This Christmas was so silent, so still, and so lonely...
It was beautiful.
No sound but my thoughts, no motion but my mind, no company except myself.
Next year will be different. A lot will change.
But for now I can't thank the Lord enough for the blessings in my life, for the painful lessons, for the people who touched my life.
The coming New Year will surely be filled with sound, dancing, and people -- things I'm not used to, but beautiful nonetheless.
December 26, 2005
December 25, 2005
December 19, 2005
Freeze!
It takes me ten times the willpower to get out of bed these days, and twice the time to snap into full consciousness. Leaving the warm blanket and moving around the chilly apartment doesn't appeal much to me lately.
But yesterday morning I craved for rice and fried eggs, so half-awake I lumbered to the kitchen, prepared the rice for boiling and heated some corn oil in the frying pan while I look for the eggs.
I found them in the vegetable crisper compartment of the refrigerator. Took two out and, without thinking, cracked one on the edge of the frying pan.
Thack! *sound effect*
The egg was hard as a candy, the edge of the iron pan creating just a tiny crack. At first I thought it was a bad egg, the ones with extra thick sacs which egg dealers consider unfit for selling, but nevertheless edible.
I was not going to give up on that egg, so I pried the shell off until the whole content, albumen and yolk, came off cleanly and fell into the frying pan with a tiny thunk.
It was frozen solid.
We must have accidentaly set the refrigerator to coldest. Almost everything outside the freezer compartment -- butter, drinking water, coke, some energy drinks, leftover gin, and beer (nooooo!) -- were frozen solid.
Got my rice and fried eggs (it was weird rolling them around the frying pan to melt), but it was almost noon when I got my coke.
But yesterday morning I craved for rice and fried eggs, so half-awake I lumbered to the kitchen, prepared the rice for boiling and heated some corn oil in the frying pan while I look for the eggs.
I found them in the vegetable crisper compartment of the refrigerator. Took two out and, without thinking, cracked one on the edge of the frying pan.
Thack! *sound effect*
The egg was hard as a candy, the edge of the iron pan creating just a tiny crack. At first I thought it was a bad egg, the ones with extra thick sacs which egg dealers consider unfit for selling, but nevertheless edible.
I was not going to give up on that egg, so I pried the shell off until the whole content, albumen and yolk, came off cleanly and fell into the frying pan with a tiny thunk.
It was frozen solid.
We must have accidentaly set the refrigerator to coldest. Almost everything outside the freezer compartment -- butter, drinking water, coke, some energy drinks, leftover gin, and beer (nooooo!) -- were frozen solid.
Got my rice and fried eggs (it was weird rolling them around the frying pan to melt), but it was almost noon when I got my coke.
December 05, 2005
Bad and good
Remember how it felt watching Onyok Velasco lose to the Bulgarian boxer at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics? Bad, right? For days people moaned and groaned about how Onyok's score refused to move despite him landing blow after blow of crisp punches to the Bulgarian's face, about how we were robbed of the gold medal.
Well, I remember.
And I sympathize with some of the athletes and their supporters at the SEA Games because they definitely feel that way right now -- they were robbed of their gold medals.
There's no question about the integrity of results in events that involved objective accuracy such as races, ballgames, and most athletics. But when it comes to subjective scoring, I cringe at the blatant "inaccuracy" in some of the scoring.
The wushu Nanchan event is one example.
Joan and I have been watching the wushu competitions whenever we can, and even watched the replays on TV, up to its last day.
We've seen true winners who simply blew the competition away at their first few moves. We've seen tight situations where victories were secured because of a slight wobble here, or a weak shout there. And we've seen athletes ending up in second place despite flawless performances, and the gold going to one who, even to the untrained eye, obviously gave a lesser performance.
But heck, I bet amassing gold is just one of the perks for hosting the Games. I just content and try to assure myself that most of golds we've won are well-deserved.
