Emotional Breakthrough At 31

There is no better way to say it so I’ll say it plain and simple. I HAD A HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

I am almost scared to shout this out to the universe thinking that it might steal this away from me. But no, I already have this blissful slice of time. I have immortalized this in the depths of my cortex.



For the record, I am not good at being happy. I lived my life thinking that I thrive on disappointment and misery. For people like us, happiness is a burden; it is fleeting and has the tendency to vaporize. And it comes with a heavy price. Whereas sadness is more tangible and permanent; it leaves a scar in your heart.

For my birthday, I planned something a little out of the ordinary and mid-key. Not something lavish, just something I know people will enjoy. Part of me wants to celebrate this great year. I didn’t know my family and friends caught the same virus of excitement. They have been gushing about my birthday for days and I can’t help but feel some pressure.

My birthday bash at the office went beyond expectations...I almost expected fireworks. Everything was pitch-perfect. Outside of the great food, I was really happy being around these people. Sometimes I don’t understand the logic to their kind of affection. How can they love a grouch and moron like me? Haha!

On the day after my birthday, I tried to capture the beauty of it with words. But they escaped me... I had this gaping blank page. I almost panicked at the thought that I need misery for my creative ink to flow. And it seems like misery upped and left me...for once. This is a little morbid but I told a dear friend that should the best moments of my life be replayed as I am breathing my last, this point of time will surely come up.

This mood is new to me: I am pensive but in a good way. The feeling that is engulfing me now is realization and GRATITUDE. Seeing the cake and candles, I’ve asked myself what I wish for for my birthday and surprisingly I came up with no answers. I am good.

It took me this long to find the key to being happy. No, I have not opened the floodgates of happiness. It’s just that I am ecstatic of the puddles of happiness that I unlocked. I am not HAPPY. I am just happy. And I like it that way.

I realized a lot of things this year (I had the opposite of a mid-life crisis...a mid-life renaissance?). Although my life is far from perfect, I realize I AM OK. Yes, there are still things I want (things could be better) but not having them at this point will not de-value my life. I find happiness in enjoying what I have instead of wasting time longing for what I don’t have. I even learned to find happiness in the small things. Forget renaissance, I will call this 31st year my EMOTIONAL BREAKTHROUGH.

I’m blessed to have a fulfilling job, with an added bonus of being able to work with great people. How many can lay claim to this? I have a supportive family and we are enjoying what we dreamed of and worked hard for. I live a largely comfortable life. I am able to do the things I want: blog, read, go places or just some time alone.

This year, I have this almost zen-like attitude in tackling things. I learned to handle people and manage expectations. After being given my second chance, I saw the good in most people and became more accepting. I now know who my real friends are. They are the people who understood me at my worst. The ones I wronged but never took it against me. The ones who stayed silent when they have the right to lash out and be one with the world in torturing me. The ones who offered help even before I could muster the courage to ask for it.

After life broke me countless of times, it seems like I just decided to ditch my walking-wounded drama. I learned to stop struggling and let myself go with the flow. And I wonder if age does this to a person. Have I accepted my fate and resigned myself to the ravages of the times? Whatever it is, this is better than where I was before. After running drenched for so long, I suddenly burst into my own place in the sun.

On my way home Friday night, I realize I did not look at my birthday horoscope (from The Philippine Star), which has become a birthday tradition. I thought of dropping by 7-Eleven to get a copy but then I changed my mind. What the heck. I will make my own fortune, my own future. I will not let some stupid stars foretell it for me.

Looking back at the things I went through just to be here, I will not say I deserve this. Rather, I’d say IT WAS WORTH IT.

Cheers!

***

I want to thank A LOT of people from the bottom of my newfound heart. But please allow me these special mentions:

MY FAMILY for single-handedly preparing everything. I knew the food tasted good because it was a labour of love.



MY (Extended) MARKETING FAMILY for pulling all the surprises. Makes me wanna scream and make some noise. Haha! I could not ask for anything more. How can you do such good things to a "boolei" like me?! Loved the video (Buti na lang safe...whew!)



K, B and J for helping me pull it off until the very end (which is clean-up time, hehe!). And the wonderful gift straight out of my wish list (how did you know?)!

For my “silent” friends for being as excited as I am and for making sure I enjoy every minute of it.

For The One Who Need Not Be Named, for doing everything above and beyond. Even if I’m not worthy, you still choose to overwhelm me.

FILM REVIEW: Summer Love?...NOT!

Here’s the thing. I came into this movie expecting a lot because my friends (M as the leader of the pack) have been gushing about it. For a movie that talks about something I can surely relate to, I surprised myself by being impassive about it. Maybe I’m a little too mature for this, or maybe my threshold for pain and misery was set too high and was not breached. So this a the case of IT’S ME, NOT THE MOVIE.



500 Days of Summer is a quirky and tragic romcom movie. In 500 days, it shows the whole spectrum and circus of modern day love: from “love at first sight” to “it’s over I’m moving on.” The story actually has heart as it explores that limbo that serves as the foundation of some relationships...the awkward “What are we?” stage (Oh, tell me about it!). But it deviates from the Mills & Boon template of love-found-and-love-lost stories by telling it the arthouse way.

While the plot delights and satisfies like summer breeze, this movie has a strange way of confusing itself as it bids for non-conformity. I loved the movie’s vintage color and throwback music but got confused on story’s timeframe (70’s? 80’s?). Realization only dawned when they were shown playing Wii Tennis. The morning-after dance sequence was cute and funny but it removes some tenderness to an otherwise heart-wrenching story. The non-linear way of storytelling, reminiscent of a romantic flipbook, worked well in showing us the fun times and fault lines in the Tom-Summer saga; but it ruins the way the characters are developed (more on this later). So comes its biggest letdown: for a story that is refusing to be non-traditional, it settles for a cutesy cliché ending.

The movie’s brilliant moments come when it walks the fine line between reel and real. It has the Hollywood fanfare of a romantic fantasy but remains grounded on the realities of non-destined love. The split-screen treatment of reality vis-à-vis expectations delivers the Ouch! factor. It is sick and relevant; the kind that will scrape the scars in your heart. This sequence alone saves the movie from the trash bin of forgettable romcoms.

The two lead stars are immensely likeable. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is a revelation in this movie. I only knew him from Ten Things I Hate About You and a handful of TV appearances but I didn’t know he matured into a sensitive actor. It’s a good thing they did not cast an A-List cutie (Zac Efron?) to play Tom, because Gordon-Levitt makes the story believable with his firm grasp of subtlety and emotions. His face registers the stages of love, lust, hope, pain, frustration and perplexity beneath an armour of geek-like coolness. However, I can’t shake off the fact that he looks like a starved Ryan Atwood (from The O.C.) with the tics of Seth Cohen.

Zooey Deschanel is a dead ringer for Katy Perry, down to the costume. For some reason, I couldn’t get to her Summer character...she is too much a mystery and reads like a closed book. I’m torn between Deschanel not giving much dimension to her character or the scriptwriter failing to breathe life to Summer. Maybe she was really THAT complex and I am as baffled as Tom. But this may also be taken as part of the movie’s appeal.



