Procrastinating Like There's No Tomorrow

I'm not an exception. I have a hundred tasks to do and I don't know where to begin.

It's Sunday and I woke up at 9am to have an early start. The early start became 11:30am since I dozed back to dreamland as soon as I hit the snooze button on the alarm. By noon, my early start began rather slow as I counted drips on my improvised coffeemaker for a full-bodied dark mug of coffee. I got impatient and decided to make a latte instead, assuming that lattes are three-fourths milk. Coffee chugged down, face chilled. Time-check: 1pm.

'I need to do the following things', my mind kept on scrolling this on my line of sight. 'I should make a list,' I thought. Make that thing for mum. Make that thing for school. Make that thing for the team. Make that other thing for the school. Make one more thing for the team. And so I sat down in front of the computer and made photo collages for my Friendster account.

Editing my photos and posting it on Friendster ate most of my afternoon. But one thing leads to another when you're online. Before I knew it, I was already wiping off some unworldly specimen just in time for Kala's buzz in YM. `You haven't been blogging,' she said. After a quick chat, I logged on to Blogger at exactly 6pm. Thanks for bringing it up, Kala.

Now, here I am with a hundred things to do. I lie. Only four of five things. But these are major, lose-your-job-if-you-don't-comply things. I don't feel any sense of urgency nor panic. I figure, I still have a hundred hours left before bedtime, so what's a nice movie to watch?

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Out of Gotham

The kids were all excited for the much-hyped Halloween party. I'd like to think that I did not give it a lot of thought but I can't deny that I spent close to 500 bucks just to make my 5th grade class beaming with happiness. There was only one thing left to do on the 30th of October--cram for a costume.

I had a short list. Shrek, too green. Hulk, too buffed and too green. Barney? Too purple. Zombie, possibly. The Joker, perfect. The Joker is the costume of choice for last-minute people. All I needed were white face creme and mum's liquid eyeliner and checkered vest . I locked myself in the classroom, put on make-up for about 10 minutes and borrowed my student's tie (in exchange I made him up as The Crow).

The Joker is out of Gotham and the Batman is not the only one having some Cantonese action. Now that it's all over and the rushed look was a hit, I think it's time for a few (excuse me for saying this) 'shout-outs' ew. I'd like to thank myself for my hair and make-up. And I'd like to thank ExpertVillage for their crash course on The Joker look

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The Tourist

How to spot a tourist: a map, a camera, a bottle of water, cargo shorts, rubber shoes, big backpack (or worse, a belt bag), possibly loads of shopping bags, overly giddy smiles, and a whiff of designer perfume with base notes of sweat and confusion. These things I try to avoid when I go to Kowloon , Hong Kong . The last thing I want is to be labeled a tourist, I don’t know with you but “tourist” does not sound too positive to me, i.e. a poser. Besides, I’m part of the ‘local’ crowd now—legal aliens marooned indefinitely for the promise of a brighter future. How to spot a ‘local’: settled and bored.

I’m on the routine now. Spend six months on the territory and you’re bound to know the tourist spots (and try to avoid it or at least go there discreetly), know which buses to take and which trains to transfer, where to shop cheaply, and know a few Cantonese sentences to get you by through the day and perhaps get you hooked one lonely night in a bar.

Culture shock here is not when you see a bunch of old Chinese folks doing flawless Tai Chi every morning at the park or being amazed (or nervous) around a gang of tattoo-clad kids with extreme fashion-forward `dos. Culture shock here is when you see a flood of Filipina domestic helpers along sidewalks at Central on a Sunday. One is guaranteed of this tear-jerking moment as random flashbacks of Milan , Anak and Caregiver overwhelm the first-time visitor. I’m used to the sight though. Like me, they’re already ‘local’.

Urban legend has it that Filipinos are more hard-working abroad. After more than a year as an OFW I’ve completely dispelled myths that Flips are lazy. Take away the trisikad, tricycle, trisiboat, multicab, jeepney and the occasional habal-habal and see the Pinoy walk. Here in HK, Filipinos adapt to the system without much qualms. We walk, we fall in line, we alight on designated bus stops and we don’t complain. This energetic and disciplined lifestyle reflects on one’s performance at work. At the end of the day, I’m tired but proud of myself for surviving yet another day without the usual conveniences.

