Cosmicomiche

I Will Stop Procrastinating...Later.

2007-09-30T20:09:00.000-07:00

I know. So sue me.

Seriously though, it's been really hard to organize my thoughts lately. Because of the whirlwind of events from May to August--and the unbelievable kind of evil I was exposed to--I'm enjoying the sedentary life right now a hell lot more than I expected.

But as soon as I get my act together, I promise that you'll be the first to know.

Beheading the Heads

2007-05-17T00:18:00.000-07:00

Just so the subject won't be too passe once I finally have the time to write properly about it when I update my blog again: Read up on this Calvino story (off Numbers in the Dark) and tell me: Do you think, if the story premise was applied to this country, there would be all the senseless elections-related bloodshed and carnage? For that matter, would anyone even gun for a seat in the government?

I think I know the answer, but I was kind of hoping someone will prove to me that Mencius was right and there's no need to defect to the dreadful--but slowly becoming believable--Hsun Tzu school.

Why I Don't Want that Mic

2007-05-04T04:13:00.000-07:00

Going “freelance” this month past has afforded me a lot of time on my hands. Too much time that I, one weekday morning that should have been otherwise spent in my office if boss from hell didn’t enter the picture, find myself entering a videoke lounge in a mall with my sisters. This reluctance, which did not go unnoticed by my sisters, made them wonder if I was really part of the kin, as this recreation didn’t exactly end up in my list of 10 Things To Do if I Were To Die Happily. But it was during this little excursion that I found out it was more than lack of genetic interest—it was more of a maniacal fear. Now I know about my hopeless stage fright, and that one of the reasons I’m inclined to writing is to make up for the fact that I could never be a public speaker. But I could not exactly fault my sisters for finding it absurd when I finally told them I wouldn’t sing because I was “shy.” Yes, I was deathly scared to sing in front of people I’ve been with all my life—and that’s literal—my own flesh and blood. It’s one thing to know you’re scared, but to know how absurd the fear is? A different matter altogether. Kind of like waking up from a full-color nightmare after insisting on a marathon session of horror flicks. I somehow find comfort in the fact that this fear, no matter how senseless, is not unlike my travel channel hero’s, who has a lifelong phobia of karaoke. So the same night I took out my DVD copy of No Reservations' Korea episode, feeling less freakish because someone out there—and no less than my hero himself—understands my irrational dread.

But if you’re absolutely hell-bent on passing that mic to me, it just might help if you have enough alcohol handy.

***

A bit late, but I just have to. Right on target; he is forever immortalized by his works:

"It is a very mixed blessing to be brought back from the dead."
-Kurt Vonnegut

Uy! Bagong Entry!

2007-01-16T14:41:00.000-08:00

When things spiral way out of control I can only thank God because He gave me sense of humor. Happy new year, everyone.

I. Miss.

2006-09-07T03:41:00.000-07:00

With my pretty niece Hanna. Now if only I had a picture of my equally adorable nephew in file:-(

***

Non è stato facile, sapete. Ho abbastanza decency per rimanere via da una persona I realmente, realmente come solo perchè li ha. Non avete dovuto spiare su me -- ora sono in un dichiarare di mess. Spero che siate felici.

Lourdes

2006-08-28T02:43:00.000-07:00

People often mistake me to have been born on February 11, and since I was not, there is more curiosity as to why I was named Lourdes. What’s even more peculiar, if you look it up on liturgical year, the “event” that is commemorated on this date is actually the beheading of St. John the Baptist. This has developed in me a need to explain—as if to justify—the reason for my name. Now I normally have a standard reply for this: the truth. But this year I checked out other events to see if I could use a version far more interesting. So far it has its share of brilliant inventions and noble foundations, but for some obscure reason wars seemed most abundant. This:

• 708 - Copper coins are minted in Japan for the first time (Traditional Japanese date: August 10, 708).
• 1189 - Ban Kulin wrote "The Charter of Kulin", which become a symbolic "birth certificate" of Bosnian statehood
• 1261 - Urban IV becomes Pope, the last man to do so without being a Cardinal first.
• 1350 - Battle of Winchelsea (or Les Espagnols sur Mer). The English naval fleet under King Edward III defeats a Castilian fleet of 40 ships.
• 1475 - The Treaty of Picquigny ends a brief war between France and England.
• 1484 - Cardinal Giovanni Battista Cibo is elected Pope Innocent VIII.
• 1521 - The Ottoman Turks capture Nándorfehérvár, now known as Belgrade.
• 1526 - Battle of Mohács: The Ottoman Turks led by Suleiman the Magnificent defeat and kill the last Jagiellonian king of Hungary and Bohemia.
• 1533 - Spanish conquest of the Inca Empire: Inca emperor Atahualpa is executed in Cajamarca by the garrote by Spanish invaders known as Conquistadores.
• 1541 - The Ottoman Turks capture Buda, the capital of the Hungarian Kingdom.
• 1756 - Frederick the Great attacks Saxony, beginning the Seven Years' War.
• 1786 - Shays' Rebellion, an armed uprising of Massachusetts farmers, begins in response to high debt and tax burdens.
• 1831 - Michael Faraday discovers electromagnetic induction.
• 1833 - The United Kingdom legislates the abolition of slavery in its empire.
• 1842 - Treaty of Nanking signing ends the First Opium War
• 1869 - The Mount Washington Cog Railway opens, making it the world's first rack railway.
• 1871 - Emperor Meiji orders the Abolition of the han system and the establishment of prefectures as local centers of administration. (Traditional Japanese date: July 14, 1871).
• 1885 - Gottlieb Daimler patents the world's first motorcycle.
• 1895 - The formation of the Northern Rugby Union at the George Hotel, Huddersfield, England.
• 1896 - Chop suey is invented in New York City.
• 1898 - The Goodyear tire company is founded.
• 1907 - The Quebec Bridge collapses during construction, killing 75 workers.
• 1910 - Japan changes Korea's name to Chōsen and appoints a governor-general to rule its new colony.
• 1911 - Ishi, considered the last Native American to make contact with European Americans, emerges from the wilderness of northeastern California.
• 1922 - Turkish forces set fire to Smyrna, in Asia Minor.
• 1930 - The last 36 remaining inhabitants of St Kilda are voluntarily evacuated to other parts of Scotland.
• 1943 - German-occupied Denmark scuttles most of its navy; Germany dissolves Danish government.
• 1944 - Slovak National Uprising takes place as 60,000 Slovak troops turn against the Nazis.
• 1949 - Soviet atomic bomb project: The Soviet Union tests its first atomic bomb, known as First Lightning or Joe 1, at Semipalatinsk, Kazakhstan.
• 1952 - Premiere of John Cage's 4′33″ in Woodstock, New York.
• 1958 - United States Air Force Academy opens in Colorado Springs, Colorado.
• 1966 - Last Beatles concert, in San Francisco, California.
• 1970 - First flight of the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 jetliner, a competitor to the Boeing 747.
• 1982 - The synthetic chemical element Meitnerium, atomic number 109, is first synthesized at the Gesellschaft für Schwerionenforschung in Darmstadt, Germany.
• 1991 - Supreme Soviet suspends all activities of the Soviet Communist Party.
• 1995 - NATO launches Operation Deliberate Force against Bosnian Serb forces.
• 1996 - Vnukovo Airlines Flight 2801, a Vnukovo Airlines Tupolev Tu-154 crashes into a mountain on the Arctic island of Spitsbergen, killing all 141 aboard.
• 1997 - At least 98 villagers are killed by the GIA in the Rais massacre, Algeria.
• 2003 - Ayatollah Sayed Mohammed Baqir al-Hakim, the Shia Muslim leader in Iraq, is assassinated in a terrorist bombing, along with nearly 100 worshippers as they leave a mosque in Najaf.
• 2005 - Hurricane Katrina devastates much of the U.S. Gulf Coast from Louisiana (especially the Mississippi Gulf Coast) to the Florida Panhandle, killing more than 1,836 and costing over 115 billion dollars in damage.

Then I found out, to my sheer delight, that I had the same birthday as the brilliant Empiricist John Locke (who made me want to attend Oxford), Nobel laureate
Maurice Maeterlinck, American film director Joel Schumacher, and famous Swedish actress Ingrid Bergman (who also died on the same day years after). Then there's Lanny Barbie too. Check on the link to see who she is, hehe ;-)

But back to reality, blame it on my grandmother and parents. For my parents’ “strategic” inspiration and my grandmother’s piety. Yes, so I was named after Our Lady of Lourdes. And perhaps, there will be that one birthday when I get to fulfill the dream of actually going there--as some kind of going home.

***

As my favorite character in a Chbosky novel said, “ I always get like this on my birthdays.” For the nth time I have become more pensive a few days before my actual birthday, which I think is true for most people too. Perhaps because celebrating birthdays is like coming to a full circle. New year is overrated and too generic; birthday is well, extremely personal. You may share it with a million of other people in the world, but it is something you can't help but make your own.

2006-07-31T03:19:00.000-07:00

Oo

Di mo lang alam, naiisip kita
Baka sakali lang maisip mo ako
Di mo lang alam, hanggang sa gabi
Inaasam makita kang muli
Nagtapos ang lahat sa di inaasahang
Panahon at ngayon ako’y iyong iniwang
Luhaang sugatan di- mapakinabangan
Sana nagtanong ka lang kung di mo lang alam
Sana’y nagtanong ka lang kung di mo lang alam
Ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo namang
Hindi mo lang alam kay tagal nang panahon
Ako’y nandirito pa rin hanggang ngayon, para sayo
Lumipas mga araw na ubod ng saya
Di pa rin nagbabago ang aking pagsinta
Kung ako’y nagkasala, patawad na sana
Ang puso kong pagal ngayon lang nagmahal
Di mo lang alam ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo namang
Puro siya na lang sana’y ako naman
Di mo lang alam ika’y minamasdan
Sana’y iyong mamalayang hindi mo lang pala alam
Di mo lang alam, kahit tayo’y magkaibigan lang
Bumabalik lahat sa tuwing nagkukulitan
Baka sakali lang, maisip mo namang
Ako’y nandito lang, hindi mo lang alam
Matalino ka naman
Kung ikaw, at ako ay tunay na bigo
Sa laro na ito, ay dapat bang sumuko
Sana’y di ka na lang pala aking nakilala
Kung alam ko lang ako’y yong masasaktan ng ganito
Sana’y nakinig na lang ako sa nanay ko
Di mo lang alam ako’y iyong nasaktan
Baka sakali lang maisip mo namang
Puro siya na lang, sana’y ako naman
Di mo lang alam ika’y minamasdan
Sana’y iyong mamalayang hindi mo lang pala alam
Malas mo…ikaw ang natipuhan ko
Di mo lang alam, ako’y yong nasaktan.

(Up dharma Down)

***

In Fleetwood Mac fashion the rain has failed to wash all avenues clean so there’s no epiphany, and instead there is nothing but a struggle against the flood. No tide to speak of—everything is just stagnant, but devoid of calm. And you have no idea. No idea at all.

