run. walk. stop. stare.

green and brown

Two hours bus ride from Norwich to Ipswich is going to be a helluva ride. Gelo drives me in his new Peugeot convertible car to the station only to find out that railway works are in progress and the only way to point B is the highway. I choose the front seat of the coach thinking I'd get 180-degree panoramic view of the countryside. I may as well flood my mental synapses with greens and browns and... peace before racking up more noise and colours in London.

This morning (8am) seems promising. No cumulo-nimbus clouds in sight and the sun's just ebbing through the east with its faint golden rays. The lush green and earthy brown predominate the fields with occasional houses, horses and herds of sheep adorning the flat terrain. The only colour I see is along the roadside: the signposts telling me how patience is going to be stretched by this journey.

Parallel my seat are these pre-pubertal kids talking about life experiences. For a while I see myself eavesdropping. They talk about life in Saudi Arabia and Italy and France and oh, I'm losing track of countries they've been. It is fascinating to know that even at a younger age, these two youngsters know their geography well and actually lived and seen cultures other than theirs. I believe that kids exposed to the intricacy of international culture grow up as fine young adults who really believe in world peace.

The bus is stopping at Diss. To call a place Diss is beyond me (look it up in the dictionary). But I'm sure this place existed even before this word got listed in new Webster. The mother-daughter tandem waiting for the bus is utterly funny. Her mother is highly inquisitive about the journey that she repeatedly questions the driver of the journey to the point of embarrassing her daughter. "Mum, you are annoying. Just go". The souls I share this ride are fairly quiet and mindful of their own noises. But these kids are getting manic by the minute. They are now bickering about maturity and the impact of videogames to young minds. How inappropriately pertinent but simply annoying.

Back to the calming greens.

Ipswich is still 23 miles away. It is true that the soothing effect of the countryside is therapeutic to muddled senses. In fact, through conversion reaction, I suddenly have the urge to eat broccoli and everything green. I have two options right now: to sleep or to stay awake. I choose being mindful and critically aware of my surroundings. Talking less and seeing more is a privilege ticket to self awareness. With less distraction, it helps evaluate your existing life choices.

God! I am old but I really am getting older out.... and mostly in. Am I going to eventually say goodbye to London? Is knitting and gardening during weekends going to be my staple time-kill? I am seriously confused.

Now Back to the greens and browns for answer.

I'm sure it's science

Emotional happiness comes with a price. Life balances out the mean, mode and median points of existence to the point that equal distributions of happiness and its polar counterpart sit in between. I seriously believe this notion. This may sound a perfect excuse for inconsistency in living and a complete surrender to eventualities of fate but personally, I believe in that force. 

Who oh why was I not born filthy rich? 

BS

OK. 

I intended not to write about the movie "Black Swan" - this Natalie Portman Oscar's ticket. I finally saw the film that created a major buzz in Hollywood and in every decent conversation between after-office meetings. Portman's masturbation scene surely creates a stir. This film is way too image-crushing for a Portman fan that I decided not to write about it. But the woman chattering with her mate inside the carriage on my way home kept on badgering my psyche. She exclaimed, "Oh my god, the film's amazing". I wanted to butt in and say, "On the contrary....". 

Back to the movie. 

Yes, that masturbation scene keeps on popping inside my head. Mila Kunis (that girl voicing Meg in Family Guy) going down and dirty on Portman is every man's fantasy. I won't be surprised if this film results to heightened sexual rendezvous in bed between straight couples after seeing it in theatres. But the effect for me as expected is clinical yet moving. Portman's development is a suggestion that with good screenplay and extreme emotional interplay, good acting is not a major prerequisite. But thanks to her general goody-goody image and vulnerable frame that this role is justified. She owns the role and the other facets of character analysis but the dancing. I'm a perfectionist I know- but to be less harsh, her pirouettes and ballet grace are passable. 

I left the cinema reeling. 

