4am

There is something about that time of night, that time when a peaceful calm hangs over a city, that time after everyone has finally drifted home from the bars and the clubs, that time before the early birds begin to stir and start another day.

That time when everything lies still.

Nothing can happen. Everything can happen.

And no matter how people always think it's crazy, I often find myself in these nocturnal wanderings. I always think that perhaps, when the world has come to a standstill, I finally may be able to grasp the mystery of life.

I never do.

Tomorrow will come another time, another stillness.

Perhaps then.

*****

It started in Toronto: my habit of wandering around in the middle of the night, while the world sleeps.

Seeing this awoke a sense of nostalgia in me.

It's been three years, today, since that trip ended. I remember how shattered I was then, how I felt that everything good had ended and the world would come to an end. I thought then, with all my youthful dramatics, that I had lost Toronto forever, and I couldn't come back.

Yet, three years later, these streets look exactly how I left them.

Suddenly I realized, that I will never lose Toronto. Or Aix-en-Provence, or Turku, or any other place I have lived in for that matter. These places will always be there. I'm the one who has to move on. I have to grow up and become a different person.

I have to grow into the person I am supposed to be.

*****

Three years ago, I asked myself why good things had to end, why I had to leave.

I understand now.

do one thing everyday that scares you

"...the blues are because you're getting fat or maybe it's been raining too long.
You're sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible. You're afraid and you

sweat like hell, but you don't know what you're afraid of..."
--"Breakfast at Tiffany's", Truman Capote

It's been three weeks since I got back, and I'm still lost in the madness of getting my life back to normal. Wake. Eat. Work. Sleep. Wake. Eat. Work. Sleep. The routine is madness; yet I find myself thrown into it by forces of expectation & feigned responsibility. This is normal because this is what everybody expects of me. This is normal because this is what a mature, responsible adult would do.

I swallow this like a bitter pill.

It rained miserably the first week; the dark clouds settled over Manila the way they had over me. In the midst of warm hellos and welcome backs, my smile quivered at the edges. It terrified me. Here I was with the people I called my life, yet the thing I wanted to do most was to bolt and run away.

I was home, but this was no longer home. Nor is Toronto, nor New York, nor anywhere else in the world.

I no longer had a home.

*****

But I am okay.

It's nice to say that, even if only to myself. I am okay. It hasn't been stellar, but life goes on. There are still days when I wake up and feel that emptiness; where that part of me I lost when I left used to be. But if people can survive wars and deaths and nature's catastrophes, surely I am strong enough to survive this.

Toronto. That life seems so far away now, I wonder if it had only been a dream. Sometimes, in the middle of my daily rush, I catch myself standing, transfixed, before the poster of Toronto on my closet door. It's an aerial shot of the city, something I had tacked there years back not knowing how much the city would mean to me one day. My finger traces the outlines of the buildings, until I end up on Queen Street West. And, for a moment, I almost see myself walking down the street again.

I remember what it was like to be happy.

*****

Do one thing everyday that scares you.

I am scared as hell, but I promise to go on, because I know it will be worth it.

Life doesn't have to be this way.

the wanderer

Five months.

That's how long I've been gone.

It could have been a lifetime.

I've spent the last 24 hours in airports and airplanes, drifting in and out of a restless sleep. It's all a blur now, like some drug-induced haze, except the only thing I am on is pain. I've had to say goodbye so many times in the past few weeks that I am no longer capable of feeling anything except for that dull ache of a broken heart.

What bothered me most was I didn't know if I was going home, or leaving home.

In my brief states of consciousness, I could not even concentrate long enough to finish a page of the novel I had brought, or listen to the inflight radio before the music turned to garish noises pounding in my head. I could only stare out the windows, watching clouds roll by and icecaps floating on a boundless sea.

Then I saw myself, slipping away.

the day is breaking and time is taking
the love we're making away
this life can only leave us lonely
there's no tommorow,
just another little hole in her heart
- another little hole, aqualung

a new york state of mind

I woke up this morning to the sounds of birds chirping, and a car idling next door. I had tossed and turned last night, and every time I woke up in the middle of the night, I kept expecting to see the calming city lights of downtown Toronto through my windows.

But there was only darkness and the wind rustling through the trees.

