sushi

i've known him since 1991. i was in college, he was in high school. we were both part of the new parish choir that would sing at 6 am. then, i didn't know he existed and he thought i was one of the unreachable and arrogant oldies of the group. i was the "in via" musical director, not my official title but my de facto job. he was one of the best singers. i noticed this 7 months after the choir's conception. we were rehearsing for caroling and a christmas presentation, and i was trying to teach the men the scale of notes leading towards a diminished harmony in (eudy's version of) "pasko na, sinta ko". only he got it on the first try. that got my attention immediately. after that, i wondered why i had never noticed him before. he was unassuming, so much so he almost appeared drab and mousy. but that was just his style. he liked to recede and let others shine. with his intelligence, he helped friends discover their strengths and shine on their own.

he's an amazing writer, and despite the 5 year gap between us, i could see his talent. he did come from a family of writers, so that should not have surprised me. i suppose i was more awed than surprised. he was so young, but he wrote from a wellspring of such depth that could only speak of a life filled with pain.

how i loved him. love is so short, forgetting, too long. (neruda) my boyfriends were wary of him but could not deny the inexplicable bond between us. even now, in spite of the vast distance between us, i know that he will be with me always. when it dawned on him that i was really going to marry S, he went ballistic. all the years before that decision, he had been the man in my life, even when i had a boyfriend. he was the only man i begged to marry me, and the only man to tell me, "i'm sorry, i don't love you enough." the only time he knew he was losing me for good was when he saw me break off my engagement to his friend so i could be with S.

he stood as a secondary sponsor at my wedding, and absolutely refused to become my "man of honour". i felt that he knew me best in the world, even more than any woman, so i insisted that he be my 'man of honour'. think of all the rumours that would fly, he implored me after one of my tantrums, hoping to sway him in his resolve. i relented. i knew that in spirit, he would be the man of the hour, taking care of the tiny details that only a best friend can. and he did. of course he did. i never doubted he would come through for me. ever.

even if he is perenially tardy. i've lost more hair than i can count and ground more teeth to cavity hell to remember if he was ever on time for significant events. i might as well scratch my way to the grave before i can come up with any clear memory of his being punctual. now that's one for the books!!! but it really doesn't matter that he is always late. because he has never abandoned me. i can never once recall an instance of him turning his back on me, of him throwing in the towel. in spite of our bitter quarrels... the painful words hurled at each other... the hurtful invectives. through the torrent of my meanness he has emerged, quick to forgive, always willing to give.

i'm his only best friend. as he will be mine. until the day we die.

where is he now? halfway around the world, encrypting programs for an american software giant. i feel his absence like a breath held too long. after good friday, black saturday, and easter sunday, i realise i will never have another friend like him. i might run after all the elusive friendships here in europe, but his will hold me up when i have no one to talk to. he is the only one who can make me burst into tears through yahoo chat and the only person who can finish my every thought and feel my every pain. we share silence like an old blanket on a rainy night or a mug of hot chocolate in the wee small hours of the morning.

i miss you, sushi. if you only knew how much. don't you ever forget that i'm here for you. you can yell my head off... but not without me clawing back, of course. :)

parameters

more than a year in belgium already and the clock never stops ticking. am used to the language (tho i do not know it yet --- not fluently, at least), the way people look. even the way people behave around asians. they do think that anyone asian is chinese. (that kind of ignorance i am learning to ignore)

snow is really something. it sends mikka into dizzying spirals of joy. it cuts my years in half. and that of S's, too. at night, it fills the air with magic. i keep reminding myself to savour these precious moments. pag-uwi ko sa atin, wala na 'to. sa ngayon, di ko na-mi-miss ang init, usok at pawis. not yet. i haven't gotten sick enough times to yearn for warmer climes. the time will come, i know. it's just a speck on the window sill for now. years from now, when mikka's old enough to understand the value of reminiscing, i want to tell him, "one time, you, papa, and i were walking through the streets in the evening. and we danced through snow! it fell from the sky like giant cotton balls. your eyes were slits and your laughter echoed off the wet stones of that old city. you were so happy. our hearts were jumping that night."

