NOBODY'S RACHELLE

Departures

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 22:41:00 +0000

There are some things -- many things -- in this space that doesn't sound me anymore.

Went through all my old posts and while they were all genuine life experiences and feelings, I have already outgrown that phase of wanting to stop by every so often to talk about how I feel. I still pause from time to time to take in all the emotions that come from being human but I try to do that in moderation now.

That said, a new site is coming. Domain's now in place, I'm just fixing up some very important details. I'd still be sharing poems I love and some other little pieces of heaven on earth, only this time, there would certainly be more of these joys than the rather morose content that dominates this space.

The new blog will be live on April 21, 2013 so if you feel like it, come visit!

Meanwhile, here's a poem by Linda Pastan that better encapsulates this goodbye.

Because

Linda Pastan

Because the night you asked me,

the small scar of the quarter moon

had healed—the moon was whole again;

because life seemed so short;

because life stretched before me

like the darkened halls of nightmare;

because I knew exactly what I wanted;

because I knew exactly nothing;

because I shed my childhood with my clothes—

they both had years of wear left in them;

because your eyes were darker than my father’s;

because my father said I could do better;

because I wanted badly to say no;

because Stanley Kowalski shouted “Stella…;”

because you were a door I could slam shut;

because endings are written before beginnings;

because I knew that after twenty years

you’d bring the plants inside for winter

and make a jungle we’d sleep in naked;

because I had free will;

because everything is ordained;

I said yes.

Komachi on Being Alive

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 19:32:00 +0000

Because life is better lived than dreamed about.

No. 658

Ono no Komachi

Though I go to you

ceaselessly along dream paths,

the sum of those trysts

is less than a single glimpse

granted in the waking world.

Friday surprise

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 19:57:00 +0000

A single man from our neighborhood decided to die last Friday. It was a fine day. The sky's clear, the traffic not as bad for the regular Friday traffic hell. It was a good day to die.

Cab driver told me that the man's only 25. He was clearly envious of the departed's youth. In his mind, if only he can be 25 again. He wouldn't have ended up a cab driver, he said. And he couldn't have fathered five kids from three different women - all of whom he left to his mother.

He proceeded to scratch his balding head. Why would a single man with a job take his life?

We looked at the apartment the man used to live in. We both decided that the man had a decent job. His apartment had flower pots lining the stairs leading up to his floor. From outside, we saw that his curtain's a light shade of green. Why would a man with bright curtains take his life?

His cousin, according to the cab driver was crying earlier. A call center agent who just finished her shift went immediately to check on him, but she came too late. Maybe if she had asked him earlier how he was, it couldn't have happened. Or maybe, if only she didn't call him gay when he said he was sad. Her cousin, the fine young man in his 20's is two hours dead.

It wasn't murder. It wasn't food poisoning. It was suicide without a suicide note. He didn't have to explain why.

New Year pledges

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Tue, 01 Jan 2013 15:03:00 +0000

To the tune of Dare You To Move, here's my pledge for this year:

1. I will wake up before the sun rises, no matter what .
2. I will be consistent in planning my daily activities and focus on achieving what was planned.
3. I will be more patient and enduring in doing things that give me no pleasure.
4. I will restrain myself from acquiring, consuming anything that I won't benefit from in the long run.
5. I will smile when things are going well and smile harder when confronted by challenges.
6. I will be parsimonious in giving promises and fully commit myself towards keeping them.

My 2012 Wrap-Up

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 12:38:00 +0000

2012 had been a year filled with huge transitions for me. Never exactly a fan of documenting life shifts, I now see the beauty of it. How else do I grasp what is happening to me without putting things into writing?

Q1 of 2012: Graduation jitters

We almost didn't make it! Our thesis is the perfect example of Murphy's Law. It was difficult to get what we had worked on the entire first semester so we had to reframe the thesis a little bit. The first quarter was spent being frazzled by more delays and disturbing a lot of friends for interview schedules.

I have my thesis to thank for though because through it I was able to forge new connections while strengthening old ones. My thesis partner and I became closer because of the many depressing nights spent watching an entire year of news reports about the conflict in Mindanao.

Q2 of 2012: To be or not to be

I used to think that getting the diploma is the harder one until I had to make a choice on which opportunities to take. I am grateful for finally reaping what I have sown during college but it is difficult to say yes to one thing and say no to the rest.

