i want to be bad.

i've always had a fascination for bad boys and party girls. books, movies, and TV are rife with the stereotype. leather jackets and leather pants. motorcycles. tattoos. weed for breakfast, cigarette for lunch, alcohol for dinner. black eyeliner and blood red nail polish. the boys brood, the girls are heroin chic. both the bad boy and the party girl are always a little bit of rock and roll. kate moss is the queen and pete doherty the king. they hate authority and authorities hate them back. in high school they skipped class to smoke up in the bathrooms. in college they skipped class to smoke up in their own rooms. they come in different varieties and varying degrees, but you get the point.

i think my fascination for the "bad" stems not from wanting to be like them. or wanting to be with them. it's really more of a twisted curiosity of what makes them them. what makes you live so much in the moment as to have complete disregard of the future? as someone who analyzes, overanalyzes, thinks, and overthinks most anything, living life at the whim of your most basest instincts is a mystery that is perpetually intriguing to me. at 23 i have discovered and resigned to the fact that i do not have a wild child's bone in my body. can't say i haven't made any feeble attempts at being one though. here are a couple of examples:

attempt #1: hitch hiking for weed at 17. it was easter sunday. a south african, an american, and i were in pisa and bored out of our minds. we had planned on staying for 4 days but on day one had discovered that all pisa had was the leaning tower and pretty much nothing else. we get a call from a friend whose dad owned a house somewhere in the middle of tuscany. come, he says. it is only a 2-hour trip from where you are and there is porchetto (a bland, italian version of our lechon) and my uncles and cousins have a weed garden. they are here, too, he says, referring to the 3 guys he always hung out with. and so lured with promises of pot and boys, the south african and american dragged me along. as instructed, we took a train to a town called orvietto. it was all good except what we were told was a two-hour train ride turned out to be five. we get off the train, called our would-be host, telling him, we made it. how do we get to your house? weelll... actually, he said. my house is still 2 hours away but there are no trains to there. take a bus. and so we went off into the streets looking for buses only to be told by strangers that this was italy and neither buses nor cabs run on easter sunday. that's how we ended up hitch hiking. it wasn't as bad or scary as i initially thought and 3 cars and 4 more hours later, we were finally where we needed to be. after having gone through that much trouble to get here, the south african and american smoked up with a vengeance. the house used to be part of a commune. dreadlocked musicians played the drums and guitar as barefooted, long-skirted girls danced around a bonfire. it was an atmosphere quite conducive to getting high. i had never smoked a joint before, and when they offered me one, i thought, hmm... maybe i should try it. after all, this is what we traveled 9 hours for. well, it took me all of 5 seconds to say no. no inner struggle, no flipflopping, no maybe's, just no. i knew that one puff would be perfectly harmless but i had heard that pot was something "bad" and therefore, something that should not be done. in my mind, it really was as simple as that. that night, as all of my friends got high on pot, wine and life, i watched, ate some porchetto, and tucked all of them to bed. needless to say, the only "bad" thing i did that night was go to bed without brushing my teeth.

attempt #2: after a few more failed attempts not very different from attempt #1, i decided that if i couldn't be "bad" i would get a boyfriend who was. i initially liked him for several reasons: his half-aussie,half-italian roots made for some good genes. he was an amazing soccer player, an incredible surfer. he knew how to paint. he wore designer shoes. his mom helped costume design for the matrix. i thought he was the paradigm of cool. then he told me that he used to be part of a gang and he once ended up in juvy. some jail time made him want to get out of the gang and his uncle ended up paying thousands of dollars just so he doesn't get severely beaten when he makes his exit. his parents never found out. after i heard the story, i liked him more and thought he was even cooler. dating him made me feel like i was fulfilling my bad boy fantasies without actually having to deal with one. i liked the fact that i was dating a reformed bad boy so i can pretend there was an element of danger involved even though there really wasn't. the problem with this whole scenario was that he was in this i-want-to-be-a-better-person phase and to go along with his new image, he wanted to be with me, the good girl. that would have been fine except that was all he saw me as. because of that, ironically enough, my dating a bad boy turned out to be some of the most boring 5 months of my life. i am with a good guy now and i can tell you that it's a whole lot more thrilling.

sometimes i wonder if i will wake up old one day and regret not having done anything crazy or stupid when i had youth as an excuse to fall back on. all my attempts to be "bad" were done mostly because i thought i should get all that out of my system while i'm young. but what if it was never in your system to begin with? i have nightmares of looking back at my life and lamenting at how unadventurous, safe, and sane my choices were. i imagined me telling myself, "i'm 60 and i don't even know what it feels like to be high." i thought about it and realized, yeah that sounds boring, but you know what? i think i can live with that.

lessons in happiness from a bitch

this was published in the cebu daily news just today. writing for the lifestyle section gives you freedom to talk about the randomest of things.

