Goodbye Makati, Hello Parañaque!

I've moved so many times in my life. From Fairview, the place where I grew up, to move to Makati, where I decided to work. When my parents could afford it, they bought my sister a condo. Eventually, I moved in with my sister and stayed in the smaller room. When my father died, my sister and I couldn't help the fact that my mom was alone in our house in Fairview, so we decided to adopt her. The next few years would be difficult. I was no longer used to being with my family. A few years later, I moved out of the condo and rented a place for myself. I stayed there for more than a year until we decided to sell our house in Fairview. My mom and my sister got themselves a brand new condo in Parañaque, Roxas Boulevard. It was too big for two small women. Three bedrooms, an extra room (if we had help, but we don't), three rest rooms, two parking spaces alloted for us - it was big and even I didn't live there with them.

I stayed in our Makati condo. Until, of course, the break-in. I decided that staying there was no longer worth it. My safety was far valuable than the privacy that I cherished for so long. So, I started packing up, again. I've moved so many times that I already know what to bring first and what to box. I initially bought 5 Balikbayan Boxes and realized yesterday that it was not enough, but I have two weeks to go before everything would be done. At least I've already defrosted the refrigerator and removed all plugs from the sockets. The clothes that I regularly wear and the items which I need for work have already been transferred to the Parañaque condo and I've decided to just leave all the other boxes in Makati until we get a buyer.

68 sq. m. 2 bedrooms. 1 parking space. Alright, that's enough advertising.

Hard to let go of the place. I love my freedom. I love my individuality. Not that I'm saying that I don't love living with my mom and sis. It's something I could get used to. Besides, there's a gym on the 2nd floor which I can take advantage of, until we have the money to purchase a new property. Now, where do I want to live next?

Privacy

I keep to myself most often than not and allow only a few to come a few inches near my personal bubble. I don't enjoy crowded spaces unless I'm surrounded by several girls from the mansion of Hugh Hefner. And when I'm at home, I expect my privacy to be respected - even my mom doesn't have all the keys to the condo.

On December 9, between 7:30 to 8:30 p.m. my personal space, the privacy that I've been protecting has been desecrated.

I just finished watching a tv show in my macbook pro when I decided to finally take a bath, go to Starbucks and have my usual sunday night coffee. That didn't happen, of course. A few hours later, I found myself talking to the local police and some investigators while their men search the house for fingerprints. It looked like watching CSI, but to be seeing it from the point of view of one of the actors is pushing it, really.

Anyway, as I went out of the room I saw my football boots on top of the counter and the main door was ajar. Quickly, I rushed out - not thinking that the miscreants may still be around - and saw the window leading to another rest room inside my house had been broken. The sliding panels and the steel grills had been removed.

I found myself shouting at the top of my lungs. I had no problem there, I was in the choir for so many years - my voice echoed throughout the building and the tenants of my building quickly rushed to my aid. I called up my mom and sis to inform them of what had happened and called my partners telling them that I might not be able to go to one of our meetings.

While my neighbors gathered outside my house, I quickly took a glance at what had been missing from the house. I lost four thousand pesos, my SSS and driver's license that were stuck in between the money clip. My house keys were taken as well, including one credit card and one ATM card, which I immediately canceled. My PSP was taken as well. Thank God I didn't leave my mobile nor my newly-acquired iPod Touch! But the worst of all (really, this was the one that pissed me off) they also got a ceramic bowl with all the coins that I didn't want to keep in my pockets! I don't even know how much the coins are worth, probably five hundred pesos or more even, but that thing is just way too heavy. Sheesh. What a bunch of idiots. There are so many things one can get from my place and then they get that instead.

Good thing I didn't decide to go out of the room when all of that happened. I wouldn't know what I would've done. Throw a chair at them? Go get the short and dull samurai sword hanging behind the door and see how much blood comes out of them? Scream like a girl? Hell, I'm just smiling now because my life has been spared.

But to think that they got so near to me ...

Now, I'm already thinking about packing up my bags and going to my mom's house for the remainder of the year. It's going to be moving out day soon. It's also a good thing that we've already made the last payment for the condo. I'm thinking of selling it quick and get to a much safer place. I don't know how long that will take but as long as I'm safe - that's all that matters.

I can't sleep now and for the first time it's not the coffee. In fact, at the time that I'm writing this, I can smell the full roast of hazelnut beans coming from my coffee machine. Thank God they didn't think about stealing that!

I'm fine. But this is one of those nights that I truly feel that I'm alone.

Do you live on Maginhawa Street?

