Dreaming, Resolute

We've Moved.

2006-10-21T07:51:00.000+08:00

And REMwastrel is no more.

Please come to our swankier new digs at Sa Pagsasatitik Ng Mga Sandali.

Amen!

2006-08-27T15:35:00.000+08:00

I will respect anyone’s convictions, but only to the extent you will respect mine. Goodwill inspires the same; tolerance results in cooperation. But I will not be told whom to love, whom to be friends with, what culture to represent, what mannerisms and interests to adopt and, much less, discard. I will not modify my behavior or limit my pleasures merely to please Cruz or bigots like him.

- From Manuel L. Quezon III's eloquent retort, "The Grand Inquisitor", to Isagani Cruz' vitriolic attack against gays earlier this month.

No More!

2006-08-23T09:59:00.000+08:00

I will sit with my legs spread wide apart.

I will color my hair pok-pok red and paint my lips crimson.

I will flirt with restaurant owners to get better service (and possible discounts).

I will smile at the MMDA officers who pull me over just to get out of a ticket.

I will tell the boys I like "I cras u!"

I will wear what I please, bellies and semaphore fat arms be damned.

I will sing at the top of my voice in a crowded elevator.

I will do what I like - do the hula while sporting a lampshade on my head, collect mass quantities of white pebbles, teach rapists how to write - because that is what I have in me to do.

I will write nonsense - my dreams, vignettes about cows and cow towns, long, winding essays about my grandmother's hair - because that is what I have in me to write.

I will be happy because damn it, what else should I be?

In other words, I will be free.

Hooray

2006-08-20T21:05:00.000+08:00

... I am finished with the book. Hallelujah!

After Freedom

2006-08-13T19:27:00.000+08:00

After "Pagpapakalaya at Pagsusulat: A Writing Workshop for Juvenile Delinquents in Bilibid". Held in Bilibid, Muntinlupa on 13 August 2006.

Just when we were about to leave, the sky fell. The inmates held up umbrellas for us, but despite their best efforts, thick sheets of rain still wet our backs.

As we returned to the main gate, Terry, one of the boys who participated in the workshop, walked beside me. Terry is 22, in third year college, but he has been in prison since he was 14. He would not tell us why he was there. We were striding past the cells they would have to squeeze into later that night - 60 to 100 in a room that was half the size of a small basketball court. Some of them have to sleep standing up.

Terry had once read a poem by Pablo Neruda, "Body Of A Woman". He said he liked it very much. I recited the lines that I could remember from it, there, in the middle of the prison grounds, under an umbrella held up for me by a young convict, my feet deep in muddy water and half my body soaked through with rain.

"Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air, and abrupt storms of flour," I recite, though the words felt out of place and my voice sounded very far away.

By the time we reached the gate, Terry was trying to think of something poignant to say. In the end, though, all he did was smile shyly, and shake my hand goodbye.

After Stew

2006-08-05T10:03:00.000+08:00

Bri

Last night, I went to my friend Brian V's One & One & One Makes Stew exhibit.

Brian draws cats like these -

Because he does not like cats, he draws them to conquer his fear of them. He puts them in strange settings, mixing them up with aliens, octopus(es) and robots.

Bri admonishes me to forget The Flake: He Is Trouble And You Know It!

He hates The Flake, though he has never met him: I have never seen anyone burn with such disdain for a stranger. As I talk about my friendship with the Flake, Bri smashes the air: You're defending him again. He is a Grade-A asshole! I don't know why you don't see that.

Bri does this because he has seen how the Flake has turned me around and upside down.

You are an intelligent woman, Brian says, you will figure it out soon.

Nightmare # 92

Hundreds of fever-yellow maggots are festering on the floor. Blocking the path to the door, they’ve made it impossible for my mother and I to leave. Some are still in their pupae, while others are fully grown (up to two feet long and four feet fat). In the dream we gripped large torches, holding them low to the ground so that we could burn the creatures alive.

One Year Ago Today

2006-08-03T07:19:00.000+08:00

... I gave someone a third in a series of ten letters.

I don't know where he is now, nor do I care to find out. I only remembered him again because his father was featured in the Sunday Daily Inquirer magazine, and in the article, writer Bibeth Orteza misspelled his name (as most people usually do).

Now that I look over these letters a year after I'd written them, it's become clear to me that it wasn't about him, or any man, for that matter. A part of me wonders how we got here, to the point of forgetting and abandonment, but this is the truth - we were only filling in that which we thought was empty. It should not have been this way, but then again, it is.

August 3, 2005

# 1

They say I’m good with beginnings.

My writing teachers tell me I have a knack for opening scenes. You make the reader want to read the rest of your story, said one venerable professor, while another had gushed, your first sentences are like lightning. Once, I began a story with a cat lying in the middle of the road, about to be crushed by a fire truck. In my most well-received story to date, I open with a young girl, who is petrified of driving, sitting in her mother’s car, trying to start it so she can run away from home.

In life, like art, I am the same. I am a magnificent beginner. I hit it off with people instantly. I can engage the grumpiest stranger in intimate conversation, get her to tell me her whole life story in the time it’ll take for us to change into our high heels in the locker room. Once, while waiting for my passport picture to be developed, the old lady at the counter showed me her high school pictures, then she told me that she was going to send them to her daughter in the States, who’s presently having problems with her Texan husband because he’s been working far too many late nights … etc. After ten minutes, I left that Floro-Foto shop knowing the minute details of her daughter’s complicated marriage – everything, except the old lady’s name.

It’s endings that I have a problem with. I don’t know how to finish my stories. More often than not, I go for the cliché ending: the wind snuffing out the flame of a candle, the little girl turning away from the grown man who’s in love with her, or the abandoned woman staring out of the window, into the dark of a future she doesn’t want to know or comprehend.

As such, I handle the end of relationships just as awkwardly. I never know how to say goodbye; how do you part ways with someone you’ve known (and who knows you) so intimately? Most of the time, I just disappear, drop out of circulation for a while, only to surface months later, sheepishly apologetic, bearing good will presents for the boy whose heart I’ve broken, hoping he’ll forgive me, at least enough for him not to make a voodoo doll in my likeness.

So, perhaps, it’s not so much that I’m bad with endings: it’s just most of the time, I don’t always get the kind of ending I would have liked.

I’m hoping that’ll change soon. I’m not getting any younger, and there’s only so many mistakes a girl can make.

Online Duh

2006-07-25T11:20:00.000+08:00

The online versions of our major local newspapers (PDI, Philippine Star, MB) are impossible to navigate.

Their interface, to say the least, is poorly designed. They try to cramp as much information as possible on the pages, without much regard for basic visual aesthetics (clean form, coordinated colors, a central focus for the reader's eye). Their flash banners are clunky and horribly executed, and their basic lay-out is unattractive and unappealing. All these result in cluttered, ungainly web pages that are painful to read, and are even harder to understand.

For the designers of these web sites: please take a cue from Salon and The New York Times.

Not A Treatise

2006-07-19T12:07:00.000+08:00

The trick is to numb yourself enough so you don't have to feel anything.

Pain, pleasure, love and hate should all become Abstractions, Concepts that have no real bearing on your day-to-day life.

Keep moving. Don't you dare stop, don't even think about trying to breathe, because if you actually take the time to assess how you feel about your retarded brother's tantrums, your father's frustration, the inevitable departure of loved ones, all the deadlines you have to meet and the multiplicity of your own inadequacies, there is the very real possibility that you could become depressed and hysterical.

Don't reach out. Don't ask for help. Cold, calculated logic will save you.

And whatever you do, don't ever look back.

For Hyuks

2006-07-14T16:49:00.000+08:00

# 1

Last Wednesday I was ill, down with the flu and asthma and my body telling me I am beating it to a pulp without any consideration for its feelings, so now it retaliates, saying take that, bitch!, so I text my nutty boss: "I am sorry I cannot make it to work today. I am a walking sac of viral infections."

To which said nutty boss replies: "Classic signs of leprosy. It's called nighttime leprosy, so better make sure you use you fingers before the fall off during thenight. Good luck, or should I say, good fingers!"

# 2

And during my normal correspondence with the knife thrower, I tell him about the rain:

to say that the rain threatens to drown us all is an understatement. as of this writing, ten have died, three are missing and 23,000 people were displaced by "Florita" (the storm).

the sharp, slicing winds that are heaving horizontally across the landscape, bending trees backwards, uprooting shrubs and drowning rats and other vermin in their own filth - all of these things are beautiful to watch from inside the warm confines of one's room, but can you imagine what it would be like to have to go outside in that kind of weather? how about all the hundreds of others who have no homes, who have to sleep in the streets, under bridges, on sidewalks, and makeshift houses made of boxes and stilts?

poets have praised rain as that which cleanses everything, but in my country, where the drainage systems don't work, rain only manages to bring to the surface all that which should be left buried.

And he replies -

THE WEATHER IS EXHAUSTING. IT'S HUMID AND HOT ALMOST EVERYDAY.
IT'S NASTY!!!! I AM STAYING IN FOR THE MOST PART.
IT'S JUST NASTY. I DO WISH I HAD A SENSUAL FEMENINA NEXT TO ME SINCE I
AM SPENDING SO MUCH TIME INDOORS.
WE CAN SPEND SOME PASIONATE QUALITY TIME.

# 3

And today, I ask a friend how I look and she says: "You look like you're about to go to a gala ball then your date called to cancel but then you found a cute guy to replace him with at the last minute and now you are super super happy."

Sick Dream # 409

2006-07-13T05:40:00.000+08:00

There are black babies on my bed.

The bed actually belongs to me and my husband, but the babies, I'm can't be sure. I am new to the dream: it has been repeating itself since I began taking heavy antibiotics to counter my viral infection this week in waking life.

The babies are always present in my REM landscape now, but they are hardly ever unpleasant: they gurgle and laugh and roll about with us. They reduce my husband in the dream, a bald, burly black man with a ripe, lovely mouth, to fits of giggles and farts. When he tells me he wants more of them, I smile, but when he tries to touch me I tell him it's not time yet, only during the summer solstice, and only after you've washed the dishes, which he never does.

At three o' clock in the morning, when the sky outside is deep velvet, shooting stars crash into our backyard and scatter, becoming rocks and ash and brimstone (fertilizer for our galaxy trees), the babies like to divine the future for me.

My husband is asleep, so he does not hear them when they tell me: you will leave him for another very soon.

Swift

2006-07-10T05:39:00.000+08:00

Image taken from my good friend Anabel Bosch's gallery.

That is her, in all her feathered glory. Her husband Jamie Wilson is a lucky, lucky man.

Huwag Kang Magtataka

2006-07-09T17:08:00.000+08:00

# 1

Eto, mga kapatid: tuwing nais kong ichika ang tungkol sa mga taong kinahihiligan ko, gagamit na lang ako ng wikang Filipino. Karaniwan naman ay ang mga nagiging type ko ay hindi pinoy o di kaya'y pinoy nga pero di naman lubos na nakakaintindi ng pilipino (oo, type ko ang mga estranghero), kaya mas akma na hindi ako gumamit ng Ingles tuwing pinag-uusapan sila dito. Sa ganitong paraan, mapapangalagaan ko ang pride ko, at mas marami akong maibabahaging kabaliwan at kung anu-ano pa na hindi nasisira ang poise ko sa kanilang paningin.

Alam ninyo naman na loka-loka ako kaya ok lang na magmukhang baliw ako sa inyo!

# 2

Ginagawa ko ito dahil sa isang nangungutsilyong gumagawa ng laruan. Darating sya dito sa susunod na linggo, yehey!

Hindi ko namamalayan na binabasa na pala niya ang blog ko, at sekretong nangigigil sa mga ka-churvahang pinagsusulat ko tungkol sa kanya. Napahiya ako ng husto noong sinabi niya na huwag ko daw siyang pagtawanan sa blog ko, at wala syang oras ayusin ang mga punctuation marks niya. Kinilig ako na ewan: una, dahil nagsulat sya sa akin (ulit), at pangalawa, na sinabi niya sa email na iyon na nagagalingan siya sa aking paraan ng pagsulat.

Kung baga sa isang pelikula, turning point na ito: ngayon alam na nya na-cras ko siya.

Ano na ang mangyayari? Maaring malapit na kami magkita ulit. Abangan!

# 3

At ito naman ay tungkol sa isang taong hindi ko maintidihan: napapaginipan ko siya lagi, at sa lahat ng mga panaginip ko, hinuhugasan niya ang paa ko na gamit ang kanyang buhok.

Sa opinyon ng isang dream intepreter ko na kaibigan, ang paningin ko sa taong ito ay parang syang isang Mary Magdalene. Nangugulila siya para sa Diyos, marami syang kasalanan ngunit gusto niyang magbago.

Sa lahat ng panaginip ko na nakikita ko sya, hindi niya ako kinakausap. Nakatingin lang siya sa akin palagi, na parang mayroon siyang gustong sabihin na hindi niya magawa.

A Challenge

2006-07-08T06:42:00.000+08:00

If I asked you to come and meet me on July 4, 2007 in the same place where we saw each other all those years ago (but we didn't know it till now), when I was 14 and you were 24, in the grand lobby of the Ritz Carlton in Hong Kong, would you?

taken from some letters

2006-07-02T08:56:00.000+08:00

# 1

the idea that common objects can be lethal is very interesting. chopsticks, when thrown accurately and with enough force, can kill. who knew? can rulers be lethal? or anything that has the slightest suggestion of a sharp edge (i.e. hangers)?

you would like my father. he believes he was a samurai in his previous life, which is why he does karate. he's a fourth dan black belt. he does his katas religiously, at least once everyday. to scare the shit out of my boyfriends, he makes them join him every now and then to "test" their skills.

# 2

my grandfather is a sculptor. it is unfortunate that i am the only one in my family who cannot draw or sketch, but i have taken pottery classes under the father of pottery here, Jon Petty John, and he says i can manipulate clay well. i've a clay dog on my desk at home that looks more like a mangled cat, but i'll believe what he said anyway.

# 3

before me there are shawls in three different candy colors: chewy tangerine, Cinderella strawberry and astonishingly fake cyan. what would the world be without color?

