Quickie

Once upon a time, in a Third World city, a girl had to pee. She told her colleague, one of the most beautiful men in the office, that she had to leave to go to the loo. In five minutes, she was back.

Man: That was quick!
Me: Yes, it's a quickie!

Har, har. Corny, I know. Bur I couldn't think of a good way to start this entry. This is going to be relatively short and sweet-- I need to wake up at 6:30 tomorrow, and it's almost 12 here. I just want to say how much I am grateful for everything that came my way-- the full scholarship that brought me here, the good jobs that are now proudly written on my CV, the demanding editors who brought out the best in me, the teachers who believed in my talent and intelligence, the friends--especially the ones I've made in college--who love me in spite (and sometimes because) of my flaws, and my parents who gave me the freedom to dream and chase what I wanted, no matter how unconventional or impossible it may first seem to be.

For once, I will not write about anything depressing, frustrating, or sad. I am grateful for tomorrow. Finally, I am crossing out one major goal in my lengthy list. And I'm crossing it out with a flourish.

Graduation, here I come.

 

Books and roving clinic

When I picked up my toga from school today, I noticed the roving clinic parked right in the same spot where I first saw it. You see, if you're an incoming NTU student, you have to take your X-ray exam in this van. I wish I brought my crappy camera with me to give you an idea. Alas, my cheap Nokia doesn't even have a cam.

Anyway, my point is, when I saw the van it got me all nostalgic. It's been a year since I last saw it, and now, I'm two weeks away from convocation; in two days, I'm going back to working full time. I know I've been getting nostalgic and have been blogging about it several times. But please, indulge me, for that's just the way I really am.



Before I left school, I dropped off a couple of books in my prof's mailboxes. In spite of what has recently happened, I still believe in the goodness of people. Life is short; we should spend it showing the people we love how important they are to us.

CG and APH, I hope you enjoy those books as much as I did. You guys were the best.

A matter of time

My friend LJ is still jobhunting. We've been chatting on FB on and off for the past couple of months, and I can tell he's getting terribly frustrated.

Listen to the song, dude. Come to think of it, I should listen as well.



Nothing's permanent. The most intense emotions--anger, frustration-- are very fleeting. The fact that they're intense makes them such. What we're going through now, it will soon come to pass.

And it's back!

There was something I heard recently that really broke my heart. I read somewhere that we grow up believing that as we grow older, our circle of friends grows larger. The past couple of months, I saw some friendships destroyed. And I'm writing off another person tonight.

I'd like to pretend I'm okay. I thought I'll be okay after days of window shopping, mixing and matching clothes, and walking from one end of Orchard Road to another.I am not. It took one e-mail from my friend A and a chat with my former thesis partner M to make me realize that I'm not. I had a crying jag in front of my laptop; for several minutes I couldn't even type, and only M could do was wait until I could continue.

I feel betrayed. I actually thought this person was a friend. But friends don't rat on you. And if they do, well, that makes them a rat.

I missed this blog. This was a journal of the year I spent here in Singapore. I decided to open it because I don't give a fuck anymore.

From now on, I maintain, I do not know you. I am supremely disgusted with myself.

Private

Ladies and gentlemen, upon recommendation of the Council of Elders, I now make this blog private.

I can't write on an old fashioned diary, complete with lock and key. I've long ago forgotten to write in long hand, no thanks to a life lived with PC's and Macs. I realized that my thoughts ought not to be for public consumption.

The problem with private blog though is the danger that I will stop updating it. When you know that more people read it, there's a bigger chance for regular updates. I don't think the same holds true for a private blog.

O siya. I'm off to burn more bridges tomorrow.   Hahahaha!

Life's a Beach

Spent Saturday at the beach with M, talking about random things, looking at a couple of white men trying to get a tan, stuffing ourselves with wedges and basically just bumming around. Wish I brought the camera with me. The beach wasn't as good as the one in Coron, Palawan, but it will do.


W said she didn't enjoy this semester as much as the first one. I love this sem. The classes weren't as interesting as they used to be, but this time I learned more about life, love, friends, music, and film. Made a couple of mistakes, especially in maintaining friendships, but I think I'll be fine. And she would be, too. 


It's just that I have a strange talent for shooting myself in the foot. I always end up being misinterpreted. I shot my foot again this morning. My god. But hey, at least I learned. My god. What a sem.


