Are You Listening?

~

I used to be the girl to count on for random out of towns, extended runaway vacations, that last drink before the bar closes.

I used to be so ready to embrace the moment. So ready to relax, to let go, to be swept away by the current.

I used to be a heavy smoker, belching out 1 1/2 to 2 packs of Marlboro Lights Menthol on most days. Then I decided I wanted a baby, so I quit cold turkey. I’m glad to say I haven’t gone back to the habit.

A genius film director once told me he would like to film my then budding love life in black and white. I thought it was a fabulous idea at that time. Now I’m just wistful.

I used to be a rabid comics fan, and I still have a 10kg FedEx box of them under my bed.

I will not eat squash voluntarily, but I will cook it for someone else.

One riotous summer while on vacation south of Negros, I made out with a blond-haired, green-eyed guy. He was Swiss as cheese, and charming as the devil.

I make a mean paella, be it negra or tomato based.

My secret vice is poetry, both to read and write. I don’t think I can ever give it up.

I have moles all over my face, like a constellation of stars. I’ve been thinking about having some of those moles obliterated; who knows, that might jumpstart my karma.

I went to the hospital alone at 2AM, on board a taxi to give birth to my second baby. That was how I learned that hospitals don’t allow self-admission of patients. I also learned the depth of my courage.

I recycle paper, plastic, and jam jars.

Nobody knows it, but I was part of a rondalla group in elementary (oh, geek out!). We had a brilliant music teacher, whom I always suspected to be just a little bit deranged.

I listened to George Michael, Elton John, Madonna, and Duran Duran in high school. I can gay it up with the best of ‘em.

I am known to shape clay with my hands. I wove baskets.

An ex-boyfriend once forbade me to wear shorts to school. This was in college, and that was the end of the relationship.

I love the smell of gin, because I have a particularly lovely bit of nostalgia attached to it.

I’ve had a couple of brown-robed monks praying for me.

I spent the better part of two weeks in a small town shouting out crisp directions to grown men with the aid of a megaphone.

I once helped maneuver a ten-wheeler truck out a shipyard in the midst of a union strike.

I have slept under the open sky, cold and alone, but not unhappy.

I have turned my back to a boy, remorselessly.

I wrote long, intimately unfolding letters, shamelessly.

I said yes, often unexpectedly and even before being asked.

I have lazed about in the sun and read trash ’til my brains were fried. I had no tan lines.

A nun once left me with bruises along the soft flesh of my arm after a really over-zealous session of acupressure.

The untimely demise of Gigabyte, my pet river turtle, taught me a valuable lesson in responsibility. He died because I forgot to come back from what was supposed to be a three-day vacation.

I took up snorkeling to overcome my fear of the open water. Next, I want to try bungee-jumping. Or sky-diving. Maybe even knitting.

I was the first to leave, sometimes the least to care.

I am known to slam a car door and step out onto traffic, magnificently angry, and undeniably right.

I love the feel of a man’s stubble, even the resulting burns they leave.

I had a memorable experience with pot once, in Mindanao country: the people were bored, the stash was potent. I got so high I couldn’t stop laughing all night, and the next day I woke up tired and aching all over.

I used to hike over mountains, swim naked in the moonlight, wrap my slim legs around a man’s hips, absolutely.

If I had a baby girl I would have named her Zoë Ysabella.

I used to be able to look God in the eye and grin.

~