Because of the absence of a decent nightlife in Shenzhen, Melvin looks forward to visiting Hong Kong for an adventure shot in the arm.
Tonight, he's got more reasons to be excited. One, it's his first visit to Lan Kwai Fong, and two, it's the first annual Lan Kwai Fong Beer Festival. We're going there tonight, armed with his really hi-tech camera, and my fascination for beer.
This is supposedly an outdoor beer fest, but given the rains that have been pounding on Hong Kong the past few days, we were a bit worried that it just might not push through. Just to check the scene out, I decided to pass by LKF at 2pm, a few hours before Melvin is set to arrive.
It wasn't surprising that the scene was quite dry. Aside from the weather not cooperating, it's still too early. The festival runs from 1pm to 12 midnight, and knowing the HK crowd, people will be coming in after 10pm.
Good thing Melvin is arriving at 6, hopefully by that time, things will pick up.
On another note, there is quite a big Filipino population in the bars around LKF. Most of the waiters, bartenders and bands are Pinoy. The area is an expat magnet, thus it's essential to have staff that speak English fluently.
See, our being too Americanized has its perks, too.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Friday, July 29, 2005
Wet weekend
It's been raining the past few days. Not the ordinary sissy drizzle but a real downpour! The type that renders your jeans heavy because of all that water being absorbed, and makes your shoes all squishy and uncomfortable.
Now what's a guy to do on a weekend like this? I just hope there's something good on TV.
Now what's a guy to do on a weekend like this? I just hope there's something good on TV.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Honey, they shrunk the shirt!
Horror of horrors! Mother of all horrors!
After picking up my laundry from the neighborhood laundromat, I found out that my favorite Wolverine shirt shrunk! It used to be this great fitting, Marvel themed Zara shirt. But when it came back, it's been reduced to a baby-tee!
Well, it still fits the right way on the shoulders and the body, but the length -- that's something else entirely. Though I wouldn't go as far as calling it a hanging tee, it's teeter-tottering so close to that. The bottom of the shirt ends where the top of my low-rise Levi's 521 begins. Ergo, should I shrug my shoulder just a little bit, you can instantly see skin peeking out.
And should I go as far as bending or raising my arms, heck, i'll be close to putting on a show. Low-rise jeans + short tee = flesh bonanza.
Given this shirt's sorry state, I have 3 options:
1. Give the shirt to my nephews.
2. Wear the shirt under a long-sleeved polo for that All-American College Boy look
3. Ditch the shirt and rush off to Zara for a new one.
Hmmmmm....
*think*
*think*
*think*
Maybe I should just do all three.
After picking up my laundry from the neighborhood laundromat, I found out that my favorite Wolverine shirt shrunk! It used to be this great fitting, Marvel themed Zara shirt. But when it came back, it's been reduced to a baby-tee!
Well, it still fits the right way on the shoulders and the body, but the length -- that's something else entirely. Though I wouldn't go as far as calling it a hanging tee, it's teeter-tottering so close to that. The bottom of the shirt ends where the top of my low-rise Levi's 521 begins. Ergo, should I shrug my shoulder just a little bit, you can instantly see skin peeking out.
And should I go as far as bending or raising my arms, heck, i'll be close to putting on a show. Low-rise jeans + short tee = flesh bonanza.
Given this shirt's sorry state, I have 3 options:
1. Give the shirt to my nephews.
2. Wear the shirt under a long-sleeved polo for that All-American College Boy look
3. Ditch the shirt and rush off to Zara for a new one.
Hmmmmm....
*think*
*think*
*think*
Maybe I should just do all three.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Getting used to Kowloon
Keat and I talked about living in Kowloon, and it had more cons than pros.
For one, Kowloon is much more touristy and less sophisticated than Hong Kong Island. That area is just one big tourist trap filled with wide-eyed, shop-struck individuals on the look out for the next big bargain. Whenever you walk along the streets, some guy would inaudibly whisper something like: "copy watches" (read: fake Rolex!) or "want a suit?" or the very popular "topless girls." And more often than not, you'd come across Caucasians wearing their rattiest bermuda shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops as they weave in and out the malls and shops.
Whereas over at Hong Kong Island, things are a bit more sophisticated. The people dress smarter or edgier. The crowd is more of Caucasian expats rather than Caucasian retirees/backpackers. The feeling is a bit more high-end over at these parts.
Kowloon, though, offers some fringe benefits. First, the rent is supposedly cheaper. This i'm not certain about since I haven't checked out any of the flats here. Second, there's more life throughout the island. Unlike in Hong Kong where the nightlife is concentrated in Central, Wanchai and Causeway Bay, the action in Kowloon pretty much spreads all throughout the area. So even if you come home at 11pm, the area still pulsates with energy.
Then of course, there's Granville. Land of inexpensive but edgy clothes. Granville is to me what Hong Kong Disneyland is to a 5 year old kid. While kids ogle at Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy and Goofy, I palpitate at the sight of Uno-Uno, Stock Mark, and Sample Nook.
When I moved to Kowloon more than a week ago, I was so reluctant that i'd find the place difficult to live in. After getting used to the 2-minute walk to work, a 20-minute commute was almost too much to even think about. It didn't help that Keat and I endlessly discussed the downside of living here.
But after getting used to the commute, the nightly visits to Granville that yield great finds, the impulsive visits to HMV to listen to Kelly Clarkson belt out "Since you've been gone," (Can't wait to get my own copy of the CD when I go to Manila), or the long chats with Ron at Pacific Coffee Company, I think i'm finally getting used to living in Kowloon.
Maybe I should just stay here...
For one, Kowloon is much more touristy and less sophisticated than Hong Kong Island. That area is just one big tourist trap filled with wide-eyed, shop-struck individuals on the look out for the next big bargain. Whenever you walk along the streets, some guy would inaudibly whisper something like: "copy watches" (read: fake Rolex!) or "want a suit?" or the very popular "topless girls." And more often than not, you'd come across Caucasians wearing their rattiest bermuda shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops as they weave in and out the malls and shops.
Whereas over at Hong Kong Island, things are a bit more sophisticated. The people dress smarter or edgier. The crowd is more of Caucasian expats rather than Caucasian retirees/backpackers. The feeling is a bit more high-end over at these parts.
Kowloon, though, offers some fringe benefits. First, the rent is supposedly cheaper. This i'm not certain about since I haven't checked out any of the flats here. Second, there's more life throughout the island. Unlike in Hong Kong where the nightlife is concentrated in Central, Wanchai and Causeway Bay, the action in Kowloon pretty much spreads all throughout the area. So even if you come home at 11pm, the area still pulsates with energy.
Then of course, there's Granville. Land of inexpensive but edgy clothes. Granville is to me what Hong Kong Disneyland is to a 5 year old kid. While kids ogle at Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy and Goofy, I palpitate at the sight of Uno-Uno, Stock Mark, and Sample Nook.
When I moved to Kowloon more than a week ago, I was so reluctant that i'd find the place difficult to live in. After getting used to the 2-minute walk to work, a 20-minute commute was almost too much to even think about. It didn't help that Keat and I endlessly discussed the downside of living here.
But after getting used to the commute, the nightly visits to Granville that yield great finds, the impulsive visits to HMV to listen to Kelly Clarkson belt out "Since you've been gone," (Can't wait to get my own copy of the CD when I go to Manila), or the long chats with Ron at Pacific Coffee Company, I think i'm finally getting used to living in Kowloon.
Maybe I should just stay here...
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Making the cut
I need a haircut. My hair is simply becoming too unruly.
My trip to the barber usually happens once every month. The best time for my hair is 2 weeks after getting a haircut. That's when it reaches its perfect length. Short enough not to even comb, but long enough to have character.
It's been almost 2 months since my last barber shop visit. My hair is now this puffy mass of fur . Whether it's unkempt or styled, it still looks a bit odd. That's why I can't wait to get my hair cut. It came to a point that i'd like to experiment and have a barber here in HK snip it off as he wishes. But then again, I might be going back to Manila come this weekend. So I guess i'll wait until Mario can get his masterful hands on my messy mane.
My trip to the barber usually happens once every month. The best time for my hair is 2 weeks after getting a haircut. That's when it reaches its perfect length. Short enough not to even comb, but long enough to have character.
It's been almost 2 months since my last barber shop visit. My hair is now this puffy mass of fur . Whether it's unkempt or styled, it still looks a bit odd. That's why I can't wait to get my hair cut. It came to a point that i'd like to experiment and have a barber here in HK snip it off as he wishes. But then again, I might be going back to Manila come this weekend. So I guess i'll wait until Mario can get his masterful hands on my messy mane.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Hole in the Wall
It doesn't get more homey than this hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant that my officemate introduced us to.
Located almost across the Causeway Bay Market complex, there are the ubiquitous stalls that sell everything from herbs to fruits. You'll notice a barrage of signages that are commonplace in Hong Kong. But if you look closer, one stands out because it's not written in Chinese or English -- but in Thai.
It's a little white signage that leads up to a narrow flight of stairs. What greets you at the end is this quaint little Thai grocery which sells everything from spicy sampaloc to coconut milk to tamarind juice.
Television sets are strategically located around the area and they show Thai variety shows which we suspect are beamed in directly from the country. It's your usual Eat Bulaga type of program with slapstick humour, song and dance numbers, and pretty hosts trying to engage the audience.
Then it hits you. There's a narrow door in between the shelves -- it's almost a hole in the wall. For the uninitiated, the crevice is nothing short of a mystery. But for the informed -- like my officemates -- what lies beyond is a taste of real Thai home cooking.
The hole leads to a small room where you see 2 small tables, a few chairs, and the customary dining implements and condiments on top of each. I've been told that local Thais based in HK would scope out this place because the food is as authentic as eating it in Bangkok.
Orders are placed on the cash register. The cashier is also the owner, and the cook, in this joint. Talk about multi-tasking. Don't expect a menu, because there isn't any. But if you're a regular, you'll know what kind of food she serves daily: Pad Thai, Papaya and Crab Salad, Minced Pork, Fried Catfish, just to name a few.
After she takes your order, you are asked to choose your drink from the refrigerator and take your seats. While waiting, you're treated to all the visual trappings of Thailand. Aside from the TV show, there are photos of the King and Queen of Thailand, an altar for Thai monks, and a couple of posters for local brands.
The cooking might take a bit of time since she's working alone in the kitchen. So if you order 4 different types of dishes, she'll take 4 times longer. Crowds coming in opt to either order the same dish, or just pick one of the pre-cooked dishes arranged "carinderia-style" inside the grocery.
My Pad Thai was served first, and the wait was worth it. Both Vivian and I agreed that it's the closest thing to real deal. (We've both tried Pad Thai in Bangkok street kitchens. It's almost the same.) Then the other orders came in one after the other.
Funny thing was, when Prem's order arrived, she noticed that it was missing a boiled egg. She proceeded to ask the waitress/cook/owner where it was. Her reply was to just get it herself because she's still cooking Keat's dish and it might get burned. Talk about a one-woman-show!
