Dear anonymous readers who commented on my drift series post,

I was wondering how you came across my blog when I discovered a little something called Google Blog Search. I would like to thank you for until then I didn't fully grasp the publicity of this blog. Suffice it to say, I have learned my lesson and will practice more responsible blogging from now on.

Again, I apologize for whatever harm the post might have affected.

Curioser and curioser

A club opened last night in Malate, Manila, to which I was invited by the owner who is our client. A prominent political figure graced the opening along with a throng of bodyguards. He arrived 15 minutes after I did, which is about 10:00pm. Being the guest of the owner myself, I was close enough to shake the man's hand and possibly ask to have a picture taken with him. It seemed inappropriate, though, as he was obviously not there as a public figure. After a few seconds of chatting with some people, he went into the VIP room with the club owner and a few other guests. My friend commented, "The place has suddenly become dangerous, huh."

A Fil-Am girl who looks not older than 16 got my attention as she strutted to the bar where we were sitting. I overheard her inquiring about the drinks list and wondered if she's even had alcohol before. Later on, I saw her go in the VIP room followed by a fat gay guy with an LV backpack.

"Fifteen thousand," said my friend. It took a while to register that he was talking about the girl.
"That's cheap," I said, disbelieving. I thought the fresh faced girl must be worth twenty, at least. The term "slightly used" came to mind.

I went to the bathroom and when I got back to my stool, three more girls had just come out of the VIP room, followed by the same fat gay. I raised my eyebrows at my friend.

"There's some shady activity going on," he said in reply.
"Rejects?"
"Could be. They're ugly," he said as they passed by close enough for me to get a good look. They seemed ok to me. Very young and cute, unlike the girls you see in Makati. Students, most likely.
"What's wrong with them?" I said.
"They're fat. Arms are huge. And one of them is just plain ugly."
Ugh, I thought in disgust. They weren't even fat in my standards. That business is harsh.
"They'd be at least 10k, though," my friend admitted later on.

I wonder who the political figure picked in the end. I'm pretty confident that he didn't, actually, since he's going for Presidentiable. I'm sure the owner just tried to offer him everything he could without actually expecting him to oblige. I have faith in the guy being a morally erect man. Besides, he's not going to get anything out of it except for a big headache later on. Oh, the intrigue.

The power of the Net

The Internet has become so powerful that broadcast networks are now getting their news from blogs and emails, whereas several years ago, people can only react to news in their blogs or spread them by email. Today, simply by creating a controversy huge enough to grab the attention of a community, you can be on TV the next day. Case in point: the Pangandaman golf brawl and, currently, the case of UP janitor Mang Mileton.

In both issues, I was stunned by how fast news bureaus picked up the stories right off the Internet. I remember having just pressed the 'Sent' button forwarding Dela Paz' daughter's blog on the Pangandamans when I heard it being mentioned on TV. The next thing I knew, it was the hottest topic across segments for two weeks. Similarly, I was surprised to see Mang Mileton being interviewed in Umagang Kay Ganda this morning when I just read about him last night from a forwarded email.

I'm not proud of hastily forwarding Dela Paz' blog as soon as I read it. I should have investigated first instead of letting my emotion get the better of me. I realize that by forwarding that email, I helped spread a lie. The truth finding committee has found Mr. Dela Paz as the aggressor, and most of the account in his daughter's blog are twists of what really happened in the golf club. This goes to show how the Internet is the fastest tool out there for spreadng malice, but at the same time it is also the fastest means for finding the truth. Powered by the Internet, each one of us has become our own one-man truth-finding committee. This is not an optional power to exercise; it is our generation's privilege and our burden.

Don't mess with kids!

Last night was the Lim family reunion. At the end of the party, my married cousin told everyone he had to jet ‘cos he was wanted somewhere else. His four year-old son said, “Papa, you might drink again tonight.” My cousin, clearly embarrassed, laughed it off. But my nephew wasn’t through. He said, “Papa, your phone might be off again, you should turn it on.” Ah, the trouble with smart kids. I feel sorry for my cousin’s wife.

