Sadness is Liquid

Sadness is liquid. It is the sweat that oozes out of your pores, gleaming and smooth; the salty tears that eventually become too heavy for your eyes to hold, rolling down finally free; the blood that gushes out a few days each month, pungent and pure.

Sadness is liquid. The seeming weakness of it biding its time within the bodies' crevices, eager to rush out, maybe become one with the ocean of sadness that served as home millions of years ago.

Aren't we all walking liquids? Our skins nothing but flimsy wrappers that attempt to hold us all in so we don't end up a mess of a puddle on the floor. There are times when a drop manages to seep out, as from a wound. And then we drip a bit of ourselves, sadness released, acknowledged and shared with the rest of the weeping and bleeding creatures. And who knows where all these droplets go, if not trickling back to that primordial ocean? Evaporating into the air to fall back down again, staining clothes and sheets as meek reminders of our shared fluidity and sadness.

Sadness is liquid. Wouldn't it be oddly comforting to think of how lovers share a bit of their loneliness at each exchange of fluid? And why else do we wallow, drown in our sorrows? Rumi talks of Grief drinking from a cup of sorrow.

We are careful to release just a bit at a time. It is how we survive, the life force itself. To slit one's wrist is to release too much. And yet not releasing enough can poison one's soul so we cry a little and let go some. It is the only way.

*Inspired by Tin's entry

Persian Dinner and Tarot Readings

One night, Cai, Dana, Jona and I met up. Jona and Dana had their haircut and because it took hours to finish and I had very little sleep the night before, I took a nap in the salon. By the time I woke up, they still weren't done. Sigh.

Anyway, after the haircut we headed over to the Persian restaurant of which I cannot remember the name. Then went home, minus Cai, for tarot reading sessions. Alvin was waiting at home and made us coffee. :D

Malling with the Kids

Sometimes while watching my cousins and nephew and niece, I get transported to the future and sort of imagine them remembering how they grew up together and all.

I'm weird.

Meet The One!

Press Release:

Admit it, beneath the tough exterior, the cringing and the cursing
at blatant displays of affection, the
I’m-perfectly-happy-by-myself-thank-you-very-much attitude is a lonely person
waiting for The One—the one who would ‘complete you,’ the one you would want to
wake up to every single morning, the one who would make life worth living…

Don’t we all dream of holding hands with that special
someone as we disappear into the sunset, presumably into happy ever after? Preferably
on horseback. Never mind that you can’t even ride a bicycle, much less a horse.
Or you might be imagining being up on the roof at night, the two of you gazing
at the moon as you talk about your dreams, your passions, your… um, favorite
food.

No?

Okay, fine. We can’t give you any of those anyway. What we
do guarantee is an exciting night with interesting and funny people, great food
and yes, the possibility of finding The One.

We are calling on all fun-loving single Fil-Chi’s out there
who would like to meet new people in a relaxed and friendly atmosphere. Who
knows, your life might change on June 9, 2007 (Saturday), 7:30 in the evening,
at Crepe de Chine (along Juan Luna, Binondo). For that to happen, contact any of
these people for more details: Anna (0917-8136120, anna_cinco81@yahoo.com), Dan (0917-8139047, danedmond@lycos.com) or Joni (0922-8829800,
sanapakaininmoko@yahoo.com). You might thank us for this one day.

Because you can
meet The One. So again, don’t forget: get out of your house on
the 9^th and head over to Crepe where s/he might be waiting.

ADDITIONAL INFOS:
--P600 per head. Good food guaranteed. :D
--Please email/text us your names and email addresses so we can send you the registration form as well as the details for the payment schemes.
--For any other questions, text us anytime!

Reunions

About two weeks ago, I attended my batch's high school reunion. It had been 10 years since graduation, the perfect excuse to get together for dinner and late night chats.

The next day, my grandmother celebrated her 100th birthday. See if you can spot me among the sea of red.

