Bottled Sky

I’ve lived in Metro Manila my whole life. I’ve battled the horrendous hi-way traffic five days a week since my grade school years (and I’ve lost many times, too, if the number of tardies I’ve acquired throughout my schooling is any indication). I’m used to the smog and the noise that can be found only in a busy, over-populated metropolis. I’ve grown accustomed to being 10 minutes away from the nearest shopping mall, and I can’t imagine life without cable TV and the Internet. If I had to be away from the city for longer than a few days, I’d miss it terribly. What more can I say? I’m an urbanite through and through.

It was, hence, only to be expected that alarm bells would go off in my head when one summer my parents happily announced that they were taking me on a road trip to Vigan. Eight hours in a car with nothing but rice fields to look at? Three days in a place that prided itself on being stuck in the previous century? More rice fields on the ride back?! They must have been kidding themselves if they actually thought I’d agree to come.

As it turned out, I was the one kidding myself when I thought they’d agree to go without me. So on an early summer day, trapped in an SUV with my parents and armed with only my loudest CDs, I was on my way to Vigan.

Continue reading A Visit to the 19th Century »

While I am still working on a way to achieve my goal of traveling the world, one of my books has gone ahead without me. My friend Chrissa went on a vacation to London last month, and I lent her my copy of The Lovely Bones to read on the plane. In return she photographed my book all around the city, much like the Traveling Gnome in Amelie. Here’s the jet-setting novel in all its London glory:

Check out the full-size photos here.

Doesn’t my book look like it’s having fun? I’ll find a way to get there (as well as to Santorini, Venice, Tokyo… well, you get the picture) myself someday. I’m sure of it.

My name is Nikki, and I am a shoe addict. I don’t remember exactly how or when my addiction started, but I do know that I’ve been hooked on footwear for at least seven years. I exhibit all the classic signs of shoe addiction. For example,

• “I want to buy new shoes!” is my first thought every time I walk into a mall or whenever I get my hands on some extra cash;
• I buy ridiculously uncomfortable shoes only because they look sexy on my feet;
• I wear aforementioned ridiculously uncomfortable shoes to school, the mall and everywhere else even if they give me blisters the size of small countries;
• I have four times as many pairs of shoes as I do pants;
• I believe that there is no such thing as owning too many pairs of shoes.

Yes, I know all about the horrific things that stilettos can do to a person’s health, and believe me, I’ve tried time and again to control my shoe spending. Unfortunately, I simply cannot resist the lure of pretty footwear and always crack after a few months of resistance.

One wonderful thing has come out of this obsession, though. It led me to make peace with my feet. My feet are a bit on the wide side, and I used to despise them. During my foot-hating years I wore only closed shoes—absolutely nothing with an open toe.

My obsession with shoes changed all that. It made me realize that life was too short for brooding over things I couldn’t change. It helped me come to the conclusion that it was pointless to waste all my time hiding my feet when there were so many beautiful shoes waiting to be worn. Bring on the blisters! I say they’re worth it.

All throughout my teenage years, I was the one with the “cool” parents. I never had to ask permission to go anywhere. My friends had to beg just to be allowed to go to the mall; I could simply inform my parents that I was going on a week-long vacation to some province a few hours before I’m scheduled to leave. While most of my classmates had to be driven everywhere, I was free to go as I pleased via public transportation. I’ve also had a credit card since I was thirteen.

Yet there was more to my folks’ parenting style than being able to do whatever I wanted. Somehow they still managed to instill a sense of accountability in me. Even without being told, I knew well enough not to abuse my plastic and to never leave without telling them where I was going. Their parenting style may have been unorthodox, but except for the chronic laziness, I’d say I turned out okay.

I was actually teasing them the other day that they should publish a book on parenting just for the amusement of seeing how people would react to their more interesting techniques:

• They encouraged my inner artist to draw on our walls–with washable markers.
• Mom taught me how to climb up my bookcase a la Spider-Man when I was a toddler, so I wouldn’t have to ask for help to get things from high shelves.
• They also taught me to drink at the age of five. They’d take me to office cocktail parties after school, where I’d drink Boone’s Farm in my Catholic school uniform. By age twelve I had moved on to vodka tonics. I’d drink about four glasses every time my family would bar-hop to hear local rock bands perform. I got my first hangover when I was eight, and since I know how to handle my alcohol, I haven’t had any hangovers since.
• Mom was afraid I wouldn’t obey her orders to stay away from the stove while she was cooking, so to teach me the concept of “hot” she dipped my finger in a mug of hot water. I’d say the lesson worked marvelously–up to now, I still can’t cook to save my life.
• In another “successful lesson,” they helped me understand electricity better by threatening to stick my finger in an electrical socket.

Here’s a more recent example of their unique brand of parenting. A couple of years ago I was heading out to UP to attend an evening class wearing a very low-cut top and low-hanging jeans. Cue concerned mother.

Mom: You shouldn’t wear sexy clothing on Fridays, because you get home so late. Maybe you should change.

Me: But there’s a cute guy in my Friday class.

Mom: Oh, why didn’t you say so earlier?! In that case, just walk really fast when you’re out on the streets. Have fun!

Yes, I can see it now. “Just Walk Really Fast: Parenting that Works in the Real World.” It’ll be right up there in all the bestseller lists along with “I’ll Think of a Title Later: The Procrastinator’s Guide to Never Getting Anything Done.”

On a totally unrelated topic, check out these photos of my ridiculously handsome dogs, Oreo and TJ. You can click for a larger view.