serendipity

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 06:26:00 +0000

Bluejay Coffee's cheese roll, possibly the best cheese roll in Iloilo. Cheesy, sweet, soft. Heat it in the microwave for a few seconds and enjoy. And my camera is possibly, the worst digital camera ever. I need to upgrade. Fast.

Girl Action

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 04:46:00 +0000

I Spit On Your Grave is for us women who can handle a pair of garden scissors, fish hooks, and a shotgun without batting an eyelash. "Hell has no fury like a women scorned" is pretty much the idiom of choice in this movie and the many definitions of "revenge" can be seen here in graphic detail.

The movie, a re-release of Day of the Woman (a 1978 controversial rape revenge film) have been condemned by film critics for its graphic violence and lengthy depictions of gang rape. The film was named in 2010 one of TIME's Top 10 Ridiculously Violent Movies.

Go ahead, watch this for kicks. For the male viewers, I suggest that you hold on to your nether regions while watching.

Revival 2011

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 04:30:00 +0000

It's official. I am reviving this blog. Never mind that I am only being read by 3 people. Never mind that most of the time, I don't have any earth-shattering, world-changing news or views to write about. Facebook and Twitter might have killed this blog, but I am rising from the dead and Mark Zuckerberg can go to blogosphere's hell for all I care.

First Day

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 15:12:00 +0000

Today was my daughter's first day of school. I was expecting drama, tears, and a lot of pulling and tugging. But no, Ripley dumped me at the door and didn't even look back to blow me a kiss. Bu-hu-hu! Sob! Okay, now I'm having a massive insecurity problem. Is there something wrong with me as a mom? She didn't even want to go home when I went back to pick her up! Oh well, I guess I did a good job of "briefing" her. She actually told me she's in it for the slide and the monkey bars... I'm so proud of you baby!

password where art thou?

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 26 May 2009 15:46:00 +0000

I can't believe it. I completely forgot my password. This is what you call stage 1 dementia and the fact that I haven't been signing in for the past 3 months or so. I have been so busy, in fact, I still am, and this was what kept me away from blogging:

Will post more soon. Gotta go. Too sleepy to think. Ciao!

grasshoppers, etc.

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 13:56:00 +0000

My son had a playlet last week and I kinda harassed the whole Pijuan clan which included my dear mom-in-law and my sister-in-law (not to mention all of great Grandma Minia's household crew) just so Zaki won't look like the grasshopper from hell. I was, on the other hand, the stage mother from hell, hanging out with the other stage moms at the backstage holding Zak's wings which my talented sister-in-law Ella made. Mommy sewed Zak's green suit and the only thing I did was to dye the stockings green. I've never been the crafty type and man, it was darn hard. I almost dyed the pan green because of my bullheadedness. The thing is, that pan was my sinigang pan, so the next day, I was kind of expecting my soup to turn minty in color. Ugh!

So I was utterly useless, save for googling Zak's grasshopper mask, I just made everybody paranoid with my incessant complaints and rantings. But the costume was done in a day in spite of the fact that I frazzled my mom-in-law's nerves in the process. Ripley was whining about why she didn't have a butterfly mask and wings and I had to appease her with some lollipop and er, empty promises just to shut her up.

I was so proud of Zak as he did his best on stage. He's such an awesome kid, I mean, if you're a 9 year old boy, would you wear green stockings and spandex on stage? That could be detrimental to his future mental health and may lead to lifetime therapy, which, I'm sorry, I'll never ever be financially prepared for. But he did it and he did it with such aplomb and pizzazz! Way to go my boy! You were the best-looking grasshopper in the history of best-looking grasshoppers. You made mommy proud!

Zak on stage with some t-shirt wearing dragonfly (this kid's mom
must be the exact opposite of OC me)

mental malfunction

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 13:21:00 +0000

I've been feeling so cuckoo lately what with the stress of multi-tasking. My dear husband has been ultra patient with me and my sadistic tendencies (that actually sounds kinky) and he has managed to divert my sadism with his never-ending massages and patience. Anyway, I wrote this article a few years ago about these strange brain disorders and just wanted to share it with my readers (as of last count I have 3,000 plus people wasting their precious time reading this blog. I bet half of them hate my guts (hah! you know who you are -- you sick WEB VOYEURS!) and half of them LOVE me. To the latter, the feeling is mutual. To those who read this blog just to keep track of my exciting life because yours are unbearably boring -- get a life (not a nose job), read this article and have your brains checked! (Evil laughter in the background.)

