She Will Be Missed

Many that live deserve death. And some die that deserve life.

    -- J.R. Tolkien, Lord of the Rings, Bk 4 Ch 1

    I lost an excellent team member last week. She and I may not have a deep friendship, but as her manager, we did have a very good, cordial, and strong relationship. She and I have taken time to speak with each other. I've listened to her talk about her hopes and her plans, both professionally and personally. She was a very good person and it is a shame to have lost her so soon.

    Death touches us, whether we knew the person well or not. The fact that you were, at the very least, acquainted with each other will affect you. What more if you worked closely together for a year?

    I hope I was a good manager to her. I hope she enjoyed her time in our company, within our team. I hope she had the chance to fulfill most of her dreams. I hope she had the opportunity to have a grand adventure. I wish we had a chance to say good bye. And I wish, no matter how briefly, she was able to find her own Mr. Darcy.

    I'm glad that she is now at peace and no longer suffering. And while that previous line may sound trite and cliché, I find no other words to find comfort in.

    I still stop and think of her in the middle of the mundane tasks that occupy my everyday responsibilities. I remember her smile and her laughter. I remember the way she spoke of her learners. Best of all, I remember her courage even in the midst of her disease. I admired her for it. I respected her all the more. She was not one who gave up easily. She was not one who caved in to staggering and overwhelming depression. She did what she felt she had to do and what she wanted to do. She lived.

    The world lost someone beautiful that day. But we will always remember. We will always be thankful for the brief time she was in our lives.

Shimmy, Shiny, Sunny

I want to shimmer, I want to shine
I want to radiate
I want to live, I want to love
I want to try to learn not to hate

                                                -- Shimmer,Shawn Mullins

    It's been awhile since I last uploaded anything in my blog. Call it writer's block or having a dry spell. Either way, you'd be right. This is me making the effort to get out of this funk. So, to all those who sent me emails, MSN messages, and SMS messages asking, encouraging, threatening me just to get me to start writing again... Funk you very much. This one's for you.

    A couple of months ago, I idly watched as my birthday slowly crept by, passing me like some sort of shadow on a nice Indian summer kind of day. I wanted to do something special like maybe throw a really fun party with this great theme and lots of heavenly food. Aside from the fact that I was too lazy to get off my arse and start planning, I was also being a bit of a scrooge. [Hey, go back and read one or two blog entries past and you'll know why I'm a bit of penny pincher nowadays. This is a direct consequence of my memorable shopping binge.] Suffice to say, nothing happened on my birthday except that it did pass. Unlike me, my birthdays tend to go gently into that good night.

    A month a ago, I sat terrified as I watched my mom struggle to overcome a sudden onset of diabetes. Given the fact that diabetes is generally an hereditary disease and the fact that we don't have a history of it in our family, this was a great surprise for us. According to the doctor, a candida bacteria attacked her blood or something like that, which caused her blood sugar to suddenly surge to 400. Don't ask me what it was exactly because I hardly registered a thing. All I knew was that my mom was ill and I saw the terror in her eyes as she fought to control the violent chills her body was unable to prevent.

    As the eldest in our rowdy brood, I felt most responsible for settling all necessary details related to our sojourn in the hospital, from finances to logistics. I must say, hospital bills are nothing compared to the maintenance medication.

    A week after my mom's hospital confinement, it was my dad's turn to undergo laser eye surgery. His second. It makes me wonder how he actually managed to get his retina to disengage and separate from whatever eye part it is attached to.

    Holy Week passed by silently and unobtrusively as my birthday did. Both times I was working. The only difference is that I managed to get into a rather interesting email exchange that ruffled my feathers, raised my shackles, and got my dander up. I must have looked like a strange mutated animal then. Ah well... I know I made my point and I did it with great aplomb and a whole lot of civility. As much as I can muster anyway.

    I've been meaning to make use of this hardbound journal given to me as a gift by one of my dearest fiends (who is now probably enjoying her stint as a shepherd in the land of Aragorn and the Hobbits) for Christmas. I haven't gotten around to it yet. Mainly because I haven't felt like picking up a pen from the bookstore just yet.

    I have two editors from two different magazines running after me while I run after their deadlines. So far, I've managed to finish the race, albeit not exactly setting speed records. Interesting relay, don't you think?

    Now I just feel like I'm in dire need of a nice long break. I hear the surf breaks up north are great at this time of year. Hmmm... those couple of long weekends coming up sure are making me smile a little bit wider now.

