Out on Seventh Street

Dearest reader(s),

2011-09-10T06:00:00.003+08:00

OOSS is back!

And new.

Presenting:

OOSS

Dot Com.

Kindly update your links and
follow me over at the brand new
OutOnSeventhStreet.com!

Hiatus

2011-08-30T03:11:00.000+08:00

Hardcore

2011-08-11T23:57:00.001+08:00

My mind is in a flurry, which for me is normal, immediately after encountering what I've recently taken to calling Hardcore. While it is self-explanatory, I would like to add, for the purposes of this post, that Hardcore refers to people who are nothing short of brilliant, they set off an urgency and uncover the pressing desire in other people to be brilliant themselves.

Over the past year, I have been blessed with brushes - and sometimes, lucky me, even developed friendships - with immensely talented people, from writers to graphic designers and photographers. Mostly of my age, what strikes me most about them goes far beyond their drive and their talent: it is, quite plainly, their knowledge of who they are, what they want to do with their lives, and what exactly they need to do to do just that. It's common and recurring of them all; they're the kind of people who seem to have nailed the basics of life as soon as they've figured those things out, and have since set out making something of themselves.

One of the basics I've managed to pick out is this: you have got to keep it real. Real is acknowledging that there are only 24 hours a day. Real is being fully aware that to master a task demands a certain level of concentration and thus, there is no time and space for fluff and distractions. Real is recognizing that everything comes at a cost: that one venture will require the sacrifice of another, that one endeavor will require putting things off for the meantime, giving up something else entirely, and also making the conscious decision to start doing some things differently in order to achieve your goal.

(None of this is rocket science, and to some, pointing this out might be akin to smacking one's fist against a glass table and declaring it a painful and very, very stupid thing to do. But bear with me. I have trouble being realistic about things, my abilities and my limitations included.)

Another one of the basics they all seem to have mastered is the art of patience, perseverance, and...perspective. Patience: with one's self, one's progress, and the universe's penchant for denying you the things you want, until you prove yourself deserving and that you do, in fact, want it. No more, no less. Patience in renewing one's decision to go after something when you wake up in the morning. Patience in honing your skills and improving at your craft. Patience of the kind which, should you run out of it soon in the game, kicks you out of it entirely. You have got to be patient with yourself, or else.

Perseverance: again, renewing, every morning, your decision and resolve to make something of yourself, and make things happen for yourself. Perseverance in a world whose default answer to you is no until, again, you prove yourself deserving and brilliantly capable. And perseverance with yourself, disappointing as you can be. Only you, after all, can decide to give it another go. To try again.

Perspective: whatever these guys - the Hardcore pack - are doing, it is a means to an end. They know that until they get what they want, nothing is permanent. Everything is a means to an end. And they are completely fine with that.

You know how it's easy to complain that a repetitive job can be utterly boring, or that going back to school can be painfully costly and time-consuming so we'd rather not, or that dealing with something - a particularly difficult boss or, an obnoxious colleague - can sometimes be far too much for our gut to take? Well, the Hardcore guys understand that their circumstances and environment don't define them. They're there because they know that through such difficult situations, they will eventually get to where they want to be. It's merely a pit stop.

I write this soon after reading a couple of articles and blog posts by people I have a lot of respect for - yes, they are part of the Hardcore Group - and whom I admire. I also write this after a long work day which I am, again, humbled and lucky to have spent with people who are brilliant at what they do. I am honored and, obviously, I am very much inspired.

Hence the flurried mind. (And, apologetically, the barely coherent thoughts.)

All I want to say is that, like these people, I want to make something of myself. I want to be fricking brilliant. I want to be awesome to the point that I might be sought after for my expertise and talent, and respected for what I know. It's barely an original Ideal Self concept, but I'm sure everyone knows what it means to be talented and brilliant at what they do. ('Brilliant' word count: to be announced.) Everyone knows what it means to build a career, make a name for themselves, and be able to say that they've spent a significant amount of time in their life doing something that means something, and that matters. Most of all, everyone knows what it means to, badly put, fulfill their potential, and even defy it. God, wouldn't that be an awesome kind life to live?

Yet I can't keep basking in this awe and sitting, with a stupid dreamy grin on my face, on my goals and waiting for them to straighten themselves out and give me the go-signal for chasing - as I have so expertly done, so far.

I need to get to work. To get real, to start being patient with myself, to learn - no really, learn - what it means to persevere, and to keep things in perspective. From here I can anticipate the pain. Oh, it will be scalding. It will be noisy, like when I jog and try to ignore the signals telling me I am in pain and that I should stop. And surely, it will be far more than I can try and imagine it to be now.

But it will also be quite worth it. Heck, it has to be. Like those who've been such immense sources of inspiration, I want to be Hardcore. And, thanks to the possibilities my mind's been opened to through them, it's exciting to think that one day, I just may be.

Settling into a velvet calm

2011-07-22T00:45:00.000+08:00

Eleven forty-four. I am savoring this. I haven't written at this time of night in a long time, and to sit in the dining room to do so once again is such a delight. It's like seeing an old friend across the street and hearing that familiar voice of theirs and feeling their embrace after years of separation - I mean, it's sort of that way. I'm back at the my old spot. It's the only place in the entire house I've been able to work properly, it now only occurs to me, and I have it to myself once again.

Another thing that occurs to me is how funny it is to find yourself facing both the old and new version of yourself at the same time. Sitting here, bereft of energy for a better, more piercing reflection, I don't know how much of myself I could say has changed over the past three months, but something is certainly different - different from the person who used to sit here, writing away.

Something is certainly gone. And in its place, something else is definitely there. A little less need for control and certainty? A hint of optimism, maybe? I don't know. I hope so. I also hope this is the growth I'd been looking for...perhaps a few more months should bring things into better focus.

Interestingly, I also do not mind waiting now. A few more months, or a year, or even two - however long these things take to work themselves out, while I push myself toward them. Things truly have their own time and their own way of taking place, and it's getting pretty clear that best we could do for now, is only what we could do about now. The rest will come.

In that sense, things have been lighter recently...and while it feels great, it does take some getting used to. Taking each day and challenge as they come, I mean. For someone to whom certainty and assurance are basic needs, this is quite the perfect, telling challenge, and I am beginning to feel the numb-like pain that comes with waiting and patience.

Is this quiet calm fine? Could this just be laziness, and me slacking off?

Or no, really: is this okay? Is it alright to throw the iron bars over one's plans to the wind, and let those plans - goals, dreams, visions of one's self - come to be the same way that a nurtured seed in a pot grows into a beautiful plant?

At 12:14 in the morning, slightly worn out but ever more hopeful at 21 years and 21 days old, I think it is perfectly so.

Things I have been up to

2011-07-17T15:47:00.003+08:00

One:

So: I just got back from a trip to Singapore!

...'s Ya Kun Kaya Toast, at SM Mall of Asia. Yesterday, Jabin and I found the best kaya toast around, so far (others we've tried: Kopi Roti and Toastbox). The eggs are soft-boiled and have this nice fluffy (for lack of a better term) consistency, and you get to choose how much soy sauce you'd like in it, as you get to pour it yourself. The kaya, topped with butter you can't miss, is not too sweet, and the toast itself is well done.

The only thing I didn't quite appreciate was the coffee, which tasted one part brewed coffee and one part condensed milk.

Two:

Stuff I have been reading.

I just finished Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (which I loved! I've yet to write my thoughts on it, though, and have it up on RevLit, which I've abandoned again and have yet to revive) and I am currently reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood, something I've been wanting to read for the longest time. I'm happy to finally score a P299 paperback copy at National Bookstore in SM Bacoor; everywhere else, the book comes at a bigger size and costs at least P349, so when I found this I had to get it already.

So far it is beautiful, though quite depressing. I'm itching to finish it too, so that I could watch the movie adaptation.

Other things I've been reading are the magazines I picked up at Just In and Booksale, both at Mall of Asia. These guys need to ban me from entering their stores though, frankly. Aside from these, I also got myself America's Best Magazine Stories 2000, something I've yet to leaf through.

I need to stop, seriously stop, getting myself things to read, at least until I actually finish the growing pile of unread things in my room. This clinical impairment is getting worse as the months go by. Somebody help me.

Three:

Failing miserably at keeping my life-- er, table, together.

For as long as I can remember, I have always been trying to pull myself together. One of my goals - or wishes, more like, seeing as that's not likely ever going to happen - is to arrive in the office after a long commute looking neat and prim, and not as if I've walked through a storm.

Another goal is to master self-discipline, that is, to keep myself from purchasing too many books and magazines a month. It doesn't help that I am a firm believer of print's increasing value ("One day, this copy of New Yorker will be worth more than it is now, when publications cease to print their issues"). But I must, must start getting replacements for the shoes and bags that have been feeling apart over the past few weeks, instead of piling up on reading material. It's only a matter of time before I'll have to call in sick to work one day, not because I am actually sick, but because all my clothes are in the laundry and I have nothing to wear to the office.

I have many other aspirations in self-improvement, including eating more healthily, actually reading the stuff I buy, and finally getting around to tidying my room - so that I could get on with decorating it. (This goes for my office table, too.) But, alas, the harder I try, the better I fail. Perhaps I ought to stop trying so hard at being so put together, and instead perfect the art of self-confidence in all my perennial state of disarray.

Four:

Just, well, eating a lot. Of good food.

Here's one of the things that make heaven on earth: Snickers and Twix ice cream, brought to you by Rustan's Supermarket, Powerplant Mall.

I am so glad not to have issues with food whatsoever. I love food, and eating, and trying not to be a glutton is a daily effort. That leaves me with one battle left to fight, that is, my metabolism.

Disconnection

2011-07-10T16:23:00.000+08:00

A big part, if it isn’t yet essentially what it is, of growing up is learning to see reality for what it is and accepting it without bitterness. After much thinking, it’s been unraveled to the young, non-warrior that is me, who has yet to learn to pick her battles, that there is, apparently, a gaping disconnect between how we imagined life would be and the way it actually is.

It’s something I’ve been wrestling with over the past few weeks, albeit knowing very well that there’s no getting around it. One must swallow the truth whole, blades and bitter taste and all. This is the only way to move on, nay, to move forward, above, and beyond. Everything otherwise is a detour. There are no shortcuts to getting what we want.

How I’ve come to this conclusion has to do with seeing, for the first time it seems, no reflection of the ideal in my head in real life. Of course, to expect things to happen to in an instant, to get exactly what I want right now when I want it, is not only unrealistic, it is foolish. But it’s not the getting that I am disconcerted about. Rather, it is the getting there that’s bothering me.

To actually feel the limitations and constraints of the real, physical world is very maddening. You could strain to the utmost of your capacity and will, with all your might, to move heaven and earth to get what you want, but that is not the way things work.

Literally or figuratively, there is no defying the laws of physics: if matter occupies a single space for instance, another cannot be in its place. Without cause, there can be no effect. Without force, one could only be inert.

Where we cannot shift and where we cannot move only means one of three things: there is no more space to move, we are not exerting enough force, or, there is another force going up against the force we exert; there is a hindrance, a limitation. And hence such movement is physically impossible.

The world is not designed to align with our behavior, needs, and desires. No, the world is there for itself; we move within it, bound by its laws, and make the most that we can of it. Pretty simple laws, aren’t they?

And yet these laws, I think, take growing up in order to truly understand. Because though they are simple, they are not easy, and that demands a wiser, more mature spirit to be able to digest.

You see, our expectations of the world do not connect with the way things are not because they are impossible dreams, but because we expect them to happen in a way that is impossible. That is the child in us working – the child that yearns for kindness and harmony and the ideal, and thinks of pain and difficulty as non-existent.

But every child must grow up.

Now given the tangible options on my plate at the moment and the path I wish to forge ahead, it’s become clear how great of a haul it’s going to take for me to get going; how much force I need to exert to reach the goals I set for myself. Once again, this is quite painful to look at squarely. But perhaps it’s something I need. The wake-up call, the reality check, the ultimatum of life that goes, Are you going to make this decision consciously or not?

Because certainly life will happen, but we can also choose to live. To make way for the latter though, we must accept, first and foremost, real life as it is and the limitations that comes with it. Only then can we effectively make up our minds about what we want and how to go about getting it. And only there do we have the right to complain about the logical, though unfair, laws of physics.

But that’s another story, of course.

Stories: Elevators

2011-06-25T00:28:00.000+08:00

1.
"Breakfast?" said a voice from behind. I turned to face the young man in a beanie, amused by the giant box of cereal I was struggling to hold in one arm. On the same arm slung a video camcorder in a bag; in my hand was a blue bag of ground coffee. On the other arm was my own bag. "Yeah," I said, and managed a smile. "We're having a breakfast party, so."

"Buti pa kayo," he said. I turned back to the digital window above the elevator, which indicated that it was still twenty-two floors away from Ground. "Yeah, just for today," I said. "And the storm's bad, but I'm hoping everyone manages to show up safe..."

He agreed, and then says it's flooding back home. I ask where he's from.

In a bit we introduce ourselves, shake hands, and tell each other 'It's nice to meet you.' In another moment, the doors to the elevator open, and we go in. In another few moments, we part.

Of all the Nice To Meet You's I've said and been told recently, I think this morning's were the most genuine.

2.
Second floor.
Doors open.
Three shuffle out.
I take notice of a little girl about two years of age with wavy black hair sitting on a stroller staring at the ceiling of the elevator in which I am on my way up and I am smiling because she is so young, so innocent, so full of life in her tiny frame and full of life yet to live and I am smiling so hard because there is nothing for her to be sad about and nothing at all sad and breaking just yet to look forward to.
Nobody enters.
Doors close.
But not before she catches me smiling at her and, surprisingly, gives me a big, hearty smile back.

On being young, a misconception

2011-06-05T20:50:00.001+08:00

1.
Being relatively young in the workplace, I get a lot of remarks about my age and how there is much of the world's rough edges I still don't see. How I still have a crystal-clear, dent-free impression of people, the industry, and the way things work. How I carry with me fresh perceptions and pure assumptions about everything. While there is nothing wrong with this, I can't help but feel slightly inferior, in effect. It's almost as if one's intelligence is equivalent to their experience, and I, for one, do not like being un-knowledgeable. Of course I know that this isn't really the case, and that I'm simply being my impatient self again. But it is the way I feel, and sometimes, where I am supposed to be thankful for my youth, I am instead complaining and rushing to be older. Or wiser, at least.

2.
A few days ago, I found myself part of a lovely trio composed of people at completely different stages of their lives, together enjoying dinner. One of us were newly married, the other, pretty much professionally accomplished, while I was the youngest, the one with much to live and to learn. We didn't quite intend to bond over sushi and tofu, but interesting points in the conversation eventually led each of us to sharing a little about ourselves and our lives. It was interesting, and by the end of the conversation we decided we'd do it again. I think, we had just found new people to open up to and with whom to share snippets of what it's like being in the other's shoes.

And I, on the other end, also learned a whole lot.

3.
We don't always get the chance to engage with people a lot wiser and more experienced than ourselves on a genuine level, so whenever I find myself part of such a special kind of conversation, I count myself incredibly lucky. Oh, the things one could learn!

It's like reading a book in which the author describes something so profound and beautiful, but which the reader herself hasn't experienced, that her imagination of it is limited, and she is aware of that vicariously incomplete experience. Thus upon turning the last page of the book, she strives to live more, and live harder.

Such is what I felt after the conversation I had with my officemates.

4.
After much thinking, it occurred to me how beautiful this stage of my life is supposed to be. I am young, I know nothing, and the world is mine for the taking - to learn from. There is beauty in being a blank canvas.

It also occurred to me how dangerously easy it is to settle, be complacent, and live everyday on autopilot. One moment after another you're simply bearing the moment's burden, only to realize one day that life happened as dully as it did because you let it. Because you did not choose to form that band, or join that competition, or splurge your lifesavings on that one trip. Being the age that I am, it might be a good thing to be afraid of not living enough. But that also goes to say that we should be fearless in trying new things, in doing everything (reasonable) under the excuse of youth's folly.

There just isn't a better time for it.

5.
Next time somebody comments on my age, I should probably just smile. After all, I can never again be as happy as I can today about being young and inexperienced.

Of breathing spaces and the need to be

2011-06-01T20:30:00.027+08:00

Up and out went May, and I find myself in mid-stretch, mid-flex, adjusting to a variety of changes into the month of June. Work, which seems to have taken over my life without care for anything, has thankfully been more than bearable: it’s been fun, and enough so that I don’t notice the hours until my body starts to feel like lead and my head like a troubled magnetic field. Cracks in my schedule have also been filled with other meaningful things, such as the wedding of good friends over the weekend and, well, a semblance of rest and the occasional lucky breaks during which I am able to sit and read, something I haven’t been able to do in the longest time.

Whenever I try to recap the events of the days past and ponder over them, though, I find that I am always looking for space — breathing space, resting space, thinking space, growing space. Being space. It’s like I’m looking for a break of some sort, during which I could…sing, or something. Learn to play the keyboards and guitar all over again. Put into movements a choreography that’s been on my mind for so long; take the pictures I’ve been meaning to take. And perhaps write that godforsaken screenplay.

As a chronic workaholic, when I'm not working I tend to simply tune out and recharge. Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t be tuning out — I should, instead, be creating, making something, so that out of the sparse, thin gaps in between this busy schedule that I can’t do much about, may come something inspired and useful. Something that might, badly put, breathe some life into an almost toxic work routine. It’s not the work that's toxic; it’s the ridiculous routine of bearing the gridlock traffic along Aguinaldo Highway, having to transfer from one bus to another, all of which take up time that could be spent doing something else. The entire process of getting from one place to another has been harder lately, and so by the time I am at one place — work — I am completely out of energy to do much else but whatever needs to be done.

But I'll try not to dwell on the excuses. It is a new month, one that calls for me to simply try harder, and perhaps to feed on better things — goals, for example — to be able to get by a better way, and as a better person.

So I’ll dust myself off and try again. There isn’t another way to go about it, is there? We just try, and try, and try harder, and then try again, and we die trying but also hope with every lunge that we’re finally getting somewhere.

I wonder if I am. Then again, we could only really know in hindsight.

Patience.

Up and out went May, and I am crossing my fingers in mid-stretch, mid-flex, savoring every square meter and mile high of this teeny little crack of a breathing space, transitioning into the month of June.

Musings of a girl in bed (because she is sick, okay)

2011-05-18T18:10:00.001+08:00

And so the body succumbed.

Hi folks, from the comforts of my bedroom. Although this is quite inaccurate; I would be on my bed had the Internet connection been detectable up there. But as it is, it isn't. And so I am actually in the dining room, where my laptop is together with all the relevant sockets and the Wi-Fi connection. In any case, all I'm trying to get across is that I am unfortunately actually sick on this day, and that I've been on bed arrest (at least up until now) for the past eight hours, trying to recover.

So far...so alright. I wish I could go on to say that I am no longer feeling vocally and physically crippled, but that wouldn't be accurate again.

I wonder how many times I've said I wouldn't put myself through so much physical abuse and consequent suffering but still inevitably did. Then again, I don't think it is completely my fault this time, either. The weather in Manila has been insane, and that is not exaggeration. The heat outside is like that of a furnace; once you step out, it's as if someone's slowly turning up the knob on an oven. Add to that the plunging temperature in our office - again not an exaggeration - and you have the perfect condition for a fever to happen.

You may greet the sick girl now.

On a less pitiful note, I am trying to figure out a way around the bi-polar temperatures inherent in my commute-work routine. Of course I cannot possibly avoid commuting or working. All I want is to be able to make it through the entire cycle and out of it healthy, and still able to talk without sounding like broken concrete.

Don't look at me for solutions just yet though - as I said, I am still trying to figure it out.

What I want to do is ask: any suggestions?

A mid-year health-related resolution, out of a series of stressful events

2011-05-15T15:46:00.001+08:00

It's been a busy week! I've been spending a lot of overtime at work, for reasons beyond our control. I'm trying to get used to not having complete control over my time; so far it's been manageable and slightly unintrusive. I could only hope it stays this way, though realistically, I heard it isn't possible.

Nonetheless, I'm enjoying work in spite the workload.

Now I just can't wait for a semblance of structure so that I could rebuild some order around my Monday to Friday, 10-7 (or 8, or 9) schedule. I'm way behind on my reading - last book I read was Juliet, Naked sometime mid-April; though I just finished David Mazzucchelli's Asterios Polyp this morning, it's a comicbook so it's quite separate from my reading goals - and more so on my writing. This blog itself has accumulated some negligence dust. And creativity and ideas, I'm afraid, have been evasive. Needless to say, my non-work, creative life has slowly been fading into obscurity...but I'm working on it. Apparently I am not as great at multi-tasking and mental tab-swtiching as I'd like to be.

On a brighter note, because I've just been too busy through Mondays to Fridays, I've learned to better appreciate my Saturdays. The last two weeks' were nightfuls of witnessing/meeting creative people. Yesterday was different, albeit equally interesting.

We - Jabin and I - spent our 7am onward at Philippine General Hospital, to donate blood. Sadly - and I was quite devastated by this - I wasn't eligible to (let's just say I wasn't healthy enough to have blood pumped out of me, and that also, it wasn't anything of a weight issue).

Sure, the meeting with needles for the first time in a long time scared me, but to find I that couldn't give out blood when it was needed (for a family member)...it was kind of a wake-up call. Those sleepless nights and self-imposed stress actually do have their consequences. I know I've been wanting to shed a few pounds for aesthetic purposes, but in this case working out and eating right is a serious deal: I need to start taking care of my health.

Thankfully, one of the two of us were healthy enough. After Jabin was done and the monggol pencil-weighed needle was pulled out of his arm, we headed to Mall of Asia.

As it happens, it was also our eighteenth monthsary yesterday.

Since it was past lunchtime already, we had a bit of Japanese for snack, and then, after many failed attempts in the previous weeks, went to see a movie. We chose Scream 4 - or perhaps more accurately, I chose Scream 4. For old times' sake, of course.

Now it just saddens me to say that this one butchered the franchise we grew up with in the 90s.

Many of the early scenes seemed contrived, thanks to the poorly written script. I think the story could've worked - it didn't have to be good, but it could've worked - had the direction been better, and more so the casting. Emma Roberts is a fine actress but her role in this film demanded more out of her than she was able to deliver. The only bearable ones of the new characters were the ones played by Hayden Panetierre and the guy with the videocam headband; of the original ones, only Sidney Presscott wasn't annoying.

Toward the end, we just wondered whether Scream 4 was supposed to be a parody of the three previous films.

We headed home after that, and that was pretty much my Saturday, as I spent the rest of the night knocked out on my bed. I had left work around 9 the Friday night before; got home at 12 thanks to Manila's ever efficient and reliable transportation system; woke up at 4 to donate blood, and had been running for 17 hours straight. That might have been possible in the past, but I think all the accumulated stress on my body has taken its toll. It's about time I got to repairing my body clock and lifestyle.

Saturday I'm falling in love, on a Saturday night (Raise your hands if you remember this song)

2011-05-08T01:45:00.000+08:00

Last Saturday, Jabin and I, with the tickets we won at Mercato Centrale, went to see Switchfoot perform live at the Philippine Sports Arena. Though we weren't big fans, we enjoyed the show immensely. Aside from the Hillsong United concert, and that of another band whose name I've regrettably forgotten, I've never attended a concert before - and even then, those two were more of a praise and worship event. Seeing Switchfoot - listening to them perform songs like Dare You To Move and Only Hope live - was just so, utterly amazing. Hearing the instruments blend so maginificently well, and Jon Foreman's voice rise above it crisp and clearly...there are few things you can't really find the right words for, and I'm thinking listening to live music performed by talented and godawesome musicians is one of them. You just have to be there to hear and experience it, to know what it's truly like.

I still can't believe we were in the same room with them as they played their music. I could only imagine what it'd be like to be in the same room as Maroon 5.

