5 Things You Might Not Know About Me*

*I got tagged by Bituing Marikit. So here's my list of 5 things:

Naps, no problem!
I am a no-sweat sleeper. In fact, I can catch a quick nap while riding any moving vehicle--plane,bus,jeep,tricycle. These naps can be deep that I'd even get dreams.

Could you answer this, please?
I love asking questions, not all of them serious. My other questions could range from the practical to the absurd. Spend a day with me and you're bound to discover this quirk of mine.

"Allergic" to IV
I haven't spent the night in a hospital as a patient (that is, aside from when I and my twin brother were born prematurely one Christmas day many years ago). IV fluid has never passed through my veins.

For love or money?
Some people have half-seriously suggested that I put up a restaurant. With a smile, I've answered, "I will only cook for love, and not money." :)

Can't resist quick wit and intelligent humor
I like Billy Crystal. I can still remember one of the earliest movies of him I watched, "Throw Momma from the Train"--an underrated but very funny movie with a crazy plot. Wait, there's another funny person I like: Steve Martin. I don't enjoy slapstick but enjoy humor that would tickle my brain and my funny bone too.

Now, I tag Gypsy, Jen, Reigne, Swipe and Nechie.

B for Cebu

It was a Friday morning and I traded the bus for a plane ride. This particular workday my destination was not Mandaluyong but Mactan. So off to Cebu I went! The night before the writing workshop I conducted for young people, I was still reviewing my notes for the half-day teaching slated the next day. Aprilboi, the laptop, proved to be good company.

“Every time she sees me, she wants me to kiss her,” so went the opening sentence of James's essay. I stopped for a second when I read his first line aloud and laughed. “Oh no, love story ba ito?” Silly me, I spoke too soon. “Teka tungkol sa nanay mo!” No?Ah, lola. Now how many boys would lovingly write about their grandmothers in a writing workshop? Sweet.

The cheapest pork barbecue in the world, at four pesos only, (and probably the tiniest too), is here in Cebu, more specifically at Lartian. You eat with the jeepney drivers and businessmen, al fresco, in a strip where you use your hands instead of a spoon and fork to bring food into your mouth. They serve rice inside this woven coconut leaves called pusó. T’was a whole sensory experience—your ears hear rock music blaring from the speakers, your eyes water from the smoke coming from the grill, your fingers feel the sticky rice, your nose smells meat and seafood cooking, and your tastebuds tickle with the flavor of the local food.

My unofficial yet very gracious tour-guide is Lynnie, an ex-station manager-slash-deejay and now marketing officer in our Cebu branch. This tall woman has taller dreams—to go to Korea for a prayer course, and later on, Europe. To you, Lynnie, when Cebu becomes too small for you, I hope that you can just go out and conquer the world.

Many times work doesn't feel like work. This too—the joy of loving what you do and working with people you love being with—is a gift from God.

five o'clock calls over the moon and stars

Most women are cheap.

And I mean that in a positive way. Let me clarify: Most women could be made happy by the simplest of gestures done with the sincerest of intents. While the most passionate lovers promise to pluck the moon and stars to lay at their woman’s feet, many women wouldn’t be impressed if all talk is what they did.

In a birthday tribute we gave a friend recently, a letter addressed to him was read aloud. It was from his wife who wasn’t in the celebration because she needed to be home early to care for their baby. In it, she extolled his virtues as a father and a husband. While listening to her public affirmation of him, my respect meter for the guy, Miler, shot up. Earlier in the day, I texted him and said he was the person with the coolest head I know and that his gentleness was a gift—to us, that is. Midway through the letter-reading, this one fact melted the heart of every female in the room: His wife said that since one day in May 2001, when they were still getting to know each other, he would call her when the clock strikes five pm. More than five years, a marriage contract, and a baby later, he still does it. Calling Rachelle at the office every five o’clock in the afternoon. Every day. Without fail. How could one guy do it when most guys would fizzle out soon after they hear the girl say “yes”?

It actually takes so little to make us happy.

A few years ago, a guy friend dropped by my office and gave me a bag of pan de sal. I never thought the most underrated piece from the baker’s oven could make my heart swell. Why? Because days (or was it weeks before?), I casually mentioned to him that I read a newspaper feature that talked about this delicious bread in Laguna. I probably asked him if he tried it. The next time I saw him, his smile came with a brown paperbag with the round bread inside. He remembered. The bag of pan de sal, carried all the way from Laguna, was still warm. The thought and care inside each piece made it warm. Yes, for me, it's the thought that counts.

This post is for men. If you’re attached—with a wife or a girlfriend—take the time to show her you’ve been thinking about her. You don’t really need to wipe out your bank account and buy her diamonds to make her the happiest woman in the world.

Diamonds may be forever. But a lifetime guarantee of 5 o’clock calls—the security and warmth of connection through shared conversation—can outvalue those precious gems and outshine the moon and the stars anytime. Or maybe, it's just me.

Workaholic Woes

More than one person has accused me that I’m a workaholic. And I say, “Guilty as charged.”

I’ve spent countless extra-work hours in the office—after 5:30, a couple of hours before midnight, on weekends, and I’m ashamed to admit, a few times past midnight on weekdays. There was even an instance when I, with several of my officemates, was working on a catalogue. We worked non-stop till around 5am the next day (kept awake and functional by laughter, food and the threat of a baby doll that looked like the monster doll Chuckie). While three members of the work-vigil team went home to rest and take the morning off, I with two other girls managed to sleep for three hours in the conference room and then report for another day of work at 8am after a joltingly cold shower. Crazy is what others would call that kind of set-up. I call it unusual and once-in-a-lifetime. You know, how Halley’s comet would blaze through the sky once every seven decades.

Last Friday, I almost went home with a stack of pages to edit during the weekend. Afraid that I would soon be cramming to make it to my deadline, I initially thought that the best way to avoid the impending rush-rush scenario is to sacrifice a part of my rest time to breathe a little easier the week after.

Then I decided. No. I will break the cycle, and change my attitude.

My life does not have to be dictated by the to-do list on my desk. It might be a big boost to the ego to feel indispensable and important, but I don’t need to feel that kind of importance when I’m at home—resting, playing with my nephews, cleaning my room, or when I’m at church—teaching kids in my Sunday School class. For two days in a week, I can be simply me, with no business card to flash, and no need to prove anything about myself and flaunt skills I have, or think I have.

And so, before clocking out of work to welcome the weekend, I do something else instead. I map out my upcoming week and pencil in goals—finish X number of pages in a day— which I vow to accomplish, come hell or high water (or in Manila’s case, come Meralco brown-out or Milenyo). Feeling my week-long plan realistic enough, I make a mental note to be doubly diligent with my work and be extra-cunning about how I use my time. With my self-imposed load out of my backpack, I go home a little lighter—in more ways than one.

Tomorrow’s a Monday. I promise to do my best to deliver work that is pleasing to God and guard against being swallowed alive by my desk.

“Yes, I am a workaholic.” But that will soon be, “I was a workaholic.”

Will that change even be possible?

Of course. I'll be working on it.