The Bohemian Backpacker

Rain

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 31 Jan 2011 11:44:00 +0000

There is something about the rain that is therapeutic.

When I was a child, the rainy season was as much an awaited time as the summer. While we frolic during the summer flying kites and catching bats or swimming through the bay while gathering seashells, rainy days then would mean running through the streets half-naked together with most of my neighborhood friends. We’d play those games we used to play during summers until our chins would tremble from hypothermia and our lips turned purple from freezing.

I never got over my special personal affection for the rain. Although, I cannot now run half-naked through the streets for I would risk the displeasure of the whole neighborhood, I still always look forward for the rain to come like when I was a child. Restless as I am, the rain has always the ability to put me on one side not moving for a long time. Like the moon, it can always summon my inner self and enable me to have contact with my soul. Then, I'd stay adrift and came back refreshed.

I T H A C A

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 21:38:00 +0000

Ithaca

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

Reality Has An Ugly Face

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 08:16:00 +0000

Recently, my nightlife always begin with an hour or so jog in Baywalk area along Roxas Boulevard. It usually start with me walking briskly as I watch the setting sun out of the corner of my eye. The famous sunset of Manila Bay is not as gorgeous as the sunset of the city by the bay where I grow up. Ours is far beautiful than Manila Bay’s, that is, if the sun would bother to shine at all.

Days of jogging along Baywalk exposed me to different people from all walks of life. I become friendly with the vendors that I always receive a smile of welcome and recognition each time I arrive. I watched with enthusiasm as yatchs come and go. I touched with too much longing the Mercedes’, BMW’s and the jaguars parked outside Manila Yatch Club. Lovers kissing and cuddling each other in full public view without a care in the world is familiar sight. Foreigners bargaining with the pimps are easy to spot like the lunatics who roamed around wandering around Baywalk like it is a paradise. While I envy the lovers and the lunatics who lived in their own paradise, my heart bleeds as a prostitute is lead away after a deal of a glimpse of paradise has been sealed.

I jog until my head aches from lack of oxygen, until my breath whistle as I inhale, until my legs are sore, until my visions blur. Reality has an ugly face.

Do You Know This Man?*

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 12:29:00 +0000

At 31, this man FAILED in business.

At 32, was DEFEATED in a legislature race.

At 34, he FAILED again in business.

At 35, his girlfriend DIED.

At 36, he had NERVOUS BREAKDOWN.

At 43, 46, 48, LOST congressional races.

At 55, LOST a senatorial race.

At 56, FAILED in a bid to become the VP of USA.

At 58, LOST a senatorial race.

At 60, he was ELECTED President of the US.

He is ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

You are never really a failure until you give up trying.

* A text message forwarded by Maria Ninette.

The World In Conspiracy

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 07:13:00 +0000

There was a soft knock at my door one night. When I opened it there lay in Joey’s palm two pieces of Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Joey said it is good for me and my headache(s).

The next day, Imee came knocking at my door with a box of Mister Donuts given by her boylet (translation: husband). She gave me the honor of picking the flavor I like most before she distributed it to the rest of the Piranhas. Of course nothing beats strawberry. I took out 2.

The next day I received one pack of Otap from Cebu courtesy of Syme. We met unexpectedly and the next day she was knocking at my door bringing with her one of Cebu’s most famous delicacy. God, I missed Cebu.

I got one suspicion confirmed. The world is conspiring for me to gain weight. So far the world is winning. But I'm not going down without a fight. Of course, I won't.

Smiley

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 23:56:00 +0000

Arman waited at our gate but for how long I have no idea. It took me an eternity to prepare myself to see him again. I haven’t seen nor communicated with him for ages. He was smiling uneasily when he saw me. Normally at a time like that we would have kissed and hugged each other. But the situation was awkward. We just settled at holding each other’s hands for a long time after we gamely slapped each other’s face.

We talked about how we’ve been. He said he was happy when he learned that I am in town. We talked about a lot of things. His travels, my travels, his lovelife, my lack of it (bwahahaha!), his new job, and my lack of it (grrrr!). But we never talked about what happened the last time we were together.

Funny, I felt awkward calling him with his name while I never heard him mentioned mine. Suddenly the terms of endearment we used to call each other become the hardest word to say.

He convinced me to have dinner with him on Sunday. He said he’d cook for me whatever food I like. I said he better make an adobo squid otherwise the dinner will not be perfect. He is a good cook. He used to cook at my place in Cebu while I always ended up washing the dishes. That is my perpetual role in men’s life. A dish washer.

I hope this dinner on Sunday will bring us an inch back towards where we left off before that unfortunate night happened. I hope so…

After he dropped me off back to my place, he sent me a message:

I’m so happy to see you. I missed you baya….

Then one missed call.

