MY ARCADIA

"Just go on dancing with me like this forever, and I'll never tire. We'll scrape our shoes on the stars and hang upside down from the moon."

2006-05-21T15:44:00.000+08:00

-stephen king

8:45 AM, LRT 2

2006-03-31T18:17:00.000+08:00

Listen carefully,
it is not cacophony.
The city's crying!

Cheers

2006-03-16T16:02:00.000+08:00

My dreams about him used to
run on the same plot:
we are kids running and playing all day
sometimes he picks on me
but I just enjoy the moment.
Towards the end, I feel sad
because the day does not last longer
so I always carry him, hug him,
until I wake up.

Last night, it was different.

My brother showed up a grown man.
He is in Manila because he is applying for a job.
It seems a kneejerk reaction to me
when I asked him if could accompany him
to his job interview.
He nodded silently.

In the next scene,
we were both facing the boss of the company.
The boss asked him
the scientific name of whales
and he answered him pronto.
Then the boss wrote on a small piece of paper
a series of numbers in two rows
and then talked on the phone.
My brother looked at the numbers intently.
Embarrassed for him,
I told him they were just
telephone numbers that he would call
to follow up on his application.
Not heeding me, he scribbled
some numbers, commas, connected squares, and ampersunds
between the two rows.
The boss looked at what he wrote,
smiled, and shook his hands.

After that the boss looked at me
and gave me cold beer.

16 March 2006

Unveiling: Pieces from Bliss (punta tayo ha!!!)

2006-03-11T11:26:00.000+08:00

Come to the unveiling of women poets and essayists on March 14, 4.30 pm at the UP College of Social Work and Community Development, Diliman, Quezon City.

Unveiling: Pieces from Bliss launches the anthology of poetry, essays, and reflections of 24 women from Women in Bliss Writers' Circle.

What does this motley group of women have in common? We all came together and participated in the recent Aida F. Santos Writing Workshops. In the workshops, we shared our lives, loves, pains, dreams, and fears. We found strength with one another and bliss in our bonds of friendship.

”Unveiling” features the works of the following women poets, essayists and artists:

Macel Aguilar * Alpha Gracias Allanigue * Trisha Andres * Aleli Bawagan * Erlyn Caliñgo * Irene Daguno * Geiah Homeres * Germaine Leonin * Ayel Leyesa * Rebecca Desiree E. Lozada * Danicar Mariano * Aimee Mendoza * Amparo Miciano * Lizel Mones * Liberty Nolasco * Clara Rita Padilla * Lilian Pimentel * Luz Lopez * Sam Sumaray * Frances Santiago * Sandra Torrijos * Angie Umbac * Riza Faith Ybañez

Come celebrate with us and listen to our works of candor, passion, and honesty.

Unveiling: Pieces of Bliss special launching price is at P120. For orders, please contact Macel Aguilar at 0917-532-8455 or email at macelaguilar@yahoo.com.

Happy Women's Day/Month!

2006-03-11T10:13:00.000+08:00

Marso ng kababaihan

claiming our space

laughing...

...but determined

braving the police dispersal team

finale

pics by bananarit

there's a quiet sadness here that lingers

2006-02-17T21:19:00.000+08:00

10 Things About Richie Supan

2006-01-30T16:05:00.000+08:00

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Richie Supan!

If you don't get out of bed on the same side you got in, you will have Richie Supan for the rest of the day!
Half a cup of Richie Supan contains only seventeen calories!
When Richie Supan is swallowed, she will enter the blood stream within twenty minutes.
Richie Supan cannot swim.
Long ago, the people of Nicaragua believed that if they threw Richie Supan into a volcano it would stop erupting.
If you lace Richie Supan from the inside to the outside, the fit will be snugger around your big toe.
The pupil of an octopus's eye is shaped like Richie Supan!
All shrimp are born as Richie Supan, but gradually mature into females.
Richie Supan is actually a fruit, not a vegetable.
Some birds use Richie Supan to orientate themselves during migration.

Christmas Carols for those with Personality Disorders :)

2005-12-23T11:01:00.000+08:00

Schizophrenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?
Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Kings Disoriented Are
Dementia --- I Think I'll be Home for Christmas
Narcissistic --- Hark the Herald Angles Sing About Me
Manic --- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and.......
Paranoid --- Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me
Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire
Personality Disorder --- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why
Attention Deficit Disorder --- Silent night, Holy oooh look at the froggy, can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away?
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder --Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells.

from emrainey

The Motorcycle Diaries

2005-11-13T17:06:00.000+08:00

"This isn't a tale of heroic feats. It's about two lives running parallel for a while, with common aspirations and similar dreams...What we had in common - our restlessness, our impassioned spirits, and a love for the open route."

"What do we leave behind when we cross each frontier? Each moment seems split in two; melancholy for what was left behind and the excitement of entering a new land."

"How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?"

"Are you two looking for work? - No, we aren't looking for work.
No?... Then why are you traveling? - We travel just to travel.
Bless you... Blessed be your travels."

"Wandering around our America has changed me more than I thought. I am not me any more. At least I'm not the same me I was."

2005-11-10T18:45:00.000+08:00

ang saya!

2005-10-28T16:02:00.000+08:00

Happy Halloween!

flickr

2005-10-20T11:37:00.000+08:00

Chomsky is voted world's top public intellectual

happiness, anyone?

2005-10-19T10:22:00.000+08:00

snatched from flickr

Feminism

2005-10-17T09:42:00.000+08:00

Rebecca WestEnglish journalist, novelist and critic.
"I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat..."

Conversation with E

2005-10-09T19:22:00.000+08:00

The last time we met was around four or five months ago. Last night, over dinner, coffee, and marlboro puffs, we exchanged life notes.

He told me about the usual dreariness of life in the IT company where he was part of making sure that its inflow of people remains. I told him about my dwindling satisfaction with my work. He told me he is planning to engage in community service - part of their hrd program for employees searching for their lost souls. I told him that I am already undergoing training for a volunteer organization but still with wobbly resolve to be out of the country for 2 years.

He told me about his payday itinerary of dining out and shopping with his mother who had already stopped asking why he doesn’t have a new girlfriend yet. He told me about his plan to migrate and be dead at 40. I told him I wish to go to New Zealand to see the shire, other Southeast Asian countries, and Canada the ‘mecca’.

I told him that I am not in a relationship anymore. He told me he met his ex a month ago – and while he talked about it, his eyes seem to be catching the late night drizzle. I said things are working out much better between me and her. He said he might be spending Christmas in Xiamen with a friend but there’s no chance of formalizing it with the guy because he’s married. I said the relationship might be regained but it’s not in our mutual agenda yet.

