New space

Four months later

Moved into the corner space of our shared area. The "flags" on my desk are various paraphernalia- a Ms. Bertha postcard, my favorite photo of Papa, Bali coffee from the Last Row Traveler, a show catalogue from the National Visual Arts Gallery of Malaysia, a "Sherpa Award" from my previous work. Various books, a board, notebooks, gadgets, a thermos. Things to remind me of work, family, friends, art, &, somewhere tucked in between, love.  

The thing about occupying spaces, i.e. decorating them, putting up personal stuff, is that it makes you feel like you've come home. After 4 months, it looks like I finally "signed" the contract to what was previously just a temporary shop.

No impasse, jose.

We don't always get what we want, but I'm through feeling hopeless and just trying, trying, trying. I'm standing up, dusting the sand off my skirt, and just choosing to live with joy & thankfulness. Yea, sorrow and despair, take that and go walking. Scoot.

Status: Away

Been in KL for more than 2 months now. I think I'm entering that phase where I so badly miss my friends (my default coffee-dinner-travel buddies, my 0.5 twin, my #solidtotheus team) and boyfriend. My heart aches for Quezon City. I miss our no frills home cooked meals, my aunts and nephew, being around. And then there are the Metro Manila activities: the theater and music one gets to enjoy, which is never lacking in Manila.

Universe, please be kind. It's November, too.

Get a yes and work for it.

In real life, you decide you want something and you work yourself into the ground trying to get it. You ask for what you want, you get told no, and you ask some more.

Meg Keene 

Heartbreaks

Dear E.p.,

Because I remembered not to long ago, I was on that path, too. I just want to tell you:

There's no way to get around it but to face it. That is, deal with it by submerging yourself waist-deep in its murky waters, where I do pray you will find the grace to move amidst the discomfort, to get up while crying when you fall further in ditches unseen, to push through even when your bruises and scratches seem to pile one on top of another.

It will get ugly, miserable, painful.

It will never be fair.

It will not make sense.

And it will feel like the pain  won't end and whatever hope you see is but a tiny glimmer far, far away in the horizon.

I know, I know it may seem fiction at this point, but the good news is, the ugliness, the misery, the pain-- they do end. That little ray of hope peeping out? It is real, as real as the hopelessness you feel today. And you just don't know but by facing the murky water, by wallowing in the ugliness, by moving, you're inching your way there slowly.

What I've learned from this network of sisterhood I found myself connected to when I was swimming in that uncomfortable ocean: that it is possible to handle things with grace. That amidst the discomfort and the impulse to just give in to the easy, it is possible to cling on to that tiny shred of dignity and emerge with your self intact; that it's no piece of cake, but it's always worth it when you choose yourself over the boy. He's just passing through, Ep, but meanwhile, you will always have you.

I love you, Ep, and if I can keep you from all this discomfort, I will, but it's your journey -- and no journey is ever wasted, whether it's the first class kind or the most heartbreaking hitch of your life.

You will get through this, I promise. Just remember that along with letting things get ugly are conscious decisions you have to make for yourself, in the name of self-love. That, too, is real, you know.


Love,
Me

These are the days of spring when the sky is filled
with the odor of lilac, when darkness becomes desire,
and there is nothing that does not wish to be born;
days when the fate of the present is a breezy fullness,
when the world's great gift for fiction gilds even
the dirt we walk on, and we feel we could live forever
while knowing of course that we can't. Such is our plight.
The master of weather and everything else, if he wants,
can bring forth a dark of a different kind, one hidden
by darkness so deep it cannot be seen. No one escapes.
Not even the man who believed he was chosen to do so,
for when the dark came down he cried out, "Father, Father,
why have you forsaken me?" To which no answer came. 

(4), "Poem after the Last Seven Words," Mark Strand

To view the complete poem, click here.

October

Because Manang Pagong asked, here's my mantra for the month:

Steven Bonner, via jellylondon

Or, more like "(Work and) Achieve,"

Steven Bonner, via jellylondon

"Marathon lang yan," is what I need to remind the self. And so we must keep the pace for the long distance run going.

Signs that say you're probably adapting

1. You begin to find shortcuts, navigating building after building to get to where you're supposed to faster, no longer under the scorching heat of the sun which tortured you when you first arrived. You being to walk under covered roofs and navigate the terrain indoors.

2. You've built your own instincts -- no longer insisting on crossing the road on pedestrian lanes out of caution. Because you have started building a relationship with that street, making it with each passing day your street, you no longer look to the traffic light to say "it's safe."

