Time it was and what a time it was it was,
A time of innocence, a time of confidences.
Long ago it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.
-- Simon and Garfunkel
(Included in the OST of the funny, quirky, heart-wrenching 500 Days of Summer)
[To no one in particular.] Hahahahaha.###
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Star
It was actually our barrio fiesta yesterday but I did not invite anyone over because we did not prepare any food except for our consumption.
But Star heard that it was fiesta and he invited himself over. Luckily, he came from another party so I asked him to eat before going to our house.
I haven’t seen him in a year, he works as a photographer on a cruise ship and I think he goes home once a year. Last time, we watched The Dawn perform at Trinoma. This time, I asked him to bring his camera so we can shoot some.
Then he whisked me away on his motorcycle at 3 in the afternoon. I told him I’m not used to motorcycle rides, I’m afraid of them, actually, but it did not matter. We travelled up north and we stopped for a lake, and a view of the mountains. I was telling him sana ginawa natin ‘to nung medyo bata pa tayo. Ang init eh, di ko kaya. So after two location shoots, and three bottles of Sprite, we drove back home.
I used to fancy him, Star. I even wrote an acrostic of his name. “Rocked in the cradle of stars in the night, Occasional meteor flickering in sight,” it reads. I used to sing “Addict sa ‘yo” to him and I once heard him singing Bilanggo, sa rehas na gawa ng puso mo and it quickly became my favorite.
And whenever I see him, I remember my younger self singing, Kahit na magkaanak kayo’t magkatuluyan balang araw, hahanap-hanapin ka, hahanap-hanapin ka.”###
But Star heard that it was fiesta and he invited himself over. Luckily, he came from another party so I asked him to eat before going to our house.
I haven’t seen him in a year, he works as a photographer on a cruise ship and I think he goes home once a year. Last time, we watched The Dawn perform at Trinoma. This time, I asked him to bring his camera so we can shoot some.
Then he whisked me away on his motorcycle at 3 in the afternoon. I told him I’m not used to motorcycle rides, I’m afraid of them, actually, but it did not matter. We travelled up north and we stopped for a lake, and a view of the mountains. I was telling him sana ginawa natin ‘to nung medyo bata pa tayo. Ang init eh, di ko kaya. So after two location shoots, and three bottles of Sprite, we drove back home.
I used to fancy him, Star. I even wrote an acrostic of his name. “Rocked in the cradle of stars in the night, Occasional meteor flickering in sight,” it reads. I used to sing “Addict sa ‘yo” to him and I once heard him singing Bilanggo, sa rehas na gawa ng puso mo and it quickly became my favorite.
And whenever I see him, I remember my younger self singing, Kahit na magkaanak kayo’t magkatuluyan balang araw, hahanap-hanapin ka, hahanap-hanapin ka.”###
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Virgin Suicides
I have been looking for a copy of this book for a really long time, hoping to stumble upon it on one of my thrift jaunts. I never did. I found a DVD of the movie, though, in a treasure island of a bookstore in Shopping Center. I did not know there was a movie based on the novel, and by Sofia Coppola at that. I liked the movie so much so that I wanted to applaud when it was over.
When I saw the book in National Bookstore in Bulacan, I said, sige na nga even though it costs a hefty Php525.
The problem with movie-novel tie-ins is that one is denied the chance and the sheer pleasure of not knowing how things would go, and of imagining how things are being played out. I kept having visions of Kirsten Dunst, who played Lux Lisbon in the movie, copulating on the roof of their house, or a young Josh Hartnett sauntering the hallways of their school amidst swooning girls as I read the book.
I knew I would finish the book in a few easy gulps, and I did. I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night, hooked on the last pages.
I enjoyed the book thoroughly. It provided a fresh take on death, change, suicide, life and love, seen from the eyes of adolescent boys who were haunted by the memories of the Lisbon girls even as the former approach middle age. In an effort to understand why the Lisbon girls killed themselves, they probed, tracked down old classmates, teachers, acquaintances, doctors, anyone who can provide an insight on what the Lisbon girls were probably thinking or feeling. They collected pieces of evidence they labeled as exhibits. Every little thing said and done by the Lisbon girls were scrutinized in various lights to provide the slightest clue on why they ended their lives.