"It’s official. I am now suffering from a serious, albeit temporary mental malaise. Although my condition has not yet progressed to full-blown dementia, I suspect that I am presently in the ‘pre-dementia’ or ‘questionable dementia’ stage (I actually did some minor research which proves that I haven’t entirely lost it). Selective memory loss (for some reason I only remember the things I want to remember) and / or forgetfulness -- what did I say again? Oh, yes, forgetfulness; violent outbursts; self-pity; and an almost daily, syncopic loss of consciousness (where my brain literally zonks out and plays dead for 30 seconds; I used to call these brain black-outs ‘30-second comas’ during my post-college years) especially when there’s an influx of things that I’m supposed to do and when deadlines are near -- are just some of the symptoms of my (mental) illness.

However, I shall leave it to the able doctors and psychiatrists to give the proper prognosis and definition of my affliction. All I know is that my condition is actually temporary and will soon be miraculously cured – specifically when I’m done with all my “brain” projects. I’m talking of course about all my writing assignments lined up for this month and the Iloilo Yearbook is one of them. You see, the trouble with my job is that except for some minor finger action (I meant when I’m typing on my laptop, you sleazy fools) my brain is actually doing most of the work. Now this is a scary thing because if my brain conks out, I won’t have a replacement for it. If this fella inside my head goes bananas, can I go to the hospital and ask for a brain transplant (a lobotomy, maybe, but a brain transplant, no) or to a store and order a Pentium 10 brain to go (the high-tech PC has Pentium 5, give me some credit, will you)? I don’t think so. If my brain malfunctions, then I’m as good as dead or you can add me to your chopsuey (I’ll be a vegetable, what else?).

In order to fully know and understand what ails me, I did my usual research and came across some rare brain disorders and diseases. What I found out were mind-bogglingly worse (or better – you be the judge) than mine but definitely more interesting. Take for example this American woman who woke up from a stroke with a brand-new British accent, specifically, a mixture of English cockney and West Country. This was despite the fact that the woman had never been to Britain (she’s from Indiana). Turned out Ms. Brit had a condition called Foreign Accent Syndrome. This rare condition occurs when part of the brain becomes damaged, usually after a stroke or head injury. Researchers at Oxford University found that when specific parts of the brain gets injured, certain linguistic functions are affected. The damage could then result in altered pitch or mispronounced syllables, thereby causing the speech to sound accented.

There have only been a few documented cases of this mental syndrome, but the first one occurred in Norway in 1941 after a young woman suffered a head injury during an air-raid. Apparently, after her recovery, said woman was amazingly left with what sounded like a strong German accent. What was even more astonishing and distressing was the fact that after hearing her talk with her new accent, she was shunned by her fellow Norwegians (sad, but true).

So, you get thumped or bashed on the head and voila -- you’ll be speaking with a French, Irish or Japanese accent when you wake up. However, if luck (and I’m not trying to be insulting, just tongue-in-cheek) is on your side, instead of sounding foreign, you might end up with a thick Visayan or Kinaray-a accent (the latter I already have, so no need to hit me in the head). Now, that’s an interesting thought.

And here’s another one. To have a hand which defies your will, or even turns violently against you may sound like pulp fiction fodder or a plot meant for one of those horror B-movies. “Anarchic Hand” has earned the popular sobriquet, Dr. Strangelove syndrome (named after the eponymous scientist with the unruly limb in Stanley Kubrick's 1964 film), where a stroke, head injury or aneurysm can cause a hand to become errant or take a life of its own. Just like the mad, bomb-maker character of Peter Sellers in the movie; the 40 or so people who are documented to have been afflicted with “Anarchic Hand” are often forced into Jekyll and Hyde-like skirmishes with their recalcitrant appendage. Some were even known to uncharacteristically hit people or to strangle themselves to near-death with their own violently, uncooperative hands.

Come to think of it, a few days ago I actually felt my hand twitch when I saw someone I have been wanting to beat to a pulp (this one’s real, not fiction). The moment I saw her disgusting, serpent-like face, I actually had to hold my “anarchic” right hand by my left or it would have taken a life of its own and whacked the poor, dumb girl on the spot. The question is, if I did pummel her, could I have used Dr. Strangelove’s syndrome as a way out of a possible law suit? That’s another food for thought.

There is also another mental syndrome called Agnosia that makes people unable to recognize faces, shapes or even specific sorts of animals. This syndrome has an even more distressing “offshoot” in the form of Capgras syndrome. Named after the French doctor who identified it in the 1920s, the syndrome causes its victims to conclude that a loved one has been replaced by an impostor. It results from the breaking of the link between the parts of the brain responsible for visual recognition and emotional response, brought on by, again, a head injury or a deep depression.

