My wife has been pregnant for 9months. 40 weeks and 4 days, to be exact. She has been carrying that bulge on her stomach for almost a year now and its getting bigger and creepier every week.

What makes all these difficult though is trying to get used to the constantly growing gap between us everytime i give her a hug, or the occasional barrage of fists and kicks as my unborn son tries to muscle himself out. There was even this one time, i kid you not, he was able to skip songs played from mama’s ipad as she leans the device on her belly to let him listen to genius-stimulating orchestra with nothing but brute strength and pure unadulterated love for good music. My friends say it was just coincidence, i think its raw talent.
in fairness, my wife is nothing but gentle, soft-spoken, easy to handle, disney-like princess all through out this pregnancy, nearly none of the things old folklores warned me about- extra fat, mood swings, big noses, food binging. A Human Blue-whale.

Today we just got word that the baby is
descending a little slower than expected and the plan would be to guide him out by inducing the delivery.

I’m scared. Scared out of my wits

I want to scream.


Eat ice cream.

We went out instead and she did her last strut along the shiny Target floors- last before entering Motherhood.



Time flew by so fast. it was just a few months back when she first told me we were pregnant. I must admit it wasn’t a sudden elation or a sense of accomplishment that welcomed me. It was more of – am I ready for this?

One thing is true though, every time he moves, every time he gallops, it never fails to keep me wanting, waiting for more.

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i often wonder what makes the Most Interesting Guy In The World. why is he the way that he is.

its funny coz everyday, i open my web and find myself clicking interesting persons i know first. Celebrities, pretty people, fashion muguls. And it always makes me wonder what’s in their lives that makes them so damn interesting. what is in them that captivates empty souls like me?

we’ve heard of Justin Bieber getting famous on Youtube, the pretty Alodia striking inter-galactic fame through dressing up(Cosplay) and the up and coming, my favorite, Pomplamoose(with the soap). Far from plain ordinary, but they used to be. They used to be just the other person sitting beside you in class, or the one in the back flicking guitar sounds. We used to be better than them in math; used to share our lunch with; beat them in basketball.  even borrowed my pen and never gave it back !!!! (cries in prolonged agony)

but that was then. And here they are now. *gains back composure*

Graceful as a swan. Apple of our eyes.

well, back to my question. is being interesting/famous/extraordinary require skill and extra talent? or can one be like “The Most Interesting Man in the World” who, though nameless, holds the world in his soft hands.

“His blood smells like cologne…He taught a horse to read his email for him… If he we’re to punch you in the face, you’d have to fight off the urge to thank him… Sharks have a week dedicated to him..He once taught a German Shepard how to bark in Russian… His organ donor card also includes his beard”

Like the old Greek-Chinese-Budhist and partly Filipino saying, the greater things in life are small *woop*

I was out with the fiance the other day to pick out my tux-an equally challenging task.  

 To allow ample amounts of time to prepare myself emotionally, I had to cut off my working hours early to reserve myself for the rest of the day.

  Yes, this was planned  months ago, but this is Tuxedo day, you see. Women, on their part, have numerous days assigned for fitting and refitting their mile long gowns, not to mention, the bazillion hours of phone calls spent with girlfriends discussing the pros and cons of each and every gown in bridal magazines, while I, the lone groom, only have 1 day- ow, make that just 30 minutes, to be exact. 

This is, of course, one of those crucial times in marriage, along with wedding pictorials, family reunions and child support payments where a considerately productive groom-to-be or any real man, in that matter, are expected to perform exceedingly well…or at least, way up above  average.

 you understand the scenario I’m in  right? the level of pressure?

If there was a time in my life  I’d  wish I could be as suave as 007, this would be it. Go in the store, flip a cigar from my side pocket, say some french clothing-language that only me and the expert tailor comprehends; sit at the counter and leisurely  drop a killer “one liner, “Martini; shaken, not stirred”.

Unfortunately, like the realities of  espionage and make-believe movies, I was the clumsy green ogre that day, stumbling over a shelf of wedding brochures as we stepped in.

I always thought choosing tuxedos were easy. I mean, there are only 2 available colors to choose from for crying out loud and the designs, well, aside from worrying if its gonna be double-breasted or not the suits look basically the same.

but it turns out, when your inside a den filled with  black and white customary drapes for aspiring husbands, the similarities evaporate and now you face  endless variety of exquisitely designed tuxedos,silk, non-silk ,ties, bow ties, bent collars, straightened collars,  or whatever else they are.

