2 Days Later

Twenty-two years and still without fail. Rain hangs about the clouds palpably, and the humidity is strangely cool. Finally, drops spatter on the windshield, and I let out a sigh of relief at the small scattering of water on the glass while my Daddy drives us away to dry territory.

***
I’ve got a lot of people to thank. To family and friends who remembered and greeted me gratitude doesn’t even come close to how I feel for making my day as wonderful last Monday. Muchos gracias!

There are two people I absolutely have to mention here. I have no idea what good I’ve done in my life that made me deserve such effort on their part but I’m really glad they did because it made me feel really special. And it’s nice to be reminded once in a while. Two of my most favorite, favorite people in the world:







-=Nek=-

Who made me a webpage at -=Des=-













-=Ivan=-

Who, even with total sleep deprivation, half-surprised me by picking me up at work yesterday “to celebrate.”




***

The day after my birthday. I came to the office and was bombarded with warm greetings, smiles, hugs, kisses, some gifts and a Reese’s peanut butter cup sitting on my computer keyboard. Ah, the pleasure of celebrating natal days. Still, back to work—my life’s necessary evil.

***
Now that I’m officially part of Club 22 I’m wondering how many months it would take me to really adjust. How long it will take me to update résumés and other documents, or how long it will take me to say or scribble 22 without thinking twice when asked about my age. Or what does it mean to be a year older now, in this particular time of my life? I really do wonder about these things. A lot.

Destiny

An excellent film with the company of good friends is just the thing to make me forget about the world’s madness. Last Thursday was the final installment of the Fritz Lang film festival sponsored by the Goethe Institut, and I enjoyed this film even more than the previous one. That’s really saying a lot as to Destiny’s superiority. It could be though that satisfaction is owed to the fact that I’m such a sap. Top that with Cynthia Alexander crooning after a memorable line as this: “/…because love is stronger than death…/” and you have the—ahem—transcendental movie experience.

It was great to see Anina Abola and Larry Ypil there too, even if I did make a spectacle of myself out of showing how I felt.


***

Because she can say it, period. This:


Parousia

Love of my life, you
Are lost and I am
Young again.

A few years pass.
The air fills
With girlish music;
In the front yard
The apple tree is
Studded with blossoms.

I try to win you back,
That is the point
Of the writing.
But you are gone forever,
As in Russian novels, saying
A few words I don't remember-

How lush the world is,
How full of things that don't belong to me-

I watch the blossoms shatter,
No longer pink,
But old, old, a yellowish white-
The petals seem
To float on the bright grass,
Fluttering slightly.

What a nothing you were,
To be changed so quickly
Into an image, an odor-
You are everywhere, source
Of wisdom and anguish.


(Louise Glûck)

***

Film festivals are all about—Belgian art films, Japanese classic horror films, Cine Manga, advanced screenings for Cinemanila—thus, a good excuse to see friends. There goes one happy, happy kid again.

borges

it's a happy kind of queer to know that i have the same birth month as the famed jorge luis borges, writer extraordinaire (okay, that was a grave understatement). it's his birthday today.

it's not the only thing i share with him. he was a translator too--though far from the crappy translations i'm required to do--and he was a force that has inspired me to sign that damn contract with abs a year ago.

a borges-as-translator trivia: at nine he translated oscar wilde's the happy prince into spanish, which was simply published under the name jorge borges. everyone assumed it was his father's work for they are jorges both, with only their second names guillermo and luis to differentiate them.

Pananahimik

Sadyang astig na cinematic experience ang Dr. Mabuse: The Gambler (1922), silent film ng batikang Alemang direktor na si Fritz Lang na nilapatan ng live music nina Tots Villanueva at Buhay group. Marahil ay off ang reading ko pero pilit na umalingawngaw ang mga lecture ni Sir Lito Zulueta habang pinapanuod ko ang obrang ito. Sa malaking larawan ang sugarol ay ang media ng kasalukuyang panahon: tuso, may kapangyarihang manlinlang.

Marahil rin ay hindi iisipin ng mga kasama kong sina Gracee, Nek at Rhas na ito ang tumatakbo sa isip ko nung nanunuod kami. Paano kasi kung sinu-sinong artista’t celebrity ang nakikita naming kamukha ng mga nagsisipag-ganap kaya’t walang humpay na naman kaming nagkatawanan. Biniro ko nga si Nek, sinabi kong nag-enjoy ako sa powerhouse cast ng Dr. Mabuse. Akalain mong andun sina Anthony Hopkins, Ewan McGregor, Paul Mc Cartney at Eric Quizon?! Nandoon pa rin kaya sila sa Part II ng pelikula o magbago na ang kanilang mga hitsura?

***

Hmmm. On a sad note choosing to watch this film ruled out a “gimmick” with officemates at Ice Bar in Makati. I have to admit though that clubbing has already lost its appeal to me a long time ago so I would have made the same decision regardless.

