Pathetic Rush

A simple motorcycle ride last week made me realize how I sorely lack thrill in my life these days.

Last Friday, I agreed to meet up with an online seller at a mall near where she works to pick up my order. I usually pay extra for shipping, but since it’s a high-value item, I thought I might as well do a meet-up just to be on the safe side.

I will be coming from work and I expected that going to SM Manila will be hard because of the Friday rush-hour traffic. The rate for a Grab Car booking that afternoon was a hold-up (more than 400 pesos! WTF, Grab?) and I’m too lazy to take a jeepney ride, that would probably get stuck in traffic anyway, just to get to the nearest LRT station.

With all things considered, I decided the last minute to take the ride-hailing motorcycle service, Angkas, as suggested by an officemate.

I’ve always been scared of riding motorcycles because of the kamote accidents I see on the news almost every day. But I had no choice that afternoon but to download the app and book a ride to get to SM Manila the easiest way possible.

While I have tried riding the habal-habal (private motorcycle owners picking up passengers for a charge) a number of times, especially during transport strike or special holidays when most roads are closed, this will be my first time with Angkas. I heard it’s reliable that it has become the default mode of transportation for someone who needs to get to his or her destination fast.

The rider arrived at our pick-up point within 10 minutes, ready with a helmet (that doesn’t smell funky like the ones at habal-habal) and a face mask for me. While I know Angkas is relatively safer than their motorcycle-hailing counterpart, I reminded him to be extra careful as I am one nervous wreck. The rider might already be so used to such requests that he assured me that there’s nothing to worry about as he drives safely.

I was particularly edgy during the first few minutes especially when the rider, however slow, would squeeze between two occupied lanes. I’m aware that lane-splitting is illegal, but I think with the terrible state of traffic congestion in Metro Manila, it was necessary. Good thing my rider is quite skilled at it.

Even so, it is not without giving me a series of little heart attacks when we’d pass through vehicles or be dangerously close to bigger SUVs, buses or trucks. Weaving through traffic especially in our roads can be a terrifying adventure in itself, with all the potholes, puddles and other motorists with zero discipline.

Being the morbid overthinker, I have already pictured about six motorcycle accident scenarios in my head halfway through the ride that it must’ve pumped just the right amount of adrenaline. After a while, I felt a rush of thrill. It got kinda exciting whenever we’d accelerate a bit and switch lanes and crawl in small spaces and pass by sidewalks. The late afternoon sun was still warm to the skin but even that felt so good.

Then, something dawned on me: I realized how I haven’t felt a similar rush in a long time.

I know you might ask, what rush? It was just a motorcycle ride—not even from someone I personally know—but that’s just it! I’ve gotten so hilariously boring and safe to be pumped up by something so little as a not-even-so-daring motorcycle ride. I—who back in the day would dare race against speeding cars and jeepneys along major roads and highways in just my BMX bike now finds thrill in an Angkas ride with a 60 kph speed limit.

Pathetic, I know. What has become of me?

High Infidelity

All I see the past week on my social media newsfeed was about this local actress’ cheating allegation against her actor boyfriend. It started with her cryptic posts on Instagram and Twitter, hinting infidelity in her relationship.

The issue is not new for the guy, who has a playboy reputation with the ladies. He had dated a string of pretty actresses, some allegedly at the same time, that it even resulted in the much-talked-about falling out of two friends.

Ang guwapo lang ng gago.

Of course, because of his image as an “overlapper”, a lot of netizens expressed their support for the actress, while the actor and his supposed new girl (a way younger actress from a known showbiz clan) have been getting all the hate.

The actress broke her silence in a press conference recently, and declared quite matter-of-factly, that she did not even know they have broken up.

“Honestly, to my understanding, we did not break up, he just started not talking to me,” she said.

The younglings call that “ghosting” these days, which, according to Dictionary.com “is the practice of ending a personal relationship with someone by suddenly and without explanation withdrawing from all communication.”

That was harsh.

If someone as pretty as she gets cheated on and “ghosted”, I can’t help but think what more would it be for the rest of us “regular” people?

***

I don't want either, but if I were to choose I’d rather be ghosted than cheated. 