Edwin Land, inventor of the Polaroid, argued that we judged colors by the company we keep. we compare them to one another and revise them according to the time of day, light, source, memory.

i associate ice grey with my D.'s eyes, which were wolf-like and piercing; fire-engine red with my mother, who has worn that same color on her toenails for over five years now; and yellow with the butterflies that fluttered onto the hood of my car when i had my first real kiss.

# 4

both my officemates have taken off and i am alone here, holding down the fort. i am left to my own devices - hence, i am writing this reply. in a moment i will try to hack out a chapter, or rearrange the button magnets on our white board so all the reds and blacks face the whites and blues.

Young Blood

2006-06-30T14:15:00.000+08:00

# 1

Behind me, a love story is unfolding.

A boy and a girl are meeting each other for the first time. They are both scholars. They're obviously freshmen: they have the eager, awkward air of very young teenagers who don't know why they are where they are. Today, they are volunteering to man phones for our AAASA phonathon.

The girl is more aggressive than the boy. She asks him for his number. The boy blushes, stammering, "but what would you need my number for?"

# 2

Lately my dreams have been full of wolves, minefields, old houses and peach trees. Friends appear in most of them: some of them are transformed by the end of the dreams, else they age backwards and fly.

# 3

Then there are the knives.

Sigh

2006-06-29T09:49:00.001+08:00

"Every reporter likes to believe that what they're seeing and feeling is unique, that it hasn't already been seen and felt a thousand times in other places, other conflicts. I try to keep the stories separate, not allow what I've seen in one country to change how I see things someplace else. It's not always easy: I set up barriers in my head, in my heart, but blood flows right through them. A corpse I see in Baghdad will remind me of a body back in Bosnia. Sometimes I can't even remember where I was or why. I just remember the moment, the look, a sudden snap of a synapse, a blink of an eye, and I'm in another conflict, another year.

Every war different, every war the same."

- Anderson Cooper (god among men), Dispatches From The Edge: A Memoir of War, Disasters and Survival

Time Out

2006-06-28T09:27:00.001+08:00

Ang dami mong ginagawa. Hindi ka ba napapagod?

That is the universal opinion of all those whom I have spoken to about my insane life.

I took time out today to list down everything that I need to do just for this week: chapters for the damn cancer book, additional interviews that I need to conduct for the same project, gigantic projects that I am handling at work (i.e. marketing campaigns that involve everything from creating, producing brochures, tarps, posters, several AVPS, a potential book-photoexhibit as a culminating activity for next year, etc.), planning workshops for juvenile inmates at Bilibid (there's more but I don't want to detail them just yet) all while trying to maintain a 5-day intensive exercise schedule (yoga, cardio, jogging, weights, boxing) and performing and coordinating events for Romancing Venus, among other things.

There's also emotional fall-out from having to deal with being *****, a family who keeps saying I am never there for them (because I'm always out), friends leaving and men whom I do not know what to do with.

Good Lord. I'm surprised I'm not breaking down yet.

Why Men Cheat (Reason #58)

2006-06-26T17:23:00.000+08:00

"Men are idiots."

- M.V., enlightened straight man who makes wonderful chocolate souffle (and is, unfortunately, very much in love with his wife)

Why Men Cheat (Reason # 02)

2006-06-26T17:21:00.000+08:00

"How can anyone decide? So many women, so little time."

- J.W., theater artist quoting a 'friend' of his who likens women to fast food joints*.

(*More on this much later.)

Why Men Cheat (Reason # 01)

2006-06-26T17:20:00.000+08:00

"I find it very exciting."

- B.P., film maker, divorced

Email Exchange # 0100

2006-06-26T14:45:00.000+08:00

Yuri, Toymaker

I found him napping on the carpet of the I Love You Store two weeks ago.

Long-haired and wild, he likes the store's owner, the very stylish Corinne.

He taught her how to throw knives. He is now back in Hong Kong.

Beautiful man, horrible grammar. Life is fair.

New Books # 3016

2006-06-22T11:00:00.000+08:00

1. The Iron Woman, Ted Hughes
2. Einstein's Dreams, Alan Lightman (2nd re-read)
3. Sandman # 2: The Doll's House, Neil Gaiman
3. The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell
4. A Brief History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
5. Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps, and the 10th Dimension, Michio Kaku
6. Einstein's Cosmos: How Albert Einstein's Vision Transformed Our Understanding of Space and Time, Michio Kaku

Choice

2006-06-20T07:37:00.000+08:00

# 1

K. is in San Francisco. She tells me she will be back by August. The last time she left for the United States, she was gone for ten months. This is why I don't believe her when she promises to return right away. I should have called her to say goodbye, but all I have now of her is a message in my shiny coffin of a cellphone that reads: I'm going now. I'll come back soon. No jokes about being back before Christmas!

# 2

E. is leaving for Indonesia on June 24. I would have wanted to do many things to this man, to make him understand the gravity of his crime, from taking up my friends' offers to have him assassinated or beaten up to plotting to torture him using honey and red ants to filing all kinds of sworn statements saying thus -

This is what he did to me: he has taken away my ability to trust. He has tainted the way I look at the world. He has made me a stranger to myself. Because of him, I will never be the same again.

I have four days left to decide.

Not A Nightmare # 409

2006-06-19T06:46:00.000+08:00

I was its prey.

The wolf had claws of polished steel, its hide, white and impenetrable. Bullets could not kill it, and neither could knives, arrows and poison. It loped after me, grunting and heaving, wanting nothing but to tear me apart. I had neglected to leave food in its lair, so it was hungry. In this dream-world, anger is exacted on the kind and the innocent.

As I ran, white clouds fell from the sky and covered me. Red leaves broke from their flaming branches, carpeting the road with fire. Flocks of four-winged birds, the usual kind of unearthly fowl that appears in my dreams, swooped down and crowded around the wolf, pecking at it with their sharp, pink beaks.

I kept running.

After what felt like hundreds of miles, the heaving and grunting stopped. I looked behind me: the wolf lay on its side, bloody and mangled. It was dead. Its white fur was singed black, it eyes gouged out, its heart carved out so that it kept beating (thump-one-two, thump-one-two), a hard crimson muscle moving on its own on the pavement.

I was free.

After Astrud

2006-06-18T16:32:00.000+08:00

another poem for you, Professor

You laugh when I tell you
I saw an African love bird
outside my window yesterday
Was it let loose?, you ask
and I tell you I cannot know.

It landed
in front of me
So we,
the love bird and I,
were separated
by glass that has not been
cleaned in months.
It was high noon,
on my lunch break,
Just as I was settling down
to have my salmon salad & tea,
when it knocked on my window
with its tiny blue hook of a beak,
as though it was saying
Hello, have we met?

And suddenly I thought of you.

June 18, 2006

Don't Call Me A Leafeater

2006-06-18T00:08:00.000+08:00

for the Professor

Flesh falling off the bone,
I am as tender as
the boiled meat on your plate.
Spoon me and ladle me
onto your tongue
And I will yield
if you ask me to.

I am yours to devour
and you are mine to fill.

June 18, 2006

Mababaw Footnote # 27

2006-06-13T01:07:00.000+08:00

It is strangely edifying to know that 'hottah hottah' Coke image model and sometime Morning Show host Juddah Paolo thinks I am pretty.

(Sourced from friend Kooky Tuason)

The Explanation

2006-06-12T10:32:00.000+08:00

It should not have begun at all.

After coffee and DVD shopping, we found ourselves there, talking about his love for racing and his impending migration to Jakarta, only four weeks away.

In my mind, I was thinking that I would probably not want to see this guy again: he was shallow and arrogant, he drank frapuccinos instead of barako, and he had never heard of Amelie. After about an hour, he said he needed to go to the bathroom. Relieved, I then told him we should head home because it was already late (10 p.m.) and we had to wake up early for work the next morning.

I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, a proper end to an adequate first date, but suddenly he had borne down on me and his tongue was in my mouth. I allowed him to do this: my eyes were open, but I was already traveling miles away from my body. After he pulled away, I asked him what we were to each other now. "Let's keep things status quo," he said, before moving to kiss me again.

I remember saying no. I remember the pressure of his hand on my neck as he pushed me down. I remember how quickly he had pulled the levers of both our chairs so I was flat on my back and he was on top of me before I had a chance to understand what was going on. I remember feeling pleasure, the mechanical kind that is soulless and empty, while he dug his fingers into me and licked my skin.

I was completely disassociated from all of this: I stood outside the car, watching him do this to me, watching myself arc my back, watching him shudder under my mouth, watching myself apologize for not being able to do more.

Where did I go? I might have gone around Cubao, to my familiar haunts in the art galleries and vintage shops in Marikina Shoe Expo. I could have stood by the seawall in Dumaguete, waiting for the sun to come up, to warm the shrimp tempura vendors, thieves and poets of the town. I could have walked the long road to Binondo, to kneel in temple and ask the gods to help me survive.

I was anywhere but There.

Perhaps I have not fully returned.

Bridges

2006-06-08T10:18:00.000+08:00

for my physicist

in the dream
i am climbing the bridge
while singing
i'd rather be blue over you
feeling my way down
though i do not know
what awaits me there.

the walkway is crumbling
under my fingers,
the cement is too wet,
the balustrades have not set properly,
the foundation is sinking beneath us.

but i land safely
on my feet.

there is a crowd of people
applausing and cheering me on.

you are there, too,
and you are holding malaysian daisies
to wreath around my neck
where another tried to choke me
only three weeks before.

would you forgive me
my transgressions?

i am afraid that
you will.

June 8, 2006

Lift

2006-06-07T10:11:00.000+08:00

Outside, Bellarmine field has reclaimed its pristine green, and there are fire trees in bloom everywhere.

Today is the first time in three weeks that I've noticed this again.

It is extraordinary that I should find myself laughing again, crisp, authentic laughter, the kind that fills up your lungs and seizes your brain cells, shaking up rooms and setting people's hair on fire, the kind of laughter I am known for, for which I am remembered and loved. There it is, proof, over my wonderful dinner with a good friend last night, which ended with the incredible taste of bibingka souffle exploding on our tongues. I am grateful for the good dreams I dreamt last night - the first I can remember in over three weeks - of crumbling bridges that I was able to overcome with song.

Poem, Not Mine

2006-06-05T12:56:00.000+08:00

With a Changing Key

With a changing key
you unlock the house where
the snow of what's silenced drifts.
Just like the blood that bursts from
your eye or mouth or ear,
so your key changes.

Changing your key changes the word
that may drift with the flakes.
Just like the wind that rebuffs you,
packed round your word is the snow.

- Paul Celan

Dis(member)

2006-05-29T05:42:00.000+08:00

Your hand is on my throat
and I cannot move.

Were you trying to crush
the air out of me
So I would lie still
So you could use me
Without my having to scream?

I am flat on my back
and your tongue is in my ear.

Were you trying to push
my brain out
So I would stop thinking
So you could have your fill
Without my needing to feel?

Do you know how I could
remember
my dreams
As though
they were real -
The curve of a banister rail
The lemon meringue fur of
my lola's oldest cat
Vanilla ice cream melting
on the window sill -
But after that night
There is Nothing

But your fingers digging into me
and your dick down my throat

And I am there again
Standing outside the car
Watching you take
Everything away from me

Into blackness, I go,
And there is no one there
With Me.

May 29, 2006

A Public Apology

2006-05-19T08:59:00.000+08:00

Ian, darling -

I did not want to break my promise.

I know I should be in Dumaguete right now. I know I'd sworn time and again that I would come to see you. I have dreamt for two long years of swimming with the dolphins with you and my fellow Purple Patchers in Bais. But sometimes life conspires against our best laid plans: the storm came, work continues to pile up, boys come and go, then come again (hee), we have to tighten our belts, then one finds that there are no more resources (time and money) left for that which was planned many months in advance.

Know that I think about Dumaguete and our summer of love every single day. Someone mentions the name of your town and I am back there again, eating shrimp tempura by the sea wall, drinking under the full moon one windy night, on the eve of Nick Joaquin's passing, watching the sun sink down the horizon, engulfed by so many memories.

I miss you more than you know: I want to tell you about so many things. I want to lean on your shoulder and cry a little about the boys who have disappointed me (and the ones who still love me, strangely enough). I want to laugh again, with you, to have happiness fill every pore of my body, to breathe and love and live with such abandon (the likes of which I have not felt in a very long time).

I will return someday, soon.

God knows, I need to.

In the meantime, please forgive me: I did not mean to break your heart.

Et Amore

2006-05-18T09:21:00.000+08:00

In light of my last post about volunteer moms who are helping take care of special kids in Manila, I'm posting a journal entry that I wrote about my brother last January 29, 2006.

Mi Hermano

My brother Louis jumps out of bed with the enthusiasm of a 4-year-old who is about to open his presents on Christmas day. Every morning, he is like this, no matter how he was the night before: sometimes he'll have had another attack, another bad spell, occassionally he would go without any sleep at all ... yet when he wakes, he is always happy.

He believes in the newness of everyday.

Does it matter that he cannot talk very well, that his speech is garbled? He has not gone beyond the elementary level, though he likes flipping through old magazines, pausing every now and then to look at pictures of pretty girls and shiny cars. He will not graduate from a prestigious university, or any university for that matter, which means that he will never go on to amend laws or save lives on the operating table.

He does not know what it means to betray a friend, to hurt a lover out of malice and spite, nor will it ever occur to him to spread lies and slander about another only to further his own interests.

He laughs as though he has never known pain, though he has gone through more than his fair share of that.

He is 16 years old.

I like to think that I became a writer because I have this one great story to tell, and that story is about him.

Good People, Finally!

2006-05-16T15:28:00.000+08:00

This is proof that there are still many good people left in the world.

As someone who lives with a differently abled sibling everyday, it is good to know that there is a now growing awareness and sympathy for the differently abled in Metro Manila. For many years, it has been a constant struggle for us (and families like us) to have to deal with ignorant f*ckers who simply labelled special individuals like my brother as 'insane' or 'loko-loko'.

Groups like Katipunan ng mga Magulang ng mga Batang May Kapansanan (KMBK) is proof that this is slowly changing: filipinos are becoming more enlightened.

