Nevergirl's

There are three things I do really well. The first is speedread. The second is shop online (I kid not; my eBay account is proof I have a PhD in online shopping). The third is find all sorts of pretty things to trance out to.

This is what’s currently keeping me hypnotized: Nuffnang’s “My Zalora Wishlist” contest. The mechanics are simple: list down the five things on Zalora that’s currently making your heart go a’pattering. This, friends, family, and Google bot, is my list.

Why do I need these things in my life?

1. I’m Going to Paris. Again. – I went to Paris in February. In the middle of winter. When temperature dipped as low as -15! When going to the usual tourist spots meant trudging home with chaffed hands, bleeding lips, and blistered cheeks!

On the first day, we spent close to three hours in Pere Lachaise cemetery, getting hopelessly lost. Eventually, we gave up trying to find all the rich and famous buried there, and contented ourselves with simply writing on Oscar Wilde’s tomb.

Do you see the glass encasing? They put that there because women supposedly leave lipstick marks all over his tomb!

Now, I always thought I was a Parisienne in a past life, that I’d take to the language, the subway, the criminally late dinners, and the utterly chic bistros and cafes dotting the Montmarte like duck takes to water. But, no. Thanks to the freezing cold, I spent most of my time in Paris sleeping early, waking up late, and trying to spend as much time indoors as I could get away with. Like so:

Sure, I ended up in the Louvre, but purely by accident. I got lost. “Excuse me,” I said to a local. “What is that huge palace across this street?” “It’s the Louvre, madam,” the woman said, looking at me incredulously, as if I’d grown three foreheads right that minute.

This photo is proof I didn’t go up the Eiffel; I just stood maybe 50 feet away and had my photo taken.

I didn’t go inside the Notre Dame, too (hey, I was running late for a flight).

I never went to Versailles, the south of France where the wineries are, and just about every place on my guide book. Because yes, I got a guide book. But no, it proved not very useful at all because I am very talented at avoiding the cold.

If this trip pushes through, I intend to spend all my day outdoors, going from one museum to the next. I shall speak French so well they’d think I must have Corsican blood (I can pass myself off as Corsican, I think. They’re so much smaller than I am!) I shall even be very ambitious and try to do my rounds of all 21 arondissements! And of course, I shall do all these dressed to the nines. It’ll be summer when I get there so it’ll be no holds barred when it comes to dressing up. What could be more Parisian chic than the Alpha Black Dress, the Antoinette frock, and this decadently trimmed number?

2. I’m Going to Scotland - Think Whithorn in Galloway, St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall, the Church of the Holy Rude in Stirling, Greyfriars Kirk (made famous by that Disney movie about the loyal dog Greyfriars Bobby, who guarded his master’s grave for 14 years), the National Museum of Scotland—holy macaroni, the list is endless!

I’m a medieval history nut AND a faithful reader of Barbara Cartland (this is embarrassing but I was in grade school okay? I really thought swooning went with kissing, and every good-looking guy is secretly a rake desperate for salvation. Ick!) so this trip is doubly exciting for me. I’m sure I’ll do a lot of walking, which is why these Buggy Lite sneaks are on my wish list.

I’ve never been the sneaker type of girl, but I’m sure sneaks would come very handy when I drag everybody I’m with to Urquhart Castle in Loch Ness, so we can go wait for Nessie to show up.  The Veronica skirt will be useful, too, for hiding all the deep fried haggis, Mars bars, Black pudding, and salt’n'vinegar I wolf down in Rose Street.

3. I Need Saving - I need to save all I can for these two upcoming trips. I can’t be spending all my money on pretty things, even though I did just get my order from Zalora. See what I mean about needing to save?

It doesn’t help that they make it so convenient to buy online. They accept Paypal, they offer free shipping on all orders, and worst of all, they offer such speedy delivery you can get your order within three hours of placing! I’ve no doubt that left to my own devices, I’d spend all my money on pretty clothes, and where would that leave me? In the unhappy position of being able to afford the trips only if I subsist on sunshine and water in the next four weeks. So really, Zalora would be saving me from myself by making this wishlist come true.

4. It’ll Be My Birthday Soon - I’ll turn 30 this June 25. I can’t think of a better present to myself. Unless, of course, somebody on Forbes’ 50 Richest were to suddenly keel over, suddenly and inexplicably leaving me sole heir to an unspeakably vast fortune. Think Manny Pacquiao will kick the bucket soon?

Incidentally, if you’re wondering what to get me, please give yourself permission to give me this. Hahaha!

