The Cheater

I have never acted so hard in my life until that married woman tried to wake me up in the middle of the night. The only other time I could remember I pretended so hard to be asleep was when I was 6 years old and was forced to have an afternoon siesta. It was the longest 30 minutes ever. Heck my bit part at a tv series recently took two takes and it lasted even less than ten minutes.

But this one is different. My friends and I went to a beach town, met two MILFs (google it) who were DTF (again, google), got drunk, partied, you already know. Blinding flash of the obvious is that we're no longer kids and she's a slightly older married woman whose husband is away and wants to play in the middle of the night after everyone went home from the disco. Totally. Different. From the afternoon plays I lived for when I was a young boy.

Great acting would mean I get canonized as a saint, and bad acting would, well, lead me to heaven. And hell at the same time. So instead of having a night filled with drunken sex, of me feeling nothing but just a total sex object, I chose to hone my craft and pretended to be, auf Deutsch, todmüde. Dead tired, asleep and just too drunk to damn function.

Let me make it very clear. Ich bin Schauspieler. But I am most definitely not a cheater.

A very good friend of mine, whilst in another beach town, admitted he cheated on his girlfriend recently with a Brazilian. He said it was one of the best lays of his life. I'm sure it was. Then again, I am in no position to pass judgment. Some people follow their heart. Others their head... down there.

He also happens to be from a country by which at a recent survey showed that 50% of those interviewed admitted that they, at some point, cheated on their partners. Surprisingly, asking my friends only reinforced the results. But I'll take it with a grain of salt.

There's just something about beach towns and cheating. Or just travelling for that matter. That it got me thinking, is it a cardinal rule for vagabonds to wander around different bodies that are not their partner's while also wander around other places too?

A German friend of mine thinks that the most stupid thing to do is to travel alone when you are still in a supposedly monogamous relationship. Solo traveling and staying loyal just does not add up, if anything, make sense. As of writing, he is now in South America and has slept with around 70+ women and counting.

A hot filipina friend of mine does it old school (no apps, just shows up at a beach town bar). She does one night stands on her own terms, on her own rules. She never does two night stands simply because because a hook up is anything but a vacationship. It is called a One. Night. Stand. For a reason.

With the advent of datings apps and basically anyone who travels are pretty much horny, scratch that, lonely. People are bound to face temptations. But being single and partaking in a free-for-all pleasures of the flesh bonanza is in no way similar to being in a relationship.

There is a line to be crossed, trust to be broken, and hearts to be trampled on. In simple terms, being cheated on hurts.

People cheat for various reasons. We tend to justify our shortcomings with loneliness, alcohol, needs, and the 'when in rome' mentality. When in the first place none of it would have had happened if we have instilled the "when in a relationship" mind set. Which is pretty much this; never cheat.

Then again cheaters will act their way out of a situation. We can fake loyalty but it requires so much more than just great acting. It demands steadfast COMMITMENT to the role of a faithful lover... and there's no role more difficult to play than that.

So why in a relationship in the first place? 🤣

How Romanticism Ruined Love. A Tragedy.

“It’s a one-night stand but with a romantic twist”.

I woke up to that DM and I couldn’t have been more disoriented and confused. What on earth is she talking about? All I could remember is that my friend recently just moved into splitsville and crowdsourced movie titles she could watch while she is nursing her broken heart.

I suggested ‘Before Sunrise’.

Wait, whaaaat?! There is no way she is referring to the same movie. Porn parody perhaps? NO. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have any. How on earth did the love story of Jesse and Celine, serendipitously meeting inside the train and exploring the glorious Vienna together is now reduced into just a story of how an American guy tried to bed a French girl in a European City? Clearly I must have missed something. So I decided to watch the movie again.

What was it that she saw that I didn’t? Two people meet. They fall in love. Add in a little bit of conflict et voila, you have a Hollywood love story or Star Cinema, if you will. But does it ever really happen to everyone?

Now that this topic has come up, I realize I have yet to meet a prostitute who snatched herself a rich man. If you are one and would love to inspire people with your story, please comment below. But if Julia Roberts and Richard Gere set high expectations in what love should be like, should we then take notes from Sasha Grey and whoever it is that she’s banging in Malice in Lalaland instead? Either way, we fail.