Cheating is probably the most insulting and damaging thing a person can do to another. For me, it is the worst of all betrayals because of its overall (oftentimes long-term) effect not just on the relationship, but more importantly, to the person who got cheated on.

I know how it’s like as I’ve been there quite recently and I can tell you this: No matter what stage in life you’re in when it happens, it will still hurt just as bad.

No one can really say, “I’m used to it,” because nobody deserves such awful treatment from anyone. No one, in their right frame of mind, gets into a relationship and expects to be cheated on in the long run.

So when it happens, it’s usually devastating and traumatizing. For a woman, most especially, she suffers emotionally and mentally even if she’s the type who puts on a brave face every time. (*points to myself*)

A few days ago, a good friend confided in me after she found out that her boyfriend for almost half a decade cheated on her. This shocked me to the core because I always thought that she was in a happy, ideal relationship.

When you hear something like this, all the feelings you once felt when it was you in that situation avalanches back. The hate. The anger. The hurt. Everything. I guess another person’s heartbreak will always remind you of your own.

I will never, ever understand the reason why a person would cheat on someone they love. The idea of cheating is beyond me because I have never once cheated in any of my relationships. And nothing angers the hell out of me hearing reasons like, “I’m just human”, “It was an accident” or “It’s a moment of weakness.” — Who were they kidding?

Betrayal is a choice. The cheater chose to do it knowing that it will hurt the other in the process. Someone who is in a relationship will never forget that he or she is committed to another person. They remember — but they chose to disregard it.

Cheating is proof of someone’s capacity to lie, which is why most of us agree that once a cheater is always a cheater. I just read that “the brain gains immunity to lying until the person no longer feels guilty at all”. No wonder some people who cheat show no remorse when caught as it becomes a pattern to them already.

Cheaters will always have their reasons and perhaps even if I try to be objective when psychoanalyzing it, I would always have a low opinion for the one who strayed. I will always think of them as a low-life, selfish narcissist.

***

Even so, there had been times when I swallowed my pride and gave forgiveness and a second chance. Why—I don’t know, but maybe I’m just a die-hard romantic to a fault.

My older brother had a better explanation though, as he said that most women have that tendency to forgive a cheating boyfriend or spouse because we all have this illusion that our love can change them. Maybe we should blame it on the romantic, unrealistic movies we’ve seen over the years where the bad guy suddenly comes around and realizes that he’s in love with the good girl who accepted him warts and all. (Or Queen Amidala’s “There’s good in him.”-crap for Anakin.)

The thing is, and this might be a punch to the gut to admit, but hoping for a guy to change just by the understanding, forgiveness and second chances you give is a long stretch. I realized that no matter how good you are to the other person—you know, accepting his weakness, his shortcomings, even his turbulent past, loving him at his worst—if he still doesn’t have an ounce of respect for you, he will cheat if he has the chance.

I don’t question those who chose to forgive and move on as I’m pretty sure they have good reasons for it. What others tend to forget though is that forgiveness requires an apology and a promise not to do it again. So how can you forgive without those prerequisites? Also, I think forgiveness will be a lot easier if the guy admitted what he did not because he got caught, but because he felt terrible doing it.

***

Another thing that’s worth pointing out is the third party—the woman in between. It puzzles me as to how she can go with a man knowing he’s already committed to another girl. What makes her think that the man won’t do the same to her especially if the guy is a known serial cheater? Why can’t they just dump the guy at the same time to teach him a lesson (or kick his balls for good measure)? Why would another woman choose to be in cahoots with the cheater to hurt another? Do we go back to that reason on how most women think that she is the one who can change the guy and beat him to submission? Good luck with that. 

Going back to the actress, there have been comments online saying that what happened to her was actually karma. It was said that the actress entered the picture too while the guy is still with another actress. Now whether that’s true or not, then I guess that’s what it means when we say what goes around, comes around.

Anyhow, we can expect this issue to go on until it dies just like any other showbiz news after a while. Some of us who have experienced being cheated on, we know that the actress has no other choice but to get what she learned from it and move on. I think it will be a lot easier for her (than most of us) to find a guy who will treat her right. If I were half as pretty as her, I would not even worry.

