It's official: my Happiness is Authentic

Ewan ko na sa 'yo, pero ako masaya.

I took the Authentic Happiness test and I scored a 3.58 out of a possible 5.

Beat that.

(I cannot believe I am being competitive about my personal state of happiness.)

Now take the test yourself and see how you score.

The Posts I Never Posted

I write out stuff that goes through my head. Sometimes they become posts, most times they remain drafts; unfinished ideas that just hang there. Here are a few of those that ended up on the cutting room floor....

My second name is Paz

My aunt Paz died not two months before I was born. My parents say she had a great sense of humour, dark curly hair and a distinct laugh; pig-headed and funny.


WARNING: This is a highly INANE post.

As I tossed the empty cardboard egg container into the bin, I made a mental note to go to the grocery and pick up more eggs. And beer. We're down to one Tsing Tao and the free Heineken which came in the gift basket. And I need OJ. And frozen siomai.

15 minutes later I leave the apartment for the 20 step walk to the grocery, dreading every step. I've always wondered why people like going grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping. It is just like any errand, it's an obligation. Something someone else can do for you (not unlike paying a credit card bill.) Unfortunately, I am in HK and my groceries are paltry so I don't qualify for home delivery. (And then there's the fact that I live two buildings away from the grocery.)


Sige na nga...

Have you ever wanted to do something so bad you were compelled to do it? I'm talking about physically-moved-by-an-external-force compelled.

That third beer, that cigarette, those really expensive shoes, that call to someone in the middle of night, going back to and re-reading for the 7th time the two-paragraph e-mail you've wasted an hour drafting. Okay, so maybe only I get that last reference.


Constant Discontent

An old wise man once told me that to succeed in anything I had to have constant discontent. You need to improve, develop, progress, advance. All the time.

I was glad Old Wise One told me about constant discontent when I was young and impressionable. I believed him, and have sort of led my so-called life accordingly. I honestly believe that I can always do better, achieve more. Why content yourself with something, anything you can improve?

To be happy, that's why.

I am on a diet

It is called, for-the-love-of-Christ-Jona-stop-eating-too-much diet. You wouldn't guess it, but I named it myself.

I've been on an eating spree the last month. There were those two weeks in Manila, and then when I got back, more eating with visitors: first Joe, then Kuz, then L. and V. If the actual food intake doesn't get me (i.e. Kuz does not eat), the imbibement of coupious amount of alcoholic beverages will.

This madness has to stop.

I decided to start on Monday which is a good mental starting point. I considered holding off until December 1 (Thursday) since the start of the month would be a more distinct mental starting point than the start of a mere work week, but I kept my focus and started yesterday. Because that's just the kind of disciplined, all about business chick that I am.

They say that writing out what you eat helps you stay honest and keep to your diet. So these are (some of) the things I ate yesterday (Day 1 of FTLOCJSETM Diet):

Breakfast:

2 cups of black coffee (Calories: 0)

Lunch:

Chicken pocket from mix (Calories: 400, that's what it said on the packaging)
Coke Light (Calories: 1; carcinogenic properties: countless)

Dinner No. 1:

isang bandehadong kanin (I exaggerate: it was just one side order of white rice, but in HK, the portions for rice are enormous. In Manila the menu would read, "Good for two") (Calories: 10,867)
two scrambled eggs (Calories: 150, I'm guessing)
5 small pieces of bottled tuyo (Calories: not too many, I hope)
1 Tsing Tao beer

Dinner No. 2: (another cousin in town, "dragged" me to Pacific Place for free dinner)

one piece fancy dimsum
12 pieces tiny sauteed shrimp (I swear, they were tiny)
1 piece (small) meat filled bun
1 sweet (small) bun for dessert
2 (large) glasses of wine

Hmmm.... maybe I should start on December 1. Just so it's a clean start.

I'll be home for Christmas

Today I booked my flight to Manila to spend the holidays with the Parental Units. Another perk about living in HK is that you're only 90 minutes away from home. Even counting the time you wait at the airport, HK is still closer than Baguio.

Aside: The cost of going home at this time though is prohibitive. HK may be closer than Baguio, but a ticket home costs just about the same as a ticket to San Francisco. Business class, but still.

I'm looking forward to seeing friends and family. To attend nightly Christmas parties where you stuff yourself silly with with ham and relleno, drink too much and pretend you actually like your relatives or the people you work(ed) with.

I'm excited to see the lit parols along Granada, the unbelievably tacky Christmas display in Greenhills, the Christmas lights in Makati.

I want to go to midnight mass and smell the incense I am allergic to. (According to my sister I., this is proof positive that I am the Evil One.)

