L U N G K O T . . .

Shadowlands

2007-08-28T04:46:00.001-07:00

this is my ideal love story.

i get to die first:)

mi mancherai

2007-08-24T04:43:00.001-07:00

Friday, August 24th, 7:30 p.m.
my last day at the office.

it's raining heavily outside. kape na lang ang kulang. gusto kong magnakaw ng coffee ni _____. hahahaha.

huwag na nga! bawal ang kape. pati magnakaw...

i haven't really finished packing but i suddenly felt the urge to write about everything i will miss.
my nero just played mi mancherai (i will miss you) and so...

(even if i have faaar more love for the "old" kids on the block, marami rin pala akong mami-miss. don't get me wrong. i've made good friends with some of the new kids. but for the first time in my life, i have met someone i didn't and won't dare to like. ever. i love the people downstairs. a good 98% of them have remained genuine. i admire sincerity in people. and i have so much disrespect for _______. ooops, my apologies to the female dogs.)

(uh oh. was that a huge flash of lightning i just saw? how come there was no thunder? wasn't it supposed to follow? parang bitin; may kulang. or that's probably just the way i feel.)

i am so used to relocating. one dorm after another. then i discovered the apartment. then the condo. it's not in my consciousness to eye THAT home. my psyche just does not long for it. this has become really scary, especially when on certain nights i feel as though i have already sucked every little good and happy thing an apartment or condo could give me and it is high time to move. time to grow new plants. buy new wares. get new keys. install a new PLDT landline. the only "olds" i bring are my clothes, shoes, bags, books and CDs. and myself. lately i discard even my furniture.

i just can't do it long-term.

but in this office, i have stayed a good six years.

i will miss the boss who taught me how to write a draft. to forget my adjectives. and my semi-colons. i've almost forgotten how to spot an adverb! subject-verb, subject-verb. hahahaha. he is the renaissance dream boss. and i only have very few shamelesly petty complaints. i will miss how he wants my proofreading. and how i hated to do it. hahahaha

i will miss my friends; my lunchmates. i love these people and the way they accept me, just as i am. around them i do not have to pretend that i am normal. they know that i am not and i feel no shame:) i so admire the way they handle my "topak" and hyper modes. grabe, they so know my secret: when i am awfully quiet, just ignore me. wala lang... hahahaha! most of all, i admire how genuine and humble they have remained. i have a special place in my heart for people who could handle success very, very well:)

i will miss them who know that food is my weakest weakness. only next to chinitos. (but why didn't she give me pesto today?! grrr...) i will miss them who know that they could bribe me with siopao asado. i hate bola-bola! lasang pusa 'yun eh...

i will miss the people downstairs who tell ALL sorts of tales whenever i go down for a chat. the three girls even shave my eyebrows hahaha... i will miss the old ladies who stop at nothing to give me all sorts of advice. i like it that they feel they are free to tell me anything:) my surrogate mothers...

i will miss the geeky stories i've pretended to listen to all this time. hahahaha...

i will miss the efforts at small talk. i will miss how sad it is. and how tragic it feels to sometimes have to fake something as easy as a smile.

i will miss talking about China to people who know how everything about it blows me away.

i will miss Bulgogi, Assad, Italianni's at the Mall of Asia. And of course, the President Restaurant at Binondo. I will be so far away from Ongpin:(

i will miss Taft Avenue. lalo na kung baha. i will miss watching people and how the rain slows them down.

i will miss my ordinary day: wake up at 7, prepare for work, walk to the office, drop by the chapel to say the most mundane prayers-- only to later ask for what seems to be impossible, greet the guards, hang my ID, sign the logbook, chat with the people downstairs, climb up the spiral and dump my bag at some corner in my cubicle.

i will miss, not the pile of vouchers that greet me, but the patience this task has given me. i will miss how easy it is to look for the required attachments before i sign my registered signature.

i will miss my meetings and all the chika before they are called to order, while in order and after they are adjourned.

i will miss going home to my unit on a night like this: almost everybody has left the court and the rain has just stopped. it is now past 8. and even if i have a litany of other things to say, i got to be up for breakfast with friends tomorrow. then go to lunch at chocolate kiss in UP. and later have my last dinner at my place.

i am moving to makati on sunday. i will miss the faura laidback charm.

i will miss mistaking the sparks created by those welders as dancing stars:) i live at the fourth floor of the building and from my window, i could see construction workers of high-rise buildings welding at night. while they are joining metals, they create a spectacular show against the pitch dark sky.

i will sorely miss those dancing stars:)

oh... and i think i will miss him, too. siyet. mi mancherai.

time to go. i am so excited my happiness consumes me.
i am going to a place that i hope will give me good old days to think about when my black hair has turned grey.

