2011's Top Ten

What a year it's been.

But since I say anyway every year how this year was so different and extraordinary compared to every other year bla bla bla, I'll just get right to my top 10 for 2011 -- and let the list speak for itself.

10. Mumbai. My work brought me to this city, in all its maddening, overpowering, and overwhelming glory. But unlike other places I've been that merited such adjectives (and wanted to leave just hours after I got off the plane), Mumbai left me fascinated at its foreign-ness; awestruck that the city actually worked, in spite of the chaos; and hungry to experience more of India. I look forward to my next visit -- and next time, I hope I'll have the guts to actually ride the train.

9. Writing. Few people know I was writing long before I was playing the piano -- writing, in fact, was my "special talent" in grade school. I'm glad I was able to go back to it this year -- not as regularly as I'd like ("ang haba mo naman kasi mag-blog", as James once told me), but at least, sufficiently recording what probably will be, when I look back a few years hence, one of the most important years of my life. And who'd ever have thought my editor parents would actually become fans of my writing? -- occasional comments such as "Paulo, there's a dangling modifier in the second paragraph" notwithstanding.

8. "My pretties." Give me a break and let me have a rare moment as a gym bimbo. After all, for the first time in my 10+ years of working out (who'd have guessed, right!?) I finally have deltoids. And biceps. And traps. And you get the idea. Sure, the six-pack and the Davids are still a long way off... but for someone who's never been able to shake off "chubby", this is a big deal.

7. Boston and New York. I already wrote pages and pages about my adventures in these two cities (and my first winter!) last February -- old and new places, old and new friends, and all in all a glimpse of the year(s?) to come.

6. Work. I've said it so many times, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying it: no job I've had has been as fun and fulfilling as the one I have now: leading P&G Philippines' army of In-Store Ambassadors. With its unique combination of marketing and human resources, the role finally answered my long-time question, "Why the hell did I spend so much time in HR before discovering marketing was the path for me?" And I don't think anything can ever compare to the creativity, the detail, and the autonomy of the role -- and in 2011, the program's business impact; the opportunity for organization-building; the many recognitions for the program, the team, and the agencies involved; and most of all, the unbelievably talented and hardworking people whom I'm so fortunate to work with, and the many ways the program has helped individuals thrive and grow. Add to all that, having colleagues who are also some of the best friends you'll ever find, cheering you on through successes and support you when things don't go your way, both in the workplace and in life -- and you've got a job that's one in a million, and one that definitely made the "to Berklee or not to Berklee" question much more difficult than it should have been.

5. Family time. Like with writing, not as regular as I'd like -- but still, a huge improvement over past years (Inay and Tatay have gotten accustomed to unanswered texts and calls), with a family trip to Baguio, a whole-family movie date (celebrating the role of Tintin in our childhoods), visits to Pinto Art Museum in Antipolo, and another New Year in Boracay (minus Tatay, unfortunately, who at the last minute had to volunteer to be taong-bahay). And inbetween, much less high-effort but much more meaningful were my parents' overwhelming patience and support throughout my to-Berklee-or-not-to-Berklee episode; and in the end, me actually getting along with -- okay, fine, liking -- the kids.

4. This Time With You. I have never been prouder of Hangad, than during the production and launch of the group's eighth album. First, the content was 100% Hangad-created, except for one track (which was an existing arrangement), unlike past albums for which we always had to ask for material from other musician friends. Second, so many Hangad members were eager to pitch in -- beyond the "given" of being vocalists -- as writers, artists, photographers, composers, arrangers, coordinators, or whatever else. And third, the output was, in my opinion, Hangad's most personal and powerful ever -- in Louis' words, "the kind of music Hangad was born to make." Hopefully, our four launch concerts -- two in Manila and two in Singapore -- are only the start. I would love for this music to reach more and more people in the coming years.

3. Ken. Just over a year and eight months after my last relationship ended, I entered into a new one -- with my best friend of four and a half years. Soon after one especially crappy set of dates, I reminded myself that I had told myself some time ago: "I have to be with someone I can be a fan of, and not just some random nobody." And sure enough, there was Kenneth, always ready to perk up my day since my breakup with James, with his extraordinary talent in music (from Chopin to Schwartz), in the kitchen (already great, and getting even better with his studies), and at making me laugh (from amazing wit to impromptu tap dancing). I initially told myself, he's too young, and he needs to date other guys first; until I realized, he'll have a lot of growing up to do during his six months in Paris, and besides, why let someone else grab this prize catch. And so, over the past few months, we have adjusted to each other and met halfway: my typically emotionally needy self ("the girl", my friends call me) has transformed surprisingly easily into a low-maintenance partner; while his stoicism has been giving way to pleasantly surprising bursts of sweetness ("Have you eaten? I made char kway teow, I'll bring some to practice for you"). In hindsight, I was lucky that nothing ever worked out with any of the guys I dated and tried to convince myself were "the one." Icky romance novel-ish as it may sound, the one I was waiting for was there all along.

