And nothing heals like words words words

Fine stationery, coin envelopes, pen and marker,
and Lindt Lindor white chocolate balls

'My theme for this Christmas is Gift of words. I decided to donate all the funds for your Christmas presents to the typhoon victims, so as an alternative, I've written everyone a love note.' It was a tacky joke that I blurted out anyway after I gave the last 'gift' I prepared for my office mates. To make it clear, it was in reference to the marketing and PR people who took advantage of the past tragedies in order to sell and give their respective brands a glowing image.

So the truth is, and this will come at no surprise, I din't make any donations. But neither was I being lazy nor a cheapskate. There was something this season that compelled me to simply sit back, relax, and write everyone that matters to me a letter. 'It's the thought that counts, therefore I'm telling you what I think' was another wisecrack I almost uttered and thankfully did not.

I got the idea when I sneaked out and bought my friend a Christmas card while we were having dessert at Press Cafe. The reason I did so was that she gave me one. I felt guilty. Then the whole act made me realize the fun in exchanging Christmas cards.

At first I planned on buying dozens of Christmas cards, but then my practical side kicked in. I have a drawer-full of stationery, so I used what I already have instead (I'm a cheapskate after all?). And because I still want to give them some thing, I enclosed a Lindt Lindor white chocolate ball—there may be Kisses, but these Lindor balls better represent the quality of my kiss. Heh. So a heartfelt letter enclosed with a symbolic smooch, placed inside a coin envelope—my gift-giving idea for the year. Gosh I feel so brilliant.

But I skipped narrating the hard part: writing. The gift of words is the gift of honesty. And honesty means handing your heart out. Not really up my alley. Just as with any blank page—the college term paper, the 800-word article—the bright stationery is scary.

There is also a technical difficulty. I got so used to the word processor wherein you can easily type a comma, change it to an em dash, then change it back to a comma five hours later. The pen and paper doesn't afford this luxury.

Then again, just as with the finals essay and full-page feature story, it will happen when you settle on making it happen. Those who received my little token of regard were very appreciative. My release and their response brought a belated Christmas cheer.

*The title alludes to a previous blog about being badly hurt by a cutting remark.

Blink

I clearly remember that bit of conversation with a former office mate about dinosaurs and how pointless their existence seemed to be. She said, 'Imagine, for millions of years, that was all they ever did—walk around, eat, reproduce,' to which I replied, 'Yeah, kinda like us.'

The Haiyan tragedy (the natural calamity and the nation's response to it) is yet to be tucked conveniently in history. Admittedly, I am less impassioned about the subject than my friends and other people in my circle are. While it happened in my country, the region is far from me. If I saw the images and heard the stories, I would most likely be sympathetic; but that kind of pain doesn't interest me, so I didn't bother keeping up-to-date with the news.

On the relief and rehabilitation efforts, I have nothing intelligent to say and no compulsion to add to the noise, not once convinced that I can do the government's job better than them.

As for those who died, death is death, what else can you do about it? All I know is that there is the living and what little life we have left to celebrate, we ought to celebrate.

Before the typhoon, I invited one of my best friends to watch the holiday fireworks at ATC. I was very excited, since I love fireworks, and more so when it is done during my favorite season. But then ATC canceled it, deciding to instead set the money aside for the typhoon victims. I understand, but I also was disappointed.

More recently, last Monday to be precise, a passenger bus fell off the Skyway because of an irresponsible driver. I was shocked, enraged, and moved to tears. Since college, when my parents stopped driving me to and from the school, I always thought that I'd die on the road—get ran over by a speeding truck, accidentally shot by men running amok, and so on. What happened to the people on that bus, I imagine so many times happening to me whenever I take the Skyway.

I told the same friend that at least those in Visayas were killed by nature. It is easier to accept than being killed by that which has consciousness and, presumably, conscience. Still, Death, like God, works in mysterious and always disagreeable ways. We humans are beasts at our core, after all. Even the kindest among us is capable of evil, if not serve as an unwitting agent of it.

...What I've shared above is a wisp in a frenzy of thoughts. Along with it are the usual points of rumination— the sad work environment, failures and the fear of it, falling in love, the last movie that blew my mind, books I will read, and finding the time for a million desires.