I just missed call you to verify if the number you gave me is correct. I know how bad you are @ #s. Di ka kasi nagrreply. I’m in the office now.

His message remained unresponded for three days now.

Sarap kayang mang-okray ng taong guilty… :)

Happy Father's Day, Gregorio!

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:25:00 +0000

A high school classmate was killed in an ambush last Monday. Gregorio served in the Philippine Army whose unit was assigned in Panabo, Davao del Sur. While some of his classmates were nursing headaches brought about by hangover from the drinking session the previous night, he must have been engaged in a senseless battle against the rebels whose cause I cannot comprehend and whose sense of idealism is very applicable 50 years ago. He was 32.

He left behind a wife and a child. A wife who from now on will have to do with the meager pension the government will send her every month. The child will eventually grow up with a blurred memory of the heroism of his father and a faint idea on how it is to live and grow up with a father by his side. They are the collateral damage of an idealism that is antiquated and moot and academic.

There never was a leftist blood in my system. I have been a recipient of many invitations to join their cause but I always believed that the streets nor the mountains were not the proper venue to vent out our grievances. This country, if it is to develop and prosper, should adhere to the rule of law and not to misplaced idealism which in reality is in pursuance of self-grandeur and self-interest.

Happy Father’s Day, Gregorio. I know how it is to live without a father. I have seen my own mother suffered trying to make both ends met just to raise her four fatherless children. My heart cried to your little baby and to your darling wife. I hope life will be kind to them the way it is to us. Be their star. Watch over them the way my father has been watching us all these years. Please hug my father for me. Tell him he is sorely missed.
Goodbye, Gregorio.

Coffee Talks

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Fri, 23 May 2008 06:50:00 +0000

Suddenly I wanted to live to be a hundred. My view from the terrace of the high-rise skyscrapers surrounding the pension house I was staying with Kit made me wish to be somewhere else. I have always wanted to be forever young…

I once had a talk with an intimate soul about us growing old. While the present circumstances prevented us from being together, we thought it would be possible for us to spend the rest of our December years united and one. Fifty years from now or so…

We saw ourselves limping (not walking) by the beach as we hurried to watch one of the last sunsets of our lives. Our aging bones deprived of its vigor and strength will carry us through as we walk hand in hand trying to make up for those times we spent apart. I’d sip my cold coffee as he puffs his nth stick of cigarette of the day while we try to know each other again, noting the changes and what stayed the same. We believe that we’d be surprised to know at how far we have changed while in separation and we will be equally amazed as we discover we never changed a bit after fifty years.

We are two souls meant to be united as one but who chose to live freely from each other. We will glide separately through space and time searching the earth for its beauty and purpose, enriching ourselves with wisdom and experience, completing ourselves for each other in time for our eventual reunion.

Life is worth living when there is something to look forward to. As I drew my last puff, my coffee runs cold…

The Note

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Wed, 21 May 2008 12:33:00 +0000

I found a hallmark card tucked into my door after I spent a boring, uneventful day yesterday. The cards says:

May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
And the rains fall soft upon your fields...
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

- A TRADITIONAL IRISH BLESSING

At the back of the card was a note:

Dear Ate Iamie,

Our little talks inspire me to persevere.
Thank you. Keep on inspiring others.
Be strong in faith. Fortes in Fide.

Always,
Hannah

Hannah is a neighbor of two weeks. The note reminded me of a resolve I made a long time ago: They can take everything I own. Friends may desert me and become my enemies. Family may disown me. I Just Want To Keep The Faith.

Fortes in Fide... yeah... Be Strong In Faith.

Someone Has To Be

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Sun, 18 May 2008 17:03:00 +0000

A text message from Aileen came one night:

Do you know what's hard about being too strong?
Nobody might care to ask if you're hurt...

Well, damn what I am. Someone has to be. That is, someone has to be damned. ;-)

