Officially in my mid-twenties.

Last Friday September 5 I celebrated my 25th birthday and it marked a lot of "firsts". Its was my first birthday in a foreign country, my first birthday away from home and I had my first birthday celebration without any of my close friends. I have no regrets though. How many people get to celebrate their birthday overseas anyway? More importantly, I wasnt alone. We had our own little dinner party right here at "home",complete with a bit of the bubbly, hors d'oeuvre, pasta, red wine, chips and more wine with candles all around the living and dining room...oh and of course, the balloons from my officemates. See, the night before the party, they made dinner for me and gilbs (who celebrated her birthday the day after I did) and had a cake and balloons everywhere.

Photos to follow soon.

After Michael Buble came Queen...

Not in terms of birth year, but in terms of my schedule the past week. Wednesday night was Regent Theatre night, located within Melbourne City Central, again, far, far from where we currently live. The musical was entitiled "We Will Rock You" and from title itself, its based largely on music by Queen. It was originally shown in London but was brought to Australia and has been running for some weeks now.

I havent seen that many musicals which is why I have no deep, thought-provokng insights on the quality of the play. Or maybe,I don’t have any of these thoughts because of the very obvious shallowness of the play. Story-wise, it wasn’t much. Not to sound terribly critical but it was something I could’ve easily written during my high school days. Its set in the future, around the year 2300ish where Globalsoft rules the planet once known as Earth. Music is forbidden along with imagination and free thinking. Clones roam the lands along with humans with names that build together like website URLs. Our protagonist is a young man who calls refuses to use his www-name and calls himself Galileo Figaro. That, in itself, is a sign of rebellion, a sign of independence and imagination. Traits that led the powers that be from Globalsoft to imprison him, and then eventually use him to track the rebellion - the bohemians.

With every male lead comes a female. She is Scaramoush, also named by our male hero. She refuses to wear pastels like the rest of the girls, and she refuses to join in on their shallow shopping ways. Needless to say, she eventually ends up with Galileo, imprisoned one moment, rubbing elbows with bohemians the next.

Long story short, they eventually find the lone guitar left in the planet. Hidden years ago by the hairy one, Brian May, since they foresaw the tragedy known as the Globalsoft reign. Of course, this was with the help of The Dreamer, The One - Galileo.

It all sounds very cliché-ish. And well, not really impressive, but the best part about it, is hearing the music. All time Greatest Hits like “I want to Break Free”, “Somebody To Love”, “Pressure”, “Another One Bites the Dust” were mixed in with the story and like, the fan that I am, I was thrilled. My favorite moment was towards the end, when they sang We Will Rock You. At the back of my mind I wanted to stand and shout and jump and sing the way I would had I been given the chance to attend a Queen concert. But of course,I could only do so much. The music got to me. So much so that I willingly overlooked the story…and that was only “We Will Rock You”…when the finally sang “Bohemian Rhapsody”, I was blown away. I have never heard anyone sing this song live --- nor have I seen anyone (TV included) perform the entire song live. Queen themselves, never performed everything live after they recorded it. And I heard it. LIVE. And I was so happy and so excited, I thought I would suffer from whiplash from headbanging, or sore throat for singing along.

We Will Rock You rocked my night. And I really didn’t need the musical to have an unforgettable night. All I needed was the music, played live.

A year ago I was somewhere else....

I went through my little notebook last night and realized that it's almost been a year since I last went to the US. I spent a month away from work so I could help my mom out in a business venture that turned out well (but could of course have been better).

I think that was the same time I started to delude myself into thinking I can actually escape from the things I have been trying to escape from simply by being someplace else. Its become a habit. Now everytime I'm about to leave the country, I keep saying "This is it."

And of course its never "it".

But I digress. Last year was San Diego, California, a three-day Greyhound ride from the West Coast to the East Coast, and two glorious days roaming around Manhattan on my own. More pictures here

Last Sunday, I watched Someone Like You Twice on Star Movies. Yes, I've seen it before but I obviously do not tire of watching it. Romantic comedies just stir up a lot of memories, both wanted and unwanted. They make me hate, love, believe and disbelieve all at the same time. Yes, I take my formula romantic movies seriously. I'm a sucker for the predictable story line and the ouch-I-can-relate lines.

Yes, the lines, I can never get over their lines. I dont think I'm the only one even. Try googling and you'll find countless sites devoted to movie lines (most of which are from this genre). And ahem my blog is going to be one of them....

At the top of my head, here are some lines I can remember from these type of movies and my take on them...I may not have the exact lines, but then again, the main ideas are there anyway...

1. ...There is the dream of someone --- "You've Got Mail"
This was Meg Ryan's reply when asked if she were breaking up with her on-screen boyfriend because of someone else. It made me smile. It made me sigh. It made me think, hell! There's always been a DREAM of someone, will someone wake me up already??!!


2. Sometimes you don't see things until you're ready to see them, in a particular way --- "Keeping The Faith"
...and most of the time, some people end up not seeing what you want them to see at all. Maybe they're not ready? Or maybe they never will be? More importantly, maybe they're never supposed to be ready?

3. The truth is less than 5% of all male organisms are monogamous. The other 95% are f***king Penelope Pope. --- "Someone Like You"
To this I have only one thing to say.....F***k Penelope Pope!
And if you happen to be a Penelope Pope...Wake up girl! Face facts, and realize that yes, that is the only thing happening, you are getting f***ked, nothing more. Easier said than done though.