So I get used to the absence of a nearby sari-sari store, tipid packs, and E-load and embrace a culture that has been perfected through centuries. Start the fireworks and throw the confetti, I’m a `local’.

And as part of the routine, when the work is done, the `local’ goes back to his quarters through a sea of lonely, weary workers on crowded walkways and trains, opens the door to his apartment, throws his bag on a corner, collapses on the bed, picks up the phone, and calls someone back home.

How to spot a tourist: a long face, phone cards and two mobile phones.

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Work It

I hate to admit it but the long silence, despite all or any of the reasons, was nothing more than just me hitting the wall. It certainly took me awhile to get back because I was afraid to face the blank white space.

I hope the header is symbolic enough. I have arachnophobia. I have a new template. If eating freshly popped fear is easy for you to understand, we're transmitting brainwaves in the same frequency.

In any case, I'm back (yet again), with new harder equipment, a faster wireless connection, and a stronger sense of commitment to my blog. It should be better now, I think or else I'll have to give you the finger (video by BaratsandBereta).

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Desktopped

I know I said that I'm not doing tag games anymore but what can I do? "So unimpressed but so in awe, such a saint but such a whore. So self-aware, so full of shit. So indecisive, so adamant." (Come Undone by Robbie Williams). Trust me, I sing that song with all my heart.

Gypsy tagged me. She said something like get a screenshot of your desktop and show and tell. Here is the show part:


Here is the tell part:
There's nothing much to say. It's a mess. I get a dozen emails a day for my boss and most of those emails have attachments. It's easier for me to locate the attachment on the desktop. The attachment stays there for a week before I move it to a "Desktop Items" folder which means it's been a month since I moved anything.

The wallpaper is quite obvious. I'm currently on the fifth season of Six Feet Under. I am such a fan when I'm into it. I'm not satisfied with my Six Feet Under theme ringtone; I need a visual.

One thing I like about my desktop is the Yahoo! Widgets toolbar. It's on auto-hide mode so you can barely see the black strip on the right side of the screen. It pops up when you hover the mouse on that area and you can get instant access to weather reports, horoscope, international time, and calendar among other things. My favorite is a comic strip widget that generates my daily dose of funnies.

That's how lame my desktop is and how messy, too with icons literally over the top. The tag game ends here, by the way. I'm burying it, six feet under ground.

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Indian Invasion

Two cups of yogurt. Creamy, almost sour and cold. Layered with preserved blueberry and good bacteria. A minute of happiness when I eat it and 24 hours later, 30 seconds of blissful bowel movement. Two cups of yogurt were waiting for me inside a locked refrigerator to which only I held the key. Right after the Indian school dismissed their noisy students, I rushed to the peace and quiet of the second floor, unlocked the ref, peered inside, and found a light bulb and lots of chilled air.

I stood there and wondered what kind of monster devoured my precious. How am I supposed to defecate now? I looked at the bin and sure enough, the yogurt cups were there, along with my two cans of Pepsi Max and a bottle of milk all empty, cheap stuff I put in the ref to save me from a five-minute marathon to the store. I narrowed my suspects to the Indian school students (and / or teachers). The only other people who have access to the ref are Khalid and Edmar. It couldn't have been Khalid because our friendship has reached charity level. And Edmar doesn't like yogurt.

A quick experiment proved that the ref lock was as tight as Paris Hilton's vagina. Anything that fit in it did the trick. And those rowdy students could have done it on a dare.

This isn't the first time that Indians made their presence felt. I get my laundry done at the shop next door. Kala wrote about her experience with Indian laundry shops so I was already expecting their 'system' which is basically: dump your clothes and come back a day after tomorrow. No listing, no counting, no weighing. Just your name so they can bill you correctly. The rest of the business is put to good faith (and a couple misplaced socks every now and then). What I didn't expect though was that they'd label my clothes, not with my name, but with the name of the guy who handled my laundry. My wardrobe is now owned by a certain "VAN".

