I bought my first Glee CD in Singapore. I was there smack in the middle of the release date, and I assumed they will never reach our shores. I assumed, naïvely, that the show will not become a big hit here, never mind the fact that I turned a few people on to the show (insert obligatory Icka Facebook tag).

Of course, things turned out differently. The show became a huge hit here, and thus, the CDs were sold in local record stores. (There's also the thing about me being an expert gleek of sorts, thanks to my work, but I will not go there. Yet.) And I did like the show. I really did. So, I kinda vowed to collect all of the show's soundtracks - they will be available here, after all, and they have pretty good songs.

Things have changed, of course. Glee went downhill from the second half of the first season, got really frustrating by the second season, and become more of an obligation than a joy by the third. (Then again, I still get excited about certain Glee-related things. Like, say, this.) But I still bought the CDs. Sometimes I bought the CDs by impulse. Only lately did I start stalling. They won't go out of stock, I told myself, correctly. Some of the CDs haven't been played, either. Impulse.

At some point, because some local record executives decided to go for a bigger audience, or something like that, the Glee CDs came with free notebooks. Now, I love notebooks - well, more of, I love writing on paper, since I don't tend to use these notebooks. The first was, I think, with the third soundtrack. The album came out three weeks behind schedule. We waited three weeks for a notebook? I ranted.

Karla saw that rant and decided she wanted that notebook. So, fine, I'll give it to her. Another excuse to meet a friend.

It took a while for us to meet. Our eventual meeting came months after: I ended up crashing a farewell dinner for Kat, who was then headed to Austria. Found out that Karla already had a copy of the notebook I was going to give her - from a friend of hers at nursing school, I think - but then again, she said, she needs all the notebooks she can get her hands on. School notes. Frugal people will take a freebie as long as it's useful. So, she got the notebook, and I got the conversation, although not the dinner, because I did not plan to spend on dinner. Frugal people, again.

When the next Glee CD I bought - I assume it's the fourth, but I'm not sure now - came with a notebook again,  I immediately told Karla. This time we had conflicting schedules: she can't head to Ortigas, I can't head to Quezon City, you get the drill. Then I left Ortigas and started working at home. She started medical duties, or her classes got busier, or something. I can't really remember. All I know is that the notebook is still with me, in the same bag I used when I still had an office to work in. It's still there.

When I attended the Tahanan premiere last week, I used that same bag again. I took out everything I don't need, Karla's notebook included. She was supposed to have it for human anatomy class, I think, but that was so last semester. Or two. I don't know if she still needs that notebook. (I'm not saying this in a teary-eyed fashion.)

As for my Glee CDs? I'm thinking of removing them from my main CD library.

It occurred to me a few days ago. How much time do we spend trying to move on from something?

I don't know why I thought about it either. I was just thinking of random sentences when this particular thought struck me. You don't move on when you try your hardest to move on. Odd, because ideally, you're supposed to convince yourself first that you have to move on before you start moving on. The acceptance stage, as they call it.

But then I looked back over the many times I tried to move on - from heartbreak, mostly - and realized that nothing really happens when I consciously try to do it. This is not working, I thought at one point, seven years ago. I have to get out. But the more I repeated that last line to myself, the more I sunk deeper. The more I sounded desperate. And then, before I knew it, I was out.

I mentioned the idea of distractions before. It keeps your mind off things. It keeps you occupied. It gives you something else to think about.

It mostly works. You have something new to be excited about, and somehow it trumps what you were excited about before - what you are disillusioned about now. (Of course you're no longer disillusioned. You're distracted.) There will be times, still, when your thoughts drift back to the past, preferably while thinking of random sentences, and you go, what went wrong? And you unknowingly feel terrible about yourself. And then you start blaming the other side. And then you tell yourself that you have to snap out of it. It never really leaves you until you plunge head first into that distraction again.

Time will pass by and you'll have those thoughts again. What went wrong? Suddenly you'll be able to address it in detail. You have so much in common. What went wrong? Of course, it's possible that there really wasn't anything in common before, that you changed to suit the situation, without realizing that it didn't work. But that never occurs to you. Look at you, acting like nothing happened. You barely realize that there's a rift. But you know there's supposed to be a rift. But you've forgotten about most of it now.

And then, when it's over, you ask again. What went wrong? You look back at what just happened, as opposed to what happened before, and you realize you did what you never thought you'd do.