And then a Saturday later, or a few hours ago, we went to Cubao X for the book launch of Lourd de Veyra's third poetry collection, Insectissimo. Now we're big fans of Lourd; those who know him know how his writing and videos crack people up just as much as they make them think. I still can't quite believe we've shook hands with him and spoke to him. Frankly, I don't do very well around people I admire so much. I can't help but think I'd freak them out with the default smile on my face that, in their presence, might have mutated into a silent, desperate declaration of just how awesome they are and how OMGIAMSUCHAFAN. And so I naturally get fidgety. Thank goodness, though, that the guy's just cool and nice and very down to earth (an overused adjective for approachable famous people, but it's the truth, really).

So, yeah, there you have me and my gigantic smile.

And so I find myself dancing upon a spindle that won't stop spinning

2011-05-04T01:05:00.001+08:00

For someone to whom major changes always seem to leave far too much of an imprint, I easily forgot how quickly and significantly things can change in the span of a month. It is May already; in the days since my last post, I've coasted through plentiful streaks of Too Much Information, endured a rough but thankfully repaired patch, learned to navigate better this foreign industry I have dumped myself in, learned that I cannot learn everything about this foreign industry at once, got to know myself a little better, and got to piece together what I might want for the future. Oh and, I've also been having a relatively more active affair with music - although admittedly, my library and playlists need severe updating. Any help in this department will, of course, be greatly appreciated.

I'm trying not to be vague here, but the fact is that things are still quite overwhelming. I sometimes wish I could do a Superman and speed through one entire frozen moment, just to intimately know something in order to know better what to do with it. Alas, life is not that way, and I am not Superman (nor could I do a Superman - I mean, you know, travel quicker than the speed of light). But to go through the process slowly is good, I know. I guess this only reveals that, after all this time, patience still remains my waterloo.

In any case, once I find the time, I'll probably lock myself up and stick a finger down the throat of my psyche in an attempt to get things out. (I've figured that if writing were a physical activity, it'd be pretty much like hurling your guts out one by one; the most difficult part being the need to do it all so gracefully. Because writing is like that, isn't it? Reaching into the farthest, purest part of yourself and articulating it; what's normally a painful, if not impossible, process.) It's been long since I last set aside time to just think, and it's something I've been needing for a while. It has likewise been a lifetime since the world last slowed down when I commanded it to, and it seems to me that it no longer will slow down again, ever. If anything, perhaps, it is I who needs to keep up.

Puddles of separate bouts of rain, gathered into a communal pale

2011-04-22T23:32:00.002+08:00

1.
Hm. That I have not checked in here for a considerably long time is alarming. I must admit to coming up dry every time I sit down to write; apart from the separation and adjustment pains that are characteristic of any major shift - personal or professional - there really hasn't been much going on with me. Sure, I've all these plans lined up for the following months, but what's new? Until I have the resources to actualize such plans - learning to drive and getting my license, returning to school - there isn't much I can do about them at the moment but work and wait.

While waiting, I've been preoccupying myself with learning more about the industry I work in now, and thinking about where I might be headed, career-wise, and where I'd like to be eventually. Aside from these things in my head and those directly in front of me though, all there is is a stretch of time. Life is a plateau, currently, and the only material I have in this case is a lot of wide open space.

In short: nothing.

2.
There've been a lot of things eating at me for a while. On this Good Friday, it's apt to see that there are likewise a lot of things that need to change in my life.

Going without momentum is only difficult when you know you need momentum to propel you beyond and not merely forward. Otherwise it is very, very easy: it's pretty much like settling and getting by. Something it seems I've been doing for quite a while.

I'm wondering when this will stop, though I know very well what I need to do to make this dragging stop. I just can't seem to find the energy I need to nudge myself forward.

That said, I must move on from this thought, because I sense that I am beginning to whine.

3.
I watched Howl this afternoon and I enjoyed it a lot. It's about the poet Allen Ginsberg and the court hearing in which his poems - or book, Howl and Other Poems - were the issue at hand for their 'obscene language and material.' It stars James Franco, but that's not the only reason I liked the movie.

I liked it for all the things it said about writing, poetry, and their social relevance. For someone so new to literature in the most academic sense of the word, the movie provided a fascinating look into the importance of form, style, and content, and how they bring value to literary pieces. It also addressed the issue of freedom of expression, and what constitutes freedom and appropriate expression.

There's a great review of the movie over at Pelikula Tumblr by Stan Geronimo. I recommend you to read that, but of course, not before you've watched the movie.

4.
I don't know how to piece these following thoughts, so I'll just throw them out:

(i) Life is incredibly brief.
(ii) Ridding one's life of distractions and inessentials is a wise thing to do. But one must first distinguish between getting rid of something, and putting something on hold - because the latter makes no sense.
(iii) The remedy to being unsure is simply to decide, and then follow through.
(iv) To take for granted and be taken for granted are two things that are not worth the Incredibly Brief Time we have.
(v) Sometimes all we really need is to know what we want and go get it.

5.
So writing this has been akin to blowing off the dust blanketing a long untouched piece of furniture in a long uninhabited room. I guess it's a start.

I certainly look forward to successfully mustering the energy and motivation I need to put more effort into things and try, once again. Times are always trying, but this week has been especially so, and not for the greatest of reasons.

Here's to the end of the Month of Missing; that things start to look up as we round the corner to its last week.

A photographical archive of the two weeks past

2011-04-10T21:14:00.002+08:00

On friends for keeps Why, I don't know - I just never expected the workplace to be a place in which I'd possibly make lifelong friends. But I guess I'm lucky, because I did. And I am really, really grateful.

Here are photos from my last day at Bella.

The table I had to leave, located between two of my favorite ex-colleagues'. In this picture it's littered with last day things (i.e., gifts from my friends, the Survival Kit I was working on on my last day)

Notes from my favorite seatmate(s)

Gela, Jonelle, and Rina got me this - so wonderfully thoughtful of them

This is kind of how we are every day of the work week. I miss these guys - and being like this with them - dearly!

Rina, and trying to be stylish next to her

We had thai for lunch, courtesy of our boss. Thanks Mike for the photo!

And for the love of food Yesterday, friends from the college paper - including a favorite seatmate - and I went to Mercato Centrale for brunch. It'd be stating the obvious to say the food is amazing. But it is, and we've eaten from only a few stalls - there are many we've yet to try! Next Saturday I hope. Right now, I'm still craving Bale Dutung's Bagnit & Offbeat's Krispy Kreme burger. Man, I've seriously got to start working out if I want to keep eating this much each week.

Bagnit (correct me if I spelled it wrong) from the Bale Dutung booth <3
'Escargots,' which we simply refer to as sea snails. These are really, really good though kind of messy to eat

Leeechon! And potatoes

Buffalo wings!

Plants...no zombie

Thanks Jabin for the cupcake! <3
We meet again My Favorite Seatmate! (LOL)

And after Mercato, Serendra

Guava + Green apple gelato

Jeff's camera, with the lens I really, really want to get (a 50mm f/1.8)

So!Fab

As for recent days I took these images yesterday too. The sky was overcast and gloomy - making for pretty photographs, I later realized. Presenting, the (currently) barren lands in Bonifacio Global City, also where I currently go to work. I'm trying to imagine how these areas will look once the city's all developed and filled with skyscrapers.

:)

Have a great week ahead, everyone!

An update on the life of a Johna

2011-04-07T23:09:00.002+08:00

1.
Hey, folks. As most of you know, I have moved office. I still get to write though, which is great. Perhaps the best part is that I get to write all day - and, at least so far, if I am not writing, I am thinking about words. And ideas. And how get the two to join forces, cooperate, and work their own brand of magic on each other. It's a lot of fun - of course, I say this on my fourth day with more yet to come - and it's also a lot of learning, something I have been yearning for for a while.

2.
The hours are longer than what I've grown used to in the past fourteen months. Clocking out anytime between 7 and 8 no longer allows me the energy to explore the vicinity of the workplace, nor follow my once-daily routine of walking around Mall of Asia for fun or exercise. It's fine; I spend less this way. But it's also more than that. I find that I am not only adjusting physically, but mentally as well: the entire commute to work and fro has been like riding in a bubble. The only time my mind clears is when I arrive at the office, ready to start on a particular task or to learn something new. Before and after that though, I float into a bubble and am taken home in a bubble. Until and after the clarity provided by the workplace, my mind's just a complete cloud.

3.
I try to convince myself that this is good for me, and deep down, I know that it is. A change in environment, in scene, in nature.

4.
I feel like some ornament made of glass, though, like I could break anytime now.

5.
It doesn't bother me and it's not something I worry about. Change doesn't come without a period of transition, after all, and transition takes a little time. I just kind of wish I were more rubber than glass - not hollow with the capacity to be empty, or fragile and must be handled with care. Instead, shock absorbent; dense with resilient properties (er, that allow it to bounce back? Forgive me) and...fearless. Or brave enough not to care about being thrown against a wall.

6.
I whine a lot, I know. It must come from some omnipresent reminder in my consciousness that everything is so imperfect and everything needs fixing and everything is beyond my control, and I can't not express this. However.

7.
I tried thinking about the good side to this - being in a cloud, feeling perenially clueless in spite efforts to be knowledgeable (as the saying goes, the more you know, the more you do not know), constantly holding my breath lest I break. And there is a good side, apparently, if you try hard enough to forget all the terrifying things.

8.
If, for a moment, I could be a completely fearless version of myself, this is how I'd describe what has recently been happening in the life of a Johna:

Four days in the new office has, so far, been incredibly fascinating. Unlike in my previous work, I don't seem to have a setlist of things to do for the day (unless I have leftover work from the previous day, I suppose). When a task lands on the table, it comes with a brief orientation, a discussion of the problem and what needs to be done, and an entire session of brainstorming. An entire session - this could mean an hour, or two, or three. Three hours of thinking!

Sometimes I feel like I am not doing anything. Sometimes I worry I am not producing substantial, let alone enough, output. (After brainstorming, we give form to the ideas - by writing them down, taking notes, sketching them, etc.)

But the brainstorming sessions - the thinking - is a highly regarded part in carrying out tasks. A lot of focus is brought to the idea - or ideas. And these ideas cannot just be An Idea. They must be A Good Idea.

And so, at least so far, the life of a Johna consists of a whole lot of thinking and figuring out and driving one's wits up the wall. In between, there is a blank in which I could either continue thinking, or choose instead to indulge in the ideas available on the Internet for more ideas and inspiration. (Or not even only the Internet - the view out the window is also quite a good source.)

It is enormously challenging and sometimes even overwhelming, but mostly it's been exciting. I think the appeal comes from having absolutely no idea, really. I cannot emphasize more how little of this I know and how it intimidates me to the hilt, when everyone seems to be on the same page while I'm still trying to decipher the title of the document. Thankfully, nobody seems to mind, and the humongous, borderless room for questions even has a door and windows to the outside.

So I could try and get used to brainstorming a lot. And I could also try and psych myself enough in order to anticipate - and not get overly intimidated - when, finally, a specific assignment comes along and I am given a problem with enough form that I could think about it.

Again, it's only been four days. More menacing things are yet to come.

But having no idea what to expect just gives me nothing to think about until then, and so, I might as well spare myself the anxiety. That said, everything else is just exciting, and I could take it as it comes!

9.
Now, on being the completely fearless version of ourselves.

10.
I think it might be worth a try.

Execution - that of reality, and what happens after

2011-03-30T17:42:00.000+08:00

What has happened to the three Filipinos in China today is tragic. The concept of death at the door, and you walking toward it with your family trailing behind to watch is something one could only imagine. I send my condolences to the families of those who were executed today.

However, what happened today is also as brutally real as a cold hard truth and reality can get. I imagine that our officials and the church, who have been praying long and hard ‘for a miracle,’ are dumbstruck by the fact that this time, a crime has been committed by fellow Filipinos that they weren’t able to get away with.

You see, in the Philippines, there is no such thing as justice. Here, politicians have the gall to lie in the face of evidence. Here, all that criminals need to do to avoid facing the consequences of their actions is to pay up. And here, all it takes for these to happen for authorities to let it, bail or bribe in their pocket. It’s the only way they’ll make enough money to live decently. This is how it is in the Philippines: criminals can get away with anything.

Thus it comes as no surprise that, over China’s implementation of the Dealth Penalty, we are reeling.

And yet.

That we are this way only means that there is something very wrong with us. Those centuries as a colony might have cost us more than our morale and dignity as a people, but this is inexcusable. What is it about us that we are not only able to stomach everything that is wrong with the country but also thrive in it?

I sometimes wonder whether the Philippines truly is a hopeless case.

If today’s executions isn’t a wake-up call to our lawless country, then I don’t know what else could possibly be. Pitiable and tragic as it is, it is also a reality that has long been coming. We may not be familiar with the taste of consequences, but it’s about time. It’s just too bad, too bad, that it had to take the lives of three—and possibly more—Filipinos for us to face this reality square in the face.

Now. To the government that allows a minimum wage of P400 per day; to the Supreme Court that does a shitty job of convicting criminals and punishing them the way they should be; to the airport authorities doing a crappy job of catching drug mules and smugglers while they are still in the country; to the oppositions to the RH Bill that might help curb population growth given the increasing scarcity of resources, and educate people on birth control and family planning that they might not have to face the quintessential Filipino problem of having ten children to feed and no decent source of income to do so; to the millions of Filipinos refusing to work hard and resorting to the easiest way to money; to those in power to make a difference and those who, in case they do not know it yet, are at least capable of making a choice:

What next?

A prelude to accepting the Month of Missing

2011-03-28T22:38:00.000+08:00

It's gotten a little lonelier here.

As I mentioned in a Facebook status, April of 2011 has introduced itself as a Month Of Missing, of sorts. The month has barely begun, and already I am missing somebody dearly. Later in the week, there will be a handful more of people I'll begin to miss.

A thought occured to me the other day, when I was pondering this cycle of beginning, ending, missing. Change is such a fact of life, we shouldn't even be dwelling on it so much. And yet we never seem to take this truth seriously. It's kind of like death; it's an eventuality we never really admit we'll one day face. Finiteness, ephemerality - they're what give the things, experiences, and people in our lives meaning and value. But because we always forget that nothing lasts forever, and that people, like ourselves, won't always be around to stay, we easily take them for granted.

I have always been the type of person to look far, far ahead. To zoom out and gaze at the proverbial big picture, to make period plans for the future (plans for half a decade, a decade, an entire phase in my life). Of course, I've lived only so much to see even increments of these plans come together. Yet that's pretty much where my head is, most of the time. It's not something I'm proud of - in fact, it's something that just takes away from my appreciation of here and now. The here and now that won't last, the here and now that will someday transition into something else. It's pretty bad: before I know it, something I have yet to savor is about to be taken away. A person's presence I have yet to appreciate is about to become an absence. An opportunity will be replaced by something else; an experience traded in for something new.

You could say it's a way of coping with change and the sadness it brings with it. If anything, the future will always be the future, and the past will always remain the past - we'll never be in either place at any given time, and therefore, either place is safe to be in compared to the present.

We can rely on people to be where they were in the past, and we can envision counting on people in the future. Their absence in the present, though, is much too difficult to bear.

We can reminisce experiences from the past, and we can imagine ideal scenarios for the future. Current cirrcumstances, however, are much too taxing to endure.

But, you see, we can turn the world upside down and deny the truth all we want, and still, nothing will change the fact of life that change is a fact of life. It's supposedly as natural as the fluctuating speeds at which we breathe and the varying rates our heart pumps blood throughout our body. It's such a given, we shouldn't even be thinking of it so much.

And yet we do. We make a big deal of change, like we do with death. It's difficult to admit it to ourselves, but change hurts us. Change transforms us. Change tears us down.

But then, change also builds us up again. Change...I think, only in change do we truly find who we are and what we're made of, and what we can still be. Only in change do we discover the meaning of our relationships, and the role of people in our lives, and the point of certain experiences.

Beginnings, endings, missing. Change, and the discovery of meaning. If such are very natural things to being alive, then I guess it all makes better sense now.

The best artists share

2011-03-25T16:50:00.000+08:00

A thing I learned from my job: the best at what they do are also the most generous. The best photographers are those who share and do not count the cost. In fact, if it means getting their work out there, and also sharing their story—how they failed, how they made it, what they did to make it through the difficulty and what might help others be able to do the same—then they are most willing.

Yes, it’s about exposure—who doesn’t want that? But it’s mostly because they want to share. They’re not stingy about their art, and they do not even feel entitled to doing it and having people see it. They just enjoy it, and they enjoy other people enjoying it too.

Another thing I learned from my job? It’s that just as much as this is true, so is the opposite.

The Lunch Blog 2011: post no. 21

2011-03-23T14:23:00.002+08:00

I'm going to try blogging at lunch period as much as I can now, because I find that, as soon as I get home, I immediately crash. Although that's not entirely true because, thankfully for the past few days, I've been able to spare at least fifteen minutes or so just reading, before finally surrendering to the night. And yet the fifteen minutes is a great difference from the average two hours of energy I used to still have after work, and that was back when I'd spend at least an hour of walking around Mall of Asia before calling it a night and taking the FX home. Hum. This could only mean one thing:

The arrival of the dreaded Old Age.

Or, it could just mean that the commute to Rockwell, from the previous Pasong Tamo Extension, has proven to be more tiring indeed.

In any case, I haven't been able to set aside writing time in the previous nights. Not just for this blog, but for the hundred-plus-plus projects I told myself I'd get around to doing. I'm sure this is common of all writers, and I'm sure the self-beating that comes after realizing that one has failed herself again is also natural.

Yet common as this is, it turns out it shouldn't be natural - at least not in the sense that we ultimately allow ourselves to despair, all the time, over being unable to produce work. And of course, the extreme opposite of this should not be the case either, where we think that no work is better than imperfect work.

As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck, I’m such a failure. I’m washed-up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness.

- Elizabeth Gilbert

Difficulty in creating art is natural. The inability to churn something out is natural. But at the end of the day, it’s not what stops us or hinders us from doing what we do that makes us what we are. As artists – writers, film makers, illustrators, musicians, designers, dancers, etc., etc. – it is what we do, and what we produce, that will define us. Not the notebook that doesn’t allow us to edit properly. Not the commute that takes so long, we arrive at the studio only to rest half the time. Not the computer without the pen tablet.

And certainly, not the night that no longer gives us more energy than usual.

Earlier, in another bout of routinely despair, I sought comfort in Elizabeth Gilbert’s Thoughts On Writing, published in her website. It’s a beautiful piece worth the five minutes it requires to be read from head to toe, though for the purposes of this post, I’d like to repost portions of it.

(Note: it occurs to me that I did not copy and paste these portions so much as I copied the entire thing, and selected the few passages to delete, instead.)

- I often hear people say, “I’m not good enough yet to be published.” That’s quite possible. Probable, even. All I’m saying is: Let someone else decide that. …

- Don’t pre-reject yourself. That’s their job, not yours. Your job is only to write your heart out.

- The other thing to realize is that all writers think they suck. When I was writing “Eat, Pray, Love”, I had just as a strong a mantra of THIS SUCKS ringing through my head as anyone does when they write anything. But I had a clarion moment of truth during the process of that book. One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this – I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. …

- My suggestion is that you start with the love and then work very hard and try to let go of the results. Cast out your will, and then cut the line. …

(Second note: I had to cut out major portions of it, lest this post become an essay - some What I Love About What Elizabeth Gilbert Wrote About Writing, Which Is Pretty Much Everything.)

I am not a fan of Gilbert, because apart from this piece I haven’t read anything by her, not even the popular Eat, Pray, Love. But I do love what she has to say about the writing craft. In times of creativity drought, or writing-related emotional distress, I find that it…in the words of a popular website and a recent new expression of some friends, it G.M.H. It gives me hope.

(I ought to delete that for its cheesiness, but I’m telling you, I can’t find another way to put it. I mean, what else does the term ‘hopeless,’ one of the symptoms of writer’s block, implies that it lacks, aside from hope?)

In relation to the bout of despair I mentioned having, I've just been worrying recently over what will become of my life. (Another symptom of old age, perhaps?) I know what I want to do, but the world isn't wired in such a way that I could just go ahead and do it, at least not unless I want to starve to death and live off the streets. I am worrying because, I am afraid of being caught up with the need to make a living, and eventually die, not as the writer I want to be.

But then, as I realize through Gilbert's piece, there is no one way to go about it. Difficulty is a given, rejection is a given, failure is a given. It pretty much sounds as if wanting to seriously write assumes just as much willingness to go through difficulty and rejection. Then again, as a writer - an artist - what else can you do?

I have a friend who’s an Italian filmmaker of great artistic sensibility. After years of struggling to get his films made, he sent an anguished letter to his hero, the brilliant (and perhaps half-insane) German filmmaker Werner Herzog. My friend complained about how difficult it is these days to be an independent filmmaker, how hard it is to find government arts grants, how the audiences have all been ruined by Hollywood and how the world has lost its taste…etc, etc. Herzog wrote back a personal letter to my friend that essentially ran along these lines: “Quit your complaining. It’s not the world’s fault that you wanted to be an artist. It’s not the world’s job to enjoy the films you make, and it’s certainly not the world’s obligation to pay for your dreams. Nobody wants to hear it. Steal a camera if you have to, but stop whining and get back to work.” I repeat those words back to myself whenever I start to feel resentful, entitled, competitive or unappreciated with regard to my writing: “It’s not the world’s fault that you want to be an artist…now get back to work.” Always, at the end of the day, the important thing is only and always that: Get back to work. This is a path for the courageous and the faithful. You must find another reason to work, other than the desire for success or recognition. It must come from another place.

And so, I’m going to try blogging at lunch period as much as I can now. I find that it really helps for practice, and also for untangling the pipes through which words try to rush out when I sit down to write. The fact that it makes me immensely happy is an understated bonus.

I just can’t wait for the day when I get paid to do this purely. Heheh.

The Lunch Blog 2011: post no. 20

2011-03-22T13:39:00.000+08:00

During my last trip to Hong Kong, a family friend asked how things have been with me. I shared with her some things about my work, some of the good recent happenings, and also some of the bad—the things I couldn’t figure out. She responded by saying, like it were any other generic statement that could be expected of a response, “You should talk to the Lord about it.” I laughed.

She said it so simply, it could’ve been an Aw, That’s Alright, You’ll Work It Through. It could’ve been, I See. But no, she was telling me to talk to God like she were advising a person with the flu to go see a doctor. Like it were the most obvious thing to do. Needless to say, it sounded rather funny to me.

So I laughed a response laugh. In my head I was thinking, Ha, I’ve Tried That. Yeah, I Talk To God All The Time. But He Doesn’t Respond Quite So Much. So Yeah, That’s Kind Of Funny.

And yet. I was supposed to follow my giggle with a few joking words, but instead I found myself questioning whether my initial thoughts were even true. Have I really been talking to God about my life lately? Have I actually tried seeking a little of his help?

Er. No, I’m afraid I haven’t.

I suddenly felt embarrassed over laughing, though I know she didn’t take any offense for it. I felt embarrassed for thinking I’d been talking to God when in fact, I’ve quite deliberately closed my door on Him.

Every one goes through difficulty in their life and, depending on the kind of person you are, difficulty either strengthens your faith or destroys it completely. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that mine has been destroyed, though I feel as though I’ve been broken apart enough to believe that someone I couldn’t see could actually help me. That someone who claims to be there and, quote unquote, loves you, could actually be cold and distant, just when you need him most.

With retrospect it has become clear that God hasn’t really been part of the last several years of my life. I laughed when my friend gave her well-meaning advice because, deep down, it was the last thing I would’ve done. The last thing I would’ve thought of doing, even. Talk to God? Hahaha yeah right, like he’d listen. I might as well talk to a wall. Those were the words I might have said, if they didn’t gurgle into a little laugh.

Interestingly enough, today, at the prompt of another one of the dilemmas and problems that life can’t seem to resist offering, I have been given the same advice.

And I am rethinking the way I should respond to this. I am wondering, and considering for the first time in a very long time, whether I should start doing this again. You know, talking to God about it.

