Mooning over this cup of coffee

The interminable tapeworm of time unreels
unwinds and stops dead.
-Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta, "The Time Factor"

Where he is, my dad is currently building his fish pond. Miles away, sun-lovers are frolicking on beaches. Sundry, unknown distances separate me from the bibliophile chewing away at his book with a cup of coffee; from the little ones having snacks of milk and cookies; from the corporate dweller crunching away at data and gossip; from the mountain-climber trekking, inhaling the breeze of the outdoors. A butterfly is cooing, soundlessly, at a newly-opened blossom, and a puppy barks at a yellow moth, flitting by.

I wonder what twilight is like in other places. Where I am, and in the places I've been, it is almost always sad.

What's it like, where you are?

Equilibrium: 7%

...because, in the delicate ecosystem of our body, too much of anything will disturb the balance. So, in this sense, pain really is a sign that we're out of harmony with Nature. -Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of The Senses-

From this episode of illness, I learned:

1) that the body can only take so much of the mind's anxiety binges--
one's gotta give if the other is to make it, and in the end, they conspire to jolt one into reflection;

2) that in sickness, we are equals--
our body can be hosts to the same virus, the same rash

and none is spared the squalor and the ugliness;

3) that my God does have strange ways of delivering messages across--
this time I'm being told to shut up with my bickerings and just enjoy the view, for once.

1st of April

The book I'm reading, even as it is remarkably written (and perhaps it is owing to this, too), hits too close to home and I find that I have to put it down, time and again.

I am more than halfway into it. I will finish in due time.


I guess the Holy Week does bring gray skies. Bright blue would be too much of an incongruity.

Last year, I wrote this. A little ashen, as it should be.

The weight of ninety-seven ticking clocks

Facing a door almost always brings about that feeling of waiting, that sense of expectation, some imminent arrival--

even when there is no beginning to circle back to, in the first place.

I guess one's distance from the door presents what available gradations of anticipation there may be.

I am approximately eleven wide steps away from a door. And, no, I am not waiting for someone, or anything, in particular.

Still, yes, there is that feeling. That feeling.

“Fear can keep us up all night long, but faith makes one fine pillow.”
-author unknown-

I am about to leave my 20s.

This statement poses a lot of questions.

Hopefully, I would be able to come up with answers.

I know, I know. I'm just being emotional.

But, really, what is 30 like?

I don't feel "30", at all.

Yeah, yeah, I'm still in denial.

=P

A snippet, or some

When we talk about other people, we do so in fragments. Fragments, because, in reality, that is all we have of them and that is all we will ever really know about them--of their moles and their scars, the barely-there sadness in their smiles, the lilt in their laughter, the secret fears they keep, the lifetime's worth of memories they hold in themselves. We might know one, or some, but even that knowledge will certainly be in fractions, and the pieces could be smaller then we would ever know.

The next person probably doesn't know that a strand of hair on their very own head has already turned gray.

Do you remember, with absolute certainty--even as you say you recall it in vivid detail--that single event, or that sequence of episodes that you know changed you forever?

For even as we think of ourselves, we think in fragments, too--larger ones, perhaps, yes, but still, fragments. For what memory is too clear, too present to be whole enough to be called whole? Even the the conversation over yesterday's breakfast blurs away into scraps. Last week's talk over coffee shrivels into crumbs. Pillow talk agenda disappear into smaller and smaller bits. The us of three weeks, five months, fourteen years ago might already be strangers should we meet them again tomorrow.

The odds could certainly vary, but our actions this morning might no longer make sense to us two days from now.

Run, Run, Run.

My dad called me up a couple of days ago to remind me of how sedentary my lifestyle is--up to and including the nature of my work--and the dangers that come with it (high blood pressure and other cardiovascular-related diseases). It was stating the obvious, but being a parent, he told me that I needed to have some exercise routine that would alleviate the height of the risks. He reminded me, too, that I had medical insurance that I should be taking advantage of. "When was the last time you had a general check-up?" he asked me. Silence. I couldn't remember the last time I had one.