Of course, it doesn't change things. You don't have to forgive anyone, nor forget anything. I haven't. In all those instances I certainly haven't. I still think certain things should be acknowledged. I still believe certain people have fatal faults. But suddenly, it doesn't matter so much anymore. You've opened the front door and you've done what you weren't supposed to do, only because it felt right at the time. Like nothing happened before.

It shouldn't have happened. You'd fret then. But I don't now. That's when you know. But you never say to yourself that you know. You don't need to.

The last time I attended a film premiere, for Paglipad ng Anghel, I was a bit wary that Sir Doy had forgotten me. We saw each other after the screening; he smiled and nodded at me, and then left.

To be fair, that was his night. It was his film. And he definitely isn't the type of person who'd forget his students, especially his more recent ones, just like that. Last night, another film premiere, we finally caught up with each other - he was headed to the cocktail area, while I was standing around, a bit foolishly, wondering if there's anybody else I know beyond facial recognition.

"Ano na trabaho mo?" he asked. The usual questions, then.

"I write for an American entertainment website," I answered. The usual answers. But I was feeling a little more proud of myself. This is, after all, Sir Doy, the guy who wrote "you can write" in one of my film criticism papers. He smiled and nodded at me, and then left. "Kita tayo later," he said.

We were attending the premiere of Krizzie's film, Tahanan. A feature-length film. Certainly makes for a change after watching Jason's Elysium and Misha's Oliver's Apartment - both shorts, I must note. It doesn't make it any less surreal, however. In both instances it felt like watching a child graduate, which is weird because they're both older than me. But I saw Jason explore his film options, mostly in thesis, but in part through the many school projects we've worked on. (Only he could get away with considering having me talk to a prostitute for a school project, an idea I never warmed to.) Misha? There's the thing about her dropping her business course and taking all of the electives we took, or had to take.

At least, with Krizzie, that feeling is more valid. I'm a year older than her. I think. Definitely I'm a batch above her. She's this video whiz kid who always wore plaid, or so I always imagined. I know we took the same course (more or less) but I never saw her often in the second floor of Miguel. But I know she's always been into film. I don't know the exact story, but I know the girl's a hard worker. Saw it myself when I attended (well, technically, got invited to) Ating Gabi, an event she spearheaded as CLA college government president. We never really got to talk much that night, for obvious reasons.

"So sorry I never got to say hi to you properly," she told me last night, right before, or perhaps after, the usual hugs. It was a full hour after I arrived at the Megamall's cinemas.

"It's okay," I answered. "I expected that."

I wasn't being jaded or anything. I knew. It was her night, after all. And by then I've seen a bunch of people that I did know. Kimmy was there with Ian, who worked on the film. EJ was busy eating his popcorn ("it's a movie," he'd counter) while talking to Keane. Janelle was also there, in blindingly high heels, although I just assumed she got thinner. Michelle was the last to arrive in my sort-of circle, sporting a shorter do, one that screams "editorial assistant at posh magazine". I had to describe it like that, sorry.

"Wait lang, ha," Krizzie later said, begging off to meet more well-wishers. There were a lot of them. (The premiere moved locations because a lot of guests confirmed their attendance. "She invited a lot," Kimmy said a few times during cocktails.) Actors, crew, family, friends, friends that made the whole thing feel like another La Salle reunion of sorts, except for the fact that there were a few familiar faces to me. I am now the parent. And Lauren Young fans, too.

Tahanan revolves around a college student (that'd be Young) who, initially reluctantly, goes to an orphanage for a two-month immersion. A typical Lasallian experience, I thought. You fulfill a school requirement, forever keeping in mind the need to be sensitive to the kids you'll be dealing with, and then when you get there, you get attached to them. And then, that's it. I wonder how the kids I met at Barangay Tagumpay are now. All grown up, definitely.

Being a bit of a feel-good film, Tahanan has a proper happy ending: Sam gets past her reluctance and realizes that she isn't the one helping the kids, but rather, it's the other way around. Perhaps the need for a realization bogged the film a bit down - the melodrama at the end felt a bit too much for me. But what made Tahanan work was the chemistry between Young and the kids at the orphanage, led by Kyla (played by Sabrina... agh, memory fails me again). It's like they really lived together. And it's not just the wise-cracking script, either. Improv? was a dominant through crossing my mind.

I'm not exactly sure. What I'm pretty sure of, though, is how well the kids worked with the crew. When I got to the cinema at half past five, I saw some of the kids there, waiting. Krizzie arrived a good forty-five minutes later, and before she could say hi to her friends, she was inundated by all of these kids. "Ate Krizzie!" they went, excitedly, rushing to their director, exchanging hugs, posing for photographs, that kind of stuff.

