I feel like a champion!

Just in case you didn't immediately get the Disney excerpt
I dropped just now.

I do. I really do. It's a golden Monday night for me, and I think I'm feeling cheeky enough to tell you and the woman with no face breathing over your shoulder right now why I feel absolutely triumphant. That is, if you can keep a secret. I'm going out on a limb on our purely virtual and impersonal relationship right now by entrusting you with something I've been gushing over for the past 3 hours. There's been so much gushing, in fact, that out of sheer kilig and giddiness, I've gone to the bathroom to pee approximately five times in those 3 hours. That's a lot! I've probably lost you, but I do believe there's a tangible connection between the butterflies in my stomach and the sphincter that regulates my urine. Don't believe me? Ask the dishes!

See, there's this guy... whom I won't name because if I do, his name will ring a multitude of bells in your Filipino brain, then I'd get caught in a crap storm of issues and unwarranted attention, and I just don't want to make an ugly mess of things. Anyway. So there's this guy... whom I've always kind of had a - and in the most shallow sense of the word - crush on since I was a kid. (OH DEAR GOD, LET THIS ENTRY BE RIDICULOUSLY VAGUE.) Long story short, I finally met him in the flesh a few weeks ago, and just a few hours ago, I find out he digs me.

BOOYAH! Please accept this virtual high five which then evolves into a Bro shoulder hug with complimentary Bro pat on back.

Sarabi. See how she does NOT
look like Nala?

So that's basically the reason why I feel like a champ tonight. I feel like I went from plain Jane, ordinary member of Pride Rock, to freakin' alpha female Sarabi. Now, if you can't remember who Sarabi is, she's Mufasa's wife. No, she does not look like Nala. It's like comparing Meryl Streep with Amanda Seyfried - not even on same planes.

At this point, I've noticed I've made two Disney references in the last 10 minutes. Is this my thing when I'm giddy? I regress? Oh, and I type fast too. Hot damn, I should be this annoyingly happy more often. I'd get more work done.

No wisdom or ruminations for this entry, I'm afraid. I just felt the need to rapidly depress the buttons on my laptop to disperse all this extra energy. Goodness knows I need a nap if I wanna catch my show later after ABS-CBN's news and current affairs programs, which by the way, always end up pushing CGE TV In Da Loop one hour later. We're on our second week, and so far, the support's been amazing and I keep getting so much positive feedback from everyone. I am in love with the feeling of knowing I get to bring a tiny ray of sunshine into viewers' frustrating bouts of insomnia, no matter how sabaw our show can get at times. Hahaha!

Tune in every weeknight around 1am, after Channel 2's news and current affairs programs! 

'Til my next entry! Ciao!

P.S. If you want me to write about something, feel free to suggest. Nothing too heavy though. I don't like going on about politics, religion, or anything that will make me come off as remarkably well-versed in grown-up matters. I now end this post script with an immature teehee to prove my point. Teehee! ;)

I miss eating like a man.

The act of dieting was always a foreign concept to me. Mostly because I never really needed to diet myself. I was a fat baby who grew into a healthily plump kid, who suddenly became Ethiopian stick-thin as soon as 7am-3pm school days became the routine back in third grade. I blame my sudden weight loss on my then lack of interest and skill in feeding myself. I was 9, and being the lazy and relatively spoiled little girl that I was, I was used to being spoon-fed by my yaya. Before you roll your eyes at your screen - which is actually a pretty moot thing to do, so don't bother doing it anyway - let me give you another reason to make fun of me. I used to drink my milk from the bottle 'til I was... 10. Voila! Aside from releasing naked pictures, a sex scandal, or a very tactless, homophobic/racist comment, I actually cannot shame myself any further on the world wide web. Back to my skinny tale then.

I grew up a very skinny kid. Now, I just noticed I've used the word "skinny" twice in the last two sentences, so I thesaurus-ed it just now. Let's see... there's scraggy, angular, rawboned, skeletal, "looking like a bag of bones", and (probably in Shakespearean-talk) spindle-shanked. I'm particularly drawn to "skeletal" because it makes me giggle like a stupid little dunce, so let's use that in my rephrase.

I grew up a very skeletal kid (LOL). I think at one point, when I was 12, I was only 70lbs. Plus, that was the time in my life when my dad would call me a Sasquatch because the tips of my fingers would come down to my knees. (MY LIMBS GREW FASTER THAN MY TORSO, SO WHAT, WANNA FIGHT?!) So imagine how gross I looked, all skeletal (LOL) and long and awkward. Not cool. Although, I do give myself props for still managing to attract a few lesbian admirers in school despite my badly miscalculated Sailor Moon-like proportions. That's what you call swag, brah. 'Sup.

Holy fffffries.

Anyway. This underweight trend of mine stayed all throughout my teenage years. Don't get me wrong, I did start to fill in some time in high school, but mostly, I was free to eat as much as I wanted whenever I wanted. I inherited my father's tall, slim frame along with his crazy fast metabolism and passion for rice. I'd have a ratio of 1 spoonful of ulam is to 2 spoonfuls of rice. That's kaing-marino for you! The food was always good, I was always happy to eat, and I was convinced I would never get fat.

I was wrong.

Along came adulthood. My adolescent metabolism's gears slowed, and my kaing-marino started to take its toll. Being naturally cheeky, I first started seeing the weight gain in my face in pictures. Then I started debating with myself if my jeans were shrinking in the laundry, or if my ass was growing. I couldn't believe it at first, but, I was starting to put on weight... and too much of it.