No, I don't. In fact, I live more than 10 kilometers away, in a 65 square meter, two bedroom condo unit in Makati. I don't have to pay rent because I own it, but I have to pay association dues, electricity and water bills, and then some to live comfortably. You could say that I already am living in Maginhawa Street, but there are those who wander in that area that are far from it.

My workday begins behind the wheel as I drive to pick-up Judith, who lives in Cainta, Rizal and we're bound to arrive in Chubby's place a little after lunchtime. Judith, my copywriter, Creative Director and Chief Executive Officer all rolled into one, was already hungry and we decided to stop in a small restaurant in Maginhawa street, a few blocks away from Chubby's house.

Combi was our all-time favorite dinner place when we would end the working day but since we started working in Chubby's house we've never had the opportunity to go back. While our orders were taken a young girl dressed in a worn-out blue and white school uniform came to our table, which was outside the restaurant. She was selling cigarettes that were inside a small plastic container, but Judith and I were already lighting our own cigarettes. I waved my hand to inform her that we weren't interested in what she was selling.

The girl stayed nearby, inspecting the life-sized plastic skeleton that was on display in front of the restaurant. It was then that I asked Judith if she had any spare change because I never carry any in my pockets. We called the young girl back to our table and bought several pesos worth of candies instead. I noticed that the cigarette brands she was selling was written over the plastic container she was holding and the brand that I was smoking was misspelled. "Winton," I said. "Kulang ng 's'," I added.

She smiled and the pair of dimples on her cheeks broke my heart. Judith, being fond of writing instruments, quickly handed the young girl with a marker so that she could correct the mistake. And that's when we started asking her why she wasn't in school even if she was wearing her school uniform.

"Walang baon, eh," she replied.

The young girl continued to answer our other questions even if she tried to avoid them, but in a matter of minutes she was already telling us how scary it would be if the skeleton that was on display were made out of real bones. And while Judith kept on talking to her, I felt scared of how grave the situation was.

Only a few days ago I was listening to a radio talk show and they were discussing how many school children fail to proceed to the school level. And one of the main causes was that they lack the money to buy food. No money, no allowance, no food. You certainly can't teach someone who's hungry, right?

I believe in the value of education and even if I've been working for more than ten years, I still try to find ways to educate myself. If I had enough money and time I would like to go back to school. I would consider myself lucky for having been gifted with a curiosity that enables me to learn and a family that who values education. Until now, I still in the process of learning, from my mentors, my partners and everyone who has something to teach me anything new. But today, the young girl I met on Maginhawa has taught me more than what my teachers could teach me in a year.

"This is the kind of pro-bono that I would like to do," I told Judith. "This is the kind of cause that would be worth doing." Judith knew what I was talking about and before I could say anything more, her pen was up and she handed me a copy of an ad that I was already thinking about. I gave my approval as she asked me who do we sell the idea to.

I've done pro-bono work for Caritas and Gabriela before when I was still employed, but this time I realized that I didn't want to do this for any institution. "It's going to be unbranded," I told Judith. "Where's the call to action?" She asked me.

Money can only go as far as end of one's pockets. "There isn't any. This is it." Sometimes I wish I had a foundation to my name that would help solve this problem, but I don't.

It had become personal. "This ad is my call to action. The copy you've placed there is yours. Whoever is going to help us produce it has answered that call to action." I said simply.

I'm an ad man and my talents can only go so far as to bring awareness to the situation. And while I'm used to just reading of the situation behind a newspaper or an advertising brief to come up with an ad to help raise funds for a non-government organization I am now placing a face to the statistic.

And while it is a beautiful face, it didn't belong on Maginhawa Street.

When I realized what had to be done, I quickly reached into the pockets of my bag to get my camera which was equipped with a video recording component. But I was too late. The young girl was already gone. I went across the street and asked the employees of another restaurant if they had seen me talking to young girl with the description I had given them. They informed me that she lived a few blocks away in a place they called Krus na Ligas and told me that she regularly made her rounds in the area.

The information gave me some hope of seeing the young girl again, but I felt disappointed. An opportunity presented itself and I missed it, completely. "You're tired, Sam," Judith told me. "That's not an excuse," I replied.

We're so lucky, so blessed with what we have that we take everything for granted. We're rewarded for our brilliance, given recognition and yet we complain how tired we are for doing so much when in fact we haven't really done a lot. And then here's a young girl who's learning to peddle cigarettes so that she could start to learn - and I wish that she wouldn't learn to sell something else in order to have food on the table.

Their lives are far simpler than ours but we live in a more comfortable lifestyle in comparison. It's ironic that those who dwell around the street of Maginhawa never have it so easy.

