Saturday, November 20, 2010
One of the Boys
But in spite all of the obvious reasons why people dub me as “One of the Boys”, this is the prima facie evidence that I definitely am:
(i.e. Pre-school). The group definitely grew in number throughout the years. Despite that, no other girl ever really got to be a part of this barkada. We talked about it over the recent dinner sesh. We looked back at classmates, common friends, ex-girl friends, thinking about who could have had the biggest chance of fitting in. Conclusion? Not one girl. Or, according to Pau, unless magladlad si AR! Haha! I don’t think any girl would freely subject herself to hours of green jokes, double meaning statements and, well, can’t really mention it here. So, yes, I would have to agree with Pau. Unless magladlad si AR, we are the only two girls who can tolerate these boys being, err, boys!
Admittedly, I have a lot to make up to these guys. I’ve been too distant and almost always absent throughout College. Tight schedule, midterm exams, thesis, name it, I had all the reasons. But I don’t think there could be a single valid reason not to make time for friends. Despite all of it, the past year, we reunited as if High School happened yesterday. We laughed until we couldn’t breathe anymore, we delivered inside jokes impeccably and we spill everything with full disclosure. We still have tampuhans, though. Like, I had to constantly bug AR, even to the point of hugging him, and order and pay for Lechon Kawali just for him to talk to me again after being absent in the last get- together! We’ll never outgrow our child-like ways, I suppose. And that’s a good thing.
non-judging breakfast club. One spills his darkest secret and nobody laughs at him. Instead, we laugh WITH him. Besides, I’m talking about a bunch of young adults who happened to be mostly guys. We skip the “pity party”. We don’t cry and wipe each other’s messed up mascara. We get- together. We talk over pizza, beer, iced tea and chips. We talk about everything. Only, no crying. We’re boys, you see. And tough boys don’t cry. (CHAR!)
Friday, November 19, 2010
The idea of having ‘girlfriends’ is relatively new to me. Majority of my closest friends are guys, which is why I am usually dubbed as one of the boys. But that is another story for another blogpost. For this one, I will write about 3 of the most amazing girls I’m blessed to be friends with and how they made me feel beyond special on my birthday.
Despite our busy lives, we stretched our tight schedule, by stretching I meant escape from the boss and pray to God we still have jobs the next day, just to fit in a quiet (figuratively) dinner and do some overdue catching up. It was a little bit more special than usual, since it was my post-birthday celebration.
Mingming and I
Kat and Margot
In the middle of dinner, a waiter showed up with this gigantic cake and colorful lighted candles, all geared up to sing the birthday song with the rest of the crew. My face froze in a terrified expression. I did assume it was for me and I was horrified! That would have been the most embarrassing experience EVER. Good thing, my girls knew me well enough not to do something like that. It turned out to be for some other customer. Instead, I received a pop-up balloon (the shake- then- pop with all the confetti thing that I definitely loved!) and a cute, yummy, coffee/chocolate cake from Starbucks. Plus, the adorable bedroom slippers and framed pictures that say so much about us. Purrrfect!
A virtual greeting from my girls and their gift! Awwww.
That dinner felt comfortable, relaxed, unforced. There was even a moment I totally lost track of what we were chuckling about, gawked at the scene in front of me, and thought, I’m with the girls who I’ll run to during mommy troubles or for secret recipes or in times I would want to kill my husband. Surely, there is a long way ahead from here to that. But if we managed to keep in touch despite the busiest busy season, squeezing a dinner or some coffee time in between our separate lives would be effortless.
Magic Girls :)
That night was my birthday dinner. In years, it could be a bridal shower or another graduation, then a wedding, a baptism, and so on. Celebrations may change, orders may be shuffled but we will definitely, definitely be constant in all of each other’s highs and lows, offering nothing less than a hundred percent support, with a pocketful of flawless assassination tricks in case the lows are brought about by some bitch trying to ruin one of our marriages. *wink*
This is so US. Taken two years ago.
