Cam’s Blog

Things To Do Before I Leave My Dear Philippines:

o       Learn how to cook, clean my own mess, wash my own clothes and take care of myself in general…in freakin six weeks…

     okay, so maybe i didn’t really accomplish this one. I gave up after my first terror encounter with the stupid washing machine. but hey, i have plenty of time to learn there…

o       Have one last lechon dinner with my family, because it’s them that I’ll miss the most…

     i actually had 5 despedida parties, and i’m only talking about those thrown by my relatives. what can i say, i have the best family in the world!

o       Get asphyxiated from one last bearhug espesyal from my brothers

     and i know there’d be more to come when they send me off to the airport. surprise!we actually love each other!

o       One last chikahan session with my bestfriend trina…

      bonus pa si dyan!

o       eat odoks

o       eat odoks

o       eat odoks

o       Buy a real Philippine flag (I mean the flag ceremony kind)

o       And a barrel man (as a remembrance of the great assets of Filipino men, harhar) thanks tito sonny!

o       And lotsa boy chili cheese and bagoong and freakin butong-pakwan!

     i’m bringing 3 huge suitcases and a handcarry. half a suitcase is filled my clothes and shoes and the rest is PASALUBONG!!!whew!

o       Stock up on bob ong classics…so that I will remain deliciously pinoy stupid…and a Filipino dictionary because I swear that I will never ever be one of those supreme asses who forget how to speak Tagalog…

o       Clean up my room…lest my mom starts snooping on my high school love letters once I’m gone…eecchh! mom! nightmare!

o       One last ultimate inuman session with Tropang UniSeven, because nobody keeps their alcohol down better than these bitches!

     and that, was really the inuman session to end all inuman sessions! i wouldn’t go into details because what happens in nevada, stays in nevada, right bitch?

o       Take a video of my girls, Jez, Uan, Con, Kriza, Maria and Maw laughing their brains out. Because I know that nobody in the world laughs the way we do…lalo na pag lasing na…nobody…

     you guys are the most awesome friends in the world. Nuff said!

o       One last blowjob with Waxky…I mean the cocktail!

      that was one helluva blowjob at tagaytay!and eyin, before you start snickering, it really was just the cocktail. ass.

o       One last motorcycle ride with Marco…and one last endless conversation about virtually anything…and formulate a masterplan to smuggle him in my suitcase…

     well i did try to formulate a masterplan, but we settled on silicon valley before 2008. ha?sinabi mo yan!

o       One great big hug for Agent Orange…for keeping me company while his asshole of a dad temporarily abandoned me, haha, kidding! mahal kita!

o       Buy pasalubong for eyin (oist, comment na kung anong gusto mo, pagkain yan I’m sure)

     your spicy chicken yakisoba cost me two pairs of shoes worth of suitcase space but hey, basta ikaw!

o       Say thank you to the staff nurses of HJH…for making me realize that this is what I love doing…

o       One last sorry hug…hug? ok handshake…with the one boy whose heart I broke….

     i chickened out. sorry. sorry. sorry. sorry. sorry. sorry.and it really wasn’t you, it was me. and i know you hate cliches so,more sorries…

o       Treat my favorite cousins Patrick and Adrian to a pizza dinner…for their wonderful pangkokonsenti (if there is such a word) while I’m in Baguio. Nobody understands how it feels to fall in love more than these two! I love you guys…

     Baguio turned my two favorite cousins into my friends…i can never thank you guys enough…

o       Go to Baguio one more time…and try to bottle up all the memories…

     it’s all here, safely tucked in a special corner in my heart..whatever happens, we’ll always have baguio…

o       Take pictures of everything and I mean everything…

      all in my ipod.

o       Hug my baby one last time…I mean one more time and never ever let go…I wish!

      getting on that plane and being halfway round the world from you feels so wrong i don’t know why the hell i’m gonna do it…but i have faith in you and me and i know we’ll make it through. i love you be…that was one helluva hug, but it can only last me so long…you better get your ass in california asap!lol

o       Take Colin for a spin to Pantabangan…and let the great big dam remind me never to abandon my great big dream…

     NEVER. and i know someday, when my great big dream is no longer just a dream, i’ll go back and thank you…

So i guess i’m all good to go…

Goodbye Philippines. Mahal kita.