God, You have no idea how happy you have made me:)

Thank You.

chronicle of a death foretold

2007-08-24T04:17:00.001-07:00

your body is just your shell.

Ninoy

2007-08-21T19:31:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, August 21st. It is Ninoy's Death Anniversary once again. The devil in me is saying he didn't die; he was assassinated.

I believe in this man.

Perhaps more than I believe in Rizal. Haha. Oh well, who cares?:)

I loved it everytime he quoted Gandhi. And despised Marcos. He always did either with the signature flash of brilliance.

Then I heard this song that he wrote for Corazon while he was in jail.

Naiyak ako.
Cory is one lucky woman:)

I Have Fallen In Love

Lyrics by Ninoy Aquino
Music by Jose Mari Chan

I have fallen in love
With the same woman three times
In a day spanning nineteen years
Of tearful joys and joyful tears.

I loved her first when she was young
Enchanting and vibrant, eternally new
She was brilliant, fragrant and cool
As the morning dew.

I fell in love with her the second time
When first she bore her child and mine
Always by my side, the source of my strength
Helping to turn the tide.

But there were candles to burn
The world was my concern
While our home was her domain
And the people were mine
While the children were hers to maintain.

So it was in those eighteen years and a day
Till I was detained
Forced in prison to stay.

Suddenly she’s our sole support
Source of comfort
Our wellspring of hope
On her shoulders fell the burden of life.

I fell in love again
With the same woman the third time
Looming from the battle
Her courage will never fade.

Amidst the hardships she has remained
Undaunted and unafraid
She is calm, composed
She is God’s lovely maid.

This is What I Dreamed

2007-08-12T04:16:00.001-07:00

Hahahaha...

I never dreamed I'd find Lea's version of this song! Very few people know the cut, I guess. It's from The Little Tramp-- a musical about the life of the genius Charlie Chaplin:)

Oh man... naloloka na ako sa powers ng YouTube!

In the cool of the evening
When I was a girl
I would gaze at the wide open skies
And I'd dream of a someday
When I'd be all grown
And find me a sweet man
With lights in his eyes.

Well, I searched for that dream
Till my heart nearly broke
Till my hopes turned to hopeless and died
Until that one morning when I suddenly woke
Looked at you sleeping there and cried.

This is what I dreamed
This is what I wished for
Now all at once I see
Everything I've ever wanted
Is here with me.

Yes, this is what I dreamed
Like a miracle unfolding
Holding you near me
In this place
That sweet glow about your face
Is exactly how I pictured it would be
I swear I must be dreaming
For this is what I dreamed.

And it's everywhere around us
Every cloud in the sky
Every breeze that blows by
Honey, how could you be blind
To this sweet bliss?

Yes this is what I dreamed
And I just can't help but wonder
If under those same magic skies
You were closing your eyes
And dreaming of this moment with me
My life is wide awake now
For this is what I dreamed:)

With You

2007-08-12T04:10:00.001-07:00

This ballad is from the musical Pippin.

Once upon a time, the young prince Pippin longed to discover the secret of true happiness and fulfillment. He sought it in the glories of the battlefield, the temptations of the flesh and the intrigues of political power (after disposing of his father King Charlemagne the Great). In the end, he found it in the simple pleasures of home and family.

When I first heard With You, I thought I would have a hard time finding a BETTER love song:)

WITH YOU

My days are brighter than morning air
Evergreen pine and autumn blue
But all my days were twice as fair
If I could share
My days with you.

My nights are warmer than firecoals
Incense and stars and smoke bamboo
But nights were warm beyond compare
If I could share
My nights with you.

To dance in my dreams
To shine when I need the sun
With you
To hold me when dreams are done.

And oh, my dearest love
If you will take my love
Then all my dreams are truly begun.

And time weaves ribbons of memory
To sweeten life when youth is through
But I would need no memories there
If I could share
My life with you.

Someone Like You

2007-08-12T03:33:00.001-07:00

This is the song that goes to my head like brandy. It comes from Jekyll and Hyde-- the musical with the wicked tagline: evil has never looked this good:)

This Linda Eder version, the original, soars and hits the notes the same way the ying hits the yang.

In 2003, Lea Salonga put her take into the song and her twist, I dare say, surpassed the Linda Eder cut. By ten thousand miles:) She just can sing "and I'd feel so alive..."

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

I peer through windows
Watch life go by
Dream of tomorrow
And wonder "why"
The past is holding me
Keeping life at bay
I wander lost in yesterday
Wanting to fly
But scared to try.

But if someone like you
Found someone like me
Then suddenly
Nothing would ever be the same
My heart would take wing
And I'd feel so alive
If someone like you
Found me.

So many secrets
I've longed to share
All I have needed
Is someone there
To help me see a world
I've never seen before
A love to open every door
To set me free
So I can soar.