and then i have perennial fears. of bullies, and bloody accidents, and meanness all around. i keep thinking that if i could spare my son my life, i would. but then again, that's how i learned to be stronger. i wouldn't be who i am today without all those slips and falls. but if my son could be as wise as i am now without having to fall the way i did, i would sleep more easily in the nights and years before me. ngayon pa nga lang, uneasy na ako e. oh well. only time will tell what shall betide us all.

little mountain

with beatles playing in the background, my son snoring lightly on our bed and the temperature taking us below zero... that pile of laundry could sure give me some needed warmth. i just have to fold the stuff, anyway.

after a draining saturday night, i'm not sure i want to do anything. how is it that you can pour yourself into these affairs and hope to be charged no matter what, only to end up feeling helplessly low and out?

i've finished snooping into the lives of others via their blogs. something's brewing over in justice's world, so soon after her idyllic honeymoon. i feel for the woman. talk about beleaguered!

if i could climb every mountain and search every byway, i would be a much better homemaker and disciplined student. in every aspect. back in the mists of my memory is a blind masseuse who sees into people's souls with her deft fingers. i can still remember her neatly tied hair and soft voice telling me about how her baby was killed while she was cooking. she did not see her older child push the infant to its death. (duh, bulag nga diba? ay anovayan svelte...) and how her womanising husband left her when he found out, and not without blaming her first for their child's death. in her last massages was a deep and scalding sadness that lingered on my limbs long after the oils had settled into my skin.

it's one of those unmoving sundays. if i stepped out into this sub-zero weather, the mind will freeze over. how the sun doth mock us in these times. if i moved forward into the next days, will something new happen in this life? or will it be this same dread with the tiny claws that cling to the recesses of my molars?

but if i can just scale this mountain of laundry, maybe, just maybe, things will look up.

mix-up

this is strange. i do not characteristically blog what i'm about to blog in this space; on the other hand, i just put up a rather.... "night-y" entry in jumba day. so things are pretty much screwed up today.

but i've ignored these pages for more than 2 weeks. actually, not. i put in an entry 3 days ago but it stayed for all of 2 hours before i made it private and published it in another (more private and personal) space. still internet, of course, but with very high restrictions on access.

i feel winter more acutely now. it wasn't this cold last month, and compared to last year, this month's (feb) cold beats last year's cold. or maybe i didn't notice because i was just burrowing in the flat last year, being newly-arrived and all that. not used to the latitudes, looking ugly, skin drying up, hair shedding like crazy... the entire gamut.

anyhow, i just came from a book sale and i had fun. not total mental fun because i avoided the literature section completely. instead, i concentrated on the kiddie section and the music/film section. i got some titles of calvin & hobbes (in memory of ronald, may he rest in peace), i myself mine by george harrison (interested mainly in his notes about song creation and chord progression), some musicology genre books (jazz, blues, and celtic), and art "kunst" books that seemed frightfully cheap for a museum-looking book. but i went crazy over the activity books for mikka, the multi-media approach incorporated in them (with hand puppets and stickers and crayons and little pouches and pop ups), plus cheap toys for his little fingers and ever expanding mind. i'm sure he'll love the train set we got him (wooden pieces for the track plus wooden trains too) and the bob the builder kit. totally hawt, man! can't wait til april to give the stuff to mikka. he'll be thrilled!

but what am i babbling about? that was pure recreation. i stayed home from dutch class for the third time this week. i have 6 hours of work to catch up on next week!!!