2006-07-18T10:59:00.000-07:00

A Tree Telling of Orpheus

White dawn. Stillness. When the rippling began
I took it for a sea-wind, coming to our valley with rumors
of salt, of treeless horizons. but the white fog
didn't stir; the leaved of my brothers remained outstretched,
unmoving.

Yet the rippling drew nearer - and then
my own outermost branches began to tingle, almost as if
fire had been lit below them, too close, and their twig-tips
were drying and curling.
Yet I was not afraid, only
deeply alert.

I was the first to see him, for I grew
out on the pasture slope, beyond the forest.
He was a man, it seemed: the two
moving stems, the short trunk, the two
arm-branches, flexible, each with five leafless
twigs at their ends,
and the head that's crowned by brown or gold grass,
bearing a face not like the beaked face of a bird,
more like a flower's.
He carried a burden made of
some cut branch bent while it was green,
strands of a vine tight-stretched across it. From this,
when he touched it, and from his voice
which unlike the wind's voice had no need of our
leaves and branches to complete its sound,
came the ripple.
But it was now no longer a ripple (he had come near and
stopped in my first shadow) it was a wave that bathed me
as if rain
rose from below and around me
instead of falling.
And what I felt was no longer a dry tingling:
I seemed to be singing as he sang, I seemed to know
what the lark knows; all my sap
was mounting towards the sun that by now
had risen, the mist was rising, the grass
was drying, yet my roots felt music moisten them
deep under earth.

He came still closer, leaned on my trunk:
the bark thrilled like a leaf still-folded.
Music! there was no twig of me not
trembling with joy and fear.

Then as he sang
it was no longer sounds only that made the music:
he spoke, and as no tree listens I listened, and language
came into my roots
out of the earth,
into my bark
out of the air,
into the pores of my greenest shoots
gently as dew
and there was no word he sang but I knew its meaning.
He told of journeys,
of where sun and moon go while we stand in dark,
of an earth-journey he dreamed he would take some day
deeper than roots...
He told of the dreams of man, wars, passions, griefs,
and I, a tree, understood words - ah, it seemed
my thick bark would split like a sapling's that
grew too fast in the spring
when a late frost wounds it.

Fire he sang,
that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.
New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer.
As though his lyre (now I knew its name)
were both frost and fire, its chord flamed
up to the crown of me.

I was seed again.
I was fern in the swamp.
I was coal.

And at the heart of my wood
(so close I was to becoming man or god)
there was a kind of silence, a kind of sickness,
something akin to what men call boredom,
something
(the poem descended a scale, a stream over stones)
that gives to a candle a coldness
in the midst of its burning, he said.

It was then,
when in the blaze of his power that
reached me and changed me
I thought I should fall my length,
that the singer began
to leave me. Slowly
moved from my noon shadow
to open light,
words leaping and dancing over his shoulders
back to me
rivery sweep of lyre-tones becoming
slowly again
ripple.

And I in terror
but not in doubt of
what I must do
in anguish, in haste,
wrenched from the earth root after root,
the soil heaving and cracking, the moss tearing asunder -
and behind me the others: my brothers
forgotten since dawn. In the forest
they too had heard,
and were pulling their roots in pain
out of a thousand year's layers of dead leaves,
rolling the rocks away,
breaking themselves
out of
their depths.

You would have thought we would lose the sound of the lyre,
of the singing
so dreadful the storm-sounds were, where there was no storm,
no wind but the rush of our
branches moving, our trunks breasting the air.
But the music!
The music reached us.
Clumsily,
stumbling over our own roots,
rustling our leaves
in answer,
we moved, we followed.

All day we followed, up hill and down.
We learned to dance,
for he would stop, where the ground was flat,
and words he said
taught us to leap and to wind in and out
around one another in figures the lyre's measure designed.

The singer
laughed till he wept to see us, he was so glad.
At sunset
we came to this place I stand in, this knoll
with its ancient grove that was bare grass then.
In the last light of that day his song became
farewell.
He stilled our longing.
He sang our sun-dried roots back into earth,
watered them: all-night rain of music so quiet
we could almost
not hear it in the
moonless dark.
By dawn he was gone.
We have stood here since,
in our new life.
We have waited.
He does not return.
It is said he made his earth-journey, and lost
what he sought.
It is said they felled him
and cut up his limbs for firewood.
And it is said
his head still sang and was swept out to sea singing.
Perhaps he will not return.
But what we have lived
comes back to us.
We see more.
We feel, as our rings increase,
something that lifts our branches, that stretches our furthest
leaf-tips
further.
The wind, the birds,
do not sound poorer but clearer,
recalling our agony, and the way we danced.
The music!

Denise Levertov

Hagel, Deutschland!

2006-07-10T04:33:00.000-07:00

We finished third, and 21 years old Bastian Schweinsteiger was the two-goal hero of the game. Kahn looked as formidable as ever, and did spectacular saves except for that beautiful goal by Portugal's Nuno Gomes.

Gut gemacht, Deutschland!

Ang Pagpapanggap...Bow

2006-07-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

From this:

To this:

I wonder how long we'll last, hehe.

Halo Halo

2006-07-05T03:23:00.000-07:00

Part I. Etiquette 101

Pardon the ranting, but I just can’t understand why some people cannot operate even on the minimal measure of courtesy.

One, you don’t barge into the elevator when someone else is on his way out. Common sense would tell you to let that person out first, and then you can enter. Also, don’t make a disapproving sound if you bump into that person who has the right of way.

Second, since we’re neither in Britain nor Japan it’s a given to always keep right. It’s a hitch less in pedestrian traffic.

Third, you don’t move around too much in cramped space especially when you’re on public transportation such as the MRT train. That is trespassing on someone else’s already constricted space of freedom, which is very rude.

Fourth, it’s not really that hard to say “excuse me” or “sorry” in a very mundane situation. The only possible excuse for this would be muteness.

Part II. On The Bright Side

Proof of a few (and near extinct species of) good men: My friend Ana and I were on our way back to ABS-CBN after grocery shopping at Hi-top when a security guard suddenly comes rushing to us with a gargantuan picnic umbrella. Heavily laden with our shopping bags and walking under the scorching heat of the sun, you can just imagine our relief under the shade. Plus he’s got this big smile for us that was infectious.

Part III Wala—Share ko lang

Part of the reason I really enjoyed doing the grocery was this crazy idea Ana and I suddenly had: we were going to do some healthy eating for the week to come. We loaded up on veggies and I had fun stocking up on vitamins, which was a first for me since I’m not much of a supplement drinker. The novelty of eating healthy isn’t wearing off yet (and I come to office everyday just in time for lunch because I don’t want to wait too long hehe), as with everything else new in my life now. Like:

First Day High: My classes started and it was a mix of nostalgia and the odd. The photocopy lady (or Ate Ophel to people at the College of Music) chose that inconvenient time to rant about a non-existent lunch break, which reminded me more than ever of the never-ending pleading with the photocopy ladies at the UST Main Library during thesis days. Then during the actual class my lack of manicure expertise also became apparent, and my instructor took out a nail file and buffer to show me the proper shape my nails should take. Talk about embarrassing, hehe. Barney also gave me homework—a staggering four-chapter assignment which I’ve been putting off up to the last minute I could spare. But the day’s funniest experience was when I was waiting for a cab in the shed right across Quezon Hall. With shades on and the guitar slung on my shoulder a truckload of guys (this is literal—I think it’s some sort of a promotion campaign by Nike) hollered at me: “Let’s rahk en roll!” It was so funny and so unexpected that I couldn’t keep a straight face; I just had to laugh. And they laughed when they saw me laugh. They came back for another round sans the holler, which I attribute to the poker face I was already sporting by then.

Having my soul cards read: Just for the sheer heck of it I tried it with some friends and surprisingly got a good reading. I was amazed—not so much for the predictions she made but how she correctly read my current crisis of overspending. Hehe. It’s just nice to try new things once in a while.

My new books and Tool CD. Enough said.

Bago

2006-06-17T04:27:00.000-07:00

Ano nga ba’ng bago?

1. Si Hanna, bidang “pampangkin” sa karamihan ng mga entry ko, ay nagsimula nang pumasok sa eskwelahan.

2. Bukod sa nakasanayan ko nang isalin sa wikang Ingles may bago rin akong pinagkakaabalahan: ang pagsalin ng mga tula. Hindi ko pa alam kailan lalabas ang mga ginawa ko—yun ay kung lalabas pa nga ang mga yun—pero ayos lang kahit walang kasiguraduhan dahil naaaliw naman ako sa proseso.

3. Hindi ako makapagsulat dahil gusto ko munang magbasa. Magbasa at magbasa ulit. Pero may mga naungkat akong mga linyang napabayaan ko na, at pangako ko na babalikan ko sila sa lalong madaling panahon.

4. Kasama sa mga binasa ko ay ang mga dati kong naisulat sa blog na ito. Nakakatawa, mahigit isang taon na pala. Halatang-halata ang progression ng pagiging tamad ko over the year. Pasensya na, hahabulin ko muna si Musa. At ‘pag nahabol ko siya, gagawa na ako ng matino-tinong entry. As if.

5. Nayanig akong literal sa isang pag-aaral na kakarinig-rinig ko lang. Sa loob raw ng limang taon, isang malakas na lindol ang kikitil sa mahigit 70,000 buhay dito sa Maynila. Sana sa pagkakataong ito nagkamali lang sila.

6. Tag-ulan na naman.

7. Ang Tool may bagong album: 10, 000 days. Maaaring mapasaiyo sa halagang P1500—yun ay kung maunahan mo lahat ng nagkakandarapa sa mga kopya nito (kasi naman may nagpa-reserve na 30 katao tapos 10 lang yung in-order ng Tower sa Makati, tsk tsk). Tulad ng dati may gimik na naman ang album packaging. At may kyut na picture si Maynard James Keenan dito. (Calling Miss Peachy Paderna!) Bukod pa dyan may world tour rin pala sila. Sa Asya parang Japan at Korea pa lang ang sigurado akong kabilang sa itineraries nila. Kung wala lang hassle dadayuhin ko sana si Kit sa Korea para isabuhay ang aming lifelong dream: ang manuod ng Tool concert nang magkasama.

8. Pero may isang gameplan naman ang malapit ko nang maisasakatuparan: ang mag-aral ng gitara sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas. Nung una akong pumasok sa College of Music doon para akong iniligaw sa ibang mundo—bigla akong nakalimot dahil sa sari-saring tunog na narinig ko. To boot, si Mister Barney Fojas ang magiging instructor ko. Excitedness.

9. Marami akong nami-miss, at malamang kasama ka na rin dun.

10. May nakita akong multo (by multo hindi literal ang ibig sabihin ko ha) ilang araw na ang nakalipas at napagtanto ko na ang hirap pala talagang makalimot.

