When Being On Filipino Time Goes Right.

So I was in Kansas City this past weekend to drop my mom off at the airport -- she's flying back to the Philippines for a couple of months with my grandma to attend to some family business. Coincidentally a friend was celebrating his birthday on Saturday, so I decided to stay in town for the evening to participate in the festivities. As always, good music and even better company made for a very fun night (even if I had to endure watching a KU game at Mike's and listening to some cheesy music at Shark Bar* before surrendering and retreating to Lucky Strike -- haha!).

Anyway, the next morning found me dragging a little bit. After a unhealthily delicious burger at Five Guys, I left from Corey's house later than I'd intended -- a little after 2pm -- and stopped off to get gas on the Missouri side before getting onto the freeway. The five minutes I spent filling the tank up saved me from getting into a 40-car accident right outside of Bonner Springs as I was heading west on I-70 (this video of the aftermath has to be watched to be fully appreciated). This massive accident happened only a few miles ahead of me. If I'd gotten on the road slightly sooner, I would have been involved.

[via]

In the photograph above, I was about a mile behind the semi trucks you see in the background. I had to take the Bonner Springs exit -- you can see the overpass waaay in the back.

This is when being on Filipino time goes right for once. Although the delays and detours added another hour to my normal 4-hour drive -- and good lookin' out to Jose for being my OnStar representative for a few minutes -- I'm not complaining at all. Needless to say, I was a bit tired from the drive last night. Sunday Seven will be posted later today.

To all my Filipino readers, the next time someone bags on you for being on Pinoy time all the time, let me talk to 'em. Whew.

*Actually somewhat better than my previous experiences there. They had a pretty amazing blacklight setup that night.

Edit: This week's Sunday Seven post will be postponed as I lent my camera to my mom while she's away (hers isn't pocket-sized). I switched out the Memory Stick beforehand so I could upload the pics I took last week, but it turns out that in order for the desktop to read the memory card and copy files I have to buy an adapter for the Duo, which I don't really want to do right now. Sunday Seven will resume next week with Series 025 as I take photos with her camera and I'll add Series 024 retroactively when I can.

Eight Years Later.

As if you needed any kind of reminder, today marks the eighth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center.  Like billions of other people, I can clearly remember what I was doing and where I was when I found out about the tragedy. I've never really written about it before (although I've alluded to the experience in past journal entries) so personally this will be a fresh look at that day.

That particular Tuesday started out routinely, a typical workday morning in Seattle.  I've never made it a habit to turn on the TV while getting ready, so I possessed no knowledge of what had already happened -- Wikipedia marks the beginning of the attacks at 8:46am Eastern, while I was still asleep on the West Coast. My bus stop was only a block away from the apartment, and I took my place in line with fellow commuters waiting for the 941 to swing by. I must've been switching out CDs in my Discman when I heard two women saying something about "a plane hitting the World Trade Center in New York." I don't think they had much information on it, that maybe it was a terrible accident, but was most likely a terrorist attack. The 941 came, and the ride downtown on I-5 was abuzz with passengers talking about the event.

An ugly knot began growing in my stomach. By the time I got to work, I felt like throwing up: My brother Jose and Mike, a mutual friend, were visiting New York for the week, and from previous conversations with them I'd known that the Towers were on their list of Things To Visit In NYC. Yeah you can probably tell where this is going. I became increasingly distressed and focused on nothing but getting to a TV and trying to get more details, but unfortunately there were no televisions in the office. I had to resort to refreshing news websites constantly for the tiniest scrap of new information; I must have pressed the Redial button on my cell a hundred times to try to get through the jammed airwaves. No dice.

I remember leaning against a wall in the hallway outside of my office after another futile attempt at calling, fearing the worst. My boss tried to give me some words of comfort, but of course my imagination ran rampant and crippled my mind. The photos of explosions, smoldering wreckage and terrified faces on the news sites didn't help things at all.

No one in the company worked that day. My concentration was completely shot. I remember one co-worker in particular who was especially shook; she worked the early shift and had just finished talking to a client in New York. Needless to say, she (and half of the office staff) went back home not long after they arrived. Payroll was due on Tuesdays so my boss and I were obligated to get that job done, but it took us three times as long to finish and I got nothing else accomplished that day. I was numb.

I was finally able to get through to my mom that afternoon. To my immense, intense relief, she assured me that Jose and Mike were fine and safe at my uncle's house; that they hadn't even had breakfast yet when the first plane struck.

Was it fate? Divine intervention? Hell, the fact that my brother hates getting up early? I look back and have no idea. But the feeling that I got at that time can only be described as blessed. It was very strange, and left me empty and full at the same time.

And I could breathe again.

As you know, the whole world changed at that point. Even now, eight years later -- when Ground Zero is being rebuilt and repurposed into a place even greater than it once was, when we have long been accustomed to long airport security lines and putting our toothpaste into clear plastic bags, when our military presence in the Middle East has overstayed its welcome -- even now, the personal impact of that day still twists my stomach and clouds my brow. I was blessed. I could have lost someone, and I didn't.

But thousands of other families did. I can only imagine what they went through then, and what they are still going through now, so today my thoughts and prayers go out to them.

In Memoriam: 11 September 2001.

The Way It Should Be.

From a recent, enlightening phone conversation:

Starting over is highly overrated. You deal with what you're given and you do the best you can, and it all ends up the way it should be.
- a good friend of mine on life, 02 September 2009

Sometimes the simplest words paint the clearest pictures. Thanks for listening to me, and maybe I'll succeed in applying this little bit of wisdom to the ever-changing Rorschach inkblot that is my life right now.