Remembering Patricia

Today I remember and honor a dear girlfriend, Patricia. She and I share more than the same first name. We met when we were eleven, and over the years and the many adventures of growing up formed the kind of friendship that comes once in a lifetime as you grow together.

Today, October 25th is Pat's birthday.

The summer after we finished college, as we were about to turn 21  we lost her to a tragic scuba accident. She would have turned 40 this year. I think about her often, and when I do I get chills down my spine. It is unfathomable that someone so young could die like that. We will never understand how or why. We are forever changed by her life and her death.

Not a lot of people will appreciate how profoundly this is affecting my thoughts today, this big milestone that will never happen...but Pat would want me to see the upside to her story.  She would want me to focus on how precious people are, how important girlfriends are. On the anniversary of her death, as she did in life, Pat is reminding me.

I am reminded to be grateful. I am reminded to tell you that I love you. I am reminded to say sorry. I am reminded at how much joy friendship can bring. I am reminded to sing, as the Golden Girls suggested, thank you for being a friend.

In honor of Pat, I am wearing a mini skirt despite the fall weather - it was one of her signatures. That and her contagious laughter.

To Plan or Not to Overplan, That is The Question

Freedom of voice and freedom of choice are big themes in life anywhere. Here in America, they are imperative. Especially here in New York, where being a Type A person is a point of pride (necessity even) the themes of choice, freedom and control are safeguarded the way virgins of old guarded the maidenhead.

I admit, I’ve been that girl on occasion. I have a pair of those shoes, the Type A, scheduled and planned pair of shoes. We all know the shoes, and the girl who wears them so well. I’ve been her. The one who’s on the treadmill at 6:30, working with a trainer at 7, networking at a Park Avenue café by 8:30, juggling two consulting clients between 9:30 and 7 then meeting my beau at a Bowery Poetry Club reading featuring Yusef Komunyakaa. This New Yorkified version of me pops out at the occasional weekend too – out of bed by 8, coffee then a shower (yes, I take a shower before going to the gym!), a bit of cardio then yoga at 10, brunch with girlfriends, a bit of work on the non profit, cocktails with girlfriends then a late movie with my beau.

That pair of shoes, that girl – they’re fun and have a place in my world. But they aren’t my favorites. Yes, I cherish my independence and freedoms. Yes I am a strategist after all, so I like a good solid, well thought-through plan. Yes, I play out scenarios and prepare for a range of possible outcomes. But I also like to let the angels and the cosmos work their magic. Let the moon and the stars shape the fates. I like to hope, to try and read the signs.

I’m sure I’m not the only one in New York or anywhere for that matter who has some of that laissez-faire. The one who lets the traffic light changes get her from the Meat Packing District to Gramercy Park. The one who falls in love with shoes she can’t afford and says to them, “if you’re still here in 2 weeks then we were meant to be together.” The one who gets pangs of childlike wonder at the first star and makes that wish while whispering with eyes closed “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might have this wish I wish tonight.”

There is a sense of freedom to be found in letting go, trusting yourself and your own raw instincts; in giving in to a sense of the divine and magical; in spontaneity rooted in joie de vivre. Whoever said life was what happens when you’re busy making plans must have been some kind of prophet. My own life is a series of unplanned ‘that’s exactly what I needed’ occurrences from the beginning. I’m a honeymoon baby, I could not have come at the worse time. My parents got married in December and left for the US the summer that followed because Papa was starting his post-grad studies. Yes, I was smuggled into the country! When I was eleven I was accepted to an exclusive high school for the gifted which would have been the perfect plan for me, but I was uncomfortable with the idea and stayed in my school where I made some of my best girlfriends. I accidentally got into my career simply by being at the right place at the right time and asking the right questions. The list goes on.

So here’s the question, how much planning and scheduling is too much? When does planning the life get in the way of living the life? I am no less ambitious or driven than your textbook type A person, but I cannot spend my life planning my life either. What type does that make me, I wonder? I am clearly not a pure-blooded A, in the first place my blood type is AB. AB, what could that mean? What type could that make me? I checked online for possibilities, and found a good one: Aurora Borealis, the northern lights named for the Roman goddess of dawn and the Greek name for north wind. I like that, possibility and direction working in harmony. It sounds more like me, and you know what – I think I can even find the perfect shoe to match that vibe. Hmmm…I think I can sneak in a shoe shop between brunch and yoga tomorrow!

The Last Single Girl

I admit, I am a big fan of chick-lit. I have been for quite some time now, and I know exactly when it started. Mama first introduced me to Alice and when I looked through the looking glass, I found a world of wonder within myself. I have ventured into so many worlds since meeting Alice through girls like Nancy Drew and Amelia Jane, to Jane Austen’s Emma and sisters Dashwood and Bennet. As a grown woman, I have taken great pleasure diving into the world of Bridget Jones and finding as much in similar as I did different. The female experience is made of the same parts, now matter which part of the world you are going through it. On many occasions, stressful business trips were countered with the light touch of Jane Green and her animated women like Jemima J. I think my copy of that book is still at the Grand Hyatt Taipei, where I was a frequent visitor from 2003-2006!



