Quote for the day:

Oh, my weeping willow,
Let your leaves fall and return,
Oh darling, the seasons are your friend.

- Sia, Death by Chocolate

You know what I need right now? I need me some perspective. If I could, I would schedule a rendezvous with myself[/selves?] at ages 11, 13, 18, and 30.

We’d meet up at a pizza place, because, you know, everyone likes pizza. 11-13 will have pepperoni while I look on in disgust. 18 will be awed by my ability to abstain from land-animal meat. [That's all I have to impress her. But more on my underwhelmingness later.]

11 likes to break out into Andrew Lloyd Webber songs when she thinks no-one is looking. She daydreams of running away to the wilderness; of shrinking herself and riding her pet hamster James like a horse; of waking up one day with superhuman abilities; of gatecrashing teddy-bear picnics. 11 knows everything in the world yet has experienced nothing. She feels perpetually underestimated by grown-ups, and will be determined that her opinion – solicited or otherwise – be heard. She will comment on 18’s graphic t-shirt: “I don’t get it.” She will like my hair. And we, the weather-worn, will look at 11, see her self-awareness and misplaced sense of invincibility, and envy.

Except for 13. Frizzy-haired 13 will kick 11 under the table for butting in. Ah, 13. I will pat you on the shoulder and whisper in your ear, “Lighten up dear, everything will be okay. This will pass.” And 13 will look up, see what she becomes in ten years, roll her eyes and sigh. I will try to impress her with how cool I’ve become, then quickly realize how insufficient [read: lame] my deemed coolness actually is.

She won’t be the only one disappointed with me.

18 will be disconcerted at my appearance. She will sidle up to me and preach, unblinking, “23, remember the height from which you have fallen. Remember what I stood for. Remember my optimism. You can deal with this the wrong way and destroy yourself in the process, or you can do as you did when you were me, and build yourself from the heartbreak and grow. Remember being alone but unlonely. You can be that again.” I will try to keep my voice steady when I say, “You don’t know where I’ve been, 18. You have no idea how hard it is to…“ Then, right when our eyes begin to well up, 13 will disrupt the conversation with a loud OMG-I-can’t-believe-this-drama sigh, and we’ll quickly change the topic, proceeding to gush about boys while 11 and 13 make retching noises.

30 does not gush about boys, but will be amused by the conversation at the table. We’ll all want to know: What does she do? Is she married? Does she have kids? Pets? But 30, like most imagined future versions of selves, will hold back on the spoilers and not entertain these questions. She will say that she has seen the world, knows what she wants and is on the path to getting it. As I will have done with 13, she’ll reassure me with a “don’t worry, you’ll get there.”

Recently, I learned that the root word of education is educere, which means “to bring out.” Real learning isn’t about putting ideas and skills into someone, but fleshing out the muck to reveal the whole human being underneath. And I wish that this process can be pleasant and smooth-sailing all the time, but I now know that a lot of it involves painful pruning.

I sometimes think that this post-formal-education period has been my lowest, that I have devolved, that I have drifted off-course, and as 18 might say, fallen. But a week ago, a friend of mine told me that I had grown a lot since our first meeting a couple of years ago. I don’t see it, of course, but I hope that he was being sincere and that he’s right.

Some people don’t need a lot of pruning, some can flourish wherever they are put. It would save me a lot of grief if that were true for me, but obviously that’s not the case. I grow slow and not-so-steady, but the bottom line is this: I grow. I need to accept this season, because what if this mess is what I need to bring out the real person?

Quote for the day:

“I’d be lying if I ran away, and so I’ll stay.”

- Greg Laswell, I’d Be Lying

I know, I know. Where have I been?

Honestly, I don’t know where to start, so I’ll just back to the -ber months, primarily because as months go, they’ve been pretty interesting.

And emotional.

Let me illustrate with my stupendous paint skillz:

[I forgot to label the axes but obviously x is time in months, and y is happy points.]

Point A: When I started losing things, literally and figuratively. I’d elaborate but… no.

Point B: I am tremendously thankful for that sudden spike in my graph because I thought October would be the end of me. It’s a funny story actually [no, not really; it's amusing at best ] – I found myself in a high-school-esque crush for the first time in eons. I have long missed the feeling of new crush – the impossibility of feeling vulnerable and invincible at the same time: one moment you’re soaring high, the next you’re damning your heart to the depths of Hades for what it wants—-*dramatic toss of the head* DAMN YOU OH HEART OF MINE!!!

