SEOULFUL Trip, Day 3:3rd Destination, N-Seoul Tower

Once darkness envelops all over Seoul, one will instantly notice a remarkable point jutting out of the city’s skyline. The N-Seoul tower is the highest point in Seoul. It is a communication and observation center, turned into an ultimate tourist destination, located at Seoul’s Namsan Mountain.

Once we got off the taxi, we paid for the cable car which brought us to the Namsan Mountain. It was about a 10-15 minute ride on the cable car and then we hiked up at the peak of the mountain where the tower is located. Imagine 2 pairs of unconditioned knees with 2 sets of tropical-reared lungs, add a more than a hundred steps of stairs going up the mountain with an 8-degree night chill and you’ll get a clear image of 2 females struggling for breath while going up to the tower. Surely, the Koreans who were walking up the tower with us were probably thinking, “Oh, these two are not locals. Hindi sanay sa autumn temperature namin eh.” Oh snap! Ahahaha.

The tower was opened to the public in 1980. Aside from its famous observatory, it also has some souvenir shops, restaurants, and a teddy bear museum (next post). At night, the tower in itself is a spectacular site for it is illuminated by a brilliant blue light which is visible all over Seoul. At around 10:00 pm, this blue light is turned off which is the signal of the start digital movie presentation which features the whole tower as the screen. While everyone was watching the 20-minute digital video presentation, I stood in awe and uttered a silent prayer of thanks for having given this opportunity to travel (and I hope that this was just a start).

A large display of the N Seoul Tower logo and a wall covered with tourist information in Korean is not just a promotion, but a creation of a digital media artist.

One of the most famous activities in the tower especially for lovers (ahem!) is to hang padlocks with love messages attached to them in an area on the Tower fence. According to legend, a couple who makes a wish in the Namsan mountain gets to be together forever. Now, this legend is definitely sensationalized, hence the line of padlock trees along the Tower fence. A pity, I didn’t have someone to lock the pads with. As a promise to myself, the next time I’m back to Korea with my one great love (ayeeeeee!) , I’ll surely bring a huge industrial padlock. Small padlocks are waaaaaay too passé in these times, don’t you think?… Ahahaha!

This is the observatory room where a 300° view of Seoul can be seen. This was certainly the most perfect way to spend our last night in Korea. And see, we’ve got Manila posted on one of its glass walls!

Temporary Demotion to Being a Mere Mortal

Yesterday, I decided to give up my rank as a “diwata” by cutting my magical curly tresses in order to go back to being a mere mortal.

Self-uplifting-on-the-verge-of-vanity-leading-to-narcissism comments aside, let me plainly say it----I cut off my almost a year-length curly hair into a short bob! To those who know me for a loooong period of time, this is not big news since they know me as somebody who sports short to medium length hair since like, forever. So, my year length curly hair was actually a record---it was my first time to allow my hair to grow long without itching to having it cut four to six months after having it curled.

To be honest, I did enjoy having that curly hair---it was my first time to actually experience flipping my hair like most ladies with long hairs do. It was also fun to experiment with different styles everyday---from braids, to bun, to ponytails, to just letting it loose. But, long hair isn’t just me.  I guess I’m so low maintenance after all. So, I had it cut to a short bob and though there was a bit of anxiety attack when I felt the scissors snipping the strands one by one, but when I saw my bob haircut, I was more than elated to see my old self back! That’s a drama queen statement, I know! Ahahaha!

On second thought, there’s actually no need to give up my “diwata” post . I may have hair short as an officer now, but I still have my invisible wings on. *wink*

Vigilance (which spells p-a-r-a-n-o-i-a) Ruins Romance

One of my favorite independent short film/video makers, Wong Fu Productions, once made a series of short flicks entitled “Technology Ruins Romance”. The story lines of the flicks are actually funny with a tinge of sarcasm, but very true all the same---tackling several possibilities (and realities) of how technology, yes, ruins romance.