    The first quarter of the year is over. I still have several months to make sure that this year shimmers, shines, and radiates with love and life for me. It's time to get off my lazy fat arse and start dancing the fandango to a fantabulous and abso-bloody-lutely fantasmagorical mid-thirties.

Talking in the Dark

When we were growing up, my sister and I shared a room. I recall many nights where we would lie there in the dark and talk about different things, mostly stuff that were on our minds. I have to admit that I was not the best sister when it came to these talks, being rather somewhat impatient and in a hurry to get to the heart of whatever it was my sister wanted to share. I was always a blunt and straightforward person even when it came to telling stories. I preferred keeping things short and simple. My sister, on the other hand, prefers to tell her stories like an epic poem --- full of background information given in the minutest of details. I'm sure there were times when I fell into a stupor or made impatient snorts. But, truth be told, I treasure these moments with my sister. We didn't always get along, but we both know without a doubt that we share a fierce love for one another.

Over the holidays, my sister and I had another chance to have one of those late night tête-à-têtes. It was probably the most interesting and most memorable ones we've had. What made it different and memorable was that this time I felt that we were talking to each other not just like sisters ought, but like women and best friends. She was willing to listen to what I had to say. In fact, she wanted to hear and sought out my answers to her questions. I, on the other hand, was more willing to share and elaborate on my answers.

She asked me only two questions: “What are the top three things you have learned about guys?” and “What are the top three things you have learned about relationships?”

In no particular order and from the top of my head, I answered.

Three things I learned about guys:

1. They are not mind readers. Just like women cannot possible know exactly what a guy thinks, it is even more impossible for a guy to know (or even understand) the way a woman's mind works. Tell him. He cannot read your mind and mind-games will only make things worse. They'd appreciate it more if you told them what you think, how you feel, and what you want. They can't keep guessing and messing up all the time. They won't get it right and you can't expect them to.

2. Always take care of a guy's ego. Sometimes you'll need to shake them up and swat them down a bit just so they don't get too full of themselves, but in general, you'll have to be mindful of their very sensitive egos. If there was anything more fragile in a guy's make up, I'd say it would be this.

3. It takes them awhile to realize that they actually do like you. And I'm not just talking about the initial rush of attraction. I'm talking about the reality of liking you as a person and seeing you as someone he can actually commit to being in an exclusive relationship with. It's not because they're wishy-washy about you. It's more about a guy not really being quite sure about himself and about what he wants. After all, women have to understand that by nature guys are generally less inclined to commit themselves to a monogamous and serious relationship. The thought of that alone can turn any healthy and emotionally stable male into a blundering, claustrophobic bundle of nerves. So, be patient. If you find yourself surer of him than he is of you, don't worry and don't rush. He'll get there. And oftentimes it's worth the wait.

Three things I learned about relationships:

1. You get as much as you put in. If you invest a lot of yourself in your relationship, then you can expect greater rewards. If you hold back a large chunk of yourself, then you won't grow in the relationship. You won't find out who you are and who you can be. Relationships shouldn't hinder one from being who he or she is. Relationships are supposed to make you better. So if you hide who you are, especially in a relationship, then everything you have are just artificial. Even artificial growth in economics is liable to collapse if not backed up by solid investments and economic policies. The same way it is in relationships. No one can tell you when you've invested enough. Only you can determine that. But then again, what is “enough”?

2. A relationship is hard work. Just like I said about getting as much as you put in, I also say that when you do decide to invest, you will find that making your investment grow is hard work. It's about striking the balance and working hard at making it work. However, I do have to say that a relationship being hard work does not necessarily preclude that it has to feel like it's hard work. You work hard at making your relationship fly. You expend a whole lot of energy just to lift off and to stay up in the air, but it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the flight. It's a glorious feeling, isn't it?

3. Relationships require trust. Just like in flight, you need to trust that you will hold each other up. Just like the bird trusts the wind and his wings to make him fly, both of you should trust each other enough to let the other fly high on his or her own wings and power. But you should also know and be secure that the other is right there flying beside you. Without trust there is no relationship.

That night --- the evening of New Year's Day 2008 --- I shared my thoughts and answered my sister's questions. And as I lay there on her huge bed, I wonder about how lucky she is to have already found her own Mr. Darcy. Maybe all those talks we had growing up helped her somewhat. It's a comforting thought. Maybe soon we can have another sleepover and I can ask her those same questions and hear her answers. I think I'd like what she has to say. After all, my little sister seems to have grown up at last.

A Year-End Massage

“Some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity...”

