A friend I haven't seen in 8 years flew in the city a few weeks ago. I promised to see her once she arrives and take her around a bit. We even mused at the fact that we are finally meeting up here of all places when we never did after we graduated from college. In hindsight, it never occured to me that her plans of coming here will push through. Half the time people make plans of travelling or studying/working abroad but never really do. You, on the other hand, find no fault at revealing your patronizing self and enthusiastically assure them of being there when they show up. That's what happened to me. Except my old friend showed up and now expects me to make good with that promise.

After two weeks of stalling, I told her I can meet her today. It only took one lousy text to ask for a rain check and ditch her again. In as much as I'd like to catch up with her for all of those out-of-touch years, I can't do it anymore. Catch up. How does one enumerate in a couple of hours everything that has transpired in eight years? How does one listen to one who tries? How do people pretend to still be friends?

Here I am feeling sad for bailing on a dear friend from the past but not feeling bad. It is the way it is. We can't go back to that place anymore, her and I. There's too much distance, far too much alienation that we are left powerless to ignore. Time has its way of breaking bonds even between two people who once got along great. Now all we have are memories and I'd rather keep them the way they are. Fun and giggly moments of our youth.

I refuse to taint it with awkward attempts at conversation or uncomfortable silences. Like Sir Paul wrote shortly before the Beatles broke up, let it be.

Somewhere in the women's department of Filene's Basement, I lost my cellphone. I remember taking it out from my bag for computing purposes (60% of 29.99 might as well be calculus for me) and that's the last I saw of it. That was yesterday. I looked for it this morning along with my keys and apartment access card as I'm wont to do every morning, it was nowhere to be found. That started off a bothersome day.

I've never lost a cellphone before. It was one of those things that couldn't be far from my mind or backpocket. That and cigarettes. The beeping sound of text messages coming in was music to my ears. I felt insecure without it. I hid it under my pillow when I sleep. I checked it first thing in the morning. It sat next to my desktop at work. It bore good and bad news. Carried my best and worst decisions. Many times, it changed the course of my life.

Fast forward to now. I turned my bag inside out searching, hoping to find it. My partner in crime. Barometer of what can and cannot be. Magnet of discounts. Witness to held breaths. I lost my calculator.

Damn.

Minz is: crappy

I think I might have found the person who can take over my job when I leave in a few weeks. I've been wading through resumes and surfing job banks in hopes of finding someone the boss will like. Finally, she came a 'calling.

Her name is Sarah. Age:24. Married. Majored in Legal Management. Graduated from the same college I did. (Maybe that clinched it for her.) She sounded good over the phone which the boss requires. Somehow the legal background will help her understand how it works here. It doesn't take a genius. Just a whole lot of patience.

I wish her luck for many reasons. With this job (this topic deserves an entire post altogether.) With the boss.(Ditto) In this country. May she find that which makes leaving home worth it.

Because in the middle of all the shopping I can ever dream of doing, broadway shows, concerts, walks in Fifth Avenue, reading in subways, crossing Brooklyn Bridge, pizza and Times Square, I couldn't find anything close. Home trumps them all.

P.S.

Oops maybe the Yankees did. Then again, I can still watch them in ESPN Skycable

Currently listening to: "Home"-Michael Buble

Dear Ying,

Turning 18 is easy, seconds add up to minutes, minutes to days, days to weeks. and so forth. One day you wake up and you're not so juvenile anymore. (Though being juvenile is a state of mind, if you ask me.) Having said that, being 18 then becomes tricky. While you are now technically an adult and accountable for all your decisions , it's never really that simple. More rules, more expectations. Less room for mistakes. Welcome to the adult world. It's a jungle out here.

But there's a silver lining here somewhere, and this is what having a debut is all about. So all of us, your family and friends can remind you that we got your back from here on out.

To echo Dr. Bailey from Grey's Anatomy's version of the adult world,

"It's not about what you look like, or your job, or how successful you are. It's about having people in your life that you love and who loves you... that's all that matters."

Happy Birthday ying! May life bring upon your feet everything that is good and just and lasting.


Love always, Ate ganda

Deciding to stay home on my last holiday in Manhattan, I check out goodies Mom brought from home. There are DVD of Pinoy movies I missed and I can't wait to start a movie marathon. Aga Muhlach's much talked-and-blogged about A Love Story naturally goes first. It is arguably this year's best (and most controversial?) flick and I want to see what the hoopla is all about.

I am tempted to hit the malls for Columbus day sales but it's one of those mornings that my butt seems to be glue-gunned on to the bed. Adding to that, Mom also flew in some local "trash", one of my guilty pleasures, and I am magnetized to the YES and Buzz Magazines sitting in my computer table. To top it all off, she is cooking up a storm in the kitchen and I've gone a month missing home-cooked food. So there. My starving ass is so staying home.

The best part of the package is recent pictures of Sofia. My little girl is not so little anymore. She's grown taller in a blink of an eye! I'm crossing my fingers that the clothes I got for her will still fit next month.

She sure knows how to work the camera! There is one taken of her giving Jollibee a bear hug. And another one kissing his fat cheek. what is with two-year olds and Jollibee? Mine refuses to eat out anywhere else but in the 'Bee's house. After a year of doing just that, you'd pity the parents and nannies who cannot take another bite of chicken joy or jolly spaghetti. I guess I have to brace myself for that inevitability as it comes with the territory. Bless all Filippino mothers out there!

The one I have is calling. Real food beckons. I'm out of here

The Yanks' season ended in the first round of the play-offs. I was in the middle of a Jennifer Lopez concert fidgeting in my seat, hoping against hope they win and extend it. But they didn't.

I don't want to relive the sorry details I read over the internet. I refuse to remember the defeated looks on their faces during the post game interviews. I don't even want to accept that it was probably the last game Joe Torre will ever manage. All I know is that there is sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach when I woke up this morning knowing that there will be no game I'd hurry home to watch tonight. No World Series I'd catch at Blondie's just as I'd planned. That the next Yankee game I'd be lucky to catch will come six long months from now. That I will probably be watching replays considering the time difference between New York and Manila. That I wouldn't recognize half of the team as the owner would have fired the rest of them by then.

This is worse than a nicotine withdrawal or all my heartbreaks with men combined. I'm at work sleepwalking, talking to clients but not hearing what they're saying. Looking at papers but seeing past them. I can't eat. Can't sleep. I just wanna cry.

If you have ever, ever been a fan of any God-forsaken team, of any damn thing at all, you'd know what I am going through.

These are the Yankees.
My heart is crushed into a million pieces.

Sometimes it sucks being a fan.

Minz is: depressed

I'm still mourning but I can't not put it out here that Jennifer Lopez is a Goddess. Under different circumstances I'd rave endlessly about how she how beautiful she is, how she can seriously light up the stage, how she can dance with 20-inch stilettos on, and how she can actually SING contrary to popular belief. I won't regret watching her live the night my Yanks lost. She was the best feel-good gig this side of Manhattan for the down and out.