Yes, A Few Inches Do Matter

Exhibit A: Notice how the floor of our living room is approximately six inches higher (or maybe a bit more) than our garage. And our garage is higher than the road. Prior to Ondoy, the highest flood level would just lap outside our gates. But the waters of Ondoy reached inside our garage and threatened to slip inside our house. My mom said barely two inches separated our living room from the floodwaters. And thank goodness Orlando’s clearance is a lot higher than our floor level.

Exhibit B: Marikina is now Muddy-kina. This was how much mud Orlando had to go through. Unfortunately that mud also contains a lot of debris, especially the ones that can puncture Orly’s tires. Thus…

Exhibit C: Orlando’s right rear tire was okay that morning, but by evening it went limp on me. And when I had it vulcanized this morning, lo and behold, the people at the shop told me I needed new tires! Can you spell gastos?!

But then I look at the others who lost almost everything, and I just put everything in perspective.

Oh, and Orlando will have to get used to having a mudpack for the coming days ahead. It’ll be useless to wash him clean when I’ll be driving him through mud and/or dust for the next few days.

The River Wild

Tuesday morning on my way to work I passed through my usual route. The traffic going out of Marikina was heavier than usual. All over the city, piles and piles of mud, garbage and debris were piled up in front of houses, waiting for the garbage trucks to cart them away. That plus stalled and abandoned vehicles littered the roads, so that the streets of Marikina are now an obstacle course. And of course, mud covered everything everywhere. As I passed through the bridge along Marcos Highway, I saw that the river has already reverted back to its original gentle state, its waters calmly flowing within its banks.

Going home in the evening, I had automatically turned to my usual route of JP Rizal, which would take me past the entrance leading to Provident Village, one of the hardest-hit areas in Marikina. By this time some of the roads had dried up, so the mud was replaced by dust. It was already nearly midnight, yet traffic was still crawling. All around the main road were signs of destruction, as all the houses had no electricity and the water-damaged belongings strewed outside. Vehicles were left on the side of the road. As I neared the entrance to the village, I saw more and more police presence. Reports of mass looting may have prompted the city government to send in the troops. Just outside the entrance to the village, the saved vehicles of residents were parked along the road and nearby establishments. I saw one guy opening the trunk of his car, revealing what may be the only remaining personal stuff he has with him—clothes, shoes and some luggage.

With all of the junk and mud strewn outside the houses all over the city, I wondered what would happen if they remain there when the next storm strikes. There are already warnings of another incoming storm.

Past the entrance, the traffic did not ease a bit. That was because the parked vehicles extended all the way to the nearby bridge. As I crawled past the parked cars, I looked at the inky darkness beyond. Usually the riverbank is well lit at night, but for now the river was cloaked in darkness. Somewhere out there, the river lay quiet and peaceful, waiting for the next storm to transform it to a roaring, angry monster.

Unos, Dos, Tres

“Walang tubig, walang pagkain, eh di sumayaw na lang tayo!”

While the whole of Metro Manila was reeling from floodwaters of biblical proportions, I was at Juice Bar in Boracay dancing to “Fire On The Dance Floor” and “Calle Ocho”. Earlier that afternoon I was online and the tweets and Facebook status updates all echoed the same frantic sentiment: Metro Manila was on its way to becoming a disaster area of Atlantic proportions. And though I was calling and texting the people at home, the only replies I got were a busy signal and a “Network busy, try again?” on my phone.

Did any bit of guilt creep into my heart that night? Did I stop to think, how callous of me to be out partying while people back home are drowning?

True, I was worried about the situation at home; earlier in the morning my mom told me the water in the garage was inches away from invading our living room. Given that the rains hadn’t stopped, I was resigned to the inevitable that our house was already flooded by the afternoon. Plus there was no way for me to go home and be with my family. I realized I was at that point when things were beyond me, and I could only accept that which I couldn’t control.

I could only say so many silent prayers for the safety of my loved ones. I could only beseech Mother Nature to let up her fury. I could only tweet my wish that Ororo Munroe would use her Storm powers to drive the storm away.

“Walang tubig, walang pagkain, eh di sumayaw na lang tayo!”

In Joey Gosengfiao’s classic Temptation Island, four beauty queen contestants, supposedly the epitome of grace and civilized behavior, find themselves trapped and helpless in a desert island. Because of hunger and thirst, they are reduced to tearing panties off unwilling donors (to use as net to catch fish) and hallucinating huge ice cream cones and fried chicken on the desert sand.