I can see it now, me spending extra time in the can because some Indian guy ate my ticket to a satisfying dump. So I sit there, longer than usual, staring at the seam of my pants and figuring out if Van is short for Vanesh, or Vanij, or Vanadev or Vanamalin.

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Forget Her

I wasn't sure if it was a full moon already. The park seemed aglow in florescent light, almost like dawn in fact, quite unusual for a place that's notorious for its dark corners. I glanced at the moon to be certain. It's not a perfect circle, its halo also premature. Still it was fine enough for a walk along Corniche--an escape disguised as an exercise. I found a spot and decided to master the lyrics to a new fascination: Jeff Buckley's "Forget Her". His voice is like no other. Too bad he's singing with angels now. I sat there watching the faint waves of the sea, singing in a concert in my head but A capella to the world. I wondered who broke Jeff's heart when he wrote the song. Now that he's gone, I'll never know. But for me, the lady in question is none other than Qatar.

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Forget Her by Jeff Buckley

While this town is busy sleeping
all the noise has died away
i walk the streets to stop my weeping
‘cause she'll never change her ways

Don't fool yourself
she was heartache from the moment that you met her
my heart feels so still
as i try to find the will to forget her somehow
oh i think i've forgotten her now

Her love is a rose pale and dying
dropping her petals and men unknown
all full of wine the world before her
was sober with no place to go

Don't fool yourself
she was heartache from the moment that you met her
my heart is frozen still
cause i try to find the will to forget her somehow
she's somewhere out there now

Oh my tears are falling down as i try to forget
her love was a joke from the day that we met
all of the words all of the men
all of my pain when i think back to when
remember her hair as it shone in the sun
the smell of the bed when i knew what she'd done
tell yourself over and over you wont ever need her again

I have to be honest. As my Qatar anniversary approaches, I'm more confused than ever. After my vacation, I don't know whether I should come back or move on. Maybe I'm just "fooling myself" into thinking that I like it here. But maybe I do like it here. I think I do like it here. Maybe I don't want to go through another adjustment period. There are so many things to consider, all pointing to a way out. The only thing holding me back is of a selfish nature--I'm holding on to the familiar, the expected, the routine. A year is quite short to be starting all over again. Should I really forget her?

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This Season at the Office

The cliffhanger (if there was any) for last summer's run of the office left my cult following at the edge of their rotating computer chairs. OK, sue me if I'm hyping my office like a TV series but I can't help it. And besides, things are heating up, ironically enough, just when the first mild chills of winter are in the air. Summer saw the entry of Edmar into the office. He provided the comic relief as Khalid and I stood our ground against the resident villain Mustafa. The season ended with Khalid flying off to Sudan, still uncertain of his return, while I was left to confront the newbie Hosam in an all out cubicle war.

This season, expect more twists: Edmar's character evolves and becomes more shady. He starts to befriend the dark side. Is he spying for the force? Is he a confidant of the villains? Or is he a bored freak who wants to see if we blend when he presses the pulse button?

Khalid returns this season. A bit of a spoiler since I already mentioned him in a previous post, and already, he and Mustafa are at it again. With Hosam and three other new Mustafa recruits strengthening the Egyptian team, it will be interesting to see whose dick has the most piss.

Office relationships will be stirred as Khalid will question Edmar's loyalty to the force, the boss will doubt which people are loyal to him, and a new Filipina secretary will be the object of desire for some of the men or man or Edmar.

Meanwhile, a new Indian driver, whose name is too hard to pronounce or spell, will provide the brief moments of laughter ie: "When wife and Edmar fight in street and mobile hit the head up and I am tension".

For subplots, Edmar's wife is four months pregnant, the Indian classes resume, and I'm down to my last 4 Gigs of hard disk space.

As for me, I will have a minor role, one that will focus on a new sideline. But I'm telling you now, even with that small role this season, I will set the cliffhanger as the series closes--will I stay or will I go?

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Ba De Ya

I remember watching When the Wind Blows when I was younger and I remember imagining how peaceful and quiet the world can become after a nuclear bomb explosion--total destruction equals peace. Last month was crazy and I think it's all downhill from here. And while I struggle to fill this blank space on my screen, I say to myself that this is not a block but a sense of peace (or emptiness) and surely, I can write about that.

