The House of Moxie

Children

2012-01-23T00:35:00.000+08:00

It's all about balance. When I have children of my own, I want them to do well in school. But I don't want them to be all school and no play. I don't want my (future... like WAY future) 5-year-old to be able to multiply double-digit numbers but be uncomfortable singing and dancing and playing and socializing and talking nonsense. Sometimes, kids just need to play and explore.

One thing I miss from childhood: Planter's Cheese Curls and Cheese Balls (okay, I guess that's two things).

I don't want to call the (future) father of my (future) kids "Dad," nor do I want him to call me "Mom." I love the idea of the man I love being the father of my children, but he's not MY father. He's my lover, my husband, my partner. And so I will address him as such and treat him as such. And I want my children to grow up seeing that. I want them to grow up seeing romance between Mom and Dad as a normal, lovely thing, not as an icky thing.

Coriolanus

2012-01-21T23:28:00.001+08:00

Flighty and feeble like birds
Like trees, swayed by the slightest of breezes
Man is akin to nature, all right

We often see ourselves as separate from nature
But really, we are a part of it
And so we possess the same characteristics, have the same tendencies
The good and the bad

The Experiment

2011-07-20T07:31:00.000+08:00

I just finished watching the movie The Experiment, and it brought me to tears and broke my heart. The basic premise of the movie is a social/behavioral experiment where men were assigned the role of either a prisoner or a prison guard and were to live that way for two weeks. There were rules that the guards were to impose, and breaking the rules was to be met with commensurate punishment. If they lasted the full two weeks, each participant would be paid $14,000. If even a single individual bailed out, the experiment would end, and no one would be paid. If there was any sort of violence or threat to anyone's life, the experiment would likewise end, and no one would be paid. (Spoiler alert!) Things quickly got out of hand, as the guards started to take their roles too much to heart, the prisoners followed suit, and they all discovered that the experimenters' rules on violence and well-being turned out to be a lot less stringent than expected. The guards began to resort to increasingly extreme and inhumane measures to keep the prisoners under control, and the prisoners felt indignation and resentment and struggled with their spirits being broken. The situation escalated and eventually resulted in a riot, with guards and prisoners going at each other. That, finally, led to the experiment being cut short less than halfway in.

I know it's a fictional scenario, an isolated one at that, and that the chances of something like that happening in real life are slim to none (I'm hoping it's none, really), but the way the characters turned ugly and did things to each other and lost sight of their humanity... that's something we see in real life, on a day-to-day basis. Some of it might be as extreme as what happened in the movie; I suppose a similar scenario plays out in many prisons. There's a lot of war, killing, corruption, and so on that goes on in the world. But it also happens in ways that are not as extreme but are nonetheless ugly and are perversions of our humanity. We just hurt each other in so many ways, and often, we don't even realize it, because we are so consumed by whatever selfish reasons we have for behaving as we do. Someone does something hurtful to another, the other retaliates, and with each turn taken, the hurting becomes progressively worse until it becomes all about the hurting and the fighting and the getting even, and we forget our human selves. And by the time we take a timeout, things have just gotten so bad and convoluted, and people's spirits have become so damaged that it's difficult to unravel it all and to say who did what and who started it and to separate ourselves from our pain. We see before us a big tangled mess of fault and pain and responsibility and tears and blood, and it just seems impossible to work through, to untangle or get through or push aside, so we just walk away. We walk away and leave a part of ourselves in there, and that's that.

I don't have a solution, and I'm not here to offer one. I just wish we'd be better to each other, that's all.

It was a great movie. The premise was simple but interesting and offered insight into the human psyche. The actors were brilliant. I'm speechless. I have nothing more to say other than... watch it.

Wings and Pies in Somerville on a Sunny Day

2010-03-21T09:46:00.000+08:00

It's mid-March, and it's more spring than it is winter. After spending a week missing out on the sunshine, I finally decided to get up off my ass and take a stroll in Somerville yesterday. The purpose was threefold: to bask in the sunshine, to get some exercise, and to check out some food places. A search for the best buffalo wings in the Boston area led me to Wings Over Somerville (among others), and a search for a good dessert place led me to Petsi Pies. Both places are a reasonable walk (10-20 minutes) from the Porter Square T stop, so that's where I decided to go.

Usually, when faced with an escalator alongside a flight of stairs, I take the stairs. I usually do so semi-automatically, but yesterday, I chose the stairs a little more deliberately, since one of my reasons for being out was to get some exercise. Maybe I should've paid more attention to the fact that among a trainful of people getting off at that station, only 2 others besides me opted for the stairs. If I'd given it more consideration, I would've realized that it was an incredibly long flight of stairs: 9 sets of 10-12 steps each, with a landing only a couple feet long in between. I did eventually realize it, but by then, it was too late to turn back. I wanted to stop for a brief rest a couple times, but that would've been embarrassing. So I kept at it, and once I reached the top, I mentally patted myself on the back for the accomplishment while trying to catch my breath. And then I turned the corner and was confronted with another flight of stairs, not as long as the one I had just climbed but not a short one either. I took the escalator.

And thank God I did, because I had a good walk ahead. I went straight down Somerville Avenue, walking past a bunch of gas stations, a cafe, a park, a teenage couple, a bunch of skate rats, a carwash (whose driveway was on/parallel to the sidewalk I was walking on--I was walking on the sidewalk and got honked at by a car trying to get past me to get to the carwash).

Upon arriving at Wings Over, I ordered a DC-3 (the smallest size of boneless wings, about half a pound, for $6.99) in Red Alert buffalo sauce (third among 5 levels of hotness). The wings come with celery sticks and your choice of blue cheese or buttermilk ranch dressing. The place is small, just a counter and a few chairs--for delivery and carry-out only. I hung out for a few minutes while waiting for them to prepare my order--they cook to order, which is great. The boneless wings are good, not mind blowing, but good. They're made of strips of white meat, lightly breaded. Each piece is completely covered in the buffalo sauce but not drenched. In fact, there was practically no extra sauce at the bottom of the container. This was a bit of a disappointment for me, as I, unlike some people, kind of like sweeping my chicken across the extra sauce so that every side of every bite is covered in sauce. Nevertheless, even with just enough sauce to coat the wings, they still were tasty. The Red Alert sauce is described on their menu as "hotter than most hots," and it's got some kick, but to me, it's just right. I do, however, like spicy stuff, so perhaps for some people, this already would be hotter than "just right." Nevertheless, there are two more levels of hotness above this one, so people who like their wings really hot have options beyond this one. The buttermilk ranch is creamy but otherwise unremarkable. Then again, I'm not a big dressing person.

I'd go back to this place if I happened to be in the area and wanted something to eat. I wouldn't go out of my way, though. There are other buffalo wing places I'd like to check out, and those take priority over a return trip to Wings Over.

After getting the wings, it was time to hit Petsi Pies on Beacon Street. Somerville Avenue and Beacon Street lie parallel to each other, and both are intersected by Lowell Street. However, the commuter rail tracks lie in between the two streets, which makes it impossible for Lowell Street to go straight though on street level. There's a nice little walkway under the tracks, and once you emerge, Petsi Pies is right at the corner.

