That’s the home I grew up in. I often romanticize how this shack came to be. I’d like to think Tatay lovingly built it by hand. How Nanay must have asked him to add one more room and another year after year.

I was used to sleeping on the floor. First where the sala was. Then next to my sisters’ papag. Then next to Nanay’s room. I didn’t really have a bed of my own until I went to University. But I did graduate from floor to papag to cushioned bed by the time I entered high school.

Our first pieces of furnitures were a mixture of hand-me-downs and DYI. An old office table was used for dining. Tatay made two long chairs that aren’t really benches. We had an old black-and-white television which occupied half of the living room because of the size of its wooden casing. We ram it with our fists to get better reception.

The routine was simple growing up. Each of us had a chore and since I was the youngest, I have the “easiest” tasks. I wax the floor and buff it with cloth and bunot (coconut husk). I swear that’s the reason why my calves are pamalo ng palos in size. I was on “morning duty” too. That meant boiling water, buying pandesal and butter, fetching water from our poso and filling our water jars. From memory our drinking water was cool and sweet but I don’t think I’ll dare drink poso water now, even if it comes from the cleanest tapayan. (more…

You cannot avoid talking about the past during reunions. According to my ditse, she couldn’t believe I remember so many details. I get this reaction all the time. Some probably think I am making them up, but I don’t.

Some of my memories go back to when I was as young as three I think.

That early memory is of my Tatay chasing me around our dinner table, an office table from NIA and our only piece of “furniture”. I thought it was a game, but I apparently made him furious, he was after me to give me a good spanking. I remember jumping to Nanay’s lap and trying to hide under skirts.

I love my memories. These are my only companions when I feel alone and isolated from the rest of the world. I tell and retell them to myself, trying to describe everything as it was when they happened. The scene, the atmosphere, my feelings, my reactions and if I could, how others reacted.

I re-live each moment and sometimes I can still feel the emotion I felt at the time.

The captive audience would often comment I tell the stories very well. That I lived a very interesting life. A close friend in Uni once said she wished her life was as colourful as mine.

But I don’t see my life experiences as special or unique. They are certainly special to me, however I do not tell them to impress or boast or look for pity.

I tell them because it makes me feel alive.

It’s always been in my nature since I can remember, to always “review” my life. Perhaps that comes with being emotional (read: nuts).

Last year, I’ve resolved to start writing these down. Because I do fear losing them. Like the way I lost my passion for poetry.

So that’s a warning, you’ll re-live these with me.

She was one of the first girls I spoke to in high school. I tasted my first beer with her. Smoked my first cigarette with her. I even saw her first kiss and she was with me on my first date. We were close friends, but she was posh I was poor. It never mattered and I never felt discriminated against by her family.

She went to UPD, I went to UPLB.

Time made its mark and our paths never crossed except once during our four years in University. She said she was not used to wearing the same attire in campus within the same month, very Hollywood huh. I said I attendended classes wearing tsinelas and pambahay. I guess I grew up and realised if I’m late after a hardnight of cramming, I don’t care about my appearance, I will turn up to class no matter what. Or I grew up and turned into a slob. But it was clear our priorities were now different.

In high school, we were both very shallow. We wanted to be campus figures. We wanted to have fun. Who am I kidding our high school is not Ivy League, we didn’t sweat over the lectures. It was your typical algebra mixed with boys on the side. As long as we’re acing the oral recitations and periodical exams, we’re good to go.

In college I didn’t have that luxury. My sisters were paying my tuition and I had to graduate on time or that’s it. I wasn’t shooting for a merit, I was praying for my diploma. While she, she was aiming to be well-known or at least well-liked in the big pond that is Diliman.

Fast-forward and a few years of toil, we had a reunion. I was in the province and of course, I tried to hook up with the old barkada I have not seen in years. She was there, the same energetic, powerhouse that she was. Bumabangka pa din as always. To be honest, I do that too, bangka sabi nila. But somehow I couldn’t relate to her anymore.

She claimed stature that no one can neither deny nor confirm. She screamed money & ability, but complained of the 200Php fee. She dropped a few names from my internship in a TV network and from my former job, asking if I knew the people. I wondered if she was validating my claim to those or whether she was hinting at knowing people.