11. Kasi sabi nga ni Cicero: “Nothing stands out so conspicuously, or remains so firmly fixed in the memory, as something which you have blundered.”

12. Panawagan sa lahat: Mom Edith Tiempo is coming to Manila on the 22nd. She’s going to receive the Gatpuno Award conferred by the City of Manila. Dumaguete fellows are invited to a dinner at Penguin in Malate 8 p.m. onwards.

Again, excitedness. Let's all go!:-)

13. Dahil ika nga e save the best for last; alam kong bordering on meanness pero this almost gave me an asthma attack from laughing so hard: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=leW9nn8ZCAM

How About...(a sort of update for nek)

2006-05-20T14:45:00.000-07:00

Really now?

Your Band Name is:

The Astro Twins

Band Name Generator

(What do you think, Nek & Kit? Scrap all the others in favor of this? Harhar;-P )

***

Slowly getting out of this slump, and this is mostly due to my warrior mantra on a loop, Woody Allen, family and friends, and the desire to recover. And in a nice kind of weird it does feel good to learn how to take everything in stride again. Ika nga ni Kinnell I'm sort of just "trusting" the hours right now, which in turn reminds me of this Kung Fu Wisdom I chanced upon:

Student: Master, tell me something that will make me laugh if I am crying?

Master: Just contemplate the meaning of these words: "And this too shall pass."

Student: Oh, I see, master. Well, Master, what will make me cry if I am laughing?

Master: Just contemplate the meaning of these words: "And this too shall pass." When you truly begin to understand, you will be enlightened, and enlightenment does not pass.

announcements

2006-04-17T04:39:00.000-07:00

Dahil tama ang ehemplo ni Ned:

(Updated) Call for Submission: Caracoa 2006

Caracoa, the official literary publication of the Philippine Literary Arts Council (PLAC) and the longest-running journal of poetry in English in Asia, is now accepting submissions for Caracoa 2006.

The return of Caracoa marks the 25th anniversary of the PLAC. It will be the first Caracoa anthology to come out in almost ten years.

There is no specific theme for this issue. Those interested should submit two unpublished poems in English via email (word attachment only) thru caracoa2006@yahoo.com. Deadline for submission is May 15, 2006. Those submitting should include their contact info and a brief bio-data.

Caracoa 2006 will showcase the works of 20 to 25 poets and will be guest edited by Lourd De Veyra and myself along with a group of other poets writing in English. Caracoa 2006 is targeted for publication this coming June (not September as originally posted), and will be the first in what is envisioned to be a semi-annual publication of the journal.

About the PLAC

PLAC or Philippine Literary Arts Council was founded in September 1981 by prominent English-language poets Gémino H. Abad, Cirilo F. Bautista, Alfrredo Navarro Salanga, Ricardo M. de Ungria and Alfred A. Yuson.

The group edited and published Caracoa: The Poetry Journal of the Philippine Literary Arts Council, until it became a regular quarterly by the mid-1980s, with funding and administrative support provided by British businessman and writer Michael Adams.

Intermittent funding led to sporadic release in the 1990s, until the heretofore last issue, Caracoa 96, theme-titled "Heroes & History," which came out in 1996 as part of the start of the Philippine Centennial celebration. It was actually the 27th issue of the poetry journal published within a span of 15 years.

By then PLAC had expanded its membership to include notable fictionists in English, so that its roster of membership read as follows.

Honorary Fellows: Carlos A. Angeles, Franz Arcellana, Tita Lacambra Ayala, Erwin E. Castillo, Ricaredo Demetillo, Ophelia A. Dimalanta, NVM Gonzalez, Edna Z. Manlapaz, Bienvenido N. Santos, Edith L. Tiempo and Emmanuel Torres.

Associate Fellows: Cesar Ruiz Aquino, Juaniyo Arcellana, Ma. Luisa Aguilar B. Cariño, Fidelito C. Cortes, Jose Y. Dalisay Jr., Simeon Dumdum Jr., Marjorie Evasco, Felix Fojas, Eric Gamalinda, Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo, Marne Kilates, Susan Lara, Clovis Nazareno, Charlson L. Ong, Danton Remoto, Ramon C. Sunico, Cesare A.X. Syjuco, Ma. Fatima V. Lim-Wilson and Ruel S. de Vera.

The Founding Fellows still comprise the Board of Trustees, with the exception of the late Freddie Salanga.

Outstanding thematic issues of Caracoa have included: Caracoa 1 featuring early works by PLAC's founders; Caracoa 3: Nine Women Poets (October 1983: Isabela Banzon, Bing Caballero, Ma. Fe Rhodora A. Espinosa, Ma. Linda Felipe, Fanny Haydee B. Llego, Priscilla C. Supnet Macansantos, Ma. Annella Manalo, Grace R. Monte de Ramos and Marjorie E. Pernia); Caracoa 4: New Voices (July 1984: Ramon Bautista, Fidelito Cortes, Francis C. Macansantos, Clovis Nazareno, R. Torres Pandan, Victor Jose Peñaranda and Ernesto Superal Yee); Caracoa 5: Sub Versu -- An Anthology of Poetry in Protest (November 1984); Caracoa 6: Eros -- Poems of Love and Desire (February 1985); Caracoa 7: Breaktext -- Poems Dancing on Their Heads (May 1985); Caracoa 8: Genius Loci: Poetry of Place (August 1985); Caracoa 9: Meta -- Of God, Death & Beyond (November 1985); Caracoa 10: R+A+D+I+O (February 1986, featuring the first poetry collection of Ricardo M. de Ungria); Caracoa 11: Coup d'EDSA -- Poems on Freedom (May 1986); Caracoa 15: Ex Patria; Caracoa 17: Women of Letters (January 1988); Caracoa 20: In Memoriam: Alfrredo Navarro Salanga (November 1988); Caracoa 22: GAIA: Versecology -- In Celebration of Earth Day 1990; Caracoa 24: Flipside -- Poems on America (January 1991); and Caracoa 26/95: Gaudeamus (1995: A Collection for the 1990s of New Voices, Award-Winning Poems & Recent Works by Established poets).

The caracoa was a war vessel plying the waters off Mindanao and the Moluccas in the 16th century. The rowers stayed close to the hull, while the warriors stood with their spears on a platform. The poet sat alone at the far end of the boat, manning the rudder. He was neither rower nor warrior, yet he decided where the prow should point. His own thoughts knifed through the immense sea of his solitude, though the waters kept him company.

In him was rower and warrior; he himself was a double-decked vessel of grace
and irony. He was far back, yet he provided direction. At times the caracoa lost its way. No matter. The sea would still be there, and the shoals would still be duly recorded.

(from joel's blog)

***

Poetry Anthology

Poets Against Empire: An Anthology of Contemporary Filipino Poetry in the Age of Globalization is a multi-lingual anthology of contemporary Filipino poems in English and in Filipino vernaculars (Tagalog, Ilokano, Hiligaynon, Bisaya etc. in translation) to be edited by Joi Barrios, Fidelito C. Cortes, and Nerissa Balce. It will focus on the violence and vagaries of globalization including poverty, underemployment, exploitation, forced migration, dislocation, war, and the lived experiences of Filipina/o workers, migrants and the undocumented around the globe. We seek poems that depict Filipino global experiences and realities -- the dreams, desires, fears and nightmares of Filipinos who live in the homeland or those forced to leave it. The collection will feature poems by Filipino writers and poets living in the Philippines or wherever the diaspora has taken them. We welcome contributions from new and established writers, in any of our national or regional languages. While we might consider some previously published works, the editors will give preference to new poems. Submissions should be created as Word documents, sent as JPEG or PDF files. Contributors must send a brief bionote. Poems that will be chosen for publication in the anthology will be announced in 1 October 2006. Deadline for submissions is 1 July 2006. You can e-mail your submissions to desarapen@gmail.com, or send them via snail mail to:

Maria Nerissa S. Balce
Assistant Professor of Comparative Literature
Department of Languages, Literatures and Cultures
University of Massachusetts-Amherst
409 Herter Hall161 President's Drive
Amherst, MA 01003-9312

(from ian's blog)

***

Be signing off for a while, folks. Need to recover from the "brilliant" career move I made.

Canine Heartbreak

2006-04-15T15:07:00.000-07:00

A Dog Has Died

My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.

Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.

Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.

No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.

Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.

Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.

There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.

So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.

+for Czarley(r.i.p)+

***

It is worst during midday--how the house would feel strangely empty with the dog gone. I'm all for a "replacement" just for a little relief, but my family doesn't think it's a good idea especially since nasa "mourning period" pa raw. I'm itching to quote Kinnell but I really don't think they will be able to take any wisecrack well right now.

Greeting

2006-04-12T01:38:00.000-07:00

"Every day another word/ tugs on my shoulder:/ I don't know if it's/ hello or goodbye." -M. Gipps

***

Just got back and I must say that it was my most surreal Baguio trip so far. Hah. I have to go there again on a real vacation though--but maybe some time after the peak season wears off.

Okay, checklist:

1. Calamansi cheesecake/ frozen key lime pie was as good as I remembered it. I shamelessly ate two in one sitting.

2. Diplomat didn't fail me either; I finally have my own copy of Without Feathers for measly twenty bucks.

3. Didn't have time for market-shopping though. Had to make do with what was outside the hotel for pasalubong. Grrr.

New Finds and Updates:

1. Hotel Veneracion, repository of other surreal memories, has become a Korean Hostel. If I remember it correctly, it was painted an almost lurid shade of pink.

2. Cafe by the Ruins' killer breakfast.

3. Volante's 6" pizza and salad.

4. Acquaintances, friends and something-elses.

***

Dahil kasing-wasak ako ng kantang 'to:

Miss You Love
Silverchair

Millionaire say
Got a big shot deal
And thrown it all away but
But I’m not too sure
How I’m supposed to feel
Or what I’m supposed to say

But I’m not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle every day
And I miss you love

Make room for the prey
’cause I’m coming in
With what I wanna say but
It’s gonna hurt
And I love the pain
A breeding ground for hate but...

I’m not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle everyday
Like the one that just past
In the crowds of all the people

Remember today
I’ve no respect for you
And I miss you love
And I miss use love

I love the way you love
But I hate the way
I’m supposed to love you back

It’s just a fad
Part of the teenage angst brigade and
I’m not, not sure,
Not too sure how it feels
To handle everyday
Like the one that just past
In the crowds of all the people

Remember today
I’ve no respect for you
And I miss you love
And I miss use love

Remember two days
I’ve no respect for you
And I miss you love
And I miss use love

I love the way you love
But I hate the way
I’m supposed to love you back

***

Hanna and Gabby are home! Yey! Hope we get to watch Ice Age 2 before the week ends. And if we do I also hope we don't get thrown out of the cinema should my niece indulge in incessant babbling, as she can't help but sometimes do when she feels strongly about something.

***

Just a few hours ago:

-=what are you looking at, eh?!=-

-=wow, jumbo siopao!=-
STEAMIN' HOT SARAP!

