PrincessLia's blog

Dog's Eye View

PrincessLia — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 14:23:42 +0000

Everything falls apart,
Then I get to try to put it back together
Everything falls apart,
And you can count on that like you can count on bad,
bad weather again

- Dog's Eye View, Everything Falls Apart

Just a couple of weeks ago, I received an SMS from a good friend that her puppy had died -- her 4-month old puppy that she had just adopted not too long before that. Anyone who says that I'm completely detached and devoid from the animal world is not lying. But for some reason, that message I got pinched the ends of my heart strings and I found myself getting a bit more despondent than I had anticipated.

Jell-O Shots

PrincessLia — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 14:22:47 +0000

Ever observed how Jell-O behaves? You shake the plate that it's on and it just wiggles endlessly without moving an inch. That about sums up how I view my life to be right now -- stuck! Though I am going through the motions of life and it seems to be going right along with me, I feel that I'm not getting anywhere at all. A part of me wants to move, but another part of me just wants to stay put and enjoy the ride (or whatever I can take from it).

All my life I have been trained to always look forward -- to see the bigger picture and to think long-term. And all my life, that's exactly what I have been doing. And it's quite exhausting, not to mention disheartening when things don't go your way. I find that looking far ahead only strains my neck and makes me lose sight of the present in its entirety. How am I supposed to enjoy the future when I can't even enjoy the present?

Wikang Sinilangan (Mother Tongue)

PrincessLia — Sun, 13 Jan 2008 12:46:05 +0000

These days, all one must do is to blink and it's already twenty six years later. More conservatively, I blinked and then I found myself already in the middle of the first month of 2008. Regardless whether or not you're having fun, time certainly flies with engines roaring at full speed.

My time flew on a positive note, fortunately. My slight hiatus allowed me to end my 2007 completely in the midst of family, friends and loved ones -- surrounded by the holiday ambience. It's not exactly something that happens everyday (not even every year) so rest assured, it has been one hell of a month. I was almost sad to see it end, especially boarding the airplane back to Singapore the day after New Years. However, I knew that I have a lot to look forward to in 2008. I'm not exactly sure what they are but I'd like to say that I have enough faith to know that there's got to be *something* good about 2008.

Karma - The Great Equalizer

PrincessLia — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 23:48:31 +0000

If there is anything that I desperately hope is true, it isn't God. Rather, the concept of karma. Many of us believe in it perhaps as a way to console ourselves with regards to unfortunate situation that are beyond our control. On the other hand, it only makes sense to subscribe to it because it seems to be the universal balance keeper.

Karma. What is karma?

According to the dictionary, it is "the cosmic principle according to which each person is rewarded or punished in one incarnation according to that person's deeds in the previous incarnation."

Karma, it seems, stems largely from religious principles and dogmas (Hindus, help me out here?). It involves living a fair life in order to bid for a better one in the next. Though it seems to refer to reincarnation and such, the more modern concept of it conveys the same theme as the Bible's Golden Rule -- "Do unto others what you want to be done unto you." Similar, yes?

The universe has its own mechanism where it imposes natural balance upon itself. There is the good and the bad, black and white, heaven and hell -- the yin ang yang of life. It is said that for every misdeed that we commit, it will come back to bite off our behinds at an aggravated degree. There is justice and there is fairness.

I cannot seem to agree more.

If it were up to me, I would like to be the one to inflict justice in my own life. I wish that I can have matters in my own hands whenever I get wronged or taken advantage of. However, life isn't as rosy as such. I don't think it's entirely possible to think clearly -- more so think of justice -- when one is ridden in rage and anger over an incident. Various people deal with obnoxious emotions differently and these people also act differently in certain situations. It will be an unfair system if people lived in my ideal world. Most importantly, who are we to decide what kind of justice the wrongdoer must receive?

To believe in karma is to award the divine with the task of maintaining moral equilibrium on earth -- or in the universe. Believing in it allows me to pick myself up after a messy fall, to dust my hands quickly against each other, and still hold my head up high with a smirk. It comforts me greatly knowing that I need not lift a finger in order for some people to experience the vileness that they inflict on others. It is all taken cared of.

Karma keeps us humble. Knowing and acknowledging its power keeps us in check because ultimately, our actions are a reflection of ourselves.

There have been many occassions that I have been duped and toyed with -- in all aspects of the words. And just like everyone else, as I would presume, I wish nothing short of misery and pain for those people who have engineered the scenario, no matter how big or small. I can be completely high strung and vengeful (as a matter of fact, isn't that part of being a Scorio? *wink*) and my emotions can get the best of me sometimes. If I act upon any of them, I will probably end up doing something I would regret for eternity (I already have some regrets as it is). My only option is to leave it to the professionals -- to those up there controlling the karma switchboard.

Unfortunately, patience is greatly needed in this whole karma game. It isn't up to us when the shit will hit the fan for the other side. We only see the smaller picture, but karma sees the larger one and will know where it will hurt the most for them. We can do nothing but wait until that moment emerges -- and one can only hope that he or she will be present to witness this sweetest thing called revenge.

We are not entitled to play God. We are not God. Even if someone doesn't believe in God or any kind of god, it is still not up to him or her to take control and ensure that justice will be served for every fault held against them. If we follow the karmic school of thought, doing so will only entail a bigger blow against one's self in the form of higher karma. It's one vicious circle that we wouldn't want to get trapped in.

God has given man free will. Whether or not someone decides to choose evil rather than good is his or her choice entirely. However, the consequences can be pretty dire and there really is no way of knowing when the ax will fall. That, I believe, is God's greatest disclaimer.

Whilst we wait for all the pieces of the universe to all fall into place, we can always resort to swearing, yeah? It's harmless and it's therapeutic. Then we sit back and enjoy the ride.

And if you're anything like me, I would be hoping the worst for that person.

(I can so totally feel the gates of hell opening up for me now)

Love Actually

PrincessLia — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 13:01:22 +0000

It was a little before seven o'clock at night and I just finished attending church. It was still twilight outside and I decided that I didn't want to go home just yet. After all, witnessing twilight is such a novelty nowadays with me trekking out of work so late on weekdays. I approached the vendor selling street ice cream and purchased a yam-flavored one. Not exactly the healthiest option, but when cravings call, who am I to deny it?

Content with my indulgence, I walked around the town center where people were lazily milling around and trying to savor the last few hours of their weekend. I took a double take at this couple who were having an incredibly intense conversation -- neither were they being discrete about it.

Bastille

PrincessLia — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 23:45:43 +0000

I have never really been one to read and follow horoscopes faithfully. Once in a while I would glance at it to get myself a dollop of amusement -- I can just imagine how many Scorpios there are in the world that's reading the same blurb and trying to fit their daily life into that mold. Don't get me wrong, I don't dispel astrology and psychic powers and such. I do believe that to a certain point, there is some truth and reality to it, and that God indeed has created such gifted people. My skepticism only stems from being realistic and the refusal to seem gullible enough to be taken for a ride. Throwing salt behind one's shoulders has never hurt anyone, yeah? In any case, my religious beliefs go against the concept of fortune-telling and the like -- I love having that excuse whenever my opinion is sought out about it. It's like a quick ticket out of a sticky mess. I'm aware of the differing opinions that people hold about it. Let's just put it this way: I don't believe in it, but I won't get surprised if one day, I discern that it is all real. I like keeping an open mind.

Just the other day, I was reading the profile of a typical Scorpio. It wasn't the first time that I've seen one. I know the basics and yeah, agreeably, some of it are applicable to me but also some traits of Geminis, Leos, Cancers, blah blah blah, you get the point. I refuse to get boxed in a profile just because I was born on a certain date. However, there was one thing that caught my eye whilst reading it. Allegedly, I ultimately seek for independence and freedom in life. True -- can't argue with that, but who doesn't? And then it said "she [a Scorpio woman] will constantly show you that she loves freedom. If she has freedom, she will not leave you, but will love you even more."

I couldn't have said it any better.

I'm not an expert on relationships -- far from it, as a matter of fact. However, I do know that in order for me to stay in one, I do need a fair amount of freedom. I don't ask to be completely independent because I believe in being somewhat attached to your partner as a result of special bonding. I want to feel the beauty of being needed and needing. Emotional dependence can be good as long as it's manageable.

It only dawned on me then that the only way to keep me nearby is to avoid putting a leash on me. I need trust, I need respect and I need freedom. Well, enough space and elbow room, at least. I hate being told what I can do and what I can't do. And I especially hate it when someone acts as if they own me.

I dislike being provoked. The best way to get me to do something is to tell me exactly the opposite. I am notorious for disobeying for the sole purpose of spite. I can be in total agreement with a particular task, but if the method of being asked rubbed me the wrong way, I will drop it like yesterday's lunch. For this reason, I know I will make a horrid secretary or assistant. I demand nothing less than proper respect and consideration. I believe that it is entirely possible for a superior to still command a sub with respect. Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against authority and I do not seek for power. I am not the quintessential alpha female that needs to be in control all the time. I can be a fiercely loyal follower to the right master. And I can be a faithful partner to a deserving one.

It took me a while to learn this about myself. I found myself in a serious relationship at a young-ish age and I still had yet to know myself back then. I couldn't understand why I felt purposely deviant and vengeful towards my boyfriend until I realized that I was badly reacting to his attempt of controlling me. We had passionate arguments about how I allegedly never listen to him, and how bad I was at keeping a relationship. This affected me for a long time. I sincerely thought I wasn't ready for a commitment and I even blamed myself largely for the wrinkles in our relationship. And I began doubting myself.