The Lunch Blog 2011: post no. 19 On Travel & Asia

2011-03-21T13:43:00.001+08:00

Last week, some colleagues and I took a bus to La Union for an assignment. La Union is a province located up north. It’s a six-hour freezing bus ride from Pasay City, Manila, and anywhere between one to four hours to Baguio, and Pagudpud, further up north. I can’t write much on La Union as, whatever I could write about, I intend to save for the article I’m doing. But something I could say is this: the Philippines is a beautiful, massive country, and yet its beauty is difficult to appreciate when you’re in Manila and sitting in front of the television, tuned to the 6 o’clock news.

I’ve been living here for almost six years, and I could count only in one hand the places in the country I’ve been to: aside from Cavite where I live and Manila where I work, I’ve traveled—quote, unquote—to Tagaytay, Laguna, Batangas, and Quezon down south, and Ilocos, La Union, and Pampanga up north (alright, make that two hands). It isn’t much, and barely do I realize how much I’m missing until I get the opportunity to really explore and try to get to know a place. It is these experiences I realize I should work for more; experiences in which I am humbled and overwhelmed by just how big the country is. And the world.

There is one place in the world that is closest to my heart, and it is here I want to one day work in, buy an apartment, and raise a family. But until then—and even then—the world is immense and here for the exploring. I want to get to know the Philippines more—I want to see all of Luzon, and then fly to the Visayas and Mindanao, and dip my foot in the clear waters foreigners are more familiar with than ourselves, and get to step on some of the pure, untouched land friends have been telling me about.

I want to visit Singapore—the first on my foreign destinations list—having heard how it’s very much like Hong Kong, “only cleaner.” I want to fly to Vietnam and eat off of the streets; the flavor of lemongrass and the freshness of ingredients suffocating me as I bow into every pho bowl for a bite. I want to see Brunei, a desire I can only attribute to my ignorance and laziness to Google it—it has a very interesting name and Cebu Pacific offers flights to the place, so why not?

I need not mention New York City, which I once visited with my family when I was 8, an age in which I couldn’t care less for the charm of skyscrapers and city life, unfortunately, and would therefore like to see again, to savor and embrace with a more informed mind and heart. I need not mention Canada, where a lot of friends have migrated to and whom I’d like to visit; I need not mention Europe, and South Africa, and yes, also Antartica (blank insert here, for those who might understand). I want to visit all these places, like any other aspiring traveler. I want to see the world.

What I find most interesting about this reawakened desire to see the world is my newfound preference to know more about the region in which I already am, Southeast Asia. Or Asia, period. I wouldn’t call myself colonial; I just never really got to appreciate Asia for what it is, perhaps because I’ve always been the type of person to look outward, at what’s over there instead of what’s around here, which, for me, has the tendency to seem familiar, so close to home. Until recently.

I also find it wonderful that the MFA program in Creative Writing offered by City University in Hong Kong has been billed “the only program in the world with a specific focus on Asian writing.” You might recall me saying that I’d like to get to know more of Philippine literature this year, a goal I have yet to start trying to reach. It’s really great to know that bigger, greater institutions have long been finding a need themselves to explore and get to know Asian literature written in English, and not merely look to American and British practices and techniques when it comes to English literature.

It might just be me awaking from ignorance, or developing a personal interest for the continent I was born in and its many cultures, but I can’t help seeing a real, waking interest here for many things Asian. It’s making me proud and happy to be here; it’s also making me shy away a little, and bend and crow in humility, not knowing enough about this place just yet.

But the desire to is there. And I can begin with the Philippines.

The Lunch Blog 2011: post no. 18

2011-03-14T14:04:00.000+08:00

This morning, I made my way to work with a closed mind and emotional nerves the state of which is like that of anything buried under a rock. Because I was running late again, everything in the world was two things: whatever it was, and irritating. The tricycles that aren't there just when you need them were irritating. The jeep waiting an entire block behind where it should have been waiting was irritating. The bus that squealed every time the driver floored the brakes was irritating - and the fact that it couldn't completely halt when it needed to, the fact that it was in such a dire condition it was, without a doubt, unsafe, was also irritating.

The people strolling along the Guadalupe pavement on a busy early morning were irritating. The barkers waving their arms like mad and chasing down commuters (including my bewildered self) were irritating. The traffic along JP Rizal was irritating. The walk through the perennially under-construction was irritating.

Such was my state of mind this morning. It was one of an ungrateful little grouch, a whiny little person with too much to complain about and nil to be thankful for.

Until, I logged onto my news sources and the online ink that articulated the news swished and formed itself into an arm, pulled itself out of the screen and, in a trajectory that aimed directly for my whine-worn face, swung for a momentous punch.

In Japan, last Friday’s earthquake and tsunami brought the death (and missing) toll to 10,000. The waves have wiped an entire city’s population in such a few hours, just like that.

Earlier this morning, a fire killed an entire family in Quezon City—one of the victims was set to graduate from college, and her younger sister was a college freshman.

It is so easy to forget how God holds our life and, when he wills for it, take it back before the click of a snap can be heard. Whoever uttered that every breath of life is a gift wasn’t kidding — whoever uttered it meant every bit of truth containable in each word. Life is a gift lent to us only for a short, and undetermined (at least by us) period of time.

And after a moment of pondering, it appears that if we were to die, it might as well be by God’s chosen method. The irritating tricycles, jeepney drivers, and lunatic barkers are just far too small a cause of death, for the kind of gift we have been given.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 17

2011-03-11T13:29:00.000+08:00

Holla I am back! To Manila, to work, to this. My family and I flew to Hong Kong a few days ago and, despite the horribly cold weather - I say horrible only because it practically slew my throat - we had such a wonderful time, getting to bond with the city again, with each other, and with long lost family and friends. My heart's still full and swollen from all the love, and...after such a trying week, nay, month - no, a trying 2011 altogether - it's just such an a amazing thing to be reacquainted with the people and places that not only embrace you, but also bring out the best in you. And so I am very grateful. And very thankful. And very blessed, and I can't say it enough.

Since returning, I've resumed the frail physical condition I've been in since the beginning of the month. Various ailments in so and so parts of my body have been around like unwanted visitors: a stiff back at one point, a stiff neck the next, a bad case of food poisoning after, and now, a pained throat that feels like a dagger's hangout every time I swallow. It's made me reevaluate my ruthless, if not merely careless, attitude toward my body and living a healthy lifestyle, and now I'm just regretting taking good health for granted. Urgh. Prevention, as they say, is certainly better than cure. I must draw up a new exercise-slash-diet routine for myself once I get better (i.e., sleep eight hours. Or, no. Sleep, period).

Also since returning, I've found myself reverting to the negative old ways that have been characteristic of myself the past few months, particularly in dealing with difficult situations. It's impossible to fight against unideal - if not outright appalling - circumstances, I know. It's just that, once you're full, you've got to empty yourself or you'll just keep brimming, and overflowing, with all of these strong, angry emotions. And it is not nice, at all.

It's also been so difficult just keeping my head above the water and trying to see past all the murky shit. Into the horizon of supposed better things; the proverbial bigger picture. I have been trying, though I've found that, once you've had enough, you've had enough. It is also a struggle, when you'd so much want to have nothing to do with a certain thing, and still you must do the right thing.

Needless to say, it has indeed been a trying time. But, as I wrote in a Facebook status the other day, when you don't get what you want, you'll at least get what you need. And we were blessed with a trip that helped keep things in perspective, a trip that reminded us each of the beautiful things just waiting on the other side of a wall we could climb over. That while I am all but pulling my hair out, there are better things to be had at the end of the day - things that make all of this worth it.

On color balance and saturation, levels, brightness and contrast and illumination

2011-03-06T15:03:00.000+08:00

I am not very much a photographs-person. I'm not the type who will diligently lug around a camera (at least, not until I finally get my hands on a decent point-and-shoot) and whip it out during key moments to steal a snap of them. But I do enjoy taking photographs, when the time seems allocated for it - while visiting a new place, when there is a pretty plate of food in front of me, when friends (and the boyfriend) and I decide it is time to camwhore, or on the rare occasions that I am "on assignment." (Wow, that actually felt nice to say!)

More recently, though, I find myself enjoying another aspect of photography: post-processing. It's something I used to dislike, thinking Photoshopped photographs aren't as authentic as those straight out of the camera. It wasn't until I started working for DPP that it occurred to me that post-processing is not an extra option - it is actually part of the entire photography process. Even during the film and chemical developing age.

In viewing photographs for work or leisure, I like trying to figure out how much post has gone into certain photographs. The best, of course, are those that do not look post-processed at all, which also goes to say that they are the most challenging to figure out. But it's fun - it's like listening for the piano keys, or the bass, when listening to a song, trying to search for and identify the details that make a work of art what it is. It's also interesting, going to back to the original image with imagination's help, and then figuring out - not necessarily in order - how much brightness and contrast adjustments were made, how much nudging and pulling were done on the color balance sliders, et cetera et cetera.

And the fun lies just as much in de- and re-constructing the photograph as in discovering and learning how the changes affect its final feel; the finished product's tone. Too much of anything always ruins it, I've learned. There are overexposed photos that are just difficult to look at, there are far too contrast-y ones that just look fake, there are attempts to brighten some that ultimately fail with clipped highlights and attempts to bring out detail that just burn an entire portion completely.

But then there are the fully saturated ones that have in it a delightful, whimsical feel. There are under saturated ones that look gracefully aged. There are black and white ones with a beautiful tonal range; there are contrasty ones delicate with detail. These are the challenging ones to figure out, but they are enjoyable to do, too.

And so I sometimes find myself with a lack of decent photographs to post-process if only for the fun of achieving certain feels and tones (in other words, trying to create beautifully post-processed photographs). Here above are some I've tried to play with, and whether they're great or not great is for the looker to judge. As for me, I'm pretty happy with the outcome (better as I think they could still be). I think I've achieved the feel I've been trying to go for with these, which is some cool and isolation (eh?).

1. Skies from outside the church we attend near home 2. The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton, Valentine's gift from Jabin and which I am reading now. 3. Nicole Krauss's Man Walks Into A Room and The History of Love, Dave Eggers's What Is The What and Zeitoun, also from Jabin, the last of which I am also reading now. I've read Krauss's books last January, and have yet to read What Is The What. 4. The ceiling of my room.

Oh and, I'm always open to feedback ;)

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 16

2011-03-04T13:32:00.001+08:00

Last night I was going through the notes I've saved on my phone, and it surprised me, some of the things I've been able to write on the road. It's made me think how, like Jonathan in Everything Is Illuminated, I should just always be writing. All the time, wherever I am, on whatever medium and form of technology. Not that the stuff in my notes are masterpieces, but there's something about the rawness of a thought or an idea and its immediate articulation. Prior to last night, I always assumed I could write things down later, or when I find the time. But, alas, memory is something we should least trust. These thoughts are now floating, unacknowledged and therefore pretty much non-existent, in thin air.

The journalist Joan Didion detests blogs. She believes in the notebook - that people should be carrying notebooks and writing in them instead of blogs. But this is, in my opinion, merely an opinion, and one that belongs to someone who isn't part of the generation that has this extra, and relatively convenient medium at its dispense. This is pretty much our own version of notebook, the only difference is that it's available to the world.

No matter. I guess the point is to keep writing, and keep keeping track of the thoughts and ideas that cross our minds at one point or another.

The Lunch Blog: post no. 15

2011-02-28T13:11:00.001+08:00

After a brief hiatus, I am back, but for another brief post.

1. We've moved!
We have since moved office, and I don't see the communal lunches that were part of this Lunchtime habit's origins happening anytime soon, though the waiting - for officemates to buy their lunch - part of it remains. So all is good. It's time to flex one's fingers and writing muscles again.

Gela and I, on our way out of our old office (which we kind of really miss a lot now)

Sometimes we feel like (or pretend to be like) characters from Sex And The City. I don't know if this photo says anything about that fact though; it merely shows us walking.

That's me and some of my favorite people from the office. These were taken (by Rina Ramos) last Friday, when we were moving. From Pasong Tamo Extension, we are now located in Rockwell.

2. Published!
Last Saturday, I was ecstatic to find that the piece I was asked to write for the Philippine Star Supreme was published. It's a short, brief one on the Oscars; I'm pushing no modesty aside because there is no modesty at all here to be had: it isn't anything earth-shaking, but for me, it is a start. A start I've had a knack for putting off, but it's finally come. And so I am so, so happy.

I am definitely looking forward to more opportunities and chances like this.

3. Not dazed, but still confused!
As for things that have occurred between my last post and today, well, things are happening and occurring as usual. There isn't enough, or there isn't anything certain, just yet to write about. If anything, they're best left for thinking about, really. Although I certainly hope some clarity will reveal itself soon.

4. Will write for books - again!
In case I haven't mentioned it here, I've revived my efforts to write on the books I've been reading on RevLit, or Review Of Recent Literature, my new book blog. Do give it a visit, I'd really appreciate it. I'm currently reading Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer, and it is beautiful, and I'll post a review of it once I'm done (not anytime soon, though).

And that's it for my brief post. I really ought to streamline my online life and give it some structure, and give my online spaces the purposes they deserve, and do way with those that really have none. I'm still in the process of reworking this one, Out On Seventh Street, while randomly lurking on Saffron Calls. But I really hope to nail them each once and for all, before the end of March, just so I could use them more effectively. Hum.

By the way, I'm also quite happy over Natalie Portman winning Best Actress and Christian Bale winning Best Supporting Actor at the Oscars today. I haven't had the chance to watch The King's Speech, so I can't quite say much about their wins. Jabin and I watched True Grit last Saturday, and while it was good - and Hailey Steinfeld proved deserving of her nomination - it wasn't exactly great. Anyways, I'll try to catch reruns of the Oscars later tonight after work. What did you guys think of the winners?

Clueless, I'm afraid I am

2011-02-18T17:17:00.002+08:00

I used to wonder whether accepting your cluelessness about what you want, admitting to yourself that you have absolutely no idea what you want to do for a living, is a laudable thing to do. Interestingly, at twenty, I have come to this fascinating conclusion about myself. Who would have known? Not even I expected anything like this to come up. Not to me. I always thought I knew.

Er, I guess I was honestly mistaken, then.

Now, is it a good thing? On the one hand it's liberating; I could say whatever and mean it, and take on anything I am at least interested in, and find out if it's the right fit. On the other hand…it's either I'm really impatient, or whatever I feel about time passing by so quickly - this urgency to start doing something, to get going - is valid, and I can't just hop around.

I don't know. What do you think?

It might sound annoying. I might sound like I'm whining again. Apologies, for that. But all I mean to do right now is wonder out loud and think.

Because I really have no idea.

Tangible things I could show and about which I could tell

2011-02-15T00:23:00.002+08:00

Every time I sit down to write here, at least in my attempts throughout the past week, I end up writing something too personal not to be Saved As Draft, and leaving my blog stale for yet another day. Unlike previous occasions in which I've shared personal nuggets of thought, the most recent ones have been rather...detailed. A lot more raw, so to speak. Like photographs, they might need a little more post-processing before publication - which is what I've decided I'll do. Meanwhile, here are the more tangible aspects of the past weeks, presented in a more graspable form - by virtue of their being more documentary than fine art, or abstract, or simply ambiguous, something that often happens to words when I try to use them. Here's photography, when I needed it:

My work table, when it's messy. Which is, all the time.

This is what happened when my seat/work mate decided to divorce me.

Guess my favorite accessories color. No, it isn't spelled out.

Two Saturdays ago, I visited DLSU. Which I missed.

I visited the Green Giant FM booth too, which I also missed (it was the term's graduation though, so no one was on air).

That same Saturday, Jabin and I went to Cubao X to visit We Are Triangle, the pop-up store that I wanted to see. I got this shirt (souvenir of the Meiday concert we didn't attend), and this awesome poetry collection The Collapse of What Separates Us by Vincenz Serrano, published by High Chair.

I've read a few pages, whose pieces are beautiful, but because the others seem to demand more energy than my attention span in the middle of the night (when I usually read) could afford, I've decided to set aside time just to read this, which I'm sure will be time well-spent.

That same day, earlier, I spotted these two issues of Granta in Booksale.

...And another Booksale find from a week ago. This is why I love the bookstore.

Today.

Jabin preparing our smoked salmon with cheese and dill sandwich.

It's my favorite sandwich in the world.

Me: "I feel like starting a blog. An answer to Julia Child's 365-day cooking challenge. Only, because I can't cook, you'll do the cooking, and I'll blog!"

Happy Monthsary-Valentine's!

By the way, I apologize for the poor picture quality. I'd been using my phone's camera since my brother's 1000D broke, but thankfully it's finally repaired, and all we have to do is pick it up from the service center. As is the flaw of most human beings, I didn't realize how useful and valuable that camera was until it was (momentarily) taken away from me. I'll try my best not to let that happen again.

And that's pretty much it, aside from the intangible things swimming in my head. I hope to be able to share some of it soon, to clear the air (at least of this space) or something, and also, to clear my Dashboard. Again, though, while I'm getting this site back together, I'll be on Saffron Calls, and my sweet second attempt at a book blog, called Revlit (Review of Recent Literature). Follow if you like! I wish I could say I'm a Tumblr ambassador but, as it is, I am not. I've just been on it a lot more often recently, is all.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 14

2011-02-09T13:15:00.000+08:00

Hi, guys. It's been a week.

Shall I sum it up? Maybe later, with photographs.

Shall I write about it? Hm, the only things worth writing about are quite personal, or at least not web-appropriate. At least not for now.

I've got plans for this space, and am still getting everything together to pull it off. But I hope the month sees some productivity.

On the other hand, I've been on Tumblr a lot lately, which I find a really reliable microblogging platform. To each medium its purposes, its uses, and for my current, recent purposes and uses, Tumblr has been the most appropriate, so.

Anyways, I'm not taking a break, but I'll be back soon with a bit more, and hopefully some great news, too.

- Johna

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 13

2011-02-02T12:58:00.000+08:00

You know the universe is insisting something upon you when people begin to echo what your circumstances have been trying to say.

And for the past three days, different people have been articulating varying forms of this: patience, Johna. Patience.

OK. Okay.

At the same time, I've been learning a lot, too. Slowly, but I guess sure enough. Enough so that it's reminding me of how scary it is to know so little, while also reminding me that I'm wrong to refuse to learn, even if I do so subconsciously. In other words, it's reminding me to keep a humble and open mind, which I think will be important in obeying the universe's demand for me to be patient.

I wish I could elaborate, but I'm a little pressed for time at the moment. Perhaps this weekend. All I could say for now is, it's time, finally time: for growth and for something new.

I just need to be patient.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 12 Hello February, goodbye child of January

2011-02-01T13:06:00.004+08:00

And the first month of the year is gone.

I dread to think of it an empty container, and if I do I'd hasten to point out how it is only the dominant, childish part of me speaking. The one successfully surfacing, whom I'd try with all my might to suppress, though the prospect of having this stubborn, disillusioned child come out once and for all is a lot more appealing - I'm hoping the lure out is the way to banish it once and for all.

On the other hand, I must admit that it's gotten kind of hollow in here. A kind of empty, if not for all the negativity. An enclosed valley of negative space, both in the nothingness and in the negativity. Maybe letting out this child should be done elsewhere.

January has ended and I'm sure, there was substance in there somewhere. Ultimately I've failed in all my attempts to be a more positive person, but I guess February, as will all other new beginnings, offer another chance to try again.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 11 - On Second Options and what I mined from the religious habit of retrospection

2011-01-28T12:15:00.006+08:00

Through the religious habit of retrospection, I have come to discover the story of my life (so far): I, Johnalene Mae S. Baylon, am a Settler. Don't be too quick to refer to the analogy used in HIMYM though, because this has nothing to do with relationships, and, more importantly, I have not watched that episode yet (I am still in Season 1). I am referring instead to my tendency to revert to choosing lesser options; the Second Options I have made available to myself at the knowledge that perhaps Option One is either far too difficult to achieve, or simply unachievable, more due to my lack of following through than my inability to go out and actually get it. I am a great dreamer, yes, and on rare occasions a great starter, too. But I do not follow through to the end. I do not finish. And, somewhere in all of that, I make it clear to myself how the Second Options have always been the standard I'd been able to reach, anyway. The Second Best have always been my actual goal.

Thus it shouldn't be surprising how I never seem to get what I actually, truly, do want. How I find in my hands achievements I am happy to have but wouldn't have been sad not to have had, either. Things I am glad to have accomplished but which are, at the same time, accomplishments I am not all that proud of anyway, because I know they were within my reach to begin with.

And I could always have done better.

Some of these things have led to better things for me, I would have to admit. There are ways in which I know I am better for having taken a detour at some point - unraveling a knack for being finally publicly unkind when, as a leader, orders are not followed, or when as a manager, things are a hair's width out of place (in other words, I've discovered an inner Control Freak I could put to better and more effective use somehow). But these are very few. What most of them have left me with is a perennially discontent self, a tiringly restless self, and, as I cannot help but feeling, a remarkable capacity for futile, if not simply hopeless, attempts.

But also one more thing, thank heavens: the knowledge that, of the billions of people the world can bestow gifts and Truly Good Things upon, it could really only afford a handful what they Really, Truly Want - the handful that, even at the world's end, has no other options.

And so the religious habit of retrospection had me trip on the story of my life (so far), but only so kindly as to push me toward a quote unquote renewed one, one in which I can no longer give myself other options, settle for endless Second Bests, and try miserably to content myself with achievements and accomplishments that I can do with but not necessarily be proud of.

The least I can do, instead, is to have a backup plan. Because, whereas Second Options only take you so near, the backup plan eventually brings you where you want to be.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 10

2011-01-27T13:06:00.001+08:00

As of yesterday, I have been working here for a year.

A milestone? Of course.

<3

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 9

2011-01-24T13:49:00.001+08:00

I am at a sincere loss for words. But perhaps the most accurate thing to say is that I am at an utter loss for anything say here, at all.

If maybe anyone of you have any questions or suggestions, leave them in the comment box below? Or perhaps topic ideas?

White space is beautiful only when you're not supposed to fill it up.

The truth is, I've been writing a lot here. Spilling the contents of my mind, which are not very unlike those in my bag, which is to say messy and disorganized and random though all with a point there, somewhere - into this white space of a text area, saving each piece as drafts, and then forgetting them like passage of every minute, the kind without care for the loss of each passing moment and everything it contains.

Of course, it's not like I do so deliberately.

I write here with every intention to publish. This is my blog, after all, and the vulgar truth of blogging and self-publication is that it is easy. Instant. There in a snap, without need for a "real" editor except perhaps that of the writer herself, and in the most realistic cases, writers make for the most horrible editors of their own work.

(Well, I am sure there are great ones out there. Just, don't ask me to edit my own work. I can't really tell how I sound after all, whether my writing voice is as hollow as the cardboard cylinder at the heart of every tissue roll or whether my run-ons, unlike those of Dave Eggers for example, do not work.)

More recently however, I've been saving the pieces written here for myself, with the hope that I could put it to better use elsewhere. To be more specific, I've been hoping to finally muster every ounce of energy I could, from my lazy and fickle tendencies to my lazy and uncooperative self in general, to write something publishable in the daily paper or a literary journal.

Or, the grand 'ol current driving force of my life, the magnificent First Novel.

Which goes to explain my inactivity here. I think, apart from saving my energies for this humble online space of mine, still on a free blog server, I should do exactly the same for all the longer literary aspirations I've written about countless of times in journals and to-do lists and bucket lists but have never, as of yet, actually got on to doing. I think it's about time to fill my own words with the weight I put into the words of authors I love and could only hope to be half as great as, and start seeing them brim with life, the kind I write about to live.

Natalie Goldberg said that writers live two lives: one just as everyone else's, and a second that takes in and takes note of everything as (s)he writes it down. This is true, and though I am still trying to come to terms with the fact that I only realized this simple, plain and basic truth now, I might as well do it already. Live two lives.

