call me she-herc

most of the bloggers may have written about the year that ended or about the year that is just about to start. i am a blogger, but i want to be different.

i'd tell you about my 2 failures in profound words (not that i have written any anecdote in simple words, so far). yes, i took the long exam for two consecutive septembers. yes, i failed in both. yes, i took the test again, and yes, i still have the kind of expectations that can fill this page up in a jiffy. my heart is not made of stone. but my body is a big boulder--herculean even--that can endure the meanest tidal wave and come out unscathed. the fact alone that i can eat in a crowded restaurant by my lonesome is hard evidence of my imposing statement: i have lived through it all and i'm not taking any crap from anybody (except from my mom of course).

it wasn't easy. a close friend of mine once spent the whole day marveling at my inner poise. little did she know that it took a toll on my heart (literally). it skipped a few beats one morning, after i heard the bad news for the second time. but my grieving moment was as uneventful as the time i lost my first tooth. no one noticed. maybe because i still had 3 more to spare hanging like withered leaves and holding onto my gums for dear life. that's how i survived the first two storms that came into my life--hanging.

i never did expect empathy from loved ones. i just knew they'd be there for me...because they love me, and they took the first blow. nothing but unconditional love has saved me from all anxieties. it was more than enough to live by.

they say that the heart is incredibly resilient...its threshold for pain can match that of a woman undergoing labor. i agree. i'd probably be having twins and not feel a thing. no anesthetic has permeated my skin long enough to tell the story of how it has put my body to calming pleasure. i became a masochist.

but i'm no superwoman. i got my tough genes from my dad, this i cannot deny. my friends tell me my exterior does not complement my being sofspoken. haha! that could be used as a tool to deceive.

i have only God to thank for pulling me out of the dark. i have set my eyes on my ambition for a long time, i am not about to look away...for as long as i can write mean pleadings more credibly than a true-blue senior lawyer.

i believe i know my limits well enough to shirk away from over-confidence, and from overconfident fools who cannot tell fact from fiction. my stories are brave as the one who has lived to tell them. the path i have chosen may have been dodgy, and i have slipped many times...but the herculean effort to rise and pick myself up has been a great trade i will never mark for barter.

all told, it was a humbling experience. one that taught me how to choose my battles and win them all in God's time.

a red reunion

that time of the year came with much anticipation.

the carandang-magsino clan had every reason to celebrate. finally, real (and corporeal) blessings started pouring in. this is indeed a good chance to have a bit of every good thing imaginable within reach and without guilt.

these blessings went on to grace the colorful pages of our once untouched family album of veiled miseries and daily life struggles. so here we are, putting back the pieces to create our own less than perfect world.

now, merriments came by the handful. today, everyone was happy. not a single soul showed up with a hypocritical remark about not living "the good life" at last. we were all saved by the elusive golden bell. Midas was one demi-god who played hard to get at one point in our lives.

tarawoods was built to last forever. it's nature's haven. WE are part of this nature, however gloriously sated our skin and bones are with heavy make-up and moisturizers.

there was a time when i didn't see myself one with nature. we would wear name tags for what? identification, recognition or association? i was a fool for thinking this way. my mom's being hopeful and forgiving did not rub on me. i was quiet most of the program for fear of telling the wrong truths to my relatives who traveled 2 hours to prove that solidity and lineage definitely matter. we did the best we could to reach out to our relatives, under the circumstances.

i was a bit unfair to some, but who would've thought i would reach a point of isolation during puberty? i didn't bother looking at their encouraging eyes when they made an effort to get to know me behind the pair of geeky imaginary glasses i used to wear to feel invisible. for many times, i had hoped for calamity to swallow my 5'4 figure and spew me out just in time for merienda (i love brown puto!).

at a time when corruption is at its record high; when charter change seemed to suggest more of a piecemeal revision of the constitution than it promised; when the lehman brothers woke the big 5 up to alert the united nations' security council...the members of the carandang-magsino family were all smiles, wearing blue and red caps--not to fend off the sun's penetrating heat, but to have the exclusive sense of belonging--enjoying God's graces and blessings to maximum utility and dressed in colors of the rainbow (except indigo).