The ticket costs too much, I won't be staying that long, and I'll probably be spending half my time in traffic, but the energy during Christmas time in Manila is definitely worth the effort and the expense.

Ugly Children

Monster had a post a couple of days ago on a spanget (saksakan ng panget) baby she and Trog had the pleasure of sharing a train (or it could have been a bus) with up in Oslo. That post, and the various pictures of severly ugly children on my friends' sites on Friendster got me thinking: bakit dumadami ang panget na bata?

Seriously. Or is it just that my friends' children are really ugly? (Except C and K, of course. C and K are gorgeous children. And P does not count because he is a nephew and is a young Tom Cruise) Feel free to roam my Friendster site if you don't believe me.

When we were kids, we were cute. Well, I dunno about you but I was cute. I wasn't a Gerber baby or a model for a cherubin poster, no. But I was a sturdy sucker, had the apple hair cut and the mischievious grin. Kids now have adult hair cuts are really really thin. What's up with that? When did 4 four year olds start looking like adults? It's not just ugly, it's creepy.

I don't have kids, but I have dozens of nieces and nephews and a handful of godchildren, so I have had some exposure to children. And from my experience with children all I can say is that until they turn 23, there's really not much to talk about. What's your favorite color? Which Pokemon (now Thomas train) character is that? Who do you love more, Mommy or Daddy? All these questions get old really fast.

Kids are meant to be looked at. To be enjoyed visually. They should look healthy, coo (or when they're old enough, smile and laugh that silly laugh kids have). They are meant to symbolize health, growth, development and hapiness. I don't sense that with my friends' kids.

Now go look at those pictures and tell me I'm wrong.

So what'll it be, Hon?

Hardly anyone speaks in English in Hong Kong. No one tells you this when you move here. But it's the sad honest truth. My assistant, S. doubles as my Cantonese coach. She actually just writes stuff out for me (my address, "One order of white rice, please."). I don't understand the logic involved in the inflections of spoken Cantonese, so I've given up trying to learn.

Got home a bit early today, so I walked around the area. Saw a tiny place selling roast goose and duck and my heart broke. Yet another place I can't walk into (without a yellow sticky from S.). But I was hungry and thought, what the hell. The worst thing that can happen is that they won't understand me or I walk out of there with roasted pig's entrails instead of duck (which is not necessarily a bad thing).

I walk up to the lady at the counter. She looks at me and yells, "Hong ching long a ling ding" (or something like that). I guess that was Cantonese for , "So what'll it be, Hon?"

I meekly say, "Hello."

She responds with quizzical look. I get this all the time. Everyone thinks I'm Chinese.

After a couple of seconds she figures out I'm a gweilo and responds with, "Yes? What you order?"

I walked out with a quarter duck (plum sauce on the side, please), and white rice, all with no help from S.

Reasons to live in HK nos. 41-44

Walang lamok.

Walang langgam.

Walang langaw.

Walang unidentifiable random insects.

More youghurt please

I thought these words would never leave my lips, but they did. Today. At lunch.

I gained so much weight during the last two weeks in Manila. For fourteen almost consecutive days I would have a buffet breakfast, an oily lunch, heavy meal-like merienda, dinner and another heavy and oily meal-like midnight snack. It was amazing! It was awful.

Thank God I didn't get my clothes altered!

And what makes matters worse is that a new food store opened in my building. I call it "food store" because it has everything: groceries, meat, seafood, cooked food. Sort of like Unimart but with osso buco you can take away. It is awesome. It will surely make me fat(ter).

So now I try to compensate by eating healthy lunches. Let's see where this goes... (more importantly, let's see how long this lasts)

We'll always have the giant Buddha

After ice cream and live fusion music at the HK Cultural Center, Joe and I recalled our day.

Jona: I thought today was pretty good.
Joe: Orange juice is a diuretic.
Jona: Huh?
Joe: I need to go the bathroom again.

[Runs to the john. Back in 3 minutes.]

Joe: I thought today was great. We'll always have the giant Buddha we didn't see.

x x x

The Buddha at Lantau Island is 40 meters high. It is touted as the biggest outdoor Buddha in the world. It sits atop a steep hill that believers and tourists can access by climbing a long staircase. On a clear day, this is what you are supposed to see:

Like I mentioned in the last post, when we got to the foot of the hill, the smog was so thick, Joe almost got an asthma attack. You could see nothing beyond 5 feet.

Yes, it was that bad.

You don't believe me? Here is a picture of Joe climbing the staicase. That white spot of sky above his head is where big Buddha should be.