-=twinkle, twinkle=-

-=colors cylindric=-

Hiatus!

2006-04-05T02:09:00.000-07:00

Finally. A hiatus from the oppressive Manila heat--albeit on official business, and my first ever major assignment at that. Baguio, here I come!:-)

I'll be able to sit in through the remainder of the UP Nat'l Writers Workshop (yey!) as mere observer, which is very fortunate for me since this year has such distinguished fellows. I'm expecting it to be more like peer critique instead of the usual panelist-fellow exchange and the prospect really excites me (admittedly for a few not-so-proper reasons too, hehe).

I just hope I can squeeze in time to indulge the things I adore Baguio for. Like O Mai Khan's calamansi cheesecake (which have been a year-long craving now), book-hunting at Diplomat's or Booksale (where I got my favorite Castaneda book/bible), and market-shopping for pasalubong (which brings back memories of earlier visits spanning from my childhood days to the most recent ones).

Wish me luck!:-)

Chicken Survival

2006-03-27T03:49:00.000-08:00

I survived my first week in UP without much gnashing of teeth, thank God. Curiously though, on a staple of chicken dinners all throughout. No kidding. I've been eating chicken, chicken and chicken for eight days in a row now. So far, the greatest discovery was this place that serves one of the best I've ever tasted. And believe me, I know chicken well so heed this piece of helpful advice: if you have some time drop by at Henrys' Grille in Teacher's Village and order their Chicken a la Henry.

You won't be disappointed.

***

Space Out/ In Retrospect

2006-03-17T19:19:00.000-08:00

I normally operate on space out mode whenever I walk or travel alone—that is, my mind retreats into a world of its own and everything around me is just one big moving blur. This makes for the need to get jarred either bodily or verbally just so I would recognize the friends and acquaintances I meet. I feel I have to give out a warning though: my reflexes are working on double defense during these times.

Anyhow, the point: at certain instances of my usual walking-in-a-daze state, snippets of scandalous remarks manage to pierce through. The last most astounding I’ve heard was from this man who was talking to his friend beside me:

MAN: ‘Di bale nang bumaba ang pagkatao, ‘wag ka lang magkaroon ng kaaway.

Ayos. I felt like butting in to say, “Uy manong, alam mo ba 'yang sinasabi mo?” But then I thought this ignorance was nothing compared to some people who are supposedly intelligent but live a transmuted version of this philosophy. Politicos for one. Some (or should I say most?) would sell their souls just to please the right people and stay in power. "Mababang pagkatao" and "Midget in the Palace"? Oh, what uncanny resemblance.

***

Just how different am I really from the three year-old kid I once was? I still cut my bangs without strategy and get the same exasperated look from my Mom every time she sees my disaster of hair. So much for growing up, Des. And to think I'm actually hoping to survive a sudden drastic change in my life come Monday. Hah. Goodluck na lang talaga.

***

It's been a couple of months since I've last gone to a gig. That's pretty peculiar for someone like me who usually goes out of my way to see at least one a month. Still, even if I may have started out late this year, at least I started it out right. Here, pictures I stubbornly took despite the bad lighting, unpredictable functioning of smoke machines, and a photographer's inability to refrain from singing along with so much gusto while taking photos. Rockstars kung rockstars!

-=URBANDUB=-

-=let's rahk en roll!=-

-=why oh why [the uber-slow shutter speed made me miss a good capture, demmet]=-

-=diyosa=-

-=stinging with them strings=-

Walang Hanggang Paalam

2006-02-21T01:07:00.000-08:00

Kahit kailan hindi magiging madali ang pagpili sa pagitan ng dalawang mabuting bagay. Maaring sa patas na pagtingin mas may nakalalamang at nakalalamang pa rin, pero minsan hindi pa rin yun garantiya na pagagaanin ang pasaning kaakibat ng isang desisyon. Lalo na kung makapagpabago ito ng buong buhay ng isang tao. Lalo na kung may kailangan kang lisanin para pangatawanan ang desisyong ginawa mo.

***
Eto, mga dahilan bakit hindi ako makaalis-alis nang maluwag sa loob ko:

-=ang minamahal kong mga ka-section (oo, lilima lang kami)=-

-=the afternoon session of the Super Suicide Society=-

-=da gels=-

-=christmas party!=-

-=fan photo-op with the pussycat dolls=-

-=at siyempre si jose na abot-kamay (o abot-tawid)lang [naubusan na kami ng lime pero sige pa rin kahit kalamasi na lang]=-

***

Sa kabilang dako e magkahalong saya at walang-puknat na takot ang nararamdaman ko sa pagbabagong haharapin ko sa isa o ilang buwan pang lilipas. Panahon na rin siguro na huminto sa sobrang petiks (tama nga ba ito, Kit?) at isipin ang para sa ikabubuti ng aking ahem, “kinabukasan.”

***

Eto, tayong dalawa. Ngayong palabas na ako ng pinto, makakaramdam ka’t pipigilin ang tuluyang pagpinid nito. Marahil hihinto akong muli, masinsinang mag-iisip habang ang mga paa ay nasa pagitan ng pananatili at paglaya. Pero kung ako rin lang ang tatanungin, sa palagay ko ay ito: sa huling pagkakataon, titindig na ako’t sasabihing “Hindi, tama na.” Pagkatapos ay tatawirin ko ang espasyong maglalayo sa atin, at lilingon na lamang kapag alaala na ang lahat. Eto, para sa ating dalawa—isang walang hanggang paalam.

Late Bloomer

2006-02-15T02:26:00.000-08:00

I haven't had much time nor will to update lately, so until then 'eto muna para sa inyong lahat hehe=P

Perfect

2006-01-04T02:29:00.000-08:00

I know we’re just like old friends
We just can’t pretend
That lovers make amends
We are reasons so unreal
We can’t help but feel that something has been lost

But please you know you’re just like me
Next time I promise we’ll be
Perfect
Perfect
Perfect strangers down the line
Lovers out of time
Memories unwind

So far I still know who you are
But now I wonder who I was...

Angel, you know it’s not the end
We’ll always be good friends
The letters have been sent on

So please, you always were so free
You’ll see, I promise we’ll be
Perfect
Perfect strangers when we meet
Strangers on the street
Lovers while we sleep

Perfect
You know this has to be
We always we’re so free
We promised that we’d be
Perfect

***

Kailangan pa bang i-memorize kung sinong henyo ang may-ari ng kantang yan?;-D

Today

2006-01-03T12:29:00.000-08:00

Today is decision day. So later I will attempt to be my bravest. I've been passive for too long--today calls for action.

God help me.

***

"At the end of my suffering there was a door." -Louise Gluck, The Wild Iris

Hmmm.

Randomness

2005-12-12T17:48:00.000-08:00

I’d like to think that the reason I haven’t posted for quite some time is because I want to give Italo Calvino maximum exposure, but truth be told it’s just my usual procrastinating self talking. So now for the anticlimactic update…

Dahil labo-labo na ‘to:

1. Ancient wisdom is rarely wrong. Don’t delay what you can do in a day. Take, for instance, posting an entry in your web blog. I’m living proof that stalling is not healthy at all. But then again, I’m only capable of saying this. A perpetual procrastinator can never change. So much for realizations.

2. Disappointment is one of the worst you could ever feel.

3. I hate getting disappointed by people who made me believe they’re not what they really are.

4. But I hate to disappoint even more. Especially when it’s myself I’m disappointing.

5. It seems the Christmas season has started late this year. I was expecting bright lights and Christmas carols immediately after the Halloween season, which was not this year’s case.

6. I finally realized it is Christmas while walking in Glorietta a few days ago. Why? Santa Claus was chasing after this giggly woman while belting out his “ho, ho, ho’s.” (That and the 2 hours closing time leeway for shoppers and population explosion at the malls) It was so funny I could not help laughing along with the people concerned—parang intruder of the month tuloy ang dating ko hehe. And another thing that wrings a smile from me is the multiple rendition of what is probably the hardest Christmas carol to sing--that is, if you have speech defect: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. You wouldn't believe the transmutations I've already heard.

7. Still I’m disappointed with this year’s apparent "lack" of Christmas lights. Childish I know, but it really broke my heart because it’s my one source of joy to travel at night and indulge this eye candy. Taghirap na nga talaga.

8. Oh, add confusion to the list of the worst you could ever feel.

9. You think the world is small? Think again. It’s exceedingly small, to say the least.

10. To misquote Anne Sexton: It is December. I’m tired of being a lot of things.

11. I really, really hope next year would be a better year for everyone.

12. Sleep is the best friend of someone drunk, but it becomes the enemy when that someone drunk has to go to work.

13. Children have that uncanny ability to stare back at you unflinchingly. Just this morning a little boy looked me in the eye for the longest time and my attempt to stare back did not work. I would avert my gaze every few minutes. I don’t exactly know why this is, but I have a theory.

14. I want to take a vacation. Kahit maikli lang basta quality time. At dahil dyan si Anne Sexton ulit: There is no word for time./ Today we will/ not think to number another summer/ or watch its white bird into the ground... I know,I know--it's impossible to go back. I'd settle for Baguio or Sagada though. Maybe extreme cold would do me good.

15. Life would have been simpler if you hadn't reappeared. And dammit, if you mess up again I’m so walking out of that door.

Then there were pictures!

At work, this is what I get paid for to do:

-=Christmas Duckie pic; with pretty Pepay of Goin' Bulilit; a pouty photo-op with sNEKers sa "tagaytay"=-

At Greenbelt Raddisons with my college barkada:

-=My Army=-

At Rica Bolipata-Santos's Book Launch:

-=Invite; My Dumaguete Hot Mommas (Rica and Chitchat); Rica with the comebacking Nikko Vitug=-

Writers Night at UP

-=Sa Hardin ng mga Diwata; Naya Valdellon, longlost twins Larry Ypil and Ian Casocot, and Moi; with Marie La Viña; The Three Macopas (Kit Kwe, Me and Anna Bernaldo) ; Ian C., Moi, Astrid Tobias, Dennis Aguinaldo)=-

(Photo Acknowledgements: Anna Bernaldo, Ian Casocot, Kit Kwe, Janeca Racho and Ana Zamora)

My Calvino

2005-10-15T04:08:00.000-07:00

Now there's a good-looking and brilliant writer. He would have been 82 this year if not for the brain hemorrhage that took his blessed life. But I'm sure the heavens must be rejoicing the natal day of my favorite fictionist of all time!

