Inspiration and Salvation from the Deep

I don't know about you, but there are times when I feel overwhelmed up to my uvula with the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life, yet feel overwhelmingly empty at the same time.

I guess my mind is filled with things that shouldn't bear thinking about, things that make me go d'oh! and d'uh? Things that I know don't make sense, but which still drive my one poor remaining brain cell into needless overdrive. Things that leave me questioning, unfulfilled, and empty.

It's during times like these I want to just dive into the deep, deep, blue. To leave my cares and worries up on the surface, where they can do the Macarena with the sunlight on the waves. To go deep, deep, deep, where they can't follow me. I just want to go where it's calm and blue and peaceful, a place where even the cold ceases to be a bother, a place where I can blissfully not give a shit where up or down or left or right is. A place where I don't have to care. A place where uncertainty, expectation, frustration, and disappointment don't exist.

Then my mind goes back to the time last year, when I did dive into the deep, deep blue of nothingness. (Well, I snorkeled actually, but what the hey.) I didn't do it to escape anything; no, not at all. I did it to see whether the creatures I had previously only read about and seen on TV were as awesome as they were said to be.

They were more than awesome. The first sight of them made me suck in my breath -- which isn't a good thing, something that dumbass snorkelers like me manage to forget. I ended up with lungfuls of seawater the first few minutes. But I'd had my glimpse of the first of those wonderful animals, and I wasn't going to settle for just a peek. So down again I went.

Swimming with those magnificent creatures -- it was an experience I will never, EVER forget. Mimi Lenox, the Queen of Bloggingham Palace (yes, she's royalty *curtsey, bob, bow*) dubbed me the woman who "Swims with Whale Sharks." You know, something kinda like Kevin Costner's Dances-with-Wolves or maybe Linda Lovelace's Swallows-It-All. (OK, I made that last part up. But she did, didn't she?)

I jokingly asked a friend to call me "Mistress of the Universe," but that's a title I can hardly live up to. I just thought it sounded super cool.

Before the encounter with the whale sharks, the guide told us that the whale sharks weren't to be touched. But I couldn't help myself, especially since they seemed to play with me, rising up and up until they were just inches away from me, letting my fingertips stroke them. Then they sank into the deep where I couldn't follow, to swim away. (Their skin felt like mossy stone to the touch, btw.)

In the video clip above, you can hear me uttering something like "Uhhhh-ooohhh-uhhhh-hmmmm-ahhhhh-ohhhhh" in at least two octaves to the whale shark. I was actually saying something like "you unbelievably beautiful, magnificent, unbelieveable gorgeous creature, you! Ohh you're incredible." That was just one whale shark in this vid; I swam with several of these awe-inspiring beings in one hour. And I crooned orgasmically to them all as well.

In those timeless, saltwater-soaked moments, the world as I knew it ceased to exist. Or maybe I should say the world shrank to something that was a lot smaller, but something that took on an awesome and awful dimension. In a way, it scared the hell out of me, but it liberated me at the same time. It was like I had found myself, at the same time finding something bigger within and without me. For a few moments, for a few deafening heartbeats, it was just me, that space of sea, and the whale sharks undulating inches from me. And I was unspeakably, ineffably happy.

Those whale sharks and the experience of swimming with them taught me a lesson. So now, whenever my world seems heavy and grey, I shut out everything I don't need and revel in the moment. That moment can include a child's slobbery kiss and tight hug, or maybe a friend making me laugh so hard I'm waking up my kids from their sleep, or maybe just watching the clouds turn pink, then russet, then a breathtaking orange at sunset.

It doesn't matter what it is or where I am. Deep blue sea or not, problems be damned, I'm learning to find happiness in the here and now.

Fine Times

Young people can be so funny.

They don't get fazed by new places. They don't care about how quickly the tides seem to turn. They don't care about sand being blown into their faces. They don't care about long walks, about hobnobbing with strangers.

I was in Boracay with some young people, members of my family, a few weeks ago. What I mentioned above are just a few things I observed from them.

