how deep is your cup?

One night, I had ruckus for dinner.

Two of my sisters back home took turns at my air time after my 15-year old nephew has gone ‘istokwa’ for a few hours after his mother’s (my sister) scolding. That week, he has broken his cellphone, spent all his allowance despite the 4-day holiday and bought ‘expensive’ drum sticks which were beyond his mother’s budget (in my household, money is serious issue – easy to spend, hard to come by). That lunch, he failed to cook viand which was final straw to a hot head and hungry stomach.

It was already past 8pm - my nephew scampered after lunch, so two aunts (more like big sisters actually) are dead worried. ‘He ain’t there yet? Where did he go? And without a cell phone?!’  I snapped, ‘He knows where to go.’ I know he will be coming to my place. ‘I’ll let you know if he’ll be here.’

At roughly nine PM came knocks at my door.

After dinner, came the tribunal. He decanted how bad he felt about his mother’s blown-up scolding. ‘I did not cook lunch because Mamang told me not to. They might grab lunch in the city. And we still had enough left overs.’  But I imagined him on the sofa in front of a blaring TV, slouching, legs spread apart. That typical sight of a ‘tapulan’ could bring the fury out of anyone hungry with the clutter and heat and all.  

I told him about this coined parable of an overflowing cup:  We all hold cups for everyone. Whenever we do wrong, something is put in the cup. So imagine how the contents increase every time we do badly. If we truly say ‘sorry’, maybe a little content is spilled off.  But still the cup is ever ready to be filled in.

‘Maybe when you broke your phone, it was not a drop but a spring. Maybe when you spent all your allowance despite being told to save it, was not a drop but a spring. Maybe when you bought an expensive pair of drum sticks (more than 200 pesos) was not a drop but a spring. When you thought not cooking viand is not spring but just a drop, maybe it was, but when the cup is already on the brim, no matter how few drops you put in, it is still bound to overflow.’

His silence told me he understood it.

Although the story of the cup is now used to tease on my brother’s (or anyone in the household’s) lethargy, somehow, I got the point across. I guess, if I’ll run true to form to being a case in point, I’ll switch to a deeper cup.  Sometimes, what I keep is only a shot glass.

scenes from a jog

 Minutes past 5am, gates creaked at my exit. Neighbor puffing cigar calls out: ‘Going early for the sweat?’ I snicker: ‘Soles and knees aching again, must be the damned uric. Need to get rid of some.’ Headed for the hike. Neighbor’s dog barks. Brisk walks way past it.

Curved FS Pajares coursing towards the rotunda. Others jogging ahead. Two ladies trail some meters behind. In rhythmic paces, I advanced for the ascent. Two ladies u-turned towards plaza. Must be going back for the taebo.   

Knees slightly burn. Damn, last weekend’s nonattendance is taking its toll. The steep climb a couple of meters ahead. Jogged in circles, warm-up style. Fetid smell from tumbled garbage bin across the avenue taints early morning air.

Tackled the ascent. One, two, three, HAH! One, two, three, HAH!

Approaching rotunda now. The rising sun creates the golden glow far east. On the left, Manang is starting flames out of dried mango leaves.

‘Good morning, bro!’ A comrade at a retreat. Grins a reply, waves.

Rounds the rotund path. Ahead, couple hold hands while walking, the woman’s belly bulging. Sighs. Jogs toward the bend. Another jogger approaches from the other side, Akon playing loudly on his MP3.

Downward the curve, I slow down. There, a client with husband. Remembers how kulit she can get when paying her SSS. She smiles, I smile back. Asks: ‘You look familiar. Where was that you were working?’ ‘The bank Ma’am’, I answer.  

Another ascent for the next round. Lady up ahead. Lady tugs dog. Lady in taut jogging pants. Don’t recognize the breed of the dog. Dog sniffs something on the grass on the side of the road. Dog won’t budge. I am near now, lady coy. I smile, she smiles back. Dog still won’t budge.

Third round now. Few stretch on the open field overlooking the sea. Bend to the left, turn to the right. Most of 40s. Maybe 50s.

Stationary jog after fourth round. Bro and client pass by. Faces the sea. Poseidon puts it to rest. Was it the sea or the trees that breathed to my face?

Sun’s slow in rising, the trees cover its trace. Tricycle screeches in. Passenger looks out. Three rounds to go.

