Yearend Blues

All along I thought I've already gotten over this end-of-the-year sentiment -- that tiny pinch of nostalgia happening seconds as December 31st slips gradually into January 1st. I almost got for myself that congratulatory shoulder pat, next to the customary "Yes, you made it. No emo-emo this year." accolade. But oh, when I woke up yesterday morning, the picture of the old hermit wearing the 2005 sash surrendering the scepter over to the cherub on a 2006 sash (the thing you see in old Pilipino comics) painted vividly in my face.

And then I felt the pinch once again.

Recapping Yuletide 2005

Time passes swiftly by and it astounds me. As I've mentioned in my first Christmas post some months back, it's the wait for Christmas that keeps me high.

[Sidebar: The holiday stir is still very much felt, though. This afternoon, I paid a quick stop over at a nearby supermarket to get grocery stuffs and to my horror; there were no grocery baskets and carts! Long lines everywhere doesn't surprise any one average Filipino urban dweller these days, but queuing up for a grocery basket? That was something I have never experienced before. And I must admit, that was a good one (wink).]



Yearnings

I remember praying everyday for December 16th to come since the twelfth month began. By that day then, our office Christmas party's been dealt with and my job as program committee head (Which by the way was never my specialty. I just happen to be fortunate to have creative back up) would be concluded. Well, that day has come and gone by so quickly, it's as if I never prayed for it to pull in and then finish off.

Next to my "longings list" was that sought-after country style holiday I've been looking forward to for months. For five days, I was forcefully abstained from my impatient and quarrelsome nature (praise God!) and drowned into the eat-and-sleep marathons. Pumping water from the well (i.e., poso) to fill up 3 pails for my daily bath was one provincial sampling I took pleasure in. Not to mention charcoal-cooked dishes! This yearning too came true.

Bonuses

During the traditional Christmas Lantern Parade of our university, I got together with former Brussels Pinoy alumni who are now based here at home. It turned out to be a mini-reunion as we all recounted our European adventures amid the 15-minute or so fireworks display hovering above us. That was some bonus.

But the best Christmas bonus I got this year was courtesy of Vincent...Ta-dah! This Disney Princess song collection CD!!! Hehehe.

I just love Christmas!!!

Dilemma

I had yet another close encounter with one that's not at all too easy to deal with. My heart.

The dilemma knocked first when I had to accomplish one responsibility that I have neglected for almost a year now (which is not pretty); unintentionally at first, then deliberately of late. Next time it did was just a couple of minutes ago, when I had to finally decide to reply to my father's messages.

I really wanted to write about my angst and annoyance over things rebelling in my heart, but now that my head is in its place, that original plan has changed.

It's true though. The heart can be deceiving. After mulling over what has just transpired within me, I came face to face with the convictions (whatever scraps that's left) of my heart. Follow your heart is the popular proverb, but I say follow your heart and then put some brain into it.

As for my first tight rope, I had to face the consequences of my negligence. Never mind if people surrounding it would abuse the fruit that's not rightfully theirs. What matters most is that I didn't have to perjure myself and teach others to be likewise untruthful. I played it clean and it felt awesome.

For the next leg of the rope, I had to twist my arm and wrestle more to be meek. It wasn't a candy-flavored pill to swallow, but God rallied me round to win this battle over. That communication breakthrough was indeed, my next big leap.

Bicol express (local dish) never tasted that perfect for quite a while. The overwhelming Christmas buffets I've devoured these past days were in no match to my humble lunch today. I savored my hearty lunch guiltlessly, and it was blissful.

Ming Tsai vs. Bobby Flay

Okay, I was at it again.

Finding the inducement to reward myself for cramming from the night before (class homework of 4 weeks-worth which I managed to write in 6 hours!); I sought solace from push-buttoned technology. And as often as it has been in the past, whenever I'm in the mood for some couch-potatoing, the TV won't combine forces with me! Argh! Why does it always have to be that way? Re-run films, slap-stick shows, Pinoy Big Brother (Vincent even sent me with this text message: 'just type BB NENE and send to 2331'...ano ba?!!! Probably he too, was bored)! Oh come on, por favor, not tonight.

Thank heavens for Food Network, one hour of my TV pleading was bailed out. Iron Chef America was on, only to tear my loyalty apart between Ming Tsai (East Meets West) and Bobby Flay (Hot Off the Grill) - 2 of the chefs I adore, fencing ladles in the kitchen stadium. Flay was the iron chef, while Tsai was the challenger. Huuufff! I had to decide who to take sides with. Not that I had to, but I knew I just have to. I chose Tsai! But just for tonight, Bobby (winks). Ted Allen (Queer Eye) was one of the judges, by the way.

Duck was the secret ingredient in last night’s episode. In an hour's time, the guys managed to whip up their "whatever" dishes. I had my computer propped up on my lap just in time for the judging, so I was able to jot down their duck delights.

Tsai's concoctions:

1. Foi gras shumai (imagine duck chunks wrapped into a siomai and then steamed)
2. Wrapped duck breast and shrimp mousse
3. Braised duck legs with sweet potatoes
4. Roasted pekin duck with duck leg crepe (duck in crepes! I wonder how it tastes like)
5. Froi gras creme brulee (it's creme brulee with duck!)


Bobby's handiwork:

1. Duck breast skewers (grilled duck and then stuffed in tortilla)
2. Duck and sweet potato hash with poached duck egg (he said it's got a Caribbean touch)
3. Duck confit in a corn crepe (blue corn crepes, Bobby's trademark)
4. Jerk marinated duck breast (I don't know where the 'jerk' thing came from, but the duck was smothered with mango sauce)
5. Deep fried duck with 10-ingredient grits


When the announcement for the winner was about to happen, I looked silly on my seat, praying for Tsai to win (while my sister gave me the look). Come on! Beat the iron chef! Well, he did win. He got high marks for the taste (the duck creme brulee must've done the trick superbly!). Don't worry Bobby, I still love you.

Couch potato mission: accomplished.

Memory lapse

For the record, I have to blog this one right in; else it'll slip off my head again.

I couldn't put the blame on my mefenamic acid intake, but since the week began, I've been running around headless. Well, I sure have a colorful history of forgetfulness to boot, but this week was proving itself to be quite a cut above the rest. And to be frank, I'm alarmed!

Monday:

I forgot the keys to my room. My cousin asked me to buy CFL lamps and a socket for the kitchen...I arrived home from school all alone. Where have all the lamps gone? They're still at the store.


Tuesday:

After waking up, I placed my cell phone at a strategic corner of our bedroom to keep it visible for me to snatch it up just before setting off for work. Aware of that daunting habit of absentmindedness, I begged my cousin to remind me of my CFL errand. As I checked on my bag for my phone an hour later, ta-dah! No phone. Still stuck on that strategic corner, I presumed. The whole day, I had to stubbornly hark back where I placed my pen, what I had to get from my office desk, etc. At times, I would forget who I was supposed to call up the moment I reached for the phone's receiver. Somehow, minute information chips off my head along the way at a 10-second step interval between our communal PCs to the phones...Oh, and yes, no CFLs yet again.


Wednesday:

Though still high from my pain killer intake (for throat infection I suffered from the night before; Self-medication. Please don't try that at home), I still had it in my head that I had two appointments to attend to in the morning. This time around, my cell phone’s tucked in my bag, but for goodness sake, I forgot my room keys again! I went to listen to a friend's lecture/presentation at my college. I knew I was running late for one committee meeting, so I scrambled out of the lecture room a while later. As I pulled up the glass doors and announced my presence at the meeting place, it was only then that I realized that I was one day early from that appointment. There, there, today's Wednesday not Thursday...And the CFLs? I dated all my correspondences one day late and apparitioned to a meeting a day early, and you ask me about the CFLs?! Why am I not surprised?


I hope I'm not getting any worse all throughout the remainder of the week.

Serenading the Rivers

I've been talking quite a lot about motherhood in my last two posts. And so while we're on the subject of parenting, I might as well delve into fatherhood to complete the picture.

I've personally witnessed people turning away from their filthy habits to good for whatever reasons (i.e., spiritual or tragic experiences), but the miracle of having a child of your own still never fails to blow me away.

I celebrate with a good friend who has recently been introduced into the blissful realms of fatherhood. I've never been this proud at how much he has matured as a person, and I could attest that I've never seen him this happy since we first met. He wrote this song as a tribute to his Rivers of life. I imagine him making more music (to the tune of daddy-ing) in the days to come.