Helga came to our lives in 2000. Her home during her first month with us was a cage below our deck, but a call from a neighbor unhappy about her incessant barking got her upgraded into the house. In our house, she charmed her way up from the wooden floors to the couch and finally, to the bed. The bed, of course, started out as my parents’ but she has since taken ownership of it. It is Helgy’s bed and Mom and Dad are just lucky that she lets them sleep with her every night.
Helga has turned us all into such dog-lovers that my aunts soon got one of their own, a Dachshund whose hobbit-like proportions earned him the name Frodo. Helga is a German Shepherd and they make quite the pair. They are the topic of every dinner and after-dinner conversation. I often wonder what we used to talk about before they came into the picture.
My family was never the pet-loving variety. Before Helga and Frodo, we had a few fish, turtles, and birds but they were only there because my brother and I got school credit for them. None of them saw their 6th month birthdays. But, as every dog owner will gladly attest, there must be something special about dogs. Valentino takes his pugs on his private jet everywhere he goes. No one does that with a goldfish.
So what is it about dogs? They are never just pets; they are family. I think we fall in love with them partly because they are entertaining or cute or fun to dress up, but mostly because there is something so touching about their simplicity. It takes nothing to get their tails wagging. Mubo ug kalipay, we like to say in Cebuano. It makes you wonder why the term is sometimes used in a negative light. Wouldn’t life be easier if we didn’t put such a high price on contentment?
Whether it is through their example or through the experience of living with them, Helga and Frodo have taught me that happiness can actually be easy.

Enjoy Life’s Little Pleasures
I think the problem is that, sometimes, having too much of a good thing does not make us stop wanting; it makes us want more instead. We become so easily jaded with what we already have that life becomes a perpetual quest for the newer, the bigger and better, and when that’s no longer enough, for the newest, the biggest and best. What amazes me the most about Helga and Frodo is how the most redundant routines always feel fresh to them. For years now, Helga has had the same things to look forward to. She gets a few pieces of Beggin’ Strips at 9 in the evening. She gets to go on car rides and run errands with my Dad on Sundays. Yet everyday at 8:50 pm (Yes, our dog can tell the time), she starts getting antsy and every car ride (whether on Sunday or any other day) is prefixed with jumps and yelps because the excitement is just too much for her to bear.
Granted, we are more complex creatures and we like a little bit of variety in our lives, but my point is, there is pleasure to be found in the little things.

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff
Living with dogs teaches you to pick and choose what to stress over. You learn to let go of the little things. When Helga was teething, we found her chewing to unrecognizable pieces my mom’s beloved pair of boots. When she was done with those, she moved on to the leg of an antique table. Frodo, in his usual hyperactive state, once knocked over a favorite sculpture. In an effort to lay claim to some parts of the house, he has peed on at least 3 different rugs and pooed on 2 beds. Sure, my mom will miss her shoes, the table is forever ruined, the sculpture is now held together by superglue, and we can only hope that Frodo’s bodily excretions have been completely washed off the rugs we step on and the sheets we sleep in, but in the grand scheme of things none of these are really that big a deal. Save all the worrying and screaming for when something major happens. And even then, remember that…

There is Always Something to Smile About
Doubtless, you have heard of Rhonda Byrne’s “The Secret.” It proposes that thoughts become realities and therefore, we should only aim to think of things and images that we want manifested in our lives. Naturally, there are a few speed bumps along the way that could set our thoughts in the wrong direction. The book says that we can redirect our minds away from the negative and back to the positive through what Byrne calls “secret shifters.” This can be anything- a memory, a conversation, an image- that instantly calms us down and makes us smile. That’s where Helga and Frodo come in. I could be in the lousiest of moods and the mere thought of Helga’s puppy dog eyes and the way her tongue sticks out the side of her mouth when she’s napping or Frodo in his little polo shirts and how his tail whips instead of wags is enough to get me out of my funk. Even if things are not going our way, dogs always give us something to smile about.

Give Everybody a Chance
Sometimes the key to happiness is niceness. Our dogs have taught us a few lessons in kindness, too. Our laundry woman is not exactly very good at doing laundry. Holes have been burned through shirts, the outline of an iron embedded on pants. White shirts have been turned pink and the pink ones blue. Her washing and ironing techniques may be faulty, but she must be doing a few things right. How else could we explain Helga’s adoration for her? She walks into the room and Helga watches her every move, follows her every step. Sometimes Helga even keeps Lorna company as the latter gives our clothes a makeover.
Lorna takes Helga for walks around the park every afternoon. Next to her Beggin’ Strips and car rides, this probably ranks third among her favorite things. Yes, initially, maybe it was the excursions Helga was fond of, and she just liked Lorna by association, but Lorna’s patient and gentle ways have eventually earned her Helga’s friendship, too. Funny how we need dogs to teach us that there is something to celebrate about everyone. Some of our clothes have still ended up as casualties, but we have since learned to suffer in silence. What else can we do when she is our dog’s best friend?

Whoever came up with the expression “it’s a dog’s life” to mean a wretched existence, has clearly never had a dog or been one. In fact, the more literal dog’s life is a happier, simpler, kinder one. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what all this is supposed to be about?