Some musical notes.

Okay. So, realistically, what have I been up to? Besides my day job (which is just half-a-day’s work) and the one day I need to actually be present for a class, I’m oscillating between planning a student conference, reviewing for a major exam and spending my nights reading. But, a night ago (or yesterday morning depending on how sleep tells me to look at it), I dug into my parents CD collection to look for songs and artists of my childhood who were forgotten or shelved when adolescence came rolling by. Sadly, a lot of disks have been lost along the way. If they weren’t lent or borrowed (with “indefinitely” written on the library card) then they must be somewhere in the house but not here. Recently, mom did some cleaning of her own and believe me, the way she does it, it’s always spring! She filed the disks and placed them in plastic boxes to be stored in an empty cabinet in my room. I would have protested the need for shelf space or actual closet space (since my one tiny closet is already bursting at their proverbial seams) but I cautioned against it because I knew that she was keeping something good here…something that would matter to me more than I could possibly imagine as a child growing up with my parents’ favorites.

Recently, on the drive back from Baguio, a friend of my parents gave them Yusuf “Cat” Stevens’ album An Other Cup. Since it was just a copy of the original, the car stereo couldn’t handle replaying so we had to play it once then keep hearing the songs over and over as we stopped along the way. Three songs into the disk mom and I had fallen asleep but on the second turn of the disk, I woke up to the sound of my dad singing along to this:

It’s a strange song for this album and it’s a cover too but anyway, dad was singing in his not-so-shy voice…I listened quietly, smiled and went back to bed. Some minutes later we stopped to have a meal and I told my dad that that’s how I remember him as a child…you know? In the car or in the darkroom with loud music playing and him singing along to whoever it was he was listening to. Of course later on I would discover that he was accompanied by The Doors, Cream, Jeff Beck, Gypsy Kings, The Beatles, etc etc.

At first he wasn’t amused and got defensive saying that it was the one track on this Cat Stevens album that he actually knew but mom was quick to say, “Yeah we get it but we like it when you sing along.”

And I really, really do. I also like being alone to listen, dance and occasionally sing along to these songs I grew up with knowing deep inside that even when my parents are long gone, it’ll be easy to think of them and their presence through music.

Then I started thinking really hard about all this. I thought about all sorts of music that I’ve learned to love. There’s a tradition you learn at home that keeps getting fed by more and more influences as you get older and when I finally went to sleep yesterday morning, I was in high spirits, swimming in the enigmatic cello playing of Yo-Yo Ma (whom I vowed to see live one day!) Then throughout the rest of the day I thought about classical music and how I didn’t really like it at first because I thought it would be rigid…so rigid as say the first piano teacher I ever had who kept telling me I got the notes wrong. But then I listened to it…it was everywhere! In Tom and Jerry (whose entire repertoire consists of dialogue-less antics and sublime musical accompaniments), on the radio as an adaptation and jingle, in my mother’s humming of what she didn’t realize was Bach before bedtime. There was so much music around and it became increasingly difficult to suppress it.

In high school they tried once again to rigidly “educate” us. We were forced to record onto little tapes various classical pieces in order to familiarize ourselves with music that I then thought I had already known…since I heard it everywhere. Yet we had to endure the sitting and the memorizing. It was silly of me to think it silly then because now I have an extra silly look when trying desperately to find those silly tapes. After high school, the silliness was replaced with a dogged sense that these things ought to be appreciated because they could disappear from our collective memory altogether. I mean seriously, at the rate we listen to other things (equally catchy and fitting for our generation), we really run the risk of losing this wonderful musical tradition that knows no bounds when communicating all sorts of emotions. I remember watching that award-winning film Okuribito a year ago or so and thinking, “Wow! The cello really adds so much depth to an already deeply moving film.” Then as I kept thinking about all these things it dawned on me that all sorts of music and not just classical music is in danger of being lost to us forever.

There’s another film that helped me realize this. It deserves its own post, really…and perhaps a greater audience other than just myself and a few friends in this country. It’s called Luminawa and it’s about those lovely people I met in that brief sojourn in Kalinga. Manong Sapi, whom I’m tempted to call Manong Mumu (to allude to his being like a spirit), loves to talk about how music can carry traditions and build bridges between peoples. What better way to take this all in that with Tito Mannix playing the guitar and singing? It was all very powerful. So powerful indeed that before he left, he sung one last set and I cried. Who knows why we do such sappy things anyway? I mean seriously, crying? Over a song? But yeah, we cry because something in the music is so compelling.