Let’s just hope that the guy knows that he has hurt someone so bad and that it will haunt him all his days. That every time he finds himself in a difficult situation or very bad luck, he’d think that it was him merely settling a karmic debt.

Trust me, there’s comfort in knowing that even if we weren’t able to get even, it’s highly likely he’ll pay it with his fate (so, beware GA).

Thin lines and gut feel

Our president has now signed the law (Safe Spaces Act) that penalizes catcalling, misogynistic and sexist slurs, unwanted sexual comments and advances, and other forms of sexual harassment. It’s quite ironic coming from someone who himself is guilty of such but, hey, I can talk about that some other time but for now—I’ll take it.

This law is not just harassment in streets, public spaces and workplaces but also includes online environments such as Facebook and Instagram. I guess I would no longer be getting as many unsolicited dick pics or insults from guys online who got hostile after turning them down.

Now that it’s already a law, the next question is—would it be easy to implement considering that the offenses are vaguely-defined? Or is it actually more complicated than you think?

I’ve experienced these many times I lost count already. Name it: catcalling, wolf-whistling, malicious gazing, even sexual advances like nonconsensual touching and groping. I admit that even if I felt violated, most of the time I end up ignoring and shrugging it off mainly because of the toxic Filipino culture of victim-blaming and shaming.

I mean, it’s easier to slap this law to some guy who whistles at you while you were walking down the street because you don’t have to consider anything other than perhaps your personal safety. But what about to a coworker or a guy you know who’s somehow crossing the line already?

Guys who are called out often respond with the overused excuse: “Nagbibiro lang naman ako!” and for them, that’s enough for a woman to just accept and let it go. In my case, for example, I wouldn’t want to be known as someone who can’t take a joke especially when I’m neither sexually conservative nor prude. I can take green jokes and we can talk about sexual topics in a non-judgmental atmosphere but does being open to this mean I’m asking for it?

*** 

I found myself in this situation again with someone just recently. I know, right? I thought that with my age no guy will even dare anymore.

It started with casual teasing which was okay at first, but he got too familiar he started putting his arm around my shoulders, hands around my waist, sit so closely next to me while giving me a creepy backrub. Later on, it escalated to naughty jokes and comments and was just saying a lot of inappropriate things the entire time. While it wasn’t very sexual, it’s definitely not totally innocent. It made me feel icky.

The thing is if I seriously confront him about it (I told him numerous times to stop), he might dismiss it as nothing but an innocuous remark or behavior. That he was just joking and making fun. I was scared that if I square up to him, he’d snapped back, “Hindi kita type no! Feelingera mo naman!” 

Many years ago, I have this married coworker who was making a pass on me. At first, I ignored it as we belong to a big group of office barkada and I was afraid that our common friends would say that I was making a big deal out of it. For a while, I took all his uncomfortable compliments and show of admiration politely because I thought that’s all there is to it.

Diplomacy didn’t work because he went on as far as wanting to have a relationship. Again, he’s a family man so the idea for me was ridiculous, to say the least. Still thinking about what other people might say, I decided to just stay away from him than deal with it head-on.

He didn’t like this, that he even had the nerve to confront me about it and then told everyone that I was the one leading him on. It ended up dividing our group, to people who empathized with me and backed me up and another group who believed him and thought I was being petty and “maarte”. If that wasn’t enough, a female friend—of all people—said: “Para `yun lang?” after knowing that I got deeply upset over it.

Victim-blaming, people.

***

The thing is, instinctively, I thought I knew how to protect myself. That I would know what to do or say when it happens to me. That I have prepared witty but harsh counters to spew at the offender’s face. After all, I can be very feisty and can very well hold my own when needed. But the truth is nothing can prepare me for it when it happened. I was just too shocked to respond. I didn’t know what to do and say the very moment it was happening to me.

It’s harder if the offense is done by someone I know personally. I tend to overthink my reaction until I end up not giving any solid response to make it known I was not pleased at all.

No response, to some, meant that it’s okay.

