Glass shards

One person I trust with my life is my reflection.

Most people would dismiss my claim as absolutely insane. But I have long grounded my faith in what I see–or more appropriately, whom I see–in the mirror.

It started in 2002 when I was a freshman in high school.

Every afternoon, by the time I get home after a long day (not that the hours actually mattered back then), I would look in the mirror to talk to myself.

I glued myself to this routine until one day, something odd started to happen.

My reflection talked back.

At first I was caught off guard. I screamed inside my head. My heart came to a full stop (for maybe about five seconds).

I nearly pissed my khaki pants.

My reflection was talking back. It was magical and at the same time freakishly scary.

My first ever conversation with it was about the first science fair that I was about to attend as a student exhibitor.

I must have bored my reflection because by the time I was ranting about how lazy my group mates were, he walked away.

I stood speechless–and without an image of myself directly projected in front of me.

I called him back and apologized for being such a boring son of a bitch.

He came back with a sandwich on his hand–the one that I had forgotten to bring to school that day.

Later, I found out that the sandwich in real life had also disappeared. It had been eaten.

It was then that I realized that my reflection is more real (if that makes sense) than my imaginary friends.

My correspondence with my reflection turned into friendship in the months that came.

He proved his loyalty to me at a time when I was completely defenseless against an intruder in our house.

Darn those akyat bahay motherfuckers.

The hooded bastards broke in on broad daylight. It was a weekend and my parents left me alone at home for a quick trip to the furniture department store in our district.

A man, in his late 20s, barged into my room and demanded that I give him keys to the rest of the rooms in our house.

I obliged. Looking back, I think that must have been someone close to us–a neighbor, perhaps. Or anyone who knew us very well.

I curled up in my bed after showing him where the keys were placed. The man ordered his colleague to be on the lookout by our gate.

I was afraid that he’d hit me with the bat that he was carrying.

After he took the keys and left me alone, I heard a sound of breaking glass accompanied with loud, but muffled grunts.

I summoned all my courage and got up to see what the noises were all about.

I saw that the large mirror in our living room had been broken.

And I saw that the same man who broke into our house had fallen on the floor.

Another guy showed up in in a matter of seconds. I saw the look of fear in his eyes, and through the beanie hat mask thing both of then were wearing.

And then I heard my own voice from another mirror in the book shelf.

“I must have scared the shit out of him,” my reflection said. The other guy slowly inched his way out of the house. I heard him whimper.

“Yeah you did,” I replied.

And then I broke out in laughter with myself.

The most uninteresting day of my life

My birthday came to me as an appointment, among others, that I should write down in my notebook for reference.

It is an important date for…whom?

I’m not being pessimistic (please read on so that you won’t think I’m a total bitch). I am just tired of cliches and these certain days in our lives that have become a routine instead of being something that I can sincerely look forward to.

I turned 24 today but I spent my waking hours in the newsroom writing…stuff. It’s a Monday after all.

I didn’t wind up in any sort of fancy celebrations other than the little surprises that came my way: from the cheesy and super early surprise party last May in Hanoi, to the pretty bouquet of flowers that I received today, and even the good conversations that I’ve had with my friends last week. They’re more than enough, really.

June 23 is just a date that marks my coming of age.

The real celebration of my life happens everyday when I wake up to a warm bowl of oatmeal, and up until I go to bed with my iPhone glued to my face. Episodes of happiness (and bitchy, overthinking moments) come in between sunrise and sunset.

And there are more to come.

Fly to Manila. I command you!

You’re all probably wondering why I will be flying to Manila on the 26th. Wait. What? You’re not?

I planned on something ridiculously life-changing last year but some things went out of control so now I’m screwed.

Well, not really. And my plan wasn’t really life-changing.

Unless you consider watching a Selena Gomez concert to be life-changing. Because to me it is.

I wanted to see Selena so badly that I, in the words of my friend Karla, defied logic and booked plane flights to Manila just to see her.

The shitty thing is that Selena cancelled her concert because whatever.

So now I only have plane tickets to Manila without an itinerary. That’s great right? Surprise surprise in wherever I will end up. (actually I will be staying with my friend Merci).

So yeah.

I don’t really want to leave Hanoi again (for the fourth time now during my entire journalism fellowship) because that means I’ll be saying a (temporary) goodbye to the cold weather, which I have really come to like.

The good thing is that I get to push through my Saigon trip with Lorie.

Yay!

Life would still be so much better if I can watch Selena, though.

A lazy 2013 retrospect

This shouldn’t be so difficult to do.

I can just scroll down my Facebook Timeline, save pictures, and then throw them all here with captions.

