on my 23rd birthday

1. woke up to the sounds of filipino streets: a caucophony of rattling engines and roosters, brooms sweeping pavement, dog fights and blaring horns, and birds that screeched like monkeys. my cousins were still sleeping on a mattress on the floor. birthday girl got the bed.

2. humble birthday breakfast: scrambled eggs and rice, sweet sausages and bacon. chocolate milk. the kind of breakfast i've had so many times when i was growing up: wholly comforting, satiating, and utterly forgetable. my cousins and i discussed our plans for the day, including the possibility of getting a tattoo. i had been awake for 2 hours and already, was feeling like i needed a nap. the chocolate milk had fully reverted me back to childhood.

3. we watch: love guru, the movie. fail.
we take : a nap with the a/c on blast. WIN.

4. in Quezon City, the water is turned off everyday between 11 and 4 in an effort to conserve resources. so, if you want to take a shower, flush the toilet, or brush your teeth during those hours, it has to be done old school, using a bucket and large, plastic tubs of water filled from earlier that morning or the previous night. as a seven year old in the philippines, i had the most visceral reaction to the sight of those plastic buckets by the toilet. they represented a sort of uncivilized disorder, a departure from the clean, cold efficiency of the bathrooms in my house, where the toilets always flushed by themselves, the lights were always bright, and hot water rushed forth from the left spigot.

at 23, that prejudice has given way to practicality. that and a strong dose of "get over yourself."

5. my camera is out of battery and i forgot to bring my charger. i promise myself to buy batteries at the concert that evening, but of course, that never happens. hence, you will not see any photos of my birthday in this post or on flickr.

5. lunch at japanese restaurant with cousins and Tita Edith. Spicy tuna rolls, spicy salmon sushi, gyoza, & california rolls (with the awesome addition of mango). i sip on my iced tea and watch a very attractive young sushi chef who is busy cleaning up the counter. he's wearing a bandanna tied around his head in such a way that it's a mix between a do-rag and a gypsy head dress, something about it i find incredibly sexy. a bit of sadness rims my gaze because he not only is he completely unaware of me, but it occurs to me that he probably has no idea how handsome he is. he's got a deep brown tone, the kind of color you get when you mix a cup of cinnamon tea with just the softest splash of milk, his complexion is flawless and his skin glows underneath the recessed lights of the restaurant. because he is dark, and because this is a country that advertises skin bleachers as if they were holy water, all of these amazing qualities are probably dismissed or -- even worse -- radiate on, unnoticed.

6. we arrive at the rihanna/chris brown concert about four hours ahead of time. immediately, i'm disheartened by the sight of the flat, open field. given my towering height of 5'1, i can tell it's going to be a long night.

then i discover that beer will not be sold at the venue and i want to kick whoever planned this concert in the groin.

7. hours pass before finally, under the dark of night and the red of the stage lights, Chris Brown appears on stage hanging upside down from a cable. the pre-pubescent girl in me (the one that drinks chocolate milk for breakfast) screeches and squeals out as she recognizes his (GASP) bare arms. said girl also monkeys up her cousins' shoulders in order to perch and screech her approval of the young singer.

i'm pretty sure my inner tween threw her training bra at him.

8. rihanna complains about how quiet the crowd of 70,000 is. we're not quiet girl, we're just freaking hot and the acoustics are shite in a what is essentially an open field/parking lot. plus you're hot but you're kind of boring when you perform. dig the leather though.

then she sings umbrella and the crowd (including inner tween) goes wild. cue chris brown to saunter in a hoodie and khakis to sing his slice of the remix, and inner tween creams her limited too pants.

9. everyone is too hot and tired for the afterparty. in the interest of (quality) time, we decide to walk to a nearby restaurant to order sisig and beers. because of the unbelievable mass of hungry humanity around, we put our names on the waiting list and sit on plastic dinosaurs, waiting for the call from on high, beckoning us to drink and be merry.

but no call comes.

we wait, and we wait, and we wait.

people exit in short, inconsequential spurts.

we wait some more.

finally, a full 10 minutes before last call, we are let in. tired, disgruntled and utterly repelled by all manner of gladiator sandals (well, I was at least), my cousins and i are unable to muster up any conversation while drinking our San Miguels and crunching on fried kang kong.

they are out of sisig, the bastards.

10. a long cab ride later, we are home at last. the converses are unlaced and i scrub the sweat and makeup off my face, exhausted and yet a bit regretful that i hadn't done more. the day seemed more about regression than reinvention. just as well, reinvention is a bit of an obsession for scorpios.

i remind myself that tomorrow i will wake up to the sounds of filipino streets again; brush my teeth from the shower faucet; spend $40 at the airport on magazines and trinkets and, as the airplane roars off the runway, refuse to look out the window at the sight of Manila falling beneath me.