I used to regret not studying in Japan. But yesterday, staring at the water, I have no regrets at all.

Recently Watched: Hana Kimi

I love watching beautiful people on television. This sounds shallow, but the abundance of eye candy is one of the reasons why I love watching Japanese shows. I’m such a sucker for cute, slim, Jap boys with amazing hair.

So it wasn’t that difficult to fall in love with Hana Kimi, a comedy about Mizuki (Horikita Maki), a cute girl who pretends to be a hot dude so she can study in an exclusive school for boys. Maki’s concerned about the fate of high jumper Sano (Oguri Shun), who was injured when he tried to save her from a bunch of muggers. How Maki tries to convince Shun to go back to the sport he once loved—and the goings-on in their school of handsome, mentally-unstable boys—forms the bulwark of the series.

What got me hooked in the series though wasn’t Shun or Maki, but Ikuta Toma, who plays the rival for Maki’s affection. Charismatic and gifted, Toma plays soccer athlete Nakatsu with so much charm that you end up rooting for him. You want him to end up with the girl—and if that doesn’t happen, you just wish he’d end up with you. And yes, I love Toma’s hair here as well.

Hana Kimi is actually more of Nakatsu’s journey. It’s about falling for somebody, giving them your best, being their friend, only for that love to remain unrequited. But unrequited love, and the drama it brings, is just so painfully addicting, that you still hold on to the hope that someday, something will happen.

My favourite scene in the entire series was when Nakatsu fell to his knees when he learned that the girl he wants will never love him back. There will be somebody else, his roommate assures him. But Nakatsu knew, like we do, that in spite of that, it won’t make rejection any less painful. The best thing to do is to wallow in your misery and in your heartbreak—then be grateful that somebody has at least made your journey through adulthood a little more colourful.  

Ikuta Toma is the cutest bowler I've ever seen!!! Hahahaha!

Argh!

The past couple of nights, I’ve been sleepless, no thanks to my former colleague and friend C. She’s been on line night after night, pointing out how I have mishandled recent events which should have turned out really well.


The thing is, I thought I was doing the right thing. Ganyan naman lagi, e. Maayos intentions mo, pero ending, mali. Palpak! Bwahaha! Dyan ako magaling! Bwahaha!

What I kept telling C was that these things happened because they—my friends--weren’t around to guide me. They would have known how best to deal with it. They’re younger than me, by one or two years, but by life experience, they’re a decade older. I have nobody here to ask about the situation. Sure, I have M, but the perspective of the whole gang would have helped.

Next time, C, I’m gonna play the cards right. I promise. But I really can’t do everything you want me to, because you're right, I am a coward. I can't put myself out there as much as I should. In spite of my protestations, I like things easy, comfortable, predictable. Anything other than that sets my world out of axis. At hindi ako si you-know-who! Wala akong confidence nya, no!

I’ve completely messed things up. The only thing I can do now is to learn from this, ok? Now get off my case and stop making me feel like hell. :)

I'll see you on-line. And in spite of my misery, I know I'm won't be able to stop myself from mentioning the dreaded topic. This is all about me, and you can do nothing about it. Hahaha! At tigilan mo na yang efforts mo na pagselosin ako. Sasabunutan kita pag-uwi ko!

O, here's Rhett Miller. Para sa mga talunan. Hahahaha! But you know, you're quite sharp. You noticed something that we never did. I wish you didn't, because the what if's will never stop hounding me. But who knows, right? Who knows.

As my lunch buddy DJ said, "Malay mo, sa tatlong taon...." Hahaha! Batang to. Isa pang paasa! :)

Manila, I apologize :)

I just got an SMS from my former prof who's spending the break in Manila. He said, "I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm having so much fun!"


In my last entry, I painted a grim picture of Manila, as if it's hell on earth. In a way, it is, and in a way it is not. It's a very complex place, Manila. If you're the type who's used to the comforts of life, it's not for you. But if you really want to get down and dirty, and you don't mind meeting evil face-to-face, you may find it interesting.


Let me put it this way. If Singapore were a person, she would be the A student, graduating on top of class, loved by her teachers. Manila is that bad boy,the one who barely passed, that boy who always made fun of you, whom you loathe, but whom you secretly want to date.