3. Your taste buds have started to acculturate, you begin to crave for chilis and spices which have previously intimidated and you begin to understand, and even welcome, their concept of "breakfast food."

4. You start to tolerate certain smells. This is trickier: you can shut your eyes and down stuff with water, but how do you deal with culturally-offensive smells? When your insides no longer secretly gag and protest, perhaps you have most likely achieved a certain level of adaption?

Welcoming richer descriptions

Love is vivid. I never wanted the pale version. Love is full strength. I never wanted the diluted version. I never shied away from love’s hugeness but I had no idea that love could be as reliable as the sun. The daily rising of love. 

-- Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

 via Book Mania 

I always thought it was an either/or proposition -- the hot and passionate type vs. the cool, comforting/ comfortable one. Surprise, surprise: love is more multi-dimensional than I had given it credit for, and for this, I'm grateful.

Trees.

Taken in Guimaras, 06.2012

We're all just trying to survive here. How pompous to think our concerns are of greater immediacy than a tree's. How haughty to think our presence are of bigger significance than this plant who has struggled against varied weathers, climate changes, political rulers, and persisted.

Here's to movement.

Three years later, another move.

Of the uprooting recently encountered, I have...

1. Fought the urge to just quit and run back home.
2. Struggled with homesickness, daily and by the second.
3. Found myself saying that the difficult can sometimes just be really difficult.

But no one forced me to move, yes? And so by hanging on, I am relearning that

- One can live with the contradiction. One must. You can embrace it, even.
- The world is big and there are new people to meet, make friends with, and new places to go.
- Expansion is waiting around the corner and with every step, with each hustle, you make your way there.

2012 from side A to side B

Hearing Cookie sing, you let go of the sadness of memory. You find that these songs, these voices, are now just about you: they are now just yours. 

"Women. Freedom. Rakenrol." by Katrina Stuart-Santiago

A rakenrol start, as Katrina's article puts it. 


While some gigs save, there are those that remind you you're okay right where you are. That things are not perfect, but they are good. Perhaps they will get better and it's not because of some change in your external circumstance but because you have allowed yourself to undertake that process, the one of reclaiming. 

---

"Paglisan" has always been one of those enigmatic songs of my 90s youth- I've always found it to be beautiful and haunting, but never really fully understood what the lines "Kung ang lahat ay may katapusan/ itong paglalakbay ay makakarating din sa paroroonan/ at sa iyong paglisan/ ang tanging pabaon ko/ ay pag-ibig" meant. 

Because I've always thought love is expressed in the choice you make between staying or leaving, what did the song mean when it talks about a journey's eventual end? How could you send someone off carrying love, mean it and not be a martyr to self? I've always thought love and indifference equaled the polarity between presence and absence.

Now I understand better. I think "Paglisan" is a litmus test of adulthood. Listening to Cooky Chua and Lolita Carbon sing a duet of the song, I drink in every word and feel my way through each line. 

Di mo man silip ang langit/ Di mo man silip/ Ito'y nandirito pa rin. 

Sa pagbuhos ng ulan/ Sa haplos ng hangin/ Alaala mo ay nakaukit/ Sa pisngi ng langit.  

Di man umihip ang hangin/Di man umihip/ Ika'y nandirito pa rin.

Because ultimately, that thing we do- love- is an act that is of our own choosing. It's ours to give and ours to feel. However it may turn out, we're forever changed by it, as the cliches would say. How it affects the other party is really none of our business. 

That journey after is your own. I take comfort in the sentiment in the chorus- that the journey will reach its intended destination. And when you can think about that person and no longer throw imaginary darts their way, despite the hurt or how everything unraveled afterwards, when you can just say thank you, acknowledge how they have changed you, and wish them love, you may be headed towards freedom. You don't have to get there today, but one day you will. Because as with love, how we break is also of our own dealing.  

---

Thank you, Ms. Cooky Chua & Lolita Carbon for the gift of that night. Thank you too, Bayang Barrios, Gary Granada, & Cathy Go for making it even more stupendously awesome to the levels of papano-pa-kaya-mapapantayan-yun? 

---

Update: Turtle just uploaded the video she took of that night. Do give it a click: 

Revisiting the blogging question

Why do you blog?

This was a question thrown my way by Elephanj on the way home from Guimaras.

I was sort of taken aback because I haven't thought about this since re-activating the blog roughly a year ago. The confession was last year has been a game-changer of sorts. A lot of things were happening that blogging became a refuge from and a way to keep track of all the changes around me. While the description for this blog reads "Travel and all those other things in between" most days, it feels like it should really be written in reverse, i.e. "All those other things ...and traveling."