it was a time to feel impervious to pain, hurt and anger. it was a time for mending broken hearts and beliefs. it was a time for forgiveness.

my only regret is not knowing my cousins well enough to share their dreams and tell them that life is not so bad...if we hold on to what is real and never let go.

indeed, hope floats :)

here is where our stories and our daughters' and sons' stories shall be written and told under the oldest oak tree that once was lolo puti's legacy...and here is where i shall--for my lifetime at least--choose to spend red reunions...all decembers of my life.

spiderman and the chink in his armor

today was not as productive as i hoped it would be.

so i turned the tv on and started changing channels. i never really thought of settling since all the movies were already halfway to fin. channel 21 has always been my best bet. another hbo film is about to start in 00:08 seconds. so i waited 'til spidey came up. i hesitated. i didn't like the sequel. but this one showed the last spiderman movie where he fought the venom and the sandman. so i put down the remote and took to bed 2 fluffy pillows to hold my feet up against the cold air.

i enjoyed every minute of it. i was like watching it for the first time, when, in fact, i have seen the film more than thrice.

it was all about forgiveness with a few twists, and about being consumed by our inner narcissus. peter parker was too busy enjoying the kleig lights he forgot about the things that matter most. in the end, he learned how to forgive his uncle's killer and harry (the goblin's son).

i was touched by the way harry realized the deep hole he dug purposely to bury his friendship with peter, and how he managed to regain his sanity and think clearly despite the devil's advocate he found in his father's person, who was primarily reduced to a mere reflection after his tragic death in the sequel. harry's muddled judgment was his father's, not his. it was his father who took to his grave all the anger he had against those who mocked him during his lifetime.

for harry, it was a struggle, but was worth all peter's wait.

i wish i had that sense of resolution so i could fight inertia and get on with my life without a trace of regret. it's been awhile since i've held my head up and walked without looking back. maybe i'm just being extra careful, maybe not.

i wish i can forgive, i mean really forgive the orange's spawn who hurt me and cris not too long ago.

taking chances

many times my patience has been put to test. there was not a single instance where i did not end up yielding to my persistent critics. this "habit" of mine became so infectious, that i had to make arrangements with Hades: if i make one more mature remark about how we should treat our enemies, he can push me into the abyss without any warning and leave me for dead.

marge told me once that it's perfectly ok to fight back and mark your territory when you think it's being hounded by species of the most intrusive kind. so i went out of my comfort zone and made someone's life hell. it felt great.

i never liked pineapples. the very few times i tried eating small pineapple chunks were like torture. if FB has super pokin' for an application, i'd probably have super chokin' as a main feature to spice up my very own version of the pineapple-game application--you choke everytime you swallow, and you lose 5 points each time you squint at the slightest hint of its bittersweet taste on the tip of your tongue. but my mom--the most influential person in my life as of the moment--in all her merciless glory, took to great lengths her pineapple advocacy by including my yellow friends in my diet. she pretty much twisted my arm into believing lucy torres' dialogue in that del monte commercial on tv: "it's like giving your body an inner shower!"

i could have defended myself by reiterating that lucy meant the "juice" and not the fruit itself, but it would just be like one of pacquiao's fights where i would end up nursing a bruised ego for losing after only a few rounds. so much for my booming career...show me the moolah!

sneakers and flip-flops were part of my wardrobe staples for years. however worn-out they were at that time and despite the tomboyish and unglamorous appeal they gave my aura. besides, i never felt the least bit awkard biting my nails while i'm wearing jeans and polo shirt (hehe). leah (javier) came into my life and made a complete mess of my style--thank god! she's so into wearing high-heels and skinny jeans, she would've passed as a model (being sticks and bones) herself. that girl is a walking golden hanger (literally and figuratively).

so i traded my sneakers in for sandals and ballet flats (give me a break! i love my feet to death).

