The Flight Out (part neuf)

My flight to San Francisco the following day was at 11 am. As always, there was no opportunity for serendipity. It had seemed to be an unlucky ride. Although I got a window seat, I got seated next to a frail seventy-ish lady who I suspect has a severe respiratory problem. Her coughs were loud, incessant and deep like her ribs were hollow.
She kept on coughing so forcefully I wouldn’t have been surprised if her dentures or esophagus shot out of her mouth.
Something did shoot out. It was probably Quaker oats she had for breakfast. Good thing she managed to catch the vomit deftly in her handkerchief- not deft enough though to hide the sight from me. I stared at the window and tried to forget what I saw. “Oh boy, it’s gonna be a looooong flight to San Fo”
Her white gnarled hands reminded me of my Lola Olive. I still have vivid memories of my Lola’s hands when she gave me her rosary. The same hands that used to clutch a white hanky which she also used as her improvised wallet; bills neatly folded, secured by two square knots
The hanky of the old lady beside me contained something else. And the thought of it and the long flight ahead made me uneasy.
During our ascent she started out a conversation. She was from Kansas. I told her I was from the Philippines. I did not bother asking how she ended up taking a San Fo Flight from New York. Normally I would have lots of follow up questions to keep the ball rolling but I was half-tired, half-squeamish. Somehow the old lady felt that I was uninterested so the talk ended up abruptly. I decided to browse through the magazines to alleviate the air of uncomfortable silence (save for the occasional coughing).
When the plane steadied and the seat belt signs were off, I stood up and checked out for vacant seats. Great ! Our flight was only half-full; there were plenty of vacancies in the middle. The old lady’s companion, a lady probably in her forties- a caretaker maybe- occupying the aisle seat, somehow read my thoughts and understood my predicament. “ It’s alright young man. You can transfer anytime”. I excused myself from the old lady and clutched my jacket. As I was easing out of our row she threw me a question. “From which part of the Philippines are you?”
“I am from the Philippines” And my mind was like “Yeah, like an old lady from Kansas would have an idea of the places in the Philippines”
“Yeah I already know that. I mean which place? Like Manila for instance”
I was somehow surprised that she knew something about the Philippines, more that it just being a country in the Far East. (Yeah, I know it’s rather mean of me to have underestimated her). It would have taken a lot longer if I told her “ I actually grew up in Antique an island in the Visayas blah blah” so I just said “Yeah I’m from Manila”
I just had to get out of there. And fast.
But then for the first time I stared into her eyes and held her gaze for a moment. She had a deep and penetrating look and it was welling with sadness. There was something about it that tugged the depths of my soul.
What was she conveying? What was it that I saw? What was it that struck me? Sorrow? Pain? Fear? Longing?
Was she afraid of her impending death?
Was she crying for her unbearable loneliness, the kind that you feel when you’ve lost a loved one?
Was she pleading for companionship, like when you’re lost, alone and cut-off from the world ?
Was it really sorrow in her eyes that I saw or maybe it was my own sorrow reflected?
I did consider going back to my seat. For some strange reasons I felt pity to the lady. But I was already on my way and I disliked the idea of appearing foolishly ambivalent.
I transferred to the middle section of the plane where everything was peaceful. I could have easily taken my respite. Yet the pleading look from the old lady haunted me.
There she was, lonely, afraid, longing for a kind soul to talk to and I, the one person who could have made things easier for her, abandoned her.
I felt at that instant that I was the meanest person on earth.

Die Hard in New York (Part huit)

“Die Hard” was a term coined back from Pisay days. We refer it jokingly to players who would exert their last ounce of effort to save the ball – never mind if you dive like a kamikaze, go skittering across the pavement, and risk breaking a limb, if it all meant saving a single yet crucial point for the team.



