SINGLE,30,BROWN,FEMALE

The best gift I received on my 30th birthday was a sound advice from my cousin, Mark. He said this with all the force he can muster,”when do you plan to have fun and take risks in your life? When you’re 70 and too old,wrinkled,dried-up and myopic?” Ah yes,when?

Classic example of a day in my life. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a sleeveless blouse,or a tanktop,lest a tube,or a short skimpy skirt. The horror of it! Imagine it, a boxer’s arms trapped in mine,the chest of Oliver Twist,and the thighs of a Hulk!Horrible!(sends shivers down my spine to the tune of Queen!)

Another. I am the classic case of the budding spinster. Spinsterhood,ergo,doomsday! I would rather sit my ass on a chair, read a good book and lose myself in translation. There I am, off to tra-la-la land!God knows how many times I have ditched and stood up my friends because I was too lazy and negative about going out. I would say yes,and would say no in a new york minute. What does Katie Perry have to say with this? Well,you’re hot then you’re cold,you’re yes and you’re no,you’re in and you’re out…

And another. Travel. Lord knows how i’d love to see the rest of humanity and the world. But the bleached whale inside of me is overpowering the temptation of leisure.
But wait,let me explain.

Let’s put it this way…

The mirror has two faces. One was a familiar face, the other a stranger I don’t know. One was self-assured, the other with low self-esteem.

What Mark said was true. So I looked at myself ,bare of everything essential to me , no dressing gown to wrap the body that I didn’t want, no books to hide from the world- and what I saw I didn’t like. I saw me. I saw a 30 year old “girl”, nearing the twilight of her life-lonely, and well, just lonely.

I have so many reasons why I won’t and can’t do the things that are just,well,ordinary. For starters, I’m just too busy, too lazy, too old, too stingy, too poor. What I forgot was that there are simple joys in life.

So, I have decided, and I want to, just to be kinder to myself. I will only be 30 once and I’d like to make the most out of it. This year, I will try to love my arms like Pacman does with his. I will not be defined by the circumference of my thighs. And for what it’s worth,what I lacked in cupsize I made up with my wit and charm!Haha! And if I have to wear a short skirt, I will. For after all, a friend once said that a short skirt is not an invitation,rather it is a woman’s liberation. I will not be demeaned by nasty criticisms and unsolicited advice, people be damned!

And I will go out and loosen up a bit. I do not want to start when I am old and be called a 50 year old party girl. That is a D for desperation, and T for tacky. In fact it feels just great to be my old self again. The one who thrived in attention, who was funny with a one-liner,the one who sings the blues away , and dances like crazy, the one who knows a good book but wouldn’t trade time with family and friends over a paperback.

Wow. I haven’t realized. Somewhere along the way, I lost that side of me. Somewhere in between the madness of lawschool and earning a living, I lost that girl in me. Oh well, must not regret…

You may disagree, or totally disagree with me. That’s fine. But this is my monologue, my share of vagina monologue, and this is how I feel. I know what I am, I have no illusions of what I am not, I respect my limitations and responsibilities. But I also know that I have a life.

I’ve said it before. I will only be 30 once. I will only be single and fabulous once, well, hopefully not always!:-) Tame me when I am 70, but not just yet. My life is beautiful, 30 is beautiful. Yes, 30,not dead!

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF A CHILD/BITCH

I could hardly see the man’s face hovering above the woman. But that face- with the curly black hair, lips parted and eyes wide shut were all too familiar. The woman’s face was beautiful, sexy eyes , any man could drown himself in it.

The two bodies were intertwined. They were dancing in total abandonment- no shame,no inhibitions, just unadulterated passion.

And then, I woke up. My mouth felt dry, and there were beads of sweat on my forehead. I cried, I cried hard, I almost wept.

The man was my father,the woman his mistress.
And believe it or not, I was 11 years old.
You might wonder, what kind of child dreams of such graphic, detailed,obscene,and vulgar dream? Well, I was that kind of child.

