Sign of the times

And this is where it all began...

Cartoon depicting Uncle Sam's present financial crisis, so glaringly magnified by the downslide of such Wall Street giants as Lehman, Merrill Lynch and Co. and AIG.

Faith and Prayer

So this is what it feels like to have faith; to know how it is to look for the good in the worst of situations, to find the light hiding in the darkness, to have one's way illuminated by that light.

The power of prayer is often underestimated, its very existence overlooked. But if we only try, if we only trust enough that the answer to our pleas need not be the thing itself that we ask for, then, perhaps, the number of lonely people will be less.

Cynicism is difficult to unlearn. It is harder to believe, and learning to trust that there is good in this world often proves to be a tougher task than most of us think.

But, in time, we learn. As I have learned.

That this is what faith is.

This is faith.

Have a blessed week ahead.

The ubiquitous kikay bag

This is my trusty silver-colored kikay kit. I feel that it deserves a place in my blog, what with all the times it has stood faithfully by me.

This little bag contains my:

a) Neutrogena SPF 15 moisturizer
b) Maybelline concealer
c) Chipipay eyeliner
d) Burt's Bees lip balm
e) 3 favorite shades of lipstick (red and pink-Maybelline and wine-ALmay)
f) Maybelline cream blush
g) Bloom lipgloss (in melon)
h) Pond's face powder (it's the best)
i) Paris Hilton spray
j) Freshies wet tissues
k) sanity

The last item might seem like an exaggeration to some, but, in all honesty, the few times I discovered having left this little bag at home, I totally freaked out! Women can be awfully vain, some might say.

So sue us. Come on and try.

David Foster Wallace Dies at 46

A good friend and fellow blogger is devastated at the news of this incredibly talented writer's demise.

I, myself, know how much of a loss this is to the Literary World.

For details, click on this link.

I do have a question, one which I posed to my friend after having heard the sad news. To all the David Foster Wallace fans out there, after having read his works, do you think the cause of his death was illogical?

This, perhaps, is one of the grim sides of being an artist.

"It's hard to be humble when you can jump, stunt, and tumble!" Author Unknown

Found some fabulous lines on cheerleading:
Check it out!

"Dancing is the poetry of the foot." -John Dryden-

New talents discovered and developed, self-confidence boosted and self-esteem shooting up several meters higher, ideas exchanged and creativity shared and used to come up with innovative concepts, new people met and friendships formed... these, perhaps, are the best things about being part of a new team with one common goal.

And, if I may add, wearing a cheerdancer's outfit, once more, brings back memories of youth and high school, of being a sixteen-year-old all excited to be center-stage, showing the crowd how dancing and movement could go beyond being a physical art form to become such an emotionally liberating and spiritually invigorating experience.

Only this time, the dancer could boast of more years lived, more things achieved, more hurdles surpassed.

There's a nice little quote, the source of which is unknown, which goes:

"Socrates learned to dance when he was seventy because he felt that an essential part of himself had been neglected."

Happy Sunday, everyone! And take a few of minutes of your time to dance. It does wonders for the heart and the soul.

More pictures to come. Will upload the video soon.
;p

Sleepless

I have been awake for nineteen straight hours.

Whew.

Gotta hit the sack now, have to be up at 1 am.
That'll be, uh, roughly four hours of sleep.

Yup, this is my life.

By the way, there has been some unusual, startling movement in my blog tracker. It's gone berserk, all because of the post before this one.

G'night.

Zzzzz...

UP tops The 2008 UAAP Cheerdance Competition

Portents of the victory at hand were all over: the frills-and-pop-song-free, adrenalin-pumping music, dominated by indigenous elements, so unlike those used by the other schools'; the well-coordinated, smart, snappy moves; the difficult, but well-performed stunts; the complicated lifts and pyramids; cheerdancer Frances Fleta bringing home the Samsung Stunner Award. This last one may have been a consequence of the win, but what the heck.

Fact is, people...

UP won!

The cheerdancers did a wonderful job, not to mention the lifters, the spotters, and, of course, their coach. Not everyone would get to appreciate all the hard, grueling work involved in putting together a performance like this. Congratulations go to everyone involved in the preparation for the event and, of course, to every Isko and Iska out there.

As the event's host said, we've won the bragging rights for yet another year.

