Tagged by Madam Marikit.

Only 8??  Here goes…I am grateful:

(1) when Eder sends me text messages at lunchtime during the workweek, even when I’m in another time zone, just to check if I’m about to have lunch.  I am reminded that someone cares (that I don’t starve myself).

(2) whenever I come home to see the laundry done, the clothes pressed, and the house in order (though not necessarily clean).  I am reminded that I share a home with somebody I love (who is not a slob).

(3) when I call my parents and they beat me to the “How are you?” question.  I am reminded that I can always count on them.

(4) when a friend confides in me about whether their new hairdo suits them or not.  I am reminded that there are people who care about what I think.

(5) when I ask a stranger for the time and they answer with a smile.  I am reminded that graciousness can go a long way.

(6) when I read about how some ordinary folks selflessly spend time with the less fortunate.  I am reminded that if they can do it, so can I.

(7) whenever I can spend an afternoon by myself doing whatever comes to mind (which would normally be surfing the net, reading, or catching up on some TV shows/movies).  I am reminded that being alone is not always a bad thing.

(8) that I have a blog to write whatever comes to mind (even though I don’t do so as much as I should).  I am reminded that I have a talent (somewhat).

OK, so that wasn’t too hard.

Eh….um….

Ya, that’s pretty much all I wanted to say.

It’s been a while. A long, long, LONG, while.

Since the last entry, I have been here and there. Doing stuff here and there. Living life here and there. Yes, I’ve been kept busy but it’s the same busy that has kept me going all this time. I’d like to think I live an extraordinary life (don’t we all?) but really, it’s as ordinary as the next person’s. It’s how we spice up the mundane that makes it worth staying alive, ain’t it?

As the year closes in to welcome a brand new one, I feel compelled to run through my list of could’ves, would’ves and should’ves. But that would probably take a whole afternoon to write about. So I’ll spare myself (and anyone else who still pops in here) the agony.

I would, however, like to put down in print that I have seen the light. No, I was not involved in any near-death experiences — although with the amount of time I spend on aeroplanes, one might consider my lifestyle near-deathly (if there’s such a term). And no, not the one on the other side. And not the one at the end of a tunnel either.

It’s the light within me. Within us. The one that keeps on shining, well, most of the time.

And I see the same light in everyone else around me. Some appear brighter, and there are those that appear rather dim. Whether we like it or not, we’ve all been built in with a light. Or a lightbulb, whatever suits your fancy. Some choose to neglect it, some are hell-bent on glorifying theirs. I probably fall on the latter but I’ve come to realize that it’s there for a reason. It’s simple really. No light, no see. The brighter you are, the more visible things are.

Now, I believe that the life we lead controls the glare, or lack of it. If you’ve been described as a bundle of energy, your light’s probably really bright and glaring. Chances are, you probably need to replace your lightbulb ever so often. And if you’ve been called a dimwit, you probably need some replace it with a better one or better yet, have another one attached. My favorite of course, is when people say you’re glowing. That’s probably the nicest and sexiest kind of light.

Here are my thoughts on keeping your lights on. If it keeps flickering on and off, get it fixed. If it runs out of batteries, have it recharged. If others attempt to turn it off, stay away from them. Share your light with those who need them. Know where to spot your lights on, and know when to turn it away. And if you feel your light’s not good enough, get creative! Paint it, wrap it in colored paper, devise something that allows you to synchronize it with the songs on your iPod. Be proud of your light.

So with that, here’s to a bright and shining year ahead!

It’s been trip after trip after trip but yes, in the words of Mr Stewart, I’m still standing.

After my messy Middle East run, I was in Kuala Lumpur last week. Even as I stayed at the hotel right beside the imposing Petronas Towers, the wet and damp weather prevented me from catching any decent shots of the area. But no loss, I foresee more opportunities in the near future to do so.

This week is beautiful Bali. Yes, while others prepare to cool down after a hot summer or prepare for one, I will partake in this island paradise that offers nothing but glorious sunshine and star-filled nights. And an exquisite hotel to to indulge all that in.

Maybe if I close my eyes long enough and spin around ten times with a finger on the tip of my nose, I can turn this into a non-work related trip. Or I could just get dizzy and fall flat on my face.

At the rate the world is moving, making sexist remarks would be rather passe, wouldn’t you think? Yet, there are some (and I am no exception) who take pleasure in making the odd comment or two about how the guys are better than the girls are at this and that and vice versa. Profesionally though, I prefer to steer clear of the topic.

