In Seattle's Best in Mega to finish pro-bono review of tibak play and avoid planner-hungry horde:

• The past couple of weeks, around four people I know broke up with long-time boyfriends (more than 3 years), a trend that would typically elicit from me assignations of portentious heaviness courtesy of some unaligned planets, out-of-sync stars, or, this time, the tail end of a dying decade. 2009 had been harsh, had been because I like it to be over, the deaths and endings it has wrought, and maybe a little wrong tense can make it go a little faster.
  
• That being said, I was in a dark corner of Meat Shop in Katips a couple of weeks ago, trying to comfort a friend by reminding him of the nearing holidays, an occasion that would come regardless of our gloomy apprehensions and misgivings. Do I resent the holiday season more because I'm alone? Perhaps, but I remember cursing the hearts and Cupids of Valentines this year and I had a nice enough boyfriend then, so no finger-pointing on the loneliness.
  
• Alaysa has a rather harsh fight with the parents.
  Glenn: just give in a little.
  Glenn: compromise mads.
  Alaysa: okay, nasa fighting mode pa ako eh
  Glenn: mads. ano ba.
  Glenn: tanders na e
  Alaysa: eh hindi naman tama lahat ng sinasabi ng tanders
  Alaysa: kung aayusin, kelangan klaruhin ang maraming bagay
  Glenn: e yun na nga.
  Glenn: kung wala silang foresight for compromise, ikaw na lang ang magsimula.
  Glenn: mads, that's love, i think.
  Glenn: from the little that i know of it.
  Glenn: YUCK GLENN.
  Alaysa: HAHAHA. :))
  Glenn: sorry kadiri.
  
• Talking to the be-pierced ex from four years ago, one of the casualties of November, who is more concerned about not feeling anything about the breakup than the breakup itself. Keen to suggest this certain river in Egypt, but from what I know of him, awesome at rationalization and moving forward. Normally, he'd get a tattoo or new piercing but worried there's no room left for latter (except internal organs, but can be fatal).
  
  
  
  
  

So. You know that feeling that you'll be single for a long time. Sadly, I have started to harbor something close to it, in spite of myself. No explicit reason. Just a feeling in the general gut area and the attendant remorselessness and apathy. Unfortunately, almost always, it turns out to be accurate, so I'm bracing myself for an extra chilly holiday season, something I'm no stranger to, but still dreads, every time.

To make matters worse, there are at least a couple of weddings in my December calendar that sort of require a plus one. This doesn't worry me much, because I have a quite healthy arsenal of hot, articulate guy friends to take just in case. But you know, weddings. When sober, I'm quite proudly immune to senseless and consumerist mush (as opposed to the deep, no-frills thing), just ask my most recent ex.

However, however. At 23, I know how it goes. That, as Melane said, torment breeds baby torments after excessive contemplation (in her pedantic Filipino, "Ang alalahanin, 'pag inisip nang sobra, nanganganak ng iba pang alalahanin"). Therefore, singleness issues, rearing its always ugly head, have a tendency to encroach on other things - work, family, your art, etc. It's probably its nature. It's probably its importance.

Nevertheless, there was a rogue Cyndi Lauper tune in my head this morning. "You smile, and the spell is cast." There was no guy, no silhouette descending down a flight of stairs and parting the crowd, and no promise of awesome sex. There was a baby, cradled in my arms, smiling for the first time and revealing a pair of dimples.

In the height of noon, you burst through a wail, and shed a layer of cynicism from my shell. I was never a believer of all the inspirational, Oprah-esque drivel that consumerist society assigns to motherhood, but with you, I don't remember praying so hard and so fervently, that you arrive strong to our lives, and your mother, my sister, emerge from it unscathed.

They refuse to name you Verisimilitude, in spite of my insistence. Instead, they chose Sophia, wisdom, the Bulgarian capital, the name of the protagonist in a feminine wash commercial. I still harbor a semblance of resentment, but what's in a name? To label something is to claim ownership, and to be named is to submit to subservience, but I reserve discussions of cultural theory when you at least can turn to your side without assistance.