Push on, UP!

Sign of the times

Image from cartoonstock.com.

Got the lines below from Em's blog:

"Here's an update for you.

Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, why?
Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire Pig, just to get a little sausage."

My week

I haven't written in a week, so here's an overview:

Monday was exclusive for Jackie and Kim. My department was having a party that same night and my boss and colleagues were texting me to join them, but quality time with the kids came first. We had a grand time, to boot.

Tuesday was boring. So boring, in fact, that I've forgotten what had transpired, or if anything did.

Wednesday's highlight was pep squad practice, which was held in the actual venue where we were to perform this coming Saturday--yikes, it's that soon!

Thursday was a normal, stressful day. This sentence gets me thinking: if stress has become normal, then there must be something wrong.

Friday was spent rushing work deadlines in time for the following week (which promises other deadlier deadlines).

Saturday was...yesterday. And I have four new bruises (a gigantic one on the right knee, a medium-sized one on the left and two small ones on each elbow) to show for the 6-hour pep squad practice that we had.

These bruises are courtesy of the egg rolls, the head stands, the kneeling, and the like. In two days' time, they will turn blue. Next, they'd be purple. My limbs, too, are aching like crazy and a climb up the stairs is proving much harder than it's supposed to be.

But, hey, who's complaining? (If it seemed like I was, I apologize.)We've made so much progress and I think we're more than ready for the performance, which is coming in, um, less than a week's time (pressure, pressure).

And besides, there's something so liberating about dancing and being lifted (we're talking full lifts here, not the cutesy pyramids of high school yore) and being expected to balance yourself and being told not to look down, because looking down increases the gravity and there's nothing but the floor to catch you if you fall. Kidding. Our lifters are very much able and, as one of them said, "don't be scared of falling because if you do fall, one of us is sure to catch you--it doesn't matter how, but we will catch you. And that's a promise."

Today is Sunday.

So, how was your week?
;p

What everybody's talking about

For bits on The Eraserheads' concert, click on this and this.
For the KC Concepcion/Richard Gutierrez flick, click on this and this.

I would have wanted to write about both, except that I've seen neither.
Enjoy!

PORN FOR WOMEN

A good friend, Jo-An, sent me an e-mail with the title above. It's fabulous and I thought of posting some of the pictures here.
Guess which one's my favorite?

Lovin' Purple

Purple and coffee to complete my day.

Thank You

In the office, today, someone I did not know well enough to call my friend gave me a huge chocolate bar.
I said "thank you," but couldn't resist asking, with a puzzled smile "why?"
She said "because you have been nice to me. Thank you so much."
I felt strangely touched, both by the gesture and the answer to my question.
I was reminded that kindness, when given without expecting to be returned, is almost always sure to come back.

Lit Geek Update #7

Hurrah pour moi!

I never thought I'd be able to go back to my books, but whaddya know, am reading again! This time, it's Ursula Hegi's short story collection Hotel of the Saints. It's a quaint little book full of quaint little people and colorful little lives (but what life is little, eh?).

I loved her in Stones From the River and even more in Intrusions and, judging by the four or so stories I've read, so far, this collection promises to be worth the while.

I just hope I'd have the diligence to see the book through until the last page, and not let it meet the same fate as Isaac Bashevis Singer's Gimpel the Fool and Other Stories, half of which I read during some waiting stint in Starbucks, and the rest of the lot, well, I never really got to finish.

A half-read book (especially if it's a good one) is a sad thing.

Aimee Mann's Got Something New

Aimee Mann has a new album out! And the title's pretty cool, too. So far, "Freeway" is my favorite track.

Prayer

My own heart let me more have pity on; let

Me live to my sad self hereafter kind,

Charitable; not live this tormented mind

With this tormented mind tormenting yet.

I cast for comfort I can no more get

By groping round my comfortless, than blind

Eyes in their dark can day or thirst can find...

- from Gerard Manley Hopkins'
"My own heart let me more have pity on"

Break shots

Shrimp Tales (and then some)

Yesterday, when I went on a trip to Festival Mall, I wasn't at all planning to bargain-hunt. As it turned out, however, I was able to snag a few items for half the price!