Having said that, the movie failed to establish the characters outside of their exclusive and precarious relationship. Maybe that’s why I didn’t care that much about their dilemmas. Their misery is simply infantile. It didn’t bring me to fetal position, the way tragic male-centric indie flicks like Garden State (Zach Braff, Natalie Portman) or even Dedication (Billy Crudup, Mandy Moore) did.

Maybe because after 500 days, the movie gave hope to Tom...but unfortunately not in the form of self-realization and more mature insights on love and life. Just another shot at uncertain love. I think Tom’s view on love is as trivial and sketchy as the greeting cards he write (love is a rose and you are its petals). He even gets romantic wisdom from his sister whose two cents makes me want to throw up. Like TV's Felicity, Tom stages his own love suicide and I don’t have much sympathy for lovefools of his kind, even if I know they deserve better.

For what it’s worth, 500 Days Of Summer shows us that love is random and baffling. And it proves that all things come to an end, even heartache and misery. After summer comes...hmmm...I guess you can figure this one out.



***

Summer: I woke up one morning and I just knew.
Tom: Knew what?
Summer: What I was never sure of with you.

***

Tom: You don't want to be named as someone's boyfriend, and now your someone's wife?

***

Tom: What happens when you fall in love?
Summer: You believe in that?
Tom: It's love, it's not Santa Claus.

The Heatseekers (November 4, 2009)

For music buffs, here are some songs that are worth downloading. Some of these songs are a couple of months old already but they are still on heavy circulation on my personal playlist and in the airwaves.


* Fireflies – Owl City (HOT PICK!)
* New Perspective – Panic At The Disco (PERSONAL PICK!)
* H.A.T.E.U – Mariah Carey (which stands for "Having A Typical Emotional Upset")
* Who Says – John Mayer
* Doesn’t Mean Anything – Alicia Keys
* Live Like We’re Dying – Kris Allen
* Halfway Gone - Lifehouse
* Meet Me On The Equinox – Death Cab For Cutie
* Life After You – Daughtry
* Issues – The Sundays
* Nothing – FMD
* Where Are You Now - Honor Society
* Celebration – Madonna
* Tell Me Your Name – Christian Bautista
* Man In The Mirror – James Morrison version

***

Here are two mini-reviews of albums you should check out.



WHITE LACE AND PROMISES (Agot Isidro)

I have been a silent fan of Agot since she released her first album back in my high school (casette tape) days. Ok, ok...I have a huge and long-standing crush on her. I have met her thrice in person and she is really nice. Hers is a beauty that is ageless and a relaxed and classy voice that is a welcome alternative to the ear-splitting wails of freakish local divas.

I have long wanted Ms. A to release a revival album since she really did a good job with OPM standards Sa Kanya and Iisa Pa Lamang in her previous works. For this album, she gathered a collection of her favorite wedding songs and gave it her own elegant spin. She has the modern wedding anthems: From This Momentand Runaway (given second life after being used in the Judy Ann-Ryan wedding). She even threw in some forgotten hits: Fallen (from Pretty Woman) and Together Forever (Rico Puno’s and not Rick Astley’s). Her rendition of Fallen is smooth and refreshing and her tender rendition of Looking Through The Eyes Of Love brings back the soulful meaning to the song that is often vandalized by screaming divas.

This CD also comes in a neat packaging, the best I have seen for a local release. It is made to look like a wedding invitation.

Best Track: Fallen
Skip This: When You Say Nothing At All (the song is just too overplayed)



MEMOIRS OF AN IMPERFECT ANGEL (Mariah Carey)

For the record, MC’s past two CDs (Emancipation of Mimi and E=MC2) really glittered...uhmm pun intended. In her new studio album, MC upped her vibe by fusing old school R&B and her trademark slinky urban rhythms. Think My All plus Breakdown. Here, MC tones down her high-octave vocals in exchange for breathy whispers which clearly suits the new song formats.

Memoirs is a pretty consistent album and each track flows effortlessly to the next via well-placed interludes. This makes the whole of the album pretty enjoyable. The imperfection of Memoirs lies in its lack of a smash #1 chartbuster (the likes of We Belong Together and Bye Bye). However, songs here grow on you with each listen; the third single H.A.T.E.U., for instance. Also missing are the slick/flirty pop ditties like Touch My Body. Instead, we have venomous back-at-you songs Obsessed (her latest 1M-selling single) and Betcha Gon Know, with the later adding shock value as MC says the F word. A different side to MC but still worth listening.

Best Track: Angels Cry
Skip This: Up Out My Face (even the paired interlude is kinda weird)

In The Shadow Of The New Moon

Even if Halloween just whizzed us by, the New Moon fever is very much aglow. I have barely two weeks to finish this book before the movie rolls out.

To be honest, I got into the Twilight bandwagon just to be "in" on the new pop phenomenon (part of our Marketing lifestyle). And because F pressured us. I found the book a bit juvenile...like Anne Rice rewriting Sweet Valley High with bloody ink. But this does not make the book any less enjoyable. It combines two compelling fantasies...the existence of vampires and the discovery of true love despite the odds.

The movie is different though and far from juvenile. I think it did justice to the book, which seldom happens when you bring a novel to silverscreen life. Everything seemed to be well thought of...from the casting to the cinematography. Even the OST and musical score is superb. The OST immortally resided on my player (I still can't get over that Iron & Wine track).



I’m a fifth into the book and newsflash: the new moon has casted a shadow over me. I blame it for feeling morose and aloof today. Agony is universal, no matter what the phase of the moon will be.

Excuse me while I sulk... I mean excuse me while I resume my reading.

Un-dying

Memories will never die. I realize this after my first taste of the death of a loved one. You live in suspended disbelief during the three days of the wake. You shed an ocean of tears during the internment. Then you move on with your life, however incomplete it has become. But in one unguarded moment, something stirs your memories and you remember them. It can be a song, a thing she loved...in my instance even a rock. The remembrance steals your breath; the pain sears and clutches the heart.

This year, I will be celebrating more deaths than ever. I can still remember how I learned of each death. Nothing can prepare you for it. It’s difficult to forget the point where your life took an abrupt turn. The memories are sharp, like broken shards of glass. Yes, the pain of loss does fade in time, but it is the kind that will never truly go away.



I have always been sensitive about the death of a loved one, even before I had my firsthand experience. I remember when A’s dad died in sixth grade. I thought it was cruel; how can a good-hearted girl be given such unkind fate. When she returned to school, I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want to ask if she was OK. That is probably one of the most inconsiderate questions ever invented. How can you ask someone who just lost her dad if she was okay? Of course she is not! So I think I just smiled, hoping that will convey my sympathy. But I decided it was too uncaring so I asked her what happened. In the process, I ended up making her cry as she recollected her dad’s last hours.

Three years later, I was at the other end of that table.

