Yesterday my friend Jaja invited me to go to the beach for the weekend and I’m excited. The island is beautiful. The last time I went there was during holy week and that was the last time I got some “real” sun. I got a tan that lasted for a couple of months. It’s funny though, when I was in Hawaii, I baked under the sun for 6 days from morning until afternoon, but it didn’t even leave the slightest hint that I was at the beach. But when I was on their island for 4 days, I baked. I guess the sun is hotter here than Hawaii (there’s probably a scientific explanation for this). Anyway, I normally don’t burn easily, but once I do, it lasts for a while so it’s cool.

I’ve been cooped up in the office during weekdays, home on weekends and I sometimes go out with Cristina and Margie at night since that last trip. Cristina, Margie and I would always plan to go to the beach, but so far it was only the Tagaytay trip to Estancia that pushed through-and that’s the closest we got to a body of water-not even a beach. Oh, but it was wonderful! We just gotta work harder on the plans and actually do it next summer. I’ve been craving to go to the beach and I daydream about it. It’s always a good break from city life. It would be nice to wake up to silence if not the waves crashing and that fresh air would fill my lungs instead of waking up to the noise of the morning traffic and smelling the smog in Makati.

The beach would also be a good place to contemplate on my decision and spend some time with friends that I haven’t hung out with for the longest time. I just wish that Margie and Cristina could go. Anyway, my friends and I haven’t seen nor spoken with each other for the longest time considering that our offices are only a block apart. And to think that we used to hang out almost everyday. We never had a “falling out” thing or any minor disagreements. I guess things just change when we grow older. Interests and choices lead us on different paths. It’s nothing sad or disappointing. It just happens. But one thing remains important, no matter how different our lives may turn out to be, it’s good to still keep in touch and spend time with friends.

I find myself at a crossroads in my life. In about less than 2 weeks, I would have to make a decision that could change my life drastically. It’s a choice between building a life here or a life elsewhere and I’m embarking on this journey alone. Perhaps this is the reason why I have remained unattached and maintained my distance from romantic relationships.

I never thought that I would find myself in a predicament like this, but then life has a way of presenting opportunities and challenges. It’s both exciting and frightening because there’s no U-turn that I can take once I have chosen to take a certain road. I’ve tried to think of as many fall backs as I can to at least support each choice and to bring me comfort if my decision doesn’t work out the way I intended.

I always try to weigh the Pros and Cons before I make any decisions and I have always tried to be practical. I used to be a risk taker but certain consequences made me learn that a person really has to look before he leaps in certain situations. So I’m quite careful now than I used to be. I try to live by the “Cause and Effect” rule.

Still, I find myself utterly confused with what decision to make because the Pros and Cons are somewhat equal. Both present the gravity of fears and regrets. So now, I am left with the reading of signs around me and listening to what my heart speaks. Sometimes my thoughts overpower its voice, but based on the majority of decisions I have made in the past, the heart is always right.

I was 12 when I last saw my father. He had initially intended to work in Canada and came back because of home sickness. He left again, but this time, he never came back-not to our family at least. I carried a certain hope that he would return and we would again be the perfect family that we once were. That hope eventually faded and I finally accepted that he had another life while my mother and I had our own.

For years I have been broken, angry and sad. I deeply resented and blamed him for many of the wrong things that happened in my life. There was an emptiness that he left that I tried desperately to fill. I liked to be with friends and in crowded places most of the time to drown out the loneliness and sadness. I tried not to be envious of other friends’ relationships with their fathers, but I failed. Secretly, I longed to have that. My parents didn’t have to be together. All I wanted was to be close to my father.

We kept in touch though. Most of the time, we would only have awkward conversations over the phone and when I was younger, he did write to me a couple of times. I called him to ask him for money to pay for my tuition, thesis expenses and for short vacations. My father was a bit of a miser and he noted all his expenses. Years would pass before our next string of small talk. If there’s one thing though that remained the same, it was that he kept his bible close and still preached to me a few times.

For years I have tried to make sense of why he left, but I was never able to. And for years I had planned to get in touch and boast to him what I have made of myself. I was still angry, but I have always had a soft spot that made me cry at the very thought of him. I have always put that plan aside because I didn’t know where to start or how to go about an estranged relationship. It was always easier to preoccupy myself with other things. I think a lot of people go through this. It’s always difficult to start over or to mend things that have been broken.

I got in touch with my father last Monday evening. I cried when I heard him speak, but I tried my best not to let him hear the emotion from my voice. It had been a little over 4 years since we last spoke. But it wasn’t tears of sadness or longing. I was happy. I was eager to know what he was up to and to find out anything about his life. I wanted to have the connection that we lost over the years. All of a sudden, all the things he has done that hurt me didn’t matter anymore. They were all in the past and those were the things that weren’t worth remembering. What mattered was the wonderful memories we shared as father and daughter, his relationship with my mother and what we had as a family.

It’s very difficult to come to terms with a situation like this and it’s difficult to forgive, but I know that if I maintained the anger, sorrow and pain, I would’ve nurtured a burden that could last a lifetime. There’s a time for everything-for pain, anger, grieving, forgiveness and letting go. You have to let go of one emotion to experience another and you have to know when to put things in the past and when to live in the present. Time is something not to be taken for granted because it cannot be taken back.

I love my father and at times before, I imagined and thought of how I could show my love for him. And I realized now that one of the greatest acts of love is forgiveness. I ask for no apologies or tears from him. I only want us to be father and daughter.

I have a total of 3 journals; a blog, a pc journal and a written journal. I thought about this previously, but it feels natural. Each serve their own purpose and they’ve got different levels too-depending on the gravity of what my thoughts contain.

My blog is a little peek inside my life and my thoughts. I exude a different image in person and I’m not the “what you see is what you get” type. I’m more of the “what you see doesn’t hold true at times” type. There’s more towards the person than first impressions and what meets the eye. Plus-most of my entries here are, more often than not, positive.

The pc journal is a little bit more forthright. This journal contains my thoughts and opinions on controversial topics such as infidelity, drugs, insecurity, mid-life crisis and so on…But I dare not post the entries on my blog because first-I must admit that I am uncomfortable with negative criticism; second-I don’t want to offend anyone; and third-people don’t like topics that are negative.

Lastly, I have a written journal which contains part of the real me. I guess the purpose for this written journal is it’s very personal connection-the hand writing, the scent and its attachments such as photos, tickets, letters and other things special to me. Knowing its entries is probably the closest anyone can really get to know me. I guess people who have this type of journal want to immortalize certain moments in their lives and themselves in other people who get to read it.

All three journals are liberating. It is in the sense that one allows you to be comforted knowing that some people get to read what you would like to impart without having to literally voice them out to be heard, another allows you to write your own history as you alone see it. And yet another allows you to be you.

My mother is a Roman Catholic. My father is a Protestant. My family name is Jewish and I’ve got Muslim cousins. I’ve got Filipino and Spanish blood running through my veins but to a lot of people I look Chinese. Alrighty then, I’m a mongrel. My family background is-should I say eclectic?

I thought about this the other day and felt grateful that I was born at a time when people are more open-minded and more accepting of differences and diversities. What mattered was how you distinguished your own identity rather than what your background says you are. I’m also grateful that I was not born and lived in a closed-minded strict country that saw things in black and white.