***

Bawal Bastos Law may be a victory to would-be victims but we should also make sure that the law won’t be abused. If we look at the bigger picture, guys are treading a thin line here. My brothers, for instance, are particularly adulatory to the opposite sex and sometimes they throw compliments and jokes that might come off differently to some girls. I also have trusted guy friends who are used to non-sexual touching which others can mistake as inappropriate. With this law, they have to think twice as they might get themselves in trouble now.  It’s all about being careful of what they say and do.

Groping, touching, kissing, hugging and sexual threat and advances are easier to spot and classify as sexual harassment, but what about the in-betweens? Besides, what constitutes a sexual offense anyway? Is it what’s generally offensive or what’s personally offensive to you? How can a remark or act be innocent to one and inappropriate for the other?

For me, if it’s unwelcome, persistent and it makes me feel uncomfortable or violated, then it’s something that should be taken seriously and it shouldn’t matter what the other party says.

Like how giving me a compliment does not offend me at all. But complimenting me while there is invasive visual behavior (lifted eyebrow, tongue sticking out, wolfish smile, etc.) is when it gets offensive. It all boils down to one’s gut feel.

Guy friends can put their arms around my shoulder or hug me or give me a peck on the cheek and I won’t even mind. But when my inner voice starts telling me something’s not right, then I should trust it. We were given the instinct to sense when it’s not okay anymore.

Hopefully this law becomes somewhat of a deterrent, something that would caution guys to think before they say or do something.

The only thing I have yet to decide on is that if I’ll have a fight-or-flight response if it ever happens again. 

Familiar Feel-Good

It was long ago but it’s so familiar and it felt good.

Makes me wanna walk on sunshine and go: “And don't it feel good?” ala-Katrina Leskanich.

Yesterday morning, I was chatting with two of my guy classmates from elementary. One of them, K, who is now based in Chicago, will be in the Philippines next week. Early last month, he already told me of his plan to meet up and was asking for venue suggestions (he wants videoke!) and help in contacting our other classmates.

The last time I saw K was also in a sixth-grade class reunion in the late '90s. Yes—it’s been more than 20 years since but thanks to Facebook, we were in touch again after he seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth.

*** 

I digress.

I have been showing off my legs even then. First row, second from the left.

I may have the coltish ugly-duckling episodes that got me somewhat bullied when I was younger by boys who’re now paunchy and losing hair (karma!) but generally, I have a happy childhood filled with memories of playing outside our street and having guy pals in school. It was so fun I wouldn’t trade it for a childhood in the age of tech gadgets.

Since I was consistently in the first section then, I almost always have the same classmates every year. For all those years, we were almost like siblings.

I was never the girly-girl when I was younger; never the type that boys my age would have a crush on. I was more of a tomboy who enjoys the company of boys more.

While I don’t get along with some of them, at least I’m friends with the few nicer ones. I remember one in particular, the guy who every girl had a crush on (except me–at least not later in my teen years because puberty hit me late), stuck up for me against the class bully. He may not know it, and perhaps he no longer remembers it, but those are the kind of things that I never forget: A good deed or gesture shown to me.

Well, K was one of the nicer boys in our class.

K lived a few blocks away from us, so he’d usually drop by the house on his bike. It’s quite weird that older people who see us before thought we were cute together and would tease me about it. And since K’s family also owned a bakery, he’d usually bring me panaderia staples like Spanish bread, pudding or pan de coco every recess that when people see or hear about this, I’d get teased again.

“Huy, dinadalaw siya nung naka-bike!”

“Yihii! Dinadalhan siya ng tinapay!” 

Honestly, it was nothing like the adults think. It’s just two kids—for crying out loud! Adults can be annoying, really. (But come to think of it, if I see us then too, I would have joined the teasing.)

If you ain’t convinced that it’s nothing but a young boy’s good deed towards a classmate, when I reminded him about that recently, he’s already asking me to pay up for all the bread he gave me. Hahaha!

*** 

So I was chatting with K and another classmate, N, planning out the videoke session for next Friday, the 19th, and I found myself laughing like a loony in front of my office computer over the same bickering, teasing and corny jokes. It’s just like the way we were many, many years ago as kids slumped on the floor of our classroom when our teacher’s out.

One of our many conversations (in Tagalog, though) was this one:

“Anyone who asks me why I’m not yet married would be fined one thousand pesos!” I said.

