B(itch) and M(own): Em bek, from outer space.

There is an old adage that goes something like this, things get real crappy before they get better. Right.
This is what coming home to Manila feels like.
Like falling out of the fiftieth floor of a building,
face first on concrete,
then getting up all messed up
to go back to work.

It hit me while being in Narita watching all the Pinoys stand and line up to board the plane when seat numbers were being called. We were the only race clogging up a boarding gate and the only people the nice Japanese airport crew had to police and traffic to stop blocking the rest of the walkway.
It was funny and annoying at the same time.
I slept through the entire last leg of my flight home (read: avoidance) and
then, waking up only as the plane slowly descended onto the decrepit Ninoy Aquino International Airport landing strip, I finally just let my heart break.
I’m home, I thought.
Shit, I’m home.
Potah.

And sulking and jetlag — not a good mix.
I spent my first day back, wandering around and puttering about like a zombie, eating many Filipino things, sleeping at odd hours.
It was not a pretty sight.
I managed to reply to two friends who texted me about my being back and hibernated from everyone else.
I get it. (read: how a place can kill someone)
I have confirmed it too, what I want. (read: how you can want and then leave a place before it kills you)

I hoped I wouldn’t have to go through this but I am.
Like I said, I guess it gets ugly before I stop resenting being here and not there.
I mean, I remember being excited to come home (read: refer to previous entries)
So I am caught a little off guard by this sadness. (I vowed I wouldn’t ever complain since I did so viciously after coming home from a trip to New York years ago. It was boring and unbecoming. LOL)
This time, I thought I was really okay leaving NYC and my sis (gulp!) and friends, and that other life that I hope to have in a few years. I was so freaking hopeful and doe-eyed.
Yet yesterday, just being back in Manila managed to suck the life out of me.
I was so unhappy, I was catatonic.
I was so mayabang pa to S. Don’t worry, I told her. I’ll help you out of your Leaving-NYC funk. Come on! Let’s be positive and all that shit. It’s all good, I said.
Little did I know, I’d be swimming in my own bluesy marinade of withdrawal symptoms and separation anxiety to even ask how her first day back went. I was afraid I would fall apart if I had asked her, so I just watched old seasons of “Desperate Housewives” for hours between Pinoy snacks to kill time and numb the pain. LOL.

Mr. Wallace was a gem though. He followed me around and sat and slept beside me, wherever I was, whatever time. He suffered through seeing Teri Hatcher’s botoxed face with me too. I think he is trying to make sure I don’t bolt for anywhere anytime soon.
Aww, I missed you too, Mr. Marsellus.

Anyway, I’m thinking today is another day.
I let meself sulk and feel like crap for one day and I’ve decided that it has got to stop.
I promised to make the most of everything wherever I am and I intend to uphold that promise.
So many things are different now, so it’s not a mere meshing into old routines to feel better. It is also living in and loving Manila a certain way this time around (while I am still here) precisely because I now re-know what is out there; what I will soon have. I can’t take this time for granted.
Does that make sense?

Anyway, I have a plan and I hope it works.
It involves going home to my apartment after spending a little more time with my dad, unpacking, putting things away, purging, doing grocery, signing up for unlimited yoga in Pulse for a month, doing some prelimenary work for inservice, bringing the cat to the VET, looking at the documents for my IB workshop in September, backing up my pictures and spending a lot of time for thanksgiving for a truly wonderful trip that I wished never had to end. Sigh. I miss my sis.

Well, thanks for listening.
I tried not to b and m, really.
But it caught me by surprise too.
Boo!
Hhmm…it ends here though.
After I eat this pancit.

grateful slice: acknowledging something icky, to honor it, then being able to let it go so we can all move on. (oh and for Mr. Wallace. He has been the best)

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