***

Kahapon nakatanggap ang aking mga paa ng pangangamusta mula kay Anina sa text. Napatingin ako sa kanila, at tsaka ko lamang napagtanto ang sobrang pagod na dulot ng huling “family-oriented” weekend ko. Pero ayos naman kahit dumaraing ang aking mga kalamna’t kasu-kasuan—masaya naman kasi nag-enjoy ako, lalo sa pakikipag-wrestling sa mga pamangkin kong si Hanna at Caly (at dahil bata sila siyempre nagparaya ako—ergo, ako ang nabugbog hehe) at pagtuturo sa sampung buwang gulang kong pamangkin na si Gabriel ng bastardized-Bayern Munich-soccer moves. Hay, ang sarap talagang maging bata/ batang-isip nang kahit panandalian lang.

***

I just learned the sad news that Wolfmann has passed away unexpectedly. It’s been more than two years since I’ve first heard him “perform” at Mayric’s, and a vivid recollection of him working the soundboard stays with me to this day. His music caught my attention then, and I knew I was not alone in appreciation. Across me, Sugar Free’s Mitch Singson paid him the great compliment of getting a Wolfmann t-shirt.

His remains now lie at La Funeraria Paz in Manila Memorial, and I think a tribute gig was already staged for him Monday. May he rest in peace.


The Room
Mark Strand

It is an old story, the way it happens
sometimes in winter, sometimes not.
The listener falls to sleep,
the doors to the closets of his unhappiness open

and into his room the misfortunes come--
death by daybreak, death by nightfall,
their wooden wings bruising the air,
their shadows the spilled milk the world cries over.

There is a need for surprise endings;
the green field where cows burn like newsprint,
where the farmer sits and stares,
where nothing, when it happens, is never terrible enough.

***

Minsan, talagang walang ibang paraan kundi ang manahimik na lang. Hindi katulad ng pananahimik ni Wolfmann ang ibig kong sabihin (kahit totoong wala na ngang ibang paraan kung oras mo na nga)—gaano man kaaya-aya ang posibilidad na yan sa tuwinang gusto ko na lang maglaho’t hindi na makaramdam o magparamdam[1]—kundi ang pananahimik ukol sa mga bagay na wala rin namang patutunguhan ilang ulit mo mang ungkatin o pagnilayan.

Pero naisip niyo rin ba, maaari rin namang hindi last resort ang pananahimik e. Sabi nga ni Don Juan Matus sa libro ni Castaneda: with silence everything is possible (or something to that effect). Oo nga naman, di ba? Sino ba kasi ang talagang makatitiyak kapag iniharap sa katahimikan?

Ang punto, kahit hindi nagawang malinaw, e ito: desisyon pa rin ang pananahimik, katulad ng halos lahat ng bagay sa mundo. Ang hirap kasi agarang inaakala na isa itong karuwagan—nang sa katunayan may mga pagkakataong pagpapakita ito ng sagarang pagtitimpi at lakas. Lulunurin mo ang sarili sa sakit, mag-isang haharapin ang mga halimaw na nagtatago sa dilim, at pipiliting umahon sa dagat ng mga alaala.


[1] Lilinawin ko lang: Hindi po ako suicidal. Huwag magpadala sa kakayahang manlinlang ng winikang hyperbole.

Last Evening

Got this from Peachy and surprisingly, I think it was right on target:

Your Birthdate: August 29

Your birthday on the 29th adds a tone of idealism to your nature. You are imaginative and creative, but rather uncomfortable in the business world. You are very aware and sensitive, with outstanding intuitive skills and analytical abilities. The 29 reduces to 11, one of the master numbers which often produces much nervous tension. This is the birthday of the dreamer rather than the doer. You do, however, work very well with people.

***

Yesterday it felt weird to discover that my mom shared her birthday with a lot of people connected to me one way or another. Such a small world it really is.

Incidentally an advanced birthday greeting for me aired on national radio—in between rants against PGMA—which was queer because my mindset was that it was my mom’s birthday, and even more queer because I never really heard the greeting myself. Oh well, at least I could say that I somewhat shared some precious radio airplay with the President. How about that for a change in this streak of unlucky birthdays?


***

Ma’am Beni totally rocked last night. I’m just so glad that I didn’t miss her event at Conspiracy. It was a night of poetry, music and then some—even a Dumaguete roommates’ reunion of sorts too. Here’s her poem that is so not in season, which I’ll be posting anyway:


Evening

Summer sky of azure and white
folds upon itself;
seeks its breathing navel of darkness
in the gray mantle of mist
it sucks from the undulating belly
of ocean.

I lie in the crook of your arm
warm like cinders of an afternoon’s bonfire
of brown mango leaves, twigs, twine.