By all means, I was making my NY stay the “die hard” way. Time was the enemy and any moment spent resting is precious time lost. By the time I got back to the hotel, my entire body was already protesting and craving to rest. The comfort of the soft pillow, the wooly blanket and the cold blast of the aircon was sooooo tempting you could have Anna Nicole Smith naked in there and I would still opt to have a long and deep slumber. After all when push comes to shove, sleep comes first in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.
But I promised my Tita Acay Remy that I would pass by their place. It was in Mushulu Parkway which was on the other side of New York City and it meant going back downtown again. (Damnit, next time never book in an airport hotel). I was almost tempted to cancel the appointment- I was too damn exhausted.
But the other side of me thought that I rarely get the opportunity to meet my relatives in New York, whereas I could have all the rest and sleep I want back in the Philippines. (I am glutton when it comes to sleeping.)
So I did it the Die Hard” way and headed back to downtown at 7 pm. There was only one train exchange which was convenient as I was dozing off the entire time. As the train was approaching to Moshulu parkway, which was at the near end of the Bronx area, I noticed during my torpid state, that the passenger skin tones became darker and darker.
I’ve heard lots of crime stories in the Bronx ( the Tondo version of New York) so I was really wary when I boarded off the station. The site was an awful mess really -skewed turnstiles, busted phone booths, dimly lit stairways, graffiti on walls, stench of urine and alcohol – the typical NY subway crime scene you get to see in movies. I ran as fast as I could and only stopped when I saw a well-lit convenience store with a phone booth a block away from the station.
My Tito Bubot picked me up. Their place was a little bit cramped but I was somehow amazed that they were able to fit all their butingtings in the apartment. You know, the usual Pinoy accoutrements- an altar, Sto. Nino, a painting of the last supper, souvenir items from long forgotten weddings and debuts, photo albums.
Tito Bubot and Tita Acay Remy used to be teachers in my hometown and had moved to the Big Apple about a decade ago in search for the American Dream. They are third degree cousins of my mother. Tita Acay Belen, another relative was staying with them. My mom and the 2 Tita Acays were co-teachers in my Alma Mater. I was quite amused to recall that these Tita Acays were the two teachers I feared most – their strictness was well known among my schoolmates. Hell, I could still even recall the two instances Tita Acay Belen scolded me in class.
How quaint, my elementary years were sandwiched by two terror teachers: Tita Acay Remy, kindergarten; Tita Acay Belen, grade 6. Never would I have ever imagined when I was in Elementary that I would someday be having dinner with them in New York City.
A feast they served and how - crabs, prawns, tuna, chicken- it almost felt like I was back home eating at Kamayan restaurant. The trip was well worth it. Tita Acay explained that it’s almost like the Philippines there with all the ingredients of typical Filipino food available and reasonably priced.
We exchanged stories. I gave them updates of the hometown happenings. They recounted their tales – the difficulties they had to go through until finally getting the sought-after green card. In true Filipino fashion, they gave some pasalubong for the folks back home. It was almost midnight when they drove me back to the hotel
And so came the end of my New York journey. I was just happy to finally get some shut-eye.
In the movie Die Hard, Bruce Willis saves the world, kills the bad guys and gets the girl.
In my life story, at least in this episode, there’s no world to save, no bad guys to kill, no girl to get. But at least, the good guy, after a long and tiring yet eventful journey, gets to have the rest he well deserved. That I guess makes a good happy ending for now.

Why I Love dogs

Oh the wonders of Internet. I finally got to download a short story I first read almost 20 years ago. This story has had a major impact on me and explains my passion for dogs. After all these years , I still can't help but get teary-eyed after reading this story.

TWO WERE LEFT
By Hugh B. Cave


On the third night of hunger, Noni thought of the dog. Nothing of flesh
and blood lived upon the floating ice island except those two.

In the breakup, Noni had lost his sled, his food, his furs, even his knife. He had saved only Nimuk, his great devoted husky. And now the two, marooned on the ice, eyed each other warily each keeping his distance.

Noni’s love for Nimuk was real, very real as real as hunger and cold nights and the gnawing pain of his injured leg. But the men of his village killed their dogs when food was scarce, didn’t they? And without thinking twice about it.

And Nimuk, he told himself, when hungry enough would seek food. One of us will soon be eating the other, Noni thought.

