HAY, LIFE ! (a.k.a. There's Something About 30) -- Reposted with permission from Mark Ruiz

*Note: I took part in the WhyNot? Forum just this Thursday at Warehouse 135, and it was a much-needed shot in the arm for me. At a time when I'm once again in discernment over what to do and where to go next (this time considering the forthcoming marriage and family), being in that place, seeing familiar faces, and reconnecting with old ideals was exactly what I needed.

While corresponding with WhyNot? Forum founder Mark Ruiz, he sent me this post, written on the occasion of his 30th birthday. I still have two years and three months to go before I hit "The Big 3-0," but I feel the same way. I'm sure a lot of you do, too.

I also wrote about the WhyNot? Forum and hope it will be published by a major daily soon. (I just submitted the article this morning and made the pitch--please cross your fingers for me!) I'll definitely be writing more about it (as well as other things) in the coming months.

Happy reading (and thinking, and asking...)

* * *

HAY, LIFE !
(a.k.a. There's Something About 30)

As i'm writing this, it's early morning and i'm on a beachfront, feeling cornered by the sea. I'm ipod-plugged, laptop-wired, nature-inspired. Sporadic waves sputter, dogs wander about sniffing sand, the wind oscillates yet eventually calms down. There's this kid, she's running mindlessly across the shoreline, and unlike most (if not practically all) grown-ups i know, she's not running like she's racing against time. She's running because – well, let me put it this way -- she's running because she's just running.

I guess this is as best place as any – a personal sanctuary -- to spend my last day before i greet the fkkking big 3-0. It feels like a reverse prison sentence, this age point no longer landing on the line of 2. I know i'm making more out of it than it should really be – i mean, what the hell does age mean anyway? It's just a freaking number after all. But my blood feels richer than it used to be, my spirit's beautifully heavier than it used to be, my head's lighter in places that it shouldn't be, and my libido – well, let's just not go there. Bwahahaha ... *wink*.

And so i'm here. And it's frustratingly hard to actually posit where "here" is. Or what it even remotely feels like. And so i try to hide in shadows and mirrors and metaphors, a writer's cop-out if you will.

And all i glimpse is water. Fluid, boundless water. Water that drowns as much as it cleanses, engulfs as much as it embraces, calms spirits as much as it creates chaos. Water.

---

I had a relatively weird experience the other week. I had a meeting in a coffee place somewhere in greenhills, my first time to go there after several months. And i couldn't explain it, but i just felt downed.

It took me awhile to realize, but that place had negative mojo for me. When i resigned over a year ago to try my luck out on my own, that was the place that i would crash. It was around that time that we didn't really have an office yet, and so it became my little nook in the universe. Our schedule wasn't exactly brimming with appointments and to do's. I distinctly remember that there were days that i would just stay (more like hide) there the whole day - most especially from the world - 'cause i was afraid that people would think that i was just really a bum.

And i vividly remember what kept me going during those days, the emotion and reason still crystal. It was nothing else but the absolutely stubborn belief ... that i'd get to this point where i am in now. The absolutely stubborn belief that i'd get to this point where i am in now.

And where i am now is several steps beyond in-between. The time for thinking about what to do with my life has long passed, the shaky starting-out jitters jarringly cleared, this life transition finally in full gradient. It's making-it-happen time.

And if there's one thing amongst the litany of things i've put on my plate that i'm dead-set on seeing through (with unimaginably the best partners in the world), just please check out Hapinoy.com. It's a dream slowly coming into its own reality.

---

I saw this new ad i really love, and its for Arcelor Mittal, the steel company. It's a picture of two similar images of people from different perspectives. One guy is staring at the moon. The other image is a guy in a spacesuit on the moon, staring back at the earth. The tagline
goes, "Boldness changes everything."

And so as i hit the big fkking 3-0 i realize THAT'S IT. THAT'S FKKKN' " IT".

I'M NOT OLDER. I'M BOLDER.

I have a passion project right now, and it's called "The WhyNot? Forum : Inspiring Filipino Ingenuity". It's actually bloody simple : (7) ingenious Filipinos, (15) minutes each – sharing their ideas, passions, dreams (inspired by TED.com). As i was trying to capture the spirit of the forum, trying to distil what it was that made the speakers' lives so meaningful that they HAVE TO BE SHARED with the rest of the world, the following line sort of wrote itself : "Think New Thoughts. Share Big Dreams. Do Brave Things."

