Thursday, July 26, 2007

not unhappy, but...

My mind is elsewhere. I am not sure why I feel... not unhappy, but dissatisfied, when everything seems to be going right. I have a job that pays well, a husband who likes peace and quiet, a kid who's growing up to be a little bit pampered but otherwise healthy and smart, my books. I feel like there's a lot of things I have left undone, that I just wake up in the morning, trudge off to work, then go home and flop down to bed, only to do the same things day after day. Yes, there's a certain satisfaction when I've put in a good day in the office, when I leave at 6 p.m. and know that I've squeezed in as much as I can, but when I really think about it, this is how my 24 hours get spent:



10 hours in the office

3.5 hours on the road

8 hours of sleep



I only have 2.5 hours for my family! I should do something about it. I've been promising to reform for the last two years, but until now my kid does her homework with the nanny, I wash the dishes only on VERY occasional weekends, I have not touched the laundry in about four months, and I haven't cooked dinner since New Year. (My bedroom score is also a bit low, but as I've said my husband is not the complaining type.) And still I lament about wanting to learn how to swim, or take photography classes, or go to sewing lessons, when it's the little things that I leave undone that give me the most grief.



Some time ago I wanted to know about the purpose of life. I read Rick Warren's 'The Purpose-Driven Life' and decided that the profound and mystical concepts of a life for God are a bit too deep for me. I read Deepak Chopra's 'The Angel is Near,' and it said that the purpose of life is life itself. Now that's a bit easier to digest. You take it one day at a time, give it your best shot, and have as few regrets as possible. That's also easier said than done.

Monday, July 23, 2007

crazy friends

Great are the friends who bring out the best in you. And lucky are you if you have one friend like that. I only have a few friends, one or two for each period of my life. I had Haidee in grade school (who was my neighbor), Annabelle (who was my seatmate) and Henry and Joseph (who completed my triumvirate) in high school, Gemma in college (who was mostly my seatmate for four years), Jen, and Dhey when Jen left, in my first job, Monette in my second job. Jen, Dhey, and Monette were also seatmates of sorts. Here at the bank, I don't know yet. I usually like being alone.


You do crazy things when you're with friends, and your friends do crazy things to you. Haidee, with the help of my tyrannical grandmother, ruined my chance with my one true love when we were thirteen. I confided in Annabelle (not my mom) when I first had my period... and she promptly announced it to the girls in class. I wrote Henry's speech when he became magna cum laude in our college graduation and my daughter was a flower girl in his wedding. Gemma recorded Depeche Mode's 'Somebody' and we played that single song over and over the whole night we stayed up to finish our thesis in Psychology. I promised that I would give a copy of that song to the man I would marry, which I did, three years after college graduation. And when I grew older (but none the wiser in some ways), I shared boyfriend-problems and later husband-problems with Jen and Dhey. Monette gave me the chance to work in the bank, after we've worked together in the college for four years. She is also my kid's honorary aunt. One time, when my daughter was three, she did not receive an invitation to a classmate's Jollibee birthday party. It was Monette who was so outraged.


And for these friends, you'll go out on a limb. You'll drop everything and go if a friend needed to cry, knowing that she will do the same for you. You mess up and turn your life upside down, a friend will knock you on the head, then help you up. With a friend, you laugh the loudest. For a friend, you fight your damnedest. Because of a friend, you give your best.

Friday, July 20, 2007

life

I wish planning for one's life is as easy as planning for a child's birthday party. In a party, you know who you're going to invite, what you're going to serve, what games would be played, what time you're going to start and finish, what gifts would make your kid squeal with glee.

In life, you don't know who your friends will be, how long you'll live, how many times your heart will be broken, how important the lessons learned are, how little time there really is for love. Sometimes you find out that it's the smallest things that mean the most, like playing in the rain with your child, or coming home one hour earlier so the family could have a funny dinner together. In life, you don't know the gifts you're being handed; you don't know when you're getting them; and you don't know if it's a gold nugget or a jack-in-the-box that's going to hit you in the nose.

Two years ago we lived in a house that had fifteen adults and two toddlers. The water supply came at 3:00 a.m., the house badly needed a coat of paint, and we only had one curtain. Now our house has two spare bedrooms, two bathrooms, and all the water we want. We have four dogs.

One year ago, my idea of an exciting getaway was a day at Island Cove Resort, something that I'd have to save up for about a year. Now I can afford to bring all four of us to Hong Kong Disneyland for Christmas.

Life sometimes give you the most unexpected surprises. My appointment here is good for three years. After that, I don't know. But for someone who three months ago was dreaming of being able to afford monthly trips to the province, I can now dream of going to other countries.