That said, I'm not filling this with the mundane as much as I can help it. It is still a blog - or an online journal, whichever side of the argument you like to be on - and, as long as I'm keeping it, I might as well make the most of it to contribute to the world (oh yes, the great, noble purpose!)…wide web. Not as cyber litter I hope, but as, well, some person whose mind litter you like reading, I guess. And that should be enough. If writing's least and greatest fulfillment is to be read, then that's all I could ask for.

And so I'm sticking around, while trying to lead that double life. Come to think of it, it just might be three lives I'll have to attempt to live: the one we all do, the second one for my magnificent first novel, and then a third for my blog. Does that make sense?

Maybe not. Then again, that's the editor's job to decide.

Saturday at Mercato Centrale

2011-01-23T21:03:00.003+08:00

Jabin and I spent yesterday at Mercato Centrale, Bonifacio Global City. It's right in front of The Spa at Bonifacio High Street.

We've been wanting to try this place out for a while. I, in particular, have had my sights - and cravings! - on the popular doughnut-burger thing, which we found out is from the stall called Offbeat. I also wanted to try the mochi ice cream, which we found is from Mochiko.

We tried a lot of other things too, including this delicious sandwich from Bale Dutung (shame on me for forgetting what it's called), some roast pork from another stall whose name I can't recall, potato cheese balls, squid, sea snails, and milk tea from Teaology (the best milk tea I've tried so far). I think I should've been taking notes if only to recall what the food are called and the name of the stalls are from. That's one note to self for when we return next Saturday. There are still a lot of food we want to try!

I think my boyfriend and I are gaining weight.

We hung out around High Street for a while, visiting that shoe store at the end of High Street, all the way up to the Apple/iMac store, and then to Muji and Fully Booked. Jabin surprisingly loved the stuff at Muji - I forgot he was a minimalist. That makes me happy though, because although we didn't get anything, I know he wouldn't mind returning. Ha!

We also visited Fully Booked, where I was beset with the misery of knowing how many more books there is I still have not read. Of course I am exaggerating, but everything else about wanting to read more than half the store's collection is true. Because I still have books to read, I decided to put off getting anything, until we were about to leave the store and saw this on the shelf by the entrance/exit:

And then Jabin lovingly got it for me and made me a very happy girl.

And that was my Saturday. Weekends have been settling in to a nice routine this January. The kind I could look forward to all week and leave with simple 'ol Goodbye, no dread or drama, just a nice Thank You with a tap on the back to start the week right.

That said, I'm ready for the next week. Today was spent finishing Man Walks Into A Room, watching Easy A, and attending mass and having dinner with the family. I like it, the simplicity. No rush, no pressure. It's lovely.

Updates

2011-01-22T01:07:00.000+08:00

I am now saffroncalls on Tumblr.
This weekend, I will attempt a regular blog post.
I will also, with the best of my ability, refrain from writing, publishing, and then taking back blog posts.
I will also refrain from positing bullet points like this. But for this weekend only.

An open letter

2011-01-20T22:19:00.001+08:00

Happy Anniversary, Mama & Papa. You've been together 21 years and it's amazing. I'd put your photograph up here but I know how Papa doesn't like publicity very much, so. Well, happy anniversary. You know I love you. :)

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 8

2011-01-20T13:01:00.000+08:00

Oh no.

It just occurred to me how, if something like that happens again, I'll have to end this lunchtime routine of mine. This blogging at lunchtime.

I had written the first sentence for this post (or at least, what it would've been) when an officemate, standing behind me, began to read it out loud.

And she did so just as I was writing the second sentence, which I immediately abandoned as she finished speaking. Don't! I exclaimed. But it was kind of too late.

I've always disliked writing and having someone read, whether from over my shoulder or out loud without my knowledge (or permission!), something unfinished. More importantly, something in progress - and in real time. I could never point out why though, until what just happened.

Call me weird, but this is how it felt: it felt like someone was reading my head like an open book. And the reason it felt very unpleasant is that the open book is busy formulating thoughts, while stringing words to complete those thoughts. So having someone else read it - and out loud! - was like having someone, a very alien third party, tinker with that very delicate process. Look in without welcome and put a finger in between the gears and run around it like it were a playground.

Which it isn't.

Needless to say, it completely threw me off.

Which might explain the unusually difficult time I am currently having, just writing this. Posts for The Lunch Blog are supposed to come easily; they are streams of thought after all. But not this one.

I am not angry, though. Maybe a little frustrated, yes, but only as much as I am fascinated over what I just found out. So that's why I don't like people reading what I am writing while I am writing it.

Oh well.

Because I still have a lot of energy

2011-01-16T23:33:00.000+08:00

I wish:

1. People knew what certain words mean, before using it
2. The same goes for knowing what certain mediums are for, before using it
3. And how they work
4. Otherwise it'd be like writing a short story without nouns and verbs and adjectives
5. And then asking someone else to fill it up based on however they want to
6. I mean, it could work, but what if the clauses and prepositions were just mixed up in such a way that the one tasked to fill it cannot possibly figure out what it is those jumbled clauses and prepositions and connectors and whatnot are meant to say
7. And, even if those blanks are finally filled out, what about the punctuations
8. It'd be an utter mess
9. An Utter Mess
10. Hence this wishlist

I just mistook caffeine-induced hypertension for overwhelmingly forceful motivation

2011-01-16T23:24:00.000+08:00

Whether or not that is a good or bad thing is kind of the least of my concerns at the moment. The most urgent being, instead, the most unfortunate following:

1. The extreme physical stress I underwent, whose heightened sensations I still can't seem to forget
2. A temporary trauma against coffee

I know, it's almost devastating. It so happened that we run out of instant coffee and so, before mass, I prepared myself my own dosage of instant coffee powder and creamer and sugar, and I think I overdosed on the coffee powder.

What happened during mass was unexplainable at first; I thought I was being restless because I couldn't wait to get out of there and continue where I left off before we left home (I had been fixing my online portfolio). Throughout the whole service I was just so utterly restless, it wasn't even funny. I was so restless, my head ached, my heart was racing (or so I couldn't help but imagining), and I actually considered I might faint if I didn't run out the nearest exit and screamed my energy out.

And then I remembered the coffee I had. And I thought, well that explains everything.

Now I am still waiting for a couple of PDF files to optimize/JPEG-isize before I could upload them. Yes, I am continuing from where I had left off earlier, and I'm not tired yet, running on the excess energy still in my system.

I am not doing that again, having such a large quantity of coffee powder in my coffee. In fact, I'm sticking to milk tea for a while, for as long as I can help it. That was pretty freaky. And as much as I thought it was motivation then, it wasn't a kind of motivation I enjoyed. Needless to say, I wasn't able to concentrate on what the priest was saying because I was desperate for a way to compartmentalize all my energy and just calm down.

Now, now, what to type, what to type. My laptop is so slow I want to smack it where it could feel something, though I know that won't speed it up.

Dot dot dot

Dot dot dot

I am not doing that again.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 7

2011-01-13T13:22:00.001+08:00

I have been thinking about spending less time on the Internet because, while so many things have changed because of it, outside of it many things have remained the same. For instance, basic needs such as water, food, sunlight, and, because we are not plants, shelter, too. Also: the need to connect with other people, the need to accompany one's self, the need to discover new places, the need to engage in new experiences, and the need to learn something new everyday.

Also, depending on who you are, there is the need to develop a chosen craft, and hone relevant skills. There is as well, for more important things, the need to put more (fruitful) thought, spend more (focused) energy, and occasionally, carefully invest limited resources.

And because a life begins with a birth and ends with a death, and is divided in between by a series of waking and sleeping, we basically have only so much of it that we can use.

And while the Internet has its uses, I figured out that my life - our lives - actually have more use.

And because one day, I will die, and tonight (well, whichever comes first) I will go back to sleep, I've decided that while I am awake I should spend more time on the more important things and less on the Internet, which, although has changed so many things, still can't possibly beat my life - our lives - in making more of a difference.

Editor's (who, incidentally, is also me) note: The term 'Internet' in this piece refers only to The Useless Things I Am Punishably Guilty For Stuffing My Face With. That is because, if you think about it, people can also make use of the Internet to do great things and make a difference.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 6

2011-01-12T12:28:00.000+08:00

To say I am not affected is a lie. But. Because this is perhaps the only way I can wrap my fingers around this and give it the whole-hearted shove - away - it deserves, I will do it. I will put it in writing.

My grave apologies for the discontent and unhappinness, but I cannot quite stand the -------- that goes on around here.

That is all.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 5

2011-01-11T13:16:00.000+08:00

A few things:

1.
I managed to wake up extra early this morning, despite being unable to sleep last night, having drunk some coffee, thinking I'd do some work-related work, and instead rummaging through my closet for something to wear the next day, today, ending up with something only slightly more than remarkable. It's a new blouse, though something I slightly regret buying, because I realize that as much as I like it, I do not love it, and spending on something I only less than love always makes me regret the expenditure.

2.
In any case, because I managed to wake up early this morning, I have been blessed with the opportunity to reconnect with the chilly and dewy morning, quietly pregnant with promise, something I didn't realize I have long been missing. There is beauty in the morning quiet, yes? There is beauty in the soulful, grayish tone of the morning's light, still carrying touches of the recently faded night. Because I managed to wake up early this morning - which allowed me to leave home early as well - I got the rare chance of reveling in it, that brief period between the time zone's collective sleep and collective wakefulness.

3.
Because I managed to wake up extra early this morning, I also managed have breakfast at home. A plate of rice and Purefoods Juicy hotdogs, the long ones sliced into halves, and a cup of coffee, Nescafe 3-in1. It was lovely breakfast. I chewed, and chewed, and chewed and swallowed, all the while running my eyes around the bare dining table in the bare dining room, and everything was lovely - it was a quiet morning, after all - until my gaze landed on the little translucent cylindrical container housing - what do you know? - a mother spider, and her two baby spiders.

Thank heavens I hadn't my glasses on or I would've gagged.

To resume my lovely breakfast, I tried my best to forget about them and push away their image from my head.

And it worked, until I carelessly let my gaze wander again and, by accident, fall upon them a second time.

4.
Nicole Krauss's A History of Love and A Fine Frenzy is not certainly a happy combination, but it's one that made me especially happy this morning, on my way to work.

5.
The morning has, so far, been pleasant, except for the things that managed to make me want to bitch in frustration and laugh out loud at the same time. I find it funny how some things are able to do that. Because laughter, as an aftertaste, is so much stronger than anything negative (anger, frustration), so however more of the other you were at some point, you'd still end up wanting to smile about it.

So many things about being alive are ironic. I like it. They make for pleasant mornings.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 4

2011-01-10T13:06:00.000+08:00

Work hours have been officially bumped up by an hour, meaning to say that the daily morning runs of the past year to beat the clock have been rescheduled to an earlier slot.

Or not. I hope not. This day onward, I will simply wake up an hour and a half earlier, and try, with all my might, to prevent attempts at beating the clock. I just need to be early, simply put.

And this morning, I was pretty successful. Tomorrow is another story, one I pray to be just as successful as today's.

Again there truly isn't much I have in mind to write about. Again this is a form of practice, to produce something out of nothing, and under some time pressure. Again, I'm wondering whether this is a waste of effort, a waste of cyber space, a waste of time, although again, I respond by telling myself that any form of practice is never a waste, and that any form of practice will serve you - me - good in the long run.

A few more minutes to go, and it's time to get back to work. I've been reading a lot from the Book Bench on newyorker.com; they're not exactly news news, in the sense that they update me on current events, but they're news enough in the sense that they're...new. To me.

In any case, practice is good, so long as you're still making sense. Because I no longer am, I think, I guess it's time to go back to work now. It is almost one, too, after all.

Fiction

2011-01-09T01:36:00.004+08:00

There are only so many things you can do in real life. The great thing with fiction is that, in it, you can go wild.

And no one will ever know.

Review of Recent Literature: The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen

2011-01-08T01:07:00.003+08:00

It's been quite a while since I turned the last page of this book (January 2), and the night, preceded by the long day, has been calling for me to turn in. But because I've been itching to pick up a new novel to start off the year's reading, here are my thoughts on the book, which I would have saved for a better written essay if I didn't know better and thought I'd have the time to sit down and write one.

As I had anticipated, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections ended well. Its ending, though, was more of a conclusion than the eventuality of a resolution. Things turned out the way they were bound to, though it's not so much that the book was predictable or that things ended in futility. It seems to me more like it seeks to present a slice of the life of this family, the Lambert family, and that this slice simply has a beginning, middle, and end.

The story's structured in a way that narrates the stories of each member of the family one by one, each story eventually entangling itself to the other, the two of them eventually complementing, explaining, and filling in for each other, until they all converge on the days leading up to Christmas. That way the reader is drawn to each character, and as the story unfolds, more is revealed about the family, and the reader gets to a point where they look forward to how things will turn out on this Christmas day and begin hoping for the best.

Of course, because the story is far too realistic for great things to happen - things like 'the kind that only happen in books' - they don't, but again that isn't to say that things ended sadly. Things turned around for most of the characters, and for the rest, they ended as they had to.

Which, I think, is a great thing. A beautiful thing, to put it more accurately. In doing so, the book's almost trying to say that regardless of how great we hope, expect, and try to make things be, there are some things - and people, in this case - that will just remain the way they are. In the end we'll have to accept it, not so in defeat, but more of a liberating surrender.

That said, I realized that the characters were so unlikeable only as much as they were so real. It agitated me to read on and read through each characters' incredibly stupid decisions and/or irritating habits and/or pitiful attitudes and their consequences, but then, I read on anyway. There was, admittedly, a fascination for these imperfect little creatures and their wading through a pool of hopelessness, and then there was a realization that we, too, tend to wade through a similar pool; circle them; sit still in them. After that, the reader picks up for the characters, and quietly hopes - prays, even - for their redemption. Enid, Albert, Denise, Chip, and Gary are too real to look down upon; they must be helped.

"I want the real thing or I don't want anything."
With her right hand Enid herded the pills into her left hand. She dumped them into the garbage grinder, turned on water, and ground them up.
"What's the real thing?" Denise asked when the noise subsided.
"I want us all together for one last Christmas."

It must be said that in reading this book, I fell in love with two different, but connected, things: Jonathan Franzen (as an author), and language. Language, this book helped me discovered, is exponentially more powerful than I ever gave it credit for (and to think I like to write!). This was revealed to me through Franzen's prose, which I previously compared to that of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's, but took back only because they both live in and write of completely different time periods, I thought it was fair to compare them only with their contemporaries.

"The human species was given domination over the earth and took the opportunity to exterminate other species and warm the atmosphere and generally ruin things in its own image, but it paid this price for its privileges: that the finite and specific animal body of this species contained a brain capable of conceiving the infinite and wishing to be infinite itself."

As Franzen takes the reader through the story of this modern-day American family, the reader is not only sucked in (a word I would prefer not to use, but that's exactly what it does) to what he's saying, but also to the way he says it. There were a couple of times during the book where I found myself consciously taking a step back every now and then - in the middle of an explanation of an event, or a description of a place, or a character, or an object - to reread his prose for the way he's written it. I wouldn't describe Franzen's writing as poetic; it's more of...smart, I guess. He does a real, smart play on words to narrate something, and that's part of what made bearing a grumbling stomach or risking missing a bus stop over the rereading of a phrase or a paragraph worth it.

"The urban vacancy of Philadelphia, the hegemony of wind and sky here, struck her as enchanted. As Narian. She loved Philadelphia the way she loved Robin Passafaro. Her heart was full and her senses were sharp, but her head felt liable to burst in the vacuum of her solitude."

(If I will take back, again, what I said about Marquez and Franzen, I'd say that Franzen wrote of contemporary America as Marquez wrote of Macondo. But then, enough of this comparison, it only reveals my limited knowledge of writing styles and literature.)

If there is anything else (or more) I would have wanted from this book, it is that I wish I understood the things Franzen wrote about stocks, and investments, and Gary's job (not that these are three different things. Or are they?). Apart from that, it's really not a wonder that The Corrections is a National Book Awardee and a work that put Franzen's name in today's literary consciousness. I thoroughly enjoyed it, would recommend you to read it, though I wouldn't go as far as to say that I'm sure you would like it. One thing's for sure, and that's The Corrections is a really good, well-written book.

PS. Oh, I managed to write a piece after all. Hee. By the way, thanks to those who dropped in comments on my previous review :) Deeply appreciated it.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 3

2011-01-06T12:16:00.000+08:00

Our dog died.

The announcement was not what brought the waterworks. Rather, it was the clear, cold acknowledgment of loss.

I'll be crying a little, for a while, every now and then, every time I remember. Today is when the missing starts.

The Lunch Blog '11: post no. 2

2011-01-05T12:15:00.001+08:00

Hello. I ate my lunch earlier because I had been feeling dizzy. I think it had to do with the bus I rode to work; what about it, I'm not so sure. It could have been running on LPG, or simply the the bumpy, bumper-to-bumper traffic that EDSA is never without, that left the bus nudging forward and then braking, nudging forward and then braking, as it moved along the strip in front of Heritage Hotel.

So, here I am, passing the time sipping from a moist-cold can of iced Nescafe Latte and deciding what to do. I could read a bit of McSweeney's or NewYorker online, or skim the copies of Lonely Planet lying around until the lunch break ends. Or, I could trade in my incredibly lazy and ignorant arse for a more hard-working, more informed one, and begin reading the news.

I think I'll pick up a Lonely Planet magazine. This doesn't make me lazy; just a little ignorant when it comes to current events. Heh. Hey, at least I get to know more about the places I will one day visit.

The Lunch Blog 2011

2011-01-03T13:26:00.000+08:00

(This is my first post in 2011. Yeah!)

I am wondering whether I should begin at post no. 1 again or continue from last year's post no. 17. At the moment I'm considering the former. We'll see, once I get to the end of this post.

A couple of reflections have come to me at my little desk this morning, here in the office. It's the beginning of yet another Monday to Friday routine of getting up, taking a shower, having a rushed breakfast and rushed commute to work, working, and putting up with the dreaded commute back home. All the drudgery of commuting (the wonderful opportunity to reflect always, always comes with the horrible traffic and horrible bus drivers who have a knack for surprise braking) is made bearable by the company of a book (or a friend), but today, I don't have a book with me. I just finished The Corrections, and am currently at my post-reading digestive-reflective phase, so although I already have a book lined up for the beginning of the year, I've decided to leave it at home until I'm ready to venture off into a new story.

Anyways, the reflections on my little desk. 2010 was a year of recovery for me; a year of getting back on track. This year, I think I'm ready to start running again. To start reaching a bit farther, a bit higher. I think I lost a little drive some time in 2009...and I don't think it returned last year. To put it honestly, I've been running on minimum through most of 2010. This year, I want that to change.

It's slowly dawning on me, what it means to choose one's battles. I still have yet to outline the shape I want 2011 to take, but I think I have an idea of the outcome. I think I know the things I'm willing to deal with, and the things I'm going to shed away. And I say this with...less attachment, than I might have last year. I say this with a little difficulty, too. Last night I realized what it is that I really want, and found that it was enough to make me cry (which I didn’t, because I was on the phone). And to get it, I know that some things need to change. I think I’m about ready to make those changes this year.

Independence is something I'm also bent on achieving, and sometime soon. I'm also in search for something...more. It’s not enough to be challenged, I realize. Growing; becoming a better version of who you are—and for the long run, for the future you envision—is just as important. I think that’s what I’m ultimately after, this year.

And that’s pretty much what’s landed, on my table, this morning. I see more thinking in the days ahead; that is until I start on my next book, which I’ll write about soon. I might write a short review of The Corrections too, which ended just right, in my opinion.

To everyone, I hope the year’s starting out great. May the next 362 days be nothing short of remarkable, and make for interesting material for the year after. ☺

Love,
Jo

PS. I’m starting back at one. So here you have it, The Lunch Blog 2011 Post No. 1. Hehe.

Into a ball I will crumple you, and then dunk you like I were an MVP

2010-12-31T15:30:00.004+08:00

Except a ring isn't where I will toss you in, but the back room of my memories.

Ha! The instances in which we can't help but rhyme; the last day of this year is one of them. This year, I:

January: Got a job, and met wonderful new friends. :)
February: Finally graduated from university!
March:
April: Flew to HK for a magazine publishing seminar by Haymarket
May: (I think) Visited Pampanga for work
June: Said goodbye to a dear friend, who migrated to Canada :(
July: Turned 20! And said hello to yet another new friend (Ahem ^_^)
August:
September:
October:
November: Celebrated the first anniversary with the beau
December: Said goodbye to another good friend, who's migrating to Los Angeles. And, traveled on my own for the first time, back home :)

Many things happened throughout July and November, of course, though nothing I could recall from the top of my head at the moment. There were likewise a lot of missed opportunities and lessons learned the difficult way, but what year is without any of those? Overall, as I am sure everyone else is, I'm thankful for the rocky, confusing, wonderful year that was 2010. I can't say with confidence that I've become a better person after everything, but I sure have learned a lot, and I do hope for a better me next year. A better me to make better decisions, a wiser, more mature me to make smarter choices. A more courageous me to take more chances. A more fruitful year of growing up, this coming 2011. These are the things I wish for. Of course, aside from the more personal things I'd like to keep to myself.

I look forward to everything 2011 has in store for my family, friends, and I. I sincerely have no idea where 2011 will take us...but I hope for the best. I hope for things to turn around and for things - everything, to be better.

To everyone, a happy and blessed new year. Here's to the wonderful year that was, and the wonderful year that will be. ;)

Love,
Jo

Happy new year from Yours Truly!

Review of Recent Literature: 2010 Reads

2010-12-31T00:19:00.002+08:00

I'm close to finishing Franzen's The Corrections - I think I've subconsciously told myself to slow down, lest the book ends before I could let go of it - but decided it wasn't necessary for me to review it as part of this year-end book post, so. Here, a first of what I hope will be more to come: a review of this year's reads, the good and the bad.

Books I read this year:

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffeneger
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers
You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers
What the Dog Saw and Other Adventures by Malcolm Gladwell (not included in the photo, because I forgot to put it in)
The Little Black Book of Style by Nina Garcia
The Paris Review (Summer 2008)
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen

I'm grateful to say it's mostly been good.

I started the year off with Murakami's Kafka on the Shore, a gift from Jabin last Christmas. It's about a boy named Kafka who decides to run away on the eve (if I recall correctly) of his 15th birthday and the events that follow, including the mysterious death/murder of his father, his search for his mother, his solitary confinement in a deep forest for a couple of days, and the raining of fish. Salmon, I think, unless my imagination's decided to fill in for the details I can no longer remember.

It's an interesting story mostly for how weird it is. There are appearances by Colonel Sanders and Johnnie Walker, and Murakami weaves them in in such a way that...hm, say, brings forth the surrealism of the characters' world. I don't think I'm explaining myself well, but basically, the elements in Murakami's novel are obviously unreal, but are made real enough by being placed in the real world, and interacting with the characters. As I said, it's interestingly weird, and weirdly interesting.

It's the first novel by Murakami that I've read. I've been into his short stories only since last year, when I bought The Elephant Vanishes and fell in love with his surreal stories and incredibly weird imagination. The thing about Murakami, I think, is how imaginative he could be about real life, and make use of fantastic characters or situations when delving into real-life themes such as loss and fear and love and anger. I then read Blind Willow Sleeping Woman, and After the Quake (a copy of which I now want for my own; I read the DLSU Library's copy). I also got to read What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, a memoir on writing, running, and his beginnings as a writer. Murakami has become one of my favorite writers; I can't wait to pick up another book by him, preferably fiction, because this year, Kafka on the Shore is the only Murakami novel I've read.

I followed Kafka with Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, and part of the reason I did was Jabin's insistence over how beautiful a book it is and that I should read it. One Hundred Years is about the rise and fall of the Buendia family in a mythical place called Macondo. According to Jabin, the first chapter was enough of an evidence of the masterpiece it was going to be; the idea was from one of our friends, a literature professor. So I did, and at first, I didn't quite buy the idea about the first chapter, but I later realized that it was simply because of the reading adjustments I had to make.