I adored all these characters and the colorful, insightful experiences I vicariously lived through their stories, but there is one thing I do not share with them – I LOVE being a ‘single girl!’ To this day, six years into this relationship my beau and I still feel very much ‘single’ as we do together. There are parts of my single living that I would never give up, there is nothing I want to do now that I feel I cannot do because I am a dynamic, loving, monogamous relationship. In the last few months of my thirties, the thought occurs to me – perhaps I am The Last Single Girl. I am reminded of ‘Sex and the City’ and Carrie Bradshaw’s love affair with the gorgeous Aidan. Perhaps it wasn’t commitment she feared at all, but the death of her single girl.


This provokes the ultimate question, doesn’t it? Can a woman in a committed, monogamous relationship still lay claim to being a single girl? What about a married woman? Does sharing your life with someone mean the death of your single girl. We all recognize her, our single girl. She’s that girl who loves her independence and freedom as much as she loves the teamwork and sharing of her relationship. Over the past fifteen years I have happily witnessed my dearest friends finding love and marriage, building families and homes. I have cried happy tears for new loves, and bitter ones for the break ups. I have loved men, lost men, lusted men. I fell in love and continue falling a little bit everyday for the man in my life. And this heart that loves, it’s the heart of a single girl.

Is this a new brand of spinsterhood? The new twist to the proverbial old maid? Is the unmarried almost-forty of 2010 the re-branding and celebration of The Single Girl? Why can’t each one of us be that strong woman who loves herself as much as her beloved? Why does one’s personal ambition have to be at odds with shared dreams and a tandem adventure of discovery?

This year, I enter my forties still a single girl at heart. I suspect I might be the last single girl in my circle of women, and you know what…this makes me ever so slightly smug. But just a bit, until I realize that there are many sisters of my kind out there, strutting their stilettos. And thank the gods for that!

I'm in New York (And) But My Heart is in Many Places

If home is where the heart is, then I am either the luckiest person on earth or the most confused. I now live in New York, but my heart is in so many places. Let me attempt to trace the many pieces of my ever growing, ever breaking heart.

I was born in the US to parents who smuggled me into this country in a baby bump concealed under the babydoll mod fashion of the era on a Pan Am flight. They came here because Papa was doing his post-grad studies at SUNY. Part of your heart must stay in the place of your birth because for as far back as I can remember, I had a sense that one day I would live in New York City. And I did. New York City is a city that constantly surprises and frustrates. It is here that I discovered the kind of American I am. I voted in the country's most historical election here. Nave and I deepened our relationship here. I found the courage and smarts to venture into independent consultancy here. It must be said, I found my stride and strut in this city. There is lots to love about New York City and what it has done for me.

Most of my growing up was spent in Manila, the amazing, frustrating, confusing, charming city where most of the people I love still live. It is unquestionably the keeper of most of my heart. Once you live and love Manila you will keep coming back. A song by the 70's pop group 'Hotdog' sings it best when they say 'Manila...I keep coming back to Manila...Simply no place like Manila...I've walked the streets of San Francisco, I've tried the rides in Disneyland...Take me back in your arms Manila, And promise me you'll never let go. Promise me you'll never let go.' Both of my parents are back in Manila, both my brother and sister are now back in Manila and my gorgeous nephews Gael and Aiden now live there. Manila definitely has a big piece of my heart.


It was actually Gael and Aiden who first introduced me to the sweet side of heartbreak and heartache. From the time they first came into my world, I have felt my heart growing to make room for the growing love I feel for them. The only way I can imagine this happening is that my heart breaks a little as it makes room. In this sense, heartbreak becomes quite a beautiful thing.

My nephews were born in Barcelona, which is also the place my father's family is originally from. My sister, Rone and her husband, Paco lived in Barcelona for many years and I have many fond memories of the place. Barcelona definitely has a piece of my heart. It is the city that brought me Gael and Aiden, the absolute center of my universe. The word 'love' comes nowhere near estimating what happens in my heart when I think of these two boys.

While my brother spent some years in Barcelona, it is London where I reconnected with him. He transitioned into manhood in London, and I had the good fortune of getting acquainted to him as an adult in London. You see, he is ten years younger than me and so to my eyes he was always my baby brother before. But life works in magical ways, and my first client when I shifted from full time employment to independent consulting was a London based Marketing Innovation firm. I found myself in London almost every six weeks, and I stayed there for long periods of time. I will always be thankful to London because of the magical time I spent in which I learned to say goodbye to the baby brother and embrace the man that is Enrique Valles.


