ALLS FAIR IN BLOG AND WAR EXCERPTS

(There are two excerpts provided, please choose one to post on your scheduled posting date)

Excerpt 1:
#Turbulence "WHAT WAS THAT?" I couldn't help blurting out as the plane lurched scarily. The flight attendants had just finished clearing our food trays, and I was just about to settle down for a nap when that horrible feeling of falling from a great height startled me from my drowsy, stuffed state. "Turbulence," Jesse replied, teeth clenched. Echoing him, the airplane's paging system came to life. "Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has switched on the fasten seatbelt sign. We are now going through an area of turbulence. We ask all passengers to please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. Thank you." This wasn't the first time a plane I was riding ran into some rough winds, but this was the worst. It felt like we were falling a couple of storeys and were being shook from side-to-side. I struggled hard not to panic as the turbulence seemed to worsen. During a particularly rough tumble though, I found myself shrieking and grabbing the armrest. It took two minutes more for the turbulence to end, but it felt like an eternity. "You okay?" I heard Jesse ask. "Yeah," I replied weakly. Only then did I realize that I wasn't clutching the arm rest but his hand. "Oh, sorry," I apologized, retracting my hand quickly. He smiled kindly before flexing his fingers. "Not a problem. It was a horrible patch," he said before gesturing to my lap. "You want to tidy up first?" Only then did I realize that my shirt had a sickly orange stain that was slowly threatening to spread. There were also random orange splashes everywhere. The back of the seat in front of me. The wall beside me. The little drop-down table. Everywhere but the empty cup of leftover orange soda resting in the cup holder. "Holy shit," I cussed when I realized what caused the mess. I quickly apologized then rose to make for the restroom. Jesse stood at the same time, blocking my path. I almost snapped at him, too, until he exited the aisle to make way for me. Then, he held the overhead bin open, helping me reach for my suitcase so I can fish a fresh shirt out. When I was done, he took the suitcase from my hands and shooed me off to the restroom, telling me he'd take care of returning it. It was difficult changing in the tiny airplane restroom, so I felt victorious once I was done. Still, I knew that a mess was still waiting for me in my seat. A mess that wasn't there when I got back.

"I got you a new drink," Jesse explained when I returned. He didn't just get rid of the old paper cup and wiped down all the stains; he even got me a new drink from the flight attendant. "Thanks," I smiled in surprise. That was unexpected. "You didn't have to but it's much appreciated." "I wasn't sure what you were having, but I assumed you were having orange juice and not orange soda. I mean, who drinks orange soda anyway? It's all artificial flavoring and sugar," he added patronizingly, before slumping into his seat and slipping on the headphones for the plane's entertainment system. I did the same, picking out channel 6, OPM's Greatest Hits 1990s, from the station list. Just like that, we were strangers again, minding our own business, but somehow the air between us was a little bit friendlier. Sure, he wasn't the kind of person I usually hung out with. He was still annoyingly arrogant and self-assured. But I appreciated the unsolicited kindness that he showed me. Maybe we could be friends after all, this Jesse and I.

Excerpt 2:
#Reset I TURNED AROUND TO GIVE JESSE a little "I told you so smile" as we brought up the rear during our small walking tour group. He was burdened by his kick ass camera set-up, large full frame Nikon DSLR with fancy schmancy, pricey telephoto zoom lens, complete with a tripod strapped to his backpack. Said backpack probably had a couple more lenses, too. He refused to answer my question when I laughed at him for looking like a turtle with the big-ass camera bag. Earlier that morning, Javier showed up at our hotel without Chang. "Oh great, you have your cameras out," he smiled at the cameras we were all lugging. "That's perfect. There are a lot of UNESCO World Heritage sites near Ponte 16, so I thought we could spend the morning exploring them on foot instead of taking the van. That way, you can also appreciate the surrounding areas and take better photos, yes?" Unfortunately for Jesse, the small walking tour Javier mapped out for us wasn't the short walk we all imagined. By the time we started climbing the stairs in front of the Ruins of St. Paul, Jesse was breathing heavily. If it were summer, he probably would've been sweating buckets, too. I was tired as well, but I refused to let it show. Mostly because he was scoffing at my small Canon DSLR with its small lightweight lens ("Oh, a Canon with a 50mm. That's cute.") when I first brought it out that morning. So instead of commiserating with him, I made an even bigger show of happily taking photos. Much to his annoyance. "These are the Ruins of St. Paul," Javier announced once we reached the top of the stairs. He had to put extra effort to make sure he was heard. Because it was a Saturday, we were