The work I do involves getting holed up for many hours in eerie server rooms and being surrounded by people — a large percentage of them men — who thrive on geekspeak. I may not understand them half the time, but I get the job done. There have been instances where I’ve found myself — and my work — scrutinized by the people in this predominantly male-dominated industry but I shrug it off. I have to. I’d be nuts to go head to head with a group whose ability to spew out techie acronyms and expressions could literally make me go wildly dizzy.

At work earlier this afternoon, a tactless remark made by an insignificant someone threw me off guard. Something on the lines of, “That’s why there are more men in IT than women.”

What prompted this, you might ask.

While pounding away on one of the computers, I stopped abruptly and casually looked at how horrendously my two week-old nail polish was chipping away at the corners. Absentmindedly, asking no one in particular, I said, “Does anyone have nail polish remover?”

A question that could have easily been answered with a simple “Yes” or “No” or at best, simply ignored, was not to be. Instead, one of the two men in the room sneered, rolled his eyes, then blurted out what he did.

But I held my tongue. He wasn’t worth it. Just as I was about to get back to what I was doing despite the sight of my disgusting manicure, the other guy — my new hero — retorted, “The IT team in many good banks and financial institutions are women.”

Morale of the story: Don’t forget to pack nail polish remover.

This trip to the Middle East had been jinxed even before I left home for the airport. There’s no point now in finding out who, or why, or how, it just was….is.

Intrigued by what I had read up on this part of the world, I packed my camera in the hopes of capturing the essence of this exotic region. And I did have the camera with me, just not the camera charger. And in true blue idiot style, I consoled myself with the fact that I would just conserve the battery’s usage to last me through the trip. Little did I know however, the battery was already almost all drained out.

As mama would aptly put it, I can be such a tangengot.

There were a few shots of the hotel in Muscat I managed to capture (and hopefully upload when I get over this foolishness) but the moment I pulled it out here at Abu Dhabi to capture this pretyy picture of a hotel I am staying at, it was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

And there’s this spectacular sight of a mosque across the sea (or is it a river?) right from my room’s balcony, made even more spectacular at sunset. Two nights ago, fireworks were set off right beside the mosque and the splendour of it all was, sadly, not captured on film. (Although I’ve been told that taking pictures of fireworks are best left to the pros…or at least those who know what they’re doing.)

Eder suggested I look out for one at the local shopping malls but I’m hesitant only because I might come back with bags laden with stuff, none of which would resemble a battery charger. Or worse, a new camera altogether.

Oh, and I also forgot to pack my cellphone charger.

I meant to provide updates since my luggage found its way back to my thankful arms.

But things haven’t gone as well as they should here and the long hours and late nights have given me nothing but headaches and eyebags. It’s been one problematic situation after another, first with my luggage and then with work, and I’m inclined to think that there’s some bad fengshui between Muscat and I.

Faced with all this bad-ass luck, it’s difficult to stay positive. But that’s where Eder comes in. Just when I was almost about to give up hope on ever seeing my luggage again, he comes up with, “Buti nga yung bag mo lang ang nawala, hindi ikaw.”

Despite staying in a gem of a hotel, the atrociously hot and unbelievably humid weather here hasn’t made me enjoy it much. And although the hotel staff are wonderfully warm and friendly (is it any wonder since many of them are Filipinos and Indonesians?!), the trauma of my once-lost-but-now-was-found luggage has left me scarred. It will pass, I’m certain, but not just yet I suppose.

I leave later this evening for Abu Dhabi where I hear the weather is twice as hot but less humid. I pray the project will not be as tough and of course, that my luggage arrives safely there with me. Pretty please?

An hour after the last update, I received the good news from the hotel’s concierge. A tremendous surge of relief came over me once the bag was delivered to my room.

As in super.

For the first time in three nights, I was able to sleep soundly. So deep in sleep that I didn’t hear the alarm for me to get up. And so I was a little late for work.

But all is good now, and that’s all that matters.

The ordeal continues. It’s been 4 nights now and still no luggage in sight.

Eder, my tireless crusader of a husband, has been in touch with all the airlines and airports concerned only to hit a brick wall at every turn. As I have. Sensing the misery brought about by this inconvenience, he has offered nothing but consolation and a strong resolve to make all those involved pay for it. Sweet man, I tell you. The sweetest in fact.

But I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I may never be reunited with my luggage. It’s hard to hold on to even a sliver of hope given that neither airports (Dubai and Muscat) nor airlines (Swissair sucks) concerned seem to care. Not once since Thursday night have they contacted me. How’s that for customer service?