It's about goddamn time.

Please help.

After A Very Long Engagement

2006-05-15T06:08:00.000+08:00

For R.

You are an albatross, riding on the strong current of my wind.

I tell you: I have no home. I cannot remember the last time I slept. I have always been moving. I've ravaged cities, pulled down bridges, set adrift too many ships. I keep pushing out against the edges of the universe, swirling, seething, afraid of letting you land, lest you leave or stagger or fall.

You are new to my world, and I am grateful for your company. Do you know where you are flying to? Is it in the same direction that I am blowing? You seem to take to me rather easily, unlike the others, because you tell me you knew me as a child: you cooled my cheek every morning. I felt you wrap your arms around me every time it rained.

Profiles (I)

2006-05-12T06:07:00.000+08:00

Vincent

He is always happy when I see him.

Today, he is slightly sweaty because he has just finished bringing his Indian friend around Manila. The friend sits at the far end of the room, talking to my office mate. He keeps looking in our direction, wanting to leave, because more than an hour has passed since they had come here. They have other places they need to be.

Oblivious, Vincent and I keep talking. We have not seen each other in weeks. He is more centered now, though gravity has also set in: he tells me about a girl who leaves him hot and cold, and how he is beginning to lose interest. He comforts me when I tell him that I'd been very recently betrayed by someone I thought I could trust. He takes off his glasses, wipes the lens on his sleeve, to emphasize a point. It is rare that we are like this, serious and reflective, when usually we make each other laugh so much that our stomachs start to hurt and my asthma kicks in, which then worries Vincent, because he is a doctor-in-training and he cares about the health of his friends.

When he goes to leave, he tells me to be strong.

It shall pass. Things that don't matter always do.

Bong

Something is glowing between his fingers. It is a lit stick. Its fumes are wreathing around us, wrapping us in sweet-smelling clouds of gray.

He and his filmmaker friends (both of whom have long, straggly hair, and are clearly strangers to soap and showers) are smoking outside his shop and we are talking about the power of photographs. Bong's eyes start to glaze over. It is potent stuff - though I am standing a full foot away from them, I too am beginning to feel the haze.

He enters his shop and pulls an astronaut's helmet over his head. I go to join him. From behind the helmet, his voice muffled, he proceeds to tell me a story about a car he'd seen turn over along Ortigas.

"I got out of the car I was in. The guy (who had the accident) was shocked. At first, he couldn't move. I pulled out my camera and started taking pictures. As the guy was crawling out of the car, I kept snapping. He didn't notice me. I didn't help him. When he was already able to stand, that's when he saw me. I took a photo of him looking through me, standing over me. By that time, people had already come, people who were ready to help. I jumped back in my friend's car, then we drove away."

Sarah

She has long, dark hair that reaches down to her tight derriere. When Sarah crouches to snap a photograph of the artist, her mane swirls all over the floor, smothering the white tiles in her black curls.

She tells the artist that she might fall in love with him if he hung around her any longer. The artist, much older than the girl and her superior in the office besides, is tempted to say the same, but he resists.

Sarah is seventeen and she is dangerous territory.

Before he leaves, he hugs Sarah, as an elder brother would his younger sister.

I'm too old for you, he tells her, at hindi tayo bagay.

Don’t you worry, she says, laughing, leaning into him before he can back away.

I'll grow up soon.

Strange Fact # 06

2006-05-11T12:16:00.000+08:00

My boss, who by all intents and purposes should have been a full-fledged doctor, personally witnessed the death of Jim Henson (creator of The Muppets and Sesame Street, among many others) on May 16, 1990.

It was not, as urban legend goes, the result of Jim's refusal to take penicillin or any kind of medicine for a minor infection because he was into Scientology.

The truth is as my boss explains: "he had a rare form of streptoccoccus (stepsis) that only affects one out of 10,000 people. This kind of disease takes on the symptoms of an ordinary sore throat, but when left untreated, it becomes fatal. (Jim) thought it was just a sore throat, so he left it alone."

"By the time his family rushed him to our emergency room (Lenix Hill Hospital in New York), it was already too late. I was there when they were trying to revive him."

not a poem/not a dream

2006-05-10T06:25:00.000+08:00

bivouac

he takes me away,
to leave me in another city
where i do not know the way home.

what are you doing?, i ask him,
why do you want me to stay?

he does not speak.

we trudge on,
i, watching him finger the bomb
strapped to his chest,
i, wondering if i should bolt,
take a chance, flee.

he turns, so i see
half his face is gone,
a crater is where his right eye
used to be.

you will save me.
you will save us all.

After Monty Python And The Holy Grail

2006-05-09T06:05:00.000+08:00

I was touring a foreign country whose name was unpronouncable: Zertliopartque.

I was with my mother. I was riding a palomino, and she was riding a brown thoroughbred. We were going to the market to buy strawberries. On our way there, we saw flocks of four-winged fowl pecking at the dry, hard ground, happy one-eyed peasants who were selling all kinds of eggs (pink, organic, white, ostrich, duck, dinosaur) from behind their colorful stalls, and a giantess who sat on the outskirts of the town. She was the toll both operator. She was very strict about the tickets: if they were crumpled or stained in any way, she would prevent you from leaving Zertliopartque at all costs.

By the time my mother and I arrived at the market, we forgot about the strawberries and set about buying other things instead. I bought an orange caftan and the Dead Sea Scrolls (apparently in this country, they sold reproductions for only 10 euros; the real thing, they said, can be bought for 200 M euros, but only after proving oneself worthy to the king). My mother bought shades and a pink bag that can fold out to become ten times its size. We left the market, happy with our purchases, until we encountered a seraphim who berated us for being apathetic. The angel, Jacob, was biding his time in front of the horse terminal.

He was waiting for his Boss.

There are starving children in Uganda, he said, and you spend the equivalent of a month's worth of food for a small family there on ... trinkets!

But we are in Zertliopartque, I said, we are not in Uganda.

True, he scratched his wings from behind, but always remember that whatever you do here or anywhere affects the world irrevocably, as all things are one.

Toca Un Sueno*

2006-05-07T07:30:00.000+08:00

After A Buffet Dinner

My Lola Dora had returned from the dead. She was in her usual sinamay saya, white on top and blue on the bottom, and she was barefoot. She asked me when I was going to put her in my play. I woke up, startled, to find that I had an entire manuscript already written out in my head.

After Packing

Before I left, my brother was pacing his room. He was trying to figure out how to put together one of his 100-piece puzzles. It was about the Eiffel Tower. He'd made the top but he was still thinking about how to do the lower half.

I love being able to go around the Philippines, but oh, how I wish I could go to Paris. I'd devour macaroons and quiches all day, take black and white photographs of lovers winding through the streets, make out with cute french men by the Seine, and write postcards for the ones I love back home.

*Corrected, Tio. Muchas gracias! And yes, I want to go to Paris. Please please please take me with you next time you and Bill go. :)

My Mind Is Someplace Else

2006-05-06T11:57:00.000+08:00

... It's here.

I'm a-coming! Wait for meeeeeeee!!!

On Being Funny

2006-05-05T19:37:00.000+08:00

A very well-known comedian came by our office today.

He said I was funny.

When did I become a Funny Girl? I'm no Barbra Streisand. My nose is hardly Grecian and I can't sing for shit. I'm not Jewish either. Sure, I can croak out a decent "Happy Birthday" but that does not make me ze diva. Yet when I say something as mundane as "oh please pull up your pants dear your pink bikini briefs are showing", I get a huge laugh. I've also been told that I snort - not snore, but snort - in my sleep, and it's actually been recorded on tape. Is this the reason why boys generally come to me not to woo me, but to unload their problems and unwind and relax?

Ang saya-saya mo, he said, parang wala kang problema.

Huwat?, I replied. I couldn't believe it.

You can do stand-up comedy, he nodded.

He was serious!

I'll break you in.

And then I promptly fell off my seat.

Doesn't he know I'm dying from having to handle so many projects all at the same time? That my body is on the verge of giving up? That sleep, real, deep, satisfying, REM dream producing sleep, has become a distant memory to me now? That I keep pining for something I know I cannot have? That I wish I could jet off to exotic locations on any given day but instead I am stuck in Manila, keeping my nose to the grind day in and day out (even on weekends)?

I don't want to complain, but look, I already have. So that wasn't so funny. I believe that life IS funny, no matter how you end up.

In any case I see a pleasant life for myself and the ones I love now and in the future. And I already know that we'll be laughing, together, many years down the road.

About That Again # 02

2006-05-02T10:48:00.000+08:00

What made you do that?, he asks, trying not to appear too eager or too curious.

I thought, why the hell not?, I reply, and I want to help women feel better about their bodies.

I am tired of having to answer the same question over and over again, from different people, all the time.

Your skin is so smooth, he attempts at flattery now, and you have a nice derrierre.

Thank you, I say politely. That is about all one can say in response to these kinds of compliments.

We are in the National Museum, and I am sitting beside him in John Silva's workshop on Grant Writing today. He is passably attractive, but he appears too desperate for comfort. There is a thick, white band of skin around the base of his ring finger - married and hiding it, I think - and when he sees me looking at his hand, he folds it into a fist and pushes it under the table.

The usual small talk ensues - who are you what do you do is it your first time here? etcetera - and I find that I am bored out of my mind. I want to sit elsewhere (and I eventually do, after we break for coffee, next to the wonderful Dr. Kimberly Pascual, COO of Operation Blessing, a Christian NGO that does medical missions in war-torn or disaster areas like Afghanistan, Iraq, Banda Aceh and Leyte). John (Silva) winks at me, and I pretend to gag. The man, oblivious, still does not get it. I proceed to ignore him for the rest of the afternoon.

After the workshop, he comes up to me and asks if I'd like to "touch base" (NGO language for making connections between causes and advocacies) with him sometime next week.

No, thank you, I curtsy, I'm rather busy this month.

Please do not attempt to pick up smart women using old, stale tactics (especially if you are married, you bastard) because they are hip to your tricks and they will shoot you down in a heartbeat so that you are left with one ball waving the air, and the other withered and limp and very, very sad.

On another note: where are all the decent men? Have they evaporated off the Earth and founded a new colony in another galaxy?

Proof of Insanity # 2043

2006-05-01T17:10:00.000+08:00

(from L-R) Charms Tianzon, Nityalila, Adelle Victoria, Kooky Tuason, Ida, Ginny Mata, Wawi Navarozza, (a cute volunteer whose name I forget) and Kaz Castillo. At Sigaw Ni Maria Clara, 29 April 2006. Photo by Miko Pepito.

The Sigaw Ni Maria Clara event at Esplanade (also known as in the middle of frickin' nowhere) near the yet-to-open SM Mall of Asia was a bust. No one came because it was so damn far, and the location was so incredibly hard to find (we got lost twice, and the band Saydie took about four hours to get there). It had been cancelled before, and there were some problems getting sponsors. We would later find out that the major sponsor of the event, PLDT, had decided to pull out its support upon seeing the dearth of audience members, which left organizer Aimee Marcos in tears.

We and a lot of other great bands (Narda, Urbandub, The Dorques, Reklamo, Isha, Cynthia Alexander, The Late Isabel, Matilda, Imago etcetera) ended up performing for a bunch of kargadors and fishermen. I had to help Shereen Sayiid host midway through, which then became an exercise in absurdity. You cannot compare cornflakes to beer!,I'd retorted on stage, in the first place cornflakes are made from corn, while beer is fermented barley!

In any case, against all odds, we all ended up having a blast! More pictures here to illustrate the kabaliwan. By three a.m., we, the Romancing Venus girls and our boys, found ourselves dancing to Isha's songs like crazy, so it felt like we were part of the closing credits of some high school teen movie ala Dazed and Confused or The Breakfast Club.

More Romancing Venus events are slated for this May. See my entry below for more details.

Romancing Venus In May 2006

2006-05-01T09:29:00.000+08:00

# 1

Open Spoken

May 3
9 PM
The I Love You Store
Makati Ave.

Bitaw! Presents Open Spoken every first and third wednesday of the month
Dance + Music + Spoken Word + Performance Art
Featuring The Poets of Kooky Tuason's Romancing Venus (Anabel Bosch, Nityalila, Charms Tianzon of Maldita, Ida, Ginny Mata, Wawi Navarozza of The Late Isabel and Adelle Victoria)

This is also open to everyone who wants to do spoken word and poetry onstage with us and Bitaw. Pass it on!

# 2

Romancing Venus In Baguio
May 6
(details to follow)

# 3

Romancing Venus: Tuesdays In Absinth

May 9, 16, 23
10 PM
Absinth
Greenbelt 3
Makati

Dance + Music + Spoken Word + Performance Art
Featuring The Poets of Kooky Tuason's Romancing Venus (Anabel Bosch, Nityalila, Charms Tianzon of Maldita, Ida, Ginny Mata, Wawi Navarozza of The Late Isabel and Adelle Victoria)

# 4

Slam Poetry Nights: Megamall

Powerbooks Megamall
(details to follow)

# 5

Fashion Show Ng Mga Baliw

May 20
8 PM
Walkway outside Powerbooks
Clothes by Lulu Castagnette
Food & Drinks c/o Java Man

Performers include Kooky Tuason, Anabel Bosch, Nityalila, Charms Tianzon of Maldita, Ida, Ginny Mata, Wawi Navarozza of The Late Isabel, Adelle Victoria, and Juddha Paolo.

Isip Bitaw*

2006-04-27T06:03:00.000+08:00

Panaginip # 976

I was an uncertain angel.

This world was new to me. The Bomb had been dropped on our city earlier that decade, and the human race was just beginning to recover. All our skyscrapers had been razed to the ground. Where there were condominiums and apartment complexes and sprawling estates, now there were only ruins and abandoned buildings. Most of the women had died, so the planet was once again ruled by men and cockroaches.

I'd flown down to take care of an old man who refused to die. He had found the river of youth in his backyard: when the Bomb hit the town, the impact of its explosion lay bare this underground river, which happened to open up behind his house. When he drank from the river, he was 92. Since then, he has not aged at all. Though he still had to use a walking cane (the water did not heal his broken hip), he was one of the few men in the area who survived the Bomb.

