Goddess, I Am.

A long time ago, I had a bump in the middle of the palm of my right hand. It was tiny – no more than a millimeter in diameter – but it was there. It didn’t hurt, but I could feel it. It wasn’t offensive, but it bothered me anyway.

Some said it was just a callous, while others said it was some sort of wart. Whatever it was, my mum and I tried to get rid of it in many ways. We tried some sort of mild acid solution (I think it was called Duofilm). We tried filing it away with a nail file. We even went to a dermatologist who said she can take it out for P5,000 – a price that seemed absurd for such a tiny bump, so we didn’t go through with it. Whatever we did, the bump stayed, and we soon lost interest in it.

I eventually started to develop habits because of that bump. I used to absentmindedly rub my middle and ring fingers over it and pick it with the nails of my left hand. I don’t exactly know how long I had the bump. It could’ve been months, it could even have been years, but one day, I just realized that the bump was gone.

I should have been happy, or at least, relieved. But I wasn’t. My feelings were mixed, to say the least. It was then that I realized that that bump had become as much a part of me as my fingers and my toes and my spleen. With the bump gone, I had to literally unlearn the habits that I picked up because of it. And even now, many years later, I still feel that very spot pulsate sometimes, as if reminding me of what was once there.

Last night, the same spot throbbed, and I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I found myself thinking about loss. There are some people who we don’t necessarily want in our lives, but because they’re there anyway, we get used to them, adapt to them, even merely tolerate them. And when they do disappear from our lives in one way or another, we have to make an effort to rearrange our lives to get used to their absence – to find new routines to replace the old ones shared with them, to simply continue living.

Yes, there are those people who we might not really grieve for when they go away (and I say ‘when’ because nothing and no one lasts forever, so it’s only inevitable). But somehow, somewhere, sometime in the future, we will feel their absence. And though it may not necessarily hurt us, that spot where they used to be will throb and pulsate, however briefly, to make sure that we never forget.

I’ve never been one for frivolous expenses. In fact, I can be quite cheap. Still, there some things in this world that put my self-control to the test, like this:

For the uninitiated, in Book 7 of the Harry Potter series, a very important book figured in the story. JK Rowling actually handmade the damned book. There are only 7 original copies in existence, and one was sold in a Sotheby’s action for a whopping £1,950,000 (that’s pounds sterling, mind you).

Now, as much as I want to shell out almost 2 million quid for a book, I can’t. (Unless, of course, I marry Donald Trump, but I’m not his type. Or invent a cure for eczema.) I can, however, probably, possibly get the mass-produced collector’s edition version.

So the big question is: Do I have it in me to spend $100 on a book that I will probably read three times a year for the rest of my life? I have until the 4th of December to find out.

You know what they say: birds of a feather, yada yada yada. Well, everyone knows I’m a strange girl, so it’s only perfectly natural that I’m surrounded by strange people.

Take my family, for instance. I have a mother who dances 80s dance steps while cooking binignit, and a little sister who truly believes her unborn child determines her daily diet. I had an aunt who developed a weird, nasal British accent that’s definitely nothing like Harry Potter after living in London for just a little over a year. Not only that, I have a grandma who believes that her dreams determine the fate of the world (or at least, mine), the latest of which had something to do with me being in jail in Thailand, complete with iron clamps ’round the ankles.

Even The Boyfriend is no different. The man actually drags me off jeepneys when they dilly-dally too long in Country Mall trying to get passengers. He even makes me fight for the P0.50 rollback fare cut, not for the money, but (to use his words) “for the principle of the matter.”

It’s only inevitable that my friends are strange creatures, as well. One of my best friends lived with her Dutch boyfriend for months and never – and I mean, NEVER – slept with him once. Another one ‘borrowed’ my travel pictures a year ago and passed them off as her own in Friendster (even if we don’t look anything alike) to make her cheating ex jealous of her ‘wanderings’ – and they’re still there to this day. And let’s not forget my best friend who has lost so many marbles over the years that whoever found them probably now has a full set (Peace, Lhen!).

But I do have friends who are quite normal – that is, until they exhibit undeniably crazy behavior. Take Chin for example. At first glance, she’s this cute little thing with a family just as cute that they may as well be in one of those soy sauce adverts. Possibly the most ridiculous thing that she’s ever done was set me up with a guy who believed he looked like Van Damme when he just looked, well, goddamned (for lack of better words), and write an article on hair when she’s meant to be writing about nails. Nope, nothing strange there at all.

It’s amazing, however, how one’s grief over a computer that crashed with no warning, taking with it file after file of written articles, can drive one to a drunken stupor so severe that one quite suddenly discovers a hidden talent in bongo-playing, which just has to be unveiled in that very bar on the very night of one’s epiphany – as what can be seen here:

Love the dress, love the shoes, but most of all, love the uber smug look.

Ahhh, yes. My friends are strange, indeed. Thank heavens for that, or I wouldn’t be laughing so much on a regular basis.

For the first time in a long time, I’m breathing. And because I’m breathing, I’m blogging.

Much has happened in the month and a half since I last blogged, and I’m almost embarrassed to post again after I’ve neglected my poor (not to mention, pricey) dotcom. But when the alternative is letting my brainchild die a slow death like so many others in the past (not to mention Chin’s incessant emails of “pag-blog na ba!”), I have no choice but to hunker down and write – not about yoga, not even about getting wayward ex’s back (don’t ask), but about, umm, me. So here goes…

Sometime in September, The Boyfriend and I finally decided that we’ve had enough of Thailand, its crap, and its citizens (might write a long rant about that in the future) and that we should move to Cebu, my hometown, pronto! The rest of the month just sort of passed by in a blur of overpriced cargo shippers, panic packing, and evil landlords (might be included in said rant). Before we knew it, we were on a plane to the Philippines, saying goodbye and good riddance to the country that we just left.

We arrived in Cebu on the first of October, and since then, we’ve moved into a lovely 2-bedroom 2-storey house (no more crappy Thai studio apartments, weeeeeee!), bonded with our neighbors (namely my sister next door and my mum two doors down), and caught up with a few friends. The Boyfriend is adjusting quite nicely to the food (no more Thai shit on a plate), and naturally, I tried to eat everything that I missed the moment we landed, so I gained a few pounds and I’m now desperately trying to find an appetite suppressant that’ll help me successfully lose ‘em. We also spent a weekend at the fancy Alegre Beach Resort (courtesy of mum) where we frolicked in 5-star heaven, and found clown fishes a mere 10 feet away from the beach – you don’t get that in Thailand!

But probably the biggest news isn’t that we left Thailand barely 2 weeks after we decided to, nor is it the idea of The Boyfriend having to get used to a new city in a new country. The big news is – wait for it! – we’re engaged! I won’t go into the details anymore because Chin has done such a good job of telling it to all and sundry, but the fact is, I’m going to be Mrs. Young soon enough. No, we don’t have a date yet, and there’s no rush, really. The important thing is we’re going there, and I can’t wait for the rest of my life!

So here we are a month later – blissfully engaged, very well-fed, and considerably more relaxed than we have ever been in Thailand. I guess no matter how horrible the people are in that country, or how bad the food is, I’m still thankful that I did go when I did. It took a little over a year of living in Thailand to make me realize just how fabulous my Cebu is. Not only that, I learned to travel alone, live on my own, and enjoy my own company. I’ve come full circle, and somewhere along the way, I found the love of my life.

Now that, my dear friends, is what fairy tales are made of.