compromise

It sounds good (fat free).
It compels you to dive in and eat.
It makes you feel less guilty for gorging on a muffin.
It is 99% fat free.
It tastes like cardboard.

Young Love

I am surrounded by hotties. These are those who are hot and love to tease; those who warrant the attention they must crave for. Today, you see a varying degree of insulation people wrap themselves with, to combat the chill of dying autumn. Some prefer light and others (mostly foreigners and old people) in volumes of layers. The two hotties near me are dressed for summer.

Have you heard of falling in love at first sight? The girl next to me and the young man across are conspicuously flirting with each other. In their prime, these beautiful young things have eyed each other for more than five tube stops already. I won’t be surprised if both of them decide to ditch their original plans to be with each other.

I don’t know but I have that strange feeling about young love blossoming during autumn time which totally differs itself from the burgeoning love during summer. I find it more romantic and devoid of inequalities as to the balance of physical and emotional attachment. To explain, I find summer love impertinent, full on and brash, gearing towards physicality. The sense of autumn, balances that. There's some sense of purity, maturity and ironically, warmth. But I guess love is love. It barely responds to the demands of season. Although, one's bed gets bigger as the season progresses to winter as you snuggle closer.

After the sixth stop, she said "Hi, I’m Donna". He replied, "Mark.." as they shook hands.

In babbling unison, I swear I could hear the oh-ing of people in their silence, although the old woman’s showing her chastising look at the far corner of the carriage.

eat and wear

Mummy - kids? Hunny? ... fancy a crocodile kebab?

Kids - Are you gonna cook the eyes, mum? Can we keep it?

Mummy - Of course.

Daddy - Let me take the skin off... It looks real tough!

Mummy - Don't bin it yeah?

Mummy - I need a new bag.

killed by spikey Armadillo

Talking about art + fashion......


Alexander McQueen Shoe

I can use it in more ways than one.

Isn't she pretty?

Nothing fascinates me more than a beautiful woman who carries herself with dignity and respect. She is someone who embodies femininity to exemplify grace and ardour. We can define a damn good woman who encompasses eras and cultural divides in billions and billions of examples and words but in essence, it is downright simple. We just look at our mothers and we see the explanation for it.



Then you have women who struggle to learn how to be one.

sixth sense

I taught Adult In-Hospital Resuscitation course last week to a good mix of nursing staff within Renal and Urology. Later that afternoon, I went to University to teach Renal Bone Disease to Renal Course students. That day was hectic.

I remembered how exhausting it was. I also remembered how I flew two flights of stairs of the school trying to catch the 1pm start time after an annoying breakdown of the lift. I masticated half of the dead cow of my burger and sipped a quarter of that cola as I dashed my way to the appointment. The projector took some time to work. It is appalling when relevant elements conspire against you. You end up battling and swimming against the current despite your good intentions. I somehow re-evaluated the reasons why I chose this field. Most of the time, it is arduous and rather critical.

Today's Monday and a new beginning. The Matron stepped into the office and uttered something that somehow assuaged the rigours of diurnal routine. She said, "You teach very well Ryan. You have that natural teaching style, like an x-factor in teaching". I thought my day would end with that. My student doing the Renal Course walked in and said, "I learned a lot about that lecture. You made it really, really interesting".

These small things do matter; small perks of a job. They somehow take you to the utmost reason why we dare to choose what we do. That thing other than the remuneration at the end of the month simply takes a form where you can feel it. Something more than what our five senses could offer.

ratty

I am staring at the same blank document yet again.

I decided to while away the time inside the carriage on my way home by typing something; regardless of relevance or effect it would have to me or other people. The group of people occupying the same breadth of the Tube transport happen to be a good mix. Languages are strewn in like the pandemonium that caused the downfall of Babel. I can lucidly differentiate nearly 7 languages in one carriage including mine. You can tell that it has been a long day as people are seemingly less receptive of the happenings around them.

However, it's the opposite case for me. The coffee magic is just taking effect. I hear and see the buzz inside like a hawk. The more I see and hear that young Korean in a coughing fit without covering his orifices, the more I want to smack him in the head for spreading his unwanted germs.

And it is only Monday.

Limo

Wave your hand
And scream to the faces
Of people you do not know

Close your eyes
Feel the night air caress
Of the mild evening

Drink your champagne
Salute to your friends
With that glistening crystal flute

Seize the moment
What beckons tomorrow
Is a bus ride to work

you know who you are...