Now that I've grown a tad wiser (or so I'd like to think), I discovered that putting a leash on someone can only drive them further away instead of keeping them closer. Though I may have the tendency to be territorial, selfish and possessive, I would always have to put myself in people's shoes and rethink. If I loathe the feeling of my leash getting shorter and shorter -- or even having a leash in the first place -- what right have I got to do that to others?

I believe that it takes a pretty big person to not need a leash. However, it takes an even bigger person to let go of the leash. The magic will work on itself. The moment we let go, it's pretty surprising how we can gain so much more -- instead of losing something. A little bit of faith is all that is needed.

I'd like to think that this is a universal thing and that it is not something only exclusive to Scorpios. If it is, then by golly, more people would have to mate in February.

Birthday Cake, Tea and Sympathy

PrincessLia — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 23:58:05 +0000

Now that I've moved, I pretty much have a few new things in my life -- new keys, a new address, new bedsheets, new(ish) furniture, new neighbors and a new commute. Riding the train is now included in my daily routine and is admittedly growing on me. I've forgotten how much I like trains. It allows me twenty minutes twice a day to be one with my thoughts and not have to worry about keeping anyone entertained. With my music blaring in my ears thereby shutting off the rest of the world, I find the ultimate peace and enlightenment.

It's like being alone amid a thousand people surrounding you.

At promptly six thirty-five in the morning, I make my way towards the nearest train station to catch the six forty-three ride to the central business district. I count exactly seven stops and estimate about four songs on my iPod before I get there. Luck is never usually on my side when it comes to finding a seat. The train is always filled with students heading to their respective schools -- college students with their textbooks in tow, female Muslim students with their white uniformed veils perched on their heads and the male ones with their black velvet hats, and Chinese students with their squeaky clean white sneakers.

It wasn't too long ago that I was one of those students. Well, except for the train bit, I never had to take it back where I grew up since there really wasn't any. I used to take the school bus at what seemed like the crack of dawn as the bus service always attempts to beat morning traffic. It was only later on that my parents took pity on me and had me driven to school instead (bless them!).

It only seemed like yesterday that I was roaming the high school hallways with my friends and beating deadlines for book reports and science investigatory projects. And then having powows with the group in the school cafeteria during lunch or the steps in front of the high school building after classes. Our schedules were comprised purely of schoolwork and friends -- we were one of those lucky ones who only had to worry about so much. We invented drama in our lives and dwelled on it, not realizing how ludicrous we were being and how clueless we were about how the world really worked. I was once one of those kids who thought I knew everything there is to know in this world. I was once one of those kids whom I've grown to hate as I got older.

Now, I see these kids on the train every single day as I make my way to work. I feel compelled to tell them to take it easy and to have fun while they still can. After all, being a grown up is so overrated -- why are they rushing to get rid of their youth? Get rid of the nail polish (it'll just make your nails yellow), lose the make-up (believe me, when you get older, you will wish you can pull off not having to wear some), don't get too serious with the opposite sex (you have the rest of your life to get headaches from them), wear clothes that suit people your age (count your blessings that you can still follow trends), and most importantly, stay in school (believe me, you will miss it when you start scraping up your own dough). What I wouldn't give to be able to switch places with them.

In about a couple of hours, I will be marking my twenty-sixth year here on earth. Another year added onto my life. That means, I would have been one year wiser from my last birthday. Somehow, I don't feel any older or wiser. I feel like a fraud. This year will be my official foray into the "late twenties" group and I still feel the high-schooler living vivaciously in me -- just a little more saged and jaded with experience but nonetheless still the same uncertain person that I always was.

I don't think we really let the child in us grow out completely. I like holding on to mine because it reminds me of that time in my life when I was deliriously happy and truly innocent. If only I took out the time to protect those moments instead of robbing myself off youthful naiveity, I could have enjoyed it that much longer. In my entire twenty six years, there isn't one day that I didn't refer to my past and search for little nibblets of happiness for me to ponder on. The happy memories keep me going in hopes that I will find more along the way.

I wish the kids on my train would realize that in ten years' time, they will be in my shoes looking back into their pasts desperately searching for something to hold on to. That they will be wishing for longer childhoods and more time to make mistakes. If only I can convey the sadness that I feel for them on how they seem to be losing their childhood faster and faster each day. And if only I can show them how precious they are at their age. I don't understand why they want to grow up so quickly.

It's funny, isn't it? Kids will do anything to be grown up whilst everything that adults want is to be kids all over again -- devoid of all responsibilities and obligations.

Happy twenty sixth to me. And happy sweet sixteen to the kid still living inside me.

Destiny's Child

PrincessLia — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 12:21:21 +0000

In my native tongue, the phrase "bahala na" is very much overused in instances that we have very little control over. In other words, it happens most in times where we have no sodding idea on what to do. It is derived from the phrase "Bathala na" which quite literally means "Leave it to the hands of the gods." One who is new to the concept would think that it's an endearingly spiritual way of thinking but someone like me who has grown accustomed to it thinks of it as a glorified way of saying "Whatever!" It never kept me from using it though *grin* Over and over at that.

I probably join the millions who believe that there are no accidents, just incidents. And that, yes, everything happens for a reason. It's not so much that believing such things easily gives meaning to situations that we cannot make sense of, but it's more of -- I really do believe that everything happens for a reason. Perhaps it partly stems from my background as a Catholic. You know, believing in a God who has our lives mapped out given the twists, turns, options and choices that we make. Then again, when we think about it, is it really possible to have that many coincidences in our lives? When everything seems to just fall into place without ample reason or logic?

Accepting the idea of fate or destiny is, at the same token, also accepting the idea that there is someone or something out there that is guiding our life. Though it isn't utter surrender to a superior power, it is acknowledging the presence of something else having a hand in what happens in our lives. Happenstance, destiny, fate, serendipity, kismet -- all these beautiful and meaningful words all mean one thing. We often allude incidents to these and resigning to the fact that it's just meant to be. It makes it difficult for one to deny that sometimes, it really is just meant to be.

Though I promote and approve of this paradigm, I do not indulge in the idea of completely resigning one's self to the hands of predestination. Just like anything taken in excess, it can be abused and be rather unhealthy. I know of some people who have a little too much faith on the stars that they presume that everything will just fall on their laps. They reason that if something is truly meant to be, then it shall happen. They miss one detail in the scenario -- that they need to help themselves to achieve it. If only life were that easy to maneuver, then wouldn't we be all happy... in a dull unfulfilled way? We arrange our lives in a way that makes it easier for destiny to shoot for the target. We engineer it, we arrange it, we reinforce it. Tempting fate, if you will. If it doesn't happen the way we want it to, then maybe, destiny has got something bigger and better in store for us around the corner. Admittedly though, the distance to the corner can be a very long one sometimes.

I learned that the gods smile kindly on those people who pull their weight. Eighty percent along the way, we are awarded the rest of the twenty percent. Or maybe more if we're lucky. Very rare are we given the whole hundred percent for simply swinging our legs under the table whilst tapping our fingers impatiently (even patiently at that). Those who have experienced that must have done something right in their past life.

Even God has bestowed us with the free will and intelligence to make our own decisions. We cannot expect him to answer all our prayers -- may they be devoted or whimsical -- without working for it. God supposedly has our lives mapped out on the palm of His hands and it's entirely up to us to find our ways to our end. However, the question on whether we choose the right path or not can only be answered at the end of time.

Believing in destiny is a beautiful thing, I at least like to believe. It gives life a mysterious flavor and it gives me something to look forward to. It's like putting the pieces of a puzzle together and only seeing the picture after it has been worked on for a while. It is when secrets are unfolded before us, and when everything finally starts making sense. Going with the flow and rolling with the waves are not exactly bad things to do as long as it is done with care. After all, how else are we expected to explore life's essence if we don't get lost in it?

From here to eternity... bahala na!

Love Unconditional

PrincessLia — Fri, 12 Oct 2007 10:55:18 +0000

I have never been married and I have never been a mother. And I have never loved to the point of surrender. I have yet to understand and experience how it is to love unconditionally -- to love still yet be not loved in return, to love forever even when death intervenes, and to love no matter what even when plagued with liabilities. I do know enough though that unconditional love does exist as I have been a recipient of it. I never felt worthy of it though. It is a kind of love that is bigger than me and larger than life itself. Obstacles such as pride, ego and dignity often get in my way as I find that I have an overabundance of it.

Ruling the Roost

PrincessLia — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 23:43:54 +0000

felt like I signed away my life -- again -- last night. Two years of it, at least. I have entered into the umpteenth flat lease in my life, thereby digging my soles deeper into the ground and giving it instructions to stay put for another couple of years. The erratic property market here in Singapore has finally caught up to me and threatened to render me homeless by the start of the new year. My landlord hopped on the selling spree bandwagon and decided to rake in at least a hundred percent profit by putting my current flat in the market. Like honey is to bees, my little Chinatown abode within arm's length of Singapore's celebrated business district was clinched just like that. Doesn't money matter to people anymore these days?

Getting the call from my landlord was like receiving a sentence of death. His usually side-splitting funny jokes sounded like metal on asphalt as he attempted to keep the conversation light. Serves me right for entering a non-binding agreement with him in the first place. Two years ago, my gentleman's arrangement with him was the dog's bollocks -- no deposit, no contract, and dirt cheap rent considering the location with all utilities thrown in. Now, the tables have turned and I'm the one with the tail in between my legs. And legitimately homeless at that.