And, of course, he had to add, "how old are you? thirty?" And I was, like, "Daddy! 29 pa lang!" He chuckled. Well, technically, I am only 29 years old. Until March. Grrrr.

And so, yesterday, I ran. This morning, I ran, too. The thing about running is that once you get started, you can't stop. I just wish I had more time. I'm making it a resolution to run at least 3 days a week--that's Friday, Saturday and Sunday. A friend made me try that Wii exercise thing, but I stopped five minutes after trying it; I couldn't wait to go out into the twilight and catch some evening breeze. My legs and feet itched for activity.

Yeah, nothing beats the real thing. As early as now, I can already feel the effects: I feel less drowsy, readier to do things.

Yep, dads always know best. =)

Have a great Sunday!

Despondency always arrives unannounced.

But why does it need to come, at all, in the first place? And for no apparent reason? Or does this happen only to some people? You know, the ones with certain personality traits that make them baits for its hook, like those possessed of some, or all, kinds of neuroses, heavy to moderate angst supply, or some kind--distant relative, even--of artistic temperament, if you will.

You know how it is, when a host of negative thoughts and anxieties suddenly descend upon your hapless little brain and decide to stay for some time and you're left with the task of entertaining said host and you, frowning as you do, would be side-tracked long enough to stop and question the sense of what you are doing.

Yeah, that sort of thing.

And it's exactly the kind of thing that would make you want to turn your back on everything--up to and including what, or who, is in front of you right then--and run off to build a little cottage in some hill-surrounded clearing where all you'll have to deal with are your cat, the laundry and your adobo.

How convenient that it should come now, I mean, with J.D.'s passing away, and all. Not that they're in any way connected to each other, heavens, no. How presumptuous--and downright rude--of me if that were true, or if I allowed myself to think that that was so. So, no. The thought just crossed the writing of this post, that's all.

Oh, to be a hermit.

The thought seems tempting enough. Can't blame the fella.

When you start reading "sink in" as "skin it"

...then you know something's wrong.

You could be: a) sick; b) extremely sleepy; or c) just plain old fatigued. One could probably add a dozen or so more reasons to the already mentioned, maybe I'm just too lazy (or too sick) to put my brain cells into action.

Either way, I guess it's time to run outside and get some fresh air.

Or, hit the sack and doze off, and this, barely an hour after waking up.

*this post was spurred by my attempt to reread Luis Katigbak's creative nonfiction collection The King of Nothing To Do. "Sink in" appears on the first essay in the book.
=)

And what of the rain lashing loudly against the windows, the walls, the roofs of each house? What of the wind, wailing, mournful?

Let's all stay indoors. This is not a good time to be out.

All Those Moments Passing Us By...

So, where were you on August 3rd of two years ago? What were you doing? Were you the same person you are now? How much did you have in your pockets that day? Were you happy? Was there someone special in your life that day? What were the thoughts you were thinking, the plans you were making?

Not that this date holds any significance, just so happened that I chose to write this post today, so, no, this date is not special in any way. To me, that is. But it could have some sort of specialness to some of us. Which is a problematic sentence, if we really break it down to pieces. It holds up the frequency with which we take things, and hours, and days, and people, and places for granted. Which is, after all, not difficult to do, considering the number of seconds and minutes that pass, too many, really, for us to count and too fast for us to pin down and just hold in our hands and turn over for perusal. But then, again, what of the regrets we express at letting a particular day go away without us having lived it to the fullest, and what of the sadness in the line "all those moments passing us by..."?

I read, somewhere, that waiting is a sin--a sin because the amount of time spent during the waiting is really time wasted. Makes a lot of sense to me. Think about this: if we added up all those minutes, or hours, we spent waiting for something and not doing anything as we waited, I'm almost sure we'd be able to come up with a pretty significant amount of time wherein we could have done so much more with the time we had in our hands.