In one classic scene, the girls had only a cassette recorder (owned by the maid, who else?) playing Giorgio Moroder’s “What A Night!” Faced with the inevitable, they had no choice but to assess what they had and act accordingly.

“Walang tubig, walang pagkain, eh di sumayaw na lang tayo!”

It was inevitable I’d end up dancing that Saturday night. “One, two three, four, uno, dos, tres, quatro… I know you want me, you know I want ‘cha!”

And unlike in the movie, we didn’t end up in a catfight.

The Flood

Saturday morning in Boracay: we wake up to the sound of crashing waves, howling winds and—gasp!—torrential rain. But I was ready for that; our trip was planned a month ago, but tropical typhoon Ondoy decided to pay a visit to the Philippines on the weekend my friends and I were supposed to enjoy the sun, surf and sunbathing boys. Oh well. I am great at adjusting to the givens, though, and so I decided we can get wet and wild instead.

But the tweets from the peeps back in Manila were alarming. Floods of biblical proportions were reported in places where floods don’t normally occur. Which made me scared for my folks back home in Marikina. Our city isn’t known just for our footwear industry; it is situated in a valley, so a valley girl like me knows how flooding occurs there quite regularly.

I called my mom at around 9am. She told me that the water level was at an all-time high; the flood had already entered our garage and was inching its way towards our raised living room. Mom was worried. If the rains don’t let up, the water will surely enter our one-storey bungalow.

Now this isn’t the first time that the McVies experienced flooding in our house. During the 80s the local government decided to cement our street, raising the street to a level higher than the floor of our house. When it rained, the water flowed into our house instead of out in the street. I remember waking up after a night of torrential rain, only to discover in horror that my slippers, este, flip-flops na pala, were floating on the other side of the room. So when my mom retired, she used much of her savings to raise the foundation of our house so that it’ll be higher than street level. And for years our ceramic tiled flooring never new what it was like to be under water. (Our previous parquet flooring, however, lost tile after tile to flood waters.) Until now.

I remembered all my junk just cluttered on the floor of my bedroom. Shoes, DVDs, copies of “Entertainment Weekly” magazines, hard-to-find CDs—oh no! I instructed my mom to start putting those on top of my bed. The rest can drown, but not those.

After lunch I tried calling and texting again. This time they couldn’t be contacted. I only got the “service provider network down” message. The next few hours were stressful; I didn’t want to worry yet I couldn’t help it.

In the evening I got an SMS from my brother, saying that the flood didn’t enter our house. But when I texted him for more details, he didn’t reply anymore.

It was only this morning that I received definite word from them that they were safe and dry, albeit bored to death because the electricity was still out. And while the floodwaters reached our garage, Orlando was spared. Whew.

Despite worrying that my mom, aunt and brothers were alone in the house, I was in some weird way thankful to be away when the flood occurred. Even if I could lend a hand saving whatever stuff we could spare, the truth is if the waters did enter our house, there was nothing we could do. At least I was spared of the frustration of witnessing the destruction firsthand.

I spent most of today fielding text messages from worried friends and family. In my replies I just pretended I was in Marikina, just to spare me the hassle of explaining.

What Are Beaches For…

…but to be beached inside our hotel as the storm whipped monsoon winds and rains across a large area of the country, including here in Boracay.

Here’s what Boracay looks like when it’s storm-swept.




(Mukhang asar dahil inulan sa beach... double beach!)

Finding Peace With A Missing Piece

I fist saw the following video at Thadie’s blog. I was struck by its simple but clear message: being “incomplete” is not necessarily a bad thing.

The How To? Fabcast, Part 2

Subtitled: How To Thoroughly Grill McVie To A Crisp

So we were talking about how to snag a jowa when me and my big mouth decided to complain about my situation. Thus the Fabcasters decided to face my problem head-on. And boy, did they give me head! I mean, my head was spinning after this particular Fabcast.

Still, I looove me friends. (Labas sa ilong. Choz.)

LISTEN: (28 mins 48 sec)

Download this episode (right click and save - 27.65 MB)

Lessons In Love

Recently I was counseling a friend who had a bad break-up; his ex left him for another guy. A month after the break-up, my friend thought he was okay. But recently another encounter with his ex forced him to realize that instead of moving on, he still gets affected by his ex. “Every time I’m reminded of him, it’s like I’m back to square one,” he said.