He lived alone in an old, decrepit house. It was the only one that was left in the village, and it was hardly visible from up above because it was hidden behind dense thickets of talahib and overgrown trees.

Come with me.

I can give you peace.

There is no such thing.

Not Anywhere.

Not Here.

Panaginip # 977

She was in the fruit market.

It was 6:30 in the morning, her favorite time of the day - the sun had just risen, dew was still on the leaves, even the sky felt new. She was shopping for macopa and pineapples to put in her lover's breakfast salad.

While she was in line at the cashier's, she bumped into a man who had almost become her husband all those years ago. He, too, had the same fruits in his basket as she did. With him was a young boy, probably six or seven years old. He was dark and elf-like, with eyes as green and probing as his father's. He was cradling a small pumpkin in his arms.

Nice to see you after so long, he nodded.

Yes. Your son?, she asked, steeling herself.

Yes, he replied, grinning broadly, it's his first time here.

The little boy threw the pumpkin up in the air, then caught it deftly with one hand.

Panaginip # 978

Tinanong sa akin ng higante kung ano ang nais kong kainin.

Kaaya-aya naman ang higante. Malambot ang kanyang galaw at mahinahon ang kanyang boses. Hindi ko na lang tiningnan ang pangatlong ulo niya. Lagi kasi itong nakangiti at parang mayroong malisyoso na iniisip.

Binigyan ako ng higante ng malaking kamatis. Hiniwa niya ito na gamit ang kanyang matalis na kuko: sa loob ng kamatis ay kesong puti at hamon.

Sabi ko sa higanti, hindi ho ako kumakain ng karne.

Natawa sa akin ang higante.

Kahit sa panaginip vegetarian ka, sagot niya, pero sa dimensyon na ito maari mo siyang tikman dahil gawa yan sa isang sagradong baboy, na isinaalang-alang ang buhay nya para mabusog ka. Napakalaking kabastusan pag hindi mo siya kainin.

Linagay ko ang isang hiwa ng kamatis sa plato ko. Kakainin ko na sana ito nang may dumaan na isang libong pato. Tinakpan nila ang kalangitan, ang mga sabay-sabay na paghampas ng pakpak nila, naging napakalakas na hangin.

Lumanding sila sa hardin ng higante, at bigla na lang silang sumayaw.

So, We Have A Male Fan

2006-04-21T06:03:00.000+08:00

We've been receiving a steady flow of positive feedback regarding our "Women of the World: We Think We're Sexy" nude shoot in the April 2006 ish of Marie Claire.

This is our first 'male' fan. Hee.

------ Forwarded Message
From: "Dino T. Lising"
Date: Thu, 20 Apr 2006 14:00:11 +0800
To: Myrza Sison
Subject: April edition

Dear Ms. Sison,

Women of substance!

I usually don't read my wife's magazines but I thought your April article on Women of the World was brilliant. I think it is about time we looked at the beauty of women from a more developed, natural and sensual perspective. Unfortunately, media tends to create convoluted, contrived, and often times twisted, images of self and puts inner beauty and sensuality on the back shelf. Most women spend their whole lives trying to be a distorted image of what society dictates as sexy. Your article on these six brave women, however, proves that not all women have been "duped".

A free and evolved mind is a very sexy thing. In this context, these women are some the sexiest ladies I have ever seen photographed. ( and I have seen my share of photos). Also, their view on the nude body is refreshing. Natural IS beautiful.

Please do me the favor of forwarding this email to those courageous young women. I would like them to know that they have at least one ( heterosexual, happily-married, red-blooded normal guy) fan.

Dino

Such Boys

2006-04-18T14:58:00.000+08:00

# 1

Two young boys are crossing Bel Field right now. It is 3:08 P.M., and the afternoon sun must be excruciating. They are only children, ten or twelve years old at most. They are both in white. And they are holding hands.

# 2

Yesterday, a young man (barely scratching the surface of 6) confided in me that he has a crush on one of his classmates in the Summer Enrichment Program. "She's so perfect," he sighed, "I'm surprised she likes talking to me."

# 3

An old college classmate of mine is a math teacher in the Ateneo Grade School.

He is very tan, and very happy. This is what being around children everyday will do to a person: with so much youthful energy and innocent optimism saturating your immediate environment, it is inevitable that some of that positivity will reflect on you.

# 4

I miss telling stories to kids.

# 5

Finally, I have my own stories to tell.

Five Things I Learned In Bangkok

2006-04-16T17:01:00.000+08:00

- Smile discriminately.

If you happen to throw the slightest shadow of a smile at any YHWM (Yucky Hairy White Man) by accident, he will hound you for at least three hours before giving up the dream of getting into your pants/skirt.

Do not think that being with your mother will deter YHWMs - in fact, this will challenge them even more ("you and your mum look mighty fine, can we buy you drinks?", said through clouds of B.O. and bad breath). To deter YHWMs, wear a ring on your ring finger and say that you are married and very devoted to your husband who is a 4th dan blackbelter in the Abu Sayaff.

Remember this rule especially when riding the Sky Train, and when dancing in the rowdy clubs on Patpong.

- Cute backpackers abound.

Attractive members of the male and female human species of all races (most especially from Europe and the Americas) can be found everywhere in the city. They usually sport flip-flops, white tank tops and surfer shorts, and have less than an intimate acquiantance with the inside of a shower stall. It is easy to strike up casual conversations with them, but be sure to hold your breath when they try to kiss you.

Condoms are also available up to size XXXL in regular supermarkets.

- Skin cancer is a very real possibility.

When walking under the oppressive heat of the Ayutthaya sun, so intense even the layers under your epidermis are sweating, remember to wear sunblock and/or bring an umbrella.

- Haggling is fun!

Even when the vendor is already near tears, press on. Every baht counts. But I bought dis fohr twenty, i cannot sell for tehn!, they will cry, but do not listen to them: they will do anything to make a sale.

- Mabubusog ka na sa 15-20 Baht.

Street hawkers and carinderias here sell filling, delicious meals for less than 20 Baht. This rule only applies to those who have cast-iron stomachs and adventurous palates.

Pictures to follow. Songkran madness and market vignettes to come.

Don't Miss Me

2006-04-12T00:27:00.000+08:00

Please direct love letters, hate mail, writing assignments, and all inquiries regarding midgets, S & M, time travel, elvis impersonators and spaceships to akush (at) pldtdsl (dot) net.

In the eternal words of one of my very own personal heroes (it takes genius, really, to ascend to the heights of movie stardom even when you are barely coherent and your face looks like a pan-fried hamburger with pickles), I'll be back.

Fiction? Yes. No! Possibly. Yes.

2006-04-11T05:32:00.000+08:00

Bring me back a batik blanket. I've always wanted an authentic one to hang up on my wall.

Of course, I nod. Of course. I would bring him back the whiskers of a bengal tiger or the very lamp from which the real Genie escaped if he asked me to. He comes into the office every morning, shirt and pants immaculately pressed, sits down with his newspapers and steaming cup of black coffee, then he calls me on my local to ask me if I had a good dream the night before. It is a nice sort of friendship: I like being able to talk to a man as openly as this, without drama or expectations. His wife is lovely, quiet and reserved, who tucks her hair behind her ear during the rare times when she speaks. He has a 4-year-old boy whom I have told stories to - he loves Goldilocks and The Three Bears the best. Something about the porridge and the breaking chairs really makes him laugh.

After A Spiritual Pillow Book

2006-04-10T06:06:00.000+08:00

Not A Dream

You are an eagle.

You are intent on catching your prey. Claws extended, sinews ready for the kill, you want nothing more than to eat this mouse. You never hesitate, for you this is only natural: that you kill and the mouse be killed. As you close in on it, your shadow overwhelms the earth. All of life here stands still. The mouse, equally intent on surviving, is still running. In one fatal swoop, it is in your claws, already dead. As you fly away, everything settles back into place. The other animals are given a reprieve until the next time you feel hunger. They know it will be soon.

I Love You

He does not tell her this, though he has always wanted to. The way the light cascades down her back, the slight thrust of her hips when she walks, the fringe of hair that always falls sideways on her soft, yielding face - he takes these in every time he sees her, usually from a distance, because he is too afraid to talk to her. But he knows she likes him. She has given him the eye more than once, and her smile changes when he is in the room, from one of tired civility to general joy.

He continues to orbit around her, his planet revolving around her sun. He longs to defy the universe and break all the laws of nature and physics to touch her.

So I Met Your Wife Last Night

2006-04-07T06:42:00.000+08:00

In the dream, I was inside a room made of flesh.

When I ran a finger across one wall, it throbbed.

When my companion cut into it with his sharp nails, it bled.

Then I was with my boss and my office mate, both of whom were in deep conversation in one corner of the flesh-room. When I joined them, I discovered that they were both Not-There: these were simply stand-ins, shadow figments from another dimension who had come here to discuss the fate of this room.

I like it.

I do too.

Then it's decided.

We'll turn it into a monument.

I emerged from the room, exiting up stairs made of teeth, out into a large, lovely garden. It was spring there, with pink and orange hibiscus in full bloom, and wild daisies pushing through the soft loam. An old man came up to me and said, would you like to help me water these beauties? All of his front teeth were missing so the wind whistled in his mouth as he spoke. I replied yes, of course, then he took my arm (his hands felt rough and gnarly) and directed me towards a patch of purple weeds.

What is this?

You'll see.

He went off to take care of the hibiscus, while I scratched my head, trying to figure out why he was making me water weeds. When I tipped the water can on the weeds, giant corn stalks shot up through the ground. They were so tall and thick, they stood at least five feet above me, overwhelming everything. I was so surprised, it was all happening so fast, that one stalk nearly impaled me, had I not moved away in time.

This is your patch, the old man said, it is a gift from those who love you.

There is more to come.

After Twilight And A Half-Empty Bottle of Merlot In Your Shop Outside The Borders of My Town

2006-04-02T06:33:00.000+08:00

This is the end
So why pretend
And let it linger on?
The thrill is gone
The thrill is gone

- "Thrill Is Gone", Chet Baker

A Little Goes A Long Way

2006-03-29T09:56:00.000+08:00

# 1

In the office, I am the fire exit.

To be able to escape from the smoke and fumes of a fire on the second floor of Xavier Hall, people will have to clamber over my desk to reach the Fire Exit, which does not have stairs or even a ladder. The Fire Exit simply consists of a window that people must jump out of, down a height of almost 20 feet.

If the fire doesn't kill you, the fall probably will.

# 2

I am constantly surrounded by young boys now. They are all studying college here in the Ateneo. These are our student volunteers, who man the phones for us and take care of our backroom operations (folding, priting, etc.). They call me their sugar mommy. It is slightly disturbing, but I take that as a compliment: if all my children were as bright and beautiful as these boys, what a grand gene pool mine would be.

# 3

I dreamt of crows feasting on the remains of a ~~doodoo~~ dodo (hee. thanks maryanne!) bird (which has been extinct for almost a century now). They were cawing out songs in the key of G as they ate. By the time they were done, the ~~doodoo~~ dodo bird miraculously regrew flesh and came back to life.

# 4

Happiness is an empty box, said poet Jimmy Abad.

# 5

Mine would be a box full of books, chocolate, free round-trip tickets to India, Africa and Spain, and buttons. Why buttons? Because I always seem to lose my buttons. They pop off or roll away or disappear behind trees and bed posts and cabinets.

# 6

Today Mr. April Capili from the Philo Dep came in to give his class' donation to the Annual Fund: two whole canisters full of coins and cash, overflow from the revenue from his readings, and his monthly gift from his own salary.

It perked up the whole office, so that the boys have now given in to our request that we play Kylie all morning.

Wishlists

2006-03-23T10:20:00.000+08:00

Wishlist for Alethea (my iBook G4)

- a new 60GB HD
- Mac OS X Tiger (v. 10.4.3)
- iWork 06
- iLife 06
- a new battery
- a new AC plug

Wishlist of Other Stuff

- UpDharmaDown's Fragmented
- Other Stuff on my Amazon Wishlist

From The Loo

2006-03-21T08:30:00.000+08:00

*My entire house is now wi-fi enabled. This means I can surf the internet and email from anywhere in (and out) of my house, for up to a radius of 10 miles.

For all you know, I could be sending this from the loo.

*When we stepped out of Eastwood Cinema 2 after watching V For Vendetta, we saw Mike Defensor lining up to get into the same movie. Hunched up against the wall, he was evidently making a very hush-hush phone call.

Perhaps he wanted to watch the movie to get some pointers. :)

Lists and Lists

2006-03-19T12:49:00.000+08:00

Summer 06 To Do List

1. Read. (See List # 2)
2. Exercise. (See List # 3)
3. Eat Better. (See List # 4)
4. Learn New Skill/s. (See List # 5)
5. Write. (See List # 6)
6. Travel. (See List #7 )

Summer Reading List

1. In Cold Blood, Truman Capote
2. A Brief History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson
3. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon
4. The latter half of The Time Traveller's Wife, Audrey Niffeneger
5. The Gotham Writers' Workshop Fiction Gallery
6. Freakonomics, Steven Levitt & Stephen Dubner
7. The End of Poverty, Jeffrey Sachs
8. The Art of the Interview (Lessons from a Master of the Craft), Lawrence Grobel
9. His N' Hers, Mike Gayle
10. Life of Pi, Yann Martel
11. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro
12. The latter half of Living To Tell The Tale, Gabriel Garcia-Marquez (tagal na nito nakabinbin sa shelf ko)
13. The latter half of Pilgrim At Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard (isa pa to)
14. The latter half of Zen And The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert M. Pirsig (and yet another)
15. The last two books in The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams

Work-Out Plan

1. Do Pilates for 30 minutes every morning right after I wake up.
2. Jog every Tuesdays and Thursdays after work.
3. Do 1 hour of cardio and 1 hour of weight circuit training Wednesdays and Fridays at the gym.
4. Go to intensive boxing sessions at Elorde Gym or Red Corner on Saturday afternoons.
5. Go to classes (belly-dancing and tai-chi) at Moro.