This child saw everything. This child was brought by her own father to his love nest where he kept his mistress and his children. This child was introduced to them, they were introduced as her aunt and cousins. This child spent a few weeks with the royal family, ate their food, slept in their rooms, looked them in the eye and swallowed all their rotten lies. This child saw her own father take care of his girls, while this child craved for love and attention, and then some. This child was taught to never tell, and this child fell for those lies hook,line and sinker. This child witnessed her father’s betrayal, and it almost broke her apart.

What business does an 11-year old have to have those dreams? I don’t know. All I know is that I have died a thousand deaths everytime the dream comes.
The night I saw it all was the night love died inside of me. The night I saw it all was the night I became an angry little girl. I didn’t know such anger could exist…
And then I grew up. Or did I? I must admit, there came a point in my life when I hated men. To me they were all alike,suckers who will bleed women high and dry and toss them aside like ragdolls when they are done.

Lo’ and behold, I was such a loser. the greatest betrayal came thundering in without a warning. It took me by surprise, hitting me right between the eyes it nearly knocked the breath out of me. I betrayed myself. Sold myself to the devil for a price called love. I fell inlove. That crazy giddy feeling that gets you when you least expect it. I hated myself, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how hard I fought the feeling,the more I fell. Reality bites, I was not made of ice after all.
But the thing about unrequited love is that it sucks-big time! That man wanted the Girl from Ipanema,and well, I was just a girl from a sleepy old city called Tuguegarao. How could I compare with that? There was just no way in hell he’d feel the same way. So I stopped, put my chin up, walked with my usual swagger and was the angry girl all over again. On and on it went-”men are dogs…blahblahblahyadayadayada!”

The truth is I am scared. I don’t hate my father anymore. Hate is such a strong word. I am more indifferent now, I just can’t feel anything for him anymore. Does that make me a bad daughter? Yes, but it also makes him a bad father.We’re even. But the scary part is that no matter how much I distance myself from him, or the memories of him, the truth keeps on hitting me in the face. I keep on falling for the wrong kind of men-HIS kind-scoundrels and womanizers.
Come to think of it, my father has the last laugh after all. Maybe, it is fate’s way of saying , “screw you and your sanctimonious ass, because no matter how much you deny it, you are still your father’s daughter.”

I have gotten over that man. I helped myself. Maybe there is someone I’d like to get to know more,the fool that I am. But I am teaching myself to be cautious. I just can’t take another blow anymore.

So this is me. Maybe this sad truth made me the way that I am today. I’d like to pass the blame on my father, for making me like this. But I refuse to do so, he has no hold on me anymore…
But please,indulge me. Just one question. Tell me, daddy, am I broken?

SUGAR RUSH

I woke up today with a heavy heart. My head felt like the Twin Towers just exploded in it. My feet hurt. I’m just too heavy my own feet can’t seem to carry all that weight. (Nag,nag,nag yourself!!!)

I took the shuttle going to the office. I was still grumpy. Well, I’m always grumpy in the morning. Not till I have my daily dose of vitamins- brewed coffee!!! Ah, the simple joys in life.
I had pancakes and coffee at Mcdonald’s. I sat there, quiet and pensive. Then they started playing an old funky Christmas song. “Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock!!!” It was like a burst of sunshine in my gray gray gloomy day. There I sat in Mcdonald’s Ayala Avenue, with a big smile on my face, my spirits buoyed up,singing along- I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs, tapping my foot- I was dying to dance and rock and roll! Hahaha! It was 7:00 in the morning, and I was thinking , I could be Mariahfreakin’Carey or Rifreakin’Hanna!(sigh) The God’s must be really crazy!

This is a good good morning! I feel good about myself, I feel good about the people around me. This morning there will be no sadness, no worries, no fretting, no tantrums,no whining. I will smile like a retard,laugh at corny jokes, ignore the annoying people. And yes, I will not think of him so it wont hurt…I owe it to myself to just be happy, silly retard happy!!!
To anyone who may stumble upon this blog, try to be happy today. Happiness is contagious. Put a grin on your face, think of ice-cold beer, a bar of your favorite chocolate, a slice of oreo cheesecake, or the lingerie your wife will be wearing tonight, or your 13th month pay, the toothy grin of your baby, or a simple text message from a loved one that says “i love you”. Think of happy thoughts. Think of hope. Think of a better tomorrow.

