Faith, hope and love.

“So how about you, what do you think?” I ask. We are walking back to the car, after a late lunch and some very strange bits of conversation.

“About what?”

“What do you think would’ve happened if we didn’t break up?” He’d asked me this question a few minutes earlier, then we drifted off to another topic before I thought return the query.

There isn’t even a pause. “We would have had sex.”

“WHAT?” It comes out high-pitched. I turn to him, with what I imagine is a very incredulous look on my face, eyes popping out and jaw dropping and all. He, on the other hand, just looks entirely nonchalant, as though he just commented on the weather. His answer alludes to the aforementioned strange conversational bits; still, it blows me away completely. “Well, I can’t blog that! Change your answer!”

“Then blog about it, I’m not going to change my answer!”

—-

He is my best friend and my ex-boyfriend, and I wonder how that’s possible, and at the same time I know exactly how that is possible. And words are failing me at the moment, but I know that he knows what I mean to say.

darylzarraga: Happy birthday. I love you, always.

And no, we would not have had sex!

He finishes his sentence, then pauses. My eyes are still closed. It’s one of those nights when I pick him up from his office and we spend a few minutes around the block before reluctantly sending him back to work. Tonight we decided to park across the street from his building. We’ve reclined the car seats, and he’s telling me about his day. Or he was, until a few seconds ago.

I open my eyes, glance over at him. “Are you awake?”

No reply—he has fallen asleep. This amuses me, as always.

The nearby streetlamp bathes his face in a soft, orange glow. He looks so uncharacteristically peaceful. So incredibly precious. I gingerly remove his glasses, and gently kiss his forehead.

Then I stretch out my hand to caress his face, and he’s out cold he doesn’t stir at my touch, so I keep my fingers on his cheek for a while, and though he can’t hear—and because he can’t hear—I whisper, “I love you.”

“What are you thinking?” I ask him. We are sitting in my car in almost-total darkness. There’s a city-wide blackout, and we had just had a candlelit dinner at a garage burger joint.

“I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that onion,” he says.

I know what prompts him to say this, but I ask anyway. “Why?”

“Just thinking.”

We are silent for a moment. And then I lean over and kiss him, with a kiss that says, Silly boy, as if all the onions in the world could stop me.

November’s arrival also marks the start of the application period for 2010-2011 graduate dregrees at the National University of Singapore. I have just created an account on their online application system, which means there should be no turning back.

This has been part of my post-college plans since I got to study in NUS for one term in 2007 on a scholarship. That experience opened up a lot of new things for me. It was the launchpad for an entirely new set of dreams. Those dreams, I’m now beginning to pursue.

Still, as I begin the application process, I can’t help but feel so… unsure. I’m sure I want to study, I’m sure I want to transition to social work, but how? When? Where? Doubt creeps in, and I sometimes feel that I’m not qualified, that I’m not going to make it, that I’ll fail. I’m not scared of failure, but I’m scared that I’ll never get to do what I really want, more than any job, to do—to work with migrants, or women, or youth, to make their lives better, to make this society better. I’m scared that I won’t get to do that. I’m scared that I’ll be “stuck” in print media. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I love the media industry. It was my first love, and it’s what I’ve been trained for, and it’s something I’m great at. If I’ll be caught in this field for the rest of my career, it’s okay. But I really want to be able to see what else I can do, to be able to do what else I can do.

The Future is a scary thing. I want to do big things with my life. Big things to change the world, to change the lives of people around me. And yet, now that I’m setting my sights on distant shores—not just a foreign school, but a new field, a different set of prospective jobs, employers and advocacies—I feel so small. I don’t know where I’ll end up. It used to be, Foreign Service or the United Nations or Bust. But now I’m not sure if I actually want to join the foreign service anymore. I wanted to join the service because it would provide the venue to work with Filipino communities abroad. But a diplomatic post is more of a political post, and I want the social work more. I once asked an ambassador’s wife if it was possible to stop at a consular position and not get promoted anymore. She said no, you have to keep going up. Teehee. And I’m no longer itching to work for the UN either. I just want to do social work, period. I just want to be part of an organization that makes an impact.

Times like this, I need to stop worrying about academic qualifications and career shifts. And I need to remember that if nothing else, I have the heart for those distant shores, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Today I watched Theater Down South’s Treasure Island. I’m so glad I caught their Halloween show, because there were all these cute kids in costume. My favorite was 5-year-old Nolan who came in a custom-made Jedi costume, complete with a lightsaber, of course. I’ll post his photo within the week.

My favorite part, of course, was seeing Daryl and Mikey onstage again. I love TDS. I feel like I see them grow as a company every year, not just in number but also in skill. Mikey and Daryl, too. Mikey is such a riot onstage (and is a very clean-shaven ship captain, I must say. Haha!), and I always love hearing Daryl sing.

Today, I was especially excited because Daryl was going to give me a set tour after the show. This is their most elaborate one so far. Their first show had an almost-bare set, while the Rapunzel set was pretty dangerous. But when we got backstage, the manongs were already dismantling the set. So much for the tour, but it was fun hanging out backstage, being in the middle of all the props lying around—swords here, foliage there, Captain Flint’s treasure map on the table with a couple of fake oil lamps and a copy of the libretto. That Daryl takes me backstage always makes me feel like I’m special. Which I am, I know, which is why he takes me backstage in the first place, but—I’m having a hard time putting the sentiment into words.

Daryl also introduces me to everybody, which he does every year. So today Pammu said, “I think this is the third time I’ve met you.” Which is true. Haha. It makes me feel warm to know that some of them remember me already. When Ria saw me sitting backstage with my back to her, she said, “Is this Micah?” It was pretty cool. The funny thing is that Daryl’s spiel always goes, “<Castmate’s name>, this is Micah. She’s my best friend and my ex…” It’s funny and strange. I don’t know why he has to say that every time. I’m thinking he should just stop at “Micah.” Haha.

My favorite moment of the day would have to be when Mikey and Daryl sang the chorus of “Bed of Roses” at the top of their lungs while we were walking to my car.  Hehe.

By the way, I love how TDS always puts up a mini-exhibit at the lobby. This year’s was pretty cool, with pirate ships and a short pirate-speak dictionary. I’m really hoping Daryl will still be acting when I have kids old enough to watch their show (that’ll be around 15 years more), because I would love to take my children. Maybe even dress them as Jedi for the Halloween shows, since an Optimus Prime costume would be too much work.

Earlier tonight, I jokingly asked my stage actor ex (naks!) if I had to come to their Halloween show dressed as a slutty nurse. I later realized maybe I shouldn’t have given him that image. Hahaha.