I want to say big words about the novel, that it is sentimental without being mushy, humorous despite being tragic, and most times funny. I chuckled at what the boys said, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or tell each other how pretty we were.These have been said about the novel in the first few leaves. Reviewers say the book is arresting, elegant and quirky, funny and touching, wistful, gloomy and chillingly funny at once, piercing, rhapsodic, extraordinary, tantalizing, remarkable, black and glittering, compelling, lyrical and darkly humorous, brassy and laden with irony and I cannot think of other adjectives to describe the novel.
The book was seamless from start to finish, the voice consistent – adulating, pining, wondering. Towards the end, the book started to feel like Michael Cunningham's The Hours: pulsating with life amidst the suicides, thriving, hopeful, the words describing the mundane so beautiful. However,one paragraph near the end disappointed me, because the voice faltered and sang a different tune, like a statement at the end of a movie glorifying thieves that the thieves were caught anyway, or an apology at the end of a soft porn.
It said:
Here, the tone dropped all adulation and wistfulness and desire and abruptly turned judgmental and accusatory. Would it have been better to cut that summation out of the novel? I don’t know.
Lastly, the ending summing up all the frustration the boys, now men, must have felt, made up for it and made me want to applaud again.
When I saw the book in National Bookstore in Bulacan, I said, sige na nga even though it costs a hefty Php525.
The problem with movie-novel tie-ins is that one is denied the chance and the sheer pleasure of not knowing how things would go, and of imagining how things are being played out. I kept having visions of Kirsten Dunst, who played Lux Lisbon in the movie, copulating on the roof of their house, or a young Josh Hartnett sauntering the hallways of their school amidst swooning girls as I read the book.
I knew I would finish the book in a few easy gulps, and I did. I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night, hooked on the last pages.
I enjoyed the book thoroughly. It provided a fresh take on death, change, suicide, life and love, seen from the eyes of adolescent boys who were haunted by the memories of the Lisbon girls even as the former approach middle age. In an effort to understand why the Lisbon girls killed themselves, they probed, tracked down old classmates, teachers, acquaintances, doctors, anyone who can provide an insight on what the Lisbon girls were probably thinking or feeling. They collected pieces of evidence they labeled as exhibits. Every little thing said and done by the Lisbon girls were scrutinized in various lights to provide the slightest clue on why they ended their lives.
I want to say big words about the novel, that it is sentimental without being mushy, humorous despite being tragic, and most times funny. I chuckled at what the boys said, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or tell each other how pretty we were.These have been said about the novel in the first few leaves. Reviewers say the book is arresting, elegant and quirky, funny and touching, wistful, gloomy and chillingly funny at once, piercing, rhapsodic, extraordinary, tantalizing, remarkable, black and glittering, compelling, lyrical and darkly humorous, brassy and laden with irony and I cannot think of other adjectives to describe the novel.
The book was seamless from start to finish, the voice consistent – adulating, pining, wondering. Towards the end, the book started to feel like Michael Cunningham's The Hours: pulsating with life amidst the suicides, thriving, hopeful, the words describing the mundane so beautiful. However,one paragraph near the end disappointed me, because the voice faltered and sang a different tune, like a statement at the end of a movie glorifying thieves that the thieves were caught anyway, or an apology at the end of a soft porn.
It said:
“The essence of the suicides consisted not of sadness or mystery but simple selfishness. The girls took into their own hands decisions better left to God. They became too powerful to live among us, too self-centered, too visionary, too blind.”
Here, the tone dropped all adulation and wistfulness and desire and abruptly turned judgmental and accusatory. Would it have been better to cut that summation out of the novel? I don’t know.
Lastly, the ending summing up all the frustration the boys, now men, must have felt, made up for it and made me want to applaud again.
“It didn’t matter in the end how old they have been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn’t heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house, with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.”###
Sunday, April 25, 2010
My Best Friends' Wedding
No, this is not about Julia Roberts’s hit movie. This is about Eric and Gladys saying they do.
On 24 April 2010, my best friends Gladys and Eric tied the knot at the picturesque Magallanes Church, visible along South Superhighway. Reception was at Blue Leaf in The Fort.
Crazy Me
I was not privy to how the church and venue were chosen. I actually learned bits and snatches about their wedding preparation through Flickr, through photos Eric had posted.
There was a time I seriously thought I would not be invited to the wedding. I also knew I’ve blown my chance to be the maid of honor.