Cellulite or no cellulite, muffin tops or tummy tucks, wrinkles or face lifts, we will stick with each other until we grow old and menopausal. Besides, that’s what girlfriends are for.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Death by Caffeine
The first time I tried, I put as much coffee powder as you would if you were making Ovaltine. As you predicted, it tasted, not just too bitter, but bad. Like, really bad it tasted as something you shouldn’t be tasting, at all. So, needless to say, my first attempt in feeling all domesticated, making a cup of coffee on my own, was also the last. But that was definitely not the end of my affair with coffee. Thank God for Starbucks and 3-in-1 instant sachets.
Like any other addiction, mine was fueled by stress and the psychological factor of believing it actually helps me. From being a necessity, coffee in the morning turned into a habit, then a ritual, then I slowly drifted to the point of no return.
My coffee habit was born out of the inevitable challenge of staying awake for 18 hours, day by day, just to earn a CPA license. Every single review day, caffeine touches my taste buds even before I’m awake enough to hit the shower. I stare at my room’s white walls, trying to take mental notes of the books and reviewers I should bring for the day. Which, I should have probably done after my coffee, since I ended up always missing something.
CPA board exam and 2 years later, I still have coffee every morning- less the valid excuse of trying to stay awake so I could study. Officemates remind me it’s not good for my health. I know that. But these days, it is a choice between insanity and high sugar levels. I’d rather be on a constant sugar high.
This sounds like a line from an ad but coffee makes a good morning. Remind me to sue Nescafe if that ever appears on your TV screens (I kid.). At least, it makes a good starter. Those few minutes I allow myself to stare out the office window, smell the aroma of cheap instant coffee, while I sip in between positive morning thoughts popping in my brain, those are sacred. It’s like a ritual. Take that away and I’m likely to throw a fit by noon. So call me an addict whatever. Just give me my coffee. Or else.
Monday, November 8, 2010
The previous year I grew past the girl who is overlooking the cliff, full of hopes, overwhelmed by life’s endless possibilities. I remained hopeful, of course. But my feet were no longer glued to a single post. The past year I started doing everything I said I would the moment I passed the board exams. I freed myself from life’s waiting room; I stopped the usual planning and counting perhaps. I said I planned enough. I was done laying out numerous options for the future. As a matter of fact, I made a couple of essential decisions I was putting off for the longest time. I made choices, closed a few doors and went on living.
In a sentence, my 22nd year was about doing, about celebrating life.
Last year I traveled more than in all the other years combined. I went to different places, with different company. I worked doubly hard in between those delightful journeys. But handling bigger responsibilities are part of learning and growing up, right? I also learned about balance and practiced maintaining it. Work had been its usual demanding self but that made me appreciate weekends so much. Now I look forward to family days because of, well, the family part, and not just because it’s an escape from school. Another valuable lesson is detaching money from words such as allowance and parents and free. I can’t call myself financially independent, yet. Financially mature, I guess, is a more-fitting term.
Re-reading the above paragraphs (in an attempt to find a suitable way to close this), I realized why I felt a sudden urge to write a birthday entry and not just, perhaps, a birthday wishlist, which is a sure way to get what I secretly wish for (boyfriend spoiler alert!). I realized, before, it was effortless to assess whether I gave justice to the past year. There were countless of obvious measures like being in the dean’s list, being able to graduate, passing the board exams, etc. This year was different. No more score boards, no more warning signs, no more evidences, aside from the peacefulness contained in one’s heart. Looking back, going through the memories I made in my head like flashing pictures, I am certain I had a well- spent year. In fact, with all honesty, if I will continue to be as optimistic, as balanced, as eager about life as I had been, I’ll be living without regrets. At least, without the kind that can destroy me.
All in all, I can reminisce with a wide smile across my face. My dear friend hit the bull’s eye when she said, I am blessed as blessed can be. I can’t even begin to say enough thank yous to so many people for that.
But to these 4, who I have to thank the most...
We're a tight knit family and him being in our "family only" dinner speaks a lot about how much my parents trust him.
Happy birthday to me. *pat on the back*
The picture's blurry, I know. But, like what we learned in law, substance over form. :)
I did receive what I secretly wish for even without a wishlist. That guy in white, with the irresistible grin, knows me well.
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