4. When you love someone, you say it out loud, then and there, otherwise, the moment just passes you by --- "My Best Friend's Wedding"
This is the mantra of all who, at one point in time, felt something for someone and never had the guts to say it. To all of you I offer you this insight, in the movie, do you think it would have made any difference if Julia Roberts blurted it out at that perfect moment? Sure, we would have been spared from the rest of the chaotic events in the film (and hence, there would be no point in the film) but really, do you think it would have made a difference?? The guy does not love jell-o, he loves creme brulee. The blond has the engagement ring, and remember, he ran after her. He loves her. Not the big-haired redhead from New York. You may argue, "at least he knows"...yes he knows....so what??!!

5. Because if this theory is wrong, then men don't leave all women, they leave me. -- "Someone Like You"
I'm stumped. I think this needs no further comment.

Compromise. That seems to be a recurring topic for me lately.

You want to be financially stable? Then grab whatever travel opportunity that will come your way. Save up, but you have to be far away from home.

In a few weeks I might leave home temporarily. I'll be heading to Melbourne for work. I'll be there for the next 12 months. Sure, I'll be flying home, for 2 weeks at a time every 3 months, I'll be home to catch up with family and friends.

I've always wanted to travel. I've always wanted to spend time (and yes, even work and temporarily transfer) to another country. Well, this is my chance and I'm not passing it up. But its not supposed to be easy.

Twelve months away from home.

Wow.

I've been spending the past half hour just toying around with the open document in my PC (also known as a "program" -- which is what I do for a living)
but nothing intelligent comes to mind. I simply do not have the strength.

It started this morning...that eerie realization that I have been lazing around for the past month or so. At first it was just a nagging little thought, with as much impact as a speck of dust falling on your shoulder. And then this morning while changing..there it was! My clothes fit lousy. It doesnt feel as if any muscle has been used lately, and the reason behind it? I havent been doing anything save for work. Which means I commute to work, spend most of the day reclined in my seat, typing away.

Normally, I would react by planning to go jogging in the afternoon after work....or by planning some physical activity of some sort for the weekend. But this morning, I didnt bother. I simply dont have the strength. I dont have the drive. I dont have the inspiration to do anything at all. I want to just lie in bed and watch cable the whole day.

*Sigh* and I used to have so much energy.

Wonder what happened.

*sigh*

Perhaps one of the things I find amazing about myself is my ability to unleash all sorts of ideas from common events in my life. Just last night, I was with two old friends who are amongst those I consider to have made the most impact in my life. We did not meet up to have profound discussions about our lives and where we are all heading. Rather, we were just there...three people hanging out, talking about nothing and everything. And out of that little meeting I have somehow managed to have some thoughts on my life and other things that matter to me. I cant exactly figure out how it happened that I thought about these things, I just did.

I have always had this nagging feeling that I'm going to die young.
No I am not being intentionally morbid, its just this little thought inside me...I will die young. I dont know how and I dont know what "young" is supposed to mean in this context, but yes, I have a feeling that my time in this world will not be as long as expected. My only wish though, is that when I die, it will be quick and as painless as possible, both to me, and to those who will be affected by it.

My lifeis not at all that bad.
I have a far from perfect, but loving, family. I have friends who have time and again been there for me. I have a career that has thus far, allowed me to go one of the most memorable places I can possibly ever go to. Though I am not financially abundant, I have more than enough to live a normal and comfortable life. I may be young but I've been to places, I've seen what other people my age have not necessarily been exposed to. In fact, the only thing that I think is lacking is the absence of that someone. But then again, I know I'm not alone. There are still countless Single Since Birth community members out there, and what I'm missing out on male and female relationship aspect I think is pretty much covered by the presence of an absolutely undefeatable, unbelievable, incorrigible, unfailingly loyal and viciously bitchy group of friends. Who needs a man who will leave you for the newest, sexiest and dumbest (though possibly also "boobsiest") female on the block when you have friends who will see you through every bottle of coke even when you whine about gaining weight and keeping it off. I dont need men. Yet the number of sentences that I have used up just to justify that somehow diminishes the impact of my not needing men. *sigh* Yes, my life is not bad, but like everyone else, there's a lot left to want. And I want what I have never had.

I was, and still am, a prick.
No matter what other people may think of me, that I'm carefree and that I do not have a care in the world, I am and will forever be, a stickler for rules. Yes, I break the rules, but only when I have reason to. Most of the time my reasons are normal and expected, but there are times when my reasons are all out of whack. At least for most people. To me, my reasons would be the result of: 1) thinking 2) thinking yet again 3) re-thinking what has been thought of 4) giving up on thinking and just going with what I feel 5) giving up on acting on what I feel and doing what impulse would have me do.