Manila is a vibrant city. Music plays a huge part in the lives of its people. It pervades campuses, and I spent a good part of my university years going to cheap concerts by some of the city's best bands. The city has a fledging independent film scene that has produced movies that has earned the respect of critics. Art is not taught. It's just something we live with.  


Religion is a driving force in people's lives. Proof of this is the feast of the Black Nazarene, where people pin their hopes in God and in themselves, so that they may have a better life. Ironically, there is so much sex in the city as well. You can smell it in the smog-filled streets, and see it at the way the men and women in the offices flirt outrageously at each other. Catholicism produces repressed beings. And when you're repressed, some things happen.





Feast of the Black Nazarene. Yes, this can kill you.



Manila is unforgiving. It does not like the weak. He crushes them. But if you survive him, you can survive anywhere. He can break you--and make you. And in spite of his devious nature, the city is the home of really affectionate people. Something that I've noticed when I started living here in Singapore was how proper the people are. They usually keep their hands to themselves. But the people of Manila are very touchy feely. We hug our friends, even of the opposite sex. We kiss each other on the cheek at Mass, and even when we just greet each other. We care for each other too much. And we're not afraid to show it. We're too PDA sometimes. 


I told my classmate S that I can't understand why Dr. R would want to visit Manila. S asked me, "Why not Manila?" Yeah. Why not indeed.

The cost of an education

Now that I'm almost done with school, I'm facing the next big question: should I stay or should I go?

This is a beautiful city I live in-- it's clean, there's no pollution, you'll never lose your stuff unless you're really stupid, and nobody looks at my scarred legs. All in all, perfect. But there are social issues that may just limit my job prospects. The government has increased the levy a company has to pay for each foreign worker it hires. Singapore's government is doing this to slow down the massive intake of foreign talents in recent years. That's not exactly good news for many foreign students, I'm telling you.

Not that I don't want to go home. I super miss my friends and former colleagues. The Philippines still remains an option--an option I don't mind taking. Nothing beats working with wacky, irreverent creative minds, which Manila has in abundance. And there's nothing more comforting than talking to somebody in my native language without worrying that I'll end up being misunderstood.

I'm just really glad that if I do go home, I don't have any loans to worry about. I've met a couple of people who took out loans with massive interest just to study here. And while I salute them for their passion for learning, I would like to give an advice to fellow Flips who may think of doing the same thing: don't. Try to get a scholarship, like I did, especially if you want to study a liberal arts/communication postgrad degree. Worrying about your debt will surely keep you up late at night. Don't waste your 20's paying off your student loans. You may even end up in your 30's still paying them off.

If you plan to take an MBA in foreign institution, go ahead. MBA's are now dime a dozen, but to have that under your resume will surely open numerous doors. But a liberal arts, mass communication degree? It's debatable.  I've met Filipinos here who never studied in Singapore, but are earning 4,000 SGD-- far more than what I can hope for, in spite of being educated here. They're earning that much because they're engineers. But it's still a little disheartening to know that they never had to study here like I did. And let me tell you, NTU was super stressful, at least during my first sem. (Now, I don't care anymore, hehe!)

So there. That's my advice: don't take out loans to study in a foreign university, unless it's an MBA. Or if you're really loaded, ask your parents to pay for it. Calculate the financial cost of getting a foreign degree-- because sometimes, it may prove to be a burden rather than an asset.

Recently watched: Hanayori Dango and Pride

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm so late with this thing. But hey, better late than never. :)


For falling for Pride, I would have to thank M, the one who got me hooked on Jdoramas in the first place. Pride stars the uber hot Takuya Kimura. Kimutaku is a hockey player on top of his game who falls for Aki (Takeuchi Yuko). The return of Aki's boyfriend is what brings a lot of drama to this show, along with the sob stories of the other members of the hockey team. Great cast (testosterone overload!) and great music. They played quite a lot of Queen songs in the show. I'm impressed. You would have to pay a ton of money to do that--unless they used those songs without permission, which is impossible. 

Takuya, you are smokin'. Someday I will fly to Japan just to interview you. Hehe!