"Lovers' reading of each other's bodies (of that concentrate of mind and body which lovers use to go to bed together) differs from the reading of written pages in that it is not linear. It starts at any point, skips, repeats itself, goes backward, insists, ramifies in simultaneous and divergent messages, converges again, has moments of irritation, turns the page, finds its place, gets lost. A direction can be recognized in it, a route to an end, since it tends toward a climax, and with this end in view it arranges rhythmic phases, metrical scansions, recurrence of motives. But is the climax really the end? Or is the race toward that end opposed by another drive which works in the opposite direction, swimming against the moments, recovering time? "

"Today each of you is the object of the other's reading, each reads in the other the unwritten story. Tomorrow, Reader and Other Reader, if you are together, if you lie down in the same bed like a settled couple, each will turn on the lamp at the side of the bed and sink into his or her book; two parallel readings will accompany the approach of sleep; first you, then you will turn out the light; returning from separate universes, you will find each other fleetingly in the darkness, where all separations are erased, before divergent dreams draw you again, one to one side, and one to the other. But do not wax ironic on this prospect of conjugal harmony: what happier image of a couple could you set against it? "

both from If On A Winter's Night A Traveler

"Yet, even now, every time (and it is often) that I find I do not understand something, then, instinctively, I am filled with the hope that perhaps this will be my moment again, perhaps once again I shall understand nothing, I shall grasp the other knowledge, found and lost in an instant."

from The Flash

"Among Chuan-tzu's many skills, he was an expert draftsman. The king asked him to draw a crab. Chuang-tzu replied that he needed five years, a country house, and twelve servants. Five years later the drawing was still not begun. 'I need another five years,' said Chuang-tzu. The king granted them. At the end of these ten years, Chuang-tzu took up his brush and,in an instant, with a single stroke,he drew a crab, the most perfect crab ever seen."

from On Quickness, Six Memos for the Next Millennium

I'm Only Sleeping

2005-10-12T04:41:00.000-07:00

When I wake up early in the morning,
Lift my head, I'm still yawning
When I'm in the middle of a dream
Stay in bed, float up stream

Please don't wake me, no don't shake me
Leave me where I am
I'm only sleeping

Everybody seems to think I'm lazy
I don't mind, I think they're crazy
Running everywhere at such a speed
Till they find, there's no need

Please don't spoil my day I'm miles away
And after all I'm only sleeping

Keeping an eye on the world going by my window
Taking my time

Lying there and staring at the ceiling
Waiting for a sleepy feeling

- The Beatles

***

A good friend once told me that she had the tendency to sleep a lot when she’s depressed. It was later when I found out that she has also been diagnosed with narcolepsy. Regardless, I’ve found this to be true from personal experience three weeks ago, which was weird since I’m a body intolerant of too much sleep except maybe on weekends, and I think the best explanation I got was from Raymond Calbay’s blog, which I will quote:

…I remember reading something that explains why some people are taken to sleeping like hell: it's a panacea to the answerless-ness of the conscious. Sounds like a mystification, but I think makes some sense. It's a paradox though since people would not hesitate to shove under your nose the 123s they understand the moment you sound off a question mark in your sentence. In this city, people only find watermelon seeds useful when its all dried-up already for the chewing. What I'm saying's life gets entangled with business, the practical precision of the evident real. Sleeping unlatches the hold of a wordy world.Sleep offers a blank canvass--the primordial silence of the universe--where dream is a possibility and not a synonym of ambition or protracted action. The body surrenders the sensation of the colored TV and the distant howling of dogs and lets the seed inside stretch its hum. Except in instances of lucid dreaming, I don't remember much of what happens in my sleep, but I always feel better, like I've grown a leaf or two.So in the morning, with death rehearsed, my body reawakens to more life than ever, tilting to the east, to the sun.

Amen.

***

It’s even nicer to find some of the more pleasant dreams resurfacing as reality—like that one night the Dumaguete fellows (along with the UP Bangus group) got together at Conspiracy for a reunion. It had such impact I dreamt about us back to the languorous lifestyle we had this summer for the next following days. Then there’s Nek on her second week here in ABS. It’s like being back in college again—or more accurately, fulfilling what we’ve fancied way back then: to work together in the same company and just be the eternal juvenile mischiefs.

***

My niece Hanna celebrated her third birthday last October 8. Then on the 11th it was her baby brother Gabby’s first. They’re having a joint party set with The Incredibles theme on the 15th. For their invites my sister had “movie tickets” made. This:

What you can’t see--or at least not that clearly--are the “photoshop-ed” faces of my niece and nephew as Dash and Violet. Hilarious.

Arms

2005-09-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

“It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder. What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things.”- Sam to Charlie in Stephen Chbosky’s Perks of Being A Wallflower

Now that's an insight.

***

A very happy birthday to one of my favorite people in the world: Janeca—or Nek to us her dear friends. Thank God for cyber technology (and to Marshall McLuhan for the seed idea of a global village)—open your email, Nek! A present is wating for you. Enjoy! :-)

Yeah, Whatever

2005-09-22T04:08:00.000-07:00

I’ll just let music do most of the talking.

Yeah Whatever
Splender

And you're primitive

And you're cynical to me
And I chewed down on the bit
And almost swallowed it

You sit all alone with your color TV
Your hair starts to glisten
In spite of the fleas
We don't have to stay friends
Let's pretend to be enemies

Yeah, whatever makes you happy
Yeah, whatever makes it beautiful
Yeah, whatever leaves you satisfied
Cause I'm out of time
For now

And you're paranoid
As you look me up and down
And I'm soaked in gasoline
Mud and ice cream

You sit by the phone with your tongue hanging out
You cradle the flies in the back of your mouth
We don't have to stay friends
Let's pretend to be enemies

Damned if you do
Fucked if you don't
Damned if you do
What if you won't

You must be aware what you're doing to me
We sunk like a stone on a rock in the sea
We don't have to stay friends
(Not for very long)
We don't have to stay friends
(Just because you're gone)

You get what you want cause you won't let it die

Yeah, whatever makes you happy
Yeah, whatever leaves you insecure
Yeah, whatever seems to break you down
Cause I'm out of time
But I'm feeling fine

***
I know this is a direct contradiction. But then again, I’ve been nothing but a mass of contradictions lately so I guess it makes illogical sense. Yeah, Des. Whatever.

High and Dry
Radiohead

Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever don't you boy.
Flying on your motorcycle, watching all the ground beneath you drop.
You’d kill yourself for recognition, kill yourself to never ever stop.
You broke another mirror, you’re turning into something you are not.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

Drying up in conversaton, you will be the one you cannot talk.
All your insides fall to pieces, you just sit there wishing you could still make love
They’re the ones who’ll hate you when you think you’ve got the world all sussed out
They’re the ones who’ll spit at you. You will be the one screaming out.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

It’s the best thing that you’ve ever had, the best thing that you’ve ever, ever had.
It’s the best thing that you’ve ever, the best thing you have ever had has gone away.

Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry
Don’t leave me high, don’t leave me dry

***
And there goes desire:

Disarm
Smashing Pumpkins

Disarm you with a smile
And cut you like you want me to
Cut that little child
Inside of me and such a part of you
Ooh, the years burn

I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my choice
What’s a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My loveI send this smile over to you

Disarm you with a smile
And leave you like they left me here
To wither in denial
The bitterness of one who’s left alone
Ooh, the years burn
Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn

I used to be a little boy
So old in my shoes
And what I choose is my voice
What’s a boy supposed to do?
The killer in me is the killer in you
My loveI send this smile over to you
The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you

The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you
The killer in me is the killer in you
Send this smile over to you

Anecdotes

2005-09-07T01:01:00.000-07:00

My father was literally driving down the memory lane last weekend when we went to his ancestral home in Manila. And it felt weird that being with him all my life didn’t guarantee no surprises. Maybe because it’s hard to see people, especially parents, as separate people other than the context we’ve already been given to see them with.

Anyhow, my Daddy said he used to get arrested for climbing roofs. For no particular reason. He just liked climbing roofs, he told my sister when she asked why. This was sometime when Martial Law was still in effect. Then one night as he was climbing his house’s veranda patrolmen happened to come by, and instantly they were on his element, pointing a rifle at him and threatening to shoot him. Panicked, with one leg still hanging over the railing, he knocked at his parents’ bedroom window with all the sense of urgency he could muster while calling out a very frightened “’Tay, Tay!” simultaneously. My grandfather woke just in time, and after affirming my Dad was his son and not some thief, he settled the score of abbreviated slumber by giving my Dad a whack in the head.

It has become my favorite anecdote about my Daddy since.

***

Wake blues, as told by my Uncle Nonoy to my Dad:

A group of fags, friends of his older “brother/sister” Herby, huddled in a table for a drinking session. They were a boisterous lot. The baranggay tanod looking things over just shook his head, sat in a corner, and watched. A few hours later another group would take the same place after its other occupants had gone. They were a bunch that drank rather heavily, and to the tanod’s admiration, quietly. So the tanod approached Uncle Nonoy and said, “Buti pa ‘tong grupong ‘to, hindi katulad nung mga maiingay na bakla kanina. Ang tahimik.” Uncle Nonoy looked at the group the tanod was referring to, and upon seeing which group it was, could not help but laugh. His reply was, “Paano naman pong hindi tahimik e mga pipi po yan.” [1]

[1] Uncle Nonoy’s younger sister Rowena is mute [2]. It was her crowd that the tanod was mistakenly raving about.

[2] Both amazing and puzzling fact: My Aunt Rowena’s husband is mute as well. They have two children now—and surprisingly, both can speak normally.

Six Feet Under

2005-09-06T03:19:00.000-07:00

I find old people odd sometimes. They really talk about the strangest things. Especially in wakes such as my Dad’s uncle, which as of late serves as the family’s favorite hangout. It reminds me of this one line from something I’ve read, how old people’s views are affected because “death is staring at them in the face.” When put that way I suppose it is a damn convincing reason to alter someone’s point-of-view isn’t it?

Like would you have done today what you normally do if you knew you were going to die the next day? I’m really betting that most people won’t. And I hope I’m right.

***

I’ve never been squeamish about death. In fact I used to upset my high school friends whenever I’d steer the conversation to my ideal funeral, which was a lot. I was never hesitant to kill people in my stories too (I have to note though that it’s not escapism from character development either—though I still need a lot of work in that aspect); I think I earned the comment “morbid” in my earlier workshop for that. And it just occurred to me that I never really minded.

Hah.

***

Oh yeah, true to this entry’s nuance, I think Six Feet Under has got to be one of the best series ever. One line a priest said that really got to me was: “Truth is, relationships do not make life better. They make it possible.”

2 Days Later

2005-08-31T03:08:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-31T01:31:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-23T03:39:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-17T03:45:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-11T03:12:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-10T19:02:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-10T03:35:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-01T03:06:00.000-07:00

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.

The Story of Our Lives

2005-07-27T00:27:00.000-07:00

During the long weekend I’ve seen Whitney, my local Caucasian fellow, doing the fire dance over the Living Asia Channel in a feature documentary on Dumaguete. And though it’s been weeks—months since Dumaguete—each day I’m still given to pinching myself, half-hoping to wake up in the all-too-familiar dorm room in Silliman Alumni Hall, to a glorious sea day, to a sinfully languorous lifestyle. Coming back to Manila meant facing my demons again, and I quote a friend: “When you’ve been to heaven, why would you even want to return to hell?” Ayos sa hirit diba?

