to books by the “locals,” if that’s one way of calling them. It simply occurred to me that Filipinos have what it takes to write well, sometimes even better than their foreign counterparts.

Take Smaller and Smaller Circles by F.H. Batacan as an example. More often than not, book lovers are familiar with the crime novels of Thomas Harris of the Hannibal fame. But in a craftily written 155-page book, Batacan took the commonly-used serial killer plot and turned it into a thrilling story about a Filipino priest caught in the middle of a series of brutal killings of teenage boys in the slums of Quezon City. Suddenly, the story hits closer to home. The places become familiar, the faces recognizable. The Filipino reading community is presented with the idea that serial killers could exist in the Philippines, that it is not merely a phenomenon that happens in episodes of the popular TV show CSI. Batacan won several prestigious awards for her work, and she mostly deserved to do so.

Books by Filipino writers are engaging not only because they can measure up against New York bestsellers, but also because the Filipino audience can relate to them better. Renowned historian Ambeth Ocampo, for one, has released volumes of entertaining but factual pieces about our beloved heroes—Andres Bonifacio, Emilio Aguinaldo, Antonio Luna—compilation of essays that we will never see in our high school textbooks. He has demythisized National Hero Jose Rizal, and presented funny and interesting trivia about historical events and places in our country. What makes his books so interesting is the flavor he adds to his essays—that distinct Filipino-ness that distinguishes them from other works written about the same subject.

The list of authors is far from being a short one. Names like Danton Remoto and RJ Ledesma may sound familiar to the non-reading community, but not as authors of gender-bender literature and dating essays, respectively, but because of their semi-celebrity status. The more popular Bob Ong and Jessica Zafra have large followings, and thus are less prone to anonymity. Others, such as Vince Simbulan and Yvette Tan, are excellent writers, but are only beginning to make waves for themselves in the literati community. The list goes on—aspiring writers who believe that they can make a difference, who aspire to make a name for themselves or share something they think is worth sharing, not recognized simply because the Philippines is not so much of a book-reading nation, more so a Filipino-books-reading one.

As penitence for my former “snobbishness,” I took it upon myself to invest more in books by Filipino writers. As such, I now buy works ranging from National Artists for Literature F. Sionil Jose and Bienvenido Santos, to the more contemporary ones like Benjamin Pimentel, Katrina Tuvera, and Dean Alfar. It is my hope that in time, I will be able to fill my already brimming-with-books shelf with as much volumes by Filipino authors as books written by foreign ones.

to forgive or not to forgive

Music: Emmanuel by Hillsong United

A day after I posted my "to the guy brave enough to tie the knot with me" entry, a guy friend commented in my FB account and said:

"...and never forgive someone who cheats. Not even once. Especially when you're married."

(Well, yes, he said many things other than that, but that's what struck me the most. Especially since he's a guy.)

Tonight, I open my devotional book and the entry for today is telling me to "draw on the unlimited account of [God's] forgiveness" as I "deal with personal relationships and people [who] hurt me, sometimes repeatedly."

I try to think of people who have hurt me repeatedly, and one person jumps to the top of my list. But I have already forgiven him, and we both have moved on, so I try to think of other people whom I might forgotten but not really forgiven.

I remember a girl back in high school, who was one year my senior, and how much I loathed her because she said I'm good-for-nothing. I recall a classmate who said I couldn't sing, and at that time I was so insulted that I never spoke to her again. I think of an officemate who tried to blame me for a mistake she did, and how I was never able to look at her the same way again after that incident. I think about my former best friend's girlfriend, who accused me of liking her boyfriend, and how I blocked her from my FB account because I found no point in continuously arguing with her.

Now that I think about it, I probably will never have the chance to talk to any of these people anymore (well, maybe except for the officemate), but I can pray and ask God to help me forgive them, and to forgive me as well. Sure, my grievances may seem like petty cares that should be forgotten, and I have indeed forgotten about most of them (the person and the wrong they did), but I realized I've never really forgiven them, never really prayed for them, never really asked forgiveness for being angry at them.

