I still owe a part two for my previous post. But I’m not really in the mood right now to write about the next part. Right now I’m not in the mood for pretty much anything but sit on my ass, listen to Franz Ferdinand coerce me to get high. I’m feeling a bit petulant, a bit pissed, a bit envious. Although I do not want to make anymore references of him in my blog, eventually, I do. Like now.

The thing is, I found myself going to his friendster profile (haaaalooooo! anything new). Maybe I am that bored. Maybe I am just testing myself to see if I would still flinch. Maybe I am just a bit bipolar. So of course I went there. I checked the messages he received. And because he is “In a Relationship” now he gets a lot of mushy messages from his girlfriend.

Here is the honest-to-goodness truth. I am not pinning for him anymore. My gut even tells me he’ll get her pregnant and marry her, or marry her and then get her pregnant. Bottom line is, I am cool if he married her or whoever. I have found my peace and accepted the reality that he’s just not into me. I am, however, envious he’s a “In a Relationship”. I am envious that he has someone to hold hands, say mushy things to, and all the wrappings of being “In a Relationship”.

I know that I could, if I really wanted to, be “In a Relationship” too. 

But I am too tired of the dating game. I am tired of this cycle of getting from one relationship to the next like shopping for the next pair of shoes. Trying to make it fit, oohing and ahhing for a few months, but the novelty of newness fades and the reality that the shoe hurts sinks in until we hurl it off and go out for a new pair. I am tired of having to change myself to make someone else happy ending up not really knowing who I am or what I want. I think I’ve had my fair share of broken hearts and painful memories to last me this lifetime and the next. I don’t have a phobia on commitment. The truth is, I love being in a relationship and taking care of one special guy and having memorable times with him. I cannot say that I am afraid of love. I’m afraid of people, for sure. People can be cruel. People can be selfish. People can be taxing. People has made me cynical and I am trying hard to stay on guard and play safe. 

Although I am jealous that he has found someone to love (conveniently right after I get to Canada, hmmmmm) and I wonder if it will happen to me, I know that I will not get up from my chair and go out to to meet singles in a bar to end up in a drunken one night stand. I’m just not that kind of person. Friends say I don’t make an effort. But I’m wary of jumping in the dating scene and making everyone know I’m here, existing, and looking. Am I being a coward because I would rather wait? I want to be in love, I want to love, I want to be loved. I get that there are some legwork involved, but the way things are lately I do not think I would enjoy wading into the ocean full of funky fishes wanting to just take my clothes off. And the guys that I wouldn’t mind taking my clothes off, well... they intimidate me (shhh!).

For sure, I do not enjoy suffering the paroxysms of envy. I mean, I’ve been with him for three years which made me know his flaws. I know his mood swings is worse compared to a woman’s. I know how mean he can be with women. I know how inconsiderate he can be. I know how narcissistic he is. I know, if I had a better option then, I would not think twice leaving him. Just because he’s in a new relationship doesn’t mean he isn’t the same asshole who makes a woman cry like how he made me cry and beg (eeew!) before. Being In a Relationship is a lot of work. And I commend them both for putting up a fight for love. Whatever. I've now exorcised my jealousy. If there is anything to be envious about it is definitely not the fact that he's a In a Relationship.

It’s sunny outside and spring is happening any day now. I should be happy. So I went to my friends list in Friendster and did what I should have done a year and a half ago... click the [X] beside his name and clicked “Yes” to confirm that I want to delete this friend.

So there’s this guy in Facebook who became my “friend” and we’ve been messaging back and forth for some days now. One of the questions he asked me was what made me come to Canada. I think all my wittiness dissolved to nothing and my fingers was poised on the keyboard to type some reply except when I read that question it kept on bouncing in my head until everything else dissolved to nothing but that question bouncing slowly like some screensaver in my mind. 

Until now I don’t know how to start another paragraph. This is elementary. I should say, “I moved to Canada because...” and then I write the reason. But the reason eludes me. For sure, I was not coerced to go here. I have to remember what brought the decision to move to Canada, not for the guy, but for myself. 

Eleven years ago the Canadian Consul in Cebu offered to send me to Canada to represent Cebu businessmen as an invitation of the Canadian government to foster ties between the Philippines and Canada. I remember like it happened only yesterday. I was sitting in his home office looking at the knicknacks on his table and wondering why he called me there when we hardly talk, only polite greetings when my parents would meet them for lunch or schmoozing with them at church. Then he and his wife told me about going to Canada for a month. I remember being suspicious, those were the years that my parents were using the carrot-stick approach on me. And after realizing the carrot wasn’t really a prize but a loan that I will have to repay sooner or later I knew this “free” trip to Canada was going to be a trip with hidden fees. It was their way of making me feel “guilty” since they gave me something, I owe them to obey. This has never really turned on my good side and I was getting the stick not caring about the carrot. And because they can’t make me obey them anymore their friends have come to the rescue. It was maddening, I have become suspicious to their and their friends concerted effort to make me stop “rebelling”.

