525,600 Minutes

... How do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in cups of coffee... in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.


[Insert age here] years... and counting. All through 2005, unto this day - I can very well say it had been a good year, in spite of some trivial things I might have ranted about. Trivial, I say now while looking at everything in perspective - because feel I have been blessed with changes and opportunities that were never readily availble to me in the past 4-5 years or so. The concept of turning another year older has lost its luster and, apart from some who find it to be an opportunity to imbibe strong cocktails and be incoherent without the shame, has even grown to be feared in some circles. I say, fear nothing... bring on my birthday, world - but hold off on the wrinkles.

Some key highlights of the previous year - most of which were not mentioned in previous blog posts:

• The power of green - received permanent residence status. That card may be anything but green, but nothing could crush me the day that the postmaster dropped this wonderful news in a letter.

• Hinahanap- hanap kita, Manila - For the first time in 5 years, February 2005 marked my first trip in a long while (5 years) back to the homeland. The unbearable traffic and equally intolerable humidity was received with open arms - I didn't mind, knowing I'll be seeing sunsets like this.

• Transition nation - The hotel industry gig was good while it lasted. Now that I have a thicker hide after having weathered severe personalities and equally daunting event planning scenarios, it is great to be in search marketing - avenue dubbed as one steadily shaking up what was the comfortable realm of traditional advertising.

• "How to say... humble genius?" - Haruki Murakami reads at MIT. I have been asked why I didn't get to blog about this, since I was planning for a month prior to the actual event and this was one of the biggest events thus far with regards to my literary preoccupations. Emily informed me of this over the phone - I was at work, so had to stiffle a scream. In his works that I have read - I have nothing but admiration for a man whose thought process I'd like to analyze for a psychology thesis. No one else has the ability to incorporate a Sheep Man, and the iterations of contemporary jazz tunes and get away with it. For someone whose work is widely read and popularly translated, it adds to his good qualities the lack of arrogance and (somewhat self-deprecating) humor.

• A plan, seven years in the making - Beantown is a great city: I'll never cheer for any other sports hometeams, and I will most likely never cuss in traffic in other places than I do here. I miss it already before I even fill the first packaging box. In 2005 - I was given that opportunity (one that I had to carefully deliberate on - nevertheless, signed up for) to head to San Francisco for July 2006 (2 months and counting)... I told my family over the West side that "I will be heading there soon" - seven years back.
  

• Concertography (in connection to this past post) - Jazz Fest last year just set me off through a series of live shows - my lifeblood still, actually - as there is nothing comparable to being a part of such a setting where one is more connected to the music heard from the stage - instead of the speakerbox. Ticketstubs from '05 - early '06: U2, Dave Matthews Band (July and December), Our Lady Peace, Garbage, Pixies, Tori Amos.... several smaller outdoor/cafe venues, etc. (Raseeka, did I miss anything?)

• Climb Every (indoor rock climbing) Mountain: When Lena intoduced me to this new gig, I got into it and became even more enthused to get better - this motivation having stemmed after my recovery on that initial climb that resulted to me being one sore pulp. At least it will get me through until the waves are to be tackled again, or when it's not too cold to be outside running (I heart running but I hate treadmills). And I quote my friend from rowing, "What obscure sport will you tackle next? Curling?" How about another point to ponder, from my mom: "Why do you have be involved in such masculine sport activities?" Sure, ma - because I'd look really good in a tutu.
  

My friends are doing great with their careers and relationships (2 weddings). My family and relatives back home are all well in spite of the usual stress inducing factors. I learned new things and been humbled by the ones I have yet to be completely familiar with. I had to carry on with the usual decisions day-to-day while in a constant mindset towards that goal of eliminating chaos - only to realize I can welcome it every once in a while.

So, yes - what a year it has been indeed.

Going... Going... Saigon

"So, this is the part when you admit that you're scared and you're second-guessing yourself for having decided on doing this."

My friend, Marc is scheduled to fly to Asia tomorrow morning. He will be in Hong Kong for a couple of weeks (brat) before heading to Vietnam (Hanoi - I just borrowed the Saigon title from his party evite) to start a new life after giving up a rather comfortable one here. 'Twas the night before his flight when we were talking and revisiting his reasons for moving, worst case scenarios, people to be missed, and the past 2+ years of us hanging out, venting, annoying each other - all the things that played into our odd dynamic.

"Of course I am scared," he admits. Hearing this gave me a sigh of relief - even with what you have achieved for yourself and the amazing connections you have made in the numerous countries and places you have trekked, Marc - good to know you're still human.