The screening ended a little after nine. The kids were excited again. Krizzie went up in front of the stage (or whatever resembles a stage in the cinema), thanking everyone. Her lead finally arrived; Lauren said a few words, posed for a few photographs, and left fairly quickly. And then Krizzie's friends came out again, asking for photographs again. That kind of stuff.

I talked a bit to Bia, one of Krizzie's friends who also happens to be a childhood friend of Kimmy's. (I hope I got that right.) She also has a film out, the same SM-sponsored film festival that Krizzie's part of: her film, the boxing-themed Suntok sa Buwan, premiered the night before. She mentioned that her premiere was more intimate - a smaller venue - but still, she felt overwhelmed.

"Naiyak ka ba?" Kimmy asked her, while we were watching Krizzie get inundated again by well-wishers and bouquets of flowers.

"The night before [the premiere]," Bia answered. (My usual disclaimer: these quotes are from memory. She definitely said a little more than I'm quoting now.) "Alam mo yun? Yung iniisip mo kung ano yung iniisip ng audience mo about your film."

"And the fact that it's out there," I butted in.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"And that it's just the beginning," I continued.

"Yeah."

We left the cinemas a little before ten. Bia and Kimmy were the last to have their photos taken with her inside the cinema - the former had a snazzy Polaroid camera, one that looked like the sort that's waterproof, three minutes to develop - and the director was anxious to change her outfit. And then she found out her purse was missing. She wasn't frantic about it - I assume she's tired, which she can't be, because there's an after party to attend, which probably means more well-wishers and, perhaps, more booze - but she was worried. No use in looking for a black purse in a barely-lit cinema, though. Her mom had it, along with the flowers.

Krizzie finally had some time for a proper goodbye - not much of an improvement, considering the last time we met we only had a hi and a goodbye, but I'm not complaining. There was a photograph, which is an improvement, a surprise one. A few more customary hugs, and then I walked out of the already closed mall, worried I'd get home late. That's my worry alone. If that thought crossed Krizzie's head, well, she wouldn't have thought much about it. Plaid attitude, you know. She got through writing the film, looking for funding, getting the festival slot, shooting the film, all that. (I can only know so much through Twitter.) She'll get through all the rest, I figured. Also, it's her night. It's all hers.

Tahanan will be screened for a week, starting tomorrow, at SM Mall of Asia, SM Megamall, SM North EDSA and SM Cebu. Same goes for the two other films in SM's Bigshot Festival: Suntok sa Buwan and Balang Araw, which happens to feature a certain Carlo Cruz. I know. Our batch? Films.

"Mapili ka sa kaibigan."

It's an observation my mom offered yesterday, one that has never occurred to me. And that changes everything.

Whenever I have one of those hissy fits about not having friends, I run on the assumption that I'm not getting the responses that I want to get. In some cases, that really is the case. In others, turns out, I'm the one who's not giving the responses others want. True, everyone's guilty of taking some people for granted in favor of others. I'm sure I've done that a few times, while I'm busy chasing some crowd I have half an idea about because I'm really interested in one member.

But I'd like to think that, unless I'm given a reason to cut it off, I remember people. I get back to them when the chance comes up. I became friends with them, after all. I became friends with them because I wanted to. I thought they're nice, interesting, worth spending some time with, you get the drill.

I had a good think last night about my friendships that just didn't work out.

Strike one is the very first scuffle. The very first misunderstanding. I'll start acting like you don't exist because you ticked me off, but I know it's an immature, band-aid reaction that will not get me far, because at one point or another, we will meet again, and we will have to address these issues together.

Strike two is a deeper wound. I'll act like you don't exist again, but I no longer think it's an immature reaction. This is when I start doubting myself. How come I became friends with this person? I'd usually wonder. And now I'm going with the observation that I'm picky with friends, that it doesn't take one conversation for me to become friends with someone, nor a bunch of them about a common interest - that it's more complicated than that, which is perhaps why it takes me a while to find a really good friend, and why I complain that I don't have any. So, how come I became friends with this person? We got along so fine but now it's like we shouldn't have. But I can still give you a chance after a while. I'd probably realize that I cannot afford to lose you. We're good friends now. I've invested this much to not come out of this scarred for life.

And then there's strike three. Now I know that we shouldn't have been friends in the first place. You, as it turns out, weren't worth it. I get treated like a jerk and am expected to play nice in the end? No. So, all ties are cut. Any chances of returning to what was there is practically zero at this point.