you see, with the kind of people roaming in and out of my life, i can be a whole new different person each day!

i love it! :)

breaking away

the silence is deafening around my 28 year old house.

i was in prep school when i first looked at the towering stones before my 4-foot built, flabbergasted and swept away by the size of my freshly painted yellow room. the antique chairs and tables did not give away the sense of novelty in the way we felt when we first opened the bathroom door and realized there were 4 others to open in each room. my parents' room was the biggest, complete with a lavish waterbed sprawled on what seemed to be a triple queen-sized bed.

intercoms were installed in each room and one in the kitchen to be used for emergency and lunchtime calls when we were too lazy to pick our feet up and walk the distance from the living room to mine, my kuya's and mommy's room--just to keep everyone informed of the menu for dinner. my dad did most of the dirty job (if not all). he would cook for us and press our ringers 'til it shattered our eardrums. "hoy!!! kakain na!!!"

we had what seemed like a modern-day phonograph. it was a white turntable with a glass cover. the LPs neatly stacked were there only for show. oversized throw pillows were fashioned into ottomans cum daybeds during siesta. my sister and i would fall asleep on one of them after hours of playing rough tag at our backyard. our walls were white (in anay-finish), mom's furniture pieces were grand and exquisite. they were all witnesses to our triumphs and failures. from prep school to graduate school. we had the time of our lives in a house that once was a mansion to my meager vision.

i grew up thinking that i would live in this house forever...until my parents decided it was time to let it go and build a new home for our family that has grown bigger since ate len got married. the news came to me uncasually and nonsensically as the first meeting of an estranged wife and her husband after 30 long years. i was moved to invisible tears. funny how i didn't feel the least bit melancholic. i guess it was time for a cool, drastic change.

waltermart took all my childhood away and will soon leave me with brimming memories of the yesterdays we had with changelings, busy highways and atypical strangers for neighbors. one thing's for sure---money can't buy me love...

God knows how much i love this house...but i'm ready to open my heart to the one in blue isle.

mr. comet and his ticket

i haven't been to a major concert. i almost did (with my office mate...a few months ago), but i chickened out. 3 days before the concert, i took a short trip to oblivion and saw myself dancing under the striking stage lights while my friends watched from the front row, asking themselves "who the hell is that guy she's dancing with?" yep, old filipino culture tells me that's already "cheating".

i finally decided to give up on the idea that some day, i'd sit to watch annie lenox for two hours without blinking. i just love her. i grew up thinking she was a real vampire, not because of her weird album, but because she looked like one on tv. short, blonde hair; sharp eyes; pale skin; perfectly even, chiseled teeth...

so i turned my thoughts away from annie and proceeded to close the window. the wind has never whistled this hard and long. then i saw it. a lone comet sped my sight so briefly, i thought it was just a mosquito crossing my vista.

i was told that a comet can grant one wish. but you have to make that one wish within a split second. this is pretty hard considering that i've got more than a handful to mention. i haven't quite gotten into ranking them from highest to lowest in priority.

and so i missed it.

i could never make a quick account of my 5-year-old list and manage to weed every trivial thing out in a split second. there's cris' tennis racket, ate len's vintage bag, daddy's dirt bike, mom's diamond necklace, kuya's bath tub...and my philip stein watch. it's so unfair.

the concert ticket could've easily landed on my lap like a day old baby from the stork's carry-all mouth had i made that holler at mr. comet in time.

it's a good thing annie doesn't have any good song to spare this year, or i'd die in regret and sorrow.

missin' music and mr. poon

during one of my brother's outings when he was still in DLSU, he invited his barkada over to our house in batangas. there were probably around 15 of his guy friends who came and ransacked our ref, hehe. one of them was richard poon. yes, he was and still is, my kuya's friend. they used to belong to the same student organization in la salle (along with jobert, bam-bam, etc.).

right after merienda, my brother offered to perform his piano masterpiece (the one piece that went a few notes over the introductory part of the song). after his number, one of the guys volunteered to play a different song on the piano. richard stood up and sang his heart out. it was then that he realized there was more to him than meets the eye.

