After I gave birth to my daughter Sofia, I told myself and everyone else who bothered to asked that I am not having any more children.

Mine was not a difficult pregnancy. Far from it even. I threw up twice in nine months, had a few cravings, was not averse to any scents or sounds. And to top it off, I had the audacity to take the bar exams two months before I gave birth. All of this because I wasn't aware that I was expecting (that is a different post altogether). Point is I don't get to use that excuse for refusing to get pregnant again which is why people around me wonder why I feel this way about having another child. They say maybe it's because I underwent post partum depression (which I admit I did for awhile, who doesn't when you're 40 pounds overweight?) or that Sofia just turned a year old and is too young to have a sibling. But everytime the subject creeps up, especially now that my parents are having a ball being grandparents and thus want more, I firmly tell them that Sofia is it. Yet, to my dismay and ,dare I say, disgust, they press on and tell me I'm making a big mistake in choosing to have just one child.

Why? Am I less of a mother now that I have one child compared to mothers who have five? Does having her and only her make me incomplete? Inadequate? Finally, Is it a sin to choose to have one child? The answers to these are still hazy and far from my grasp. All I know is that there is no room in my heart that craves for a little boy or another baby girl to be brought to this world. Sofia has taken up all the space. It is a full ride. Some days I feel what I give her is not enough. Kulang pa nga e. I dream of all the trips that we would take, the books that we will devour, the malls that we would raid, the list is endless. But in none of those dreams do I see myself raising another child but her. And I feel no guilt, only relief that I've been blessed with one, when there are childless couples out there still struggling for a miracle. I choose to love one child. Does that make me a bad mother?

I have a lifetime to figure this one out but I won't sweat it. In the meantime, today belongs to my daughter. Have good one, sweetie. Mommy misses you terribly...

Currently reading: "Diana" by Sarah Bradford

When American Idol finally decided to guest Jon Bon Jovi and have the finalists cover his songs, I was there front and center watching from my t.v. I remember the time Bon Jovi came to Manila for a one-night gig at the Rizal Coliseum, I was 15 and absolutely rocked on to his hits that memorable night. Jon was not so bad either. In fact, he was hot. Still is. All time man-candy. So when Blake Lewis chose to cover You Give Love A Bad Name, I just knew he would nail it and give the performance of the season. Although he remains to be the dark horse, I am rooting for him. He is fresh, original and has the X-factor. Talent can only get one so far. Blake on a John Bon Jovi night.

What's a girl to do? I dug it. Loved,loved,loved it.




"Shot to the heart and you're to blame, you give love a bad name..."

One of the things I vowed to do here in nyc is to start reading again. I felt that the time I spent in law school albeit productive was likewise time spent reading to pass exams.In short, I lost five good years eating my law books and foregoing those I truly wanted to read.

It cannot be gainsaid that reading is bliss. It is travelling without having to step on a plane. It is eavesdropping without breaking any laws. It is learning without having to pass tests. Yet it is feeling as if it is your own life at stake. More importantly, for me at least, reading passes time I have quite a lot of in this place.

To my amazement, I discovered that New Yorkers do their reading on the train. See, unless you're the uptown type, people here take the subway to work and to practically everywhere else. Sometimes the commute is short and sweet, other times,like in my case from Manhattan to Newark, it is a good hour to work. I noticed that half the people on the train have their books, magazines, devotionals and grocery lists opened up during the ride. Since I have just signed up and now a veritable member of the New York Public Library, I've checked out a couple of biographies that struck my eye. I resolved to read them on the train going to and coming from work.

A couple of days into the "habit", I've finished "Cooked" by Jeff Henderson, an imprisoned cocaine dealer turned Executive Chef who wrote about his experiences in the joint and how its kitchen saved his life. I am now in the middle of "Diana", a biography of the late Princess of Wales (in memory of her 10th year death anniversary) Every morning I look forward to my train time where I rekindle my love affair with books. It feels really good. Glorious. Like being a kid again and being able to choose what bedtime story to fall asleep with.