While savoring the great cuisine, I gathered more information about this little Thai treasure trove. If you want special dishes, or if you want to order en masse, you have to call them a day in advance. Since the owner/cook/waitress only uses what she finds in her fridge, ordering in advance will prod her to go to the market and buy more ingredients. Also, the owner/cook/waitress only speaks Cantonese and Thai, so English-speaking folks such as myself can either drag along an interpreter, or ask someone who's versed in Thai to write down your order and just show it to the owner/cook/waitress.
Our meal was capped off with the best Papaya/Crab salad I've tried. After that entire experience, we were all satisfied gastronomically and culturally, and had this happy-camperish smile drawn on our faces.
But that wasn't the best part. We later found out that each dish only costs HK$20! That's practically a steal considering how excellent the meal was. Plus, it had the seal of approval from 2 of our native Thai officemates -- so you know that it's really, really good.
While walking back to the office, I found out that the accounts team eat at that hole-in-the-wall place at least once a week. After today's little soujourn, I must say i'll be joining them each time.
Located almost across the Causeway Bay Market complex, there are the ubiquitous stalls that sell everything from herbs to fruits. You'll notice a barrage of signages that are commonplace in Hong Kong. But if you look closer, one stands out because it's not written in Chinese or English -- but in Thai.
It's a little white signage that leads up to a narrow flight of stairs. What greets you at the end is this quaint little Thai grocery which sells everything from spicy sampaloc to coconut milk to tamarind juice.
Television sets are strategically located around the area and they show Thai variety shows which we suspect are beamed in directly from the country. It's your usual Eat Bulaga type of program with slapstick humour, song and dance numbers, and pretty hosts trying to engage the audience.
Then it hits you. There's a narrow door in between the shelves -- it's almost a hole in the wall. For the uninitiated, the crevice is nothing short of a mystery. But for the informed -- like my officemates -- what lies beyond is a taste of real Thai home cooking.
The hole leads to a small room where you see 2 small tables, a few chairs, and the customary dining implements and condiments on top of each. I've been told that local Thais based in HK would scope out this place because the food is as authentic as eating it in Bangkok.
Orders are placed on the cash register. The cashier is also the owner, and the cook, in this joint. Talk about multi-tasking. Don't expect a menu, because there isn't any. But if you're a regular, you'll know what kind of food she serves daily: Pad Thai, Papaya and Crab Salad, Minced Pork, Fried Catfish, just to name a few.
After she takes your order, you are asked to choose your drink from the refrigerator and take your seats. While waiting, you're treated to all the visual trappings of Thailand. Aside from the TV show, there are photos of the King and Queen of Thailand, an altar for Thai monks, and a couple of posters for local brands.
The cooking might take a bit of time since she's working alone in the kitchen. So if you order 4 different types of dishes, she'll take 4 times longer. Crowds coming in opt to either order the same dish, or just pick one of the pre-cooked dishes arranged "carinderia-style" inside the grocery.
My Pad Thai was served first, and the wait was worth it. Both Vivian and I agreed that it's the closest thing to real deal. (We've both tried Pad Thai in Bangkok street kitchens. It's almost the same.) Then the other orders came in one after the other.
Funny thing was, when Prem's order arrived, she noticed that it was missing a boiled egg. She proceeded to ask the waitress/cook/owner where it was. Her reply was to just get it herself because she's still cooking Keat's dish and it might get burned. Talk about a one-woman-show!
While savoring the great cuisine, I gathered more information about this little Thai treasure trove. If you want special dishes, or if you want to order en masse, you have to call them a day in advance. Since the owner/cook/waitress only uses what she finds in her fridge, ordering in advance will prod her to go to the market and buy more ingredients. Also, the owner/cook/waitress only speaks Cantonese and Thai, so English-speaking folks such as myself can either drag along an interpreter, or ask someone who's versed in Thai to write down your order and just show it to the owner/cook/waitress.
Our meal was capped off with the best Papaya/Crab salad I've tried. After that entire experience, we were all satisfied gastronomically and culturally, and had this happy-camperish smile drawn on our faces.
But that wasn't the best part. We later found out that each dish only costs HK$20! That's practically a steal considering how excellent the meal was. Plus, it had the seal of approval from 2 of our native Thai officemates -- so you know that it's really, really good.
While walking back to the office, I found out that the accounts team eat at that hole-in-the-wall place at least once a week. After today's little soujourn, I must say i'll be joining them each time.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
An Interesting List
Someone who knows that I'm a sucker for answering lists sent me this one. How can I even pass it up?
============================================================================
Three names you go by:
1. Lester
2. Nec-nec
3. Sir (strange, but true...)
Three screen names you have had:
1. calvin
2. getting_around
3. nick
Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. Eyes
2. Height
3. Hands
Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Thighs
2. Butt
3. Teeth
Three things that scare you:
1. Complacency
2. Losing a family member
3. Losing passion
Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Wallet
2. Coins
3. Mobile Phone
Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. Sergio Mendez
2. The B-52s
3. BRITNEY SPEARS! I LOVE YOU BRITNEY SPEARS!
Three of your favorite songs:
1. "Rainbow's End" - it's so full of hope
2. "Still Awake" - it's so romantic
3. "Sometimes a Love goes wrong" - it's so real!
Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Openness
2. Passion
3. Laughter
Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. You're spreading yourself too thin.
2. We can't do anything about it.
3. Really, it's true!
TRUTH:
1. It's easier said than done.
2. You'll get over it.
3. Life is what we make of it.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. The height of a model.
2. The face of an angel.
3. The built of Kate Moss.
Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Travel
2. Writing
3. Shopping
Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. Spend a week with my entire family
2.Shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. Somebody please tell them to open a shop in Asia. PLEASE!
3.Help someone in need.
Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Flight Attendant
2. Priest
3. Archeologist
Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. India
2. Egypt
3. South Africa
Three kid's names you like:
1. Miguel
2. Sofia
3. Jacobo
Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Spend a month in Barcelona with my entire family
2. See my country rise up from the doldrums
3. Go to all the countries I want to see
Three ways that you are stereotypically male:
1. I release my anger by beating things up
2. I'm really a messy person though I try to be organized once in a while
3. I hate fixing myself up
Three ways that you are stereotypically female:
1. I love to shop
2. I secretly check out what other people are wearing (and make snide comments if it's horrendous)
3. I'm very compassionate
Three people I admire:
1. Mom
2. Dad
3. Mother Teresa
============================================================================
Three names you go by:
1. Lester
2. Nec-nec
3. Sir (strange, but true...)
Three screen names you have had:
1. calvin
2. getting_around
3. nick
Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. Eyes
2. Height
3. Hands
Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Thighs
2. Butt
3. Teeth
Three things that scare you:
1. Complacency
2. Losing a family member
3. Losing passion
Three of your everyday essentials:
1. Wallet
2. Coins
3. Mobile Phone
Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. Sergio Mendez
2. The B-52s
3. BRITNEY SPEARS! I LOVE YOU BRITNEY SPEARS!
Three of your favorite songs:
1. "Rainbow's End" - it's so full of hope
2. "Still Awake" - it's so romantic
3. "Sometimes a Love goes wrong" - it's so real!
Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Openness
2. Passion
3. Laughter
Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. You're spreading yourself too thin.
2. We can't do anything about it.
3. Really, it's true!
TRUTH:
1. It's easier said than done.
2. You'll get over it.
3. Life is what we make of it.
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. The height of a model.
2. The face of an angel.
3. The built of Kate Moss.
Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Travel
2. Writing
3. Shopping
Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. Spend a week with my entire family
2.Shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. Somebody please tell them to open a shop in Asia. PLEASE!
3.Help someone in need.
Three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. Flight Attendant
2. Priest
3. Archeologist
Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. India
2. Egypt
3. South Africa
Three kid's names you like:
1. Miguel
2. Sofia
3. Jacobo
Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Spend a month in Barcelona with my entire family
2. See my country rise up from the doldrums
3. Go to all the countries I want to see
Three ways that you are stereotypically male:
1. I release my anger by beating things up
2. I'm really a messy person though I try to be organized once in a while
3. I hate fixing myself up
Three ways that you are stereotypically female:
1. I love to shop
2. I secretly check out what other people are wearing (and make snide comments if it's horrendous)
3. I'm very compassionate
Three people I admire:
1. Mom
2. Dad
3. Mother Teresa
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Just when you least expect it...
"Awe."
In my book, this is the best feeling in the world.
It's when your eyes suddenly become big and round like saucers. You say the word "wow" so long that you almost turn blue. Your stomach feels like it was twisted and turned much like after a rollercoaster ride. Then you have that giddy smile on your face that just won't go away.
Awe is caused by something so spectacular, it feels like the that explosion scene in "Swordfish." If I could visualize the feeling, it would be like the whole world froze, and you could see everything spinning around 180. Seeing every little detail with such precision.
Awe and Aura could be long, lost brothers in the vocabulary. When I'm in awe, I can almost feel my aura radiate. It's like a megavolt just passed through my being and caused me to glow. Now that's a feeling more precious than a gallon of water in the middle of the Gobi desert.
Then there are "Little Surprises."
Not as grand as "Awe", but it still has the power to knock you off your feet and smile. When I get "Little Surprises," the feeling is comparable to having the world stop for 3 seconds -- just for me -- then everything is in motion again. And when I look back at those 3 seconds, my lips curl to form a smile. This is followed by an "awww shucks" feeling that makes me feel all tingly inside.
Thank goodness for Little Surprises.
My life this year is full of little surprises. Like bumping into Tanya at Ikea after almost 12 years of not seeing each other. Finding myself in Singapore when I least expected it. Finally hearing that two of my friends are getting married this year. I could go on and on, but the tingly feeling from recounting all these is just beginning to be too much to handle. It might cause me to suddenly run out of my office and do a jete.
Moving to the Kowloon side has also given me some incidents that border between a "Little Surprise" and an "Awe" moment.
There's finding my second pair of True Religion jeans -- on sale! Finding this FCUK bomber jacket which fit me perfectly -- it was the last piece! Spending my last $200 to buy an ensemble for my sister -- to find out that they have an on-going promo that gives the customer 15% off on purchases worth $200 and above. Getting an extra $30 from that discount I just mentioned -- giving me spare cash to buy a regular cup of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream.
Obviously, all the current Little Surprises are about shopping. Manong Maquiraya -- one of my former art directors -- once said: "You cannot go against who you are." And it's clear that I can't. Just when you thought I was going into something deep, my shallow self reappears.
Suddenly I see myself like a wave crashing to shore. Once deep, then shallow. Once deep, then shallow.
If only to save my reputation and try to create an illusion of depth, there's another Little Surprise that doesn't involve Granville, Park & Shop, or anything requiring a purchase.
I have a new friend who I think has one of the most noble jobs here in HK -- he works with an NGO that saves OFWs from injustice and abuse. Meeting someone with his kind of dedication and drive for something so selfless is quite a rarity in highly commercialized Hong Kong. And something this utterly great does not deserve to be lined up with True Religion Jeans and Zara Shirts. I'll write about him a bit later.
Tomorrow is Sunday. I wonder what "Little Surprise" is waiting for me then.
In my book, this is the best feeling in the world.
It's when your eyes suddenly become big and round like saucers. You say the word "wow" so long that you almost turn blue. Your stomach feels like it was twisted and turned much like after a rollercoaster ride. Then you have that giddy smile on your face that just won't go away.