The shop is also small. There's enough room only for a table with plastic utensils and things, a small table and a couple seats pushed against the wall, and the counter, with some of their pastries on display. Behind the counter is a rack with all the pies. I ordered a 4-inch roasted vegetable and goat cheese pie ($4.95), a 6-inch apple pear cranberry pie with brown sugar walnut topping ($7), and a red velvet cupcake (). I decided to take them home.

I walked back to the Porter Square T stop, and this time, I decided to take the escalator all the way down. I know walking down is much easier than walking up, but with my pastries in tow, I didn't have a free hand to hold on to the rail or grab onto it in case I tripped, and if I did fall, I'd have a long, steep way to fall. A train arrived as soon as I got to the platform, and since Porter Square is pretty near one end of the Red Line, there were a lot of vacant seats. From my seat, I observed how over the course of the trip, the people on the train changed: ages, outfits/occupations, races. It was interesting.

When I got home, I tried the stuff from Petsi Pies. The savory pie is good. The roasted veggies are fresh, the crust is flaky, and the goat cheese is flavorful. The sweet pie is okay. The filling is a little sour/tangy for me. The brown sugar walnut topping is pretty good, although there are a few whole walnut chunks, which are okay, but I would've preferred if the nuts were finely ground and better incorporated into the topping. The crust, like that of the savory pie, is nice and flaky. The red velvet cupcake is good. It is topped with frosting--not too sure if it's cream cheese because I don't get an definitive cream cheese flavor--and red sugar. It has a little less frosting than I'd like, but it's good creamy frosting that isn't too dense/heavy, and I like the texture of the red sugar. The cake is good too. It has a hint of cocoa but not overwhelming to the point that it tastes like chocolate rather than red velvet. The texture is good too, not too fluffy/airy but also not too dense. I'd definitely go back for this cupcake, and I'd love to try another one of their savory pies as well as some of the other delectable-looking pastries they have (including scones, brownies).

A nice afternoon overall. I got my exercise, my dose of sunshine, a bit of exploration of a neighborhood I'd never been to before, some decent boneless buffalo wings, and some nice pastries.

I Love TV

2010-01-17T18:30:00.000+08:00

Really. It just brought some life and sound into my cold, lonely, quiet rented Boston suburb room.

I didn't have a TV in my room back in the Philippines. But in the Philippines, I had a whole house, as opposed to just a room. I had a family at home, as opposed to roommates who keep to themselves.

No wonder Americans watch so much TV.

I Unwittingly Ate Way Too Much Cream Cheese Today

2010-01-04T18:47:00.001+08:00

I thought it was goat cheese, so instead of spreading it, I simply sliced it into half-centimeter-thick slices and put it on my bread. Oh dear.

I Wish

2009-12-29T12:46:00.001+08:00

I wish there were a way to capture tactile memories, just as photographs can capture images. I wish there were a way to touch across oceans, just as voices through a telephone.

Taste, I can do without. And smell would be nice, but I can do without it, too. These two, I can give up for a while, while we wait.

But touch... sometimes, as before, I will touch myself--stroke my hair, caress my cheek, hold my hand--and imagine it is you, if only to hold on to memories, albeit false, of what makes me feel closest to you.

How to Get a Solid Nine Hours of Sleep

2009-12-19T13:17:00.001+08:00

I slept a solid nine hours the past two nights. Before my world fell apart halfway through this year, nine hours was standard for me. Since then, I haven't slept nine hours straight. Until now.

The culprit (or, the answer to my sleep problems)? It seems the answer is something I never would have imagined: cookies.

A couple of months ago, my two younger sisters decided to get into the home baking business. Nothing big, really. They just got into baking one day and decided, hey, our stuff is yummy, maybe we should sell. And so they did. To their friends, to relatives, to the neighbors, to my boyfriend's officemates. The orders kept coming, and everyone was happy.

Until, as predicted by my Mom, my sisters began to lose interest in baking. J, whose interest in the baking part was marginal to begin with and who focused more on advertising (i.e., bringing goodies to school for her friends to taste), retail/marketing (i.e., getting orders), and accounting (i.e., reimbursing my mom for ingredients, gasoline, and electricity, and splitting up the profits between her and my other sister), showed up in the kitchen less and less. Q, who is the chief baker and is largely responsible for starting this whole baking thing, has lost all interest in the actual baking, decorating, and packing; all she likes to do now is make the dough/batter.

And so, to whom does all the work fall? No other than the mom and the older sister (i.e., me), and, by default, the older sister's boyfriend, of course.

And all this just in time for an order for a whopping 800 cookies, our biggest single order to date.

So, sometime in the afternoon on the day before the orders were due, we got to work. J was sick, so she was stuck in bed. Q wanted to bring mini cupcakes to her Christmas party the next day, so she got started on those. Mom laid out the baking sheets, preheated the oven, and brought out the cookie dough from the fridge (it was made the day before). I measured and balled the dough and placed the balls on a cookie sheet, and Mom placed them into the oven and was in charge of removing them from the oven when they were done. While they were baking, I continued to measure, ball, and place dough on the cookie sheets. Mom helped Q with the cupcakes.

Once the cookies were done, Mom removed them from the oven, and I eased them off the cookie sheet with a spatula (?) and placed them on a cooking rack, one by one. I then started to place more cookie dough on the sheet I just emptied. Meanwhile, Mom placed a new batch into the oven and continued to help Q with her cupcakes.

Before long, we were rolling like a machine. Mom removed a batch from the oven and placed in a new one before helping Q with her cupcakes. I took cooled cookies from the cooling rack and arranged them on a tray, got the fresh batch of cookies off the cookie sheet and onto the cooling rack, and spooned more cookie dough onto the cookie sheet, all the while keeping track of how many cookies we had already made.

Seven hours later, the machine was still rolling, although the cupcakes were done, Q was gone, and in between her oven duties, Mom went around fixing stuff in the house instead of frosting cupcakes. Seven hours later, the machine has not sat down once. Seven hours later, a new cog arrived in the form of R, my boyfriend.

We still needed to make four sheets' worth of cookies. Mom took over cookie duties, from spooning the dough onto the cookie sheet all the way to transferring freshly made cookies to the cooling rack. R and I began to pack the cookies into 40 containers, 20 cookies per. It was not a simply matter of putting 20 cookies into one container and moving on to the next. There tends to be some variation between batches, and we didn't want one container to have slightly darker or chewier cookies than another, so we arranged the containers into an assembly line and dropped a single cookie into each of them, one by one, to make sure each batch was represented in each container. The baking of the four remaining sheets of cookies and the packing took another hour and a half, after which all three of us, Mom and I, especially, were ready to collapse.

Eight hours of nonstop work without stopping to sit or eat (we did manage to drink water and use the bathroom when we needed to). Eight hours, the equivalent of a full day at work, and we made between 2/3 and 3/4 the minimum wage in your average Southeast Asian country.

Eight hours of baking cookies, it turns out, was all I needed to get my sleeping groove back.

Tomorrow I'll Show You How to Eat an Apple

2009-12-16T13:47:00.002+08:00

I gave him an apple to eat while I had some cereal. He often doesn't have anything to eat until he gets to work, which isn't until about lunchtime, and I am trying to break him out of that bad habit. And if the way he ate that apple was any indication, it looks like it won't be a very hard habit to break.