To me, "Blogging" is no more special than posting notes on Facebook or Multiply. It just feels like having one's own room instead of staying in a cubicle among many. It's a tool, really, for keeping in touch with friends who are away ("away" could anywhere from Las Pinas or Las Vegas) & a storehouse for those events and mundanities I'd one day love to look back to. It counts as a real treat, a blessing if you may, that this blog helped form friendships that transgressed the boundaries of the web (say hi, won't you).

I think after a year (& that last ma-drama episode by the beach), the world is less crazy. So perhaps this blog needs a new focus? On my wishlist (subconscious, listen up):
1. More art & travel stories
2. Stuff geared towards thoughtful tourism (a MeetManila advocacy) or responsible traveling
3. Music in Manila

Hodgepodge. I like the hodgepodge. :)

little checklist: how to live

1. Celebrate the ordinary (thanks, Turtle, for bringing this to attention).
2. Keep a collection of places you love and revisit them; they will always have something for you.
3. Reclaim yourself as often as needed.

Floating along and swimming

The weekend that was:  the sea in my dreams
Photo by PJ Christine

Twice this month, I dreamt about the sea. In the first dream I was with a group of friends and with this group was a boy who used to matter a lot. We were in an upscale-looking resort house with a veranda that overlooked the ocean. The waves were quite ferocious, crashing against the walls of the house, but keeping their distance. In this dream's narrative, though the boy was there, I was more excited to dive in and swim.

A little backstory: the water & I, we have a love-hate relationship. Nearly drowning as a kid has made me pretty tense around the water- i.e. I know how to swim, but I won't dare go in without any life vest in heights I can't reach on tiptoe. Since snorkeling ranks as one of the top two things I most like to do, this has always been a wee bit frustrating.

In dream no. 2, I was on a small plane. For some reason, the plane had to go through a deep curving tunnel. When it did, a flood of sea water came rushing. With the approaching waves, the aircraft's powerful turbines did a ninja move and blew the water away. Our plane managed to fly out of the tunnel safely.

In both dreams, I saw the same clear, green water. Even with dream no. 2, it inspired neither fear or panic.

The weekend takas
Sometime last week, I stumbled upon a pretty shattering piece of news. Granted that it was probably the little kick in the shin I needed, it still hurt. Good thing Turtle and her friends from her MA classes were bound for a nondescript beach in Ilocos Sur and were welcoming enough to accommodate tag alongs. If I stayed in Manila, I knew I'd probably unravel and, just like that Postal Service song, that's when we'll explode/ and it won't be a pretty sight.

On the bus, I was thinking how I would just mope in one corner and drink myself silly once we got to our destination. I was planning not to talk to anyone. Figured it was a good time to "meditate" (yes, yes, I know alcohol and meditation don't really go together).  

But as all beach trips go, things took a different turn. For one, Turtle's friends were a wonderful bunch. Bogarts na funny at smart, ang hirap magmukmok.

After a quick stopover in Vigan where we had some empanadas and did some grocery shopping (the next sari-sari was quite a distance from the beach), everyone was put in high spirits because the "nondescript" beach turned out to be a really great place to escape to. Fine sand, bright shining sun, and complete seclusion (it was just us and the fishing community). The only blight was the uncomfortable stinging we got from the invisible jellyfish milling around the water. But given the choice between a cool hut or a smelly bar, I'd pick the jellyfish anytime as companions for my somewhat broken heart.

After dinner, I sneaked off, alcohol in a glass, and cried myself silly to Turtle.

#Hope
The morning after, I woke up feeling exhausted but okay. And this water (see picture above), was waiting. Could it be the sea water in my dreams? And unlike in the previous day's bluish and gray sea, this water's jellyfish inhabitants went on their own holiday. There was little stinging for my companions and me. Yay!

The water, the sky, the deserted beach: it's what my hungover head (& weary, once-stubborn cardiovascular muscle) most needed. There's never an easy fix when it comes to dealing with heartbreak. Sometimes the only way to get through shit is to go through it and be shit. Do yourself a favor though: arm yourself with people who will look out for you and who won't take your puke or drivel against you (good thing my puke went straight to the toilet bowl).

Staring at the horizon that morning, the thought was that one does wake up, all appendages intact, and gets better. Not completely healed, not yet at least, but no longer as broken as the version of yourself that passed out drunk the night before.

