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This is my first post in a looong while for a number of reasons:

First of all, upon leaving my cousin's house and her wonderful comcast internet setup, my family and I trudged down to balmy Houston,Texas. This land of longhorns and black gold supplied us with one of the best hotels I have ever stayed in, the Jesse Jones Rotary House, complete with video and book library, indoor heated swimming pool, and free internet stations. The first thing I did was email Kathy, of course. After said duty was completed, I decided to blog a little about how great the hotel was. Much to my consternation, the security settings in the computer refused connection to Blogger for some reason. Much as I tried, there was no logging on.

Bet'cha thought I got lazy again, eh? :)

Anyway, the second reason is the real topic of this post.

The second reason I stopped blogging is because, on May 6 2005, we came home to the Philippines.

Two weeks without Kathy is hell for me, anyone who knows me can tell you that. Every second of every day spent in the states was filled with a sort of schizophrenic duality warring in my soul. On the one hand, America is a truly great place for a guy like me. It's not perfect... nowhere near perfect actually... and I have a lot of problems with the place. But for me, I was revelling in the fact that I was in a place where garlic practically crushes and peels itself, where the traffic lights are laws rather than suggestions, and where most of the people didn't shrik away and look at you accusingly when you tried to strike up a conversation in the elevator. I found lots of time for myself and my thoughts, and, if you look at my notebooks you'll agree, my creativity flowed more than it ever has before. Not even the Yankees and their overwhelming underwhelming-ness could detract from my happiness. I was in heaven, or as close to Adelaide as I could find.

On the other hand...

Countering every swell of joy was a sharp pang of pain. It lay there, deep in the pit of my stomach, stabbing me day in and day out, constantly reminding me of one inescapable fact. Everytime I saw something that put a smile on my face... everytime I experienced the kind of joy made only in America... everytime I reached out my hand to caress her soft, delicate fingers and bring them up to my lips... Kathy wasn't there. Every joke, every observation, every smile, every kiss, every hug, every whisper... she wasn't there. There was so much to share and no one to share it with. My only consolation lay in the fact that one day... someday... I would be able to share everything with her; be it in America, in London, in Canada, or in Australia... one day...

And thus I entered Northwest flight 71 bound for Manila via Nagoya an extremely conflicted man. On the one hand, I was returning to Kathy. On the other hand, I was leaving my haven... my oasis in the desert of Philippine life.

This may not be a popular view here, but it's how I feel. I dreaded coming back. I know one of my best friends, Nik, shares an opposing view. He'd rather live here in the Philippines than in NJ. And I understand that, it's in his nature. But it isn't in mine, and every fiber of my being railed against stepping onto that plane. And yet, another part of me... almost a whole nother Gino existed side by side with me. This Gino was radiant and eager... excited and longing for the trip to be completed in a matter of seconds rather than hours. This gino, separate yet one, was coming home... not the home that exists in the middle of Makati... the home that exists in the space between two people; the home that exists in the heart of a young lady; the home that exists in Kathy.

And so, I arrived on May 7th just as conflicted as I was back in the States. One part happy, the other part terrified and filled with longing. It was this conflict that prevented me from actually writing ANYTHING.

And that's what annoys me the most.

This piece is being written nearly a week after touchdown, and I haven't written a single word. All of my ideas that I accrued in the States lie dormant in my notebooks. My blog lay accusingly devoid of any follow up posts. My stories... lay stillborn the minute I tried to write them.

And all of this happened because I was unhappy.

I guess it was inevitable. I descended from a land of order into a world of chaos. A world where traffic lanes no longer exist; where traffic lights are once more suggestions rather than laws; where trash litters the streets and nobody cares; where public transportation flows to its own ebb; and where people just don't give a damn anymore.

Home.

The bitternes assailed me, and I have been woefully unhappy for the past week. It really is no surprise that I haven't been able to write, and that is one of the most saddening things of all.

And yet...

Kathy. I am home. In the midst of all this madness and this chaos, she has been a beacon to me. My depression had taken hold of me and refused to let me go. But she hasd been helping me fight it all the way. Not just by coaxing me back to myself; not just by speaking comforting words and giving me loving looks; she has saved me simply by existing.

It is because of her that my shoulders have lightened and the cloud fogging my mind has lifted. I still feel terribly sad to be back, but now I have hope. It took a week to find it, but it is back.

Perhaps I am overly dramatic, but that is my nature. I am here. Deal with it, you fucking spaz. Every city, every country has problems, some more than most. But every city, every country has goodness too. You just have to find it. After all, how could any country, and life be so bad if it has someone like Katherine in it?

It is to Kathy that I dedicate this post. It is to her that I dedicate my life.

I love you.

Fourth Anniversary