That's when I start probing myself harder. Why were my picks so off that time?

And sure, we don't make perfect choices. I can't claim to have done them - I've gone through so many strike twos and strike threes. But when we go to someone and go, "you'll be my friend," a part of you always hopes it stays that way forever. You know you'll have your misunderstandings, but you hope you'll both work it out.

But what you don't know is, when you somehow reach a stage where nothing can be done, you're left deeply scarred. So, perhaps, the best thing to do is to keep yourselves from hitting a third strike - that point when you have to pull yourself away and recognize the holes that the aftermath will bring. Holes that, in my case, I myself drilled there - because I was picky; because I picked those particular people, knowing that things will turn out fine with them around; because it wasn't meant to be.

Too many strike threes for me. That, Jean, is what I meant when I tweeted that word spill last night. Hold me accountable. No more.

"Dear friends, family, and just about everyone who loves me: I want a Baby Alive for my 23rd birthday. It's on the 18th of February. Thanks."

"23 na tayo. Wah."

It should be a breakthrough for me. Somebody else is turning 23 at almost the same time as me! I was, after all, always surrounded my people a year older than me, thanks to me skipping a year of pre-school. Sure, I know people who are also the same age as me, if not much younger (looking at you, Inka, Les, Sars...) but here's where my propensity to pull myself down comes in: it still feels like they're older than me. Definitely more mature.

Hazel may want dolls for her birthday, and I may be completely aware that she was born five weeks after I am, but the feeling remains.

"Tapos two years na lang makaka-experience na tayo ng quarter-life crisis," she answered back. "Wah back at you."

"Akala ko eto na yung quarter-life crisis natin?" I answered back. "Humihingi ka na ng dolls eh..."

"Um, um, for collection purposes lang!" she countered. And then, a late realization. "Shiz, oo nga ano..."

I'm turning 23 tomorrow. It would be almost four years since I graduated from college, four years since I entered the labor force, four years since I started making a fool of myself without the concept of "I'm still finding my way through life" protecting me. (Then again, this started way back.)

I'm not exactly sure what I should be doing now. I've made the best of my circumstances. I have what you'd call a steady job, even if I know it's not going to last long and I have to go somewhere else sooner or later. Socially, nothing's really changed. I go out, mostly by myself. I talk to people, and they'd talk back only if they're interested. I make friends, only to turn my back on them. And I'm dealing with it by going on shopping binges at bookstores.

The past year saw my corner of the bookshelf in our home grow. In the past three months alone I got seven books - five in October, one in November, and one last month, my sister's first Christmas gift to me. It's her first year as part of the labor force.

Yesterday I was organizing my old magazines - a big pile of music magazines collected over the past few years, plus a couple of others, mostly men's magazines, to fill my "more substantial read" quota. I don't have use for much of them now - in between conversations with Jeany and incessant listening to 6 Music, I've become a muso, and a terrible one at that -  so I've put them all in a plastic box for storage elsewhere.

I realize that that's the sort of thing I should've been doing when I was still in college: make the most of my weekly allowance by buying everything in sight. Sure, I did that before, but not as much as I do now, when I'm earning my own money and, thus, have some financial responsibilities around the house. (I don't have much, but if I can, I do.) After that shopping spree a quarter of a year back I felt a bit guilty for spending so much money. But it felt right when I was doing it, I'd think. I deserve a break after all this, right?

In Hazel's case, it's collecting dolls, possibly staring at it from afar, remembering when she was still young. But I can't possibly speak on her behalf.

I'm writing this after reading the fourth of my seven new books - and it happens to be Andrew Collins' second autobiography, covering his college years, so my perspective is going to be a bit skewed here. He went to college and had the mix just right. He studied, he experienced things, he had fun. Me? I worried my way through college. Worried about the future, worried about the present, and maybe worried about the past even. Same pattern of things when I started working (shoot, bitches for colleagues, a very familiar thing to think, whyyyyy?) and, pretty much, every other time since.

And now I'm compensating for all that I've missed out by buying all these books and magazines and fairly hard-to-find CDs and wallowing in the experience of having an ever-expanding collection of something. Well knowing, of course, that I've still missed out on a bunch of nights out with friends, and perhaps a couple of girlfriends, by worrying about what they'd think if I did push through with these, you know, things.

And Hazel's just collecting dolls, definitely staring at it from afar, remembering when she was still young.

I'm turning 23 tomorrow. And, in case I haven't noticed it before (and I think I have, right, Y2?) I'm in the middle of my own quarter-life crisis.

And I'm worrying about it.