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 :-)