The film's centrifuge lean towards Portman and her metamorphosis... and unfolding. The supporting players are dark; mostly dark. You somehow pine for the protagonist's anguish and flaws. You warm towards her like being bonkers is a norm. That having no decent support system drives you over the hill and plunge to eventual atrocity. 

I like the film. I love Portman. I'm not over the moon about it. 

A_________lence

I want to pick
An apple from the tree
With a ladder
Above the earth
As The sun is glowing 
And The wind is still
And the sky is blue
But my Heart
Oh my poor heart
In ecstasy
In pain. 

Quiet Sunday

(Direct from iPhone)

Rafael Nadal getting ousted from the tourney at quarterfinal stage means a rather less stressful Sunday for me. This will be a battle between Novak and Andy (Murray). Whoever wins is not even my concern. Or maybe a little. 

I want Andy Murray to win to make this country I live in a happy one. This will mean a lot to my colleagues at work and a good distraction from my sickness this week as I report to work this coming Monday. Andy will be my passport to every conversation and presto..... No more follow-ups like "How are you feeling now?" and "Are you sure you're well enough" and the classic, "What happened Ryan?". 

I'm not watching the finals point for point; stroke for stroke. My loyalty to Nadal is unquestionable. In a way, I'm glad the old GOAT is down and out and lost in straights. The Murray-Djokovic final will be enjoyable viewing without the yelps and cursing. 

I want Li Na and Andy Murray holding aloft the trophy by the end of this week. But Im saying that with enthusiasm for tennis with detached personal keenness. 

meet the SATC gang

From left: Charlotte, Carrie, Samantha and Miranda (AKA Ryan, Dexter, Nanie and Erwin - lol)

I have always wanted to be Carrie in the group and rightfully so (hint of arrogance here). I am the only one who maintains a blog in the group. I somehow relish the thought of having a decent to outlandish dressing sense between the four and feel confident and comfortable with the way I present myself. And oh, I love the spotlight, drama and gloss of anything and everything that's love.

But deep inside, I know I'm a Charlotte.

magic

you like?

This is one of my favourite dimsum treats.

YOU LIKE?

be the judge

Above video: Gelo singing "This is the moment", winning the East Anglia Singing Competition.
Below: His trophies (just few) from his singing achievements.

facetime

Technology doesn't stop to astonish me.

Distance between two people is no longer an issue... or isssss ittttt (in a sinister tone)?



In my own humble opinion, communication is still about the stimulation of five senses. iPhone4's Facetime bridges two.

... the only exception

www.org

I need organisation.

The living room is barren but the kitchen is taking shape.

older

I am now officially old. In numerical terms, if I round off my current age it would fall under 40.

Goodness!

In NAM's definition of achievement, I am an underachiever. In PursuitForLife's point of view, I'm in a good place; I am free. I'm pretty sure they have valid reasons for thinking this and I respect that. Without disrespect to PFL's notion, NAM is probably more objective in approach to judging me. But I understand.

Life's insecurities creep up on me in most inopportune time. They knock twice when I terribly lack sleep. They bang the backdoor thrice when I'm stressed from love and work. They break the glass windows when it's my birthday. Aging is taboo for women but obscene for gay men. It's a downer.

They say that traveling across the countryside, seeing the various shades of green and brown is therapeutic. I say it is reflective. It forces you to think of thoughts that get distracted by the ambulance noise and flickering lights of shops in London. It makes you realise that living isn't that simple. When one says that life is easy and simple, I turn bitter and mutter inside my head "You simply don't have a life". But the polite me says otherwise. I respect denial like I respect my mother.

So YES. I still consider myself underachieving in most ways.

Lesson learned: If you're a Londoner, the countryside, empty carriage and birthday are recipe ingredients to something called reflection menu. It's either you'd like what you see or you don't.

at 6

There are very few moments I could think of when I actually woke up at 430 am. There was this time when my flight to America was way too early. There were occasions when I woke up from a bad dream but went back to sleep to dream again. In a year, waking up early doesn't account to more than a dozen.

Promise.

