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I remember those days when I would be at my desk at work, looking out the window wondering what it would be like to not have to work under someone's schedule and agenda. Well, I achieved that. I don't have a schedule now; I go to the farm whenever I feel like it, then do some planting, refresh myself with coconut water and lay under the palm trees and listen to the rustling of the leaves. And some days I would drive to a beach resort where the wait staff knows me well enough not to even ask what I want to drink but automatically just bring me a coconut smoothie. I'd eat lunch, lounge around and fall asleep lulled by the sound of the waves. I would stay a few days until I miss the luxuries of the city, like the grocery store and the coffee shop, and then I just get on the ferry and come back here in my apartment and shop for books for my Kindle.

And what could be better? The charges goes to Chat....because she gave me my Kindle and arranged for book purchases to be charged to her card.  So this week I picked "Committed" by Elizabeth Gilbert. Below is a conversation she had with her then boyfriend who is now her husband, Felipe. He lived in Bali and she was there visiting him and they're talking about moving back to the US.

I will never forget one of the last enchanting evenings that he and I spent together at his cottage there - sitting outside, barefoot and dewy-skinned from the warm November air, drinking wine and watching a sea of constellations flicker above the rice fields. As the perfumed winds rustled the palm trees and as faint music from a distant temple ceremony floated on the breeze, Felipe looked at me, sighed, and said flatly, "I'm so sick of this shit. I can't wait to go back to Philly."

If there's anyone who can relate to what Felipe is saying, it would be me. Sometimes my friends would ask:  "So, how long are you going to stay in Dallas, or how long are you going to stay in the Philippines?" Chat knows not to ask me at all. Whenever I tell her something about what I plan to do in a week or a year later, she'd reply: "Ok, that's fine. Whatever." She knows not to waste saliva trying to extract dates or timeline from me, because the only thing you can be sure of about my "plan" is when it's already executed. 

I love my farm because there's something so organic and so refreshing about choosing and picking fruits or vegetables from my own land and not from the grocery store shelves,  but there's also that revitalizing, restorative surge of energy that comes over me when I think of going home to Dallas. I always get giddy--- and this time I'm saying:  I'm so sick of this shit. I can't wait to go back to Dallas.

Ladies, there's wisdom to this counsel: If you're looking for someone to marry, find one who has been married for a long time and when he gets divorced or widowed make sure you snatch him within the first 3 years. The reason for this is that a man who has been alone for more than 4 years is now used to being alone and will not be so keen on deferring to someone. And more likely has developed some new habits of a person who only answers to himself.

I have been living alone for 9 years and I have to admit that my difficulty in committing to a serious relationship is not because of not being able to handle someone's moods and idiosyncrasies or someone's selfish tendencies. I can handle any of that---as long as he doesn't live with me. The first year after my husband died, I discovered something about myself that I had forgotten while I was married; I found out that I loved being single. I enjoyed just picking up and do whatever I wanted to do without having to defer to a husband. And because I was married to a white man, whenever I travelled with him to Asia and I shopped with him in tow, I was always deprived of a substantial discount because it's erroneously presumed that a white man is moneyed. Another thing I found refreshing was that I could go into dark alleys and out of the way eating places without having to worry about the white man in tow. Because I'm a loner, I savored the "singleness" but my difficulty was because I missed my husband.

Fast forward to now. In my quiet moments I scan the horizon of my imagination and ask myself what I want to do "now". I circle around the area of singleness. I stick my head into the realm of doubleness. No clear choice. Do I want a man? Yes and No. Can I live with someone? I don't know.
But if not now, WHEN? Well, I'm working on it. I finally found someone who has ticked 98% off my list of requirements in a man. He's spontaneous, generous emotionally and financially and he's not lazy. So you want to know what the missing 2% is? I'll tell you later.

I have run out of things to say or write about. And this is because my brain cells are dead because I stare at my Facebook feeds too much, too long. Every day. And night. 

