Have you ever experienced driving in the early hours and seeing the day literally start?

I remember when we went to Baguio last month. We left at four in the morning. Pitch dark outside, obviously. I was the one seated on the passenger seat, the guy assigned to see if there are incoming vehicles in alien roads, the guy with the sense of direction, even if I'm not entirely familiar with the roads leading to our destination.

We were on the NLEX at five in the morning. Still pitch dark outside, except for the lights along the straight highway. But slowly the sky turned to dark blue. Lighter and lighter shades of blue, soon enough, and then the stars give way to the clouds, and the next thing you know, it's daytime. The sun isn't that high yet, but the skies already tell you to wake up. Or, in our case, that it's time for breakfast. A stopover beckoned.

Same thing happened yesterday. My dad took an early flight to Singapore - business trip - and I accompanied him, because I'll be driving the car back home. We left just before five. The trip is much shorter, obviously - we were at the airport before six - but apart from the fact that the roads are definitely not straight, the skies were still mesmerizing. Blue slowly creeps in, and the next thing you know, you can turn off your headlights. It's daytime. Time for breakfast. Or, in my case, a stop at the nearest gas station for a toilet break.

Of course it's not the sort of thing you really notice. I did not notice this in all my early mornings when I was a kid, certainly not during the time when I woke up really early - three in the morning, unprovoked by an alarm - and decided to watch morning news shows just for the kick of it. And you definitely don't notice it when you drive. But when you're in the passenger's seat, it all makes sense.

The only exception was yesterday. We arrived at the airport before six (I did say that before, I know) and the skies aren't exactly bright yet. Call it a side effect of the Christmas season. I kissed my dad goodbye and took the driver's seat. Drove out of the departure area, tried to find my way to the Skyway, hoped that our E-Pass still had credit. I found my way, and I had the money to pay for the toll. I went up the on-ramp and I saw the sky slowly get there, and I was amazed for a split-second. Else I would've crashed.

And then the radio station I was listening to ended its automated overnight programming. Those chatty breakfast shows again. I wouldn't mind, but the guy started talking about Florence Welch covering a Drake song.

"I lost all respect for her," the fucking snob said.

I was peeved, but I wasn't surprised, since he's the supposed Filipino who insists on mispronouncing "Quezon City" as "Kwey-zahn City" just to sound American and cool. I switched stations.

The day has begun, indeed.

I remember this distinctly. It was around ten, maybe nine years ago. I was in my parents' bedroom. I curled up to my dad and asked him to buy me a laptop.

I remember this distinctly because of the way he rebuffed me. "Laugh-top, gusto mo?" he quipped.

Obviously he's joking, but you know that when he jokes like that, he's definitely saying no. And for good reason: I didn't really have anything to do with a laptop yet. Not as a 12-year-old self-described computer geek - that's questionable now, in light of recent events - who only wants a laptop so he'd look cool.

Eventually I'd have a good reason to use a laptop. You know, school projects and stuff. Especially when I entered college - you're swamped with papers and proposals left and right. And, as it turns out, a means to talk to people. This was when Friendster was slowly waning in influence, Facebook was gaining speed, and everybody was still on YM. I was late in joining all but one of them. I survived, more or less, in ignorance.

I would've asked my dad to buy me a laptop again, but I didn't. I don't exactly know why. I must've figured that the computer at home was enough for me. Heck, I survived three years of college (and my blossoming interest in British music) with just a dial-up connection. Imagine listening to the BBC in a dial-up connection. Then again, I did spend a lot of time (and money) at Internet shops.

I know, that paragraph sounded a bit like Shamcey Supsup's "my mom didn't buy me a laptop when I was in college" story.

Anyway, I also survived not having a laptop in the three years after I graduated. Looking back, I absolutely don't know what is wrong with me.

I finally bought myself a laptop.

Somehow I decided that this year is going to be the year that I buy myself a laptop. (Then again, I said this many years before.) I've been earning money for three years, after all - the last year providing a bittersweet boost - and, knowing that no matter how much money I plow into upgrading my home PC, it will collapse under the weight of my constant use, I decided to get myself something that I'll definitely use.

I did dilly-dally a bit, though. I could've picked up the gadget any time this year, because I had the money (or, better yet, I had the credit card) to pay for it anyway. But I spent the whole year canvassing. More of, eight months of doing nothing, two months of thinking about it, and a few hours actually looking at prices. Imagine me at a computer shop, making sense of all the technical specifications (and I could, since I've been upgrading the home PC for a while now) and trying to avoid all of the eager salesmen.