On one of these business trips to London, I took a side trip to Paris that changed the shape of my heart. I went to spend Easter with a fast friend, Lindsey. On that trip, we conceived of a dream which has now come true. Lindsey and I run a non-profit called The Women's Worldwide Web (www.womensworldwideweb.org) which is the best of heart and the best of advocacy. It is the dream work situation and I can gush about this forever. But that's the subject of another post (watch this space). Paris definitely holds an important piece of my heart.


Then there's Taos, New Mexico. It is in Taos that my mind is clearest and my creativity is bravest. It was in Taos that I first met Nave under a blue moon, and it was also in Taos that I decided to venture into self-employment. I have great friends in Taos, and know that I will spend a lot of time there in the future. Taos holds a special piece of my heart, it's the art part of my heart that sings and dreams.

So many places, so much love and more stories to tell...for now I know this to be true. I am in New York AND my heart is in many place.

My Accidental (Almost) Engagement

Back from happy hour with friends one New York fall evening, as we sank into a couch and a movie my beloved began waxing romantic. There is a sentimentalist in him, often hidden from public view. In moments of weakness and inebriation, the sentimentalist slips through eloquently. Accidentally, we were both carried into the love haze of romantic riffing and robust red wine. In this comfortable calm, we realized that we would soon be walking into an accidental marriage proposal. In this comfortable calm, we smiled. In this same comfortable calm, still hazy and romantic we stayed as we are. We are happy here, and in weak moments of cockiness even reckon we are happier than some married couples we know.

As a girl born into a predominantly Catholic culture, I used to think that there were only two relationship options for women: the single life (read: old maid) or the married life. What I learned in my twenties, however, was that I was wired differently. Unlike most of my friends, I wasn’t caught up in ‘defining’ the state of my romantic relationships. Instead, I was compelled to experience these relationships to their fullest, exploring this ‘other’ I was sharing times with. I loved noting subtle evolutions in me as I opened up to another. I would like to think that it was my sharp insight into people that informed this approach to men and relationships, the truth is it simply is my nature to relish the now without letting worries about the future dilute the fullness of each experience. How then does this approach make room for marriage and engagement?

My thoughts on marriage continue to evolve. I still believe in marriage. Many of my favorite people are in solid marriages that make room for expansion and individuality. This is because the members of these marriages are amazing people who inevitably form amazing partnerships. In each case, the marriage is strong because the relationship is strong. Had they found themselves in situations where they could not marry, I am certain their relationships would still be as strong. I guess this makes me a stronger believer in relationships than marriage. I believe in relationships that provide a fertile ground for individuals to flourish. For some, this includes marriage. Sadly, the option of marriage is not available to everyone.

Where I grew up, divorce is not an option. Couples who fall in love after having been in a previous marriage cannot marry each other. This saddens me. The culture claims to be pro-marriage, only there is a double standard to this pro-marriage stance. It only makes room for heterosexuals who have not been in marriages before. This does not feel pro-marriage at all, does it? In my eyes, it dilutes the meaning and the magic of marriage.

Where I live now, same sex couples that fall in love cannot marry either. It is astounding to think that this is America in the twenty-first century, even more astounding to think that this is New York City in the twenty-first century. But there it is. In a country that prides itself in freedoms, not all people are free to marry. What does this say about marriage? What does it mean when a culture espouses the value of marriage, then takes away the freedom to be married?

Fortunately for all of us, no one can take away our freedom to be in relationships. No one can take away our freedom to love. On this winter morning, the love haze of romantic riffing and robust wine has made way for the clear light of day and I cannot help but smile. I don’t know that I will be married, or that it even matters. But oh do I know this. I am loved and cherished by a man whom I love more today than when I met him nearly six years ago. In this season of holidays where sentimentalist slips are celebrated and love is most palpably in the air, this is plenty.

Love is plenty.

My Unamerican Independence Days

I’ve just had my third American Independence Day since moving (back) to the US. However, the anniversary of my Independence isn’t July 4th. As I look back on my life, and examine the highlights in which I asserted authority over my life, I can think of four milestone Independence Days.

March 7th 2007. New York, New York
I arrived in JFK with 3 suitcases; books and key work files airmailed to me in the States; and precious art, heirlooms and antiques stored for safekeeping in the Philippines. I came to New York with nest egg, a blossoming romance, a Brooklyn sublet and job interviews lined up. I left the safety nets of family, lifetime friends, the beloved company I worked with for 16 years and the comfortable expat lifestyle I had enjoyed for six years and jumped.