                            -- Gilda Radner

Another year is nearly at an end, swiftly flying by, with no Mr. Darcy in sight. But I am neither sad, lonely, nor depressed. It was a full year, with lots of surprises and big decisions made.

When I think about the year that was, I think about family and friends... and how we've gone through so much and came out all the better for them. I think about work and the people I deal with every single day... and how we've effected change and continue to strive for more without losing our sense of humor. I think about my flat and the many hours I've spent hibernating and recuperating from the battering I get from everyday life. I think about the world... and worry about peace and climate change and stupid politicians with no real agenda except stupid coup attempts in hotels. I think about Mr. Darcy, the man who is, but one I can't seem to find... and I wonder if he truly is out there... or if he's decidedly just meant for my books and dreams.

I wonder about my story. I wonder if, at the end of my own life story, people would say they enjoyed being a part of it or wish they were edited out. I wonder where and when my story started, if it has even started, and where it is heading. I wonder about the little subplots that make the whole. I wonder about the genre, whether it would be filed as a mystery/thriller or a general fiction or a classic or a romantic novel or a movie tie-in or a science fiction/fantasy or even a general reference. Or will it have a category all its own?

Then, I think about what I already know. It's amazing how much I still don't know even though I know that I already do know a lot.

I realize that my life is mostly made up of ad lib moments. A lot like a stand-up comedy sketch. It's actually fun. I'm not the type who would have a detailed ten-year plan for my life. That would be too anal-retentive for me. I mean, I do have a general direction and an end-goal that my internal compass seems to be pursuing. I am not a hitchhiker in my own life. I'm more like the weekend driver, cruising down life's highways with the wind in my hair, the sun on my face, and driving music blaring out my life's soundtrack... Destination: not quite known. Hey, it's all about the journey, right?

In any case, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman with enough wit, common sense, and her own income is in need of a... good massage. I'm pretty sure that anyone with wit will have enough friends and good conversation to enjoy as she goes through life. And anyone with common sense would generally always know what it takes to enjoy work and accomplish other mundane tasks needed for everyday survival. And any woman with her own income should have enough power over her life to make decisions relevant to her pursuit of happiness. In other words, anyone worth her salt must have a life of her choosing, which would also mean that she will encounter enough stressful moments for her to be in need of a regular massage.

I believe am that she. And I do need that massage. So, as this random rambling comes to a close... Could Mr. Darcy please step up and give me a good, long, satisfying one? ;)

Shopping Schlopping

I hate shopping. In fact, my idea of shopping is knowing exactly what I need, where to get it, then going in and out of the shop in fifteen minutes flat. I am a man's ideal shopper. (Ask my brother. He was amazed and very happy when I brought him along on one of my shopping trips. Make that “trip” because we only went to one shop and we were done in fifteen minutes. He still refuses to shop with my mom and sister. Typical female shopaholic proclivities. It skipped me.) I can never make a career out of this activity. The only kind of shopping I'm interested in is for books.

Just an aside...Why did they use the term “window shopping” for that particular activity where you aimlessly wander around a shopping complex pretending to be interested in items you want but may not afford to buy at that precise moment? Sure, you look in through the windows at the items on display, but you aren't buying the windows... Har-har. Okay, shutting up on this subject.

Anyway, I also hate malls. There are too many people walking too damn slow and making sudden stops reminiscent of jeepneys along the road.

I hate department stores where there are just too many selections of one item. It's overwhelming to stare across the floor, particularly by the women's shoes section, and figure out where and how you will find those dratted pair of brown shoes you need.

Unfortunately, my strong dislike of shopping has affected my Christmas list. I haven't bought any gift for any single person yet. There are just too many people in the malls. And no one... and I mean no one, not even wild horses can drag me to Divisoria, Christmas season or not. I've paid my dues and have come out feeling physically and mentally violated... my personal space invaded violently by jostlers with no sense of personal hygiene. No more. Enough.

So, I will do as I normally would on any ordinary day when I need to go shopping... either I make my sister do it for me or I wait till the last minute in hopes that everyone's finished with their shopping and will no longer be clogging the lanes in the mall. Hopefully, there are still items worth buying.

May I just say that I do like giving well-thought of gifts to people close to me. I am not a scrooge. If I could afford to give them their hearts' desires, why not? Key words here are “if I could afford,” just in case you missed that part.

Basically, what I'm saying here is that I haven't done my Christmas shopping and that I hate shopping of any kind. And if you've read my previous entry, you will know that I now have no more money. Putting these facts together, you will most likely come to the correct conclusion... that I have no Christmas tree.

