I thought that this last day of the year is just too significant for me not to write about it. Especially when almost everyone is out there somewhere ready for the big countdown. If I have reason to stay home alone, it has got to be something as good as writing a solemn, thought-provoking piece, and not blatant laziness.
But what should I write about? I do not have much to say on the closure of this year, nor do I have exciting plans lined up for the coming one. After all, I have quite established my reputation for being the-one-without-plans.
Come to reflect on it, maybe my new year resolution should involve some kind of plan, even though my past experience tells me that planning or no planning makes no difference to new year resolutions. They are never meant to be realized. How else do you think we can keep coming up with new year resolutions year after year? If you do not believe me, just see how many 2007 new year resolutions you have that are similar to those in your list this same time last year...
Nevertheless, I have decided that as a mature, responsible adult who is taking a big step into the next stage of life, I need a plan, which is as follows:
- I will be neat and tidy around the house and at work.
- I will do my yoga and running religiously everyday. Oh well... every alternate day.
- I will cut down on snacks and sugared drinks. And greasy food, and synthetic flavorings, and...
- I will put on sunblock and some makeup when I go out, at least when I go downtown.
- I will put in effort to dress up, and stop wearing the clothes I keep wearing repeatedly.
- I will be more careful in what I say, and stop making silly social boo-boos.
- I will stop losing things.
- I will stop forgetting to bring things.
- I will remember things.
(and lastly, the most treacherous one...)
- I will save $$$.
Wow, it's amazing just how satisfying making a plan is. I think I'd better take a rest before my new year starts. Got lots to accomplish...
Happy New Year!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Fly and Take Me Places
A tribute to the good people in the aviation business.
Oh, and especially dedicated to TK, my beloved brother who has finally gotten his wings and proved himself Ray Bans-worthy... Congrats!
You know, when you say how a man's medicine could be another man's poison, it's the same for airplanes.
For those who travel distances, the plane is probably the best invention ever known to mankind. I'm one of them who think quite so, despite the fact that I absolutely hate every ear-popping minute strapped up there with nothing but great masses of mist. For the frequent flyer that I have become -- previously for studies, then for work, and now simply for pleasure -- air travel has become a normality. It is impossible to imagine a world without airplanes anymore.
But for the rest of the world's population who never had the need, the urge, the guts or the means to stash money on a few hours' worth of fast moving transport in a two feet wide space, the airplane is then probably one big piece of metallic crap that uses up way too much of the world's precious resources.
Well, I can totally see their point. In fact, at this very moment I'm jetting away for the nth time on an airplane, I feel so overly indulgent that I am a tad apologetic toward the feet-firmly-planted-on-ground folks. By the same token, I wonder if the thrust-worthy guys over at NASA feel the same toward us lowly, gravitated earthlings too when they blast off to outer space.
Alright, back to my point. The point is, if you have not gotten it already (and I do not blame you if you haven't, considering that you're listening to a person who, technically speaking, has her head in the clouds at this moment), is that I love my airplanes. Airplanes big or small, airplanes long or short haul.
The funny thing is, I had never put much thought about an airplane in my entire life until just minutes ago when my flight was preparing for take off, and I had pressed my face against the tiny aircraft window to see four other airplanes of various sizes waiting in line behind ours. There they are, with their respective carrier colors and logos proudly emblazoned on their bodies, these powerful creatures carry a somewhat elegant, yet secretly haughty demeanor, not unlike their prettily groomed crew.
As I have mentioned, I do not enjoy being couped in thousands of feet above sea level. The level of discomfort is on par with being in a dentist's chair. However, quite ironically, I take great pleasure in the fact that I've flown with them. Them... the planes... The Big Guys, as I call'em.
In case you are wondering what on earth the cabin pressure had done to make me sprout so much senseless gibberish, let me draw a parallel -- it's about the camaraderie between me and the airplanes. It's like fighting a battle alongside the general whom you admire. Yes, I WORSHIP airplanes.
I worship their ability to fly and take people places. Through thunderstorms, blizzards, roller coaster turbulence, they almost never fail in their job. I worship them for the fact that about a million people a day entrust their precious lives to them. They carry on them, academic minds of students, profitable prospects of businessmen, and even hopes of miracles of patients with various health conditions, jetting them off to the land where their dreams may come true. Or, perhaps true for most other frequent fliers, simply ferrying weary travelers home, to where their loved ones are patiently waiting. Such is the lofty job description of these mean machines.
I continue to count my blessings each time I get to fly and witness that great responsibility upheld and delivered upon every arrival to all who silently pray in their seats, a smooth, safe touchdown.
Thank you, and it has always been a pleasure flying with you, Mr. Aeroplane.
Oh, and especially dedicated to TK, my beloved brother who has finally gotten his wings and proved himself Ray Bans-worthy... Congrats!
You know, when you say how a man's medicine could be another man's poison, it's the same for airplanes.
For those who travel distances, the plane is probably the best invention ever known to mankind. I'm one of them who think quite so, despite the fact that I absolutely hate every ear-popping minute strapped up there with nothing but great masses of mist. For the frequent flyer that I have become -- previously for studies, then for work, and now simply for pleasure -- air travel has become a normality. It is impossible to imagine a world without airplanes anymore.
But for the rest of the world's population who never had the need, the urge, the guts or the means to stash money on a few hours' worth of fast moving transport in a two feet wide space, the airplane is then probably one big piece of metallic crap that uses up way too much of the world's precious resources.
Well, I can totally see their point. In fact, at this very moment I'm jetting away for the nth time on an airplane, I feel so overly indulgent that I am a tad apologetic toward the feet-firmly-planted-on-ground folks. By the same token, I wonder if the thrust-worthy guys over at NASA feel the same toward us lowly, gravitated earthlings too when they blast off to outer space.