With some, even after years of silence there’s warmth in seeing them again. There wasn’t even a spark. I didn’t know the woman who stood amongst us.

The sad thing was a few years before the reunion I was telling my boyfriend (now hubby) I wanted to get in touch with this person. I felt I was ready to re-connect with old friends but I was clutching at straws.

I’ve always come across magazine articles about singletons being left behind as all their friends succumbed to the ball-and-chain married life. They voice varying opinions about not wanting kids, or envying stable relationships, or wanting to “settle” but not liking the idea of a marriage certificate, etc etc.

How about happily married folks who often look back and sigh?

Well, sometimes I do.

I enjoyed my single life and independence so much, that now and again I find myself, thinking what it would have been like to stay single all these years.

A singleton friend from America stayed with us recently. I was really looking forward to it as much as she did. It was her 3rd time over & she was going to hook up with some “bloke” she met last time she was here. We booked her post-bday bash and we planned a night-out. Hubby volunteered to stay with pogiBoy (long story).

The eve of my FIRST proper nightout in London, I realised a number of things:

One, I don’t have anything to wear. All my clothes were office-wear and those that aren’t, aren’t “glam” enough. Que horror. I can’t turn up at a nightclub in my jumper!

Two, I have self-imposed curfew. I tried my best, but my involuntary reflex was to keep checking my watch and my phone. Every hour I “touched base” with hubby to confirm where we were.

Three, when the suggestion came up to move to the party to a house somewhere along the Docklands, I can’t join them. I found myself actually telling my friend “it’s not my scene” anymore. I wouldn’t belong in a singleton’s party without my hubby. The atmosphere will not be the same for me.

Coming home I told hubby that I’d love to accompany my friend on her Europe trips. But I know she will not enjoy it as much as I would. I’d have to bring pogiBoy with me or the entire family, and being single once I know that’s not “her scene” either.

When you’re single and adventurous you don’t want to be lumbered with a child. It’s going to cramp your style if you’re on the prowl. And how is she supposed to see the night-life in area if we turn around and tell her she’d have to go on her own or that we can go but only for 2-hours?

I am finally enjoying my married-with-a-kid life in London. I have managed to attend drink-do with my current officemates. I thought it’s not far-fetched to think I can start going on night-outs. The logistics are hazy but I thought I could invite a few kindred spirit, perhaps hubby and I can book a trusted nanny…

It really just hit me how different my life is now.

I recently called a high school friend in Pinas. As often the case with oldies like us, we got to talking about our past escapades. At one point she mentioned common friends who got married early (due to pregnancy). Some she said were demure in high school. “Tsk, tsk“, she said “you can never tell” but what followed nearly had me fall off my chair.

She said “Di ba ikaw nga ang panay tsikinini nung high school?“

OMG! Did I really? I might have accidentally blocked that out of my memory. It’s been so long since I last heard the word tsikinini (kissmark) that there was a synaptic delay before I reacted. When I did I couldn’t contain my mirth and my embarrassment. I was probably a little red on the face.

I can honestly say though I was not alone in sporting those red spots of “love”. Yes, my then bf would have some, too (more…

Toe was reminiscing about her childhood reads before and how she’d wish for blonde hair and blue eyes (like that UP student who won in the UK). My past was a bit different because the only reading materials I had access to growing up were comics. You know, Pinoy Klassiks, Aliwan, Liwayway, at marami pang iba na nakalimutan ko na pangalan.

My Lola in Manila used to rent comics in her sari-sari store and she’d archive the old issues in rice sacks and bring them to Nueva Ecija - for me! Nanay hated it because I won’t stop until I have read each and every issue. I’d ditch my morning baths, ignore my Saturday cartoons, zip thru my assignments & just slump on the floor next to my sacks (there’ll be 2-3 sack-full!).

Before our black-and-white television, weeknight entertainment was reserved for our transistor radio. You know the type that takes 4-6 big batteries and the back cover is made of cardboard? (more…

I found this quote by Germaine Greer (from this site.) that really sums up the Tube experience.

“Even crushed against his brother in the Tube the average Englishman pretends desperately that he is alone.“

Is it the same thing in New York? Because I’m pretty sure in Manila the LRT experience is very sociable. For one you’re always aware and conscious of the people around you for fear of pickpockets. And for me as a college student there was even the odd flirtatious socialization, too.