There is actually a story about a Welsh couple who was involved in a minor car crash in 1995. Alan Davies, the husband, suffered from Capgras syndrome and became convinced by a series of vivid flashbacks that his wife of 31 years had not survived the accident. He decided that Christine Davies (in reality suffering nothing more than whiplash), was in fact a double impersonating his "dead" spouse (call it reverse doppelganger if you will). Though Mr. Davies still believes that "Christine One" was killed, and shows little affection for her "double", the couple has not divorced.

So, how would you feel then if your husband is still in love with his “dead” wife (the “dead” wife is, of course, you) but he thinks you are his “new” impostor wife? Will you still love him, leave him, or make him fall in love with you all over again? This just tells us that love could really boggle not just the heart but also the mind. Aw, shucks. Now I’m really going insane."

taking a breather

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 09:49:00 +0000

I just finished two articles for the newspaper and all that food writing has made me hungry. Had ibos (sticky rice) in the ref, so I fried them and sliced some mangoes to go with the delicacy. Ibos and mangoes -- comfort food for us Pinoys (particularly for Ilonggos) -- a delicious way to satisfy our starch and sugar craving without breaking the bank. To add to the yum factor, I slathered some butter and sprinkled sugar on the ibos -- fattening!

Anyway, this weekend, I'll be taking a breather. I had such a busy week. The kids are sleeping over at their grandpa's house, so hubby and I are catching the last Valkyrie show at the mall. Nothing like Tom Cruise, the Führer, and some addle-brained Nazis to complete my hectic, cuckoo week!

mommy this and daddy that

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 14:22:00 +0000

This is the story of two haggard individuals who, after being bestowed the title "mom" and "dad" now have to deal with the endless whining of two crazy kids. Having no nanny has resulted in many, many late nights and too early mornings, stinky towels, and dolls with severed hands and heads.

Ah, the joy of parenthood -- what a paradox! Is there joy when you have to stop mid munch of your dinner or your lunch so that your little girl can pee and poo? Is there joy when your daughter who calls herself "Ripley the Rascal" (yes, and she's living up to the name) suddenly screams "Mommy I farted!" in the middle of the mall with a hundred people within hearing distance? Is there joy when your son tells you to smell his soggy towel and asks you by virtue of your 'smell test' the philosophical question, "Should I put this in the hamper Mom, or not?"

There are, however, lucid intervals in the lunacy that surrounds our little, happy family. Such as when our dear 3 year old daughter Ripley queried, "Dad, is Barack Obama the president of America now?" Or, when our son Zaki, after tasting a spoonful of a dish that I cooked, made a perfect rundown of all the ingredients that I used,"Go easy on the salt Mom, but I like the taste of the tomatoes and the cheese with the fresh basil..."

Taking care of our kids can be stressful and often temper-inducing. But in spite of that, we're happy. And aside from the embarassing mall farting reportage, we're also ultra proud of them. As for me and my husband, no matter how painfully tired we are at the end of the day and the only conversation we manage to have are our synchronized snores, I think we've never had a better understanding of each other than we do now.

Zaki and Ripley in their best behavior at our farm last Christmas

it's that time of the year again

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 08:58:00 +0000

Well, well, well. Cynics of the world won't you please take a backseat? It's V-day once again and we don't want all you cynical people out there to ruin the fun. (Hmm... am I talking to myself?) This year, I'll probably be celebrating at home with hubby and the kids. I'll force him to cook something for me (I'm sure it will be something FRIED as the guy can't cook even if his life depended on it) and I swear I won't do any stressful household chore (except complaining, which I'm very good at, thank you very much).

Ah, V-day. Brings to mind happy and not so happy thoughts. I remember one Valentine's day when I ran after four teen snatchers (as in chased the culprits NYPD style) along Katipunan Road in Quezon City. Before the huge highway and the many establishments that now line that street, one could actually take a walk under huge, lush trees in that area without becoming road kill.

Anyway, I got mad at my then boyfriend (now good friend) J (let's just call him that) and decided to take a walk along Katipunan Road. The kids thought I was an easy prey being anorexically thin and all. What they didn't know was that I had (and still have) a nasty temper and Ninja-like instincts. And so I ran after them and managed to catch two of the culprits with J's help (he chased the snatchers with his car and pretended to have a gun inside his jacket or something to that effect -- my apologies, this happened ages ago). J and I ended up spending Valentine's day at the Barangay Hall of Loyola Heights. The mothers of the teens were crying and begging for my forgiveness. (Could anything be more melodramatic than this?) The funny part was, my necklace was never taken. The thing fell when they attempted to snatch it from my neck! Some night that was.

How you're going to spend Valentine's day is your choice, but remember that it's a celebration of love and life (and for some -- of lust). Hope you have a great one this year!

