Happenstance - A long time coming.
I thought of becoming a writer seven years ago, but my road towards getting my foot in the publishing door has been quite the arduous journey. My early attempts saw me sending out countless internship resumes, many of which went unanswered; spending a summer lugging fashion bags around town for an unpaid internship; and at times squeezing myself dry over freelance pieces that went unpublished. I felt like a true writer only on the rare occasion - most times I just felt like one of the wannabe-actresses in Hollywood waitressing while waiting for their big break.
Seven years and several hard knocks later, I finally get it.
Today, in the very same Starbucks where I got my first freelance assignment three years ago, the editor whom I had previously passed up the chance to train under offered me a position as a food and travel writer.
I have never in my wildest dreams imagined I would be able to secure a food (not to mention travel!) writing position, and on top of that write for an audience I can relate to. Anybody who knows just how passionate I am about food and just how much I love traveling would know how much this opportunity means to me. It's been a long time coming, but the wait has made it so much sweeter and the rewards so much greater. I. Am. So. Bloody. Stoked!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Snapshot Saturday.
Snapshot Saturday.
It was a Saturday well spent in good company, thigh smacking laughs and great food; and the first of several weekends I actually had time to enjoy a beautiful Saturday evening without having to worry about rushing off to some other place.
It was my first stand-up comedy experience (Seinfield aside) and Jonathan Atherton's localized humor was ideal for spending an afternoon over Brewerkz beer. Later on, I finally got around to checking out Wild Honey over at the Mandarin Gallery as well. The food was fresh and wholesome, and the restaurant had me indulging in one of my "Ahhh I'd love to own something like that" moments.
It was nice, this free and easy Saturday. The coming one spells lou hei and shabu shabu with the princess and the bear, and the long-awaited Sunday flea where I'm hoping to make some money out of my trash. One man's junk is another man's treasure. Heard that?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Life lesson #1.
Life lesson #1:
Surround yourself only with good friends and great company.
I've done a bit of spring cleaning in my personal life, keeping my close ones closer and those I deem bad energy further. I've always been non-confrontational, but that's slowly changing. As my girlfriend K would say: "Give it to them man!" So no more silent fuming for me for I have begun to make my displeasure known.
I've been blessed with the bestest of friends who have stood by me through this difficult period with their unique brand of humor and junk food, and for that I am truly blessed.
It's been an awesome Chinese New Year in light of all that's happened, including three back-to-back karaoke/gyrating sessions with good friends. I don't remember ktv being this fun, and I plan to do it all over again once I get my voice back!
Happy Lunar New Year everybody!
Surround yourself only with good friends and great company.
I've done a bit of spring cleaning in my personal life, keeping my close ones closer and those I deem bad energy further. I've always been non-confrontational, but that's slowly changing. As my girlfriend K would say: "Give it to them man!" So no more silent fuming for me for I have begun to make my displeasure known.
I've been blessed with the bestest of friends who have stood by me through this difficult period with their unique brand of humor and junk food, and for that I am truly blessed.
It's been an awesome Chinese New Year in light of all that's happened, including three back-to-back karaoke/gyrating sessions with good friends. I don't remember ktv being this fun, and I plan to do it all over again once I get my voice back!
Happy Lunar New Year everybody!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Coping mechanisms.
Coping mechanisms.
An air of lethargy has settled over the family. A million things and a thousand loose ends demand our attention, but we can't seem to get down to settling anything concrete.
There's neither bawling nor weeping. In fact, there haven't been any tears except for the occasional damp eye in the wee hours of the morning when the house is dark and quiet. My brother never lived with us, except for a short while after his first surgery; but I see him everywhere in my mind's eye.
On the couch with that hideous orange Hawaiian shirt and thick nerdy glasses; by the window grilling the pineapples for Mother's Day; intentionally shoveling chips into his mouth as I workout on the eliptical...
I'm not sure I can face reality.
An air of lethargy has settled over the family. A million things and a thousand loose ends demand our attention, but we can't seem to get down to settling anything concrete.
There's neither bawling nor weeping. In fact, there haven't been any tears except for the occasional damp eye in the wee hours of the morning when the house is dark and quiet. My brother never lived with us, except for a short while after his first surgery; but I see him everywhere in my mind's eye.
On the couch with that hideous orange Hawaiian shirt and thick nerdy glasses; by the window grilling the pineapples for Mother's Day; intentionally shoveling chips into his mouth as I workout on the eliptical...
I'm not sure I can face reality.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Death and other lessons in life.
Death and other lessons in life.
The thing about losing a loved one is that it takes you completely by surprise, even if you've had the past six months to prepare yourself for it.
A part of me went, "I knew it!" when the phone call came in on Thursday morning, telling us that my brother's condition had taken a turn for the worse. The other part went cold when my mother went on to tell us that he was braindead. I can't say I hadn't expected this, not when he hasn't woken up from his coma in three months. I can't say I expected it either, for he had made it through so many major surgeries and was just about to be transferred into a nursing home.
Time passed by in a blur at the hospital, where family and friends debated the accuracy of the prognosis. It was difficult to get our heads around the fact that he was brain dead. The man on the bed looked like he was asleep as he had been the past three months; he couldn't be brain dead. "The doctor said he is," was my only reply for science offered the most logical evidence. However, his pressure remained lowish but constant and I left the hospital late that first night asking myself the very same question.