As the coffee shop closes, we said goodbye and promised to keep each other connected soon and always.

Announcement

2005-10-07T13:09:00.000+08:00

Aida F. Santos Writing Workshop Program

There is an idea that writers are born. Truth is everyone can write given appropriate skills and continuous honing of these skills. We only need to WRITE.

Multi-awarded poet and author Aida F. Santos will be offering a series of writing workshops for women (of all ages). The workshop is intended to enhance the participants’ capacity to improve their writing skills, whether these are for personal, literary, or organizational needs. Participants will be required within the given timeframe to enhance their works. At the end of the series, an edited collection of the literary works by the participants will be published collectively in January 2006.

The workshop will be conducted in Filipino and English, depending on the language used by the participants. Each class will consist of six participants. Enrolment will be on a first come-first serve basis. Resource persons will be invited to provide expert inputs. This program will run for two months, on batches.

Batch 2: October 16, 22, 23, and 29
Batch 3: November 5, 6, 12 and 13

Requirements:
Send copy (electronically or hard copy) of samples of writing (poem, essay, fiction, short play, vignette) in Filipino / Tagalog or English. Even drafts of existing work are acceptable to be submitted at least a week before the scheduled sessions.

Attend all sessions to maximize learning. Sessions will start 1pm and finish 6:30 pm.

Enrolment fees is pegged at Php2,000 to include costs of reproduction and other materials. 50% reservation fee is required. Please contact Aida for details.

For further inquiry, contact:
afs@pacific.net.ph or aidame2002@yahoo.com
Mobile phone: 09196070015
Telephone: (02) 4267479

an old file buried in my personal folder and re-discovered recently.

2005-10-02T14:50:00.000+08:00

LOVE -
It is not a word, nor a single action.
In truth, it can never be wrong
Like the sunrise, perfect in every possible way.
It is many things and yet it must exist
In the small space of the heart.
Once found it can bloom endlessly, with no cease.
It can choke one's throat, bring one to tears...
But it never hides in shadows or in darkness
It never feeds itself on deception.
It grows with trust, honesty and compassion.
Nothing less, always more.
[author unknown]

a favorite

2005-10-02T14:43:00.000+08:00

high heeled sneakers

Stef Pixner, 1985

i dreamed Simone de Beauvoir and i
were climbing a mountain eating crepes
and wearing espadrilles, she carried
her alarm clock on her head
whereas i pulled behind me three train
carriages full of the things i thought
i might need for the journey.
we talked pleasantly of this and that. i
was trying to impress her with how
interesting i was coming from the post
war generation from a communist family
and being a woman but i had to stop
every now and again to change my
espadrilles for ballet shoes or army boots
or pick my nose or adjust a comma
on my hat or look at the view
or a word in the dictionary so that
she got to the top of the mountain before
me despite her years and
ate more crepes in the meanwhile
sitting on her alarm clock and waiting
for me and my train. when i got
there at last she said there are some
questions i’ve been meaning
to ask a woman of your
generation and so she began asking me
questions and i changed from my
army boots to a pair of high heeled
sneakers and back to espadrilles and then
back into the ballet shoes. i’ve been meaning
to write you a long letter i said but just
then we saw a horde of mountain bears make
off with the luggage i’d so carefully
chosen and she still had a few books
to eat that morning so we exchanged
espadrilles and chinese postcards and
waved our red handkerchiefs
just as the lights went up.

Eat, Drink and Be Messy

2005-09-09T15:32:00.000+08:00

Once, upon a thyme leaf,
There lived a lazy snail.
Who munched and dozed,and dozed and munched,
On thyme he breakfasted and lunched,
And when it came to half past nine,
He chose once more to dine on thyme.

Later, upon the thyme leaf,
Was a rather plumper snail.
But, reader dear, his life was brief,
For this is no fairy tale

He ate more and more, and grew fatter and fatter
Until one day he exploded, bang, splat, splatter.
One minute he was there,
The next he'd gone.
The coroner's verdict
'A snail thyme bomb'.

Peculiar Poetry

Ode to Laziness

2005-08-23T10:12:00.000+08:00

Yesterday I felt that my ode wouldn’t
get up off the ground.
It was time, it should
at least
show a green leaf.
I scratched the earth: “Get up,
sister ode”
- I said to her -
“I promised to produce you,
don’t be scared of me,
I’m not going to step on you,
ode with four leaves,
ode for four hands,
you’ll have tea with me.
Get up,
I will crown you among the odes,
we’ll go out to the seashore
on our bicycles.”
Nothing doing.

Then,
high up in the pines,
laziness
appeared naked,
she led me off dazzled
and sleepy,
she showed me on the sand
little broken pieces
of material from the ocean,
wood, seaweed, stones,
feathers of seabirds.
I looked for yellow agates
but didn’t find any.
The sea
filled all spaces,
crumbling towers,
invading
the coasts of my country,
pushing forward
successive catastrophes of foam.
Alone on the sand
a ray opened
a ring of fire.
I saw the silvered petrels
cruise and like black crosses
the cormorants
nailed to the rocks.
I set free
a bee writhing in a spiderweb,
I put a little stone
in my pocket,
it was smooth, very smooth
like bird’s breast,
meanwhile on the coast,
all afternoon,
sun and fog wrestled.
Sometimes
the fog was pregnant
with light
like a topaz
at other times a moist
ray of sun fell,
and yellow drops fell after it.

At night,
thinking about the duties of my
fugitive ode,
I took off my shoes
by the fire,
sand spilled from them
and right away I was falling
asleep.

-Pablo Neruda
(Translated by Stephen Mitchell)

2005-08-18T18:33:00.000+08:00

belated happy birthday, gudang!

Low-waist

2005-08-17T15:00:00.000+08:00

A few days ago, I accompanied R to buy jeans. She badly needs a new pair and because of her body type or built, it must be high-waist. It took us two days to find high-waist jeans.

I never knew that the wearing of low-waist jeans is now happening on a grand scale until I got involved in that adventure to search for the elusive high-waist jeans. We went to and R tried the jeans at Giordano, Herbench, Bayo, F&H, Rustan’s, Penshoppe, Factory Outlet, Oxygen, Human, Lee, Wrangler, Jag (the new one endorsed JLo). They were all low-waist and R won't compromise or she would look terrible. Every time I asked the store staff for a pair of high-waist jeans, they mumbled something that sounded like a polite NO and looked at me like I came from a school run by nuns.