It’s amazing how you can live in one place your whole life, dreaming of the day you can finally leave it. But with the addition of one single person for one single day, it becomes the most beautiful place on earth. And the last thing you want to do is leave…Amazing.

It was the first day of 2007 when my dad and I finally had “the Talk”—the long overdue one, the one I managed to dodge since I graduated from college…the “what-the-hell-are you-planning-to-do-with-your-life-you-can’t-be-my-palamunin-forever” talk. One look in my dad’s eyes and I knew he meant business. And so with much dejection, I took the plunge and scheduled my NCLEX on February 26, 2007, 1pm at Koll Lyon Plaza, San Jose, California…detail, details…details that are lost on me as I focused on the one thing that really matters, the date. February 26. Meaning I have to leave by the second week of the same month…meaning I have to leave in six weeks…meaning I have to leave, period.

So what does a girl do when she finds out she will be leaving everything that matters to her in six weeks? The regular girl freaks out. This girl is obsessive-compulsive. She makes a checklist.

Things To Do Before I Leave My Dear Philippines:

o       Learn how to cook, clean my own mess, wash my own clothes and take care of myself in general…in freakin six weeks…

o       Have one last lechon dinner with my family, because it’s them that I’ll miss the most…

o       Get asphyxiated from one last bearhug espesyal from my brothers

o       One last all-night dance party with my college friends (forget goddamn Embassy, give me my old Basement anytime)

o       One last chikahan session with my bestfriend trina…

o       eat odoks

o       eat odoks

o       eat odoks

o       Buy a real Philippine flag (I mean the flag ceremony kind)

o       And a barrel man (as a remembrance of the great assets of Filipino men, harhar)

o       And lotsa boy chili cheese and bagoong and freakin butong-pakwan!

o       Stock up on bob ong classics…so that I will remain deliciously pinoy stupid…and a Filipino dictionary because I swear that I will never ever be one of those supreme asses who forget how to speak Tagalog…

o       Clean up my room…lest my mom starts snooping on my high school love letters once I’m gone…eecchh! mom! nightmare!

o       One last ultimate inuman session with Tropang UniSeven, because nobody keeps their alcohol down better than these bitches!

o       Take a video of my girls, Jez, Uan, Con, Kriza, Maria and Maw laughing their brains out. Because I know that nobody in the world laughs the way we do…lalo na pag lasing na…nobody…

o       One last blowjob with Waxky…I mean the cocktail!

o       One last motorcycle ride with Marco…and one last endless conversation about virtually anything…and formulate a masterplan to smuggle him in my suitcase…

o       One great big hug for Agent Orange…for keeping me company while his asshole of a dad temporarily abandoned me, haha, kidding! mahal kita!

o       Buy pasalubong for eyin (oist, comment na kung anong gusto mo, pagkain yan I’m sure)

o       Say thank you to the staff nurses of HJH…for making me realize that this is what I love doing…

o       One last sorry hug…hug? ok handshake…with the one boy whose heart I broke….

o       Treat my favorite cousins Patrick and Adrian to a pizza dinner…for their wonderful pangkokonsenti (if there is such a word) while I’m in Baguio. Nobody understands how it feels to fall in love more than these two! I love you guys…

o       Go to Baguio one more time…and try to bottle up all the memories…

o       Take pictures of everything and I mean everything…

o       Hug my baby one last time…I mean one more time and never ever let go…I wish!

o       Take Colin for a spin to Pantabangan…and let the great big dam remind me never to abandon my great big dream…

o       Get pregnant and get stuck here forever…kidding, wahahaha. On second thought…

Goodbye Goodbye my favorite mistake…

         She stares up the long, steep ladder. "It seems even higher tonight" she muses. In fact, from where she stands, it seems endless.  She hears the rustling of the coconut trees. She shivers. Before hesitation wins her over, she pulls herself up, holding her package of smokes with her teeth. She reaches the last rung with considerably less effort. Experience makes you tougher, they say.

          She lights a stick. Deep breathe in. Release. She watches the swirls of white smoke rising, rising, disappearing. She wishes with all her might that the smoke could blow away everything else. But then again, she thought, not really. She closes her eyes and tries to lose herself in the haunting swells and troughs of the verses.