I have my own version of that, in real life though. I’ll not label this personal anecdote as “Technology Ruins Romance”. Probably, it could be any of the following----“Realism Overdose Ruins Romance”, “Vigilance Ruins Romance”, or most probably, “Being-a-close to-jaded-twenty-something-single-in-the-present-times Ruins Romance”. Here’s why:

Last October 15 of last year, while I was catching my flight from Manila to Bangkok, in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the airport which could actually be a perfect setting for any movies and novels about mushy love stories, serendipity, and random-strangers-ending-up-together, it dawned on me that those movie and novel plots are close to impossible in the present times and with the current way of thinking of people. Well, people like me to be exact. 

After the SOP scanning of hand-carry baggages and other personal stuffs, I hurriedly sat on a nearby bench while carrying my sandals on my left hand and my overnighter bag on the other. While I was busy strapping my sandals on, I saw from my peripheral vision that a person sat next to me. And from my position, I could see that he was also putting his shoes on. When I was almost done putting the buckle of the sandal on my right foot, I heard the man saying in a low voice, “Uhm, excuse me Miss.” 

Now, before I continue, let me tell you that I have this weird fixation on certain kinds of voices---that when I heard the voice of that stranger (Oh di ‘ba parang romance novel lang? *cringe* Ahahaha!), I momentarily stopped what I was doing (While mutely saying, “wow”.) to look at him and made sure that it was actually me that he was talking to. When I threw him a polite but at the same time an i-don’t-know-you-are-you-talking-to-me? glance, I realized that it was actually me that he was talking to since nobody was at close proximity from where we were at that particular moment, unless that stranger of a man was of the delusional kind (Ahahaha!). Since I can be a keen observer if I really will myself to, I estimated that he was about in his late 20’s or early 30’s, the clean-cut type (The ones who are brought home by female lead characters in movies, and then they turn out to be psycho-murderers. See how morbid I can be?). He had his glasses on and he was wearing a polo and well-fitted pair of jeans. And, from my previous  position when I was buckling my sandals, I noticed that his shoes were actually polished. In short, the man was okay. Alright, he was above okay. So, I politely replied, “Yes?”

What he said next exceeded my concept of “weird comment from a stranger”. Much more a stranger who was a man. He then said, “Nice sandals.”

Nice sandals? Of all the random things to hear from a stranger/man!

Now, if that was a movie, that would have been a cute start of the pa-tweetums scenes. If it was a scene from a movie, the female character (that was me) would have made a witty reply then walked away only to find out that they have to sit next to each other on the plane and that would have been the start of their romantic and clichéd love story.

Moreover, if it was a chapter in a novel, the guy would have asked the girl for coffee while waiting for their own flights. Then, they would separate ways and by some twist of fate or you may call it serendipity, they would meet again. The man would then pursue the girl however, there will be some complications like distance, or a past relationship with no formal closure, on either party that would add drama to their courtship and budding romance. But in the end, they would realize that they love each other too much to let those problems stop them from being together.

However, that was in real life---a life in which I was raised as not to talk to strangers, even how unsuspecting they might be. It happened at a time, when everywhere you go, you have to religiously follow one reminder: Be vigilant.

That’s a little bit sad, albeit harsh. But that’s reality.

So the moment he asked me, a train of thoughts raced through my mind: “What if this man is actually a psycho who targets his victims in airports?”, “What if he would quietly slip a packet of drugs on my bag while I was talking to him?”, “What if he is gay who actually designs shoes? For what straight man would actually notice a lady’s sandals on a random, first encounter?” 

So since this is real life, I smiled and simply replied, “Thank you.” and then walked away. End of story.

Now, I know that airport romances have slim chances of having to actually happen (at least for me)---and to think that I was pining for just that kind of story. Oh snap! #

8 years to forever, okay?

Happy 8 years of LOVE and LAUGHTER  and KILIG (Ayeeeee!) to the both of you Che and Karl!!!!!!!