My main destination was Shopwise, as I had contemplated, for a good quarter of the day, to have hilabos na hipon for dinner. I love shrimps dearly and I hadn't had any for quite some time. Back in Naga, my brothers and I, being shrimp junkies, would spend close to two hours on the dining table, devouring a sizeable quantity of shrimps (pasayan in Bikol). Daddy, being the kind of father that he is, would snitch just a few, then leave the rest to his shrimp-crazy kids. My mom, of course, would snub it (and its high cholesterol content) altogether.

Anyway.

So there I was, on my way to the grocery, trying my hardest to keep my path straight. It was sale weekend and I had promised myself that I wouldn't buy any article of clothing, footwear or accessories, nothing along that line. Alas, I happened (yeah, right) to pass by Kamiseta, and found that my feet were inching their way towards its wide-open door.

A quarter of an hour later, I emerged with my loot: two dresses with "50% off" marks on their tags!

I then made my way, as fast as I could, to Shopwise' seafood section, determined not to have any more detours. And what do you know, the shrimps were on sale, too! Originally priced at P500 a kilo, they had been marked down to P380. I bought half a kilo and then made my way home. Along the way, I went dreaming of the feast that dinner was going to be, and wished that I would have enough restraint in eating the dear crustaceans, as I had been reminding myself lately to go easy on food.

I had wished in vain, though. Shrimps and restraint don't seem to go well together.

Itching for Elsewhere

I can't wait to get my hands on Conchitina Cruz's new book, Elsewhere Held and Lingered. I keep forgetting to look it up in the bookstores.

Now, let me make a mental note to do that the next time I visit the mall, as I seem to be afflicted with short-term memory loss.

Okay, done.

Hope it doesn't get erased.

Click on this for Mabi David's words.

The rain fell, heavy and noisy, like rice grains from the gaping mouths of hundreds and thousands of canvas sacks.

Me: (speechless)

Conversation #1:

Jackie: (voice quivering) Why is everyone forcing me to study?

Me: Baby, you need to study because it's exam week. Do you want to get low scores in your exams?

Jackie: I hate, hate school. All my classmates do. Mommy, who invented school ba?

Me: (speechless)

Jackie: I wish nobody invented school. It's so boring. No kid likes school, you know.

Me: Listen, baby. You need to go to school so you'll learn. If you don't go to school, you won't be able to find a job when you grow up. Sige ka.

Jackie: Oh, that's okay. Then I'll have lots of time to read.

Me: (speechless)

Conversation #2:

Me: What subjects for tomorrow?

Jackie: (sighing) Sibika and, ugh, Math! I hate those two subjects! Who invented Math, Mommy?

Me: I don't know, Baby. The Chinese, I think? But I'm not really sure. Go and practice your subtraction.

Jackie: It's so hard, all those carry-carry and borrow-borrow. I think I like addition more than subtraction.

Me: (sighing) Me, too. But go ahead, study your Math, baby. You have to study. Oh, and yeah, there's one more thing I need to tell you about studying. If you don't study, you'll get really low scores and really low grades. And then you'll be stuck in grade 3. Next year, all your other classmates will be in grade 4 and you'll still be in grade 3. Do you want that?

Jackie: (eyes widening) Oh! Oh! Ok. I better study, then.

Me: (relieved) Good girl! Go ahead, now.

Jackie: (after some moments of deep thought) But, Mommy, how come I won 2nd place in the spelling bee even if I didn't study?

Me: (speechless)

c")

good times with my rugrats

Weight Woes

At least one week per month, I go through what I call a "hungry phase."

During these periods and if I happen to be in the office, I then become a much too frequent visitor of the 2/F pantry's vendo machine, from where I usually snag three items: a can of soda, a bag of chips and a chocolate bar. This, mostly after lunch--which is an entirely different feast: a half cup of rice, beef tapa or chicken flakes and orange juice in a plastic cup. On "extra-hungry" days, there will almost always be sprints to McDonald's or Hen-Lin, which stand so conveniently near to my workplace. And, an hour into my shift, I would already have finished off a medium-sized frappucino--an appetizer of sorts before lunch.

Tsk, tsk. Bad, bad, bad.

It's a good thing this happens only 7 days (give or take a few days, I can never really be sure), or else it wouldn't take that long for me to double my present size, which isn't something I'm proud of, in the first place. Like a number of, if not most, women, I have a never-ending preoccupation with my weight. Reed-thin is beautiful, and any pound of flesh (or fat, for that matter) that goes beyond that, is something to be alarmed about.

