Fire & Rach

December 31, 2006, 5pm, Quezon City– The year is almost over, its best to end it on a happy note. I got up late again, thankfully, before highnoon. Quickly got done most of the things I had to do, just to free some quiet time for later, but I know that there will always be more things to do. Count on it. I do.

My mom is like a locomotor, thinking up things to do, actually, for me to do. She wanted the fish taken out of the freezer to thaw, but she also saw prawns in there, so she also had that taken out. She was giving me some sketchy instructions on how to prepare them for later. Knowing my mom, she has never clocked in enough time in the kitchen to be able to whip up a decent meal. I instinctively knew, she was way over her head with her impromptu prawn recipe. I had to put my foot down. I asked her to make up her mind on what she wants me to do first.

My dad is in his own world, like taking his own sweet time. Its like he has nowhere to go and no one is waiting for him. He finishes taking a bath after lunchtime, plops himself in front of the table without bothering to dry himself and asks whats for lunch. I had to run up the stairs to get him a towel.

My sister wakes up after my mom & dad left the house and quickly rattles on what my mom forgot to do and left her to do. I make myself scarce, I dont want to get caught in the crossfire. She worries about the twelve kinds of fruits for the traditional midnight meal centerpiece. I say theres plenty of apples, she says they have to be different kinds. I throw her a blank expression.

My only goal is to get to mass before the neighbors start with the fireworks display.  I am determined to keep a positive disposition and not let negativity get in the way.

I never liked goodbyes and putting a period on anything. I dont like the finality of it. I like working on something and keep on making revisions, improvements, retouches and whatnots. I dont put everything in one go, I go back and make small revisions. Step back and tinker again and again. This is my nature.

I dont make final decisions. I always reserve the right to change my mind on anything. I am not a commitment-phobic, because I do commit to some causes and people. I like giving second-chances and making several attempts. But I bear grudges for long periods of time and I dont forgive easily.

Thats what I do, this is who I am. Its a nice place to start another year. I figure, I am not putting an end to a time in my life, I am just continuing what I have been doing for a year already. Time is not years and minutes, its a continuum. Although you cant go back, you can make corrections as you move ahead. I get to pick on my life in the days to come and hopefully, I will get some thing right this year.

Who knows? In the meantime, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Early this morning, my chat friends and I were talking about this one particular guy whom we had tagged as the sexiest in the group. It brought to my mind a pillow given to me by someone from way, way back. It says SEXIEST MAN IN THE WORLD with a caricature of a hunk flexing his biceps.

Since the pillow was supposed to be the giver’s personal pillow when he was at my house, and yeah, he did say that it was a remembrance of sorts, I had always thought that it referred to him. Of course, he was a little on the heavy side and he isnt that tall. But since it was his nature to draw attention to himself, I just took for granted that the title was supposed to pertain to him.

It just never occurred to me that someone could think of me that way. I never thought of myself as sexy. I’m reed thin and small. Whatever I thought of as remotely sexy in my body, I cover with oversized clothes and baggy pants. Back in the 80s, padded shoulders and loose clothings were fashionable. It was en vogue to cover your shortcomings in geometric designs and loud colors.

Besides, I dont believe in those words. Being the best in something physical does not equate to excellence, at least not in my book.  Its more the result of lucky genetics and happenstance, rather than a product of hard work or mental exertion. I know thats not exactly true. Some people labored hard and long in the gyms just to be able to flash those rippling muscles and washboard abs. I know, I have seen them. Whether they do so to admire the fruits of their labor or to solicit admirations, I really dont care.

I’d rather that you tell me the last book you’ve read.

I must really be from a different world. Or I live in a totally different one than where I am physically at. I feel more at home with Shrek and Kim Possible than with a bunch of guys from Baywatch or The Contender.  I’d probably make friends faster with Ursula, the evil witch of the seven seas, than with a hunk from Melrose Place.

Of course, you could say that I sometimes act as if I think I’m one. Guilty as charged, I do unbutton my shirt almost all the way when it gets too hot inside the danceclub. Its more because I like the way the clothes move and sway and maybe because I also like the lines and the form of a dancing body (which happens to be mine).  My badminton clothes tend to be tight fitting at times, but only because I need the mobility.

Oh what the heck, hey, I like to look good, too, sometimes.  But sexy? Or be the sexiest among a group? I would never think of myself in those terms, not in a million years. Too much ego and competition seemed to be involved in that scenario. 

Although it would be nice to be told that I still look good, despite the years.  I slaved at the gym at times when I’m good. I’d pass up on the occasional desserts and the thirst-quenching, cold, tall glass of iced tea. I deserve some praises for the effort. 

But if I were to choose between the sexiest man alive and the common guy on the street, I think I would rather give the latter a second look. I’d look like trash beside the sexiest man alive who would be busy checking himself out in the mirror.  In which case, I dont think I’d enjoy that.

But really, me sexy? Get outtahere.