Giordano et al have low-waist jeans (those which show the belly button) and the rest are drop-waist (those which are just a hairline above the pubic area) - Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears come to mind. So literally, the standard has already been lowered.

Until then, I did not know that high-waist jeans are already marginalized and treated as ancient, belly buttons more ubiquitous, and more women involved in an 'eternal struggle' of pulling their low-waist pants and shirts together when they stand up.

Finally, one of the girls at Jag informed us that there are high-waist jeans sighted at the next level. Without wasting much time, up we went. And there, we saw the black high –waist jeans in all its gloriousness at 70% off. R tried and bought it immediately. Relaxed now, we passed by at Levi's and saw some jeans on sale, including a high-waist brown corduroy this time! R tried and bought it immediately. We also passed by at Guess and I asked if there's a high-waist around. They do, but it's somewhere there in the attic.

So there, we can still choose but, most probably, only among those 'below the belt'.

Rhyming with Richie

2005-08-05T20:38:00.000+08:00

Rime Riche [rim rish ] n. Rhyme using words or parts of words that are pronounced identically but have different meanings, for example,write-right or port-deport. Literally means rich rhyme but also is called identical rhyme.

The first time we met was forgettable. It was her first day at the office, in the same unit where I belong. I remember her wearing an extra large blue windbreaker, which made her look smaller, pale-white, and much younger than her 22 years. I don't have much memory of her during those early days except that she and her constant buddy were always talking to each other, chewing bubblegum, and arranging bubblegum wrappers on their shared module.

During our first official trip which was in Butuan City, I realized that there was something about her: she makes her companion talk incessantly. From the taxi to the Centennial airport to the Butuan airport, my usually quiet self was telling her about (a) my family, (b) my past lovelife, (c) my curriculum vitae, and (d) the people in the office. And after eating salty pink popcorn, chicken barbecue, marang, ensaymada-monggo, documenting and digesting project insights, wandering around the museums, ukayan and bakery blocs, and more conversations about her family and resume, we returned to Manila as friends.

Then we lived in the same house with another friend. We were roommates and oftentimes, indulged in insomniac talks and yawned at work. I started to like her in more ways than one. I asked her to read my password-protected personal letter for her. Then she had a horrific haircut. After five days, we were officially on.

And over four years after…

we had several out-of-town trips (and some aborted ones)
we watched lots of movies together (and laughed, cried, and... slept while watching them)
we acquired a king-size pillow, industrial fan, and Umberto Eco's Kant and the Platypus as conjugal properties
we were de-cellphoned by five men at the foot of ayala bridge (from then on, i came to know that she runs slow but dances fast)
we transferred from one house to another and to another
we updated our holy mothers about our likes and dislikes, turn-ons and turn-offs
we gained new friends
we got heavier
we broke up
we talked from dinner 'til dawn

Knowing her and being with her have always been a wonderful experience of expressing identities, feelings, and thoughts. We may have different views and have our own idiosyncrasies that test each other’s patience but it is always friendship that gives us some harmony when there should have been none. Osh Kosh, Bigosh…Kosh Kosh, Ayosh!

Happy 27th Birthday, Rich. Remember, the best will keep on coming.

calbine:

2005-07-23T09:48:00.000+08:00

you've been holding on to something that doesn't promise anything. man, get some dignity. it's not worth the time and space, sweat and blood, salt and pepper, cookies and cream. i was listening to this song this morning and i realized i'm listening to what i wish should be your thoughts...

separate lives

you called me from the room in your hotel

all full of romance for someone that you met

and telling me how sorry you were, leaving so soon

and that you miss me sometimes

when you’re alone in your room

do i feel lonely too?

you have no right to ask me how i feel

you have no right to speak to me so kind

we can’t go on just holding on to time

now that we’re living separate lives

i held on to let you go

and if you lost your love for me,

you never let it show

there was no way to compromise

it’s so typical, love leads to isolation

so you build that wall

and you make it stronger

you have no right to ask me how I feel

you have no right to speak to me so kind

someday i might find myself looking in your eyes

but for now, we’ll go on living

separate lives -

Two Tales

2005-07-22T12:27:00.000+08:00

Last night, while aboard the train, a man opened my backpack. He was sitting and I was standing - my bag dangling in front of him - when he did it. Luckily, I felt my bag's zipper being opened. When I turned, I saw him pulling away his hand from the backpack. Incidentally, the seat beside him got vacated and I occupied it. Throughout the remaining trip, it seemed the man suddenly had a stiff neck. He couldn't look at my direction.

This morning, while I was crossing the Kalayaan road, trying to beat the rushing cars, my cellphone fell from my backpack. It was the tricycle driver who was also crossing the street who called my attention. And there I saw my cell phone, its casing, and battery, splattered on the road. The driver stopped his tricycle in the middle of the road to stop the approaching cars. Thus, I was able to pick-up the cell phone pieces. Thank you, thank you, kind stranger!!!

important note: the picture is not the actual backpack. it is a wish. :)

Things I saw while walking* from the LRT’s legarda station to the office this morning

2005-07-20T13:16:00.000+08:00

Little pools of rainwater on the road when I get out of the station.
A female student in white uniform just finished her stick of Marlboro lights and threw the butt on the street.
A slab of pork being grilled and dripping with fat.
Four lampposts with the lights still on.
Five college boys removing their earrings as they approach their school's entrance.
Trees at Mendiola sidewalks in full green leafy bloom, old yellow leaves underneath.
Small chirping birds of similar brownish colors: two birds jumping together on the wet pavement, one bird flying, six birds jumping on the pavement and flying separately, lone bird jumping on a shrub.
Four butches, seen in installment.
While entering Malacanang’s Mendiola gate, a man and a woman were eating balut in front of the balut vendor.
An old white taxi parked amidst shiny private cars.
Nine pedicabs with ten men at a parking lot corner.
Seven street sweepers: two were eating noodles, five sweeping close together, one picking leaves across the street.
Eight no-parking signs.
Five pedestrian-crossing signs.
One guard grinning and another blocking a driveway.
One hagad (mobile police).

*Normally, I make two short jeepney rides to get to the office.

2005-07-18T13:06:00.000+08:00

4-3-10 & 8

I wish us well,
it’s over.
Don't worry, I always bring that jacket

to repel predictable rains.

2005-07-13T13:13:00.000+08:00

And the end
of all our exploring
will be to arrive
where we started
and see the place
for the first time.