Yesterday, I knew I finally had to entertain those salesmen. Today, I'm typing this blog entry in my very own laptop. My very first laptop. Finally. I know, I'm a bit of a late bloomer.

Here's the thing.

All I want is to relate to you.

All I want is to be part of the gang. Isn't it too much to ask?

And they say all I have to do is to reach out. I'm no stranger to this. I have friends of my own. We talk whenever we have time. Whenever we have time, we talk a lot, about anything and everything we can talk about.

But at the moment, this whole thing is frustrating me. The whole system is frustrating me. If all I have to do is to reach out, then how come I'm not getting anything? We'd nod politely, we'd have small talk in the pantry, and whenever I come up to you and ask something, you respond with a mumble and nothing more. What, did I do anything wrong? Am I being a bitch? Because if ever, I'd love to apologize, but that's just how things are here. You know, the system. When you mess up, you get punished, or something like it. But really, I'm sorry. Now, can you give me more than a polite nod? Any nod? No?

All I want is to be part of the gang. Maybe it is too much to ask. And you'd probably say, like you told me before, "don't you have anything to do tonight?" I would, but that is the problem. I have friends of my own, but they don't have the time for me anymore. I don't know. If they were really my friends they'd understand that I'm still thinking of them, I really am - it's just that, well, there are more important things at the moment. And they have the gall to point the finger at me, say I messed up and all. When you mess up, you get punished, or something like it. But I didn't mess up. I do not deserve to be punished.

Well, I'd like to think we're still friends. Nobody's really burned any bridges yet, anyway. Maybe they're just cooling off or something. Maybe they don't have the time. Maybe soon they'll drop me a line, go, "let's talk?" and we'll meet somewhere and talk a lot and stuff.

But while they don't follow through, I'll do the hard work. I'll be the one reaching out. It's supposed to work. It should work. All I want is to be part of the gang. Your gang. At the end of the day I want to talk to someone about my worries and problems. Or maybe about the funny things, I don't know. Whatever. This is how it's supposed to work. I reach out, and you respond. And we make something together. That's how the system works.

And right now, it's failing me.

Three reasons why I decided to watch ABS-CBN's 100 Days to Heaven.

One, the main premise caught my attention, unusually for a local drama. By now you know the drill: a successful yet ruthless businesswoman is killed in a bomb explosion, and because of her many sins she is sent to hell. She begs for one more chance, and she is brought back to earth as a child. It's not an original concept, but it's not one that's done a lot on local television, like I'd know, because I don't watch a lot of local television.

Two, Coney Reyes plays that ruthless businesswoman. I wasn't really a big fan of hers - I remember Coney Reyes on Camera on Saturday afternoons, but only as a cue that Eat... Bulaga! is over. (Also, this opening sequence.) I thought I'd watch her act this time.

Three, I had something to review. Not that anybody would read, but, you know, I don't watch a lot of local television and I thought it'd be interesting to write about it.

That review never materialized. I was planning to give a show a week before deciding whether I'll stick with it or not. That one week ended up being two weeks, then three weeks, then... I was watching. It became something to look forward to, because it wasn't like most of the other soaps out there. (And it is on ABS-CBN. By rule, I never watch any of GMA's soaps because they're mostly trying so hard to be cool it looks bad.) The pitch was good. Xyriel Manabat was proving why she's infinitely better than Jillian Ward. And, also, the title itself suggests it won't drag on forever - something local soaps are guilty off. One hundred days, and that's it.

Of course, I knew the show won't last for 100 days flat. It's a hundred days within the universe of the show; the first episode was all about Anna Manalastas' back story, and the real hundred days didn't start until the next episode; and knowing local soaps and its penchant for melodrama, nobody would dare speed things up. But it started things off quite nicely. Jodi Sta. Maria's portrayal of con (wo)man Sophia Delgado was nuanced. It was also nice to see Smokey Manaloto again - I haven't seen him since Home Along da Riles ages ago - and it was interesting seeing Dominic Ochoa be someone other than the third party. In fact, the only thing that ruined the show for me, I think, was Jewel Mische's hysterical methods.

The problem came with my expectations. As the weeks passed by I slowly sucked my family into watching the show. We were enjoying it (and were being impressed by how Xyriel didn't sound like a smartass while playing back-on-earth Anna) and we looked forward to what will happen next. But me, I've been covering American television for a while now, so I can't help but predict how things will go for 100 Days to Heaven. Who had Anna killed? I said it's Miranda; I was correct. Is Jessica just pretending to be Anna's distant cousin? I said yes; apparently she isn't. Is Sophia Anna's long-lost daughter? I said, well, duh. And, well, duh.