99 Ways To Avoid Stress

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 15 May 2008 02:00:00 +0000

1. Get up 15 minutes earlier.
2. Prepare for the morning the night before.
3. Avoid tight fitting clothes.
4. Don’t rely on memory…write it down.
5. Practice preventive maintenance.
6. Make duplicate keys.
7. Say “NO” more often.
8. Set priorities in life.
9. Avoid negative people. (Very true… – The Bohemian Backpacker)
10. Use time wisely.
11. Simplify meal times.
12. Always make duplicate copies of important documents.
13. Anticipate your needs.
14. Repair things that don’t work properly.
15. Ask for help with jobs that you dislike.
16. Break larger tasks into bite size portions.
17. Look at problems as challenges.
18. S M I L E :)
19. Un-clutter your life.
20. Be prepare for the rain.
21. Tickle a baby.
22. Pet a friendly cat or dog.
23. Don’t know all the answers.
24. Look for the silver lining.
25. Teach a kid fly a kite.
26. Walk in the rain. (Highly recommended by TBB)
27. Schedule a play time into everyday.
28. Take a bubble bath.
29. Say something nice to someone.
30. Be aware of the decisions you make.
31. Believe in yourself.
32. Stop saying negative things to yourself.
33. Visualize yourself winning.
34. Develop your sense of humor. (Yeah, right. – TBB)
35. Stop thinking tomorrow will be a better day.
36. Have goals for yourself.
37. Dance a jig.
38. Say “hello” to strangers.
39. Ask a friend for a hug.
40. Look up at the stars. (Specially the moon! – TBB)
41. Practice breathing slowly.
42. Learn to whistle a tune.
43. Listen to top symphony.
44. Watch a ballet.
45. Read a story curled up in bed.
46. Do a brand new thing.
47. Stop a bad habit.
48. Buy yourself flowers.
49. Take time to smell the flowers.
50. Find support from others.
51. Ask someone to be your “Vent Partner”
52. Do it today.
53. Work at being cheerful and optimistic.
54. Put safety first.
55. Do everything in moderation.
56. Pay attention to your appearance. (Huh?!)
57. Strive for excellence NOT perfection.
58. Stretch your limit a little each day.
59. Look at your work of art.
60. Hum a jingle.
61. Maintain your weight.
62. Plant a tree.
63. Feed the birds.
64. Practice grace under pressure.
65. Stand up and stretch.
66. Always have a “Plan B”.
67. Learn a new doodle.
68. Memorize a joke.
69. Be responsible for your own feelings.
70. Learn to meet your own needs. (Highly advised by TBB)
71. Become a better listener.
72. Tell someone to “Have a good day”.
73. Throw a paper airplane.
74. Exercise everyday.
75. Learn the words of a new song.
76. Get to work early.
77. Clean out one closet.
78. Be out of the closet.
79. Go on a picnic.
80. Take a different route to work.
81. Leave work early (with permission, of course!)
82. Put air freshener in your car.
83. Watch a movie and eat popcorn.
84. Write a note to a far away friend.
85. Go to a ball game and scream for your favorite team.
86. Cook a meal and eat by a candlelight.
87. Remember stress is an attitude.
88. Keep a journal.
89. Practice a monster smile. (Bwahahahaha!)
90. Remember that you always have an option.
91. Have a support network (People, Places or Things)
92. Quit trying to “fix” other people’s lives.
93. Get enough sleep.
94. Talk less and listen more.
95. Freely praise other people.
96. Recognize the importance of unconditional love.
97. Set appointments ahead.
98. Cherish your friends and family and let them know.
99. Relax, remember that you have the rest of you live to live…

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Last Chronicles)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 11:54:00 +0000

Island-hopping lasted almost a day and so we proceeded to our next agenda: to down a bottle of tequila. It was not a difficult task. Everyone started to feel tipsy after a few gulps that we even forgot to do the body-shots! Ahem!

I was between tipsy and drunk as I ran zigzagly towars to shore to wave lovingly to to the sitting sun. I laid back at the sand and slept feeling the rays kissing me my cheeks as I went into slumber. This is paradise because nobody gives a damn.

It was already dark when I woke up and I was horrified when I realized I was sleeping in the sand. The people were walking to and fro and I was comforted with the thought that nobody noticed me.

I stood up shakily when the phone in my pocket vibrated. It was a call from someone who never missed my birthday. The highlight of the call would always be the singing a birthday song from start to finish. She's been doing it since she was still in the Philippines. And she's still been doing it even after she relocated abroad.

This year, however, was different. After she sung my birthday song, she handed the phone to her husband and her husband sung it so seriously from start to finish that it knocked the air out of my lungs! It sent me gasping for breath after I went screaming with glee in the middle of the Boracay island. The best part of it is: nobody gave a damn.

Thank you Genalyn and Vito. The best suprised did came out last. Till next song.....

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Last Chronicles)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 11:53:00 +0000

I spent the rest of the day island-hopping, snorkelling and diving. The islands surrounding Boracay were not exceptional. The coral reefs were almost dead and its not something to brag about. My heart was shattered as I saw the caves altered and modified in favor of commercialism. My birthday wish, therefore, is may the people of Boracay respect more Mother Nature and show more gratitude towards it who provided them with so much wealth they are enjoying right now.

This was the only pain I felt on my birthday.

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Last Chronicles)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 11:40:00 +0000

In a world-class beach like Boracay where only the royalty can afford the expensive foods, a pauper like me eats Andok's for breakfast, Andok's for lunch and Andok's for dinner. Hahahaha! I almost felt that I might smell of chickenshit after my Boracay trip!