--T.S. Eliot

another letter (but not open this time)

2005-06-30T17:16:00.000+08:00

For all single parents out there who are below the poverty line set by neda (ano na nga ba yung sinet nila?) you are entitled to (a) a comprehensive package of welfare benefits which include educational and health assistance from the government, and (b) a 7-day leave benefit and (c) flexi work schedule from your employer. If you're above neda's poverty line, then you are entitled to only (b) and (c).

So why do I, a lesbian non-parent, know this? A single parent colleague in my unit asked me to study her law and write her request letter to the office boss. I enjoyed doing this letter (Bakit nga ba parang mas enjoy gawin ang hindi inuutos sa 'yo?) . By the way, Len, alam mo bang nakarating hanggang the netherlands yung open letter? mwahaha...

Ok, basa...

This is to avail of the parental leave benefit, which solo parents like myself are entitled to under Republic Act 8972 otherwise known as the Solo Parents Welfare Act of 2000.

I understand that per a prior explanation that the Personnel Section has given me when I verbally inquired about it on separate occasions last February and March this year, the Commission is purportedly of the opinion that the seven (7)-day leave benefit for solo parents is already included in the ten (10)-day special privilege leave (SPL) being given to all the staff. The Personnel also said that it is yet to study the said law.

In line with this, I would like to respectfully provide my view on the matter, not only as a staff but one who is a single parent herself and is directly affected with how this law is being construed and implemented in the office.

First, the Solo Parents Welfare Act provides that “(i)n addition to leave privileges under existing laws, parental leave of not more than seven (7) working days every year shall be granted to any solo parent employee who has rendered service of at least one (1) year”. (Sec 8, RA 8972). I believe that with the phrase "in addition to leave privileges under existing laws", the Act contemplates that the parental leave benefits for solo parents shall be separate from any other leave benefits that employees enjoy.

Second, the Solo Parents Welfare Act was enacted “to help solo parents cope with the effects of solo parenting”. (Comprehensive Package for Solo Parents and Their Children: A Primer). Thus, our Personnel’s opinion that the parental leave benefits for single parents are already subsumed in the SPL benefits cannot be considered correct because it (a) is being enjoyed by all staff regardless of their family status, and as such, (b) defeats the purpose of affirmative action intended for solo parents.

Third, Memorandum Circular (MC No.08, Series of 2004) issued by the Civil Service Commission or the “Guidelines on the Grant of Parental Leave to Solo Parents”, provides that “(i)f there is an existing or similar leave benefits under an agency/office policy or the Collective Negotiation Agreement (CNA), the same shall be credited as such” [VI (1)]. As I have mentioned in my second argument, there is no way that the 10-day SPL is the existing or similar policy being referred to in the CSC guidelines. In fact, it was nowhere in the discussions during the process of formulating and approving the CNA that the 7-day parental leave will be included in the 10-day SPL.

Finally, if the opinion of the Personnel would prevail, then the Commission is putting the implementation of RA 8972 in utmost absurdity. It is because if the 7-day parental leave is
part of the 10-day SPL, then that should mean that non-solo parents staff could only get three (3) days of the 10-day SPL. I believe this is not the one in mind neither by the Employees Association nor by the Management when the CNA was approved, the objective of the SPL provision being the increase of the leave benefits of all the staff in accordance with law.

May I therefore explain the reasons why I need to avail of the 7-day parental leave benefit and fulfill all the conditions set by the Solo Parents Welfare Act.

(1) I exercise single parenthood over my five-year old daughter because her father just
disappeared from our lives five (5) years ago (“abandoned” is how the law called my status).
(2) I have rendered service to the Commission for a total of fifteen (15) years.
(3) Subject to the office policy on staggered or continuous availment of leave benefits, I will be using the 7-day leave benefit to help me perform my parental obligations such as assisting my daughter’s schooling, among others.
(4) I was issued an identification card (ID) by the Department Social Welfare and Development of the City of Manila to establish my identity as a solo parent.

I am grateful to the Commission for its continued efforts to uplift the welfare and well being of all of the staff. Hence, with all these reasons provided, I hope that I am not only able to assert my privilege to be free from office work, albeit for only a week, as a burdened (though not necessarily disempowered) solo parent but that I also help rectify the prevailing interpretation and application of the Solo Parents Welfare Act towards a more responsive welfare program for all.

I look forward to your positive actions on this regard.

Nag-enjoy talaga ako, pramis. Ang haba e...

first thing i did in the office today

2005-06-08T21:22:00.000+08:00

liberation01
Originally uploaded by eyed.

it was already past ten in the morning when i got to the office. i went straight to the boss' room which is used to be called "aquarium" because more than half of its front wall is made of glass. transparency is said to be the principle being symbolized by such glass walls (as well as wire - not concrete - fences) in government offices.

she asked me why i came to see her.

i said it was about that open letter. it was a friend who sent it because i put it in my blog, although i deleted it afterwards. yes, i understand that in our meeting the other day, we already agreed about protecting this organization. but then, things like this do happen.

she told me that she was able to track down the organization and the officer of that organization who sent it.

i said that's why i came to tell you that it was me and not the other staff here whom you might be suspecting of leaking the letter because she's the one networking with these organizations...you should also not worry about you and other officials being implicated because you are also being criticized in that letter...

she said "thank you for telling me". i said "sorry if the leakage bothered you". she said "sometimes, we can't really control things". i said "perhaps, we shouldn't".

then she told me that they were planning to give me a different assignment - something about writing position papers - as part of the internal restructuring...

i said that i don't know yet. then i slipped out of the aquarium...

Poem

2005-06-08T11:31:00.000+08:00

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light!

"A Few Figs from Thistles"
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)

French Film Festival

2005-06-01T20:38:00.000+08:00

june 3-15 at greenbelt 1, ayala center, makati.
other details here.
nood tayoooo!

gleanings from last week

2005-05-30T15:48:00.000+08:00

in a meeting of government agencies about prioritizing legislative agenda, one of the participants found the title of one of our bills ("addressing the system of prostitution") inappropriate because prostitution in the country is illegal so it has no system yet to speak of. he just made corruption and jueteng legal.

an executive order made my office, an oversight agency for gender as a cross-cutting concern, under the oversight and supervision of dswd. our head said it was an upgrade rather than a downgrade for the office. well...

going to davao, i arrived at the airport one and a half hour before the 5am flight only to know that it was rescheduled to 620am. i slept and luckily, woke up a few seconds prior to the closing of the boarding gate. whew!

in the training that i attended in davao, i was excited to see some of the people whom i developed friendships with from the previous training. one of them is a manobo leader from bukidnon. she has been involved in almost all of the workshops and focus group discusions of the project that we are doing. very articulate, she has no problem about sharing her experiences and views with others. but in this last training, she shared one experience which she has never shared before. it was the first time that she talked about it. indeed, there are stories that take time to come out.

another friendship developed in davao is with arvin, an intelligent and talented guy. we talked about a lot things over several cans of san mig light. we also went to a piano bar with his other friends. it was fun...kindred spirits we must be!

suddenly last saturday, while talking to some members of a voluntary organization, these things sounded so ancient to me: no phone signal, no electricity, no running water.

i woke up last sunday from the adobo aroma coming from the kitchen. my mother is cooking adobo chicken which was one of the two live native chickens that she brought from the province. i looked at the other chicken... i haven't seen the house before as a death row.

