A Change

For three months you’ve become my first and last message of the day. You have been telling me and sending me signals of what your intentions are but at one time I had to tell you to wait. You were not happy about it but still chose to hang around. I wondered, after I said I can’t give you what I don’t have, why exactly am I stalling?

First, it was because I did not feel the way you did. I was not about to get into something that will surely hurt a good friend. While I want to be happy and hated the fact that you were hurting, I was not prepared to live a lie.

Second, I could not for all the thinking that I gave it, come to the right conclusion. Are you just being kind? Charming? Or is this the normal you? Just the kind sensitive and sensible you. I resolved that the only remedy is for you to say exactly what it is. And finally you did (you are the reason why I’ m cooking again).

Last Friday, I saw your face in my dream. You were telling me something and we were both smiling. Like most dreams, it felt so real. Your voice, the place and the deep feeling of happiness. And then it all had to stop, being awoken by my alarm. I felt deeply gloomy detaching myself from something I thought was real and something I wished was forever. But as soon as my sadness came, it was wiped clean by a single chirp from my phone. It was you.

Take care. It’s raining again. I’m already at the bus. My umbrella broke. I hope it doesn’t rain hard.

I’ve known you for three years and finally, I think I’m ready to fall for you. Ready to just be brave again.

Regardless of the uncertainty and doubt I unintentionaly inflected you, you never left. You were still there to ask how my heart is. You’ve been willing to just sit and wait while you hurt and was willing to look and sound like a fool just to get your message across.

I promise starting today things will be different.


Cats Now and Forever

I wish to avoid the obvious pitfalls of reviewing a musical. I haven’t seen much, save for Glee, so I will limit my thought to what is evident. And please forgive me if I can’t provide much – you are always welcome not to continue.

The fuzz about Cats is over-rated for the middle-class. Unlike Miss Saigon’s ticket price (I still have the poster so I can recall just by looking), it is not so reasonable. For Cats, the truth is, the middle class can do without. It is a spectacular exhibition of song and dance (love the tap) enmeshed by several excerpts of different cats. So yes, we are not following one story here; we are watching several snippets of each characters. All of which are simply spectacular. For the middle-class it is not necessary but for the rich, this is loose change.

Cats is Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical demonstration of T.S. Elliots Old Possums Book Of Practical Cats. It talks about the Jellicle Cats and their annual Ball of which one cat is chosen to be reborn. The spectacle moves from one cat’s story-telling to another.

Like any theatre rule, none of us were allowed flash photography. However, technology has allowed us to circumvent this rule, thanks to my multi-tasking mobile phone. Although I would not choose this over my EOS 7D, it still worked its purpose. I stole shots and got reprimanded once but still snapped-away towards the end of the second act. I must point out that this does not mean I allow such behaviour, let’s just say it was much too difficult to follow specially when it’s all you have to show for as a proof that you were actually there.

Though my seat price of P6000 plus didn’t brought me to a roaring standing ovation, something I freely gave to Miss Saigon and refused to sit-down for several minutes, I was glad to have seen Ms. Lea Salonga do what she does best. She really has a thunderous command when she starts singing, something she was not shy giving the song “Memory”. I made a point to reserve a date that guarantees I won’t be watching her understudy.

It was colourful, it was fabulous, the voices superb, the bodies under the tights are gorgeous and the dancing, marvellous. I wish to see more Broadway shows here in my country and I wish that the next won’t take long.

A Dish And (Perhaps) His Heart

He brought me food today; something he prepared from grocery to microwavable container. And indeed, it was the sweetest thing by far.

He told me that he was cooking and I shrugged it off like any common errand that he might be doing for the day. I had no idea that it was for me. He took his dish to the office and left it at the fridge – in case I got hungry. With the kind of schedule we keep, squeezing this task may mean cutting on sleep and adding to the already cumbersome day. Surely, it was an acknowledged effort. However, close to seven hours within my shift, with work up to my nose and lunch so out of sight, I haven’t touched the thing. So he reheated it and took it to me to be reminded that I’m already hungry.

I sure was and I ate his Pasta on White Sauce with such appreciation – mushroom cooked just right. While I perfectly understand that people cook when they wish to, I felt the need to ask why.  To my surprise he was brave enough to tell me that he has not cooked for anyone for a long time … until now and I was his reason. So succinctly explained over a text message – something that was just right or we’ d be plagued with awkwardness usually reserved for high schoolers – I could not help but think and blush. There was no occasion or any trivial cause, save perhaps the motivation to prepare me something. Oh spontaneity, bless you.

No one has ever cooked for me before, except perhaps the maid or mom. It was indeed the sweetest thing. Plus, his cooking is awesome.