The 25th

It is my third Christmas away from home and my first abroad. This time is certainly different than the many Yuletide seasons I had back home where colorful lights and merry songs envelope the atmosphere. I promised myself to stay away from the blues if that is possible, as loneliness is often times an involuntary reflex especially in this season. 


In 15 minutes, it's Christmas back home. Over here, we have to wait for 5 more hours given the time difference. I tried calling my parents in between my duty breaks but they are either already fast asleep or the phone is somewhere deep in the woods for no one answered my calls. This is probably what my mother felt for decades as she celebrated special occasions in other countries. I feel like a real adult now, save my many immature choices, for having to deal with this OFW heartache. If adulthood is about sacrifice, I feel very legit.


We should go saying "happy birthday Jesus!" but because I am not super religious and it is said that the 25th isn't exactly the great guy's birth date plus we are in "the kingdom" that believes in a separate man up there, we can't go around greeting everyone a merry Christmas unless we want to attend the next public lashing.  We have to hide the physical symbols of our merriness for let's say, safety reasons. 

I grew up in a town that's been tagged as the "Christmas capital of Western Visayas" and I spent most of my holidays eating puto bumbong and playing the roleta while Jose Marie Chan's carols were played in the background. For the first time ever, I will celebrate the 25th without the spirit that I have always loved and cherished.  


But we are doing our best. Maybe Christmas isn't really a date in the calendar or the flickering lights dangling on chopped or synthetic pine trees. Maybe Christmas is something we have to look for from within because however cheesy it may sound, this day is for  the celebration of love. And love does come everywhere regardless of your GPS location or the god you believe in.  May our lives be filled with love, have a merry Christmas! ❤

My invincibility cloak

When I was a child, I had a phase when I thought I was never going to die and nothing tragic would ever fall upon me. I then later learned in psychiatric nursing that it is actually a part of a social development.  I watched gruesome news on TV about people dying and heard stories of a relative or a family friend battling debilitating diseases but I had not thought of those ever happening to me.

I felt extremely invincible.

You are supposed to outgrow putting yourself in a pedestal of strength and invulnerability. In some degree, I did.

Through the years, I haven't engaged myself to romance saved the many crushes I had from highschool and college. My romantic affairs were fairly limited to unrequited puppy love and a series of daydreams. I did have my heartbroken several times by crushes that never talked to me or denied my friend requests on facebook (stalker alert). But I had always comforted myself with the idea that the rejection was to be foreseen as they haven't known the real me and had they been able to just give me a chance to prove myself, they'll see beyond my curly hair and dark skin and will eventually realize that I'm a good catch, a weirdo with her Jurassic sense of humor. But until then, they will continue to see me superficially as my "love affairs" with them were limited to my creepy glances and fake group messages just so I can talk to them.

I thought I was also invincible in a real heartbreak.

Then I had my first real heartbreak.  Someone still broke my heart despite knowing the real me and even after I tried to prove myself. Then another heartbreak followed.  I was confident that they have seen beyond my curly hair and dark skin and that they have realized that I was a good catch. I thought they were okay despite me being a weirdo showering them with my eccentricity. But invincibility does not shield you from pain, it makes it cut even deeper.

I learned about vulnerability in the most humane way. The ache was too real and I slowly went down the pedestal.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

As a budding human being, I used to own a set of cassette tapes and a song book entitled “Most loved children’s songs”. It was gifted to me by my mother with the hopes that she could raise her little girl into a talented and charming lady who can sing. I almost memorized every song as I played the tape nonstop. I belted “Mary had a little lamb” and “The greatest love of all” like a pro. For a while, I honestly thought I was a good singer. Not until my seatmate in second grade had to shut me up while I was in the middle of a singing spree. She deliberately told me that I suck in singing and that she was annoyed that she had to put up with my irksome voice the whole semester. I thought she was just being mean. I went home and told my father about it and was disappointed with his confirmation that yes, I was (and still am) really bad at singing. This made me question myself, “Am I really capable of anything?”

We started in this life with positive ideas of who we are. Our first knowledge about ourselves was based on an internal radar that was programmed by our brain way before it got affected by external factors. Before social standards, culture and familial affairs directed our path, we all have a state of oneness that for me, was the most genuine form of peace that we so often chase as adults. We started seeing the world as labels. These labels then turned into divisions. These divisions became the pioneer for organized living but also became the building blocks for hierarchy and stereotypes.