Murakami's writing, as profound or interesting the idea he's conveying, is very simple and easy to read. Garcia's writing, on the other hand, poses more of a challenge to read, and for two good, legit reasons: the ideas he conveys are very grand, and likewise is the prose with which he conveys them. In my readings I've found that some of the best texts are those either about grand ideas conveyed with simple writing, or simple ideas conveyed with beautiful writing. Garcia's texts, though, are an overwhelmingly beautiful combination of both: never have I put down a book with so much awe and heaviness at the same time as I've done with One Hundred Years of Solitude. I'd recommend you to read it and it wouldn't be enough until you were done; Garcia's wading through the tragic, the magnificent, and the futile experiences of human existence in and with words is just so devastating, it tears down your notions of what a good book is, it cuts your reading faculties open and raw, and tells you, this is what reading should be: a beautiful human experience.

That's what I got from One Hundred Years of Solitude. It's the only book by Garcia that I've read, to be honest. I have his collection of published stories currently collecting dust in my cabinet; the reason I haven't got to reading it is that his writing really isn't the easiest to read and digest. But One Hundred Years of Solitude - once you get yourself into the rhythm of his prose, you wouldn't be able to put the book down. It's beautiful, it's tragic, it's devastating - and all in a way that simply brings you to the core of what it means to be human.

For the record, One Hundred Years of Solitude is currently my favorite book of all time.

I followed One Hundred Years with Audrey Niffeneger's Her Fearful Symmetry (after about a month or two. I had to take a breather and digest One Hundred Years after reading it; it took up a lot of energy, after all). It's the story of a ghost, Elspeth, and her nieces, Julia and Valentina, to whom she left her London apartment to when she died. Her Fearful Symmetry, I'm sad to say, was disappointing. I loved Niffeneger's first novel, The Time Traveler's Wife, and was expecting so much from her sophomore release. But, as a Time reviewer (I can't recall who) put it: perhaps the only thing realistic about this story is the ghost.

The story also has other characters: Robert, Elspeth's lover, and Martin, who lives in the apartment below hers. It's a very plot-driven story which tries very hard at the beginning to be character driven, in my opinion. Unlike The Time Traveler's Wife, in which Niffeneger manages to fluidly weave in thoughts and ideas by the characters, Her Fearful Symmetry progresses better through its events. Whenever a though or an insight by the narrator is interjected, it seems out of place, and sometimes even forced. Unfortunately, the bulk of events happen toward the middle of the story's second half. Before that, the reader is dragged by a rope of the characters' stages of grieving, which they grip only with the expectation that something's bound to happen soon.

Another reason a reader would continue reading this would be a greater expectation of Niffeneger, as I had. Other than that, though, one would have enough reasons to put it down before reaching half the book: first, nothing much was happening, and second, it was getting quite boring.

The only way this book works, which you find only toward the end, is how haunting it turns out to be. But only toward the end. Overall, what you get is a knowledge of what it's like to be a ghost, and how scary it is to die, know how and why you did, and realize your plans to be brought back to life isn't going to work out after all, leaving you, well, dead. And aware of it.

This was the only way the book was effective, and it was so disturbing, I immediately followed it with another book that I assumed would a lighter, brighter read: Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.

It happened to be the only book around then that I wanted to pick up. I had heard of Dave Eggers from a friend's blog, but didn't think I'd find his book in local bookstores. So imagine my surprise (and my luck!) when I found it in Booksale at Alphaland. It was a great buy, and later I found, a wonderful read.

AHWOSG is a memoir. It begins with the death of Eggers' parents, and the adventures that followed in raising his little brother, Toph, starting a magazine called Might, and auditioning for MTV's The Real World. Again, there were adjustments that need to be made in reading a new author's writing. Eggers likes to do a lot of run-ons, which I like (because I do a lot that myself, and then get my sentences slashed/cut), but I also found it difficult to read sometimes, as I'd get lost. In any case, it's a great read...It's new, and fresh, I'd say, at least for me. I haven't come across a writer who writes like he does, and most often his is the kind of writing that'd "get edited," I think. But I guess for his book - a memoir, at that - it works. Another reason I enjoyed AHWOSG is that I liked the "character" behind it. Eggers, through his memoir, sounds really amusing and funny. His brother Toph sounds endearing too.

Because I loved Eggers' memoir, I decided to read You Shall Know Our Velocity! next, which Jabin got me for one of our monthsaries (the boy loves me very much, doesn't he? ^_^). YSKOV! is about Will and his friend, Hand, on a journey across the world after the death of their other friend, whose name I can't recall. It's a character-driven story, and the thing with character-driven stories, I learned, is that they tend to drag. Especially if they follow the death of another person, and the main characters are trying to come to terms with something. In that sense, I found YSKOV! a difficult read. Aside from that however, it's a beautiful book, thanks to Eggers' descriptions of Africa and the other places the characters had been to, and their near-death experiences and funny exchanges.

It's not the kind of book you appreciate until you finish it, in my opinion. There is a sense of accomplishment that you get as a reader when you arrive at the end: you fall in love with the characters, you realize you've been across the world with them yourself, and you find that you appreciate the pain they've been through and with them, overcome it too.

There are a lot of things I didn't quite understand, though, and they're making me want to read the book again.

After YSKOV!, I think I took a break by reading articles by Malcolm Gladwell in his fourth book, What the Dog Saw, a collection of his pieces published in The New Yorker. As always, Gladwell's writing/reporting draws you in from the beginning, and that's what I love about him as a reporter. I'm not done with the book yet, as I took a break from the articles with a desire to read some fiction again.

I remember which came first, The Paris Review or Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower - I think it was Perks, first. I might be a little late in discovering this book; I heard about it through a piece entered in the Philippine Star's My Favorite Book Writing Contest. As you might guess, Jabin got it for me (and yes, I love my boyfriend too, very much) as a gift. It's a beautiful coming-of-age book about a boy named Charlie, written by way of letters from the character to a Friend, the reader.

I have a soft spot for coming-of-age stories; why, I have no idea. Perks is compared a lot to The Little Prince and other classics, though I wouldn't really know because I haven't read those classics (To Kill a Mockingbird; Catcher in the Rye), and I didn't quite get The Little Prince the first time I read it. In any case, Perks is beautiful for what it is. Charlie (or Chbosky) writes with simple language, and his tone is full of innocence and discovery, as would be expected of a child. I love how the book is so quotable on a lot of things, and how it puts so simply a lot of truths that we tend to miss, overlook, and forget as we grow older. Interestingly, the character keeps reminding me of my second brother (Matt), perhaps because of his curiosity and his demeanor, at least through the book. It's a book I'd recommend he read (we're the only two in the family interested in books), too.

The Paris Review, I was lucky to find at Just In at MoA. It has some beautifully written prose, and a very interesting interview with Umberto Eco, whose work I'd like to read next year. I've read a short memoir and a journal chronicling a forest fire watcher's workdays, and I'm very impressed. Since immersing myself in the stories, I've been on the lookout for more back issues of the Review whenever I drop by Booksale or Just In. I'm not done with the whole collection just yet, but that just leaves me with something to turn to when I feel like reading something short.

I read Nina Garcia's The Little Black Book of Style sometime in between AHWOSG and YSKOV!, I think. It's a great go-to book for fashion; it's direct to the point, and it's interesting, too. I love the illustrations and how the book touches on history and the icons for each trend or basic throughout history.

The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen, which I'm about to finish, is one of this year's top reads. My initial response to his writing style was whoa, he sounds like a Gabriel Marquez writing about the 21st century. But I take it back; the two are too good on their own to be compared as if they fall under the same category. Their styles come close, in that Franzen writes concisely and powerfully. Perhaps because his characters are of modern-day America, though, I'm not getting the same strong, raw emotions I found myself with when reading One Hundred Years. Nonetheless, it's a book with characters I could feel for. And instead of relating to them, I found myself learning more about them and what they're going through, which is an interesting new experience, too. For instance, how some women may be attracted to married men or, how some men can just screw up as much as they've got great things going for them. It's an eye-opener, or at least a perspective-broadener; not so much to increase one's tolerance for things that are morally wrong, but to understand where such actions come from. This isn't completely what the book is about, but it's something you get from it.

Overall, this year has been a great one for me and books. I hope to read more books next year, start taking down notes - noting the wonderful quotes for when I need them - and, well, digest the books better. I've been telling myself to read more of the classics, though in all honesty, I don't know if 2011 is the year for that. I'm looking forward to more Franzen, Eggers, and, please, Jonathan Safran Foer, whose books I still can't locate. I've also been missing Murakami, and since I've read only one of his novels, I've many of his other works to select from.

I've also been telling myself to be familiar with Philippine literary figures...maybe I'll begin with Michael Syjuco's Illustrado.

Now I've still got The Corrections to finish, but I have no doubts over the kind of ending it will be. I have no idea how things are going to work out, but I'm sure it will be good, and this is a good sign. A great year started with great books, and will likewise end with a great book. I'm happy.

Fun bumming until it hits you

2010-12-28T16:36:00.001+08:00

I am completely loving this. Waking up to the knowledge that I can go back to sleep, vacant hours to snuggle under the sheets with a book or a magazine and a cup of coffee, more vacant hours to think and stare at the walls of my room (I mostly think, really). Basically, this temporary, though seemingly infinite, time and space of nothing. Yes, this is how I'm spending the last days of the year. I am bumming, and doing so luxuriously (with cold weather, a blanket, and a book! It couldn't get any more luxurious than that). Almost sloth-like, I am aware. But I am loving this; I am so loving this.

Occasionally, I am reminded about pending decisions that need to made regarding Real Life. And, like an irresponsible young adult, or a child refusing to grow up, I tell myself I could go about things in such a way that leaves it up to seeing how things go and then deciding from there. Of course, I know that this isn't the wisest way to go about things. But, I am enjoying the free time much too much to let More Important Things get in the way. Real Life can wait. My Life can wait.

And then the second time in a day that I am reminded about these pending decisions, the reminder becomes a little sharper. It brings along with it the idea that We Do Not Have Very Long So No, Life Cannot Wait, and that, Sooner Or Later I Will Have To Decide. Or that, you know, I won't have to decide, but I'll have to live with not having made a decision over my life and its course. Oh goodness, even just writing that down gave me the shivers. My life and its course.

It is so easy to live a life so safe and secure and predictable, and confined in structure and routine. This I know, but this, I also know I do not want. There is nothing wrong with it I suppose...But, I don't know. Today I am alive, and one day I will die. Between now and then, what am I supposed to do? What will I do with the space and time between now and the day I die?

This is what the Second Reminder brings with it every time it visits. Two placards inked with two related ideas, and a pass to pause reading for some long-winded thinking.

And then, after thinking, I thank my visitor and bid it See you later. Although I know I won't, because when it returns it technically becomes a Third Reminder...

Oh if only I could choose my visitors. I'd certainly love for The Answer to finally come. But I know this will have to come from me, and because I am very much enjoying being a bum, I know this Answer will not come for a while. And Reminders will come visiting, interrupting (albeit politely) my reading, bumming sessions with placards and passes for long-winded thinking.

What will I do between now and the day I die? Hm. I certainly hope not this, though: the temporary, though seemingly infinite, nothing of a time and space. This bumming.

Although, yes, I am loving this. I am so loving this.

It's Merry Christmas in a few hours...

2010-12-24T14:53:00.000+08:00

I don't know what it is, but the symptoms are:

1. A steady velocity. Breathing, passing through, taking in everything a moment at a time.
2. A longing for very little: a breakthrough for our family, new lens (Canon EF 50mm f/1.8 USM), and some pretty boxes to tidy up my room. (You could ask books, but books are like food. They are a basic necessity and hence, we naturally long for them everyday. I didn't think it required mentioning here.) (Just saying.)
3. Gratitude for: the blessing of a job, a complete family, the proverbial roof above our heads and food on the table, wonderful friends, and a best friend for a significant other. Grace and provision from above. Oh and books, too. And writing. And music.

I don't know what it is. Maybe it's growing up? Maybe it's the Serenity prayer at work? Or maybe it's just Christmas.

One thing's for sure, though. I'm happy.

And to everyone reading, I wish you are, too, this holiday season.

Merry Christmas,
Johna. :)

Review of Recent Literature: A mid-review of J. Franzen's The Corrections

2010-12-22T15:27:00.001+08:00

A gift from the boy

(This is going to be quick. I've just resurfaced to the real world, and thought I might need to barf some thoughts in readjusting to the climate of physical reality. Here are initial thoughts on this book, gifted to me from The Boy.)

So I've spent the three hours before and after a thirty-minute lunch break immersed or, more accurately, drowned in Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. It's a mix of the author's riveting descriptions and the characters' agitating personalities that easily locks you in, and compels you to turn page after page, pausing only for a breath either to, well, breathe, or to reread a passage whose meaning eluded you the first time you ran through it. I'm halfway through the book, and so far I've been 1) reduced to awe by the mind behind the writing, that of Jonathan Franzen's (how great does one's mind need to be, in order to know so much about so many things, and also be a master of the language in telling a story that touches upon these many things?) and 2) agitated, increasingly agitated, over the characters and the situations in which they find themselves, myself desperate and restless for a corner they could finally turn, so that things may change for the better, for them.

If you're a reader who discontinues reading a book as soon as you realize how dislikeable a character is - or, for that matter, how dislikeable pretty much all the characters are - The Corrections is surely a book you'd put down after reading the first chapter. It only occurred to me how excruciating it's actually been, reading page after page about the unsympathetic scrooge of a grouch Alfred is, about his oblivion to his wife Enid's misery; about Enid's futile attempts at willing her children's lives to the perfect parallel running in her head, and likewise her relentless will to inspire Alfred to action by means of comparison; about Gary, their eldest son, and his beleaguered dreams for a perfect family, beleaguered thanks to his strife for perfectionism and now, the resulting depression he only denies, or at least fights by way of denial; about Chip, a sad case of a PhD holder; and about Denise who, because I have yet to arrive at the chapter about her, is so far the only bearable character. Gary's wife, Caroline, is no more standable than the rest; how she brainwashes her kids to being on her side against Gary and "his depression." It's a difficult book to read for the reader looking to pass time in leisure and not frustration.

And yet, by that virtue in itself, a reader is catapulted into determination, one to finish the book if only to know that the characters will know redemption, of whatever sort that may be. That the characters will please, please change for the better, that Alfred, in his disease (he has Parkinson's), will finally soften, please finally soften for his wife. That Enid will please, please finally accept her kids as they are, and that Gary will please just recover and accept the life his parents chose for themselves with the loving understanding of an eldest child, and that he and Caroline, for crying out loud, patch teams up and begin working as a team again. And that Chip please fix his life, and that Denise, well, do whatever she's supposed to do (as I said, I have yet to find out). It's a desperate story, yes, one set in desperate, modern America. One in deep, grave need for corrections; something I, as a reader, have been rendered by Franzen's prose desperate to find.

TBC.

Updates: yesterday's Fat Party & today's hot, hot Philippine football team

2010-12-19T23:55:00.001+08:00

1.
Yesterday, Saturday, was full of awesome: The boyfriend and I joined a couple of friends in throwing a Fat Party, where we devoured all things sinfully delicious - crispy pata, bacon, basil & feta cheese-ambushed pasta, cream cheese lathered velvet cupcakes (fine, fine, it was merely topped with cream cheese. But still), grilled chicken from Chicboy, assorted cold cuts, spam and corn in cream, and Selecta vanilla ice cream (yes, Selecta) with mint M&Ms. All I could say is, nothing beats the combination of great food and great company - although considered in the light of yesterday's events, the term great really is an understatement. The planned 1PM call time was delayed to 2:30, and the feast's commencement inevitably pushed to 3:30; the supposed lunched was stretched into dinner. But regardless of the hours, it was a period of great (I hate to use this term, but!) gastronomic spoilery, and calorie-burning, fat-dissolving, ab-firming laughter. It was a lot of fun, and I look forward to the next Fat Party - in which the following have already been planned:

1. Cheese fondue (George's idea)
2. Chocolate fondue (Gela's idea. I think.)
3. S'mores (Something I thought of just now)
4. MORE BACON

Yes, we are gluttons. But once a year won't hurt.

2.
This morning, my family and I attended simbang gabi at the church next to Mall of Asia. As it ended early, we decided to have breakfast at McDonald's first; as that ended early, and because the mall doesn't open 'till 10, we decided to wait. But it was alright. We passed the time lounging outside Starbucks, and then at the bay.

When the mall finally opened, the lovely parents decided to get us our Christmas gifts, which for me was a pretty blouse from the department store. Thankfully it didn't take as long as usual to find, since I'd been eyeing it for a while now, anyway. My younger brothers, because they are kids, concluded that there weren't any t-shirts of their taste for them to get as Christmas presents, and so decided not to get anything. The other sibling after me, Maynard, got his trademark undershirt tee for a t-shirt - Hanes, or maybe Hanford, in a color he doesn't yet have, at least until then. It's like underwear for outerwear, except for guys it really isn't that obvious. Sometimes I wish I girls' dressing could be as simple; then again it wouldn't be as exciting and fun.

Anyway, once we were all happy with our purchases - except for my parents, who thought it rather impossible that my brothers couldn't find anything they wanted, and then eventually concluded themselves that hadn't it been for the distracting gaming console of a PSP, the little ones would've at least looked hard enough for something - we went off to Jollibee for lunch, and then headed home. It was about 3 in the afternoon then, and I slept for the entire afternoon after that. I was supposed to attend our block party tonight, but because it'd be too late for my dad to pick me up again, I decided to pass (again). It's alright, though. It's been a rather nice day, both for the weather and its events, and since I woke up, I've been leisurely passing the time reading - blogs, or Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections (a wonderfully-written book). Dinner was a hodgepodge of family comments over each other and me (and later, my mom, too) shrieking over the live coverage of the football match between the Philippines' Azkals and Indonesia's...I can't remember, I was too busy Googling the goalie's name - Neil Etheridge, I found. Cue drool and swooning here.

It was rather interesting and fun to watch. Football really isn't a Filipino sport until recently, and I don't think I've ever really watched a game until now. And as unbelievable as it sounds, at least coming from a non-athlete like me, there really is more reason to watch than the gorgeous hunks dotting the field. For example, you just never know, they might win the game; the next day, you could at least join in conversations about it, pretend you know something, and name-drop the players, while, admittedly, really just exclaiming how hot they are kicking that ball or hitting it with their heads or chest. I mean, at least you could talk about it, right? There you go, that's one especially good reason, aside from the really, really good-looking players, to watch Philippine football.

Right? Right.

Lunch blog: post no. 17

2010-12-17T13:48:00.000+08:00

The holiday season's long arrived, but, as the phrase that has been going around the office states, I can't feel it. It's okay, though. I figured, if the Christmas-y feel of old can no longer be found or felt, it just means that it's about time to find a new one. A new meaning for Christmas, and a new way of identifying it, in order to truly feel it enough to celebrate it.

Nonetheless, I am excited for Christmas in itself, and the break that comes with it. I think that all work rookies go through a point like this, wherein time spent sleeping, or sharing meals with the family, or staring at the walls of your bedroom, suddenly becomes so rare, and so precious.

Updates: They've arrived!

2010-12-13T01:21:00.006+08:00

The Internet has been unusually uncooperative tonight, and the absence of heavy rains is making me wonder why. So far, its excruciatingly slow speed has gotten in the way of what I had hoped would be an enjoyable night of blogging (that darn PR took forever to edit and tweak, layout-wise). Oh well.

For now, here are two important things that have arrived over the past weekend:

My 2011 Starbucks Planner It really isn't as pretty as this year's, but it's a planner that came with 17 delicious cups of coffee, so in a way it's still worth it. I honestly think I got it for the past three years' tradition's sake, though. Nonetheless, here's to another year of hoping I use it to the end! (This year's planner was ignored in August-early October...no, actually I still haven't touched it till now. I'll try to make up for it by exhausting it to the last of 2010. Note try.)

DPP ISSUE 36: GET CREATIVE This is just such a marvelous relief to finally hold in our hands. We work hard on every issue, of course, but this one just squeezed every ounce of mental and physical energy we could muster. I think part of it was due to the heavy, heavy material of the cover story; another part was due to the deadline we had to beat. But, we did it, and it is finally here! So, please, go grab a copy. I mean it. Like, right now, or at least as soon as Fully Booked & Filbars open.

Oh and, for those looking for back issues, we don't have copies in the office anymore but I did spot Wanderlust (Issue 31) in Filbars, Mall of Asia. There were also copies of DPP 33, Photographing Nudes, in SM Hypermarket MoA, last time I checked. :)

Parang Tourist Part II: Images

2010-12-10T00:49:00.001+08:00

As promised; albeit the slight delay. Here are selected photos from the Hong Kong trip. No watermarks this time; I was hoping to present them in a way for you guys to appreciate, without having to remind you over and over again that the photos were taken by yours truly.

For the first time: Alone.

My favorite pair of (black) shoes in the world. I love my things when they go a long way. These flats were (and still are) such darlings; I didn't need to bring another pair, and they didn't hurt my feet at all through all the walking.

Our plane

At HKIA. I work for a magazine that strives to be non-...partisan. In publishing this photo, I am not choosing to be otherwise. It just so happens that, all throughout Hong Kong, the Canon billboards dominate the other camera brands'.

To The City

Can you find her where she is shooting?

Old buildings. Apparently.

My sweet uncle and aunt, on whom I depended for food and shelter throughout my stay. Haha!

Long Shot, Sinking Ship

It's not really sinking. It's supposedly undergoing repair or maintenance of some sort, wherein it submerges its rear half into the harbour

Two pairs of tourists taking photos in front of a(n invisible) flagpole (at least according to this frame)

Construction workers by the harbour. If you look far beyond them, you'll see how HK can't seem to get enough skyscrapers, and are still reclaiming more land

My favorite HK people: Tita Grace, Tita Ellen, and Tito Reiner, at the Korean restaurant we lunch'd at

Waiting at Times Square. There was some sort of exhibit or display in the area of giant spray cans and humongous toys, and the background is part of the whole design.

Home.

The most underrated place to shop, I swear!

The bus terminal at Disneyland, at 9:45 in the morning when Maui and I were finding a way to get to Inspiration Lake

Inspiration Lake. A man-made lake by which you can have picnics, jog, cycle, and, well, chill.

Lunch blogging: post no. 16

2010-12-08T12:47:00.000+08:00

Don't worry, the photos are coming tonight as promised, but for now, it's back to The Lunch Blog, which I haven't been doing for a while. You're currently reading the third version of Post No. 16, after numerous failed attempts in the past to publish something new for this segment. I hope, and with my intentions to actually publish this, that Post No. 16 finally comes to fruition.

And of course, I find myself at a blank yet again.
The white screen and blinking line thing is only good for pre-conceptualized content; willful creativity and desperate intentions just won't suffice sometimes. I could talk about this year's short but great roundup of books and authors I've discovered and read, but I figure they deserve more focus, time, and attention than the The Lunch Blog could provide. Plus they'd look so much better with pictures, which I don't have at the moment. So I'll leave that for later.

There is also the popular Christmas Wishlist post, and Things To Be Thankful For This Year post, both of which likewise deserve a bit more focus, time, and attention than possible at the moment, meaning I'll also have to leave those out for later.

And then there is the reflections post. But one does not reflect on paper without actually having to...reflect on, which, again, requires some bit of time and mental energy. So, crossed out for later.

This brings me to the inevitable albeit already obvious conclusion that the best of written pieces are not churned out in the spur of the moment, without any actual thought put into it.

Not so much to mean that I'm trying to come up with an awesome, remarkable piece here; no. The Lunch Blog isn't looking for that. The Lunch Blog is looking to simply chuck something out of me, literally. As in, in a literary manner. That's the point of it, the point of all this practice.

