ZEN Bitchin'

I do not wish to write about the holidays again and yet here I am doing so. The past holiday season did not leave me with feelings of joy that I usually felt before. In fact, if anything, I felt absolutely mirthless over-all. Sure, I had bursts of exhilaration and cheer (which can be mistaken for real happiness) but these were ‘facilitated’ by external agents like drugs and alcohol. In fact, I was so glad, no–thankful that the holidays are over. That’s one less reason for my innards to continually knot themselves into tight balls inside my belly.

Still, there are other things that I’m also thankful for during the past holiday season: the gifts. Yes, you read it right. In spite of the general malaise that my prose has exhibited of late, when it comes to gifts (giving & receiving–but more on the receiving), I am still a big soft, fluffy monkey. Of all the gifts I received, these are the ones I like most.

What’s not to like about this gift? It’s orange, it has a cute chicken in front, and it’s a giant egg-shell! It’s adorable, and with no real purpose in life other than being beautiful (and yes, adorable). Scrump was given by another friend, who knows I sorta collect Lilo’s (Lilo from Lilo and Stitch, not LiLo the Lindsay Lohan) doll. I just put in there because of the great contrast in color.

I love books. Books as presents I love more. This book was given to me by the author himself. This self-published memoir chronicles his struggle at reconciling his sexuality with his faith. Some people might find the thickness of the book daunting, but I read it in one sitting, one cool evening. Ray writes such fluid prose, making the reading process easier. But this is not to say that it’s an unremarkable book. Some of the contents are bordering on the ’scandalous’–depending on the degree of one’s modesty (read: prudishness). As for me, there were some moments that made me blush. But all in all it is a compelling read. I promised Ray a review of his book in this blog. I will do a ‘proper review’ in the coming days.

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Although the title of the post suggests a reminiscing of sorts, I will not do it simply because last year this was exactly what I was doing: thinking about last Christmas. My Christmas eve tonight will be a busy one; the house will be the venue of our Christmas party. This means I will make an early trip to the market and the supermarket in about 6 hours, then spend the day cooking and preparing the house for the party. I am not in the party mode at all. If truth be told, I’d rather spend it quietly, alone. However, lately I do not trust myself to be alone with my thoughts. So, even if my innards feel like they’re rolled into a tight ball, I have decided to go through with the party.

Also, it took me quite a while… and after a seemingly long delay, caused by many things (procrastination, learning a new software in my macbook–goodbye, CorelDraw! deciding on which photo to use, which design to do, and what message to write, plus all the wranglings brought on by a simple yet brutal lack of inspiration), here it is finally: my holiday card for 2009.

I have very few reasons to smile and laugh these days. I won’t give the morbid and grisly details because people are put off by other people’s misery, this I know clearly now. It is not true that misery loves company. People, especially those whom you feel very close to, tend to drift away in your worst times. I am speaking from experience.

However, something happened to me a couple of weeks ago. Without any real expectations, I entered a photo contest organized by one of Cambodia’s English-language newspapers. The contest was open to all amateur and professional photographers, with no real limits as to how many photos one entrant can submit in any of the 5 categories. These vague rules added to my apprehension but eventually my recklessness prevailed. To hell with all these fears and worries and dread, I said. And I shot photo after photo until my CF card couldn’t take any more.

In the end, I submitted 10 photos for 2 categories. Among the other entrants that I know, I submitted the least number of photos in the least number of categories. After that I went on with my remaining life here in Phnom Penh. One Monday noon I received a congratulatory text message from B. I asked, what for? And he said I won in one category. Winners for each category were to be announced daily–a fact that escaped me. And I couldn’t believe it until I saw the spread of the newspaper that showed, yes, I indeed won in that category.

I bought about 10 copies of that day’s paper, for posterity. I felt elated and, I must admit, happy. For the first time in quite a while. I was still competing in another category but I didn’t care anymore. I already won. To win in the other category would probably be along the lines of tempting the fates. Had this happened, I would’ve felt terrified of what the gods have in store for me, in return for such good fortune. During the awarding ceremony last week, I realized that most of the other first placers in the remaining 4 categories, plus the grand prize winner were all professionals. They either do freelance work or they have their own studios and they do work in travel, fashion, and advertising.