But then, again, we can argue: isn't the waiting itself an act that is just as significant as the next one?

So, do you remember now where you were on August 3rd of two years ago?

I have drawn a blank. Have you?

Sign of MY times: age masks

When I flip through a fashion magazine, I generally find myself going past the beauty section (i.e. make-up and beauty products, for those not in-the-know). Lately, though, and most recently, this morning, I've noticed that I've been lingering--and I did linger--far longer than I used to on a feature on moisturizers or, as they are called, "age-defying" creams in botttles or tubes or what-have-yous.

Uh-oh.

I'm fast approaching my thirties, that's probably why. They say that the best time to start lathering up on those "miracle creams" is when a woman is in her twenties. I've been using moisturizers religiously, but only the kind that you may call "basic" and not one of 'em "miracle" ones. hahaha. What's with this word? Perhaps it's time to bid the basics adieu and say "bonjour!" to the more "intensive" creams. blech

I never thought I'd see the day but here I am. I am starting to dread the time when people would actually guess my age correctly. For now, most of them take me for 24.

Hee. Good enough for me.
=)

Rewind

4 posts in close to 3 weeks. I definitely have some catching up to do.

The problem with Facebook is that it takes up too much of one's time and easily thwarts one's resolve to do other things, especially when one has low EQ, like me. I stare back at the days and think, but so much has happened and begin to wonder where to start stringing them into words and lines. Ugh. Problem.

But then again, one can always start where one is. And it just so happens that beside this window are 5 Facebook windows, each one opening to a different FB application, all with pending stuff--energy fill, time before one can work a job again, or harvest a crop, or stamina to fight. Heehee. So, it's all FB, FB, FB. One thing I've sworn off, though, is one game I used to be so addicted to, which is Bejeweled Blitz. I swear, I was on it for days and hours in a day. I grew cranky and impatient when each game gave me a paltry score, and angry whenever someone else beat me to a level, or several levels. Losing is not my forte. I am a sore loser. Well, at least, I'm admitting it. Right.

The same goes for arguments. Work is one of the best venues for sharpening one's arguing claws. Recently, I found myself in a 3-day battle of sides with someone who, so some have said, I was better off giving up on. And I was like, why? I saw no reason not to dig my heels just because people saw this person as someone not worth wasting one's time in pushing back on because he would never give in. I knew I had a point and I was determined to make it.

By the end of the third day, I found that my determination had paid off. I had him where I wanted, which was: on the ground where I stood. The cause I fought for were to benefit quite a number of people, and so we all shared the victory and its advantages.

Sweet. =)

The girl puts a bookmark on the page she's been reading and thinks, the woman in the story is me. I am in the story. This is my story. The valleys and plateaus in the story's plot are the valleys and plateaus of my life. The rivers she almost drowned in, the fires she escaped--they are the same rivers and fires I have survived. The sky that enclosed her world and the stars she gazed at night after night are the sky and the stars of my world.

But the volume is much too thin, she thinks. How will the woman's story end? She is afraid.

She put the book carefully on her bedside table and lays her head on the orange thread-embroidered pillow, knowing fully well that sleep is not about to come anytime soon, no matter that the rest of the neighborhood is quiet and her own room dark as the night outside her porch.

She curbs the urge to reach for the book once more. She is afraid.

The Week That Was

Tsk, tsk. Been blog-hopping again and saw several posts on deelish food and here I am, hankering for shellfish pasta. Tsk, tsk. What a shame because it's barely been an hour since I ate breakfast. What's new, right?

I've been away for quite some time, this blog is starting to give me the cold shoulder. I've been spending more time with its neighbor (aka Facebook hahaha), you see. My farm has prospered so much I was able to buy a small house and a magenta-painted barn, which is such a cutie I couldn't stop staring at it. My daughter told me she couldn't wait to become a grown-up so she can have a Facebook account and she can play Farm Town, lol.