During his prime fuck boy years, a friend of mine admitted that he stayed long enough in a dismal relationship just so he could experience a one year anniversary. Being a Casanova that he was, it was a monumental milestone he couldn’t pass up. And so he did. And in true Hollywood fashion, they also kissed in the rain. In case you’re asking, yes, kissing in the rain is not comfortable. But in that moment though, he claims he felt as if he was Ryan Gosling.

They didn’t end up together.

The actuality that is a hot girl like Georgina ended up marrying some white guy people barely knew is a testament that wild love of Shakespearean kind does not necessarily end in happy endings. Sometimes people end up with the quiet kind, the kind that does not have any drama – the kind of relationship people could only dream about. Pretty much, the kind of love everyone tragically ends up with.

At a recent drinking summit I had with friends a discourse on how a relationship survives distance and/or time took a huge chunk of our drunken discussion. And then it hit me! It can’t be all just sex. It’s something more. It should be more. I recalled what I learned from a fellow traveler I met back then. He’s 6’5”. His girlfriend is 5’4”. And yet they were able to make it work inside the cramped quarters of an airplane lavatory. They were also able to make it work in a deserted beach in Catanduanes on a full moon. All these after more than 6 years together. No it ain’t the sex. It’s something more.

It is the commitment to keep the passion alive; the commitment to stay together despite the bad times; the commitment to make it work even when you have 2 giant Hollywood franchises, a better body with abs and a now more successful career than your wife.


This quest to find some other possible answers and a little curiosity led me and my friend to watch the latest indie romcom to sweep the nation. A few minutes into the movie she slept and I only got frustrated why act 1 was so dragging. Any filmmaker should know that the first ten minutes of a script is the most crucial in keeping the viewers glued in to their screens. But then again, that’s my problem and not yours. When I felt like it was a romanticized stalker movie is also my problem, not yours. But I digress.

Jesse and Celine never had the perfect story. If you have watched the entire trilogy you would know that it took so long for them to get there. Theirs was a story not worthy of a big Hollywood production but that of reality. But then again, how should I know. The thought of tying yourself to someone is suffocating enough. So let’s reconvene when we are middle-aged and jaded. Maybe by that time we would have already figured out how people stay together for better or for worse. Just like in the movies.

-30-

The Truth In Hugs

There is veracity in randomness

When everyone seems to be serving BS for handshakes, it has been my crime to go in for a hug and show the world that we can actually kill people with kindness. It doesn’t necessarily work all the time but hey, at least it melts hearts one cold person at a time. It is so hard to fake a hug and yet so easier to spot a monster with a firm grip.

A few months ago, me and a new found Central European friend were bidding farewells from the rest of rum set, sunset crew of travelers that shared passion for well, you know, and admiring that sun set every primetime by the beach. Hugs were made, promises of visits in each other’s countries were exchanged - the typical goodbye stuff. But out of all the hugs that morning, there was one that stood out. And by unanimous decision made by my friend and I while discussing on the bus, it was from someone we did not expect at all; a very funny bloke from the UK. Who would’ve thought, but looking back, it all made sense! The hilarious one has got to have the warmest heart.

It made me realize that there is so much truth in hugs. And so much more in a particular kind; the airport hug. People saying goodbye to their loved ones, lovers, friends and family in the Departures knowing that they will be gone for a very long time brings out the humanity in everyone. Everyone has a soft spot despite what the world thinks. And not to be considered less is the opposite kind in the spectrum; a husband hugging his newly-arrived wife and twirling her around was such a sight to behold that everyone clapped for them and made everyone’s day.

And in this realization, we begin to appreciate those hugs with finality. Not everyone will stay in touch or keep their promises but at that moment when you were hugging them and the world froze and the time stood still, those tight hugs that lasted forever and yet still felt short, it was all real. It may not be real the now but at that moment in the sweet past it was everything and the truth.

I remember being stuck in the pier for more than 12 hours one time that I befriended fellow happy souls – a couple from Germany and China. We only had to cross a narrow strait and it was everything but rainy and yet the coast guard would not allow anyone to leave the island. So while everyone else was miserable we threw our own shindig and party we did. What started out as standing in line went to lunch went to card games with random people went to karaoke and eventually led to a mini street party. The coast guard finally gave a go signal and suddenly everyone’s mood was up. Some middle-aged Scandinavian took over the microphone and I was able to capture a heart-warming moment of my friends on camera. There is veracity in randomness.

