tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43002129343477236592024-01-10T17:50:51.252+08:00Sean's Dirty LaundryAiring my laundry, dirty and otherwise. Drop your pants here anytime.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.comBlogger253125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-6858290006334613322013-06-14T23:11:00.001+08:002013-06-14T23:11:38.152+08:00Under Fluorescent Lighting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I shut the door behind me. Scrolled down to a song in my playlist. Stripped my shirt off. Turned the hot water on. Waited for the steam to rise. And then closed my eyes.<br />
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The music played, adding one synthesized layer over another. I swayed slowly, then with increasing urgency. The lights dimmed before exploding in color. I broke into sweat, as I pumped my fist in the air.<br />
<br />
A knock on the door, followed by a stern warning from hubby. "Quiet down. You'll wake the whole building up."<br />
<br />
I opened my eyes, and the lights came back on. I caught a glimpse of myself in the misted mirror, as I pulled back the runaway fist and wound down the epileptic swaying. <br />
<br />
Under the fluorescent lighting, I saw the familiar image of my father. Reliving a distant era, as he strutted his stuff. Enduring the taunts of one who, at that time, still took his youth for granted.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-55528154355350969422013-06-10T07:56:00.000+08:002013-06-10T22:40:13.411+08:00Tourist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hubby was attending a family gathering, so I decided to wander around the city by myself and play the tourist. I did some shopping, sampled dishes that hubby normally wouldn't order, and people watched.<br />
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I quickly got bored without hubby by my side. I felt lonely amongst the crowd in the densely populated Chinese district and wondered - what if I hadn't met him on that fateful day years ago.<br />
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Maybe it was the suffocating heat, but the pedestrians and their incomprehensible chatter started to crowd me in. I waited to cross the road for my ride home and ran the same question in my head.<br />
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As the pedestrian light turned green, the crowd parted and revealed the answer.<br />
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On some other day like today, he'd be waiting across the road smiling.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-38117032918610688752013-06-05T23:17:00.000+08:002013-06-05T23:17:57.893+08:00Pink Tank Top<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hubby always tells me that I have absolutely no sense of color coordination. That's why I was quite excited to show him how I've paired my pink tank top with shorts that had tiny winged creatures of the same color stitched all over the fabric. <br />
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He commended me for the effort, then asked if I'd be wearing the same shade of lipgloss and blush to round out the look. I knew he'd be uncomfortable the entire time we'd be out, so I changed into something that would attract less attention.<br />
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He remained chatty after we stepped out on the street, a sign that he approved of the plain white henley and navy cargo shorts. We were two ordinary Chinese uncles just shooting the breeze, invisible in the afternoon crowd.<br />
<br />
As we passed by a popular food stall, we remembered we have not eaten and bought a peanut butter waffle to tide us over. We stood by a busy intersection, as hubby gingerly peeled off the wrapper and offered me first bite.<br />
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Hubby held the shared meal, as we took turns with mouthfuls. He was so busy feeding us both while trying to keep the filling intact that he was oblivious to the number of stares that we drew, pink tank top back in the closet and all. <br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-2024018758656964512013-06-03T23:37:00.000+08:002013-06-03T23:37:37.571+08:00Pockets And Passes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was still half asleep, when I trudged past him and his smile. I managed a belated grin only a couple of rows down the aisle. I looked back, but he was already busy helping another passenger.<br />
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I took off my coat, settled into my seat, and studied him from afar. He was tall, fit, handsome, and judging from his accent, most likely Taiwanese. He would sometimes look my way and smile.<br />
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While I waited for him to take my jacket, I slipped my boarding pass in its pocket after scribbling my number on it. Turned out he was not assigned to my aisle, so I held on to my coat when someone else came to collect it.<br />
<br />
I decided to watch the first episode of a hit show's brand new season. On long hauls, I'd go through one episode after another. I was on a short flight and was considering watching the next episode when he approached.<br />