I've requested the Library to hold Everything is Illuminated for me,just for good measure. A little foresight cannot hurt. The next 100 pages of Diana's life will be a breeze.

I've been looking for a way to knock myself out celebrating my 30th birthday. I want it to be special for many reasons only I would understand. But since I'm spending it away from home, a party is ruled out. I've nobody here except for my folks.

But what do you know? There is a God. And he wants me to have a good one. So He lets me know, by way of American Idol, that Bon Jovi is having a series of concerts RIGHT here at Newark, just 10 minutes from work. I am reeling with excitement. Suddenly, I am fifteen again and I couldn't care less. I am there even if I have to watch all by myself. I guess someone's going to have a damn happy birthday.

I'd love to make a memory, Jon!



hello again
it’s you and me
kinda always like it always used to be
sipping wine
killing time
trying to solve life’s mysteries

how’s your life
it’s been a while
God it’s good to see you smile
i see you reaching for your keys
looking for a reason not to leave

If you don’t know
if you should stay
if you don’t say what’s on your mind
baby just breathe
there’s no where else tonight we should be
you want to make a memory

I dug up this old photograph
look at all that hair we had
it’s bittersweet to hear you laugh
your phone is ringing
i don’t want to ask

if you don’t know
i’ll understand
if you stay, hey
i’ve got a plan
you want to make a memory
you want to steal a piece of time
you can sing a melody to me
and i can write a couple lines
you want to make a memory :

A few months before I flew in the city, I resolved on making 21 things happen in my self-imposed sabbathical. I'd like to give myself an update of sorts and see how I am doing... 1. take long walks...walking 20 blocks easy, not much choice here 2.read books i've missed out on over the years... signed up at the NYPL, doin' it on the train everyday 3. get back in the pool and swim again...hmm..just enrolled today,starting tomorrow. 4. catch up on grey's anatomy, csi and 24 --too late for Jack and me and Season 7,dvd will have to do...All is well in my Grey world. GSR forever! 5.learn to cook (finally),especially  food I love (read:italian.) i tried...I swear..but I just coudn't wait til it is actually cooked and I finally get to eat! 6. eat healthy food (even those I seriously hate) Definitely having more veggies...but the sodas are slowly piling up as well (have to do something about this) 7. take up pilates and bring Mom along...Start tomorrow...have to wait for Mom to get back from manila. 8. make my own bed and clean my room...the clean my room part needs work 9.drink more water...I've turned into a goldfish 10.perfect the art of make-up..Actually, no make-up for the past two months...fashion emergency! 11.learn to like wearing suits...likewise, no shadow of a suit lately.Oh no. 12. find a job i truly like..Nice job...excuse me,profession..cool boss.No complaints here. 13. remember to take vitamins every single day..Poster Girl for VITS. religiously yes. 14. save,save,save. I spend 20 bucks a month. Might be the end of the world. 15. sleep and wake up early.. 6:30 early enough? 16. be a professional blogger..so that my daughter can read them when she's all grown up..res ipsa loquitur, thing speaks for itself. Blogging is special 17.go to church as much as i posibly can..St. Patrick's every sunday.but that shoudn't be enough. 18. learn to ice skate...Ice has disappeared. 19. enroll in dance classes..looking for a dance studio nearby. 20. remember to look out in the window..I never forget anymore. 21. find myself...getting there,slowly but surely. P.S. Two weeks without my Marl Lights. that should amount to something right?