TAKE ME AWAY

Take me away
My river of hope,
Get me through despair.
I'm hopelessly stuck
In stagnant misery.
So take me away
My river of hope.

Take me away
My river of love,
Get me through this grief.
I'm lonelier than
A drifted dry leaf.
So take me away
My river of love.

Take me while running through your course,
and drift me away from it all.

Take me away,
Carry me on,
Drift me away,
Get me through this life.
Take me away,
Carry me on,
Drift me away
My river.

Kaloy

I mentioned in one of my previous posts about my nephew Kaloy and how he has been giving me a sneak peek into that complex yet joyful universe called motherhood a lot lately. And for that, I decided to spare a while and write something about this toddler.

His mom and I go a long way back, us being first cousins and that we practically grew up together here in UP. Being the only son (as of yet), Kaloy is an extremely pampered child, as with most solong anak (only child) we have around. But what's so surprising about this kid is that he enjoys simple pleasures. Mababaw ang kaligayahan. He'd rather have your time saved up for play with him than your neatly-wrapped presents. I'd tell his mom, "You're fortunate that he's a cheap kid! At least he's not a brat." If there's fried chicken and tortang talong (eggplant omelet) served before him on the table, he'd quickly go for the talong! He prefers those 30-peso toy cars over the matchbox cars. My cousin told me that most recently, when they took him to a toy store for him to splurge as an advance Christmas treat, he picked up one of those fragile cheap remote-controlled cars (Php100 each), while his father bargained, "Are you sure you really want that?! Don't you like one of these nice (a bit expensive) race trucks instead?" But no, he wouldn't let go of his precious 100-peso car. He proudly showed it off to me when I got home from work that night.

One time, I asked him to tag along with me to a convenience store. After getting all the stuffs I need in the basket, I asked him what he wanted for himself, "Do you like ice cream cups?" He only shrugged off his shoulders and playfully shook his head in reply to my offer. I smiled at him and recalled on the side my childhood grocery trips with my mom. How I felt my world crumbling down at age 8, whenever I'd take my chances at asking her if she can get for me a tetra pack of chocolait (milk-choco drink).

And now here is Kaloy, with his aunt trying to spoil him just for 5 minutes, not clawing in!

Kids like Kaloy are not hard to please. He's very appreciative. He also happens to be my inaanak (godson), so this Christmas, I think my purse wouldn't be sore if he'd retain his "cheapness". But even far more than that, I'd go on hoarding 30 minutes of my time every single day and play cars with him. Those tender minutes with him have become a training ground for my patience, integrity (a promise is a promise) and creativity (imagine having to hold the same cars and pretend the same play everyday!).

Sometimes I wish he'd stay as a child. But since that's a hopeless wish, I just hope that he'd never forget our minutes spent together as he grows up. I had lots to thank him for.

Journals never lie

Long before weblogging came into being (I think Doogie Howser with his trusted WordStar-loaded XT PC started all this *wink wink*), I was into personal journals/diaries dating to as far back into grade school. Little did I know that manifestations of my lifetime affliction of OCD could be traced back to as early as my first decade on the face of the planet.

For starters, I was just fascinated at scribbling down non-chalantly, my day-to-day activities onto a special notebook, without really meaning to reserve them neither for occasional recollections nor for mere posterity. Wala lang. Somehow, I've found serenity in those notebooks I've accumulated over the years. They have become my sanctuary.

Journals don't lie. They would never lie, this I know for sure. Buried beneath those words borne down into those pages, no matter how much these have aged over time, are the deep-seated emotions and ingrained convictions one can never deny to have ever felt or acquired. You know for certain that it was no less than you yourself, and no one else, who've had those thoughts conceived at that very moment. It's a genuine testimonial of who you are and what you have become later on.

Having said that, I never saw such chronicling as just another clichéd girly stuff. Personally, it has done absolutely far more greater impact on me. Sentimental is the appropriate adjective; only that it's rooted miles and miles deeper.

Miscellanea

Some random thoughts.

I skipped blogging for a while to make room for a bit of "scholastic writing". The sem ended three weeks ago and as the new one sets right in next week, I need to take serious business of my thesis. If I'm not careful, my thesis might end up sounding like a compilation of blog entries. And that wouldn't seem like graduate school, would it?


--o0o--


One time last week, Vincent and I passed by one slum area on a confined lane on our way out (to main road) and as always, exchanged observations along the way. On days like this, we'd make use of our stock of synonyms in order to steer clear of causing offense to whoever might overhear our small discourse. Vincent's contribution that day was, "When a conflagration breaks out here, they wouldn't appreciate those flashy SUVs they or their neighbors own." "What does conflagration mean?", I queried. "Weren't you into high school journalism?", he gushed. "Tell me about it, I'm no writer.", was my casual reply. "Well in my high school, profound words are often used to transform non-controversial articles into controversial materials...conflagration is just another term for fire." What do you know? A one-syllable word could grow into four syllables overnight. Hehehe. Word play.


--o0o--


An officemate talked me into buying a small bottle of virgin coconut oil. Though the product has no therapeutic claims whatsoever, I still purchased the product anyway, for 2 reasons: (1) additional sale for my vendor; and (2) to test its "nut powers". The bottle stood for days since the first day I brought it home, until at long last I found out that my cousin was actually taking spoonfuls of it for two days now. Last night, I tried spooning one after dinner (the brochure says take one tablespoonful after every meal). Blech!!! Minutes later, I headed for the john.


--o0o--


I couldn’t get over those nice copper-brown loafers I fitted in Mendrez (shoes shop) last weekend. It was a cheap pair and yet I resisted so much not to bag it in, considering I had (read: past tense of have) extra cash to shell out at that time. And now, I’m on my knees, wishing that those were not the last pair on stock. Never mind the “new arrivals” sign posted just above it.

--o0o--


Kaloy's (my 4-year-old nephew) fondness of playing cars with me boosted up into a regular 6 o'clock habit, forcing me to quietly sneak into my room at times, especially when I'm so dead beat from work and couldn't afford to spare some time for play. Lately, this boy's been giving me a peek into motherhood and oh heavens, it's one noble calling indeed. Our little recreation made me contemplate as to what kind of a mother would I be (given that I would become a mother) in the near future, thinking how tough it would be, now that I'm just being an aunt to a nephew. Maybe motherly instincts will apply when I get there.

Chicken Little!

One wave of "Peter Pan attack" coming right up in....3...2...1...

From the creators of that llama named Cuzco, who threw off my groove and sent me rolling down on my belly in hysterical laughter in The Emperor's New Groove, comes another full-length Disney animation film that will surely make me roll over once more. I felt this coming the moment I saw Boknoy (as what Vincent and I first baptized the chick) dancing in Disney channel's ad one TV evening. I was like, "First, the llama. Now, the chick!" Ha-ha-ha!!!

The film tells a story about a chick's claim of the apocalypse when he mistakes an acorn for a piece of falling sky. Though this is really just another "broken record" fable foretold (a reprise of Henny Penny), I admit it still gets the better of me (what's there to be ashamed of, anyway?). Having said that, I have this vision that this flick will soon become a member of my Disney CD collection ;-)

Chicken Little is set to hit Philippine cinema in November. Hey, that's just 2 weeks from now!

Now, watch Boknoy dance! Ha-ha-ha!!!

STIMULATE 4*

In the words of Neruda, "Dies slowly he who does not relive his memories..."

At around this time last year, I had the humble opportunity of seeing the world from the other side (literally and figuratively) and was so blessed to have met incredible people that brought out the drama queen in me, just when I thought that all along, I was a rock-solid species of the bleed-dry kind (translation: shedding tears - negative). Thanks to these guys, I've had a tough time battling it all out with my Belgian withdrawal syndrome for quite a long while. Maybe for that I should blame them every now and then whenever I've got the chance...like now. How lucky can they get?!?! ;)

And so today, allow me to wind back grandfather's trusted clock a little and travel down the memory lane one more time. To make the recollection job less of a burden for me (not that it's burdensome, it's just that there's so much to amass!), I've matched up anything and everything I could fondly remember about each one of them. Formally stating his/her name and country of origin, here goes the roll...


Daisy from the Philippines. Overbaggaged; Kabayan (ask Orlando); the pasta diet; Trading off Milsa cheese tips with Irvine; Supermarket hopping with Mama Tess; Checking out Prof. Nyssen in his office and then activating the "invisible mode" button so as not to be seen, just when he's about to run into us; Picture-taking at the airports.