There have been good days, in as much as there have been darker days. Now that I am in a much better place in life, I wish my departed loved ones could see what I have become. A lesser disappointment. I longed for their pat on my shoulders after surviving each fall. Especially my Lola. She always championed what I am and what I want; accepting my flaws and applauding my smallest feats. At the lowest point in my life, she was one of the handful who did not look at me with disillusionment and odium. When she passed on, I felt so alone for the first time in my life. From then on I started living in shadows. I learned to be autonomous...to deaden and detach myself. Depend on myself.

When my dad died, my life rebooted. It forced me to let go and come to terms with a lot of things.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the person I was supposed to be. If this is the life I was meant to live. Or is this some kind of half-life, a metamorphosis engineered by loss and expectations and reinforced by the will to survive.

I realize what I missed most about family who have passed on is their rock presence. Their being there, regardless if you need them or not. At 30, I still feel like a child sometimes. A child trying to grab hold of a hand; only to realize it is not there anymore.



***

I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Thought I'd see you one more time again
There's just a few things coming my way this time around... now
-James Taylor

The New Perspective

I’ve read somewhere that we cannot control the evil tongues of others, but a GOOD LIFE will enable us to disregard them. This mantra rings true, especially at times like these when I have broken free of what used to drench me and knock me down.

Hence, the new perspective. The new looking glass.



A certain date is approaching real fast, and it usually sends me spinning in a pensive and introspective mood (a soliloquy of the non-verbal kind). What have I become at this point in time? Excuse my being self-anointing but the answer to that question is definitely...BETTER.

Lately, I surprise even myself. How I handle certain situations and certain people. Yes, there are still the hissy fits and adult tantrums but only when the situation really calls for it.

I don’t sweat the small and non-existent stuff as much. Yes, even what other people think (especially people who don’t even deserve my two cents). Love me or hate me, I’ll live. I’ve also learned to respect (and shake-off) other people’s nuances and idiosyncrasies (the politically correct term for mood swings).

Just this week, I came face-to-face with one of the sources of my stress some eons ago. And though she was poised to spit on my face (literally, of course), I held my ground and kept it cool. James Dean cool. My lips formed an empty smile, out of courtesy. She meant to disarm me but her “game” vaporized before it can even graze my skin. I am THAT invincible.

In parallel, my friend D blogged about half-wits who leave nasty and pointless comments on his blog. I know the feeling. Some people have a way of imposing their opinions on others. They use the freedom of speech as a license to make a fool of themselves. I told D to chill, they just want pieces of him (maybe that PJ collection) or wants to be him.

As I am rebuilding my urbanized life after Ondoy washed away some remnants of the old me, I got caught in the excitement of starting anew. Ergo, my silver lining. Change now excites me, whereas it used to stress me a lot. Is this a sures sign of being "stable?"

On a grander scale is the realization that while there are things that I want or am deprived of, there are a lot of things that I have and am grateful for. Looking back, there were times when I longed for greener pastures. Only to realize (thankfully before it’s too late) that a greener pasture usually comes with a huge water bill (wink, wink).

Often, it is best to let the natural course of things unfold. I watch, amazed, as the pieces just fall on their proper places. And they do fit seamlessly...far better than if I have intruded. I stand back now and see the rhyme and reason.

I never knew it could happen to me. But in the dead of winter, I found my eternal summer.



***

I feel the salty waves come in
I feel them crash against my skin
And I smile as I respire because I know they'll never win

Stop there and let me correct it
I wanna live my life from a new perspective

And who cares divine intervention
I wanna be praised from a new perspective
- Panic! At The Disco

My World Is A Flood

Today, a semblance of my old life returned. For the first time in two weeks, I was able to live again in my rented house in QC. Since The Great Flood of Manila (circa 2009) happened.

I checked my place a few days after Ondoy but refused to stay. It was no Provident Village, but the landscape of despondency and misery was just too much. The possessions of my neighbours (especially those from the first floor) are strewn all over the compound, mostly mud-covered or water-damaged. Along the way, I saw some houses that were partially dilapidated. Trash stretched as far as the eye can see, even lacing the barb wires atop the high perimeter fence, indicative that the waters reached those levels.



My room was a miniature disaster scene. The floor is covered with mud and everything on the floor was displaced. Shoes and mineral water bottles near the front door when it should be at the far end of the room. The books on my bedside table all warped by the water. The smell was terrible; the tang of seawater mixed with the sweet-sick smell of sewage. With a sigh of defeat, I just took my clothes that were in need of washing and left. I told my neighbour I’ll come back when things are more shipshape and bearable.



Sidebar: Apologies for the bad photos; they don't capture the distress well enough. I am no photograpger and when you are in the middle of this calamity, proper angle and focus is the last thing on your mind)

And so after two weeks, here I am. Last Tuesday, I spent the entire day tidying the place up and erasing all traces of Ondoy. I had to mop the floors thrice just to remove the muck. I got obsessed with disinfecting everything that was within reach of the knee deep flood. Well, a-whole-floor-and-a-knee-high flood to be exact since I live on the second floor (reminds me of the song Luka). I had to throw out my bed and pillows (I am thinking that if a dry bed is home to gazillions microscopic germs... how much more a flood-sodden bed). I had to remove three boxes full of magazine and books, plus another two boxes of miscellaneous files and papers (old notebooks from work, credit card statements, among others). I placed these in the back area (supposedly for hanging clothes) in the hopes that they will dry out one of these days and be resuscitated/restored.

For some reason, it felt like Christmas came early. A newly cleaned room reminds me of the holidays because general cleaning has been part our family Christmas tradition. Plus, I bought some new stuff which gave the room a brand new feel. I even changed the layout; symbolic of the turning of the proverbial new leaf.

Considering that other people suffered a great deal more, I may not have the right to rant. Or it may be insensitive for me to do so. Still, accepting this twist of fate was not easy. Among my personal casualties are books and magazines accumulated over the years. I lost some hard-to-find books, some newly purchased books, years-worth of issues of my favorite magazine and the last remaining copy of a Rizal textbook, part of which I co-wrote. Being an advocate of the printed art, it was hard for me to let go of these personal treasures. They are my invaluable investments and sources of inspiration. Excuse the dramatics but I feel like part of me was washed away.

On a more positive light, all of my electrical appliances were intact and functioning (can't live without a hair dryer...ok, I'm just kidding). And on a more personal level, Ondoy gave me some paradigm shift; I realize a lot of things. I realize I miss this good old place. I miss being home a few minutes after leaving the office. I miss waking up at 5am for some morning activities (either blog, surf, read or workout). What I didn’t miss is the uneasy feeling every time it starts to rain hard.

This year is turning out to be an annus horribilis for our country. First, the death of Cory then the double whammy of Ondoy-Pepeng. And next year is bound to be circus with the elections.

I’d like to think that I am ready for the next Ondoy. But please, not in the near future. I’ve had enough for now. This experience is already good enough for some storytelling with the grandchildren.