His next words confirmed my suspicion. He looked at me straight in the eye and said, “We didn’t pick you because you are a good person, we picked you because your parents are our friends. You should be grateful to your parents”. Hearing those words burned like acid and I felt myself recoiling from them and all the more recoiling from the religion they and my parents harp about. I wanted to spit at him and my parents and the tell them how farce they are. Their words, actions, motives, and thoughts were shit. No, shit pales compared to them. I told him that I will not go to Canada and he can offer it to someone more “deserving” because I don’t want any expectations over my head. A flash of anger showed in his eyes and his faced tensed. I stood up and left. I remember being really incensed by the audacity he showed me, (I guess he felt the same towards me then too) trying to tell me he is so generous when the truth is he is the same as all of those judgemental Christians --- tagging, nagging, accusing, self-righteous. Of course the General was pissed when I got home, so pissed I thought she would break my arm just to make me go back to them and apologize which I will never do even if they burn me on a stake. In a few weeks I found out they gave the “trip to Canada” to some youth attending in their church. He came back, became arrogant, got a girl pregnant when he was only 18, got married, and turned out a failure even in my own standards.

See, my parents are born again Christians and so is the Canadian Consul and his family. But having lived with my parents 24/7 I had the bad example of a Christian --- good and generous in the outside, vindictive and abusive in the inside. Countless nights my father would hit me over and over because I have been stubborn compared to his other children and then when my eyes can no longer make tears and I am bruised all over, feet aching for standing so long like a plebe in military school, and exhausted with all the stress, fear, anger, hurt he would make sit me read to me the Bible, tell me to confess my sins to God in prayer and then tell me he loves me then embrace me. The same hand that slap me would be the same hand that embraced me. The same mouth that would tell me never to kiss him because it is like Judas kissing him, would tell me he loves me. The same man who told me that he named me Darlene Love to remind him to love me is the same man who is my father. This happened almost every night when he got home. It has gotten to a point when I would flinch every time he would extend his hand towards me. And every Sunday, when the Colonel gets up the pulpit to preach in church or to share his testimony I want to hurl the Bible on my lap at his face and spit at the General for never once did she stop my father when he beat me up. I hated them to the core. I hated being born. I hated their God for making me angry, hurt, confused, and neglected.

I grew up being told to do everything they say from what to eat, wear, befriend, course to take, religion to believe in. I deceived myself into thinking I knew who I was when I had no personal values, no personal principles, no personal foundation. I only breathed and lived by my parents law. I could not make a decision. And by the time I went to university I was like some schizo whose straitjacket was removed. All hell broke lose. All the pent up rage out for the world to take. This was the place I learned not to give a damn. This was where I fell in my own rabbit hole...

To be continued.

Whew! I have just finished with my tax form. I didn’t know it would be complex. I hope the TurboTax software I am using is accurate cause redoing it is something I am not looking forward to. 

Perhaps it has something to do with all the numbers I have been looking at or maybe the Ilocano genes in me kicked in but after finishing my tax forms I started auditing my salary, expenses, and savings. Since I started working here last year I ought to have at least $1,800 savings given I should be saving $200 every pay day. When I was finished with my audit I was dismayed to know I only saved one-half and a bit of my target. I know I shouldn’t be dismayed when I do online banking everyday. I know how much I have in my Savings Account. But one always wonders where do their money go when they see they have a high net income but a low savings. I’m not satisfied. I guess “should be saving $200 every pay day” being the operative phrase made me cheat on my savings. 

It was so easy to move money from my Savings to Chequing account especially over the holidays, I remember even thinking last year, "I can start saving on 2009 because there's so much expenses at the beginning". I did start saving this year but the fact that I lost $800 on my savings makes me somewhat of a Scrooge this year. As I tracked my first quarter history this year I can see remnant traces of me moving some of my money from my savings, little bits only but it still amounted to $100!!! Oh the disadvantage of online banking! It’s so convenient. So convenient indeed to lose my savings. In three easy steps my Savings account can have $0.00 balance. My bank should not make it easy.  I should go through gazillions of warning pop-ups that if I transfer so and so dollars and spend it I will be grumpy and whiney and bummed out. Since earning a measly .05% interest is hard enough withdrawing money, swiping my card, transferring funds online should not be that easy! It’s not even amusing that they name their online banking “EasyWeb”. 

If you knew me well enough, you are right that I have created an Excel file with my calculations. Since I’m not happy with my current output I started projecting the amount I will save if I continue with the $200 savings per pay day. The result? Nine thousand four hundred dollars. $9,400 only. Crap! I don’t know (and really don’t care) if you find that amount substantial. But if you find it too low, mind you, I came to this country classified as a LOW-SKILLED worker!. Anyway, $9,400 can’t even put Kitty Kat through school for two semesters. Okay, so maybe it is good enough but since I’m used to getting five figure salaries not lesser than 35 thousand pesos per month my mind process the 9,400 as pesos. I know that if I convert the 9,400 at the current conversion rate that is three hundred forty-seven thousand pesos which is not bad but the predominant factor in my mind are five digits. I have to make my savings reach five digits, nothing less and only more.