So, imagine my ecstacy when I saw a vendor selling "taho"! Believe me, the world is so damn sad without taho.

As I ate my gift with gusto, I could almost feel a pat on my shoulders from someone saying, " I know the desires of thy heart."

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Forgotten Adventure)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 12:39:00 +0000

I read lots of books about Boracay after I decided where to spend my birthday. I was thus surprised when I saw the image of the Holy Virgin, Our Lady of Lourdes in the center-most, beach-front part of Boracay. I never saw it in the books I read but if I did I must have missed it.

I was thrilled as I climbed up the stairs of the Grotto. My Lady never gives up on me, you know? She followed me even in Boracay! From then on I felt safe and spent every sunrise I have in Boracay with Her.

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Forgotten Adventure)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 12:04:00 +0000

I woke up the following morning (my birthday) hoping to get a glimpse of Boracay's sunrise. The sunrise, though, is best viewed at the other side of the island and all I saw were the rays of the rising sun.

It was still dark and I was so excited to take pictures of a sleeping Bora when I noticed a man who has been following me for some distance already. As instinct would have it, I walked slowly sideward so that he could overtake me and I could watch him from a distance. He was almost 5 meters ahead of me when he stopped and smiled at me sweetly. I smiled backed innocently and pretended to put back my camera to its case.

We walked as we talked about the sunrise, the weather and other useless, insignificant forgotten things including the white sands of Bora as if its the first time we've noticed that Bora has powdery white sands! Haller?!

His name is Mark while I am always Christine to strangers. Guys, don't give him credit just because I remembered his name. Its just that his name is the same as that of one of my favorite brothers. I have 3 favorite brothers, you know. Anyway, he is a cutie. No, not him. My brother Mark is a cutie. Hehehehehe!

He must have been upset when my phone couldn't stop ringing but he didn't show it. He waited until I finished taking all my calls from both here and overseas. I supposed they placed a wager on who can call me first. My mama beat them all!

As we started our walk he asked for my number and I gave him the first 10 numbers that came to my mind. A fake name and a non-existing phone number! Sounds fun!

We ended our morning walk with him asking me if he can wait by my resort's gate the following morning so that we can have another sunrise viewing galore. I said, "Yeah, sure. Fine."

N.B. On the morning of my 32nd birthday a prophecy involving the Charmed Ones happened. Many centuries ago it was prophesied that the Charmed Ones will each get involved with 3 different creatures with the same name. While Ionnie is set marry her whitelighter on May 17, 2008 named Mark, Kit's ex-bf who came from the royalty of demons was also known as Mark. Well, I just told you about the human being named Mark I met in Boracay.

Blessed Be.

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed! (The Forgotten Adventure)

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 11:28:00 +0000

The accounts of my birthday trip to Boracay is way past over due. In fact, I already decided not to write about it and classify it as "sacred", therefore, not fit for public consumption.

My decision, however, was met with too much indignation and criticism, condemned and viewed as grossly unacceptable by my "2 and only" readers. Therefore, driven by uncontrollable fear to lose my "2 and only" readers and to prevent the fortuitous event of becoming the lone reader of my own blog... I submit with all the humilities of a slave. :)

Boracay is paradise. There is nothing new with that declaration. Of all the islands I've ever been, Boracay stands out. People of all colors, age, shapes and sizes converge in Boracay. You can eat anything you want and drink everything you fancy. You can be want you want and nobody gives a damn.

My 32nd birthday was made special because my dream of a one-night stand with Bamboo came true. I almost screamed when the receptionist told me that Bamboo will hold a concert later in the evening. And so it goes that I stood all night and watched Bamboo with a starstruck eyes, salivating with his every movements. One dream - checked and stricken out of the list!

More to come as soon as my eyes are rested. Ciao!

Boracay Island - Paradise Indeed!

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 02:36:00 +0000

Boracay is truly a paradise island. Believe me. But before I write about my Boracay adventure, let me show you things I learned in Boracay.

1. The Hobbit's House actually exists in Boracay.

2. That you can wear elevator shoes in Boracay.

3. That when swimming in Boracay, infants should wear diapers.

4. That it's okey to go naked all the way in Boracay. Had I known...tsk tsk tsk

5. That when you fail to use your brain and you fell from the boat and was wet all over, you can strip yourself half-naked in the bus and can hang your wet clothes at the back of your seat to dry.

6. That when one leaves Boracay, the backpack should wear a seatbelt.

Let Me Come Home

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Sat, 01 Mar 2008 07:30:00 +0000

I stood in the rain feeling each droplet against my skin. The wind took the liberty to dishevel my hair while the occassional moaning of sleeping horses fill the air. My bare feet was numb from the cold as I walked slowly around underneath the intimidating darkness and the threatening storm. My pajama was splattered with mud as the swing rocks silently in the wind. This scene, it's immortal. My days are numbered and I am counting them.