Choices which are  too complex for my already shrinking pea-sized brain to decide on.

 I heard that one way of chosing the best one, something that’s truly YOU would be to close your eyes and listen to your heart decide.

 Well, I don’t exactly know how the heart tells you , maybe in a quick extra beat or a skip but walking inside the corridors filled with tagged coats, I had a feeling my heart decided to abandon me on this, or maybe missed its still small voice  for all I heard were my shoes squeeking on the well polished floor and terror-strickened soul screaming,  drowning from confusion and indecisiveness. 

I traversed each aisle aimlessly, touching each possible coat, hoping, nay, praying that one enchanted tux would connect with me.

 but there was silence. there were no sparks.

Fortunately, the fiance was there to lend me her expertise, holding my hand the whole time. Snapping me back from my hysteria. And without breaking a sweat, even with eyes closed she, in slow-motion, extended her finger and rested them gently on a black, double breasted, polyester tuxedo. 

Then the room glistened. 

I swear I heard angels singing right there.

I wanted to be famous.  To be in the movies. On billboards. On commercials. I wanted to do a slo-mo, with my hair gliding gracefully with the wind as I turn to face the camera with my close up. I wanted to be a celebrity.

I remember when I was  at grade school, when the “Ang TV “, a tv show with children and young teens as their main characters  first came out, I was ecstatic to join.

Everyday, I would stand in front of my parent’s gigantic mirror and tried my best to master my cutest and sun-stopping smile. Playing out in mind possible scenes for my soon-to-be audition – An abandoned child; a knight fighting for the love of his maiden who was transformed into  a slimy ogre-looking fly;   a prince surviving a fatal wound  after slaying an evil mage; or a hunk gasping for air, almost drowning while saving a helpless half-naked beauty from the abyss; or a talented actor pretending to be surprised and in shock after winning a Grammy.

I can give you a Kristine Hermosa crying scene from “Pangako sa ‘Yo” just to avoid being spanked by my aunt for misbehaving and get away with it. The tears would be so genuine and convincing that she’d feel torn and bring us out for a 2-peso ice cream to apologize for  raising her voice.

This was my forte. Dramatic Arts.

But while acting was second to breathing for me. Smiling wasn’t. It was kryptonite for my Clark Kent. You see, as a 9-year-old prodigy like me, this was my sole artistic flaw -my Achilles’ heel per se.

And as an avid movie critic I could say that having a prominent smile is fundamental and not to mention critical for a promising actor. I wont even dare count the millions of  promotions John Pratt had on ads like Close up toothpaste for his “well shown-teeth” smile.

Sadly, it would be years till I can parade the various dimensions of my smile. Years before I can awe the world with its grandeur.  So  while I forge and wait, I  painstakingly watched Maxine Magalona, Kaye Abad, Patrick Garcia, Rico Yan take up the roles I was born to do.

By the time my facial muscles finally submitted to my bidding, accede to  my persuasion and  formed a beautiful grin, I was 20 years late . By this time, the Ang TV show was long gone, actors of my age have left the limelight and started to live as adults. The nearest media exposure I could attain at this age would be  from news reporters interviewing for political poll ratings or a water shortage complaint. None for commercials. No more close-ups. No more center stage.

But Fame, I’d say, is not  bound on the limits of “acting” alone. It flourishes from academics, flexibility in sports, glass-breaking high-pitched voices, or acne-free porcelain skin. Even a boring, normal life written in a well-organized and entertaining larger-than-life blog could be one’s long-awaited break…

..oh, wait, does that really work or is it just me wishing?

I’m a celebrity… please take me!

For almost a month now , my struggle to gain supremacy toward my anatomy has been nothing but a failing quest. An elusive end.

Maybe it’s because it’s too ambitious of a goal for me or I have such a weak resolve.

Like Adam, I find myself unable to resist Eve’s  forbidden apple(literally).

I tried almost everything I could. From eating all-protein like lions , eating leaves and grass like goats( but this one I had to stop within a week out of fear of growing horns ), gulping algae like Ariel( little mermaid), running around the Rose Bowl( tried it for a day), biking to work, even the unimaginable, not eating chocolates(?). But  after all these unsuccessful efforts I remedied to check my weight  to at least once a week now rather than monitoring it daily to somehow cushion the blow of the slight 5 lbs increase in my body mass(ouch) and avoid bingeing, a rebound, brought about by mild depression.

Recently, my girlfriend is into Korean telenovelas.