If someone like you
Found someone like me
Then suddenly
Nothing would ever be the same
There'd be a new way to live
A new life to love
If someone like you
Found me.

Oh, if someone like you
Found someone like me
Then suddenly
Nothing would ever be the same
My heart would take wing
And I'd feel so alive
If someone like you
Loved me.

Fields of Gold

2007-08-10T03:31:00.001-07:00

here is the hauntingly beautiful version of eva cassidy of a sting original.

she 'sung' it.

and died at 33.

Kathy's Song

2007-08-10T02:53:00.001-07:00

This is Kathy's Song:)

perfect as coffee for the rainy days

Melancholia

2007-08-03T05:43:00.000-07:00

Here are three of the saddest pictures I took on three separate journeys.
I just love looking at them while wallowing in melancholy...

Ode to the Sea

Fallen

How to let you meet me
At my most beautiful moment
For this
I've prayed to Buddha for five hundred years
So Buddha turns me into a tree
Growing by the road you are bound to take
Blooming cautiously and fluorishing under sunlight
Each blossom an expectation of my previous life
When you approach
Please listen
The trembling leaves are the passion of my waiting
But when at last you walk past unseeing
What lies scattered on the ground behind you
Is not petals
But my withered heart.

(A Blossoming Tree, Xi Mu Rong)

Mi Mancherai

2007-08-03T05:00:00.000-07:00

Kundiman

(Salin ni Jose Lacaba)

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.

Maisusulat, halimbawa: "Ang gabi'y mabituin,
at nanginginig, asul, ang mga tala sa dako pa roon."

Umiikot sa langit ang hangin ng gabi, umaawit.

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.
Siya'y inibig ko, at kung minsan ako'y inibig din niya.

Sa mga gabing tulad nito, niyakap ko siyang mahigpit
at hinagkan sa lilim ng walang-hanggang langit.

Ako'y inibig niya, kung minsan siya'y inibig ko rin.
Paanong hindi iibigin ang mga mata niyang malamlam?

Maisusulat ko ang pinakamalulungkot na tula ngayong gabi.
Isipin lang: Hindi ko siya kapiling. Nawala siya sa akin.

Dinggin ang gabing malawak, mas malawak pagkat wala siya.
At ang tula'y pumapatak sa diwa, parang hamog sa parang.

Ano ngayon kung di siya mapangalagaan ng aking pag-ibig?
Ang gabi'y mabituin, at siya'y hindi ko kapiling.

Iyon lamang. Sa malayo, may umaawit. Sa malayo.
Diwa ko'y hindi mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala.

Anyong lalapit ang paningin kong naghahanap sa kanya.
Puso'y naghahanap sa kanya, at siya'y hindi kapiling.

Ito ang dating gabing napaputi sa mga dating punongkahoy.
Tayo, na nagmula sa panahong iyon, ay di na tulad ng dati.

Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero inibig ko siyang lubos.
Tinig ko'y humalik sa hangin para dumampi sa kanyang pandinig.

Sa iba. Siya'y sa iba na. Tulad ng mga dati kong halik.
Tinig, maningning na katawan. Mga matang walang-hanggan.

Hindi ko na siya iniibig, oo, pero baka iniibig ko siya.
Napakaikli ng pag-ibig, at napakahaba ng paglimot.

Pagkat sa mga gabing tulad nito'y yakap ko siyang mahigpit,
diwa ko'y di mapalagay sa kanyang pagkawala.

Ito marahil ang huling hapding ipadarama niya sa akin,
at ito na marahil ang huling tulang iaalay ko sa kanya.

The Moment

2007-08-02T01:03:00.000-07:00

I got it.
I got in.

Said the phone call at 3:40 p.m.

A classic leap of faith.

Thank you, God, for loving me. This way. This much. You rock.

Some Guy

2007-08-01T19:51:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, August 1st. Just arrived from class. On Mondays and Wednesdays, after those three-hour lectures, I would just normally play CDs that mimic the sound of endless oceans and hit my soft pillows. But today, it’s as if there is no tired bone in my body. Even my students noticed it quite well: I, lately, am giddy and shallow and so in the mood. I must be at “it” again… And it’s not Nescafé Gold.

OK, OK. So some guy caught my eye and we have been dating for weeks. It’s just that he is the exact antithesis of everything I want. Let me count the ways… He does not have R’s Chinese look, nasal accent and perfect ten buttocks. Nor does he have R’s impeccable manners of a fine gentleman. He could not read me like a book as F effortlessly could. He does not write me letters like X’s poignantly honest mails that made me write back. He did not write my research papers in Econ as did J. Etc., etc., etc.

Let me tell you what I think of him: he’s spoiled. He may not readily admit it but he’s spoiled.