“Okay, I’ll tell them to ask Vayie if she’ll get married already so we’ll get rich!”, N replied.

“Hey. What do you mean “we”? Are you saying you’d get a cut?” I asked incredulously.

“5% for marketing and advertisement”, N replied jokingly.

At the very moment I was chatting with the two of them (three—if you’d include G, who was not in the chat, but was leaving funny comments on an FB post around the same time), I was listening to my `80s playlist on Spotify and it felt like I hopped in a time machine and zapped back to 1989. It felt so good.

Maybe because I know for a fact that even though it’s a time long gone, the memories of our childhood remind us that once upon a time, the only thing we worry about is just coming to school and doing homework after, nothing else. Life was simpler.

Oh well—I don’t really know how many will join in, but it wouldn’t matter even if it’d be just a few of us (considering the short notice and most of our classmates are either busy or overseas), but I’m actually looking forward to it. Four decades may already be showing in our faces, but I’m pretty sure that if we want it, we could still be those silly, guileless little kids we once were even for a few good hours.

It's creeping

One thing about being in your forties is knowing that while you’re not that old, you’re no longer young either so you can’t just throw your caution to the wind when it comes to taking care of yourself. The years are counting faster than greased lightning and your age creeps up on you like that ex-boyfriend you blocked on Facebook.

With people my age (even younger) passing on from illnesses that used to beset only the older people decades ago, it made me more of a hypochondriac wreck than I already was. The slightest discomfort—like belching, for instance—and I’d find myself Googling for serious diseases that manifest such symptoms. And one thing I’ve learned from Googling your illness is, DON’T. It will scare the living daylights off you because everything ends up to either cancer, heart disease or diabetes.

I don’t remember ever fretting about what I eat. I was a slave of my cravings because I eat what I want when I want it (well, as long as I can afford it). If there’s one thing I will always remember from my dad’s many words of wisdom, that is to never be stingy on food. We work so we could eat, he said. Maybe I took that literally because I had no compunction eating what I like and it doesn’t matter if it’s street food, junk food, processed food, or if it’s been swimming in oil, sodium or preservatives, etc. As long as it satisfies my extra-efficient stomach then all’s good.

Sinful Cebu Liempo

I also tend to overeat. I don’t mean this as an insult, but I eat like a construction worker doing hard, manual labor that I need a thousand calories from high-carb foods and had to finish it all by 10 minutes. No wonder sometimes, when I’m done eating, I feel like I could use a wheelchair to get me around.

These things are okay when I was younger, but now I’m starting to feel the brunt of it. And I don’t mean just the effect of it going to my thigh or hips, I mean like feeling sluggish and bloated after. Shrugging it off can only go so far especially when you start scaring yourself by imagining the blob blocking a major artery.

But believe me, I tried. I really did.

There aren’t that many healthy choices, at least from where I am most of the day. Whether I bring lunch to work or eat out during lunchtime, the selection is limited to fast food, microwavable food from convenience stores or the hit-or-miss Jollijeep menu.

I don’t know if people will agree with me, but heck, eating healthy is more expensive. A nearby salad bar, where you can make your own, charges per 100 grams and can go as much the same price as a quarter roast with unlimited rice at another place.

I love vegetables, but veggies alone on a main course/viand feel incomplete. I get hungry just as quick and before I know it, I am stuffing sandwich on my mouth barely two hours from my last meal. If you’d ask me, it kinda defeats the purpose of not eating meat.

Aside from unhealthy eating, another sin I’ve been doing these days: Indolence.

How can I possibly burn all these carbs if my work entails me to sit on my coliseum ass in front of the computer for almost seven hours? Sure, I often hit the 10,000 steps but on a regular day, all this walking would eventually end up with me crashing in bed and asleep by 9pm. Spell sedentary.

In my twenties, I thought I would live forever. I cringe when I am reminded of how much abuse I forced upon my own body back then. I worked at night barely sleeping during the day, skip meals, eat junk, drink alcohol–name it.

And now, whether I admit it or not, I am slowly paying for it. 

At early onset of Alzheimer’s...

...play ‘80s songs on repeat and I promise I’d come back.