2. Music. "In Your Own Way", "Wonderfully Made", "Let Me Be Your Stillness", "Through This Song", This Time With You", in my mind some of my most powerful songs yet; "Di Matinag Na Pag-Ibig", one of my most adventurous (yet effective!) vocal arrangements; "All That I Have", my first collaboration as lyricist (with no less than #3, above, heehee); "Tungo Sa 'Yo", my first string arrangement. And even as I thought my creative energies were all spent on This Time With You, along came "On This Day" for Teej and Teen's wedding, and a new "Traditional Christmas Medley" for Hangad, finally replacing the well-worn First Call Medley the group had been singing for almost 20 years. Add to all this a new level in piano playing; I don't know if anyone noticed apart from me, but as an accompanist, my countermelodies and embellishments have become more melodic and expressive, and my rhythms and arpeggios have become more daring -- maybe because of all the practice and preparation that went into my "Cinema Paradiso Suite" for the Berklee audition. And lastly, who would ever thought I would have the gall to put my own videos as vocalist online? I said it some months back -- it's when you stop second-guessing yourself, and embrace yourself as musician, that you truly let yourself shine.

1. Berklee. Was there ever any doubt what #1 on my list would be? I talked about Berklee so often this year -- in my blog, on Facebook, on Plurk, with my friends, at Hangad prayer sessions and retreats -- that everyone's probably so sick of hearing about it already. But what do you expect, with a dream of seven or so years coming true, only to reexamine and revalidate itself before finally convincing me to take the leap of faith? From application to audition to acceptance to discernment -- and everything inbetween -- it's been an amazing, amazing ride.

As awesome as this year was, I can't help but remind myself that it's a mere transition to an even more awesome 2012: Wicked in Singapore with Kenneth; a return to Bikram Yoga (still fighting against "chubby"); moving back in with Inay and Tatay, and taking them to Angkor Wat; final touches to my work in P&G and Hangad before I pass them on to my successors; cramming as much Hanon, songwriting, and music theory self-study as I can before May; and finally, the big move to Boston (just as Ken flies off for his culinary internship as well) -- and all the new music, friends, experiences, and writing it promises to bring.

Thank you, 2011, and everyone who was part of it; and best wishes to all in 2012! :D

Two Years Later

Today is December 30, 2011, and I’m at Hama in Boracay’s D’Mall. I just finished a big Japanese lunch with Inay, who’s now sitting to my right, reading a magazine over a watermelon shake. The sky is cloudless and the sun is out; luckily Inay and I got here early enough to grab a table under one of the restaurant’s ceiling fans. The restaurant is quite busy, even if it’s already 1:45 PM—late risers, I suppose, from partying the night before; or families who couldn’t pry their kids away from a golden morning on the beach.

Exactly two years ago—early afternoon in Boracay on December 30, 2009—the sun was shining just as brightly and the sky was just as cloudless, and I was also seated at a table in Hama below a ceiling fan, and had just finished lunch. Unlike today, though, the restaurant two years ago had much fewer diners; there were no magazines, and I had no laptop for blogging; and instead of sharing a table with Inay, I was alone with James.

And across the table from each other, with dry eyes and calm voices, we agreed to break up.

I don’t remember what exactly was said that afternoon. What I remember was that it culminated two weeks of not talking. More than that, that afternoon wrapped up a cumulative eight or so years of living together, and our 12 and a half year relationship.

“OMG, 12 and a half years!?!” is people’s inevitable reaction when I tell them how long James and I were together—which inevitably segues into admiration (“wow, that’s longer than some marriages”) and sympathy (“sayang naman”).

It was tempting for us to say “sayang” as well; with so few lasting relationships these days—gay relationships, especially—12 and a half years was an achievement. But we both acknowledged that there should be more to a relationship than the numbers game, and it would be pointless to rack up the years at the expense of growth, completeness, and joy. As a respected friend said: “Just because a relationship ends doesn’t mean it was bad; the quality of a relationship isn’t measured by how long it lasted, but by what it did for the people in it while it was going on.”