And so, I will pray for my senior to be successful in whatever career she's in, and hope that she will be good at something, anything. I will pray for my classmate and her beautiful voice (oh yes, she could sing), and hope that her talent will take her to places. I will pray for my officemate, that we can remain civil, even if we can no longer be friends. And I will pray for my ex-best friend's girlfriend, that she will have a happy relationship with his guy, and hope that she never finds out that he's playing around behind her back. Lastly, I will pray for myself, that I can stop being sarcastic and such a pain, and that I may be humble enough to know that I am also in the wrong, and accept that I cannot forgive and forget, unless the Lord helps me do it.

Oh, and as for the cheating husband?

I'll stick by what I said in my earlier post :)

to the guy brave enough to tie the knot with me

Music: Only Reminds Me of You by Richard Marx

Not really inspired by that letter circling the Internet and Facebook, because I haven't really read that yet. Nor do I have any plans to do so. As I told my friend before when she asked me why I refused to read it, I'm already disillusioned. There wouldn't be a point to read it anymore.

***

A disclaimer: I do not believe in happy endings. For me, happy endings are for stories that are not quite finished yet. I don’t find anything happy about separation because of death, annulment, third party, or loss of interest on the other person. If you’re expecting me to talk about happy endings and riding off towards the sunset together, I’m afraid you married the wrong girl.

I’m not trying to scare you. Heaven knows you must be scared enough already, having gotten as far as proposing to me and me actually accepting. But I want to be honest with you as early as now, so as to avoid unnecessary fights when you start complaining about my inability to be a cardboard fairy tale princess.

I am not expecting you to be a knight-in-shining armor. Please don’t slay my dragons for me. I’ll let you help me kill them, but don’t do it all for me. I am a complete person when I married you, and I intend to keep it that way.

I want you to know that I’m broken. I fell in love with a guy before, and he broke my heart so many times I’ve finally given up trying to keep track. Don’t worry. He won’t be a threat. I am no longer in love with him, and if marrying you isn’t proof enough, then I don’t know of any other way to prove it.

I’m only saying this because I want to explain why I am disillusioned about love in general, and why marrying you is the equivalent of me bungee jumping from the roof of the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur. And yes, they are the highest twin towers in the world. And I hate heights. Or falling.

I am not expecting a perfect marriage. No marriage is perfect—not even my parents’. And that is saying a lot. I used to think that I want to marry someone who is like my father, but then I figured, I didn’t really get to spend a lot of time with him, with him dying at such an early age, so I won’t be able to compare you two anyway. Which is better, I think. At least I won’t have expectations that you won’t be able to meet, and I won’t be disappointed about your inability to be like my dad.

I’m not the jealous type either. It’s okay if you look at other women every once in a while; if I’m in the mood, I’d even join you in ogling them. I will trust you and believe that you will remain faithful to me. And I won’t worry about you playing behind my back. I won’t check your phone or your e-mail, unless you want me to. If I choose to trust you, I will do it completely, unconditionally. But I guess it’s only fair for you to know: trust doesn’t come easy for me. If you cheat on me, I will forgive you. But there will always be a part of me that will never ever trust you ever again. Ever. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that you can do to regain the trust you lost. Nothing.

I am also not very expressive of my feelings. I do not say ‘I love you’ very often, but rest assured that when I do say it, I will mean it each and every time. I am not very vocal of how I feel, but I will try to show it in my own little ways—a hug, a small, amused smile at your joke, a shoulder rub when you’re feeling tired. And I will always listen when you have something to say—whether it be about work, your favorite sport, or random things, like how you like the color pink more than blue. Just try not to talk about basketball too much. My knowledge about that sport extends only up to the ending of the Slam Dunk manga.

And please don’t expect me to call you Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, or the equivalent of such. The best I can do is to give you a pet name that you never would have expected—something that will not make me cringe every time I say it.

Lastly, I won’t be able to say this often, so I’ll say it now: thank you. Because you refused to leave me even when I’m moody, messy and senseless. And sadistic. Because you understood when I cried over the death of my favorite manga character, but refused to squeal over the romantic ending of a romcom movie. Because you stuck with me through thick and thin, even when I’m impossible to deal with, even when I’m tactless, even when I threaten to bite your head off because I’m being cranky. I hate cliché, but I will be cliché just this once to say that I do believe you are God’s gift to me. And I promise that I will take care of you in the best way that I can, and I will stay with you until one of us joins our Father in heaven.

That, and that I expect us to go eat avocado ice cream at least once a month for the rest of our lives.

not a people-person

Music: Dancing Through Life from the Wicked soundtrack

"Ask Him to uncover any difficult areas of your personality that may block others from getting closer to you." - Charles Stanley, Into His Presence

Uh-huh.