Though I had a quarter to get my act together, I knew that with every single day that passes, rental rates go up a few hundred dollars. What I would have paid for a good two-bedroom apartment in a decent location a couple of years ago would get me a bathroom in the border of Malaysia. So either I suck it up or buy a lottery ticket and pray hard that I hit all the right numbers. The likelihood of the latter depresses me so I opted for the former. Over the weekend, I drowned myself in phone calls to various property agents and sheepishly informed them of my budget and my choice of area. If it weren't for the phone lines between us, I would have gotten spit on vehemently a hundred times. Thank goodness I couldn't see the sneers. The funny part is, the amount I'm willing to shell out for a new place is actually double the amount of money I'm paying right now. I'll clue you in -- it's not small. It's enough live on for a month sans all unnecessary luxuries. And I've allowed myself to veer more than five train stops away from the city proper in terms of location.

It was a surprisingly short process though, me snagging a new place. The end came unexpectedly after a long tiring work day followed by back to back viewings of what seemed like dirty giant boxes dubbed as apartments. It was the last one on my schedule and it was pushing nine o'clock at night. I was cranky, extremely hungry and running out of patience -- the agent was late! I walked towards the apartment complex with a heavy heart as I was sure the place looked crappy inside (despite the grand exterior) or that they made a mistake on the pricing as it looked suspiciously "cheap" (at this point, the word has become entirely relative). I'm not sure what kind of fortune surrounded me last night but everything just fell into place. It was an affordable rate (no need to sell my left kidney), located in my preferred area, and the flat didn't look like a war broke out inside it. I must've made the quickest decision in my life as I found myself saying "I'll take it" before I could even blink. In this market, people looked for flats and houses with checkbooks in tow. I didn't think I would find something so quickly that I didn't dare to bring mine -- but I do know how to beg profusely. I managed to convince the agent and the owner to settle the paperwork with me today instead. So as I write this, I am now a few thousand dollars poorer, bound in this country for at least another two years, a certified suburban (in my books, at least) and a future commuter fighting her way through the rush hour throng. Despite all of the above, I at least know that I will have a roof over my head.

So, yes, the next two weeks will be filled by the familiar glow of the moonlight as I pack up boxes once again and ready myself to shift. I've had more than enough practice stuffing in the devil. Though I will only move some fifteen minutes away, it seems to be a whole new world to me. No more skyscrapers, no more brightly lit fireworks during Chinese holidays, no more noisy cars and buses all throughout the night, and no more going home for a kip during lunch time. And the next two years will be filled with new experiences that will surely be missed when it's time for me to move again.

I once told a friend that even though two years sounds like infinitude sometimes, we don't realize just how short it really is. I cannot fathom that I've been living here for three years already (I only counted the months recently and cannot get over the shock) as it only feels like it was yesterday when I dragged my luggage out of the famous Singapore international airport for the first time. In two years' time, I will be slightly younger than twenty eight years old and the number just fries my brain. Two years ago, I was barely twenty four and still trying not to get lost. Somewhere in the middle I apparently grew up and hopefully matured, and adopted this city which I call my own for as long as it's willing to have me. I have nothing to my name but a clumsy collection of experiences -- and perhaps a few dollars just enough to buy noodles for supper. That should be enough for now, no?

Grim's Keeper

PrincessLia — Sun, 07 Oct 2007 23:33:23 +0000

My experience with death is not an unfamiliar one though it has always been pretty confined and limited. I know of the sadness, the anger, the torment, and that divided decision of not knowing whether to laugh out the anguish tearing up one's internal being or to cry until tears itself go out of vogue. The gnawing sense of loss and guilt pepper the mind -- particularly when we realize that we could have spent more time with the person whilst the time and company still mattered. It has always been like that, no? That regret always comes through last. And neither can any of us say that we never saw it coming.

Crossroads

PrincessLia — Thu, 27 Sep 2007 12:50:00 +0000

In more ways than one, we have a lot to thank the internet for -- the dawn of an era! It has indeed made our lives a thousand times easier and more convenient, and at the same time, it has given birth to a multitude of ideas and tossed in more spices to our already flavorful lives. It has spurred enterprises and industries that were once only a figment of our imaginations, and it also left no rhyme or reason for us to lose touch with our pasts and our presents.

The nascent of networking tools such as Friendster and Facebook has certainly added new meaning to "keeping in touch." The million-dollar ideas were met with resounding success. These networks provide numerous ways to catch up with lost friends without having to make that awkward phone call or to keep in touch with comrades literally by lifting a single finger (to click on that mouse).

I admit that I have sold out to these fads and trends. It makes stalking all the more fun and easier -- especially for incredibly nosy people like me. However, flipping through the pages of these so-called electronic yearbooks have caused me tremendous longing to revisit certain patches of my life. As I look at the long lists of people that are somehow (allegedly) connected to me, I acquire this sad realization that people in our lives come and go like waves crashing in and out of the shores. There are people that have been confined only during certain years in my life, and once I move on to the next few years, they're as good as gone, unfortunately. They are stowed away in a little treasure box in my head that is labeled "Memories [enter year here]." And as I open new chapters in my life, more characters come flitting in and only God knows how long they will last. If it were entirely up to me, I would never wish it to be like this. I would love to simply accumulate friends and never have to lose touch with any of them.

I can almost feel bittersweet smiles playing on my face whenever I decide to take one of these trips down memory lane and revisit the people that have walked through my life at least once. Many of them have moved on with their own lives and have picked up new friends, new partners, new hobbies, new activities -- basically, they have started a life that no longer includes me just like how I started a life far away from them. But remembering the lives that we shared once upon a time provokes a yearning of sorts inside me that wants it all over again. Those days, no doubt, have been happy as we frolic about in innocence and grandeur as we anticipate what the future brings. And the future is now here. Surely we would have never believed it would end up like this if the Oracle of Delphi allowed us to take a peep into our own futures back then.

Funny, isn't it, how life can offer so many different forks in the road for us to take? As from childhood, the people that we meet are more or less from the same starting point as us, and as we go on running the marathon of life, we find ourselves going towards different finish lines. Some I cannot believe have ended up where they are and it leads me to question what we had in common back then that actually bound us together. Whilst others, I cannot help but feel a spark of jealousy because they seem genuinely happy -- the same kind of serenity and glory that I wish for myself. And others, I feel a pang of curiousity as to how it is to be them for just one day.

We carve our own roads and we meet other racers in the process -- some we stick with and some we leave at the curbs, and if we're lucky, we get to meet them again at one point later on. Several miles I have run and I still get surprised how I ended up where I am today with the various turns that I have taken. And as I retrace the roads I've once gone on, I get brought back to memories of those I was running with and I can only wish that they have all found the right roads to take. Unfortunately, the only way for us to find out whether or not we've made the right choices is when we reach the finish line.

Out of the various elements making up my intricate networks, I can count using only my ten fingers those who have stuck running with me. Of course, not all of them run side by side with me, but they all run within a comfortable distance -- near enough for me to get guidance when I'm feeling lost but far enough for me to have the proper space that I need. And for these people I exalt and thank the Lord.

It's no big secret that crossroad friends make up quite a chunk of my life especially with my constant hopping around. I am very fortunate for they always impart a little something with me during every encounter. And every single one counts. For without them, I will have no memories. Even if that's all they remain to be -- memories -- it is still enough to be thankful about. I leave the question up to fate as why they all have to be crossroad friends instead of lifelong friends. But whomever is watching from up above, I have faith that He knows what He's doing. Maybe one day I'll find out. Maybe one day, they will reappear in my life.

For now, my crossroad friends are immortalized with the aid of the Internet. And my bosom friends -- they are immortalized in my heart. (You know who you are. And you know I love you)

Rat Race

PrincessLia — Sun, 23 Sep 2007 13:33:26 +0000

Regardless of how many internal debates I've had in my head, it will always come up that though money doesn't make the world go round, it does contribute quite a bit to its push and rotation. In other words, we can convince ourselves as much as we can that being rich is overrated but we will always deduce that it sure does have its perks. In the garden of good and evil that we call earth, money is the serpent that tempts people to cross certain paths that are not meant to be crossed. At the same time, money is also the goodness that is endowed in order to go about everyday life -- and then some.

Unfortunately, money could never be the forbidden fruit as it does not grow on trees. How we wish of even the remotest possibility that it does though. Money is earned through hard work, drive and motivation though some would say that adding passion, integrity and loyalty can go a long way. We devote about one-third of our lives to garner a decent living and enslave ourselves to people that are willing to part with money in exchange of our services. Some are not so lucky and work half their lives -- and still not get enough.

With work being a significant part of our lives, it has evolved into a lifestyle or a life undertaking that has been lavishly dubbed as a career. A career has been transformed into a social indicator that determines which circle you move in and which ladder to climb. It has become a symbol of one's life and order that it progressed to become a title next to a name, a label used to be judged with, and a reputation of sorts. As kids, we have always been trained to think of future career aspects. What do you want to be when you grow up? As teen-agers, the prodding to narrow down career choices continues. What major do you wish you take in college? As young adults, the recognition that the end of the waiting line is near. Find a job that will open more doors for your career.

