A Rolling Stone…

When your life is spiraling out of control, the first instinct is to hold on to the familiar, and to feel fear when slowly and painfully you lose your grip. We justify it by thinking everyone fears falling and losing control, everyone fears a breakdown.

I thought of this when I recently started taking pole classes and the first rule is just: 

HOLD

to the pole. Even if you feel you’re losing your grip, even though your hands are sweaty and hurting and you feel you’re going to fall: just hold on, and slide, very gracefully, to the ground. No one really knows what’s going on except for you. And at the end of it all, there is no ignominious fall, there is only a beautifully choreographed movement.

2007 was truly a banner year for me: my trust was betrayed by someone I truly cared about - - one relationship in particular ended very painfully for me; a medical misdiagnosis  almost cost me a career opportunity; I had to take medications which sapped my strength; my life plans were up in the air because of all the delays in my move to Australia (again because of the medical fuck-up); due to the delays my company was pressuring me to provide a date of resignation; I felt like I would never be able to provide my daughter with better opportunities if I could not move out of the country…and all throughout the process I felt like a special tragedy edition of Punk’ed had been written for me.

My entire life felt like it was falling to pieces, and my first instinct was to feel fear. I feared that everyone could see my already not-so-well-ordered life breaking down into tiny pieces. And although the entire time I kept up appearances of being calm and collected, inside I hated the chaos of it all. I hated not being sure, I hated not having a plan, it was like being on a pole and feeling that I was going to lose my grip any moment. I felt that there was nothing beautiful about holding on for the ride.

Looking back now, I am thankful that I held on tight. Looking in from the outside, I can see myself holding on to the pole tight, sliding slowly to the ground and it looks beautiful. No one knows the full extent of the pain and the point is, no one has to know. There can be beauty in any breakdown.

At the end of it all here I am, with my feet on the ground and my eyes looking to the future. I still don’t know what lies ahead, but already, it looks amazing.

Heights are my ultimate fear. Heights make me dizzy. Queasy. Paralyzed. Merely standing at the edge of 4-storey mall balconies gives me a heavy, sinking, tight feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling of mentally falling from hundreds of feet in the air into an unforgiving flat ground.

Which brings me to the last time I was hurting from the end of a relationship. It was the exact same feeling of fear and disbelief, of being breathless and sick and dizzy. Dizzy because the world keeps turning and yet you want to stop and suspend reality. Sick because the fall was not only from hundreds of feet, it was an endless falling that did not mercifully stop with an unearthly crashing to the ground. It was a sinking into blackness that did not stop during sleep. 

The irony of it all.

I fear heights when I have no broken bones to show for my phobia. And yet I do not seem to fear diving into the unknown of a new love even when time and again, I am smashed, my spirit broken, derailed from a thousand happy futures and stuck yet again at the first square of a cruel life board game called Starting Over.

Recently I rolled the dice and landed in the beautiful pink square called “This Square Will Take You to the Happy End With Him." Too good to be true? I am at turns ecstatic and paralyzed by disbelief. Each day is strangely hopeful, and yet I have nightmares of sliding from the happy square and breaking into a thousand pieces. 

I should choose Heights instead.

"At the end of the day, when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing where we all keep our distance and pretend not to care about each other, it’s usually a load of bull. So we pick and choose who we want to remain close to, and once we’ve chosen those people, we tend to stick close by. No matter how much we hurt them. The people that are still with you at the end of the day, those are the ones worth keeping. And sure, sometimes close can be too close. But sometimes, that invasion of personal space, it can be exactly what you need."—Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy Season 3

“If you want to be happier, do more of things that make you happy.” – Robin Sharma, The Greatness Guide

Seems simple enough.  But I realized, as I was toying with the idea in my head, how detached I have become. As we grow older, we develop armour, we lose touch with the child within us that knows how to feel Happiness. Ecstasy. Euphoria. Despite what Jean Patou says, it is not easy to bottle Joy.  No wonder Prozac sells.