I reassured him, “Don’t worry, that’s a normal part of moving on. You think you’re already okay and then suddenly you find yourself feeling bad again. Then the cycle repeats itself. But don’t worry, you’ll find that every time you feel down, it becomes less and less painful.”

He then replied, “But I’m so tired of this kind of situation. I’ve been asking myself why I give so much of myself that it’s so painful when my feelings are just dumped aside.”

“That’s what happens when you expect something in return,” I said.

He continued, “I don’t know if my efforts were just wasted, if they were all for nothing.”

I realized that my friend was in pain because he was hoping his efforts would be reciprocated. But if one were to love another without asking for anything in return, then he would not be tortured in case his love isn’t reciprocated. Now that’s truly unconditional.

Unfortunately that’s also something not everyone is privileged to learn. Maybe one day I too will get the hang of it.

Familia Zaragoza

It was a long weekend, so the Fabcasters and friends went to an out-of-town resort and had fun. We frolicked in the water and watched Temptation Island and the first two episodes of Glee.

And we had wonderful long talks, punctuated by much teasing and laughter. It’s like a Fabcast but with no editing and musical score. In fact, we had so much fun chatting that we ended up recording a Fabcast the following morning.

On my way home I realized how much I value such interactions with people whose company I enjoy and prefer. For me these are what enrich me. These are the memories that I will hold much dearer than, say, a good day at work.

Because really, friends are the family of your choice.

Say hello to the Familia Semikalagoza.

The How To? Fabcast

Here is part one of a two-parter Fabcast featuring Migs, Gibbs, Corporate Closet, Lobster_Tony and yours truly, plus Kiko who was with us in the previous Fabcast. We tackled a question (actually, several) posted by Yue on gay relationships.

LISTEN (30 mins):

Download this episode (right click and save - 28.8 MB)

Last Night And This Morning

Last night and this morning,
I passed my final test.
It came without warning,
But I did what I thought was best.

Outwardly I was okay
Inside, I wasn’t sure.
Yet I kept the dogs at bay—
Never will they see me insecure.

I even showed the way,
I even held his hand.
So bring out the fireworks,
Strike up the band—
The Unexpected may love to jest,
But last night and this morning,
I did pass my final test.

* * * * *

Nah. I should just stick to essays. LOL!

‘Cuz This Is Trailer! Trailer Night!

Is this 2009/2010’s Blair Witch Project? Take a look.

Think Positive, Be Negative

Two weeks after I took a spur-of-the-moment blood test in the middle of Orosa Street, the jury is in. I am officially STD- and HIV-negative.

* * * * *

A window popped up in my YM. It was Chronicles of E.

“What’s your test code number?”

The free test was also anonymous. Instead of names, we were assigned numbers. I gave him my number.

“You already have the results?” I asked him. “I thought they would be out tomorrow!”

“Well,” he replied, “they’re available now and I can get them for you. Wait, okay?”

The next few second were some of the longest in my life.

Funny, considering that the week after I was tested, I wasn’t worrying too much while waiting. Maybe because even when I was considering having myself tested, I already started asking myself, “What if I turn out positive?” I was decided I’d make the next season of The McVie Show dedicated to promoting safe sex.

But I wasn’t able to complete the scenario of how, if ever, I’d tell my family. Telling my friends is the easy part.

“You need to see them again.” E typed in. And by “them” he meant the people at the Social Hygiene Clinic, the ones who administered the test.

Hmmm. Now why would he say that to me? The following thought flow quickly flashed through my mind.

Either he’s joking or he’s serious. If he’s serious, either the result is positive or there was an honest mistake and I need to be tested again. So I decided to might as well go with the flow calmly. I figured that if he’s serious and I’m positive (worst-case scenario), then I might as well know what my next steps are. But if he’s joking, then I’ll be ruining his joke, and the joke’s on him. (Later on I realized that, if indeed E was serious, then the joke was on me.)

Sige nga, sakyan natin ito! “Okay,” I replied. “So where do I need to go and who do I see?”

E gave me the information as calmly as he could also. But I was even cooler. “And what’s next?”

E eventually broke.

“Okay, okay! You’re negative! Hahaha!”

I smiled and replied, “Yeah, I guessed as much.”

“Kainis ka, hindi ka nag-freak out.”