As full-fledged grown-ups, just how important does a career mean? Thanks to the media, the hype of having a career has gotten worse. There are television shows, books, movies, even songs, that get rolled out every single day that zero in on people whose stories revolve around what they do for a living. I can name about twenty shows about lawyers from the top of my head -- even more involving doctors. Movies feature high-flying men in suits all the time and make their worlds sound so glamorous despite the debauchery and profligacy of certain industries. One's monetary worth is tacked against his or her profession and career it seems like. By simply asking "so, what do you do?" one can jump to about a thousand conclusions about the person -- hitting at least five hundred correct ones. Through this, stereotypes are either enhanced or defied.

A job, on the other hand, is.... what? How does a job differ from a career? I never really understood. The social stigma of having a job instead of a career seems to be quite heavy. Nonetheless, both generate money that is the needed for everyday living -- a fine reason to have either one. I have heard many who say that a job is something done for the sake of obtaining a paycheck whereas a career is something more meaningful and fulfilling. Is it only I who find it funny that many a times, a career becomes a job purely because we find ourselves caring more and more about the paycheck attached to it? At least we can quit jobs when it stops being fun -- but quitting a career? When we change careers, do we also change a part of ourselves simply because of all the emotional and mental investments we have made to our previous choices? Do we lose a piece of ourselves too?

Why has the focus on gaining careers become such a huge ordeal? What's wrong with simply having jobs? Why must we only hone one particular skill instead of gaining experiences that we can learn many things from? And most importantly, why must be only choose one craft to master? What happens if we exceed our allowed timetable to think about it? Do we succumb to the consequences of a potential mistake?

People who do not fit the bill of having a career get unjustly punished by society. So what if one chooses to not have a career? Our professions do not necessarily dictate whom we are and what we can do. A partner in a law firm is not much different from a construction worker that frames houses. Both cash a check at the end of the pay period, and both need food on the table and a roof over their heads. The same goes with a college professor and a barista in a coffee shop. Or an accountant and a doctor. Or a garbage man and a telemarketer. We are whom we make ourselves to be and what we do for a living is only a speck of it. We cannot be judged by what we do because that will be similar to judging books by its covers. The world is a place that contests our survival skills and our methods of coping amid struggles. We all have different methods of surviving and coping -- as long as we all get to where we want, sometimes it is all that matters.

A job. A career. To-may-to. To-mah-to. At the end of the day, it is always about what makes us happy whilst trying to survive.

As I have said, in the garden of good and evil, money can either be the goodness that paradise brings or the serpent that brings vileness to it. Either we be content on what we have or sell ourselves to the devil for more. It's all a matter of choice. It's all up to us.

Ladies In Waiting

PrincessLia — Thu, 20 Sep 2007 03:17:56 +0000

I am one of the lucky few who were raised in a household that included my maternal grandmother. She is quite an influential figure in my life and will always adore her for what she had taught me. My Lola is the embodiment of how it is to be a true lady.

As my mother never gave up a full-time job amid giving birth to three rowdy children, we were often left in my Lola's care whilst growing up. And with me being the youngest, I was favored the most -- given the best part of the chicken, having the most sweets piled up on my bowl, minor gifts sneaked here and there, and I lapped it all up with no shame. I would often watch her daily regiment in amusement as she moved with womanly grace in everything she did. She would meticulously primp herself to beauty everyday even if she were just staying home. Her curls were always intact, carefully dyed of a natural brown color, and her lips sealed with a pink shade of lipstick and perfume daintily dabbled on her neck. As she was a skilled mistress, her clothes always fit her perfectly in styles that she knew only flattered her curves.

My Lola is also a very pious lady. She maintained a strict prayer scheduled scattered throughout the day, some of which she let me join. Every morning she would wake up at five and say her morning prayers, to be followed by the Angelus at noon, the three-o'clock habit in the afternoon, the Angelus again and then her evening prayers. When her health still permitted her, she also attended mass every morning at the crack of dawn. The way she held her rosary beads and prayer books were so fragile as if she were holding the Baby Jesus in her hands instead. The way she turned the pages so slowly and how her lips moved without sound as she read the litanies -- somehow, I found it mesmerizing. She did everything in such grace and disposition that I thought, how could God possibly deny her of her prayers?

After my nanny left at seven years old (as I was deemed to old to have one), my Lola took over in caring for me. She taught me how to bathe myself thoroughly showing me how to prepare the sponge and the basin, and she meticulously helped me every morning to get into my school uniform (not to mention drag me out of bed with great difficulty), and always inspected my final outcome from my socks all the way up to my hair band. She taught me how to be a girl.

As my grandmother was born early into the first half of last century, it is just to be expected that she is a typically conservative one. I remember having a male friend over to the house a few years ago as I needed his help to sort out my ailing computer. And upon knowing that I let him up to my room, she raged in fury that we stay in the living room where we can be in plain site. My mother simply laughed at the gesture when I informed her of it that same night and begged me to understand that my Lola is indeed from a different time. During her time, women were to serve their husbands, to keep house and to maintain her feminine dignity and integrity. My Lola having worked as a secretary in the American Airbase back during the American rule in the Philippines was already deemed quite radical.

My mother, though not as hardcore as her mother, is still quite conservative I find. She would laboriously attempt to teach my sister and I a thing or two about the kitchen and cooking whilst growing up as she would constantly chide us "How will your future mother-in-law like you if you can't even cook a chicken stew properly?" My sister and I, of course, rolling our eyes until they were practically at the back of our skulls.

Here I am now, a quarter of a century old, and not entirely sure if I passed the tests of womanhood. Though I display traits of an independent coming-of-age girl, I know deep inside that I will be unable to shake off what I learned from two of the most remarkable women in my lives. Given how the world works nowadays, I still consider myself relatively conservative in my stances. I may shame my mother for never cooking (unless desperate) and wearing non-collared shirts to church, and my Lola for continuing to bicker with the opposite sex, but I'd like to show them one day that they didn't fail me. I still hold some dignity in being a woman and the need to be respected as one -- just in my own subdued ways. I still hold in high regard the modesty and integrity, cleanliness in body and surroundings, and of course, grace in actions and movements (as much as I can, at least). As I need to be consistent with the times and the unfolding liberties presented to women, I must use my best judgment as to when it's okay to be bold and forthcoming without sacrificing my merits as a woman (and without being accused of being a feminist either!).

I may enjoy the independence that my Lola and mother didn't have when they were my age, but I would like to think that I am still bound by a moral code of ethics that come with being a lady. The term "conservative" seems to change every generation and its meaning gets lighter and lighter. I fear to know what my daughters will say of me when it's their time to whinge about their uptight mother that don't let them wear skirts with lengths within five inches of their thighs! And I do not look forward to going back to my mother to get advice as to keep said daughters from running out with the boys at age eleven wearing these skirts.

Sunday's Best

PrincessLia — Sun, 16 Sep 2007 15:22:15 +0000

Though I'm an avid promoter of academia and higher education, I would have to admit that the best lessons in life are not learned in school.

A few things that I picked up today:

- Being a family is more than sharing the same DNA with each other. It’s about working in a team.

- Friendships and relationships aren’t necessarily very different. Both require the same amount of effort to keep maintained… and both ought to be equally treated in terms of importance.

- It just takes one special someone to make you laugh and it’ll do a whole world of difference to your day.

- Saying "thank you" can sometimes go a long way without realizing it.

- Even though the breakthrough of mobile phones and the Internet has got to be the best thing since the invention of Tim Tams, I’ve got to admit that it has ruined quite a few things for us… like uninterrupted conversations, luxurious lounging times, etc. Instead of making our lives easier and things more convenient, it just gives us more excuse to work a little bit more because technology would deliver us more vacancies in our time.

- Organic and non-organic lettuce actually taste the same.

- You never know when you’ll get your second wind so hold that coffee.

- Courage and confidence are always good to possess but too much of those would just lead you to trouble. Moderation is always key. Never swallow more than what you can chew (regardless of precedent).

- It’s best to usually work in worst case scenarios. Although hoping for the best doesn't hurt.

- Always under-promise and over-deliver.

It was indeed a long Sunday today...

Learning Curves

PrincessLia — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 12:46:18 +0000

The most beautiful person that I have ever laid my eyes on worked in this tea shop that my brother and I frequented on lazy autumn Sunday afternoons several years ago. Her hair strands fell into dark curls and framed her fair face. And she spoke in a rhythm that only hummingbirds could replicate. Her eyes were enchanting, almost alluring with its enigmatic pull. I don't know what it is about her that I found so blissfully grand as she is probably just as common as I and the next girl. My brother would often tease me that I had a girl-crush on her though he fully knows my wild attraction for the male species. Beauty has no gender, I retorted.

Growing up, I have always been just a little too something -- a little too tall, a little too pale, a little too fat, a little too ungraceful, a little too awkward. I never knew how to place myself because I was always just a little too much. I never thought of myself as pretty or beautiful as those words only belonged to the thin, slender and elegant. And I always had short hair. It would get snipped the minute the length touched my chin. I somehow acquired the idea that only those girls with long hair could be called beautiful and deserved happy endings. As a matter of fact, all the princesses and damsels in fairytales had long hair. This was how I preferred Snow White over the others. She had short black hair and not ostensibly beautiful; nonetheless ended up with Prince Charming. Maybe, just maybe, the norm could be broken.

I bloomed, as they say, later on in life. Perhaps a tad too late, because I didn't know what to do with myself. My hair grew for the first time as I needed something to protect my neck from the biting Bostonian winters. I couldn't afford the regular maintenance of a bob so I had to learn to like my long hair. I shed the baby fat due to the absence of a regular meal structure, and I got rid of the acne plaguing my skin, many thanks to advanced medicine. Braces came off and the insides of my mouth boasted of a perfect set of teeth capped with porcelain. I slowly managed my independence, grew a spine and all of a sudden, owned my own opinions. Well, I always have but this time, I actually feel no reluctance in letting them known. For a long time, I was a work under progress.