Looks up on my right, ah, mangoes. Looked for ripe ones but there’s none. Thirsty now. The cup of Milo was now all perspiration.

Finally, seven rounds. Next Saturday, I’ll make eight. Stretch. Old ones do breath in, breath out.

Descending. Strides in rhythm ala Kuya Ferdie’s instruction. Good for posture. Late joggers still make the ascent.

Hikes by the road shoulder. Couple in a distance, man cups woman’s face. Left foot forward, right foot forward. Follow the damn line.

Couple inches away. Woman, no, girl, teary-eyed. LQ or ‘I am pregnant!’ Groans.

At the plaza, taebo’s wrapping up. Neighbor from old place jogs across the street. Waves. Something, a gadget, is wrapped on her arm.

Treks down further. Manong carries on his head a basket of bananas. ‘How much?’, I prepared to haggle. ‘Not for sale. Fruit vendor up ahead already paid in advance.’

Nearing Rizal Avenue, traffic starts to build. C3 might be inaugurated early, construction’s moving fast.

At Sam’s, I wait for hot pan de sal. No. 8 my card reads. The guy with unwashed face holds No. 43. I look at the guard. ‘The numbers are in groups of 50s’. He reads me.

Finally, I have my pan de sal. I hailed a tricycle. Maybe Jhie’s already awake and boiled water is ready.

  

quips on marriage: husband’s POV

We’ve heard what the kids have to say. Now let’s listen to authority:

When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to let him keep her (Lee Majors)

After marriage, husband and wife become two sides of a coin; they just can't face each other, but still they stay together (Al Gore)

By all means marry. If you get a good wife, you'll be happy. If you get a bad one, you'll become a philosopher (Socrates)

Woman inspires us to great things, and prevents us from achieving them (Mike Tyson)

The great question... which I have not been able to answer... is, "What does a woman want? (George Clooney)

I had some words with my wife, and she had some paragraphs with me (Bill Clinton)

"Some people ask the secret of our long marriage. We take time to go to a restaurant two times a week. A little candlelight, dinner, soft music and dancing. She goes Tuesdays, I go Fridays." (George W. Bush)

"I don't worry about terrorism. I was married for two years." (Rudy Giuliani)

"There's a way of transferring funds that is even faster than electronic banking. It's called marriage." (Michael Jordan)


"I've had bad luck with all my wives. The first one left me and the second one didn’t.” The third gave me more children! (Donald Trump)

Two secrets to keep your marriage brimming:

1. Whenever you're wrong, admit it,
2. Whenever you're right, shut up. (Shaquille O’Neal)

The most effective way to remember your wife's birthday is to forget it once... (Kobe Bryant)

You know what I did before I married? Anything I wanted to. (David Hasselhoff)

My wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met. (Alec Baldwin)

A good wife always forgives her husband when she's wrong. (Barack Obama)

Marriage is the only war where one sleeps with the enemy. (Tommy Lee)

A man inserted an 'ad' in the classifieds: "Wife wanted". Next day he received a hundred letters. They all said the same thing: "You can have mine." (Brad Pitt)

First Guy (proudly): "My wife's an angel!"
Second Guy: "You're lucky, mine's still alive." (Jimmy Kimmel)

“Honey, what happened to ‘ladies first’?” Husband replies, “That’s the reason why the world’s a mess today, because a lady went first!” (David Letterman)

“First there’s the promise ring, then the engagement ring, then the wedding ring....soon after......comes Suffer...ing! (Jay Leno)

Marriage is a public confession of a private intention. (Pete Benzon)

Now, who needs a wife?

on marriage and other kid's wisdom

I’m cleaning up my Inbox and found these old, witty, almost funny items. Before they get ditched, I’m sharing them with you.

This one’s supposedly a compendium of wits from the experienced. Hard to believe? Read on. I couldn’t have figured such responses myself. I’ve been completely duped.

1. HOW DO YOU DECIDE WHOM TO MARRY? 

> You got to find somebody who likes the same stuff. Like, if you like sports, she should like it that you like sports, and she should keep the chips and dip coming >>> Alan, age 10

>No person really decides before they grow up who they're going to marry. God decides it all way before, and you get to find out later who you're stuck with >>> Kristen, age 10

2. WHAT IS THE RIGHT AGE TO GET MARRIED?

> Twenty-three is the best age because you know the person FOREVER by then >>> Camille, age 10

3. HOW CAN A STRANGER TELL IF TWO PEOPLE ARE MARRIED?

> You might have to guess, based on whether they seem to be yelling at the same kids >>> Derrick, age 8

4. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR MOM AND DAD HAVE IN COMMON?