I have guts and pretty much nothing else.
Despite all the confidence that I have, I am first and foremost, only human. I have a habit of stepping up when I have to and when no one takes charge. I have a habit of being the talkative one when everyone else keeps quiet. I have a habit of stirring things up when things are too slow and too boring. I stand up tall because I know that it has the effect of making me look confident though I am pretty much all shaky inside. I speak out when I am asked because I was not taught to be ashamed of my own ideas. I mind my manners when I'm around new people out of respect and courtesy to people I dont know and am not acquainted to. I listen to reason and put myself in other people's shoes as often as I can because I know that its the best way to understand them. When I hear a compliment, I say "Thank you" and when I hear a criticism I try to take them lightly. But at the end of the day, I have countless insecurities like everyone else. Have I put on too much weight? Am I too short? Does my hair make my face look big? Did I do a good job at work today? Do my shoes match the rest of my outfit? Did I talk too much? Did I say too little? But I suppose my most important point here is this, when I am turned away or taken for granted, I shrug my shoulders and say "oh well, I cant please everyone", but most of the time it doesnt go down as easy as that. I think it over, and yes, I do ponder on it until I think there's nothing left to think of....and it doesnt really end there. Because I think it over yet again.

Yearn On
by Katie Donovan

I want you to feel
the unbearable lack of me.
I want your skin
to yearn for the soft lure of mine;
I want those hints of red
on your canvas
to deepen in passion for me:
carmine, burgundy.
I want you to keep stubbing your toe
on the memory of me;
I want your head to be dizzy
and your stomach in a spin;
I want you to hear my voice
in your ear, to trouch your face
imagining it is my hand.
I want your body to shiver and quiver
at the mere idea of mine.
I want you to feel as though
life after me is dull, and pointless,
and very, very aggravating;
that with me you were lifted
on a current you waited all your life to find,
as though you were wading
through a soggy swill of inanity and ugliness
every minute we are apart.
I want you to drive yourself crazy
with the fantasy of me,
and how we will meet again, against all odds,
and there will be tears and flowers,
and the vast relief of not I,
but us.
I am haunting your dreams,
conducting these fevers
from a distance,
a distance that leaves me weeping,
and storming,
and bereft.

I need something to get my creative juices flowing. Or at least to let me feel that yes, I still do have a hint of creativity in me. I could shoot, but then again, I don’t know where to go and what to shoot. Unfortunately, I can’t think of any interesting places to shoot or even interesting objects. And well, on weekends, I can’t exactly wander out of the house as much. House-sitting not grounded okay?

Or maybe I find too many excuses not to do anything. I can always go at night to wherever it is I may think of going. But then again, nighttime, no car, not safe, tired from work, sleepy, need to wake up early…apparently there’s too many reasons why I shouldn’t.

I could shoot right here in the office….but no, I don’t want to. Not at the moment. Maybe when I get a digital SLR. And that would be….100 years from now? How I wish I can afford it. My little hobby is not so little in the Financial department. Hard times socs, better save up or someday drown…again, am I making excuses?

So okay, lets not focus too much on photography. Maybe I need something very convenient to do but at the same time would boost up my creativity level and would inspire me to do more……..

Yes, nice idea. Now what?

I don’t know. Even now, I’m typing nonsense.

Excuse me, I think I’ll go through my huge pile of Paris pics yet again.

I know I'm kinda strange, to you sometimes
Don't always say, what's on my mind
You know that I've been hurt, by some guy
But I don't wanna mess up this time

[BRIDGE]
And I really really really care
And I really really really want you
And I think I'm kinda scared
Cos I don't want to lose you
If you really really really care
Then maybe you can hang through
I hope you understand
It's nothing to you

[CHORUS]

My heart's at a low
I'm so much to manage
I think you should know that
I've been damaged
I'm falling in love
There's one disadvantage
I think you should know that I've been damaged

I might look through your stuff, for what I don't wanna find
Or I might just set you up, to see if you're all mine
I'm a little paranoid, from what I've been through
Don't know what you got yourself into

And I really really really care (And I care about you so much)
And I really really really want you (I really do want you)
And I think I'm kinda scared (But I'm scared with every touch)
Cos I don't want to lose you (Cos I don't want to lose you)
If you really really really care (If you care for me like you say)
Then maybe you can hang through (Then maybe you can hang through)
I hope you understand (I hope you understand)
It's nothing to you (It's nothing to you, you)

My heart's at a low (low)
I'm so much to manage
I think you should know that (I think you should know)
I've been damaged
I'm falling in love (I'm falling in love)
There's one disadvantage
I think you should know that I've been damaged (I think you should know that)

My heart's at a low
I'm so much to manage (I'm so much to manage)
I think you should know that (I think you should know that)
I've been damaged (I've been damaged)
I'm falling in love (I love you so)
There's one disadvantage (I love you so)
I think you should know that I've been damaged

And I really really really want you
And I think I'm kinda scared
Cos I don't want to lose you
If you really really really care
Then maybe you can hang through
I hope you understand
It's nothing to you (It's nothing to you)

My heart's at a low
I'm so much to manage
I think you should know that (Ooh I think you should know I've been damaged)
I've been damaged (I've been damaged baby)
I'm falling in love (Falling in love with you baby, yeah)
There's one disadvantage
I think you should know that I've been damaged

My heart's at a low
I'm so much to manage
I think you should know that
I've been damaged
I'm falling in love
There's one disadvantage
I think you should know that I've been damaged

Slow day. No, not really slow. Lazy is more like it.

Been staring at my Reference Manuals the entire morning and I think only 5% of it was absorbed.

My desk looks very cluttered. To my left is an empty coffee mug, a bottle of mineral water, two coasters, my desktop calendar, two training manuals, my notebook and the print out of the Programming Standards. To my right is my phone, my Fuji note pads, yellow post-its and MySpl.com post-its, the crummy 6110 I'm using, an alcogel and my desk paraphernalia.

