I don't know why but this speaks a lot to me.

I still remember what my creative writing teacher once said which I thought was compelling: "If you don't read, you can't write. Read, read, read. Write, write, write." My favorite subject in grade school was reading and writing and still was until about 2-3 years ago. I have lost my sense of curiosity and my drive to learn and gather information. I have ceased to become nosey, and the passion to want to experience other people's experiences through the written word is pretty much obliterated from my blood. I say this with sadness and longing. And yet, I'm not doing anything to reverse the situation. I have dejectedly accepted it.

I thought that by taking this anti-depressant Lexapro, I might recover some of the passion, but nothing worth reporting in that department. Although it has helped me become less weepy and less anxious, I still long for that time when I would gobble through 4-5 books a week and live in that world of imaginary experiences. Now, the only imagination my mind can conjure, is the image that I am Simon Cowell's pregnant girlfriend who gets hormonal enough to bitchslap that black why-are-you-still in Simons boat and private plane eating his grocery Sinita woman. Oh, ok so I still read the rag sheet. Excuse me.

Oh well hell. To bribe you to continue reading my rag, here's something I will show you  for the first time ever....Me twerking.

I come from a country with 7,100 islands, and yes I don't know how to swim. I thought I'd have to take up swimming lessons before the worms sign my death certificate, but naah, I think I need to learn to twerk.

My last meal the day before I left Dallas.

And my first meal here in Cebu---bitter melon sautéed with eggs. Because of the 2 ships that collided with each other and sank, leaving about 100 people dead and missing, we're told to avoid fish from the neighboring suppliers.  Isn't that a mess. 

Today is my 3rd day here in Cebu and jetlag is the worst I've had; I could not shake off sleepiness.  I tried walking to the grocery store yesterday to get some sun which normally helps with jetlag, but garbage strewn all over the street  and the toxic smell permeating the air almost knocked me dead. Here in the Philippines, at least in this congested island where I'm at, cleanliness is not applicable. But today, I had to go find my boys.

I have a simple understanding of why a man and woman should live together: so they can be a help to each other; emotionally, financially and spiritually. I expect the man to provide all 3 and the woman is supposed to be a helpmate--a helper alongside him. You can say I'm being traditional, naive or unrealistic but this is where I stand on the issue. And I stand by it strongly.

So when I watch right under my nose my nephew's wife sleeps all day, smokes, drinks and only gets her hands wet when she makes her own coffee, not to mention her beating him up when she gets drunk,  I feel like declaring a jihad against both of them. What kind of a man are you to take this crap from a woman who looks like a rolly polly. I can understand if he comes home to a drunk and lazy Halle Berry look alike, but to have to live with that lazy roll of lard? Oh well, let me shut up so I can call the Taliban and tell them to come pick up Bin Ladin's sister.

The redneck insisted that before I leave for the Philippines we have to have "matching rings". "And what is that for?" I asked. "Oh, just because the ring I've chosen is appropriate for your vagabond lifestyle." Oh well. I can't argue with anything that's free.

The Hebrew inscription is from the book of Ruth in the Bible which says: "Do not urge me to leave you or turn back from following you; for where you go, I will go and where you lodge, I will lodge."

My late husband was spontaneous and lived his life throwing caution to the wind. His perfect faith in God allowed him to do that, while I on the other hand though I claim to put my trust in the God of the universe acted like God needed my assistance all the time. So I didn't enjoy my life as much as my husband did.
After he died, I started to ponder on the greatest lesson he had left me: The legacy of total trust in the Lord and living life to the fullest with  childlike joy. I then began to act on the lesson I've learned from him; I threw caution to the wind and started the "vagabond" life---I quit my job, gave up my apartment, lived here and there. All that on a poverty level income. At first it was liberating and fulfilling, but at some point along the way, I silently wished to find someone who would share the same lunacy with me. At the same time looking back and regretting: Why didn't I do this with my husband? Well, because we didn't have the money, that's why.