Half-angel, half-star
I gaze into your eyes and learn
how wise it is for this galaxy we swim in
to keep expanding its edges
into eternal night.
How much wiser to encase us
In a lingering embrace
of limbs and loins and inner light.

Summer sky of azure and white
enters itself with itself in itself
in and out, slow and cool
like finger in inner thigh:
a lonely star embedded
in an angelic cheek.

(Benilda Santos)


***

I think I really make a freaky fangirl. Last night I heard my band-of-the-moment perform live again, and I felt like such a stalker. I even asked friends to be decoys just to make my adoration less apparent. I would have made a good PR person for them though, and I think I’ve just successfully won Larry over into buying their album.

Hah.

23

If you’re an audiophile and ride the MRT like I do for most of the week, you’re bound to find a great song to listen to during the ride. I found one several months ago and though the lyrics may not say much, it's a different thing altogether when you're listening to it play while going through the underground tunnel and artificial lights blur the surroundings. This:

23
Jimmy Eat World

I felt for sure last night
That once we said goodbye
No one else will know these lonely dreams
N o one else will know that part of me

I’m still driving away
And I’m sorry every day
I won’t always love these selfish things
I won’t always live
Not stopping

It was my turn to decide
I knew this was our time
No one else will have me like you do
No one else will have me, only you

You’ll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I’m here and now I’m ready
Holding on tight
Don’t give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

Amazing still it seems
I’ll be twenty-three
I won’t always love what I’ll never have
I won’t always live in my regrets

You’ll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I’m here and now I’m ready
Holding on tight
Don’t give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

A Different Ballgame

Yesterday I woke up feeling giddy at the idea of hearing a good band play live later that night and finally fulfilling my promise to take a friend to Conspiracy. But last night just spun out of my supposed game plan.

Nek and I arrived to a garish streamer mocking at us: Jimmy Bondoc. !!!!!!@#!$%^&*()!!!!!!!! We stayed though, thinking we could just tune him out anyway. And I’m really glad we did because Vim Nadera introduced us to this really interesting Finnish-Filipino guy Jukka (pronounced as Yoo-kah), who oriented us about the Moonrise filmfest and their environmental org. Dumaguete people also came in unexpectedly, and the evening turned out as a mini-reunion of sorts for us as well.

Times like these remind me of the first time I seriously played a softball game. On the home plate with the bat gripped tight I pictured a fly ball going off somewhere behind the shortstop, landing a few feet short of the fielder’s easy reach. I knew my battle tactics by heart—until I hit a ground ball and the scene changed into something I didn’t expect. Just imagine the panic over that which you suddenly lose control over, and then later realizing that the game wouldn’t stop to wait for you. Time to get a move on.

***

Poem Of Night

1
I move my hand over
slopes, falls, lumps of sight,
Lashes barely able to be touched,
Lips that give way so easily
it's a shock to feel underneath them

The bones smile.

Muffled a little, barely cloaked,
Zygoma, maxillary, turbinate.

2
I put my hand
On the side of your face,
You lean your head a little
Into my hand--and so,
I know you're a dormouse
Taken up in winter sleep,
A lonely, stunned weight.

3
A cheekbone,
A curved piece of brow,
A pale eyelid
Float in the dark,
And now I make out
An eye, dark,
Wormed with far-off, unaccountable lights.

4
Hardly touching, I hold
What I can only think of
As some deepest of memories in my arms,
Not mine, but as if the life in me
Were slowly remembering what it is.

You lie here now in your physicalness,
This beautiful degree of reality.

5
And now the day, raft that breaks up, comes on.

I think of a few bones
Floating on a river at night,
The starlight blowing in a place on the water,
The river leaning like a wave towards the emptiness.

(Galway Kinnell)

Michelle

For some reason I seem to exude an aura of helplessness and thus, elicit some kind of uniform response from most people: the need to “help” me. There were countless of instances. Once, on my way to Mini-stop this man ahead of me went agape after seeing the glass door closing in on me, so he grabbed the handles quick as lightning to give me aid. Not that I wasn’t thankful; but it was really disconcerting to watch his face go from carefree to disturbed at the “pitiful” sight of me.

Another, on my way home, I was seated beside the driver aboard a shuttle and this person beside me kept looking me over. He must have had to think of the proper way to approach me, then said: “Miss, palit na lang tayo ng upuan.” I suddenly realized what was bothering him: I didn’t have a headrest or the proper seat belt. It baffled me because I was fine, and I knew I looked comfortable enough—it’s not like I was nodding my head off to sleep or anything—where I was.

The next day I told someone about this and asked him if I always looked like I was helpless. Without batting an eyelash he gave me a yes.

Others have confirmed this. A writing fellow in Dumaguete told me I looked like “I needed taking care of.” I knew she meant it in a good way, but I can’t help thinking of myself alongside a puppy in the pound. Panelists would refer to me as “that little girl”, which was ironic since I was easily the tallest among the girls in our group.