I think I should point out that I’m already growing out of this state of twitterpation, but because of you, dear Boy-Who-Must-Never-Ever-Be-Named, I now have high hopes for the future [see upward trend of my December projection]. Just the knowledge that there are guys like you still out there is enough to keep me going for another season or two. Thank you, Boy-Who-Must-Never-Ever-Be-Named, for making me see good things in the world again.

* * *

P.S. Seeing that this is my first update in far too long, I know that this post should be a little longer. But see, as you can probably tell, the lack of practice has made me lose what little connection I used to have with words. This doesn’t feel natural anymore. It is sad, but I will continue to fight the good fight against the powers that be [i.e. my not-so-inner sloth and The Day Job].

P.P.S. I don’t want to make yet another apology to my blog, but I think one has been long overdue for the state of neglect I have put it in. I have no excuses, just this one ’sorry’, and the most sincere ‘I’ll be back soon’ that I can offer you.

Quote for the day:

“Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what’s to come. But that night, I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn’t have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves… for growing up.”

- The Wonder Years

I have a bit of a Peter Pan complex.

Let me illustrate.

I am twelve years old. My best friend and I are washing our faces at a sleepover, and I notice that she’s wiping off this green sparkly gunk off her eyelids. I am shocked, because (a) I’m with this girl all the time and I didn’t notice anything, and (b) this is grown-up stuff; I am still [secretly] hosting bedroom tea parties with my stuffed animals. Feeling stunted and a little betrayed at the revelation that my best friend is ready to grow up before I am, I try putting on make-up the next day. Some classmates notice, and ask me if I am wearing eyeshadow. I am mortified. I scoff at their faces, avoid eye contact, and before the first class, run to the bathroom to wash it all off.

High school: the girls in my class pair themselves up with their very eager counterparts from the local all-boys high school. I imagine their meetings to be like that centaur mating ritual scene from Fantasia [which, can I just say, is the best centaur courtship scene ever - I can watch it over and over again and it's still magical... *sigh* Disney is behind my unrealistic expectations regarding love and courtship... scratch that, they're behind everything].

My friends try to bring me with them to talk to the pretty [?] boys, but I don’t feel like enough of a… woman to do any of that. To keep my friends happy [i.e. because I am a pushover], I entertain a few textmates. When these boys tell me they want to meet, I stop replying. Story of my life.

Aaaand I take a year off before going to college because I’m not ready.

College: the world is telling me to grow up, and I am too busy being busy to pay attention. I don’t apply for a job until four months after I graduate.

Present day: I am about to start working, about to find my own place, about to begin paying taxes, and you know what? Having to face all this grown-up stuff isn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be [okay, maybe going through my pre-employment medical exam was a little frightening]. And maybe I’ll never be as mature as the next girl-er-woman, but I don’t think I’m going to be running away from this stuff anymore.

Or at least I’m going to try not to. It’s a start.

This has been Day 6 of my I-will-update-my-blog-every-day-for-a-week resolution!!!

Quote for the day:

My brother: “[Insert philosophical blah-blahs here]…for example, I’m good at bass guitar. Ate Ror [our eldest], you’re good at design. And [DQ]…  you’re good at… *pauses*…sleeping.”

- He evidently thinks a lot of me.
Context: In a taxi on the way home from Life Pursuits,
talking about knowing the purposes of our talents.
Hey, it takes a lot of dedication to relax the way I do.

I started blogging in 2004, a few months after I graduated from high school. I didn’t go to college right away like the rest of the Philippines, but decided to take a year-long break to figure out what I wanted in life [I didn't]. So, while my high school friends were busy warming up to their new lives in university and hanging out with their shiny new college friends, I quickly got reacquainted with my not-so-inner loner.

But the thing is, even natural loners like me sometimes feel the need to tell someone about their day. So I turned to my computer. In my first blog [it's private now, sorreh], I talked about my new violin pieces, how bored I was, how frustrated I was for having ridiculously strict parents, my pseudo-stalkers, being bored, being lonely, being bored again, etc. I was a very lonely girl who listened to very sad music and kept a very angsty blog. [I think I should point out that this was right before the pimple that was the emo movement exploded all over the world.]