Maybe apart from dancing I should add a musical instrument or singing to the mix? It won’t make the neighbors angrier than they already are but it will make sense in the greater scheme of things to have some sort of way to engage this wonderful, wonderful world that suddenly becomes a wee bit more alive because of both the music we bring to it and that which is already here sustaining us.

(Quick note: It’s 4:40a.m. and I’ve been up all night listening to NPR’s Tiny Desk, endlessly clicking from one Youtube video to another…here’s a tiny set of what’s moved me so far.)

Auspicious Suspicious.

Once in a while, great things happen and its usually when we least expect it. I woke up on 11-11-11 thinking that my friends and I would just eat out or do karaoke in one of Baguio‘s side streets. Instead, we climbed a mountain. As you can see in the image above, all three of us girls with the exception of our male friend here, have relatively little climbing experience. We’re also wearing our usual gear with accompanying bling bling which climbers are advised against. At this point, we don’t know where we’re going and how far the walk is. All we know is that we’re visiting a friend (of our male companion) who’s an elder to say hello and ask him for advise about a ritual conducted weeks ago. This photo was taken at the foot of the mountain. Behind us is a bridge that leads to the tollbooth of Kennon road.

Twenty minutes later, you can view said tollbooth and marvel at how close you are to the sky. I took this after passing a hedge which gave me the illusion that we weren’t so high up anyway. Rule number 1 of climbing is to never look down but of course, I break that rule every time. I’m just glad a patch of sunflowers kept me from seeing past it to the ground below.  Speaking of sunflowers, this is the wonderful narrow foot path that was lined with them:

Narrow is an understatement but as you can see, the line leads up to more inclines which made the entire experience quite memorable. That gray slope was the site of a recent landslide and while I managed to walk a few meters ahead of my troupe, I hesitated to cross because I was sure to fall. Our male companion tried to teach me how to do it but half-way through this slide, I felt the ground beneath me slip, the rubble started rolling down the slope and part of me forgot for a while that I could have slipped as I watched these pebbles roll down. As a result, my friend had to carry all three of us (!!!) through. In an action known to the Ilocanos as uba (pronounced ub-ba) which means to carry on one’s back, we were moved from one footpath to another.

I still can’t fathom how people can manage to walk through such walkways without seeing images of their creator but oh well, different strokes for different folks. We reached the summit some thirty minutes later so all in all our climb lasted less than an hour. The man we were supposed to meet had us over for roughly an hour. We spoke for a bit then later found ourselves enjoying a bowl of clear chicken broth with rice. The chicken was cooked in the typical style of the mountain people which involved some mild beating of the chicken with a stick to promote blood clotting. After slicing an artery on its neck, the blood is then allowed to drip. The chicken is dressed then thrown into an open fire to a semi-roast. After it is half-cooked, it is then placed in a pot with water and turned into soup.

We ate in darkness with only the fire of the make-shift stove to accompany us. It illuminated our faces and in this light, I understood why our friend, the elder, was met with such respect and admiration by our companion. The lines on his face might have betrayed his age but the creases they made when he laughed convinced us of his sage-like nature. If images of God abound in the earth, I was certain I was staring into one of them.

Night came for us and when it was time to leave, we all decided that it was better to take an alternate route going down (as the dangers of passing that tiny landslide were high). The forty minute climb up the mountain turned into a three-hour walk down. By the time we hit the road (as in the actual road), we had already watched the moonrise and could see Baguio at a distance. We had walked all the way to the road leading to Philex mines. This might not seem to mean anything but a quick look at Google maps will show just how crazy that trek was.

Would I do it again? Of course!

The Great Ifugao Banana

Eating bananas is more fun in the Philippines. The taste is unique and not bland like those sold in Western markets. Something else ought to be noted about variety and size. There are small, finger-like bananas and huge ones (like the one above) scattered throughout the country.

But last year, on the last leg of a northern adventure, I found myself in Banaue, Ifugao sampling a variety I could not eat alone. Just look at the size of that monster! I would caution anyone against having too much of this lest your poop turns hard as stone on you.

Perhaps I’m over-sharing. It’s just that I’ve been sick for a while now and mom’s been playing doctor by prescribing bananas left and right…and well, I was hallucinating for a bit because of the meds thinking about a super-banana that could save the day and voila! The Ifugao banana might have done the trick.

And maybe even the great outdoors? I can’t wait to be on the road again.

Page 6 of 366.

I wonder how long the Twitter folk can keep up with this “book of life” thing. In any case I’m just glad the year is being viewed like a book about to unfold.