I am aware that this will sound superficial to some, but the fact remains that this subject goes far, far deeper than most of us would be willing to take it to be. The compulsion to be "un-fat" may be traced back to any number of things, like: a problematic childhood, a deeply-rooted insecurity brought about by an extremely low self-esteem, severe depression, some long-forgotten trauma that surfaces again and again, pressure from the mass media, etc., in the same way that it could subsequently lead to any number of things, like: (again) severe depression, a continuously deteriorating self-esteem, anorexia or bulimia (I had the latter when I was in second-year college), numerous sicknesses (like hyperacidity, ulcers and hypertension), and many other results with scary-sounding names, I'm sure.

The cure?

I wish I knew.

Right now, I am...

1. sleepy and know that I ought to sleep; instead I am blog-hopping and having a lot of fun reading about other people's lives.

2. wondering how other bloggers manage to find something to write about day after day. I, on the other hand, have these dry spells wherein I simply can't, for the life of me, type a single sentence, let alone one whole entry!

3. still thinking about my key take-away from the Emotional Intelligence training class I attended this morning: that I am, in no way, emotionally intelligent.

4. listening absently to Jay Leno's blabber--the TV's volume is too low for me to really make out what he's saying.

5. seeing blue spots on the screen--I must've stared too long at the blue wall.

6. reminding myself to remind Jackie and Kim to study for their upcoming exams. I know Jackie will complain that studying takes too much out of her "fun" time. She'd cooperate more if you ask her to study Anne of Green Gables, though. Sigh. You should see her stare, horrified, at a page of math problems. She is simply too much like me.

7. counting my blessings.

8. bracing myself for a storm which I know is coming very soon. Time to test my mettle, once more.

9. trying to make out what Jay Leno is saying. I wish I didn't feel too lazy to reach for the remote control and turn up the volume.

10. ending this entry.

Mother-Daughter Kikay Chronicle #1

I am a self-confessed shoe fiend, guilty of failing to exercise the virtue of temperance when I find myself in a place where beautiful shoes are sold.

And Jackie is beginning to show signs that she will take after me. In this particular hunt for school shoes, she asked me to buy her pambahay slippers because the ones she had weren't pink and she had to have pink ones. It took her half an hour to decide which pair to buy!

Moonbeam (by Louise Gluck)

The mist rose with a little sound. Like a thud.
Which was the heart beating. And the sun rose, briefly diluted.
And after what seemed years, it sank again
and twilight washed over the shore and deepened there.
And from out of nowhere lovers came,
people who still had bodies and hearts. Who still had
arms, legs, mouths, although by day they might be
housewives and businessmen.

The same night also produced people like ourselves.
You are like me, whether or not you admit it.
Unsatisfied, meticulous. And your hunger is not for experience
but for understanding, as though it could be had in the abstract.

Then it's daylight again and the world goes back to normal.
The lovers smooth their hair; the moon resumes its hollow existence.
And the beach belongs again to mysterious birds
soon to appear on postage stamps.

But what of our memories, the memories of those who depend on images?
Do they count for nothing?

The mist rose, taking back proof of love.
Without which we have only the mirror, you and I.

(from The Seven Ages)

Pensive mode, once more

The doldrums are here.

Time to listen to Carrie Underwood's

"Lessons Learned" and Corinne Bailey

Rae's "Put Your Records On."

Hope it does the trick.

Sigh.
Sigh.
Sigh.

About...Food!

Yesterday, I found myself glued to the Discovery Travel and Living channel. I caught: Jamie's Italian Getaway (groovy chef Jamie Oliver celebrates his 30th birthday in romantic Italy and has to cook for culinary-savvy and meticulous Italians--what a feat!), Take-Home Chef (Aussie master chef Curtis Stone, with a whole bunch of camera crew, ambushes innocent grocery shoppers and offers to pay for the items. In exchange, the poor souls will take the chef and his crew to his/her house, where Curtis will cook a meal for free! How awesome is that?) and Kylie Kwong: My China (a culinary show which features, of course, Chinese cooking, all shot on location in China). I just loved them all! The shows' premises are so cool.