He could not kill the dog with his bare hands. Nimuk was powerful and much fresher than he. A weapon, then, was needed. Removing his mittens, he unstrapped the braces from his leg. When he had hurt his leg a few weeks before, he had made the brace from bits of harness and two thin strips of iron.

Kneeling now, he wedged one of the iron strips into a crack in the ice and began to rub the other against it with firm, slow strokes. Nimuk watched him, and it seemed to Noni that the dog’s eyes glowed more brightly.

He worked on, trying not to remember why. The slab of iron had an edge now. It had begun to take shape. Daylight found his task completed.

Noni pulled the finished knife from the ice and thumbed its edge. The sun’s glare, reflected from it, stabbed at his eyes and momentarily blinded him.

Noni steeled himself. Here, Nimuk, he called softly. The dog suspiciously watched him.

Come here, Noni called. Nimuk came closer. Noni read fear in the animal’s gaze. He read
hunger and suffering in the dog’s labored breathing and awkward crouch. His heart wept. He hated himself and fought against it.

Closer Nimuk came, aware of his intentions. Now Noni felt a thickening in his throat. He saw the dog’s eyes, and they were wells of suffering.

Now! Now was the time to strike!

A great sob shook Noni’s kneeling body. He cursed the knife. He swayed blindly, flung the weapon far from him. With empty hands outstretched, he stumbled toward the dog and fell.

The dog growled as he circled the boy’s body. And now Noni was sick with fear. In flinging the knife, he had left himself defenseless. He was too weak to crawl after it now. He was at Nimuk’s mercy, and Nimuk was hungry.

The dog circled him and was creeping up from behind. Noni heard the rattle in the savage throat. He shut his eyes, praying that the attack might be swift. He felt the dog’s feet against his leg, the hot rush of Nimuk’s breath against his neck.

A scream gathered in the boy’s throat. Then he felt the dog’s hot tongue licking his face.
Noni’s eyes opened. Crying softly, he thrust out an arm and drew the dog’s face down against his own

The plane came out of the south an hour later. Its pilot, a young man of the coast patrol, looked down and saw the large floating iceberg. And he saw something flashing. It was the sun gleaming on something shiny, which moved. His curiosity aroused, the pilot banked his ship and descended. Now he saw, in the shadow of the peak of ice, a dark, still shape that appeared to be human. Or were there two shapes?

He set his ship down in a water lane and investigated. There were two shapes, boy and dog. The boy was unconscious but alive. The dog whined feebly but was too weak to move.

The gleaming object which had caught the pilot’s attention was a crude knife, stuck point first into the ice a little distance away, and quivering in the wind.

A verse, A song, A book, A movie

I’ve been pretty much depressed lately. And it isn’t the usual depression that could be drowned by a couple of bottles or a cruise through NLEX. This probably explains my self-imposed isolation from Friendster and the blogging world for the past 2 weeks. I was hoping in my period of discernment to find some answers.

But as it is, the answers remain elusive. I wish life’s questions could be as simple as deriving the roots of a formula. But even the roots of a simple equation can be complex and imaginary. One just has to deal with the extraneous, the complexities, the ambiguities.

The answers may never be found. It is probably the process of arriving at those answers that is important.

Life goes on…

A biblical verse (Ecclesiastes 2:10-11)

Anything I wanted, I took. I did not restrain myself from any joy. I even found great pleasure in hard work, an additional reward for all my labors.

But as I looked at everything I had worked so hard to accomplish, it was all so meaningless. It was like chasing the wind. There was nothing really worthwhile anywhere.

A song (Lyrics of a song by Diana Ross)

Do you know where you're going to?

Do you like the things that life is showing you
Where are you going to?
Do you know...?

Do you get
What you're hoping for
When you look behind you
There's no open door
What are you hoping for?
Do you know...?

A book (lines from a book “The Hunt for Red October” by Tom Clancy. These lines were flashed during a sermon in UP a few weeks back)

Markus Ramius watched the coffin roll into the cremation chamber to the somber strain of the classical requiem, wishing that he could pray for Natalia’s soul, hoping that Grandmother Hilda had been right, that there was something beyond the steel door and mass of flame. Only then did the full weight of the event strike him: the State had robbed him of more than his wife. It had robbed him of a means to assuage his grief with prayer. It had robbed him of the hope – if only an illusion – of ever seeing her again.