When we were just dating, I complained a lot to hubby that he’s always staring at the girl (sometimes girls) across us from the jeepney, from the street, from the restaurant, etc. etc. It used to bother me so much.

One time I told him off again (always away from the perpetrators) & said I feel disrespected when he looks at other women in my company. What he said shut me up, at least for a while. He said he never tells me what I can & cannot do and he never complained when I ogle men when he’s with me. I probably looked shocked (to hear the truth & that he notices pala) because he said it was okay, that he understands as I don’t engage in flirting anyway. It was akin to window shopping because you see something you “appreciate”. So like the mature twenty-something that I were in those days, I said fine as long as we understand each other he is not to look at other women when I’m around!

These days when we a sexy woman passes I check my hubby now & again. Sometimes I ask him a trick question like “she’s got nice shoes, ‘no?” He’s learnt so his answer will invariably be similar to “whose shoes?“

Do your men ogle? Do you ogle? Are you bothered?

I’m nearly 31 & sometimes I hate to admit it, but I look at men in their 20’s and I can only shake my head. So many men, but I have let the time pass – naughty!

I have been thinking about the best way of putting this sob story out here. I view it as very personal, but at the same time it’s interesting. Reading Annamanila’s entries prompted me to post it sooner while I still have enough time.

I didn’t realise that betrayed women go thru similar cycles: denial, rage, sadness & acceptance. I know other life-changing events evoke the same. I remember watching a Simpsons episode where Bart showed all 4 in one minute when Homer & Marge were about to split.

In Annamanila’s entries on some women’s unfortunate experiences with their husbands, the first thing that stood out to me was how the “first” wives react towards their perceived enemy. They are condescending. They feel superior. They resort to finding fault in the adulteress.

When I was in a similar situation long ago, I, too, looked down on the girl. Although I was only 2 or 3 years older, but because she was like a younger sister to me, I saw her as a child. I wanted to forgive her even in the early days of my “discovery” but I gave way to rage. It gave me some release, I guess. I wanted to destroy her, I didn’t but my whole being wanted to slam her face in the dirt & my hands were yearning for her blood. Ex got the same treatment. I would have loved to swing a baseball bat to his face until it crumbled, either his face or the bat or both.

Anyhow, as you can see I didn’t end up in jail. Looking back I have underestimated her. Had I played the meek, powerless nymphet, I would have “won”. You know how it is, they say men like soft, helpless maidens but cannot live without strong women. And some women often play coy & do act like some princess in the tower to catch their prey. However, knowing what I know now, wouldn’t want to win if the prize was my ex and I’m not saying that because I’m still bitter.

Ex was a nice guy though he doesn’t have anything in the looks department. More importantly, I was too young to get involved in a serious relationship (we started dating when I was 17 & we’re expected to get married when I graduate). I have yet to see what the world has to offer me & what I can offer the world in return. When my eyes were veiled with Cupid’s poison, I didn’t see how stifling my so-called love was. I didn’t see that I could have had a better deal with someone who will support me 100% & potentially someone who will not be threatened by my sexuality or my capabilities. Friends saw it, some of whom are even his cousins, but I was a fool. Thinking back I don’t know why I didn’t get out sooner when he would often humiliate me in company of friends & non-friends! I was stupid & naive. Thinking about it now makes me cringe. I even missed a chance with this really hot Robin-Padilla-lookalike in Uni!

I guess I’m luckier than most of Annamanila’s correspondents. The affair happened when I was free as a bird and I was just about to explore my reality. At first I thought the pain would never end, but it did. Initially, the nightmares recur every night. I was self-destructive, bulimic, and probably crazed. But when I told myself that it’s really over, I cannot take him back, I don’t want anything to do with him: I began to rediscover myself. Of course, I’ve had the “beautification-phase”, too. It wasn’t necessarily a “look-at-me-now” moment though, rather it me taking care of myself after years of self-imposed neglect.

Turning my back on him was a signal for them to officially come out. For me, it was waking up from a very deep slumber & discovering how much I am really worth.

Some people ask (it’s been so long, come on people!) if I’m friends with ex and the girl. What? Why? Sure I will never forget them, but there’s no room in my life for such excess baggage.