Strangely enough, the first thing that came to mind was an ad for a cigarette brand: "You've come a long way, baby."

But what it was all about was my protracted battle with cancer.(No, it's not lung cancer.) "Battle" is apt; most of the time I feel like Don Quixote battling windmills.

My doctor and I were sitting in her clinic discussing the results of my tests when she jokingly blurted out, "Ano na ngayon ang gagawin natin? (What do we do now?)" All of a sudden I wanted to be somewhere else, talking with somebody else. Not in a hospital, not with an oncologist. All of a sudden I was lonely, scared and vulnerable.

It was supposed to be a good thing, the fact that after 6 cycles of chemotherapy followed by 33 days of radiotherapy the biggest tumor--located at the sternum--was a few centimeters smaller; there were no new growths or lesions. But they're still there: at the clavicle, thyroid, upper lobe of the right lung, ribs, spine. In short, my illness has plateau-ed. And the bad thing is, now I'm always in pain!

Indeed, what do I do now? I can't have another round of chemotherapy or radiation because I've already reached my toxicity level. My doctor has prescribed calcium (Caltrate), anti-cancer oral medication (Aromasin) and painkiller (Arcoxia). For now, those are all I'm relying on to keep me away from the ICU. Another round of tests after 3 months.

That means I can--or will try to, anyway--enjoy the holidays. My media friends are already thinking of meeting regularly. Childhood friends have been asking whether I'm spending my vacation in Bicol. (I am; leaving Manila on December 20 and returning January 4.) Maybe I will have a merry Christmas after all...

Except when I'm seriously sick, the streets of Metro Manila are flooded, or I'm expecting overseas phone calls, I never fail to go out and have fun during weekends. And all the nice things seem to happen on a Saturday!

Of course, it could only be because I make it a point never to go to the hospital during the weekend. I have Monday to Friday to do that; even God rested on the 7th day!

B ceases to be a corporate lawyer and becomes a serious antique-shop trawler and theater buff. I stop obsessing about my condition and just focus on having fun.

While browsing at Fully Booked one day, B showed me a book that he said I should definitely buy. It was titled 100 Things You Should Do Before You Die. It was meant as a joke and we had a good laugh. (Come on, if you knew you were dying, would you still think of wanting to run with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain?!?)

Last Sunday he again called my attention to an article in the Philippine Daily Inquirer. The piece, titled "Things You Shouldn't Do Before You Die", was written by Margie David Collins and datelined London. There was mention of Dave Freeman, the author of 100 Things...

Writes Collins:

There are just two things 47-year-old Dave Freeman--in his best-selling book 100 Things You Should Do--said we should accomplish before we pop our clogs. I hope Freeman's sense of adventure was laced with a sense of irony, perhaps a dash of humor, for he died last August, not in pursuit of one of the life-threatening jaunts he urged we should do, but from hitting his head after a fall in his home in Venice, California.

Oh.

We don't have the time or we're not that way inclined, Collins continues. So, with tongue firmly embedded in cheek, I offer the alternative Hindu Kush, a vast Serengeti of things you shouldn't do before you shuffle off this mortal coil.

Listed are 20 things but due to limited space, I'm reproducing here only six of the gems:

* Don't embark on a fight you're sure to lose. It's too expensive, too exhausting. If you don't know the enemy like you know the back of your hand, if you can't strike the mortal blow to his heart, put down your weapons and just give your high horse a good old trot round the block.

* If you can't improve on silence, don't talk out of your arse. This old planet is already severely polluted with rhetoric. You will be found out and will only humiliate yourself. There are very important discourses in this life which have nothing to do with language.

* Don't forget Warren Buffett's Rule No. 1: Never lose money. And his Rule No. 2: Never forget Rule No. 1. Give, but never a lender or a borrower be. Don't spend money you haven't got. An economic tsunami is buffeting us because many forgot this simple arithmetic.

* Don't lie to yourself, but suffocate your candor and honesty. Sometimes it's prudent and wise to maintain fiction. 'Does my bum look too big in this?' 'Will you still love me tomorrow?'

* Don't bear grudges, devoting your life to seeking revenge. If you must, then in the Confucian way, first, dig two graves.

* Don't believe there's always a tomorrow with your name on it. When one door closes, another one surely slams in your face.

And in closing, the article imparts the wisest advice: I have no objections to sentimentalities, but I think that, there but for the tiniest movement on the axis of the universe, we could all run out of puff tomorrow.

So don't put off today for tomorrow. As Freeman reminds us: "Life is brief; get out there and grab some."

Had she not been a bigger-than-life figure in the opera world, her story would still be great fodder for gossip columnists and afternoon soap scriptwiters. So much fire and intrigue and melodrama! Was she in fact media's creation, all that hype merely to generate public interest in her; or was she really a tortured soul who battled loneliness all her life?

Watching the divine Cherie Gil essay her role as Maria Callas, you sometimes forget about the Greek diva and focus instead on the superb writing of multi-awarded (an Emmy and 4 Tonys) dramatist Terrence McNally, who penned "Master Class".

I'm not saying that Maria Callas' story, despite its torturous twists and turns, is not interesting. I've heard real-life stories more complex than hers. But we're talking about "la divina" Maria Callas and Greek billionaire Aristotle Onassis!

Still, that fact doesn't keep one from savoring McNally's superlative writing. I felt that I could close my eyes and just listen to the actress' lines and still love "Master Class". In turns funny and heart-rending, McNally's play turned an otherwise ordinary story (minus Callas and Ari, that is) into a masterpiece.

And Cherie Gil! Now there's one thespian truly worth the standing ovation at the end of the play. I've seen her in person before this. I've seen her in movies and on TV. But this time when she started delivering the lines in her trademark throaty voice, she wasn't Cherie Gil. I wasn't looking at Maria Callas either. What I was seeing was a fine actress, whose nuanced acting complemented McNally's writing.

Cherie Gil comes from a family of award-winning actors who are also good singers. But I had doubts whether she could do operatic singing. As it turned out she didn't do any singing--at all. The singing was left to Ma. Florence Aguilar (as Sophie de Palma), Marya ElizaDeeda Barretto (Sharon Graham) and Jack Salud (Anthony Candolino), all members of the Philippines Opera Company. And to them, I say "Mabuhay!" I'm already looking forward to POC's next offering.