On day six I’m pretty revved up! The past days have been physically strenuous. I’m slowly recovering from all the 2011 demons that decided to have a field-day: cough, colds, sore throat, sore eyes…where’d they all come from? Mom’s convinced that I partied too hard last year but I said, “well, so what if I did? I don’t really regret all those sleepless nights (though my body is in a state of heightened protest and I won’t blame it.)”

The plan now is to buckle down and finish things beginning with papers (always the papers) followed by applications for career development. I’m being very cautious about plans because I don’t want to jinx them. Let’s just see, job-wise, where the winds of change and capitalism take us, yes? Thomas Merton recently shook my senses awake when I read a portion of his Care of the Soul. He spoke of work and said:

Whether we do it with mindfulness and art, or whether it takes place in unmitigated unconsciousness, work affects the soul profoundly. It is full of imagination and speaks to the soul at many different levels. —- In this sense, all work is a vocation, a calling from a place that is the source of meaning and identity, the roots of which lie beyond human intention and interpretation.

It’s true isn’t it? If there’s one thing I’m really considering this year it’s being able to do soul-forming work that nourishes the spirit however zen and trite that may sound. Few people enjoy their work and even fewer get to do what they like so I shan’t waste my one opportunity to do things right. [Spoken after having been possessed by the spirit of a new year!]

But boy do the days fly! It’s the sixth already! In a quarter of an hour it will be the seventh and hoolah, another day begins! For January the line-up is as follows: Applications galore, deadlines, yoga in the mountains, another trip to the beautiful North! There’s also loads of paperwork, checking and easing of leftover bad vibes from last year…but all in all, I’m full of gratitude and excitement.  Let’s hope the optimism lasts up until the end of the year.

2012.

Welcomed the new year alone on the dance-floor with family elsewhere either in someone else’s house, watching fireworks or being an ocean away. I’ve never been so far away from them and yet so near. Love doesn’t require distance but fondness is accumulated in their absence. Needless to say, I enjoyed welcoming the end of the world and mid-song, mid-swing I remember thinking, “hey, if this old world decides to end, let it for as long as we’re dancing!” We stayed up all night. The parents followed and we all had the first breakfast of the year at Andoks on silent Session Road. It was magnificent.

Photo by Boy Yniguez.

And I was definitely happy! Welcome 2012!

Out with the old, in with the new.

Dear 2011,

You were worth every minute of every day and I’m glad I stayed awake for most of your hours. Thank you for everything.

love, light & trust,

Me.

It was a quick year in that all of a sudden it was nearing a close and jingles were being sung in anticipation of Christmas. Despite the maddening rush and the rate at which things sped up, I must admit that I’m more amazed by the amount of things that got accomplished this year. I’m used to measuring my days in terms of to do lists and I worry a lot–just because time seems to always run out. But if anything, this year has taught me that time is just a medium, it’s the happenings that count for the actual history we remember. That’s the marrow of life.

Naturally, I am grateful. These are the things I’ve learned in the past year:

1. Stay rooted, remember but grow. I began last year with a deep and loyal love for family. Recalling memories and bearing witness to those I’ve come to know have always been recurring themes of my writing. Mostly, it has to do with those close to me and how I was raised by them but I’d like to think that beyond that, it has to do also with this constant need to stay firmly rooted so as to grow. This year, I was spared from attending as many funerals as the years past and while I’m grateful for this, I acknowledge that perhaps the purpose was to use the year to remember and to keep those I lost alive. But I cannot live in the past and truth be told, I always feel like the person I was a year ago is no longer the person I am today. To that I say, great! Move on, get growing.         
2. Money won’t buy you a life and neither will working if the goal is just to earn money. If I could do without money and all it’s stress in my life then I would gladly shift to the old ways of bartering goods in exchange for what I need. But if that were so, it wouldn’t really make a difference, right? Because we’d be worrying still. Money is just a means to put value on things and whether we trade using actual currency or the currency of gestures, we’d still end up placing value on things and worrying about how much we ought to exchange. In that respect money might not be evil but this year, I nearly broke down trying to earn it. It was good in the beginning because work is close to the soul but as the days went by, I accumulated enough jobs to keep me at work longer than the usual 8 hours per day. FOR WHAT?! Sure, i bought a heckload of books and ate what I wanted to eat but for the most part, I gave up the one currency I needed to savor life, enjoy my food and read my books: time. You can’t buy love, I know but if I could I’d rather buy time. Sadly, that ain’t for sale either. So, I’m only working to earn what I need. Greed and the need for speed are no match for the joy of actual quality time with the ones who matter.  
3. The answers can’t all be found in the books but the questions (which matter more) will only surface if you read and read and read. I spent most of the year reading. I’m very proud of this because truth be told, life would not be what it is if I hadn’t read to begin with. How many times does conversation get saved by that story we all read as children or that opinion shared by another which we can both disagree on or agree to disagree on? How much more exciting has it been to visit places carrying ones own eyes along with memories of others who have trod these paths before? It’s all written about and the world gains color through these stories. We just need to read and be present to it all. We also need to process which is why this blog was born in the first place.
4. Mistakes are everything. Be surprised! You don’t really know what qualifies as a mistake until you realize it to be one but hey, whether it’s good or bad, it’s all a surprise, right? So step one ought to be, stop hating surprises! Life’s one giant surprise anyway. Step two would have to be, make mistakes happen by making actual decisions! I’ve put my foot down so many times this year, it’s been quite exhilarating. You just have to do it and if things turn out badly, well, get up and go. It’s worth it to have the scars, blisters and all.
5. Adventure is just another way of saying YES! This is pretty close to my heart. I’ve spent so many years longing to go on adventures just to learn time and time and again that adventure just means saying yes more often. Have that conversation with a stranger, go out with your parents when they ask you,  make time to see friends, be open to having new ones. The benefits you reap are beyond that which you could have imagined. Stay in touch but most importantly, just say yes!
6. Having dreams is a sign of continued trust in the universe. So, dream good! I’ve written about the things I hope for but only in the language of dreams. What do I want to do? Who do I want to be? Whose footsteps do I follow in these long and winding roads? But each of these questions lead to answers that have proven that 1) I’m happily alive and naturally curious and 2) I haven’t given up on the world just yet. Holy moly, that really makes a great big difference! When you look forward to life instead of cower in fear of it like I used to before. Sheesh. 
7. No risk, no happiness. Just do it! It’s similar to saying yes but it’s a bit deeper in that for the most part, decisions involve risk which we can easily set aside for easier, less challenging options. Our goals eventually get watered down and we drown in the comfort of the familiar until it hits us that we’re lost at sea with no islands in sight–and I’ve been there, in the middle of the ocean. It’s quite frustrating to swim toward nothing, or to swim at all when what’s left is just the bottom. But risking and choosing to do what we must because of who we are is what will keep us afloat, alive and kicking! It’s also what will take us from our shores onto others and back, not quite the way we were when we had first leaped. Risk is everything so risk everything.
8. You can’t teach/learn abstinence but you can be responsible. Personal, again but true for the most part. Risk doesn’t mean stupidity and abstinence isn’t the answer to all of life’s problems. Just that because…
9. Have mentors and learn to appreciate them for all their greatness (that’s firmly rooted in their humanity). The second part’s the more important part. I’ve had mentors but for the most part, people can let us down. We can also let others down and every year I battle constantly with the reality that i can’t seem to stop getting people to lose faith in me. But that’s part of life. Duality. You can only be great if you can fall every now and then because what is greatness anyway but another day of deciding to be better at things than we were yesterday? But faith in those who teach us well goes a long way and having people inspire us to be better versions of our true selves is worth more than the combined salary of all the shrink’s out there! Be inspired, find a mentor, be grateful, live fully. Repeat.
10. We can’t always get what we want but we always get what we need. Like it or not, I might as well admit that sometimes I get very lonely. I think about all the things I could be doing and all the people I could be. I think about falling in love and why I’m not as adept as others at getting relationships right…all these insecurities and all these wants that are created by them keep haunting me. But when I really think about it, I may not get what I want but I always get what I need. When I could have been a research assistant, I worked at my former high school and learned how to appreciate students and live history instead of just reading it. When I could have been completely focused on my studies, I edited a magazine and tasted true accomplishment that came directly from hands-on experience. When I could have gotten my MA load done, I taught English, quit then went on an amazing two-week adventure living on a backpack and still smelling nice! That’s a real achievement (for me at least). And when I could have settled for lousy love, I opted to say no and wait. We might not be together with the one I want but we’re good friends and who knows if he’s the one? He may or may not be…what is best for him is best for me. The point is: this, where I am, this is what I need.

2011 being the year that it was remains one of the most memorable and rich years of my life. It was a good way to cap off the decade that just passed and it was a great invitation to jump-start a new one. So, yes! Here’s to this brave new year! And to all you dragons out there, let’s make these days count!   

 

 

 

Love, Light, Christmas.