Sus, talagang dinaig ko pa ang drama ng 18 Days Without You ni Anne Sexton dahil ako higit na sa isang buwan. Mukhang dapat ko atang samantalahin para makagawa rin ng lyric sequence. Ang tanong: where and how to start. The muse is elusive once again, and invocation futile.

***

The Story of Our Lives
Mark Strand

We are reading the story of our lives
which takes place in a room.
The room looks out on a street.
There is no one there,
no sound of anything.
The tress are heavy with leaves,
the parked cars never move.
We keep turning the pages, hoping for
something,
something like mercy or change,
a black line that would bind us
or keep us apart.
The way it is, it would seem
the book of our lives is empty.
The furniture in the room is never shifted,
and the rugs become darker each time
our shadows pass over them.
It is almost as if the room were the world.
We sit beside each other on the couch,
reading about the couch.
We say it is ideal.
It is ideal.

2
We are reading the story of our lives,
as though we were in it,
as though we had written it.
This comes up again and again.
In one of the chapters
I lean back and push the book aside
because the book says
it is what I am doing.
I lean back and begin to write about the book.
I write that I wish to move beyond the book.
Beyond my life into another life.
I put the pen down.
The book says: "He put the pen down
and turned and watched her reading
the part about herself falling in love."
The book is more accurate than we can
imagine.
I lean back and watch you read
about the man across the street.
They built a house there,
and one day a man walked out of it.
You fell in love with him
because you knew that he would never visit you,
would never know you were waiting.
Night after night you would say
that he was like me.
I lean back and watch you grow older without
me.
Sunlight falls on your silver hair.
The rugs, the furniture,
seem almost imaginary now.
"She continued to read.
She seemed to consider his absence
of no special importance,
as someone on a perfect day will consider
the weather a failure
because it did not change his mind.
"You narrow your eyes.
You have the impulse to close the book
which describes my resistance:
how when I lean back I imagine
my life without you, imagine moving
into another life, another book.
It describes your dependence on desire,
how the momentary disclosures
of purpose make you afraid.
The book describes much more than it should.
It wants to divide us.

3
This morning I woke and believed
there was no more to to our lives
than the story of our lives.
When you disagreed, I pointed
to the place in the book where you disagreed.
You fell back to sleep and I began to read
those mysterious parts you used to guess at
while they were being written
and lose interest in after they became
part of the story.
In one of them cold dresses of moonlight
are draped over the chairs in a man's room.
He dreams of a woman whose dresses are lost,
who sits in a garden and waits.
She believes that love is a sacrifice.
The part describes her death
and she is never named,
which is one of the things
you could not stand about her.
A little later we learn
that the dreaming man lives
in the new house across the street.
This morning after you fell back to sleep
I began to turn the pages early in the book:
it was like dreaming of childhood,
so much seemed to vanish,
so much seemed to come to life again.
I did not know what to do.
The book said: "In those moments it was his book.
A bleak crown rested uneasily on his head.
He was the brief ruler of inner and outer
discord,
anxious in his own kingdom."

4
Before you woke
I read another part that described your absence
and told how you sleep to reverse
the progress of your life.
I was touched by my own loneliness as I read,
knowing that what I feel is often the crude
and unsuccessful form of a story
that may never be told.
"He wanted to see her naked and vulnerable,
to see her in the refuse, the discarded
plots of old dreams, the costumes and masks
of unattainable states.
It was as if he were drawn
irresistably to failure."
It was hard to keep reading.
I was tired and wanted to give up.
The book seemed aware of this.
It hinted at changing the subject.
I waited for you to wake not knowing
how long I waited,
and it seemed that I was no longer reading.
I heard the wind passing
like a stream of sighs
and I heard the shiver of leaves
in the trees outside the window.
It would be in the book.
Everything would be there.
I looked at your face
and I read the eyes, the nose, the mouth . . .

5
If only there were a perfect moment in the book;
if only we could live in that moment,
we could being the book again
as if we had not written it,
as if we were not in it.
But the dark approaches
to any page are too numerous
and the escapes are too narrow.
We read through the day.
Each page turning is like a candle
moving through the mind.
Each moment is like a hopeless cause.
If only we could stop reading.
"He never wanted to read another book
and she kept staring into the street.
The cars were still there,
the deep shade of trees covered them.
The shades were drawn in the new house.
Maybe the man who lived there,
the man she loved, was reading
the story of another life.
She imagine a bare parlor,
a cold fireplace, a man sitting
writing a letter to a woman
who has sacrificed her life for love. "
If there were a perfect moment in the book,
it would be the last.
The book never discusses the causes of love.
It claims confusion is a necessary good.
It never explains. It only reveals.

6
The day goes on.
We study what we remember.
We look into the mirror across the room.
We cannot bear to be alone.
The book goes on.
"They became silent and did not know how to
begin
the dialogue which was necessary.
It was words that created divisions in the first
place,
that created loneliness.
They waited
they would turn the pages, hoping
something would happen.
They would patch up their lives in secret:
each defeat forgiven because it could not be
tested,
each pain rewarded because it was unreal.
They did nothing."

7
The book will not survive.
We are the living proof of that.
It is dark outside, in the room it is darker.
I hear your breathing.
You are asking me if I am tired,
if I want to keep reading.
Yes, I am tired.
Yes, I want to keep reading.
I say yes to everything.
You cannot hear me.
"They sat beside each other on the couch.
They were the copies, the tired phantoms
of something they had been before.
The attitudes they took were jaded.
They stared into the book
and were horrified by their innocence,
their reluctance to give up.
They sat beside each other on the couch.
They were determined to accept the truth.
Whatever it was they would accept it.
The book would have to be written
and would have to be read.
They are the book and they are
nothing else.

Taning

2005-07-26T01:06:00.000-07:00

Dahil wala lang--

Saan mapupulot ang pag-asa
May katuwiran ba ang sana
Bitbit ko ang iyong dala
Langit ko ang iyong kanlungan

Permiso sa isang araw na makasama ka
Abiso ng pusong bulag na umaasa

Tama bang aminin na nating may taning
'tong pag-ibig natin
Dakila man walang kasaysayang kakapit
sa bulag na pag-ibig

Saan hihingin ang patawad
Kung walang dalang dahilan
Tangis ko ang 'yong luha
Nais ko ang 'yong kalayaan

(imago)

Wait

2005-07-23T03:12:00.000-07:00

i've come across this poem way back in college and has it practically memorized and sent to most friends over the years. no waiting now--enjoy!=)

***

Wait
Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don't go too early.
You're tired. But everyone's tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

Watching Early Morning Surreal TV

2005-07-22T09:50:00.000-07:00

A bloodied body strewn across a smashed vehicle's front seat was found early this morning and not far from the scene was the driver--just as bloodied--staring fixedly at the wreck as if on a trance. He disjointedly mumbled that the other was a mere passenger, and has no idea who he was. Later investigators would find out, as Mister Passenger alighted zombie-like from the AUV, that the two were actually brothers. Both admit to have been drinking prior to the accident. Go figure.

***

One of the world's greatest inventions: chocolate-flavored toothpaste. Choco Loco, yum! Definitely one of my day's pick-me-uppers!:-)

Taking Socrates' Advice?

2005-07-21T00:37:00.000-07:00

Taking Socrates' advice to fortify knowledge of thy self? Maybe. But more like trying to keep sane throughout tedious translation and synopsis-writing of Tagalog telenovelas and other shows.

1. "Which Famous Modern American Poet Are You?" - Results:

You are John Ashbery. People love your work but have no idea why, really. You are respected by all kinds of scholars and poets. Even artists like you.

2. 7 Types of Intelligence- Which is yours?

3. What type of killer are you?

You are a Samurai.

You are full of honour and value respect. You are not really the stereotypical hero, but you do fight for good. Just in your own way. For you, it is most certainly okay to kill an evil person, if it is for justice and peace. You also don't believe in mourning all the time and think that once you've hit a bad stage in life you just have to get up again. It's pointless to concentrate on emotional pain and better to just get on with everything. You also are a down to earth type of person and think before you act. Impulsive people may annoy you somewhat.

Main weapon: Sword

Quote: "Always do the right thing. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest" -Mark Twain

Facial expression: Small smile

4. Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?

5. What dark word represents you?

Your word is: Brooding. You are a true thinker and often try to figure out the meaning of life, why we are all here etc. You may not be so social, and often think twice before acting but those thoughts you have in your mind never stop flowing in. Sometimes you can be so concentrated you forget about other things that you have to do. Don't change, this world needs deep people.

***

It's kinda weird how the others turned out, especially the fourth one. Beats me--must have been when I answered Tool for my taste in music, and Nietzsche as the last author I've read that did it.

***

Still, I'd recommend taking a quiz just for the sheer heck of it! Visit www.quizilla.com. Go!

So Happy Together

2005-07-19T14:39:00.000-07:00

Though four were conspicuous in their absence, the get-together at Chili’s in Morato last Friday with my college journ barkada has got to be one of the best nights I’ve ever had in a long, long time.

No denying that a year can change a lot, and it was apparent when stories were swapped over dinner. Some have already been predicted years earlier, and some came as a welcome surprise. Lia marveled at her exhilarating participation in the moments of Philippine history, while Gracee recounted weird instances while hobnobbing with the society’s elite. There’s Rhas and her work in public relations, and Nek just a week away from glorious freedom and her quest in finding The Writing Job. But while change seemed a constant that hovered over our conversations, little pockets of old times lingered at our table. Lia still refuses to use fork alone on principle and so demanded the waitress for a spoon, and the rest of us still drank iced tea in enormous proportions. And always, there’s the almost absurd, inane happiness of togetherness.

Through the (scarce) hours Nek and I would blurt in a chorus: some things will never change. And with each outburst I knew—I was absolutely certain—that we delighted in saying so.

***

Some of my favorite (but still unpolished) excerpts from the first draft of the short story I (technically) last wrote. I just remembered because the muse behind it (whom I've just realized while watching wansapanataym at work, does bear an uncanny resemblance to Paolo Paraiso) just called to tell me that he misses me. And despite everything I have to admit that I miss him too. Hahaha.

She didn’t exactly remember. Maybe it was when she saw how, with positive glee, he stepped on that big weight contraption at that local drugstore that she’s had the epiphany. Or when the machine started talking, asking him to hold on to the metal handles jutted out to measure his body fat or something. How his eyes lighted when from the machine a white paper started to roll out, signaling the end of the entire process, reminding her of those cashier registers at the groceries more than anything. The automated voice of a woman told him to “pick his belongings” while she collected her thoughts, deciding on what best possible plot to put him in, or how to best portray him: Ronin-like as he has always claimed to have looked like, or that certain soccer player who became more popular when he married a Spice Girl. (from i.)

How beautifully he played The Beatles’ Blackbird, ever graceful hands that seem to have a secret bond with the guitar itself, the notes effortless in their lilt. Or maybe what captivated her more were the stars in his eyes, glinting of pure happiness just like a child’s as he strummed and plucked away, conveying what he felt about the song more than all languages, whether known or secret, could ever say. (from volume ii.)