So what if Boracay is one of my country's most pernicious tourist traps? So what if it wasn't the right time of the year to visit? So what if it isn't quite what the local and foreign websites make it out to be?

The first-timers had one hell of a time enjoying themselves, nevertheless.

So did the older-timers.

The experience was made even more pleasurable for me the older-timers seeing as how the first-timers were enjoying themselves in a new place, and, more importantly, experiencing a new place with people they love and who love them.

They danced.

They sang.

They laughed.

So did I. I couldn't help it. The dancing, the singing, the laughter, they were all contagious. OK, so maybe I didn't dance at all. But that doesn't mean I didn't feel my young relatives' exuberance. Even when I was convinced it was all a big conspiracy and the young ones were out to kill me.

I kid. They are good people, kind people, who manage to screw up sometimes (perhaps unwittingly)...but then, who doesn't? I'm proud to call them family, and I'm happy many of us got together recently to celebrate fun, happiness, and even some not-so-pleasant drunken moments with each other.

Amazing how the people you're with can color your experience of a place.

{Yes, DaddyP, I did get some baby powder-fine white sand in between my toes again...and perhaps in my undercrackers...right along with soothingly-aquamarine sea water.}

To Have and to Hold

There are some hot things I love to hold.

And to hold it in the shower!!!! Mmmmmm...

I gotta go visit this hotel soon.

Awoooo Wooooo Woooooooo

I was in the car with my friends Rudy and Marnie a few nights ago. The radio station was playing old, sappy love songs. A certain old song started, and we sang our hearts and lungs along to it.

The rainy night became even rainier.

The windows were rolled up, but I'm sure that outside, where we couldn't hear, all canines within a 10-kilometer radius inexplicably started howling.

What I found amazing (and for which I was endlessly ridiculed by the bastards I was riding along with) was that I knew the song's lyrics word-for-word, down to the last ohhh and ahhhh, when I never even owned a copy of the song. Hell, even I didn't realize I knew the words by heart. The realization emerged only that night.

Marnie and Rudy sang their hearts out, but they mangled the lyrics. Then they had the nerve to laugh at my ability to be word-perfect when it comes to sappy love songs? Even songs by *gasp* Billy Ocean? Sing along with me, c'mon, you know you want to.

I used to think that love was just a fairy tale
Until that first hello, until that first smile
But if I had to do it all again
I wouldn't change a thing, 'cos this love is everlasting

Suddenleeeeeeeeeeeee
Life has new meaning to meeeeeeee

Oh man. If I'm able to remember the lyrics to this song from so many years ago, a song that wasn't even a favorite of mine, and one that I don't have a personal copy of, what other things are lurking in my subconscious?

Whatever they are, I'm glad they're there.

There are so many things -- so many memories -- I don't want ever want to forget. And if even just one of them comes out one of these days when I feel the wind blow my hair a certain way, when cold beer slides down my throat in a memorable location, or when an obscure song plays on the radio and rekindles dormant memories that are important to me, making me sing like there's no tomorrow even when I can't carry a tune...then I'm happy.

Even at the expense of my dear friends' eardrums.

Fame Is Rot; Daughters Are the Thing

*mad applause to you if you know where the title comes from, and who said it (and no googling!)

Her nickname is Kitkat, but I call her my mini-me, because she's the one who resembles me the most physically.

When it comes to temperament and attitude though, the resemblance between me and her older sister is more evident. Shy to a fault, preferring to listen than to talk, content to sit unobtrusively somewhere and watch and absorb everyday sightings.

Not so the mini-me. She probably should've been christened Action.

She makes her opinions known, either through speech or body language, or both. And her body language is so very dynamic! Any moment she sits still somewhere, I worry that she's sick. That girl is one heck of a dynamo -- even when she's feeling a bit under the weather. I remember one time when she was running a fever, and her pediatrician asked me if she was getting up and walking. I replied that I hardly ever see mini-me "walk." Most of the time, she runs, or skips, or hops, or sings at the top of her voice, or wiggles her generous behind, or waves her arms. Quite often, it's a combination of several of those things.

She is pediatric poetry on steroids.