As soon as the work day ended, I drove around the area once more. I tried to familiarize myself where Krus na Ligas was. I promised myself that I would try to find the girl again. It was the least that I could do because I know that what I was planning would never be enough. Today, I missed an opportunity to do something worthy of my gifts and talents. I swear, this will not happen again.

Eleven

I've recently started running again. Three times a week, nightly, at the Salcedo Park. I haven't gotten any real physical activity of late since resigning from being an employee and there are advantages of being self-employed. I don't have to wake up just in time to be earlier than the boss, in fact, I don't even have to be on time for anything.

I had so much time that I spend it needlessly on other pursuits I might as well make it productive. I have gained weight - not a lot, but enough that people notice. So, a few weeks ago, I got my old pair of cross trainers and ran. Thirty minutes tops. That's just about enough I could take for someone as old as I am.

I run at night - the cold air is a natural coolant for the body and besides I really sweat a lot. My old pair of shoes need to be replaced, just as soon as I maintain my schedule. I've been on it for three weeks now and it feels refreshing. And just to make things interesting I purchase a futsal-sized football to aid my exercise.

The thing is, that I easily get tired. I'm not used to long-distance running. I should be, since I play football but I'm more used to sprinting. My running pace isn't stable - I sprint, I brisk-walk, I run, I walk, I sprint and I do it over and over again. Until I'm bored. That's my problem, I get bored easily with the routine.

The ball helps. It keeps up with my ever-changing pace of running, walking, sprinting after the ball as it bounces of from the gutter. I would've stayed out until 12 midnight but the rain was worsening. From eleven to eleven-thirty, I passed the ball to the gutter. Not so much of a challenge, right? Sometimes I wish I could easily find a team to play with me at 11 p.m., but who does play at that ungodly hour?

Well, who knows? Maybe a varsity player for a women's college football team lives around the area and would take pity on a lonely man with a ball at eleven o'clock in the evening.

Never

So, how long has it been? Almost a year, I know and I'll never forget. You know how you can remember things and how exact and precise the moment was? It may not seem important at the time, but when you find yourself down memory lane you'll remember everything that you need to remember.

Sometimes I wish I could forget easily. Sometimes I wish I could forgive just as easily as I could forget. The problem is, I don't. We're a very forgiving people, that's our fault and our loss, as well. And people don't seem to take it seriously. Saying sorry has become an available commodity these days, and it has become as common as saying 'I love you.'

On a personal note, I really don't find it hard to say that I'm sorry. Really. I mean every word that I say when I know that I really am. But more often than not, I know I don't have to apologize for my actions. Now, why is that? It's simple, really. I see things in black and white. There are no gray areas for me. Sounds too drastic, right? Yeah, I know, but by acknowledging my flaw doesn't mean I am ready to change for the better. No way. I'd rather stick to my beliefs, swallow the only pride I have left and stand against the bunch of sorry asses who claim to be righteous. There. See, my middle finger is standing up as well.

I'm not afraid to lose everything. It makes me remember how fragile life is. I'm not afraid of showing what it is like to be human. It makes me remember how important it is to feel. Whether it be love or hate, or even both, one has to learn how to feel and accept why some people cannot forgive easily. We've turned our children into zombies, telling them that ill feelings are unacceptable. That's half of your life shunned away from you.

That's why I can never forgive nor forget. It's been a year and I've never forgotten. I will also never forgive. I wonder how revenge tastes like? I suppose that when I've tasted it, I will wish that I could never forget how good it tastes.

Paycheck

The last time I set foot inside an office as an employed individual was April 13. It was days after when I received my last paycheck and I have been living off it for months. It was one of those Sundays when I was having lunch with my mom when she asked me if I still had money. And I told her that I was already losing money the moment I stepped out of the doors of my former office. My mom is used to my sarcasm, thank God she's brilliant.

Everyone assumed that I would be jumping ship, off to another ad agency whether here or abroad. I simply told them that I'm taking a long vacation, there were things that I needed and wanted to do. It was one of the best excuses I've ever told, in fact I was just preparing myself for the next step, the route that I've always wanted to take which was never presented to me.

It occurred to me, of course, that there were some things in life that were never meant to happen. "If it's not one thing, it could be another." Most people would easily move on, I'd do the same, but I never forget these things that happen in my life. No, let me be honest - I will never forget these things, no matter how painful or painless these things become. It makes me remember why I am doing what I'm doing and instills in me a higher purpose of what seems insignificant to some.

Only a few live their lives this way. Everyone else wants to live life the easy way. Me? I don't want to. Why? Because my life is a testament of what my father and my father's father has gone through in life. My life is proof of my ... greatness. Yes. That's the word that I was looking for. Not success, greatness. Hey, if you're only going to dream, why do you have to settle with something you can easily achieve, right? I'm going for broke. And speaking of which: as far as yesterday was concerned, I've received my first paycheck.