I remember November last year when I started this blog. We were trying a new coffee shop called Barista and I took a picture of Yeric and Ezer using my then new Walkman phone and bragged how I've instantly uploaded the photo to my blog. It was one of the last few nights I'd spend with them before leaving for Qatar and it was the start of Like Clockwork Orange.

I remember quitting smoking after breaking up with my lover. I figured that if I was going to quit one bad habit, I might as well quit smoking too. And eating pork. And taking sugar. I patched things up with my lover not long after the breakup but it was only a month ago, after effortlessly avoiding cigarettes for almost two years, that I started smoking again.

I remember my short-term plans and how my future seemed sad but bright at the same time. It's almost a year now and the bright part has somehow faded. I fear that I may have wasted a whole year for nothing--not even the simplest of targets achieved.

I remember thinking a few nights ago that maybe I am wrong--that there is no plan, there is no destiny, that life is, unfortunately, random and all of us are just waiting to win the lottery; while those who have already won might be so arrogant as to say that it is all their hard work and not luck.

I remember now that Jayclops commented in my last post that "(Office politics) sounds familiar". After he confirmed that he wasn't talking about himself, I began to think that maybe I'm repeating myself. My whole life is a déjà vu, constantly looping like an overused character in one too many Stephen King novels.

I remember realizing last night before going to sleep, that I don't have one thing that I am very good at.

I remember wanting to write a poem about my dreams and how I think these will never happen because maybe I'm part of the other half of the world's population that will serve as the example--the sin, the ugly, the lesson to be learned.

I remember how me and my friends loved to sing in videoke bars (or was it just me) and somebody may or may not sing one of the videoke anthems, Earth, Wind and Fire's September, and depending on our mood we'd either love or hate both the song and the guy who did the number.

I remember just now that I'm supposed to make up a moving excuse for not posting for so long when the truth is I was doing back to back marathons of Six Feet Under and Weeds.

I'll save some of my memories for future posts or for when the time comes for an inevitable montage like the my-whole-life-flashed-before-me kind of thing.

Ba De Ya, it's September, do you remember?

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For Adults Only!

After all my self-censorship--policing my language, restraining my fingers from typing four-letter words that start with 'f' and end in 'ck' (trust me, you can't find fack, feck, fick, fock or fuck in this blog...until now of course), and veering away from subject matters concerning sex, fornication, drugs and extreme violence--I still get this:

Now I know how Joey Reyes felt when he marched along the streets of Manila shouting "Live Show is not porn!" and asking the president not to ban the critically acclaimed film which was locally known as "Toro".

"Like Clockwork Orange is not porn!", I shout. But it won't change anything. See how they rated my blog:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

• jap (7x)
• shoot (2x)
• fags (1x)

'Jap' is my nickname and not a racial slur. 'Shoot' does not incite violence, it's a film terminology, and 'fags' is a Brit slang for cigarettes. Much as I would like this blog to have an 'R' rating to add a controversial feel to it, it seems silly now that the rating was based on words that are not controversial at all.

So, I'm thinking that maybe with this post, I'm going to earn my 'R' Rating, in or out of context.

Here goes:

I watched Vagina Monologues before and enjoyed it so much that in my speech class, back in college, I performed Penis Monologues as my finals speech presentation. I sucked at my 'Penis' act but the teacher gave me a good grade anyway. I didn't give a rat's ass about my grade. I was glad that boring class was over. All the girls did in that speech class was put on make up that made them look even more slutty. Thanks to the mirror in each cubicle (which was supposed to guide students on proper mouth openings), girls used it to check out themselves, boys used it to check out the girls, and gays used it to check out their mouth openings and how it would look in the event of a blowjob.

I hope that was dirty enough. Do I deserve it now?

A quick follow up: after posting this, I just upped my rating to:


This blog is too hot for primetime!

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Care For...

"Would you like to join me to care for?" Khalid asked me as I was filling up my bottle from the office water dispenser. I stopped half-full, puzzled by the question. "Care for what, Khalid?" I asked. I eventually found out that he wanted to go to Carrefour (karfur/karifor French for 'crossroads' ), the hypermarket at the mall. He needed to buy some things because he had reached his own crossroads and had decided to leave Qatar.