If there’s a word greater and stronger than “happy” in order to greet you on the eighth year of your wonderful love story, then I would have probably used that word. 

It warms my heart to see both of you growing in love despite your apparent geographical distance for most of the time. While I am writing this, I can’t help but smile while remembering how your story started waaaaay back from high school, up to now. It has grown from pa-tweetums-love into a kind of love that is mature enough as to have deepened with time and even with distance. 

Your story has a way of tugging into our hearts with the fact that you can look back into the past and know that you can look back at each stage of your life---from awkward high schoolers, to idealistic but happy-go-lucky university students, to unemployed fresh out of university graduates, to struggling young adults at the bottom of the working force ladder paving for the way up---and see each other in each step and in every transition, sharing mutual stories, mutual laughters, and mutual friends (gapadara-dara lang, ahahahaha!). And I am so happy that we are somehow part of some tinie-tiny-tidbits of your LOVE story and we are mute loud witnesses to the growth of your love. 

Happy anniversary Che and Karl!!!!! The world is a much better place with your love for each other in it. Best love story ever, swear!  IDOL!!! *wink*

…and because the 7 seas (7 seas guid man? Ahahahaha!) are a great part of your story, I can’t help but include this “Jack-Rose” scene.

P.S. When can we hear the _ _ _ _ _ _ _ bells?

SEOULFUL Trip, Day 3: 2nd Destination, Coffee Prince Shop

Forgive me but I’m warning you beforehand that it’s the k-drama addict who will be typing the next ramblings. Remember Arthur and Andi? Oh, that’s an understatementquestion---if ever there is such term. How can anybody forget about them, much more, not even know about them, helloooooo? If that’s the case, then you’re missing a big, and I mean a BIG portion of your precious life---and I’m not even starting to exaggerate it yet.

Okay, okay, I’ll switch to normal mode because I can sense some rolling of eyeballs coupled with some “puhleeeaaase!”.

 At one point in your life for this past 6 years, you must have heard about the K-drama Coffee Prince which aired in the Philippines last 2007.Youn Eun Hye and Gong Yoon starred in the said drama and the story revolved in the life of a poor girl, Andi, who had to disguise as a man and be a part of the crew of the Coffee Prince Shop which was owned by Arthur. From thereon, love blossomed between the two lead characters in between so much confusion and bickering on their part as Arthur was unaware of Andi’s real gender for the most part of the drama, but was already head over heels in love with her. My heart was turned into pure slush and I was reduced into a cry-baby in a lot of scenes, especially with the idea that love can transcend everything, even with the looming possibility of being judged because of Arthur, being unaware that Andi was a girl, but loving her anyway. That’s mushy, I know. But you have to watch the drama in order to understand that I’m not just being “pa-cute” with that statement,okay? ;)

The coffee shop really does exist in one of the university streets in Seoul, although I must say that it wasn’t really well-maintained. But with just the mere idea that you are breathing the same air and traipsing the same path that Youn Eun Hye and Gong Yoon once breathed and traipsed is already too kilig-worthy. I clearly remember that I was even close to bawling tears when Jessica Soho (or was it Korina?) featured the shop during her show’s South Korea episode. At that time, if somebody told me that I would step foot in that same place a couple of years later, I would have just rolled my eyeballs too.

The fact that nothing and nobody could tell us a clear instruction as to the location of the coffee shop, Ahne and I found it by pure luck and with a big dose of being headstrong on the idea of finding it. Heard the famous adage that your heart would lead you when your feet cease to know where to go? That’s what happened to us------cheezyyyyy overload, it is. I know. *wink*

I could only smile my dopey-faced look from too much exhilaration!!!

I still believe that this as one of the best tv smooches, ever!

Buti pa ‘tong dalawa, nagka-coffee prince moment. Haaay!!!!