I started becoming creative. If I paid, in $50 installments, the amount I cheated used for Christmas gifts and stuff I have no clue what anymore last year I can earn $10,400. Not bad. As I appraised my black and white spreadsheet I realized I was actually giving $100 to Jac every pay day too for our paluwagan*. And will end when we’ve given $1,700. Although that amount doesn’t count as savings as I will use it for my family’s plane fare when they visit me on August, I thought that technically I am not spending $300 per pay day. If I can do it now, I can do it again when I’m done with my $50 installments. Oh the figures started improving when I started making changes. When I saw the final numbers I was pretty pleased with the end result. Since I included the US Dollar Savings Account I recently opened the figures jumped a bit more, now if only the US dollar can lower a little that way I can buy som more. Since my mood improved I started coloring my Excel file to ensure I know which dates I will increase the amount I will move to my Savings account and on which date. Now the final stroke. I know the General and the Colonel will ask me how much I am saving, since I don’t want to divulge the dollar amount (I know, just like me, they will find it too low) I computed the percentage of my savings per annum. I am actually saving 45% of my net pay.

The tricky part is making sure I will stick to it. With this plan, I may not be able to buy my XBox 360 Elite. I will have to be contended with my Nintendo DS. And if not, well.... I can always borrow Arnie’s. :D

Allow me to have a bitch fit, please. Two things have been getting into my nerves for a couple of days now.

First of, I am not a fan of DST. It’s not some band, it’s Daylight Saving Time. Don’t get me wrong ...I love the sun, but all this sunshine is affecting my sleep. I wake up at two AM so I have to sleep earlier than normal 9-5 workers. It’s not easy to sleep when it’s so bright outside and the sun is beckoning you to go out. Seven in the evening seems like five and my housemates say it’ll get worse on June... 10PM and the sun is still there. How nice. Not! All this brightness is affecting my circadian rhythm. I end up sleeping late and feeling tired.

The other thing is the cold. Can someone please fix the air conditioning outside??? It’s waaaaaay too cold. -18 on a sunny day, ugh! Yeah, it’s sunny outside but it’s f*cking cold. It’s even colder now than the day after it snows. Wearing two socks when I go to bed is not even helping my valiant efforts to go to bed early.

Okay, since I have whined about that I’ll try not to bring it up again. Just to be perfectly clear, I said “I’ll try” not “I won’t”.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

I had a dream last night of a young man. He’s quite popular to the opposite sex. He tends to laugh aloud and say corny jokes which make him a great buddy to the guys he knows. Even older folks gravitate towards him. Who wouldn’t with his good looks, sense of humor, and sweetness. Despite his background he is not cynical but grounded and do not take life forgranted. He is close to his mother often adoring her and never second guessing her advice. He is grateful for being alive. Yet despite the happiness in him sadness reaches him most on Christmas and family reunions. On graduations and birthdays he wishes he has a father that celebrated with him.

When I woke up today I felt a sigh escaping. Another haunting. Another dream that prodded. Another day full of wonder. Why I have it I can only guess. I think, if my memory serves me correct, I “met” him when I was a budding adolescent of 14. I didn’t really see him, The Colonel simply confessed his existence on the same day he wanted to break my legs when I was being stubborn. After knowing of his existence his mere being haunts me. Now when people ask how many siblings I have, I ask “legitimate or illegitimate?” after all he is a sibling by DNA but not a sibling to the real meaning of the word. Over the years I haven’t really given much thought of him.

If there is anything that I am sure of in myself that is the truthfulness of me saying I have no anger against him or his mother. He is simply the by product of my father’s affair. If there is anyone who should be resentful I think that would be my mother, but she is past that so she says. 

I write about him now not because I have some pent up anger that needs to be vented (like my usual posts); on the contrary, I am concerned about him. There is a nagging feeling in me to find him and get to know his well-being, get to know his status, get to know him, period. This has been going on for some months now and has only intensified everyday. I suppose it all started with the fact that Tanduay Girl is now settled in almost all aspect of the word, 3rd Mate is also now established in the financial and psychological aspect, Kitty Kat has gotten to a point of maturity, I, on the other hand, has some improvements too. Everyone in the family has grown up and moved out. But while almost all of us has progressed I feel we have left behind one. And that will be my father’s other son.

I want to know what happened to him. I want to know where he is. I want to know if he turned out okay even if he did not have my father to guide him. I want to help him if he is not in a good position. I don’t want to watch his life being portrayed by some actor in MMK and see his sad life being used as entertainment. I'm afraid to find out he had to resort to peddling drugs or his body or stealing or doing really really really menial work just to survive. I want to let him know that even if he felt abandoned by his father, his siblings care about him. Maybe, I want another brother too...hoping that he is not some jerk like my real brother.

But it seems lofty for me to look for someone who I don’t even know the name. I have tried talking to The Colonel about him and he tells me to pray about it. WTF. Sure. But I still want that name. I can try talking to The General. But I’m afraid she’ll say I’m cruel to bring it up. So while I think of other avenues to find him, I’ll pray. Maybe he will come to me instead.

March is here. At the other side of the planet kids are prepping for graduation. All I care about is seeing colors again and having all the snow in Kelowna melt forever... or at least until December again. 

Spring! Spring! Spring! 

My mind is in the precipice of expectation that I think I’ve gone crazy just waiting.