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

I can’t take my eyes off of you…
I can’t take my eyes…

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We’ll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower’s daughter
The pupil in denial

I can’t take my eyes off of you…
I can’t take my eyes…

Did I say that I loathe you?
Did I say that I want to
Leave it all behind?

I can’t take my mind off of you
I can’t take my mind off you..

I can’t take my mind…
My mind…my mind…

‘Til I find somebody new

                                          The Blower’s Daughter, Damien Rice

And she did…

"Maybe, the worst is over." she thought.

And she knows it could have been over.

If only she wanted it to…

The familiar spicy, woody scent wafted through my nostrils and awakened me from my reverie. A slow smile began to form in my lips. I quickly opened the windows and suddenly, the car was filled with the familiar cool, misty breeze confirming our arrival at the summer wonderland of my childhood—Baguio City. I stuck my face outside as far as the tiny car window would allow, like I always did since I was a kid, letting the cool air blow away the last vestiges of motion sickness during the three-hour ride. I waited for my dad to recite his usual. “O, o, anak! Matatagis ulo mo niyan!”, but he didn’t. Suddenly, a wave of nostalgia washed over me.

Two summers ago, I went to Baguio to heal. I was 19 and I was heart-broken. The story is far too long and far too confusing to tell. I don’t think I can ever recount it without myself getting lost in a sea of why’s and why nots. The only fair way of summing it up is that my heart was broken and I had to two months to put the pieces back together before I start what I knew would be the hardest, most grueling year of my academic life.

I read somewhere that according to Taoism, there are two ways of getting over someone,–by completely saturating yourself with the person or by cutting yourself completely from him. I chose the latter, I chose escape. I decided to spend a whole month in Baguio city with my brothers. I dealt with my dilemma in the best way I know—methodical and goal-oriented. Funny, just when I thought a broken heart would change me forever, turns out it could not rid me of my obsessive-compulsiveness. So I constructed a time-table with the goal of going over all of Kubler-Ross’s stages of loss/grief in a month’s time—a couple of days (only, because I already had a head start)of Denial, 5 days of Anger, 3 days of Bargaining, about 2 weeks of  Depression and finally about a week of Acceptance. I know I’m sounding like a demented-Bree-van-de-Kamp-in-the-making-control freak, but it’s the way I deal with everything—from school projects to shopping. It never failed me. At least that’s what I thought.

I woke up on day 1 with a feeling that  the world was sympathizing with me. The sky was steel-gray and the rain pounded mercilessly on the roof. I went outside and was hit by a freezing-cold wave of reality. I knew immediately that Denial phase was over almost as soon as it began. So, I slumped on the couch with a stack of syrup-drenched pancakes and thought to myself, “All good, more time for Anger.” Someone once told me I’m prettier when I’m angry. It’s a win-win situation. Imagine my dismay when I realized that I could not even ignite the slightest flicker of anger. I tried to conjure images of little flying devils chanting, “He cheated on you, panget beyotch!”, to no avail. Such was the gravity of my loser-ness. So I thought, “Okaaayyy, so maybe I’m not really an angry person. Moving on..”. Depression—this stage I enjoyed! The alarming vastness of my chick-lit body of knowledge offered an array of tres chic ways to be depressed—shopping without a conscience (no, four colors of the same shoe style is not a sin), mad Coffee Crumble ice cream sprees (it’s okay, depressed persons secrete enzymes that convert ice cream calories to vitamin C) and writing suicide letters Sylvia Plath-style (read: not Virginia Woolf. Eep! The nose!). I enjoyed it so much that I extended it, so that I was left with only one day for the Acceptance stage. Not a problem, in fact it only took 5 minutes of “He’s not coming back. You’re on your own now. This experience made you a better you. Who wouldn’t with 25 more pairs of shoes.”. Breathe. Smile.

I attacked my senior year with as much zeal and determination as possible. I was a girl with a goal. Marching out of the Arch of the Centuries without my priced silver plum is not an option. I stopped at nothing. God knows the hell I’ve put my poor RLE mates through (believe me when I say that I REALLY love you guys). Looking back, I realized it was not really the old passion that drove me to reach those goals, but more of a certain fear, of what nature, I still don’t know exactly. Perhaps, of another failure… Whatever it was, it did not prove to be futile. I got what I wanted and more (kudos to all treatment partners of the worldJ).