> Both don't want any more kids >>> Lori, age 8

5. WHAT DO MOST PEOPLE DO ON A DATE?

>Dates are for having fun, and people should use them to get to know each other. Even boys have something to say if you listen long enough >>> Lynnette, age 8 (isn't she a treasure)

> On the first date, they just tell each other lies and that usually gets them interested enough to go for a second date >>> Martin, age 10

6. WHEN IS IT OKAY TO KISS SOMEONE?

> When they're rich >>> Pam, age 7

> The law says you have to be eighteen, so I wouldn't want to mess with that >>> Curt, age

>The rule goes like this: If you kiss someone, then you should marry them and have kids with them. It's the right thing to do >>> Howard, age 8

7. IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?

> It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them >>> Anita, age 9 (bless you child )

8. HOW WOULD THE WORLD BE DIFFERENT IF PEOPLE DIDN'T GET MARRIED?

> There sure would be a lot of kids to explain, wouldn't there? >>> Kelvin, age 8

And the #1 favorite........

9. HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?

> Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck >>> Ricky, age 10


To my married friends, I hope by now you know if you’re doing just fine. But for now, I guess I have to learn cleaning up on my own.

best generation

This e-mail is one of my better reads in quite sometime. It’s addressed to an age bracket (quite wide it seems) but it got some wisdom that the later bracket can relate to. If not, there’s always a Mama, Papa, Tiyo or Tiya (even a Lolo and Lola) who you’d want to see giggle while reading this.

But I apologize to those who don’t understand Cebuano. I chose to post this as written to keep all its elements intact. As you know, things are often lost in translation.

TO ALL FOLKS WHO WERE BORN IN THE 1950's, 60' s, 70's and early 80's !!

First, some of us survived being born to mothers who did not have an OB-Gyne and drank San Miguel Beer while they carried us.

While pregnant, they took cold or cough medicine, ate Linunod, balikutsa, bukhayo and didn't worry about diabetes.

Then after all that trauma, our baby cribs were made of hard wood covered with lead-based paints, ang uban kay duyan nga habol gihigtan ug pisi nga inigtabyog ug kusog ma pakong intawon ta sa bongbong.

We had no soft cushy cribs that play music, no disposable diapers (lampin lang sa General Milling nga naa'y faded picture nga nag-salute), and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, no kneepads, wala pa gyu'y brake ang bisikleta.

As children, we would ride in hot un-airconditioned buses with wooden seats (Bisaya Bus nga pultahan puros ang kilid, Corominas Bus nga senimana ang brake), or cars with no airconditioning & no seat belts karon kay Minibus na nga nindot kaayo ug sounds or Ceres Bus nga bugnaw ug aircon)

Riding on the back of a carabao on a breezy summer day was considered a treat. (karon; ang mga bata wala na kaila ug Kabaw)


We drank water from the garden hose and NOT bottled mineral water sa Nature Spring or Viva, or Absolute Mineral water (usahay gani, straight from the faucet or poso or Tabay!)

We shared one soft drink bottle with four of our friends, and NO ONE actually died from this. Or contracted hepatitis.

We ate rice with star margarine, bahaw nga gibutangan ug asin ug mantika sa baboy, drank raw eggs straight from the shell, and drank softdrinks with real sugar in it (dili diet coke or Pepsi Max), but we weren't sick or overweight kay......

WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, and get back when the streetlights came on. Syatong, Bato-Lata, Bagol, Dakop-Dakop, Tago-Tago, Ngita'g Kaka.

No one was able to reach us all day (wala pa'y uso ang cellphone). And yes, we were O.K.

We would spend hours building our wooden trolleys (katong bearing ang ligid) or Karitong Kawayan nga karaang tsinilas ang giporma nga ligid and then ride down the street , wala ma'y gidungog nga naligsan atoh! After hitting the sidewalk or falling into a canal (sewage channel) a few times, we learned to solve the problem ourselves with our bare & dirty hands .