When we got to the top, we still could not see a thing. I was really frustated, (not to mention exhausted from the climb) but Joe the optimist would not give up. He insisted on taking my picture "with the Buddha". This is what we came up with:

This picture is actually one of those really creepy pics for two reasons: when this photo was taken, you could not see the Buddha at all; and there was no random guy in the background..... ooohhhh. Seriously, you couldn't see the Buddha. My camera is amazing. It can see through things. Hmmm.....

After the failed Buddha expedition, we took the cable cars back. Jona to Joe, "Under no circumstances are we taking that bus back."

This is what we saw:

We went back to Central and feasted in a Persian restaurant. Thinking we had the energy of the 18 year olds we once were, we hopped on the ferry to go see the Art Musuem. Instead we crashed at Haagen Dazs and pigged out again, walked around the Cultural Center and listened to free live fusion. Exhaustion crept up as we made our way back to Central.

Three hours later we were hungry again and so continued our discussion on politics, movies and ISDA Repurchase Agreements over borscht and pelminis at a Ukranian restaurant near the escalators.

My Weekend With Joe

As I waved Joe off this morning I remembered the dozens of times I'd said goodbye to him in the past. The smug grin was permanent, but I'd seen that with an inverted baseball cap, long hair, a shaved head, a Giordano t-shirt (frog and crest), a business suit.

Joe flew in and landed on my couch a few days ago. He was in dire need of a break and I was in dire need of a housitter. So while I was in Manila finishing off my deal (we closed Friday, yipee!) Joe came by and cleared his head and looked after my flat.

I was back in HK Saturday afternoon and rang the bell to my own apartment. Joe looked great. He'd filled out since the last time I saw him. He's usually skin and bones so filling out is actually a good thing.

I plopped on the couch next to him and we spent the next two and half hours catching up. I told him about the new job, the big move, he told me about the latest fire at work he needed to put out and now wanted to stay away from for a couple of days.

Joe and I go way back. We met as freshmen in college and have stayed in touch since graduation. I went to law school he went to B school. He's a quasi investment banker now (quasi since even he's not impressed with the amount of capital flowing in Manila).

He wanted to go to an Irish bar so I took him to an Irish bar. He had fish and chips, I had bangers and mash. As we watched Fedderer whip Nadal's ass, we talked about college and the people we both knew.

Sample conversation:

Joe: ....what about Eric B? Remember him?
Jona: You mean Batangas Beef B?
Joe: Yep, that's the one.
Jona: Didn't he get married and doesn't he have two kids na? Have you heard from him?
Joe: I heard he's been married twice; no kids.

We went to my favorite bar at Lan Kwai Fong and drank s'more. Joe and I enjoy our beer (he drinks pale ale, I drink cloudy weiss), and enjoy each other's company (partly) for that reason. Over our 7th beer he told me that it had been 8 months since he last spoke to his father. He didn't mention it again. I didn't ask.

Sunday we had breakfast at this 24 hour diner that serves breakfast all day. From behind a newspaper Joe told me that one of his favorite football players got traded. I asked for whom. Without a pause and without moving the paper Joe replied, "he was traded in for a car."

We decided that we'd go see the giant Buddha on Lantau Island. We both agreed it was satisfactorily campy. On the train we noted the "exquisite shipping containers that spotted the HK countryside" and the "hidden Mickey" signs along the freeway.

After half an hour on the train we get on a bus and go through one of the bumpiest rides of our lives. Joe and I get vertigo so at the end of the 50 minute ride we were both in foul moods. Then the fog came in and visibility was zero. We couldn't see a thing. An hour of hairpin curves and bumpy roads all to breathe in toxic fumes and see nothing. To say we were both pissed was an understatement.

More to follow....

While at the random (but nice) Subic resort.....

I took pictures.

Life Lessons from Dad

Pag may ahas, lokohan.

Work smart, don't work hard.

There is no such thing as too much ass kissing.

Do not forget anything. Right before you leave anywhere, have a moment of reflection.

Pray.

Hwag kang mag-aasawa ng may tattoo. (pronounced tato)

Save. Save. Save.

No matter what you do, you cannot sustain that pleasurable light headedness after the third or fourth drink. You will get very drunk and you will feel bad in the morning.

Check that your car doors are locked 18 times before you leave it.

Nap.

Count your change.

Check your boarding pass.

Read constantly.

Take care of your eyesight.

Don't work too hard.

Why I Don't Like Clubs

I don't like clubs or other forms of social aggrupations because they're artificial. In real life there's family, friends and people you know from work. Period. There is no real life equivalent to a fellow Rotarian or a fraternity "brother". That's just made up.