It's like thinking on paper, basically. Thinking of something to write about.

Which, as I've come to notice, is quickly becoming a popular theme in here.

Parang Tourist Part I

2010-12-08T00:41:00.003+08:00

I just got back from a short, nonetheless much-needed and much-enjoyed, vacation to Hong Kong. Actually I arrived yesterday, but because I spent the rest of the time - after unraveling gifts and goodies - sleeping on my bed, this entry has been relegated to a much later publication. Still, a publication, nonetheless. And one I've been excited to write about.

The main reason I decided to return was to renew my I.D. card, which I didn't get to do when I turned 18 because of school. It was a four-day trip; I flew in last Thursday night and returned yesterday (Monday) morning. It's not the first time we returned since we left. It's been roughly eight months since my last visit, and a more accurate two years, considering the actual trip we had back there and not the one in which I flew in for a 9AM-5PM seminar and flew back by midnight, for work. But the experience was similar to the first time we returned: it was, and not to exaggerate, rather surreal. Parang tourist is how I'd describe it. It is the strangest thing to return to a place you once knew so well, find it still the same old-same old, and yet feel so...new to it. It's like reacquainting yourself with a best friend who has suddenly, by the inevitable workings of time and space, become a stranger. You know that you know the person, but at the same time, you know that this person is new, and changed, and different. And that, what you might have known about him or her is no longer necessarily true.

It shouldn't be a surprise; it's just the strangest feeling.

Part of it might be due to the fact that I stayed with the most welcoming and accommodating hosts in the world, my aunt and uncle, in the Hong Kong side of the city, where they live. My family and I spent our fourteen years residing in the New Territories, which you may consider a sort of suburban area. Where all the shopping and the commerce and the HK night life can be found in Kowloon and Hong Kong, in the New Territories you'll find most of the residential estates, factories, ports, and such. I wish I could be more descriptive, but to be honest I don't really know how to describe the New Territories in detail, except for that you just don't find the high-end shopping malls there, nor the night life. It's relatively quiet, and less busy, and more conducive as a residential area, if after work all you might want to do is unplug and rest. That's the Hong Kong I'm familiar with, and spending the past four days in the city was a completely new experience for me.

It wasn't so much the unfamiliar areas as it was the amount of activity it had everyday. It was as if there was always something happening. Residents and denizens, with their bowed heads and long, purposeful strides, always seemed to know what they were doing and where there were going; their mental checklists almost visible above their heads. And with all that around you as early as 8 or 9 in the morning, it was difficult to simply wander and get lost a little, lest you got reprimanded for not having a clear-cut itinerary of your own. It was intimidating like that, and because I wasn't used to the city busyness, I found myself anxious more than half the time.

Of course, the other side of that anxiety was excitement, which I told myself to focus on as much as I can. It was my first time to travel alone, and yes, for the first time I was completely on my own. It felt daunting, which is again, strange, for someone who's lived in the country more than half her life. But it also felt liberating; an ecstatic yet surprised kind of liberating, kind of like what a kid would feel over her parents' permission to let her wander out in the woods all by herself. That's pretty much where the warming-up-to-the-strangeness part ended, and where the pseudo-adventure began.

So my vacation basically consisted of walkathons around Tsim Sha Tsui, Tsuen Wan, and Causeway Bay; a glutton's worth of god-awesome food binging per meal per day; reunions with long-lost friends and complete sessions of catching up; and a little shopping for gifts and goodies to bring back home. It was a vacation that couldn't have been spent any better. Not to mention, all the gifts I brought back home miraculously fit in my suitcase without costing me excess baggage fees.

The trip was basically a strange combination of strangeness, thrill, and a little independence. But for it, and my aunt and uncle who helped made it possible, and my parents for also allowing it to be possible, and for the Power that Is, without Whom it wouldn't have been possible, I couldn't be any more thankful.

What a wonderful early Christmas gift.

Photos to follow! I would have posted them with this, but as real life would have it, I have work tomorrow and must be getting my shut-eye, so.

It's a mix that came coming

2010-12-01T01:12:00.000+08:00

Just because I'm on a roll, here's a short and snappy mix of sorts that I compiled in an On-the-go playlist in my four-year-old iPod Nano. I was in the FX and half asleep when this mix happened, part conscious of how the songs tied up, and part realizing how beautiful the songs were because of their common presence in my iPod, and how timely everything was. Here it is, without graphics, without a button for previews, but you must know all these songs because they're very mainstream.

1. September - Daughtry
2. Never Grow Up - Taylor Swift
3. Stop and Stare - One Republic
4. City - Sara Bareilles
5. September - Daughtry

We knew we gotta leave this town
but we never knew when
and we never knew how
I wish that I never grew up
should have never grown up
it could still be simple.

This town is colder now
it's getting sick of us
it's time to make a move,
I'm shaking off the rust
I'm finding every reason to be gone
there's nothing here to hold on to.

The Writing Theme

2010-12-01T00:52:00.001+08:00

It's the first night in a long time that I'm staying up past 12 without taking a cup of coffee, and for the first time it's not because there aren't any Nescafe 3-in-1 sachets left. I'm off to sleep in a bit; just waiting to complete the transfer of some photographs in preparation for work tomorrow. It has been a long and busy weekend, but we managed to pull through and this is the last haul before my short little vacation. And now, just a few more minutes and I can get my rest.

The events of the past week have collected dust on the shelves of my mind, so it's taking a while to sort through them and select one to write about. I'm tripping on a few sealed boxes here and there though, and find myself surrounded by themes, mostly. Not specific events, but themes.

Writing is one of them. I haven't been writing in my blog as often as I would like to, or as often as I used to back in the day, and I find that it's because I've become either too busy, or too critical of the things I write about. I think it has to do with working simultaneously as an editor in the daytime. (Editing, by the way, is another theme.) Once you get used to editing other people's work, writing yourself becomes an impossible task. In my experience, at least. It isn't difficult to lose your train of thought once you get caught up deciding how to phrase your opening statement.

Which I just did just now, trying to phrase that last sentence correctly.

Another thing about writing is the question, why? I think it's the bane of every artist's existence and art-making, the question why. It's easy to dismiss works of art. There are "far more important things to deal with," such as the news, war, and women's reproductive health. There are far too many problems to solve to concern one's self with telling stories, stories that, at the end of the day, are just that; stories.

Of course, I do not believe that. Not consciously, at least. I don't know if it has anything to do with my environment or the people boarding jeeps to hand out envelopes for donation or the situation of Wall Street, but every time I run my fingers across the spines of the books lined on one of National Bookstore's or Fully Booked's shelves, there is that one (of two) thought that comes knocking on my head: Why write?

Interestingly, the other thought is the answer - what I like to think of as my comeback of sorts - to such a question: we write to tell our stories, and stories of people like us, and those of people who are not like us, and we do so to understand. We want to understand what this is we call Living, and we want to understand what Living might mean to someone else.

I think being able to understand just helps us appreciate things better. But this is my run of the mill theory, at 12:46 in the morning. There is more thinking to do about this theme that is writing.

By the way, all this ruminating brings me back to my thesis last year. I think I now know why I chose the topic I did. But that's another story, which I should leave for another time.

So that is one of the themes that have been scattered in my head, and I just wanted to share. And I'm not going to delete this post just because I don't think it's newsworthy, or anything. I think, if I want an editor for my blog, I need to get someone else to do it for me. Otherwise I'll just have to give my mind some leeway to run free every now and then, lest I come to the end without having written anything.

Let's take this to another plane altogether

2010-11-28T23:09:00.001+08:00

Post-processing with Photoshop is like writing with a word processor. Thanks to the ease with which we can dodge, undo, burn, undo, brighten, increase contrast, decrease opacity, and then undo, undo, undo, and redo all over again, the allowance for trial and error is just...endless.

Writing with a word processor is the same. The ease with which one can say something, CTRL + A + Backspace, say it a different way, CTRL + A + Backspace again, and then say it yet a different way, is just so darn easy. Starting and restarting is as easy as the press of a key or the click of a mouse. But finishing what one has started, or deciding how to finish what one has started, has become a question that seems to involve so much finality and conclusion. And if decisions on how to begin and how to proceed has become as difficult as they are, how much more the decisions on how to end...and leave things at that?

Anyways, the photo. It took a bit of burning and contrast fixing. It's not much else but practice. And I just wanted to share. Haha.

Of bus rides, 'P's, books, and my head being all over the place

2010-11-25T00:19:00.003+08:00

So the pressure I'm feeling on the side to back-left side of my head is probably telling me that I should be heading straight to bed right now, but I've been doing a lot of thinking and resolving and debating and concluding over the past week to keep it all in my head. (And, because I couldn't decide on a sentence to follow that first one I just wrote, I decided to add this in parenthesis instead, as some sort of filler. Man, I am tired.)

Since my last regular post, we have launched a new food magazine, been given a wonderful day off, and had to jump right back to work the following day. The week to follow will be a colossal crunch time of sorts for us working on DPP, as the past few days have been. But the trip to Hong Kong and the Christmas holidays following right after give me just enough to look forward to, to keep going. One more haul; one last hurrah for the rest of the year. And then, party! Just a little more patience.

I swear, though, that if patience were a subject, I'd still be in school by now.

Anyways, my bus rides have been a rather fruitful source of reflection lately. Through them I've managed to settle a nagging inner question that has been eating at me for a while; not so much that it's given me the answer, as it has clarified the main purpose for seeking the answer in the first place.

Am I making sense? But that's besides the point.

The bus rides - or perhaps the traffic would be more accurate - against which I have given up resistance, have allowed for more productive reflective sessions, and I look forward to more of them. Now, if only I could bump up the period for such bus rides to an earlier slot so that I would not have to keep running toward the jeepney terminal upon alighting, in desperate attempts to clock in at the last possible minute still considered on-time. It's a breeze, alright, sailing from one corner of your mind to another, but it gets severely unpleasant when you have to jump out of it in a sudden rush to get to work on time.

Aha, another course I am quite terrible at: punctuality. (Do not get me wrong though, I am punctual most of the time. It just so happens that the occasions in which I am tardy still manages to exceed my punctual days, the most that it is. Oh, well.)

I am tempted to come up with another 'p' I utterly suck at, when I change my mind in fear of actually identifying one more - and it comes bellowing at me like an overcharged internal speaker: persistence.
Twenty years and if I have not yet learned persistence, I might as well not have learned anything. I mean, what's knowledge and your mind if not the use of it, and what's the use of one's knowledge and mind if not for the pursuit of knowledge and that which is right, which can only be truly done with persistence?

Hm.

Maybe I should really turn in now.

No, no, let's talk about this; let's talk about persistence, punctuality, patience, and the other Learning-related goals I have set for myself for 2011 (which don't all necessarily begin with a 'p'). If there is one more sign of the productivity in my bus ride-reflections, it is my Early-Written (And Early End? Knock On Wood) 2011 New Year's Resolutions:

1. As I have already mentioned in preceding paragraphs: patience

2. Punctuality

3. Persistence (in everything)

4. Acquaintance with the figures of Philippine literature, by reading their works. My ignorance has led me to believe that our options for Philippine literature are limited to only the following: 1) the Historical Novel, 2) the Novel On The Hopelessness Of Our Social Conditions As Told Through Characters Steeped In Poverty, and 3) the Epic Novel On Mythical Superheroes. And, if they are not novels, they are poems. I know, this is a very small-minded view on what we have, and it's because I do not read. Next year, I hope to read more books by classic and contemporary Filipino writers.

5. Read more of the classics. No, I have not read any of Jane Austen's books. I have not read J.D. Salinger either, nor have I read...Ernest Hemingway. Or even Shakepeare. Next year, I will acquaint myself with classic literary figures, too.

6. Add more contemporaries to the reading list: J.K. Rowling (I know, I am embarrassed beyond words)...Is J.R.R. Tolkien considered a classic, or a contemporary? Well, him, too. And C.S. Lewis. Hmm. I realize I have been reading all my life but I've barely touched on the works of those who've added value to reading and the written word. This needs to change.

7. Take better photos. There is a problem with taking 300+ pictures with our cameras. We end up with too many of them, and each of them becomes of less value than it would be if it were a single, printed shot of just one, irrecoverable episode in one's life. So, I think I'll practice taking less, but better photos of family and friends during special occasions and when I'm with them. I don't know if that is possible considering our alarming vanity condition, but it is worth a try.

8. Write, write, write. And by that, I do not mean blog, blog, blog. I think, if this is what I see myself doing for the rest of my life, I might as well start doing it well now; start living the kind of lifestyle demanded of serious, published writers. Write stories in the morning, or write my journal at night; get started on an actual story, a short story, or essays; anything. Try harder to get published. Write, write, and write some more. How can one call him/herself a writer if he/she does not write?

It isn't much, but it's the few I intend on seriously accomplishing. I mean, from this year's 40+ goals and its 3 I've managed to accomplish, the next year's 8 shouldn't be too much, right? Right. In fact, it's more or less five times less in count, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

It just totally shouldn't be.

By a Contemporary Great:

2010-11-23T16:02:00.003+08:00

I want a book to contain a world—indeed the world. Writing is my main means of engagement with the world and I want the scars of that engagement to be left in the language. I write and read with the assumption that literature contains knowledge of human experience that is not available otherwise.

Rilke said that art can come only out of inner necessity. I write because I must. Or because I cannot not write.

- Aleksandar Hemon

Read the article from which the above excerpt came from here

I've never read the man's books, including The Lazarus Project which I could've gotten from Booksale for Php 120.00 but didn't, and if I thought I could know no greater depth to this need to know more and experience more in our brief, earthly existence through books, I was wrong. This void only grows bigger and greater everyday, and it grows exponentially with every book I come to know but could not yet read. I am not kidding. Do I sound like I am kidding?

I want to cry.

The morning after

2010-11-16T13:59:00.002+08:00

Few things are better than waking up with a headache and realizing that you could sleep in that day. Today happens to be one of those days, and I am celebrating the rare occasion. The few things I plan to do - and will try very hard not to cram, or rush to finish, as I find myself often doing on days like this - today are:

1. Finish Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I am now in Part 4.

2. Tidy up my room. This is something I enjoy doing very much, except for the parts where I pause from sorting out old magazines, or old pieces of notes and papers that contain my writing and their thoughts, looking around, and feeling overwhelmed at the amount of things I need to fix and the scarcity of space to place them in. As you know, my room is very small. I also don't like the part where I begin to sneeze and sneeze due to the dust and would have to pause from tidying every two minutes or so to blow my nose.

3. Redesign the remaining outdated sections of this site. I am very OC, and very, very anal - double spaces in layouts bother me to death, and so do the question of whether to put a dot or a divider of some sort to indicate a difference in the information provided. Now, while I have fixed the main page of this blog, the other sections (About, OOSS) are still in the previous layout's format, and the whole site is therefore not very coherent. So I'll be changing them, and I hope to be successful in doing so.

4. Prepare what to wear for tomorrow's launch. We are launching a new food magazine at M Cafe at the Ayala Museum in Greenbelt, Makati tomorrow, and while I know for a fact that it will be fun and awesome and funny, considering some of my favorite personalities will be there (a few layout editors, web masters, a copy editor-writer such as I, sales executives, etc. We go to the same office, too. Doesn't that make me very lucky?), I also know that pictures are going to be the best form of evidence of such fun, awesomeness, and hilarity, but I won't be able to enjoy looking back on them if I will be bothered or distracted by how underdressed I might look. Hence, the preparation.

5. Research and prepare the outline of an article I'm pitching for a local newspaper. I honestly do not know if it will work, because I have yet to do my research, but I am praying for the best. These bouts of enthusiasm and energy to actually do something do not come all the time, and while it is here, I need to make the most of it. I also pray it'd be enough to last me through the whole process. It's been a while since I've started and finished anything of real substance, so I'm hoping this goes well.

There you go, a brief lineup for the day's activities. We just had lunch, and I spent the earlier part of the day - the last hour of morning, specifically - reading, while having coffee and casava cake for breakfast on my bed, and it was very good. I look forward to the rest of the day being just as well.

Like my broken kit lens' perspective

2010-11-16T02:10:00.005+08:00

The world is a jumbled mess, and I can't focus. I think my kit lens' demise couldn't have come at a more apt period, and in a more metaphoric manner.

My red mug sits next to my laptop on the dining table, holding, in all its obedience (not that it has so much of a choice) the shallow well of coffee and sugar and cream in warm water, also known as the best possible liquid-bodied combination of comfort. I take a sip, and immediately realize I didn't need it. Not just yet.

It is 12 in the morning, and although I am supposed to be doing something else, I find myself caught by responsibilities I knew I had left behind. I knew it was there, on the table, below the black keyboard I like to neatly tuck below my computer monitor before leaving. I knew it was there, in the building that made us sneeze and wait and sneeze, and cringe at the wedges we couldn't look at without cringing. I knew it was gone, I knew it was over until the day after this. I knew, I knew, I knew, that I had gotten away. But I was wrong. I am up, and I am caught.

I take another sip of Nescafe instant coffee and squint at the text and images loading on my laptop, subconsciously reciting the one sincere prayer I have for my body: that my eyes learn to forgive me one day. I have experienced this twice before, and at first they drove me up the wall and I say this with no exaggeration at all, but the third time...the third time hit with less impact. It was no longer as shocking, if not enraging. It was almost expected, almost. But what's of greater concern is not so much the occurrence in itself as it is the other side of the coin: the way in which I found myself receptive to it.

There it was, another unfocused, ill-composed, and overexposed frame. Everything in it was blown out and it was blinding and it was maddening and it was just very wrong, but I took it. I fixed it, but I took it. Of course, I had to. If I didn't fix it, who would be able to mount it later? It is what I do. Nevermind the ungodly hour.

And one day I might see myself taking another damned photo again, fixing it again, handling the dirty old job of post-processing again. At bewildering 12 in the morning again. If I don't, who would? If not I, who?

And if this were to be true it would mean that I am cursed, in never really taking in the truth that there is something wrong with the way these darn pictures are being taken in the first place, and that nothing is being done about it and every single time, the mistakes are taken to be fixed. Not corrected, prevented, or kept from being repeated. It is simply fixed. Because, as they say, it is easy like that.

Which, because I am not cursed (thank God), I know is a big, fat lie.

The world is a jumbled mess and it's been increasingly difficult to focus. The ways of the world surprise me and I am overwhelmed but that is an understatement. My kit lens' demise couldn't have come at a more apt period, and in a more metaphoric manner.

The Wonderful Weekend That Was

2010-11-14T23:53:00.001+08:00

There is a touch of untruth to that, but far more truth, so I'll settle with that title. Far more truth because, thankfully, the little that wasn't fun was at least spent with very fun people, rendering what would have been severely unpleasant experiences rather bearable, and actually fun, too.

Last Friday night was spent at ATC with Angelaloo and Jabin, first shopping for olives at the supermarket because I was craving for some, then ending up purchasing beef pastrami, cheese, lettuce, and a baguette as well and making our own sandwiches. It was delicious; I wish I could post photos, but I didn't bring my camera.

We then headed to Starbucks where Jabin stole Gela's planner sticker but treated her a drink for it, after which we had some Photobooth madness. I really, really want a Macbook now.

Saturday was...Saturday first spent at Solidaridad bookstore for work - this part was beautiful, of course I was with Gela, and we were with books, and many of the books were of the kind you don't find at National Bookstore or Fully Booked, so it was like spending time in a cave that had gold jutting out of the ground, ceiling, and walls. The next part of the day was actually spent at work, in the office, and I wouldn't want to delve into that, except that I spent it with Gela (again! We are office seatmates forever) and Karla, one of our layout editors. Thank goodness it was with them.

Sunday, today, is very special, and I am very happy. Two reasons:

1. Manny Pacquiao just won his 8th title wooooot! I, like the rest of the nation, am in awe, and am so very proud.

2. Seven years since the first and last time I had Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream (that was at CitySuper! in Tsim Sha Tsui, which is far from where we used to live, so it wasn't very accessible. Also, it is quite expensive), I got to try it again. Thanks to whom? And what?

Jabin, and our first anniversary celebration!

I am a happy girl. We had the best sushi we've ever had yet at Tsumura in Makati, and then this, this, this! It was his gift for me, and I am a very, very happy girl for it.

Even Golden Spoon, which was closed, greeted us a happy anniversary.

Today I also accomplished a lot of reading; I am halfway through Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and I have to say, it's a beautiful book. No reviews just yet (which reminds me, I owe a post on Dave Eggers' You Shall Know Our Velocity) because I'm not done with it, though I can say right now that it's music in words. A simple, quiet kind of music, but the quiet kind that's clear and that moves you.

I walked over to the hill where we used to go and sled. There were a lot of little kids there. I watched them flying. Doing jumps and having races. And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn't.

~Charlie, the book's main character

Incidentally, the book was gifted by Jabin two months ago, back when I was still on A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Eggers, which was another work of beauty. Sigh. One day I will write like these guys write, but until then, I will devour and savor their stories.

I also finally got to change my layout here again to something I actually like. I'm getting frustrated with Blogger's limited layout design options, and because of this I'm sincerely considering getting my own domain and web space. A Christmas gift for myself, perhaps? We'll see. We'll see how much more I can stick it out with this.

And, well, everything else for that matter.

Now, wonderful words of wisdom by a man I do not know, but whom I really like because of what he said.

If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't fuck them.

~John Waters (source). This made me laugh out so loud.

Lunch blogging: post no. 15

2010-11-12T12:42:00.000+08:00

The piece by Nicole Krauss from which I got the excerpt I previously posted got me thinking. Not everything a writer writes is factual, although this is something many readers tend to forget. Sure, writers can certainly draw from real life experiences in writing their stories. But a lot occurs between the inception of an idea to the piece's final publication. A lot of addition, subtraction, substitution, and the like are done in the actual writing process. Hence for one to assume that a writer is writing directly from experience is not entirely accurate. Further, to hold the writer at fault would be wrong.

Thus as Krauss put it, "the writer should not be cramped by the possible consequences of her work." Our job is to narrate, to chronicle, to tell a story. Interpretation is the least of our concerns.

The Young Painters by Nicole Krauss

2010-11-10T15:56:00.003+08:00

Yes, I believed—perhaps even still believe—that the writer should not be cramped by the possible consequences of her work. She has no duty to earthly accuracy or verisimilitude. She is not an accountant, nor is she required to be something as ridiculous and misguided as a moral compass. In her work, the writer is free of laws. But in her life, Your Honor, she is not free.

~Nicole Krauss

This is an excerpt from a piece she published on newyorker.com. Apparently the short story is an excerpt from the latest book she's written, which I would love to get my hands on in the near future.

Read the whole piece here.

* * *

Which is more difficult, having no time to write, or having nothing to write about, I do not know. I'll try working the pen and paper this weekend, but that is if I could get the many things on my mind off it. Here's to the beauty of words and the cloudy vision of my future relationship with it. Oh, how I long for the skies to clear.

As promised!

2010-11-05T11:40:00.001+08:00

My first holiday drink of the season: A Tall Toffee Nut Frappuccino

Together with the card including our first sticker.

I am not sure whether I'm going for the Starbucks' 2011 planners. The pages are nicer this time, because they are filled with lines (I prefer that). But the covers, at first glance, look like Christmas cards. A third and fourth look will diffuse that reaction though, I think. I just realized today that the three of them have differing textures: the red one's velvety, the brown one woody, and the silver...hmm, it has a striped texture to it, which you'll need to see up close in order to understand what I'm talking about.

In any case, while I've settled on getting the brown one if ever I do happen to collect all 17 stickers by the end of the year, I'm still watching out for other possible planner options. That said, I think I should begin my canvassing now. I'm also considering a Moleskine; if only it weren't so darn expensive.

Anyway, I leave you with the man behind this season's first holiday drink, and his lady, yours truly.

(Image quality courtesy of shaky hands)

Disorientation

2010-11-04T23:51:00.002+08:00

There is nothing quite as startling as entering the one room in your home you can call yours and find it...transformed. I would know, because tonight, I entered the one room at home that I can call mine, and found it...transformed.