The thought of leaving brought me home. My body no longer shivers from the darkness and the cold but the from the chilly realization that I am missing home. I missed my family. I missed my Mama and our disagreements. I missed my 3 brothers. I missed my bed even it drips when it rains outside. I missed everything about home.

But I am not coming back. Not yet...

I need to move on into the next island-destination said to be a paradise...

"Home"
By: Michael Buble

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home
Mmmmmmmm

Maybe surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home
Oh, I miss you, you know

And I’ve been keeping all the letters that I wrote to you
Each one a line or two
“I’m fine baby, how are you?”
Well I would send them but I know that it’s just not enough
My words were cold and flat
And you deserve more than that

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home

Let me go home
I’m just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
It’s like I just stepped outside
When everything was going right
And I know just why you could not
Come along with me
'Cause this was not your dream
But you always believed in me

Another winter day has come
And gone away
In even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home
Let me go home

And I’m surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
Oh, let me go home
Oh, I miss you, you know

Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be all right
I’ll be home tonight
I’m coming back home

What Exactly Is A Bohemian?

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 08:14:00 +0000

I almost forgot how to breath when I saw a book in Powerbooks. The early part of the day made me depressed. The traffic jam was so terrible that we made an instantaneous u-turn and head for the mall instead of the beach. The farm boys I was with were harrassed by the Bibo! guard for looking like a "farm boy" in supposedly class A(?) playground. My companion lost her wits and name-dropped the franchisee owner of the establishment who happened to be her friend and the guard cowered like a lamb showering us with apology.

The food tasted bland and my head aches from too much noise and hypocrisy, duplicity and madness without cause. Then I found Bohemian Manifesto by Laren Stover. I thought I died when I saw the 4 digit price of the book! Grrr!!! So I sit comfortably in the sofa and read until the bookstore announced that they are closing and would I please go out. Hahahaha!!! Believe me, I read the book from cover to cover because I can't afford it. It speak so much of me that when I went out of the bookstore my depression is gone but my heart broken from the thought that the book won't sleep with me in my bed even for just a night.

DEFINING BOHEMIA
A DIAGNOSIS

"Who am I? I'm a poet. My business? Writing.
How do I live? I live.
In my happy poverty I squander like a prince,
my poems and songs of love.
In hopes and dreams and castles-in-air,
I'm a millionaire in spirit."

—Rodolfo, La Bohème

So, what exactly is a Bohemian? Technically, a Bohemian is a person hailing from that province of the Czech Republic or a gypsy type leading a vagabond life reading palms and tarot cards and playing strange music around the campfire with a dancing bear. The Bohemia of this book is about living beyond convention. Bohemia is an atmosphere, a way of life, a state of mind. Henry Murger, who wrote about himself and all his starving-artist friends, put the word Bohemian into mainstream language in 1849 when his play La Vie de Bohème went up in Paris. He gave a label to the eccentric and socially unorthodox. Poets, painters, absinthe drinkers, dandies on the fringe—any oddball qualified.

Bohemian living or consciousness, if you will, has always been provocative. There's just something about the freedom, recklessness, scandal, artistic vision and spiritual splendor that makes it tantalizingly worthy of membership. Bohemianism is not a trend, it's a timeless movement, a way of life both fleeting and enduring that reappears every now and then as a backlash against our bourgeois, mass market, easy access culture. Bohemianism doesn't always steal the headlines. Bohemianism may be big and shocking but it may also be personal and subterranean, with quiet defiances. Bohemianism slips into our bedroom and makes a personal appearance in our dreams, sits next to us while we're in a car and whispers detours, Bohemianism is the stranger pouring stars and galaxies into our morning beverage while we watch the cat lick its paws, and it's the compulsion we have to pick up a piece of paper on the street and promise ourselves that what's written on it will be the first sentence of our next novel or the name of the yoga center or bar we're opening. Bohemianism is more than an attitude. It's the apolitical freedom of ideas, clothing and behaviors gently outside the norm. It's an elixir of undisclosed ingredients, a strange, bootleg perfume, it's the psychic, globally warmed truth serum the government wants to ban, it's the holy water of the unconscious mind, and once anointed, the underground gold mine of ideas blossoms and bleeds into the open air without self-consciousness, without reproach, without judgment.

Bohemians defy exact definition because they are essentially errant spirits. Bohemians are society's outlaws—mavericks, vagabonds, mad scientists, gypsies, theater people, artists, deviants, radicals, outsiders. They are, in essence, all one clan.
Bohemians transform, mutating and evolving from Dandy to Beat to Flower Child per the prevailing zeitgeist.

You know them when you see them:

She wears velvet in the rain.