Hanayori Dango, as many of you know, is the Japanese adaptation of the famous manga, Boys Over Flowers. My friends from my previous workplace love the Taiwanese version, Meteor Garden.I wasn't hooked on MG (too many fan girls, didn't wanna join the crowd), but I really like this version. The boys may not be that cute, but they dress well, and Matsumoto Jun plays the rich, bullying leader of the F4 brilliantly. (M tells me the Korean actor is better, and the cutest of them all. Jerry is the worst, acting-wise.) 

Of course, much of the appeal of the Jap version, at least for me, is the music. According to my friend M, this one has the best soundtrack. Listen to these songs. These are the theme songs for the first and second seasons.

These songs are so good I never get sick of them.

By the way, I tried watching Full House, which was really popular in the Philippines during my YES! days. I'm sorry, hate me for this, but I don't understand the hype. I almost fell asleep in M's place when I watched the first three episodes. I was so bored I decided to watch Balls of Fury instead. 

And sorry, Rain is not appealing--at all!

Update:

Here's another song I really like: it's from the opening billboard of HD's season 2. Enjoy! :)

Oranges

The campus is quieter than usual. Students have gone home for the Chinese New Year. The school is like a ghost town since last Friday, with many opting to skip classes-- something that I never thought these diligent students would ever do.


I spent Saturday with M, a friend and former colleague who has turned me to a J-pop and Jdorama addict. I like going to classes, I like learning new things, but without my Saturday sessions with M, I think I would have gone insane.


After watching animes, soap operas, and stuffing myself with Pinoy food, I took the train and waited patiently for the free shuttle bus that would take me inside NTU. Alas, even the bus drivers have gone on a holiday. I ended up taking the taxi instead.


As my usual practice, I engaged in a chat with the driver, who was about in his late 50's, as soon as I hopped in. I asked the driver why he was working during New Year's Eve. His answer: "I have to work. I have to pay my insurance. I'll spend it with my family tomorrow." 


In my country, this would have been considered tragic. Old people don't work--their kids are the ones who do it for them, which is why many leave the Philippines to slave their lives away in a foreign land. Some Singaporeans have been abandoned by their children. But others just refuse to be a complete burden. At first I thought working at an old age was tragic. It was later on I learned that in this culture, they view working--even in odd jobs-- as a way to keep their dignity intact.


Before leaving, I gave my Mandarin oranges to the happy and flustered driver. Those were gifts from M. I hope she won't mind me giving it away. And I hope the driver, in spite of his work, still had a great Chinese New Year.

Journalism and my place in it

I've been helping quite a bit with organizing the Asian Journalism Fellowship, an event that brings together for three months the region's finest journalists. The fellows will be staying here in Singapore, free accommodation and with monthly stipend, to attend workshops about the country's press, sightseeing, and working on their research projects.

Benedict of the Temasek Foundation (standing) tells us a story about farming, to explain why Temasek is supporting the fellowship. My super duper favorite, Prof. APH (second from left, wearing a blue shirt), had only this to say, "Corny story, Benedict!" Hahahaha! APH is such a big shot he can get away with making comments like that!

During the first orientation, the fellows introduced themselves and the kind of journalism they have done. Some are business journalists. One writes about cars. But the ones who have impressed me the most are those who write about human rights, political unrest--the nitty, gritty kind of journalism which I think I can never get involved in. See, while  I may have more education that is considered useful, I'm don't have enough guts and persistence to do investigative work. Guys like these have my utmost respect.

My work pales to theirs in comparison. I write mainly about entertainment and popular culture, with a little fashion and makeup mixed into the equation. While not as life-changing as other people's work, I still believe though that it still has a place in society. Like what another blogger, MC, said, what a boring world it would be if we all did the same type of job. What's more important is to have passion for one's job, and to do it ethically.

After school and achieving my nth diploma, I still plan to write about fashion, makeup, entertainment, and maybe even travel. These are what I live my life for. Maybe, someday, I'll write about politics. But at this point, I'd like to write about the beautiful things that life has to offer--even if some may think it's shallow.

The Loo

I've always been the queen of randomness. Just ask one of my professors, whom I send e-mails to with absolutely no  purpose. So let me talk about men and the loo.

The other day, I was washing my hands in our brand new women's room that comes complete with full-length mirrors and sensor-activated pin lights (okay, I'm blabbing) when I heard the voice of one of my professors, the super gorgeous Dr. DR. He was talking loudly to somebody, and I can tell that he was in the men's loo.

