tick tock

So it's the last few hours of my 20s. And then... the big 3-uh-oh-OH-NO. Shouldn't I be out relishing these last precious moments by partying like an animal, making bad decisions, finding a husband, making babies, buying property, and excelling in my career?

Need a drink now.

judgement day

I was really starting to despair and really starting to remember what stress feels like. Since July I have been muddling along, diligently firing off resume after resume after resume, with absolutely no response. I was really beginning to wonder if anyone ever reads these things or are they just ending up in a big black hole of nothingness? All this time I've been trying to keep hope alive and stick it out, not settling for anything less than what I really want, because this time I am aiming higher! But CNN finally confirmed that the U.S. is "officially" in a recession (duh! you think?) and Obama reiterates constantly that the economy is only going to get worse before it gets better. Meanwhile I am sinking lower, lower, lower into my pit of hopelessness. I started to toy with the idea of leaving, yet again. It would be out of necessity, as New York City is not the most practical place to live in on an income of nothing and in a job market offering nothing. I'm thinking to myself, maybe it's time to really re-learn Spanish. I wonder what the weather is like in Buenos Aires this time of year?

And then... Finally! A ray of hope! Santa seemed to have heard my wish. One singular interview offer appears in my in-box. And it's a gooood one. I want it! Oh the pressure. Ouch my brain! I haven't used it in so long, and I only had 2 days to cram.

The interview was today over the phone. I had that familiar feeling again- stress! It was a panel of 4 people interrogating, and from the beginning they asked me to be concise and to the point. So much for all the cutesy anecdotes I had prepared. Then they only asked 5 totally unconventional questions that blew me away. I think I babbled quite a bit, floundering for the right answer... or wait actually, ANY answer. I babbled and babbled, listening acutely for any signs of interest, approval, awe, disgust, but I got nothing at all. Nary a follow-up question nor a "that's nice." Hello? Is this thing on? I tried to inject some charm and humor into my answers, trying to break their icy demeanor, and babbled on about the language difficulties I sometimes had to deal with whilst in Chiang Mai. I laughed about having to design research instruments and pantomime risky sexual practices to do so. I laugh and laugh. Hmm I slowly realize I'm on my own here. Crickets chirping. Egads I just made a sex joke to these formidable, humorless people. Die!

I was so so drained when it was all over a mere 10 minutes later. I felt like war-torn Baghdad. 10 minutes is all I got, after 48 hours of cramming and 6 months of praying for it to happen. I lived to tell the tale. And now I have to wait until after the new year to find out the results.

You know how you see those finalists in say, American Idol, during the last few episodes, sobbing at the thought of coming so far only to miss the goal at the very end of the journey? I really feel for them now. Don't laugh.

So please send good vibes and prayers my way, coz I really could use them!

fantastic voyage

Wow.

That's really the best word that can sum up my most recent international excursion.

But 3 countries in 2 weeks is enough to spin anyone's head I imagine.

The food! The cute boys! The shopping! Truly a buffet for the soul. Heehee.

Let me just put my words together then I can share more with you.

dear santa

All I want for Christmas is a job that I can love, and one that loves me back. Thank you.

(and maybe just substitute "job" for "man" if you're feeling extra generous!)

Peace on Earth. xoxo.

music makes the people come together

As previously blogged about, in New York City we are accustomed to living on top on one another, privy to everyone else's business and pretending not to care. I know what time my neighbors leave for work and I know what time their kids get out of school. I know that there is a gay couple somewhere in the vicinity who frequently argue about not being able to fully come out of the closet. I know that Greg who lives upstairs likes to play the banjo, stomp his feet and yodel (or whatever that God-awful noise is emitting from his throat), as part of practice for his "bluegrass" band. Those are the times when I turn up my stereo, curl into the fetal position and whimper. There's also a beautifully-voiced opera singer who lives in the apartment adjacent to my bathroom window. Those are the peaceful Sunday mornings when I stumble into the shower, bleary-eyed from the debaucheries of the night prior, and find my sanity again just listening to her angelic chorus interplaying with the rushing water around me.

Then, in moments of inspiration, delusion, or emotional overflow, I belt it out in the shower. As you may or may not know, I'm a closeted, frustrated, emotional and angst-y rockstar. Karaoke is my best friend, when I have a mic in my grasp, a song in my heart and a captive audience of friends and strangers alike. The shower is my practice studio. So, a few weeks ago while rehearsing my rendition of Mariah Carey's "Vision of Love," a thought occurred to me...

If I can hear my neighbors, surely they can hear me!

Um, duh. Cringe.

So now the weather has gotten colder, much, much colder, and I've had to shut the bathroom window for the winter. So no more Sunday opera for the season. I wonder if they are missing me too.

mama said knock you out

From The International Herald Tribune, published today, December 7, 2008.

Philippines crawls to halt to cheer Manny Pacquiao, boxing hero

By Carlos H. Conde

MANILA: In cities and towns across the Philippines, traffic was practically nonexistent Sunday. The crime rate was zero in Manila and other major urban centers, the police said. And days before, the military had announced it would not be opening any offensives against enemies of the state for a day, while Muslim insurgents responded by promising not to attack.

The event that brought everyday life in this deeply Catholic country to a Good Friday-like standstill was the historic matchup in Las Vegas between Manny Pacquiao, pound-for-pound the world's best boxer, and the Mexican-American boxing legend Oscar De La Hoya.

Filipinos were glued to their television sets as Pacquiao claimed victory over De La Hoya. Restaurants and movie theaters were filled with mostly poor Filipinos, cheering Pacquiao and taunting his opponent, while pedicab and bus drivers stopped plying their routes, to the consternation of some commuters.

"We don't get to do this often, so you understand the excitement," said Erasmo Baltazar, a 52-year-old bus driver who decided not to show up for work Sunday. "Besides," he added, taking a swig of his beer inside a roadside restaurant, "I never miss a fight by Manny."