I left my flat with deep blue dawn in sight. The tube's still close and taxi to Liverpool train station was the only reasonable option. Buses take forever and defeats the idea of rushing to the 6 am train journey to Norwich. I reached the station, ordered a mocha and returned to the till served by the seemingly nice Indian chap and said, "The mocha's not hot enough". He obliged to my early morning whim but with chagrined faces of bored and tired souls behind me.

At this time, caffeine is the only logical chemical incitement and companion. It has to be right.

Ushering through the empty seats and empty fields of the countryside, it goads me to reflect. Life is bittersweet.

so...

So....

Days passed by with this blogsite in a standstill. It has remained quiet for days but in real time, events these past days were far from being humdrum and customary. Each time I visit my site everyday, I try to motivate myself to write something short and sweet just to fill the void. But motivation is not an issue. Fatigue gets the better of me. It is true that a healthy mind can go a long way; in imagination and willful drive. It makes writing a blog as easy as saying "yes" to BOGOF (buy one get one free) items at Sainsburys.

So....

My birthday was fun. After 7 bottles of wine and additional strong spirits between six alcohol-challenged livers, I must say that my natal day was more than fun. The only thing about recalling the ups, downs and more ups of that night is getting past the muddling details of events. I barely remember most minor points but laughter's the order the day and the staple side dish of karaoke after each shot of alcohol.


I also remember Gelo's gift just after midnight which was wrapped in plain shiny fuschia paper. I tore it up to reveal THE Wii. It was sweet. I still think it's sweet.

I slept in peace and woke up peacefully washing the dishes in the kitchen as the revelers heal their sore vocal cords in deep slumber.

my NADAL

Here's the reason why playing competitive sports is good for you.

Who said Nadal is just the best tennis player of his time? Isn't he just the best piece of meat manly specimen there is in tennis world?

ryan becoming ryan

Thanks for this insightful entry.

PS - No need to shave your head. Value what you have on top of your cranium. In fact, value what you house inside that cranium. In some ways, I like the idea of "becoming Charlton".

Becoming Ryan

it was through nam that i met him. well, online that is. until they came over here in the philippines and my life was never the same.

i was not pervy. the type of person who will always comment on blogs to get the blogger's attention. or for that blogger to follow me. while me and nam would chat, he was just there. attracting me to finish reading his entries in two straight nights.

was it the idea of me being able to reach my dreams as well? or the dominant mothers that we have? possibly the occasional emotional meltdown. perhaps the insecurities that plague us every once in a while.

or probably the drama that defines every moment of our lives.

it was actually surprising that in one of our conversations, we have both realized that we are actually the same. he stated that i was actually the "Ryan" few years back and me telling him that i think i will be like him.

but there are exceptions.

like him, being a social butterfly. (i just heard nam and ryan puke for hearing this word a billion times.) he socializes easily with people. he is just plain nice. and flirty haha which passes as his charm to dominating the whole world.

he also sings! which, unfortunately, is not the same situation for me.

he is so health conscious that my man boobs would be embarrassed in seeing his fit body.

when we met on a one lovely night, his accent won't register in my ears. i was like an old computer with an old microprocessor when trying to respond to him.

to tell you honestly, i'd like to embrace that thought. that i will be like him in the future.

professional at work. determined to finish every task given. these things are actually okay with me.

but to be fun loving, spontaneous and unafraid to love oneself and others will be challenging for me.

i guess i need to shave my head first just like him.

keep 'em coming part deux

I'm off for three days (19, 20 and 21). This extends up to the coming weekend.

I was told that a bouquet of flowers, chocolates, balloons and a poem was sent to my office from overseas (PICS TO COME). I can't wait to see it with my own eyes and gloat. It is good to feel special. Well, birthdays are always distinctively special no matter how some people downplay its meaning and effectual chain reaction.

I am happy.

keep 'em coming

Early presents and greetings are great.

... and I am extremely grateful.