So how come I didn’t freak out? Maybe it’s because I have been thinking about it for the past two weeks. I’m sure the full impact would hit me much later, but maybe because I was concentrating on the immediate next steps, I refused to worry about the far-away implications.

* * * * *

When I told several friends of my test results and how I got them, they all had the same reaction: “Tell your friend that was a really, really bad joke.” Some even frowned and told me, “That wasn’t a very nice thing to do.” I’d just shrug that comment off, or like one time I replied, “Oh it’s okay, I’d have done the same thing had we exchanged places.” That shut them up.

What I find interesting is that they’re the ones who are bothered but I’m not. It’s true, E and I share that dark, morbid humor. But I guess what most of my friends didn’t know is that E is HIV-positive himself. Maybe had they known, they would have reacted differently.

I understood him well when E told me on YM: “Naiingit ako sa inyo,” referring to K and I who both took the test. “You guys are both negative, while I had to be the one who’s positive.”

So I told him, “Even if I’m negative, you’re still my friend. If you want, give me some of your blood. I’ll inject myself with it, hahaha. Or wait! Better yet, let’s just have sex! It’ll be more fun pa!”

E replied: “Hahaha! But you’d have to be bottom!”

Me: “Ay. (Mag-hesitate ba?! Hahahaha!)”

As I said, E and I do share a morbid sense of humor.

The Kiko Fabcast / Fabcast: Behind The Scenes

After a long time in the U.S., Migs is back, and the Fabcasters are back again! Here is the first of our latest Fabcasts—our interview with Kiko, who described himself as someone who doesn’t have “a gay bone in his body.”

LISTEN: (33 minutes)

Download this podcast (right click and save - 32 MB)

(Music credits: “If You Were Gay” from Avenue Q)

* * * * *

The idea of doing a podcast was floated early on by Migs. But it wasn’t until we became fans of The Dan & Rye Show that we seriously considered pushing through. Perhaps Migs and Gibbs realized that a gay podcast is viable. I personally was just envious that Dan and Rye were having so much fun in their podcast; it was similar to how we three would chats and converse, and I wanted to capture that kind of atmosphere—friends having fun yet speaking their minds out intelligently.

We started out as the Troikasters because there were just three of us: Migs, Gibbs and I. And the dynamics were different back then. Migs as the main host was both arbiter and facilitator; Gibbs was the serious academic (Migs called his lectures “sermons”); and I was the one who often butted in with a lot of non-serious side comments. But each one of us had our individual turns to say our piece regarding whatever topic we tackled.

In the beginning the comments reflected our clear roles; I remember a listener or two being critical of my side comments. At first I was worried but Migs and Gibbs assured me that my side comments provided the necessary break within our Troikasts, preventing them from sounding too somber and serious.

It was after we had Lobster_Tony and Corporate Closet as guests for the topic “long distance relationships” that we considered widening the group. The Troikasters were rechristened The Fabcasters, and the two became permanent additions to the podcasting. After we guested AJ of Bakla Ako, May Reklamo?, we included him as the sixth Fabcaster. For the past few Fabcasts though, AJ has been unable to join the recording for several schedule and health reasons.

I find it funny that the roles have evolved. I still do my side comments, but as I review the Fabcasts I realize it’s now Gibbs whose every other comment has a punch line at the end. The others all chime in with their own jokes too. Migs is still the main host and arbiter, Tony is quick to raise a contrary point of view or point out a hasty generalization, and CC remains our favorite punching bag. Meanwhile I’ve consciously taken a backseat, because during the recording I put on my producer’s cap and monitor the recording.

As producer my task is simple. First I make sure that the venue is conducive for recording—ambient sound must be kept to a minimum, and the place must not be too echo-y. Then I try as much as possible to capture the spontaneity and the fun that goes on. It’s like reality radio—what happens, happens. But when editing I am conscious of keeping the pace quick and entertaining, which is why I shorten Gibbs’ numerous “ahhs” and “uhms” (I too am guilty of that). And the primary consideration is to make sure that sentences and trains of thought are connected and finished. But I try to keep the rowdiness intact; it is what keeps us in stitches, and that I believe the reason we continue to remain friends is because we make each other laugh.

To those who continue to enjoy listening to the Fabcasts, thank you, thank you very much!

Chicken Joy

Thanks to J, my default resto of choice if I’m hungry but I don’t want to bother thinking of what to eat is Jollibee. I’d order pancit palabok and either a double cheeseburger or a 1-piece chicken.

