Will someone please tell me why are women likened to -- among all of God's grand creatures -- poultry? And why, long after the 1970s when males were referred to as "cats," Filipino men still use the term "chick" like it was fashionable? Educate me PLEASE.
To S and all other men out there who are still attached to this juvenile term, here's my 10-cents' worth. When you want to flatter a woman, never say "you're a great chick." The reference to the young of an egg-laying barn animal deflates your compliment.
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5.28.2002
SUBTLE?
I learned yesterday evening that my 26-year old cousin Karen just lost her husband Raffy after a 2-day bout with a mutated hepatitis strain. He was 28. At the wake early this morning, my distraught cousin kept repeating to me, “He had so many plans,” referring to her husband's plans to build their dream home and to open his own auto repair shop.
The week I was struggling with the resolve to build my life’s dreams or forgo it for immediate financial gain, this happens. Isn’t it strange how when you suffer from serious decision paralysis, life has a way of whacking you in the head.
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5.27.2002
GOT A GADGET
Anyone who knows me knows how I am into gadgets – big time. Some male gadget-magnet chromosomes must have found their way into my DNA make-up – that’s how my father explains it. Unlike many of the females of my species, I actually look beyond the color. I dig deep into functionality. I actually read the manual. I have never plugged a 110V appliance into a 220V socket.
My daily purse arsenal includes: my GPRS-enabled WAP mobile phone, my mp3 player , my Bluetooth headset, my digital camera. Inspite the load of wireless devices I carry, my brain is not yet toasted crispy -- at least, I don’t **nervous jerk** think **nervous jerk** so. I held out on buying the iPAQ I wanted to motivate me to reach my weight goal – that means I will never get one.
This week’s acquisition has gotten me really revved. It’s funny how my technology lust has just intersected with my attempts at domesticity. I got me a vacuum sealer! I spent most of Sunday putting the entire content of my cupboard and fridge -- coffee, sugar, veggies, nori, tuyo, flour, corn flakes, you name it -- in bags and sucking air out of it -- all under the premise that they’ll stay fresher longer. Tonight, I plan to vacuum seal my wedding gown, family VHS tapes, processed film, important records -- to prevent humidity damage.
The whole exercise is getting me so excited – maan, I’m starting to scare me.
<< FoodSaver -- a toy to keep the obsessive-compulsive amused for days.
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5.26.2002
DAY DREAM
My childhood mentor screwed me. I was told that success was getting great grades – I did that. I was told success was chalking up degrees – I did that. I was told that success was a nice title that went with my business card – I got that too.
And now, looking back at my life and the years of turning myself into the “success” someone else wanted me to be, I finally get it. Most of my life has been misspent!
I need to seriously engineer my escape -- an escape from the corporate slavery that I’ve bitched about for eons. I’ve made too much money for faceless corporations and absolutely no substantial contribution to mankind. I lost “something” since I entered the work force – the very “thing” that kept me focused on what was important in my life.
I’ve planned it out -- soon, I will quit my job and become a full-time mom. I will bum around for six months before getting started on the coffee-place-bar-resto I’ve been planning in my head. I will approach entrepreneurship with respect for my business vision, my market and the society that will sustain my business. I will dive into my literature and my photography. I will travel to places few people have seen or thought of seeing. I will research about my family history more seriously – maybe fly to Spain and China to do it. I will encourage my children to live their dreams – and provide the means for them to do so. I will leap out of the life template that was drawn for me, without making one for anyone else. Most important, I will LIVE!
Sorry for boring you with my mental masturbation. Tough week-end.
Seen dangling from a jeep at the junction of Katipunan Road and Aurora Boulevard in Quezon City: ”GOD IS MY STRANGHT.” <<< What the ... ?
Then, one kilometer eastward, at the intersection of Imelda Avenue and Marcos Highway, I found a group of Christian teenagers asking for donations from motorists and pedestrians. One held out a large sign: "SIN LID TO DEATH." (My car was in motion -- otherwise, I would have a photo of this too)
As Filipinos are inclined to be rather showy about religion (faith is something else, I believe -- but I'll reserve that for another entry), I think the very least we could do is spell our exaltations right. Tinagalog na lang sana! Pa-inglis-inglis pa kasi eh!PERMALINK
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5.23.2002
MY EPISODE II ENTRY
Both Houses of the Philippine Congress share many, many similarities with The Republic’s Senate:
1. Like Representative Jar Jar Binks, many of our congressmen were once outcasts/outlaws/comic sidekicks before taking their oaths of office.