***

Downpour on my soul
Splashing in the ocean, I’m losing control
Dark sky all around
I can’t feel my feet touching the ground
But if I can’t swim after forty days
And my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves
Lift me up so high that I cannot fall
Lift me up

- Flood (Jars of Clay)

Life After Ondoy

This week has been surreal in a cataclysmic kind of way. After Ondoy (Ketsana) sent a record amount of rain last weekend, the most populated parts of Luzon was plunged into a state of horrible devastation. Lives were lost and lives were changed.

Monday morning in the office was gloomy. Although more than half was able to report to work, we worry about those who were severely affected. Everyone present seemed lost in their own bubble of sheer luck. Like we were all holding a fragile bottle of felix felicis in our hands. Being a “survivor” comes with a trickle of guilt. After seeing the horrorscapes on TV, most of the unaffected felt like they won a second lease on life.

Conversations were limited to stories of the weekend’s disaster. And in some stories we find something funny. Trust Filipinos to find some light humor in the midst of these challenging trials.

As P said, there is nothing like a disaster to put things into perspective. For what it’s worth, Ondoy was a painful eye-opener. For both victims and survivors.

Here are the things I want to change after this catastrophe. When the muck and mud has been cleared, we have no choice but move on and swallow Ondoy’s bitter pill.

Weather Forecast Should Include Expected Rainfall. For a country visited by no less than 14 typhoons yearly, typhoon is a fact of life. PAGASA (whose forecast accuracy is questionable) warns us about coming typhoons using Signals 1 to 4. But these signals only foretell wind strength. As Ondoy showed us, rains and resultant floods can be as destructive.



Telecoms Should Provide Calamity Text Advisories. Come on... as the text capital of the world, we are pestered by text messages informing us about sales, promos and marketing gimmicks. But at the height of calamity, we were left in the cold. The government should require the big three telecoms to provide info blast (weather forecast, traffic, evacuation plans) in times of disaster.



There Should Be A Typhoon/Flood Drill. We have heard of fire and earthquake drills; I think a typhoon and flood drill should also be in place. On a greater scale, our country needs to beef up its disaster preparedness measures. And I nominate Kris Aquino to lead this drill (so that everyone will follow). Sarcasm aside, we need to inform people where to go during calamities. Places can be marked as “flood or earthquake shelters,” meaning it’s safe to go there when disaster strikes. Educate your kids also on what to do. Teach them MacGyver instincts.Like when Ondoy flash floods happened, people didn’t realize that they can put empty plastic bottles inside a bag or sack and use these as “floaters.”



Study Ondoy’s Destructive Pattern For Future Warning References. Many firsts happened over the weekend. Floods inundated places that were once safe. First time that the floods reach the second floor in some places. Someone should study the trend so they can give precious warnings for upcoming disasters. For example, at what amount of rainfall should this and this area be flooded? At what critical level should Marikina River be to start a forced evacuation?



That Everyone Should Have A Disaster Kit. Very much like first aid kits, this can be a plastic container containing “living” essentials: canned food, Quaker Instant Oatmeal (better than rice or noodles in terms of storage and cooking convenience), candles, matches, long-life crackers and don’t forget the can opener...inflatables are optional; which can last your family for 2-3 days. This should be placed in the safest and accessible part of the house (and checked once in a while if some food has gone stale). We will never know when disaster will strike (think earthquake or tsunami). Also, those with cars should have a survival kit in their trunks. Get an old bag and place water, biscuits and a full set of clothes inside.



That Images Of Ondoy’s Aftermath Be Shown Before The May Elections. We elect people to “govern” us especially in times of distress. Where are these people when we need them the most?! You can argue that they were helping out silently or secretly (without media coverage). But still, it’s disappointing to realize that we were led by Tina Monson-Palma, Kris Aquino and Kuya Kim in the past week. (Which reminds me, these three should be given humanitarian awards. You can say what you want about Kris, but she rose to the occasion and HELPED IN A BIG WAY. How many famous people can claim that?)



Sadly, Metro Manila did not learn from the Milenyo experience. I hope this second blow of Ondoy will make us take stock about certain things. We are not sinners (as the now-famous FB status declared), but to NOT LEARN from this experience will make us a bunch of fools.

A little paranoia and some preparedness might get us through the next Ondoy, the next Pepeng or the next Arroyo.

With This Ring Comes Excess Baggage (A Book Review)

It’s Saturday night and I am stormed in. Typhoon Pepeng is battering extreme Northern Luzon and hard rains with bursts of strong winds have been pelting outside since midday. I spent most part of the morning watching CNN and ANC for typhoon update; feeding a paranoia borne out of last weekend’s Ondoy calamity.

To ease my boredom, I picked up the book I have been reading for two weeks. Anita Shreve’s A Wedding In December. And for some reason, the events of the previous week brought this taunt story to a more personal level. The central story occurred in the aftermath of 9/11. Tragedy given a more opaque light. Shreve was not being poetic when she described “the sense of the democracy of catastrophe. It knows no class or race.” We all saw this from Ondoy.

A Wedding In December revolved around the reunion of seven former schoolmates to celebrate the wedding of two of them. As with any reunion, the past is withdrawn from the drawer of memories and uncomfortable secrets resurface. In the same vein, the present is scrutinized with a mixture of disbelief, jealousy and pride.



Shreve is the master of layered storing-telling and this novel maximizes multiplicity to the hilt. Each of the seven characters carries their own personal baggage, both past and present. Tales of love lost and found, regrets and second chances, painful choices, sins not forgiven, hidden desires, life-long guilt and the torment of what might have beens. Add to this wicked brew the bipolar qualities of each character...strength and denial, courage and vulnerability, values and greed. And you have a plot at its thickest.

This heptagon of intersecting personas is further complicated by an underlying story about the Halifax disaster, seen in parallel with 9/11. The lives changed in one (literal) blinding second and the sacrifice of one fine young man. This story, by itself, is already heartbreaking.

As with other Shreve novels, this book explores human fallibility, notably at its darkest. But this novel stands out in the way each character fall victim to their own foibles but still evokes compassion and sympathy from the readers. We are as confused in their dilemma. We shake our heads at the bitter reality that one different decision could have changed an entire life. We are torn in defining what is good or what is right under these circumstances.

We are asked questions with answers that are highly biased and relative. Do you leave your family to pursue your one true love (duty versus desire)? Will you give all of yourself and your future for something that will soon be taken from you? Can you accept something that is wrong but makes another person happy?

On the grander scheme of things, the story makes the reader look inside himself and answer this middle-aged question: “Is this how you want to live the rest of your life?”

Shreve deviates from her usual formula of a surprise ending by laying down a crossroad as a conclusion. While some readers might be frustrated by this tactic, it is actually noble. The ending of each facet of this kaleidoscope lies on our personal judgement...what we think the characters deserve given their predicament.

If anything, this book shows us that everything is relative. What’s good for you may be bad for me. Yes, this includes relationships.

***
On marriage:

“One can never tell the story of a marriage. At the very least, a marriage is two intersecting stories, one of which we will never know.”

“In the beginning, one has such high expectations. And then life, in small increments, begins to dissolve those expectations, to make them look naïve and silly.”

Excerpts from A Wedding In December.