Unlike most of the people I know, I don't really have a dream company or a dream job. This made the choosing harder. Eventually, I decided to work in a start-up social news network.

Q3 of 2012: Home sweet home

Left my first job in favor of something that would bring me back to Davao. It was a full quarter of trouble and fun.

Trouble because it was the most tumultuous quarter I've ever had that with personal issues getting in the way of my goals. Nevertheless, it was a quarter that brought me to many beautiful places in Mindanao. I was able to go on a land trip that brought me to the very ends of Davao Oriental and Zamboanga City.

Q4 of 2012: Tough decisions

This quarter brought me back to my first job and first love. A lot was said about Manila's terrible pollution but I fell in love with the loudness of the city. Everywhere I go, everything screams - the buildings, the cars, the people.

Taking things slow and looking before leaping were things I've only begun to appreciate when I learned their value the hard way.

2012 had been exacting, yes, but here's to hoping that 2013 gives me everything I need to run life's race well.

Surviving goodbye

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Wed, 14 Nov 2012 09:26:00 +0000

Days are getting fewer and yet I am growing increasingly restless. I have gotten past the worst and am now breathing again. Despite that, I cannot be calmed.

What remains of my time here is going to be tough for I find myself unwilling to do anything anymore. I may be physically present but my mind wanders. I am seated somewhere well-lighted and spacious with the view of the sky almost black with pollution. I am hearing a lot of noise - talks about the recent political boo-boo, furious tip-tapping of the keyboard as the deadline nears, door opening followed by hurried footsteps.

I am no longer suffocated in the corner nodding wordlessly. Temporary compliance and patient tolerance just to get by until this is finally over is how I survive until I can feel, smile, be me once more.

There is no going back now. I have never felt so free.

The other versions of Whitney Houston's Greatest Love of All

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Thu, 08 Nov 2012 17:46:00 +0000

Reminder to self: buy a huge mirror so I can hold a staring contest with myself.

Image taken from CJ de Silva's website

After Love

Derek Walcott

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

Mortality

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sat, 03 Nov 2012 14:42:00 +0000

Each day, we die a little. How do we keep some of ourselves from dying?

The Business of Love is Cruelty

Dean Young

It scares me the genius we have

for hurting one another. I’m seven,

as tall as my mother kneeling and

she’s kneeling and somehow I know

exactly how to do it, calmly,

enunciating like a good actor projecting

to the last row, shocking the ones

who’ve come in late, cowering

out of their coats, sleet still sparkling

on their collars, the voice nearly licking

their ears above the swordplay and laments:

I hate you.

Now her hands are rising to her face.

Now the fear done flashing through me,

I wish I could undo it, take it back,

but it’s a question of perfection,

carrying it through, climbing the steps

to my room, chosen banishment, where

I’ll paint the hair of my model

Bride of Frankenstein purple and pink,

heap of rancor, vivacious hair

that will not die. She’s rejected

of course her intended, cathected

the desires of six or seven bodies

onto the wimp Doctor. And Herr Doktor,

what does he want among the burning villages

of his proven theories? Well, he wants

to be a student again, free, drunk,

making the cricket jump, but

his distraught monster’s on the rampage

again, lead-footed, weary, a corrosive

and incommunicable need sputtering

his chest, throwing oil like a fouled-up

motor: how many times do you have to die

before you’re really dead?

Tagorre's Brink of Eternity

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 13:12:00 +0000

To hold forever in my hand. To make time my ally...

Brink of Eternity

Rabindranath Tagorre

In desperate hope I go and search for her

in all the corners of my room;

I find her not.

My house is small

and what once has gone from it can never be regained.

But infinite is thy mansion, my lord,

and seeking her I have to come to thy door.

I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky

and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.

I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish

---no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears.

Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean,

plunge it into the deepest fullness.

Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch

in the allness of the universe.

Dagmay.kom picked up my love story

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 05:46:00 +0000

Correction: Imagined love story.

They also took time to draw it!

Milosz's Faith for the Faithless

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 14 Oct 2012 14:37:00 +0000

To M:

Nights will be darker and starless as more rain comes. But the earth rotates tirelessly no matter how heavy the burden it carries. Rest assured that stars will come out soon.