Happy from Swaziland. Her usual, "Hey, Christine!" greeting; Her encouraging smile; Her happiness! :)

Henock from Ethiopia. Jupiler; TV at the 2/F kitchen; Shakira's nightly unwitting victim; Bowling tips; Luz Quiroga class.

Irvine from Zimbabwe. Daily prescription of Jupiler; His favorite blue sweater he submitted to me for mending; Saving Christine's burnt rice.

Julie from Uganda. Her room that didn't exactly had the Erasmus look; Her blissful family pictures; The deep talks.

Kabyema from Zambia. His casual favor of having his picture taken in Antwerpen granted (using my camera); His videocam with my face scattered all over the clips; Splitting the 2€ salt shaker.

Mahassin, Aisha and Samira from Sudan. That day I walked with you ladies, from station Petillon to school (in Etterbeek), without ever feeling anxious about being late in class; The cheek-to-cheek greetings; Molenbeek.

Manuel from Chile. My tormentor in a doting kind of way; Coffee sessions with Orlando; His scenic photographs; WINISIS; Belgian maps; Casio scientific calculator; The free gym lessons; Roxette; Bowling at Sportopolis; Pablo Neruda; F&D Chicken (at the Grand Place) and the Friterie (in Jette)...While Orlando is the daddy, he's the uncle.

Masele from Tanzania. His HP notebook computer; Cab ride from the airport to Erasmus; His sideview pictures, his justification being, "It's realistic!". He has a point there.

Neetha from Sri Lanka. Shakira's neighbor; Her scissors I used for my milestone haircutting client; Oh, and the pink ribbons!!!

Orlando from Cuba. Mi idolo en todo!; Curse of the broken coffee machines; Coffee sessions with Manuel; Nightly Cuban 7:30 dinners; "Not yet in Jette."; "You are lost."; the orange Spanish-English-Spanish dictionary; Weekend shopping at Clemenceau and Midi; Gabriel Garcia Marquez; Our trip to the dentist; Alanis Morrisette...Oh, I have so much to tell. He's my daddy!

Rahma from Uganda. The puzzled look on her face when I asked her to pick blindly from among the souvenir pens I gave out as going-away tokens.

Sainul from India. Yahoogroup; His sweet going-away delicacy for everyone; That maroon coat-and-tie combination.

Terry from Jamaica. Cool cataloger; Her head dropping away in answer to sleep's call in class, never mind putting herself at risk of being caught by the professor. That was awesome! Ha-ha-ha!!!

Tess from the Philippines. Her confirmatory one-liners (e.g., It's getting cold, isn't it?); Super GB, Colruyt, Aldi, Del Haize, Clemenceau and Midi. I think by now you get the picture ;)

Virginia from Zambia. Her bewildered eyes whenever I broadcast the "WC" word (look at her now!); One time trip up the 3/F kitchen; Her hair-makeover after a minor surgery.

I think I did this roll calling before. Talk about deja vu.


____
*Scientific and Technological Information Management in Universities and Libraries: an Active Training Environment (Edition 4). Brussels, Belgium. 2004.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

People around the world may think that Filipinos are kind of outlandish and are laying it on thick when it comes to playing Christmas songs over the radio once the "-ber" months kick in, but for me, this characteristic is genuinely a thing of the Philippine culture. I mean, where else in this blue planet can you find a spot wherein Christmas starts in September (sometimes even in late August!) and ends towards the first seven days of January the following year??!!! I may not have explored all continents inside and out, but from where I stood and what I've experienced a year ago, yes, it's only in the Philippines where one gets to feel the longest Christmas celebration ever. REALLY. You wouldn't even feel the passing of All Saints' and Souls' Days (i.e., in the west, it's called 'Halloween'; in the Philippines, it means Magandang Gabi Bayan's creepy ghost episodes) being another red-lettered event in our calendars, which comes before Christmas.

However, anticipating for this season is what actually gets me high and jumpy, and not specifically the day itself. I'd wish for clocks to stop at midnight of December 25th, or a minute before the 25th to be exact, and then inhale all the Christmas spirit I could snuffle for as much as I can, and wish for that moment to linger on. I also enjoy people-watching people caught up in the holiday hustle and bustle. Nakakatuwa!

Have you been to the malls lately? Last Saturday, I went malling around SM City (one popular chain of super malls in the country) with Vincent and Sharon (his officemate). Not surprisingly, besides finding an estimated 75% of the city's population trooping the halls of this department store, another thing that stood out were the Christmas ornaments being sold and showcased at the mall's home world department:



12-ft Christmas trees, plus things you hang up and around them. Okay, so who cares if these are plastic trees?! Real conifers don't come in red, white and yellow colors, do they? Not much excitement there.

What really fascinated me were the sets of miniature village collections (see below)! I was smiling ear-to-ear as I stood mesmerized in front of these collectibles (They pretty much don't fall under the toys category. They're more like mobile decorative stuffs) the first time I saw them two weeks ago. I'm a sucker for miniature model pieces! And so last Saturday, I elbowed aside a group of 3-year-olds enjoying the "village show" ('Parang awa mo na sa mga bata, Christine!', Vincent would plead) and took pictures of these. Much as I'd love to have them all, I'm not that cracked to purchase such expensive items (a piece costs P1,500 = around $30), thank you very much.



The Halloween village. I swear, I'd love to shrink into an inch and be able to walk around here. I liked this one more than the Christmas villages.




One of the Christmas villages. There's a cottage somewhere in there, which is supposed to be a toy factory. Ang cute-cute!!!



The other Christmas village. The carousel plus ice rink go well with the theme. Okay, forgive the nativity scene (which is kind of out of place), but what in the name of snow angel are those two cars on a dedicated "pavement" doing there?!?! Ha-ha-ha!!! Anyhow, it's clever.


Christmas in the Philippines is unparalleled!

Out of boredom

Though wasted and with eyes heavily demanding sleep, still I wanted to see what's on TV last night, in the hopes of snagging a good movie that would qualify as a well-founded ground for me to stay up late. I may sound nuts but I felt like I needed to take it upon myself to sleep late because the next day would be a Thursday, my off-duty from work. And this Thursday was extra special since it also happens to be my last weekday off for this semester. Next week, I'll be shifting back to the conventional Saturday-Sunday off-duty sched.

[sidebar: We negotiate shifts and change work schedules every semester.]

Anyway, I was a bit disappointed because I ended up channel-surfing, bored to death and yet so stubborn to go to bed. With no sensible programs to watch, I ventured up into the higher channels (57, 58, 59...99) until I stopped over at channel 73: Televisión Español. Compared to the Chinese and Arabic channels, at least I could grasp and make out what I can see on the screen, I considered. I found tuning into this channel amusing; although I could only distinguish fleeting Spanish words and phrases from time to time (they speak so fast!). Thanks to this source of amusement, I did sleep late.

This morning, I switched onto TVE again. They had on a cooking show. I guess I'll be hooking up more on this station in the coming days.

Re-learning Filipino

For the longest time, I've had this dilemma of writing down my compositions in STRAIGHT Filipino. Not that I'm a fluent English speaker or writer (because really, I'm not). I'm just your average next-door writer-wannabe who still advocates the use of reference tools such as thesauri and dictionaries whenever I attempt at coming up with an – quote-unquote – "article" (yes, even my thoughts in this blog!) for correct word usage and/or subject-verb agreements...But the thing is, when it comes to penning my thoughts down, I really come to grips for terminologies in Filipino. And it's not even Tagalog at that.


Lesson #1: See, Read and Listen Filipino.

When one of them asked me why it is so, I believe my answer was, "It's about time we identify ourselves as Filipinos by having a language of our own."

I began to feel the urgency to re-instate my mother tongue at the beginning of the year. I figured that the best probable way to make this all happen was to immerse myself into Philippine culture through film, literature and music. And so apart from going to the gym (though short-lived, yes, I still managed to accomplish this) and finishing my masters program (still working on it) all throughout the new year, reading and watching anything and everything Filipino became my goal. Whereas before, I find watching Tagalog movies sleazy, nowadays I'd make it a point to catch at least one film per week on cable TV, no matter what genre, NO EXCEPTIONS whatsoever. I'd force myself to digest those belonging to the elite ranks of classic masterpieces down to the distasteful, "concept less", what-a-waste-of-time-and-electricity, and-they-call-it-a-work-of-art movies; if only to face the realities of Philippine culture and society. I lost count as to how many Claudine Barretto (a local actress) films I've seen just last month alone.