(photo taken from Anna Akana's instagram account)

I first learned about how I looked way before I even learned how to look at myself in the mirror.  I was told that my hair was a mess and considered less of a hair because it was kinky. And by the standards set by the culture where I was growing up, kinky and straight hair do not belong under one category. They are both keratin growing in our heads but they are not the same. Fair skin and brown skin are also surprisingly, grouped in two different sectors based on the beauty standards that were mostly influenced by Western colonization and plain racism. My parents did their best to shower me with love but I eventually had to say hello to the outside world. So in kindergarten, I learned I was a brown girl with a kinky hair and that there were other kinds of girls with other kinds of hair and we are different. The difference was harmless before it was set as a tool for separation.

From childhood, we were slowly being wired to see things as group A, group B and group “whatever we would like to label things and people”. We begin to see ourselves through a vaguely tinted glass mirror. Things even became harder when we not only hear people telling us of who we are but we also have the media reminding us through every magazine and TV show that we are just “this” and we have to put on some of that matte lipstick and wear that top of the line shirt to turn into a decent mortal.

We are social creatures that thrive with every human encounter. We gain strength and wisdom from every conversation and acknowledgement that we get. Our hearts, however, our also fragile and extremely vulnerable for isolation, insecurity, comparison and self-doubt brought about by these encounters. We will inevitably feel inferior in this world that is built to make us question who we are. That is why it is important to be introspective. There is a reason why solitude and meditation are valued from the beginning of time. It directs us back to that oneness that we once had. It makes us see who we really are beyond the elusive tinted mirrors that were handed to us. Because with peace and love, there are no “this” and “that”. There are no unnecessary labels that will make us question ourselves and no markers set to divide humanity.

Random Facts About Saudi Arabia

If you plan on working in Saudi Arabia, here are some random facts you should know about the Kingdom.

  1.  It’s not entirely a desert.

When my mother was working in Saudi in the 90s and early 2000s, I have this idea that the hospital she was at was surrounded with dry land. I know that there were buildings and asphalted roads. However, I thought that when you look just a bit farther away, the desert would be visible. No. You will need to travel an hour or more to see the “sand”. I haven’t been to any other places outside my current city which is Riyadh. In here, you’ll be surrounded with high-rise buildings if you are located in the metropolitan area.

 2.  There’s an abundance of seafood.

The first question I asked my mother when I finally decided to work in Saudi was, “Will there be bangus (milkfish) over there?” Mama just laughed and told me Saudi bangus can get 50% bigger than the usual bangus we often buy in our town. There are lots of seafoods and I don’t know what the Arab water has but they’re ginormous.

 3.  You’ll eat chicken most days

When I was fetched from the airport, our Indian driver made a stopover in a local fast-food and ordered two broasted chicken. I haven’t heard of the term broasted before but it’s popular here. It’s basically just fried chicken. Filipinos also love to order “faham” or grilled chicken partnered with spiced yellow rice. My grocery also includes four to five whole chickens each month. The chicken industry wins.

 4.  There is winter

I arrived during the last week of February. On my first few weeks, I have to wear a  sweatshirt because it’s too cold. Winter was ending at that time. This month, winter is  starting again and I was told the cold is unbearable. It may not be as cold as the ones they  have in Europe and America but hey, I thought I was working in the desert. They said that  you’ll meet people in the streets covered with comforters. Talk about fashion.

 5.  Everyone looks the same most of the time

This is very obvious. You will mostly see black ladies. (Belated happy Halloween!) Every woman, even the non-Muslim has to wear an abaya (a black cloak) and a hijab (head cover up) at least. Most Muslim women though would wear a niqab so you’ll only see their eyes. The Muslim men wear thawb which is a long-sleeve dress that’s usually white. You’ll only see expatriates and a few Muslim men wearing civilian clothing.

There are lots of other interesting things that you should know about this country. But it’s already 5 am as I am typing this so I might just make another list when my eyes are not half way closed.

Horse With No Name

I went to the desert in a horse with no name… song keeps playing in my head. But yes, I went to the desert a few weeks ago.

I was planning to write about it but life got in the way. (“Got in the way” means my mind got in the way. My life is not that eventful considering my once every two weeks trip to the Filipino market is already considered as a mini getaway these days.) I've first seen the desert through movies like the gods must be crazy and the disturbing yet very eye opening Book of Eli. The nonexistence of almost anything other than rocks and a few plants is ironically, very nourishing to the soul.