* * *

I called in sick today because of a nasty dry cough that won’t go away. I have a permanent bedroom voice, which I don’t mind except people can barely hear me. I have a policy for skipping work: only if I can’t get out of bed. I’ve been feeling guilty all day. Out of boredom, here’s what I did to my bedroom wall:

When I get my own house, maybe I’ll paint an entire wall with my own wallpaper design. Remember the movie Monster-in-Law? The scene at the end where Jennifer Lopez was painting the wall of her new house with roses stuck to me. Of course, I wouldn’t paint roses on my wall. Or anything pink, for that matter. Well maybe for my daughter’s room, if I ever have one.

Goodbye, popcorn

I have resolved to kick out the habit of popcorn when watching a movie. I cannot resist the aroma of popcorn before entering a theater. I buy bags of popcorn (not the greasy, microwavable ones) whenever I have a new DVD at home. I can scarf down a bucket of popcorn in one sitting. I love it especially when mixed with nuts, or drizzled with a little parmesan cheese. There's nothing wrong with popcorn as a snack per se, but when you start having insane cravings for popcorn some nights, when you prefer popcorn for lunch most of the time, and when your movie experience depends on the popcorn experience, you know things are out of hand. Well Popcorn, you won't control me anymore.

Last night, I watched Bride Wars with two friends. I brought a carrot-- yes, bugs bunny style, not even cut up into sticks-- thinking I could munch on it as a substitute. Depending on the freshness, raw carrots can be a really nice treat. I ate some of the carrot during lunch and realized every bite created noise. That meant the carrot was crunchy and fresh, but it also meant I couldn't eat it in the movie house. In the end I still turned to popcorn at the last minute. The good news is I only ate half the regular size before I felt like throwing up. Maybe my mind is already wired to dislike popcorn? I ate the carrot anyway, since people's giggles more or less drowned out my munches.

If you're going to try carrot as a snack, a word of caution: your fingers will be stained organge. Also, I heard that if you eat too much of it, you will turn yellow!

The G

... or the last "Christmas", so to speak. B invited his grandmother for lunch to meet me last Saturday. It was a long overdue date since we planned to get over the meeting relatives episode over the holidays. On the first Sunday of January, B told me the G was looking for me. He quickly scheduled the date for the next weekend.

B was going to take us to Katre, a continental restaurant tucked in Tomas Morato. It’s a staple in his family’s dining experience book, but two days before the meet, the G changed the plan to Zucchini’s instead. I had never heard of Zucchini’s, so I figured it must be close to Katre, which is upscale-casual. Apparently, Katre to Zucchini is like an upgrade from City Garden to Mandarin Oriental. If she did it to intimidate me, it totally worked.

B made the G wait thirty minutes alone in the restaurant. He picked me up late and traffic was bad. Boy, talk about screwing up your first impression. We planned on an early lunch because of my Korean class at 1:30pm. But since we got to the restaurant at noon, I just accepted the fact that not only would I be late, I would also miss our quiz. On top of that I wasn’t off to a good start with the G.

Casual dining connotes light and fast in my dictionary. Hopes for those things evaporated when we were greeted by a maitre d' as we stepped in the restaurant. It was like stepping inside some place in a different city, not the everyday hustle bustle of Quezon City. Zucchini’s is a French restaurant tastefully decorated, with soft-spoken, well-trained wait staff and quality food preparation. Before I could take in the presence of the G, I couldn’t help admiring the plush chairs that looked better than any chair we have at home. I was doomed. Would I even know how to handle the utensils?

B's Guama was smaller and younger than I expected. At 78, she was less than 5 ft. It wasn’t just the height, though, which didn’t matter since she’s bound to a wheelchair. She was small in frame, almost like a child. Then again, B is not exactly brawny. My first impression of the G was she was clean and probably smelled nice. I have to admit I was preparing for a matrona-looking lady with salon perfect coiffure, swathed in jewelry and fancy clothes. I forgot, only Chinese people from the southern parts of the Metro did that. Chinese in the northern cities are usually low profile and conservative. The G had on a simple emerald green polo shirt and a pair of gold stud earrings. She had very short but neatly combed hair which was almost completely white. If not for the clear, intelligent eyes and set mouth, the overall effect was a harmless old lady. But I wasn’t fooled.