In many army camps, televisions have been set up for soldiers, whom the popular Pacquiao has always made sure to visit. "The soldiers relate to him because his life is an inspiration to us all," said Major Gerardo Zamudio, an air force spokesman.

Pacquiao, 29, is considered the greatest sports hero this country has ever had. He is dubbed the "people's champ," earning as well the moniker "the national fists."

His victory over De La Hoya, who surrendered after the eighth round of a 12-round fight, cemented his legendary status, which had been buttressed by his humble beginnings (he dropped out of school when he was 12, sold cigarettes in the streets and turned to boxing in order to survive) as well as his reputation for generosity (he reportedly spent $700,000 for tickets to the match that he gave out to friends and relatives).

To many Filipinos, Pacquiao is the embodiment of a dream fulfilled. Across the country, boxing stables are filled with young men who had run away from their homes in the provinces in order to train to be boxers - many of them hoping to emulate Pacquiao. He has almost single-handedly made boxing the national sport in what used to be a basketball-crazy nation.

"Manny lives up to his billing. He is truly the people's champ," said John Nery, a writer who has written profiles of the boxer. "But I think he is also teaching his millions of fans a valuable life lesson. Talent, even of world-class quality, is not enough. You need discipline."

Prior to the match, Pacquiao had been deemed the underdog against the heavier, taller and more experienced De La Hoya. But his training and preparation bordered on the obsessive, many sportswriters had said, with reports depicting him as a hungry boxer determined to prove his nonbelievers wrong.

Apart from being a source of inspiration to many young Filipinos, Pacquiao's fights have a way of deflecting attention from the country's troubles. For instance, the news that 16 people had been killed Saturday in the worst cops-and-robbers shootout in recent years - including a man and his young daughter who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time - was eclipsed by stories on Pacquiao. "Time to make history" went the lead Sunday headline of the Philippine Daily Inquirer, the country's largest.

***********************************

So, does this mean now we are looking at a future President Manny? Yes We Can! But No We Shouldn't! In any case, mabuhay ang Pilipinas!

alone

It is commonly said of New York City that you could easily go through everyday life here, in this city of 8 million people, and still feel like the loneliness person in the world. We live alone in this culture, most often in our solitary apartments, on top of other solitary apartments, forming no real connections to the masses that surround us and only interact with them in the shallowest of manners. We push through each other in the crowded subways and streets everyday, fight for reservations at restaurants and tickets to shows, and lay awake at night unable to sleep while a zillion car horns blare and pedestrians chatter excitedly on the sidewalk outside our windows. There is life all around us, and somehow we are so removed. I can put on my Ipod and tune it all out.

Mark Twain called it “a splendid desert—a domed and steepled solitude, where the stranger is lonely in the midst of a million of his race.”

New York Magazine's cover story this week is about this so-called "Urban Loneliness," and how recent sociological studies are proving this to be more of a myth than we feel. How so? Humans are social animals with a hypothesized biological need to interact, ultimately ensuring the survival of the species (i.e. sex). Really, that's all it comes down to? Everyone needs someone to love them. Woop!

That's the ultra-simplified analysis. Read more here.

hola atcha puerto rico!

Phone call to Mom:

Me: Hi Mom! How are you?
Mom: You sound happy. Do you have good news for me?
Me: Yes!
Mom: Oh! You got a job!!!
Me: Um no. But I'm going to Puerto Rico!
Mom: *sigh*

So yes, I still am without job. It is frustrating beyond belief, but my new Zen-like, sanity-maintaining philosophy for everything is: if you don't laugh, you cry. Right? So. I enjoy my time off and I take trips.

This time, destination Puerto Rico. The self-described Caribbean paradise where wanderlusty Americans can flee to without the hassle of passports, learning Spanish, or converting dollars.

It was a last-minute trip, impulsively booked only 3 days prior. Hardly enough time to plan out a solid itinerary and brush up on my (very) rusty Espanol. I shouldn't have even bothered. My feeble attempts were answered to in perfect American- accented English (after some snickering, I might add. Renewed goal for this year is to relearn Spanish!).

Ohh the beach! It was so good to see it again and taste the salt in the air. I could spend hours there, dreaming and sighing and thinking of nothing at all, at peace under the tropical sun, and so I did. I prostrated myself on the sand and watched the local life pass through. Schoolchildren ran by kicking a soccer ball through the ebbing waters on shore, and a lone figure spun over the sand in a flurry of limbs to a capoeira beat all his own. A rolling salsa beat out onto the prone sunbathers across the beach. Slippery, glistening surfers glided by, darting in and out of the waters and harnessing the wild waves with a grace and skill that I can only dream of mastering one day.

Yet I jumped right in. Inspired maybe in a fit of delusion and conveniently forgetting that I'm still a terrible novice, battling the ocean with some of the best. But the rush of adrenaline I get from a split-second atop a board atop a crazy wave is well worth the week of pain I feel afterward. The current that day was the strongest I've ever had to surf in, and I exhausted myself just trying to paddle out to the waves. Actually I was paddling without going anywhere, huffing and puffing with exertion and willing my arms to keep working, and finally my instructor was fed up and sighed "just walk." Unbeknownst to me the water was 4 feet deep. Doh. Later I took a massive wipe-out full-force to the shallow ocean floor and busted my knee. Again and again I am reminded what a life force the ocean itself is- powerful and monstrous and utterly beguiling in its beauty. And I just can't stay away for very long.

Viejo San Juan was lovely as well, with its old crumbling architecture and somewhat romantic, somewhat creepy ambience. It made for some expensive (but yummy) cocktail hours and some tripped out photos.

But for a more authentic, Anthony Bourdain-style experience of the city, this isn't it. The Carnival cruise boat docked that night, unleashing a rampaging hoard of Mid-western American tourists and suddenly we were in Disneyworld.