In a previous blog post, I described December 30, 2009 as “the day my 12-and-a-half-year relationship came to a screeching halt.” Looking back, it wasn’t as dramatic a halt as I once thought. In fact, the breakup had been years in the making. “People change” was one of the press releases James and I thought of when we finally agreed, three months later, to tell our friends about our breakup. Trite and vague and showbiz as it sounded, the fact is, we had changed. Over a span of 12 and a half years, how could anyone not? For one thing, in 2008, I significantly shortened our list of “quality-time-as a-couple” activities when I struck fast food, snacks, sweets, dessert and alcohol from my diet in my resolve to lose weight. Around the same time, his identity and sense of fun were starting to reshape themselves as he drew closer to and spent more time with a new set of friends which, for once, I wasn’t part of.

Moreover, over a decade into the relationship, we started to learn that we didn’t have as natural a dominant-submissive dynamic as we (and everyone else) thought; rather, it was becoming apparent that we were two very strong, very distinct personalities, with solid opinions on the same things—except one had to submit in the face of the other.

With these changes taking place, what once was a seemingly effortless submission was becoming less and less natural. As that happened, I resisted the autonomy and adventurousness he was starting to assert; and he began to resist the control I had always exercised on us both. Soon enough, we found ourselves becoming uncomfortable with each other, arguing more, having less in common, enjoying each other’s company less—so much so that it came to a point when each of us was no longer what the other needed at that point in our lives. In other words: it was time to stop just adding up the years.

As easy as it is to talk about in retrospect, figuring it out and coming to terms with it at the time was not straightforward in the least. It might have been easier if we hated each other, but we didn’t. We would often upset each other; we were unable to get along quite as well as before; there would be tears and heartache; but we never hated each other. All we knew was that we had to start untangling our interwoven lives—a task which, depending on the day, was one we wanted and didn’t want to do. So, after that day at Hama, we went from talking to not talking, to talking again; from promising to work things out to asking for more time; from becoming sentimental to making each other angry; until, four months after the breakup, we finally gathered up the courage and willpower to physically separate—and more than that, to rebuild our lives, now that the constant center of each of our lives for the past 12 years and for the futures we had envisioned for ourselves, was no more.

Needless to say, it took both of us several months to each tell ourselves, “We’re okay.”

So how come we’re okay? And, how come James and I are still friends? These are people’s standard next questions, following the mix of admiration and sympathy stemming from the 12-and-a-half year figure. Whenever I’m asked this, I always clarify—we're not friends, we're good friends. And that’s not just me talking—with neither malice or hidden meanings, James and I have both told each other how grateful we are to still be one of each other’s dearest friends.

James and I occasionally text each other, and have even met up for coffee a few times since the breakup. We become extremely proud of each other’s successes, and wildly happy at good news for each other’s futures. We’ve let go of our resentments, forgiven each other’s faults, forgotten who's to blame for what, and are able to laugh at everything that transpired, the way we were always able to. So, for those who click their tongues at the “sayang" 12 and a half years—well, though the romance is no longer there, the mutual concern and depth of understanding each other, built over 12 and a half years, lingers on in our being friends.

So today, two years later, I have no regrets. (Neither does James, as he told me some months back.) There’s no reason, after all, to regret our time together—surviving two years of long distance, building a home, traveling around Asia, making music, becoming a part of each other’s families, being there for each other through highs and lows, me learning to be more easygoing and spontaneous, and him being exposed to different cultures and cuisines. Neither is there a reason to regret what has become of us since we called it quits—his career taking off, and being able to build his own home without me stifling his design sense; and my writing some of my best music ever, and finally having the freedom, clarity and courage to set off for Berklee; and both of us now each being in our own new relationships, ready to share our lives once more, and guided by relationship wisdom gathered over 12 and a half years.

Today is my first time back at Hama since the breakup. One would think I’m back here to confront and conquer my demons from two years ago. But there are no demons to conquer. On the contrary, I’m actually grateful for that day. In hindsight, had we not decided to part that day, our relationship would have likely gone so rancid that we would not, could not even be friends now. As messy and ugly as things got back then, the clarity gained over two years tells me it was for the better. Inay would say, “it’s very Hollywood”—but yes, we’ve embraced the fact that we make better friends than lovers.

James and I have a pair of photos from June 1997, in which we shot each other from opposite ends of a see-saw: first, I went up in the air, and he shot me; then, he handed me the camera, he went up in the air, and I shot him. Given the strong and conflicting personalities we both turned out to have, I realize now that our relationship was a lot like that see-saw ride: always one up, one down, never in the same place. But now, with no more beam joining our seats, we’re able to move as we please, and for sure both of us are now up—and without a beam keeping us apart, we’re able to meet in the middle, in a better way than we were able to before.

How’s that for a metaphor.