Like me, and most foreign workers in Doha, Khalid is fed up of promises that were never kept. Lured by the prospect of good pay and a secure job, we gave up a big part of our lives in order to help keep another country's economy running smoothly only to find out later that it's not worth it. Throw in nasty office politics and it completes the disillusionment.

During his last few weeks in the office, Khalid mastered the art of ranting as he spoke of the scheming others and how they're `taking over the office'--conspiracy theories that are slowly becoming real. When the thing that keeps you hanging on to a job is your concern for your boss, the last thing you need is a fit of jealousy. So when it was obvious to Khalid (and to everyone else) that Mustafa is the boss' golden boy, he decided that it was probably time to go home to Sudan.

Personally, I don't care about the office anymore and how these people are running the show. I've had my moment under the spotlight. I got my increase but they also tripled my work load so I'm basically the same overworked, underpaid expat. I've accepted my fate and I am patiently waiting for my contract to end so I can move on. I keep in mind that at least I'm better off now than my first six months here.

But ask Khalid and he'll tell you that he can't wait any longer. The sooner he's out, the more intact his pride is when he goes home. This office can take away his job and his salary but it cannot take away his pride.

I never got to join him at Carrefour, but I did see the things he bought. A new suit, shoes, and watch. And for the family, a blender (wtf?!) and a flat screen LCD TV. He needed to look like he didn't make a mistake working in Qatar. Dignity seems to count a lot in his country.






















The day before Khalid left, Edmar and I invited him to a Filipino restaurant. Had it been another officemate leaving (particularly those who hail from the land of pyramids), the boss would've taken the staff to a lunch buffet. But last Sunday, it was only the three of us. As it turns out, the two people I make fun of in my blog sometimes; the same two people who annoy me sometimes--are the same two people in the office whom I truly care for.

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Thanks for Rubbing It In

Tactless people annoy me. Sometimes, this is the downside of friendship--tactlessness. So when my Pinoy pal told me that I'm spending way too much time in front of the computer, I knew he has entered the comfort zone and there's no turning back. He'll forever terrorize me with reality like Boy Abunda's mirror glaring back at me whichever direction I face.

Edmar, our office/tea boy, is fond of pointing out the obvious, only in more exaggerated terms:

I work as a sercretary/media & communications officer/ accountant thus the computer is my best friend. Edmar barged in my office and said "Pare, lagi ka na lang sa computer a!" (Buddy, you're always in front of the computer!). I smiled and said "Yes, that's true". I wish I could barge in in his kitchen and tell him that he's always making tea and coffee.

One time I was in the kitchen talking to Edmar and I stretched. Then, with a ghastly reaction, he alarmingly said "Pare! Ang laki na ng tyan mo!" (Buddy! Your belly is huge!). I smiled and said "Yes, that's true", although I find it unfair that he has the same expression saying that line as how he would react to a natural calamity. I mean, I never come up to him and say "Pare, ang pangit mo!" like it was the apocalypse.

I drink a lot of water and he says "Pare, water therapy tayo ngayon a!"

I wake up early and he says "Pare, ang aga mo naman!" (Buddy, you're early!)

I wake up late and he says "Pare, late ka na nagising a!" (Buddy, you're late!)

I eat late and he says "Pare, mamatay ka na nyan sa gutom!" (Buddy, you'll die of hunger!)

I eat on time and he says "Pare, lalo kang lalaki nyan!" (Buddy, you'll get bigger!)

Man, I'm annoyed but there's nothing I can do. "Pare, na-iirita ka na ata a...at wala kang magawa!"

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Brain Rape

In the dream, I was headed to a video shoot. I knew it was a dream right away because how on earth would I be carrying Angel Locsin, playing the part of an angel with cheap crepe paper wings, while she, supposedly, tried to save Richard Guttierez from an inevitable career plunge? I was certain that it was a dream because I was carrying Angel but at the same time I was operating the camera and going for a crane shot--how else can I be in two places at once? I played along because dreams are not real anyway. Not unless it becomes too familiar; then you know it's time to wake up.