And so my friend and I arrived in the city. He had to catch a flight and I had to get back to reality. We exchanged hugs as we bid farewell and at the back of my head it was funny I was overthinking and pressured to give a decent and genuine hug after that much discussion on the bus. I was genuine by the way and I’m hoping he was too. But then again, if he weren't then I’ve had worse; I shook hands with the devil. They look you in the eye and give you a strong and firm handshake. Scary, believe me. So next time, go in for a hug. Besides, don’t you think a warm hug is so much more comforting than a handshake, a milk shake, a fruit shake or whatever shakes that may try to shook you?

Hop on the Goodbye Bus

The last sunset of 2015.

As we watched a big ball of fire go down slowly to kiss the sea, we drank our beers and laid witness to the last sunset of the year from a tree house. It was perfect. Not because it was, but because at that moment we knew that it marked the end of a 365 day journey.

So as we worshiped the sun’s final bow, a fellow traveler threw the question everyone hated but secretly loved, “What’s your new year’s resolution?”

The answers ranged from the usual “I don’t have one” to the healthy “I’ll start dieting” and to the tragic “I’ll never fall in love again”. Not sure on the last one though or maybe I was just imagining things, but I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone was thinking it. Secretly. At some point.

It may be a different year, but the issues remain the same.

When it was finally my turn to share, I said, “This is going to be my despidida year”. 

Say goodbyes. Throw a party. Move on.

 I had to go to another beach town for some friends’ farewell a week after New Year’s Eve and it got me thinking; Is there anyone who could fully say that he/she genuinely loves a despidida? Come to think of it, despite the fun it could entail when you factor in the booze, the good vibes and a great party,  reality eventually bites in and the cold hard truth envelopes us. Everything good is about to end.

So when I showed up for my Danish friends’ party later that week, they explicitly said they preferred not to call it as such because it ain’t. It was goodbye and it was sad. And it meant bidding goodbye to the people they’ve grown to love and that place they’ve considered a second home.

Farewells are never fun.

A few days before Valentines, a friend was exhibiting classic signs of a major breakdown in social media. Soon enough I found out that the matters of the heart aren’t going well lately and that she might have to have that difficult conversation with her paramour soon.  Then she went on to details as to what happened that made her draw the last straw. And yet despite the inner conflicts she feels inside, she is trying her hardest to be firm with her decision. Good riddance.

However just a couple of hours ago, on Valentines, another friend headed to splitsville with his long time girlfriend. I know, of all days. Who would even consider calling it quits on February 14? I was, like, this is so déjà vu man. One of my best friends has done it to his girl a couple of years ago. He was branded a dickhead for quite some time.  It’s pretty much the norm in my circle I guess.  He said that he felt that after that big fight, the relationship has ran it’s course. And in a few hours he has to catch a flight back to his home country. As of writing, he’s waiting for his girl to wake up to finally say goodbye... with finality. For now.

But come to think of it, are goodbyes really that sad?

Saying goodbye to clutters and bad vibes bring us peace of mind. Bidding farewell to heartaches lead us to a healthier heart. Giving away old clothes that no longer fit gives us more breathing room and not to mention it helps those that are in need.  Getting rid of all the people who used us, betrayed us and those who never had our backs all along is the most liberating feeling ever  (next to skinny dipping on a full moon).

At some point, we may have to ride that proverbial goodbye bus. We may have to shed some tears and try to peek back through the window. We may even have to question or decisions, ask whoever it is we want to ask why shit has just happened to us but one thing remains the same; we hopped on that bus for a reason. We are where we are supposed to be.  It may hurt to leave some things, some people, some experiences behind but it’ll hurt more should you have opted to stay.

But think of it this way, based on personal experience, goodbye bus rides or bus rides for that matter, always lead to a good sunset. The premise may be depressing knowing that such beauty will have to end and soon it will all be dark, but we all have to remind ourselves that there’s no such thing as permanence.  Enjoy that beauty for what it is, have it etched in our minds, experience and feel the moment. Because the minute it gets dark, that’s when we will appreciate what we had.

Goodbye.

You Got Punk'd (In Your 20s)

The past few weeks, people that I know had to surf different waves of emotions. Some struggled on their feet, some put on a brave face, while other’s crashed. Could it be some giant earthquake triggered waves under the sea of our barely adult emotions? But then again, I realized, it simply just adulthood raping us in every way possible, not leaving a single hole in our hearts unmolested.