The year 2013 for me has been ridiculously fast-paced and exciting. Every breathing moment that I had became episodes of panting and rushing to get things done, one task to another.

I saw myself being thrown from one city to another for my journalism fellowship, which is still progressing. I feel insanely blessed to have been in the company of such amazing people at home, in my new home in Hanoi, at work, and at play.

There were a few bumps that I had to deal with. But ultimately, these have made me to become a better person (who still can’t get away from this cliche).

In retrospect:

JANUARY

This will go down in history as that time of when I saved someone’s life and then, by some psychotic reflex, regretting it. I am not proud of this moment.

 

FEBRUARY

Nothing special for Valentine’s Day. Work as usual. Or not?

 

MARCH

 

Yeah, yeah. Nothing particularly interesting or crazy this month. So I dug up these artista photos to cover up the fact that beyond work, I don’t have an interesting life. LOLJK.

 

APRIL

 

Our newspaper celebrated its 67th year. I feel so happy to be a part of this newsroom and to have grown up as a journalist under the mentoring of such wise and fabulous editors.

 

MAY

 

My journalism fellowship commenced (mid-April, actually, and then on to May and forever). Photo shows fellows from the various exchange programs under FK Norway.

 

JUNE

 

Stoked! First. Byline. In. An. English. Vietnamese. Magazine. Ever.

 

JULY

 

It didn’t take a long time before I learned their ways. Living in Hanoi is pretty exciting (and Hanoi-ing at times). *ba dum tss!*

 

AUGUST

 

There’s something beautiful about the LGBT community in Hanoi. There’s more love. There’s more respect. And there’s more good-looking people.

I also wrote this story during this month.

And I went ice skating for the first time in my life ever.

 

SEPTEMBER

 

I joined Hanoi Slam and told a story about (surprise, surprise) myself.

 

OCTOBER

 

I’ve become Vietnamese in so many ways. I’ve fallen in love with Hanoi. And its people.

And with the friends that I have made along the way.

 

And with the friends who were next to me all along (creepy? Stalker much. LOLJK).

And with Thu Minh, whom I saw perform live. Bay di!!!

 

NOVEMBER

 

My grandmother passed away. But that’s okay; she’s at peace and a diva in heaven now. ❤

 

DECEMBER

 

I auditioned for a theater group and got a role in their winter show. Yay!

 

There won’t be a fancy New Year’s Eve party for me tonight. I’ll be on a plane en route to Hanoi after spending the Christmas holidays in Davao.

Thanks 2013. You’ve been great and amazing.

Imaginary umbrella

Before I begin this note, which I’m pretty sure isn’t going to be very interesting or entertaining, I’d like to thank all those who sent me messages of sympathy and concern–regarding the death of my grandmother and the recent typhoon that hit the Philippines.

Thank you for your sympathy. My grandmother passed away and she is now at peace. My family is coping; grieving became less painful because of the care that you all showed during my grandmother’s wake and funeral. Thank you.

Thank you for your concern. Haiyan battered central Philippines mercilessly and the wake of the storm is truly depressing. My family and I are safe; we experienced some rain in the south of PH (this isn’t as intense as the torrent in the Visayas).

I have not been writing lately. And by not writing, I also mean not writing a lot of things in Facebook, Twitter, WordPress, and Instagram.

The month of November has been incredibly overwhelming but I am very surprised that I appear to be detached from it. I am not entirely consumed by emotions at all. Note to self: re-evaluate whether I’ve grown to be numb or not.

My grandmother passed away and there’s nothing much that I can say about it right now except for this string of words that don’t make sense without context: I am happy that she finally gets the rest that she deserves.

My grandmother has lived a long life and has gone through so much hurt and frustration. Beyond those, she remained beautiful and crazy and caring and loving even during her last moments on Earth.

I can’t talk much about my grandmother right now, though.

Her death seems less important after Haiyan wrought havoc to my country and caused literally tens of thousands of other deaths.

Perhaps that is why I have been mum online.

I have not been writing much about the things running at the back of my head because the world is busy worrying about bigger and more important things.

I, too, am supposed to join the worry bandwagon. My editor told me to join their Haiyan coverage on the day that them typhoon made landfall in central Philippines.

I couldn’t. I feel bad that I couldn’t cover and write stories back then because I was dealing with post-funeral stuff.

Sigh.

Dealing with death can be so tiring. Apart from all the grieving, my family has to deal with all the legalities of losing someone. Isn’t there an app for this?!

Anyway, there isn’t much to talk about really. If I continue scribbling, I’d end up sounding vain and not making any sense (one of my greatest fears in being a journalist and perhaps the very reason why I sometimes don’t write at all).