Marathon dining: Date night at Amalfi

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 10:36:00 +0000

Chef Miner with his kitchen staff at Amalfi

Manzo alla Griglia, Foie Gras with Salsa di Funghi and
Crema di Carrota e Patate

"Miner del Mundo, the infallible chef of AMALFI, Iloilo City’s newest and hottest Italian restaurant, has put together an unforgettable Valentine menu. The dinner will start out with Italian Bruschetta and U.S. Angus Carpaccio de Manzo. Then it will be followed by Zuppa de Asparagi (Asparagus soup), Insalata di Scampi e Salmone and Mescluno e Frutta del Giornio (shrimp, salmon, strawberry, and grape salad). If that won’t impress your date, then maybe the entrees will. Chef Miner will be preparing three sets of delectable dishes for you to choose from. There’s the luxuriously juicy Manzo alla Griglia (grilled tenderloin steak) topped with Foie Gras for those with sophisticated palates; the tasty Stuffato al Frutta di Mare (stewed seafood) and Scampi ala Griglia (grilled prawns) with Insalata del Giorno (salad of the day); and the deliciously comforting Rosemarino di Maiale (Rosemary pork chops) with Calamari Fritti (fried squid) and Salsa di Tartare. After your chosen entrata, a plate of perfectly cooked Pasta al Tutti di Mare (shrimp, squid, and salmon pasta) will be served. Got room for dessert? You better, what with the sinfully rich Cioccolato Salami e Panna Cotta to cap your memorable date." -- excerpt from my article in The News Today

Who wouldn’t be moved and wooed by such a feast? Well, nobody I guess. Three nights of degustacion made my head (and stomach) spin. I had to go out for 3 consecutive evenings to sample Bauhinia's, Mojave's, and Amalfi's Valentine Menu. Everything was so delicious! (Especially the Tenderloin Steak topped with Foie Gras at Amalfi and the Angus Steak at Mojave) I'm planning to spend V-day at home but after sampling the food at those restaurants, I'm thinking of splurging.

Zuppa de Asparagi, Insalata di Scampi e Salmone, Mescluno e Frutta del Giorno

bikini girl is out

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 14:48:00 +0000

American Idol is a secret indulgence of mine. I've been keeping track of the contest since the new season started and I'm glad the abominable bikini girl is out! I don't understand why she even made it this far with her dumb antics and talentless performance. Oh well, there's just something about almost-naked women that can curb even the most acerbic tongues -- Simon Cowell be ashamed, be very ashamed!

marathon dining

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 14:30:00 +0000

Bauhinia at The Avenue

The degustacion gang: (l-r) Rey Ponsaran of Promenade, Chef Miner,
Marichel Teves-Magalona of TNT, moi, and RV of The Avenue

Tonight is my second night of gorging on Chef Miner del Mundo's dishes. Yesterday was Pinoy food night at Bauhinia, a Filipino restaurant and tonight I was at Mojave Grill and Steakhouse both at the newest Ilonggo resto strip -- The Avenue. I've been a bad girl what with the juicy and sinfully good Angus Steak that I've been eating for two straight nights. But since I'm naturally thin (ahem), am I complaining? Not!

In the coming days I'm expecting other invits from different restaurants and coffee shops. I like writing about food as I enjoy dining and conversations with friends over a great meal. Will clogged arteries be the result of this little eating marathon? Abangan!

flak and then some

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Wed, 04 Feb 2009 08:53:00 +0000

Oh to be (in)famous and detested for it! Tsk..tsk... Didn't want to blog about negative issues, but some people are just asking for it. When 2009 opened, everything was all roses for me. I've even decided that I should cut some slack on the idiots that roam this earth, but alas, like irritating mosquitoes that can be slapped dead in a heartbeat, some people with egos the size of elephants and d--ks the size of peanuts (I've heard from reliable sources) have come out of the woodwork to attempt to make my life hell.

Ho-hum. Boring. I've been subjected to a lot of bull---t these past few years and insulting words from a talentless wannabe who calls himself an artist don't faze me. Question, when a man attacks you with insulting words and idle gossip, is he a man or a FAG? I don't have anything against homosexuals, in fact, I love most of them. My bestfriend is gay for crying out loud! But how do you deal with a closet gay wannabe artist whom you hardly know but has made it his life's mission to destroy you? The thing is, I've never done anything wrong to this person (if you could call him that) and the one time I worked with him (I had no choice in the matter), I was in fact very amiable and pleasant (even if I've heard stories of his bad behavior -- one person even said that I should wear seatbelts if and when I'll have the misfortune of working with him -- hahaha). So why is he being a d--khead? Because he is!