went to hanau last weekend. i didn't get to see much of the outdoors saturday, when the party of cheH's S took place, hoping to do it on sunday morning before we caught the train back to belgium. but as luck would have it, i twisted my ankle on the giant slide!!! so with my foot aching like hell the following morning, i could only watch mournfully as husband and son donned their winter coats and went traipsing in the snow with U, cheH's husband. it was a riot. i met ruth, anP, cheH, jing, thess, elaine, and justice. we spent more time sitting around cheH's dining room table, yakking off our heads, than on our feet. we were feeling each other out, measuring, weighing... and boy, in our unguarded moments, pigging out on the yummy spread before us!!! maybe that would be the star of the show, or the starS, i might say. check this out: thai salad (piping hot and spicy, the way it should be), barbecue with sate sauce, paksiw na isda with aubergines (ano raw? talong lang yon), embotido, lumpia (both nights!!), lots and lots of wine (red and white) and german pale pilsen beer (only 4.5%, a far cry from our now-normal beer of 8.5%). the scene stealer? thess' killer dessert!!! fit for fancy dining and the works.

this will be cut short. the memory of all those delectable delights is making my tummy churn. signing off to raid the cupboards... end.

gifted

when i was in 8th grade, the fashionable shoes were topsiders and penny loafers. pro keds were everywhere; for me, the more used they were, the better they were. i took pains to break in my espadrilles. there were also the requisite argyles that said, i'm cool just cool.

i've only a little over a hour left to this birthday of mine. no friends of old to knock on our gate and drink the night away, or text messages coming in every minute, enticing me to max out my post-paid bills, no isaw pulutan, no raucous jokes, no oohing over the forever-great weather this time of year.

today it was all espadrilles and keds. like slip-on cotton in the innermost room. patches of sun even came out and kissed my back, to which my man remarked, "look, god's embracing you." it was a nice walk home feeling his arm holding me close against his side, that insinuating hand sliding over my buttocks, contented and secretive smiles lingering in the air. i've found the time to wear out my cross trainers and outdoor shoes. they almost look like the sperry's i had for more than 8 years, which i gave up only because they were passe. what will i outgrow when i go back home in 2008? we'll see.

1115 pm. 45 minutes left. thank you, lord. this life's been fab thus far. easy and comfy. just the way i like it.

powerless

i have this strange dream sequence. i like how the word 'strange' rolls on my tongue; it adds to the disjointed sensation i get when i listen to sigma by secret garden. it's a scene straight out of "gladiator", sans the warrior hordes of the invading roman centurions. fields of wheat stretch for miles, blown by a gentle, omnipresent breeze. the sun is in my eyes, low in the western sky. as the violin scuds to the top of the melodic line, i raise both my arms above my head, palms pressed together. then i part the clouds swiftly in a downward arc as my knee rises slowly towards the center of my body. i row down a stream and as my hands glide back towards the sky, it lingers at my waist. in the next instant, my right hand sweeps across my body and draws the bokken tied to my left hip. i feel the wooden blade flat against my left palm before resting it against my forehead, the curve of my arms shielding my eyes from the sun's glare as i gaze at sempai before me. katas move slowly across my mind, swirling between us, making mincemeat of time that will not stop its steady march. in his eyes lie years of gentleness hidden behind a mask of steeliness. of course i must kill him, as he will me. in the deadly dance that follows, life is fragile, leaping off the tips of our swords, breathing frenziedly between the neck and the blade before it is parried and we jump away from each other, breathing raggedly, continuing the kata that must lead to the only resolution: death.

the hakama's pleats brush against my legs as i twist under his sword's lethal swings. my toes dig into the earth as i pause, the penultimate moment. then my left knee shoots forward, right leg behind me extended, my sword held gently, but surely, in a final slash across his jugular and heart. the only echo resounds off the distant hills: "hhhhaaaaaaiiiii....!!" 1 - 2 -3 seconds. his blood runs down into the valley. then i push off the balls of my feet and stand against the setting sun. our silhoeuttes are still, gi flapping around our bodies. then we touch the hilt of our swords and bow slightly to each other.

why not

long time ago, i wrote in my other blog that the "high life" was not for me. i was saying this in connection with having met my husband through teaching theology at university.