My mother is an expert at putting together the best Christmas trees. She starts sometime in November and the process is laborious. Though one could easily dismiss a plastic tree as something trite and false, I urge you to look at this one and tell me you don’t feel Christmas…

It’s quite possibly my favorite holiday but I shan’t admit it because I’m always emotional during this time of year. I try to be spiritual about it and couple my faith with my feelings but instead of reflecting on a child being born on a manger, I mostly end up thinking about family and how much joy this season brings us. I don’t always look forward to it because we aren’t always the best people but year after year the realization is the same: where would we be without the people who love us unconditionally?

This in essence is really what Christmas means to me. It’s a lovefest that isn’t cheesy or dull but real and full of opportunities to be better lovers. –Incidentally, I’ve been thinking about children recently and marriage (which is odd)…I will be pushing thirty in a few more years and for some strange reason it occurred to me that I don’t want to be too old when I raise my children. I want to have time to know them and be with them and strangely, the biggest revelation this year is that I really really really want some kids. Shucks. I also want to be married, to have a family of my own and a husband to sleep with and wake up to everyday of the rest of my life. Someone I can tell stories to and listen to after tucking the kids in bed…I don’t know why I resist these feelings. Part of me thinks it’s a matter of being responsible and living life without regrets. I want to see the world before being “tied down” and I want to achieve certain things before raising a family but boy, sometimes I see myself baking cookies and reading to fictional children and I can’t explain how happy that makes me feel. I’m also extra thrilled at the possibility of having a child be born through me. It must be such a wonderful thing.

I only wish I could be half as good as my parents are at raising children. And I also sincerely hope and pray for the kind of love my grandparents had. That’s the only thing I’m willing to settle for. Everything else is pretense and will most likely account for nothing. But anyway, love and light this Christmas. That’s all we’re about, yes?

Errands.

Sleep has been so tempting recently. The cool breeze plus the lulling sound of trees dancing outside my window have added hours to an already extravagant 8 hours of sleep. In effect, I’m partly a zombie but my mind’s surprisingly awake.

I disappeared into a bookstore in Cubao two days ago and came home with a bit too many books for the shelves to handle. One of the tomes that came home with me is Thomas Moore’s Care for the Soul. I was just reading about family two hours ago then I saw this photo posted on my tito’s FB wall. Now I have to run off again on errands. life’s a lot of errands lately but only because it’s Christmas.

Hold that thought, I’ll be right back.

Love letters.

I cannot explain love that is a mix of admiration, adoration and astonishment. Neither can I talk of knowing as a supplement of love since I have never met Ray Bradbury. He’s old and going blind but he has an incredible spirit which I feel inclined to tell you about since it rouses me sometimes. In the murky depths of sleep I am sometimes summoned awake by the Foghorn. Its sound is so piercing that I’m often left staring at the ceiling for many hours until dawn decides it’s time to work. Who knows why this happens? Perhaps there was something in the writing or in the stories themselves that made me more human–more attuned to the rhythms of daily life and more in touch with my own voice. It was Bradbury who taught me presence in a way most gurus could not. He introduced color and texture into my life after he had taken notes from his own life and drawn them out in pages and pages of fantastic stories. His experiences were not unlike ours. In fact, he might have lived a slightly more boring life compared to explorers or vagabonds out there who make adventure a lifestyle and yet, I am more taken by his words than by theirs. He is lightning personified–a quiet presence deeply felt and while seemingly clouded by the thunderous response to his writing which cast him up as a famous writer, he is still very much the light more than the roaring sound.

In most cases the people I look up to let me down which is why I am careful about keeping idols and following mentors. Only few have proven themselves worthy of the title and there is nothing more painful than looking upon someone with deep respect and admiration only to have them reveal that it is all an act–a tedious script involving smoke and mirrors that reveal nothing of a person’s truth. I am afraid of this because I also know how powerful great teachers can be at influencing my own actions. The deeper the reverence the more difficult it is to be objective and as in love, I’ve fallen for these idols so many times that the altar on which I’ve placed them has been chipped and broken in many places.

Yet, careful as I might be with mentors, some just happen to etch a deep inexplicable yearning in me…it’s midnight in the city and I’m awake thinking about an old man who resides way past the tropics and is being wizened by age but who refuses to give in because he knows (he’s always known!) that to live is forever and forever is a long time. I don’t know if he gets lonely, he probably does. I just hope somehow that my longing and my deep affection for him might warm his nights and ease his pain.

I also have to write this all down every now and then because I know that when life does cease in him, a big part of me will die.

Signs. Signs. Signs.