So this was a not-so-straightforward attempt to make a list of what makes my spirit soar. Here’s the first installment:

1)      Naia – not a What, but a Who. The greatest spirit I will ever love. I look into her eyes and I am renewed. I am mother, friend, the-one-who-is-most-loved-in-the-whole-world, the-one-one-who-is-most-needed-in-the-whole-world. There is no greater joy. She makes me wish I could live forever. The world gets in the way… work… tiredeness… the limits of a body that needs to sleep during the day so it can stay awake at night. So to live her Day, embrace her, to truly look at her, to tickle her and hear her laughter, is a Grace.

2)      Dancing – Really great headphones, and lots of space. Not tame steps that cover only 1.5 square feet, I need Times Square. This is my soul pouring through. A little bit of Dita von Teese, a little bit of Beyonce, a lot of booty. My eyes closed. Sweat. Anonymous. My world premiere in my own living room.

3)      Chocolate – Sin and salvation are two sides to the same coin. Dark chocolate is like swallowing corporeal Light. There is no Bad and Good chocolate. With chocolate in my belly, I become sinner and saint. I am a Girl Scout who wishes she were licking the chocolate from warm, breathing flesh, melted..need-to-catch-it-with-my-tongue-before-it-reaches-the-bedsheet. Oops.

4)      Yoga -  this is what it means to breathe. Not mechanical inhalation. This is air traveling through my veins, replacing blood, replacing smog, replacing fear. Air rushes as if through a high-speed tunnel, expanding my mind’s eye, opening my heart, lengthening muscle and sinew, reminding me I am human and a warrior who can reach for the sky.

5)      Aromatherapy –The scent of a lover in a stick of Sandalwood. Floating in water, mindless, bubbles of Neroli soothing my pain. A snapshot of me, smiling in the sun with friends, in a drop of Marigold. The Juniperberry which cheerfully clung to the corners of my home even when the happiness and hope were gone. My heart is squeezed, but a whiff of the past clears a path to the present, from the Bitter to the Sweet, cleansing my cobwebs, making me stronger. In the end it is just my tiny button nose and a box full of memories.

More to come.

Love tends to consume us. It crosses and destroys the boundaries we set for ourselves. Our territory is eaten away, invaded, known. Priorities change, friends change, houses change, we change.

And then love is lost. And the boundaries have to be redrawn.

In March 2007, I had to re-build the boundaries of my known world. Now as I approach the edge, I see Freedom and Faith. Boundaries do not have to be about falling over the edge… they are about diving into the Unknown with my eyes open. There is a Freedom in opening oneself to not knowing tomorrow, not knowing how one’s story ends, not knowing who you will meet and who will next change your life. There is an unwritten Faith in unrolling oneself, unscared of prying eyes, allowing oneself to be known all over again.

Recently I met someone who did not know me and my pain, but whose hands moved over my body and read my story as if it were written on my skin like Braille. He did not attempt to translate my story, nor to close my book. He did not attempt to invade, to leash, to own. He has left, but he has left me with peace. And for that I thank him.

I am still sitting at the edge, but I no longer see the dark ocean of loss. I see myself in a clear pool, reflected clearly. I see parts of myself unshattered, healthy, still whole.

I am ready to explore the edges of my map. I am healing. I am ready to move.

Human life is fragile: we live in the space between one breath and the next. We often try to maintain an illusion of permanence, through what we do, say, wear and buy, how we enjoy ourselves and how we love. Yet it is an illusion that is constantly undermined by change and death. The only permanent thing is change. Living life therefore is not about seeking comfort and familiarity. It is about the courage to face what is transient, and in every such moment, being able to capture what is beautiful and true. And not to feel fear or regret when all too suddenly, that is taken away.

Just today, my old buddy Lara uploaded a pic for me. Circa late 90’s, and it looks like I was still in my post-Japan color high. Think loud yellow Hawaiian shirt and Astroboy mailman bag. And really short hair. Fast forward to 2006, and I see myself having better hair, better skin and a better figure. The figure remains debatable. I think I may have a better figure now, but it could also be a BUTTER (more cellulite hidden) post-baby figure hehe.