So two nights ago I found myself having a late dinner in Jollibee on a wet and gloomy evening when I noticed the young couple in front of me. She was Filipina, with frizzy hair clinging to her neck; he looked Japanese, wearing the prerequisite business suit. She looked like a secretary; he looked like a junior suit, the kind left behind by the power suits to clean up their mess after they fly back to their home countries.

They only had eyes for each other. That one was pretty obvious despite their attempts at behaving. At first his chair was at a respectable distance from her chair. As I was twirling noodles onto my fork, I glanced under their table and I saw them surreptitiously hold hands for a few seconds before breaking off contact. How sweet.

Normally I would have gagged with my palabok at that point. But recent events have made me more tolerant of such sweetness. And after all, they were strangers anyway.

He had ordered a fudge sundae; she had ordered a Jolli-hotdog. What a sly choice for dinner! She shoved that sandwich down her throat so demurely yet provocatively. No wonder he couldn’t get his hands off her.

I shoveled the last forkful of noodles and stood up. They were now looking into each other’s eyes.

Outside the rain was relentless. I took one final glance at them inside the store. Just outside their window hung a Jollibee poster. I immediately took note of its tagline: “Sa Jollibee, bida ang saya, bida ang sarap.”

How fitting.

The Only Way Is Up

I’ve resisted talking about Disney/Pixar’s Up because I knew I’d end up with spoiler alerts and I wouldn’t want that. But now that it’s on its second (or is it third?) week, I think it’s pretty safe to talk about the movie.

* OKAY: For those who may still haven’t seen the movie up to now—shame on you! And warning, spoilers ahead. *

I watched it twice already, the first time on a regular run and the second on 3D. What enhanced my second viewing wasn’t just the 3D effect. I saw more the second time around, and by more I don’t mean just visual depth of field. The movie also packs an emotional depth far greater than the usual animated feature; nay, even with most live-action films as well.

What a rare movie that caters to both adults as well as kids—brilliant! Of the many layers of symbols casually thrown into the mix, what hit me the most was the way the filmmakers used the (flying) house as a metaphor.

When Carl’s beloved wife Ellie dies, he ties hundreds of balloons to their house so that he can fly it to Paradise Falls in South America—a promise he made to his late wife. Russell, an Asian-American kid, joins him in his adventures in South America where they encounter a rare bird, talking dogs and a villainous has-been explorer.

I love how the house is a symbol of Carl’s heart. At the start the house is broken down, but he and Ellie managed to make it whole. After she died, there’s a shot where the camera pulls out to reveal the house surrounded by massive construction, which is a sign of progress—it’s as if Carl’s heart stopped beating in time. Carl finds the motivation to fulfill his promise to Ellie, so his heart soars again—but this time on thousands of balloons.

When Carl and Russell reach South America, they needed to drag the house on foot towards Paradise Falls. What a cunning metaphor for Carl dragging his past along, or rather his past weighing him down.

And for me, the most touching metaphor was when Carl finally realizes how Ellie has allowed him to let go. In order to rescue Russell from danger, Carl had to throw away all the stuff inside the house—including their favorite his-and-hers chairs—so that it can be light enough to soar again. It was the ultimate gesture of letting go. It was one of the most touching and exciting scenes I’ve ever seen in recent years.

The movie is really appropriately titled. Your spirits will soar when you watch Up. Best Pixar movie to date.

Wha-pak Man

Last night while recording our next series of Fabcasts, Migs and the rest of the gang decided to discuss, nay dissect, my lack of a love life. Comments were made, hypotheses were posited, and assumptions were questioned.

One thing I value with my true friends is that they are not afraid of seeking out the truth. And I must admit that when they train their laser sights on me, it can be quite unnerving. But for me it’s a good kind of scary, because I know that in the end the benefits to self-knowledge far outweigh the immediate sting their sharp comments and conclusions can make.

And what a slap in the face I got last night. Migs especially did not mince words, and I love him for it. Ouch. Love hurts.

So where does that leave me? Honestly, it’s easy for me to find lessons for others, but lessons for myself take a while to sink in. I’m now a bundle of thoughts and emotions in silent turmoil, broken only by mundane things like work and meetings and press conferences (with the Pacman himself) and movies with the family. When it comes to love, that’s something I know I have no control over. But I also know that this particular topical depression will blow itself away, and a gentle breeze will follow after a storm, the landscape a-washed and altered, refreshed and renewed.