our band was formed after this. richard's crazy instincts led him to me :)

he literally went out of his way to teach me how to sing and how to play the guitar. and, with some inspiration (and a lot of heated arguments along the way), i began to strum the guitar with shaking fingers. my singing voice cracked and my stance gave me away. but he believed in me. he endured all 4 years of my childish tantrums (and i suffered his occasional fits of temper in return, hehe) . until now, i am amazed at the mere thought of the amount of patience he must've put in just to make me look good infront of everybody. i owe richard big time.

now, it's my celestial calling and mission to return the favor (which is a cinch, given the number of followers richard now has under his title---the philippines' michael buble). richard's soulful voice has opened doors to opportunities we never thought possible. more than his lineage, his love for music became his passport to fame.

when richard sings "i'll take care of you", he means it. the man is all heart and soul. i will love him forever :)

a devotion to killing time

crazy cats keep climbing the part of our roof that covers my distressed yellow room like a promising protective steel contrivance already blemished by sharp scratches and bird droppings. i was reading love in the time of cholera when the banging sound came like a thief in the dark of night. the uninvited eerie sound came as sudden as the unwarranted force i accidentally applied on my thumb and index finger to turn the page, causing a tiny rip on page 147. darn those cats! after 3 more banging sounds, i got up to anticipate the 4th and mustered enough patience to hold the window curtain, in a futile attempt to see beyond the opaque glass pane, with a half-hearted resignation to bravery...but it didn't come.

so i went back to my reading and stayed up until i finished the chapter. it was pretty intense. gabriel garcia's words left nothing to my imagination. i was there with dr. juvenal urbino and fermina daza in colombia...for real. except for the part where ms. daza and her aunt escolastica took the liberty of learning some sewing and embroidery, perhaps to kill time while doctors tried to find the cure for the endemic disease. i never had that lingering dexterity commonly present among women. i flunked practical arts in 6th grade to underline my disdain. as a matter of fact, unlike any struggling sewing student, i can still recall ms. balita's (yep, she's my prac. arts teacher) words of encouragement as she secretly continued to finish my half-accomplished crochet of a mess, but acceptable to the trained eye. the graduation rites hid my weakness and the school gave me an award for my perseverance (A+ for effort?)

at the back of my head, i kept thinking of what to do the next day. i can't think of any. my mom does the daily round-up of chores and errands the night before and she has small, yellow post-its that contain her day's agenda. i usually read them in the hope of joining her "productive" activities to make the long hours shorter by 12 hours (that's half a day of feigning the progressive life of a busy bee), but couldn't quite acquire her habit of waking up at 7am to anticipate the freezing cold of a bath waiting in the form of a maroon basin on the tiled bathroom floor.

so i typed away and nursed the idea of a busy, toxic day. our long table became my saving grace, where my laptop seemed plastered on a semi-permanent, wooden flat space by an imaginary adhesive. i spent evening after evening twitching on keys and sending ephemeral messages to long lost friends who are neither geographically compatible nor spineless to think of a way to bridge the gap between misery town and the advent of the christmas season.

soon, my mom will turn on the hot water and ask for a cup of nesvita cereal drink, to tame the corrosive oil and fat swimming in her tummy. it's 9pm, and still i haven't done anything worth any one's while. i took the short flight up to our stairs and wondered how familiar this day has been until its end.

the book was still on my bed when i turned the knob, ready to be ravaged by smoldering eyes of boredom and desolution. i paused and looked up for what seemed like 5 hours....thinking aloud: "now, where are those darn cats when you need them?!"

classic bit

i am a fan of classic literature.

at a young age of 9, i would scan our grolier's encylopedia for geoffrey chaucer, leo tolstoy, shakespeare, edith hamilton, and others. back then, i kept this interest to myself. i was afraid my friends would look at me differently ( like Belle in disney's beauty and the beast). they were so into chinese garters and sanrio characters, i saw no tangible reason why i should share my "fixation". we didn't have the means to feed my passion for reading, so i was content in reading the biographies of authors whose writings i came to love and cherish.