Dispatches From The Fringes Of Typhoon Ondoy

On the 23rd of September (Wednesday), PAGASA meteorologists noted the presence of a low pressure area on the east of Luzon. They initially said it will not develop into a full-blown typhoon. By Friday evening (September 25), PAGASA released the first typhoon signals. Signal numbers 1 and 2. Quite common and nothing alarming for a country that is frequented by typhoons almost year-round.

Tropical Storm (technically not typhoon) Ondoy made landfall between Quezon and Aurora on Friday night. In the next 12 hours, it will dump rains that will submerge huge parts of Luzon, including Manila. Submerge will be an understatement; for this will be one of the worst rain and floods in recent memory. More than 50 people will die and the damage will be unspeakable.

I went home Friday evening earlier than usual to watch the finale of my favorite soap. Moderate rain was falling when we got out of the office. Upon arriving home, I saw the newsbreak about the typhoon signals. I am sensitive to news like this because I live near a creek which has overflowed three times in the past months. I watched TV and packed my weekend bag during commercial breaks; just in case I have to go home to Bulacan in a hurry. I was able to do a few laundry, tidied my room and even installed new kitchen shelves. The rain has been falling in varying intensity and I panic when it pounds mightily for more than 20 minutes.

I finished my housework by midnight. I am ready to leave any time. I opted not to dress in sleepwear and chose instead jogging pants and an old shirt. A hooded jacket was handy in case I need to go out quickly. I braved the rains and placed most of my stuff in the car. I set my alarm to scream every hour so I can check the river. I plan to sleep and I was hoping I can wait until the first light of morning to vacate the place.

By 2AM my alarm went off. Rain was still heavy and I checked the river. The horror. It has reached the alarming level (when the tall grasses on the side of the river disappears). I decided to leave before the roads become impassable. I called my other neighbour who owns a car and told him I’ll go. He said he’ll follow later. The rains were quite heavy but the drive to Bulacan was bearable. Since it was 2AM, there are few cars on the road so I was able to easily avoid the flooded sides of the street. I was at home past 3AM and was asleep before 5AM.

I woke up at 9:30 and started to tweet and check Facebook via mobile, unwary of the falling rains. I was mulling over finishing the paperback I was reading or doing a DVD marathon. I even watched AC360 on CNN.

By midday, the local news turned ugly. The images and footages streamed on TV news were abysmal and horrific, to say the least. Raging rivers of flood waters where main roads once were. Entire houses swept away by the current. People standing on the rooftops of their 2-storey houses and waving to be rescued. Parts of EDSA, usually safe during heavy rains, are flooded. Boats on EDSA getting the passengers from stranded buses. Vehicles on a standstill on the main highway, mostly abandoned, just a breath away from the flowing river of flood. In Marikina, floods have stacked vehicles on top of each other. People using rubber tires to rescue stranded people.










I texted my sister the updates on TV and advised her not to go home. She’ll be safer in her office than defying the nightmarish traffic and foul weather.

The floods spared no one; even the elite and famous living in posh villages are rendered vulnerable. In a way, tragedy has a way of equalizing us. When the floods do subside, muck and mud covered everything. This is something I have seen before on CNN. During the onslaught of the Christmas 2004 tsunami across Asia and the wrath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.

But when tragedy hits this close to home, nothing can prepare you. The images hurt. You think about your friends in the affected areas. You think how it could have been you.



The rainfall on Saturday is said to be the worst since 1967. Thirty day’s worth of rain falling in the span of six hours. Not unlike a tsunami swell, the floodwaters rose too quickly. I don’t think people have time to salvage what worldly possessions they have. When you’re in the middle of this biblical calamity, nothing matters but Life. To live and make it through.

Watching the newsfeeds, it’s disarming to see smiling faces and people waving at the cameras. Or children swimming in the floods. This, amidst the background of a cruel disaster scene. This says so much about a country that has survived a lot of natural and political catastrophes.

I am writing this blog on Sunday morning. A weak sun is fighting with the rain clouds but the rains take over once in a while. Last night, Typhoon Ondoy passed nearby Pampanga and the wind and rains here were frightening.

I don’t know what happened to my room in Quezon City (to call it a condo would make it too fancy). I am preparing for the worst; the floodwaters might have submerged the second floor and washed over my things. I lost contact with my neighbour and the last text he sent said that the flood was already above human height.

I am thankful that I am writing this blog from a third-person perspective. The horrorscapes I painted are what I saw on TV news. I know this will pale in comparison to stories from friends who experienced first-hand the blunt of the storm. While I am apprehensive about my QC unit, I am just thankful that my family is safe and our main house in Bulacan is firm and far from the waterways. My relatives and most of my dear friends are safe. While the storm was blowing over, I was dry in bed; with food, water and electricity. Even if the stuff I have in my QC room will be ruined by the floodwater, my car is intact. I am thankful that at least I was not there and I am not one of the people standing wet on the rooftops.

In the end, the power of a storm is measured not by the gust of its wind or the volume of its rainfall. It’s the lives lost...the lives forever changed. The memories of yesterday and the hopes of tomorrow obliterated by the weight of water.

The aftermath maybe more challenging that the actual storm itself. The rebuilding more dire and painful.

In times like this, our countrymen need all the help they can get. I have posted below pertinent information about charities we can support. I encourage everyone to do their part. Just think how blessed you are that you are not one of those people needing help.

ABS-CBN Foundation / Sagip Kapamilya:
BDO Account Number: 56300200111
Hotline: 413-2667
US Toll Free Number: 1-800-5272820
In-Kind Donations accepted at 13 Examiner St., West Triangle Homes, Quezon City

Red Cross:
Hotlines:143 / 527-0000
You can donate to Red Cross via text:
For Globe subscribers, please text RED <5,25,50,100 or 300> to 2899
For Smart, please text RED <10,25,50, or 100> to 4483.

***

Update: The outpouring of messages and concern on the web is touching. Philippines, Typhoon Ondoy and Red Cross became trending topics. Even international stars like Paulo Coehlo, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are asking for help on our behalf.

Let us do our part.

So Funny I Drooled

The day has come that a local movie tickled my funny bones so hard that I drooled.

It’s 1AM and I am still wide awake from the adrenaline rush brought about by laughing incessantly in the last two hours. Friends know that it takes the corniest or the smartest of things to make me laugh real hard. And when I do, the laugh attack is so involuntary (like heartbeat) and lasts for several minutes, even hours.

I am not a big fan of comedies, especially the slapsticks. As far as I can remember, I have never watched an Adam Sandler or Ben Stiller movie (I prefer Steve Carell). And I hate Tito, Vic and Joey and noontime variety shows. I prefer high-brow comedy...the likes of SNL and Friends.

So it's Friday and the start of an OFFICIAL long weekend. We decided to jumpstart the three days off with a bang. We trooped to Trinoma to watch a movie we’ve wanted to watch since last week. Peer pressure... those who already watched it gave us a you’re-so-2000-and-late look.

I’m talking about Kimmy Dora. Starring the super/mega comedienne for all seasons Eugene Domingo.