Simultaneously, I also started reading selected literary pieces written by Filipino authors. Harry Potter 6 may have been an irresistible must-read, but no, I've put my foot down and didn't trade my Filipino thrillers (those being sold for 80 pesos at Powerbooks) for that. I'm almost done reading this thick book on Philippine short stories anthology. Next in my readings list are those local novels, which were once my college texts, but from now on, will be treated as if they've never been required readings in school once upon a time.

I’ve been likewise tuning into original Pilipino music (OPM) a lot lately. My MP3 player carries a mixture of Filipino songs – orchestral, ballads, alternative, pop jazz and dance music. Cool. Music has this enchanting way of touching the heart of the Filipino.


Lesson #2: Speak, and Write Filipino.

When my Latin American friends and I met for the first time, they thought that I could speak Spanish articulately. Apparently, they had this conclusion that since the Philippines had been under Spanish rule for 333 years, Filipinos still speak Spanish to this day. I corrected them and said that learning Spanish is not anymore compulsory among universities in the country (unless of course one's a student of Linguistics and/or European languages). When one of them asked me why it is so, I believe my answer was, "It's about time we identify ourselves as Filipinos by having a language of our own."

At first, I had one second of hesitation after telling them that, thinking how Filipinos nowadays (myself included) couldn't even express their thoughts in one, straight Filipino sentence. But looking back now, I know I gave them the right answer. All I need to do now, at least at my own right, is to stand by what I said. Identify myself as Filipino by using the Filipino language.

I was burning with patriotism on my coming home from a foreign land almost a year ago. With just three hours away from home, I was excited to speak my language after being inevitably constrained from doing so for almost three months. At that time, Filipino passengers predominantly inhabited my last connecting flight (Bangkok-Manila) and so somehow, that provided me with that motherland feel...or so I thought it was. I ended up feeling dismayed and bothered, hearing Filipinos speaking English (some trying hard with all their guts) left and right, front and back. It was as if these people came from America, when in fact, they were just alighting from a neighboring Asian country!

From these personal experiences, I cornered and trained myself to speak and write in straight Filipino to the best that I can.

I fondly remember this classmate I had in one of my anthropology classes (I took anthro electives in college and graduate school) three semesters ago. He was a Philippine studies major (and a college professor at the same time) who speaks excellent Filipino. I was just awestricken, as he would recite in pure Filipino and even translate his reports for class discussions (his was on Ruth Benedict, a proponent in cultural anthropology) from the original English texts into Filipino! Astig! It was like music to my ears every time he speaks in class. I became his avid fan from afar. I secretly wished that he would leak out even a puny drop of his Filipino prowess and infect me with it.

From these personal experiences, I cornered and trained myself to speak and write in straight Filipino to the best that I can. I kicked off by writing my thesis correspondences in Filipino. It proved to be backbreaking, having to translate English thoughts into Tagalog (I discovered that I've been thinking in English most of the time, more than in Filipino. Imagine that! It's the other way around. Baliktad na utak 'ko). I found that even more difficult than translating Filipino words/phrases into English.

Yesterday, I drafted an official communication I was meaning to send out to government offices around town, and I wrote it in Filipino. It took me an hour to finish that concise, 3-paragraph letter and was not even confident at that, so I had my boss proofread/edit it for me. That one letter costed me a pail of perspiration, but it's okay. I'll get used to it in time.

I may be re-learning my Filipino, but don't you put me to the emotional extremes. That's when I speak (spoken, not written) fluent English the most ;)

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Note: Most of my posts (including this one, though my subject is about
Filipino, et al.) were written in English to foster wider readership, as I
assume there are non-Filipino readers of this blog.

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In memory of a former schoolmate

Two years ago, I ran into an old friend while I was on my way back home from someplace I don't even remember where. The moment she stepped inside that public utility jeepney, she was the first one to tap me on the knee and recognized me instinctively. Since she was only 500 meters nearby from the jeepney stop to her place, we only had a couple of minutes to chat but had ample time to exchange numbers. I noticed the gleam in her eyes, as if to say, "At last, I finally met someone...ELSE." We both pledged to call each other up. She was the first one to pick up the phone.

She belonged to that clique which I labeled "schoolmates". As opposed to "classmates", I described this category as those girls who were flocked together by the same school I was going, but didn't really belong to the same crowd whatsoever. She and I even rode the same jeepney service (our version of the school bus) together in grade school. My years of riding off to school have earned me quite a lot of buddies as I was growing up.

[Sidebar: It's been ages since she and I have seen each other. We lost touch after sophomore high.]

After that abrupt meeting, she'd remind me of her presence every now and then whenever she can. I myself was eager to catch up with her and apportioned some time for her whenever I can. From these encounters, I got to know what's been keeping her. I discerned how lonely and depressed she was. How I encouraged her not to feel horrible about herself and look at the brighter side of things. I tried hard to win her self-confidence back and egged her into carrying on with her life with her chin held up high. From that time on, we were no longer just former schoolmates. We've reconnected as friends.

I became used to her occasional afternoon calls at work, though these calls lasted for only 2 or 3 minutes every time. Until one bustling day, she called me up yet again but I was too swamped to come to the phone. I gestured to my officemate to just get my caller's message and tell her that I'm going to call her 'round back. That one slipped off my mind, thus, she never got the call I promised to give her that day.

I received no more calls from her since then. That was the last of it. She will never call. I will never hear her hopeful voice ever again. It's been two years.

Thank you Grace, for teaching me how 3-minute phone calls make a difference. You'll always be in my heart.

Sending off Marcky

I discovered not too long ago that the "going away" thing really gets me emotional. I can only do so much to hold it all up.

After more than a month-long vacation (which was not totally all hols for him, I later found out), my good friend Marc's off once again for yet another grueling academic year in Brussels (currently into graduate school majoring in human ecology at the VUB). He's leaving tomorrow, so Yani and I met up and had refreshments (literally and figuratively) with him last night. Apparently, Marc's been going around practically the whole day "collecting" bilins (material and non-material favors) from friends and families of Belgium-based Filipino students (it has been a tradition since time immemorial). I'm really glad he spared some time with us.


We had about 90 minutes of reminiscing and hearty fruit shake laughters, as usual. Why, it was around this time last year when Marc and I first met in Brussels! Along with Yani (who just recently got back from Brussels herself), we all recounted our Pinoy dinners and hand-me-down-your-wares sessions in his warm flat at E-links. We talked of euros for pesos. How we wept uncontrollably on the day of my flight back home and last minute Christmas-spend-time suggestions with other Pinoys in the block. It was wonderful.

As we escorted him and his friend Annie (was it?) to the cab that'll take him to his next rendezvous, it dawned on me how much I missed his company. It's not that we come from different countries and not see each other again ever, but it's really tough to bid goodbye, or even see you later. Argh!

By the way, he may not know this but here's my confession. It was actually Marc who inspired me to start blogging. Dearie, I owe you big!

Gowns I wish to put on

I got these from E! Online's Emmys red carpet. Fortunately for these ladies, I'm still learning my Photoshop (I just need to leap from the basics). Or else I would've cropped and pasted my face on each one of these. Hehehe ;-)




The beautiful Marcia Cross. Ain't she a doll?!!! Her emerald dress tops my favorites in this catalog.

I like the folds and color. Simple but elegant.




This one's a classic design for me. White top with elaborate patterns and plain black petticoats. I like it.




I imagine other colors would’ve been prettier for this dress, aside from royal blue. But still, this one's a head-turner.


I noticed these are all strapless gowns. If I were to wear them, oh my goodness. I'd have a BIG problem. Go figure.

Weekend chow

When it comes to food, I always have a say ;-)

This weekend past, I witnessed a wedding, a birthday bash, and a baptismal party crashing. It was gastronomically overwhelming!