This got me to thinking: how can you (a guy) take a piss when your professor (or student) is standing in the urinal right beside you? Here at NTU, the professors don't have a loo of their own. They share with us students-- we mere mortals.

This reminds me of something I learned just recently. If you're a guy, there's an unwritten rule that states that in case there are a couple of vacant urinals, and there are few guys inside the room doing their business, you're not supposed to use a urinal that is right next to one of the dudes. It's a complete no-no. It's a violation of the Bro Code, dude.

So, how can you take a piss when your prof (or God forbid, your boss) is standing right beside you? Awkward, huh? Thank God I'm a girl.

Sneakers

Just last week, we were hanging out in Dr. CG's office when I noticed he was wearing a pair of really cool sneakers.

They were Adidas, in blue and red. With his dress shirt and black jeans, it made him look really fasyon.

"Nice sneakers. Are those new?" I asked him, as I noticed how clean and dirt-free they were.

"Ah, no.By the way, I couldn't wear the Abu Sayaff shirt you gave me."

He then proceeded to talk about the Asian Journalism Fellowship, but I have to admit I wasn't paying attention. His Adidas were a big distraction.

Days later, I was walking in campus when I saw a girl wearing sneakers, a shirt, and floral skirt. She would have been cuter if she wore a pair of Chuck Taylors.

I chatted with my Duabi-based brother O and told him of my plan to buy a pair of Chucks.

"Forget it," he said. "Chucks are so common. A lot of girls wear Chucks with skirts."

"That's not true! I'd be the only girl in NTU wearing Chucks with my floral skirt!" I protested.

"It's common! And a lot of emo kids wear Chucks with skinny jeans. Chucks are so ubiquitous! Don't buy Lacoste; that's very common, too." (I never thought O notices how people dress up. I am now officially in doubt of his sexuality.)

I was battling the blues during the weekend. There is something about relationships failing that bugs the hell out of me. I was walking around the mall with my neighbor CS, who spent a few days in Penang trying to recover from a breakup, shopped and bought his way to happiness.

And then, I saw them: a pair of yellow Nikes, sitting prettily on top of tons of boxes. I remember Dr. CG, the way he ate pizza as we sat in his office, feeling awakward yet happily basking in his presence. I remember the girl in NTU, on her way to class, with a determined look on her face, possibly thinking about her grades and her damned GPA. And I remember O, who generously gave our dad a scandalously expensive LCD TV.

I walked in and bought the yellow sneaks. If there is one thing that makes me feel better--other than writing-- it's shopping. I don't care anymore. I've got a new pair of Nikes. The world is perfect. :) 

Nodame Cantabile

Things are getting a little better lately, thanks to my friend M, who showed me the path to sheer happiness when she let me borrow a copy of Nodame Cantabile. Nodame is a Japanese show based on a manga series starring the beautiful Tamaki Hiroshi. I've always had a thing for slim guys with great hair. Tamaki certainly fits the bill, hehe.

The series is about a group of young musicians who form an orchestra. Individually, they’re not excellent. They still need a lot of practice. But these kids have a lot of passion, raw talent, and love for music, which, as any artist will tell you, is a great start towards a brilliant career.

Nodame shows how life-enriching music and the arts can be. It shows how passion for your craft can give your life a sense of direction, the kind that money will never give you. It shows that if there is one thing that life will never take away, its talent. Blessed are those who have it. And if you do, you should never let it waste.  

Ice cream and Shoes

I want to write about something, but I can’t find that something.

I have a lot of things to write really, but not now. There is a time to write about those things. Maybe I can write them 6 months from now. Or maybe not. By that time it will no longer matter.

I still have a short story to finish. I’m almost done. But I’m scared of how it would come about.

I keep checking my e-mail, hoping that something interesting would come up. The most interesting mail I got was about a meeting next week with one of my favourite professors. That was it.

Maybe I should just eat ice cream, but as it happens, I already have fulfilled my ice cream quota for the day.

Maybe I should just buy shoes. That always worked for me in Manila. The higher, the better. It would hurt so much I will never get to wear it. Walking in heels in Singapore is akin to suicide.

I should go back to working on my presentation for Monday, but the topic is depressing—about people who pretend to peacefully co-exist but, behind that facade, there is potent rage brimming, the kind of sheer anger that would destroy their society.

