Of lists and principles

Random obvious fact: loneliness can be a bitch to deal with. Whether you already have a significant other to call your own or not, it doesn’t exclude you from the hordes of hopefuls waiting for that one bigoomph that will catapult one’s life from the pits of depression into sheer relationship bliss. We all have lists and we all want a perfect happy ending.

A certain hopeless romantic recently let me in on his secret when it comes to “finding the one”. He fondly calls it the “pie principle”: for a person to make it to the next level, she (in his case) has to satisfy the physical, intellectual, and emotional requirements set by the one in search of The One. Back in high school over a decade ago, my best friend and I made The List. It had specific qualities and attributes we wanted in a boyfriend. It had everything—from “wide reader” and “good conversationalist in English” to “athletic” and “incredible sense of humor”. She ended up with a gambling drummer ex boyfriend with the emotional mood swings of a PMS-ing teenager. I, on the other hand, had to go through a bi-curious fella and an over-achieving relationship doofus before I got lucky with an okay mate nine years my senior. What’s up with that? Is setting relationship goals considered idealistic? Can’t we enjoy the entire pie?

We all want a perfect happy ending, and that includes the perfect person to share it with—the complete package. So what does a person usually do until that scenario presents itself? Go on countless dates. Flirt like there’s no tomorrow. Collect and select. Whatever it is, people do it armed with the hope that someday, all that’s going to end with a Kodak moment and a surefire answer to the ultimate dating question: is this it?

Good sense and high hopes tell us that love, companionship and joy are for everyone. However, we each are wired differently—we see from many points-of-view and choose to take different paths. Some see the logical mathematical equation: you plus me equals we, provided that you plus your goals is equal to me plus mine. Some are driven by either that incessant butterfly fluttering in their stomachs or that nagging voice inside their heads. Whatever the motivation, the destination is still the same—a happy life shared with someone.

We are complicated beings. Most of us have strong tendencies to want what we don’t or can’t have. We send out mixed signals and we choose to read between the lines. One of the reasons why so many people have a hard time looking for love, happiness and everything else in between is because of high expectations—they ruin relationships, especially the ones that haven’t even begun yet. Instead of inviting people in, they build walls. They delay the pursuit of happiness and prolong the excruciating pain of loneliness.

No one is completely alone, though. I’d like to think of life as one humongous jigsaw puzzle, and the world populated with literally billions of people waiting to be the put in the right place. If you meet someone who doesn’t quite cut it according to your standards, don’t fret and immediately close the door on that opportunity. Pie principles and lists of qualification don’t determine a person’s worth to be part of your life. Give it a shot and be the one who brings out the hidden qualities in that person that will ultimately make the pie whole, the complete package.

Lists honestly don’t matter in the end—eventually, we find someone who’s the only exception.

(Published in The Benildean, the official college paper of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde)

Indecent proposal

Most of us grew up being taught good manners and right conduct—it was a subject in grade school, even. There are also signs everywhere, telling us what we should do and what rules we should abide by. Despite that fact, there’s still garbage on the streets, irresponsible pedestrians who ignore traffic lights, men peeing on walls, and vandalism on bus seats and bathroom doors. How come, even though we know it’s something improper and frowned upon, we still do trivial acts of indecency?

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean “flashing me your penis” kind of indecent, but rather the simple rude things people think they can get away with every single day without anyone giving a damn. Take for what happened to me earlier this month. While I was choosing a bus decent enough to ride to school without having to worry about the scorching heat, stuck in place due to the two heavy paper bags I was lugging around, a man from a passing open-air bus spat on the street shamelessly. Unfortunately, his revolting glob of mess landed on my pant leg. Who does that? What, too lazy to whip out your handkerchief? Can’t your spit wait until you get off at the next bus stop so you can aim it at a trash bin instead of an innocent bystander’s leg? The only thing that stopped me from screaming out profanities was the fact that masses of people were elbowing each other to get to the other side of the highway populated with various “no jaywalking” signs.

Which made me remember another instance—the way passengers on the LRT and MRT act. There are people who want to get on the train so bad, they elbow their way through troves of people who need to get out of the train. These people who seem to care only for their own personal space and are not mindful of anyone else’s. People who ignore queues as if they didn’t have a purpose. How hard is it to understand: when someone is lined up at the LRT stop, you get behind that person and respect the fact that he got there first. Don’t sneak up beside him in the hopes that you beat him to the door opening for a better seating opportunity.