Not that it detracted from my viewing. I knew some twists were coming but I always knew something else will happen. And most of the time they did. But then the show started to forget a few things and - as expected with every other local soap, but not this one - it dragged.

The pilot established Anna's back story, and most importantly, introduced us to some of the people who she aggrieved - the very people she has to go back to within those hundred days, the very people who she has to do right now. And those people have been people who she directly dealt with. Now, at one point, the show featured Maricar Reyes, as the daughter of a man who made a concept for a doll, tried to pitch it to Anna's company, and was promptly turned away - only for his concept to be used, and successfully at that. All he wanted was royalty payments - an unusually large amount - and he wasn't given that. So, daughter gets angry, especially after father gets injured in a house fire that she caused, because she was encouraged to play with electrical stuff because of what happened to him... yeah, I know, it's that tedious. And I haven't talked about how she pretended to be a ghost to avenge her father's bad luck.

The producers probably also found it tedious, so the story ended after half a week.

The idea was, Anna's little acts - the acts she thought were right before - had a ripple effect on many people. But that meant long flashback-based sequences explaining what happened before. And that dragged.

At one point it seemed the show was forgetting the "mythology" it established in the pilot with all these "cases  of the week" episodes. So where's the child Anna gave up? And then, in the middle of the series, they had these myth-heavy episodes: the reveal that Sophia is the child, the reveal that Miranda had Anna killed... those were exciting times. Movement! And then, we didn't hear anything about it (apart from Sophia and Anna's very-not-subtle conversations about mothers and daughters).

And then, as the series neared its end and the death count started to go up, the flashbacks appeared too often. So Sophia's little brother, Kevin, died of injuries sustained from an accident, complicated by this rare blood disease I never got the name of. Cue her, and us, remembering everything. Then Anna does the same. Andres does the same. Bruce does the same. Jopet does the same. Two episodes of flashbacks.

100 Days to Heaven ultimately fell victim to the syndrome afflicting almost all the local soaps: a heavy reliance on sentimentalism, the propensity to drag everything out to milk all the drama that can be milked, and of course, those out-of-nowhere makes-no-sense-at-all twists. Sophia entering this angry phase against Anna when she found out the truth about her identity? It was too much.

So, when it was announced that Xyriel will be appearing in a new Christmas-themed drama, Ikaw Ay Pag-Ibig, I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, the show will be over. I knew the show will end on a happy note - Anna will succeed in her mission, she will reunite happily with Sophia, and she'll go up to heaven. Whatever happens in between becomes irrelevant at that point (not helped by the fact that the "next on..." segments spoiled a lot) and I kinda fast-forwarded my way through Friday night's (Lost-like, judging from the Tagabantay/Tagasundo face-off that felt like Jacob and The Man In Black) finale. Anna's up in heaven. Sophia sees an Anna look-a-like on earth. And then? It was a satisfying end, but only because we all saw it coming. And also because I saw Fatzi's face in the final end credits.

By that time we also got tired of watching the show. I, for one, can only speculate on what will happen for so much. It will get painfully obvious, and the show's frequent use of the theme song for every emotional moment was grating. ("Mahiwaga ang buhay ng tao...") But then again, we're in the upper middle class, we're a media-savvy family, and to boot, I watch American television for a living. We are not who this show is catering for. This show is not for people who are used to watching hour-long weekly series. This show is for people who don't change channels throughout the day. I took a chance watching it, and I was pretty happy with it, but it ended up being like all the rest. It could definitely be better. It must definitely be better.

Will I watch Ikaw Ay Pag-Ibig? I'm not sure. Watching 100 Days to Heaven got tiring in the end. Probably because I was thinking too much.

As I write this, former president Gloria Arroyo is at the departure area at the NAIA, not allowed to board her flight to Singapore.

Justice secretary Leila de Lima has said that she will, pretty much, not implement the Supreme Court's temporary restraining order issued against a travel ban she has issued against Arroyo and her husband. They haven't received a copy of the TRO, she says, so she has no choice but to keep the ban.

Arroyo's lawyers have continually insisted that they're not just fighting for the Arroyos' right to move freely, but for every Filipino's right to move freely. And besides, they say, PGMA needs urgent medical attention. Her neck is getting worse. She needs to see specialists in Singapore. The best medical attention she can get, Mike Arroyo said.

The Bureau of Immigration have just said no. No, they cannot leave. They don't have a hard copy of the court order, thus they cannot do anything. Just following orders from the bosses.