She's also the kind of person who can make you shake your head in exasperation or cause your brow to wrinkle in consternation -- and at the same time have your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest and shower the world with goodwill-plasma out of sheer love.

She's so very affectionate too. I can't count the number of times I've awakened to her sweeet butterfly kisses on my cheeks, eyelids, forehead, and lips. Her personal well of hugs is seemingly bottomless, just like her wells of laughter and love.

Happy 8th birthday, my baby girl. May your sparkling, buoyant wells never run dry. I love you.

A-weigh we go!

50 kilos. That's 110 pounds to you, my Americanian friends.

That was my heaviest weight when I was in college.

Today, I weigh considerably more than that. And earlier tonight, at a reunion with old college buddies, I heard one old friend say, I'm "fucking fat." He hasn't seen me in nearly 20 years (good lord! 20 years!) so I imagine the comparison between what I looked like in my late teens and the present reality is quite an eyeful.

Strangely, I wasn't at all offended. The way this old decades-missed friend said I'm fat was the same way he would've said I have black hair, or that I have two eyes or two legs. Very matter-of-fact. No malice or offense intended. My reaction (crybaby) was so very different from comments made in the same vein by the friends I go with regularly now.

Getting together with old friends you haven't seen in eons is sooo good -- BMI notwithstanding.

**********

I spent a few days last week in a place called Boracay here in the Philippines. Expensive tourist trap that it's become, it still holds an allure for me. Maybe because I have delightful and yummylicious memories of previous times I spent there.

More Boracay pics I took last week here.

Testing

This is just a test. Connection is choppy, but San Miguel beer is nice and coool -- cold, in fact. They call it "sub-zero" because the bottle is all nice and frosted outside.


Oh, well. I'll try again tomorrow. Cheers!

A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now

So what if there's a typhoon coming in? There's no stinking storm that has been able to stop the young ones from creating weird faces underwater so far.



It can't stop mother and teenage son from smiling for the camera beneath gallons and gallons of water too.



Nor does it keep them from being effervescent and bubbly (or ectoplasmic maybe?)



"Mist" messages take on a new meaning during glassy, chilly, rainy evenings



Sorry to say Mama's half face is nowhere near as gorgeous as Mimi's



But that's OK. She still manages to maintain her cool.



Until the next time a bastard typhoon in her life tries to bring her spirits down.

Cry, baby

I was talking to a friend who loves to watch movies and the conversation turned to how certain movies affected us. He said he can't recall a movie that ever made him cry.

I'm cut from a different cloth, because I can't even remember all the movies that have made me cry. Not just drama movies, mind you. Home Alone made me teary-eyed, so did Monsters, Inc. (That one was particularly sweet.)

Movies aren't the only ones that can activate my tear ducts. Books can do this. So can some TV shows. (I remember how almost every episode of ER and more recently, Brothers & Sisters made my eyes fill up.) Certain songs bring a lump to my throat. Hell, even TV commercials, like this very touching local McDonald's ad, can set my mouth a-tremblin' and start the tears a-rollin'.

The ad is in Tagalog, but you don't have to know the language to get the message. I also love this commercial because they used one of my favorite songs by the best Filipino band ever! (according to moi)

Media aside, it's easy to make me cry. I cry when someone I love is hurting, or when I receive a touching letter or spontaneous hug from my children, or when I'm at a funeral, or when heartache rears its despicable head. One thing I've never experienced though, and which I hope I never will, is something that's so bad that it's beyond crying about. Something like what Wordsworth referred to in his Intimations of Immortality: thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

However, it's also easy to make me laugh. Yeah, I know, I'm an easy girl. :-D I've laughed so hard so many times that my eyes became red from crying. Thinking about all the wrinkles I'll be getting from it is almost enough to make me cry now.

But back to movies. The last movie I can remember that really, really made me cry was I Am Sam. I was alternating between hyperventilating and hiccupping from sobbing so hard. What about you? Was there ever a movie (or TV show or book or whatever) that made you bawl like an abandoned baby?