Yoga in the water 
With that drama out of the way, the water transformed into a playground. Seven grown girls in the water- some were doing hand stands, others were beefing up on their basic swimming know-hows. To my surprise, I found myself treading. Wee! It was the first time I managed to tread successfully.

So comes the next part: unlearning the panic. Putting into practice the things I learned in recent yoga classes, I tried to study how my body behaves when submerged. I found tense neck muscles, head that could drop some more, stiff shoulders, and legs that got too agit when kicking.

With some breathing exercises and the mental note to relax, I tried to "let go" and be one with the sea water's flow. For starters, I practiced alternating swimming, treading, and coming up for air to breathe without panic.

I'm far from becoming an expert swimmer and I seriously need more practice swimming in deeper depths. The panic's still there, but at least we now have the awareness. The plan is to take it one relaxed baby padjak at a time and the same goes for this internal sh*tznit.

Anj, one of my bestfriends who thankfully also tagged along, taught me a word on this trip: maktub. It is a kind of claiming; a declaration of "so it shall be done." And I claim that I'll eventually arrive at getting to snorkel without a vest, skin dive and swim with the fishies, and surf freely. Maktub. 

Getting the Pun

Someone once told me:

"Sometimes, fate plays a silly joke on you and there's nothing you can do about it. Your reaction has already been pre-programmed: there's no room for complaints. The only thing fate wants to hear from you, at that moment, is laughter."

November's Child

Hyung Koo Kang's portrait of Marilyn Monroe, on display at the Singapore Art Museum

As mentioned in the previous blogpost, November was a pretty has been a great month. Yep, it did start with a bus holdap incident (please, Universe, let that be the last), which coincided with another affair that necessitated an eating binge to recover from (an Army Navy burger + blueberry pancakes from the Pancake House in one sitting, please, plus a cup of coffee shortly after), but then all these other things happened, too:

1. That Singapore trip which had the best timing (two days after the terrible day) and was just perfect in terms of what a good trip is:

• Four exhibits, which rocked in different ways: Salvador Dali, Hyung Koo Kang, the traveling Musee d' Orsay collection, and Amanda Heng. The last two were my favorites, the Musee d' Orsay being that once-in-a-lifetime chance to see canonized masterpieces in the flesh (while I don't have that budget for Europe yet), and Amanda Heng's because it so intelligently answers the questions that I have for/ about Singapore. 
• The National, live and then getting to write about it on Pulse.
• A pleasant hostel stay at 5footwayinn + meeting kind strangers and fellow travelers 
• Two very different hosts, who each took time out to show me different parts of Singapore, letting me get a peek at the touristy and the more local side of the country. 
• Food was great, walang tapon.

The gift that was this trip really allowed me to snap out of things I needed snapping out of. And the lessons must not be forgotten. 

2. A short fiction writing workshop.

3. As mentioned, a Pulse assignment on that National concert. View it here.

4. Catching a few good local gigs: an REM retrospective on Route 196 ("Murmurs and Fables") with Boxcar 8, a band specially-assembled for the night, the Strangeness and Your Imaginary Friends, a Barbie Almalbis show on newly-renovated 70s Bistro (it was also the first time I went to a gig alone), and a Techy Romantics pre-launch party/ video shoot at Republiq (which had a setup that's worlds away from the usual rock n' roll gig)

5. Conversations, conversations about abalas, synchronicity, bubbles, local art and the artworld, literature, tourism, womanity, and other what-have-yous with radikalchick.

6. A visit to the Met to see Picasso's Suite Vollard and also to visit former co-workers. Yes, that museum still feels like home and I continue to be in love with its space.

7. A surprise birthday salubong party thrown by the bestest friends in the universe who stuck with their plan, my leaking suspicions notwithstanding.  

8. Great co-workers who also threw good surprises - my pretty Cocoon girls and the spunky Training team (people kept surprising me, I wonder why.)

9. The discovery of hair serum (so there's a solution to frizz, after all).

What to look forward to in December? Nothing as concrete as the ones above (specifically items 1 and 2), but it's December and I'm in the Philippines! For sure, it's a month to be gaining weight and meeting up with friends. Oh, and my bestfriend/sister is also coming home after almost four years of being away. I plan not to leave her side til she flies back to Las Vegas in January.

Techy Romantics will also launch their second album on Dec. 9. Turtle and I plan to put our gig-dancing shoes on and be at Saguijo for that. Techy Romantics is a fun, fun band- perhaps there is space for romantics in this sometimes technologically-alienating world.