(Dream sequence)

He would grow seraphim’s wings; small bumps forming at each side of the first column of his spine, where the sudden burst of light will be later traced. The light would soon morph into feathers of startling white, growing in length as seconds ticked past, until they became the perfect accessory to fly. And she knew he had to, but as the realization sunk in she felt a void eating at her slowly, painfully, so painful it deprived her of words or tears. (from volume v)

And of course, the ending! (spoiler, hee!)

She wasn’t sure if she liked the how the story ended, for she knew he would have wanted a happy ending. But there are stories meant to be ended sadly, and she has come to accept that with resolute finality. Some things come into life, things you should be grateful for (and you are), but will pass just as quickly as they had come. They’re just there, waiting for the right moment to happen, and then waiting for the right moment to disappear. But while they’re still there you just have to capture them the best way you know how, as in a picture, a song, a movie or a story.

That’s why you see, that one day, I just knew I was going to write you a story.

***

I need a new muse.

***

Finally, I’ve got glad news. A very good friend I’ve made during the Dumaguete workshop is going to start working in ABS-CBN! It would certainly make this “air-conditioned sweatshop” more tolerable, and even make me reconsider staying. Hmm, seems like the Dumaguete Mafia is going to join forces again soon (albeit one is uh, too busy), with Chitchat here and Anina texting almost regularly. I do hope we meet up soon—and with Nikko Vitug still in Manila, I’m sure it will be bliss! I’m so excited!=)

Dahil Ayaw Akong Tantanan ng mga Alaala

2005-07-19T03:44:00.000-07:00

mag-iisang buwan na pala. at dahil mukhang inanod na ng ulan ang mga alaala:

Have You Seen Me Lately
Counting Crows

Get away from me
This isn't gonna be easy
But I don't need you
Believe me
You got a piece of me
But it's just a little piece of me
And I don't need anyone
And these days I feel like I'm fading away
Like sometimes when I hear myself on the radio
Have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in America, it's starting to rain
Could you tell me the things you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I remember me
And all the little things that make up a memory
Like she said she loved to watch me sleep
Like she said: "It's the breathing, it's the breathing in and out and in and..."
Have you seen me lately?
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in America it's starting to rain
Could you tell me the things you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
I guess I thought that someone would notice
I guess I thought somebody would say something
If I was missing
Can't you see me?
Come on color me in
Come on color me in
Give me your blue rain
Give me your black sky
Give me your green eyes
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
Come on give me your white skin
I was out on the radio starting to change
Somewhere out in America, it's starting to rain
Could you tell me the things you remember about me
And have you seen me lately?
Have you seen me lately?

We all need to remember

2005-07-15T10:46:00.000-07:00

Friends of the yore seem to be appearing everywhere, and have a common denominator whenever I ask what their future plans are: to migrate in some other country.

Just this morning I saw my good friend Pia who is on her final year in college taking up Nursing. I told her about my previous conversations with our other friends, and she said that she’s planning on the same thing. The exodus of these talented—not to mention kind, kind, people—just saddens me beyond belief.

I’ll be seeing my college barkada tonight. At the rate our yahoo groups exchange has been going lately, this reunion of sorts might run a marathon of days. A year after college seemed to have changed a lot—some reaching a distance I never knew possible after just one fucking year. Maybe we all just need to be together. I think we all need to remember.

***

My sister celebrated her birthday last night and during our family dinner at Alabang something funny happened that got me and my sisters into an endless fit of laughter. In the middle of relaxed conversation something just went braaaat--and we would later realize it was just my mom burping. It happened again a few minutes later after we caught our breaths steady, thus starting another round of mirth. And I realized then that it was the first time I ever heard my mom burp, which was queer considering we're constantly together. Always, always a first time for everything I guess.

Naglahong Pangalan at si Neil Gaiman

2005-07-11T22:49:00.000-07:00

“The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.”- Neil Gaiman’s Coraline

Madalas ikagulat, at noong lumaon ay unti-unting nakasanayan, ng aking mga kaibigan ang mga hirit kong: “naalala mo nung…?” Mukhang nakahiligan ko na talaga ang mang-ungkat ng mga (karamiha’y masasayang) alaala—kahit yung mga tipong isinantabi na sa pinakailalim ng baul na isinilid pa sa isang nakakandadong bodega. At madalas rin sasalubungin ang tanong ko ng isang blankong mukhang nakatingin sa kawalan, ligaw sa paghagilap ng nakaraan, tapos ay namamanghang sasabihin sakin: “Grabe, Des, naalala mo pa yun?”

Nung bata ako, dahil na rin sa madali nga akong makaalala, naging papel ko na ang maging taga-hanap ng mga nawawalang gamit sa bahay. Pero hinala ko medyo selective memory e--minsan kasi pumapalya rin naman ako, na ika nga ng kabiruan kong kaibigan sa opisina e epekto ng aming lumalala, at mas lumalala pang “memory gap.” (Mas matindi nga lang siya, kasi ultimo short term memory niya e defective na, hehe:>) Nitong huli ko lang nabigyan ng mas maliwanag na pinaggagalingan itong “penomenang” ito (hindi yung memory gap a): dyslexic raw kasi ako, at karamihan ng mga dyslexic ay may matinding memorya.

(Oo, dyslexic ako, dahilan rin kung bakit ako bad typist at maraming typo ang mga manuscript ko. Huling patunay e sa trabaho: pabaligtad kong tinype ang isang sentence, na napansin ko lang nang muli kong balikan yung translation ko. Ilang linggo rin bago humupa yung issue na yun hehe:>)

Marami nang nagsabi sakin na swerte ako dahil biyaya ang matalas na memorya at sang-ayon naman ako, lalo na nung nag-aaral pa ako o kaya e kapag nangangailangan ng blackmail material. Biro lang yung huli. Pero minsan nagulantang ako ng isang kabatiran: hindi kaya masama rin ang sobrang pagbabalik-tanaw? Hindi kaya nabubuhay na lang ako sa nakaraan? Napag-iiwanan na ba ako ng kasalukuyan?

Bigla ko yang naisip dahil hanggang ngayon hirap pa rin akong lumimot. Lalo na ng mga sandaling alam kong ‘di na pwedeng balikan. Parang lahat e umusad na’t marami na rin atang nakalimot nang tuluyan. Ikaw kaya, naiisip mo pa ba ako minsan? Nakalimutan mo na rin kaya ang aking pangalan?

***

Waiting is indeed a monumental decision. Kit gave this to me as an option twice, the first instance I’d rather not talk about, the second one I wish to share—the real reason I brought this up in the first place.

“Are you going to wait it out?” seemed to be the question I’ve heard some million times at the Neil Gaiman book signing at Fully Booked in Greenhills last Sunday. When we came around past eleven, hoping more than actually believing that we were still early, a foreboding sight of about a thousand people welcomed us. No kidding. There were two queues, one with those lucky bastards with guaranteed stubs, and the other one which I called the “risk line.” Risk is the perfect word; because later we were informed that Mister Gaiman was completely exhausted from the previous night’s event that he can only accommodate those fortunate souls with sure stubs and cannot—will not—accommodate people after 7:30 p.m. Nearing six thirty a beefy bouncer strides over to where we staunchly held our place, then said with a face asking for punching: “So, ano? Manunuod na lang talaga kayo dyan? Tapos na talaga ‘to e, no.” So what comes after 7:30 p.m.? Disillusionment? Shattered, broken, destroyed dreams? A murder record? After six hours of waiting one is really capable of doing anyone bodily harm no matter how gargantuan the adversary is. Still, there was a glimmer of hope. Not yet seven-thirty, everyone reassures one another, plus some kindly faces of the organizers and the owner Jaime Daez while assessing the situation. Then there’s Mister Gaiman himself, who smiled when we cheered him on every time the glass door expelled happy people from inside the store.

It was almost seven when Mister Daez reaffirmed my faith in God, and my belief that man is innately good (except maybe for that bouncer): lucky, lucky fifty people will be given the chance to have two books signed, with specific instructions though: no asking Mister Gaiman to pose for a picture, open the book to the page you want signed etc. Kit and I lucked out (with enormous help from friends hahaha)—we held the fourth and fifth places. And then THE moment:

Neil: So, your name is Des?
Me: That’s right.

(The Fully Booked people taking pictures asked me if I wanted mine taken, and as I nodded my assent Neil Gaiman looked up and asked me if I wanted him to pose for it. I must have kept nodding because he suddenly looked at the camera and smiled. I’ll post the pictures soon as I receive it on my email so that you’ll see how stupid my reaction was.)

Me: Sir, I just have to say thank you for your gift of word.

I honestly don’t know why I said that. But I think my lack of saying anything wittier paid off because after he drew and signed on my books he looked up to me and said:

Neil: For that, do you want a hug?
Me: (Shocked silence, from which I recovered after a few seconds) Yes, please!

The feeling after is indescribable. The only thing I could say is this: it was well worth all the wait.

alingawngaw sa madaling araw at ang pagdating ni neil gaiman

2005-07-09T08:50:00.000-07:00

sa 13th floor ng elj building sa abs-cbn ang kinalalagyan ng opisina ko. maraming nagtatanong kung 'di ba raw kami natatakot dahil ang nakasanayan na e walang 13th floor ang mga building. sabi ko ako hindi--masaya nga kasi madalas may mga artista rito dahil nasa 13th floor rin ang mga conference rooms, at kami na ang pinakamatarik na opisina matapos ang presidente't mga bise presidente ng kompanya sa 14th at 15th floors, kaya medyo mahaba ang panahong inaakyat ng elevator mula sa basement o ground floor papunta sa amin. mahilig kasi akong kumanta 'pag mag-isa sa elevator--yun nga lang minsan malas, nagkakataong hindi ko napapansing bubukas ang pinto along the way, at mahuhuli akong kumakanta ng walang inhibitions. matitigilan ako, at kulang na lang e sumipol to get a nonchalant effect. pero ang tunay kong nararamdaman? natatawa ako sa sarili ko at sobrang nahihiya sa kasama ko, at alam kong nahihiya rin siya sakin kasi alam niyang nahuli niya ako sa aktong hindi niya dapat nakita. naalala ko lang bigla kasi nangyari na naman sa akin yun kanina habang binabaybay ng elevator na kinasasakyan ko ang 6th floor, nung muli kong sinubok basagin ng tagong alingangaw ang madaling araw.

