Slave to the Music

I finally have a night where I can just relax and enjoy a few episodes of The West Wing. It’s been an insanely crazy week, filled with drinks, parties, hysterical laughter, and drunken stumbling in the streets of Madrid. As amazing as it sounds, the fun times do get tiring, but I’m not complaining. I just look at my friends and think of butterflies and stars and I forget why my feet were killing me in the first place.

I feel so lucky to be here right now. Madrid has been absolutely wonderful to me. I’m looking at the blacked-out dates on my calendar and I think: Shit. I have a little bit over three months left to be here.

Time is flying by so quickly. I can’t quite catch my breath.

I feel bad for those who are in the same experience with me, yet cannot get past their feeling of homesickness to really experience this magnificent city. Madrid is not just about shopping nor is it worth all these superlatives just because it’s in Europe—Madrid is about a thousand years of Spanish history told through its art, literature, architecture, and people. Madrid is about soul. Madrid is about living. 

How can you start living if you refuse to look at this city through a different pair of eyes?

Don’t get me wrong. I miss home, most especially the people I love in it. I miss Serenitea’s Malt Milk Tea and Cantina’s chicken inasal (downed with a bottle or two of San Mig Light). I miss my family, friends and the Philippines. But I don’t let that hold me back from experiencing something that will definitely change my life.

Getting over being homesick is not about breaking the language barrier or immersing yourself completely into culture—it’s about trying. Try to open yourself up completely to the endless possibilities that this experience has to offer. It’s a little bit similar to a break-up, actually. A little bit of letting go has to be done. Let go and try. Try to live.

But more than that, it’s about choosing to try.

I do miss everyone back home. I can’t wait to get back to school and study once again with an Ateneo load—Spain university load just feels like sloth-town for me. I can’t wait to gossip with my dorm roommates; drink, party and have intense heart-to-heart sessions with my blockmates; see and annoy my younger siblings; possibly visit a certain someone in a certain country south of our beloved motherland. I honestly cannot wait for all that.

But can’t I have just a little more time in Madrid?

Pretty please?

Day 44: Happiness Truck

Reblogged from One Day At A Time:

I just wanted to share this Coca-Cola Happiness Truck which roamed around Marikina, Philippines giving out free Coke drinks and some pretty amazing stuff! It’s evidence that nothing’s more fun than getting things for free! I hope the next time this truck comes by, I’d be there for the freebies. Go watch and be happy! Thanks to my Marketing 101 prof for showing this video to class last semester.

Just reblogging a friend’s post. My country is so amazing, its people so beautiful. We find happiness in the smallest of things.

Save Yourself

The past couple of days have been an incredibly emotional whirlwind of useless feelings for me. My friends will tell you why—or maybe not. But the point is, I have acted like a complete ass, turning into the girl that I swore I would never be. I had conversations upon conversations with friends, a few tears here and there for many different, stupid reasons that I would not even dare mention (or think about) ever again; made decisions and promises that I swore on my life that I would keep; wrote letters and “speeches” just to satisfy my desire to just let it all out. Basically, I made a fool of myself in front of my friends, but they took it all in good stride. They are my friends after all, and they’re great ones—they were there for me when I was apparently not there for myself. And I’m thankful for that.

So I made a fool out of myself and decided that I would make a fool out of myself even more by being the type of girl that I truly, absolutely hate.

Last night, however, sitting in a circle, playing drinking games with new-found friends who look like they’ve just come out of an episode of The Vampire Diaries (yes, we looked that good), I suddenly asked myself: “What in the world were you thinking, Mima?”

I then realized, right then and there, that carpe-ing the fuck out of that diem didn’t mean laying my heart out to be ripped into shreds—it meant that despite all the shit that I put myself through this week, there is nothing, nothing better than just enjoying what I have here in Madrid: a life. A beautiful, thrilling and absolutely sensational life—one that should not be overshadowed by emotions on overdrive.

And at that moment when I passed the gang that next shot of Licor 43, I decided that I didn’t care anymore. And it wasn’t because of the alcohol—it was because I had a true desire to save myself from the anguish of being stupid. To quote Maria from The Sound of Music: “Please don’t ask me. Anyway, the reason no longer exists.”

I’m not being heartless nor am I in denial. I’ve just accepted the fact that things don’t always (or for that matter, never) turn out as carbon copies of our wildest fantasies, and that I have an amazing life here that I should not be throwing away just because of someone I, well, care deeply about.

