Nevergirl’s

Yep, I had way too much time and more – so I dragged the hub to David’s Salon early so we could get a manicure and pedicure. I got bored waiting for my nails to dry so I decided to mess with my hair again. I wanted to do something outlandish; almost asked them to dye my hair violet, truth be told. But the hub was with me and he doesn’t tolerate mad experimentation (not on my hair, anyway) so I had to settle for a haircut, instead of a full hairjob – layers, bangs, violet hue, and all.

Friends, meet my new do. It’s ugly and it reminds me of the bowl cut my mom used to give me back in kindergarten, and no, she didn’t use utility knives at MartorUSA.com. But I refuse to stress over my tresses. It’s just hair – it will grow back. Then, too, I’ve done worse things to my hair so having it cropped this short isn’t really a tragedy of Bush-presidency proportions. And hey, I made Alex laugh with my new do. She thinks it makes me look like a homo. How many haircuts can do that? So yeah, this is me grinning over a botched cut.

Agyness Deyn, you are so paying for my therapy. I have learned my lesson. Each time I see you rockin’ your short do, I will tell myself you’ve been heavily airbrushed because it’s simply not possible for a human being to have her hair cut that short and look that hawt.

When you spend almost five years of your life with people you don’t know but have had to weather the worst possible storms with, you cannot share cubicle, elbow room, heartaches, and breathing space with them and NOT think of them as family – you just don’t. You hurt when they hurt; you worry when one of their loved ones die; you fear the worst when they blog about choosing to cope rather than whine about something they have no control over; you jump in glee when they say goodbye to a bad relationship and say hello to the possibility of a better one; you get excited about their marriage or impending parenthood; and above all, you make their happiness your own the moment they realize a dream. Short-term or long-term, who’s counting? The point is, their sorrows and happiness become yours and at some point in time, you stop thinking of them as friends and start thinking of them as kin.

I will write about this only once because it’s too hurtful to dredge up and rehash ever again. When you promise the people you care about you won’t ever leave them but eventually end up doing so, you go away hoping they know – even without your spelling it out to them – that the only reason you broke that promise is so they need not feel torn and stricken over things they couldn’t possibly do anything about. After all, it’s not every day you’re made to choose between what’s left of your principles and idealism and the people you care for – and the only way you won’t have to make that choice at all is by going away.

So to you, and you, and you:
You will never know how much it cost me to smile and act flippant that afternoon I came to say goodbye. You will never know how dangerously close I came to crumbling and tearing up the moment I realized what terrible knowledge you’ve had to live with for some time. But you see, I smiled and laughed and pooh-poohed your concerns away because it was the last gift I could give you. I do not want you to choose between him and me – it was never meant to be that way; it shouldn’t ever have to be. But just so you know, if I ever have to make the same choice again or go through that afternoon one more time, I wouldn’t do anything differently. I would still have sniggered at your crestfallen faces, hooted at your soul-searching, laughed at your apprehensions, ribbed you about your two-timing would-have-been girlfriend, insisted that we go boozing real soon or you’d be too sober to function, poked you back so you’ll know I’ll miss that weird habit of yours because I know that my laughter – no matter how hollow – will give you peace of mind.

For you, a thousand times over.

The hub keeps bugging me to blog in detail about our weekend away – and I will. But please, not until I’ve fully slept the exhaustion off! It hasn’t been easy getting dual diagnosis treatment. Understand, this is the first time I left the house for more than 5 hours since giving birth last September 26. Rejoining the rest of the world takes some getting used to.

Our foray to Dumaguete was fun but it was also easily the worst trip I’ve ever taken. Everything that could possibly go wrong did. First, our luggage fell off the bus (more on this on another post) and we almost reached Dumaguete utterly clueless that the sole maleta we carried was lying on a lonely road somewhere between Cebu City and Sibulan. When we did get our luggage back, it was so badly mangled we had to shop for another one that very day. Then, the moment we checked into our hotel, we got told by locals that everything was within walking distance so we walked – and I promptly ended up with an asthma attack.

On the second day, we went to this pricey resort in Dauin. It was called El Dorado. The resort was pretty but the rooms were ugly. The staff were horrid and we were the only guests there who did not have an old, wrinkled male Caucasian to cling to. I had the hub cancel our stay and ask for our money back. We didn’t get it – at least, not fully, because the hub was brutally honest and told them we loathed our room and the service. It was only after the hub fought with the receptionist that we realized we were stuck in the middle of nowhere – literally – with no ride out. My cousin, Jamie, had to make several frantic calls before she lucked in on a former suitor who not only fetched us but took us on a mini-tour of other resorts. We opted to stay at the South Sea Resort Hotel. The place is a gem and there, finally, the hub and I got the rest and moments alone he claims he badly needs. But before that, we met up with two blogger friends Lurchie and Dan.

So now, until I’m over this vacation-induced fatigue, I’m going to try resize photos and post in Multiply when I can. We were supposed to be home Sunday but the huuuuge waves made the return impossible. Needless to say, the delay threw a big wrench into my schedule.

Oh, and dear Vet, if there’s one thing this trip validated, it’s that I’ll never be good at ‘roughing it’. But I promise I’m entertaining company. Ask the roommate.

I’m not going away. I am going somewhere. I have places to see, verses to learn, stories to write, odd corners to turn, moments to capture, heavens to peer at, ghosts to drag, and nostalgia to challenge the stars with. I want to find places that will break my heart and hold moments that force me to stop and remember. I want discovery and metaphors, scars and cycles, moonlight and galaxies, tombstones and ripples, and the birthing of stars.

I’m not going away. I am going somewhere. I don’t have a map or a saltwater sketch of all these places I am going to but I don’t need one. My feet know the way to the sea.