Almost the end of sem

UM, MESL Program, 2012
Various photos taken by Sophie, Isai, Farhad, me

With one paper to go (due tomorrow!) and three exams left (that's for the first 2 weeks of January), the semester is nearing its close. There were many new friends made- acquaintances who, in the course of four months, had become people to hang out with, i.e. the three Chinese girls Sophie, Yan, & Luna who are making me realize the misconceptions I had about China, Iranians like Farhad and Elham whose presentation on the Iranian education curriculum remains one of the major eye-openers of the sem, pretty Thai girl Ang who I talk to about boy(friends; ours), shopping, and Thai food, local Adi who has kept me abreast about certain social dynamics in Malaysia, and the many many others who are not in that frame (like Rimi the Nigerian, Ali from Pakistan, and another local, Sara).

I learned a lot from the classes, too. Perhaps more on those when they've been wrapped up.

When the sem started, I was sort of regretting the decision to go. Something had just started and it was back home; at that time I was unsure leaving so soon was the smartest thing to do.

But, see, 4 months later, I didn't really lose any of the things I feared I would. On the contrary, many things were gained, i.e. new survival tactics, adjustment amo, second language learning approaches, etc.) Life has expanded, maybe not exponentially so, but there's expansion there, by at least an inch (or two). :)

Day of rest.

In the midst of all the finals craziness, decided to take it easy today and it's amazing how 12 hours can stretch:

• Hiked
• Had a good kopitiam breakfast w/ Karen and Geok Swan, my hiking-buddies & housemates
• Went to Daiso (tell me, is it possible to get out of any Daiso store in any country empty-handed?!) & found me some tamago-cooking implements and a leatherette-bound notepad
• Got some envelopes
• Restocked on groceries
• Watched one Dr. Who (bagong bisyo! Amy Pond is my new girl crush. As for Dr. Who, well how Brit and adorable can one get?) -- one, just one, else I want to stare at my final papers going down the drain.
• Tried my hand at Herbed Chicken Soup - something like my ama used to make. It's definitely not as good as hers; it doesn't even come close -- but perhaps that bowl was a start?
• Squeezed in some time to do the laundry & talk to the boyfriend

Quite a mundane list, I know, I wanted to jot them down to remind myself how blessed I am that I still got to find time for things like these in spite of life's hecticness. Plus, I also just entered my 30s and have probably spent all my money in the bank to get some education. Nonetheless, I want to celebrate these simple, joyful things I still get to enjoy.

Now, I think I'm ready for some work-work and schoolwork. Students and final papers, let's get it on.

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. 

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"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.  

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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: 

Ted Arroway, fictional father

Why was he shaving at night, when no one would know if he had a beard? "Because" -- he smiled-- "your mother will know." Years later, she discovered that she had understood this cheerful remark only incompletely. Her parents had been in love. 

- Ellie Arroway, Contact, Carl Sagan 

This Father's Day, I sound off Dr. Arroway's thoughts in Contact- I'd like to think Papa is also somewhere in space, listening, perhaps sending soundwaves.

Happy Father's Day to your dads. :)

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. 

Now about heart ouchies

After giving my nephew some chocolates, I told him whatever he's had was enough because he has a toothache. He told me, "But I eat on the right side because my ouchie's on the left."

When did he become such an expert on handling ouchies? And what about ouchies of the heart? Curious what he'd say, I told him, Achie has an ouchie here (pointing to that area around the thoracic cavity), what should I do?

Enzo paused and then said, "Um... I know! You let him rest. And then you make him fat. And then, you make him wear eyeglasses."

Oh, wisdom from a 5-year-old. So, about those spectacles...

A spring-tinged note

From "happy random thought," I think I'm now ready to transition to the idea* that lingers. 

Cherry blossom photo taken at a park in Gifu, Japan, 2008

(*Hopefully the kind that's wonderful.)

Manny

My dapper dad working his dancing shoes, circa the 70s

"He was stylish and charming. He wore bell bottoms a lot and made ladies swoon." - Tita E.

A couple of years ago, I met Tita E. by chance while I was manning my tita's tiangge booth. She was a balikbayan on vacation and did work that involved providing humanitarian assistance in conflict areas. She had a chirpy personality and a radiant smile. Eventually, we got around to swapping names. It turned out she worked on a project in Quezon with my dad in the 70s. And not only did they work together according to her, my dad made her ligaw! I joked that she could have been my mom. 

This is my favorite photo of my dad (no one could tell me who the lady is, though). I think, around this time, Papa was doing work that he seriously loved. This. This is proof that some endeavors are worthwhile. 

A snapshot of papa as a brother, son, and citizen

Today marks my dad's 17th death anniversary. A post to remember him. 


From a letter by my uncle dated January 2003:

(...)