However, for years, I’ve loved the endorphin spikes I get in living the “human” life in the heart of the cities that I’ve been. From grabbing a cab, finishing a bowl of instant ramen in 7 eleven, battling their way into the overcrowded train, strutting in their well-pressed shirts to prepare for that job interview that took them four long years in the university to get qualified for- everybody looks like they’re in there for something. Everybody looks like they’re fighting too hard for their dreams. Everybody makes it seem like life is this 10 mile marathon that you have to take as soon as you hear that gunshot that says, run!

That is probably why humanity finds relief in the presence of nature. We think that going out of town is an escape from the life that we imposed on  ourselves. So what we do is schedule regular trips to dip in the ocean, to hike the mountain, to thread the desert or to just be anywhere where trees exceed buildings in number. I have not yet found the best way to live my life so I certainly do not think that leaving the city to be a hipster is the better course to follow. But what I do know is that the human heart is happier and more at peace with its self in the presence of Earth in its natural form than it will ever be inside a concrete building.

I have never excelled in science and have not studied anthropology. But I have lots of questions about everything. I am a lazy ass and not too smart to go digging in my educational books for answers. What I often do though is stare blankly while a hurricane occurs in my brain every minute or two. I have so many disturbing questions that if asked to my parents or teachers or friends, would warrant me an admission to a psych ward or abomination from the tiny circle of friends that I have carefully crafted through the years.

I have read and heard about those who probably have the same unanswered questions as me but have found the courage to look for answers or to at least, accept that there are several possible ways to solve the equation and they just have to stick to the ones that give their heart its needed comfort.

I was meant to write about the desert. But the desert is too wide and mysterious that its scope goes beyond its physical stature. If I’m supposed to tell you one thing about the desert, it would be this- you’ll sit on a patch of sand and you’ll get to meet life. 

Flight Number 5J 740

Last February 28, 2016, I was in an economy flight with Cebu Pacific bound for King Khaled International Airport.

But before that, I had some issues (sensitive details) with my agency that made me rethink my decision of leaving Philippines. So on the night before my flight bound for Saudi Arabia, I was scared out of my wits. I spent the entire night on my phone googling the place of my employment (google is my bestfriend) and the contact details of the Philippine Embassy in Riyadh and reading tons of blogs about the life in the kingdom. 

I was afraid that I'll get lost in the airport and some psychopath will hide me away from the rest of the world. I was afraid that I might make a silly joke because I always do or I might act as my normal crazy self and Arabs will get offended and I'll get convicted with a thousand lashes. I was afraid that I'll terribly miss Philippines and I'll go nuts out of depression because for starters, I was already extremely dramatic despite the amazing tropical weather at home. What if everything changes (because I know it will)?

I told my father that I want to cancel my flight.

He said, "You've been so dauntless your entire life almost to a point of being reckless and now you want to back out? Put your phone down and stop reading things that disturb your peace of mind. Take a rest." 

That shut me up. 

A year before I decided to go abroad, almost every nurse acquaintance that I knew was flying to Europe. United Kingdom and Ireland turned into this massive creamy chocolate cake that became too irresistable to almost half of my batchmates, friends and myself included. I badly wanted to take my own slice from it. However, just like in real life, artisan goods are in the pricey side so I have to delay it for a bit. And by a bit, that meant a 2 year contract in the Middle East so I can save up some Euros or Riyals if you prefer. 

Seven months here but I do not know where all my Riyals went (my mom's healthcare and chocolates, lots of) but I am definitely saving up crazy memories and a bunch of lessons out of my neurotic life choices. I thought Saudi life is boring. But four months before my first anniversary over here and I have already gone through one hell of a ride. 

I still get lonely often. I love long walks and random escapades which I can't do here as much as I want to. I miss wandering endlessly on unknown streets. I miss fishball and isaw. I miss the talaba (oyster), pantat (catfish) and liempo combo at Matmat's in Villa, Arevalo. I miss going back and forth Esplanade despite the awful mangrove smell. I miss randomly meeting a friend at SM City. I miss sticking my face out of a jeepney during windy rides back home. I miss midnight trips to 7/11 or Ministop for a bottle of San Miguel Light while eating Angel's burger. I miss the tall talahib grasses that dance outside my bedroom's window on windy afternoons. I miss how my mama wakes me up at 11am during my days off to eat the brunch she lovingly made for me and I miss how grumpy I get being woken up because I was such a brat. 

I miss knowing that those I love are just a 25 peso ride at maximum away from me. I miss how my greatest struggle to see the ones I love was just battling people to get into the next empty jeepney on rainy nights. 

I hated rainy nights when I was heading home, but now, to go home means waiting for two years to get an exit visa. Seeing those I love meant a 10 hour international flight and a completed two year contract.