2. At the Republic’s Senate hall, the lawmakers could hardly see each other because of the room’s sheer size. Here, they could hardly see each other because … um … most are absent.
3. One can often find animated debates between the three-faced snake and the brainless blob, the horned humanoid and the eight-legged fang face in BOTH Senate halls.
4. Both houses of our Congress are, likely, also under the shroud of the Dark Side.
This movie, ex-President Joseph Estrada, his family and his lawyers should watch – if only to hear and internalize this line: “The day we we stop believing democracy can work is the day we lose it.”
Yesterday, Carlo and I were driving through the peripheries of the University of the Philippines Diliman campus – near the Math Building and ASTI – where the trees still grew tall and dense. A light rain had just passed and he opened his car windows to hear a curious chorus of crickets sing from beyond the molave trees.
Carlo: “Mom, is that a jungle in there?”
Mona: “No, dear, that’s UP.”
Then images of the monstrous registration cues (pre-automation) rushed to mind … and that repulsive exhibitionist stalker I had when I was a freshman … and the awful ammonia stink from the boy’s toilet on the second floor of AS … and the Spanish professor who waived exams in exchange for a little sexual harassment … and the jerk (hindi ikaw ‘to, Manuel) from that first serious Accounting class who was haggling for an exam grade higher than his 97% when I was suicidal with my 23%.
Mona: “Come to think of it, it is a jungle in there.”
Yesterday’s blurt resulted in a deluge of email (can 5 be considered a ‘deluge’?) regarding my not-really-criminal past. So, here’s the story:
The neighborhood I grew up in began to slide the last two years I lived there. An auto repair shop was set up right beside our house and was the place where the neighborhood sunog-baga congregated at night. My mom often came up to ask them for some quiet – thus her unpopularity with the kantoboys.
Very late one night, I discovered two thugs inside our property, slashing our car and car tires. I screamed for help and my dad came out with his gun (duly-licensed, of course). The chase ended at the repair shop, where ten or so drunks were downing Marka Demonio’s. The thugs were, in fact, employed at the repair shop.
It was my dad and his 45mm, and ten glassy-eyed drunks. What could I do? I grabbed a two-by-four and stood behind my dad as back-up. In the background, I could hear my mom screaming my nickname over and over again. She was calling me back inside our property.
Drunk #1 grabbed my father’s hand, and the gun fired, hitting Drunk #2 in the forearm. The drunks ran for their lives and we retreated back to our house. In the commotion, Drunk #3 pushed my mom into the road gutter, injuring her face.
In the next few minutes, we called for a lawyer, brought my mom to the hospital and went to the nearest police station. At our last stop, we realized the Drunks beat us there! And as they were too intoxicated to even comprehend what actually happened, they filed attempted murder charges against the only person they had a name on: “Monette.” Moi. A police report was filed where I was cited for attempted murder.
The entire nasty business was settled out of court. My dad and I were never charged – never held. But all this happened in the early hours of the day my husband-to-be and his family were going to our house to formally ask for my hand in marriage.
‘Imagine the phone call if I was jailed: “Sorry, dear, we can’t do the pamamanhikan today. I’m in jail for attempted murder. But do ask your uncle if he could spring for the wedding cake.”
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5.20.2002
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF THE DOMESTICALLY-CHALLENGED
I am on a two-week leave as Diego's yaya is on home leave until June 2. I kicked off my short-term reprieve from corporate slavery with an early morning trip to the grocery. After the chore, as Diego and I were waiting for the car to pick us up, an older mom waiting with us struck small talk. She was complimenting my choice of bread -- the package I bought was sticking out of one of the grocery bags.
I drove home, curious to try bread juice. Isn't it wonderful how we learn something new everyday?