I do not blame the Thai for suspecting fraud in the scoring system -- some events deserved that comment. Anyway, it will be them under the spotlight come 2007.
Also, maybe PGMA needs yet another diversion to veer our attention from Garci.
Just the same, cheers to all SEAG athletes for a job well done!
Well, I remember.
And I sympathize with some of the athletes and their supporters at the SEA Games because they definitely feel that way right now -- they were robbed of their gold medals.
There's no question about the integrity of results in events that involved objective accuracy such as races, ballgames, and most athletics. But when it comes to subjective scoring, I cringe at the blatant "inaccuracy" in some of the scoring.
The wushu Nanchan event is one example.Joan and I have been watching the wushu competitions whenever we can, and even watched the replays on TV, up to its last day.
We've seen true winners who simply blew the competition away at their first few moves. We've seen tight situations where victories were secured because of a slight wobble here, or a weak shout there. And we've seen athletes ending up in second place despite flawless performances, and the gold going to one who, even to the untrained eye, obviously gave a lesser performance.
But heck, I bet amassing gold is just one of the perks for hosting the Games. I just content and try to assure myself that most of golds we've won are well-deserved.
I do not blame the Thai for suspecting fraud in the scoring system -- some events deserved that comment. Anyway, it will be them under the spotlight come 2007.
Also, maybe PGMA needs yet another diversion to veer our attention from Garci.
Just the same, cheers to all SEAG athletes for a job well done!
November 18, 2005
Faces
My dream of passing the creative torch to the new-bloods died yet another painful death this year, and the task of designing the station's christmas card falls on my lap, again.
It all started when I heard the station wishing for a more personalized greeting card to replace the UNICEF cards it customarily gave out on Christmas. In between research work, I played with Photoshop and Pagemaker, and submitted my first design.
It got approved (aha, madali palang i-please mga tao dito. haha!), marking my first break into (extremely) amateur graphics design, and my unofficial designation as the station's designs/layout artist. It was only a few years ago when my job description got revised to include those functions.
The task gets gruelling each year: now I have to fit 43 people into a half-letter size postcard while trying to make it pass for a decent greeting card. The pictorials get more complicated (thus messier), the designs more demanding, and the deadline more toxic than ever.
I have to find someone to do this next year! *reminder entered*
Anyway, there's (always) a certain high with designing the station's christmas card, however simple or amateur. Labor of love, maybe, and the chance to see the faces of people I hardly get to even talk to in this workplace -- taking note of the new faces, how the old ones have changed, and remembering those who were once part of this station's motley mob.
It all started when I heard the station wishing for a more personalized greeting card to replace the UNICEF cards it customarily gave out on Christmas. In between research work, I played with Photoshop and Pagemaker, and submitted my first design.
It got approved (aha, madali palang i-please mga tao dito. haha!), marking my first break into (extremely) amateur graphics design, and my unofficial designation as the station's designs/layout artist. It was only a few years ago when my job description got revised to include those functions.
The task gets gruelling each year: now I have to fit 43 people into a half-letter size postcard while trying to make it pass for a decent greeting card. The pictorials get more complicated (thus messier), the designs more demanding, and the deadline more toxic than ever.
I have to find someone to do this next year! *reminder entered*
Anyway, there's (always) a certain high with designing the station's christmas card, however simple or amateur. Labor of love, maybe, and the chance to see the faces of people I hardly get to even talk to in this workplace -- taking note of the new faces, how the old ones have changed, and remembering those who were once part of this station's motley mob.
Looking back: a draft of my first proposed design. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a copy of the finished product.
November 17, 2005
Funny: Of dog poo and HP 4
There's a game I love to play, even if I lose all the time. I'd stare at the ashtray and try to will all the cigarette butts away. I'd grow tired, step outside, and do the same thing with the dogshit that greet us every morning at the doorsteps with its ghastly poo-pee combo stench.
But, as I said, I always lose.
