I am getting restless. If the previous plans had pushed through, I should be in Baguio by now, experiencing what turns out to be one of our coldest Christmases in recent years. But I'm still here, marooned in Manila, mainly because my supposed companions don't have their parents' permissions to go out of town, or their lack of funds. Excuses, excuses. I can understand the apprehension to spend, as we are facing a solid economic fallback. "My mommy wouldn't let me go" is something I find difficult to swallow. Yes, we live in a dangerous place, there are terrorists everywhere. Staying at home isn't exactly a safe alternative, so cut out the crap.

My friends have been talking about all this independence shit: moving out, getting a house on our own, travelling, alone. This is about being your own girl. The plan is to accomplish all these in a couple of years' time. But given the way things are, I cannot see any of this taking shape outside of the drawing board if they can't even start with one six-hour bus trip up north.

This doesn't mean though that my mother doesn't give a flying fig about me and my safety. In the past year or so that I've been traipsing all around the archipelago chasing criminals and the occasional evil spirit, I think she has slowly accustomed to herself that I have to venture out there on my own. I cannot stop her from worrying, because there is cause to worry. She would page me and call my headwriter's house just to check if I really spent the night there because we came back too late from a research trip. But I think I can pretty much take care of myself, and not do stupid things -- as I'm not about to stick my neck out too far.

On that note, I hope Vey would finish editing whatever it is she has to do so we can all hop on the bus. I want to go to Sagada. Badly.