Oh and two books which I have read, but not finished. Both are not mine.

Behind me is the office corridor where people come and go all the time. And I can't shake off the feeling that someone's reading everything I type behind my back.

I wish they can move to another spot, but I can't seem to find any vacant place nearby.

I wish I can move back to Paris and use the laptop I was using.

Written 11:54 pm DST, Paris time

I cant leave Paris without trying their nightlife. Last Friday, we went out with some colleagues from work, Fiona, a British/Australian girl and Franck, a French guy. We went around St. Germain, Paris’ Latin Quarter. Being such a big group (there were 10 of us initially), we couldn’t go to the big clubs where a lot of dancing took place because there weren’t much space. Eventually we found a bar, seWttled in at their –1 level (below ground level, or the ‘basement’ if you prefer) and got ourselves some drinks. After one or two rounds, we decided to find another place. At the second bar we found, some people decided to go ahead and get some rest. At this point, it was 1:30 and the Metro was already closed by then. Rather than get a taxi home, I decided to stay behind and wait til the Metro reopens at, oh, around 5:30 am. I was in for the long haul, not like I ever wanted to be with the first group to leave anyway. So there I was at that second bar, thinking I shouldn’t drink too much, lest I throw up all over the place and all over Paris. Every one else was saying, if you’re going to get drunk, you might as well get drunk in Paris. I would’ve agreed, except that none of them has ever seen me drunk. They don’t know how messy it would’ve been.

So by 2 pm, the bar was closing, and we had to find another one. We found one, and again, ordered drinks (at this point, I’ve spent 12 euros for 2 drinks already…ouch!) sans alcohol for me. We had a pretty interesting conversation, comparing our cultures and some of the weird (and scary) laws in some countries. Did you know that in France, any ‘legal’ ceremony can later be contested if there was no statue of the ‘Marais’ at the official hall. Interesting isn’t it? That’s what we were talking about, up until the bar had to close by 3 am.

Our 4th bar for the night, was the loudest that night. It was an Irish bar, with dance music and TV, and a group of Welsh rugby fans wearing their dragon gear. Again, drinks for everyone, except me. I’ve had enough alcohol and if I were to retain my pride, I’d best steer clear of alcohol. This time, talk revolved around sex, men and women, and what it means to be “French” (it means to be liberal, apparently, they are the most liberal among, oh, all cultures and nationalities?).

An hour later, we were thrown out again, and this time, it was time for coffee. The guys have had enough alcohol. Franck lined up for some crepe and the four of us, we stood outside the crepe/sandwich place, talking about after-drinks food. In Manila, it was Tapsi., in England it was Kebabs and in Paris, it was crepe and sandwiches. We had around an hour left to wait for the Metro and we spent the rest of it at the café. Conversation this time was about game boards. And frankly, I didn’t know half of the games they were talking about. I suppose it was partly because I was half asleep and partly because they were American/British games which I knew nothing of. So I kept quiet most of the time and stared at the sky.

Its been a while since I’ve gone out at night and stayed out until sunrise. How the color of the sky changed from pitch black (with very few stars, if I may add) to dark blue, to light blue, to even lighter blue was an awesome experience. Life goes on. After the dark, comes the light. It gave me hope….it also gave me determination to get home without falling flat on my face from exhaustion and the need for sleep.

Needless to say, it was time to head home at 6 am. The train ride took us around an hour I think. Again, I was thankful I didn’t drink too much, otherwise, I would’ve thrown up at every Metro station.

All in all, it was a good night. Sure, I didn’t meet any cute guys, but I have new friends and I can say that yes, I’ve tried the Parisian night life.

I was walking along Champs Elysees the other day, thinking about what my girl friends ask me --- whether or not I've met any French guys already ---and the reaction I always have to that question. Everytime I get asked that question, only one thing comes to mind, FEAR. I'm afraid of meeting any French guys at least in the "non-conventional" way (if thats the correct way to put it). The idea of actually "going out" with a French guy I've only just met, even talking to them in a bar somewhere is scary. One, I dont know where they're coming from. Two, I'm not really familiar with the Manila dating scene, what more with the French scene? Three, the guys I see around literally scare me. Even the young ones. Maybe its because of the language barrier which means I dont have a clue what they're saying hence, I dont know what they're thinking.

And what perfect timing, as I was walking away from the Money Changer booth (the reason why I was at Champs), some guy started talking to me. Small talk, really, where you from, why you here, how long you here...etc etc. I could barely understand what he was saying because of his accent (he's from somewhere like Madagascar, or something) and I wasnt really interested since paranoia was making me think that he saw me while I was at the Money Changer, and thus, he could very well be looking for an opportunity to steal something from me.

BUT he did ask for my number. Too bad he wasnt cute. I wonder if I would've given him my number if he were cute.....

Fast becoming my most memorable experiences in Paris are the past two weekends I've spent with my "Partners in Crime" walking around Paris and choosing Metro stops and surrounding areas to explore. I've been to the Pantheon, Luxembourg Gardens, Chateau de Vincennes, 2 other Churches whose names I can't recall as of the moment, Jardin de Acclimatation and of course, the common Paris sights -- the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, Sacre Coure, Moulin Rouge, Versailles and even Parc Disneyland.