Here I am trying to live quietly, doing my job the best that I could and I get flak from someone whom I've met only once (maybe twice) with very colorful stories about me. Hey you, if you have an issue with me, say it to my face. Don't blog and bitch about me behind my back you gutless non-artist!

10 Lessons learned from the senseless flak I'm getting now:
1. Don't let publishers who don't pay you get away with it without suing their asses.
2. Don't trust publishers with bad nose jobs who can't pay their office rent as well as their writers, stylists, and employees.
3. If it's not your fight, then honey, shut the f--- up.
4. Fight only those people you have issues with, otherwise, do number 3.
5. If you're talentless, accept it and move on.
6. If you're gay, come out, it's okay, believe me, everyone knows you're gay anyway.
7. Good work will always shine through and you can never bring a good gal down.
8. You don't have to explain if you know you didn't do anything wrong.
9. If you suck, then don't vent your "suckness" to other people who are trying to live decently.
10. Some things can't be settled by mere words. A fist fight is better. Heeya!

new year, new life -- cliche, yes, but so true

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 20 Jan 2009 05:33:00 +0000

The holidays have been both cruel and good to me. Cruel because I had deadlines to meet for a magazine I was doing and good because projects poured from all directions. I was harassed of course, but I managed to pull everything off with my usual aplomb. I still have pending projects and businesses to start (somebody in New York is probably mad as hell right now -- sorry Glad!) but I'm taking my time because I don't want to dish out something half-baked and mediocre. So I guess, NY has to wait.

Right now I'm busy with editing a newspaper supplement and in the next few months, I'll be gathering material for a new lifestyle magazine. Things are looking good. In between my deadlines I've also managed to move to a new place sans nannies and maids. I'm living my life my way and the whole family couldn't be better. Life is treating us well this 2009. I'm so inspired and fired up!

I miss blogging. I miss my newspaper column too. Guess I have to make time for these two things that have become a big part of my existence. I've also officially come out of hibernation. Er, I've said this before, I know, but this time, hopefully it's for real! I actually don't have a choice now. The business that I'm in right now calls for a 24/7 social life. Argh! There are some days when I just want to curl up in bed and cuddle with my hubby and kids especially with the "bed" weather we've been having these past few weeks. But a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. So, hibernation time is over!

squisito!

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 06:28:00 +0000

If the antipasti at Amalfi Cucina Italiana, a delicately rich and buttery duck liver with caramelized pears, is an indication of what each dish in the menu tastes like, then dining at this newly-opened Italian restaurant would be close to heaven.

Excuse my cheesiness, but there is no other way to describe the 8-course meal that Chef Miner del Mundo prepared for us. It was indeed heavenly, so much so that my deprived taste buds went berserk (in a positive way, of course) in between dishes. Each delectably refined dish that I tasted would have made me break into song, but luckily, the Spanish red wine that we were sipping was able to curb my tongue before I could embarrass myself.

How could I resist the perfectly seared and succulent scallops, encrusted with peppercorns and paired with pears and oranges? What about the Zuppa di Pomodoro (Tomato Soup) with salchicha slices (Italian sausage) that was both comforting and filling? In between the tomato soup and the roasted French duck with red wine and grape reduction, mango shooters (served in shot glasses) had to be gulped to cleanse our palates. The main course, the Manzo alla griglia con funghi or grilled tenderloin beef with mushroom dribbled with roasted tomato and potato puree made my mouth water.

Chef del Mundo must have been sent by the culinary gods to punish me because I felt like a glutton after he served the Risotto ala Milanese. In between mouthfuls, I said, “What? There’s more?” Of course there was! Who can forget the dessert, a sinfully delicious duo of Cioccolato Salami (Chocolate Salami) and Mocca Semifreddo. Squisito! (This means exquisite, by the way.)

The Amalfi experience was a gustatory delight. Yes, I know I sound trite, but it really was. The food was fantastic; the place tastefully done and almost Zen-like in its stark simplicity (black leather chairs, glass tables, muted lighting, off-white walls). The restaurant is spacious enough not to be poky, but not so huge that you need microphones to be heard. Price-wise, well, it’s a fine dining restaurant (whoopee, finally there’s one in Iloilo that’s not part of a hotel), so I think the new and old-moneyed clientele wouldn’t mind coming to Amalfi for an intimate dinner with friends and family.

I can’t wait for my next Amalfi experience. Maybe next time I’ll really break into song after my Italian dessert.

(Amalfi was named after a small town in the province of Salerno, in the region of Campania, Italy)

movie date gone awry

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 23:45:00 +0000

So much for Twilight. I forgot that I am no longer in NY. I am in fact in the backwaters of hell and the movie won't be in theatres till Wednesday. Till then, I'll be doing some serious thumb-twiddling.

movie date

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 15:00:00 +0000

Tomorrow, fans will troop to the theatres to watch the movie version of Meyer's Twilight. (And I will be one of those screaming fans wearing something really fanatical and tacky -- like a "Team Edward" shirt or a "Bella and Edward forever" pin. Ugh!).