So, to my friends who I have inconvenienced these past few days, don’t worry about more breakdowns—there isn’t going to be any more. I’m letting it go without adding more drama into my life. This is my version of carpe-ing the fuck out of this diem.

The bitch is back.

 

Love is Hard

Love is Hard
James Morrison

I see lovers in the streets
Walking without a care
They wear it out loud
Like there’s something in the air
Oh well, I don’t care

They’re treading lightly
No, they don’t sink in
There’s no tracks to follow
They don’t care where they’re going

And if they’re lucky, yeah
They’ll, they’ll get to see
And if they’re really, really lucky
They’ll get to feel

And it kicks so hard, it breaks your bones
Cuts so deep, it hits your soul
Tears your skin and makes your blood flow
It’s better that you know that love is hard

Love takes hostages
And gives them pain
Gives someone the power
To hurt you again and again
Oh, but they don’t care

And if they’re lucky, yeah
They’ll, they’ll get to see
And if they’re really, really lucky
They’ll get to feel

And if they’re, they’re truly blessed
Then they’ll get to believe
And if you’re damned
You’ll never let yourself be deceived

And it kicks so hard, it breaks your bones
Cuts so deep, it hits your soul
Tears your skin and makes your blood flow
It’s better that you know that love is hard

It kicks so hard, it breaks your bones
Cuts so deep, it hits your soul
Tears your skin and makes your blood flow
It’s better that you know that love is hard

It kicks so hard, it breaks your bones
Cuts so deep, it hits your soul
Tears your skin and makes your blood flow
It’s better that you know that love is hard
Love is hard, love is hard
It it was easy, it wouldn’t mean nothing, no

Stupid Doesn’t Even Begin to Describe

I really don’t understand why I’m feeling all these, well, feelings. I just came from a great afternoon with the Lover (who is really just a friend that I call that), full of drinks and good conversation. But at around 7PM, my feet were killing me and I was itching to go home and just curl up on my bed and drown myself in The West Wing episodes.

I’m feeling a little hurt right now. Maybe even a great amount of hurt, but I just don’t want to admit it. I know it’s unfair—I don’t have the whole story yet, I haven’t talked to any of my friends who were there that night, but I am just so hurt.

Nice. That’s all I am to him. I am just a nice girl. Jesus, how could I have been so stupid?

After all the long, deep talks, and conversations dripping with innuendos, that’s all I am to him? After everything we’ve been through? Is this all I will ever be?

And I thought I had already learned my lesson.

For fuck’s sake, Mima. Why do you always get the absolutely shit ones? What the fuck is wrong with you?

And they said I was brilliant.

A Little Scene from Heaven

In the train today while I was on my way back to my flat from school, someone suddenly popped up into my head. Someone who was taken from us at such an early age. Someone whose death still pains me four years after the fact. I won’t deny the fact that I teared up, and I tried my very best not to let those tears cascade down my cheeks. He was gone too soon.

I know that he is in a better place, though. And what’s more important, I know that he has been watching down on me and my family. He is our very own guardian angel.

Our little Gabby popping up in my head like that was not a coincidence, I think. After shifting through my memories of him and I during his short life, I realized something very important—something that people say all the time but never really understand: Life is short. Make the most out of it. Carpe diem.

After our goodbye last December 13, Chris and I finally had the chance to video Skype last Monday for the first time. The difference in time zones was brutal (especially for him), but we talked for over an hour. I didn’t know how much I missed talking to him until we finally did after so long. We ended that conversation with me asking him to go to bed (for his own sake) and by me saying, “I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to say anything stupid that I would regret later on.” He took a few more minutes to press me to say what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. My walls were up and I just couldn’t tear them down. Not for me, and most certainly not for him.

I admit, when it comes to admitting feelings out loud, I am a very guarded person. Yeah, sure, you will see me smile, see my face light up, see me cry and break into hysterics. But you will never, ever hear me admit to anything, unless you were someone special—unless you were worth it, unless I loved you.

But that wasn’t what Gabby’s memory was telling me this afternoon as I rode the train for home. He was telling me to fuck it, lose the walls and just fucking live. Don’t be too caught up in games and equations and calculations—life isn’t math, and there is no formula for living. There is just now. So go out there and seize the fucking moment.