His pressure fell to the 50s and miraculously rose back up to the 60s within hours on Friday, and we started to think that he could make it through the new year. My heart stopped jumping into my throat each time the phone rang when I was away from the ward, and life seemed almost normal again on Saturday morning. "I don't think it'll be within these two days at least," my mom said coolly as we sat on the couch at home, neither of us in a hurry to go to the hospital.
And then, the phone rang again. It was the hospital, telling us that his pressure had fallen to 64 and that his breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. "I've been scared too many times by them. It was in the 50s yesterday afternoon but it rose didn't it. I'm not gonna let them scare me," my mom said. So the parents enjoyed a leisure breakfast before heading down, while I waited at home for my aunt to return from her errands and for my sister to wake up. The call came barely 30 minutes later. "He can't make it, you can come down now."
And that was it. My brother's gone.
A part of me is still in denial. My final year project's marketing stunt kept me occupied for most of the weekend, while my best friends rallied around me to fill the empty gaps. I've succumbed only to short cries mostly in the privacy of home and loved ones, and the endless streams of friends filled the funeral with more laughter than tears. In fact, the entire wake right down to his cremation felt entirely surreal.
I can't seem to come to terms yet that I've lost my only brother and this impassiveness scares me.
The thing about losing a loved one is that it takes you completely by surprise, even if you've had the past six months to prepare yourself for it.
A part of me went, "I knew it!" when the phone call came in on Thursday morning, telling us that my brother's condition had taken a turn for the worse. The other part went cold when my mother went on to tell us that he was braindead. I can't say I hadn't expected this, not when he hasn't woken up from his coma in three months. I can't say I expected it either, for he had made it through so many major surgeries and was just about to be transferred into a nursing home.
Time passed by in a blur at the hospital, where family and friends debated the accuracy of the prognosis. It was difficult to get our heads around the fact that he was brain dead. The man on the bed looked like he was asleep as he had been the past three months; he couldn't be brain dead. "The doctor said he is," was my only reply for science offered the most logical evidence. However, his pressure remained lowish but constant and I left the hospital late that first night asking myself the very same question.
His pressure fell to the 50s and miraculously rose back up to the 60s within hours on Friday, and we started to think that he could make it through the new year. My heart stopped jumping into my throat each time the phone rang when I was away from the ward, and life seemed almost normal again on Saturday morning. "I don't think it'll be within these two days at least," my mom said coolly as we sat on the couch at home, neither of us in a hurry to go to the hospital.
And then, the phone rang again. It was the hospital, telling us that his pressure had fallen to 64 and that his breathing was becoming increasingly shallow. "I've been scared too many times by them. It was in the 50s yesterday afternoon but it rose didn't it. I'm not gonna let them scare me," my mom said. So the parents enjoyed a leisure breakfast before heading down, while I waited at home for my aunt to return from her errands and for my sister to wake up. The call came barely 30 minutes later. "He can't make it, you can come down now."
And that was it. My brother's gone.
A part of me is still in denial. My final year project's marketing stunt kept me occupied for most of the weekend, while my best friends rallied around me to fill the empty gaps. I've succumbed only to short cries mostly in the privacy of home and loved ones, and the endless streams of friends filled the funeral with more laughter than tears. In fact, the entire wake right down to his cremation felt entirely surreal.
I can't seem to come to terms yet that I've lost my only brother and this impassiveness scares me.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Friendship |ˈfrendˌ sh ip|
Friendship |ˈfrendˌ sh ip|
I don't think I'm a good friend. Unless I see or hear from you often enough for you to become a habit, chances are you won't hear from me. Once in a blue moon maybe, but almost never just to check "how you've been doing" or to catch up over a cup of coffee. I like to think it's genetically engineered, this inertia to just be instead of go out of my way to maintain friendships.
Yet, I have been blessed with many steadfast friendships in spite of my laissez-faire attitude. However, I must admit that it is in recent trying times that I've fully appreciated how loyal these angels are, and how ever ready they are to pitch in, sometimes at the drop of a hat.
From registering me with the embassy when Vietnam was struck with typhoons and ferrying me and my stack of barang barang, to agreeing to waste a weekend sculpting balloons and staying back after class to help stick stars on media invite kits... I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve you all, but thank you and I love you all. You're the best friends anyone can ever hope to have. And you have all inspired me to keep up and be a better friend.
I don't think I'm a good friend. Unless I see or hear from you often enough for you to become a habit, chances are you won't hear from me. Once in a blue moon maybe, but almost never just to check "how you've been doing" or to catch up over a cup of coffee. I like to think it's genetically engineered, this inertia to just be instead of go out of my way to maintain friendships.
Yet, I have been blessed with many steadfast friendships in spite of my laissez-faire attitude. However, I must admit that it is in recent trying times that I've fully appreciated how loyal these angels are, and how ever ready they are to pitch in, sometimes at the drop of a hat.
From registering me with the embassy when Vietnam was struck with typhoons and ferrying me and my stack of barang barang, to agreeing to waste a weekend sculpting balloons and staying back after class to help stick stars on media invite kits... I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve you all, but thank you and I love you all. You're the best friends anyone can ever hope to have. And you have all inspired me to keep up and be a better friend.
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