In the end I would have to scrub the dogshit off the doorsteps, and throw away the cigarette butts -- as I would the rest of the rubbish in the house to keep it inhabitable for the next five days.
Funny.
Because we don't have a dog.
And I don't smoke.
Ron Weasly is funny. The Weasley twins are funny. HP and the Goblet of Fire is (and most likely will stay) the funniest of the HP movies.
But life... is hilarious.
But, as I said, I always lose.
In the end I would have to scrub the dogshit off the doorsteps, and throw away the cigarette butts -- as I would the rest of the rubbish in the house to keep it inhabitable for the next five days.
Funny.
Because we don't have a dog.
And I don't smoke.
Ron Weasly is funny. The Weasley twins are funny. HP and the Goblet of Fire is (and most likely will stay) the funniest of the HP movies.
But life... is hilarious.
"Fairy tales are more than true, not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten" -- G.K. Chesterton
November 03, 2005
Priceless
October 27, aboard Superferry OLO Medjugorje.
My big brother, my best man, sure knows how to make every moment memorable, and he's not about to let our 15-hour ship travel pass without a little sideshow.
A master marketing and salesman he is, he wove his magic and had the ship's staff list me on their videoke challenge at the last moment.
It wasn't that painful singing Gary V's love song in front of the crowd. It helped that it was sudden enough so I had no time to panic, and that I was inspired enough to sing that kind of song.
And that I already had two and a half pitchers of draft beer.
I didn't win first price, of course. The lady that sounded like Sarah Geronimo deserves the Superferry travel bag and cap more. I'm happy with my Superferry fan and travel soaps.
The trip has been delightfully surreal so far -- the waitress who looks like Jodi Santamaria, my brother getting drunk and swearing that he's going change our wedding plans (gasp!), and me just smiling and smiling and smiling.
I'm excited, and terrified to the core, about my coming pamamanhikan. My brother was first to express his opposition to some of our plans, mostly on logistics, citing practicality to support his recommendations. I shudder at the thought of the possible barrage our wedding plans will face from my fiancée's family.
Anyway, despite our opposing views, I feel happy knowing he'll be with me on Sunday.
My big brother, my best man, sure knows how to make every moment memorable, and he's not about to let our 15-hour ship travel pass without a little sideshow.
A master marketing and salesman he is, he wove his magic and had the ship's staff list me on their videoke challenge at the last moment.
It wasn't that painful singing Gary V's love song in front of the crowd. It helped that it was sudden enough so I had no time to panic, and that I was inspired enough to sing that kind of song.And that I already had two and a half pitchers of draft beer.
I didn't win first price, of course. The lady that sounded like Sarah Geronimo deserves the Superferry travel bag and cap more. I'm happy with my Superferry fan and travel soaps.
The trip has been delightfully surreal so far -- the waitress who looks like Jodi Santamaria, my brother getting drunk and swearing that he's going change our wedding plans (gasp!), and me just smiling and smiling and smiling.
I'm excited, and terrified to the core, about my coming pamamanhikan. My brother was first to express his opposition to some of our plans, mostly on logistics, citing practicality to support his recommendations. I shudder at the thought of the possible barrage our wedding plans will face from my fiancée's family.
Anyway, despite our opposing views, I feel happy knowing he'll be with me on Sunday.
October 21, 2005
Next!
Whew!
That’s two workloads off my back. I’m not proud of the output, but when clients demand timely delivery, perfection is the last thing in my mind. However late as it is, I’m just relieved I kept my promise to have them delivered today.
I’m usually prompt with my outputs (yeah right ^ ^’ ). No, really. But there’s a certain kind of pressure when you know that a client was once your officemate, and a senior to boot.
It’s somewhat different when you know this person has been to every nook and cranny of what you’re doing now. There’s an urge to go for that thing called perfection, just so that person would stop complaining about mediocrity, and shut the talk about us needing to shape up and be world-class.