I felt pretty good about myself this weekend having finished all my chores meticulously drawn up by Mom before she left for Manila.Given that I have no real domestic abilities, I was able to clean the house, wash my clothes, cook (tried to at least) a week's worth of dinners and put in a few hours in the gym as planned. I thought I'd reward myself for it so I went to church and straight to the moviehouse after to catch Spidey 3. To my chagrin, the Spidey line stretched out to the next block turning my tired body off and lured it to Lucky You, a love story with a poker twist thrown in the mix. Since I've caught the poker bug myself once before, I wouldn't be lost in translation. Set in (where else?) Las Vegas, it tells of a compulsive poker player Huck (Eric Bana) who pawns his furnitures, even his mother's wedding ring to earn a $10,000 seat in The World Poker Series, the mecca of the poker world. Enter Billy (Drew Barrymore), a struggling but happy lounge singer who has landed a gig at one of the Strip's lounges. They meet, fall in love, then he steals her first night's pay and loses it all at the poker table. Billy is heartbroken yet she lets it slide as he wins the money back and returns it to her. Still without the money to enter the tournament, Huck agrees to be financed by a casino loanshark, Mr. Grees, who, in the event that Huck wins the pot, commits to split it 70-30. Unbeknownst to everyone, Huck is playing for more than just the money. His father, LC Shriver, is the two-time World Series champion who left his mother after "he has stolen everything from her". It is his life-long desire to beat him in his own game. Despite of his son's defiance, LC reminds him that there's no way Huck can beat him until he plays poker the way he lives his life and lives his life the way the way he plays poker. Now, there's the rub. How does the game play? The rules of poker are simple. A player is dealt with two cards and he bets on it if he is convinced that they are better than those of the other players, given the five community cards they all can use to make the best hand. The player who holds the best cards wins it all. To my mind, it is all elementary, really. When the poker craze hit Manila, I began playing with my friends and realized that, simple as it may have been, I was no good at it. In poker terms, I am a "blaster". I get a pair of twos and it might as well have been a pair of aces. I went "all in" and bet all my money for it. Worst, I had no poker face. I shrieked in delight at the sight of my pocket twos. Even when everyone else was raising their bets, I called them anyway and gone for broke. I believed in my cards. I may not have liked them all the time but I played them anyway. I figured it's all in the gut. Except that poker demands skill. It requires the talent in reading people. It involves the art of knowing the "tells" and spotting the "bluffs". Unfortunately, I'm incapable of any of these. In life, as in poker, I do not know how to play safe. I take my cards and lay it down. I do not bluff. I call it as it is. Even when the odds do not look good, I trudge ahead feeling that I can beat them. And then when it hits me that I may have made the wrong move, I've already lost all my money. It is only now and a trip to America later that I come to grips with the fact that in poker, as in life, sometimes the game is won by throwing in the towel and making a clean fold.

 

Over at Yahoo Messenger:

Roselle:: Naloloka ako sa ginagawa mo sis. walang yosi, walang inum at...walang sex! hahahaha.

Mina: Shucks oo nga noh!!!! ang galing!!!!

Currently reading: "The Memory Keeper's Daughter"

Since my boss is hardly ever in the office, I take his desk and his computer most days at work. For most part, I've the whole room all to myself which suits me fine. Especially on lazy days like today.

I am now looking at the list of calls I have to make, letters to draft and send out, immigration forms to fill up, the works so to speak. I am distracted lately and cannot seem to focus on the work at hand. I'm thinking how the days seem to just fly by and it's almost summer. In a few months I will be taking the NY Bar exams as originally planned . Except that three months since I arrived in the city, I have yet to get into the groove of reviewing for it. In Dinna's words, I have yet to "summon the verve" ( love this expression, seriously) to hit my books and study. Alarm bells are not ringing yet but getting started is critical and often the hardest thing to do when it comes to reviewing for anything. It's just that the mere sight of the bar materials makes me dizzy and lethargic.Arrggh.

I am a typical crammer. Hate to admit that one but that's the awful truth. It took me a five months to jumpstart my review for the bar exams back home and another six to finish it. I got lucky and passed primarily because I had 5 years of law school preceding it. This is not the case for the NY bar. Honestly, I looked at the Barbri materials given to me by a friend (who just passed the last exams) and everything was new to my foreign-educated braincells. It could have been written in Greek and it wouldn't make a difference. Now, that should straighten me up, right? Wrong. I still dilly dally, having the days go by my face like snow.

Bottomline is, I am not sure if I want to take these exams. I don't know if I still have it in me to study and eat my books the way I did ten years ago. It seems like I've gotten over the competitive,needing-to-pass-every-exam phase. I feel that at this point in my career, I've nothing to prove. I would like to just get through each day at work, really, and climb up the ladder.

