Another Year, Another Goodbye

Something I wrote on the plane yesterday...

It's painful to leave a place behind, but it's even more painful to leave people you love along with it. This Singapore trip to come see my sister & her family is a little different from my others, thanks in large part to the companionship of my closest friend (and lack thereof, of my usual travel-buddies: other siblings). We packed, we flew, we saw, we hugged, we laughed, we shopped, we experienced, we cried, then sadly, we left.

Ultimately, my posts regarding Singapore all boil down to the parting. I've described it by many ways in the past, and while all are accurate, no words will ever be enough to describe the gut-wrenching, pit-falling, heart-squeezing stab of pain you experience every time you part with someone you love.

I thought today would be easier, and maybe, in some ways, it was. I thought that by leaving early in the morning, with almost no room, no time for stretched-out and prolonged goodbyes, with no bonding moments and memories from that day itself, it would be less painful and less teary. But like ripping off a bandaid, sharp, immediate and instantaneous, the stab of pain is surprising, cutting off your air in that perfect moment of exhaling. You choke on a sob, and flashes of trying to get your head above sea water comes to mind. There is a mad dash and scramble with your composure and just when you think you've reigned it in, your face scrunches up in that ugly crying face that can soften even the hardest of hearts.

I guess that is what happens when you rip off the bandaid before the wound turns into a scab; when you expose the opened, bruised, and scratched tissues of yourself. There is a dark sickly taste of rust in your mouth as the wind glides over the wound. Right now, ripped away long before I am ready, my nose is filled with snot, my eyes look like red saucers or tomatoes, my mouth tastes salty tears, I feel the pang of hurt in my opened heart. But as I fly home, with memories that'll have to do for now, my closest friend sleeping soundly beside me in the plane, and my sister's, brother-in-law's, and niece's voices still fresh in my ear, I take with me the comfort of Drei's words: There are no goodbyes, just see you laters.

So mommy Mai, kuya Vince, and Ally... I'll see you later.

Mack

Because you know all about me, and I know all about you, AND we still like each other. Happy birthday, Mackenzie Molina! I love you!

Give A Little Bit

Number Obsessed

These days, we live in a Number Obsessed world. Left and right, you're looking at people who are too scared of their number. Someone's afraid of how much money they make, the other is afraid of taking control of how much they should be making; girls are afraid of how many lovers they've had, men are afraid of how many lovers their lover has had; the tiniest girl is afraid of gaining weight, the chubby girl can't look at the weighing scale; the movie star who thinks her movies aren't making enough, the popstar whose record went platinum wants an encore; the writer who wants more articles, and the blogger who is obsessed with her page count.

When pressure to be whatever depends on the entirely too fickle-minded society of the media -- hollywood, royals, the internet, etc -- one can not help but feel some sort of inadequacy or cowardice over one's "shortcoming/s". Personally, I am a victim of this craze. I check my weighing scale daily, save every last penny, and feel some form of relief when I see that I still get through to some people. While I'm usually self-content and scorn those who have a need for other's approval, I can't help but feel some sort of elation and satisfaction when a stranger likes a photo I post on instagram, when my FB status/ wallpost gets likes and comments and shares, when my twitter follower count goes up, when my business gets complimented or featured, and when I see just how many people read my blog.

In a way, the satisfaction I feel is short-lived and I immediately find myself looking for the next big thing. Slowly, I'm trying to tell myself that, ultimately, my number does not matter. I'm still learning and I'm still trying. Until then, I'll have to handle all these thoughts and keep them in check.

Wish me luck.

Instawhore

DIE-t.

In an attempt to get healthy, and let's be honest, to shrink back down to goal weight, I've been trying to stay away from my usual feast of junk food and soda. While this may seem impossible due to my constant snacking, my hunger-that-comes-every-2hours, my oral fixation, and other such problems, I've come up with a diet plan that'll allow me to satisfy my perennial, persistent, and enduring need to eat, sans the calories and fat.

Les Miserables

My life has officially gone into standstill and will resume once I am able to witness this majestic piece of art in the silver screen. Shaking and crying.