In a fitting tribute to GMA-7’s 50 years of excellent journalism, the network put together a montage featuring members of the media and stories of life in the Philippines over the past 5 decades. My mom and I chanced upon it this evening while channel-surfing and I couldn’t help but get emotional. I know that news is “just news” to many people and often, given the sorry state of our country, we’d rather tune out the news and distribute worry to those aspects of our lives we can control. I can understand people who feel this way because in the past five years or so, I’ve felt the same about the media in general. You lose hope easily in these times when the truth seems less black or white. Mostly gray isn’t good for one’s disposition and when truth can’t be determined, it’s easy to point a finger at those whose job it is to reveal it. In most cases though, I really just despise the people who conceal it because we’ve come to a point where it’s a little to obvious when people lie or cheat. The disillusionment gets compounded further when you realize that nothing can be done about these people or about the dogged search for the elusive Truth.
Yet, as I continued to watch that documentary, all the feelings that disillusionment erased came back in an eruption of recognition. I remember now why we marched in Edsa Dos. I remember the pride I felt watching Sandra Aguinaldo telling Sen. Legarda that she wouldn’t apologize to FPJ. For shame, I thought. Of all people to urge Aguinaldo, it had to be Legarda–this lady whom I idolized in my grade school days for being, what I thought, a great journalist. Perhaps she really was but as a legislator, I’m not so sure.
But the thing that really struck me was what Mike Enriquez said. It’s especially relevant to me because yesterday, I re-read my copy of F. Sionil Jose’s collection of essays entitled, “This I Believe: Gleanings From a Life in Literature”. Here he reminds us not to forget. And in the documentary, Enriquez emphasizes the need to be aware:
Sa panahong ito maslalong mahalaga ang maging mulat nang sa gayun hindi tayo naloloko.
Bagay kasi talaga. The words of Enriquez mixed with the writings of Sionil Jose really go well together. One invites us to remember our history, that gem that exists to constantly remind us of who we are and what we stand for, while the other calls us to open our eyes to our present situation so that we might be discerning in our actions and avoid being pawns of people who aren’t interested in our well-being.
I welcome these words despite the guilt I feel for not having done all that I can to be true to them. At least they still manage to awaken me from my stupor and thank God it finally reached this point! Justice is slowly becoming erased from our vocabulary as a people and if we can’t recognize that, I don’t know how else we’ll manage to pull ourselves out of this gutter were in.
Despite what everyone says about today’s news and the way its delivered, I still believe in the efforts of many to tell the truth. Both networks alike work tirelessly to bring us our news. I also trust that viewers and readers aren’t sheep who easily accept what comes with a “Bahala na si Batman” (trans. Leave it to Batman) attitude.
I only wish we remember our own history and the things we fight for so that we never have to fall into this trap of despair again. We are a heroic people, so says Mr. Jose. But only if we remember who we are.
The last time I remember being so wired from all the caffeine in my system was when I was in college preparing for an endless slew of exams and papers. You drink so much coffee to keep you up and hours later you find that your pee smells a bit like coffee too. It’s scary.
But today, I was equally wired. There were no tests except for this self-imposed need to read x number of books before the month ends. It’s been fun, really. You don’t realize how capable you are of doing something unless you set your heart to it and just go for it. So, that’s what January has been about. Mostly, it’s been about reading but beyond that, it’s also been about being a better person. (And taking pictures, ahem!)
January is only a month and its significance is only brought about by the understanding that years begin here and so, I guess, it feels more than okay to make resolutions and start new things on this month. Then again, as the month comes to a close, I wonder how I’m ever going to sustain this feeling of achievement if there’s only January to begin and all other months to maintain? It’s a silly thought but it keeps me up at night mostly because I know I’m a quitter. And this genuinely worries me.
So, instead of keeping tabs on January activities only, I’ve decided to re-write resolutions at the start of each month. Call it crazy but I read somewhere that ideally this kind of thing must be done everyday. We have to keep getting better, being happier and trying harder everyday.
And maybe that’s what helps keep the momentum in the end, you know? The fact that we frequently begin and scarcely end.
This week was a stretch. I’m down to one more book to keep my monthly regimen intact and given this superb hold of caffeine on my system, I think I’ll last. But I ought to stay away from coffee for a bit if I’m ever going to survive the year.
Today’s highlights were: seeing Gracie and finally getting time to talk and walking into D.M.’s wonderful office filled with books and being handed a set of readings so reminiscent of his classes! I think I would’ve been a happy Lit Major but then I know that my craving for politics would eat at me. I would’ve been a happy Lit Minor too but then again, Mr. Calasanz’s rejection of my appeal to credit D.M.’s third world lit class really put things in perspective.
There will be time to read after college (Annie Dillard, Notes to Young Writers).