The shoot ended in a wrap party. Every one of my friends were there. I was so happy. So ecstatic, in fact,that even if they closed me off from the party in some producer's house, I walked home alone but literally jumping for joy. I realized later when I woke up that I dreamt this part because of a recent comment I made in Gypy's blog about having a job you love.

Then, as I was walking gleefully along the dark streets of Qatar (my only clue were the lightning fast cars on the road), a car chase straight from Grand Theft Auto ensued. Up ahead, an SUV flattened a dozen lamp posts before it crashed on an island.

The driver, dressed in black, got out of the vehicle and walked towards my direction. I sensed his ill intentions so I hid behind a palm tree that obviously only covered half my body. The guy in black approached me and pointed a gun at me (this is what I get from watching Zodiac the other night). I only got to plead twice before he shot me on my chest. I got angry and promised that I won't let him get away with it.

To my surprise, he chopped my head off and put it in a box then he went to a cargo truck which was loaded with the same box he was carrying. I followed him in spirit, meaning to scare him off with my ghost. When I tried to reach for him I found out that I wasn't following him as a spirit at all but as a headless body!

That was the time I woke up. With a smile. And the first relevant thing I saw was a pile of textbooks on my bedside table. Some Qatari student had asked me to do his research work. Although he's paying for it, I still can't help but feel a bit brain raped.

The metaphor was too clear to be dismissed. Believe me, there's a thin line between dreams and reality.

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Tipsy

Six bottles of beer ago, I was shaving and pre-partying with an XL can of beer while listening to Robbie Williams proclaim he's the world's most handsome man. Pre-partying with Rob is highly recommended because his ego is contagious. Five bottles of beer ago, I was waiting in a long line of party goers to Qatar's worst club (but the only one I've been to anyway) Qube--at least the guys behind this bar know that Q is followed with a U...most of the time. Four bottles of beer ago, I was moving from one dark corner of the club to another, trying to get the feel of the place but mostly bumping into sweaty bodies. Three bottles of beer ago, a smile popped up on my face and stayed there. Two bottles of beer ago, my world turned, gravity lost its hold and rays of green laser light beamed for me and only for me and I felt each ray as it touched my skin. One beer ago, I was dancing but mostly bumping my sweaty body into people who have just arrived. Now, I am the universe, and I go to random guys and whisper to their ears magic words that will never be known (the way Brian Kinney must've done to patrons of Babylon), and they smile and we hug and dance and I proclaim 'I am tipsy', as only a drunk guy would admit to.

I went to Qube alone last Thursday and got slightly wasted. I may or may not have gone home with someone. I couldn't remember. But I did remember smiling, all through the night, and that's what's important. The place was crappy but paradise was just a few beers away. After almost a month of harder work, pay-off, no matter how cheap, was necessary.

There is joy when the only thing you think about as you go to bed is the flaming aftertaste of alcohol and you swear never to do it again as the room starts spinning and you fall asleep. I can't wait to go back and be numb again.

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Firewalled Friends

I remember some time ago when I was in Boracay, the topic of working there came up. "Wouldn't it be nice to work in Boracay?" was the thought that went around the group and for a while, I thought about the endless summer on the majestic beach, the glorious sunset each day, and thousands of people from different countries that you will meet. And then, I felt sad. Sure you'll meet a lot of people, but you are bound to go through the feeling of being left behind over and over again as tourists come and go and go and go. Everyone is moving. Nothing is permanent. Friendships are offered, accepted, but never kept. From that time on, I felt the sadness of the locals and those working on the island and how they must guard themselves not to be too involved with the tourists. Any friendship they can offer comes with an imaginary firewall thus, no one gets burned. Here in Qatar, the expat life is quite the same.

I'm the kind of person who is not quick to join groups or organizations overseas. For example, yesterday, I was invited to join an org for Ilonggos. I politely smiled but I doubt if I'll ever attend a meeting. A common dialect is simply not enough reason to group yourselves together. I still believe that one good friend is better than a dozen so-so friends.