What drove me to write this entry was because tonight (just a half an hour ago, in fact), I had the chance to seize the moment, to let go and just live, but I didn’t. And looking at my laptop’s clock and knowing that he is seven time zones ahead and sleeping, I regret it. I regret being too guarded. I regret not saying something stupid. I regret not looking at his face with his disheveled hair, his untrimmed beard and his beautiful, beautiful blue eyes and telling him: “I miss you. When I said that something was missing here in this wonderful, breathtaking city—that was you.”

What is really holding me back from breaking down my barriers, anyway?

It’s because I’ve been hurt before. Sure, I’ve dated my fair share of assholes, but that’s not what I mean. People who said they loved me have caused me pain before. People who I opened myself up to, given my world to, people who I loved. I willingly signed myself up for pain too many times too count, but now I’ve learned my lesson. At least, I think I have. And that is why I can never, ever break down my walls again. I don’t want to be stupid again.

And at this moment, I don’t know what this is. I don’t know how he feels, I don’t know how I feel, I don’t know where this is going. I just don’t know. Maybe I’m just being a girl and reading too much into it, maybe I’m just going crazy, or maybe I am free falling into this alone, or maybe we jumped off the cliff together and we don’t even know it yet. All I know is something is here, I am feeling something and I know it will most likely end up with me getting hurt because of my own stupidity.

A stupidity that, as I have said, I have learned from already.

I’ve been staring at this entry for over an hour, wondering if I should post this. There it is again, my high walls “protecting” what I really feel, what I really want to say. Should I publish this for all the world to read? For him to read?

Ah, fuck it. Carpe fucking diem. And maybe next time we talk, I’ll say it to his face, shattered walls and all.

Gratuitous no regrets GIF

The Sound of Music Reaction Post

Alright, alright. After three straight days of watching The Sound of Music during dinner, I just had to do this. Because, first of all, The Sound of Music is my all-time favorite movie. As in, all-time. I squee with delight and butterflies every time I watch The Sound of Music. Because:

1. Julie Andrews
2. Maria x The Captain
3. Julie Andrews
4. Julie Andrews
5. Julie Andrews

So this is an appreciation and reaction post to the epicness that is The Sound of Music. You have been warned.

---

The opening notes and the first time Julie Andrews sings The Sound of Music

“Yes, but seven?”

I Have Confidence (and Julie Andrews’ unintentional tripping in the Von Trapp Villa courtyard that was kept in the movie)

The Captain: “It’s the dress. You’ll have to put on another one before you meet the children.”
Maria: “But I don’t have another one. When we entered the Abbey our worldly clothes were given to the poor.”
The Captain: “What about this one?”
Maria: “The poor didn’t want this one.”
…
Maria: “I don’t need to whistle for them Reverend Captain—”

My Favorite Things and Do Re Mi

“You brought music back into my house. I’d forgotten. I want you to stay. I ask you to stay.”

The Lonely Goatherd

The Captain singing Edelweiss with Liesl for the first time in a very, very long time

The dance between Maria and the Captain

“Oh, how clumsy of me. I meant to accuse you.”

The evil doings of the Baroness

Maria returns

“And somewhere out there is a young lady who, I think, will never be a nun.”

Everything about the gazebo scene (the Captain’s fishing tactics, Maria’s awkwardness, their profession of love for one another, I Must Have Done Something Good)

“You cry a little, and then wait for the sun to come out. It always does.”

The Von Trapps winning the festival and escaping from Nazis all in one night

The end of the movie

All I Want is Madrid

Wow. It’s been a long time since my last post, and I can’t believe I’ve been in Madrid for 11 days already. It has definitely been really crazy and I can’t quite put my finger on how to call all this. But what’s certain is that I am definitely in Madrid. I mean, really in it—the culture, the people, the language, the lifestyle.

Welcome to Madrid.

Classes start tomorrow but the intensive Spanish language course began last Tuesday—and so did the partying. I haven’t had a moment’s rest until I decided not to go out last night, a decision made solely because I was burning a hole through the Mima Fund and partly because I had to do laundry and clean my room. But mostly because I was spending my beer money too much too fast. It’s only the first week—I’ve got 24 more.

I’m lucky to have made some really good friends here, most of them Australian (hello, subconscious, can you be any more obvious?). I met Jenny on orientation day—we just started talking, not even introduce ourselves until the next day when we went: “Hey, I never got your name yesterday!”—and she, in turn, introduced me to the myriad of friends that she already had. They’re a great bunch and I’ve been partying with them nonstop since Wednesday night. With the exception of last night, of course.