Again. Thank you for your messages of sympathy and concern.

There’s a rainbow always after the rain. Yeah, that’s from a song.

Plateaued

My thoughts have been scattered lately.

Yeah, I know, not a very good sentence–especially for someone whose day job is to organize thoughts and put them to writing.

Blah.

My inability to think straight isn’t new (pun intended). I think this has something to do with how I’ve been deprived of stimulating conversations lately.

I can’t think or write clearly the past few days because I’m constantly engaged in bland conversations that don’t go beyond “how’s your day?” and “do you have this in the Philippines?”

I feel plateaued. There’s nothing much to talk about, really.

Buzz!

The past two weeks have been insanely depressing.

My bicycle was stolen. And my Internet at home was disconnected because of some strong rains that hit Hanoi.

But I’m back now. And so is my Internet connection.

I have stories to tell. I’ll get to them as soon as I nail work deadlines.

Meanwhile, please laugh at these silly photos of me ice skating in Vincom Mega Mall last Friday.

My fall didn’t hurt. Really.

My Filipino friends and I are like the Vietnamese

Here’s another lousy list that is inspired by this week’s peculiar interactions with the people around me.

“Jesse, you should try to be more Vietnamese,” my editor told me.

“I am Vietnamese!” I proudly claimed, referring to a number of things: the way that I dress; the way I sent a robotic email to a co-worker who was seated next to me instead of directly speaking with him; and the way that I take pride with my newly acquired bicycle driving skills where I don’t freak out at close proximity with the buses on the road anymore.

Then came the weekend where jolts of homesickness started striking me again. I stayed indoors all Saturday and mourned at the loss of my usual weekend routine: hanging out with my friends, acting like total stuck up bitches, and gossiping to death until the wee hours.

I realized that, to some surprising extend, we are like the Vietnamese. Here’s why:

We like long conversations over cheap drinks (that is, until SM Lanang Premier and many of the upscale coffee shops in it opened). The sight of countless coffee shops in Hanoi reminds me so much of my friends. I see people in these coffee shops slowly killing time with long laughs and conversations. “That could be us,” I thought to myself.

We are very discriminating against oddly dressed people. It’s true. Oddly dressed people are often conversation starters for us. And I’ve observed that the Vietnamese share this trait too. Unfortunately, it is I who was relatively oddly dressed in their world. I have been subjected to countless judgemental stares and vicious whispers when I wear immaculate white trousers.

We are crazy drivers. I admit to texting while driving my car. Levi is guilty of doing the same. And the Vietnamese? Why is that even a question? They compose SMS when they ride their motorbikes. They make phone calls (without hands-free or Bluetooth headsets) while driving their motorbikes (or for the middle-class, cars). They also overuse the their vehicle’s honking device. I admit to doing that too, but that lifestyle was short lived.

Forgetting to hit the brakes are something that we have in common too. I once rammed my father’s old jeep in a residential gate during my university days. And road accidents in Hanoi are, you know, casual.

Clearly, I miss my friends back home too much. Like probably would suck less if video calls to them weren’t so awkward and if Viettel’s international voice calls wouldn’t have so much lag.

Kids from the unknown

I don’t know how kids think anymore.

That’s because I haven’t actually been talking to any of them in a long time. Until I found myself in Vietnam and in a house with two kiddos.

The way they think is a mystery to me.

Me: I like Selena Gomez. She is Justin Bieber’s girlfriend.
Bin: No. They broke up.

The conversation above showed my attempt to be innocent, while talking to a kid in the most basic of ways. I don’t want to introduce adult concepts of breakups and relationships whatever.

But read again what I got as a response.

Next.

Me: I like Chowder (Cartoon Network).
Bin: I don’t like him because he’s fat and stupid.

Kids today are a mystery. I feel so old saying that.

I can never write “can ride a bicycle” in my CV

The whole of Vietnam must be laughing at me right now.

I don’t know how to ride a bike. So sue me for not having that life skill.

I see my doom for the rest of the year if I don’t try to learn how to get along with the bicycle lent to me by VFEJ. I also see my doom if I don’t learn how to deal with the traffic here.

Maybe I should ask someone to teach me how to ride my bicycle. And in a romantic, cheesy, comedic kind of way.

I’m such a shame. I’m 22 and I don’t know how to ride a bike. Even a Vietnamese fetus can ride a bike.

Do I need to purchase a life upgrade? An extra memory for my brain to store all bicycle skills?

Clearly, I experienced nightmare earlier this afternoon when I walked from the VFEJ office to my house. And with a bike.

Ambisyosa pa kaayo ko to dream of buying an iPod dock for my bike. Haha