There is so much human activity in this world, all may very well be refined variations of the dinosaurs' habits. And just like them we go on until it is our time to expire. You live on because you have responsibilities. You live on because you simply want to see what will happen next. You live on because you have dreams and believe you can make things happen, because you have plans.

Two events are already calendared for January 2014: a lunch date with a friend whom I haven't seen for almost a decade, and an intriguing play. Friendship and literature. Enough to keep me going.

When I was considering titles for this blog, the poem, 'Why do you stay up so late' by Don Paterson crossed my mind. In it the persona collects 'the dull things of the day' and hopes that by looking closely, some will show its hidden truth ('sometimes one would blink the secret color').

That's pretty much how I approach life in general. I try to see things for what they are, with no intention to change or corrupt, and I do it patiently.

Because of my connection to the poem and its association with looking and seeing, I re-viewed the word blink:

• to shine with a light that goes on and off
• to show that you are surprised or upset
• to look glancingly : peep
• to look with half-shut eyes
• to close and open the eyes involuntarily
• to shine dimly or intermittently
• to look with too little concern
• to look with surprise or dismay
• yield, give in
• to remove (as tears) from the eye by blinking
• to deny recognition to
• glimmer, sparkle
• — in the blink of an eye
• in an instant
• — on the blink
• in or into a disabled or useless condition

and was pleased at its richness. How the word echoes everything I feel throughout the entire time I'm sitting here and writing.

To do / have done

Another early Christmas gift

You cannot argue with the cute. I have long given up on collecting stickers (meaning shelling out xxxx pesos and consuming xxxx calories) to redeem a Starbucks planner, but this one came with a squee-worthy bookmark and, more importantly, came for free. My sister asked if I wanted one.

There were four colors to choose from, all of which I liked except for black. Yellow was a strong contender but I ended up choosing red (though it's closer to magenta), for the kape vinta icon. The other icons were: coffee cup, coffee bean (ooh, inadvertent subtle advertisement for the competitor), and house blend (which was my second choice).

I'm a sucker for symbolisms, making meaning and connections out of everything. And it all fell into place. A few weeks ago I decided that 2014's theme is explore/open doors, thus my preference for the vinta. Quite a coincidence as well that I received this gift on the same day that I applied for a student permit.

To-do list circa 2007

While I was fixing my stuff, I browsed through my old planners and journals, and was delighted to find a barely used stationery pad that came with the 2007 Starbucks planner. Only two pages were written on. As expected, it's a list of things to do—or as my 2007 un-proofreading self put it: Thing to Do.

For a quick review of my progress (I had to leave out items that are too private to share):

1) SSS (ID) - Got it, lost it, have yet to get a new one.
2) Student permit - Got it a couple of years ago, didn't learn to drive. Just got a new one now and vow to learn to drive before the permit expires.
4) Alumni card - Nope.
5) Dental matters - Must save up and find a good dental surgeon to extract the damned impacted wisdom teeth.

*LASIK surgery - Big check. Woohoo!
*Piano lessons - Been taking piano lessons since. Learning never ends. If anything, I should work on developing my study methods.
*Driving lessons - Like what I said in number two.

Useful things unused

Now too common to desire

Perks aren't always perks, oftentimes they are additional things to worry about. Like the gadget freebies I recently got: one a cellphone, the other a tablet. You do not want to discard them, because they don't come cheaply in the first place. The next option is to sell, which is stressful, for it'll take a while for you to find a buyer and negotiating prices is a hassle (why I am not an account executive). Of course you can also recycle and give them away as gifts—but to whom? Knowing my friends, they don't fancy these as well.

I realize problematising this may make me appear ungrateful. I am grateful, only a tad critical. It is the thought that counts, and without a doubt the quality of thinking and sincerity involved in giving will manifest in the chosen token of regard. Sometimes a simple, personalized card will do.

On a related note, this is the reason why I still love flowers, the symbolic gesture of giving flowers. It is truthful: flowers fade, so do feelings; but you have to honor the emotion before it expires. Affections need to be sustained and must be constantly expressed.