Writing on his facebook wall was rather an exciting venture. I wrote, "Allow me to de-virginise your wall". In less than 24 hours, he's deleted it and sent me a private message with these lines:

"Please don't defile my virtual page with your vile, inappropriate and salacious musings, i'm preserving my good rep(at least on my page) and i intend to keep it that way. i recommend as penance for your abominable act that you go walking on your bare knees on the front aisle of st. paul's cathedral then make an appointment with the archbishop of canterbury for some needed absolution afterwards. if you were here in san francisco, i'd give you a referral to the sisters of perpetual indulgence for some needed spiritual rehab. control yourself!"

Ahhhh..... It is reassuring to know that this friend of mine is just as consistent as the slow evolution of man caused by intense contradictions.

water please

I had a rather surreal conversation with a dear friend back home. He just came back from covering an event in Bangkok. He writes for a notable Sunday paper in the country and is truly passionate about what he does. I was expecting him to visit London for the Film Festival but due to unforeseen complication, had to cancel his trip a month ago.

Mr. Writer - How are you Ryan? How’s your trip?
Ryan - ....was good....was nice catching up with old chums. So, how have you been?
Mr. Writer - ...came back from Bangkok covering an event for the paper.
Ryan - Cool.... you’ve got a swell job there.
Mr. Writer - well..... It’s 2700 pesos per article. It's hardly enough to sustain my lifestyle...
Ryan - ...as long as you love what you’re doing....
Mr. Writer - ...wanna be our London correspondent? We already have one for New York.... Is that something you’d be interested to do?
Ryan - What!!!!!! (Nearly choked on Nasi Lemak).. Whooooooa....
Mr. Writer - Well.... I will send you some of my articles so you get an idea. Send me a proposal soon.
Ryan - (speechless).... Ah...ah.... I will call you later. Nasi Lemak is so spicy, it makes me ......

Was Nasi Lemak that spicy? I couldn’t remember.

Family

Saturday is promising to be intimate moments with my second favourite family: The De la Rosa/Retusto family. There are few spoken words and unspoken details that make me feel warm, accepted and connected when I am with them. Today is Patrick's birthday and meeting them is something I look forward to.

I promised to babysit and carry baby JR around just to coax them of coming to central London. But then again, they probably realised that Tita Lottie (Marlotte's mother)needs to have a feel of the real London weather: Damp, grey and cold.

But despite this, I know it'll be comfortable.

monomaniacal

I left London hoping that I’d bag a bargain in the States for that retro semi-visor ray-ban. I fell in love with it last august but was told it'd be cheaper in America. This notion is common knowledge.

I scoured SFO and NYC visiting department stores and sunglass huts but to no avail. I ended up with an aviator classic in funky colours. Although it protected me from piercing California sunshine, my unrequited love affair with that ray-ban just lingered.

Back in London, I went out for fresh air today and ended up treading the busy thoroughfare of Oxford Street. Like a moth to a flame, I saw myself scanning the shelves of sunglasses at Selfridges. And there it was... like.... like a proud son-of-a-bitch staring me in the eye with a mocking grin.

Most of the items were 30 percent off but not this one. Its mocking grin turned into a raucous laugh. I turned away and tried the Tom Ford glasses. Peering through the mirror, I could see and feel its affliction of envy.

I left satisfied and comforted.

good ol' John Keating

Inside the carriage, people look like that they have lost the will to live. It is 6 pm and I am approaching home in two more stops. But I feel just the same as the woman whose head is tilted back to the metal frame of the carriage as she wishes for REM. Today, I am shattered like I have used up my energy reserve for the next week. And yet, it is only Thursday tomorrow and I am expected to cede more of that fortitude than today as I have double teaching sessions booked. I wonder why I didn’t become a damn pretty woman who gets pregnant yearly, on dole and lives in a nice flat in Essex. Yes, why is it not the case for me?

