May contain traces of... NUTS.

Recently an old classmate buzzed me through Friendster that she’ll be jetsettin’ in London for a few weeks. Eager beaver that I am, I had a reply all ready within the same second she clicked "SEND". We agreed to a day-out/shopping spree in London. Of course this was before I thought about my cheque book... and before I remembered Ooooops, I have none! Yes, I’m basically penniless, skint to the bones. And my apprehension grew even higher when I also realised that my last recollection of that friend was still far back in high school, when we were still transitory seat/cheat mates and our relationship was just strictly ‘professional’. Not exactly the mate-y, I-love-u-for-who-u-are type and I felt uneasy.

Notwithstanding, the next day, armed with my tube map, an address book of London attractions and a crispy tenner freshly swindled from James’ wallet, I headed towards our rendezvous: high street Covent Garden. Somehow, despite being 80 miles away, I’ve managed to zoom there right on time by mid morning. Only...

No familiar face in sight.

I anxiously checked my watch. Hmmm... I’m not late. Then, it donned on me... She must’ve meant Pinoy time! GREAT. Now I have more time to fret about the dreadful possibilities ahead: stale pleasantries, awkward silences and random fillers between 2 strangers hoping to feign a conversation. Worse, my pending humiliation when I tell her we can’t exactly have a posh nosh or have a tea-time tête-à-tête at the nearby Ritz as this superficially classy, chic clad chika does NOT have anything more than £10 on her!

I looked around. The West End. Gourmet hoity-toity cafes where wanabees go to be seen. Designer boutiques retailing haute couture--- some resembling ONE of my granny’s ugly doilies, but for the price of her WHOLE cottage. Souvenir shops with shoddy exteriors to deceive gullible tourists into thinking that their £100 union jack t-shirt is actually cheap.

I can sniff the ‘expensive’ air from miles away. I clutched my empty pocket. What was I thinking? How do I get out of this? My mind fluttered nervously to and fro some of the most awful scenes from the movie ‘Romy & Michelle High School Reunion.’

Until I got distracted. She finally arrived 30 odd minutes later. Surprising even myself, I was just a bit short of literally jumping for joy. I was just delighted to see a fellow rice-crazy, bagoong-loving kababayan that I forgot all about being cross about her delay and more importantly, my imagined uncertainties. We sure didn’t waste any second. We began wildly chattering with each other, like cuckoos on swiss clocks at the strike of an hour!

My worries were silly, afterall! We chatted incessantly as we have more than 10 years of catching up to do. And as if our lower limbs were in constant competition with our mouths, our heels clamped vigorously on every fashion outlet from Covent Garden, all the way to Oxford Street (and back again). She shopped while I window-shopped. I made a mental list of things I want to buy wondering when I can ever afford to buy them. Considering I still have my last Christmas’ shopping list all intact and un-ticked, my prospects are not that encouraging.

When we’ve max-ed out our ‘mileage’ and we’re both starting to feel the growing numbness from our hip down because of exhaustion, we decided to get some grub. Sheepishly, I told her about my lonesome 10 pound note. She reassured me that she’ll get the tab for this one. After all, she is the one who’s actually getting paid for her hard labour.

How can I say no to that? I accepted, with a promise of an IOU as soon as I land a job (she’ll be migrating in London within 6 mos). Job. I always feel nervy at the slightest mention of that word. For the briefest moment, that terrible something-must-be-wrong-with-your-life feeling drummed by my head again. But it was gone before I can bob to its beat.

We went to Soho to look for some authentic Chinese chow. We peeped inside a joint. Grotty and dingy. Check. Some bizarre oriental Britney Spears whines are blasting through the walls. Check. Waiter is about to serve some drinks and his pinkie is dunked right in one of em. Check. I told my companion, " I think we’re in the right place."

While waiting for #239 and #45 orders, our conversations got even more relaxed and spontaneous. I didn’t have to force a topic as I previously anticipated. They came in naturally, prompted only by each other’s genuine curiosity for the other. We talked about jobs. I found out she’s quite a catch, a woman in finance world enjoying a blue chip job. She is going to move in London on her own. I told her that I admire her hard work and career-oriented mind set; and the fact that she can just migrate to any place around the globe, any day... because she is her own person, independent financially and to some degree emotionally as she is unattached. I’m sure a lot of women out there will be looking up to her with a tinge of envy, thinking "What a lucky woman!" To an extent, I’m one of them. She has that ‘drive’ that was once familiar to me.

She asked about my marriage. I waffled on about marital bliss and the ‘movie moments’ from my domestic life. She then told me that I am even luckier as I was very secured in this world that I know where my life is heading to... to build a family with James.

That kind of struck a chord.

That made me think. In spite of myself, I am slowly beginning to feel dispirited, discontent. Okay, conk me in the head. I know I’m getting a great deal: wonderful ‘low maintenance’ hubby and a chance to volunteer for NGOs--- but is it too much to ask for some luxuries as part of this package?

Between the growing heap of debts and the pile of bills, I’m beginning to question whether I made the right choices in life. Half of my time is spent being an unpaid housewife and the other half devoting time in an industry where ‘pro bono’ , ‘volunteer’, and ‘donations’ are the currencies. I’m sure wanting to be rich while working for Charity is an oxymoron. Does this make me a fool? Maybe there is really 'ethics' in corporations and I'm just too smug to admit it? Or am I just too scared take leaps of faith and make them work?

I suppose that’s where ‘calling’ comes in. It’s an urging within us to guide us when we are faced with divergent paths ahead. But then again, how can we be really sure when the calling is not a one-off decision ‘to be’. Everyday, it is moulded through our choices, the challenges we face and the opportunities that unfold before us. It does not come to us like an epiphany. It is not inborn or genetic. It is not predestined or laid out in our stars. If only it was that simple.

Passions, passions, passions. This is what I think constantly excites, sharpens, shapes our ‘calling’ ---who we want to be or how we define success. But sometimes, that concoction of passions within us is not potent enough to stir us, to tap into that inner creative force. And this, I just know all too well.

With a little bit of thought and quiet amazement, I slowly unravel this simple day trip with my friend as an exercise of rediscovery. Yes, I may have found my more materialistic doppelganger who loves Audermars Piguet wrist watches or Alexander Mcqueen cashmere sweaters... but its more ethereal than that. It revived some of my older passions and FEARS and they're making me question what I'm doing now or what I’m NOT doing. These resurfaced ‘urges’ in me is now challenging and even taunting my current beliefs and aspirations. In a way, this conflict, emotional ‘mutiny’ of sorts is kicking my ass and waking me up! Now I realise that nothing is resolute. This ‘imbalance’ made me lose some of my complacency. This can't be all there is to life! I can’t be just contented with what I have now, I have to do something more so I will deserve more! I feel I owe it to myself. Only, I have to find the perfect balance in this constant tug of war between my own desires, the good and the bad. I need all those passions in me if I wanted enough motivation to succeed within this lifetime.

I feel this growing dissatisfaction...and in a bizarre way... I’m loving it.

Now all I need is a new shopping list.