Soon after graduation, I conquered another battle (did I really?), the uber-scandalous board exams. I remember camping at the newsstand waiting for the first edition of the newspaper that would foretell my future and jumping up and down on the deserted public market when I finally saw my name. But the excitement of passing finally died down and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I had absolutely nothing to do. Suddenly, there was all this space and all this time. Then began the days of me wanting to be alone without really knowing why. Days were spent sleeping and nights lying awake up on the old water tank tower, staring at the stars without really seeing them and smoking endless packs of West Ice. And then one night, I knew. I cheated. On Kubler-Ross. Damn those chick lit books for disillusioning me that shoes make everything okay. And I knew exactly what to do…

I stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the entire city. Night was starting to fall and the city slowly came to life with the twinkling of a thousand street lamps. In the distance, the belfry of the old cathedral stood undaunted by the monstrous structures that sprung like mushrooms. I inhaled the spicy, woody scent of the pine trees of my childhood. I closed my eyes and summoned the mountain goddesses to help me once again.

I am a girl with a goal. And I have demons within to exorcise. Breathe. Smile.

A tribute to my dad on his 48th birthday.

There comes a turning point in every father-daughter relationship when they both have to let go…

I was lying in bed one balmy Saturday morning, deciding whether 9:30 am is way too early to get up and start what promises to be another ludicrously boring day, when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “Ma’am, gising na daw po kayo sabi ni daddy.” It was our maid, the one who insists on calling my parents, mommy and daddy. I grabbed a robe, brushed my teeth and headed to the kitchen, where I found my dad sitting by the counter, wearing a rather serious expression on his face and NOT reading the papers. Uh-oh. Quick mental rundown of possible screw-ups. Insane credit card bill? Nah. Even more insane phone bill? Nah, not due yet. Guy scrambling out of my room at 4am caught on camera? Not even a remote possibility. OK. Attack Plan: Operation Sunshine. “Good morning Daddyyyy.”, goes my ultra-saccharine-dad-can’t-resist- voice. “Sit down, baby, we need to talk.” Fuck.

“ Anak, …”  Selective inattention meaning anxiety escalating from mild to moderate. “that sometimes I forget you’re already 20….face a lot of responsibilities.” A sigh of relief, just another impromptu lecture on being responsible, anxiety back to mild. I spear a hotdog. “Anak, binilan kita ng kotse. Idedeliver mamaya.” Pupils dilate, fork drops in a clatter. “Whe??Talaga? No joke? Pramis?”, goes my very unsophisticated , kanto-esque blabber. My dad nods grimly. Then it hits me. MY-OWN-CAR. ALL-MINE. I jumped from my seat and do a little victory dance, complete with yodel. My dad closes his eyes, as if to say, “What have I done!” 

It was 4:15pm and I was a bundle of excitement. I have been waiting for, like, 2 hours, not counting my entire lifetime, for the car to arrive in my carefully selected driving outfit which consists of—a basic white tee, cropped shorts, my uh driving shoes(more on that later), Jackie O. shades and a Pucci-esque scarf. Then it happens. A honk. The gates open, revealing, a sleek, shiny silver Honda. It’s a boy! And I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he will be named Colin. After Farrell, of bad-boy-sex-tape fame. Then the bearer of such gift emerges from the driver’s seat and hands the key…to my dad, which killed the drama a little. Then my dad handed me the key and said, “Test drive natin. You drive.” Then began the age-old ritual between fathers and daughters—the driving lessons.

Driving 101: Dad’s Rules

1. Respect the car.

No. The car will not be repainted pink while I am still alive. It will not be allowed to overheat. Change oil schedules are to be followed religiously. Car doors will be closed gently. Avoid gasgas at all times.

2. You don’t only learn to drive the car, you learn to wash it.

With your own hands. Not only because you still can’t afford to hire someone else to do it for you but also because it bonds you together. It makes you feel that the responsibility for the car is in your hands, literally and figuratively.