Before I keep on giving myself seemingly valid excuses for attempting to bail out, I need to get back to work. Mull over all these another day.

The Philippine showbiz scene is agog by the sudden declaration of Ruffa Guttierez that her marriage with Turkish millionare, Yilmaz Bektaz, is over. Afterall, theirs was a fairytale romance highlighted by a multi-million wedding at The Fort, attended by virtually the who's who of the movie industry, just a few years ago. Citing cultural differences as the reason behind the decision to call it quits, Ruffa tearfully revealed that her "heart is bleeding" for while they still love each other, they cannot live together. She wishes to stay in Manila, where she still is one of the city's A-list actresses, and he, understandably, chooses to be in Turkey. At the outset, this marriage was an annulment waiting to happen.

Legally speaking, cultural differences is not one of the grounds upon which a petition for annulment may be granted. But then I guess, the couple's legal advisers would do better by filing one based on psychological incapacity of one or both parties and will allege that one or both of them was/were not ready for the essential obligations of marriage.Clearly, one of those obligations is to, well, live together. It is not that I tend to side with Yilmaz, on this particular case, but no husband in his right mind will allow his wife to live half a world away without valid reasons.

It coudn't have been for the money. The Bektases were one of, if not the most, affluent family in Isanbul. Ruffa herself attests that her husband is "good provider" and cannot be criticized on that score. It coudn't have been for the fame. Yilmaz bought(that's right, bought)) her a t.v. station in Turkey in hopes of convincing her to stay put in his country. Yet she allegedly left Istanbul without the permission of her husband and has since been working in Manila until the announcement of the break-up was first floated in the column of Ricky Lo. To my mind, a wife cannot be saying that she loves her husband yet choose to live without him, in one single breath. Something is tragically not right.

Here is where I still believe in fairytales. I believe that in a kingdom far far away, a girl could meet his prince and know right then that it is him she has waited for. And that the prince could whisk her away to his castle where there is no other place she would rather be than by his side. For in a moment, just one moment that she feels she could leave.. she has ceased to love him.

A few of my bosom buddies remembered to greet me a Happy Mothers' day. I would have forgotten all about it if not for their text messages sent like clockwork. Almost two years now since Sofia was born, I remind myself to be more receptive of those thoughful souls who greet me on this special day. All I can usually utter is an insipid "thanks" and a faint smile. I think much of it is due to the fact that I have yet to get used to the fact that I am already a mother. Memories of myself as a reluctant mom-to-be when I first found out that I was pregnant resurface like a bad dream. Even more so of the events after the delivery, the nightmarish months spent crying, refusing to breastfeed and hurling remote controls to my husband,Santi, is one phase of my life that I'm not particularly proud about. Truth be told, I had a rough start at motherhood which leaves me uncomfortable on this specific occasion.

To add salt to my already sensitive injury, in face of young mothers I know who have perfected the art of mothering, I am nowhere near the basics. I know nothing of diapers, milk and baby clothes execpt their costs. I was rarely able to put my Sofia to sleep or calm her down amidst one of her tantrums. Leaving her behind did not help. Now, she's in the care of her nanny whom she sleeps with at night and does everything with during the day. An avalanche of guilt rolls over me every single day. I fear that my daughter would grow up not knowing how it feels like to have a mommy.

To alleviate my pangs of guilt, I tell her godmothers that at least I'm good at working for her future. Well then in that case, they tell me, I might as well be her father. It takes more to being a mother than bearing a child. What I know of it is a product of the loving ways my mother has shown me in almost thirty years of existence. Inasmuch as I try to compensate, my efforts towards caring for my own child pale in comparison and leave much to be desired. Thank God that parenting is never touch and go. It is commitment to learn to become a better parent as time goes by. Hard as it may be, it is a small price to pay for the love and joy that our children shower us. That alone is priceless. Unlike any other rewarding venture, the returns of raising one's child are truly never diminished.

