Liv in a Life Well-Lived

Book in Hand: Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon Song in Mind: come out & feel the sun, shine down on everyone.... I can tell when I'm edgy with something I have written. I always get my pronouns and conjunctions wrong. I sound whiny. After rereading that particular piece of writing, a shade of embarassment always hits me with how pretentious it all sounded. Sorry. That's just how it always ends up when I am not quite sure how to approach a subject. Case in point, my last blog entry on Filipino Mythology. I love the topic dearly, but I was caught somewhere between presenting a critical view of the material and cursing the whole goddam country for letting it fall through the cracks (me, included). Nervous writing is lousy writing, and I would like to offer my apologies for inflicting it on the unwary readers. I did receive comments from my friend, Peloy, though. Aside from giving me tips where to find books on pinoy myths and legends, he also offered me an explanation w

"Higante" Illustration by Arnold Arre In the beginning, when the world was still young, the gods lived amongst men. They were the ones responsible for everyday wonders -- they hold the sun up in the sky, they keep mountains apart, they breathe the air men breathe, they calm the stormy seas. Or better yet, they were the sun, the mountains, the air and the waters that exist around our ancestors. They are the gods who people the epics that relates sacred stories about sacred events. Mythology is culture, and culture is what molds people. I often wonder then why it seems that Filipinos are quick to disregard their own mythological tales. We are fascinated by the tales from the West. But most of our stories are older than Western fairytales. Our stories don't talk about snow, forests of oaks or metamorphing swans; what we have is stories of a land where the sun shines and rain falls, people eat rice, mountains and rivers consist the basic topography. Normal-sounding as it may

Went looking through some of my old poetry notebooks and I just figured I'd post some interesting ones which might fit the current brain-warping, hot and humid season. * written for the boy beside me Anda, Pangasinan 1999 the heat incapacitates gets into your system fraying nerves stretched fully on the mat you are at arm's length the noon sizzles white light on your white skin it pulls on my guts stretching it painfully how the hot sun burns yet never as much as your hot skin. * nababaliw, naiinitan sucking on ice. refreshment from the burning of my whole mind. it soothes the temporary hurt. it smooths over the constricting pain. this sucking on ice. rythmic teething tearing sucking ice. *the summer i had a crush on a boy who ignored me for a pretty chinita sometimes, laughter could be so phony. you open your mouth sound coming from yout throat but it stops there. nothing is swelling in your heart. sometimes love could be so unfair. you fall deeply in love with somebody just

Book in Hand: Flights: An Anthology of Fantastic Short Literature Hay, I'm getting a bit discouraged with my scientific experiment, having produced no successful results for three nights going. But I have to agree that this kind of Dream Journaling intrigues me. The other night, I actually fell asleep thinking, "What would I dream of Tonight?" Well, what I had been trying to do is to pick one theme -- that, is I chose Mr. Gaiman -- and see if he surfaces in my dream. Had been trying for4 nights, but no direct appearance of Mr. Gaiman can be noted. He'd been peripheral though to the latest of my dream accounts, but nevertheless... it's a bit shabby. Night 2 I suppose I have to accept that there was no hide nor shadow of Neil Gaiman in my dream that night. It was what I can call, "a repetition of events in daylight -- only darker." Meaning, I dreamt of stuff that happened to me during the day, but with my subsequent qualms about it given stronger focus. E

Last night, I was just disclosing to you how I try to "influence" my dreams. I decided to study it scientifically -- that is, to attempt visualization every night and then record it upon waking just before the images fade. This way, I might be able to get more reliable data to interpret in answering my question: Can I actually influence what I dream about by actively visualizing images before entering the pre-REM stage? I know there are already loads of psychological studies about this, but I'd like to gather my data, interpret it and only then shall I compare it with the others. I don't mind reinventing the wheel, that much is obvious. :) Night 1 What I did was briefly flash an image of Neil Gaiman in my mind. For one bothered second, I was scared my brain would misinterpret it and give me weird, romantic (or worse, PG-18) scenes with Neil. Then I justified it by saying that it's what Mr. Gaiman represents that I'd like to dream about. And that is freedom to

Yet another invented word. Gurped (root word gurp ) means an act of asking why, who, what and where all at the same time. I.e. Today, Olivia had to wake up at 2 am so as to go to work by 3 am and she completely gurped about the point of it all. Maybe I should just keep this word-inventing... I might just be able to make one whole language system out of it. _***_***_***_***_ It is true though that I woke up at 2 am this morning just so I could leave the house by 2:30 and be at the pick-up place going to Olongapo City by 4 a.m. I had to be 250 kilometers away from Manila by 6 a.m. Hay, let's just say I've been a victim of the best mislaid plan of the year. This used to excite me, the land travel counterpart of the "jet-set" life. I should be totally swazzled about having breakfast in Zambales, lunch in Pampanga and return just in time for dinner in Caloocan City. There were days I had it worst: breakfast in QC, lunch in Vizcaya, snacks in Isabela, dinner in Cagayan P