I knew when I was growing up that I wasn't a pretty face and though I had curves, they weren't the right ones. I banked on my intellect, my caustic personality and my wit to charm people. I thought that maybe, if I continued to be funny, I wouldn't have to worry about people not liking me. After all, didn't everyone love laughing? The only catch is that people would have to get to know me first before they can decide whether they liked me or not. I operated like this for many years.

Springtime in my life finally came through when I noticed for the first time that a guy was sizing me up. I was in a restaurant with my friends when I saw him looking over. I looked behind me to make sure he wasn't looking at anyone else. I felt terribly self-conscious and it's almost shameful that I didn't know what to do. I did what I thought best, absolutely nothing. The butterflies in the stomach stayed though and I felt a warm glow on my cheeks. So this was how it must feel being on the other side of the fence. It felt bloody great.

The next few years flew by and I had to learn to take care of myself -- I was a woman now (and how odd it felt to think that). I looked to my older sister and other friends to learn the ropes. Make-up, hair, skin care, perfumes, nails, any more? I found the regiment quite exhausting but I was told that was unfortunately necessary. And I obliged. I thought, this must be how insecurities are born.

However, I slowly realized that I didn't like having to fuss over physical beauty. Exhausting, isn't it? For some people, it came easier than others. I was one of those others. My hair never looked endearingly tousled when I wake up in the morning, my skin was never perfect enough for me to walk out my door without make-up, and my nails always looked like claws without a manicure. Why couldn't being funny and clever be enough? Why couldn't being an enjoyable companion do the trick? And why did we all have to feel the need to get people's validations that we are indeed attractive enough to be seen with them?

I decided that I liked it more that people were drawn to me because of how I am rather than how I looked. That gave me a better sense of affirmation that I'm on the right track. I focused more on being myself than creating an intricate exterior. I wanted to believe that I had enough inner radiance to take care of the front. Admittedly, I still don't know if I do up until this day, but my change in outlook increased my confidence and boosted my self-esteem. I realized which parts in life essentially mattered -- and which of them are the most beautiful. My sister's words always resonated in my head, "If you think you're beautiful, other people will think so as well." Mind over matter.

Nobody isn't perfect and life isn't ideal, no big secrets right there. But instead of focusing on making things perfect, it may be worth our whiles to actually look at the imperfections and see how they actually make us more perfect than we think. And looking closely, we will see that we are all masterpieces of unique artworks and designs.

To that lady whom I think is of pure beauty, I thank you for making me realize that it's possible to be gorgeous wearing an apron, with disheveled hair, and smudged mascara. And that true beauty cannot be bought over the counters (though they help).

Cabin Fever

PrincessLia — Wed, 05 Sep 2007 03:48:07 +0000

As much as I love travelling, the one thing I hate the most is the transporting process -- ie. the airplane ride. So there I was, recently boarded the Boeing 747 that will fly me from the indelible London Heathrow airport to my layover in the Bangkok airport. As I walked down the crowded aisle, I was praying hard that the empty space next to the cranky nine-month old infant a couple of seats away and the chatty couple seated right next to it wasn't mine. Unfortunately, it was unmistakably the label adorned up top had the same 37C embossed on my boarding pass. Well, at least I got my aisle seat.

Just One Of Those Days

PrincessLia — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 15:34:33 +0000

Some days I just feel like being random -- and speak in tidbits instead of coherent sentences. I hate these days when I'm right smacked at the bottom of the wheel.

I. Keep Moving

Everyone has bad days right? And every once in a while we get slammed.

Right?

Today was a pothole down my road... more like a giant manhole infested with maggots the size of big macs. I don't know why I constantly let trivial things get to me like the pettiness of people, for instance. I know I'm entirely above that but why does it still bother me? Why do I let it bother me?

I know better than to trust people. It's something that I've picked up along the way -- mostly from smart people who give me sound advice. It makes sense; it's the wise thing to do. Sometimes I slip though. I feel that I'm naturally trusting... or perhaps just too naive. There are atypically atrocious people crawling the earth. And it's beyond me why I insist on getting burnt multiple times.

Another thing that bothers me is the obscene amount of self-absorbent people out there. When did the vexed ship from Planet Selfish sail over to Earth to bring all these immigrants in? And why do they procreate in exponential rates?

People who are true and sincere listeners are a rare commodity. But when I seemingly find someone like that, I get scared... I get scared that they would think I'm self-absorbent. I don't like being the epitome of my own worst enemy.

Sadly, I think it's getting there. I'm becoming my own worst enemy. I need to listen to myself more.

Before, during my hey days (or so-called ones), when I was upset I would reach for a cigarette and a glass of soda+vodka. I would tell myself that it'll make me feel better. And it did. The only problem was, once my lungs could no longer tolerate the killer smoke, the problems come back. It's like they were put on hold while I finished taking in my toxins and then would come back to bite me even harder in the behind. After I flick the last butt, I realize that I'm back to square one... again.

II. Need...More...Sleep...

Sometimes it feels like trudging through mud and glue. So exhausting -- both physically and mentally. As as we get older, it seems like responsibilities and obligations just keep on piling up. Never running out of things to do. I pray that life won't lose its meaning... and for everyone I care about to never stray. It's only at the end that you realize what is most important. Through the everyday dealings, they seem rather trivial -- often we take for granted the presence of our reasons for living.

Every moment that I get where I don't have to deal with worldly things, I just wish to sleep. If only I can sleep forever and never have to open my eyes again. I feel drained, I feel tired. And I especially feel lost. And scared. What if the feelings of dread never stop???

I like the musical laughters that I hear and the smiling eyes that I see. It keeps me grounded... it gives me hope. Perhaps at the end of this long tunnel, there is a light after all. It's just something we all have to go through. But why? What for? Is the light worth seeing and working hard towards?

Having to hurt some people on your way over, will they heal? Will they forgive? Will they understand? And getting hurt by the people most important to you... they're just going through the tunnel as well. You can't blame them now, can you?

I'm tired. I just want to sleep. Because in my dreams, there are no tunnels. All just light.

III. Doh!

I have learned that there are things that are better left unknown. I know someone who always told me: "Remember in the play Oedipus? When the chorus would always go 'You don't want to know' over and over? Well, most of the time, they have a point."

Stupid chorus. Stupid Oedipus. Stupid me!

Ignorance is bliss -- I semi-agree with this... but the left part of my brain knows that this is not good enough for me. Why must I have the need to know everything? Why do I always need to know what the score is?

To get ahead of the game... that's why.

Ten For Starters

PrincessLia — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 15:58:22 +0000

If I do become a grandma one day, I will probably not have a trust fund for any of my grandchildren. For starters, I will never win the lottery because I am never bothered to buy a ticket. And secondly, if I do have that much money to burn, rest assured, I will find a way to spend every nickel of it. Nonetheless, I do have some nuggets of wisdom that I would like to share with them. And I will counter their accusatory thoughts of being a cheap grandma by saying that I wish someone told me these things earlier on in my life -- as it would have made a world of difference.

Ten things I wish I learned a long time ago:

1) Weight and dress sizes are just numbers, just like age

2) When it really hurts, it's okay to cry -- even in public

3) Moisturize every night before going to bed

4) To avoid road rage, imagine that it's Grandpa driving the car in front of me

5) Never take what is not mine -- not matter how badly I want it

6) Clean up after my own mess and that it doesn't kill to say "I'm sorry"

7) Use a fountain pen to instantly make my penmanship look better

8) There is no better time than the present

9) Try first before complaining

10) Waking up early on Saturdays make the weekend seem much longer

[ 11) It might not hurt to buy a lottery ticket from time to time ]

The Mightiest Sword

PrincessLia — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 07:15:38 +0000

Being the bigger person and turning the other cheek are ideologies that are easier said than done. Surely the respect that goes with it stems from Robert Frost's popular line about taking the road less traveled by. It is no big secret that forgiving others is truly a divine and supernhuman thing to do given the mere difficulty in bringing ourselves to do it. Vengeance and redemption seem to be more satisfactory and fulfilling alternatives at the height of passion in most cases.

In order for forgiveness to actually take place, at least one party must be able to understand the concept of letting go. This is made more arduous if stronger emotions get in the way -- such as love, respect, anger and hatred. These are usually coupled by pride and self-preservation. It truly does take a big person to take the high road. The ability to forgive is reserved for those people who possess qualities which show a certain degree of intelligence and maturity. If forgiveness is something excessively easy to part with, Lucifer will probably not have half as many of his crew down there in Abaddon.

In A Material World

PrincessLia — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:48:07 +0000

We all work, or have at least worked once in our lives, for a variety of reasons -- some more profound than others. However, it would be safe to say that most of us work for that paycheck that we receive during the month-end period, no? Otherwise, congratulations on being passionate and noble. We need more people like you in this world.

Material wealth and money have become the convoluted indicator of success in our times. This stems from the human mentality of wanting more than what we really need to survive. It is the desire and the yearning for more. We like having the capacity to earn more so that we may be able to own whatever we fancy -- regardless of whether or not we need it. It's not wrong to want pretty things, is it? And neither is it wrong to want more, right?