At Lubang Island

2005-05-19T23:00:00.000+08:00

A friend of mine offered me to join her and her family in their visit to hometown Lubang Island on the dates which include my 30th birthday. Devoid of any plan for that day and somehow not wanting to experience it in usual surroundings, I decided to take a two-day leave from work and joined them.

We boarded a small ferry which departed from Manila at almost midnight. The boat had only one engine working instead of two so it sailed almost twice the supposedly travel time. I slept throughout the single-engined sailing, waking up already thirty years old.

It was my first time to set foot at Lubang Island which is located at the northern tip of Occidental Mindoro. I have not much knowledge about the place except that it is always in the typhoon hit list - being near the China Sea – especially during rainy season. I also learned later that it was in this island when the last Japanese imperial soldier was discovered "hiding" (apparently local folks know about it) thirty years after the second world war ended.

From the port, we rode a jeepney to go to barangay Maliig where we would be staying. Clouds of thick dusts were tailing us as the jeepney toiled the solitary dirt road, interrupted by few meters of concrete pavements. Local politics at work, I would be told by my companions. But the dirt road interrupted was sandwiched in breathtaking views of mountains, ricefields and grazing cows at the left and the beaches at the right. They were enough to make me forget the situation I am in - bumpy ride, heat, dust, and “thirtiness”.

It was a good two days spent in the island. The Lubang noon sky is deep blue, lathered with whiteness. When the sun sets, the sea also empties (kati), offering bounties which women and children gather. I also had a good time picking sineguelas, watching a santacruzan, and welcoming the much-awaited rains showering the sea with diamond kisses.

Lubang Island, of course, is not the usual place for tourists. In this wonderful setting, there were no hotels or places to stay. A kilo of fresh galunggong is sold at 10 pesos which, ironically, a lot of local folks cannot afford to buy. Some beaches are also littered with household garbage and fishing implements. Brownouts are frequent, there is no local radio station or newspaper and I haven't even seen national dailies in bayan. Lubang is a good place for hiding.

I am supposed to post some of the pictures here but cannot make them get out of my cellphone. Lubang Island is in hiding.

Off to Mindoro

2005-05-10T18:25:00.000+08:00

untitled
Originally uploaded by eyed.

Will soon be back, balakubak.

Happy Mother's Day!

2005-05-08T21:36:00.000+08:00

Nobody knows of the work it makes
To keep the home together.
Nobody knows of the steps it takes,
Nobody knows-but Mother.
-Anon

I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman. — Virginia Woolf

...sa nanay ko na pinilit intindihin ang mga bagay na mahirap intindihin sa kanyang ikawalong anak, kay mommy lupe na nagbigay, kay molan na mas naisip maging nanay kaysa mag-asawa, kay lennga na masarap pakinggan ang mga malulutong na tawa, kay queen na mabilisang naging mommy at di ko na nakikita pero natatanaw ko lang ang bahay mula sa bintana ng opisina, kay cecille na sinugod ang pulis na tatay ng nanuntok kay zoeboy, sa mommy ni rocroc na sana ay gumaling na at di na gaanong nahihirapan, sa mommy ni polin na nag-asikaso sa akin nung palagi pa kaming magkasama ng anak nya, sa mommy ni tina na naghanda ng almusal nung nakitulog ako sa bahay nila, sa nanay ni ate sonia na palagi raw akong kinukumusta, sa nanay ni ate lolit na wala na akong balita, kay jean na nanay ni jojo, kay aleth na nanay ni tracy marie, kay beth na may apat na anak at isang naglulukong asawa, sa lahat ng mga inang malayo sa pamilya, sa lahat ng mga lesbyanang ina, sa lahat ng mga ina na walang asawa o piniling hindi mag-asawa, sa lahat ng mga ina na wala nang anak o asawa, sa lahat ng mga ina na hindi magka-anak.

Th...ir,ahem...ty

2005-05-07T15:38:00.000+08:00

Nitong mga nakaraang araw, parati kong nahuhuli ang sarili ko na nag-mumuni. E kasi, malapit na akong tumuntong ng trenta ngayong buwan.

Tumuntong.

Kumbaga sa isang paikot na hagdanan, kung dati rati ay umaakyat lang ako ng mga pare-parehong baitang, ngayon, biglang nasa landing na pala ako at papaliko na uli para umakyat ng isa nang panibagong hagdanan.

Bigla.

Wala akong maalalang ganitong pakiramdam noong nakarating ako sa edad bente. Parang ganun lang din naman dapat ito kung transisyon lang naman ang pag-uusapan. Pero bakit parang iba. Imbes na antisipasyon sa kung ano ba ang mangyayari sa mga susunod na pag-akyat, parang pagod at takot pa yata ang nangingibabaw.

Sabi ni ikabod, edad 34, habang kumakain kami sa superbowl sa gateway mall nung isang gabi, iba rin talaga ang pagte-trenta. Eto yung taon na biglang malayo na ako sa mga twenty-something, kagaya ni bananarit na bising-bisi sa pagkain ng bineyk na tahong, dahil nakahanay na ako sa mga thirty-something, gaya nya na matagal sumagot sa isang simpleng tanong. At habol pa nya, kung tutuusin, trenta na ako ngayon at makukumpleto lang yun ng mismong kaarawan ko. Pagkatapos ng mismong kaarawan, mahigit trenta na ako. Nakagaan lalo ng pakiramdam ang mga realisasyong iyon.

Pero bago pa ang usapang iyon, tinanong ko pala sya kung ano ang ginawa nya na masasabing major nung trenta sya. Nag-resign daw sya sa trabaho. Pero mas marami pa raw syang major na ginawa nung pre-thirty years nya kagaya ng pag-asawa, paghiwalay, at pag-asawa. Dagdag pa nya, pagkatapos ng ilang minutong pagngunguya, eto yung edad na wala na syang inisip na urgent na gawin pa sa buhay di gaya nung kabataan na may mga sinet na goals na dapat tuparin. Kung meron mang deficit dun sa mga pangarap, gaya ng backpacking throughout southeast asia, pwede pa ring habulin.

