Looking back and pushing onwards

Window, Penang 2012

I'm a little late in posting about 2012. Let me just say it was one of those years where a lot of learning was done, some still ongoing to this day. In contrast to those years where one lives out the questions (Rilke), 2012 seemed to be a year for living out the answers -- where answers don't always lead to heaving sighs of relief or keeping the heart spared from heartbreaks. While those heartbreaks did lead to more questions, they also forced me to look at other options.

So early on in 2012 some dreams were broken, but along the way new ones were created. Clarity came dressed in poetry (Mabi David's You are Here and Chingbee Cruz's Disappear), in creative non-fiction (Katrina Stuart-Santiago's Of Love and Other Lemons), in that Tres Marias (Lolita Carbon, Cookie Chua, Bayang Barrios + Cathy Go) gig, in the trips I was fortunate to have been able to take, and, of course, in the countless conversations with women friends (that band of sisterhood with Turtle, Rach, Joelle, Ina, Lira, Anjie, Checo, & honorary sisterhood member Froi). 

Work-wise, 2012 threw a curve ball too. Suddenly, I couldn't do corporate training full time anymore and no local training job opportunities were opening up. I did more freelancing work, like that part-time "journalist" post (I didn't even know you can do that), the (awesome) trip to Baguio and Banaue for Sidetrip, the Pampanga fieldwork to document the best practices of the communities under Mother Earth (the NGO)'s care, and the online teaching consultancy. 2012 placed me in situations where I wrote more in terms of word count and significance. I also learned, through work, another model of teaching English. All these proved of value to my going to Malaysia. 

Sticking to graduate school and staying here even when I so wanted to go home (newsflash: I fell in love) was a decision which is proving to be right. What I have learned about teaching language and all those other intricacies involved when learners try to acquire a second language were gifts, pure gifts. One of the highlights of the first sem was conducting an actual research on a Japanese English writer and writing a paper on his language use difficulty and coping strategies (will spare you from the very technical terms for now). That my professor was quite happy with how the paper turned out felt like an affirmation. It's nice to be imbued with a purpose, teehee.

Love and integrity were the keywords for 2012. Looking back, love and integrity were indeed poured on me as lessons and as rewards throughout 2012. I have those two in different measures and won't let go just yet. In continuation, 2013 will be about passion and consistency hopefully leading to abundance. 

Floating along and swimming

The weekend that was:  the sea in my dreams
Photo by PJ Christine

Twice this month, I dreamt about the sea. In the first dream I was with a group of friends and with this group was a boy who used to matter a lot. We were in an upscale-looking resort house with a veranda that overlooked the ocean. The waves were quite ferocious, crashing against the walls of the house, but keeping their distance. In this dream's narrative, though the boy was there, I was more excited to dive in and swim.

A little backstory: the water & I, we have a love-hate relationship. Nearly drowning as a kid has made me pretty tense around the water- i.e. I know how to swim, but I won't dare go in without any life vest in heights I can't reach on tiptoe. Since snorkeling ranks as one of the top two things I most like to do, this has always been a wee bit frustrating.

In dream no. 2, I was on a small plane. For some reason, the plane had to go through a deep curving tunnel. When it did, a flood of sea water came rushing. With the approaching waves, the aircraft's powerful turbines did a ninja move and blew the water away. Our plane managed to fly out of the tunnel safely.

In both dreams, I saw the same clear, green water. Even with dream no. 2, it inspired neither fear or panic.

The weekend takas
Sometime last week, I stumbled upon a pretty shattering piece of news. Granted that it was probably the little kick in the shin I needed, it still hurt. Good thing Turtle and her friends from her MA classes were bound for a nondescript beach in Ilocos Sur and were welcoming enough to accommodate tag alongs. If I stayed in Manila, I knew I'd probably unravel and, just like that Postal Service song, that's when we'll explode/ and it won't be a pretty sight.

On the bus, I was thinking how I would just mope in one corner and drink myself silly once we got to our destination. I was planning not to talk to anyone. Figured it was a good time to "meditate" (yes, yes, I know alcohol and meditation don't really go together).  

But as all beach trips go, things took a different turn. For one, Turtle's friends were a wonderful bunch. Bogarts na funny at smart, ang hirap magmukmok.

After a quick stopover in Vigan where we had some empanadas and did some grocery shopping (the next sari-sari was quite a distance from the beach), everyone was put in high spirits because the "nondescript" beach turned out to be a really great place to escape to. Fine sand, bright shining sun, and complete seclusion (it was just us and the fishing community). The only blight was the uncomfortable stinging we got from the invisible jellyfish milling around the water. But given the choice between a cool hut or a smelly bar, I'd pick the jellyfish anytime as companions for my somewhat broken heart.

After dinner, I sneaked off, alcohol in a glass, and cried myself silly to Turtle.

#Hope
The morning after, I woke up feeling exhausted but okay. And this water (see picture above), was waiting. Could it be the sea water in my dreams? And unlike in the previous day's bluish and gray sea, this water's jellyfish inhabitants went on their own holiday. There was little stinging for my companions and me. Yay!

The water, the sky, the deserted beach: it's what my hungover head (& weary, once-stubborn cardiovascular muscle) most needed. There's never an easy fix when it comes to dealing with heartbreak. Sometimes the only way to get through shit is to go through it and be shit. Do yourself a favor though: arm yourself with people who will look out for you and who won't take your puke or drivel against you (good thing my puke went straight to the toilet bowl).

Staring at the horizon that morning, the thought was that one does wake up, all appendages intact, and gets better. Not completely healed, not yet at least, but no longer as broken as the version of yourself that passed out drunk the night before.