I’m all ears to whatever one has to say on how to improve our work, and we kill ourselves to be good at what we do.
But something just doesn’t feel right.
I plead guilty to my own incompetent ways, and as the saying goes, “the customer is always right.” However, when I get measured by a stick fashioned after someone else’s personal greatness, they can shove it up their *tooot*.
Tao lang... Nagkakamali rin...
But it’s done and over with. On to the next project.
That’s two workloads off my back. I’m not proud of the output, but when clients demand timely delivery, perfection is the last thing in my mind. However late as it is, I’m just relieved I kept my promise to have them delivered today.
I’m usually prompt with my outputs (yeah right ^ ^’ ). No, really. But there’s a certain kind of pressure when you know that a client was once your officemate, and a senior to boot.
It’s somewhat different when you know this person has been to every nook and cranny of what you’re doing now. There’s an urge to go for that thing called perfection, just so that person would stop complaining about mediocrity, and shut the talk about us needing to shape up and be world-class.
I’m all ears to whatever one has to say on how to improve our work, and we kill ourselves to be good at what we do.
But something just doesn’t feel right.
I plead guilty to my own incompetent ways, and as the saying goes, “the customer is always right.” However, when I get measured by a stick fashioned after someone else’s personal greatness, they can shove it up their *tooot*.
Tao lang... Nagkakamali rin...
But it’s done and over with. On to the next project.
October 19, 2005
Strrrrriiiiiiiike...!
... Two!!!
Never had I committed so many blunders in just one week. And to think that it's only mid-week.
I know exactly what my problems are, but somehow solving them seems like an entirely different ballgame.
I've been spread too thin, and now I'm fumbling desperately to focus.
I have three days...
Never had I committed so many blunders in just one week. And to think that it's only mid-week.
I know exactly what my problems are, but somehow solving them seems like an entirely different ballgame.
I've been spread too thin, and now I'm fumbling desperately to focus.
I have three days...
October 14, 2005
Small world
One of the most respected and feared professors in my undergrad has been nominated to be Fellow of mother station. From my experience, anyone nominated to Fellowship is as good as elected.
Especially if it's the station President (aka Papa Bear) who made the nomination.
Sigh.
Don't get me wrong, though. I regard the professor as one of the best, despite the tearful tales from those who've tasted her methods. Many lives were changed by this professor.
Mine included.
Especially if it's the station President (aka Papa Bear) who made the nomination.
Sigh.
Don't get me wrong, though. I regard the professor as one of the best, despite the tearful tales from those who've tasted her methods. Many lives were changed by this professor.
Mine included.
September 23, 2005
Ama
September 21
1:30 pm
My mom texted me: "(Forwarded inspirational message here)... Anak, your dad was rushed to the hospital this morning. Get in touch with toto."
That's my mom, always starting her SMS with words of wisdom and inspiration. I replied, "Will do mamidir. Ingat lagi. Labs u. Ăś"
Dad must have neglected his medicines again. Or maybe he ate too much and his sugar levels and blood pressure went up. Funny because a while ago I was watching the news on Norberto Gonzales' condition.
Such are the health problems that run in my father-side family. Damn. I have his genes. Heck, I AM his living proof that he succeeded in making a replica of himself.
September 21
2:15 pm
"Mary Mediatrix. Possibly cardiac arrest. Still in ER." was my sister-in-law's reply. Short and straight.
It was worse than I imagined. Considering the time it took to reply to my text, I assumed my brother, if not everyone, have been too busy to reply right away.
I forwarded the message to my fiancée. We were supposed to go on leave tomorrow, Thursday, to attend to some wedding preparations. But now there will be changes.
I went to our office administrator, borrowed my leave form, and revised the Reason for leave from "Personal" to "Family emergency".
I should leave ASAP.
September 21
5:00 pm
I can't believe I'm still in the office. If this is Pinoy Big Brother, the viewers must have sent me to hell a thousand times now for not rushing to my father in his dire time.
