Goddess, I Am.

I’ve never done tags before. The only tags that I ever get are the ones in Facebook, and I happen to think it’s the height of tacky – and a tad too self-centered – to flood my friends’ Facebook homepages with the 25 things that make me special, or how I have the personality of a flip-flop. It annoys me to no end when people do this because, really, I (and I suspect the rest of these people’s friends list) don’t give a flying kahuna if your celebrity twin is Ashley Tisdale because I don’t even know who that is!

But I digress. I got my first ever blog tag from Chin a couple of days ago, and this I’m compelled to do because (a) I’ve been constantly writing about myself here because, well, it is my blog; (b) I’m not forcing this down anyone’s throat (or, at least, Facebook homepage) because I figured if you’re reading this (and everything else in this blog), you probably wanted to (I imagine); and (c) I have absolutely nothing to write about that’s even remotely interesting.

So here’s what Chin is making me do this time:

1. Mention the person who nominated you.
2. List 6 unimportant things that make you happy.
3. Tag 6 blogs, state the rules, and notify them with a teeny comment on their blog.

Ladies and gentlemen, without much further ado, here are the six unimportant – and often ridiculous – things that make me deliriously happy:

1. Tattered underwear. You know, the ones with the broken elastics and frayed edges and holes aplenty. I love wearing them at home with little else. I love how I don’t feel constricted or uncomfortable, especially now that it’s summer. I would even wear them every chance I get when I go out if my outfit will just allow it. Yes, nothing makes me feel light and buoyant all day more than tattered underwear. Save the sexy ones for sexy clothes and sexy moments. They may be more attractive, but only tattered underwear can set you free!

2. Chuckie. Chuckie is not a psycho doll, nor is it a Rugrat. Oh no, Chuckie is anything but that trivial. Chuckie is nectar from the gods, the very liquid from the Fountain of Youth – and all that jazz. Yes, it’s none other than the chocolate milk drink of champions.

I’ve been drinking Chuckie all my life since the days when it was called Chocolait. We always keep a carton or two in the fridge because I just can’t be without my Chuckie. Why, I’d go without food, just as long as I have Chuckie. Oh, and I can even sing the Chuckie jingle upon request.

3. The Fiance’s Armpits. Okay, I know this is gag-worthy to some – if not all – of my readership, but this is my tag, and I’m inclined to tell the truth. I don’t have an armpit fetish or anything – gosh, no! If anything, I’ve always found armpits best ignored. Somewhere along the way, however, I developed a rather strange, umm, attachment to the man’s pits. I will always find reasons to touch ‘em and kiss ‘em and get under ‘em. I better stop right here before I start going into way too much unwelcome detail.

4. Julius Caesar. And yes, I do mean the man, and all the stories of the ancient Roman Republic before it became the Roman Empire and the lesser emperors ran it to the ground. I don’t claim to know all about it, but every time I come across a book, or a movie, or even just an article about it, that’s it – I will have little attention to spare for anything else. Right now my favorite reads on the subject are the books in Colleen McCullough’s Masters of Rome series. I’ll talk about this in another blog post later, or else I’ll never stop.

On a side note, I do believe I have some Julian blood in me. I don’t know how that could be possible, but I like to think so anyway. Why else would I always be dreaming of conquering Gaul of the Long-hairs on horseback in gladiator sandals? I’ve considered that I might be Caesar himself in my past life, which would explain why I like wearing mini skirts. I have also considered that this may just be because I have a thing for European men and have a subconscious need to conquer, rape, and pillage. I like the past life theory better.

5. iStore Fliers. Every couple of weeks or so, I would pay a visit to the iStore in Ayala and ask the guy at the door for the latest Macbook price lists. The prices haven’t changed much (if at all), but I’m hoping they’ll knock off a zero so I can get me a pretty Macbook Aluminum,. Or perhaps take pity on me and actually hand me one on the condition that I stop wasting their paper. Yes, I do get strange ideas in my head.

6. The Toilet Hose. Growing up in the Philippines, I was quite used to the whole bucket-and-dipper routine when it came to washing up after certain, umm, businesses. When I moved to Thailand, however, I was completely hooked on the toilet hose – you know, the ones that are bolted to conveniently beside the toilet, so one can just reach over and use the nozzle control thingy to wash up to one’s heart’s content.

After living there for a year and a half, the toilet hose completely spoiled me so that when we moved back to Cebu, I actually suffered a bit of culture shock when I found out that our apartment didn’t have one. Furthermore, I no longer had the dexterity required to make the bucket-and-dipper routine work. So after much searching and loads of whining, The Fiance eventually installed a toilet hose for me – and we all lived happily ever after.

Now the hard part – tagging six other people. Truth be told, I’m mostly a lurker in other people’s blogs because I’m shy (believe it or not), so I don’t really have a lot of blogger friends. I’m just going to play it safe and tag people I know, or at least, exchanged comments with.

Kaye, Jen, Lara, Kessa, Mikes, and Lio – tag, you’re it!

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.

Here’s a fact that I’ve never spoken of before: much of Thailand terrifies me. It has nothing to do with the country’s current political unrest, or scary Thai wannabe kick boxers who beat people up for no reason, or even Thai food, which is scary enough as it is. No, my fears are far worse than that.

1. I’m afraid of getting a haircut from Thai salons. My last haircut was in April, and that was when I went home to the Philippines for a week. Before that, I forced the boyfriend to trim my hair for me, and he did so with scissors and a ruler – seriously. My hair is now getting rather ridiculously long, but I’m trying to hold out until I go home in a few months.