Life has been good to us. I hope I won't forget to be thankful for all these, to take things one day at a time and enjoy it fully, much like reading a book one page at a time, picking up the good passages and the lessons, learning something from each page, so that at the end, when you close the book, you can sit back and tell yourself, 'Well done.'

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

a tribute to bridget jones' diary


Time woke up 5:30. false starts 3 (set the alarm to ring in 5 more minutes). actual time getting up 6:10 (after husband threatened to throw alarm clock outside window). minutes spent staring at coffee cup 7. minutes spent hunting for right color underwear to go with purple skirt 10. target liters of water to drink 6 (but realistically counting 3).

11:00 a.m. Boss sick, so spent whole morning downloading mp3s for my iPod. Will attack reports in the afternoon. Thinking of going to Powerbooks during lunch break, will see if can resist buying Stephen King's 'Lisey's Story,' and will check if Michael Crichton's 'Next' is in paperback. Hardcover quite expensive. If can't resist, will buy book and skimp on lunch till Friday. Hope can convert guest room into nice library. If guests arrive, they can sleep on carpet in the living room.

11.25 a.m. Went to 5th floor to look for boss' husband's secretary. Didn't get lost. Was thinking must be nice to have own office with door. Am grateful for own workstation not in shared space, but feel like have long way to go. Must not be impatient, been working here only two months. Liza's been here ten years but still an administrative assistant like me. She has a nice car. Don't exactly wish to own one, but would be a relief to go to the province NOT on a motorcycle. 4 hours on motorcycle, with last hour on muddy unpaved road, gives one mighty sore butt and makes one wish had taken bus instead, even if it takes 7 hours to get there. Will probably have saved enough for car in a year, if don't spend all extra money on pocketbooks, pastel bikinis, and 3-inch heels.

Am glad to be working in bank. Liza says if I want to be a career woman I have to work elsewhere, but if I want to earn enough to feed my family (read: stability) this is a good place to grow old in. Didn't want all that power and high-level meetings. Was once like that when I worked in the college. Quite stimulating, but at the end of the day you wish you had spent more time helping kid with homework. Quite a lot of broken promises too, and five-year-olds have memory like obsessive-compulsive boss. Now am happy to go home early, spend weekends with a book, go to fastfood with kid. Never really liked gardening, have no patience for husband's African lovebirds, don't like dogs that lick people, can't really cook well, like to do laundry but easily get tired, don't like tv or movies. Now can't think what I want to do or what I'm capable of doing. Feel like I'm useless human being.

Nice boss gave box of Swiss chocolates yesterday. Had to say they were great, though cannot eat a lot. Bad cough today. Chocolates make throat hurt. Brought them home, kid ate half. Why do kids chew chocolate and not suck thoughtfully? Might send kid to private school next year, can afford it already. Didn't realize been speaking to her in English the whole time, she does not know 'kusina,' 'saging,' 'kama,' and 'alimango.' Grr.

12:20 p.m. Have no energy to put on lipstick. Will now go out for lunch, perhaps grab pizza or something else not nutritious. Wonder why spend so much on books. Can't eat books for lunch.


2:00 p.m. Had McDonald's cheeseburger and fries. Bought TWO new books. Am frustrated, as could have waited for the books to appear on second-hand-bookstores. Now allowance will not last through Friday and have to withdraw some more money. Have pasted label on piggy bank which says 'Down payment for Nissan Frontier.' Piggy bank now looks scraggly as have been opening bottom every week to get the coins inside.

3:00 p.m. Will work two hours, then head home.






Tuesday, July 17, 2007

one blueberry

I have always loved blueberries. Blueberry jam on toast, blueberry cheesecake, blueberry-flavored pancakes, it's just wonderful. But for the longest time I did not know how fresh blueberries looked like. It was like I've always seen them in bottles on supermarket shelves. Then I went to Baguio and found blueberries sold in little buckets, which I promptly bought. I guess I was imagining it was like comparing grapes and raisins, with raisins being the counterpart of the blueberry jam.

So there I sat in Burnham Park, watching the boats go by with their load of sweating, straining inexperienced rowers, took a deep breath, and ate my first fresh blueberry. I was sorely disappointed. It was... lacking in character. It was like eating aratiles. I had to spit out the skins. I tried it for two more days, and decided that they weren't really that great. They easily got spoiled, and when they were already squishy they tasted awful.

I came down from Baguio with six bottles of blueberry preserves that I ate by the spoonful for dessert. I also had pneumonia, perhaps from sitting on the bench in my spaghetti straps for several days, hoping to capture the essence of fresh blueberries.