Ahne and I thought that we could get past this signage near the gate and take some photos without being noticed. But we forgot that this was South Korea---and CCTV’s are everywhere! After a couple of our photos were taken, the owner went out and politely asked us if we wanted some coffee or tea which actually translates to---“Order some drinks, or I’ll smash your camera and all your precious photos in it.” We didn’t have choice, did we? Strategy: epic fail!

Random Thoughts Of Somebody Who Turned a Quarter of a Century Old

Happy Birthday to my most favorite person in the world, next to my family and old friends of course!

Sounding like a righteous narcissist, right? I know, I know.

But bad jokes aside, I honestly don’t know how to start this post. What do you exactly say when you turn 25? Not that I’m nostalgic of my younger years (Ahem!) nor am I particular about numbers but it’s just that when I really take time to think about it, it still stuns me to realize that I have existed for a quarter of a century (Sabay-sabay: Huuuwaaaat!!!!!!?). Yes, I am that old so that makes me a perfect subject for Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest! (I can hear somebody murmuring: The doomsday for the scientific community is coming. Beware! Ahahaha!)

But really, what and how should you feel when you turn 25? I never really gave it much thought nor was I prepared. But I guess nobody really is. The last time I remembered, I was just an awkward high schooler and before I knew it, I’m stuck in this very confusing albeit adrenaline-rush inducing grown-up world which sometimes makes my heart thumping erratically, making those extra weird lub-dub’s.  I have this crazy theory that perhaps, everyone is stuck to being 16 forever, only that life gives us bigger responsibilities that we go about pretending, or probably the right word is assuming, the role of being a grown up. That’s what’s happening to me, I appear to be cool and composed, but I still have the same passions and fears and worries and crazy antics as when I was 16.

So, how should I deal with being 25?

1. UNICEF ad? Ah, hindi ba? Ahahahaha! 2. No side comments please. We all have those awkward high school photos. 3.  Pacute-cute daw para ibigin. Ahahahaha! *wink*

When I was a 6-year old, I surely didn’t know what will I be at this certain age nor could I probably comprehend what 25 is when it was years and years away! All I was worried about at that certain age was to think of tactics on how to escape my “forced” afternoon naps, dancing the “lambada” (Oh my! So 90’s.) and singing some school songs in order to get whatever amount that I could from my doting family members (See the word: extortion. Ahahaha!). Life was simple then.

I surely didn’t have any idea about being 25 when I was an elementary kid. All I worried about was my declamation contests and science camps and quiz bees. At that time, I thought the world revolved in those things, and if that was the case, I had everything. Why should I dare look beyond something that was incomprehensible to my 11 year-old mind?

High School was a different case. When you are 16 and the whole world is at your palm, when the possibilities are endless, that’s the time when you feel that you can do everything. We did all feel invincible at that stage, didn’t we? There were just images of the future that I conjured, but the future was still soooooo far. Why should you worry about being 25 when you are 16? I didn’t.

University life was like being thrown into a grown-up world only that in the end, you would realize that it didn’t even come close to being in the “real” grown-up world. At that time, I felt that my possibilities are still too endless, I started making abstract plans of the future. Some of those plans became concrete, some remained as that. Abstract.

Life happens. In between being 6 and 25, it might not be that noticeable but it does happen. I got my heart broken into innumerable pieces, many times---that I thought I needed a new one. Seen my bubble of pride bursting surreally right in front of my eyes when it’s the only thing that was left of me. I was painfully pruned and broken and remolded. Yes, I have every right to claim that I am 25 in every way but what’s amazing about all of these is that I also have the choice over the age of my heart. And I claim that it will be 16 forever----that means it will forever love passionately, fight fearlessly if needed, hurt without holding back, and beat not mechanically but erratically.

So I turned 25 today, and there’s no turning back. 

In rare moments from the past, I thought that at this age, I would  probably be married or have a kid of my own (Oh boy! I know right?*cringe* Not that I don't like kids. I luuuuuuv kids but I still couldn't imagine having my own at the moment, now that I'm really thinking about it.) or living a quiet and stable life of teaching kids 'til I'm wrinkly and cranky(For rhyming's sake lang 'tong word na ito! Ahahaha!). 