Diet Plan

1. Eliminate all junk food and sodas.
2. Only have sweets once a week (a small bar of chocolate, cake. etc.)
3. Eat small, frequent meals (five small meals scattered throughout the day).
4. Cut down on carbs (rice, pasta, bread)
5. Take Meta-Trim (pills that curb carb cravings) and start drinking more green tea and C-Lium Fibre everyday.

New Skills To Learn

1. Pottery at Jon Petty John's Studio (if my insane schedule allows).
2. Self-study Spanish (again).
3. Take Zips lessons.
4. Take formal Swimming lessons.
5. Learn how to cook tofu and make curry.

Other Writing Projects Thus Far

1. Chapters 1 & 6, Miracle Stories for the Custodio Project.
2. First Date Cafe and another yet untitled play for Romancing Venus, to be staged in PETA in May 06.
3. Working script for Scriptwriting Workshop (first draft due tom, Monday).
4. Five new stories (10-20 pages each) for the graduate thesis and the Palancas.
5. Three Chapters of The Chick-Lit Novel (Fat & Fabulous) and Three Essays for The Fat & Fabulous Column.

Travel Destinations for Summer 06

1. Thailand during Holy Week (in the other cities there, not Bangkok)
2. Dumaguete in May (either May 19-21 or May 26-28)

Notes From Two Edges

2006-03-17T17:59:00.000+08:00

Dream # 246

I was fighting a screaming woman, some kind of she-devil, who in her worst form became ...

A thrashing ball of clay.

It would creep around furniture, go into books, enter water, where I, avenging superheroine, would chase after it and beat it with a giant gold flyswatter.

Note # 509

My brother is dancing in my room. His movements are quick and imprecise, a clumsy whirling dervish, his arms flailing instead of flowing, the most he can manage is to sway to the beat, but not much else.

Dream # 239

"You should't be writing here when you have so many other things you need to write."

"I know, Super Ego. But Id always wants to play."

"Then supress it. You are a grown Ego."

"The two books; my stories for the Palancas and my graduate thesis; the scripts for my workshop (two scripts); my two one-act plays with Kooky; materials for work; the children's book about being vegetarian in an animal-eating world; and poetry/performance pieces to use for my Romancing Venus performances."

"See. Your plate is so full I wonder how you will do them all."

"I am thinking the same thing."

Note # 100

Thank you Lord, for everything. You give me all that I ask for, and infinitely more.

The Sisterhood

2006-03-15T08:56:00.000+08:00

Romancing Venus Sisters (and honorary Venusian, my lovely Moki) toasting Kooky Tuason and the launch of her 2nd spoken word album: (from L-R) Kaz Castillo, Moki, (cough) me, Libby, Charms Tianzon (of Matilda), Kooky T., and the back of Wawi Navarozza.

On the table are several bottles of libreng Cerveza Negra. They gave Kooky 460 bottles (whoa) as one of her sponsors. I don't drink beer but the people there seemed to really enjoy it.

(L-R) Anabel Bosch, Kooky T, Charms draped over Moki (she wishes, hehe), and me.

Photographer Carlo Guerrero, and Ida's hair.

If you only knew (heehee). (L-R) Kooky T., Charms T., Moki, Anabel (behind), and me.

All photos by Wawi Navarozza. Taken March 9 2006 at the Romancing Venus Vol. 2 Launch Afterparty in Absinth GB.

Branded

2006-03-14T07:48:00.000+08:00

The doctor tells me he will treat me well.

I believe him. Not quite the doctor, of course, he still has three more years of med school, an internship and possible specializations abroad plus that damn board to take before he can become an official doctor, but there he is, telling me he will take care of me even if I didn't want to be taken care of by anyone.

I am thinking of someone else as he tells me this. I am putting a different face and a different voice to those words. I say he is nice. He cringes at the implication of nice. Perhaps I can grow used to nice. How bad can nice be? Many relationships have worked out because the boy was nice, though the girl was not.

But in the dream, someone else is kissing me.

It was a full-on make-out session, ladies and gentlemen, so much so that more than saliva was exchanged - our teeth got swapped somewhere in the middle and our tongues became so knotted that we had to figure out how to untangle them afterwards.

Maybe

2006-03-08T08:10:00.000+08:00

# 1

My beautiful gay boy came with me to the Rock Ed Para Sa Leyte Benefit Concert last night. Though the concert played on till sunrise, we had to leave before then (1 am) because we had responsibilities to attend to early this morning.

There was a moment during UpDharmaDown's performance of "Pag-Agos" that I felt True: that piercing voice carried on the wind, combing through my hair, settling on my face, where it could have been anything - a whisper, a kiss, a promise. When I opened my eyes, it was gone. I did not miss it. Such things are meant to be transient, otherwise we would not value them whenever they came.

# 2

And it is the same with certain emotions: we see each other, then we both disappear, separately, into the crowd. On and on, the lights are blinding, my heart is in a vise (think of every cliche), I am thrown, then I am back again. That is how we stand.

# 3

That is also how we fall.

# 4

It is as Jack Kerouac famously says -

...The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like famous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight and everybody goes "Awwww!"

# 5

Last night was Awwwwwww!

And I felt the blue centerlight pop within me, but only I could see.

Rambling # 022

2006-03-05T14:09:00.000+08:00

# 1

It must be difficult to live like a felon: always running, always fearful of discovery, always suspicious, never being able to fully love anything or anyone.

Today I woke up from a dream that had me fleeing from all the ghosts of my past: in it, N. called me (and I did not recognize his voice, the thing I thought I liked the most about him), S. and I were talking as though we were still friends (about The Flake, of all people), and B. walked through my dream with his hair on fire, spouting poetry, as usual.

# 2

Today, I measured myself: my bust size has gone down (or up, depending on how you look at it) from 42C to 38D. This essentially means that my breasts have gotten bigger while the body that holds it has shrunk.

Whoever will end up as my boyfriend in the coming months will be very happy.

# 3

And the suture in my mouth is still throbbing. It hurts to smile, and chew, but the pain has not prevented me from doing much of both. However, my left cheek is still swollen, as though I'd been punched there by someone of diminutive strength.

# 4

And here's to India. I will be seeing you soon.

Katauhan, Katawan

2006-03-02T03:12:00.000+08:00

# 1

Inikot ako sa Philippine General Hospital ng kaibigan kong si Vincent kaninang hapon.

Mga 10 taon na ang nakalipas nang huli kong makita si Vincent. Pareho kaming nasa Tanghalang Ateneo noon.

Iba ako noon: dati, ako ay kulot at hindi marunong manamit, parang bakang bagong panganak kung gumalaw, mahinhin at mapag-isa. Ngunit dahil mabait at mapuna si Vincent, mayroon siyang nakitang kakaiba sa akin, kaya kami naging magkaibigan.

Nasa Xavier Hall kami nang huling pagkikita namin: freshman siya, at sophomore ako. Pareho kaming naguluhan sa sitwasyon - hindi kami marunong umarte, ngunit napadpad kami sa isang organisasyon kung saan ito ang pangunahing pangangailangan - at sa iba pang kadramahan na kasama sa pagiging magkaibigang hindi na ewan ng isang lalaki at ng isang babae.

Dapat naging mas mabuti ang pakikitungo ko sa kanya.

Kaya noong pinadalhan niya ako ng mensahe sa Friendster noong nakaraang linggo, sinagot ko kaagad ito.

Minsan-minsan lang tayo nabibigyan ng pangalawang pagkakataon na ayusin ang ating mga nakaraang pagkakamali.

Kanina, pagkatapos ng sampung taon, sampung napakabilis na taon na dumaan sa mga daliri namin na para lang buhangin, nagkita kami sa North Wing canteen ng PGH.

Hindi niya ako namukhaan.

Nagbago na daw talaga ako.

Nakaputi siya. Mukha na talaga siyang doktor. Marami siyang tanong tungkol sa pagsusulat. Marami siyang nais isalaysay.

Tutulungan ko siya.

# 2

Sa Oncology ward ng PGH marami akong nakita na hindi ko makakalimutan. Maganda ang mga kuwarto: kung anu-ano ang mga nakapintura sa mga pader - isda, bahaghari, coral reef, punong namumunga ng mansanas at mangga ng sabay - at nakabukas ang mga pinto nito sa isang maaliwas at kaaya-ayang hardin. Sa mga kama, nakahiga, o nakaluhod, o umiiyak o di kaya'y tumatawa, ang mga pasyente.

Kalbo ang ilan sa kanila. Maraming may mga tumor na higit pa sa kalakihan ang isang basketball. Mga iba ay mag-isa. Ang mga iba naman ay kasama ang kanilang mga pamilya - at napakalas ng mga halakhak nila, umaalingawngaw sa dumidilim na corridor ng ward.

# 3

Ano ang tinanong ko sa Buddha noong pumunta ako sa Chinese temple sa Chinatown noong nakaraang Linggo?

Tinanong ko kung dapat nga bang pabayaan ko ang sarili ko na umasa na mayroong ngang namamagitan sa amin.

Sabi ng aking fortune: Wait for the opportune time to act. Patience and timing is key.

# 4

Lahat ng aking ginagawa ay para sa aking pagsusulat.

# 5

At para sa Diyos. Lagi, para sa Diyos.

Sweet Sunday

2006-02-27T10:01:00.000+08:00

Since Friday, my country has been in disarray.

Several coup "attempts" have supposedly been thwarted. The marines are allegedly on the verge of rebelling against the administration. GMA's State of Emergency is still in place. People are crying Martial Law Again?! We are afraid to venture out, for fear of being caught in the middle of rumbles between soldiers with water cannons and protesting civilians.

Yet despite all the trouble brewing in Manila, I managed to spend a quiet, reflective day in Chinatown with my best friend Kim Chua yesterday. We spent the afternoon there praying in temple, and wandering around Binondo, looking for good things to eat, namely:

1. Sincerity Chicken (on Nueva Street)

It was closed when we got there (it turns out it's only open til 2 p.m. on Sundays). Kim swears that theirs is the best fried chicken she has ever tasted. Though I am a decidedly strict pesco-vegetarian, I decided to break out of that mold just this once, if only for rare culinary experiences such as this. Yesterday, the universe had other plans.

Nevertheless, I shall return soon. Who wants to come with me?

2. Eng Bee Tin (on Soler Street)

This store is every hopia lover's wet dream. I counted at least 12 varieties of hopia on one rack alone. Other specialties include tikoy galore, fortune cakes and radish cakes.

3. Eng Bee Tin Deli (same street)

They serve very good kamote balls, usually available only during special Chinese holidays. On the outside is soft, sweet kamote paste, while in the middle is ground peanut paste.

By the time we were having dinner with her cute brother Allen (hehe) in Italianni's, news broke out that the marines had taken over Fort Bonifacio. My friends rushed back to their house in Corinthian Gardens, while I decided to stick it out in Megamall at the Backdoor Arts and Music Festival with other friends Kooky Tuason and Anabel Bosch.

There, while we were fully aware that the county was going to pieces in the streets, we watched Pinikpikan rock it out with Wawi Navarozza and Kapatid. That mass of creative energy, burning up the air, of drums and voices and bodies beating and screaming and moving in unison all around us, could have cancelled out the chaos outside.

As their set wrapped up, Pinikpikan ended things with a prayer: Kahit magulo ang lahat, basta mayroon tayo nito, basta mayroong buo sa loob natin, malaya pa rin tayo. Malaya pa rin tayo!

Sana nga.

Rawr

2006-02-23T07:52:00.000+08:00

I was asked last week, after I did a photo shoot for Marie Claire, why do (I) feel sexy?.

I replied, with my tongue fully in my cheek -

Like most everything else, sexiness is a state of mind. I am a woman, and I have curves. My body is fleshier than the usual, yes, but that does not diminish my capacity for sensuality. In fact, living in this body has heightened that.

If sensuality means taking pleasure in all the good things that life has to offer (i.e. ice cream on a hot summer day, sunlight on my skin, warm water gliding down my back), then my body serves me well. I have felt intense, all-abiding pleasure with this body. I have climbed mountains with this body. This body has afforded me a full and wonderful existence with the people I love. For that reason alone (among many others), I love this body. Because I love my body, I feel sexy.

Please pick up a copy of Marie Claire April 2006. You will be in for a, uh, surprise. :)

Isang Eksena

2006-02-21T09:09:00.000+08:00

At sinabi niya, ayaw ko nang umasa.

Laging may umiibig sa mga istoryang katulad nito. Minsan isa lang sa dalawang katauhan ang may nararamdaman, at kung sinuswerte din naman, minsan ay pareho sila.

Kulang na lang na umulan, kumulog at kumidlat para maging isang lubos na malabagdamdaming eksena ito: ang nandito lamang ay ang lamat ng luha sa kanyang pisngi, at ang mga pasa sa aking dibdib. Matagal na kami dito, mga ilang oras na ang nakalipas, dumating kami dito sa bahay niya nang tanghaling tapat at lumulubog na ngayon ang araw, pero ayaw pa rin niya ako paalisin. Dito ka na lang, pakiusap niya, mag-usap pa tayo.

Nanatili ako doon hanggang nakatulog na siya, habang nakasampa siya sa balikat ko. Mala-anghel ang mukha niya, ngunit magaspang ang kanyang mga kamay. Napakarami niyang humalom na hiwa at kalyo. Mahirap siguro mag-aral ng medisina tuwing gabi, bulong ko sa kanya habang siya'y natutulog, at magbanat ng buto sa workshop ng tatay mo pag-araw.

Iniisip ko kung kaya kong manatili dito hanggang umaga, ngunit kinakailangan ko na talagang umalis. Hindi ito para sa akin. Dahan-dahan ko siyang hiniga sa sofa na kanina pa naming inuupuan, tinakpan ng jacket na napakalaki para sa kanya.

Dalawang araw na ang nakalipas at hindi pa rin niya ako tinatawagan. Dapat makaramdam ako ng sakit, pero ang nararamdaman ko lamang ay kalungkutan para sa posibleng kawalan ng isang mabuting kaibigan.

Sa kuwentong ito, sino ang umibig, at sino ang nawalan?

Kayo ang humusga.

Hmm, I See

2006-02-16T07:14:00.000+08:00

Kindly answer my Johari window. Ty!