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He smiled and asked for my coat. I desperately wanted to hand him everything I was wearing. But I just thanked him, as I discreetly removed the boarding pass from its pocket before giving him the jacket.<br />
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He lingered a moment longer, as I glanced at my screen, the cursor hovering over episode two. I pressed cancel, not wanting to start something I could not finish, before he slowly turned and walked away. <br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-35824582690429835712013-03-02T13:02:00.000+08:002013-03-02T13:05:10.086+08:00Billboards and Fine Print<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I'm at that point again, where I question whether this is what I want to do day in day out. It doesn't surprise me anymore, as I keep finding myself back at this place. What worries me is that the intervals are becoming shorter.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's the onset of mid-life. Perhaps I've burned out. I could always move, but life changing decisions terrify me. I don't know if it's the fear of regret, of blaming myself for a wrong decision, so I tend to leave things to fate.<br />
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As I walked the rest of the way from the station to the office, my suit hugged me snugly, reassuringly. The rich fabric caressed my legs soothingly, its faint rustling whispered quietly that I was headed for the right place.<br />
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Confused on whether I should stay on, I prayed for a sign that would help me with a decision. I waited for it to rain fire and brimstone, but all that came was a soft whimper, as leather stepped on polished marble.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com80tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-33889657188274841342013-02-23T10:45:00.000+08:002013-02-25T07:58:04.861+08:00Regret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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He was seated on the cold marble floor. Naked, as he rocked to and fro on an unseen chair. Swaying to his own metronome, as he hummed a looped song. A faint yet familiar score to a grainy black and white movie that he played over and over in his head. Reflecting on each scene, his fingers twirling at measured intervals in the air. As he flipped each unturned stone to find meaning in the grays.<br />
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But answers are elusive. And so he endures the cold. Naked, as he rocks to and fro. Searching for balance, but never finding his center.<br />
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<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-38185447778100379802013-02-20T23:55:00.001+08:002013-02-20T23:59:47.825+08:00You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I knew you would only break her heart. <br />
<br />
I never liked you. I've always had misgivings about you. But you sweet-talked her into being friends. Showered her with attention, which you knew she'd swoon over.<br />
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Soon she couldn't stop thinking about you. Our conversations revolved around nothing else but you. And how quickly you wormed your way into everything that we do.<br />
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I knew you would only break her heart. And today you did.<br />
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Unwittingly, I did too. As I told her how you just tried to get into mine.<br />
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<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-85818878000341980592013-02-17T01:00:00.000+08:002013-02-17T01:00:30.745+08:00Lines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It seems that China has embraced the western concept of Valentine's. The day has passed, and the flower and sweets shops are still doing brisk business.<br />
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I smile each time I overhear a cheesy line. But I laughed a little too loudly when a young Romeo beside us surprised his date with flowers and passionately declared probably the most famous statement of all.<br />
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<i>"'Til death do us part."</i><br />
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Embarrassed with my behavior, hubby quickly paid the bill and ushered me outside. We couldn't stop laughing, as we traded half-meant sappy Hallmark card quotes on the short walk home.<br />
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I then pretended to read from a storybook and recited, <i>"Once upon a time, Sean met hubby, and they lived happily ev..."</i> Before I could finish, we saw an old man being wheeled into an ambulance parked in front of our building.<br />
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It is not an uncommon sight, given that the commercial part of the building houses an assisted living facility. But we were still taken aback, seeing the panicked old lady that stood by the curb.<br />
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We entered the elevator in silence, the smiles gone, neither one admitting what we both were thinking.<br />