Then for some strange reason, people started to comment, and they started to link back to my blog. Imagine that – I had regular readers. I was weirded out by the sudden traffic – save for a link on my friendster profile, I didn’t really do much advertising – but knowing that someone out there found my pathetic life somewhat interesting gave me the warm fuzzies.

So as my readers increased and my blogroll got longer and longer, I started to put more care into my posts. I thought that if people drop by my blog I might as well make it worth their time.

I can think of a few things that led to the downfall of my obsessive blogging:

• Somewhere in the middle of my time in UP, I got a life.
• Plurk. Facebook. Need I say more?
• Bloggers on my blogroll suddenly spamming, traffic-baiting and writing crap posts. [No, not you, you're cool.] WHAT HAPPENED PEOPLE!? WHERE DID YOUR INTEGRITY GO?!

Seeing the state of donyaquixote.com now, you wouldn’t think that I used to update every single day. I kind of miss the days when I’d hear a good song on the radio and talk about how it made me feel, write about the cool things I learned in class, and record each encounter with the crush in painstaking detail.

Dear readers, if you’re still out there, pay attention because I’m about to make an announcement: I’d like to try and update this thing regularly again, if only for a week, and not just because my lack of updates makes me sad.

I seem to have forgotten how to write.

What some of you might not know is that I like to write myself a good bit of fiction now and then. I’ve been trying to churn out stories out of my system and I just can’t. I swear, I think I have some pretty decent stories just waiting to be wreak havoc on my sleeping patterns, but every paragraph I’ve written so far has been so disgusting, I can’t even make it past one page.

This post is no exception – already I’m thinking of not bothering to publish this. But I will, and I have, and that’s why you’re reading it right now.

So, let’s try this again, shall we?

Dear reader, do you know this movie?

Plot summary (from imdb.com):

When a young boy and his family don’t come one year to their holiday home, their household appliances… think their master might be in trouble. They decided that rather than stay where they are, they’ll try to find them. So beings a dangerous and amusing adventure through the countryside and into the big city. Written by Cynan Rees {cynanrees@hotmail.com}

If you do, good. You know what I’m going to be talking about. If you don’t, now you know.

Anyway, I blame this movie especially for my unhealthy empathy towards inanimate objects.

For example, I crack a mug. Most people would feel pretty bad for being so clumsy, but sometimes – not as frequent as it used to be, mind you – I actually feel sorry for the mug. I mourn over its loss of purpose in the world, and the part I played in its death… Then I quickly get over it, because one should only allow a modest number of moments of insanity in one’s life.

[This is why I don't name my belongings. A lot of people name their gadgets/musical instruments/etc., and I do none of that, it only makes me worse. I tried giving my violin a name  once upon a time but it didn't work out. So basically we're all no-name slobs now.]

Before I go on, let me give you a brief summary of my history with this movie.

[history]

In the late 80’s, TBLT came out. [A lot of Pixar guys were behind the release, which explains a lot. Don't even get me started on toys. Pixar has a lot of my issues to answer for.] I watched it sometime in the early 90’s, and it was so bizarre that years later, I thought I had dreamed up the whole thing. This all changed one pivotal day in the late 90’s, in a video rental place I forgot the name of, when the pre-adolescent version of myself saw TBLT’s VHS sleeve nestled in the bowels of the family viewing section. And I knew. Something in my heart and my head clicked. And I felt a little less alone in the world, knowing that it was all real. Well, almost real. [I think it's important to say that I didn't dare rent it and risk doing any more damage to my sensibilities.]

[/history]

So later on in the day, when I’m on my bed and reflecting on the many mistakes I mistook and feelings I felt and choices I choiced – but most especially the mug I un-mugged – I remember The Brave Little Toaster and curse it for making me so weird. And I feel good. Because at least I have something to curse.

Bow.

But wait! Don’t go! My story isn’t finished yet!

Recently, I had a TBLT moment of my own. See, around two months ago I lost my cell phone in Rizal, and everyone I knew told me that I should get a new phone. Get over it, they said. You need a number, they said. Your social life is going to die, they said.

And guess what? Being the tenacious heroine that I am, I didn’t.