Reasons why I scare people off:

1. I'm sarcastic most of the time, and the few times I'm not, nobody believes I'm sincere. I think it has something to do with the tone of my voice.

2. I'm cynical and jaded, and I don't believe in happy endings. Or princesses needing knight-in-shining-armors.

3. I am unable to keep a smile on my face for more than five minutes. In simpler words, I frown a lot.

4. I'm moody, I'm messy, and I get senseless. And I'm sadistic. Seriously, literally sadistic.

5. I have a very dry humor. I don't laugh at other people's jokes, and only a few can laugh at mine.

6. Impatient. 'nuff said.

7. I'm frank... brutally frank, bordering to tactless. At least I'm honest.

8. When I tell you I don't like you and I don't want to be friends, I mean it.

9. I appear intimidating to some. I'm not sure if it's the arched eyebrows or the really small, almost chinita eyes.

10. I'm generally not a people-person.

But the Lord is telling me that "A man who has friends must himself be friendly..." (Proverbs 18:24a). Friendly I am not. But he's telling me to work on my friendships with others, so I guess I should start doing that.

Even when it's hard.

Even when I'd rather hibernate than make friends with certain individuals. And I'm not even a polar bear.

Because He's saying that we should love everyone, not just the people we like. So I guess that should be my prayer right now.

Lord, reveal to me any problems in my personality that may block others from getting closer to me. Let me experience Your unconditional love so I can share it with others.

(And please give me the patience to deal with the idiots who would cross my path.)

living life to the fullest

Music: Into the Airwaves by Jack's Mannequin

My devotion for today is a great way to start September, I think. The Scripture reading part pointed me to I Thess. 5:1-14, where I was reminded that I am a son (well, daughter, if you want to be gender-specific) of the light and of the day, and that I do not belong to the night or to the darkness. That, and that the Lord will come like a thief in the night, at a time where we least expect it, so we must always be prepared. Always.

Then renowned gospel preacher and evangelist Charles Stanley (yes, I use his Into His Presence devotional) explains the meaning of living life to the fullest, and I quote:

What does living life to the fullest mean to you? Some may picture a life-long dream being fulfilled. Others may think of a comfortable retirement, while many more envision what they can achieve if given enough time. But if you really want to start living life to the fullest, begin with Jesus. He is the fulfillment of all your dreams. In Him, you will find the things you need the most--contentment, love, and friendship.

Living life to the fullest also involves your ability to encourage and support others emotionally through prayer. God commands us to love others. Without a godly love tucked away inside your heart, you cannot successfully encourage someone else. And all of us need encouragement. Let Jesus be the object of your affections; then you find that loving even the unlovely will bring pleasure and encouragement to your heart.

This, of course, forces me to ask myself the question: Am I living my life to the fullest? Am I doing what Jesus wants me to do--to love and support other people, even those who are so hard to get along with? Am I being a good example of what a Christian should be like?

My answer? Not so much.

I'm cynical and jaded, frank and sarcastic, and I posses so dry a humor that sometimes not even my closest friends can appreciate my jokes. I speak my mind, even when I know someone will get hurt or offended, and I find some people so repulsive the mere sight of them makes me cringe in disgust. Then the Lord suddenly reminds me, bam!, I'm supposed to love people, even the repulsive ones. Da-amn.

But the start of a new month promises a new beginning. Hopefully, with God's help, I'll be able to live my life to the fullest, one step at a time.

So to start the month, and hopefully a less-cynical-and-more-appreciative outlook in life, I pray the prayer at the end of the devotion:

I want to live life to the fullest, Lord, and I know that will happen only as I experience Your love. Give me Your love--even for the unlovely.

new directions :)

My old blog crashed, so I'm making a new one . . . for what I hope will be the last time. Bah. I highly doubt it.

*cough*

So, I guess the blog-crashing-incident happened at the right time anyway. I am currently trying to rearrange my life and hope that things will work out for the better this time around. With God's help (and less stubbornness and cynicism on my part), I know everything will be fine.

Just like what Andy Lange's beautiful song says:

I'm not sure yet about life, about love, but in time, I'm sure it will all be fine.

I think I've become more hopeful now. About life in general, I mean.

(That's a good thing, right?)