And people make it up (I think) because they lack the social interaction other people have in real life. Which is really sad (no judgement), but I guess you can't blame them for wanting to reach out to others. Sniff. Sniff.

I'm not dissing hobbyists. These guys group together because they all like one thing. Comic books, drama, porcelain dolls that freak me out, etc. Whatever floats your boat I say. You're a 38 year old male and like collecting toys and wanna reach out to fellow 38 year old men who enjoy sniffing new plastic dolls as well... well, um.... as N. likes to say, "Congrats".

Then there are the civic minded do-gooders. We all love the poor. Yeah right. You all want to network and expand your social circles. Please. Spare me.

Why can't people live standard social lives (like me). There's family. Some you hate, some you love. There are your friends. Most you love. Then there are people from work. Most you hate. Isn't that enough? Where do you Lion guys find the time? There are only 24 hours in a day. And if you have the 4 hours it takes to drive and go to one of these meetings, well...

I envy you.

Ahhh... SGV!

When I used to work for the Perm, people always thought I worked for SGV, the accounting firm. That was very frustrating for me because 1) I was very proud to be working for the Perm (really, I was) 2) I am a lawyer and to be mistaken for an accountant is not a good thing and 3) SGV's hiring policies were not as strict as the Perm's, if you know what I mean.

Now I work for the firm that is arguably the best in the WORLD. And again I feel very special to be a part of a highly skilled group of people. Heck, we are the friggin' BOMB! But noooo... no one knows about The Firm, and each time I tell people where I work, they look at me with a blind awful stare (when I'm going for shock and awe).

I may have a completely different life now, but some things never change.

Sent from Jona's Blackberry

This is sobrang galing 2000! I can blog while on the go! Passing thoughts will no longer just pass. They'll pitch a tent and camp out.

Mabuhay ang advances in technology! Mabuhay!

Meanwhile, back at the Shang...

Thursday night at the Edsa Shang. Friday night at some random (but nice) Subic resort. Saturday night at the Parentals. Sunday and Monday night at my flat in Central. Tuesday night back at the Shang.

If I didn't write that out, I would not have remembered.

To say that things have been going very fast is.... well, putting it mildly.

The male Parental Unit said I would grow tired of this schedule in 2 years. It's been 2 months. I am tired; that's accurate, but I don't consider my new life flat or humdrum. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's literally a thrill a minute.

Now, if can just stay awake to enjoy it.

Eugenio Montale

I've been thinking about the transience of everything. Not just the big things like a person's lifetime or fortune or fame. I'm talking about the little things, like a bad mood, a headache, a broken nail. Everything passes and people move on. Or they forget.

I've been working on a deal that has taken my life, along with my sleeping hours with it. I am consumed by this transaction. At night, I dream about the papers I need to draft. While at a dinner party, I will remember something and scribble a note on a piece of paper to remind myself later. I am all about the deal right now.

But then I think this deal will close at the end of the week and that will be the end of it. I will move on and work on something else. This week will just be another busy week in what has quickly become a very busy life. In a couple of years I might forget what the whole fuss was about. That week I slept 10 hours in 5 days. What was I working on then again?

After a brief moment of reflection, I slip into the eveloping demands of the job again. I vacillate between giving a kidney for this deal to close and going all existential about the entire exercise.

According to S., this constant mental push and pull contributes to my heightened "wakefulness". I don't really know what she means, but it sounds pretty good.

...

Eugenio Montale won the Nobel prize for literature the year I was born. He must have led a life dedicated to his craft. Spent years agonizing over his work. No one remembers.

Literally matigas ang ulo

SAO PAULO, Brazil (AP) -- A Brazilian woman who was shot six times in the head after an altercation with her ex-husband was out of the hospital and talking to the media on Saturday.

"I know this was a miracle," 21-year-old housewife Patricia Goncalves Pereira told Globo TV.

"Now I just want to extract the bullets and live my life."

Pereira was shot Friday in the small city of Monte Claros, about 900 kilometers (560 miles) north of Sao Paulo, after quarreling with her former husband, who was reportedly upset because she refused to get back together with him. She was also shot once in the hand.

Doctors could not explain why the .32-caliber bullets did not penetrate Pereira's skull and didn't even need to be extracted immediately.

"I can't explain how something like this happened," surgeon Adriano Teixeira said, adding that the bullets were lodged under the woman's scalp.

The ex-husband was still at large.

G means Go

I spent the better part of a minute standing in a stationary elevator today. Actually, I participate in this form of stupidity almost everyday: I get in the elevator and just stand there. I forget that I need to push the button for the floor where I'm headed.

