Archive

Monthly Archives: February 2010

The popular. The famous. The wealthy. The glamorous. They are the socialites, but perhaps not the most sociable.

Years and years I have used a car to get myself to places. It wasn’t so long ago when I learned to drive one, and even so, it’s only on certain occasions that I do drive. I’ve reached countless destinations, and all thanks to the man behind the steering wheel. Yes, drivers–I think they are one of the most sociable people I’ve observed.

Their sociability is circumstantial. Drivers don’t have much of a choice, unless they just want to sleep in the car. I am referring specifically to personal or private drivers. They are compelled to take their employers here and there. Change (and of course driving) is something they need to get used to. Sometimes, there would be hours of idle time, which is always an opportunity for drivers to go talk to each other and compare whose employer is better. Drivers take their bosses around, but don’t bosses take their drivers around as well?

They are also witnesses to the lives of their employers. Their mouths are shut, but their eyes are open. They are more than just sociable; they are powerful. Anyway, that’s beside the point.

So just how sociable can a driver be? To illustrate, let me describe a family driver we once had: He honks the car horn, flashes the headlights or salutes the security guard, and we would enter private subdivisions without the trouble of leaving his license. He shows a tattoo near his thumb muscles and he gets away from police ticketing. Now that last one might have been more of a threat, but it’s a sign of him being part of a brotherhood.

For drivers, there is no need to climb social ladders; they just make friends and be buddies with whomever they meet, and they reap the benefits soon enough (and thanks to them, so do I).

Advertisements

Note: This is an entry dated March 15, 2008 from my previous blog. I was a college freshman back then. I’d say this is a lovely piece (whether you agree or not). It captures one of the more important realizations I had in my journey as a young woman, along with other circumstances that taught me the joy of being in solitude. Here it is, with a few edits.


Thanks to the submit button, I am stuck with three and a half. Hours.

That would have been a line of sarcasm two months ago, but really, I thank myself for the careless mistake I made.

When your school gives you the chance to enroll online, you grab that chance. I did. I also grabbed someone’s ass and the wrong section. Submit. D’oh!

Such haste in submission backfired. All other subjects were in place except for my Literature class. I ended up taking it during the early hours of the morning, leaving me with a break from 0930-1300 every TH (That’s Tuesday and Huwebes for La Salle). Now, some of my friends may still be sleeping or perhaps having a class, so I’d be a loner twice a week for three and a half hours in school. I had to kill time, even if it meant breaking commandment #6.

Some of the things I attempted:

  1. Visit the chapel every week to have a closer relationship with God (Now, this only worked for around two sets of TH)
  2. Go to the mall
  3. Sleep in the library
  4. Study
  5. Read a book
  6. Stay in Cybernook so people can’t enroll while I go surfing
  7. Practice touch typing for fun

Before I had all these break time attempts, it felt like the letter L sticker was upon my forehead, so I had a plan of action to avoid bumping into people I know.

Strategy is the key. I would eat my lunch when most people are still sleeping/ listening/ fantasizing in their classes while the teacher discusses about the economic and political situation of the country. That would be around half past ten?

Now, thinking of where to eat and when to eat is not how I’d like to spend ten minutes of my tissue-roll-long break. Soon enough, I had an epiphany (Hallelujah!). When you’re in college, people don’t give a damn about your status during breaks. Single? Just (with) friends? With a lover? It did not matter if one went on a solo flight–something I learned to enjoy eventually. No one really cares, and I like it. I now eat my lunch loud (err, not that loud!) and proud.

mr. monopoly

Error in my favor indeed!

I like lists. I like them long. I might be called blasphemous for saying that I am not into planners. I just do not see myself being in the December hype of drinking coffee and collecting stickers to get that lovely planner everyone will eventually have. I really have nothing against it, but there are more reasons for me to choose a list over a planner as my life-long partner. I might as well list them down for the love of it.

1. No Limits

All I need is a place. In the bathroom, on the wall, in the kitchen–I can practically do it anywhere (to write a list, that is)! I could also just take out my handy dandy notebook and I’m good to go. Planners on the other hand limit me to a day, a week, and ultimately to a year.

2. Like Jelly Belly

Full of variety. It never fails to bore me. It gets me all excited. I have lists of the following:

  • Things to do for the day
  • Things to buy
  • Movies to watch
  • Books to read
  • Restaurants to check out
  • Summer plans
  • Ideas to write or talk about
  • Ingredients (for the next baking recipe)
  • My ultimate life list, which includes the following:
    • Have a custom-made swing  for me and my long legs
    • Spend a day with a stranger
    • Send a secret to PostSecret
    • See an Aurora Borealis
    • Travel
    • Learn to swim
    • Ride a calesa
    • See a shooting star

Of course the list goes a lot longer than that. While I’ve already ticked off a few things, others might have to wait for more birthdays to come.

3. Oh, The Pleasure of Ticking Off

No planner can ever give me such satisfaction.

My list, specifically my life list, keeps growing when I am inspired to do something new, which I am not capable of fulfilling at the moment. It reminds me that there is so much out there and how exciting life can be.  I feel a wee bit guilty for the times I have forgotten about what I have written on that list, but I’m sure there’s a perfect time in my life meant to explore each of them.

Every eighteenth birthday party of a girl must be memorable. With the company of good friends and family, she celebrates her coming of age. Besides that, one of the things to get excited about is receiving tons of gifts from your guests. It’s one of the fun experiences of having a debut, even if half of what you get is lotion.

Just like all other debuts I have attended, it wasn’t a surprise that the gift table during my own celebration was covered with The Body Shop gift packs. With papaya and strawberry scented body washes, lotions and loofahs, I could have a fruit stand in no time.

Among all the colorful and sweet-scented presents laid out, there was one gift worth noting: a 100-gram Nivea hand cream with its 99-peso price tag well adhered to the cap. I’m not complaning; I appreciate a gift of any size and price.

Unless you genuinely like collecting toiletries, it just goes to show how much people really know you. It’s not such a big deal. Maybe they do know you well, it’s just that they didn’t feel like making an effort to buy what you want. Perhaps they just don’t know what you want for your birthday, or maybe they ended up shopping for themselves, leaving you with the  last-minute-generic idea for a gift. At least you have five months worth of bathing and beauty supplies to yourself, and all you needed to do was treat them to good food for a night!