Then again, my landscape may already be made of concrete and steel.

(Hey Fabcasters, take it easy, okay? I’m just kidding here. Mwhehehe. Insert evil giggling here.)

* * * * *

Watch out for our next series of Fabcasts. It’s going to be, uhm, revealing.

Use The Secret On The Secret

Someone told me to stop whining about my unhappy love life and instead turn to the bestselling self-help book, “The Secret”. And like him, I should use the Secret to snag me a boyfriend. Because after all, he used the Secret and now he’s happy with a new boyfriend.

Well, all right.

I’m going to go and get that book. I’m going to faithfully apply the lessons of the Secret. And I will make it my goal in life—I will think positive and will the Universe itself to conspire with me to break them up.

Jabbawockeez

I was with my sister and brother, waiting for our order of pizza and chicken wings, when we started chatting about Jabbawockeez. This is the multi-racial dance group with four Filipino-American members who won in the first season of Randy Jackson’s America’s Best Dance Crew. I never knew my siblings were such big fans too of Jabbawockeez until I found out that my brother trooped all the way to Trinoma to catch a glimpse of them live.

“There was such a huge crowd in Trinoma,” my brother reported. “I think even the mall security was overwhelmed by the huge number of people.”

“You know,” I said, “that turn-out’s remarkable considering that the show only airs on cable here. I mean, where the hell did the people find out about Jabbawockeez?”

“Maybe in the internet?” my sister guessed.

“You know, they could have extended their presentation to a full length show,” my brother said. “And I think people would gladly pay to watch the Jabbawockeez in a dance concert.”

“Yeah!” I butted in. “We can tour that concert in the Visayas, like maybe in Cebu. And the title of their show will be, ‘Jabba Diha!’ Hahaha!”

Not to be outdone, my brother chimed in. “For one number they’ll wear Chewbacca costumes and they’ll be called Jabbawookies!”

“Kareem Abdul Jabbar can guest and they’ll call him Kareem Abdul Jabbarwockeez!”

“Eh, what is their favorite food? Jabba rice!”

Oh good lord, it’s in our McGenes.

41 Seconds

Okay, medyo baduy yung device na breaking the split-screen. Pero ahem! Excuse me, noh, but I too can kiss way better than she—or he—can. *sabay kembot*

Let Me Mar The Moment

I find it suspicious that Mar Roxas announced his decision to give way to Noynoy Aquino for the presidential race before Noynoy announced his decision whether indeed he’s running or not.

You see, if Noynoy decides to run, Mar knows he’s going up against a (currently) stronger contender.

BUT….

If Noynoy decides not to run, then Mar can throw his hat into the ring again. But by that time, he would have earned a gazillion pogi PR points from the people.

Yeah, I’m suspicious that way.

Cam Whore-ing

Thanks to the Fotoloco (http://fotoloco.com.ph/) booth set-up during the Agency of the Year Awards Night, I have the following pictures with my former officemates.




Wala lang. =)

Text-Text

Several months ago while I was on my way to Malate, I received a call from Bryan. I had SMS’ed him earlier asking if I would see him in Bed. He sounded down and out on the phone. He was already in a taxi on his way home. Apparently, Bryan saw his ex inside Bed, and that brief sighting, no matter how short, brought back all the painful memories. He had to rush out of the dance club and flagged the first cab he saw.

Cut to earlier today. I was in an event when my phone buzzed. It was an SMS from Bryan.

BRYAN: I read your blog on K and E and the AIDS test. Your style reminded me of Carrie Bradshaw.

McV: Really? Oh shoot, I was aiming for a Stephen King style. Choz.

BRYAN: Anyway. Ewan ko ba. I’m seeing someone now and he’s so into me. But I’m not that into him. And I think it’s because he’s so into me. Kakalokah.

McV: I know that feeling. It takes away the excitement when the other guy’s devotion is so total. Give us the possibility of loss, please! There’s more drama there! Hahaha.

BRYAN: Well, did I say that the guy who’s so into me just so happens to be the same guy who dumped the guy who broke my heart—and is the reason I didn’t go to Malate?

McV: OMG. You are sooo EEEEEEEEVIL! Haylaveth! Can I ask permission from you to blog this?

BRYAN: Of course.

Sometimes the really interesting revelations happen so nonchalantly.