Exercise in futility

Has this ever happened to you? You see or hear or experience something during the course of the day, and you think, "man, I gotta blog about this!"

Then a measly hour or two later, when you get access again to your computer, the brilliant idea is gone. Just like a snowflake with its nanosecond of fame in hell.

I've been racking (wracking?) my brain the past few minutes, trying to recall what this terrific idea I had, was. Let's see if going into regression mode will help any.

Spent the evening with one of my beloved brothers and his wife in a bar. We drank beer.

Nope, my idea wasn't about beer. Now that I think of it, though, I'll mention that the staff recommended we try Coors light. We politely declined. No offense to Coors fans out there, but we've tried Coors before and we did not like its taste at all. Not one tiny bit. So we stuck to our local San Miguel Pale Pilsen (whose taste and flavor kicks Coors' AND San Miguel Light's asses in a major way, but that's just our opinion).

(I can't help saying that San Miguel Light is a poor excuse for a beer, but again, that's just my personal opinion. It sucks! It's an insult to the beer that San Miguel is known for. OK, enough of that. Shut up already, Lizza.)

So my idea didn't have anything to do with beer. Did it have anything to do with the food? All we had was calamari. It was OK, but nothing to write home about. Scratch the food idea.

Did it have anything to do with the band that was playing? Hmmmm. Perhaps. I do remember they performed a cover of a certain song that's something like a national anthem for drinkers, bar-goers and strip-joint-goers here. Hardcore bar- strip joint-goers will practically stand up and salute when this song plays. :-D

I never realized until tonight that I could actually sing along to it. Jeez.

The band at the bar tonight did an awesome version of this song. It's called Luha or "Tears," by a band called Aegis. It's a Tagalog song, so apologies to my non-Filipino friends since you won't be able to understand it. It talks about tears and love and get-the-hell-out-of-my-face, yadda yadda. Still a great song, though.



I, for one reason or another, have never visited a strip joint. But I did enjoy this night's cover of that song in the bar I went to. The routine they do (or so they say) at the local strip joints for this song has been described to me in great detail. I could probably do it, if I weren't laughing so hard. (And if I didn't have to use the pole, and if I had the type of awesome body to do it!)

What was the point of this post again? Ohh, the awesome post thing. Nope, haven't recovered it.

I'll let you know once I do.

EDIT: Now I remember!!! It has something to do with voice, so I'll talk about that one next.

Eye and soul candy

Chaos, turbulence...uncertainty at the very least.

These are only some of the things we feel at one point or another in our lives. Sometimes it can even feel like we're drowning in despair, or maybe feel like our lungs are bursting just trying to stay in place.

So what if the world seems off-balance every now and then? So what if we feel like [insert the appropriate derogatory adjective here] once in a while?

Then you go do something you love, or go do something different.

What I love about being a Filipina and living in the Philippines is that there's no shortage of new things I can do. Heck, with more than 7,000 islands in my country, there's always something novel for me to see and do.

My recent trip to Bicol is awesome proof of that.

I got my toes -- and the rest of my body -- immersed in fine, white, powdery beach sand, plus warm ocean waters in Bicol's Caramoan Peninsula.

Feasted my eyes on yummy-licious eye candy at the 2009 WWA Wakepark World Championships. *slurp*

But, by far, the best part of the holiday had to do with the non-legged creatures.

I'm referring to the whale sharks ("butanding") in Donsol. They were so big, they boggled my mind. Around 40 feet?? I read somewhere that the great explorer Jacques Cousteau saw just two whale sharks in his lifetime.

Lucky bastard that I am, I swam with SIX in one hour.

I could've swum with even more whale sharks, but my legs were shaking from exhaustion after just one hour. I am neither an endurance swimmer nor a strong swimmer by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I'd love to do it all over again. But next time, I'll try not to make my crooning to them sound so orgasmic-like.

If I can help it. They are such magnificent creatures.
(The rest of my Bicol photos here: My Flickr page)

Camiguin in my heart

This photo courtesy of Irene

Last month the girlfriends and I got our collective asses together and flew south to a place called Camiguin.

Once again, I fell in love.