So one may wonder why I have this silly aversion to Thai hairdressers. The answer is simple enough – if you’ve ever seen the average Thai hairstyle, you’ll understand. The majority of the population – men, women, and children alike – sport mop tops and spikes and the uber popular mullet, and I believe there’s nobody else to blame but ‘em snip-happy Thai hairdressers. I’d take my chances with the boyfriend and his trusty ruler again rather than take the risk of looking like Billy Ray Cyrus in his heyday.

2. I’m scared of getting my nails done. Again, the last time I had my nails done was on my last Philippine trip. I’ve been going the DIY route since. Good thing I’m pretty low maintenance in this area, and I’ve never been much of a fan of nail polish. I simply bite my fingernails into oblivion (a nasty habit that I’ve been trying to break forever, which is very unlikely now that it turns out the boyfriend does it, too), and use my trusty nail clippers to cut my toenails off and a sharp metal thingy called a ‘pusher’ to pry out the crap from the sides.

It’s gross, I know, but I’d rather do this than visit the so-called Thai experts in this, umm, specialty for many reasons. For one thing, a pedicure here costs 10 times more than what I would pay for a manicure and pedicure back home. For another, their clientele are often seen leaving the salon in those longer-than-normal tacky acrylic nails with even tackier glittery designs – presumably to match their equally glittery phones and Lecteurs MP3 players. Of course, I can always just refuse, but my Thai is so bad and their English is even worse, and I’m deathly afraid that they’ll misunderstand me and cut off my toes instead. Yes, I’d rather pry out my nail crap myself, thank you very much.

3. I’m scared of getting a wax. Waxing hurts, yes, but I can take it. I actually prefer it rather than shaving because I don’t have to do it as often. While living in Thailand, however, I have to choose shaving because it’s so much safer. As far as I can tell, waxing in Thailand doesn’t work, judging from the number of hairy-legged and even (scarily) hairy-toed women I see every day. I swear, they give Frodo Baggins and his little hobbit friends a run for their money.

Plus, they don’t do full bikini waxes; they only skirt around the edges like they’re scared of something. Believe me, I must have asked all the bikini waxers in greater Bangkok. Well, they can all grow Amazon rainforests down there for all I care, but I’m not gonna.

Indeed, Thailand is a scary place that’s definitely not for the fainthearted. I just hope I can get out of here alive without looking like a Jefferson Starship clone with dinosaur nails and a full bush. *shudder*

I might have neglected to tell everyone this, but Steve and I had a baby. In fact, we’ve had her for about two months now. Everyone, meet Pepper.

Pepper is a slow loris, a kind of primate common in most Southeast Asian countries. She’s about a foot long from head to rump, has short but soft fur, and big bug eyes that can get her anything she wants. In other words, she takes after her father.

Kidding aside, she was found wandering in an obscure Bangkok soi, obviously lost. They brought her to our old landlord, a man known in the area as a keeper of animals. Seriously, the man has several huge aviaries behind the apartment block we used to live in where he keeps about 30 species of birds, including a beautiful hornbill, guinea fowls, wild ducks and chickens, and several peacocks that seem to breed endlessly. He also has several cobras, Burmese pythons, and huge monitor lizards. All these were caught by the locals and brought to him for safekeeping. Indeed, he’s got quite a zoo out there.

But I digress. Naturally, the landlord took Pepper in and kept her in one of the smaller aviaries. She lives with chickens, doves, and the female peacocks and their chicks before they were moved elsewhere. The first time we saw her, we were in love. We considered settling her in our apartment, and we even went as far as doing the research. Since we lived in a one-room studio, however, it just didn’t seem like a good idea. I, for one, wouldn’t know how to deal with the pooping. The baby is, after all, a wild animal not commonly kept as pets, unlike dogs and cats. Besides, her aviary has trees and foliage and undergrowth where she could forage for food.

The boyfriend, fancying himself the next Steve Irwin, immediately took to his fatherly duties seriously. He has since made two shelters for her out of cardboard boxes and my old pillow where she comfortably sleeps during the day as she’s nocturnal. He’s also taken it upon himself to feed the baby in the cage while I stay outside and coo. He does all this, even when she bit him the first night. She likes cat food, milk, and, her favorite, those deep-fried grubs that they sell on the street.

We have since moved to a new apartment a good 6 kilometers away from the old one, yet we still go there about 3 or 4 times a week to feed her. We’ve actually tried buying grubs wholesale and leaving them with the old landlord’s caretakers with specific instructions to feed her one bag a day. Every time we go there, however, the stash always remains untouched. They can’t seem to get it into their heads that the baby is a carnivore, and she doesn’t like bananas. We assume she’s excellent at foraging because she still seems quite chunky, even when we don’t get to feed her everyday.

We’ve been in touch with the Wild Animal Rescue Foundation of Thailand (WARF), a conservation group that rehabilitate lost and captured slow lorises to introduce them back to the wild. The guy in charge, however, couldn’t come to Bangkok and suggested that we take the baby to Ranong ourselves where the rehab center is based. Unfortunately, Ranong is a long way from Bangkok, and we just don’t have time to do it. Neither does the landlord.

We’re hoping to get around to doing it soon as she really looks quite lonely with only chickens and doves for company. It’ll be good for her to be around her own kind. My only concern is transporting her all the way to Ranong. Slow lorises, after all, are a protected species. If we get caught with her, we might be in some serious trouble. Neither of us can speak Thai to save our lives, so we really won’t be able to effectively explain the situation to a potentially farang-hating policeman.

Here’s hoping that the folks at WARF will still take it upon themselves to come get her in Bangkok, or at least meet us halfway. I’ll keep you all posted.