Yoga in the water 
With that drama out of the way, the water transformed into a playground. Seven grown girls in the water- some were doing hand stands, others were beefing up on their basic swimming know-hows. To my surprise, I found myself treading. Wee! It was the first time I managed to tread successfully.

So comes the next part: unlearning the panic. Putting into practice the things I learned in recent yoga classes, I tried to study how my body behaves when submerged. I found tense neck muscles, head that could drop some more, stiff shoulders, and legs that got too agit when kicking.

With some breathing exercises and the mental note to relax, I tried to "let go" and be one with the sea water's flow. For starters, I practiced alternating swimming, treading, and coming up for air to breathe without panic.

I'm far from becoming an expert swimmer and I seriously need more practice swimming in deeper depths. The panic's still there, but at least we now have the awareness. The plan is to take it one relaxed baby padjak at a time and the same goes for this internal sh*tznit.

Anj, one of my bestfriends who thankfully also tagged along, taught me a word on this trip: maktub. It is a kind of claiming; a declaration of "so it shall be done." And I claim that I'll eventually arrive at getting to snorkel without a vest, skin dive and swim with the fishies, and surf freely. Maktub. 

Ysa's Boracay Wedding + the One

Second month into the year: instead of being a snob about it, this blog is jumping on the February bandwagon by celebrating l-o-v-e (but the kind that's not limited to the romantic one + I do have good reason to celebrate this word, i.e. love being one of my two words for 2012).   

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Wedding Setup (photo by Jay-jay Lucas)

Last June 2011, I was in Boracay for the wedding of one of my bestfriends, Ysabel. It was kind of a big deal to me for a number of reasons: Ysa and I grew up together, it was my first time to be a bridesmaid, and it was something we had planned for about 3 years. Countless YMs and emails have been exchanged in the name of this occasion. (Another minor reason for the excitement was the fact that few of my friends ever get married, so, though I love that my overlapping circles are not in any rush, hey, it may take some more time before an occasion like this one comes along again.)

Deezezit! (photo by Jay-jay Lucas)

Two days prior to the actual date, it had been raining non-stop in Manila and Boracay. So, after 2 years of not seeing each other because they're based in Canada, I would hug an Ysa for the first time at the airport crying like she was my 11-year-old buddy because the weather was threatening to be a downer. What did I do? After the hugging and the reassuring, I cried like an 11-year-old girl with her, too. There we were at the waiting area of NAIA 3 sniffling like two crazy, PMS-ing women. That was also how my first real-life meeting with Tim, the hubby-to-be, went.

As you can see in these photos, contrary to predictions the weather turned out perfectly. Ysa and Tim's big day beat the odds, parang tunay na pagibig lang (naks). The sun came out and the skies were clear and everything else about that day (the preparations, the ceremony, the food, the entertainment, etc.) flowed smoothly.

Bungisngis kisses (photo by Jay-Jay Lucas)

Fast forward to today: this beautiful wedding has turned into a happy marriage of 7 months. One insight that I would often glean from our frequent chatting is how serious marriage really is. It doesn't compare to dating, even a long-term engagement would probably not hold a candle to how real a marriage is (a possible exception could be your good ol' domestic partnership). That cliche about the wedding being just one day and marriage being something you work on for a lifetime? Totally true.

Why do people get into it despite the legal hassles and the statistics? For a number of reasons, I guess, like hormones that lead to cute little, uh, accidents, peer pressure, filial duties, fulfillment of a responsibility as a partner, security, etc. when in truth, the one reason many of us would like to have is just plain old love. Finding, meeting, marrying the one. I have always been somewhat suspicious of this concept, but recently Ysa and I have stumbled upon another reason why Tim is perfect for her and, together with this, arrived at an epiphany about what being the one could potentially mean. I must admit this made me just a little bit more hopeful. Ready?

Tim and Ysa (photo by Jay-Jay Lucas)

Ysabel is gorgeous. She's a mix of Spanish, Chinese, Filipino and descends from a lola who was once a 1st runner-up in the Ms. Philippines pageant. She's funny and classy and smart. Something about Ysa though: she has always been passionate about dancing and tennis.

So, the other day while we were talking about life, we segued to discussing the recent Australian Open. She was telling me about Nadal, the different kinds of tennis courts, tennis rules, etc. and then she tells me how good a tennis player Tim is, that when he was in high school someone actually suggested that he go pro. Lightbulb moment.

For someone like Ysabel, it's not really a big surprise that she would find someone kind and attractive (it helps that she has wonderful taste, too :p). But kind + attractive + loves to dance (Ysa's family is a dancing family, any guy with two left feet would stick out sorely, awkwardly. Tim outdanced everyone, except for the bride's father, at the reception) + good tennis player: now, what are the odds of landing this particular permutation?

Maybe this is what the one or that gift from above could mean: that this person will fit perfectly into the tiny details of your life and will not look awkward relative to your quirks. As my friend Turtle would say when talking about the concept of katuwang: walang sobra, walang kulang. 

Templates and definitions

There is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone.

Chuck Klosterman (via quintessential.)

*What Greenminds and I were discussing today, which included a conclusion of our respective pitfalls.

(After being friends for 10 years, we've seen each other try to float above our waterloos, sometimes successfully and other times not, but as with having friendships you're proud about, I echo his sentiments: eternal gratitude for having friends you can get mindlessly drunk with and forget about being judged, at the very least there's an interested set of ears who'll try to listen, no matter how repetitive your stories have become.)