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 100 channels on cable, no DVD movies, no surround stereo, no IPOD's, no cell phones, no computers, no Internet, no chat rooms, and no Friendsters. ........ ...WE HAD REAL FRIENDS and we went outside to actually talk and play with them!

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no stupid lawsuits from these accidents. The only rubbing we get is from our friends with the words..sakit bai ? pero kung kontra gani nimo ang imong kadula,,,,singgitan lang dayon ug..Mayra,Gabaan!

We played marbles (jolen) in the dirt , washed our hands just a little and ate Pan Bahug-bahug & Bagumbayan (recycled bread man diay to kay wala mahalin!) We were not afraid of getting germs in our stomachs.

We had to live with homemade guns (giporma nga kahoy, gihigtan ug garter ug lastiko) , saplong , tirador ug uban pa nga pwedeng magkasakitay. Pero lingaw gihapon kaayo ang tanan.

We made up games with sticks ( syatong ), and cans ( Bato-Lata )and although we were told they were dangerous, wala man gyud to'y actual nga nabuta bah, bukol lang nuon sa agtang naa.

We walked, rode bikes, or took tricycles to a friend's house and knocked on the door or batoon ug gagmay nga bato ang bungbong, or just yelled for them to jump out the window!

Mini basketball teams had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't pass had to learn to deal with the disappointment. Wala pa nang mga childhood depression ug damaged self esteem ek-ek ra na. Ang maglagot, pildi.

Ang mga Ginikanan naa ra sa daplin para motan-aw ra sa duwa sa mga bata, dili para manghilabot ug makig-away sa ubang parents.

That generation of ours has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers, creative thinkers and successful professionals ever! They are the CEO's, Engineers, Doctors and Military Generals of today.

The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.

We had failure, success, and responsibility. We learned from our mistakes the hard way.

You might want to share this with others who've had the luck to grow up as real kids. We were lucky indeed.

And if you like, forward it to your kids too, so they will know how brave their parents were.

It kind of makes you wanna go out and climb a tree, doesn't it?!

PS - The big letters are because your eyes may not be able to read this if they were typed any smaller (at your age? Duh!)


Of course I changed to smaller font. My eyes aren't that bad (yet).

premonitions (11.13.2009)

(source)

I’ve been getting a lot of impressions lately.

First, there’s this daily texting crusade that my former teammates seemed to have set off after I took a sabbatical. I left community for thin reasons: I sort of needed power to reboot after realizing that I am not growing with the pace that my service is taking me. One hinted we often go through spiritual dryness, it’s common. To this, I did not subscribe. There is always an underlying reason besides being parched when the field is filled with the promise of flowing waters. Sometimes, we simply refuse to dip that cup in the spring. Instead of washing away that lump that choked us, we let it stay for a while and dwell in it, examining what this membrane is made of, so when another sort builds up, we might have developed the antidote against it. Then it no longer wants to stay and will freely stream down. My team accepted my reluctance to a more literal explanation but promised to keep the floors open (I’m getting better at floor directing) should I decide to sweep it back. Sometimes I feel the force of their insistence but I have decided not to precipitate my re-entry at which time things can still get in the way of my service. To this, I am hopeful.

Then, there’s that meeting with a priest friend who asked if I already made up my mind regarding his incitement. This is a perennial question really to which my reply is always a grin and a change of topic. This isn’t the first time. In college, I’ve been asked to consider becoming a cleric by three of my professors, one of them a Jesuit. The picture of me donning a sotana is an old ambition, as old as first or second grade when the usual answers we give to question like ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ is a choice among four options: becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher or a priest, when alternatives like becoming an accounting professional still haven’t made an impression to our consciousness. So I take it as one of those points that others see in me that I cannot make out on my own. This priest friend is communed by two of my officemates who counseled that I try to find myself (from this line, I take it that to them I seem lost). I am yet to be enlightened. Yes I have my frequent silence spells and maintain a mountain of questions about meaning and purpose but I guess all discerning people do at one point in their lives (I realized that discerning doesn’t breed certainty, only acceptance). So do I seem out of direction? No one knows for certain where he is headed next not even those who have committed to marry or those who have entered into novitiate. Do I need to map my road? It’s a categorical yes although often it turns out futile. Until now I still cannot say if the option I forego is a case of ‘should have been’. It happens when it’s fated at which time we’re in for a big surprise.