THANKS.

overweight

I chanced upon this BMI (Body mass index) scale at work and got interested to measure my health determinant. From the scale, I fall under OVERWEIGHT category. My jaw dropped. I lost 4 kilos since I started dieting and exercising but .....

I AM STILL OVERWEIGHT.

Oh well, someone told me I'm skinny and that I look 5 years older. At least that comment is a lie. This is all the more reason for me to keep fit and healthy. To be honest, I feel lighter and these physical changes are economically sound. I get to wear my old jeans and tees. I also spend less on food.

BUT I AM STILL OVERWEIGHT.

Is this scale designed for models.... and midgets?

welcome adios... errr Adium

My ex-hubby as usual was charming, sweet and adorable. But there's always a first time with my ex. I actually chatted with him in his drunken state. So yes, he's still all that but adorable, sweet and charming times two. His slurring and slow delivery of his American twang was subtly annoying in a way that you'd wish you sounded like him.

He apparently heard from the grapevine that I'm marrying again. Whoever said that to him must have the intention of making me popular in the same shade as JLO. But the rumour was erroneous. I am not marrying just yet but I admit being in a relationship right now. Someday I'd marry the guy who would whisper "I love you" and lovingly and longingly kiss me inside the supermarket as I push the trolley. This must be done in a manner of "out of the blue"-I-never-expected-it-in-the-slightest-way demeanour. But back to marriage, he said that he somehow felt a twinge inside of him and wanted to get the right info out of the horse's mouth.

Obviously, I denied it (because it is the truth).

One more thing I learned from the 40-minute London-Singapore conversation was this: ADIUM. It consolidates all your messengers into one. If chatting is your forte, prepare yourself for the possible influx of messages from all avenues of your social networking sites. I just wonder if the "doorbell" sound would eventually get to my nerves as it fires up this sound continuously whenever a potential chatterbox graces the contact's list.

My ex-hubby said he had this program since we dated over 4 years ago. It only shows I'm a Mac virgin.

arrogance or pride...

I will call it PRIDE.

The Head of Nursing (the name above me) is my direct superior in the unit. People say that titles do not matter and certainly, they don't matter to me. Some grab and protect it with their claws as if their lives depended on it. Well, some jobs are the end all of things so it must be acceptable and true.

Truly, I am grateful I do what I love doing the most.

That's all.

king of the world... err office

I feel like singing "Alone" because literally I am.

I'm luvvvvvin' it.

Tom-foolery

Here's Tom Ford sexing things up.

His appeal just quadrupled.

reliable EX

I told my EX I'm trying to lose weight.

The last time he visited me, he said, "You look 5 years older. You have chicken legs. Ugh (it sounded like that anyway)". Few hours later and he's back carrying two full bags of Sainbury's grocery stuff.





Does your EX do that?

just once

taglish

It's 2 pm and the lecture is dragging on. The professor's occasional acerbic remarks are causing a wave of ducking of heads whenever he attempts to rouse the group for interaction. The topics today are "Evidence Based Practice" and "Systematic Review" but what catches my attention are words parsimony and boolean. Now this is getting interesting. I'm actually learning something so I start scribbling the words on the notepad. Despite the clarity of his presentation, I see furrowed brows as if we are about to solve an equation about nuclear fusion. Science and Nurses do not necessarily jive well. I think Nursing although a Science in its own merit is also an Art. But most old-schooled nurses are leaning towards the art side of the profession and a mere mention of confidence interval and p-values sends an electric shock to their spines and manifests as a knitted, puzzled facial expression.

If only the professor can go far below what is expected of a level 7 course. But obviously NOT.

Where I'm sitting is an open glass wall that gives the full view of London Southbank. The street at the back of King's College, Franklin Wilkins Building is called DOON STREET. It's like telling me that learning is not necessarily about straight talking, straight forward delivery of course material. We all know some are slow on the uptake and this street sign is THE SIGN.

Now I know why Taglish (Tagalog - English combo) works for some back home.

term 2

So I'm back to studying.

I promise to study well and work on my essays way ahead of time.