Today, on the other hand, is the day that I have chosen to come out of my self-imposed hibernation. And what do you know, the moment I decided to "come out", I was bombarded with calls from people who either wanted to see me because they missed me or those who just wanted to make use of my uhm, many talents . Oh well, how can I escape my fate?

And, I don't want to make too much fuss about my long hiatus. I'm back now and that's all that matters!

at 4:03 am

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 04:08:00 +0000

If I tell you what happened to me last wednesday at exactly 4:03 am, you'd probably laugh, or call me stupid. Believe me, I won't take offense because I've called myself even worse names than that. Dumb, idiot, moron... wait they actually mean the same thing. But you get my point.

Nope, I didn't wake up at the butt crack of dawn and found myself in bed with a naked stranger (although, that would be kind of exciting and kinky especially if the stranger looked somewhat like Josh Hartnett). Nope, I did not splurge on a pair of Blahniks and developed a conscience at 4:03 am because: 1) I can't afford it; 2) I don't have a conscience; and 3) I can't afford to have a conscience. And no, I did not overdose on Tylenol PM, ended up in the ER at 4:03 am and found myself falling in love with the attending physician Grey's Anatomy style.

Last wednesday, at 4:03 am, I literally bolted out of bed because -- I realized that I missed my freaking flight! I knew something was off when I went to bed, but I thought it was just the thought of 20 hours or so of flying that was bothering me. How can this happen, you ask? Well, if you're me, at my current state (depressed, lonely, angry) this could actually happen. I don't want to go into the nitty gritty of this most stupid of mistakes, but bottomline is, I mixed up the dates and the check in time. In short, I was one day late. I didn't even have to go to the airport. Imagine going all the way to JFK only to realize that the plane I was supposed to be taking has already left the night before! That would have made it worse!

Go ahead, laugh. I actually find it funny now, but last wednesday at 4:03 am, it was not funny at all. I didn't cry, I actually howled -- in agony and deep frustration.

I've never missed a flight in my life. Never. This was a first. Hey, a smart girl like me is entitled to some act of idiocy once in a while, right? Gimme a break!

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 02:19:00 +0000

I don't know what it is about getting old that dries out one's creative juices. I remember when I was younger, when I could write at the drop of a hat, no effort, no hang ups, just pure passion unleashed from out of my typewriter's keys or ballpoint pen.

Angst was my middle name. It was a constant thing that kept me alive. It was what made me write effortlessly, passionately.

Writing made me so happy then, which was probably the reason why I wrote better prose when I was totally miserable. It's the exact opposite now. Now when I'm in utter misery, I can't seem to write a single word. And when I do attempt to write in such a state, the words come out forced, lifeless, bone-dry.

These past few weeks have gone so fast. And yet, I feel as if I'm seeing my life in slow motion. Right now, how I wish I was younger, so I could just whip out my pen and write until I drive this dark misery away.

i can live here!

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 03:49:00 +0000

I'm in Canada right now. And I think I've fallen in love with this country. I've spent the whole day in Toronto and had such a wonderful time. I'm visiting my college blockmate, friend, and once upon a time housemate Dahlia whom I haven't seen for more than 10 years!

Toronto is so laidback compared to New York. It's a thriving city but somehow the vibe is less stressful, less oppressing. People are not as obnoxious, not as harrassed and not as c-r-a-z-y. Dahlia lives in Mississauga, a few minutes by GO train to Toronto. She's living such a full and happy life with her husband Ron, and I'm so grateful to her for showing me around and for both of them for taking very good care of me. I'm so jealous of her life (and I rarely get jealous)... but if anyone deserves to have such a beautiful life (and wonderful husband) it's Dahlia.

I'm so tired. Had a full day (and also a very full stomach), so I'm calling it a night. I'll be writing more about this trip in the next few days, so expect me to blabber about Canada some more in my next few entries.

Wish I can stay longer. But I have to go back to the US soon. Then after that, we'll see...

an open letter to the manatee

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 01:54:00 +0000

To my long lost friend,

I was going over my previous blog posts just now (hey, if I don't read them, who will?) and I read a comment to one of my previous posts from someone who called himself "Dugong". Is this "Dugong" you? You know who you are. You're someone who used to be very close to me. But because of some, er, delicate circumstance (on your part, not mine), we've lost touched. I'm so sorry if that old blog post irked you, it was stupid of me not to have closed that comment window (I'm new at blogging so forgive me).