Maybe because my brother texted me "Myocardial infarction. Na revive siya kanina by defib. Stable na sya at nakausap ko na siya ng matino. The aunts are here."
"Myocardial infarction? Hindi ka ba nag-typo sa text mo kanina at dapat infraction yun? Defib? Dad went flat-line (wtf!)? So nandyan na ang mga tiyahin. Is it okay if I show up first thing tomorrow? Sige, see you then. Joan will be coming with me."
If this is PBB, I've definitely been sent to hell already.
Anyway, I'm just thankful to God for my Dad's second life.
His second chance to change.
September 22
The ICU looks well-equiped and sterile. After two visits inside to check on my father I realized I've been wearing the medical gown the wrong way. Dapat pala sa likod ang pagtali.
I can't stay long inside the ICU because my father cries everytime he sees me, and he would try narrate the incident before he had the heart attack over again. The attending staff would give me the Don't-make-your-father-cry-because-it's-bad-for-him look everytime I enter the ICU.
Before you guys think I am the onion of my father's eyes, let's just say he doesn't see me much for the longest time. His story is pretty simple, but one which I pray would not carry over to his son that has the biggest share of his genes.
1:30 pm
My mom texted me: "(Forwarded inspirational message here)... Anak, your dad was rushed to the hospital this morning. Get in touch with toto."
That's my mom, always starting her SMS with words of wisdom and inspiration. I replied, "Will do mamidir. Ingat lagi. Labs u. Ăś"
Dad must have neglected his medicines again. Or maybe he ate too much and his sugar levels and blood pressure went up. Funny because a while ago I was watching the news on Norberto Gonzales' condition.
Such are the health problems that run in my father-side family. Damn. I have his genes. Heck, I AM his living proof that he succeeded in making a replica of himself.
September 21
2:15 pm
"Mary Mediatrix. Possibly cardiac arrest. Still in ER." was my sister-in-law's reply. Short and straight.
It was worse than I imagined. Considering the time it took to reply to my text, I assumed my brother, if not everyone, have been too busy to reply right away.
I forwarded the message to my fiancée. We were supposed to go on leave tomorrow, Thursday, to attend to some wedding preparations. But now there will be changes.
I went to our office administrator, borrowed my leave form, and revised the Reason for leave from "Personal" to "Family emergency".
I should leave ASAP.
September 21
5:00 pm
I can't believe I'm still in the office. If this is Pinoy Big Brother, the viewers must have sent me to hell a thousand times now for not rushing to my father in his dire time.
Maybe because my brother texted me "Myocardial infarction. Na revive siya kanina by defib. Stable na sya at nakausap ko na siya ng matino. The aunts are here."
"Myocardial infarction? Hindi ka ba nag-typo sa text mo kanina at dapat infraction yun? Defib? Dad went flat-line (wtf!)? So nandyan na ang mga tiyahin. Is it okay if I show up first thing tomorrow? Sige, see you then. Joan will be coming with me."
If this is PBB, I've definitely been sent to hell already.
Anyway, I'm just thankful to God for my Dad's second life.
His second chance to change.
September 22
The ICU looks well-equiped and sterile. After two visits inside to check on my father I realized I've been wearing the medical gown the wrong way. Dapat pala sa likod ang pagtali.
I can't stay long inside the ICU because my father cries everytime he sees me, and he would try narrate the incident before he had the heart attack over again. The attending staff would give me the Don't-make-your-father-cry-because-it's-bad-for-him look everytime I enter the ICU.
Before you guys think I am the onion of my father's eyes, let's just say he doesn't see me much for the longest time. His story is pretty simple, but one which I pray would not carry over to his son that has the biggest share of his genes.
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August 28, 8PM. "Knock, knock. "Who's there? "Leo. "Leo who? "I wanna Leeeeeeooooo down in a bed of roses......