She’s so into them that she started downloading korean applications on her itouch just to immerse herself with their culture and her korean infatuations.  Well, just a week ago, while spending QT, by QT, I mean watching her korean english subbed shows in youtube together, I had a sudden revelation. Why not incorporate my girlfriend’s obsession to my ever-failing quest?

here’s the logic: 

What does Asians, no, let’s just say Koreans, Chinese and Japanese have in common? yes. They are petite, THIN, healthy. and  what is it that they eat vigorously, their main diet? the secret where they attribute their flexible skinny bodies?yes again. NOODLES.

Now according to my deep analysis, if I can just start with that diet, I would be inches away from maintaining a thinner more agile structure. ka-chingggg!!

And so I run to the nearest seafood mart and bought myself dozens of them quick noodles, the ones they showed where cute Koreans guys from “Boys over Flowers” are eating.

And true enough, after I managed to operate the chopsticks to work and started sipping through the soup and noodles, I could immediately feel its effects encapsulating my still-flubby body. After a few sips, my stomach was already filled with a mixture of  fresh air, spicy soup and wiggly noodles. I’ve never felt this healthy before and now I feel full. no longer hungry like i was 2 minutes ago.

Maybe the noodles grant me an illusion of  being filled, but so far it works. for as long as it helps me avoid eating gluttonously and not feel weak from hunger at the same time then it’s alright.

for the sake of transient beauty I’ll do it all.

Weeks ago, me and a friend had a rigorous debate about politics . Considering that  just in a few months, that small island in the Pacific is gonna have its long-awaited Presidential election and according to some, a turning point in our republic.

Somehow, along the conversation my friend accused me of being a cynic referring to my lack of belief on politicians and my absence in voting during my 20-year residence in the country; said that it is our social obligation to pass our vote and choose the bestest candidate, for he/she can reshape our beloved Philippines into something better.

if you have read my previous post regarding my country’s political status, you might understand where I’m going  with this. Politics in my country, has, is and always will be corrupt. It has been like that to a  highest degree that even a simple transaction as to taking a driver’s test requires you to pay a hefty amount. failing to do so would deny you a licence. it’s not optional either, like a tip, it’s a requirement, more like a standard in operation. A friend of mine tried to test that system  once and chose to take the regular test without paying shady personnel for it. and as expected, failed the test in all counts.

To be considerably wealthy in my country, and to do it in the shortest time, one must become a political officer. nothing boosts your general income as fast as jueteng payoffs, invisible housing funds, unfinished road repairs, and unnamed employees clocked in, to name a few. But of course, not all so called-“servants of the people” are like that, there are a few who are doing their services diligently and have Rizal’s flame in their hearts.  A few.

And how much difference can that few make? for some, like my friend there, they’d say, “enough”, enough to start a ripple of change, a ripple of hope.

Actually, that few begun  their ripples centuries back.  But 200 years later, now, how many ripples are left creating influence? have they increased ten-fold or decrease to a heartbreaking low?

like echoes from a loud cry, our voices of change have slowly faded in time.

On the 7,107 islands, how many care enough to live honestly in life’s difficulties? live in virtue without selling or bribing for a quick meal or convinience?how many leaders give their best in service without asking for anything back?or graciously turns over their position at the end of their term? still a few. We all heard the cry, the silent echos in our corridors, everybody did. We all heard the stories but somehow we are too preoccupied digging ourselves out from our own personal troubles that we forget that these problems are interconnected, that we, as a people,  are in this shit  hole together.

The hard truth is that ripples of good ideals and trumpets of patriotism doesn’t affect poor and hungry people anymore. No matter how hard we fight to change it, our efforts would always, I’ll repeat, “always”, come short ether because a.) people are too miserable to change or, b.) there will always be a majority who’d rather meet their greediness first before the common good.

To anchor your dreams on them, on our government, waiting for things and people to change would be like riding  a sinking ship with you vigorously trying to scoop the water out while the rest of the people are busy poking holes on it.

For me, the best way to survive this jungle of a country, where the weak gets eaten and the rich becomes richer, is to stop relying on others and gear up for yourself. Your mayors, your congressmen…your president care for you only until their campaign ends, only when your vote and support is needed for their poll ratings to go up. This is reality, not the make-believe world we dream of when we were toddlers in the safety of our parent’s arms.

I believe the room for change, unfortunately, has become as narrow as a needle’s eye-maybe too much for one president and a devoted few to chew on.

If being realistic and practical is being cynical, then how can you not be? how can you stay naive and live as if you are an outsider? how can you pretend to?

Reform can only start when one sees the problem.

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