I fervently wish that one day I am able to rise to the occassion, as I desire to rise to today's, and embrace with delightful pride and acceptance the part of me that matters most--being a mother.

I woke up to a dream that had your face so close to mine. Like in those other dreams i have of you, I can't remember the words spoken or what it was all about even. You were just there smiling at me. Funny because you couldn't smile to save your life, though it sent shivers to my spine every time you did. And then you bit your lip. That's what you do whenever we argued and you realize that you can't win. That's my cue to shut up and close my eyes. Then we kissed. None of those awkward kisses that lovers sometimes share. Ours was natural as if it were second skin. For a second, you stopped to touch my hair falling to my face. You've always loved it that way.You whispered my name, I held my breath. Reaching to turn on the lamplight, I took your hand and held it with mine...

I miss you. I miss your arms around me. That moment after we make love, before you fall asleep. I would watch you for hours, breathing steadily, then slowly. Time stood still until I'd see the sun creeping from your windowsill. I'd pick myself up, get into my clothes and kiss you goodbye. I'd walk quietly down the stairs, past the table where your things were scattered around. I'd smile as I imagine you buried underneath it all. I'd rummage through your books, bills, pens and came across some post-its next to them. I'd scribble something down and tack it in one of the pages of a book. It said, "Study,ok?...love, Me" I'd tiptoe to the door and let myself out to the car, wet from the rain that poured all night. I'd drive home, spent. But happy. Hot tears running down my cheeks. I'd ask myself...

How can being with you feel so right?


I wake up alone in my bed. You are not here. You are miles away. Yet I feel you around me still as if it was just yesterday.






I wish things could stay the way they used to be.
i loved you well.

Minz is: helpless

"Recently, you've been pushing yourself to stretch and grow, but if you continue on this aggressive path, you could become a bit overwhelmed soon. In order to prevent that, you have to take care of yourself. And in order to take care of yourself, you have to listen to yourself! Follow your whims today -- whether they tell you to sleep in late, take a friend out for lunch or start writing that novel"

I opened my e-mail to this aptly worded horoscope this morning. For once, its forecast is right. After two and a half weeks of scrubbing bathroom floors, washing dishes, cooking dinners and lunches, doing the laundry,watering Mom's plants AND working out, I am beat. Exhausted. Bone-tired. Though I am grateful for the few pounds lost in the process of spreading myself too thinly, I'm staring at the cold truth face to face. I need a break. What I'd give to pamper myself with a massage, body scrub and a facial. These, however, do not come cheaply in New York. So it is pure wishful thinking on my part which does not appease me at all.

Having said these, I marvel at how the entire American populace survive the daily grind without household help. The thought just never occurred to me having been surrounded by maids, cooks, drivers, what-have-yous back home. It was just a given that somebody will pick up my trash, wash my clothes and (my favorite) cook and serve my food. So here I am, whining after 18 days without help.Without Mom actually. Like I said, maids are hard to come by here in America. Keeping our household running is a task that fell on Mom's obsessive-compulsive shoulders. And I love her for that. Thankful is the word. Now that she's on a well-deserved vacation, I am on my own.

I must say that strange things have happened since.Good things. Strange-good. My chicken afritada, to my surprise, is pretty edible. But my beef broccoli needs improvement My bathroom is sparkling. Kitchen is immaculate. But I haven't ironed one piece of clothing. The dryer just have to do the trick. Well, I can't do it all, can I?

But today, I raise my weary arms and say, I give up. I'm eating out. I will sleep in. And think of that massage, scrub and a facial.

P.S. Stranger things' alert: Blake just made it to the American Idol Finale. My world nowadays has turned upside down. Damn.

For someone who weighs 165 pounds, I am surprisingly a pretty patient visitor of the treadmill. So as not to get bored while running my program, I usually read magazines or my "pick of the week" novel. But inasmuch as I'd like to convince myself that my daily 50-minute date with the mill is enough, i know it is not. It is just that I hate lifting weights

It is not so much the "weight" of it all that bothers me. Unless I'm doing it all wrong, I never sweat while lifting steel of any shape, form or poundage. So at the end of the routine, I feel like I do not achieve anything at all in terms of calories burned. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I scrapped it all out from my program hoping that I'd find something else to tone my flabby arms and thighs.