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My favorite color is blue. I wear a lot of black. Most probably on account that I’m a big guy. I like some shades of green. Gray doesn’t complement my skin tone. I discovered I can get away with orange, a bit of yellow, pink and purple. But not red. My mother, who shopped for my clothes until I was about 18 or so, favored green. But she always dressed me in blue, as all boys must do–in her opinion. My mother would sometimes berate my father because he liked to wear red. So I, as all mama’s boys are wont to do, must have acquired the taste for blue. Black came later. Though it shocked my mother to see me in black, she was still glad I didn’t like red.

Lately, however, I found myself buying a lot of red stuff. Like this red Bally shoes I got from UK (okay, ukay-ukay!).

When I got my first DSLR camera in April, I bought a couple of camera bags for it. One I could carry on quick trips, and another that can house my MacBook as well. Guess what color these Crumplers are. And when I went to Saigon a couple of weeks ago, I planned to buy a replacement for my weekend bag that retired (broke down) on me months ago. And I also got a kikay bag I can bring when I go to the market or some other errand. Guess again what color these bags came in.

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I broke my self-imposed vow of sobriety a couple of nights ago. No special reason. It actually started the night before that, when a friend invited me to ‘Talkin’ to a Stranger’, a bar I used to frequent a lot because it was so close to where I live (a 5-minute walk). Over a plate of cold cuts and cheese (and later followed by a bowl of chili and french fries), I happily imbibed 4 glasses of vodka tonic. I am nowhere near my best form in terms of alcohol consumption, having not done much for the last 18 months (due to health reasons), but I never got drunk. My ears didn’t become numb, which was my signal that I had become drunk. I slept very well that night, which was also the usual effect of alcohol on me.

Last Friday, I hosted a dinner party at home. Again, this is something I haven’t done in a long time. A friend who used to be based here came back for a visit and I thought a dinner party would be a good way to catch up with her. Along with her I invited some of our mutual friends–old and new. Working from the theme of ‘Recovering Alcoholics on Relapse’, I envisioned a night of bacchanalia that people will talk about for a long time (hehe). Virginia P and I shared the cooking duties: she did the fried chicken and okoy (vegetable fritters) and the corresponding sauces while I did the Pancit Bihon (stir-fried noodles) and Tokwa’t Baboy (Tofu and Pork). All the guests had to bring were the drinks to augment the bottles of vodka and red wine I already have. For dessert, we asked Donita E to make some Maja Blanca (a flan made of coconut milk and corn). Tiffany took charge of designing the porch to make it look more spacious than it actually is.

Learning from past experiences, I set the time of the party at 8PM to give us more time to prepare. Gwendolyn arrived just before 6PM because she had nothing better to do. By 7.30PM, we were ready. The last of the chicken and fritters had been fried, the noodles were sitting warmly in the pan while the tofu and pork were awaiting their final stir-frying. Virginia P and I took our shower–separately, of course (my house has 2 bathrooms, mind you). Guests started arriving soon after. Odette brought her MagicSing. Ray-ray brought her newly-emaciated body (having just recovered from a bout of food poisoning) and Mariposa was in her usual fag-haggy mood.

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So by this time it’s common knowledge to those who follow tennis that Roger Federrer is this year’s Wimbledon champion, in turn capturing his 15th grandslam title and a page in history for beating Pete Sampras’ record of 14. But before anything else, let me just say that I’m not a big follower of tennis. I just started getting into it when I moved in with my present flat-mate, who’s a huge tennis fan. I have considered learning to play it (as part of my weight-loss program) but laziness and a lack of opportunity have hindered this. Even if I didn’t get to play it, I have become a fladgling follower of the game, thanks to my friends.

the champion

For last night’s final, me and my friends planned to watch the game together but circumstances didn’t allow this and I ended up watching the game alone. When the Fed lost the first set, I changed channels because I feared I might be jinxing him (one of my friend’s apprehension as well). I tried putting on a DVD (Haunting in Connecticut) but I still went back to the game.

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