Before I let go of the gadgets, I'm extracting a cute memory from one of them. The following screenshots were taken from the tab when I was still playing with its settings:

Funny how you put it

So yeah, how would I pick between the 01/01/2010 and the 01/01/2010 date format? And with my appreciation for honest criticism and distaste for the rude, I opted for a modest auto-correction.

After a year

I will allow this boy to someday break my heart because he is kind.

There are three things that I think of every single day: death, him, and poetry.

The show I wasn't able to watch because

a) I went to the wrong theater.
b) I lost track of time.
c) I bumped into a crush and pretended I was free for dinner.

Hint: It was a stupid stupid reason.

I'm not happy

With Ronald Baytan

It's as if I was going out on a first date. I was both excited and anxious to meet my favorite professor, whom I haven't been in touch with for maybe 8 years. I was excited because, well, I love him, but I was also anxious because after such long time, I wasn't sure if I still knew how to talk to him. Because I felt like I have changed.

It's my fear of questions like, 'How are you?' and 'What have you been up to?' at work. For I take it as my duty to report nothing but good news. But then I'm missing the whole point of having a conversation—with someone wise and kind.

So it was a delightful surprise when he nonchalantly shared that he wasn't happy with his life. It may not be fair to indirectly quote him and subject him to misinterpretation, but what I'm trying to say is I have to learn to be honest with my friends like they are with me. Trust them.

Because despite all the adventures in the world, at the end of the day, all I want is the exhilaration of an honest conversation.

Filigree and other things pretty

House of Serafina's (clockwise from left) bangles and filigree cuffs,
tampipi filigree clutch, and bamboo filigree bag

I don't know much about fashion, but I do know a thing or two about beauty. For instance, this collection of statement jewelry and bags by House of Serafina. It resonates with my fondness for what is deceptively simple at first glance. There's nothing like an object that intrigues and draws you in, then blows you away with intricate details as you look closer.

Subtlety is a ruse anyway. It's the best accessory, if not armor, a lady can wear. That is at least how I interpret 'angel with an edge'—what Serafina stands for.

(L) Preview and trunk show;
(R) With Cristina Gomez

So far I've been obsessing about the filigree window pendant with black onyx necklace. It's captivating in itself but it even becomes meaningful when I think of the adage, 'Beautiful windows are always worth looking into' (see, that's a statement I can confidently wear). Unfortunately I don't have a decent photo of it, so better click the link. And while you're at it, add to cart, proceed to checkout, then deliver to my house on Christmas.

I feel so privileged and humbled to be part of the House of Serafina launch last Thursday. The creations are lovely, but more so are the founders. They deserve a shout-out, so thank you and a big congratulations to Cristina and Arlu Gomez and Anthony Cospito. I wish them an overflow of inspiration and support to continue doing what they do.

*Photos by my sister
**Update: I wrote thoroughly about House of Serafina on The Philippine STAR's Prestige section last December 22. Pardon the error, though — It's of course 'follow' @serafinagirl on Twitter and Instagram.

November so far

My new pocket notebook

What do you call that feeling when you're taking pleasure in the moment, and, aware of your pleasure, you begin to miss the very moment you are in? —The first note I wrote in my new notebook as I end the day at Press Cafe, the coffee shop inside Fully Booked in Alabang.

Something heavy for me

I received an early Christmas gift. The dedication says, 'Something heavy for Razel'. What's sweet about it is that I later on learned that the gift was meant to lighten up my mood.

Two people I admire and have not been in touch with for a long time sent me a message. One is a professor telling me that he misses me and the other an acquaintance I struck up this year inviting me to her special party. At least there's proof that, with the former, I made a mark in someone's life and, with the latter, that I made an impression. I'm very happy and proud of myself. But most of all, I am extremely excited to meet these human beings once again that I couldn't sleep the other night—I was singing songs that everyone's probably forgotten about in my head.

Paulaner

Falling debris, crashing bridge, and all the other objects of fear are far and unreal. Nothing scars like words words words.

So maybe a silence and Paulaner. As it is wont to work, draft dries tears.