Absolutely have no idea what swazzled means. It's right up there with swasquatch and fizzladdled, and joot and weeezums. But somehow, that's the most accurate word I could use to describe how I'm feeling right now. I am totally swazzled. As proof of it, I have been making my happy sounds all day ( happy sounds are something you do when you are in a good mood and you just make weird noises without thinking ). It's that odd "Wee-wooo, wee-wooo!" sound that just comes out of me when I'm feeling okay. I sound like a zippy, frolicsome fire truck with a little engine that could. In keeping up with the Holy Friday tradition, I should be in mourning-mode right now, commemorating Christ and His death. But dearest Lord, I am only rarely ever happy nowadays and I pray you would not damn me and my progeny decades after this day just because I felt like singing " Weee-wooo!" While Daddy attended the Pabasa in one of his Catholic groups, my sister, my cousin a

They only told me that it was the greatest fantasy novel ever written. As a Tolkien fan, I doubted this. But it wouldn’t hurt to read it, would it? With this premise, I started seeking out a copy of Peter Beagle's The Last Unicorn. It proved hard to find in Metro Manila, and once found, also proved to be quite expensive. So I kept scouring second hand bookshops in my Finder-of-Lost-Treasures mode until by some wheel of fate, I managed to get my hand on a copy at 1/18th of its original price. I admit that while looking at the slim, worn-out volume, I had my doubts about its potential greatness. If it was truly as amazing as it is touted to be, how come someone out there decided to give it away and leave it to the fate of questing fantasy enthusiasts? A number of other things also held me back. Even if I knew enough not to judge a book by its cover, a part of me wasn't enticed to read the book immediately. What's more is that when I tried to read the first five pages, my inte

I spent my college days loyally watching the Gilmore Girls every Saturday night. And yes, I was one of those who watched it because a part of me is drowning in sheer envy of the beepy-boppitiness of Rory and Lorelei's lives. Come on, how aesthetically pretty could one life get, huh? But somehow, it wasn't too saccharine-sweet to turn me off. Somehow, part of me can still relate to their story or maybe a part of me holds on to the belief that maybe my life would be just as fizzy as theirs - - someday. I kind of stopped watching it the past year though, because 1) I'm not sure what day they show it anymore, and 2) It increasingly scares me that I expect myself to be the Fourth Gilmore. Ahehe... weird but true. I keep comparing my reactions to Rory's. I keep asking why can't I handle things the same way, or why do people not react the same to me when I do stuff I thought was stupifyingly cute on her? Now, Lorelei, she's Thirty++ years old right? And she's still

Sometimes, teevee can be more than just a boob tube. Sometimes, some script writer out there gets a flash of inspiration and writes something so true it resonates. And some director will be wise enough not to sensationalize it. Then some actors are just talented enough not to over-act or to overpower it. This afternoon, I plopped down on the sofa and watched Joan of Arcadia. After I got over the irritation of having to endure the show dubbed in Taglish, I was sweeped right into the story. Of course, I wasn't able to watch the previous episodes so I could only connect it to the bits and parts I knew about the story back when I was still watching it on cable. But first, let me tell you a bit of the plot so you'd get my drift. Joan lives in Arcadia, and God talks to her. That's basically the story line. God appears to her in various human forms (my favorite is this teenage guy and the weird Dakota Fanning-esque little girl) and asks her to do things for Him / Her. Joan doesn&#

Book in Hand: Ursula Le Guin's Malafrena Song in Mind: Ryan Cabrera's True (but only because it's the song playing on my YM) This afternoon, I had the urge to blog again. This I felt while eating a two-piece chicken with double cuppa rice meal at Kipp's Krispy Chicken in SM Megamall. I actually wanted to talk about the best Fried Chicken I have eaten in my life time. Then it struck me how absolutely dumb that was. And how totally low I must've fallen if the only thing I can talk about is fried chicken. I mean, there is the fact that I'm at my wit's end at work. The fact that I am actually going insane because I could NOT handle the pressure. And here I am spending the last week as a walking zombie --- trying not to feel, trying not to lose control again. Things I don't have to feel passionately about. There is the fact that Daddy didn't get extra class load this summer, which leaves me the breadwinner for the next two months. My measly pay is supp