On an afternoon trip slightly off the beaten path, Sophie and I found ourselves in the area of Piñones, a stretch of pristine coastline dotted with simple thatched hut eateries and patches of sand, where one can sit and immerse in nature and solitude and think deep and meaningful thoughts about the universe at large. It's that kind of feeling. Where lovers go to cuddle and mothers bring their babies for their first taste of salt water on their baby skin. We sat at Soleil and ordered our best meal of the trip- Mofongo with the works. A van parked next to us and a group of people emerged, dressed up in colorful dresses, kicked off their shoes and spontaneously danced on the beach, as if it was a private recital for us. I have no idea what that was about, but it doesn't matter. It was the highlight of the entire trip.

All in all, a few days well-spent. Then back to reality and banging my head on my computer for hours on end looking for gainful employment. Until the next getaway, of course. It won't be too long. :)

barack and roll!

Welcome Mr. President...

... and thank you God!

i believe

I met a guy who already voted for McCain. We were in Puerto Rico, swimming in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of a San Juan beach. He looked young. He told me he's an original Nuyorican, that is, a Puerto Rican born in New York but whose family later relocated back to the motherland. He was on an 8-week break from his military service in Iraq. McCain wants to give him and his military peers more benefits, he argued. But, I countered, Obama wants you all completely out of Iraq. He was more concerned with the here and now. And actually, I should have been too, floating in those gloriously piss-warm salty waters underneath the gorgeous tropical sunshine. "We didn't come here to discuss politics now, did we?" he said.

But it's all-encompassing. No matter what light we shine on it, from whatever coordinates we are in the world, it is no exaggeration to say that a whole lot of my future, and everyone else's, rests on the outcome of tomorrow's election. I'm actually nervous. I'm turning down invites to "election viewing parties" at bars and friends' houses, because it almost feels too... personal? I have so much emotion invested in it that I may actually wail if things don't go the way I feverishly hope for them to. And it is so evident that I'm not the only one. So many times I've heard people say that tomorrow is everyone's election-- just not everyone gets a vote.

The whole world is watching us! The Economist even conducted a Global Electoral College to tally votes if the American elections were opened up to the whole world. It closed today as such:

So now I am not quite sure why Algeria, the Congo and Iraq are Republican (random!), but the incredibly overwhelming rest of the world would vote Obama. I pray everyday that we will too.

When I was growing up in the Philippines, I can't even count how many times I've been told how fortunate I am to have the freedom to come and go easily by virtue of my blue American passport. In a 3rd world country where human labor is cheap and plentiful, human rights are often violated without question, and a large percentage live on US$2 or less a day, it's easy to dream of better living conditions. And most often, people dream of America. They are eager to escape and work hard for many years just for that chance to infiltrate the so-called "Land of Opportunity" and get their own slice of the "American Dream." It's because of the alleged great American democracy that allows you to achieve success as big as you can dream it, but only if you're willing to work for it first.

I guess it really did take leaving for a bit and returning to this country to make me truly appreciate what I've taken for granted in the past. This is the country that puts such a premium on higher education that it has systems in place to reach even the most remote children, and adults, and offers them financial support to get them there. That allows women to have access to safe and accurate reproductive health information and options that best suit their individual lives. That takes its title of "World's Superpower" seriously enough to intervene with money, labor, moderators, and yes sometimes artillery, when other nations are in turmoil... clearly with varying degrees of success. That every year welcomes in foreign immigrants and refugees looking for better lives with this alleged "freedom." That is a veritable, incredibly diverse melting pot of all sorts of cultures and colors and lifestyles, and for the most part, we all do get along.

And then we squander all of that by voting in idiots who cannot possibly appreciate all these joys that America bestows on us, because they are born into wealth, they surround themselves with people of the same background and mentality, they have never left the country, and whose foreign policies are informed by the proximity of Russia to their house in Alaska. They want to instill in Americans a permanent sense of fear and defensiveness against foreigners and abolish the gains of Roe vs. Wade.

And year after year after year, I find it harder and harder to be proud to be an American. Whenever I travel I am constantly having to defend my government's bad decisions, and why? I don't support them myself.

So basically if McCain wins tomorrow, pass me the nearest shot of cyanide please.

If you're American, find out where and how to vote here. If you're not, pray for us please! We'll all just have to wait and see.

ay caramba!

Erin is ditching her jackets and heading to Puerto Rico to play on playa! Jejejejeje I kill me.

I promise to be a better blogger when I return. ;)

free-falling

My camera broke. Again. 2nd time in a year. 2nd time due to drunken debauchery. Full disclosure: we were really, really drunk. Clothes started coming off (NOT mine). Mind you, we were in a bar. A very posh one at that. Because I'm opportunistic like that, I snapped the money shot, and then triumphantly crowed displaying my catch on Facebook. Wrestling ensued. My camera and mind the only casualties. Wail.

(Note to self: you can never show your face at that bar again, ever)

So that's my excuse this time for the lack of updates, which are nearly always inspired by my visual records. I'm waiting for new camera models to come out then you will be returned to your regularly scheduled programming.

In the meantime, I've had lots of time to go through slightly older stuff. Like how I spent my American summer. Post-life-changing, exhilarating, mind-blowing Asia, I shocked my system back into American life by first numbing my senses in suburbia. Suburbia, with all its perfectly cut grass, white picket fences, and old people that go to bed early. Like my parents. Who I love, so suburbia is in fact a necessary evil in my life. But once in a while, it's also a welcome refuge when I feel myself choking on New York exhaust fumes and could use some fresh air and uhh... nature.

Like I mean, what ARE these things?!

Dad found these baby bunnies in a nest right in the middle of his perfectly manicured lawn. Silly mama wabbit. I had my National Geographic moment when I decided to save them and move them to a safer spot under a bush. I dug them a new hole and put an "x" with twigs over it. They were alive and hopping the next day and the x had been moved, so mama had found them. 2 days later they were all gone. Probably off digging holes in someone else's yard.

In place of surfing, I had to get my sporting kicks elsewhere. So a few times a week I'd play b-ball with Dad. He talks a lot of smack, like "who says white men can't jump?" I am ashamed to say that he can kick my ass.