Awe is caused by something so spectacular, it feels like the that explosion scene in "Swordfish." If I could visualize the feeling, it would be like the whole world froze, and you could see everything spinning around 180. Seeing every little detail with such precision.
Awe and Aura could be long, lost brothers in the vocabulary. When I'm in awe, I can almost feel my aura radiate. It's like a megavolt just passed through my being and caused me to glow. Now that's a feeling more precious than a gallon of water in the middle of the Gobi desert.
Then there are "Little Surprises."
Not as grand as "Awe", but it still has the power to knock you off your feet and smile. When I get "Little Surprises," the feeling is comparable to having the world stop for 3 seconds -- just for me -- then everything is in motion again. And when I look back at those 3 seconds, my lips curl to form a smile. This is followed by an "awww shucks" feeling that makes me feel all tingly inside.
Thank goodness for Little Surprises.
My life this year is full of little surprises. Like bumping into Tanya at Ikea after almost 12 years of not seeing each other. Finding myself in Singapore when I least expected it. Finally hearing that two of my friends are getting married this year. I could go on and on, but the tingly feeling from recounting all these is just beginning to be too much to handle. It might cause me to suddenly run out of my office and do a jete.
Moving to the Kowloon side has also given me some incidents that border between a "Little Surprise" and an "Awe" moment.
There's finding my second pair of True Religion jeans -- on sale! Finding this FCUK bomber jacket which fit me perfectly -- it was the last piece! Spending my last $200 to buy an ensemble for my sister -- to find out that they have an on-going promo that gives the customer 15% off on purchases worth $200 and above. Getting an extra $30 from that discount I just mentioned -- giving me spare cash to buy a regular cup of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream.
Obviously, all the current Little Surprises are about shopping. Manong Maquiraya -- one of my former art directors -- once said: "You cannot go against who you are." And it's clear that I can't. Just when you thought I was going into something deep, my shallow self reappears.
Suddenly I see myself like a wave crashing to shore. Once deep, then shallow. Once deep, then shallow.
If only to save my reputation and try to create an illusion of depth, there's another Little Surprise that doesn't involve Granville, Park & Shop, or anything requiring a purchase.
I have a new friend who I think has one of the most noble jobs here in HK -- he works with an NGO that saves OFWs from injustice and abuse. Meeting someone with his kind of dedication and drive for something so selfless is quite a rarity in highly commercialized Hong Kong. And something this utterly great does not deserve to be lined up with True Religion Jeans and Zara Shirts. I'll write about him a bit later.
Tomorrow is Sunday. I wonder what "Little Surprise" is waiting for me then.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Dedicated 2U
Damn these Last Song Syndromes. It would have been cool if the last song that keeps on playing in your mind is a cool one, say, "A Little Less Conversation" by Elvis Presley. But no...NO!
The last song playing in my mind is the Destiny's Child ditty entitled "Cater 2U." It was being shown on Channel V as I was packing my bag, and now it's just playing on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on in my mind.
It's bad enough that the lyrics and story of the song is a wee bit pathetic.* And now, i'm here humming that pathetic song. Plus, it looks like i'm memorizing the lyrics as well.
Help. HELP!
* Cater 2U is a song that talks about catering to all the needs of your better half. It's not bad as a concept, but the lyrics talk about getting the slippers, drawing a bath, making bad feelings go away. Heck, you don't need a mate to do that, you need a nanny!
The last song playing in my mind is the Destiny's Child ditty entitled "Cater 2U." It was being shown on Channel V as I was packing my bag, and now it's just playing on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on in my mind.
It's bad enough that the lyrics and story of the song is a wee bit pathetic.* And now, i'm here humming that pathetic song. Plus, it looks like i'm memorizing the lyrics as well.
Help. HELP!
* Cater 2U is a song that talks about catering to all the needs of your better half. It's not bad as a concept, but the lyrics talk about getting the slippers, drawing a bath, making bad feelings go away. Heck, you don't need a mate to do that, you need a nanny!
Moving out
After almost six weeks of living in front of the office, I've finally decided to move out today.
Joseph once told me that I really shouldn't unpack my clothes whenever i'm in a hotel. This was regardless of how long or short the stay would be. Of course, I begged to differ. Personally, the mere act of unpacking and arranging clothes in the closet is a way of "feeling at home" and "marking your territory" much like how a dog pees around the area he calls his own.
Between unpacking clothes and peeing around the area, the 1st option would definitely be more appealing, not to mention sanitary.
While trying to cram all my old and new clothes in the carry-on, the nostalgia bug silently crept behind me and bit me right on the neck. Things suddenly started to move in slow motion, and the thought of leaving "home" hit.
More than a physical transition - from the hotel in North Point to a serviced flat in TST - there was also the prevalent feeling of an emotional transition. I wouldn't just be leaving a hotel, I was actually leaving a feeling of security, comfort and consistency.
Security gets a "two thumbs up" rating when a person lives in front of the office. Whenever work finishes late, all I need to do is cross the street and home would be there waiting for me. But that's not the only security I'll miss. It's also the feeling of having this place to come home to whenever the antsy feeling takes over. Now that i'll be living in the Kowloon side, I have no more refuge whenever boredom strikes.
No more watching Oprah during lunch.
No more "Rock Star: INXS" live broadcasts in the morning.
No more 30 minute naps on a queen sized bed.
No more privacy when I feel the need to do "No. 2"
No more... No more... No more...
Comfort. Yes, it was such a comfortable set-up living in that hotel. I could get up at 9am and still be at work by 9:30. Whenever I got back, my room would be all fixed. There would be a new bottle of water waiting for me in the fridge. The towels would be neatly cleaned and folded. All I needed to do was put down my bag and enjoy the climate-controlled room with a great view of Kowloon.
I'm giving those up once I move to the serviced apartment. Now, the office will at least be 15 to 30 minutes away (depending on whether I take the MTR or the Ferry to work.) The maid only comes in 3 times a week (so I have to make my bed at least every other day.) No more water and daily newspaper delivered to me (good thing there's a Park and Shop around the bend.) The climate must be adjusted manually (since it's a manually operated airconditioner as opposed to the centralized one in the hotel.) And to bring up the depression rating up a notch, there won't be Star World in my place. (Good thing they have TVB Pearl, their "Desperate Housewives" episodes are newer than the ones in Star.)
Giving all these up will also mark the beginning of really living alone and fending for myself. Let's see how that plays out.
Consistency is something that is developed whenever you stay in one hotel for around 6 weeks. The staff know me by face and name. The same bellboy opens the door for me every morning, and when the evening shift comes, another familiar face will open the door for me every night. Even with my eyes closed, I can go up to my room. (After getting off the elevator, my room is the 6th door to the right.)
It's true when they say that some things become too much a routine that you begin to do it unconsciously. It like how I always turn left to get to the bathroom. When I'm in bed, I turn right to turn off the bedside lamp. I always put in the keycard to activate power, then leave my bag on the closet on the right side. These have been consistent the past weeks.
Now, i'm going to have to trash that and get used to something else. In this new apartment, the lamp is on the left side of the bed. The keycard is beside the door and not perpendicular to it. The bathroom has no tub and is on the left side of the room. I'm going to have to open my own doors with 3 very confusing keys. With all these changes, i'm expecting the first few days to be a re-learning experience.
Ah yes, changes. Can't live without them...
As I was wheeling my bag going to the reception to officially check out, my mind was playing back a list of things i'll miss:
I'll miss the familiar cleaning lady who always greets me: "Good Morning" and "Good Afternoon" then tries to make small talk in English.
I'll miss the "ring-ding-ding" sound that the elevator makes whenever it reaches my floor of destination.
I'll miss the fire alarm that consistently goes off in the middle of the night, causing panic to everyone in the floor.
I'll miss the routine of exiting the door, crossing the street, turning left, crossing the street, and entering the office building.
After giving my luggage to the Concierge, I took my final look back at the hotel which was my home for the past 6 weeks. Time to move out. And partly time to move on.
Then again, should I miss it, all I need to do is look out the window, and it'll be there.
Joseph once told me that I really shouldn't unpack my clothes whenever i'm in a hotel. This was regardless of how long or short the stay would be. Of course, I begged to differ. Personally, the mere act of unpacking and arranging clothes in the closet is a way of "feeling at home" and "marking your territory" much like how a dog pees around the area he calls his own.
Between unpacking clothes and peeing around the area, the 1st option would definitely be more appealing, not to mention sanitary.
While trying to cram all my old and new clothes in the carry-on, the nostalgia bug silently crept behind me and bit me right on the neck. Things suddenly started to move in slow motion, and the thought of leaving "home" hit.
More than a physical transition - from the hotel in North Point to a serviced flat in TST - there was also the prevalent feeling of an emotional transition. I wouldn't just be leaving a hotel, I was actually leaving a feeling of security, comfort and consistency.
Security gets a "two thumbs up" rating when a person lives in front of the office. Whenever work finishes late, all I need to do is cross the street and home would be there waiting for me. But that's not the only security I'll miss. It's also the feeling of having this place to come home to whenever the antsy feeling takes over. Now that i'll be living in the Kowloon side, I have no more refuge whenever boredom strikes.
No more watching Oprah during lunch.
No more "Rock Star: INXS" live broadcasts in the morning.
No more 30 minute naps on a queen sized bed.
No more privacy when I feel the need to do "No. 2"
No more... No more... No more...
Comfort. Yes, it was such a comfortable set-up living in that hotel. I could get up at 9am and still be at work by 9:30. Whenever I got back, my room would be all fixed. There would be a new bottle of water waiting for me in the fridge. The towels would be neatly cleaned and folded. All I needed to do was put down my bag and enjoy the climate-controlled room with a great view of Kowloon.
I'm giving those up once I move to the serviced apartment. Now, the office will at least be 15 to 30 minutes away (depending on whether I take the MTR or the Ferry to work.) The maid only comes in 3 times a week (so I have to make my bed at least every other day.) No more water and daily newspaper delivered to me (good thing there's a Park and Shop around the bend.) The climate must be adjusted manually (since it's a manually operated airconditioner as opposed to the centralized one in the hotel.) And to bring up the depression rating up a notch, there won't be Star World in my place. (Good thing they have TVB Pearl, their "Desperate Housewives" episodes are newer than the ones in Star.)
Giving all these up will also mark the beginning of really living alone and fending for myself. Let's see how that plays out.
Consistency is something that is developed whenever you stay in one hotel for around 6 weeks. The staff know me by face and name. The same bellboy opens the door for me every morning, and when the evening shift comes, another familiar face will open the door for me every night. Even with my eyes closed, I can go up to my room. (After getting off the elevator, my room is the 6th door to the right.)
It's true when they say that some things become too much a routine that you begin to do it unconsciously. It like how I always turn left to get to the bathroom. When I'm in bed, I turn right to turn off the bedside lamp. I always put in the keycard to activate power, then leave my bag on the closet on the right side. These have been consistent the past weeks.
Now, i'm going to have to trash that and get used to something else. In this new apartment, the lamp is on the left side of the bed. The keycard is beside the door and not perpendicular to it. The bathroom has no tub and is on the left side of the room. I'm going to have to open my own doors with 3 very confusing keys. With all these changes, i'm expecting the first few days to be a re-learning experience.
