being a little bit british

Here is an explanation of why I look strange.

My grandfather (my mum's dad) is half-British, which makes my mum 1/4 British, which makes me 1/8 British. Actually, my grandfather is only British by nationality; his real ethnicity is a mix of British-Spanish-French, which is not a very good idea.

Anyway, genes skip and weird things happen as we age, which is why I look more European now than I did when I was younger. That's just life. Hello, freckles.

Foreigners - clients, people I meet during trips abroad, etc. - never think I'm Filipino. I always get questions/comments like:

Are you half German?

What are you a mix of?

You don't look Filipino at all!

(I am Filipino, okay? Why the hell would I lie?)

With foreigners, I understand. They probably have a stereotype of what a Pinay looks like, and I obviously don't fit the mold.

But what's really offensive is when fellow Filipinos who don't know me describe me as being some kind of an alien.

Stop it.

When you call me that "girl na parang iba ang lahi..." or "yung parang half-breed na ewan..." or "baka anak sa Amerikano..." it really hurts my feelings.

Do I call you people indios?

Well yes, but not out loud. (I'm half-joking).

So stop calling me names, you racists.

NO COMMENTS ALLOWED, or you might hurt my feelings again.

break me out

SLOW POKE

The next run is almost here, and I'm not ready.

In the last two weeks, life has not been "normal." The stress of working endlessly and dealing with someone's passing has taken its toll. I haven't been eating right. Sleep has been optional.

The shock and anger has subsided, thank God, and I'm slowly shaking myself out of this rut.

It hasn't been easy finding entertainment, but I'm succeeding. Last weekend I went on a walking tour of Old Manila, and tomorrow I'm tasting 100 French Wines. I hear there's foie gras canapes. I better NOT wear cashmere, because I'll just soil it with duck liver and Bordeaux. Sheersh! Hick!

* * * *

DEALING WITH THAT...

There are moments when I still feel deeply sad. She was like my sister, after all.

These moments come suddenly. Just a week ago, I was running like hell -- faster and stronger -- when tears just rolled down my face. I couldn't tell how much I really cried. Was that sweat or were they tears? I have no way of knowing.

So anyway, I just keep running.

the end of an era

Some days I think I am losing myself.

Some days, I think maybe this IS myself, and I just can't believe it -- that I am this uninteresting. A borderline snoozefest. That in Europe, I am just another face in the crowd.

I can't believe I have nothing to say. That I cannot maintain a tan for two weeks. That I cannot run faster than this. Or longer.

* * * *

It's the curse of the fours.

I quit my old job after 4 years.

It's been 4 years since this I started this company.

It's been 4 hours since breakfast.

And 4 minutes since I hit 'new entry' on this blog.

In 11 years, I will be 4-ty.


* * * *

This concept of constancy is a farce. Nothing ever stays the same. Nothing.

Feelings change. Priorities shift. Taste evolves.

Some people are so afraid of change that they build a false sense of security with possessions. They tie themselves down to things, people, and concepts they think they own but end up owning them. I learned this early on. I won't make that mistake again.