Everything has basically settled down, and thank god classes start tomorrow (not for me, though—my class starts on Tuesday). I haven’t been a student for so long that I don’t know how it feels to study anymore. I hope I get back in the groove of learning once we start hitting the books.

Christ, I can’t wait to start studying again.

Dormimos cuando morimos.

We sleep when we’re dead.

Or so the Spanish say.

After two days of being in Madrid, I finally decided to screw sleep and join the hostel last night. I’m very familiar with the Spanish way of nightlife here—drinks until 1AM then you hit the clubs until 6AM. I was fortunate enough to befriend a few people in the hostel who are staying long term: Ian, Stacey, Phoebe and Tom. A few others I also befriended but were only on holiday and left this morning. In any case, we started the night with a beer run at El Corte Ingles and a game of Texas Hold ‘Em in the hostel. About two hours later and the crowd grew and Carlos, another acquaintance, suggested that we play drinking games. After that we headed to the streets.

To make the long story short, I ended up going home early (at around 3AM) with a few others because I was exhausted, and I was moving in to my flat today. The rest of the gang came back to the hostel at around 5:30AM this morning (or, according to Phoebe, stupid o’clock). I left at around 12:30PM to transfer to my flat.

So I’m here now, in my room in a flat shared with five other students that go to different universities. It’s nothing fancy and my room is tiny (about one-fourth of my dorm room in UDS), but still, I’m not complaining. I’m here not just to study and figure out what I want to do with my life, but also to learn how to be on my own—really on my own. I know it’s going to be difficulty (I can already feel it), but it’s going to be worth it.

I don’t know exactly what I’m feeling right now. Once I’m really settled, I think I’ll be able to put a name on the emotions running about in my insides. But I’m glad that I have made some friends that are not only outside of the university but also those who are on basically the same footing as I am—loving Madrid and wanting to explore everything.

Well, it shall begin.

Edited to add: This is probably the worst picture in the world, but here’s the gang from the hostel (sans me).

L-R: Phoebe, Stacey, Tom and Ian

…spring knows I’ll be waiting in Madrid

I am finally, finally here.

The flight from Manila to Dubai was uneventful enough, although there were a handful of nomnoms on the plane, one of which I had a moment with (“moment” being we had eye contact and smiled at each other). I wish I had my boy Lanz with me–he can spot a nomnom a kilometer away. The Dubai to Madrid flight was even worse–nomnoms left and right.

The 20-hour travel time was so worth it.

But I am finally here. I still can’t believe it.

It took me most of my last week in the Philippines and the flight to Madrid to decide if I would go by taxi or Metro/Cercanias to my hostel. I finally decided to take the commute route and was glad for it–I don’t know how much I would have spent for a taxi to Sol from Barajas, but I spent only 3.85EU on the train, and it didn’t even take me half an hour.

I’m really here. Wow.

My hostel is smack in the middle of everything. To anyone thinking of going to Madrid, I highly recommend HostelOne Centro–completely worth the relatively cheap price, clean and as I said, in the center of the center. I sound like HostelWorld, but what the heck.

Oh my god, I’m really here.

Immediately after settling down in the hostel, I bought a Vodafone sim card (I have BlackBerry services now, yey!) and immediately called the person who e-mailed me about the flat that I wanted. I went to see it immediately and I liked it–downpayment paid, done. The work that I scheduled to do for three days was done in a couple of hours. I can’t help but work fast.

So I’m really, really here.

I don’t exactly have plans tonight–I’m way too tired, but if Gruta and her friends decide to go out, I might just. But the thought of just chilling here in the hostel and sleeping early is very, very attractive.

Ah, Madrid. Nothing has changed yet you get more beautiful and more amazing each time I come. I don’t have the words to describe the many emotions that are just creating chaos in my insides–good chaos, that is. I can feel it. I can feel the adventures that this semester is just waiting to feed me. This is going to be one hell of a start to 2012.

Madrid, I’m here.

I’ve cried in Venetia, I’ve been lost in Manhattan, I’ve grown up in La Havana, I’ve been an outcast in Paris, Mexico torments me, Buenos Aires kills me, but there’s always a train that goes to Madrid. (Joaquin Sabina)