<br />
That the young Romeo was right after all.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-8073136790706673432013-02-12T13:13:00.000+08:002013-02-12T13:13:01.223+08:00Hot and Spicy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hubby and I chanced upon this vendor off Silom Soi 2. He was hawking curry of all colors and enticed customers with a spread of veggies and herbs on each table and that one could freely pick off on. We sat among the makeshift tables and chairs with the locals and enjoyed an authentic Thai meal.<br />
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The weather was warm, the food spicy. And just when things couldn't get any hotter, a group of hunks walked past. Hubby had to pound on my back, as I started choking on a slice of eggplant. More guys started to trickle down the street, that I had to order another drink to avoid a coughing fit.<br />
<br />
We finished quickly and decided to explore the dark road. We almost turned back when the neighborhood started to look sketchy, but then a group of asian muscle bears walked by. It was hubby's turn to get all excited as we walked deeper into potential rape and murder fodder for tomorrow's local daily.<br />
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We finally found an apartment where men were gathered outside. We rang the door, climbed the stairs and reached a counter. Apparently it was a sauna, one of the popular ones in town. I was still asking hubby permission to have a quick tour, when I realized he was already collecting change.<br />
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As we stripped, I groaned when I realized it was an underwear-themed night. We obviously came unprepared, and we tried, and failed, to make our boxers look sufficiently sexy. There's really not much you can do with Gaps around Aussiebums, Andrew Christians, and Calvin Kleins.<br />
<br />
The place was so dark that we had to hang on to the stairs' railings, cling to each other's arms, and feel our way in the dark as we navigated our way around. I kept bumping into walls and had to catch hubby who kept missing steps, that we couldn't stop laughing.<br />
<br />
After quite a struggle, we finally reached the top floor. The area was al fresco, which we found pleasant. We sat on a wooden swing, lit up, and just chilled. A local would drop by every now and then but was too polite to intrude on our conversation. Either that or we simply were not attractive.<br />
<br />
We laughed about looking out of place, how we were so out of the game, and decided to call it a night. We quickly dressed, politely returned the friendly smiles in the locker room, and surrendered our respective keys to a life that has long run its course.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-82808421052849810392013-02-09T09:03:00.000+08:002013-02-09T09:29:31.901+08:00Touch The Sky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I looked into the distance and wondered to myself what it would be like. To see, to feel, to be in that place, where the ground touches the sky. <br />
<br />
When I finally couldn't contain the yearning within me, I set out for the unknown, leaving both familiar and comfortable behind.<br />
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I walked, then broke into a run. Each step bringing me further from the past. Determined as I was, I still couldn't close the distance.<br />
<br />
I found myself at the edge of water, as I ran out of ground to cover. "Finally!" I said to myself, as I marveled at the sky reflected in its calmness.<br />
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But which then quickly faded, swept by the ripples around me.<br />
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I looked behind at the footprints that marked my journey and traced as far back as my eyes could see, to where the ground touches the sky.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-43739270071974045012012-11-25T10:35:00.001+08:002012-11-25T11:39:12.822+08:00In and Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I had fun with Paolo in the usual tourist traps in the city. I have not seen him in over a decade, but in his brief visit, I realized why we were together then. And why it had to end.<br />
<br />
We filled each other in on our respective lives. He spoke of his relationships, subsequent separations, and life with his current partner. I told him about hubby.
<br />
<br />
He was hurt that I met hubby so quickly after we parted ways. I reminded him who left the other emotionally battered and bruised for another. He just smiled.
<br />
<br />
We waited until the last minute, but then he had to go. We embraced each other, finding it difficult to let go. He wiped his cheek with his sleeve and slipped away into the restricted area of the airport.<br />
<br />
The days passed too quickly, three days that summed up our own history. It may have been under different circumstances, but just like that, Paolo walked out on me again.
Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-28241963435699190702012-11-24T13:00:00.000+08:002012-11-24T13:00:51.507+08:00Of Closets and Working on WeekendsI can only hope...
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It's a working weekend for me. I need a drink...