Being in a constant lookout for it, one Sunday in the gym, I spotted this reed-thin lady working out on a machine which looks like a small banca( like the ones floating around In Boracay). She was pulling the bars towards her while simultaneously kicking back on the boards behind her feet, heaving loudly and sweating profusely. I assumed that the bars must have weighed a lot instantly turning me off. After she left, I went over to the machine, sat on it, and slowly pulled the bar towards myself. It was unexpectedly light but I felt the pull underneath my arms, swift and firm. I repeated the movements a few more times, picking up speed and felt ripples of perspiration building on my forehead. Within five minutes, I've developed a steady rhythm and control over the machine. I looked at its name embedded on one of the bars: Fluid Rower.

The name truly fits the the machine. It approximates the experience of rowing a boat albeit on dry land. It succeeds on giving off that "in the water" feeling through the wheel that spins in a water-encased container every time the bar is pulled. I highly recommend it to those who abhor lifting weights but need help with toning muscles. As you can see, I am a convert. This now becomes part of my work out. And I'm over the moon.

"Two is enough" --Kris Aquino


"Two sons or two fathers?" --Anonymous


" Now Big Bird has his own tweety Bird!"--Anonymous2

 

I love being Pinoy. Yes I do

I am married to a good man. A loyal and faithful man. A man who fears God. That kind which, my girlfriends say, is close to extinction. They say that I am the luckiest girl in the world.And I believe them.

In a world where men carry chips in their shoulders and believe that fidelity is a myth, my husband is not an ordinary guy. He is confident yet humble in his ways. His convictions are strong yet tempered with compassion. He sees the good in people, even at their worst. He forgives in a heartbeat and holds no grudges. He is surrounded with friends who would defend him at all costs. He is a smart and principled attorney. He is a wonderful husband and an even better father.

Best of all, he loves me with his life.

Santi has promised to love me and love me well long before we got married. It was one of the vows he had made with himself when we were still in law school and I was still with someody else. He bided his time and sure enough he won me over with his charm and easy ways. We have been together since then.

Santi and I, we are a unit. A well-oiled machine that works because we shared a dream of being good lawyers, primarily, and the rest just fell into its place. We are bonded by the ideals of Lambda, his fraternity and my sorority, which was how we met. Having gone through the pain of initiation rites that ,to this day, we carry with wistful pride, toughened us as individuals and moreso as partners. We knew we could make it in life, no matter how testy it might be, because we are together. We are each other's anchor. His unwavering faith coupled with my relentless drive ( he calls it foolhardiness), keep us afloat in difficult times.

Many days I wonder what I have done right to have someone like him marry me. When in countless moments I have also hurt him, rejected him and left him without an ounce of regret. In all of those times, he chose to forgive, forget and love me even more as if to say, " you can't get rid of me that easy".

Here in my solitary space, my little corner here, where I write only for myself, I am weighed down by frustration over the sad state of our marriage. From the outside, nothing seems to be amiss. We are slowly building a home and raising a beautiful child. We go about our careers with dogged determination as expected from young, ambitious lawyers that we are. We are earning our keep. This is how we've pictured our life to be. Steady, eye on the ball, not missing a beat. At least, that's how I pictured it should be.

I am confounded with the fact that our marriage has always been just a partnership. A relationship between two individuals who pooled their resources and agreed to cooperate for the achievement of that goal to live a good life. It is a bleak predicament borne by my inability to reciprocate my husband's love and devotion towards me and our marriage. While I am mostly to blame, I've always known the root of my discontent.

My husband loves me and I will always be grateful. But he doesn't get me. He can only wish he knew me or what I'm about. Because beyond being a wife, mother and friend,

he doesn't have a clue.