Busog ako pagkatapos ng hapunang iyon!

how to deal with a volunteer

2005-05-01T23:01:00.000+08:00

There’s a foreign volunteer in the office – a first in its 30 years. The volunteer is assigned in the division where I belong and in fact, we’ll be working together for an advocacy project. Below are some tips that I gleaned from the the anticipatory days and the first three actual days of the volunteer’s stay.

The guiding rule is never alienate the volunteer. So prior to the volunteer’s arrival, see to it that the volunteer is in the daily conversations. Make some guesses on the appearance and if you can’t, think harder. Make sure that the room is squeaky squeaky squeaky clean. Hold a lunch party on the volunteer’s first day. Orient the volunteer with a power point presentation. Speak English, especially if the conversation is within the volunteers’s earshot. Assume the volunteer’s accent or the volunteer might not remember it. If you want to switch to favorite conversations like Darna, make sure that you tell the entire story to the volunteer. Assume that the volunteer is always interested in what you are talking about. If the volunteer is silent, ask the volunteer some trigger questions like if the volunteer knows how to cook rice. It doesn’t matter what the volunteer would answer, any mumble from the volunteer’s lips must signal you to talk about the procedures on how to cook rice through (a) rice cooker, (b) electric stove, and (c) wood fire. Make sure that you take a picture of the volunteer every three seconds and your picture together every four seconds. Explain to the volunteer about the kodakan culture of the Filipinos. Explain further to the volunteer that kodak is a brand name of film used in taking pictures. Tell the volunteer some native words including their synonyms, antonyms and homonyms. Applaud when the volunteer writes these words down. Never allow the volunteer to keep silent. Remember, you don’t want to alienate the volunteer. If you can’t think of things to ask the volunteer, ask the volunteer about the previous questions that has been asked. Rejoice if the volunteer answered correctly. If not, explain again the supposed answer in an enthusiastic manner. When the day ends and the volunteer is preparing to get home, ask the volunteer if the volunteer remembers the way home. Then tell the volunteer what would be your schedule for tomorrow regardless of whether the volunteer is part of it or not. Say goodbye in the native tongue then translate it to the volunteer even if the volunteer has already one foot outside the door. Wave and say waving is a Filipino culture. Congratulate each other for a successful day of not alienating the volunteer.

Rainless

2005-05-01T21:48:00.000+08:00

I am on a dry spell for sometime now. When I’m like this, it’s usually because I haven’t finished some things that I need to get done. Boring office work has been getting in the way of doing personal stuff and tiring me off like a dead jacket on the floor. I have been thinking about these unfinished matters days in and out. There’s my term paper which I have yet to finalize so I can provide copies to my interviewees who I also promised some materials and a dinner (having submitted a so-so version of the term paper added up to my frustrations), several unsent draft job and training applications in a diskette, ideas just nesting in my mind, letters to special ones unwritten, ad infinitum.

Things don’t have to be linear but I usually look at them as such. The pressure of finishing things one by one, in an invisible line, usually speeds me up. And so when pressure didn’t work (I wonder when does pressure become no longer a pressure and when it’s not, does it assume another name?) then I'm stuck. The way out is only by pushing my self to get things done or else, they would all pile up and bury me in this idle ground.

I’m being too melodramatic. It must be the debilitating heat these past few months. I wonder how some people deal with the hot weather. Richie and I bought this big industrial fan a few months back but the air stirred by the fan doesn’t dodge the heat, the heat joins it. Of course it’s better than our old electric fan that had to retire because the blades don’t turn anymore unless you poke them with your finger. Which is too dangerous and tiring for the poker.

Summer seems to be getting hotter every year. Or is it just me and my already long hair? It was last year – a day before my birthday - when I had my hair shaved off. I was too scared as I feel the electric shaver wheezing on my head and see the locks falling on the floor (somehow, I feel the littlest speck of how death convicts must have felt prior to the plunge). But after my head had been cleared, I feel that I conquered something – a fear or an expectation, perhaps.

I remember how some people would suggest that I wear earrings, skirt, and anything that would still signify some traces of feminity. I say what’s the point – deal with the shaved head or don’t look at me.

Well, I guess summer’s the time when the sky’s all clear and shaved up. So, it's either we deal with the heat or don't finish our bath.

Pink!

2004-11-20T14:44:00.000+08:00

I don't like any shade of pink then - maybe because i don't want to be considered in affinity with the so-called color for my sex. But i don't care anymore. I no longer want to discriminate colors because of their hues. And a hot pink, definitely, is the best color for a rain coat.

Mind you, pink is not just for the legally blondes. It's now a political color, too. I recently read about Code Pink on a back issue of Utne magazine. Code Pink is about the old clamors for social justice and peace being delivered in a seemingly fresh, different way. The name was reportedly borrowed from the code nurses use in hospitals to alert staff that a baby has been abducted.

Code Pink is about making resistance more visible and at the same time, it is also a "call for a playfulness, spontaneity, and a sense of respect for what we seek to change". My blog wears the code pink button.

???

2004-11-05T21:37:00.000+08:00

friends, it's sarah brightman. i've been wracking my brains out on who could that sarah the frizzy-haired soul singer who did a concert here a few months ago with tickets at 10,000 maniacs er pesos per be. it's not geronimo, balabagan, mclachlan, vaughan - it's brightman...yeah, i know.

yawn, yawn, yawn.

2004-10-26T18:44:00.000+08:00

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOODNIGHT
Dylan Thomas. 1914-1953. Welsh.

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightening they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that goodnight.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that goodnight.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Bembot

2004-10-18T23:42:00.000+08:00

He’s our youngest. He just turned twenty five last October 15.

It’s been ten years now. But July 28 is just like those other days that pass without making some imprints in my mind. Sometimes, it even passed unnoticed.

Not the 15th of October. It beckons and when it comes, I kiss it silently. Sometimes with a whisper. October is rhythmic, like Sting’s Fields of Gold. Its air is crisp and smells of unhusked rice. October is how I always remember him – not in July’s rainings and unsettling wind. In my sleep, it’s always October when I see him.

Sometimes, I would imagine how he would look like now. He must be towering over us. The last time I saw him, he was just short of three inches to scale six feet. And he was just fourteen then.