So Pretty

2006-02-14T07:12:00.000+08:00

# 1

Together with fellow rockin' women, I am reading poetry on February 17, 2006 7 p.m. at Powerbooks Live for friend Kooky Tuason's Romancing Venus. Please come and watch!

# 2

New book favorites are: Blankets by Craig Thompson, On Photography by Susan Sontag and Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami.

2006-02-11T09:04:00.000+08:00

# 1

I dreamt I was in a silk tent, and its sheets were billowing lightly in the hot desert wind. Inside and outside the tent hung many brightly colored flags and banners. A woman was reading my cards. She had sapphires for eyes, actual sapphires, and they were set in her dark, tanned face with diamond lashes and kohl eyeliner.

She told me I was going to climb a mountain, to stand at the top of it, to shout out my name, over and over again.

# 2

Peaceful indifference is more powerful than anger.

# 3

What would it be like to engage a theoretical physicist in discussion?

I would ask him about time travel. The factuality of the Big Bang theory. And magical places where gravity works in reverse.

# 4

Talking to cancer patients and attending chemo sessions with people I don't know from Adam (then becoming friends with them afterwards) has humbled me in so many ways I wish I could justly express.

One patient said she wanted to kill herself during her third cycle: it was that difficult. She was vomiting at least 12 hours everyday, she had constant diarrhea, and she couldn't eat properly. She had Stage III.A breast cancer. The prognosis was grim. The first time she looked at herself in the mirror naked - and saw the gaping space where her left breast had been for 20 years of her life - she broke down and cried.

"I do not cry," she said, "but I couldn't help it."

She survived it. Now 12 years in remission, she is happier than when she was before she had cancer. "I am missing a breast," she explains, "but I feel more whole now, with my faith in God restored, than I ever was 20 or 30 years ago."

# 5

You would play Fast Car (Chapman) while you drove fast. That is how your brain works: in parallel lines. You are only 16. You could have been my little brother. The world to you is black and white. You believe all people are inherently good. I envy your innocence. The line of your neck is an untrammeled island, white and thin and pure. You tell me you wish someone would kiss you already: I laugh, and advise you to be patient. It will come when it comes. You will be beautiful when you grow up.

Strangely enough, you tell me the same.

Alice Trapped (An Excerpt)

2006-01-28T10:10:00.000+08:00

Revised January 31, 2006.

I was a beautiful seamstress.

I made corsets for royalty.

I had a nightingale for a husband. He was such a handsome little bird. He would make me lovely pancake breakfasts. He liked to sing to me in bed.

I was sewing a blue corset for her highness the Duchess of Danish. It was done up in silk and diamonds, with laces that I'd made to look exactly like twining sampaguita vines. When I presented it to her highness for inspection, she was most satisfied, until her own husband, the Dutch of Danish (who looked like a puff pastry with ears), saw her in it.

"I banish you from my kingdom," he screamed at me, "how dare you make the Duchess look like a jungle woman!"

The Duchess begged him to reconsider, but his mind was set. He ripped the corset off of her. He threw it at me, and then had his guards hustle me out of his castle.

The Duchess had secretly slipped us one-way tickets to Albany. We were on our way to the Danish Puff Pastry Airport (where all the airplanes looked like giant croissants with wings and wheels). It was high noon by the time we reached the bridge.

There, an old woman asked us if we had any food to spare. We only had a jug of wine and a round of foccacia bread that we'd hoped would last us the whole 8-hour trip. Pitying her, we gave them to her anyway.

She threw off her cloak, and produced a magic wand from inside her skirt.

You are kind, lovely people, she said, I will grant you your most heartfelt wish.

We asked that my husband be turned back into a man. She waved her wand, and in a blink, he was back to his old self: the smiling, spectacled professor I'd met back in Seamstress University. After we were married, he was cursed by a witch to become a nightingale because he had tried to disprove the authenticity of black magic in Danishlandia.

After we crossed the bridge, we kissed each other, my bird-man and I.

To my surprise, I began to grow wings, then a beak, then I felt myself flying high, high above them all.

I was transformed.

At 26

2006-01-25T08:34:00.000+08:00

Ilang Bagay

1.

Tumatanda na ako.

2.

Hindi ko na kayang magpuyat nang magdamag. Dati, kaya kong magsulat o sumayaw hanggang kinaumagahan - matulog ng 530 a.m. para tapusin ang isang kabanata, o sumayaw at makipagkuwentuhan kasama ng mga kaibigan ko hanggang sumikat ang araw - pero ngayon, pagpatak ng ala-una o alas dos ng umaga, kahit saan man ako, ninanais ko nang umuwi at matulog.

3.

Hindi ko na rin kayang makipag-plastikan sa mga taong hindi ko gusto. Dati, kaya kong makipagtawanan sa mga taong ito habang ini-imagine ko silang nalulunod sa malalim na imburnal na kasing baho at kasing itim ng kaluluwa nila. Pero kagabi, nang kasama ko na ang mga taong ito, naunawaan ko na ayaw ko nang makipag-plastikan. Sawa na ako sa paglalagay at pag-iiba-iba ng maskara. Gusto ko nang magpakatotoo. Nakakapagod na ang makipagtaguan sa mundo na dapat ay malayang ginigalawan nating lahat.

4.

Ayaw ko na rin syang isipin. Sa sandaling ito, sigurado ako na tulog pa sya, o kung hindi man, ay nasa kama ng ibang babae (o lalaki). Hindi siya pilipino. Aalis sya sa loob ng walong buwan. Hindi ito tatagal. Kaya, tama na.

5.

Bakit ako nag-tatagalog? Dahil ayaw kong munang mag-ingles. Ito ang lengwaheng ginagamit ko para sa aking trabaho. Ang problema kapag ikaw ay isang propesyunal na manunulat ay pinipiga mo ang katas ng mga salita para sa mga bagay na wala ka namang talagang paki.

Sinusubukan kong magsulat sa filipino kasi hindi ko pa ito talagang nagagawa. Sigurado ako na gumugulong kayo sa kakatawa dahil mali-mali ang tagalog ko, pero ok lang yon. Masaya naman ako at napatawa ko kayo kahit ng konti, kasi alam ko hindi ako nakakatawang tao. Kung baga, ang tawa ninyo ay parang palakpak na rin para sa akin. Di na kayo tumatawa? Pwes, may kuwento ako.

6.

Noong nakita ko si Jason Mraz palabas ng banyo sa Rockwell Tent (sige, aaminin ko na, sinundan ko sya doon bago magsimula ang show), tinangka kong batiin sya.

"Hi!" sabi ko, pero napakatinis ng boses ko, parang kakalanghap ko lang ng hangin na galing sa lobo (ano nga ba ang tawag doon? hydrogen?), at hindi ako makatingin ng deretso sa kanya.

Nag-"hi!" ako na nakatingin sa sahig. Parang binati ko ang sahig, hindi sya. At bakit di nga naman natin batiin ang sahig? Kawawa naman ang sahig, inaapak-apakan lang sya, habang buhay na hindi pinapansin. Dapat din namang nating mag-"hi" sa sahig paminsan-minsan.

Eneway (ano ang tagalog ng "anyway"?), tumingin si Jason sa paligid nya, hinihanap kung sinong cartoon character ba ang nag-"hi" sa kanya, pero dahil di pa rin ako nakatingin sa kanya, hindi nyang inakalang ako yon. Baka inisip nya ini-magine lang nya na may nag-"hi" nga sa kanya. Sabi lang nya "yeah", at lumakad paalis.

6.

Masarap kumain ng tinapay. Paborito ko ang foccacia bread na isinasawsaw sa balsamic vinegar at olive oil. Kung masipag lang ako ay gagawa ako ng sarili kong tinapay. At pwede ninyo na akong tawaging Nigella Lason.

7.

Ang dami kong deadline. Nakakaloka.

8.

Sinong gustong lumabas bukas para sa kape at kuwentuhan? Marami akong gustong pag-usapan. Pramis, hindi ito tungkol sa lalaki. Alam kong nangako akong magpapaka-mongha muna ako sa lagay na yan, at kahit mahirap, mainam ko namang tinutupad ang pangakong iyon.

9.

Pero pwede kaya sa babae?

10.

Biro lang. Salamat sa pagbasa nito, kahit hindi ninyo masyadong naintindihan. 26 na ako. Marami pang kuwento.

Getting To Yes

2006-01-23T07:18:00.000+08:00

Thanks to everyone who came to my birthday dinner last night. It was fun - some people came in not knowing most of my other friends there, but all of us left together, laughing, bellies full of good food, as friends.

Almost-26.

And yes, he did receive my care package. In that goody bag, I'd given him a copy of Cynthia Alexander's Insomnia and Other Lullabyes: in my letter to him, I told him to listen to the track "Comfort In Your Strangeness" first, saying "(you) will emerge from it, like (you) would after swimming in the ocean on a bright summer morning, clean, whole and new."

If you scroll down to the very bottom of his latest journal entry, he makes a reference to the said song. To wit:

01.21.06
What am I doing? I’ve been sitting at this computer for way too long. I think my butt cheeks have finally grown together. I knew this would happen. It feels like I do when I sit on the comfort of your strangeness.

Whee!

Unfettered

2006-01-22T10:25:00.000+08:00

It was sublime.

I wasn't able to meet Jason Mraz, but I did get to go to both of his concerts. They were, in a word, incredible. Normally, I would expound on this, but because I am still coming down from this high he hath wrought, I will be embarassingly hyperbolic if I do so. To wit: he was born to sing, this man, and the world is a better place for it.

Last night, twenty or thirty minutes before his show at the NBC Tent began, I asked the stage manager to give him a care package that I'd put together myself. It held a letter, of course, Brian's Bad Cat postcards, a cd and a book, a few dreams, and a story or two. I'd put them all in a blue rattan bag which he can give as a gift when he gets back home. I hope it reached him: it was my way of thanking him for inspiring me with his music and his positivity, my fail-safe device in the event that I did get to meet him in person and words fail me, as they are wont to do when I am overwhelmed with emotion.

Tonight, I hold my birthday dinner at Bellini's, with friends. I am turning a year older on Tuesday, January 24. Every year gets better: I know, with every bone in my body, that being 26 in 2006 will be amazing.

And it all starts today.

Ms. Robinson

2006-01-17T07:16:00.000+08:00

So, two days till Mraz.

Normally, I wouldn't dare consider a sentence fragment as my opening line but this is how Jason makes me feel: if I were to talk to him one-on-one, face-to-face, I wouldn't know how to act. Would I faint? Would I die? Would I be calm and dignified, impressing upon him how professional I am as a journalist, then proceed to lose it in the bathroom afterwards? The possibilities are endless.

When Mraz came here two years ago, in January 2004, he changed my life. Forced to go to his concert when I was feeling at my lowest, suddenly everything made sense while I watched him perform. His music made me see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The positivity of his songs helped me understand that life is gorgeous, no matter what, and that there is always reason to hope. It was, in the language of fiction, a turning-point.

If things go according to plan, I'll be able to attend his presscon on the 21st. Joey Dizon of PULP has promised me an exclusive with him, but I have not heard from him, so I'll assume that didn't fall through (oh my bleeding broken heart). It will be enough for me to be with him in the same room, and watch him perform (twice).

Last night in the Church of the Gesu, after work, God told me, while I was meditating: You force things too much. Just let everything fall into place. You will be fine. Just do what you need to do. Have faith.

Later, as I was walking around campus, right in front of the Gonzaga chapel, I bumped into Isabel Kenny. A documentary filmmaker based in Hong Kong and Los Angeles, she was one of the three muses I was with in Vigan over the Christmas break. We'd made plans to do a telenovela/movie about my grandmother's hometown. But I didn't hear from them after I returned to Manila, so I assumed that the project had been shelved. I was wrong: yesterday, Isabel told me that this was pushing through, and that I was definitely on board with them as a writer (and whatever else I wanted to be). To write the script, I will take her three-month scriptwriting workshop, from February to April, together with Reni Singer and Carla Pacis. We would finish the script there, she said, so that we'd have set deadlines and a proper working schedule.

If that isn't serendipity, I don't know what is. Everything does work out, as long as one believes that they will. Faith, child. Faith.

To end this, here is an entry from Jason Mraz' journal (September 2004):

Life continues to be gorgeous.

And even though the sun is setting and my view of other skyscrapers and hotels is blocking that scene, I’m quite pleased with the still life of my imagination. Everything is always on schedule and the minutes never cease to blow my mind. The other day I had one of those, “I can’t believe it’s (January)” moments and looked blindly back across the months before this one. So much has happened. As much as not much has happened. You take what you want from it, whether you hurried to get here or not. We are where we are and it’s gorgeous no matter what. No matter the state of our nation. No matter the destruction caused by extreme weather conditions. No matter the smell of our laundry. You have to admit. Life is gorgeous.

2006 Will Be A Good Year

2006-01-15T20:09:00.000+08:00

And I present to you Ginny Mata's Top Ten Resolutions for 2006.

1. I will become highly organized.

Much of the gigantic trainwreck that was 2005 can be attributed to my total lack of organizational skills. From now on, I will be less laissez faire about things: I will schedule everything, and I will make to-do lists everyday. I will accomplish all the items on those to-do lists ahead of or right on schedule. I will have a healthy respect for deadlines. I will no longer go gallavanting out late at night unnecessarily, only when the occasion calls for it (i.e. parties where I can make connections for professional projects, friends' weddings/ baptisms/ engagement parties/ birthday parties, etcetera). I will wake up every morning at 6 a.m. irregardless of how much sleep I had the night before. I will try to get at least 6 hours of sleep everyday. Paradoxically, I will also sleep less (i.e. try to get through reading a novel, no matter how boring or monotonous, without falling a sleep). I will make more time for more important things, namely: (a) exercise, (b) work, (c) family, (d) friends. I will spend less time on the internet (blogging, etcetera), limiting it to only research and work-related emails. I will devote my leisurely hours to reading and developing new skills (this year, I seriously plan to undertake Spanish at Instituto Cervantes, and I will take many workshops in scriptwriting, photography, film-making and pottery.)

