Our Own Fiero

My father's newly restored Volkswagen car

When I was a kid, I used to dream of/plan to graduate from college and be a lawyer (thinking four years was enough for this) and have a car. For me, a car showed that the person who owned it was of fairly-okay status (in Filipino, mas nakakaangat sa buhay). 


A view that I shared with most Pinoys. A view that, I will not lie, I still maintain up to now. (I'm capitalist like this! haha)


So while I'm waiting for the free time to be able to learn how to drive, and for the job that will give me enough money for gas and repairs of the restored Volkswagen (see photo) my father promised to hand down to me come law school, I have to be content with experiencing fun and whatnots in others people's cars... in Janelle's car Cupcake in particular.


The Car
Janjan's car, Cupcake, is my most favorite car ever! 


The Driver
Back in fourth year college, Janelle, who I lovingly call 'Janjan', drove all the way to UP Manila (where I study) from UP Diliman (where she studies) to bring me, of all things, a "healthy breakfast." It was one of those random/crazy ideas we said aloud and laughed about but never expected to actually happen. What made it more special was that she had to overcome her apprehension of driving in the streets of Manila for that idea to happen. 


Since she had an exam in the afternoon of the same day, she had to leave as soon as I finished eating the breakfast. Out of the blue--maybe, the feeling of randomness was in the air, haha--I suggested to ride with her back to UP Diliman. I remember saying that the drive was too long to be made alone--as if she was the first person to make such drive alone. The drive was unexpectedly fun, and revealing. I got to see a different side--I admit, a side I liked--of Janelle, the driver side. Slow, careful and observant. Much like how she is in life, perhaps. And funny. All throughout the drive, she kept saying things I found completely hilarious. Like when she said that I'd ace the exam I was preparing for just because I was good at memorization. I berated her for weeks about that Freudian slip but it was all good. ;-)


The Seat
For me, contrary to what my friends Rich and Jecy said, the so-called 'place of honor' in the car is the passenger seat or 'the second frontseat.' As much as possible and as much as the circumstance permits it, I occupy that seat when in a car. I find it... empowering. And of course, seeing all the driving, in almost the same viewpoint as the driver's, makes me feel like the driver. 


The "Scenery"
There was one time when we were on our way to Technohub or Philcoa, I remember seeing flags along Commonwealth Ave., and commented, "Ano ba yan bakit may flag ng Mexico dito?" I'm not sure if it was Harold or Pauie, in the backseat, who informed me, "Sa Iglesia Ni Cristo 'yan hindi Mexico." It turned out they were celebrating their foundation anniversary, and Janjan and her family are members of INC. Dyahe. It was so embarrassing and funny at the same time. 


Another instance was, during one of my "UPD visits" before I took the LAE, Janjan, Pauie and I were driving around UP Campus, and we passed by this house on a corner, and I randomly said, "Diyan ako magdo-dorm." We just laughed at my comment then, because I was not-so confident in passing the exam and making it to UP Law. But now, after I successfully passed the LAE, when I pass by that house on the corner, I realize how Nostradamus-like that moment was. Making it one of the most epic car rides ever.


The Feeling
One of the most touching, if not sentimental, car ride we had was one of the more recent ones. After one of my UPD visits, she was about to drop me off at Philcoa, like always, when out of the blue--literally, out of her bag--she handed me this yellow Cirque du Soleil band she got for me when she went to Macau. She knew that my ICanServe awareness band had snapped, and thus provided a new one.  I didn't know she made a mental note that my favorite band had snapped and I couldn't get a replacement for it. To be honest, that CdS band was one of my most, if not the most, favorite pasalubong I got. :)


All these, and other stories and experiences happened--thanks to Cupcake.


If Marshall and the gang of How I Met Your Mother had the Fiero to define, maintain and deepen their friendships and relationships, Janelle, Pauie, and me (and sometimes Harold, too) have Cupcake.




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Hello, Death

I'm not good with goodbyes the same way I'm not good with hellos and first meetings.

When dealing with goodbyes--from the usual parting of ways after a class or the more emotional parting of ways for a long period of time--I either walk away without any hint or drama or I raise a hand in a semi-wave and utter a simple, "Bye." In moments when I'm feeling friendly I add, "Ingat"---but believe me those moments are rare.

