Cruel irony

After seven years of being greeted by hefty shelves of books here in the library, I would at times find it inevitable to fall back on these resources for self-help. As if, all of life's answers to man's problems are confined in this four-cornered hall. I need not go far off. It's all in here, right where I get paid every week. Although I know it's absurd to ever think that books (collectively speaking) will solve my psychotic tendencies, I continue to suck up to this self-deception nevertheless.

There are moments when I just find myself unconsciously looking up at the dictionary to translate my sentiments (argh! and I won't stop until I find the right word for it). Or search away in the catalog database the handbook that would give me the appropriate remedy to my forebodings.

Like, now.

What is "disappointed" in Tagalog?

What is more intense than the word "pain"? (There's got to be. There has to be!)

Is there a complete idiot's guide to numbed out idiots?

Input search expression: materials on "how to summon split personalities and be at best in all or both" = 0 entries...why zero?!?!

I'm desperate for answers, but books don't have them. This is what makes it totally inanimate.

Welcoming the rain

Summer has come and gone by so swiftly, it left me with so little time to spill over my whereabouts during the season. It would've been really easy to put the blame on the discomforts brought about by the sweltering heat (try 37 degrees Celsius), but truth be told, I just didn't feel the kick to write down something. Not that I felt obligated to say anything (if only for the sake of adding in another post up here). I knew I had a lot to let out, yet still gave in to lethargy.

It's been raining since last week, but it was not until two nights ago when my restlessness for howling stormy winds and heavy rains resurrected within my system. My anxiety over typhoons more often graduates into an unreasonable overreaction -- I'd stay wide awake whenever there's a downpour at night and walk around inspecting practically everything in the house. Somehow, I have this stubborn involuntary muscle that twitches automatically at the onset of rain. Silly, huh?

Along with the coming of the rain are the people populating the bookstores hoarding off school supplies for their ward. Schools are to open their gates three (others, four) weeks from now, so until then, unless you are in dire need of pen refills, better stay out of the book/school supplies' shops. I waited in line for almost 20 minutes just to have my pen refill billed. It would've been too easy for me to pocket in my "purchase", get out of the line and no one (even the person next to me) would ever notice my evil deed. Of course I wasn't even half-crazy to give into it, but I admit the thought kept me up amused for a while ;-)

Despite these, I still welcome the rain. And just like in previous years, I know I can live with my anxieties. I've earned enough coping mechanisms to last me a lifetime of typhoons.

A heap of burning coals

I feel awfully sad for some people who think that key job positions entitle them to instant lordship and pharaoh pedestals. I spill pity over the same people who are just as deceived into thinking that just because they're given crowns of glory, they MUST (emphasis on that) be favored with immune royalty.

Thankfully, I never saw nor treated headship that way. I pay the highest esteem for individuals who have made it to the top, but with the praises never bloating up their heads. My deepest respects are for the handful pick of supervisors who do not cling arrogantly onto their titles but instead, continues to busy themselves up into becoming a team player.

The pride of being able to brag and exercise the power of control over your subordinates is of course, tempting. The thing is, if you're not careful enough and fall for this, you will end up having enemies and really mean detractors. Or worse, that very title that you so treasure greedily could be taken away from you. That's not a pretty mirror to face when that happens.

And if that happens (because it happens all the time), what would that experience make of you? Would you just sulk and wallow? Would you take it bitterly and stop there? Would you loathe and get back hard on your minions?

OR...

Would you treat that "unpleasant experience" as a heap of burning coals on your head? Would you instead focus on working hard on your people skills and start all over again to earn your co-workers' respect once more?

It's your card, Miss.

Over a month ago, I was given a huge responsibility at work. Our head librarian probably thought that I'm a big girl now and clever enough to handle a department of my own. I'd be a liar if I say I never wanted the post (AV librarian), but to be honest, handling a department in the university library of the University of the Philippines magnets a lot of pressure to a greenhorn supervisor. Nevertheless, I humbly took the job (as if I had a choice) and decided to work harmoniously with my team (that was my choice). No, I will never be an egotistical, bigheaded, demeaning boss. I will work real hard to earn my staff's respect.