"Writing is Easier with Computers"

Nenet, 7 years old and is always teased for not knowing how
to read yet, came to my room to see what I was doing. I had my manuscript
beside me as I played pinball on my computer. He looked at the thick sheaf of
papers and asked, “Ikaw nagsulat nyan? (Did you write that?)” Proudly, I said,
“Oo, ako nagsulat lahat ng yan! (Yup, I wrote all of those!)” He then leafed
through the one hundred or so pages of the manuscript and said, “Ah, sa
computer. (Oh, you used the computer.)” Having an idea where the conversation
was headed, I looked at him suspiciously and said, “Sa computer ko sinulat, oo.
(I wrote it using the computer, yes.)” Quietly, as if talking to himself,
“Mabilis lang pag sa computer e. (It’s easy to write using the computer.)” I
knew more than to argue.

Why do writers never get the respect they deserve? Now let
me go hide in the corner until all you bullies have left.

Driving My Novel

12 April 2007

These days I divide my time between
practicing my driving and revising/rewriting my novel. And because I
am one of those people who like relating certain things in her life
to make them a coherent whole, I have been thinking about how the two
things are the same in concept.

For several mornings now, I would be
found in the driver’s seat, taming a wild green beast to abide by
my instructions. Go right, damn beast, and slowly, s—l—o—w—l—y
stop. There, there. My father tells me that it is all about control.
I should know where I’m going then learn to control the beast so it
could go where I will it.

I have long ago already diagnosed
myself with having a problem with my motor skills. This is the only
reason I could come up with for my eternal clumsiness: bumping into
inanimate objects, dropping glasses and things breakable, tripping on
my own feet. I never learned to dance. Any kind. I do not play any
sports despite my best efforts to try and live up to my “athletic
built.” I could never coordinate the arm movements with the leg.
Somehow I could focus on the arms and do it perfectly, or the legs
and again do it perfectly, but put them together and I’d be a
complete mess. In truth, I am just grateful that PE classes ended
years ago.

And so knowing all these things about
myself, I have mentally prepared myself for long and grueling hours
to train my arms and legs to work in coordination. It has to be done.
The beast has to be tamed and conquered for it to serve me. And I
will be served.

In the afternoon I sit in front of my
computer, taming words and images and thoughts and emotions. I will
them to listen and obey. They are beasts of my own doing and I have
to guide them to go slowly lest they hit something so precious that I
could not bring back to life. And so I have to be careful with words
as with cars.

Taming of words is something that I am
more used to. It is graceful dancing at best and trying not to trip
on one’s own feet at worst. It is making an effort to not be clumsy
in handling one’s characters in various situations lest they get
offended and all run away. It is being aware of what lacks in each
scene and how to go about filling it, just like driving is being
aware of all that is happening outside the comforts of the
air-conditioned car and how to go about responding to them.

It is ten years now since I first made
a vow that mine will be a writing life. I still bump into imaginary
objects more often than I care to remember, get stuck, break things
that shouldn’t be broken. I have not yet stopped learning the
maneuverings of words, putting them together so as not to come up
with a complete mess of a story. I have accepted that it will be a
life-long process. I will have to coordinate arms and legs and entire
lives of people who breathe and hurt and weep in my mind even as I
eat and sleep and weep in my own life. It is like feeling the
steering wheel in one’s hands again for the very first time every
time in every story. My novel feels like a journey that I started
with much excitement feeling its immense power tingling at my
fingertips, and yet that same power scares me with its very
potential. Its destination is still unsure until the last word has
been written. But I will get there.

It is perhaps no coincidence that I
should meet with my thesis mentor on the 9^th of April,
Araw ng Kagitingan. I needed all the kagitingan I could muster to
finally discuss my most ambitious literary undertaking so far with
the man who would be the judge of its worthiness. This beast of a
novel that I have been wrestling with for some time now and still
won’t let me rest. After pointing out some inconsistencies, a
number of unclear matters, technical issues, my mentor answered most
of my questions with, “It’s up to you. It’s your story.” I
whined but I knew that I will have to do the taming myself even
before the questions were out of my mouth. He tells me I should know
where my story is headed. That’s the only way I can control the
beast and let it be what I will it. Everything is in my control,
after all, as long as I know in which direction to steer.