I hope I get to find the motivational incentive for this hard-work.

roses are red...

The flowers are not for me.
The boxed dark chocolate were given to me last christmas by a girl-friend.
When pictured together, these elements create an atmosphere of love.
Well, that's according to commerce and mass media.

I personally think both the flowers and chocolates are poor representation of love.
I prefer words in prose.
If not in prose, the way words are spoken is good enough.
I prefer it in deep, breathy and a longing voice.

meet Katie

She is a "Miss Katie" to me during the day and "Foxy Katie" at night. A word "fag hag" may sound harsh to less exposed human beings to socio-cultural interweave and amalgamation but she is that. But as a rebuttal to puny heads and brains out there, a fag hag is an elite and intimate definition of a woman who embodies va va voom and killer everything... killer wit and humour, killer sense of stamina and killer understanding of expressed humanity.

Now, meet her killer shoes!

blogging in bed

I have spent very little time blogging in bed.

With hundreds of entries in here, most ideas were concocted, fabricated and sewn together in the living room, office... park... someone else's abode and even toilet. I find the full leg extension, flat on bed and back against the headboard totally uncomfortable after few minutes. It is also easy to just drift into unconsciousness and dream about blogging than actually type in real time with this comfortless positioning.

But today is different. I'm yearning to try pain and discomfort from this body-bed convergence while blogging about blogging. I must admit, I have been cautious as to what I write. My faithful critic (critics) has/have nothing to say but some entries are either "too tamed or too vulgar to the point of indulgence". Finding the middle ground is hard until I remind myself that the main motto is: My blog, my rule.

However, I am trying to be heedful for the sake of other people's feelings. In relationships (breakdown specially) some people move on easily, some don't. In food, some like bitter melon, I don't. Differences in time frames and preferences exist. In College, I overused the mantra, "No two individuals are alike" and from time to time, I drop that as a denouement to an argument that goes round and round and round like the boring London Eye.

I now feel the aching of tendons of my calves from this position. Expressing oneself can be that boring, continuous ache when you know what you want to say and you sugar-coat existentialism. Blogging in bed is that. I float between two pleasures of human needs that the throes of physical inconsistencies transpire from either lack of decision or conviction.

This is the common dilemma of people like me who sincerely believe in "world peace"-kind-of-answer to differences.

dusk

While I'm recuperating from diseasedness, it helps to see THE dusk in full view with very little effort. It certainly affords that healing verve to an overly abused physical and mental knack.

My place may not be suited for the snooty, pretentious Filipinos but for me, this is where I feel peace and at home.

intermission, yet again.

I don't feel like blogging these days.

I am intoxicated with the concoction of white wine, tequila (both known and unknown brands) and gin. Rest and sleep ... and greasy food are blissful priorities. Blogging comes next but let me see if I have the energy to write something when headache's gone.

For now, I have a better proposition to myself. It means being supine and oblivious to the nagging and persistent cries of unwashed dishes and grubby floor. It means satisfying and learning the art of being dead in preparation for the time when I'm really dead.

That's headache talking.

Calories

Let's talk about it.

This is yesterday's consumption:

150 ml milk = 99 kcal
Macaroon = 225 kcal
Tuna salad = 170 kcal
Diet Coke = 1 kcal
Americano x2 (with milk) = 212 kcal
2 slices of pizza = 300 kcal
water = 0 kcal
Choc-chip cookie = 120 kcal
Total = 1127 kcal

THE TOTAL KCAL FOR AN AVERAGE MAN IS 2500; WOMAN = 2000 KCAL.

I eat like (less than) a woman and my temper's just as bad.

simple things

As part of the drive to organise my desk and the office, I came across this Desktop background and made me smile. Really, simple things make me happy.



People around me are the ones that make it complicated and difficult most of the time. As part of this New Year palaver, I am in charge and I do as I please. I am faultless unless something (or someone) starts hurting me. By then, it'll be back to drawing board for me.