surrounded by tourists, mostly visitors from Mainland China who were touring on a weekend. "The church facade behind me is all that's left of the Church of Mater Dei. It was built in 1602 but it was destroyed by a fire in 1835. Most of the church and the college beside it was made of wood, so other than the facade, most of the foundations, and the church's front steps, everything burned." Javier glanced at his watch. "The Ruins of St. Paul is an icon of Macau so I know you guys will want to take pictures. We don't have much time, but I can probably give you ten minutes. I'll go ahead to the Museum of Sacred Art so they can get ready for us, but I'll come back for you, yes? Don't venture far okay?" Behind me, I heard Jesse curse. "How the heck are we supposed to take pictures here?" He had begun setting his tripod up, but can't seem to figure out where to set it up. "Every where I turn, tour groups! I don't think I can get a clear vantage point of the facade," he grumbled. He looked around for someone to agree with him, but Megh and Simon had already ventured off, taking their own shots of the ruins and surrounding areas. And me? I just shrugged. "There's no way you can get a clean shot." I agreed with him, but I still kept snapping photos. "Just make the most of it." Libby, during her pre-flight briefing, already told me about the tourist situation. I knew it was impossible to get a clean shot so instead, I chose to focus on candid street photography. Instead of laboring to exclude the tourists, I included them, with their color-coordinated hats and the banners held aloft by their tour guides. "I can't believe you're actually enjoying this," he added as he held his camera aloft, trying to figure out which shot to take before setting it up on his tripod. I just smiled at his comment and continued snapping away, settling for candid shots of the crowd. I bring my phone out as well, taking a snapshot or two to upload on Instagram and Twitter. The truth was, I was enjoying myself because I had a game plan. Thanks to Libby, I already knew which shot I wanted to take. I also knew that I couldn't get that shot now; I'll need to come back later. But of course, I didn't tell Jesse. I wanted that shot for myself. I could already see it as the lead-in photo for my blog's Macau series. And I'm the only one among the four of us who'll have it. Sure, it's not a contest, but that doesn't mean I can't be competitive, right? "Ah, I give up," Jesse said defeatedly. He turned his camera's LCD screen to me to show me what he had. Instead of doing a wide shot, he focused on taking architectural details. The widest shot he had was that of the facade but taken starting from above people's heads. It wasn't the most impressive picture in the world, but it was unmistakably a photo of the ruins. "Bland, huh?" "Yeah, that's pretty lackluster," I agreed distractedly, getting back to uploading my photo on Instagram. "Why don't you just buy a postcard at one of the souvenir shops down there? Those are much better." Jesse let out a hearty laugh. "You really don't believe in sparing my feelings, do you, Five?"

I had the decency to blush. "What, you want me to lie and say it's pretty?" I argued defensively. "No, no. Stay that way. It's pretty refreshing, actually. I'm sick of all those 'Excellent work! I love it!' comments, only to have it followed by instructions that want me to change everything." He intoned with a squeaky voice, "'It really is the best, but maybe we could make it more, I don't know, hip and trendy? Blue isn't hip anymore, I heard emerald's the Pantone color of the year. Maybe you can also use a fresher font? And the logo, I really think we can make the logo bigger.' Advertising. Not for the faint of heart." I cringed at his depiction of a typical day at work. "That bad, huh?" "Uh-huh, that bad. Actually, it's usually worse. So, keep putting me in my place," he added, ruffling my hair. "You'll be my sardonic little guardian angel." I stuck my tongue out at him, a very juvenile gesture that has him laughing even harder. His last line felt like a backhanded compliment, but I found myself unconsciously beaming with pride at having received it.