Drowned with beer and sorrow, when she cried her heart out over some bad breakup. Drenched were his feelings when he realized that those whatchamacallit he held on to for years weren’t strong as it were before.  Panic , when he started to think he is stuck in a rut called commonplace. Frustration is when she let society get into her head, leading her to question on whose happiness she should seek for.  And bleeding is when his heart is deeply wounded he plugged the drain with any numb-inducing high he could think of.

Dang what is up with my inner circle lately?

So over beers, or text or facebook messages, those emotions poured out endlessly. Not even one taking it lightly, with each having a different way of coping.

I remember reading an essay a decade ago about what’s it’s like to be having a quarterlife and thought it would be the coolest thing ever.  For a kid waiting to grow up and experience the thrill of adulthood, it definitely was a YES. But for a reluctant MTV generation grown up forced to face reality that life isn’t a music video, then awww HELL NO!

When things get rough, no one’s gonna say “that’s a wrap you guys” and automatically things are gonna be what it should be.  No, that’s not how it works. Shit won’t clean itself up. We attend to our own mess.

And no one’s getting Punk’d anymore.

I watch in pain seeing a friend die each time she spoke of her heart aches. I do not condone disrespect to self. And yet, I believe in following your heart.

Hay pag-ibig. Dying inside na, patay na patay pa. Walking Dead lang?

I have fully accepted the fact that some good things must come to an end. Death is a part of every life cycle. But rebirth is always around the corner.

I do not believe in facebook anymore. As the name suggests, it’s all about the face value. I am judged for having one too many times having fun on pictures – which is the whole point in living.

So do not impose your miserable life on me.

Happiness will always correlate to contentment. I tell my friend that. Reiterate if I must because despite what he has and what he is experiencing right now, it ain’t just enough for Instagram or his newsfeed.

Seriously, It’s either you weed out some friends or that newsfeed has to go.

And we should not let society dictate us. At the end of the day, this is our life and not theirs. So what if they're pregnant at 25? Partying at 25 sounds pretty good to me.

Staying afloat and surviving is a tricky business. A million waves are gonna come crashing in testing our core. Bills, responsibilities, expectations, and unrequited love while struggling each day to survive is no easy feat. But while we’re at it, try to live life and have fun, it’s not like you’re the only one experiencing it. Trust me, you are not alone.

So take the plunge, enjoy the bumpy ride. It’s the perk of being in your 20s.

The Politics in Dating a Hipon

So it was one of those Thursday, almost Friday stress-beer night and all my friends had other ‘priorities ‘ and the only one who promised to swing by by the bar actually stood me up that I ended up drinking alone. A few gulps down and almost immediately I got hit on by a prostitute trying to earn a buck.

You know the prototype, bangable bod and butterface. Meaning everything's good but her face.

Or so I thought she was.

Turned out she wasn’t a hoe but just a normal bar patron that comes off a little kaladkarin.

Interestingly, after a few exchanges of terrible dirty pick up lines, we kinda hit it off. It wasn’t cerebral intercourse per se, but there were moments that she could actually keep up with certain topics and be a little cultured every minute or two but that’s before she injects it with some street crass green jokes. So if people assume she’s a hooker and I believe that happens a lot, it was all her doing.

If she were pretty, I’d feel really bad because there’s nothing sadder than a beautiful girl that registers pokpokin unintentionally.  But then again, she weren’t, so just as what every shrimp does, they rely on attitude or if not overcompensate on personality. And boy does she have personality.

The next morning, I consulted the ‘experts’ which basically are random people on my phonebook.

 ‘Would you do a shrimp?’

Most, if not everyone said NO. Let’s face it, who would ever readily admit of doing one? And if it ever got so complicated that feelings got involved, It is a known and acceptable fact that all lovestruck couples have beer goggles on during the entire duration of the relationship.

One of the first people who replied to my query adamantly said he’ll never do one. Basing on his track record though speaks otherwise. He was always the one with the questionable choices.

But there’s one who said she wouldn’t mind just as long that on that interfacial relationship, she gets the upper hand. She must be the pretty one because, according to her, she’d rather have people baffled and asking why she’s dating an ugly guy and not the other way around. Makes sense considering she’s doing quite good herself professionally. She doesn’t want to be labelled as *coughs sugarmommy.

I remember going to this event one time and accidentally bumping into someone I know. We did a little chit chat and just as I was about to go my way and end the convo, the words, ‘Uy baka may makakita sa atin, baka anong isipin’ came out from her mouth.

Oh no she didn’t.

Kung makapagsalita naman to, akala mo kung sinong maganda.