And let me tell you how he makes me feel: I do not see those “moments” that normally glaze a date. Next to him, I couldn’t taste my food. Or feel the contrasting textures of the three-layered chocolate cake in my tongue. Not even parmesan could season my pasta. At the table, jargon is usually his thing and he is quite eloquent. But when I try to recall his stories at night, I could not string his words into a rhapsody. His tales are lifeless; even his own woes are empty. He is but a reverberation of another echo. A shade cast by the iota of but another shadow.

Next to each other, we’re like a still life water color of a late afternoon… a poem poorly written… verses out of rhythm, couplets out of rhyme, in syncopated time...

So you see, a few days ago, I issued my own permanent injunction enjoining no other than myself from going out with this gruesome man. Yet here I am writing about him. With a stupid grin on my face.

Oh, it’s so predictable from here…

THE DANGLING CONVERSATION

It's a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

And you read your Emily Dickinson,
And I my Robert Frost,
And we note our place with book markers
That measure what we've lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room has softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

- Paul Simon

and still we do it

2007-06-08T04:19:00.000-07:00

Friday, June 8th. Today, I did something I've told myself, promised myself, hundreds of times, would never do -- talk to him again. And still I did it. Against my better judgment, my family's expectation, the inferiority of his birth, my rank and circumstance, hahahaha...

Thorn Birds...

Long ago, there was a bird who sang just once in its life.
From the moment it left its nest, it searched for a thorn tree.
And it never rested until it found one.

Then it began to sing more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.

And singing, it impaled its breast on the longest, sharpest thorn.
But as it was dying, it rose above its own agony to out-sing the lark and the nightingale.

The thorn bird pays its life for that one song and the whole world

stills to listen

and God, in His heaven ~ smiles.

As its best was bought only at the cost of great pain.
Driven to the thorn, with no knowledge of the dying to come.

But when we press the thorn to our breast, we know.
We understand.
And still we do it.
Still we do it.

kikiam

2007-06-03T18:34:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 2nd. After a day of painting walls at BASECO, Master and I headed to my second favorite place in the city -- Binondo. Of course:)

We took the usual route: stopped right in front of the church with the octagonal dome and headed towards the most delectable street on earth -- Ongpin. We prayed for some minutes inside this church that seemed like a fusion of Christian and Buddhist worship. Then we proceeded and gulped our halo-halo before we lazily strolled down those streets that were my "playground" for almost six years.

What made this walk memorable was the store that sells bicho-bicho, kikiam and pumpkin cakes at the corner of the street to the left of Ongpin. Benavidez ba yun? There works Jayson-- a chinoy doing his usual salestalk. He spoke Tagalog with that nasal Chinese accent that never fails to blow me away. I was so laughing 'cause he did not actually need to persuade me at all. Accent pa lang niya bibili na ako eh. But he construed my loud bursts as expressions of doubt. So he talked and talked about the bicho-bicho even more.

Master was eventually persuaded to buy, so I also purchased one pack of kikiam and two pieces of bicho-bicho. While he was cutting the bicho-bicho, he said he'd let us try it for us to see right there and then that it tasted really good. He handed me a piece which I instantly dropped because it was too hot. Bagong luto. Then he said, in THAT accent: sabi ko sa 'yo mainit eh, subuan na lang kita. Ooops. My world stopped. Game siya, ha. Hikhikhik. Time started rolling again and I said: Naku, pag sinubuan mo ako, mas mainit 'yun. Hahahaha! Everyone, even the cooks, roared with laughter. Jayson's sister was furious as her brother was no longer tending to the kikiam, the siomai, the siopao, etc. Master could not believe I could muster to say something like that. But for me, oh well, that was just natural. Whenever I am in a place like this, it takes so little to make me happy. Or to make me flirt. LOL. Hikhikhik.

That was really fun. Not even the bestselling eel dish at President could make me forget. The bicho-bicho. Of course:)

The following day, Sunday, the Pistons lost to the Cavs. Billups quite said it all. It makes you mad when you are beaten not by a better team, but by a team that just played better than your team for THAT week. The loss was a shock to all of us Detroit fans. The game was so close for the first three quarters. But eight minutes into the fourth, Cavs' Gibson sank those three-point shots that sealed their victory and made the Pistons, in Eric's words, run out of steam. The moment I began to smell defeat, I rushed to my fridge to heat the kikiam, micro-grilled all three pieces and sliced and dunked them into a big bowl.

I withstood watching with the bowl on my lap. Up to the sound of the final buzzer. Scared that it would probably be the last time I saw those boys together on the floor again: Flip, Sheed, Chauncey, Rip, Tay, et al.

Then I started eating. My heart was still. And I couldn't taste the kikiam.

Kathy's Song

2007-06-01T04:05:00.000-07:00

Well, for an easy start, I am posting what I think is Paul Simon's most beautiful love song:)

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day.

And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme.

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.