Being Josh Aviñante

It was cold and raining in Sydney when I left that fateful day for an island in the Witsundays hoping for a new start. Among the excess baggage I carried with myself was a prized red towel, a jersey from a failed relationship, fear of people in the industry and most important of all, running into the same problem, that is people with a penchant for verbal abuse and who have contributed to my feeling of self worthlessness. However, the first sight of this beautiful paradise shed away a few doubts, well at least as it appears to be. You can never underestimate the power of reality to search and destroy. The welcome letter from the company gave me an idea that this would be a different experience. Indeed, the first sight, as we approached the harbour, was a group of enthusiastic GOs waving at us for our proper welcome. In case you wanted to know, GOs stand for Gracious Organizers, to realize later that some disgruntled elements in the island would refer to as Generally Obnoxious, lol

Dear Diary, I saw Carla today. She is soooo cute!!! Kaya lang, she thinks I drink too much! So from now on, Goodbye Vodka! Goodbye Rum! Goodbye Johnny Walker! Goodbye Merlot! Goodbye Carbernet Sauvignon! Goodbye Pinot Noir! Goodbye Beer! Hmmm ... Goodbye Carla! Hehehehehehe!

Dear Diary, I saw Carla today. She is sooooo cute!!! Kaya lang, she might think I'm fat. So from now on, Goodbye ice cream! Goodbye croissants with butter and marmalade! Goodbye pan cakes with maple syrup! Goodbye bacon! Goodbye sausages! Goodbye beer! What? No more beer????!!!! Hmmph! Goodbye Carla!!!!! LOL

Dear Diary, Today, I sit here at the hostel lounge waiting for check in time, which will not happen for another one and half hour.  Until then, its quite nice to sit in a couch again daydreaming, doing nothing and generally being unproductive.  The fast pace of life in the hospitality industry, excacerbated by an expensive Sydney lifestyle, has trained me to live like a horse, just running without looking backwards or sideways, just forward without you knowing if your horseman (life) is leading you to a triumphant march into a conquered city or a suicidal cavalry charge against a larger army.  Now that my horseman is on break, I can take off those wretched horse eye patches and reflect on what I need to do.  But then, you realize how dreadful the past few weeks have been and the coming more weeks with those cavalry charges without knowing where your horseman will lead you.  Is Sydney the beginning of my march to greatness or rather my road to perdition?

Omnia Vincit Amor, meaning “Love Conquers All”. Virgil. Ironically, love could lead to disaster and end yourself up dancing with the devil under the pale moonlight, wreaking havoc on other people’s lives and yours too, until you find someone who will turn your world upside down. And when that happens, a place so sinister and foreign suddenly feels like home. And if that relationship fails, you reset to the beginning, the cycle repeats and you end up dancing with more devils. And as the kwentong bartender from Big Sky Mind goes, “Carry on compadre!” My cool and wicked brother has asked me about drinking in Australia so let the story begin. Well, people drink for many reasons and besides that of seeing and being seen under the pretense of chilling out, you have to admit that it is actually to prey on something exciting to happen. For me, I had no choice. I’m back to dancing the devil although this time under the protection of the Almighty. I know now why he had to suffer which i

This article begins the first day of the next period of my life. I have begun my third career shift to culinary, from what seemed to be a glamorous but directionless Bachelors degree in International Studies and unsuccessful Master of Science degree in Marketing. I may have to contemplate a fourth if two years of kitchen science and art will only lead me to dishwashing, not to mention a heavily desecrated pair of hands. As you may have noticed in my previous articles, my early life was a struggle for glamour, for a sense of creativity, for something worthwhile. My food articles were press releases and I wrote like horse blindfolded and following the scent of a carrot, whichever direction the press release desired. My fashion articles were no different, except that I had an idea of what I wanted to wear and at least had a few droplets of my opinion. The rest, let the veteran writers be the judge of that. I was born in May 30, 1975, a decade too early. I was raised in an upper midd