Ch-ch-ch-changes

PrincessLia — Mon, 06 Aug 2007 02:32:25 +0000

Singapore was recently hit by a tragedy called a booming real estate market and unfortunately for most people (read: those who don't own property), it's here to stay for quite a while. The rented apartments that people never used to bat an eyelash on have suddenly become hot property and everyone's clamoring for it. It's become a seller's market -- and there is definitely no mistaking who the kings and queens are. Because of this phenomenon, people who were looking to upgrade to a nicer apartment have suddenly changed their gears and are now fighting to keep their current apartments. What could have paid for a nice two-bedroom apartment in a skyrise building within walking distance to the city central shopping malls can now pay for a two-bedroom apartment within arm's length of Malaysia -- if you're lucky.

Home Sweet Nothings

PrincessLia — Sat, 28 Jul 2007 14:34:53 +0000

One night earlier in the week, I agreed to meet up with a friend-by-association to have dinner of Belgian mussels, racks of lamb, stoemp and fruit beers. It was one of those polite courtesy dinners that came as a result of the "we need to get together and catch up" line -- those that we always say but rarely mean. The dinner was set a good week prior and I had doubts as to how long we can keep a conversation going without hitting any brick walls of awkwardness. I have never hung out with her without my sister present, who happens to be our binding glue. As a matter of fact, she's my sister's really good friend. And because I am my sister's sister, by association, that makes me her very good friend too. Second helpings of logic, anyone?

"See? I think that you and I are more alike than me and your sister is," she said with a flourish as she took a dainty sip of her beer.

I almost choked on the pesto-covered mussel that was trying to make its way down my esophagus. "Excuse me?" I asked. "How did you derive that conclusion?"

"Because even though your sister is seemingly the stronger one being the oldest one in the family, she actually is quite emotional and harbors attachments to certain things and people," she explained. "And we're not like that. We're very independent and free from those."

I still don't get it though.

She must have seen the confused look in my eyes because she prodded on. "Like, for instance, you're the type of person who would consider the place you're currently living in as home," she retorted. "Most people only consider the place where they were born or grew up in as home even though they're living somewhere else. And haven't gone 'home' in a while."

My god, she sussed this out of me within half an hour? "Really?" I asked cautiously. "What makes you think that?"

"Simple," she answered helping herself to the fries. "You referred to your house in Manila as your 'parents' house' instead of just 'home.' Why? Where is home for you?"

Good question. I don't know. And neither did I catch myself referring to my parents' house as my parents' house. Could it be one of those psychological mumbo-jumbos about the subconscious and all?

My friend seemed to have hit home within a span of that minute. And she has totally caught me off guard because admittedly, I have never gotten around to thinking about it. Where is home indeed? Better yet, when did home stop being home for me?

It would already have been a decade next year since I moved out of our house when I was seventeen. I cannot imagine where time has gone to. All I know is that within that decade (well, almost), I may have moved at least ten times. Because I moved/move a lot, I have learned to live with minimal things. Not the bare minimum, mind you, just minimal. The idea of packing up boxes and boxes of rubbish brings tears to my eyes not because of emotional and sentimental reasons, but because the idea is just so tiring and exhausting. The more I moved, the more I learned about possessing just the essential stuff -- and having to let go of the unnecessary baggage. After all, it isn't all the time that there will be someone to help you with your baggages -- and I meant that both literally and figuratively. Pun intended!

I may be the typical girl having too much make-up, too many shoes and an excessive amount of clothes in my possession, but I assure you that when push comes to shove, I can be out of this apartment within two hours carrying everything that is important for me to live on and actually survive on. Sure, I have the token heirlooms, jewelry pieces and critical documents that I can't afford to lose, but other than that, I can leave everything behind.

I learned that though not everything is replaceable, there are many things that are. And we agonize so much about the complications that we have in our lives when in truth, zoom out to see the bigger picture, and it's actually very simple. If you want something to happen, do it whilst only taking what you need. Anything in excess will just kill the journey because it will gobble up extra energy and resources. When you get there, you can always build your home all over again. Until the next one comes along, that is. Then you do everything all over again -- maybe with a little bit more to bring, maybe less. It depends. Who knows, one day you may just hit your final destination where you can build your home for one last time.

I know I will always have a home at my parents' house. However, I could no longer call it my home because I'm not there often enough to dress the place with my soul. It was my first home and it will always serve as my launching pad for my subsequent homes. And wherever I decide to build my current home at, I will always remember my first home because I will always take a piece of it with me. My alarm clock has traveled the world with me since I purchased it when I was eleven. It has woken me up every morning for fifteen years. It has stood on numerous bedside tables and it has survived many seasons. My home is where that alarm clock is.

"Ohmygod," my friend exclaimed. "It's already ten-thirty! I think I have to go, I promised the maid I'd be home by ten."

Honestly, where does time go when I'm not looking?

"I had fun though," she smiled. "We really should do this more often."

"I know. We need to get together again and catch up," I said.

And this time, I meant it.

Raising Little Orphan Annie

PrincessLia — Wed, 25 Jul 2007 13:44:46 +0000

Adoption used to be this big hush-hush thing where I grew up -- it's like this big secret that no one was supposed to know or else it would be a one-way ticket to social Siberia. Divulging such a secret is likened to opening up Pandora's box with a vengeance. I remember how school children would use the term with malice to take the mick out of someone else. The term "adopted" back then represented someone who was vastly different, or simply, someone who did not belong. We have all been called names at least once in our lives. And no matter how fancy or rotten they were, they all hurt either way...

Interview With Vampires

PrincessLia — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 14:29:43 +0000

Unfortunately for all of us, there are numerous necessarily evils that we have to encounter in our lifetimes. And through these usually surfaces sheer idiocy and monumental stupidities. Nonetheless, there is nothing that can be done but keep our eyes closed and go through with it.

Interviews -- they are the bane of my existence. Although I understand why the concept of interviews came to be, I have difficulty accepting the fact that it has become an annoying, insincere and utterly fake protocol. So much so that I can't help but wonder how it has evolved into a process not far from initiation and pledging. I would think that the idea of an interview is to get to know a potential employee. Plain and simple. Almost like an interesting and engaging conversation. You know, get a feel of his or her personality, skills, capabilities and such.

But no. As a matter of fact, I more or less equate interviews nowadays into a tedious and rigorous process that will simply drain the life out of you. I never understood the need to prolong interviews to as much as eight to ten phases -- only to find out that you weren't good enough on the ninth. Obviously, interviews can be stretched out to a hundred phases and one will still be unable to make certain that the candidate is the perfect one. After all, it takes a lifetime to get to know oneself; moreso a complete stranger who just wants an honest job with a paycheck attached to it every month.

And then there are those tests. Admittedly, there are some professions and industries where tests are necessary and I accept that. I can understand why aspiring journalists need to show samples of their work or take a writing test. Or perhaps why engineers need to get certified and also why lawyers need to pass the bar. However, I do not quite agree with asking an administrative assistant to take a math test involving algebraic and trigonometric problems. Or asking a consultant to estimate how many ping pong balls can fit in a Boeing 747. Or -- get this -- asking an entry level analyst which famous people he or she would take during a scavenger hunt. And those cheesy brainteasers -- seriously... why?

So if I happen to know why the person only takes the lift up the twentieth floor even though he really lives on the twenty-fourth floor, that makes me a better fit for a job?

I once had a job interview where I was asked to estimate how many flights there are all over the world on a daily basis. As I tried keeping my eyeballs from popping out of their sockets, I was silently shitting myself in my seat. I mean, where in the world do I start? Whatever happened to those overplayed questions where they ask you to name three strengths and three weaknesses?

"How about I look it up online?" I asked cheekily knowing full well that I have probably bombed the interview already anyway.

"But that's not the point of the exercise," my interviewer countered.

"Oh I know," I said. "I know you just want to know how my brain works. And trust me, it works that's why I'm asking you if I can just look it up online. I'm smart, I know how to make things easier."

He sighed. "Fine, let's try another one," he said clearly not impressed. "Can you estimate the world's population in a thousand years?"

"What do you care? We'll all be dead."

Needless to say, I didn't get the gleaming job in the prestigious firm. But hell, if I have to go through nonsense like that to prove myself worthy, then no thanks. Having the talent for knowing useless things will not grant me a better career. These days, it seems that the more bull we know, the better chance we stand to bagging our dream jobs.

On a more serious note, interviews truly are an important portion of recruiting and finding a job. It's the only real way to get to know someone and to gauge whether he or she can do the job. And naturally, we put our best feet forward when being interviewed. The only real way to find out if a person truly is a good fit is to give him or her the job -- and hope for the best. We win some, we lose some. Recruiting employees is a massive trial and error feat.

However, the creation of a department dedicated to recruitment has decided to make themselves feel important by asking applicants to go through hoops just to clinch an interview. Otherwise, they send an uber-impersonal email or letter lying about how genuinely sorry they are for not being able to grant us an interview. I cannot believe there is an industry solely devoted to this cause.

Looking for a full-time job is a full-time job in itself. It is one that is most depressing and is simply complete torture. Going through interviews is the validation of our crushed self-esteems. I can imagine how much better it would be to roll around on rock salt after rubbing our bodies with sandpaper. Bagging that one job is the sweetest victory -- and an added bonus if we actually don't mind doing what it entails.

At the end of the day, aren't we all just prostitutes that accept whomever takes us as long as they are willing to pay us? We go where the most money is.