I hope all is well with you. If you read this, don't you think that you're doing this friendship of ours a disservice by not keeping in touch? Do you realize that we've known each other for 20 years? Yep, I counted, we met in 1987 right?And we've been friends ever since you wrote me that first letter. It's 2008 now, so I think it's time for the 20 years of friendship to thrive and continue -- what do you say to another 20 years?

Yann Martel, author of Life of Pi had this to say: "It is true that those we meet can change us, sometimes so profoundly that we are not the same afterwards, even unto our names." And you have changed me, have influenced and inspired me. I've always thought of you as my soul mate and I think that once upon a time I've told you that a soul mate is a person's greatest passion, one that he might not necessarily end up with but who will always become a part of his life.

Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, pray, love) I think explained the idea of "soul mates" better. She said: "People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave. A soul mate's purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master..." -- a mouthful, I know, coming from someone who traveled all the way to Italy, India, and Indonesia just to find herself.

Let me know what you think my dear friend.

And by the way, I really do miss you.

killing time in a crowded park

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 21:30:00 +0000

This is not a parody of Jose “Butch” Dalisay’s novel, Killing Time in a Warm Place. I just thought that as I am killing time here in the middle of Bryant Park, surrounded by people, a flock of fat birds, and possibly, a horde of harmless park rats hiding in the thick bushes, no other title will work quite as perfectly as the one above this paragraph. I know Professor Dalisay will not take offense as I dutifully sat in his classroom starry-eyed (bleary-eyed too from the late college night outs) and well-behaved during his lectures a million and a half years ago.

This is not my first time in this park. But it is my first time with a laptop. I figured that if I was going to kill time, I might as well do it in a manner that will make Prof. Dalisay proud. And how will I do that? Why, by writing of course! The other week, I was sitting here with a book in my hand, and if not for the homeless guy who was wearing two denim skirts (a micro-mini worn over a long acid-washed one – so 80s!), I would have finished the novel in a matter of hours. But the skirt-wearing homeless guy amused and distracted me and it went downhill from there. I ended up stashing the book inside my bag, resigned. With all the frenetic activity around me, finishing up the book would be close to impossible. So I sat back, sipped my warm coke, and spent the whole afternoon ogling 12 men wearing yellow hard hats while being serenaded by a group of would-be musicians tapping their bongo drums. The men were muscled, grimy, and sweaty – a visual paradox to the pristinely white, pretentious and chi-chi looking tent they were constructing for the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week.

New York is always bustling with activity, and for someone like me, it could both be inspiring and irritating. Inspiring because there’s so much material to write about here and irritating because I constantly crave for peace and quiet – a personality quirk, if you may. But I’m here now in the middle of the crowded park with my fully-charged laptop, so if I can’t get my peace and quiet, then I’ll just be inspired.

The truth is, inspiration can be found everywhere. There was no need to lug my laptop all the way here. I could’ve just stayed in my sister’s apartment across the Hudson River in my ratty pajamas and I could be writing about more interesting things than hobos in skirts. It’s just typical of me, orchestrating this whole writing-in-the-park thing, adding a bit of drama to the tedium. Nowadays, you don’t have to go anywhere, all you need is Wi-Fi, some junk food, a little bit of caffeine, and you’ll be transported in a different world and get lost in the rich labyrinth of information and ideas in the www.

Case in point, I was surprised to know that my two-part TNT review of Meyer’s Twilight saga was mentioned in a couple of web and fan sites here in the US and the UK. These sites quoted some paragraphs from my review and linked my column to their web pages. I was ecstatic of course, and marveled at how my little article got entangled in all these sites because when I typed “Twilight reviews” in Google, there were 13,700,000 results! As I said in my blog, being a writer can often be unrewarding, but rare moments like this make me grateful. It's just fulfilling not to be trivialized, to know that somewhere, someone out there is reading what you have written, spending precious minutes savoring the very words you have composed, and finding meaning in them -- and yes, enough meaning to quote you, appreciate you, and share you with the rest of the world. So, that’s inspiration enough for me.

And then, the other day, I discovered Switchfoot (I‘m the Nina Simone, Bic Runga type so the band is quite a leap for me, even if it is in fact, a Christian band) while I was searching for Anne of Green Gables in YouTube. Quite far-fetched really, if you think about it, to discover rock music while looking for the classics. Also, as I was searching for anything about Yann Martel, the author of my current favorite book and Man Booker Prize winner Life of Pi (an inspiring story about an Indian boy in a lifeboat with a Bengal tiger), I was consumed by the urge to write. And mind you, not just write a personal essay, or my column, or a blog entry, but something that would be published in paperback form. A shot in the dark probably, but hey, dreams are for free, and I’m not one to scrimp on freebies.