The happiest dog in the world. Mine. He never leaves my side for a moment when I'm there. And he is the most charming partner with whom to take in all the suburbian outdoor splendor and actually make it interesting again. If only I could have half the excitement he has upon seeing yet another lamppost or squirrel.

I'm especially nostalgic now that my transcontinental endless summer is, well... ending. The leaves are turning colors, temperatures are dropping, and my tan is fading (nooo!) faster than I can stock my Fall season wardrobe. I am so not ready. I threw on sandals, shorts and a tank top today in defiance of Mother Nature, and then sheepishly layered the outfit with 2 hoodies and a scarf. Le sigh. Farewell summer. It's been real yo.

i hate the bus

Threw the rest of my heavy coats and boots into my too-small suitcase and sat on it, pounded it and wrestled the zipper closed, like me on my heavy days vainly wriggling into a pair of skinny jeans. Mercifully it did close. Let's pray now that it doesn't burst and splay my underwear everywhere, as was my unfortunate experience once when traveling from Naples to Amsterdam. And another time from Manila to Hong Kong. Hmm actually this seems to happen to me a lot, I wonder why? Hauled ass to the bus depot, only to be greeted by the door bitch, who, armed with her clipboard and a nasty sneer informed me that there was no more space for me. "But I'm on the list!" I wailed, racking my brain for names to drop and pulling at the metaphorical velvet rope. Flashing cleavage in this situation proved fruitless. Bye-bye bus.

Cursing under my breath, I walked 6 blocks to the nearest Starbucks, dragging my luggage behind me like a dead body. And since when did one have to walk so freakin far to find a Stabucks?! They're on every blasted corner when you don't need them. And I hate Starbucks. But I needed the wifi. At $6 an hour, mind you. Groan. All so I could scour the other rotten bus options for the day, because I need to be back in New York already. My roomie is frantically texting me non-stop that there is a, umm, rodent situation in the apartment that needs to be dealt with asap. Boy, I can't wait to be back!

So as I sit here on this generic purple Starbucks couch, using up every cent of the $6 I spent on stupid Internet, sipping weak and overly saccharine sludge, I choose to vent out all my frustrations now to you, my faceless internet audience, lest I murder my seatmate with all my pent-up aaaarrrhghhhh. I will probably have to pee all the way back, thank you Starbucks, and I pray to God that the bus bathroom is halfway decent, but that would be too easy.

Next time I'm taking the f-in train!

where were you when...?

On September 11, 2001... I was living in Washington, DC and working for a government office. It was early in the morning and my coffee hadn't kicked in yet, and I was getting thoroughly annoyed by my coworkers shrieking in the next office. I went to see what was going on and the guard's tiny black and white TV was tuned into live coverage of the smoking twin towers in NY. Then it split-screened into the smoking Pentagon building, which was alarmingly closer by to us. Rumors abound that the Capitol building was the next target, which happened to be conveniently located next to our own building. This rumor actually turned out to be true- but for better or worse, the plane intended for us crashed into a field in Pennsylvania instead. Half the crowd hauled ass outta there. The other half, myself included, loitered about in shock and indecision.

My cousin worked at Morgan Stanley, on the 60th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower. It was unreal to watch the flaming buildings on television, knowing that he was there, somewhere. Then it collapsed, and I almost fell with it. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to do something, anything, anything was better than that nauseous, helpless feeling of dread, disgust, panic. I couldn't reach my cousin's phone and I thought I was going to go mad with worry. So I hauled ass outta there too. The streets were pandemonium. Everyone blubbering about senselessly, running aimlessly, on their mobiles and jamming the lines.

He was ok (thank the Lord). He was in the 2nd tower to get hit. When the first one got hit, his building was evacuated, without any explanation. They sauntered down the fire exits grumbling at the disruption of another unnecessary fire drill. When they reached the 45th floor there was a guy with a bullhorn telling everyone that the situation has been resolved and they could return to their offices. So my cuz took the elevator back up. "How stupid were we???" he would later be quoted in the New York Times. He reached his office and looked out the window to see people in the north tower jumping out of the windows. That's when the second plane hit. A file cabinet fell on him. Then he hauled ass. It took him an hour to make the 60 flights down, made painfully slower because he was helping a crippled woman. On the 7th floor she stopped, claiming she couldn't go on. My cousin was aghast. "What do you mean you can't? Do you understand that we are going to die?" She refused and refused. He had to leave her. He was 10 blocks away when the tower came down. The trains weren't running or were otherwise jammed, and the streets were flooded with ash and panicking masses. There was no way he was going to make it home, so instead he met his dad at a bar and they got drunk.

Seven years later, and I am still thankful that my cousin is still here with us, but mourn those who weren't as fortunate. I still wonder what happened to that crippled woman.

in a galaxy far far away

As promised many months ago, here's the video of the downtime during just another day at the epicenter of gayness, my little office in Chiang Mai. (Again, please excuse my very extremely heinous laughter in the background. I could not control it!)



I miss these fools. I really do.

only in america

Where else but in America can an Amer-asian girl dress up in a sari and roll into an Indian engagement party in a Brazilian churrascaria with a carload of Filipinos, Chinese and Koreans?

Mat was one of my closest friends from my college days in upstate New York, and over the weekend he celebrated his engagement in a traditional Malayalam Indian dinner party. It was an intimate crowd consisting of family and church members and a few friends. Their pastors were present to lead the many Christian prayers and singing. The mood was conservative, but happy. An hour into the festivities, I felt happy as well, but something was missing. And then I slowly realized there... was... no... alcohol. OMG. I was at a party completely sober! Surreal. Luckily we were at a Brazilian bbq buffet, so I got intoxicated on meat instead, my drug of choice for the night. I inhaled 9 different kinds of bloody carnivore delights carved from sword skewers directly onto my plate, and finished myself off with 2 plates of leche flan for dessert. All I can say is praise the Lord my sari was adjustable. I had borrowed it from Nina in an attempt to be formal and culturally respectful... and also because this might be my only chance to ever wear a sari and their jewelry is crazy. Love it.