The plot is simple. Kimmy and Dora are twins on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Kimmy is accomplished and evil...straight out of The Devil Wears Prada. Dora is good-natured but Pentium 1 (read: slow). The twins are vying for the affection of their father (Ariel Ureta) and Johnson (Dingdong Dantes). Click HERE if you want to see the trailer.

The movie has a melodramatic twist towards the end but this is overruled by the avalanche of hilarious mishaps and antics. I swear, laughter literally rocked the cinema (it’s the movie's second week and the LFS screening is still full. Word of mouth maybe...and peer pressure). I think even my chair was howling with laughter. There were even times when the audience would clap and cheer with the side-splitting moments.

Yes, at one point I was laughing so hard that saliva escaped from my mouth (good thing the audience was also laughing so they didn’t hear the splash). TMI moment. And on the way home, I would remember the amusing scenes and I will end up laughing by myself. Even the thought of Peter Piper and the pickled pepper is enough to send me LOL and ROFLMAO. And that Dora-pretending-to-be-Kimmy sequence is immortally droll!

Eugene Domingo (who often plays sidekick to other comediennes but would always steal the limelight from them), is well-deserving of this starring role. She is a seamless actress with impeccable comedic timing and nuance. Her performance here is worthy of a best actress nod (if only comedies are not overlooked in acting derbies).

This movie first made headline when it was revealed that Piolo Pascual produced it. Which explains the splattering of cameos (the most unnerving of which was Jinggoy Estrada). But I’d say that it was Eugene’s performance which scored the home run to make this a runaway hit.

I give this movie an A+ for halving my stress level. Even the bloopers towards the closing credits gave the audience a final laughing frenzy. Everyone went out of the cinema still smiling.

But the riotous hilarity didn’t end there. Upon exit, we heard someone say: "Grabe ha, ang daming extra na artista. Sino ba dun si Eugene Domingo?"

Bravo!

Kanye At The VMAs: Heartless

Last Monday, the web sizzled with news that Kanye West hijacked Taylor Swift’s speech during the MTV Video Music Awards. When Taylor (currently the biggest selling artist of 2009) was onstage accepting her Best Female Video award for You Belong With Me, Kanye grabbed the mic and said that Beyonce should have won the award. Towards the end of the program, Beyonce (who was ultimately awarded the top Video Of The Year prize) would call Taylor again onstage to reclaim her moment.



Celebrities quickly rallied against Kanye. Pink, a fellow nominee in Taylor’s category called Kanye “the biggest piece of sh*t on earth.” Kelly Clarkson blogged: The best part of this evening is that you weren’t even up for THIS award and yet you still have a problem with the outcome. I was actually nominated in the same category that Taylor won and I was excited for her...so why can’t you be??

Later, Kanye would have a lucid interval and apologize profusely. But what for? As OneRepublic would sing: it’s too late to apologize.

I want to just laugh this off as an awards show antic (remember the Bruno-Eminem moment at the MTV Movie Awards?). It’s something I expected from Kanye. He has a long history of forcing his opinions in the most inappropriate of occasions.

I never cared for Kanye and I know I never will. I like some of his songs but I am not really a fan. True, he has the talent that makes him standout in the music world. But that talent is overshadowed by his shameless attitude. I think rappers need to market themselves via huge egos (again in reference to Eminem). They need it to assert their street cred. But Kanye is a really bringing “egotistic” to an insensitive and tasteless new level.

I don’t think Kanye did this to show his admiration for Beyonce (she was obviously embarrassed). He did this for himself. Kanye thinks his opinion rises above everybody else’s. FYI, Kanye, awards like the MTV Awards are fans-centric. You are free to make your own KW Awards where you can venerate all your biases.



Now I can’t help wondering if Beyonce’s song Ego was inspired by Kanye.

I am an advocate of respecting people’s opinions. But here’s my two cents: I am not impressed at all by Beyonce’s Single Ladies video. While the song is catchy, all she does in the video is gyrate in stilettos and leotards. Can someone please tell me what is groundbreaking in that (or “one of the best videos of all time,” to quote Kanye)?

This new development in Kanye’s EGO-logy suddenly renders his song Heartless as autobiographical.

Falling Rain, Dripping Thoughts

It’s Sunday and I just woke up from a rewarding sleep feeling superbly rested. I’m beginning to crave these weekend rests. I vowed to myself that I will work like a workaholic (huh?) from M-F; but weekends will be decidedly quiet and uneventful. And I’ve been successful for the past months (insert pat to the back). So quit asking me why I seem happy and glowing (it’s not about the four letter word).

The weather is halfway agreeable. The rains over the evening left everything damp and cold. But a weak sunshine is now arguing with the still-heavy clouds. I survived the entire night without the help of a fan and I remember waking up to look for a blanket. It was unusually chilly. But I like it that way.

The bed is still invitingly cold (and I don’t mean that as a metaphor) so I decided to linger some more and read. I’m a third into an Anita Shreve novel and her prose really has a hypnotic effect. The story revolves around a reunion of college friends and it made me crave to be around my long-time friends. The ones who promote no animosity even if I barely see them in years.

Last night I dreamt that I was watching a movie with my Marketing buddies and then an earthquake struck. Pandemonium ensued inside the dark theatre. Surprisingly I remained calm and nailed to my seat. Like it was part of the entire movie (was it a 4D cinema?). I don’t remember what happened next but I wonder what that meant. Ever since the July 16 and Mt. Pinatubo days of my teenage years, I’ve been a little paranoid about earthquakes. But more thrilled than fearful of it. I may be a geologist in my previous life (which explains why at such a young age I know the atlas like the back of my hand and I can identify the tectonic plates and volcanoes...geek alert!).

The problem with rains and cold weather is that the small meals I take will not last as long; I am perpetually hungry. Also, since I am on water therapy, I feel the need to pee more often. This is really inconvenient during long drives (by this time the restrooms at gas stations materialize like oasis in the desert). Plus, the rains make me deviate from water and glug down a decadent amount of coffee.

The good thing about the rains is that it showers me with inspiration. I just want to stay locked in my room and read and write. Maybe if it rains for 40 days, I can write an entire book. Well, assuming it does not lead of a flood of Noah’s proportions.



Something in the rains also makes me listen to sad music. I’ve listened to Jeff Buckley’s The Last Goodbye thrice in the last hour alone. I’ll try Sarah McLachlan’s Mary next; to see if it can amplify the gloom. (Shoutout to A: You are not allowed to say that I am again sad and tortured. Blame it on the rains and the weatherman). Methinks the rains awaken the sentimental fool in all of us. Maybe, in wearing our pains in our sleeves, we wish for the rains to wash it away. R said it is because the rain represents our tears. Hmm...makes sense (forget that rain is freshwater and tears are saline). Alphabetically speaking, pain and rain are within arm’s length.

Wait...excuse me, I need to get food again. And pee.

Pensieve #4: Memoirs of 9/11

Exactly eight years ago, we witnessed the most horrific and striking terror attack of our generation. I am a thousand miles away from New York then and now, but still the mere mention of the numbers 9/11 gives me the goosebumps from atrocious memories.



