I think this is the end of my CISCO Certification. Siguro ang dahilan e hindi umabot ang score na nakuha ko dun sa test na magdedetermine kung eligible ba akong kumuha ng second part nung course. Meron pa namang hope, pero sa tingin ko malabo na din; meron pang requirements na wala na siguro akong pag-asang makumpleto pa. In a way, I'm happy; I can spend my last stress-free vacation with no strings attached (next summer kasi, malamang mag-OJT ako). Pero sa totoo lang, hindi ko gusto ang nangyari sa'kin na yun.

An opportunity wasted once again. At inaamin kong kasalanan ko 'yun. I took the gamble; galing ako sa bakasyon, at ang totoo e halos wala akong naintindihan sa pakurot-kurot kong pagbabasa nung reading materials. Yet I took the test. Siguro nung una pa lang e alam ko nang ganito ang kalalabasan ng resulta. Lumagpak ako. Kung hindi ko man maitutuloy ang course ko dito, unang beses 'tong mangyayari sakin. Ang bumagsak.

Ganito pala ang pakiramdam kapag may biglang nagbago sa mga bagay na akala mo e planadong-planado mo na. Natatakot ako. Isa 'to sa mga bagay na ayokong mangyari sakin, becoming a failure of a man. Hindi ko napapansin na ang dami-dami ko nang sinasayang na mga posibilidad. Ayokong isipin na baka dumating ang araw na lahat ng ginusto kong mangyari sa buhay ko e hindi matupad dahil pinabayaan ko ang mga pagkakataon.

Love. The most abused word in the world. It's something that people always seem to seek, even though they don't have a clue on what it is. Once upon a time I had notions as to what love really is. I remember writing a full back-to-back paper about it. It's hilarious, really, remembering that I once believed love had certain labels, and descriptions. That was when I hadn't pondered much regarding it.

Don't worry, I won't preach. I stopped talking about love just recently, about one or two years ago. I'm not really certain why, or how I came to that, but one day I said to myself I don't want to appear like someone who's knowledgeable on the subject. I'm not one to discuss about it. I told myself I won't pretend to know everything about it. Then again, who knows what is love, really?

The truth is, I only had one girlfriend in the entirety of my years of living. She was this girl, thinner than females our age, who wears glasses, having a very kind-looking face, and she was tall. But does your meaning of love depend on how many 'official' relationships you've had? That's disgusting. I beg to differ. I learned some things from the time we had, yes, but I can't say I knew everything I wanted to know from her. Sometimes, the deepness and meaning of things come from events, places or people you wouldn't expect in any way, same as the way it did to me.

When I do my usual "read-everything-on-the-internet" routine, I frequently come across articles, essays and 'mature-looking' posts regarding the matters of the heart. Same goes for "help yourself" books and writings on how to deal with the feeling. I often stumble on pages where some PHD-bragging doctor or some "man-who-experienced-it-all" give enumerations and tips on how to love truly. Funny. They list stuff like "This is the way to prove your love is real". Just now I reread one of my friend's blog post. It's all about love, and he listed a lot of things describing romance, using metaphors like declaration of feelings and the wind and earthquakes. The title of his entry is "Love is..".

Really, who are we to put headings on love? It is something we can experience but never fully understand, that's why I think it's plain stupid to label it. I can tell you my experiences on it and how I realized things from them, but if I do that, I'd just be like those numbskulls: feeding tales to people how I went through this and that and now I had a clear idea as to what love is. No, I wouldn't pretend I know. I will not stereotype it, typecast it, or give it a definite title. Love, in all its grandeur and mystery, will never have a fixed denotation.

I like to believe that when the time comes you feel it, you would be lost for words, and you'll be feeling like an idiot because once upon a time you put a tag on it. I like to believe that love's meaning is something you can't put into words and only you will know it. I felt that way some time ago. No flowery terms for me. It's not mandatory to describe everything you feel, right? Why is love any different. When everything seems to fall into place, you don't need descriptions and tips. The feeling will be enough.

Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia.

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One morning, I went down to our condominium's swimming pool to oversee my cousins have their merriment over the waters. While I was sitting down under the roof of the nearby "pool hut", someone caught my eyes: an American-looking lady, swimming. Out of habit, the first thing I did was guess her age. By her looks, she seemed like a 25- to 30-something unmarried woman. To my surprise, when I looked again, she had a kid with her.

I did not want to be obvious; nevertheless, I can't help but stare at them. She was so motherly. She sat patiently, watching over her child playing with the bubbles from the jacuzzi beside the pool. She dived and wore this round salbabida (floating gadget that kids usually bring with them when going to the pool) in her neck. Her son then clinged on to her. Besides the fact that she was gracefully pretty and her body did not fit the description of a mother (she had a great figure), what made her so beautiful was how she tended to her kid. It was one of the sweetest, most picturesque sight I saw in Singapore.

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This happened in Genting, Malaysia. Following an uneventful night (because it rained and we haven't used our outside-theme-park ticket to its fullest), we woke up early and decided to go have some breakfast. Outside the "should-have-been-free-meal" resto, we realized we forgot our hotel pass, and we cannot enter the place. So, instead, we ended up at Mcdonald's.

While ordering our choice of morning meal, I heard a woman talking in Filipino, and she had my attention. She was wearing a gray cotton long-sleeves and a simple jazz pants-like bottom. She was no doubt pretty, with her long, newly-combed hair and her Filipina flair. I told my father there was a Filipino family around (she was with her family). He then said to them, "Pinoy?", and my father and her family launched into an extreme conversation about politics and work (my father works for a bank).