But not with anyone in particular. It was the island itself that captured a big part of my heart. A small island in the southern part of the Philippines, boasting of seven volcanoes and numerous hot and cold springs, waterfalls, and with white-sand beaches just a short boat ride away (about 15-20 minutes).

I'm a city girl born and bred, so Camiguin didn't capture my whole heart because it doesn't have the supermalls that I've grown so used to here in Metro Manila.

But still, notwithstanding the absence of malls, I didn't mind because the island had lots of pubs. I like pubs. Not only do they have great food at cheap prices, they also have cheap beer. Plus, free high-speed Wi-Fi. I could spend a whole day working online in a pub or restaurant near the beach, my laptop plugged in (for free!), sipping my beer, or eating pizza.

People who love city life will probably find Camiguin to be a little too laid back for their taste. Quite a lot of things I take for granted here in Metro Manila are missing there. For instance, I needed a new pair of disposable contact lenses but couldn't find any there. However, when I needed new alkaline batteries for my camera, I found them easily. There weren't any movie theaters, at least none that I could see, but satellite TV was pretty much commonplace. And did I mention the free high-speed Wi-Fi at so many bars and restaurants?

Camiguin isn't the easiest place to go to. From Manila, we flew to a city called Cagayan de Oro, then had to travel for two hours by land to Binangoan Pier, then took an hour-long boat ride to go to Camiguin itself. Given the island's relative remoteness and lack of noisy nightlife (despite the number of bars, it was still very quiet) I was quite surprised to see many young Westerners about. I saw them driving on scooters around the island, eating in restaurants, and using their laptops in the bars. It was a pleasant surprise to see that people from other parts of the world took the time and effort to go to this island and enjoy its serenity.

On our first day in Camiguin, after dropping our things off at a lodge that shall remain nameless (because we were so disappointed in the place, despite its international claim to fame), we rode a motorized canoe to White Island. White Island is actually just a sandbar, but it's so cool because when you face one side, you see semi-turbulent waters and noisy waves. Make a 180-degree turn and the water is suddenly still and quiet. The day was very cloudy and windy, but it was a lovely experience on White Island nonetheless.

After that, we headed back to the main island to visit one of the waterfalls. We had to hike quite a ways to reach it, and I was seriously thinking of giving up because my thighs were killing me. I just knew I wouldn't be able to get up and walk properly the next day because of sore leg muscles.

This photo courtesy of Irene

After the falls, we went to one of the island's hot springs. And man, that truly was a heavenly experience. As I settled my ass and the rest of my body in the lovely 40°C water (that's 104°F to you Americans) I swear it felt almost like having an orgasm. Sweeet! I could hardly keep from moaning because it felt so damn good. I credit the hot springs for the lack of muscle soreness the next day. Sitting there, watching the mist rising from the water and being immersed in wet warmth was simply spectacular.

This photo courtesy of LAR

The next day, with hardly an aching muscle, we visited Mantigue Island, which is getting to be famous for its white-sand beach and great dive spots. There are no resorts there, though you can buy food and drinks from the locals if you want to. Again, it was a cloudy day with some rainfall, but it was still an enjoyable experience. We watched a local fisherman diving for sea urchins, which he and his family were having as part of their meal.

Above photo of me taken by Irene




A boatload of Western divers in Mantigue Island's waters

I loved Camiguin, and would love to go back again someday. My bestest girlfriend-with-a-penis feels the same way.

This photo courtesy of LAR

Thank you, Camiguin. May you forevermore remain natural and unspoilt.

*All photos by me unless otherwise stated. More of my Camiguin pictures on my Flickr page.

Eraserheads Final Set Concert: When Time Stood Still

Love them or hate them, there's no denying that these men, comprising the group called the Eraserheads, made a huge impact on Philippine popular culture when they burst into the local music scene in the 1990s.

Eraserheads March 2009 Reunion Concert

They were just a bunch of kids back then, and it boggles the mind as to why and how they did what they did so successfully. There were other bands here too at the time, but they stood way above the competition for some reason. Maybe it was because their lyrics, though very simple, resonated with what people were feeling and thinking back then? Be that as it may, it seems their music makes quite an impact on younger audiences as well.