Bartender: Are you waiting for someone?
Me: No.

(Yes.)

5am

5am Sunday moon

—Good morning, moon.
—Same moon in between two cats on the wall walking toward each other.
—Cheap bars nearing closing time, drunken men not quite done partying.
—Stench of uncollected garbage.
—Jeepney half-filled with women in uniform, reporting for factory work maybe.
—20-minute walk to the country club.

6am
—Sporting event starts. Kids play, I work.
—No appetite for breakfast, craves coffee only.

10:30am
—Work done. Heads straight to ATC.
—Bought Alex Garland's The Beach.
—Full-body massage.

ATC cat

1pm
—Late lunch, starts reading The Beach. Exciting. Wants to go to the beach.
—Spots a cat.
—A mother approaches, asks if she and her kids could share a table with me. Sure. Let's share the cake as well?
—Vow of endless love: 'I shall love you until cats stop being cute.'

3pm
—Watched Carrie. Film's pretty tight, I don't however see the point of remaking it.
—Window-shopping.

5pm
—Goes to Mama Lou's to meet past office mates.
—Too early, reads The Beach some more. This would be more fun if I were wide awake.

5:40pm
—Duna arrives. Sleepiness diminishes.

Yani, Emgrey, Duna, me, and Julie
(Photo by Emgrey)

6pm
—The gang's complete. Reunited with Yani, Emgrey, and Julie after almost two years of no contact.
—Pizza bianca, prosciutto (I spelled it right the first time!), red wine, chicken pesto risotto, steak, more chicken, seafood pasta, red sauce, iced tea, blueberry cheesecake, chocolate cake, tiramisu, beer. Cigarettes for them.
—Love girls who know how to enjoy their food. Love people who splurge.

9pm
—Awake for 24 hours.
—Home, thinking of the day that's been, still tasting the steak, worrying about deadlines.

10pm
—Probably asleep. Probably thinking.

Forever, in an instant, from sunshine to shadow

I made my way up the east staircase, one slow step at a time. At the top I stopped to rest, perching for a while on the last step like a bird on a bough.

Only here at the top of the house did I feel myself removed, in a way from the crushing burden of being a de Luce. Up here, above it all, I was somehow myself.

The Buckshaw house featured on the cover of the
Orion paperback edition of I Am Half-Sick of Shadows
by Alan Bradley

Buckshaw is a Georgian house which size is commensurate with its history. It is home to the de Luces—widower Colonel de Luce and his three daughters: Ophelia, Daphne, and Flavia, along with the colonel's trusted steward, Dogger.

The bird perching on the bough was Flavia, a young girl with a passion for chemistry and the dead. She is the lead character in Alan Bradley's Flavia de Luce Mystery series, which I only recently discovered but quickly fell in love with.

I finished the fourth title, I am half-sick of shadows, this afternoon. The country is observing a holiday and this was a chance for me, like Flavia, to feel myself removed, in a way from the crushing burden of being an adult by sitting at my spot in my favorite restaurant, reading and dining in peace.

I've always had reservations for whiz kid characters, because their genius can sometimes be improbable and they can get too cheeky for my taste.

Flavia de Luce has those moments. I was surprised, for example, that despite her scientific acumen and talent at detective work, she still believes in Father Christmas. But I was ready to romanticise: No matter how smart someone is, the lure of a warm and generous figure can be irresistible.

Her language, too, is uneven. Though we may expect her to be articulate, even sharp, given her wits, I failed to recognize her poeticizing voice in the opening paragraphs of the book:

Tendrils of raw fog floated up from the ice like agonized spirits departing their bodies. The cold air was a hazy writhing mist.

Up and down the long gallery I flew, the silver blades of my skates making the sad scraping sound of a butcher's knife being sharpened energetically on stone...

These things notwithstanding, I am caught up in her world. One reason is that while in the midst of solving murder cases, Flavia is deep within her personal mysteries as well—what her mother Harriet, who died before she could have memories of her, was truly like; why her sisters hate her; and how to show her affections to her father.

It is the tenderness and the unriddling of emotional confusions that I follow in this series.