*****

The rain was pouring when I got into New York last night; it seemed the skies mirrored the way I felt inside. It's funny. I’ve always said New York was my most favorite place in the world, but as I sat there in the taxi watching New York in all its big city frenzy, all I could think about was how much I missed Toronto.

And suddenly, New York no longer held that surreal magic I thought it had. I was disillusioned, like the way you would feel when you realize a love affair had gone bad.

I had fallen in love with Toronto without meaning to.

*****

The sinking feeling is gone, but in its place is an immeasurable sadness. It came with the reluctant acceptance that I will never see Toronto that way again, through my bedroom windows. I will never have a chance to relive those memories, for even the places that could bring those memories back have started to turn fuzzy.

Someone told me that I still have three weeks -- New York will still have a chance to work its magic with me.

Maybe.

Right now, all I’m praying for is just to have the courage to move on.

epilogue: suite 506

There is an apartment, on a corner of a nondescript building in downtown Toronto, that lies dark and empty.

It's on a quiet corner of the fifth floor. If you look out the windows from the master's bedroom, you will see the lights of the Toronto Hilton elevators as they climb up and down the building. South on Simcoe Street, you will see the boarded up windows of Toronto's oldest hotel, as it lies waiting to know if it will be demolished or restored to its old grandeur.

If you lie awake at night, you will hear the constant hum of the city cleaners as they make their way through the streets of downtown -- an invisible army washing away all the dust and grime of the day to prepare Toronto for another sparkling day. Sometimes you can even watch them from the windows, as the water cannons blast away all the posters plastered to the lampposts and street signs. The water archs gracefully in the air, and, just as it hits the lampposts, bits and pieces of poster paper are obliterated into tiny specks of fiber floating in the night air.

On weekends, this sound is replaced by the excited drone of people on the way to parties, ready to dance and drink the stress of the week away. The streets bustle with people walking briskly in the cool night air, while long white limousines and police cars dot the traffic snaking through the city streets. In the dark, the police car's lights dance on the apartment's ceilings, a reminder that the world goes on even when your own life seems to be on pause.

The apartment lies silent now.

It has been scrubbed and cleaned and stripped of all its character, ready for its next occupants.

But, for four months in the year 2006, it bore the color and character of two people who lived within its walls and called it home. It watched as they grew and evolved, bearing witness as they ran through a gamut of emotions, from the awe and wonder of two strangers arriving in a foreign land, to falling in love, to the heartbreak of letting go.

It shared the joy of the countless people who shared those four months with them: of zinfandels and wine glasses clinking against each other in celebration; of late nights working and bemoaning the headaches of the job; of the warmth of visitors from home; of dinners and desserts and new concoctions in the kitchen; of laughs and screams and wine bottles slammed against the glass table; of kisses exchanged in blurry moments; of conversations that felt like nothing but meant everything.

It lies silent now.

In a few days, this apartment will become someone else's home. It will bear the character of someone else's life; of someone else's hopes, dreams, and aspirations.

It will forget the memory of the people who once lived here.

But I will never forget. It will always remain in my memory as it once was, in the four months I called it home.

zero

Hello, Toronto.



This is Sheila.

Signing off.

one

I woke up with a start.

Then I remembered today was my last full day here, and I felt my heart sinking again. I hate having to wake up every day feeling like this; yet the thought that I will no longer have to feel this soon does not bring any relief.

Today, I will ride the subway to Sheppard and back one last time. I will look at those subway stops we pass and wonder why each stop looked the way it was, and realize my question will never be answered. I will go to the office, attempt to work, grab some lunch at Sheppard Centre, and pack up my things for the last time.

Tonight, I will walk around Toronto for the last time. I will walk down Yonge Street looking into the colorful store windows one last time. I will walk around Queen Street West, which I have come to know as my village, one last time. I will sit by Nathan Phillips Square and allow the place to calm me one last time.

Then, I will go home and watch the street from my bedroom windows.

I will try not to sleep. If I don't, maybe tomorrow will never come.

***

Sometimes, I wonder how my life would have gone had I decided not to go on this trip. A few months back, I almost gave this up, but for some reason even I could not understand then, I chose this.

I understand now.

I was supposed to do this.