Recently, I went to a reunion with batchmates at another religious community. After the how-are-you’s, some of the talks shifted to thesis, OJTs, graduation and finding work. Those who graduated earlier but still jobless cracked about the tedious phase of jobhunting and how they might better their CVs. I suddenly felt old. I felt old that I’ve become a resource person, a been-there-done-that sort like being asked how did you do it when it was your time? Pardon me, but it’s still my time. So issues come with age and my batchmates may have noticed that I sat silent while they brawled about this game they call Dota (I don’t know if I spelled that right; Lola Techie will eat me raw). The instant realization then was beyond my lag in the latest talk of the town, it is the disparity of my current concerns and the supposed order based on conventions. Then there’s the more measurable side of things. When I was a kid, I imagined building my own house at age 25. Quite impracticable it seems now. At 28, I couldn’t even afford a bag of cement and I’m still outlining a savings plan to speed up that lot’s amortization. Worse thing. Everytime I bump into someone I haven’t seen for a long time, say an old classmate, guess what the top question is - if I already tied the knot - and if replied with ‘not yet’, the usual follow-up is ‘when’. When my rebuttal ran like ‘when’ is a matter of right timing, the verdict was an insinuation that I’m no longer getting any younger and my time is running out. Ouch. You see, I’m in big trouble here since everyone knows everybody where more people than the entire race of Abraham will attempt to dip a finger into your porridge. So I’m closing the lid of my bowl and eat my goto congee up on a tamarind tree. I just hope that spider doesn’t come along.

I’m reminded of previous week’s horoscope. I’m not exactly superstitious; I learned glancing at the daily foretelling from my former boss who was ecstatic one day while recounting that her sign’s divination actually happened, but this one pretty summed up my sentiment for that day. It affirmed my ‘wild’ (practical?) plan of leaving job and go bumming around. Okay, so the latter was not exactly what it said. It was something like my plan of doing something entirely different from the one that occupies me now. Oddly, the following day at a morning TV show, a braided soothsayer pronounced that the best time to find some place ‘better’ is now. I can see my heart going out of my chest cavity. This is much of a happenstance. I rode the pedicab that morning pondering what was just concurred. I had options, I still do. I know where my capabilities lie. But after a wheeling cycle of whining and coming into terms I still couldn’t find the courage to pack up and not worry about the tasks that I might be leaving. Maybe there’s greater meaning in shifting the focus from conquering personal legend to addressing the more pressing concerns, wherever it may be. I chanted this-too-shall-pass mantras many times before and I know I’m still not fading it, not while frustrations are starting to loom big and begin to get in my way. But my chords are now belting off-key I’m afraid I might be losing pitch. Maybe ‘better’ is a myriad of things. Maybe it’s opera when the in thing is hip-hop. So I’ll start ditching that shrieking Pavarroti. Now, it’s JA Rule who’s playing on my MP3.

I was sitting unmindful in a corner when another butterfly hovered. I know this one’s just going to pass by but the way it fluttered over me was all too familiar – the flaps, the swerves and the shade. It flapped for a few seconds before it hit off with a whiff that left a trace in my solitude. So it’s not everyday that something catches my stare. And maybe I’m for purple and not pink. But I guess a stare is all I can do for now. I cannot rely on the dictates of my hunches since sometimes, they don't have backbones. I should realize that there are things deeper than feelings and sterner than intuition. Maybe it was not the right day to chase a butterfly. The sun is already high up and I just wanted something to shoo away my reverie (it’s still hard to un-feel the touch of e.e. cummings’ “small hands”). And it cannot land on my palm. Not while the bees are still busy buzzing behind.

If there’s one word that is drilling deep into my psyche, I believe it’s the word PATIENCE. Everywhere I go, something tries me out and attempts to get the better of me. I know I’m not acing the hurdles; I’m pretty bundled in bandages. Sometimes I choose to trek by the sidelines to avoid the obstacles because I’m afraid I might as well just knock it down. But I was told that the way to get the chicken is to hatch the egg - not to smash it. I guess I’ll try to curl and be a hen for now lest I become another meaning to this word’s adjective. May God have mercy on my soul.

an open letter to heids on her birthday (9.7.2009)

More than a year ago, Maya asked me to write something for your despedida. You were due to fly to Singapore during that time and I think they were preparing something for a send-off. When she told me that, what immediately came to mind was that day in May 2003 when you and Gay and Zenie (I can’t recall the others who were there too) were off to Manila. I came to wish you good luck. Although feeling a bit left out, I felt happy that you were chasing close that dream of becoming a CPA. In the letter, I wanted to tell you how proud I am (in a way a Kuya does when his little sister does something great) for your successes, that I wish you find housemates like you had in Makati, and that everything will be okay. I apologize that the letter has never been written, but those well-wishes were silently embedded in my prayers.