Stealing Magnolias

PrincessLia — Sun, 15 Jul 2007 08:34:36 +0000

Just like everyone out there, I have a closet that houses all the skeletons I've been hiding all my life. The collection of bones have accumulated over the years as I hopped from one experience to another. From the outside, however, it looks like a gorgeous antique closet -- adorned with carvings of flowers and angels -- that contains precious jewels, family heirlooms, grand dresses and glass slippers. One of those things that people pay top dollar for at Sotheby's.

I have seemingly led a blemish-free life that therapists hate as my subconscious neither holds any traumatic ordeals or dysfunctional meanderings. I hate to say it but my parents did their jobs pretty damn well raising me -- hence, making it difficult for me to put blame on them for any of my psychological paroxysms. Just picture Meredith Grey, just as damaged and broken, without much excuse for being damaged and broken. And minus 95% of the whining.

When I was uprooted from my cushy life back at seventeen years old, my excitement was uncontainable. New life, new environment, new country, new friends -- and of course, independence! Well, not exactly as my parents were still financially supporting me 100%, but at least more independence that I got compared to living under the same roof as them. I realized how sheltered I was. This both scared and delighted me. I was thrown in a world where I was about to discover many new things.

Just like everyone, I had been foolish and I had been smart. After all, it was college. That's my excuse. I followed the herd. I drank and got drunk, I had cold pizza and swigs of vodka for weekend brunch (coffee and cigarettes for the weekday ones), I bought more clothes to make up for the fact that I hadn't done my laundry in weeks, I blew all my hard-earned cash on clubbing and going out, I *ahem* dabbled with things I knew I shouldn't be touching, and I incurred excessive credit card debts. Nothing especially out of the ordinary, but it was all new to me. However, the angel perenially sitting on my right shoulder kept me afloat -- with constant reminders on why I was there in the first place. Though admittedly, I did horrendous things, I still made sure I still maintained top grades, kept myself out of jail and made sure I graduated. It was the least I can do to thank my parents, right?

There was one instance, however, that brought my fast pace to a skidding halt. This time, my moral values came screaming at me -- and truly tested me for the first time. I was with a friend at that time. We just finished taking a horrible final in accounting and we felt we deserved a treat. We had ice cream and went shopping.

"It's getting cold, I really need a new muffler. My old one is already moldy and I could no longer see the colors in its original shade," I commented as I browsed around scarves, beanies, mufflers and mittens.

She picked up one of the mufflers and examined it. "Hey," she said. "This one's not too bad. It actually looks pretty warm." She tied it around her neck as if to prove it.

"Yeah," I said. "You should get it."

"Yeah, I should," she agreed.

"How much is it?"

Before I could get an answer from her, she was already out of the store -- with the muffler still around her neck! I stood there agape; my brain still trying to process what just happened there. I mean, she was supposedly my friend. How long has she been doing this? And when were the other times that she did this? If she got caught, I could go down with her. All these questions flooded me.

"I got you one as well!" she said as she triumphantly showed a second muffler hiding under the first one she lifted.

I took it, said thanks, and wrapped it around my neck. She was right, it was mighty warm. That was six years ago and I still have that muffler inside my trunk that has all my winter clothing. I still ask myself why I didn't say anything and why I didn't do anything about it. It wasn't the first time it happened, neither was it the last. And I don't know why I tolerated it.

I may have done so many ridiculous things in my life but I do have my boundaries. I'm not angel and I've never been. There are things I can let go -- whether easily or with difficulty, I can still let it slide -- but there are things I ought not tolerate. And going against the law is on top of my list. I have no reason to rebel and neither have I got a good reason to disregard my intelligence. I know what's right from wrong and though ethics can cause me to stray over a gray area once in a while, I find no reason to put so much at risk for a measly muffler (or anything, for that matter). If only fate decided to take the red pill on me that day, I would have lost everything -- my stellar scholastic and academic career, my family's trust, my independence, my life basically, plus I would be denied of a great future. All for a muffler? Shoplifting is still a crime and though I didn't pull the deed myself, there was no way I could explicitly prove that I wasn't an accomplice. If I were to go to jail for a crime, I'd make sure it was worth it like embezzling billions of dollars to a Cayman Islands secret bank account. Not a ruddy muffler!

I learned a lot from that episode. The gods were definitely looking down on me kindly that day as they gave me a sobering premonition instead of a rude awakening. I have toned down the risks that I take as a result of growing up and learning from my mistakes though I don't regret making any of them. My gut feeling has become my best friend especially now that I am continuously faced with new experiences that I've never encountered before. And I have become pickier with whom I allow myself to be surrounded with. Sure, I've made foolish choices before as to whom I let influence my life, but admittedly, they did show me another world that I know for sure I didn't want to be a part of. It's always a case of "the moon is rounder in another continent" but now that I've seen the other side, I'd like to stick with this one, thankyouverymuch. We do make our fair share of mistakes and there's nothing wrong with that as long as we know they were mistakes. And that they remain in the past.

As for friends, it is our choice whether or not we bite the bullet and get in trouble with our friends. However, true friends don't put their friends in a dangerous position without giving them a choice. It is, indeed, a good test to find out who our friends really are but it isn't a decision for us to make for them.

Big mistakes stem from small mistakes. And good friends keep you from those.

Candy Conversations

PrincessLia — Wed, 11 Jul 2007 14:04:46 +0000

"It's getting late," he said. "Shouldn't you be going to bed?"

As if on cue, I let out a yawn. I tried stifling it to despairing failure. "I guess," I conceded. "My cell phone battery's running out as well. I think it needs to go to sleep as well."

He laughed lightly. "All right then, Princess," he said. "Have yourself a good night's sleep. I'll call you again tomorrow."

In bed, I shifted my body to the right as my left side has completely lost feeling.

"Okay, Mr Stingy Smiles," I retorted.

I heard him smile over the phone.

"Why do you insist that you never smile?" I asked curiously.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was never really the smiling type."

"So you mean to tell me that during this whole conversation we had, you never smiled once?"

Sweet bejeezus! My sides almost split open from laughing so hard over the past couple of hours.

"A few times -- " he answered.

"Hey, not a bad start, right?"

"A few times I may have stopped smiling."

Crawl-Out Clause

PrincessLia — Sat, 07 Jul 2007 11:37:42 +0000

A friend attending law school once told me that because divorce is still considered illegal in the Philippines, sometimes lawyers would deliberately put certain weaknesses and kinks on marriage documents as a way to break out of it legally in the future. Hearing this disturbed me beyond belief. Sure, it's a practical oversight and can be considered smart in a twisted way, but it was like putting a hex on marriage and a couple's togetherness.

Don't get me wrong, I have long ago stowed away my rose-colored glasses behind my closet, almost reaching Narnia. It has paved the way for my cynical evolution. However, I still have great respect for the institution of marriage. I am aware of the fact that in this day and age, marriage has somehow been reduced down to a contract that society unconsciously demands from us -- despite loud and rambunctious protests against it. We all don't have to think like that, do we?

I am aware of most compelling issues that often result to -- no, must result to -- divorce such as domestic violence, child molestation, criminal offenses and such. I absolutely approve of breaking down a family or a marriage if the above-mentioned are concerned as it is obviously for the best. It continuously amazes me how the world can house such sick sad bastards sometimes. However, I still frown upon the concept of divorce because it has evolved into something that people take for granted. Instead of using it as a last resort, it has become a clause that allows one to get out of a binding contract in the drop of a hat -- albeit a very expensive loophole at times.

I shall not even touch on the ludicrous lifestyles of the rich and famous as surely, they have single-handedly created the multibillion dollar industry that divorce lawyers swim in. The phenomenon has trickled down to next-door families and couples who seemingly have the average-joe life that you and I live. I still remember back when I was growing up when kids come from "broken families" instead of the newly coined "single-parent families." Getting a divorce was once the curse that casts you out of the loop straight into the arms of the untouchables. Now, it has become a habit, almost fashionable. It has become as common and expected as getting married.

From what I have learned, when one gets married, there is no turning back. After all, it is meant to be forever (resisting to say "no shit, sherlock" right now). There is no such thing as a trial marriage. Getting to know each other is usually part of the whole dating and relationship process -- thus giving way to the idea of waiting a while before getting married until one is definitely sure. More often than not, divorce is waiting at the other end of the tunnel when one marries for the wrong reasons. Also, some people use divorce as leverage and event as a threat to the other person.

Coming from a society where divorce is still taboo, I do find that the people in it tend to work on their ailing marriages a little bit more. It probably also stems from a culture filled with close family ties, and the repeated reminder of the importance of face value. The problem no longer becomes exclusive to the husband and wife because of the rest of the (extended) family gets involved.

Walking over to the side of the fence, this can also be quite harmful. Not getting out of a marriage because "it's the right thing to do" despite the suffering and misery can take a toll on one's health and self-esteem. Sometimes, we need to know when to throw in the towel because it not only affects us, but also the people around us. This is where Oprah's right in saying that we must love ourselves first before we love other people. For instance, some marriages get through cheating spouses -- but if it's chronically done and will obviously not end, what is the point of staying? Staying married but living different lives is as good as having no marriage anymore, methinks. There's a difference between working on the marriage and just letting it run.

I used to be 100% against divorce because of my ultimate respect for the institution of marriage. I've always thought that marriage was the end all and be all of things, and that no matter what, we're stuck with it that's why decisions have to be made wisely. It still is true to a certain extent, but there really is no way to know everything without running the course of life, is there? People and circumstances change -- something beyond our control. However, with the help of experience and maturity, I have grown to accept divorce as part of the survival process. It is necessary in order to gain access to a second chance. I only disagree with using divorce as a means to repossess life a third, fourth, fifth or sixth (maybe more) time. Surely, everyone makes mistakes, but we need to learn at some point. Someone told me before that making the same mistake twice is stupidity. Touche!

