My working days started not so long ago. In fact, this week, I turn two months old in my company. I am still trying to find my footing, but I have to say, I have been pretty blessed with a motivating boss and a welcoming team. This job is a great introduction to the American working class.
I feel pretty blessed at this point. Right this very moment, I am happy. I am happy to go to work, and I am happy to come home. I cannot recall having such a healthy balance in my life before. Although my commuting pretty much ate up my time for working out in the early evening and my weight gain has become more palpable, I really cannot complain. A lot of people mistake that disposition as optimism, especially my new work friends, but really it’s not. I am just all too familiar what a stressful life is.
Here’s the thing though: I have been missing out on wifely duties. Maybe not even wifely, but chores to be more exact. Now, I feel the tiredness of the commute, and have a fixed schedule to follow. Chores are starting to build up as this new thing in my life occupies 40 hours of my week, plus 20 more to prepare and to commute home. Seeing three weeks’ worth of laundry building up, I can’t help but feel guilty.
I felt even worse over the weekend. The Husband was taking a nap while I chose to fold laundry. Ten minutes in, seeing that there was so much to do and pretty much getting overwhelmed, I banged the laundry basket, slammed the door, and pretty much kicked the bed frame to wake him up and say, “I COULD USE SOME HELP HERE, IF IT’S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE.” What a bitch, right? I bathed in my own bitterness, sulking as if it’s the Husband’s fault that the laundry got this bad.
But it’s not. Life is just taking over, and as much as I want to be the best wife ever that makes and packs meals, does chores, and still look so f*cking glamorous, I’m not. One way or another, a ball will drop, and it’s okay. I should be okay with it because it’s not a ball I can’t just pick up.
After my brief rampage, he just started folding clothes with me. I was quiet for about 20 minutes before I made my way over to his side of the bed and apologized. I know I upset him, and I know I was being unfair. After all, I was the one that insisted that he should nap and get some rest. But he easily accepted my apologies and bathed me in kisses. It was at that moment that I realized in order for balls to not keep falling on the floor, I should just be more honest and ask for help.
Wow. Even when he’s napping, he’s truly proving to be the better half in this partnership. Hahaha. Oh well. I can race him to be the better half tomorrow. <3
So, here’s the thing: I love Coldplay. I really do. I have said more than twice in the past that should they play in the Philippines, I’ll donate blood to earn money and buy a ticket. Maybe even sell a kidney. Because I know they’re phenomenal. I have seen their Glasgow performances. I have seen people cry at their shows. I want to f*cking cry at their show.
You know when they decided to play in Manila? Right when I moved to New Jersey. YUUUUUUP. Imagine how much that hurts. You’ve waited all your life… and just when you thought you came close, Coldplay flies to Manila and played on the year you weren’t there. It was such a tragedy.
Until it wasn’t. One night, the Husband and I found ourselves seated at the middle of the second riser of a gigantic stadium, being serenaded by Izzy Bizu and Alunageorge, waiting for that opening explosion that is Coldplay.
The Husband isn’t even as big of a fan as I am, yet when the music started and the lights went up and the people rose, his jaw just dropped open and pretty much stayed that way for the next couple of hours. It was insane.
I have underestimated the people’s love for heart-wrenching, speak-of-the-truth, spirit-uplifting, life-motivating type of music. Chris Martin called for the people to put their phones down and just dance, and we all did, and it was a marvelous sight.
I purposely bought a camera for this show. Still, I ended up not taking that many photos or videos even! I was just in awe. This is it, my music idols, the men who are true epitomes of musical artistry just going wild with the crowd as if they haven’t endured an intercontinental flight a couple of nights ago.
Like the true class acts they are, they paid tribute to the late Chester Bennington and gave a soulful rendition of Crawling. At first, I didn’t recognize the song, but the Husband — a fan of Linkin Park — knew right off the bat that it was the first Linkin Park song he listened to and fell in love with.
This is one of those experiences that have truly humbled me. The past couple of years have been testaments to how good life can be, and to be frank, most of the time, I feel undeserving of all of these. But when the lights would change, good music would fill my ears, and I hold the hand of the love of my life, I knew there is no other imaginable possibility but this.
In a crowd of 50,000, I have never felt more visible. And for the first time ever, I am seeing all this for real and not just in a dream.