3. Know your car’s A&P.

Yup, anatomy and physiology. Nope, the mirror at the front is not for putting your make-up on nor for hanging love beads. It’s for checking your car’s rear end.

4. Traffic rules are made for you to follow them, not to get around them.
5. When the police officer flags you down, you stop and be courteous.

Not even you honey, Queen Mother of all Malditas, will intimidate him. Accept your mistake and do not, I repeat, DO NOT BRIBE HIM.

6. When I say, “Iwasan mo yung lubak para di masira agad yung kotse.” I also mean, “Iwasan mo din yung batang patawid.” You don’t choose one. Or if you really have to, choose the bata, anak.
7. The people around you are not stupid.

The cars will not suddenly dart from the sides knowing that you have the right of way. The pedestrians will not suddenly cross the street knowing that you will hit them. There is no need for continuous honking.

8. Jackie O. probably never had to drive on her own.

Meaning Jackie O’s shades covering you entire face is not exactly a good idea while driving. Also, while I do not have the slightest idea what driving shoes are, I am 100% sure they are not 3-inch skinny heel peep-toes.

9. The car gets you from point A to point B. It does not “get you off”.

I will explain this in a very discreet manner knowing that you are an extremely perceptive girl. The car will not be parked in dark, secluded places. The seatbelt will remain clasped. The seats will not be reclined. You, the designated driver, will not be found on the backseat.

      10.   Observe driver’s courtesy.

Matuto kang magbigay. Always use the signal lights and give other drivers ample warning. Do not use bright headlights when you have a kasalubong. P.S. Anak, sa tricycle, lagi kang talo. Pagbigyan mo na.

     11.   I did not buy you a car for you to drive away from me forever, although I know that someday you will. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, in fact, I say go! Chase your dreams! But the reason I bought you a car is for you to drive home and visit me and your mom once in a while, when you’re not too busy making your dreams a reality.

There comes a turning point in every father-daughter relationship when they both have to let go. But not today. Hey, it’s only day 1. I probably won’t even get past San Jose. Teach me more, dad.

10 Reasons Why I Should Not Have a Blog:

1. There is absolutely nothing bloggable about my life right now. Since I don’t want to fill my blog with, um, wake up late, sleep through my review class, watch deal or no deal and sleep late, I will probably blog about other people’s lives, otherwise known as chismis. 

2. I tend to babble about things nobody cares about, like Keihl’s lip balm. And flip flops. Really, I can actually devote a whole blog to flip flops. I can just see my tropa rolling their eyes and going, “nyeta ka Camille!”

3. I’m obsessed about grammar, which doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at it. But the thought of the rest of the world scrutinizing, criticizing my grammar just drives me nuts.

4. Blogging will only foster my self-absorption.

5. In a desperate attempt to put some sense into my blogs, I will probably write about the uber gasgas topic of the nursing board exams. And of course, the ubiquitous issue of retake/ no retake. Being a staunch ally of UST, I will probably launch a million violent reactions with what I will write, resulting in, sob, fewer friendsters.

6. At the risk of sounding like a complete fcuking idiot, it will probably take me forever to learn how to blog. I’m that technologically challenged. Hey, I just learned how to change my friendster wallpaper.

7.  I’m very addict-prone. And I have a list to prove it–flipflops, ex-boyfriends, videoke, Kiehl’s, Nick Hornby, Boy Chili Cheese, yosi, Rockstar Supernova…The last thing I want to do is to update my blog three times a day and spend the rest of the day obsessing about what to blog about next.

8. Blogging might actually be therapeutic. It might bring back to the conscious level all the unwanted/ painful/ forgettable memories I worked so hard to suppress/repress into the unconscious level, which I am so not ready for. I am perfectly comfortable being slightly psychologically unstable, which brings me to my next reason…

9. Freudian slips. I always do when I write.

10. It might take too much of my precious time that should be spent sleeping, staring into space, pretending to study at Starbucks, drinking myself into a stupor, watching trash TV,  and waiting for something remotely meaningful to happen to my life.

1 Reason Why I Should Have A Blog:

1. It is the only thing I can think of that will prevent my brain from going into complete atrophy. I’m in dire need of some mental masturbation! So just bear with me, you got no choice anyway. At least let me give it a shot. Here goes….