reading over this 'those-were-the-days' blog entry, there was so much i wanted to show, so much i wanted to establish in this cyberworld. i shan't link to it because i don't want those kinds of details occupying the foreground of your reading mind. i like this present set-up where you deal with my ideas without having to wonder where i'm from or what i do in this lifetime. (although i'm sure that we all want to do some exegesis of the person, know his context so we can better appreciate the story)

anyhow, i've always taken for granted the fact that i'm not cut out for the inner-lane existence, the yuppie life, the fast-track career. i used to think i was. i butted my head applying for some high-profile jobs in the past. there must have been a reason then for my turning down some offers and for getting rejected by some, too. i did have a two-year stint with a telecommunications company after my volunteer year. i remembered thinking, "i want to feel money in my hand. money that doesn't disappear the minute i get it."

sure, i had fun driving around on my own gas (literally), buying things i fancied, going to parties here and there... but it didn't seem to be enough. i was bored. i needed something more. i just didn't know what. so in my 2nd year in the corporate world, i started my MA. my boss then thought i was doing an MBA. when he found out i was doing an arts degree, he exclaimed, "what the hell will you do with that???" i must have killed him in my mind with a thousand flying daggers, but i also must have forgiven him for his jack-ass comment. of course he was in that silly thought-box that said, "if you want to make it big, you'll get an MBA." all i could hear in my head was this retort: "that's a load of horse-shit. why the hell would i want to be stuck with a boring MBA? hellow..." i mean, the corporate was boring me to tears and he wanted me to get an MBA? i'd be like a dog chasing his tail, nowhere near any answer. or satisfaction. i must have come into the realisation somewhere down the road that it wasn't so much that i wasn't getting enough; it was that i wasn't doing what was right. it wasn't so much a matter of things i hadn't yet done, but of doing things the proper way.

i know that after 8 years of teaching english, i feel burned out. my colleagues don't think much of me in this field; i can't do anything inspiring to prove to myself (or to them) that they're wrong. i consider this belgium stint a hiatus to recoup. i am trying to reaffirm what my strengths are and what i can realistically accomplish and for what i can aspire. i've recently discerned that in spite of my being burned out with teaching english to spoiled (read: rich and materialistic) college students, i still want to teach. there will be silly students, those who just want to get the latest cell phone or buy the latest fashionable things, but sometimes, they may just be mirroring my own silly ideas of what youth should be like. i mean, that's what being young is for, right? to make silly decisions and act in silly ways. sometimes, i think, i may have forgotten that i had been young once. with silly concerns. when this strikes, i realise that maybe those atenistas in my classroom weren't so bad after all. and that's when i just miss the whole teaching enterprise. i don't even have to teach english anymore (although i would still consider teaching english language and poetry, given the chance). if i'm to be happy in it, it would be music.

but i never miss being an up-and-coming corporate lackey. i just don't. i'm just not cut out for the daily grind. working fixed hours. pouring out my talents for profit.

i'm the kind of person who needs a job to fund my dreams. the pay is incidental; what is central is enjoying what i do. i get becky bloomwood moments, especially during sales. i yearn for tons of money if only to be able to buy cool sports wear or those boots i've been eyeing for months, or this nifty turtleneck that would look good against that new coat i got a few weeks ago... but these moments are like pebbles skittering across the tops of waves. once the urge passes, it's gone. until the next stimulus. until the next covetuous moment.

and having said all that, i hope to have come closer to asserting why... not.

language bind

i think in english. lately, i wish i could think in my real mother tongue. not in those major languages like french, german, spanish, or chinese. my own tongue. sometimes one gets tired of listening to these *toot! (something unkind)* spout the wonders of their language, which, they assert, is a major language on the world stage. i want to go back home and sit next to the south china sea and watch the warm blue waters wrap itself around my ankles. and hear the languages of that country. i want to look into brown faces, into eyes unsullied by cynicism and faithlessness. among the simplest of peoples, it is easy to see why faith does not die.