I tease Mat that his Indian traditions extend way beyond just his religion. His mother had set him up in what I affectionately termed a modern-day arranged marriage. Clearly mommy knows best. It's rare to see 2 people together and know that there could be no better match for each. After only 4 months of dating, he proposed. He said it was the easiest decision he's ever made. Isn't that how it should always be? :)

extra baggage

Moving really makes one take stock of her life, as measured in material possessions. When I left New York at the beginning of the year, maybe never to return, I was overwhelmed and drowning in boxes and styrofoam peanuts and packing tape. I must've spent the equivalent of a small country's GNP on overweight luggage, shipping and storage costs. At the end of it all, I once again swore that upon my next inevitable move, it will never be this painful again.

my little lane on Wualai St

Then I was transported to Chiang Mai, a land from a whole different time period, like perhaps, the days before modern civilization (exaggerate much? nah). My house was simple and my closet minuscule. Suddenly I was hard-pressed to find a reason to break out my 2 pairs of high heels and bother with flat-ironing my hair, as in "what do you mean there are no society parties here?" Or perhaps more devastatingly, "what do you mean there are NO CUTE BOYS here??!" I was surrounded by hippies and backpackers everywhere! OK, there was the occasional well-groomed, well-styled, clean-smelling boy here and there, but for the most part, di ko type, or just not for me. Or they were gay. And then the joke turned on me, when I had to start buying hippie clothing in the local street markets that was more appropriate for sweating all day in the Thailand dust. And then I actually grew a fondness for long flowy skirts and wearing the same flip-flops everyday. I even had a flip-flop tan on my feet.

Not that I was a total ultra diva pre-Chiang Mai. I mean hey, I've been camping once! I knew how to rough it, sometimes! But this was kinda new to me. This house full of girls who expected that the contents of one backpack would last them 4 months and 6 different countries. That's when I had to learn to let go of all that wasn't important. Without forgoing my personal hygiene of course. Or sacrificing my lipstick. I still need beautification products! But within some reason.

Now that I'm finally unpacking my suitcases into a real closet in a real apartment again after half a year, I'm wondering how I've accumulated so many things when really, all I needed to get by on everyday was the contents of just one (OK fine, 3 suitcases OK!). I'm fixing up my new apartment, thinking about drapes and new ottomans, and flipping through Ikea catalogs wondering what kind of dining set defines me as a person? (as the pre-Brad Tyler Durden wonders in Fight Club) And then again, I stop and realize that I don't... really... care.

It's a new mantra that's permeated other facets of my life as well. Not the stoner/slacker kinda apathy. But more like, give importance in your life to things that really matter, and less to those that don't. And somewhere in my dim little dome, a lightbulb went off, like... duh! Seems simple enough. But not as simply executed in real life.

My happiness is important to me. So if that means tossing out material goods that are weighing me down, boys that break my heart, distractions that hold me back, frenemies that are more drama than love, then I do it, and I've stopped looking back.

But once in a while, the battle within resumes, between rationality and my irrepressible weakness for hot new shoes. Shoes make me happy. Shoes, and of course plane tickets. If that's how it has to be, so be it. And I'm happy.

must... find... job!

I only had a vague idea of what I was looking for when I left to travel across the globe a few months ago. I wanted to find an escape, but mostly some perspective and inspiration. I was sick of the somewhat structured life I had created already. I was falling into a rut and didn't know how to get myself out of it. I was so bored but was getting too numb to realize it. Then out of nowhere, circumstances upset that boring balance of mediocre ordinariness. There was a shake-up at my job, my office could no longer keep me, and with that I became one of the first victims of this season's U.S. recession. I could sink or swim. Instead I flew... to Thailand. I wanted a new direction.

I didn't want to be chained to a desk forever, bitching about Mondays, cheering on Fridays and watching the clock everyday until it hit 5pm. I didn't want to work at a job that made me dread waking up in the morning. I didn't want to stress about things that don't really matter in the grander schemes of the universe, like how to make the spreadsheet freeze panes. I didn't want to be living to work. I didn't want to be puttering away behind a computer, losing all sense of human contact and the people I'm supposed to be working for-- the "public" in "public health"-- when I could be in the trenches with them myself. I didn't want a flat office butt. Easier said than done right? But I've paid my dues, and now I want to be on a path that I know I have chosen for myself with all the tools given to me.

So when I get discouraged now and lament about what a drag it is to find a new job, I try to remember what I do and why I get excited thinking about it. Now I not only know what I don't want, but also what I do. In concretes, not abstracts.

I received this email from my old division chief (i.e. big boss) back in New York while I was traipsing about Asia.

Erin,

It was great to hear from you and to see the pictures that you sent. We miss you here and I’m thrilled about your adventures. I have tremendous respect for all that you do and learn much from you by the way you bring “public health” to life.

Enjoy and let us know when you’ll be back Stateside.

Dr. E

And now that I've found inspiration from the outside, I can also find it within.

hearting NY

Reason number 253 to heart New York: The summer time.

(stupid puggle just licked my whole face!)

• Summerstage at Central Park: picnic blankets on bare grass under the trees, sunshine, dogs, friends, and copious amounts of wine and champagne. Oh, plus your buds Gilles Peterson and Jamie Lidell performing live as your soundtrack to the perfect lazy summer Sunday afternoon.
  
• Rooftop parties.
  
• Outdoor dinners with the sun still up.
  
• Never-ending happy hours.
  
• Beers are ok pre-noon time, or anytime for that matter.
  
• There is *always* something to do and the hardest decision is fitting everything in.

Reason number 254 to heart New York: You could live a lifetime here and still never have enough time to do everything.

• Kanye West concert at Madison Square Garden. I'm not even really a fan, but tickets were offered and I couldn't pass them up. And hey, it's Kanye, self-proclaimed "biggest superstar in the world." The pleasant surprise for me though was when N.E.R.D. opened. God bless Pharell.
  