A movie (from the Movie “Contact”)

Alien: You're an interesting species, an interesting mix. You're capable of such beautiful dreams and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you're not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other.

Dr. Arroway: So what happens now?

Alien: Now, you go home…

Dr Arroway : But others need to see what I see. They need to..

Alien: This was just the first step. In time, we will take another.

Dr. Arroway: But…

Alien: Small moves Ellie… small moves.

First Time

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

A few Fridays ago, I did something for the first time with my 3 lady friends. And what a first time it was! Menage-a-quatre makeover.

What started as a tame game of trumps with Jen, Shane and Cecille ended up with a ludicrous wager. It was all seemingly innocuous at first

If I win, I get to have a free dinner at my place of choice.

If I lose, they get to mess up with my hair and my entire outfit.

Definitely a no-brainer. Sure I’ve got something to lose, but my guts were saying it was going to be an easy win.

How was I to know the outcome would be the opposite? To make the story short, I lost and the girls were pleased to give the punishment.

I could have taken the easy way out, kneel down, cry like a baby and ask for a different penalty. But ego can be a bad thing so like a true gentleman, I had to stick to the agreement (despite the apprehension and almost wetting my pants).

So come next Friday night, I became the unwitting star –nah more like the hapless victim- of my eager friends. (Eager is probably tame, they were more like drooling like a pack of velociraptors before the kill). I somehow suspect they are dying to stage their own version of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Being a staunch advocate of science I knew the value of experimentation, but it didn’t assuage my fear knowing I was the guinea pig in their makeover experiment.

A P400 haircut, 2 grams of Hair Clay, 3 trips to the fitting room, gazillion deafening heartbeats and tons of perspiration later I became their finished work of art. I must admit from the before and after shots the transformation was well…uh…noticeable.

I was initially hesitant with the new me, but judging from the reactions of my officemates, classmates, and friends, number of profile views, and some proposals bordering on indecency, I could say I now have high regard for women’s intuition and taste.

Losing a bet actually never felt this great!

Hey Jen, Cess, Shane anytime you want to makeover my unit, dinner’s on me. Hehehe. Cheers!

Mnemonic Possession

Hear ye. Hear ye. You folks out there, remember the name … Jodl Gayatin. I shall forever be known in the field of astronomy.

Celestial navigators shall refer to me in their lifelong quest.

Star struck poets (not the Dream Believe Survive kind of crap) shall have mouthful froth upon hearing my name.

Amateur astronomers shall glorify me in astronomy books for generations and generations to come.

Aren’t you glad you have known me in your lifetime? Better ask for my autograph now while I’m still reachable.

Ok lower down those eyebrows. (You too Ria T.!) What amazing feat, you ask, have I done to earn such prestige?

Have I discovered a heretofore-unknown planet? Nope discoveries of heavenly bodies ain’t my cup of tea.

Have I proven the presence of a black hole in nearby regions of the solar system? Not quite…although I once did suspect its existence somewhere between the ears of a former boss.

Have I derived the great equation for the Theory of Everything thereby unifying the four forces of the universe? The much-sought equation that has eluded Einstein. That one single beeeeautiful equation that holds true in the beginning and at the end of time. The Holy Grail of Physics. An awesome far-reaching formula that encompasses Newton’s Laws, Relativity and Quantum Mechanics. A mathematical derivation, Ockham’s-razor in its simplicity yet brilliantly elegant; eternal and enduring be it at the heart of Big Bang or at the fringes of the Event Horizon. (okay if you’ve reached this part without having brain hemorrhage, nay on the contrary even groaning in ecstasy…. my advice…you’re spending too much in the theoretical subatomic world - grab a beer and get a life !) (how dare this schmuck tell me to fix my life when he spends his free time croaking sappy songs and scribbling senseless blog stuff)

No folks… None of the above.