here, among privileged citizens who know their rights, among people who have never experienced destitution, desperation, and plain fighting for a place in a jeepney or bus, the complacence, the smugness, is suffocating. soft laughter, thin foie gras on biscuits, glasses of wine, all the trappings of life over here. just listen to them deride anything and everything that is 'other' than who or what they are. and oh, listen to them talk ad nauseum about this wonderful expression in this language, or this fantastic place in northern europe, or this obsolete book in some obsolete book shop, or this and that piece of data that's all too intellectual and none too real. watch them devour pages and pages of theory and see them lost in a world inhabited by real people who watch mtv and drool over the latest stars on the red carpet of the golden globes or the oscar's.

pity the mollusk that seeks refuge in its shell only to find itself swooped up into someone's net and sucked out for pleasure in a stiff stuffy restaurant with muted laughter and conversation. where have those nights gone? when one could sit around a bonfire on a tropical beach, san mig in hand, smoke curling lazily to the stars, and talk about politics, one's dreams for the nation, and the hope of helping others in need.

it's just one of those days. or nights. there's this ennui that can't be shaken. it's so tempting to believe that all this world needs is self, self, and self. how tiresome. utterly so. hindi ko makita sarili ko sa salamin. nasaan na ba ako naroon? ay ay gajod.

home is where again?

if i'm wearing the right clothes, i'm in "it". the right moment. in the classroom this afternoon, i was decked out in classic belgian oral exam-wear: collared blouse, dark trousers, accent scarf, black overcoat, boots. as it has in the past, it helped boost my confidence and mask my insecurity. and i was delighted to discover that 6 degrees can be a very pleasant experience. i didn't have to be bundled in my normal student clothes of sports jackets, jeans, and rubber shoes. and i actually tried to tie my scarf in a feminine way; not in the usual bunched-around-the-neck-to-ward-off-the-cold way.

one year of looking at other people in the streets is finally rubbing off. this place has grown on me. i can feel it seeping into my marrow and settling comfortably on a settee. it's not hard to peer under the frosty facades of belgium. i was engaged in another one of those stare-down contests with the central library clock, which stood haughtily against a shockingly clear blue sky, daring him to hang his head. i lost.

i was perfectly content to meander along the way until my steps found home. but home isn't here, it's a continent and 7 time zones away, a little voice whispered. is it, i countered. home is with your energetic, bubbly, fresh-faced students, the ones you miss like crazy, another voice piped in. no, home is a few blocks away, over a little hill and down a cobbled street and up a tiny stairwell... my thoughts petered out. not in that cosy house tucked at the foothills of antipolo that watches the floods rush by in june?, wheedled voice number one. in my mind's eye there crossed a vague remembrance of strong wet drops on my windshield, the wiper whipping back and forth in vain. then a stronger image gripped me: imelda marcos and gma in what seemed to be an embrace, today's banner photo, at malacanang. i stifled an overwhelming desire to throw up. how could i go home to that? home is waffles and yoghurt and wool and turtlenecks and maillots. stern-faced bankers barking at me in stilted english, making me look like the fool they believe i am.

i don't want to go home anymore. because i am home.

sunrise and sunset

when the soul seeks rest, it makes its way on invisible latitude lines towards the west, where the darkness kisses it first. when the bats of tuguegarao emerge from their cool caves at precisely 1820 hours every day, on the dot, guided by a preternal hand that points them towards the gathering dusk, they cannot ignore the need to feast. in the gloam, the world teems with life. when only the orbs of eyes gleam in the dark, the soul is replenished, the body renewed.

just before day breaks, in that blackest moment before aurora's blush rims the eastern edge of the world, there one finds the deepest peace.