Eight years ago, I came home very late from work. Only my sister was awake and I was having a late dinner in front of the TV. Suddenly there was breaking news about the attacks on the World Trade Center. The first plane has hit the WTC. I was confused for a while; I thought it was a freak accident wherein an airplane crashed into our own World Trade Center (the one in Pasay). Then the second plane hit and I realized that it was the Twin Towers of the WTC in New York. Terror attacks.

I remember calling my sister to watch the shocking news. My dad then joined us, probably woken by our alarmed voices.

The images of the planes hitting WTC are ghastly and horrendous; like an ugly B-rate action movie gone awry. But the exact science and choreography behind the attack brings it closer to a Michael Bay film.

It felt like the advent of World War III. I can’t believe it was happening in the United States, supposedly one of the “safest” places in the world (well, I had the same sentiment during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina).

Days from September 11, 2001, mouths are still open in shock worldwide. I remember news that the devil’s face was seen amidst the smokes of the WTC. And news that this was one of Nostradamus’ predictions.



I remember this freaky circulated email asking you to type in MS Word the supposed flight number of one of the fallen airplanes (Q33 NY), then change the font size to 48 and font to wingdings. The numbers will turn to images of a plane hitting two towers and symbols of death and the star of David. This is, of course, a cross between a hoax and a coincidence (because the flight number is incorrect). But a pretty creative twist anyway.

I remember watching Michael Moore’s Oscar-winning documentary Fahrenheit 9/11. The most memorable scene was the one showing President Bush’s face, who was then reading to elementary students when told about the attacks. Yes, he resumed his reading. Mastercard moment! Priceless.

I remember people saying that the reason Mariah Carey’s Glitter CD flopped was because it was released days after September 11 and it showed the Twin Towers of the WTC in its back cover. An omen perhaps. I remember various pop artists re-recording Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On as a charity single for AIDS. But post-9/11, it became a pop battlecry against terrorism. Music does soothe.



September 11 became one of the darkest days in modern history and forever changed the global landscape in terms of the politics of terrorism. I lost count of how many people perished that day (I think it was over 3,000 people). And I refuse to understand the sick agenda being pushed by the suicide bombers. How can these people think that there is dignity in the killing of innocent lives?

I always believed in finding the beauty in the disaster. But it has been eight years and I still cannot see the sense in all this. No silver lining. No Hollywood ending. Except that somehow, America woke up from its Bush-induced slumber and embraced Obama’s offer of change.

September 11 is a grim reminder of how quickly life can change. I have never been to New York so I don’t have fond memories that are massacred by this absurd tragedy. But as human beings, tragedy is something that connects us all. Like a strand of reluctant DNA. Tragedy also has a lingering power; maybe as a way of reiterating the lessons we have to learn.

Sad to believe that in these modern times where barbarism and primitivism are ancient history, violence and terrorism are still possible options. Oh, sad human nature.

***

Because war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
Picket signs, picket lines
Don’t punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
What’s going on

The Opposite of Real-Life Fairy Tales

Truth is stranger than fiction. And in this case, LIFE has more drama than soap operas.



It’s 3AM and I woke up with a jolt. Someone is summoning damnation by shouting thunderous curses: “P.I. na buhay to...Argggh!!!” This will be followed by crashing sounds of something breaking. I thought it was a drama on AM radio. And then I realized the sounds were coming from our neighbour. By virtue of proximity of the sound, I concluded it is the neighbours at our back.

Mostly, it was the guy shouting followed by whimpery-in-anger sounds from the girl. The ruckus continued for about 20 minutes. And then total silence. Like it was only a bad dream.

By then, I was already pumped with adrenaline from the wake-up jolt and paranoia (what if they started burning their house) that I cannot go back to sleep. So I just decided to do some work. My Mom said that such fighting scenes from our backdoor neighbours were not uncommon. I’m just lucky that I’m not there often to hear their domestic squabbles.

Come nightfall, I rushed home in hopes of catching Tayong Dalawa (Yes, I’m not ashamed to say I watch this). I just parked and was about to close the gate when I saw my neighbour lingering outside. I said a quick hello but she started some chitchat. I don’t remember what we were talking about; but from out of nowhere, she burst forth with a personal crisis. Oh no.

Let’s hide her under the name Happy (Ligaya, in vernacular. For the sake of irony). Happy found out that her husband has been having a 3-year-old affair. They have been married for 30+ years and their youngest (of three) son just finished college. She discovered the illicit affair when he called her husband during a supposed “overtime” at work. Now, her children are angry with their dad and their house has become unbearable from all the underlying tension.

The plot does thicken. The other woman is the wife of a policeman. Happy has confronted the other woman and even threatened to have her privates ripped or have her killed by her very angry sons. Happy’s husband is already repentant but Happy said her trust has been permanently broken. After 30 years.

Happy even goes on to describe some details of their sex life. I wanted to scream “Stop, T.M.I.!” But I remained unruffled especially at the sight of her tears. Thankfully, she soon apologized for bothering me with her dilemma. After some kind words of wisdom that I could muster (from a singleton who has no idea about marital bliss, or lack therof), I said goodbye.

Upon entering my room, I quickly checked if I have balding head and a moustache. And if Oprah is on my speed dial. But no, I don’t look anywhere near Dr. Phil.



Who needs a soap opera when your next door neighbours are living the sudsy life? I wonder who plays Audrey. I want to meet her. And introduce myself as JR.



P.S. I don’t mean to trivialize these people’s predicament. Notice that I don’t even slam the institution called Marriage (one of my favorite debates). Truth to tell, I feel truly blessed for NOT having these problems. I think they call it single blessedness. Cheers!

My Two Knuts #2: The Last Week Before The BER Months

"My Two Knuts" is a blog series featuring snippets a.k.a watered down version of my thoughts. I made it short for those who have long-blog-deficit disorder. Hence, this may read like a Twitter feed. By the way, “knuts” are coins in our magical world.



An Inconvenient Weather

Weather has been really weird this year. Three times already that my place here in QC almost got flooded because the nearby creek overflowed (I am on the second floor but the parking is at ground level so Ash is in danger). Yesterday, I left the office at 1PM and it felt like Sahara Desert has relocated to Manila. Then suddenly at 5PM all hell broke loose, the rains pounded hard and it felt like I was in New Orleans and not Ortigas. Traffic was like the Linkin Park song. Crawling. It took me an hour longer to go home.



Penny for Your Pages

For book junkies, go visit Booksale at Waltermart Munoz. No, I don’t own stocks to that place. I’ve been there twice and I was amazed at their collection. They have the “keepers” like Harry Potter, Artemis Fowl and even unabridged versions of the classics (Dracula). I have to stop myself from purchasing an entire bookshelf. My limit is three and it was difficult decision to narrow it down. Last time I bought three hard-to-find Anita Shreve books at less than 100 pesos each (even National don't have these books). This time, I have to tear myself away from the hardbound Donald Trump book and bought comedy books for my Mom. Sniff, sniff.