The Arroyos' lawyers insist that the order is illegal, but they cannot do anything. Noynoy's administration is in the mood to piss people off, Raul Lambino suggests. Another, Ferdinand Topacio, just said Noynoy Aquino's government is useless because it has no compassion. That it is cruel because it has no compassion. Mike Arroyo, just now, screamed injustice. No conscience from the current administration. I think some even mentioned Noynoy's connections with the controversial Hacienda Luisita.

Presidential spokesman Edwin Lacierda has gone as far as saying that the Arroyos are gunning for public sympathy by staging "high drama" at the airport.

Arroyo arrived at the airport at roughly half past eight, swarmed by the media, and by security. She's not wearing her metal brace, but she has neck support and a surgical mask. Her guardians appealed to the crowd. "Maawa kayo sa kanya!" they said, as she tried to sit on her wheelchair.

As all that is going on, stranded passengers are angered by the fact that they cannot check in to their respective flights. These folks are supposed to have one side's support or the other. "Tanginang Gloria yan, tatakas-takas." "Tanginang Noynoy yan, ayaw pang paalisin."

This confrontation, this war for hearts and minds, will never end. Never favorably, for anyone. I'm watching this all unfold and all I'm thinking is that saying. Shit hits the fan.

Today is supposedly a special day.

11/11/11, if you'd allow me to break format. Three elevens in a row looks interesting in a calendar. Also, I think, it's supposedly a lucky thing, although both scientists and numerologists say there's nothing really special with today. So, perhaps, the thought that today is a conspicuous date to launch new products or get married or just wish for something good to happen is a human thing. Six ones. One, meaning the best. And to those who were suckered into buying The Secret, or at least subscribe to the law of attraction, thinking of positive things will lead to positive things. More so today, because there are six ones.

Me? I've never been the most optimistic being (and I probably never will) but, at the start of the year, I took note of the fact that this date will come. People did make a big deal out of 11 January because there are five ones. 1/11/11, if you'd allow me to break format again. I thought, there's a better date to get crazy about wishing. That was me being a smartass. The day arrived and everybody is going, "make a wish!" and I can't be bothered.

It is, after all, an ordinary day. There's no special holiday marking the occasion, unless you're doing Veteran's Day where you are, in which case it's complete coincidence. There's no large gathering outside with placards full of elevens. I'm still working. In fact, I'm more swamped than usual. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, even, because my sister left our bedroom door open, meaning I woke up to the morning news shows. Today, somehow, is just not that kind of day.

I did wait for 11.11 to strike, and only so I can post a screen shot of my computer's clock giving me six elevens. Twelve ones. Played a Haley Reinhart song while I'm at it.

"Make a wish," everybody said when the clock struck.

Am I really missing something here?

I, naturally, got annoyed. It's my tendency to get really affected when people decide to do things together, things that I said I won't do because it doesn't mean much to me anyway. What's the point of wishing on this particular day? Can't you do it in any other day? You can do it any other day. The law of attraction isn't fickle with time, unless that's actually what The Secret says. And everybody's doing it. And I said I won't. And everybody's still doing it, which is like saying, "Niko, you're missing out!" And I get annoyed, because nobody explains it to me. Then again, they know I wouldn't pay attention, so why bother, right?

I would, actually. Not that it'd compel me to follow their footsteps, but I'd listen, unless you're talking about something I'm a hardened cynic about.

It's been a while since I talked to Gwen. She's been up to stuff. So much stuff. To the point that, somehow, she decided to change her Twitter handle. That sort of thing says "this is the new me" a lot. I talked to her yesterday, and only because I saw her change her handle, (and only because Twitter's got new stalker-y features,) and definitely because that move somehow made me feel sad.

"Should I reintroduce myself?" I said.

I don't make a lot of friends. I'd like to think I do, but there is such a thing as a hierarchy, and I've been assuming (pretty much correctly) that I've always been at the lowest rung. Nobody calls me up or anything. I won't get any text messages for five days straight, and I wonder why I still have a mobile phone. But there are a few people who will make me feel special, which I will reciprocate, and which will lead to stronger-than-expected friendships. Gwen is one of those people, at least until she got busy.

"Why are you sad about this?" she replied.

"It's like we're acquaintances again," I said. "I click on 'friendly' and I see 'get to know' rather than 'ask about day'."

(It's funny how much the developers of The Sims have got this whole social thing to a science.)

"You can 'ask about day' though. But this new Twitter name sounds so... professional. Or geeky. I choose geeky."

"I dunno. Your new name feels so... cold."

I was listening to This American Life later that night. Middle school dance. Boys asking girls out. I, of course, never had the chance, nor the guts to do that. So, I wondered, what if I had a girlfriend in high school? The thought led to a conversation between me and Dinna, my Twitter friend from Indonesia. (I hate to make a hierarchy out of this, but you have to prove a point.) A conversation about being left behind.