You were born in the most ominous of years, people dying left and right, death working overtime, its presence and proximity continuously hounding those whom as yet it laid no claim. As such, the earliest instance you can, relish everything and appreciate it. Don't ignore life's incendiary fucked-up-ness and smile like a fool; instead come to terms with this imperfection and know that therein lies the beauty of it all, and the majesty.

Despite your faults (your father is a willing pawn in this state's fascist agenda, for one), you have brought me happiness that I can claim for myself and no one else's, something very, very few people have successfully done. For that alone, you are worth my time, something I can say to very, very few people.

<3 Tito Glenn

PS. If my journal still exists when you turn 18, I shall give you this. But by that time, I'll be 41 and may be dealing with serious age-related issues.

Updating because I want to remember it, but won't stay long because I've become shit scared of random and out-of-character torrential outpour.

• Because I like to salvage any semblance of health and fitness left in my body, dragged Alaysa to go jogging in UP Thursday after work (no work the next day, thank you Ninoy). So after one round - yes, one round - was tired as hell and may have even hallucinated a bit. Then met her friends and Om in Yellow Cab in Katips, rendering whole point of jogging nonexistent, but that was to be expected. Then went to Papu's for a few bottles then went home.
  
• Friday, went to the wake of Prof. Mabuhay Alonzo, practically first and last professor in college because I had him for Educ 100 (intro) and Educ 180 (practicum). Aced both subjects, but this isn't about me. Sir Buhay was one of the more annoying profs, because he was one of those who'd require his students to go to the Senate to listen to committee hearings or go to Mendiola to join a teachers' demonstration, etc. But at the end of the day, he epitomized what a UP professor should be all about - the fucking thankless country.
  
• So Alan and I headed to our weekend getaway - Starbucks in Matalino. Then it happened. Went home at around 3, about such time, it started to rain - hard, very hard. So hard, in fact, that manong driver asked if we can park for a while to wait for a little let-up. We did, because Araneta was virtually not passable. We shared a can of pringles.
  
• After around 30 minutes (with the meter running), manong decided to go. Lo and behold, Araneta and every road that lead to my house were rivers, with one vehicle after another turning around, their drivers with smirks in their faces. It was also raining just as hard. So bottom line: in my jeans and good shirt and bag full of books and phone and notebooks, I walked through waist-deep flood water for around 15 minutes, my Havs in my hand, barely able to lift my feet thanks to the soaked denim.
  
• Saturday, saw the UP-La Salle game because The Arena is 10 minutes away from my house and I have free admission courtesy of the almighty press ID - I just wonder how long will they buy the college paper writer thing. During the fourth quarter, while UP held a tenuous lead, I mumbled a silent bargain with jesus. Make UP win and I won't have sex for a month. So that was stupid. Then at the dugout after the win (hehe), the coach said something like, "Pang-higante lang tayo." Then went straight to our haunt with Alan again. While waiting for the cab around five hours later and wishing for no rain, I asked him, absentmindedly, how long will we be able to do this?

So Nikko messaged me earlier re: the puso, and thanks to his kamusta, I surprisingly realized that I haven't been sad the past few days. I'm really not sure why. As far as I know, there wasn't any guy making me smile by calling me princess, no upcoming writing raket that'll take me to Batanes or the south of France and pay handsomely, no lifetime supply of bacon dori from Sumo-sam, no amnesty from credit card company or offer to write weekly on broadsheet on the horizon.

I forgot where I'm going with this. Haha. It's a bit of a stretch to say that I'm happy. I'm not unhappy, perhaps. I recently met up with Reign and reminisced about our wonderful PeopleSupport-STC days; went and stayed the night at the Kule office (without drinking, must be a first) just for the heck of it; finished the American Idol ebook I was writing; and sort of reconciled with previously-thought-estranged ex and planned to get coffee next week. This weekend, there're the readings I've to get for the MA CL exam and the UP vs. Nu championship game I've to cover.

I still don't know where I'm going with this. But best be typing. :)

PS: New crush: Adamson courtside reporter. Kind of cute. Sense of humor. Articulate. Probably has tiny penis.