Caught Pirates of the Carribean: At World's End with dad tonight. Now that he is back from Manila, our friday movie night has resumed. There is, however, a scarcity of movies a girl can watch with her father nowadays. Dad chose Pirates because he knows Johnny Depp or so he says. ( He has no idea who Tobey Maguire is, much less Shrek, there goes Spidey and the Ogre) So we grabbed an early dinner then headed to the cinema. I didn't get the chance to see the first two versions of the franchise which is crucial to understanding the third one. Half an hour into the movie, I was already at my Wits' End. I coudn't fathom anything from the dialgoue except the constant "Aye" muttered by the cast. Sorry Johnny, you are precious but I just don't get pirate flicks even with you and Orlando in it

It was a good date with dad, though. I don't remember the last time we watched a movie together, just the two of us. I bet it was probably during the E.T. days when I was as tiny as Drew Barrymore in the Spielberg hit. It is a good night with Dad. i'm glad he's back. I would have began talking to the walls of our apartment if he came any later.

Hopefully the rest of this Memorial Weekend follows through. I still have to get the review going, among other life-defining stuff I am embroiled with at the moment. But for now, i'm hitting the sack. No pirate dreams tonight. Aye!

I've been meaning to write a post about my favorite t.v. show in earth, Grey's Anatomy. But I knew I would be so carried away spewing away the reasons why i think this show is simply the BEST and why I, along with 20 million other people, love it insanely.

Unless you are one of the cavemen in those Geico commercials or have been living in Mars, you should have, at the very least, an idea that it is a medical drama about a beautiful but complicated intern, Meredith Grey, (hence, the title) who falls inlove with her resident teacher, Dr. Derek Sheperd (Patrick Dempsey). That much an average boob tube owner should know. Sadly, this particular plotline barely scrapes the surface as to how and why the show has created such a buzz and generated legions of avid fans (cultlike if you asked me) following it every Thursday night. It even resurrected the fledgling career of Patrick Dempsey and brought him back up again in the Hollywood radar. In my honest opinion, he has earned it. He woudn't be everyone's Mcdreamy for nothing He has played that role to a T. Now every woman I know is in a lookout for an unshaven Mcdreamy lurking in hospital elevators! Actually, the entire cast do not disappoint. They all should win Emmys in my book.

But I think the show's claim to fame is its script. Every word spoken in this show tells a story, carefully picked but effortlessly delivered. The dialogs are reflections of how Americans talk to each other in the new millenium. It does not reek of cliches abundant in the usual soaps and has, in fact, created its own lingo that has made it to mainstream English like, yes, McDreamy. McSteamy. McYeah. Mchot. The Mcs neverend. Likewise, the writers felt free to tweak some very commonly-used sayings like, "knight-in-shining-armor" to "knight-in shining-whatever" and my favorite, "there's too much water under the whatever". Take that! And of course, the all-time Grey's expression, "Seriously". This is why I am Seriously hooked with this show.

On a more Serious note, I'd like to share a bit of what i've blabbered about here by quoting Dr. Preston Burke's wedding vows in this season's finale. I cannot tell you if he ever was able to say it to Cristina, that you should see for yourself. I feel that the following sentences are , to date, the most touching piece of work put together by the show's writers (Shonda Rimes, bless you heart). I echo Addison's sentiments after hearing it from Burke: "Dump Yang, marry me!". Hoping that I'd still get married in church someday, I cling to the thought that my groom's vows would run along these lines:

Cristina, I could promise to hold you and to cherish you. I could promise to be there in sickness and in health. I could say til death do us part, but I wont.

Those vows are for optimistic couples, the ones full of hope, and I don’t stand here on my wedding day optimistic or full of hope. I am not optimistic, I am not hopeful.

I am sure, I am steady, and I know that I’m a heart man. I take them apart, put them back together, I hold them in my hands. I am a heart man.

So this I am sure, you are my partner, my lover, my very best friend. My heart beats for you. And this day, the day of our wedding, I promise you this…

I promise you to lay my heart in the palm of your hands. I promise you me.