Yes, ’tis true but for now, there has to be time to sleep also.
p.s. I saw Where the Wild Things Are yesterday evening and felt awful. I didn’t like it as much as the trailer. 
There must be something wrong with me.
Finally got Richard Yates out of the library! (Thank you, Jobo & Hi Sasha!) OMG! You were right about Yates! I saw him by accident but when I found the mustard colored spine that said “The Collected Stories of Richard Yates” I thought I’d cry! Two books in one! Plus other stories!
And that story, The Best of Everything, really tore the heart out of my chest. Hmm, I wonder, were you the one who put the hearts next to the stories? Dun sa table of contents? 
Hihi! Naughty naughty!
I found this on Tumblr yesterday. I thought the drawing was pretty cool considering how poorly I execute these kinds of things. Maybe this year I should try my hand at it again? But we’ll see. Drawing doesn’t seem to be in the current set of plans for the year. But writing and making a short film are. I opted to take two workshops: One for writing (which I’ll keep mum about because the themes are pretty embarrassing to mention–no, don’t worry. Nothing x-rated just a lot of heart-on-your-sleeve type themes) and another for film under the direction of Tita Marilou. I’m not sure if i’ll push through with film though because I don’t know if i’ll be able to afford it. But in any case, we’ll see.
Here’s to doing what we’ve always wanted to do, yes?
This is a photo of the late Jackie Fernandez Suntay and her husband Bobbit. Every time I see this photo I am reminded of how one person’s love manages to transform other people and bring hope.
Jackie died some years ago and though I had only met her a few times, her death came as a big blow. She was an opthalmologist and during the recovery period of one tough operation, she eased my mother’s worries when she found a doctor who continues to be my doctor to this day.
I met her once at a hospital. Then she got married. A few months later, she had cancer.
When she passed away, her husband gave life to their vision and established the Carewell Community. It’s a non-profit organization that seeks to provide support, education and hope for people with cancer and their loved ones. Just thinking about what those words mean makes me realize how important this work is. The Big C definitely changes life as we know it and despite the huge name that goes around all circles of life, it is the smallest unit that’s most always hit hardest. Cancer can make or break families. It easily leaves us bereft of all the hope we’ve accumulated throughout the years.
And yet, despite these realities (that I’m sure belonged to Tito Bobbit and Tita Jackie’s families, as well), the Carewell Community managed to come about. They continue bringing new life to those who thought there might not be any more life to live after cancer.
As they continue to grow, the dream gets bigger and bigger. I just came from a dinner they held to thank various people. My dad took photos of the Carewell Stars last year and they now hang in the cancer ward of the old St. Lukes hospital. But anyway, we were there tonight to applaud the efforts of Team Carewell. I hope you’ll find time to visit their website, see what they’re up to and find creative ways to help. Money is always a good thing but it isn’t the only thing. Invest yourself in a worthy cause. And here’s one in case you don’t have one yet.
Also, if anyone in your family is afflicted with cancer, please consider looking up the Carewell Community. They’re here to help and they know what they’re doing.
Finally, find hope and comfort in stories like this. Sometimes, it’s all we really need to carry on.
Ask me what it is that I miss most about school and I’ll probably tell you that it’s the library. So, today, I borrowed a friend’s id and borrowed books. Tomorrow, I;m having them photocopied and book-bound. Oops, piracy…’tis a monster really and if you read any of the Russians, you’ll most likely die of guilt! But honestly, I’ve been meaning to ask a serious question: How are we to be a thinking nation if books sold in this country cost an arm and a leg?
Over the past weeks I’ve been frequenting bookstores both old and new. Partly to blame is my sudden hunger for books but mostly, I just want to get out and not sit around too long thinking about all the fun I’m not having. So, to the bookstores I go and sometimes I’m lucky. I find gems that hardly cost anything and it’s without guilt that I arrive home anxious to peel its cover pages. Then, last weekend, I found myself in one of the flashier bookstores that boast mainly of books with pretty covers. I salivate for a moment while looking at beautiful hardcover selections then navigate slowly toward the soft-bounds until finally I find a book I really like, turn it over to see the price–then, it kills me.
Let me illustrate further. For Christmas, my beloved cousins gifted me with a 3oo peso Fully Booked gift certificate. I was elated and anxious to spend it. So, I gathered enough train fare and got to Cubao early enough to start looking. This was around 3 in the afternoon. At 7pm I decided that i was too depressed to go on with this harrowing task of looking. There are hardly any books that cost 300 pesos anymore. Not even the Newbery’s in the YA collection–those precious books I’d grown up with–are sold at a price you can save up for.