I was a "legal" (I've got that pink invite others don’t have…hehehe) guest over at my officemate's daughter's wedding. It was a traditional Catholic nuptial. Surely a bride's dream come true and a wedding-coordinators' success story; as I saw not one flaw in "logistics", from the wedding ceremony down to the reception. However, what really rang true to me was the saying, one may forget about the festivities, but not the food (or something to that effect). The food was lip smacking! For a while there I had this dilemma as to which overflowing buffet table should I ransack first. After (watch out for the operative word) carefully studying out the tables (oh, and I sound so O.C.), I decided to not go for a plateful of rice this time around, BUT: nicked about 70% of the showcased delights. So there. My plate consisted of (in no particular order) fettuccini in white sauce, mixed veggies, a drumstick of roast chicken, shrimp tempura, beef in mushroom gravy, and a platito of lechon (roasted pig, is it?). And then (not shown here) a bowl of mushroom cream soup plus watermelon slices for my fruit dessert. Of course, caffeine magic (translate: brewed cup) to "calm" my bulging tummy.

I thought of going straight back home from the wedding banquet, since I was really looking forward for a restful siesta (Yes, getting that sought-after nap to substantiate a hearty chow. I know that full well!). Finding our house all locked-up and no spare key under the rug (so to speak), I realized that all household people were at my nephew's birthday party. To make a short story even shorter, I had double Dutch ice cream while watching Meg Ryan on TV.

The following day, my cousins stood Godparents to our neighbor's kid. I hissed and then guffawed in amazement at how they – my blood relatives (my right fist now pounding my chest!) – made our house an extension of the baptismal feast, withstanding the fence that would have defined territorial bounds. I later broke my other cousin's record of being the last woman sitting at the lunch table, as I painstakingly nipped and savored the orange crustaceans.

My right thumb's now injured with shell-cuts. Thank heavens for the inventor/s of Band-aids.

Muere Lentamente

I find this Pablo Neruda poem convicting.


Muere Lentamente
(Español)

Muere lentamente quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito, repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos, quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente quien hace de la televisión su gurú.

Muere lentamente quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los puntos sobre las "íes" a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos, corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente quien no voltea la mesa cuando está infeliz en el trabajo, quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño, quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida, huir de los consejos sensatos.

Muere lentamente quien no viaja, quien no lee, quien no oye música, quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo.

Muere lentamente quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.

Muere lentamente, quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante.

Muere lentamente, quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.

Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas, recordando siempre que estar vivo exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor que el simple hecho de respirar.


-o0o-


Dies Slowly

Dies slowly he who transforms himself in slave of habit, repeating every day the same itineraries, who does not change brand, does not risk to wear a new color and doesn't talk to whom he doesn't know.

Dies slowly he who makes of television his guru.

Dies slowly he who avoids a passion, who prefers black to white and the dots on the "i" to a whirlpool of emotions, just those ones that recover the gleam from the eyes, smiles from the yawns, hearts from the stumbling and feelings.

Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table when is unhappy at work, who does not risk the certain for the uncertain to go toward that dream that is keeping him awake. Who does not allow, at least one time in life, to flee from sensate advises.

Dies slowly he who does not travel, does not read, does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself.

Dies slowly he who destroys his self love, who does not accept somebody's help.

Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the incessant rain.

Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it, who does not ask over a subject that does not know or who does not answer when being asked about something he knows.

Dies slowly he who does not share his emotions, joys and sadness, who does not trust, who does not even try.

Dies slowly he who does not relive his memories and continues getting emotional as if living them at that moment.
Dies slowly he who does not intent excelling, who does not learn from the stones of the road of life, who does not love and let somebody love.

Let's avoid death in soft quotes, remembering always that to be alive demands an effort much bigger than the simple fact of breathing.


-o0o-

I thank a pure-blooded Chileno for reciting the poem (with feelings!) to me in Spanish, on that one October coffee cum poetry evening.

Disneyhype

Migraine strikes and I was confined once more at home. Way to go for a Monday. Whenever I'm literally helpless and at the mercy of ibuprofens, paracetamols and mefenamic acids, I would wish for two things to kill the pain and monotony: (1) restful sleep; and (2) nice programs on cable TV.

I caught a glimpse in the news about the grand opening salvo of Hong Kong Disneyland. As I am a self-professed fan of anything Disney, my excitement for this event was obvious, despite the drilling headaches. In my heart I was hoping (with crossed-fingers) that the Hong Kong parks wouldn't be a disappointment; expectedly not as spectacular as Anaheim's (Disney's original in California, USA) of course – though I haven't really been there, but not as disenchanting as Eurodisney (Parcs Paris).

Judging from the four corners of my colored television, I was convinced that HK resort is a must-see.

I've always had this childhood dream of experiencing Disneyland, and I know in my heart I will not stop until the spell is broken. I was all smiles when I entered the gates of Eurodisneyland, even though I went there all by myself, and not one of my "available" friends cared (and DARED!) to tag along (one of them even presupposed that Disney characters are suspicious beings). Though that trip was not really as magical as I've been banking on it to be, it was still a dream come true for me.

My future kids will see real Disneyland. Go, future kids! ;-)

P.S. The Philippines has Enchanted Kingdom to boot. And indeed, it is enchanting.

Being lethargic

While sticking around for a dose of an Anatomical Travelogue episode on TV, my cousin – the same jazz buff (see related post) who also happens to be a grade school teacher – and I swapped handful bits of trivial information, which was indeed mind-stimulating [sidebar: I truly appreciate such brief discussions; brief in the sense that we seldom have times like these. We both miss catching up on each other as we are always on the go almost all week long]. Last night, our topic was about mosquitoes. Her pop quiz was that according to one of her readings, Egyptian mosquito bites tend to inject lethargic moods towards its recipients. Those made me reflect for a while.

So that's the keyword: lethargy(ic). No, I was not bitten by an Egyptian mosquito, much less by any of its local counterpart (which could afflict dengue fever if you're lucky). But I have been trying to figure out how to describe, in one word, my mood since the week began. Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the term "lethargy" as the quality or state of being lazy, sluggish, or indifferent. Another entry by the Webster's Online Dictionary meant lethargy as inactivity, or showing an unusual lack of energy. Put these two definitions together and you'll get my disposition for the week.

Initially, I was thinking along the lines of melancholy or boredom; but I knew that those were just effects of some cause I have yet to find out what or why. There were even moments when I felt like wailing in hysteria for some unknown reason. However for most instances, I was a befitting snob. An unbearable brat. Or a witch with a capital B. Oh, no. I beg to disagree that I'm going nuts.

I just wish for this week to end. Better yet, I pray that beginning tomorrow – a brand new week – this mood won't be carried over.

Book fair woes and relief

It's book fair season and I'm all broke, for crying out loud! WUAAAAAHHH!!!!

Entering the trade hall full of books made me feel like dropping down on my knees to worship its floors or diving into the shelves holding all these precious jewels together. Though my cash meter is really, really running low these days (and not succumbing into my credit card's enticing offers, that I'm proud of), I found simple (and voracious) satisfaction at the mere sight of these diverse assortments. Just like in the previous years, I volunteered enthusiastically to do selection work (i.e., cashless shopping, hehehe) for my department and indulgently bucketed general reference materials into those carts. It was like sweet saving grace. I may not be able to acquire those books personally as of yet – or not even having the slightest chance of owning them all – but "pampering" myself at the disguise of the moment bestowed me with that rewarding sense of being a librarian.

Another plus side to book fairs is impromptu reunions. I bumped into old classmates who are now colleagues in the field just last Wednesday (August 31st), when I was there on the first day of the 26th Manila International Book Fair. It's funny because it seemed like only yesterday when we were only worried about beating term paper/case study/pathfinder deadlines and praying for non-working holidays and typhoons that would suspend classes for instant hols; hence, extending more deadliest deadlines in school. And now, here we are, exchanging notes on manning our respective libraries and for some of us, even trading pregnancy tips! In one forum I attended, I think I appropriated 50% or so of my time sitting down keeping updates with some college friends I haven't seen for the longest time. Being invisible in lectures like this doesn't surprise me anymore. After all these years, I still have the knack for it. Hehehe.

And finally, the star of the day down the memory lane has been and will always be my colleague, Che Leonardo. Who, after greeting our newly installed College Dean (who's also my thesis adviser) cheek-to-cheek, took pride at passing on good wishes to her by saying, "Ma'am, congratulations! Balita 'ko Dean-OIC na kayo (I heard you're the Dean-OIC)!"

Some things never change :-)

More songs

My head is flooded with so many things I want to write about, but I thought of publishing this first. This one’s the sequel to my previous post about theme songs.