I was just reading an article that listed 10 things that kill our brain cells. The first one on the list was not eating breakfast, then it went on to say about "not engaging your mind." This one really bothers me, so I banged my head trying to figure out what it means to not engage your mind and what can I do to engage it. I came up blank. I used to read. I read important books, important articles and important news (if there's such a thing). Now? I read about my 237 friends' idiosyncrasies and copy paste cartoon drawings which are not really relevant or funny.  So why do it? Because I'm addicted to it--- the same way I'm addicted to lard.

Besides quitting Facebook which I can't do because that's my only social life, what else can I do to save my brain cells from vanishing to mush. Virtual dating is another brain decaying endeavor. Texas Poker? Candy Crush saga? Maybe read again? But what's the use, I can't retain any form of literature nowadays. One thing left: go on actual dating. Ok.

I've already mentioned in this blog about the recent study which showed that 35% of the people subscribed to online dating are already married. ( And when anyone use the word "study" you better believe it) And there's also another study that showed that men tends to be more honest  when writing, than in an actual face to face conversation. This one I believe is true, even if they don't call it a study.

I am so having fun with this online dating I could write a book about it and may actually get published. This man didn't ask me for pictures but his first question was - "Is English your second language and how proficient are you? But don't worry, as long as you can read a cookbook and understand the difference between grill and bake." I'm so having fun with this online dating, I could write a book. Or throw up.

Now that travelling on a US passport is less prestigious and more risky, I've pondered on acquiring a New Zealand, Australian or European passport.  I became a US citizen through marriage, so I'm thinking of the same route to achieve this. Now you have your answer why I'm on this online dating quest. ( I take in American applicants too because I don't have a car when I get back to Dallas and a good cut of steak  has long been deleted from my palate. Unless, it's free.)

Did I mention already that dating, virtual or actual is hard work? Take for example: There's this guy who acted and sounded so excited about me. He was showing every sign of lunacy ---towards someone he hardly knew. Like, I would just fall all over heels in love and jump in the sack with him. Within a day of exchanged communication through emails, he wanted right away to set up a Skype call. He even  called the shots; telling me what day and time.

I emailed back: Can we do it at 530 a.m. my time? I think I'd still be comatose at 3 a.m. Then he asked me: "Are you looking for a lover/best friend? because I am." 

My reply: No. I'm looking for a husband and that should better happen pretty quickly because I don't subscribe to premarital sex, because I'm a conservative Christian and the bible prohibits sex outside of marriage."

His reply : No, sorry, we don't need to Skype.

And I haven't heard from him since.  See, I use this tested and effective response whenever I want to scare a man off, without me hurting his feelings. I just could not tell him, " I don't do 5'3" men." ( I meant his height) And I made him leave me alone thinking he called the shots and that he was tall.

It's the lust for the forbidden. The challenge. The enigma. No, I'm not talking about a man, I'm talking about being forbidden to fly on any day I want because my plane ticket is "cheap." So I'm going to sit here in this brain frying heat until May 22 to fly back to Dallas. The length of time I have to wait, is not really what bothers me---it's being told I can't go as I please.

All my friends know that I am a restless female with  anxiety disorder. And when I told Chat that I am happy and content here at the farm in the island, her reply was: We'll see. What she meant was, of course you're happy anywhere, but only for a moment, and then you start "running away" again. I hate it when she calls it "running away." Why can't she call it "running towards"? Could it be because I myself don't know where I'm running to? But why do I have to know what's on the other side of the fence? That's what makes life enigmatic and challenging.

That's why I am thinking of doing something really wild and crazy when I go back to Dallas. And this would really be possible if I can get on the plane in the next hour. Because tomorrow I might change my mind about everything, including flying back to Dallas. At all.

I survived the Holy Week. While everyone was still working, I left the city and holed up in the island and I only came back when everyone seemed to have abandoned the city. I don't know what it is here in the Catholic country of Cebu but during the Easter week, the city people act like there's an order for a mass evacuation; everyone heads to the mountains or the beach. The place is all to myself. Just the way I want it. At my friends beach front. I took the boys camping and swimming.