2. I will stop entering into dead-end relationships with the wrong men.

I am notorious for attracting (and being attracted to) older, sadder, emotionally unavailable men. This will come to a screeching, ear-splitting halt. I will love only those who deserve to be loved. They must meet certain criteria: they must have direction in life, they must treat me well, and they must care about me as much as I do about them. Furthermore, I will stop dating until ...

3. I finish at least half of the twenty-five stories that I need to write for my dissertation.

4. I will finish the Chick-Lit Novel I have been blabbering on about to friends since last year.

5. I will get my stories/essays (not just magazine articles) published one way or another (Story Philippines, Free Press, Philippine Graphic, etc.)

6. I will enter all literary contests and workshops in 2006.

7. I will adopt a healthier lifestyle.

That includes exercising everyday (preferably two hours in the morning, and trying new sports as well [Bikram Yoga sounds most interesting]), and eating healthier. Being a resolute pesco-vegetarian helps, but I must cut down on soda and sweets (chocolate, thine name is sin - once a week, on Sundays, is more than enough).

8. I will learn to forgive myself for my past transgressions, and with that, I will love myself, knowing that I have flaws and that I have many more things that I need to learn within this lifetime.

9. I will be less selfish.

I will talk less about myself. I will ask other people about themselves more. I will be more tolerant and observant of those around me. I will be more silent. I will meditate.

10. I will love with all that I have in my heart by deepening my relationship with the Lord.

A Promise II

2006-01-15T15:41:00.000+08:00

"..We were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality, they're nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happen to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant, we'd be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing."

- Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami

And that is all I want: to find an Other I can be with completely and absolutely, or else diminish, fade away, become a mere blip in the vast space-time continuum. There are moments of genuine connection, when we forget to put up our walls, and shed everything that prevents us from true engagement: fear, shame, doubt. But it happens rarely, when one least expects it to, which is why one must always be on the look-out for all sorts of possiblities, even those which one would never dare verbalize nor acknowledge. For instance: gender should never play a part in deciding on matters of intimacy or fellowship, nor should age, socio-economic standing and class. Man, woman, imp, child, tribal princess, carinderia vendor, CEO, watch maker, Juan, Juanita: we are all one and the same, we all want the same things. Let Jung be right, that we share a collective unconsciousness, because I cannot fathom a world where we are all uniquely and individually doomed to be alone. I would not want to live in that world. I would rather die.

I am determined to love, without seeking recompense, without even necessarily consumating my desire. I will love. At 26, I will finally know what the word means. I stand on the edge of a new world, bereft of my weapons, feeling my new self rise up to the surface of my being, raw, potent, powerful. If last year, I promised myself I would live, this year, I know it, so much so that my body is moved by it: I will love.

Super-Short Update

2006-01-14T11:32:00.000+08:00

I am ...

1. Writing content for the Ateneo Website, which includes: (thanks to Mitzie)
- doing research on various units (Grade School, High School, the Loyola Schools, the Professional Schools)
- writing blurbs for each subdivision and division
- compiling a database of related information for future use for the website

2. Writing articles for Marie Claire.

3. Writing the Custodio Book (I am one chapter in, at least eight chapters more to go), which involves:
- transcribing some interviews (this is difficult work)
- researching on the history of oncology abroad, and in the Philippines

4. Writing stories to be submitted to the:
- The Neil Gaiman Contest (February 2006)
- The Palancas (April 2006)

5. The telenovela, "Vigan", with Reni Singer, Carla Pacis and Isabel Kenny

6. The 3-woman, 1-act play with dear friend Kooky Tuason

Impending

2006-01-09T19:51:00.000+08:00

Jason and I are in my brother's room.

It is clean, and it smells of freshly washed laundry and old stuffed toys. In the dream, I am half-naked from the waist up, Jason is wearing a fruit bowl for a hat, and we both don't seem to mind. We're eating from a large plate of sush and smoked salmon. We lay on my brother's bed, but we do not touch each other. He begins to confide in me. I, of course, am a most attentive audience. "I miss her," he says, referring to his girlfriend of the moment, "but I like being with you." He asks permission to call her on his cellphone, which he does, without waiting for me to give my approval.

"I can sleep sideways now."

"There's something about their peanuts here that I just can't figure out."

"I play the guitar, pretending it's your body that I'm stroking."

When he ends the call, I walk back to my room. He follows, balancing the plate of sushi and salmon on top of his fruit-bowl hat. I bid him goodbye, then I turn into a dolphin. I am very pretty, rainbow-colored, my bottle nose sharp as a knife, with real gold for fins. He tries to catch me, to put me in his collection, or to mount on his wall, but I'm already swimming far, far away, as my house fills up with salt water, the ocean pouring in through my doors.

Projections

2006-01-04T11:00:00.001+08:00

For The Material Girl In Me

Hello. My birthday is on January 24. I only want for you to spend time with me on my birthday*, but I would appreciate it if you, ehem, considered giving me something as well. Hence, the wishlist. There is also the Amazon wishlist, for your browsing pleasure.

1. The Merchant of Marvels and The Peddler of Dreams by Frederîc Clement
2. 3 days in La Luz Resort, Batangas (Who wants to come with me?)
3. Sexy underwear.
4. the new Franz Ferdinand album
5. any album by Badly Drawn Boy! (They're so hard to find here.)
6. any of the following DVDs (legal or not):
- Raising Victor Vargas
- Noi
- Coffee and Cigarettes
- Girl with the Pearl Earring
- The Last Unicorn
- Kagemusha
- Metropolis
- Requiem For A Dream
- The Scent of Green Papaya
- War Photographer
- Roma (Fellini)
- The Office TV Series DVDs
7. Gustavo Santaollalla's Ronroco CD
8. Zero 7's When It Falls CD
9. A subscription to the The New Yorker
10. Si*Se's More Shine CD

*Many activities are lined up for my birthday: Jason Mraz on the 20th 930 PM (Friday) at Rockwell and the 21st (Saturday) 930 PM at the NBC Tent, The Fort, then Once On This Island on the 22nd (Sunday) at 3 PM in RCBC Plaza*, then dinner for friends on the same day at 730 PM (free-flowing red wine, formaggio pizza, every imaginable kind of pasta and chocolate! tiramisu). Yay!

Update: This has been postponed till February.

Clean House

2006-01-03T07:27:00.000+08:00

Much of yesterday, the second day of this year, was spent cleaning my room. A brief inventory of the mountains of stuff (no other word for them, really, but that) that I'd found, are as follows:

- roughly 400+ books
new books include: Sexual Intelligence, The G Spot, On Photography, The End of Poverty, Sputnik Sweetheart, and about 30 more. Also found were my old fairytale picture books, and several books on dreams (freud, jung, clement).
- 60-80 DVDs (of various, uhm, legalities). It was also lovely to see all the DVDS that Kim Chua had given me over the years (among them, Krystof Kieslowski's The Decalogue, all the movies of Alfred Hitchcock, and always, Infernal Affairs and The Devil's Backbone).
- 20 bandanas
- 3 hats
- 43 scarves
- more earrings than you care to know
- an old picture of Paul Newman

He was so beautiful when he was younger. Dost thou remember Cat On A Hot Tin Roof? No man ever looked so good drunk, in pajamas, on crutches. Oh yes.

- three new swimsuits (Thanks, Tito!)
- a cat suit that is now too big for me
- 4 1/2 inch summer stillettos
- old journals

To wit, a passage from 2002: I can't believe all I could write about then [in 2001] was love. And I can't believe I have nothing to add to what I knew then, from what I learned since the last time I wrote here.

- many bottles of different kinds of shampoo and conditioner
- lots of candles and incense sticks
- a fabrege egg
- two mugs by Jon Petty John
- five alarm clocks
- the mahogany jewelry box that my grandfather carved for me three years ago
- a small basket full of Brian Vallesteros' amazing art postcards
- an old photo of Glenn Maboloc when he was still in high school, stuck between the pages of Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors. In the photo, he was still straight (!), he had short hair, and he looked very much like ... a boy. A real live boy!
- a year-old photo of Marie La Vina and me at Conspiracy
- the 1000 Places To See Before You Die desk calendar that Gabriela Lee gave me for Christmas
- D's reading glasses
- a box of green tea
- four packets of Selenium Fiber
- A Canon Selphy CP510 Printer that came with my new Canon Powershot A610
- a money plant
- 200+ CDs
- my iBook
- a large bag full of clothes that need alteration (to make them smaller, yay!)
- a hat box full of CDs with no labels
- Marks and Spencer Swiss Chocolates
- a small bottle of dextrose
- a dull needle
- two iPods
- a face mask
- instruction manuals
- love letters
- compiled readings
- curlers
- handcuffs
- postcards (kahlo, bohol, dumaguete)
- shawls galore (gold, blue, pink, orange, vanilla)
- gifts and pasalubong for friends which I still have to give

Now, as a result of having to clear all that dust (which there was a veritable carpet of, everywhere), I am ill with asthma. I shall need to buy new lungs presently.

Brevity, On New Year's Day

2006-01-01T15:51:00.000+08:00

To my family, friends, mentors, lovers, and sometime stalkers, Happy New Year, God Bless You, And May You Have The Best Year of Your Lives. Here's to brighter and better times in 2006.

Mira

2005-12-31T10:35:00.000+08:00

With Joy, my cousin third-removed. At a burnayan in Vigan. December 29, 2005.

Hello, I'm back. Scroll down: many new posts await.

Photos also up on buzznet.

All Hail SMS # 008

2005-12-31T02:27:00.000+08:00

As I am wont to do, when I am in transit, I usually text friends random thoughts, useless trivia, saccharine epigraphs, and updates on the present state of affairs in my life: for instance, a cute boy I've seen, two mountains conquered, several seeds for potential stories identified (the sacristan, Mila, the mayor's son). Today, one memorable exchange goes:

G (me) : On my way back to Manila, past mountains and the South China Sea, I collect the pieces of myself that I thought I'd lost long ago: a brick from my ancestral house, love letters my grandfather wrote my grandmother during the war, tales of woe from women who have seen better days, old vinyl records, and the mayor's son, who bears an uncanny resemblance to my brother. I am whole again. I have enough strength to slay four thousand dragons.

K (best friend extraordinaire): slay dragons? i'm telling you - it's the meat. shame on you.

(a few days ago, i texted her that for the first time in over a year, i ate meat. "blame the irresistibility of the ilocano empanada," i'd said, "i already feel my arteries clogging up, and my karmic chi, now inconvertibly unbalanced." since then, she has not let me live it down.)

G: tsk. trying poetry on you is like trying to read poetry to a cow. speaking of cows, if i see one more bovine grazing in yet another field, i am fairly sure i will scream.

K: how far is vigan from manila and why are you seeing cows? where's the picturesque countryside made popular by the road trip-leading-to-self-discovery genre? oh, and i hate to be repetitive, but what's with all the meat references?

G: that is my super ego talking. vigan is 12 hours away from manila. i have 10 more hours to go. and dragon is not technically meat because it is mythical.

K: your arguments don't help one bit. mythical meat? what kind of loser are you?

G: better mythical meat than mystery meat.

K: is that all you can think of? different kinds of meat? i'm initiating a topic change. how was your day? mind you, i did not ask what you had for lunch.

G: I had lunch with several descendants of former Philippine presidents. I also shot lots of pictures of loom weavers, wood carvers and craggy mountains overlooking the sea. How was yours?

K: that sounds divine. i had to go to rizal this morning, emergency leak. (K. works for her father's company, which sells fire equipment to factories and plants). on the way back, the pinoy big brother theme played on the radio eight times.

And that, my darlings, is why I love my friends.

Solace In Vigan

2005-12-31T02:21:00.000+08:00

San Vicente Church.

Empty. By the San Vicente Gymnasium.

Noon In Vigan Church.

Ring Bearer. Seaman's Wedding, Vigan Church.

Yellow & Blue. Heritage Street.

Return. South China Sea.

Serendipity

2005-12-31T01:57:00.000+08:00

From the back: Isabelle, Carla and Reni on Heritage Street.

Dinner with The Three Muses. 9:50 P.M., December 27, 2005.

Every bone in my body knows I was meant to be here.

It is as though the entire universe conspired for me to have sushi with these three women in Cafe Leona tonight, when on any other occasion, if they (or I) had taken a different route and stepped out just a few minutes earlier or later than we did, we would have missed each other entirely.

I bumped into them in the town square earlier today. They were buying tinubong, a native delicacy cooked in kawayan (bamboo). I was with our kasamahan Mila, who was helping me carry my load of pasalubong - a few rattan bags, some hand-woven blankets, a carved figure of a man embracing a woman, and my rattan hat. It was bright noon, twenty minutes after 12.

Reni, a tall, imposing woman, folded me into her wide, wide arms and held me there for a good, long time. "I got your email," she said, as she released me, "I was going to text you that we were going to Vigan too." The email is the one I'd sent out to friends regarding my recent resignation, and "we" refers to her little troupe of literati friends (who are mine, as well) - Carla, foremost advocate of YA literature in the Philippines, dear mentor and former teacher, and Isabelle, HK/LA documentary film-maker. Reni, of course, owns Tahanan Publishing; she'd wanted me to be her assistant a few weeks before that Company made me (what was then) a more lucrative offer. I remember being torn, of having to decide between the two job prospects, of being afraid that I might not be able to handle the latter, while agonizing over whether the former would be enough to financially sustain me. In the end, I chose the greater challenge, and, despite how it all ended, I do not regret doing so.

Now, a young girl named Fran is manning the post that Reni had offered me. She is doing an able job, Reni says, and she is happy with her. I'd met Fran during Writer's Night a few weeks ago; she was with Luis K., and we hugged each other like we were old friends.

Tonight, with Reni and Carla and Isabelle, I feel happier than I've been in months. They talk about the incredible pastries that can only be found in Austria, and what it's like to live in Hong Kong and New York. It turns out that both Carla and Reni are direct descendants of former presidents (Carla, of President Quirino, while Reni is President Roxas' granddaughter). As we talk, the cast and crew of Panday walks by. Jericho and Heart are on a bicycle, circling the plaza - they look very much like the archetypal couple, Adam and Eve, Malakas and Maganda - everyone in Cafe Leona stops mid-meal to watch them pass. Soon after, a wedding parade commences. The bride and groom are on a be-decked karitela, and they look very happy. "Congratulations!," we clap for them; they shout their thanks, laughing with us in turn. "I wish them all the luck," says Isabelle, with a sly twinkle in her eye. "Oh, come on," Reni replies, "even after Marc (her ex-husband), I still believe in true love. There is always hope."