In the first novel, The sweetness at the bottom of the pie, there is a memorable chapter where Flavia describes her eldest sister Ophelia's command of the piano, and 'because she plays so beautifully, [Flavia] have always felt that it [is her] bounden duty to be particularly rotten to her'.

This hits home as daily, we face scenarios wherein we cannot find the motivations behind certain actions, and we know too well that asking someone why they are the way they are does not necessarily lead to a satisfactory or at the very least honest response.

Why is talking to each other difficult? In I am half-sick of shadows, Flavia got to confront Ophelia:

'Why do you hate me? Is it because I am more like Harriet than you are?'

'Hate you, Flavia? Do you really believe I hate you? Oh, how I wish I did! It would make things so much easier.'

They talked and in the talk something was learned yet nothing was resolved.

In the postlude, Flavia mused:

Was my life always to be like this? I wondered. Was it going to go, forever, in an instant, from sunshine to shadow? From pandemonium to loneliness? From fierce anger to a fiercer kind of love?

Something was missing. I was sure of it. Something was missing, but I couldn't for the life of me think what it was.

If it's any consolation, Flavia, those of us thrice your age have posed the same questions long ago and managed to reach this point, doing just fine—scathed as we may be, and perhaps ought to be—without any answer.

But then, what kind of life it would be where everywhere is sunshine? How can love be visible without the spectrum of emotions in which it shall be located?

Posterity is not our business

Last month, The Guardian ran a Q&A with James Bond. I'm no idol, but the questions are fun to answer. So here's my adult slam book post.

When were you happiest?
In college.

What is your greatest fear?
Secrets exposed, privacy invaded.

What is your earliest memory?
Life in our house at Agoncillo in Malate, Manila.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
I can be passive and passive-aggressive.

What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Inconsideration.

Aside from a property, what's the most expensive thing you've ever bought?
A 20/20 vision.

Where would you like to be now?
In bed with this guy I met early this year.

What do you most dislike about your appearance?
Scar at the back of my right lower leg.

What is your most unappealing habit?
I retire to my little space and become very quiet, expecting everybody to understand, forgetting that people sometimes actually seek and enjoy my company.

What is your favourite smell?
Musk.

What is your favourite word?
Tomorrow. (I like spelling it, especially when it comes to the double r.)

What is your fancy dress costume of choice?
Beauty queen. Or dominatrix, coz it's so not me.

What is the worst thing anyone's ever said to you?
Tie between you're not pretty and you're stupid.

What is your guiltiest pleasure?
Most pleasures, I think, have an element of guilt.

What do you owe your parents?
Security.

Which living person do you most despise and why?
Too many to mention.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
Really, just, easily.

If you could edit your past, what would you change?
Working as a tutor for so long.

How do you relax?
At my secret Sunday restaurant, seated at my favorite spot beside the window, having brunch or late lunch while reading a book. I know I'm done when I've had my third cup of coffee.

What single thing would improve the quality of your life?
Financial freedom.

What keeps you awake at night?
Dreaming.

What song would you like played at your funeral?

Fisherman's Horizon by Nobuo Uematsu.

How would you like to be remembered?*
'She saw something in me that no one else has even seen. She understood.'

What is the most important lesson life has taught you?
Never count on things or people to be fair or good; but always be fair and good.

There are more questions that I find very interesting, but also difficult to answer. I'll list them in the meantime and maybe get back to it later:

Which living person do you most admire and why?; What is your most treasured possession?; Who would play you in the film of your life?; What is your favourite book?; To whom would you most like to say sorry and why?; What or who is the greatest love of your life?; What is the worst job you've ever done?; If you could go back in time, where would you go?; Who would you invite to your dream dinner party?; What do you consider your greatest achievement?; Tell us a secret.

* In the article that inspired this entry, James Bond responded to the question, 'How would you like to be remembered?' with 'Posterity is not our business'.

In a Comme des Garçons state of mind

No matter how weird or unique you think you are, you will regularly find yourself in life's textbook moments. For example, if you ask me now, 'What is your most embarrassing experience?'—a question that would usually take me forever to answer—I would say before you get to the second syllable of the word embarrassing: I went all the way from home to work with my blouse turned inside-out. That involved riding two vehicles, crossing about five streets, and passing by at least three people in the office before arriving at my department.