Fixing a Broken Heart (Indecent Obsession). Chemistry Lab, 3rd semester in college. While flaming up the test tube over the bunsen burner and playing it smart, a group mate laid a torn sheet of note paper with the lyrics of this song scribbled on it. My group just sang our experiment away. I passed laboratory, but had serious problems with my lecture class.

Leaving on a Jet Plane (Peter, Paul and Mary). One project we had in 6th grade music class was lip-synching cum artist(s) impersonation. I found myself glued to two of my classmates, as I didn't want to jeopardize my class marks should I go solo. I don't exactly know who I imitated, but it was definitely not Mary. Being a '70s trio, I asked Mama for her bell-bottom pants. That was the longest 10 minutes of my life.

My Heart Will Go On and Death of the Titanic (OST-Titanic). I remember playing this soundtrack while working inside the archives of an old film studio (my previous job). One splicing editor who kept on coming and going to pick up canisters from the vault couldn't contain his annoyance anymore, he finally said, "'Di pa ba lumulubog 'yan?! (has it sink yet?!)". The cassette player was in auto-reverse. :-)

Million Miles Away (Joey Albert). Grade school. This was a favorite among the popular girls in my batch in school. Somehow, there was this unwritten rule (I didn't know where it came from) that once a song's been sung by one, it becomes her property and no one else can claim it. Good thing fame and peer pressure didn't go up to my head at that age. It always feels good to sing the songs that I want to sing!

Let's Get Loud (Jennifer Lopez). Next song please...

Stripped (Depeche Mode). Aside from Somebody and Just Can't Get Enough, this was the third Depeche Mode song I've ever came across with in my 19 years on the face of the planet. I helped Manuel transcribe its lyrics and if you're doing it for a couple of hours, no matter how much you hate the song, it still could grow on you.

Love Changes Everything (Climie Fisher). Vincent and his '80s and '90s music obsessions. I recall being disappointed when he said that the file was too big to attach in his e-mail and couldn't send it to me. So when at last I had the chance, this was the first song I've put in my MP3 player. I just love this song.

Time is on Our Side and Step by Step (New Kids On The Block). Junior and senior high. Looking back, I could just laugh now at how cheesy I was back then. I had NKOTB posters on my bedroom wall, NKOTB organizer, complete set of NKOTB albums in cassettes, and a biographical book of NKOTB. In school I even proclaimed that I'm Joe (now, Joey) McIntyre's girlfriend! Creepy. I'm just so relieved that that NKOTB stage is over.

How Do I Live (Trisha Yearwood/Leann Rimes). 1997. Rizal Library, Ateneo de Manila. Just as I was so bored to death in cataloging those American historical materials (FYI: it was brain-draining), this song had the power to stop my clock for about 4 or 5 minutes.

Total Eclipse of the Heart (Bonnie Tyler). Music class in 2nd grade. My teacher probably thought that all 8-year-olds are potential divas, so she required each student to sing before her class in that dreaded platform. I prepared for this event for about a week. I belted out this song like my fate in 3rd grade depends on it.

Heal the World (Michael Jackson). I loathed our class president in senior high for making us rehearse this song like a broken record twice a day for a school-opening program. I had this huge balloon hovering in my head with a picture of planet earth full of band-aids and a caption that goes, "Hey, look! The world has recuperated. Whatever happened to Billy Jean??"

Iisa (Gary Granada). Charo made me swear I'm going to sing this song at her wedding. I told her I'm going to do it because I love her and that it's a Granada. I couldn't refuse her and so I did sing the song on her wedding day. Unlike my milestone wedding song, I didn't put a monkey wrench in the works this time around. I only suffered from suffocation by wearing that silver-grey silk dress.

Estoy Aqui (Shakira). The first Spanish song I ever attempted memorizing. I would sing this while bumming at the Brussels metro. Orlando said, "Oh, there goes Shakira!...after a terrible car accident."

How Could It Be? (Eddie Murphy). How could I forget this?!!! I hated my cousin for days (see related post).

Shiny Happy People (REM). Plus all other REM songs. What kept me nailed on my seat during my train ride to Amsterdam. Too nailed, even responding to the WC's (pronounced as 'wi-si', their version of the CR) call wasn't permissible.

As Still as a Photograph (Cacai Velasquez). Reminds me of my library sojourn around Manila for my undergrad thesis data gathering (thanks to electronic means, I don't have to do this all over again for my graduate research). I'd chance upon this song whenever I hop into jeepneys and memorized it in a jiffy.

I know for sure there are still more songs. But for the meantime, let me just allow other ideas to flow from my head.

Coffee is my cup of tea

I always look forward to long weekends. Besides the extra hours intended for sleep, times like this give leeway to bonding sessions with the entire household in the kitchen. My cousins are born with a pot and ladle, while I'm a skilled diner (at least at home). Although I'd love to spend quality time in the kitchen, it seems like it's not a mutual thing with the latter. The closer I inch my way to the stove, I somehow have this funny feeling that the stove is all set to burn the better of me.

If my memory serves me right, my mother never encouraged me to try a hand in cooking (sorry, Ma, I have to confess this). At home during my childhood and adolescent years, she would designate a myriad of chores to me and my sister, in and around the house, except there at that untouchable department called the kitchen. My father owns it. My mom probably thought it best to save her children from her husband's harsh food criticisms. And so, the closest activity we've ever had with the stove was bending over it with a scouring pad and cleanser gripped firmly by our hands. We were only our dad's clean-up girls.

This personal küche history explains why I'm braving cook-offs only past my quarter life. My five cents take is that I'm already earning a living and can at least afford a gallon of spilt milk, so it's okay to experiment a bit. My years of educational harnessing didn't come even this close to 1/4 my pinky finger to match anyone of those unschooled but brilliant cooking masters (at their own right). My cousin once bantered, "Ano'ng top ka na nga ulit sa board exam?!" (and again you took what place in the board exam?!) after she effortlessly twist-opened a jar of bagoong (shrimp paste) for me, as she noticed I was struggling on my wits' end with it and was about to thrust it off the window. But still, I refuse to reconcile with the idea that I'm a walking kitchen disaster. No way, I'll never be! It's not yet the end for me.

I began subscribing to online mailing lists of recipes. Until I got tired of archiving these onto my kitchenomics folder and then eventually stopped the weekly subscription, I think I've only tried and tested two recipes. And of these two (the other one I can't remember anymore), only one dish I was proud of perfecting: sweet-chili chicken wings. So what if it's just fried chicken wings smothered with sweet-chili catsup (you can grab from the supermarket) in low fire that even a 10-year old schoolgirl can make? At least I followed the cooking directions and got all ingredients (1kg chicken wings, 1 bottle of sweet-chili catsup and cooking oil) right. It's not big but it was a good start.

Last week, I had another 3-day weekend, thus, my 3-day lunch affairs with our kitchen.

For day one, I just scavenged some left-overs in the fridge (I woke up late and didn't have time to go marketing) and transformed them into a no-sweat brunch. I made garlic fried rice (lotsa lotsa garlic!), re-heated the fish and asked for my cousin's canned corned beef (sauteed in garlic and onions - I'm a sucker for these). My sister prepared mango-orange juice to go along with the dish. It was a satisfying treat! After brushing my teeth, I went back to bed. A full stomach would drag you to sleep in an instant.

On day two, I suggested that we cook pancit canton (egg noodles topped/mixed with sauteed veggies) and onion rings as side dish for lunch. I wasn't that confident making them all by myself, and so my cousin volunteered to coach me. While she busied herself with the onions, I stir-fried the veggies and when it's done, I boiled the noodles in with broth cubes. She was nearly impressed with my handiwork when I guiltily remarked, "'Di naman siguro tayo mamamatay kung naisama 'ko 'yung papel sa noodles, ano? Kasi naisama 'ko e (nang 'di sinasadya)." (We're not going to die if I mistakenly threw in the package-label with the noodles, right? Because I accidentally included it in there) She gave me her ever-famous blank stare and after a while, perfomed her damage control tricks. Thanks to her, we still had pancit for lunch that day.

Day three witnessed the "return of the comeback", a.k.a. recycling dishes. This time, I was looking forward more on merienda (afternoon snacks) than lunch. I've been craving for champorado (chocolate pudding) like it's been eons since I last had a bowl or two (it felt like it). More on this later.