Case 1. Saying goodbye to my all-time favorite teacher, my high school Algeb teacher Ms Ramos. With her, Math wasn't so confusing. I remember I sort of self-dedicated the song "Hands to Heaven" to her. We were too mushy that we exchanged hankies on her surprising (because she had to leave our school to teach in another school, mid-school year) last day in school, as if that was enough to keep our bond. Well maybe it was.
That was in third year.
Sadly, I was not able to maintain communication with her as much as I keep the hanky up to now. :/

Case 2. Saying goodbye to a dear friend. Our friendship, no matter how I hard I tried to keep it from sinking or whatever, was reduced to a goodbye hug in front of KFC-Taft/Faura at about 11pm. It was surreal, like in a movie. But the pain, the sadness, the regret was always as real as real can be. Sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do.

Case 3. Saying goodbye to our decade-old dog, Lupin. I'm not much of a pet/animal person but I was saddened, more than I expected, when I found out that he was already dead when I came home after two weeks of not doing so because of the gazillion stuff I had to read for law school. And what makes it sadder was that I was unable to see him before he passed away, as if me seeing him would change the fact that he's dead now.

I guess all the sadness I have equated with saying goodbye, whether temporary or permanent, manifests in: 1) my choice not to look into dead people's caskets, and seeing their faces. I choose to remember people the liveliest way I can rather than their latest  "look" before they passed away; 2) my penchant to avoid hospitals--either being confined in one or visiting a loved one; 3) my constant efforts to avoid wakes and funerals, the last wake and funeral I attended wholeheartedly because I was really close to the deceased was my Tita's--and that was when I was around eight or nine years old; and 4) my super conscious effort to stay away from horror films. I vowed Kris Aquino's Feng Shui to be my last.

As the saying goes, The only things that are constant in this world are death and taxes. And since I have yet to become a taxpayer--I'm sort of not looking forward to that--I guess I have to learn to grapple or deal with death, or goodbyes, for it is here to stay.... even longer after I have left.



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'Type' Kita

One of my lesser (but in the end, will be one of the greater) concerns regarding law school life is the handwriting part. I have (or I'd like to think that I do have) substance in writing but I lack the form part. I may have bright and not-so bright ideas but sometimes I have a difficulty conveying them without the use of technology.

Example: I have lots of things going on in my head; lots of opinions on everything... well, basically, I have a lot to say but I have a difficulty conveying these ideas through public speaking. Being an Org president and law student, people readily (and quite wrongly) assume that I take public speaking with ease. No I don't. Second to performing in front of many people, this is one of my greatest fears. I find it relatively easier to write down my thoughts rather than actually speak them.

But, here's the problem... the writing part is actually typing. In order for me to be able to convey successfully my thoughts and ideas to other people--which, for me, is the main point of communication--I have to use technology. Thus, I type relatively well compared to most people. I type better than I write. :)

You see, I'm one of those gifted people who draws and does lettering wayyy better than writing. My brother Jay and I blame our faulty handwriting to not being strictly-taught by our father, who taught ate Jane who has one of the clearest handwriting in the world, and to being taught to write by a pre-school named "Quick Learners." Haha, quick indeed.

My nearly indiscernible Morse Code-like handwriting was one of the reasons why I thought of entering Med school instead of law school. People kept saying, "Ang pangit naman ng sulat mo, pang-doktor." Doctors, as I was told, had an excuse for having a not-so legible handwriting because the burden of proof, haha, of understanding their handwriting lie on the pharmacists who read the prescriptions they wrote. They weren't forced to try to have a more legible handwriting.

In contrast, law school is all about writing. That exams are handwritten, that some profs prefer handwritten case digests, that the bar exam is all about four Sundays of writing legibly, and as I learn through the Leg Big homework earlier this week, that even homeworks are handwritten. Oops.

To be honest, I was surprised, and to a point relieved, to find out that I was not the only one, in our block at least, to have the scrappiest handwriting but others had the handwriting thing going for them. And I mean, really. They were like lean-mean breathing handwriting machines.

Here are a couple of photos of the handwriting of my blockmates...

Kirby's

Richard's

and mine...

Although I was not alone in having a not-so legible handwriting, I realized, sadly, that mine was one of the most indiscernible ones.

Hayyy. Another area to improve. And I'm not even concerned about passing the bar exams, I'm thinking about passing my exams this semester.

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Sana pwedeng i-type na lang ang sagot sa exams. :/

Food for thought

Great things may break us; the smallest things glue us back together.






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