Usually, when someone eats an apple, the entire core, top to bottom, is left behind, in a sort of double-concave shape. Not this guy. He ate pretty much everything but the area immediately surrounding the seeds and the seeds themselves. I laughed and fondly remarked that I had never seen anyone eat an apple so thoroughly. It amazed me, and I wanted to see it again.

Fast-forward to late night of the same day. We were in bed, about to sleep, and I was crying. He assumed it was because of my Dad, and it was--partly. But it was also partly because of him. The aftermath of my grief (or perhaps it is still ongoing grief) has somehow made me emotionally off, and I don't think I've been very good at showing him (or other people, for that matter) my love. This pains me because in less than a month, I will lose him too, in a way, as I will be leaving for Boston. I lost my Dad without being able to spend with him his last moments and say goodbye; I don't want to lose him in the same way: without being fully present and completely emotionally available to him during the time we have left.

If only it were so easy to fix my emotional state. Unfortunately, it is less like a broken car and more like a wound: you do not fix it; rather, you wait for it to heal.

A caress from a caring hand helps too. It may not directly heal the wound, but it does make one feel better.

Stroking my hair, he gently shushed me and and, "Don't cry." And then, to make me feel better, "Tomorrow, I'll show you how to eat an apple."

My Current State

2009-12-15T21:28:00.006+08:00

I thought I knew what heartbreak was. But nothing breaks hearts like death does.

It's not just my heart that's broken. It's my entire world. When your Daddy dies, it's not just one circumstance of your life that changes. Your whole life does. Everything and everyone else around you stays the same, but somehow, the world is vastly different. Maybe because you are different, and so your relationship with a world otherwise unchanged is different. Or maybe the sameness of everything else adds to the strangeness: how can the rest of the world remain the same, how can life go on as it has, when a huge, gaping hole (in the shape of my Dad, or perhaps in the shape of my heart) has been torn into it?

This is, by far, my biggest heartbreak, and it is one that I haven't the faintest clue how to heal from.

I see people who lost their fathers months, years, decades ago, and they seem to be okay. I wonder, are they really okay, did they really manage to find a way to heal? Or are they, like me, simply on anesthetics to enable them to function in spite of the wounds?

How long can one anesthetize one's emotions before paralyzing them altogether?

How can I function without turning into a zombie?

You keep your emotions at bay, and you keep pushing them away and barring them from emerging to the forefront of your consciousness and saying, not now, not now. But you push them too far back, too many times, and they never return. And gone along with them are all the feelings, all the sensory memories, everything intangible you had of your Dad. He becomes someone in a photograph, a name, someone you know existed, your biological father. But he ceases to become your Dad, because you lose the emotional connections that made him your Dad.

And I don't want to lose my Dad again. You lose him once, your heart breaks. You lose him twice, you lose your humanity, or at least a big part of it.

I have too much to lose. And so, I must find a way to heal, properly, without numbness, without forgetting.

Untitled

2009-03-30T21:18:00.000+08:00

I miss you touching my hair
If I close my eyes
And think hard enough
I can almost feel your fingers
Stroking my hair

Think a little harder
I can feel your breath on the back of my neck

Harder still
Your knees tucked into the backs of mine

And then the thinking gains momentum
Continues on its own
And suddenly it's more than just touch
Other senses come alive
A complete moment draws itself around my consciousness
A world around myself

And I am seeing, smelling, hearing you
Tasting
You
And everything is as it should be

You
Me
Us
Love
Home

F.r.i.c.t.i.o.n

Momentum slowly lost
Slowing down, slowing to a stop
3D, 2D, 1D
Now opaque, now translucent, now transparent
Now air
Now gone.

And now
Even more
I miss you touching my hair

Kuting

2008-10-19T00:16:00.007+08:00

Oh my goodness, there is a newborn kitten in the house!

My sister and I got home from a cousin's birthday party and headed up the stairs and straight to Mom's room to let her know we were back. As we lounged on her bed and told her how the party went, I noticed a repeated meowing sound. It's normal to hear cats outside, but usually, you can tell that they're coming from a distance. This one sounded like it was just a room away. Also, it sounded like a kitten; its meow was so tinny and high-pitched. I didn't think a kitten could meow so loud that we'd be able to hear it from far away, so I swore it was just nearby, perhaps on the small balcony outside Mom's room. I asked them if they heard it, but they simply said yes like it was nothing out of the ordinary. So, I went back to my room and worked on some essays.

About two hours later, I stepped out of my room to use the toilet and to get a glass of water. I heard the meowing again, and it sounded even closer this time, almost like it was a mere foot or two away from me. I decided to go into Mom's room to check if she and my sister found this weird at all, or if they still thought it was normal. I entered the room to find them both just staring in the direction of the meowing, perplexed frowns combined with horrified looks on their faces. They looked up when they saw me, and my sister said, "I think there's a cat in my room. I left the window open."

I went back into the hallway to investigate. Sure enough, the meowing instantly sounded louder, and it did seem to come from the direction of my sister's room. But the sound did not seem to come from behind a wall. In fact, it seemed to come from... under the wooden shelf in the hallway between my room and my sister's room? I peered under the shelf, at a safe distance. It was hard to make out anything at first; the shadow of the base of the shelf made it hard to see much. But as my eyes made sense of the lines and shapes, I saw... shredded paper... an open shoebox, the cover lying just beside it... and... wait. A moving tail. Orange-tan and white fur. A furry little mouse-sized thing clawing at the shoebox. Oh. My. Goodness. It was a little tiny baby kitten!

I rushed back into Mom's room and told them that it wasn't in my sister's room; it was in the hallway, under the shelf! And it wasn't a cat; it was a little tiny baby kitten the size of a mouse! They followed me out of the room cautiously, careful not to step too close to the shelf. They looked suspiciously toward the bottom of the shelf but made no move to bend down and peer under it. "Look!" I encouraged them. "It's there!" My sister did, but she barely saw the kitten before rushing back into Mom's room. My Mom looked a little longer before calmly walking back into her room. I gave the kitten another look before following them into Mom's room.

"How the heck did it get there?!" I don't know who said it first--and I don't know who repeated it the most number of times. But that question bugged the hell out of us. A number of half-thought-out possibilities came up, but none of them really seemed plausible to us. Perhaps it got in through an open window--but how could a little tiny kitten that couldn't even find its way out from under the shelf have gotten up to the second floor all by itself and leapt into a window? Perhaps its mother brought it there--but where was its mother?

The thought of a mother cat suddenly made me recall an event earlier during the day: As I stepped out of my room to tell my sister we were leaving for the party, the cover of a shoebox by the shelf outside my room tipped over and fell. I was instantly confused. Did I knock it over when I opened the door? I couldn't have; my bedroom door swings inward. For that matter, since when was there a shoebox cover by the shelf? And why just the cover? And then, all of a sudden, the idea that there might be a mother cat involved solidified in my mind. A theory began to take shape, and I could almost see it happening.

