"Give me time," says the traveller, "and I shall see the world with my own eyes."
"Give me time," cries the author, "and we shall make masterpieces that will be talked about for years on end."
"Give me time," begs the student, "and I shall learn and master my field of study."
"Give me time," pleads the ambitious, "and I shall acquire wealth! Position! Power!"
But ironically, time is the one thing we waste with reckless imprudence thinking we are rich with an unending supply; and then once out of it, we seek it and beg for it like a desperate beggar. Unfortunately for us, time is an efficient thief who comes quickly, leaves quickly, and once gone, never returns. He is also a deceptive merchant to takes our words and actions, granting us no opportunity for redress, and leaving us with nothing but regret.
That is why we must make each moment count by milking it for all its worth so there is nothing to regret. That is the only way we can have an upper hand over time.
And so the traveller must go and see the world while he can. The author must write, the student must learn, and the ambitious must acquire everything...while they still can.
I hope to do all that.
Hello, 2010!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
The world for the taking kuno. But which path do I tread?
Senate | Financial stability... | |
Cool events... Meet lots of people... | Not really what I want to do in the long run... | |
for merchandising | Lower pay but free travel... Use management skills too... | Uncertain future... |
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The year that was (well, the last 11 months)
January
The year begins with celebration and fulfilment: a wedding, an outing, a new car.
February
The month of farewells and promises.
March
On the first week, they leave (a loved friend and a lover). And indefinitely they'll be gone: months, years? Who knows?
On the last week, we leave (the girlfriend of the friend and I). But only for a definite time: a 3-day weekend in Baguio.
April
We break up.
May
My birthday.
June
Hop on a plane and fly to the UK.
Get on a train and go cross country.
Explore, immerse, intoxicate.
July
Reggie the red car crashed.
August
Fitness, college basketball, and the beach while it's raining.
September
Sofitel, Art, and the Great Flood.
October
Boracay.
November
The Land of the Rising Sun.
December
At the threshold of a myriad opportunities and options
2009 IS ALMOST OVER. WOOOO!!!! CAN'T WAIT FOR 2010!!!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Because
I love being on cars, buses, trains, and air planes. I love the feeling of being mobile, of being in translation; the feeling of going somewhere, anywhere . It doesn't matter if there exists a language barrier, or if the place is slightly dangerous - so long as it is new to me. I love going on adventures, and experiencing things first hand - for pictures can never satiate this lust. I love the feeling of immersion, of being part of something completely alien to me - even if it is only temporary. I love seeing and learning how different cultures do the most normal things.
Isn't it amusing how Americans have a great penchant for small talk? Book store aisles, side walk benches, coffee shop lines...the American next to you would ask how you're doing or talk to you about the weather. The Brits, on the other hand, are less friendly but are infinitely more polite. Even when they're pissed off, they're polite. Even their signs are polite! Remain on your lane vis-a-vis No swerving. Dispose cigarette behinds in rubbish bins vis-a-vis Don't litter.
Germany is beer land. France is wine land. Scotland is whisky land; whisky at 9 am, unbelievable!
People ask me why I went to the top of the Empire State in New York, or the Hollywood sign in LA, or the Eiffel in Paris (may Starbucks dun, winner), or Petrin Hill in Prague (yep the one in the Kundera book), or Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh.
They ask me what the big deal about Anne Frank's house in Amsterdam is (super depressing pota), or what's so cool about the United Nations (hellooo watch The Interpreter...super astig), or what the hell did I go to Liverpool for (BEATLES!)
Isn't it absurd to line up for four hours at the Louvre just to see one painting (the Mona Lisa), or to venture to Versailles just to see if the Hall of Mirrors in King Louie's palace that my history prof was talking about is real and really spectacular? (it is).
I've been asked why I 'wasted' so much money watching Les Miserables and Jersey Boys in London, or the Phantom of the Opera and Mamma Mia in New York.
Why? And I answer, "Because."
I wish I was a good writer who could describe with flowery words all these wonderful places; places with years and years and years of history, places of cultures lost; places where great heroes lived and died; places that inspired novelists and poets and painters; places where these renowned novelists, poets, and painters actually made their masterpieces; places where the masterpieces are displayed and preserved; places we only read of or are only told of. I cannot even think of a single word to describe the feeling of actually being able to go. So for the lack of better term, I'll just say it's surreal.
Isn't it amusing how Americans have a great penchant for small talk? Book store aisles, side walk benches, coffee shop lines...the American next to you would ask how you're doing or talk to you about the weather. The Brits, on the other hand, are less friendly but are infinitely more polite. Even when they're pissed off, they're polite. Even their signs are polite! Remain on your lane vis-a-vis No swerving. Dispose cigarette behinds in rubbish bins vis-a-vis Don't litter.
Germany is beer land. France is wine land. Scotland is whisky land; whisky at 9 am, unbelievable!
People ask me why I went to the top of the Empire State in New York, or the Hollywood sign in LA, or the Eiffel in Paris (may Starbucks dun, winner), or Petrin Hill in Prague (yep the one in the Kundera book), or Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh.
They ask me what the big deal about Anne Frank's house in Amsterdam is (super depressing pota), or what's so cool about the United Nations (hellooo watch The Interpreter...super astig), or what the hell did I go to Liverpool for (BEATLES!)
Isn't it absurd to line up for four hours at the Louvre just to see one painting (the Mona Lisa), or to venture to Versailles just to see if the Hall of Mirrors in King Louie's palace that my history prof was talking about is real and really spectacular? (it is).
I've been asked why I 'wasted' so much money watching Les Miserables and Jersey Boys in London, or the Phantom of the Opera and Mamma Mia in New York.
Why? And I answer, "Because."