And so as i reach the big 3-0, i've decided i will embrace that spirit. The WhyNot? Spirit. Of limitless possibilities, bold thinking, the "going for it" imperative. More than anything, I've reached a stage that i've run out of excuses not to make a big difference. More than anything, it just wouldn't do justice to this wonderfully beautiful gift of life -- if it wasn't used for life itself.

I'm fkkkn' 30! And truthfully, absolutely, positively – a bold new chapter in my life has just begun.

+AMDG

Mark Joaquin Ruiz
September 16, 2007
La Union

Inspired by a True Story

There was a boy she hadn’t heard from in a long time. Seven months, to be exact. And in their world, that was a long time.

There was a time, over a lifetime ago, when they not only saw each other every day; they also saw each other’s future in the other’s eyes. Maybe they were too young to think about “the future” back then, but they did, and now the future they were thinking of was here—only they weren’t part of each other’s “nows.”

They didn’t talk much back then. They joked, they laughed, they cared, but they didn’t talk in the intimate way the girl wanted them to talk. And when she sought words from someone else, he wondered why she’d wander.

Then a strange thing happened. In the world of grown-ups, they broke up. But in their world, the world of childlike caring and innocent knowing, they grew closer. He started speaking to her in her dreams. Over the Web. Over the phone. In ways he had never spoken to her before. She would dream, and she would see what he wanted to let her see. He would speak, and he would say what she hoped he had said way back when. She would reach out, and he would open up. The farther they traveled from the world they once shared, the closer they came to knowing each other. Once again.

Until the day she fell in love. If it hurt him, he didn’t say, but he said that he was happy for her. And he meant it. And she knew. And they both understood that it was time for them to fly off to places they’ve never been to before. And so they flew, thankful for the clarity of their vision and the strength of their wings. It wouldn’t have been possible without the other they had just left behind.

Sometimes, though, in the course of their flight, a ripple is felt from within. A tiny tug at the heart, a little spark of intuitive knowing, a faint signal that is being sent from the other end of the Universe.

Are you okay?

I am fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.

All right, then. I’m just here.

I know.

And then they’d be on their way again, knowing that all was well.

Except this time, all was not well. There was something amiss, and nobody could say what it was. He disappeared, and she tried to forget. And she did forget—for a while, at least. Until the tears started flowing for reasons she could not understand. There were tears through the laughter, tears in the middle of the night, tears amidst the glow of the sun’s rays. There were so many tears, and she did not know where they were coming from.

One night, he appeared to her in a dream. She could not remember the dream upon waking, but she would never forget his face in it. The next night, he was in her dream again, and this time she knew that he felt the tears she was shedding.

The next morning, it was there: “____ sent you a message on ____”

“I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch… How are you? …I just wanted to say hi.”

And she smiled, knowing all will be well.

Stealing Voices

I’ve never stolen anything in my life. But if you count the numerous words, phrases, and passages that I take from others and repost in my blog, then maybe you can say that I’m an expert at stealing others’ voices.

I don’t mean to be a thief. It’s just that, sometimes, one’s voice can sound terribly off—and sometimes all it has to say are petty, negative remarks that contribute absolutely nothing to the positive flow of the Universe. When these moments arise, I find much greater comfort in hearing others’ voices through the words that they write. By hearing affirming thoughts echoed through a screen or a page, I am able to drown the idle chatter of the naysayer within.

The good thing about this is that if you hear something (good) often enough, you tend to start believing in it, and even claim the voice as your own. There are times when it’s better to have a borrowed voice that says good things than to let your own voice pull yourself down.

~ Niña Terol, 27 September 2007

Tickle's Brainteaser Test

Wow, the results surprised even me...

Nina, you answered 25 out of 30 questions correctly!

Congratulations! Your score is in the 96th percentile. This means that if one hundred people took the test with you, your score would rank higher than 95 of them on average.

When we analyzed your test, we also discovered that when it comes to linguistic-mathematical ability, you measure in the 100th percentile. (Really now??) This score indicates you have unusually strong abilities when it comes to understanding numerical representation in words or "word problems." You're highly proficient at translating words into numbers. This can be very useful when solving a problem in real life. When people are discussing a vague problem that needs a specific solution, you're able to cut through the extraneous information to a clear answer. (Ah, I think I do this to a fault.)

How do YOU measure up? Try it out!

A Lesson in Humility

Yesterday, I assisted my mom in one of her corporate workshops—a session on Crew Resource Management for an aviation company. I had been helping Mom out with her training engagements, albeit irregularly, for years now that it came as a surprise to me when I felt terribly sentimental and nostalgic then, while watching her engage her mostly-male audience.