Ah yes, changes. Can't live without them...
As I was wheeling my bag going to the reception to officially check out, my mind was playing back a list of things i'll miss:
I'll miss the familiar cleaning lady who always greets me: "Good Morning" and "Good Afternoon" then tries to make small talk in English.
I'll miss the "ring-ding-ding" sound that the elevator makes whenever it reaches my floor of destination.
I'll miss the fire alarm that consistently goes off in the middle of the night, causing panic to everyone in the floor.
I'll miss the routine of exiting the door, crossing the street, turning left, crossing the street, and entering the office building.
After giving my luggage to the Concierge, I took my final look back at the hotel which was my home for the past 6 weeks. Time to move out. And partly time to move on.
Then again, should I miss it, all I need to do is look out the window, and it'll be there.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
The Universal Power of the Flying Cockroach!
One of the worst physical feelings in the world is having a flying cockroach land on your skin. The sensation of having their spindly, needle-like legs crawling over your neck or arm is nothing short of a nightmare. It's enough to make a grown man run around and try to beat the critter out and expel it into oblivion.
I'm sure that everyone has experienced this once or twice in their lives. Just like diarrhea (another one of the worst physical feelings in the world... but i digress...)
My officemate is in a sadistic/playful mood today. She's throwing this plastic yet lifelike cockroach onto everyone who passes by this area. We're trying to see how the reactions will vary from nationality to nationality:
Hong Kong Chinese: Screams and runs away.
Canadian: Screams and ducks.
Australian: Ducks and says "Jeez!"
Singaporean: Scream and panics.
Malaysian: Runs away
Me: I caught it with one hand with Ninja like precision. Getting much applause from the audience.
From this little scientific experiment, we deduced that everyone is afraid of flying cockroaches. There was a mini-FGD about the "flying cockroach" syndrome, and the fear was universal. Everyone feared it for the same reason, and that is not wanting to have that icky feeling of spindly, needle like legs crawling on your skin.
That's actually fun to know. Add "cockroach" to one of life's greatest equalizers: along with sitting down to take a dump and dying.
I'm sure that everyone has experienced this once or twice in their lives. Just like diarrhea (another one of the worst physical feelings in the world... but i digress...)
My officemate is in a sadistic/playful mood today. She's throwing this plastic yet lifelike cockroach onto everyone who passes by this area. We're trying to see how the reactions will vary from nationality to nationality:
Hong Kong Chinese: Screams and runs away.
Canadian: Screams and ducks.
Australian: Ducks and says "Jeez!"
Singaporean: Scream and panics.
Malaysian: Runs away
Me: I caught it with one hand with Ninja like precision. Getting much applause from the audience.
From this little scientific experiment, we deduced that everyone is afraid of flying cockroaches. There was a mini-FGD about the "flying cockroach" syndrome, and the fear was universal. Everyone feared it for the same reason, and that is not wanting to have that icky feeling of spindly, needle like legs crawling on your skin.
That's actually fun to know. Add "cockroach" to one of life's greatest equalizers: along with sitting down to take a dump and dying.
Monday, July 18, 2005
It's 6:00! Let's party!
This is something awaited by a number of people here at the office. At around 6pm, one of our officemates pops open a bottle of wine, and the cocktail party atmosphere immediately pervades around the office.
We gather at one of the rooms, crank up the iPod with 70s and 80s ditties, and just talk about anything and everything: from movies, apartment, our respective countries, hot girls, living in another country, and yes, the occasional project.
My officemates are beginning to tell me that I have the makings of a wine addict. The moment I hear the cork pop, I immediately head to the pantry to get my goblet. Then we sit back, listen to "Ring my Bell" and just cut loose. I've learned that this is a great way to get to know my new officemates better, and just bond.
This is one office routine that I think i'll get used to.
We gather at one of the rooms, crank up the iPod with 70s and 80s ditties, and just talk about anything and everything: from movies, apartment, our respective countries, hot girls, living in another country, and yes, the occasional project.
My officemates are beginning to tell me that I have the makings of a wine addict. The moment I hear the cork pop, I immediately head to the pantry to get my goblet. Then we sit back, listen to "Ring my Bell" and just cut loose. I've learned that this is a great way to get to know my new officemates better, and just bond.
This is one office routine that I think i'll get used to.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
All things Pinoy
Foreigner officemate: "Hey Lester, have you been to Worldwide Plaza?"
Lester: "Nope. Why? What's to see there?"
Foreigner officemate: "All things Filipino!"
Lester: "Really?"
Foreigner officemate: "Yes! From Filipino magazines, Filipino food... they even gave me pannasan for free when I went there."
Lester: "Pannasan?"
Foreigner officemate: "It's a kind of bread that's small, but tastes really good."
Lester: "Oh, Pan de Sal!"
Foreigner officemate 2: "What's Pan de Sal?"
Lester: "It's a popular bread in the Philippines. It comes from the Spanish words 'Pan' meaning 'bread' and 'sal" meaning 'salt'. So technically, Pan de Sal is salted bread."
Foreigner officemate: "You know, you should go and check out Worldwide Plaza. But don't go there on a Sunday. That's the busiest and most crowded time."
*end of conversation*
Today is a Sunday. And i'm here at the Worldwide Plaza...
Lester: "Nope. Why? What's to see there?"
Foreigner officemate: "All things Filipino!"
Lester: "Really?"
Foreigner officemate: "Yes! From Filipino magazines, Filipino food... they even gave me pannasan for free when I went there."
Lester: "Pannasan?"
Foreigner officemate: "It's a kind of bread that's small, but tastes really good."
Lester: "Oh, Pan de Sal!"
Foreigner officemate 2: "What's Pan de Sal?"
Lester: "It's a popular bread in the Philippines. It comes from the Spanish words 'Pan' meaning 'bread' and 'sal" meaning 'salt'. So technically, Pan de Sal is salted bread."
Foreigner officemate: "You know, you should go and check out Worldwide Plaza. But don't go there on a Sunday. That's the busiest and most crowded time."
*end of conversation*
Today is a Sunday. And i'm here at the Worldwide Plaza...
Saturday, July 16, 2005
I'm only human...
...of flesh and blood I'm made. I'm only human, born to make mistakes.
A week after my self-imposed moratorium on jeans, I walked away with another pair today. It was one of the two pairs that I fell in love with last April. Pair A was a straight cut denim, and the color was a bit blue greenish. The waist area and belt loops were a bit thicker than usual, and it was a low-rise pair so it fell beautifully on the hips. Pair B was a dark denim pair with bleach splotches, some distressed details, and the hem was a bit frayed. But what bowled me over was its off center construction. The button and zipper were about 4 inches off center. That made for an awesome fit and unlimited possibilities for conversation.
Since my luggage could only accomodate 1 pair, I chose pair B which had more of the mock-shock, fashionista value. But as I left K2, my heart was longing for pair A.
This afternoon, I dropped by the K2 outlet in Park Lane. That's where I saw pair A again. It was like a reunion of long, lost lovers. My hand instinctively took it off the rack and looked at it again. Then, by some strange force, a wind blew on the tag and flipped it. The magic word was written on the tag:
50% off
Yes, pair A was not only there, it was half the original price. Not wasting any time, I tried it on again, and the fit was still as perfect like it was 3 months ago. After looking at it in the mirror, I knew, this was a match that was meant to be.
Too bad pair B is in Manila now. When I go back, i'll surprise pair B with pair A. It'll be a great reunion for the 2 pairs of K2 jeans. And i'll be watching as this real life drama unfolds.
Cue in artificial crowd gush: Aaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!
Long live Fashion Community Kitterick!
A week after my self-imposed moratorium on jeans, I walked away with another pair today. It was one of the two pairs that I fell in love with last April. Pair A was a straight cut denim, and the color was a bit blue greenish. The waist area and belt loops were a bit thicker than usual, and it was a low-rise pair so it fell beautifully on the hips. Pair B was a dark denim pair with bleach splotches, some distressed details, and the hem was a bit frayed. But what bowled me over was its off center construction. The button and zipper were about 4 inches off center. That made for an awesome fit and unlimited possibilities for conversation.
Since my luggage could only accomodate 1 pair, I chose pair B which had more of the mock-shock, fashionista value. But as I left K2, my heart was longing for pair A.
This afternoon, I dropped by the K2 outlet in Park Lane. That's where I saw pair A again. It was like a reunion of long, lost lovers. My hand instinctively took it off the rack and looked at it again. Then, by some strange force, a wind blew on the tag and flipped it. The magic word was written on the tag:
50% off
Yes, pair A was not only there, it was half the original price. Not wasting any time, I tried it on again, and the fit was still as perfect like it was 3 months ago. After looking at it in the mirror, I knew, this was a match that was meant to be.
Too bad pair B is in Manila now. When I go back, i'll surprise pair B with pair A. It'll be a great reunion for the 2 pairs of K2 jeans. And i'll be watching as this real life drama unfolds.
Cue in artificial crowd gush: Aaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!
Long live Fashion Community Kitterick!
Friday, July 15, 2005
Add "voice talent" to my resume...
I've been in Advertising for more than a decade. Not only do I create and teach advertising, the recent years saw me fast becoming PART of advertising.
While listening to "Holding back the years" in the background, I'm trying to create an MTV-ish flashback to recall and pinpoint my first ad appearance...
There was the Promil print ad where I appeared as a person with Above Average IQ. (That was a demotion, i'm a GENIUS! Mwahahaha!)
My hand had a load of commercial appearances: Dermalin, Palmolive Soap, Sony Ericsson.
There was that memorable top shot of me for the Philip Morris poster. I was supposed to be an acoustic artist, but I didn't know how to hold a guitar. Ariel had to coach me and after that shoot, I knew how to make a D chord.
My back was featured in a brochure for Synergymed. This project will forever hold a special place in the hearts and minds of Erwin, Ria and myself. Who can forget Kabashima-san.
There was the first TV ad for Texas Chicken where you can actually see me! (That is if you pause the television set and try to single out one person in the crowd. Harharhar!)
Summary of talent accomplisments:
TVC talent - check
Hand talent - check
Back talent - check
Full body talent - check
Today, I add "voice talent" to this list of accomplishments.
Being the only person who can speak tagalog in this agency, whenever a tagalog TVC or tagalog edit needs to be done, they zero in on me and send me to the nearest recording studio to do my "thang." Initially, this didn't sit well with me since I think my voice is totally dorky. The more I listen to myself, the more i'm convinced that I sound like my brother Biboy. (Which isn't so bad. But over the phone, Biboy sounds much better than me.)
Ergo, during my debut as a voice talent, I was very reluctant. But then again, they just want me for timing purposes, and not for my golden voice.
So there I was, at Touches for the audio recording. It was weird to be on the other end of the court. For years, I've been watching voice talents do their thing while I was comfortably seated inside the audio engineer's booth. Now, the voice talent is yours truly, and my officemate is on the other end.
Good news: it only took 4 takes, then I nailed the lines. The only challenge was when this was the direction given: "Can you sound more like a little girl?" My mental response was: "I'm a 32 year old man. How can I sound like a little girl."