I wish I was a good writer who could describe with flowery words all these wonderful places; places with years and years and years of history, places of cultures lost; places where great heroes lived and died; places that inspired novelists and poets and painters; places where these renowned novelists, poets, and painters actually made their masterpieces; places where the masterpieces are displayed and preserved; places we only read of or are only told of. I cannot even think of a single word to describe the feeling of actually being able to go. So for the lack of better term, I'll just say it's surreal.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Outside looking in
I was stuck at an unusually long red light on my way home this evening when I noticed him. A child of no more than 7 years of age was sitting on the ground with his head against a lamp post, yawning, while lazily toying around a paper cup with a few coins in it. It was quarter to 11, and for a second I wondered why he was still up, begging at this hour. Then I realized that maybe he didn't have some sort of dwelling place to go back to.
I wanted to call him over for a talk, but what was there to say? So foreign was his experience to me, so unreadable his countenance. Surely, many more emotions are embedded in his expression of fatigue. How could I possibly engage in a meaningful conversation with this boy before I'm off to go? How could I possibly assuage his pain - for certainly he was in pain - before the light turns green? Money was just a quick-fix, and I longed to do something more for this kid.
I guess you really feel it when someone has been staring at you because suddenly, his sleepy eyes turned towards me. Labouring for an ounce of strength, he stood up, approached my window, and looked in. I rolled it down and what did I do? I gave him the quick-fix: spare change...lots of it...all the coins in my wallet I poured into his cup, hoping the quantity could compensate for my lack of words and my lack of resolve to do anything else. Then the lights changed, and I sped off.
---
All my life I've regarded less fortunate people as those who will forever remain on the outside looking in. Looking in at what? Looking in at my life and at all those who live in comforts similar to mine: the charmed life cushioned by money, cuddled by education, and creamed up by manners. The lifestyle defined by cars, buffets, and pastimes. The social stratum that reveres everything they cannot get as essential. And what else can they do but peer in? Peer in and beg for alms – spare change accumulated to avail their next meal. Anything beyond the meal is much too far into the future for them to think about and fathom. Their goal is simply to survive today.
But say, I get stripped off of the money cushion. Instantly, the cars, buffets, and pastimes are relinquished – along with everything else that characterizes my lifestyle. And nothing would be left of me but my so-called elite education and so-called good manners. Useless assets! Put me on the streets and tell me how my knowledge of Management principles, exposure to Literature, and immersion in Philosophy could help me get through a day? Enlighten me: what's the use knowing how to eat in a fine-dining setting when there's nothing to eat?
Truth be known, I haven't - in my entire life - washed and ironed my own clothes. I don't know how to change a tire, cook real food, or remove a red wine stain from fabric. If, God forbid, my mom dies tomorrow, I wouldn't know what the fuck to do...about anything...everything. I'll be lost.
The kid who I gave spare change to: he wasn't the one outside looking in at me. I was inside looking out at him...looking out at life...and not having the slightest idea of what it's like.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
21 October 2009
21 October 2009 - The weather in Metro Manila was partly cloudy and slightly windy with a 30% chance of rain. Temperature high is at 32 degrees, low at 24. The feared typhoon Ramil with its 175 kph sustained winds is said to be around 500 kilometres north east of Aparri, Cagayan; it is expected to make landfall tomorrow afternoon...
Tomorrow afternoon, right. But today, for me - well, in me - the storm has already arrived, which in actuality is a violent tempest, raging as I wake up at 10:15 am with a hangover, saying the Lord's name in vain (Oh my God! fuckfuckfuck!) because the staff meeting in Makati started at 10. I check my mobile phone and see a text message from the deputy bozz: "Where you? GT's talking about your stuff." So I reply, "Running late. Sorry. On my way there."
On my way there, right; on my way to the banyo more likely. I was imagining deputy bozz's eyebrows akin to two lighting rods clashing against each other, and the lecture he'll give - an endless downpour of words about work ethics. Baah. I leave at 10:45 after the quickest shower in history, arrive at UCC Fort at 11 (by some miraculous twist of fate, traffic was extremely light) and find that my officemates - supposedly united in our vision to help improve our country's competitiveness in Science and Technology - are talking about...acupuncture. What the. When GT saw me, his face broke into a smile as he said, "Right on time. I was telling them that my wife could give all of you acupuncture sessions. You know what, if you let her stick needles into your ears, you'll lose your addiction and will finally be able to quit smoking."
Quit smoking, right. Who said I even wanted to quit? The effects of my vice - now, that's a storm I wish would never come. Hehe. And needles in my ears? No way, sir!
Tomorrow afternoon, right. But today, for me - well, in me - the storm has already arrived, which in actuality is a violent tempest, raging as I wake up at 10:15 am with a hangover, saying the Lord's name in vain (Oh my God! fuckfuckfuck!) because the staff meeting in Makati started at 10. I check my mobile phone and see a text message from the deputy bozz: "Where you? GT's talking about your stuff." So I reply, "Running late. Sorry. On my way there."
On my way there, right; on my way to the banyo more likely. I was imagining deputy bozz's eyebrows akin to two lighting rods clashing against each other, and the lecture he'll give - an endless downpour of words about work ethics. Baah. I leave at 10:45 after the quickest shower in history, arrive at UCC Fort at 11 (by some miraculous twist of fate, traffic was extremely light) and find that my officemates - supposedly united in our vision to help improve our country's competitiveness in Science and Technology - are talking about...acupuncture. What the. When GT saw me, his face broke into a smile as he said, "Right on time. I was telling them that my wife could give all of you acupuncture sessions. You know what, if you let her stick needles into your ears, you'll lose your addiction and will finally be able to quit smoking."
Quit smoking, right. Who said I even wanted to quit? The effects of my vice - now, that's a storm I wish would never come. Hehe. And needles in my ears? No way, sir!
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