There’s a reason why the word reflection is used both to describe the image formed when you look into any mirror-like surface and when you recollect yourself through thoughts. There ought to be some explanation beyond my own observation but I’m pretty sure the meanings are linked and that one word carries a resonance too difficult to look past. Again, this is all about signs.

This is Tito Mannix. I’ve written about him once or twice before but always with a slight hint of distance. The explanation for that has to do with relationships and how they work in the Filipino sense. We know our elders but we maintain distance because they aren’t meant to be our friends. We respect them and respect can often place people very high up on pedestals like relics. He’s been Tito Mannix forever save for that one morning years ago when we walked through Baguio in December to take photos. He said to me on that fateful day: pay attention (see?) to the light. I have since then but the significance of his advice isn’t made manifest until recently.

It’s all in the name: He is Emmanuel by birth and in most other walks of life, he is known by this name. Yet another key sign. Emmanuel comes every Christmas. We know this. He is bearer of light and carrier of hope which incidentally but purposefully also describes this man I’m talking about. He is tired in this photo but even then there’s something about his presence that makes me feel alive and at ease. Two things that normally don’t occur simultaneously but do when he’s around. I have many more images of him but this has to be one of my favorites.  And just because I’m all about signs tonight, guess what happened to roll by a few minutes later…

Jeressalen (the taxi) waits next to San Miguel and I crack up instinctively. I’m pretty sure if this is a lady’s name her parents must have thought she would be a boy. They were probably going to call their baby Jerusalem but when she came out it got switched to Jeressalen. Essa’s prolly her nickname and she owns this taxi line which she named after herself. Who knows, right? It’s completely plausible.

But this (the names and all) strikes me because once, when I asked another friend how to begin putting together items for an altar he said, you have to start with what you grew up with. Start with what you know and love. Here’s a great reminder (SIGN) for that. Lesson number two would have to be (and I quote George what’s-his-name who sang this song): You’ve Gotta have FAITH (and Keep It Too). Sing it with me?

p.s. This was breakfast at 3am the night that we caught Joey A. We were all tired but hungry so we had pizza and pasta at Volante. Still a great way to cap off an already incredible night. I mean seriously, I’ll drink only if I get to eat nomnoms after. And the silliest thing happened to my lens when I accidentally flicked it with an oily finger…

It’s called a happy accident and voila, wave at our motley crew. They brave smoke and sleeplessness just to walk through the sleeping city and give people like me epiphanies worth living for.

But again, it’s all about that word: Reflection.

Om Sunset om!

Om shanti om. This Shanti Mantra is borrowed from Hinduism. They are normally chanted at the beginning of rituals and prayers as a way to remove obstacles. Listening to them being sung and finding my own rhythm with which to recite the mantras is still yet to be crossed out of my must do list. In the meantime there are opportunities like this one when the sun forms a perfect O and you hear the vastness of the universe chant peace to you and you alone. It sounds selfish but it isn’t meant to be. It’s just that sense that sometimes I’m in touch with something greater than me. I’m sure everyone else in the car during this trip heard it but like most meaningful moments, we shared this one in silence.

And this sunset was yet another omen. Yet another sign that good things were about to transpire. How often is the sun perfectly placed upon a copper sky? And how often does the universe chant peace just so you’d listen?

Lesson number one (which I learned in retrospect while looking through these photos) would have to be: Pay Attention. Listen and Stop Talking. I have trouble with this one because I like filling voids with noise. I like when laughter echoes but if you’ve ever heard the abyss you’ll surely hear all of life in one beautiful sound. There ought to be words for that one other than “beautiful sound” but just as that thought came I decided I like the hymn of nature better than the words man uses to describe it. Nature has a fullness to it that our words can often lack.

In any case, I’m rambling. Here’s an Om Sunset Om! The first of many OMens. For some reason the sky was so attuned to the workings within. I got consistently good sky in my camera. But that’s another story.

To begin.