Emo. That’s what my brother calls this. I can’t believe I’m doing and feeling it now.

PMS, that's how my girlfriends would label it. Hormones.

That’s it. I’m going to buy a pair of shoes from Charles and Keith. Saturday. I promise.

Money, Money, Money!

I was doing a couple of mean crunches at the gym this morning (oh yes, I'm on track with my goals this year) when it suddenly hit me: I'm 28 years old without a single property to my name.

I have countless books, clothes, and diplomas, but I haven't made any investments in my entire life. I have slaved for 6 years, been studying for the past 6 months, and all I've got to show for are my tiangge clothes. Oh, no.

I've been putting off taking care of my finances for the longest time. You see, I've always been obsessed about studying abroad, and now that I've reached that goal (which turned out to be no big deal, although I'm really thankful for the mostly wonderful people I've met) it's time to move on to something more important, something that would really have a huge impact on my future. I ought to stop worrying about grades and start worrying about my savings.

I don't want to die penniless and educated. I want to have a posh condo, and the peace of mind so that I can write. I know too many smart yet poor people. This may seem materialistic, but that's not the kind of life I want. And I don't want to snag a rich husband just to live a comfortable life. Many who do end up being really unhappy, or worse, beaten to a pulp.

When I left the gym, I vowed to myself: I will invest on a business (anything!) in the next two years. My brothers--average students-- are now building their investment portfolios. I'm sorry, but I am not going to be the poor spinster sister with the multiple diplomas to her name.

Yesterday, I learned a lesson

That I should be more careful about the things I blog about, and to whom I should show it.

I live for the day—if there is something I learned in the past 28 years, it’s that worrying about the future is pointless, and that sometimes, worrying about the consequences about what I say and what I write, is an exercise in futility.

But boy, am I really, terribly, wrong.

A couple of months back, I wrote something, about Someone, that was slightly critical. I forgot about it. I moved on to better and happier topics: Christmas, friends, Manila. Lo and behold, I got an e-mail from Someone, telling me he read my “slightly critical” blog entry. When I asked him how he found out about it, he said a classmate “ratted” on me.

Wow. That was juvenile. That was so high school. That was, as my friend W said, low. I’m amazed that some people actually have the time and inclination to read and discover something that I posted months ago.

My closest friends don’t read my blog. They’re too busy, too caught up in their lives to bother reading it that often. Heck, my skirt-chasing, iron-pumping  younger brothers don’t even know I have a blog. T o know that somebody actually read back to my previous posts and bother to “rat” on me, leaves me in stitches. And yes, I’m being sarcastic.

From now on, all the “safe” posts are here. The questionable, negative, and more interesting ones go to my anonymous blog.  This would be the last nega post.

I apologized to that Someone. I hope I didn’t piss him off. But I think I’m the one who’s more pissed.

Postscript

I finally heard from Someone, who was so cool about the whole thing. He said he wasn't pissed. The dude was more surprised somebody would bother to rat on me.

So, sorry, people. Like what I used to tell Someone... EPIC FAIL! [insert evil laugh here]

The Thing About Us Pinoys

Today I had lunch with the only Pinoy student I’ve met here in NTU. D was introduced to me by his classmate and my neighbour M. It was really nice and refreshing to talk to a fellow student in Tagalog, somebody whom I can freely express my hang ups about school and about life without losing some of my ideas in translation, and without worrying whether he will be offended by anything I would have to say.  

We Pinoys have a lot of idiosyncrasies, from pointing to something with our pouted lips, to taking a bath twice to thrice a day. And the only people who can understand us, from our best to our worst, is our fellow Flips. That’s why when Pinoys migrate, they settle in areas where there’s already a large Filiipino community, to make the transition to the new country a little easier.

Which isn’t to say we get along all the time. One nurse I’ve met here in SG told me that in the hospital where she works in, she has a problem managing her Filipino staff. A former colleague left her job here after a mere three months—she couldn’t stand working for her Filipino boss, who was unreasonably competitive and insecure of her.

But for my part, I would like to hang out more with other Pinoys. Nothing beats having to speak to somebody in your native language, and to joke with them without explaining the context. I’m sure there will be people out there I won’t get along with, but I’m going to be a Polyanna—I will believe a person is good, until I’m proven otherwise.   