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Lunch break's over. Back to work!Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-71972554891276646632012-11-18T12:00:00.000+08:002012-11-18T12:00:10.384+08:00Hurt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGR8FCU3N_dYuZVwuFQCTap0UJsHbu8Am2eun3Yh6jk79hlcTEv5dReYd2cJKzJLNEavsHcOJuWdSxRBnMbnrjIe76OjT7eiZ9ynyiloGccdJkksDeEkbxkt4_A6qT1AMDX7kCS4Sgmk/s1600/tumblr_mbt5k9XUnj1r4ookeo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGR8FCU3N_dYuZVwuFQCTap0UJsHbu8Am2eun3Yh6jk79hlcTEv5dReYd2cJKzJLNEavsHcOJuWdSxRBnMbnrjIe76OjT7eiZ9ynyiloGccdJkksDeEkbxkt4_A6qT1AMDX7kCS4Sgmk/s320/tumblr_mbt5k9XUnj1r4ookeo1_1280.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I don't know why I listen to him. He says the most hurtful things. He knows my insecurities and uses them against me. He chips away at my confidence, and laughs in triumph at the wreck that I am.<br />
<br />
I tried to leave him countless times. But just when I thought I was finally free, he'd be there looking over my shoulder, whispering, laughing, mocking me. And back in his grip I'd again feel small.<br />
<br />
I want to believe that I am good enough. That I am not as insignificant as I feel. And be confident of what I can do, what I can be. Now I understand that the only way is to be free. <br />
<br />
Of that inner critic within me.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-56301427397133097712012-11-10T10:42:00.000+08:002012-11-10T10:42:12.960+08:00Ang Sabi Ng Iba<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
Ang sabi ng iba, habang tumatagal, nauubos ang tamis. Tumatabang. At kapag ika'y nagsawa, dapat na itong iluwa at itapon. Sumubo ng bago. At kapag nagpumilit kumapit sa iyong sapatos, ikaskas mo sa semento. Hanggang ito'y kusang magsawa at humulagpos.<br />
<br />
Ang sabi ng iba, kumukupas ang kilig sa isang pagsasama. Wala ng sorpresa kung lubos na kayong magkakilala. Di na kailangang hulaan pa ang nais niyang sabihin. Alam mo na rin kung ano ang dapat halikan, dilaan, susuhin.<br />
<br />
Hindi ko alam kung tama nga sila.<br />
<br />
Dahil sa tuwing ako'y kinukulit ng aking asawa. Sinisimangutan sa mga ganting pang-aalaska. Pinapatulog ng ilan niyang mga kuwento. Pinagagalitan sa aking bisyong paninigarilyo.<br />
<br />
Kinikilig pa rin ako.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-53942881830721782562012-11-07T22:25:00.001+08:002012-11-08T00:43:08.757+08:00Lihim<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Narito ako sa pagitan ng sarap at pagsisisi. Sadya kasing masarap ang bawal, kaya't di naawat ang sarili. Ngayo'y huli na ang lahat, at ito'y aking pagsisisihan. Ngunit di muna ngayon. <br />
<br />
Isang pangakong ngayo'y muling tinatalikuran. Makailang beses ko na ba itong naihingi nang kapatawaran. Umaasang di malalaman ng asawang walang kamuwang-muwang. <br />
<br />
Kaya heto ako, may lihim na itinatago. May pag-aalinlangan kung humalik sa asawang niloloko. Asawang malakas ata ang pang-amoy at nakahalata sa aking isinisikreto.<br />
<br />
"Kailan ka na naman nagsimulang manigarilyo?"Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-89536086746767187872012-11-03T12:00:00.002+08:002012-11-03T12:00:43.069+08:00Cake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzg1iJ_u-MhwspYWR__EZwN7aDRp9NUC-UG5F-u-K2wWCLHQyoDYOulRNd-ZMeVDtZewekY2kghXuUE6B750YVoQBZWqTnlRGB0HxqGfiXTA2GBeIXlBD3s2FwsVpo-eofZe5DyocpTM/s1600/12345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzg1iJ_u-MhwspYWR__EZwN7aDRp9NUC-UG5F-u-K2wWCLHQyoDYOulRNd-ZMeVDtZewekY2kghXuUE6B750YVoQBZWqTnlRGB0HxqGfiXTA2GBeIXlBD3s2FwsVpo-eofZe5DyocpTM/s320/12345.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I have to deliver a presentation on Monday, and I'm stressing out. It comes with the job, but I still fret over it each time. Public speaking and other skills in my line of work are just not in my nature. So I question why I am in this role and industry in the first place.<br />
<br />
I have always leaned more on the creative over the technical. Art, music, creative writing, and foreign languages were the subjects I enjoyed the most. I wanted to take up fine arts and filled up applications with universities that had the best programs.<br />
<br />
"Walang pera diyan anak," my Dad said and forbade me from turning in my applications unless they were for business or technical courses.<br />
<br />
Maybe he was right, I don't know. But here I am, stuck with something that I hate. Unable to shift industries after years of specialization. Unwilling to let go of the salary that comes with the experience level. Unhappy yet waited too long to do anything about it.<br />
<br />