My 16-year-old son and some of his friends, for example, think the music of the Eraserheads is awesome. It made me think, when I was 16 years old, I had only just made the acquaintance of Ely Buendia (the band's lead vocalist) at the University of the Philippines' freshman dormitory, where we were both staying. Back then, the concept of a band like the Eraserheads was probably just a twinkle in his eye.

Fast-forward to 22 years later. The members of the Eraserheads have long since gone their separate ways, but decided to get back together for a show, and I'm with my son watching Ely, Marcus, Raymond, and Buddy performing onstage at a concert called "Eraserheads Reunion Concert: The Final Set."

I think it's actually pretty cool that my teenage son didn't mind going to a concert with his mom, that both he and I were singing our lungs out, that he and I locked eyes and went "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh" and then cheered like crazy when the band started playing a song we didn't think they would play.

I'm not saying that I felt like a teenager again or someone in her twenties at the concert last week. I didn't feel like I was recapturing my youth. No, not at all. It was an experience that transcended time and age.

You know how during an orgasm you can't/don't think of anything else but the sensations that are coursing through and in you? The concert was pretty much that way for me: an almost-three-hour-long orgasm. During those hours, time didn't seem to exist. I was ageless. I was just someone who was immersed in the music that I love, from a (disbanded) band that I love, that was performing right in front of my eyes.

Maybe you can even call it group sex, because it looked and felt like almost all of the thousands of people there -- both "young" (like my son) and "old" (like me) were experiencing the same thing. The energy and goodwill radiating all around were almost palpable. If you've ever been to a concert by a band whose music you particularly enjoyed, I'm sure you can relate to what I'm talking about.

Love you, Eheads. Thanks for the awesome concert.

Caring

My sister and her family live near Melbourne in Australia, so when we heard about the raging fires in the area recently -- and that there have been casualties -- you can understand how worried we were, especially since we didn't hear from them for a few days.

We finally got to talk to them; turns out they're far from the fires. It sure is a big relief to know my sister and her family are OK.

Tragically, many other people are not OK because of the fires; property and lives were lost. My deepest sympathies go out to those who lost loved ones there.

There's one picture related to the fires I saw on the Internet, on Nic's News, the blog of Nicole, an Australian expat living in Sweden. The caring, empathy, and sweetness in this photo are almost palpable.

(Nicole also answered some questions about expat life in Sweden in an expat interview).

This reminded me of something that happened to me fairly recently, though it didn't involve fires and in no way was it a tragedy of epic proportions. But the caring directed toward me at the time, which I only learned about some weeks later, touched me deeply.

Normally when I go to a place here in the Philippines that I haven't been to before, it's always with my friends. A few months ago, however, I went to a couple of places on my own. One time on that vacation, I ate something that my city-girl stomach rebelled against. As a consequence, I spent the next day in bed, getting up only to run to the toilet to either throw up or to void my stomach in an even smellier nastier way.

In between toilet breaks, I sent a text message to my friend Marnie to ask her to contact a doctor friend of hers (whose number I didn't have) to find out what medicine I could take to stop the godawful stomach cramps (which felt almost as bad as labor pains) and the puking and diarrhea. At that time, the relative I was staying with in a remote part of the province was trying to find out what medications I could take to ease my pain.

Some minutes after I sent Marnie my text message, I had to throw up again. While I was doing the dirty deed, I didn't notice my phone was ringing, that Marnie was calling me. Who the hell notices a ringing mobile phone while they're puking their guts out? A few moments later, my relative informed me about the medications I could take (I'm allergic to some drugs) and that she had sent someone out to buy them for me. I was then able to tell Marnie that help was on the way.

What I didn't realize then was just how worried Marnie was about me during those few minutes between my sending her my first text message and her trying to call me. She didn't know I was staying with a relative at that time; she knew I'd be moving around. What she imagined when I failed to answer her phone call was that I had collapsed all alone in a hotel room in the province. She had whipped out her credit card and was going to book a flight to the province where I was if she didn't hear from me within the next few minutes. And then she was going to do her damnedest to find me once she landed in the province.