Needless to say, I settled for a copy of Love, Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli, added 25 pesos and felt so discouraged, I vowed to read the book in December. Hmph! (Honestly, the book itself might be better read then since its a compilation of letters Stargirl writes to Leo over the course of a year. To her everyday feels like an “unhappy anniversary”…ugh. Not now please!)
But on to my point: There’s always a great debate in this country about which language ought to be mastered (English or Tagalog), but let’s face it, our kids aren’t reading to begin with. Schools try their best but like most of you already know, things aren’t what they ought to be and to further augment the discrepancy, you have these ridiculous prices for books!
I also wish we had updated public libraries. I remember a few posts back when Elle told me that she had requested Alain de Botton’s book from their library in Singapore. Imagine my frustration?!
But anyway, all I can do now is rant. Tomorrow, I’ll go scout for the cheapest xeroxing + binding places there are. I think its about time I opened a little library here. I’m a little hesitant to lend books because they mean the world to me but I really wouldn’t mind lending copies. Now, if only the copying cost could be brought down a bit. Hmm…
Went out today to take pictures and visit the Solidaridad bookstore along P. Faura. I can’t wait for Mr. Jose to be back! Wish he would come home already! You should visit his bookstore! He has all the wonderful Filipiniana books and a whole lot of books on different topics. His fiction collection is also drool-worthy. Ahem. Thank goodness I had no money!
Off to shower then read a bit…will most likely post pictures too.
Have you ever read a book so poignant you find yourself making conversation with its characters who probably don’t exist? Oh but they do! Ricky Lee wrote them lives so captivating that I’m sure he’s talking about someone close to me. Maybe a friend or a relative? Sometimes I feel like its me he’s writing about so I stop to think and blush to myself. But most of the time, it doesn’t matter if I’m ashamed–this book was powerful beyond all telling!
The only thing that might prevent you from enjoying it is the strict notion that books written by Filipinos are either too lyrical and dramatic etc. etc. or, you might not understand Tagalog (or in Lee’s case, tag-lish).
I wasn’t supposed to read this. It was a Sunday evening when I went to National Bookstore along Katipunan hoping to find Calvino. His Invisible Cities began to haunt me and I knew I had to find my copy so I scoured all the bookstores I could find until I finally found one for less than half the original price! But really, when I picked up Ricky Lee’s book, I was devastated. It wasn’t Calvino.
But my goodness! This book! You must read this!
Here are several passages off the book:
- Limang love stories daw ang sinusulat nito. Me teorya daw kasi ito tungkol sa pag-ibig. Ito ang teorya ng Writer: Me quota ang pag-ibig. Sa bawat limang umiibig, isa lang ang magiging maligaya. Ang iba, iibig sa di sila iniibig. O iibig nang di natututo. O iibig sa wala. O di iibig kailanman.
- Noon muling naramdaman ni Lucas ang hapdi ng umibig ng walang kapalit. Puwede sana niyang piliin talikuran nalang ang sakit na ito at magtago sa kanyang mga sinusulat na kuwento, kung saan ang lahat ay pwede niyang gawing laging masaya. But he has too much integrity for that.
- …Lucas has been too self-centered in creating us. Nanaig ang lungkot niya kay Bessie. Hinawaan niya kami. He did not allow us to breathe. He imposed on us his theory on love. Isa lang sa lima? Ba’t hindi kalahati man lang? At the same time we also feel na hindi lang dapat love story ang maging kuwento namin. People’s lives are more complex than that…
Of course there’s more and the entire book deserves to be spoken of. The five stories are only a piece of an even bigger story–our own loves coming out of the pages. But in the meantime, while we’re still searching for the words, here’s Ricky Lee and his wonderful first novel!
Isn’t there anything that can be done? Just looking at these children who have lost everything makes me wonder how we can hope for things in times like these? Most of these children who were orphaned by the tragedy are being flown to the US in the hope that there is a better life there for them. part of me is happy to have people respond so quickly to their needs. Yet, I can’t help but feel sad knowing that they have to leave all that they’ve known. I can’t imagine a greater tragedy than having your country literally fall to the ground. I can’t imagine watching my countrymen become thieves and criminals either–all for the sake of survival. I really hope the people who can extend as much help to the Haitians. They need all the help they can get and their people need to feel whole again.
And isn’t it really a question of development that faces us all? Reading this article made me wonder a lot about why we can’t solve problems before tragedy strikes. This is always the case, yes? Remember Ondoy and Pepeng?
Hay naku. I’ve been putting off writing this because I figured that a few months after breaking up things would look different. And they do, I think…except last night. I was reading through Ann Patchett’s book, Truth & Beauty–it’s a non-fiction read about the friendship between Patchett and Lucy Grealy who wrote this book, Autobiography of a Face. It’s honest and painful, worth my time in the beginning. I like Patchett after all. But Grealy almost made me scratch my eyes out. IF YOU HAVE ANY INTENTION OF READING THE BOOK, STOP READING HERE BECAUSE I’M ABOUT TO SPOIL IT.