Upon Eder’s insistence and Jenn’s advice, I made a trip yesterday to a local mall to stock up on some basic supplies. It wasn’t a huge mall but it had all the right stores. I picked up 2 pairs of pants and some undies at Bench (thank you Mr Chan for thinking of opening an outlet in Muscat!!), a top and jammies at Max (a local version of T J Maxx), and at Carrefour, enough sundries to make me look and smell decent enough to attend a meeting . I could have picked up more but I figured that in the event that I did recover my luggage back, that I wouldn’t really need them. At the same time, if I didn’t recover my luggage (which seems more likely now), I wouldn’t be able to stuff them into my carry-on. This dilemma was pondered over pathetic KFC Chicken Strips and fries at the mall’s food court. I finally decided to just make do with what I had picked up. F*ck it, I just wanted to get back to the hotel, draw the curtains, tuck myself under the sheets, sleep and hope that by the time I wake up, realize that this was all just a bad dream.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t. And the icing on top of this very distressing cake is that I will have to continue to Abu Dhabi right after this project to start on another one there.

Damn Murphy and his law.

There are a couple of things that happen in life that we could all do without. One of them is losing your luggage. Well technically, YOU don’t lose it, the airlines do. Or is it the airport??

In the many years I have spent in and out of airports and on and off aircrafts, I have had my luggage “lost” twice. The first wasn’t a big deal since it was a flight into Singapore. The convenience of being home buffered the fact that I would be separated from my luggage for a day or two. It arrived and was dropped at home later that evening. The second was a little traumatic since it was a flight from Singapore to Cheju. For more than a day, I locked myself in my hotel room praying to all who would listen to reunite me with my luggage. My prayers were answered, fortunately, because if it hadn’t I’d have to face a boardroom of executives in a ragged pair of jeans and t-shirt.

This trip would be the third time. (Come to think of it, all three incidents involved connecting flights on different airlines. Dang it!) Having gone through the process before, I knew exactly who to approach and what information to provide. Although a little anxious, I was almost certain that like the last incident, my luggage would be “found” and forwarded to me soon enough. It’s been more than a day now and although the hotel’s concierge have been in contact with baggage services of Muscat’s Seeb Internationl Airport, nothing has turned up.

Unsure whether they were aware of the severity of this “loss”, I decided to take the matter into my own hands. First, a call to the local airport.

Nothing, they said. Nothing has been retrieved.

Then, a call to baggage services at Dubai International Airport.

Nothing, they said. Nothing has been retrieved.

Is that like the standard phrase they say to everyone who bugs them about their lost luggage?

But I press on only to be told that “they” never received it. So I make another call, this time to the Lost and Found at Singapore’s Changi Airport. After a minute of checking, I am told that the luggage was loaded on the plane.

So where the hell is it?? The lady on the phone was kind enough to assure me that it should either be in Dubai or Muscat, but definitely not in Singapore. Call me biased, but I believed her. More than the other ladies in Muscat and Dubai who used the same phrase to dismiss me.

After a few moments of deductive reasoning with myself, I conclude that Dubai is at fault so I call baggage services there once again. But this time with a little more attitude. I tell them that Singapore has records that it was loaded onto the plane that was to fly to Dubai. I also tell them that if it were at Muscat, I would not bother calling her. And if she had nothing better to say than “Nothing has been retrieved”, that I would like to speak to her supervisor. I’m guessing this might have triggered off something and she nervously asks me to hold on. The b*tch, who probably might not have appreciated the tone of my voice, places me on hold for more than 5 minutes before I decide to hang up and call again.

But not before taking deep breaths and reminding myself to exercise civility. The lady on the other end of the call is not the enemy. She deals with difficult calls on a daily basis. More significantly, I sense from her accent, she is Pinay.

Before she has a chance to, I tell her about how expensive it is to call from where I am and that she should let me know if she has to put me on hold for more than a minute, in which case, I would prefer for her to call back. Kindness begets kindness, I soon realize, because her voice softens as she explains that she has spoken to her supervisor who is currently sifting through 20 trolleys of “lost” luggages as a result of redirected, delayed or transit flights. Exactly how many luggages are contained in one trolley, I refrain from asking if only to shield me from further frustration.

The value of the contents of my luggage is less of a concern as the contents itself. If my luggage doesn’t arrive by tomorrow, does that mean I should make a trip to a store for some basic supplies? That I can use that as an excuse for reporting for work in unusually casual wear? Shouldn’t I be able to get some form of compensation from God knows who for this inconvenience?

Should I start freaking out?