Two years later—thanks for everything James, and good luck. See you around, my friend.

A flight update, almost a year later

Almost a year after Flight PKT 2011 took off, where the flight is today can easily be seen as a letdown.

After all, if all had gone according to my original flight plan, I would already be on my fourth month at Berklee. My days of P&G marketing would already be a fond memory; I would already have taken my first classes in music theory and production; my blog would already have stories of my adventures as a music student in Boston; my Facebook page would already be full of photos of new musician friends from all over the world; and I would be having my first white Christmas.

The thing is, Destiny wasn’t as straightforward as I expected it to be when all this started. From the “following my dreams” fanfare in the early part of this year, in more recent months I’ve swung between “going” to “kinda going” to “not going” to “I have no idea”—so much so that most of my friends ask me, ano ba talaga?; and I myself have lost track of what I’ve told each of them.

But what do you expect? I was accepted into the semester after the one I’d planned, and received no scholarship either—both of which made me doubt my musical ability, and rethink my willingness to enter into a lifetime, professional-level commitment to music. Adding to the urge to turn my back on Berklee was a series of lukewarm dates (which, luckily for me in retrospect, all eventually went bad); and the piece de resistance, a truly mouthwatering career plan, crafted just for me. For a time, everything added up to a resolute pronouncement that I was no longer going to leave.

Thankfully, signs continued to come, and as much as I tried to resist at first, I fortunately continued to listen.

My Berklee idol GP didn’t mince words as he chided me, “Getting no scholarship is just making you retreat to a place of comfort and compromise.”

Inay and Tatay were extremely patient as I shifted between “going” and “not going”, and were unbelievably supportive as they assured me that throughout my decision-making, money should never ever be an issue.

An unprompted visit to the Berklee website made me realize that options for studying at Berklee for less than two years (as I had originally planned) existed.

An image formed in my mind of an older self, successful after a decade-long marketing career, but forever wrestling with the regret of foregoing a chance to experience Berklee.

And Gloria, my ex-boss and dear friend who somehow always has the right thing to say, wrote from across the globe: “In life, people usually regret what they didn’t do more than they ever regret anything they did. You don’t have to go for an all black or all white approach; get your feet in the water, see how it feels and then play it by ear. You can always go back and get a job, whether with P&G or with another company; at the very least, you will have had a great life experience. And at the very best, you will have found your life’s true calling, whatever that may be.”

So, for everyone who’s been asking ano ba talaga?, I think it’s clear which side won out. Yes, I’m definitely going. I've closed a deal with a buyer for my condo and move back in with my parents by mid-January; I spend the next few months working on my student visa; I leave P&G at the end of April; I fly out around the third week of May; I attend new student orientation on May 22; and I start school May 29. But rather than dive headlong into a radical career shift, I will first attend Berklee for a year—immersing myself and making the most of the experience—and then see where everything goes from there. After a year, if I decide I love the field enough and see enough of a future in it to go professional, then I finish the two-year course I originally wanted and go on to full-fledged musicianship. But if I realize its role in my life is really just a passion on the side—but a burning passion nonetheless—then I come home, pick up my where I left off in my career, and continue to make music, but a much better musician after the year I spent at Berklee. Yes, what happens after a year is a mystery; for now, all I know is that is rare opportunity I just have to experience. And as controlling as I am, the thought of a future so ambiguous, so open to possibility, is giving me a huge, crazy thrill.

Do I have any regrets about the detour Flight PKT 2011’s took this past year? Not in the least. If things had gone according to my original plan, I would have missed the launch of Hangad’s eighth and best album, and Hangad’s Singapore concert. I would have missed the local, regional, and global recognitions my team at work has received, including the opportunity to fly to Mumbai to share some of this work with the rest of the world. I would not have been able to start building a new relationship with someone I’ve admired and loved for years (and who, in answer to people’s questions about what will happen to this budding romance, will also be studying abroad around the same time as me). I would have missed this one last Christmas with Hangad, P&G friends, and family. I’d have forgone my own improvements as a musician these past months, as I’ve started to gear up more seriously for an intense year at Berklee. And with all the signs I’ve been lucky enough to read, I approach this milestone now with more wisdom and pragmatism—but with no less (and maybe even more) wonder, optimism, and excitement.

So then, Flight PKT 2011 wasn’t a letdown after all, having turned out to an internal, introspective journey rather than a physical one. What pride, in fact, when Sr Bubbles told me after I related this whole story at Hangad’s advent retreat last November: “You really know how to discern. I’m so proud of you.”

Time to see if I can change this blog’s title. Please return to your seats, we will be taking off momentarily.