The life I left was very good. It was rewarding, comfortable and stimulating. And it was full of love and happy times. The thing is, somewhere along the way the things that traditionally provide stability were making me feel restless. It was time. So on went the boots (yes, the ones made for walking!) and off I went. Cue music and sing it with me if I can make it there…

September 30th, 2000. Expatriate Estrogen Expeditions
I had been under the wanderlust spell for quite sometime now. It consumed my savings, occupied my holidays and filled up my passport. Before I knew it, it was eating into my ambition. I wanted to experience working in another culture, in a different market. And so, after a bit of drama that I won’t get into, I got my company to include me in the regional team for Asia Pacific on the agency’s second largest piece of business. There were very few women on the regional team and even less women who were Asian. I felt like quite the pioneer, a sister in stilettos!

The expat experience was enriching in more ways that I ever imagined it would be. I immersed myself in cultures and geographies both new and familiar all at once. And I was good at what I did - respectful of local cultures, with a gentle firmness that got things done. And I had fun! I enjoyed the local cuisine and nightlife, shopped a variety of street fairs and haggled in languages I didn’t know! I quickly developed taxi conversation and street smarts in Thai, Bahasa Melayu, Mandarin, Cantonese, Singlish (i.e. Singaporean English) and Nihongo. My art collection (now in storage) is a lovely homage to this Asian Expat expedition.

June 8th, 1987. Left-leaning Literati
Born to a staunch Catholic father, baptized Catholic and schooled by Catholic nuns from the time I was five, the Catholic doctrine was tethered to my education. I don’t regret this at all. I still remember my lessons the year of my first communion, how I marveled at the mysteries of faith and the stories of Jesus’ life. The values I hold dearest to my heart today are very much anchored in the love, compassion, kindness and passionate conviction I learned about as I got to know Jesus, the man-God.

In my senior year I applied to the top three universities – two were Catholic and one was secular. There are still discussions on which is the toughest to get into, but I got into all three. Even though I got into the honors program at the leading Jesuit University where my best friends went, I still chose to go the state university’s main campus since year after year, they only accept the upper 1 percentile of the nation’s graduating class. This was perhaps one of my life’s greatest tipping points.

In this godless left-leaning University I found depth of faith and spirituality, broadness of thought and true humility. I distinctly recall feeling all cocky about the 99% score on a Math 1 exam as I preened in my spic-span Keds. No sooner had I patted myself on my back did I notice the quiet rural boy next me secretly smiling to himself as he held onto his exam paper – on which I saw 110% - he got all questions and all the bonus ones too!

To be surrounded by so much intelligence from people and places you’d least expect is a thrilling experience I highly recommend to anybody who has ever rested on her laurels as she sashayed through the hallways in her pumps.

June 15th, 1974. Weepy Weather Girl

I was three and a half when I started going to school. By then I had already begun to read and it made all sense to put me in preschool. This was no guarantee that I would be one to cooperate with this logical plan though. Evidently (and there are fotos to prove this, much to my dismay!) I would throw tantrums everyday, in fits of fury when either parent attempted to leave me in school. I am told these tantrums subsided once said parent had been gone for a while, and that I quite enjoyed school.

This is not how I remember it, though.

What I remember is that my teacher gave me the important job of being the class Weather Girl. It was my responsibility to record on our weather board if it was a sunny day, a cloudy day or a rainy day. If I did not get to class early enough or if I failed to do my job properly, my classmates would not know what weather to expect!

At three and a half, some days wearing red rain boots and other days wearing gold ballet slippers, I felt a sense of authority and responsibility that not many at that age experience. And I liked it! Almost four decades later, I still wear red boots and gold ballet slippers, I still check the weather every morning. And I still feel like the supreme authority over most things in my life. And on some days, I even feel I have authority over the weather!

Dreams of My Father

Still reeling from my first election ever, my first American election.

I was born here, lived here till I was barely two and went back to Manila where I grew up. I was Mama & Papa's 'American Pie.' I have vivid memories of trips to the American embassy to renew my passport as a girl. I remember the big gates, ducking the long queues of visa applicants to the section marked 'US Citizens Services.' In my twenties when the Philippines was in turmoil I remember a different trip to the embassy, this time to start a process of petition for my father's US citizenship. We never carried this through, he is Spanish and now enjoys his EU status. However, his American dream still burns bright in his grandfather-happy heart.

Last night, following the election results closely, seeing the new voices of new blaze and dazzle I was astounded. Beyond words, beyond tears, stunned silent. Heart warmed, eyes wide I saw the dreams of my father coming true. I saw the world that seduced him, seduces him still. I saw a better world for my dear nephews. Where anything is truly possible for everyone. They CAN do anything now. And they will do everything they dream to.

I finally felt like I belonged to a country that was my birthplace but had no real affinity for. I get it now. THIS is what my father dreamed for me. THIS is what Mama meant when she called me her American Pie. I am part of this, this new world. I helped conquer this hurdle.

Wherever life takes me, I will carry this in my heart.