The good news is—are: You learn that you have friends who:

1. have sharp eyes and care about you enough to break it to you gently;
2. will say all the right words to console you;
3. will surprise you with an unexpected response like laugh at the situation and encourage you to look at the brighter side of things; and
4. will give you special treatment and be kind to you when surely they'd be snarkier if it happened to a non-friend.

Fasyown

My favorite response is from Morx, who falls into category #4. He said, 'Kung inside-out, baka akalain nilang Comme des Garçons ang blusa mo. Fasyown.'

Thanks, friends.

On the darker side of things, I can't help but ponder the sheer stupidity of it all. How can I be trusted then with the bigger things, like raising a child or running a project when I overlook my, well, look?

But then maybe I shouldn't be too hard on myself. Lesson noted. Check the mirror with the lights on before leaving the house.

When I got home, I took off my blouse and impulse and curiosity made me put it on again a la Comme des Garçons. Well, it wasn't that bad, I thought and started giggling. Yeah I can see it. Pretty funny, majorly embarrassing.

Small things

It's been raining non-stop this weekend. And this morning the downpour made me stay at home until around 11 AM. When I got out to finally go to work, I couldn't find transportation. All public vehicles would only travel until Evacom (merely a couple of traffic lights away). Going back home was an option, but I didn't feel like it, so I decided to have lunch at the nearby Tropical Hut and then hoped for a successful commute afterwards.

A fast-food restaurant I like.
Serves good coffee.

The place, which has been recently renovated to look fresher, was almost empty. Brilliant. I enjoyed a burger steak, two cups of coffee, and in between exchanged text messages with friends—asking how they are and if we could meet soon.

My calculations were precise (to exaggerate). When I left Tropical Hut, it took me a few blinks to get inside a van and in 30 minutes I was sitting pretty in my cubicle.

Roughly 4 hours were spent in the office. The rain still hasn't stopped. I asked a co-worker if I could hitch a ride home with him, to which he gamely said yes.

Now I'm in my room, and the rain continues. Time passed, nothing happened, but never have I felt like something was wasted.

If I were being lazy, I would say that it's the small things that make us happy; but it's not. That the weather is difficult but endurable (and currently pleasurable), that I am given latitude to be late, that I have had my meal in peace and quiet, that there are people who show care, and that not one of these would be meaningful without the others is no humble clockwork.

Nothing complicated

Top: Playing the mooncake dice game;
Bottom: My (consolation) prize

It's Friday and I didn't know my office mates planned on playing the mooncake dice game. The rule (as how I'm sure I imperfectly understand it) is: A player will roll six dice and a pattern must be apparent—say, 1-2-3-4-5-6 or 1-1-1-1-1-1, etc. No pattern, no prize.

Thing is, my brilliant co-workers only brought a die, so we each had to cast it six times. And arriving at a numeric theme by chance is di-ffi-cult (what I get for initially calling the game 'not challenging enough'). I swear we had more fun than how it looked in the photo.

In the end, I got a Leona Lewis CD, a humongous heart cake ring, and a charm necklace—all from our editor's treasure trove of PR giveaways.

There were tasks to finish and objects of dismay, but it was basically a laid-back night. TGIF— the wind's howling, we might be in for another stormy weekend.

Falling in the afternoon

You: I was part of the theater guild in college.
Me: Oh. Tell me about the worst criticism you received.
You: But I was prepared to talk about my glory days!
Me: Why? Tell me something I didn't know about happiness.

*

That was Anna Karenina floating in my head. You were stunned then, and I, completely happy in your company.

A day after I almost begged: Let's be happy some more and let's talk about it all night long.

'Tell me about those days,' I said instead.

A decade

The blog's first icon

Engrossed in the moment, which traveler ever takes his camera or notebook out to record the moment? I feel the same way about this online journal's 10th anniversary. There's no compulsion to talk about it, the goal has been reached: there's no more need to blog about blogging.

Maybe just this: Here's to ten more years of not taking things for granted— of bothering about life and living.