He once told us that he wanted to be a basketball player. So he was very much problematic when the doctor decided to cut his left leg. He had to be shielded from the pain inside, albeit temporarily as we, but he, all know. He was also problematizing on the thought that the leg to be removed would already decompose while he’s still alive.

He also once dreamed of becoming doctor. He even suggested then that his eight elder siblings piggyback his schooling to medical school by setting aside a peso or two a day for his college fund. I suppose he just wants us all to feel the idea. He likes stories as well, but when he started to go to school, nothing fascinates him than the forthrightness of math and science. He first learned simple algebra in grade three when I gave him nightly lessons of what I learned of it in a grade six classroom.

I remember his simple, pure interest in knowing the unknown when before his operation, I saw under his pillow a drawing of his left foot. It was a skeletal drawing with arrows pointing on the tibia, fibula, femur and other parts. Maybe, he just wanted to understand what’s going on - what causes the pain - in order to be comforted.

I still wonder how he is right now. Perhaps, he would just answer me that when people are gone, they’re really gone and that I just have to be comforted with such idea. But I’m glad he left us memories to remember him forever.

If only leaving this job is like forgetting our friendship

2004-10-11T16:19:00.000+08:00

it would be easier
will just shrug and
take a momentary look
at the fading mem'ries
of better days.

there would be no
dreadful feeling that a day
(then two, three, four, 'til i stop
counting) had passed with me doing nothing
and i could sleep the night without
getting awakened by the nagging
thought that tomorrow might just be no
different from the previous one.

it would be easier.
i tell you
in case you wish to flatter yourself.

how "evil" am i?

2004-10-09T23:25:00.000+08:00

I am 34% evil.

I could go either way. I have sinned quite a bit but I still have a bit of room for error. My life is a tug of war between good and evil.

Are you evil? find out at Hilowitz.com

2004-10-06T15:52:00.000+08:00

i miss my short short hair ...

==>Love

2004-09-09T13:46:00.000+08:00

Here's on Love:

Maging understanding dahil nag-i-LBM sya ngayon. Gumawa ka na ng sulat para sa kanya, utang na loob. I-check mo yung kuko at cuticle nya, baka inuulam na naman nya. Dapat isa lang ang makulit sa inyo at a time. Wag kang makulit. Wag kang makulit. Wag kang makulit.

==>Career

2004-09-02T18:22:00.000+08:00

If I would be the author of inquirer libre's daily horoscopic advice, here's what i would want to hear on Career from richie who reads them to me over a styro cup of mcdonald's coffee.

Makakahanap ka ng trabaho na gusto mo, malaki ang pasuweldo at marami kang matututunan. Maging masigasig lamang sa pag-aayos at pamamahagi ng curriculum vitae. Gumawa ng checklist ng mga target agencies, organizations o kung ano pa man. Huwag kalimutang lagyan ng scanned picture dahil baka bumenta. Mag-aral din ngayong semestre. Ikaw o ang napakiusapang tao ay magtanong sa nais na kolehiyo ng skedyul. Magseryoso at tumatanda ka na.

Czeslaw Milosz

2004-08-30T21:07:00.000+08:00

I would be reading more of this Polish poet. Here's a sample of his work.

IF THERE IS NO GOD

If there is no God,
Not everything is permitted to man.
He is still his brother's keeper
And he is not permitted to sadden his brother,
By saying that there is no God.

viral infection

2004-08-24T18:30:00.000+08:00

I had been wishing to get sick so that I would have a legitimate reason to be away from the office, and I got it. I was down with flu and coughing almost incessantly the past week. I haven't been that sick for years that being ill felt so depressing. I was cold, every muscle of my body was in pain, and I can't sleep long without being awakened by my itching cough. Indeed, let's be careful for what we are wishing for for we might get it.

2004-08-24T16:39:00.000+08:00

color in a gray cube

on being burnt-out

2004-08-11T18:52:00.000+08:00

i am a 29-year old gender and development advocate working in a women's commission in the Philippines. After more than four years of helping make gender and development institutionalized and advanced in government life, I just found myself tired. I don't know when it started but it just dawned on me one ordinary day that I'm tired. I wonder why do I feel such?

Maybe because of the nature of my job? I deal with government people,hence, a diplomatic approach must be applied when it comes to 'selling' the gender perspective to them. I feel that it's too sanitized. Also,in my work, I don't necessarily or directly see the women who would hopefully benefit from my efforts ?instead, I just look forward to an abstract process being completely transformed for women's interests.

I believe in the beauty of a vision where governments would really work for women's empowerment and gender equality and where a quality life would be achieved through gender-responsive development, but sometimes,the 'given defects' of government, such as the lack of a clear accountabilities or monitoring mechanisms in which gender is supposed to be mainstreamed,are just hard to ignore.

Maybe, my understanding that my office is understaffed (in the
bureacracy, the women's commission is marginalized if it would not make itself felt) and that I also enjoyed doing my tasks just make this tiredness more throbbing.

Isn't it that when you love what you're doing, you're supposed to be
inspired and ignited rather than burnt-out? Or am I just too idealistic? Or maybe, it's possible that you still believe in your
cause, but you're just tired -- no, not cynical, but simply tired.

Out!

2004-07-28T21:17:00.000+08:00

A friend just disclosed Richie and me to four of my officemates. I was caught offguard by her seemingly innocent questions about us and whether Richie had already told her parents about us or not yet.

I feel angry about the whole situation, of her putting me on the spot, of her intervening with my affairs even though we happen to be friends and that she understands about all those lesbian matters, or so she said.

Maybe, what is even more infuriating about it is this friend's heterosexual presumptousness that she can "speak" for me and Richcie, that talking about it is just as routinary as office lunches. But no and I'm glad that I did not explain it to our four audience. The last thing that I want is to sound defensive and apologetic about anything.

For now, I just want to be angry. I don't even want her apology, should she offer it.

being minority

2004-07-18T16:19:00.000+08:00

I attended a recent forum on lesbian and gay rights advocacy. It was illuminating on certain aspects, such as on the need to broaden advocacies in the media, in the government. Still, just like in some women's forum, I felt "alienated" on the discussion. It just that I was hearing too many sub-texts that it seemed half of the participants were already on a different plane while the rest, including myself, were still wallowing in the basics. Beyond the issue of facilitating a forum, i think it is about attitude.

These groups need to make up their mind. They cannot expect to be understood and recognized if they remain esoteric. Of course they don't have to stop talking to themselves, BUT they also have to reach out to others.

***

The "minority" need to point out their being different to break the assumption of sameness and their right not to be treated diffently. Some say this is the burden of being a "minority", of being different than the herd.