After another long day at work, I met up with hubby for dinner and dessert. I still couldn't stop thinking as we ate. I knew my own choices led me to this point, but I wondered if I'd be more happy now if my Dad supported me back then.<br />
<br />
But then again, would I still have met the person seated across the table and trying his best to cheer me up?Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-19704179458621679872012-10-27T10:40:00.000+08:002012-10-27T10:40:40.846+08:00Snapshots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hubby uploaded the photos from our recent trip into his computer. I was excited to view the pics and squeezed half a butt cheek into his seat. We brought a tripod this time and had more shots of ourselves together.<br />
<br />
His techie nature immediately kicked in, and he started deleting photos that did not pass his standards. "What are you doing?" I asked in panic and grabbed both of his hands to prevent him from eliminating more.<br />
<br />
He said he was omitting the ones where we looked ugly, were not smiling, failed to look straight at the camera, or shots that were blurry. I took the SD card, popped it into my own computer, and saved everything.<br />
<br />
I picked a song, called hubby over and started the slide show.<br />
<br />
One by one, the photos appeared on the screen. A close up shot with whiteheads and nose hair. One with red faces that time we argued. Some where our eyes strayed to passing hunks. And those where at least one of us fell out of focus.<br />
<br />
We laughed the whole time we were watching the photos. I dragged the pics into the latest of a series of folders simply named "Us", a collection that to me was perfect in being flawed. And I'm not talking just about the photos.<br />
<br />Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-78268304195938915212012-10-15T23:35:00.001+08:002012-10-15T23:35:22.668+08:00Familiar Face<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The club was brimming with patrons. It was a surprising turnout for technically a Monday morning. There were groups of friends drinking and dancing. Couples enjoying their time together.<br />
<br />
And a lot of single men. <br />
<br />
As the night was early, some were still busy preening themselves. A number craned their necks and surveyed the crowd expectantly. And a few cruised the dance floor, already on the prowl.<br />
<br />
A man with a bottle of beer sat in front of the crowded bar. He stared sadly at his reflection behind the bartender before shaking his head and breaking into a bitter smile. <br />
<br />
There were so many lonely souls seeking attention, but he just sat there, deep in thought, at times cupping his face with his hands. He left after a while, unmindful of the smiles and eager stares as he passed by.<br />
<br />
I silently wished the guy well from afar. I didn't know him from Adam, but I had worn that familiar face of sadness and regret myself, a few times too many.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-3961196701635491822012-10-15T12:21:00.000+08:002012-10-16T01:06:17.881+08:00Big Hair And False Eyelashes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I scanned the crowd that was gathered outside before hubby and I approached the door. I did the same once we got in and felt relieved that I didn't recognize anyone.<br />
<br />
"Why are you so nervous?" hubby teasingly asked.<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. Back in China, he wouldn't even dare come near a gay club. Just because we were not in his home turf, he's suddenly decided to be out and proud.<br />
<br />
Yeah, we're of the uptight closeted kind. I know that times have changed. People probably don't care anymore. That perhaps everyone we know already had their suspicions, and we were the only ones in denial.<br />
<br />
Maybe it's because we're from a different (older) generation, I don't know.<br />
<br />
I picked up a couple of drinks from the bar and politely acknowledged the friendly smiles as I squeezed my way through. The crowd was intoxicated with alcohol, music, and performances from the resident go-go boys and drag queens.<br />
<br />
And in the middle of all the sweat and glitter, big hair and false eyelashes, hubby and I embraced our true selves and each other.<br />
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Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-62097040749653231042012-10-10T23:53:00.002+08:002012-10-10T23:53:37.996+08:00Laundry, Breakfast and Coffee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I woke up early and checked up on hubby. I felt relieved that he didn't have any fever and was sleeping soundly. I took a quick shower and like the dutiful wife that I was, headed out to drop off our laundry and buy hubby breakfast and coffee.<br />