I have never been a stranger to transformations - - from cutting my hair boyishly short, Gogo Yubari-level bangs, coloring my locks pomegranate red, streaking them beach-ey blond, to piercing my belly, getting myself branded with a Lotus tatoo, ballooning to pregnant heights, fizzling back to my normal size 7 afterwards.

And yet, what have branded me the most are the more subtle metamorphoses.

Like seeing my first Japan autumn and knowing that the most beautiful painting in my head would always be a garden of red and golden maple leaves.

Like sitting in the middle of an empty apartment on Graduation Day 1998 and not missing my toga one bit.

Like standing with waves lapping at my toes in a peaceful Bataan beach one day in 2000 and knowing that I would marry the man who was standing beside me.

Like feeling butterfly kicks in my belly and knowing that my life and my body would never completely only be my own again.

Like looking at my baby Linaia’s eyes for the first time and knowing that I was looking into the eyes of the most important spirit I would ever love.

Like standing in the middle of another empty apartment in early 2005, wondering where I and my husband, my twin soul, took a wrong turn.

Like losing sleep, strength, health and hair for most of 2006 to give project Kodak a fighting chance.

Like spending weekend afternoons with my family and knowing it will never be perfect, that it will never be the same, but that there will always be plenty of love to go around.

Like looking at myself in the mirror and knowing that I have aged well in my little rolling wine barrel.

Here’s to a toast to today… and the rest of this vintage called life J

Now when you have been hiding under a work rock, and the rare day off only affords you a few stolen hours at the mall, what do you do? Why, what else? Get yourself two major gadgets in one day of course! The new additions to my collection….

• Motrazr V3 - now this is the flat clamshell phone of my dreams…. mainly because of its yummy fuschia pink color! I have a perfectly ok Sony Ericsson w500i but I have decided that combining work life and my personal life in one phone is so played out… hence my new play phone! Work phone stays off during non work hours and weekends *wink* *wink* No more "emergency" calls from people who can SO live without me anyway during my free hours!
• Sony Cybershot DSC W30 (or whatever)… it’s 6 megapixels and comes in a gorgeous metallic sky blue color. No more dim mobile phone photos that can’t be enlarged! Oh, and the first time Mezarc and I used this to take a photo of ourselves, we smartly captured ourselves on video. Great start huh?

Well that’s it for now..two new toys for me and nope, I haven’t read the manuals yet.

Last Sunday I had the chance to try Ice Skating at Mall of Asia.. It sounds and looks pretty easy. At certain times of day, SM shoo’s everybody off the rink and a skating pro kid (well, she didn’t look any more than 8 years old) will wow the audience with her pirouettes and jumps. SM also tried the best they could to simulate a "snow" appearance by covering one whole wall with a photo of a giant Snowy Mountain. All, in all, you could easily imagine being in a nice frozen lake except for all the bystanders with their noses stuck to the transparent window, watching the ungraceful begginers do their not-so-graceful contortions. Only in the Philippines.

Alas, my own version of Swan Lake was not such a pretty sight! For starters, the instant I stepped onto the ice I felt like my feet were not part of my body. They kept wanting to go in opposite directions!! My first thought was to go grab a handrail. Uh-oh, no luck! SM did not believe that handrails were necessary, and that plonking  down on your face / behind was the most natural order of things if you had no skating Skillz. So, handrail, being non-existent, I tried my best to cling onto the wall with my fingers and nails. With my skated feet having a will of their own, it was not an easy feat. … Now I know how Sadako felt like as she was trying to crawl out of that well!

Not to mention that the WALL was the gathering place of all the small kids who were struggling to skate it out while their smiling parents encouraged them to take bigger bolder steps. I found myself getting in the way of (3 or 4 year old) toddlers who were trying to cling onto the wall for dear life while at the same time trying to make some progress.