He dances with pigeons and does magic tricks in the bookstore cafe.

They walk from Nice to Florence and have a child named Sienna.

They drive a school bus, despite the parking challenges . . . and eat porridge while drinking Languedoc.

They wear contrarianism more liberally than ordinary mortals wear polyester.

You see them selling hand-knit hats to tourists on the streets of SoHo, heading to Veselka coffee shop in the East Village at noon for a morning coffee, wearing Value Village as if it were Yohji Yamamoto, reading Gertrude Stein, dressed like George Sand at cafés in the Butte aux Cailles, safe from tourist buses since it's in the thirteenth arrondissement, listening to jazz at Les Instants Chavirés in Paris, hiking in a fedora in Katmandu, doing performance art in Williamsburg, moving into a new space in the Tenderloin district in San Francisco because they find North Beach too cliché, on their third pint at a tavern talking about the creation of the universe and the six months they spent in the rain forest and the miracle drug they found growing at the roots of a particular type of tree and by the way it gets you high, sipping free wine in plastic cups at art galleries as artist, collector and muse, reading poetry in bookstores in Berlin, modeling for nude photographs in a cemetery in Prague and scavenging junk shops by bus for vintage furniture later sold to antique dealers to keep themselves in absinthe.

Bohemians may get on your nerves, but even when they appear to be idle, down-and-out, opinionated Slackers, they're stirring things up. Bohemians are the ultimate elitists. They want to run things. They break the rules, set the trends, knit the knits, destroy the art and reinvent the art that everyone wants, or will want. Bohemians start movements. Bohemians change thinking. Bohemians stay up all night talking, and sometimes they write manifestos. Bohemians cross cultures and integrate mantras, philosophies, substances and clothing seamlessly into everyday life. Bohemians tenderly and violently create new work and change paradigms. Bohemians change the world.

Copyright © 2004 by Laren Stover

Gosh! More about this book when I'll get cash!

A Rose That Is Vanessa

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 07:30:00 +0000

She was a seatmate in 6th grade. Before that I never know what we were. All I know is that after we became seatmates, she has always been there for me...

She was there in almost all the major blows I encountered. She reminds me of the poem "Footprints On The Sand". Not that I equate her with God. It's just that during the most turbulent periods in my life where life was brutally unfair, she was there. Always. On the contrary, I was never there for her when she needed me. I was always the late-comer. I always arrived when the storm in her life has passed.

She cried as much as I did in the summer of '92. We never spoke about my pain but I know she felt it each time I browse our family album and saw her picture with ultra-red eyes from too much crying. She was there but I never realized it then.

For me, our friendship started when an astounding blow hit me one day. I was as shock as everyone else that nobody dared to talk to me and I never uttered a single word to anyone. I head for the convent ( a place nearby we used as a play ground) wishing to be alone but she followed. We sat meters apart without uttering a single word for a long time until she moved closer, put her hands on my shoulder and make me lean on hers. I sobbed while she cried. Words were useless. She was there and I will always cherish that moment.

Many blows after that and she was always there. While I never knew her own struggles I think she made it her business to know mine. And she'd arrive at the most opportune time. More than a year ago, she held my hand gently as we walked towards the restaurant when the news of my latest blow came in. Then a realization hit me, how come she is always there for me? We talked until dawn as I tried to appear strong and unaffected about the bad news. In the morning, she knocked at our hotel room with a bag full of dvd copy of movies that would interest me. She made me promise to watch those movies. I guess she sensed that depression will set in the next few days and those movies are good tactical diversion.

My heart is overflowing with gratitude to someone who sent me Vanessa. I always said that the greatest gift I received in this lifetime is my family and friends. And Vanessa is one of the best gifts I ever had in my life. I am lucky. But I don't know if she is as lucky as I am.

Happy birthday, Friend. Please allow me to publish this tribute to you to honor you and the friendship we both hold sacred. Sorry if you have to travel overseas just to be with me on my own birthday two weeks from now in one of the world's most beautiful island. See you soon.

SOMEDAY
By: Sugar Ray

Someday
When my life has passed me by
I'll lay around and wonder why you were always there for me
One way
In the eyes of a passerby
I'll look around for another try
And'll fade away

[Chorus]

Just close your eyes and I'll take you there
This place is war without a care
We'll take a swim in the deep blue sea
I go to leave as you reach for me
Some say
Better things will come our way
No matter what they try to say you were always there for me
Someway
When the sun begins to shine
I hear a song from another time
And'll fade away
And'll fade away

[Chorus]

So far, so long, so far away
So far, so long, so far away (away, away)
Someday
When my life has passed me by
I'll lay around and wonder why you were always there for me
One way
In the eyes of a passerby
I'll look around for another try
And'll fade away
And'll fade away
And'll fade away
And'll fade away
And'll fade away
And'll fade away
(someday)
And'll fade away

Happy Hearts

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 09:56:00 +0000

Thank you

- for never doubting my motives and intentions

- for understanding my fears

- for tolerating my stupidity and idiosyncracies

- for never giving up on me

- for giving me space when I needed it

- for respecting my privacy and holding it almost in sanctity

- for seeing me in your future

- for making me a part of you

Thank you for making my heart happy.