To my credit, this happens only when I'm headed down (I am not a complete idiot). Going up is easy. The elevator is not God, it cannot tell where you're headed when you walk in an elevator of a building with 44 floors. So I always hit the floor button on my way up. (And it works every time!)

But going down is a different story. You walk in from the 42nd floor and where else are you supposed to go but down? As in down to the ground floor. Isn't that obvious? Where else would you go? The 23rd floor? What's there? Another office, that's what. Someone else's office. Why you you want to go there?

And that's why I don't hit G when I'm going down. Because I expect the elevator to be as smart as I am.

But I realize that might be unfair to the elevator. So now when I walk into an elevator I hit G. Since it stands for "Go".

And I stand in a stationary elevator each time I'm on my way up.

Moving Out, Moving In, Moving Up

Today is moving day. I actually only move about 600 meters to the right, but believe me, the shortness of the distance is inversely proportional to the degree of luxury I am moving into.

We've all seen those movies where the lead character (or as my grandmother used to say "ang guapo" and in my case, ang guapa) lives in a huge loft that takes up the whole floor? Well, my apartment is not that big, and no, it's not a loft (windows are floor to ceiling though) but dig this: it takes up the whole floor.

No shit.

When you get off the elevator on my floor, there is only one door. My door.

I cannot get over this. There is is no hallway, no noisy neighbors. No children, no pets.

(Thank you, God. Not just for the absence of noise, but for the beautiful apartment.)

So Many Keys

I used to carry only my car keys. (Actually just car key. Come to think of it, why do people say car keys, when all they mean is car key, singular. Ah well, fodder for another post.) And when I got driven around, I carried no keys.

Now though, I'm like friggin' Mr. Quickie with all these keys I need to carry around. There's the key (well, access card) to the apartment. And then the key (well, access card) to the office. Then there's the key to... wait... it will come to me....

.... (Jona still thinking)

Aha!The executive bathroom! (But no, I don't carry this one around.)

Ok, so, fine. So I still don't carry keys. And this post is kalokohan.

Give me a break, I'm at work on a sunny Saturday, and I can't find my keys to the friggin executive bathroom.

Samalamig! Samalamig!

It's getting cold.

I've lived through one of New York's worst winters. I've spent Christmas in the middle of Ohio. You'd think a little Hong Kong chill wouldn't faze me. And it doesn't. Well, not really.

It's just that I don't have this mental image of Hong Kong being cold. It's crowded, dirty, full of bright lights, energy (and Chinese people), but it's never cold.

But it does get pretty chilly here. During the last two weeks of December, and for several weeks into the new year, temperatures are in the single digits. Centrigrade, but still. That's still colder than a really really cold day in Baguio. Forgive the parochial metaphor, like most Pinoys, when I think cold, I think Baguio.

I brought this biker jacket I used to wear in New York. It's really cool, but I haven't worn it in years because it's been too hot to wear anywhere.

I think at least 3 of the 5 people who read this blog will agree: the upshot of cold weather is that you can have a completely different wardrobe for a couple of months.

It will never be November 2, 2006 again

Just like the day you turned 30, your wedding day, that Christmas you stopped believing in Santa Claus, the day you passed the bar, the day your grandmother died. They happened once, they will never happen again.

Just like today, November 2, 2006.

Those days are just as important or as inconsequential as today.

[All this while I was checking my receipt for the boneless chicken and rice I had for lunch today.]

Fast Forward

When I feel like writing and have nothing to say about my current state of affairs, I blog about future events. I imagine what a certain day will be like (today it was moving day) and then I draft (God that sounds geeky) a few paragraphs about it. I don't publish these posts immediately. I actually wait for the day to occur, tweak the language for accuracy, then publish (God I am such a geek).

I wouldn't call it cheating, no. It's more like preparing. Preparing for what I'm not too sure.

Advance posting is cool, but somewhat bizarre. You get to write about an event that has not actually occurred, so you don't have strong emotions about it; you can be "objective", in a really weird and twisted way. It also feels like fiction, since you're making stuff up as you go along, but not, since you eventually do the things you write about, so it's very deja vu-ish when you actually heave that heavy suitcase down the hall.

You also get to tell yourself how you hope/wish/think/anticipate things will turn out. Sometimes you get what you want, most times things are not as interesting or exciting. Then you go back and re-write or revise, depending how your day went. You tell yourself what you want out of life by writing about it, live life, then write about again, this time after going through an experience. It's like being your own therapist.

Bizarre, diba?