That struck me as unimaginably awesome. She had no idea where I was exactly; it's something like booking a flight to California to rescue a friend in need, without knowing exactly where in California that friend is. Geography and logistics be damned, she was going to do what she could to help a friend.

Also, this wasn't the first time she had been there for me in my darkest hours. Even when I didn't think I needed anybody, she was there. I found that I did need a friend those times...and she was there to hold my hand (figuratively speaking) and to fill that need.


You can probably understand why I feel so damn lucky having the friends I have, like Marnie. Sometimes life feels like one big shithole. But people like them can make life feel like a treasure chest instead, because they enrich the human experience in so many ways and on so many levels. They are a major part of my life's blessings. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I wish I'm as good a friend to them as they are to me.

25 Things About Me Redux

I got tagged quite a few times with this one on Facebook. The taggee is supposed to disclose 25 things about him/her. I wanted to do this tag with a twist, but the way I wanted to do it, I'd be violating the privacy of some friends. Which I would never want to do.

So, in the spirit of the non-violation of privacy rights (except mine, which doesn't matter, since I'm the violatee queen incarnate), here are 25 things about me, some of which you might know of already!

1. Billy was the name of my first child. He was a cat -- the most beautiful street cat I've ever had the fortune to know. He died. I never had a cat again after Billy.

2. Whiskey was the name of my favorite childhood pet. His fur was golden, like whiskey. He died. I've had pet dogs after Whiskey, but I've never loved any of them as much as I did him.

3. I can't stand whiskey (the drink, not the dog). Nor can I tolerate any other "hard" drinks apart from tequila and vodka.

4. I love beer, though. (Like my blog friends didn't know that already!)

5. My sense of balance takes a hike when I drink.

6. My favorite colors are black and orange.

7. I love music from the 1980's, especially New Wave.

8. I love lots of sappy songs.

9. I enjoy most kinds of music, except rap (Linkin Park is an exception).

10. I wish I had bigger and perkier breasts.

11. My penmanship is more than terrible, it's pathetic.

12. My laptop is a Lenovo Y430. I have yet to think up a name for it.

13. I'm 5'8" tall.

14. I weigh...too much.

15. I smoke too much.

16. I can't sing to save my life.

17. Nor dance.

18. I love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love the beach and the sea (though I can barely swim to save my life).

19. I bite my nails (fingernails, ok?)

20. I think Javier Bardem is hotter than Leo diCaprio (I prefer manly men over pretty boys).

21. I have mild scoliosis.

22. I grew up a churchgoer. Now, I don't believe in the god of the organized religions. I still believe there's a "higher being," though.

23. Spanish guitar music can make me weep.

24. My children, some other family members, and my true friends save me from myself.

25. Ancient ruins (except my body) enthrall me.

Oh, Davao!

Davao, a place in the southern part of the Philippines, about a 1.5-hour plane ride from Manila, was the location of my crazy gang's latest shenanigans. It was an interesting experience, to say the least. (Some pictures from the trip are below, just click to enlarge.)

Spending a few days in a place that I had never been to before had its ups and downs. It was hot, so hot. I was so thirsty most of the time. And scurrying to go to this place and that was so tiring.

But I didn't mind.

Hungry and thirsty? There was fresh and good food to eat (and beer to drink, of course), in locations that pleased more than just my stomach.

Hot and sweaty? Dips in one of nature's bath tubs were cool and refreshing.

Feet tired from walking? The feeling of soft, powdery sand between my toes was amazingly restorative.

Being a stranger in a strange new place wasn't bad at all, especially since I was with the BFFF's (best fucking friends forever).

And I made some new friends, too!

(Though one of them remained stone-cold and and unmoving, no matter how hard I or my friends tried to charm him. The bugger.)

Days and nights with friends, times of forgetting and yet remembering, moments of belly-aching laughter and of cathartic tears.

Goodbye, Davao. We had a good time there.