<br />
With soiled clothes in my arms, I walked along Boracay's beach road, searching for the laundry shop that we passed by the day we arrived. I stopped in my tracks when I chanced upon the same guy at the same place and time as yesterday and the day before. <br />
<br />
He was only wearing a pair of white shorts, which emphasized his golden skin. His chest and abs were defined and like in the past days, he was alone. Both of us were not wearing shades this time, and I saw him match my stare as we passed each other.<br />
<br />
I couldn't help but look back after a few steps. He turned around almost at the same time and smiled. But like the dutiful wife that I was, I tucked my hair behind my left ear and continued walking to drop off our laundry and buy hubby breakfast and coffee.<br />
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Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-80988967398133371572012-10-09T13:13:00.000+08:002012-10-09T13:13:05.668+08:00Under The Weather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Hubby fell ill in the middle of our trip. We couldn't go to the beach and enjoy the sun. We had to stop gorging on fresh seafood. No more alcohol and club music after dark. Not even just chilling by the roadside watching half-naked hunks pass by.<br />
<br />
I was of course furious.<br />
<br />
We were stuck in the hotel sleeping our precious holiday time away. Our bodies remained as pale as our butt cheeks. I couldn't possibly enjoy lobster, while hubby subsisted on broth. And the only hunks on view were those on TV.<br />
<br />
And yet these were not the reasons why I was seething.<br />
<br />
All these years, Hubby was the one who would nurse me back to health. This one time that I could return the favor, I didn't freaking know what to do.<br />
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Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-58644059515915852922012-10-07T18:20:00.001+08:002012-10-07T18:20:41.619+08:00Catch of The Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMevXKm57j3yMV1FIPHPlt4gTqJsAjqSEx_Yr4vrFiLTHAwA1LQC5sKJdz-ZD2FuWuMRSjubTTwUn9gd8IF_lpwZQLaXNoKA3yg0gsfQNXpff78hYqLHaBq6CeF90ePyCmT-VkcUBEUc/s640/blogger-image-2035180457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMevXKm57j3yMV1FIPHPlt4gTqJsAjqSEx_Yr4vrFiLTHAwA1LQC5sKJdz-ZD2FuWuMRSjubTTwUn9gd8IF_lpwZQLaXNoKA3yg0gsfQNXpff78hYqLHaBq6CeF90ePyCmT-VkcUBEUc/s320/blogger-image-2035180457.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The heavy rain kept most of Boracay's tourists indoors. The ones who did brave the downpour flocked to the restaurants. Hubby and I sat by the window gorging on seafood, as our eyes feasted on shirtless orientals passing by.<br />
<br />
Three Taiwanese guys arrived at the door with fresh catch from the nearby market. I recognized the telltale signs. Well-maintained physiques, tight Abercrombie tanks and tailored stubble. From outside the restaurant, they also began discreetly checking us out. <br />
<br />
I tried to identify the third wheel from the couple. It would have been easier to take him out, but it seemed they were all just friends. I smiled as they came in, and two of them blinked a few times too many. Hubby just rolled his eyes at me and smirked.<br />
<br />
They settled into the table across ours, and kept stealing glances at our direction. I smiled and asked what they brought in from the market. One of them said they were out in the water and caught the fish themselves. I said we'd love to catch some as well.<br />
<br />
But we paid for the bill, waved at the three guys, and let today's catch go.<br />
<br />
Charot.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-14705330190690704242012-10-05T10:55:00.000+08:002012-10-05T10:59:17.579+08:00Breaking Cloud<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4P57Qm8BKN5IWilJUL9oScYVMftYAQ0r6QpvgETXNd-9qvkRzrwD-zsy8WeX1qweNXnN_V3whtdqgo3Hzji2ldDn84zf7c41rUgPusqhCwYrmRubsTeU70vO9251G1R0PQ3WPJX3bI0/s640/blogger-image--769483928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4P57Qm8BKN5IWilJUL9oScYVMftYAQ0r6QpvgETXNd-9qvkRzrwD-zsy8WeX1qweNXnN_V3whtdqgo3Hzji2ldDn84zf7c41rUgPusqhCwYrmRubsTeU70vO9251G1R0PQ3WPJX3bI0/s320/blogger-image--769483928.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Hubby was in a dour mood. We didn't have any sleep because of the early flight and have been arguing the past days for the haphazard travel arrangements and rushed preparations. <br />
<br />
He was extremely disappointed when we landed in Manila. The sky was overcast, and it started drizzling as we walked out on the Tarmac. I told him not to worry as our destination was another hour's flight away.<br />