I missed our tandem speaking engagements, I realized. I missed being “Mom’s Little Helper” and watching her in action while I played a supporting role, setting up her laptop and clicking on the mouse while admiring this beautiful, energetic, and vivacious woman who brought me into the world. Our family has been through so many struggles that, in recent years, I have come to see my mother only as a shadow, a fragment, of her former self. I had forgotten that underneath the worry lines and the age spots and the love flubber is a woman who single-handedly raised three strong-willed, independent, and loving children—and a grandchild who shows greater strength and wisdom than her turning-eight-year-old self makes apparent. My mom is one “heaven of” a woman—and I had taken her for granted.

Then the answer to my why-on-earth-is-this-happening-to-me experience came: Humble yourself, Child, the Universe was telling me. You’ve gotten so used to being on top of your game that we had to bring you back to the ground for a little while.

Man… I had become proud and arrogant and haughty over the past two years! Back in 2005, just after having survived our “Kangkong Days,” I took on the role of breadwinner and provider for my mom and my brother. With only my freelance writing career and my inner fire to back me up, I restored our phone lines and our Internet access, paid for the monthly bills and the groceries, put my brother through his last two years of high school, and gave everyone (including Mom) their allowances. It was both a challenging and an empowering time for me—but, like most people who feel a brush with power, pride overtook me and I became an angry, resentful person.

One family dinner came to mind. Mom had some students over, and my brother and I were discussing some expenses. I forget now what made me so angry then, but I remember standing up and yelling (in front of the food, in front of our guests), “Don’t forget WHO pays for everything in this house!!”

Money, a certain level of power, and PRIDE had turned me into a monster. (Bouncey, remember the gift wrapper-tearing incident at home? Yessss… A horrible creature I turned out to be.) Indeed, pride is the gravest sin of them all.

And now that Life has forced me to bow my head down in prayer and lean on other people for a change, I understand how important it is to learn how to ask for support—just as it is important to know how to give it. I really became such an arrogant, haughty bitch in those days that it humbles me greatly now to see my beloved and my good ol’ mom backing me up all the way with nary a word of complaint. Life really has a funny way of teaching us our lessons.

The future looks brighter for me now—some very interesting developments have restored my confidence and my drive these past few days—but I DO know now that success REALLY isn’t just about money or influence. It’s also about having the people you love most by your side through thick and thin (and especially through your most pig-headed days), and knowing that you are (and will be) loved even when you’re at your most unlovable.

(Originally written and cross-posted in Multiply and Soul Work: 30 August 2007)

Gifts from a Crisis

Two days ago, I was walking around SM Megamall all dazed and in tears; I was working on a number of assignments that required mobility and a juggling act, yet I was running low on psychic (as in, “of the psyche”) and financial fuel to keep me going. I loved what I was doing, what I had been working on these past few months, yet the dismally low monetary rewards were forcing me to rethink my current engagements.

It was a heartbreaking moment for me. I loved the work I was doing, the people I was meeting because of it, and the task of sharing these people’s stories with thousands of readers. But I had already reached “survival mode”. With no well-paying retainer projects or six-figure accounts to back me up—as they had in previous years—how could I continue writing for magazines on a freelance basis?

I searched the mall for a Dunkin Donuts branch (I needed sugar, and Krispy Kreme was way off my budget), sat down, and just breathed—letting some telltale tears escape every now and then.

* * * * *

That same night, Serendipity allowed me to meet up with a good friend whom I know had been through a financial struggle in the past, but who was now enjoying all sorts of rewards brought about by God’s grace. You know those days when you’re not really looking for answers—but you just need to talk to someone who will understand your questions? That was one such day, and he was one such friend.

We talked about many things—about what I was going through (strictly off-the-record, confidential matters that I haven’t shared with anyone else), what kept me going, what I believed in, what I feared… and as he listened and understood and shared some of his own stories with me, I felt something going on inside and outside of me. It was as if Heaven were massaging my head to clear my thoughts, as if I were the recipient of a huge cosmic hug that absorbed all my pain and infused me with strength and courage. We both acknowledged that this meeting alone was the beginning of something at work around us, and that it wouldn’t be too long before the light at the end of the tunnel revealed itself to me.

For some strange reason, I am finding the light in the very things that I feared I had to give up. I don’t know what to call it, but I know the feeling now that I am in the middle of it.