According to studies, music can give Alzheimer’s patients a cognitive buzz. Do you know that Alzheimer’s and dementia cannot touch the area of the brain where musical memories are stored? This means that listening to music from your youth can get you out of the fog. We all saw that scene in the Disney/Pixar movie Coco, right?

If that’s the case, if I ever suffer from that illness later in life (hopefully not), play me songs from my childhood and I’d probably be back doing the jitterbug faster than you can say, “Wham!”

People who knew me the longest will tell you of my love for the `80s to early `90s songs. Name it — pop/synth-pop, rock, new wave, euro disco, glam metal, punk—even the obscure ones. I can listen to it all day and it makes me happy.

If I want an immediate pick-me-upper, I’d just play these songs and it never fails. In my moments of sadness and even depressive episodes, my playlist can shift my mood and lift my spirits almost instantly. I mean why mope when I can dance along Wang Chung’s Everybody Have Fun Tonight? (“Everybody Wang Chung tonight!”—whatever that means.)

Have you ever felt that tingling sensation that crawls from your neck to your scalp when you hear a song you used to really love but haven’t heard in a long time? That’s the kind of feeling it gives me every time. So even if some people sneer at me because of my choice of music — saying it gives away my age too easily, or it’s a cheeseball — I don’t give a rat’s a** what they think. Instead, I plug my earphones and headbang to “99 Luftballoons” and get lost in my own rabbit hole.

It isn’t rare being told by people how hearing such songs reminds them of me and I like it when they say that. I’d probably win millions in Name That Tune under that category if ever I joined one. Frankly, it’s one of those trivial things I’m pretty good at.

My love for music is something that was hardwired at a very young age, almost like a default. We were exposed to many songs of different genres. My earliest memory was watching Video Hit Parade, a music video show on a local channel in the early `80s (remember this was long before cable TV where MTV became accessible to Filipinos). I’m like that little girl from the movie Poltergeist glued to the TV as if I was hypnotized with the audio-visual experience.

Don’t get me started with the artists from that era. They are a breed of remarkably talented people I look up to to this day. When I watch them on YouTube I’d always wonder who among the current artists can match them. Maybe Bruno Mars? Or Lady Gaga? I honestly don’t know anyone else. (That’s coming from me who didn’t even try to be cool by updating myself on the newer, ubiquitous genre such as KPop.)

I think I even learned to speak good English (well, not to discount my mother and school) because of these songs. So yeah, I might as well thank the likes of Tony Hadley, Simon Le Bon, Roland Orzabal, Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Whitney Houston and yes—even Madonna—for the education. Sometimes for the heck of it, I’d randomly recite the lyrics of some `80s song and people would go: “Wow, that’s deep”, without them knowing I just quoted lines from a Nik Kershaw song.

Growing up, I fantasize my crush would do a Lloyd Dobler outside the house (who am I kidding? I still desire for that to this day. Only the guy would have Chris Evans’ face and not John Cusack's). You don’t know how my eyes would glow and my heart flutters in very, very rare times I come across a guy who had the same musical taste. I gravitate towards them to the point na nagiging guwapo sila sa paningin ko.

Frankly, I don’t think I can even date a man who can’t stand my musical preference no matter how compatible we are on many other things. Disliking or critiquing my musical taste will be the impending doom of the relationship. As in, it will crash before it can even lift. I’d probably get bored at some guy who thinks Falco is a detergent bar.

If there will be a soundtrack of my life, then 80% of it will be `80s to early `90s songs. And it's going to be in volumes since I have a song for every feeling and every memory.

It has to be said, I know nothing about the music that younglings are playing and listening to these days. And I know I will sound like a music snob for saying this, but I don’t think I’m missing out that much anyway. I’m good with my own playlist that can last me for days even if the only ones who’d probably appreciate it are the people within my age bracket or older (or young people with good taste, I dare say).

So promise me that in my early stages of memory decline, plug this very playlist in my ears to bring me back.

And because sharing is caring, click here to be zapped to a time of big hair, nasty shoulder pads, acid washed jeans, plastic bracelets, leg warmers and great music. Trust me, there will be one, two or more songs you haven’t heard in a long time.

You’re welcome.