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5.19.2002
EXCRUCIATING PAIN
‘Broke one of my beautiful long nails way beyond where the nail is connected to the skin. @#$%^&* OOOOOUCH! (I am currently typing with a limp). I think I could die from the pain, if this happens to ALL fingers. Truly!
If anyone was to customize my own personal pain hell, it would probably consists of these things happening over and over again -- kinda like "Ground Hog Day".
- dysmenorrhea.
- scalding from Starbucks coffee.
- heart pangs from unrequited love.
- paper cuts from licking envelopes.
- circulation cut-off from pantyhose.
- seizures from mobile phone use withdrawal.
- scalp wounds from chemical hair straightening.
- blindness from 24 hours (more) of straight PC use.
- bleeding ears from listening to Richard Gomez sing.
- armpit bleeding from poorly designed under-wire bra.
- jealousy from seeing Angel Aquino nearly naked in a gym locker room.
- vomiting from watching the “Ang Kilabot at ang Kembot” movie preview.
- embarrassment from falling down a flight of stairs in a mini-skirt, in full view of street vendors.
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5.17.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 005: BLACK HOLE
Yesterday, I sat in a press briefing for 3 hours for a conference the company is hosting. ‘Moved into a pre-coordination-meeting meeting for an hour. Waited an hour before the two one-hour coordination meetings, necessary before the all-night conference ingress at 10pm.
For 24 hours, I was stuck in a Twilight-Zone-y corporate black hole. Yesterday was straight out of a Dilbert cartoon, I tell you! I know the day would have been better spent catching up on my sleep, getting manicure or … did I say sleep yet?
Today -- any day -- can only be a better day, compared to May 16.
Weather talk is typically the conversation equivalent of Valium to me. But this temperature we're getting is turning into a mighty valid thing to bitch about. 35 degrees C (95 degrees F) today! And the heat will turn up even more as El Nino kicks in! So many stories of heat-cold syndrome, raging tempers, shower-induced highs, prickly heat and sweaty pits to keep the profusely perspiring Pinoys entertained.
Sidebar: 'Me thinks the Philippines is simply getting closer to hell by the day.
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5.14.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 004: THE TRUTH
An HR guy from another company called me today. Apparently, some guy I sacked five years ago wrote me in as a character reference. Me? He was probably desperate for work, I realized. I opted to hold back on the truth a teensy bit:
Why did he leave the company?The slanted truth: He had good personal skills and was an excellent marketeer; but there was a gap between his skill set and the technical competencies the job urgently required. The god-honest truth: The guy was dumb beyond belief and didn’t know it –- I sacked him.
How was he at work?The slanted truth: He was well liked by his co-workers. And he performed as expected in the six months he was in our employ. The god-honest truth: Remember Woody Harrelson’s character on “Cheers”? He was like that –- only not as cute and not as funny.
Was he ever involved in militant activities?The slanted truth: We are not unionized – so, no. But I would not know about his affiliations after he left the company. The god-honest truth: The guys in my division could be sacrificing virgin women to pagan gods in their spare time, and I wouldn’t know. Honestly, how deep-down-personal do people want to get with their bosses?
Would you recommend him to take on managerial responsibility?The slanted truth: It’s been five years since I saw him. I am not familiar with how his managerial competence has developed since. The god-honest truth: I got one word for you – Enron.
Sidebar: My Hiring Biases Revealed: If you are from the University of the Philippines (Diliman), are from Philippine Science High School, are articulate in English, are tech-savvy, can curse in more than 2 languages, can drink like a fish, are a neatness Nazi and/or have a uniquely interesting life outside work, there is a high probability I will hire you, regardless of your criminal past, poor dental records or socially-deviant lifestyle.
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5.13.2002
MISSING MY MOM
Here're some of the valuable absolutes my mom taught me (through commission and omission):
1. It's okay to be a bitch. Raw, unbridled rage can be therapeutic.
2. Fat people shouldn't wear prints.
3. Women can never have too many shoes ... and bags ... and jewelry.
4. Never slave for your husband unless you want to be treated like one.
5. If you want it done right, do it yourself.
6. When in doubt, do.
7. Revenge is not necessary; but it can be oh so fun.
8. Tip well.
9. Never be embarassed about what you are or what you are not.
10. The family is one of life's very few constants.
<< Felicisima San Diego Magno: The earlier waaay-cooler version of me.
