Bottled Sky

An online acquaintance died yesterday. Hearing about the death of someone I know always leaves me feeling disoriented, but this one was particularly shocking since she was only a little older than I, and like many people, I associate death with old age. It really goes to show how unpredictable life is and how anyone can die anytime in a countless number of ways.

It also made me wonder how many abandoned sites out there belonged to people who have died. Not that I’ve never thought about that before, though. In fact, a couple of years ago I gave my FTP password to my friend Chrissa, along with instructions to post a quirky and light-hearted death announcement on my site just in case it’s still around when I die. Something morbid but funny and maybe even cute, I told her. Tall order? Nah. If anyone can pull that off, it’s Chrissa.

I mean, she wasn’t even weirded out by my request, as I’m sure my other friends would have been had I asked them instead. She actually likes the idea — at least enough to give me access to her LJ account every time she travels abroad, so I can do the same for her should her plane crash. (Hopefully I will never have to.)

This reminds me, I need to update her on a couple of password changes I’ve made since migrating to WordPress. Hey, it’s better to be prepared.

What good is a shoe addict’s blog without random bouts of shoe worship? I, therefore, present to you my favorite stilettos:

These were a joint gift from Chrissa, Tin and Albert. They asked me what I wanted for my birthday two years ago, and I immediately said shoes. It’s almost an automatic response for me They agreed, so we went to the mall to hunt for the perfect pair.

I love these shoes, because they’re such a unique color—silver-brown with a nice, soft sheen. I’m also quite fond of the ribbon detailing, the peep toe and the little cutouts. They’re sexy without being over the top. And even though they’re stilettos, the heels aren’t so high that I can’t walk in them. I’m not saying they’re uber comfy, but at least they’re tolerable.

I bet you won’t be able to guess the strangest place in which I’ve worn these shoes… I actually wore them in an operating room. I went to the American Eye Center, the same place where I had my laser eye surgery, to have a sty removed. My dad, who drove me to the clinic, questioned my choice of footwear before we left the house:

Dad: That’s what you’re wearing to surgery?!

Me: Why not? If I have to walk around a public place with a bloody bandage over my eye, at least my feet will look good!

I had to wear paper booties over my shoes during the operation. It was a good thing the heels didn’t tear through the paper After the surgery, my dad and I met up with my mom at the supermarket and had dinner at a restaurant. People kept giving me weird looks. (They obviously hadn’t yet realized that stilettos were the perfect accessory to liven up post-surgery bandages.) It was a lot of fun! I love it when I baffle strangers with my eccentricities.

My friend Chrissa and I were having one of our phone marathons recently, and we got to talking about our kindergarten days. (We both attended CSA Makati from kindergarten to high school.) I asked her if she could recall the time we were required to view a morbidly detailed presentation about the life and death of Lorenzo Ruiz, the first Filipino saint. For her it was only a vague memory; I could still remember it like it was yesterday.

It was the anniversary of Lorenzo Ruiz’ canonization, and for some crazy reason the school administration thought it was a good idea to present a diorama depicting the events that made him a martyr to a bunch of impressionable five- and six-year-olds. The guy was tortured for refusing to denounce his faith. His captors hung him upside down with his head buried in muck, drove metal spikes under his fingernails, and jumped on his stomach after forcing him to drink copious amounts of water. Now picture all that in lifelike miniature. I had nightmares after seeing that diorama!

They say early childhood trauma greatly affects how a person turns out later in life. Could that gruesome display be partly to blame for Chrissa’s and my slight strangeness? Could that premature awareness of water torture be the reason that I have to pee every other minute and that Chrissa drinks much less than the recommended eight glasses a day? Could that morbid diorama be why we were the only two people out of a packed movie house who laughed out loud when a guy—strapped to a wheelchair in his underwear and engulfed in flames—rolled down the street in Red Dragon? (We were honestly surprised that nobody else thought that scene was funny.)

Have we been scarred for life?