Lucy Grealy dies of an accidental overdose. Somebody please tell me what’s wrong with that last statement? Accidental overdose?! Seriously? And for someone whose book, classified as nonfiction, was meant to capitalize on the appeal to the human condition, Grealy seems to be another person entirely! I hate it when people aren’t who they say they are. I know I shouldn’t judge so fiercely. It’s just that when I first bought her (Grealy) book, I imagined a person close to my heart who understood the pain of living with a condition that was so physically evident. I thought she had learned a thing or two about the pain inflicted by others. In my mind she decides to be a good friend and values her life. Instead, the reality is that she was a horrible friend (at least if we are to believe all the Patchett writes) who died of an accidental overdose. Ugh. So I finished the book feeling severely betrayed and thought hard about a few things:
- A question of heroes comes up…are our heroes really flawed to the point of being frauds? Do we settle on our heroes based on one solitary act that really doesn’t define them as people? –The idealist in me is also a perfectionist (and often that makes me a tad bit hypocritical…but for the sake of this argument, let me just place this as a given) and so it’s difficult for me to understand how this can happen. How can an honest writer be such an awful person? (I feel awful just saying this.)
Anyway, after thinking long and hard about this Patchett-Grealy friendship, I realized something important. More than being in a relationship, I missed having a friend I knew so well. After reading about Grealy’s death, I fought the urge to share this ‘hypocrisy’ with Anton. He probably wouldn’t have cared if I called or maybe he’d be too busy like he always is…but you know, he would have understood how angry I felt over this. He would have known how to deal with the disillusionment.
And knowing you can’t share that with your person anymore is just tragic.
So I read something else. And that’s when I found the words to express all that I’d felt. In Nikki Alfar’s story, In the Absence of Eternity, this woman meets her ex after so long and invites him to her home. He plays with her son and counts from 1 to 10. The little boy always misses number 8 despite the attempts of his parents (they painted the numbers around their yard) to have him remember. Then, on the day that she has her ex over, he points out that a tree is sticking out, blocking child’s view of what is, the elusive number 8.
Cara shook herself out of her thoughts and looked–really looked–at the yard for the first time in ages. It was true. Somehow this tree had sprouted up out of nowhere in her perfect yard, right next to the wall, directly in front of the number Joel had painted there. She couldn’t imagine where it had come from, or how no one had noticed it at all this time. it was actually a rather attractive tree, but it had burst right through one of the flowerbeds, and completely obscured the number eight. And changed everything.
She could have it removed, of course, ripped out at the roots if necessary; but she knew, deep inside, that even if she did, nothing in her life could ever be clear or straightforward again.
-Nikki Alfar, In the Absence of Eternity
ugh.
Today was a blur! We had to be up early and go to the inauguration of the new St. Lukes hospital. I don’t know how I feel about hospitals that look like shopping centers or malls. Of course, in this one there aren’t any boutiques but the lobby feels more like the entrance to a hotel. I can’t imagine people dying there. I’m sure even the patients who are about to leave this earth will wonder how it’s possible to die in such a wonderful looking place.
But anyway, that aside, everything was a blur because I came home at 3am yesterday. Abi, one of my most awesome girlfriends decided to come get me. She was getting her tattoo fixed. I don’t know why but something about the folks at that Katipunan tattoo parlor really put me off. And of course, seeing Abi’s tattoo made me want to cry. It was supposed to be a red sun but for some unknown reason, it became a red blotch–the cigar mark, she called it. Tonight, she’s off to get inked again. All is full of love, written on the body. Amazing.
After our visit to the tattoo parlor, we had coffee and met up with some friends. Max joined us later on and we decided that we wanted grub so we were off to Maginhawa St., in search of an affordable midnight snack. The details are a blur as well but all I remember about last night was that we made a list of 12 things we were going to work on this year. It’s an awesome list that’ll deserve a story when we complete it. For now though, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
My night was awesome! How was yours?
It’s a Saturday where I am, the dark just settled in and I just woke up from a nap. Finally finished reading Edwidge Danticat’s novel Breath, Eyes, Memory. I don’t feel as strongly about the book itself because I don’t feel like the story grabbed me by ‘em proverbial ‘balls’…but I will say that some passages and the plot really felt close to my heart. The story is about generations of Haitian women and their lives. This book became dear to me when Oprah recommended it years ago. I thought it was just another black novel which is really a poor way to judge a book but in some cases, I just had to be weary because something about the other stories Oprah recommends just doesn’t appeal to me. Anywho, I regarded it as such and let it rest peacefully on my shelf. Then one day an earthquake terrorized Haiti causing the death of thousands of people. That’s when I knew that I wanted too read this book and see for myself what kind of people these Haitians are.
