A little something called Update

I don’t like rainy Sunday nights as much as I don’t like wet Monday mornings. It’s depressing. The rain makes the hours leading to another workweek more difficult to bear. But like death and taxes and Air Supply music, rain on a Sunday night is something one can’t avoid. It’s going to happen, like it or not, and it’s happening now, right this very moment, as I type this in the empty living room, trying to keep the melancholy at bay with music and Internet and some writing.

a quiet afternoon

A quiet afternoon at home

Yeah. Writing. Can’t believe it’s been weeks since I last wrote something here. I remember one or two attempts that were aborted because, shit, inspiration just won’t hit me. Also, the last few weeks had been rough. My mountain bike got stolen, which put me in the blackest of moods for days. I also suffered two weeks of intense on-and-off migraine that started from an ugly shower episode that I suspect was some kind of mild stroke (although no doctor has confirmed it). And Raven, after a good three-week start, had suddenly become fearful of school. If you’re a parent, you know how heartbreaking it is to leave your bawling kid in the hands of strangers. You’d wish you’re one of those lucky rich parents who can stay with their kids 24/7.

Indeed, a terrible period for any writing done. But things have greatly improved since then. I still don’t have a mountain bike, but the migraine is at least history, and Raven is slowly regaining her confidence in school. At least, I don’t have to drag her kicking and screaming to the classroom anymore.

In between all these were the usual: books (started with the Gaiman-Pratchett collab Good Omens today), music (Owen’s new album is good, Work Drugs not so), TV series/sitcoms  (Hannibal and, just recently, Modern Family). I’ve also become extra mindful of my health. I now jog on Saturday mornings and have been yosi-free for three weeks as of writing. If my health card permits I intend to undergo full executive checkup within the year.

So, to conclude this late-night tryst with my Muse, life has been bittersweet as always. I’ve yet to hit the lotto jackpot, but at least there’s family and friends and nice little happy scenes and sceneries to enjoy and treasure. I couldn’t ask for more.


For my eyes only

News flash! I have joined the ranks of the bespectacled. Like many important decisions in my life, this one’s long overdue and a case of push coming to shove. For many nights in the past couple of months I came home from work with my eyes barely open due to fatigue from staring at the computer screen for hours. Thinking enough is enough, my wife and I trooped to a nearby Acebedo shop one fine Saturday morning, and BOOM! I’ve been seeing the world clearer ever since.

The test showed I’ve a 50-75 vision, meaning I’m near-sighted. No surprise there. Like sinusitis and an unwavering love for the written word, this runs in our family. I remember my late paternal grandmother. She used to read with the page two to three inches away from her face. She refused to wear glasses because she said her tiny Filipina nose couldn’t support them. Fortunately, I don’t have the same problem. Thanks to my paternal grandfather, an American WWII medic whom I never met, an eyeglass-friendly nose also runs in our family. Life is fair that way.


Blood of my blood: At the Children of Bodom gig in Nov. 2011.

The date 4/20 is a special one for pot aficionados. It’s a counterculture holiday where people hook up to celebrate, toke up, and perhaps discuss the legalization of cannabis with the passion and dedication of rebels plotting a revolution.

It also happens to be Charmaine’s birthday. (Also Hitler’s, but who gives a fuck?)

Which means a pothead and I have something in common today—we are paying homage to the rock n’ roll of our lives, the thing that keeps us high and mighty and sane in this sad mad road trip called life.

Unfortunately, Charmaine and I will spend most of 4/20 this year apart. She has to go to work and I to a couple of appointments. Perhaps later we can meet for dinner. If not, well, there’s TV and junk food and weekend. Cheap and simple, but a celebration nevertheless.

Here’s to a kick-ass 4/20 to all.

Friday night & Makati lights

As in the previous years, the Christmas lights in the Makati CBD this year do not disappoint, as I found out today when Charmaine and I went to the Ayala Triangle for a stroll after hooking up at Landmark. I like standing beneath those dripping lights. It makes me feel young and small and full of wonder, like staring at the stars on a silent night on top of a tall building. It also makes me feel like the galaxy is falling on my face — an ethereal feeling.

We were supposed to have dinner at Bannaple or any of those opulent restos in the Ayala Triangle area, but they were all filled to bursting with the Friday night crowd and there were even lines of customers outside some of them waiting to get in. When it started to drizzle we decided to go somewhere else. We ended up in Peanut Butter  & Co. inside Paseo Center. I pointed to Charmaine a lady in a tight white miniskirt. We later found out that Ms. Miniskirt was actually a man. It was a good dinner to cap a good night. (PB & Co.’s burger steak ala pobre is better than sex, methinks.) We laughed, burped, went home…

Tomorrow it’s Makati Medical Center for Raven’s monthly checkup, and then a side trip to Araneta Center where, I heard, they’re going to light up the giant Christmas tree. Charmaine set 6 a.m. as call time, so I better quit this now and hit the sack. I don’t want to be Zombie Dad for the day-long activity.