Aside from my foster family and officemates here, I only have five friends, some good, some so-so. I've tried my best to further develop my friendships with the so-so friends but it's stuck. I'd like to think that I'm a fairly nice guy to hang around with and some people still answer my messages so I'm thinking that they still like me. But I can never get them to be good friends--the kind you can spend comfortable silence with, or someone who will finish your food for you when you're full, or you can be bitchy with when you need a punching bag, or sing and have him sing the backup vocals, or someone you can laugh with at the corniest of jokes, someone you can use, abuse and love.

Not in Qatar. Here, people stay for only one reason: to work. Without the oil, nobody would ever dare come here. And since most people here are foreigners, you would be apt to keep things temporary. Portable radios, DVD players and laptop computers. Inexpensive furniture, disposable wares, mid-priced cars. Lots of acquaintances, a dozen shallow friendships, and very few good friends. The less attached you are, the less hurt you'll be when people leave. And in this place, they do leave.

I can be unfeeling when I want to; heart hard as stone. I've had my own share of heartaches and it taught me how to build firewalls in an instant. But I don't want to quit. If I meet a friend worth keeping, I keep it. A lot of my friends (from around the globe) can attest to that. Distance is not a factor, time is not a factor. What counts is the love that you put in. And no matter how far apart, or how long you haven't seen each other, you are confident that the friendship has remained strong.

"[There are] no good friends, no bad friends; only people you want to be with.
People who build their houses in your heart." -from "IT" by Stephen King

I have my lumber, nails and hammer. I'll be building my house in your heart, but first, we'll have to do something about that firewall. Now where's that wrecking ball?

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Wasted Orange

I found this a few months ago, but it is only now that it seems ripe for posting in this blog.

© Alana Yuen @ Wicked Little Town

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Emerging Bloggers Emerge on Ten Emerging Blogs Post

The day I posted my candidates for the Ten Emerging Influential Blogs of 2007 was the day my blog had the most clicks ever. From a sad average of 20 clicks a day, it rose to 67. A couple days later, it was back to reality.

I can't wait to post 2008's list. LoL.

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ONETOTEN: The Top 10 Emerging Influential Blogs in 2007

I've started serious and steady ( it's like a relationship, I know) blogging six months ago and I didn't care much about the "blogosphere" until now. I don't know if I'm a fair judge for this list since I can still count the blogs that I have read but I suppose it won't hurt to pay the good deed forward (Ms Jojie aka Dabawenya Jud! included me in her list. Thank you, Jojie. It's a one in a million chance but one vote is better than no votes hehe).

My apologies, Ms. Janette Toral, for adding yet another ten to the dozens of lists you get everyday. Tallying the Top 10 Emerging Influential Blogs in 2007 ain't easy so I'll try my best to make sure that all my nominees are blogs that have only started anytime from August 1, 2006 to the present

They say "you are what you eat," but in the blogosphere, you are what you read.

10. Is that noise coming from my head? - I like to believe that I am dark and mysterious but after reading Adobobo's blog I suddenly feel I'm sunshine. What I like most (aside from the thought-provoking posts) is the unique template. It's simple, nothing too fancy nor annoying, but it drives home the message that one should beware because parts of your body can bleed anytime once you click on her blog. On her last post, my heart almost bled.

09. Mindanaobloggers - fresh. Although it was made for the Mindanao Bloggers Summit, I'm pretty sure that this blog will run for a long time or until all bloggers from Mindanao get abducted by aliens. Not too many posts in here yet (it's only a few weeks old) but that's beside the point.

08. Continuum - I'm glad Joey started to blog again, and in a new environment too! I was torn between his Letters and another favorite but ultimately his honest and daring posts won this spot. Since I came to Qatar I censored myself-- avoiding certain issues and topics that might be damaging. That's why it's fun (and empowering) to read Continuum. Oh, did I mention that he's my high school batchmate?

07. Himantayon - A recent discovery this one. This blog pokes fun at our mistakes. We're all guilty, we're not perfect after all. So be a good sport and laugh with us. This is my official blogosphere "de-stresser". The guys who thought about this are genuises.