i got to read all of these classic writings when i turned 19. i would go to our school library and read through at least 50 pages each day until i finish the whole book. there was one time when i tried to get one of my closest college friends to be "involved". but she decided against reading the whole book and settled for the synopsis written at the back flap of the hardbound book instead (madayang bata). some found it hard to understand the words used in beowolf, for instance (the haughty healfdene and the Scyldings). but to me, that's where the beauty of literature lies...the words translate in my head as breezy as a regular bowel movement.

in writing, there are simply no limits. you can write about anything! Beatrix Potter wrote about Peter Rabbit, Jemima (the Pudle-Duck), Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle, etc. and these became part of her collection of timeless children's books.

Some of Russian novelist--leo tolstoy's works as "god sees the truth, but waits", "anna karenina", and "war and peace" brought me closer to anna and her love affair with count vronsky, and ivan dmtrich aksionov (i cry each time i read this short story). the very detailed description of 19th century wars won me over. tolstoy's words just pierce your heart like a stray arrow with sensory tracking device (it finds its target and never misses).

Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights", J.D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye", Alice Walker's "The Color Purple"...very invigorating :) (don't mess with my "geek" factor,hehe).

sir romil silva (de la salle lipa) introduced me to greek mythology. i developed a deeper kind of addiction to greek literature naman. i can still recall one of my "not-worth-remembering days" when i lost my only copy of the greek mythology. i wasn't able to function for days! after 15 years, kuya ren bought me edith hamilton's version. he even wrote a sweet, sweet note that i'd like to share with you:

Dearest leah,
this book shall remind you every so often that you are stronger than you think you are. we are all aware that when it comes to greek mythology, you are the sage one. from athena to zeus, you are the expert. this book shall also remind you that we have a God who loves you no matter what.
i love you,

kuya ren.

ibang klase kuya ko noh? one can only turn green with envy at me for having such a supportive brother.

until now, i am grateful. every chance i get (pag nasa manila), i go to powerbooks (or national bookstore--SM lipa) and frequent the classic literature section more than i do the law books department.

so if we bump into each other one of these days, you would either look at me differently and wonder how a "kalog" person like me came to love classic literature, or hate me for knowing too much about eros, europa, pan, cerberus, homer and the lliad :)

Len and her Universe

i can fill this whole page up and name all the doting mothers i've met through the years. but none has reached an unfamiliar state of being in style, with grace, and more defined than my sister, len.

it was her divine appointment to be pilar's mom.

we had fun during college. we would always get into girl fights and uncasually thresh out nasty words and remarks about others who made fun of either of us...because we had no money to fend for our gimmicks and level with the rich but not-so-famous brady bunch. we watched each other's backs like hungry ravens waiting to devour their meal. i somehow felt untouchable because of that. len was never the shy type during fights. her voice would shake, but not her ground.

then she fell in love...

we still have our occasional moments of grace whenever i stay at her home after a short but sweet connivance with pilar. i consciously wait for her to arrive from work and try to catch up on chika. being unmarried has its own perks, but len's litany of words and palette of unfulfilled dreams pull me back to reality each time we talk non-stop about her life.

it's impossible to count the many times she turned dense when it came to worrying about pilar. deep inside, i know she's always fighting to be with pilar 24/7. but under normal circumstances, she can't. her mind drifts to where her daughter is in between meetings with franchisees and angry customers. len was once a fierce fighter, but she is certainly better at keeping traces of this trait to herself for fear that her daughter might bear the brunt. this makes her even more intimidating.

i could never have mastered the art of letting go. len did this in one take. she went where her supposed paths did not go. she walked towards an entirely new direction. there were regrets along the way, but of a kind that can be long forgotten and set aside. pilar was all that mattered to her. i had to enter the picture and remind her that it's okay to live for herself once in a while.
the bigger picture came when pilar practically begged to be let alone. she is really a gift from God, that girl. her values are solid and intact at a very young age of 6. so len, with a bitter heart, agreed.