They are a strong people. Free, always free.
Ou libéré? Ou libéré?
(I didn’t realize until later that their language, known to them as Creole, was clearly French plus/minus some words.)
I come from a place where breath, eyes and memory are one, a place from which you carry your past like the hair on your head. Where women return to their children as butterflies or as tears in the eyes of of the statues that their daughters pray to. My mother was as brave as stars at dawn. She too was from this place. (p.234)
-Edwidge Danticat: Breath, Eyes, Memory
Mother was out today attending to her precious trees so I spent the day reading. Don’t worry, she doesn’t hate books or reading per se. She just thinks that there are important things one can do with so much daylight. I’m inclined to agree sometimes but today was book day.
Finished 84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff just as the sun set. I have David to thank for this. The cover page is personalized by his father’s note and as I reread this book about a 20-year correspondence between people who love books, I couldn’t help but find the dedication charming. Someday, someone will inherit this book and it will mean more to the owner to have known that this collection of pages had some history. It belonged to a boy whose father read it, went to the address in London and decided to keep that love of books alive.
The book is a collection of letters and there is also something to be said about being able to read letters and gain insight into people. Growing up, my sister was a fan of the Griffin & Sabine books by Nick Bantock. She took such a love for them and it was only when I found myself in her house for countless hours (for reasons I can no longer recall) that I stuck my nose into her collection and was changed forever. Nick Bantock’s art was what floored me! But I never would have appreciated it so much if not for the way he put it together. It’s really all about form also and not just inspiration.
Just thinking about this reminds me of Scott McCloud’s book, Understanding Comics. Anton introduced me to it but I haven’t gotten the chance to fully browse through it because it’s a computer file. Anyway , there’s a passage about creating comics/art that I find very much linked to this appreciation of books that are put together “differently” as in the case of Nick Bantock. I’ll look for it then post it here next time. Just thought to mention it because it talks about the different classifications of art and how we strive to be better artists by delivering a work that encompasses all categories. But alas, I still have to find it.
Hope you’re all having a great day!
I’ve done something a little sacrilegious so before the guilt sets in, let me just defend myself. I was in the throes of insanity counting the days pass while I remained stuck on Winterson’s Stone Gods. Stuck isn’t really the word for wanting to prolong the thoughtful appreciation of Winterson’s prose but I guess, the longer it took for me to finish (because of all those thoughts I had to write down elsewhere) the more fatigued I felt towards finishing the book. This is a brilliant book that you must read but I suppose you have to find the right time in life to read it. I was so taken by part one (of four) which narrates the love story of Billie and Spike, human and Robo Sapien. —These books written about love always break me…but then again, I wonder which of the good books don’t have love in them at all? Are there any?
So, Winterson sits idly waiting me and my consumption of parts three and four. In the meantime, my brother-in-law who reads books as if they’re his morning dose of caffeine lent me three books from off his shelf:
- City of Thieves by David Benioff
- The Sweet Hereafter by Russell Banks
- Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates (I chose this because Sasha swears by Yates’ awesomeness. I can tell you now though that I’m not such a big fan of disillusioned characters. I know they have something to say too but half the time I feel as bad as they do and it doesn’t help at all to have to live vicariously. So, Yates will wait.)
Yesterday, I went off to have my phone fixed. Part of me unwilling decided to forgo this chance at the rehabilitation of my social life. I get comfortable when I feel like I’m away from things. Friends call it escapism and cajole me every time they see me for being such a louse when it comes to messaging them once in a while. Maybe I should find my equivalent of Walden Pond and stay there instead of having my mind wander into it’s own version of Thoreau’s think space. Anyway, I got it fixed without delay. The women who labored to have it revived managed to save all that they could. She was about to touch the folder labeled “Anton” when I told her no, please don’t touch it. Somehow she managed to get it fixed and I breathed a sigh of relief. There’s this nagging feeling though…why didn’t I just delete everything myself? The person who sent all those messages was gone. He disappeared in September and I haven’t seen him since. The man who took over his body does not seem to be him. He’s a stranger to me and much as it bothers me to see this, I’ve resolved to accept that that’s just the way things are.
I spent much of yesterday afternoon lingering around Greenhills trying to figure out which parking lot to go to. In my search I was found by this unassuming little corner store. I knew this place well and I had to urge myself to not enter. Please, I pleaded. It’s January…too soon into the year to be broke. Stay away! But alas, the will is weak when it knows that it wants what the flesh wants. I entered Booksale and left an hour later holding three more book that have to be added to the “must read” pile:
- The Professor & the Madman by Simon Winchester (I’ve waited to find a copy of this and once debated whether to buy it from a bookstore at 1,000 bucks. Thank God I refused.)