Tonight, I have revisions to do. I used to blag my teaching sessions before (as repetition brings about mastery and confidence) but I plan a different, neoteric approach tomorrow. I plan to sing the verses in my tenor voice a la “Les Miserables”. Well, not really. But I have convinced myself that I need to do something different on how I deliver it. My professor told me last week that I have to really prepare; be more encompassing. E-learning is eating up on teaching hours of college professors. Sessions are getting more and more self-directed where the classic old “classroom teaching” is getting the boot like a slow death from poisoning by a jilted lover. Tomorrow, I get to talk about “Renal Bone Disease” to the Renal Course Specialising students and it's like an overzealous tennis enthusiast delivering a talk about golf. Hence, revision tonight is imperative.

The train is halting to a stop. The Golders Green is a predominantly Jewish community and walking down the exit passageway, a group of young Judaean students are passionately debating about something in Hebrew. Although, they are clogging the exit to the bigger world, they consistently engross my still receptive thoughts. As the elder summons them, they scurry towards him like every syllable he chimes is of vital importance.

We move with the advancing times. However, I love that retrospection about my second grade teacher slapping my hands with a ruler for cheating in my exam. My high school teacher taught Greek and Roman mythology in "Arriba Abajo" teaching style and it was exciting. I remember studying under the Sampaloc tree getting acquainted with Aphrodite.

I love the perk of heading to a classroom and sit down like you are young again. It makes learning fresh to an old man like me.

Hamburg

The world seems to need prompting.


Brekkie motto:


Aim and drench the fly as you pee:


Pleasure comes in different colours:

Blues

Life is ideal but living is hard and difficult. There are obstacles upon obstacles hampering our way which most of us optimist would say "it is a test of character, of patience and of faith". The pessimist would then say "the world is conspiring against me" and eventually lead a crooked life. There are times when we lead a life on a plateau after vanquishing failures but unaware of the great plunge ahead. Life is surprisingly unsurprising at times. I once read about the constant things in life (someone’s blog): change, choice and principles. Fair enough, they’re coated with truth.

I woke up today laden with a heavy head. If not for the great reminder of the thing called responsibility, I wouldn’t nudge and call off sick. But there are things we try to overcome because they are too little a precursor to a defeated spirit. We must prepare for greater magnitude of a problem. Taking a shower is usual routine and mind cleanser at the same time but a niggling thought pervades like guilt. It must be that time of year yet again where I’m due for self-appraisal. It is my most dreaded moment for I know lying to myself is worse than being schizophrenic. I feel like living Jack Nicholson's "One flew over the cuckoo’s nest" each time.

I have done few appraisals already these past months and I found that interesting. Hearing evaluations and plans like clearing ones path and mapping ones way is a positive way of getting older. It must be good for job related matters for it guides you to your uni-directed or multi-directed journeys through professional growth. But seriously, I have personally mapped my way and to get there is my own business.

Back to self-appraisal, I am getting older and my measure of success hasn’t changed one bit. I guess, for as long as I believe that success is relative, I won’t be striving to my maximum potential. My friends drive posh cars whilst I mingle with the masses en route to work. Perhaps the positive thing here is that I fulfil my socio-cultural needs. But really, who doesn’t want affluence?

I wonder if I chose different path years ago would have made a big difference. If my mother chose an Australian way of living when I was 3, I wonder if it would have been a different path. But she didn’t, for she chose love (too complicated to explain).

I mustn’t come up with excuses to realise what needs to be done with my own life. In fact, that in itself is already a juicy and poignant first objective for myself. I cannot be THE JULIA ROBERTS of “Pretty Woman” fame in the first three-quarters of the movie. I have to be her just before the closing credits.

a Bean

It seems like weeks and weeks ago since I last took this jaunt.

Again, I am starting to establish rapport with my so-called friends trapped in their humdrum routine of travel to work. Today, I decided to come to work late for the reason of my own inability to rouse myself on time from jetlag. However, the tube is still packed to the brim despite leaving after the stampede of North London workers during the early hours. In this yet again initiation phase, I find it too hard to typify and characterise the people I meet on the tube. I find it too much of a sensory input. They are telling me stories; tonnes of them in fact.

How I’d love to chat with that woman whose knickers’ on show but the man staring at her privates seems more fascinating to watch. It's funny yet somehow yecchy how the animal in us takes over at the slightest opportunity. But I have a more pressing matter to key on like the photo I stumbled upon as I scanned my phone for holiday shots. I am still fascinated by this scar.

It tells a sad yet meaningful and profound story.