Alright, back to my point. The point is, if you have not gotten it already (and I do not blame you if you haven't, considering that you're listening to a person who, technically speaking, has her head in the clouds at this moment), is that I love my airplanes. Airplanes big or small, airplanes long or short haul.
The funny thing is, I had never put much thought about an airplane in my entire life until just minutes ago when my flight was preparing for take off, and I had pressed my face against the tiny aircraft window to see four other airplanes of various sizes waiting in line behind ours. There they are, with their respective carrier colors and logos proudly emblazoned on their bodies, these powerful creatures carry a somewhat elegant, yet secretly haughty demeanor, not unlike their prettily groomed crew.
As I have mentioned, I do not enjoy being couped in thousands of feet above sea level. The level of discomfort is on par with being in a dentist's chair. However, quite ironically, I take great pleasure in the fact that I've flown with them. Them... the planes... The Big Guys, as I call'em.
In case you are wondering what on earth the cabin pressure had done to make me sprout so much senseless gibberish, let me draw a parallel -- it's about the camaraderie between me and the airplanes. It's like fighting a battle alongside the general whom you admire. Yes, I WORSHIP airplanes.
I worship their ability to fly and take people places. Through thunderstorms, blizzards, roller coaster turbulence, they almost never fail in their job. I worship them for the fact that about a million people a day entrust their precious lives to them. They carry on them, academic minds of students, profitable prospects of businessmen, and even hopes of miracles of patients with various health conditions, jetting them off to the land where their dreams may come true. Or, perhaps true for most other frequent fliers, simply ferrying weary travelers home, to where their loved ones are patiently waiting. Such is the lofty job description of these mean machines.
I continue to count my blessings each time I get to fly and witness that great responsibility upheld and delivered upon every arrival to all who silently pray in their seats, a smooth, safe touchdown.
Thank you, and it has always been a pleasure flying with you, Mr. Aeroplane.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Thursday, December 07, 2006
I Love My Friends!
Lest you think I'm a sentimental tree-hugging romantic. One who will buy Forever Friends bears for every friend's birthday.
Nope, I'm so not.
On the contrary, I'm quite a cat. And I thank the deities that my dearest pals take my affectionate, albeit naughty, nips and scratches (figures of speech, not literally!) with plenty of tolerance and huge doses of humor. It's these people I safely call my friends who are good enough to take my crap. Not just any crap. Real intense crap.
Friends, to mean that special circle of four, a clique we call it The Support Group. And friends we've been for a good two decades (close!) : HF, XF, YB and myself, not really by choice, but more by natural default due to frightening similarities in our beliefs and personalities.
Oh, and before I offend the other darrrrlings whom I failed to mention, you do not qualify mainly because unlike us fabulous foursome, you are either married and therefore too busy to spend time bemoaning little absurdities with us, or you are out there spending too much time trying to get married, therefore resisting any force that may somehow land you in The Support Group. (You should get an inkling of how the group works by this far... not unlike Alcoholic Anonymous...)
Yes, we are helpless feminists.
A paradox, you'd say, but nevertheless real. This is how: one of us is a walking magnet for undesirable foreign men. Another one has the hots (OK, maybe just innocent admiration) for mature, married but unavailable men. Yet another has her undying love pledged only for The Man with the Guitar and the Beer Bottle. As for the last one, gee, I don't know... she never figured it out.
And so it goes... we strong, independent females spend weekends together doing nothing but fretting over our men, real or not. It's slightly depressing, but actually very therapeutic to be just sitting around over tea and desserts while we ponder who's next to leave this oh-so-exclusive group.
Girls, what do I do without you! I might have never said it, but I really love all of you very very much, and I'd rather be with you gals than anywhere else on a Saturday night! But, ahem ... it's just that maybe, we could do this WITH the guys instead? Let's really try...
Before then, here's to the power of four!
Nope, I'm so not.
On the contrary, I'm quite a cat. And I thank the deities that my dearest pals take my affectionate, albeit naughty, nips and scratches (figures of speech, not literally!) with plenty of tolerance and huge doses of humor. It's these people I safely call my friends who are good enough to take my crap. Not just any crap. Real intense crap.
Friends, to mean that special circle of four, a clique we call it The Support Group. And friends we've been for a good two decades (close!) : HF, XF, YB and myself, not really by choice, but more by natural default due to frightening similarities in our beliefs and personalities.
Oh, and before I offend the other darrrrlings whom I failed to mention, you do not qualify mainly because unlike us fabulous foursome, you are either married and therefore too busy to spend time bemoaning little absurdities with us, or you are out there spending too much time trying to get married, therefore resisting any force that may somehow land you in The Support Group. (You should get an inkling of how the group works by this far... not unlike Alcoholic Anonymous...)
Yes, we are helpless feminists.
A paradox, you'd say, but nevertheless real. This is how: one of us is a walking magnet for undesirable foreign men. Another one has the hots (OK, maybe just innocent admiration) for mature, married but unavailable men. Yet another has her undying love pledged only for The Man with the Guitar and the Beer Bottle. As for the last one, gee, I don't know... she never figured it out.
And so it goes... we strong, independent females spend weekends together doing nothing but fretting over our men, real or not. It's slightly depressing, but actually very therapeutic to be just sitting around over tea and desserts while we ponder who's next to leave this oh-so-exclusive group.
Girls, what do I do without you! I might have never said it, but I really love all of you very very much, and I'd rather be with you gals than anywhere else on a Saturday night! But, ahem ... it's just that maybe, we could do this WITH the guys instead? Let's really try...
Before then, here's to the power of four!
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