- Postcards From No Man’s Land by Aidan Chambers (Saw this in National as well and got intrigued by the plot but decided, again because of money, that perhaps it wasn’t the time yet to own this book. Yesterday I took it home and resolved to keep it here.)
- The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller (Now wait a second, I know you’re giving me that look. Yes, this is the same book that was adapted into a movie starring Clint Eastwood as the lead male, photographer Robert Kincaid. Let me explain. When I was in Baguio, I picked up an August 1995 issue of national Geographic featuring their photographers. They wrote it partly because of Kincaid character who, in the book, took pictures of the bridges for National Geographic. It was fiction people were willing to believe so Nat Geo decided to talk about the real photogs and the article was a quick classic in my head that solidified, yet again, this love for photography. About the book and my owning it? Why the hell not? Sappiness aside, I hope the book makes me take better pictures!)
There. My book buys also include two more things:
- Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson
- All Art is Propaganda by George Orwell, a collection of essays (I’m a fan who has been inspired by other people who have read him. That Burma book that used Orwell’s texts as a guide to Burma really struck a chord. So, I bought this book and am reading. Slowly. Thoughtfully.)
I want to run out today and raid the SM Marikina Booksale. But I’m afraid I don’t have any more loose change so I’ll stick this one out at home and keep reading.
I just finished City of Thieves this morning. Well, it was a little past noon when I woke up but morning’s morning says my mind. It’s a story that takes place during the 900 day siege of Leningrad (now St. Petersburg or Piter, if you’re looking to be slang about it). Lev and Kolya are two unlikely characters who develop a friendship after being sent out in search of a dozen eggs in exchange for their lives. Kolya, the 20-year-old soldier of the Red Army–whom I fantasized about while reading, what with his blue eyes, blond hair and dashing good looks (if the author is indeed, God)–was a deserter who was caught the same night the 17-year old boy, Lev, was captured after raiding a dead German paratroopers body. The book chronicles their adventures while in search for eggs. It is at once funny, tragic and heroic. I’m terribly bad at writing these reviews because any book I read, even the ones I didn’t enjoy reading, will probably end up being recommended to someone else…yeah, I think books hate rejection and my bookshelf pities me sometimes for not holding my ground.
But anyway, this book is a must read! Please believe me. My sacrilegious act was that of writing on my white walls–with a pencil, if that affords me mercy. The thoughts were too busy streaming in and I couldn’t waste precious time opening my journal and squeezing thoughts in so I wrote on the walls! The walls! My mother would kill me…but hey, I can erase them thoughts right? But see what kind of wonderful actions this book propels you to do?! Read it! I’ll write about it again and quote it like I did in my journal but for now, i have to get on back to the books.
There’s this energy in the air that makes mornings exciting nowadays! It’s a shame that I stay up late though. I know I ought to sleep but there are three things that need daily affection:
- Blogging/Writing. This has been the habit since Bradbury said it must be done everyday! This time though, I’m going to add a little more thought into the process. Lately it’s been a narration of goings-on and there’s this hesitation on my part to think. It’s a by-product of the grieving done last year, according to the counselor I saw before the holidays. The mind closes the channels of deep thought to prevent the pain from resurfacing. But anyway, after five months of howling at the moon, it’s about time I get my mojo back–pain or no pain.
- Taking Pictures. These are my yearly resolutions but number two has always been overshadowed by writing. For a while I thought it had to be one or the other. You sacrifice one form of creativity in order to hone another. Yet, as I’ve recently discovered, it seems that resolution one and two must go together in order to allow my soul the capacity to root itself firmly on the life ground. And besides, this photoblog! has been a constant reminder of how exciting it is to be alive! Looks like I’m hooked.
- Reading. Okay, now this is why I stay up late. If you look at Sasha’s reading blog, you’ll understand why it’s important to stay up and read. We’re on the 12th day of 2010 and already she’s read just about as much as I’ve posted photo-wise. I’m challenged to finish, really. I like starting and lately, reading’s been good. I’m just a little wary about my memory. I’m having a hard time remembering what I read. Help!
Incidentally, I also need a shower. We had such an exciting food-filled day! Breakfast at Manigo with Tito Mannix, Lissa, Kidlat and Malaya. And Wally, the meowmeow (short for Walo, eight in English). I want a space like Kidlat’s that’s a lot of fun and whimsical! Lunch with new-found friends who made me a little teary-eyed today. But that’s a story for another time. Doctor’s appointment again, dinner with mom & my tito. My first 12 piece set of a 72 piece collection of photos by Emmanuel Santos! *kilig*
Sleepy, tired, ecstatic!