Pre-Valentine Treat

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 09:54:00 +0000

MORNING

I was watching a movie from a very big tv screen in the waiting lounge of a hospital's laboratory when a man I almost hated sat at the bench next to where I was. It was such a hard work containing my patience because my feet were screaming to kick his butt in public. I put on a very straight face and thought 'vengeance has it's own time'. My day started badly.

AFTERNOON

I roamed around the National Bookstore trying to kill the time while waiting for the result of the lab tests. I found it rather funny because the month's bestseller is El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Colera ( Love In The Time of Cholera) a book authored by my best drinking buddy Gabriel Garcia Marquez. This book was published in 1988 and the copy I have is a First Vintage International Edition dated October 2003. On how it became a National Bookstore bestseller 10 years after it was first published is puzzling. This book was even featured in the movie Serendipity, remember? It breaks my heart to know that even in literature, the Philippines is a decade or so behind.

My affair with Gabriel Garcia Marquez first began in One Hundred Years of Solitude. Being an unnatural extrovert, I picked up the book because the word "solitude" appeals to me. The phrase "100 years" was even more appealing that I was convinced I'd spend the next 100 years of my life in hell and another hundred in purgatory if I fail to read the book. Then his autobiography followed after which I committed myself fully in the disposal of Gabriel Garcia Marquez as long as I live. Cholera or no cholera.

EVENING

I was on a rush trying to avoid the people who went mad over the next day's affair. I boarded a taxi and for the first time in my life seated beside the driver who only slowed down as I entered the cab. I was drenched in rain and as soon as I finished wiping myself a fast moving pick up overtook us, made a sudden halting screech and our cab kissed its bumper all broken and cracked. The drunk driver of the pick up went out and hurled expletives at my driver. I went out amidst the rain, checked myself intact and complete, hailed another taxi and wondered how my day will end.

TWILIGHT

I found myself in a vacated open field. The quarter moon was showing and the stars were twinkling gorgeously. Up at the back of (another) pick up truck were lively strumming of country folk songs in guitar. Cowboy hats and mud boots were scattered all over, the horses gallopping freely in the muddy race tracks, the air was cold and beneath us were the city lights in all its grandeur and magnificence.

When the cold was no longer bearable, everyone left except me and three others. Our adrenaline were still rushing like fools that we ended in race track trying to hurdle the obstacle using not horses but a beast called pajero. We rode through the mud, negotiated blind curves at devil's speed our shouting and screaming heard by no one but the crickets. The joy and excitement in our faces seen only by the quarter moon.

The memory is lovely. And I want the world to know.

Yami Decides To Die

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 08:01:00 +0000

I woke up feeling a familiar pain. My mind rushed in panic as I lay on my back afraid to increase my suffering by any slight movement. My head was throbbing maniacally in pain, my stomach felt hollow making me nauseaus and my spinal column is numb and unfeeling.

I stared at the ceiling silently and for a moment was disoriented trying to recall where I was. The dim light from the lamp shade at the corner of the room brought me to full consciousness. I'm still in my friend's farm communing with horses and their dung, full moons and fresh air, enjoying the silence, latin music and my solitude.

I reached for the phone beside me realizing in horror that I needed help but changed my mind when my hand was in mid-air. It was such a bad idea to raise the alarm at three in the morning. Few hours to dawn... I could last that long...

Unmoving, I went back to staring at the ceiling. The last time I felt the pain was a litte less than a decade ago. Severe headache, nausea and vomiting, double vision, paralysis on one side of my face and good deal many others I can't now exactly recall. When my CT Scan and MRI's result came in, the doctors found a tumor somewhere in my pretty head and decided for a surgery that lasted more than seven hours. My family and my best friend were in my bedside and we celebrated Christmas together in my hospital room with my head wrapped in bandage as if it was God's gift to my family and my arm attached to a tube through a needle inserted in my vein as if trying to reassure my family that I was not going anywhere.

Our Christmas in 1998 was both merry and hopeful. While I got to get a new lease on life, our family overcame yet another major blow. Five years earlier, my father suddenly died of heart attack and our loss was too big it seemed there was no way of letting go. The void was just too big to fill. Imagine my family's anxiety and fear when another member's life is threatened. I cannot fully account how we faced our angers and fears during that time. But individually, it made us better and stronger persons. Collectively, it strengthened the tie that binds us as a family. Spiritually, God became our pillar, our strength, our hope.