Ferpect

I am surrounded by people who like me, are gearing towards academic amelioration in the field of Nursing. Sitting next to me happens to be the Head of Nursing in Education of the same Trust I work in and a well known figure in the London-wide Academia. Others are sounding just as authoritative and yes, I am the only Filipino and perhaps the only one trained outside the British school of thoughts.

It is intimidating.

One bespectacled woman in her early forties has just mentioned how Filipinos flunk Mentorship and Specialist Courses. This is for the reason that Filipinos are not used to the educational system where essays are given greater weight than exam-based methods of evaluation. Cognizant about my own existence, I rattled few lines of defensive rhetoric to assuage the concept being discussed re: Filipinos flunking essays. However, those lines remained just as that; lines of statements scribbled across my lone piece of paper in front of me. I never had the courage to blurt it out as I asked myself the very question, "what for?". Perhaps I’d provoke a debate but relevance to the subject matter being discussed would be an issue. In short, no matter how I tried to justify my behaviour, I bottled it.

This is how UK academic world perceives Filipinos when it comes to essay writing. Maybe generalisations can be deduced from the statistics of that minority group failing courses because of poor submitted essays but certainly, a reason or more are at hand to settle this argument (which I would rather not list here for enigmatic effect).

In the next few weeks, my life will be in shambles yet again for I’ll be writing essays after essays for this Master's programme. I must be mad but despite the aforementioned perceptions whether unfounded or not, I’d still prefer essay writing anytime. I find it less stressful. I’d go back to my BSN (Bachelor of Science in Nursing) preparations just passing essays at the end of each module and be at peace with myself. However, this is not the case. I’d be subjected yet again to full scrutiny of grammatical and substantial content of my essay where I’d be hoping that I pass it and avoid being a +1 to the growing number of casualties in my own group of minority. Again, I’d have to rack up words, sentences and paragraphs and pretend they’re a series of blogs to keep the motivation high.

But on top of all these notions, why would I pull my hair out and scream at myself when the woman who has a Doctorate Degree just wrote on the board......."I have recieved your formatives. Thank you".

I rest my case.

FAT!

So I bumped into two friendly acquaintances tonight as Cecile and I took the escalator of the northern line. After the customary exchange of hi and hello with these two as they drift up the escalator opposite us, one of them uttered something only a real friend or a truly gay man would say. "Ryan, you're fat", as he pointed out something I already know but hoping to hide with my black cashmere jumper and massive bag. People looked at me scanning my belly as my friendly acquaintances disappeared from the top of the stairs. I forgot how cruel and unforgiving the gay world is.

All this time, I needed a motivation to lose weight. I do try listening to real friends advising me not to lose weight and keep my flab along the waist-side. They rationalise that I look better with pinch-able meat on my face than looking like a dishevelled man on crack. In turn, I use the tricks of colour to create an illusion of a slim-line figure and a bit of fashion know-how to shift focus of attention to unwanted areas. I resort to hip hop and straight tweeny get up of loose tops and low jeans at times to relax my tummy underneath it. I somehow get away with it. But obviously, not tonight. The person you haven’t seen for yonks sees the remarkable changes the most. It is usually amplified 5x or more.

So, my much needed motivation is that. Ballooning after a 2-week holiday in the land where food portions are enough to feed a nation, it is just healthy and wise to lose the baggage which is in direct proportion to the size of the wardrobe if you are not careful.

I cannot be hip hop all the time in my mid 30s wearing baggy clothes. It is a damnable thought.

Finding a 5-peso coin

Few days before my last day, I found a five peso coin inside Nelson's Civic Honda car. It somehow reminded me of people.

Nelson has been toiling his way to an American life and so far, succeeding. He's had his fair share of ups and downs and remained optimistic despite the eternal whines and whinges. He soldiered on. He is an epitome of contradictions when things require certainties but manages to make it appear as part of essentialities. He has changed in a lot of ways but in quiet moments I see and hear him.

Ricky is a born survivor. His care for the world of friendships and the like is so deep and so is his motivation to be good at what he does. In the end, he makes things not just suffice needs but make it beyond comfort level. He’s always been dependable.