You see, I had been a difficult person starting 2008, when my mother died. I mean, I’m okay most days, not much topak than usual, but when she died, I seemed to have morphed into a monster. I would raise hell on the slightest provocation, sometimes, even without provocation, and without regard for people’s feelings. I waged war with whoever was on the warpath; close relationships were the casualties. Gladys, being my closest girl friend, probably suffered more of these kabaliwan than most.
I fought with her, hurled accusations her way, threw one hurtful word after another. On lucid intervals, I would apologize, only to repeat the pattern the next day. We would not talk for days, and when we did, I would find something bad to say again. There came a point that she was afraid of replying to my text messages for fear that I would become angry again.
Eric to the rescue
For the love of Gladys, Eric told me to just text him whenever I feel like making-kulit or making-away because Gladys has had enough of my crazies and so that we won’t fight anymore. One time, he also asked if I wanted to drown my sorrows in alcohol because Gladys cannot be in Quezon City at that time. I would text him late at night or in the wee hours of the morning about mga kaweirduhan. And he didn’t complain, or at least, not to me, haha!
Seriously, these two rescued me from the hell I was digging for myself. It’s a good thing they asked me not to tell stories about them, because then, I would have told everyone how theirs is a love that they did not keep to themselves but one that they shared to others, to me. That I am eternally grateful for the love they have given me, especially during the time I did not deserve anyone’s love. And how, some days, when I’m with them in their CRV, I would rehearse my speech, and how I would become teary-eyed knowing I’m with two people I love, I’m with my family. But then I would have made the speech about me, and that would not have been a good thing.
And so I look at my souvenir photo with Gladys and Eric, and I feel happy, blessed, thankful that after all that they have been through, they are still together. And I know that their love is stronger than any storm, any problem, anything that will come their way.
So here’s to Eric and Gladys – raise your glasses, folks – and here’s to love. ###
On 24 April 2010, my best friends Gladys and Eric tied the knot at the picturesque Magallanes Church, visible along South Superhighway. Reception was at Blue Leaf in The Fort.
Crazy Me
I was not privy to how the church and venue were chosen. I actually learned bits and snatches about their wedding preparation through Flickr, through photos Eric had posted.
There was a time I seriously thought I would not be invited to the wedding. I also knew I’ve blown my chance to be the maid of honor.
You see, I had been a difficult person starting 2008, when my mother died. I mean, I’m okay most days, not much topak than usual, but when she died, I seemed to have morphed into a monster. I would raise hell on the slightest provocation, sometimes, even without provocation, and without regard for people’s feelings. I waged war with whoever was on the warpath; close relationships were the casualties. Gladys, being my closest girl friend, probably suffered more of these kabaliwan than most.
I fought with her, hurled accusations her way, threw one hurtful word after another. On lucid intervals, I would apologize, only to repeat the pattern the next day. We would not talk for days, and when we did, I would find something bad to say again. There came a point that she was afraid of replying to my text messages for fear that I would become angry again.
Eric to the rescue
For the love of Gladys, Eric told me to just text him whenever I feel like making-kulit or making-away because Gladys has had enough of my crazies and so that we won’t fight anymore. One time, he also asked if I wanted to drown my sorrows in alcohol because Gladys cannot be in Quezon City at that time. I would text him late at night or in the wee hours of the morning about mga kaweirduhan. And he didn’t complain, or at least, not to me, haha!
Seriously, these two rescued me from the hell I was digging for myself. It’s a good thing they asked me not to tell stories about them, because then, I would have told everyone how theirs is a love that they did not keep to themselves but one that they shared to others, to me. That I am eternally grateful for the love they have given me, especially during the time I did not deserve anyone’s love. And how, some days, when I’m with them in their CRV, I would rehearse my speech, and how I would become teary-eyed knowing I’m with two people I love, I’m with my family. But then I would have made the speech about me, and that would not have been a good thing.
And so I look at my souvenir photo with Gladys and Eric, and I feel happy, blessed, thankful that after all that they have been through, they are still together. And I know that their love is stronger than any storm, any problem, anything that will come their way.
So here’s to Eric and Gladys – raise your glasses, folks – and here’s to love. ###
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Free fall
It is quite funny, when you think about it.
But when it happened, I am telling you, it was not.
One second I was singing “…now I’m falling asleep and she’s calling a cab while he’s having a smoke and she’s taking a drag…”, the next thing I know, I was falling down the stairs. I haven’t fallen in a really really long time, because falling down the stairs was what happened when we were much younger and we still have our old wooden stairs in the house. That was, like, eons ago.