Faith

Czeslaw Milosz

The word Faith means when someone sees

A dew-drop or a floating leaf, and knows

That they are, because they have to be.

And even if you dreamed, or closed your eyes

And wished, the world would still be what it was,

And the leaf would still be carried down the river.

It means that when someone’s foot is hurt

By a sharp rock, he also knows that rocks

Are here so they can hurt our feet.

Look, see the long shadow cast by the trees;

And flowers and people throw shadows on the earth:

What has no shadow has no strength to live.

Cummings' Guide to Love

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 23 Sep 2012 02:29:00 +0000

Fear is good. Fear means you have taken a chance, leapt out of your comfort zone. Fear could be an indication of progress. Of crossing over. Of coming alive.

let it go – the

e.e. cummings

let it go – the

smashed word broken

open vow or
the oath cracked length

wise – let it go it

was sworn to

let them go – the

truthful liars and

the false fair friends

and the boths and

neithers – you must let them go they

were born

to go

let all go – the

big small middling

tall bigger really
the biggest and all

things – let all go

dear

so comes love

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 16 Sep 2012 20:23:00 +0000

There are times when I go almost crazy. It happens once a month, consistently, without fail. This is when my face could deep-fry chicken. This is when I feel like a penguin walking on ice.

Weeks ago, I tried to rationalize my emotions. Sadly, I cannot come up with any mindblowing existentialist justification. So I turn to biology.

Just this week over dinner, I tried to rationalize again. Aided by a friend this time. We talked about religion, palm-reading, and skydiving. But mostly we talked about men. And why men do what they do.

We eventually got tired of talking about men so we decided to take a walk and find a toilet. We surmised that men are the way they are because perfection is boring. And that achieving the ideal would kill the motivation to live.

We never talked about men after that. Until the next bout of crazy, of course.

Neruda's Thing about Labels

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 10:56:00 +0000

We struggle everyday. Not so much with the people around us but with ourselves. I'd like to think that we have a huge collection of faces. Some face we leave some place at some point. Some we'd like to keep but can't keep anymore. How many faces have you lost?

Too Many Names

Pablo Neruda

Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays

and the week with the whole year.

Time cannot be cut

with your weary scissors,

and all the names of the day

are washed out by the waters of night.

No one can claim the name of Pedro,

nobody is Rosa or Maria,

all of us are dust or sand,

all of us are rain under rain.

They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,

of Chiles and of Paraguays;

I have no idea what they are saying.

I know only the skin of the earth

and I know it is without a name.

When I lived amongst the roots

they pleased me more than flowers did,

and when I spoke to a stone

it rang like a bell.

It is so long, the spring

which goes on all winter.

Time lost its shoes.

A year is four centuries.

When I sleep every night,

what am I called or not called?

And when I wake, who am I

if I was not while I slept?

This means to say that scarcely

have we landed into life

than we come as if new-born;

let us not fill our mouths

with so many faltering names,

with so many sad formallities,

with so many pompous letters,

with so much of yours and mine,

with so much of signing of papers.

I have a mind to confuse things,

unite them, bring them to birth,

mix them up, undress them,

until the light of the world

has the oneness of the ocean,

a generous, vast wholeness,

a crepitant fragrance.

Letters to X: Gravity

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 09:55:00 +0000

X,

I will start at a random point in our story, two years after, if that's okay with you.

I was alone in a very hot room with a singular fan humming silently in the background. Few clothes litter the empty bed across mine. I have a huge window that gives me a terrific view of the whole island alight in the evening. Except for a few sobs, everything was just as it should be, still.

It's my first week in a new island. My mission was to forget you.

A year after that, I am crouched in my room back at home, still crying the same tears.

Y.

One day vs. Forever

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Tue, 31 Jul 2012 07:05:00 +0000

From collider.com

How wonderful must it have been if we meet our one true love early in life and know that they are for us. It is a terrifying thing to face the world alone. Who says we need forever? I think all we need is just those brief moments with these people who could truly make us happy. And those little moments, although transient and fleeting make it worthwhile to wake up every single day.