***
birthday nga pala ng daddy ko ngayon--pauwi na ako mula sa office, diretso sa kung saan man ang aming "luncheon celebration." good luck sa akin, sana hindi ako makatulog habang kumakain hehe=)

***
nandito na nga pala sa pilipinas si neil gaiman, at 'di ko masukat ang kasiyahan ko. ilang buwan rin akong naghintay nung malamang darating siya, dahil simula nang mabasa ko siya dati pa e talagang na-addict ako sa kanya. pero mamabutihin namin nina kit at nek na bukas na lang dumalo ng book signing niya kesa sa ngayon--alam kasi naming napakaraming taong magkakagulo sa kanya. hindi namin pipiliting makisiksik sa ga-libong katao, makapaghihintay naman kasi kami--lalo pa't alam naming worth it yung hinihintay namin. may mga ganung bagay kasi, mga bagay na hindi dapat minamadali, lalo na kung alam mong sa huli e hindi mo makukuha ang full satisfaction. teka, double meaning na ata ito. ang aga-aga para maging mapaghanap ng away, kaya pasintabi na lang kung may tatamaan. ang talagang nais ko lang naman sabihin e mahal ko si neil gaiman. amen.

aklas laban sa memorya at ang ganid na motibo nilang manggagantso

2005-07-09T01:30:00.000-07:00

oo, sinabi kong huling paghihinagpis ko na ang entry kong geography, theater of the absurd, soundtrack at ang tula. at oo, maaaring isipin niyong binabali ko ang aking salita. ang akin lang, tapos na ang paghihinagpis dahil pinalitan na ito ng paggunita. may mga alaalang hindi kaaya-aya pero ganun talaga e--maaari naman palang balikan ang nakaraan nang kahit papaano'y pinahupa muna ang pagngingitngit.

teka, ano nga ba talaga ang alam ko sa sinasabi ko? maaari rin namang sa kasuluk-sulukan ng utak ko ito ang "mumunti kong pag-aaklas laban sa memorya." ewan ko. ang importante lang ngayon e masabi ko kung ano ang nais kong sabihin kaya tama na ang pasintabi.

mahigit isang buwan nang nakalilipas mula nang umuwi ako mula sa dumaguete pero hindi ko mapigilan ang sariling gunitain ang mga alaala nito kahit isang beses lang sa isang araw. pwedeng sabihing matinding hangover, pero palagay ko mananatili ang tamang ito hanggang malagutan na ako ng hininga. seryoso, walang stir--ngayon ko lang naintindihan bakit inaalayan ito ng tula ng mga makata, istorya ng mga kwentista at ng kung anu-ano pa. kung ano ang naging bunga ng pagpunta ko doon, masasabi kong higit pa sa isang tula (oo, tula at hindi poem). ilang taon, halos isang dekada, mula nang sineryoso ko ang sumulat ng tula. at alam kong kalakhan ng dahilan e ang pagbabago sa workshop program ng national writers workshop.

ngayong taon may mga kasama kaming amerikano mula sa creative non-fiction writing program ng university of iowa. natural, kinailangang magsalita kami ng wikang Ingles sa lahat ng oras na kasama namin sila. bigla ko tuloy napagtanto na napakaganda pala talaga ang ating wika. alam ko na yun dati pero nung tuluyan kaming napilitan na hiramin ang lenggwahe nila noon lang, noon ko lang talagang nasabi sa sarili ko na mahal na mahal ko ang wikang Filipino. maraming hindi nakakaalam na sumusulat naman talaga ako sa Filipino, puro kasi wikang Ingles ang nababasa nila sa akin. sarili ko ngang fellow at mabuting kaibigan e nagulat nang mabasa niya ang tula ko dito sa blog na 'to. isa pang dahilan upang ipagpasalamat ang blog--kahit papaano'y may medium na ako upang maglathala sa sariling wika.

***

tumatawa ako kasi ang pulitika dito sa pilipinas e talagang nakakarimarim. tumatawa ako kasi ang mga pulitiko dito sa pilipinas e talagang mga baboy (o karamihan sa kanila). tumatawa ako kasi sa nationwide tv e makikita't mababasa mo sa kanila ang ganid nilang mga motibo, na pilit nilang itatago sa ilalim ng kontekstong "para sa ikabubuti ng buong sambayanang pilipino." tumatawa ako dahil alam kong hindi nila ako maloloko. pero walang bahid ng tuwa sa pagtawa ko. mapanuya? maaari. sino ba naman ang matutuwa sa mga manggagantsong ito?

hindi ko pinangarap kahit kailan ang tumira sa ibang bansa. bumisita, magbakasyon, mag-aral oo--pero tumira? sabi ko hindi ko kaya, ni hindi ko iniiisip kahit noong kinukuha na kami ng mga tita't lola ko sa amerika. ngunit ngayong nakatutok kami sa balita at nakikitang nagkakagulo na ang kawawang pilipinas? bigla akong napaisip. dumagdag sa listahan ang pagtatrabaho doon. ayokong mawalan ng pag-asa kaya layon ko, kung saka-sakali man, e magtrabaho doon ng ilang taon upang mag-ipon at bumalik dito, nananaginip na sana pagdating ng pagbabalik ko sa pilipinas e nakaahon na ang kahabag-habag kong bansa. kahit kaunti, kahit papaano--ang importante ay may direksiyon at pagbabago.

"Nothing Forgetfulness Does Not Fade, Memory Alter"

2005-07-08T05:55:00.000-07:00

again, i've fallen victim to merciless grapevine for the nth time. and the thing about it is that it's true--or at least the one and only detail i've heard. my friend refuses to budge until i'm "ready to tell my story". but how can you tell a story altered by present migivings? nothing else seemed more real than while it was happening, but now another's forgetfulness fades the memory.

Zen Masters Age 0-3 and the Deluge of Childhood Nostalgia

2005-07-04T19:06:00.000-07:00

Everyone owns a favorite childhood memory held of him by his family. The kind that has become an epic--told by parents to amuse bored visiting relatives and friends, or even plain strangers they’d meet in church or some other place, as long as the situation allows them enough time for conversation. The kind told so many times the story seemed to assume a life of its own—opening as precise as each crease in thumb mark, punch lines delivered exact as clockwork. Way back when Glorietta was just a patch of ground made green by impeccably kept grass (I even have the picture to prove it) and there was only SM Makati to stand proud as mall landmark of the city, the memory I claim my own took its permanent place in my family’s minds.

It’s sacred tradition for my family to go out on weekends, and most of these days were spent in the mall to eat out, do groceries, and indulge in bonding activities friendly to four small girls. We’d usually have lunch in Makati Supermart (I swear they had the best spaghetti with meatballs then), and it was during this one particular time my grandmother came with us that I made my monumental (re)mark. My parents were kidding us children that we have to pay for our own food—kkb, as they termed it—and while my sisters kept their panic to themselves I, in my wise two or three years, just shrugged calmly and gave my order: “toasted bread and water.” Hahaha.

What brought the sudden onslaught of childhood nostalgia? My niece Hanna and nephew Gabriel (whom I originally nicknamed Gael for Gael Garcia Bernal but was outvoted by my sisters who wanted Gabby—I wouldn’t know from whom they fancied the moniker though, and I’m afraid to even ask.) came home this weekend. And it’s funny how everyone’s moods immediately shift from surly to deliriously happy. I even race home from work now, just to catch them before their bedtimes. It’s as if being with them allows me to become a child again, and I frolic in the blissful and simple world of their innocence. Watching them affirms some lost faith and wisdom, teaching me that things are not always as complex as I’ve been made to believe. They come to the core of things without conditions or biases—Zen philosophy as I understand it. As Chinese sage Zhuang Zi describes (not defines) Zen: “When hungry, eat. When sleepy, go to sleep.” Guess we’ll be doing ourselves a huge, huge favor if we just indulge our inner child some time, don’t you think?

Dream Stalking

2005-06-30T00:06:00.000-07:00

With every ounce of resistance defeated by my insatiable desire to hear my current soundtrack I marched bravely (and hurriedly I might add--in my typical paranoia that somebody might beat me to the last copy) into Tower Records last night and bought Tala, Paramita’s first album, the same band I’ve been raving about in yesterday’s entry.

I remember Tuesday night at Conspiracy, as the vocalist was singing a then-unfamiliar song, I told a good friend beside me that the former was performing her rendition of my “poem” posted entry before last: Dumaguete, Gabi, Panaginip. It reminded me too, accordingly, of what Fredric Jameson said about being in a time when masterpieces are already extinct because everything has already been either said or done. Now armed with the inlay I see uncanny similarities between the poem and the song (even with the titles!)—thus, my inevitable gravitation to it:

Panaginip Lang
Paramita

Ngayon sa ‘king pag-iisa
Nahihibang sa kakaisip
Kung iiwasan ka,
Hahayaan ko na bang
Tuluyan nang ibaon sa limot ang ala-ala mo

At ang lahat ng iyong mga sinabi
Sa akin,
Maari bang limutin ang nangyari sa atin?

Ngunit bago ka lumisan
Palayain ako
Ngunit bago ka lumisan
Palayain ako

Ako pa rin ay nagtatanong
Kung meron pang kaunting pag-asang
Magkabalikan,
Pero ayoko nang maulit pa

Sumisigaw, lahat ay sinabi sa ‘yo

(ano ang iyong madarama)
kung malaman mong ito’y panaginip lang
(ano ang iyong maiisip)
kung bukas ay di ka na muling gigising pa

***
I sat in J. Neil Garcia’s MA class in UP and immensely enjoyed both discussion and the professor. The latter was as hilarious as he was insightful—but it was the one line interpretation of Fatima Lim-Wilson’s The Medium that really endeared him to me: “Nothing is ever lost.”

Enough said.

Takipsilim

2005-06-29T04:22:00.000-07:00

heard this band last night over at the pinoypoets event in conspiracy and of the three songs they played, this one really caught my attention big time. apparently it has been enjoying airplay already, but then again as of late i haven't really been listening to the radio so i was missing out on some of the latest action.

Takipsilim
Paramita

San ko hahanapin ang ating nakaraan?
Ala-alang kay tamis at kay saya.
Ang aking puso'y umaasa, nananabik sa yo.
Di mapigil ang damdamin, nababaliw sayo.

Aaminin ko, lahat ng ito ay inaalay lamang sa iyo.
Aaminin ko, na ang buhay ko ay walang kulay kung
Hindi dahil sayo.
Aaminin ko, tanging ngalan mo ang sinisigaw ng
Damdamin ko.
Maghihintay ako.

Patawad, di ko maikukubli.
Di inaasahang, mayrong katapusan.
Sana'y iningatan ang pagkakataon, na noo'y tayo
Lamang.
At ang bawat sandali ay atin lamang.
Ito'y alay ko sa yo.
Di makapaniwalang tapos na.
Ang lahat sa atin at di ka na
Magiging akin, kahit na
Andito pa rin ako, umaasa.

Nothing and Not Much

2005-06-08T02:27:00.000-07:00

“Everybody in every galaxy is busy observing and measuring everything, from the infinitely small to the infinitely large, there’s a secret that only Nugkta and I know: that everything space and time contain is no more than the little that was generated from nothingness, the little that is and that might very well not be, or even smaller, even more meagre and perishable. And whether for good or for ill, it is because the only thing we could say is this: poor, frail universe, born of nothing, all we are and do resembles you.”
–Italo Calvino