Art-wise (naks, art), I want to see the Chabet exhibit at the Lopez Museum and the Nothing to Declare exhibit at Yuchengco. I'm also intrigued by this play that's being staged by DUP with Jose Estrella as director.

Plans and possibilities are such wonderful words. 

Experiencing Magic

I've been fortunate enough to experience magic in this lifetime. What is magic, you say? Magic is different for everyone. It could be tangible, like a dream materialized, or intangible, such as a fleeting moment you will remember forever. Most of the time, it comes out of the unexpected.

To me, "magic" is when I find myself whispering a thank you to the Universe, a wow, or a now I understand. These are those once-in-a-lifetime events I will one day be telling/bragging about to my grandchildren and the very same things I will wish for them.

Off the top of my head, some of those epic experiences:

Magic from places I've been to
1. Seeing the Bayon Temple in Siem Reap up close for the first time. As blogged previously, Bayon was just magnificent, parang templong ginawa ng may pag-ibig (like a temple built with love). I couldn't help hugging one of the rocks and shedding a little tear.

2. Watching the sun set at the U Bein Bridge. The monks quietly crossing, a few tourists milling around taking photos -- witnessing the life of a very, very warmhearted community at a day's end.

3. Hiking the rice terraces in Batad/ the hike back from Batad to Bangaan. This was a trip that was 20 years in the making and I've dreamed of seeing the Banaue Rice Terraces since I was 7 (of course one grows up & finds out that Batad is the main event in the Cordilleras).

Mountains make me happy. I felt like a girl from a Miyazaki cartoon whistling along as she goes up and down the steps amidst the vast greens (must climb another one soon). :)

Falling in love with taste 
4. My first sip of sugar cane (with my dad; I was around 5 or 6), I knew the drink had the word "sugar" in it, but I remember thinking how the yellow green liquid did not taste exactly like sugar, although it was sweet. Every sip from the first time I had sugar cane was delightful and tickled something within. I think this was the day I became a believer of the transformative power of drinks (a belief that has obviously been applied to alcohol).

5. My first ever encounter with dinuguan. After picking me up from a kindergarten class, Rosie (my yaya of xx years) prepared this strange-looking "black" ulam for us. I was hesitant but trusted my yaya enough to take a bite. The first spoonful spelled out for me what masarap ("delicious") meant. A-HA. I finally understood.

From two sneaky encounters 
6. Kazu's laughter. It was late night in Fukui and I was staying over at my mom's, I was either chatting with a friend in Manila or downloading a show in the living room. My brother Kazu who only speaks Japanese so we don't really talk and spends most of the day asleep suddenly laughed inside his room, emitting uncontrollable fits of hyena-like giggles in his matinis (shrilly) voice. His giggles spilled over from his bedroom to the entire living room. If I can only bottle that sound, I remember thinking then because I knew a year later I'd be back in Manila. To this day I hear it in my head whenever I miss him.

If I could ask for superpowers (I want several), one of the things I'd request is the ability to remember & play in my head the laughter that people make, i.e. the throaty laugh that was Manuel's (my dad), the brave and loud fits that Cecille (my mom) indulges in, Froi's hagikgik, Turtle's loud HAHAs, etc.

Laughing says much about how a person embraces life, don't you think? In the movies at least, how a character laughs is telling of the role he/she plays.

7. A particular first kiss. We skipped some classes that afternoon, and this boy & I were chatting about something mundane (which, I'm sure, felt very important to our 18 & 19 year old selves). The weather was hot and humid, the kind that makes one feel a little sleepy. The details are hazy now, but I remember closing my eyes and then a kiss, and suddenly my world was spinning, it was nighttime, we were the only ones on Earth and I saw the planets align. Yun. Magic.

Magic could happen everyday, but you have to be sensitive to it. An out-of-the-blue text from someone you like is magic, but so is a flash of understanding & respect for what you do from your parents, partner, child. It's being on the receiving end of someone's kindness, much as it is when you are the one extending the generous act. Magic happens to you when you hear a song you so badly needed at a crucial moment or when you get inspired by something you see or read.

My friend Rach tags herself a money magnet (which totally worked for her, btw), and I've been telling her how instead of magnetizing money, I'd rather magnetize giddiness and magic in different aspects of my life now- spiritual growth, creativity, work, travels, and in my dealings with the people that I care about.

I think the coming "-ber" months will be interesting (September included). Bring the magic on, Madame Universe!

Care to share about your own magical experiences? :)

Hope

All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.                                                                                                    

J.M. Barrie