This is what he had always wanted and planned for - and the motivation outweighs that slight moment of uncertainty. It will not be the same: Big shoes to fill on those wise-ass comments you throw out every so often that makes us cower and mutter to ourselves: "Oh, no he didn't..."

Not that we have to remind you, Marc, but you will be missed. Don't be gone pho long.

Photo credits: www.richard-seaman/Travel/Vietnam
Title Credits: Evite for the going-away party, by Eric G.

The Daily Gripe

Smushbush Toy and the Easy Button

News last week featured reports of President George Bush's approval rating at an all time low. With a collapsed deal with Dubai Ports World and the 3-year (going on 4) anniversary of the Iraq war, this may hold true:

The Staples Easy Button: Perhaps not just for the common-folk.

* * *

Help a Sistah Out

I have been on hold for over 5 minutes. "We value your business. Please continue to hold." Well, I had no choice but to do as the calm woman's voice told me to. This was the 2nd time I was trying to get an update from [financial institution] on some ordered gift cards several months ago that were not received.

And then a human's voice! "Thank you for calling [financial institution], may I have your ***** and your ***** for verification purposes please?"

I obeyed. I once again narrated my situation - that I am not to purchase anything, I just want to know the status of those cards, who dropped the ball, was my tracking number bogus, etc. Without having to narrate the entire story details here, the voice on the other line kept on apologizing and saying that "I understand your situation, unfortunately..." Sure, you understand my situation - you just can't help me. I bet there's some sort of index card cheat sheet on your cube guiding you on how to deal with callers at the cusp of agony and anger....

Hmm.

I let him talk some more - and was throwing some harmless questions just to hear him speak. There was a hint of an accent there that I thought: Could it be...? I cut him off mid-sentence.

"Pinoy ka ba?"

He stopped. Silence. Obviously startled but managed a, "Uh, yes ma'am." I just asked him if he was Filipino to which he confirmed what I thought (while shouldn't be a surprise): I got diverted to a call center in Manila, Philippines.

"Pakiusap lang...." I talked to him in Taglish and pleaded my case. With all the kind juices left of me, I asked that he help me out. He was still a bit shaken up that I threw the language-nationality card at him. I was put on hold again twice, on both occasions he said he escalated it to the manager, but to no avail. Third time I got the hold music, I put the phone down (or slammed it, details are vague now).

The spirit of brotherhood - at least in this instance, did not get me too far.

* * *

Language Confusionism

I was asked once: "When you're in thought, do you think in English, or Filipino?"

At that point, I just stopped and was letting the question sink in. When - in the course of over nine years in the US, did I think predominantly in English? I grew up in the Philippines - but learning on Sesame Street (not dubbed over with any other language as they have done in several countries), so I doubt this recent realization is a betrayal. Either way, for a beautiful place coined as the Pearl of the Orient Seas, this language conundrum leaves us in need of some polishing.

The Half-Marathon and the Neverending Mile

In the background: Gone for Good (Chutes too Narrow album), by The Shins

With nothing but hopes, dreams and a dash of reluctance to get by - I did run and finish it.


Boston's Run to Remember
Sunday, March 12, 2006, 8:15am

Race #: 2226
Net Time: 2:09:03
Pace: 9:51

I almost decided not to do this: No formal long-distance training- the most that I did for one run session is 7 miles.... Problematic knees.... Need to finish leftover work from the entire week prior spent on the left coast. There were numerous excuses to list, but I gained a second wind of determination by Saturday afternoon. Coerced a friend to join me for a pre-race carb overload of pasta and ended my Saturday night early.

Headed for the Seaport area at 7am. I was heading to the World Trade Center to check the exhibit halls when I ran into Dave. Pleasant surprise - I guess it's not just me amongst my crazy lot of friends who opted to forgo the normal routine of sleeping in on a Sunday morning. Meant to meet up with another friend racing that day, but got sidetracked and just made it in time to position myself at my designated pace section.

Got my running tunes lined up... started the race. Boston and the entire course was a great location choice - heading into the downtown route, the financial district skyline loomed above. If I didn't worry to much, I could have enjoyed that sight even more. The course weaved through historic portions of Boston and Cambridge, and apart from a few hills (placed at very crucial points) - it was relatively flat.

By Mile 5, my right knee started hurting and paid it no mind.
Mile 7: Sharp pains whenever I bended.
Mile 9: Still painful, now numb - with some sort of muscle strain on the upper right thigh. At this point, I had to slow down... even walk for a couple of minutes. It will be too scarring for my pride if I don't finish this. Went to the sidewalk and stretched for a little bit - but determined to cross that line.
Mile 11: Not sure what mindset I was on - despite the pain... I was able to plug through. Few more miles, I thought. But why does it seem like it's taking forever to get to Mile 12?
Mile 13(?): Hits from the iPod... this song came on -
This could be the very minute, I know where I'm alive. All these places feel like home.