There….are you happy now? I am!

RUNAWAY

I am bored. Bored beyond relief it is making me think of things I shouldn’t even be thinking. Thinking of these things makes me worry like a mother hen. Worrying makes me feel and look old. In fact, I think I am the oldest 29 year old on the planet.

I have a job, thank God for that. To some people, my job may be mediocre and unimportant. But to me my job means security-it puts food on the table and the clothes on my back. It means saving my sanity from a life that is too boring and uneventful.

But I have to be honest. I want some more. This is not what I want from life. I want and want and want, sometimes there is a gnawing feeling inside of me it almost burns. So many things I want to do,so many things I want to see and experience. I feel trapped. It makes me wonder, am I just another whore in a business suit with two degrees under my belt? Am I willing to sell my dreams and ambitions for something that is uncertain? But if I go after my dreams, quit my job, live on my terms, who’s going to pay my rent, the bills, and other obligations? Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that I am a big help to my family. I love the fact that I have regained my self-esteem with this job. I was just wondering…

The clock is ticking. I don’t have much time.

But I am praying, tomorrow will be mine. I may be too old, too fat, too jaded, but I’m still hoping tomorrow will be mine, all mine. Dreams, they don’t die first. It’s the spirit that does. And I, most certainly,am not dead.

UNLOAD THE ANGST

It happened at the women’s comfort room. There I was putting on lipstick, giggling like a schoolgirl with my girlfriends. And there she was, combing her short hair having small talk with us. We were all in a playful mood- whispering the latest gossip, talking about the latest movie, money and men. In that order, I believe.

Then we hit paydirt. Of course we talked about relationships. Who was dating who, who was doing who. It was fun listening to them talk about the men in their lives. But it was no fun at all when the joke turned on me when they teased me for not having a boyfriend for the past 29 years of my so-called existence. Oh yes sirrreeee, I belong to that club.
Wait! This is the fun part!

Maybe I was a nitwit, maybe I was stupid. Ugh, I’m not really sure?! But I didn’t know that asking someone why she’s never had a boyfriend could turn into the War of the Roses. I meant no offense, nor malice when i asked her that, because I, for one, was similarly situated. Ha!ha! It went on like this…
gege: bakit di ka pa nagkakaboyfriend?
girl:ay ewan ko, basta ako by choice, ewan ko sayo!!!
This was said with a lot of sarcasm and maybe, jest. Well, excuse me for asking, but there was no need for sarcasm and claws, your bitchiness!
So you think a catfight followed? No, not my style. I just stood there, my face burning and a smile plastered on my face. I was humiliated. Those cruel words were like a knife cutting my heart to pieces. I said nothing, but I wanted to scream and hurt her the way she did me.
It felt awful. I felt so unlovable, undesirable and insecure. It was like saying shame on you, you’re single and it wasn’t even your choice, you poor unfortunate soul! She made me feel like I was crap, pus and a fungus. So maybe I was being a drama queen. Tell you what, I am, and I don’t care.

It hit me, was what she was saying true? That the reason why i never had a relationship is not because it was my choice, rather, it is by chance? Big Question, WHAT AM I, A WALLFLOWER?!
Few months passed by, I was still that wallflower- single, fabulous with my hymen intact.:)
Gossip is free. I heard she had a boyfriend.
Gossip has wings. Her man-trouble, did not fall upon deaf ears.
There she was, her high and mightiness, spilling her guts out. Her choice? Turned out to be not such a good one for her. Heartbreaker, one wouldn’t wonder what else was broken.
I am not here to judge anyone. What people do behind closed-doors isn’t any of my business. But I won’t be a hypocrite, maybe I am capable of that too. Maybe, maybe not.
I am not happy over the tears she cried for that man. She did not deserve to be treated that way. Every girl deserves better than to be treated so shabbily by a man she adores, respects and loves. But a part of me felt vindicated. She made me realize that single-blessedness or virginity, although the two concepts are non-sequitur, weren’t such a lonely word.:)
I thank God for that moment when I kept my composure, lest a confrontation would have ensued. I thank God for giving me that choice and that chance to just wait up, he will come along…

Oh, cut the crap! Who am I kidding?! I’m still angry that’s why I am writing this down. So what’s my point? Well, the point is, payback is a bitch. And a parting shot, F@*# you too, sweetie!!!