I now have two weeks left before I head home. Would've been lots of time if it weren't for the fact that I work the rest of the week and I only go out on weekends. This weekend I have to buy those souvenirs I've been wanting to buy. And maybe finally do a little window shopping. I have been doing my best to avoid shopping places since I got here. Primarily because everything here is much too expensive. I got away once, and bought myself a pair of cheap boots. But that was it. No more shopping. Not when there's a crisis at home. Haay. I wish I were rich.

But anyway, more pictures are in my gallery.

Last Sunday was a record-breaking day for me. It marked the longest time I was ever on a bike.
We went to Versailles, the ever famous palace for the French Royalty, its residents include Marie Antoinette. I was expecting the palace to be really grand and unbelievable oozing with grandeur and impracticality. Of course, I wasnt disappointed. What surprised me was the HUGE size of the palace grounds. Entire stretch of Makati could possibly fit within those grounds. And of course, we wouldnt be able to explore the grounds on foot. Well, yes we could but then again, it would've taken the whole day just to walk around. So we rented a bike.

The big question was, "sinong hindi marunong mag bike?" And of course, I didnt reply. After all, I can ride a bike. I never said I was good. I just knew how. But the minute I started moving, it seemed harder than I remembered it to be. A few minutes later I noticed I was moving more to my right no matter what I did. Apparently, the darned thing wasnt aligned! Of course I had to notice it just when I was riding close to a jogger...needless to say I ended up hitting his foot, and I fell. Thank god, they didnt see me. Well okay they did, but they saw me after I fell. Which is good. A salvaged a little bit of my pride.

But the longer I was on the bike, the more comfortable I felt. So maybe I still didnt like having anyone close by while riding, but then, the fact that I was doing okay was good enough for me.

So anyway, later in the afternoon we went inside Versailles. Too bad there were too many visitors at the time, some of the rooms, particularly the antechambers (and the antechamber to the antechamber...), were full of tour groups and their guides speaking in tongues. The Hall of Mirrors was grand, but a little construction on one end of the hall ruined the effect.

I wish I can stay longer so I can come back and savor the place some more. But I guess I'll have to wait for some other time. Maybe next year, or two years from now, or more...

*sigh*

On the happy side of things, we still did get to go to Euro Disney.

Here are some pictures taken by my officemate (he was nice enough to actually allow me to post them in my gallery)

I lost my wallet over the weekend.
Actually, they tell me it was stolen. To be honest, I dont know what happened.
All I know is that it was in my bag, and that I took it out ONCE, put it back in, and never took it out again. If it fell off while I was getting something out of my bag, I dont know, and I dont think so since I was always careful about it. If someone opened my bag and stole my wallet, I dont know either. If that was the case, then he/she/it was VERY very good. I did not notice anything.

Or maybe it happened during the parade. There were soo many people, we were packed in closely together so we could get a good view of Mickey Mouse that I didnt notice.

Sheesh. See Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters if you pay the entrance fee, the train fee and oh yes, if you leave behind your wallet (with over $100 USD worth of money).

*sigh*

This night I heard about what other people think of people like me.
While I don’t agree with them when they say that I’m a real bitch – heartless and completely unmindful of other people’s feelings – I cant deny that I did hurt other people.

But what I would like them to know about me is that I did not and would not do anything purely for the sake of hurting anybody. Its just that some people are more weak on certain things than other people are. Which is why it’s a weakness in the first place.

I will accept and admit that I am selfish, because I was thinking of my happiness and not really of what is best for all concerned.

I will accept and admit that I am weak. I never claimed to be strong.

But I won’t accept that I’m evil. That I don’t do anything good.

Things aren’t always black and white. There are reasons why I do what I do. There’s a reason why I’m in the gray area. They may not be comprehensible to all, but I pray that at the very least, that other people recognize these reasons.

Written 9:31 pm, March 2, 2003, Paris Time
There's a poem in my book that I'm particularly fond of as of the moment. It really doesn't apply to me at all…what applies only is that I AM in Paris with…nobody that counts….but anyway…

In Paris With You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've drowned a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess that I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go the Louvre,
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysees
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and who
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Lets talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
Theres that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel wall are peeling
And I'm in paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Lets talk of Paris.
Im in Paris the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with…all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.


Written by James Fenton

Written 12:47 am, March 2, 2003, Paris time

This afternoon I wandered around the small garden/walkway behind Citadines, the hotel where I'm staying. I noticed the trees were starting to actually have green leaves and buds that I suppose would eventually bloom into flowers. And then I realized, the rains in the past few days are supposed to usher in spring…..and I don't have enough winter pictures!!!!

Written 1:24 am, March 1, 2003, Paris time

I was trying to find the right poem that would aptly describe what I'm feeling and what I'm thinking. In the end I decided to close my poetry book.
There just wasn't anything there.

I realized all of a sudden that the longer I become immersed in reading poetry, the harder it is to find that one poem that I can read over and over again
and say, yes, this is where I am and what I'm feeling right now.

Maybe I'm becoming more and more picky and hard to please? Or maybe I'm beginning to realize that, as with other things in life,
I look for the answers elsewhere. That what I really need are not the words of other people, not the emotions of beings.
I cannot turn to them and ask them to say what I want to say, and feel what I am feeling. I have to find my words and give voice to them.

