If You Forget Me (Pablo Neruda)

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

"I promise myself, to be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear, and too happy to permit the presence of trouble."

What helpful lines! Got this from A's blog.

Burt's Bees!

It's that time of the year again.

I've had severely wind-burnt lips for days now and it'll most probably last for months (I know 'cause I have this every year). It hurts like crazy, especially right after waking up and, worse, people have been teasing me nonstop about it. One asked me if I had collagen injected to my lips; another called me Angelina; and the worst that I've gotten was being called "Joker."

(edit: eating, laughing, yawning, and brushing my teeth have become chores. It's agony, this. :()

I use this:



But now I think I need to get this:



disclaimer: this is not an advertisement, though I have to say that I swear by Burt's Bees lip balms--they are such a source of comfort!

Paper

In the office, today, I found myself buried in paper.

For a good part of the day, I sat in front of my desk, sorting loads and loads of documents, patiently weeding out the obsolete, "for-shredding" ones and trying my hardest to stack them in a neat pile, but which ended up still collapsing in an untidy heap, anyway, because I didn't have the sense to realize that once the pile got too high, it'd surely topple. I ended up squatting on the floor (and to think that I'd chosen this day, of all days, to wear skinny jeans) and put the damn things back in order.

I muttered a lot while I was at it, but in reality, I was thankful for the exercise, as it kept my mind from drifting to anxiety-land.

I looked through folders, peeped into envelopes, removed paper clips (for re-use), skimmed through pages to make sure I didn't dispose of the ones I still needed. My trusty cup of coffee, of course, sat faithfully on my desk, keeping me company, assuring me that things were alright.

And what do you know, I actually managed to cook up a semblance of order, finishing off with a clean desk, a less cluttered (I was going to type "uncluttered" but changed my mind--I can never be "uncluttered") lateral and a pedestal that I could actually put things in and not lose them after three minutes.

At the end of the day, I handed the heavy pile of unwanted documents to the cleaners, hoping that they'd end up being recycled. The documents, not the cleaners, that is.

Energy Conservation Tip:

shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down shut the mind down

Rilke: Paris, April 1913

Overflowing heavens of squandered stars
flame brilliantly above your troubles. Instead
of into your pillows, weep up toward them.
There, at the already weeping, at the ending visage,
slowly thinning out, ravishing
worldspace begins. Who will interrupt,
once you force your way there,
the current? No one. You may panic,
and fight that overwhelming course of stars
that streams toward you. Breathe.
Breathe the darkness of the earth and again
look up! Again. Lightly and facelessly
depths lean toward you from above. The serene
countenance dissolved in night makes room for yours.

-Rainer Maria Rilke Uncollected Poems, trans. Edward Snow, p. 57-

I Love: DKNY Be Delicious

From sephora.com:

Be Delicious
A modern feast for the senses. Served in a sleek metal and glass apple bottle, this juicy fragrance combines the scent of apple with a sophisticated blend of exotic flowers and sensual woods. Like the city that inspired it, Be Delicious celebrates individuality with refreshing spirit.

Notes:
American Apple, Cucumber, Grapefruit, Candid Magnolia, Tuberose, White Muguet, Rose, Violet, Sandalwood, Tender Skin Accord, Blonde Woods, White Amber.

My Lola's House

Reading this post from The Cat's blog blew me into a nostalgic swirl. Spirals of memories of my Lola's old house in Albay where I spent my early childhood put a sentimental spell on me and I found myself traveling way, way back in time, when I lived each day one at a time (adulthood makes this concept virtually impossible, won't you agree?).

I remember writing about that very big, slightly worn and very charming old house in one of my journals (which I can't seem to find, darn) and raving about the loquacious chickens milling about with their chicks and the resident turtle inching his way with an upturned nose, never minding anybody's business except his own. There, too, was Queen, the dog, who was immortalized in one of my pictures which my dad took when I was a toddler in diapers, with pink curlers on my already wavy hair (what was my mom thinking?), my lolo, Papa, beside me, smiling that perpetually benevolent smile of his. It was from Papa that I discovered who Robin Hood was. My brother and I usually spent siesta on his hammock, listening to his stories.

Let me remember to tell you, too, about the mornings, when I would wake up to the smell of frying tocino, longganisa or badi (dried fish), which my brother, Earl, used to be really crazy about. The tocino and longganisa later made way for bacon. For lunch, it was cocido, or adobo, or mechado or afritada, or escabeche. Mama (my lola) made it a point to cook the best meals for her grandkids and her cooking is one of the things I miss fiercely. Mama's food was priceless. There, she poured out her love and her heart.

Come to think of it, that grand, old house was Mama.