After listening to the playbacks, I suddenly realized that my voice wasn't as awful as I thought it was. Yes, I still sound a bit like Biboy, but it was a very good kind of Biboy sound.
Hmmm... I think I'll get a hang of this.
While listening to "Holding back the years" in the background, I'm trying to create an MTV-ish flashback to recall and pinpoint my first ad appearance...
There was the Promil print ad where I appeared as a person with Above Average IQ. (That was a demotion, i'm a GENIUS! Mwahahaha!)
My hand had a load of commercial appearances: Dermalin, Palmolive Soap, Sony Ericsson.
There was that memorable top shot of me for the Philip Morris poster. I was supposed to be an acoustic artist, but I didn't know how to hold a guitar. Ariel had to coach me and after that shoot, I knew how to make a D chord.
My back was featured in a brochure for Synergymed. This project will forever hold a special place in the hearts and minds of Erwin, Ria and myself. Who can forget Kabashima-san.
There was the first TV ad for Texas Chicken where you can actually see me! (That is if you pause the television set and try to single out one person in the crowd. Harharhar!)
Summary of talent accomplisments:
TVC talent - check
Hand talent - check
Back talent - check
Full body talent - check
Today, I add "voice talent" to this list of accomplishments.
Being the only person who can speak tagalog in this agency, whenever a tagalog TVC or tagalog edit needs to be done, they zero in on me and send me to the nearest recording studio to do my "thang." Initially, this didn't sit well with me since I think my voice is totally dorky. The more I listen to myself, the more i'm convinced that I sound like my brother Biboy. (Which isn't so bad. But over the phone, Biboy sounds much better than me.)
Ergo, during my debut as a voice talent, I was very reluctant. But then again, they just want me for timing purposes, and not for my golden voice.
So there I was, at Touches for the audio recording. It was weird to be on the other end of the court. For years, I've been watching voice talents do their thing while I was comfortably seated inside the audio engineer's booth. Now, the voice talent is yours truly, and my officemate is on the other end.
Good news: it only took 4 takes, then I nailed the lines. The only challenge was when this was the direction given: "Can you sound more like a little girl?" My mental response was: "I'm a 32 year old man. How can I sound like a little girl."
After listening to the playbacks, I suddenly realized that my voice wasn't as awful as I thought it was. Yes, I still sound a bit like Biboy, but it was a very good kind of Biboy sound.
Hmmm... I think I'll get a hang of this.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Cherry Crazy
Nope, this isn't about the recent "Cerise" collection by Louis Vuitton. Though I must say, it's one of the better designs they've come up with. Much better than the Murakami bag which looks a tad bit too fake. (Even the original one looks like a knock-off.) Oh well, i'm not into LV anyway.
I'm talking about real cherries. The "freshly-picked-from-the-tree" kind.
Since i've discovered that neighborhood fruit stand that sells fresh cherries, I've been like a rat drawn by the Pied Piper. I find myself walking towards that stall, pretty much like a zombie, and buying a pound of cherries. They have a new batch, a bit more expensive than what I usually buy, but it's much bigger and juicier. Needless to say, it's worth the extra $8.
Now, whenever I don't feel like eating a full meal, I substitute a pound of cherries for that meal. Sometimes, I have half a pound of cherries for lunch. And what do i wash it down with? Dark Cherry Snapple. (Only available at City Super, unfortunately.)
If my color turns dark red anytime soon, I'd take that as a sign that I should lay low from Cherry living.
I'm talking about real cherries. The "freshly-picked-from-the-tree" kind.
Since i've discovered that neighborhood fruit stand that sells fresh cherries, I've been like a rat drawn by the Pied Piper. I find myself walking towards that stall, pretty much like a zombie, and buying a pound of cherries. They have a new batch, a bit more expensive than what I usually buy, but it's much bigger and juicier. Needless to say, it's worth the extra $8.
Now, whenever I don't feel like eating a full meal, I substitute a pound of cherries for that meal. Sometimes, I have half a pound of cherries for lunch. And what do i wash it down with? Dark Cherry Snapple. (Only available at City Super, unfortunately.)
If my color turns dark red anytime soon, I'd take that as a sign that I should lay low from Cherry living.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Cerises Frescas
I miss eating fresh cherries.
The last time I did, it was in Amsterdam. I'd buy them at Albertcuypstraat, along with our usual ration of oranges, strawberries and grapefruit. Once, I bought a bunch of raspberries, thinking that it would taste pretty much like the Sconza Raspberry candies.
Boy, was I wrong. The taste was horrendous! I remember rushing to the trash bin to throw them away.
This morning, while walking to Wellcome to buy bottled water, I chanced upon a hole in the wall fruit stall. Aside from the usual Dragonfruit, and the mangoes which are described as: "Philippine Mangoes, the sweetest in the world', there was another fruit that grabbed my attention.
Fresh cherries!
Yes, they were a bit pricey, $38 per pound, but it was well worth the price. They were sweet, crunchy yet juicy, with very small seeds. The moment it touched my tongue and after I bit into the first piece, it was ecstacy! Needless to say, I was one happy guy come lunchtime.
McDonald's meal + Fresh Cherries + Oprah re-runs = happy guy!
I hope the cherry season here lasts long.
The last time I did, it was in Amsterdam. I'd buy them at Albertcuypstraat, along with our usual ration of oranges, strawberries and grapefruit. Once, I bought a bunch of raspberries, thinking that it would taste pretty much like the Sconza Raspberry candies.
Boy, was I wrong. The taste was horrendous! I remember rushing to the trash bin to throw them away.
This morning, while walking to Wellcome to buy bottled water, I chanced upon a hole in the wall fruit stall. Aside from the usual Dragonfruit, and the mangoes which are described as: "Philippine Mangoes, the sweetest in the world', there was another fruit that grabbed my attention.
Fresh cherries!
Yes, they were a bit pricey, $38 per pound, but it was well worth the price. They were sweet, crunchy yet juicy, with very small seeds. The moment it touched my tongue and after I bit into the first piece, it was ecstacy! Needless to say, I was one happy guy come lunchtime.
McDonald's meal + Fresh Cherries + Oprah re-runs = happy guy!
I hope the cherry season here lasts long.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Greetings... I am the...
The Count's Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
It started with a simple affection for counting and
the terror it induced in others, didn't it?
But now it's turned into a full-blown
life-consuming chaotic nightmare of order,
repetition, zealousness, and perfectionism.
You used to be so grand, but now you find
yourself obsessively worrying over the littlest
things--like, maybe if you don't check the
light switch at least once every two minutes,
the electricity will go out (and damnit, you're
a vampire--that shouldn't be a problem!), or
maybe if you don't wash your hands until your
seams are coming out, you'll get some fatal
disease. Get yourself some treatment.
Which Sesame Street Muppet's Dark Secret Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Monday, July 11, 2005
Missing Munchies Mystery
Somebody from the hotel has been filching my stash of munchies!
The first time it happened was a week ago. I left a half-full bag of Munchies (that divine concoction that has Doritos, Cheetos, Sun Chips and Rold Gold in one bag) on my hotel table in the morning. When I came back at night, it was all gone!
That time, the first thing that came to my mind was: "maybe they thought I was going to discard it, the bag being crumpled and all." Given that scenario, I let the whole thing pass.
Today, I went back to the hotel during lunchtime to catch Oprah while enjoying my McDonald's take-out. Lo and behold, when I got back in the room, my new bag of Cheetos Twisted was gone.
It was an entire, unopened bag of cheetos twisted.
(I need to say this more empathically...)
IT WAS AN ENTIRE, UNOPENED BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED!
It was gone. Nowhere to be found. Zilch! Kaput! Magically vanished!
Of course, no one could have gotten that except the folks who were cleaning my room. Maybe they had a snack attack and chose to steal my bag of Cheetos to ward off their craving. Somewhere in that hotel, somebody is eating my NEW BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED.
What's strange is that my mp3 player and digital camera are still there. Which leads me to conclude that one of the hotel employees was a small time snack thief.
I was contemplating on complaining to the front desk officer. But I got a-thinkin'...
If I complain, the person cleaning my room will probably get reprimanded and might probably lose her job. She's going to lose her livelihood over a HK$17.00 bag of Cheetos Twisted. But if I don't complain, she might do it all over again.
I decided not to complain. I wouldn't want to ruin that person's life over a bag of snacks. Eventhough it isn't just an ordinary bag of snacks, they're A BRAND NEW BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED! Those heavenly, oversized corn curls with divine cheese powder.
Oh well, it's off to Wellcome to buy a new bag later...
The first time it happened was a week ago. I left a half-full bag of Munchies (that divine concoction that has Doritos, Cheetos, Sun Chips and Rold Gold in one bag) on my hotel table in the morning. When I came back at night, it was all gone!
That time, the first thing that came to my mind was: "maybe they thought I was going to discard it, the bag being crumpled and all." Given that scenario, I let the whole thing pass.
Today, I went back to the hotel during lunchtime to catch Oprah while enjoying my McDonald's take-out. Lo and behold, when I got back in the room, my new bag of Cheetos Twisted was gone.
It was an entire, unopened bag of cheetos twisted.
(I need to say this more empathically...)
IT WAS AN ENTIRE, UNOPENED BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED!
It was gone. Nowhere to be found. Zilch! Kaput! Magically vanished!
Of course, no one could have gotten that except the folks who were cleaning my room. Maybe they had a snack attack and chose to steal my bag of Cheetos to ward off their craving. Somewhere in that hotel, somebody is eating my NEW BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED.
What's strange is that my mp3 player and digital camera are still there. Which leads me to conclude that one of the hotel employees was a small time snack thief.
I was contemplating on complaining to the front desk officer. But I got a-thinkin'...
If I complain, the person cleaning my room will probably get reprimanded and might probably lose her job. She's going to lose her livelihood over a HK$17.00 bag of Cheetos Twisted. But if I don't complain, she might do it all over again.
I decided not to complain. I wouldn't want to ruin that person's life over a bag of snacks. Eventhough it isn't just an ordinary bag of snacks, they're A BRAND NEW BAG OF CHEETOS TWISTED! Those heavenly, oversized corn curls with divine cheese powder.
Oh well, it's off to Wellcome to buy a new bag later...
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Expanding the Jean Pool
My "Frendz" would probably be shaking their heads once they read this.
I love jeans.
I love jeans with a passion.
I love jeans with a vengeance.
I love jeans with all my heart.
And most often, my heart is worn on my hips.
Of last count, I think I have about XX pair of jeans. (I'd rather not mention the number, it's a bit shocking.)
I can talk about jeans so passionately, like it were an intellectual subject. (Which is why some people think I'm shallow and superficial.)
Jeans to me are like rare gems to a jeweler, a recently discovered fossil to an archaeologist. When a pair catches my eye, I touch the fabric, study each detail, look at the fit, and imagine how it will look on me.
I came here with only 2 pair of jeans: my Levi's Type 1 Jeans with the words "Strongest Thread" embroidered at the back, and the Levi's low waist Jeans that D' Frendz gave me for my birthday. (Thanks, Frendz, I really love the gift. Despite the fact that I had to ask for it. Harhar.) I thought I'd be content living with these 2 pairs until I get the other XX pairs over here in a month or so. But I was wrong.