What is it about food shows that fascinates us so? The obvious answer, I guess, is that food is one topic that interests people of all sizes, ages, races, etc. We eat more than the average "three meals a day," have these periodic cravings for our favorite dishes, and are constantly on the look-out for new, gastronomical delights, especially when home-cooked meals start to get stale to our taste. What more, watching all those sumptuous, myriad (from the sophisticated to the quotidian) meals being cooked and presented in full color is an experience only a few could resist. Well, I certainly couldn't.

Plus, there are all these wonderful stuff to learn! Yesterday, for example, I found out that Zucchini flowers can be eaten. You just stuff some cheese into them, deep-fry, then, voila! You have yourself fried Zucchini flowers! But what else could they be, eh? Other tidbits: stir-fried Lotus roots are a favorite Chinese delicacy, though the harvesting alone is a really arduous process; and, in Italy, a box of pizza is meant to be eaten by one person (ain't that heaven?).

Am definitely hooked.

The sad thing is that I was never really much of a cook. Unlike some people who get their first taste of kitchen navigation (whaat?) at a young age, I learned how to cook when I was already in College and found myself away from home. My friends/house-mates, then, Emillie, Ribbon and Fenina, patiently taught me the art of frying (I will never forget the giant blister I got the first time I tried to fry tilapia and I've always dreaded frying, from then on), sauteeing, boiling, and all that stuff. I know very few recipes, and am thankful that I was able to write down my Lola's (she was a master cook, oh yes, she was!) precious recipes before she passed away. I make good adobo (my own concoction: Shan-style adobo!) and beef steak (my Lola's recipe), though, and some pasta (mac and cheese, Puttanesca). And, once, when I cooked carbonara for my team and some friends, they praised it to the high heavens and are cajoling me, until now, to cook another batch for them.

I think I will, soon.

:)

Yellow Day

The sun was shining and so were our shirts, so we decided to have lunch out in the sunshine. It was, after all, month-end (a particularly strong one for the team, at that) and the end of another work week so we had enough reasons to unwind and celebrate. So that's just what we did: had lunch out and peppered it with loads of laughter, teasing and tall-tales, and, of course, girl-watching and beer for the guys. We were a noisy bunch, but we didn't care. Work could really take its toll on us, so breaks like these are a welcome necessity.
To my team, thank you for a really strong, fabulous month! You guys are gems for making the otherwise taxing, irksome life in the office much more jazzy!

Just breezing by to say...

that I'm celebrating my blog's first anniversary this month!

Here's to more (and, hopefully, better) entries and more time to write them!

Arrggh!

And, yes, more bloggers to stalk!

Yey!

Question: Why did Alfred burn Rachel's note to Bruce Wayne?

Yup, haven't gotten over The Dark Knight yet. I do have an answer, just wanted to throw out the question for the sake of saying it out loud--or writing it down--and giving it some semblance of permanence.

It's a sad affair, what Bruce and Rachel had.

Fussing Over "The"

Two days ago, I found myself in the middle of a debate, the source of the conflict being the title of the latest Batman movie.

I was raving about how wonderful The Dark Knight was and one co-worker (a guy named Wowoo) corrected me. "Shan, it's Dark Knight. There's no The."

I, of course, took a break from my raving and became quiet for a while. Then Wendell, another co-worker, seconded his statement.

I was frowning by then.

No, no, no, no. It's The Dark Knight.

No, there's no The.

And so on.

They were laughing at me. Those who overheard were amused. What's the fuss? they asked. It's the same old thing.

But I knew better. It wasn't the same.

I wasn't one to back away from "fights" like this. I once won a hundred bucks in a bet with a colleague over the words "anarchy" and "archaic." I knew I was sure about The Batman thing and I wasn't about to give up. But I knew I needed concrete, incontestable proof. And I was going to get one.

The next day, I approached my worthy opponents (separately, so the confrontation had to be done twice) and told them in a firm, solemn voice that I had done a lot of research (a tv documentary, a magazine review and a blog entry written by a credible, established writer named Luis Katigbak) and I had irrefutable proof that the movie's title was The Dark Knight. With a The, not without.

It might have been the mention of my sources, or the earnestness in my tone, but they clearly admitted defeat when one of them said, "really? But I thought it was... oh, well. Okay. So it's The Dark Knight, then" and the other said, "I knew that. It was Wowoo who was insisting it's Dark Knight."