While we were out (Mom must've left the house too), our househelp must've left some doors and windows open. A mother cat, lips clamped on the nape of its kitten's neck, calmly entered the house, went up the stairs, and found the best spot to make a home for its young. Spotting some shoeboxes on a nearby shoerack, the mother cat gently put down its kitten by the shelf and nudged it underneath before heading to the shoerack to get some materials for its baby's new home. As it was finishing the job of transporting said materials, I must've opened the door to my room, which made it quickly drop the shoebox cover and hide under the shelf with its baby. I guess it hid out until we all left the house, or at least until we all were back in our rooms, before it went back out to finish the job. And then, at some point, it must've gone off in search of food. Before it could return, however, all the doors and windows had been shut, and it was locked out. And now, we have a poor hungry little newborn kitten, all alone with no one to turn to. It may still be blind too; it won't leave its spot under the shelf even though the way out is clear, and it keeps clawing at the shoebox.

I want to feed the poor thing, or take it out from under the shelf and bring it outside where its mother can find it. Or maybe I could even just put it into the shoebox, together with some rags and a small container of milk. But Mom told me not to touch it because its mother might come back and attack me. So I suppose we'll just have to wait till the morning, when we can either open the doors and windows and wait for MommaCat to come back for her baby, or get someone else to scoop out the little kitty and bring it outside, where it can reunite with its mother. I just hope it'll last until then. Poor little kitty. :( I hope it wisens up and gets some sleep to conserve its energy. The last thing I wanna wake up to tomorrow morning is a dead newborn kitten outside my room. I guess we'll see what happenes tomorrow.

(Speaking of newborns, Grace and Conrad [well, just Grace, technically] gave birth already! I want to visit, especially because--I just realized--they're my first friends to have a baby!)

Kahl, Macky, and I are a bunch of whores, and I'm the biggest one of all

2008-08-24T00:47:00.000+08:00

Music whores, that is. Gig whores.

Let me explain.

Last night, I was at a coffee shop, enjoying family time with my dad, my grandma, and my siblings. We were having a particularly sweet time because we had just left my one-of-a-kind stepmom and her one-of-a-kind family at the restaurant where we had dinner to celebrate Dad's birthday. (In this context, "one of a kind" is a bad thing; it is also an indication of quantity rather than quality: there are other people in this world who are like them [at least in soap operas], but no one is anywhere near as !?******?! as they are.)

So there I was in my rare moment of complete calm and contentment when along came a text message that took my moment away from me. It was from a guy I used to date, and he was just randomly popping up again like he does every so often. Because I'm civil and we actually parted as friends, I replied with the usual, "hey, what's up, it's been a while." He then asked if my band could play at his mother-in-law's birthday party next week. His wife, although she knows me only by name, hates me (she waged a cellphone war on me a few years ago, which I found amusing more than anything else), and I brought that up. His solution? Go by another name and pretend I'm someone else, and she'll never have to know; just please be there. He sent message after message, all but begging. And because I am a (music) whore, I said I'd ask my band.

And because my bandmates are whores as well, they said yes, despite midterms and an upper respiratory tract infection.

This morning, I woke up with a headache and a text message waiting. It was the guy, saying they didn't have room for a band after all. And now I can finally say what is at the forefront of my mind: I hate him! How dare he use the band thing, the music thing, as an excuse to get in touch with me and get his flirt on? How dare he lead me (and my bandmates) on (musically, that is)? I hate him!

And then, a mini (re)discovery. I thought about why I was so upset, and I realized all over again how much music means to me. I was upset not so much because he used music as an excuse to get in touch with me, but because it (the gig, not seeing him) wouldn't push through. I was upset because I thought I could finally play again, only to have it taken away from me as I slept--literally!

I must say, I haven't felt this alive in a while. Talking to my bandmates last night; them saying yes; discussions on what to play; this morning's indignation; my mind working at warp speed, albeit with the frenzied disorganized quality of consciousness just woken, to try to find another gig so we could push through with band practice and finally play again: all this reminded me of what I'm supposed to be doing and why. I am supposed to be relentlessly pursuing music because nothing brings me more joy or makes me feel more alive. Nothing makes me feel more at peace and one with myself and with the world. The reason I've been feeling a little distant from people in general is because of a lack of music in my life! Because music is my way of connecting with the world! Oh, I've been an idiot! But today, I am a genius!

They say music makes the world go round. The phrase may be a bit of a cliche, but for me, it is an absolute and personal truth: music really is what makes my world go round.

And hey, what do you know: my headache's gone! Good morning to me!

In a Rut

2008-08-19T09:25:00.000+08:00

I am depressed because I don't know what to do. About anything. My life, my continuing education, my career, my romantic life, my citizenship. Seriously, everything. I'm in a rut. So many questions, and I'm too overcome by depression to even start looking for answers. It's like I've got lead running through my veins instead of blood. I don't even write anymore.

I am functioning though. There's that, at least. And I know I need to get up off my ass if I'm gonna get anywhere. I do want to. It's just so hard; inertia, y'know. And I'm not quite sure where to start.

On the bright side, I guess this means that there's much for me to do and that life isn't a done deal by the age of 25, as my 15-years-younger self thought. That's a relief. And hey, I'm writing now, aren't I? That's as good a place to start as any.

Favorites

2008-06-14T12:45:00.000+08:00

So I've been delinquent. I told myself I'd try to come up with at least one post each month; it's been two months since I last wrote. But I've been busy soul-searching, so it's ok.

This isn't even gonna be a real post. It's just me listing down some favorites. Which doesn't require much of an intro, so I'll just get right to it.

1. Favorite NBA team: Boston Celtics, season 2007-2008 (Runner-up: Philadelphia 76ers, season 2000-20001)

2. Best smile in the NBA: Paul Pierce (see final minutes of game 4 of the NBA finals 2008 vs the Lakers, when Ray Allen gets past Vujacic for an open layup and Paul jumps for joy like a little kid--adorable)

3. Best smile in sports: so far, Tiger Woods

4. Best burger: In n Out, Route 66 from Johnny Rockets

5. Best sandwich: authentic Philly cheesesteak, Chicago sub, Italian beef (spicy, wet)

6. Favorite new ice cream: Haagen Dazs caramel cone, Dreyers birthday cake (and they're both low-fat!)

7. Favorite meat: lamb

8. Favorite food in general: meat (ie, steak), sushi, anything with tomatoes/tomato sauce (mostly Italian), mushrooms, dessert!

9. Consummable must-haves in life: chocolate, liquor, birthday cake

10. Fetishes: high heels, notebooks

11. What puts me in the zone: singing, writing, dancing

No, this isn't a slam-book entry. I just like to get some of my favorites down from time to time. Coz it feels good thinking about them. :) So don't be surprised if more posts like this one turn up.

Mariah Week on American Idol (Part 2)

2008-04-18T07:26:00.000+08:00

5. Because my good friend Nico works for the show, and he's real friendly and everyone loves him, not only did we (me and Michelle, his girlfriend) get tickets (pretty good seats too, thanks to Kathleen Sheets!) and not have to line up for hours at the main gate, the guard gave us these VIP wristbands too, which gave us access to the VIP room, this little lounge where they serve refreshments and some food while you wait for the show to start. All we had was water coz by the time the food came, it was almost time for the show. I wish I tried the food, though, just because it would've added to my whole American Idol experience: yknow, knowing what they serve VIPs, tasting what they serve VIPs, the actual experience of having eaten what they serve VIPs. Hahah. Nico also showed us the show's production area where they... I dunno, plan the show and do all the work, I guess. The performers/contestants aren't allowed in that area, so I guess it was cool that we got to see it. Met quite a lot of people working on the show, none of whose names I remember (except a Bristish guy named Joe because he was the first one I met and Kathleen coz she was the one who hooked us up with the tickets and she had a nice sweater). I also met the idols' voice coach, which was awesome. Gobbled down a slice of pizza and a cookie from the pantry too: got a taste of the food the production staff eat. Hahah.