***

In ten years, I promise to return to Toronto.

A lot can happen in ten years. Who knows? Maybe I would be living in Toronto by then. But, if not, I promise to return here, so I can remember who I once was.

And, maybe in ten years, I will understand why this happened. Maybe my future self would be able to tell me now, "See? That wasn't so bad, was it? Now, do you understand why you still had to leave?"

In time.

two

7 am. The early morning sun reflects on the cars and the buildings of downtown Toronto, sparkling as the rays hit the shiny surfaces.

I watch all this from my room. It is cold and dim and cozy inside, and I feel like snuggling back under the covers.

I am still sinking.

****

I wish someone from the future would come back here and tell me what lies ahead.

Tell me everything will be okay. Tell me I will be okay.

Because right now I can only see darkness.

****

And on the last Thursday of my last week in Toronto, we hold our final meeting for the project that brought me here. It was the last time I would work with some people on the team.

Everyone is saying goodbye.

****

Someone placed a flyer on my desk today. At the top, it read: What are you doing this weekend?

I am leaving Toronto.

I am flying to New York, but strangely, I cannot muster an ounce of excitement. All I can think about is leaving.

Damn, damn, damn. Deep breaths to keep the panic from rising.

****

At lunchtime, the tears threaten to well up, so I got up and walked out of the office. I ended up on a swing at Avondale Park, near the area where I spent the first two weeks of this trip. I still remember that day clearly. The world was whirling in the blustery winds.


This was where it all started, perhaps this is where it has to end.

****

Just when the catterpillar thought her life had ended, she became a butterfly.

I wish I was a catterpillar.

tasteseeing

If there is one word to sum up my Torontonian experience, it is this:

FOOD.

Teehee. Seriously, most of the sightseeing I've done here in Toronto has taken place in restaurants, pubs, and eateries across the city. Toronto has a very diverse community, and it's evident in the endless array of cuisines to try. I found myself checking off a long list of places to dine in, from those recommended in my trusty Ulysses guidebook, to those reviewed in Eye Weekly & Now Toronto (those free publications you find on street corners), to those sporting a Toronto Life/Cheap Eats/Zagat Rated sticker.

Come to think of it, it shouldn't be called sightseeing, but... tasteseeing? tastetasting? Whatever. Let's just call it good, excellent food.

So, I'm no chef or discerning food critic, but here is a list of some of my favorite places:

Best burgers. The charbroiled burgers at Utopia Cafe (586 College St.) are thick, juicy, and meaty. One of the best burgers I've tried. Believe me -- I starved for an hour just to get a seat here. Roar.

Best cheap eats. If you've got less than $10 and you want a mighty meal -- try the shish taouk at Laila (533 Bloor, near Bathurst). The Korean Grill House (214 Queen St. W) also has an eat-all-you-can night-owl special from 10pm onwards.

Best fine dining. (And best French cuisine, too.) I first tried French cuisine at Sassafraz (100 Cumberland St.), because I was hoping to get the chance to see some movie stars. Alas, I only found a Donald Trump lookalike, but French cuisine has been one of my favorites ever since. I had the duo of seared western veal striploin and veal braised pork belly, with vanilla scented sweet potato and pommery mustard glace. Doesn't it sound absolutely divine? It is.

Best desserts. I like the hazelnut gelati at Bar Italia (582 College St.), the tartufo at Epicure Cafe (512 Queen St. W), the brownie cheesecake at Tequila Bookworm (490 Queen St. W), and the cheesecakes at Future's Bakery & Cafe (483 Bloor St. W, near Spadina). Obviously, I have a sweet tooth. :P

Best grocery item. Okay, so why am I suddenly talking about a grocery? Because I am addicted to Two-Bite Brownies... I've been eating my recommended daily allowance of one bag a day! Teehee. (Sym, now I know why you love these!)

Best service. Our meal at Spiaggia Trattoria (2318 Queen St. E) was truly splendid. The servers were attentive, but non-obtrusive -- they don't hover around you like waiters in some restaurants do. Plus, the owner is so friendly you'll want to come back. (See my previous entry about this restaurant.)