Maybe I'm done escaping, and its time to face reality? I have to go back to who and what I was before. I have to find the courage I had and
re-learn how to say what I want to say and feel what I want to feel without shame nor guilt.

Written at 1150 pm, Feb 26, 2003 (Paris time)

Its almost midnight and I’m still very much awake. Its not because I cant sleep. That isn’t me after all. I love sleep. The minute I lie down I can doze off almost immediately…well most of the time, that is.

But tonight I choose to not sleep yet. I’m trying a little experiment. See, since I got here, I’ve never had a good night’s sleep. I always wake up some time in the middle of the night. Okay, I wake up at an ungodly hour. Think 3 am, 4 am, 5 am. And that just isn’t the kind of restful sleep that I need or want.

Someone once told me that not being able to sleep well (either getting too much or getting too little) means that something’s wrong. Something’s up.

Honestly I don’t know what could be bothering me. I don’t know of anything new that bothers me. I just have the usual things that I think of, the usual questions that I have. Nothing new. Nothing to have wrong sleep patterns over.

So I just sit here at my little desk in my little rented studio (which I’m not paying for by the way) and type away at my borrowed laptop. I have a football game on TV, but I’m not really watching. I have a book right beside me, but I’m not really reading.

I’m typing but not really writing.
I’m bothered but not really.
I am….or am I really?

Lets talk about food in Paris.

I noticed that the French aren’t particularly fond of heavy food. The daily Parisian fare wont let you walk away from a restaurant with one hand supporting your back and the other rubbing your oh-so-stuffed stomach. Here’s what they eat.

1. Baguette. A French staple. In Manila, we call it (what else?) French bread. Unlike our local bread though, baguettes aren’t necessarily that long.
Think Subway’s one foot sandwich. That’s typical baguette size. What remains the same is the fact that they’re pretty hard to eat. Expect crumbs,
expect plenty of jaw exercise….

2. Salads. Green, leafy and filled really juicy tomatoes. Yum. Nuff said.

3. Cheese. I thought Netherlands was THE cheese capital of the world (and maybe it is?) but I see more cheese here. (Or maybe its because I spent just a day in
Amsterdam.) I've tried fondue already!! Oh no, that was Raclette...the difference is, instead of having melted cheese in a pot, they give you the cheese and this small
"stove" with a flat bottom "pan" where you melt your cheese. Once melted, you tip the pan and all that creamy cheese unto your plate of cold cuts, baked potato, etc...

4. Wine. Red, white and rose. Rose is that interesting concoction which is a mix of both. The best of both worlds…needless to say, I still haven’t increased my alcohol
tolerance, but that doesn’t stop me from having my wine glass at dinner.

5. Tarts, Flan and oodles of strawberry dessert. Their flans taste like egg pie so I haven’t really had too much of that. The tarts? I have yet to try them…
but the strawberry dessert…oooohhh…my first office day lunch included that yummy, juicy, lovely glass of that sumptuous red fruit topped with whipped cream
and with strawberry icing (I don’t know what its called) at the bottom. So you think you’ll lose weight with just sandwiches and salads? The desserts will
make sure you have enough fat and sugar to make you gain more than a pound.

6. Café. And I don’t mean Frapuccino’s or Javanillas. I mean strong, eye-opening Espresso shots. In little cups, no less. Yes, they have Café Au Lait
(which has milk) but damn! Those espresso shots aren’t as bitter as you think they would be…you wouldn’t mind having double or triple shots.

Today while going around Paris, I bought a Poetry book, “Staying Alive – Real Poems for Unreal Times”. It was really not my intention to buy a book, I was just there in the store to accompany my friends who were looking for something English to read. What tourist after all would think of buying a book while in Paris? This is Paris! This is Europe! This is not the place where you spend the night reading a book. But I made the mistake of looking for the poetry section, made the mistake of going through the titles, made the mistake of leafing through the pages….Hence, I stayed behind in the bookstore and half an hour later, came out with a new book in hand. Worth 20 Euros. Worth two days lunch and dinner. But hell, it’s a poetry book…and for that I can sacrifice other purchases I may have had in mind.

What is it about poetry that makes it so unresistable, at least for me personally? I don’t really know. Its like that classic question that people would ask, especially those you’re getting to know for the first time, “What kind of music do you like?”. To this question, I have my generic, straight to the point and somewhat unexciting answer…”Various kinds, but I lean towards Rock/Blues/Band music.” And then there’s the other answer which I rarely give out, only to those I wouldn’t mind talking to at least, since it requires more talk and longer conversation…”I don’t have a particular preference. I like songs that have soul. Songs with a beat that matches its words.” Songs with soul. I don’t really know the best way to explain it, but that’s the best I can do.

The same thing goes with poetry. I don’t prefer any particular, any particular period or any particular writer. The poems I like best are the poems that speak to me. Whether they talk of an emotion I’ve had, an experience I’ve had or something I can emphatize with determines the extent of just how much the poem “speaks to me”.