6. After the show, there's a sort of little meet and greet line at a studio entrance. Nothing big, just an awning and and some ropes behind which fans could wait. Yes, I did the whole fan/tourist thing, and why not? I am a fan and a tourist. I met David Hernandez before heading to that area, and then I met Mr. Brooke White (Brooke's husband, who joked, "My last name isn't even "White." But yknow what, maybe I should start a website, mrbrookewhite.com."), whom I recognized before Nico even said who he has because he's shown on TV a lot. I didn't get a picture with him, but I wish I did, coz he's cute and semifamous. And I don't mean cute like I like him. I just mean cute like... he and Brooke are adorable. I wish I coulda had a picture of me sandiwched in between them, kind of like their Asian adopted child, only about the same age as them. Hahah. And I met most of the remaining idols (with the exception of little David because he was there for like a second), Chikezie too, and had pictures with them, yay! The judges and Ryan didn't come out, though. Woulda wanted a picture with Simon. Ahhahahah. Fun fun.

7. The show, just like this post (including part 1), was not done in order. Well, not entirely, anway. The show went in this order (I think):

a) Top 7 performance
b) Jason, big David, Carly, and Kristy were called out
c.1) Elliott Yamin's performance
c.2) Syesha and Brooke were called out
d.1) Phone calls to American Idol
d.2) Mariah Carey's performance
e) Little David was called out, and the bottom 3 was announced
f) Someone (not saying in case someone hasn't watched yet) sang one last time

*Items with the same letter were shown as one segment, meaning, no commercial break in between.

But this is the order it really happened:

a. Mariah's performance (d.2: pretaped)
b. Calls to American Idol (d.1: pretaped)
c. The rest of it, in the order shown (live)

Ahhah! So, I don't know why they pretaped the performance. Maybe so that they could redo it if something went wrong or if it sucked. Or maybe so Mariah could leave early, perhaps so she could avoid any run-ins with the audience and the little people working on the show on her way out. As for the calls, apparently they always pretape them in case a caller says something nasty that they wanna edit out. So much for live TV. Also, they ask everyone to hold up their posters before taping the live stuff in case there are any mean messages. Case in point: there was one person whose sign read, "Bye-bye Kristy." Mean! I actually agree, but I wouldn't do that.

A glitch! Seen on TV! And I don't know if I only noticed coz I was there when they taped it, but here it is.

So, they taped bMariah's performance, with a platform to one side for the drums, a platform to the other side for the guitar and keyboards, three mic stands just a little behind and to the side of Mariah for the backup singers, Mariah's bling-embedded mic stand front and center, and the idols on the couch. There was a break, all the equipment was taken out and replaced by a small table with a phone and laptop, and the idols left the stage and then returned to the couch but sat in a different order. And then they aired the two segments continuously and in reverse order.

The results:

a) During the calls, Carly and big David were seated next to each other somewhere in the middle of the couch. Camera on Ryan to introduce Mariah, camera back on the idols clapping, and all of a sudden, big David is in the middle of the couch, and Carly is on the end. The excuse: they could have switched around during those couple seconds. Really, they could have!
b) During the calls, there was a table with a laptop and a phone onstage. Camera on Ryan to introduce Mariah, camera on the idols clapping, camera back on centerstage, and all of a sudden, in a matter of seconds, there's a drumset, keyboards, guitars, musicians and backup singers, and Mariah's glittering mic stand. The excuse: maybe the calls and the performance happened on different stages/areas of the stage. The calls were flashed on a screen, and Mariah's album cover (I think) was flashed on a screen (that split open to reveal her diva-ness, and out she came carrying her glittering mic), but hey, it might not have been the same screen, right? Maybe the two stages both had screens. Very possible.

Ahh, movie/TV magic.

8. When Carly was called out from backstage, people cheered. When people were done cheering, some crazy person yelled, "You're awesome!" although the words didn't come out so clearly on TV. The reason I know what was said even if it wasn't clear was because that crazy person was me. Me! I was heard on national (international!) TV! By millions of people! It's not much, but hey, it's a start. Ahh. The whole hand model thing (watch Zoolander) comes to mind. Only, my claim is more pathetic, and I didn't get paid to do what I did. But it was wonderful and such fun!

Hmm... maybe next week I'll wear a sweet little cocktail dress and get all dolled up (it seems to be a requirement for the moshpit) and line up at the main gate. Hahah.

Mariah Week on American Idol (Part 1)

2008-04-18T04:27:00.000+08:00

I got to watch it live! Not live on TV, but live live! The following will probably be interesting only to those who are into the show.

1. Mariah Carey is sexy, beautiful, and has nice long legs. She is also quite a diva: bronzer with real gold bits; humidifier in her bedroom for added moisture to her skin; crystal/diamond-embedded mic, mic stand, and ear monitor. No one gets to see her come in and out of the studio; they only see her onstage, during the soundcheck and during her performance, both of which are just one run/take. Even the crew couldn't get her picture or autograph because her bodyguards kept everyone away. The studio audience couldn't get stolen shots either because cameras and cellphones are not allowed: they have a metal detector at the entrance to make sure that no such gadgets make it through. She also seems to be a bit of a bimbo and very into herself. But she also seems very sweet and nice, and I think she might be smarter than she seems.

2. The studio is a lot smaller than I thought it would be. It looks huge on TV! People are also a lot closer (physically) to each other than it looks. (Like on TV, the judges look like there's a lot of space between them, but there isn't really.) Also, the layout surprised me. The audience with tickets have seats, which are near-ground-level if you're up front and get higher and higher the farther back you get. From one side of the studio to another, there are four sections, with aisles in between. The middle sections have about 15 rows, with maybe 8 seats per row, and the side sections have about 20 rows, with maybe 5 seats per row. There's an aisle too between the first five rows and the rest; I think the former are for guests of the performers, contestants, judges, Ryan Seacrest, and maybe the musicians and other production bigshots. (I was at the right-middle [all occurrences of "left" and "right" here are oriented facing the stage], about the 10th row). In front of the seated audience is a platform with a long table and three swivel chairs: this is where the judges are seated. In front of them and right by the stage is the moshpit: the people without tickets who line up at the CBS main gate to watch the show (they stand throughout). The stage is a kind of wide U shape with a half circle jutting out of the open part of the U: the couch of safety is on the right. The stage also has a balcony on the edges of the U. On each side of the stage, there are pillars with spiral steps winding around them that you can use to go up to the balcony. (You know when singers start a song/performance on stairs? These are the stairs.) The balcony is where the band is: orchestra on the left, drummer in the middle and bongo/percussion set guy right beside him, keyboardists and guitarists toward the right, and Ricky Minor (bassist and band leader) at the extreme right, at the pillar. There is a hill-shaped screen at the back-center of the stage, and this can split apart vertically down the middle so performers can enter and big pieces of equipment (like the platform with the drumset used during Mariah's performance) can be taken offstage.