Honesty

You said I was weak. Matter-of-fact. The silence after as unwelcome as truth.

Just in case you feel sorry about it in the future and feel like it's too late to apologise, I'll let you know now that I forgive you.

Surprise

They say it's the thought that counts. Thanks for showing me what you think.

Bounce

My name is Razel and I'm a closet dance freak.

I don't frequent clubs because I perceive them as places to be seen and not to express one's self or let it out. Not to mention I need at least two square meters to myself when I dance.

But my music player is filled with disco tunes I play at full blast in my room on a night when there's nowhere to go but something to celebrate (and always, always there is something to celebrate).

The quality of my dance steps is directly proportional to the quality of the alcohol I'm downing. Gold Label, for example, will make me an unstoppable dance floor goddess. Yes I can be pretty awesome (understand that this is my inebriated self looking at the mirror speaking): My body executes movements my mind has yet to conceive.

I can't be trusted with the science, but surely dance is not possible without gravity? Whatever the case is, in my heart, to dance is the most beautiful way to fly.

First date

The candles were lit, the room burned yellow, the music started, they had to go.

*

What preceded was an artless afternoon: A table by the window. Soon there will sit one boy and one girl who, careful to betray their feelings, will mostly look through the colorless glass.

In not meeting each other's eyes, the sounds sharpen. They listen to each other's rhythm, each surprised by the other's attention. No big emotion must let loose.

*

The candles were lit, the room burned yellow, the heart felt hunger, they had to go.

Efforts to look good

Midnight at Bonifacio High Street, after a heavy downpour

The still water in the man-made pond reflected the image of the strip of boutique shops and the clarity was so captivating my friend and I had to pause from our walk.

I see that friend quarterly, roughly. Last night something was different about her. She was all dressed up. Normally she would just be in her jeans and t-shirt. But this time she donned a nice black-and-white printed blouse and white pants, and carried a black leather shoulder bag. It wasn't exactly a happy expression she was wearing, but she exuded a lighter air.

And neither was I happy. But it would be bad news to report that I didn't change for the better myself. I, too, have been dressing well, trying on new things.

You have to appreciate people for taking good care of themselves—which is the least selfish act, because that says they're hopeful about the world, and that they care about you. They want to be healthy for you, be able to brave the rain to meet you, treat you to a fancy dinner, listen to your worries attentively, make sense of your incoherences, give advice, share a laugh, engage in a midnight walk.

Birthday month thoughts

1.

'It takes a long time to grow young.' —Pablo Picasso

The quote is written in one of the birthday cards I received. A consolation, a challenge now that I'm 30?

2.

'We were never being boring.
We had too much time to find for ourselves...
We dressed up and fought then thought: Make amends.
We were never holding back, worried that time would come to an end.'

—Pet Shop Boys, Being boring

Glad to hear this song, which is a reminiscence, at this time when I still have a lot of chance to build things that will make for good memories, stories.

Don't talk to strangers

They might steal your heart.

Photos taken by my friend

Amelia was at the table in front. The cunning smile I practised for years, she flashed at me the instant our eyes met.

Her gracious parents allowed us to chat and play with my friend's camera.

As it was time to say good-bye, she suggested a kiss, which I was eager to give and receive. Too close, her tiny hands unknowingly took something that belonged to me.

Post-Valentine

You intimidate men.

No, I make them disinterested. There is no desire where there is no daring. If they don't find any motivation to approach me, that means they are not that attracted to me.

*

Nurse buddy

Singlehood only becomes difficult in two occasions: when you're horny and when you're sick. So aside from a booty call, there's hopefully an arrangement wherein someone would be there for you whenever you have a high fever and runny nose.

Poetry is a language

—just as with the doctor's and the computer programmer's—ineffective and not fully comprehensible to those who don't learn to speak it.

Why keep a diary

My 2012 diary

Maybe writing in a daybook is my praying. Talking to someone I don't know but believe in.

'Never abandon the wholesome practice of saying your own private prayers, night and morning. I have never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it,' wrote Charles Dickens to his son.

Wholesome: promoting health or well-being of mind or spirit. A telling of the last twenty-four hours' events and thoughts soothes me.