Another battle has been won.

Let's move on to the next.

Answers

I often find myself caught off-guard by the questions people ask; mainly because a) I am, by nature, absent-minded and almost always adrift on some invisible cloud, or b) it is the nature of the questions themselves (not your average "how are you?" or "what's your favorite color?" sort) that get the wheels in my head to turn, and I mean, really turn.

Here are three actual examples (I've taken the liberty of answering them in this blog. Sad to say, I wasn't able to answer all of them during the time they were thrown at me. A blank stare was the most they got. Or, a puzzled frown, if they were lucky.)

1. Do you prioritize building relationships? (this question was from Sheila)

As a rule, no. I generally veer away from getting up-close and personal, be it with a colleague, a boss, an acquaintance, or a friend. Don't get me wrong, I do have friends, but generally, very few (and I mean less than a handful) of them are who I might call "close" friends. I put up a wall or, if I was unable to put up that wall at the start either because I was too busy or unaware, then I detach myself. In retrospect, this is something I've been doing since childhood. Practice makes perfect, as they say; so now, I could say that I've mastered the art.

Well, almost.

2. Tell me one weird thing you do when you get home. (from Wowoo)

Until now, I am drawing a blank. I don't have any unusual habits. So, this question is apparently useless. But interesting. I could probably try to come up with a list of weird habits, decide which one is the most unusual, and then put it into practice.

3. Is this what you really want to do? (pertaining to my line of work--several people have asked me this)

Truth be told, no, and there are so many reasons why. Among them are the following: a) the stress level is extremely high; b) I have to smile and appear agreeable even when I don't feel like it, which means I have to keep in check my moodiness and tendency to sulk and brood--which is very difficult to do because those things are second nature to me; c) my job involves a lot of critical decision-making and it just drives me nuts, at times; d) I go berserk when I get confronted with numbers and excel sheets; e) I seldom get the sleep that each of us rightfully deserves and needs; and f) I haven't read a single book in ages!

I could go on ranting but I'll stop, at this point. As the wise say, count your blessings, so, despite the complaints, I am thankful that I have a job. Which, come to think of it, is not such a bad one, after all.

(And here, folks, you can see the many colorful ways in which the female mind works.)

*My eyelids are drooping. Will turn in now. Good night.

THE DARK KNIGHT is The Joker's Movie

If the mask fits..

Heath Ledger's performance in The Dark Knight has ensured the gloriousness of his exit from this world. His death had all the elements of tragedy in it (a failed relationship, depression, an alleged drug overdose), but the passion--and authenticity--with which he tackled the role of theJoker, neatly gathered the pieces of his life together into one seamless, unforgettable whole.

His portrayal of the Joker will definitely be one tough act to follow: woe to him who dares try his hand at playing the deranged blackguard in future Batman films.

Snug as a hand in a custom-made glove--the perfection with which Batman's mask hides his persona is the same perfection with which Heath Ledger fits into the Joker.

Ledger completely disappears into the Joker.

And, in acting, that is the true measure of credibility, in the same way that madness is one sure consequence of brilliance. For the Joker is mad and brilliant, from the logic behind and the atrocity on his painted face to the cunning and grand systematization of his crimes. The Joker, a creature of contradictions, is representative of the grotesque that is evil and yet wise, making perfect sense in all his incoherence.

Ledger has, by all means, upstaged Christian Bale in the film, though to give the latter credit he so rightfully deserves, he has proven, once again, that the role of Batman/Bruce Wayne is rightfully his, if we are to glean this from the now slightly aged, harder features that fit right into the mask and doesn't disappoint once it's taken off, the brooding stance, and the undeniable current of power in his acting.

One gets the sense that his (Batman's, or Wayne's) very presence is, in itself, a contradiction of his longing to stay in obscurity. He is a troubled man, perhaps even as troubled as the Joker, although he has channeled this conflict within himself into a compulsion opposite to that of his nemesis'. He "completes" the Joker's persona (I am aware that it should be the other way around, but I do have a point), underlining the villain's outrageousness and perfect ease in the limelight (albeit for corrupt, deplorable reasons) with his own taciturn but essential (hey, he's the superhero here!) role as the Dark Knight.

The "upstaging," then, must have been deliberate. And this, I think, is the point I'm trying to make.