I couldn't help but laugh when I found out that Memorial Day is the official start of summer in New York. Where did spring go? Did it even happen?! Memories of nice, warm spring days are few and far in between. Now, all of a sudden, it is hot in the city. I had the heater on last week, tonight the aircondition is blowing full bast. While the temperature is still nothing compared to the scalding heat in Manila, it did not give me a chance to adjust to the season shift. It came too soon.

Now i sit in front of the computer pondering about this drastic change of the weather which is much like the change I've brought upon my life since I came here. For starters, I wouldn't be home watching t.v on a long weekend if I were back home. I'd probably be out-of-town with the gang or chilling in Pako's (1920, of late) with my girls, Coeli and Grace, having a cold beer either way. Just thinking of those times make me want to text them all and say "I'm flying home!". I miss my friends. I miss the "me" that I left behind. I miss my life.

The past ten years have been the best and most memorable for me, hands down. It went by so fast, too, that I hardly had time to figure it all out.Reflect. Reassess. This is the reason why quiet nights like these are alien territory for me, amusing actually. I'm threading on new ground here, having so much time to think about everything that needs to be thought about. As clearly as I see it, i'm in a good place in my life right now. What a difference a few months can make. Though I can almost taste that tangy, bitter-sweet drop of my San Mig light, I think i'll hang around here for a while. Stay up late watching t.v., rant about the weather. This is my time to breathe. And come to think of it, who knows what this summer might bring...

My first long week-end in New york is a success. It was productive and restful, the way long weekends are supposed to end up being. Dad was keen on doing some sightseeing which he usually is not up to. This is all in preparation for my grandmother coming here for a visit, her first time in America. She's 79 and we all want to see her take a break and have this grand vacation she's been wanting since my lolo died three years ago.

So Dad and I headed to Central Park and surveyed the place for gigs that Lola might like when we take her there. To our delight, it had calesas that can take us inside the park instead of having to walk it. The carriages are big enough to hold four people for only $34. That's a bargain considering the park is a tourist spot where people would gladly pay more to save time hiking through it.

Dad was busy checking out the other spots Lola would enjoy looking at while I was going through my CSI fan mode thinking that the park's landscape is so vast that it is truly an ideal crimescene. I still could not believe I was in the middle of a place I saw only in television and in too many Manhattan made movies.

I have yet to overcome the fact that I live here now. That puts a smile in my face because New York is growing in me.Someone once said a New Yorker is genetically inclined to dislike it everywhere. Manila will always be my home but Manhattan is slowly climbing the charts

"You can can drive at 16,go to war at 18, drink at 21...how old do you have to be before your love is real?"




Lately, I'm catching up with the last three seasons of the show that I discovered three years ago while reviewing for the bar. Since I am again reviewing for another exam, might as well relive the moments of my One Tree Hill love affair(this could be one of the charms) I usually do not waste time on high-school dramas because I'm clearly too old for them.But OTH is different because it does not play safe. The story ventures into the meat of teen-age life including touchy issues such as date rape, drug-use and even teen-age marriages. The script is on point yet heartfelt. Soundtrack is not bad either. Very creative and current. This is the kind of show I can only hope my daughter watches someday.

I know that when she becomes a teen-ager many things have changed. She would probably feel, as I've felt before with my own mother, that her Mom lived in the dark ages when talk of boys, booze and virginity were simply unheard of. She will probably give me the look, the "you never get me" kind. And she will probably choose to make her own mistakes living her young life, in an effort to be "normal" as normal is in their world. Half of me will most likely teeter on the brink of cardiac failure everyday raising her. But half of me will be...ready. Prepared to let her go and find who she is, faltering along the way.She will be feisty like me. Besides, an apple does not fall far away from the tree. But I will be..contentious without shutting her out. I will listen but I will also be firm.

My daughter will enjoy her "wonder" years. I will make sure she does. She will not look back with regrets over what could've beens and what ifs. She will not live in fear. But neither will she be thoughtless. Or rambunctious. She will not be a train wreck waiting to happen. She will not get hurt and stay hurt.

Because this time, in the teen-age department, the daughter cannot outdo the mother.