It's more than putting memories, feelings and ideas in a vault for safe-keeping and posterity (I seldom re-read my journals anyway). It is a way of affirming the day. Today can only be complete if I re-call, re-assess, and re-construct it in words.

Wholesome: based on well-grounded fear. What is the consequence of missing a log? That what happened is not captured and made sense of, and is therefore meaningless and untrue.

Full

Chinese New Year's Eve at Mich's

Around 2005, I gained nine new friends. We met at that point in our lives when we thought we had more to learn within the walls of an academic institution, even if we already earned our bachelor's degree.

We understood two things very well: 1) Writing is a serious business; and 2) It's a mistake to take life too seriously.

Last night I shared a huge dinner table with (most of) them to welcome the New Year once more, and once more I felt happy being myself with a group of people I admire.

It's great to see friends regularly but at longer intervals, see how things have changed and remained. You surprise yourself, because, busy with living, you take for granted how you've been changing, too, or how you haven't.

In gatherings like this, all you remember the day after are the strong taste of sauce in your mouth, how someone looked so good in their dress, facial expressions, the rhythm of conversations, and a few floating phrases that your hungover mind manage to catch in a minute of wakefulness. 'Find someone who fills you up' was one such phrase. I wanted to delve deeper into that, but as with poetry, you savor the words first by their sound. Later when my mind is clearer, I'll make sense of it. There is the rest of the year to do so.

The loser

In tennis championships, my favorite part is the runner-up’s speech.

And I love looking at the face of the loser right after the game. Or moments before it ends and yet the player already knows his fate. That blank, faraway gaze. There’s no hope there in the eyes, only acceptance of defeat. And holding his composure, there’s courage in there too.

Secret Santa

Got a package

All right, coming clean, coming out. Deep inside my steely exterior is a screaming fangirl.

See, there's this little thing called Cabin Pressure. It's as little as an airdot (as compared to an airline). And this little thing makes me happy — not just cheery, but truly happy. Apparently, a lot of others are being made truly happy by it, too.

Long story short, I joined in the fandom's Secret Santa thingy last Christmas. Now, as you all know, the holidays just passed and it's almost February. So I thought that's it, my Secret Santa either was sick, got the wrong address, or left me for another girl.

But then the universe was only testing my patience (because it likes to do that to people). Last night I received a notice from the post office. It required going to the customs.

To cut to the highlight of the story, my Secret Santa hasn't forsaken me.

Inside the package

"...I think it's an utterly stupid idea for two reasons: one of which is obvious and the other of which is that Arthur is 29 years old." Yeah, this might be something only 15-year-olds engage in, but deep inside me is a 15-year-old beaming girl.

First of 2013

Last night you told me:
                                   tomorrow
we shall have to think up signs,
sketch a landscape, fabricate a plan
on the double page
of day and paper.

—Excerpt from January First by Elizabeth Bishop

Bishop wrote about inventing, 'once more, the reality of this world' come first of January. And that's how we are, really, swayed by the promise of a new year. We're creatures of hope. And we are creatures of invention.

*

Mid-afternoon I had the singular pleasure of reading and drinking coffee. It all came together perfectly: the cool weather, the thrilling book, the hot brew, the silence. This was what everyone talks about when they talk about being away from it all, it all being the problems and worries one has to bear each day.

From my humble, unkempt room, I sincerely wish everyone I learned to love and be fond of, everyone that ever intrigued me, and everyone that helped alter my life in the littlest but entirely positive way, that they constantly retreat to that place where they can feel light and be away from it all.

Life may be a matter of perspective, but life can be blatantly ugly. In these instances, that we have the strength to endure until everything is better again.

*

If I may give a few tips (for what, I don't know— Maybe we could consider these as things I would've told my younger self):

1. If you see something good in someone, tell them at once.
2. Be yourself. No kidding. If you want that cliché rephrased: Accept you're awesome and the world just have to deal with it.
3. It's harder to be kind. Bad girls aren't cool.
4. You're only as smart as you're willing to learn.
5. It's okay to be weak. Ask for help.

*

Happy New Year!