• Discovering new haunts and old friends. Old friend Anton spun at new club Love in the West Village, with its sprawling dance floor, waterfalls-as-projector-screens, dark beehive-like caves with cushions, all of it combining to induce a coma of nightlife downtempo.
  
• The Wackness at the Angelika Theatre. Coming-of-age story of a teen drug dealer, his pot-smoking psychiatrist, and the city itself, against the backdrop of the pre-September 11 NYC (one scene features the brilliant Ben Kingsley sitting on a Brooklyn bench across the Twin Towers), and the then-incoming Guiliani era that set in motion a wave of changes to result in the safer and less gritty NY we know today, all set to the beat of thumping 1994 NYC hiphop (think Biggie).

I laughed, I cried, I drank, I danced, and I fell in love with New York all over again.

no sleep til...

I don't know what I expected to be so different. As if I could disappear for several months and everything would suddenly change positions or close down. But no, every direction I looked, everything was just as I remembered. But with renewed vibrancy.

I slid back into the grind so seamlessly, and was instantly absorbed into the city's throbbing bloodlines (otherwise known as "the subway" and "traffic"). Arrived at the station and was glared at by a cranky old woman. But then a stranger helped me with my bags without even asking. The cab driver lies and tells me he doesn't know the way to Brooklyn. Are you freakin' kidding me? Fine, I'll direct. (Do I still remember?) Along the way, ensnared in the aluminum crush, I point out to myself the old archetypes of New York that I so fondly remember: rocker-junkie (track marks, check), East African immigrant, Indian cab driver, Middle American tourist with big camera, fashionistas in Jimmy Choos, Wall Streeters, the ubiquitous hipster, and the black-cowboy-slash-soul-brotha-in-skinny-jeans-and-Superman-cape... wait, huh? Unusual, but not for this town.

I arrived at the new/old apartment. Took a walk around the neighborhood and promptly picked up 2 perfect giant wooden picture frames that someone else had thrown away. Picking up other people's garbage- old New York survival skills coming back strong!

Hi New York, I'm back. Party.

re-running

Going back.

After a long, colorful intermission (I think it was a drag show. Asian-themed. I sipped some strong whiskey and mojitos with ginger).

Touching down, crossing that bridge, seeing all those lights heralding my arrival back into her concrete embrace. No matter what time of day or night there's gonna be some energy to find. Somewhere lurking in the back alleys, speeding through the subways or parading down 5th Avenue.

Will it be like returning to a life put on hold? Everything the same, the surroundings, the friends, the seasons, the city. I'll have the same grocery store, the same train line, the same bars. Even my ex-lover has called to say he'd like to catch up again when I return (as if).

Hitting reset and replay. It's deja vu, but it's not. Familiar furniture, slightly dustier. Me, slightly older.

Everything the same but my insides.

Going back.

Going forward.

club life

I'm not the type of traveler who has to have a steadfast itinerary when I go on trip. I'm a more fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kinda girl, and that applies to almost anything else in my life as well. However there are a few must-dos for every visit. Besides the shopping and the sampling of the local cuisine (which I believe is standard for all tourists), I gotta see the nightlife. It's a (very) familiar ritual to me that takes on a new light when in another country. There aren't many better ways to get intimate and immersed into the local culture than by checking out for myself the musical styles, the dance moves, the pick-up scene, the come-on lines in every language, the differences in alcohol tolerance, and the capacity of the people to let loose and have some mindless fun.

Take Washington, DC for example. Seat of power of one of the world's biggest superpowers, full of government workers, lobbyists, lawyers, academics, consulates, and just general brilliance all-around. People sure do take themselves very seriously here, after all, the fate of the world may rest on their shoulders. And it shows in their off-time. I went clubbing in the city this past weekend and I swear I was bored to tears. The scene never seems to change or evolve there. Even the dancing of the city is stuffy! Just a mindless back-and-forth shuffle or a bump-and-grind mating ritual, with no skill or rhythm to speak of. That is, when there is any dancing. Or maybe I'm just hanging out at the wrong places. I don't know.

Thai dancing, generally speaking, is um, shall we say, classical. That is, slooowww and graceful, and it's lovely in traditional settings. That's the music and movement in their blood, but it doesn't translate well in the club scene. People just stand around bobbing their heads. Check out this statement on Thai nightlife, in the form of an installation I saw at an arts festival in Chiang Mai. Incredibly creative and trippy.



I don't know about you all, but when I dance, I become a woman possessed as I get drenched in sweat and my makeup melts off my face. Beware everyone in my path. This is why I so rarely wear stilettos. I'm not saying I'm hot shit by any stretch of the imagination, but at least when I dance, I feel it.

But the older I get, the less capacity I tend to have for all-night, alcohol-fueled ragers in super clubs, and instead tend to gravitate towards smaller, more intimate venues where I can dance my ass off, but I also have the option to sit, drink and chat with friends when my old and decrepit butt needs a breather. A few of my favorites in New York include 205 Bar and APT. Then of course, there's Cielo, the epicenter of what the New York "scene" is to music-lovers the world over, with its constant rotating marquee of all the top names in house and hiphop music. I've sworn off this club a few times-- sometimes the attitude just puts me off-- yet I keep returning again and again. Much like the city itself.

Then of course, my Manila is just full of karaoke, in a true reflection of the utter cheese running through our veins.

My favorite? Hard to say. Any scene on any night can match any mood. But tonight I'm staying in with a beer. :)

and so it is...

Back stateside.

Out of oppressive tropical heat into oppressive northeastern coast heat.

Getting bitten by West Nile mosquitoes rather than malaria mosquitoes.

Trashtastically awesome American reality shows instead of goofily awesome Filipino variety shows.

Fatty Twinkies instead of fatty Chippy.

As soon as I got here my family immediately treated me to a taste of home. Home in every sense! At the Filipino restaurant, my culture shock doubled at the sight of the white, blue-eyed blonde chick at the cash register.

Her: "So you ordered the two-rawn and the pah-law-buck, right?"