Later that day I would chastise B for making me sit right across the G. It didn’t only make scrutinizing me easier; it meant we had to talk. My experience meeting B’s parents has taught me that I can’t count on B to break the ice on first meetings, which is due to either an oversight or men’s general weakness in social skills. Didn't he know that a person is five times more likely to screw up under pressure?!

The main entrees are twice the price at Italianni’s. Being price conscious even if I wasn’t paying, I was tempted to order something simple. But B and the G ordered steaks, and when I flipped over to the page they were at, I felt a lump in my throat. For the first time in my life, I would be having a 2,000+ meal. I'm really not so much of a carnivore, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I was surprised that a person as tiny as the G can down 200g of beef though, and that doesn’t even include the mashed potatoes. I made a mistake when I didn't order soup. The G asked why I didn’t order when their soups—apple cinnamon and pumpkin, tomato—arrived. Because the waiter didn't ask me! I thought as I smiled and told them it was fine. In the end, I ordered lobster bisque (too salty for me but quite an experience). Good thing I ordered late, since it gave me something to do after their bowls had been taken away and nobody talked for a good three minutes.

B and the G engaged themselves in a conversation (mostly about food) during the entire meal. Once in a while, a funny remark would be made and I’d smile with them. But that was about all my contribution. Our main entrees arrived promptly after the soup. The presentation was impressive—from the cute plastic marker stuck on the meat to distinguish doneness, to the thick wedge of potato balanced against the vegetable sides, sear-stamped with the restaurant logo. There’s no picture of it on the net (I’ve tried looking for one), which was understandable given the swanky restaurant ambiance. You’d probably look promdi if you tried snapping pictures of every dish that came to your table.

With one bite, B was able to tell that something was wrong with the vegetables and asked to have them replaced. The maitre d' went in the kitchen and quickly came out, informing us that he had tried the vegetables and they were not fresh indeed. A few minutes later, we were served freshly blanched vegetables that tasted so good I would’ve exchanged my meat for B and the G’s portions. While B and G talked among themselves, I prayed they wouldn't stop and ignore me completely.

But I was not going to be spared. B left me with the G alone when he went to the bathroom after we finished our food. At first, I busied myself with the brewed coffee I ordered. But seeing how ridiculous it was to act like a mute, I decided that nothing would come out of being shy. She might think I was smug and disrespectful even. So, I took a deep breath and, putting on my sincerest expression, apologized for being late. From there, I was able to initiate a conversation about coffee drinking habits which was sustained until B got back. After that things were considerably easier. The restaurant gave us a complimentary desert for their blunder. I'm not a carrot cake fan but that one looked appetizing, with a thin swirling biscuit in chocolate dripping design stuck on it.

I can’t tell if I passed. I can’t tell what the meeting did for us. B is not being helpful either, insisting that his family is okay with me as long as I am okay with him. I have no choice but to expect the worst. What I am sure of, though, are two things: 1) B isn’t just playing around, but 2) somehow, I feel inadequate now.

The problem with having an old boyfriend

When you tell him you want to change the world, he tells you you're idealisitic because you're young.

When you tell him your grievances about not being able to maximize your full potential, he tells you not to stress about it and stop being so serious (you have time).

When you rant about politics in your office and how some of your coworkers are not maximizing their potentials, he tells you it's their problem and that gives you an advantage over them.

When you confess that as much as you want to strangle your superiors for ineffective streaks, you love the company and want to help, he tells you to let them be and enjoy your pay check. After all, their ineffective streaks are good for businesses like his.

It's like talking to your father, an unimaginative grown up, whose mindset has long been set in stone. In the end, you shut up, tell him you're not seeing eye-to-eye and then move on. No use in throwing a tantrum.

It's ok to quit.

Sometimes, you really wonder if there's such a thing as a coincidence. Yesterday, while slugging the manic-Monday-post-holiday morning out, I began getting frustrated and depressed because I thought, I'm better than this. I want to die knowing that I was really good at one thing, and I felt what I'm not getting closer to that end.

That afternoon, my Korean friend slash book buddy dropped by the office to lend me a book I've been looking all over for: The Dip by Seth Godin. On the front cover, the book is described as "a little book that teaches you when to quit (and when to stick)."