Why do these things still happen? Maybe it’s a force of habit or the fact that we see a lot of people get away with it so often that we think it’s all right. Whatever it is, it doesn’t really matter. Rudeness will never have a legitimate excuse, at least in my books.

We’ve got to stop being crass and start becoming more aware of our surroundings. Just look around you—doesn’t the sight of chaos and filth make you want to be a better citizen, a better member of the human race? If that doesn’t do it, give the Golden Rule a shot. If you don’t want someone’s spit to be on you, then I guess you’d have to hold yours in for the time being.

(Published in The Benildean, the official college paper of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde)

Luck schmuck

In life, people do bogus things to get fate on their side. Athletes wear their overused lucky bacon-gartered underwear for the win. Gambling hopefuls blow on their dice—sometimes kiss them like they would a lover—toward the jackpot. Some people consult their horoscopes religiously. Others, the calendar. This year is very lucky. Especially on July, 7, 2007. Opportunity will open its doors and all your wishes will come true.

That, my friends, is the day when my mother’s water bag broke over a mahjong game she was winning and gave birth to me while she was sedated. My birthday this year is 07-07-07. My name is Frances Kristin Jamille (777). I turned 23. Two plus three isn’t seven, but you get the picture. If luck were based on numbers, then I could be considered pretty damn lucky.

I didn’t get emergency superhuman powers. I didn’t suddenly wake up in the middle of the night with the body of Wonder Woman. Johnny Depp didn’t magically apparate in his Jack Sparrow costume to wish me Happy Birthday. Basically, I’m still me. Unlike probably thousands of people that day, I didn’t bet on the number seven in the Lotto. I didn’t hit the slot machines at the casino. I didn’t get married and have babies.

So what’s the big deal? Sure, my fellow Cancerians had something to brag about that day; it would be a cool license plate to have. Never again in this century would we have a triple number “lucky” date (okay, maybe in the year 2077, but that’s a long way off).What happens the day after? We become ordinary again?

Sure, luck can be delicious if you get to have the better bite, but in the pot of stew we call life, it’s not the main ingredient—it’s the salt and pepper added to taste. We still have to get up in the morning with the obligation to give ourselves the boost to work hard to be able to achieve what we want to make out of our consumer-driven lives. We still have to face the consequences of our actions with heads up high. Celebrate if something goes your way. Suck it up and take responsibility for the unsuccessful decisions. Basketballs won’t magically shoot themselves ringless because you have your undies from high school on; practice does make perfect. Rolls of the dice are not pre-ordained—you win some, you lose some (Note: Winning gambles on a regular basis is not a sign from God that you abandon your studies and pursue a career in professional poker. Do it for fun!). Just because Libre tells you that you will come across your future girlfriend at the Vito Cruz station, it doesn’t mean you stop making a good first impression.

Doors to opportunities do open, but not all the time, and not to people with nothing under their belts but blind hope. The cliché is true: there are many fish in the sea, and luck is not the thing to make you different from every other fish. Work hard, play hard, pray hard. Sure, make a wish when you blow out your birthday candle, amuse yourselves with your horoscopes, light a candle and burn a paper with your list of wants on it while chanting—it could be fun. Just don’t sit on your ass wishing on the first star you see with crossed fingers, waiting for something magical to happen. Get out there and show them what you are made of—a unique and industrious individual with substance and a great attitude. Take an actual step forward nearer toward your goals.

Being born on July 7 didn’t make me a better person. I still lose my homework. I still get seatmates on the bus simmering in their body odor. I still get viruses on my computer. I still say stupid stuff that gets me into trouble sometimes. That doesn’t stop me from being me, though. The me who stays up all night just to re-type my paper. The me who steadfastly stands on the aisle of the bus carrying a humongous bag. The me who refuses to kiss her external hard drive goodbye without exhausting all possible solutions. The me who knows the value of saying sorry. And the more I think about it, being me isn’t so bad after all.

(Published in The Benildean, the official college paper of De La Salle-College of Saint Benilde)