I, a few years and heartaches back, once came up with a mnemonic device. ( Mnemonic devices– you know stuff like “Every Good Boy Does Fine” in Music or the “Bad Boys Rape Our Young Girls But Violy Gave in Willingly.. in Electrical Engg)

I was a college student then who joined the great UP Astronomical Society for a profoundly compelling reason - my ravishing classmate was also applying. Oh the ironies of life, she never finished the application and I eventually got stuck with a bunch of stiff-necked, bespectacled, geeky folks (who are nonetheless adorable, cute and exciting – I know you guys are going to read this, so there!)

Anyway, Astronomy 101 – the zodiacal constellations in sequence are ARIES, TAURUS, GEMINI, CANCER, LEO, VIRGO, LIBRA, SCORPIO, SAGITTARIUS, CAPRICORN, AQUARIUS and PISCES. (By the way, ASTRONOMY is different from ASTROLOGY, the former is science the latter is a pseudo science bullsh*t) It’s kinda hard memorizing the sequence so I came up with a Mnemonic Device. One that is simple and star-studded…

“According To Gabby Concepcion Laging Very Loving Si Sharon Cuneta After Performance.”

Lo and behold. Several years and star gazing sessions after, amateur astronomers are using my mnemonic device. Yeba! Talk about legacy. (ok you should realize by the now the feat is really nothing stupendous, but since this is my blog allow me to feel deluded a bit )

(Here's the link. Please read the footnote)
http://home.astronomy.com.ph/?id=/200601/columns/editorial

Actually the Mnemonic device might not have its enduring quality. The young ones would no longer recognize who the hell Gabby Concepcion is.

Ancient Showbiz 101 for the young ones and the feeling young ones with feigned amnesia. Gabs and Shawie were the Juday and Piolo, or Bea and Lloyd or Uma and Sam (hehe peace Uma fans) of the 80’s.

Gabby Concepcion became my father-in-law (at least in my own parallel universe) when a lovely lady emerged like an Immaculate Venus from a pool of water (or was that a pool of pH care? – I couldn’t bear to associate KC soaked and cleansed in a pool of feminine wash…. you do the analogy)

At any rate folks, do remember the mnemonic device. It might come in handy especially if you know where to spot the constellations. Knowing the names and their locations would definitely give gazillion pogi points during a stroll under the night sky with your hot date. Just don’t lose your cool like I did last time

Gorgeous gal : ( after being told the names of the stars she’d been pointing) Wow, Jodl

you know your stars pretty well (with twinkling eyes)

Me: Yeah… Actually You know what ? You remind me of the stars..

GG: Really and why is that?…(purring)

Me: Er…. Well …Uhm… ( Darn, notice how you forget the lines you’ve memorized a thousand times during that crucial moment)

GG: Y--es? (eyes twinkling more rapidly this time)

Me: Er…You’re like a star, coz.. er…..um…you’re a heavenly body, light years away , flaming like one big ball of hot gases… (Arrgh , it was not supposed to go like that..)

GG: (after a moment of stunned disbelief) Moron !

Happy stargazing !

Valentine Aftershock

Time to get sappy, mawkish, senti…

Hey I have an excuse, it’s still the week of Valentine’s.

Actually I hate Valentine’s. It is just an elaborate ploy by the bloody capitalists to make fools of the clueless XY-chromosomed species. We’re pressured to buy flowers and gifts as proof of our affection.

And where’s the justice there? Only a handful dine over a candlelight, watch a concert, stroll on a starry night while the rest (i.e the singles, heartbrokens and unclaimed gifts) are forced to stay at home, watch horror movies and eat blueberry cheesecake to assuage their loneliness. (ok ok sour graping lang po ng isang SMV 06 member)

But cynical, I am not. In fact in the spirit of Valentine’s let me share some snippets of lyrics playing in my CD player these past few weeks. Fancy what a 120mm disk can do – it can cool the hottest of heads during the grueling rush hour traffic in C5.

Notice how some lines of a song flash vignettes of your so-called life? So handy for folks like me who are morons when it comes to articulating this creepy thing called love. Now all I have to do is lift those lines.