I’ve had my book with me for only a few hours, and already something is worth quoting. At the first few pages are some thoughts on poetry by poets themselves. Here’s one which can begin to explain this fixation I have:

“Poetry is that which arrives at the intellect by way of the heart.”
- R.S. Thomas

I know this may sound grossly exaggerated considering I’ve only been away for a few days,
but I’m enjoying being away from home. The more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to see that I here I have what I have always dreamt of…my own place, my own laptop, privacy, independence…

Every day I wake up at 7 am, and then make my way to the office along with other 9-5ers. Here everybody takes the Metro – the subway – to work. And here, when you say “corporate” attire, they don’t look like cheesy banktellers. Its mean I know, but here, people wear coats and suits. Or maybe its just because its still winter and coats are needed to survive. My point isn’t to criticize those at home, its just that here, people are noticeably more well-dressed.

The trip to the office takes 30 minutes at the most and when you get to work, people are really working. Give them a few minutes to check their mail and get organized, after that..its work. (Either that or they’re very good pretenders, either way, its pretty impressive.)

Common lunch fare means a sandwich or salad or baguette with cheese and something for dessert, perhaps a fruit tart (strawberry is common) or flan. There’s also the glass of beer or wine, the most interesting of which is what is called a “Rose”…a mix between white and red wine. Interesting how people who are biologically bigger than Filipinos eat so little in the middle of the day.

At the end of the day, people head home (well at least I do since I seem to be even more of a sleep addict now more than ever) and rest. I suspect most still go out at night…something that I am yet to discover.

To someone like me who’s only here on a temporary basis, it’s a very ideal way to live. Of course this is because I don’t have to think of my living expenses…but still…I’m enjoying my borrowed time in Paris. For a few months at least, I can play pretend.

(Hmm…borrowed time and pretending? Sounds all too familiar…but then again…that calls for another blog entry.)

WELCOME TO PARIS!!!

What do you think is the first indicator, the first honest-to-goodness sign that says "You are in Europe"? The presence of blondes, brunettes, leather jacket-clad people? Maybe....

But for my group, it was one particular blonde French female walking ahead of us towards the taxi line. She was met at the gate by her boyfriend....and then there it was....

the kiss. in public.

I kept walking past them before I turned to my companions and saw them stiffling their giggles. One of them came to me and said....
"Ma c culture shock nga talaga ko dito."
hehehe..Welcome to Paris!

The plane landed at around noon on Sunday, Manila time
which in Paris was 5 am-ish also Sunday. My concern at that time was really getting past Immigration and then finding a cab to the hotel. I have never really had problems with Immigration before and there really wasnt anything to worry about but I have long been hearing about tales of other people spending hours just being questioned. And after a 13-hour flight from Singapore in a very crowded plane, the last thing I need is further delay in the airport.

So anyway, we made our way out of the plane and out into the Paris airport. It was a relatively old airport and for the life of me, I cant figure out which one it is...the Roissy or the something-or-other. We had to go thru this really long tunnel out of the gates and into Immigration. The whole time, I was thinking...no more delays please, no more delays..

And thank god there were none in Immigration. The officer took our passports, did whatever they had to do with them...and then let us through...Whatever was I worried about????

I wonder how it feels like to fall from the 20th (or higher) floor of a building?
No I am not becoming suicidal. There's too much to miss if I die this young. I'm wondering. Would be anything like those dreams we have sometimes? You know the type where you wake up with a jolt because you were falling...the kind of dreams that some people say signifies that you're actually growing taller. Maybe...only multiply that 40 or 50 times. Oooh. Scary. So much for wanting to try sky diving, or even bungee jumping. I'm too much of a coward to do that.

Weeks ago I wrote something down that never quite made it to my blog.

That was around the same time when the work came piling in and I became preoccupied. But anyway, here it is. I can't quite relate to it anymore, well, not as much as I could at the time. I suppose it is due in part to the fact that I dont understand a single point I was trying to make. Bottom line is, I was a little messed up then. Shaken up. Incoherent. And in case I end up being and feeling like that one of these days again, I'll have my blog to come back to.

(written Jan 13, 2002)
I found myself unable to work at all today. I figure it must be because its Monday. Mondays are always slow days. Only today.....I don't think it's really slow....today was purely, simply unproductive. So maybe its not just because its Monday.

I admit it, something's up. I made a big mistake, now I'm paying for it. Work takes more effort just so I can concentrate. Nights seem shorter because I can't get enough sleep. I suppose I could say "I should've known better." but I DID know better. Only, I ignored those little voices from my very limited wisdom. Like all those times when logic told me to not do anything I shouldn't do, I ignored it. I ignored myself. My sane self. My logical self.

What is it about pure logic, pure pragmatism that turns people off? Specifically, me? Its ironic since I've always thought myself to be a practical person. Do I, at certain times/moments in my life forego my practicality? I obviously do. But for what? And when? What good does this do for me?

I guess the answer is, I'm really not a practical person. Whoever says that I am, do not know me well. And it probably goes to show that I don't know myself that well to actually even think I am practical. Thinking about it really, people just believe me when I tell them that I am. Truth be told, I am a very emotional person. I forego logic at the slightest hint of emotion. This is not to say that I do not possess logic. Only, that I choose to ignore it.

I believe that life is experienced fully when you crash and burn. And crashing and burning isnt practical. Its purely impulsive. Everything that comes after crashing and being burnt deals with emotion. You're left with all the markings, the spoils of war, the raw pain that comes with going through such an experience.