But I’m also upset. I can’t go into the details but lately my family and I have been worried sick about my sister. She works as an anesthesiologist at a government hospital in La Union. Her heart is in the right place but things aren’t looking up. As usual, the system is proving to be riddled with corruption and I can’t help but feel like we deserve so much better. I have half a mind to publish a satire in the dailies that documents (mockuments!) the adventures of a struggling resident in a hospital filled with douchebags that think themselves emperor’s of their little (emphasis on little, really) empire. It has names and events and everything—funny what anger does to you creatively…but anyway, it won’t help. Not now at least. Maybe in the future, we’ll see.
If you’re in the area though, just a little caveat…this hospital’s anesthesiology department has people who are more vicious than the drugs they prescribe. I’m appalled and angry! Calling all forces of great Karma! You know what must be done. The wheel must turn.
I cannot, for the life of me, manage to be up at the crack of dawn in Metro Manila! Ugh. Nothing seems to work either. My phone just gave up on me completely. The other one lost signal forever. Things leave me, it seems. But I’m determined to manage without a phone. For now, at least. I’ve got a whole list of projects lined up and I have to be alert.
Also, today I got this sudden urge to learn a thing or two about flying airplanes. I blame it on Saint-Exupery publishing his thoughts about life and flying before getting lost in the desert. He saw something up there…a whole new world, I think. Or an old world seen through new eyes, I’m not sure.
Now I want to learn to fly a small plane. And maybe when I’m ready, I might fly to Egypt or Africa on a whim. How awesome is that? And you know what world, one eyed pilots exist! This was what made my day, actually! I read an aviation manual that described how people with singular vision (monocular, they say) CAN fly so long as they pass all other tests. Hmm, yay!
And in the spirit of flying, here’s my precious view of the afternoon from a window in St. Lukes and the sunset from Cubao:
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Today I got a new journal. Back in Baguio, my tito convinced me to own a visual diary. He said that photography shouldn’t just be about capturing the moment but also seeing moments in the mind and realizing them. Photography as a medium is what he meant, I think. Strangely enough, all these nights spent thinking about pictures is beginning to excite me. I feel like it’s day one of learning a new language. You’ve heard it before and can say hello and goodbye effortlessly so it’s quite familiar—but it’s also a whole new way of seeing things.
This year, I’ve set out to discover what I want to say. Mostly, the pictures have been about what’s available and seen in the present. Hopefully, with enough reading and determination I might figure out whether I like photographic essays more than conceptualized images. We’ll see. I have trouble with conceptualizing because I haven’t really paid much attention to it. I’ve only opted for these slice of life themes because of a love for Nat Geo! I know, I know, I sound crazy saying it over and over again. But yeah, it’s all about telling a story with these people so in a way my photos capture subjects who belong to stories I want to tell.
Hopefully, I can begin with the journal writing and use it to find my voice. I’ve been reading also. Still on Jeanette Winterson, though. She really has a pace to her work and I appreciate reading her slowly. It makes me feel like I belong to this story and it’s quite awesome. I’ve also pulled out Ansel Adams’ autobiography and a book about W. Eugene Smith’s photographic essays. Excitement!!!
Today was mostly spent outside. I went to the bank, got waxed then got the journal. Went back to katipunan, saw Petra, had dinner number one then went home a bit exhausted from all this thinking and being outdoors. We went out again to have good ol’ reliable Chinese food. I was in the company of the gods: Tito Romy, Tito Mannix and Dad. Mom and I always make this joke. Anyway, Tito Romy just got back from a six-week stay in Kabul. He was covering a story there for the AFP. It’s incredible to hear his stories. Half the time I watch the news and am a little less disturbed by the goings on in Afghanistan. It’s mostly because there’s always news there and the subjects don’t change–there’s always an explosion and a list of people who’ve perished. Seeing him this evening and hearing his stories changed that a bit. It made me realize that even though I can comfortably change channels, people living there cannot switch lives on and off.
One morning he awoke to the sound of gunfire and hurried to see whether there was a story to be told. Suicide bombers had raided a hotel where UN representatives were booked. He says the Taliban is growing stronger and that maybe, according to his observations, the UN delegation’s mission will fail. They are too strong, these Taliban. — There’s a story in that, I’m sure. I just wish people didn’t have to lose their lives for it to be told.
Spike came forward and put her arms round me. ‘One day, tens of millions of years from now, someone will find me rusted into the mud of a world they have never seen, and when they crumble me between their fingers, it will be you they find.
- Jeanette Winterson, The Stone Gods
It’s good to be back! And it was good to have gone back to Baguio as well. I am in many ways a child of the mountains. I like my vegetables and have an affinity for cooler weather.