06. Manokan Express - Jinoe, another high school batchmate of mine, takes his 'cue' from the famous Bacolod chicken BBQ. His posts are always positive. The topics he discusses are helpful too. I always make it a habit to check his blog to get my dose of optimism.

05. Bakla Ako, May Reklamo? - No apologies. Take it or leave it. It's a blog with an attitude and a lot of pink-useful information. The more I say something about this blog, the more I'm taking away from the slap-on-your-face title, so I'll just leave it at that. BaklangAJ, you rock!

04. Gibbs Cadiz - another recent discovery. I told Gibbs that even if it was my first time on his blog, I can already say that it's one of my favorites. Gibbs' passion for the performing arts and film is undeniable. I delight in reading his posts because you can rarely find play reviews or insider report from the Philippine stage scene.

03. Dabawenya Jud! - i'm not just returning the favor here =) I like this blog because of its original content. While most of us grab pictures from the internet, Jojie displays her own shots (she's a pro after all). The photos are superb and the posts are refreshing to read (must be because of Jojie's fun adventures).

02. Ang Dabawenyo - Probably the most "influential" on this list. Blogie has about five hundred blogs running at the same time and still he gets to write in his personal blog (Blogie Blog) =) He earned this spot the day he invited me to join the Davao Blogs listing. Thanks to him, my blog got more clicks and I also got connected to other Davaoeño bloggers.

01. Pinoyfilm.com - I'm Pinoy and I love films. This blog lacks the personal touch but it's loaded with information.
Now, the question is, why didn't I nominate myself? Hmmm, tempting. Nah.

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Raise the Alarm

It's 5AM, in the Middle East, a foreign land for you and you're awakened by extremely loud noises, what goes into your head? Still half asleep, I thought of the very images from war-torn countries I frequently see on CNN. Could it be that a tank has just blown up the restaurant outside? The defeaning blare went on. Perhaps it's a large machine gun with bullets the size of Coke cans tearing away rooftops. But there are no people screaming so maybe it's an out-of-control dump truck that keeps on slamming the gigantic steel bins by the sidewalk. At 5:10 AM, it dawned on me, the racket came from a bulldozer/driller digging on hard ground.

Five minutes later, I was already up. I couldn't stand the noise.

The funny thing was I just bought a digital radio alarm clock--the ones that you can program to wake you up with your favorite radio station (QBS 97.5 FM cause it's the only English FM station in Doha--it sucks, but what can you do?) blasting instead of the usual irritating, throw-in-the-bin-if-you-must battery-operated alarm.

That night, I set the alarm for 6:00 AM. The next morning, I realized I didn't need the damned thing that cost me 100QR. Why? Because the owner of the vacant lot right beside our building decided that it's time to start construction...on the day I bought the alarm clock, and an hour before it even did its job.

Six consecutive days now I've been an early bird. I have planned to do so anyway hence the alarm clock. But I also planned to wake up in a nice way with a smile on my face.

The boss is pleased with my early-bird status. Unless I get used to the banging and clanging, I'll be up and about at 5AM, whether I like it or not.

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Mobile in a Coma

I woke up early yesterday to take a shower before the sun boils Doha's water system. When I entered the bathroom I was tempted to finish all my laundry including the ones I wore to bed. The washing machine was just there anyway, and by the time I finished my morning rituals my clothes would have spun dry. I took off my shirt and shorts and dropped it into the washing machine. I observed as the hypnotic drip of the water filled it up. Then, I took a shower, not minding the unusually loud bump-bump of the machine.

The wash was a bit slow. I have already dressed up, packed my overnight stuff and prepared to leave but the washing machine hasn't sung its "I'm done" ring tone yet. So I figured, I should text my mom while waiting. My cellphone wasn't on my bedside table. I panicked.

I ran to the bathroom. I opened the lid of the washing machine. My clothes were already spinning dry. I grabbed my shorts, reached for its pocket and tugged my phone out. It was amazingly dry! It should be cause the machine spun it 50revs a second.

Then I looked at my mobile closely. The LCD screen is full of water! Imagine my anguish. My companion, OW, lifeless. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to cry. There goes the music. There goes the RSS feeds. There goes the cool factor.

Until now, my mobile is still in a coma. I hope it's not terminal.

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