In 2 weeks or so, I bought 3 new pairs. Three new babies that I open heartedly welcome to my family of denim. Let me introduce them to you.
1. Tough Jeans - A pair of dark denim with a 3D cut. The seams, instead of running at the sides, run in front of the jeans. Creating an illusion of height for the wearer. The back pockets are deep and has a buttoned flap - great for extra security. The coin pocket is unusually big, which is good for a coin collector like myself.
2. True Religion Jeans - A medium washed pair, boot cut, low rise. It has this distressed detail running from the upper thigh to the knee. They're mini cuts, but increase in size as it gets lower. The fit is perfect! Upon close scrutiny, I remembered that People are People had a similar pair, albeit their denim is quite inferior. But the design was a total rip off from T.R.
3. Bossini - A limited edition and excellent find which I stumbled upon at Granville. It was only HK$90, which is practically a steal. The inner tag said "super sexy fit" which was enough to convince me. But other that that, the jeans hug the hips in a very nice way, the leg is wide enough, plus, it had white leather details on the belt area. I'd pay more for this type of jeans, good thing I didn't have to.
And there you have them. The newest members of the jean pool. I'll introduce the new guys to the old boys just so they'll get to know each other and bond a bit more. Hehehe.
I promised myself I'd stop looking at jeans for the next month. Some type of moratorium to keep me from buying a new one. And believe it or not, I think I can. I know I can.
I love jeans.
I love jeans with a passion.
I love jeans with a vengeance.
I love jeans with all my heart.
And most often, my heart is worn on my hips.
Of last count, I think I have about XX pair of jeans. (I'd rather not mention the number, it's a bit shocking.)
I can talk about jeans so passionately, like it were an intellectual subject. (Which is why some people think I'm shallow and superficial.)
Jeans to me are like rare gems to a jeweler, a recently discovered fossil to an archaeologist. When a pair catches my eye, I touch the fabric, study each detail, look at the fit, and imagine how it will look on me.
I came here with only 2 pair of jeans: my Levi's Type 1 Jeans with the words "Strongest Thread" embroidered at the back, and the Levi's low waist Jeans that D' Frendz gave me for my birthday. (Thanks, Frendz, I really love the gift. Despite the fact that I had to ask for it. Harhar.) I thought I'd be content living with these 2 pairs until I get the other XX pairs over here in a month or so. But I was wrong.
In 2 weeks or so, I bought 3 new pairs. Three new babies that I open heartedly welcome to my family of denim. Let me introduce them to you.
1. Tough Jeans - A pair of dark denim with a 3D cut. The seams, instead of running at the sides, run in front of the jeans. Creating an illusion of height for the wearer. The back pockets are deep and has a buttoned flap - great for extra security. The coin pocket is unusually big, which is good for a coin collector like myself.
2. True Religion Jeans - A medium washed pair, boot cut, low rise. It has this distressed detail running from the upper thigh to the knee. They're mini cuts, but increase in size as it gets lower. The fit is perfect! Upon close scrutiny, I remembered that People are People had a similar pair, albeit their denim is quite inferior. But the design was a total rip off from T.R.
3. Bossini - A limited edition and excellent find which I stumbled upon at Granville. It was only HK$90, which is practically a steal. The inner tag said "super sexy fit" which was enough to convince me. But other that that, the jeans hug the hips in a very nice way, the leg is wide enough, plus, it had white leather details on the belt area. I'd pay more for this type of jeans, good thing I didn't have to.
And there you have them. The newest members of the jean pool. I'll introduce the new guys to the old boys just so they'll get to know each other and bond a bit more. Hehehe.
I promised myself I'd stop looking at jeans for the next month. Some type of moratorium to keep me from buying a new one. And believe it or not, I think I can. I know I can.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Drop it!
Presenting my first embarrasing moment here in Hong Kong.
drumroll please....
I was on my way back to the hotel and exited Fortress Hill station. The "green man" in the stoplight was flashing, and that meant I only had about 30 seconds to cross. So like a chicken who saw a man with a big cleaver, I ran! And ran as fast as I can.
When I got to the middle of the street, it happened...
My pants fell. Yes, MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
I guess that pretty much sums up the gravity of the situation I was in last night.
Thankfully, it didn't fall all the way down to my ankles, but it went low enough to reach the middle of my upper thigh. So while it wasn't THAT bad, it wasn't THAT good either.
That's what I get for not listening to John. You see, we were together when I was buying this pair of jeans I'm wearing now. It's this funky pair of Tough Jeans with a 3D cut and a fabulous finish. Anyway, I tried on the size 30 and it fit pretty well, and John concurred. But since I love wearing jeans that go down up to the 2nd hip, I chose to buy the one that's a size bigger (do that math, and that's 31.)
Honestly, the size 31 fit really well when I tried it on that night, but after 2 days, it did feel a tad bit loose. But hey, i love it that way. I was never a waist person. I'm forever partial to hipster jeans. And if the side effect of wearing them is occasionally flashing some Hong Kong motorists, so be it. Hehehe.
It's a good thing I was wearing a decent pair of underwear today. If I chose to wore that green, summery, floral printed pair that I bought from Bench, now THAT would be quite a scene.
drumroll please....
I was on my way back to the hotel and exited Fortress Hill station. The "green man" in the stoplight was flashing, and that meant I only had about 30 seconds to cross. So like a chicken who saw a man with a big cleaver, I ran! And ran as fast as I can.
When I got to the middle of the street, it happened...
My pants fell. Yes, MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
MY PANTS FELL!
I guess that pretty much sums up the gravity of the situation I was in last night.
Thankfully, it didn't fall all the way down to my ankles, but it went low enough to reach the middle of my upper thigh. So while it wasn't THAT bad, it wasn't THAT good either.
That's what I get for not listening to John. You see, we were together when I was buying this pair of jeans I'm wearing now. It's this funky pair of Tough Jeans with a 3D cut and a fabulous finish. Anyway, I tried on the size 30 and it fit pretty well, and John concurred. But since I love wearing jeans that go down up to the 2nd hip, I chose to buy the one that's a size bigger (do that math, and that's 31.)
Honestly, the size 31 fit really well when I tried it on that night, but after 2 days, it did feel a tad bit loose. But hey, i love it that way. I was never a waist person. I'm forever partial to hipster jeans. And if the side effect of wearing them is occasionally flashing some Hong Kong motorists, so be it. Hehehe.
It's a good thing I was wearing a decent pair of underwear today. If I chose to wore that green, summery, floral printed pair that I bought from Bench, now THAT would be quite a scene.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
My first!
Got my first paycheck today!
It was such a thrill when I saw that my salary was finally credited to my HSBC account.
Purchases made:
Kiehl's Lip Balm for Arnie: $150
Tough Jeans: $585
Ben & Jerry's with John: $88
I'm gonna treat my sibs to dinner when I go to Manila tomorrow.
It was such a thrill when I saw that my salary was finally credited to my HSBC account.
Purchases made:
Kiehl's Lip Balm for Arnie: $150
Tough Jeans: $585
Ben & Jerry's with John: $88
I'm gonna treat my sibs to dinner when I go to Manila tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
The PAL incident
In the continuing saga of "Lester doesn't look like a Filipino..."
On the way home, I took a PAL flight and was seated near the end of the plane. It was a 4-row seat and the aisle seat was mine. The three other seats were occupied by our "bagong bayanis."
Since I had heavy breakfast before the flight, i didn't feel like eating lunch. So when the flight attendant arrived with that irritating little trolley of his, this conversation ensued:
FA: Seafood with noodle or Pork with rice?
ME: Can I just have water with ice, please...
FA: Yes sir, but what would you like to eat? Seafood with noodle or Pork with rice?
ME: Nothing. Just give me water with ice.
FA: Why sir? Do you have special dietary needs? Are you vegetarian? Can I offer you something else?
ME: No, it's just that i'm not hungry. So if you can give me water with ice, that would be great.
FA: Sure, sir.
He gives me my drink and scoots away with his cart.
There I was, drinking my cold glass of water while reading Mabuhay Magazines, while the 3 bagong bayanis were starting to eat their lunch. Now, everyone who flies will know that the economy class seats are a bit cramped and too close to each other. Whatever conversation that takes place is likely to be heard by everyone within a 3 feet radius.
Here's what the 3 bagong bayanis talked about: (to help you visualize, BB3 was seated next to me, followed by BB2 and BB1)
BB 1: Alam mo, hiningi mo na lang sana yung pagkain ng katabi mo. Hindi niya naman pala kukunin eh. *giggle, giggle*
BB 3: Ano ba kayo. Baka naman akalain nila gutom na gutom tayo.
BB 2: Sayang naman kasi, noh! Binayaran niya na yung pagkain eh hindi naman niya kakainin. Sana pinamigay niya na lang.
BB 3: Bayaan niyo na siya. Eh sa ayaw niyang kumain.
This was followed by sounds of munching and the clinking of plastic utensils. After a few minutes of silence:
BB 1: Alam mo, yang katabi mo, mukha nga siyang pihikan sa pagkain. Tignan mo yung katawan niya. (She was, of course, referring to me.)
BB 2: Oo nga, mukha nga siyang sosyalin. Tignan mo yung balat niya.
BB 1: Siguro hindi yan kumakain ng pagkaing hindi class (pronounced kluzzz) kaya siguro ayaw niyang kumain ng pagkain sa eroplano.
BB 3: Ano ba kayo, pabayaan niyo na lang siya kung ayaw niyang kumain.
Of course at that point, I figured out that they thought I was a foreigner who didn't speak nor understand a word of Tagalog. And since I didn't want to embarrass them, I chose to just shut up and let the whole thing pass.
The meal was finished and the tray tables were cleared. I decided to catch a little shut eye since I couldn't really sleep the night before. My eyes were closed and my consciousness was drifting, then suddenly this conversation began:
BB 1: (to BB 3) 'Diba magaling kang mag-Ingles? Kausapin mo yung katabi mo para may kausap naman siya.
BB 2: (to BB 3) Oo nga. Guwapo siya, ha. Kamukha siya ni Carlos Agassi. (writer's note: I don't think I do!)
BB 1: (to BB 3) Sige naaaaa.... Di ba single ka pa. Malay mo, maging boyfriend mo yan. *giggle, giggle*
BB 3: Ano ba kayo?!? Parang anak ka na lang yan, noh. Ang tanda-tanda ko na.
BB 2: Eh ano ngayon? Tignan mo si Demi Moore, 'diba mas bata sa kanya ang boyfriend niya?
I was desperately trying not to laugh or show emotion since I was supposedly asleep. But part of me just SOOOO wanted to stand up and laugh at all of them. I wanted to say: WAHAHAAA! Naiintindihan ko kayo kanina pa! WAHAHAAA! But of course, I restrained myself and proceeded to sleep.
Fast forward 30 minutes after. The plane has landed and people were getting their baggage from the overhead bin. BB 3 was trying to reach for her bag, so I decided to help her. Right after giving her the carry on luggage she brought, she tells me:
BB 3: Thank you very much. You're very nice. (of course, if I spelled this as she said it, it would read: Tenk you bery much. Yor bery nayssss.)
ME: You're welcome. (then smile)
BB 1: Uyyyyy. Nagkakamabutihan na sila....