2008 Strat Plan

Am re-posting the Strat plan pictures (the ones I felt like salvaging, that is). Deleted the entry because I realized that I looked obscenely fat in some of the photos!

Rain, Rain, Go Away...

It's a cold, gray, rainy day.

It's been raining since yesterday. Last night, I swear, the wind was howling like crazy and the rain fell in torrents. It was like a night straight from Wuthering Heights. The inhospitable weather must've compounded Heathcliff's madness.

Weather like this also brings to mind the ending of Charlotte Bronte's Villette--an hour after finishing the book and I was still crying over poor Lucy Snowe's tragic, ironic fate.

Oh, well.

The rain does bring dismal, absurd thoughts.

What more, my legs and thighs are positively groaning in pain. I have bruises on my knees, as well. Last Saturday was probably the most rigorous pep squad practice we've had, since we started.

Anyway, just to comfort myself, my spoonful of sugar will be: burying myself underneath a warm blanket and watching Jay Leno's The Tonight Show until I fall asleep.

Am craving for a cup of steaming, hot coffee, but that might ward off the sleep I have to chase everyday. And am definitely not in the mood to go chasing (anyone or anything) today.

Earl

When my brother and I were small, we'd do what most kids do: fight like cats and dogs. And, like how it is with small children, we'd make up after a teeny short while and go back to playing as if nothing happened. Before that, though, I'd be my usual sumbungera self and tell on my brother to our Dad with a bratty "Daddy, si Earl!"

Earl, though, would do nothing of the sort--a sure sign of guy-ness, even at a young age. I would always be the one crying when we fought. And he would give in once he sees the tears streaming down.

Earl had really nice hair when he was a kid. It was fine and straight and done in a bunot cut, which made him look like a cute little pixie. Add the round eyes, small nose and heart-shaped lips, and the pixie look is complete. He was a cute child, period. Yup, cuter then me. Plus, he was sociable, friendly and diligent, while I was sulky, withdrawn and a señorita.

Portents of things to come, you might say.

Fast forward to today:

Earl (who's two years younger than me) has become my Kuya. He plays the role to the hilt especially with our youngest brother, Otom, and he's doing a wonderful job. He's very mature for his age and has proven himself dependable and level-headed, a complete contrast to my fickle-minded, idealistic self. His scolding (done with lambing, of course), I realize, is just what I need whenever I find myself in the dumps and choose to wallow in my tears instead of dusting myself up and facing whatever it is I have to face. He would talk some sense into my head and then I'd feel better, stronger.

The last time we talked, I found myself feeling immensely better, and laughing at the fact that my brother and I have had a reversal of roles.

The respect would always be there, of course, and the love. The presence of these two have kept us bonded over the years and over the distances. Our parents brought us up in a way that family ties would always come first, not because it is an obligation, but because it is something that is second nature to us. Love each other, our Mom would always say. And don't ever fight over such a shallow thing as money, she would add.

Today is my brother's birthday. He is twenty-six years old (gosh, can you believe that?). I can hardly believe it myself. He used to be six, even sixteen, for goodness' sake.

Time flies awfully fast.

Nothing Beats the Oldies

Caught a couple of old musicals on the Turner Classic Movies channel last Sunday:

1) Easter Parade (1948)- which starred Judy Garland (as Hannah Brown) and Fred Astaire (Don Hewes). Irving Berlin's "It Only Happens When I Dance With you" is such a lovely song, and so is "A Fella With an Umbrella," light and funny and sung by a girl and a guy, meeting for the first time and walking under the rain, sharing an, um, umbrella.
Some interesting tidbits about this film: The role of Don Hewes was originally written for Gene Kelly; the movie was the only collaboration between Fred Astaire and Judy Garland; and another movie (The Barkeleys of Broadway) was planned out for them, however, Ginger Rogers had to take the place of Judy Garland. Cool story, huh?

2) An American in Paris (1951)- an Academy Award Best Picture Winner, with Leslie Caron (as Lise) and Gene Kelly (as Jerry Mulligan). Nothing could compare to "Our Love is Here to Stay." The Gershwins are such geniuses! The movie was Leslie Caron's debut into filmdom (she went on to play the title role in Gigi, some years later).
One of the film's highlights, aside from its score, is a 13 minute uninterrupted "dream ballet," (described as "pretentious" by some critics) which cost half a million dollars to produce! Was wondering if the dance scene was ever gonna end, the first time I watched it.