My friend, Kathleen, who also ran that day - had a good point: "Who's bright idea was it to put that hill on that last mile to the finish line?" I was thinking of that same thing as I remember seeing the blue Finish Line marker in the horizon. This bridge connecting downtown Boston to the Seaport area could have been a nice, flat quarter of a mile - but no. Some bright set of engineers they commissioned for the job, really. So close, yet so far: this was a longest mile of all them. My feet picked up speed and everything else was white noise for a brief moment.

Then I crossed over. Stopped, and realized I could not feel my legs. I relaxed for a few... just to get re-oriented before heading to the event hall at the World Trade Center. As soon as I got over that - I was brave enough to think: I just really ran 13.1 miles. A seasoned marathon runner might read this and have a chuckle, but when the sense of pride came in, I thought: Bring it on - give me that other half to run!

My knee is still screaming bloody murder, but I wish to believe it's all worth it. I've said it once before: No better way to roam Boston and say goodbye to what had become for me, not quite home - but somewhere relatively close.

Speaking of craziness and inflicting pain on oneself, anybody interested in signing up for this race with me next year?

Photo credits: www.bostonsruntoremember.org

The Roam Chronicles: Mojitos en Miami

In the background: Radiation Vibe (No Word from Tom album), by Hem

Miami Beach, Florida. February 3-6, 2006

"We're going! I need to be somewhere sunny right now!" Em whined to me as we endured mid-January winter blues.
"Sure, why not? San Diego may have some good deals... Puerto Rico even? My schedule might free up after towards the end of the month (it's amazing how I try to convince myself of such thoughts)." It was an interested, yet half-hearted response that came from me at that time.
No less than 2 days later - she spams and phone-tags me with flight and package options. Wow- she really wants to be anywhere but here. I told her that as long as it's not over a certain amount, that's fine

January, 17th I get an email:
"Charmaine, we're going to fabulous Miami Beach!"

We are?

We did. Last time I was there, I didn't think it was anything special. Sure; sun, sand, Spanish-speaking beautiful people, but not compelling enough for me to pack up and go for another weekender before. As we got nearer the date and the weather got colder - I was getting more convinced that the Miami trip will be a good thing for much needed catching up with Emily.

Gotta love JetBlue... but not on the date of our flight. Storms in Tampa hindered us from flying out on time - not because Miami was also being hit, but because the plane we were going to use was delayed from flying out of Florida. We were stuck in the airport for 7 hours. In Boston. Near my address - 15 minutes - from Cambridge. I looked around and thought that it was actually a good thing to have experienced this. Always have seen/heard stories before where people were stranded and have sought sleeping comfort on these god-awful airport chairs.

3am - Got on the plane for probably the most turbulent 3-hour ride I have ever experienced. Was too tired to be scared.... Viva Fort Lauderdale! Took a cab to The Palms Hotel and psyched ourselves for some sun.

Not.

Torrential downpours. After a quick nap - had a long lunch with Em, chatting away as the rain pelted on the tarp covering the veranda. I truly did enjoy it- We saw the outline of the palm trees and the ocean ahead, landscaped gardens and all - blurred by the rain. No better time than then, or so it seemed, to have a (er..3. Each.) Mojito. Dinner later that day at Ola was one of the best ever - and unfortunately the price was reflective of that as well. Had full intentions of hitting some bars after, but when we got back to the hotel to re-group before doing so, we ended up passing out and calling it a night - by 11:00pm.

Finally some sunshine next day. Sunday was spent on the beach, taking time to just relax. I smothered on the the sunblock while Em decided to brave the rays and not put any. It, uh - caught up with her later that day, though. (but I bet the beet red color faded into a nice, toasty bronze...) Superbowl night on Ocean Drive was interesting - despite the uneventful game. Met a couple of people who seemed good for conversation and a few rounds of brew - until some, (uh...) obsessive tendencies came though.

Great time - eventhough I still think Em sabotaged my laptop so that I will not be able to work. All turned out well - and future yearly trips to sunny destinations will be set in stone. Either way, thanks to Em and the short weekender that was... I have also a newfound respect for Cadbury's Fruit and Nut Chocolate bars.*


* Referencing an excerpt from The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, by Lauren Willig. This was Em's selected reading material for the trip.