Kaye's a part of my past I had not truly cultivated a root with, for the reason beyond my own understanding. It is now that I realise that loss of moment and the passing of time where Kaye supposedly crossed my path and bowled me over. She didn’t waste time in doing so to make time irrelevant at this juncture. She's one amazing woman and it's seldom that I get moved by initial impressions. I blame the time and circumstances for the loss but thankful at the same time for that imaginary circle we live in. The points bend to reach out to carry on with continuum. Meeting her the next time round made Connecticut warm despite the Bluff Point wintry breeze.

Macky is certainly a story worth telling. It is a story you pass on for generations as it holds virtues and life's lessons unaffected by time, scientific advances and change in general. He's my Nelson when Nelson's gone astray for some strange reasons. Macky however remains a totally different person from the rest of my friends but conjoined at the same time. His sensitivity to your needs is nonpareil. He has given you an answer even before you finished constructing your thoughts in your brain.

I told myself that I am going to write about flashbacks after finding the coin. I also told them that I’d trace the roots of how they’re connected to my existence. However, their strength is enough testament to how I value consistency and permanence against time and change. Although you learn new things and you see changes about them, you just smile because you know that even without saying it, you grow with them in the process.

This recent holiday is not about new places I have seen. It's finding the lost pieces that make me who I am now. I mean this not to denote dependence. I mean this to stress knowing an unadulterated connection.

The 5-peso coin is a good witness.

Moment

We just took a thousand photos of Napa and Sonoma. We are now back on the road.

We're famished like a grazing cow during winter. The next aim is not satiating the eyes but the hunger for food. We are driving past the fields of grapes and it has driven us mad for something that the stomach could digest. The only easing consolation is this scenario. Picture this:

- Nelson's feet up the middle compartment of the car as he takes photos
- Ricky is driving at 50 mph
- French recording (from Nelson's conquests) is blasting through the speakers
- The mountain from afar is pale grey but the fields are brown; the vineyards keep it alive
- Signposts and flat asphalt road extend far and wide
- The air-conditioning inside the car balances the heat from outside
- The yellow and white stripes along the road
- The bright red top-down Chrysler whizzing us by

Our conversation is honing in on life. Ricky and I are in agreement with Nelson about french music giving you that Sunday feeling. The astounding resemblance extends to wine and french music. They mix like water to blood. The long dusty road and the vineyards alongside it take you to the wonders of cinema. You feel like Audrey Hepburn swooning over Humphrey Bogart.

Well, back to reality. The chinese buffet seems fitting to the growling and churning acids inside us. I'm so hungry, I hope I have not been imagining things earlier.

pose and pause

The countdown has now started. The end of a 2-week sojourn is looming. It is palpable in the air just like the throbbing from someone's varicosities as blood pumps through it. I am aboard the New Haven train to Grand Central amidst the still lush green foliage of autumnal air surrounding me. But I see that journey reaching a full stop. This holiday has been a matter of piling up mileage and seeing familiar faces that had a haunting yet calming effect. Grand Central is still miles away and my rather chilled company of friends are quiet; the first time that they looked peaceful for a long while.

In a short narrative, my days were spent visiting places and people. California offered a retreat to a setting where my old home's uncannily similar in comparison. New York on the other hand, is my London home, only faster.

The people I have met are effervescent yet real. In no mean metaphorical perspective, they're like my mother's moth balls that keep unwanted pests away and keep clothes from rotting. You age yet they keep you grounded and binds you with your past in a certain order. It also gives you a mindset of realising one's life revolving in full circle. It somehow completes you.

The train has stopped a few times now. My friends are still at peace with themselves. The blonde woman and her blonde child are chattering in a language sounding like Russian (I'm not sure though). Although being surrounded by people using an iPhone, for the very first time this woman has the exact model of my handset. Hers however, has a dangling silver-y thingy attached to it. I thought, chances are happening for a reason. I may as well look at it on a broader scope. My 600+ photos are not enough to fathom the events of how it could possibly alter my life; not even if I have a 1000 of high pixelated photos to capture it.

The only living and direction-orientated being on this train is the driver's voiceovers. He assumes the guide, the director and the wise. To make this meaningful, I should be taking his photo but this is one of those moments where you sit back and relax and let a stranger take over the other details of your life so you get the chance to do some reflective thinking.

As I get off this train later, I am pretty sure I'd be compelled to take yet another shot of this journey. However, these photos will just serve as reminders; just the start of brain processing for flashes of moments in memory bank. Behind a 2-D(3/D) picture is a whole lot of interesting stories.