Maybe you know your life has changed when the news actually scares you. Really scares you. Sure, you don't understand it as a kid, but even when you do understand it, it doesn't bother you. Up until this year, actually, it doesn't bother you.

And then you're sitting alone in your shoebox apartment, watching the local news while chewing on leftover liempo and wondering what your loved ones far away are up to, and the anchor tells you that bombs are going off in Mindanao, and you're scared.

It's silly. You grew up in Mindanao. You heard these things all the time, scoffed at them, even. Hey, you even had a few brushes with them. The malls in your own city were bombed. Your junior prom had to change venues at the last minute because of a bomb-slash-kidnap threat. Ooh, one summer, foreigners in your village were airlifted to a safer place (a helicopter in the ballpark!), your family had duffel bags of clothes in the hall ready to grab, and the neighborhood installed a siren and ran evacuation drills. When nothing happened to you afterward, you laughed about it and remembered only the scrumptious arrozcaldo they served at the end of the drills.

But in Manila, watching it on the news, you get scared. Does that make you as detached and misinformed about the real situation in Mindanao as you thought Manileños were? Or is it because your own city forms a triangle with Davao and Cotabato Cities, both recently bombed? Is it because your mom drives to that city almost every day, and the rest of your family every week? Is it because you can actually see them in the car, with Dad at the wheel, and Mom putting on her shades, and Lola looking out the window, and Mon adjusting his earphones with his unclipped fingernails -- as if you were right beside them? Is it because, before you can finish a sentence that starts with, "What if -- " you hear the echo of a kaboom in the back of your mind?

(Hey, two of your best friends go to school in Davao.)

And then the papers this morning tell you, the military thinks Manila will be next. You're more inclined to believe that all this is just, as the President put it, "pre-SONA noises;" noises that perhaps her own men set off to lend her a flimsy film of credibility before she gives that big speech at the end of the month. But you can't help but wonder, what if -- (kaboom) -- they're right? What if they -- terrorists or our own military -- strike here?

And here is a business district. Here is a local megachurch. Here is sandwiched between two malls and on top of a tiangge. Here is your apartment, across one mall, close to a busy EDSA intersection, and between two other churches. Here is where you and the love of your life meet almost every single day, to steal an hour or two from desks, deadlines, and the scary news. I mean, what if -- (kaboom)?

You realize your life has changed because you suddenly care about other people. And suddenly, even if they're just a handful of people, they are quite the handful to care about. And apparently, with this kind of maturity comes a matching kind of paranoia.

You kind of can't help it. What if -- (kaboom)?

I have brushed my teeth, eaten a ton of mints, scarfed down a good-sized plate of pesto, had grilled chicken and fresh mushroom sauce with it, eaten more mints, brushed my teeth again, and had a free Krispy Kreme donut -- and my mouth still has the taste of the week-old bread I had for breakfast this morning.

Yaaaaaaaks.
--

In other news:

I didn't get to go to old Manila like I'd planned; I went instead to Merville to see the cousins. I did bring the Inherilympus, but I didn't use it a lot because a lot of good movies were on the Disney Channel that afternoon. :))

I used to think "monthsary" was a ridiculous word and believed people should just say, "x-month anniversary," because it sounded more proper. And then etymology slapped me and said anniversaries are annual. If I wanted to give "monthsary" more Latin roots, however, it wouldn't sound much better; Latin for "month" is mensis; "monthly" is menstrualis. :| (source)

So, I have to content myself with writing, "Today is our third monthsary."

The plan was to have dinner at a favorite restaurant and then head to Katipunan for book launches at this little cafe frequented by figures in the city's art/lit scene. But then a college friend I haven't seen or spoken to in months announced she'd be in town tonight and tonight only (she's from Quezon province), and she wanted to have dinner. Martin nicely conceded, considering he and I see each other almost every day.