It is a small book, but there's a lot in it worth chewing over. So what is the Dip? The Dip is the sinkhole that trips up people to prevent us from being the best at something. It's the pain that makes you stop exercising before it pays off. It's the difficult bar exam that prevents all law graduates from getting to the other side, where a handful of lawyers enjoy six-digit salaries and prestige. It's the hardship and cost of perfecting a product that makes businesses settle on being number four instead of number one.

The book teaches you about strategic quitting, i.e. don't even start something if you know you're not going to be the best in the world at it; quit if you're just doing what you're doing now because it's easier to stick to the familiar; quit if you've settled on having average skills, leading an average life, because you can be the best if only your energy and resouces are not (gasp!) misdirected.

In order to know when to quit, you should be able to recognize which sort of curve you are in: is it the kind that, if you chose not to quit and go all-out to conquer it, will yield results that will benefit you for a long time (the Dip), or the kind that tells you to quit not soon but now because you're heading towards a dead end (Cul-de-sac), or maybe the curve where you just can't quit until it comes to be a matter of life and death, like smoking (the Cliff).

These concepts are not new, of course. We already know that we all have serious potentials, we know that if something is difficult then it's probably worth doing, and if you're a motivated person, goal-oriented person, you will agree that being average is the most despicable thing to become. But what really stuck to me was the idea that being well-rounded is not the way to success. Everything we learned in school is wrong! You won't be sought out as the best in the world at something if you're good at everything. In college, I wanted to get straight A's in all subjects. I'd get two or three A's, make sure the rest are B+'s and settle for B on the subjects I don't like. Boy, if only I didn't waste energy on all those subjects and focused on the one class that got my rapt attention and made me look forward to going to school. If only I used up my units on PR classes instead of spreading them out on film and advertising too... I didn't know it then, but I should have pursued the quest for specialization, not excellence.

I was so attracted to being multi-talented, to the thought that I could master anything that life set me up for. I might have sacrificed a couple of years for a post-college degree, and it would entail staggering costs, being away from home, physical, mental and emotional suffering, but from all that would accrue life-long benefits that include being highly valued, happy and fulfilled.

I want to say so much more about the book, to share my thoughts on it, but mostly it would be about me and the decisions I have made. So I'll stop here. I know, it's depressing. But the good news is that it's not too late. We can quit whatever we're doing now, whether it be sticking to a situation too long just because we've become comfortable, or keeping our potentials dormant by indecision and inaction... it's not too late to quit. In fact, the time is now. By letting the Dip keep us down, we are making those on top more valuable. You and I are good enough; there's only ourselves to convince.

Year-ender

Can't believe I'm going back to work tomorrow. I can't believe I'm going to start waking up early again and experience the horrible mass transportation in Manila. On the other hand, I can't wait to go back to work and just... be out there. Life stuck in Bulacan is so dull that I'm dreading Holy Week already.

It's time to make new goals for 2009. I'm pretty happy with 2008 because of the goals I was able to achieve, and some blessings that came unexpected here and there.

Let me list down things that made 2008 a great year (in no particular order):

1. Learned to scuba dive.
2. Took up Korean language class.
3. Had a great trip to Hong Kong.
4. Added Project Manager to my resume.
5. Got a couple of modeling stints.
6. Had three awesome beach trips with very curious experiences.
7. Accomplished one month of TV/theater/magazine-free existence.
8. Started this blog.
9. Made plenty of new friends.
10. Is now somewhat adept at nightlife in Manila.
11. Finally experienced clubbing, if only to prove that I'm not and won't ever be big on it.
12. Organized a great company Christmas party.
13. Gotten myself a sugardaddy... haha, er, half truth.
14. Meeting B has given me so many new experiences, and old pleasures turn out to be better with someone to share them with (I know, I know, it's starting to get icky.)
15. Had one-- even just one-- awesome drinking session with my boss and Mr. P.

I wish I could add a financial highlight, but I'm about a grand short of my target. Now, for some 2009 goals:

1. Travel out of the country alone (or with some friends).
2. See Ilocos, Bohol and Cebu.
3. Have a blast at the beach again!
4. Career advancement (I'm keeping it general to welcome all kinds of changes that may be in store... without getting disappointed).
5. Make a painting worth hanging.

I'm sure I'll come up with more when I snap out of the Holiday mode. Good luck with your goals, y'all! Cheers! :)