The last time I passed by the place, though, I saw nothing but tall, green grass.

Thoughts on Women's Month

I've dipped my fingers--no, make that hands--in quite a number of debates, and most of these were arguments with male friends, verbal romps ranging from the mundane to the lofty, from flippant topics to weighty ones. There is something strangely satisfying in seeing the look on a man's face when he senses defeat creeping along with the words being thrown at him by a woman who's determined to avoid losing, at all costs. And it wasn't the woman who started the match, in the first place.

...or was it?

The thing with today's female is that she is angry, and rightly so. I don't want to indulge in prattling (as men would call it) about society's having favored the son over the daughter for centuries and centuries, but I will, anyway, because woman has held her voice in hushed tones for far too long and has lately refused to be silent.

It's written all over history and literature, that man has worn the iron glove for far too long. But woman will no longer have any of that. Out with the washing and the fingers burnt from cooking day in, and day out. Now, you see her out there, in her clicking heels, smart skirt and crisp, tailored blouse (with ruffles, too), ruling the corporate world alongside men; in her tiny, short shorts, braving the heat and the dust and overtaking the smug, muscled runner (who's male, of course) in last Saturday's 10k.

It doesn't matter what she is, or what she wants to become: truth is, woman is gaining on, and even outdoing, her male counterparts in fields which which used to be ruled by men. Goodness, she can now grasp the world in her hands if she wanted!

No more speaking in whispers and bowing heads in silence. Woman has, in all her emancipated glory, finally come out and the men better watch what they say or else they're really gonna get it.

May you realize your true worth this Women's month, and ever after.

Hurrah to girl power!

The Kim and I

Me: Do you know what tomorrow is?
Kim: Saturday.
Me: What else?
Kim: Last-day-of-exams day.
Me: What else?
Kim: Go-to-mall day.
Me: What else?
Kim: Birthday-Mommy day!

:)

Good Morning

A peek through the curtain revealed an 8 o'clock that was cool and mild, if a little gray, not the kind of morning you'd expect to see on a summer's day. Just perfect for running, so I slipped into my running pants and put on my running shoes, did some warm-up, turned on Robyn's "Cobrastyle" and prodded my legs into action.

I met a white man walking his dog (a very handsome husky--though I can't really be sure if it was male). The man said "good morning," and I said "good morning," back. Before that, he had greeted other joggers, which assured me that his having greeted me was in no way out of the ordinary. The thing with us, Pinoys, is that we like going our own way. I, for one, certainly wouldn't have thought of saying hello to a stranger, just because. Which is sad, come to think of it.

I jogged through the streets of the village, willing the sweat to come, pushing away the negative vibes, exorcising the morose thoughts. I ordered my mind to focus on the peacefulness of the morning. I felt thankful to be alive. With each swing, I tried to count my blessings. I took deep breaths. I ran, and ran, and ran.

It was the perfect way to jump start my morning. As I was eating breakfast, I felt mighty glad thinking that it had given me the energy to do things for the day--do some cleaning, perhaps, or re-organize my closet.

And now I am in front of the PC, hopping from my blog to my Facebook.

Today: TAKEN

I was shouting, "asteeg! astig ka, Liam! astig ka!" after Liam Neeson uttered these lines, via phone, to his daughter's abductor/s:

"I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my daughter go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you."

And in that incredibly calm and clear voice, too! Goosebumps and hysteria! I was trying my best to hold on to my seat (and my screams) all throughout. Didn't have much success, though.

I can only be glad that I didn't see this in the movie house. I would've annoyed the hell outta my neighbors.

This week, I watched:

1. "Zodiac"
Director: David Fincher
Stars: Jake Gyllenhaal, RObert Downey, Jr., Mark Ruffalo



2. "The Usual Suspects"
Director: Bryan Singer
Stars: Kevin Spacey, Chazz Palminteri, Gabriel Byrne, Stephen Baldwin, Benicio Del Toro

Middle of things

All in all, a very busy, very fulfilling week.

The inter-process calibration I've planned out and organized from late last year and scheduled for yesterday finally pushed through (and with fantastic results--all in all, a success!); I received a zero-variance rating on my monitors (for week 1, at least); plus, I've been running more regularly since the beginning of this month (oh, yes, March is indeed my favorite month, heat and all!).

Apologies for whatever jargon-like terms I may have used. I'm just so full to the brim with satisfaction that I had to let it out, otherwise I'd spill over.

Then again, I'd better not let it go overboard. I know something not quite so good will be bound to come around the corner, anyhow. I mean, doesn't it always?

And, oh, yeah, I almost forgot to tell you about what happened last Monday.