Because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and state the blinding flash of the obvious, I just said ‘Paki natin sa mga tao.’  I was shocked to know that all this time, she still hasn’t realized she’s a shrimp.

Made me want to grab a mirror and shove it on her face.

So I just smiled. Nothing feels more great that knowing something others don’t.

According to some drunken wise words, It is said that, If the sex was great then it cannot be denied. Pero pag hipon, deny to death.

Besides, no one is perfect and there’s always a room for mistakes.  And if you’re asking, NO, I had to run for my life.

The World Loves A Beefcake

I shudder at the sight of a very pretty girl going out with a douchebag. No, that cannot be happening at this day and age. Whatever happened to substance, to Shia LeBeouf getting paired with Megan Fox, to life being ultimately the revenge of the nerds?

When you think the mating landscape has become progressive, that pretty mestiza girl from college is now dating a guy whose primary goal in life is to increase the girth of his biceps.

Seeing them HHWW at the mall struck a chord in me so hard that I did what I swore myself not to do ever in my entire dorky existence.

I signed up for a gym.

Now I know what I did what such a sellout, but after watching Captain America recently, I realized that nobody cares who the director was or who wrote the script, and if it were to be based on the shrieks alone, muscles make girls go into a wild frenzy.

In what world does muscle trumps over brains?  Wait, earth calling Jaime.

All this time, I thought brain was the biggest the sex organ and intelligence is the best aphrodisiac.

Hoping to learn more about this anomaly, I text blasted girls on my phonebook, ‘Quick, bright o gwapo? #yungtotoo #walangplastikan’.

Honestly, I thought it was a shocker that everyone replied with looks as their top priority. But there’s one though that replied, ‘what quick’?

*Faceplam

When Survivor did the Brains vs Beauty vs Brawns this season, I thought I was gonna be rooting for the brains. But since they proved to be imbeciles, I leaned more towards the beauties, specifically hot girl Morgan. I dunno everybody needs a bosom for a  pillow I guess.

Now I know I’m contradicting myself, but then again, I was thinking with my other head.

We all have beer goggles on when it comes to cerebral matters. Dafuq if she’s dumb.

In the end, I take that we can’t choose who we love. For all we know, that asswipe that’s the mestiza girl’s current squeeze is smart (which I highly doubt).

I told my friend quick meant ‘premature ejaculator’ and she just took it just like that. No brain process whatsoever. But I digress.  I didn’t have the patience because I just felt the urgency of this subject.

And if you’re asking, It’s been a week now, but I still haven’t showed up at the gym. I still haven't lost hope for humanity.

Boodmo

At thirteen I thought paradise would be lounging at the beach with a beer on my hand watching the most perfect 4D experience; the waves crashing, the sun setting, and reality shut and kept somewhere else. I didn’t even like beer then. And my biggest woe was not being able to watch my favourite show on a Friday night.  

Back then, the coolest thing ever would be doing what my childhood hero was documenting week after week on a national daily. It wasn’t  Kurt’s artistry and eventual demise, not Gael’s cinematic triumphs, and not even Che’s aventuras de motocicleta, but what this little gringa wanderer did on the face of the earth; she lived life. And lived to tell the tale.

I won’t give out her name. Let’s just keep it that way.

So a decade later, on my birthday weekend, at 4 pm, on a happy hour, I drank beer on the beach, watched the waves and the sun set. Looking back, I must say things have been working out the way I envisioned it to be. At times, it did feel a little bit of a slow burn, but not getting what I want on a specific time has only taught me patience.  And for that, i think I can sit still now, a few minutes more than someone with attention deficit.

At 6 pm, I was guzzling down cocktails with a friend and a Scandinavian divorcee. In some drink whose name I couldn't even remember, I realized that it wouldn't hurt to try out new things once in a while. Out of your comfort zone, is where the magic happens. Like some fancy tequila-based whatnot, would it kill me if I drink out of a martini glass instead of a shot glass? Nope. But it did make me appreciate what i have with rum. And what I have in life.

In Scandinavia, she ranted out the sad fact that they didn’t have mangoes. And that her marriage was ending. I told her to go to Italy and India and Bali, and maybe write a book, and think of herself like she’s some kind of a paler Julia Roberts. And if all else fails, happiness could come in a form of a peach mango pie or a Mango Mania Krusher or just plain mangoes.