We (the young Filipina girl and I) caught each other's eye every once in a while. Maybe we were thinking the same thing: a potential new friend. It would be nice having known someone in a faraway place and talk about things. I knew they haven't visited the temple downhill of Genting, and they were thinking of going there with us (we haven't been there as well). So I said to myself, I will talk to her as soon as I can.

So much for delays. Turns out, they were actually leaving soon, because they were just staying for one day and one night (and the "day" was the "yesterday" day). I realized I wouldn't have the opportunity to get to know her too late; we were already walking away from each other. When I looked at her for the last time, she was looking my way as well, and on her eyes painted were the words "I'm sorry I have to leave early. It was nice meeting you.. Goodbye."

I responded with a look that said we would probably never meet again. We both smiled wistfully. Or maybe I was just interpreting things the wrong way.

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After a day at the Jurong Science Centre, we went to the bus stop in front of it and waited for our ride. While walking, a girl holding a balloon was trotting beside me. At the bus stop, my cousins and my brother was joking around when suddenly, we heard a cry. When I turned, I saw the little girl wailing out loud; her balloon had hit the sharp-stoned ground and burst. My eyes caught her mother's, and she gave me an apologetic grimace, as if trying to say, "She's crying over something so mundane".

Her sister was so kind, she gave her balloon to her little sibling. It didn't help with the crying problem, though.

I didn't know why, but all of a sudden I was thinking of a million ways on how I could cheer the crying girl. Since I was holding the Science Centre map that time, I made a paper boat out of it (thinking that if I made a plane, she would fly it, and chances are it would land on the highway and she'd chase it. I wouldn't like that, would I). But I did not have the guts to give it to her. What if she thought it was too idiotic? What if I scared her away? What if she rejected it?

So in the end, I stood helpless as she cried herself away (until she boarded her bus). I did not take my eyes off the kid. Maybe it would've been better if I just offered to lift her high up in the air and let her think that she's flying, like that balloon which popped.

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This happened at Bintan, Indonesia. That place is majorly made up of beaches.

We went swimming late afternoon to early night, around 6-7 pm, so that we won't be too "tanned". As usual, there were a lot of Filipinos around. I don't know, but maybe if you're in a place outside home, you get this unexplainable desire to get to know people who speak your native tongue. While swimming, we heard a bunch of our language's words. As soon as we (my father, my brother and I) heard this group of Pinoys (and Pinays) nearby, speaking Tagalog, we walked towards them and asked the icebreaker question, "Pinoy?"

The crowd alongside us was composed of working adults. Some were engineers, some were law graduates, some were nurses. My father then launched his usual campaign of getting them to remit using his bank. As a number of them were talking to him, a few were talking to me, as well. My ever-dearest father introduced me as his 19-year-old college student son. At that point, I felt as though everyone considered me as a child, a little kid, who doesn't know how to live. I felt the same too. Nineteen, for the love of peace, nineteen. Not even twenty. There's still that idiotic suffix 'teen'.

They asked me, "Are you on vacation?", and I answered, "Yeah, I'm lucky I don't have any failed subjects". They asked me, "What year are you in now?", and I answered, "Fourth year college". Sounded like a total loser, right? Damn it. I felt so stupid and childish. I was thinking (and maybe they were too), who the hell cares anyway if I fail subjects, for crying out loud? Suddenly I felt so embarrassed, ashamed, as if I don't have anything to be proud of. Perhaps the only reason why I feel I can't hold my ground around people older than me when I meet them for the first time is because I can't really say with confidence that I run my own life.

One woman from the group made an effort to keep the conversation with me alive, which made me happy in a way. Even so, that scene strengthened the extreme longing within myself: to graduate, find a decent job, and take full control of my own being as soon as possible.

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My father's office rests at Orchard Road, Singapore. Today, he asked us to go there so we could buy our coming-home gifts (pasalubong). To cap the day, he also said we will be meeting someone he knew; and we would all be going to dinner together. After buying some souvenirs, we headed back to his workroom, and there was his "friend", a fifty-something-looking man.

First thing he asked me was, "What course are you taking?", which I answered with a simple "Electronics and Communications po". He then piped up without warning, "Bakit ECE? Lahat ng tao nakakapagcomputer na ngayon. 'Yung TV nga namin, si blahblah ang gumagawa, electronics yun a.." ("Why ECE? Everyone knows how to use the computer now. An ECE graduate fixes our TV.") He went on unceremoniously and shared to us that he had kids. At that moment, an indescribable, inexplicable contempt boiled within me. What the heck does this guy know about my course anyway? Maybe he's too narrow-minded to think that every ECE graduate fixes television or something.

So, the dinner plan: after that little "hello", we headed to the place where we'd eat. The "old friend" stopped for a while (a long while in fact) to check out a woman (who seems like a prostitute). We (my father, my brother and I) idled for about fifteen minutes (and thus wasting our precious lives) waiting for him to finish hooking up with the girl. In the end, nothing happened.

We ate a lot at the restaurant he brought us to (the meat they served us was unlimited I almost blew up). He payed for the 280 singdollar-worth food we all gobbled. Little did he know that the whole time we were with him, I thought to myself, there are full-grown people loaded with riches and all, but still, there really are adults who never grew up.

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Written within the span of 15 April 2010 to 09 May 2010.