So I did a little bit of research, asking myself how a Filipino writer could possibly be read outside of the Philippines without selling his soul or any of his vital organs. And guess where my research led me, why, back to Prof. Butch Dalisay of course! (Come to think of it, this article has a lot to do with Dalisay than just the title as I earlier let on.) In his blog, Penman, he interviewed four Filipino novelists: Charlson Ong, Christina Pantoja - Hidalgo (who were my college professors in Fiction and Memoir writing respectively), Vicente Groyon, and Dean Francis Alfar (who was an org mate in UP Tinta back in the days when I used to write poetry – all that existentialist angst had to be channeled somewhere).

He asked the four novelists what the challenges are of Filipino novels in English and why we cannot seem to break into the big markets like the Indians. I think that Chalson Ong gave the most significant answer and I quote: “The novel is an industrial product and until we have a robust publishing industry it will be difficult for novelists. As with other fields, a Philippine novel will likely earn major local attention when it receives foreign recognition. Writers in English have an advantage in terms of foreign publication and we might be getting there. The Philippines has not been in the imagination of the world, but perhaps our time has come. Who knows?”

“The Philippines has not been in the imagination of the world…” I agree. Except for being the source of caregivers, domestic helpers, and nannies, the Philippines really has not captured the “imagination of the world”. We all know we have the best musicians (trivia: one of the band members of Switchfoot is pure Filipino), artists, teachers, and health professionals like nurses and doctors, but one Lea Salonga or one American hospital filled with competent Filipino nurses can’t erase the fact that more often than not, we just fade into the background. (Especially after our very poor showing in the Olympics – but that’s another story.) How sad and depressing to know that as intelligent and talented as we are, we are also hopeless pushovers. If you doubt what I’m saying, go read Ninotchka Rosca.

If I will be true to myself then, become as Pinoy as isaw and dinuguan and write about OFWs going home inside caskets and caregivers being bamboozled in the UK, will the world listen? Will the world empathize? Will the world understand our country better, applaud our hardworking women who’ve left their families to become kindred spirits with white people’s feather dusters? Or will my imaginary novel be relegated to the back shelves, or worse, remain in the dark and not see the light of printing day? Would I then be, as Sir Walter Scott had so aptly written, doomed to remain “unwept, unhonored, and unsung?” (Or is it unwept, unpublished, and unsung?)

Now this is what I mean about inspiration and the fact that it can come to you while you’re in your pajamas or while you’re killing time in a crowded Manhattan park under the auspices of the Great Wi-Fi. Ideas can grow in inspiration’s fertile bed, and then, as swiftly as they can grow -- they can also die along with your laptop’s batteries.

(The above article was also published at The News Today. Check out the Archives for past articles in my column Serendipity.)

delinquent

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 17:29:00 +0000

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Haven't been religiously writing. I haven't even written anything for my newspaper column too. I am just bumming around, contemplating about my life, and basically living in my pajamas for the past two weeks. Been reading a lot too. Voraciously. Like a thirsty camel guzzling gallons of water for the impending long desert journey.

I've got so many things lined up though for the next four weeks. I will definitely catch that Salvador Dali exhibit at the MoMA and I'm looking forward to the Van Gogh one in the 3rd week of September. Then I have to go to Soho since I haven't been there ever since I arrived here (and it's supposed to be one of my favorite NYC spots).

I'm also preparing for a one week trip / adventure. Might as well go to another country while I'm here in North America... And my sister has invited me to go to Philly, so that too would be part of another adventure. Definitely, I'll make up for the sluggishness of my existence these past few, unremarkable days.

Then I will be back to where I belong. I can't wait.

epictetus said...

noreply@blogger.com (cupcake) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 03:09:00 +0000

"If you want to improve, be content to be thought of foolish and stupid."

Obviously, he is my kind of Greek philosopher; a man after my own beliefs. I have been called foolish and stupid in the past and I guess, even in the future, I will still be called these two despicable names, but I'm okay with that. I'd rather be called foolish and stupid than be stuck in a rut, never evolving, never growing, never changing, never improving.

I know I'll be doing a lot of things in the near future that will disappoint some people, but there are some things I just have to do in the name of self-preservation. My sanity is hanging by a thin thread and popping Paxil pills is not something I dream of doing in the next few years. So I've made a major decision, a decision that I know I can LIVE with; a decision that will still allow me to look at myself in the mirror each morning and be able to say, "Hello there, non-stranger. I still know you."

So, amen to Epictetus. I'm not in a race. This is no contest. To hell with some great expectations. Hello, happier LIFE!