We arrived in Baguio in October. No plans were definite except for one: Joey Ayala was performing at Ayuyang (a local bar) and we were set to catch his set. This photo was taken long after the music had played. I’m seated on a stool with my shirt up and behind me, Kawayan is working some magic. Next to him, standing, is Hasslehoff who gets his name mostly because he is quite a hassle to be around. He tried to pick me up that night and foolishly told me that his favorite book was Coelho’s Alchemist. I’d have believed him but upon prodding, he conveniently lost all thoughts about the book or his work for that matter. I think I must have swallowed my vomit and laughed simultaneously because that whole night I had a bitter taste in my mouth which stood out and it wasn’t because of beer. My favorite line from Hasslehoff is that he left Sagada but before leaving he was to be “initiated into the tribe.” I wanted to hurl expletives at him after hearing what he said. My blood boiled at the thought that here was another white man calling my people natives, indigenous, tribal—like time and an expensive education had taught him nothing. He’s here to earn a buck, capitalizing on our identity and selling us as exotic just as a means for him to act as a middle man, earning enough but destroying too much. I never want to see him again because I’m afraid i might not keep my mouth shut. Here’s one tourist I really really want to send home. And here’s one man I definitely don’t imagine sharing a bed with. Maybe if he said it was Gibran’s Prophet and not Coelho’s Alchemist that was his favorite, I would have thought twice. But as it is, I’m only joking. He doesn’t deserve anybody’s time. People like this must be put in their place. You cannot buy the art of our people and romanticize them as exotic in order to gain profit. You just can’t.

Having him around to watch and be so close to my bare skin made my feel somewhat uneasy but I was comforted later on when I saw what had been drawn on my back. Kaws mentioned something about it but we had all been too noisy and busy to hear what it was. My other friend told me it was something about living a good life and being happy.

I believe in that. I would also like to introduce you to my birthmark which is that white triangle of a splotch in between the person’s face. I suppose that’s the 3rd eye and my birthmark only  appears because alcohol tends to bring out my color. That night, I had second thoughts about taking a shower. Part of me wanted to run to the nearest tattoo parlor and have it inked because really, it’s a beautiful and meaningful piece of art. But not yet, this can wait.

In many ways, that night was a good omen. It was a premonition and when the music filled the room, the yellow lights dimmed and everyone huddled together, quietly and slowly. Most of this last trip up north had this feel to it. We were fueled by soul music played and sung on a tired guitar but boy, did it roar when coaxed. The songs were mostly folk for obvious reasons but I’ve learned that the heart doesn’t really reject that which feels right anyway. It welcomes the good and the true. That’s what it’s all about.

life plans.

When you wake up to this one morning and realize that you can live your life the way you want—what should you do? Do you crawl back to your sorry existence and mope over how much better life could be? Or do you consciously acknowledge that there is a way to attain said life?

I’ve been oscillating between these two decisions ever since I left school. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was I wanted or needed but a few weeks ago, I ran off for the weekend, stayed at a friends house and woke up to this.

That’s when I knew exactly what had to be done. Now I’m just hoping the time is right and things fall into place. When they do, I’m opening a small bottle of gin and tossing the first tab to Kabunyan.

Soul in the wild.

A woman’s issues of soul cannot be treated by carving her into a more acceptable form as defined by an unconscious culture, nor can she be bent into a more intellectually acceptable shape by those who claim to be the sole bearers of consciousness.

- Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run with Wolves.

This is what it’s all about–the absence, the longing, the silent sabbatical. It’s breathing space and some room I’m giving myself to occupy my own skin. These past two weeks have been immensely meaningful. There have been dragons in the sky and flying buddhas worth a story or two but as of late, the journey hasn’t been completed. I have to heed the signs and return to the moon when it is most auspicious– 11-11-11.

Excuse me for being cryptic, my dears. Part of me wants to begin telling the story of the past two weeks but another would like some more silence and a bit more road. So I’ll listen and let be.

Looking at Lindsay.

This is Lindsay. She’s 19 years old, shy but wonderfully certain that photography is her passion. I just met her three days ago. She’s traveling with my tito and taking in the experience of being here through a series of beautifully rendered photos. Today, we went off on another adventure. This time we went walking around the port area taking photos of people, places and things. Manila is always worth the photograph and in the car yesterday she mentioned something about the light here being so much better than the light at home. She’s based in Melbourne with my tito.

The funny thing is that I’ve always looked at people taking photos elsewhere and thought, “Gee, these pictures are incredible. Why isn’t the light back home like this?” Yet, in the car last night and while reviewing the days images, it seems like light everywhere has the same potential to be wonderful.

But in some ways, she’s right. Light in Manila really does look spectacular. There were also different sorts of conditions today–the humidity, the sunlight and this downpour of rain gave each of our shots some real depth.

It’s really the company that’s worth keeping though. We walked up a storm and took all sorts of shots but today, this is my money shot. It’s the one that made the hairs at the back of my head tingle. She’s so beautiful and this light makes her look so radiant–incredibly enough, in real life, she’s exactly like this…but she doesn’t know it yet.

(She’s also incredibly photogenic and she has bright blue eyes which you can’t see in this photo above but whoa, isn’t she stunning?)

p.s. Looking at all the photos from these past two days is making me want to revive the photo-blog I put up last year. You think it’s worth doing again?