"And nobody needs me," I said.

"I can say 'you don't know that,'" she answered. "But it's something I firmly believe also, so... yeah."

"I believe you'll know you're needed without anyone telling you. It happens. Just happens."

"I actually was. Now I'm not sure. Everyone seems to be content with moving forward without me."

"I hate that feeling a lot."

"So you know. I'd love to know if I'm needed. And then I can figure things out from there."

"Me? I'd love to know if it's worth telling you I need you."

"You don't actually mean me, right? Ha. Pardon, my brain is rusty."

"Heh. I knew you'd think that. But you know what I mean."

Today? I just spent the last nine hours finishing my work, then the next hour writing this blog entry. I'm not sure if there's anything to look forward to, really. I still talk to people, occasionally, but it sucks that I have to be the one to always start things. I need them more than they need me. They need other people. They have other people. And this sounds pathetic, but I'm jealous that they have other people and not me. It's not as if I'm a bad person, right? I've done everything, almost everything, right. And yet people stay away from me.

And here I am, on a day where people celebrate six ones on a calendar by making a wish, trying to catch up. Today is special if you make it so. I could've, and in a good day I would've, but I didn't, because I'm still trying to catch up. I would say it's futile, but you'll dismiss all that I just said as self-pity crap. Which it is, really.

Because we no longer see each other eye to eye. We used to like the same things, but somehow, we drifted apart. You started liking one thing and I started liking another. And somehow, we just ceased relating to each other, or something like it.

Because I have new friends now. Better friends. Friends who'll take me for who I am.

Because you hurt me. You did something really bad. You know what I mean. You smiled at me when I asked you whether you went for this or that, and then you took a dagger and stabbed me in the back. And then you smiled at me again, like nothing happened.

Because my friends said so. And I believe them. I believe them when they told me that you're a jerk who only wants to get into my pants.

Because my boyfriend said so. "I don't want you near that motherfucker," or something to that effect.

Because you humiliated me, in front of my 134 followers, by asking me to untag you in some image.

Because you don't want me around.

Because I don't want you around.

Because you don't fit my idea of a perfect friend. You're too noisy. You don't talk a lot about yourself, but you're too interested in me. I feel creeped out about that. Oh, and you're too touchy. I'm not sure if you're trying to rape me without any sexual contact, or you just like touching people inappropriately.

Because you remind me of someone. Someone who hurt me, hurt me really bad, a good five or ten years ago. And I, I'm not good with dealing with all this emotional baggage. People tell me to talk to a psychiatrist, but nobody wants a crazy guy.

Because I'm no longer friends with the person you want to be friends with.

Because I cannot risk us being friends for fifteen, maybe twenty years, only for either you or me to do something stupid. I'm not the luckiest person in the world. Whenever I'm happy, I'm bound to get sad. These things are not meant to last.

Because all I am to you is a potential client.

Because we were never friends in the first place. Why the hell would you think that we were friends in the first place? Dude, there's a difference between being nice and being nice for the sake of being nice. Stop being so persistent.

Because you fell in love with me.

Because I fell in love with you.

Because I'm just beyond pissed off at you. And you won't tell me why you're pissed off at me. Heck, I'm willing to change, but you just won't let me anymore. And you have the gall to complain that you don't have any friends? You deserve it. You fucking deserve it.

"Gay?"

"I don't know. I've been calling everything gay nowadays. But yay for your fluffy crush!"

"That was the past, Icka. She's a different case, as you said."

"Maybe what you feel towards her is much more serious than that."

"I dunno. Why else would I consider courting her? Despite me saying I won't do it to anybody?"

"Could this be looooove?"

"What if it was?"

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

"The thing that I do best."

"Blog?"

"Aside from that..."

"Please don't run away and hide."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"What if you regret it?"

"What's there for me to regret? I choose silence rather than being shunned."

This was a conversation I had with Icka exactly three years ago today. I remember this because I blogged the whole thing, unedited, elsewhere, and I blogged the first part here, as I said, three years ago. That means the person I'm referring to isn't named here, but is named in the original version. That, or you already know what I'm talking about.

I mention this conversation because, in a fit of what-happened-in-previous-Novembers syndrome, I chanced upon this entry and realized that most of the things I do have a three-year shelf life. Crushes linger for three years. Friendships stay strong for three years. Interests stick for three years. And then, somewhere near the end, it just fades away, and gets replaced by other things.

And no, there are no feelings anymore. Actually, I don't think I should be looking back at this with rose-tinted glasses. That whole thing was bullshit. There are other, better things worth remembering. But yes, three years.