<br />
I tried to lighten his mood as we settled inside a smaller plane. He is typically easygoing, but I started to worry when he was fixated on the downpour outside and complained of the onset of a migraine.<br />
<br />
It was a bumpy takeoff, and the loud whirring of the twin propellers would get under anyone's skin. Hubby's face darkened, and I desperately tried everything to uplift his spirits.<br />
<br />
The plane struggled against the rain and couldn't seem to get enough lift due to the heavy winds. The seatbelt sign remained lighted, as we hit turbulence after turbulence.<br />
<br />
After an eternity, we finally broke through cloud and everything was bright and beautiful. I was still midway through my nth punch line, when hubby looked away from the window and broke into a smile.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-83083061930110331982012-09-23T02:31:00.000+08:002012-09-24T00:26:34.757+08:00Blue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ThjfGA57El19wkVBsyUX0JWwc5Fe9fth4E7dI2npQQ2tFSokMU0LUGMOOVA4IyiHsEhu4cf0qDyuCMrBbySmqBMl0UAN59rk9qMbuvURrCXdkxekZ6sV4AIG69xbm_9qoKrjzvz2EOY/s1600/taktak0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ThjfGA57El19wkVBsyUX0JWwc5Fe9fth4E7dI2npQQ2tFSokMU0LUGMOOVA4IyiHsEhu4cf0qDyuCMrBbySmqBMl0UAN59rk9qMbuvURrCXdkxekZ6sV4AIG69xbm_9qoKrjzvz2EOY/s320/taktak0.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I was meeting an old friend for lunch. I was a bit early, so I quickly dropped by Hollister. I didn't have much time, but I managed to buy a pair of electric blue (think Stabilo) shorts and ogle at the handsome staff cum models.<br />
<br />
Once we met up, I asked my friend what she thought of my purchase. She flatly said the color was not age-appropriate. Her usual candidness adds to why I love her to pieces. And she merely confirmed what I already knew.<br />
<br />
That I look my age.<br />
<br />
After she left, I went back to return the item. I stood in the middle of the store, surrounded by young and gorgeous Hollister men that I would never measure up to, and held up the bright-colored garment one last time.<br />
<br />
As I was lost in thought, a Chinese hunk showed me a shirt and asked where he could find his size. I absent-mindedly pointed to the other end of the hall where I saw a stack of the same items earlier.<br />
<br />
A few minutes later, a beefy guy asked me where he could pay for his stash. I looked around me, but none of the Hollister staff were in sight. I gave him directions to the counter where I paid for mine that morning.<br />
<br />
I was still beaming when I got home that afternoon and told hubby about my day. And in case you were wondering, I ended up keeping the electric blue shorts.<br />
<br />
<br />
Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4300212934347723659.post-82973976514376581082012-09-19T00:23:00.000+08:002012-09-19T00:23:30.822+08:00Blush<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9LtUYs2WPX4MtixqvEH6HQjUjvdhluPP7sdiV4Ds8SFRiZbCuSMDYl4jLs2txJ6TthXT_jVwLpFOHNMZYlAJcBZ5PilN27UNat8E9blErWCffEr76MTiPY3-v04Ch5G1Bc2NHitwnWE/s1600/tumblr_lic9tdS1Ji1qhu1c4o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9LtUYs2WPX4MtixqvEH6HQjUjvdhluPP7sdiV4Ds8SFRiZbCuSMDYl4jLs2txJ6TthXT_jVwLpFOHNMZYlAJcBZ5PilN27UNat8E9blErWCffEr76MTiPY3-v04Ch5G1Bc2NHitwnWE/s320/tumblr_lic9tdS1Ji1qhu1c4o1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I quickly locked up and rushed to the waiting elevator before it closed. The doors slid shut behind me, and everything went silent. Save for my audible panting, which turned into a drawn out coughing fit once I noticed my gorgeous neighbor in the cabin.<br />
<br />
P<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">articles of dust danced under the glare of halogen lights, as </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Pachelbel's Canon in D played in the background. I stared at our reflection on the polished metal. Both in suits, we looked perfect on top of layers of fondant. I smiled, and he started to blush.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br />
</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">I let out a few more stray coughs before we reached the ground floor. The doors opened, and I braced myself for the loud applause, rain of soft petals, and gentle pelting of grain. He lunged ahead with quick, long strides. I reached for his hand. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><br />
</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">And grasped at nothing. </span></span>Outside the lobby's glass doors, I saw Romeo gasping for fresh air.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09786339639353941327noreply@blogger.com3