But for lunch, I again made garlic fried rice plus minced onion rings of the previous day (we had a lot of those left-over). My other cousin cooked ground pork with carrots, potatoes and peas the night before, so that too made its reprise on the table. In addition to all "comebacks", I deep-fried (I don't exactly look like a frying pan, do I?) sliced eggplants coated with egg and bread crumbs; a viand I learned from the Abrigo home. Then again I heard yet another mockery, "Mmmm! Smells good! It's a good thing we're all single here and we don't have kids, or else they'd complain and say, 'mommy, we're hungry, it's been an hour...are you done yet?!'" I was so tempted to hoard all food and watch them suffer from starvation.

Merienda came and it was champorado time! My sister cooked cheese sticks to counter my pudding's sweetness, so it was perfect. Once more with the help of my cooking cousin, I was able to stir up that champorado with the right consistency. Although I followed every step correctly, the malagkit (I've no clue what's it in English) ruined my masterpiece! Anyhow, it's still put to good use because we didn't just have the pudding days later. We also had hot choco for breakfast.

Now for the subject line, of course I still had coffee twice a day.

Unleash the Choco Monster!

For the past days, my sweet tooth had been at work. I'd go for just about anything chocolate-coated, so long as these are edible (hold on! of course I mean food/drinks). My tastebuds' craving for confectioneries after dining surprises me, as if a sumptuous meal is not pleasurable enough.

As of late, Kitkat White currently tops my sweets list. Nestle-Goya milk bars, Knick Knacks and Ricoa Curly Tops made it to my chocolate hall-of-fame (love your own, syempre). In Belgium, Callebauts (especially, whites) were my staple food while on the go. They're always in my bag. And of course there was Cote d'Or as my "beer-match" (Yes, I've consumed one bar to kill the beer's aftertaste. It wasn't delectable, but it sure helped me gobble up that big glass). Cecemel milkchoco drink (in the Netherlands, it's Chocomel) washed out every solid intake I've had for the day.

But wait! There's more! (Home Shopping Network ad tagline)

There’s the mouth-watering chocolate pastry, too. Just recently, I had two boxes of Red Ribbon® choco-caramel rolls for two days in a row, as tokens from an officemate (who got that job-referral I passed on to him) and from a group of students whom I lectured/toured around the library (guilt-strip: as a matter of practice, we DON'T accept gifts after every lecture but they insisted; this was an exemption to the rule *wink wink*). While Mike (Vincent's brother) and I devoured the cakes, we couldn't stop raving the words "heavenly" and "luscious" in between mouthfuls.

Okay, enough of this already. I'm drooling!!!

A Song for Every Memory

Music, in a way, defines one's personality and individuality. For me, it's the perfect remedy to just about anything.

One time, a new-found friend invited me over to come to her birthday party. Since I didn't want to show up empty-handed, I went out to scout a gift for her. Trivia: I'm a lousy gift-giver. So to be on the safe side, my default gifts always have something to do with music and books. For this particular friend of mine, I decided to get her an audio CD. But of who?! I didn't know her music taste. Thanks to Friendster, I learned she prefers pop. Suits her.

[sidebar: There I go again! Sidetracked! Argh! I just had another change-topic attack.]

I thought about some songs that I've baptized as my very own banner themes for memorable events. Here's my list (first of two parts):


Set You Free (SIDE A). Was included in the very first SIDE A album I acquired from begging (my mom).

Friends Are There (Theme from Garfield and Friends). One Anthropology class (folk traditions) in graduate school. My oral report/term paper was about pulutan (i.e., pick-up food). To illustrate the idea that Filipinos love to experiment on food, I posted the pictures of Garfield and his friends up on the board on the day of my report. I recall how Vincent and I mastered the art of silent cackling by cupping our mouths so as not to annoy our seatmates in the library.

Voices that Care (various artists). There was an event during my freshman year in college wherein that cute guy I had a crush on, interpreted this song along with a group of upperclassmen. He did the rapping part...The following semester, we were classmates in Social Dance. I was so close to becoming his dancing partner. But there, just close :-(

Losing My Religion (REM). I don't remember how many times I put off Manuel from squeaking this song.

Love Moves in Mysterious Ways (Julia Fordham). Long before Nina (a local singer) sabotaged this song, I did the sabotaging first. A friend begged me to sing at her wedding, and this was my milestone wedding song. I didn't know how she got me to do it, but I just remember pigging out in the feast right after putting down the microphone. I screwed up the first two stanzas and then blended in with the well-wishers like nothing happened.

Sugar Rush (A*Teens). Vincent. He e-mailed the .mp3 file to me. I danced to it while doing my laundry in Erasmushome.

Pieces of Me (Ashley Simpson). I didn't like the singer, but I remember sprinting to the toilet for a go and then back again to my room in less than a minute, just so I can sing along with my clock radio. I made it just in time for the first chorus! Hahaha!!!

Everybody's Changing (Keane). Orlando and I used to sing this song together during our last days in Belgium. We replace "changing" with "schengen". Our visas were doomed to expire in a week's time by then. Hehehe.

Cold Summer Nights (Francis M.). I was blindfolded when I sang this, LITERALLY. I was a freshman applicant of a college-based org and I made them (the members) sing along with me. They said I was one of the two in my batch who passed the first screening. Half-way through the second week, I quit. A year later, I shifted to another college. And then to another. Now, I'm a librarian. Francis M. could've been instrumental to my professional growth without him knowing it.

Summer Sunshine and Breathless (The Corrs). EuroDisney. On board the train going back to the city center from Marne-la-Valle Chessey. I made sure nobody sat beside me because I was resolved that whoever that may be, s/he’d either transfer to the next coach or get off at the next stop anyway. Go figure.


More songs to come...

Umbrella with a purpose

Even though I was running a bit late for an appointment, I still decided to take a walk along one side of the academic oval (of the university) at a hurried pace. Despite the light rain and icky puddles, I figured that a little breeze walking wouldn't hurt at all. And besides, a jeepney ride would take me a while to get to my point of destination, not to mention I didn't have pennies for change to afford one. Walking perhaps was the best decision that I've ever made today (next to oversleeping).

Along the avenue a guy heading towards me from the opposite end, interrupted my brief leg exercise. He was looking for a "bar" which he claimed is located somewhere in the campus. Initially, I was so tempted let out a tiny jab of sarcasm and break to him the tragic news that he happens to be inside a university campus, and that the last time I checked, the word "bar" – to mean a social establishment – does not exactly appear in the institution of higher education's jargon (much to the disappointment of after-school party people; the prefix 'after' sometimes even dropped). But because of the I’m-lost-please-help look written all over his face, plus him soaked up in the rain to complete this melodramatic episode, I couldn't help but shift from being sarcastic to sympathetic. And since I'm also a librarian, I opted to make myself useful to him. Duty called, I heeded.

For a moment there I was like an investigator interrogating a prime suspect. Finally, I gathered where he needed to go (and I was still apprehensive whether or not there really is a bar in that building). I told him he could walk with me as I was also headed on the same route. He took the chance and the free umbrella. Suddenly, I've got instant company.

It turned out to be a not-so-awkward walking situation for the two of us. Michael (yes, I asked for his name after I offered mine) was cordial and I can carry a casual conversation with any new acquaintance, so we didn't have any lulls as we take refuge under my umbrella. From our trivial exchanges, I learned that he's majoring in Music Composition, which I found interesting. I guess he found me interesting too, because when I told him that I'm a Library and Information Science (LIS) degree-holder, a college librarian, and am still pursuing graduate studies in the same field, I think I saw him giving me that side-long glance, cross-checking my get-up (jeans, trainers and backpack – my Thursday attire) as against what I'm pronouncing myself to be. He later uttered, "Marami talagang kakaibang kurso sa eskwelahang ito. Sa Music nga, may Music Research! Ano kayang pag-aaralan dun??!" (There really are so many unique courses in this school. In (the College of) Music, they offer Music Research! What could they be studying there??!) I just gave him a wan smile.

We were engaged in talkies until we reached my end of the road. He had to continue on 'til he finds his "bar", alone and umbrella-less. I directed him to turn around the corner not too far from where I halted, count two buildings to his right, and there he'll hit his spot. He thanked me and then went on his way.

I was still late for my rendezvous.

A recovered granada

As I cramp in my seat (which was more of like a space that's just enough to hold my butt) inside a public taxi on my ride back home from the mall (I went there to pay my phone bills, not exactly to go malling for convenience) one wet Tuesday evening, I was for a moment entranced by a familiar tune being played by manong's (taxi driver) FM radio. It was a Gary Granada original, but revived by a local who's who alternative band.