(I know, I need to update my song list already – they ‘re very ancient- but I find the current songs playing on the airwaves lacking the oomph. Either that or I am tuned to the wrong stations)

Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking for by U2

I have climbed highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run
I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

I Don’t Want To Wait by Dido

I don't want to to wait for our lives to be over,
I want to know right now what will it be
I don't want to wait for our lives to be over,
Will it be yes or will it be...sorry?

Dreaming by Selena

Late at night when all the world is sleeping
I stay up late and think of you and I wish on a star
That somewhere you are thinking of me too

'Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight
'Til tomorrow I'll be holding you tight
And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be
Than here in my room dreaming about you and me

Hello by Lionel Richie

Hello, is it me you're looking for?
'Cause I wonder where you are
And I wonder what you do
Are you somewhere feeling lonely or is someone loving you?
Tell me how to win your heart
For I haven't got a clue
But let me start by saying ... I love you

Superman by Five For Fighting

It may sound absurd...but don’t be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me

Missing You by John Waite

In your world
I have no meaning
Though I'm trying hard
to understand
And it's my heart that's breaking
Down this long distance line tonight
I ain't missing you at all
Since you've been gone
Away
I ain't missing you
No matter
What my friends say

King of Wishful Thinking by Go West

I refuse to give in to my blues
That's not how it's going to be
And I deny the tears in my eyes
I don't want to let you see.. no
That you have made a hole in my heart
And now I've got to fool myself..

I'll get over you.. I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
And I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I'm the king of wishful thinking..

(Special thanks to Jen A. for the Sunset photo. Hanep ah 3 Jens have been actively part of this blog. Jen S. the florist, Jen M. the lawyer and Jen A. the sunset-chaser. Mabuhay kayong lahat! Happy V !)

Time Capsule - This One's For You Mac

Time Capsule – This One’s for you Mac

It’s Feb 14 and I suppose as expected by some, this entry would tackle one of the most profound mysteries of the world -love. But I am not really a big fan of Valentines Day. The world – well at least the so-called civilized part anyway- has a way of ruining the best days of the year through commercialization. Gone are the days when a simple picnic by the brook would suffice to celebrate life, love, existence, togetherness, possibilities. In a world that has slowly gone aberrant one’s depth of commitment is now associated by the number of carats of the ring or the $ value of the gift. Whatever happened to good old-fashioned love?

But hey before I proceed with my litany, this log is way off the big V.

It is about an event that happened on Valentine’s day a few years back.

Thw year was 2001. We buried a time capsule on a Valentine’s Day. In Dole Philippines School, where I taught science for 2 years, Valentine’s Day coincides with Teacher’s Appreciation Day. At that time I organized a time capsule burial activity with my freshman advisory class. I was all set to go back to the Corporate world and wouldn’t be able to see my kids go through high school. But I made a pact with them that in 3 years time (on their senior year) I would go back on that same date to dig up the treasure together.

Time capsule burial is something that has always fascinated me. In the absence of a time machine, it is a way of connecting the past and the future. There is that inevitable challenge of fulfilling a promise to unearth the treasure. It is about a commitment that no matter what, your future self will have to make the journey full circle.

My fascination harks back to the “Blood Brothers” episode of MacGyver, which I first saw on my second year in high school.

For a young naïve, promdi kid studying in Philippine Science High, hundreds of miles away from the family, it meant dealing all alone with the culture shock, homesickness, bullies, and adolescence angst. I had literally no one to turn to. (Picture yourself in your high school years, dealing with all these stuff, all alone. That was how tough it was) And so it probably made sense that my father figure during those tumultuous years was a fictional character by the name of MacGyver.

Such probably was his impact that the first course I took in college was Applied Physics, Mac’s Field of Expertise. When I shifted to Chemical Engineering I even used Mac’s byline as rationalization- exploring other fields. (This he mentioned to his professor in the episode “Hell Week”, one of the best episodes) On hindsight, I did seem to have inherited MacGyver’s curse with the ladies as well – occasionally linked but emotionally inaccessible.