3. Simon is actually not bad-looking in person. He and Paula look pretty friendly. The whole cast seem pretty friendly with each other. Ryan is not bad-looking either, and he's not all that short. Maybe shorter than the average American guy, but I didn't look at him and think short. Nigel (from So You Think You Can Dance?) was there too, and he seems friendly with the American Idol people. His right arm was in a sling; wonder what happened. The contestants are skinnier in person (for example, Carly looks a little thick--not fat or even chubby, mind you--on TV, but in person she's not, not even a little). And when you see them live, especially during commercial breaks, you realize that they're really just people. I mean, of course we know that, but on TV, we don't really see that.

4. Speaking of people being just people, let me return to the subject of item number 1: Mariah's Carey. Her soundcheck, although the volume and and echo and all that weren't steady because the tech people were tweaking, was flawless. She talked a bit too during the song to ask if she could be heard, to say it was too loud, etc. And then, during her actual live performance, she was a little... different. She seemed a little nervous, and there were a couple glitches in her singing, although they weren't very noticeable, especially to the untrained ear and to one who didn't hear her soudncheck. I could see a bit of a struggle trying to recover from those glitches too, though I don't know if someone who doesn't sing and know what it's like would have caught that. She was still awesome though. What I got out of that was, even big divas who've been at the top for the better part of 18 years get nervous and aren't perfect, and that makes me feel a whole lot better (about myself and my music/singing).

To Soar: Step 1

2008-04-15T08:23:00.000+08:00

Jump right back into that neatly packed away mess of emotion. If there's one thing you should not procrastinate on, it's retrieving and dealing with feelings put on hold and nudged aside until they've been pushed so far back and so hard against the wall, they've been compressed and need to be sorted out and restored before they can be made sense of. Numbness is, thus far, the hardest habit to break out of and the toughest shell to break through.

Sunday Night at the Chancos'

2008-04-11T05:34:00.000+08:00

GEM

A finger poking her shoulder. She turned away from her food--a mini feat for her--and glanced to her side to find her niece, pudgy, with a double chin and a hard round stomach: so much like her, which made her feelings toward the child a screwed-up mix of affinity and disgust. The girl had her mouth open and was pointing to a loose milk tooth and a permanent tooth jutting out of the front of the gum, pushed out of its rightful place by the milk tooth that had overstayed its welcome.

JILLIAN

She had held her tears, not because she was trying to be brave, but because she was waiting for the right time to unleash them. She was going to let them go, not because she was afraid and thought something was seriously wrong with her teeth, but because it got her attention and special treatment. And now, now that her aunt was looking into her mouth and telling her not to be scared because it was no big deal, in that loud obnoxious voice that ensured that everyone's attention was on them, she knew: this was the time. With everything she had, she squeezed tears out of her eyes and began to bawl.

JOAN

Her husband's niece seriously always tried to take the joy out of any celebration. She did not mind not being the center of attention every once in a while, even on her birthday, but what she did mind was the fun having to stop, and she was not about to let that happen. And so, seeing an opportunity for another impromptu performance that would earn her a few laughs--all-out laughter if she was lucky--she grabbed a pair of tongs and approached her niece and made like she was going to pull out her loose tooth with them, her trademark silent-comedy face on.

EDWIN

His youngest daughter making a scene, his sister soothing her, and his sister-in-law provoking her: what else was new? But he was the father, and he was the oldest brother, and although no one believed in him much, it was time to take control. He asked for a piece of thread, and he tied it around his daughter's tooth and then gently pulled.

TIM

What kind of family had he married into? He loved his second set of children, and they got along so well with his first, but his wife, her similarly shaped niece, and the rest of her family were the most exasperating bunch. He watched as the niece was rewarded with money and ice cream for her lost tooth and then as she spat and cursed at her father, apparently blaming him for everything. Shaking his head in disgust, he silently wished his wife would be true to her word and leave the country--and him--already.

JACY

She watched her father, saw his tiredness and utter dislike for her stepmom and her family, and wondered if he wished he had stayed with her mother: she thought the answer was yes. She wondered vaguely if there was any chance of her parents getting back together: she thought the answer was no. She wondered if her siblings still hoped for it: she thought the answer was maybe. And then it was time to go, and she worried a bit because the place they made her park her car was teeming with roaches. But they were gone: the whole tooth ordeal took so long, the roaches must've fallen asleep. Or died.

Sleepless Stupor

2008-02-15T22:11:00.000+08:00

6 AM. Birds chirping. Jeepneys started their runs about an hour ago. Just finished the draft of a program script due today that we're meeting about tonight. I've e-mailed it to the people concerned. I have not slept. I am going to bed after this, sleep till the afternoon, and get ready for my meeting. Then maybe I'll have a few drinks; tonight is Friday night, after all.

I, for the first time ever, received roses and chocolate on Valentine's Day. The roses were red, and there were 3 of them. The chocolates came in a heart-shaped container. The most cliche gifts ever, even according to my gift-giver. But there's a reason why they're given all the time: they are wonderful things that make their receivers happy. Besides, for someone like me, who has never in her life had a relationship close to resembling normal, cliche is a breath of fresh air. :)

The Lame-Ass and the World-Class

2008-01-19T13:42:00.000+08:00

Last Friday, for the first time in forever, I went to see a gig again. It was the opening of an acquaintance's bar, and me and some friends from my old job (not that I have a new one) decided to go check it out. A lineup of bands, free entrance, okay food, and cheap booze. It's been a while since I've been in that scene, either as a member of the audience or as one of the performers, but... nothing has changed.

These band people still walk around with an all-important swagger, unsmiling. Their hair is still messy or unkempt. (There was this Kurt Cobain wannabe--vocal style, body movement, outfit and all--who had his hair all in his face. So you would think, okay, this guy doesn't give a shit about his hair. At least, that was the desired effect. The illusion, not very convincing to begin with, was shattered when he got thirsty and very carefully lifted a curtain of his hair, just one side, up and back toward his ear and took a drink of water, and then just as gently eased his hair back to cover his face. OhmahLawrd.) They all still sound the same. There is still a lack of originality.

But. Inasmuch as I hated on them, I was actually happy and relieved. Happy because I'm never happier (well, maybe not never) than when I have something to bag on. Relieved because, well, it's good to know that I'm still up to par. It's good to know that I haven't gotten left behind. That world is almost exactly as I left it, and were I to return (and I will), I'm still good for it.

Last night, I went to see a gig of a friend of mine. His band, Sound, played at 19East in Sucat. That place, by the way, is awesome. Lots of parking, nice garden tables, spacious music hall, fantastic sound system. And the drinks are yummy. The only downside is that you have to go down to the basement to use the bathroom: not exactly convenient or easy when you've had a few drinks. And the place is a little out of the way, so it doesn't really fill up. Sayang (it's too bad) though.

Sound played along with two other more-or-less jazz bands, Yosha and The Group. They were all really good. I mean like really good. Sound seems to be sort of feeling their way into something a little different from their old stuff, probably mostly owing to their lineup change, from a band of 6 to a 4-man lineup. Sounds good, though. The Group plays old stuff (the guy up front is kinda old too), The Police and Toto, and they don't sound like a cheap imitation either. In fact, if you close your eyes, you'd swear it was actually Sting singing. The discovery of the night, though, was Yosha, a 3-piece band fronted by a female vocalist. I don't even know where to start. Those guys are amazing, very clean and tight, and they've got this energy/vibe that's chill and subdued but with a kick. Definitely worth going to see.