Now how's that for "Flying the Friendly Skies..."
On the way home, I took a PAL flight and was seated near the end of the plane. It was a 4-row seat and the aisle seat was mine. The three other seats were occupied by our "bagong bayanis."
Since I had heavy breakfast before the flight, i didn't feel like eating lunch. So when the flight attendant arrived with that irritating little trolley of his, this conversation ensued:
FA: Seafood with noodle or Pork with rice?
ME: Can I just have water with ice, please...
FA: Yes sir, but what would you like to eat? Seafood with noodle or Pork with rice?
ME: Nothing. Just give me water with ice.
FA: Why sir? Do you have special dietary needs? Are you vegetarian? Can I offer you something else?
ME: No, it's just that i'm not hungry. So if you can give me water with ice, that would be great.
FA: Sure, sir.
He gives me my drink and scoots away with his cart.
There I was, drinking my cold glass of water while reading Mabuhay Magazines, while the 3 bagong bayanis were starting to eat their lunch. Now, everyone who flies will know that the economy class seats are a bit cramped and too close to each other. Whatever conversation that takes place is likely to be heard by everyone within a 3 feet radius.
Here's what the 3 bagong bayanis talked about: (to help you visualize, BB3 was seated next to me, followed by BB2 and BB1)
BB 1: Alam mo, hiningi mo na lang sana yung pagkain ng katabi mo. Hindi niya naman pala kukunin eh. *giggle, giggle*
BB 3: Ano ba kayo. Baka naman akalain nila gutom na gutom tayo.
BB 2: Sayang naman kasi, noh! Binayaran niya na yung pagkain eh hindi naman niya kakainin. Sana pinamigay niya na lang.
BB 3: Bayaan niyo na siya. Eh sa ayaw niyang kumain.
This was followed by sounds of munching and the clinking of plastic utensils. After a few minutes of silence:
BB 1: Alam mo, yang katabi mo, mukha nga siyang pihikan sa pagkain. Tignan mo yung katawan niya. (She was, of course, referring to me.)
BB 2: Oo nga, mukha nga siyang sosyalin. Tignan mo yung balat niya.
BB 1: Siguro hindi yan kumakain ng pagkaing hindi class (pronounced kluzzz) kaya siguro ayaw niyang kumain ng pagkain sa eroplano.
BB 3: Ano ba kayo, pabayaan niyo na lang siya kung ayaw niyang kumain.
Of course at that point, I figured out that they thought I was a foreigner who didn't speak nor understand a word of Tagalog. And since I didn't want to embarrass them, I chose to just shut up and let the whole thing pass.
The meal was finished and the tray tables were cleared. I decided to catch a little shut eye since I couldn't really sleep the night before. My eyes were closed and my consciousness was drifting, then suddenly this conversation began:
BB 1: (to BB 3) 'Diba magaling kang mag-Ingles? Kausapin mo yung katabi mo para may kausap naman siya.
BB 2: (to BB 3) Oo nga. Guwapo siya, ha. Kamukha siya ni Carlos Agassi. (writer's note: I don't think I do!)
BB 1: (to BB 3) Sige naaaaa.... Di ba single ka pa. Malay mo, maging boyfriend mo yan. *giggle, giggle*
BB 3: Ano ba kayo?!? Parang anak ka na lang yan, noh. Ang tanda-tanda ko na.
BB 2: Eh ano ngayon? Tignan mo si Demi Moore, 'diba mas bata sa kanya ang boyfriend niya?
I was desperately trying not to laugh or show emotion since I was supposedly asleep. But part of me just SOOOO wanted to stand up and laugh at all of them. I wanted to say: WAHAHAAA! Naiintindihan ko kayo kanina pa! WAHAHAAA! But of course, I restrained myself and proceeded to sleep.
Fast forward 30 minutes after. The plane has landed and people were getting their baggage from the overhead bin. BB 3 was trying to reach for her bag, so I decided to help her. Right after giving her the carry on luggage she brought, she tells me:
BB 3: Thank you very much. You're very nice. (of course, if I spelled this as she said it, it would read: Tenk you bery much. Yor bery nayssss.)
ME: You're welcome. (then smile)
BB 1: Uyyyyy. Nagkakamabutihan na sila....
Now how's that for "Flying the Friendly Skies..."
Meanwhile, back at the airport...
Immigration. The lines were long and there was a merry mix of Filipinos and Tourists queueing to get their passport stamps.
One of the guards goes to the middle and announces: "Counter One is open. Filipino passport holders only."
Since I was so near the counter, I went there to line up. But before I could get 5 feet near it, the guard halts me (and he did that by blocking me with his palm on my chest), looks at me and says: "No Foreigners. Filipino only!"
I brandished my Filipino passport and said: "Pilipino ho ako, ok?!"
The guard takes off his hand, smiles at me sheepishly and says: "Sorry, I thought you're not Filipino."
Makes me wonder, what do I look like?
One of the guards goes to the middle and announces: "Counter One is open. Filipino passport holders only."
Since I was so near the counter, I went there to line up. But before I could get 5 feet near it, the guard halts me (and he did that by blocking me with his palm on my chest), looks at me and says: "No Foreigners. Filipino only!"
I brandished my Filipino passport and said: "Pilipino ho ako, ok?!"
The guard takes off his hand, smiles at me sheepishly and says: "Sorry, I thought you're not Filipino."
Makes me wonder, what do I look like?
Saturday, July 02, 2005
That is SOOO not Pinoy...
For the longest time, I thought my physical characteristics were typically Pinoy. The past week, though, taught me otherwise.
I'd understand if Foreigners would mistake me for being something other than Pinoy: (When I was i Bangkok, Americans thought I was Thai. When I was in Hat Yai, Thais thought I was Singaporean. When I was in Prague, Slavs thought I was Slavic. When I was in Spain, Spaniards thought I was Spanish. And the list goes on...)
It's a totally different thing if even your own countrymen can't identify you as one of their own.
One of my habits is to say "sorry," "excuse me," and "pardon," whenever the person talks to me babbles something unintelligible. This is so not Pinoy. We all know that if a Pinoy doesn't hear what the other person is saying, they'd say: "HA?!?" So whenever a saleslady, fastfood crew or even a teller would ask me something and i'd say "pardon", they'd suddenly talk to me in English and treat me like an American.
In a span of one week, there have been 5 bizarre incidents involving me and fellow Pinoys who thought I wasn't a Filipino. They were experiences SO WEIRD, that I have to write them down. This is just one of them.
The KFC incident: I was looking for a seat at the KFC outlet near Lan Kwai Fong. A group of elderly Pinays had an extra seat and offered it to me. The moment she said: "Come, come sit here," I knew they thought I was a foreigner.
There I was, sitting with 4 rowdy Pinays. I was still waiting for my Zinger sandwich so I didn't start eating yet. So I sat there, staring at my criss-cut fries and large drink.
Pinay 1 says: "Go ahead, eat na."
I said: "I'm still waiting for my sandwich, it's taking so long."
Pinay 1 says: "Oh, ok. (turns to Pinay 2) Ano ba naman itong KFC na 'to. Sandwich lang, wala pa. Hindi tuloy makakain 'tong bata."
From the restroom, in walks Pinay 3. She looks at me and turns to Pinays 1 and 2:
Pinay 3 says: "O, bakit hindi pa kumakain yan. Huwag niyo sabihing hinihintay niya tayong umalis bago siya kumain. Ang arte ha..."
Pinay 2 says: "Hindi naman. Wala pa kasi yung sandwich niya. Mukhang hindi sanay na hindi kumpleto ang pagkain bago magsimula."
At that point, I couldn't bear tell them that I understood every word they said. So I just shut my trap and smiled at whatever they said.
Finally, my sandwich arrives, and I start to chow down. At the same time, the Pinays decide to leave. But before they go, they all bid goodbye to me:
Pinay 3 says: "You enjoy your meal. Sorry if we Filipinas are very noisy. We just like to talk and talk."
And I just smiled.
I'd understand if Foreigners would mistake me for being something other than Pinoy: (When I was i Bangkok, Americans thought I was Thai. When I was in Hat Yai, Thais thought I was Singaporean. When I was in Prague, Slavs thought I was Slavic. When I was in Spain, Spaniards thought I was Spanish. And the list goes on...)
It's a totally different thing if even your own countrymen can't identify you as one of their own.
One of my habits is to say "sorry," "excuse me," and "pardon," whenever the person talks to me babbles something unintelligible. This is so not Pinoy. We all know that if a Pinoy doesn't hear what the other person is saying, they'd say: "HA?!?" So whenever a saleslady, fastfood crew or even a teller would ask me something and i'd say "pardon", they'd suddenly talk to me in English and treat me like an American.
In a span of one week, there have been 5 bizarre incidents involving me and fellow Pinoys who thought I wasn't a Filipino. They were experiences SO WEIRD, that I have to write them down. This is just one of them.
The KFC incident: I was looking for a seat at the KFC outlet near Lan Kwai Fong. A group of elderly Pinays had an extra seat and offered it to me. The moment she said: "Come, come sit here," I knew they thought I was a foreigner.
There I was, sitting with 4 rowdy Pinays. I was still waiting for my Zinger sandwich so I didn't start eating yet. So I sat there, staring at my criss-cut fries and large drink.
Pinay 1 says: "Go ahead, eat na."
I said: "I'm still waiting for my sandwich, it's taking so long."
Pinay 1 says: "Oh, ok. (turns to Pinay 2) Ano ba naman itong KFC na 'to. Sandwich lang, wala pa. Hindi tuloy makakain 'tong bata."
From the restroom, in walks Pinay 3. She looks at me and turns to Pinays 1 and 2:
Pinay 3 says: "O, bakit hindi pa kumakain yan. Huwag niyo sabihing hinihintay niya tayong umalis bago siya kumain. Ang arte ha..."
Pinay 2 says: "Hindi naman. Wala pa kasi yung sandwich niya. Mukhang hindi sanay na hindi kumpleto ang pagkain bago magsimula."
At that point, I couldn't bear tell them that I understood every word they said. So I just shut my trap and smiled at whatever they said.
Finally, my sandwich arrives, and I start to chow down. At the same time, the Pinays decide to leave. But before they go, they all bid goodbye to me:
Pinay 3 says: "You enjoy your meal. Sorry if we Filipinas are very noisy. We just like to talk and talk."
And I just smiled.
Friday, July 01, 2005
I found it!
It's a habit that i acquired eversince my first trip out of the country. A habit that grows stronger as I grow older, to the chagrin of my friends. A habit that's called: "Looking for Filipinos."
Roland once told me that I should work for the DFA. When we toured around Europe, the first thing I looked for were Filipinos. Once, in Paris, he was busy looking at the inverted pyramid at the Louvre, and I was busy looking at a Filipino family having their pictures taken by the fountain.
Whenever I'd see anyone who looked remotely Filipino, first instinct is to skeedadle on over and try to eavesdrop in their conversation. And I they did speak Filipino, a mental jackpot sound (the one that goes: kaching-ching-ching!) rings in my head. Strangely, though, that's where the entire process stops. Rarely do I talk to them, or even tell them that I'm a Filipino. (This is the tricky part because I don't look like a Filipino. But I'll get to that later.) As the saying goes: "The thrill is in the hunt," and I'm happy just hunting for them.
