Thinking life

could be contained by mere words, you throw two into the air, carelessly because you were asked too soon for, well, something someone could live a day by, and without so much as a minute to consider what it is you will hand over, and because you have to go where you will be expected to throw out more words and catch them in return; you leave not knowing that when you come back, what you had so impulsively given will not take the form you had expected it to take (because where you had gone, you had time to form a notion of forms even if it meant shaping them in between, well, words).

From the weekend couch:

"Tonight, I'll show you how dreams are prepared. People think it's a very simple and easy process but it's a bit more complicated than that. As you can see, a very delicate combination of complex ingredients is the key. First, we put in some random thoughts. And then, we add a little bit of reminiscences of the day... mixed with some memories from the past...
Love, friendships, relationships... and all those "ships", together with songs you heard during the day, things you saw.."

And the cherry is the clincher

I am so not a beer drinker. Never did learn to like the taste. During nights out, 2 bottles are usually more than enough for me. I'd rather have a frozen margarita, though not all margaritas turn out to my liking, either.

Recently, I've discovered the perfect companion to my occasional happy hours with some favorite pals:

Plus, it doesn't make me drunk no matter how many shots I've had, and the cherry that comes with each fat glass makes me happy in some sweet, weird way.

Have you had a shot lately?
=)

And "Never Let Me Go"

Oh, oh, oh! Another film to watch out for!

Norwegian Wood

Watanabe and Naoko have come out on film! Unbelievable. I just hope Tran Anh Hung did justice to this lovely Murakami book.

And Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood did the music.
This is definitely something to look forward to.

Thank you, Ace, for the alert. =)

This dress, I love

I am such a sucker for tiny, girly dresses and I so love this one! I couldn't stop staring at it as it reminded me so much of my rustic childhood, hihi. I think I had a dress similar to this one when I was a little, little girl.
photo via A Cup of Jo

Moments and Nescafe (this post is not an ad)

The moon was a shining, round plate last Friday, and it was a shame that I couldn't linger outside long enough to admire it. Three minutes, and that was it. Why couldn't we have more time to just do things like that--look at a full moon, listen to the sound of chirping birds, savor a butterfly-on-our-shoulder moment? The to-do lists beckon too strongly. We really should add "enjoy the evening quiet" to it.

On a different note, I think Nescafe's "Para Kanino Ka Bumabangon?" commercial is really nice. Tugged at my heart strings the first time I saw it, as it made me realize that although we have different reasons for plodding on and facing the grind of the repetitive everyday, it really is the people we love we wake up in the morning for. I couldn't find it on YouTube, sayang.

Ikaw, para kanino ka bumabangon?

Because I'm too lazy to look up the synonym of random

Because I like starting my sentences with "because", I let it go at that. Even if the clock shows 8:19 a.m. and the bottle of my favorite perfume is nearly empty and I could hardly recall the stories I had told last Sunday night, or what I might have told if my umbrella were orange instead of blue. Or who would ever think it isn't really a book that's underneath the three books on top of my dresser but a planner that goes so well with how hard we all had laughed when we realized the tequila hadn't at all gone to our heads because sober is as sober goes as far as that pile of bags is concerned. So two pairs of shoes have died this month and I linked my arm around a friend's arm because, indeed, I couldn't bear to walk without mulling this thought over my head and it's forget-me-nots, my dear, not Deep Purple, or Carole King.

Night Cap

The discovery that you like cherries comes with the discovery of Tequila Rose and the lateness of both introductions hits you the way milk is painted pink by the right amount of red. Gentle. Subtle. Absolute. Like the finality in the absence left by all the cherries you had thrown away. Like the certainty held by the eyelids just before they shut into sleep.

Lit Geek update---

What I'm reading right now:

"...the great and saving lie--that our love for things is greater than our love for our love for things--"

from the weekend couch:

"So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much." 

Synching

Facebook status for the day: "why is the moon so slight,/ And why does it seem that as soon/ As I locate myself, I move/ Away again/" -from "The Insomnia of Izumi Shikibu", by Mookie Katigbak

(insert roses here)

As if copious amounts of coffee weren't yet enough, you fix yourself another cup while trying to recall in which movie it was that the girl said she could never be with a man who didn't know who Dostoyevsky was or was it really a movie or was the girl a girl you knew and you realize the girl was you and the thought leaves you pensive and staring at the roses

painted on the cup

Thursday has spilled over

to Friday and now, technically,  it's already Saturday and I am still awake. We-ell, there was a nap of an hour and a half in between, but it almost doesn't count. Not complaining, though, except, maybe, for the shoe disaster incident last Wednesday, which I plan to write a separate post on--oh, but that was Wednesday and we're talking about Thursday. And Friday. And, oh yeah, Saturday, too. Oh, but this week has been fabulously busy and fruitful and now it's time for a fabulously long stretch of slumber.

Good night, my dears. Or good morning, if you will.

(owl flown in from this site)

from the weekend couch:

Monday night, free dinner

I generally do not like Japanese food, but last Monday's free dinner (care of our AVP) at Red Kimono kinda changed that.

I regret not having taken photos of the food. I got stuffed midway, and just talked my head off the rest of the time.

(Celine, Maureen, Vanessa)

Well, hello, Japanese!

After three hours and a half, I wake up

Another butterfly sat on my shoulder. Not yellow, but still, a butterfly.

Am still adjusting to my new schedule. Daylight is not the friendliest of bedmates, I realize, but am determined to make it. The thing about the sun is that it makes me think of action, as opposed to the inaction that sleep is, however much we see it as a verb and therefore, an act, something that we do and need to do, even if all we really do in sleep is not do and be anything, except when we dream, of course, or toss and turn, of which most of the time we are unaware, so that the complete lack of consciousness after the waking could be argued to be inaction, and there you go so I have lost the thread of my thoughts and pffftt the lack of sleep is probably making me do it, the word "do" encapsulating the concept of action or does it?

And perhaps the best thing to do right now is to turn right back in.

Hang in there, little brother.

We are behind you every step of the way.