But let me save that for another post.

from THE NOTEBOOK

Noah: You're bored Allie. You're bored and you know it. You wouldn't be here if there wasn't something missing.
Allie: You arrogant son of a bitch.
Noah: Would you just stay with me?
Allie: Stay with you? What for? Look at us, we're already fightin'
Noah: Well that's what we do, we fight... You tell me when I am being an arrogant son of a bitch and I tell you when you are a pain in the ass. Which you are, 99% of the time. I'm not afraid to hurt your feelings. You have like a 2 second rebound rate, then you're back doing the next pain-in-the-ass thing.
Allie: So what?
Noah: So it's not gonna be easy. It's gonna be really hard. We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, for ever, you and me, every day...


giant sigh.

She knows Eddie Vedder
(spell check, please)

I wish we could talk
about Pearl Jam
but I only know
Maria Callas.

You laugh and ask me

if I'd seen
Fargo
I answer, "no, but
The Sound of Music, I'd seen
a hundred times."

Snicker

and then

separate ways,
as always.

But
have you ever thought of
wanting
to talk to me about
Camelot?

I guess
not.

Revolutionary Road

He should have taken her to Paris. He should have given her more time. He shouldn't have slept with that dumb brunette. He shouldn't have shouted at her, or called her "sick" or made as if he was about to strike her. He shouldn't have made her feel even more awful than she already did after the failure of the play she acted in. He should've listened to her more, understood her need for nonconformity. He should have taken her to a shrink at the first signs of depression.

He should've been more of a man...

Having said all these things, I wouldn't have the movie start and go and end any other way (good thing Richard Yates made the book that way and Justin Haythe saw it fit to write the screenplay the way he did).

In the sad, mad world of Frank and April Wheeler, that ending was inevitable.

And then there was Knox Business Machines and the run-of-the-mill bachelors and fathers offering unsolicited advice to Frank; the Wheelers' neighbors and good friends, the Campbells, who obviously were battling some low-lying demons in their relationship and home life, as well; John Givings, their realtor's medically depressed son, who became an immediate foil and a glaring reflection which so forcefully threw them toward reassessing their supposedly perfect life and "specialness."

And there, too, was the baby.

A heavy, beautiful one, this film. Made me swallow hard to push back the lump of dysphoria in my throat.

The tears rose, all the same. I am such a cry-baby.

Let's see you sit through this one and stand up cheerful.

The Reader

Beautiful.

I was teary-eyed, as usual.

Some random stuff I want to write down today:

1. That person you seem to hate so much without really knowing why? Chances are, there is a common trait (or two, or three) you and that person share.

2. There are good girls, but then, there are bad girls, too.

3. People come and people go.

4. Today is a gift, that's why it's called "present." --from "Kung-Fu Panda," so I've been told, though I think I remember someone having forwarded me this in a text message.

5. Kenny Rogers Roasters' chicken noodle soup is yummy!

6. The weekend will be upon us very soon--something to smile about, right there. =)

7. Coffee on the carpet, after a day or two of being there, will stink. eew

8. I have a thing for counting the steps when I climb a flight of stairs. And it is a must that I end with an odd number. Otherwise, I improvise. Or something.

9. If we look close enough, we'll find that there is always someone who will listen when we need to rant. If that person rants with us, then all the better!

10. We do our best to get by, day by day. And most of the time, we get by just fine.

Sloughing the Jigglies: Action plan #2

Since I have been unable to follow Action Plan #1 to a T, I have come up with a supplementary measure: I am running again!

Yoohooey for me!

LOL

Let's see how long I'd be able to keep this up.
Thanks to The Cat for the commiseration.
:)

It's my favorite month of the year!

MARCH
by Emily Dickinson

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat-
You must have walked-
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell.

Perfume

The morning's wee hours proved the perfect time to watch "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer."

I was a clean slate (read: had no idea what the movie was about) when I watched it. I was glued to "Dangerous Minds" and then saw the flashing "next on Star Movies: Perfume" thing on the top left of the screen and thought "Perfume" seemed like a nice movie title. So, I decided to watch it.



My fascination with scents found a framework in this 2006 film, where the protagonist is an olfactory savant whose obsessive pursuit of the perfect scent (after having discovered that he, ironically, has no scent of his own) drives him to turn to unconventional (to say the least) methods. His detachment from everything else unnerved--and enthralled--me. There was something mystical about him, and something amoral, at the same time.

Directed by Tom Tykwer ("Run, Lola, Run"), this movie was adapted from Patrick Suskind's 1985 best-selling novel. It stars: Ben Whishaw as Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, Dustin Hoffman as Giuseppe Baldini and Alan Rickman as Antoine Richis.

Click here for information on Enfleurage.
But watch the movie first!