It is a fraction of what I used to earn, but working for it was worth it. I've never been happier compared to all the days that I've lined up in the automated teller just to see how much I've received from half a month's worth of work. I can allow myself to smile even for a bit, knowing full well that I and my partners have to work much harder. Then again, that in itself is another reason to smile.

Before leaving our place of work, my creative partner Judith was playing an old song by Cyndi Lauper, "Money Changes Everything." I find myself singing to the lyrics as I held the check in my hands. There's more from where that came from.

Just a thought

You know you're alone when you realize that you're missing the company of a particular individual. Other than that, you're just on your own.

Self-fulfillment

When was the last time you did something for yourself?

I happen to belong to a creative shop in Manila. And for more than a decade, I've churned nothing but crap. Okay. That's cruel. 90 percent of what I do is absolute crap. One percent is the stuff that has been produced. And nine percent are the ones that never get to see the light of day.

I was a young adman when I was taught that there are three types of people you have to please with your work: your boss, your peers and the people judging your work. For the past decade, I've been doing just that. A few of my best work has seen some glitter but now all I come up with is pure 100% crap.

I had coffee with my good friend, Arnold Arre and his wife Cynthia and the topic of creating his next piece came up. He confesses that he is having a hard time thinking about his next book - fearing that it will get him unwanted and invalidated criticism. And this is exactly the kind of pressure we go through everytime our pencils leave the once-empty piece of paper.

Are my ideas sound enough? Is it strategic? Will my boss love me for that campaign? Will my peers be envious that I came up with it first? Will the judges go gaga over it? A thousand other questions flood our minds when it should only be focused on doing the work, accomplishing the task at hand.

When Arnold began his first piece of work, the only thing he had in mind was to create a comic book of his own. He had loads of fun with it. And he cared little of the criticism of others except for the people whom he respected. In 1999, Mythology Class won Best Comic Book in the 19th Manila Critics Circle National Book Awards. He never expected it, of course. And now, his followers expect so much more.

Why don't you go back to how it first started, I tell him. "When you did your first piece, you never thought about what your peers will say or what the critics will write about your work. Do it that way then. With the purest of thought, with no intention other than creating what you think is true." We go around in circles, getting ourselves out of the rut, when the only thing we need to do is travel in one straight line.

Remove the barriers - those that hinder us from compromising our work so that the only thing that we can think about is the work that we want to do, the work that makes us happy, keeps us in our seats and tables until the work is done. The work that we're proud to show off. The work that overshadows the ninety percent of crap that we do everyday. The one percent that makes us fulfilled, that gives hope to the nine percent of good ideas that it may still see the light of day.

Don't do it for anyone else but yourself. Who do you consider your peers anyway, when you want to stand out from the rest? Why do you submit yourself to criticism when you should be your own worst critic?

I tell myself this, too. That's why I write. And I write with so much passion that it helps burn the midnight oil. It is this one thought in my mind: because I'm doing it for myself, that helps me wake up every morning and keeps me glued to my computer looking at a blank page hoping to fill it up with words that mirrors my own beliefs.

This is what all individuals hope to achieve: self-fulfillment. At the end of the day, don't you want to say to yourself, that you did it with your own hands? I do. I believe in man's individual achievement. And I hope to elevate it to a point where I can look up at it and find inspiration in it. I will be envious of it and like all other individuals, I will hope to hold it in my own hands.

Count Your Blessings

Who wouldn't appreciate this particular cliché? A lot of hopeless people do. And we, a people who've seen so much anxiety and depression, seem to embrace it without thinking of the consequences of surrendering our dreams into oblivion.

Is it wrong to dream and hope for better things? Is it wrong to try to achieve something which cannot be reached? Is it wrong to think about lofty ideas? If I dream, hope and wish for something worthwhile than all of this - should I allow the world to brand me a fool?

Should I give up then and just allow the fates to deliver what is intended for me then? Lazily waiting for the apple to fall inside my mouth? Pathetic. So, why should I count my blessings? I already have thanked the powers that be for giving me such valuable gifts. I have been rewarded on the hard work that I've done, but I always want more. I know I deserve more.

I count on the things I have yet to receive. Am I asking too much then - knowing how big the disappointment can get if I don't receive what is due me? So what. I'd rather be rewarded well than not be rewarded at all. It would be impossible for me to be completely happy if I had compromised.

So, if some idiot tells you to count your blessings, just lie about how happy you are and thank them. They don't know any better and wish for nothing more but what is given to them.