Wouldn't mind watching these films for the zillionth time, though. Makes me feel like a child again.

Back in the Habit

No, this isn't about Whoopi Goldberg or Sister Act, sorry.

This entry is about me. Like most of what's in this blog, duh-uh.

Anyway.

This pep squad thing has done more wonders for me than I thought it would. For one thing, it has brought back my running (as in the sport) days. I woke up really early this morning and, voila, my first thought was: I have gotta run today.

And run, I did.

All the stretching and warm-up and dancing we've been doing this past week have taken their toll on my muscles and bones--I'm now hankering for exercise.

Truth is, the first practice session was kind of a horrific thing for me. I was confident when I said yes to the organizers, trusting that my experience as a cheerleader in High School and my having run a 5-kilometer marathon in College would mean it'd be a piece of cake for me.

Oh, but I was mistaken.

My moves started out really rusty and my entire body screamed "pain!" for a whole week.

It still does, by the way, though it's more tolerable now. The reaction was just further proof of how badly out of shape I was.

Or that my age is starting to show.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'd be able to keep this exercise thing going on.

For now, that is.

Right now, I am:

1. Writing on my blog and alternately reading Alice Munro's short story in The New Yorker website.
2. Listening to U2's "The Fly" on my ipod.

3. Regretting not having waken up on time to catch the early morning practice of John's World's Pep Squad. On Monday, I'm really gonna get it from our trainer. Oh, boy.
4. Trying to think of the best excuse to give on Monday when I get interrogated for having missed practice.
5. Wondering if I should have another cup of coffee.
6. Looking at a square patch of blue (called "the sky") from the window beside where I'm typing this entry.
7. Listening to The Philippine Madrigal Singers on my ipod. They're singing "Light of a Million Mornings."
8. Relieved that a spectacularly harrowing week at work is over.
9. Wondering what to type next.
10. Happy.

The Eternal Scapegoat

A guy gets dumped by his girlfriend and someone says "that's Karma." The man from next-door gets killed in a car crash and the neighbors say "it's Karma." China gets hit by a high-intensity earthquake and someone (like, um, Sharon Stone) says it was brought on by Karma.

I mean, come on.

If this Karma were a person, he'd be the most battered, most abused fall guy by now, and he'd have gone ahead and hung himself to death (a long, long time ago). So let's just give him a break.

Him, her, it, whatever.

It's easy to find someone--or something--to put the blame on when something unpleasant (from poverty to natural calamities to tragedy) rears its ugly head. Let's face it, shit happens and will continue to happen. The fact remains that there are and will always be things beyond our control that it would be futile to look for someone/something to point a finger on.

In the first place, do we even have to?

Bottom-line is: Nature will always be one force impossible to contend with and people will always make mistakes. We make "bad" decisions, give in to our "human" weaknesses, choose the "wrong" paths. And when the consequences of our actions come barging in for all the world to see, the world would say that it's Karma and that we deserve it, which is an outright misconception. But one that would be difficult to counter because we, being human, could be judgmental to a fault.

Until the world gets to understand the complexity of the human brain, until our scientists discover a way to halt the next earthquake or storm, until we all develop the power to see what will happen tomorrow, until we evolve into perfect beings, if perfect means faultless--it would be so much easier to point at something that would make sense to things that don't seem to make sense.

Hence, the ubiquitous line: "it's Karma."

The trouble with meeting so many people

(This little ditty is for my friends from Mortgage and Auto-Finance with whom I shared 24 fun hours in the Tagaytay Strat Plan)


There is no name that will suit this kinship

because truth is,
later at 7 a.m.
we all will have lost the nerve to:

sing like long-time pals
(who got drunk)
or laugh at our clumsy ping-pong
or outdo each other at poker
or laugh over small talk

or remember each others' names.

*This is so stupid! Anyway, what I really wanted to say is that I had a great time. c")
Looking forward to next year's!

"We like to think of our beliefs, and disbeliefs, as founded on reason and close, thoughtful observation. Only in theory do we begin to suspect the power of aesthetics to shape our lives."

-Tobias Wolff, "Winter Light"-