Today marks the first day in a long while since I've spent some quality time with the junk in my room. They've grown considerably since last we crossed broomsticks and clashed dust-bunnies and, between the allergic sniffles and sneezes, I can't help but get overcome with mixed emotions. I apparently have got mounds of stuff, which is actually quite nice, but I have to pose this question:"What the heck do I do with all these boxes, twist-ties, warranties, manuals, peripherals, fliers, contact numbers and a lone package of pistachios?"
Before you answer that and while I casually sift through my unintended collection of capitalist debris, lemme run through the last few weeks, just for shits and giggles.
I hosted a party. Yes, yours truly got the nefarious chance to hog a live microphone and tell silly things to an audience of 70 all night long. It was at the formal company party held in one of Dusit Hotel's uber-slick ballrooms. That fateful night concluded my deliriously-long weeks of frenzied xmas chorale-ing, instantaneous movie shoot-ing, misplaced novelty dance-ing and the hyped-up -- but still pretty -- christmas party invitations make-ing.
It was, of course, fun and I walked away a learned man: additional audio editing skills, some photoshop kung-fu, impromptu hosting non-sense and, most importantly, learning the true meaning of busy. So busy, you don't-get-to-take-a-bath busy. So busy, I don't-remember-when-I-didn't-take-a-bath-but-thanks-for-asking busy.
I also sang a song. Along with all the christmas party preparations, I've been practicing my ass off --or more literally, my larynx off-- singing Mozart's sonorous rendition of Ave Maria. It was meant to be a solo piece but Tito Cesar cautiously shifted me to a duet with the talentedly-tantalizing Ms. Jean. This was after realizing my execution of this tenor piece's upper octave La was either un-masculinely weak or bestially bothering. In my attempt to reach the note with the proper fullness of tone, I keep bleating out like an angry, molested sheep.
We managed though, plenty of thankzies to Ms. Jean, and the solo-turned-duet played out without incident. And I got to play my sax for the married couple's first dance. Yey!
I welcomed my sister, too. She came back on the 23rd and she's slowly settling back to the humdrum glum of home life here on the Philippine Isles. As is customary with any Filipino family on any Filipino Holiday: a reunion, we went to. Between watching London get "Flood"-ed and the "Winter Sonata" guy calling down Byakko, Genbou and Seiryuu on TV, my sister took a lot of marriage-related heat from my relatives.
She's chipper now, and I wish her this christmas all the luck and support she needs... as well as a brand-spanking-new DVD player (with USB input)! Booyah! Now who's a good little-bro! Yeah!
By the way, I panicked over my PSP. My PSP-endowed friends would already know about this since my panic included calling each one of them (there's 3 of 'em) and telling them to calmly take-off the PSP crystal case and then burn it with the foulest flames in the deepest pits of goddamn hell. The gosh-darned-tootin thing that was meant to protect ended up strangling my precious instead. The select key got stuck select-ing and the little white lad's been in repair since wednesday hence. Pray for him; pray for my half-a-month's worth salary.
And oh yeah, I gave a kid a smile. Old high-school friends threw a christmas party for orphaned kids at an SOS center in Ayala. I hung-out with the cheeky young lad Gelo, balloon-whiz Ryan and lotsa other really, really excitable kids for two hours. Those two whole fun-filled hours left me with a vacant look and helplessly feeling old. This must be what being a parent feels like.
I enjoyed a wedding yesterday. It was my long-unseen 2nd cousin Paddie's day at the rustic church nestled deep in Guadalupe, and night at the historical Coconut Palace. The whole day was simply beautiful. The choir songs were beautiful, the sunset was beautiful, the guests were beautiful, and Lorrie was terribly beautiful. She bloomed and blossomed that night and though I didn't know her, I understand and shared her happiness. And Kurt Vonnegut (Baader Meinhoff!!) snuck into the event with his short story "A Long Walk to Forever" which is, unsurprisingly, beautiful as well.
Luckily, I met up with ol' buddies. Before the year ended, Mike rounded everyone up and got the ball rolling for another rollicking booze-fest down south. Everybody was there, although not necessarily at the same time (sorry, mish) and there were plenty of fond hello's and unexpected exchanging of trunks and trinkets. Macaroon's too! Indigestion not included!
It's been a whirlwind of a month. The length and breadth of this post pretty much proves that "there's no rest for the wicked" and though I'd rather not think of myself as "wicked", I'm just not as sure anymore.
Dad put me aside one time and told me that's just how it is: the business of growing-up is a juggling act. Learning to frolic with friends and family; to woe work and wackiness; and to hug health and happiness, that pretty much sums up the rest of adult life.
It's tiring, but whenever I manage to pull it off, the feeling of accomplishment is spectacular. Making the most of every moment, living each fleeting second as if it's my last, I owe it to all the decapitated, the paraplegics, the comatose and the debilitated to enjoy each and every lucid thought, savvy shuffle, synapse fire and unbounded freedom that life's got to offer.
And though I can't make junk juice out of all this junk life handed me, I think I'll manage. Dust-bunnies or no dust-bunnies.