Though I declined to drink with them, I feel like I am basking in warm, healing sunlight. I could sit here forever, listening to these amazing women tell their stories. Then they ask me to say something - "you're unusually quiet," says Reni, "what are you thinking?"

"Well, here it is," I share, "I have enough money in the bank to do either one of two things: save it for a house for when I get married, like my mother keeps saying, or go to Europe. All of Europe."

"Europe," they agree unanimously, "go to Europe."

"You can always earn that money again," Reni affirms.

"And you'll learn more about life traveling in Europe than you would in a marriage," laughs Isabelle.

"Do it while you're still young," Carla enthuses, "you cannot buy youth, not like you can buy a house."

A few hours later, after more sushi and wine, we walk back to Syquia Mansion, where these women were staying (it is Carla's family house), back through the cobblestone streets that I have come to love.

The wind lifts up my shawl, sweeps my hair behind my ears. It feels wonderful to be so alive.

In Vigan

2005-12-26T07:20:00.000+08:00

Two realizations:

1. My preoccupation with love (or subtle variations of it) has made me lose focus over what is important: my work.

2. What I really want to do is write and teach. I have not been doing the former, and to do the latter, I need to finish my postgraduate degree.

Well, three.

3. So I must write the dissertation.

Hence, an oath (I swear upon the 80+ pounds I have lost over the past three years): I will stop dating until I finish my dissertation.

Until I finish my dissertation (complete one course with Sir Butch Dalisay, write 20-30 new stories and 10 long essays, write the ars poetica essay [of which will necessitate research and interviews, 20-30 pages at least] that shall serve as the introduction to my thesis, take the language exam and eventually, next semester, complete my penalty course), I will avoid circumstances or situations that may put me in close proximity to men whom I find attractive, and who, in turn, will find me attractive. If, despite my best efforts of doing so, I am nevertheless approached by attractive men who will ask me out on dates, I will tell them that I have to focus on my career right now ("but if you're willing to wait," I'll say, "ask me again later this year").

In the meantime, I will schedule my three-hour exercise routine in the a.m., swim till noon, then come home in the afternoons to write, write, write.

The Explanation

2005-12-24T09:01:00.000+08:00

Events and circumstances conspired to make Christmas in 2005 the most horrible yet, though I am trying to maintain a positive attitude.

I texted friends and loved ones: "So I have resigned. It's funny how things work out." Within the day, I received a barrage of messages and calls asking what happened, why I'd left a job that I professed love for, and if I was ok. I didn't reply to all of them because I am still myself trying to come to terms with what happened.

So, what did happen?

My boss called me into her office late that afternoon. I already sensed something was wrong weeks and weeks before this. I'd been getting funny looks from the higher-ups, and there was a general decrease in enthusiasm on her part since our tour in Navotas ended.

Do you feel you are doing a good job?, she asks.

I feel that I could do better, I say.

Then you agree with me that it might be better if the foundation was run by someone who had more experience with this kind of work? I don't know what direction you're taking the foundation, she explains.

I'm learning as I go along, I reply, you hired me knowing that I had no experience with NGO work.

Yes, but I thought that we would be able to work that out. As it stands, it looks like I may need someone better equipped to run things. I don't want to have to supervise it, like the way I do with you, since I have other businesses to take care of, she adds.

Ok. Then I'll hand in my resignation letter, I say.

It's nothing personal against you, she says, I feel awful doing this. I like you, I really do. I'll help you find work elsewhere. I'll keep in touch.

She was sad to do this to me two days before Christmas, but she reasoned that it would be better to do this now, so I could start fresh next year. Keeping a stiff upper lip, I turned over the files to her, and bid my officemates goodbye.

Just like that, I am back to square one.

And strangely enough, I feel free.

As most of you know, this has been my most challenging job yet. Though I did not know how, I had to try to build the structure of the foundation from the ground up. Because my boss did not want to hire anyone else to assist in the day-to-day operations of the foundation, I had to do everything myself, from choosing over 500 new books to include in the library, making stickers, driving long distances to bring speakers and story-tellers to the schools, to drafting sponsorship letters, etc.

In effect, because I was pre-occupied with doing other work that I should not have been doing, I was not able to concentrate on my core competencies (fund-raising and communications). I lost 25 pounds in three months because of stress and exhaustion.

But I believed in the nobility of the cause. I believed in what I was doing, and though there were many days when I felt blind and I didn't know how to go about things, I know I did the best that I could. Since the Navotas tour ended, I admit that I should have run the projects better than I did. I could have booked the schools for the next tour earlier, I could have done many things much more efficiently than I did, I could have planned better and I could have executed projects more smoothly than I did. But what's done is done. I became wiser because of this: hopefully, with my next job, I will be able to use what I learned here.

In the end, I was not ready for the demands of this job. But I was able to learn many things I would not have otherwise learned elsewhere. I met a lot of wonderful people with whom I have become great friends: Kuya Bodjie, Brian Vallesteros, the ALITAPTAP storytellers, among others. I was able to reconnect with people whom I haven't seen in years. And most of all, I gained a deeper understanding of myself.

So, the hunt begins again. Friends, if you know of any job openings in Publishing, Advertising, Teaching and now, NGO work, please let me know. Refer me, pimp me, make it known that I am ready and available. Like the last time, your assistance will be invaluable, no, necessary, for me to rise up again.

In lieu of our original plans, I have decided to go to Vigan alone this week. I will need to collect the scattered pieces of myself again, in solitude.

2006 will be better. It has to be. With your help, I will make it so.

Reddish

2005-12-21T00:44:00.000+08:00

More photos up on buzznet.

Is it really all we need?

Tonight, two shop proprietors professed love, an old ghost put in a short appearance (and disappeared soon after he heard my reverberating voice), while I verified through a third-degree acquaintance that he (not the ghost, but another shape-shifter of a man) is indeed seeing an older woman (our mutual friend), and has only been mind-fucking me all along.

The shop proprietor had Roberto (from Bellini's) bring in Merlot 2004, four-cheese pizza and chocolate tiramisu for us. Loosened by good food and drink, I told him about my life. He told me he would have asked me to marry him, if he wasn't already (married). Then a beautiful woman in a short skirt walked into his shop and he promptly forgot what he was saying. Ah, men.

I left Cubao late tonight, with my brain in my empty wine glass, wondering where this whole year had gone. I'm still here, I am still alive, I am fine, I am fabulous, I am great. I will have to collect some of the scattered pieces of my new self, and arrange them. The world doesn't stop turning, and neither will I.

Random Things # 501

2005-12-20T12:40:00.000+08:00

1. I fall in love easily, but I fall out of love quite quickly. (i.e. I can't even remember my first boyfriend's last name.)

2. The easiest way to torture me is to fry bacon when I am in your immediate vicinity. The smell of frying bacon, the crackling and popping, the curling of crisp meat in its own fat, represents everything that I've given up as a pesco-vegetarian. (Yes, I used to love bacon.)

3. I am in the office terminal on my lunch break, trying very hard to look like I am working.

4. This week has been a flurry of activity. I've no more time for Simbang Gabi (Midnight Mass). Instead, I will celebrate the Lord's Birthday by abstaining from chocolate (on Christmas day!). Now that's a sacrifice.

5. Never mind that.

6. I am meeting so many new people - K's brother, Richard (great artist, great guy), Minde Veromski (AIESEC VP, cute Lithuanian, but too young for me), Helen Louise (head of the Women's Crisis Center, whom I've known for quite a while, but I only got to know her late last night, over frapuccinos and hot chocolate after K's Christmas Party in Absinth), etc. - yet, truth be told, I haven't been going out all that often.

7. I have yet to go Christmas shopping. Tonight's the night - I rush headlong into Christmas shopping frenzy for my friends and loved ones' presents! Wish me luck.

8. I miss kissing.

9. I have plateaued (weight-wise), but I'm still shedding inches.

10. I am a lucky, lucky girl.

Party # 0065

2005-12-20T07:07:00.000+08:00

Romancing Venus Christmas Party, Absinth.

Adel, singer and dancer, performs poetry. Kooky Tuason, poet and entrepreneur, spins in the background.

Richard (artist, Kooky's brother) and Me (dazed and confused). Photo by Richard Tuason.

Ninang Ginny

2005-12-17T17:49:00.000+08:00

Today, I became a ninang to my best friend Nona's precious son, Morpheus Ezekiel. His father is an artist and musician, and a big fan of Neil Gaiman's Sandman: I hope the boy will not be too traumatized growing up.

I will spoil him rotten. On his 1st birthday, I will buy him all of Dr. Seuss' books. On his 10th birthday, I will give him a shiny red bike. When he gets his first girlfriend, I will take him aside and tell him about women, specifically, to avoid the ones who will call him "daddy" and "papa", and who ask to be peed on in bed. I will cry at his college graduation, and if I am rich enough, I will give him the keys to a brand new car.

I will try to live the kind of life he can look up to. I am, after all, his godmother.

Photos up on le buzznet.

Bits & Pieces

2005-12-17T02:17:00.000+08:00

It's another Friday night, and I've just come from yet another glamorous party in Greenbelt. My friends and I were less than stunning in our run-down jeans and monochrome t-shirts, while were surrounded by loads of gorgeous boys and girls with high, high, high hair and little, little, little dresses. Wandering in and out of the crowd, it felt as though I was in limbo - the people there, though beautiful, had a uniform blankness about them: their eyes were glazed over, or red, from too much drink. They stood apart from each other, trying to appear cool, bored, nonchalant. None of them really looked at each other, except for cursory glances to check if the ones around them were as pretty as they were, then back again to their pink drinks.

Why do they seem so empty?, I ask my best friend Glenn. We'd just finished meeting up with Myrza (who now has a hot boyfriend, Andreij, half-Polish part-owner of M Cafe), and we found ourselves at Max Brenner, eating exorbitantly priced banana fritters in chocolate. Because they are, he nods, taking a drag from his cigarette. I came from that kind of life, he confides. You're always looking for something you can't quite define, because you feel vacuous within yourself.

A Christmas Wishlist

2005-12-16T04:52:00.000+08:00

1. A new 60GB hard drive for my aging iBook.

2. A new 60GB iPod.

3. A new 12-inch Powerbook.

4. Swimsuits. (c/o of my wonderful Tito Aris in MI, USA)

5. Sexy underwear. Yes, the scroll lace corset.

6. Nike Women's Air Shouri Fitness Running Shoes.

7. A month-long trip to Cambodia and India.

8. Prince William. If he is otherwise engaged, Gael Garcia Bernal and/or Ralph Fiennes will do.

9. Everything/Anything on my Amazon Wishlist.

10. World Peace, and the end of poverty and suffering within my lifetime.

Low Heat

2005-12-15T22:21:00.000+08:00

Sinurender mo na ba?, the message reads. It is short, yet it summarizes all that I've feared may happen since we'd first met.

Of course not. You know I'm better than that, I answer quickly.

Haha. Just checking. He tries at humor, the way he usually does, but even I can see it's only an attempt. I'll call you tonight.

I go to unplug the phone, then reconsider it, briefly. Why Not? Why The Hell Not? Would it be so ridiculous if I allowed for this to happen? Is age so important? Is that such a big deal? What is 25 years anyway? A dot in the wide, wide universe, a second in the whole spectrum of space-time.

But then common sense, the voices of all my friends and relatives raging against the idea of an Us, whispers of cruel gossipmongers, possibly echoed in broadsheets and tabloids (though the Manila Bulletin might consider it too trifling an item to waste space on) drowns out the Yes.

The line goes dead. The beginning of the end is like this, I suppose. So it goes.

Some Pictures

2005-12-14T07:35:00.000+08:00

From my shoot with Brendan Goco at Chungkee Far Flung, Marikina Shoe Expo. December 11, 2005. Make-up and styling by (hehe) Glenn Maboloc.

Late Night Conversations #047

2005-12-14T07:12:00.000+08:00

"I want to kill him," he says, "he's suffocating me."

We have been talking since midnight, and it's already two a.m.. He speaks of the burden of having to be the character of Kuya Bodjie, and how he hates carrying that weight all the time.

"I am not Kuya Bodjie," he declares, "I am not fucking wholesome."

He is a warm, reassuring voice on the other end of the line. I'd grown up watching him teach good manners to Pong Pagong, how to pronounce the letter ñ to kids everywhere. Ten years later, he's become a friend to whom I can spill little heartbreaks to, who makes fun of my ex-boyfriends' names ("robot ba sya," he laughs, "may antenna ba sya at kailangan mo sya lagyan ng langis?), who tells me everything will be alright, as long I go with the flow.

"Yang mga party-party na yan, he gruffs, napagdaanan ko na yan." That is only when his age shows, all his 50 years giving levity to his words. He is a rock now, letting himself be washed over by time and circumstance.

"You're young, it's only natural for you to be restless," he explains, "it will come when it comes."

Till then, I will wait. And live.

Sailor Lost

2005-12-13T06:54:00.000+08:00

I dreamt I walked on water.

A dozen seagulls, with alarm clocks strapped to their backs, were flying around me. I couldn't hear myself with all their squawking and ringing, though they were very friendly - too friendly, in fact, that one of them tried to tear my dress off. I was walking towards another girl, whose hair shimmered purple and blue against the hot, white sky. She sat on the crest of one wave, playing with two starfish in her tiny shell of a hand.

What are you doing here?, she asked me. She had half a leg, and a green-golden fin growing out of her back. She was beautiful. I fell in love with her a little, but I did not say anything. Underneath me, carp swallowed each other whole, and guppies made intricate, art-deco style houses out of seaweed.

I'm looking for him, I replied, have you seen him?

You mean, the man you love?, she said. I nodded (and it was then that I felt I'd been carrying four silver butterflies on my shoulders all along).

He's not here, she smiled.

You're looking in the wrong place.