Whenever I miss my mom, I read this little article I clipped from Anita Meilly's column. It doesn't make me miss her less. It just gives her absence the semblance of sense.
A Mother's Parable
The young mother set her foot on the path of life. "Is the way long?" she asked. And the guide said: "Yes, and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But the end will be better than the beginning."
But the young mother was happy and she would not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed with them in the clear streams and cried, "Nothing could be better than this."
Then night came, and the path was dark and the children shook with fear and cold. The mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle and the children said, "Mama, we are not afraid, for you are near and no harm can come." And the mother said, "This is better than the brightness of day for I have taught my children courage."
And the morning came and there was a hill ahead and the children climbed and grew weary. The mother was weary, but at all time, she said to the children, "A little patience and we are there." So the children climbed and when they reached the top they said, "Mama, we could not have done it without you." And the mother, when she lay down that night, looked up to the stars and said: "This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of darkness. Yesterday, I gave them courage. Today, I gave them strength."
The next day came strange clouds which darkened the earth -- clouds of war and hate and evil and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said: "Look up. Lift your eyes to the Light." And the children looked and saw in the clouds an Everlasting Glory and It guided them and brought them beyond the darkness. And that night, the mother said, "This is the best day of all, for I have shown my children God."
The mother grew old and was little and bent. But her children were tall and strong and walked with courage. And when the way was hard, they helped their mother. When the way was rough, they lifted her up. And at last they came to a hill and beyond, they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.
And the mother said: "I have reached the end of my journey. And now, I know the end is better than the beginning, for my children can walk alone and their children after them." And the children said, "You will always walk with us, Mama, even when you have gone through the gates."
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone and the gates closed after her. And they said: "We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence."
We left for Club Morocco last Friday with my in-laws for a two-day sabbatical. You can imagine our dismay when we found out Magandang Tanghali Bayan was filming their Bikini Babes Semi-Finals there on Saturday – the day my cool in-laws (a.k.a. partners-in-crime) and I planned to lounge by the poolside, sipping the delish ice-tea the place is known for. We were pissed at the agents who sold us the idea that we were going to get an exclusive country club atmosphere there. My evil jologs-dreading elisita side showed it’s nasty head.
Come Saturday lunch, my 9-year old son was spotted striking conversations with the Bikini Babes. He also stalked Bentong, one of the show's "comic" hosts, until he got to say “hello.”
Inspite being raised a stuck-up colegiala, I am glad I spawned a non-hypocrite, never afraid to keep it real. In Carlo's casual and honest confidence, I am assured several times over that our race has been improved.
<< Bentong was very kind to my son. For that, he gets a new fan in me.
From Diego:
Diego wiggled his way out of his car seat again and sat on my lap, as we headed back to Manila. Realizing his mini-vacation was ending, he saw it fitting to say "good-bye" to EVERYTHING -- "Bye, Club", "Bye, 'tain"(mountain), "Bye, sea", "Bye, tree", "Bye, bird", "Bye, Surf" (soap ad on billboards), "Bye, 'llibee" (Jollibee stores), "Bye, car", "Bye, bus", "Bye, truck" -- all the way home.
He also refused his yaya and asserted his preference to sleep on my bosom most of the trip. 'Never mind the drool. Watching your child sleep in your embrace is one of life’s few truly perfect moments.
Happy M-Day to all of you out there and/or the wonderful women in your lives!
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5.10.2002
IMELDA’S DISCIPLE
I got me a hot pair of Ferragamo’s. Sexy strappy black leather sling-backs with 3-inch heels. They are soo fine …
… I was willing to feed my boys “Spam” and "Lucky Me" for a month just to have them. The darn thing set me back 15 g’s.
… I hang around the office elevator lobby for minutes at a time so I can admire the reflected silhouette on a nearby glass door of what looks like my long thin legs.
… I stand still, put my feet on my desk and cross my legs a lot -- just so I can do model poses.
… I want to have sex with them on.