Me: "The wha?? Oh! Yeah" (turon and palabok, of course) "Can I also get 2 orders of the leche flan please?"

Her: "2 ley-chee flons coming up! That'll be $58"

What the! My God, I'm so poor here in America.

Last night was all a blur. I arrived in the airport, after 3 stopovers and 24 hours in the air crossing oceans and continents, dopey-eyed and confused and with zero dollars in my pocket, but a handful of colorful Asian bills-- play money as far as Uncle Sam is concerned. And wow, Uncle Sam, there is no way I could have mistaken you for any other country, with all your red, white and blue and homeland security greeting me in its loud, brazen, excitable way, and then getting all up in my face about what in heaven's name do I have packed away in all those "balikbayan" boxes??! ("about 10 million pairs of shoes, your honor") I tried filling out one of those arrival cards, which for a floater like me, is apparently one of the most difficult things in the world:

Name: Erin
Address: None
Phone: None
Occupation: None
Income: None

And I wonder how in the world they let me into the country?!

Tried to catch up on all the VH-1 I'd been missing, but soon after fell asleep. After all, by then it was about 8am Manila time, minus the good night's sleep. Woke up once in the middle of the night but popped a Xanax and all was well again. Woke up at 11am America time. Sounds about right. What jetlag?

Of course I miss the Philippines already, so much and I fear the worse hasn't even hit me yet. I left part of my heart there. But I found the other part here, on the other side of the world.

the last frontier

Quick, name the worst 2 things that can happen whilst on vacation.

1. Getting sick
2. Bad weather

I got slammed with both. I have not been sick in 5 months, mind you. Ever since I set off on my Asia tripping, I've been the picture of perfect health. I thought maybe because I was so happy & carefree? And then, upon waking up the morning of my flight to paradise, otherwise known as Palawan, I felt a nagging itch in my throat & promptly downed all the vitamin C I could get my hands on, just in case. Coz I couldn't really get sick on this perfect holiday could I? That would be a cruel joke. But the throat itch rapidly deteriorated into a sneezing,mucus-y, hacking, puffy eyed, red & raw-nosed mess, & I realized my body will do whatever it damn well feels like doing, whether I want it to or not.

As will Mother Nature. The weather remained a steady overcast haze the entire time. The sun shone through the clouds every now & then, teasing us in a maddening game of peek-a-boo, & every time it did we frantically stripped down to our bikinis & prostrated ourselves in the nearest patch of rays in vain attempts to get that holy grail golden tan. It rained every few hours or so, for about half an hour at a time. The saving grace was that we were already wet anyway.

And of course, it was still amazingly beautiful. Its remote location as the westernmost island group of the Philippines keeps the beaches & waters that surround them pristine & fosters a unique plethora of flora & fauna, & is thus declared a nature sanctuary of the world & the country's last frontier. The landscape was not at all what I was expecting. It was a mix of the jungle rivers, rainforests & terrain of Brazil's Amazon, the majestic mountains soaring out of crystal clear & still waters of Milford Sound, New Zealand, & the limestone cliffs, emerald waters & tropical climate of Krabi, Thailand.

Palawan is touted as an ideal honeymoon spot for being so naturally gorgeous but also so quiet & intimate. I can see why. Our resort, El Rio y Mar, was the only establishment on its own little island & we the only guests. The world could end around us & we wouldn't have a clue. In fact, it was the perfect lonely deserted island wherein to escape to if you've just committed a multi-million dollar bank heist or murdered the entire royal family. Yes, it was romance galore. And us, 4 partyphile chicks on our apparent honeymoon.

The worst part of all my misfortune was that I couldn't dive! Diving while sick is dangerous because the sinuses are blocked & you won't be able to release the dense underwater pressure through your ears. So while my friends gleefully strapped on their BCDs & regulators & went on night & wreck dives (2 of the most coveted types of dives in the diving world), I sadly waved goodbye from shore & promptly got myself a mango rum daiquiri & then a very expensive massage wherein I fell asleep, snoring on account of my clogged sinuses. Sigh.

But I did try to do everything else.

And just to top off my bad luck, I had borrowed an underwater camera from a friend, but lo & behold when I went to use it the faulty battery was dead. So I am left with no underwater pictures. When Sophie finally uploads the ones I took with her camera (in approximately 2 years from now), I'll share more. Underwater is where the real fun happened! The life down there was amazing. Again & again I find that going under really makes my world so much bigger.

Of course the sun came out the day we left. But isn't that just how it goes sometimes?

halina! biyahe tayo!

(Come on! Let's travel!)



Doing just that. :) See you after the weekend.

the twist at the end

The unthinkable has happened. I got a job offer. Here, in the Philippines. A real one, not just the abstract & intangible "sure I'll pass on your resume" B.S., but a real "here's what your salary will be, this is who you'll work with, this is where your office will be, this is what you're doing" nitty-gritty details. A monkey wrench in my perfectly crafted masterplan for the next chapter of my fabulous life. Eh, actually no, nothing is perfectly crafted anymore, & I've come to realize from years of experience that nothing is ever certain until I am there actually doing it. Now what?

It's perfect in nearly all ways except pay. I'll be living like a queen by Philippine standards but when translated into US$ it's really quite low- like less than 1/4 of what I was making in New York. Although for here it's really decent, & I feel like a troll harping on the "low" salary when my could-be coworkers are getting by on so much less, only because they haven't had the level of educational training that I have, & a foreign education no less, & definitely not because they are less dedicated. Because they work their asses off. & I don't like feeling guilty that I can so easily slide into this opportunity to be their superior simply by virtue of my ethnic background & good fortune that my parents had supported my schooling until I turned 22.

But then let's be honest here. I'm no martyr-saint, & I need my material comforts-- ok, excesses sometimes-- as much as the next princess. I have student loans & a massive credit card debt to pay. I never intended to sign a vow of poverty when I chose this vocation. It's just what I am passionate about, & why should I not be compensated adequately? Maybe I just need to marry up to be able to afford my rockstar lifestyle. Anyone? Guys with E.U. passports are especially encouraged to apply.