So. I've been to 2 gigs within the span of a week. One showed me that I haven't been left behind and that I can still make it. The other showed me that there is so much more fantastic talent out there, that perhaps they have been working on their stuff for a long time, and that they are definitely on their way to something fantastic, coz by God, they got it. And I guess what I got out of them both is a good kick to my backside to get back on track already. I know that I still got it, that I can keep up with what's out there. But I'm not the only one, and I'm not getting any younger. So it's about time I really just went for it. I've been biding my time, doing things I needed to do first, and waiting for when it would be right. Well, that time is now. I'm not gonna be any more ready or in a better position to go do this. There is no more point in putting it off.

It's time to just take a deep breath, close my eyes, and jump.

Reflections of the Newly Unemployed

2008-01-04T14:50:00.000+08:00

I guess I had a bit of an extended holiday. I still ate a lot last night and today to celebrate my freedom from work. Whee!!!

I shoulda applied for a Canadian visa before I quit, though. Went through the requirements today, and among the suggested documents for showing is a certificate of employment. Bank statements, too, and I just so happened to have canceled my credit card a month ago. Might not look too good: I cut my only local credit card and quit my job, and almost immediately after I sever these ties to my homeland, I'm applying for entry into another country? I need to show too that I'm financially capable of supporting my travel, and although I think I have enough to get by over here, the cost of living there is so much higher, and I dunno if I have enough. And I just realized how expensive it is to apply for a visa: 3600 buckaroos??? And that's one of the cheaper visa application fees. For permanent residency visas, it's more than 20,000.

I'm gonna have to live a little simpler now, too, I guess. I've never been an extravagant spender, but when I had a job and was making my own money, I could have an occasional unplanned nice dinner or drinks or buy something nice on a whim, and saving up for a trip or some other big expense required only some overtime work and patience.

Well. No regrets. I really am glad to be outta there. Had I stayed longer, I might have fallen into that life--the life of entering the regular white-collar workforce straight out of college and making my way up that ladder (the company I work for doesn't even have a ladder; they've got even fewer steps than a Little Tykes play set, and even those are accessible only to the elite). And I might have stayed with it, until it became comfortable (comfort does not necessarily equate to happiness, to meaning), a habit. Until it became too late for me to take any other road (although I always say it's never too late; I guess in this case, I mean too late from a practical standpoint).

I need the free time. I really need to get back to work on preparing myself for music school. I need to get back into the world of art, and into the art of life. I need to retrace my steps and get back to the state of mind and being I was in before work took over my entire brain and my entire life.

And I'm still okay. I'm not broke on my ass; I do have some money. I made it a point to save a little bit of every paycheck, so I do have savings. And I have money put aside for some things: the occasional gimik (night out), a couple of trips out of town, getting my PC fixed, visa and school application fees. I just have to be very careful every single time I spend now, and that's okay. I've lived pretty much my entire life like that (I grew up without an allowance: the only money I had was limited to what I received as gifts, and so I had to spend and save carefully and wisely); it shouldn't hurt me too much to go back to that.

Totally unrelated thought: why is it that bubble baths in real life are never anywhere near as bubbly as they are in the movies/on TV? And do baths with rose petals feel as good as they look? I mean, they're just effin' petals floating on the surface of the water, and most of your body doesn't even come into contact with them. They do look heavenly though.

Tagaytay Getaway, Part 1

2007-12-13T03:35:00.000+08:00

Yesterday was a dream, although it started ordinarily enough. Woke up to Roger's phone call; snoozed for maybe half an hour longer before getting up and taking a shower and getting ready. Went downstairs to the guest room, where Roger slept, waited for him to freshen up, and off we went.

Stopped over at a gas station to withdraw money and buy something light just to keep out stomachs settled. Stopped again at the next gas station to ask for directions and because the ATM at the first station was busted.

We didn't follow the directions. Instead, we took another route, one we were slightly familiar with but not really all that sure of. The day was for adventure and exploration, after all. We got the first part of the way right, going by hunch and vague memories. The second part, well, it was right, too, but it was the long way. We had intended to go the short way. But props to us coz we didn't get lost. Whee!!!

We drove the stretch of Tagaytay, sort of just checking out places. We ended our drive at Sonya's Garden (Roger kept hinting at and mildly insisting on going there). Although the sign on the gate said it opened at 11 AM (it was only around 10), Roger wanted to go in anyway. We went in, parked, saw that the staff were still kind of fixing things, and decided to leave. Once out the gate, Roger saw some guys hanging around, figured they either worked at Sonya's or had information, so he rolled down the window and asked what time they served food. The guys said the restaurant itself opened at 11, but the bed and breakfast served food before then. Possibly breakfast food, not the all-natural food they served at the restaurant, the stuff people came to Sonya's for, but we should go check. So we went back in, trekked to the bed and breakfast, and there found out that they serve breakfast until 10 AM only but that if we would just wait a little longer, they would serve lunch/dinner soon—at 11 AM. Hah.

So for the second time that day (the second time in less than 30 minutes), we exited the gates of Sonya's Garden and headed to Breakfast at Antonio's for, well, breakfast. Lunch. Brunch. Whatever. As we were headed there, it occurred to me that by the time we got there and ordered and had our food served, the restaurant at Sonya's would have already opened, but I decided to keep that thought to myself, because I didn't wanna have to wait idly for 30 minutes. Sonya's has these gardens where we could have strolled and taken pictures, but I don't do pictures well when I'm hungry and not doing anything about it. Much better to actually be actively headed toward somewhere I could have food, even if I'd end up eating at the same time anyway.

Breakfast/lunch/brunch at Breakfast was lovely. I had roesti with beef, onions, Swiss cheese, and two over-easy eggs. Roger had tuna tomato basil pasta. Both were amazing. I mean, now that was brunch. We had some herb tea to go with. We also had banana walnut caramel pancakes for dessert (yes, we eat a lot).

Took some photos, too. The deck has a great view of Taal. The place itself is nice, too. Kind of country club–like. White walls, green roof. Big indoor dining space, an outdoor deck with white tables with green umbrellas. And clean, homey restrooms. Er, with torso-to-crotch-level windows open. The windows faced a hillside not really touched by civilization, so it was okay, but still, it felt a little funny. But also nice and homey and provincial. A homey provincial luxury kind of thing.

Then we decided to check out places to stay. The nice ones were at varying levels of priceyness but nice (duh, the nice ones nga e, also with varying levels of niceness). There was also an ok place, simple and clean, with an ok price. There was one lame-ass place, the downward-sloping driveway of which scratched the underside of my car, both coming in and getting out. Which was pretty much all we did there. When we saw the place, we didn't even bother getting out of the car. Well, I did, to lighten the car load in the hopes that maybe without my weight added, the car's underside wouldn't scrape the top of the driveway. We know how that went.

Then we went to Cliffhouse, which is a nice little town center–type place with a store and some restaurants. Looked around a bit and tried to figure out what to do next; bought 55-peso ice cream to avoid paying the 100-peso parking fee for those who don't have a meal or buy anything (when we asked the ice cream lady for a receipt, she gave us a suspicious look and asked what it was for; we said it was for parking, and she wouldn't give us one at first because our purchase was worth less than 100, but receipts should be given by law, hello); bought some stuff at the store too, which rendered the whole ice cream thing unnecessary, but hey, it was done.