… I do not mind the shoe-induced backache.
... I dream of getting them in 3 other colors.
Ah, nothing like covering one’s feet in dead animal hide to lift a woman’s spirits.
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5.09.2002
SICK
While this site has been a pleasant pastime, I have been unhappy about several things. I was exhibiting familiar symptoms of blogging fixation, coupled with an I-don’t-give-a-**bleep**ing-crap attitude about my work. I was (am still) up to my armpits in backlog. I was dodging phone calls and ignoring e-mails to a near-criminal degree. Baaad!
So I proudly called a bet. I can go three days without blogging, I told myself.
The results are in. I didn’t log anything here. But that left time to update another site I manage (self-incriminating link!) and start a new blog.
If a genie appears and gives you ONE wish, what would you wish for?
This question haunted me in my childhood when I thought there WERE genies. I figured I needed to be prepared just in case an old bottle that looked like a harem decanter ever fell into my possession.
Many attractive options were considered. Money. Super powers. A country. Men. Beauty (more). Intelligence (greater). But blissful after this perfect day with Mel, Carlo and Diego, I think I found THE wish: “Genie, I want you to give me the wisdom to know that what I have is enough.”
This is not the first time I was asked to address this question. And this entire entry assumes others may be interested. The honest answer, I must warn you though, may be too self-indulgent for most to stomach. Now is your chance to bail, if you have no tolerance for decadent narratives.
Leonardo da Vinci, whose leap into prominence marked the “Renaissance Age,” is one artist I’ve known since I was two years old – primarily because I was named after his creation (I knew him and Nat King Cole who sang “Mona Lisa”).
Growing up, I drew pride from my curiosity about learning languages, art, dance, martial arts and sports; my desire to experience everything; and my ambition to be as “perfect” as I can be -– only to find out later that this was not an original idea. It formed the very core of Da Vinci’s principles towards La Dolce Vita or the Sweet, Soulful Life (and I thought it formed the classic symptoms of a full-blown obsessive-compulsive personality disorder).
1. Curiosita - an insatiably curious approach to life.
2. Dimostrazione - the commitment to test knowledge through experience & persistence and the willingness to learn from mistakes.
3. Sensazione - the continual refinement of the senses.
4. Sfumato – the willingness to embrace ambiguity, paradox and uncertainty.
5. Arte y Scienza – the balance between science and art, logic and imagination. The “whole brain” approach, if you will.
6. Corporalita – the cultivation of grace, ambidexterity, fitness and poise.
7. Connessione – the interconnection of all things.
I am far from being a perfect embodiment of the Da Vincian principles. But the thing is, I want to be. And each day is my chance for “rebirth.” Thus, “Renaissance Girl.”
Now here’s a hypothesis I found fascinating: Some scholars studied the “Mona Lisa” and one of Da Vinci’s self-portraits and found the two to be perfectly symmetrical if halved and put together in one picture. They say that the “Mona Lisa” may not be Mona Lisa Joconde, as previously thought; but the androgynous projection of Da Vinci’s self onto another being.
Now is that possibility/coincidence cool or what?!
WEB JOURNALISTS, TAKE NOTE: Did you know Da Vinci, who lived in the 13th century, kept a journal most of his life? This is how the succeeding generations discovered the true depth of his genius. How do you want the next generation to remember you?
I love my Papa. But on his bad days, he usually tries to pull his typical “do-what-I-say-as-I’m-close-to-the-grave-and-I-may-not-live-to-see-the-day-when-you-[whatever he wanted us to do]-so-might-as-well-do-it-now” act to pressure me and/or my three other siblings into things we don’t want to do. Don’t worry, Pa, we keep telling him. You know what they say about “masamang damo” ("bad grass" -- literal. Bad grass, they say, die hard). He would smile with us and quit the act.
I'm not trying to be morbid on purpose; but the talk of demise got me thinking about the perfect death.
I would like to die in my sleep, after having the best sex of my life on the day I have a meaningful confession, get a deep-cleansing facial, sign up for a billion-peso life insurance policy, shop for a perfect white dress, make up with Moccha (an evil, evil bitch) and say “I love you” to all who matter in my life.
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