Anyway, this “Blood Brothers” episode was perhaps the best in the series. It was in this episode that viewers went back in time to discover the root cause of the central “flaw” in Mac’s character- his strong distaste for guns.

This was also the episode where Mac had a taste of the sublime and came back to fulfill a pact he made as a kid – to unearth the time capsule he buried with his buddies.

Of course MacGyver at first had a hard time convincing his buddies. Somehow his friends have “matured” already and never saw the beauty of fulfilling the promise.

*****

Fast forward to the year 2004. I was already based in Manila as an EHS Engineer. It had been three years since I left the academe. But I did recall the pact I had with my students. It was a pact that I had to keep no matter what the odds were.

And so on Valentines day of 2004 exactly 3 years after, after wrestling with my boss to grant me a leave, canceling a blind date, and draining my savings for the plane fare (I had to cut down on my gimmick expenses just to set aside the amount) I went back to Mindanao to fulfill the promise.

It seemed pretty stupid to go through all the trouble just to dig up what arguably was a worthless piece of junk. But as I looked at the treasure we unearthed, I felt an inner sense of joy, peace and fulfillment. I had a connection with my old idealistic self. It was like going back in time.

What I did was probably foolish and impractical. But for me it had been a life statement.

It was my way of expressing that I haven’t succumbed to the banalities of life.

It was a message to my kids that promises are meant to be kept.

More importantly, it was also my way of saying - Hey Mac, Thanks. This one’s for you.

She Who Must Not Be Named

I was all set to give my new baby a name. Suffice to say it was just short of having a baptismal party, with ninongs and ninangs in tow and the works.

After all, the hardest part – determining the most suitable name to call my new car- was over.

Technically the car isn’t mine, it belongs to the company. But so long as I humbly submit myself to the beck and call of the almighty company, to work and to slave, for better or for worse, in paid sick leaves and in health, till resignation/ retrenchment do us part, I shall be enjoying the car benefit.

And since I will be stuck with the car for the next five years, I thought of giving her a name to personalize the ..uh.. partnership.

Arriving at THE NAME has not been an easy task. For one, there is that looming benchmark; it has to be a name at par with her predecessor…the exotically and seductively sounding Tanya..

It didn’t help that after posting the Tanya entry I have received numerous messages from inquisitive friends asking who my next car will be. Talk about pressure. .

So name-shopping I did…

Initially, I considered some Spanish names – Maria, Corazon, Socorro, Rosario, Dolor, Amparo. Just listening to the series makes you sigh and utter gibberishly …Madre mia, que bonita”; “Tiene una cara perfecta pero es si inteligente?, Mama Cita donde esta Santa Claus?”.. But before I get flipped out by the romance of the language, I had to remind myself that these names are now attributed to women of the bygone era . Ah que lastima !

The name, I decided, has to be more 21st century. It should evoke mystery. Undoubtedly feminine with finesse and spunk. It should be enduring. Pleasant to the ear even after a couple of years and thousands of mileage.

Tiffany, Stephanie, Katrina, Olivia, Kristina, Melissa – Such gorgeous names. Unfortunately I had to scrap them out from the list because I have folks in my network with these names. Lest I earn their ire, I took the safer route. Hell hath no fury than a lady friend named after a lifeless metallic junk.

Moving on with the list

Amanda – hmmm I picture Griffin and Page here. I haven’t known anyone named Amanda who’s not pretty… a good name… a possibility…

Asia - too slutty, no thanks.

Cindy – a winner… but could be associated with Cindy Kato and Patay Cindy… sorry Ms. Kurleto, this one’s out…

Anjanette – close your eyes… what comes to your mind?.... nice name right?...

Britney – taken na po (hikbi)….. .definitely out…. (Trivia- Britney and I have the same birth date, kewl- ok so you’ve got something in common, so what?)

Bianca – ah… a name fit for senoritas and herederas, fair-skinned damsels who’d faint at a pin prick, another one of those “Tiene una cara perfecta” kind of name.. Marvelous (sigh) …but way up there on the pedestal…unreachable.