Uking it out

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sat, 07 Jul 2012 19:59:00 +0000

A gibberish rendition of Obladi Oblada by The Beatles

I went over uke renditions of some pop songs when it suddenly hit me. I used to live like the music a uke makes. Before I was velvet violin , I was sunny uke.

I guess some of life's realities have a way of messing with our disposition. Then again, there is always a choice. I find it ridiculous how I had spent most of my time the past few weeks mulling over things I cannot change yet when I should be having fun.

Months ago, I planned on learning how to play the uke. Somehow, that little plan had been buried beneath piles and piles of other worries. I'm glad I remember it now. Remembering... Speaking of which, while forgetting is hard, remembering is just as difficult. After all, you would only realize that you have forgotten something after you have remembered it.

Like tonight. I remembered how I loved the uke and how one fine day last October I went to a music store and hungrily ran my hands through the uke's body.

Next pay day, I buy a uke and work on learning how to play it.

True love and coming alive

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 18:28:00 +0000

*This is a writing assignment for my Corporate Communications class from last semester

The only time that I saw our professor turn pinkish with excitement was when she, albeit briefly, talked about how she found Hyun Bin to be both a handsome and talented actor. As she was preparing to introduce the mystery speaker for that day, I cannot help but notice how she was giving off that Hyun Bin glow. What is it about this mystery speaker that pleased her so much?

Hearing about the speaker’s credentials had me feeling for my jaw for fear of it falling on the floor!

There clearly was a discord about what I imagined an accomplished writer should look like and what I saw when Marivi Soliven Blanco was called to take the floor. On the outside, she resembled those elegant ladies who hosted tea parties and spent vacations in chichi resorts somewhere in the Maldives. To my chagrin, Mrs. Blanco is not only a prolific writer with several Palancas and a novel to be published by Penguin, but also a very supportive wife who readily came with her husband wherever he went, thereby putting her career on the line. Is this even humanly possible?

Her talk was riveting for she is one of the few living proofs that challenging what is conventional can prove to be fruitful in the long run given the right attitude. She took us to different points of her life and showed us how everything has come together in the end to make her the writer that she is today. While she admitted to have “sold out” in her first few years after college, she has nothing but praises for the advertising world that trained her to “think in scenes” which would later help in her creative outputs. Shortly after quitting her lucrative job to pursue her passion for creative writing and just when she was getting noticed for it, she left the Philippines to be with her husband who happened to be based in the United States. To have taken the risk of losing her momentum to follow a loved one was alien to me. I have read it in books but I never really expected for it to be a valid choice in real life.

Whenever I am home for the holidays, my grandfather who I call Papu, is tireless in reminding me that although a career can give me a sense of accomplishment, it is not the only thing that would make me “come alive”. I never understood it until I came face to face with the epitome of what Papu was talking about. How Mrs. Blanco chose to live her life is not something that a lot of people can do.

In a field with roughly a thousand hopefuls, she stood out and even managed to make a lifelong career out of it while being a mother and a wife all rolled into one. Her consistency and discipline, the same winning combination that made Sir Sandy defy the law of gravity and succeed in the financial world, made her shine in her chosen field. “Being nice and hardworking apart from the talent”, shared Mrs. Blanco is the way she did it. Humility by “understanding that not everything you write is wonderful” is how she improved her craft eventually gaining critical acclaim in the Philippines and now set to rub book spines with the likes of Nietzsche.

But what I really gleaned from her talk is that an accolade is just the cherry on top of the cake that is “finding the thing that works for you”.

Bashō's hatless rainy days

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 24 Jun 2012 11:54:00 +0000

Have you ever tasted the rain? When did you last get wet and didn't care?
Photo by Vincent Garrucho

It's the time of the year again when the heaven cries buckets and buckets of tears. Bashō's haiku embodies a daredevil attitude towards possibly getting wet defenseless.

“A cold rain starting…”

A cold rain starting

And no hat –

So?

Prometheus disclosed

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Fri, 15 Jun 2012 14:09:00 +0000

Prometheus discusses sticky dinner table non-topics and discusses it 'stickily'. It is a movie that compensates its lack of riveting narrative with compelling visuals.

The audience is treated to a nauseous ride with all sorts of marine-like creatures tormenting the humans who went to a distant moon hoping to meet their 'Engineers'. It is a flawless 3D movie with the storyline allowing for gut-wrenching graphics. Set in 2093 in a distant moon where human ancestors probably live, it is a mixture of sophisticated machines and prehistoric giant worms.

