I worked from 8:00 AM ’til 8:00 PM today. If I were in Canada or in Singapore, I’d be so filthy rich by now I’d have my own pad filled with PS3 and Xbox games, all the guy and geek magazines in the store, endless supplies of beer in my ref, and a siberian husky lapping at my ears.
But I’m in the Philippines so I have nothing.
I have a plan, though. A plan to get rich as quickly as possible or else risk losing the girl of my dreams. It’s a shoddy plan that involves transporting myself from the Philippines to Singapore and then to Canada as I’ve been saying quite repeatedly here in my ongoing countdown.
But before I start moving along with that plan, Chemae and I have to go through our tiny plan this weekend: a beach trip to Nagsasa Cove, Zambales. Continue reading
Someday I might just write a letter to the makers of Red Horse and San Mig Light, thanking them for helping me do what I initially thought was impossible.
I haven’t slept for more than two days because my head is crunching too many thoughts. The infernal heat also has a lot to do with my endless turning in bed. Except for that, this day is ordinary.
Ordinary days like this are the ones that eat up so much time. It’s the kind of day that can be summarized as waking up, working, going home and sleeping. Before you know it, half the year is gone because of ordinary days like this. As for me, my routine won’t seem to change even if I have only 130 Days left before a part of me officially departs like the dead.
We had a little fight over my tendency to fool around when she’s saying something serious. The truth is I’m dead serious about this immigration matter, but my tendency to not plan in detail can be taken as inaction or passivity by her and other people. But really, I don’t have to prove myself. I have a plan in place but I can’t set it in motion right now because I am too focused on spending each moment with her. The future is dark for me, and there’s no doubt now that I will walk it, perhaps alone. But at least today, that’s a problem I will fuss about after my 130 Days are over. Continue reading
Whenever Chemae arrives from her trips to Ilocos, Baguio or Singapore, I’d always feel pathetically awkward toward her. While I am perfectly aware of how lucky I am to be with such a beautiful (and yes, “hot”) lady, not seeing her for a few days is enough to refresh my eyes so much that the moment I see her again — I am starstruck. Case in point: When she came back from Singapore last time and we met in a mall, I couldn’t even touch her, let alone wrap my arms around her shoulders. She’d say that I’m overreacting because she doesn’t look that good, but, well, my jitters don’t agree. It always takes me several minutes before the memories start kicking in and I see her again for that person who has unbelievably been around me for more than a year now — my girlfriend.
That awkwardness manifested itself again when I fetched her along North Avenue. She just came back from her Holy Week family reunion and Canada-planning in Paoay, Ilocos Norte. When I saw her, she didn’t have anything special on, except another one of those hand-me-down dresses from her grandma (which are actually ordinary dresses when worn by her grandma, but transform into something lookbook-ish when she wears them). Thankfully, I missed her so much that the longing to touch her again overcame the awkwardness this time. I managed to massage her nape. And you really can’t help but rub against each other when you’re riding a cramped tricycle. Continue reading
Plans that actually work feel like finished homework: they’re a relief and an accomplishment at the same time. What’s frustrating though is how little homework actually gets done — how few plans actually work.
If I were really organized, I’d have made a table of plans I devised all through my life. There would be columns to check: “success,” (green) “failed,” (red), “scrapped” (yellow), and “in progress” (blue). And while it’s easy to remember successes in life, I’d bet my stinky wallet that the red column of fail will be busiest of all.
Pick a random day during my third year at the university and I’d probably have a plan inside my head to become a teacher of Sociology. I was gonna become a teacher, whether in UP or in Miriam College where I can grade gorgeous girls while intellectually discussing Sociologists and philosophers. (Call it pervert but you gotta admit grading gorgeous girls beats writing Web content anytime). That plan however was scrapped (yellowed) because it takes too much time, effort, and money to survive as a teacher. I need my dough fast so I became a broadcast transcriptionist.
But that’s old news. One recent plan that also got shelved is to have some exercise with Chemae by playing badminton. We always had some plans to acquire rackets but those elusive sports implements seem to run away from us. Whenever we’d pass by flabby badminton players at parking lots in SM North, we’d say “Sarap mag-badminton no? Wala na. Wala na yung plano natin.” Then she’d say that she’s good at badminton, but really how can I ever know for sure if the plan is forever doomed to be placed in the red column?
Then there was that genius senior writer plan. That plan was supposed to make me so filthy rich I’d be a criminal in the eyes of everyone who felt the global recession. There was this source of income and that source of income, and then there was this strategy to save massive amounts of money while investing in education for a future high-profile career. One week as a senior writer though, and the genius plan proved so dumb that it disintegrated into a million pieces of dumb debris that fell on my head, and I was left staring out the window of the MRT, “What the f*ck happened?”