apollo's orb-laden chariot, streaking low across the eastern sky, is time for the soul to rejoice and dance. life-giving warmth infuses the entire being. another day. newness blossoms and morning glory embraces eternity in the span of 24 hours that is its lifetime. until the sun once more dips beyond the horizon and leaves us in shadow.

so it is with jumba night. you can find me here when darkness is draped over the soul. when these are thrown open in the morning light, my bikini self is ready for another day of baring flesh.

hot babe

unprotected love, even just once, can bear fruit in that indescribable miracle called life.

the other night i dreamed that my 2-year old son had gone from 2 to 20 and no longer wanted to sleep beside me. i woke up with a yawning hole in my chest, gnats of fear nibbling at the edges. there my toddler lay, breathing peacefully, all of 2 years and 8 months. i embraced him gently and waited for the light of day to brighten the room.

in that hazy world between fiery bursts of temper and blissful lassitude, i recall the times i yearn to be single again, to be accountable to no one but my whims, where the world is a snug fit around my shoulders and every additional piece of furniture exists at the fingertip of complete control. i sit very still, paralysed for endless lifetimes until the moment passes and the sun's slant has changed degree.

until recently. there was this irrational urge to cast aside all the questions and doubts nagging me the last months: if you have a baby soon, you'll not be able to travel. what about your plans to see europe? there's still so much to see. you've made so many new friends; how the hell will you be mobile now? heck, a family package of three is unwieldy enough and you still want to burden yourself with a fourth member? then there are all those potentially fun sleepovers in hidden corners of suburbia where only the unmarried are invited. (i asked a good friend why people thought only singles got lonely; one could be in the company of relatives and friends and still want a change of scenery is my perennial lament. the answer was horridly simplistic - singles are more flexible. ergo... )

the pendulum has swung slowly, irrevocably, to the other side. suddenly, this degree i'm pursuing means nothing. (when has it? wry smile) i've been tucking away memories and friendships into the heart's album the last few days; the uncharacteristic warmth of january has helped me to store these thoughts away lovingly as i wander among leuven's countless soldens and promoties. when the son turns 3, i pray to be on the way with his playmate. he is so affectionate towards other babies. intuition whispers he'll make a cool kuya. have i still something to prove as a mother? why this surging desire for the swollen abdomen? (aha, i know: i get my porn star boobs back!) and what timing, too! how the hey now do i do the "lande" routine this coming summer if i'm in oversized pants and tops? and what about the drinking sessions with my new friends...?

there's no turning back. i'm a crazed monster beckoning to those millions of xy-chromosomes. come to mommy, now. *lights out*

a whole new world...

it's a new year and i'm free! my home base blog is in another space but i can't change the settings. the not-being-able-to-blog-until-it's-revamped is an itch i have to scratch. i had to blog. again! (that's deontic modality for you!)

but now i want to keep myself in check this year. if i knew any html, i would like this blog to be in dark reds and heady purples. don't know why. my other blog has become too light-colored, too pastel-y, too tweetumsy i fall asleep just looking at it. zzzzz...

i believe in setting resolutions for the new year. i remember some of my old ones.

* for 1997, i vowed to be happy. 1996 was the worst year of my life (--- at the time. looking back, it remains unrivaled in the oh-help-me-god department).
* for 2001, i vowed to make Him happy. it's been 3 years and 9 months since that time. i will keep going --- "to infinity and beyond!"
* for 2004, i vowed to do a phillip booth, reminiscent of his poem "first lesson". to quote the favorite line: "lie back to the light year stars and let the waves take you to shore."

and for 2005? what does svelte rogue desire in this exciting new year? aside from the elusive state of being svelte, as i am forever rogue, i do have these gimme-gimme desires:

@ finish every single thing i begin, and to finish it well
@ cook better
@ learn dutch and german
@ enrol in piano and voice
@ make a new baby

my top 5 list. i'll leave the i-pod and car for 2006.

welcome to my new world! this year is a different adventure. i can smell it on the dew lounging on the hairless twig outside my window.

welcome home, svelty.