I would have suggested her to do a female version of Around The World in 80 Girls but I don’t think she’s up for that.Wherever she is now, prolly in Boracay, I wish her the best lays days of her life.

At 8 pm, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that there’s another set of happy hours. Like, being on an island doesn’t give out that much happiness already.  

Talking about random things over aged rum with old friends and new ones and getting surprised at the wisdom we never knew we have is just priceless. Appreciating your differences and being grateful for friendships that withstood time and geographical boundaries made every shot sweeter. Seeing Spanish volunteers put their life on hold on the other side of the world to help out the typhoon victims has restored my faith in humanity.  Witnessing people with so little and yet so happy only affirmed my disdain towards material culture.

Every time i’m in a new island, at a beach somewhere on this archipelago, getting lost, I know I have made her proud. For it is when you’re lost that you find yourself. 

Paradiso doesn’t have to be synonymous to white sand beaches and turquoise seas. In my case, I live near it – Paradise, the village. My crib may not be the fanciest, but it has enough character for every bonito struggling artist waiting for a muse to get inspiration from. I know I've made this choice. I may not be happy at times, but who is?

At the end of the day, when the hangover is gone and reality draws you back in, you realize, happiness is a choice. And paradise is a state of mind. So let’s drink to that. Boodmo.

The Bigger Peacock

I once went to a store in a place where the population is supposedly predominantly Bisaya. So imagine my horror when the attendant came up to me and asked “Sir, ano po ang hinahanap natin?”

She was speaking in Tagalog. In good grammar, but that’s beside the point.

 Yes, Tagalog. Something that I’ve never really bothered in mastering. Yes, I can think it. And I can very damn well write it. It’s just that I don’t want to hear myself talking and getting flak for sounding too, well, weird.

“I’m sorry I’d rather not speak Tagalog,” I said sheepishly.

It threw her off a little bit, and for a moment got confused as to what language she would have to use.

“Do you speak Bisaya?” I asked

She nodded.

“Good.  Magbinisaya ta.”

Welcome to a Southern City in the Philippines, where speaking a certain kind of Tagalog entails a feeling of self-importance.

Going around the city for some research and having talked to some locals, I would notice one thing; a bevy in the young society do have a knack for speaking that grammatically wrong, heavily accented Tagalog. And if I may add, they consider themselves sosyal.

Meet the kolehiyalas.

“Mahiya man ako magjeep”

“Ano nga yung ginsabi mo?”

“Magpunta tayo karon sa Gmall.”

One doesn’t have to be a grammarian to recognize the obvious. And one just has to open his eyes a little more objectively to see where those words are coming from.

I once talked to a girl who said she normally has to turn her Tagalog on when she’s in the mall. According to her, that’s what posh people do.

I, too, would speak that much dreaded language for any Bisaya tongue if I were a native speaker. But for someone who’s obviously not and talking to a fellow non-native, do we really have to risk sounding trying hard and jologs just to make us feel that we’re better than everyone else?

Speaking broken tagalog does not make us sosyal nor better. Neither does going to Gmall.

So why do we have that need to feel that we’re a cut above the rest?

In one of those long days in my previous job in pharmaceutical sales, some people from other drug companies certainly do have attitude just because they claim they’re from a “better” company.

“Miss, are you from ?”

“Yes, why?” She snootily answered.

“Nah, nevermind.”

Looking back now, she might’ve thought I was trying to hit on her. She might’ve also forgotten what her face looks like.

I was, like, dafuq?

Sometimes the ugliest girls do really have the ugliest attitudes.

There was also a time when I have spoken with a doctor who looks down on flight attendants just because they’re “just dumb flight attendants” and he was “a doctor.”

I was greatly offended for I have known smart people from that industry -smart enough to be doctors themselves. And yet, here’s a doctor whose intelligence in questionable and whose face is, well, indescribable.

Rumor has it that he took the boards 4x and yet he has never eaten his share of humble pie.

For all I know, his unabashed audacity just stems from his frustrations.

How many times have we encountered pricks simply because they’re titled and they’re “so much better than everyone else”?

Reality is, people who think they’re better than everyone else are actually not. Read: there is a reason why some young and unloved female lawyers put on a Gandang-Ganda sa Sarili Facade with overzealous confidence.

One pattern I’ve noticed while working in my previous job, is that pretty doctors tend to be the most gracious, kind and accommodating.  And the ones with the good attitude even if they’re not conventionally pretty become more and more beautiful once you get to know them. On the other hand, kung sino pa nga yung alanganin, yun pa ang nagsusuplada.