I say that is the wisdom of being not part of the majority.

bertolt brecht

2004-07-11T15:20:00.000+08:00

German 1898-1956.

In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will be singing
About the dark times.

rain

2004-06-29T19:42:00.000+08:00

with the summer fast approaching
it doesn't seem right
these rainings.

but i know

these uncertain pourings
will clear the sky,
for me to no longer fear
traversing
new paths.

2/25/2004

on books

2004-06-29T19:32:00.000+08:00

From an old blog...

My love for books began way before I learned to read. I remember that what set our house apart from the same bamboo and thatched roof houses in our barrio, is that it contained books. Actually, they are mostly pocketbooks about romance and adventures.

The books were the focal point of our house. When cleaning the house, I wiped and smelled and neatly aligned them back on the shelves along with boxes of chivas regal and napoleon (remnants of a brother from Saudi), atop a wall decked with my mother's large picture of God's sacred heart.

In my kid days, I was used to the mostly romance stories my mother told us. While most children might have listened to nursery rhymes, or the story of Alice in Wonderland, we had a nightly session of Barbara Cartland stories of romance and happy endings, instead. (Later, I learned that my mother had exercised her parental guidance authority in telling the ‘romantic parts’). The stories served as incentives for us to do our house chores – the more chores, the more stories we bargained for. Those times were hard times for our family, but my mother’s stories cushioned us through the day by making us look forward to the night. But sometimes, reality breaks through the world of make believe. There was a time when after another tiring day of work in the rice fields, my mother slept through the lord-and-lady story she was telling us. As we urged her to continue, she started mumbling about our debts and who we can we sell our rice at a higher price.

When my eldest sister was able to study in a state university in Manila through a scholarship, we always look forward to her return during Christmas or summer. We realized that my sister tells stories better and tells better stories. She kept us awake with Gone with the Wind for two nights, even my naughty brother closed in to listen.

Books goaded me to attend school at a much younger age so that I would already learn to read and write. But barrio education had always been in dearth of books. In my first four years, I attended school that had only two classrooms, two teachers, and no library. Textbooks were limited, so three others and I had to share one book. After grade one, I still look forward to the opening of classes even if it means going back to the same classroom and the same teacher.

Ironically, this was also the same years when I held books literally rescued by our neighbor from fire. These discarded books were to be completely eliminated by the school because the President then wanted everyone to read about his new society. The books had missing parts, but for months, they kept me returning to our neighbor’s house.

In my remaining years in elementary, I was able to read my first novel - a sweet dreams pocketbook in which only the author’s name (Yvonne Greene) stuck out in my memory. The barrio high school I attended to allotted a large lawn for CAT exercises, but there was no space for a library. In my last year, the school had purchased a set of encyclopedia but these priced possessions were kept inside the principal’s office.

College, of course, was an entirely different story. Coming from a small barrio school, the size of the school I went to (several four-storey buildings) was a complete spectacle then. (Of course, I later found that a state university has the size as big as our town’s poblacion). I no longer share my books with other, but own them and even write exercises on them. When I saw the school’s main library, I leaped. The musty smell of books old me that I'm home. I later worked in the library as a student assistant to sustain my studies and enjoyed every moment of it. I then started collecting my own books, neatly arranging them inside my own cubicle in the library.

After twelve years of erratic urban living, now in my fourteenth transfer of residence - from bedspacing to living with relatives to living with friends to renting studio-type rooms - my books are still with me, keeping up with me, growing with me. After a hard day of work, I bury myself to my books for that dose of fiction, adventure, essays, and poetry. Just like before, I need them keep me going, and look forward to the night. 1/20/2004

lurking

2004-06-29T19:25:00.000+08:00

From an old blog.

Everyday, I look forward to getting inside a local writers e-group. What’s for today? Would somebody be advised on how to write or be urged to just write on? Would there be another hot discussion on topics such as abortion, election, globalization? Would I know other authors whom I haven’t heard yet? I wonder if there would be another scheduled trip to the Kinabuhayan Café.

I have been in this group for around four or five months now and I haven’t spoken a single word yet. Pathetic, yes. It is called “lurking” - a word that I also learned from the group.

What could be an apt image of the word? It can’t be an ant trekking a wall, for an ant's wandering has a purpose – to gather food for its colony. It can’t be a mosquito, for a mosquito spares no one of its language:noise. It can’t even be a hawk flying above in circles, for it’s actually aiming for its prey. Perhaps, lurking is more like being quiet in a loud party and completely missing the point.

When can I shed off this trepidation and push myself to finally throw that precious first message? It could only be a simple inquiry or a reaction – I don’t know. I have so much to know and discover; yet, it seems wrong to ask. I may have something to contribute on issues being talked about, however, my spontaniety's frozen.

A group member who opens and closes posts with “lurking mode off” and “ lurking mode on” may have a different view about lurking and disagree with me completely. To some, lurking could be a choice or in fact, the norm.

I am coming, of course, from a different plane. They say the virtual world makes us all equals. But the fact remains that all of us are living completely different lives, have varied education and schools attended to, may own (the latest) computers or not, may be able to buy books from Amazon or not, may just lounge around and not get hungry or work like a dog to live. I am silent because I can't get through intimidation.

Getting inside the virtual world or just being in anything you want to be could be like swimming. You can’t remain with just feeling the waters with your feet forever. You have to plunge in. Relax and you’ll float; panic and you’ll sink. But then, this is dealing with it after getting there. The problem is how to de-lurk and get there.

Have courage, will plummet. 1/20/2004

sunday moneyless sunday

2004-06-28T08:11:00.000+08:00

i was supposed to watch "troy" with my mother today. but i don't have money so we just staye home, read newspaper, and watched tv. gleans of the day:

in the PDI views, there is a discussion about local tv shows being trashy. one female writer defended this proposition. though i also believe that most tv shows make morons out of their viewers, but i have problems with said writer's examples on what make local tv trashy. among those is the *faggotization* of tv shows because of the increasing number of homosexuals on tv and the exposure of gays and lesbian relationships. according to her, said trashy tv shows contribute to our dehumanization. so there, looking at and just knowing gays and lesbians take the humanity out of people. wonderful.

a female host of one sunday tv show will resign from her show because she wants to spend more time with her kids. the show's male hosts praised her for being a good mother. but then, the male co-hosts should also ask themselves if they are good fathers because they are still with the show, not spending quality time with their kids.

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already finished reading the "philosophy for beginners". found hume, kant, foucault, sartre interesting...