Rehydrated

The first sign of summer in the Philippines: rain. You'll know that summer is here when the rain showers over your head when you least expect it. Or better yet, when you most need it. It ceases when you've had enough water for tilling the soil.

I'm fine now. Just a little haggard from lack of sleep, but a lot better.

To you, who always listens and pushes the quiet button to inject sense:

THANKS. YOU ARE MY GEM.

To you, who offered to punch her/him -- except that her, happens to be me:

MIL GRACIAS.

To you, who said I should wear a bikini for summer and thinks I'm sexy (iiiwww!) with it on:
MIL GRACIAS.

To you, who encouraged me to get back to my joy:

THANKS. I FELT YOUR HUGS FROM AFAR.

To You, who brings down the rain at the right time, always:
SALAMAT PO.

I am mine.

Sometimes I think I don't know myself anymore. Lately, I've been having stressful times at making decisions among things that in my heart I want to do versus the conventions put forth by circumstances. I knew I'm done and over with fickle-mindedness, but how come I feel half-convinced, half-regretful after putting my foot down every time? Somehow, there's this bitter aftertaste and I couldn't get over with it. It bites and I know that if don't take action, it will devour my entire being down to my last toenail.

Maybe what's killing me more is that judgmental look piercing through me whenever I say "No." and everyone else says "Yes." It would backfire to me, just as casual as one would normally walk in the room by the main door. It gives me the impression that I'm missing out on a lot, when in truth, it's not really a matter of life and death. It sears too much, it jerks me off into compromising. It just sucks.

I'm seeing the consequences of my uncertainties. I've become more and more insecure and it's robbing me of my joy.

I need to get my joy back. It's mine to share.

Throw off the throttles

A classic piece of advice such as the "letting (it) go theory" was once again reincarnated to me by last night's episode of Aircrash Investigation (a National Geographic special). It was about an elite Russian pilot who treats his 15 year old son to a surprise cockpit trip that eventually throttled into the airline's doom (read an account of the events here). The investigation revealed that aircraft error was not the principal cause of the crash (thus, saving Airbus' fate). It merely posed as an effect of the pilots' scarce proficiency of the A310. The immediate reflex was to take control of the plane and save all 75 lives from this fatal demise. However, that bold intention was not able to fulfill its noble purpose.

The solution was very simple. The pilots just have to let go of the maneuver and let the autopilot do the noble purpose for which it was built for.

Now that has a very huge point. How difficult could an easy gesture really be?

Indeed, it is our basic instinct to take on our best controls in order to save ourselves from life's catastrophes. And then just when everything has taken its toll, we wouldn't let go; for fear that if we do, that would be the end of it all.

Letting go is not equal to defeat. Letting go is holding on to what is divine. Letting go is a leap of faith.

That grand design called serendipity

What happens when the south pole cross paths with the north? Will they ever?
Who whispered proximity to time?
How come five years seem equal to zero?

We sometimes miss it even when it hits us between the eyes. Why?

Things fall into place like ice cream scoops is to sugar cones. One is called from the other end of the galaxy in order to traverse an orbit parallel to the other. It's a riddle sometimes difficult to entangle, but in the end, still you can.

Why?

It just happens. Come away and let us navigate together.

Mistaken identity

I remember while on summer camp a few years back, I walked into some friends flocked together playing Boggle and then when I tried butting in if I can join them, one of them said, "Naku, talo na agad tayo nyan. E librarian 'yan, laging kasama mga libro. Malawak ang bokabularyo nyan!" [We’re instant losers. she's a librarian, always surrounded with books. just imagine her vocabulary] I chuckled in shock at this reaction and said, "Do I really make that 'walking encyclopedia' impression?!"