I believe in living life fully. Unfortunately, after living my life fully for just a few years, I find I am not left with just scars. I've been damaged. Real bad. I crashed and got burned (burnt?). Now I'm struggling to stay alive.

And this is my idea of living? Maybe I should rethink what I believe, otherwise I'll be left with more Mondays (and non-Mondays) as unproductive as today. And as incoherent.

The songs that suddenly find their way into your lives
are the songs that may have come from completely unexpected sources. A few weeks ago, someone told me about this Tori Amos (gasp!!! Tori Amos!!!) cover of a Stevie Nicks song. It became an instant hit among my very varied and very often played mp3 collection. Here are the words to my latest guaranteed-to-make-you-stop-coding song...

I took my love and I took it down
Climbed a mountain and turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
'til the landslide brought it down
Oh, mirror in the sky -What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changin'...ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
I don't know.....I don't know
Well I've been afraid of changin'
because I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder, even children get older
And I'm getting older too....
So, take my love...take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
and if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills...
well the landslide will bring it down
The landslide will bring it down

As much as I'd like to explain why it makes such a big impact on me, I don't want to start. Otherwise, I might not end.

The weekend that was.....


I spent my weekend sulking at home. Got up late saturday morning, spent almost the entire afternoon cooped up in my room watching TV. Don't ask me what I watched because I don't remember. All I know is that I was watching...something. Sunday was pretty much the same, got out of bed late, didn't do anything I didn't have to do and watched TV without really watching.

I know what some people would say, too much idle time isn't good for anybody. But I never really listen. I'm one of those extremely stubborn people who never learn. Too much idle time you say? I say there's never enough time for idleness. Besides, just because I stayed home doesn't mean I was idle anyway. I was busy...busy thinking.

The weird thing really is that I wasn't thinking of anything new. In fact, what I was pondering on was something that's been on my mind for the longest time....

Why I do what I do.
Why other people do what they do.
How I won't do what I shouldn't do.
Why I give a damn in the first place.

No TG, if you're reading this, I won't be providing details. This is as far as I'll go.

Suffice to say that I was thinking of something. Suffice to say that, as always, I didn't arrive at any answer.

Which means I'll probably go back to thinking about those things yet again.

"Its a damn cold night trying to figure out this life
Wont you take me by the hand take me somewhere new
I dont know who you are, but I...I'm with you."

- I'm With You (Avril Lavigne)

I can't get the song out of my head...not that I wan't to. I'm not a big fan of Avril because, well I don't like the image she projects...so young and so angry. I'm like, what the hell are you angry about? If you're that angsty at THAT age, give it a few more years and see what you'll become.

But anyway, I like the song.

I originally thought of the title, "The Happy Phantom" because, well, at the time, I couldn't get the song out of my head (by Tori Amos, in case you're unaware). Also, I was blissfully basking in the thought of being a phantom, unseen, unnoticed and not really making an impact on anyone. At the time, it seemed like a good idea and I didn't see anything wrong with that.

Lately however, I've been thinking...its tiring to be a phantom...and it's not anything I should be happy about either.

Its has never been my habit to make new year resolutions. This year though, I did make two. Unfortunately, after less than 10 days into the new year, I've already gone against both resolutions. I should have known better, I never should've made them in the first place.

As I was cleaning my room a few days before 2003, I found proof of just how much I love writing. I had around 5 mini-notebooks that served as my diary/thought-book/doodle book/scratch pad, one oversized notebook which holds letters to people and several pages of loose paper with scribblings on them. I often find myself thinking of something I just had to write down regardless of what I'm doing and where I may be. Which explains why I have several of those mini-notebooks, they come in really handy whenever something has to be written. Other times I write to people without ever intending to send them out. There's an undeniable freedom that comes with expressing my thoughts without explicitly communicating them.

But I wouldn't call myself a writer. Sure, I write, but then again, doesn't everybody? To be a writer means your work has gone through some form of credible criticism...and I've never even had any of my works published (okay so maybe I did, but that was in Grade School! And I was my own editor...). In fact, I dont think I've shown my works to more than 10 people. Ever.

I've tried poetry, but my works never had that clarity in ambiguity and coherence of words needed to be effective. They can be vague, they can also be detailedly accurate...but never both vague and accurate. I have short lines, my "thought blocks", one or two lines of words that sound fine and mean a lot to me personally but only because they stem out of something I was thinking of. If I were to share it with someone who has no background of what I was thinking at the time, they would make no sense at all. These are usually descriptions of scenes I have in my head, scenes that never quite become full stories. I've tried often to build them up, to expound and make them into something that makes sense, but they never work. I end up wanting to revert back to the original line(s) because they sound better and they feel better.Quite opposite to my short thought blocks, are the really long, unedited letters to people. I write to people who, for one reason or another, I can't (or won't?) talk to. This I think is part of a long prescribed treatment to pent-up thoughts and emotions. Write them down, let them out and communicate...only I don't send out mine. Defeats the purpose you think? Maybe so, but I've grown accustomed to writing and afterwards, putting my pen down, closing my notebook and forgetting about it. Until the next letter that is.

I write, and my reasons for writing are purely selfish. I write for myself, so I can look back and know that at one point in my life, this was how I felt and this was what I was thinking of. I don't write anything for other people's consumption, because let's face it, they don't do much for my "reader". I write, but I can't create anything magical for those who read what I write.

I write, but I never quite know how to end.