You think my desktop's varying hues of blue are soothing, don't you?

clinical

I haven't been fully "clinical" these past years and I terribly miss it.

This year, I intend to multitask between University and Hospital teaching and getting my hands dirty with clinical responsibilities. This will surely not go down well with my colleagues in the team but I intend to use these... (see pics below)... and give them some wear and tear.

Organisation - resolution

My diary looks barren for now. I could squeeze in few days to organise my working life... my working environment.



I'd definitely need energy (from this Toffee waffle) to tackle the mess head on. Taking on the mountainous piles of documents hoarded from decades ago would be a massive challenge and I'd need FAT and CARBS for this job.



Now, that's the grim picture of work. They say, a clean desk is an indication of a mature workforce. I say, clean desk is a sign of good delegation. But still, organised chaos isn't always the way. An organised surrounding hastens a healthier and sharper thinking.

poetic justice

I don't necessarily post lyrics but this is an exception. It is simply beautiful.

What You Are

(Jewel)

I'm driving around town
Kinda bored with the windows rolled down
See a girl on the bus stop bench
Dressed to draw attention

Hoping everyone will stare
If she don't stand out she thinks she'll disappear
Wish I could hold her, tell her, show her
What she wants is already there

A star is a star
It doesn't have to try to shine
Water will fall
A bird just knows how to fly

You don't have to tell a flower how to bloom
Or light how to fill up a room
You already are what you are
And what you are is beautiful

Heard a story the other day
Took place at the local VA
A father talking to his dying son
This was his conversation

"It's not supposed to be like this
You can't go first I can't handle it"
The boy said "Dad now don't you cry,
Remember when I was a child what you used to tell me when I'd ask why?"

(You'd say) Gravity is gravity
It doesn't try to pull you down
Stone is stone
It can't help but hold its ground

The wind just blows, though you can't see

[ From: http://www.metrolyrics.com/what-you-are-lyrics-jewel.html ]

It's everywhere like I'll always be
You already are what you are
And what you are is strong enough

Look in the mirror
Now that's another story to tell
I give love to others
But I give myself hell

I'd have to tell myself
"In every seed there's a perfect plant"
Everything I hoped to be
I already am

A flower is a flower
It doesn't have to try to bloom
And light is light
Just knows how to fill a room


And dark is dark
So the stars have a place to shine
The tide goes out
So it can come back another time

Goodbye makes hello so sweet
And love is love so it can teach us
We already are what we are
And what we are is beautiful

And strong enough
And good enough
And bright enough

person of the month

4 am (California Time)

NAM: Change your blog settings. It is skewed.

ME: Distortion is better. It gives more character.

NAM: One loves to read chaos but should not feel distorted by your blog's layout.

ME: It is called consistency.

NAM: It is New Year... new everything.

ME: I'm lazy. Here's my username and password. bleep and bleep.

ME: Do as you please.

An hour and half later.

NAM: Now sign up for Flickr and Vimeo.

ME: Yes mother.

free education is BEAUTIFUL

I am running out of adjectives that poignantly describe free education. As most of the students all over the country continue to fight the fight for lower tuition fees, I am readying myself for another roller coaster ride of mental anguish (but grateful nevertheless).

This 2011, I am pursuing more and more scholastic challenges. These are the courses:

• Specialist Portfolio
• Professional Development and Organisational Change
• Evidence Based Decision Making in Healthcare

It will preoccupy most of my waking moments and seriously hamper my blogging instincts (OR NOT!). Learning from the past, I know that doing things the last minute is not the way to go. If I have to dream big, I have to work hard for better grades and eventually, better prospects. I am still aiming for a full time teaching job at King's College London.

I just hope cockiness ... brazenness doesn't get the better of me. I have that tendency to slide and precipitate towards heavy booking. I simply find burning midnight oil more dramatic.

BUT NO.

domestic god...errr...dess

CLOTHES FOLDED.



FLOOR VACUUMED.



WASHING DONE.



DISHES WASHED.



If only personal problems/dilemmas are like household chores...