And there I was, falling freely, flat on my butt, my hips hitting the step. I must have fallen, what, three, four steps? And then I felt like cold water was poured on me and I cannot really open my eyes. I walked to the van and just sat there and closed my eyes. I cannot speak. I felt cold all over. It was freaking hot in the afternoon, and I felt the urge, first, to shiver, then, to vomit. I was thinking, did I slip? Were my slippers slippery? Did I black-out? But I do remember I was singing, and then I was flying. Mader was asking where it hurts but I cannot speak because it seems that my whole system was in shock. They got scared, too, that I was so pale after. After a while, I felt blood running through my blood vessels again and I began to sweat profusely. Then I checked if I still know who I was and I am there and who are the people around me.
Ako pa naman na sabi ng Tita ko eh malakas lang ng konti sa tikling.
So I say, good luck tomorrow. Sana makabangon ako. ###
But when it happened, I am telling you, it was not.
One second I was singing “…now I’m falling asleep and she’s calling a cab while he’s having a smoke and she’s taking a drag…”, the next thing I know, I was falling down the stairs. I haven’t fallen in a really really long time, because falling down the stairs was what happened when we were much younger and we still have our old wooden stairs in the house. That was, like, eons ago.
And there I was, falling freely, flat on my butt, my hips hitting the step. I must have fallen, what, three, four steps? And then I felt like cold water was poured on me and I cannot really open my eyes. I walked to the van and just sat there and closed my eyes. I cannot speak. I felt cold all over. It was freaking hot in the afternoon, and I felt the urge, first, to shiver, then, to vomit. I was thinking, did I slip? Were my slippers slippery? Did I black-out? But I do remember I was singing, and then I was flying. Mader was asking where it hurts but I cannot speak because it seems that my whole system was in shock. They got scared, too, that I was so pale after. After a while, I felt blood running through my blood vessels again and I began to sweat profusely. Then I checked if I still know who I was and I am there and who are the people around me.
Ako pa naman na sabi ng Tita ko eh malakas lang ng konti sa tikling.
So I say, good luck tomorrow. Sana makabangon ako. ###
Monday, April 12, 2010
Cram
I have ambivalent feelings about my last day in Thailand. This was our third day, and we still have a lot to do. Kasi naman yung mga Red Shirt members eh. Of all days naman kasi.
Since it is my first time in Bangkok, they decided that I need to see some temples. We rode a boat to the Grand Palace.
We saw the Reclining Buddha and the Grand Palace. Entrance to the Palace costs 350 baht. A Thai police spoke to me in Thai, and when I did not respond, he asked, this time in halting English, “Where are you from?” I said I am from the Philippines, and he exclaimed, “Oh, I thought you were Thai, it is free for Thai.” I told my companion, uy free daw for Thai. Akala niya Thai ako. So she got my camera and instructed me to use the entrance for Thai, haha. I bowed a little and covered my head with my pashmina. The police officer on the other end let me pass through. Taghirap eh. Sayang din yung 350 baht, bakit ba. :D
Actually, I did not know whether to take photos of myself in temples, so it would look like I am in Thailand, or if I would take photos of details, so many of them, or of people, or whether to shop. Ngarag! And we haven't been to Chatuchak yet!###
Monday, April 5, 2010
Walking the City, Thai style
We were still suffering from jet lag, what with the one hour difference between Manila time and Bangkok time. (Shempre char lang na may jet lag.)
When we first arrived at the hotel, we were laughing at its location. Alvin's press release was that it was in an up-and-coming neighborhood near the market, we didn't realize he meant market literally, as in wet market.
We were already up by 8 in the morning. We partook of the complimentary buffet breakfast. In fairness! Ang sarap! we overloaded on their croissant. Then after contributing to the cause of the Red Shirt Movement (hahaha!), we headed out. We did not know the extent of the day's rallies so we decided to avoid major roads and tourist destinations. We enjoyed a very long lunch at a restaurant that I forgot to take note of because I was so hungry, but we had a hearty feast of authentic Thai food.
We had coffee at Au Bon Pain where Elaine lost her sim card. We just lounged around - they were not up to doing anything "touristy" - so I had to make do with walking a few blocks away from the coffee shop and back, while thinking all the while eh ginagawa ko naman to sa Maynila ah!
While waiting for them to have their massages finished, I walked a bit more.
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