After the surgery, my life changed drastically. The surgery left me handicapped for the rest of my life (although, my impairment is not obvious, in fact only my family knows about it and some of my closest friends suspect it!), my movements and activity were limited, my diet is restricted plus, I needed to get my monthly lifetime shots of Penador to keep my heart from being invaded by bacteria. I was diagnosed with RHD when I was 18.

For years I lived a boring patient's life until the day I decided to live my life the way I wanted to. First, I stopped my monthly injections. I enrolled in a gym, lifted weights, climbed mountains and walls, swim, snorkel and dive. I ate with gusto in every fine dining restaurants I can afford, I lined in fast foods and ate in sidewalks. I drink every single drop of edible liquids hard or soft. I attended at least 5 colleges and universities that sometimes I'd think these schools will fight on who got the claim as my Alma Mater should I become as accomplished as Hilary Clinton or as successful as Frank McCourt! Hahahahaha! As if my time is running out, I juggled two different jobs while I attended law school at night. I was suicidal. I am free. I am alive.

I realized that part of being alive is to defy the law of gravity, to ignore the law of supply and demand, to forget the norms. My life started when I pursue happiness. In the pursuit of happiness, my heart takes the lead role, not science, not culture, not social norms.

My symptoms are back after a little less than a decade since it disappeared. This time it's worse. I tended to confuse faces with names, I slur frequently than before, my right hands shakes involuntarily from time to time. All these I noticed as I lay on my back feeling the severe pain on my head. In the dark, I crawled in search of my medicines. I sighed as I gulped it and realized I haven't been taking meds for years now.

As soon as my meds were doing its work, I felt my strength draining out of me. In the last moments that I was awake, I smiled and said to myself: "As soon as the dawn is over, I'll make myself a steamy and creamy coffee and read the day's newspapers with latin music playing...."

About the title? I really decided to die - 100 years from now. Between now and the last day of the one hundred years? My good friend up above will make the decision for me. If He can't make up His mind after 100 years from now, I'll take the matter in my hands. Good deal.

Today is Our Lady of Lourdes Feast Day. I couldn't thank Her good enough for keeping my health well all these years.

Friends And Friendship

noreply@blogger.com (The Bohemian Backpacker) — Sun, 27 Jan 2008 02:29:00 +0000

My neighboring table at an uptown coffee shop was noisy. I looked up impatiently from the source of the noise and saw a group of middle-aged women greeting each other like they haven't seen each other for millions of years. When my companion stood up to join the noisy group she told me that they were her high school classmates. I put down the copy of the contract we were discussing and looked at them in envy.

I remembered my own set of high school friends. Like us, they must have been unruly and restless. Each one must have their share of pain and glory in varying degree and intensity. Their dignified looks and refined manners must have been the product of life’s greatest lesson they experienced in the last 30 years or so of their lives.

The hugs and kisses were a prelude for a discussion galore that took place as soon as everyone was settled in their seats.And so it goes that I took the occupation of an eavesdropper! I smiled as someone makes a funny remark or shook my head when everyone started comparing their accessories, dresses and bags! I almost joined them when they started commenting on the newspaper article! The second time they hugged and kissed ended their session and each one headed towards the door and into their cars.

I was left recalling my own teenage years and wondering what I will be in the next 30 years or so. Charles Dickens' " it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" couldn't be more than appropriate in describing a teenage life. That despite the raging hormones, identity crises, family feuds and peer pressures, friends and friendship survives. Nobody may have survived unscathed and unhurt but each survivor relied heavily on the strength of friendship, strength strong enough to make them through the next arena of life.

There was a time when silence was all we could ever afford to offer each other. We become by-standers and spectators as the life of our friends unfold. The friendship took the back seat when priorities where sorted out: universities, careers, lovers, new friends, family. Does the embers of a burning friendship finally turned into cold ashes? No, it is still there in bright flaming red....waiting...ready...burning...

It did burn...again. Suddenly, everyone came running at the faintest sound of a distress call. Calls were made on special occassions, visits were done unannounced, wines are poured for no reason at all. What power is strong enough to destroy a good friendship? None.

I imagined us to be like those middle-aged women sitting in the the table next to me. Someday, when all our hairs are white (or dyed black), we will meet somewhere for coffee, dinner, party and God-knows-what, our friendship stronger more than before. We may never be able to dignify our looks or refine our manners, but our bond of friendship is solid and untouchable.

This is my first blog of the year. And I would like to offer it to a very good friend who is the first to reach the most dreaded 32nd year of our life. Happy birthday, Aileen! You are now out of the calendar and into the game of bingo! Enjoy it and don't worry. I am very close behind.