During that summer vacation, our class assignment was to write an essay, "What I Did Last Summer." Manny did my homework. When I returned for my grade VI class, my essay was judged the best. But I was so embarrassed to myself. I vowed that I will always do my own homework, no matter the outcome.

After high school, Manny went to college in Mapua and got his B.S. degree in Chemistry. But he would always come back to Lopez for vacation. There were many times he came to see us in Siain - to bring us fresh clothes, food and allowances and to bring back the dirty clothes for laundry. After our high school, Manny enrolled Auntie Pina and me at Hope Christian for Chinese school and me in pre-Med at UE. We all lived with Albino above Seng Lee Hardware in Alonzo Street. That house burned down; Manny was able to save his slide rule and some chemistry books but not much else. Albino got married and we all moved with him to Nagtahan Street in Sta. Mesa. I believe he was working at Seng Kee Hardware at this time. He then went back to Lopez to help with Awa and Papa in the copra business and he also started teaching Chemistry in the college there. One time, I saw this book "Magic with Chemistry" in Goodwill Bookstore, so I sent it to him. Every year thereafter at the College Science Fair, his magic tricks with chemical reactions was the most popular show there. He was involved in so many activities in Lopez and was very well known there he had so many godchildren (mga inaanak). He was also involved as a coach in the summer basketball league. I believe he was still in Lopez when I left for the US in 1973. I did have a very difficult time for many years in the States. Papa (your Angkong) died a year after I left. I changed addresses several times, I went to Canada and back to the States. It was a dilemma deciding whether to stay here or return to the Philippines. As I was preoccupied with my own survival here, I had limited communication with Manny. But I do remember everybody wanted him to return to Manila; he was just too talented for a small town like Lopez, that the future's brighter in Manila. I wrote him a letter to that effect, and also I asked him if he was interested in coming to the States. But he was comfortable in Lopez and was reluctant to leave. Eventually he did. As you know, he was later appointed Vice-mayor of Lopez when Cory Aquino became President of the Philippines. I returned to the Philippines in 1987 after many, many years of absence. Then Awah got sick and we all had to attend to her until she died in 1992. I was working on getting reacquainted with Manny but it was not to be. His life was cut prematurely by an aggressive cancer caused by tobacco. It was one of my greatest regret that I did not have the opportunity of more time with him. But I do have many memories and fond recollections of Manny that I will cherish forever.

All of these came back as I related them to Mr. Sy. We had a long conversation on the phone.  He was so glad he spoke to me and was relieved to know his friend is now in God's Peaceful Land. As I sat the phone down, I started writing this letter because there is one other person beside Mr. Sy who needs to share these memories of Manny. Memories define us, memories give us strength and purpose. You are not just our niece whom we dearly love, you are also our memory of him. It is for memories the reason for shrines, mausoleums and museums. It is for memories the reason for Bahay Tsinoy - to remember the struggles of those who came before us, to define who we are, to resolve, to face the challenges before us. It is for memories why we are going back to Xiamen, it is where it all started for us. 

God Bless from your loving 

(signed)

Uncle Torry

Along with a few memorabilia I have of my dad (his Jaycee identification card, his unused passport, a notepad), I keep this letter to keep him alive. In moments of panic where I fear that I have already forgotten his voice or that my years of being without him have already outnumbered the years spent with him, I take out his things, look at his handwriting, and then I take out this letter and try to splice myself within my uncle's words.

And I love that not only does my uncle's letter paint a pretty accurate portrait of his brother's several sides, it also captures what he (a sentiment shared among them siblings) thought about their origins, homeland, family, and how important these are to them (common among 2nd generation migrants, I think). A few months after he had mailed me this letter, my Uncle Torry took me, my three aunts (Claire, Anita, Feliza) and two younger cousins to Xiamen, Awah (their mother/ our lola)'s hometown. Eight years later, Uncle Torry, Auntie Claire and I went to Burma to meet Awah's sister's descendants.

Of course, it's also a never failing reminder of why they took me in after papa had passed (of which I will be eternally grateful for). :)

The safest place

Today marks my dad's 17th death anniversary. A post to remember him. 

The arms that could protect from loud firecrackers and the voice that could silence any fear;
with Manny on a NewYear's eve, some 25 years ago

Ysa's Boracay Wedding + the One

Second month into the year: instead of being a snob about it, this blog is jumping on the February bandwagon by celebrating l-o-v-e (but the kind that's not limited to the romantic one + I do have good reason to celebrate this word, i.e. love being one of my two words for 2012).   

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Wedding Setup (photo by Jay-jay Lucas)

Last June 2011, I was in Boracay for the wedding of one of my bestfriends, Ysabel. It was kind of a big deal to me for a number of reasons: Ysa and I grew up together, it was my first time to be a bridesmaid, and it was something we had planned for about 3 years. Countless YMs and emails have been exchanged in the name of this occasion. (Another minor reason for the excitement was the fact that few of my friends ever get married, so, though I love that my overlapping circles are not in any rush, hey, it may take some more time before an occasion like this one comes along again.)