* * * * *

This morning, I woke up with a mental note to get working on my due articles already. I scheduled myself to write at least three pieces for today alone (I’m working on my major feature and some other client deliverables tomorrow, thank God for the long weekend!), and somewhere in between writing the first and the second articles, I felt a rush of thoughts, ideas, words, and images coming at me. It was as if the Universe were replaying my favorite scenes from all my recent interviews, giving me a “best of” trailer that showed me all the great things that I had learned from all these wonderful people. There was indigenous musician and visual artist Nonoy Alcalde and our chat about pointillism and the cosmos; master violinist Alfonso “Coke” Bolipata and our discourse on the necessity of arts education for our young people; Julliard outstanding alumna Ana Valdes-Lim and her demonstrated passion for the performing arts; entrepreneurs Raul Francisco and Joanna Preysler and their adventures in fashion retailing; my uncle, award-winning visual artist Roy Veneracion, and his avant-garde abstractions; international visual artist Manuel Ocampo and his wildly experimental approach to artmaking… There were so many people, so many interesting discoveries—and so little space to share all of them!

To be honest, I don’t know if I’m loving what I do because I’m getting such great assignments… or if I’m getting such great assignments precisely because I love what I do (and it’s the Universe’s way of affirming me and my work). In any case, I’d rather not think about it too much. I’d like to continue basking in the light of Joy. Other people aren’t as lucky.

And somewhere inside my head, my Higher Self is telling Little Me, Don’t worry about the money. Don’t feel jaded—in spite of the proliferation of “journalists” who demand “gifts” for their features. Don’t feel disillusioned—in the midst of this scandal that a less-than-worthy “writer” has brought upon your profession. Don’t think about what your work will bring you—not yet, at least. Just do what you do because you love it, and everything else will fall into place.

As it turns out, my Higher Self is even much more optimistic than Little Me! I don’t know what to make of it, but I’ll just believe in it because it somehow makes sense to me.

* * * * *

Later this afternoon, Paul and I will be joining a full moon meditation session with my spiritual mentors and their community. In the midst of all our crises, my beloved and I have grown stronger in friendship, deeper in love, and higher in spirituality and purpose. I know that the past few months have brought with them a lot of uncertainty in terms of projects and finances, but they have gifted us with certainty about each other and our life together. If you ask me, I will not trade the experiences that we have undergone together and the lessons that we have learned from these for a million bucks. Not even for any amount.

And I know that things will always happen to test our resolve and make us question our beliefs. It’s happened to us so many times already in the past four years that our time together has already seemed like several lifetimes of “living, loving, and learning”—to borrow Leo Buscaglia’s title.

As I end this, there are certain payables that still bug me, certain to-do’s that I am not quite sure of how to accomplish. But I am reminding myself of the countless, inexplicable miracles that have already occurred in my 27-year existence, and I am once again assured that my innate gifts and my faith in the Universe will lead me down a path of Abundance and Serenity.

(Written and cross-posted on Multiply and Soul Work: Sunday, 26 August 2007)

At the End of the Day

On my way to an interview this afternoon, I had to walk up four flights of steps (in my heels) to get to a train; take a long, winding, and malodorous walkway (in the middle of two-storey shanties in Quiapo, Manila) to get to another train; and walk alongside smoke-pumping jeepneys and smoky carts of street food to get to a tricycle station that would finally take me to the Starbucks where I was to meet my subject. There I was, writing for one of the country’s A-list fashion magazines, on the road to meet one of our premier concert violinists who had New York clapping beneath his feet, and I reeked of street toxins.

I was Deviled Without Prada.

But this is no extraordinary experience for me; this is how I conduct my daily business. I work from home, take the pedicab to go to the supermarket or the mall near my place, take the trains (or buses, or jeeps—in dressy clothes and heels) to destinations that would cost more than a hundred bucks if traveled via cab, and walk from Point A to Point B when I am within the Central Business Districts. There is no luxury of smelling like I had just stepped out of the bath, no respite from the daily dose of toxic fumes that fill my lungs and cake my cheeks. My beloved continues to wonder how I can leave home dressed to kill only to step onto the polluted streets and step into a jeep. I wonder why I allow myself to do so.

My mantra has become: “If they do it in New York, I will do it in Manila.”

But, of course, this is not New York, and I am not Carrie Bradshaw. Inasmuch as I would love to walk the streets of Manila and feel invigorated by the cosmopolitan street vibe, all I feel at the end of the day is icky and creeped out when I pass by manongs who make catcalls. I can’t complain, though—this is the lifestyle that I chose, and all I can do for now is put up with my self-imposed stressors. At the end of the day, I just keep praying that no harm will come my way when I am on the streets—and that, this time, yet another meeting will pay off and result in a project that will pay the bills.

(Written and cross-posted on Multiply: 13 August 2007)