Over-compensation for the things we lack in would only makes us look hopeless than we already are.

At times we find ourselves laughing at people who mispronounce words. We think it’s hilarious. We then take pride in being “superior.”  But if we really are better people, instead of laughing, shouldn’t we help and correct that poor little chap who mixes his f’s and p’s?

The recently concluded elections just brought out the holier than thou attitude in us. Uh newsflash, not voting for Nancy Binay don’t make us the chosen ones.  I was the only one in our precinct who voted for Dick Gordon last presidential elections but doesn’t give me the right to call all those who did not vote for him stupid.

Seriously though, we are not better than we think we are.

And it seems like everyone’s so busy in trying to one-up each other, but really, aside from those bragging rights, what does having a flashier peacock brings to the table?

Man Go Float

Surrender.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned the past two years that would be IT. It’s not the maturity of how I am now as a drinker. Not the stroke that would identify me as a painter. Not even the writing style I have developed and somehow lost the past decade.

It’s about finally accepting what is happening now and all the things that have had happened be it good or bad without any form of resistance whatsoever.

It’s not raising that white flag per se, even if it kinda is when if it’s really not. But it’s knowing that I have done everything that I could and the outcome is no longer in my hands.

The past two years have been all about moving and searching for that special place on earth, moving from one city to another, making mistakes one day at a time. Maybe I have learned, maybe I have not.

Realizations were made, friends drifted apart, hearts and dreams were broken, and isolated case of blueballs just remained, well, as it is and nothing more.

Growing old has been nothing but tricky. I remember purposely going to a booze party and yet constantly reminding myself not to get hammered as much as I used to – which I successfully did with flying colors. Having experienced a major blackout months before have made a self-police out of me. Would I say being a smart drinker is fun? No. But it’s something a responsible grown up would do when he’s got an early flight the next day.

You are no longer in college, I tell myself. And we thought life was already a bitch back then.  Well, welcome to the real world, bitch.

And then there’s friends. Do we really have that many people we can consider as such? Do we really? Geography will always take a toll in any relationship. New interests sprout by the minute. People outgrow each other, move on and get on with their lives even if we like it or not.

It’s like when some friends finally face the music and go to AA, it will always be inevitable. Even if occasional relapse does happen, no it ain’t  just the same.

And oh, dreams too can be shattered. If by now, you still haven’t gotten over the fact that you are tone-deaf, color-blind or I dunno, just blind to see the blatant fact that things aren’t going to happen, prepare to have your hearts broken. Not everyone can be rockstars or astronauts or olympians or pornstars.

Not everyone is cut-out for becoming they always wanted to be.

Heck I know, I’ll never go to outer space. Even if my head is.

We just have to accept it and from that adjust the career path from scribbled lines to something less gibberish.

And of course, some hook-ups are bound to shake our world badly.  Despite what you say is an undeniable chemistry, that sexual tension, those long walks on some quaint little town, that French song you sing together, that doesn’t have to mean anything all the time.

In the end you might end up holding tears on the bus.

And just jerk it all off.

Happened in real life. To someone I know. Stop asking questions.

My two years of taking that “gap year”, developing my personal brand, working on that “book”, and trying to become who I am can be summed up by my quest to actually learn how to swim. I know, kill me now.

All my life I just never learned how to. I remember feeling fulfilled when, despite my lack of natural buoyancy, I floated on some beach in Guimaras two years ago. For the entire afternoon, I just floated moving from point A to point B.  It wasn’t swimming but, still...

Flash forward two years later, Samal Island with a trainer in tow. This time, a little more determined. I was taught two things. One is that in times of distress, all I have to do is swim like a dog. I don’t know what that means and yes, I did imagined myself as a dog.

And two, that I must not resist the waves. Relax, take it easy for there is nothing that you can do, that music played in my head. The more I try to resist, the bigger chances I might just get injured or worse, die.

Then it got me thinking, I was being a badass dorky genius who found answers in life again. In two years. Yipee. Joy. Hurrah. Bigyan ng jacket.

Yes, things don’t always go as planned. Life has this habit of throwing us lemons, not giving us enough time to make lemonades, overwhelming enough to bury us.  Change is always unavoidable. Doors closing are normal. Everything is just shit. And all that come in very big shitty waves.

Sometimes, there’s just no use fighting.

After an hour of successfully not doing it, I just did what I knew best; float.