Remaking vintage songs has been the trend in Philippine music for the longest time. Given that, I've grown very finicky (even critical) when it comes to renditions, especially those immortal songs whose artists are lauded for their creativity and ingenuity.

Kung Ika'y Wala (if you're gone) was the Granada song that that who's who band (I have yet to find out who they are or who he/she is) re-engineered, and I can say that for me, they've done justice to the song.

I found myself groping for its lyrics, until it finally dawned on me that I actually have Granada albums buried somewhere in my room. Not only have I recovered the materials, my passion for Granada's music was unearthed once more. His was a musical artistry that's truly Filipino -- soulful, poetic and warm.


KAPAG SINABI KO SA IYO 1994*
----------------------------------------------
Words & Music by GARY GRANADA


Kapag sinabi ko sa iyo na ika'y minamahal
(Whenever I tell you that I love you)

Sana'y maunawaan mo na ako'y isang mortal
(Please understand that I am mortal)

At di ko kayang abutin ang mga bituin at buwan
(I cannot reach out for the stars and the moon)

O di kaya ay sisirin perlas ng karagatan
(Or dive for the pearls of the seas)



Kapag sinabi ko sa iyo na ika'y iniibig
(Whenever I tell you that I love you)

Sana'y maunawaan mo na ako'y taga-daigdig
(Please understand that I am from this world)

Kagaya ng karamihan, karaniwang karanasan
(Just like the rest, an ordinary experience)

Daladala kahit saan, pang-araw-araw na pasan
(Carried everywhere, an everyday burden)


Ako'y hindi romantiko, sa iyo'y di ko matitiyak
(I am not a romantic, to you I cannot guaratee)

Na pag ako'y kapiling mo kailanma'y di ka iiyak
(That when you are with me, you will never cry)


Ang magandang hinaharap sikapin nating maabot
(A bright future, let's make it happen)

Ngunit kung di pa maganap, sana'y huwag mong ikalungkot
(But until then, I hope you'll not be saddened)


Kapag sinabi ko sa iyo na ika'y sinisinta
(Whenever I tell you that you are cherished)

Sana'y yakapin mo akong bukas ang iyong mga mata
(I wish that you'll embrace me with your eyes open)

Ang kayamanan kong dala ay pandama't kamalayan
(The riches I bear are emotions and wisdom)

Na natutunan sa iba na nabighani sa bayan
(That I have learned from those enthralled by the world)


Halina't ating pandayin isang malayang daigdig
(Let's journey to the unchained world)

Upang doon payabungin isang malayang pag-ibig
(And there let's nurture a love that's free)

Kapag sinabi ko sa iyo na ika'y sinusuyo
(Whenever I tell you that you are adored)

Sana'y ibigin mo ako, kasama ang aking mundo
(I wish that you'll love me, together with my world)



________
*My apologies for the English translation, should you find it poorly done. That's all I can come up with :-)

Yes, No, or Wait

Why can't it always be a yes? I wonder why.

At the back of my mind, I know there's no reason to wonder at all, actually. I'm well aware that yes, an approving nod does not necessarily mean that everything will go along just fine. That granting every wish does not always guarantee contentment and happiness. That not all gifts are beneficial (lesson: Bruce Almighty). That not every aid can help. A YES, in a way, could be a NO.

Rejection, on the other hand, does not always mean flat-out defeat. That being a cull equates to no futility. That being bereft of something (or someone) you so wishfully desire does not always produce a domino effect – of one rejection after another. It may chip off a bit of one's ego and dignity, but it doesn't make him less of a human being. The pain could be excruciating, but it will eventually go away, or even forgotten. After the rain, it's that hopeful rainbow's turn to exhibit its bright colors, so goes the melodramatic saying. A NO could probably be a YES.

To await for something (or someone) presents this uncertainty that is in fact, a test of faith. It could be stressful. It could either leave one dubious of what's to come, or being sure of what he hopes for as he hangs around in agitation. This state could also be a pruning time, a happenstance, an opportunity to reflect on one's state of heart. But waiting entails a huge amount of patience.

I sometimes prefer to wait than to be denied of something (or someone, I had to insert this for consistency in emphasis) point-blank. I would never decline a blessing, of course, especially when it's what I've been yearning for – I mean, who would? Unless inevitable. But I have learned a great deal in waiting. There's pain along the way but it's all worth my while.

Never a Dalmatian

Two days ago, Filipino librarians were on the spotlight when columnist Adrian E. Cristobal's article, 105 'useless' librarians, appeared in the editorial section of the July 28th issue of the Manila Bulletin (MB).

Even before I get to read the said column (as directed by the link in the email), I already had this gut feel that this'll illicit a melting pot of reaction amongst my colleagues; which would mostly be defensive. I discerned correctly.

I'd be a hypocrite if I say that I didn't feel even a tinge of revolt when he likened those 105 PRC-accredited librarians to dogs. Bakit naman sa dinami-rami ng propesyon sa mundo, e mga laybraryan pa ang nakita nya? (Why is it that of all professions in the world, the librarians were the ones singled out?) At bakit aso, dalmatian pa? (And why dogs, dalmatians?) I cooked up this crazy deduction that maybe prior to that day, Cristobal was in Morayta and chanced upon a BFL (Board for Librarians) accreditor, exchanged their hellos and then that night, caught Disney's 101 Dalmatians on DVD (may even be a pirated copy as the premise is that he's in Morayta). After which, he grabbed his pen and wrote down his thoughts that would fill up his space in that section of the paper. All in a day's work.

That excuse would've put me to rest had I not discovered that I actually have a copy of the July 28 broadsheet (you get MB for P10 whenever you eat breakfast at McDonald's, see?). I compelled myself to re-read the column, and as I've pondered on it once more, I gathered that he was not really trampling on the profession. His violations were that he just didn't have the appropriate title for his piece and that he still has this thick glasses+hairnet+snob+rubber stamp concept of a librarian (yes Richard, a glorified clerk). On a personal note, I can't blame him. Cristobal is of age. And old age, though inexcusable, has never been and never will be a transgression.

The best response is to throw off all defensiveness, despite being offended. I dropped off a comment over at Von's blog that if there's one crowd that should be mature enough to handle this, it must be the librarians'. To let our guard down too easily is a no-brainer. We should act upon the issue level-headedly. Librarians are trained to manage entrusted information, not to assassinate characters. Let's be about our purpose and fulfill our duties, especially to those in dire need of "enlightenment". Let's impart what needs to be imparted.

Basta ako, hindi ako dalmatian (As for me, I am not a dalmatian).

How Could It Be?

I blame my cousin (a jazz buff) for leaving me off with "How Could It Be?" as my last-song-syndrome a couple of weeks back. For days, it had been my theme music in all corners! When I told some friends about this, 2 of them volunteered, "Did you know that it was Eddie Murphy who sang that song?!" "No way! Really?!!", I gushed. And at that point I imagined Donkey and Mushu singing the chorus as one. It felt weird!

This morning, the song was playing over our online radio at the office. There it is again! The picture of a mutant that's half-donkey, half-dragon belting, "How could it be? [echoes] That you don't love me anymooooooore..." right before me! Maybe I should shelve my Mulan video for a while to avoid this confusion.

Trivia: The song was in Eddie Murphy's 1985 album.

Rain on my parade

Today being a Thursday, I was off-duty from work and had all my day planned out: pancakes and coffee with a friend in the morning, devote the entire afternoon for thesis-writing, and then cap the day off with my usual evening delight of free dinner cum TV goofing with the Abrigo brothers.

The pancakes happened (plus hash brown and sausage on the side, yum!), afternoon paper: negative (which is a real shame because I ended up nailed on my seat updating this blog's layout), dinner was a blast (2 helpings of Denise' pesto downed with Coke). My day was nearly perfect, except that what I didn't see forthcoming was an unsolicited afternoon dose of boiling point that made my stomach cringe until dinner was served.

I was like a bomb that was to go off any millisecond, but managed to cover up the steam just in time for the impending explosion. It just irks me when some narrow-minded people pretend to be smart-aleck and then claim that they're being deprived of things that aren't theirs for keeps in the first place. All the more irritating is when these people are being downright accusative and unreasonable to innocent souls who are just hanging tough to have a fruitful day. Argh! The thought of it just pisses me off.

Some rain.