Truth be told, I'd rather rub crayons onto coloring books than read my prep texts when I was a kid. I'd fancy colorful stuffs (picture books, fun comics, etc.) than read perfectly-printed monographs during my teens. I think the closest thing I read next to thick paperbacks was Sweet Valley Twins. My parents practically left me to do what I want to do (so long as they don't see failing marks to my name) and nibbling books was never in my list. Now this has become one of my biggest regrets (besides wearing ripped jeans). It was only in college when I started leafing through "real books" and even now that I'm a librarian, I'm just beginning to curb a career of becoming a voracious reader.

There. I'm no competition to word game addicts. But I know I can still fool people into thinking that I am, so for them, I think am going to live with that impression for a while.

All grown up

Once upon a time, we were just college classmates each taking part in a phone brigade -- happening during the wee hours of the morning -- consulting each other whether or not we got our 3"x5" card margins right for our cataloging class.

This morning, I sat with one of them who were once part of that disturbing phone brigade. This time around, we were classmates no more but two colleagues discussing about a major digitization project for the library where we both serve.


-o0o-


I never failed catching up on her daily dose of kilig moments about her object/s of affection (a.k.a. crush/es) whenever we ran into each other every single school day.

A couple of months back, I sent her an e-mail inquiring if her network could possibly donate media materials for my library. She said I needed to write to her superiors and promised to back me up if and when I needed one.


-o0o-


They used to spoil my lazy Sunday afternoons by playing arbiter to their cat quarrels (I repeatedly thought that the two of them were miserable disasters put together).

I am now the godmother of their first-born and she's about to deliver their second. Yes, these two "disasters" ended up together.


-o0o-


I sent her to school and I've lost count as to how many times I nagged her into cutting off from too much partying. I was her version of Cruella de Vil.

She treated me out to fine-dining this noon. And that was not the first time.



We've all grown up, see.

A spoiler excused

The San Miguel Philharmonic Orchestra and
The San Miguel Master Chorale at the Shang.

I received an email alert from one of my e-group thread early Saturday morning about SMPO and SMMC's free concert at the Shangri-La mall slated for that evening, and out of mad excitement (live orchestral music for FREE!!!), I wasted no time in tagging Vincent along with me into scurrying up there after work (am on Saturday duty since dinosaurs first roamed the earth, yes). I had no idea that that was exactly what he had in mind for days. I didn't mean to spoil his surprise and consequently, beating him to it :-)

The concert was FANTASTIC! I usually complain about -- next to involuntary starvation -- having to be up on my heels for just a little over 30 minutes, but that night, I never once grumbled during the show. I haven't even noticed time passing, enduring two full hours of being stationary and almost motionless. Before the first score was flailed, my "hyperactivity" started kicking in as I just couldn't help being so, so thrilled (my companion had to actually force me to stay put and shushed me several times that night)...I was back to my normal self immediately after the show. No, I'm not exaggerating.

The music was soothing, tuning into it was like falling into a trance. It's all worth the numbed out legs... And his patience, too. *wink* Thank you, dearest.

Clueless

My proclamation is that I am not at the least bit interested. And yet much of what's behind that edict would reveal another side that presents another universe of interest.

Unknown to him, my baffled heart leaps a million miles.

Antonio's spell

Been enchanted by Vivaldi since mid-last week and loving it ever since. It's been a long time since I last plugged into classical music, and I figured Vivaldi's was exactly the calming therapy that I needed for the remainder of my semester.

I was just too excited to lay back and read my unfinished leisure book whilst into Vivaldi; but I ended up slamming the book down, closing my eyes and then permitted myself to drown into his beautiful scores. Thanks to him still planted in my ears, I was able to clean up for the next two days what used to be my office desk of four years (and will raid another officemate's desk for that matter) in a jiffy. Jeez, was I too captivated or what?

I think I've grown addicted to him now. I couldn't concentrate writing (my thesis) and couldn't turn him off just the same. Antonio's spell's getting into me again...close your eyes...put your notes down...

Los echo de menos...tanto

I know I suck at Spanish, but I care not. I miss them.

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Her tranquil spirit

I seem to have let slip days such as this just like your regular January Saturdays. Regretfully, for many years now, it has just become a mental note and nothing more. How can I be so ephemeral about something that's so perpetual?