Still, we are both a bit put out by the situation. I was looking forward to unwinding with Martin at a nice dinner after work and then meeting some of his old friends at the cafe (and maybe even playing trophy girlfriend for a while, hahaha). And I think it would've been nice for Martin at the end of a long day; he got up at 0500 for the long commute to Ateneo, across the metro, so he'd make it in time for the first day of his 0730 class. Then he had to commute midway back, to work in the studio. Plus he's been on pins and needles waiting for the broker to call about a room he wants to rent. Plus, you know, we love each other and love every opportunity to celebrate it. (The feeling is more, three months pa lang? rather than three months na?)

So, yeah. I would have skipped on dinner with Aeli and gone on with monthsary festivities with Martin, if it weren't for the fact that Aeli travels several hours just to come to the city and comes to the city very rarely. Raaar.

We decided to move our little celebration to this Saturday. But the Merville folks want me to visit them this weekend, because my uncle from Chicago will be around. Again, he isn't here very often -- and what's Aeli's several hours' bus ride compared to my uncle's two/three-day transpacific flight? And, Martin has a catering gig Saturday, too.

I know that Aeli and Tito Bo would really like my company and maybe even "deserve" it a little more this week, but I still can't help feeling my celebratory mood's been spoiled. Martin and I had lunch today at that restaurant, but it wasn't the same; we both had to dash back to work afterward.

Boo, timing. Boo.

I almost changed the title of this blog to "Shutterbugged 2 / Love Life Update," because life with Martin is always in my foreground now. But I keep thinking of something Fr. Pedro Arrupe, SJ said:


He was right. It does decide everything. I kept the title because my love life has been deciding the rest of my life: where I want to be and with whom I want to be -- hence the mild resentment I feel for people and events that are pulling my attention from the one person and one event I want to focus on this week.

I hesitate to share these thoughts -- that I'm utterly consumed by us -- with people other than Martin because I can see how alarming it is. "You're too young," I expect they'd say. "You've only been together a couple of months." And the worst one, "You don't know enough about love and relationships." But then, as in the case of every couple, I suppose, only the couple themselves can ever really know how good or bad, deep or superficial things are between them. And if I say that, I'm afraid of getting an iteration of the same three judgments. So why should I bother trying to share these thoughts?

I want to share because I want people to know what makes me happy. Martin in my life now makes me happy. Talking about a future with Martin -- not me creating a fantasy about a future with Martin in it, mind you, but me and Martin actually talking together, in terms as realistic as possible, about where we are going -- makes me happy. All the things that made me depressed before he came into my life are dull aches now.

That last statement is another cause for alarm for other people, too. So let me make it clear: Martin is not a crutch or Prozac. Even if he is around, I can still see that I breathe in a ton of pollution, don't eat well enough, want a better job, miss my family, miss my friends, struggle with the whole what-do-I-do-with-my-life thing, and grapple with my sometimes-on, sometimes-off faith in God. If anything, being with Martin only shows me how much more fragile our lives are. One snap, and all our dreams for our futures -- the ones we want for ourselves, getting tied more and more tightly to the one we want for us -- might never come true.

And yet the mere thought of him fills me with such hope that I feel I -- we could face anything.

I might say it -- being in a relationship, being judged -- is something like religion. People outside can only really guess at what's going on with the people inside. (De-conversion and/or apostasy is another matter.) Those of you who've converted from one religion to another know what I mean; you know what it's like to feel that your eyes have been opened to a new way of life, one that really does decide everything.

Ayun. I think this blog entry has gotten long enough (thanks if you've read this far). Writing it's put me in a better mood, actually, to meet Aeli and the other girls later, and I know a weekend at a Cavite resort with my relatives will be a chance, if not to bond, then to get a tan. :p

Woah. My player's on shuffle, and it just played some covers I recorded for Tim when we were still dating. Aww. :)) It's nice to listen to them and be amused instead of annoyed -- though I still cringe at some pitchy parts. :p

Anyway. Back to ending this blog entry.