Not that I’m complaining; I’m not blind to the merits of my situation. In fact it does work to my advantage and I’m grateful for it. But I think this “aura” is somewhat connected to a name constantly associated with me, and it continues to baffle me still: Michelle.

It appears to be the crowd favorite, especially in fast food restaurants where orders are sometimes to follow. Innumerable times service crew would approach me with a hesitant step, tray resting atop their hand, and a “Ma’am Michelle?” With Aristotle’s ideogenesis in consideration I really have to wonder what attributes I have that makes me a “Michelle.”

Incidentally, my favorite grandmother is coming home this Thursday from the US. She is the culprit behind my name, the one to be blamed why I wasn’t called Michelle. No, she’s not another Lourdes, but she insisted that a granddaughter ought to be named after some religious icon. I really think she picked the wrong time to exercise her influence. Oh well.

***


Michelle
The Beatles


Michelle, ma belle.
These are words that go together well,
My Michelle.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I love you, I love you, I love you.
That's all I want to say.
Until I find a way
I will say the only words I know that
You'll understand.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I need to, I need to, I need to.
I need to make you see,
Oh, what you mean to me.
Until I do I'm hoping you will
Know what I mean.

I love you.

I want you, I want you, I want you.
I think you know by now
I'll get to you somehow.
Until I do I'm telling you so
You'll understand.

Michelle, ma belle.
Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
Tres bien ensemble.

I will say the only words I know that
You'll understand, my Michelle.

***

speaking of the art of naming, can someone please tell me the significance of using gold rush for a ktv bar? i find myself rather disturbed every time i see it in edsa. could it be a mine for golden voices? do you have to have a golden voice to get into that ktv bar?

Zen Masters Age 0-3 Part II

Talagang panalo ang dalawang taong gulang kong pamangkin na si Hanna. Nung isang linggong lumagi siya sa amin e halos madaig niya (o baka nadaig na nga) ang aking epic remark na nasa part I ng blog na 'to.

Ang senaryo: Pinagbabawalan ang madalas na pagkain ng ice cream ni Hanna dahil medyo susceptible siya sa ubo. Ang hindi alam ng mga magulang niya e kapag pinapasyal ng magulang ko sa mall ang kanilang apo e pinagbibigyan nila itong kumain ng kung anuman ang hilingin niya. Isang gabi sinabi ng mommy ko kay Hanna na pupunta sila ng mall kinabukasan at dun kakain siya ng ice cream. Saktong pababa ang kapatid ko noon (na nanay niya) at nang makita siya ni Hanna bigla nitong sinabing:

Hanna: Mama A, panik ka muna sa taas. Mag-uusap lang kami ni Lola.


Waw. At two years old, paano niya kaya naisip yun?

***

Friends are very addictive. Last night I met with Nek and Gracee at Makati and we had a blast. Somehow everything felt right again--like we were back in college just having the time of our lives. I wish I could pioneer a career that entails meeting friends in a casual setting almost 24/7. Now that would be really fun.


***

A few weeks back someone referred me to the PR department of ABS because they were in need of a writer, and with my contract soon expiring I toyed with the idea of actually venturing into this alien field. Monday--with feet literally and figuratively getting cold--I took a test and had preliminary interview, then everything else just breezed thereafter. Soon they were calling me incessantly through my cellphone and at my office local, and I just felt like they were boxing me in. Being the claustrophobic that I am I suddenly lost all interest; I felt they were intruding too much into my personal space. With it I remember Nek's accuracy in the testimonial she made for my Friendster account, the way I "hate being confined."

Anyone interested and not that claustrophobic? The PR manager asked me for referrals.

rainy days and birthdays

you said Is (XIII)

you said Is
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body,to have in your fingers
(trembling ever so little)?
Looking into
your eyes Nothing,i said,except the
air of spring smelling of never and forever.

....and through the lattice which moved as
if a hand is touched by a
hand(which
moved as though
fingers touch a girl's
breast,
lightly)
Do you believe in always,the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe, the rain answered.

(e.e. cummings)

***

the clouds are caving in, really caving in--a sure sign for me that is indeed august, my birth month indeed.

i remember how in all the 21 years of my life, never has a birthday gone by when it didn't rain (just ask family and friends who get caught up in a storm every 29th because of their unfortunate association with me). as a kid, i elevated downpour to the ranks of a twin even.

i take my birthdays more than just a literal rainy day. sinister inevitably finds its way to describe it for some indeterminable reason. to cite, last year i woke to a miserable sight of red rashes all over my face and body. i remember my journal entry then: i know red is the color of the day but rashes? if this is a peek of what the year has in store for me then please, please give me back my childhood.

this year it's going to be a monday, and i vowed to take a birthday leave at work even if i'm a contractual and therefore not allowed one.