Headed back to Sonya's Garden, where Roger finally got what he wanted, heheh. Everything about that place is magical. It's like being in the forest, the enchanted woods, and living like/among pixie-fairies and witches (good beautiful ones that are good with plants and herbs and charting the stars) and wise old people. Breathing dew and walking on good clean earth lit by little glass lanterns and sitting on beds draped with gauze and adorned with jewels among the flowers and drinking their nectar and eating the fruit of the earth, watered only by love and magic and water from sparkling streams.

Then we headed home, making a quick stop at Collette's for buko pie to take home to our families.

I guess that for the most part, we did pretty normal stuff. But what made yesterday a dream was... being away, and on a weekday, too. Not too many people around. We should have been in the city, at work, like the rest of them, but instead, we were there, in this blessedly cool and wonderfully fresh place, exploring and discovering. It was like being suspended, yknow? Like for a day, we were granted a place and time all our own, apart from everything else. It was also the first time I went away with someone special, just the two of us. All of that put together just made it seem like... like we owned the world, like every place was a place to discover and celebrate and grow in love. It was like being in a place where we could be ourselves—and ourselves with each other—fully. It was like bathing in all the love and beauty around us and inside us and between us.

In other news, today, I just beat Olivia's most infuriating on-the-road moment: I was overtaken by a sweet soy custard (taho) vendor on a bicycle with an attached side cart. How's that for a jolt back into reality?

Hospitals

2007-11-28T18:12:00.000+08:00

So tonight I thought about becoming a doctor (physician, as per AMA) again. I don't know if it's because I saw Enchanted today, and McDreamy was in it. Maybe. Or maybe because I accompanied Roger to the hospital today and saw all those doctors in their professional-looking white coats and their nameplates with "M.D." after their names. Roger asked me about med reps, too, and for some reason, I woke up from my evening nap (yes, I take naps in the evening... pretty much anytime I want to, actually, if I'm just at home... batugan much) thinking about those nifty little prescription pads: the generic, hospital-issue ones; the commercial ones from pharma companies that the docs end up giving to their children (these were the reason I decided to come up with a signature even when I don't think I knew how to write yet); and the neat- and kind of classic-looking but somehow very practical personalized ones, with the doctor's name at the top, followed by his/her contact information and clinic schedule. But yes, for the first time in a while, I gave attention to the thought (usually I let it just sort of brush the surface of my immediate consciousness and allow it to be a fleeting thought). I do come from a family of doctors. I did take a pre-med course. I think I have the brains for it, and I suppose I have an EQ sufficient to gather the discipline for it. So what if it'll take me years and years before I actually become a doctor, and I'll be more than 30 by the time I have a life and a career? So what if I have to go through the ordeal of school again? I'm really planning to go back to school anyway. And at the end of it, I'll be a doctor! A friggin doctor! But, as always, I came to the same conclusion: no go.

If I go into med, I'll have to give up my art, my music, my dreams (and I don't mean dreams like ambitions, not really). I won't have time to just think and feel and be, to explore the world and my mind and everything beyond and in between. And all that is essential to me. I know because I lost it once (with my current job, which left me no time at the end of the day to even just think, and which I am leaving very, very soon... I'm not just saying that, either; I'm handing in my resignation next week, hooray for me!), and it was horrible, like I didn't know what to do with myself when I had free time, and I just didn't know who I was or what I was all about anymore--and I'm still going through the process of finding it. Retracing my steps, being moody and impulsive sometimes, the occasional cry or all-out bawl. It's fun, exciting, painful sometimes... but it's a journey. What I mean is, I am actually moving. I am no longer stagnant; my life is no longer stagnant. I'm headed somewhere again. For someone whose occupation on Friendster is "explorer," dammit, it's about time.

I took my youngest full sister (I have a half-sister) to see a movie (Enchanted) earlier. She's 14 today (technically yesterday; it's past midnight). My mom told me that she cried last night because my lolo is in the hospital (minor surgery to remove a tennis-ball-sized cyst under his armpit, *youch*), which means no family celebration today. There'll be another time, for sure, but she had this day all planned out: instead of dinner, sit-down ice cream at the newly opened Haagen-Dazs ice cream parlor in Town. She's big on birthdays, and for likely longer than a month or two, she'd been really looking forward to today, thinking that today would be her day. She even prayed that there would be classes today (typhoons waiting to happen lately) so that everyone at school could greet her. So she felt bad about today not being her day, after having looked forward to it for so long: she's a kid; at the same time, she felt guilty about feeling bad about it: she's a good kid. Good thing I bought her a 5-pack of these cute miniature boxed chocolate candies. When I got home, I left them outside her door with a note that said, "NO GUILT. We cannot help how we feel. It is how we choose to act that counts. Happy 14th birthday!"

This morning, there was a thank you note from her under my door. I decided to ask some of my friends to text her a greeting. After much debate with myself, I also decided to skip work, visit my lolo if I could (which I ended up not doing; he was in recovery till the afternoon, and after that, it started to rain pretty hard, with some pretty strong winds), and take my sister out. She was so happy when she got home from school; she was practically skipping. I gave her 3 options: shopping on a P500 budget (so that isn't really shopping, but I'm not rich yet, ok?), a nice meal/dinner, or a movie and cheap food. After some deliberation, she went with option 3. So she dressed up all nice (I didn't bother to change out of the shorts and a giant T-shirt I had been wearing all day), we headed to Town, bought the movie tickets, and got some KFC (which really isn't so cheap, after all) to eat during the movie. She loved the movie, kept giving me these awwwwwww! looks, got all blubbery but didn't cry (which she was so proud about; she always cries), and spilled some of her KFC on her nice little birthday dress-top thing (the new ultimate sandwich really is ultimate, but it's kind of hard/messy to eat; worth it, though). On the way back to the car, she raved about the movie and told me about Ashlee Simpson getting her face done (we saw an ad with her on it, and she looks hella different), and we got our feet wet braving the floody puddles in the parking lot. At home, she hugged me and told me thank you. I told her to wash her feet, and as she hopped along on her merry way, I got into my room (sanctuary), eased myself onto my bed, pulled up the covers, read a bit (Stephen King's Dreamcatchers; I'm pretty far along now but still don't know what I think of it, though at this point, I think I liked all the others I've read better), and had a lovely lovely gorgeous sleep. Whose arms I must now return to.

Three

2007-11-21T13:18:00.000+08:00

You: with the big, soft eyes
long-lashed and glassy
You: with the loving hands
expressive and protective
You: with your strong arms
warm and cozy, like home
You: with the childlike smile
naughty, innocent, a little bit of both
You: with your solid body
meat and bone and sinew
You: with your temper
you heat up so fast
(I must always be with you
touch my palm to the nape of your neck
and think cool, think water
to calm you)
You: with your ardor
it's the one thing guaranteed to overwhelm me to tears
You: with the sheer intensity of your desire
(it) drives me to blissful surrender
You, with that frank guilelessness
so that I hate myself for knowing I might only hurt you
You: with that subdued playfulness
that endears everyone to you

I have come to know this much of you
I have come to see this much of you
I have come to love this much of you
And I will never be the same