Men, Flirting, and Me

One of the most memorable moments from last sem was when my classmate, HK princess W, asked me, “How many boyfriends have you had?”

This happened during a rare lull in our new media class, when Dr. D was busy tinkering with the PC, trying to restart one of those Youtube videos that have become staples of his lecture. For a moment there, I didn’t know how to answer W. I was looking at her, face-to-face, trapped in rows of seats and tables, with nowhere to go. I wanted to talk to one of my classmates, but the evasion would be too obvious. I wanted to go to the loo, but that was more obvious. I wanted to scream at Dr. D, “Dammit, D, get this started!” But he was no help at all.  

And then, I finally told W the Truth. “None.”

“What?” she asked, sceptical. “I would have thought you have tons of exes!” She looked at me for a few more seconds, thinking I must be joking.

The reason W was so surprised was that she knows I’m a big flirt. Aggressive, as some friends half-jestingly describe me. This came to full force last December, when I flirted with all the cute boys (friends I miss) of the old company I used to work for.

The reactions were varied. There was N, one of my all time biggest crushes, who remained rooted to the spot, mumbling, “Of course, of course!” as I told him how hot he’s becoming as he grows older.

There was the totally committed Y, who merely pleaded, “Rachel no, Rachel don’t!” as I kept hugging his comfortably soft body.

But my favourite though was T’s reaction, who gamely withstood my and A’s attempts at winning his heart when we clumsily and drunkenly gyrated next to him. He was so game, but all A and I ended up with were out tarnished prides and some embarrassing photos.

Filipino girls who flirt outrageously are rare. I’m more of the exception than the rule. As a Filipino girl, you’re expected to wait for the guy to make the first move. You’re supposed to play the role of the sweet damsel, poised, not a hair out of place, and never.

But I’ve never been that kind of girl. I grew up with three younger brothers, who were so open and vocal about the girls they liked and lusted over. Subtlety was never one of their assets. Their hunting instincts rubbed off on me.

But I think I really have to tone down the act. My guy friends know that I don’t really mean the whole flirting thing (okay, I half mean it), and they will never take advantage of me because, heck, I’m not their type! But there are people who will, and they might not understand that the whole act is all that... an act. And I know this sounds a little racist, but I now live in a city where there’s a substantial expat (read: white) population. I don’t want to give old white dirty men who look like Santa Claus the idea that I’m easy, when I really am not.

But of course, it’s just so hard for an aging dog like me to learn new tricks. My friend C recently met a guy here who looks like Diego Luna. I just can’t wait to meet him and bat my oh-so-long-and-curly lashes at him. Rar!

                      

I'm Going Back, Singapore

And I have a bunch of things I’m taking with me. My small, cheap luggage is now bursting with cheap clothes, canned goods, magazines, makeup, shoes that hurt, and more makeup. And I won’t be leaving you for quite some time, dear. This time, I’m staying longer.

I'll see you again, Sir Stamford.

I like you. I like how everything you have works like clockwork. I like how nice your people are, the ease I can go from one of your estates to another, and the fact that I don’t have to jostle and wrestle with other people just to get inside one of your buses. I like that most of your people don’t look at my scarred legs, that I can wear whatever I want, without anybody ogling me.

I’m also staying with you because I need a fresh start. I need to reinvent myself. 

I love my Flip friends. I will be back to missing them terribly. They’re still the best buddies anybody can ever have. They’re talented, fun, and irreverent. I’m glad to have them. But I had a good, long talk with one of them who made me realize that what would make my life fulfilling is when I open myself to struggles. Struggle you will give me.

As much as I am proud of being who I am, leaving my country (for the time being) is one of the best the decisions I will ever make. It’s a big world out there. I don’t want to spend my life vegetating in a little corner of the earth, waiting for the day to get a big break, something I can only get when I kiss ass. Because that’s the problem with my country: you’ll never get anywhere if you’re not a lapdog of the powers-that-be. It’s one big old boys’ (or girls’) club. It’s not going to change anytime soon.

That’s why I’m staying with you for a little while longer, Singapore, dear. I have high hopes for you. I know you will judge me for what I can do, and for what I’ll become, not for what you perceive my personality to be. I will not fail you. I’m prepared to work as hard as you want me to. But please, please, don’t fail me.