Best ribs. I wouldn't normally cite a restaurant chain as a favorite, simply because I feel like the bigger restaurants don't put as much effort into their meals, but I really like Swiss Chalet's ribs (preferably the one at their King St. W branch). The meat just falls off the bone. Mmmm.

Best ambiance (And best Patio, too). Pear Tree (507 Parliament) has an intimate, artsy-fartsy feel to the place, with splendid jazz music playing in the background. Their garden patio out back is so pretty, you'll wish you went there with a date. ;)

Best chicken fingers. The Voodoo Chicken Fingers at Madison Avenue Pub (14 Madison Ave.). The place is packed with UofT kids (Connor told me this was a frat hangout... so I don't know what we were doing there. :P), and the service is virtually non-existent (including one weird waiter who kept checking out our table)... but chicken fingers are good, nonetheless.

Best coffee shop. I love coffee shops, even if I don't like coffee, simply for the fact that I can sit and watch people and pretend I'm some writer/artist/pained soul working on my next creative endeavour. I have two favorites here: Balzac's Coffee (55 Mill St.) is tucked away on a corner of the Distillery District, giving you a feel of old-world grandeur. Tequila Bookworm (490 Queen St. W), on the other hand, gives you a feel of a bohemian neighbourhood coffee shop, where you can leaf through the books and magazines on their shelves and act like an intellectual. Brilliant.

So, if ever you find your way to Toronto, check out these places, and maybe get me some take-out, too. ;)

three

I'm exhausted.

I'm so tired, but I don't sleep at night because I dread the feeling of waking up and knowing that another day has passed.

I feel like I'm sinking.

***

I came to the realization today, in the middle of a Polish sausage and poutine (the Torontonian equivalent of fishballs and isaw :P), that Nathan Phillips Square was my most favorite spot in Toronto.

I love sitting there, watching people pass me by. The Freedom Arches. The skating rink in the winter. The fountains and birds in the summer. The New City Hall reflecting on the pool. The clocktower of the Old City Hall chiming.

It's where I feel the most like I'm in Toronto.

That this isn't a dream, no matter how surreal it may seem.

four

She stared out the window as fluorescent lights rushed past her in a blur.

He sat across her, watching her. "What are you so angry about?"

She snaps her head towards him.

Yes, that was it, she thought. She was angry. The red lining of the train's seats reflected in her eyes, a dark, deep crimson that seemed to hold all the fury she felt inside. A jumble of thoughts were running through her head, as fast as the train sped through the dark tunnels.

Finally, she picks one coherent thought out of that jumble, and says it aloud. Not to answer his question, but to hear her own voice.

"Because I always ruin my chances at happiness."

"You deserve happiness. Take the risk. Sometimes, if you don't jump, you'll never find happiness." He pauses, thinking. "It's a choice, you know," he adds quietly.

"I know. And I choose this."

He sits there, absorbing the weight of her words.

The train slows down to a stop.

The familiar ding of the bell as the doors slide open.

He gets up quietly, and walks out of the train without a word.

She watches as he stands on the platform, turns, and watches her through the windows.

She could still call out, run after him if she wanted to.

Ding ding dong. The doors close, and the train jerks into motion again.

She sits there, watching as he disappeared in a blur.

And then she is there on the train, alone again.

Like how it had all started.

...i see you
hiding your face in your hands
flying so you wont land
you think no one understands
no one understands

so you hunch your shoulders and you shake your head
and your throat is aching but you swear
no one hurts you, nothing could be sad
anyway youre not here enough to care
- song for you, alexi murdoch

paparazzi post

I SAW PARIS HILTON!!!!!

Oh yeah! *does happy dance* Oh yeah!

Ooops, sorry, that was my lesbian side showing.

GM & Cheng, PANIS yung nakikita niyong starlets sa gym! :P

Ooops, sorry again, I just couldn't resist.

Anyway.

Queen Street West was teeming with screaming crowds this evening for the 2006 Much Music Video Awards. I wasn't about to let the opportunity for some star sightings pass me by, so splitting headache and painful left foot aside, I moshed myself into the crowd gathered in front of Chum City. (Besides, we live right next door -- it would be a crime not to join in when there was such a huge party downstairs!)