Now my saga would have ended with the wall had there been a complete wall going around the rink. But NO! SM smartly decided to put a sun roof over one end of the rink, meaning 1/3 of the rink was melting away and had to be covered with plastic. This meant that the ice ended abruptly, and there was NO WALL to cling on to at the East end of the rink. Wah! I looked around in panic for my friends, but they were all Swan-Laking away at the opposite end. It was now or never. I let go of the wall and started to sloooowwlllly strut my way across the rink. I was very rigid and very careful to take miniscule steps, so I must have looked like a robot. I felt like one anyway.

By the time I crossed the 30 or 40 feet rink, my feet were dead tired. Or DEAD. I believe that persistence saves the day, but not when I have been up for almost 24 hours already straight out of night shift.

I left my friends and NAIA in the rink and told them I was going for a walk instead. The minute I took off the rigid skates, I felt enormous relief! But my feet were now aching big time. So I made a beeline for the closest spa place in Mall of Asia, and ended up at Foot for the Gods (yeah, like the cake but spelled Foot instead of Food). 340 bucks for a one hour foot, leg, back and head massage. All in all, I spent 690 pesos to skate. 350 for agony on ice, and 340 to recover. Keep you posted for my other geriatric activities

This is for all the women out there who think they have no choice but to STAY, despite their men who STRAY…

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Why do women stay with men who choose to stray? Women stay for many different reasons.

Some stay for the benefits — material, financial, social, even sexual. Some stay for the morsels of affection thrown their way on generous occasions. Or some stay for the privilege that platinum credit cards afford them when they decide to keep the union.

Some women stay because they believe its normal — that little affairs left and right are all part of regular married life.

They have been raised from childhood to believe that "boys will be boys," and that the only faithful men alive are eunuchs. And so they stay because they’ve been made to believe that staying is noble and leaving is selfish and that a contract once signed can never be rescinded even when the terms are breached.

Some women think its just a phase that men will eventually grow out of. One day, he’ll come back and be hers again, exclusively for the rest of time. No doubt especially when the arthritis attacks. In the meantime she suffers in silence and ignores the curious looks of friends.

Some women stay because it is what is expected of them. They do not want to face the fury of society. They do not want to disgrace the family. They do not want to bring dishonor to the name. But what honor is there in a relationship that’s a sham?

And there are those who stay because they know no other way. And they don’t want to go back to square one and start again. They’d rather live with the devil they know, than with the devil they don’t know. But some stay because it doesn’t really make any difference to them if the men in their lives stay or stray. They just don’t care anymore.

Some stay because they know nothing at all. Completely in the dark about the lying, cheating philanderer who resides in her bed, she dwells in bliss. Who has the heart to tell her that the one she loves, no longer loves her and in fact loves many others? And so she stays, not because of love , but because the people around her choose to keep her unknowing forever.

Some stay for revenge, to draw blood, to simply make life miserable for each other. They stay because leaving their partners would give their partners freedom. Staying seems a power greater than leaving. And so they stay, hold on to the partners who don’t love or respect them, and punish themselves as well in the end.

And there are those who stay because the only way to get on is to live in denial. They choose to close their eyes to what they do not want to see. They paint pretty the ugly landscapes before them because to see mud would be too great a burden to bear, too tragic a truth to face. Staying keeps up the pretense. Leaving lets reality in.

Some stay for a nobler reason. They call it "unconditional love." Come hell or harem, they stay because their love is not based on the fulfillment of certain conditions. All sins are absolved in the name of unconditional love. Whether the transgression be a lapse or a lifestyle, they carry on with heroic perseverance. In the arms of these women, errant husbands and lovers thrive.

Perhaps, if more women were less masochistic, more men would be less cruel. If more women were less magnanimous, more men would be less selfish. And maybe, if more women were less forgiving, more men would be more faithful.

Infidelity thrives in the bottomless pit of female forgiveness. It is a tragedy to deprive children of their fathers. But it is a greater tragedy to raise sons who will become like their fathers and daughters who will marry men exactly like their fathers.

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I’ve given this a lot of thought, and it all boils down to choice, to choosing to confront yourself and tell yourself that you deserve the better end of the stick. It usually is too late to save someone else who has chosen to take the lower road… but it is never too late to save yourself.