I didn’t believe any of it. I didn’t heed their advice. Sure, I knew that the rational thing to do was to buy a cell phone and most importantly, get a new number – people do it all the time, how hard could it be? But somewhere deep in my gut was a faint glimmer of hope, a belief that my battered Nokia 3110 was out there in the wilderness of the Sierra Madre, crying out, “I’ll find you! As long as you believe, I’ll find you!” [By the way, I think it's only fair to mention that everyone was right - my social life... erm... what  social life?]

But I’m only human. After a month, I bought a new sim card, and I borrowed an old phone from my sister. And I put the sim card in the phone. And I turned it on. And you know what?

It didn’t work.

I didn’t bother to get it repaired.

IT WAS A SIGN.

The next day, my dad gets a call from Rizal – somebody had found my phone. [I like to believe that my phone found somebody, but... yeah... ehem... never mind.]

And so I waited for its return. And waited. And waited. I felt like Audrey Tautou in A Very Long Engagement. I hadn’t had this much drama in ages, and I was milking it for all that it was worth.

* * *

WAIT! STOP READING! PUT WHATEVER YOU’RE LISTENING TO ON PAUSE! AND CLICK PLAY FOR MAXIMUM DRAMA!

I Got You Babe Sonny And – Cher
FREE MP3 DOWNLOADS @ MP3-CODES.COM

Have you clicked play? Okay, you may carry on reading.

* * *

Last week on the fourth of July, it came back into my arms.

After two months of separation, I can go back to ignoring important text messages and phone calls. It’s such a beautiful feeling, so beautiful that I had to share it with YOU, dear reader.

So when you think you’ve lost something or someone important to you, and you’re losing hope because the chances of reconciliation is 1 in a bajillion… take comfort in the fact that 1 in a bajillion is still a chance [okay, maybe I should have used a real number for that illustration]. Sometimes it’s okay to be stubborn. Stand your ground. Be steadfast. And listen. To your heart, and to that voice inside your head that believes in The Brave Little Toaster. [Note: Most of the time you should tell it to shut up, it usually works for me.]

.

**Reader discretion is advised. The author is not responsible for any damages that may be traced back to this post.**

Quote for the day:

“The durian is a very Asian, non-individualistic experience. When you eat it, everyone around gets a little taste… whether they like it or not. BWAHAHAHA.”

- Kuya Phil, American and durian connoisseur
defending his right to eat durian in the van

Can I say that again? I’m alive!

I’m in Malaysia right now to bum around in a more exotic location help out at this conference my parents are attending, and at the moment enjoying the free wifi at our swanky hotel’s lobby.  I’m pretty much settled here in my little corner, but just a few hours ago, I was on…

THE SCARIEST FLIGHT I HAVE EVER HAD IN MY TWENTY-ONE YEARS!!!!! [Exclamation marks, capitalized & bolded letters needed to stress this point. Anticipate more of these.  Bear with me.]

See, our flight had been shaky from takeoff, but that didn’t bother me.  DQ can take a little turbulence, ’scuse me.

Our descent to KL – now that was a whole different bag of banana chips altogether.

Let me illustrate. Literally. [And be blown away with my MS Paint skillz.]

This is what a normal landing should look like:

This was what ours felt like:

If my art [heh] hasn’t convinced you of how frightening the whole thing was, you’ll just have to take my word for it.  It was the first time my whole body actually rose out of my seat, and it happened, like, three times.

So, what did I learn?

1. Never fly with [airline] again, if I can help it. [We're flying with them again next week to go back to the Philippines - d'oh.]
2. Tough times bring people together.  Ask my dad’s seatmate – she was clinging to his arm the whole time [note: we didn't know her - haha].
3. They [tough times] also push you to talk to God.  So me and him had a heart to heart. Went a little like this:
   “God, is this it? Is this really how I’m going to die – a fresh graduate, on plane crash on a perfectly sunny day? It’s a pretty pathetic way to go, and I guess that’s okay because I’ve lived a pretty happy life, but if you decide to let me live… it would be cool. Help!”
   At the face of death [or so I thought], you’d think I would have bargained a little better for my life, or at least prayed a prettier prayer, but that’s all I could cough up… Which brings me to my last point: 
4. Appearances and words don’t matter. No matter how crappy your prayer may seem, God listens, and always answers. [And I like his answer to this particular prayer.]

I’M ALIVE! Woohoo!

[P.S. I didn't actually scream. I just yelped. Once.]