The heaviest I've ever been in my life was 118lbs, and I managed to trim that down to a comfortable 113. Even though I was never able to get back to eating like a dock worker, I was at least able to get into my pants without having to wriggle. See, my body is stupid. It thinks the only places to store fat in are my face and my ass. I'd love for some boob allocation, really, but I guess things don't work that way around here.

Here comes my work on camera and on TV. You know that saying, "The camera adds 10 pounds"? IT'S TRUE. You have to be extra thin, to look just right on camera. In this line of work, the standard really is skeletal. For a foodie like me, it's daily torture to try to eat as little carbs as possible, passing on dessert, and always having to scrutinize nutrion labels and to count calories. Only thing about all this maintenance that I like is working out, but at the end of the day, I think about the good old days. Back when a full meal didn't come with a side order of guilt and a promise to run 4 kilometers the next day.

I hope my motto, "Nothing worth having ever came easy," doesn't wear me out!

Ugh. What a depressing entry. Let's go look at porn. Food porn, that is. Grab a box of tissue for your drool and check out www.prettygirlfood.com. It's one of my most favorite online haunts... and source of late night cravings. HA! Good luck.

It's still the dream!

As some of you already know by now, I'm also a nurse.

No, I don't go around in a white uniform that barely covers my crotch while I absolutely insist to all my male patients that a sponge bath is necessary. That would be an adult film industry role, and a very passé one at that. A way less glamorous vision of me being a nurse would be someone who gives shots to the old and dying, and cleans off poop all day. That one's a safe mile off too.

What I am really, is all sorts of things. I make videos on YouTube, and this has inevitably forced me to use a hybridized slang word to describe myself - I'm a vlogger. (I used to shudder at word, but I find that gradual overusage and abuse can desensitize anyone to almost anything, including neologisms.)  Apparently, now that I'm resurrecting my passion for writing, I'm a blogger too. Oh, and I work as a TV host on ABS-CBN's "CGE TV In Da Loop". Then there's this other venture I've been dying to tell everyone about, but until a contract makes it official, and promotions start, I need to keep my face shut about it. But ultimately, professionally and primarily, I really am a nurse.

All the things I'm busy with right now are in no way even remotely related to the fact that I have a professional license that basically gives me the right to wear a plastered white cap on my head, BUT I really haven't given up on the dream.

And what is the dream?

You'd like to think that now that I'm dipping my feet in media, I've already reformatted my heart and mind into dreaming of being the next Anne Curtis. Well, I'm not gonna lie to you, sweetheart, I wouldn't complain if I did get to that total boss of a level, but my heart still beats for a Nursing career. Thing is, the dream's setting is in America.

I'm hoping none of you scorn me for wanting to leave the country. I'm also hoping none of you attempt to start a losing argument about me being unpatriotic, because if you really think about it, deciding to work abroad when there clearly aren't enough opportunities in your motherland is in no way traitorous or selfish. I love this country, and as is, I love my life here. Truth be told, a part of me is scared of starting over in the Big Apple.

You read that right. I've got my eyes set on New York, baby! Big city! Bright lights! Fast-paced everything! The right to wear black and grey everyday and scream profanities at anyone! A dependency on minute-ready street food, coffee in the park, and public transportation! A Gossip Girl hotel tour I would just love to take and acquire absolutely zero percent personal growth from!

EXCITING.

TERRIFYING.

Just the other day, I sat in the living room with my parents and filled out application forms for the licensure examination. Three words were on loop in my mind: SHIT'S. GETTING. REAL. Next step is having these babies notarized. The next would be mailing them. Hot damn! That's gonna be the first time ever that I'm gonna be sending snail mail in this lifetime. Shit is getting real!

Now to not get ahead of myself, go through the process, and study my ass off. Until I'm all set to leave on a jet plane - or at least a comfortable Boeing 747, since I do live in reality - the realness of shit remains subpar. Only thing left to do once I'm off is to not let it hit the fan.

Uncertainty is addictive.

No one goes through life without falling in love - without feeling so much as a little flutter of emotion and attachment for another human being. I guess it’s in our nature to want to ache in someone’s absence, and revel in their presence. If you think about it, that whole rollercoaster ride of polar opposite emotions is addictive. Consistency was never the most alluring feature of love. We like the volatility.

There isn’t a soul out there who could honestly say they’d want to stay on the sad end of the emotional spectrum of the heart. That’s just common sense. What I’m wondering though is if anyone would want to be happy… forever. Imagine that. No yearning. No void to fill. No anger to douse, and no reason to cry. The saying, “To know sadness, is to know happiness.” is as overused as it is truthful. So, let’s behold that truth in the light of love. 

It's an ecstatic plunge into all sorts of happy whenever you're together, then it weighs heavily on your heart as you watch them leave your side at the end of the day. There's that heart-breaking helplessness when they're at a low point, then pride floods you when the universe finally hands them a long-sought after dream. They make you want to pull your hair out during a fight, but you know few things feel better than that first hug after making up. Then there's that near-suicidal state after a breakup, followed by - hopefully sooner than later - the maddening butterfly infestation in your stomach from finally meeting someone new, and plunging right back into romance.

Complacency is a bad rut to get stuck in. It's where passion goes to retire, passively benefit from a regular, "just enough" pension, and develop a fondess for rocking chairs that ease reminiscing of days that were an extra spectrum more vibrant than the 8-bit present. Analogy overload, I know, but you get me.

Keep it crazy. Keep it young. Stay turbulently in love, and enjoy feeling human.