Well, not so much as it sounds. My dad simply took the liberty of changing the orientation of my bed from it cutting across the humble, almost square-like room, to it aligned to one of its four walls; the longer one. But that made a huge difference to its overall look, of course. Altering the course into which you enter in your room is virtually changing your ultimate destination of the day. And that is a cause for shock, and the gasp I just had to utter upon pushing the door open and taking a step in.

But I did not get angry. At most, I was disappointed over the fact that they did not even take a picture of how my room had looked like for the past five years or so, since we moved into the house. "Did you take a photo of my room before you moved the bed around?" I asked my dad. "Why didn't you take a photo of my room before you moved the bed around?" I asked again, after he replied, "No."

Of course, I knew why. Unlike me and my self-centered tendencies toward photographing everything in my life that I deemed important--which is everything, basically--no, I'm just kidding, ha, ha--my parents simply had no reason to snap a shot of my bedroom before moving things around. For one thing, it was in a state of--what is that term our former president would use in describing riot--calamity; my room was in a state of calamity. There was absolutely nothing of aesthetic value to be found in that precious little space, not a pretty angle of view, not an exquisite arrangement for composition, nothing. Nada. Second of all, my tendency for sentimental value is of no relevance to their task at hand, which was to move my bed around so that I would no longer need to cross it to get to my closet (my room is that small). Apparently the metal (or steel, or whatever the bed's skeleton is made of) had buckled under both the previous years and my weight, and in repairing it, my dad had to find a way to prevent it from buckling again. Hence, the move.

To think that I was already photographing my books in my room yesterday. I should have taken a portrait of the room itself too, and its interiors, like I've wanted to do for the longest time. Oh, well. We learn something new everyday.

In any case, I am happy for the change. It was just shocking, that's all. Now I've got a genuine reason to clean it up and organize my things; it's no longer just because of my accumulated mess. I also have a whole wall free, and there I could put back up the photos I once decided to take down. There is also more room for my tripod, therefore making outfit posts and portrait experimentations a lot easier to execute. Oh, not to mention space to roll out the yoga mat I bought long ago and used only once.

It's almost Christmas, the end of the year, and the beginning of a new one. It's about the right time to start working on the changes I'd like to happen, beginning with the space I like to associate with my mind and its thoughts: my room, its space, and everything in it.

2010-11-03T23:57:00.000+08:00

I'd rather sleep my whole life away than have you keep me from dreaming. - Fairytale, Sara Bareilles

Sometimes I wonder whether the best place to grow is somewhere you are allowed to, without pressure, at your own pace, and at your own will.

Will finally write about books for more books

2010-11-03T23:28:00.004+08:00

Guess what came through the office door and into my hands today? (It just wasn't the mail.) Thank you to OMF Literature, the leading local publisher of inspiration Christian books, for these!

- Leading With A Limp by Dan B. Allender
- Your Competitive Edge by Dr. Jeffrey Brown
- The Upside of Adversity by Os Hillman
- 101 Questions To Ask Before You Get Engaged by H. Norman Wright (for the record, I have no plans getting engaged in the near future, a.k.a. the next half a decade)

But because I am still reading Alex & Brett Harris' Start Here and Malcolm Gladwell's What The Dog Saw, reviews of the above will have to wait.

I like reading two books at once, preferably a fiction and non-fiction one. But because of the book I just finished reading - Dave Eggers' You Shall Know Our Velocity! - I thought I'd take a break from the fiction and breathe in a little non-fiction for the moment. Some books deserve breathing space after reading, especially when they're written well.

Review for this coming up (in the next book-related post)!

Things to Celebrate: Revlon's 80% Sale Next Door

2010-11-03T12:47:00.000+08:00

Why is Revlon's maximum-stay lip gloss now only down to Php 200? Why are their mineral blush-ons only Php 300? Why at this time? Why when I am broke and I have a Hong Kong trip to save up for? WHY?

I am in no festive mood considering my incapacity to spend at the moment. But still this is something to celebrate - it is a Sale, and Sales, like birthdays and Christmas, are special occasions.

Something I cannot, unfortunately, celebrate at the moment.

Sigh. Woe is the broken- er, broke- little girl. I will retreat to my lunchbox now.

Things to Celebrate: The Return of Starbucks' Holiday Drinks

2010-11-03T12:38:00.001+08:00

Broke as I am, I cannot help but yearn to spend more of my money that no longer exists. Because I am such a Starbucks whore - shit, this is bound to affect my application as a barrista to the said coffee establishment - and a coffee addict (I wrote the book Coffee For Water, Penguin Books, 2011) (Well, I am writing it) and a true-blue Starbucks Torre-hopping Lasallista back when I was still a Lasallista, it comes as no surprise that this groundbreaking (oh goodness, no pun intended, Germany's recent sinkhole-happening has nothing to do with it, and matters related to global warming are nothing to make fun of, they are serious consequences to our destructive, human tendencies, some of which include the chopping of trees for the production of coffee cups and the pollution of Taft air for air-conditioning consumption--oh God stop me now I am such a burgeoning hypocrite) - this groundbreaking event is of shattering magnitude to me, enough for me to go on and on about it during the lunch hour to express how excited I am about it, broke as I am.

Somebody get me through the next two weeks until the next payday so I can justify this fangirl post with a photograph of myself enjoying my first Peppermint Mocha Frappucino or Iced Toffee Nut or Hot Dark Cherry Mocha of the season.

Things to celebrate: Swear Fest

2010-11-03T12:27:00.001+08:00

Every morning, in buses traveling from Cavite to Manila, drivers drive with such epileptic tendencies that passengers occupying the bus' standing room cannot help but yelp profanities every 5-10 meters or so. The intervals are greatly reduced during traffic or when at close distance to moving bus stops. To participate, board a Manila-bound bus in Cavite between the hours 7 and 9. Make sure to board only if there is standing room left - how are you to experience the jolting breaks that must prompt your cussing otherwise? Also, leave at the last possible minute if you want the extra thrill of having to hurry to work; this increases the intensity at which you mutter or exclaim the swear word of your preference. Popular picks: "F*ck!," "Sh*t!," "P*cha!"

Now, here's something to think about: the Swear Fest can only happen if standing bus commuters express their shock-provoked aggression at a volume level of 0 decibels. Further evaluations predict the ceasing of this festive occasion should standing commuters begin to express these profanities in chorus (and with great enthusiasm). Think about it: if a bus driver breaks for a second time in ten seconds, and a pack of standing commuters yell "F*ck!!!!!!!," he will experience embarrassment, and more or less begin to drive more carefully, if not slowly. Thus it can be concluded that for daily morning Swear Fests to continue through the generations, current standing commuters must, with all their strength, repress the need to exclaim their shock-provoked profanities at the minimum volume possible; as a bare mutter, for example, or a silent, screeching mind scream.

Or, if only for minimum effect, they can just go "Ffffffffffffffffffff-" or "Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-" or "Puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut-." Yes, that should do it.

Ed's note: Does this occur in buses traveling to the Metro from the North as well? My contact information is on the Elsewhere page; let me know, we must document this phenomenon.

Planes, Red Taxis, and Memory

2010-11-03T02:21:00.000+08:00

It's 1:30 in the morning, but again, things are clearer in the dark. Printing out my itinerary, I am brought back to the red taxis we used to ride to the shopping plaza. The "mini" highway that led to the back of old office buildings and factories, into the main road, right, a traffic light, and then down left toward the mini bus stop that led to one of the mall's main entrances. I know things are no longer the same when I return, and I know the reasons for which I want to return may no longer be there when I do. In fact, they may have been long gone. But time doesn't move in memory. And the strongest memories, the most vivid ones, get stuck as the reality you wish you could return to. Everything else is at best incorrect, or broken but repairable; it is only a matter of time.

What happens when time continues to change the images of your memory, into things farther, and more different, from the form you try so hard with false hopes to return to? I can only imagine the pain that could bring; the numbing, harsh bruise; the cold, hard slap of loss, and the permanence of it. Just like the people who mean the most to you, places and experiences are difficult to tear yourself apart from. They are so much a part of you as the fingers that translate the fluidity of your being into alphabet and words and phrases and stories through your keyboard, and the mind from which you decode and interpret time and space, and command and execute actions. It's almost tempting to claim them as your own self, if only it didn't sound so...so desperate.

But the fact is that we are desperate. We're desperate for permanence, for immortality, for anything lasting, if only for a semblance of meaning and purpose, and even if only in the form of a story - or an image of a place that defines or explains a part of us. In all this ephemera, we just want something - anything - lasting. A relationship. A memory. Just one thing. Anything.

I could return to ground floor playground and no longer find the swings we used to soar in, or the chained bridge I used to be terrified of jumping on. I could wait in front of the short, steel gates for another one of those red taxis, and find that the route to that mall - if it is still there - changed. Different. I know things are no longer the same when I return, and I know the reasons for which I want to return may no longer be there when I do. But, thank heavens, time doesn't move in memory.

And if only in memory, I'll keep the images of my childhood fresh, alive, and vividly intact. It's not so much about living in the past as it is knowing that the past, if anything, is safe somewhere. In that sense, our childhoods are etched in eternity. It is never different when we look back to it. And in its unchanging state, it is something we can always count on to hold and return to, again and again.

All I need is a plane ticket to prompt those memories back, and the trip back as the canvas for me to re-imagine where all those breakfast trips on a Sunday after mass took place, and where I watched my first dancing fountain, that center area visible from all floors even as you took the escalator up, in that mall we used to take red taxis to. Over the mini highway, down the back of old office buildings and factories, right from the main road, pass a traffic light, and then down, left toward the mini bus stop, which led to one of Tsuen Wan Plaza's main entrances.

The Limitations of Blogspot (And My Best Frenemy, Time)

2010-11-01T20:22:00.003+08:00

Layouts and headers on this blog don't last very long, and I doubt this one will either. I don't think I'm enjoying Blogspot's Template Designer feature; it's not as flexible as their previous Layout Design one, although that wasn't very flexible to begin with. In any case, I hope you guys like this for the meantime. It took about a day just working on it with all the trials & errors. Hm. To get a .com, or not to get a .com?

On a brighter note, I did enjoy designing and coding Gela's blog over here :)

I've missed designing. I ought to do this again more often. It's been quite frustrating; the whole visually creative process no longer comes as easily. But, as Lennard once said on The Big Bang Theory, "you know one gets better at something with repetition" - something along those lines. So maybe I'll do some personal projects over the next two moths.

Speaking of the next two months, and projects, my friends and I have been thinking of beginning one for a while. That said, remember the Book Blog I once was so excited about launching? I hate to admit it but I don't have the time to maintain it :( Ugh, tragic, I hate giving up on projects like that. It isn't even like I've gone very far with it. But at the rate work and other life things are going, I realize that something's gotta give. Right now it's the Book Blog. Sniff.

As for our little project, we're getting together tomorrow and discussing it over dinner. Here's to a real project I hope to find myself truly involved in, finally.

Now it is November. And a month after, it will be December. Has anyone begun their Christmas shopping yet? Have you guys thought of what the next year will mean for you? :)

They Know What You're Scared Of Most - A review on Paranormal Activity 2

2010-11-01T13:09:00.002+08:00

A year after their first release, the guys behind Paranormal Activity have come up with Paranormal Activity 2, a prequel featuring the events that preceded Micah Sloat's death in part one. Here the main characters of the video footage are Katie's (Micah's girlfriend) sister, Kristi; Kristi's husband, Dan; Dan's daughter (therefore Kristi's stepdaughter), Ali; and Kristi & Dan's new baby boy, Hunter. Like the first movie where a video camera was used to narrate the story, Paranormal Activity 2 also features cameras, this time of the CCTV kind, installed around the family's house after they return from a trip and finding it trashed. In Paranormal Activity 2, we find out more about Katie & Kristi's family history and what the hauntings in the first movie were all about, and likewise discover that Katie's hauntings were actually preceded by her sister's.

The movie neatly ties in with the first one in explaining what viewers were previously not able to identify: why was the demon haunting Katie? What did it want? And the creators did so nicely, pulling off the prequel in the same manner as they told the story of the first movie. Only this time, there was so much more room for suspense and surprises, with the cameras installed in many more parts of the house - and a much bigger house at that - and the many more characters involved, including a dog, the baby, and a sensitive Spanish nanny who could tell there was something diabolic going on in the house.

It had less scares and shocks compared to the first movie, but they were a lot more intense; they were heavier, compared to those in the first film. Where PA1 had numerous moving doors and heavy footsteps throughout the film, followed by just as many shocks and screams by the characters, PA2 had less, but at a more effective rate. Think a scene where you expect subtle movement after about 20 seconds of silence, and instead you get all the cabinets and cupboards in the set banged open. Or a scene in which you expect Kristi to return to the safety of her room, only to be tripped hard again by something unseen, and then pulled more quickly down the stairs and into the open basement. If PA1 was a lot of freaky shit, PA2 is twice as much as that, and it's what makes it worth the cinema ticket even for those who didn't think so much of PA1.

What the creators of the movie know, and what they played with the most that they managed to come up with an effective scary movie in a unique way, is that we are most afraid of things we don't see. That our imagination is a powerful thing, and that they could tap into that and put in a realistic, possible theory of what's going on in our house in the dark, as we sleep. This is what makes both Paranormal Activity movies work: at any time of the movie, something could happen; when, you do not know; everything that can be predicted is predicted by the viewer, but not enough so that they could anticipate what will happen next.

Some would say this isn't as scary as the first one, and of course others would disagree. For those who have not seen either, Paranormal Activity 2 is still best seen after the first one, because it's scary enough to follow the first one successfully. PA1, for all it is, had a relatively slower pacing, and its paranormal scenes, although they get more intense toward the end, are also relatively tamer. The creators then seemed to pull it off in such a way that suspense was built slowly and carefully, as real life might have it, and in that sense PA1 worked. Otherwise, as separate movies, PA1 could be considered effective though for the most part boring, and incomplete since it did not explain why the Micah and Katie were being haunted. PA2 is the much better standalone, although to understand the last scene, one must have previously watched the first movie.

Now imagine taking all that you've seen throughout the film and bringing it home with you. In the dark, something could be lurking out there; you just don't see it. On the other side of your bedroom door, whatever's tinkering with the cooking pans might be after something, and that clicking noise you hear inside the panels of your ceiling just might be more than what you think it is.

Damnit, who's that thumping quietly up the staircase? Last I checked everyone's asleep, and -

It is about now that you hope you finally fall asleep under the covers, lest you find out who - or who isn't - creaking that door open into your bedroom.

A boy and his little project, a review on The Social Network

2010-10-30T01:27:00.000+08:00

Today, I watched a movie about a boy and his little project that has revolutionized the way we communicate and network with friends and strangers today. It is called The Social Network, and though I may be a week late in catching the much-hyped film, it was worth deciding to still push through with seeing it in the movies as opposed to waiting for it on DVD - or, in more accurate terms, downloading the flick off the Internet, from peer-to-peer sharing websites.

The Social Network, of course, is about the founding of Facebook.com by Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin. A friend was right when she said that there wasn't a dull moment in the film, and that's thanks to a few things: the riveting speed at which our main character speaks, the kind that commands your attention lest you fail to follow; the same character's quick-witted replies; the way the film weaved in and out through the events that preceded and followed the upping of the website itself, and the law suits that took place after; the latter serving as the post around, through, and in between which the movie was pieced together. Oh, and Andrew Garfield, who played the role of our main character's best friend and partner, Eduardo Saverin. It was well-paced, and though you could tell that the writers certainly exaggerated both the characters and the events of real life in order to put together an effective film adaptation (the movie is based on the book The Accidental Billionaires which tells the same story, in print), they did so successfully, enough for you to believe it and remain interested in it, exaggerated as you know it is.

There are a few things about the film that I didn't exactly agree with. One of them is how they played up the part about Mark being the kind of character to get back at those who've wronged him, not least the girl who, as the movie implied, fueled Mark's energy and desire in putting up Facebook and deciding to expand it. Another is how they were using Windows 7 throughout the film - you'd notice it if you paid close attention to their laptop screens - and yes, they use PC! - when, back in 2004, Windows 7 was not out yet.

Being the emotionally- and people-attached kind of person that I am, the aspects of the film that I feel most strongly about is how sad it is that Mark and Eduardo, co-founders and the latter, the previous CFO of Facebook, eventually had a falling out. It's too bad on Mark's part not to have paid attention and allowed what happened to happen to his partner. It'd definitely be nice to know that they had a happy ending, but that is not the case. I wonder where Eduardo is right now and what he's doing. That's something to Google later.

The Social Network, I think, lived up to the hype. I actually enjoyed it and I would say it's a good movie. Would I watch it again? Sure. The guy who played Mark Zuckerberg was very effective, though I think he'll be tagged as the guy who played the Facebook founder for a while. Nonetheless, it's a movie I'd watch again both for how it was executed and for what it's about: the story of how our generation began to live our social lives the way we do - part personal and part virtual - as told by the story about a boy and his little project.

Learning

2010-10-30T00:41:00.004+08:00

There are things I want to share with fellow disillusioned newbies in the workforce such as I. Well, more like those about to enter the workforce. I do not know all there is to know out there, having been a working girl a mere eight months, but I think this may spare some the trouble of dealing with unpleasant surprises and harsh truths. It could pretty much serve as a reminder to myself as well. So without further ado, allow me to list out The Ten Difficult Things I've Had To Learn - And Am Still Struggling To Accept - Over The Past Eight Months:

1) As early as the day before your first day on the job, know that you will be tasked to do things you may not believe in down the road.

2) Your principles and the instructions you are given are two different things. You should not compromise the former for the latter, but still you must do the latter.

3) One of the most important things is to never let go of or forget your principles, regardless of your probable inability to apply them over the following months of employment.

4) Always do what you are told to do, whatever it is, extraordinarily well. Your performance is not as much a reflection of the state of your company as it is a reflection of your competence as an employee.

5) Work within your control, maximize the little decision-making power that you have, and let the rest be. There really is not much you can do about the things you cannot change, and that is not your task in the first place.

6) Please do not be surprised when you come across people with a shitload of unprofessionalism to offer. What you must do, when this occurs, is be The Bigger Person. This will be a challenge, but a worthy one. Again, refer to Reminder No. 5: There really is not much you can do about the things you cannot change. Also, remember Reminder No. 4: Your performance is a reflection of your competence as an employee, and not much else.

7) On the other hand, being The Bigger Person also entails understanding where people are coming from and why they do the things they do. They may be unprofessional, but they are not bad people. If you get pissed, exhaust your frustration as quickly (and silently) as possible, and then push out all gushing negative thoughts, and then get back to work.

8) That said, as much as possible, do not complain. It consumes a lot of energy, energy that could be well-spent working and dreaming of reaching your goals.

9) Be not surprised with the worst; in fact, expect them with an open and welcoming heart. Take advantage of the things that are not worth your time to become a better person.

10) These are some of the most difficult things to remember, but they are worth the effort and energy as they will spare you the pain of frustration and disillusionment. The real world may be crappy, but it is also wonderful, especially when you know that you have done what is right to the best of your ability and have nothing to apologize for.

Lunch blogging: post no. 14

2010-10-29T12:41:00.000+08:00

Everybody loves Fridays, but two things make a Friday extra special:

1) Payday
2) A long weekend to look forward to

That said, this Friday is extra special, because it is both payday and there is a long weekend to look forward to!

Now as I look forward to the short stretch of Lunchtime and the rest of the day's work hours, and for fellow office minions to return to the office for our communal lunch, I've decided to revamp my long-wandering Tumblr blog, renaming it from The Stars Align to Holla My Name is Jo!, and looking for a nice new theme to go with it. Why? Because, I realize, microblogging is just as fun as regular blogging, and there are times in which all you really want to post is a one-liner, a photo, a video, or a link. And Tumblr cannot be any more apt for that.

On the other hand, I'm currently loving the Ecuadorian organic chocolates one of our editors brought to the office from her trip. Although the ginger-tinged one has a little...spice, as an aftertaste. Or maybe it's just me.

Now, I have finally selected a theme. Come on over and visit hollamynameisjo.tumblr.com! ^_^

Incomprehensible

2010-10-29T01:08:00.001+08:00

I've spent the past hour writing and saving posts, all of them with more or less the same message, written in different ways. In the end I decided they're best kept for private, personal reading. Some things are not meant for public reading or knowledge, no matter how successful I deem them as generic pieces. I'll try broadening things a bit, one more time.

I am angry and confused. Do you know what it's like to know things but be unable to do something about them? To know what's wrong, and be unable to correct them. To see in clear, black and white form how wrong things are, but have no choice but to tolerate them, because you do not necessarily have the power to change things. It is so excruciatingly difficult, it maddens me. This may be taking it too far but it's true when I say that it breaks me. It's like saying, "you need to breathe in here, but you've got to leave air for everybody;" like air were in scarce supply. It doesn't make sense, does it? Which is exactly my point: some things make no sense and yet, we have to do it, simply because we are told to.

There is a difference between being arrogant and doing the right thing. All I want is to do the right thing. I do not know everything, yes. But I think I can tell when something is outright wrong. And when things like that occur and I can only helplessly go along with it, it breaks my heart and drives me mad and, sometimes all I've really left to do is storm out the door with my face covered in warm wet streaks beneath the my palms of my hands. If something is wrong, why not correct it? Why not? Why? It's so simple; I don't get it.

Yes, I am a child. I have a lot of growing up to do. But growing up does not mean learning to tolerate wrongs, at least the way I see it. Shouldn't we be ending wrongs? Aren't we supposed to grow the balls to face the limits of reality and toughen them balls to deal with it the right way? I was once told that there aren't any shortcuts to success, and back then I thought success meant only one thing. Now I know that that person was referring to one of two kinds of success, Authentic and Artificial, and it is the former he had in mind. Authentic Success stands tall and proud, with the knowledge that every inch of it is borne out of actual substance and true, hard work. Artificial Success, on the other hand, is a mountain full of hollow blocks stacked dirty with a ton of meaningless labels.

You can fault me for being a naivete, and you can call me an unrealistic, idealistic youth. But you cannot fault me for wanting, so desperately with a passion, to do what's right. There are far too many things wrong with the world now and I cannot, for the life of me, bear to be a part of anything that allows any more of it.

Where did the long weekend go?

2010-10-26T00:06:00.000+08:00

Tick, tock, tick, tock. I now change my single official answer to the question "If you could have any power in the world, what would it be?" from "Reading people's minds" to "Freezing time," because if there is anything I have been wishing for over the past few weeks, it is the power to stop time from running, if only for the reason that there are things I need to do which I have not gotten around to doing, and which I wish, with a passion, need not take the long stretch of day it all unfortunately takes to accomplish.

Things such as cleaning up the avalanche of mindlessly tossed about items of clothing that no longer fit upon fitting and the forgotten pieces of to-do lists atop tables and cabinets in the bedroom; transcribing an interview for an article, and writing another article, both of which are long overdue; and watching Glee's fourth episode if only to keep up with one current television show, seeing as I am still far behind with other shows, such as Gossip Girl (Season 3, episode 2), the Big Bang Theory (I've watched a handful of episodes from seasons 1-3), How I Met Your Mother (the same as BBT), and Sex and The City (not a single episode - it's a shame; yes, I have been made aware). These are things I wish I could do in less than a day because, well, I have squandered the days and weeks and months I have previously been gifted with to accomplish them all, and now I am trying to catch up. Time is running just too fast.

Fine, I have just been trying to do too many things, and, as I am still learning - or perhaps still straining to accept - it isn't working. At all. Something's gotta give.

But for the sake of updates, which this post is supposedly about, let us deviate from my woes. This blog has been going through a stifling identity crisis, and the need to resolve it as soon as possible has come to my attention. I realize that writing endlessly about the travails of the early-adulthood crises is not exactly a worthy-enough endeavor to pursue, and so I must...diversify the types of travails I write about, and generally the themes of this blog. In other words, I need to start writing about other things. This space is becoming pretty stale.