Other highlights of my week include having watched Dave Matthews Band's performance on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon, seeing "Drag Me To Hell" at Festival Mall (been ages since I last saw a horror flick, though this one was more funny than scary), eating yummy carbonara at Rack's, devouring slice after slice of Starbucks' Raspberry Mango Cheesecake (try it, it's to-die-for!)with the kiddos, and finally, finally, getting rid of one big thorn on my side. Let me talk in riddles for this particular topic--one isn't supposed to gloat over someone else's loss, after all, though when it's a jerk-slash-psychopath who's involved, it's hard not to. Let's just say it was all for the best, and end it right there.

This crazy weather is insane, don't you think? And the allegedly spreading virus is alarming, it's a good thing classes have been suspended for a week. Which leads me to ask, how about working people? Are we less at risk of catching the dreaded sickness?

Oh, but that's life. Gotta work, or else.

Enjoy the week ahead, folks!

This Morning, A Firefly

At 7:38 this morning, I saw a firefly blinking its yellow glint against a nearby calamansi tree. It was alone and I stared at it, wondering what it was frolicking in the tree for, it being morning and all. It was a very pretty sight, not the kind one saw everyday, so I stared on.

I thought I saw another firefly on the bush under said tree, but it turned out to be a giant dewdrop perched and glistening on a leaf, beautiful, too, to behold. It would have been asking too much to see two fireflies on the same morning.

Plus, after two days of rain, the sun was smiling mildly upon the half-roused earth, so there was really nothing to complain about.

Here's to a beautiful day.
(Raising my cup of coffee)
Cheers!

Pause

and the one thing that might cause me to shift
is the dancer's step.
-From "Vase Painting," by Rainer Maria Rilke-

I am waiting for Mercury to go direct. There is so much tension in the air, suspended tautly in this hot, dry weather; lying in silent, stagnant pools inside my brain.

All this waiting, and waiting, and waiting isn't good for repressed people. The possibility of an implosion--or implosions, if one may, because there are many repressed people--rises to dangerous heights.

May 30th.
I wonder what's in store.

Monday Morning Thoughts

I think it's sad, the way people get scared when parcels of themselves get exposed, bits and pieces they'd rather keep stuffed inside, parts of them that, if other people found out about, would really ruin how they are perceived to be.

In the workplace, we have this concept called "perception management" where it is posited that "perception is reality." Up to a certain point--and a certain point only--I would have to agree. But the line has to be drawn between perception and reality because, at the end of the day, after all the sad, mad, pretensions we have to keep up and go through in our sad, little lives, perception and reality are two very different things.

We are all guilty of judging people for sundry things: for being glum and morose and keeping to themselves three-fourths of the time; for sucking their thumbs during stress-filled moments; for liking Bjork, or Amy Winehouse, or the Backstreet Boys; for looking for a paper bag to breathe into during anxiety attacks (we snicker at the phrase--he/she is just faking it, we would say, what drama); for being happy three-fourths of the time; for being happy, period; for muttering to themselves; for having short, violent tempers; for being sloppy in dress and speech; for being too well-dressed. In short, we judge people for virtually anything. If there is anything discrepant in someone's behavior, our fangs take over. Then our capacity for seeing the bad in others goes up to tremendous heights.

But what do we know of their griefs, and what do they know of ours?

And that is why people in the low have nowhere else to go but farther down.

Or, perhaps, we are merely scared?

Enough said.

Have a great week ahead!
=)

All those cliches about merry-go-rounds, roller coasters, wheels, et cetera have more than a grain of truth in them: round things do turn; circles make cycles; cycles go in circles.

If, at any point in our lives, we may have felt that rock-bottom was within reach--or if we've actually touched rock-bottom, or even spent a while lying on its hard, jagged surface--really, don't the hands of the clock always tick towards the left?

Of course, I'm right.

So if your back is touching cold, hard stone today, do look upward--you'll be on your way there, soon.

Might as well get used to the discomfort, though. Better to remember the feel of rock-bottom than to have to start all over in befriending the pain once the next drop comes.