Today is the day when everybody else says either one of two things: what happened to them in the year that's winding down, and what they hope to get in the year that's coming up.
Let me make that sound weirder than it already is. Remember the oft-used visual metaphors whenever the new year rolls in? 2012, in this case, is represented by an old man, preferably with a cane, a balding head, a hermit-like beard and liver spots on his face. Imagine telling this guy all of the things that's happened to you. "This year I got a new job and I met new people and I had new experiences and I got something I never, never, never thought I'd get!" And all he wants is to go to rest and get on with everything.
2013, on the other hand, is represented by a baby. You know how babies look. Cute and all diapered up. In this case, a cloth diaper with a (huge) safety pin locking it in. "Please be good to me!" you tell the baby. The kid doesn't understand you. "Please be good to me!" Cute, puzzled face. "Please be good to meeeee!"
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12/31/2012
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12/24/2012
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May you be stuffed with love, get drunk with comfort and unwrap good things tonight and in the new year. Happy holidays!
I have to admit, this year has been good. (So good. But that's one touch short of exaggeration.) I guess that's why the number of recipients spiked up from last year. Either I was in a good mood - I overslept! I woke up at half past seven! I didn't get to walk outside - or there was just more reason for me to celebrate. 56 people got my text message. To be fair, I did meet more people, reconnect with a few more, get out more, said yes (within reason) more, and I don't know. It's just been a good year. I can't believe I sound so cheesy.
I guess that explains why my annual Christmas eve text message sounds so... general, so reasonable, so safe. Anyway, to the replies, which, for the past six years, I've been tabulating for, frankly, no reason at all now. Apart from it being a tradition of sorts. A dreaded one.
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I have to admit, this year has been good. (So good. But that's one touch short of exaggeration.) I guess that's why the number of recipients spiked up from last year. Either I was in a good mood - I overslept! I woke up at half past seven! I didn't get to walk outside - or there was just more reason for me to celebrate. 56 people got my text message. To be fair, I did meet more people, reconnect with a few more, get out more, said yes (within reason) more, and I don't know. It's just been a good year. I can't believe I sound so cheesy.
I guess that explains why my annual Christmas eve text message sounds so... general, so reasonable, so safe. Anyway, to the replies, which, for the past six years, I've been tabulating for, frankly, no reason at all now. Apart from it being a tradition of sorts. A dreaded one.
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12/17/2012
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If some people are to be believed, I will never make it home on Friday.
And that's not really the only thing I won't be able to do when the world ends. This sucks, really. I'm 23, turning 24, and I will never live out my potential! The things that feng shui master said - they will never happen, because I'm only two years through this supposedly tumultuous decade, and I'll be dead! (Unless by "relative success, possibly abroad" he meant "in outer space, on a colony in Mars".) In fact, I'll never even make it to 24, which sucks, because I was looking forward to have genuine Indian cuisine on my birthday.
Yep, that's settled. Once the world ends, and we're all swallowed by the earth, time zone by time zone, I won't have genuine Indian cuisine. Granted, its authenticity will still be in question because I'll only be getting it at an Indian restaurant in, say, Makati, but it's the closest I'll get, and I'll never get there.
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And that's not really the only thing I won't be able to do when the world ends. This sucks, really. I'm 23, turning 24, and I will never live out my potential! The things that feng shui master said - they will never happen, because I'm only two years through this supposedly tumultuous decade, and I'll be dead! (Unless by "relative success, possibly abroad" he meant "in outer space, on a colony in Mars".) In fact, I'll never even make it to 24, which sucks, because I was looking forward to have genuine Indian cuisine on my birthday.
Yep, that's settled. Once the world ends, and we're all swallowed by the earth, time zone by time zone, I won't have genuine Indian cuisine. Granted, its authenticity will still be in question because I'll only be getting it at an Indian restaurant in, say, Makati, but it's the closest I'll get, and I'll never get there.
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12/10/2012
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It's a little pathetic that I'm the male equivalent of a woman who's defined by her partner.
Okay, maybe that's stretching the definition, but all these years I've been writing, in one way or another, about wanting someone and not getting someone, about being forever alone, about getting annoyed when you see couples being, well, couple-y. Sure, I'm reasonably accomplished - I'm earning enough, I get to buy the things I want and I generally get along with people, except when they piss me off or something. But you will always have those empty feelings. You know what I mean, yes?
But lately I've been thinking: what happens when that empty feeling gets filled? Am I actually ready to live with the fact that I'm, so to speak, a little heavier, because of the added (happy) mass inside?
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Okay, maybe that's stretching the definition, but all these years I've been writing, in one way or another, about wanting someone and not getting someone, about being forever alone, about getting annoyed when you see couples being, well, couple-y. Sure, I'm reasonably accomplished - I'm earning enough, I get to buy the things I want and I generally get along with people, except when they piss me off or something. But you will always have those empty feelings. You know what I mean, yes?
But lately I've been thinking: what happens when that empty feeling gets filled? Am I actually ready to live with the fact that I'm, so to speak, a little heavier, because of the added (happy) mass inside?
Read more »
12/01/2012
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As I write this, my Multiply site, all but archived, hasn't disappeared yet.
It's supposed to be. Today's the first of December, and considering all that kerfuffle a few months ago about the site ditching its social networking side for e-commerce, which means all of our photos and videos and blog entries disappearing, I'm a bit surprised that there's still something to see.
I finished backing my photos up a few weeks ago, and yesterday, during downtime in between dance rehearsals, I grabbed my airchecks and my audio projects. Last night, after getting home from yet another meet-up with Rainy - well, technically, it was this morning, at midnight, to be more precise - I opened my laptop and put my five thousand or so photos (there are definitely more) into folders, like they used to ages ago, when my hard drive died. I went to sleep at half past four in the morning, anxious that my mom would see me and send me to bed anyway. Well, she couldn't, because I was in bed.
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It's supposed to be. Today's the first of December, and considering all that kerfuffle a few months ago about the site ditching its social networking side for e-commerce, which means all of our photos and videos and blog entries disappearing, I'm a bit surprised that there's still something to see.
I finished backing my photos up a few weeks ago, and yesterday, during downtime in between dance rehearsals, I grabbed my airchecks and my audio projects. Last night, after getting home from yet another meet-up with Rainy - well, technically, it was this morning, at midnight, to be more precise - I opened my laptop and put my five thousand or so photos (there are definitely more) into folders, like they used to ages ago, when my hard drive died. I went to sleep at half past four in the morning, anxious that my mom would see me and send me to bed anyway. Well, she couldn't, because I was in bed.
Read more »
Niko Batallones writes The Upper Blog.
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