I don't judge people who have resorted to divorce -- no, not at all. If any, my respect and sympathy goes out to them because it must be one of the most difficult decisions they had to make. That's what it should be. It ought to remain being a tough decision to make. It should never be an option that is within arm's length. Otherwise, the world will be one big Melrose Place production where we just swap spouses and continue pouring money into divorce lawyers' banks. And marriage? It will just be another excuse to throw a party...

Hey Spanky!

PrincessLia — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 01:50:50 +0000

I grew up in a culture and society where spanking is a form of discipline rather than violence. I was spanked god knows how many times and admittedly, it did me a world of good. My parents never hit me -- now that's different. They spanked me when I was seriously asking for it. I was the type of kid who always tried to push the limits seeing how much I can get away with. Hardly angelic, I know.

We always had to cope with different kinds of pressure and stress as children. Mine, unfortunately, centered on grades and academics. My parents believed in working hard, doing well in school and getting distinctions. I never understood it though -- not until now. If my parents didn't push me towards that direction -- with spanking or not -- I wouldn't be where I am today. They instilled high standards in us, their children, and we accepted nothing less. Sure, there were a lot of disappointments growing up because of these things but c'est la vie, no?

I'm very sure that there are numerous people out there who will disagree with me regarding this. I have met parents who believe in "talking sense" to their children even at a young age. Perhaps I need to be a parent first before I fathom this but at this point, I couldn't help but wonder -- how do you talk sense into a two-year-old?

One thing that really grates me are those parents who couldn't discipline their children in public. Once I was out in the mall doing my obligatory Christmas shopping, and there was a kid, three-years-old at most, on the floor kicking and screaming bloody murder. It was bad enough that I had to work over time that day, then I had to muscle in to do my holiday shopping with the crowd, and now there's this brat who is creating so much chaos in the middle of the floor. Just what I needed. I looked around to see where her mum was. And when I spotted her, she was chuckling at the sight of her daughter saying "Isn't she cute?"

Hel-lo?!?!

Thankfully, an equally distressed lady who seem to be not enjoying the scene told the highly inconsiderate mother that her kid was disturbing the shoppers. The mother gave her a look and proceeded to fetch her banshee-child. I kid you not, the child attacked her! The mother was so taken aback and didn't know what to do. Her daughter left a horrible gash on her neck and continued to wail -- this time at a much higher pitch. For a while there, I felt instantly bad for the mother because she looked so helpless.

I'm sorry, but how in the world can one talk sense into someone like that? That little girl seriously deserved either a spanking or a tweak in the ear. I would never have pulled something like that as a kid -- just imagining what my mother could have done to me! In fairness though, my mother never spanked or pinched me in public. There was always that dreaded car ride back home where I know I did something wrong and I was going to pay high prices for it. In hindsight, probably the funniest thing my parents ever did to us as punishment was to kneel on rock salt for an hour with heavy encyclopedias on each hand whilst they were outstretched. Of course, I didn't find it funny back then -- but I tell you, whatever I did to deserve that, I sure as hell never did it again!

Just the other day, a colleague of mine was regaling his weekend to me. He adores his kids, and indeed he had two of the cutest little girls I've ever seen. Incidentally, his older daughter is at that cheeky age where she is big into experimenting. In the process, she broke a vase that she was told thousands of time to watch. My colleague said, "Well, I had no choice but to spank her. And I did it in front of my other daughter so she'd learn from it too." He sounded so pained when he said he had to perform the deed.

My parents always told us back then that they only spank us because they love us. It sounded like outright bullshit at the time, but I do see the bigger picture now. My parents have always wanted the best for us and they want us to be the best people that we can be. They gave us absolutely everything -- to the point where we could have easily grown up as spoiled brats. They disciplined us in order to keep our feet on the ground. See, my parents always knew which buttons to push. After a certain age where it's no longer appropriate to spank us, she took away our luxuries. Millions of times I got grounded from the phone, from television, from seeing my friends -- man, were those terribly humbling.

To each their own, is what I always say. I believe in spanking -- not hurting and not hitting -- as a form of discipline. And I probably will do the same to my kids too. But who am I to say as I still am not in that situation? Well, I don't know but I think I have a pretty good idea.

Skinpad

PrincessLia — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 12:44:51 +0000

Some years ago when I was still living in Boston, my brother and I would meet up every Sunday to spend time together -- he picks me up from my dorm, we go to church, and we have lunch. Afternoon activities were highly dependent on the weather. The temperature outside is directly proportional to the probability of us staying outdoors.

It was summer -- one of those rare days when the weather's just right. Boston is the type of city where you can experience four seasons within one day. Whacked, I know, but it's the absolute truth. My brother and I were strolling down the end of Newbury St and we saw a tattoo parlor. I don't recall seeing it before, but hey, it happened to be there during that day. My brother nodded towards the place and said, "You want to check it out?"

A lovely Indian lady was running the store; she was maybe fifty-ish. She had quite a team of talented tattoo artists with their arms boasting of numerous artworks. I was looking at the array of designs and patterns when she made her way towards me. "You have very beautiful skin," she said. "Would you want some art on it?"

"Oh, no. I'm not really one for pain," I said a bit too quickly. It was true, too!

She took my hand and led me to another part of the room. There, she pulled out a collection of more designs. "These," she said. "These are temporary ones. Henna tattoos, that's what they are. And I promise, they won't hurt." She smiled softly at me.

My brother appeared behind me and looked over my shoulder. "Oh, I've always wanted to get one of those!" he exclaimed. "Come on, come on, let's get them!"

Here's my thing about body art. What's the point of having them when no one's going to see them? I asked the lovely Indian lady to custom-make a pattern that would look good on the back of my hand. My brother, on the other hand, opted to go for the conventional tattoo on his arm where the sleeves of his short fall off.

I was madly pleased with how it turned out. I left the ink to dry for several hours and squeezed enough lemons to rob a little girl off her lemonade stand on it. It was gorgeous. For the next week or so, I was the superstar. Everyone greeted it with praises and "ooohs" and "aaahs." Even my Chemistry professor loved it -- amid me trying to measure some iron fillings to put in a beaker.

One night as I was brushing my teeth, I caught sight of my hand in the mirror. For some reason, it no longer attracted me, it no longer looked good to me. I spit out the rest of the foamy toothpaste and decidedly starting rubbing the back of my hand under running water. It wasn't coming off! I poured some liquid soap on it, some shampoo, rubbing alcohol -- anything I can get my hands on. I even tried using laundry detergent! It still wouldn't come off. It faded a bit but it was nothing compared to the redness of my skin. It looked like I shoved my hand in a pre-heated oven and let it bake for half an hour. I was so infuriated! However, I eventually conceded defeat and allowed my tattoo to fade with time. It took another two more weeks before it completely disappeared.

That was when I realized that getting a real tattoo would probably be a big mistake. It hurts -- and it's permanent!

I have nothing against commitment. As a matter of fact, I quite believe in it. Commitment is essential in relationships, in raising a family, in establishing a career and forming friendships. However, commitment to certain things frighten me. I hate the idea of getting pinned down and not being able to do anything about it. Though we have technology to thank as tattoos can now be erased, there's a part of you that knows it will always be there though it may not be visible to the naked eye. Getting one is a decision that I have to deal with for the rest of my life. Who am I to know that I would still enjoy having a drawing of a purple fairy on my hip when I'm seventy years old? And how will I deal if my career takes on a path where tattoos are simply unacceptable?

I also have reservations regarding long contracts. The idea of a mortgage, for instance, is pretty intense. Though half the world has one, it doesn't stop me from feeling adversely towards it. I'm hoping that it has got something to do with my age and the place where I am in my life, but to be locked down in a series of payments for thirty years? I mean, that's as good as chaining myself to the lamp post near City Hall. Furthermore, I also shun long term investments -- those kinds where you have to trust a financial institution that it wouldn't run off with your money for a certain amount of time. What if I need the money all of a sudden and I can't take it out (without paying a hefty fee)? What if I have to leave the country and settle somewhere else? How do I get my money to follow me without the hassle?

Perhaps it's me having a knee-jerk reaction to settling down. Though technically, I am of a marry-able age and I could very well look into settling down, a big part of me still feels incomplete. I know that I will reach a part of my life where I have to sit down the dining table and pour over a stack of bills (including a mortgage), think about long-term savings plans for my kids and maybe get a loan to finance a small business -- this totally blows away the two-year mobile phone contract that I had to carefully scrutinize and think over. Right now though, I'm anything but ready -- financially, mentally and emotionally. And I've had to convince myself over and over before that it is pefectly okay to admit that I'm not ready. People walk in various paces. I walk a little slower in this aspect -- so bloody what? At least I know I'm a slow walker. I know of some people who deny themselves of this fact and tries to convince themselves that they aren't -- only to run into problems that are bigger than life.

At present, I like the idea of knowing that I can up and leave whenever I want and go wherever I want. I still have no idea where I'm headed so I'm allowing myself to make a few mistakes in the hopes that maybe, through the process of elimination, I can find myself a good destination. And perhaps on the way there, I can pick myself up a lifelong companion who wishes to go to the same place.

Commitment isn't a bad thing -- neither is settling down. However, it's also important that we are ready and prepared when we decide to do either. Or else, it would be like getting stuck with an ugly tattoo on your favorite body part.