We just arrived a few hours ago. I’ve yet to unpack and unload and write everything down. In the meantime, surprise surprise! I put up a photoblog! It’s been long in the making partly because I felt like I had nothing to show but now, after this one stroll out into the Baguio morning, I was convinced to begin. Call it a moment of crossing the Rubicon, if you will. So far so good. Even my camera seems to be more approachable now.
Baguio was many things…a place to heal, a place of remembering everything that matters to me. I want to unload as soon as I can and set these stories down on paper…but after six hours of traveling, I’m really dead tired.
It’s 3am where I am. There’s internet to be had and a bed to sleep in. It’s good to be home.
Books can really save lives. Trite as it sounds, relationships have a knack for using up all of who we are and when you finally realize it, you’re either by yourself or in a relationship–in both cases feeling miserably alone. But alas, lucky for me, I anchored my ship firmly on this love for the written word and I promised to keep coming back no matter what. My version of retail therapy is more like paper-healing where you buy yourself a box of crayons, draw an entire set of rainbow smileys then find a good book to sleep with. I’m drawn to the stories and the infinite ways in which characters can be shaped and presented. It gives me hope to know that people in the books can be real and that if they aren’t for me they must be for the countless someone’s who take time to write about these people.
So yeah, my holidays have been really quiet and devoted to books. Christmas came soon enough and I kept mum since the first day of Misa de Gallo because I felt that writing here became an exercise in writing about this grief I didn’t always have in me but seemed compelling enough to write about. Truth be told, I’ve been fine. Haven’t cried in two weeks and though I had doubts about how to survive the holidays, I’m happy to report that it can be done. Granted, many things change. In fact, relationship pain comes second to this “we aren’t getting any younger” one…Christmas each year is never like it used to be when we were children. Our grandparents aren’t with us anymore and it’s the first year that we’re celebrating on our own. But hey, change is good. The kids danced, laughed, fought, got excited about gifts while the adults ate, talked, tormented their little hearts by virtue of clocks hours shy of midnight…and for a split second, watching my family in motion sets my mind’s memory back past a decade ago. I’m eight again and anxious about opening gifts and meeting Mr. Claus. My grandparents and I would nap until dinner time then I’d go back to sleep until mass at 10. Then we’d all sit and eat and everything would have a nice soft yellow glow about them and all the world would be this wonderful dream.
Magical is my primordial feeling toward the holidays and despite my awakening to Christianity and what Christmas really means, I have to say, magic still describes best how I feel about all of this. Funny, this is an instant cure. When you remember your younger self and how happy those days were, it matters less that you’re 21, jobless and alone. After all, you used to be jobless, playing on your own and probably 12 instead of 21. So, it doesn’t really matter.
And yes, I started this entry with books so it goes without saying that i’m definitely starting this year with a book in hand. I envy Sasha for choosing to write about the books she reads. This year will definitely be about that! Unfortunately, I might not get any internet up in the mountains so I’ll make this my *00th post and start 2010 with a loud bang followed by some quiet book time.
Here’s a short list of those I’m taking with me (let me know if i forgot something):
1. The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan
2. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak (because!!!)
3. People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks
4. The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson
5. Jonathan Safran Foer, maybe?
6. No one belongs here more than you by Miranda July
7. Some Bradbury to live by
8. & Michael Chabon? Another maybe
No. – God says this when we pray the wrong way.
Grow. – God says this when what we do isn’t right. (Grow up!)
Slow. – God says this when it is not the time for what we want.
Go! – God says this when it is right and time agrees.
I attended mass yesterday and the priest talked about life and death. The cycle of life and death is truly beautiful. Lets not forget to love because the people we leave behind when we pass are the proof of life after death. (What is life if you can’t love?)
I read in the papers the other day that during the holidays people really suffer from Christmas blues. There’s a long list of symptoms included in that article and while it’s nothing severely bothersome, I grinned when I found out that all items on that list applied to me. Well, there was one exception: obesity and stress-eating–obviously that didn’t apply. These days I’m lucky to have an appetite.
The thing that bothers me though is that nights are longer. If only we could live in a place where night never came and wonderful afternoon sunshine colored the world gold…Did you see how beautiful the sky was a few hours ago? I used to dream of flying or riding clouds when afternoons looked as great as they did. But oh well, it’s dark again and we have to accept our fate.
Today’s uplifting endeavors were:
1. buying books from a secondhand bookshop. Hello Gibran, Keyes, Dostoyevsky, Tolkien and Garcia Marquez. I think I might make me a list of books to read for 2010. Any ideas?
2. getting all this wrapping done! Hell is most likely being the person behind the gift-wrapping counters on the holidays…if you’re me at least.
3. shrimps in garlic and oil for lunch. Nomnom.
4. Surprise SOLD meeting on Friday then mass.
5. Date on Saturday to say goodbye to 2009.