Why did they (Engineers) suddenly decide to destroy the ones (humans) they created would supposedly give the film some heart but it is overwhelmed by too much unjustified fightings. At the end of it, the viewer leaves the cinema house too bothered by the gory visuals that s/he won't be able to process the philosophical ruminations of the film. Does it deserve rewinds at home? Not when you just had squid for dinner.

To the real knight

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Sun, 13 May 2012 07:53:00 +0000

She can ride on horses and make dreams come true. She's the original knight in shining armor (and tights!).
Sorry prince charming, but before you came into mythical existence, there were mothers all over the world making real castles for their little girls.
To my mother who never pressured me into anything (except for a random prodding here and there), thank you.

Forgive the girl

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Mon, 07 May 2012 08:36:00 +0000

I had been very busy. I didn't have the time and the energy and the willpower to be productive. Thank you very much.

Earlier, I promised myself that I'd be more diligent in updating this small virtual space with many nice things. I have a lot of backlogs instead.

Nevertheless, a lot of good things had been happening!

I am now employed. I also graduated from university. I went back to my hometown to eat lechon. And now I'm back in Manila. I moved to a new apartment because I can no longer stay in the dorm.

I have also been trying to wear heels properly. I guess this is it?

PNoy is our monarchical symbol.

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 00:32:00 +0000

King PNoy

In light of the flak that the president has been receiving with regard his purported inefficiency as president of the republic, crafty critics has coined the term Noynoying.

Now now... my friend said that what she's happy about is the fact that PNoy has high trust ratings. She sees this as an improvement from GMA's term when the people had very low morale and took on a very 'defeatist' approach in confronting everyday problems.

She went on to say that PNoy symbolizes hope. That said, I was reminded of how monarchies function in other parts of the world. Could it be that PNoy's there to symbolize something good?

Is being a symbol for hope and a better, brighter future enough? Are we ready for a monarchy?

---
Image from Bulatlat.com

Letters to X: Real Love

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 00:08:00 +0000

I would like to think what we had was real. I would have liked to hold on to it, to you, but we can't keep on dancing the same rhythm over and over again.

I kept on talking about how I must stop this (I've been talking about 'stopping' this for three years now). And I think this is the perfect time. There will be times when I would be reduced to tears again. The memory of you and the prospect of being able to be with you will always leave me wistful.

When I heard the song Real Love while I was riding on a train to take me to a museum, I kept on thinking about how our wedding would be like. How the song could probably be a perfect wedding song for us. But I'm only 20, so it's really idiotic to think about weddings when I still have a career to plan.

This is me thinking to myself. Again. Seems like the only thing left for me to do was think. Unlike other people, we never really had anything tangible exchanged. We only have memories. Too bad I can't put them in a barrel and set them on fire to burn.

The song didn't really have much lyrics except that it kept on insisting that it's real love. It's real love. It's the same thing with us, ironically. Every time I think about you, I think of love. OR at least that's what I'm thinking now. Will there ever be someone who would love me as much as I have loved you?

Was our love real? Even if it was, i know deep inside me we can never be.

Yes, it's real love. Idiot.

Holiday heroics

noreply@blogger.com (neenaland) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 04:27:00 +0000

Great photoshop work replacing Jose Rizal's head with Pacman's

A semester ago I wrote a paper on Rizal and asked street children what to them are heroes. When asked about this, they all replied Rizal, hence, equating a proper name to a certain quality just as other kids would probably say Superman when asked what a hero is, except that Rizal is very real. Now my problem is, is Rizal really real for these kids? Or is he just a fictional comic book character?

~~~

Today we celebrate Araw ng Kagitingan (Day of Valor). It signifies the surrender of the U.S. and Filipino troops in Corregidor. I don't understand why we call it as such when the day's all about surrendering. Why the need to commemorate one's fall? Do we lack victorious moments that we scrimp on other historical moments such as falling just so we be able to celebrate something? Or could it be that there's some wisdom attached to it like courage is not only found in continuous struggle but that it is also apparent in being able to accept defeat? Regardless, the working class see this as a blessing for the very long weekend it allows for them.