Your Wrong (Sic)

John Mayer tweeted last week that most people are confused by “your” and “you’re.” I was looking at new CD releases and saw that Christian Bautista has released a greatest hits CD (no surprise coz he transferred record labels). The playlist includes Your Still You, which I assumed is his version of Josh Groban’s You’re Still You. Minus the apostrophe and the E.




More Deaths

What’s with this year? A lot of famous people are dying. Today Adam Goldstein or more popularly known as DJ AM was found dead. Reports pointed to drug overdose. The irony is that he survived a plane crash a few years back. This reminds me of the movie Final Destination.



His last tweet on Aug 25: "New york, new york. Big city of dreams, but everything in new york aint always what it seems."

Not to be insensitive but I have little sympathy for people who die from prescription drug overdose.

Organized Clutter

I can be as organized as a bee (huh?) if I wanted to. Problem is I don’t have the time. Which is a chicken-egg statement because time is something to have to organize as well. Hopefully this long weekend, I will have less clutter in my life. I’m excited to do some shopping...storage box shopping.



Thumbs Up

We used to play thumb wresting as kids. But somebody took it further:



Cold As A Ber

In a few hours it will be the –Ber months. The busiest but most fun time of the year. Woot hooh! Does this mean that we will be hearing Christmas songs sometime soon? My first Christmas wish: no political jingles to the tune of Christmas songs. And no Christmas remix of No-bah-dy no-bah-by but chu!

Please.

Quotables

Paulo Coehlo once said: Don’t try to be safe when you write. Just be honest, because truth protects you.

A famous actor said: Those people without Twitter accounts are losers.

Who am I to disagree. Wink, wink.

Pensieve #3: The I.Y.S.

Pensieve is a blog series which features short and often funny past-life captures. Dip your head into this Pensieve and revisit the murky waters of my memory.



I don’t know if the acronym means anything to you. It was a cool fad during the later part of my grade school years and lasted way into our high school years. IYS stands for International Youth Service.

Long before email and online friends, there was mail (now called snail mail) and pen pals or pen friends. I will use “pen friends” because “pen pals” is more colloquial, they are the ones you see at the back pages of comics and magazine, together with the want ads.

IYS is a paid pen friend service based in Finland. You sign a form requesting a pen friend, enumerate four possible countries (where you want your friend to come from) and pay 25 pesos (equivalent to maybe 150 pesos if you factor in inflation). A month after, you will get a name with a legit address and the rest, as they say, is juvenile international correspondence history.



I remember that to avoid the extra postal charge for sending money as payment, we will place the money between carbon papers so that the postal service will not decipher the pesos inside. And seal it with a prayer that the form and money will find its way to Finland.

There is even an IYS promo wherein if you get 10 people to sign-up (and pay), you will get a pen friend for free. Or sometimes, you will get a mail from out the blue. Meaning, IYS sent your name to someone who paid for a pen friend.

Other than books, writing to my pen friends was the hobby of my growing up years. It reached a point when I had ten pen friends at the same time, mostly from Europe. I even had two from Czechoslovakia; only because you get bragging rights for having a friend in a country most people cannot even spell. I can still remember some of their names. There is Renata Kabelkova (the correct spelling of her surname escapes me) from Czechoslovakia who sent me a photo of herself (in black and white glory) as a kid feeding a swan in a pond. There’s Liz Smith from England who will send me stick chewing gums (which I never ate, of course) in her letters and who gave me a UK calendar as a Christmas present.

Back then, we asked Santa for the possibility of our pen friend visiting the Philippines. I have ten chances for this dream to come true. A child can dream, right? I was under the impression then that anyone with blond hair and blue eyes are filthy rich.

I remember that some of my pen friend’s English are really bad. This served as my training ground for the editing jobs I will handle later in life. I also remember people saying IYS is a hoax and only a roomful of people are writing those letters. True or not, those letters became my elixir of life back then. I am getting letters almost every week and the distinctive roar of the mailman’s motorcycle infuses excitement onto the boring days of my pre-pubescent period.

Maybe one of these days, I will search for my old pen friends online and see if they still remember me. The boy from the Philippines (a country they often misspell; yes, like Czechoslovakia) who writes in almost perfect English, has nice cursive and loves to send post cards featuring beaches and mountains.

A boy who saves his allowance just to buy stationary, post cards and postage stamps. Just to be able to touch a life on the other side of the world.



Update: I tried looking photos of IYS for this blog. It was then that I discovered that IYS closed down June of 2008. Internet killed the pen-and-paper star.

The Curse Of Angels

It’s the middle of a 3-day weekend and I am lost in thought. I just finished reading The Angel’s Game, a book that took me almost two months to peruse because I want to relish and cherish every turn of the page.



A third into reading its 440 pages, I have admitted that this is one of the best books I have read. Even if parts of the epilogue were agonizing to read, I was almost sorry to reach the final page. By this time I already cared too much for the characters, like old friends, which makes parting with them (and the book) such a sweet sorrow.

For once, I cannot bring myself to write a synopsis. So many things have happened, both glorious and shameful that to squeeze it in a few words will be offensive. And the fact that the beauty of this book lies, first and foremost, in its string of words. The book is a masterpiece in a lot of ways – the plot embraces you from the first paragraph, the suspense is laid thick and smothers and the poignant parts are cruel in its emotive intensity.

Carlos Ruiz Zafon now belongs to the stratosphere of writers I look up to. His greatest talent is the way he transverses the spectrum of love and tragedy, of human spirit and weakness. He marries heaven and hell and he is adept at romanticizing despair and desensitizing pleasure so that the reader is left in a highly taunt limbo.

His prose and command of words is enviable. Like a painter who nitpicks his pantone of colors, he carefully weaves his words to create a literary pattern that is inimitable and stirring. Even the arrival of day or night becomes an occasion when subjected to his enchanting style.

My mind is numb from the thousand thoughts and emotions that this book has awakened. I’ve said before that this book hits too close to home. And I am drunk with the realization and inspiration.

Zafon said that each book has the soul of the writer and the souls of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. I submitted my soul blindingly to this book and came out enriched in the process.

I dream that one day I will be able to write a book this hauntingly unforgettable. I have come to realize that this is my only shot at immortality. I will pray to hell, if that’s what it takes.

My sincerest thanks to MB. You are the Senor Sempere to my David, and showing me this book is reminiscent of how David was shown the Lux Aeterna in the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. His life was never the same again. And so is mine.

***

I smiled bitterly, a defeated man pitifully begging a God in whom he had never trusted. I looked around at the holy site filled with nothing but ruins and ashes, emptiness and loneliness, and knew that I would go back and fetch her every night, with no more miracle or blessing than my own determination to tear her away from that infatuated doctor. I would set fire to the sanatorium rather than allow anyone to touch her again. I would take her home and die by her side. Hatred and anger would light my way.

- An excerpt from The Angel’s Game

***

The Angels’ Game is actually the sequel to The Shadow Of The Wind. I already bought the first book but somehow I cannot bring myself to read it just yet. Because the last book is still holding me in a tight embrace.