Now, although ‘uncertified’ (your own word), I know what you have gone through and where you are right now are things that many could only hope for. (Sometimes, when things are not okay in the office, I envy you but I realize we have to be somewhere at some point in time). No need to tell you how proud I am of the things that you have now, you already know that and I don’t want you to be sappy on your day, but I’m feeling a little nostalgic here and wish to do a little reminiscing (I wish we could pass a hand-made card around - you did it first in class - but I guess it will be too late now to pass it all around Asia and UK to make it on your day).

Along with the other four ‘huggables’ (I don’t know if you still feel like being called as such, hehe), I want to thank you for making college quite a breeze through on many times. Many of those who had the chance to know you can attest how great a friend you can be. I remember now how you and Lynette conspired so I can attend that last acquaintance party. Similar instances will follow and you came out of you way to make things a little lighter. I know those who are with you now have similar stories to tell.

We were together a little over four years and it’s always great to have you and your ideas of fun around. You made plans for most of our Christmas parties during and after college. The Valentine’s exchange-gifts was your brainchild too. Although we celebrate these occasions differently now (we say were already grown-ups – admit it!), it’s fun to look back on these things and feel giddy once more. I still smile when I think of RVY (saging rebosado and siopao on isaw sauce), tempura off the grade school gate, from satti breakfasts in the canteen to lunches at Roebucks (sounds classy but all we ordered there was ginataang gulay, nutritious and cheap) from speech choir practices to group studies (kuno!). Yes, even those Jesuit tortures (other word for tutelage) and the Pena quandary (you know the story) had their fun segments too (I couldn’t figure how I looked when I cried on the floor, I think that was the funny part). I can only imagine how it is for those who have known you longer than four years.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that you are one creative brain. I easily got Austine’s point when he calls you ‘mother brain’. You are pregnant with ideas and you can immediately put something into writing; if you cannot put it writing, it can surely make its way out of your mouth. I appreciate your collection of axioms and aphorisms (even from movies and telenovelas too. But I know this one’s your favorite - “The youth is the hope of the fatherland. Plant trees!)

I wish to share these untold stories too, some bits that I am personally thankful for (more of a confession actually, a major turn-off for a prospect whose skimming through out there):

You taught me first how to use the internet. Remember Netzilla where you assisted me in signing up for my first e-mail account (that was Mailcity which later became Lycos. I think Gay or Zenie was also there). I know you were holding back your hoot when I couldn’t point the cursor to one tab (by then I knew that when you said I raise my ‘mouse’, it didn’t mean I lift that object which looked more like Palmolive soap bar than a rodent but position that arrow to that button). You never knew that I sweated all over until we hit ‘sign-up successful’.

You also introduced me to social networking (ha? Wla ka pang Friendster?). I know I was the pinnacle of cyber-monggoness* so, thank you for clicking me to cyber-existence (checken counter couldn’t have been born too).

Bitaw, thanks for believing in the illusion that I could write (I still think that that is just an illusion). I don’t know, but you have your way of making people feel good about something that they wanted to do and pushing people to strut their stuff merely by doing yours.

You said that you’re thankful our paths have crossed; I know I should be saying that. But if you insist, cge, pagbibigyan kita. It’s your birthday anyway.

I wish you all the best that are yet to come and the best boyfriend a girl like you deserves (is he ‘yet to come too’? wla n man ko balita about ana). I’m writing this because I cannot sing you your birthday song. And you know how I sing – poetically.

Happy 30th birthday Deedee! :D

(I will no longer call you ‘kachoks’ – that sounds jologs and obsolete now, improper for the cosmo woman that you have become. And I bet, you’re already speaking ‘ni hao’).

* monggoness – is a certain state of idiocy (from the root word ‘mongo’). I heard this first from Chu, who by the way, Heids calls her immortal chuvanescense. Whatever that meant, only them both know. I wish to thank Chu for this word though. Such a lexicograhical breakthrough.