While I wished to find that someone, I didn't really do anything about it. Until last March when I found the "redneck". While my husband had more college degrees than I have teeth, the redneck didn't go to college. But that's the only difference between them. The redneck is godly, spontaneous, adventurous and while he's crazy over me, I'm not joking when I say he's two steps away from being plain crazy. Today, he asked me: "Should I quit my job today so we can go to Asia and start being hobos?" "Oh no baby, I'm too old to live on love alone. I need to eat too."  I think he's looking at eBay now to sell his liver and speed up the hoboing process.

Some good news (No, I'm not getting married. And no, I'm not pregnant) was delivered to me yesterday and because I'm slow, I'm still trying to process it. But one thing I know right away, I feel like a thorn on my side has been removed. Also, I'm feeling liberated and no longer under pressure to be "stable" but that I can now continue spinning and only stop because I'm getting dizzy---and not because I have to.

In a few months I can let you in on the news, but for now, we'll have to leave it in the classified folder. This is where Facebook I think, is useful after all. Can you imagine me having to call all my 237 friends to share with them any news I have? Simple things like what I've just mentioned above. Or telling them what I just had for lunch. Or that I am no longer "in a relationship" Oh well, some Jewish boy will always be found tinkering in his garage finding ways to make people more sociable. From their cave, I mean.

Chat took me to lunch yesterday and then on to watch the movie We're the Millers. Five minutes into the movie, I can already tell it's a slapstick. And nothing I hate more than that. When I want to watch a movie, I don't want to be "a-mused", yes, I want to be entertained but I want to muse and laugh in the process. That's what I call comedy. The movie is too farcical and exaggerated. When I look to my side and saw Chat busy playing with her cell phone, I knew she was starting to get ticked too. Oh well, it wasn't all that bad because Chat only goes to an iPic theater---you know, where you get a full restaurant service and a chair that reclines almost to a bed and I thought my cheesecake and coffee topped off my construction workers lunch.

I am 2 steps away from being smart. And by this I mean, I am now able to sort things in my head to where petty stuff don't send me to the edge of angst. And I don't get weepy just because someone told me I'm beautiful. (Or humble)  Could it be that the Lexapro is starting to work? A week ago, I was so anxious as to what I should do about the job offer; should I postpone my trip and work? Well, the other day I made the decision without any hesitation that I didn't want to work-- I just want to get on that plane and leave.

Chat called and asked me yesterday if my bags are packed. "Yup. I'm all packed. I'm taking just one bag because taking 2 bags means I have to buy more stuff to load in it." "Look at you, getting all responsible and stuff."  Chat just knows how to build up her mother. So I said. "I have finally matured." "You are mature when you stay in one place. I thought the redneck would be able to tame you and make you stable."  I wonder what she meant by that last word. Well, I didn't want to rock her boat any more so I didn't tell her that the redneck and I are planning to become full time hobos. Yesterday, I told him to quit his job, take an early retirement so he and I can backpack our way through the jungles of Indonesia and Vietnam. Chat doesn't know that while I am 2 steps away from being smart, the redneck is 2 steps away from being crazy. "Ok baby, just say when and we'll be on our way." Ohmylanta, I finally found my perfect partner. In the rehab.

When in doubt, ask Chat. This has been my motto and though Chat hates to be put in this situation, it has pretty much been the guiding stick that I've followed--she makes the final say so. I have only 2 weekends left before I have to leave for Cebu and I'm starting to get overwhelmed with last minute decisions. I have an opportunity to do some part time work and make extra income so I am tempted to not leave this year at all and just wait til next year--- especially because a Jewish acquaintance whose biblical teaching I dearly love has started a new group and has asked me to help.

But then, there's my street boys and my stray cats to consider. I miss the boys and I'm dying to see my cats

. Ohmylanta, having to choose and decide gives me a headache.

One thing I like about the redneck is I can drag him anywhere and everywhere and he enjoys himself more than I do.   But the best part is that the redneck is spontaneous and will try anything I ask him to try-- like, eating foods totally foreign to him, or go to some place he's not familiar with.  Here he is trying to blow the shofar at the synagogue we visited yesterday.

He was so happy we found Fuddruckers burger after 15 minutes of driving around. Ok, so now I found a new subject for when I'm not talking about me, myself or I. Don't worry, I promise this is the last one about the redneck---because  I can't be eclipsed by anyone else, right?