She's invincible as if she can take on the whole world whenever I am around her. She can blend her authoritativeness with a stroke of gentleness that is so distinctly hers. She laughs like Jurassic Park was the funniest movie she's ever caught on T.V.

I am the product of her devotion. I take after her resilience. I am invincible because of her still presence.

If the shoe fits, then wear it

It is not like my fate has been sealed in its entirety. I just happen to reach another fork in my road.

Sure, Charles Darwin was right about the evolution; that those who are the most responsive to change are the ones that survive, and not the strongest nor the most intelligent of the species. I still hold on to this fact (yes, it is factual to me), though...and there goes my fork lying ahead of me.

Sure, I will adapt. But I would most definitely want to shun the clinging arrogance. Come on, girl. Let go of that shoe. Shake it off and let it retire. You have got a bigger shoe waiting to fill in.

It used to be simple

As told by a 10-year-old lad in love:

"Love is not just about saying words..."
"Love is making that grand leap..."
"Love is going an extra mile, even when it hurts..."

In truth, I was never a fan of romantic tales (some close friends even think I lack love potion in my veins). I would cringe and squirm at its mushy sensation/effect on me. But when kids talk of "making that grand leap" in love, that is when romance woos my heart. If and only if for this reason alone, I can afford to be mushy.

I guess the subject on love evolves as one grows old and gains full access to its sweetness and bitterness over time. Once upon a time, it used to be so simple. For kids, there are no buts. Everything is absolute (absolutely yes or no). No reservations, whatsoever. On the other hand, for adults, love begins to come in degree/s. What was once deemed uncomplicated somehow cultivated complexities along the way. Consequently, loving has become conditional. And unconditional love does not come easy nowadays.

Luckily, it is never too late to have a child-like heart in love. You can always make that rebound and be a child again.

Wow. That was me talking.

Fleeting by...

While I was typing my work away, a wistful thought caught five seconds of my monotony as it cruises along swiftly by. For the first time, I consented the thought and finally, broke into an approving smile.

Minutes have passed and yet the persistent smile on my face refuses to go away still.

I am on cloud 9.

TagLish: some lessons learned

We Filipinos are so used to speaking "hybrid" Tagalog almost everyday of our lives that we unconsciously let pass grammatical rules. I mean, it is bound to be grammar insensitive (sinasabotahe na nga natin ang dalawang wika e), but lately, I have become mindful about this; at least at my own perusal. Been guilty of murdering two languages simultaneously. I figured that maybe, I can correct word agreement/s in TagLish.

[DISCLAIMER: I am not being prescriptive here. I maybe wrong somewhere but as far as I am concerned, these observations have earned me positive effects. Mine are just suggestions.]

Talking from experience (of a convicted murderer of Tagalog and English), I learned that should you combine a Tagalog superlative with an English noun/verb/adjective, you should want to retain the base form (i.e., root word) of the English word. For instance, instead of saying "pinaka-latest" (i.e., latest), you might want to use "pinaka-late". Or when using Tagalog in comparative form, retaining the English root word wouldn't be ear-grating. For example, "mas clear" (i.e., more clear) instead of "mas clearer".

Another thing is using Tagalog prefixes along with English verb tense/s (past, present, future). I suppose retaining the present tense of the English verb would be the best option when combined with a Tagalog prefix. Such as "na-overhear" (i.e., overheard) in place of "na-overheard". The former sounds better that way. The same rule applies to suffixes. We are more comfortable with "attend-an" (i.e., had attended) and we do not use "attended-an" for that matter.

Bottom line is: whatever Tagalog prefix/suffix you append, the base form of the English word stays as it is.

So much for grammar talk.

I count my blessings

Growing up wouldn't be a million times as much fun without these important ladies in my life. To them I would credit a huge chunk of which I was and what I have become today. If it weren't for these gals, I wouldn't have any reason at all to put a big smile on my face whenever I look back at my childhood and puberty years. My life would never be the same!

I've been meaning to write about my personal who's who but haven't had the chance to do so, until now. And since it's the start of a brand new year (and at New Year, the timing revolves around the themes of new beginnings, gratefulness, etc.), I figured that now is the best time to write about them.