 

Cultural Excursions and the Spoil-arium.

So, someone’s back from the world at large and he’s got a new project! The angel series has been completed and he’s now set the wings down and replaced them with a full astronauts space suit! The test shots look breathtaking and while I’ve only collected a mere twenty of his angels (that need framing, btw!), I’m already visualizing what the walls of my future home will have on them! It might be good to start collecting early. I just wish I make enough money to buy what I want. So far, none of them are too expensive and I make it a point to buy only what strikes me…but I’ve just noted that so many things strike me. Yikes!

In any case, I’m quite pooped. We were out all day today and we did all the cultural activities starting with Tito Mannix on the piano (as seen above with his reflection cast upon one of his angels). We headed out to Binondo, Quiapo, National Museum and then Manila Hotel for a book launch. So far so good.

Too exhausted so more stories in the next few days. In the meantime, let me introduce you all to my father, his friend Mannix and Luna’s Spolarium.

Now isn’t that a great tableau?!

 

Leave.

And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn’t it?

It might be time for you to go. It might be time to change, to shine out.

I want to repeat one word for you:
Leave.

Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn’t it? So strong and forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don’t worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed.

- Donald Miller

I really hope he is right because from now on, I’m taking his word and planning to leave.

Itchy and aching to begin.

Bright sunny day today felt like everything I needed and more…seemed to have let my entire life plan slip but the more I think about it, the better I feel. The only plan i have left now is to empty my shelves and raise enough money to buy that ticket to nowhere. Nowhere’s a wonderful place in between all other destinations—the strange thing is that, in my twenties, I feel quite settled. The comfort of a routine, the constant pull of home and the monotony of my routine has dulled all my senses. I feel like I’m 5o already and I’m rarely excited. Sad, right? There isn’t anything redeeming about my current feeling and sheesh, looking at my resume awhile ago made me think, “gee, is she wasting her time or what?” And do I really want to be an academic? Do I really want to write academic papers and teach all my life? —-If anything I just hate feeling like I’ve wasted time and resources. I want to bring home the diploma so my parents won’t stress over the year spent in school. I want to make them feel like they’ve invested in something worthwhile but to be honest, I don’t feel like I learned as much. I’m just happy to have met the people I went to class with and I’m incredibly grateful to have had such a wonderful set of profs (like Bobby and Sir Millard.) Other than that, well, I’m worried about breaking my boss’s heart. How do I tell her that I love her for giving me all the chances in the world and placing me in a list of faculty she plans to send to Europe? In the same breath, how do I tell her that I don’t want to go to Europe to be in a classroom?

How do I explain myself to everyone? Do I even have to?

A week ago I told mom that work was worth it because I get to save in order to do things I really want to do. She asked me what I meant and when I said I really, really want to travel she frowned and said something along the lines of: that’s not really a dream or if it is, it shouldn’t be yours. The day after that, in the car, the dj was greeting teachers and telling them that they were heroes. I wasn’t really paying attention until dad called out to me and said, “Anak, hindi ikaw yan.” (Child, that isn’t you.) He laughed out loud while I held back the tears, looking out into the perfect calm of the city on Sundays.

I’ve never been so sad and itchy for life to begin. I think it’s time to finally get going. We aren’t getting any younger and the more I stay, the less excited I get about the future. –Now how do I do this? Can we start with Jennifer Egan’s book? Been dying to sell it. Any takers?

44 sunsets for each of the 6 classes.

My mood ought to improve but in the meantime, this. I began reading it again after using it for class. Read chapter 20 out loud to my students and only now realized how deeply this book has affected me. Complete book notes and literary shiznit will appear here shortly but first I have to survive this week…and stop crying.

Last exam day today. Returning papers tomorrow, collecting projects. Last actual day of teaching World History was last week…tomorrow marks the last visit to the third year classrooms. On Monday it will be as if nothing happened these past three months. Hoping to fly out early but we shall see.

In the meantime, this. Apparently my deadline isn’t on Saturday as expected but tomorrow. Too tired to work but it means so much…I can already feel the void my students will leave in me. Walking feels heavier than usual. We carry the weight of so many worlds in us sometimes.

And really, this is why mom says I shouldn’t have pets. The world feels that much emptier when they’re gone. Oh well. Moo.

I don’t agree completely with this image from The Little Prince. In fact, when I’m sad, I abhor sunsets. Something about them heightens my loneliness and gives it an actual depth. I’m not good at goodbyes or endings and most of all, I’m tired of all these sunsets.

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