Deezezit! (photo by Jay-jay Lucas)

Two days prior to the actual date, it had been raining non-stop in Manila and Boracay. So, after 2 years of not seeing each other because they're based in Canada, I would hug an Ysa for the first time at the airport crying like she was my 11-year-old buddy because the weather was threatening to be a downer. What did I do? After the hugging and the reassuring, I cried like an 11-year-old girl with her, too. There we were at the waiting area of NAIA 3 sniffling like two crazy, PMS-ing women. That was also how my first real-life meeting with Tim, the hubby-to-be, went.

As you can see in these photos, contrary to predictions the weather turned out perfectly. Ysa and Tim's big day beat the odds, parang tunay na pagibig lang (naks). The sun came out and the skies were clear and everything else about that day (the preparations, the ceremony, the food, the entertainment, etc.) flowed smoothly.

Bungisngis kisses (photo by Jay-Jay Lucas)

Fast forward to today: this beautiful wedding has turned into a happy marriage of 7 months. One insight that I would often glean from our frequent chatting is how serious marriage really is. It doesn't compare to dating, even a long-term engagement would probably not hold a candle to how real a marriage is (a possible exception could be your good ol' domestic partnership). That cliche about the wedding being just one day and marriage being something you work on for a lifetime? Totally true.

Why do people get into it despite the legal hassles and the statistics? For a number of reasons, I guess, like hormones that lead to cute little, uh, accidents, peer pressure, filial duties, fulfillment of a responsibility as a partner, security, etc. when in truth, the one reason many of us would like to have is just plain old love. Finding, meeting, marrying the one. I have always been somewhat suspicious of this concept, but recently Ysa and I have stumbled upon another reason why Tim is perfect for her and, together with this, arrived at an epiphany about what being the one could potentially mean. I must admit this made me just a little bit more hopeful. Ready?

Tim and Ysa (photo by Jay-Jay Lucas)

Ysabel is gorgeous. She's a mix of Spanish, Chinese, Filipino and descends from a lola who was once a 1st runner-up in the Ms. Philippines pageant. She's funny and classy and smart. Something about Ysa though: she has always been passionate about dancing and tennis.

So, the other day while we were talking about life, we segued to discussing the recent Australian Open. She was telling me about Nadal, the different kinds of tennis courts, tennis rules, etc. and then she tells me how good a tennis player Tim is, that when he was in high school someone actually suggested that he go pro. Lightbulb moment.

For someone like Ysabel, it's not really a big surprise that she would find someone kind and attractive (it helps that she has wonderful taste, too :p). But kind + attractive + loves to dance (Ysa's family is a dancing family, any guy with two left feet would stick out sorely, awkwardly. Tim outdanced everyone, except for the bride's father, at the reception) + good tennis player: now, what are the odds of landing this particular permutation?

Maybe this is what the one or that gift from above could mean: that this person will fit perfectly into the tiny details of your life and will not look awkward relative to your quirks. As my friend Turtle would say when talking about the concept of katuwang: walang sobra, walang kulang. 

A Luang Prabang Wedding

Stumbled upon this Bob Nicolas video shot in Luang Prabang, Laos. Do watch because it captures what's enchanting about the place. (Really, Luang Prabang is a honeymooners' dream. Imagine getting married there.)

Shots of the Mekong, the prayer ceremony with the monks, the literal "tying-of-hands," the heartfelt speeches; everything looked like a dream. <3 

Because chaos is part of the balance

To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life. 

Ketuk, Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert

*Turtle, if you're visiting, this one's for you, too. ;)

The Gospel of Chanel

There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time. 

Coco Chanel

Midori.

“Waiting for the perfect love?” 


“No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortcake. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortcake out to me. And I say I don’t want it anymore and throw it out the window. That’s what I’m looking for.” 


“I’m not sure that has anything to do with love,” I said with some amazement. 


“It does,” she said. “You just don’t know it. There are time in a girl’s life when things like that are incredibly important.” 


“Things like throwing strawberry shortcake out the window?” 


“Exactly. And when I do it, I want the man to apologize to me. “Now I see, Midori. What a fool I have been! I should have known that you would lose your desire for strawberry shortcake. I have all the intelligence and sensitivity of a piece of donkey shit. To make it up to you, I’ll go out and buy you something else. What would you like? Chocolate Mousse? Cheesecake?” 


“So then what?” 


“So then I’d give him all the love he deserves for what he’s done.” 


“Sounds crazy to me.” 


“Well, to me, that’s what love is…" 

From Norwegian Wood, Haruki Murakami