That is one update, and your input, if any, are pretty much welcome. I am also aware that I have not updated my book blog since I began it, and for the record I do feel guilty, hence my considering whether I should just centralize everything here, book-related posts and whatnot.

Another update is about the happenings over the long weekend, which consist of my canceling out a much-anticipated, much-needed night out with girl friends and office mates last Friday night to make way for some much-needed rest, thanks to my slightly-feverish state and loss of voice.

Thankfully, I recovered in time for Saturday night's Golden Quill and The LaSallian's 50th Anniversary Celebration, followed by a spontaneous trip to Chic-Boy in Makati in the middle of the night. It was a fun night, needless to say; it's the latest I ever stayed out, and both the food and company was worth it, lol.

Sunday night was a reunion of sorts with family friends who recently migrated from Hong Kong. It's always so wonderful getting together with old friends; it's extra special with people who were part of your childhood. Now, if only we could reunite as a whole - two more families an we are complete -and retake an updated version of us kids posing in front of the railing in one of the Central subways...

And that sums up my long weekend. Today was spent reading, painting my nails orange - which I realize is not my color, no matter where I look at it from - watching a couple of Big Bang Theory episodes, and reading more articles by Malcolm Gladwell on the Internet. When instead I should've been writing the articles I'm supposed to write, but ugh.

Ask me, what power I'd like to have if there is any power in the world I could have.

I believe in the power of randomness and how all should possess it because it is so wonderful

2010-10-20T00:52:00.007+08:00

1.
Things have been out of control. That is to say, things have been way out of my control. I find that you can direct your energy to hoping and willing for things to happen while resisting other things that have been happening, and yet have everything all over the place all the same. It's insanely frustrating, and my Twitter account (and god forbid, its followers) has taken quite a lot of beating for the knee-jerk reactions. (I apologize for that, by the way.) Events, circumstances, and situations simply have their way of happening and eventually working out, and the best we could really do is respond to them. The most we could do is what we know is right given the context and circumstances, gain a little from the experience, and then move on.

2.
The world works in an abnormal way.
But such may just be the product of recurring experiences of disillusionment, especially that of a child who refuses to grow up.

3.
People - the little creatures that fill the world with beauty and filth; both at the same time, yes - on the other hand, are not abnormal. They are just...surprising.
Whether in a good or bad way is irrelevant. What's important is the constant need to be surprised, to correct wrong impressions, and to learn. To learn that not all you know, especially when it comes to people, is correct, but that realizing so is a good thing. You'd learn, over and over, to have faith in people everyday.

4.
We are all imperfect and fallen and broken, but we must all love each other, because that is all we really have - love and each other.

5.
Print is not dead.
The Internet is wonderful, yes, but there is nothing like valuing stories and information and beautiful ways of presenting it enough to put in the effort editing, revising, and editing it to publishable quality and paying an arm and a leg to have it in ink, on paper, bound, and sold for a cost.
And to have something to read in the toilet.

6.
I dream of the day that I would see my name on the spine of a book I authored on a shelf in a bookstore and then faint in euphoria.

7.
Next to literature, music is the most beautiful of art forms (note the opinion). By 'next to', I picture conjoined twins standing on the center platform labeled "1st", sharing a trophy.

8.
Sara Bareilles just made me write that!

9.
It's 12:17 AM; let's share true but disjointed and incoherent thoughts. I once told the boy I love that this is the best time to ask me questions because I'd be far too tired to make up stories for answers.

Though that isn't entirely true.

10.
I had a dream two weeks ago that was not green, but yellow
In it was our president, Benigno - but fondly "NoyNoy" - Aquino
(III.)
We were at a diner, at a table, another reporter and me
It was an interview - I had a recorder and a black Sharpie
I am not a fan, and neither was I in my dream
But he was friendly, and face-to-face, you can't really be mean
(Right?)
Anyways, we talked and it was an interesting conversation
But soon it took a turn and led me to a state of confusion
"What?" I asked, bewildered and followed
my question with a "Really?" and then I was humbled
And then I quietly panicked, but hoped it didn't show
on my face- but wait, how did he know?
From the very beginning, I thought, how did he find out-
I hadn't written anything incriminating, that's for sure- I knew without a doubt
These thoughts ran through my head as he excused himself to the loo
And I mulled it over, and then laughed, and wondered how it could be true
That since he found the URL, everyday he would read
-yes in my dream, NoyNoy revealed
he reads Out On Seventh Street.

For the record it was a funny dream, impossible as it was, and writing this made me laugh.

27 minutes

2010-10-17T17:58:00.002+08:00

5:31 p.m. It's the setting sun that's casting the yellow-tinted light through the window and onto the pages of the book I was reading, on my pillow. It's the kind of light that lasts so briefly. With it I am allowed only a few more minutes of reading time before I have to stop, get up, and switch on the lights. The sun is setting, at a pace that isn't quick, but urgent. The day is wrapping up. The day is ending. It is time for night.

I move over from my book toward my laptop, propped in front of the corkboard the holds my necklaces and woven containers holding my bangles, and bracelets. The light is hues of old bronze now, bringing out the glare of my laptop more clearly, sharply.

What is this time of day about? It is the turn. The turn from day to night, the turn from one half of the day to the next. It is the only part of the day in which the flight of time becomes tangible. You can see it with the change in light. You can feel it with the very slight drop of temperature and soft speeding of the wind. You can tell so easily that just a while ago the sun was up, and now it is diving into the other side of the earth-

He just called. He just bought chicken, pork (lechon), and bibingka. He did not bring his phone, and then he was calling to tell me he had bought chicken, pork (lechon), and bibingka, and was dressed in shorts, so he didn't have a pocket to hold his phone.

The room is now filled with a somber, sorry orange, the day's last promise of light. It's almost over, the day. The hours have passed. The brightness has run out of fuel and it is now time for rest, for goodbyes, for the end to set in.

From my bed, at the corner of the small table propped with my laptop, I stare past the brick red roofs, desolated lands, and winding, unpaved roads at the shapeless, surfaceless wall of desaturated blue, through my window. My room is now pitch gray, yeah, pitch gray, the form of my door, the bags hung on its knob, and the cylindrical bin blocking it in soft silhouettes that reveal only a little detail.

And just like that, the day is gone.

They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone

2010-10-15T00:03:00.000+08:00

The open tabs that line the upper portion of this window not only indicate the length - lack of it, really - of my attention span, but the possibilities I've allowed myself to consider. And I am daunted like mad. All of it, all the information, all the possibilities are overwhelming me. Have you ever truly considered what more is like? What better than this - no, so much better than this - truly means? Unless you've been blown away or scared shitless by the mere idea, then you haven't. You haven't really gone past the monotony of okay's and will do's and average. Because when you discover just how much you're missing, living on your safety net, it just...it just forces you to do a double take. And ask, what, for the life of me, am I doing? And why? Why? The questions are so painful they stab you in the stomach and wrench themselves deeper before ripping up through your torso and diving for your heart. Who was it that said that everybody will die but not everybody will live? Because he/she doesn't matter as much as the answer to the question that inevitably follows: are you going to be part of the few who will live?

You know, come to think of it, so much better than this is not as overwhelming as average. Average sucks the life out of you it's overwhelming, while So Much Better does the same, only by shocking life into you instead.

This is EXACTLY what I've been wanting to do.

2010-10-13T12:51:00.000+08:00

After I graduated from NYU, I decided not to pursue an MFA in creative writing. Instead, I created my own post-graduate writing program, which entailed several years spent traveling around the country and world, taking jobs at bars and restaurants and ranches, listening to how people spoke, collecting experiences and writing constantly. My life probably looked disordered to observers (not that anyone was observing it that closely) but my travels were a very deliberate effort to learn as much as I could about life, expressly so that I could write about it.

- Elizabeth Gilbert from her official website.

This is kind of exactly what I want to do.

2010-10-13T12:31:00.001+08:00

After college, she spent several years traveling around the country, working in bars, diners and ranches, collecting experiences to transform into fiction.

- A portion of Elizabeth Gilbert's biography on her official website. Emphasis on "collecting experiences to transform into fiction."

Hmmm.

Intercepted by a TV show

2010-10-11T13:29:00.254+08:00

Glee's episode last week did not have the best storyline, but I think it had a nice story. It was a bold move on the producers' part to touch on matters of spirituality, faith, and religion in that particular episode. Not only did it reveal the diverse views of young people on God and spirituality, but it also explained why and how they've come to such conclusions.

The story was centered on the events that followed Kurt's dad's heart attack - and, well, Finn's encounter with Grilled Cheesus (for the benefit of those who have yet to watch the episode, it's a faint image of Jesus as the burned portion of a grilled cheese sandwich). As Kurt experienced the difficulty of having his dad in comatose, members of the Glee club, Funn included, tried to help him by getting him to have a little faith, if not simply to share their own in hopes of helping him feel better.

The episode jumps around a lot, and you don't get a sense of what it's really trying to say until you reach the end. However, by its individual scenes, I think it managed to convey to viewers just how diverse the beliefs of the characters are, and what those particular beliefs are themselves.

And most importantly, at least in my opinion, it managed to give viewers something they can identify with in every character.

Again, the episode may not be the best written, but it does have its individual winning scenes and lines. Here are my favorites and why:

5. The scene where Kurt expresses his disbelief in God - or more accurately, his belief that there isn't a God

"He makes me gay and then has His followers go around saying it's something I chose, as if I'd choose to be mocked every day of my life?"

It's tragic, isn't it, how the ultimate commandment of the Lord is for us to love one another and yet His people do not fail to make it a point to persecute his other children, particularly homosexuals. I don't claim to be correct when I say this, but I do believe God has his reasons for everything, and that right and wrong is only for Him to decide. I am not for gay marriages because I believe that marriage as a concept was born out of the union of a man and a woman. On the other hand, I do not think it is right for us to make judgments about LGBTs. I think calling another person gay like it were wrong is no different from calling another person a liar, or, say about us, a hypocrite. Christians or non-Christians, we truly are nobody to judge.

4. What Finn says after singing REM's Losing My Religion

Mr. Shuester: Earlier in the week Finn it seemed like you felt differently.

Finn: I used to think God was up there looking over me. Now I'm not so sure.

Finn never really understood what it meant to believe in God throughout the episode. But disillusion can be a powerful force to reckon with, and it often takes so much more after to get a person to believe.

3. Ms. Pillsbury giving Finn some words of advice

(Here, Finn is beginning to get disillusioned about his new-found faith in Grilled Cheesus, as Ms. Pillsbury explains to him that what he thought were answered prayers were more likely coincidences)

Ms. Pillsbury: God works in all kinds of mysterious ways. But I'm pretty sure, he doesn't spend a lot of time trying to speak to us through sandwiches.
Finn: -
Ms. Pillsbury: You look disappointed.
Finn: I am. It was sorta cool feeling like I had this direct line to God? Now I just feel like everybody else. You know like, we're all just floating around in space. I don't like that.
Ms. Pillsbury: You're not alone. The big questions are really big for a reason. They're hard. But you know what, absolutely everybody struggles with them.

I love Ms. Pillsbury. She doesn't pound his head with a Bible; instead she is empathetic of what he's going through, without indicating directly that she believes in God.

In my opinion, sometimes the best believers can do is to pray for a person. To be honest, preaching and explicit evangelizing, no matter how righteous or pure one's intentions are, can freak a person out. It can scare unbelievers away, and this is not to say that it's because they're doing it all wrong. When preaching, or at least comforting a non-believer struggle with issues of faith, it's important to remember that it's a person you're dealing with, one that has the capacity to reject or accept information. It's just as much a matter of being sensitive as it is about trying to get through to them, and I think Ms. Pillsbury couldn't have said and done it better.

2. Mercedes' expressing the need to believe in something to Kurt, before performing the song she dedicated to him during their church service

"I know you don't believe in God. You don't believe in the power of prayer and that's OK; to each his own. But you've gotta believe in something. Something more than you can touch, taste, or see. Because life is too hard, to go through it alone, without something to hold on to. And without something that's sacred."

This is another example of being sensitive to non-believers. If I were Kurt, I'd sincerely appreciate what Mercedes said. Sometimes we forget that when it comes to beliefs, it's also a matter of respect.

1. Jeannie comforting Sue, upon her expression of anger and bitterness toward God (Note: Jeannie has Down's syndrome.)

Sue: Do you believe in God, Jeannie?

Jeannie: Do you?

Sue: No, I don't.

Jeannie: Why not?

Sue: Because when we were little girls, you were perfect in my eyes. And I watched the world be cruel to you, so...

Jeannie: God, never makes mistakes. That's what I believe.

Sue: (in tears)

Jeannie: You want me to pray for you Sue?

Sue: (still in tears) ...Yeah, that would be nice.

Here, it's funny how Sue claims that she doesn't believe in God. It seems more like she believes that He exists but doesn't believe that He is good. This may be the case for most of us - we do not necessarily think he doesn't exist, we just do not think he is as good as he is made out to be.

This also reveals that our innate concept of God is that He is, or is supposed to be, good. If He isn't, it means He isn't real.

It's the only episode of Glee I decided to save among the other better ones. It just struck a chord; many chords. Finn is one of two characters I most identified with, in his little rise and fall with his short-lived faith. The second is Sue, and that last episode - the one where she ultimately asks her sister to pray for her - is exactly how I feel in the presence of my friends who are believers.

* * *

Six, seven years ago, I never would have thought I'd be writing a post like this. If you knew me six, seven years ago, well you'd know I wasn't holy, but it was then that I decided to accept Christ as my savior.

And then six, seven years change you. And while in numbers it may not seem a very long time, in breaths and in moments it easily equates to a couple of lifetimes - especially when you're growing up, and are thrown into different environments.

Today, I see things from the outside. To quote Sue again,

"Asking someone to believe in a fantasy, however comforting, is not a moral thing to do. It's cruel. It's as arrogant as telling someone to believe in God and if they don't accept it, no matter how open-hearted or honest their decent, they're going to hell? Well that doesn't sound very Christian, does it?"

There are so many things I do not know. I never thought these issues would surface thanks to a show like Glee, but the world surprises you in many ways. I doubt, though, that it will present me with answers.

Nonetheless, I begin my search.

Interesting Developments

2010-10-09T03:05:00.000+08:00

Dear ___,

I'd ask how you are, but I'm afraid that 1) you'll see through my pretentious quip of a customary greeting that I might not truly, sincerely care how you are, except for the brief moments in which I encounter you, most of which are either forced or accidental, and that 2) I actually know how you are. You are fine. And I am either pretentious or running on autopilot, greeting you with the customary How are you?, the answer to which I do not really seek. In any case, I write to you to let you know how things are going, because I know that, as much as I do not care how you are doing on your part, you, on the other hand, are constantly concerned about me. You cannot leave me alone.

So, about me. Well, recently things have been taking...unprecedented and unexpected turns, some of them interesting, and some of them terrifying. I have never blindly stepped out and let things happen without first preparing for them or making sure they will happen right. I have never just gone for anything, just done anything, without seeing it first as a seed that I will nurture correctly from scratch and plant with extreme care and watch over with extreme caution. Never, never ever.

Now, I am still the same. I still do not just go for things. I still do not take leaps of blind faith. I still do not just do it. There is only one difference though, and it is that I have actually grown tried of trying to be in control.

Now, I am not going for things, but things are happening. I am not taking leaps of faith, but I think I am being pushed out and over the edge. I am not doing anything, but...I do not understand it, but things are happening.

And to be honest, ___, I feel weird just standing by and watching and waiting for my turn to respond, to react. It has never been correct that way, to be passive. But now I wonder whether standing by and watching and waiting is being passive.

It is very weird, letting go and seeing things fall into place. I mean, I do not know if things are falling correctly into place, but...unlike before, there is actually a place for things to fall into.

___, I know you understand me even when I no longer make any sense, and for that I thank you.

Being me, wired the way I am, I need to know how things are going and where all of this is leading to. I need to know. It is difficult not to know.

But, because I am letting you know how I am doing, I might as well tell you. It is very difficult not knowing, but it is also very exciting, learning what I do not know along the way. This is not to say that I am excited, because truth be told I am very terrified at the rate I am going, not knowing where I am going. But the faint idea that I might be going somewhere is, even if only a hint in comparison to my fear, quite thrilling. Quite satisfying.

___, there are a lot of things I do not know, but I was told that all these things, you know. If things happened my way, I would ask you right now, and you would tell me. But things do not happen my way. So you will not tell me.

In any case, at least you now know how I am. I also know that you've known about this all along, but that you wanted to hear from me personally. I hope you appreciate my letter. (And the fact that I actually wrote it myself. With the help of a keyboard, of course.)

On another note, I realize it has been quite long since we last spoke. And that if I asked, I'd actually ask with a sincere heart and nothing pretentious at all, no. Because we haven't spoken in years, I think, we might as well be strangers. In that sense, I think it is only natural for me to ask what I feared asking earlier, lest you saw through my greeting and into my frozen, hollow heart, which I thought does not really care, but still actually does.

How are you?

Lunch blogging: post no. 13

2010-10-07T12:26:00.000+08:00

Past the housing developers and construction sites, past the spread out wide green fields, past the farms and the pigs, past the wielding shops and car washes, past the bottlers and ice factories, past the convenience stores and the gas station, and I finally understood what the song was about.

There are no words, and my tears won’t make any room for them. It hurts unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

There is no broken heart or familiar scars, this territory is uncharted.

It’s just me in a room sunk down in a house, in a town. And I don’t breathe.

Now, I have too much to hold. Everybody has to get their hands on gold. And all I want is that which is uncharted.

I’m stuck under the ceiling I made. I can’t help the feeling.

Now I’m going down, follow if you want. I won’t just hang around, like you’ll show me where to go. I’m already out of foolproof ideas, so don’t ask me how to get started. It’s all uncharted.

Each day I’m counting up the minutes until I get alone, because I can’t stay in the middle of it all. It’s nobody’s fault, but I’m so low, I never knew there was so much I didn’t know. Oh, everything is uncharted.

I’m know I’m getting nowhere when I only sit and stare.

I won’t go as a passenger, waiting for the road to be laid. Though I may be doing down, I’ll take in flame over burning out.

Compare where you are to where you want to be, and you’ll get nowhere.

So I’m going down, I’m leaping, I’m flying, I’m falling. I won’t wait to know where to go. I’m out of foolproof ideas and plans so don’t ask me how. It’s all uncharted.

I said it once, and I’ll say it again.

Oh, if I could write in song, I would.

Uncharted by Sara Bareilles

And the clock strikes 12, again. Hello to you, too

2010-10-07T00:53:00.000+08:00

Today's news:

1. Paste magazine has suspended its print edition, and I'm quite sad about it. Now I feel like scrambling for every last available copy I can find in Booksale. Like a couple of other newspapers in the States, the cost of print had gone past what the publication company could handle, and it had no choice but to continue on with only its online edition.

Sure, I've read only one issue of this magazine, but I liked it - it's like the Arts & Culture section of Time expanded, at least in the opinion I am able to draw from that one issue.

Wait, I realize that isn't really news, being a month old already.

2. Talks on radio this morning got me to realize how excited I still actually am about the medium. I always used to think that TV was the greater, more exciting medium to work for (print is not included here, because print is...incomparable to anything, really). Turns out my heart still goes out for the medium in which you can hide behind something. If not paper, then at least a mic, and some frequency.

Just my two cents.

3. Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't Sara Bareilles visited Manila before? I can't recall if it were Colbie Cailliat only, or her too. I really think she's been here already. In any case, like I wish for Katy Perry and Jojo and Lifehouse and Train, I hope Sara returns to Manila again. I swear, this time I will scrimp and put off mornings of chocolate croissants and weekends of binging with the boyfriend if only to get a ticket to watch her perform live. Her music and lyrics blend like the words of a great writer fall perfectly under a good book cover (eh?) - they're so full of expression, words and music complementing each other in communicating their message as a whole. Oh, I wish I could write like Nick Hornby does when he writes his music criticism, but the fact is that I am not Nick Hornby, and I can only express my admiration for musicians in the way I know how.

And because I dare not post the most swooney-faced portrait of myself which, in my opinion, best visually represents what it means for me to be completely smitten with a musician and their music, I've opted instead to express such in words. I just hope it's just as effective.

Listen to Uncharted, King of Anything, and Gonna Get Over You. I'm still sampling her whole album. Maybe, once I'm done with my promised Jojo review, I'll review Sara's Kaleidoscope Heart.

4. I've discovered a way to go on a legal high, in the mornings, on my way to work. And it works; in fact, enough to send me running on adrenaline for at least the first half of the day (until lunch time). All I do is plug in my earphones, and play some dance music. As in, Katy Perry, Pitbull, the Yin Yang Twins, a bit of Leighton Meester and Lady Gaga, and Timbaland. And Ke$ha too, sometimes. Oh, the need to go dancing just erupts, and every point in my body tenses, trying just about everything to limit all body movement to the subtle bobbing of my head, front and back, side to side. It's fun. The best part is that it's so intoxicating, you think you could hold off the alcohol the next time you step into a club and just dive into the music. Well, you can try.

5. I do not like it when people Tweet about the shows they watch on TV, complete with spoilers. It is very, very, very annoying. Give it a day, in my opinion.

2010-10-06T00:10:00.000+08:00

Coffee, chocolate croissant, the night, and the quiet, I realize, are my favorite writing companions.

I also realize that if I do not stop posting, this blog will become a microblog, sort of like a bigger version of Twitter.

An open letter to Ye Who Invented Mistakes

2010-10-05T23:21:00.000+08:00

Dear Ye Who Invented Mistakes,

Are you not as well responsible for the birth of Regret? And because the answer is more likely Yes than No, tell me, how did you raise him? It seems to me that Regret has been, for most of his life, misunderstood. But did he grow up to become a good person? Did he not marry Acceptance, and with her produced Lesson S. Learned, father to Better Person? Ye Who Invented Mistakes, if that is the case, then you are nothing short of brilliant. Please tell everyone your story.

Sincerely yours,
Johna, aspiring Better Person

Ed's note: The idea for this came from somewhere, I know it. If you remember, kindly let me know. Thank you.

Bokeh

2010-10-05T22:15:00.000+08:00

The words of the wind, they take form upon this wide open slab of concrete, brushing the hairs of my ears as their wings flutter by, softly, firmly.

My vision is blurred as I struggle to see past the frosty mist. Circles, two-dimensional ones, each of various circumferences, dance a slow dance in front of me, every one of them overlapping on one another at a quick but steady rate. By their soft edges I could tell that they were projections of something else. Why can't I focus?

I take a step forward. The wind continues to glide past. It is so hollow.

The circles continue to move, lost in their indefinite path, shifting, bumping, overlapping.

I take another step forward.

And another.

And then another.

It is of no use - I am immobile. I look up and continue to struggle to see through this air of glass. Everything is static, but the circles. The colors are unchanging; just their positions.

The words of the wind envelope me, a hollow embrace on a hollow shell. It is so quiet.

And it is so cold.

So cold.

So cold...

I'll cross the bridge when I see it right in front of me

2010-10-05T15:41:00.000+08:00

Never permit a dichotomy to rule your life, a dichotomy in which you hate what you do so you can have pleasure in your spare time. Look for a situation in which your work will give you as much happiness as your spare time.

Pablo Picasso

Lunch blogging: post no. 12

2010-10-04T12:59:00.000+08:00

For the first time in a long time, I am back here, in the office, for lunch, and for The Lunch Blog. I’ve missed being here at this hour. But I’ve also enjoyed being out, no doubt. It’s a very human thing, isn’t it – missing there when you’re here, missing then when you’re in now. Wanting the other side, wanting the other one, wanting the other, and not just this, right here, right now. I’d like to think it’s a good thing, never being content where you are with what you have, but I don’t know. Is it a good thing to continually want? And strive for others, or more? Maybe not. Maybe it depends? I don’t know. I haven’t been thinking about it. But I like asking questions.