5. It’s Not Easy Being Me - Yep, it’s not. I have all the attention span of a fly. For instance, I just spent the last three minutes reading up on apidextra (click here to learn more about apidextra but this is another blog post altogether!).I run into doors and furniture, and fall off stairways with almost psychopathic frequency. I get colors mixed in the wash. I lose keys, receipts, ID’s, and God knows what else so often I once thought of tying up all these little bric-a-brac and wearing them as a necklace. The first and last time I tried to fry something that didn’t come from a can, I ended up dunking it in so much oil I made myself dizzy afterwards.

Yes, it’s not easy being me. In fact, I managed to eat my first meal today only at 3pm because first, I had to google how to make omelet. And then, I had to look up how to dice tomatoes. And then, I had to go look for tomatoes. Given how dismal my life is, it’s really the little saving graces here and there that keep me from throwing myself in front of a speeding tricycle. What I’m saying is that in the grand scheme of things, pretty clothes may pale next to winning the lottery but until that happens, it’s one of the few pick-me-uppers there is that never fails.

A friend wrote once that everything tastes better with butter. I disagree. Everything tastes better with pretty clothes tossed in.

Right now I’m stuck in the metro where cars and trucks honk like crazy, and the heat gets so bad I sometimes open the fridge and stick my head inside. You know how I get by? By drinking boatloads of water, wearing as few (and thin) clothes as possible, and ogling all the pretty, shiny things I find online. If I get any more fixated on Zalora, I’d have to ask family and friends to stage an intervention. Such is the peril of being Achinette.

P.S: This is my entry to Nuffnang and Zalora’s contest. All Nuffnangers with at least one valid ad unit and a Zalora account are eligible. Contest runs from April 23 to May 23, 2012. If you haven’t turned in an entry yet, now’s the time to do so. You can get your wishlist fulfilled and get Php 5,000 credit courtesy of Zalora. You can read about Zalora here. Don’t forget to like Zalora’s Facebook Page and follow them on Twitter for updates.

P.P.S I really mean what I said about the satchel, friends and family!

It’s that stretch of road just past the Caltex Station. It suddenly goes up a couple of meters then dips down, leaving you giddy and breathless for the smallest split of a second. In that second, I swear, it doesn’t matter how fast or slow or often I drive past that point. Each time it happens, I always think “This must be what it’d feel like for God to swing me up in his arms.”

That is, if there is a God who swings errant little children up his arms.

“You romanticize everything,” the man said when I told him how this bend in the road makes me feel.

He has been telling me this in the 11 years we’ve been together. I remember the last time I slept underneath the stars. It was my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary. We all decided to sleep by the beach. Of course, we didn’t but what we did do is spend hours underneath the sky, with blankets covering our legs and the laughter of cousins we hadn’t seen in years enveloping us in a bear hug. Just before my cousins talked me into a noisy, dirty round of 1-2-3 Pass, I wrote him a letter.

“The last time I slept underneath the stars, I remember, I was in love.

Even now, all I have to do is close my eyes and I’d be there again: 20 years old and so certain in my happiness I’m sure my face glowed like the stars above me.”

I don’t know if I need to romanticize less or more. What I do know is that sometimes, when it’s least expected especially, I get that moment—quick as silver, short as time, that barest semi-colon of air—when everything seems possible just because I think it is so.

Maybe it is.

Because I’m sick, and homesick, and sad, and tired; I shall borrow a tragedy.

(A premise)

Why are you afraid to leave, dearest girl?

If you are doing it to keep yourself, go on. Leave.

Take everything with you: photos, furniture, the trinkets in the drawer, the kids if you have them (the pets, if you don’t), the  bear rug by the fireplace, all of the china, the books by the shelves, the lone painting by the door. Leave the walls bare, the cupboards empty.

This is what will happen after you go: he will forget you.

It will not happen right away, not for a while, not while your fingers are still warm on the doorknob. But it will happen. He will forget you.

He will forget you, slowly but precisely.

He will forget your name, your smell,  your face, the feel of your skin, how tiny your hand feels clasped in his, the ring he placed on your finger, the color of your hair, the quiet sigh you make as you wake, how you met, why, and where, the bed, the toothbrush, the towel. Everything that knew your name, everything that touched your skin—he will remove them all, forget them all…but it’s alright, darling. Let him. Let him forget you. Let him forget you, slowly and precisely. When you go, everything should go too. It is the only way to be kind.

(Dear relatives, calm down. This is fiction, okay? No one’s leaving; no one’s getting left.)

The last time I slept underneath the stars, I remember, I was in love.

The moon looked like it had been spun out of stories and silver; and the sky was so clear I felt I could look up, fall into it, and slip unnoticed among the stars. I was young, and happy, and in love, and my world at that moment whirled around the big blue sky above me and the boy I was writing love letters to.

Even now, all I have to do is close my eyes and I’d be there again: 20 years old and so certain in my happiness I’m sure my face glowed like the stars above me.

(Achinette Villamor, Feb. 5, 2008)