Hong Kong is not a hard place to find Filipinos. Droves of Filipino women are in Hong Kong working as domestics, bringing in much needed dollars to our economy. When I was younger and we'd visit Kowloon on weekends, I was always amazed how so many Filipinas would camp out by Victoria Harbour on Sundays. It was like Luneta, albeit there's no grass, no statue of Rizal, no balloon selling man, no happy families. They were all women, huddled together exchanging stories, pictures, manicures, pedicures and all other girl stuff.
This is where I'd get my "Filipino Fix" whenever I was in Hong Kong.
Since last year, I've been in and out of Hong Kong more often than I used to. Most of the time, it was for work, and that meant dealing with Australians and Chinese all the time. Needless to say, on weekends, I'd crave for the familiar tagalog dialect and the animated way the Pinoys would talk.
So instinctively, I went over to Victoria Harbour every Sunday. Lo and behold, there were fewer Pinoys than I was accustomed to. Now, there was a merry mix of nationalities camped around the area; Indonesians, Arabs, the Caucasian Tourists, and the Falun Gong activists.
Week after week after week, i'd come back hoping to see and hear the ruckus that I got so used to. But no, they were gone.
Each time I'd go back to Hong Kong, I'd wonder where did they go. Wandering around Victoria Park, I saw a lot of Pinoy looking people camped out, but upon closer scrutiny, they were speaking Bahasa Indonesia. As it turns out, that was the "Indonesian Territory."
This made me wonder: "Where could the Pinoy Territory be?"
Yesterday, I was recovering from a panic-buying attack at the Zara outlet in IFC. Since it was built and since Zara moved in, that place has been like a second home for me. With bags and bags of shirts in my hand, I thought of trying to figure out what life is like after the IFC Mall. So I decided to traverse the walkway from IFC to Shun Tak Center.
When I stepped out IFC One, a familiar sight caught my eye. Groups of women laying out plastic mats and cardboard boxes. Then a familiar sound: gleeful conversations in tagalog. This combination made my heart pound faster, and the familiar "kaching-ching" sound ring in my head.
I found it! I found the new Pinoy Territory!
There they were: reading Yes! Magazines and Filipino pocketbooks. Most of them were partaking in lunch composed of a chinese noodle take-out box complemented by a bucket of KFC. Some were checking out new stuff in the Natasha catalogue. Others were playing pusoy and tong-its. Still others were writing letters, making calls, trying desperately to make contact with the family they left back in the Philippines.
Milling around all the Pinays were Chinese hawkers. They were selling everything from blouses to jeans, from perfume to make up, from cell cards to SIM cards, and whatever could catch the Pinay's fancy (including Louis Vuitton knock offs!) At that point, I couldn't help but be amazed how entrepreneurial the Chinese are. They see a market, they feel the demand, and they go ahead and sell. No wonder a lot of the businesses now are driven by the Chinese. But I digress...
Following the trail of Filipinos, I ended up near the Eurotrade center. More Filipinos were there, fixing the balikbayan boxes they were sending back home. I spied on them as they filled the boxes, and it was a hodge-podge of Giordano and Bossini shirts, used handbags, plush toys, chocolates, and other things that would qualify as "pasalubong."
A few blocks further and I hit the jackpot. The motherlode. The pinnacle of Pinoyness.
I found Jollibee.
Ask all my friends and they'll tell you that I'm a Jollibee-dependent. I'm a Jollibee-addict. Jollibee is my oxygen. Jollibee runs through my veins. Jollibee...well...you get it.
I can't believe that after going in and out of Hong Kong for more than a decade, this is the first time I'm seeing the Jollibee outlet here. (There used to be 3 outlets, sadly, the other 2 closed down, leaving the Euro Trade branch the last surviving one.)
Unlike the massive, well-decorated stores in the Philippines and California, the Jollibee outlet in Hong Kong was very modest. The seating capacity was about 120, two small counters, not-too-nice interiors -- it was some sort of a disappointment. But despite the store's shortcomings, it was full to the rafters. All seats were taken, the queues were unbelievably long, people were waiting for other people to finish so they can sit down (very CASAA), and there was the usual ruckus that Pinoys make.
Needless to say, everyone in the store was Pinoy. Like me, I reckon that eating here is another way for us Pinoys to reconnect with their home country. To eat a familiar tasting burger. To smell the "Langhap-Sarap" goodness of Jollibee. (Believe me, you can smell the Chicken Joy from a block away.)
I wanted to eat there, but it was just unbearably full. Even if I decided to wait, it would at least be an hour before a seat would be available. No, my stomach couldn't wait THAT long. So I decided to have lunch near Causeway Bay.
While eating lunch at this hole in the wall Chinese restaurant where Joseph and I had dinner the week before, there was a satisfied smile on my face. Not because of the food, but because of what transpired in the morning: It was a successful Pinoy hunt.
After lunch, I proceeded to the MTR station and went back to the side of Hong Kong which was dominated by the Hong Kong people themselves. I'm going back to my hotel that I share with Spanish, Europeans and other Caucasian tourists.
But i'm coming home to that hotel glad. Because now I know that if ever I feel homesick, or if i'm simply craving for a familiar face and language, there's always IFC and Euro Trade to go to.
I've finally found that little piece of the Philippines.
Roland once told me that I should work for the DFA. When we toured around Europe, the first thing I looked for were Filipinos. Once, in Paris, he was busy looking at the inverted pyramid at the Louvre, and I was busy looking at a Filipino family having their pictures taken by the fountain.
Whenever I'd see anyone who looked remotely Filipino, first instinct is to skeedadle on over and try to eavesdrop in their conversation. And I they did speak Filipino, a mental jackpot sound (the one that goes: kaching-ching-ching!) rings in my head. Strangely, though, that's where the entire process stops. Rarely do I talk to them, or even tell them that I'm a Filipino. (This is the tricky part because I don't look like a Filipino. But I'll get to that later.) As the saying goes: "The thrill is in the hunt," and I'm happy just hunting for them.
Hong Kong is not a hard place to find Filipinos. Droves of Filipino women are in Hong Kong working as domestics, bringing in much needed dollars to our economy. When I was younger and we'd visit Kowloon on weekends, I was always amazed how so many Filipinas would camp out by Victoria Harbour on Sundays. It was like Luneta, albeit there's no grass, no statue of Rizal, no balloon selling man, no happy families. They were all women, huddled together exchanging stories, pictures, manicures, pedicures and all other girl stuff.
This is where I'd get my "Filipino Fix" whenever I was in Hong Kong.
Since last year, I've been in and out of Hong Kong more often than I used to. Most of the time, it was for work, and that meant dealing with Australians and Chinese all the time. Needless to say, on weekends, I'd crave for the familiar tagalog dialect and the animated way the Pinoys would talk.
So instinctively, I went over to Victoria Harbour every Sunday. Lo and behold, there were fewer Pinoys than I was accustomed to. Now, there was a merry mix of nationalities camped around the area; Indonesians, Arabs, the Caucasian Tourists, and the Falun Gong activists.
Week after week after week, i'd come back hoping to see and hear the ruckus that I got so used to. But no, they were gone.
Each time I'd go back to Hong Kong, I'd wonder where did they go. Wandering around Victoria Park, I saw a lot of Pinoy looking people camped out, but upon closer scrutiny, they were speaking Bahasa Indonesia. As it turns out, that was the "Indonesian Territory."
This made me wonder: "Where could the Pinoy Territory be?"
Yesterday, I was recovering from a panic-buying attack at the Zara outlet in IFC. Since it was built and since Zara moved in, that place has been like a second home for me. With bags and bags of shirts in my hand, I thought of trying to figure out what life is like after the IFC Mall. So I decided to traverse the walkway from IFC to Shun Tak Center.
When I stepped out IFC One, a familiar sight caught my eye. Groups of women laying out plastic mats and cardboard boxes. Then a familiar sound: gleeful conversations in tagalog. This combination made my heart pound faster, and the familiar "kaching-ching" sound ring in my head.
I found it! I found the new Pinoy Territory!
There they were: reading Yes! Magazines and Filipino pocketbooks. Most of them were partaking in lunch composed of a chinese noodle take-out box complemented by a bucket of KFC. Some were checking out new stuff in the Natasha catalogue. Others were playing pusoy and tong-its. Still others were writing letters, making calls, trying desperately to make contact with the family they left back in the Philippines.
Milling around all the Pinays were Chinese hawkers. They were selling everything from blouses to jeans, from perfume to make up, from cell cards to SIM cards, and whatever could catch the Pinay's fancy (including Louis Vuitton knock offs!) At that point, I couldn't help but be amazed how entrepreneurial the Chinese are. They see a market, they feel the demand, and they go ahead and sell. No wonder a lot of the businesses now are driven by the Chinese. But I digress...
Following the trail of Filipinos, I ended up near the Eurotrade center. More Filipinos were there, fixing the balikbayan boxes they were sending back home. I spied on them as they filled the boxes, and it was a hodge-podge of Giordano and Bossini shirts, used handbags, plush toys, chocolates, and other things that would qualify as "pasalubong."
A few blocks further and I hit the jackpot. The motherlode. The pinnacle of Pinoyness.
I found Jollibee.
Ask all my friends and they'll tell you that I'm a Jollibee-dependent. I'm a Jollibee-addict. Jollibee is my oxygen. Jollibee runs through my veins. Jollibee...well...you get it.
I can't believe that after going in and out of Hong Kong for more than a decade, this is the first time I'm seeing the Jollibee outlet here. (There used to be 3 outlets, sadly, the other 2 closed down, leaving the Euro Trade branch the last surviving one.)
Unlike the massive, well-decorated stores in the Philippines and California, the Jollibee outlet in Hong Kong was very modest. The seating capacity was about 120, two small counters, not-too-nice interiors -- it was some sort of a disappointment. But despite the store's shortcomings, it was full to the rafters. All seats were taken, the queues were unbelievably long, people were waiting for other people to finish so they can sit down (very CASAA), and there was the usual ruckus that Pinoys make.
Needless to say, everyone in the store was Pinoy. Like me, I reckon that eating here is another way for us Pinoys to reconnect with their home country. To eat a familiar tasting burger. To smell the "Langhap-Sarap" goodness of Jollibee. (Believe me, you can smell the Chicken Joy from a block away.)
I wanted to eat there, but it was just unbearably full. Even if I decided to wait, it would at least be an hour before a seat would be available. No, my stomach couldn't wait THAT long. So I decided to have lunch near Causeway Bay.
While eating lunch at this hole in the wall Chinese restaurant where Joseph and I had dinner the week before, there was a satisfied smile on my face. Not because of the food, but because of what transpired in the morning: It was a successful Pinoy hunt.
After lunch, I proceeded to the MTR station and went back to the side of Hong Kong which was dominated by the Hong Kong people themselves. I'm going back to my hotel that I share with Spanish, Europeans and other Caucasian tourists.
But i'm coming home to that hotel glad. Because now I know that if ever I feel homesick, or if i'm simply craving for a familiar face and language, there's always IFC and Euro Trade to go to.
I've finally found that little piece of the Philippines.
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