Stress Therapy

I am welcoming myself back to my own blog. Huzzah!

Now that we've dispensed with that...

I just have to say that it's been a crazy three months at work. Having to deal with around fifty individuals --- all of whom I consider beyond the range of normal --- every single day has driven me to run (more like sprint, in fact) back into the arms of my most faithful man named Jack Daniels. There were days when I felt like being run through a wringer and days when I felt like I was running a day care. On most days, my role resembled more of a zoo keeper. I survived by the skin of my teeth and with a whole lot of sense of humor. Thank heavens for partners who are actually more evil than I am despite assertions to the contrary!

Despite all the rantings and the mumblings, I honestly like my work. It's gratifying. Besides, I enjoy the company of the people I work closely with. Of course, we still need HR to hire some serious eye candy (and I mean SERIOUS eye candy like Hugh Jackman or Matthew MacFadyen) to stand beside my workstation and be at my beck and call twenty four-seven, but I'm willing to wait.

I have to admit, though, that the stress has gotten to me enough that I've gone crazy. Yes, I know that some people would actually go so far and say that I've always been crazy, but it really isn't true. I was normal before the stress.

Anyway, because of stress I went shopping. Now, normal people would go shopping for clothes or furniture or even jewelry. They call this retail therapy. Then there's me. I think I belong to a completely different type of retail therapy. I went for a condo unit. So now I am cash poor and about to live a hand-to-mouth existence once again just to make sure I make the payments. What did I get myself into?!

Now I imagine myself scrimping so much that if I actually went out to buy a kilo of meat, I'd make it last a month by boiling it and making a gallon of broth, then drying the meat to turn into jerky. The end of the month will be the only time I can actually feast on the meat. Or I may just completely forgo eating. How sad is that?

I don't regret buying the unit though. It's an investment. I can always sell or (when it's completed) have it rented out... or so I keep telling myself. I'm really too selfish to have someone be the first to use something that I worked so hard to purchase. I'm sure I'll be living there myself. With or without Mr. Darcy.

Impossibilities

“How could a city crammed with so many millions of people remain, for so many of them, precisely one person short?”

                -- Nicholas Weinstock, As Long as She Needs Me

 

We single and unattached persons between the ages of twenty and forty have been given such labels like singletons or walking wounded. It makes me wonder if these tags are meant to be derogatory terms or merely statements of fact.

 

I am single. I am unattached. I am my own person. And yes, I have had relationships that ended badly. (The others ended without bitterness or rancor or very hard feelings. Honest.) So yes, I agree. I am a walking wounded singleton. But it doesn’t mean I am defeated. I am Invictus.

 

Yet. I do agree with the words I read from Nicholas Weinstock’s novel. “How could a city [like this city that I live in] crammed with so many millions [and I literally mean millions] of people remain, for so many of them, precisely one person short?”

 

We’re all walking around in search of that one person to be with for the rest of our lives. Like swans seeking their one and only lifelong mates. But in the melee, one or two… or more… get lost. Some of us end up mismatched, so we try again. Sooner or later we start wondering when we’ll ever get things right… if we ever do. [Suddenly, I am reminded of the Indigo Girls’ song, Galileo, that sings, “How long till my soul gets it right? Will any human being ever reach that kind of light? Call on the resting soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of insight…”

 

In another book, this time by Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember, the heroine, Jamie Sullivan, tells the hero, Landon Carter, that she “prayed for him.” It’s interesting how even that small phrase has more than just one meaning.

 

When we pray for someone, we always think of asking favors in behalf of the person we are praying for. But then, as Jamie points out in a subtle way, her prayer was really quite simple and quite literal. She prayed for Landon. To be hers. It was a simple matter of asking for something you want. It wasn’t so complicated after all. And maybe the simplest prayers could be granted much faster.

 

It reminds me of something I learned when I was very young. This came from a wonderful Jesuit priest who had a wonderful way with words. “The difficult we do at once. The impossible takes a little longer.”

 

So here I am… wondering if I should ask for Mr. Darcy, but at the same time thinking that it will never happen because if God took me too literally, I will never find Mr. Darcy. After all, he is a fictional character from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. But then again, maybe I should still ask for my Mr. Darcy because I’ve asked for difficult things that have been granted in one way or another. This impossible request of having my Mr. Darcy has taken longer than expected, so… I fit the bill of the difficult being done at once while the impossible is taking impossibly longer. Right? Hmmm…

 

I’m still short one person.