And reality check, at 25, I’m definitely not yet married (NBSB, hellooooooo? Ahahaha!) and kids are still way out of the question, absolutely. My life’s still a bit shaky and I’m still very uncertain about the future, very much like when I was 16. But what’s different is that I’ve learned a lesson or two about life that may just come in handy the next time I’ll be needing them. But for what it’s worth, it’s a life worth celebrating about----a life faithfully blessed by an awesome God, a life filled with love from family and friends, a life with endless possibilities of learning new lessons, of helping and touching the lives of others, of going to distant places, and of loving as much as I could.

The Non-existent

It’s the moment between wakefulness and sleep when he lingers. That particular moment when your breathing becomes even and sleep starts to take a claim on you but then you can still hear even the minutest of sounds---including the beating of your own heart. It was at this instant when I first thought that I love him, finally admitted that I love him, eventually believed that this emotion will last forever.

He believed in perfect timing. He sticks by this principle, knowing that whatever amount of effort one puts in, if not in accordance with the pulse of the universe, will just all fall into waste. So, in his young heart, he kept the picture of a distant future---a picture with subjects of him and I. Despite his belief that the timing of the blossoming of his love was wrong, he didn’t put a chain on his emotions though. He loved me with a love that can be mustered by his 16-year old heart, but he vowed to wait. Now there is a certain dignity in deciding to wait when you are sixteen. It makes your love all the more innocent and pure, in between being sweet and bitter. And lately, it made me think that it ended just like that, bittersweet.

He’s got a thing for pens and blank pages of white paper. He prefers writing letters, the real kind, in long hand. His writing has a certain kind of sharpness in it, a certain kind of crisp. And I think this is where we clash. His writings are like objects in daylight---sharp, detailed  and at times, painful. While mine are objects in the dark, lit only by the moonlight and the street side lamppost ---dewy, subtle and at times, poignant.  I should’ve sensed it the moment I anxiously opened that first letter in his neat longhand. I should’ve  known exactly at that moment that the words weren’t speaking about the future. Instead, those words are speaking of a distant past at present---words in paper made brittle by time, merely words in yellowed pages.

He loves the night. He especially loved stargazing. That’s one in the numerous entries in his soft side list,  despite how tough he projects to be. He once told me that he developed a liking for this activity when he first caught a glimpse of a willowy, wide-eyed girl who was waiting for her turn to peep at a telescope during one of his grade school camps. I jokingly said that that nobody remembers a girl from their grade school camps. He mussed up my hair then, telling me how silly my thoughts are. Of course he remembers, he said. He remembers because It was me. And I became exactly just that, a memory.

He despises tears, especially ones which are coming from a woman. But in reality, it’s his way of hiding a particular weakness---that he couldn’t stand tears because it would render him vulnerable. And he couldn’t handle that. I wondered, really wondered at one point if he would’ve waited just like what he claimed when he was sixteen if I openly cried in front of him, if I made such a big fuss and drama of the fact that he never fully understood my silence. He never saw the sharpness and the rawness of my emotions that were softened by the dewy glow of that single lamp post that was him in my heart.

There was a time when he lingered between wakefulness and sleep---a particular time when the world is done asking favors from me, from both of us. Sometimes, it was the memory that lingers. At other times, words. Often, it was the possibilities---the “what-could-have-beens”.

But he doesn’t anymore---doesn’t linger, doesn’t haunt.

Time waited patiently for me to heal, which he wasn’t able to do. He is now but a distinct character in my writings, the pen and paper gave me a gift of release from him through poetry and prose. The night became my solace too, not from painful wounds which have long healed, but solace with the possibility of new beginnings. I don’t despise tears like he does because those very same tears which I shed only proved how strong this heart is---how capable it is to feel such great emotions  like love, and loss.

Lingering, he doesn’t do that anymore. I’m glad.