Our lives here in the kingdom revolve mostly around our workplace and our apartment. There are days when I am not aware of what date it is because everyday is monotonous. And if you know me really well, I dislike monotomy. 

However, monotomy pushes me to see the day beyond being just an 8 hour shift. My senses get stronger and my heart gets a bit bigger. A kind word from a madame (married female) or from an aku (Arab male) or from a sadik (Pakistani for friend) brigthens my day immensely. A hug and a bosa (kiss) from a 4 year old Syrian or Pakistani makes my heart swell ten times bigger than it used to be. A meek smile and a gentle tap at the back from mama (a grandmother) reminds me of the kindness we all can offer to everyone. 

I get to spend most of my days talking to my Filipina housemates who are from different backgrounds. It's like a psychology immersion. I am used to being alone so spending my time with the same people for almost 24 hours everyday is a good way to fuel my social skills. I am obliged to deal with my issues and to look into them on a daily basis because I realized I still have a lot of growing up to do at 25.

I am actually on a two year retreat and Middle Eastern trip. I am getting paid for it. Bonus is I'm doing what I love- nursing.

Also, not everyone has the chance to set foot on the desert. You don't get to learn Arabic everyday. That's a plus one on my resume.  "Can speak English, Hiligaynon, Filipino and a mix of baroque Arabic and Pushto (Afghan/Pakistani)". Not every female gets to try the elegance of an Abaya (black cover up) partnered with a hijab (head scarf). I tell you, that shawarma and kebab you had in your local restaurant are nothing compared to the ones they have over here, fully loaded with carbs and meat. They go overboard here. Eat at your own risk.

I have always been wrong on my first impressions. The kingdom is different than the rest of the world but it is truly a beautiful country. The kind of beauty that can only be seen once you learn its culture and live with its people. 

My Gut Feels

During my entire summer vacation last 2002 or maybe 2001 (I am really bad with details),

 I remember going on regular afternoon trips with my bestfriend to a tyange (a small store) in our subdivision. As soon as the sun gets a bit toned down and it's safe to venture the streets without burning under the summer heat, 

we, two skinny schoolgirls, would excitedly run to buy our favorite summer merienda- 

1 pack of salted and MSG loaded chips and a bottle of cold Pepsi each. 

We did this routine without fail for more than a month. 

On that same summer,

 my aunt bought a dozen instant pancit canton and laid it neatly on the dining table. I remember how I stayed hidden behind the kitchen door and waited until the scene was clear before I run and hurriedly ripped open each of the 12 pack, took the MSG seasoning, all 12 of them and run towards the veranda where I snacked on them for the rest of the afternoon.

 It was a delicious, savory, completely artificial yet pure MSG buffet for me. 

12 sachets of bliss. 

Imagine my family's horror when they found out that they'll be forced to eat a dozen of pancit canton with just salt and soysauce.

Still on that same 2001 or 2002 summer,

 a week before my maybe 10th or 11th birthday (details, ughhh), we went to Aklan for a scheduled Boracay birthday gift from my aunt.

 Days before the Boracay trip,

 I woke up in the middle of the night with unexplainable stomach cramps and a demented series of vomiting where I got hold of every furniture in my grandpa's house, crying and asking for a miracle. 

Aklan was quiet and too rural back then and that meant no public transportation at 12 midnight (we don't own a car) so my aunt had to literally drag a limping, vomiting, wailing and probably hallucinating teenage girl to the nearest hospital. 

After several needle pricks and basins of puke,

 I was diagnosed with Acute Gastritis. 

I had several stomach issues thereafter. Occassionally, I would suffer from watery stools or bloating but nothing too serious. However, just last year, I noticed that I got bloated too often. The attacks were bothersome especially when they happen while I was still on duty in the hospital.  

Hunger + stress + physical exhaustion + emotional chaos + BLOATING, I tell you, equates to a very unique kind of disaster.

The bloating comes and goes. 

But when it does come, I can't live properly. 

I can't breathe like a normal human with a functional pair of lungs and a diaphragm because everything inside my tummy gets poked by a huge air and it feels like I am about to give birth to a giant hot air balloon. 

I have to forcefully make myself gag with a tounge depressor or my tooth brush just to push that ball of air out of my mouth. It is exhausting. 

Then I had tumor and gallbladder stone scare because my signs and symptoms seem to suggest that. Thankfully, the ultrasound turned out negative. But it got more frustrating. What is wrong with me then? My bilirubin is 12 times elevated than normal but all of my other laboratories are okay. 

Currently, I am hypochondriac. 