So, speaking of star sightings, I got a chance to see Nick Lachey, Nelly Furtado (what the hey? she raps now?!?), Rihanna, Tori Spelling, Jesse Metcalfe (that gardener Eva Longoria had an affair with in Desperate Housewives -- so many girls were screaming to take off his shirt!), and of course, Paris! (Ryanboy, I didnt get to see Elisha Cuthbert because she presented on the other stage. Boo!)

Unfortunately, my camera just has 3x zoom, so no paparazzi shots for you guys.

But Paris Hilton-sighting is enough for me.

Oh yeah! *does happy dance again* Oh yeah!

it's so hot here...

that people have started taking showers in fountains to cool off...

look at this kid. he's doing his happy dance!

[yonge-dundas square]

orange

The words scrawled across this ad at a streetcar stop along College cracked me up:

you're right. why is she orange?

Funny how people are turning themselves orange here when everyone back in the Philippines is trying to bleach themselves Michael Jackson white. Can you believe I cannot find a single whitening product on drugstore shelves here? Don't Canadians get BU (black underarms)?

As for me, I'm gonna love the skin color I have and continue basking in the sun until I'm as dark as Hernie the Nognog. (Hernaaaaaan! Miss na kita!!!!!!)

exhibit a: hernan and his mini-me

(hehe, hindi na halos makita sa camera)

tasting italy

That busy stretch of College Street called Little Italy was even livelier this weekend, as the neighborhood celebrated the annual Taste of Little Italy. The street was closed from Bathurst to Shaw, the usual traffic replaced by stalls offering food tastings for below $5, street performers playing world music, to traditional Italian choirs, to cool Puma-clad streetdancers showing off some soccer stunts, and pedestrians (including some hotties who were walking around shirtless :P) enjoying the warm summery day.

I got there right in time to see Italy playing the USA in the World Cup, and naturally, patios were overflowing with people watching the game. (Guess who they were rooting for. :P)

Here's the streetdancers I caught at the festival. (Click on this link to get the video.) Coolness.

eight

union station

is this forever this feeling i got
not enough and too much
so free and so caught up
in something and nothing both at the same time
i'm either out of my head or i'm out of my mind.

when I find out who I am
i'm going to know just what to do
when I pull myself together again
-give myself to you, train

thoughts on the shore

The lake was still and peaceful, like I had always imagined a lake should be. I sat there on the beach, running my hands through the sand as I watched the water lap gently against the shore.

In the silence, I found myself straining to hear the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore. Suddenly, I realized that I missed the ocean.

And the Philippines.

If it is true that all the waters of the world will converge at one point, then perhaps these waters had come from home, bringing with it a reminder that there was indeed something I had left behind.

I don’t know why I am here, or what comes next.

But I know this: I am supposed to come back.

***

Someday, I will find myself sitting somewhere on the shores of the Philippines, watching waves rolling on the shore. Perhaps these same waves will be there then, bringing with them a memory of Toronto. Of a time in my life when I knew peace.

And perhaps one day, like these waters, these two lives will converge, too.

that's hot

While walking down Queen Street West today en route to a tempura fix at Sushi Time, I found Much Music's (Canada's version of MTV) parking lot in a flurry of construction activity.

The good? They're holding the Much Music Video Awards this Sunday night... so I do get to see one of those summer street parties everyone's been telling me about after all!

The better? Much Music is right next to our condo. No need to camp out on the street waiting for the stars to show up -- I can just saunter over in my pambahay and slippers and shout, "Hey, <insert name of movie star here>, I live right next door! Wanna come up for drinks?"

The best? Elisha Cuthbert and Paris Hilton are gonna be there. Yeaaaaaaahhhh! Eat your hearts out, boys! (Sorry, my lesbian sides showing. :P) As I've always said, if I could be anyone for a day, I'd be Paris Hilton.

Oh yeah.

That's hot.

eleven

Four months ago, I left for Toronto unsure of what the next few months would bring. I came with the knowledge that this trip would be different from the rest, but I never expected it to be this different.

I couldn't have possibly imagined how life-altering this experience would be.

I couldn't have possibly known how difficult it would be for me to leave. I thought I would just feel a twinge of sadness, then hop on a plane and everything would be alright again.

But it won't be.

I couldn't have possibly known I would fall head over heels in love.