So here I'm practically a VIP & people want to hire me. They want to promote me & listen to me & I get job offers from a single phone conversation. Then when I go back to New York I have to get down on my hands & knees to grovel to fetch coffee. Where is the justice?

I opted to start the job on a trial, casual basis yesterday to do field outreach. We went out to the ghetto (as in ghe-TTO!) a 2-hour drive away. I sat in as an observer this time, & later I'm going to help improve the program somehow. About 80 women showed up at a community center so my team could do a little "edu-tainment" show about how to practice family planning & STI/STD prevention. They sang & danced & did skits with props-- as in, a guy dressed up as an IUD stood in front of another guy dressed as a uterus blocking a guy dressed as sperm saying "bawal dumaan dito!" ("you can't pass here!") And yes, you read that right, they were all male actors. Oh & then another dude dressed up as menstruation later & did a "flowing" dance. No pictures unfortunately, but I have it all on video. Priceless.

I know, always have, that I'll be returning here to the Philippines to "settle"-- whatever the hell that means anymore. This is where my heart is. I just don't know when that time is, be it sooner rather than later.

Maybe the real problem is that I'm spoiled for choice. But it's always better to have more options rather than none, no?

"I would like to spend the whole of my life traveling, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend at home."

- William Hazlitt

under the sea

Picture dispatch from the Davao waters.

musika del sur

I'd never before made it to the Philippines' southern most region of Mindanao. There is the general impression of compromised safety down there, considering that it's the region where the main Muslim separatist/terrorist groups reside & conduct their trainings & most of their bombings, beheadings & kidnappings. Maybe you've heard of the Abu Sayyaf? How about the MILF? (no not that MILF, the other one). Most foreign governments advise their citizens against visiting most of the region. Perfect material for the Mindanao Department of Tourism eh? Most recently, TV news anchor Ces Drilon and her crew were abducted by the Abu Sayyaf while doing a story in Sulu, a smaller province about an 18-hour drive away. She was freed a week later, and there are confirmed reports of a ransom payout, which enables the sad cycle of terrorism to continue. A shame, because the region is truly beautiful. It is also among the poorest in the country.

But Mindanao is a large island group, made up of many different districts, & believe it or not, not all of them are so unstable. Davao is the principle center of business & commerce there, & the 3rd busiest city in the country. If you take into account all the surrounding land area that occupies 244,000 hectares, Davao is actually the largest city in the world. Amid all the turmoil & violence that Mindanao is so known for, Davao has surprisingly emerged as an oasis of peace & tranquility, primarily thanks to their mayor, otherwise known as "The Punisher." He patrols the city streets on a motorbike with a shotgun & has been known to make criminals, especially drug pushers, simply disappear. Don't ask questions, just enjoy! He's also the reason the city's so progressive, practicing eco-friendliness & banning smoking in most public areas (save for designated areas)-- practically unheard of in this country.

My cousin & her family live there & have been begging me to visit for the longest time. Finally I did &... it's so dope down there.

Davao's got the ultimate laid-back vibe & beautiful natural wonders abound. The beaches & mountains are only a 20-minute dive away from the urban center. Not that I could tell where this alleged "urban center" was, as there are no tall buildings to speak of & nearly every road is a dirt road. Everything looked like a market place, but I reckon that's just part of the city's charm.

Poor little yummy piggies

I went straight to the sea, where I promptly discovered that Philippine diving kicks Thailand diving's ass any day of the week. The water was incredibly clear- I could see all the way down to the bottom from the deck of the boat. I didn't have to assemble my own equipment; it was all lovingly done for me by the diving attendants, & they carried my oxygen tank for me, rather than make me shuffle around precariously with it on my back like bloody Quasimodo. AND they let me go down to 25 meters! I'm really only allowed 18 (per PADI regulations), but Filipinos are just cool like that.

The boat guys caught some clams & steamed them on the boat. They even brought their own rice & vinegar = instant lunch! Mmmm chewy.

The Philippines' highest peak, Mt. Apo, lives here. And in the mountains reside the tribal groups Bagobos, Mandayas, Manobos, Mansakas and Tiboli, along with the endangered Philippine Eagle. Up there I went zipline-ing with my cuz-- first time ever!

And caught this brilliant display of nature in action. Nyek.

& then of course, what kind of trip would it be without me raiding the local market scene? The mecca for Muslim-made batik prints, tribal-inspired jewelry & cheap South Sea pearls. My 19-year-old princess of fashion niece was appalled when I swooned over the bright red beaded tribal-style necklace. I had to explain to her that while she, as a resident of Mindanao living amongst actual tribespeople would never dream of emulating their style, anywhere else in the world these items would be cool & "exotic." (hehe) She wasn't convinced, but I bought it anyway. For US$3! I just think of it as reppin' my national pride. I'm such a sucker for local handicrafts, & as a result my style is so very boho these days.

But the best part of the trip was the family time. Look how precious my youngest niece & nephew are. I totally heart them.

the beautiful game

If you're like me, futbol-mad (well, futbol-player-mad) & on the Pacific side of the planet, then you must be frustrated & sleep-deprived as well. The Euro 2008 games are ongoing as we speak, but being so many time zones away from Austria/Switzerland (the venues this year), I have to be up by a telly every early morning from 2:45-5AM. Madness! I have yet to see a complete game before zzzzzzzzzzzz.

But I love this game. Think of how many world wars are prevented just by having these boys sweat & pummel out all their aggression in the name of patriotism. Or how this is the woman's fantasy version of a "Mr. Universe" pageant.

God bless the tech nerds who came up with the idea to stream these games live online for those of us not lucky enough to have the proper channels to watch.

Check the schedules here.

Spain vs. Italy tonight! (Viva Espana!!!)

Watch live video from MYSPORTS 1 on Justin.tv

(if you get a "not broadcasting" message it means there's no game currently on, thank you come again. If there is one going on, hitting refresh should sort you out)