now, the smallest of things make len happy. no longer consumed by the thought of her daughter slowly inching away to her independent road. i could almost see the old len coming out of the hazy smoke of motherhood...but while she's at it, i try to pitch in a couple of lessons and words of wisdom to pilar.

after all, it was my divine appointment to be pilar's aunt and len's friend :)

paradigm shift

what gives me satisfaction is something i have to immerse in deep thought for hours to achieve. i have always been impulsive when it comes to doing things that are good in the generic sense, so it's safe to assume that i value the same things others do---family, friends, health, knowledge, religion, love, music...but of all, my ambitions have come full circle. this is where i have gone from demi-god to garbage...where i have lost, won and lost again.

i keep a closet-full of knowledge, vocabulary and idioms. at the outset, i wanted to appear and sound intelligent, and for others to take notice of and recognize the fact that i know so much about the muses and apollo. i was deliberately reckless when i wanted attention, and composed when i wanted respect. my sense of humor is like a man's laundry that gets washed in public most of the time. blasphemy has not been my thing, though. my beliefs will remain as they came to me that fateful day i sought for repentance. my love for literature grew to obsession until i didn't care anymore about how people see me.

words of spanish writers make me want to enter their soulful pens and wander off, with blind faith, to the road of their cursive minds. i envy them for their trenchant thinking and penchant for putting together words of distant imports, but beautiful when combined--even when describing the simplest joy of movement, a sign of life, or a kitchen towel left dirty and dry on the countertop. but often times, i would replace the cap of my pens for next time and weeks will pass without any purchase from the local bookstore i used to frequent and made hard promises to--my 107th resolve to take on writing as a profession.

it's not at all lucrative compared to law, where books you don't even want to read are on the firstl level of your shelf that requires a 15-rung ladder to reach, not because they mattered, but because they are expensive as hell. my favorite professor, who was pensive most of the time, but insightful and shrewd, told me that a lawyer's library is his wealth. Haha! paper victories come in various shapes and sizes, depending on the number of words typed in meticulous legal form. an affidavit does not come from a hardbound book, only its form. God knows even my niece can write one in shorthand :) it's the form that you usually pay great tribute to, not the book from where it came.

imagination is the key to better writing, along with good disposition and perceptive thinking. what greater ingredient is there to writing a story than personal experience? if you live like a hermit though, there's really nothing much to write so aim for the prologue nalang. but then again, if you are locked up in a room, you begin to see things differently (or you might mistake hallucination for good material).

i'm glad my siblings share the same passion for reading. we each have our own decent libraries to fill, and our demons to tame whenever ate len gets the bestsellers first (one of the many perks she gets from living just across the national bookstore branch in paseo de sta rosa). but the rivalry ended when len and i conceded to kuya's collection of hard-to-find books. it's not at all surprising given that he practically lives and breathes powerbooks, fully booked and national. he's like mel gibson in "the pelican brief" where, for tracking purposes, he was drugged into buying a copy of 'the catcher in the rye' each time he enters a bookstore wherever state he was at the time. food on the table played second fiddle for a time :) (tama ba ko, ate mash)

a wartime memoir is the best and probably the most credible witness to a sterling depiction of a love story. but it has to be believable, not a mere immersion project. when you are cash strapped, a softbound version is the real deal. i bought emily bronte's novel for 50 pesos. i want to believe that penguin books deliberately rammed the prices down, particularly of classics, to encourage readers worldwide to put off their readings of science fiction and thrillers and discover the "origin of rock", in music parlance. Pride and Prejudice is worth every penny (all its 99-peso glory).

the big difference is, i no longer face the dreadful pressure of finishing my daily reading quota, unlike the merciless review period i had to go through just to raise my confidence a notch higher. come to think of it, the Philippines is the one country where taking the bar is a huge deal...when i say huge, i mean humungous deal! i carried the weight of reading for years...and now i'm free. free to go back to my roots and read archie comics and pugad baboy. I can look for larry alcala all day without guilt.