I am thinking I might have IBS or a fungal infection in my gut (thanks google for being my internist this time). I am going to jump into a strict antifungal diet of no sugar or carbohydrates and let's see if it will work. Stool gets tested tomorrow.

 Crappy gut, please get well soon.

Sunny!

Miss portable sunshine. A lot has changed. I am even looking at a different kind of sun as I write this. It is still the same sun that the Earth orbits, scientifically speaking.

 However, I am miles away from home and the tropics that I have known for 25 years and that makes the same sun a little bit less of a happy yellow than I remember it to be. The desert sun is a dusky yellow maybe because of the sand or the orange bricks buildings are made of or chemistry or sorcery and I do not really love it this way.

 They tell me, "You've chosen the wrong country." 

But do we all have the luxury of choosing? When does a choice become the better option? Does its value become better if we base it on our needs rather than our desires or the other way around?

 The lucky ones seem to have it both though or is it another case of seeing the cup as half full rather than half empty?

 I do have a lot of "or" and "maybe" on my writing these days because I am so unsure of so many things. Or maybe because I have learned that this story, as I see it, is way different than how the Indian man sitting next to me sees it. 

Whatever comes after this and though it may turn out to be a bit off yellow or a bit much of an orange, I still would like to keep that same sun. 

And I am claiming this, I am and will still be, miss portable sunshine.

Memory Pills on Sale

I promised that I'd buy you a happy meal from Jollibee. 

I had my chicken joy and spaghetti. 

Almost went home without your take away.

 I forgot.

I'm supposed to buy you a banana nutella crepe in the park.

 I had a burger, a pizza and fries.

Went home without your crepe.

 I forgot.

I got a new key for the apartment. 

Was glad the doorknob was fixed. 

You came home with your old key and were locked out. 

I forgot.

I'm supposed to cook for the two of us. 

Made a meal for one and you're forced to eat the food from last night. 

I forgot.

My memory is mixed up. 

I got loneliness, anxiety, 50 pages of pep talk, frustration, thirst for adventure, 

homesickness and a brokenheart stuck in my temporal lobe. 

They took the space away from 

bring the keys, turn off the gas range, wash the pots, sign the overtime sheet and buy her the bread reminders.

You are not unimportant. 

I am just much more important to me.

 No. 

Not egotism.

 My pride is a 10 ml free sample compared to those 1 liter vanity kits others carry around with them.

I can swallow my pride, bottoms up, all the way. 

'Til the last drop.

But.

 "I am" is my foundation. 

Because I took care of me.

 I cooked crappy meals for me for years.

 I took me to boring and cheap dates on my birthdays.

 I hugged me with every heartbreak. 

I gave me a gentle pat on the back before and after many awkward job interviews. 

I made me several warm mugs of hot chocolate on lonely nights. 

It has always been me. 

So sorry if I am failing on my human being skills too often.

I forgot it's not just me this time.

 I forgot I am not the only one needing a warm drink or a pat on the back. 

Sorry, I forgot.

I Love You

Let me start by saying, wow. 

It's  been 2 years since I have last written on this blog and 4 years since I have been an active blogger.

 I have revisited this from time to time and it never failed to make me smile.

 I am glad I started this.

 It brings back lots of amazing memories, 

not only the ones I have written but also the phases in my life behind every post.

I want to give my 21 year old self a big warm hug for reminding this 25 year old of how I was once so hopeful and full of enthusiasm for almost everything.

Let me whisper this to you 2012 and 2014 Ronida, 

"You'll be just as fine as you prayed for every single night before you go to sleep in that ratan bed in your dark and gloomy room in Mission Road. 

You'll get over those nights when you're locked out from your boarding house and had to sleep in Don Benito chapel. 

You'll get to love those curls and would stop wanting to have them rebonded. 

You'll be proud of how you braved the dark running across WVSU's field at 2am to sleep inside Forum-Dimensions and how you sprinted alone downtown  at midnight and reveled on girls in miniskirts in that club called Hotlegs. 

You'll realize how the streets, buildings and even the people are different in Makati, Eastwood and Cubao than the ones you've known in Pototan, Jaro and La Paz. 

You'll leave a part of yourself in Luzon.

 You'll learn to let him go, that first love, that first kiss and you'll be just as happy as you have always been before the heartbreak. 

 Don't be anxious. This is your 25 year old self telling you you'll get there. Keep your head high and your spirit unbroken. Love yourself everyday. I love you every single day."

And hey, 25 year old self, 

be as brave and kind as you've always been. 

You'll get there too.