The three of us share a colorful childhood together in UP. I first met Nimfa one nap-time afternoon (Like most average kids with parents scolding their children to siesta after lunch, yes, I too would sneak out of my hawk-eyed mom just when I'm really sure she's dropped into her peaceful afternoon slumber. He-he-he) and played lutu-lutuan (Pretend-play cooking. I still do that in a real kitchen by the way) for the first time. We've become enduring best friends ever since. We've been through crests and troughs together. Even though we don't see each other now quite as often as before, we're both secure about our friendship. Whenever we see/speak to each other, however seldom it may be, we still connect! We still finish each other's sentences. And hey, we've been friends for almost 25 years now (There, there. Now you can guess how young I am *wink wink*)!

We (Nimfa and I) met Irene I think about a year later. I'm not quite sure how I met her (Irene, sweetie, if ever you see this post, please help refresh my memory), but the only recollection I ever have of meeting her for the first time was that she and Nimfa were classmates in school. And oh yes, she was definitely a part of the siesta sneak-outs. That would make the three of us at that time (smiles). We'd laze around a monkey bar (we called it the 'gymnastics') not too far from our homes, revealed each other's secrets there and dreamt together. We've harbored our friendship roots way too deep. This girl’s a one tough cookie. I personally think that of us three, she was the one who really went through with a lot...and survived. With that, I admire her for her determination.

We may be living our own separate lives now (Nimfa is happily married and a fulfilled mother to a 5-year old smart boy, while Irene is based in Manhattan, NY finishing her studies), but we sure agree on one thing: that no matter where we are and where life would take us, we'll be the best of friends.

Love you, guys.

Getting cold feet

Literally.

Temperature out here has gone down remarkably over the past couple of days. Considered cold for a tropic bred. Been wearing my toe socks (Manuel calls them the funny socks, but Vincent thinks they're scary, especially when I wiggle my toes! Ha-ha-ha!!!) to sleep lately. I own three pairs but among those, this is the pair that I seldom put on. Unlike the other two, this one's lengthier (way up knee-high) and warmer. Built for winter (I used to wear this stuff back in Belgium). Guess these socks will be at work until the next month or so.

Looking at a brand new haircut

I believe by this time, most adults "in touch with their inner souls" may have already done some reflecting about their own version of life in 2005, eventually arriving at a handful take of resolutions to their name. Vows that are either noted down mentally and then sincerely tacked on the corkboard; or scribbled in water. 8 days into 2006 and I'm just starting to look back.

[Sidebar: I'm not aspiring to become a drama queen here, but the succeeding sections of this post may sound melodramatic as I go. No big deal. Just a fair warning.]

2005 had been a very challenging year for me. A tough one at that, really. I was confronted with a battery of struggles that not just once put my convictions to the test. Many times I tried hard to beg off wrestling, but then again in the end, I had no other choice but to face the music that these challenges play. It's not easy to play along, especially when the rules get thorny. Fortunately, I somehow managed to get by and well, here I am. Still alive and blogging :)

Although I've had my share of regrets, looking back now I realized that there will always be one or two scraps left that are worth the taking. If there were only three things I'd value about last year, that would probably be one of them. Possessing such misgivings inspired me to reinstate within me the importance of forgiving oneself (which is by far, one of the hardest things for me to do), and then when equipped with penitence, change for the better...Easier said than done, huh? But like what I've said, it's worth my two cents.

Above all, I am grateful for EVERYTHING -- every single thing that has come about in my life last year. Despite my shortcomings, God has blessed me just the same. Incredible relationships tied, witnessing my loved ones' dreams materializing, my academic drive (go graduate school!), my bedroom renovated (about time!), learning how to cook leche flan...I can go on and on. Basta. I am just thankful for all of these.

I don't know what's in store for me this year. I've got my partial list of personal goals but am not posting it here (hehehe). For the meantime, I'm sporting a new haircut. That's a good "head" start.

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 ;)

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

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 :-)