Hermione – Cute name. Cute character. You gotta admit the way she says “Wingardium Levi-yoooo-sa” is kinda haughty, smart and sexy. She could Avada Kedavra me anytime… But cradle snatcher I am not ….next please…

Winona – hmmm fancy, I did consider this. I picture Ms Ryder in Coppolla’s “Dracula” before her klepto bout. Her name though, is used so often in gay lingo, its glamour has been reduced to the level of chaka, chuvalu, and cheness so I guess this one is definitely chugi .

Jolens, Jopay and Juday – If it starts with a J, It’s kinda okay (hey that rhymes !!)….but nah…too Jologs.

Keanna, Kuhdet, Krungkrung, – What’s with K man? I’d rather walk half-naked from Antipolo to Bicutan, in the heat of the midday sun than name my car after them..

And then it hit me…I saw a big sign in a construction site with THE NAME to be… Yep That’s it. ! Why not? Cute name… very feminine. .. Not too classy. Not too jologs either. The recall is great. Two syllables, 007 letters, and starts with a P. Can be both scientific and poetic. Ah perfect… The search is over…

But life is full of ironies.. On the night, I planned to reveal the name, my friend Jenny offered an urban legend. It sounded more like a curse. (Hi Jen, sorry for the delay, I know you looked forward to this entry.) (By the way, folks out there, if you’re planning to buy Flowers for Valentine’s or for wedding, please order from Ka-Blooms, owned and managed by my lovely friend Jen. Grabe shameless plugging ito hehehe)

Now where was I? Oh yeah, the curse… According to the curse, guys who name their cars don’t end up in a meaningful relationship.

Hhhhuwhaaaat???? My incredulity exactly. (It was not just an ordinary what. It was more surreal, like the Dove commercial “No, she’s not my daughter, she’s my granddaughter” incredulous kind of what)

Hey I might have the name ready and all but…..I just didn’t want to taunt fate.

Am not superstitious… (Yeah right ).

You must understand my situation I had no choice…(Ok we hear you)

So reluctantly I have finally decided to call the car “She Who Must Not Be Named”.

Darn !

(In case you’re wondering what the name would have been, you’re invited to guess. Hanep ah, naging interactive na itong blog. First one to guess it correctly gets 2 orders of kinilaw and 6 bottles of San Mig light in Riverbanks or a dinner at Seven Suites at Antipolo. Cheers!)

(Special thanks to Atty Mildred for the photo used in this entry. Great shot! Keep shooting!)

GOODBYE TANYA

Goodbye Tanya.

Alas…Some good things never last.

As you’re going your way and I goin’ mine, let us be grateful for the journey that has been.

Thank you for one and a half years of fun-filled memories.
It has been such a great ride and it wouldn’t have been as memorable without you.

You were my first and that makes you special…

I will always remember our frequent drive to White Rock- the way we deftly maneuvered the serpentine roads of Antipolo.

I will cherish our Carpe Diem moments – unscheduled lunches in Tagaytay, spur-of the-moment RORO to Antique, free-wheeling in Baguio, getting stranded in Calapan, sunset-chasing in San Jose, ghost hunting in Bugasong.

I will always recall the sounds we’ve listened to, from the hilarious tambalang balasubas at balahura to the weekend tandem of Cherry and Paul in Light Rock to the “ginapamitaan bisan diin” time slot of my bro.

I will never forget your captivating Coronado Cherry scent.

You’ve been part of the family. I know my parents, my brothers and my sisters, even my friends who knew you intimately, would surely miss you.

You were always there for me - when I had to go early to the office or when I had to stay late to finish some stuff. Even on weekends you dutifully accompanied me, like a princess in green shining armor

I know at times I may have neglected you.
If I could turn back time…. I would spend more time with you, sleep with you more often, wash your whole body with more passion.

But now it’s time for us to go on our separate ways. I would definitely miss you.

Goodbye Tanya.


(Tanya is the name I gave to the green Civic issued to me in Wrigley. My first car. I shall be turning her over this week to the next owner)