A NOSE JOB

There is that pretty little pert nose that is adorable, there is that long straight aristocratic nose that looks down on you. There is that big round nose that smells every scent a hundred miles away. There is that thin pointed nose that is proud of the face that belongs to it. There is a good nose, there is a bad nose. There is a poor nose, there is a rich nose.
What’s with the face anyway? Or should i say, what’s with the nose anyway?
I’ll tell you. I was born with a condition that is called a hare-lip cleft palate. In Tagalog, “bingot”, in the streets “ngo-ngo”. It sure ain’t a pretty sight. And to add insult to injury, speech is impaired. I had a twang. Not your old American twang, mine was a nasal-twang.Hah! Lucky me!!!

Growing up with such a facial deformity was not a breeze. I lived with the taunts, the odd-stares, the pitiful glares and the nasty humor that goes with it. Was I ashamed? Yes. But I was also furious-of the fates, of the pity and of the insensitivity. Nobody had the right. I thought to myself, I am a goddess in my own right.

I was in college when I first had my nose done. Rhinoplasty. There was this wax-like material placed in my nose. After the surgery, I looked nice. Not Julia Roberts nice, just ordinary nice. Then by some tragedy, luck wasn’t on my side. Less than a year with my new nose, I had an infection. My surgeon had to remove the implant. I was crushed. Bye, bye lover!
Two years passed, I was already in lawschool. My mom, who would move heaven and earth for me wanted me to get a nose job again. I was scared, but I was hopeful too. So I got one.
My new nose and I were perfect for each other. We were inlove. It was long and straight and expensive. Then like a love story gone bad, history repeated itself. I had an infection again. My surgeon explained that the tissues and the implant weren’t compatible. There were just too many wounds inside due to my countless surgeries since the day I was born, the tissues were not responding well to the implant.Or something like that. Then he dropped the bomb. My nose and I had to break up. The implant had to be removed. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying! We had not even celebrated our 1 year anniversary, and now he wants us to split up? I had one of the best surgeons in the country, and he couldn’t save me and my nose! Just like in break-ups, I was in denial. Crash and burn.

I was no stranger to surgeries. I flirted with my surgeon in the operating room a few days after I was born. I dated my anaesthesiologist when I was still a babe in the woods, held hands with my nurses while they fed me through a tube. So who was afraid of needles? Certainly, not I! But during the procedure for the implant removal, I was sweating like hell, I almost peed my pants. Cold hands, cold feet and a broken heart. I felt no pain, but I was dying inside. Not for the nose that I love, but for the dreams that went along with it. The dream of a normal life where I wouldn’t be stared at or ridiculed. Call it vanity, but I just wanted to be and feel like any other girl But I was and am not any other girl. I am different, always have, always will…
I am 29 now, going on 60. There are days when I couldn’t fathom why we weren’t meant for each other. We had so much fun together, and we cried together. And just like any man, he left. But there are days that I’m just thankful for my good old nose that has always loved me at my best and at my worst. Yes, my good old nose, far from being perfect is a perfect gentleman, my leading man, my knight in shining armour, my hero.

So what’s in a face? It’s not just the nose. It’s everything that is being said by the eyes, everything the lips is mum about. The face tells a different story, a story both human and divine.
I have had the nose job of all nose jobs. But then again I realized my time with him was merely bought and borrowed. Who I am and what I am now is not defined by my nose.There is more to the nose and the face than meets the eye. There is a person too.